A/N:
**Please see Chapter 1 for all warnings!** Don't like it? Don't read it!
Thank you Christine, goldacharmed and Kajensen07 for the great reviews!
For the first ten minutes since the others had left, Dean simply watched the opening that lead into the bowels of the motel expectantly.
It didn't take long after that to realize that the expedition into the walls might take some time, when he took the size of Sam and Bowman versus the size of the motel into consideration. Instead of sitting there and holding his breath while he watched for them to return to the room, he decided he might as well do a quick scan of the room. Grabbing his other flashlight from an inside pocket in his jacket, this one the length of his hand, he started to scan every part of their room to make sure no stone was left unturned.
He felt like he was pretty much twiddling his thumbs in the room while they went out into danger, but he couldn't bring himself to go back over to the table to work on the research. If they needed help when they got back, he would be there for them.
Nothing stood out, so he ended up abandoning that train of thought. In the end, by the time a small flashlight came skidding out of the small opening, he was just sitting next to the dresser again.
Waiting.
Hearing the small scrape down on the ground, Dean shifted his attention from his thoughts to the wall. He drew away in brief surprise when he saw a mouse slip out of the opening, the last thing he'd ever expected. He held off any instinct to swat the rodent away when he realized that sitting astride its neck, black hoodie standing out against a storm grey coat, was Jacob.
Jacob.
Still tiny and still battered to hell, but he was there. He was back, safe in the room.
On a mouse.
Dean couldn't hold in a smirk at the unexpected sight. "I see we should sign you up to be a mouseketeer," he joked as he slid down onto his stomach to be more level with the others. Before he could go on with the joke, Sam and Bowman made their way into the room and derailed his train of thought.
Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Holy crap! Sam, are you okay?"
Sam's arms and chest were covered in blood, and he held out a bloody knife in a defensive style that Dean recognized as one he'd taught the smaller hunter. The only part of Sam that didn't seem touched by the drying blood was his pants.
At the sound of Dean's loud voice, the mouse squeaked in surprise. Sam ended up with the mouse huddled behind his legs, nudging the back of his knees as it tried to hide from Dean.
Jacob was carried along by the mouse's whims, hidden behind Sam. While his eyes adjusted to the light, he ruffled the fur between the mouse's soft ears, trying to calm it down. It had been bold to come into the room with Dean right there, and Jacob could keenly feel the little heart pounding and the lungs working quickly.
"Shh, bud, it's alright," Jacob muttered, too quiet for anyone but the mouse to hear. It was almost surprising how quickly he'd gone from being wary of the mouse to being fond of it. The fact that it had saved his life notwithstanding, Jacob was amazed by its quick thinking and intelligence. "He's just loud, not gonna hurt anyone."
He had to hang on when the mouse, deciding it was safe to do so, sat back on its haunches to clean its paws again. It swept them neatly over its whiskers and ears and gave a quiet squeak. Jacob would almost guess the fuzzy thing was relieved.
Sam wavered for a moment, the adrenaline almost worked out of his system in the long walk back to the room. "Uh…" he stared at the knife in confusion for a moment. "There was a rat that almost got Jacob. I took it out." He held his arms out to the sides, trying to show Dean he was fine. "It didn't get me, but Jacob got scratched." He put a hand out, gently trying to cajole the mouse out from behind his legs so Dean would be able to see their friend.
Bowman rubbed his eyes to get used to the brighter light again. He was faring better than Jacob, since he didn't have to sit in the pitch black for so long. He rustled his wings, scowling over his shoulder as the drawings and writings on it became starkly visible again. What he wanted was to get them clean immediately.
"You think Sam looks bad, you really should see the rat," Bowman mused. "That thing was longer than my wingspan."
"Yeah, I was ... I was totally gonna take care of it myself, but then Sam showed up and I had to see him in action," Jacob cut in, speaking up for Dean to be able to hear his soft voice. When the mouse finally inched around Sam, sniffing at the hand he held up, Jacob took a chance and slid off its back, getting his feet on the carpet. Even the worn out fibers rose past his ankles. He was so tiny.
The mouse warbled out a concerned squeak and turned to him, blinking its big eyes at him and settling close. Jacob had to grin when it nuzzled at his cheek again as if checking on him.
