It Just Takes One

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I had to double check because I was certain I put Please on the list, but then it doesn’t really matter. I got an idea anyway.

AU: None of the current ones


A nightmare. This was a nightmare.

The sound of the worn plastic ice bucket slamming to the floor echoed in Oscar’s ears, and his eyes were wide with terror. A bruise was already forming on his forehead from slamming into a wall that hadn’t been there seconds before.

He was trapped. A human had spotted him while he ran desperately for cover in the motel room. They’d grabbed the ice bucket without a second thought, and in a few steps that covered distances Oscar would have to sprint for several seconds, stomped over to him.

The ground was still shaking. No, he realized, that’s just my knees.

Tears welled up in his eyes and raced down his cheeks. Oscar stood in carpet fibers that reached past his ankles, with almost no light leaking under the rim of the bucket. A circle of dim light ringed him in, an outline for how utterly trapped he was.

He hadn’t made it. After years of getting by on his own, keeping out of sight and collecting what he needed to survive, he hadn’t made it. It only took one failure to ruin everything, and the one failure had finally arrived.

Now, he was at the mercy of a human.

Light burst in from the opposite side of the container as it suddenly tilted upwards. Oscar whirled around, his cloth bag swinging with him and slamming into his side, heavy with the spoils he’d taken from the room. A breath caught in his throat and his shoulders hitched up with a new wave of adrenaline crashing through him like stormy waves on a rocky shore.

A hand with fingers bigger than his body slipped under the opening, blocking his escape route and inching towards him. Oscar could only watch, knees still shaking, as it came closer.

The first fingertip brushed against his chest and Oscar froze. Not an instant later, the hand lurched forward and that finger pressed into one side while a giant thumb closed in on the other, pinching around him and forcing the breath from his tiny, frail lungs. Oscar grimaced with pain.

More light washed over him now that he was secure in a pinch grip. The bucket was set aside and Oscar, stuck hopelessly in the casual strength of a single hand, shot into the air at the human’s whim. Air whipped at his messy brown hair and he closed his eyes, curling into himself as much as he could.

When he came to a stop, Oscar had his hands over his face. The human hummed thoughtfully, a deep, loud voice rumbling through his entire being. It was too much, too fast, too scary. Oscar sobbed and more tears came.

“Quit that,” the human ordered gruffly. Before Oscar could parse the words enough to understand that the order was for him, another pinch grip found him. Fingertips bigger than his head pinched roughly around one of his arms and tugged it away from his face.

He yelped in pain, and his other hand automatically braced against the pinch grip to try to free his arm. It was already bruising, he could tell. The human was too strong.

The human hummed again while Oscar sobbed, and then let go at last. Oscar held his hurt arm close to his chest, resisting the urge to cover his face again. Doing it once had gotten him hurt. He didn’t want to risk even worse consequences.

He dangled in the air like that for several seconds while the human looked him over, a cold and appraising look in those eyes. One fingertip nudged at one of his legs, propping it up to stare in disapproval at the cloth wraps he used for shoes. Then, it lifted up and mussed his mousey brown hair. Oscar squeaked in pain as it strained his neck.

“You’ll take some cleaning up,” the human noted, lifting Oscar higher. Oscar squealed with vertigo, finding himself now looking down at a huge human face, one that frowned at him like he was an interesting stone found on the ground.

Suddenly, a smirk appeared on the human’s lips. Oscar trembled at the sight of it and more tears coated his cheeks. He had never been seen by a human before, and now he understood why the idea scared him so much.

He was nothing to this man. He was just an object to pick up and observe, a toy. Nothing more.

Please …

A startled cry choked in his throat when the hand pinched around him dropped suddenly. Freefall wormed into his gut for a heartstopping second, and Oscar clung to the fingers around him despite the pain they caused in his ribs. His eyes shut tight for the brief moment.

Then it was over. The hand stopped moving, and then the grip around him relented.

Oscar landed in a heap on something hard and cold. The air escaped his lungs and he rolled over as motion assaulted him again. He looked upwards at a circular view of the ceiling, partially blocked by a human face peering in at him. The smell of cheap plastic surrounded him and he hiccuped.

