Yep! He was just a wee thing– Bobby is older than Walt. Just a kid trapped in a cage, his young wife pregnant at home with Bree, and Bobby made sure Walt got home.
For anyone that missed it:
Walt
Things are looking grim for Walt when he’s captured by humans and trapped in a cage… what does fate hold in store for the man that stands under four inches tall?
Dean held Sam close to him, looking up at the woman with dried tears clinging to his eyelashes. Twenty-four hours. Just twenty-four hours since they’d woken up like this, and there was a small light in the dark.
He couldn’t quite remember everything. It was all a blur before waking up in the hot, humid darkness. A woman, breaking into their room and attacking them. Dean could do nothing to keep her from his little brother. She’d pinned him effortlessly to the wall, without once touching him, forcing him to watch his little brother vanish into a white light.
And then doing the same for him, the world going black as the white light surrounded him.
Now, they’d escaped from her, but nothing was the way they remembered.
Motel rooms were larger than sweeping cathedrals. A football stadium could fit on the two beds. People were giants, the remote for the TV was unmovable, and Dean was scared.
Nothing, not his dad’s training, not Bobby’s stories, nothing, could have prepared him for this.
The woman stared down at him, her eyes widening in slight surprise. Dean could see so much detail in her face, he knew the moment her pupils dilated. He could smell the sickly-sweet scent of wine on her breath when her mouth parted.
That was all the warning they got.
Her hand swept out, long fingers curling around the two tiny children. Sam cried out in surprise as Dean did his best to block her attack, but standing under four inches tall meant there was no way for him to stop her.
A fist closed harshly around them, and Sam’s cries went from surprised to pained, and then stopped.
Dean sucked in a breath as the motel room nightstand vanished under their feet, the height forgotten in the wake of worry for his brother.
What did she do to Sammy?
“Please,” Dean begged. “We just need help…”
She lifted them up, her hand opening when held in front of her eyes. There was no warmth in those eyes as she scanned every one of the brothers’ very few inches.
“Wonderful…” she breathed, that sickly smell hitting Dean in a wave. He almost retched.
Containing his reaction, Dean glared at the woman as he cradled his brother in his arms. “What did you do?” he shouted angrily, Sam’s arm limp and hanging from the socket in an unnatural position.
“Sweetie,” she said in a condescending voice, “you’re just a toy. A possession. You should remember that the next time you talk back.”
She turned from the nightstand, the long fingers curling around the two boys as she rifled through the pockets of a jacket and withdrew a phone. A red-painted fingernail winked in the light at them as it tapped out a message.
The old house creaked and groaned, constantly settling as the wind outside tested its strength. Jacob crept through the main hall, his boots muffled by a dusty rug that had been traversed many times over the years. The house truly was old, so much so that its wiring was shaky at best, and anything electronic didn’t fit in with the decor.
Jacob kept his flashlight trained on the ground as he walked, and his eyes flickered from side to side. He normally had two small companions on either shoulder, giving him input on where he should go.
They’d led him to this house, this old old place, and that was as far as he’d gotten with their guidance. Old floorboards and walls meant lots of passages within the woodwork of the home to explore. As the only ones that could fit in there, Sam and Dean were the best choice. Sam was only four inches tall, and Dean was a little smaller, but that had yet to slow them down.
Sam and Dean Winchester were hunters, and it ran in the family. After so long thinking their lives had crashed into a dead end in a little motel in Kansas, they were back on the job with a determination to rival anyone. While helping them look for their dad, a hunter who had dropped of the map a couple years back, Jacob was learning the trade as well.
They would scope out the inside of the walls and see if they could find any evidence of what might be causing the strange activity reported from that house. Jacob, being much taller and bulkier, would venture the halls and rooms, scoping out what he could.
Despite knowing how capable they were and how fiercely the brothers defended their independence, Jacob couldn’t help but worry about them in the back of his mind. This was an entirely new place. He didn’t even know the normal dangers they might face in the walls, and this house would probably have new ones. Old, unstable framework would shift and crush them, or a resident rat, used to having the place to itself, could sneak up on them.
Jacob had to remind himself often of how long they’d been living at their size. They were cursed as kids, and he’d only known them for a month or so at the most. Of their group, he was the least experienced with hunting.
The thoughts quieted as he wandered into what looked like a living room. He needed to focus. They were there to find signs of a vengeful spirit or even a poltergeist.
A flicker of motion in one corner drew Jacob’s gaze like a beacon. Normally, he’d never notice something like that, but after hanging around with people the size of his fingers around, he could never be too careful. He had to keep his eyes open for them.
