March 17th excerpt:

Bowman smirked, taking a second drink of his beer before speaking his mind. “Yeah, we gotta get Jacob back to normal before being the tallest goes straight to Dean’s head.”

Jacob snickered at that, but almost immediately after came a loud, incessant BEEP from the microwave across the room. He couldn’t help a minor flinch from the noise and his free hand almost instinctively went to cover his ear. Everything seemed so loud at this size. Even the simple rustling of fabric as Dean shifted was sharply noticeable.

Dean stood to go get the food just as a second BEEP went off behind him. “Y’know,” he jabbed back, “being tall never went to my head in the first place, small fry.” He left them for a moment to grab his food.

February 6th excerpt:

The pain that sliced through Dean’s hand was unexpected. “Sonova–!”

Instead of letting the sprite go like he might have done before, Dean cut off his cuss and brought up his free hand, releasing the sprite into the new hand and this time expertly winding his fingers around the tiny body to keep him from attacking again. Dean’s thumb came up beneath the little chin, preventing any bites.

“Chill, nibbler,” he groused. “No one’s hurting you.”

July 31st excerpt:

Dean packed everything he could into the duffel. It was at least an hour’s hike to get to where Jacob met up with Bowman, and further than that if they needed to go all the way to the village. They might not have time to make it all the way back to the car if things went to hell.

He hefted the duffel up to a shoulder. “Ready, pint-size?” he asked his younger brother, who was sitting on his right shoulder like normal.

“As I’ll ever be.”

May 23rd excerpt:

“You shake the fuckin’ ground, dude, holy shit.”

“He’s actually doing a lot better,” Sam chimed in loyaly. “You shoulda seen what it was like the first time we ran into him. Aside from all the grabbing and all that.”

“Just imagine seein’ that guy comin’ at you when you’re tryin’ to climb down from a table,” Dean grumbled to the side. “Snatched me right off my rope.” His hand absently brushed the hook dangling out of the duffel slung over his shoulders. A thick black thread from a sewing kit they’d found in an occupied room years back served as the climbing rope. “Godzilla, Jolly Green… whatever fits at the time.”

“Dean never gets tired of coming up with nicknames,” Sam snickered.