Dean hated Wal-Mart. He was absolutely certain that every single one of them (every one the thousands of them) had some sort of evil spell cast on them to infect innocent shoppers. Because really, you walked in with a list of, like, four things that you need, and you walk out with four bulging sacks full of things that caught your eye and forced you to buy them. You could tell yourself all day that you just would not buy anything not on your list, and it never did any good.
For instance, he and Sam had walked in today, needing only a few items. Peroxide and bandages, soap and shampoo, toothpaste and lube. These items were already in the basket. Was Sam walking towards the checkout lanes? No. Instead, he was pacing the aisles with the Hallowe’en stuff, occasionally picking up a wig or a light-up plastic skull or something. Dean trailed behind him sullenly, suspiciously eyeing the various costumes. Because dude, what was wrong with people that they wanted to dress up as a werewolf or vampire? He kinda liked the French Maid outfit, and kept picturing Sam dressed up in it. Complete with fishnet stockings and feather duster.
When he realized his hand was reaching out for the biggest size they carried, he pulled it back and started mumbling prayers in Latin. This place was evil. Maybe he could convince Sam that they had to salt and burn every one they came across.
“Look at this, Dean.” Sam appeared in front of him, breaking him out of his desperate praying. He held a small fuzzy...thing. On closer inspection, it turned out to be an infant’s costume in the shape of a bumblebee. It had antennas. Sam waved it a little. “This is kinda cute. Hey, did mom, uh, ever....Never mind.”
“No, what? Dude, that’s a baby costume.” Dean poked it. “Although why anyone would want to dress their kid as a giant bug is beyond me.”
“Dean, it’s just fun. I mean, for most people.” Sam looked around pointedly at the small, whining children begging for particular costumes. “Did mom ever take us trick or treating? That you remember?”
“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “Right before...it happened, we went.” He wrinkled his nose, remembering. “I was Superman. You were a teddy bear. Man, we got so much candy, it was great.”
“I bet.” Sam put the bee costume back on the hook and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I wish I could remember doing something like that. Would it have been so awful to go? Just once?”
“With our luck? Yes.” Dean snagged his brother’s jacket and started to tug him away from that section. “We’d have probably run into giant man-eating pumpkins or something.”
“Yeah, probably. Still, I wish I had a memory of something like that.”
“I wish you did too.”
Dean woke up quickly. He wasn’t sure what had woken him up, but with the way the hair on the back of his neck had risen, he knew something was off. Keeping perfectly still, he tried to figure out what was off. There was the normal early morning traffic sounds. Somewhere, a dog was barking, but it didn’t sound pissed off. The old fashioned alarm clock was still ticking. The room wasn’t any colder than normal. No weird smells.
It finally dawned on him that something was off in the bed. He didn’t have six feet plus of warm brother plastered against his back. There was someone there, sure, but that someone was really...small. Dean opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder. A mop of silky, slightly curly hair greeted him. It topped a round, chubby face, lax with sleep. It was definitely Sam, he knew that face no matter what age it was. The problem was that Sam wasn’t his usual twenty four. The Sam he was looking at was about seven.
Dean crawled frantically out of bed, skin crawling with the feeling of having been naked in bed with his seven year old brother, oh holy freakin’ hell. He stumbled around, yanking on clothes. His hip bumped the night table as he hopped into his jeans. The lamp wobbled dangerously, and fell up against the wall. It didn’t break, but the noise woke Sam up.
Little Sammy yawned, nose scrunching, and opened his sleepy eyes. “Hi, Dean. Can I watch cartoons?”
Dean licked his lips nervously. “Uh, in a minute. Um, Sammy? How old are you?”
Sammy gave him the ‘duh’ face. “Seven, dweeb. Can I watch cartoons now?” Sammy sat up and looked around. He didn’t seem puzzled or confused about anything, only mildly curious. “Is dad still gone? When’s he gonna be back? Can I have Lucky Charms?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Dean asked desperately.
“We watched It’s the Great Pumpkin and then you made me go to bed,” Sam answered promptly.
They hadn’t watched that since Sam had been nine, after which, he’d declared himself too old for such baby movies. Dean had known, even then, that the real reason was that Sam wanted to go trick or treating, but knew he’d never be able to. So rather than get in the spirit of the holiday even a little, he’d cut out everything having to do with it. This Sam seemed to have all the memories of his seven year old self, and no more. But he also knew who Dean was, even though Dean was years older than he should have been. “Do you know what year it is?”
