Summary: Halloween night, and the aftermath of a hunt gone slightly wrong. Dean and Sam make the most of a weird situation.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.
The motel room was bigger now. It definitely seemed stranger.
Sam's fingers shook as he raked his hands through his hair. He felt small and defenseless. Awkward. He'd never felt that way before, even when he really was smaller. He swallowed thickly as his heart pounded against his ribcage, and the softer tone of his voice sounded strange to him. "Dean, we gotta lay low now-"
No, we don't, Dean drawled lazily. The witch is dead, so the gig's over with. Dean's mouth didn't move when he spoke, but Sam was too freaked out to notice. The tip of Dean's big bushy tail twitched slightly.
Sam stared in disbelief at his brother. "Over with? News flash, Fido, she turned you into a dog and me into a little kid! I'm nine again. Nine!"
The wolf dog who was formerly Dean Winchester cocked his head to one side as he leaned forward. Sam? Calm down. You know what night this is?
"Ha-Hal-loween!" Sam sputtered.
Yathzee. And that means?
Candy, doofus. We go door to door and get lots of candy.
"Dean, I'm pretty sure dogs aren't supposed to eat chocolate!"
Dude, lighten up, will ya? Bobby said the damn witch's spell lasts until midnight. I'll be two legged then. Right now, though, we've got a chance to score big. Let's hit the streets! We got lemons, so let's make some lemonade!
Sam straightened up on the bed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He pouted. "Not gonna."
Dean scowled. What are you, four? Fine. I'll go by myself. Dean stood up and paced back and forth. He glanced at the door and his upper lip curled back, revealing sharp white teeth.
"Huh. I'm not opening the door for you. And you don't have any thumbs. Or hands. So you can't turn the doorknob." Sam smiled to himself at that brilliant piece of logic.
Don't need any. Dean's large shaggy head turned in the direction of the only window in the room. He pricked his ears alertly. I'll crash through the glass. I swear I will.
Sam's eyes widened. "We're on the second floor. You—you wouldn't!"
I would. Dean lifted his head as his tail curled over his back. He looked steely-eyed. Determined. Tonight I'd bitchslap the devil in hell for a sack of peanut M&Ms.
"Dean, I can't go out looking like this!" Sam wailed.
Sure, you can. Dean's smirk was absolutely wolfish. Broom Hilda even shrunk your clothes a little when she zapped you. And lose the bitchface, will ya? You're supposed to be a cute little kid, not Chucky's illegitimate love child. Grab that duffel and let's go!
"Trick or treat, smell my feet!" the kids chanted as the door opened. "Give me something good to eat!"
Aleta Robinson laughed as she dropped candy into the bags. There were growly pirates and lime green space aliens, fairies with large wobbly glittery wings and clowns with bright orange puffy hair, blue and white face paint. Halloween was her favorite night, even moreso than Christmas. The crowd of kids mumbled excitedly as they peered into their treat bags.
"Thankk you!" a few of them chorused.
A young boy stood off to the side on the walkway. He eyed the crowd doubtfully, especially the clowns. He was a cute little thing, probably no more than ten. His clothes were shabby, a bit too big for him, and he had on a cheap black plastic mask. He carried a drab olive duffel instead of a brightly colored treat bag.
Must be new to the neighborhood, Aleta thought. She'd never seen him before. It was plain this kid didn't know any of the other kids.
A dog stood next to him. A German Shepherd crossbreed, by the look of it, probably mixed with some other large dog. Malamute, maybe?
When the dog saw Aleta it nudged up against the boy. The boy muttered something underneath his breath, but he didn't move forward until the dog nudged him again. The boy shuffled along like he was going to his own execution, and the dog walked beside him with this typical doggy grin on its face.
The shaggy little kid looked up at her and scowled a little. "Ummm….trick or treat?"
The dog barked happily.
"What's your name, sweetie?"
"Uh…Bobby." He jerked his head at his dog. "I'm ah, only out here because he wanted to go trick or treating."
The dog groaned out loud.
Aleta's eyes widened a little. What the hell? "My name's Aleta. Aleta Robinson. Well, dogs aren't supposed to eat chocolate."
"I know. I told him that already. Wouldn't listen."
The dog rolled his eyes and gave his boy a dirty look.
Too much sugar, girl, Aleta told herself. I'm seeing things.
Instead she said out loud: "He's very pretty. He's a big fella, isn't he?"
The kid frowned as he looked down at his companion. "Yeah, he's a regular pain in the-"
The dog barked at the boy. Once. Sharply.
"What's his name?"
Beauregard's ears went straight up. He huffed, as if to say Are you kidding me?
"That's…unusual. Can I pet him?"
Bobby shrugged. "I wouldn't do-"
The dog walked forward, sat down and leaned against her. Aleta laughed.
"Never mind," the kid mumbled.
Aleta skritched Beauregard behind his ears, ran her fingers down his neck and chest. God, his fur was so thick and so soft!
Beauregard lifted his right foreleg and his tail thumped.
The boy's eye roll was a classic. "Could you be any more lame?"
His furry companion grinned from ear to ear.
Aleta straightened up. "I've got candy bars for you, Bobby." She looked down at Beauregard. "And I've got something I think you'll like too."
Bobby smiled a little, a real smile, this time. "Yes ma'm. Thank you."
Beauregard barked his thanks too.
Hours later Sam sat at the table near the window. He stared down at himself, flexed his fingers and arms and even his toes. He was big again. Thank you, Jesus.
They'd hit twelve houses before Dean decided to call it quits. Sam stared at his half of the stash. Caramel pieces, Hershey's kisses, Kit Kat bars, Snicker bars, caramel apples, and wait a minute, was that a fully wrapped Hostess Apple Pie in there?
Sam reached out, picked the pie up and tore open the wrapper. He closed his eyes in contentment as he bit into the pastry and the flavors flooded his mouth. Okay, maybe this hunt wasn't a total loss after all.
Dean sauntered out of the bathroom dressed in those black boxer briefs of his. His back muscles rippled as he shrugged into his light grey t shirt. "See, what'd I tell you? It's after midnight. We're back to normal."
Sam stared at him with a mouth full of apple pie. He strongly resembled Alvin the Chipmunk.
"Well," Dean amended. "As close to normal as we usually get, anyway."
"Mhmph," Sam mumbled. He finally swallowed. "Hey, have we got any milk?"
"I doubt it." Dean flopped down on his bed, right next to his candy stash. "Have to make a grocery run later on today."
Dean's face lit up as he ran his hands through the brightly wrapped candies on the bed. Sam took another bite of apple pie. Big brother looked like a miser gloating over a pile of gold coins.
Mine, bwahhhaaahaaa, allll miiine!
Sam quietly slipped his hand into his pants pocket, pulled out his cell phone, aimed, and snapped off a couple of quick shots.
Dean froze. "What?"
"Aleta Robinson. Dude, she was cute, for an older woman. I might go back there."
"What? I just said I might." Dean sighed contentedly. He picked up a Milkbone dog biscuit, bit it in half and chewed. "Hey, you know what? These things aren't half bad."