Dean arrived back at the Impala after a few more minutes had passed, and Sam spent most of that time staring blankly into space. There were a thousand things on his mind, so Stan got a break from any questions or stares while Sam mulled it all over.

Sam glanced over as his brother climbed in the car, the Impala shifting slightly to the added weight.

"How is he?" Dean asked quietly, the guilt apparent on his face.

Sam shrugged, glancing down at Stan. "Better." He looked back up. "We should get him to the room fast, though."

Dean turned the Impala on, the car starting up with her trademark purr. This time around, the rock music that filtered out of the speakers was subdued, almost lost beneath the growl of the engine. "I'll just grab some food at the drive-thru," he said. They had nothing waiting for them back in the room. "We could all use something in us."

That was meant for Stan as much as either brother. Dean hadn't seen him in the best lighting yet, but the kid definitely looked thinner than he should.

The trip to grab food went without a hitch. Sam hovered his other hand over Stan to block him from sight of the attendant at the window. It was odd how peaceably Stan sat there, letting the brothers talk over him the entire time. If they didn't address him directly, he didn't go out of his way to catch their attention.

Getting back to the room released tension from both their shoulders. Dean shook his head as he locked up the car. The case had gone off without a hitch, one of their smoothest yet.

The only small bump they'd run into was Stan, and once they found out what the witch had done to him and where his family was, they'd fix him and get him back. Simple.

Sam lowered Stan to the table of the motel room while Dean piled up the food bags from the restaurant, rifling through them distractedly while watching Sam in the corner of his eye.

"Well, this is our room," Sam told Stan with a short laugh. "Home sweet home."

Stan's head was on a swivel as he stepped down onto the table, taking in every detail of the motel room. He was familiar with the concept of renting out rooms like this for temporary lodging, one of the few human experiences he shared with Nicholas on their road trips, but he was never allowed to look around. He always spent nearly the entire time in his jar.

He watched Dean curiously as he unpacked the food he'd picked up. The smell had wafted around in the car on the way, and now it was stronger than ever, making Stan's stomach complain louder than it had in a long time.

But Stan was determined to make a better impression on the brothers, show them that he could behave, so he sat down cross-legged right where he was put, waiting patiently for whatever Dean chose for his share.

Dean had a spread of food around him in short order, eyeing it all critically as he realized the food they both favored might not be made for someone Stan's size. Burgers, fries, a grilled chicken salad for Sam… None of it was exactly tiny-friendly.

Sam noticed the look on Dean's face and reached over to give him a hand. "This should work," he said, unscrewing the bottle of soda to get the cap off. It made a good bowl to pour some drink in, if a little oversized for Stan. Sam poured a drop of soda inside, setting it down next to Stan.

Dean unwrapped his food. "What'll you have?" he asked Stan. "We've got burger deliciousness, and then some rabbit food if you like greens."

Stan blinked up at Dean for a moment as it sank in that he was asking Stan what he wanted. Questions like that were beyond what the little guy was used to. He wasn't supposed to have opinions, he should be grateful to have a roof over his head and anything to eat at all.

"I- I..." Flustered by the question, Stan cleared his throat and tried again. "I've never had anything like this. I really wouldn't know where to start."

A prime example came in the form of the brownish liquid Sam had given him. Stan eyed it suspiciously; he didn't like the way it bubbled. Still, it had been given to him, he had to at least give it a try.

Stan was still hesitant as he pulled the cap closer, leaning in to give the drink a sniff. It smelled unlike anything he'd ever encountered before- not that that was saying much- and when he leaned over, a particularly persistent bubble rose from the depths and gave a large pop. Stan jumped back in surprise, managing to put a few inches between himself and the uncomfortably active drink.

It was difficult to suppress a smile at Stan's flustered reaction, and Dean didn't bother, though Sam tried to bite down on a laugh.

"I don't think the soda makes the cut," Dean joked.

Sam frowned at the bottlecap. From Stan's reaction, it might as well have bitten him. "Maybe water…" he said, thrown by the way his offer had backfired.

Leaning back in the chair, Sam snagged the door of the mini fridge. There were a few water bottles stored there, along with Dean's beer, and he took one of the bottles out. Unscrewing the cap, Sam filled it halfway and placed it down near Stan.

With no idea what Stan liked, Dean ended up just cutting a bit off of everything they had, resulting in tiny pinches of lettuce, tomato and cheese from Sam's salad, along with a mini burger and a bit of a fry from Dean's plate. He put it all on a napkin like it was a picnic, and pushed it close to Stan. "Go nuts."

