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.
Walt nearly held his breath, his eyes locked on his target.
Sitting not one foot from where he was crouched in hiding, the dustbunnies looming over his head, a gleam of metal could be seen sticking out from underneath a bag casually dropped there by the room’s resident human.
Soon that man would leave, and Walt was banking on that man leaving behind the forgotten razor, a discard from his exacto-knife that meant nothing to the human but could mean the difference between life or death to the much smaller man.
Slow breath out, careful breath in.
Use the silence as a cloak. Walt’s hair, normally so vibrantly blond, was dark and dirty, coated in dust and dirt from the walls. His fair skin was the same, making him hard to spot in his black and brown clothing. Mallory had just made it, his darkest set for his supply runs. He was just a shadow in the dark, able to see his surroundings better than any human ever could in the shadows.
The creak of the floorboards under the human’s gargantuan weight heralded the man coming back over to the beds. A shadow fell over Walt’s surroundings, making him fade even more into the darkness. He shut his mouth tight, holding his breath.
The man never spotted Walt hiding there, or the discarded razor left behind. He merely grabbed his backpack off the ground, slinging it onto his arms with quick motions that would sent Walt flying, and headed for the door.
And that was it.
Walt remained in hiding for another ten minutes, waiting out the human. The roar of an engine was heard outside the door, and that quickly faded into the distance. Another human, off on another day of unimaginable activities and actions. Walt didn’t know what humans did with their time, but he knew what they did in the motel. It all seemed so calm compared to the fight he lived each and every day to keep his Mallory and Bree safe and sound.
Darting into the open, he scooped up the razor and tucked it into his jacket. Tonight he could check how sharp the edges were, and use the sharpening stones he’d slowly gathered to hone it into a weapon. Rats always tried to encroach on their home, and with this he now had a worthy weapon, ready to fight them off and protect his family.
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.
Presenting the twelfth story of Brothers Apart!
Sneak peek to come this afternoon!
Final poll results:
Like a Moth to Flame dominated this one, no contest.
After this story, we will be skipping the poll for the next round! Sam of Wellwood will post since it has hung around in the poll long enough, and then we’ll be adding some fun new stories to vote on afterwards.
As a matter of fact, there is one! Fairy Tales: Bowman of Wellwood is my ( @neonthewrite) story that is entirely stand alone from Supernatural or the Brothers Apart multiverses. The first collaboration that @nightmares06 and I worked on was A Lich of Sense, essentially a crossover of our two main storylines, so the Bowman (and his Jacob) in that story experienced all of the events from Bowman of Wellwood.
As for the second question, we will just have to wait and see as Brothers Apart progresses! 😉 But, if we remember from Lich, Dean gave Bowman a business card with his phone number on it, and someone has to dial the phone for that little sprite. He doesn’t have a phone of his own.
And, Dean and Sam have actually been in contact with Jacob since the end of Lich! Jacob… didn’t quite believe Bowman’s tale, so to prove himself right, Bowman had Jacob call up the brothers.
Timeline: Three years before Dean discovers Sam at Trails West
Lost, alone. A crack running up one side like a crevice in the earth’s crust, slowly crumpling to dust as the roots within wormed their way through, pushing aside the clay in search of fertile ground.
Alyssa didn’t know when the flowerpots had come to be, and had no way of knowing that years back, Bobby Singer’s wife had planted seedlings in them in the hopes of cultivating her own future garden. What she know was that the shade offered by the leafy fronds of the plant that was all-but-busting out of the earthen clay pot was cool, and it was far from the bustle to be found within the burrow.
More and more these days, she found herself wishing for her own space. The tunnels were dark and peaceful, but the children could always find her, her father always had more chores for her, and the others would wait for her to join in the weaving.
Breathing deeply, she leaned against the stalk of the mint plant. One woman’s dreams of raising her own herb garden had become Alyssa’s refuge. Before returning home, she would pack her small sling bag full of the aromatic leaves, and they would wrap minnow in them as they cooked, imbuing the flavor into the meat. It was a favorite of Alyssa’s, and she reached a hand up to stroke a fuzzy leaf that dangled over her head. So much that could be done with one little plant.
A shadow fell over her hiding place, and Alyssa grinned. She pushed a leaf out of her way, peering up to see a familiar face looking down at her plant.
The large dog that had adopted her home and family as his family, known as Rumsfeld to Bobby but only as ‘the dog’ to Alyssa’s people, not only knew about her hiding place in the crumpling flower pot tucked in a back corner of the junkyard, but also would lay out there with her, watching the grass wave in the breeze. He grumbled and settled down with a whuff, resting his head on his paws.
