A/N

Thanks to Christine and maddietoes for the wonderful reviews! Things are getting better!


Sam watched the fields pass by outside the car. Waves of cornstalks and wheat stood tall, wafting in the breeze as the Impala darted past. A ripple followed behind them, bowing to the wake of the car's speedy passage. It was like watching a boat slice through the water.

Sighing, Sam sat back and leaned against the warm neck behind him. He wouldn't say it to Jacob or Dean, but feeling the steady pulse behind his back helped reassure him. Leaving the dark tunnels that he'd lived in for more than half of his life gave him a strange insecurity. Open air, so much light, a human nearby all the time, all new sensations that he'd thought for so much of his life that he needed to avoid. It wasn't anything Sam had been prepared to deal with in years.

Long ago, Sam had given up on ever seeing his brother again.

Now, here he was. Actually sitting on a human's shoulder. He and Jacob were equals to Dean, not pets like they might be with other humans. It kind of felt like riding shotgun in the car. Dean would crack his jokes like everything was perfectly normal. Everything was great, aside from the flickers of regret that passed over his face from time to time, a remnant of the guilt that he'd escaped the fate that had been meant for him, too. Sam and Jacob weren't the witch's only targets.

The houses outside started to change from the occasional farmhouse at the end of a long, winding driveway to tidier yards and impeccably-clean sidewalks. Sam straightened a little. They were getting close.

Jacob watched with absent attention as the cornfields slowly gave way to little lawns and chain link fences. He sat up straighter when he saw a kid chasing a puppy around one yard, realizing they were in town. He hadn't seen a dog in three years other than glimpses from the hideaway on top of the Trails West. Even this one was far behind them in a matter of several seconds, but seeing animals like that always reminded him of what he was now. It was enough to jolt him out of his quiet daze.

They were nearly there. Dean just had to find the house where the mysterious death had happened. Jacob remembered the plan and went over it again in his head. If no one was home, they were going to break in to check the scene. A crime scene. It was just another of the things Dean had to do, the rules he had to bend (or shatter) in order to help people in a fight against things they didn't understand.

Jacob only hoped he could offer the hunter some actual help without holding him back. He fidgeted absently with the clasp on his bag, closing it and opening it in a slow rhythm as tidy suburban houses passed them by. All he could do was try.

The roads were clear for the entire trip through the neighborhoods and they made decent time. They rolled up to the house sometime in the early afternoon. Anyone who lived in the home should be at work or school, leaving the brothers plenty of time to check the premises. Jacob turned his head this way and that, checking every nearby porch for other humans. "It's a nice neighborhood. Porch swings, ghost murder ... great place to be," he quipped, already hoping they wouldn't have a run in with said ghost.

"Right," Dean said distractedly. He double-checked the area one last time. No cars were parked out front, and yellow crime scene tape stretched out across the doorway and around the porch.

CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS

"Looks like this is the place," Dean announced unnecessarily. "Three bedrooms, two bathrooms and one dead owner."

Taking precaution, Dean gently gathered both of his miniscule brothers from his shoulder. Until they were in the house, the two of them would have to stay in his pocket. "If you want to keep an eye out, feel free. Just make sure no one else can see you," he warned as he climbed out of the car, his hand dropping away from the pocket and leaving it unbuttoned. The intent wasn't to lock them away from the world. So long as they were careful, it was their choice.

Sam pushed up the flap as Dean came around to the trunk. The moment Dean leaned over to grab his sawed-off from the trunk and extra salt rounds, Sam and Jacob had to hang on so they didn't slide around with the quick movements.

With the gun hidden in his jacket, Dean strode for the entrance. He glanced around the neighborhood briefly before getting out his knife to slice through the crime scene tape, then got out his lockpick. A tense minute passed while he fiddled with the tumblers and the door clicked open.

Like he'd done countless times before, the hunter slipped inside the house.


