A/N:

Thanks to Icy Icee for the review!

The air was motionless after the gunshot. The man blinked, and Dean was dismayed to see his shot had missed, a bright red dot to the side of the huge eye. He might have blinded the man if it had stayed true.

That's impossible, I never miss-

His train of thought died off as he saw the bullet fall from the wound, the skin sealing behind it. The warlock pulled a napkin from his pocket, holding it delicately between two fingers and dabbing off the blood. "Your brother?" he asked curiously. "Well then. I'll definitely have to bring him here later. He'll be a perfect addition to my collection."

Bowman narrowed his eyes. With the warlock spending so much time taunting Dean, it was hard to get a word in himself. He noticed the nestlings and Rischa crowding the corner of their cage as far away from the human as they could, and his heart sank. There was no telling what they'd already been subjected to.

Whatever he meant about finding and taking their magic, he'd already tried. On children.

Bowman might have bristled at the talk of trapping Sam too, if he wasn't already keyed up. The faint glint of Dean's gun off to the side was strangely small. The loud noise that erupted from it lingered, but not as much as Bowman knew it would if Dean was normal sized. Guns were weapons of thunder and metal and destruction, inscrutable things to the simple knowledge of the sprites.

Bowman paced to one side and then the other. His restless wings tensed, but he kept them folded to his back. No matter how much he wanted to flare them out, this was one time to avoid that.

He'd been called a 'Prime specimen.' An old fear wormed in his gut. The helplessness he'd felt the first time he met a human that called himself a scientist came to mind. Held down against his will, his wings pried open no matter how much he resisted. Stared at with fascination and no regard for his demands otherwise. An object of amusement.

Breath quickening, Bowman glanced to the lock on the door of his cage again. He wished he'd had more time to work at it. He didn't want to be in the cage when the warlock looked back.

Since he couldn't escape that way, Bowman shuffled back to the other side of the cage. He glanced around for some other way out. Finding none, his usual snark made a reappearance. "Looks like you don't have any room for more guests, anyway," he called. "Your head is way too big for anyone else to fit in this room."

Instead of rising to Bowman's insults, the man stepped past Dean's cage, flicking it casually as he walked. Dean was tossed into the bars again, this time slumping down and not getting up. His sharp green eyes watched the declared warlock warily, but pain ghosted across his face.

Pawing through several cluttered shelves, the man took his time sorting through the stuff there. It was like the sprites and Dean had ceased to exist, and they kept quiet in the hopes that he would leave them be.

A futile hope, but hope was needed.

With a cry of victory, the man straightened. Clutched in his hand was a bulky recorder, the dull plastic worn and scratched. Marks on the buttons were rubbed down so much that they shone from the use.

Over by the large desk, there was a chair. This the warlock sat down in, clicking a button on the recorder to begin speaking.

"Latest trial run of the magic was a resounding success; we now have a hunter downsized to a scale proportionate to the sprites. The teleport spell went through without a hitch, but future efforts may have to be suspended. Bringing two like-sized adults was enough to drain off the remaining magic borrowed from Hismael, summoning the demon a third time would be- unfortunate."

Dean scowled. Why's he telling us all this? He pushed himself to his feet, painfully slipping the gun back into his pants. There wasn't enough energy in him to fight back just yet, but he moved closer to the center of the cage, hanging onto every word from the scientist-declared-warlock while he recuperated.

"The hunter's companions remain at large, but are a negligible threat. One is a local teenager, most likely the one to call them in, the other is the size of the sprites, but lacks any of the magic. Once the tests pay off, we'll be able to handle them."

It began to sink in as Dean listened to the baritone rolls of thunder echo off the walls.

The man didn't care what they thought.

To him, they were just a means to an end… he wanted the sprites for their magic, and Dean was merely a threat to be neutralized. What better way to do it than shrink him down, cage him with the sprites? He didn't even have wings to help him escape, or Sam's skills from long years of living like this.

