The Road to Nowhere reveal

enby-phoenix asked:

THERE’S BOTH??

(In response to this post)

There’s BOTH! The season finale for Brothers Lost will be a RIDE!

And this isn’t even like, half of what’s going on in the story


Dean forced open the pocket, snaking two fingers in to pry out the people in there. His plan went awry when a bolt of pain struck. “OW!”

Snatching his hand back, Dean stared at the thin trail of blood leaking from a cut that hadn’t been there moments before. “Son of a…”

“Dean!” Sam snapped. “It’s just a cut.”

Nodding, Dean went back, this time moving too fast for an attack, and yanking the occupants of Jacob’s pocket out.

In a sprawl of arms and legs, the small pair that had been hiding inside landed on Dean’s palm. A glint of metal flashed, and Dean pinned the tiny knife between two fingers, aiming to avoid anymore retaliatory strikes at his fingers.

The guy that wielded the knife didn’t let it go without a fight. Squirming to free himself from the pile with the second, he clung to the hilt with a death-grip.

“Get fucked!” he shouted, digging his heels into the cushion of skin on Dean’s palm.

Dean stared.

The guy hanging onto the knife might as well be his doppelganger.

Jeans, boots, leather jacket and duffel bag, the guy couldn’t be more than four inches in height. Taller than both of the others they’d found earlier, what stood out the most was his spike of blond hair and the scowl on his face that was a mirror of Dean’s own.

The tiny mirror of Dean had such a strong grip on the knife hilt that he was dragged into the air when Dean tried to twist it away from him. The second person, who Dean shouldn’t have been so surprised to see the fluffy dark hair and familiar hazel eyes of his younger brother on, dove for the first guy’s legs, grabbing on and trying to lend weight to the tug-of-war between the two.

Sam’s voice broke the spell that had fallen over Dean.

“What. The hell.”

July 26th excerpt:

Footsteps came from the hall, and Dean covered Logan with a hand, curling his fingers around the other man as Bobby came back in. Sam was no longer wearing his tan jacket, perched on Bobby’s shoulder with nothing more than his grey t-shirt, jeans and satchel.

“Got the blood out,” Bobby said gruffly. “That’ll just be drying until the morning.”

“Bobby said he’s got some food we can heat up!” Sam called out from his place.

May 12th excerpt:

Bobby looked away from Dean and Logan, turning a blind eye to whatever they did. “Want some help getting that blood out?” he offered Sam, sizing up the splotch and the dark spot around it from Rumsfeld’s saliva.

Sam glanced at it. “Sure. I’m kind of running low on jackets, anyway. We don’t exactly have a supply of them…”

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” Bobby assured the kid as he held out his hand.

May 11th excerpt:

Rumsfeld nosed at Sam’s jacket then whined at the dark splotch that covered one arm, tenderly licking the tiny limb.

“It’s okay,” Sam promised. “It’s not my blood. I just didn’t get a chance to change my jacket.”

Torchmlp: Birth of a Nightmare?

Guess from the Brothers Apart discord! Feel free to join the conversation!

@torchmlp got the name on the mark! Birth of a Nightmare is #boan, and it’s coming sooner than everyone expects with the season 3 finale! The origins of the witch!

Her life’s blood slowly dropped from the wounds, a puddle gathering beneath the planks.

“Please,” she rasped, her clear blue eyes looking towards her husband.

Her betrayer.

She swallowed, her throat as dry as a parchment found in the Egyptian tombs. “Please. I have done none of these things. I am innocent.”

A cold wind whipped up, tangling her pristine white robe around her legs. Bloodstains blossomed like flowers where the white came in contact with her ankles.

“She is not!” shouted her former lover. The man she’d thought soulbound to her much like she was to him. A bond that left nothing behind in her chest when it shattered, destroying all she’d ever thought important.

TTOL: The Trials of Logan

A+ guess on the name! You got it on the first try.

No one needs trials like this more than our favorite little punching bag, Logan Guthrie, antagonist of Bowman of Wellwood. An all-around unpleasant man.


Bobby looked away from Dean and Logan, turning a blind eye to whatever they did. “Want some help getting that blood out?” he offered Sam, sizing up the splotch and the dark spot around it from Rumsfeld’s saliva.

Sam glanced at it. “Sure. I’m kind of running low on jackets, anyway. We don’t exactly have a supply of them…”

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” Bobby assured the kid as he held out his hand. Once Sam was with him, they left the kitchen with Rumsfeld close behind, leaving the other pair to their own devices.

Dean stared at the jar in his hand with an assessing gaze, looking over the man inside. From their last encounter, time had not been kind on Logan. His clothing was showing wear and his hair was a mess. A trip to the barber wouldn’t be out of the question, either.

By contrast, even directly after a hunt, Dean’s hair was spiked and his jacket in pristine condition. His jeans were ripped by his thigh, and his boots had some dirt caked to the bottom. Despite a few frays, it was a far cry from Logan’s tattered appearance.

“I think we can do better than that,” Dean said dryly, flipping the jar upside down.

December 30th excerpt:

Sam nearly dropped the journal when Dean shoved the hand holding Stan at him, hurriedly pocketing the book to be able to cup his hands. There was no time to worry about the droplets of blood staining the side of his fingers, something he normally didn’t worry about until they finished the hunt. “Dean!” Sam hissed, frantic about how quick his brother was moving with the little guy.

“Don’t worry, he’s fine! ” Dean insisted, tilting his hands into a slight incline to slide Stan into Sam’s hands. “Right, kid?”

December 17th excerpt:

John couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of detail he was able to see through the small lens, if slightly distorted. The individual spikes of Dean’s hair which swayed as though in time with a breeze; it didn’t take John long to realize that the breeze was his breath, and he made a conscious effort to lessen the gust. Freckles across Dean’s cheeks and stubble on his chin, the tiniest things that John wouldn’t be able to make out ordinarily. Bloodstains on his black shirt, and… John squinted and looked closer, a little thrown by the sight of a necklace resting against Dean’s chest. Even with the magnifier, all he could really make out was an outline of a leather cord and a metallic gleam from a pendant.

“What is that? ” Sherlock piped up, leaning in close again. 

December 11th excerpt:

When nothing turned up there, Sherlock got up to repeat the process around the room. He paused, squinted and leaned over the worktop to scrutinize a minuscule smudge. There were a few tiny dots of blood, long since dried, a short distance from the book pile where the knife had been found, one of them spread thin in the vague impression of the toe of a minuscule boot.

A tiny foot kicks Sam’s knife across the surface, hard enough to cover several inches in distance.

Sherlock frowned at the image that flashed in his mind. If Sam was truly in danger from another human, why would he rid himself of his sole weapon? Unless he wasn’t alone…

December 10th excerpt:

If it wasn’t for the dire circumstances they were in, Dean’s face would have been painted with fascination at the chance to work with the tools Sherlock used on his cases. As it was, he set to his task with no wasted energy, carefully mopping up every drop of blood that speckled Sam’s knife. The murky gleam of red was soon replaced by the more familiar shine.

Dean’s small size made it simple to get the blood right on the tip of the paper. It was like working with oversized construction paper, and since the blade was made for Dean’s size, he didn’t have a problem.

A small mimic of Sherlock, Dean sat back on his heels, holding up the folded paper circle for Sherlock to take, its white surface marred by the ring of drying blood.