A Circular Argument

We got a few requests for the cut argument between Bowman and Dean (who would have expected those two to go in more circles than the earth around the sun?), and after a journey into the depths of google past (good thing they have old versions of docs!) we present the unedited argument between the hunter and the sprite, and what the world missed out on.

Read the full story here.


After a time, Dean decided that Bowman had had enough time to stew in the vase. He pushed aside the remains of their meal, focusing down on the small sprite. “So. Small fry. Up for round two?”

Instead of waiting for a reply, Dean wrapped his hand around the vase and, giving Bowman just enough time to stand, pulled it closer to where he was sitting. Sam backed away from Dean, giving his sweeping arms plenty of space to move. He ended up going over to where Jacob was sitting, since the second human had a tendency to move far slower than Dean.

Bowman stumbled a little, trying to move along with the vase quickly enough without the glass walls knocking into him. He scowled at the giant, though his wings twitched a little with nerves. The hand around the glass looked like it could close on him completely at any second. Bowman remembered well enough what that felt like. He remained standing towards the far side of the vase from Dean, a wary glare fixed on the face above.

Dean cocked an eyebrow down at Bowman. “Well?” he asked gamely. “How about it. What exactly are you, if you aren’t a fairy?”

Off to the side, Sam saw the hand Jacob had stretched out on the table. He sent a smile up over his shoulder to catch the human’s eye. “Mind if I sit with you?” he asked with a slightly red expression. His shirt and cushioning was on the other side of Dean and Bowman, and Sam was in no hurry to interrupt his brother for something so small.

Jacob sent Sam an encouraging smile. He nodded and shifted his hand slightly to make it easier to sit down. He didn’t want to interrupt Dean any more than Sam, however, so he didn’t say anything either.

Bowman crossed his arms. Why did that matter so much to them? He didn’t know what they were and no one was volunteering that. “I’m not a fairy, but I am getting tired of the questioning already. Must be an off day for you.”

Sam grinned as the hand slid a little closer. It still awed him that he had two humans that didn’t mind having him around, to the extent of him being welcome to hang out on a shoulder or a hand whenever he wanted. He climbed onto the huge hand, sitting cross-legged on top. His injured wrist he kept cradled in his lap, watching Dean work.

Dean shrugged. “Well, if you don’t tell me what you are, I’ll just call you a fairy. Might as well, right? Got the wings, got the attitude of Tinkerbell, you’ll fit right in.”

Bowman looked exasperated. “Fairies don’t even have wings, you sunhated idiot,” he shot back. Why were they stuck on that?! Fairy lights didn’t even really have a look!

Jacob tilted his head a little at that. If Bowman was serious, then there were fairies out there in addition to whatever he was. He found himself asking once again, as he often did around the Winchesters, what didn’t exist.

That made Dean’s eyebrow go right up. “Yeah? All the fairies I’ve ever heard of have wings. Butterfly, dragonfly, that kind of thing. I’ll admit, they don’t look like your wings… those are closer to bats or dragons from what I’ve seen. So if you’re not a fairy, what are you?”

Bowman sighed in frustration and tucked his wings even closer, the equivalent of clenching his fists. He wished they weren’t so easy for the giant to observe. He wished he wasn’t so easy to observe. “How much of a difference will knowing make for you?” he evaded.

“It helps in the future, especially if you’ve got nothin’ to do with this wolf thing goin’ on. That way we don’t go hunting the wrong people again.” He nodded at Sam. “I mean, there’s still people who try and hunt down people like my brother, just because they’re different.”

Bowman frowned and took a chance taking his eyes off Dean to look over at Sam. So the ‘brother’ really wasn’t the same species as the giants? He must be some kind of well trained captive after all.

Bowman looked skeptically back to Dean, wondering what exactly he was implying about hunting ‘the wrong people’. Well, they’d caught Bowman, so clearly sprites were perfectly valid targets. “The only thing I know about right now is there were some giants in the woods today. And I’m regretting that fact a little more every second.”

