Crackiest crackfic I ever cracked
This is slightly... special. And also not my fault.
Title: Did You Ever See Such a Thing In Your Life?
Rating: PG13
Pairing/Characters: Sam, mouse!Sam. No pairings.
Notes: ~2,330 words. Entirely the fault of kroki_refur, willow_m_w and also slightly girlfan1979.
Warnings: Animal abuse (which I do not condone), Sam abuse (which I only condone when Dean isn't looking) and mouse angst.
Summary: Take one Sam, turn him into a mouse, shove him into a nursery rhyme and finish it off with a liberal dash of Pratchett.
Sam opened his eyes. It didn't work. He tried again. Nope, still nothing. Well, this sucked. Quite monumentally.
"Dean!" he called out. He did not remember having such a tiny voice when he'd gone to bed. "Dean! Where are you?" There was no answer. Sam attempted opening his eyes again, but it still just didn't work. Okay, so that wasn't quite accurate. He was opening his eyes fine, he was sure of it, he just wasn't seeing anything, it must have been pretty dark wherever he was because he couldn't feel any kind of blindfold. He licked his paws and rubbed them over his face. Nope, definitely nothing there. Sam tried a different tactic and opened his nose.
A whole world was suddenly presented before him. A whole, very smelly, world. Wherever he was right now was made out of wood. And was dusty. Sam sneezed the most pathetic-sounding sneeze ever and he was kind of glad that Dean wasn't around. Speaking of Dean, Sam couldn't smell him anywhere. Sam sniffed around a little more until he caught onto the most tantalising scent so far. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was strong and smelt very, very good. Sam suddenly realised that he was incredibly hungry and his stomach grumbled just to back up the point.
However, Sam was not going to go rushing into things when he couldn't even see, no matter how hungry he was (and he was pretty hungry). He perked his ears up, twitching them to make sure there were no untoward sounds from any direction. There were birds singing somewhere, somewhere that sounded like outside. He sniffed in that direction and definitely picked up on some fresh air, so that was a possible escape plan for later, once he'd had something to eat.
He dashed forward a few steps and then stopped to check his surroundings again, still nothing, good. He hurried a little further forward, then stopped again to make absolutely sure everything was fine. He was, for all intents and purposes, blind, and being snuck up on when blind is pretty easy. He darted forward again, sniffed to check he was heading in the right direction, swept the room for signs of movement with his ears and then moved on. He stopped and checked five more times before he came close enough to the thing of the gorgeous smell to recognise it as cheese. It gave him a moment of pause because cheese didn't usually smell that good, until his stomach reminded him that it was really quite hungry.
Sam decided that he was going to hedge his bets and make a run for it. Nothing untoward had appeared so far, so it wasn't likely to appear now, was it? His haste had absolutely nothing to do with the smell that was practically making him drool, no, he wasn't Dean. He put on a burst of speed, hoping that the cheese wasn't too far away. He'd barely started, however, when something landed landed heavily just to his left. He startled and ran blindly off to the right, his heart pumping so fast it felt like it would burst.
He stopped dead when he ran smack into something very solid. With what he could tell from his brief, but very hard, contact with it, it was the wall. He ran along it back towards the place he'd started out from, thinking that it was probably his best bet, and being entirely too panicked to come up with any fantastic plan. Being unable to see, he scraped his front paws over the small wooden ledge that lead into the familiar woody, dusty smell of the place he'd started this whole nightmare in. He continued further in until he came to a corner and huddled up in it, trying to bring his body back under control. He licked his paws and cleaned his ears, needing something to do to calm himself before he could start thinking things through. It was while he was wiping his snout that he found out whatever had landed next to him had almost completely cut off the whiskers on the left side of his face.
He mourned the loss of these most important features for a moment before pulling himself together.
So, food didn't appear to be an option; he'd have to work on the escape. Having taken a few minutes to gather his wits and be sure he wasn't horribly injured anywhere (apart from his whiskers; he missed those whiskers), Sam stuck his nose out of hiding again.
There was a loud and low rumbling that rose to almost deafening levels so Sam pulled his nose back in mere moments before he felt something slam down right where it had been. He shot back into his corner as fast as his little legs would carry him and was stopped dead by the wall again, with a splinter in his snout for his trouble.
