Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam hesitated, staring into the looming motel room.

Normally, he'd never be around when a human was in the room. Unfortunately, times were tough. Not many people had stayed at the motel during the last month, leaving slim pickings for the people that called the walls their home. If his family wasn't desperate, he'd never risk coming out.

But they were desperate.

Due to the lack of patrons at the motel, even the kitchens were dangerous as a food source. Not many patrons meant less food was being used. That meant that missing food would be easier to notice, and Sam's family wasn't the most desperate around. Krissy and her mother had been forced to go there a few days back to get what they could.

So here he was. Behind the nightstand of a motel room, staring out at a cracker that had been dropped on the ground not long ago.

Sam knew the human was right there, but he hadn't heard the guy move for at least ten minutes. He was frozen, weighing his options. He was fast, and he was quiet. It reasoned out that Sam should be able to dart in, grab the cracker, and be back behind the nightstand, heading for the hidden entrance behind the second bed with the human none the wiser.

Taking that risk though, with the knowledge that all it would take was a second's mistake to get him irrevocably caught, was what had held him back that long.

But his family was going to starve if he didn't do something, and Sam refused to let that happen.

They'd taken him in all those years ago, when he'd first been cursed. Sam hadn't always been four inches tall, after all. Up until he was ten, he'd been a perfectly normal human. Aside from the way his father had hunted monsters and Sam and his older brother Dean had been raised on the road, of course.

Then the witch his father was hunting had attacked them, and Sam had been hit with a curse.

By the time he woke up, his family was gone. It was a week before waking, a week during which his family would have given him up for dead. Sam awoke in a small home, two people by his side, worried he'd never wake. Once he discovered what had happened, they'd taken him in, raised him as their own. He owed them his life.

With that knowledge, Sam hitched his bag up on his shoulders. He tensed, preparing himself for the run.

And darted out into the open, angling for the forgotten cracker on the floor.

In. Out. What could go wrong?

Jacob was only half awake as he watched some food commercials play on the TV across from the bed. He was lounging with his long legs stretched out, a stark relief after driving for most of the day. Road trips were a lot of fun, but they did tend to make one sore after several hours on the highway.

He didn't even have a destination in mind. Jacob was making the trip as a relatively inexpensive vacation for the summer. His mom had to work a couple jobs, so she couldn't come along, but he'd somehow managed to convince her to let him go on his own. At least she knew he'd probably be safe, standing at six feet tall already when he wasn't quite 18 yet. Jacob could handle himself.

He'd picked a motel almost at random, not that the small Kansas town had that many options to choose from. It was a cheap place with a lot of vacancies, though Jacob couldn't call it a complete dive. It'd be perfectly fine for a short rest before he set out again on his directionless trek.

He'd grabbed some late lunch/early dinner barely an hour ago, the remains of which settled in the trashcan by the table. One of the fun things about traveling on his own was that his mom couldn't gripe at him for having his food on the bed. It wasn't like he left any crumbs on the covers anyway.

He was about to grab the remote that lay next to him when a movement, the barest flicker, caught his attention. Down on the floor, something darted seemingly out of nowhere, and Jacob turned his head to focus on it.

He hadn't left any crumbs on the bed, but Jacob realized that a good portion of a cracker must have fallen on the floor, because something had just snatched it up and was darting away.

Back towards the nightstand and who knows where, sprinting along on two legs. What the hell?! Jacob almost flinched at the realization that he wasn't seeing a mouse. Whatever it was darted along quickly.

But Jacob was quicker by just enough. He practically lurched over the bed and reached down with one hand while the other pushed into the mattress to keep his tenuous balance. His sudden move gave the little whatever-it-was a fright and the cracker dropped from its tiny hands. Not a full second later, Jacob's hand was upon the little guy.

He closed his fingers around the running thing, stopping the mad dash immediately. Holy shit, Jacob thought as he noticed more clearly how humanoid his find was. He could feel the tiny arms and legs wriggling as the little guy writhed desperately in his hand. Jacob pulled him back and upwards, shifting so he sat up on the edge of the bed.

Before looking over his find, Jacob leaned down and pinched the cracker in the thumb and first finger of his free hand. He set it down on the nightstand and then clicked on the lamp before returning his focus to the fist closed around the small creature he'd found.

"Woah," he breathed, his free hand cupping around his fist in awe as he drew the little guy into the light. A small head and tiny little shoulders were sticking out of his grasp. Jacob looked over the tiny face and brushed a thumb over one shoulder that seemed to have a little leather strap slung over it. Now that he paid attention, he could feel a tiny bag in his hand in addition to the tiny guy.

"No way," Jacob muttered, momentarily in shock over this completely unexpected discovery.

Sam knew he was in trouble the moment the shadows above shifted.

A prickle went up his neck. Shit… He pushed his legs to run even harder, desperate to get out of sight. Either he’d overestimated his ability at staying silent or he’d underestimated the human.

Whichever it was, he was in trouble.

