From his spot nestled in the corner of Sam's pocket, Stan didn't think anything of the human's movements until he seemed to go relatively still and spoke- the latter was the hardest to miss. Stan couldn't tell if Sam was talking to him or himself, and he could feel the motion of his relatively small adjustments.

He found himself just as curious as Sam. Luckily the flannel of the shirt made the pocket fabric very easy to grip, and Stan managed to stand himself up. Unsurprisingly, he fell short of the top by half an inch at least, but his arms were more than long enough to reach up and tug at it in an attempt to look out and see what Sam was up to. Stan knew he didn't have to worry about keeping hidden while they were still in the motel room.

With his attention so closely focused on the pocket, Sam didn't miss the tiny motions and the littlest hand that clutched at the edge of the fabric to pull it down. Those fingers were so slender it was hard to believe it was a person doing that. Sam smiled Stan's way, figuring this plan just might work out fine-

-when Dean came barreling out of the bathroom and nearly ran right over Sam, not expecting his little brother to be right there when he got out.

Dean brought himself up short, Sam jolting backwards with a hand cupped over his pocket, and the collision was just averted. It took Dean seconds to narrow his eyes at Sam, then glance at the table.

"Where's Stan?" he demanded the second he saw the empty spot where Stan had been.

Sam huffed, letting his hand drop away from blocking the pocket. "He's here," Sam said, gesturing at the pocket. "Figured we'd see how it worked out…"

"He's been in there the entire time?" Dean hissed. "What if I ran into you? You need to be more careful!"

Sam held up his hands beseechingly. "Dude, he's fine! It was under control!"

"I'm okay!" Stan insisted, hauling himself up to dangle from the top of the pocket by his armpits. His slight weight managed to create a dip so that he could keep himself steady standing on tiptoe at the bottom seam, and he tried to push the flap up with one arm so he could see the brothers properly. It wasn't the easiest thing to accomplish.

Even with the abrupt movement of Sam moving back, Stan had come out of it relatively unscathed. His feet fell out from under him, but his grip on the top of the pocket was strong enough to keep him upright. Anything more than that, and he might have been knocked to the bottom of the pocket, but with Sam aware of him and able to protect him, Stan couldn't think of a single thing he had to worry about from this little outing of theirs.

"See?" Sam said blithely, turning back to the mirror so he could spot Stan without having to angle his neck straight down. Without the bright red hair, Stan might blend right into the flannel background.

"Just… don't let that happen again!" Dean griped, straightening out the sleeves of his outfit. He was dressed up in a suit, his hair combed straight with the exception of the spike that refused to stay down. The only part of his outfit working against him was his relative youth. Most people working for the FBI tended to be older than 26.

"I won't be around for backup when you're at the library," Dean said when he was satisfied with his costume and glanced back over at them. "So try not to get into any trouble."

"I think we'll manage fine," Sam said dryly, gathering up the toiletries scattered about on the bathroom sink. "Stan knows to stay out of sight when other people are around."

Stan nodded to back Sam up pushing the flap higher out of his face so it would be visible. "Won't move a muscle, promise," he assured Dean. Two new humans were confusing enough, Stan did not like his chances with other people seeing him.

With that said, Stan started to settle himself back down in the pocket. The Winchesters were almost ready to go, and he did not want to be sticking out or conspicuous in any way when they left.

Finding his little corner again was easy now that Stan had a feel for the space. With Sam's shirt closed up, the pocket remained relatively stable compared to others Stan had experienced, including Dean's the night before. Stan didn't feel stifled at all despite the small space, able to take long, deep breaths.

It was quite warm, the flannel absorbing the body heat Sam radiated, but the fabric was still breathable enough so that Stan didn't feel like he would overheat if left in there for too long. Stan was always cold in some way, his tiny, skinny body retaining little heat on its own with his thin layers.

If he wasn't so trained to want for nothing, he'd wish he had an extra shirt, perhaps a jacket. For now, he was content with where he was and who he was with, as long as he didn't upset them.

Sam found himself staring at the pocket again, then realized Dean was doing the same, brow furrowed at the sight of how Stan vanished into the folds the moment the pocket flap fell.

Arching an eyebrow at Dean, Sam caught his attention. Dean shook himself, blinking a few times. "This whole thing is just friggin' weird," he muttered, eyes flicking back to the pocket for a second before turning away.