With Dean now behind closed doors, Jacob felt safer about pushing the pocket flap further up, Sam working in tandem with him so they could get a better view. Jacob's other hand was clamped securely over the edge of the pocket. He was still getting used to the pitch and sway of the shirt pockets they spent so much time in lately. With Dean's particular swagger and how pronounced it was, it really took some practice.

The front room of the house didn't give much away. A table near one wall held stacks of mail that looked like it had been ignored for some time, as well as a random assortment of receipts and pocket change. While Dean made his way through the house, searching for the room where the death happened, Jacob couldn't help but notice how eerie it all was.

Life in the household had come to a standstill; the family probably wouldn't come back while the investigation was ongoing. If they even continued to live in the house at all after the case closed.

It was chilling, and Jacob could feel the adrenaline taking a tentative run through his system. He had to stay aware. He found himself repeating Walt's lessons, of all things, to himself. Patience. Caution. The details don't matter if you get caught.

It gave Jacob some familiar ground to prepare for their search for clues, even if Dean was the only human in the house with them. Just another supply run. Jacob had learned a lot about those, how to make sure everything went according to plan. He ignored the fact that, last time he went on a supply run, he wound up trapped under a vase and nearly got taken away for good.

When Dean found the office, Jacob winced at the sight of the room. The body was gone, but rust colored stains covered almost every surface. A well-loved armchair got the worst of it. Jacob made a face as he noticed that the faintest smell of iron still lingered in the room. "Holy shit," he muttered, unable to think of anything else to add.

With the house silent and them alone, Dean slipped a hand into his pocket. "Okay, you two are up," he said quietly. Once Sam punched against his finger, he lifted them out. It was surreal to hold them like this, in a loose fist. They were so lightweight it was almost like they weren't there.

He could feel small limbs shifting between his fingers as he knelt down, signs of the tiny pair trying to right themselves while the entire world shifted around them. The sheer amount of trust held in his hand astounded him. Their lives, literally between his fingers. Two entire people, disoriented by his movements. Movements that Dean always thought weren't that fast, but to Sam and Jacob had the effect of being lowered from over eighty feet in the air in a matter of seconds.

Dean's hand reached the floor and his fingers unfurled, releasing Sam and Jacob to the floor a foot away from his boot. Sam wavered as he hopped down and Jacob stumbled at first, landing on the wooden surface with thuds inaudible to Dean. Sam wrinkled his nose as he glanced over at the scene of the crime, taking in the mess for himself.

"Unfortunately, that part of the job almost never changes," Dean said as he spotted what drew their gazes. "It's a messy job, but with any luck we can stop any other victims from being taken."

From the floor, the room took on what had become a familiar perspective for the two smaller brothers. Terrifying and surreal, maybe, but familiar. Except for the human kneeling behind them as the giant hand moved away to give them space, Jacob found things looking just as he'd expect them to. Looming, immovable furniture stood all around, a broad expanse of floor stretched out in front of them, and hundreds of possible dangers lurked in the back of his mind. His hand gripped the strap of his bag as he and Sam scanned everything.

Trying to ignore the shadow that was over them, and the fact that they could hear Dean's breathing, the two smaller brothers took their first steps in the grisly crime scene. Sam took the lead and Jacob kept up with him; he'd decided on the spot that he didn't want to split up. The blood covering so much of the floor like a spilled can of paint made going off alone seem incredibly stupid. There was more blood splattered around the room than either small brother had in their bodies, several times over. Jacob had to fight the urge to cover his face with his sleeve so he could breathe without inhaling the grisly smell.

Muscles and joints complained as, behind them, Dean rose to his full height once they were far enough away from him. Jacob clenched his jaw briefly and didn't look back. He already knew what Dean looked like from this angle.

Sam led the way towards the desk. It was the closest piece of furniture for them to check under, but it was still several feet off. Lots of open space. Jacob caught himself peering up as the cliff-like side of the furniture loomed a little closer with each step. He scanned his surroundings, determined not to let anything slip past his notice despite the tension in the air.

