Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4527723.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      High_School_Student_Sam, Halloween
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-10 Words: 4451
****** Kids These Days ******
by Magz_(sparklepocalypse)
Summary
     Halloween parties are never simple when there are Winchesters
     involved.
Notes
     Um… have a Halloween fic cowritten with
     [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=129.4]
txtequilanights! A day late! Yay! Thanks so much to [http://l-
stat.livejournal.net/img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=129.4]kantayra and [http://l-
stat.livejournal.net/img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=129.4]strippedpink for betaing.
Sam is in high school in this, but to clarify, he's a senior. (Think Dean
Forester.)
Sam glared down at the orange ball in front of him. It stared back, smooth and
faceless, challenging him.
So he did what he'd been taught since he was old enough to walk and stabbed it
in the heart.
Well, less in the heart and more in the stem. But it was a pumpkin, so maybe
the stem was the heart. Whatever. He could have sworn he heard it scream in
pain.
With a satisfied smirk, awkward around the plastic fangs covering his teeth, he
set to work. The insides went first, handful after handful dropped in thick
piles on a plate beside him. When it was empty, he took his carving knife in
hand and began to shape a masterpiece.
Glancing occasionally to either side, Sam wondered if maybe he hadn't needed to
go into quite such detail with his plans for the pumpkin. He scraped at the
thick, orange flesh carefully until it was just thick enough to resist
disintegrating, but thin enough that it would allow light to filter through.
Jagged teeth and evil, heavily-browed eyes took shape on the tall, thin pumpkin
in front of the person to Sam’s right. The guy on his left chopped a lopsided,
gaping mouth and triangle eyes out on his pumpkin then tilted it at such an
angle that it looked like it was vomiting up its own guts. Classic.
Sam's plastic cape crinkled as he shifted in his seat and picked up another
knife. With a look of intense concentration, he sliced thin wavering strips out
of the side of the pumpkin, then scraped a little more. Hands, and then a
horrified-looking face took shape on the pumpkin.
When the pumpkins were all finished and lined up neatly on the table, there was
no question as to who the winner would be. There, settled happily next to a
pile of vomit from the pumpkin next to it, was a perfect, orange imitation of
The Scream.
The judges made a big show of looking over each pumpkin individually,
inspecting the carvings closely and jotting down careful notes. But when they
were done, it only took five seconds of consultation before they were ready to
announce the winner.
Sam tried to run his fingers through his hair as one of the judges, the varsity
football coach, crossed the stage to the podium in the front of the room. He'd
forgotten about Dean's overzealous use of hair gel, though, and his hand met
with stiff resistance. With a tiny eye roll, he let his hand drop back to his
side and listened as Coach Daniels began to speak.
"And the winner is..." Daniels intoned in his best imitation of Bob Barker,
"Samuel Winchester with pumpkin number six!"
Sam ducked his head shyly as he approached the stage, but did give the audience
a small, lopsided smile as he took the prize envelope from the coach's hand.
He'd barely stepped back away from the stage and into the crowd when the whole
room was engulfed in a flash of brilliant red light.
Sam blinked furiously and shook his head, trying to clear the bright spots
floating in his field of vision. Immediately, he scanned the room for Dean -
- he was still a little annoyed that Dean had insisted on acting as a
chaperone, like he had at every freaking dance Sam had ever attended -- and
found him standing over by the punch bowl, looking not at all affected by the
blinding flash.
He crossed the room with long, quick strides, barely registering that it felt
so warm all of a sudden, and came to a halt a few feet away from Dean. Dean,
who had draped the tatty and worn top sheet from his bed at the motel around
him in a haphazard toga just before he'd ushered Sam to the car. Dean, whose
toga now looked like it had been tailored specifically for him. Dean, who was
glowing.
The hell?