He stayed in curled up in the corner, shivering and shaking, trying to hold the instinct to panic at bay. There was an urge deep within him to completely lose his shit, but he didn't think it would be wise to listen to it. He also had never before realised how useful opposable thumbs were when trying to pull out a splinter.
He didn't know how long he stayed where he was, hiding away from the world. He was always alert, listening to what was going on outside. He could hear the birds from what must be a far off open window and much closer, loud thumps that sent terror thrilling through him. Even closer were the sounds of things scuttling to and fro above his head, which were either something Sam didn't want to think about, or really fat spiders. Sam already had enough things he didn't want to think about, so he went with the spiders. Sam also came to the conclusion that his world of perpetual darkness was something to do with being blind rather than a lack of light. He wished that thought didn't make him want to squeak in fear so much.
Sam slipped in and out of sleep and only when the hunger pains really started panging did he push himself out of his corner again. He slipped along the wall and sniffed the open air. There was no hint of the loud rumbling, thumping thing that tried to cleave parts of him off, so he started sniffing around for food again.
The cheese was still there. Wherever 'there' was. Sam hurried out, desperate to get there before the thumping thing returned. Of course, hurrying and blindness don't go together all that well. Sam felt like a pinball the way he was bounced from one object to another, inevitably knocking some of them over. Still, he bravely carried on in the general direction of that wonderful smell, but luck was not on his side (when is it ever?).
Sam froze when he heard the return of those booming thumps - footsteps, he realised - and just sat there in the open trying desperately to figure out which direction the footsteps were coming from. Just sitting there went against pretty much everything he'd ever been taught, but there was a part of his brain telling him to run, run, run, dammit, run now, which was getting in the way of the part of his brain that was trying to tell him which direction would be the best to run in.
In the end, his legs made the decision for him and he shot forward. He'd waited a moment too long, though, and a sharp pain bloomed at the end of his tail. Except he didn't have time to worry about that now, because his legs were taking him god knew where and he was completely turned around, with no idea which direction he'd come from.
All of those problems paled into insignificance when the floor disappeared from under his feet. He was airborne for what felt like an age and with no idea where the ground was he was terrified out of his tiny, mouse-sized mind. He braced himself for impact and landed almost gracefully on all fours, if it hadn't been for the slipping and sliding, and wild squeaking.
He didn't have time to take note of his injuries because there were still the great, thumping footsteps and the shrieking coming up behind him. He shot forward again, straight into a wall (he was getting good at telling what was and wasn't a wall when he ran into them). He hurried along the wall and found - at last! - a small hole in it. He desperately squeezed himself through it and finally came to a halt on the other side.
Wherever he was now, it was dustier than anywhere he'd been before, and he was pretty sure there were cobwebs everywhere; he'd already walked through at least ten and he'd only been there for half a minute at the most. Sam didn't go far from the entrance, instead choosing to sit down where he was and curl up for a bit to hope that everything went away. Of course, it didn't. As the adrenaline wore off, it only got worse.
For starters, he was still hungry. He hadn't eaten since god knew when and that didn't look to be changing any time soon. Then, of course, he was still missing his whiskers; his snout felt incredibly empty without them, not to mention how sore his snout was from running into all those walls. Next, Sam ran his paws along his throbbing tail until he came to the tip. Or, more to the point, he didn't come to the tip, because it wasn't there. The end of his tail had been cut right off. And on top of all that, just to make Sam that little bit more miserable, he'd landed funny on his back leg and his paw was feeling very fragile. It just wasn't his day, or night, or whatever time of day it was. Oh yeah, that was another thing, he was still damn well blind.
However, none of this stopped Sam from attempting the curl-up-and-hope-it-all-goes-away method. He eventually gave it up when he found he couldn't get comfortable. It was much colder down here and he was practically shivering.
Forlornly, he limped further in, snuffling around for something, anything at all, to make his predicament better. It was such a relief when he nosed over something made out of cloth that he didn't stop to think what it was doing down here and just wrapped it around himself. It went a long way to making him more comfortable and with the exhaustion and the hunger, he couldn't keep his eyes open.
When he next woke up, he could see. At least, he thought he could. There was a far off light, but everything around it was black. His aches and pains had disappeared, apart from the one in his back leg. Sam stood up, he kept the cloth wrapped around him because it was still cold. He shuffled towards the light and his front paws nudged against something wooden. He couldn't tell what it was, but he deemed it good enough for a crutch.
