Ice Cream and Silver Bullets - 1

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Literature Text

Oscar scarcely noticed the passage of time. With his hands over his face, he could almost drown out the world. Almost.

The rumble of an engine ran beneath the roaring hum of tires on the road. Motion, faster than he was ready to comprehend, carried him inevitably along that road. A radio above played classic rock. The sounds and sensations helped him push away the worst thoughts, but not far. They couldn't erase one crucial fact.

No distraction would free him from the jar he'd been consigned to at the start of this journey.

He didn't know the hunter's name. Didn't know much about him at all, except for the fact that he'd let Oscar live instead of killing him outright. Oscar was alive but captured by a stranger, with no idea what awaited him at the end of the unwanted road trip.

He had no way to call for help, either. It would be a long time before anyone realized he was in trouble. Possibly too long for him to make it out.

So he hid his face in his hands. Anything to keep from watching the sky and trees whip past the windows high above.

The lid of the jar was settled loosely at the top for the drive, blocking the view of his captor's face. Still, he didn't dare try to escape now, even though he miraculously still had his cloth bag. The human would hear if the lid so much as shifted, and the less notice he paid Oscar the better. Tucked away in the truck's cup holder next to a towering styrofoam cup, he tried to formulate a plan between his terrified thoughts.

His eyes hurt. Something like an hour had passed since he ran out of tears. His body, tense like a compressed spring, was sore all over, and he shuddered intermittently. Bruises stung his ribs and one arm from the moment a hand snatched him up and tossed him into the jar.

He barely remembered having a chance to meet the giant's eyes. It was always too fast for him.

The radio station crackled into static as the truck finally passed out of its range. Above, the human groaned in disappointment. "Right at the good part," he lamented.

Before Oscar could look up, something heavy and powerful impacted against the top of the jar, and he yelped. He finally whipped his gaze upwards and flinched to brace his hands against glass walls. The human was already looking back at the road and the offending hand fiddled with the radio dial, but he spoke to Oscar at last.

"'Bout an hour 'til we get back to where my case is, little guy," he announced. "Then we'll see what your deal is before I head out. See if I oughta warn Bobby he's got a problem to look into."

Oscar wished his voice would carry. He wished he could make a sound at all, some kind of protest.

He hadn't always lived in Bobby's house. It was a recent development, but he was working on making it his home. He didn't bother anyone, and he'd even helped out once or twice, reading up on things when Bobby couldn't find the time.

Oscar was helping, but he couldn't say it. Couldn't help himself now when he needed it.

The human's attention didn't linger on him anyway. It was right back on the road, putting Oscar out of mind. A promised hour, and then Oscar's fate would fall upon him. He curled up in his jar and tried to control his breathing.

He could do this. Somehow, he'd get out of this mess. He had practice.

He just had to hope his friends would find out. They'd know how to help him, and they'd come for him if they knew. They'd let no hunter stand in their way.


Dean’s stuff was in Sam’s way. Sam hadn’t even had any coffee yet, and he was slow to process the sight before him. His “room” on the nightstand had one small opening between the books set up as his wall. Normally, he’d see out onto the motel room floor, a wide expanse of carpet broken up by large furniture and dust bunny fields underneath.

Instead, there was a mountain of crumpled canvas in front of him. Sam’s tired frown deepened as he finally understood.

Dammit, Dean. It’s too early for this.

He started his begrudging climb. The canvas was rough and thick, but it still provided ample handholds for Sam to trek right over it, grumbling all the while.

When he reached the top of the canvas hill, he wrinkled his nose in disgust for the dirty laundry piled at the top of the bag. The smell of grave dirt and smoke nearly knocked him back, courtesy of the late night salt-and-burn the night before.

That look of disgust carried upwards as Dean rounded the bed at last. He had jeans and a tshirt on and the spikes of his hair were still damp from a morning shower. He grinned around the toothbrush in his mouth, radiating smugness. Sam had to let his expression do all the bitching for him as he navigated around the opening of the bag, and even from his looming height, Dean couldn’t miss it. Sam may stand only four inches tall, but it didn’t slow down their communication at all.

As expected, Dean snickered and wandered back towards the sink. He’d gotten what he wanted out of his stupid prank. Sam, meanwhile, had to think about how he might retaliate.

Maybe salt in his coffee, he mused as he finally hopped down to the carpet.

Making his way along the floor between the beds helped wake him up more, but the faint coffee smell in the air called to him. They’d had a late night, even if the ghost itself had been easy to deal with. A morning jog around the room had been out of the question.

His path along the base of the bed gave him quick access to cover while still allowing him to survey the room--at least where his brother walked. Water ran in the bathroom alcove, and then squeaked off. By the time Sam reached the foot of the bed, Dean’s swaggering steps were coming back his way.

He turned an owlish gaze upward to meet Dean’s lingering grin. Though he crossed his arms, Dean snickered again as he knelt and held out a hand. “What’s the matter, Sammy, didn’t want a morning workout?”