She had no idea how much time passed like that between them, but was startled out of her calm daydreams by a loud, harsh voice.
“Rumsfeld!”
Alyssa stumbled to her feet as Rumsfeld glanced over his shoulder. He yowled, the whine dying off his his throat as he looked back down at her. His large, wet nose pushed at her shoulder but she needed no further urging. She tore off a few leaves, and then grabbed the roots crawling out of the crack of the clay pot to scramble down.
“Rumsfeld! ”
The voice was growing louder. Alyssa whimpered and her face went pale, her small legs dashing as fast as she could muster towards the safety of the field. Human. Big, huge, stomping. So much more dangerous than the animals that made the field their home along with the small community of littles.
At least against animals they could defend themselves.
A low growl came from behind her, cutting off the human’s exclamation.
“What’re you doin’ out here, boy–”
The dog barked angrily, and Alyssa heard the scratch of his nails against the blacktop. The human shouted in surprise, and she couldn’t see what happened, but it sounded like the dog was chasing him off.
Reaching the grass at last, Alyssa disappeared into the field.
Sam grinned broadly as he found the perfect spot to sit.
Dangling his legs off the edge, Sam patiently waited for Dean to reappear. Dean was off searching for signs of a spirit while Sam checked the walls for a hexbag, their usual routine on the job. With the family gone, they didn’t even have to worry about anyone spotting Sam, a bonus.
It wasn’t long before the rhythmic footsteps could be felt echoing up the solid supports of the bookshelf. Dean entered the study, his EMF meter slowly panning from side to side.
“Hey!” Sam called out, smugly settled in his spot, above Dean’s head. He estimated about a good half foot between him and the spike of dirty blond hair that Dean was so proud of.
Dean looked up, his eyebrows climbing his face as he saw how high Sam was.
“What you doing up there?” he asked gruffly, jabbing the EMF meter in Sam’s direction. The buzzer blipped for a moment, then went back down to zero.
Sam shrugged and hooked his hands together behind his head. “Taking it all in,” he said.
Dean cocked his head to the side, confusion on his face.
Sam took pity. “Y’know, looking down at you. Just like I’m supposed to.”
Ever since the Spirit dream with Bowman, the brothers’ had discovered that Sam’s true height outstripped Dean’s by several inches. The younger brother might look smaller than Dean because of his curse, but he was, in fact, the tallest in the family.
Dean rolled his eyes dramatically. “Look who’s talkin,’ shorty,” he snarked back, holding a hand up for Sam to step into.
Sam did, casually sauntering to the center of Dean’s palm.
Ilyana let her hands brush restlessly against her arms, the hot skin cooled rapidly by the falling temperature in the cold air of earth.
She suppressed a shiver, refusing to show fear as she waited in her place for the small hunter to come find her. The plan was designed and set by her summoner, the human witch whose fate she’d tied herself to. Herself and so many other sprites in the hopes of eternal life at last, like the ungrateful water sprites who lived eternal simply because of their tie to water.
The meeting with the witch was prominent in Ilyana’s mind. Dipping into the scrying pool by the volcano, listening to Noonia’s plaintive cries as the world around Ilyana changed from hot fire and rock to the darkened interior of a human house.
The candles burning around the summoning circle did little to warm the air. Summoning her sisters had helped a little, but for now the others waited to stop the larger hunter, Dean, setting a trap for him upstairs while Ilyana waited for her Sam down.
She heard a metallic thunk behind her seat, over at the edge of the counter, and smiled. Soon, Sam would be hers and she could return to her fiery home triumphant. The hero of the fire sprites, bringer of eternity.
The design of knitting needles is actually a much easier design to create at that size, so it’s a popular way to make warm clothing if they can find or create the right kind of thread. You’ll find it to be a more common practice in cooler climates, where they’ll need warm clothing even indoors.
That really depends on the little in question. For instance, Bree isn’t going to mind one bit. She’s used to contact with humans, and considers it completely normal. Oscar, on the other hand, has never really had close contact with humans and is always baffled when Dean insists on messing with his mousy hair.
Dean as a little will be completely offended that someone is messing with his spike, while Sam is resigned, considering how often Dean fluffs it into a mess. Dean’s way of saying you should really cut this.
In fact, Sean’s knack is heavily touched upon in an upcoming story in the Brothers Apart series, and will be revealed then. We will learn a lot more about the littles of Trails West, and their resident cursed human when trouble comes knocking at their door.
Brothers Apart 