Then John went to the freezer for a cold pack. After what Sam had gone through with the ice packs for his bruises, the doctor spent one of his days off scouring the internet for friendlier, less messy alternatives to ice. After finding something surprising, John went out and bought a bag of mini marshmallows to keep in the freezer. Apparently they absorbed the cold really well, and since they were soft they were easier to apply to sore or achy spots on the body. Dean wouldn’t have to deal with the wetness of melting ice, and he’d have something sweet to nibble on later if he liked.
As strange as it was, it was a better option, theoretically.
Moira tried to steel her heart. Dean was in trouble, and she needed to get him out of that human’s hands, now. Then once Dean woke up they could escape and find Sam, wherever he was, even if the human had him trapped somewhere else.
“I’m Moira,” she snapped defiantly, the pin wobbling slightly in her grasp. His voice was so huge and booming, like it could overpower hers without any effort. Just another thing to drill his size in, as though she could miss it.
Moira’s lip curled, and she glared up at the human. “You’re that human doctor, aren’tcha?” Her voice dripped with disdain from all the stories she’d heard of others like her and Dean being experimented on, often by these ‘doctors.’ “I won’t let you run tests on our Dean!”
Geoff leaned in like an eager dog, his hand hovering over Dakota’s in anticipation. He’d never been entrusted with something so delicate, and he felt quite important at the moment. After the professor used a long pair of tweezers to pull the back of Sam’s shirt up to his shoulder blades, Geoff made short work of putting down one finger to keep it in place.
“Like this?” he asked, arranging his middle finger on Sam’s shoulders, his index at the base of his spine, and the pad of his thumb across the back of the little legs.
Dakota nodded in approval. “Very good,” he said distractedly. “Just keep your fingers out of the way.”
Sam instinctively tried to writhe free, the movement of tiny muscles visible on his back at the effort.
Lots of the little guys get mischievous from time to time all over the place. Whether they prank each other or any friendly humans relies on who’s around, but I can guarantee we’ve got more pranks coming up.
Whether it be a good idea or not, of course, depends on who they’re pranking.
I have nothing written for the field borrowers, but check out this little drabble from the future of BA:
Xander snorted, his hands tightening on the bucket of water he was holding against his chest. “You’re the one that’s always telling me to loosen up a little. You should take your own advice.”
“But Xander! ” Barry said, practically whining at this point in his desperation to get Xander to listen. He’d been steadfastly ignored for the last ten minutes of their trip. “What if he finds out it was us? Havin’ a drink with a human is one thing, prankin’ him is somethin’ else altogether!”
“We’ll be fine! ” Xander insisted, even as a small part of him flinched from the thought. “He won’t even know it was us, guaranteed.” He pointed ahead. “That branch is perfect. Look.”
The branch indicated hung several feet in the air, leaves gently rustling in the breeze. The most notable part of it currently was the fact it hung right above the immense, sleeping human.
John couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of detail he was able to see through the small lens, if slightly distorted. The individual spikes of Dean’s hair which swayed as though in time with a breeze; it didn’t take John long to realize that the breeze was his breath, and he made a conscious effort to lessen the gust. Freckles across Dean’s cheeks and stubble on his chin, the tiniest things that John wouldn’t be able to make out ordinarily. Bloodstains on his black shirt, and… John squinted and looked closer, a little thrown by the sight of a necklace resting against Dean’s chest. Even with the magnifier, all he could really make out was an outline of a leather cord and a metallic gleam from a pendant.
“What is that? ” Sherlock piped up, leaning in close again.
Leaning on the slight incline of John’s fingers, some of which outsized him in length, Dean had never looked smaller and more vulnerable.
This was further accentuated when a longer, paler finger came from behind John to poke at Dean’s shoulder, flipping the tiny person onto his back.
“Stop that!” John hissed, slapping Sherlock’s hand out of the way. The hand supporting Dean wavered ever so slightly, causing his head to loll to the other side.
Dean eyed up the clouds overhead, but was unable to keep his attention on the growing darkness.
He was laying on his back out in the field past Bobby’s house, absently fiddling with some tools he’d taken from his dad’s supply before the oldest of the Winchesters had taken off. It was a good distraction, taking apart the various spare parts Bobby kept around his junkyard, and a good way to avoid homework.
Sam wasn’t far from the sixteen-year-old, busy exploring the ground around his older brother to see what was there. Dean kept a sharp ear out for the kid, always alert for any dangers that might lurk near them.
