Truthfully, I’ve been trying to write out an ending to that prompt since last spring, I just keep having no time to work on it, or new stories come up first. I hope to have a conclusion, and you’ll see it here first when I do!
Sam hit the ground hard. The force of Dean slamming into him was like a linebacker tackling, and he went rolling several feet as he hit the ground, his slim ten-year-old body unable to absorb the impact like an older kid could.
An older kid like Dean.
The room was pandemonium as Sam stared up to see his older brother going for his gun.
“You’ll regret that, you bitch! ” Dean snarled as he leveled the intricately carved silver colt at the witch that had appeared in their room.
Tall and elegant, harsh and cold, the woman merely smiled, raising her hand in tandem with Dean’s. The moment they stopped moving together, Dean’s finger tightening on the trigger, the room went white.
The last Sam saw before everything was overwhelmed in brightness was Dean’s silhouette, black against the white and defiant to the end.
Then the light faded and Dean was gone.
“Dean! ” Sam screamed, flipping over and scrambling to his feet. A faint ghost of his brother’s silhouette in his eyes was all that was left of the teenager, and even that faded as Sam blinked away tears of fear and uncertainty, alone with the witch.
The woman slowly turned in place to face Sam, an unpleasant smile gracing her face as she raised her clawed hand. “You boys are a handful for such young humans,” she breathed, stepping over something that lay crumpled on the ground, like the shredded remains of Dean’s shirt…
Sam blinked, unable to believe his eyes.
It wasn’t a shirt.
No shirt they, or anyone, owned would have such precise plaid markings, and it certainly wouldn’t have the smallest arm Sam had ever seen limply stretched out, such a familiar spike of dirty blond hair resting on the arm as though asleep…
The realization of what he was looking at crashed over Sam in bare seconds, and he pushed himself to his feet before the witch had finished her first step, charging her legs.
As Sam recklessly tossed himself at the ground, the locked and latched door of the Trails West room they were staying at slammed open, the hinges in splinters from the force John Winchester hit them with. He stood there, shadowed by the bright sunlight outside, assessing the room in a flash.
“Sammy get down!” John thundered as he brought his gun to bear on the woman.
“No, Dean needs me!” Sam protested, squirming through the witch’s legs.
There was no time to explain himself as she whirled around. A hand closed around the collar of Sam’s jacket and hauled him up from the ground.
But not before his hands scooped under the doll-sized version of his older brother and brought Dean along with them.
Sam was only dangling in midair for seconds before the roar of a gun filled the room and he was falling.
He landed on his front with a grunt, unable to catch his balance with Dean precariously cradled in his hands. It took all of Sam’s effort to not tighten his grip on the slim, vulnerable body of his older brother in his care.
This was all wrong. Dean should never be vulnerable!
Then, a hand clamped around Sam’s arm. He cried out, belatedly realizing it was John and not the witch. “Let’s go!” John snapped, his gun panning around the room as he searched for the witch. During Sam’s moment of inattention as he fell, she had vanished into thin air.
Sam had no response, stumbling along behind his dad and carried by the older man’s force. All he could do was stare down at Dean’s limp body, see the tiny head loll to the side as Sam was dragged out of there by their father.
“Dean,” he whispered, a teardrop falling at last only to land on Dean’s shirt and drench him.
“You’re too short,” Sam grumbled, leaning more of his weight on Dean than he wanted to.
“Not my fault you’re a Sasquatch!” Dean snipped. Compared to everyone else, the Winchesters were the tallest people in the room that weren’t humans, but Sam still managed to tower over him.
Somehow Sam lost his memory and is having headaches whenever he tries to remember. He’s afraid of Dean again
;( Sry posts won’t b as frequent for a while, I’m going through some weird stuff 😛 my meds r jacking me up
I might be slightly biased, but I certainly think so! 🙂 The g/t interactions are what we love the most! Of course, some stories are more chill while others are overflowing with the different interactions, but that’s just how things go when writing for the long run. Like a Moth to Flame, for instance, has some of my absolute fave moments between the brothers, thought they come at a cost.
Other of my fave moments, though, happen when both brothers are smol because I absolutely cannot resist tiny Dean telling off the rest of the world >w>
“Ooh, nice one!” John snickered, his foul mood lightened in the presence of the Winchesters. Even when they were bickering or pounding each other into the floor, they both had a certain charm that was almost guaranteed to lift John’s spirits.
It was unusual for Oscar to care about how much he overslept. His routine for his entire life had been to sleep when he was tired, and after helping Sam and Dean Winchester hunt down a demon, he’d gone to bed exhausted. The day before ran together in a long chain of scary events, many of which he’d witnessed from inside a pocket.
Oscar hadn’t yet had time to come to terms with everything, and he was already in the vents, wandering back toward that room. Back to the odd pair of brothers he’d befriended despite how crazy they could be.
If his memories were to be believed, their insanity had rubbed off on him.
In spite of himself, he was glad to hear a familiar gruff voice filtering into the air ducts. They were still there, even though he’d slept into the morning. He found that he wouldn’t even mind if breakfast was gone already. He could at least see them off before they left.
The tip of Dean’s tongue stuck out between his teeth as he concentrated all of his efforts down on the tiny ball of ground beef he was forming into the world’s smallest and most perfect hamburger patty.
It was the first opportunity he’d been able to get into the kitchen on his own, Bobby out to pick up more supplies for his crowded household, not used to entertaining guests at all, and certainly not sure what to do when one of those guests was smaller than a finger.
Sam was off exploring, and Dean hoped he stayed gone until he figured this thing out.
Tiny beef patties were harder than they looked.