Walking on two legs with a crutch was decidedly unnatural for a mouse, but strangely, it didn't feel so weird to Sam. He hobbled onward until he was at the entrance to the dusty, cobwebby place he'd crawled into who knew how long ago. Somehow, it was much less of a squeeze getting out than it had been getting in.
Once he was out in the open, he looked all around and found that he was in a fantastically huge kitchen. Or, more likely, a normal size kitchen and he was just fantastically small. Then Sam caught sight of his paw and all thoughts of relative sizes went out of his head. His paw was completely white. Bone white. And the crutch he was clutching was, in fact, a scythe. And the cloth he'd wrapped around himself was a black cloak. And - possibly the most alarming realisation of them all - his front legs didn't appear to have any flesh on them whatsoever.
WHAT THE-- Sam cleared his throat. Unfortunately, one of the harder things in life (or death) is clearing your throat when you don't have one any more. WHAT'S GOING ON? Sam eyes inevitably travelled past his front legs and onto the rest of his body. When he realised he was staring at his own ribcage, he screamed.
Sam woke up.
He was in a bed, in a motel, and he could see.
His hands flew to his face, which was satisfyingly fleshy (and also human, thankfully). He checked his arms: present and correct. Legs: alive and kicking. Body: all there. Other places: whole and unharmed. Sam sighed in relief. It had all been one huge, fucked up nightmare. Nightmares he could handle.
Having said that, Sam would rather avoid nightmares if he could, especially if they were going to be about something so mockable. Sam shuddered to think what Dean would do if he knew. He had never really believed those stories about cheese giving you nightmares, but as far as Sam was concerned, this proved it.
Dean had come back earlier all proud of himself and "hey, Sam, I've found some awesome cheese, let's eat!" because that's what Dean did. And he probably did it just to annoy Sam (this kind of logic only really works when it's the middle of the night and you're incredibly annoyed with your brother). Therefore, Sam vowed he would never eat cheese right before going to bed ever again.
Seriously, he didn't care what Dean said; those cheese wheels were evil.
The End.
What?
Title: Did You Ever See Such a Thing In Your Life?
Rating: PG13
Pairing/Characters: Sam, mouse!Sam. No pairings.
Notes: ~2,330 words. Entirely the fault of kroki_refur, willow_m_w and also slightly girlfan1979.
Warnings: Animal abuse (which I do not condone), Sam abuse (which I only condone when Dean isn't looking) and mouse angst.
Summary: Take one Sam, turn him into a mouse, shove him into a nursery rhyme and finish it off with a liberal dash of Pratchett.
Sam opened his eyes. It didn't work. He tried again. Nope, still nothing. Well, this sucked. Quite monumentally.
"Dean!" he called out. He did not remember having such a tiny voice when he'd gone to bed. "Dean! Where are you?" There was no answer. Sam attempted opening his eyes again, but it still just didn't work. Okay, so that wasn't quite accurate. He was opening his eyes fine, he was sure of it, he just wasn't seeing anything, it must have been pretty dark wherever he was because he couldn't feel any kind of blindfold. He licked his paws and rubbed them over his face. Nope, definitely nothing there. Sam tried a different tactic and opened his nose.
A whole world was suddenly presented before him. A whole, very smelly, world. Wherever he was right now was made out of wood. And was dusty. Sam sneezed the most pathetic-sounding sneeze ever and he was kind of glad that Dean wasn't around. Speaking of Dean, Sam couldn't smell him anywhere. Sam sniffed around a little more until he caught onto the most tantalising scent so far. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was strong and smelt very, very good. Sam suddenly realised that he was incredibly hungry and his stomach grumbled just to back up the point.
However, Sam was not going to go rushing into things when he couldn't even see, no matter how hungry he was (and he was pretty hungry). He perked his ears up, twitching them to make sure there were no untoward sounds from any direction. There were birds singing somewhere, somewhere that sounded like outside. He sniffed in that direction and definitely picked up on some fresh air, so that was a possible escape plan for later, once he'd had something to eat.
