If the wings dried out, it would be uncomfortable at the very least for the sprite. Painful, if it got bad enough. The wings are very sensitive to the air around them, so if they were dry and more brittle than normal then the poor sprite would be very sore. Of course, not being able to photosynthesize as efficiently would be a side effect, leading to fatigue and other related conditions that would make life harder for them.

As for Bowman’s fussing about his wings, he tends to go above and beyond what’s strictly needed. He might be willowy and lean, but he’s technically an athlete by their standards, so he keeps his wings stretched and fit. He preens regularly to massage the overworked joints, and he takes every opportunity to put them to use.

Don’t Trust A Leafwing



Bowman and Jacob, Mischief Managed (from a much older prompt list that I am far too lazy to go dig up)

Bowman flitted to and fro while Jacob walked along the forest floor, his heavy steps crushing twigs and leaves beneath his boots. The pair made an odd sight navigating the woods. Where one was only four inches tall and glided on wings mimicking the leaves all around them, the other stood over six feet tall and sported a worn out hoodie.

They were as different as they could be, but they’d managed to build an easy friendship over Jacob’s visits to the forest. Bowman, despite all of his complaints about human nonsense, never stopped coming up with more questions.

Up ahead, Bowman saw something glinting in the sun and grinned. He had an idea.

He drifted downward to fly in a circle around Jacob’s head. The human stopped to avoid bumping into him and raised his eyebrows. “Yes, Bowman?” he said, a smirk growing on his face. “You have my attention.”

Bowman hovered at Jacob’s eye level and pointed toward a pine tree with long, spindly branches and golden drops of sap glistening upon them. The sun filtering down through the leaves above cast light over the sap so that it almost glowed invitingly. “There’s some pine sap over there. You should try some!”

Jacob frowned critically. “Isn’t that, like, super bitter?” he asked. Even so, he resumed walking when Bowman led the way towards the tree.

Bowman scoffed. “It’s delicious,” he countered. “Figures you humans would know more about phone things than what’s good to eat.

Jacob snickered as Bowman came to a landing on one of the branches. Where Bowman could deftly find a place to stand, Jacob had to stoop slightly to avoid being poked by the sharp green needles of the tree. He peered skeptically at a large glob of sap sitting on the branch.

Bowman rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a sprout about it,” he complained. “See?” he stooped to grab a flake of bark to scoop some of the sap up. With relish, he ate the sticky amber sap and gestured with a wing for Jacob to try it.

Jacob sighed and it ruffled Bowman’s hair, but then he shrugged. “I guess. You’ll know better than any wilderness guidebooks,” he reasoned aloud. He took a smear of the sap on his fingertip.

Any second now.

The minute Jacob tasted the sap, his face morphed into one of complete disgust. “Oh Jesus Christ,” he lamented, his mouth turned downward in a tight frown. The overwhelming bitter flavor, a favorite of Bowman’s, was stronger than he ever could have expected.

Bowman cackled. “Oh, Spirit, I can’t believe that worked.”

“Oh my God,” Jacob rolled his eyes, still with a note of disgust in his voice. The taste of the sap would linger with him for hours. “You’re such an ass.”

Bowman fluttered up from the branch. “And you’re such a giant. Congratulations, Jacob. You’ve been had by someone the size of your finger.” He held up his hand with his index finger extended for emphasis.

Jacob mimicked the motion, but before Bowman knew what he was up to, he poked at Bowman’s chest in midair. Bowman faltered and glared, and Jacob smirked. “I’ll put you in my pocket,” he warned.

Bowman narrowed his eyes. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Definitely Fairy Tales canon. Definitely only happened once. Jacob learns quickly that Bowman is a stinker, and here you see he definitely employed the right technique. Just poke him.

As a matter of fact, there is one! Fairy Tales: Bowman of Wellwood is my ( @neonthewrite) story that is entirely stand alone from Supernatural or the Brothers Apart multiverses. The first collaboration that @nightmares06 and I worked on was A Lich of Sense, essentially a crossover of our two main storylines, so the Bowman (and his Jacob) in that story experienced all of the events from Bowman of Wellwood.

As for the second question, we will just have to wait and see as Brothers Apart progresses! 😉 But, if we remember from Lich, Dean gave Bowman a business card with his phone number on it, and someone has to dial the phone for that little sprite. He doesn’t have a phone of his own.

And, Dean and Sam have actually been in contact with Jacob since the end of Lich! Jacob… didn’t quite believe Bowman’s tale, so to prove himself right, Bowman had Jacob call up the brothers.

