Sam was the first one to step onto Jacob's hand this time, his boot pressing lightly against the thick, ridged skin that was waiting for them. Dean had at least loosened up his stipulations for Sam's recovery, so Sam had been able to hang out with their human friends more than once while he was stuck cooling his heels. It wasn't a complete shock when he could feel a pulse throbbing beneath him. Standing on a person, being able to fit in their hand, was a sensation that Sam couldn't equate with any other.

Walking along Jacob's finger like a balance beam, Sam stopped when he reached the center of the broad palm. There was more than enough room for Dean to join him, as they'd found when both brothers fell asleep there. It was bigger than Sam's old bed in Trails West, or Dean's nest of fabric that continued to wait for them in his old home, if they ever managed to return.

A combination of circumstances had resulted in neither brother saying a proper farewell to Walt and Mallory, and they both knew that one day they needed to return. First, the excitement of escaping their motel prison had overridden any other concern, and then Dean got the chance to restore his beloved car. Forgetting anything else, they'd tossed themselves into learning how to hunt, even with their size working against them. Jacob learned with them, proving he could do the job and offering Dean and Sam more loyalty than they ever expected from a human.

Then came that fateful day. They'd begun to consider asking Jacob to take them back to the motel after his visit home. It was time to apologize for leaving their family without any word. Perhaps they could even find a way to help Walt and Mallory survive without having to put themselves in danger.

Bobby Loran had ruined that. He'd found the brothers, kidnapping them in a spur-of-the-moment decision, and snapped Sam's arm. While it was healing they couldn't travel and take the risk of making it worse, so at Jacob's house they stayed.

Finally, that was all over with. Sam could leave, they could return to hunting, and hopefully find a time to return to their family. They would need to bring it up with Jacob soon, but neither Winchester foresaw any issue there. Jacob considered family important, he would want them to go home to see theirs.

Dean joined Sam in the center of the palm, shrugging his leather duffel bag up on his shoulder. Both that bag and Sam's satchel were packed for travel, and their small home closed up on the assumption they'd be leaving now that Sam was healed. It would be there waiting for them when they came back, whether that be later on in the day if the case was a bust or if it was a month later. It paid to be prepared.

Sam gave Jacob two thumbs up, still grinning broadly that he could use both hands now. Soon, he'd have to give climbing a try, and make sure his skills weren't rusty.

He couldn't let Dean go beating him at climbing, after all.

Jacob grinned right back. He might have been with the brothers for a few months, but he might never grow tired of seeing everyday gestures in miniature. Sam's thumbs-up was so small he could almost miss the tiny digits if he wasn't paying attention. The feeling of tiny boots crossing his fingers like balance beams and shifting on his palm as they got settled had taken some getting used to, as well.

After graduating high school, Jacob had initially taken on the life of a drifter. He'd move from town to town, doing temp jobs in factories, warehouses, or railyards before moving on again. It was a solitary life, one that didn't require partners in the endeavor.

Ever since taking up hunting with the Winchesters, he knew the value of good backup. There were people out there (among them his former best friend), who would say that the tiny brothers standing on his hand couldn't possibly do anything to help, that they were too small. Jacob knew better. Before coming home to visit and being stalled by Sam's injury, the brothers had been the ones teaching Jacob the ropes.

Now that they were getting back into things, he had no doubt it would return to normal.

He lifted his hand from the desk with a slow, steady motion that had been practiced time and time again. It didn't take long for him to realize how much a simple motion affected the brothers' balance, and he'd gotten guidance from them on what worked best (sometimes in the form of lectures from Dean).

He held his hand in front of one of the pockets on his shirt, holding it open with the other. While he usually wore hoodies, Jacob had updated his wardrobe to include several shirts with pockets right on the front, which made it easier for Sam and Dean to travel discreetly with him, or direct his steps if they felt the need. There was plenty of room for them both, and at least that way he could keep better track of where they were. Their tiny weight hardly disturbed the cloth, but he'd notice.

"Mom's still at home, so probably better keep outta sight 'til we get to the Impala," he explained.

"Gotcha," Dean responded. It was a great feeling for him to watch Sam hop down into the pocket without needing any assistance after all that time watching his little brother getting by with a broken arm. Dean might have complained a lot about the way Sam never wanted to stay in one place for long while he was healing, but deep inside he hated watching Sam unable to do what he was best at: Climbing.