"Dean?" Sam reached out to touch his brother gingerly on the shoulder. He
wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting the glow to do, but he was not at all
expecting the sharp spike of something that shot up his spine at the first
contact of his fingers against Dean's skin. It was hot and electric and found
his eyes riveted to the fluttering of Dean's pulse at the hollow of his throat
when he turned around.
Dean smiled crookedly and said, "Sammy," and Sam gasped in surprise as his
whole body shuddered in a rush of undeniable lust. He blinked, dizzy, as all
the blood in his head moved south to his rapidly hardening cock. Jesus.
Dean chuckled, low and soft, and the next thing Sam knew five girls dressed as
the Spice Girls were shoving their way between him and his brother, giggling
and squealing as they grabbed at Dean.
Sam, for his part, could hear each and every one of their heartbeats, pounding
steadily, pumping warm, sweet blood through young veins. He licked his lips
involuntarily and nearly shrieked when something sharp cut in to his tongue.
With one finger, he probed gently at his teeth. Turned out that the fake fangs?
Not so fake anymore.
What the fuck was going on here?
As though they were cardboard cutouts of themselves, Dean pushed the girls
aside and moved to Sam's side, smiling all the while. Sam's whole body went hot
and cold at once when Dean rested a hand on his shoulder. "You okay, Sammy?" he
asked, stroking absently.
Sam closed his eyes to prevent them rolling back in his head and had to hold
himself completely still or else he would've been leaning into that shoulder
petting like a fucking housecat. As it was, he thought he might have heard a
purr rumble somewhere deep in his chest. "Dean," he muttered around his fangs
when he thought he could talk without moaning. It was like whatever was making
Dean glow was seeping through Sam's skin into his veins, and they were
throbbing right along with Dean's pulse.
When Sam opened his eyes again, Dean let go of his shoulder and took a step
back. "Your eyes..."
Sam slammed his eyes shut and pulled his cape tighter around him, frowning when
the material didn't crinkle under his hands. The warmth, the intoxicating scent
of life, Dean's glow, and the cacophonous rushing of young, teenaged hearts
beating all out of sync were combining to give him a major head rush.
"I think I need to sit down," he said.
Sam shuffled over to the nearest chair and dropped into it, then immediately
almost jumped out of his skin as the cold metal of the folding chair seemed to
penetrate directly through his layers of clothing. He shivered a little, the
cold press against his skin warring with the residual hot rush from touching
Dean.
"Holy fuck," Dean said, and Sam glanced up to find the whole room in chaos as a
handful of football players in gory zombie makeup shoved people, chairs, and
tables out of their way, clearing a path to where the Spice Girls were huddled
in a tight group a few feet away, staring at Dean in glazed awe.
"I think," Sam said weakly, "everyone is being turned into their costumes."
Dean raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "No shit, genius." A pause, then, "Hey, wasn't
this an episode of Buffy?"
"That depends. You're not going to slay me, are you? Because, um." He gestured
at himself. "I'm freakin' Dracula." Sam clamped his hands over his mouth. The
accent that he'd just finished his sentence with was definitely not his accent.
Hell, he'd never even been to England, much less Transylvania.
Dean looked eagerly impressed and, if anything, seemed to glow brighter. "Do
that again!" he urged.
"I don't want to," Sam said miserably, "and stop glowing. You're making me
dizzy." His teeth were starting to itch. This sucked.
"Glowing?" Dean asked, tilting his head to look down the length of his body.
"Huh, I guess I am. Cool!"
Sam's forehead wrinkled in a frown. "What are you, anyway?" he asked. If he
spoke very carefully, the accent was barely noticeable. But his tongue kept
getting caught up on his fangs. He'd take a slight lisp over a retarded accent
any day, though.
"Eros, Greek god of love," Dean said, puffing his chest out and smoothing down
the front of his toga. The thin material clung to every shift of the muscle
beneath and Sam's throat went dry.
He wanted to touch, lick, bite. Suck. Dean.
"Great," he muttered, dragging his eyes forcibly away from his brother's body.
"Just what we need, more people falling all over themselves to fuck you."
