Return to Oz 1

A/N: This is the continuation of the Brothers Together series, if you want to read the full series, please visit the Masterpost of Stories.

Oscar lost the only friends he’d ever found over a decade ago. He’s learned to survive on his own, brief reminders of Sam and Dean keeping him company along with the mice who share the walls with him. 

Yet Sam and Dean, though they may have forgotten where he lives, out of the hundreds of motels they’ve been to, never forgot their Oz.

---

"So, what do we know about this creep?"

Sam frowned as he thought over the case files he'd reviewed the night before. Dean had been out for the night, leaving Sam with the laptop while he went to a bar to build up their supply of backup cash.

"Three bodies, two this month and one the last," Sam said aloud, not worried about Dean hearing him.

After all, he was sitting right on the hunter's shoulder. Grey cloth bag slung at his side, Sam made relaxing on a shoulder look perfectly natural. One of his legs dangled casually off of the edge, the other drawn up close, the rubber sole of his boot finding traction on the Henley shirt Dean was wearing under his jacket. The boots were repurposed from a dollhouse set, one of the high-quality ones, and were well-worn, just like his bag.

The collar of Dean's jacket was stiff, and Sam occasionally leaned against it. Otherwise he used the hunter's neck for support, glad for the heat radiating from it.

"Authorities are blaming animal attacks, but chances are if any animals were interested in the bodies, they'd have gone for more than just the hearts."

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he listened. Sam could feel the tensing of muscles under him as the massive arms responded to the hunter's movements. It never bothered him, after so many years at this size, but the thought of how powerful his older brother had grown up to be never ceased to amaze him.

Dean had, after all, become the man that monsters had nightmares about.

Not many people, hunters or otherwise, would guess that a lot of the reason for Dean's success as a hunter didn't have anything to do with his strength and how adept he was with weapons, though that did help quite a bit. No, it had to do with the fact that he had a certain four inch hunter backing him up. Sam could put together clues and see details that everyone else overlooked. They watched out for each other, and never let each other down.

Only a few other humans knew about Sam. Their dad's old friends, Caleb and Pastor Jim were some of the lucky few. Of course, Bobby Singer not only knew about Sam, he had a small home set up on a bookshelf for the small hunter when they stopped in. He'd been there that first week of Sam's curse, helping John hunt down the witch to blame for Sam’s reduced stature.

They'd never found her, and Sam had to learn to live with his new size. It wasn't all bad. He had Dean to count on, even though his brother was now obnoxiously tall, and he had the opportunity to learn more about people like him when they met up with a young boy named Oscar while their dad was on a hunt.

When their dad returned to the room that fateful week, he'd unceremoniously hauled them both to the Impala. Dean had stalled him just long enough for Sam to write a small note to their friend Oscar, hating every second of it.

He'd wanted to take Oscar with them.

The boy was, after all, only eight years old. He'd lost his mother the year before and survived by sheer grit and determination, and both brothers had wanted to help him out. Take him somewhere safe to live, like Bobby's. Anywhere he could get more help would be better than facing such a big world all by himself.

Those plans came to a crashing end. All they'd been able to do was shove the last of the food they had in the vent, and leave the note with it. A quickly scrawled apology from Dean finished it off, his huge, blocky lettering taking up the entire back of the tiny slip of paper in a simple Sorry, Oz.

And then they'd left.

Sam found himself wondering what had happened to his friend. Oscar was a determined kid, he wouldn't have given up after making it on his own for so long.

After that encounter, Sam had found others of his size in the most unexpected places. Some lived in motels like Oscar, some lived in houses. More than once he'd been able to coax information out of them about a case, helping to save both human lives and 'little' lives, the name Bobby had given them (Dean continued to insist on ‘Borrowers’). The gruff older hunter had even revealed, after the encounter with Oscar, that he'd had run-ins with 'littles' before. Once, even at the bed and breakfast that had become the Trails West Motel.

The place where Sam had been cursed.

One day, he was considering asking Dean if they could make a side trip to that motel again. Maybe there was a reason he'd been cursed at that specific place. If there were others his size around, maybe the witch had been working there for years.

The last place he'd expected to find people his size had been the field at Bobby's. Yet they were there, living in an old rabbit warren. It was cozy and insulated, and he'd been amazed the first day he'd discovered it. Rumsfeld, Bobby's newest guard dog for the junkyard and one of Sam's best friends, had caught him off guard one day. He'd been goofing off with Dean busy fixing the Impala, and out of nowhere the dog had darted into the fields, Sam in tow.

Even after the shock of discovering that he had a human brother, he'd been welcomed into the small community. They had a hesitant truce with the hunters Dean and Bobby, allowing them to come around so long as they kept a distance from the burrow, and promised to never pick anyone up unless they specifically asked for it. Sam had spent more than one day out there, learning new skills and trading stories with people his own size. They'd even let Dean come out one warm summer's night, and included him in the storytelling. More and more, he was being accepted as he was, despite the fact that while none of them topped Sam's 4 inches, Dean stood a towering 6'3".

