Summary: You’re stuck in a safehouse in the middle of a blizzard with the chaos engine that is Dean Winchester. As a squirrel. What could possibly go wrong?
Tags/Warnings: Fluff, squirrel!Dean, like a literal squirrel, witch shenanigans, wildlife shenanigans, cuddling, mentions of cleavage and Dean nestling there but nothing outright explicit, euphemism towards the end, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men
A/N: I couldn’t not do a Dean version of this. You can consider this fic as a companion piece to The Moose, The Witch, and The Hunter, but I wanted to challenge myself a bit and try a different prompt for it even though it’s a similar premise. For this one, I chose a quote. It’s been bolded for convenience! Here, @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth, have another one! Title is a nod to the TV show Ten Inch Hero. It just fit so well for this, and I couldn’t help myself 😀
You hadn’t even had the time to yell a warning before the witch snapped her fingers. In the space of a breath, Dean went from six feet of badass hunter to… seven inches of furious, furry fury. He scurried around your feet in frantic circles, and you lowered your gun in disbelief.
“Dean?” you asked. The squirrel froze before turning and glaring up at you with an indignant look that was distinctly Dean. Then, he jabbed a tiny paw in the direction of the witch – who had fled during your moment of disorientation – and made a chittering noise that you could only interpret as Are you freakin’ kidding me? I hate witches! It took a lot more effort than you’d ever admit to stifle your laughter. You leaned down to scoop him up.
“Don’t you dare bite me, Winchest– ouch!” You winced and nearly dropped him as he sank his tiny teeth into your palm. “Asshole.” You stuffed him into the pocket of your jacket, gently smacking him when he opened his mouth to go for another nip at you. If it weren’t for the blizzard that had been brewing for the past day and a half, you would’ve gone after the witch immediately. As it was, there was a safehouse the two of you had passed on your way up here, and it was far more hospitable than this witch’s hovel.
By the time you reached the safehouse, the storm had swallowed the world outside. You were soaked and shivering, and you were pretty sure there was actual frost forming on your lashes. The safehouse had power – though you weren’t going to count on that if the storm progressed – along with a fireplace, some old blankets, and some canned goods. You set Dean on the little table in the kitchen and slipped your jacket off before turning to get a fire going. As you moved, you swore you could feel him watching you with his beady little eyes, and you briefly wondered just how much he could comprehend. Did the spell affect the way his brain worked too? Or was it just his physical appearance?
Dean didn’t wait long to give you your answer. He stomped in tight, angry circles on the table, his tail flicking incessantly and chittering all the while. Then, upon seeing the salt shaker in the middle of the table, he hurled himself at it, sliding off the table and taking the salt shaker with him. It clattered to the floor and was still rolling towards the wall when he scampered back up the leg of the table to do the same to the pepper shaker. Yeah, he was still Dean. The petty vandalism as a way to cope with stress was his signature move, and you couldn’t help but be reminded of the time he’d once drop-kicked a garden gnome into a person’s koi pond because the thing “looked at him funny.”
You got the fire going, found a few blankets that weren’t as scratchy as others, and checked your phone. No service. Because of course not. You sighed tossing it on the table. No way to inform Sam, who was still in the nearby town, what had happened. He probably wouldn’t even believe it. With that thought, you snagged your phone again and opened the camera, managing to catch a blurry image of Dean attempting to gnaw his way through the corner of the table. He glared at the camera, though most of the menace human-Dean usually mustered was lost in this furry form.
“Calm down,” you said, amusement laced in your voice. “I’m gonna fix this. Just don’t destroy the place, yeah? Can’t fix it if I freeze to death.” He paused, tail whipping, and you could practically feel the skepticism radiating off of him. It hadn’t even been a full hour, and you already missed his sarcastic comebacks.
When you dug through the cabinets and found a kettle, Dean made a show of climbing onto the counter and wedging himself beneath the faucet handle. It was an old, lever-style faucet that you were sure had rusted into place, and Dean in his tiny form struggled to open the tap. When it didn’t budge, he stared you down then looked meaningfully at the can of Spaghetti-Os you had pulled down.
