8. Jar – Stan has a wake-up call.
AU: ???
Stan couldn’t breathe.
He thought seeing the world from only a few inches tall had been amazing, and after he climbed down his bedspread to the floor, he was all set on exploring the alien landscape his bedroom had become.
Then the ground, the very air, everything began to shake. Steady vibrations rattled the floor under Stan’s feet and froze him in place. Sharp impacts on the massive shut door made him flinch, and he clapped his hands over his ears as a tremendous voice rumbled through it.
Panic rose within the teen as it sank in. Someone was looking for him, and they were enormous.
His imagination took it from there, disregarding the logic that whoever it was out there was one of Stan’s brothers, his family. Instead, Stan was paralyzed by images of giants as they’d always been portrayed in films and stories, vicious creatures who meant harm to those smaller than them.
These overwhelming fears came to a head when he saw the door open ever so slightly, and Stan jumped behind the nearest thing to hide, hardly noticing that it happened to be a discarded shoe that was now taller than he was.
Stan’s heart pounded too loudly in his ears to process what the giant was saying, but he certainly felt the wave of displaced air when the door swung open, the earth-shattering footsteps that followed. Humongous feet stomped closer and swung right past Stan’s hiding spot in only a handful of steps.
A hand shot up to cover Stan’s mouth, quieting his heavy breathing and stifling the dread-filled cries he could feel creeping up his throat. The giant’s feet were right there and Stan was completely exposed, it could notice him at any moment! He needed to find a new hiding spot, and he glanced around the corner of the shoe to find one.
If he could just made it under the dresser in the distance…
Tag: jar
October 12th excerpt:
In the jar, Logan was behind on working out what was going on. His restless sleep had ended to the loud rumble of the drawer on its track, followed by nauseating motion. It was all he could do to curl up and cover his neck with startled hands as the hard walls of his prison moved about.
September 5th excerpt:
It didn’t make any damn sense. By rights, Sam should be in a jar, too.
Is there a story with normal sized Sam and Dean with a smol Jacob?
Not currently, but we have bandied a few ideas about for them! Sam is a lot more willing to hear out the smol and not trap him, while Dean scoffs at that and grabs the vase. Or a jar.
halp.
Tiny Jacob all on his own, trying to deal with some super intense hunters? He might just resort to really dry sarcasm to hide all the nerves that come with that. He’s good at mostly keeping his head in dire situations, but getting poked at by giant hands when you were supposed to be one of the tallest guys around just brings out the chillest sarcasm ever. Guys, how about not putting him in a jar, can we discuss that?
April 11th excerpt:
Screwing on the lid with more effort than he needed, Bobby scowled at the jar. “Better watch that mouth of yours around Dean,” he warned the downsized hunter. “He’s not one to take that kind of thing lying down.”
December 17th excerpt:
Nicholas unscrewed the top and Stan braced himself, expecting the witch to pluck him out and put him down somewhere. But it never happened. Instead, the jar simply tilted on its side, and Stan slid around on the old handkerchief he used as a cushion and blanket. Only then was Stan, jar and all, placed on the desk in the study just off the first room.
“Rest now,” said Nicholas in a voice that would almost seem gentle if not for the ever-present rasp in his voice that always warned of danger. “You did well, my pet.”
February 19th excerpt:
Bowman stared between them as he contemplated. Finally, his wings relaxed and stopped crowding the glass walls around him. His shoulders slumped and his exhaustion from a stressful day became more obvious. “You … you two live in that one’s pocket,” he said, gesturing at Dean. “Why would you wanna stay in there?”
Jacob paused, for a moment bemused by the thought of actually living in Dean’s pocket. “We use the pocket to stay hidden. We don’t want that other human to see us.”
February 12th excerpt:
I am in so much trouble.
The despairing thought rang through the many panicked fragments in Bowman’s mind. On either side and overhead, his view was blocked by the pattern of the shirt that Dean wore. With the jar tucked under an arm, Bowman didn’t have a chance to really see where they were taking him. Fate had given him an extra dose of the unfair by making sure the giants’ arms were thicker around than he was tall.
Thanks to the tilt, the bottom of the jar was behind him and the curved wall beneath. Bowman could see the forest floor, and the effect that Dean’s boots had on it. Those boots had to be the size of a small house.
With his hands braced on the glass, Bowman felt like the world was so close, just beyond his reach. He was captured and he didn’t know what would happen to him. He couldn’t even warn the village of the threat wandering the woods.
October 15th excerpt:
Dean stalked from side to side in his jar, every ounce of his body just bleeding out frustration. He didn’t take his eye from Sherlock, resembling a cornered wolf more than a man with the matching snarl on his face.
October 14th excerpt:
Sherlock moved Dean further away and dropped him into the prepared jar, releasing his grip as low as the glass would allow.
That done, he carefully placed the miniscule blade onto his freed palm. It was so small he had to squint to see any kind of detail in it, until he remembered the pocket magnifier he always kept on his person. He fished the little instrument out of his pocket and used his teeth to slide it open. The newly-uncovered lens offered a much better, if slightly distorted view of the much tinier weapon.
“Excellent workmanship,” he murmured, taking note of how impossibly fine it was. Sherlock was making an honest effort to not underestimate these miniature men, but a silver knife of that caliber seemed well outside the resources of someone shorter than a finger.
Setting the magnifier aside, Sherlock let the knife slide from his palm to the counter, a good deal away from the edge where it could get accidentally brushed away.
Brothers Apart 