He dashed forward a few steps and then stopped to check his surroundings again, still nothing, good. He hurried a little further forward, then stopped again to make absolutely sure everything was fine. He was, for all intents and purposes, blind, and being snuck up on when blind is pretty easy. He darted forward again, sniffed to check he was heading in the right direction, swept the room for signs of movement with his ears and then moved on. He stopped and checked five more times before he came close enough to the thing of the gorgeous smell to recognise it as cheese. It gave him a moment of pause because cheese didn't usually smell that good, until his stomach reminded him that it was really quite hungry.
Sam decided that he was going to hedge his bets and make a run for it. Nothing untoward had appeared so far, so it wasn't likely to appear now, was it? His haste had absolutely nothing to do with the smell that was practically making him drool, no, he wasn't Dean. He put on a burst of speed, hoping that the cheese wasn't too far away. He'd barely started, however, when something landed landed heavily just to his left. He startled and ran blindly off to the right, his heart pumping so fast it felt like it would burst.
He stopped dead when he ran smack into something very solid. With what he could tell from his brief, but very hard, contact with it, it was the wall. He ran along it back towards the place he'd started out from, thinking that it was probably his best bet, and being entirely too panicked to come up with any fantastic plan. Being unable to see, he scraped his front paws over the small wooden ledge that lead into the familiar woody, dusty smell of the place he'd started this whole nightmare in. He continued further in until he came to a corner and huddled up in it, trying to bring his body back under control. He licked his paws and cleaned his ears, needing something to do to calm himself before he could start thinking things through. It was while he was wiping his snout that he found out whatever had landed next to him had almost completely cut off the whiskers on the left side of his face.
He mourned the loss of these most important features for a moment before pulling himself together.
So, food didn't appear to be an option; he'd have to work on the escape. Having taken a few minutes to gather his wits and be sure he wasn't horribly injured anywhere (apart from his whiskers; he missed those whiskers), Sam stuck his nose out of hiding again.
There was a loud and low rumbling that rose to almost deafening levels so Sam pulled his nose back in mere moments before he felt something slam down right where it had been. He shot back into his corner as fast as his little legs would carry him and was stopped dead by the wall again, with a splinter in his snout for his trouble.
He stayed in curled up in the corner, shivering and shaking, trying to hold the instinct to panic at bay. There was an urge deep within him to completely lose his shit, but he didn't think it would be wise to listen to it. He also had never before realised how useful opposable thumbs were when trying to pull out a splinter.
He didn't know how long he stayed where he was, hiding away from the world. He was always alert, listening to what was going on outside. He could hear the birds from what must be a far off open window and much closer, loud thumps that sent terror thrilling through him. Even closer were the sounds of things scuttling to and fro above his head, which were either something Sam didn't want to think about, or really fat spiders. Sam already had enough things he didn't want to think about, so he went with the spiders. Sam also came to the conclusion that his world of perpetual darkness was something to do with being blind rather than a lack of light. He wished that thought didn't make him want to squeak in fear so much.
Sam slipped in and out of sleep and only when the hunger pains really started panging did he push himself out of his corner again. He slipped along the wall and sniffed the open air. There was no hint of the loud rumbling, thumping thing that tried to cleave parts of him off, so he started sniffing around for food again.
The cheese was still there. Wherever 'there' was. Sam hurried out, desperate to get there before the thumping thing returned. Of course, hurrying and blindness don't go together all that well. Sam felt like a pinball the way he was bounced from one object to another, inevitably knocking some of them over. Still, he bravely carried on in the general direction of that wonderful smell, but luck was not on his side (when is it ever?).
Sam froze when he heard the return of those booming thumps - footsteps, he realised - and just sat there in the open trying desperately to figure out which direction the footsteps were coming from. Just sitting there went against pretty much everything he'd ever been taught, but there was a part of his brain telling him to run, run, run, dammit, run now, which was getting in the way of the part of his brain that was trying to tell him which direction would be the best to run in.
In the end, his legs made the decision for him and he shot forward. He'd waited a moment too long, though, and a sharp pain bloomed at the end of his tail. Except he didn't have time to worry about that now, because his legs were taking him god knew where and he was completely turned around, with no idea which direction he'd come from.
All of those problems paled into insignificance when the floor disappeared from under his feet. He was airborne for what felt like an age and with no idea where the ground was he was terrified out of his tiny, mouse-sized mind. He braced himself for impact and landed almost gracefully on all fours, if it hadn't been for the slipping and sliding, and wild squeaking.
