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Summary: It's a completely normal day on the road. Really. Fic for August Fic-A-Day Challenge winner Beriaearwen.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Buffy-Centered > Pairing: Dean Winchester(Past Moderator)FaithUnbreakableFR1313,0991202,47718 Sep 0918 Sep 09Yes
Disclaimer: I own neither Buffy nor the Supernatural boys. They belong to Whedon and Kripke.

A/N: This is for Beriaearwen, one of the winners of the August Fic-A-Day Challenge. They asked for shrunk Scoobies, no infighting, possibly Buffy-Centric and humor. Post Chosen. None of that is my usual cup of tea, but I did my best. I hope you like it!

Beware of goofy!Buffy and teh madness.




It started when Dean woke up. Buffy was snuggled into his side, her arm around his waist, her head tucked under his chin. Her naked shoulder peeked out from under the comforter they were both huddled under.

This particular motel room had offered a choice of freezing or tolerating the stuttering gasps and coughs of the dying heater. Since both of them were set on a hair trigger after the last hunt, they had opted for freezing.

Half asleep, Dean grabbed the edge of the comforter and tugged to pull it up over both of them. And tugged. And tugged. The thing didn’t budge.

He tugged harder, almost dislodging his happily sleeping girlfriend. The thing still didn’t move so much as an inch. He scowled. If Sam had in any way messed with his bedding, there was going to be war. Few things in Dean’s life were holy, among them his car, his weapons, Sam and the place he slept, whether that was a king sized bed, a cot or a blanket on the ground. Buffy didn’t make the holy list mainly because the woman was damn good at lookin’ after herself. There had been enough bruises in the early days of their... courtship to prove that, thanks a lot.

So he dug his fingers into the comforter and pulled. Nothing happened. Growling, Dean opened his eyes and glared down at the offending object. For a moment, he couldn’t make out any change. Then his scowl turned into a frown. He could have sworn the blue on blue pattern had been a lot smaller when he had crawled under it.

Nudging Buffy in the shoulder, he sat up. And froze.

“Ah, hell.”

“What is it?” Buffy grumbled, reaching for the comforter to make up for the lack of body heat at her side. She tugged on it with much the same results as Dean had and cracked open an eye to inspect her surroundings in confusion. After a moment she, too, sat up.

“Ah,” she echoed, “Hell.”


Dean called Dawn and Sam, the long suffering younger siblings, road tripping with their older brother and sister only to keep an eye on the mad pair. At least that was the excuse. Dean figured that the two of them had some major UST between them that would one day culminate in hot and kinky sex involving books and dirty talk in foreign languages. Buffy tended to agree on those days when the image didn’t gross her out completely.

While Dean was on the phone, trying to rouse the rug-rats two rooms down, Buffy faced an entirely different problem.

Getting off the bed.

She managed in the end, by taking a death defying dive toward the floor and rolling upon impact.

“Yuck,” she offered as soon as she had righted herself, “Do you have any idea how dirty that carpet actually is? From now on, no more motel rooms with carpeting, okay?”

Then she made her way over to the pile of their bags and clothes in one corner and started digging through it. She pulled two of her tightest shirts out of the pile, one a cute shade of purple, the other a simple black. She donned the purple and hurled the black one at her boyfriend, ignoring the way he cursed up a blue streak as he slipped it on and found that his tiny girlfriend’s smallest shirt actually hung off his frame like his old shirts had once hung off Sammy.

“Just get over here,” he finally snapped into the phone before hanging up.


Once Dawn and Sam finished giggling like mad and the noise level died down to the odd occasional chuckle and sniffle from laughing tears, Sam demanded to be told – in detail – what was going on.

“What’s it look like?” Buffy snapped, trying and failing to climb back on the bed. Dawn twitched suspiciously but moved over to lift her little big sister up. She got a scowl and a glare for her efforts.

Sam, not quite recovered from seeing his brother swimming in Buffy’s shirt, cracked up at her demand and took another minute to calm down again.

“Just tell me what happened,” he asked, turning the cute-look on his brother, who was a sucker for it.

