July 3rd excerpt:
Dean kicked at the second hand that was too slow to grab him, one boot grazing Stan’s skin as he launched himself towards the small round table that stood next to John’s armchair, aiming to use the space under the legs to gain some distance.
Stan cursed under his breath as Dean evaded his grasp, hurrying to his feet to circle around the side table and chair to wait for an opening.
(( wonderful artwork commissioned from @lotminx! Check them out, they have a lot of great artwork! ))
“Hello?” came the voice again, softer, but closer to Sam’s hiding spot.
Sam tried to silence his footsteps, slowly distancing himself from where the voice was coming from. Maybe the human would think he’d imagined it…
His train of thought was cut off when something massive slammed into him from behind. The human must have reached around the nightstand while he was lost in his thoughts! Not to mention that he’d heard the human on the other side seconds before… Smart, very smart… that way I wouldn’t see him coming.
His satchel and the items inside dug into his back, compressed into him by fingers as long as his entire body was tall as they clenched shut around him, and far more powerful than he could ever hope to be. A wave of helplessness and fear hit Sam the moment he felt the sheer power in the fingers closed around him… this was far worse than his last close call. He had only been spotted that time, by a kid no one believed, thankfully.
Sam gasped in pain as the pressure increased, writhing to try and free his arms before the human could see what he’d caught. The wrist he’d injured falling was twisted even further in the overpowering grasp, shoved harshly against his ribs. He’d already failed one of the first and most important lessons his adopted father had taught him growing up: Never let a human get their hands on you. Once they did, it was almost impossible to escape, simply because of the sheer size difference. And this human was huge, making Sam’s chances of escape plummet even further. If only he could get his knife out, he might at least have a fighting chance to escape… Sam wriggled desperately.
And then it was too late.
The grip solidified around him and he was yanked backwards, out from behind the nightstand and into open air. Blinking as the bright, unfiltered light of the room hit him, Sam realized his eyes had yet to adjust to the new light. A huge voice echoed around him, deeper than he thought possible.
“Son of a bitch… what the hell are you?”
Still struggling to free either of his arms, Sam finally brought his eyes into focus in the light. A set of huge green eyes was bare inches away, sharp, dangerous eyes that could almost see right through him.
Sam tried to jerk away with a shocked gasp at how close he was, but the powerful fist kept him effortlessly in place. The human was crouched on the floor, one hand resting on the ground clutching the handgun, the other hand propped up on an elbow, wrapped mercilessly around Sam.
Sam was only suspended a few inches in the air at most. The floor wasn’t far beneath his trapped feet. At least he’d survive if he managed to get out of the grip of the fingers from this height. He still held out some hope of escape. His entire line of sight was taken up by the human… the man was so big it was unreal, like staring up at a living wall.
Since being cursed, Sam had never been this close to a human to fully appreciate how much height he’d lost and exactly how small he really was in comparison. Complete avoidance was the best way to survive in this world when you’re so small. His heart dropped at the knowledge that his life was out of his own hands… and literally in the hands of an unknown human.
Sam took in the shock on the human’s face briefly. Not many humans had ever seen people as small as Sam, and it didn’t seem like this guy was any exception. Truthfully, Sam’s face probably had the same shock painted all over it. He’d never gotten caught like this… completely helpless and with no way out, no hope of escape. The biggest problem he’d run into before today was being spotted from afar. He’d gotten out of that room long before the kid was able to convince anyone of what he’d seen and had stayed away from that room until long after they were gone, just to be safe. This time, he’d been overconfident, assured of his escape if anyone came into the room.
For a long moment, Sam and the human stared at each other in silence, faces unconsciously echoing the same expression of disbelief.
July 2nd excerpt:
Sherlock’s comment demanded a response. Dean jabbed a finger in his direction. “Everything you do is faster than me, obviously,” he griped, throwing Sherlock’s favorite word right back at him. “Doesn’t mean you gotta rub it in all the time.”
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.
July 1st excerpt:
Stan blinked quickly as he watched Dean step on, and it took him a few seconds to remember to breathe. For all his bluster and readiness to boss around people much taller than him, it was easy to forget just how small Dean was. His every movement, every shift of his minuscule weight, tickled Stan’s palm, and it was all he could do to keep perfectly still. In such a precarious position, Stan certainly didn’t want to knock Dean over with a twitch.
June 30th excerpt:
Breathing deeply as he sank into the armchair adjacent to the bookshelf, Stan hesitantly copied Dean’s hand position and moved it closer to the smaller man like a platform. “Don’t worry, I keep clean hands,” he quipped to hide his anxiety behind a smirk.
“Good, ‘cause the last thing I want is to end up smelling like Cheese Curls,” Dean quipped back, hiding his nerves the same as Stan, aided by the fact that his face, so much smaller than the others, was much harder to read. Thus far, he’d only ever allowed Sherlock and John to hold him.
Annnnnddd our third correct guess!
Dean of Nowhere is about the drifter that got left behind, the man who lost his family, and is now on a hunt after the campground of three very familiar characters is ransacked, and the third runs into the forest after injuring one of his closest friends.
