Dean was a kid, just fourteen years old, when he lost his little brother to a witch. He was supposed to stay inside and watch Sammy, just like every other night, but this night he just couldn't stay inside any longer. He was practically climbing the walls. He was a kid, he was supposed to get to do fun things like watch tv and play video games. But he was doing research for his father, stitching the old man up and babysitting Sammy. He wasn't allowed to be a kid. And that nearly drove him out of his mind sometimes. Like tonight, when the motel they were staying at had a perfectly decent arcade in the lobby. He wouldn't stay away long. Just a few minutes. Just long enough to take the edge off the monotony and his bored. 

Just one game.

That one game turned into two. Which turned into three. Before Dean knew it, the lobby was closing. The manager said it was time for him to go. Reluctantly, he left. Hands in his pockets, scuffing his worn-out shoes along the driveway as he headed back to his temporary home. As soon as he walked in, he knew something wasn't right. There was a weird light coming from the bedroom area Sammy was supposed to be sleeping in. All his instincts, every lesson his father had ground into him, suddenly surged to the forefront. He wasn't as good at silently stalking as he one day would be, but right now he wasn't half bad. He slunk forward, grabbed the shotgun packed with rock salt and slowly eased open the door. 

What he saw froze him to the spot.

Something was hovering above Sammy's bed. It's cloak was ragged and seemed to be whispering or chanting in a strange language. Dean couldn't make out what, exactly, it was. Slowly, with trembling arms and waves of guilt washing over him, he lifted his shotgun, sighted in the witch and put his finger on the trigger. But just as he was about to pull it, the witch's gaze snapped to him. A horrible shriek resounded and he was flung across the room, pinned to the wall, the shotgun knocked from his hand. Sammy's body began to glow. Dean's eyes widened. He knew he was going to die. 

The front door slammed open. John stormed in and unloaded his gun on the witch. It shrieked again, a more pained one this time. A brilliant white flash and Dean was blinded. He felt his father grab his jacket and pick him up off the floor. The witch was gone. The terrible force it had used to pin him to the wall had vanished. John dragged him outside, yelling at him to move and get in the damn car. He was pushed forward, still half-blind from the awful white light. He felt the cold metal of the Impala underneath his palms. He opened the door and dropped inside. He heard the engine roar to life, the tires squeal on the asphalt, felt gravity pin him to his seat as they sped away from the motel.

"Sammy?" he croaked, hardly able to speak.

He could see now. He could just barely see the way his father's lips pressed into a thin line. The disappointed and heartbroken set to his face. He saw his father's tears for the first and only time. From then on, he only saw anger and disappointment. The loving, doting, happy father he knew up until he was four years old was forever gone. Bitterness replaced joy. Anger substituted devotion. Disappointment overshadowed love. These were what Dean grew up with from that night on. He was conditioned to be the perfect soldier. To never rely on anyone. To shoot first and ask questions later. 

He and John had a falling out. It wasn't the first time, but this one had lasted the longest. It had been nearly two years since they had spoken. He received text messages now and then, orders to go take on a case. Most of the time, he followed through, hunting alone. Occasionally, he worked with another hunter who had stumbled on the case. He found himself running into a female hunter who balanced his brashness with a calm tenacity of her own.

She was long and tall and she went great with cold beer and hot burgers. After the first night he talked her into his bed, they traded numbers. She helped him on research and he helped her with muscle. They just kind of meshed. So when they ran into each other the seventh time, she grinned. Her fountain of deep red curls fell to one side when she canted her head. Her deep green eyes sparkled from behind her thick, black lashes. 

"Dean, I see you and Baby are intact." She glanced at the sleek black Impala. "I miss that backseat. It's cramped but there's just enough room." She laughed at his flat look. "Good to know you're taking care of it. But why are you in this little podunk town?"

"Coordinates, same as always," Dean replied. "Although I'm not sure why here, though." He grinned. "I was hoping to get a little help with the research." 

Jesslyn laughed. "Good thing my laptop is better than yours. Dell beats HP." She turned and ordered another beer and a shot of tequila. "I've got a motel room in this run-down little dive two buildings down. Under the name 'Iliana Roshack.'" She giggled. "The fake names are always the best part." One long leg hooked around the back of his thigh. "What do you say you pay for my tab tonight and I'll pay for the room?"

Dean grinned. "I think that sounds like a plan. We can do some digging in the morning." They drank, each had a burger and fries and quit the bar a little after midnight. They stumbled their way down the road to the motel. Dean pinned her against the door, ran his hands through her hair and kissed her like there was no tomorrow. They broke for air and gasped before diving back in.

Jesslyn managed to unlock the door and they fell through. Jesslyn landed on her back and Dean on top of her. She laughed and threaded her fingers through his spiky blonde hair. "Dear God, Mr. Winchester, you are so forceful." 

The other hunter smirked as he pulled himself to his feet and closed the door. "They don't call me 'Dean the Damned' for nothing."

"That's because of how you charge blindly into a hunt. Not because of your prowess in bed," she said glibly. Dean pulled her to her feet and they stumbled back towards the bed. She kicked off her stilettos and unbuttoned his shirt. He undid her belt. She undid his. He toed his boots off. She kicked out of her pants. He pulled her shirt over her head. She laughed when he struggled with her bra. She pushed his hands away and undid it herself as he dropped his boxers. He peeled out of his socks as she dropped her panties. Then, they were tumbling into the queen bed, panting and gasping and thrusting and rolling. 

Completely ignorant to the life hidden beneath their bed. 

That small life was terrified he was going to be caught. He had been so careful when he scoped out the room. No one was there. It was completely empty and ripe for the borrowing. He slipped out of the vent on the other side of the room and darted across to under the bed. At first, it was a jackpot. He found a beautiful topaz in the metal clasp that looked like it had come from a necklace. He quickly stashed it in his bag, knowing his adoptive mother would love it. A few more steps and he found two more, although slightly smaller, gems. Those he stashed in his bag, too. Another five steps and he found more gems. And the gold chain that they had been on. Obviously someone's necklace had been ripped off their neck. Why, he didn't know. He just knew that they didn't care enough to look under the bed for it.

He was halfway between the beds when he heard two thumps against the door. Faint gasping on the other side, some moaning and the tiny being had a pretty good idea about what was coming in. He sprinted across the floor and just managed to slide under the other bed. Right as the door opened and the couple fell to the floor. The four-inch being crouched under the bed, peering through the eyelets in the cheap bed-skirt. He was going to hide in the middle of the floor under the queen bed and wait them out. That's what he had had to do before when humans unexpectedly entered the room. But as he was moving away from the edge of the bed, the woman's words caught his attention.

Mister Winchester. Winchester. Winchester. Could it be? A small part of Sam Winchester begged that it would be his brother. "Dean the Damned" the man had called himself. Dean. Winchester. Dean Winchester. But "Dean the Damned"? Why would he ever call himself such a horrible name? Because he charged blindly into a hunt. Sam's heart clenched painfully. Was this big, imposing man really his brother? Was he really a hunter? There was another painful twist as the couple stood and began undressing each other. When the man's shirt came off, a necklace fell back against his well-defined chest. The shape of the amulet at the end of the twine was something he would never forget, no matter the years that passed since he had given that gift.

Without a doubt, that was Dean. His brother. But there was no way to know what he would think of Sam now. Would he think of him as just something else to hunt? Would he listen to him at all? Or would he blast him with a sawed-off packed full of rock salt? He wasn't sure. And he didn't know if he should try to communicate with the older man. So, for now, he simply stayed hidden under the bed. He flinched when they collapsed onto the bed above him and began screwing so powerfully the bed springs creaked and dust motes floated down from the slats above.

There was no screaming, no calling out to each other or God. Just quiet noises of intimacy and pleasure. When they finished and lay quiet, Sam still didn't move. He remained where he was for another fifteen minutes. He wanted to make sure the two giants were asleep. Ten minutes after the initial fifteen, Sam carefully slid to the end of the bed. He peeked up. The humans were perfectly still. He decided to make a break for it. The vent that lead to his way home was on the opposite side of the room. But if he could run fast enough, he could make it and slide in without anyone noticing.

He took a deep breath then took off running. His bag slapped against his side. His hair flopped around his face. He was nearly halfway there. A feeling on the back of his neck nearly froze him in place. Eyes. He had been seen. He was being watched. He poured on fresh speed. The bed creaked behind him. Footfalls thudded against the carpet. Almost there. A hand reached out. Long, feminine fingers wrapped around his diminutive body. His feet left the ground and he struggled. He briefly considered trying to use his little knife to help him get away. But it would be futile. There were two humans. 

His eyes were wide with terror. The woman, now wrapped in a bed sheet, held him in her fist. The man, Dean, his brother, held a pistol trained on him. He trembled and hot tears burned his eyes. No matter what, he would not give away his adoptive family. He promised himself that. If Dean turned out to be like every other hunter he remembered, he would not put Walt and Mallory in danger.

Sam stared down the barrel of that pistol. That massive pistol that once could have held in his hand now out-sized him. He could have fit one or both of his arms down the barrel. It was very intimidating. He trembled in the woman's grip. It was crushing. His right arm was twisted behind his back, straining his shoulder. He could hardly breathe. His ribs were compressed between those slender fingers. She probably thought nothing of how she held him. Sam couldn't get it out of his mind. 

"I told you something was under the bed, babe," Jesslyn said. She tossed her hair over one bare shoulder. "I saw it slide under when we fell backwards." She smirked at Dean, her green eyes dancing. "Which was fun, by the way. That's one way to make an entrance."

Dean tossed her a smirk back. "I'm good at those. Y'know, kicking down doors, smashing through windows, that sort of thing." His green eyes, so intense, trained back in on the tiny being in his partner's hand. When it began struggling again, he cocked the pistol and leveled it with the tiny being's head. "You better hold still if you know what's good for you," he warned. 

Sam went stiff, eyes wide with terror. He couldn't help the strained whimper that came out. Especially when the woman tightened her hand around him. He felt something pull even tighter in his shoulder. Colors bloomed behind his eyes. He cried out. 

"Shit, it's hurt." It was the woman speaking. "What am I supposed to do with it?"

"I don't even know what it is." It was Dean's voice, deep enough to practically be thunder rumbling around. God how big he had gotten. How imposing he was now. 

"I don't either. But look how tiny it is! Surely it can't be a monster? It's so small."

"Don't be fooled, Jess. Monsters can come in any size and shape." Dean thought he was a monster. Of course he did. What else was there to think?

"But it wasn't hurting anything. It was under the bed and tried to run away." Jesslyn lifted him higher and scrutinized him closely. "It's got a face. Like a human. Brown hair, brown eyes. Its rather unremarkable except for its size."

Dean frowned even more. "The ones that look like humans can be even more dangerous. You have no idea what it is?"

She shook her head, her red curls bouncing as she did. "No, not at all. But, I bet Bobby would." 

Dean groaned. "You want to call him at nearly one in the morning?"

"You dial. I'll talk. He likes me better." She smiled at him. "Unless you want to just stick this thing under a vase, put a salt line and iron around it until morning." Dean pursed his lips and actually seemed to be considering it. "I was being sarcastic!" Sam flinched at how loud her voice was. "I don't want to sleep with an unknown in the room. God you're dense sometimes. Put the pistol down and call Bobby." 

Dean sighed, decocked the gun and put it back under the pillow. He slid off the bed and Jesslyn got an eyeful of his bare ass. She wolf whistled in appreciation and Dean shot her a look. She laughed as he pulled his phone from his pockets. It was only another minute before Bobby was answering the other end, grouchy as always. 

