The first thing Sam noticed was his aching head. He moaned, hands flinging to cover his eyes against the sunlight streaming in, patching through the bits of clean shapes in the kitchen window.
Sam blinked hard, willing his eyes to finally adjust. When they did, he knew something was wrong.
He was still in the filthy kitchen...or at least he thought he was. He sat up slowly, his mind struggling to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.
He was sitting on the floor, no longer on the counter...the counter!
He was sitting on the floor, and he could see the counter! More than that, he could see the small burnt remains of the emerald, the gold around it melted and matted to the countertop.
Sam looked around tentatively. He was sure it was the same room, but suddenly everything looked...well...different.
He had no idea what to make of any of this. He felt like he was in a dream, but one that he had before. It was as though he was viewing his current surroundings through a lens of his childhood memories. It was so easy to forget, this used to be his life.
"Dean?"
He cleared his throat. His voice hoarse, mouth dry. He was LOUD. When the hell did he get so loud?
He wasn't sure he trusted his feet, but he grabbed the countertop and hurled himself up. Vertigo hit him hard, and he grabbed the counter tighter. He was high. No, he was very high!
From his crazy new vantage point, Sam could easily see the room in its entirety. He could even see past the doorway into the living room.
He looked himself up and down, pausing at his hands. Everything looked exactly the same. From his well-made clothes made for him by his adoptive mother, to his trusty satchel still by his side.
His hook was gone through. He had to bend down, far down to see where he had last left it by the counter, in case he would need a quick getaway to the floor. There it was, so small that his very breath could knock it down.
"What the fuck is going on?" He muttered.
He gently picked up his hook, marveling at how minuscule it was. It slid neatly into the palm of his hand, barely covering the small of his palm. This hook could bear his weight and more, and now…
Sam's heart was racing, his palms started sweating around the hook. He carefully placed the hook in the pocket of his jeans, praying it would stay put.
He didn't know what was going on. He was beginning to get more than a little freaked out. Where the hell was Dean?
Sam reluctantly left the kitchen and made his way through the house. It took him record time to search each room and to ascend and descend the stars.
Humans had things so easy, and they had no idea. This was what it was like to open doors, to cross a room with only several large steps.
When he reached the bathroom, he did so with half a mind to look in the mirror, just to be sure he was still him. But it was so caked over with years of grime that it was impossible to get a clear image. Through the filth, the mirror just allowed him to ascertain his own worried expression peering anxiously back at him.
He was completely torn between marvel over his new size, (or was it his old size?) and his growing panic to find Dean.
The last time he had seen Dean, was when the spirit had flung Dean across the room like a rag doll. He heard a loud BANG and Dean swearing in pain, but he was mostly preoccupied with striking his match across his boot and setting the necklace on fire. The fire had caught easily, and he had prayed that it wasn't too late to save them both. While running away from the growing flames that licked around his feet, he saw the spirit burn up in flames and disappear.
That's when things got fuzzy. He knew he slammed his hook in place and was about to climb down to check on Dean, but his memory stopped there.
Did I make the descent? DId I pass out? He wondered, brain aching as he pushed it to remember.
Was he still passed out? Was it possible that this was all just some crazy dream? It wouldn't be the first time that he had a very realistic dream in which he changed size. Somehow this felt different. For one, there were no sprites here. For another, where the hell was Dean?
He returned to the kitchen, dejected.
He slumped down next to the busted refrigerator, taking deep breaths. Panic wouldn't help him figure out what happened, or where Dean was. This was the last place Sam saw him.
He hugged his knees. He found it harder and harder to think of anything else but his brother's absence. The flames on the counter had burned through the precious stone and dimed into embers. Sam stared at the light dancing off what was left of the emerald, thinking about Dean.
Suddenly a tiny sound could be heard to Sam's left. If Sam wasn't so used to listening for small tells, like if a human was in the room, he would have never heard it.
He wheeled around and glancing at the floor by the far corner. He could just make out a dark shape.
He sank to his stomach, hands supporting him, while he inched his head closer to the leg of the fridge, holding his breath.
Dean lay splayed out, half under the fridge, legs sticking out.
He was TINY!
"Holy crap," Sam breathed.
Dean couldn't have been more than three inches and a quarter. For someone of Sam's size...Sam's old size? Well, for one of Sam's people, it was still tall, but Dean had no business being borrower sized, as Dean would call it. As for Sam, he had no business being Dean's size.
More carefully than he had ever done anything, he scooped Dean up into his hands and fought back an impulsive cry of anguish.
He couldn't even tell if Dean was still breathing. He only knew he was alive by the unidentifiable sound he made before.
However, now Dean wasn't moving or making any type of noise. He was eerily still. A speck of red appeared under the finger that was supporting Dean's head.
Sam brought his hand up closer to his face, to get a better look.
He could see his own actions as if he was outside of his own body. He knew exactly what it felt like to be lifted up by nothing more than a hand, closer to a moon-sized face. Instead of piercing green eyes, this time worried hazels peered out at Dean, silently begging for him to be alright.
Sam wanted to check for bruises, check his head wound, feel for air escaping his mouth, but he was too afraid of hurting Dean further.
He hardly weighed a thing in Sam's hand. He was so small, so fragile. What if Sam made it worse? He never had to be so gentle a day in his life.
Most of the tasks he performed required as much strength as possible, not holding back. That was Dean's area of expertise.
He wished he had paid more attention to how Dean did it. He was always too apprehensively focused on the approaching fingers, to notice just how the muscles tensed in concentration.
He felt a surge of appreciation towards Dean followed immediately by dread. He had no idea how to help his own brother. He always thought that getting back to his original human size would take away his feelings of helplessness, but now he felt more helpless than ever. If he was his usual size, he could easily see if Dean was still breathing, without even trying.
"Dean, please, I...I need you to wake up man, Don't make me do this without you…"
Dean's hands rushed up to cover his ears. Sam was too loud and too close. He understood that all too well, but he never fully realized how much control it took.
Sam sighed in relief, his breath rustling Dean's hair, and he moved his hand a little further away sheepishly.
He didn't want to make Dean uncomfortable, but he was just so relieved that he moved, that he was alive!
Dean turned to his side on Sam's hand, curling up into a ball. He fit completely in Sam's palm, with plenty of room to spare.
It was otherworldly. He was holding a living person, his own brother, in his palm. It was just so foreign.
Dean was supposed to be the one holding Sam. Dean was the one who would protect Sam, always there, dependable, and larger than life.
Now...now Sam felt completely useless.
He tried hard to keep his hand steady. He rested his hand flat on his curled knees and waited.
He couldn't exactly go into the car. He had no idea how to drive. He was afraid to even walk them somewhere.
He didn't want to admit it, but the thought of going outside, in the real world, felt fake, wrong, and scary. He felt like he would just be pretending to be a normal person, but deep down, everyone would know that he was really just going through the motions. He knew he was failing Dean already. Five minutes back to human height and the first thing he did was succumb to cowardice.
Where would he even go?
Sam never let himself believe this would happen. Now that it actually did, he was surprised that all he wanted was for things to go back to the way they were. He didn't want to be big at Dean's expense. Sam knew how to be small, and he was realizing more and more, that he not only didn't mind but maybe he even liked it.
Now being faced with the glaring prospect of the real world, it didn't seem all that inviting as it once did in Sam's fantasies.
Sam waited, mulling over his thoughts, wishing he could do more to help. He prayed that Dean would come to on his own, and wished he knew what to do to help him when he did.
