Tag: dean winchester

OK here we go. Stan is a borrower and has been all his life. Someone caught him, decided that because he was small he had no rights, and sold him to someone in America. Then, Sam and Dean get wind of this shady operation and bust the joint, rescuing wee Stan. Obviously he doesn’t trust them at first because hello, huge humans, but they try. Though they are probably needlessly grabby at the very first unless Bobby was the one who sent them in which case he’d’ve warned them, “No grabbing! U scary”

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Nice! Stan definitely gets shipped off and sold in America, but Sam and Dean didn’t really expect to find him when they were on a case… he was more of a little bonus XD

This is the way things will go down for the unlucky leprachaun lookalike in the newest AU, Brothers Chosen!

We’ll start putting excerpts up for it after #adod is done posting.

“Hey!” Dean blurted. The sight of the kid running away reminded him of the fight, and the knowledge that they were in the house of a witch.

They couldn’t take anything at face value.

“Get back here!”

Pushing himself up to a squat, Dean dove for the tiny person running from him, instincts screaming that he couldn’t let the guy get away. For all they knew, this guy was just as dangerous as the witch, and if he got under cover, they might not find him again short of burning down the house.

Sam tended to frown on such extreme measures.

Stan flinched again at the hunter’s booming voice and the vibrations through the floor as he moved, but he kept running. He only dared look when a shadow suddenly enveloped him, and he glanced back to find one of those humongous hands surrounding his entire body before he could cry out.

The little guy instantly curled into a ball, not wanting any of his limbs to get pinched between any of those massive digits, each as long as Stan was tall– likely longer! He let out a whimper as he braced himself for death by crushing. All it would take was a squeeze of the hunter’s hand, and Stan would cease to be.

A bit of the tension in Dean bled away as his hand closed around the tiny figure. His fingers sealed closed into a fist, and he was already going to stand up as he lifted his hand up from the ground.

The tiny guy inside weighed almost nothing, and didn’t put up a fight or even struggle as Dean lifted his hand up. If he didn’t feel the tiny guy in there, balled up in his fist, he wouldn’t believe he existed.

Then, there was no time to wonder at the tiny oddity he’d discovered. He heard a grunt from Sam and sprang into action. Sweeping the discarded knife from the floor, Dean heedlessly threw himself back at the fight, dropping the tiny person into one of the side pockets of his leather jacket and promptly forgetting him in lieu of the witch.

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November 19th excerpt:

It took five minutes to get to the top of the table, kick the pen angrily off the surface, then drop back down. With Dean at a bare three and eight tenths inches tall, the pen was nearly two times his length. All those times hauling water around paid off as he hoisted it up, and started the long trek to the couch.

“One of these days,” Dean grumbled, “I’ll be the one having you bring me things. One of these days.”

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November 18th excerpt:

Up. Down. Up again. Why does everything require climbing.

Resigned, Dean started his climb down, griping all the way.

“Y’know, I have half a mind to go back and grab one of Sam’s pencil tips,” Dean complained to the open air of the flat. “He’d notice in a second that it was gone, but it would be worth the look on your face when you either have to use a scrap of pencil to write with or get up and get your own damn pen that’s like five feet away.”

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November 17th excerpt:

Cocking his head, Dean was distracted from the paper he was working on, where all he’d managed to scribble in the not five minutes since he’d sat down to work, was two intersecting lines. Hardly the blueprint he had planned.

“Is he serious? ” Dean asked the empty room around him.

He can’t be serious.

And yet.

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Jacob flinched so violently that he actually woke up with a startled breath. His eyes were wide for a second until he shut them and rubbed at them with his knuckles. He could tell by the wavering of the world around him that he was still drunk. And there was a wide green … wing? over him. Jacob shuddered and turned over in his place, trying to get comfortable again.

He brushed against Sam’s arm when he was shifting in place under the green canopy. With a mumble, Sam rolled a little closer, his arm landing over Jacob’s small body. Jacob flinched in surprise from the sudden appearance of an arm longer than his body. It was only a moment before Sam shifted again, pulling Jacob closer by instinct as soon as he noticed the shivers that wracked his body even in the depths of sleep.

Sam buried his head next to Jacob under the blankets, effectively pinning him to his chest the way one would a teddy bear at night. His grip was gentle, keeping away from the sore and bruised ribs that the tiny guy was nursing. Sam gave a brief mumble of contentment before he fully drifted into sleep again.

Jacob’s surprised squirming was practically nonexistent thanks to exhaustion. If he were at his full strength, sober, and not still shaking from residual fear, Jacob may have been able to squirm away. As it was, warmth that was all too hard to retain at his size was a welcome feeling. He settled with a weary sigh, knowing this was a battle he simply didn’t have the energy to fight. Sam’s heartbeat thumped steadily right behind his head, with Jacob nestled right next to his chest. It was a backdrop to him drifting off again, slipping back into a deep sleep aided by the copious amounts of alcohol still in his system.

The room settled into an uneasy silence as they rested, Dean on one side of the room against the wall, everyone else asleep under a green canopy of Bowman’s wing, blocking out sight of the enormous world around them. 

Keeping them safe.

Read more here

Artwork by @mogadeer!

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November 16th excerpt:

“Could you pass me a pen?” Sherlock called without opening his eyes. This was not uncommon for him to do, John often claimed that the detective didn’t notice what was going on around him when he was deep in thought. And that was true, and it often left Sherlock speaking to an empty room. However, since meeting the Winchesters, he was always aware of extra hidden presences around, and he considered them on some level at all times. Calling at that volume, Dean could hear him fairly well, unless he was all the way down in Sherlock’s room.

And if he was in Sherlock’s room, Dean was in for strong words about privacy.

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November 15th excerpt:

Dean reached the little home in the walls near John’s armchair and let out a sigh, taking in the silence.

For the first time since moving into 221B Baker Street, he was all alone in their home.

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November 14th excerpt:

Once Sam was ready and waiting on John’s hand, not quite prepared to climb like the old days, he gave Dean a worried frown. “You can always come with us if you wanted,” he offered hesitantly.

Dean jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, towards the main room and Sherlock. “Someone’s gotta make sure things don’t get out of hand around here,” he said wryly, remembering the time Sherlock had started shooting up the walls (literally, with a gun) while John was out. “Go get some fresh air. You need it, kid. I’ve got some projects I can work on while you’re out of the way.”

Sam grinned. “Just don’t go tearing the place down around us.”

“No promises.”