"Whaddya want, bonehead?" The voice was gruff with both agitation and sleep. 

"Hey, Bobby," Jesslyn chimed. "I'm so sorry to wake you, but Dean and I are on a case together." It was interesting to note how the cadence of Jesslyn's voice changed, as did her tone, when she spoke on the phone. She switched from an intimidating hunter, to a sweet people-pleaser. 

"Dean's with you again? I feel better knowing that."

"Ah, come on, Bobby, I can take care of myself," Dean complained.

"Yeah, that's why you're called 'Dean the Damned.' You've barely escaped death how many times now?"

"I've pulled his ass out of the fire six times now," Jesslyn added.

"Alright but we're not here to talk about me!" Dean cut in, rather sharply.

Jesslyn chuckled. "He's right, Bobby. We caught something in our bedroom tonight. It's a little creature, about three or four inches tall. It almost looks human except for its size." 

There was a pause for a minute. Jesslyn was about to ask Bobby if he was still there when he spoke. "Did it try to hurt you?"

"No. It actually tried to run away," Jesslyn said. "Which is strange because monsters usually run towards Dean. They all want to take him down."

Dean smirked. "That's because I'm the guy who gives monsters nightmares."

"Quit showing off for your girlfriend--"

"She's not my girlfriend!" "I'm not his girlfriend!" Dean and Jesslyn chorused. Sam wanted to cover his ears at their volume but he could barely breathe, let alone move his arms. 

"I don't care what she is. Quit showing off and release that poor creature!" Bobby shouted at them. Jesslyn and Dean gave the phone a look like Bobby had lost his mind. "What you've got there, boneheads, is a little person. They're harmless. They live in the walls of houses and motels, scavenging, foraging and the like. They barely scrape by trying to survive. They are not dangerous in the least. They're basically human. Except in miniature."

"How do you know all this?" Jesslyn asked. She still hadn't released her grip on the tiny person. She trusted Bobby, but to be told to simply release an unknown? 

"There's a colony that lives out in the field behind my house," Bobby said. 

"You've never mentioned them before," Dean pointed out.

"Because it's none of your damn business," Bobby snapped. "They live peaceful lives and don't bother anybody. So I ain't gonna go bothering them or putting you on their trail, accidentally or otherwise. Now let the poor person go." With that, he hung up.

Jesslyn looked to Dean. "Well, he said they're harmless. And Bobby is never wrong. I guess we'll let him go, then." She looked down to the tiny person in her hand. "Sorry about all the confusion, sweetie, but you should really be more careful." She set him down on the bed sheets. "There are people in this world, including Dean and me, who kill things that aren't human. It's just what we do to keep humans safe." She smiled down at him. "If we had known you were harmless, we would never have tried to grab you. Or pointed a pistol at you."

Sam gripped his arm tightly to himself. It was throbbing in time with his heartbeat and he was mildly nauseated from the pain. But he was free of the woman's clutches now and they said they had no intention of hurting him. He looked at her, appraised her sweet, apologetic smile and sincere expression. She meant it. He glanced back at the man who was now pulling on his jeans. Dean. That was his brother. This was his one chance to say something, reconnect. His expression was nearly unreadable. But there was a pinch of concern, and guilt, between those brows.

"I don't know why Dad sent me here," he was grumbling. "He knows what this town is to me. I don't know why I stayed here. Should've just slept in the back seat. It's warm enough, still." 

Jesslyn frowned. "Dean, babe, what's wrong?"

"This is the same damn town where I lost my little brother. A witch killed him when I was fourteen. He was just ten." He stopped and stared at Jesslyn. For a moment, she could see the pain and guilt of all those years weighing in his eyes. But then his mask fell back into place. 

"Oh, babe." She reached out and took his hand.

Sam was standing at the edge of the bed, trying to figure out how he was going to get down with is arm as injured as it was. When Dean talked about losing his brother, he couldn't stay quiet any longer. With his heart in his throat, he looked up to the towering, imposing man. The amulet resting against the man's broad chest gave him strength he otherwise lacked.

"D-Dean?" It was so hard to speak loud enough to be heard. "Dean? It's me. Sammy."

Two sets of sharp green eyes swiveled to Sam. A chill ran up his spine and he froze in place, waiting on his brother's response.

Sam gulped and tried to push the feeling of being Seen out of his mind. Temporarily. It was far too important of a skill to ignore. But right now, he needed to overcome it in order to take this one chance at reconnecting with his brother. He turned his soft, pleading brown eyes up to that towering, imposing man. The eyes that greeted him were as cold as the emeralds they shared their color with. Yet, right in between those hard eyes, in that narrow space between his eyebrows, there wasn't emptiness. There was curiosity and maybe, just maybe, hope. Sam couldn't be sure of that, but he could be sure that if he didn't take this chance, this fate-given opportunity, then he would lose Dean forever.

"Dean, it's me. I'm Sam." His heart sank when the massive face looming over him clouded over and the eyes turned from cold to hard. 

"My brother is dead," Dean growled. "I don't know what kind of sick sense of humor makes you think this is funny, but it's not." He pulled on his black t-shirt before adjusting his amulet to be out in front. This gave Sam an idea on how to prove who he was.

"I gave you that amulet!" he called as Dean began searching for his flannel over-shirt. "At Christmas one year. I got it from Bobby." Sam half-chuckled. "You went and stole some presents because Dad was gone and hadn't gotten us anything. You gave me a Barbie or something girly like that." Hope was so evident in his tiny face that even Jesslyn could see it. 

Dean had stopped dressing, frozen half-in, half-out of his shirt. He seemed to be thinking. His eyes weren't as hard now. They were more calculating. Did he take this risk? Open his heart to this tiny thing that could possibly be his baby brother? But that meant they had abandoned the child Sam had been. And Dean wasn't sure if he could forgive himself for that. 

Jesslyn was finding this all very interesting. Obviously what this little person that claimed to be Sam was saying hit home with Dean. She leaned forward and spoke softly to Sam. "Keep going. You're starting to get through. He's just a blockhead." Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when the woman leaned down. He didn't think she would speak to him. But not only was she talking to him, she was right beside him and it was unnerving. She smiled softly at him. Her cherry red lips stretched out and revealed the white teeth within. Sam had to turn his gaze away to try and avoid the realization of how easily they could hurt him. "I believe you. But I'm an optimist. I like redemption and reconnection stories." 

Sam gathered his courage once more and spoke. "I still have the knife you gave me," he said. "I had it in my hand when the witch cursed me. It's here." He pulled the knife from the simple sheath Walt had made for him that was attached to the woven leather belt around his waist. He held it out with his good arm, letting it balance on his fingers. It was so small compared to the two humans, but it was the last bit of evidence he had that held any possibility of convincing Dean who he was.

Dean slowly finished dressing. He glanced at Jesslyn who smiled encouragingly. He took a deep breath and crouched down. "I can't see a damn thing in here," he muttered, starting to stand again.

"I got it," Jesslyn said. She popped out of bed and hurried over to the light switch. The innerspring mattress bounced with her movements and Sam was sent tumbling over the edge. He had no way to catch himself with his arm in as much pain as it was. The open floor yawned beneath him. He was convinced he was going to die. He closed his eyes and regretted not being able to connect with his brother before he left this world. 

He landed on something warm. It was rough in places, pliable with a firm strength beneath it. His savior was a heat source of some sort. Even though his landing was cushioned, Sam's shoulder still screamed in pain. His breath was knocked from him and it took him a moment to get it back. When he did, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a hand. A giant hand. A male hand. He looked up, following the arm to the shoulder and ultimately the face. Dean had saved him. 

Something wet and warm greeted Sam's fingers. He looked down and realized his tiny knife was embedded in Dean's palm. Terror now reigned in Sam's heart and mind. He had stabbed Dean. Accidentally or not, he had drawn blood. Would this reverse any progress he had made to convince Dean of who he was? 

Light flooded the room and he flinched into Dean's palm. Sam's eyes were not used to the brightness of a room after so many years of living in the walls. He felt gravity pin him to the calloused hand beneath him as it was lifted into the air. He was held in front of Dean's face as the man analyzed him. Sam glanced between Dean and the tiny knife, wondering if he should take it out.

Jesslyn took this opportunity where the attention was not on her to pull her clothes back on. No matter which way this went, she knew she and Dean weren't going to be doing anything else tonight. She tossed her panties into the duffel she had, pulled on her bra and jeans before noticing Dean's expression. She paused and walked up to him, placing one hand on his shoulder. "Dean?" she asked softly.

Sam could see recognition, acceptance, and guilt, washing over Dean's features. Hope bloomed anew in his chest. 

"Sam?" Dean's voice cracked "Is that, is that really you?"

Sam, sitting on his knees, cradling his arm, nodded. "It's me. It's really me." The next thing the tiny person knew, he was being crushed to a massive chest. He didn't mind, though. Not this time. Tears spilled from his eyes as his good hand clutched to the black fabric of the t-shirt. "It's really me," he repeated over and over again. He didn't want to run the risk of Dean losing that thought.

But Dean wasn't going to. Not anytime soon. He ignored the minor pain in his hand as he held Sam to his chest. Tears brimmed in his eyes. He could hardly believe it. His baby brother was alive. Alive and whole. Even if he was so small he could fit in his hand. 

"I'm so sorry," he stammered. "I'm so sorry we left you behind. Dad thought you were dead. I couldn't see. He just, just dragged me out of the room and threw me in the car and we took off. We chased the witch through a couple different towns before the trail went cold." He pulled Sam away from his chest so he could look at him again. "Look at you. You're so small. But you've grown up so much." He reached up with his free hand and gently pressed a fingertip to the side of Sam's face. "But you could use a haircut."

Sam gave a watery laugh. "Yeah, well, barbers aren't exactly easy to come by at my size. So I make do with what I have." He clung to Dean's finger, holding on for dear life. He didn't want to let go, just in case this was a dream and he would wake up when he did. It wouldn't be the first time he had had such a dream. Waking up became harder after every one. He glanced back at Dean's hand when he felt a liquid warmth trickle inside the opening of his pant leg. His eyes widened when he remembered his knife was still in his brother's hand. It probably wasn't much blood to Dean, but every drop to Sam seemed like a river. He had stabbed his brother just minutes after seeing him again for the first time in nearly ten years. The thought twisted something inside the cursed human.

"I need to pull that out," he said. He looked back up to Dean, brown eyes pinched with worry. "I'm sorry. I don't know--"

"Hey, it's alright," Dean said. "No big deal. I've gotten a helluva lot worse."

"Like the time I stitched up your side after you sliced it open when you were thrown down the creek bank by that vamp back in Colorado," Jesslyn said. She lifted up the hem of Dean's shirt to show a long scar that ran from below the waistband of his jeans up to his ribs. "Or when that German Shepard got your ass." She grinned. "That was probably my favorite place to stitch." She looked down to Sam. "The point is, don't worry about that. It's just a band-aid nick. That's all."

Sam looked away from the massive scar, one bigger than him, and back up to his brother. He still felt guilty for stabbing Dean, but at least the older Winchester knew it wasn't on purpose. With his injured arm cradled to his chest, Sam gripped the handle of his knife and pulled. It slid out cleanly. The massive hand twitched beneath him at the brief sting on pain and sent the smaller person stumbling back a few steps. Warmth met his back, steadying him. He turned his head to find two hands supporting him. One hand was Dean's and the other belonged to the woman. 

