The Comeback Kid 11

Dean went back inside the pawn shop, his heart heavy but his mind made up. The seedy owner grinned a mouthful of pearly whites and fool's gold as Dean handed over his beloved amulet and the last ninety-seven dollars to his name.

"Pleasure doing business with you, boy."

Dean shot him a rather withering glance after the sword was in his possession. It looked like it was fairly old, judging by the aging on the helm and blade. A little polish and it would shine like new. Even better, it would trap that wretched imp and restore Sam to his proper size.

Hope you're ready to tear this bitch a new one, Sammy.

"AAANNND CUT!"  

Dean flinched and spun on his heel to face the foreign voice. His eyes bugged out: half of the pawn shop had been cut away, and replaced by what appeared to be the behind-the-scenes side of a TV or movie set. A line of producers, boom mike operators, technician speaking into headsets.... he whirled back around to see the pawn shop owner drinking a Dasani and chatting up one of the younger ladies wearing an ID badge, a pair of fake teeth in hand.

This... it's a set? It can't be! I was just in here, and I sure as hell would've noticed a freaking microphone hanging over my head!

Somehow, his gut already knew exactly which black-eyed, size-obsessed demon was to blame.

The next thing he knew, a shorter man with silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard was suddenly slapping him on the back, giving him a friendly squeeze.

"Great job, Jensen. I can always count on you to go the extra mile."

Dean squirmed, shooting him a look that made him rethink his invasion of personal space. He raised his eyebrows expectantly at him, glancing around him for the man he was talking to.

"Me?"

The director gave him a strange look. "You see anybody else named Jensen here?"

Dean looked left and right, actively searching the set as if a man wearing a name tag that read ‘Jensen’ might appear out of thin air. Mildly concerned, the director took his hand off Dean's shoulders and backed away a bit.

"Remind me not to be rhetorical on Fridays,” the graying man muttered. "Take five. We need to reset before the next shot."

The apparent director went back into the crowd, replaying the footage with a set of headphones on. Feeling lost and confused, Dean didn't know where to turn. Where the hell was he? And sure enough, these people couldn't leave him alone. A spindly man wearing all black tried to pry the sword right out of his hand. Dean yanked it back out of his hands, shooting him a death glare.

"Mister Ackles, it's... it's a prop. I can't let you take that..."

"The hell I can't." Dean twirled it in his hand. The blade wobbled. Frowning incredulously, Dean shook it again. The whole thing wobbled vigorously, just like...

"Rubber," he muttered. "Fucking useless." He shoved it into the prop man's hands, striding off angrily in a different direction.

It was around that time that he noticed the distinct lack of a tiny body thudding against his chest. Though his gut already told him what he would find, dread crippled him anyway. Dean yanked open his breast pocket and peered inside. Empty. The imp had separated them again... Who knew where Sam was now?

Dean suddenly looked around at all the busy people like they were death machines. Had Sam already been crushed? Was he running for his life in a sea of hapless giants? The thoughts only increased in severity, rooting him to his spot as he tried not to panic. The imp had completely turned the tables on them.

Again.

Two personal assistants with the name tags ‘Val’ and ‘Rodney’ hanging out nearby spied his distress. Normally, they were kept to just snacks and menial tasks, but given his distress, they approached tentatively.

"Can I... get you anything, Mister Ackles?" Val asked hesitantly.

Recognizing the name the prop guy had called him, Dean looked up. "Yeah, let me know if you see any little people wandering around," Dean huffed before storming off, choosing a direction at random.

Bewildered, the two PAs stared holes into his back until he was out of sight.

"Isn't the proper term 'midgets?' " Rodney asked.

"No, no. He's right, it's 'little people.' "

Rodney shook his head. "Man, that guy is weird."

---

Sam let out a yelp of surprise as the fingers pressed him into the side of the mug, taking away his breath. The pressure was almost enough to crack his ribs, and he could feel the heat of the cup through his clothing. Thankfully his bare skin wasn't shoved against it. He struggled fruitlessly as the ground fell away from his feet, leaving him suspended in midair at the unknown person's mercy. Even if he got out now, it would mean a drop to his death.

Sam froze.

There was a long pause where it seemed the room itself stood still, holding its breath. Then the mug turned around, slowly bringing Sam into view.