His thoughts were interrupted as the man's attention turned from his desk to Bowman, those cold eyes fastened to the cage.

"The male sprite is a full adult. Hypothesis; their magic grows in strength as they age. Further tests pending, we'll compare his results to subjects 1 through 5. Label subject Prime."

Standing, the man clicked a button and tucked the recorder into a pocket. There was no doubting his intentions as he withdrew a small silver key from the same pocket and went straight for Bowman's cage.

Bowman tensed, like a wound up spring, and could only watch as the human closed the distance to his cage. A million questions ran through his mind, about Hismael and tests. He wasn't ready for that glimmering key to lift closer to the cage. The light from the bulb glinted sharply off the silver.

Bowman shifted his feet as one huge hand steadied the cage. He glanced at the palm pressing lightly against the bars, and then back at the hand holding the key.

He didn't have a lot of time to come up with a plan.

"Stay back," he warned, his wings finally flaring slightly. The lock clinked as the key turned. The human barely bothered to smirk at his empty threat.

They both knew it was empty. Bowman could flare his wings at a squirrel or a bird and it would have an effect. The threat display gave the wild animals an impression of size, confusing them into deciding he wasn't worth bothering with. Humans, unfortunately, never paid it any mind. Sometimes Jacob even poked his wings when he did that.

That had never made Bowman feel so powerless. The hand opening the cage door and slipping in towards him wasn't safe or trustworthy. He didn't have anywhere to go to avoid it, though he shifted from side to side as it approached.

"Leave me alone!" His voice was higher than he wanted it to be.

The hand kept coming, ushering Bowman into a corner. Long, spindly fingers pried behind him and gathered his wings close before tightening around his body. Bowman thrashed, but couldn't stop it. Just like when Jacob had first grabbed him, or Dean, or every other human that did the exact same thing, Bowman was helpless.

He didn't even need to hesitate to go for his usual strategy. He bit down on the thumb coiled in front of his chest.

In an instant, that thumb jerked upwards, forcing Bowman's head back and then settling under his chin while he was dazed from the whiplash. He let out a choked sound as the tight grip around him whisked him out of the cage.

Bowman couldn't move, but not for lack of trying. His neck pained him, but he found an angle to glare at the human as he was drawn up in front of those eyes.

"Aren't you a fighter," the human muttered. Bowman couldn't see the smirk below, but he knew it was there.

"Little hunter, I might just have to give you a treat later for this excellent find. Such a healthy specimen you've given me."

Dean snarled. "Let me out, and I'll give you something else to worry about!" He aimed a vicious kick at the food dish, putting as much energy into lashing out as he had. The burning rage in him wanted an out, but there was nothing for him to focus on but the warlock that was out of reach.

"Temper, temper," the man tutted, like Dean was a pet to be scolded. "If you don't calm down I might have to sedate you. Can't have you injuring yourself, can I?" He smiled, a twisted grin. "That privilege is mine after finding you lurking around my sprite village."

Dean stared back at the man, uncertain for a moment if that was a threat. "They're not your sprites," he said, his voice surly.

"That's funny, because I seem to be the one in charge."

Once more, Dean should have seen the flick against his cage coming as the man passed him by, but he was thrown into the side of the wall regardless of any resistance he could put up. Just like a pet that was misbehaving for an abusive owner. The pain that flared up along his ribs sent him sliding to the floor as the cage swung, his eyes closed to suppress the vertigo.

Bowman's chest heaved in the tight grip around his body. He tried to turn his head to watch the swinging cage, but the thumb under his chin only needed to shift a fraction of an inch to force him to stop. It would be so easy for the human to apply just enough force to cut off his air supply, or to snap his neck entirely. His spine strained.

The human took a seat at his desk once more, keeping that steady, restrictive grip around Bowman's body. A lamp much brighter than the bulb hanging from the ceiling switched on.

"Let's take a look at you, shall we?" the human said. The thumb shifted again, tilting Bowman's head to one side while those unconcerned eyes looked on. He could do nothing but try to keep the human in his sights as his face was examined from all angles.