He quickly stepped back into Dean's palm. The surface beneath him was unsteady, twitching with every step he took. But he trusted that Dean would catch him if he fell. He already had once. He twisted to put his knife back in its sheath and pain flared in his shoulder. He gritted his teeth to prevent himself from crying out, refusing to show weakness in front of strangers. In front of humans. Even if one was Dean. It took a moment for the pain-induced nausea to subside. When it did, it left him feeling week and clammy. He was going to get an earful from Walt about all of this. And Mallory would undoubtedly be worried. He needed to get back to them and let them know he was alright.

He just had to work up the nerve to talk to Dean about it. "Dean?" he began softly. He had to speak louder. He could tell his brother was straining to hear him. "Dean, I need to go home. Back to the walls," he quickly clarified "My adoptive parents are in there. They found me when I was cursed and got me away from the witch before it could grab me. They raised me and kept me safe. I need to tell them I'm safe now. I'm out much later than normal."

Dean frowned a little. Jesslyn rested her chin on his shoulder and looked at Sam as he talked. "So how do y'all live? I mean, if you are constantly trying to fly under the radar, you can't exactly go shopping at the store and cook up something for supper every night."

Sam was hesitant to tell this woman about the life he lead in the walls, but he could tell Dean was curious, too. So he did his best to answer her question with as little information as possible. "I scavenge. Any food scraps I can find in the rooms, I take and bring home. That's what I was doing tonight."

"Ooh. Interesting. Wait, I think I watched a movie kind of like that," she said. Her eyes were lighting up with an awakened knowledge. "Back in like the nineties with John Goodman. It was called The Borrowers." She smiled with the memories the movie evoked. "My kid sister loved it. She watched it liked a million times." Her hand came up and rubbed the tattoos on her upper arm, four red bows with black ribbons, in a subconscious manner. 

Dean looked at the tattoos. One of these days he needed to ask her about their meaning. He looked back to Sam. His brother was so small, barely the size of his finger. It was crazy. "Alright. Do you want me to take you somewhere?" He glanced around the room. "Weren't you headed for the vent when Jesslyn grabbed you?"

"Which I'm sorry about, by the way," she cut in. "Like I said, if we had known you were harmless, we wouldn't have come after you." 

Sam just nodded at her. His shoulder hurt too much right now to offer any verbal forgiveness. He understood that she wasn't trying to hurt him, but he was still very injured. He looked back to Dean. "Uh, yeah. The vent will be fine." It wasn't like Dean could follow him to his home from outside the vent. "Just put me down there."

Dean nodded and turned. When Sam wobbled on his perch, he quickly brought his hand closer to his chest to offer his truly little brother more support. His other hand came up and acted like a guardrail. It was just a matter of steps before Dean was in front of the vent. He crouched and slowly lowered his hands to the floor. Sam stumbled off, immediately grasping his arm to try and ease the pain that shot through his shoulder. This time, he couldn't hide his pain from Dean. 

"Are you alright?" There was concern in the man's voice. Concern for his baby brother that he hadn't seen in ten years. Some things never changed, Sam thought.

"I, uh, I injured my shoulder," Sam said vaguely. He didn't want to cast blame on Jesslyn and drive a wedge between his brother and his partner. "I'm fine, though. It's just tender."

A frown wrinkled the lines between Dean's eyes. Lines that shouldn't be there on a man so young. Sam wondered what all his brother had gone through since he left. What had made his features age so much before his time? "Was it when Jesslyn grabbed you?" Dean asked pointedly. His frown intensified when Sam didn't answer. "It was, wasn't it?" He turned and glared at the woman who was pulling her shirt on.

"What?" she snapped. "What's with that look? You don't get to give me that look unless I call you to change my tire. Or transmission fluid."

Dean straightened and turned partially towards her. "You injured his shoulder," he said flatly.

She frowned a little. "Sorry about that. It wasn't on purpose."

"But you snatched him up off the floor. And in the process you hurt his shoulder," he continued.

"Oh don't start, Mister-points-a-gun-at-a-tiny-shadow. I am very sorry I hurt his shoulder and I'll do what I can to help him heal. But it wasn't on purpose. It wasn't like I grabbed him up and tried to move him like a marionette." 

"A what?" Dean asked, confusion starting to leak into his expression.

"A marionette. Y'know. One of those dolls that are jointed and controlled by a person working above them with the handles and strings," she explained.

"So, like a puppet?"

"Yeah, sure. That works. We'll go with that." She shook her head before looking to the little being that was about to slip into the vents. "Sammy, right? I am sorry I hurt you. If you come back later, I'll fix you up an ice pack. I might have some topical pain relief cream in my bag. A dab of that on your shoulder would do wonders." She smiled at him. "Hope to see you again. I'll be around for a while. I came here on suspicions of a werewolf case. So I may be out tomorrow in the day, but I'll be back in the evening."

Dean looked to his little brother. "Will you come back?" he asked. He felt like his heart was in his throat. He didn't want to lose his brother again but he wasn't going to capture him and force him to be with him, either. That wasn't how you won back family. 

Sam was quiet for a moment, seeming to think. Then he nodded. "Yeah, I'll be back. Tomorrow night when you get back from hunting. I'll come see you."

Dean frowned a little. "I didn't say I was going to go hunting with her."

"But you should. You didn't come here for me, after all. Saving people. Hunting things. That's the family business. And you're the only one of us who can continue that. There's people out there who need your help. I don't." Sam couldn't believe he was talking back to a person twenty times his size. Especially one who "gives the monsters nightmares." But here he was, doing just that. He wondered distantly if this was some strange, alternate reality. He was brought back to the moment when Dean spoke again.

"I can help you," Dean protested. "I can do research on that witch. Try and find some reversal for the curse you're under. Something. I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"I didn't say you couldn't," Sam said. It was so soft, Dean had to strain to hear him. "But I've come to accept my life like this. So, right now, until you have a lead or something solid to go on, keep helping others. I'll be here when you come back." He smiled up at the man. "It's good to see you again."

"You, too, half-pint," Dean said. "I'll be back tomorrow evening. Promise me you'll be here?"

"I promise," Sam said. Prolonged goodbyes done, he slid into the vent and disappeared.

Sam woke with a start when the bedsprings above him creaked. At some point, waiting for the giant couple to fall asleep, he had fallen asleep. He still remembered the dream, although it grew dimmer with each passing moment as reality pressed in. Dean. The man in the bed was Dean. His heart hurt when he thought about the dream. They had been reunited. Together at last. 

Sam rubbed his chest as his eyes burned. He both loved and hated dreams like that. Dreams where Dean came back and life restarted and they were together and nothing could separate them again. He loved the escape from the depressing truth that he was shrunk, hiding in the walls of a dingy hotel, foraging for crumbs and surviving off scraps. He couldn't even call this living.

On the flip side of that coin, though, was his hatred for such dreams. Because they inevitably ended and he had to wake up and face another day of barely surviving at four inches tall. Like right now. There were still phantom pains in his shoulder from the dream. He still felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck at the memory of the woman seeing him and catching him, holding him fast. There was still terror present in his veins at the thought of a gun, bigger than his family's house, pointed at him. 

It was nightmarish.

He shuddered and pulled his knees to his chest. Above him, snores echoed from the bed. Deep and masculine, as if sawing logs. There was a faint noise, just below the snores, of a heavy, open-mouthed breathing. It must be the woman. Sam thought longingly of what he actually saw; the man's chest, broad and muscular, the background for a necklace that bore an amulet so like the one he had given his brother years ago. There was a small possibility that this man, this big, imposing man was Dean. But it was so small and remote that Sam didn't let hope grow.

The cursed human used the pitch black darkness of the room to slip from under the covers and dart for the vent. He ran full-tilt across the room, making it in record time. The faintest sense of being Seen prickled the hairs on the back of his neck. one of the humans was waking up. He slid into the slats and disappeared from sight. A sigh of relief left him as he was secured behind the metal vent. He was safe for now.

The boots his adoptive father had fashioned for him were all but noiseless as he walked down the vent. They gripped the rough surface of the wooden beams as he balanced. He thought as he walked, as he trudged, through the dust and the silence. He thought of his life, lost to the past. He thought of his brother, of the small potential that the man in the room was him. He thought of what could happen if that was actually Dean. Perhaps he would accept him for what he was now. Perhaps they would go off together, start hunting as a team. Dean could teach him what he knew, how to defend himself, how to kill different creatures, what different signs meant. Perhaps they would actually be a family again.

But probably not. Not when Sam was a little over four inches tall. He was too small to be of any good. He would just be a liability. He would only get in the way and draw Dean's attention away from the hunt, the fight, and get him hurt or even killed. Sam shuddered at the thought. It was a terrible thought, indeed. So while Sam dreamed to one day be reunited with his brother, he held little hope that it would actually happen. He wanted to connect with the man out there, see if it was Dean. The risk, though, was far too much.

Sam resigned himself to the dark, subsistence lifestyle he lead now. He pushed aside the door to his home and slipped inside. 

***

In the bedroom, Dean stirred in his sleep. He thought he heard the faintest of noises, the sounds of scuffling on the carpet. He slowly sat up and watched a dark shadow flit across the floor and disappear into the vents. "Great," he muttered under his breath, "This dive has rats." He glanced at his on-again, off-again partner. He better not let Jess find out or she would be at the front desk, no matter the hour, protesting about the accommodations and demanding a refund. Never mind that she didn't actually pay for the place. He'd seen her berate a manager for letting roaches get into the mini-fridge and rats into the pantry. She'd threatened to call the health department if he didn't clean the place and refund her money. Which, of course, he promptly did.

Dean threaded his fingers through Jess's wild tumble of curls, caressing her scalp with a gentleness reserved for her and his car. He watched her sleep. It was perhaps one of the few times she looked peaceful. His eyes slid over the tattoos on her arm, four red bows with black ribbons. One day he would find out what they meant. She wore them proudly, hardly ever covering them. It was obvious they held clues to the back story even Bobby had not fully pieced together. He would occasionally catch her lost in thought, rubbing the tattoos as she stared off into space. Those times, her face was clouded with regret and sorrow, emotions he knew all too well.

Emotions he struggled with on a daily basis.

This town brought them up more than any other. This little Podunk, one-horse town was where his little brother had died. Sammy. He had been destroyed by a witch in the blinding blink of an eye. All because Dean had been selfish and left the room to play the old arcade games in the lobby. He sighed and laid back down. He pulled Jesslyn close and buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply of her scent. 

She was slipping under his guard, worming her way into his tight inner circle. Hell, his closed inner circle. Bobby was the only other one in that sphere of influence and even he didn't seem to be quite so important as this woman. Jesslyn needed him. Sometimes. And Dean needed to be needed. Even if it was just for changing a tire or transmission fluid or beheading a charging vamp. She didn't have quite the upper body strength for a single, clean stroke with a machete. But he did. He could take down the threat quickly. She appreciated that.

And oh how he liked being appreciated. It and being needed were one hell of a drug and he could get high on it for the rest of his life. She gave him a purpose outside of hunting. Helping her. Protecting her. He relished it. He relished these little moments where it was just them in the bed. Nothing else. No one else. No monsters. No humans. No absent fathers or dead brothers. Just them. Just two people, a man and a woman, needing each other and fulfilling that need. 

His calloused hands trailed over her shoulders, down the dip of her waist and up the curve of her hips. His thumb stroked the small scar he found there, a wound from their first hunt together. He had felt awful, like a failure, when he saw the blood soaking her jeans and the massive splinter sticking out of her skin. But she had just smiled and told him to pull it the hell out before it got infected. Then she had cursed him to hell and back when he did.

