Tag: big dean

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January 28th excerpt:

Jacob paused out of respect for Dean’s sheer size. His face was half buried in a pillow, as was his usual, but the sound of his breaths was loudest from where they stood. He was almost twenty times their size, and it was not a difference to take lightly.

After a moment of indecision, Jacob looked to Sam and held up his hands, one flat with the palm up and the other in a fist over it. “Loser wakes the giant?” he asked, his voice so low almost no sound came out.

“Loser has to jump over to the bed to wake the giant,” Sam countered, a smirk growing on his face.

Sneak peek of Brothers Divided

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Brothers Adopted started off with a bang when Dean Winchester discovered a tiny kid in his room. With no idea Jacob Andris was actually family, saved by Dean’s estranged little brother, Sam Winchester, he trapped him under a vase to get to the bottom of why Jacob was in his room. Sam soon showed up to stage a rescue, caught out in the open by Dean, who swiftly figured things out. But…

What if Dean never woke up and found Sam in his room? What would become of Jacob?

“S-Sam, look, I appreciate this, but don’t get yourself caught because of me, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t run fast enough. But you still have a shot here, and who knows? Maybe he’ll let me go?” Jacob tried to offer a casual smile like he actually believed the suggestion.

He tried.

Sam ignored the suggestion as he aimed again. “I’m not leaving you,” he insisted. “Aside from the fact Walt’s already going to kill me, I’m not losing another brother.” He grew silent for a moment with memories of his older brother in mind, then launched the hook in the air. This time it landed on the top. Cautious, Sam carefully drew it towards himself, praying it would catch on the book.

The shot was no good. It slipped off, tumbling towards Sam. With a fast grab, he snatched it out of the air. “Son of a bitch,” Sam hissed, using one of his brother’s favorite curses from when he’d been a human.

He stepped back for the next shot, preparing himself.

The room around them was silent as the hook sailed up into the air. The human over on the bed shifted, but didn’t wake up. Sam froze when the hook landed on the book with a barely audible thump, glancing towards where the huge man was lying.

But he never woke up.

With a sigh, Sam started to tug the hook towards himself. He didn’t know what he’d do if the human woke up. Despite his brave words, his stomach was clenched with fear. No amount of bravado was going to help save them if the man saw him. Sam’s knife would only go so far. It would be like trying to fight a dragon with a pig-sticker.

A few more throws later, and there was no progress. Every time the hook thumped so faintly on top of the bible above, Jacob felt like it made the loudest slamming noise he ever heard. He was astounded that the human never woke up, only shifted once or twice. Something had left the man tired, which was very fortunate for the two on the table.

Or unfortunate, as it was beginning to look. Jacob’s nerves were frayed beyond recognition. He stood at the edge of the small room formed by the glass, his hands pressed against the side while he watched that hook continuously fail to catch on the book or budge it in any way.

It was too heavy. Even Jacob would have a hard time moving the thing. To them, it might as well be a bus.

“Sam,” Jacob hissed, halting him before he wound up for another throw. Jacob’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. “It’s not gonna … I mean, even if you somehow manage to pull it down, it’s gonna make a noise he’ll definitely hear. There’s only one climbing rope between us, man.” Jacob rested his forehead against the glass with a quiet thunk and stared at his boots while he let the implications sink in.

Jacob was trapped and the only thing that’d get him out of there was the human asleep across the room.

“He doesn’t realize there are more people like us. Don’t get caught just because I messed up. You’ve got a chance!” Jacob shuddered and he felt a sting in his eyes for what he was asking Sam to do. Asking his adopted brother, the man who’d looked out for him ever since the curse, to abandon him to the whims of an enormous human.

Matching tears sprang to Sam’s eyes, making him blink fast to ward them away. He swallowed thickly, staring across the room at the human that occupied it.

Jacob was right.

If their situations were reversed, they might have a chance. Even if the hook caught on the edge of the bible, Sam wasn’t strong enough to pull it off. Not from below, with no support to draw on. Not with just a thin fishing line to pull with and a hook that wasn’t made to hold onto the pages of a book.

No.

“No,” Sam repeated aloud. Sudden determination filled him even as he was enveloped in hopelessness. “No, I’m not leaving you! He could do anything, he could take you away… he could…”

He trailed off, staring in at Jacob. His unsaid words died on their ears.

He could kill you.

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If Dean got arrested, all of his stuff would get confiscated. Sam would have to freeze up and pretend to be an action figure, hoping that the person who grabbed him out of Dean’s pocket didn’t tighten their hand just a little too much and break anything. He’d have to hide that he breathes, and blinks, and do his best not to react at their forceful handling of his older brother.

Sam would be placed with Dean’s possessions in evidence bags, leaving him to have to cut himself an airhole to breathe from until he was left alone. Once no one was around, he’d cut himself out, find a way out of lockup, and get back to Dean. He could pick the lock on Dean’s cuffs and get them both out of there.