"Am I pretty enough for you?" Bowman snapped, forcing the words out despite the restriction of his jaw.

Pressure appeared on his throat, there for a second long enough to recognize it but not enough to choke him for real. There wasn't even a flicker in the cold eyes watching him. "Quite lovely," the human dismissed dryly. "Hush."

The other hand moved in Bowman's peripheral vision, setting the recording device on the workbench. A red light blinked, and the human spoke. "Prime subject has a healthy complexion. Lean, suggesting high physical fitness, will test at a later time."

"Pray to a ro- gah!" Bowman's insult ended in another bout of pressure against his neck. Again, it didn't last, but was calculated enough to make a point. He coughed once.

"Much more defiant and aggressive than subjects one through five," the human went on. His eerie demeanor filled the air with a strange feeling. He had so much interest in Bowman, but not as a person. Not in what he had to say.

The grip around his body finally loosened. Bowman tugged his arms free before the thumb under his chin pressed against his middle and pinned him again. He was higher in the unrelenting grip, so more of him was visible. He pushed against the thumb to no avail. Humans were too strong.

Bowman glanced past the human to the other hanging cages. He was briefly glad that, with the focus on him, the nestlings were safe. He kicked his legs as much as he could in the tight grip, wishing he could be of more help to them. The human's pulse thrummed calmly around him.

Another hand appeared and Bowman tried even harder to twist out of the grip around him. Memories came back to him, a kaleidoscope of every time he'd been grabbed by a human he didn't know. Even Jacob and Dean had trapped him in their fists at first. No matter how much trust he had for them now, the helplessness bolted through him and quickened his breathing as memories stacked on top of reality.

A finger and thumb pinched around his arm. "Stop it!" he cried out, trying to wrench his arm free. It was forced out to his side, locked in the human's grip.

"Earlier hypotheses have been confirmed," the human noted for his recorder. "The fully developed physiology of the Prime subject suggests that these sprites forego brute strength in favor of dexterity."

Bowman's arm was released, but it was no relief. The fingers immediately went to the nearest wing, still partially trapped in the fist. Bowman tried to lean away, to keep it safe, but there was no avoiding that grasp pinching harshly around the outer edge of his wing, tugging it free of the other hand only to stretch it out as far as it would go.

Bowman's struggles ceased entirely. He kept his eyes on the wing, his pride and joy, held like a toy in the human's fingers. It would only take one wrong move to hurt it beyond repair. Bowman trembled.

"Don't you fucking dare touch his wings," Dean raged, punching his fist angrily against the wall of his cage. The bars stung, but nowhere near as much as the memory of how panicked Bowman could get if anyone reached for his wings. The sprite had explained how important they were for his people, the way they gained energy and sustenance, not to mention got around in the giant forest.

In Dean's urgency, he'd forgotten about the children as he cussed out the so-called warlock, unable to see anything but how Bowman was frozen in place, terror in those bright green eyes. There was no guarantee that this stranger wouldn't maim any of them because he could, with his experimenting and his detached nature. Not an ounce of caring was in the man, aside from what he could learn from them.

Bowman blinked quickly while his wing remained stretched out for the human to look it over. Dean's yelling was a background noise, but served to jog him out of his frightened trance. Not enough to struggle, but enough to snark. "Let go of my wing!" he demanded.

The human ignored the sprite as easily as he ignored Dean. Instead, he pushed the wing back towards Bowman so it was half folded. "Range of mobility of the wings appears standard to bats more than birds," he noted. "More tests will be needed later after I compare the dimensions."

He forced Bowman's wing through more motions, even shifting his pinch grip to the wristbone at the top. Bowman winced when the pressure built on it. "Blast it, you're gonna break something!" he groused. He remembered saying the same thing when he first met Jacob.

"Not by accident," the human snipped back, quick as a whip. Before Bowman could be properly chilled by the statement, his wing was released. His stomach did flips as the human lowered him to the metal surface of the work bench, opening his hand only to flatten it over Bowman, pinning him down.