Still, she was grateful he had been there and was forgiving enough to hunt with him the next time they ran into each other. And the next and the next. If relationships weren't such dangerous things in their line of work, they probably would have called this what it was. As it stood, the danger added a new layer of thrill, enticing and drawing them ever deeper into each other. They couldn't keep away. Fate seemed determined to bind them to each other. 

Dean sighed deeply and closed his eyes. As long as the rat didn't come back into the room or try to steal from the pantry, it would all be okay. He wouldn't say a word to Jesslyn. They could finish the hunt and leave. Maybe the next play they picked wouldn't be quite such a rat-hole. But he didn't hold high hopes.

Sam woke up the next morning. He smiled as he presented his gift to his mother. She loved the gems and hung them up in the thin beam of light that shone through a crack in the floorboards. It was a sliver of a crack, almost unnoticeable to humans but the light added just a bit of homeliness, dispelled just a touch of gloom, from the small home. They were under the floorboards of the room he had nearly been caught in, tucked back into the far corner under a window. It was cozy, to use the word a little loosely.

His father was a quiet man. He sipped his morning tea, blackberry leaf and willow bark, and watched the dust motes in the beam. "You were out late," he said eventually.

Sam nodded, sipping his own tea. "A couple burst through the door. I had to hide under the bed until they were well and truly asleep." 

His mother frowned worriedly. "They didn't see you, did they?"

Sam shook his head. "No. It was pitch black when I made my run for the vent. No one saw me." He left out the fact that he had felt the sensation of being Seen. Not full eyes knowingly on him, but the faint knowledge that one of the humans had woken up and seen his shape in the shadows. He didn't want to upset his family.

The woman smiled and kissed the top of Sam's head as she passed. "Good. What are your plans today?"

"Kitchen supplies were delivered yesterday," his father said. "Which means those sloppy cooks will have left crumbs and bits everywhere. The Corners, the Lamps and the Fans all are coming as well. Sam and I will scout and bring the information back to plan. Most likely we'll go for the place in the evening, after the late check in."

The small woman nodded. "Alright. Can you find me some more fabric? Something with some color, please." She brushed out her plaid apron. "My dresses are getting thin and so are your clothes." She picked an imaginary piece of fluff from her husband's shirt. "And with winter only a month away, I need time to make you some good clothes."

Her husband rested his hand on hers. "I know. The signs are pointing to a bitterly cold winter." 

Sam broke open the small fruit his father had managed to scavenge last night. The seeds were shaped like a spoon. He sighed. They would be digging themselves out this winter, the old farmer's tale said. His mother glanced at the seed arrangement and shook her head. "Lots of fabric, please," she repeated herself. "So I can keep my boys warm and make some good blankets for trade later."

"Be sure to keep one back for me," Sam said as he ate. "Last year's alone may not be enough this winter."

"Of course, sweetheart," she said. She headed off to her work space where all her clothing and blanket making materials were stored.

Sam looked to his adoptive father as he finished his breakfast. "I'm ready when you are." The two men donned their jackets and bags and headed off into the gloom of the walls.

In the bedroom, Dean and Jess had been awake for some time now. They were talking about plans for the evening's hunt and the groundwork that was necessary in the morning to be successful later on. They lined up their stories about why they were visiting and asking questions. It was pushing seven when Jesslyn's stomach growled.

"I'm hungry," she stated. "This place has a decent little breakfast bar. It's not much according to the reviews on Yelp but it's free."

"Free is good," Dean chuckled. He stretched and slid out of bed, grabbing his clothes and dressing quickly. Jesslyn followed suit, pulling on her skinny jeans, tank top and choosing her black flats over her heels. Her tattoos would make her stand out enough as it was in this town, no need to overdo it by wearing what one woman had referred to as "hooker heels."

Jesslyn looked up to her on-again, off-again partner. The only thing about not wearing her heels was she now only reached his shoulder. She pouted slightly. 

"If you want to wear the damn heels then just wear them," Dean said, knowing all-too-well that face. "We'll be leaving the town for good as soon as the job is done. No one will remember you." Jesslyn huffed and rubbed her arm. "And just tell them how you decorate your body is none of their damn business."

Jesslyn had to smile at that. "Fine. Since you like my heels so much, I'll wear them." She kicked off the flats, sat on the bed and pulled on her strappy black stilettos. When she stood, the top of her head was level with Dean's nose. She hooked her arm through his and, together, they headed outside and to the main lobby. 

The breakfast buffet that awaited them really wasn't anything special. There wasn't even a waffle maker. It was powdered eggs and sausage patties in warming trays, three different kinds of muffins, a couple different pastry options and a drink dispenser with a choice of either pulp-free orange juice or one-percent milk. 

Dean muttered under his breath. "We're better off going to the Waffle House up the road. There's nothing here."

"It's free," Jesslyn reminded him. "So make a plate and hush." 

Dean continued to grumble as he made a plate that heaped with eggs and sausage. "Couldn't even make bacon," he groused. He piled on a couple of muffins and made a face as he fill his plastic cup with orange juice. He claimed a seat on a stool at one of the few tall tables in the lobby and watched his partner pick through the food with a meticulous air. She claimed two blueberry muffins, a pastry and a sausage patty. She chose one of the bottles of water hastily shoved into a bowl of ice instead of suffering the juice or milk. 

Dean did notice a few disapproving looks sent her way; no doubt due to her tattoos, sky-high heels and skin tight jeans. But these were all things Dean appreciated about her. The heels lifted and tightened her ass, rounding it out and making it a pleasant echo of her breasts. All in all, Dean thought she was gorgeous and knew how lucky he was that she kept coming back to him. 

Jesslyn slid into the stool and smiled at Dean's face. "I see that look. I feel that look. We've got work to do, Mr. Winchester. Work first, play later." 

Dean grinned. "Then I guess we better work fast." 

Jesslyn couldn't help but snort at that. "Dork," she chuckled. "Dorky-Dean. My sweet Dean, all gruff but really just fluff."

Dean frowned at this. "Hey, no saying that out loud. You'll ruin the Winchester reputation."

Jesslyn laughed out loud at that.

Inside the wall that their table was situated against, two small beings froze at the laughter. Both were used to the noises of the giant beings that would flit through the motel, staying for a day or two at a time before leaving. But the younger man had other things floating through his mind. Mr. Winchester. Dean. Dean Winchester. Could it possibly be? Could it really be Dean? His long lost brother? 

There was a lull in the conversation and Sam's adoptive father had started forward when the man's voice echoed gruffly. He must have had his back to the wall for Sam to hear his words so clearly.

"The necklace? It's an amulet. My... my kid brother gave it to me. He died a year later. It's all I've got left of him." There was a moment of quiet before he spoke again. "Your turn. What's with your tattoos?"

Sam's head was spinning. Wildly. He was gasping for breath as he leaned against the wall. He didn't hear the woman's murmurs. He could barely hear his father asking if he was alright, what was wrong, saying they needed to get moving. All Sam could hear was the man's, Dean's, voice as he responded to whatever the woman had said.

"That's only three, though. Who's the fourth for?" There was a pause, then, "Oh. I see." 

Silence reigned. And in that time, Sam gathered himself. He dared to push the hidden panel in the wall just enough to stare out. His father was hissing at him, trying to pull him inside and away from the door. But Sam was on autopilot. He couldn't pass up this chance to reconnect. He wouldn't be a coward. He had to see his brother. He had just slid out when he felt the prickle of eyes on him. He had been Seen. 

"Mouse!" the woman screamed. "It's a mouse!" She threw her plate at the wall. At Sam. She kicked away from the table in her haste to escape. Her chair tipped backwards and she fell over. Dean lunged to his feet, his own chair skittering away, and knelt beside his partner. 

"Damn, woman," he groused. "Are you alright? All that over a mouse." He glanced over his shoulder and couldn't quite believe what he saw. It almost looked like a person, a miniature person, standing there, inches from where the plate of food was smeared against the wall. He was even more shocked when another small person reached from behind a panel and pulled the first inside and closed the panel behind them. "What the hell?"

He looked back to Jesslyn who was slowly sitting up with a groan. Other patrons were staring and whispering. A few had come over to check on the woman. Dean supported his partner and looked her over. "Jess, we need to talk."

"I don't overreact," she muttered as she rubbed her head. "Don't start. I hate mice."

Says the woman who faces down monsters, he thought wryly. "Right." He looked to the concerned man who came over as he helped Jesslyn to her feet. "She's fine, thanks. We don't need the manager."

"Yes we do!" Jesslyn began to protest. "I am NOT--"

"Hush," Dean hissed in her ear. He gripped her by the elbow and wheeled her towards the door. "That wasn't a mouse." He waved off the concerned manager. "She's fine," he grunted. "We're fine. She just thought she saw a mouse and has a nasty phobia of them. Don't you, dear?"

Jesslyn eyed Dean with suspicion before nodding to the manager. "I'm sorry." The words were ground out, almost against her will. "I'm fine."

She walked with her partner back to their room. When the door was locked behind them, she whirled around. "Alright. Spill. If that wasn't a mouse, what was it?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But it wasn't a mouse. It looked human, except in miniature."

"Borrowers," Jesslyn breathed. "They're actually real."

"Who knows. Either way, don't make a fuss. We'll work this just like any other case. After we take care of whatever is killing in this town," he said. "That takes priority."

Jesslyn sighed and ran a hand through her curls. "Fine, fine. Alright. I'll get changed and we can go visit the morgue." 

Back in the walls, Sam's father slammed him into the wood studs. "What are you doing?!" he growled. "You were seen! I could have been seen! You could have blown our entire existence. You may well have already. What were you thinking?!" 

Sam stared down the older man. "That's my brother. The man was my brother. I heard his name last night and just now. I saw the amulet hanging from his neck. I gave it to him when we were children. I got it from an old family friend. I was going to give it to our dad but he didn't show up for Christmas and Dean wound up stealing some gifts from some family. So I gave the amulet to him." His gaze was steady, rock solid. "That's my brother and I can't lose this chance to talk to him. He probably thinks I'm dead." 

Sam's adoptive father sighed and shook his head. "Even if he is your brother, and that's a big if, you can't go off and just show yourself like that. You risk our whole way of life when you do that. You risk yourself. What if that plate had actually collided with you? How would I have explained that to your mother?" He gripped Sam's shoulder. "You have to be careful. You know that." 

"I know," Sam repeated softly. "But I can't lose this chance. I just can't. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. Whatever comes of it, he has to know I'm here. That I exist."

Sam's father scrubbed his face. "It's foolish," he said softly. "You risk so much. You risk exposing our entire way of life. For what? For some flimsy chance that that giant man out there will remember you? He'll actually care for you? Sam, think this through before you do anything else." He turned and walked away, going down the dark path and towards the kitchen. They still had a job to do.

It was much later in the evening, after late check-in, when the small families were gathered in Sam's adoptive family's home. The women discussed storing the provisions and what to make and how much should be set back for winter. The men discussed logistics, who would take what, where excesses could be stored and all the minute details that went along with such a large plan. They didn't do this big of a raid often, preferring to take bits and pieces where they could find them. But the monthly delivery of supplies and the sloppy, careless manner they were handled was far too big of an opportunity to pass.

The small people were just about to set out on their plan when the door to the room opened and slammed shut and thundering footsteps resounded overhead. Something heavy dropped to the floor, cracking the floorboards even more. The damage couldn't be immediately assessed, though, due to bag blocking the light. All the small people froze, not daring to move, not daring to make a sound. There was a curse above them, followed by a feminine scolding.

"Dean! Good grief, this place can't stand up to your roughing it up. And my credit card can't stand damage fees."