Between the two brothers, it only took around ten minutes to grab their things scattered around the room. They'd only stayed in town for a few days on this hunt, so there was no time to get settled. Sam remembered to grab Dean's extra t-shirt from the nightstand drawer, lobbing it across the room at Dean's head. If they needed a room after today, it would be well away from this town and the dead body they could possibly be connected to.

Such was the life of a hunter.

Sam had readjusted to the life well enough. Though his heart still ached for Jessica, his determination to find her killer was stronger. One day, he knew they could do it. Until then, helping people like Stan was more important.

The little lump hanging heavy on Sam's shirt continually pulled at his attention. It was still and silent, slight motions from within reminding him of the life depending on him. He didn't want to risk forgetting about Stan, knowing how devastating it could be for the little guy if he brushed against the pocket by accident.

By the time they left, the room was no cleaner, but it lacked any trace of the Winchesters and their unusual victim. It was time to see what they could do for this Stan Baker.

The Impala gleamed dark in the parking lot, her black body reflecting shards of sunlight back at the brothers as she patiently waited for the next journey. Sam tossed the keys he'd borrowed from Dean earlier that day back to his brother, Dean catching them in one smooth motion.

After both doors slammed shut and the brothers were sealed into the interior, Dean leaned over the town map they had. "Should be a library not far from here…" Dean muttered, brushing the map with a callused hand.

Sam looked over the map, scanning through the symbols that looked upside down from his point of view. "That it?" he asked, recognizing one and tapping it on the map.

"Perfect," Dean said. He glanced over the directions, then slid the key in the ignition and turned on the engine.

This time, Stan was prepared for the car to roar to life. The pocket itself didn't do much to stifle the actual noise of the vehicle, but he was much more relaxed and knew to expect it. Without the nerves making him jump at every little thing, Stan needed only to bite back a flinch of surprise since he had little warning from inside Sam's pocket.

During the short drive, Stan was tempted to climb up and peek out again. It seemed like something the Winchesters would allow him to do, since nobody would be able to see him while they were in the car. He had very little experience with cars outside of the jar Nicholas kept him in on his trips. Now that he had such easy access to a view outside, his curiosity was piqued.

In the end, though, he decided to stay put. At least until after he and Sam were done at the library. Then he wouldn't have to worry about ducking back down before someone noticed him for a good while. Nodding to himself, Stan settled down in the folds and listened to what the humans were up to.

The drive to the library only took around seven minutes. Dean parked along the sidewalk at the front of the elegant building to let Sam out, giving his younger brother a jaunty salute before he drove off to stop at the police station.

Watching the Impala turn out into the main road, Sam hefted a sigh. Soon, they'd be finished in this town, hopefully for good. The Winchesters tried to keep their names out of the press and did their best to fly under the radar, but sometimes notice was unavoidable. This time, so far, was not one of those times and Sam intended to keep it that way.

"We're at the library," he murmured softly, glancing at his pocket. "If I can find a quiet corner with no one around, I'll letcha know." His hand brushed at the tiny lump there, reassuring himself that Stan was doing alright.

Even lowered, it was impossible for Stan to miss Sam's voice, the way it resonated all around him. The light touch from the outside was unexpected, covering his entire body as well as the area around him, but Stan recognized it for what it was. Sam was checking on him, filling him in on what he was doing since he couldn't see or affect it in any way.

Stan figured he should answer somehow, but he didn't want to shout in case the pocket simply swallowed his call, or if anyone was nearby and happened to overhear if his voice did make it out. He decided to take Sam's earlier suggestion and jabbed an elbow sharply into the wall next to him.

His heart picked up the pace as he did this, something in him chastising him for attacking the human, but reason reminded him that Sam wouldn't be hurt at all, and if he struck any lighter the human might not feel it.

The edge of Sam's lips quirked up into a quick smile at the tiny jab, just barely able to make it out. He lightly tapped back, just enough pressure to let Stan know he'd felt it. "Right, sit tight. We're on our way."

They'd have to find a better way to talk, Sam mused as he walked into the library. The double doors were heavy to push, standing a good few feet taller than Sam did.

The library itself was one of the older buildings in town. Tall and ornate, it smacked of a Victorian style building, redone with modern conveniences, like the metal grating in the floor to wipe off mud or snow before reaching the shiny marble tile that covered the floor in the library.

One librarian was pushing a cart full of books around not far from the entrance, and Sam took a moment to pause and examine the area.

Each aisle had a sign above it, indicating which books could be found where. Past the brightly adorned children's section, a row of computers sat complacently. Aside from the library aide with the cart and the librarian sitting at the front desk, working her way through a large pile of books, the patrons were few and far between. Early morning; a good time to hang out at the library, especially with the books Sam would be looking up.

