Anonymous messages

anonymous asked:

Absolutely random question, what would happen if Bowman met a rather territorial/hungry swan (his wings do look like pretty fresh and appetizing leaves stuck to a twig)? It might not be nearly as fast and agile, but that hissing, white-feathered-snake-for-neck has some pretty strong, large, air displacing wings

Bowman would have to do his best to dart away from the blasted bird. How dare it hiss at him? It’s lucky he has a lot of practice handling harsh winds in flight, so he might be able to avoid being knocked off balance until he could get away from the thing. The angry honks would send him right into the canopy.

anonymous  asked:

Will jacob from Brothers Adopted gett to meet his friends again (Chase Bobby…)?

We haven’t planned for this yet, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility. We’ve brought Chase in on another AU, and he is doing well there, so he’d be fun to bring into some others if the ideas came along.

Poor Jacob in Brothers Adopted might be nervous to try such a meeting, though. He’s accepted his curse, for the most part, but a part of it still stings. When he tried to reunite with his mother, he never expected her to reject him. He’d be worried about the same kind of response from his old friends, and might avoid the topic if it ever came up.

Bobby might be a little bit pushy at first, but Chase would stand up for his buddy. He’d be a good friend to Jacob like he always is.

anonymous asked:

How often will Jacob be having flashbacks from his ptsd in wonderland? How would the others react? Also, how would smols in general react to a human having ptsd flashbacks?

Jacob will be dealing with the backlash from Wonderland for a bit. I imagine he won’t even realize, sometimes, that he’s doing something because of his trauma, because so much happened in such a condensed time. So even something like his mom casually snapping her fingers as she tries to remember something will send him out of a room, and wide open spaces will give him pause. He’ll throw himself into other things to keep his mind off of it (like learning Morse code with Sam). But it will come to a head eventually, and the others will find out.

Rischa knows he’s dealing with more than he wants to let on. She’s been kind enough not to mention it to Bowman yet.

If I can come up with any, I’ll scratch them out! For the BA flashbacks, each one links to something specific for their adult counterparts. Even the most recent one, with Sam diving under the bed, links to a specific part of a future story.

If I manage to write anything down, you’ll see it here first!

It’s great to hear you enjoyed them! They are one of my favorite parts of BA to write, whether it be flashbacks of their first week or flashbacks from the time they were separated. 

I can’t say for sure when / if there will be more follow up flashbacks. Each flashback connects to a specific part of the story, and the newest one is from a future storyline where Sam has a slight issue with avoiding a human walking around. Only the future will tell if more come.


( Presenting a never before seen flashback all the way from the first week after Dean discovering Sam in Brothers Apart! )

There is a flash of boots coming straight at him, and Sam dives out of the way.

It is an instinctive, unthinking reaction to the sight of those massive leather structures that move under the control of the humans that share the world with people his size. “Borrowers,” Dean calls them, no matter how many times Sam argues against it.

He has only been traveling with his brother for two days and so is not adjusted to having a person so large around.

Sam hits the ground and rolls under the bed. It is an area that gives him more safety than the wide open area of the rest of the motel room. Dean doesn’t understand this yet, because he can’t see things the way Sam does.

He can’t see the way he towers over the entire room. He doesn’t understand the fear lurking in Sam that one of those massive hands will shoot towards the smaller hunter-in-training and trap him against his will.

It is these thoughts that Sam always has in mind. They plague him every day. After all, within the week Dean has grabbed him against his will not once, but twice.

The first time was no one’s fault. Dean hadn’t known it was Sam he was stalking in his motel room any more than Sam had known Dean was the human stalking him.

The second time was on purpose for Dean, but unexpected once more for Sam. It was a demonstration of why Sam couldn’t let his guard down, even with Dean.

It saddens him to think how dangerous his own older brother could be, just because of a curse that struck when they were children. They were so close back then.

Sometimes Sam wonders what would have happened to them if Dean had been struck by the curse as well. Or if the witch had chosen to strike at the older Winchester in the moment before their dad busted down the door.

The boots hesitate where they’d stopped. The weight on them shifts, and Sam sees a huge knee drop down from above to press into the ground.

Dean is kneeling.