Dean watched all four of them on the ground, eyes still wide at the sight of Sam covered in gore, yet offset by the sight of Jacob being nuzzled by a mouse. He gave Sam a light nudge in the side to make sure there weren't any flickers of pain that his little brother was hiding. With all of them out in the open and safe with him, his instincts demanded he check to make sure Sam was really okay before anything else. He had to. "We've got to get you guys cleaned up."
When all he got was an annoyed grimace in return, and a small hand shoving his finger away, Dean backed off with a hand held out in mock surrender. "You're like the returning heroes in a movie. You slayed the dragon and returned home with the princess and her royal steed." He reached a finger out and carefully rubbed the head of the mouse. This time, with the distraction of Jacob and Sam steady by their side, Dean didn't get the fearful reaction from before. It brushed one of its ears down with a tiny paw.
Jacob's jaw dropped and he felt his face start to burn. He saw the bemused smirk on Bowman's face and knew he must be blushing fire from that comment. The worst part about the whole analogy was that Jacob couldn't even deny waiting around for a rescue. That was literally what he did. It was his best bet survival wise, but it still didn't make him look good now.
"Well ... hey, I kept myself alive, I masked my scent and everything," he pointed out indignantly, brushing his sleeve. To prove his point, a small puff of dust flew off of it.
The mouse shook its head and gave a disapproving huff, stirring up the little cloud.
"Only reason the rat even found me is because it whacked me with its tail." Jacob's excuses didn't make the red dissipate in his cheeks, so he shrugged exasperatedly. "Whatever man. The 'dragon' didn't bite my head off so I think we're all winners here, myself included."
Bowman snickered, but the tears in Jacob's small jacket drew his gaze. The sight reminded him of an important detail they were all overlooking. "Maybe not, but it did scratch you," he pointed out. With a flicker of his wings that sent the dust spiraling away, the sprite added "You need to clean that up."
Dean shook his head, still amused. "You all need to clean up," he agreed, eyeing the markings that still covered Bowman's wings and finding himself curious about the extra squiggles between the words. Like a little kid had been let loose in the house with a sharpie.
He dropped a hand near the others, earning a curious sniff from the mouse. "I've got some alcohol wipes in my bag," he said to Jacob. "Once you get the dust off we can fix you up. We need to make sure you don't get infected."
Sam went to offer Jacob a hand, but found himself plucked up by the back of his jacket and deposited on the hand before he could do anything.
"No offense dude, but I think Bowman can give Jacob a hand today." Dean grinned proudly. "You're just a little bloody there, mighty rat slayer."
"Hey, I'd like to see you take on a rat three times your size," Sam grumbled as he crossed his arms to wait. He tapped a foot impatiently, grouchy he'd been consigned to the hand while the others did all the work helping Jacob out.
Jacob took a step towards the huge hand, trying not to think about the fact that alcohol wipes sounded awful. He already anticipated the sting of the chemical would be much worse than the sting of getting the scratch in the first place. There were no grounds for him to argue against it, knowing that an infection at his current size would do him in too quickly to even have a chance of beating it.
A nudge on his shoulder drew his attention back to the mouse. It squeaked at him. Jacob grinned and scratched under its chin, the storm grey fur softer than anything Jacob had ever felt before. "Thanks for getting me back safe, bud," he told it, and the mouse swished its tail back and forth a few times. One last nuzzle on his chin, long whiskers brushing his dust covered cheeks, and the mouse turned and slipped back into the wall.
Bowman stooped to offer Jacob a hand once he'd sent the rodent back into the walls where it made its home. At least now, it had the added bonus of the rat being taken care of thanks to Sam's quick thinking and fast actions. With Jacob safely sitting on Dean's palm, Bowman stepped back from the hand to spread his woefully-besmirched wings, ready to take flight once Dean stood.
Once they were all settled, Dean hauled himself back to his feet. Sam swayed in place, so he pulled the hand close against his chest, cupping the second around even for just the two steps it took to get back to the nearby table. He brushed off a few wrappers left from his snacks earlier before lowering the hand down to let the two off.
On the table, Sam tried to peel off his blood-covered jacket, wincing at the sticky feeling the dried blood had left on his arms as he did so. The trip back to the room had taken them half an hour, maybe longer. He didn't have any way to tell the time that wasn't either on Dean's wrist or in the motel room.
