Tag: supernatural fanfiction

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December 31st excerpt:

Stan crouched low in Dean’s hand as it moved, bracing himself through the movement. He couldn’t keep his grip forever, though, especially when the hand tilted beneath him. A yelp died in his throat as he was passed to a new palm.

Sam’s palm.

After Stan sat himself back up, he froze at the sight. He found he had even more room in his new spot, much more than he ever found in Nicholas’ hands. Glancing at his fingers, cupped and bloodstained as they were, wasn’t comforting in the slightest. If Stan thought Dean’s fingers were tall, he was sorely mistaken. There probably wasn’t a single one of Sam’s that Stan could stand a chance at outsizing.

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December 30th excerpt:

Sam nearly dropped the journal when Dean shoved the hand holding Stan at him, hurriedly pocketing the book to be able to cup his hands. There was no time to worry about the droplets of blood staining the side of his fingers, something he normally didn’t worry about until they finished the hunt. “Dean!” Sam hissed, frantic about how quick his brother was moving with the little guy.

“Don’t worry, he’s fine! ” Dean insisted, tilting his hands into a slight incline to slide Stan into Sam’s hands. “Right, kid?”

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December 29th excerpt:

“See?” Sam shot up at Dean. “Not a leprechaun.”

Dean rolled his eyes yet again. “Like it’s a hard mistake to make. You have to admit he fits the profile.”

“Minus the magic.” Sam took the knife back, tucking it into the sheath in his jacket. “I doubt he’d sit quietly in your jacket for thirty minutes if he had spells he could sling at us.”

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December 28th excerpt:

Stan’s tiny green eyes flicked back up to Sam, only to drop shyly back down. It was startling to look up and suddenly find himself face to face with a toothy grin wider than he was tall. And while he was mostly sure that he didn’t have to worry about anything from it, the hunters had given him nothing to say for sure that he didn’t.

Either way, the sight of those large teeth did little more than make Stan cringe. His bones were so thin compared to the humans’ fingers, and it was hard for Stan to banish the image of how easily he could snap in half between those incisors.

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December 27th excerpt:

“S… S-Stan,” he replied, gaze lowering a bit as he internally chastised himself for being too quiet, stammering too much. He didn’t know these humans well enough to tell if they would mind.

“Well Stan,” Sam said, his face blossoming into a smile to help reassure the kid Dean was holding, “it’s good to meet you.” Despite everything, he was completely sincere, a distinctly different countenance compared to Dean.

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December 26th excerpt:

Dropping to his knees, Sam had eyes only for Stan. He missed the way Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes above them, his hand wavering slightly under Stan in his distraction. A movement that Sam missed, so slight that it was barely perceptible for the human hunter.

“Hey there,” Sam said, his voice hushed so it was nearly a whisper. He flared his fingers open into a small wave. “My name’s Sam. That’s my brother Dean. What’s your name?” His voice remained level and even, doing what he could to lessen any intimidation to the smaller man. After being left in Dean’s pocket for so long, Sam doubted the guy would be thinking completely straight.

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December 25th excerpt:

“That’s right, I almost forgot,” Dean murmured in surprise, drawing Sam’s eyes right to him, distracted from watching the fire slowly die down. He went to reach for the pocket, shifting his weight to make it easier for his hand to slip in.

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December 24th excerpt:

Overwhelmed, Stan began to sob silently. His hands moved from his ringing ears to hug his knees close as he wept into them, and again to cling to the pocket when the human moved. Still his tears flowed, becoming fearful as it sank in that his life was now in the hands of hunters.

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December 23rd excerpt:

Stan grunted softly as he landed unceremoniously in the bottom of the pocket, but for a moment he was too shocked to move. The human had spared him, trapping him in what looked like a jacket pocket instead of killing him. Stan had to wonder why he was allowed to live, especially as he clung to the material around him to keep himself from being thrown around while the human moved.

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December 22nd excerpt:

Not a foot and a half from where he’d landed, someone was staring back at him, equally wide-eyed with shock. Never in his life, despite growing up knowing about the supernatural and watching, eventually helping, his father kill witches, werewolves and vengeful spirits, had Dean ever seen anyone quite like the little guy with the flame of red hair.

The kid couldn’t stand an inch over half a foot, if that. His skin was pale, hair so bright red it stood out against the background.