Dean frowned at that. “Were we the only humans you saw, or were there more before we got there?” he asked, equating ‘giants’ to him and Jacob.

Bowman sighed and rolled his eyes. But at least now he had a name for the giants. Humans. Something to be avoided if he ever got home again. He shook his head. “You had to go and ruin a perfectly good day and a perfectly good record, Spirit scorn you.”

Dean folded his arms, resting his head so he was a little closer to Bowman’s level. It usually made Sam more comfortable, so there was a small chance it would work on Bowman.

“What record did I ruin?” he asked, curious despite himself.

Bowman inched back as the human leaned closer. He was still surprised that he was glad for the glass walls separating them. He narrowed his eyes at the gigantic face. “Until you came along giants were just a myth.”

Bowman frowned again. He didn’t want to continue this line of conversation. Doing so would undoubtedly reveal more about ‘his people’. As it was it sounded like he’d already let them guess anyway. Best to quit while he was ahead. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, then leaned his back against the side of the glass that let him keep both humans in his sight.

“Hey,” Dean tapped the glass next to where Bowman was sitting. “We’re not done yet.” He cocked his head at Bowman. “How ’bout this. One answer, and I’ll leave you alone for a bit. All you gotta do is tell me what you are.”

At this point it almost felt like a personal challenge, withholding the information. Bowman glared at Dean, leaning away from the glass again. He doubted the giant even realized how much the impact translated in to Bowman. His wings flicked with annoyance. It was intimidating to try to have a staredown with someone whose eyes were the size of his head.

But Bowman managed. “Does the fact that I don’t want to tell you mean anything to you?”

Dean shrugged, belatedly realizing he shook the table when he did it, making Sam shift his position further back on Jacob’s hand. Dean sent a grimace of apology his way before answering. “Sure. You don’t have to tell me anything. That just means you’ll have to put up with me a bit longer though.”

Bowman glanced at the table beneath him as it shook, and his wings flexed open briefly. But he rolled his eyes and leaned against the glass again, his arms crossed. He wasn’t at all convinced they’d let him go after taking him so far already. So “a bit longer” had no meaning. “I’m not telling you anything, so you can Pray to a rock for all I care.”

Dean frowned, thinking things over. “Do you want these wolves to stay in your forest?” he asked. “Because if you want to give us a hand getting rid of them, this’ll all be over sooner. No more wolves, no more us. We’re only interested in getting rid of an unnatural threat to everyone.” From what he’d seen from Bowman, the guy shouldn’t have any reason to want these nasty skulkers lurking around, especially not if he lived in the forest.

“The wolves are always there!” Bowman answered, frustrated and no less confused than before. Wolves were predators. They killed and ate things. It was sad but it was just life. Why these giants should care so much when they were clearly better equipped to deal with the beasts was baffling to Bowman. Wolves were far more threatening to the sprites than to the giants who could conceal Bowman completely in one hand.

“The wolves and the owls and foxes and snakes are always around. I Pray to the Spirit that your kind isn’t moving into the woods too.”

Sam decided it might be a good time to step in and see if he could help. He hopped down from Jacob’s hand, patting it to show his thanks before he came over, stepping up right in front of Dean by a few inches.

“These aren’t regular wolves, Bowman,” he explained patiently. “Regular wolves wouldn’t do something like this.” He started to pace, right in front of Dean’s crossed arms. “There’s been too many attacks, and they don’t eat the bodies like wild animals do. There are missing organs, but they look like they’ve been sucked dry. All the police have to go on is the makings on the bodies, and those look like wolf bites.”

Bowman listened to Sam, tracking his pacing back and forth. A look of increasing discomfort and disgust came to his face. He didn’t much like hearing about such gruesome deaths. It was bad enough considering what would become of a sprite if they got caught in such horrid jaws. Only one sprite in the village was brave enough to even get close to a wolf.

Scar would have stuck his sword in Dean’s hand without hesitation and flown off. He probably would have managed to taunt the giants before escaping. Bowman’s shoulders fell as he thought about how unequipped and underwhelming he was to these people.