Sammy started frowning, bottom lip sucked between his teeth to be gnawed on. A nervous habit he’d outgrown years ago. “1990. Dean, what’s goin’ on?”
“Something really weird, little dude.” He gestured at himself. “Do I look eleven to you?”
“No,” Sammy said slowly. “No, you don’t. You look really old, Dean.”
Dean huffed. “I’m not that old, Sammy. I’m twenty eight, that’s not ancient or anything.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But, see, something happened. You’re supposed to be twenty four. Not seven. You were twenty four last night.”
“I was?” Sammy’s eyebrows shot up into his hair. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Do you think I’d make something like that up?”
“Yes.”
Dean opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. The truth was, he would have. He’d always liked teasing Sammy, and Sammy was pretty gullible, especially back then. “Okay, point. But I’m not.”
Sammy climbed out of bed, unconcerned by his nudity. Dean hastily found a t-shirt to tug over his head. It went almost to his ankles, but at least he was covered. Sammy rolled his eyes at him, but allowed it. “Well, call dad. He’ll know what to do.” He parked his butt in front of the television and started flipping channels, looking for cartoons. He found some Loony Tunes and became utterly engrossed.
From the mouths of smart assed baby brothers. Dean grabbed his cell and started to dial, then paused. What was their father going to do? He was on the other side of the country. Dean so did not need his dad barking orders at him, with that faintly accusing tone he’d get because Dean had let something happen. Like it was Dean’s fault. He flipped his cell closed and sat on the edge of the bed. Better if he handled this himself. He could do research just as well as anyone, even if it did bore him half to death. They would just hit the library today, that’s all. Internet access, along with local records.
Actually, that wasn’t going to work. Sammy couldn’t spend however long he was gonna be like this wearing nothing but a t-shirt. Dean would get arrested in no time. He needed clothes and shoes and a jacket. They both needed food. And he wasn’t about to leave Sammy alone in the motel room while he obtained these items.
As soon as Sammy’s cartoon was over, Dean turned off the t.v. and wrapped him in his jacket. “Right. Here’s the story, Sammy. We have to get you clothes because I was washing all of yours and they got shredded by the dryer. That’s why you’re wearing one of my shirts and nothing else.”
Sammy’s eyes got wide. “Was there a monster in the dryer?”
“No. They dryer was just messed up. Okay? And if anyone asks any other questions, let me answer and keep quiet. We’ll have pancakes after we get done shopping.”
“‘kay.” Used to making up stories for strangers, Sammy had no issue with going along with Dean.
They left the motel room, and Dean ended up having to carry Sammy, whose bare feet didn’t care for the frigid pavement.
Back at the center of evil otherwise known as Wal-Mart, Dean managed to find a clerk in the boy’s department. Her name tag claimed her as DeeDee, and her attitude reminded him a little of Missouri Mosely. That no nonsense, don’t give me any crap, boy attitude. Dean tried on a sheepish smile and spun her the brief story. She eyed Dean with great suspicion.
“All of his clothes were ruined? What was he wearing while his things were being washed, then?”
“The shirt. It’s what he wears to bed,” Dean lied, meeting her eyes squarely. When lying, eye contact was important. She continued to give him the hairy eyeball, though, not impressed with his eye contact. He turned and sat Sammy on a bench, then drew her aside. Still close enough to hear, but giving the impression he didn’t want Sammy to hear. “Look. He’s my brother. My mom died when I was little, and dad remarried a few years ago. They split a little after Sammy was born. There are-issues, with her. Sammy was up visiting her, and called because she was drunk. A lot. Kept forgetting to feed him and sh-stuff. I drove up to get him and all the things dad sent with him were filthy. Or missing. His coat, his shoes....” He took a deep breath, as though suppressing anger. “I just need enough to get us through a couple days on the road. But I don’t normally do his shopping, so I need help figuring out his size.
She bought it. He almost felt guilty at the sympathetic look that rose up in her eyes. “Some women ought not to have kids,” she huffed. She patted Dean’s cheek. “You’re such a nice boy, helping your dad and brother. Let’s get you set up.”
