Sam barely realized Dean was walking away from them, heading towards the house. His eyes were glued on the absolutely tiny person he held cupped in his hands. Stan barely weighed a thing. If Sam didn't know he was there, he might not even notice the tiny bit of weight on his hand.

While Stan was feeling smaller than ever, Sam had the opposite problem. He was a big guy regularly, used to standing a head over most of humanity. Dean and their dad were some of the few exceptions that came close to his height, and he'd run into others throughout the years that gave him a run for his money, but most people didn't stand taller than his shoulder.

This was something completely different. If Sam so much as twitched wrong, he could knock Stan over. Every slight movement he made affected the guy. Sam didn't feel big so much as he felt like he was starring in his own Godzilla flick as the newest monster on the block, all set to terrorize the city goers starting with the world's smallest redhead.

"I'll be careful, promise," Sam whispered, beginning to trail after Dean. "Just let me know if you need me to slow down."

Stan did his best to take Sam's comforting words into consideration as the hunter walked, moving into a crouch in his palm to keep steady. Sam was careful, but he was also enormous. He covered much more distance than Stan was used to when traveling with a human, and every single step sent a vibration all the way up from the ground to the hand Stan was now riding on.

No matter how slowly Sam walked, with those long legs of his it would still be much faster than any speed Stan could manage. He saw no point in asking the human to slow down. It wasn't his place to ask the human to do anything. So he sat as still as he could while he endured Sam's gait, wind tousling his somewhat damp hair into its usual mess.

Sam caught up to Dean, keeping his hands close to his chest so Stan was better balanced. He was able to slip in the door to the house when Dean opened it, that way he didn't have to move either of his hands away from Stan while he was walking.

Once back in the house, the Winchesters both moved to their separate tasks in unison. Dean stalked off to clean up and make sure their fingerprints were gone from all surfaces while Sam sank into a chair. He cupped one hand more securely around Stan while moving the other out of the way to dig out the journal.

"Okay," Sam muttered, managing to page through the book. "I'm guessin' this will be at the end... tell me if you see anything familiar."

With Sam not moving, Stan pushed himself up from his crouch, peering over the edge of the hand at the journal. Truth be told, most of the book was familiar. Nicholas spent countless hours in it over the course of Stan's life with him, and he always kept his pet within reach. This meant Stan oversaw quite a bit of his writing. But he knew that Sam meant anything involving the recent victims.

A particular name on one page caught Stan's attention, one of the last few people the witch had killed on their road trip. "You're close," Stan informed Sam, sure that within the next few pages Sam would find entries for the three victims in town. Or at least, the ones he'd managed to pen before the hunters interrupted. If Stan remembered correctly, he'd only gotten through the first two.

As long as he could remember enough about the third to be of use to Sam and Dean, Stan knew he'd be alright.

He could hope.

Sam flipped to the next page. "Here we go," he murmured, shifting so he could cross his legs and leave the journal lying overtop while Stan stayed secure in the other hand. He scanned the scrawled words, his stomach turning over at some of the descriptions used. Dean had one thing right; this witch was skeezy. It was a good thing they'd tracked him down before he'd taken more victims.

One victim of which was standing in Sam's hand. He couldn't help a protective surge that rose up in his chest when he saw how little the guy was peeking from over the edge of his hand. So small that he'd almost been forgotten in a pocket. Little enough that he could be mistaken for a mouse.

A name caught Sam's eye, one that he didn't recognize from the trail they'd followed. Another stood out shortly after. "Carl Bryer and Linda Billinger," Sam read. "Do those sound right?"

Stan nodded, keeping his eyes on the page since turning to Sam would require him to look straight up. "And, ah… There was a third, I um… Augh, what was her name?" Stan muttered, squeezing his eyes shut as he went back in his memory. He remembered Nicholas liking her name. He thought it was beautiful…well, delicious was the word he'd used.

"She was, er… Riley!" Stan exclaimed when it came to him. "Riley Moore! That was her name."