It was a walk of a few hours, but Dean refused to admit he might be lost. The trail had vanished into thin air an hour in, and he’d continued on the same path. He had supplies in his bag, at least enough granola for a day or two, and Bobby would never let him hear the end of it if he had to call in a rescue.
Shoulda learned my lesson after the wendigo.
There was a gate with a strict KEEP OUT sign hanging on it. The gate swung wide open, a chain hanging from one side. Dean eyed it up. It was the first suspicious thing he’d found in hours, and he decided to check it out. This fence was his best lead since losing Bobby’s trail. There was no way of knowing if the demon had really gone through it or not, but he could always backtrack later on that afternoon.
If he could find it again.
“Shut up,” Dean growled to himself, berating his own thoughts. “I can handle myself out here, thanks.”
A walk of twenty minutes later, and he heard something out of place.
Is that… singing?
Dean quieted his steps in a heartbeat and stalked through the foliage in search of the source of the sound. He spotted flowers ahead…
Glowing flowers.
Suspicions aroused, Dean took a few more careful steps through the tall grass as the stalks waved in the breeze. He stared down at the flowers in confusion. Demons wouldn’t bother with something like making flowers glow. They spent their energy following twisted depredations. The most mellow of demons made deals for souls. A witch might have the magic for it, but in the middle of the forest, with no one else around for miles…
It was during those confused ramblings that Dean realized something was moving in the wildflowers. Letting the duffel slip down, his instincts kicked in, and he lunged forward. The song choked and stopped out of the source’s sheer surprise. Two hands closed around the strange shape, and he straightened, staring down at his hand.
A brief glimpse of what he’d caught sent his mind reeling.
“Whoa.”
June 29th excerpt:
In annoyance, the little guy stormed out into plain sight. His leather jacket was hastily thrown on and his duffel bag hung askew, and he was glaring right at Sherlock when he came out into the light.
“You know, I’m right there, like two feet away,” Dean complained. “You’re gonna wake the dead one of these days, and the last thing we need to deal with is any vengeful spirits knocking on our doors along with all the rest of the problems going on.”
You are knocking it out of the park! Two for two! And another sneak peek!
Ahead of Dean, the footsteps continued and it didn’t take long for another man to come into view. He wore clothes that looked more suited for roughing it out in the woods, and carried his own duffel bag on a shoulder. His boots and the cuffs of his own jeans were worn and spotted with mud, signs that they’d been on many hikes before.
He spotted Dean quickly, too, and there was a silent tension in the air as the newcomer sized him up. They were about the same height, though the new guy had a slightly blockier build than Dean did. He wore a gun holster at his side, though it remained ignored as the man stopped his approach warily.
“You’re no ranger,” he called out, keeping plenty of distance between them while they still figured out what was going on. “What brings you this far into the woods?”
Dean planted his boots in place, crossing his arms over his chest. His colt was tucked into his pants, hidden out of sight unlike the other man’s gun.
“Last I checked, rangers don’t come back here,” Dean said. “Private property and all that.” He shifted position, pulling an ID out of his jacket. “Name’s Dean Ford,” he said confidently, holding it out for the other man to take. “I’m here to investigate the strange rumors floating around.”
The man’s mouth twitched, almost in a smirk before he controlled his expression. “Rumors,” he echoed, taking the chance to inch forward. He squinted at the ID and found nothing out of place on it, but he was still clearly keyed up. He obviously hadn’t expected to meet Dean out there any more than Dean had expected to see him.
“Logan Guthrie,” he introduced himself, though he didn’t offer to shake Dean’s hand just yet. Instead, he shrugged. “I’m just a friend of a friend of the landowner. Did he hire you to come out here?”
Dean shook his head as he stowed his fake identification in his jacket, a smirk of his own hiding in his eyes. “Sorry, but my clients have asked to remain confidential,” he said in a business tone of voice.
With the ID card out of his hands, Dean let his shoulders slouch so it seemed like his guard was down and he offered Logan a wry smile. “Can’t say it’s my normal line of work, though. Any chance you’ve heard more about these ‘forest fairies?’ ” He screwed his face up while he talked, enunciating the words like they were the strangest he’d ever said.
Logan’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head pensively. He appraised Dean once more and mulled over his own information. It was too late to say he was just out there for a walk. They both had gone past the fence.
“A bit,” he hedged. Logan hadn’t found the article until recently, but once he dug up more information on the place, he’d had to come out. He knew what kinds of danger could lurk behind the simple, innocuous concept. ‘Forest fairies’ indeed. It made them sound so innocent. “Enough to have heard what they call themselves, if they’re really out here.”
“Then maybe you can help me out,” Dean offered magnanimously.
June 28th excerpt:
Stan scratched at the back of his neck, a little hesitant. “Actually, sir, I was rather hoping to discuss this with Dean as well–”
“Dean! ” Sherlock called to the seemingly empty room, knowing the smaller man would hear. Then he snatched a chair from the end table against the wall and placed it across from the fireplace, indicating that Stan should sit as he dropped into his own chair. Bemused, Stan did just that, laying his coat over the back of it before taking a seat, folding his hands in his lap while he waited.
Brothers Apart 