Tag: sam winchester

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November 21st excerpt:

“He’s afraid of heights!” Sam chimed in, one boot propped against the edge of the shelf while he leaned backwards to test his weight on his hook before climbing.

“Dude, I am not afraid of heights!” Dean protested, bringing himself around enough to push himself up. His hand didn’t make a dent in John’s skin, and his fingers were small enough to fit between the imprints that made it unique. “Just… flying.” He shuddered at the memory of their one fateful trip on an airplane. The turbulence that struck was like an earthquake to the brothers at their size, and all the cushioning in the world couldn’t make it bearable for them. “There’s a difference!”

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November 20th excerpt:

Long fingers that outsized Dean closed in around the young man, sealing him off from Sam. It happened too fast for him to react, and then he felt the thick, leathery skin bump against his back, sweeping him up into a light, casual grasp that left Dean’s stomach somewhere behind him. The world moved around him fast enough for his vertigo to hit with a vengeance, making his face start to turn green.

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November 19th excerpt:

Dean’s fingers encircled Sam, surrounding him on all sides. There was a pinch around Sam’s waist as Dean carefully tightened his grip, then he started to pull upwards.

For a moment, Sam didn’t think it was going to work. Or, if it did, it would only work after Dean had to apply too much pressure.

Then, his feet slid out of his boots, and he found himself dangling in midair with only socks on. Sam gave Dean a flat glare when he saw the hunter snicker at him.

“Dude!” Sam complained, kicking a foot towards the shit-eating grin on Dean’s face.

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November 18th excerpt:

Beyond perplexed, Sam finally brought himself to look at the others on the table with him, a tough effort with two humans only inches away that looked like flies caught in the biggest strip of flypaper ever. He had no idea how he, a four-inch tall man who was caught fast in a trap, was supposed to get Dean out, but he had to try.

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November 16th excerpt:

The group was silent as they climbed down from the nightstand one after the other. Sam’s hook was the one that was lodged into the top, the sturdiest hook in the motel. Dean had once suggested replacing it now that Sam had access to more supplies than he could ever dream of back when he’d lived at Trails West, but nothing they found could equal the three prongs. It was sturdy, it was versatile, and it was lightweight enough for Sam to haul it around day in and day out, dangling from his satchel. If he was to come up against an enemy one-on-one with nothing more than his hook on hand, he would be a force to be reckoned with. That hook was nasty.

Sam was the only one able to wield it so easily. Lightweight to him was hefty to Walt, and tossing it up several feet in the air took effort. All in all, the perfect tool for Sam Winchester.

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November 15th excerpt:

Before Dean had a chance to stride forward and close the distance to the nightstand, the flap on his chest pocket moved, and then Sam poked his head out. If they didn’t know he was there, he would be mistaken for an errant fold in the fabric. Even spotting his head and shoulders peeking over the edge did nothing to ruin that impression.

Sam waved at the others as Dean turned in place and walked over. Neither brother seemed to find it particularly odd to both be doing something completely different, but Walt knew that was just who they were. They worked together seamlessly as a team, no matter how disparate their sizes were.

Better together than apart.

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November 13th excerpt:

The banter continued for a moment as Sam woke up until a sharp retort from Dean cut it off. “No, the phone is not going on the shelf with you. I’m not sticking my head under the nightstand for an entire phone call. Now c’mon.”

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( Original post )

Believe it or not, that was all actual, honest to god feedback we’ve received from our stories! To be exact, the tacky lamp feedback was from the upcoming horror story in Brothers Found. Mixed up in all that angsty horror, even extra-smol Jacob’s gotta kick back and relax (or try to) from time to time.

Jacob gasped involuntarily when the platform dropped out from under them, lowering him and Sam to the small table between the vast motel beds at last. He got shakily to his feet, finally releasing Sam’s sleeve so he could make his way to the edge of the hand again. He was able to hop down from the no-longer-insignificant height, landing in a safe crouch on the bunched up fabric of the shirt. It was a softer landing than in the pocket full of change, that was for damn sure.