“Pretty sure those aren’t good for a squirrel,” you mused aloud, rummaging through the pantry. There was an unopened pack of sunflower seeds, and while you weren’t sure just how long they had been sitting there, you figured that those sorts of things didn’t go bad too fast. Your back had been turned for maybe ten seconds before you heard a metallic clang from behind. You spun around to find Dean standing on the counter, fluffed up and in full gremlin mode. He stood frozen, staring daggers at the side of the chrome toaster like it owed him something.
“Dean, buddy…” You rubbed your face. “That’s you. You’re fighting yourself.” He looked at you then back at his reflection, blinked once, and then puffed up even bigger, like he couldn’t believe he looked like that. It was too much. You snickered, and Dean chittered angrily at you for it. “I’m sorry,” you said in a tone that clearly wasn’t very sorry as you covered your mouth while you laughed. “You’re just… You’re still you.” You opened the bag of sunflower seeds and poured a few into your hand before holding them out for him like a peace offering.
He regarded your outstretched hand for a moment before deciding it was acceptable and reaching out to take a seed. You watched as he nibbled his way through the shell before stuffing the whole seed into his mouth and reaching for another, dropping the discarded shell at his feet. You had seen human-Dean shovel food into his face like he was starving, but squirrel-Dean was like a machine with how efficiently he worked his way through the sunflower seeds. His cheeks puffed out comically until his face looked less like that of a woodland creature and more like a furry stress ball. You snapped another photo.
You finally settled onto the couch with a mug of something warm in your hands and a fire crackling merrily in front of you. After his feast of sunflower seeds, Dean seemed keen on taking the rest of his frustration out on the tacky throw pillows and the ragged seams of the couch armrest which he attacked with a ferocity that could only belong to Dean. Occasionally, he paused to admire his handiwork before shooting you a look of pure challenge, as if he was daring you to intervene. You didn’t.
The storm beyond the windows made the safehouse feel more like a snowglobe. Just you and Dean sealed off from the rest of the world while snowflakes continued to flurry around outside. Dean had finally tuckered himself out after successfully shredding one of the throw pillows, and you had found a bag of trail mix that was still sealed. It sat on the table in front of you while you carefully dragged your hunter’s knife against a whetstone. It didn’t need sharpening. Dean always made sure every weapon in your arsenal was ready to plunge into the chest cavity of the creature of the week, but it gave you something to do. There wasn’t a tv in the safehouse, and the radio couldn’t pick up any signal through the storm.
Dean watched you, a cashew held between his paws as he nibbled away at it, crumbs of it dropping down into his fur. You glanced at him every now and again and managed to look at him just in time to watch him shove the half eaten cashew into his cheek pouch then grab for an almond and shove it into the other side. You laughed.
“Jesus, Dean. You’re shoving nuts in your face like you’ve done it before.”
The peanut he had grabbed clattered to the table top, and he glared at you with such intensity that you were almost impressed. You tried to hold his furious little gaze without laughing, but it was like staring down a laser pointer made of snark and brute willpower. It didn’t fit his form, and it was hard to take him seriously with furry little cheeks you wanted to pinch.
“Hey, I’m just saying,” you said, raising your hands defensively. “You’re a champion at it.”
He gave a huffy little squeak, and you half expected him to leap across the table to take out your eyeball. Instead, he darted over to the knife you had set down, almost too fast for you to see, and snatched it away from you in a blur of fur and tail. “DEAN!” He ran, and if someone had told you that there would be a point in your life where you were chasing a squirrel holding a hunter’s blade around a safehouse, you would’ve asked what in the world they had been smoking.
Yet here you were.
He zigzagged, and you nearly tripped over your discarded boots. Then he sprinted back beneath the table and brandished the weapon like he was prepared to make you take the knife out of his cold, dead paws.
“Drop it!” you demanded. He squeaked back in defiance. “I swear to God, Dean, if you don’t give me that knife back this instant, I’m going to turn you into a drowned rat!” He chattered something extremely foul back to you. You lunged and grabbed the knife, staying wary of the sharp side of it. Dean held on with all four limbs, and when you finally lifted it, you lifted him too. He dangled on it midair like a very angry keychain. You sighed and poked at him with your free hand. He spit the cashew and the almond at you.
