This is super close to the plot of one of our future stories, Brothers Chosen, and of course, nothing’s stopping Walt Watch from showing up along the way if they ever happen to stay at a certain motel…
A few story titles were guessed before we started posting the sneak peeks to go along with them, so with no further ado I present Clash of the Hunters!
The second Jacob’s hands were on the cage, Dean was on the move.
As dangerous as it was to attack with Sam still in the line of fire, there would be no better chance. The hunter had lost his gun. Jacob was free and had his hands on the cage containing the sprite, reducing the chances of collateral damage of a fight between the older hunters.
Sam knew the risks as well as Dean.
So while Jacob was backing off from the hunter with Bowman safe, Dean was already sprinting through the field. Long legs covered the ground that had taken Sam a half hour to cross in seconds. His boots dug fissures in the ground with the force of striking the ground, all to propel him towards his enemy. It was enough that if any of the sprites were in his way, there would be nothing left of them.
But they knew when to keep clear and when to attack. Scar was a good leader, and would see his opening just as Dean had found his.
The hunter hadn’t fully turned in Dean’s direction when there was suddenly a fist slamming into his jaw. Dean didn’t waste a second in his attack. The man was thrown backwards from the force, and his pocket slammed away with him. Only a passing guilt hit at the fact that Sam was about to be in the center of two dueling humans. He would do what he could to keep Sam safe, even during the deadly fight.
It was for this reason that he didn’t use his knife right off the bat. Instead of a vicious follow-up, Dean’s hands sealed around the other hunter’s wrist, preventing him from falling at the same time as he prevented a counterattack. Either could be disastrous for Sam.
“You think you can come in here and terrify a bunch of peaceful sprites?” Dean snarled. “Threaten to cut their wings off and trap them in cages? This forest is under my protection.”
A flurry of leaves blew up around them as the wind kicked up.
“Mine. And theirs.”
It’s the tenth update for the Sad Oscar AU! When it began, I definitely didn’t have much direction planned out for what would happen to the poor guy. Now, I have a plan, and even (eventually) an ending to the story/AU! Let’s take one more step on the adventure. Poor lil guy.
( x )
“Good news, Ollie. You’ve been bought.”
The voice was loud and harsh, forcing Oscar out of sleep earlier than he was used to. He barely parsed the words by the time he thought to open his eyes. A hand loomed in his vision and sent a bolt of fear through him.
No matter how many months he’d spent in captivity, that never became an easier sight. Never.
He shot upright as the fingers reached him. Not to escape–he knew better. Standing meant the hand wouldn’t force him into an uncomfortable ball when it gathered him up. Instead, the fingers slipped around him and closed in unbreakable coils. Only his head and shoulders remained free of the uncomfortable pressure all around him. He held in his squeak of discomfort.
Voicing fear never got him anything good. At best, it went ignored. At worst, he could get reprimanded. The customers didn’t want them too afraid.
That’s what the salesman always repeated to Oscar and his friend and fellow captive, Jacob. Over and over in their training, their conditioning. Until, of course, weeks ago when Jacob was sold and Oscar was left all alone again.
Don’t get attached. They never buy pairs. It was coming true right before his eyes.
Now, he was more afraid than ever. The human, thankfully, didn’t take notice or didn’t care about the tears in Oscar’s eyes as he carried him out of the room with the cages for what would be the last time. It was all Oscar could do to hold it in to avoid punishment, but he was afraid.
New humans meant new terrors. Each time he changed hands, he found himself in a worse place than the last. Whoever had bought him couldn’t be any different. The pattern would go on.
“You’ll like these ones,” the salesman said in defiance of Oscar’s thoughts. “They tell me they already have an enclosure just for you. Just remember who you’re representing with them, are we clear?”
Oscar grimaced as the hand lifted enough for the man to peer down at him, but not enough to put him at eye level. He was not an equal, and there would be no illusions of that.
“Y-yes, sir,” Oscar squeaked out thickly. “Tha-thank you.”
The man wrinkled his nose in distaste for the tremors in Oscar’s voice, but huffed and didn’t say anything about it. He’d tried from the first day to get rid of it. Some days were better than others.
Today, Oscar didn’t think he’d be able to avoid his fear even if he wanted to suppress it.
The human carried him back to a room that Oscar hadn’t seen since he first arrived. The room where the salesman first inspected him and determined he would be a great asset. There was already something waiting on the table in the middle of the room, and Oscar recognized it right away.