“And you think I had something to do with it?” He asked bitterly, glaring past Sam at Dean. “You really think I’d want anything to do with something that’d eat me no matter if it’s a regular wolf or a weird wolf? I’m not stupid! ”

Sam crossed his arms, frowning. “No, I don’t think you had anything to do with it. Honestly, if you were the cause, I don’t you’d have been caught so easy. Plus, you haven’t exactly made any great escape attempts.” He walked closer to the vase, putting a hand on the thick glass he’d never be able to budge on his own. “We have to be sure, though. That’s why they took you. We couldn’t risk missing our chance if you were the cause.”

Oddly enough, Sam was trying to excuse events he’d had nothing to do with. He’d been knocked out during Bowman’s kidnapping. He wondered if things would be the same if he’d been up.

Bowman’s hands tightened into fists for a second, his frustration still very much there. The cause of what? Wolves doing something weird? If anything, it was probably these giants moving onto their territory too much. And even if they managed to stop them from acting weird, the regular wolves would remain. They’d be stalking around the woods perfectly happy to hunt a sprite.

Bowman sighed sullenly and cast his gaze away from the normal sized hand on the other side of the glass. Much larger hands were still near and could still go back on their assurances anytime. “Well, good work. You caught me so easy,” he snipped. He shifted his wings so they weren’t folded so tightly as he leaned against the glass wall. He pretended to settle in his spot, as if simply dropping out of the conversation. He didn’t want to talk any more than before.

Dean sat up, deciding to call it a night for the questioning. It had turned into a waste of energy. “Maybe you should try some regular research,” he suggested to Sam, nodding at the laptop. “We might find something on what Bowman is on there,” he finished, thinking how much he hated that defeated look on Sam’s face.

Sam glanced up, mulling it over. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted. At least the laptop didn’t talk back.

Dean is pretty scary. Jacob’s handling the situation pretty well, all things considered. Gotta remember that Dean’s a hardened hunter, and even on the show he tends to stray towards playing it safe. Jacob might look harmless but looks are very often deceiving!

Anyway, I couldn’t resist writing out a little something for this question…


The vase settled around Oscar with a hollow, resounding thunk. The heavy finality of it chilled him to the core, and he froze in shock for a full second.

He was trapped.

He was trapped, by a human.

“Oh,” he muttered, a sound more like a whimper and barely on the edge of hearing. His shoulders bunched up and he stared at the cloth bag on the other side of the glass. It was so easy for the human to take it from him. It was so easy for the human to take him, to keep him from running away.

There would be no chance of moving the vase. Oscar was stuck until the gruff, green-eyed giant decided otherwise.

All the stories he’d ever heard about humans said that would never happen. Oscar was claimed and if the human didn’t kill him in anger for his sneaking around and taking food, then he would keep Oscar trapped forever. He’d be grabbed up whenever the human felt like it, just an object of amusement.

Oscar found himself shuffling backwards, his cloth shoes easily sliding along the tabletop. He only stopped when his back pressed against the cold glass behind him, and then he slid weakly to a seat. He stared at the human for a second longer before his lips trembled.

Then, in an effort to block the situation out, Oscar ducked his head and curled up into as small of a ball as he could. His skinny little arms covered his head, and he began to sob quietly.

Fights depend on a number of things, including circumstances, moods, location, what’s happening… and sometimes it can be hard to predict what’s going to happen!

You might find it hard to believe, but for the most part, when I write, I simply design an idea in my head for a story, and then when I actually get to the parts I’m writing, the characters tend to do their own thing. So I don’t control when they get into fights most of the time. I can sorta see it coming, but there are cases, like with my character Walt, where it just happens.

He’s the first person where I’ve sat there going “pls pls don’t get yourself killed… that’s a hunter you just yelled at what even pls stop”

Nor are all fights rational…


“You son of a bitch!” Sam shouted at the top of his lungs. An eerie echo accompanied his voice, the vase distorting the sound waves before they reached Dean’s ears. “What did you do to my brother? He’d never do this to me, I know it!”