Stan's eyes were wide, lips parted in disbelief at the sheer amount of food he was offered. It was much more than he'd ever been given in one sitting, not to mention it was all fresh and, in the burger and fries' case, warm. Warm food was a luxury that humans enjoyed, and Stan was beside himself to have the chance to partake in some.

"T-thank you!" Stan exclaimed, picking up and carrying the cap of water to the napkin where he got himself situated. Any thought of his fear of the hunters all but dissipated in favor of the wide array of food before him.

With no idea what to begin with, Stan simply reached out and snatched the first thing his fingers touched, which happened to be the fry. It was light, oddly squarish, and was crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside when he bit into it. Before he'd even swallowed, savoring the unfamiliar flavor, the warmth from that single bite began to spread through his entire body.

The rest of the food got a similar reaction from Stan as he went down the line trying a bite of everything. The only difference was the salad bits weren't quite as warm as the other things, but they did give Stan a clean, fresh feeling inside. The water had the same effect, tasting purer and crisper than the tap water he'd been given with the witch.

"Well, looks like you make the grade," Sam said, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth as they watched Stan try out each of the bits of food. What wouldn't amount to a full mouthful for either brother was more than sufficient for a meal for Stan.

Dean was smug. "No one can resist the call of a good burger," he said, shoving Sam's salad his way.

Sam chose not to mention that Stan looked just as satisfied by the salad shreds as by the burger bits. Sometimes, it was better to pick your battles, and for now he wanted to stay focused on Stan and his problem. Though Sam restrained himself from asking questions while they ate, he mulled over everything they knew about the small enigma and everything they needed to know.

The novelty of watching Stan interact with the food began to wear thin, and their own food called them. Sam and Dean set into their separate meals, occasionally glancing over at their strange, small victim.

Stan cleaned off his hands on a corner of the napkin before cupping them to drink out of the bottlecap, keeping his eyes down as he heard Sam and Dean eating their much larger meals. He was far from unaccustomed to it, Nicholas ate around him all the time. Still, it was different when there were two humans taking bites that were larger than Stan could ever hope to be. Luckily they were fairly high up, all Stan had to do was not look.

By then, Stan had begun to slow down his own pace, his stomach filling faster than it ever had. All the rich food he'd been given sat heavy inside him, and yet still he picked and nibbled at what remained, which was quite a lot of food to him.

The brothers were quiet while they ate; Dean simply because he was focused on finishing his food as fast as possible, Sam because he was mulling over Stan's situation. They ended up finishing around the same time. Sam had ended up finishing off the water bottle, deciding they might as well leave the sealed bottle of coke on its own since he'd already opened up the water.

With the food gone, Sam collected up the trash left over, tucking it into the carry-out bags their food had come in, then folding his hands together. There was nothing else to focus on now except for Stan, and with him finished eating as well, it was time to get to the bottom of things.

"So Stan," Sam started, lowering his voice automatically, "I said we'd help you, and we will, but we're going to need to ask you some questions first. Do you think you're up to talking now?" He didn't want to push the kid if he was traumatized, but without anything to go on, they would be useless to Stan.

Stan looked up at Sam when he addressed him. He felt much more relaxed with his stomach fuller than it had been in ages, and he wanted to be as much of a help to Sam and Dean as he could be.

"Yes," Stan nodded, wiping his hands of the last of the food residue as he gave up on eating for now. Even though there were still bits left, he felt like he'd burst if he took another bite.

"Okay," Sam smiled at him to reassure him. "Don't worry, once we're done you can get some rest." He hit Dean's shoulder with the back of his hand, wiggling his fingers expectantly.

Dean jolted, having gotten caught up with watching Stan again. It took him a moment to realize what Sam wanted, and rolled his eyes as he got up to grab the motel room notepad and pen left on the nightstand. Sam took them without comment, ready to write down everything Stan said.

"First things first. Do you know how long you were with the witch?" Sam asked.

Stan's brow lifted as he watched the brothers, one getting the other to do what he wanted without saying a word. It was strange, like seeing buildings prod one another.

"Er…" Truth be told, Stan didn't know exactly how long it had been. His only way of measuring time was the occasional glance at a calendar, which he only sort of understood. But he did know when the witch took him in.

"Since I was thirteen," Stan replied after a short moment of reflection.

"Thirteen?" Sam's eyebrows went up as he wrote down the number below Stan's name on the page. Longer than he'd expected, by far.

"What's some witch want with a kid? " Dean growled, incensed. He half-rose out of his seat, and Sam stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Dude, not helping. We're not here to change the past."