Dean tilted his head, exposing more of his throat, and Sam had to clasp his
hands together in his lap to keep from reaching for him. "Jealous, Sammy?"
"Fuck you." Sam slumped in his chair. His brooding only lasted a second,
though, before a sharp, high-pitched scream practically shattered his eardrums.
No longer worried about his accent, Sam pressed his hands to his ears and sat
up to look around the room where, predictably, all hell had broken loose. Dean
looked positively gleeful. "I've been itching for a good hunt!" he crowed, eyes
on the zombies.
Sam jumped to his feet. "We can't hunt them!" he hissed. "They're my
classmates!"
"That's never been a problem before," Dean said with a frown. The glow dimmed
and it was like the sun had suddenly gone out.
Sam cringed. "This has got to be some sort of spell. I mean, look at us! You're
seconds away from being molested by the Spice Girls, and I'm going to sit back
down before I bite someone." Or fuck your brains out, he added silently.
Dean grinned and the glow came back full force. "It's a spell with zombies,
dude!" Dean bounced on the balls his feet, energy visibly humming beneath his
skin and making the air around him ripple.
Sam groaned softly. Fuck. "Dean," he said. His voice sounded strained and
thready to his own ears, but Dean didn't seem to notice as he turned to Sam,
his eyes sparkling.
"Dean," Sam repeated, firmer this time, "you can. Not. Kill. Them."
"Well, yeah." Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm just gonna subdue 'em. You gonna help
me? Or just sit there like a giant undead lump?"
"What if I bite them?" Sam protested, horrified. "Vampire here, remember?"
Dean snorted. "Vampires. Right, like they even exist."
Zombies moved pretty fast, Sam realized as the star running-back made as though
he was going to take Dean out. With a growl that Sam would never admit to
making, he whirled to his feet, cape flaring, and stared down the zombie with a
snarl. Stupid jock kept right on coming, though, so Sam punched him as hard as
he could.
He stared at his fist when it sent the football player flying across the room
to land in a heap against the wall. "Okay, this is officially outside of our
normal range of weird," he declared.
"What are you talking about?" Dean asked. "This is awesome!" He stroked his own
arms. "I think my muscles are bigger."
Sam would've sulked if he weren't so busy fending off the walking dead and
trying discreetly to adjust himself in his pants without Dean noticing.
Of course Dean noticed.
By the time the last football player had been superhumanly knocked unconscious,
most of the guests had scattered. Sam, Dean, and the Spice Girls were the only
ones left.
The girls made a move for Dean as soon as he'd dusted off his hands, but they'd
barely even gotten halfway across the room before Dean's fingers fisted in the
front of Sam's shirt and Sam found himself being yanked out of the gym and into
the boy’s locker room.
Dean slammed the door behind them and threw the lock, then shoved Sam into the
wall so hard that his head snapped back, banging against the cinderblock hard
enough for him to see stars.
"The hell?" Sam tried to jerk away, but Dean's hand was still gripping his
shirt. The next thing Sam knew, all that glowing, golden skin was pressed tight
against him, pinning him in place.
Dean shifted, angling his hips until the outside curve of his thigh was rubbing
against the hard line of Sam's cock. The heat from Dean's body was
overwhelming, and Sam had to squeeze his eyes closed. He could practically
taste the metallic sweetness of Dean's blood on his tongue.
Sam's hands flailed for purchase as Dean nuzzled his jaw. "Sammy," he rasped,
and then leaned in.
Sam had about two seconds to think oh my god before Dean's mouth was pressed to
his, and that glow tasted unlike anything he'd ever tasted before. Dean's
tongue was coaxing his lips apart and nudging at his fangs and tiny spots of
blood were blooming on the very tip of it. Sam sucked greedily on it, wanting
to taste more, and why didn't it ever taste this good, this -- necessary when
he got a paper cut?
