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.