Vivid green eyes went about as wide as they could go as they discovered the tiny thing attached to the coffee mug. Words wouldn't form, only incoherent thoughts flashing through his mind's eye as he raced to process what he was seeing. It looked like a doll... a familiar face-- oh FUCK it was alive!

The man gasped and dropped the mug in shock. A deep curse rang out as the broiling hot coffee spilled all over his pants. The coffee mug fell with a dull clunk to the floor, while Sam landed on the edge of his lap and slipped onto the sofa.  

All in all, it wasn't the worst way to cope with the discovery of tiny people.

Stunned into speechless silence, the man leaned down over the tiny person, watching as he picked himself up in a dizzy manner. His riveted frown deepened, lips parting in awe as the tiny man- no more than three inches tall, he'd wager- got to his feet. The slight burns on his coffee-dampened thighs couldn't be further from his mind. There was something so disturbingly familiar about his face...

Sam shoved himself up with a groan after the fall, barely able to believe he'd survived. First tumbling what must have been twenty feet after almost being scalded by a hot cup, landing on a giant leg, falling off of that... Somehow he was still in one piece. Still alive.

He stumbled on the plushy surface of the couch, catching his balance. If it wasn't for that damn imp, he'd start to think that damn rabbit's foot curse was affecting him again. This was a shitload of bad luck to shove into such a small amount of time.

The silence drilled into the back of his head. He'd only caught a brief glimpse of the person who'd picked him up by accident, but Sam knew he was still there. Still watching Sam. A chill went up Sam's back at his helplessness.

Since he didn't have anywhere else to run, Sam turned himself around with an unhappy sigh. And blinked in surprise. "Dean! Dude, what the hell's up with dropping me like that?"

The man's light eyebrows shot up in surprise. He blinked, and cocked his head to the side as if making sure the little guy wasn't going to follow up on that.

"Jared?" he asked softly. The tiny doppelganger frowned, so he changed his answer. "Sam," he tried. God it was hard to get a read on such a tiny face! "You... you think you're Sam. Sam Winchester?"

The man covered his mouth with his hand, still awestruck. Finally, he eased up a bit, making note of the stains on his costume pieces. "I've either had too much coffee or not nearly enough..." he chuckled weakly, the intrigue and astonishment still visible in his every move. Gingerly, he prodded a finger into the tiny Sam's side. Real as ever. "Who put you up to this, Bob Singer? One of Misha's Russian comrades?" the man went on, scanning him up and down for any sort of wiring or flicker.

Sam tried to bat the huge finger away. At least Dean hadn't poked his bad arm. "What the hell are you talking about, Dean?" He scowled up at the giant. "Bob? Misha? Did you hit your head or something? I don't think I'm Sam Winchester... I am Sam Winchester." Sam threw up his arms in annoyance, continuing his aggravated, 'I'm done with it' tirade that had been building up inside ever since shrinking in the first place. "You remember the imp, don't you? We still have to find a way to stop her or at least get me back to normal. I'm getting sick of this whole two-inches-tall business."

"Yeah I bet," the larger man said under his breath, sizing Sam up with his eyes for the twentieth time. Being that small couldn't have been a picnic.

Sam put a little distance between himself and his giant brother, staring at his surroundings. He tried to focus on their predicament and pushed away his aggravation. "Where do you think she teleported us too, and where'd you get the coffee from?" ...man I could use some coffee myself after everything I've gone through... and Dean just wasted an entire cup...

When Sam had his back turned, the man turned around again, searching for hidden cameras that would indicate this was some sort of prank. But by every possible observation, he was completely alone. Just him and the incredibly shrunken Sam.

"A uh.. a P.A. brought it in," he said, glancing down distractedly at the lopsided coffee mug. He shook his head, now looking down at Sam with a healthy wariness. "You know what, just... Sit tight for a sec."

He slowly rose to his feet, glancing up at Sam frequently as he dialed a number and brought the cell up to his ear.

"Bob Singer." The man on the other line sounded besieged.

"Bob, hey. You uh... this is gonna sound a little far-fetched, but you didn't happen to send over a souvenir from this episode?" he asked, his eyes locked on Sam.