Dean crossed his arms over his not very impressive chest and explaining in clipped tones, “Woke up, realized that the world had suddenly grown very big. Realized that in fact – “

“You’re two feet tall?” Dawn supplied, mirth in her voice.

Dean’s glare promised death. “Yes.”

Buffy plonked her tiny behind down next to him, mirrored his position and joined him in glaring. It was possibly the cutest sight Dawn had ever seen. Her sister and her mouthy boyfriend, shrunk to doll size, wearing shirts big enough to hide in, glaring fiercely at her while their tiny feet dangled a good foot above the floor. They were so –

“If you finish what I know you’re thinking, I will end you,” Dean growled, upping the glare.

“Do you know what set the eh… shrinking off? Did you touch anything? Eat anything?” Sam pulled out his ever present laptop and fired it up, ready to start looking for a cure with any clue they gave him.

“Now that you mention it,” Buffy supplied after a minute of oppressive silence, “There was that big ugly thing with the label that said ‘cursed object, will make you shrink if touched’. Was it wrong to pick it up and hug it very tightly?”

When Sam frowned, she merely batted her eyelashes at him.


“I don’t see why you have to poke me. Dude, get your hands off!”

Sam backed off, a long suffering expression on his face, both hands raised, glad that his brother’s favorite gun was at the moment approximately as tall as him. “Since you don’t know what caused this, I have to check you over for any clues.”

“I’m two feet tall? What more do you need?”

“Why does your voice sound normal?”


“Someone yours size should have a voice a lot higher than yours. Also, your proportions are all off for someone so small and – “

“Are you saying I should be all fat and round?”

“And the height difference between you and Buffy seems the same at it’s always been. All those things are hints as to what spell was used and how it was cast. Now will you let me look at you?”


“Dean – “



“Finished,” Buffy proclaimed, managing, with enormous effort, to tear the page she had been writing on out of the notepad Dawn had given her. “List off all the people I pissed off recently.” She scrunched up her nose, thinking hard. “I think.”

Dawn took the list from mini-Buffy with a look of trepidation on her face. She knew her sister and she knew that the blonde had a way of pissing people off without even trying. However, at first glance, she discovered a problem.

“I can’t read this, Buffy.”

“Are you complaining about my handwriting again, cuz seriously, it’s getting old, Dawnie.”

Dawn rolled her eyes in the patented My Older Sybling Is Being Dense way. “No. It’s just too small to read. Obviously. I mean, I should have expected this seeing as you’re a mi – “

“If you finish that sentence, I will bite you in the kneecap until you scream Uncle.”

The little sister recoiled from the mental image of her sister hanging onto her leg like a particularly stubborn breed of ankle biter. Apparently, Buffy’s crankiness was reciprocally proportional to her size. “Gross. Seriously, gross.”

Buffy grinned, bouncing a bit on the bed without any effect whatsoever. “I know.”

Her moods swings were related to her size, too, it seemed. They were all doomed.

Shaking her head, Dawn grabbed the pen her sister still held in both hands like a misshapen sword. She turned over the list and sat at the dresser. “Alright, you talk, I write.”


“So comparing Dean’s list of ‘People I Pissed Off’ with Buffy’s, how many matches do we have?”

“Dude, can you not talk about us like we’re not here?”

Sam didn’t bother glaring at his irate brother anymore. Sweetly, he suggested, “Come over here and make me.”

Since both Buffy and Dean had given up on trying to navigate the giant room about an hour ago and declared themselves marooned on the bed until the crisis was over, that wasn’t going to happen and everyone in the room new it.

“I want coffee,” Buffy bleated, breaking up the impending screaming match.

Dawn unthinkingly held out her mug and offered, “Here, you can have mine.”

“Very funny,” the slayer snapped. Dawn looked up from her internet search, gaze landing first on her sister and then on her mug. Which was about the size of her sister’s head at the moment. Right. Hastily, she turned back to Sam and her search.

“Seven matches, beginning with ‘the chick at the diner last night that wanted me to take her number’. Which matches Buffy’s ‘the sleazy ho that was checking out Dean’s butt’. Two of those seven are too far away to cast such a spell with any reliability. The guy from Tulsa died of a heart attack shortly after Buffy flashed him to get Dean out of a jam.”