Faster than he would have thought, Sammy was dressed. Dean was the proud carrier of a handful of tags, an open package of socks, and an open package of Batman underwear, of which Sammy had been very proud. DeeDee escorted them to the front, ready to intervene if anyone had any issue with their unorthodox behavior. On the way, Sammy caught sight of the Hallowe’en display, and tugged on Dean’s sleeve.
“Can we go trick or treating? Please?” he begged, eyes wide and shining with hope. As a kid the first time around, he’d stopped asking at nine, when he’d stopped watching holiday specials. Somehow, Dean hadn’t expected to be asked this time.
“I dunno, Sammy,” he hedged, not wanting to disappoint Sammy again, but thinking of all the reasons (valid, damn it. Even the laziest of ghosts got frisky on Hallowe’en) dad had always said no.
DeeDee touched his arm as Sammy’s face fell. “I don’t mean to butt in. But trick or treating is tonight around here. If you can stay one more night, it starts at six. It’s a good area. Safe. Never a lick of trouble in all my forty eight years.”
Sensing an ally, Sammy turned up the puppy eyes. Dean caved. Besides, it was all of twelve hours ago he’d wished Sam could have such an innocent memory. Even if he didn’t remember this when he got back to normal, they had the video camera. “Okay. Let’s get you a costume.”
“Yay!” Sammy slammed into him for a brief, enthusiastic hug. Then Dean was sprinting to catch up as Sammy raced over to the costumes.
The selection was pretty picked over. Fortunately, Sammy wasn’t picky. They found a lone Batman costume (“just like my undies!”) that would fit. A plastic, bat shaped bucket completed the outfit, and they checked out under DeeDee’s beaming gaze.
Sammy could hardly sit still all day. The quietest he got was in the library, and that only because Dean set him up with every Hallowe’en book he could find. While Sammy read about friendly ghosts, ghosts that weren’t real, and trick or treating, Dean managed to make it through the town’s newspapers, going back fifty years. He found squat. The biggest crime this town had seen was a rash of bicycle thefts five years ago. The biggest mystery was wondering who had managed to toilet paper all of the downtown area without getting caught. Nothing in the least suspicious.
Back at the motel, Sammy chattered non-stop. About how awesome it was gonna be, how much candy he was gonna get, how cool Dean was for taking him. Dean couldn’t bring himself to be too upset about that last one, since it had been years since Sammy had shown any hint of hero worship. Even if the chatter did make it hard to concentrate on his web surfing.
After supper (which Dean had practically had to sit on Sammy to get him to eat) they suited up. Dean with a .45 in his waistband, salt and holy water in one pocket, rosary and dad’s journal in the other. He had the camera dangling from his neck. Sammy had on his costume, with his cell in the ‘tool belt’, his pail, and a flashlight. Dean knelt in front of him before they left.
He straightened the mask covering half of Sammy’s face. “Listen up. There are rules. You don’t wander off. You don’t go off with anyone but me. You don’t go into anyone’s home. You don’t eat a single piece of candy until I check it. If we do get separated, you call me on the phone like I showed you. If anyone or anything tries anything, run away and yell your head off. Got it?”
“Got it,” Sammy said confidently. “And then you’ll kick it’s butt!”
“You bet. Let’s go.”
Dean drove them to a residential area. At barely past six, there was already a small group of children going door to door. Nearly every porch light was on, and at many of the houses, an adult was standing outside with a big bowl of candy. Sammy was wriggling on the seat, too excited to keep a single part of himself still. They got out and approached the first house, Dean fuzting with the camera to get it going.
Sammy inexplicably slowed as they neared the smiling woman waiting on the porch. Ten feet from her, Sammy came to a complete halt, pressed up against Dean’s legs. “Sammy? What’s wrong, bro?”
“I forgot what to do,” Sammy whispered.
“Dude. Just go up and say ‘trick or treat’. When she gives you the candy, say thank you. Okay?” Sammy looked up at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Dean sighed and took his hand. “I’ll go with.” Sammy smiled and stayed glued to his side as they crossed that last ten feet.
“Why, hello Batman! Aren’t you just so handsome?” the woman gushed.
Dean nudged his brother, who smiled tenetively. “Trick or treat?”
“Hmm, treat, I’d say. Here you are!” She leaned down and dropped a couple pieces of candy in the bucket hanging forgotten from Sammy’s other hand.
Sammy looked into it, awed. “Thank you!” he blurted, sounding as surprised as he looked.