"We're not even finished shooting it! Must've been some of the crew," Bob answered, sounding like he was trying to do ten things at once. "Or maybe escaped fan mail. I don't know."

"Shit. I mean, yeah of course. Thanks," he said hurriedly, hanging up the phone. So that left him with the unthinkable options.

"So, Sam,, you uh... you're a little off the reservation, huh?" He stood by the couch, still waiting for the surprise to wear off.

Sam stared at Dean as his brother was on the phone, eyebrows slowly scrunching together in confusion. He backed away from the edge of the couch, uncomfortable with the way Dean standing over him and moving so fast. Here he thought he'd finally started to get used to this size.

Sam's confusion increased while Dean was on the phone, talking to someone he seemed to have invented on the spot. The familiar cold ball of dread coalesced in Sam's stomach.

"Yeah.... Dean, this is no time for games. Or pranks. Seriously. Did you get the sword, at least?"

The larger man shook his head, holding up a hand to stop Sam from spewing any more stories. "You gotta stop calling me that. I'm not your brother."

He crouched down, putting his face more level to the little man on his couch. "I-- I do know Dean... very well. But I'm not him. My name is Jensen. I'm an actor. I play Dean Winchester on a TV show," he said, very clearly so there was no mistake. He chuckled weakly and shook his head. "And I'm talking to you like you actually exist.."

Sam resembled a fish, standing there on the couch with his mouth open. He closed it, opened it. Thought about what he was going to say, closed it again. Stared at his surroundings, the giant in front of him... who was wearing Dean's shirt. Dean's jeans... his amulet for godsakes!

"Not Dean. Not my brother..." Sam backed away from the edge, trying to put distance between them. The danger he was in was only just starting to sink in.

He eyed up the giant in front of him, trying to figure out what was going on. "Exist? Of course I exist..." he said, more to himself than anything. Then again, he had a hard time admitting the person in front of him wasn't Dean. Same green eyes, same clothes, same annoying smirk!

"Alright Jensen," Sam said, determined. "If you're not my brother, where is he?" Sam tried to push down any fear, standing confidently on the couch.

Jensen pinched his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine. This is like some Supernatural-themed acid trip." He frowned, eyes shifting a little as he mulled this over seriously.

"Alright, let's say I believe you. You're from some... alternate world where these characters... where Sam and Dean are real." Jensen conjectured. His frown deepened, green eyes locking back onto the impossibly tiny demon-hunter standing on his couch. "Hey, you ended up here with me, right? Maybe Dean ended up in Jared's trailer, swapping counterparts or something. Worth a shot."

Still staring at Sam, Jensen cocked his head to the side, another startling thought occurring to him.

"Hang on. Dean... is he bite-sized too?" Jensen held up a hand, measuring out Sam's approximate height with a finger and thumb.

"No..." Sam said slowly, glad the Dean doppelganger hadn't made any threatening moves. He shuddered when Jensen called him bite-sized, an icy chill hitting at the memory of being trapped in a mouth. That hit too close to home for comfort. "He was normal last I saw. I'm the lucky one."

He hesitated for a long moment, mulling over what he was about to say. On the one hand, he wanted nothing to do with any regular sized humans while he was so vulnerable. On the other hand, Jensen hadn't done anything to Sam and aside from thinking he was losing his mind (and Sam still had trouble believing he'd been shrunk, honestly, do out was no surprise if anyone else had trouble believing it) he'd treated Sam like a regular person.

"Do... do you think you could help me find my brother?" Sam asked hopefully, staring up at the new giant. He was useless stranded on the couch like this, with no way to even get down on his own. If he wanted any hope of finding his brother, he'd need help.

Jensen's eyebrows went up, his face unintentionally mirroring Dean's look of surprise whenever he was faced with an unusual request. Even if this was all some insane dream (he was running out of actual scenarios that could explain this insanity)... The poor little guy was lost and confused and only three inches tall. There really was only one way to be decent about this.

"Y-yeah. Jared's trailer is just around the corner." He reached out, on instinct to pick Sam up. The hand slowed when it was right next to the shrunken man, the stark comparison reminding him how nerve-wracking it must be on the other end.

