As soon as Dean got up, marking the end of their session, Stan stood and shook out his tingling limbs. He backed away quickly from the edge of the table, knowing Sam and Dean would be settling in to eat soon and not wanting to be in their way.
Stan perked up a little as he remembered that the brothers were likely to share their meal with him like they did last night. His stomach gave a rumble at the thought, and his mouth was watering as Sam brought the food over He kept most of his excitement to himself; it'd be rude to seem demanding of anything the humans had, but his curiosity could not be contained. At last he'd know what all those tempting aromas tasted like.
Sam shoo'd Dean away, keeping a tight grip on the food. "Wait your turn," he scolded, setting up on the table.
Dean sank back into his seat, impatiently watching Sam pull out his acquisitions. Each brother got a cup of coffee, and the orange juice was placed to the side. The meals were similar; Dean's ran heavier on the bacon and sausage end and Sam's had more fruit, but for breakfast, it wasn't bad. The lack of continental at the motel was disappointing at first until they found a local diner that served at all times during the day. Good prices, decent food.
Sam portioned out a bit of everything on a napkin for Stan, filling the bottlecap from last night with OJ. "Maybe this'll work better than the soda," he said ruefully.
"Coffee is the only way to go in the morning," Dean insisted, snatching his up to gulp some down.
Sam gave him a flat look. "Might be a little hot for Stan," he pointed out dryly. "Let's see how this works first."
Once Sam finished cutting up a bit of each fruit on the napkin for Stan, he pushed it over to where the little guy was standing. "This'll help with nutrition," he told him.
Stan's eyes were round as he looked over the food he was given. Just like last night, there was such a wide array that he hardly knew where to start.
"Thank you!" he chirped, taking a seat where he could be within arm's reach of everything. He took a few nibbles of the fruit and meat, two foods that he couldn't recall ever eating in his life before he met Sam and Dean. On top of feeling spry and springy from the stretches Dean had shown him, the food gave him energy and made him feel whole.
He couldn't ignore the drink for long, still a tiny bit wary after the last one. The orange liquid didn't seem nearly as active, though, so he decided to give it a whirl. After watching it slosh a bit when he pulled it close, he thought twice before dunking his hands in like he would the water. The drink seemed thicker than that, and Stan wasn't sure how it would feel on his hands afterward. So instead, he picked up the cap and took a careful sip, managing not to spill the entire thing down his front in the attempt.
It wasn't bad. It was a little tangy, the sharp and fruity flavor more intense than he'd expected, but he found himself enjoying it. He felt refreshed as he drank it, letting it wash down the grease from the bacon and the sugars from the fruit.
"So what's the plan for the day?" Sam asked as he picked up his fork, starting in on his own food once it looked like Stan was settled.
"Researmph," Dean mumbled around a piece of sausage, eliciting a glare from Sam when he talked with his mouth full.
Dean gave Sam an equally flat look back for interrupting his meal, swallowing the sausage whole with an exaggerated motion. "Research for you and shorty over there," he said clearly. "I'll run down to the station, see if the police picked up the scent of Nicholas' corpse yet. We might get through this scott-free. Meanwhile, you'll see what you can find out about the little guy and where he's from. Maybe we can get him back."
Sam nodded, the seriousness of Stan's situation crashing over him again. He leaned down so he was closer to the table, fixing Stan in a look. "Stan, do you have a last name?" he asked gently.
Stan had remained focused on his food until Sam spoke to him directly. Finishing his bite and cleaning his hands off on the napkin, Stan assumed a thoughtful look.
"Er… Yeah, I-I think so…" he answered quietly after a minute, so Sam knew he'd heard and intended to answer. As soon as he could remember.
It had been ages since Stan had even thought about his family, mostly for his own sanity. Holding on to something that was so far out of his reach that he'd never get it back, on top of the otherworldly things he witnessed in Nicholas's house, would have driven him mad for sure. He told himself that, at least, to keep the guilt away.
