December 11th excerpt:
That was when he remembered the fingers he was standing next to, and immediately went over to Lestrade’s index finger, wrapping two hands around to try and hoist it over his head. “What about this? Who’s taller?” Dean called, determined to find something he was taller than.
Woo! You hit it on the nail!
(And you were so super close we were rooting for you XD Saw the guesses come in like Soooooo clooooose…)
You’ve earned everyone a look at Bobby of Far Away!
And… it’s not the Bobby people adore.
“We were helping you! ” Sam snapped angrily up at the human. “Why the hell would you do this?!”
Scar wavered, with his legs only caught from just above the knees and down. He glared in surprise at the human, but cursed himself for his mistake even as the giant stared in smug triumph at him. He’d miscalculated and made a dangerous error in taking his focus off the enemy for even a second. He should have known better.
But this Bobby acted like no foe Scar had ever encountered before. The attack had hurt him, but he didn’t care.
“I’m doing it because it’s my land and I’ve been looking for sprites for forever?!” Bobby answered, exasperated and clearly annoyed that he even bothered to explain at all. It was clear on his face that it was a waste of time. “Now shuddup, would ya? This is a big deal.” He held Scar up at his eye level, watching the lean little guy try to stay upright while also trying to tug his legs free. It was futile, of course. He was way too weak.
“Blast it, you child,” Scar hissed. “Let go of us both now!” he demanded.
Bobby, of course, ignored him. Instead, he raised his other hand, the one still clamped around Sam. After adjusting his grip a little, he was able to pinch one of the fluttering, leafy wings in his thumb and first finger to stretch it out and look at it in the dying light.
“Owning land doesn’t mean you own people,” Sam snapped up at the human. When Bobby’s grip shifted around him, he managed to pull out an arm and try to shove against the hand he was trapped in. He couldn’t gain any traction at all. He might be stronger than a sprite but that meant almost nothing compared to a human of any size. Bobby was younger than him, and he was as inconsequential as a toy in those huge fingers as they shifted around him to examine the sprite.
“Leave his wings alone!” Sam shouted, punching in frustration against the knuckle he was closest to. He shoved his boots against the skin they were trapped within, wishing they had sharper heels to use as weapons.
“Nope,” Bobby shot back absently, even while he forced the wing into different angles to see how it moved. Scar winced and continued to struggle against him, but the movements were subdued with one wing stretched out. He couldn’t risk twisting at the wrong angle and damaging his wing.
“Why? ” Scar spat. “What are you planning?”
July 7th excerpt:
A smirk tugged at the corner of Stan’s mouth as Dean once again exuded that cocky air he’d gotten to know. Before he could even give it a second thought, the hand Dean had been poking swept out, catching those little bowlegs behind the knees and curling his fingers into a low awning over Dean’s head as he fell into Stan’s grasp.
“Oh, my! What have we here?” exclaimed Stan in mock surprise as he lifted his hand to his eyes to peer in at Dean. Behind his smug grin, a warm bubble of pride rose in his chest, glad to be able to do that with none of the apprehension he had before. Even if it was just to rise to Dean’s bait and tease him a bit. “You lost, mousie?”
June 30th excerpt:
Breathing deeply as he sank into the armchair adjacent to the bookshelf, Stan hesitantly copied Dean’s hand position and moved it closer to the smaller man like a platform. “Don’t worry, I keep clean hands,” he quipped to hide his anxiety behind a smirk.
“Good, ‘cause the last thing I want is to end up smelling like Cheese Curls,” Dean quipped back, hiding his nerves the same as Stan, aided by the fact that his face, so much smaller than the others, was much harder to read. Thus far, he’d only ever allowed Sherlock and John to hold him.
May 10th excerpt:
Dean’s hand eclipsed the top of the pocket, blocking out any sight of the world above. All he saw was the massive silhouette of a hand more powerful than Jacob could imagine. And it was reaching right for him. Too fast for Jacob to react, fingers the size of pillars settled around the money (and him) at the bottom of the pocket like a domed cage. They started to close in on him from all sides.
Damn … the one time he’s not using his fleet of fraud credit cards!
Warning: contains violence and brief descriptions of extreme pain
( x )
By the time he saw light again, Oscar’s tears had stopped once more. The human opened his hand and let Oscar roll harshly onto a new surface, where he lay exhausted for an extra second. The metal was cool to the touch.
“Just a mark for this one,” the gruff human announced. That led Oscar to notice the other human in the room.
