Is there a story where Normal sized sam and dean meet bowman?


Cue a very upset sprite with two extra giant giants. Seriously guys!

There isn’t currently a story like this, but once again we’ve mused on it. There would be a lot of sprite curses, Dean glares, and Sam probably offers Bowman some beer and discovers what a lightweight the guy is.

Seriously, Dean, does this really look like a threat? *Shows Dean the sprite that can’t even fly straight anymore.*


It would be one of the most interesting ways to “trap” the sprite. Can’t stay in the air, can’t fly away. Even if he manages a good hop, his wings will be too wobbly to get him far and they can just bring him right back to the table.

Cue Bowman accusing Sam of trying to poison him and assuring them both that as soon as it wears off, he will bop them and then fly himself home. Because that’ll surely scare them off, Bowman.

December 16th excerpt: 

Dean smirked, not above the chance to brag on his accomplishments. “I’m a tracker,” he said proudly, jutting his chin out. “So long as Sherlock gives me some idea what we’re searching for, I can lead him right to it. Just like I coulda told him, if he asked me, that one of his missing glasses is in the back of that cupboard pushed behind everything else, the other is mixed into his lab equipment, and the last is right above our heads.”

Pointing in time with each of his declarations, Dean indicated where all the missing cups were in the flat, and on the last, with his arm pointing overhead, he nearly stumbled over, losing his balance when the room went sideways.

Lestrade and Sherlock followed Dean’s finger in each direction he pointed. While Lestrade was confused by the final location, Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the ceiling, knowing the glass hadn’t been left on the light overhead. That left the flat upstairs as the only remaining option, the place where John Watson slept. And evidently did more than sleep.

December 13th excerpt:

To say that Lestrade was bemused by all this would be an understatement. Now he was holding up two fingers. Evidently he couldn’t lift his middle finger as high as Dean wanted it independently, so the first one hovered just behind and above Dean. And while Lestrade was far from matching Dean’s level of drunk, his own whiskeys encouraged him to have a little fun.

Lestrade let his index finger curl in to gently settle on Dean’s head, mussing the teeny spike he’d styled it into.


Artwork by @mogadeer!

December 10th excerpt:

“This lifeline’s longer than me!” Dean’s voice rang out from under Lestrade’s palm, aimed at Sherlock.

Lestrade arched his brow, glancing at Sherlock as soon as they both realized who Dean was speaking to. Addressing Sherlock as though Lestrade wasn’t there. They exchanged a look before their gazes dropped to the obvious culprit for Dean’s unusual behavior that neither had considered until then. The little tin cup Dean had abandoned with the rest of his things.

December 8th excerpt:

Lestrade’s brow lifted slightly, following Sherlock’s gaze. He recognized the meandering steps, he’d seen it many times over in much larger individuals. “Doesn’t drink much, does he?” Lestrade inferred with a glance at Sherlock.

“No,” the detective answered tersely, keeping a sharp eye on his small friend.

December 7th excerpt:

The placid, darkly amber liquid in the glass called to him. There was enough in there to fill a hot tub at Dean’s scale. Surely one drop wouldn’t be missed, more than enough for him to enjoy another cup of It.

Dean put a hand on the glass to help keep balance as he stood on his tiptoes to reach the rim and the drink calling for him beyond it. When it proved to be taller than he’d estimated from a distance, part of him started working on a solution, wondering if he could get a grip on the rim and pull himself up to fill his foil cup. The effort of holding himself suspended in midair like that didn’t put him off, knowing he had more than enough upper body strength, but the slick rim might prove to be difficult to grip.

Lestrade blinked in disbelief when he realized what Dean was after. Clearly the fella wanted a refill of his own, and planned to get it on his own. Watching his first attempt fail, Lestrade could practically see the wheels turning in Dean’s head and had a fairly good idea of what his next move might be.

December 6th excerpt:

The glass of whiskey was on Lestrade’s half of the table, guarded closely by one of the DI’s hands, but it hadn’t been picked up yet for a sip since being refilled. Dean gave himself at least five minutes before Lestrade remembered it, and started to edge towards that side of the table. Between Sherlock’s rambles and the drink buzzing inside him, Dean had an unnatural level of confidence in his ability to go unseen. The glass was only a little taller than he was, clearly he’d be able to reach the alcohol level inside to fill his cup again.

He’d earned this whiskey, dammit.

By the time he was halfway across the table, Dean had managed to tune both Sherlock and Lestrade completely out in lieu of his mission for a refill.

December 5th excerpt:

Realizing Lestrade had already helped himself to a second glass, Dean sent Sherlock a glare for failing to be a host and providing more whiskey.

With his options narrowed down to either interrupting Sherlock mid-story or securing his own second glass, Dean decided on the latter. Lestrade had that same glazed look that John adopted when Sherlock really got on a bend.

December 4th excerpt: 

“I take it you have a few questions before you go,” said Sherlock curtly, setting down the glass he’d finally tracked down.

“I do, yeah…” Lestrade made a move to take the drink Sherlock poured, but the first thing the detective did was tilt the glass so that the drink was within reach for Dean. By the pointed gaze Sherlock was giving him, it was clear to Lestrade that he was being shown exactly who was first priority here. Lestrade couldn’t contest that either, so he sat back and folded his hands on the table in front of him, waiting for Dean to take his drink first.

November 30th excerpt:

Not one to be left out of even the chance of a drink, Dean immediately jumped back into the conversation, waving a hand over his head to be sure they were paying attention to him. “I’ll take a whiskey! Neat!” he ordered, remembering exactly how to say it from a childhood spent watching his father go to bars and months spent at Bobby’s house, sneaking shots of whiskey when the adults weren’t paying attention.