It awes Sam to consider just how much power his older brother has grown into as an adult. And not just in comparison to Sam. The older Winchester goes head to head with monsters on a regular basis and always comes out on top. There are scars from these fights, scars that Sam can see better than anyone else, but still Dean lives to fight on.

Sam scrambles to his feet as kind green eyes dip down into view and Dean peers under the bed to look for him. Guilt covers the hunter’s face at the way his little brother has run from him.

Sam’s chest continues to heave from the brief scare when the green eyes land on him at last, and this makes Dean’s face soften even more. There aren’t many things that can break the stern facade that Dean Winchester keeps around him, but his little brother so afraid is one of them.

“Sammy,” he says, his voice a soft thunder of concern. “You know…” He has to pause and clear his throat. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he switches track smoothly. “You know I can see you on the ground, right? I’m not about to step on my baby brother.

The desperate apology in those eyes surprises Sam. He never means to make Dean feel that way. It was simply a reaction, one that was instinctive when dealing with people that towered over his head and he was small enough to get pinned to the ground by a single finger.

Compared to a human, he is small and weak.

Sam wishes he can make Dean understand it isn’t his fault. It never will be. And so he tries.

First, he steps out from under cover. The safety of the bed is deceptive, anyway. The mattress can be lifted by a human like Dean without a problem. One of those hands can shoot out to grab him where he hides. More vulnerability for Sam.

Dean’s eyes track Sam’s movements, but he doesn’t make a move. It doesn’t help that whenever Dean moves, Sam flinches. Because of this, the hunter is already learning to restrain unnecessary movements.

The necessity saddens Sam.

His brother shouldn’t have to change who he is if he wants to be around his little brother without getting flinches or fear in return.

“I-I know you’re not,” Sam manages to get out as he stares up at Dean. The older hunter has flattened himself against the dusty rug so they can talk and his eyes are still above Sam’s head. Dean could put his chin against the ground and it would be the same.

Sam was too small.

“It’s just…” Sam waves his hand at the open area between the beds, trying to ignore how small it looks in comparison to his surroundings. For so long, he lived in the walls and with people his own size. Now, he is with Dean constantly, and reminded of his curse every single moment.

“You’re really big,” Sam finishes lamely, wishing he had the words.

Dean’s lips thin to a line, and Sam feels tension start to wind up his back. The sight of a giant with an intense glare like that on his face is not easy to take in at four inches in height. Dean doesn’t mean it, but his size gets in the way of an innocent look.

“Sam,” Dean said, “I know you have to be careful. I just want you to know… I won’t forget you’re here. You deserve to be able to live without being afraid all the time. I… I want to help.

This time, it is Sam’s face that softens. He takes another step out into the open, this time completely away from the cover of the bed. “I know you do.”

He rests his small arm on one of Dean’s massive hands and uses it to lean on. That huge hand could spring up at any time and coil completely around his body.

But it doesn’t, and it won’t, and Sam knows this.

“Just watch where you toss your dirty socks,” Sam snarks up at his brother, feeling the last of the tension sloughing off at the return of their normal banter. Moments like this were when he barely even felt the size difference, and it was good. “I don’t need the nightstand smelling like dirty feet all night.” He wrinkles his nose and is rewarded with a chuckle from Dean.

No matter how different, they will always be brothers.

Which is probably why Sam finds a dirty sock lurking outside of the nightstand the next morning.


Sam wakes as the Impala comes to a stop outside of a new motel. He mumbles to himself, sitting up on the weird surface he was resting on. Wait… It isn’t just any surface he’s sitting on, it’s a shoulder. A human’s shoulder. 

He freezes for a few seconds of fear before he remembers everything that happened… losing his family… agreeing – no, asking – to go with Dean to get the bastard that had killed them.

He is sleeping on his brother’s shoulder. 

With this realization, Sam glances above his head. He can see the profile of Dean’s face staring out of the car as he turns the Impala off. From where he is sitting, Sam can only make out the corner of his brother’s eye, and the underside of his jaw. Sam sighs briefly at the reminder of his situation.

For years, he’s been used to living this way, smaller than a mouse, with a family that cared for him. Living like that, he’s only been occasionally reminded of what he’s lost. His daily supply runs into the motel they lived in had been the only reminders back then. But here he is, forced to confront everything he’d lost. His own brother serving as a constant reminder of his curse.