For so long, Sam had been the fastest climber at the Trails West. Dean never even bothered competing. He was just that much faster, unencumbered by the occasionally crippling fear of heights Dean put up with on a daily basis. Seeing Sam unable to blow off steam by finding new places to climb and hide hurt, and watching Sam's shoulders slump down because he needed help for the simplest task was the hardest thing Dean had ever done.

Once Sam vanished into the darkness of the pocket, Dean inched to the edge of Jacob's hand. The teen knew all about Dean's fear of heights, and never pressured or hurried the small hunter. Dean took a deep breath, avoiding the sight off the edge of Jacob's hand to only focus on the pocket.

After a moment to gather his courage, Dean hopped down into the pocket. Sam was in the left corner, leaving Dean plenty of room to crash down onto the soft bottom. It swayed under them and came to a gentle rest against the wall of Jacob's chest. Behind that wall, a heart bigger than both brothers' together thudded placidly along, keeping their human alive and sending blood coursing throughout the rest of his body. Beyond that, the distant sound of rushing air could be heard as gales of breath were pulled down by massive lungs.

All these strange sounds were simply a part of Sam and Dean's life now, and didn't bother them. They couldn't begrudge Jacob that after everything he'd done.

Dean gave the pocket a brief survey, then poked his head up out of the top along with Sam to look curiously around the room from their new vantage. There hadn't been many opportunities to try out the new pockets, so it was a novel experience.

"Now, don't go forgetting us here if your mom gives you a hug, Jacob!" Dean called up with a smirk, knowing Jacob might look tall and imposing, but he was a complete mama's boy at heart.

Jacob stared down, his chin tucked against his chest, to peer into his own pocket. He was new to their travel arrangements as well, and there was something endlessly entertaining about a face as stern as Dean Winchester's poking out of his pocket like that. He smirked and refrained from the notion to poke at his pocket to see how Dean would react. For today, at least, the brothers needed a chance to get used to traveling like that. He would error on the side of caution with Sam's arm only recently healed.

"You think I'd forget you? You have no faith in me at all," he replied, his voice rumbling out of his chest and all around them.

With them situated in his pocket and peeking out at the world around them, Jacob pushed his chair back and rose to a stand. He could only imagine what that felt like to them, and yet they'd done it time and time again while seated on his shoulder. Jacob always tried to give them plenty of time to brace themselves before he stood, both to avoid knocking them over and to avoid griping.

Sometimes he earned scolding anyway. At least he could say he tried.

He turned and, in just a couple of his long strides, crossed to the dresser to retrieve his keys and wallet, both of which were stuffed into other pockets. Then, he reached over to his bed and slipped a hand under the pillow, where his fingertips sought the cool metal of a gun.

He wasn't completely in the habit of keeping a weapon close as he slept, but it was something to practice, even in his own home. Bobby Singer and Dean both encouraged that level of preparedness, and to make it anywhere in the hunting life, Jacob needed to pick up on that. He tucked the elegantly engraved Colt MK IV into the back of his pants, hiding it with the hem of his shirt. Carrying a weapon was well outside Jacob's norm. In some ways, it was stranger than having two tiny passengers in his chest pocket.

With that done, he made his way towards the door. He remembered the odd feeling of traveling in Chase's pocket, how everything had swayed and rattled with each step, and wondered if it was exaggerated with him. The nickname 'Godzilla' hadn't come from nowhere, as he always reminded himself.

"How'm I doing, guys?" he asked. He paused with his hand on the doorknob to await their verdict.

Compared to how simple Jacob's everyday movements around the room were for the human, for the brothers it could be closer to a roller coaster where there were no seatbelts… or indeed, no seats. They watched as the human gathered up his belongings, picking up keys and a wallet that weighed more than both brothers together and placing them into his jeans.

When Jacob leaned over to get the Colt, even Sam ended up clinging to the side. The pocket swayed with them in it, and Dean turned a shade paler.

None of that would keep him from speaking his mind when it came down to it, of course.

"What, you mean aside from the earthquakes?" Dean called up from where he was clinging to the edge of the pocket with white knuckles. A few weeks spent with very little travel had him adjusting all over again to the sheer height of Jacob. The last time, they'd had the relief of solving the case of the hex victims and getting Jacob back to his proper Godzilla-size proportions to keep Dean from stressing when he was up on a shoulder. Jacob, earthquakes and all, was exactly the size he should be, thanks to those efforts.

With a roll of his eyes, Sam nudged Dean with an elbow again, then bounced the bottom of the pocket to send him tumbling down into it. It caught Dean completely off guard. The hunter lost his grip on the edge and vanished from sight, curses leaking up from the bottom.