The echo of the same words hit Dean like a punch. “Sam…” His throat was dry and his voice hoarse. “It’s me. You’ve been with me all day, remember?” He was almost pleading by the end, wanting his little brother back.

Sam snarled angrily, punching the wall again. Any sign of his calm, collected demeanor was gone, washed away like a sandcastle when the tide came in. “Liar! ”

neonthewrite:

Oh, I love this prompt! It’s adorable and it is something I’ve mused about here and there but not nearly enough.

To answer the question, no, Jacob doesn’t play any instruments. He’s definitely more of a sporty guy, and he is on his high school’s boxing team. The guy’s definitely not one to tussle with. Though now that you mention it, I could see him toting around one of those huge sousaphones. XD

Note: Long-ish post. A little over 1000 words of drabble.


Human Music

Canon: Yes

Taking place the spring after the events of Bowman of Wellwood


The calm afternoon brought a feeling of peace that Jacob rarely experienced back home. It wasn’t that home was stressful or hectic. But out in the woods, with the sun shining on the clearing and the leaves rustling in the breeze, Jacob knew an entirely different sort of serenity.

For the most part. A shifting around on his head reminded him that normally, someone might be scolding his ear right off right now. He was careful not to tilt his head while he read the book in his lap. It could make Bowman fall off, and then he’d have to take out the earbuds connected to his iPod to hear him gripe.

The wood sprite was stretched out on his hair, basking in the warm sunlight that shone down on them. Wide, leafy green wings spread out and draped partially over the side of Jacob’s head, and the sensation nearly tickled him. Not enough to complain, but enough to know his tiny, four inch tall friend was there.

Many of his visits ended up like this. He would come out to the forest to see Bowman, and they’d mill around in the woods for a time. Bowman would tell Jacob about goings-on in the village, and Jacob would explain some new human thing to Bowman. There was never an end to the questions Bowman threw his way.

Unless, of course, he decided to catch some sunlight and some Z’s while lounging on Jacob’s head.

Jacob didn’t mind these moments of quiet. He’d visited several times since the previous Summer and had become good friends with Bowman, despite all the griping and scolding. Theirs was an interesting friendship, one that had seen Bowman bop Jacob right on the forehead more than once. His reasons were many, and Jacob stopped trying to find a pattern long ago.

One pattern he knew for sure he could count on, though, was that Bowman’s stirring on his head meant that soon more questions would likely spring forth. Bowman was stretching his little arms and legs, and even his wings twitched and fluttered, signaling his battle with the sleepy, trance-like state that sunning always put him in.

Jacob found a stopping point and closed his book before pulling his earbuds out one at a time and reaching for his hoodie pocket to shut off the music player.

“Waitasecond,” Bowman interrupted. Jacob turned his eyes upwards, but didn’t move his head. Of course, he still couldn’t see the sprite sitting up there, but he was paying as much attention as he could, all things considered.

“What? I didn’t move,” Jacob said, a smile leaking onto his face despite the indignant protest.

“No, giant, you’re always moving, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” Bowman scooted forward. Jacob could feel him army-crawling closer to his forehead and waited.

Sure enough, a leafy green wing reached into view, the outermost finger pointing vaguely towards the earbuds in Jacob’s hand. “What’re those things? Why do you stick them in your ears? Are they just supposed to block things out so you can concentrate?”

The curiosity had returned. Jacob smiled and drew out his iPod, pausing the music, and held it up to show Bowman. “I listen to music with them. They’re connected to this thing, and it sends the music to these earbuds here, and they play music.”

Bowman scoffed. “How does that thing play music? It doesn’t even look like it’d make a good drum!”

Jacob had to chuckle, which of course caused his head to shake. Bowman grumbled one of his choice sprite swears and pushed himself to a stand before fluttering off of Jacob’s head. He landed on the hand that held the iPod, and Jacob angled it so that he wouldn’t throw the little guy off balance.

“You’re telling me that this thing plays music,” Bowman said skeptically. The older model iPod was almost as tall as he was, and much wider. It was definitely heavier. “No way.”

