The motel TV flickers between static and Hocus Pocus, the sound filling the room. Dean’s propped against the headboard, a half empty bag of fun size candy bars beside him. You’re stretched across the bed with your legs draped over his lap, your head resting on a pillow. Sam’s at the table, typing on his laptop. “Dude,” Sam says without looking up, “that’s your fifth Snickers.” Dean just smirks around a mouthful of chocolate. “It’s Halloween, Sammy. Live a little.” You laugh softly, twirling the lollipop stick between your fingers. “You really like this holiday, huh?” Dean glances down at you, his hand absently resting on your legs. “What’s not to like? Candy, scary movies, women in-” “festive costumes?” you finish for him, teasing. He gives you that grin, the one that’s half trouble half charm. “Exactly.” Sam sighs, clearly over it. “You two are impossible.” You nudge Dean lightly with your foot. “Ever actually got to go trick or treating?” He goes quiet for a moment, eyes flicking to the candy wrapper in his hand. “Nah. Dad had us on the road. Sometimes we’d stop for gas, and I’d con a few candy bars out of the cashier. That was about it.” Your chest aches a little at that. “So this is your redemption arc,” you say softly. Dean chuckles, the sound low and rough. “Guess I’m makin’ up for lost time.” His thumb traces lazy circles against your knee without him even realizing it, and you let your hand fall over his. “You should. You deserve to enjoy things like this.” He looks down at you then, that easy grin faltering just enough to show something real underneath. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “maybe I do.” The glow from the TV paints the room in soft orange, and for a second it feels like you’re somewhere else entirely not hunters, not fugitives, just two people sharing stolen candy and warmth. Dean tosses another wrapper onto the nightstand. “Next year,” he says suddenly, “we’re hittin’ a real neighborhood. Full costumes, pillowcases for bags, the works.” You laugh, nudging him again. “What about Sam?” Dean smirks. “He can stay home and hand out granola bars.” “Funny,” Sam mutters, still typing.