December 9th excerpt:
“Whoa– hey,” Sam uncurled, his own worries put aside as Anita began to cry. He reached out a tentative hand, putting it on her shoulder and gently coaxing her to face him.
“You didn’t do it, right?” Sam asked, funneling what little calm he could find to her. “You don’t have to be so upset. And when Dean finds us,” and he will, Sam swore inside his head, “you’ll be free too. I promise.”
Sam || Stuck
Timeline: Before the first story, after the brothers move into 221B Baker Street
It was just another supply run.
There was no reason for either brother to think this morning would be any different from any other.
It was becoming their regular routine; wake up early, grab some food from the cabinets, keep an eye on Sherlock and John while they were up and about. Midafternoon to evening was a good time to catch some sleep with the humans at their most active, and during the night the brothers would pick through the main room of the flat, reading up on the materials Sherlock scattered about his latest cases and grabbing extra supplies for the supply room they were building across the fireplace from their home.
It had only been a week since officially moving in, but so far the schedule was holding out. There were a few hiccups along the way while learning and they had to have chosen the most erratic humans around, but the brothers remained hidden against all odds.
“Anythin?’ “ Dean hissed at Sam as he hesitantly pushed at the entrance into the cupboard.
Sam paused, his eyes unfocused as he concentrated on the strange knack he had. Without that ability, moving into this particular flat would be ill-advised. Between the two of them and their unusual abilities, it became worth the risk.
“Nothing,” Sam confirmed, and Dean climbed into the cupboard to begin their raid.
Throughout the last week, Dean had begun the lengthy process of creating entrances where they were most needed. It was a skill he’d picked up like a natural, mechanically inclined the way he was. Mapping out the walls was accomplished the first few days, and Sam had created an intricate diagram using some scrap paper and the broken tip of a pencil Dean had tracked down for them to use. On that diagram he had marked off the most desired entrances into the main area where the humans lived, and was slowly checking them off as they were completed.
The entrance into the cupboards for food being one of the most important ones to make.
Now, they could slip right in under the humans’ noses and get what they needed to survive. It wasn’t much compared to what someone normal sized might eat, but they’d learned harsh lessons early in life that they weren’t seen as people. No handouts would ever come their way.
Sam brightened up at the sight of a new box of cereal, the top already opened. “It’s fresh!” he chirped brightly, letting his hand fall to his hook in preparation.
Dean nodded. “I’ll keep watch,” he said, stationing himself between the teabags and the cereal so he could see the front of the cabinet in case it was opened.
Sam tossed his hook into the air. His aim was not as good as his older brother’s, but the three prongs made it easier to get a catch, and the sturdy weight of the hook wasn’t a deterrent with his natural strength. It caught on a flap, and Sam tugged it questioningly. With it holding fast, he started to climb up the side of the box with his boots braced against the side and his grip tight on the black thread, the weight of the cereal inside preventing it from tipping over on him.
Reaching the top quickly, Sam balanced uncertainly on the uneven ground. It took some doing, but he was able to work one hand under the top flap and tug it open, revealing the food inside. With his satchel empty, there was plenty of room to stash the food, and no way for John or Sherlock to know some was missing unless they weighed the cereal by gram as they ate.
The humans in the flat were odd, but not quite that odd.
Sam balanced with one boot on either side of the box and started to scoop up the cereal one piece at a time, filling them into his bag as he went, his position precarious.
John was especially groggy as he entered the kitchen. Not only had the night out with his friend Mike Stamford gone on for longer than he’d meant it to, but the storm that followed made John’s old bullet wound act up, disrupting his sleep for the rest of the night.
The doctor rubbed absently at his left shoulder, the gloomy morning still giving him an ache there. Ordinarily he’d get something for breakfast started before getting his tea, but ever since he’d moved in with Sherlock Holmes not so long ago, John found his schedule being arbitrarily changed– mostly his sleep schedule; John was certain he still hadn’t recovered from that late night filing through a pair of dead men’s books– and his habits shifting. Right now, he was in dire need of caffeine.
There was water left in the kettle, so all he had to do was plug it in and push down the little switch to get the heat started. Rubbing his eyes in attempt to get rid of that heavy feeling in his lids, John fumbled at the cupboard door and groped blindly for a teabag.
The footsteps weren’t unexpected, but what was unexpected was the lack of reaction in Sam’s knack. Light washed over the tiny pair as the wide door swung open.
Both brothers’ froze.
Unbelievably, considering how Sam was perched on top of the cereal box, one boot braced on either side, and how Dean was frozen right out in the open, John Watson didn’t notice them.
The oblivious human wasn’t even looking in their direction as his hand stretched out, blindly groping past the box Sam was stuck on.
Dean snapped out of his shock, stumbling away from the grasping fingers that were longer than he was tall. As he backed away, his hand fell on another of the boxes shoved in there by Sherlock.
Teabags.
Saying a prayer under his breath, Dean grabbed a teabag from the box and shoved it in the direction of John’s huge hand. All he could do was hope that if John got what he was looking for, the human doctor wouldn’t glance into the cupboard and spot Sam, who had no fast way down from the box unless he fell inside with the cereal.
John’s fingers latched onto the thin material of the teabag, curling into a loose fist around it as the hand retreated. With a half-yawn, half-groan, John let the cupboard door fall closed and dropped heavily into a chair while he waited for the kettle to boil.
As the door slammed shut, Sam sucked in a breath. John hadn’t noticed. Sam was right there, perched on a box of cereal, and he hadn’t seen a thing.