Jacob smirked. “It’s not an instrument itself. It just stores the music as a recording. You remember when I explained recordings to you, right?” Bowman paused, then nodded. “So this thing is just full of recordings of music. I like to listen while I read.”

Bowman paused to take it all in before nodding and deciding that it was acceptable. His wings twitched and he looked back at the music player curiously. “Lemme hear some of your human music!” he demanded, an almost excited curiosity overtaking his expression. He twisted around to look at Jacob eagerly.

Jacob grinned. Bowman’s reaction to the music should be entertaining. “Alright. Just hold these,” he replied, placing the earbuds in Bowman’s arms.

It was a show all on its own to watch Bowman fumble them before tentatively holding them up to his ears. He frowned skeptically. “I don’t hear anything!”

“I haven’t started anything, you dork,” Jacob shot back, reaching past Bowman with his thumb to press Play on the iPod.

Bowman jolted as the brass instruments of a ska band blared out of the earbuds, and his eyes were wide as he listened. Jacob didn’t have the volume up high enough to hear it himself, but he could follow along well enough just knowing what song was playing. Bowman’s bright green eyes were wide and his wings flexed open and closed ceaselessly.

“How do they make those noises?! Why is he singing so fast? I can’t understand … this music makes no sense at all!” Bowman’s assessment made Jacob chuckle and he paused the music. Bowman sighed.

“Maybe I have something a bit more chill,” Jacob suggested. He got an exasperated look from Bowman, but noticed that the sprite hadn’t put down the earbuds yet, so he must be curious. He scrolled through his song list for a soft rock song instead.

This one seemed to go over much better with Bowman. Instead of getting agitated almost immediately, he looked confused, no doubt trying to identify the sounds of a guitar while he listened. He swayed a little in time with the song before glancing up at Jacob.

“All the words humans put to their music are so stupid. But otherwise it sounds interesting,” he determined. Jacob paused the song, increasingly amused by the way Bowman yelled his opinions to be heard over the music blaring in his little ears.

“Glad you approve,” Jacob answered wryly.

“I wanna hear more,” Bowman blurted, staring expectantly up at Jacob. That wide eyed curiosity was free of his usual snark, and Jacob only saw a will to learn more despite the complaints. He couldn’t say no to that.

“Okay, lemme see if I have something orchestral, we’ll see what you think of that…”

Sam cautiously pushed open the door of his room, glancing around the dark interior before stepping in. It closed behind him with a click as he padded over to the light switch, trying to soften his footsteps as he went.

“Dean?” he called out as he snapped on the light, peering around every corner he could see. “You here?”

When no answer came, he carried his bags over to the table, piling them on the surface. He started to go through them, pulling out his lunch and a white container from the local quickee shop.

“Y’know, you need to work on your sneaking skills,” came a teasing voice from down on the ground.

Surprised, Sam pulled his feet off the floor, searching for the small figure. Dean was standing down next to the leg of the bed.

“I’m not trying to sneak around in my own room!” Sam shot back, watching wide-eyed as his tiny big brother darted out into the open, heading for the table. Watching Dean toss his small hook at the table, catching it on the edge of one of the bags Sam had placed there moments ago, was mesmerizing. He was so small, but he didn’t seem to have an issue getting around at all.

It was only a moment before Dean managed to scramble to the top, sauntering with a casual bow-legged walk across the wooden surface. Boots barely the size of Sam’s fingertip scuffed against the grain. “What if there was someone in here waiting for you?” Dean pointed out as he stopped, putting his hands casually in the back pockets of his jeans.

Sam had to hold back the questions he had shaking around in his head. Where did Dean get his clothes from? How’d he survive? Did he live nearby?

And the hardest question of all, one that Sam had no right to ask.

Would Dean consider leaving the motel?

For now, he simply picked up the white container. “If there’s anyone in here, I figure you’d warn me,” he stated dryly.

Dean frowned, then nodded sharply. Sam smirked. They both remembered the old days where Dean had always watched out for him. It didn’t seem like anything had changed there.