“Are you implying that my boobs have anything to do with that guy’s death?”

Dawn rolled her eyes and gave the shrunk slayer the Look. “Now you’re being ridiculous. If I were trying to insult you, I’d be telling that joke about the midget and the giraffe that walked into a bar and – “

They learned a very important detail right then. Apparently, even at two feet tall, Buffy still had slayer powers. Dawn’s bruised arm from having the remote thrown at her proved it.


“What’s left?”

“Dagmar Hower,” Sam offered, causing twin groans of realization from the duo on the bed.

“Please don’t tell me –“

“That’s not the bitch that – “

“Yep,” Dawn chirped, grinning. “The lady who caught you desecrating her husband’s grave.”

“We weren’t desecrating it. We were salting and burning good ol’ Bob.”

“It wasn’t the salt’n’burn she minded,” Sam felt the need to point out, “But the two of you getting it on on his tomb stone afterwards.”

“So she shrunk us?!”

With a shrug, the youngest Winchester turned his laptop around so everyone could see the newspaper article he had drawn up. “Apparently, Dagmar is the leader of a group of ‘local Wiccans’. From what I’ve found out, she seems to be the real deal, using the Wicca coven as a cover. You know,” he mused, leaning back in his chair, “We never did figure out what made her husband become a spirit. Supposedly, he died of a heart attack.”

The brunette sitting across from him frowned. “You’re thinking Dagmar did something to the hubby and now she cursed Buffy and Dean for making out on his grave?”

“A bitch’s a bitch,” Dean supplied wisely. Buffy for once seemed to have no problem agreeing with her boyfriend’s slightly sexist worldview.

She nodded emphatically. “It probably wasn’t the making out she minded, but that we let Bob find his eternal rest. She seems like the kind of person who’d keep a poor idiot trapped on this plane of existence for the rest of eternity for her own amusement.”

Dean groaned and flung himself backwards. “That’s awesome. So now we have to go up against the wicked witch while we’re pocket sized?”

“Looks like.”

“I hate my life.”


“Change of plans,” Sam declared half an hour later after reentering the room, phone still in hand. He had left earlier because once Bobby had heard what had happened, he had laughed so loudly that both Buffy and Dean had heard and started yelling death threats, disrupting the conversation somewhat.

“We don’t have to go all the way to Illinois again?” Dawn asked, perking up.

“But I want to kill that bitch!” Buffy protested.

“Slowly,” her boyfriend agreed, nodding sagely.

“No we don’t have to go all the way to Illinois again,” Sam said, answering the only statement that he deemed in any way relevant. Either that or he had finally mastered the fine art of completely tuning out his brother’s bloodthirsty declarations of doom. “Bobby says it’s probably a simple transmogrification spell, even if the outcome is a bit unusual.”

“Transmogriwhat?” came the chorus from the bed.

Dawn and Sam shared tired looks of They have been dealing with the supernatural for how long and still manage to have no clue what they’re doing half the time?

“Transmogrification. It’s what the witch did to the prince when she turned him into a frog. Changing one’s shape, usually in some bizarre, fantastic way.”

Dean huffed and declared, “I ain’t no frog, dude,” at the same time Buffy snorted, “Fantastic, yeah right.”

Sam rubbed his forehead. Dawn blindly groped for her purse and the aspirin hidden therein.


“So a kiss from someone who loves you should be all that’s needed to break the spell.”

“And if it’s not?” Buffy asked from her perch on the nightstand, legs dangling. She’d gotten bored on the bed and expanded her territory by about a foot.

“Then that means that Dagmar locked the spell to her personal magical signature and the only way to break it is if she casts the counter curse. Voluntarily. In other words, you’ll be forever pocket sized.”

While neither Sam nor Dawn could, in fact, imagine life without their older siblings there to have their backs, keep them safe, smother them, annoy them and defend them from anything and everything, the idea of said older siblings staying very small and very easy to handle did put smiles on both their faces.

Oh, the blackmail material this little episode would gain them. There was a stack of new books for either of them in there, somewhere.

“That’s all? We kiss?”