After he was certain Dean wasn't going to leap up and stalk around the room, Sam turned back to Stan. He tried to judge the guy's age, and was disturbed to realize that Stan has to have been with Nicolas for at least six or seven years. Maybe more. It was difficult to get a read on him.

"Do you…" Sam trailed off, wondering how to ask this. "Were you this size the entire time? Did he shrink you?"

This time, Stan shook his head. "N-no, I was always this size," he answered honestly with a wary glance at Dean. He didn't realize any of his answers could make the human react so passionately, and hoped that nothing he said would make him upset.

Sam pursed his lips. That was an unexpected answer. Then again, Stan also had no idea exactly how long he'd been with the witch, so his memory might have been tampered with. Sam wouldn't put it past a creep like Nicholas.

Either that, or they really were dealing with something supernatural.

Supernatural, maybe, Sam thought, but not likely to be dangerous. Considering how terrified Stan was of Dean's playful nudge earlier, along with his skittish reactions to little things like the soda carbonation, it was unlikely the guy would try and hurt anyone.

"Why did Nicholas keep you around?" Sam asked. They needed to hear the full story from Stan's lips, instead of playing the guessing game. "Don't leave anything out, it might be important."

"Oh, well I, uh…" Stan trailed off before he could keep stammering, gathering his thoughts and trying to organize them coherently. "He, um, always used me to place hexbags. Wanted to make sure no one could find them and ruin his fun."

This was certainly a valid use for Stan that the witch exploited, but he had to think deeper about why the witch kept him. He gave an uncertain shrug, glancing sheepishly up at Sam before fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

"I dunno, he… liked me. In his way. Thought I was cute, took me home, gave me shelter, food, protected me from dangerous things… made sure I behaved." One hand crept absently up to rub at his ribs through his shirt, still tender from earlier and aching a bit from all the extra work with the hexbags and trying to run from Sam and Dean earlier.

Dean scowled, having a hard time just sitting there and listening to Stan's calm recitation of his life with the witch. "Behave?" he fumed. "What'd he think you were, a pet?"

Stan flinched at Dean's harsher tone, drawing one knee up close to his chest. He was still trying to keep his calm, to answer as many of Sam's questions as he could, but he felt the panic slowly rising even as he tried to suppress it.

Sam put a calming hand on Dean's shoulder. He knew how hard it was for his older brother to calmly accept what sounded like some sick game, but they couldn't fix the past, only the future. It made Sam's stomach churn to hear Stan talk about inhumane treatment.

"What do you mean, he made sure you behaved, Stan?" Sam asked cautiously, afraid of the answer. "What did he do to you?"

"I-I mean… I dunno," mumbled Stan, intently focused on the grain of the table beneath him. There were a lot of variables that went into the way Nicholas regulated Stan's behavior and punishments. It depended on his mood that day- that moment, more often than not- it depended on what Stan had done to upset him, and whether or not the witch wanted to deal with him right that second.

"S-sometimes he'd just… grab me kinda rough. Or, er, shut me up someplace so he could calm down and come back later…" Stan's shoulders bunched up as he remembered his early days with the witch, still learning that there was nothing he could do to stop the human if he wanted to harm him. Back then, the witch sometimes got so impatient or angry that he'd snap a bone or two in little Stan.

Of course, he healed the kid right up once Stan had learned his lesson, but the memory of that pain would never go away.

"Even if h-he broke me, he always put me right. Said I still had work to do."

"Holy shit, no wonder he thought you were gonna step on him," Sam breathed, barely audible to Dean.

From the sound of things, Stan had been tortured. Punished if he upset the witch or did anything out of line, and from the file they had on the guy before finally tracking him down, Sam knew the man could be inventive. He clenched a hand under the table, trying to suppress the anger he felt rising in him.

Dean had far less self-control than that, his face darkening. "What kind of person tortures a-"

He was cut off when Sam hauled him back from the table, taking a few steps away to give Stan a breather. "Dean, he thinks we'll punish him like that," he hissed under his breath. "Did you see the way he tenses up? Especially if you raise your voice?"

Dean's lips flattened into a line. "Jesus." He dragged a hand down his face. "What kind of sick freak gets his fun from tormenting someone who can't fight back?"

"Most monsters, I think."

A/N:

These Winchesters are certainly trying their best!

It practically feels like a year since we last put a chapter up! I spent most of the holiday sick and quarantining. All tests ended up negative for covid, so we lucked out in that part. Glad to be back here, can't wait to hear what ya'll think!

Next: January 19th, 2022 at 9PM est

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