Dean took a step towards the box, then warily eyed the huge hands around it. “What’s that?” he asked.

A flicker of hurt hit Sam at the clear suspicion and distrust, but considering just a day ago he’d grabbed Dean in a fist, he couldn’t blame his brother for it. Hopefully he’d be able to get past that roadblock.

Sam mentally shrugged it off as he opened the container. “I figured I owe you… for yesterday and… leaving you here, all that time ago.” He sighed, shoulders slumping down at the memories. “I can’t really make up for that,” he mumbled, “but I figured I could at least start.”

A light touch on his hand drew his attention away from the past. Dean was standing there, right next to the hands he was so wary around. “Sammy, that wasn’t your fault,” he said in a gruff voice that was deeper than he’d ever expected from someone so small. “We can’t change the past. You were never to blame in any of this.”

Sam blew his hair out of his eyes with a sigh. “Right.” He did his best to believe what Dean had said…

But still.

If he’d never left, Dean wouldn’t be afraid of him. His big brother wouldn’t be leery just standing near his hands. He could have taken care of his big brother the way family was supposed to.

Sam unfolded his hands from the box. “I hope your favorite’s still pie,” he said, letting himself smile again. “I know you used to love apple.”

Dean’s eyes were huge at the sight. A fresh slice of apple pie sat there, bigger than he was. “Holy shit…” he breathed. He took a step towards it, then hesitated. He craned his neck over his shoulder. “You got this… for me?” he asked in disbelief.

Sam’s grin covered his face. “Who else?” he asked back. “It’s all yours. I even have my own snack right over here.” He pulled out a wrap, taking off the aluminum foil to reveal his sandwich. “Take your time.”

Dean relaxed a little more, some of the tension that lingered from the other day dropping away. He walked up, putting a hand on the crumbling crust and breaking off a piece to stare at it for a moment. In complete disbelief that it was there, waiting for him. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Cursed Dean 7 (Final)

The man who’d named himself Sam gaped at the tiny amulet in amazement. It was so small next to him, Dean found himself in shock that someone so massive would even be able to tell what it was. He tucked it back into his shirt, hating how small it always looked against the gigantic surroundings.

And now it was smaller than ever. He was surrounded by massive books that Sam had been reading, a huge bottle of water looming overhead and an enormous laptop blocking the table from behind. There was nothing in the entire room that was made for his size. No, it was all made for Sam’s size. Who was still human.

Who was still alive.

Deep in the darkest recesses of his mind, Dean had feared for years that Sammy would get hurt, would get himself killed because their dad let his guard down or took Sam on a hunt he wasn’t prepared for. Dean had spent years trying to keep his brother safe, but none of that mattered when you were effectively dead to them.

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to sort out the conflicting emotions. Anger. Rage. Unbridled joy at discovering his little brother was alive and well. A fucking Godzilla, but alive, and suddenly that’s all that mattered as the reality sunk in.

Sam must have been thinking along the same lines as Dean. He stared back at his ‘big’ bro like a man that had just found an oasis in the desert, hazel eyes more potent than ever now that they were the size of Dean’s head.

Dean took a step forward. “Sammy…” he started gruffly, throat closing at the emotions. He hadn’t uttered that name in over thirteen years.

Not once.

And now that baby brother was here, a full grown… overgrown… man. Lean, in shape, damn fast reflexes and good instincts… Someone that Dean could be proud of.

Sam’s face relaxed into a smile at the familiar nickname. “I’m here, Dean. I was gone for a long time, but I’m here now.”

He reached forward carefully, slipping his hand under the smaller Winchester’s body. This time, Dean didn’t fight it as a tear rolled down his cheek. This time, he was lifted from the table carefully, his back supported by long fingers that stretched over his head. Even the vertigo was gone as he stared into Sam’s watering eyes, as overwhelmed by emotion as Dean was.

The huge, powerful hands cupped him against Sam’s chest, where he could hear his brother’s steady heart thud along, where he could feel its every beat deep in his bones.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore.”