Dean stepped away from the table, trying to think of what they could all use to clean. Hopefully the marks would come off of Bowman's wings… he couldn't imagine how angry Bowman would be if he couldn't get the marks off. Not to mention if the sprite's natural camouflage was ruined, it would lower his chances of survival in the forest, making him easier to spot.
And all because he was helping out the humans that had kidnapped him a year ago.
Dean grabbed the soap dish from the nightstand, and eyed the small Dixie cups that were left near the coffee pot. They should be about the right size for Sam and Bowman to use…
He took everything over to the bathroom sink, running the water at a warmer temperature. Filling two cups and the shallow bowl that was used for soap, he gathered up everything, plus one of the few remaining clean rags in the room. He might have to grab some extras off the cleaning woman's cart sometime the next day. At this rate, they'd have nothing clean and there was no way he'd ever let a maid into his room. Aside from the fact that they might see the massive amount of weapons or catch sight of his store of fake ID's, Sam's stuff was around and would raise suspicion if it was ever found. The DO NOT DISTURB sign was left on the door at all times.
Dean might be paranoid, but considering his lifestyle and the size of his brother and his friends, he couldn't afford to let his guard down.
He set up the supplies on the table, leaving the two cups of water, the shallow bath, the rag, and a bar of soap, along with the small caps from the shampoo and conditioner full for the others to use and settled himself at the table. He dragged his duffel over and started to go through the pockets to find the alcohol pads in the first aid kit.
Jacob, still sore from all of his ordeals but not as hungover this time, had less difficulty hoisting himself into the soap dish full of water. Almost immediately the dust he'd coated himself with drifted away from him in the soothing warm liquid. That dust had possibly saved his life, buying him just barely enough time for Sam to come to his aid, but it was uncomfortable and scratchy and he was glad to be able to get rid of it.
Bowman watched to make sure Jacob wasn't going to slip and hurt himself in his dish of water. The small human scrubbed at his dust covered clothes, which he hadn't even bothered to brush off first. His hooded jacket remained on as Jacob ducked under the water to comb vigorously at his brown hair with his fingers, and the tiny hood wavered behind him. Bowman frowned when he saw the faintest trickle of blood at Jacob's back, filtering away from him like the tiniest red wisp of smoke. Concern rose up in him for his best friend.
Bowman turned to his own large basin of water. With a frustrated huff, he held his wing in front of himself to see the damage. Bowman's disgusted scowl settled onto his face and he dipped a hand into the water, scooping it onto the carefully-angled wing. At first, he thought the water was having no effect whatsoever on the markings. He breathed a sigh of relief when the ink started to run, coming up with some effort scrubbing. The process would probably take him a little while, but when it came to caring for his wings, Bowman spared no expense.
After several minutes of carefully getting rid of every last piece of drywall and sawdust stuck to him, Jacob climbed out of the soap dish with only a little extra difficulty than when he got in. The slick sides combined with the fact that he was already shivering from cold hindered him just enough. At least the washcloth Dean had set aside worked quickly to get him dry.
That done, he unzipped the black hoodie and shrugged it off, wincing when the action agitated his many accumulated bruises and now four shallow but stinging cuts on his back. Jacob examined the jacket in his hands, finding four holes torn in the back that he could fit a few fingers through. So much for that jacket. His shirt probably hadn't fared much better.
Sam did the same as the others. With his front completely soaked in blood, he had to pull off his formerly grey t-shirt. That got dropped on top of his discarded jacket. Hopefully they'd come clean, but he knew with blood that was a losing battle.
Bare chested, he took a moment to dispassionately examine the stains on him. Only his forearms and chest were completely covered. The rest of him had escaped with blood splatters. With a sigh, he made his way over to his own cup of water the scrub off the gore.
While the others were hard at work, Dean, having found his alcohol pads, rested his head on one arm. He left the first aid supplies alongside his arm.
It was almost fascinating to see Sam with his jacket and shirt off. The kid was sheer muscle from head to toe after years of climbing and survival. Even Dean could see the muscles ripple when he moved. Sam dipped both arms into the water up to the elbows and started to scrub. A red cloud billowed in the water.
