Timeline: Eight days after cursed
“Please… we need help…”
Dean held Sam close to him, looking up at the woman with dried tears clinging to his eyelashes. Twenty-four hours. Just twenty-four hours since they’d woken up like this, and there was a small light in the dark.
He couldn’t quite remember everything. It was all a blur before waking up in the hot, humid darkness. A woman, breaking into their room and attacking them. Dean could do nothing to keep her from his little brother. She’d pinned him effortlessly to the wall, without once touching him, forcing him to watch his little brother vanish into a white light.
And then doing the same for him, the world going black as the white light surrounded him.
Now, they’d escaped from her, but nothing was the way they remembered.
Motel rooms were larger than sweeping cathedrals. A football stadium could fit on the two beds. People were giants, the remote for the TV was unmovable, and Dean was scared.
Nothing, not his dad’s training, not Bobby’s stories, nothing, could have prepared him for this.
The woman stared down at him, her eyes widening in slight surprise. Dean could see so much detail in her face, he knew the moment her pupils dilated. He could smell the sickly-sweet scent of wine on her breath when her mouth parted.
That was all the warning they got.
Her hand swept out, long fingers curling around the two tiny children. Sam cried out in surprise as Dean did his best to block her attack, but standing under four inches tall meant there was no way for him to stop her.
A fist closed harshly around them, and Sam’s cries went from surprised to pained, and then stopped.
Dean sucked in a breath as the motel room nightstand vanished under their feet, the height forgotten in the wake of worry for his brother.
What did she do to Sammy?
“Please,” Dean begged. “We just need help…”
She lifted them up, her hand opening when held in front of her eyes. There was no warmth in those eyes as she scanned every one of the brothers’ very few inches.
“Wonderful…” she breathed, that sickly smell hitting Dean in a wave. He almost retched.
Containing his reaction, Dean glared at the woman as he cradled his brother in his arms. “What did you do?” he shouted angrily, Sam’s arm limp and hanging from the socket in an unnatural position.
“Sweetie,” she said in a condescending voice, “you’re just a toy. A possession. You should remember that the next time you talk back.”
She turned from the nightstand, the long fingers curling around the two boys as she rifled through the pockets of a jacket and withdrew a phone. A red-painted fingernail winked in the light at them as it tapped out a message.
New haul. Bring cage.
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