Chapter Text
The Winchester brothers are on a hunt. And Dean is, once again, knocked out, crumpled on the floor. A few rooms over, the gun filled with silver bullets is flung out of Sam’s hand with a flick of a finger, and as he dives for it, he himself is caught by the invisible force and flung back against a wall. He can feel the breath being ripped from his lungs, notes a CRACK as the back of his head slams into the wall. Well, he thinks, another concussion for the books.
Sam struggles against the–witch? Creature? He isn’t sure–but he struggles against its hold to no avail. Once a bit of air finally re-enters his starving lungs, he shoots it back out again with a slightly desperate, “DEAN!” But there’s no sign of the older brother stirring. The… thing holding him captive senses his desperation, and basks in pride for a moment before reaching behind himself to grab what looks like a standard hex bag off of a shelf. The creature holds up the hex bag with one hand, the other still using his magic or whatever to hold Sam in place. He begins to cast an incantation Sam doesn’t recognize. He needs to buy time.
“What- what are you doing to me,” he growl-gasps, a bit less impressively than he would have liked.
The creature smiles then, and Sam knows , more than since this hunt started, that it is indeed a creature; not a witch, not anything they had dealt with before. Because, when it smiles, it is with razor sharp teeth; with ears extending up to a point at the ends; and with horrible, glowing red eyes.
Sam struggles harder, frantic, as the creature continues to chant, but you wouldn’t know it, since he can do little more than strain his muscles until his eyes feel like they will pop. Sam just catches a grumbled “Sam?” from the other room, just begins to yell out Dean’s name, when there is a bright flash of green light. Then, he is suspended, just for a moment, before he falls, falls, falls…
He lands, hard and ungracefully, on his left arm, and feels its snap reverberate a nauseating pain through his core. He yelps at booming sounds coming from all around, and is just coherent enough to tuck and roll out of the way when he hears a pounding, gigantic something rushing towards him. A second longer, and he would have been steam-rolled. His heart is in his ears, stomach in the floor, as he pulls himself desperately under a large overhang that reaches just above his head. He’s weak, and pulsing with pain and budding nausea, but he can’t let his guard down. He must have been transported. That has to be it. The hex, spell, whatever it was, must have sent him to…somewhere. He pulls out his trusty knife (well, one of the many he keeps on himself) with a shaking, too pale hand, grateful at least that it is his left arm broken, and not the right.
All this happens in a matter of seconds, and before Sam can even begin to collect himself, three loud BANGS reverberate through the air–louder than nearly anything Sam has ever heard in his life. The knife clatters to the floor as he curls into himself, hands involuntarily covering his ears. He wouldn’t be surprised if his eardrums had burst from the noise.
“TAKE THAT YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Sam freezes. The voice is familiar, but so, so much louder and more terrifying than it should be. Is it- no, it can’t be…
Along with the shout is a staticky sound that Sam vaguely registers as a monster about to die, then BOOM SPLAT as something very large explodes. Sam is shaking again, curled in on himself, cowering on the floor, with his ears still covered.
“Eww, fucking gross… ” he hears from way, way above. A pause. Then a much too big, much too loud, “Sam? Sammy ?”
Sam shouts in spite of himself, ears beating along with his heart from all the terribly loud noise.
He can sense a gigantic being shifting around outside his hiding spot, and notices it stops suddenly at the sound of his yell. Sam holds his breath, feeling adrenaline course through him but still unable to move.
He begins to hyperventilate.
***
Dean ganks the bastard, and is suddenly covered in monster guts. Great. Perfect , actually. He wrinkles his nose at the smell and wipes a bit of gunk off of his face–was that an ear ? He is so not going to think about that– when he realizes something, someone , is missing. He glances around the room. He knows he heard Sam in here, then the flash of light from around the corner, then…
He looks around a bit more before calling out for his brother, gun still at the ready incase Gooey has some friends. He barely hears the miniscule yell, but his hunter ears catch it. It is tiny, and if he had been breathing just a bit too loud, he would have missed it entirely. “Sammy?” Dean says more quietly, more uncertain. He swears he can hear tiny, hyper-fast breathing. He listens carefully, hardly daring to blink, and zeros in on a dresser to his left.
Dean pulls out a flashlight, a billion thoughts running through his mind, as he crouches down to peer under the dresser. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it's certainly not-
***
All of a sudden there is movement, quick and fast, in the vast landscape beyond Sam’s cover. A flood of light crashes into Sam, and at first he can barely see the giant, wide, familiar yet so, so foreign green eye staring right at him for the brightness.
“ Sam ?”
Sam rects instinctively, primally, as fingers the size of fucking treetrunks come flying ay him; he doesn’t think, can’t process, as he grabs his knife from the ground and stabs as hard as he can into the closest fleshy log.
“Fuck! Shit- Sam , it’s me, Dean !” that still booming voice insists, but the hand is quickly retracted.
Sam’s mind whirrs, short circuiting. Dean . That…that thing can’t be Dean . Because, if that’s Dean , then that mean’s Sam is…
Nope.
Nausea takes over, and he hurls, then sinks to the ground, feeling the weight of his injuries all at once. The light is back on him in full force and he shields his eyes. He doesn’t want to see that pupil the size of his fucking head again anyway.
“Oh- shit , sorry…” the voice says again–it just can’t be Dean–and the flashlight thankfully clicks off. The giant also seems to notice Sam flinching every time it talks, and Sam can see an apologetic look pass its face before it speaks in a much softer, wary voice. “Sammy?” It’s barely a whisper to the giant, but the breath tussles Sam’s hair nonetheless.
Sam’s mind feels like the gears are stuck in mud. But reality finally, finally sets in. He looks up, into the concerned–terrified–eye before him, and manages to gasp out a tiny, “D-Dean?”
***
Great going, Winchester , Dean’s mental voice berates him. Sam’s shrunk , and obviously hurt , and scared , and you had to go and fucking terrify him more . He shakes away the thoughts, more important things at hand. He smiles at Sam, but knows it's more of a grimace. “Hey there, kid,” he says, trying to keep his voice as quiet and unthreatening as possible.
He can see Sam shivering, even in the shadow of the dresser, even with Sam–what, three, four inches tall? The guy had to be terrified. Dean scans his brother with the eye that can see him, assessing. He can see Sam hugging his left arm to his chest, and guesses it’s broken, or at least fractured. He has a few bruises covering his pale skin, a few cuts, and Dean thinks he can see blood dripping down the back of Sam’s neck. Dinged up a bit, terrified, but alive .
“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy,” he breathes, desperate to reach out to Sam again, but knowing that’s a bad fucking idea. He thinks for a moment what a hand bigger than you are coming at you must feel like, and feels guilt worming into his stomach. Dean pauses for a moment, then asks, gently as he can, “D’you think you can come out?”
Sam seems to pale even more at this suggestion, which is saying something, then shakes his head in a firm no.
“That’s fine,” Dean assures. “Gonna give you some time to freak out–you’ve earned that. But you’re eventually gonna have to come out; can’t leave you under there forever.”
Dean’s heart sinks even more, seeing Sam staring at him like that, like a scared, wounded animal. He never wants to see that look directed at him again.
“‘S’it okay if I stay here? I- I’m worried.” Dean admits.
Sam hesitates, seems to deliberate a moment, then nods.
Dean has to stop himself from breathing a sigh of relief, realizing just in time it could topple Sam over. He settles in on the unforgiving floor, ready to stay for as long as Sammy needs.