The risks if he didn’t were far too great.
“Sam? Dean?” he called, his voice low but still shattering the silence. He always felt huge and loud when he was dealing with them, and when they were all on a hunt. After the case with Melanie, he’d tried to learn better stealth, with Dean giving him pointers, but he didn’t think it was working very quickly.
Even so, he crossed the room to where he’d seen the motion, next to a heavy cabinet. He knelt down next to it and shone his flashlight in the corner, expecting to find one of the Winchesters snooping around. He could expect a scold or a harsh complaint if it was Dean.
Instead, there was a surprised little squeak.
Jacob’s eyebrows shot up and he gasped at the sight of a tiny mouse. It was curled up with its back to the corner, and a little pink tail wrapped around the tiny paws. Round ears and a whiskered nose quivered in time with the rapid breaths seen in the tiny curled up body.
“Oh,” Jacob muttered. He’d cornered a mouse. “Uh. Sorry, little guy.” He remembered thinking that the brothers were so close to mice in size when he first started hanging around them. Now, he was seeing, they were definitely bigger than a mouse, or this one was exceptionally small. It might be young.
Jacob didn’t have much time to think about the fact that he’d cornered a tiny little mouse in his search for his friends before a crash sounded elsewhere in the house. It sounded like it came from upstairs, and recognition lit in his eyes. The attic had been cited in the stories about the house several times.
“If you see my friends when you get back in the walls, let them know I went upstairs,” he murmured with a smirk, wondering if Sam and Dean could already hear what he said. Him, their so-called Godzilla, talking to a mouse.
Then, he stood back to his full height, letting his flashlight beam drift away from the mouse. He didn’t watch where its shadowy shape darted to next.
He had to find out what caused that noise. It’s what a good hunter would do.
Oscar didn’t have anyone to admit it to, but he wouldn’t be ashamed to say he liked when the decorations changed in the motel’s main office. There was hardly room for anything in there among the papers and the coffee machine and the outdated, clunky computer, but somehow the elderly woman in charge found places to mark the season.
From paper bats and pumpkins on the bulletin boards for Halloween to a Christmas tree barely two times Oscar’s size on the counter next to the worn bell, she did her best to make the place cozy. The motel wasn’t new and shiny like places depicted on the motel’s many mismatched TVs, but she did her best.
Oscar, whose life was monotonous to a fault, loved it.
It had been a long winter. The walls were frigid, especially at night, and Oscar had spent more time out of his little home than he usually dared. He had to lean against the metal air ducts that ran through the motel, just to borrow some warmth at times.
The tiny flowerpots with colorful pipe-cleaner-and-paper flowers stuck in them signalled that the world outside must be thawing. Oscar knew flowers meant Spring, and he couldn’t be more relieved.
The lady who ran the motel had brought in a shoebox that morning, filled with the tiny, cheap crafts. The flowerpots were half Oscar’s height, and the flowers were just taller than he. They brought a splash of color to the drab office of the motel.
They wouldn’t erase the dustiness, or the water damage on some of the ceiling tiles, or the squeaky sounds from the vents creaking, but they cheered the space and one hidden watcher immensely. Oscar lingered by the vent near the floor and watched her bustle around to find places for her little crafts. He didn’t need to stay; he’d already made sure there were no whispers of pest control or remodeling in the motel. And yet, with every flowerpot that found its home in the office, Oscar’s spirits lifted just a little more.
The bell over the door released a weak jingle as someone entered. The manager’s shoes stopped in their tracks, and then with speed that always surprised Oscar, turned to face the newcomer. Oscar glanced across the floor, past the underside of the desk, and recognized the sensible shoes of one of the maids.
“Señora,” the maid greeted. “Room thirteen, I didn’t do it, I swear.” She sounded flustered and Oscar frowned.
The manager, who always looked more severe than she really was, interrupted before the frazzled maid could talk herself out of breath like she sounded like she wanted to. “Marie, what is it?”
“A-a hole in the wall, miss. I went to clean, and it was there already,” the maid answered.
“Oh, dear,” the manager muttered. There was a rustling of paper as she made space to set down her box of decorations and stepped around the desk. Unbeknownst to her, one of the mini flowerpots plummeted to the floor and landed on the carpet with a faint thump that only Oscar heard.
His lips parted as the two humans left the room to assess the damage in one of the rooms (he thought he’d heard someone getting angry in thirteen the other night) and left the office empty. Oscar stared out at that fallen flowerpot, the paper face of the flower angled forlornly towards the ceiling, and chewed his bottom lip.