Calling John Bonham

Visiting Hours (Fairy Tales Canon)


A story spontaneously came to me before bed, so I had to get it written down. It’s a little sad, I suppose, but not the worst. Reading time is approximately 10 minutes, and it is canon to Jacob Andris’ storyline, taking place the winter after the events of Bowman of Wellwood.

“So, I guess it’s been a while,” Jacob murmured, a deep bass voice uttering quietly from his chest. In the distance, someone walked their dog, and the little creature frolicked along smelling flowers and barking at birds. Crisp winter air contrasted with the pure blue sky overhead, a picture perfect day. There wasn’t even any snow on the ground.

He’d always found it funny, in a grim sort of way, that it never rained when he came there. The movies always sold the impression that it should rain when someone visited a graveyard.

Jacob lowered his gaze from the dog-walker to the plot he’d come to visit. His hands, so shaky and unstable lately, were stuffed into his hoodie pocket to keep warm and out of sight. His eyes were sunken, with circles under them that had been improving in the last few weeks. Jacob was rarely impatient, but it was getting ridiculous.

“I woulda visited earlier, but, uh,” his voice trailed off weakly while one hand escaped the pocket. When he touched one fingertip to the entry wound on his shoulder, his jaw clenched. Phantom pain spread across his chest and he lowered his hand.

“A lot’s been going on. I made a new friend, though. He’s a four inch tall woodland fairy.” Jacob let himself grin, and then tilted his head. A glare from the sun lanced across the name etched into the humble grave marker.

Nicholas Andris

Beloved Father and Husband

“He actually got really mad when we called him a fairy. He’s a wood sprite, and he’s the fastest flyer in his village. I have a feeling he’s not gonna like that I’ve grown a couple inches in the last few months, though. He never did like that we … humans, I mean, are so tall. I’m catching up to you.”

Jacob cut a notable figure indeed in the middle of the small sea of gravestones. Blocks of gray stone marked with faded plastic flowers surrounded him, with only the occasional angel statue standing taller. He was six feet and three inches tall. Only a few inches left to go until he caught up with his dad’s prodigious height.

He lifted a hand to scratch absently at his face while his eyes scanned over the worn grave marker. It was never as glossy as the day it was laid. Jacob wished he’d brought a rag to clean it.

Instead, he noticed his hand shaking. A flash of memory, a flurry of green, swarmed his vision and he had to blink it away. Hand back in his pocket, he focused on the stone again. Might as well explain a little.

“I was sorta figuring the little guy out when this nut showed up with a gun. He kept spouting some crazy shit about how sprites are evil. I mean, Bowman’s really snarky and it’s funny as hell, but he’s not evil. It’s complete bullshit. He was gonna take a bunch of them out of their homes, and when I tried to set them free…”

The crazed face glared at him from a veil of months ago. Jacob had sighted the man while the man sighted him from the safe end of the gun.

“He shot me. I was …” Jacob had to stop. The injury, one that doctors called a miracle, would have killed him. He would have died and never known what became of the sprites. “I was basically a goner, if not for Bowman.”

Bowman, a fiercely defiant and independent little wood sprite of four inches tall, was the reason Jacob stood there, alive and mostly well. After leaving the woods had come the hospital stay and the trial, one that earned enough news coverage to give Jacob twenty seconds of fame. The brave kid who pulled through despite a crazed man’s babbling about tiny winged people attacking him.

Jacob knew the truth. He’d always been raised to never tell a lie. In court, he’d sworn it on a Bible.

“I didn’t tell anyone about Bowman or the others. Even mom doesn’t know. That guy… he could have destroyed so many lives. I couldn’t risk other people knowing about them, y’know? I figured you’d understand. Other than Chase and Bobby, you might be the only one I talk to about it.”

No breeze came. A few wispy clouds drifted across the sky, and the person walking their dog angled farther away. Jacob never got answers, of course, but still he was comforted by the following silence.

“So that’s what I’ve been up to, dad,” he said, in an even quieter voice than before. This time, it was tighter and he had to strain just a bit more to force out the words. “Making friends with wood sprites and getting shot. It definitely made the start of the school year pretty weird.”

He reached out a hand, leaning towards the marker, but his fingertips never made contact. There were a lot of cliches that Jacob tried to endorse, but it never rained when he visited his father’s grave. He never quite brought himself to touch the rough edge of the dark grey marker. He was glad for it. Instead of coming out and talking to a grave, he talked to his dad like the man was still there.

“I’m gonna come back sooner for my next visit, since the crazy all died down a bit. Mom’ll probably want to come.”

His hands returned to his pocket and Jacob stared straight down. His boots flattened the dry grass beneath his weight. Once he cast his mind around for any further updates and found none, Jacob allowed himself a faint, grim smile, and angled away from the site once more. Once he left, he’d need to be his usual relaxed self again, and couldn’t go until that was possible.