Sam is shaken from his thoughts when Dean suddenly opens up the car door and stands to his full height without warning. Sam clutches the collar of Dean’s shirt to avoid falling. He really isn’t going to get used to his brother’s immense height. It was like trying to sit on Godzilla’s shoulder. “Dean, wait!” he shouts up, surprised. 

At least this Godzilla would listen to him.

Dean tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse of Sam. “Sorry ‘bout that, Sammy. Forgot you were there.”

Sam’s breath hitches with fear at the accidental reminder of his insignificance. A huge hand reaches up, stopping right next to the shoulder. Sam stares at it for a few moments before Dean tries to get another look at him. “You’re not planning on sitting there while I check into the motel, are you?” Dean asks jokingly. His deep voice rumbles kindly around Sam, reminding him that he’s safe.

“No, no of course not!” Sam manages. That would mean other humans seeing him. Tremulously, he steps onto the huge palm, feeling the muscles twitch under his weight. It is going to be hard to adjust to sitting in a hand bigger than his entire body. As he sits there, he brushes a hand over Dean’s silver ring, wondering at the size. He can remember rings fitting in the palm of his  hand, but this one is huge and thick, reflecting his image back at him. He imagines it must be wide enough for him to use as a belt now. And it fits around Dean’s finger.

The fingers shift around Sam as Dean brings the hand in front of his face. Sam freezes as soon as the big green eyes fall on him, not prepared for such an intense stare. “You mind hanging out in the pocket while I check in?” Dean asks.

“Uuhh…” Sam says nervously. “Sure, I guess.” His eyes snap down to the pocket, resting innocently against Dean’s chest. It was unreal to actually consider going in there. Humans were dangerous to people like him, yet here Sam was, perfectly safe… 

Even welcomed.

The hand lowers down, coming to a rest right next to the pocket. Sam gives a slight jump when Dean’s other hand rises up, but all it does is pinch open the pocket so he can jump right in. Which he does without delay, coming to a stop at the bottom. 

His head jerks up the second he lands. The pocket is almost the same height as him. If he stands he’d just barely be able to peek out.

While he gets settled, the light from above disappears. Sam glances up to see the flap of the pocket as it drops down, blocking the outside world from sight. Something huge brushes against him from the outside, making Sam jolt away in surprise until he realizes it’s just Dean’s hand. You’re safe…. it’s just Dean. He’s not gonna hurt you… he’d never hurt you…

“You alright in there, Sammy?” comes Dean’s deep voice, even more intense from how close Sam was sitting to his vocal cords.

Sam takes a second to calm himself before answering Dean. “Y-yeah, I’m good!” he calls up. He presses his hand against the outside of the pocket and touches Dean’s hand to reassure himself. And to reassure Dean.

“Well then, sit tight, kiddo. Try not to move around too much. I don’t want anyone picking up on you in here. We need to keep you off the radar.”

“Got it.” Sam pulls his legs against his chest to make himself as small as possible. Without warning, Dean’s ambling stride starts up. The swaying steps swing the pocket gently, rocking the small Winchester like a hammock. Sam isn’t bothered when it bumps into the broad chest behind him. It’s reassuring to be with Dean now. Reassuring to be with his family.

Sam slowly relaxes. He’s safe and that’s all that matters. This is where he’s meant to be.

This is home.

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“DEAN!” The shout rolls across the junkyard.

Bobby glances out the window from where he’s sitting reading the newspaper. Ever since John arrived on his doorstep a week ago, battered and bruised, he’s been riding Dean mercilessly. The boy has taken to hiding in the junkyard, fiddling with the cars for a distraction, an escape from his father’s rage and obsession.

John of course has taken that badly. He’s started to track Dean down, finding the boy and forcing him to train. Guns, self-defense… even basic tracking skills. Not that John has half the skill of Bobby at THAT. But John naturally considers his way the best way. Ever since Bobby originally helped him learn hunting skills he’s become hardheaded, rarely taking any advice without a grain of salt.

And for Dean, it’s either John’s way or the highway. His father accepts no less.

Bobby can’t take much more of this. The boy hasn’t spoken a word since losing his brother. Each time John tracks him down, Dean simply does the training he’s told to do. In those moments he has a single minded determination, focused completely on the task at hand. John’s heavy handed tasking leaves no time for the boy to recover, no time to mourn.