How?
While the sounds of John peacefully preparing his cup of tea filtered into the cupboard, Dean tilted his head back and waved for Sam’s attention. Catching Dean’s meaning, Sam inched his way backwards until he reached where his hook was lodged, and scaled down the box.
Time to get out of the cupboard before their luck ran short.
December 7th excerpt:
“No, no, no…” he murmured, almost a moan as he stalked back and forth in front of the door. If he stopped to think, he’d curl into a ball and never come back. Trapped. No way out unless a human let him out. His pulse pounded and his breathing came in short bursts as he tried to keep from panicking. Panicking now would just make him more susceptible to his captors, easier to control.
Twisting around, Sam took in the rest of the cage. This time, he noticed the girl trapped with him, her dark skin a contrast to his pale.
“Hey, are you okay?” Sam asked kindly, seeing how terrified she looked.
December 6th excerpt:
Don’t let anyone ever own you, came in Dean’s voice. Sam might not be able to keep himself from being taken away, but he could fight back with everything he had.
“I should have known,” Sam said, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re better than me because you’re taller.” He struggled to draw in a breath. Something in him refused to quit, no matter how foolish it was to backtalk a human. The memory of cages was trying to wash rational thought away, and if that happened Sam would be curled into a ball, no more useful than a mouse pup. Just like the last time he was trapped, by Sherlock.
But this time there was no John to let him out. No Dean to help him fight back. Just Sam, more alone than he’d been in years.
December 5th excerpt:
Dazed and bruised, Sam was operating wholly on instinct as he heard someone entering the flat. “You son of a bitch,” he slurred, weakly trying to push his arm from where it was braced to pin him down.
Instincts guided his other hand, and Sam’s fingers wrapped around a familiar hilt. One he’d always kept at his side, but never wielded against another person.
In a flash, Sam’s silver knife was at the man’s throat, trying to force a stalemate.
Sam and Dean must now work together to conquer this new game and its intricate mysteries.
Especially when Sam figures out that no, Dean, you’re NOT going to kill everyone what are you doing that’s Sans.
December 4th excerpt:
Almost in time with his hook falling, Sam stiffened. An icy cold shudder ran up his neck even as the warning tingle started to burn, and the sound of the front door being tampered with almost screamed at him. Never had Mrs. Hudson incited such a strong reaction in his knack, and even Sherlock was dulled down compared to it.
Sam whirled in place. “We’ve gotta go,” he said hurriedly, trying to think of any entrances Dean kept close to the end table. “We’ve–”
December 3rd excerpt:
“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.
December 2nd excerpt:
“Mornin,’ doc!” Dean called gamely, keeping his eyes trained on Sam. “Learned it all from my dad!”
During Dean’s brief distraction, Sam took advantage of his only chance to get out of the pin, knowing Dean could keep him in place. Sam kicked out, tossing Dean off balance, and then aimed his kick at Dean’s side, smoothly knocking his older brother to the ground and reversing their positions.
“You were saying?” Sam grinned, one hand around Dean’s throat to keep him from trying to get up.
( Dean + wings )
AU: Brothers Apart
Timeline: During A Lich of Sense, after Dean’s arm is bitten and they are on their way to Wellwood.
“But why wings? ”
Sam blinked, having started to drift off during their trip through the forest. He didn’t exactly have much he could do, between Bowman guiding Dean towards his village and Dean doing the actual walking. On the opposite shoulder, Bowman frowned critically and eyed Dean’s profile. His attention had been on guiding the human back, but now he was more concerned by the sudden outburst.
There hadn’t been much conversation since starting off aside from Bowman’s directions, over on Dean’s other shoulder. Sam had to smirk at that, entertained by the thought of his brother serving as a taxi to people the size of his finger. Dean Winchester, the man monsters had nightmares about, ferrying around the tiniest people around.
The smile soon fled. Dean was growing weaker. Sam couldn’t stop from glancing at his brother’s injured arm, the bloodsoaked sleeve of his jacket a poignant reminder of just how much damage the wolves had done to him during their fight.
That, and the odd non sequiturs Dean kept blurting out.
“Wings, Dean?” Sam asked, curious despite himself.
“Yes, wings,” Dean pronounced, gesturing wildly with his good arm. Luckily, the arm that was attached to the shoulder Sam was perched on, and he was prepared for the movement. Bowman, who wasn’t prepared, nearly fluttered off of his perch to avoid the erratic movement, but before he could complain, Dean went right on with his rant.
“Everyone we meet these days has wings! We’ve got small fry over here, but then you remember Nixie? And Ilyana? Wings. Nixie couldn’t even function without hers! It’s like having you with me automatically attracts the first people with wings in the state right to us!” On his shoulder, Bowman lifted a wing to peer at it with an eyebrow raised, wondering why exactly it mattered.
Sam rubbed his face. “Y’know, I don’t think Bowman wanted to run into us…” he pointed out, wondering what had brought this on.
“Spirit’s truth,” muttered out from the perplexed sprite sitting opposite him.
“He’s here, ain’t he?” Dean asked knowingly. “I’m shocked you didn’t end up with wings. That’s just what I’d need. A pint-sized brother fluttering around my head. You know what happens if you have a Dean with wings?”
The silence drew out until Sam realized he was supposed to respond. “What? What happens if we’ve got a Dean with wings?”
“Nothing good!”
With that, Dean nodded sharply to himself, and resumed his previous trek through the forest.
Brothers Apart 