His first attempt was too large. When Dean finished frying it, he’d realized that it was the size of Sam’s torso. No good. The entire point of this was making food Sam could eat like Bobby and Dean, not Sam-sized food. Dean had eaten it himself as he started his next attempt.
The next one had turned out smaller, but ended up looking like a tiny meatball. It wouldn’t sit on a bun. Another snack for Dean.
Now, he finally finished pressing the patty into shape and smirked. Perfect.
Dropping it onto one of Bobby’s smallest frying pans with the heat set on low, Dean went to turn his attention to the bun and fixings only to find Sam standing on the counter, curiously looking over the remains of Dean’s former attempts.
“Having some trouble?” Sam asked, his face open and innocent.
Caught in the act, Dean forced himself to unfreeze. Sam couldn’t see into the pan from where he was standing. There was still hope of it remaining a secret until it was ready. He reached for the fridge, leaning over to look inside while he talked. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to not sneak up on a hunter?”
Sam took a few steps towards Dean, and away from the stovetop. “That same person once said he was always alert,” Sam joked, his grin widening. “So I guess this means you could work on those instincts of yours.”
Dean rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the amusement in them. “And I know just the pint-size hunter who’s up to the challenge,” he snarked back.
“Do you?” Sam pretended like he had no idea what they were talking about. “You’ll have to introduce us. I could use some support the next time we go head to head.”
Dean snorted, sitting at the kitchen table with everything he needed. Tomato, onion, lettuce to shred and ketchup. He started to slice everything down to the size needed for Sam’s hamburger. The cherry tomato was perfect as soon as he had a slice, and he wondered why he hadn’t used that to judge how much ground meat for Sam’s burger.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked as Dean reached over to the pan, his arm long enough to reach the pan from his seat at the table and flipping over the mini patty to keep it from burning.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Dean said, trying to buy himself time and blinking away the fumes of the onion. There wasn’t much hope of hiding it from Sam much longer, but all he needed was a few more seconds.
The last part was the bun, and Dean only had the buns he and Bobby ate from. He flattened one, cutting it down to the same circular dimensions of the tomato. That was it, and now it was time to assemble.
With the tiny patty cooked, Dean placed that first on the bun, followed by the onion, tomato, shreds of lettuce and the smallest drop of ketchup before holding it out for Sam. “Hungry?” he asked, his eyes lighting up. The hamburger was small enough for Sam to hold between two hands, and actually take a bite of normally instead of picking it apart.
Sam looked dumbfounded, and a grin crept onto his face as he reached out for it. His tiny hands took the mini-burger from Dean, folding around the flattened bun. Then he smirked and looked up at Dean.
“What, no cheese?”
Dean froze again, thinking he’d done it wrong before spotting the smirk. Sam was kidding around with him. He flicked his fingers in Sam’s direction. “Special orders not accepted,” he said primly.
Sam took a bite, closing his eyes at the flavors, all together at once instead of separate like normal. “Thanks, Dean.”
The shouts might as well have fallen on deaf ears for all the good they did. Dean glared out the bars of the cage he and Sam were trapped in, wanting nothing more than to sink his silver dagger into something.
Anything.
But no. They stayed stuck, with no way out and no way to find help. The woman whose rough handling had injured Sam casually thumbed through a magazine, waiting with her captives and ignoring them as though they didn’t exist.
Dean supposed he should be grateful they still even had their knives. After escaping that hexbag and finding their way to other humans, the brothers had tried to find help to reunite them with their father. Instead, they’d found capture. It had happened so fast that he never got a chance to draw his blade before he was tossed in a cage next to Sam.
Sam, who was out cold, one arm hanging unnaturally.
“Okay, Sammy,” Dean said, lowering his voice and trying to hide his desperation. “I’m gonna take care of this for you. Nice and easy, just like dad always says, right?”
Sam didn’t respond, his breathing ragged. Dean prayed the woman hadn’t hurt his brother when grabbing him from the ground. She was so big. There was no telling what kind of damage she could do to them.
Dean took hold of Sam’s arm and said a quick prayer under his breath. “One, two–“
Before saying “Three,” he quickly pulled, the arm shifting back into the socket. Sam shrieked, the ten year old’s body writhing in place as the arm took its rightful place. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, trying to comfort the younger child while glaring at the woman outside, tears clinging to his eyelashes.
Sam grinned broadly as he found the perfect spot to sit.
Dangling his legs off the edge, Sam patiently waited for Dean to reappear. Dean was off searching for signs of a spirit while Sam checked the walls for a hexbag, their usual routine on the job. With the family gone, they didn’t even have to worry about anyone spotting Sam, a bonus.
It wasn’t long before the rhythmic footsteps could be felt echoing up the solid supports of the bookshelf. Dean entered the study, his EMF meter slowly panning from side to side.
“Hey!” Sam called out, smugly settled in his spot, above Dean’s head. He estimated about a good half foot between him and the spike of dirty blond hair that Dean was so proud of.
Dean looked up, his eyebrows climbing his face as he saw how high Sam was.
“What you doing up there?” he asked gruffly, jabbing the EMF meter in Sam’s direction. The buzzer blipped for a moment, then went back down to zero.
Sam shrugged and hooked his hands together behind his head. “Taking it all in,” he said.
Dean cocked his head to the side, confusion on his face.
Sam took pity. “Y’know, looking down at you. Just like I’m supposed to.”
Ever since the Spirit dream with Bowman, the brothers’ had discovered that Sam’s true height outstripped Dean’s by several inches. The younger brother might look smaller than Dean because of his curse, but he was, in fact, the tallest in the family.
Dean rolled his eyes dramatically. “Look who’s talkin,’ shorty,” he snarked back, holding a hand up for Sam to step into.
Sam did, casually sauntering to the center of Dean’s palm.
Brothers Apart 