Bobby watches as John confronts Dean in front of the house. One of the junkyard dogs lies nearby, watching calmly. John yells at Dean for slacking off. He berates Dean for letting his focus slide, for losing sight of their goal. He scolds the boy, asking if he WANTS to die like his brother. Dean simply stands there, taking it. He stares at the ground under his feet, letting the shouts roll off his back as he scuffs a shoe against the rough, gravelly ground.

But Bobby can see the way Dean clenches his fist behind his back. Where his father can’t see it. He is holding in all the pain and rage and self-blame, bottling it up until no emotion can escape. Not fear, not happiness, not sorrow. Each day he becomes better at this, using his unique mental focus to keep control. Bobby wishes it doesn’t have to be this way. If Dean keeps it all in, it will eventually consume him, a black hole of emotions that will leave nothing behind.

Yet John can see none of this. Too buried under his own guilt from losing his youngest, piled on top of the loss of Mary all those years ago, he can’t see anything but the mission. His holy cause. The beginning and ending of his day. His own personal Alpha and Omega. He will drag Dean down into the pit with him if given half the chance. And Dean will let him. He knows no other way.

After the shouting is over, John storms off. Dean settles down on the steps, mechanically taking apart his gun and reassembling it, over and over and over. Each piece is meticulously removed, cleaned and fitted. He knows that gun better at 14 than Bobby did at 28. No child should have to live that way.

The roar of the Impala starts up. John is off to the bar, his most self-destructive habit. He might come back later, he might not. Either way, Dean will sit there until his hands are covered in blisters, sore and bleeding, memorizing the gun down to its smallest parts. He probably knows it well enough to build one with his eyes closed. He won’t stop until he falls asleep there on the steps or is TOLD to stop by his father. Which will not happen.

And, Bobby knows why Dean is like this. He blames himself for his brother’s loss. Sammy’s memory haunts Dean’s every footstep, his shadow behind every door Dean opens. The little brother that used to idolize him, follow him everywhere like a lost puppy. Gone forever. Dean will never stop blaming himself for what happened.

Bobby can’t stand by and watch anymore. He goes outside. Dean barely glances up from the gun, eyes flicking to the older hunter for a mere second before resuming his work. Bobby bends down, putting a hand on the gun. Dean meets his eyes, confusion showing through. He knows as well as Bobby how John will react if he finds out Dean is slacking off again. Bobby just stares back, letting his own silence speak for itself when he meets the boy’s eyes. He doesn’t get a response from Dean and doesn’t expect one.

But the boy has suffered enough.

Bobby takes Dean back in the kitchen. He cooks them both a meal of hot dogs and baked beans. He takes Dean out back and tosses a ball back and forth with him. They spend that night eating popcorn, drinking Pepsi and watching old westerns. They start with a Clint Eastwood one. With the monkey.

John will never find out that Dean didn’t train that day. Not from Bobby. And Dean won’t speak for another few months, the time it takes for him to process through his brother’s loss. John drinks himself into oblivion each night for another month before he returns to hunting. Obsession blinds him to the changes in his eldest son.

That day, Dean doesn’t smile. It’s too soon for that. But the darkness that’s been hovering over him is pushed back.

For a time.

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“If I don’t knock on the door twice, no matter what, even if I’m alone, DO NOT come out from hiding. Not until I give you the signal. You need to stay safe, and if something happens to me, I could be just as dangerous to you as any monster.” In the memory, Dean lifts up a hand, holding it next to Sam for comparison. It stretches out almost twice Sam’s length. Each of the fingers is thick and strong, all more powerful than the smaller hunter. “I don’t ever want to hurt you with these, and if I get possessed by a demon, the first thing they’ll do is go for you.” The hand wraps around Sam unexpectedly, pinning his arms to his sides with unrelenting strength. There is no time for Sam to react to the hunter’s quick movements.

Sam has only been with his older brother for a day at this point, and he stares up at Dean from the clenched fist with fear in his eyes. The only thing that keeps him from freaking out from the way he’s trapped is the pain in Dean’s eyes… the worry, the self-loathing for what he’s doing. Dean clearly wants nothing more than to keep Sam safe, even as he closes his huge hand firmly around his little brother’s fragile body.