He didn't have time to take note of his injuries because there were still the great, thumping footsteps and the shrieking coming up behind him. He shot forward again, straight into a wall (he was getting good at telling what was and wasn't a wall when he ran into them). He hurried along the wall and found - at last! - a small hole in it. He desperately squeezed himself through it and finally came to a halt on the other side.
Wherever he was now, it was dustier than anywhere he'd been before, and he was pretty sure there were cobwebs everywhere; he'd already walked through at least ten and he'd only been there for half a minute at the most. Sam didn't go far from the entrance, instead choosing to sit down where he was and curl up for a bit to hope that everything went away. Of course, it didn't. As the adrenaline wore off, it only got worse.
For starters, he was still hungry. He hadn't eaten since god knew when and that didn't look to be changing any time soon. Then, of course, he was still missing his whiskers; his snout felt incredibly empty without them, not to mention how sore his snout was from running into all those walls. Next, Sam ran his paws along his throbbing tail until he came to the tip. Or, more to the point, he didn't come to the tip, because it wasn't there. The end of his tail had been cut right off. And on top of all that, just to make Sam that little bit more miserable, he'd landed funny on his back leg and his paw was feeling very fragile. It just wasn't his day, or night, or whatever time of day it was. Oh yeah, that was another thing, he was still damn well blind.
However, none of this stopped Sam from attempting the curl-up-and-hope-it-all-goes-away method. He eventually gave it up when he found he couldn't get comfortable. It was much colder down here and he was practically shivering.
Forlornly, he limped further in, snuffling around for something, anything at all, to make his predicament better. It was such a relief when he nosed over something made out of cloth that he didn't stop to think what it was doing down here and just wrapped it around himself. It went a long way to making him more comfortable and with the exhaustion and the hunger, he couldn't keep his eyes open.
When he next woke up, he could see. At least, he thought he could. There was a far off light, but everything around it was black. His aches and pains had disappeared, apart from the one in his back leg. Sam stood up, he kept the cloth wrapped around him because it was still cold. He shuffled towards the light and his front paws nudged against something wooden. He couldn't tell what it was, but he deemed it good enough for a crutch.
Walking on two legs with a crutch was decidedly unnatural for a mouse, but strangely, it didn't feel so weird to Sam. He hobbled onward until he was at the entrance to the dusty, cobwebby place he'd crawled into who knew how long ago. Somehow, it was much less of a squeeze getting out than it had been getting in.
Once he was out in the open, he looked all around and found that he was in a fantastically huge kitchen. Or, more likely, a normal size kitchen and he was just fantastically small. Then Sam caught sight of his paw and all thoughts of relative sizes went out of his head. His paw was completely white. Bone white. And the crutch he was clutching was, in fact, a scythe. And the cloth he'd wrapped around himself was a black cloak. And - possibly the most alarming realisation of them all - his front legs didn't appear to have any flesh on them whatsoever.
WHAT THE-- Sam cleared his throat. Unfortunately, one of the harder things in life (or death) is clearing your throat when you don't have one any more. WHAT'S GOING ON? Sam eyes inevitably travelled past his front legs and onto the rest of his body. When he realised he was staring at his own ribcage, he screamed.
Sam woke up.
He was in a bed, in a motel, and he could see.
His hands flew to his face, which was satisfyingly fleshy (and also human, thankfully). He checked his arms: present and correct. Legs: alive and kicking. Body: all there. Other places: whole and unharmed. Sam sighed in relief. It had all been one huge, fucked up nightmare. Nightmares he could handle.
Having said that, Sam would rather avoid nightmares if he could, especially if they were going to be about something so mockable. Sam shuddered to think what Dean would do if he knew. He had never really believed those stories about cheese giving you nightmares, but as far as Sam was concerned, this proved it.
Dean had come back earlier all proud of himself and "hey, Sam, I've found some awesome cheese, let's eat!" because that's what Dean did. And he probably did it just to annoy Sam (this kind of logic only really works when it's the middle of the night and you're incredibly annoyed with your brother). Therefore, Sam vowed he would never eat cheese right before going to bed ever again.
Seriously, he didn't care what Dean said; those cheese wheels were evil.
The End.
What?