“You’re welcome, dear. Have fun!” Dean got a strangely conspiratorial smile as he led Sam away.
Sammy held up the bucket for Dean’s inspection. “Look! A Snickers AND a Kit Kat!”
“Nice going, bro. Think you can handle it from here? I’ll be right behind you.”
“Yeah!” Confidence restored by his success, Sam trotted to the next house.
Dean trailed closely behind his brother, camera rolling now that the hand holding was done. They quickly caught up with the group ahead of them, and Sammy fell in with them as naturally as breathing. Dean got stuck with the handful of parents, all of whom wanted to brag about their little darlings. Dean grunted a lot, and smiled when required, but mostly concentrated on taping his brother having fun.
Everything was going great. Not one sign of anything supernatural anywhere. Sammy was behaving perfectly, smiling and waving after each house, occasionally running back to show off a particularly choice treat. Dean started to relax, smiling more freely, and adding a few comments that Sam would hear and likely smack him for later.
As they were working their way down the other side of the street, a second group of kids arrived. They were older, louder, and Dean noted that there were strained smiles on a lot of adult faces after the kids left their houses. He had a bad feeling about them.
This second group caught up with Sammy’s. The younger kids got quieter, and edged away from the older ones. The parents around him made little hmphing noises. Dean noted some jostling going on. Not enough to bring down any parental wrath, but there. He stayed with the parents, not wanting to make a scene by dragging Sammy off on his own, or embarrass him by walking right with him.
Mistake. Things came to a head after about ten minutes. An older boy, dressed ironically enough as the Joker, grew bold with no adult interference. As Sammy skipped away from the latest house with a full can of root beer, the Joker stepped in front of him and made a grab for it.
Sammy, of course, was having none of it and dodged. “This is mine,” he said frowning. “Get your own.”
“I want this one,” Joker declared. He made another grab, which Sammy dodged again. This time the Joker stumbled, and his pals snickered at him. Dean started forward, hampered a bit by the parents gawking in front of him. The Joker got mad, and made a lunge towards Sammy. He missed, mostly, but managed to smack the can out of Sammy’s hand. The can went flying, hit the sidewalk, and began to spray soda everywhere. Including over the Joker. Even more angry at the outright laughter this prompted, his hand flew out and caught Sammy on the face.
“Hey, you little punk!” Dean yelled, shoving at the people in his way. He’d heard the plastic of Sammy’s mask crack.
Sammy yelped and dropped his bucket, hands flying to his face. As soon as he felt the broken mask, he got angry. “You big jerk!” he yelled, hands balling into fists.
Joker shoved him again. “Whatcha gonna do about it, Buttman?” he taunted. Sam flew at him, fists landing hard and true. By the time Dean got there, which didn’t actually take him as long as it felt, Joker was on the ground, nose bleeding and crying.
Dean pulled his brother off the kid, capturing both of his flying hands in one of his own. “Sammy, calm down! Let me see your face.”
Sammy stilled, and tilted his face up towards Dean. Tears stood in his eyes as Dean removed the broken mask. He had a fat lip and a nice scrape on his cheek from the broken plastic. “He broke my mask, Dean, an’ he made my soda explode,” he said tearfully, shooting a watery glare at the fallen boy.
“I know, kiddo,” Dean soothed, gently wiping away blood from the cut. “We can glue your mask up. And I’ll buy you a new soda.”
“Here. Try this.” A woman, the one from the house they were in front of, handed him a wet washcloth and a band-aid. Dean smiled his thanks and pressed the cold cloth to the cut. The bleeding stopped pretty quick, and Dean shifted it to Sam’s fat lip. Sammy held it there while Dean put the band-aid on the cut. When he straightened, he found that they had a huge audience. All the parents from the group they’d been with, plus the kids, plus several adults from nearby houses had gathered. Joker was still on the ground, sniveling about his nose. Dean got a sinking feeling in his gut.
Until, that is, a woman stepped forward. “Tommy Turner, you should be ashamed of yourself!” she snapped. “Picking on that little boy like that, trying to steal his treats. Your mother raised you better than that!”
“But-but he hit me!” Tommy, also known as the Joker, yelped.
“Serves you right! We saw you shove him more than once. AND you hit him! A boy half your age and size!” The woman ‘helped’ him up with a firm grip on his ear. “I’m taking you to your mother right this instant. We’ll see what she has to say about this.”
