This story is for the contest going on over at @brothersapart. Fans of gt and/or supernatural should give that blog a look, because there’s some quality writing of both over there. The contest has already attracted some really awesome entries, too! I’m adding mine into the fray.
The story is a slight AU of the Brothers Apart series. It takes place the night before Sam is cursed and shrunk by the witch.
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Walt frowned sternly up at the boy, but refused to show his confusion. Most humans wouldn’t respond that way to him snapping at them, that was for sure. “No, you didn’t,” he had to admit. “But I do want you to put me down.”
He didn’t get lowered to the floor immediately, but Sam did adjust his grip so that Walt sat in his cupped hands. Walt was tempted to go for his razor again, but held back for the time being. At least he was making progress in the right direction, though his pounding heart was just short of frantic enough for a heart attack.
“I promise I will,” Sam said earnestly. “But … who are you? Why were you in our room? Dad and Dean say the supernatural is dangerous!”
Walt kept his wary, stern gaze fixed on the look above him. He couldn’t help it, but behind the facade that all humans represented to him, of giants full of malice and greed that were out for their own gain, he saw Sam for what he was.
Just a kid.
Full of wonder and concern and the same human notion to grab, but a kid all the same. “Do I look dangerous to you?” he prompted, his voice and face still stern but slightly kinder than before. Sam shook his head. “You are more dangerous to me,” Walt assured him with confidence.
At that, Sam almost looked sheepish. “I … I’m real sorry I grabbed you,” he finally mumbled, his ears a little pinker than they were before. Walt nodded once, accepting the apology despite the lingering fear. He was still stuck in Sam’s hands at least a foot in the air.
“Don’t let it happen again,” Walt instructed him, feeling suddenly like he was scolding a child that could be his own. That tone had slipped into his voice without him realizing it.
Sam sighed, and the warm air brushed past Walt’s face. Then, much to Walt’s eternal surprise, the boy lowered his hands to the floor. Walt wasted no time in scrambling off of them and backing up on the carpet, hoping the boy wasn’t initiating a game of cat and mouse.
“Now can you tell me who you are? I won’t grab you again! Maybe we can be friends. We don’t …” Sam sat up straighter to peer over the bed again, once more checking on his brother. Walt couldn’t help but take a few more wary steps back.
He stopped when Sam looked back down at him, a melancholy in his eyes that should be reserved for someone much older than him. “We move around a lot so I don’t get to make very many friends.”
Walt’s stern look didn’t waver, but he sighed anyway. The boy’s loneliness coated every syllable, now, and Walt couldn’t unlearn what he had about Sam. “I’m Walt,” he relented. Sam positively beamed with delight. “And if you want to be my friend, Sam, all you have to do is promise that you won’t ever grab someone like me if you find them. We’re all just trying to get by, and we don’t mean you or anyone else any harm.”
Sam nodded vigorously. Then, his hand was rapidly approaching, and Walt stumbled backwards further. The hand stopped in front of him, the littlest finger extended towards him. Walt looked up at Sam in confusion in time for the boy to say “I pinky promise!”
Writerly Things 