Ilyana let her hands brush restlessly against her arms, the hot skin cooled rapidly by the falling temperature in the cold air of earth.
She suppressed a shiver, refusing to show fear as she waited in her place for the small hunter to come find her. The plan was designed and set by her summoner, the human witch whose fate she’d tied herself to. Herself and so many other sprites in the hopes of eternal life at last, like the ungrateful water sprites who lived eternal simply because of their tie to water.
The meeting with the witch was prominent in Ilyana’s mind. Dipping into the scrying pool by the volcano, listening to Noonia’s plaintive cries as the world around Ilyana changed from hot fire and rock to the darkened interior of a human house.
The candles burning around the summoning circle did little to warm the air. Summoning her sisters had helped a little, but for now the others waited to stop the larger hunter, Dean, setting a trap for him upstairs while Ilyana waited for her Sam down.
She heard a metallic thunk behind her seat, over at the edge of the counter, and smiled. Soon, Sam would be hers and she could return to her fiery home triumphant. The hero of the fire sprites, bringer of eternity.
Timeline: Right after moving into 221B Baker Street
“Look out!”
Dean shoved Sam out of the way, his younger brother stumbling backwards from the unexpected danger. Moira yelped, grabbing Sam’s arm to haul him back, leaving Dean to face the threat on his own.
A cat.
Dean didn’t budge an inch, his silver knife in hand as he faced down the cat to give Sam and Moira time to escape. This was supposed to be a quick trip to grab some supplies, stock up Sam and Dean’s new home a few flats away from Moira’s family. They’d only had enough extra food for one meal, and having Moira’s help was welcome.
Of course, no one ever consulted them when getting a new pet, and not knowing that a cat now lived in the flat Moira’s family called home meant that they’d stumbled right into it.
“Mrow?”
It wasn’t quite the hiss of anger Dean had expected to hear before the deadly paw descended on him. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. He squinted his eyes open just as he realized he’d closed them as he prepared for the inevitable.
The cat still sat in the same spot, its tail swishing from side to side. Now that the element of surprise was gone, Dean could see it was only a kitten, nose twitching as it looked over the three tiny people it had cornered. Its head moved closer and Dean stiffened, expecting at any second to feel the crushing fangs close around his chest.
Instead, a wet nose pressed into Dean’s side. He jolted away in surprise, almost flailing off balance. The kitten blinked at him, then mrowwed again.
Stalemate.
Sam and Moira, standing against the wall, stared at the odd scene. Slowly, it all began to sink into Sam, and he snickered.
Dean sent him a wounded look over his shoulder.
“It wants you to pet it!” Sam called, almost doubling over with laughter.
Dean tore his gaze from Sam and looked back at the kitten just as a headbutt from the animal knocked him from his feet. He went sprawling, rolling a few times until he landed at Sam and Moira’s feet, staring up at them in a daze.
Moira joined Sam in laughing as they hauled Dean to his feet. “Go on!” she said, shoving him towards the kitten. “Pet her!”
Dean reached up a hesitant hand as the kitten cocked her head at him, ear flicking the moment his hand brushed against the fur. He scratched behind the ear like it was the most important task he’d ever performed, considering that if she wanted to, the kitten could turn the three of them into her playthings.
Nothing like that happened, aside from a rumbling purr from deep in the cat’s chest. She stretched out her front legs, each toe extending as she flopped down at Dean’s feet and looked up at him.
“I think you have a new best friend,” Sam said in a laughing attempt at a hush as he slipped past Dean, leading Moira towards the wall entrance they’d left behind.
“You’re not so bad, are ya?” Dean mused as he rubbed behind the ear again, thinking everything was going to work out fine.
Just as Sam and Moira made it to the wall, it happened.
“Ah– CHOO!”
Dean’s sneeze was so violent he was knocked off his feet, landing on his butt an inch away from a curious ear flick. The kitten picked up her head, nosing worriedly at Dean when the scritches didn’t resume. He barely noticed the large wet spot left on his leather jacket this time, too concerned with holding back another sneeze.
“ACHOO!”
Sam had to come back to grab Dean with Moira safely in the walls, hauling his older brother up and giving him a shove at the entrance while distracting the kitten with a scritch. Sam, who didn’t have any allergies to cats, did much better than his older brother, and escaped the moment the kitten’s eyes fluttered shut.
They parted ways with Moira at the fork in the path, her returning to her home with her parents while Sam propelled Dean towards their new home in the hopes that dunking his head in water might help the sneezes.
Otherwise, they might lose their ninja titles.
All through the walls, Dean sneezed.
Passing a kitchen with wonderful aromas wafting through the walls. “Ah-choo!”
Hearing a toilet flush. “Ah– ACHOO!”
Sam let out a sigh as they finally got home, hurrying to their water supplies while Dean morosely picked at a long, ginger-colored hair that clung to him even after leaving the kitten behind.