He was in the ice bucket. Smooth sides that would resist any attempt to scramble up, the edge was over his head. With the human looking right at him, he wouldn’t have a chance to use his climbing thread to escape.

Not that it mattered. Once the human was finished walking, the bucket was dropped harshly onto what Oscar had to assume was the table. He jolted and then scrambled back, pressing against the wall of the container.

He didn’t know what the man had planned for him. It took him a second or two to find his voice.

Please,” he managed to squeak out. Fear and despair coiled together in his tone, a hopeful appeal to the giant’s better nature.

All he got was another smirk. “Oh, you’ll be one of Mina’s favorites, I guarantee it,” he said, the cryptic words soaring over Oscar’s head.

Then, another circle loomed into view, and Oscar recognized the lid of the ice bucket just before it slammed into place overhead, echoing loudly in his ears and shutting him into total darkness.

September 26th excerpt:

Sam rolled his eyes. “I guess we can count it as a tie,” he said dryly. “I’ll let your awful aim slide just this once. But you might end up with Dean trying to teach you how to aim the next time he gets the chance. Since, y’know, you can’t hit the broadside of a barn and all that.”

The hunter out in the open shifted his position on the bench while Sam was talking. The boot closest to them scrapped along the floor, and this time when Dean’s hand came into view, he was clearly stretching to reach the wayward coin.

“Did one of you get into the whiskey before we got here?” came a curious tone. A finger caught the coin just at the edge, dragging it along the floor so he’d be able to reach it without having to get up.

Calling John Bonham (4 of 5)

A short story of Brothers Apart


On the other end, Jacob’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced over to Bowman, who wore the biggest, smuggest I told you so expression Jacob had ever seen on that tiny face. The name matched what he’d said, and the rest of his story most likely would fall into place more or less like he’d told it.

Bowman, meanwhile, could see Jacob working things out for himself in a brief pause. Sam’s voice was softer than Dean’s gruff greeting, and it was because he was smaller like a sprite, not because they had a bad connection like Jacob had first thought. That had to be the ‘sprite-sized’ brother.

Bowman drifted forward with his arms crossed. “I told you,” he said proudly, jolting Jacob out of his short pause.

“Uh, hi, Dean,” Jacob replied. “I got the number off a card my friend had. He said you guys worked with him a month or so ago,” he explained. Jacob felt so strange speaking cryptically like that, but the thought of talking plainly about the sprites when their society was so vulnerable made him nervous. Until he could be sure, he wouldn’t risk them. “You guys know Bowman?”

Dean’s eyebrows shot straight up, and even Sam focused on the phone more than his predicament. “Of course we do,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes with his own familiar suspicion. The sprites were just as vulnerable as Sam’s people. “He gave us some help on a case.”

Sam arranged his blanket so it wasn’t dangling off the edge and took up the conversation. “I don’t think we could have finished the case without him,” he said warmly, remembering their time in the Wellwood forest fondly. It was a rare opportunity to spend time with people his own size, and Sam missed those sprites. Rischa and Vel, along with Bowman and all his griping. “What’s going on? Is there trouble?” He remembered Dean giving the business card out in case any other emergencies arose, since they knew that a supernatural community like that might draw in other dangers, both supernatural and mundane.

“There’s no trouble,” Bowman interrupted, taking a perch on Jacob’s shoulder so he could address the device in his massive hand. It took a lot of convincing for him to truly believe that phones worked so well that conversations could be held between people continents apart. Sam and Dean could be anywhere out there, according to Jacob, but apparently they would be able to hear him talking.

“Unless you count Jacob not believing what happened here as trouble,” Bowman continued, pointedly nudging at Jacob’s neck with a wing. The shoulder beneath him twitched. “I was saying how you guys came and took me away but then helped us and he didn’t believe that there were zom-bees.”

“Okay, but you gotta admit, zombie wolves are kind of out there,” Jacob defended, unable to stop himself. Then, remembering that he was talking to a pair of guys that apparently spent all their time hunting things like that, he asked “They are, aren’t they?”