Sam shrugged. Dawn nodded. “In theory, yes.”

“Alright,” Buffy chirped, stood and jumped back onto the bed where she grabbed a madly pacing Dean by the collar of her shirt and shoved him backward onto a pillow before proceeding to straddle him.

“This is like watching really small porn,” Dawn stage whispered without taking her eyes off the pair. Sam chocked a bit but nodded.

Then Buffy bent forward and kissed Dean.



“Well what?”

“Do you feel any different?”

Dean gave his brother the patented Are You Stupid Look and bit out, “Do I look any different?”

“Alright, Mr. Cranky Pants. Maybe it just takes a while for the spell to wear off,” Dawn tried to pacify.

To little avail as Buffy started wailing. “It’s not working. We’ll stay small forever!”

“At least you’re both tiny,” the youngest Summers supplied, trying to cheer her sister up. She earned herself a raised eyebrow for her efforts and felt the need to elaborate, “Well, sex would be kinda awkward otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

Dean pointed one tiny, tiny finger at her. “You,” he said, “Need to get laid. Seriously.” Then he turned to his brother. “Sam, why isn’t this working?”

“Maybe the fact that you’re both under the same spell cancels out the effect you have on each other?”


Sam cringed a bit at his brother’s dangerous tone. “Meaning you need to be kissed by someone else who loves you?”

There was a long moment of silence as everyone turned that thought over in their heads. Four people, two pairs of siblings, stuck in a motel in the middle of nowhere. Buffy and Dean would stay micro-sized until they were kissed by someone who loved them.

And while both younger siblings liked their older siblings’ spouse well enough, they did not love them. Slowly, very slowly, Dean’s and Sam’s gaze met and realization dawned.

Dean crossed his arms, turned his head away and declared stonily, “No.”


“No. I’m not kissing you, Sam.”

“It’s the only way –“

“No. No way. Forget it, dude.”

Dawn decided to ignore the boys’ stupid fight and simply marched up to the bed, bending down and pecking her sister on the lips. Immediately the blonde started growing until she suddenly filled her shirt out properly again and discovered, with a little shriek, that she wasn’t wearing anything else.

Sam blushed, Dawn laughed and Buffy flung herself under the blankets so fast, she blurred.

Dean kept stubbornly glaring at the wall.

“Dean, come on, we know it works now – “


“I’ll hold you down if I have to.”

Dean startled, eyes wide, looking up at his giant of a brother. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me.”


Two hours later found Dean behind the wheel of his car, Buffy sitting next to him, her hand on his thigh, waiting for the tension to leave him. Dawn and Sam were whispering like girls in the backseat. The sisters occasionally exchanged glances but the brothers never even looked at each other and strictly refused to speak to the other at all.

“Come on,” Buffy finally cajoled, simply glad to be normal once more and not wanting to have any more fighting today. “It was the only way. Dawn wouldn’t have worked and neither would I because I was under that spell, too. So stop being stubborn, would you?”

“He kissed me,” Dean grunted, as if that explained everything.

“To help you.”

“He kissed me.”

Sam, who had until now been rather patient and kind of shy about the whole trauma inducing incident, flung up his arms. “Get over it man! It was the only way!”

“Shut up,” Dean snapped and Sam leaned forward and smacked his brother upside the head. Hard.

“Bitch!” Dean yelled, holding his head.

“Jerk!” Sam yelled right back and both of them froze before suddenly relaxing into their seats, goofy grins appearing on their faces.

“Buffy?” Dawn asked.


“Will I ever understand men when I grow up?”

Buffy shook her head gravely. “At twenty-five I can safely tell you that the answer is no, definitely not.”

“Thank god.”

Sam glowered at her mock relieved sigh and threw himself at her, tickling her until she screamed uncle. The two laughed the wrestled on the backseat until Dean had to yell for them to stop and Sam asked the two in front, “So, what did we learn from today’s adventure?”

Buffy and Dean looked at each other, cracked identical grins of mischief and then chorused, “Never get caught having sex in cemeteries!”




This story killed my brain. Do you feel sorry for me?

The End

You have reached the end of "Frog". This story is complete.

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