Sam nodded to show he was listening. "Perfect, that's just what we need."

Stan let out a long breath, glad Sam was satisfied with his work so far. As terrifying as Sam and Dean had been at first (and still kind of were, if Stan was completely honest with himself) they had been more gracious than Stan would have expected from what Nicholas told him about hunters. He hadn't even expected to make it this far alive, and yet here he was.

Helping them.

Stretching, Sam grabbed a pen that was discarded on the table, working to keep his leg balanced so the book didn't go sliding off. He scribbled the third name into the book so there was no danger in forgetting it, then glanced up at Dean.

"Better be bringin' that pen with us," Dean growled when he saw Sam making a mess in his corner of the room.

There wasn't much else for Stan to do until the hunters found the victims' homes, so he sat quietly while they talked over his head in the most literal sense.

"Yeah, whatever," Sam said, tucking the pen into his pocket so Dean didn't scold him for fingerprints. "I've got three more vics that haven't died yet, names and everything."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Dean asked.

With everything else taken care of, the brothers gathered their things. Sam flicked off the lights with the sleeve of his jacket, following Dean out the door they'd busted earlier on in the night and attempted to prop it in place. From what they'd gathered, this witch was more of a recluse, keeping to himself until he felt the need to kill for his own twisted pleasure. There was a very small chance that his body would be found anytime soon.

Back at the Impala, Sam slid the duffel off his shoulder and dropped it into the trunk, the weapons inside rattling when they landed. "That witch-killing spell was a bust," he complained to Dean.

"Next time you'll have to try hanging onto it for longer than the first ten seconds," Dean complained right back. "I'll let Bobby know. Spell only works if you don't have someone trying to knock it out of your hands. What's the chances a witch is ever going to sit their ass still long enough to cast it?"

If it was at all possible, Stan drew further into himself at the sight of the hunters' trunk. The car itself impressed the smaller man compared to the more unassuming compact vehicle Nicholas drove. Theirs was a massive black beast, with a trunk nearly overflowing with weapons Stan hadn't even known existed.

All of which were much bigger than Stan, and could destroy him in an instant.

He was glad to see the trunk close over them, appearing almost harmless as the hunters headed to the front of the car.

The door of the Impala opened with a creak, and the brothers got in, still moving in unison. Dean sighed. "Bust or not, it's over now. Once the remains are burned, you don't have to worry about the witch." He shoved the key in the ignition, firing up the engine.

Stan flinched hard at the noise, unaccustomed to a car that would growl so loudly, and it only got worse for him as loud music rang out from the speakers. Stan's head had only just recovered from the earlier gunshot, and his little hands shot up to cover his ears as he curled into a startled ball, overwhelmed all over again.

"Whoa!"

It was impossible for Sam to miss Stan's startled flinch. His other hand came up, instinctively cupping over Stan's head to create a small cave for the kid to hide in.

Sam glared at Dean, who had a look of vague confusion. "Turn it down!" he griped insistently.

Dean did, but defended himself the entire way. "How was I supposed to know we'd have some small vic in the car after we finished the witch?!" Despite his words, he looked just as concerned for Stan.

With the music barely loud enough to be heard, Sam relaxed, lifting up his cupped hands to peer inside. "You okay?" he breathed, forming a crack with two fingers that was just big enough to make out Stan's tiny form huddled inside.

Stan felt the tension leaving Sam's hands just before they lifted. The quieter, darker environment he found himself in helped him relax a little, too, and he lowered his hands and picked up his head to find concerned hazel eyes peeking in at him.

He felt heat rising in his neck, and he was grateful for the darkness of the little alcove Sam had made with his hands. Stan was pale by nature, and the slightest blush was obvious in his complexion. Ever since Dean had told him to calm down, he'd been trying to do just that, in the hopes of appeasing him and his brother. He could only hope that such skittish behavior would be forgiven.