Dean gripped Sam's hips with strong hands and pressed more blatantly against
him, hips rocking and his own hard cock poking Sam in the hip. Sam whimpered
when he tore his mouth away, but totally rethought the complaining thing when
Dean dropped to his knees and tugged at the fly of his pants.
His clothing was pushed out of the way in seconds and Sam hissed when cool air
brushed against the slippery wet head of his dick. Dean was looking up at him,
his eyes shining a brilliant green. "You want this, Sammy?"
Sam barely hesitated. "Yes. God, yes. Just... please," he pleaded, the words
tripping desperately over each other as they left his mouth.
Dean licked his lips, riveting Sam's eyes to the shining, red, fullness of
them, and then he leaned in and licked a long, hot line up the side of Sam's
cock.
Sam's whole body bucked at the contact, one hand jerking back to press flat
against the wall behind him and the other falling to the top of Dean's head,
fingers pushing into short hair. The inside of Dean's mouth felt like bliss as
his brother's lips closed around the tip of Sam's dick.
Every sensation was magnified tenfold, and he wasn't sure whether that was the
vampire thing, or the love god thing, or whether the fact that this was Dean
was what was making it so good. Sam was pretty positive that he was about to go
off like a twelve-year-old having his first spank, either way. He shuddered
when Dean rolled his balls with careful, gentle fingers and those incredible
waves of heat Dean was giving off spread through his body.
Sam's lips came away bloody when he bit them, and he licked them just as
greedily as he'd sucked on Dean's tongue, his hips twitching now as Dean took
more of him into his mouth. The blood, the warmth, the wet-hot-yes of Dean's
mouth, and the otherworldly pulses Dean was giving off were overwhelming. His
nipples felt raw as they rubbed against the inside of his shirt, his toes felt
cramped inside his shoes, and his hair felt like it was trying to stand
straight on end, fighting the gel.
He was definitely going to come like a twelve-year-old.
It was hard to care about embarrassing himself, though, because Dean's cheeks
were hollowing out and he was fucking swallowing Sam's cock. Really, how the
hell was Sam supposed to hold out?
He couldn't help the slight thrusting of his hips that pushed him even deeper
down Dean's throat, but Dean just opened up and took it and holy fucking shit,
that was enough to push Sam over the edge.
He bit down hard on his lip when he came, flooding his mouth with his own blood
as he shuddered and pumped into Dean's mouth. It wasn't nearly as intoxicating
as Dean's blood, but he still lapped up as much of it as he could get. Dean
worked him through it with gentling sucks and soft licks until Sam was slumped
bonelessly against the wall.
Dean stood and stripped off the toga and the glow intensified until Sam could
see it through his eyelids. He opened his eyes and just looked for a second,
feeling blissed out and completely spent even though his dick said otherwise as
it gave a feeble twitch. All Dean's scars were gone.
He wasn't quite sure whether or not he was disappointed about that. He didn't
really get the chance to think about it because Dean was manhandling him over
to the sinks and -- "Oh my God!" he shrieked, staring at the mirror. There Dean
was, standing all golden and naked and muscular and -- he shook his head. And
there Sam wasn't. This was just -- "You didn't tell me I was invisible!"
"You're not," Dean said, sounding like he was way too preoccupied to actually
comfort Sam at all. He wrapped his arms around Sam from behind and circled his
hips against Sam's cape. "I can see you."
Dean's lips found Sam's neck and he trailed small, sucking kisses up behind
Sam's ear. Sam leaned into it, letting his head fall back to give Dean better
access. Right then, it didn't so much matter if anyone else could ever see him
again, as long as Dean could.
Dean muttered something under his breath and Sam's clothes just... disappeared.
"What the hell?" Sam yelped, startled.
Dean inched forward, pressing tight against Sam's back and Sam's brain short-
circuited at the feel of so much warm, alive skin rubbing against his.
"Wished away your clothes," Dean said absently as he pushed as Sam's shoulder,
bending him down until Sam was clutching the edges of the sink. "Being the god
of love is awesome like that."
