"What the fuck!" Bobby blurted, flinching in sheer surprise at the sight (and feeling) of a tiny man climbing on him. His icy blue eyes widened slightly when he noticed how easily those tiny fingers found purchase in the weave of his shirt, and for a moment he was simply a fascinated kid.

It didn't last.

His look hardened and his hand released Scar's wing only to rush at Sam. He slammed his palm against the tiny thing, pressing him for a disorienting moment between a palm and his chest before his fingers curled yet again around the little guy.

"What the fuck," he echoed, pulling Sam away from himself and glaring at him. Each fist was occupied now by a tiny, glaring man who thought he still had a chance. "Do you need more fucking incentive here, squirt? I can still pin you to a board, you know."

"But you won't, will you?" Scar snarled, pausing in his struggles to glare at Bobby. Then his expression turned into a smirk. "If you wanted to really hurt us, you'd have done so already, you insolent giant. Your words are empty. You might have captured us, but you still haven't gotten my attention."

Bobby scowled for a long time, glancing between the two of them. He tried to decide what he should do about the shit talking. He couldn't just let that slide.

He couldn't let anyone be right but himself.

"Incentive it is," he muttered, before moving the hand with Sam back over the desk and releasing him a few inches above the hard surface.

In an instant, that hand had pinched Scar's wing again, this time finding the wrist at the very apex. His thumb and first finger closed around a pressure point where all of the fingerbones of the wing connected to the main arm, and Scar grimaced as pressure increased.

Bobby glanced down at Sam and smirked pointedly. Then, after just a bit more pressure, he felt what he was after and the sprite's scream of pain finally escaped him.

"Leave him alone!" Sam shouted. He could feel Bobby's eyes boring into him but couldn't take his gaze away from the sprite as he writhed in pain. Sam might not have wings like the sprites, but after a lifetime growing up with them, he understood far too well how much pain it caused if there was a break. Helping raise a little brother who could fly included a lot of lessons in wing care.

A tear snuck its way out of Sam's eye. He was useless. If he attacked again, Scar would get hurt even worse. Same if he tried to escape.

Deep breath. Sam steeled himself. "What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly, forcing himself to meet Bobby's eyes. The prickle on his neck was almost burning, and he pushed that out of his mind.

Bobby grinned triumphantly. Sam's submission combined with the sprite's rapidly weakening struggles put him in a much better mood than moments before. This was progress. It was unfortunate that he'd had to damage the wing like that, but it didn't feel like a completely irreparable break.

It would serve him very well in the long run, so long as they continued to comply with him.

"I want you to put your weapons down on the desk. Removing temptation will help you, I think," he decided with a faint nod. A little bit more control at a time was a step in the right direction.

"As for you," he continued, finally looking away from Sam to look at Scar. He let go of the wing, which fell to hang limply out of his fist while the little sprite squirmed. The grimace of pain remained, however, and it was clear that his heart wasn't in it at the moment. "I want you to stop with the backtalk. Squirt here is feisty enough without you riling him up."

With that, he lowered his hand to release Scar to the desk near Sam, and the sprite collapsed to his hands and knees immediately, wings crumpling around him and quivering from the pain. Scar breathed quick and ragged, but didn't make a sound after his initial cry of pain.

Sam watched, his lips thin as he saw his mentor in so much pain. But he couldn't go to Scar just yet to check on those wings. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that he was going to need what first aid they could manage.

First things first.

The rapier at Sam's side had been earned, back when he first became a knight. It would be painful to let it go, but he doubted Bobby would return the weapons. His motions were stilted as he pulled it free of his belt, staring down at the metal edge. His reflection stared back at him, grimy and harried from a night of being trapped and abused.

Sam's knife… that was tucked away in its hiding place in his jacket. He didn't know if Bobby remembered that he had it, and he didn't know if the human would even recognize its hiding place if he tried. Sam was the only person among the sprites to have such a weapon concealed on him at all times, and it was more than just for protection.