But now he had to remember, he'd been told to. So he thought hard, dug deep into what little of his past he could recall, shutting his eyes as though it would help. It was on the tip of his tongue…
Sweets. He remembered sneaking out to gather biscuit crumbs, bits of cake left over from the place where humans came to eat those sorts of things. The bakery, he remembered someone calling it. Our bakery…
"Baker," Stan replied suddenly, looking up at Sam with glistening green eyes. Something deep in the pit of his chest felt warmer with this new knowledge, like a part of him that was lost was finding its way back. "My last name is Baker."
Sam had a slowly growing smile on his face at Stan's triumph. "Good to meet you officially, Stan Baker," he said. "I'm Sam Winchester and that's Dean Winchester."
"And don't forget it," Dean mumbled from his corner of the table, a bit of pride hidden in his voice as he ate his hashbrowns. He waved a fork at Sam when they looked over.
"Once we're done eating," Sam continued on once he was sure Dean was done interrupting, "we'll head out and see if we can't track down your family."
Stan nodded, nibbling at another small piece of fruit. He'd been told time and time again that he'd never see his family again. They were too far away, Nicholas assured him. But he didn't want to seem doubtful of the Winchesters' prowess, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
At the same time, he didn't want to get his hopes up in case what Nicholas told him was true.
Dean finished up his meal first, balling up the packaging and tossing it at the trash across the room. It bounced off the side, tumbling into the can.
Sam didn't look amused when he raised up his arms in victory.
With Sam already dressed for the day, it only took a few moments for Dean to grab some jeans and a jacket and run into the bathroom. Sam found himself looking at Stan, distantly wondering how he was supposed to research in a public library with Stan around.
They were going for inconspicuous and past his size, Stan was anything but.
The one thing going for them was Stan would be small enough to hide if he needed to, and that train of thought led Sam to imagining how Stan could hide.
Pockets. He was small enough to fit in pockets.
Sam's flannel shirt had a chest pocket on it, directly over his heart. It was wide enough and tall enough for Stan to use to hide in, and might work for the duration of their trip. With the flap to cover the top, no one would see Stan unless he raised a fuss. Since they'd gone the entire night without a single attempted escape, Sam doubted that would happen.
Regarding Stan, Sam brought up his idea. "So, while we're at the library, you should be out of sight so no one freaks out. Think you're up for a pocket?" He pointed at the one in question.
"Oh, uh…" Stan blinked at the indicated pocket, trying to coax the sudden tension out of his shoulders. Sure, it was a small, enclosed space, but Sam had said that it was specifically to keep Stan hidden. He certainly didn't want any more humans knowing about him now that he had the hunters taking care of him.
"Ah, yeah, I think so," he answered, attempting another smile that twitched and didn't last long. Steeling his nerve, Stan followed up with, "Are you, er… are you gonna, y'know… close it?"
"Hm?" Sam heard what he was saying, and his eyes widened as he realized what Stan was implying. "Oh, no! Of course not." The idea had him flustered. "It's got a flap, and I figured that would be enough to hide you. I won't button it closed, promise… You can just jab me if you need anything."
"Of course, yeah," Stan nodded, trying to make up for any upset his question might have caused. It felt good to hear for sure that he wouldn't be shut in the pocket, and the whole affair seemed all the more appealing. "Pocket's just fine. I know I stand out pretty much everywhere, so... you're right, I'll need to be hidden if there's gonna be people around."
"We just don't want any trouble," Sam said honestly, worried now that Stan might think they wanted to shut him away like the witch had. "You're… y'know, small, and if someone sees you, they might grab you, so… yeah."
To cover up how flustered he felt, he held his hand out close to Stan. "It won't be forever," Sam promised, his eyes wide. "Just when we need to be around people."
"I understand, Sam," Stan insisted as he automatically hopped onto the offered hand. He had no desire to get grabbed by anyone else and end up starting this whole process over with someone completely new. Someone who might not be as considerate as Sam and Dean had been.
As he climbed up to Sam's palm, Stan let one of his hands brush past the pad of the thumb as he passed it by. The insanity of the situation hit Stan all at once, him reassuring the giant as he was about to be pocketed by said giant. He shook his head, pondering this strange existence he led now.
A moment passed, then another.