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Dean actually does pretty good when he first encounters smols, so it would have gone worse than it did, but not as bad as it could. As seen in Walt’s and Jacob’s first encounters with Dean in various AUs, he’s likely to grab, disarm and then trap, likely in a vase (while Jacob would grab a coffee pot), but he’s also very methodical. He won’t hurt Sam purposely, and will keep him trapped while he figures things out. Chances are, the brothers will figure each other out long before Dean calls Bobby up for advice, and if they didn’t, Bobby would scold Dean and tell him to let the little guy go. 

Idjit.

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Oh, dear! Poor Dean!

(Sam would never let him hear the end of it if he had to give up his good boots and ended up walking back to the Impala in socks)

Lucky Sam doesn’t sink into the wet cement like Dean does, so he can show Dean which way to go where the cement is hardening more. And keep out from under Dean, in case his older brother stumbles and flails when he’s trying to pull his boots out from the suction of the cement!

All in all, Dean is very lucky Sam can’t carry his cell phone around, because there would be some very compromising pictures of a normally-suave hunter.

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I might be slightly biased, but I certainly think so! 🙂 The g/t interactions are what we love the most! Of course, some stories are more chill while others are overflowing with the different interactions, but that’s just how things go when writing for the long run. Like a Moth to Flame, for instance, has some of my absolute fave moments between the brothers, thought they come at a cost.

Other of my fave moments, though, happen when both brothers are smol because I absolutely cannot resist tiny Dean telling off the rest of the world >w>

Sneak Peek of Like a Moth to Flame

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Something ancient is stalking people in town, and now it has its sights set on a certain pair of hunters in town. Sam and Dean find more to handle than they ever expected, and an evil that sets them against each other.

“Raise,” Dean said confidently, pushing his chips to the center.

The man across from him fidgeted at that, staring out at the five cards aligned on the table. Out there sat two aces… he knew that if Dean had the other two, it was all over for him. Even if Dean only had one ace, the guy risked going up against a full house.

Dean stared solidly back, his years of hunting serving him well and hiding his own tells. Out of everyone watching the game, the only person that could call his bluff was currently concealed in his chest pocket.

Sam, barely four inches tall, was adept at reading facial expressions. His small size meant that every little twitch and uncertain flicker that passed over Dean’s face, or any other human’s face, was easy for the small hunter to read.

Normally, Sam never came out to a bar like this. A rowdy bar scene wasn’t a safe place for him to relax and hang out with Dean. Plus, there was no way for him to enjoy a drink with his older brother, since he couldn’t risk coming out of the pocket. But this trip wasn’t just for relaxing and building up their stack of emergency cash.

This was for training.

Story begins 11/29/16 at 9pm est!

Calling John Bonham (2 of 5)

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A short story of Brothers Apart

Bowman returned ten minutes later, flying far less gracefully than when he’d left. Jacob raised his eyebrows at the sight; Bowman was indeed carrying something in his arms, something almost as long as his tiny body was tall. Jacob realized with a smile that it was a business card. “No shit,” he said as Bowman closed the distance between them.

“Ha! Now you gotta believe me, Dean said the numbers on it can be used to call him,” Bowman announced smugly, right before letting the card fall. Jacob had to fumble to catch it before it fluttered to the ground. He lifted it up, privately eager to see some confirmation of what Bowman told him.

“Bowman …” Jacob said, reading the card.

“What now?! I got you proof and everything!” Bowman complained, taking a perch on top of Jacob’s head while they both stared at the name and phone number on the card.

“The name on it is ‘John Bonham,’ Bowman.”

“What?! But his name is Dean! Dean … Winchester!” Bowman protested, punctuating it with a small whap from one of his wings on Jacob’s head.

Jacob thought for a moment. It wasn’t likely that Bowman would have made up a name like ‘Winchester’ on his own. “Hey, I’ll still give the number a try, how about that?” Jacob dug his phone from his pocket, his eyes pointed upward even though he couldn’t see the sprite perched on him. “What do you say?”

The motel room was a peaceful sight in the morning after the Winchesters latest successful hunt. Slits of sunlight made it through the curtains Dean had drawn across the massive windows that bordered the front of their room, covered up so it would be safe for Sam to be out and about in the room if he wanted to be, and they wouldn’t have to worry about him being spotted by any curious onlookers, innocent or dangerous.

They’d had enough problems with dangerous humans in the past. No one wanted a repeat of Sam’s kidnapping.

Dean was lying flat on his back, slow breaths making his chest rise and fall with a steady rhythm. After so long spent with Sam, and having his pocket used as a bed when Sam needed a place to stay, it was habit to lie like that. The small hunter never asked, but Dean made sure he didn’t have to. Sam shouldn’t have to ask for somewhere safe to sleep.

Sam himself slept on his own bed, under the nightstand that stood between the two queen beds that made up their room. Dean had set it up when they got in, and until late the night before it was all but forgotten. A successful vengeful spirit hunt combined with a night of celebratory drinking resulted in neither brother hitting the sack until at least 2 am.

So the phone going off around 11 am found a room full of sleeping Winchesters.