Sam gave Jacob a wave. "You're doing great so far!" he called up. The confident cadence in his voice he'd found while searching for a case was still there, strengthening his words. He let himself drop down, following Dean into the depths where they would be out of sight.

Jacob snickered. It felt good to see Sam messing with Dean like that. With the younger Winchester out of commission for so long, Jacob had seen more than one short argument about how far he should be allowed to go; sometimes those arguments happened on his own hand. Staying out of those arguments was a difficult trick. Now, Sam had some of his equilibrium back, and Dean would have to work to keep up with him again.

"Well, in that case, let's head out," he said, opening his door and stepping out into the hall.

His steps, as heavy as they were, had lightened considerably since the last time he lived at home. Before, he hadn't known about small people a twentieth of his size. He hadn't known that there was any reason to be careful with his steps. Now, he didn't want to jar the passengers in his pockets.

Jacob had spent some time at their scale. He knew that Dean didn't exaggerate all that much when he described them as "earthquakes." Jacob tried to keep from downright stomping everywhere when he could manage it out of respect. The smaller people were still people, and deserved his consideration.

Even so, by the time he made it down the stairs, his mother was standing at the bottom with a laundry basket on one hip. She gave him a dimpled smile. "Heading out?"

"Yeah," he replied. He leaned to give her a one-armed hug, careful to avoid causing any discomfort to his pocket. It worked out well since one of her hands was full, too. "I might be out late. Driving a few towns over."

Mariana Andris smiled and snuck a peck on his cheek before he returned to his full height. She was well used to Jacob traveling a little farther from home for whatever work he found for the week. She was just glad he'd decided to base at home for a while. "Alright. I might cook something. If I do I'll set some aside for you."

"Thanks, mom," Jacob answered with a nod, before heading out the door. He didn't want to prolong conversation while he had two hunters hiding out in his pocket.

He got into the huge, shining black 1967 Impala parked at the curb, settling onto the bench seat with a sigh. The key was in the ignition before he glanced down at his pocket with a grin. "Back on the road again," he announced, before turning the key with a roar of the engine.

The flap of the pocket shifted, and Sam was the first one out. Normally, the brothers would already be on Jacob's shoulder, or hiding in a hoodie to keep out of sight from Mariana. There was no way to know her reaction to finding out that tiny people were real, and with Mike being a cop, the brothers chose to avoid any situations that might result in discovery. He seemed like a nice enough man, but if the police discovered littles, people everywhere could be put in danger.

"Shotgun!" Sam shouted, off like a shot. Dean was left behind in the dust, and Sam used the thick threads of Jacob's shirt to climb his way over to the right shoulder. It was like he'd never taken a break.

Dean hauled himself up, nowhere near as fast. "Dammit," he huffed. "That's my spot." Resigned, he pulled himself up to Jacob's left shoulder, peering out the driver's side window of the Impala and taking in the sight of the house they'd lived in for the past few weeks.

Compared to their old home at Trails West, it was a little slice of heaven. Plenty of food, one friendly human and two humans to avoid with predictable patterns… Bobby was the only bump in the road they'd run into.

"Guess that means you should get here faster!" Sam snarked back from the shoulder he'd claimed, dropping his satchel down and leaning proprietarily against Jacob's neck. With a leg kicked up along the shoulder, it was one of the more comfortable places to sit. Jacob had broad shoulders, and the collar of his shirt framed the other side of Sam's seat.

Jacob couldn't hold back a chuckle at the fact that apparently he had a shoulder that counted as shotgun. That was a new one. He supposed, just like the Impala, he was their way of getting around. Not to mention, neither brother could actually sit shotgun in the car. Down on the seat like that, they wouldn't be able to see out, and if he ever needed to slam the brakes, they couldn't use a seatbelt either. They'd go flying. Jacob was the safest bet while the car was running.

Shotgun. On my shoulder. My life got really weird.

"A challenge has been issued, Dean," Jacob mused, pulling the car away from the curb and taking off down the residential street of Carlisle, Iowa. A predictable elbow jabbed into the side of his neck from Dean's side.

The turns and intersections that led to the highway out of town fell behind them in short order. Jacob had them memorized, and before long he had the Impala on a stretch of road that she could speed along unhindered.

He checked the mirror to see how the brothers were situated. He was always pleased to see them settling in so comfortably. It was hard to imagine getting used to sitting there like that, but Sam made it look so natural; he was barely more than a tickle against Jacob's neck.