As the distance from Dean increased, the hunter found himself growing curious on top of not feeling safe having them too far out of reach on their first case. Searching for a distraction, he dug the EMF meter out of his jacket.

The warm metal of the device was familiar in his hand, much more than two tiny people. He switched it on and the first red light at the top lit up. A low, sweeping motion over his immediate vicinity revealed nothing more than a simple buzz.

Before he could focus on the armchair in the room, the movement down on the floor caught his eye again. They had almost reached the desk. Curious again, and still antsy about having them so far away in an unknown house, Dean decided on a whim he'd follow them. Check out the desk from above while they scouted below. He wanted to know how they worked. It would be important in working together in future cases, and would give him an excuse to keep a close eye on them today.

Dean took a careful step towards the pair, continuing to scan with the EMF reader. Sam was still leading the way with a determined gait. His shoulders were stiff with a human nearby, the feel of a distant gaze weighing them down.

Another step rattled the floor beneath them, no matter how lightly Dean might try to set his boot down. Jacob kept up the pace following Sam, still glancing around as he went. Other than the occasional unsettling spatter of blood, there was little of interest on the open floor. The cops had probably checked that over already.

Jacob may not have Sam's extra sense, but even he could practically feel the presence behind him. The unmistakable presence of a very large, very real person, casually taking a step while it took Jacob and Sam several steps to cover the same ground.

Several hurried steps.

Temptation finally became too much, and Jacob glanced behind once. He caught sight of one of those enormous boots planting on the floor, pressing into the boards as Dean settled his weight on it. Jacob couldn't help but let his gaze shoot upwards, quickly taking in the sheer height of the man in the room with them. Jacob's head was tilted at a sharp angle just to see Dean's face.

He was huge. Jacob had been traveling with Dean for a little over a week now, and he hadn't completely come to terms with the fact. This man could easily stoop over and sweep both Jacob and Sam off the floor if he wanted to. Jacob knew all too well how fast he was. Most humans would be too quick for the pocket-sized pair on the floor, but Dean was a trained hunter. His reflexes were like lightning.

Seeing Dean at that angle was yet another reminder of what Jacob's life had become. He didn't have to scavenge for food anymore, and there was someone making sure he and Sam could see the world in safety, but they were still too small for it. Jacob couldn't help but think of the first time he saw things at his new scale.


2002

Jacob had a headache. The worst he'd ever felt. Groaning quietly, he drifted back to awareness only to discover that his throat ached too. Everything ached.

He tried to collect his thoughts and recall the last thing he saw. Waiting in the motel room. His mom going out to get them some supplies she forgot to pack and food for the night. They were just stopping so she didn't have to drive on an unfamiliar route and get stuck in the middle of nowhere while it was dark out.

Jacob had offered to take the wheel for a while, but he didn't even have a learner's permit yet, so his strictly law-abiding mother had nixed the idea quickly. There was a knock at the door, and Jacob, assuming she had returned with her arms too full, had gone to open it.

There was a bright flash and ... that was it. His memories ended.

Jacob sat bolt upright, and then immediately flopped back down with a grimace. He felt like he hadn't moved in ages. His stomach gave a confused pang of either hunger or nausea, and he couldn't tell which was more prevalent. Hesitantly, Jacob opened his eyes.

Why is it so dim? He took stock of things. His hands closed into fists around the raggedy blanket on the bed he rested on. He was still in his clothes that he wore when he saw the flash. The thick wooden ceiling above, however, was unfamiliar, as was the dusty smell permeating the air.

His neck was still too stiff to look around. Jacob opened his mouth to ask if anyone was around, but found he had no voice yet. He coughed instead.

A man sitting next to the bed blinked his eyes open at the sound of the cough. Sam Winchester, twenty years old and barely four inches tall, had dozed off in his seat, acting a silent sentinel next to the young teen he'd found cursed in the motel.