Several long minutes stretched out with no change, before Oscar finally slipped out of the vent, dropping the inch to the floor in a deft crouch. He might only be a kid, but he was good at staying quiet and moving like a shadow in and out of the motel rooms.
He ignored the looming furniture and the cluttered papers that hung partway over the edge of the desk far overhead. Oscar darted out as quickly as he could to where the flowerpot had fallen, his lungs working fast in time with his accelerated heartbeat. He might be good at this, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t primed for danger.
Oscar wasn’t sure why he decided this, but when he reached the quickly-made little craft, he hardly paused to look it over. As soon as he got to it, he walked around to one side and placed his hands on the gritty orange side of the little clay pot to roll it along. The paper flower rustled against the floor as he went.
It was slower going, but Oscar pushed that craft across the floor towards his vent. He’d bring it home, and put it to use. He could take the pipe cleaner and the pot for something, he was sure, and he could keep the paper flower as it was. There wasn’t much in his home to decorate it, nothing but ratty curtains hiding the pantry and his bedroom.
He was less than a foot away from the vent, pushing the cumbersome flowerpot along as quickly as he could, when tremors in the floor sent his heartrate up again. Oscar glanced over his shoulder for only an instant before hurrying around the flowerpot and dashing back towards the vent.
He made it into the safe darkness just as that bell jingled again. Oscar whirled around to make sure no one was rushing towards the wall where he hid, his eyes wide.
His abandoned flowerpot still lay on the floor where he left it. Out away from the desk, it would be easier to spot, but the shoes that walked into view across the room didn’t belong to anyone familiar. They strode along and then the harsh ring of the call bell filled the room several times, echoing around weirdly. A guest.
The management spotting him would be bad, but a guest would be worse. Guests could raise more hell than anyone, and the apparent hole in the wall in room thirteen was proof.
Oscar sighed, then turned away from the room. It wouldn’t do to linger on the flowerpot. He’d missed his chance at it, but at least he’d be able to see the nice springtime decorations if he came to spy on the office again.
Another one from this post and sent in to @brothersapart. This one is most likely Fairy Tales canon, though I don’t have a specific time for it to be set.
Reading Time less than 5 minutes
Camping had a rugged charm to it that couldn’t be replaced. Jacob always enjoyed a chance to hike out to the middle of the woods where he could relax and ignore the outside world for a while. He could sit in his clearing and watch the blue sky give way to yellows and purples before finally allowing a black stage for the stars.
Sleeping under those stars, glancing up before he drifted off to spot a shooting star streaking across the sky. Dozing off at last to the gentle sound of the breeze in the canopy. Dreaming peacefully and hoping the following day would bring a visit from his best friend.
Waking up with a small green shape right in front of his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“Jesus-fuck!” Jacob stammered, flinching back while still wrapped up in his sleeping bag. The small shape fluttered backwards, just as startled as he was, and Jacob squirmed to free his arm from the sleeping back.
“Thanks for deafening me!” Bowman complained, his snarky voice reaching Jacob as he freed a hand to drag it down his face.
“Thanks for … you were like an inch in front of my face, dude,” Jacob pointed out exasperatedly.
Bowman fluttered into the air and flew in a lazy circle around Jacob’s head now that the human was awake. “You must have walked up after I finished my patrols for the day yesterday,” he pointed out. His tone suggested that he was perfectly aware of the rapid subject change, and didn’t care.
Jacob sluggishly swatted a hand at Bowman in mock annoyance, aiming to miss. “Yeah, didn’t expect a wake up call is all.”
“I’m just generous like that,” Bowman shot back, a chuckle in his voice.
Aw, that must have been so cool! I’d probably jump a mile if I saw a Sherlock lookalike (or John, Dean or Sam lookalikes). I wish I lived in an area where we’d actually have a chance at seeing the actors out for a stroll…
The design of knitting needles is actually a much easier design to create at that size, so it’s a popular way to make warm clothing if they can find or create the right kind of thread. You’ll find it to be a more common practice in cooler climates, where they’ll need warm clothing even indoors.
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.
But for now, we’ll be keeping this one under wraps 😉 It’ll be an interesting one when we get this far into the AU… Dean went through quite a lot when he insisted on running off on his own… dammit, Dean!
In our new AU, Brothers Consulted, Sam and Dean were captured and sold off as kids, but found their way to safety and a family that helped them out. Over a decade later, they move into a new home to strike out on their own, but the inhabitants turn out to be more perceptive than they expected…
Brothers Apart 