While he struggled under the weight of a hand, Bowman watched the other one warily as it reached for the clutter at the back of the desk. As usual, the human talked to himself while he rummaged. "The magnetic clamps worked well on subjects one through five. Subject Prime looks to be stronger than they, but not enough to pull loose."

Bowman frowned. He could swear that Jacob had explained what magnetic meant at some point. The word was foreign, but familiar. Soon enough, whatever it was approached in the human's grasp.

The hand on top of him shifted so the fingertips were pressed down on him instead of the whole hand. His legs were held down with a thumb, and something looped around his ankles. His wrists were next, try though he might to squirm out of the way. The human had too much practice with tiny limbs like his. Bowman would bruise, but nothing broke as his hands and feet remained secure in some kind of plastic bands.

When he tried to lift off the surface of the table, he couldn't. Bowman strained and writhed against them, his wings curling and twitching underneath him, but it was as if the human had placed the weight of the world on those bands. Above, the human merely watched as he fought and struggled with all he had.

"What is this?!" Bowman demanded with a glare. "More magic?"

"Use all the strength you have," the warlock said, and Bowman couldn't tell if it was a taunt or a real suggestion. Then, he went right back to talking for his recorder instead. "Subject appears unable to separate the magnets from the table, but I won't leave him unattended with them just in case."

Huge, all-eclipsing hands returned. Bowman tried again to squirm away from them, but with the 'magnets' pinning him down, he couldn't escape. One wing was tugged open, forced flat against the table. He almost expected another plastic loop around part of his wing.

Then, he wished that was what happened, instead of what he got. A clamp, absolutely tiny in the human's fingertips, was secured around the wrist of his wing and tightened. Bowman yelped in pain as the vice secured his sensitive wing. It was attached to another magnet, stuck fast to the table.

The outermost tip of his wing received another clamp, and Bowman bit back a grunt of pain. "Get these stupid things off of me!"

His other wing got the same treatment, and Bowman couldn't move his wings without straining them or risking tearing them. His chest heaved with exertion and his hands curled into fists.

Remembering why the scientist had taken sprites in the first place, Bowman was glad it was him stuck there, staring up, and not one of the nestlings. If the man knew that Rischa had the strongest spiritual connection out of any of them, Bowman wasn't sure if he could protect her. He could at least try to keep the attention on himself.

"Feel tough, freak?!" Bowman spat.

"Mixin' magic and science, never a good plan."

Dean's method this time wasn't to yell at the giant. His voice was taunting and knowing, long years of experience with magic behind it. He'd seen a lot of magic in his time, even participated in certain rituals and spells.

"Anything that affects the natural world can be identified and quantified," the warlock muttered, his focus remaining on Bowman, but he almost sounded like he was arguing with himself instead of Dean.

Dean shook his head ruefully. "So says the man who thinks he can control everything that happens with a few little spells. It's like building a home made of wishes and sticks. One good blow comes, it'll all fall down."

"So says the hunter who can't even escape one little cage." The man turned in his seat, briefly distracted from the sprite, for which Dean was grateful. "What could you know about magic? You kill whatever you find that's interesting."

"Oh, I know a thing or two," Dean said smugly. "Enough to make me dangerous."

"I'm shaking," the warlock replied. He waved a dismissive hand towards Dean's cage before turning away. The cage swayed like before, though it was more of a warning than yet another blow. The strikes could lose their meaning if used too much.

Besides. Anyone who looked could see that the tiny hunter had distinct issues with heights.

A/N:

Things are getting rougher here, so CW for language and torture themes!

Hismael, the demon of acquisition. Very useful for a warlock looking to acquire some tiny sprites.

Cowritten by PL1, the creator of the Wellwood sprites and Jacob Andris!

Beta read by creatorofuniverses on tumblr.

Leave us a review to let us know what you think!

Next: August 9th, 2020 at 9pm