June 12th excerpt
Jacob gripped the edge of the pocket with a frown, keeping his feet under him no matter how wobbly it became. His grip was sure. “I was doing fine,” he insisted. Then, he realized, “I don’t even know your actual name and you’re already giving me dumb nicknames? Seriously?”
“Hey! That nickname was not dumb!”
June 11th excerpt:
Dean couldn’t stop a snort of amusement when he saw the teenager tumble into his pocket. He could only faintly feel Jacob’s weight against his chest, as easily overlooked as a book of matches or a motel notebook. Yet to Dean, that tiny weight couldn’t be ignored if he tried. Jacob was trusting him with his life, willingly or not, and he would never put a kid in danger.
Scooping a finger into the pocket, Dean helped Jacob stand back up with a smirk on his face. “Better watch yourself there, half-pint,” he snickered. “Can’t have you getting yourself in trouble in a pocket.”
June 10th excerpt:
Jacob tried to slip into the pocket like he’d done before. He wasn’t used to the perspective. There was a broad chest like a wall in front of him, and Jacob already heard the heartbeat plodding away and powering the much bigger person’s body. Jacob’s heartbeat was faster, and so much weaker, and he still hadn’t been able to avoid the intimidation that always crept up his back like a chill.
When he let himself scoot off of the hand, he had farther to fall than he expected. He missed grabbing the edge of the pocket, and instead fell to the bottom in a heap. “Fuckdammit,” he complained, squirming to right himself.
June 9th excerpt:
Jacob was frozen, stuck once again between fear and confusion by the man’s actions. He could hardly lean away from the fingertip against half his face, though he did what he could. Of all things that could have happened, this was the least expected. He could have been enclosed in a tighter fist, or shoved into a pocket to be trapped and out of sight and earshot. Instead, he was simply shushed.
June 8th excerpt:
The brothers only remained up for a few more minutes. Dean did a quick check of Sam’s temperature and made sure no new injuries had cropped up during the harsh night.
Once he declared Sam as fit as he could in the dark (and Sam grew tired of Dean’s mothering), they pushed the napkin with the remains of the food to the side, both took one last drink of water to help re-hydrate after the harsh day, and then curled into the folds of the handkerchief.
June 7th excerpt:
“Dean…” Sam said under his breath, nudging his brother in the arm. “Dean!”
Groaning, Dean tried shifting away, taking part of the handkerchief with him. “Go to sleep, Sammy,” he mumbled tiredly.
June 6th excerpt:
Only one thing left to do, and that was move the boys. Here John was especially attentive, eyes locked on Sam and Dean to see if he was jostling them. He slowly nudged them across the surface of the desk and into the palm of his hand. Then he cupped his free hand under them and walked as smoothly as humanly possible. He didn’t dare wake them.
June 5th excerpt:
Stan paused and looked back at Dean, trying to ignore the pang in his stomach when he saw how small the fella looked on his counter. “You don’t have any food allergies, do you?”
Dean shook his head. “No,” he said truthfully. “Just… cats.” He flushed red, hoping Stan didn’t mind the extra information.
June 4th excerpt:
“So, er, what’s your name?” Stan asked, reluctant to call him by a name on a tank. “I’m Stan.”
“Oh, um,” Dean hadn’t expected this question from Stan. His name– most of his name– was on the side of the cage he was in when they first met. Stan could use it, he could decide to change it, and instead he was asking Dean.
Maybe he just wanted to hear Dean say it?
With an internal shrug of what can you do? Dean tilted his head back to meet Stan’s gaze. “Dean Win– Dean Wire.”
Artwork by @wolfie180g!
June 3rd excerpt:
The bottle wobbled under his foot and Dean caught the edge of the box and clung to it, taking a second to find his footing. His knees shook and he put all his effort into the hold he had on the box, standing straight.
Even standing on the bottle, the edge of the box was high compared to him, but Dean knew he could clear it.
Taking a deep breath to prepare, Dean pushed off with both feet, swinging his legs over the edge in one smooth, athletic motion. He twisted in midair, getting his feet beneath him when he landed safely on the other side. All that disrupted his triumphant move was a grimace of pain from his bruises, stiffly putting a hand on his back to straighten in place.
Brothers Apart 