So even though Sam desperately wants to thrash and struggle, to try and escape, he stills himself in Dean’s overpowering grasp. As Sam is helplessly lifted up off the table, he gives his trust to Dean, hoping it isn’t misplaced. He can clearly remember how it had felt when Dean had no idea who he was, capturing him with ease in the same immense hand clenched around his body now.

The hand stops a few inches in front of Dean’s face, fingers opening up around Sam. He scrambles to a stand in the palm, small chest heaving from the unexpected scare. He can’t help but eye his brother’s fingers suspiciously from where he stands, still within their clutches. It is an unwanted reminder of how powerless he is next to his brother. 

Dean’s eyes stared at him with a kind expression. “Sam, the last thing I want is for you to EVER be afraid of me. But it’s more important that you understand that anything can happen, and if anything ever happens to you because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.” 

Sam frowns, but nods his understanding.

Dean’s other hand lifts up, gently rubbing Sam’s back to try and reassure him after the scare. Sam can’t stop a shiver, standing there helpless between those huge hands that can so easily trap or crush him. Which, after Dean’s demonstration he understands better than ever. Dean’s face falls when he sees this. He nods sadly at Sam as he lowers his hand back to his side, understanding and accepting his reaction.

But it still hurts him to see his brother afraid.

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( Thought of this yesterday. Since all the flashbacks in BA are scattered around, I wanted to put them up here so they’re easy to find. I may even add a never-before-seen flashback at the end if I can finish writing it! )

Sam creeps silently along the wall, trying to remember everything he’s ever been taught about remaining unnoticed and unseen. He glances out from under the dresser he is hiding under, staring at the immense beds in the room. It has been the hours since the lights have shut off and everyone in the room should be fast asleep.

He takes his first careful steps into the room. There is a small bag of chips dropped on the floor by the child in the room earlier on in the day. It is freshly opened, a far cry from the stale crackers his family had been eating for the last week. He is desperate for food, and his father has refused to get fresh food from the kitchens. One of the other families in the motel has had to get food from there earlier that same week. If Sam’s family goes there again so soon, it will risk exposing everyone living in the motel.

The room opens up around him. Five years at this size and he is still not used to the way the world towers above him. It brings back a familiar ache, thinking how things might be different if the witch had gone for Dean. If their Dad had returned to the room a little sooner, or they had never come to this God-forsaken motel in the first place. 

He wonders how Dean is. If their father is even still alive. Though it would be frightening to see them while he is so small, he wishes they were nearby. That they could help him. He can imagine, for a few wishful moments, being held by safe, familiar hands. Hands that will protect him instead of capture him. Dean would never let anything bad happen, Sam knew. 

Deep inside, he knows it isn’t ever meant to be, but it’s a nice fantasy. Thinking of them is a comfort he rarely indulges in anymore, but a comfort he needs.

It is these distracted thoughts that get him in trouble.

He is so lost in his own mind that he stumbles right into that bag of chips. It crinkles around him as he falls forward into the leftovers.

A few choice curses he learned from Dean growing up slip from his lips. Standing up in the bag, he freezes.

There is movement in the room.

A small voice calls out. “Mommy? There’s something in our room.”

The voice is quiet and scared, but almost a death sentence for Sam, small and stranded as he is in the middle of the room. He is only three and a half inches tall, he’s just started to hit a growth spurt.

There is a rustling from the other bed. A feminine voice fills the room now. “Go to sleep, baby. There’s nothing there.”

“But mommy…”

“You were just imagining it sweetie. Close your eyes and relax.”

There is silence, and Sam starts to feel a little better. Cautiously, he picks up a chip, and starts to make his way out of the bag as silent as he could.

Finally out, he freezes.

Something feels wrong.

It takes him a moment to figure it out. A shadowy figure is sitting up on the bed, slowly scanning the room. The child is still awake, trying to find what was making the noise on the floor.

Sam tenses. The second the child looks away from his direction, he bolts for the wall. A cry sounds behind him, waking the mother again. While she is trying to calm the boy down, Sam makes it to the dresser and dives under. He wastes no time making his way to the wall, heart in his throat when he hears footsteps behind. They shake the ground under him, giving his flight a desperate spurt of energy.

He makes it to the hidden door and out of the room seconds before a light shines down, lighting up the area. He collapses in relief, still clutching his chip as he hears the mother again. She is right outside his hiding place. “See hun? Nothing there.”

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