Weak morning light is filtering through the beige curtains of the cabin when Sam jerks awake to the feeling of something squirming around on his belly. He must have slumped down during the night, trying to stay awake and wait up for his dad but failing. It takes a moment for his memories to catch up with him, and he recalls what is in the duffel. With a deep breath, he gets out from underneath it and opens it carefully.
"AAAAAAAAAAAA." Dean is staring up at Sam's face peering into the bag and screaming at what must be the top of his lungs. Sam jerks away when Dean pulls out his .45 caliber handgun and aims at him, still screaming. The gun makes popping sounds, but Sam isn't hit. He stands back a little more from the bed, and watches little holes punching through the sides of the bag.
"Dean?" Sam is trying to keep his voice steady and calm. "Hey, Dean. You're okay. It's me, Sammy. Those witches last night, remember them? They cast a spell and shrunk you. But you're safe now. Just don't shoot me, okay?" Sam moves closer. "I'm coming over again."
"Dean? Did you hear me?" Sam moves to sit on the bed by the bag, and the mattress tilts a little under his weight. Sam bites his lip as he watches his brother lose his balance, falling heavily against the towel-padded bottom.
Finally, Sam hears Dean's voice, a bit muffled by the bag. "Sammy?"
"Yeah, Dean. It's me. We're back at the cabin. You've been out of it all night."
"You didn't call dad, did you?" It's hard to be sure without seeing his facial expression, but Sam thinks Dean sounds more afraid than before.
"I called him last night. Still waiting for him to show." Sam doesn't try to hide the doubt in his voice. He edges closer to the bag carefully and peeks over the edge again. His brother is sitting on the bottom with his knees up and his elbows resting on them. His head is being held in both hands which means he must have put the gun away.
Sam watches as Dean shakes his head. "He'll call. He won't come."
It's Sam's turn to shrug. "You have the cell phone in your pocket, Dean. Do you think it's still going to work?" He keeps his voice low. Dean reaches in his pocket, pulls out the phone and tries it before cussing and throwing it against the olive green canvas wall.
"So I think after the message I left, Dad'll be here as soon as he can make it because he won't be able to call." Sam is even more sure this morning that he did the right thing. "Dean, do you want to come out of the bag? I can either lift you up, or lay it on its side. Which do you want?" Sam is half afraid of hurting Dean if he has to lift him, so his question is kind of shaky.
The witch was kind of right. At twelve inches tall, his brother looks like a delicate doll, not a GI Joe. He can hear his brother inhale.
"I guess I need a lift into the bathroom, little brother. I need to piss so bad my teeth are floating – and I can't think this way. Let's try you putting your hand down and me grabbing on." Even when he's pocket-sized, Sam feels better because he can talk to Dean. He can also hear that his big brother has switched from panic mode into problem solving.
Sam lowers his hand gently and tries to keep it rigid as his brother climbs on and tries to find something secure to hold onto. Finally Dean rolls onto his stomach and throws his arms around Sam's wrist. Sam can feels Dean's heart like a flutter against his skin.
"Go, go, go." Dean says, ducking his face under his shoulder, so he doesn't have to look.
Sam straighten up and walks carefully across the room. "Where do you want me to put you down?"
Dean answers in a moan. "Sink."
Sam places his hand in the sink and waits while his brother climbs off. Dean glances up at Sam, and Sam sees that panic is still there in his eyes. Dean's just trying to hide it well. Dean braces himself on the faucet and widens his stance as he reaches one handed for his zipper. "You are not going to stand there and perv at me, Sammy. Go away."
"Dean, are you planning to piss in the sink?" Sam's features are screwing up in disgust.
"Yes, little brother, I am. I'll aim it down the drain." He looks up, and Sam can see the mischievous glint in his eye. "Won't be the first sink I ever pissed in, bro." The grin that follows that pronouncement looks a little forced. "Go get breakfast and bring it back here. Let 'em know I won't be in today for the lunch shift, okay?"
"Dean, how am I supposed to get breakfast? You have all the money." This is one of the problems Sam mulled over as he was trying to stay awake last night. The phone, the wallet, the keys – all in Dean's pockets and shrunken into uselessness.
Dean pauses a minute, and looks up, trying to radiate assurance to his kid brother. "It'll be okay, Sam. We're paid up 'til Friday for the room – that's four more days. And I stashed some money in the outside pocket of my duffel. Besides think how much money we're going to save in meals. I'll just nibble at yours. In the meantime, don't forget to get me a cup of coffee, 'kay? Sammy. We'll make this work somehow until we can fix it. Now – give a guy some privacy, please."
Sam backs out reluctantly, but he is relieved that Dean has already solved one problem, so he gives a half grin as he snarks, "One small coffee coming up."
"Very funny." Sam hears his brother respond before he leaves the room.
"It's a little funny, Dean."
. . . . . . .
After Sam leaves him in the bathroom, forgetting to shut the door Dean notices, Dean very carefully takes care of his business before climbing out of the basin onto the small countertop. He edges his way behind the faucet over to the mirror, peering in it at his own green eyes, too wide right now with fear. He thinks about pinching himself, but he's already sure this isn't a dream. It's the nightmare called his life.
"I frikkin hate witches," Dean tells his reflection. Dean starts thinking about what they are going to have to do to find this coven again, and get them to reverse the spell. He admits to himself that Sam was right to call dad. They're going to need him. Dean's pretty useless in this land of giants. His mind scuttles away from the idea that dad already thinks he's useless.
Speaking of useless, Dean realizes that he's stuck here on the sink until his brother comes back, unless he can figure out some way to get down. He carefully lowers himself to a sitting position, dangling his legs into the basin as he considers his options. The three foot drop to the floor is about the equivalent of jumping out a three-story window, so that's out. He could carefully lower himself onto the back of the toilet, but the lid is open and he's worried he'll fall in. The towel rack might be close enough to jump. Maybe if he caught the towel, he could use it to cushion his fall.
Right as he's getting up to put his plan in effect, a cockroach crawls out from the crack above the sink basin and wriggles it antennae at him. Cockroaches are a fact of life in cheap motels, and they like dark, damp spaces in bathrooms, so it's certainly not the first Dean has ever seen. But with Dean being about a sixteenth of his normal size, the flat dark oval-shaped insect is a lot more intimidating.
Dean stomps his foot at the bug, but it moves closer. He backs away from it carefully, judging his distance from the towel rack. He is so focused on the cockroach that he didn't hear his brother come back inside until whamp! Sam smacks his shoe onto the roach. Dean startles and loses his footing, falling backwards from the sinktop.