“Got it,” they said. It was a much meeker human, but they were no less terrifying. Oscar could only see their back so far as they fiddled with something opposite where he lay. He brushed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. Even curiosity was a foreign emotion now. All he knew was fear and resignation.
The room was fairly small, by human standards. Oscar sat on a metal workbench that took up most of one wall. The man who’d carried him in leaned against the frame of an archway leading out one way, a bored look on his face. Another archway led out directly across the room, a trek of several minutes for Oscar but barely two strides for a human.
He didn’t have his climbing hook or his bag, not since Noriko took it away. Oscar didn’t even entertain the notion of trying to climb down. He had nowhere to go.
There was a lamp illuminating where he sat, but Oscar frowned at the human who had his back turned, working away at something on another workbench. There was a faint orange glow over there.
When they turned, they held a long metal rod in one gloved hand. Oscar’s eyes widened and he tried to scoot backwards on the table as the other human’s eyes fell on him. It only took them a few steps to saunter over, smirking down at him.
“Lord, he’s a little one. He’ll barely fit,” they mused. The human’s free hand left their side and descended towards Oscar’s cowering form, and he squeaked in terror. The hand might have blocked the sight of the tool they held in their other hand, but it couldn’t erase the memory of the heat haze coming off of it.
“N-no, please!” Oscar begged, but a finger and thumb pinched around him. He pushed at them, but they turned him over as if he hadn’t moved at all. He squirmed and kicked the best he could, but he was no match.
The human had done this before. Their hand settled over him, their heavy thumb pressing his legs down into the cold metal table. Other fingertips pinned his upper arms down, and his elbows didn’t have a good angle to try and push them away. Oscar’s face was pressed into the table and he could only see the human out of the corner of his eye. A fingertip shoved the hem of his shirt up and the cold air chilled his back like a hundred little needles.
There was a movement of glowing red in the corner of his eye. Warmth replaced the cold.
And then agonizing heat and pain replaced everything. Oscar screamed.
His voice was thready and broken, and he swore his skin sizzled as that hot metal made contact. His mind, in a panic, could only focus on the pain and the contact of the metal on his skin. It didn’t even last a second, and yet he felt like several minutes went by before there was nothing touching him but the table beneath him.
“What the hell?” the gruff human said. Oscar didn’t even flinch. He lay there, suddenly more exhausted than he’d ever been in his life, with his head pounding and his back stinging in the open air.
“I … The rod cooled off,” the smaller human stammered. Their voice was muffled by the throb of pain in Oscar’s head and on his back. “Must … must not have heated it up enough.”
“Well, now his mark’ll be uneven unless you’re more careful,“ the gruff human warned. “We can just hope Carson don’t notice. Just take care of it.”
“Right,” the other human said.
Oscar could hear more metal clattering behind him. He wanted to push himself up and at least try to crawl to safety. Instead, his muscles did nothing but quiver after all the strain. He blinked a few tears away and they fell onto the table. Even hearing those footsteps cross back toward him couldn’t convince his body to run.
The hand returned, pinning him down like before. Oscar finally struggled, but he was even weaker than before. This time, when the radiant heat reached him, it was like it clawed right into the first burn before the red-hot metal actually touched him. His scream pitched upwards. It was too much.
Another eternity with that hot metal against his skin went by. Then, just as the human removed it and cool air swarmed over it, Oscar lost consciousness again.
It’s been a while since we last checked in on poor little Oscar in the Sad Oscar AU. Where we left off, he was on a plane, shipped off to who-knows-where. What’s on the other side of that trip?
( x )
From the second the plane landed, there wasn’t a still moment. After the rough turbulence of the plane taxiing back onto solid ground, Oscar’s prison was handed off multiple times. Callous voices gave instructions in loud tones. The light filtering through his air holes flickered and shifted, but Oscar lost track of how many doors and windows he passed. All of his effort went to curling up in a corner of his box.
His stomach hurt. His ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton. His head was pounding.
He was very, very lost. Even coming down from way up in the sky didn’t change that.
Whoever held his box for the latest car ride hadn’t said a word. They tapped the top occasionally, drumming on his cage with fingers bigger than his body. Oscar’s eyes were already puffy and stinging from so many shed tears, but a few more leaked down his face anyway.
They were in a city. He could hear it. Other cars rumbled by his current transportation, honking or screeching tires. People called to each other, thunderous voices muffled outside the car.
When it came to a stop, Oscar braced for movement like so many times before. There was an explosion of city noise as the door opened, though it was farther away from the worst of it. An almost smoky smell reached him, but he didn’t pay it any mind. Soon, he knew, the box would open up. Those fingertips tapping on the lid would dive in to snatch him up. Another human to look him over.