To avoid staring and making Sam self-conscious, Dean turned his attention to Bowman. While the sprite began to work on one wing, Dean pinched the other, cautiously opening it up a little. Bowman threw a glance over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the grip on his wing, but he didn't stop Dean; his handling was far, far gentler than when he'd scooped Bowman and Sam up like toys and stretched Bowman's wing out near its tearing point. Bowman trusted the human now, even if it felt weird to have someone open up his wing like that.
There were doodles between all the words of the strange man's clue, like a kid had just started drawing every crazy design they could think of. "He really did a number on your wings," Dean commented, remembering the sprite's surprised convulsions when the markings first appeared. "Do you need anything else to clean these?"
Bowman paused in his scrubbing for a moment. The ink, whatever it was made of, was tough but it was coming off of the leafy membrane of his wing. At least he didn't seem to be rubbing anything raw; even just gliding would sting fiercely and only serve to aggravate the sprite even further. Who did this guy think he was, messing with Bowman's wings?
The sprite shrugged, though he still didn't tug his wing away from Dean. The human was only curious about the stupid markings. Bowman would be too, if they weren't written on him. "I don't know if anything else will do it faster," he admitted. "I just wish that mushroom heap hadn't left his stupid clue on my wings. I can still feel this ink, it's awful." It was the faintest feeling, as though something was crawling on him.
Jacob frowned at the expression on Bowman's face, seeing both annoyance and dismay. The sprite was more upset about things than he let on, and it was obvious to his miniaturized best friend. It wasn't often that Bowman looked really harried. He usually just played up his agitation with things for show (and sometimes for an excuse to try to bop Jacob on the head, though Jacob had been getting pretty good at waving him away).
While Dean held Bowman's wing open and stared curiously at the markings on it, Sam made his way over to the alcohol pad, scooping it up. He sat next to Jacob's bowl, yawning. "Lemme know when you're ready," he said, exhaustion coming over him. The thought that he really needed to ask Dean to grab him his bag of clothes came over him for a moment before slipping away again.
Jacob sighed and glanced up at Sam, knowing he was the cause for both of their states. Sam may have been victorious against the rat, but he was exhausted and he looked it. What could Jacob say? Sorry I'm tiny and completely useless against whatever this creep throws my way was a little too self-deprecating, and saying it out loud would only be discouraging.
He didn't need to make them deal with how shitty it made him feel. He could handle it without adding something new to their pile of worries.
"Yeah, I guess I'm ready," Jacob finally answered, going to lift up his own shirt. The scratches were long and narrow, and obscured almost completely by the dark blue fabric except for the row of four matching holes in the shirt. He winced when the motion caused the still damp fabric to slide past the cuts, making them sting. Unfortunately, that was nothing compared to what was coming.
Jacob was almost surprised himself at the state he was in once he pulled his shirt over his head. His torso was like one mottled bruise after all of his accumulated experiences. His front and sides sported angry purple and some red from the contusions, many of them from being pinched tightly in a rough grip. Others were from jostling around with coins heavier than him, and the rest ... Jacob had to clench his jaw and force the thoughts away before memories of being trapped in a mouth overwhelmed him yet again.
The cuts that began on his back, innocuous seeming things from where the rat's claws dug into him, were the most life-threatening. It had wrapped its enormous paws around him with ease, trapping his arms and leaving his kicking legs next to useless. Those gigantic rodent teeth would have shredded into his torso, leaving Jacob bleeding out fast and gasping for breath when all he could get into his lungs was blood. When the rat lifted Jacob up to strike, those claws had dragged towards his side, leaving the four parallel scratches easily visible on his back. Any one of them could get an infection that would kill him.
Jacob sat down, trying to look over his shoulder at the injury but unable to see it. He knew he put himself low for Sam's reach, but standing might result in him flinching away, only prolonging the process. "Well, here goes nothing, right?"
Dean finally released Bowman's wing, letting the sprite fold it back down as his attention was caught by all the injuries that covered Jacob's torso. His breath caught in his throat at the sight, and it was made worse by the reminder that he'd caused some of them. The memory of Jacob dangling in midair in a stranger's grasp rose to the front as well; Dean might have been able to catch him as he fell, but there was almost no chance of Jacob coming out of it uninjured. Dean tucked both arms beneath his head and settled to watch over them as Sam took care of the injuries.
Sam stretched a hand out, lightly touching at the marks. His hand alone covered almost the entirety of Jacob's back without a problem. He carefully traced the scratch marks. "Thank god they aren't any deeper," he said, relieved.