“Ah– CHOO! ”
The humans living in the flat were usually more observant than most. They were also quite busy and happened to be lost in their own worlds.
Sherlock Holmes was wrapped up in an experiment, subjecting disembodied fingers– specifically the fingernails– to the flame of a blowtorch at gradually lengthened intervals. It was a relatively quiet experiment, but the smell of it had John Watson slamming the sliding kitchen doors shut to keep the odor out of the main room.
John sat at the small table against the wall in the middle of the living room, typing away at his blog. Sherlock’s most recent case had been a convoluted one, and he wanted to be sure to get the details right. Or at least to a point where they made sense to the layman.
A muffled sneeze briefly broke his concentration.
“Gesundheit,” John muttered, under the assumption that the fingernail-fumes were finally starting to get to Sherlock. For his part, the detective hadn’t even heard the small noise from the kitchen, and so he and the doctor remained blissfully ignorant of the smaller residents of 221B Baker Street as the brothers stared at each other in shock, the human’s response to Dean’s sneeze completely unexpected.
Before Dean could sneeze again, Sam dunked his head into the cap of water. Dean resurfaced, gasping and wiping at his eyes before burying his head in the nest of fabric he called a bed. A muffled sneeze could be heard as Dean slumped in place.
“No more cats,” Sam said grimly, wondering at their close call with Sherlock and John.
That really depends on the little in question. For instance, Bree isn’t going to mind one bit. She’s used to contact with humans, and considers it completely normal. Oscar, on the other hand, has never really had close contact with humans and is always baffled when Dean insists on messing with his mousy hair.
Dean as a little will be completely offended that someone is messing with his spike, while Sam is resigned, considering how often Dean fluffs it into a mess. Dean’s way of saying you should really cut this.
Sam threw out his arms, but he was too late to catch his balance after the table shook.
John and Bobby didn’t notice, too caught up in their argument about chasing down the witch again, and the tiny ten year old tipped backwards from the table, his footing lost.
The freefall only lasted seconds.
Dean shouted in surprise, the powerful sound echoing around Sam’s delicate ears. The teenager launched himself, hitting the ground and sliding under Sam’s falling body to catch him between two gentle hands.
Sam hit the plush ground with an uff, and he rolled to his stomach, briefly freezing up as the hands closed around him.
This only lasted the moments it took Dean to stand back up, cradling his little brother like he was the most precious gem in the world and glaring at Bobby and John, who’d stopped their argument the moment Dean had thrown himself into the air.
“We’re going out,” Dean announced angrily, stalking from the room with his little brother and ignoring the protests behind him.
“He’s afraid of heights!” Sam chimed in, one boot propped against the edge of the shelf while he leaned backwards to test his weight on his hook before climbing.
“Dude, I am not afraid of heights!” Dean protested, bringing himself around enough to push himself up. His hand didn’t make a dent in John’s skin, and his fingers were small enough to fit between the imprints that made it unique. “Just… flying.” He shuddered at the memory of their one fateful trip on an airplane. The turbulence that struck was like an earthquake to the brothers at their size, and all the cushioning in the world couldn’t make it bearable for them. “There’s a difference!”
Long fingers that outsized Dean closed in around the young man, sealing him off from Sam. It happened too fast for him to react, and then he felt the thick, leathery skin bump against his back, sweeping him up into a light, casual grasp that left Dean’s stomach somewhere behind him. The world moved around him fast enough for his vertigo to hit with a vengeance, making his face start to turn green.
Dean’s fingers encircled Sam, surrounding him on all sides. There was a pinch around Sam’s waist as Dean carefully tightened his grip, then he started to pull upwards.
For a moment, Sam didn’t think it was going to work. Or, if it did, it would only work after Dean had to apply too much pressure.
Then, his feet slid out of his boots, and he found himself dangling in midair with only socks on. Sam gave Dean a flat glare when he saw the hunter snicker at him.
“Dude!” Sam complained, kicking a foot towards the shit-eating grin on Dean’s face.
Hmm, they wouldn’t be a fan of most of those options. Closed fist gives the human all the control over the situation, and two fingers feels a lot like dangling over a cliff. Three fingers might help a little, but it’s still only one slight tightening of those fingers before there’s a snapped rib.
If there wasn’t time for a palm, it would be safest to just sweep them off the ground into a cupped hand.
Beyond perplexed, Sam finally brought himself to look at the others on the table with him, a tough effort with two humans only inches away that looked like flies caught in the biggest strip of flypaper ever. He had no idea how he, a four-inch tall man who was caught fast in a trap, was supposed to get Dean out, but he had to try.
Logan Guthrie, the villain of Bowman Leafwing’s canon story, does seem to find himself in Wellwood quite often when I muse about different stories set there. With Sam growing up in Wellwood, his chances of encountering the man got much greater than in any other au, that’s for certain.
If it does happen, I think a Prayer to the Spirit wouldn’t go amiss. Sam will have to show what he’s made of to protect his home and his family!
Brothers Apart 