They've been living in Elk Plain for long enough to have accumulated junk in the garage and developed opinions on the town council, but it doesn't occur to them to buy into this Halloween nonsense till they're standing in the grocery aisle and Dean is clutching a two-pound bag of mini Reese's cups to his chest. He looks at Sam with great urgency.
"Fine," Sam says. "But if we get them, we're leaving the porch light on for trick-or-treaters. You can have the leftovers." He takes them and puts them in the cart. He stares at them thoughtfully. "They're all so small."
And that's how, five years in, the Plant-Page household abruptly becomes extremely popular with the kindergarten set.
Sam's not even sure how word is spreading so fast, do kids that young have cell phones? Or just a psychic connection linked specifically to high fructose corn syrup? But hordes of them -- how are there even this many kids in this town? -- pile onto the doorstep, pillowcases and hollow plastic pumpkins outstretched in anticipation of the full-size candy bars Sam and Dean are giving out. Dean's been sulking for the last half hour because it doesn't look like there'll be any left over for him.
Since they never left the light on before, always stayed in with popcorn and beer and Jason Takes Manhattan flickering in the dark living room while they got distracted and groped each other, they had been previously unaware of the trends in Halloween costumes these last few years.
Sam swings open the door, staring with concern into the big metal bowl with its diminishing number of Snickers. He might need to send Dean out for more.
"TRICK OR TREAT!" multiple voices chorus.
Smiling, Sam looks up, and drops the candy bowl with a loud clang. "Gah!"
Dean's there in an instant. "What--gah!"
Six four-foot-tall kids shift from foot to foot, clutching their candy buckets, adjusting their Sam and Dean Winchester masks. Sam notices with dismay that four of the six are wearing Dean and that Sam's hair is being horribly, horribly misrepresented. The plaid shirts are right on the money, though. "Nice costumes, guys." He picks the bowl up, grabs a handful of candy and starts distributing. Sure, he could let them reach in and take for themselves, but four of these kids are dressed up as Dean Winchester and he's pretty sure that not only would all the candy be gone within seconds, but possibly also Sam and Dean's wallets and electronic equipment.
Dean leans in the door frame, staring in bemusement. "Is that a ... salt shaker?"
The Sam with the salt shaker clutches it defensively. "We aren't allowed to have guns."
The tallest of the kids, a Dean, puffs up his chest. "The Winchesters were allowed to have guns when they were our age. When they were kids, they had rocket launchers."
Behind Sam, it sounds like Dean's trying not to choke to death.
Sam focuses on a Dean in a red flannel. "Luke, right? Your mom teaches math?"
The kids talk over each other introducing themselves, but the last one, Josh, the tallest and probably oldest, pushes his Dean mask up on his head and narrows his eyes. "What did you say your names were?"
Sam meets Dean's eyes. Dean raises an eyebrow. The kid looks old enough that he probably remembers more than the others. Old enough that to him, the Winchesters are memory, not legend. "Sam Page." Sam adjusts his glasses unnecessarily.
"Dean Plant." Dean runs a nervous hand over graying hair.
"Right," the kid says. His eyes widen. "I-- I-- I ... thanks for the candy." He runs down the stairs and into the street. The gaggle of mini Winchesters follows.
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Date: 2011-05-09 09:17 am (UTC)They've been living in Elk Plain for long enough to have accumulated junk in the garage and developed opinions on the town council, but it doesn't occur to them to buy into this Halloween nonsense till they're standing in the grocery aisle and Dean is clutching a two-pound bag of mini Reese's cups to his chest. He looks at Sam with great urgency.
"Fine," Sam says. "But if we get them, we're leaving the porch light on for trick-or-treaters. You can have the leftovers." He takes them and puts them in the cart. He stares at them thoughtfully. "They're all so small."
And that's how, five years in, the Plant-Page household abruptly becomes extremely popular with the kindergarten set.
Sam's not even sure how word is spreading so fast, do kids that young have cell phones? Or just a psychic connection linked specifically to high fructose corn syrup? But hordes of them -- how are there even this many kids in this town? -- pile onto the doorstep, pillowcases and hollow plastic pumpkins outstretched in anticipation of the full-size candy bars Sam and Dean are giving out. Dean's been sulking for the last half hour because it doesn't look like there'll be any left over for him.
Since they never left the light on before, always stayed in with popcorn and beer and Jason Takes Manhattan flickering in the dark living room while they got distracted and groped each other, they had been previously unaware of the trends in Halloween costumes these last few years.
Sam swings open the door, staring with concern into the big metal bowl with its diminishing number of Snickers. He might need to send Dean out for more.
"TRICK OR TREAT!" multiple voices chorus.
Smiling, Sam looks up, and drops the candy bowl with a loud clang. "Gah!"
Dean's there in an instant. "What--gah!"
Six four-foot-tall kids shift from foot to foot, clutching their candy buckets, adjusting their Sam and Dean Winchester masks. Sam notices with dismay that four of the six are wearing Dean and that Sam's hair is being horribly, horribly misrepresented. The plaid shirts are right on the money, though. "Nice costumes, guys." He picks the bowl up, grabs a handful of candy and starts distributing. Sure, he could let them reach in and take for themselves, but four of these kids are dressed up as Dean Winchester and he's pretty sure that not only would all the candy be gone within seconds, but possibly also Sam and Dean's wallets and electronic equipment.
Dean leans in the door frame, staring in bemusement. "Is that a ... salt shaker?"
The Sam with the salt shaker clutches it defensively. "We aren't allowed to have guns."
The tallest of the kids, a Dean, puffs up his chest. "The Winchesters were allowed to have guns when they were our age. When they were kids, they had rocket launchers."
Behind Sam, it sounds like Dean's trying not to choke to death.
Sam focuses on a Dean in a red flannel. "Luke, right? Your mom teaches math?"
The kids talk over each other introducing themselves, but the last one, Josh, the tallest and probably oldest, pushes his Dean mask up on his head and narrows his eyes. "What did you say your names were?"
Sam meets Dean's eyes. Dean raises an eyebrow. The kid looks old enough that he probably remembers more than the others. Old enough that to him, the Winchesters are memory, not legend. "Sam Page." Sam adjusts his glasses unnecessarily.
"Dean Plant." Dean runs a nervous hand over graying hair.
"Right," the kid says. His eyes widen. "I-- I-- I ... thanks for the candy." He runs down the stairs and into the street. The gaggle of mini Winchesters follows.