November 25th excerpt:
Hailing a cab, Sherlock kept in contact with Lestrade, informing him that he was on his way. He neglected to mention his passenger, of course. Dean was very clear that no one should ever find out about him or Sam unless they gave their express permission. Given the events a little over a month prior, neither John nor Sherlock offered any arguments to that rule.
The boys are having a bit of trouble in this special crossover edition, For Science!
Dean continued to feel edgy, occasionally glancing ahead of them, to where Jacob held his best friend Bowman in a hand. Dean would be lying if he said he was completely comfortable around Jacob, especially when it came to the vulnerable sprites and Sam, but he reminded himself that Bowman had known Jacob longer and Sam had even gone into the kid’s hands once.
Dean’s fingers twitched at that memory.
They had only just reached the outskirts of the clearing, the sun shining against the tall grass with a merry twinkle, when it happened.
A breeze hit Dean, sending an icy shudder up his spine. He could faintly hear Sam exclaiming “Dean?!” in the distance, but it felt like they were separated by a long distance, instead of Sam lounging on his shoulder.
None of the blades of grass around them wafted in the breeze.
The world started to warp around Dean, the edge of the trees growing sharper. His head started to ache as his limbs grew heavy, a ringing in his ears drowning everything else out. “S-Sammy,” he tried to force out, wanting to warn his brother as the vertigo set in. He couldn’t even hear his own voice.
That was all he managed to get out. Dean felt himself collapsing on the ground. A tremble that might have been Jacob hitting the ground with him echoed up through the earth. Dean lost sight of Sam long before he landed. He hadn’t even felt Sam get thrown off.
The ringing grew in intensity.
As sleep claimed him at last, Dean could have sworn he heard a voice past it, chanting in Latin.
November 24th excerpt:
Sherlock glanced down at Dean, sitting relaxed atop his sternum, and hummed thoughtfully at the insinuation that he scared off the previous small tenants of Baker Street. It certainly wasn’t improbable, though he did wonder if Sam and Dean shared the same sentiments when moving in, and if so, how deeply they believed them.
Interesting to think that they would stay, or even choose to move in with that in mind.
November 23rd excerpt:
As the light increased around him, Dean sent a flat look towards where he assumed Sherlock’s face was. It wasn’t hard to figure that Sherlock was effectively ‘inviting’ him out. With the pen as bait, Dean had been herded right to where Sherlock wanted him, a captive audience.
Thankfully, not literally captive, as Dean knew Sherlock wouldn’t dare trap him. They had, against all odds, become a team.
That meant that first off– Dean wasn’t going to stab Sherlock with his knife.
And second off– that Sherlock allowed Dean to come and go as he pleased, ‘invitations’ aside.
November 22nd excerpt:
Sherlock wondered for a moment about Dean’s perspective in there, enshrouded by hands over twice his height in length. All his attempts to envision such an environment were rendered to be quite alien. Fingers were pillars, palms platforms, yet they were attached to an immense living thing with complete control over them and anyone in them.
November 21st excerpt:
Rather than taking the pen and letting Dean carry on, the great pale hand reached out just a little further, knocking the smaller man off his feet and into Sherlock’s palm. Long fingers curled around Dean and the pen, lifting them both up to join him on the couch.
His grip was loose, far from crushing his passengers together, and it loosened even further as Sherlock tucked the hand under his chin, let his other hand fold lazily over it, and went back to thinking.
November 20th excerpt:
“This better have been worth it,” Dean grumped as he reached the edge of the couch, wandering along as he looked for a place to climb. “Otherwise I’m keeping the pen and taking it apart.”
Nice! Stan definitely gets shipped off and sold in America, but Sam and Dean didn’t really expect to find him when they were on a case… he was more of a little bonus XD
This is the way things will go down for the unlucky leprachaun lookalike in the newest AU, Brothers Chosen!
We’ll start putting excerpts up for it after #adod is done posting.
“Hey!” Dean blurted. The sight of the kid running away reminded him of the fight, and the knowledge that they were in the house of a witch.
They couldn’t take anything at face value.
“Get back here!”
Pushing himself up to a squat, Dean dove for the tiny person running from him, instincts screaming that he couldn’t let the guy get away. For all they knew, this guy was just as dangerous as the witch, and if he got under cover, they might not find him again short of burning down the house.
Sam tended to frown on such extreme measures.
Stan flinched again at the hunter’s booming voice and the vibrations through the floor as he moved, but he kept running. He only dared look when a shadow suddenly enveloped him, and he glanced back to find one of those humongous hands surrounding his entire body before he could cry out.
The little guy instantly curled into a ball, not wanting any of his limbs to get pinched between any of those massive digits, each as long as Stan was tall– likely longer! He let out a whimper as he braced himself for death by crushing. All it would take was a squeeze of the hunter’s hand, and Stan would cease to be.
A bit of the tension in Dean bled away as his hand closed around the tiny figure. His fingers sealed closed into a fist, and he was already going to stand up as he lifted his hand up from the ground.
The tiny guy inside weighed almost nothing, and didn’t put up a fight or even struggle as Dean lifted his hand up. If he didn’t feel the tiny guy in there, balled up in his fist, he wouldn’t believe he existed.
Then, there was no time to wonder at the tiny oddity he’d discovered. He heard a grunt from Sam and sprang into action. Sweeping the discarded knife from the floor, Dean heedlessly threw himself back at the fight, dropping the tiny person into one of the side pockets of his leather jacket and promptly forgetting him in lieu of the witch.
November 19th excerpt:
It took five minutes to get to the top of the table, kick the pen angrily off the surface, then drop back down. With Dean at a bare three and eight tenths inches tall, the pen was nearly two times his length. All those times hauling water around paid off as he hoisted it up, and started the long trek to the couch.
“One of these days,” Dean grumbled, “I’ll be the one having you bring me things. One of these days.”
November 18th excerpt:
Up. Down. Up again. Why does everything require climbing.
Resigned, Dean started his climb down, griping all the way.
“Y’know, I have half a mind to go back and grab one of Sam’s pencil tips,” Dean complained to the open air of the flat. “He’d notice in a second that it was gone, but it would be worth the look on your face when you either have to use a scrap of pencil to write with or get up and get your own damn pen that’s like five feet away.”
Brothers Apart 