It was his only connection to Dean.

Sam knelt down, laying the rapier down on the table with a certain kind of reverence. He brushed his hand over the blade one last time, knowing it might be the last time he saw his trusty weapon.

Then he stepped away, and glanced up at Bobby.

Bobby nodded approvingly. "Good," he said with a smirk. Everything in his expression exuded smug triumph and the fact that he knew how much pride he was dealing with. How much pride he was working to break. "I suppose lookin' like a badass little action figure got to your head. But you're making good progress, squirt, so I'll forgive you."

His hand swooped down and his thumb and first fingers pinched around Sam to lift him up. Bobby brushed at Sam's little jacket, poked at his tiny boots, even tilted his chin to see his face from different angles. "You really are spritely, aren't you? Too bad all you got is fake wings." He set Sam down again, as abruptly as always, near where Scar still knelt on the desk. "Least you don't have to deal with a break like that."

Sam caught his balance, and gave Bobby a wide-eyed look. He counted himself lucky to have escaped unscathed so far with the human's less-than-gentle handling. Not to mention his knife remained hidden away in his jacket, an ace he needed to keep out of sight unless absolutely necessary.

They couldn't lose their last weapon.

Bobby didn't reach for him again, so Sam scrambled to his feet and darted over to Scar. "Don't move it," he cautioned as he gently helped Scar into a better position. "We need a way to splint this so it doesn't get any worse."

Scar winced and a hiss of pain escaped his clenched teeth. He ended up sitting on the desk with one wing tightly furled to his back to keep it out of the way, while the other quivered and stuck out at a strange angle. The apex of his wing, the wrist, couldn't easily hold up the weight of the rest of it, but propping the wing on the desk was painful, too. Sam was right.

"Sword belts," Scar determined in a quiet, gruff voice. He was already slipping his own belt away from his waist, and it was alarmingly light without his trusted sword on it. That was lost out in the woods, possibly for good.

The human above them merely stared, a grim fascination on his face. It didn't look like he cared what they did, so long as they complied with his wishes and didn't backtalk. Scar looked away from him before he could start glaring again. The last thing he wanted was to break another blasted bone. One already sent his nerves into overdrive assessing the damage.

He cast his gaze instead on the clutter around them on the desk. Aside from the tall jar, there were several things made of plastic and metal that Scar didn't recognize. He did recognize a few pens, like the one Sam had arrived with, but much much bigger. "That curled, metal thing," he said, pointing at a stray paper clip. "Would that work?"

Sam nodded as he got up. "Paperclip. And yeah. It can be shaped." He could remember bending a few out of shape when he was just a kid, only back then he could do it with two fingers. Now, the paperclip itself was the length of his arm.

For ages he'd wondered what it might be like to go back to the world he'd once known. How different everything would look and how strange he'd feel amidst everyday objects that loomed over him.

Not once had he expected this. To feel like a toy instead of a person, to have someone declare ownership of them. Like nothing more than one of those pens that sat on the desk nearby.

Dean, we could really use you here.

The thought of his giant older brother, the right size to bust down the door to Bobby's house and scoop them all to safety, was an image Sam held on to for a brief second before he put it aside.

Sam needed to focus on what he could change, not just wishful thinking. Under the touch of Bobby's watchful eye, he went over to the paperclip, sending the teenager a wary look before snatching it up.

The extra strength he'd discovered in himself while he was a teenager himself came in useful. Sam twisted the paperclip, straightening it to fit the shape of Scar's wing. He laid it on the ground and took off his own belt. The sprite-made pants didn't need the belt to stay up, at least not for Sam. His body was bulky compared to the willowy sprites, so the belt was just needed for his uniform and for the rapier.

Sam held up the straightened paperclip once he had everything set. "Ready?" he asked, a light tone of warning in his voice. This wouldn't be pleasant for either of them.

Scar pursed his lips. "As I'll ever be," he answered, shifting so he could brace himself better. Part of this included gripping the outer edge of his wing carefully; the limb was delicate, but it could give Sam a spectacular bruise if it flinched too hard and smacked into him.