Walking up to the counter, Sam gave the lady his best smile. Unlike Dean, this came off as awkward and trying-too-hard. All Sam could think about was Stan, sitting in his pocket. Safe in the darkness, but so vulnerable in just a fabric enclosure.

The lady looked up at him, her eyes briefly widening at his size. The only thing Sam had going for him was the dimples when he smiled, a natural innocence in his demeanor coming through. Dean teased him for having puppy eyes, but without Dean's smooth way of talking, it worked wonders.

"Hello, dear," the woman greeted. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I, uh," Sam pulled out a scrap of paper he'd scribbled on the night before with a few ideas for books. "I'm looking for books on witchcraft and curses for a paper I'm working on," and there goes any chances of coming off as normal, he rued, "and then if you have anything on… tiny people?"

The woman arched an eyebrow at the books. "You mean like The Borrowers? "

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Sam, so he shrugged. "Maybe? That one's for my brother. He wanted anything I could find." It made Sam grin to turn Dean's usual tactic around on him, though this time he wasn't around to get the weird looks like Sam did.

The woman pointed a manicured nail towards the kid's section. "You'll want to look over in children's. For the rest…" She consulted the computer in front of her. "We have a few books scattered through the main section." Scribbling down a few numbers, she handed Sam a paper. "You might want to check the computers, too."

"Right, thanks," Sam waved at her, stepping back. His first goal was the computers, but not for the reason she'd mentioned.

Sitting down at the first computer, Sam logged in under Guest and called up the internet browser. "Stan… Baker," he said as he typed it in, doing a country-wide search for anyone that matched Stan's name. If he could get any hits on missing Stan Bakers, there was a chance they could find out where the kid was from initially.

While Sam worked, Stan frowned to himself as his hand fidgeted with the fabric he was holding onto for stability. That woman outside… something about Sam's conversation with her did not sit well with Stan. He felt uneasy, exposed despite his secure hiding place. The more he stewed, the more he began to suspect that it had to do with something she mentioned to Sam when he brought up little people.

Borrowers…

As he turned it over in his head, the name started to sound more and more familiar to him. He made a note to bring it up to Sam once he was free, see if he could dig further into it. If the mere mention of it was making Stan this uncomfortable, it must be important.

Sam continued working silently at the computer, occasionally jotting down a note or two on his scrap paper.

There were no Stan Bakers on file anywhere close to this town, and certainly none missing. When he expanded the search, a middle-aged man came up, his dark hair and overweight stature clear differences from Stan. The kid was skinny, scrawny, and had the brightest mop of red hair.

Remembering Stan's slight accent, British but with a hint of an Irish lilt, Sam called up records from the British Isles, looking to see if any Stan Bakers lived over there, or any kids had gone missing years back.

Nothing.

Sam briefly substituted Stanley for Stan, but the results were equally disappointing.

Giving up on the computer, Sam got up and examined the list of books the librarian had handed him. With his familiarity of libraries, it took him no time at all to build up a decent sized pile, pausing briefly to grab a book on leprechauns when he remembered Dean's confusion the night before when they found Stan. No lead could be overlooked.

Sam hedged on going to the kid's section for the book she'd pointed him to, but in the end snagged a copy of The Borrowers. It might end up coming in useful.

Looking at the picture on the cover, Sam arched his eyebrows. The size of the people was close to Stan, very close.

With so few people in the library, it wasn't hard to find an empty corner to sit in. Sam piled up the books he'd chosen, spreading them across the table to discourage anyone from sitting near him. A half hour had already passed, and in his mind that was far too long to keep Stan cooped up. The little lump was motionless where it hung, and Sam was itching to check and make sure he was doing okay.

Sam nudged where Stan was sitting. "No one else is around," he said softly, keeping his voice down in the stifling, dusty air.

That was all the encouragement Stan needed to pull himself up to stand, throwing his arms over the edge of the pocket and shoving at the flap over his head. He peered around at what he could see from there, his eyes widening as they landed on the more decorative covers out of the books Sam had gathered. The one prominently displaying an image of people his size!

"What is that?" Stan blurted, pointing with the hand that wasn't occupied with the flap. He was still fuzzy on the why of it all, but something in him just screamed wrong to him. Screamed danger.

And above all, everything about that book seemed familiar.

A/N:

Sam has found the Holy Grail

Next: February 23rd, 2022 at 9PM est

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