Imposing as he was, Dean would never use his size against them. He and Bobby considered them regular people, and treated them the way they deserved. Dean had grown up with Sam at his side, and knew how to handle himself with littles more than any other human alive.

"We've got two days left in the lunar cycle after today, right?" Dean asked. The rumbling voice derailed Sam's line of thought and drew him back to the present.

"Uh..." Sam blinked as he thought back to his research. "Yeah. It ends on Wednesday, so we need to find the killer before then. And the killing last month happened during the lunar cycle too."

"Awesome," Dean said, and Sam didn't need to see the grin on his face to know it was there.

Leaning back into the crook of his older brother's neck, Sam rolled his eyes. "You are such a geek when it comes to werewolves."

"Hey!" Dean protested. "I can't help it. What's more badass than a freak killing machine by night? We already know how to kill the suckers, and all we gotta do is track it down. Easy as pie."

Sam rolled his eyes on principal, but had a wide grin on his face as he leaned back. He propped up both his legs and stretched his arms behind his head. The signs on the road passed them by, pointing the way to Breckenridge, Colorado. He listened to Dean with half an ear, smiling to himself as the older hunter rambled on about their last hunt with a werewolf. Sam had provided a distraction back then, confusing even a werewolf in a blood-frenzy just long enough to put a silver bullet through its heart.

They were a team, and they'd always be a team.

---

The Impala rolled into town just twenty minutes later.

Dean drove around the area, making sure to mark down in his mind the location of landmarks and important buildings. The police precinct he'd need to drop by soon and see if he could gather any more intel for them to work with, and of course the Gas 'n Sip was all important for later on that night when they sat down to grab a quick drink. There was one motel in the area, the Knights Inn, and he pulled the car into a spot.

Sam took his place in a front chest pocket, staying quiet and out of the way while they were around other humans. Though he'd been seen by victims and others from time to time, it was best to keep him from public knowledge. If the wrong person spotted him, he could reveal the existence of others his size, putting their friends in danger.

It only took a few minutes to check in. Dean thanked the receptionist with a warm smile, giving her a casual wink before heading back out to the car. If they wrapped up this case quick, he might even have time to spend around town before they headed out.

Sam wouldn't mind. It would give him a chance to scout the area, check out the walls of the motel to see if there was anyone around. It was their standard routine, whenever they got the chance.

Dean moved the Impala around to their new room, parking right out front. He didn't bother taking Sam out of the pocket just yet. It was the nightly check-in time and other people were out and about, unpacking cars or just meandering around the sidewalk.

He dug his duffel bag out from the backseat, frowning at the area as he took it all in. It seemed so... familiar. Like they'd been there before. Maybe it was one of the places their dad had dropped them off. After so many different rooms and different towns, they all started to blend together.

Shrugging off the feeling, Dean headed for the room. They had work to get to, and people to save. The heavy duffel rattled against his back. Aside from the silver bullets and his trusty Colt tucked into his pants, he had a supply of salt packed away along with his sawed-off shotgun, Sam’s belongings (including a small bed they’d repurposed from the same dollhouse set as his boots), and other various weapons, first aid supplies and the like. The cooler in the car had some snacks and beers, and he’d have to grab it afterwards, but first he wanted to get Sam secure. They’d long since discovered it was a bad idea for Dean to juggle too many items at once while the small hunter was hanging with him.

The key jingled in the old-fashioned lock as Dean opened up the door, and the light from the setting sun spilled into the room, so that Dean’s shadow loomed across the floor. “Home sweet home,” he muttered down to his pocket with a wry grin. Tacky bedspreads covered both beds, and old paintings on the walls of knights in shining armor set the atmosphere for the Knights Inn.

Dean stepped over the threshold, tossing his duffel onto the bed as he peered around the room in search of a lightswitch. Brief memories of a similar room teased his mind, but he pushed them aside. They’d been in motel rooms from one side of the continental United States to the other, and the chance of them staying in the same motel more than once-- or even the same town more than once-- was low.

Sam pushed up the flap of Dean’s pocket with them out of sight of any other humans, but he didn’t get a chance to say much. Dean was steadily scanning the room for the lightswitch, and movement caught his eye. A darker blob on the floor darting for the dresser.

Now, Dean didn’t have his brother’s keen eyesight in the dark. He’d relied on Sam more than once to help guide him on a case. It was a huge asset. After years of learning to navigate the walls of various houses and motels, Sam’s eyes were better in the dark than anyone else they knew.

But Dean’s sense were still hunter-keen, dark or not.

The movement of the blob made him lunge for the switch on the wall, and the light flared on overhead. Dean’s eyes adjusted to the bright light faster than Sam’s ever could, and his swift movements sent his younger brother tumbling down into the depths of his pocket.

And then Dean was sweeping a hand towards the little shape that was running for cover.