He kept his gaze away from the human. Bobby loomed over them, keeping up his silent scrutiny and intimidating demeanor. He was in power, and he knew it. They all knew.

Just like they all knew now that he would work to keep that power, even if it meant hurting his "prize."

"Let's get it over with," Scar muttered, giving Sam a nod before turning his gaze to his wounded wing. Pain erupted from the wrist with every beat of his frantic heart and swept through the whole wing before starting at the wrist again. It would be ten times worse, getting it initially splinted up.

"This'll be over in no time," Sam said, his voice soothing. He got the paperclip ready and put one hand on the wing. "One… Two…"

Before "Three" ever passed through his lips, Sam had taken the bone and jerked it back into place. That was at trick he'd learned watching Dean take care of their father's injuries. Sam hadn't known how John got hurt, just that he was. It was an eye opening experience for the young child, but how calm Dean stayed during the entire thing gave him yet another look at the type of person his older brother really was. Sam had idolized him, and still did inside.

That was the calm he searched for inside while he held the paperclip up to Scar's wing and began to wrap it with the belts. "There we go, nothin' to it," Sam said as he worked. "Just gotta keep off this wing for a few weeks and you'll never even know it was broken."

Scar grunted in affirmation, though he was breathing raggedly again. Sam surprising him with the set had done the trick right, and though it wasn't as painful as it could have been, the nerves in Scar's wing were almost going numb from all the abuse. "It's the weeks between that will bother me," he admitted quietly.

Once the wing was fastened in the belts with the length of metal holding the break in place, Scar found it slightly easier to hold his wing to his back. The pain remained, but now that his tender movements couldn't actually shift the bone further, it became manageable.

He finally looked back up at the human, who sported an intrigued look on his face. Bobby smirked and tilted his head. "So you'll be able to fly again after all, huh?"

Scar clenched his jaw to bite back the scathing No thanks to you he wanted to say and instead nodded once. "If I'm watchful."

The human rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that, then. It's not like I took the whole wing off." He leaned closer, his blue glare boring into his small captives. "I've read enough about your kind to know that those don't grow back, no matter how leaf-like they are."

Sam gave Bobby a look. "That's right, they don't grow back," he confirmed pointedly. "If you take his wings off, he won't be much of a sprite, would he?" It pained him to talk about Scar that way. This was the man he owed his life to, after all. Scar was the one that found him back in the beginning, back when he still thought he stood over four feet tall and wanted to know where his brother was.

"You'll just end up with two people like me and won't that be sad." Sam gave the splint one last look to make sure it was working properly and pushed himself to a stand. He brushed his hands off.

Bobby sneered at him and sat up straight again. "Yes, thank God there's just one of you," he shot back, poking Sam harshly in the chest.

Scar sighed and pushed himself to a stand, albeit a much shakier one. By now, there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead from the pain that threatened to knock him out. He resisted complaining. It was just one break. People could survive worse.

"Please, human," he said, entirely unfamiliar with setting his pride aside so thoroughly. But he couldn't stand to see one of his own treated so callously. "Stop. We understand. Don't hurt him."

Bobby picked up Scar this time, his finger and thumb pinching around his torso. Scar winced and planted his hands on the massive thumb, but did his best to rein in his struggling. Bobby looked inordinately pleased. "Looks like he gets it," he said to Sam, lifting Scar a little higher to indicate him.

Without further fanfare, Bobby lowered Scar back into the jar and dumped him onto the bottom. Scar knelt in wary silence, watching as a hand laid flat in front of Sam. "Step onto my hand," Bobby commanded.

Sam stared at the hand before him. He did not want to put himself on it, but deep inside he knew there was really no choice. Scar would suffer if he resisted at all, and everyone knew that if it came down to a choice between Sam and Scar, Sam was expendable in this human's eyes.

He wasn't a sprite, and that's all that mattered for some reason.