"Oh come off it. It's not even your card." This was Dean's gruff voice.

Sam's lips twitched. Hunting was not an honest, money-making business, he knew. In his later years, in those quiet moments of waiting for a chance to scavenge and reflecting on his youth, he often wondered just how his father paid for everything. Well, now it made sense. Credit card fraud. 

"Hey, I'm the one actively using it. So yes, it is my card." 

There came the sound of rustling through the duffel bag, heavy, metallic items clinking and clanging against each other. The humans continued talking. "We don't need the whole bag. That's too much. The werewolf was easy to take down so we have all the time tonight." 

Sam wondered what she meant by that. "So what do you suggest? You seem to know everything."

"Something gentle." There was silence and then a feminine giggle. "Alright. I guess there's nothing gentle in that bag. Ooh. What's this?"

"Twine," Dean said. Silence. "What? What are you thinking?"

"Hm.. It's hard to verbalize. But what about..." There was silence. In the silence, all the small folk exchanged wary glances. What were the humans talking about? "How's that?"

"It's idiotic."

"Rude!"

"But it just might work."

Their voices grew distant as their footfalls carried them away. The small people breathed easily and finished making their plans in hushed whispers. Then, they set off. It was slow going, creeping through the walls and checking to make sure their presence went wholly unnoticed. 

They were in luck. The kitchen was a mess. Food was scattered everywhere, with partially open containers and sloppily closed cabinets. It was a small folk’s paradise. 

The crews worked quickly, following the plan and gathering all they could. They returned to their homes a few hours later, once the food had been fairly split among everyone. Sam put away the last of their goods, smiling at how his mother cooed over the tattered apron they had brought back. It was a bold floral pattern. Florals has always been her favorite. 

With his family distracted over the influx of supplies, Sam slipped back into the dark of the walls. He crept through the ventilation ducts and stopped at the grate to stare out at the vast room beyond. 

It was dark in the room. No noises came from anywhere, save for the faint, soft breathing of the humans in their bed. Sam took this as a sign that it was safe to enter. He slid between the slats and stepped into the room. 

Only to have his ankle snagged in something before he was hauled upwards. He cried out in surprise and fear as he dangled at least three of his body lengths above the floor. He tried to pull himself upwards and grab the rope but he found he didn’t quite have the strength to do so. 

He didn’t have time to think of anything else. The overhead lights flicked on, nearly blinding him. He cried out again and threw his arm over his eyes. Voices echoed in the distance. The voices of the humans. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and a shiver ran down his spine. 

He had been Seen. 

Dean turned and looked at his partner as the Borrower hung from their trap. “You were right,” he told her. “It did come back.”

Jesslyn nodded as she strode over. “I told you. They’re curious by nature but also shy. Having the lights out completely helped. And the food laid out lured them in.”

Sam looked around, just now noticing the chunk of granola bar laying on the ground. That wasn’t even what had drawn him in here. The chance to reconnect with his brother was the bait. He had been caught in a trap all the same, though. 

Sam suddenly realized just how foolish he had been. He didn’t really know this man, even if he was Dean. He didn’t know what kind of a hunter he was. Did he kill everything that wasn’t human? Or did he have compassion for harmless things? Sam gulped. He was about to find out. 

The woman knelt in front of him and smiled. It wasn’t quite warm and it sent chills down his spine. “If you’re harmless, we’ll know soon enough,” she said. “And then you’ll be free to go home.”

She turned and looked to Dean who stood behind her. His shadow encompassed both the woman and the small person. To Sam, the shadow was cold, impersonal. He prayed he would survive. 

“Let’s start with holy water,” she said. She took the flask, poured a bit on her fingers and flicked it at Sam. He flinched from the moisture but no smoke came off him and no hissing ensued. 

The woman picked up a notepad and pen. “Holy water: non-responsive.” She scribbled a note and looked to Dean. “Next, silver knife.” 

Her words made Sam think of the knife he carried. His gift from Dean a few months prior to his curse. He wanted to speak out and prove his identity, but kept quiet as the massive knife was pressed against him. 

“Silver knife: unresponsive.” She handed the knife back and jotted in her notebook. “Next, iron.”

“I’m not a monster!” Sam suddenly found his voice. He was terrified but he had to make his case. “I’m human!”

Dean snorted. “Nice try, pipsqueak. Humans aren’t four inches tall.”

“Dean!” Sam tried again. “It’s me, Sam! I’m alive!” 

Jesslyn arched an eyebrow at that. “Yeah, no. Pretty sure Dean’s little brother is dead. How horrible of you to try and make him think otherwise.” She applied the iron poker to his side. She hummed at the lack of response and noted it as well. 

Dean’s cold face turned stony. “My brother is dead,” he growled. “Don’t try and get into my head.” 

“I’m not a monster!” Sam continued. “I gave you that amulet the Christmas before I was shrunk. Uncle Bobby gave it to me! It’s supposed to glow in the presence of God. Please, believe me!”

Dean’s face was hard. There was no trace of emotion in it save for the hint of fury and pain in his eyes. “Jesslyn, it passed all the tests. Cut it down and let’s go. I hate this town.” 

Jesslyn looked between them and shrugged. She cupped the small person in her hand and undid the knot around his ankle. He fell into her palm and she quickly dumped him on the floor and stood. 

“Right behind you.” 

“I was cursed!” Sam shouted, getting to his feet and running after the humans. “The witch didn’t destroy me, it cursed me to be this size! I was adopted by some other small folk and raised this way. Please, believe me!” He felt his knife thumping in its sheath against his hip. 

“I have the knife you gave me! The silver knife that Bobby helped you make. I had it in my hand when I was cursed.” 

Dean stopped, forcing Jesslyn to stop short so she wouldn’t clip his heels. “Leave me alone. I don’t know how the fuck you know all this but I don’t care. My brother is dead.” 

He grabbed his duffle, shoved his few clothes and possessions in it and grabbed the duffle from underneath the window. As he pulled it away, the crack in the floorboard was revealed. Dean glanced at the hole, saw the small hole underneath and scoffed. They were everywhere. 

He turned and walked out, leaving the door open for Jesslyn. The woman crouched and looked at Sam. “You know too much so you’re coming with me until I can figure out why.” 

She scooped him into her hand, grabbed her zebra-print suitcase and walked out of the room. The chilly night air slammed into Sam. He was carried at waist-height away from the only real home he had ever known. The door slammed behind him, blocking his path back. 

Dean took Jesslyn’s suitcase and scoffed at the small person in her hand. “Why did you bring it?”

“Because it knew way too much about you,” she said. “I want to know why and what else it knows.”

Dean shook his head. “Then you take care of it. I’m not.” He tosses her suitcase into the backseat of her car. 

Jesslyn leaned in and deposited Sam into the cup holder that was hanging from the window. “Stay put, little guy. I’ll be right back.” 

She stood and hugged Dean, kissing him sweetly. “Tell me where we’re going next,” she said. “I’m following you.” 

Dean had to grin at that. “I found a case over in Missouri. Seems like a simple vampire hunt.”

“Lead the way. But we’ll need to stop at a Walmart somewhere so I can get a tank for the Borrower,” she said. “He can’t be loose.” 

“There’s one a few blocks up,” Dean said. “You can get one there.”

“Sounds good.” She kissed him again and slid back in her car. She closed the door, buckled in and looked over to the small person in the cup holder. “Ready or not, we’re on our way.”

"You don't need to put me in a tank!" Sam protested. "I'm not going anywhere. Where would I go? I don't know the walls in this motel. I don't know if any small folk live in them. You left my supplies back at the other motel so I can't go anywhere, anyway. Plus, Dean is my brother. I don't want to lose him again." 

His protests seem to fall on deaf ears as Jesslyn sang along with the radio. 

"Any man of mine better be proud of me. Even when I'm ugly he still better love me!" She sang at the top of her lungs, a broad smile on her face as the country song twanged from the speakers. "Any man of miiine better walk the line. Better show me a teasin', squeasin', pleasin' kinda time. I need a man who knows, how the story goes. He's gotta be a heartbeatin', fire breathin', breathtakin', earthquakin' kind. Any man of mine." 

She drummed her hands on the steering wheel in rhythm to the song. Sam clapped his hands over his ears. Why did humans have to be so dang loud?! They probably didn't even realize how loud they were. But Jesslyn's singing threatened to burst his eardrums. There was no escape. He sat in a portable cup-holder that was hung from the driver's side window. Sam wanted to put his ears out at the next song that came on.

Jesslyn cracked up laughing as she bounced and sang along to the country song. "Music's playing up and down the block. Mostly Christian, blues, country, folk and southern rock. It's a little piece of paradise way out here in the woods. There's always something going on down in the trailerhood!" 

She grinned mischievously and flicked on her brights before getting right up on Dean's bumper. She stayed there for a good block before her phone rang. She turned the music down, much to Sam's relief, and picked up her phone.

"Hello?" she answered all too innocently. 

"What in the hell are you doing? Back off before you hit me. And turn your brights off!"

Jesslyn giggled again and backed off as requested. "Oh alright. Some fun you are."

"If you want fun you should have ridden with me."

"Mm. Tempting," she purred. "But then what would I do with Cherry? I quite like her."

"And I like Baby just as she is. So back off." The call disconnected and Jesslyn sighed.

"He can be so dramatic." But she turned her brights off. "And no matter what you say, you're getting a tank. I can't very well risk you running off and running your mouth about Dean to any monster who's willing to listen. And there are a lot out there that would just love to bring him down. A few witches, too."

"Dean is my brother!" Sam reiterated. "I'm not going to run off and go tell his secrets and leave him vulnerable. I've wanted to see him again for the better part of fifteen years. Do you know how painful that is?"

Jesslyn's eyes flashed. Her bright and cheery mood seemed to have dissipated. "Yes. I do." Her voice was low and flat. "More than you could realize. More than you could experience. At least you could hold on to the faint hope of seeing your loved ones again. I've never had that. I never will." Her hand came up and rubbed her tattoos. "So shut up. You're going in a tank and that's the end of the conversation." 

She turned the music back up but didn't sing along. Dean waited for her, leaning against Cherry's driver's side door as she ran into the store. She came back with a large tank along with some doll furniture. "It's furniture from some generic toy company. The dolls were the closest thing to his size I could find."

Dean grunted. "You did more than I would have." He pushed off the car and opened the door so she could set her packages in the front seat. "I would have gotten the cheapest tank and been done with it."

"Yeah well I'm a sucker for a sob story." She set the merchandise in the seat, adjusting it so the items wouldn't go flying if she hit the breaks. "Which is one reason I like you so much." She laughed at his expression and kissed him lightly on the lips. She smirked as she slid her hands into his back pockets. 

Sam frowned from his spot in the hanging cup holder. He had the perfect vantage point to watch their hips rest against each other and Jesslyn to grab his brother's ass. This was not what he wanted to be looking at. "Can we just get to where we're going, please?!"

Dean scowled at the tiny person. "Shut up. You don't get to decide anything. We'll take all the time we damn well please." He leaned in and kissed Jesslyn fiercely as if to prove a point. When he let up, he had to support his partner as her knees wobbled and she slumped into him.

"Hot damn. Bitch again, little guy!" she egged him on. "Make Dean kiss me like that again." 

Dean smirked. "Maybe we should call him Bitch."

"Oh be nice," Jesslyn said. "I'm sure he'll give us some sort of name to call him."

"My name is Sam!"

"I'm not calling him that," Dean said vehemently.

"So don't." Jesslyn shrugged. "But he hasn't really earned being called 'bitch' yet, either."