"I'm gonna go ahead and guess you already have the details in your journal, Sam?" he asked, before looking back to the road. From the sounds of things, Sam had scoped out the case days ago. It was no wonder he'd been so ready to get to investigating.

Sam bobbed his head in acknowledgement as he rifled through his satchel. Along with his journal, he had several paper clips stashed away, a few sheafs of aluminum foil that could be used for just about anything, the lead tip of a pencil that he treasured as one of his better finds… and he'd managed it without having to rely on Dean and his uncanny knack to find whatever he needed. A few extra shirts and pants padded the sides of the bag as well, just in case they didn't return to the house. Being prepared, in their line of work, was all important.

For now, Sam left the pencil tip in the bag. There was no use risking it in the car when he already had everything he needed scripted out in handwriting that would be microscopic for Jacob. Sam would make use of his silver knife to sharpen up the tip to a point that was too thin for a human to use. Any pressure at all from them would snap it right off. For someone Sam's size, though, it was perfect. The letters were delicately thin and easy to read for both brothers.

Flipping past the red drop of paint that Dean had spilled in the center of the book, Sam scowled. Giving his brother access to the book wasn't all sunshine and daisies sometimes.

When he found the last page he'd written on, Sam propped it up on his knee. "I've got everything I could find on the two recent deaths in here. Addresses, victims, their families in case we need to reach out to them… It sounds like a spirit is our best bet. Monsters can't walk through walls like that. We just need to figure out how it could strike twice in the same town, in completely different places."

Dean couldn't see Sam from where he was perched, sitting bolt upright and at attention compared to Sam's relaxed slump, but he listened along with Jacob. "There has to be something linking them. There always is with a spirit, from what I always heard. They're the most predictable of anything supernatural out there according to Bobby."

Jacob nodded once. He avoided jostling their positions too much with the motion, though the skill hadn't come without practice. Like with his steps and movements of his hands, everything had to be subtle so long as Jacob worked with people the size of his fingers. Their trust didn't come easy, and he didn't want to risk losing it.

"So looking around a bit more might help us find something in common between the guys that maybe the cops overlooked," he mused, talking himself through it more than anything. Jacob hadn't grown up with knowledge of the supernatural like Sam and Dean had, but he wouldn't let that be the factor that held him back.

"Wouldn't be the first time a spirit picked some weird trait to go after... we can check out the most recent scene first."

Jacob glanced at the glove box, where his small but slowly growing collection of fake IDs was stashed away. He'd keep his press badge close as he went about the day, but in truth Jacob hoped he wouldn't get caught unaware. His improvised lies were the worst, and his practiced ones, rehearsed several times with Dean pointing out his tells, weren't that great, either. Lying, and thus acting, were not skills he'd ever needed before.

"Once we're there, we can figure it out," Dean declared with confidence. There was no room in his attitude for the thought of failure. Jacob had them backing him up, after all. They could find clues that the police would miss. It was one aspect where their size became an asset instead of a hindrance. Small eyes for tiny clues. Jacob could scout the high ground while they took care of the low ground and the walls. It was a system that had worked for them before, when they'd discovered Melanie and the others living in the walls of a house haunted by a ghost that was the same size as Sam and Dean.

Without the brothers in the picture, a regular hunter would be baffled by the case. Her body was buried underneath the kitchen floorboards, in an area that Jacob would never think to look on his own. They had played a major role in that case, and Jacob had played his own. The teenager had saved the lives of Dean and Melanie when the ghost attacked, sending the two tiny people plummeting into a bathtub of rushing water.

Dean, knocked unconscious by the initial attack, would have died without him.

None of those thoughts brought his spirit down. After so long waiting around at Jacob's house, Dean was ready to hunt.

"You've got us backing you up. What could possibly go wrong?"


A/N:

Things are really going back to normal when the Winchesters are arguing over who gets shotgun... shoulder.

Yep, this is Jacob's life.

Next: March 8th, 2023 at 9PM


Adding in this author's note for all my followers here, and will keep it on all chapters going forward:

If the worst happens and fanfiction shuts down, you can find all my stories on both archive of our own and deviantart, posted under the nightmares06 account. You can also find our story tumblr, which contains a ton of information and answers that are only posted on that site, along with artwork for the stories and future plans we have. That can be found under the brothersapart tumblr account. I can't put links in chapters, but googling "Brothersapart tumblr" should bring it right up!