Finally, the smile turned real. Jacob lifted his head as the peace he was familiar with returned to him like a trickle in a frozen stream. The last few months had been hectic, but it wouldn’t last forever.

Turned out all he really needed was some visiting hours.

“See you later, dad.”

Keeping Warm


Bowman – Snow. 

From this post.

This is Fairy Tales canon. Bowman is newly 19, and it takes place the winter after the events of Bowman of Wellwood.

Reading Time: ~5-10 minutes

The main room was cozy and warm. Candara had Prayed all morning to bring warmth coursing through their home branch, and the Earth Spirit’s magic granted them a warmer home despite the bitter cold outside. The breeze leaking through the shaded windows promised that stepping outside would require several layers.

Bowman was restless as he was every winter, but he didn’t feel like going out just yet. In the deadest part of winter, his wings twitched with shivers and the desire to fly both. Today, he remained inside with the others to avoid that chill.

Candara and Larxe sat together on one of the cushioned benches in the room, their wings around each other like leafy green cloaks. Candara rested her head on Larxe’s chest, tired out after Praying for so much warmth. Bowman sat by the wall and let the heat creep up his spine and into his folded wings. His right leg was drawn up, but the left one stretched out in front of him. He stared at it absently.

Rischa wandered over to him to sit down at his side. Bowman lifted an arm so his young cousin could snuggle closer to him with her blanket over her shoulders. “It’s hurting again,” she noted, glancing at Bowman’s leg.

It had healed months ago. And yet, sometimes, Bowman’s knee would have phantom pains in it from when he’d injured it. Those pains, Cerul had told him, would never go away completely. Too much strain on it, or even sometimes just the cold that came with the snowy weather would make the old wound site tender and sore.

He would always have the reminder of a human hand closing over his body and slowly applying pressure until he couldn’t even scream for mercy.

Rischa suddenly freed her arms from her blanket to hug Bowman around his waist and he jolted right out of his thoughts. He looked down at her in surprise and noted that her eyes were shut tight and she didn’t look ready to let go anytime soon. He smiled faintly and reached down to pull her blanket back up over her.

“It’s only a little, Birdie,” he told her in a hushed voice.

She looked up at him with concern in her eyes. Bowman never was any good at hiding things from Rischa. Ever since she’d realized her gift of the Voice, he could hide even less. She could read his heart like curling script was written on his wings. She knew where his thoughts inevitably went when his knee flared up. She knew the fear and pain and despair that he remembered, like echoes of a thunderstorm. She was only eight, and yet she already weathered the feelings of everyone around her.

Rischa reached up with one little hand to cup her palm on Bowman’s cheek. Her thumb brushed under his eye as if wiping away a tear that hadn’t been released, and she smiled at him. “I know. It’s okay, Bowman,” she told him.

He gave her a half smile, and his brow pinched with bemusement. “Look at you trying your best to freeze,” he said, pretending to scold her. He pulled her blanket up higher so it rested over her head and covered her golden eyes, getting a delighted giggle from her.

He opened one wing to wrap it around his young cousin and she snuggled closer to him. They took in the warmth together, and the cold couldn’t get to them. Bowman hummed quietly, a sound that Rischa could hear resounding in his chest. Even with the responsibility settled on her by her gift, Bowman would let her be a child for as long as he could.

Doing Good, Kiddo?


Jacob Andris – Fragile. 

From this post.

Reading Time: ~10 Minutes

Jacob Andris at 8 years old. Content Warning: Ailing family member

“Jacob, baby, you can come in the room if you want. He’s awake and we can all talk for a while.” Jacob looked up from his waiting room seat to see his mother’s tired face peeking out of the thick hospital door. The bags under her eyes had become a constant feature of her face, and her curls were always untucked from her hasty ponytails lately.

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From this post. The word is ‘Moon.’

This is Fairy Tales canon. Bowman is 14.

Reading Time: ~5-10 mins

Bowman couldn’t sleep, and usually when he couldn’t sleep, that meant his wings twitched and he tossed and turned for hours before giving in. Tonight, he wasn’t going to do that. He lay in his bed and almost glared at his window and the serene light that broke through it. The moon cast its cool, sharp glow upon the village of Wellwood in shining bars that mimicked the golden light of its sky sibling.

Moonlight might not be quite as refreshing as the sunlight, but Bowman knew that flying through it was just as peaceful, just as liberating.

He sat up in his bed, the oval-shaped basin in his room, and stretched his wings carefully. Why deny himself a little flying just because his aunt and uncle told him it was too dangerous to go out at night? Their warnings had never been frightening enough to keep him from it. He had to practice to be the best in the village one day, after all.

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