"Sorry, bud," Jensen apologized. "But...this is how it's gotta go down. Hang in there." He scooped Sam up into his hand, locking him up in a loose fist, with plenty of light coming in between the fingers. Once standing again, he uncurled his hand a bit to look in at him.

"You say somethin?’ "

Sam couldn’t help jumping back at the hand coming right at him. It was made worse knowing it wasn’t actually Dean grabbing at him but someone who had his face. He was easily scooped up, the vertigo hitting his stomach at Jensen’s fast movements. His yelp of surprise was muffled by the loose fist he was trapped in.

The movement slowed and the world opened up around him as Jensen opened his fist.

“N-no. Just… can you move a little… slower? And… thanks. For helping.” He stared up at the giant, giving him his best puppy eyes. It might not be Dean he was with, but Jensen so far wasn’t such a bad guy.

Jensen couldn't help but crack a small smile. Those puppy-dog eyes were a look he had seen many times on Jared's face under the guise of his character... but there was no doubt in his mind that this time, he was looking at the real deal.

"Well, it's gotta suck being the size of a kit-kat bar. And... technically speaking, I actually owe you guys a great deal," he observed, half to himself. "Maybe this is some kind of cosmic karma." Never in a million years had it crossed his mind that he would get a chance to thank the Winchesters in person.

His fingers canopied Sam once more as his steps took on a new speed. He tread down the steps of his trailer and ducked outside. Though his face drew several eyes, their gazes were fleeting as they were all hurried and absorbed in their own task. Jensen strode around the length of the trailer, and as promised, right up to the one next door. Disregarding the paper sign that labeled it as Jared's, he opened the unlocked door with his free hand and ducked inside.

"That wasn't so bad, huh?" he mumbled, relieving Sam of his cramped enclosure and flattening out his hand. The inside of the trailer was about the same as Jensen's, with mild changes: different magazines were spread on the coffee table, picture of different people collages around the mirror on the right, and the TV left with NFL playing on mute.

Sam stretched himself out once the air over his head was open. "No, not bad at all," he called up. Sam turned slowly in place on the palm, taking in the decor. It wasn't half bad, despite the fact everything was still colossal.

He walked to the edge of Jensen's palm, peering down at the coffee table. "So this... Jared. He's an actor like you?" If Jensen was Dean, then... "Does he play... me?"

Jensen nodded his confirmation. "That's the job. For the better part of a decade we've been doing your story." He looked down at the tiny man with a tense expression, wordlessly guarding him from falling with a second hand cupped around the first. "You guys have been through some serious crap. I mean, the demons and angels, the end of the world being nigh... all of that is real for you?"

Sam stepped back when the second hand cupped around the first, nervous at the sight of the massive hand. He twisted around so he could look Jensen in the eyes. The expression on Jensen's face was reassuring, a care and curiosity that matched Dean's own showing through. "Uh, yeah," he said. "Unfortunately. Not to mention vampires, werewolves... chupacabra." He flopped his arms in an aggravated half-shrug. "What, you don't have any of that here?"

"The scariest thing we've got around here is Lady Gaga," Jensen answered with a slightly sheepish smile. "We'd be screwed otherwise. I'd be trailing salt behind me everywhere I went." He chuckled faintly, finding it strangely awesome when he saw Sam's eyes light up with recognition for the use of salt.

He glanced around the trailer, even checking inside the bathroom at the back. Besides them, it was empty. "No sign of him." He arched an eyebrow at Sam inquisitively. "You sure he was even transported here? There's nothing about any of this in the script."

As Jensen talked Sam could feel his shoulders slump down, dejected. The thought of being stranded in a strange world less than three inches tall without Dean was horrifying. As nice as Jensen had turned out to be (and Sam was lucky he had, considering his current situation) he wasn't Dean. Sam simply didn't feel as safe with him as he did with Dean. Even with everything that had happened he still felt safer with his older brother.

"No..." Sam said slowly. "I mean, I don't know. I was in Dean's pocket when the imp hit me. Dean was supposed to be getting a sword to trap her with." He reflected on Jensen's last words. "What do you mean 'it wasn't in the script?' "

Jensen searched around the trailer, tossing what looked like other important papers around haphazardly. Finally, he found what he was looking for wedged between two seat cushions on the sofa.

"Ah. Here we go. 'The Comeback Kid.’ "