Just like Noriko. Just like Mina. He had been nothing more than a possession in their hands, and it wouldn’t stop now.
More walking, and a door closed behind them to seal off the sound of the city. Oscar sniffled and wished he knew how to prepare. It never became less terrifying. Humans were huge and powerful, and always did what they wanted no matter how he struggled.
“Ah, you’re back,” a voice greeted. It was deeper, male-sounding, but also smooth. Oscar didn’t recognize the accent, but he recognized the tone. People like that came and went at his old motel home. This human was a salesman.
Oscar’s carrier grunted an affirmative. The box jostled and then fell still as they set it down. Oscar barely had time to realize it before the lid came off at last and a bright light flooded in.
After the light, a human hand followed.
It didn’t wrap around him. Instead, a finger and thumb snared the front of his shirt. Oscar gasped as he was yanked upwards, lifting high over a table so the two men could look him over.
The man who held him ignored his squirms and attempts to cling to his fingers. Instead, he grinned at his friend. “I love it when Noriko gets these little things all ready. Does half our work for us, she does.”
“And for the same low price,” the other remarked. Oscar squeezed his eyes shut and tried to cling tighter, but the man never noticed his distress.
He snickered instead. “Love it when the yanks find ‘em. Alright, this one’s looking like he’d get a high bid, so be bloody careful, yeah? Young ones always bring in more but not if they’re damaged..”
Damaged? Oscar opened his eyes in time for the pinch on his shirt to release. He choked on a yelp of terror, only for his fall to end as quickly as it began. He was back in the first human’s hand.
“Full processing?” the human asked, casually curling a thumb inward to prevent Oscar from sitting up or rolling over on his palm.
The salesman eyed Oscar for a moment. Oscar trembled under that gaze; it was just like Mina’s. Cold and calculating. The smirk didn’t reach his eyes. “Nah. We can hold off for now, just take him to get a mark. I’ve heard this one’s very well behaved already.”
Oscar trembled as the chilling words sank in, and then his captor’s hand curled closed over him. He pushed against the fingers in alarm, but they didn’t even slow. He found himself squashed in their grip, completely immobile, while they walked somewhere else. His arms were pinned awkwardly to his chest and his legs were almost crushed in that grip.
Despite having cried off and on for most of his harrowing flight, Oscar found more tears in him as he was carried along. A heavy, thudding pulse pounded all around him, and the human’s body heat created beads of sweat on his forehead. The man’s calluses were rough against his own skin, but Oscar couldn’t avoid them no matter how he struggled.
He was so tired.
April 4th excerpt:
The fingers curled up around them as Dean put his entire hand in the pocket this time, knuckles brushing against the fabric bottom. Sam pushed a finger out of his way and Dean stretched them out, making it easy to slip down and drop to the bottom of the dark surroundings.
Once he was down, he stood and offered Jacob a hand getting down. Before Jacob could reach him, the hand started to lift away out of the pocket, Dean assuming that they were both clear of his hand. Sam didn’t need any more proof of the fact that Dean couldn’t feel Jacob on his hand at all, a concerning thought for them all.
“Dean, wait! " Sam shouted. He leapt forward, snagging a fingertip before it could raise up out of his reach.
March 18th excerpt:
Sam held up a hand next to Jacob, marveling at the size of his own fingers compared to the other hunter. “I guess so,” he said in agreement. “Guess this means I’ll be safe hanging out on the alarm clocks in the room.” Curious, he held his hand close to Jacob, wanting to see the difference in scale between their hands.
Dean came back over with a plate stacked with a burger, french fries, apple sticks and the salad, watching with fascination as Sam held out his hand. Considering that Sam’s hand would barely cover the tip of Dean’s own fingertip– and that was only if he stretched his fingers out as far as they’d go– it was nothing short of amazing to see it eclipse someone else’s hand, a hand that was so small Dean couldn’t make out the fingers from where he was standing.
You’re 100% right about that one!
If Logan had been the one holding Bowman for that scene, there would most certainly have been an injured sprite to deal with. Dean tends to be much more fair when it comes to dealing with tiny unknowns. He probably wouldn’t approve of Logan jumping to conclusions.
Bowman would make it easy to choose his side, too. He would be absolutely devastated if something happened to his wings and he couldn’t fly. The little guy doesn’t cry often, but there would be spritely tears.
Bowman may not agree, but he’s better off with Dean any day.
Brothers Apart 