"You might want to hold your breath," Sam warned as he took his hand back and ripped open the packet. The pungent odor of the alcohol rolled forth, surrounding them as he pulled out a wipe the size of a wet blanket.
Jacob had to suck in a quick breath and clamp a hand over his mouth and nose as the smell of the alcohol settled around him. The fumes were always heady, but he'd never realized how much they'd affect someone with smaller lungs. His lungs were absolutely tiny. One of his eyes shut, already watering, before Sam even finished his explanation.
"On three, alright?" Sam said. "One ..."
The fumes themselves actually felt like they prickled at the cuts. Or, it might have been his imagination. Jacob couldn't be sure, but he began to tense up wondering how amplified the stinging would be when-
"Two."
Sam touched it against Jacob's back early, breaking the anticipation that would make the small hunter stiffen up on 'three.' It was an especially effective method if anyone ever dislocated a shoulder.
Jacob straightened up and his held breath rushed out of him in surprise. "Fuck!" he wheezed, his sense of climbing anticipation broken entirely as liquid fire seeped into his tender skin. The burn lasted for a few seconds before calming back down, feeling like simple cool liquid in place of the fiery sensation.
Jacob sighed, feeling the medicine already drying out on his skin. "Shit, dude. You really got me there," he admitted with a breathy chuckle, before covering his mouth and nose again to guard against the lingering fumes.
Sam gave a slight laugh at that as he finished up, eyeing the raw cuts as he pulled away the wipe. "Better than an infection, trust me." He tossed the wipe as far behind him as he could.
It was immediately swept away by Dean, who'd noticed both of their reactions to the pungent fumes during its use. Crumpling it in a hand, he grabbed the wrapper as well and tossed them into the nearby trash to discard them.
Sam frowned slightly at the marks. "We should try and wrap those cuts," he stated. "That way no infection sets in, especially since your clothing… has been through a lot the last few days." He glanced up at Dean beseechingly, who caught onto the same line of thought immediately.
The normal methods of wrapping wouldn't apply here. Gauze would be riddled with holes at this size and just about useless to wrap up Jacob's chest. Bandaids were out of the question. The sticky substance used to adhere them to skin was too powerful for Sam's skin, nevermind Jacob. If they tried to remove it, it could very easily take his skin along with it.
Instead, Dean ended up grabbing one of Sam's extra blankets, slicing off an edge of the thin fabric. Sam took it and wrapped up Jacob's chest, covering up the bruises and the cuts alike. "Maybe it'll help cushion against more damage," Sam said hopefully. "With any luck we can keep you from getting any more bruises." He finished with a twist, wrapping it so it wouldn't fall off.
Jacob didn't once argue against having the cuts bandaged up, though it momentarily struck him how closely the others were paying attention. Even Bowman glanced over from his diligent work cleaning his wings to see that Jacob was getting his injuries properly covered. Once the bruises and cuts disappeared behind a layer of thin fabric, the sprite focused again on his own marks. Jacob felt for a second like a little kid.
"Thanks," he said, gladder than ever that, regardless of how small and helpless he was, he wasn't on his own. If he'd been dropped into this situation without any way to get his friends' help, Jacob would probably already be dead. The guy who'd done this to him wasn't exactly pulling any punches.
Jacob pulled his shirt back over his head, careful not to get it caught on Sam's bandaging work and pull it off. He eyed the holes in his hoodie once more before pulling it back on over his arms. Maybe his clothes had been through a lot of shit, but they were literally the only thing in the world sized properly for him. He wasn't about to let go of them so easily when that hoodie was the only thing he had to keep the chill at bay.
"Hey, good as new, right?" he quipped, trying for a nonchalant grin. It mostly worked, though Jacob knew he was just getting more and more bedraggled with each trial thrown his way. At least he'd managed to get plenty of sleep before being thrown into the walls. He was exhausted now, but he might have passed out if not for that.
"Right," Sam said dryly. He brushed his hands off before standing up, wavering in place from his own exhaustion. He'd never taken on a rat like that on his own before. Walt would be impressed with him for triumphing without getting any strikes. Taking on an animal like that was easier when you had backup distracting it from any attacks.
A/N:
Dealing with the aftermath of the rat.
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Next: February 11th, 2018 at 9pm.
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