The hand that stretched out was smaller than Jacob's and didn't show the calluses from long years of work and hunting like Dean's did, but Sam knew that didn't matter. Bobby was the weakest of the humans he'd met and he was still weaker than a finger. All it would take was one quick motion and Sam could end up with a broken arm or leg or worse.

They were helpless.

Gritting his teeth, Sam stepped up onto Bobby's hand, willing himself to pretend it was just like climbing up one last step on his home tree. A brief flash of the few other times he'd spent standing in Dean or Jacob's hands hit him, and he had to close his eyes as his other boot followed. Sam took a deep breath, trying not to wobble as he came to a halt in the center of Bobby's hand and opened up his eyes again. He met the icy blue gaze above.

Bobby nodded approvingly. "Good boy," he said, echoing the same tone as earlier. He was condescending and smug, gleeful in the constant reminders that he had the power over the little guys. The demon had been right; this was fun.

He lifted Sam off the desk, noting the slight sway in the miniature man's stand. He steadied his hand the best he could before determining that they were simply so frail compared to any one of his movements that it was hard for them to stand on his palm. Picking them up in his fist was easier, but it was pretty cool to have some kind of fantastical freak standing on his palm. He'd found them on his own.

"I suppose you two will need some rest. Coming this far was probably like going halfway around the world to you," he mused, curling his fingers more to cup around Sam as he lowered him into the jar too. "Don't worry, this is only temporary," he reminded them.

"Oh, Spirit's dance, I hope so," Scar muttered.

After consigning them to the jar, Bobby pushed back from the desk and stood. He didn't see a need to cover the jar now that Scar's wings were taken care of, so he promptly ignored the two prisoners and left the room, presumably to get himself ready for bed. He offered nothing for his prisoners to sleep on.

"Sam, are you hurt? He's jabbed at you a few times now," Scar asked, while scooting himself to the side of the jar to lean against it.

Sam glanced down at his chest. "Bruises, I think," he said. He hadn't paid much attention to the strikes once they were over. Scar had it worse. Now that they had a moment to themselves, no matter how long it was, he should see to himself as well. In case one of the careless jabs had done more damage than they thought.

Lifting up his shirt, Sam displayed his chest to the biting air inside the jar. A mottled bruise covered most of it, and he delicately pressed a hand down against the tender skin, hissing in pain. With care he checked over his entire front, making sure none of his ribs were broken.

When he was finished, Sam let the shirt drop and rolled his shoulders to stretch his sore back. "Looks like I make it past the first day in one piece," he stated dryly. "Wonder how long that's gonna last at this rate. He alreadydoesn't like me."

Scar sighed and glanced through the glass at the tall rectangular door opposite them. It was left open, with a space more than wide enough for them to escape through it. If they weren't trapped and now both flightless. Sam could glide to the floor with his wingsuit, but Scar wouldn't be able to make such a graceful landing.

Then again, desperation might lead the both of them to some actions that they'd normally shy away from. Scar had been in too many battles to deny the possibility. He'd seen knights come to a harsh landing with one wing before.

"Perhaps an opportunity will present itself tomorrow and you won't have to wonder any longer," he said, his voice weary and gruff. Scar was not used to helplessness, not of this magnitude. Now, they couldn't go anywhere but a radius of only a few inches, with a floor and walls of cold glass keeping them in place. "He thinks he's an alpha wolf but he's barely a fox kit."

"A fox kit the size of an alpha." With a sigh, Sam slid down and sat across from Scar. He held out a hand and stared intently at it. "If only I could change back," he said wistfully. "I could tie him up in knots with one hand."

Instead, his hand could barely cover a fingertip. If he was lucky. The only reason they'd done okay with humans so far was because the humans were nice. Jacob. Dean. Neither human would ever hurt those that were weaker than them, and because of that they'd let their guard down. Believed in the good of people.

And now he had a hard time thinking of anything past how dangerous they were.