"We'll have to disagree on that." He stood her back on her feet and closed the passenger door. "Come on. We'll stop for the night in the next town over. There's a little motel there. I made a reservation for us when you were doing your shopping." He kissed her again. 

"Presumptuous. I like it," she smirked. "Alright. I'll follow you."

They made it out of town with no issues. Traffic was thin and all lights were green. Jesslyn was pleased. She hated any sort of traffic, especially when she had a destination in mind. It was dark on the road. There were no streetlights on this little farm-to-market road in the middle of nowhere. It was illuminated solely by the headlights of passing cars. Jesslyn stayed two car lengths back from Dean's sleek black Impala. She was in a bit of a driving haze as she focused on the glowing red taillights as they went through an intersection with flashing yellow lights. She didn't see the big truck until it was too late.

The lifted Dodge with a cattle guard slammed into her passenger side, sending her careening out of the intersection, off the road and into the ditch. She clutched the wheel for dear life and screamed as the car spun. She finally came to a stop with the nose of her precious Mustang in the muddy ditch. She panted, knuckles white and eyes wide. 

The truck had T-boned her, slamming into the center of the passenger side of the car. The driver had hit their brakes, but not nearly soon enough. Both vehicles were damaged, but Jesslyn's car was clearly worse off. The Dodge was still drivable, as shown when the driver backed the big vehicle up, got back onto the road and sped off.

Sam had screamed, too, clinging to the cupholder for dear life as the car was violently smashed into. He thought he was going to fall out and fall to his death on the floor. Somehow, through what could only be a miracle, he managed to stay in his perch. When the spinning and screaming finally stopped, he looked up to his captor.

"Are you alright?!" he asked. 

"I--I think so." Her voice was shaky, trembling like the last autumn leaf against the wind. 

Dean had seen it all from the rear-view mirror. He swore and jerked on the wheel, spinning the Impala around and speeding back to the scene of the accident. Jesslyn's car was not going anywhere under it's own power for quite some time. He jumped out of his and dashed to his partner and pulled her door open, heedless of the small life clinging there.

"Jesslyn!" he yelled. "Are you alright?"

"My car!" she wailed. "That asshole smashed into my car!"

"Forget the car. Are you hurt anywhere?" Dean snapped.

"No!" Jesslyn snapped back. "Just shaken. And pissed. Did you get his plates?! He sped off! The absolute fucking loser. I hope his overcompensating truck falls a-fucking-part on him. He doesn't deserve to be driving! He needs his license taken away and his truck, too! Oh if I get my hands on him..."

Dean sighed. She seemed to be alright, but her car definitely wasn't going anywhere. "Do you want me to call Bobby? Have him come pick Cherry up?"

"No!" She stumbled out of the car. Dean caught her and helped her to her feet. He walked beside her as she mince-stepped through the grass and mud and out onto the road. The flashing yellow light overhead gave dull illumination to the gruesome scene. "Yes," she muttered miserably. "My poor Cherry. Look what he did to her! Oh I hate him so much." 

She ran her hand through her wild curls. "Damnit! Hell's bells. Fuckin' hell. Mother fuckin' hell. ARGH!" She let loose an inarticulate scream. Her car was all she had. And now it practically lay in ruins. "I hate people. Remind me why I go around saving them?"

"I don't know. I think you go around killing monsters more than you go around saving people," Dean said in an attempt at a joke. 

"Yeah, sure, we'll go with that." She sighed again. Then her eyes widened. "Oh shit! The borrower was in the cupholder. Go check on him."

"Me? Why me?" Dean protested. "You're the one who wanted to bring him along!"

"Because I'm not going back in the muddy grass in these heels!" she said. She pointed to her shoes. "These are Louis Vuittons! They don't go in mud and grass. Really they shouldn't even be on pavement. Just flooring."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll get your things and put them in mine. You call Bobby."

Jesslyn took his phone and called up their mutual friend as Dean went to collect what he could from her car. It was a miracle she wasn't all cut up. The glass in the windows had shattered inwards, littering the floor and passenger side with them. Even the windshield and back window were spider-webbed with cracks. The tank with all the supplies for the borrower had glass all inside it. There was no way he could put the little guy in there, not without seriously hurting it. And Jesslyn wouldn't be pleased if it got hurt.

He looked to the tiny person clinging to the cupholder for dear life. He was pale and shaking, probably terrified and in shock. If he had been riding on the passenger side, he probably would be dead. While that would have solved Dean's concerns over this creature having an unnatural amount of information over him, he was slightly pleased that it had survived. Despite his distaste for the thing, he was curious about why it knew so much of something it had no right to. 

"Time to go," he told it. But where to stow the creature? The tank was currently out of the question. While Jesslyn's purse was initially appealing, he knew that if he so much as touched it, she would know and she would yell at him. So that was out. Her suitcase was a possibility, but it had too many loose things tumbling about inside. The creature would probably be squished almost immediately. 

Dean glanced over himself. He was wearing a jacket to ward off the evening chill. The front pocket of the jacket had a button closure. That would work. He unbuttoned the flap, picked up the tiny person and dropped it inside. He quickly fastened the button back so the creature wouldn't escape. Then he gathered all of Jesslyn's things not covered in glass and toted them to his car.

Sam struggled against the fingers. This man may be Dean, but he didn't recognize Sam as a person and was therefor dangerous. The small being was dropped into the darkness of the pocket and sealed inside when it was buttoned. He protested by punching the living wall of muscle behind him. There was no response.

Dean grunted when he felt the faintest of movements in his pocket. No telling what the creature was up to. He put Jesslyn's things in the backseat along with his bags. Then he began emptying out her arsenal that was stowed under the back seat of her car. It took several trips but he ultimately got it done. He stopped when Jesslyn hung up the phone.

"Heard you yelling at him and thanking him in the same breath," he said.

"Yeah, he wanted to wait until morning to come get her," she replied. "I had to convince him to set out tonight."

"How'd you do that?" he asked. 

"I told him my insurance company would send him the check to repair her." She smiled. "That's the one thing I kept up no matter what. I wasn't about to let this baby go running all over the country without insurance. And I have that additional one that's for basic repair parts, not just a major accident. So a tow truck is en route. We have to wait here for it and the cop." She noticed that he had emptied her vehicle for her and smiled. 

"Thanks, babe. You're the best." She leaned in and kissed him only to pull back when she felt a lump in his pocket squirm under the pressure of her hand. "What the?"

"The borrower-thing," Dean said. "The tank you bought has a bunch of glass in it. And I didn't think you would want him in your purse or suitcase. So I put him in my pocket."

Jesslyn laughed. "So creative. Thanks, hon." She kissed his cheek and leaned against him again, careful to avoid crushing the small person. That would be messy. She rested against Dean, relishing his warmth and his solid presence and protective embrace as they waited for the insurance company tow truck to arrive. 

The cop arrived first. Jesslyn gave him the license with the name that matched the one on her insurance policy and gave her statement. Dean gave his witness statement. They were finishing the paperwork when the tow truck arrived. The driver shook his head at the damage.

"Hope you have a good insurance, Miss," he said. "This is bad. You're lucky to have walked away like you did."

"I agree," she said tiredly. When the officer was satisfied and Cherry loaded onto the wrecker, Jesslyn took the name and address of the yard it was going to with every intention of calling Bobby as soon as she got into Baby. But once she was buckled into the front bench seat of the black Impala, she was out. The shock and stress of the past few hours had taken its toll. Her head rested on her pillow that was propped against the window.

So Dean took the paper and called his old friend. It was a brief conversation and he hung up. He kept his music low as he drove through the dark. It was a couple hours later when they reached their destination. In all that time, the borrower hadn't moved once. At least, not so much that Dean was really aware of it.

Sam was relishing this contact. It wasn't quite what he wanted and wasn't what he would have preferred by any means, but it was positive-ish contact with his older brother nonetheless. He was now in the same vehicle as Dean. Jesslyn was going to be riding everywhere with him. Which meant he was, too. There would be many, many opportunities to talk to Dean and try and get through to him. For now, he could relax. It had been a long, long day and he was exhausted. He curled into the wall of muscle behind him and focused on the rhythmic beating of his brother's heart.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Sam found this soothing. It was a reminder that Dean was here. He was right here. They were together again, even if it wasn't quite how Sam had always imagined it. He closed his eyes and slept.

Dean sat outside the shabby little motel as the rain slowly came down. He knew he had to get up and go check in and get the key to their room, but he didn't want to disturb Jesslyn. She was at peace when she slept. Peace didn't come to either of them often. Finally, he opened the door.

The overhead lights came on and Jesslyn stirred. "Mm. Are were there yet?" she asked through a yawn.

"Yeah. I'm going in now to get the key. You can wait here," he told her.

"'kay," she muttered and curled back into her pillow.

Dean half-smiled at her before stepping out of the car and hustling inside. It didn't take long to give his fake name, fake ID and stolen credit card before getting the key. He walked back out to the Impala and drove around to their room on the far side of the building. He parked and gently shook Jesslyn awake. 

"Jess, come on. We're here. Let's get you inside and to bed where you can really sleep."

"Mm. Fine," she grumbled. She opened the door and grabbed her pillow before it hit the ground. She fumbled with the seat belt for a moment finally emerging from the car. 

By this point, Dean had already gotten their bags into the room. Inside his pocket, Sam was startled awake with the sliding back and forth due to Dean's movements. He clutched the fabric around him, praying he wouldn't be forgotten as they settled in the room. But if they did forget about him, he would sleep in the pocket instead of in the tank. So he decided to be absolutely still and quiet and hope they did forget about him.

It worked. Dean seemed to have forgotten about the small person in his pocket. He draped his jacket over a chair before making sure Jesslyn got her ridiculous shoes off. She grumbled about it but kicked them off. Dean tossed them onto the other queen bed with the rest of their things. 

"You're not wearing those heels into bed," Dean told her. "You'll stab me in your sleep with them."

"Prob'ly deserve it," she muttered, only half aware of what she was saying. "Jerk."

"Bitch," he shot back, without heat.

Jesslyn was aware enough to roll over and give him a dark look. "Rude."

Dean chuckled and leaned down to kiss her. Jesslyn bit his lip after the kiss. Dean jerked back and sucked on the sore appendage. "Woman," he growled. But the bite had sent an electric thrill through him. It was actually nice. He leaned down and kissed her again.

Jesslyn came awake. This she would stay awake for. Deans calloused hands were rough against her skin. Her nails scratched his, enhancing every feeling he had. Their noises echoed in the bedroom. Sam winced and covered his ears. This was too much. This was worse than just seeing them kiss outside the car. But they left him alone that night. He didn't have to sleep in a tank. 

The next morning, Jesslyn woke up. She rubbed sleep-filled eyes and smiled at Dean's arm around her waist. She rubbed his hand and rolled over to kiss him. She snuggled up to him after the kiss. "Morning, babe," she said.

"What a way to wake up," he replied. "I could get used to this."

"And then you would be spoiled," she told him. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him sweetly again. "Where did you end up putting the Borrower? Last I remember the tank was filled with glass so you put him in her jacket." She hooked one leg over his hip and pulled herself even closer to him.

"Shit!" Dean swore. "I left him in the jacket. I totally forgot about him." He launched himself from bed and yanked his jacket off the back of the chair. He inspected the pocket carefully, expecting to find a hole in it somewhere. But there wasn't. It was intact. He opened the flap of the pocket and glanced inside.