Just like him, all those years ago.

This time, Sam had been in the room where the kid was cursed, trying to snatch some food for his family while the kid was away, and caught off guard by his return. He'd been stuck in there, under the dresser while the human relaxed on the bed and forced to wait it out until the human drifted off to sleep or left the room again. It wasn't the first time Sam was trapped like that, and in this life, it wouldn't be the last.

It wasn't every day he saw someone shrunk down to almost a twentieth of their size. Sam had seen it all, helpless to stop any of it. The moment he could, he'd dragged the kid into the walls, tossing him over his shoulder to take him back to his home, and safety.

As much as Sam wanted it to be different, as much as he wanted this kid to be with his family again, he understood how dangerous it would be to just leave him there and hope that his mother saw him when she returned. If she didn't, the kid could have been crushed beyond recognition.

It was strange, though. When Sam had shrunk down, he remembered Walt telling him how hard it was to get him out of that room. How the fight between the witch and Sam's father had nearly claimed his life as collateral damage. Dean had crumpled bonelessly to the side, well away from Sam, but his father had fought directly overhead, nearly stepping on Walt and Sam both. With this kid, it was like the witch wanted him to be saved.

Like she knew they were out there.

Whether it was because Sam's family had been hunters, and this kid's clearly wasn't, Sam might never know. All he knew was she'd hit this guy with a chillingly familiar white light, and laughed gleefully.

Then left.

A wracking cough struck the kid again, and Sam got up from his chair. It was the one that had come with the dollhouse desk, and one of the few 'normal' items in the house. He'd been sitting in it for what felt like days, watching over the prostrate form of the teen. Mallory had told Sam it had been over six days before he'd come around after being cursed, and this kid was waking up after only five.

It was strange to think that only a week ago, he was a person that Sam would have avoided at all costs. Big, huge, easily able to grab Sam's entire family in a single hand, now he was smaller than everyone but Mallory (who barely reached Sam's chest, and he didn't think anyone smaller could exist unless they were a child). The guy had lost his world, just as much as Sam had all that time ago.

Sam came over to the bed. "Hey, hey, hey," he said, trying to catch the kid's attention. He was sprawled out in Sam's bed, another find from the dollhouse. Ever since giving up the bed to the comatose teen, Sam and Mallory had gathered up all her extra fabric to make him a small, comfortable nest on the other side of his room. From there, he could watch and wait and make sure that the teen was alright, and nothing else happened to him.

"You're alright. Here. I've got some water. You need to drink, it's been a while since we could get anything in you." Sam picked up the aluminum foil cup he had waiting next to his bed, proffering it towards the teen.

Jacob's heart rate jumped up for a few seconds at the sound of an unfamiliar voice in the dim lighting. He had to squint a little to find the man's face as he sluggishly pushed himself up to lean against the backboard of the bed. Jacob shivered; he didn't remember it being so cold before. He rubbed his eyes before looking at the silvery cup offered to him.

He couldn't resist taking it and drinking down its contents quickly to soothe his parched throat. With that done, he looked around some more, letting his eyes adjust (as much as they could) to the light. The only source that he could see was the ceiling, where long cracks between the thick beams let light in in dusty golden bars. A part of him wondered why they didn't just put a lamp in this room.

"Where ..." Jacob managed to rasp, before he noticed the pile of huge blankets in one corner. He glanced across at the desk and chair, and the curtain blocking the rest of wherever the hell this was from view. There was a shoulder bag next to the chair and Jacob raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sight of a three-pronged hook sticking out of it. The barbs alone had to be the length of his fingers.

It inevitably drew him back to the man in the room with him. He wore jeans and a plain grey t-shirt, covered by a jacket with numerous pockets. There was something off about him, but Jacob couldn't quite place it in the lack of light. After a moment, he found his voice, a list of questions all crowding into his mind at once.