Dean pressed his cock to the crease of Sam's ass, thrusting gently, and Sam
groaned as his own dick began to harden again. "Fuck, Dean."
"Yeah," Dean muttered. And he must have finally looked in the fucking mirror,
because a second later he said, "Dude!"
Sam thought maybe if he weren't so preoccupied with the way Dean's cock was
sliding up and down his crack, he might've smacked him. He pushed his ass back
suggestively, hoping Dean would get the hint.
"I look good," Dean purred.
"Dean -- " Sam whined, circling his hips. "C'mon. Do something." He was half-
hard now, letting out stuttered little whines as Dean's prick rubbed him just
right.
Dean let loose a blinding smile at himself in the mirror. "I'd fuck me," he
murmured.
Sam felt the almost overwhelming urge to bang his head against something.
"I think the point here," Sam said, "is to fuck me." He punctuated the sentence
with another roll of his hips against Dean's dick.
"Oh, I plan on it," Dean drawled, sex dripping from every syllable as he
stroked his fingers down Sam's side and across his stomach until they brushed
Sam's cock.
Sam shivered, caught between thrusting forward against Dean's hand or backwards
against his dick. But Dean made the choice for him a second later when he
wrapped his fingers around Sam's length, tugging and stroking him to full
hardness.
Sam whimpered as Dean's other hand closed on his hip, pulling him back slightly
until Sam's torso was stretched taut between the sink and Dean's body. "You
better be able to wish up some lube, too."
What's the point of being Eros if you can't make a dry fuck feel like the best
thing in the world?" Dean asked. He spat in his palm and rubbed the saliva over
his dick, then spread Sam's cheeks wide and pressed the head of his dick
against Sam's tightly-furled hole.
"I -- Dean, I don't think this is a good ide -- oh -- " Sam's thighs trembled
as Dean pushed inside him in a slow, steady thrust that had his fingers
clenching on the porcelain of the sink and his toes curling against the cold
tile floor.
"Holy shit, Sammy," Dean panted.
Sam glanced up at the mirror and stared.
Holy shit. He still wasn't visible, not really, but Dean's glow had spread,
outlining the space where Sam would have been with shimmering light.
Sam looked down at his hands and, sure enough, they were glowing gold. "Whoa."
"Yeah," Dean agreed, and Sam could hear the smirk in his voice. "God of love,
baby."
He thrust forward sharply on the last word, burying himself deep in Sam's ass,
and Sam let out a strangled moan. His forehead dropped to the cool enamel of
the sink as he pushed back into Dean's thrusts.
Dean's hand was still on Sam's dick, jerking him off in counterpoint to the
rhythm of his hips. The glow was intensifying, spreading out from around the
two of them to fill the entire room.
Sam could hear Dean's pulse rushing and he moaned, his hips rolling back
against Dean's. He wanted that glow inside him, wanted to bask in it. He wanted
to taste Dean again, to bite down hard and feel Dean's blood spurt across his
tongue.
He clawed at the sink, knocking one of the handles accidentally. Water poured
from the spigot and he stared at it, needing to watch something other than Dean
because the glow was so intense now that he couldn't watch -- couldn't look
away though, either.
"Harder," Sam rasped in that weird accent, giving up entirely on sounding like
himself. "Harder, Dean." His cock throbbed in Dean's hand and his hips snapped
forward as a particularly strong thrust caused his ass to pulse and clench.
Then Dean was fucking him, really fucking him, hard and fast and it was tight
and hot and good.
"Fuck, Sammy," Dean's hand tightened on Sam's hips, biting into the skin hard
enough to make Sam cry out. His other hand squeezed and jacked Sam faster,
working him closer and closer to the edge.
It was good, so good, but Sam needed more. He needed... God, he needed Dean's
blood.
He braced himself on one arm and grabbed desperately for Dean's wrist, yanking
it away from his body and pressing the soft inner skin to his lips.