Dean chuckled, feeling some of the tension leave at the sound of Bowman’s voice, hale and hearty and as annoyed as ever. “They are definitely not your run-of-the-mill monster, that’s for sure. Hell, we never knew there were sprites living on earth until we had a run in with Bowman. It was a weird case all around.”

“So, you’re Bowman’s friend?” Sam asked eagerly. It wasn’t often he got to talk to safe humans like Dean and Bobby. “He mentioned you when we were working together. We don’t run into too many people that know about people… Bowman’s size.” He stumbled over his words, almost slipping up and saying my size.

Jacob grinned, bemused by the thought of Bowman telling other people about him. Hopefully the stories were good. “Yeah, I guess the sprites keep themselves pretty hidden all over the place,” he replied.

“Because most of you humans are giants,” Bowman cut in pointedly. The fact that he could find an easy perch on a shoulder of all things spoke to how ridiculously big humans were.

Bowman’s use of the phrase ‘most of you’ reminded Jacob yet again what else he’d heard about Sam. “Yeah, we’re unfair about it, alright,” he replied. Before Bowman could gripe at him for his comment, he went on. “But I’m guessing you’re Sam? Bowman’s been telling me about both of you guys, and says you kept your brother from being too troublesome with him. I’m impressed because, well, I’m betting you know by now how easily he talks himself into trouble.”

“Climb a dead tree, Jacob!” Bowman protested. This time, his wing smacked at the hand with the phone, and a rustle of wings could be heard through the microphone.

Sam heard the wingslap, and was reminded of all the ways Dean and Bowman had poked at each other throughout the case. Those memories were temporarily overridden, though, and he felt heat rise to his cheeks. He’d forgotten Bowman would probably tell his friend about him.

“Uh, yeah. I’m Sam,” Sam introduced himself shyly. He could count on one hand the number of humans he knew and interacted with on a friendly basis, so this was a little out of his depth. “I help Dean on hunts.”

“You’re a hunter like Dean,” Dean corrected sternly, nudging his little brother in the shoulder before he tilted the phone and let Sam slide off into a hand of his own where he could safely untangle himself from the blanket. “And no one will ever say differently while I’m around.”

Sneak Peek

Coming soon!

Out in the natural beauty of the Sylvan Lake State Park, a camper’s gone missing and is presumed dead at the same time as rumors about a honest to god giant appearing in the forest to stalk hikers and hunters crop up. Sam and Dean will need to unravel the mystery and keep their wits about them to solve this case.


By silent agreement, both brothers crept forward, keeping an eye on the strange sights around them. Dean hopped into a deep depression in the ground, almost slipping on a hidden mudbank. Sam glanced to the side and saw that a tiny stream trickled through the underbrush.

It ended at the depression, and as Sam looked behind them, it restarted. Sam grabbed Dean’s jacket, hauling him out and pointing. Dean sucked in a gasp, spotting the familiar mark of a gigantic boot in the soft ground.

Crap.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

This time, Dean took point as they edged to the clearing. Once they got there, Dean froze again in disbelief.

“Bigger guns my ass,” he said weakly, reaching behind his jacket to pull out his colt. “We might need the damn military.

The boots that made the huge print in the ground were planted in the earth across the clearing, weighed down by their truly colossal owner. Even crouched, the creature loomed well overhead, and some of the smaller trees in the forest would be cast in that shadow.

The giant, if it stood, would reach a lofty 120 feet, at least.

Its dirty clothes were worn and those car-sized boots caked in enough mud that entire small tree branches could be seen stuck to the side of the huge sole. One light step for the monster would prove devastating to either brother, and the giant might never even know it had successfully taken out a hunter.

Massive lungs hidden within that muscular torso drew in and released breaths, the source of the breeze Sam heard. The trees nearest the giant all waved their branches from the air.

Before more of a plan could be made or more details assessed, that breathing paused, and the giant lifted its huge head. As if in slow motion, it turned to look over its shoulder for the source of the disturbance in whatever it was doing. One of its massive hands came into view and braced against one bent knee, and it was a startling realization to note that each finger was the size of a person.

The brothers were outsized by fingers.

Then, the face angled towards them, and eyes the size of their heads locked on them.