“Not over your dirty laundry!” Sam groused. Despite his complaints, he didn’t so much as hesitate to step onto Dean’s hand to accept a lift.

It would get him to coffee faster. No room for pride there.

Dean couldn’t stop yet another snicker, but carried them both to the table to wait for the machine to finish brewing. The tantalizing smell grew more intense, promising the liquid energy for them both soon.

After a tired but companionable silence (during which Dean was all too happy about his prank), everything was ready. Dean had his black coffee, and Sam had a bottle cap full that was lightened by heavy doses of cream and sugar. As usual, they both silently judged the other for the way they chose to drink the stuff.

Sam was ready to ask where they should look for their next case when a loud buzzing rattled through the table, followed by a familiar guitar riff.

Dean snatched the phone up with an apologetic wince. As much fun as he had teasing Sam with the loud settings on the phone sometimes, neither of them expected it this time.

Even so, Sam counted up two revenge pranks he owed Dean now.

Dean answered the phone and put it on speaker as soon as he saw who had called. He set it down where Sam could easily access it, and grinned. “Bobby,” he greeted, “don’t usually hear from ya so early in the morning. What about your beauty sleep?”

”Can it, ya idjit,” Bobby’s annoyed voice snipped over the line. Sam frowned over a sip of coffee. Bobby’s tone wasn’t the usual bemused grump.

Something was wrong.

”Called as soon as I got the inkling. I think your ‘honorary hunter’ might be in trouble.”

Both brothers became serious. Sam was standing next to the phone before he even realized he’d stood at all. “What happened, Bobby? Did he get hurt?”

He and Dean shared a glance. Oscar, the tiny guy who had helped them with several cases despite his fear, had moved into Bobby’s house recently. On their advice. If something happened to him, it would be hard not to blame themselves.

”Can’t say that for sure,” Bobby admitted. ”Just Rumsfeld bein’ antsy all day yesterday and then mopin’ around this mornin’. I usually see signs of Oscar being around at breakfast, too.”

Sam frowned and let a pause draw out before looking up at Dean. “He could just be caught up in a project,” he hedged, but wasn’t much convinced. Oscar, after years surviving on his own, since he was a kid, was a creature of habit. If Bobby noticed a change in his routine, there had to be something going on. “I’d better do a run through the walls there to check.”

“We can be there in four hours,” Dean chimed in. “See what we can do about Oz’s vanishing act.”

He hung up and drank the last third of his coffee with a gasp. Sam was already making sure he had everything he needed in his bag.

They were trying not to worry too much before they had the facts, but it only half worked.

While Dean went about gathering their things as quickly as he could, Sam frowned over the room without really seeing it. It was like any other motel room, worn around the edges but offering shelter just the same. Sam could imagine he was back at the Trails West in Haven, Kansas, where that witch had sauntered into their lives and toyed with their fate.

Sam had grown up hiding away in the walls of the motel, years before finally reuniting with Dean. He’d only made it because of Walt and Mallory Watch. They’d stepped in as his parents when he would otherwise be afraid and alone at his reduced size.

Oscar had been alone since he was a kid, too. No one had stepped in for him when he needed them. He’d been born small, like the Watches, but it hadn’t made the world less daunting for him. Sam had lived at this size for more than half his life and could scarcely imagine what that would be like.

Ever since they met him, he’d shown himself to be brave. Willing to help when he was needed. When Sam had found out that Oscar was alone, he’d suggested Bobby’s place in the hopes of offering safety.

Had he made the right call?

A hand big enough to close Sam in a fist but trustworthy enough not to settled palm up on the table. Dean had his bag over his shoulder and a determined glint in his eyes. “Ready to go check on Oz, Sammy?”

Sam nodded and hopped on. They could hope, for now, that Oscar simply slept in this morning. They would know soon enough if their luck could catch a break.

“The sooner we find out where he went, the better.”
Did anyone really believe that I'd let Oscar out of the stress that easily?

The newest resident at Bobby Singer's house has found himself in quite a predicament, and none of his friends are sure yet what happened. He's ... a lot scared. Here's hoping his Winchester buddies catch up before anything worse than getting stuck in a jar happens.


Series based on the Brothers Apart Supernatural AU created by the fantastic :iconnightmares06:

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Jetx43682's avatar
NOOO OZ!!!😖 don’t scare the small child😰 I hope they find him soon😭
PL1's avatar
They have to find him! ;o;  He needs a lil help!
nightmares06's avatar
The Winchester rescue squad is on the job
PL1's avatar
Oscar needs them to come find him. Let him out of that jar!
LaEscritora's avatar
I should have known better than to think Oscar could catch a break. ^^; His life just doesn't work like that.

At least Bobby is observant enough to realize something's wrong! Help is on the way.
PL1's avatar
^^;  Oscar got a little time to get settled in, but ... it can't last XD

He wouldn't miss breakfast! That's an easy habit for his buddies to notice at least ;w; Save him
LaEscritora's avatar
XD Can't last, because he's the unwitting protagonist of a Supernatural AU.

Oscar missing food is a clear sign something is wrong. Zero question about it. u_u
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