Sam let his hand drop with a sigh. His head thunked against the glass as he let himself slump back. "I'm sorry," he said to Scar. "I got us both into this. I just… I wanted to think Bobby would be like Jacob and Dean."

Scar raised an eyebrow at Sam. "You didn't do anything wrong," he said, quietly but confidently. Scar wasn't certain he'd have done things any differently. After hearing that Bobby was supposedly a victim wandering the forest, he probably would have gotten close and checked on the kid, too.

It was good nature that drove people to check on someone who was hurt. Bobby took clear advantage of it, and no amount of quick attacks from Scar could have changed his mind.

"We're knights. And try as I might, things don't often go completely to plan so if there's one thing we're good at, it's improvising. This is Jacob's friend, correct? We may yet get a chance to contact him if he comes to see what happened to Bobby."

Sam nodded, an almost alien flame of hope kindling in his chest. "Yeah, they said Jacob knew him." He closed his eyes to recall Dean's words. "They were on some kind of camping trip when the demon took over Bobby, from what I can tell. That's who gave Jacob the bruise on his face."

The thought was more promising than anything else they had to hold onto. "Dean will check up on Bobby, too," Sam declared confidently. "He'd want to make sure everyone's okay after a case like that. So if they come here, we might have a way home. We just have to think of a way to get to them." He stared at the thick glass walls around them. "Somehow."

Scar let himself smirk. A small vestige of hope was still hope, after all. He had to convince himself that there was always something worse that could happen.

The hopeful mood stagnated as footsteps beyond the door preceded Bobby's return, covering a yawn with his hand. Scar watched warily, but the boy merely fumbled his hand against something on the wall and the light overhead winked out. Scar blinked in the sudden dark and heard the door closing before more footsteps, and then a rustle of fabric as Bobby climbed into bed. By the time Scar adjusted to the wan light making it through the window, Bobby had crawled into bed, ignoring the two people he held captive on his desk mere feet away.

"I suppose there's nothing to it for now," Scar muttered. "We should sleep in shifts. I can take the first watch. My wing will keep me up anyway."

"Right." Sam didn't argue. Scar was right. They would both need what energy they could get if an opportunity arose the next day for escape. If they managed to get out they'd need to avoid a massive human who clearly didn't care if they got hurt, not to mention anyone else that called the house home. Bobby didn't look old enough to have a place on his own yet.

Younger than Sam. The unfairness of the world struck Sam again as he lay on his side and stretched out an arm to use as a pillow. He might be older than Jacob and Bobby, but they only had to pay attention to him if they wanted to. Otherwise he was inconsequential, and for the first time he was realizing how true that was.

Didn't matter. He was a knight, and there was a way out of this. There always was. They just needed to figure it out. Jacob had to come around to check up on his friend. No one else knew that Bobby was threatening and trapping the people that had helped save him. The others would want to know that he was alright.

The hopeful thought of what Dean would do once he discovered what Sam and his mentor had been put through was what Sam had on his mind as he finally slipped into sleep.

Scar kept an eye on his student as he drifted off, and sighed when he heard his breathing level out. It was going to be a long night for them both, no matter how much sleep they managed to get. Scar shifted on the uncomfortable surface, and flinched when he heard the rustling of fabric nearby as the human turned over in his own slumber.

Scar was always the one quick with a plan, something brash but effective to avoid trouble. No High Knight before him had been so effective in bringing knights home unharmed and safe from a scuffle with a predator, according to the spindly little elders that checked the Archives. He'd earned his pride, and yet it felt like none of it mattered now. He hadn't been able to stop Bobby or help Sam, and with his wing injured he was little more than dead weight.

He leaned his head against the glass wall and gingerly shifted his hurt wing. It would do him no good at all to let thoughts like that drag him even lower. Scar had to hope that his lessons with Sam would be enough for the younger knight to be able to adapt to the older knight's mistake.

A/N:

There will be a post Wednesday, and then we'll be on a quick week-long hiatus while I'm away!

Next: March 25th, 2020 at 9pm EST.