He settled himself down on the shirt before looking over the other things on the nightstand with them. The TV remote was several times Jacob’s length and bulky. It looked like it had seen a lot of use because many of the buttons had their symbols partially scratched off. The alarm clock was a hulking black plastic thing with red, Jacob-sized numbers glowing on the front. He hoped it wasn’t set, because Jacob knew for a fact he’d never be able to depress the gigantic snooze button atop the device. The lamp was, on principle, tacky as sin with a lampshade fifteen years too old to be modern and about the same too young to look retro. The blocky base almost looked like a flight of stairs designed by Picasso. Jacob smirked, knowing Bowman probably hated the stupid lamp for having so many of those right angles that offended his sight so much. And of course, a water tower’s worth of beer sat waiting in Dean’s red cup next to the lamp.

Bowman found a comfy place to sit on the shirt with them, sipping on his beer. He had learned a few things since his first time drinking with the humans. If he drank too quickly like he wanted, he ran out of beer, got drunk, and had his supply cut off for being ornery, especially with Dean in charge of the drinks. Jacob knew his restraint wouldn’t last, but it was kind of amusing to see the sprite at least trying to pace himself.

“Alright, well, let’s see what’s on,” Jacob announced with a grin as he waited for Sam to join them.

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Artwork by @homeiswheretheheartsare! 

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@borrowedtimeandspace

One of my favorite Disney flicks! Boy, what an ‘Ember Island Players’ moment that would be, though. If the movie did exist, John would probably bring it home on an impulse buy and insist they all watch it, just for funsies.

Despite the different era and the mice, they can’t deny the uncanny resemblances between themselves and the characters in the movie. Sherlock immediately points out that Dawson is exactly John, while the poor doctor wouldn’t say exactly. (”I’m not that round…”) Sherlock, of course, is universally declared to be Basil by all, even hesitantly by the detective himself. I can hear the bros and John pointing at the screen at certain points of the movie and exclaiming, “That’s so you!” to Sherlock, to his bewilderment. 

@nightmares06

Aaa, it’s been so long since I saw that movie! I think Sam would be pretty amused, and definitely want Sherlock to get a basset hound. Clearly Sherlock needs a dog, right? And Dean is certainly going the hero of the story and save them all.

And, since this actually falls really close, I think you’ve earned a sneak peek of a future planned storyline– for Brothers Apart! Where Sam finds a mouse and Dean dubs him ‘Squeaklock Holmes’ (I wonder how Sherlock would take the name).

Sam couldn’t help a small scoff. “Don’t tell me. I’m not the one you almost killed just now.”

An expression of hurt flashed over Dean’s face at that, but he nodded in understanding. “What’s his name?” he asked gently. Dean had been told in the past how Sam had raised a mouse of his own. Sam had explained to him it was like having a dog, and mice could be just as loyal. The one he’d raised for a few weeks as a child had visited him many times, often bringing him small trinkets.

Sam shook his head, rubbing the russet mouse’s head behind him. “He doesn’t have a name. He’s the one that guided me to the hexbag. They knew it didn’t belong in the walls, and they wanted me to get it out for them.”

Dean’s hand lifted off the floor, reaching towards Sam and the mouse. “Hey, there, little guy,” Dean coaxed, trying to get the mouse out of hiding. “I won’t hurtcha, I promise.”

The mouse let out a little squeak of fear, trying to keep Sam as a barrier between him and the approaching hand. “It’s okay,” Sam said reassuringly, “he really won’t hurt you, now that he knows you’re not attacking me.” He knelt down, putting an arm over the mouse’s back for support and scratching behind a rounded ear.

The mouse relaxed slightly at Sam’s steady calm and twitched his nose hesitantly in the direction of Dean’s outstretched hand. Dean held his hand motionless as the mouse sniffed his finger, letting him familiarize himself with the hunter’s scent. Maybe he recognized Dean’s scent from Sam earlier, because with an approving squeak, the mouse lightly nuzzled his finger in return.

Dean gently ruffled the fur on the top of the mouse’s head. “Well, since Sammy hasn’t given you a name yet, how’s ‘Squeaklock Holmes’ sound?” he asked, eyes flashing briefly to Sam for approval. “After all, he’s quite the mouse detective, finding that hexbag for us.”