“No need, Betty,” Soda-woman said, waving a cordless phone. “She’s on her way. And you!” She pointed at Tommy’s pals. “Don’t think we didn’t see the way you were laughing, egging him on. Your parents are all going to hear about this, too.” There was much groaning and feet shuffling at this announcement.
Dean looked around, frankly amazed. When they were kids, any confrontations with the local kids had always been blamed on them. He’d expected the same here, especially since he was pretty sure Tommy’s nose was broken. Damn, Sammy had a mean right hook. How had he forgotten that? Soda-woman glared the boys off to the side and came back up to Dean. Sammy held out the wash cloth nervously.
She smiled down at him. “You just keep that on your lip, sweety. It’ll help it feel better.” To Dean, she said, “I’m awfully sorry about this. I’m DeeDee’s sister. She mentioned you to me, and I recognize you from her description. We really don’t normally have any kind of trouble.”
Dean shrugged awkwardly. “That’s okay. It isn’t your fault.”
“That’s kind of you to say. Here, give me that mask. I’ve got some SuperGlue in the house, I’ll see if I can’t fix that up.” Dean handed it over and watched her disappear. Before she could get back, a minivan screeched around the corner and stopped in front of them. A woman, dressed like a gypsy, got out and stalked over.
“Tommy, you get your butt in that van this instant! You are done, do you hear me? No, you leave that candy right where it is. Think you’re gonna get one piece of it? Ha! And don’t you dare think you’ll be getting anything else, either. Your playstation, your Gameboy, your television are gone! And don’t expect to see the light of day outside of school, either.” Mrs. Turner hurried her son into the van with a claw-like hand on the back of his neck.
“But Mom! My nose!” Tommy wailed, obviously trying for some pity.
“Good! Serves you right. Letty told me what you did, shoving and hitting that little boy. One more word, and you are off the soccer team,” she snapped. When Tommy was ensconced sullenly in the vehicle, she turned around and came back over to Dean. “I am so very sorry about my son. He’s been such a handful lately, I just don’t know what to do with him. Is your little boy alright?”
“Fat lip and a cut, but yeah. He’ll be fine,” Dean answered.
Mrs. Turner picked up her son’s dropped bucket. “Here. It’s the least he can do, not that he’ll be happy about it. I was told his mask got cracked? Can I pay you for it?”
“No need,” Dean said dazedly. “Really. She’s,” he waved a hand at the house, “gonna glue it, so we can get back to having fun. Might wanna look at your boy’s nose, though. Looked a little crooked, might be broken.” He winced mentally, picturing the attitude changing.
“Huh. Wouldn’t that be something. Little thing like that breaking the big thirteen year old’s nose.” She smiled wickedly. “The embarrassment might just change his attitude better than grounding him for a year.” She looked behind him. “You get that mask fixed up, Letty?”
“Almost as good as new,” Letty chirped. “And I got these other boys’ parents all called. They’re on their way to pick them up.” She handed the mask, and a new can of soda, to Dean. “Here you go. Anything else we can do?”
Dean looked around, seeing the wide-eyed kids, the frowning parents. “No. No, thank you. I vote we get back to the holiday fun. No reason to ruin it for everyone, right?” He slipped the mask back over Sammy’s face, adjusting it to make sure it wouldn’t rub on the cut. The parents nodded approvingly, the kids looked relieved. The group broke up, back to trailing their kids or to their houses, while Letty hung onto the boys waiting parental retrieval.
Sammy was every kids’ hero. Dean stuck much closer as they finished their rounds, and heard a lot from the other kids about how Tommy and his gang were so mean on the bus, and they name called and made the littler kids move whenever they felt like it. Just ‘cause they were bigger. They totally cheered him on for having wailed the snot out of that bully, and Sammy ate it up.
He also played it up. Having witnessed the event, many of the adults, even the ones who hadn’t come over to watch, cooed over him. Sammy sniffled over his broken mask, his cut, and was given extra candy. He shared some of it out amongst the other kids, but still kept the bulk for himself. By the time they finished the street, his bucket had overflowed, and Dean’d had to pour the extra into Tommy’s barely filled bucket. They were totally set for weeks for traveling candy after this.
Most of the kids were planning to keep going. Dean reluctantly put his foot down, pointing out the amount of candy Sammy already had. Sammy pouted, and one of the mothers mentioned a haunted house just three blocks over. Very scary, she winked, and if you made it all the way through, you could go bobbing for apples at the end. Sammy perked up, and Dean resigned himself to going.
