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While the actual act of choosing a victim, stalking them, kidnapping them, torturing them a bit, and then ultimately killing them is a blast, the aftermath suuuuuucckkkkksss. Whether it’s burying the body or disposing of valuables or covering boot prints or cleaning the knives—like Dean is doing now—there isn’t a single task he actually likes doing.
It doesn’t help his husband is a fucking stickler.
“Dean, make sure you get her blood out of the handle. Last time there was some caught in the wood grain.” Cas orders across the laundry room where he’s stain-treating their blood stained clothing.
“Yes, thank you, mother.” Dean rolls his eyes as Cas glares. “Seriously, Cas, I’ve got this. Believe it or not I was killing before I met you. For a long ass time.”
“And every day I ask myself how you weren’t caught.” His husband mutters under his breath and Dean—like the adult he is—sticks out his tongue. He’s about to follow up with some blown raspberries when their after-hunt chores are interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Their heads snap up together, looking in the vague direction of their front door and then back at each other. “Were you expecting someone?” Cas’ eyebrow raises with his question.
“Me?! It was my idea to hunt last night, why would I invite someone over,” Dean checks his watch, “at 4:30 p.m.?”
Cas levels him with a look that screams I don’t believe you .
The doorbell rings again.
With a groan, they drop what they’re doing, and do a quick blood check. They’ve showered (and showered again, wink wink ), but you can never be too sure. Locking the laundry room door behind them, Cas pocketing the key, they walk slowly toward the front door. Dean looks at Cas nervously—sure, they’ve been doing this a long time but the low simmering fear that they’ll be caught one day sneaks up on them at the worst of times.
Cas grabs his hand and squeezes, a “ we’re in this together” without words. Dean nods before moving up to the door and looking through the peephole.
A miniature Michael Myers looks back at Dean while Elsa rocks back and forth next to him. Both of them are clutching bright orange plastic pumpkins half full of colorful candy.
Dean bursts out into laughter, an entirely confused Cas standing to his side with his arms crossed. Without answering his husband’s withering glare Dean opens the front door.
“Trick or treat!” A duet of high-pitched vocals booms into their small foyer and Cas throws his hands up in exasperation.
“You deal with this.” Cas turns on his heels and Dean’s jaw drops, head ping-ponging between the two kids practically vibrating on their front stoop and his asshole of a husband. “Oh, and we’re out of candy because you ate it all.”
A collective groan from the kids turns Dean’s attention towards them. “Sorry, guys, no candy here.”
Mike Myers points toward their porch light. “Then why is that on?”
Dean leans against the door jam, entirely in the mood to get in a fight with an elementary school student. “What does the porch light have to do with anything?”
Elsa chimes in then. “When the porch light is on it means you’re ready for trick or treaters. Everyone knows that.”
“ Everyone knows that .” Dean mocks the maybe six-year-old whose costume looks like she hasn’t taken it off since her parents brought it home and she sticks her tongue out much like Dean did only moments ago to his husband. Maybe he’s not an adult. “Clearly not everybody—I’ve never trick or treated so this is news to me.”
If Dean could see the kid’s face under his mask, he’d guess it looks a lot like his husband’s that time he told him that he didn’t usually cover his boot prints. “What do you mean you’ve never been trick-or-treating?”
A door slams behind him—Cas no doubt upset he’s been left to finish their chores alone—so Dean hurries this up. “Yes, very sad. Not everyone’s childhood is all Disney and rainbows.” Elsa rolls her eyes and Dean can’t be sure but Michael Myers probably does, too. “Now, you heard what my husband said…no candy here, kids. Happy halloween!”
Michael Myers flips him off as he bounds off the porch and Dean can’t help but laugh.
He wanders back through the house, and joins Cas in their laundry room. Cas has continued with laundry duty and Dean picks up where he left off scrubbing the wood grain of their carving knife.
The doorbell rings again.
Cas growls as Dean drops his head back, knife clattering into the sink, and whines. “Fucking porch light….”