When you finally settled beneath the blankets on the couch to call it a night after questioning just about every life choice that had led you to this moment, Dean crawled onto your shoulder chattering softly.
“Finally burned out all your chaotic energy?” you asked, gently petting his head with one finger. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing as you stroked his fur. “Come on. Let’s call it for now. First light, we track down that witch and get her to change you back.” He nuzzled into your palm before burrowing beneath the blankets. You watched the lump of squirrel-Dean move beneath the covers then yelped when you suddenly felt his paws digging into your neck. He moved quickly, diving into your cleavage like a man (squirrel) returning to his homeland.
“Dean…” You felt him curl up right over your sternum, his tail brushing against the column of your throat. “Dean, you can’t hibernate in my boobs.” He answered you with a very cozy, very self-satisfied chirp. Then, a tiny squirrel sigh. You blinked down at the mound of blankets and the squirrel fur nestled against you. You heaved a heavy sigh and shifted slightly, feeling him adjust with you. He made another smug noise, and you shook your head, leaning back against the pillow and closing your eyes. Between the fire crackling, the muffled howl of the wind outside, and Dean’s small body keeping you warm, you fell asleep.
At some point, you stirred, something heavy pressing down on you. It felt hard to breathe for some reason. The fire had died down to embers, but the storm didn’t sound so angry anymore. As you took in another breath, your hunter instinct fully engaged, and your eyes snapped open.
Dean’s head – his human-sized head with human-sized stubble and human-sized smug lips – was resting exactly where the squirrel had been. And he wasn’t just leaning on your chest. Dean Winchester was fully sprawled across you, cheek pressed into the valley of your cleavage like a man who had died doing what he loved. Your hand was in his hair, and your legs were tangled with his. One of his arms was wrapped around your waist, and the other was tucked beneath your pillow, propping your head up a little more than what was usually comfortable.
You went completely still.
the warmth of his body radiated through your clothes, and your heart hammered against your ribs so hard that you were sure he could feel it. You swallowed hard, trying to figure out the best way to extricate yourself from the situation without waking him. The couch wasn’t exactly the most spacious, and any wrong movement would likely cause him to roll onto the floor.
Before you could make a decision, Dean stirred. In the light of the embers, you watched as his eyes fluttered open, and for one blissful moment, there was only sleepy contentment in them. Until reality hit.
“What the–” His voice was rough with sleep as he jerked upright, nearly toppling off the couch. His eyes went wide, darting from his very human hands to your face. “Holy shit,” he breathed, patting himself. “I’m back. I’m–” He cut himself off as he realized his current position. Straddling one of your thighs and leaning over you. At least he had clothes on.
“Uh…” You wracked your brain for something witty to say, but it apparently had decided that now was the best time to take a vacation. Dean’s weight on you was different now. Solid and warm in ways that sent your pulse skittering. His eyes found yours in the dim light, surprise giving way to something else entirely.
“So,” he began, voice still gravelly, “did you enjoy having me between your–”
“Don’t,” you warned, feeling heat warm your cheeks. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” A slow smile tugged at his lips as he settled one hand on the arm rest of the couch and leaned down closer to your face.
“What? I was going to say blankets.” You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing damn well that that wasn’t what he was going to say.
“Sure you were,” you muttered, trying to ignore the way his gaze dropped down to your lips for a fraction of a second.
“I was,” he insisted, but his smile gave him away. He shifted slightly, and you were acutely aware of every point of contact between you. “You know, I remember everything. Being that small, tackling the salt shaker…”
“The way you stuffed your face with nuts?” you suggested innocently. He gave you a look that was half amused and half a warning.
“You taking pictures of me at my lowest moment. Those better not find their way to Sammy.”
“I make no promises.” You reached up to press your palm to his cheek, feeling the rasp of his stubble against your palm. The only kind of whiskers that belonged on his face. “Maybe I’ll keep them as insurance. For the next time you annoy me.” Dean frowned.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would.” The space between you felt charged, something unspoken passing between you. The two of you had orbited each other for far too long. Better late than never, you supposed. “So,” you began slowly. “We gonna keep cuddling or am I kicking you to the floor with the pillow you shredded?” Dean chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against yours as he settled himself over top of you again, arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you against him.