Dean's pulse fluttered just beneath the surface, pulsing life though Dean's
body. Another hard slam of Dean's hips drove Sam into the edge of the sink just
as he opened his mouth and bit down, fangs slicing easily through thin layer of
skin.
The first hot, sweet burst of blood across his tongue had Sam's whole body
tightening and convulsing as he shot all over Dean's hand and his own stomach
in long, thick bursts. He latched onto Dean's wrist, licking and sucking
frantically as the orgasm wracked his body.
Dean was chanting his name, Sammy Sammy Sammy SammySammySammy, over and over,
pounding hard into Sam's ass as everything reached a fever pitch.
The rushing in Sam's ears became a roar as the glow intensified until he had to
squeeze his eyes shut to protect them from the brightness of it. Still
clutching Dean's wrist, he tongued the wounds his teeth had torn into it,
lapping at the blood that still ran freely from the bite.
A noise unlike any Sam had ever heard Dean make came rumbling out of his chest
then, as Dean arched his back and came with a howl.
With a bright flash of light that began somewhere inside Dean and shot
outwards, everything seemed to splinter.
The world went dark as Sam collapsed to the ground. When he came to, the locker
room was in shambles, with clothing and loose pieces of metal littering the
floor like the debris from an earthquake. Dean was curled against his back, one
arm hooked protectively around Sam’s middle. Sam shook his head, trying to
clear it, and sat up.
That's when he noticed that the wreckage stopped about a foot away from him,
leaving a perfectly clear circle around where he and Dean were lying.
"Dean!" he hissed, shaking his brother by the arm until Dean opened his eyes
and blinked blearily up at Sam.
"What happened?" Dean mumbled. Then something clicked into place and his eyes
lit up. "Dude, I was a god!"
Sam licked his lips and pushed himself up to his knees, grimacing. "I drank
your blood," he whined. "That's officially the grossest thing I've ever done."
He stood and swayed for a minute, his ass clenching and unclenching. "Ow."
Dean climbed to his feet beside him. "Whoa. Think they'll blame vandals hopped
up on Halloween candy sugar?"
"Where are my clothes?" Sam asked.
"Um," Dean said.
Sam closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. "Great. Your stupid fake god magic lost
my clothes."
"Hey," Dean said, sounding affronted. "I didn’t hear you complaining at the
time."
"Shut the hell up," Sam muttered, and reached for Dean’s bed sheet.
"That’s mine!" Dean made a grab for it, but Sam’s death glare stopped him
short.
"We can share," Sam said. He picked up a particularly sharp piece of broken
metal and used it to rip the top of the sheet so he could tear in half. He
wrapped one half around his waist and tossed other to Dean.
Dean scowled at Sam as he caught the fabric and tied it around himself. "You
ruined my costume."
"You made mine disappear," Sam pointed out. A small piece of white plastic
caught his eyes and he bent to dig the fake fangs out from beneath a football
jersey. "Well, most of it, anyway."
"Think there are any zombies left out there?" Dean asked, looking eager.
"I'm pretty sure you cured them with your blinding orgasm," Sam muttered. He
looked around the room. "Man, even my shoes..." He let out a surprised squawk
when Dean picked him up and tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.
"Put me down!"
"Wouldn't want your delicate feet to get hurt in the parking lot," Dean said
cheerfully, swatting Sam on the ass.
"Ow!" Sam exclaimed, squirming as Dean started walking toward the door.
On the way through the gym, Sam managed to curb his flailing enough to notice
the smashed remains of the pumpkins from the contest. One rather large chunk
had blown all the way across the room and, as Sam was carried over it, he
caught sight of a very suspicious looking rune carved into the surface.
"Dean, look!" Sam punched his fist into Dean’s ribs and Dean grunted, but
didn’t put him down.
Sam pointed out the piece of pumpkin and Dean just shrugged and kicked at it.
"Well, that explains the living costumes. Kids these days."
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