Dean groaned, rubbing a hand down his face and blinking rapidly to clear up his vision. Normally he wouldn’t have such a hard time waking, as used to being constantly on guard as he was, but their night of celebrating had gone on longer than he expected, both brothers feeling the release of stress after such a simple in- and out- case finished.

He glanced to the side, sleepily groping on the nightstand table to grab his phone. It took a time or two, and he squinted as the number scrolled across the screen. He didn’t recognize it.

This might normally be the point where Dean would answer the phone and demand to know who was calling and how did they get his number, but his urge to growl at the caller was thoroughly thwarted by one simple fact.

He didn’t know how to unlock the new phone.

The damn thing was a smartphone, one of the first around. Sam was hyped up with excitement over having a phone that could connect to the internet without ever having to go on the computer. They could get directions, just like a GPS, and never have to open a map to find their way to the next town over. Sam would have a much easier time navigating maps on a phone a little bigger than he was compared to the mass of paper maps that could cover the entire back seat of the Impala.

Dean was still learning how to use the phone, and the friggin’ password wasn’t words or numbers like normal, but rather a design on the touchscreen that he had to swipe his fingers across and he didn’t have time for this shit.

As the phone reached the third ring, Dean swung his legs out of bed and knelt on the floor. Sam had programmed the damn thing, he could figure out how to answer it.

Calling John Bohnam (1 of 5)

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A short story of Brothers Apart

(It’s been a long time since the last BA update, and we miss them as much as you do! So enjoy this short update from the series from when Jacob discovered exactly what, and who, he missed during the events of A Lich of Sense!)

Jacob Andris sat in what the wood sprites of Wellwood had dubbed “his” clearing. He’d been back to visit as many times as he could manage since he first wandered deep into the forest with his friends and discovered that an entire village of tiny little winged beings lived out there. They remained so isolated from the world that they barely knew humans existed before Jacob and his friends, Bobby and Chase, showed up.

Now, in an autumn a little over a year after he first met Bowman Leafwing, Jacob was back again, watching his small friend wheel about in the air. Bowman’s vibrant green wings contrasted with the trees around them, which were showing their reds and oranges with the turning of the seasons. Soon they would drop to the ground, and winter would be upon the woods.

Bowman was agitated over a long story he’d spent the last several minutes recounting. Jacob knew better than to interrupt even the more outrageous claims from the sprite, so he simply watched, nodding when appropriate. Some parts had the sprite so riled that he nearly derailed his train of thought to grouse about them.

More than once, Jacob had to wonder if there was some kind of special mushroom out in the woods here that might have inspired Bowman’s imaginative tale.

At the same time, a lot of it seemed so plausible. Especially the part about a human catching Bowman and taking him out of the forest. Jacob had to prompt Bowman to move on from describing the many corners found in a human dwelling as the sprite was driven to distraction by the foreign thought.

Bowman’s story also included zombies, of all things. Zombie wolves, raised by a zombie magic user of some kind, that was there to claim sprites for some purpose of which the mere memory made Bowman shudder. If it all really happened, Jacob was loathe to think about the fact that he hadn’t been around to help. His best friend might have faced something straight out of an intense nightmare and he was alone for it.

“So,” Jacob finally interjected when Bowman’s story was winding down, “this Dean guy. After he brought you back to the woods and fought the … life-sick things, he’s an ally now? Him and his sprite-sized brother Sam?” It was one of the more intriguing parts of the story, the possibility of a human who stood the same height as Bowman paired up with a man who fought zombie wolves without flinching.

Bowman flew in a tight spiral, diving downwards so he could stop to hover at Jacob’s eye level. “Yes. He started out blasted rude, grabbing me and keeping me in a pocket. Which, by the way, if you ever try that, I will kick you in the face.”

Jacob held up his hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured the sprite.

Bowman nodded in approval, but he still seemed cynical of something. “You don’t believe me, do you?” he said, narrowing his eyes at Jacob’s face.

Jacob offered him a sheepish grin. “I … well, it’s just pretty out there, is all,” he admitted.

Bowman rolled his eyes. “You always said no one knows the sprites exist, but here I am. Existing.”

“Okay, yeah, but zombies, Bowman?” Jacob shot back, trying to hold back a smirk. At this point, Bowman would be riled up either way. He might as well get some entertainment out of it.

Bowman pointed at him. “They called them that, too,” he insisted. “Zom-bees.” Jacob gave him a skeptical look, and Bowman scowled. “Whatever!” He flew in a wide circle around Jacob’s head, wings rustling. “Do you believe me or not?!” he asked.

“Okay, okay, say I believe something happened,” Jacob conceded. “Did those guys say they’d come back?”

Bowman stopped with a faint rustle of his wings as they shifted to hover. “No, they had to go fight more monsters,” he answered. To Jacob’s continued disbelieving look, Bowman frowned and added hastily “But they left a piece of paper with numbers on it and said I could use it to contact them if we needed help ever again!”

With that announcement, Bowman darted out of the clearing, determination carrying him off like a shot. Jacob flinched from the sudden exit, and then relaxed again. He was intrigued by the promise of solid proof, so he waited.