"Y-yes," Stan called up to Sam, sitting up and crossing his legs in an attempt to appear relaxed. "Sorry," he added, just in case they were upset with his reaction.

"Don't worry about it," Sam said dismissively. He unfolded his hands, resting the one with Stan sitting on it on his knee to keep it stable.

It took Dean longer to stop staring at Stan once he was back in view, wondering when their lives had gone this crazy. His little brother, holding a kid who fit in the palm of his hand. Who, in fact, Dean had caught in the middle of a fight with a witch.

"Yeah…" Dean said slowly. "This wasn't the way we were expecting the night to go."

Tearing his attention away, Dean shifted the car into first gear and revved the engine. "Hang on," he warned Stan. There was no way for the guy to use any of the seatbelts in the car at his size.

They pulled out in the street, leaving the darkened house behind them.

Following Dean's instructions, Stan stabilized himself with his hands pressed to Sam's much larger one. He was glad for the support against Sam's knee keeping his hand from swaying beneath Stan, even if it did give him a rather steep angle to look up at the hunters.

Stan did his best to keep up with the motions of the car, wavering as it turned and accelerated. Once they were on the road, it was harder to predict when the car would stop, start, or swerve, and Stan had to catch his balance quite a few times to stop himself from tumbling.

During the drive, Sam had a difficult time paying attention to anything but the guy crouched on his hand. He briefly rattled off their next address when Dean asked, eyes on Stan the entire time.

It was just too unreal.

When the Impala hit a particularly large pothole, making Dean swear like a sailor and complain about the wear on the suspension, Sam curled his fingers closer around Stan, worried another bump like that could knock the guy right off the edge. After another moment of thought, he moved the hand to where it could lean against his stomach, trying for a place where Stan wouldn't be in as much danger if he fell. Here, he'd only bounce off Sam before landing on the seat, a better landing zone than the footwell next to Sam's boots.

Stan was grateful for the new position after the scare of the pothole had left him shaken. The smaller man hardly had time to shout as the world pitched all of a sudden, leaving his stomach behind and his heart hammering in his ears. He practically flattened himself to Sam's palm after that, especially when the hand lifted and propped itself against the human's middle.

Scooting closer to the human, Stan kept one hand holding onto Sam's shirt, his tiny fingers threading easily through the fibers for a stronger grip. He hoped they wouldn't run into any more bumps like that, taking comfort in the fact that Sam had seen the danger of holding Stan lower without anything to prevent him from being thrown off into the depths of the car.

More and more, Sam was proving himself to be the less frightening of the two hunters, despite his size. He had a good sense of what would make Stan feel safer, and was certainly more thoughtful in his actions than Nicholas ever was. It felt… different. Good. Stan could get used to this, even if he was still at the mercy of hunters.

He could almost forget that everything he'd ever known was gone.

Halfway to the address in question, going by the map Dean had half-folded in the center of the bench seat, Sam found himself with more questions. Unlike the others he had saved up for Stan, these were pertinent to the case, and he didn't know if they could wait.

Gently moving his thumb, Sam brushed at Stan's shoulder to get his attention. "Stan," he said, keeping his voice low, "can you tell me about the hexbags? Did Nicholas have you do this kind of thing before?"

Stan nodded, craning his neck to look up at Sam as he answered. "All the time," he admitted, seeing no reason to lie. He certainly didn't want to deal with any consequences for dishonesty. "I fit in smaller places than he does- er, did… and, uh, I could make sure they were well hidden."

Even more questions came to Sam with that explanation, but he pushed most of them down. They'd have time once they were finished to find out more about the strangely small person Dean had grabbed. For now, he needed to focus. "Once we get there, I just need you to show me where to put you. If you can get the hexbags to one of us, we can make sure no one else has to die."

"Yessir," Stan replied automatically. He felt a small warmth rising in his chest to know that what he was about to do would finally help those humans rather than harm them. That aspect of life with the witch had always left guilt in his heart, even if he was never allowed to express it.