“Would you really do that after all I’ve been through today?” He rested his head against your collarbone, and you ran your fingers through his hair instinctively.
“I guess it would be pretty cold-hearted of me to banish you after your traumatic transformation…”
“Terribly cruel,” Dean agreed. You made a noise of concession and pulled the blanket back over the both of you before settling back into your spot between Dean and the couch. You closed your eyes, something loosening in your chest now that the witch’s curse seemed to have timed out on its own accord. You shifted slightly and paused.
“Dean…?” you muttered. Dean ‘hmm’ed against you. “Is that an acorn in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
Dean simply nuzzled closer to you.
---
Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!
Here are some illustrations for SetsunaNoroi’s @bottomcasbigbang fic:
“Hot Messenger Is Just Hot Mess Angel Spelled Wrong”!
Summary: When Ratatoskr, who more commonly goes by Dean these days, get a distress call about an angel nearly knocking down the doors of Valhalla he has to be the one to look into it. Turns out Castiel is an angel with a new job as messenger but he has no idea what he's doing. Dean is willing to show him the ropes, but mostly because the angel is just as cute as he is weird.
You can read the fic on AO3 or on FF.net!
Don’t you like tiny angry squirrel deity Dean? I do! (Which is why I included the sketch of me trying to figure out how to draw squirrels.)
SetsunaNoroi’s description of trueform angels was way more badass than I was able to draw, but I did have fun trying to come up with something!)
(Please do not repost or alter. At the very least, please give me credit.)
| SPN-J2-xmas | 2020 MasterPost | Ao3 | LiveJournal |
Title: 🍂Golden Leaves🍂
Gifter: @kirathehyrulian
Giftee: @amypond45
Pairing/Characters: Wincest
Medium: Digital Art
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
Summary: Poor winters were the only time that getting closer had plausible deniability, and trembling excitement could be blamed on the cold air. If someone had to ask, the visible relief was a rational response to the added heat.
Enjoy, if you can!♥
For more art from me please check out my “myart” tag here on Tumblr.
👇 (Bonus Doodle and Artist Notes below the cut) 👇
Artist Notes:
It’s done!!!!!!!!! 🙌🙌🙌
At first I was going to name the work “Hold on to Me” from “Unsteady” by X Ambassadors, but I was listening to Passenger’s “Golden Leaves” while sketching/drawing and it felt more right? I don’t know how else to explain it.
I was excited when I first got Amy because she was my first bang author. (story | art) I would like to say I’ve learned a lot about fandom and tumblr since then. And I’d like to say I’ve gotten better artistically in at least someways if not in all. And part of that is thanks to her, so this work is as much as a thank you as it is a gift.
I was given five optional prompts to guide my creativity and decided to mainly focus on the first prompt: “Boys have secretly loved each other forever but denial is an actual living, breathing part of their lives.” and I kind of combined it with the “like”: “trapped in a snowstorm”.
I recognize the only reason why the image above can fit the “prompt” and “like” is because the summary gives the image context. I’m not a writer by any means, but I’m also not an artist that kind make meaningful stand alone images. So, the summary has to fill in the blanks.
In my head Sam and Dean are stuck in a snowstorm in an old broken down building, huddling for warmth because moneys a little too tight for a motel room. The building doesn’t have any heat, so they make due with lighting their spare summoning candles and wrapping themselves in the blanket they keep around during the winter seasons.
I made it Christmas themed because I was in the mood to draw something seasonal. The blanket I used as a reference had moose on it, but not any squirrels, sadly. I guess I could have figured out how to add it to the pattern and make it look good, but I didn’t. But there is a tree in the blanket! Maybe the squirrel is hiding in the tree? If that doesn’t work, fear not for I have rushed drawn a holiday squirrel to make up for it.
Bonus Art:
See, squirrel!Dean was in the tree asleep all this time.
🎶Musical inspiration or just music I was listening to during:
