They didn’t have a turkey meal, but they managed to snitch some quick Chinese while driving. They ended up having a vengeful spirit to go after that only strikes on Black Friday, a security guard lost during the insanity one year who’s haunting his old job.
Everyone be safe this weekend! Workers and shoppers alike!
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!
November 25th excerpt:
Dean was silent for a long moment. He very rarely tried to actively use the ability. Mostly it just happened. They needed food, and he would suddenly just know where to go. Questioning it when their lives depended on the ability seemed like looking a gift horse in the mouth.
As he focused, the prickles on the back of his neck began to grow more prominent. His surroundings dropped away.
It was like he was standing next to Sam once more, trying to hurriedly clear his mind and listen to Sam’s constant litany of ‘advice’ for how to do it.
With focus came clarity, and Dean found himself pointing before he realized his hand was moving.
Psychic freak, slipped into his mind and he angrily crushed the thought as he told Sherlock, “That way.”
Timeline: Eighth day after being cursed
“You dislocated his shoulder!”
The shouts might as well have fallen on deaf ears for all the good they did. Dean glared out the bars of the cage he and Sam were trapped in, wanting nothing more than to sink his silver dagger into something.
Anything.
But no. They stayed stuck, with no way out and no way to find help. The woman whose rough handling had injured Sam casually thumbed through a magazine, waiting with her captives and ignoring them as though they didn’t exist.
Dean supposed he should be grateful they still even had their knives. After escaping that hexbag and finding their way to other humans, the brothers had tried to find help to reunite them with their father. Instead, they’d found capture. It had happened so fast that he never got a chance to draw his blade before he was tossed in a cage next to Sam.
Sam, who was out cold, one arm hanging unnaturally.
“Okay, Sammy,” Dean said, lowering his voice and trying to hide his desperation. “I’m gonna take care of this for you. Nice and easy, just like dad always says, right?”
Sam didn’t respond, his breathing ragged. Dean prayed the woman hadn’t hurt his brother when grabbing him from the ground. She was so big. There was no telling what kind of damage she could do to them.
Dean took hold of Sam’s arm and said a quick prayer under his breath. “One, two–“
Before saying “Three,” he quickly pulled, the arm shifting back into the socket. Sam shrieked, the ten year old’s body writhing in place as the arm took its rightful place. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, trying to comfort the younger child while glaring at the woman outside, tears clinging to his eyelashes.
In that moment, he made a promise to Sam.
One way or the other, they’d find a way out.
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She would dote on her miniature tenants to the max. Leaving out smaller treats for bitty hands, biscuits and sweets. John might have to get her to tone it down, but she definitely won’t hold back when the holidays roll around. She’s such a sweetheart, the bros certainly wouldn’t go hungry or needy with her around.
And she certainly wouldn’t hesitate to scold Sherlock if she finds out he’s been rude.
November 24th excerpt:
“Oh, well that clears everything up,” Dean said, sarcasm heavy in his voice. Out of all the times he’d seen Sherlock pull that one on John, he’d somehow never expected to have it turned around on him.
After being plucked out of the cupboard without warning and then told he was going to be training, also without warning or any way to prepare, this was shaping up to be quite a day already.
“You’ll have to refresh my memory,” Dean said, his gruff little voice as firm as ever and speaking with a level of authority that his size contrasted with. “Seems I have a difficult time recalling conversations I was absent for.”
AU: Brothers Apart
Timeline: Directly after A Lich of Sense
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.
“Hey, can’t let you forget it.”
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November 23rd excerpt:
Sam leaned over the bottlecap again to avoid looking at Sherlock, unable to completely hide that the detective continued to unnerve him compared to John. He tilted his cup so the drop of dark coffee splashed into the milky brown color. Dean made a face at him as he pulled over the cube of sugar, contemplating just how much to add to the bitter liquid.
“Now you’re just ruining it,” Dean complained as Sam tipped the entire cube into the cap.
Timeline: Right after moving into 221B Baker Street
“Look out!”
Dean shoved Sam out of the way, his younger brother stumbling backwards from the unexpected danger. Moira yelped, grabbing Sam’s arm to haul him back, leaving Dean to face the threat on his own.
A cat.
Dean didn’t budge an inch, his silver knife in hand as he faced down the cat to give Sam and Moira time to escape. This was supposed to be a quick trip to grab some supplies, stock up Sam and Dean’s new home a few flats away from Moira’s family. They’d only had enough extra food for one meal, and having Moira’s help was welcome.
Of course, no one ever consulted them when getting a new pet, and not knowing that a cat now lived in the flat Moira’s family called home meant that they’d stumbled right into it.
“Mrow?”
It wasn’t quite the hiss of anger Dean had expected to hear before the deadly paw descended on him. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. He squinted his eyes open just as he realized he’d closed them as he prepared for the inevitable.
The cat still sat in the same spot, its tail swishing from side to side. Now that the element of surprise was gone, Dean could see it was only a kitten, nose twitching as it looked over the three tiny people it had cornered. Its head moved closer and Dean stiffened, expecting at any second to feel the crushing fangs close around his chest.
Instead, a wet nose pressed into Dean’s side. He jolted away in surprise, almost flailing off balance. The kitten blinked at him, then mrowwed again.
Stalemate.
Sam and Moira, standing against the wall, stared at the odd scene. Slowly, it all began to sink into Sam, and he snickered.
Dean sent him a wounded look over his shoulder.
“It wants you to pet it!” Sam called, almost doubling over with laughter.
Dean tore his gaze from Sam and looked back at the kitten just as a headbutt from the animal knocked him from his feet. He went sprawling, rolling a few times until he landed at Sam and Moira’s feet, staring up at them in a daze.
Moira joined Sam in laughing as they hauled Dean to his feet. “Go on!” she said, shoving him towards the kitten. “Pet her!”
Dean reached up a hesitant hand as the kitten cocked her head at him, ear flicking the moment his hand brushed against the fur. He scratched behind the ear like it was the most important task he’d ever performed, considering that if she wanted to, the kitten could turn the three of them into her playthings.
Nothing like that happened, aside from a rumbling purr from deep in the cat’s chest. She stretched out her front legs, each toe extending as she flopped down at Dean’s feet and looked up at him.
“I think you have a new best friend,” Sam said in a laughing attempt at a hush as he slipped past Dean, leading Moira towards the wall entrance they’d left behind.
“You’re not so bad, are ya?” Dean mused as he rubbed behind the ear again, thinking everything was going to work out fine.
Just as Sam and Moira made it to the wall, it happened.
“Ah– CHOO!”
Dean’s sneeze was so violent he was knocked off his feet, landing on his butt an inch away from a curious ear flick. The kitten picked up her head, nosing worriedly at Dean when the scritches didn’t resume. He barely noticed the large wet spot left on his leather jacket this time, too concerned with holding back another sneeze.
“ACHOO!”
Sam had to come back to grab Dean with Moira safely in the walls, hauling his older brother up and giving him a shove at the entrance while distracting the kitten with a scritch. Sam, who didn’t have any allergies to cats, did much better than his older brother, and escaped the moment the kitten’s eyes fluttered shut.
They parted ways with Moira at the fork in the path, her returning to her home with her parents while Sam propelled Dean towards their new home in the hopes that dunking his head in water might help the sneezes.
Otherwise, they might lose their ninja titles.
All through the walls, Dean sneezed.
Passing a kitchen with wonderful aromas wafting through the walls. “Ah-choo!”
Hearing a toilet flush. “Ah– ACHOO!”
Sam let out a sigh as they finally got home, hurrying to their water supplies while Dean morosely picked at a long, ginger-colored hair that clung to him even after leaving the kitten behind.
“Ah– CHOO! ”
The humans living in the flat were usually more observant than most. They were also quite busy and happened to be lost in their own worlds.
Sherlock Holmes was wrapped up in an experiment, subjecting disembodied fingers– specifically the fingernails– to the flame of a blowtorch at gradually lengthened intervals. It was a relatively quiet experiment, but the smell of it had John Watson slamming the sliding kitchen doors shut to keep the odor out of the main room.
John sat at the small table against the wall in the middle of the living room, typing away at his blog. Sherlock’s most recent case had been a convoluted one, and he wanted to be sure to get the details right. Or at least to a point where they made sense to the layman.
A muffled sneeze briefly broke his concentration.
“Gesundheit,” John muttered, under the assumption that the fingernail-fumes were finally starting to get to Sherlock. For his part, the detective hadn’t even heard the small noise from the kitchen, and so he and the doctor remained blissfully ignorant of the smaller residents of 221B Baker Street as the brothers stared at each other in shock, the human’s response to Dean’s sneeze completely unexpected.
Before Dean could sneeze again, Sam dunked his head into the cap of water. Dean resurfaced, gasping and wiping at his eyes before burying his head in the nest of fabric he called a bed. A muffled sneeze could be heard as Dean slumped in place.
“No more cats,” Sam said grimly, wondering at their close call with Sherlock and John.
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November 22nd excerpt:
Dean wrinkled his nose. “The only way to drink coffee is black,” he declared, remembering the times he’d made coffee for his dad while he was growing up. Or ordered it at a coffee shop. There was nothing like the bitter flavor of the black brew to wake someone up.
Sam glanced between Dean and John, realizing he didn’t have an answer for them. “Sugar…?” he said, more question than answer.
“Yeah, sure,” John chuckled at Dean’s unexpectedly strong opinions about coffee. He supposed it made sense, he was a few years older than Sam. Plenty of opportunity to garner a taste for the stuff.
Brothers Apart 