Sam's eyebrows went up. He hadn't been able to look closely at Stan to try and gauge his age, but the last thing Sam had ever expected was someone to call him sir. That was what their dad insisted they call him, and Sam had always rebelled against the thought.

He certainly didn't want anyone calling him sir after all that.

"It's just Sam," he said, slightly more insistent. "You don't have to call us 'sir.' "

Stan blinked at Sam's shift in tone, his shoulders bunching up a bit. He was lucky Sam told him what he'd done wrong instead of punishing him right away. Now Stan had another chance to get it right.

"Yessi- ah, Sam," he corrected, cringing at his stupid mistake. He'd been calling Nicholas 'sir' for so long, it simply rolled off his tongue at this point and it was difficult for Stan to change that all of a sudden. "Sorry…"

"It's alright," Sam said, wondering at the number of times Stan kept apologizing to him. "Really. We're just not the kind of people who go by 'sir,' ever."

The Impala's lights shut off, and Sam glanced over to see Dean intent on the road. They were on a suburban road, running dark to avoid being noticed. There was nothing like having the headlights on to broadcast an "I AM HERE!" message to everyone around. Considering they intended to break into one of the houses in minutes, it was for the best.

It did mean that now Dean could barely see the road, so the Impala moved at a crawl. Sam shifted in his seat, unrolling the window on his side of the car. When Dean moved to park along the edge of the sidewalk, Sam waved at him to let him know when he was close enough.

They left the weapon bag in the trunk, hoping to avoid any confrontations with the innocent victims who had no idea they'd been targeted. Sam took up a lookout position while Dean worked at the door with his lockpicks.

Stan watched the hunters work, impressed by their silent teamwork on even the smallest of tasks. It was easy to see that they knew what they were doing, and Stan hoped that he could fill his role efficiently enough for their liking.

When the door opened, Stan crouched low in Sam's hand. It felt strange to enter a house without Nicholas' cloaking spell put on him. Because of his pale complexion and bright hair, Stan stuck out in most environments. The spell ensured that no one else would see him and made sneaking around much easier.

Luckily, it was late in the night. All the lights were out, giving the three of them the cover of darkness. Stan reminded himself to relax, peering over the edge of Sam's hand as his eyes adjusted.

"There!" he hissed to Sam, pointing when he spotted the familiar shape of a side table in the hallway, covered in little knick-knacks. "By that thing!"

Sam nodded, staying quiet. Stan's voice was light enough to fade if it went more than a few steps beyond either brother; if Sam or Dean talked, they could be heard with far less effort. Any talking between them had to be restrained.

Kneeling down, Sam motioned for Dean to keep watch. The older brother backed against the wall, standing next to where Sam flattened his hand against the ground to let Stan off.

"Be careful," Sam cautioned in a whisper. "We'll be right here. If I hear anyone coming, I'll knock on the wall."

Stan hopped off Sam's hand as soon as it was on the ground, nodding in understanding. Against his better judgment, he turned and looked up at the brothers. His pulse quickened at the sight of Sam from the floor. Even crouched, he loomed tall and wide, a towering shadow that hid the softer features of the hunter. To the side, Stan had yet another view of Dean's boots, forcing himself to push away the same terror he felt when he saw them earlier as it started to creep back up on him.

Shaking his head to clear it, he glanced back at Sam. "I'll be back in a flash," he promised before dashing toward the wall. Even in the dark, he expertly found the gap in the wallpaper that allowed him to slip in and disappear with hardly a trace.

With Stan gone, Dean looked down at Sam. "You sure about this?" he murmured, remembering his earlier fears about Stan vanishing into the walls.

Sam nodded, his eyes clear. "Positive. He's coming back."

A/N:

Anxious Winchesters on the outside of the wall, anxious smol inside!

Next week's chapter will be the last before the holidays!

Next: December 15th, 2021 at 9PM est

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