Sam was, after all, only just barely three inches tall, having hit a brief growth spurt over the summer. It pained Dean to know that if not for the curse, Sam might tower over even him one day. The kid showed no sign of slowing down yet.
A cool breeze rustled over the grass, and Dean turned his head to watch Sam, distracted from his attempts to pry open the rusty machinery.
Sam turned slightly at Dean’s shift, despite the fact that Dean was convinced he’d done it silently. More and more, Sam was growing almost impossible to sneak up on. He always seemed to know when Dean, Bobby or John were around, even if Dean took care to slow his breathing. Good instincts to have at Sam’s size, but also a problem for Dean when he was trying to catch his brother off guard.
This wasn’t one of those times. Dean gave Sam a half wave from where he was stretched out on the ground, his body flattened and still much higher than Sam was tall.
Sam grinned broadly when he spotted Dean’s movement, waving back at his older brother. Despite the fact that the kid was only a foot away from where Dean was laying, it seemed much farther for the twelve year old. Distances became extreme at his size, and he always had his knife on hand for any unexpected surprises, like an opportunistic bug or spider lurking in the shade provided by the tall green stalks of grass. He also had a cloth satchel slung over his shoulder, full of items he’d collected over the last week of staying at Bobby’s, and a safety pin thread combo that served as a climbing implement, given to him by his good friend Oscar, a young boy they’d met a few years back in a dead end motel. Sam hoped to see him again in the future, but with their drifter lifestyle with John Winchester, there were no certainties. Sam couldn’t even recall the name of the motel from those days, only the refreshing feeling of knowing someone his own size.
Dean might not be his size, but the brothers remained as close as they’d ever been.
Sam was in the middle of contemplating an attempt to climb up an especially thick blade of grass when it happened.
Something wet and cool hit his head, completely soaking his fluffy hair and making him sputter in indignation as he tried to wipe his eyes clear.
Dean snorted with laughter, his deeper voice easily heard despite the water clogging Sam’s ears. “Smooth move, pint-size. You’re lookin’ all washed up.”
Sam glared at Dean through the sheen of water dotting his face, but tilted his head up at the sky above. The cloudy day had turned dark while he was distracted, and now the heavens were opening up.
Another drop hit Sam square in the face, and he lost balance, tumbling backwards onto his butt. Dean still sniggered, but this time actually sat up, brushing a few stray drops of rain from his spiky hair. At his scale, the rain was cool and refreshing. At Sam’s, the rain was heavy and clung to him after it struck, leaving him sodden and bedraggled. If he was on his own in the field, he’d need to seek shelter fast. Flash floods were very much in danger of sweeping him away.
The ground around Sam darkened more, and he looked up to see Dean’s hand suspended above him to ward off the raindrops. Dean might tease, but he never slacked off if Sam needed help. His other hand flattened on the ground close by, offering Sam a ride.
Sam accepted without any complaints, still trying to brush the water from his hair.
“I think we’ll have to wait for a better day to go outside,” Dean commented, laughter lurking at the edge of his voice as he lifted Sam up and tucked his two hands close to his chest. “Otherwise you might be floating down the stream soon.”
While the rain grew harder and more insistent, Dean started to make his way to the old house waiting for them, wondering if there would be food waiting.
What little breath Sam had left, he called up to grit out “Terrible. Crowd… to work with… Why talk?”
Euan’s face twisted with irritation. He was sick and tired of this Sam’s backtalk, but as much as he wanted to silence the little pest for good, he was valuable merchandise.
“You need to learn your place, boy,” he seethed through clenched teeth.
John blinked at the sudden shift in Dean’s trajectory, concern mounting as the man fell silent. He glanced at Sherlock again, whose frown deepened. “Is this– Has he ever tracked a person? ”
“Not to my knowledge,” muttered the detective in reply. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest and his eyes darted between Dean and John. Sherlock wouldn’t say it aloud, but he was looking to John for answers as much as John was to him. As a doctor, his expertise was more expansive than Sherlock’s from a medical standpoint. There was no telling what sorts of limits Dean’s ability held, or the toll it would take.
Infuriated, Dean’s hand closed into a fist around the tinfoil cup, crumpling it into a ball. “Son of a bitch! ” he snarled, whipping the ball of foil at the stack of books. Glowering at the way it just bounced off the topmost book, he shoved his boot back on, threading the laces and pulling them as tight as he could, searching for a place to funnel his anger.
Brothers Apart 