"Who are you? Is this a basement? Where's my mom?"

Sam took the cup back from him, absently bending the top between two fingers. The foil moved easily to the motion. These days he didn't even think about how odd that was. He barely remembered what it felt like to hold a regular glass in his hands after using aluminum foil for every dish for so long.

"My name's Sam," he started gently. He remembered exactly how hard it had been for him to take the news about his curse, and he had a head start. Learning about what hunters dealt with from day to day had at least given him an understanding of the monsters that existed out there.

Of course, he'd had no idea that something like this could happen, leaving him to spend his life avoiding humans and stranded from his only family.

For the moment, Sam avoided explaining that the kid's mother was most likely long gone from the motel. He focused on the other questions. "You could call it a basement," he said instead. "We found you a few days ago, and couldn't get you to wake up. I was getting worried we wouldn't be able to get you awake to take a drink."

Sam gave the kid a hesitant smile, hoping his mild manner was calming. More than Walt's intensity when Sam had first woken up, at least. "There's more water in the main room for when you're ready. What's your name?"

An unsettling feeling crept up Jacob's spine. There was definitely something weird about this place, not the least of which was that nasty looking hook. What it could be for, he didn't want to imagine. He noticed the way the mystery man named Sam had casually bent the edge of the silvery cup with just two fingers, though he tried to pretend he didn't. What the hell?! He looked back at Sam's face, his nerves showing despite himself.

"I'm Jacob," he answered cautiously. The thought of getting more water appealed to him, but suddenly Jacob wondered what the catch was. He remained sitting up on the bed for the moment, while his hands clutched the blanket with white knuckles.

"What do you mean you found me?" he asked. All Jacob remembered was a bright light at the motel room door. He didn't even remember hitting the ground. No faces arrived in his memory though he tried to remember what his assailant looked like. The fact that he didn't know only made his skin crawl more.

What if Sam and the 'we' he mentioned were really bad people? What if they were the ones that attacked him and brought him here against his will?

"If you found me hurt or whatever, why did you bring me here?! You could have just called an ambulance or something," he pointed out, realizing as he spoke what it meant. They hadn't done that, so something was definitely up. "Where are we?"

Sam had known he'd need to explain the truth to Jacob soon enough. He'd asked almost the same questions, demanding to be taken back to his brother and father. For a short amount of time he'd been convinced he was a pawn to be used against John Winchester.

The truth was far more painful.

Jacob would have to face that same pain. The pain of losing his world and his family. There was no way back for them and no possibility of changing things. Jacob's mom was sealed off to him as much as though she were dead.

Just like Dean and John. Lost family, gone forever. It didn't matter that they were out there at that very moment, probably sitting in the Impala on their way to another case. Sam would never see them again.

"Look, you're going to find this hard to believe," Sam said, "but there's no hospital that can help me or you out there. We don't fit into their patient type. In fact, if we tried, we'd get ourselves into more trouble."

Sam took a deep breath. He needed to get it over with, otherwise he might never be able to explain. Walt was far more brisk with bad news, and Sam hoped to spare this kid that much, at least. If only he could do more. "Jacob, you're in my home. My adopted family and I found you after you got attacked five days ago. We're still at Trails West, and..."

Sam glanced up at the ceiling above, where the golden rays of day were leaking in. Between gaps in the floorboards that humans didn't even notice unless they got on their hands and knees with a magnifying glass.

"You're under four inches tall."


A/N:

Dean is fascinated with the two smols he's working with, and Jacob's more ._. at the giant walking behind them. All in all, an effective team so far XD

A brief look at Jacob's first day after waking up cursed, happens directly after A Friendly Neighborhood/Ice Cream.

NEW POLL STARTS SATURDAY USING A NEW SITE FOR VOTES! LOOK FOR THE JOURNAL/TUMBLR POST!

Next: November 6th, 2016

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