Stan's shifting weight on Sam's hand snapped him back to the present, caught up in watching how tiny the guy standing there was. Sam's thick skin only felt a slight pressure where Stan stood, and a slight tingle where he'd been.
Sam blinked to clear his head of such thoughts, his fingers instinctively curling up around Stan to guard him from the edge as the hand rose into the air.
Pinching the flap of the chest pocket, Sam stuck two fingers inside, then hesitated. After Stan's worries about the pocket earlier, he didn't want to just shove him inside. "There ya go," Sam said, deciding to just let Stan figure it out. Holding his hand still for a few more seconds wouldn't hurt anyone.
Stan glanced up at Sam, and then down into the pocket. He was surprised when the hand beneath him didn't tilt, sliding him in without a moment to waste. It wasn't often Stan was given the choice to do anything, and for a moment it overwhelmed him.
But Sam was safe. Stan knew this, the human had proven himself time and time again to be gentle and caring toward Stan. With a deep breath, Stan sat himself down at the edge of Sam's hand, looking down into the dark depths of the pocket. Another breath later, and Stan was sliding in of his own volition.
The drop was sharp, but the landing was soft, and Stan ended up in a tangle of limbs at the bottom of Sam's pocket. He had difficulty finding his feet in the oversized hammock, clutching the fabric around him for some semblance of stability.
When he finally fell still, sitting in a corner with his back pressed to a side seam, Stan's eyes widened. The world shifted ever so slightly back and forth as Sam breathed right next to him, the dull roar of those massive lungs as they filled and emptied in time. If he concentrated, he could make out the thrum of Sam's heart deep within the expansive wall of muscle he found himself leaning against in his temporary sanctuary. A heart Stan might be able to fit inside, lungs large enough to be rooms, maybe even small houses!
"Oh, boy," murmured Stan as Sam's magnitude hit him like a ton of bricks. He thanked goodness that Sam was as mindful of him as he was.
Light flooded into the pocket from above. A large finger pulled the flap out of the way, letting Sam peer into the depths of the pocket, the edges of his one visible hazel eye crinkling in concern. The pupil dilated, focusing down on Stan.
"You okay?" came Sam's voice, this time vibrating out of the very wall next to Stan's seat.
Stan gave a jump as the concerned question reverberated around him, one side still tingling from where Sam's voice had vibrated against it. Stan had, of course, been pocketed many times before, but never had he been this close to a human, dangling in a pocket against a broad chest, feeling everything Sam was doing, voluntarily or not.
"F-fine!" Stan called up, giving a small wave to what little of Sam he could see through the gap.
Sam smiled when Stan's voice escaped the fabric confines of the pocket. "Good. Just… let me know if you need anything. I'll be paying attention. I'm going to let go of the flap now so I can finish getting ready."
With that, Sam let go, staring down at the pocket. There was barely even a lump, and only a slight weight leaning against his chest. If it wasn't for the occasional movement within, he might forget Stan was there, like a phone tucked away. Out of sight, out of mind.
Not gonna forget about him, Sam told himself firmly, straightening his shirt. He wouldn't repeat Dean's mistake. Standing from the table, he grabbed his wallet from where it was laying near the last remains of breakfast to tuck into his back pocket, again finding himself staring at the barely-visible lump in his pocket as he did so. An entire person is in there, and counting on me.
Curiosity aroused, once the table was clear, Sam found himself going to the back alcove, where the expansive sink and huge mirror was set up. Dean was locked in the bathroom, but Sam couldn't care less about that. He stared at his reflection, his eyes drawn to the pocket that contained Stan inside.
Aside from a few folds in Sam's flannel, it was as though Stan didn't exist.
Compared to Sam's shirt and chest, the tiny lump that was Stan didn't call attention to itself or stand out at all. It hurt Sam a little inside to see how vulnerable the guy was compared to either Winchester, but he felt renewed determination to protect him, until they could return him to his family.
"I think this'll work," Sam said aloud, changing his position a few times to see if Stan remained inconspicuous at different angles.
A/N:
A look at perspective there for Sam and Stan both!
Next: February 16th, 2022 at 9PM est
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