A/N

And so we have the heartwarming conclusion of Dean’s first encounter with Sam. Trust me, there may be more coming in the future for our reverse BA team, so keep an eye out for any other random drabbles. Also! Feel free to include borrower Dean in any prompts or asks. I have a vague idea of what I’d want to have happen with him, but everything is welcome. Stay tuned, more prompts on the way!


Ask’s Open! || Prompt’s Open! || Submissions Open!


Original Ask || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 ||

Part 5

|| Part 6 || Part 7 (here)  

Cursed Dean 6

The seconds dragged out as Sam stared down at Dean, unable to say a word. Having trouble even thinking.

The words that the strange little man he’d found in his room resounded in his head, taking root in his mind.

He left and he never came back and I got stuck here!

Not that you’d have any idea how it feels to be left behind by your family!

And of course, he was remembering what motel he was staying at. Trails West; the same motel they’d been staying at when his big brother Dean had died. He saw his brother in his mind’s eye, leaping into the witch’s attack and shoving Sam out of the way.

He saw the attack hit yet again, the air warping around Dean as he vanished. Protecting his baby brother to the last second.

“Holy shit,” Sam whispered in realization. His fingers almost leapt away from that tiny, frail body he’d just grabbed moments ago. His brother. He’d grabbed his brother. “Holy shit… I mean, fuck.”

Sam leaned in close, wanting to see all the features of the small person he was holding captive. “Dean… is it really you?”

Dean shuffled back a few steps, a look of fear briefly overriding his aggravation. Guilt hit Sam at that, realizing after the way he’d grabbed the man and trapped him, he deserved that fear.

Dean didn’t say a thing, but he reached inside the small black t-shirt he was wearing. Hesitantly, he pulled out a small necklace. Sam couldn’t see what it was since it was barely the size of a grain of sand, but his eyes widened in realization as the light glimmered off of a brass amulet.

And then he knew.

It was the amulet he’d given his brother.

“Dean…”


Original Ask || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 (here)

Cursed Dean 5

Dean gaped up at the other person at the table with him, unable to reconcile everything that had just happened. Brown hair, familiar hazel eyes, goddamn familiar dimples that appeared while he was stating his name… and Sam.

Sam.

“Not possible,” he growled up. Ignoring the fact that he was trapped at the table, Dean stalked away from the other man. “Not friggin’ possible, your name cannot be Sam!”

Sam, too surprised by the reaction he’d gotten, didn’t bother grabbing the smaller person back at first. “What are you talking about? It’s just a name, after all.”

Dean whipped around and found himself shouting. “You cannot be Sam because Sam cannot be here and I’m never gonna see him again!” All of the pent up frustration from being trapped for years in a place where he had no escape came pouring out, stabbing straight at the only target he had. “He left and he never came back and I got stuck here!” He jabbed his finger angrily in the direction of the giant. “Not that you’d have any idea how it feels to be left behind by your family!

Dean paced angrily back and forth. “And now I’m stuck here, trapped, and the entire goddamn universe just wants to rub my nose in my shitty-ass life by sending another Sam to grab me and remind me of everything I lost!”

The human was slack-jawed as the small ball of anger stalked back and forth on the table in front of him, trying to wrap his mind around the words that had been spewed forth. He reached a hand forward, pinching one of the small shoulders between a finger and a thumb. Dean froze, his entire body turning stiff at the unexpected contact. There was nothing he could do to stop this stranger.

The human leaned down, his soft hazel eyes drawing Dean’s straight to them. Not possible.

“What’s your name?” asked the human softly. Sam asked softly.

Dean’s fist clenched. “Dean,” he snapped.

Sam’s eyes widened.


Original Ask || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 (here) 

Cursed Dean 4

Dean slammed into the ground, rolling over as fast as he could. The second he could find his feet, he was up and backing away from the huge human staring down at him, awe in those familiar hazel eyes.

“Whoa…” said the other man, amazement just oozing from his voice.

Dean took a few more wary steps back as the human leaned down to see him better. The huge brow furrowed above as his outright fear was noticed.