The haunted house turned out to be a ‘haunted garage’. It was a big one, easily accommodating six cars. Partitions had been put up to create a tightly weaving maze, with costumed adults around almost every corner, scary music playing, and lit by dark red light bulbs. Sammy held his hand, shivering and giggling over most of the ‘monsters.’ He especially liked the witch, stirring a bubbling ‘cauldron’ filled with ‘eyeballs’ and ‘fingers’. Dean identified the cauldron as a fish tank painted black, with an air filter providing the bubbles. Olives and grapes made up the eyes, and baby carrots made up the fingers. In the poor lighting, it looked pretty good.
They reached the end, and Sammy ditched the mask to go bobbing for apples with a handful of other kids. Other, healthier snacks were also on offer, but Dean kept Sammy to the apple he’d gotten and a juice box. He ran around with the other kids for a while. Gradually, more and more kids arrived, and the festivities were moved out to the back yard. When there were a good couple dozen kids, the house’s owners brought out games. The first was a game called Mummy Wrap. The kids were all divided into pairs and given a roll of toilet paper. At the whistle, they wrapped their partner up like a mummy. There was a lot of laughing, and from the boys especially, potty jokes. One stern look from Dean kept Sammy from making any of those. Sammy didn’t win that one, as his partner was laughing too hard and kept breaking off the toilet paper.
The second game was Pin the Wart on the Witch. It was basically pin the tail on the donkey, but with gum for a wart instead of a tail, and a picture of a witch instead of a donkey. Each kid was given a piece of gum to chew, blindfolded, spun, and set loose to try to get the gum as close to the wart on the witch’s nose as they could. Sammy nailed it almost dead on, and got a small stuffed black cat as a prize. He came in a close second in the pumpkin bowling contest.
By the time they left, Sammy had zipped straight through tired, all the way to being wired. Dean didn’t know where he got the energy. He was exhausted, but Sammy was still bouncing around and chattering like a friggin magpie. He listened with half an ear as he drove them back to the motel, fervently hoping Sammy would pass out when put to bed.
“...and then Jill said, she’s the one dressed in that stupid fairly costume. Fairies don’t look like that, they aren’t all cute and sweet and stuff, dad said so, but I didn’t tell her ‘cause she’s a girl and girls don’t know anything! Anyway, she said.....”
He wondered if the sleeping pills they had in the first aid kit were safe for kids.
Sammy did not, in fact, pass out at all. He was too hyped to go to bed, and insisted Dean inspect his candy right away. Dean wearily got to it, checking not only for pins and other nasty things hidden, but for curses as well, using a short incantation from their dad’s journal. Sammy begged to be allowed to start eating the approved candy, and Dean gave in out of sheer exhaustion. But only two pieces, which Sammy was fine with.
He downed two pixy stix in rapid succession, thereby adding to his hyperness. Dean was certain he’d found the REAL reason dad had always said no to trick or treating. It wasn’t the threat of ghosts or ghouls or goblins or malevolent witches. It had been self defense, pure and simple.
It was going on eleven when Sammy finally began to wind down, yawns interrupting his words. Dean, very firmly, made him brush his teeth and change into a t-shirt for bed. Sammy begged for a story, so Dean began to recount one of their less gruesome hunts. One where no one had died horrible deaths. Sammy fell asleep before the third sentence. Pathetically grateful, Dean stripped down to his underwear and crawled into bed beside him, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
When he woke, he saw Sam leaning over him, adult and smiling. He yawned and stretched and grinned. “Dude, I had the weirdest freakin’ dream.”
Sam held up the repaired Batman mask. “It wasn’t a dream, Dean.” He leaned down and kissed Dean’s frozen mouth. “Thank you, I had a blast yesterday.
“Wha...huh....”
Sam laughed at him. “It’s okay, Dean. Here, you can have all my M&M’s.” Sam dumped a handful of the fun sized packets onto his chest while Dean sputtered.
NOTES/WARNINGS: Just a note on the Wincest, to make sure there are no misunderstanding: nothing actually happens while Sam is deaged. There is no underage going on here. Also, thanks to IMTOD, this can be considered AU, as I actively disregard certain things that happened. HUGE thanks to gelasius for the excellant beta. *smooch*