It looked almost exactly like the box that Noriko had dropped him in when she sold him away. This one had the same air holes in the side and a heavy lid that he wouldn’t be able to move on his own even if he was tall enough to reach it. The only difference was that this one hadn’t been decorated, and as they reached the table, he saw no cushioning at the bottom.
“Sit tight, Ollie,” the human told him with a smirk, before sweeping his hand forward and letting Oscar slip through his fingers. Oscar clung to the last one for only a second, his legs swinging over the box. Then, sure he wouldn’t crash into something and before the man could notice, he let himself fall.
The lid was over him seconds later, and Oscar curled up into a ball. He knew what was coming. The box lurched up and swayed.
He really was leaving. His heart pounded and he shrank into a corner as much as he could.
A door opened. A new room. Oscar heard at least one other human moving around, despite the pounding in his ears. Something tapped the floor; footsteps?
The salesman had a much warmer voice when he greeted them. “Here we are, sir. Little Ollie all parceled up and ready to go home.”
The other human hummed thoughtfully. “I’m sure he’s as mild as you say, but be a lad and put something on that lid to keep him in? Charlotte would be livid if the little devil escaped before I even get him home.”
“Absolutely, sir,” the salesman’s voice was so sickly sweet that Oscar cringed. He’d never heard so much false warmth in it before.
Something rustled against the side of the box and then snapped into place. Oscar glanced up and spotted the stretched tan of a rubber band through one of his air holes. He had even less chance of escape now, and he never once planned to try. He was too afraid of what might happen if he did.
“An absolute pleasure doing business, sir,” the salesman said, and the box lurched forward. Oscar felt a sickly bolt of electricity through him with the knowledge that he’d changed hands again. The new human thought he owned him.
“No, thank you,” the new human said before he turned away. Oscar imagined an enormous door, but it didn’t lead to freedom. “Cheers.”
And on your first guess, you nailed it!
Jacob’s on a Road Trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days! *is shot*
Dean rubbed his face. Now that everything else was ready to go, he reached for the bible he’d placed on the vase, moving it off. Next came the vase itself, lifting away from Jacob.
Jacob watched the vase lift upwards so easily in Dean’s hand. It had taken him so much effort to barely tilt the damn thing, and here Dean was, one-handing it. It was hard not to shudder at the power that human wielded, especially with the way he stood over the table, his shadow covering its only occupant.
Stumbling backwards several steps, Jacob’s face angled upwards. The bundle of food and the bottlecap of water he’d had were both forgotten in the wake of this new change. He was tempted to bolt, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off of the towering figure in front of him. Jacob knew he had nowhere to go anyway.
“What now?” he asked cautiously, a tremor in his voice. He knew he couldn’t even hope to make demands here. Dean was in charge and they both knew it.
Dean felt his shoulders slump an infinitesimal amount at the fear directed up at him but did his best to hide it from his face. He hadn’t done anything yet aside from trap Jacob in a vase to earn any modicum of trust. He’d have to work on that.
“Now, it’s time for us to go, half-pint.” Dean reached a hand towards the small guy on the table, enveloping him within grasping fingers for the second time since they’d met. There wasn’t a chance for the kid to try and dart away.
Even if he tried, it wouldn’t do him any good. He was too small compared to Dean.
Dean lifted Jacob up, staring down at himself as he tried to figure out what he’d do with the kid while traveling. He was too small to risk being seen by any other humans… and too fragile to even risk sitting in a bag like the duffel.
The chest pocket on his jacket provided the answer. Dean flipped open the flap of the pocket and judged the size of the fabric enclosure compared to the person in his hand. If anything, Jacob was small enough to fit with room to spare. Perfect.
Dean gave a sigh as he lowered a struggling Jacob into the pocket. “It’ll be safer in here. That way no one else will see you.” His fingers released the kid, dropping him the last inch down. Just to be safe, Dean buttoned the pocket up. He didn’t want to risk the kid trying to jump down from so high up. If he didn’t notice a foolhardy stunt like that in time, he could get seriously injured or hurt.
Before heading out, Dean swept the remainder of the pizza that Jacob had left on the table in a hand and chucked it at the trash in the room. He was already swinging his duffel onto his back before it ever landed so he didn’t notice the way it bounced off of the rim and onto the floor.
Long strides carried him out of the room.
( Original post )
^^; Dean, you heard them. Let him out!
Jacob definitely agrees. He isn’t fond of being stuck in a drawer, no matter how cozy a giant flannel might be for sleeping on. He’s trapped in there!