“It’s okay,” said the other man, his voice a quiet rumble of reassurance. “I’m not gonna hurtcha.”

Dean tensed, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” he spat angrily. “You just grabbed me, after all.”

The other man smirked at that, sending chills up Dean’s spine at the casual disregard for his anger. “I’m not the one that’s out here spying on people,” the man with the hazel eyes pointed out. “All I did was catch the person sneaking around near my room. So don’t go thinking you’re innocent in all of this.”

Dean stiffened at the accusation. He knew it was true, the way humans thought. But he wasn’t a human, not anymore, and he needed to ascertain the danger the massive man posed his family.

That was the last thing he’d ever admit, though. He couldn’t reveal the existence of any others like him, he might put them in danger.

He almost leaped away as a massive hand came at him again, but to his shock, this time it didn’t grab at him. His jacket was lying draped across fingers that were longer than he was tall, held out for him to take back.

He stared up at the man suspiciously, refusing to take the bait and get himself in any more trouble. His hands clenched into angry fists.

The other man sighed. “I really won’t hurt you if you’re not hurting anyone else, y’know. I’m a hunter, but I don’t think someone the length of my pinkie really applies.”

Dean almost snarled at the way he’d been put down as non-threatening, but he held his tongue. He stomped over to the hand, snatching up the black jacket and tossing it back over his arms. He was never self-conscious about his body, but the sight of how thin his carefully trained, muscular body was compared to just a finger was not a sight he wanted to see. With the jacket on – and his knife tucked back against his chest, ready to be wielded if he needed it – he felt more prepared for the situation he’d fallen into.

The other man put his hand on the table once it was empty, keeping it close enough to Dean that any escape attempts would be fruitless until his guard was dropped. Dean knew what hunters were. He was supposed to be one, after all. He needed to be careful how he approached this situation, otherwise he might end up dead as an assumed threat.

The hazel eyes narrowed, scanning Dean head to toe. Dean stiffened at the scrutiny, hating the way he was being sized up.

He didn’t find out what the man thought of what he saw. Any chance he had of focusing on his precarious situation was brought to a screeching halt by the next word’s out of the man’s mouth.

“So, what’s your name? I’m Sam.”


Original Ask || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (here)

Cursed Dean 3

Dean did his best to dive out of the way of the oncoming hand, but it was a useless attempt. Before he could get farther than a foot down the vent, the back of his jacket was snagged between two massive fingers. He squirmed, trying to wrench free even as he was dragged relentlessly back several inches all at once, growing ever closer to the massive human that almost had him in his grasp. Nothing he did could slow down the movement.

Abandoning that strategy, Dean changed tactics. Instead of trying to get free of the fingers, he yanked each arm out of the jacket. He tumbled to the ground in his black tee, scared green eyes sending a brief glance back at the surprised human that was left holding a tiny jacket in his hands.

Scrambling to his feet, Dean ran.

This time, the hand that came from him didn’t waste time pinching his shirt. Massive fingers enveloped him on both sides. Before he could attempt to dodge, they all closed up at once, pinning his arms and legs even as his entire body was concealed inside of a massive fist. Dean tried to kick a leg free, determined to make his captor pay for every inch taken, but found himself too weak to manage it. The human had him trapped with no way of even moving a finger.

Disorientation hit, and he realized that the hand must be sailing through the air. His pulse started to race at the thought that he was flying through the air under a complete stranger’s control, with no way to save himself if that fist was to open up in midair and drop him to the merciless ground below. His desperate squirms froze at that thought, fear filling his body.

He was flying through the air.

His chest hiccupped in a gasp of breath, trying his best not to hyperventilate as he realized how helpless he was. Nothing he could do would come close to stopping the behemoth man that held him trapped. Even his knife, wonderfully cared for after all the years he’d spent at this size, was out of reach in the jacket he’d stripped off.

The time for him to think came to an end as the hand stopped moving. Before Dean could think of a way to stop it, he was tumbling through the air.


Original Ask || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 (here)