November 2nd excerpt:

Stan stiffened from head to toe the second Dean set foot on his hand, struck by the no-longer-familiar sensation. He was just so tiny, most of Stan’s fingers outsized Dean and that was far from a comfort. Though Stan could only remember bits and pieces of the last borrower he’d ever held, he remembered them being so much bigger in his hands.

He wasn’t a child anymore. He’d grown up, and his hands were no exception.

June 19th excerpt:

Placing his hand carefully against the table, Dean beckoned to Sam. “Gimme some of that sandwich,” he commanded.

Sam stuck his lip out but didn’t argue. “Kay,” he said, pinching off a corner.

Dean took it, flattening the bread between two fingers. “How ‘bout you get some rest and eat up?” he offered the kid, motioning with his head to the books he might be able to sit on. “Take it easy while we figure this out.”

April 21st excerpt:

Green eyes that put Dean’s to shame, a shock of red hair that looked perfectly wild and a pale complexion that nearly matched the borrowers who never saw the sun, the man touched the glass near Dean with a long finger that outsized the borrower.

Captivated by the intense gaze, Dean couldn’t help but lean forward and flatten his hand against the side of the glass to see the sheer difference between them. Compared to Stan’s fingertip, his hand was too small to fill the entire area, the tips of his fingers falling just short. He could make out every crevice and crack, the whorls of a fingerprint clearer than the words Dean had carved into the wall of his cage.

April 5th excerpt:

Jacob pushed a shaky hand against the fingertip messing with him, while the other brushed back through his bedraggled hair. His glare was tempered by the worry on his face when he looked up at the guy again. There was nothing familiar about the man, and nothing comforting in the fascinated gleam in those green eyes.

At least if he focused on that billboard-sized, smirking face, he didn’t have to think too hard about how high up he was from the ground. “W-what do you want?!” he demanded, voice still shaky with nerves.

February 6th excerpt:

As Dean’s voice started to talk to the pizza shop, ordering what sounded suspiciously like ‘the Ultimate Meat-Lovers pizza,’ Sam took pity on the rumpled little guy, slipping two fingers into the pocket with Stan. Though he didn’t go to scoop the guy out, still worried about possibly injuring Stan with one wrong move or making him equate them to the witch’s care, Sam kept his fingers steady.

“Feel like getting some fresh air?” Sam offered warmly.

December 31st excerpt:

Stan crouched low in Dean’s hand as it moved, bracing himself through the movement. He couldn’t keep his grip forever, though, especially when the hand tilted beneath him. A yelp died in his throat as he was passed to a new palm.

Sam’s palm.

After Stan sat himself back up, he froze at the sight. He found he had even more room in his new spot, much more than he ever found in Nicholas’ hands. Glancing at his fingers, cupped and bloodstained as they were, wasn’t comforting in the slightest. If Stan thought Dean’s fingers were tall, he was sorely mistaken. There probably wasn’t a single one of Sam’s that Stan could stand a chance at outsizing.

December 12th excerpt: 

Letting go of that finger, Dean moved over to Lestrade’s middle finger, deciding he would simply continue until he found one that he was taller in comparison to. He couldn’t be shorter than all of them…

Right?

Lifting up this finger just like the first, he looked at Sherlock with slightly unfocused eyes. “How ‘bout now?” he asked, his accent thickened with a distinct slur.

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically. “That one’s longer than the last.”

November 21st excerpt:

Rather than taking the pen and letting Dean carry on, the great pale hand reached out just a little further, knocking the smaller man off his feet and into Sherlock’s palm. Long fingers curled around Dean and the pen, lifting them both up to join him on the couch.

His grip was loose, far from crushing his passengers together, and it loosened even further as Sherlock tucked the hand under his chin, let his other hand fold lazily over it, and went back to thinking.

August 4th excerpt:

The moment those fingers closed around him, Jacob felt his heart skip a beat. Even knowing Dean wouldn’t hurt him or keep him trapped like that, he couldn’t help the bolt of pure instinct that raced through his system. Until Dean opened his hand, he was trapped, truly and completely.