Sam had been sleeping peacefully. Right up until the jacket was hauled into the air and he was tossed about inside, much like a ragdoll. He yelped and clung to the fabric as it was probed and inspected. He flinched as light flooded the pocket. He glanced up to the eye that was hovering overhead, waving nervously at it. 

"I'm still here," he said. "I told you I would be." 

Jesslyn sighed from the bed. "Dean, clean out the tank so you can come back to bed. It's too early to be up." 

"The sun is up," Dean said as he set the jacket back down, ignoring the protests within. 

"I don't need a tank! I'm not going anywhere," Sam yelled up. He sighed when the coat dropped back. No one was listening to him. Walt had been right. This was a mistake. He rubbed his face and wished it had happened differently. 

The tank was cleaned out and he was deposited inside the clear glass walls. He scowled and punched his reflection as Dean and his girlfriend left to go get breakfast. He was trapped in the tank with only a plywood doll bed that was far too big for him, a doll blanket that was far too rough, some bits from a granola bar and a bottle cap of water. 

He was a pet. Things didn't get better. He stayed in the tank, which sat on a shelf when they were stopped in a motel. Dean always kept the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door so no cleaning people came in and found him. When Jesslyn and Dean were on a hunt, he stayed in the tank which sat in the backseat of the Impala, a spare blanket tossed over it to hide its contents. 

Fall was turning into winter, as he could tell one evening as he waited impatiently in the darkness under the blanket in the tank in the backseat of the Impala. The car was not left to run so he sat there and shivered in the cold. The doll blanket was of little use since it was barely more than a rough scrap of fabric. There was no insulation in it meant to keep the user warm. After all, the user it was designed for was inanimate plastic.

He was freezing, teeth chattering, whole-body shaking freezing when Dean and Jesslyn returned. Both looked a little rough around the edges. The woman's hair was tangled and had gore in it. Dean's shirt was torn and his jeans were blood-splattered. This Sam could tell from the overhead light of the car when Jesslyn pulled away the blanket to check on him.

"Still here," he managed to snark. He hated being imprisoned like this. The car was more his home than it was Jesslyn's but he was a prisoner all the same.

Jesslyn rolled her eyes before taking a closer look at him. "You're shivering!" she announced. She reached into the tank and scooped him up. "Good grief you're cold." Guilt swept over her. The little guy probably couldn't maintain very much body heat for any long period of time when he was exposed to the cold. He had so little insulation naturally that a gust of cold air probably took away any body heat he had managed to accumulate.

"Come here. I'll warm you up." She turned the heat to maximum and the vents to fully open before cupping Sam to her stomach. She held him close to her own body, tucking her hands beneath her insulated jacket to warm him up faster. "Poor thing," she cooed. "Dean, we can't leave him in the Impala. He'll die of cold if we get a real cold snap."

Dean grunted. He didn't see how that was such a bad thing. It meant one less threat wandering around. But he only said, "Then figure out how to keep him warm."

"What if I took him with us on the next hunt?" she asked.

"Don't come crying to me if he gets squished or eaten," Dean warned her. "Hunts aren't easy on us and we're like ten times that thing's size. He'll die quick and it won't be pretty."

"You're awful," Jesslyn growled. "The little guy can't help that he gets so cold! He needs to be taken care of. Not tossed about and left to freeze."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't go whining at me. I told you that if you want to cart it around wherever you go, fine. But I'm not going out of my way to take care of it."

Jesslyn gave her partner the darkest, deadliest glare she could muster. With a harrumph, she turned to face the window as Dean drove them down the highway. 

Sam sighed. They argued a lot but always made up. At least he was warm right now and it sounded like Jesslyn wasn't going to leave him in the freezing cold car again. So there was that. He relaxed against her abdomen and simply absorbed the incredible warmth she emitted. Slowly, his shivering stopped and his body began to function again, heating itself adequately. At some point, he was transferred to Jesslyn's right hand so she could use her left one to hold Dean's. 

Sam only hoped that this didn't mean he would have to sit and listen to them "making up" to each other tonight. He grimaced at the thought. They didn't have sex every night but it certainly was more often than not. At least he was usually in the tank on the other side of the room and could hide beneath the rough blanket so he wouldn't have to see them doing it. Tonight he was in luck. Dean drove the night through, and on into the next morning, before finally stopping at a run down little motel some cities away.

It was dark in the motel room. Everything was calm and quiet. Sam slept on his bed in the tank. Dean slept in his with Jesslyn curled around him. One of her legs was draped over his hips and her arm was around his chest. Her head was tucked under his chin as she gently snored. None of them were any wiser to what was going to happen.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with noise. Doors and windows banged and rattled in their frames. The roof seemed to lift up and slam back down as a powerful wind tore at it. Outside, the wind howled and screeched. Sam sat straight up in his bed. As did Jesslyn and Dean. The difference was that Jesslyn had her 9mm in her hand and Dean his knife. If the cursed human would have been able to see, his heart would have twisted at the sight of the blade that was twin to his own.

Dean turned the bedside lamp on. There, at the end of the bed, stood a man in a plain khaki trench coat. He wore a white button-down shirt and tie. The two humans in the bed stared at him. Jess, on reflex, unloaded her clip into his chest. The man didn't move. He didn't even flinch. He simply looked at Jesslyn with a blank expression before turning his gaze back to Dean.

"Who are you?!" Dean growled. In his tank, Sam watched with a mixture of awe and fear. This thing didn't even acknowledge twelve rounds in his chest! What was he?!

"We need to talk, Dean," the being said.

"How do you know my name?!" Dean snarled. Instinct told him to plunge the knife hilt-deep into the man's chest but rational said that if bullets hadn't worked, a knife wouldn't either.

"I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," he said evenly.

Dean paled and Jesslyn did as well. "I knew it," she whispered. "There were whispers for months that said you had died. That some hellhound had shredded you. But then I see you walking around as if nothing happened. You did die!" 

"Yeah, I died. I made some stupid deal to try and bring back my kid brother and what do I get told? 'Sorry, sugar, someone already has claim on him.' After I made the deal." He growled. "That whole damn year I worked to get out of the deal since I was cheated. But on day three-hundred-sixty-freakin'-five, some overgrown pitbull showed up and dragged me down to hell." He turned hard green eyes to the being at the end of his bed. "What are you?!"

In his tank, Sam flinched. His brother had missed and ached and wanted him back so much he had sold his soul to a demon in order to try and get him back. And yet, now he was refusing to see what was so plain under his nose. He was refusing to see his chance at family was right there, literally in the room with him.

"I am Castiel; an angel of the Lord," was the calm reply.

The whole room was plunged into silence. Then, "Holy shit," Jesslyn muttered. "I mean, uh." There really was no recovering from saying 'holy shit' in front of an angel of the Lord. So she shut up.

"Impossible. Angels don't exist," Dean shot back. 

"Therein lies your problem," Castiel said. "You have no faith." Thunder boomed and lightning flashed, illuminating the room. Behind the being, a shadow of massive wings spread across the wall.

"I'm convinced," Jesslyn said. Sam was, too. Dean, however, was not. Not quite yet.

"Look, pal, I'm not buying what you're selling," he snapped. "Why would an angel rescue me from hell?"

The angel looked confused. His brows pinched together and he tilted his head to the side, almost like a puppy. "Good things do happen, Dean."

"Not in my experience," was Dean's hoarse, broken reply. His little brother was dead. His father had all but abandoned him. His mother had been killed when he was just a child. He had been shredded by a hellhound after attempting to resurrect his little brother. Nothing good had happened to him. He tensed when Jesslyn's hand rested on his arm. He was not in the mood or mindset for comfort.

"What's the matter?" The confused look on the angel was back as he advanced on Dean. He stared the hunter straight in the eyes. Slowly, acknowledgement dawned on the celestial's face. "You don't think you deserve to be saved." He said this as a statement, fact. It was clear to him that this man did not believe himself worthy of his Father's grace and redemption.

Dean swallowed hard. "Why'd you do it?" he asked. Why did the angel raise him from hell? Bring him back to life?

"Because God commanded it," Castiel said slowly. "We have work for you."

The room was once more silent. Jesslyn briefly thought about saying 'I'm out' and leaving Dean to all this God and destiny stuff. It was a little much when they weren't even in an official relationship outside of "hunting buddies." But she decided to stay. Dean needed support. As much as he denied it, he wasn't superman and couldn't do everything by himself. 

So she threaded her fingers through his as he finally lowered the knife. "What kind of work?" he asked.

"All will be revealed in time," was the cryptic reply. "For now, know that I will be watching." There was a fluttering of wings and he was gone.

All three occupants of the room stared at the empty spot where the angel had been. "Well that was interesting," Jesslyn quipped. She reloaded her gun and put it back in the bedside drawer. "It's too early to be up. I'm going back to sleep." She flopped onto the bed and pulled the covers up.

Dean sighed and put his knife back under his pillow. He glanced at the tank. The Borrower was still in it. The hunter rubbed his face and shook his head. It was four a.m. Early enough to do some research and find a new case. 

He leaned against the headboard with the laptop in his lap as he scrolled through news articles. They were in luck. There had been a rash of what he was surmising to be demonic possessions. It looked like a demon was joyriding in a meat-suit, doing all sorts of terrible things in it, then ditching the host who was barely alive or entirely dead to deal with the consequences.

"Hot damn," Dean muttered. The little town it was going on in was just a couple hours away. When Jesslyn woke up, they would be off. He rubbed his face and closed the laptop. It was now six-thirty. He sighed and went to take a shower. When he got out, Jesslyn was awake and making coffee in the little pot in the room. She smiled at him, eyeing the way his jeans hung a little low on his hips and the moisture on his chest highlighted the contours of his muscles, especially the V at his hips.

"Hot damn," she purred. "You are one good lookin' undead man." She handed him a cup of coffee. "Black, just like your soul."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Is that where pet names and teasings are going? Undead and a black soul?"

"Yes," Jesslyn said as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Good morning, undead-man-with-a-black-soul." 

He wrapped one arm around her and held her close, kissing her back, before taking a drink from his coffee. "Mm. My soul tastes good." He had to smirk at Jesslyn's laugh. "I found us a case. It looks like a body-jumping demon joyriding then leaving a host to deal with the consequences. Easy hunt."

Sam shuddered. Those words were bad luck for a hunter, even he knew that. Jesslyn didn't seem to mind. "Cocky. Alright. Let me shower and then we can go." She kissed him once more and headed off to the bathroom. Dean watched her go. Rather, he watched her hips as she walked away. 

When she was in the restroom, he walked over to the tank that held the Borrower. His green eyes were hard, cold as emeralds. They took in the small form sitting on the over-sized bed, wrapped in the blanket. Perhaps it was cold in the room to the little creature. It was a bit chilly to him after getting out of the hot shower. Some inkling of sympathy stirred in the man's heart. The thing had stopped with the talk of being his brother and had shown himself to be wholly innocent. He hadn't made a single move to leave or hurt himself or Jesslyn. 

Dean rubbed his face with his free hand as thoughts of "what if" floated in his mind. What if this little being was only trying to escape a hard life? What if it just wanted to be out of the walls and out of danger of being constantly smushed or caught in a trap? Dean's life wasn't exactly the best way to go about being out of danger, but the Borrower didn't know that. He was probably just trying to get a life that didn't involve scavenging scraps. Already the little being was looking healthier than when they found him. He had gained color in his face and his cheeks had filled out. Likely the rest of him had gained a healthy layer of fat as well. 