It’s not that he’s less nice, because in Dean’s mind he thinks he’s being just as good a guy as always. He just takes all decisions into his own hands, tends to do whatever he thinks is best, and won’t really take no for an answer. It’s like high-level big brothering, because here, the younger one won’t argue back with the giant that captured me.
And therein lies one of the big differences between Sam and Jacob. While they might both seem like shy little mini-Sasquatches, Sam is far more likely than Jacob to tell someone off. Jacob doesn’t like confrontation and he will avoid it even if it means silently dealing with Dean’s well-intentioned but stifling protectiveness.
February 19th excerpt:
Bowman stared between them as he contemplated. Finally, his wings relaxed and stopped crowding the glass walls around him. His shoulders slumped and his exhaustion from a stressful day became more obvious. “You … you two live in that one’s pocket,” he said, gesturing at Dean. “Why would you wanna stay in there?”
Jacob paused, for a moment bemused by the thought of actually living in Dean’s pocket. “We use the pocket to stay hidden. We don’t want that other human to see us.”
February 10th excerpt:
He tried to writhe free, panic creeping through his veins. That glass container loomed in his vision like a gaping mouth, and his resolve almost faltered. He couldn’t even attempt to bite Dean again to get away. There was nothing to do but watch the thing get closer to him, an inevitable shift in Dean’s grip as he prepared to trap Bowman with ease.
Those knives glinted and the glass glittered and Bowman’s adrenaline had nowhere to go.
“S-stop it! I told you I didn’t–” he insisted, before the grip loosened around him and the words seized in his chest.
February 8th excerpt:
Bowman scoffed and squirmed again. He didn’t have time for something like this. Not when Logan looked completely skeptical of the conversation, too. Bowman was the only one on his own side, and he had to focus on getting away. He couldn’t give them time to decide they wanted to hurt him.
He almost spat out another scathing remark, but in his struggles he spotted movement on Dean’s chest. He blinked, but could have sworn he saw a couple pairs of eyes, normal sized ones, peering out of a pocket at him. The notion threw him off and he froze.
Sorry, folks. Laughter may sound like a nice prompt, but the only thing that came to me was more sad Oscar. If I have to think of this stuff, so do you ;P
There was laughter in the other room.
Oscar looked up from where he sat curled up on his bed, startled by the sudden burst of noise. Noriko was watching TV out there, enjoying her favorite show. Oscar never knew what made her laugh so much, but so long as it kept her attention away from him for a while, he liked it. Whenever Noriko paid him attention, she wanted to hold him in her hands constantly, poking at him or petting his messy hair.
He hated it. He hated it so much, but he knew better than to think things would ever be any different. Oscar was just her newest favorite doll.
His prison proved it. When Noriko was bored with him, she put him away in a wooden box with a glass front, all designed to look like a room in a house. A dollhouse with him on display at all times.
In one corner there was a round cushion, meant to be his bed. There was a doll couch facing the front glass wall, and to the side opposite the bed was a table and a chair. The walls themselves were decorated with cheap patterned paper. Oscar wished he could find an escape through that tattered wallpaper like he could in a real room.
Instead, he could only lounge around in the miniature room, staring sullenly through the glass front wall. The room beyond was the very same one where he’d tried to make his escape under the floorboards those weeks ago. He knew better now. Every entrance he might fight to the walls could be a trap, and it wasn’t worth getting hurt again.
His ankle had only just healed, and the memory of the pain it caused him made him curl up tighter on his cushion.
Noriko laughed again in the other room.
Oscar had no idea how many people like him had spent time in that workroom. Noriko made a hobby of them, measuring them for clothes that she made herself. She played with them by corralling them between her hands, watching them try to get past. Oscar knew because it was her favorite game with him.
Even now, he wore a new outfit made for him by her delicate sewing work. It was more cumbersome than the clothes he always made for himself, but those had been too ratty, she said. Too plain. Oscar had watched his hard work get thrown out in the trash after she made him change.
It was a good fit, but the fabric was thicker than he was used to. Oscar found it stiff and unwieldy, hard to move around. It worked well for the humans keeping him captive.
He shifted where he sat, turning away from that depressing glass wall. Even though he knew Noriko would be back at least one more time before going to bed herself, he lay down on his cushion. Teary eyes traced the simple pattern on the wallpaper until it blurred and he had to blink.
Oscar wasn’t hungry anymore. He wasn’t cold or desperate for supplies anymore. He had someone around that seemed to care, in her own terrifying way, when he was injured or scared. These were all things that he thought he wanted.
If this was how his prayers were answered, he didn’t want to wish for anything ever again.