The jaded hunter turned away and pulled on his shirt and coat. He pulled on his socks and boots and threw his bed clothes into his bag. Now he was ready to go. As soon as Jesslyn was out and dressed, they would find a diner for breakfast then hit the road. He turned back to the Borrower in the tank. The small being was still bundled into the blanket but Dean could pick out a fine tremor running through him now and then.

He reached into the tank and scooped the Borrower up, ignoring the being's surprised shouts and struggles. It was a strange feeling to hold a life so small, so innocent in his hands. He wasn't used to this, hadn't felt this since carrying an infant Sam out of the house fire that took his mother. He wasn't quite sure what to think of it. He pulled his coat back and dropped the Borrower into the pocket of his shirt, blanket and all. Then he let his coat fall back into place, securing the Borrower inside, against his chest and in the cocoon of his body heat.

Sam had, indeed, been shivering. There was a chill in the room to humans, who put off a massive amount of body heat, but to him, who had so little, it was cold. The thin, toy blanket was of little use but it was all he had besides his own clothes. He watched as Dean walked up and watched him, unsure of what was going through his estranged brother's mind. There was a mix of emotions inside Sam when Dean walked away. He was grateful that Dean didn't have a cutting remark about him. He was hurt that Dean still didn't acknowledge him. He was curious as to why Dean was suddenly acknowledging his presence without Jesslyn around.

Then Dean returned after dressing and gathering up his things. His big hand reached into the tank and Sam scrambled backwards, trying to avoid it. He didn't know what the big hunter was going to do and wasn't sure he was ready to trust him since he still seemed to deny his personhood. But it was inevitable that those massive fingers wrapped around him, encircling him in a loose fist. It was surprisingly gentle and even gathered up the all-but-useless blanket. He was lifted into the air, to Dean's pocket on his shirt, then slid in, blanket and all.

The first thing Sam noticed was how warm it was. Here, in the pocket, against his brother's massive chest, it was warm. No chill of the room or of the outside reached here. The second thing he noticed was the rhythmic, steady beating of Dean's heart. There was something soothing about it, something comforting. Sam sighed, pulled the blanket over him and leaned into the wall of muscle behind him. This was better than any bed or nest of fabrics. It was warm and safe and wasn't a tank. It was good. He relaxed further and dozed off. 

It was some hours later when he woke up. Big fingers were reaching into the pocket where he was. He could hear Jesslyn shouting, it almost sounded like Latin. An exorcism. Then she grunted and her words stopped. There was a thud. Sam couldn't quite process what this all meant. He could only see Dean's face, scratched and with a busted lip. 

"This isn't going well," he panted. "You go hide. Don't get caught up in this." He set the tiny person on the floor, next to a wall. "Go hide. Don't come out until this is all over." He stood back up and turned. He scowled when he saw Jesslyn on the floor, unconscious. "Sonnuva..." He growled and advanced.

The demon laughed, eyes blacked over. The meatsuit it was wearing was that of a petite young woman but the voice that came out was eerily distorted. "Look at you, protecting your little brother. It's adorable, really. But I'll eat him up just as soon as I'm done with you." 

Dean scoffed. "My brother is dead. Has been for years." He pulled a bottle of holy water from his pocket. He was going to have to be smart to get this demon distracted enough so he could recite the exorcism. He glanced to the side as Jesslyn moaned, starting to come around. "Jess!" he called. "You okay?"

The demon giggled. "That's hilarious that you think he's dead! Oh so funny. Or are you just trying to pull a fast one on me? Well it ain't happening!" In a blink of an eye, it rushed Dean, grabbing him by the throat and forcing him into the wall. It was strange that someone so petite had so much strength, but that was all thanks to the demon inhabiting the human's body. 

Dean choked and gasped as the demon possessed hand wrapped around his throat and slowly began to crush his windpipe. 

"Dean!" Jesslyn shouted. She pulled herself to her feet and once again began to rattle off the exorcism. She was thrown across the room with a wave of the demon's hand before she could complete the recitation. She slammed into a wall and slumped to the ground, unconscious once again. 

The demon laughed. "Looks like your whore isn't of much use to you. Some good she is! Why do you keep her around? Because she's a good romp in bed?" The demonic laugh echoed again. "Well, neither of you will have to worry about that for long."

Dean couldn't breathe. His struggles were ineffective against the demon. He hit and kicked and clawed but the demon held firm. The holy water had fallen from his hand when he was pinned. The edges of his vision were starting to darken. But he could still clearly see the small figure of the Borrower flying down off the shelf and stabbing the demon in the side of the neck with the tiniest knife he had ever seen.

"What the?!" The demon grasped the tiny person, scowled at it and then chunked it across the room. Dean couldn't breathe or he would have probably screamed as the Borrower collided with a wall and fell to the floor. The hunter was out of options. He didn't know what to do. So he did the last thing he ever thought he would do. He prayed.

Castiel, if you can hear me, I need you! I could use a little help down here. His vision was fading when a brilliant light filled the room. Dean could hear the demon scream. The pressure on his throat vanished and he gasped for air. His vision was restored as he slumped to the ground. Just in time to see the meatsuit with burned-out eyes collapse to the floor. As soon as his lungs could breathe and his brain could process things, he struggled to his feet and stumbled across the room.

Jesslyn was coming around. She woke up to see Dean kneeling, cradling the little Borrower in his hands. She pulled herself to her feet, slowly limped across the room and knelt beside him. He turned and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair and breathing deep. It had been way too close of a call.

Dean stared down at the unconscious small person in his hands. Jesslyn was collapsed against his chest. It had been a hard fight against the demon. They had only won because of the angel calling himself Castiel. The angel of the Lord stood before him, quiet and watching.

"He jumped on the demon and tried to stop him. He didn't even know any exorcism spells but he jumped right in. And got swatted across the room for his troubles." The Borrower was barely breathing. He was already showing signs of bruising where his skin was exposed. "He had this stupidly tiny knife that he stabbed into the thing's neck, as if that would make any sort of difference."

"He was brave," Castiel said solemnly.

"He was stupid!" Dean snapped. "Jesslyn is the one who takes care of him. She's the one who feeds him and cares for him and talks to him. Why the hell would he try to save me? I've never done a damn thing for him."

Castiel looked at him with an inscrutable expression. "Because he loves you."

"Why?! I'm nothing to him!" Dean trembled with exhaustion. 

Castiel gave him that same look once more. "You are his brother." 

That simple statement shocked Dean into silence before he growled back. "My brother died eighteen years ago in a crappy motel. He was killed by a witch. We never found her." That was his greatest failure, his dad always told him, letting his brother die and not avenging him.

Castiel was wholly unmoved by the force of Dean's response. He gave the man a moment before speaking again. "No. He was not killed. He was cursed to live at four inches tall. He was rescued by a family of small folk that lived in the walls of the hotel. He was raised as one of them. He lived there. Until you found him and took him with you."

Dean stared at Castiel. Then he stared at the person in his hand. This, this really was Sam? It wasn't some monster or a spy for one? Guilt flooded him anew. He was awash with it; drowning in it. This was the brother he had mourned, had left for dead and he had treated him like nothing. He had treated him as less than human.

He choked on the guilt and the bile that rose at the thought of what Sam had been through all those years and in the past few months with him. He had been in a car wreck, through multiple hunts and had been relegated to a tank for most of that time. Said tank was still sitting in the back of the Impala, a threat to the small human of what would happen if he didn't follow every order. 

Dean was going to destroy it the first chance he got.

"Sam..." That simple word broke open a wellspring inside of him. Tears he had never shed for his brother flooded him and flooded his face. He sobbed and clutched the tiny person to his chest, aching inside with the pain of grief and joy all mixed into one. "I'm so sorry," he cried. "So sorry." 

Sam didn't move. 

Dean pulled his hand away and nudged the small person. "Sam. Wake up. Sammie, come on. Wake up and talk to me." Images of what had happened to the small would-be hunter flashed in front of him. A feminine hand throwing him across the room. His tiny body colliding with wall, falling to the floor. He was bruised and bloody and probably broken in an uncountable number of places.

Dean looked to Castiel, hope and desperation clear in his eyes. "Please, help him. Heal him." He held his hand out, offering Sam to the angel.

Jesslyn sat back and watched, listening silently. This wasn't for her to intervene with. This was not her moment to speak. If Dean opened up to the Borrower, that was his choice. She would stand by him either way.

Castiel looked down at the small, cursed human in Dean's hands. He studied him for a minute, noting how terrible the person looked. "Would it not be better to let him die so he is no longer cursed?" he asked. His voice was utterly flat and emotionless.

Dean raged. "No it would not! He is my brother and I am not going to screw this up again. Heal him, dammit!"

Castiel looked back at the tiny man. He held one hand out over the small person. A soft glow emanated from his palm, encompassing Sam. The angel looked back to Dean. "He is very injured--"

"I don't care!" Dean snapped. "Heal him."

Castiel stared at Dean for a minute before turning his attention back to Sam. The glow encompassed the cursed human again. 

Jesslyn gave a tired chuckle as she relaxed against Dean's broad chest. "You're such a dumbass. I'm supposed to be the sucker for happy endings."

Dean looked back to her, brow arched. "And you knew this whole time?"

"No. Not the whole time. But I figured the little guy was telling the truth about a week or so ago. He was muttering stuff in his sleep that only a sibling would know. Plus anyone who is willing to stick around you for too long has to be either crazy or family." She grinned up at him.

Dean grunted. "Then what does that make you?"

"A little bit of both at this point," she said with a shrug. 

The glow of Castiel's healing faded and he pulled his hand away. Before Dean could ask what he was doing and demand that he continue healing Sam, the cursed human heaved a desperate gasp of air, coughed a few times before stirring. He pushed himself up on his arms, looked around then looked to Dean. The facial expression of the man was completely different than what he had come to know over the last few months.

Before he could react, he was crushed against the man's chest, the open spot where Jesslyn wasn't, in a facsimile of a hug. "Wha-what?" he stuttered.

"I'm so sorry." It was Dean's voice. But it wasn't strong and stern and full of anger. It was whispered and full of pain and regret and sorrow.

"For what?" Sam asked. He wasn't quite sure how to process this change or what it meant.

"For doubting you. For leaving you behind. For trapping you. For putting you in a tank. For everything." His tone was earnest, pleading for forgiveness. 

It dawned on Sam at that point that Dean finally realized and accepted who he was. The cursed human smiled and leaned into the hug, returning the affection as much as he possibly could. "I forgive you. Just as long as you don't leave me behind again."

"I won't. I promise." Sam could tell the truth in those words. Warmth flooded him, a warmth that had nothing to do with the healing he had just received. 

"Good." He just lay there, soaking up all the affection his brother would give. He had missed this. He wasn't going to squander it by breaking up the moment.

"Hate to be the one to break up the family reunion," Jesslyn said a while later. "But we should leave. We caused a bit of a ruckus here. No telling who will come poking their nose into our business."

Dean reluctantly eased Sam away. "Right." He looked around to thank the angel for healing his brother, but Castiel was already gone. Figures. The celestial being was flighty like that. He let go of Jesslyn and stood to his feet before helping her to hers. They made their way outside, with Jesslyn hobbling and Dean supporting her, and to the car. She sank into the front seat of the Impala with a delighted groan. 

"I'm never moving again," she declared. "I will live and die in this seat."

Dean rolled his eyes. He kept Sam tucked close to him as he opened the back door and grabbed the tank that Sam had been forced to live in for a while. With a mighty heave, he tossed it across the parking lot. The glass enclosure flew for several feet before it collided with the ground and shattered everywhere.

Sam smiled. That was as confirming a sign as Dean's words that he had finally been accepted as real. Life was going to be good from now on. He just knew it.