A shadow fell over him. Gasping, the cracker tumbled out of his hands as he tried to get that last ounce of speed to escape behind the nightstand and back to safety. Just a little more… Like Walt always said, a bit of food wasn’t worth any of their lives.

If only Sam had listened to his advice and hadn’t been so overconfident.

A huge hand snatched at him. It was too fast for Sam to even hope to dodge. He was fumbling at his jacket, trying desperately to yank out his knife even as a thumb and four massive fingers relentlessly closed around his body.

And then it was too late.

Sam’s arms were sealed to his side, his knife inexorably out of reach the moment the hand closed around him. Desperate struggles were muffled in the thick skin that surrounded his body. It was like none of his movements could make an effect.

The world dropped away beneath him, receding into the distance as Sam was yanked into the air. He let out a desperate gasp, unable to concentrate as his surroundings spiraled around him. The human was shifting him to an easier position to see.

As the light clicked on, Sam almost went blind at first. His eyes, so well-adjusted to the darkness in the walls, had difficulty focusing in the bright light of the room, especially when it was completely unexpected. Sam tried to flinch back, then twitched in the other direction when he saw a huge thumb brush over his shoulder. He shivered, realizing how helpless he was in this human’s hands.

Sam could see every ridge, every crevice in the hand curled around him. Nothing he did could loosen up his arms. His satchel was crushed into his side, and his scared hazel eyes stared up at the huge human, afraid of what would happen to me. Walt’s voice echoed in his head, reminding him how it was almost impossible to escape a human after being caught.

They’d never been able to rescue Bree…

Jacob stared in unmasked wonder for several more seconds. Those tiny struggles were almost nothing compared to his grasp, and he could feel the tiny chest heaving with panicked breaths. "Hey, you're okay," he muttered, loosening his grasp just a little. He didn't want the little guy to flail around and risk falling, but there was no need to squish him.

The sound of the TV was a faintly distracting buzz in the background. Jacob fumbled behind himself for the remote and clicked the machine off. Without even looking, he dropped the remote to the nightstand with a loud clatter.

That done, he shifted his grip on the little person carefully. His hand tilted so he could safely uncurl his fingers and get a better look at the details on the tiny little guy. His thumb moved to the little chest, pinning him in place so he couldn't go jumping right off Jacob's hand.

"Wow," Jacob muttered aloud, his free hand nudging the little bag that now lay mostly free on his hand, part of the strap secured just as much as the tiny chest was. Two impossibly small clasps held it shut and Jacob couldn't help the amazed smile. He poked at one of the teeny legs, amazed that the little guy was even wearing miniature jeans, denim and all.

His gaze drifted back to the little guy's face. "What are you?" he asked, unsure if he'd even be understood. It was worth a shot.

Sam froze as rumbling words directed at him for a brief second. Wouldn’t you like to know shot through his mind in Dean's voice from long ago, but he swallowed the words. It was bad enough he was trapped. If he answered, the human would be even more interested in him and that could lead to unfortunate events.

Like him never letting Sam go. Sticking Sam in a cage he’d never escape and taking him away from his family.

Sam had already lost one family. He didn’t want to lose another. His chest tightened at the thought, a real fear rising in him that was even greater than his fear of the human.

He’d lose what little life he’d managed to scrape together over the last decade.

Instead of responding, Sam tried to shove the thick thumb off his chest. The heavy digit made it difficult to breathe, pinning him in place effortlessly. At the same time, Sam kicked out with one of his boots, trying to dissuade the human from his interest in his legs. It was nauseating to see how thin and frail they appeared compared to the powerful fingers meticulously checking him over. Sam was being reduced to nothing more than a toy, helpless to stop the human. But that didn’t mean he’d stop fighting.

All he had to do was push the thumb off his chest just long enough to get his knife out. That way, the human might actually be distracted from Sam for just long enough for him to make his escape. He only needed seconds… he could slide down the cover of the bed and get back behind the nightstand. That way he’d have just enough time to run for cover and slip into the walls.

Back to safety.

The little guy didn't seem to have understood Jacob's question, judging by the way he resumed his struggles. He'd heard, definitely, because Jacob had felt him tense up from the noise. He supposed his voice might be a little loud for such tiny ears. He'd have to remember that so he didn't freak the little guy out any more than he already was.

One of the little legs kicked at his hand. The tiniest boot Jacob had ever seen planted on one of his knuckles and pushed with all its might. He didn't actually feel any force from it, though it was clear the tiny person was giving it his all. Some pity softened his expression. The poor guy was just so small. Jacob moved his hand away.

"Don't worry, you're safe," he said, in a quieter voice than before. Hopefully it would offer some comfort to the little guy, even if he didn't understand the words; it was still tough to tell if he could.

Jacob could feel the panicked breaths speeding in and out of the small chest pinned by his thumb. The little guy was practically hyperventilating there. And he was pushing against Jacob's thumb for all he was worth, but again Jacob didn't actually feel the force behind the little shoves. Still, clearly he wasn't helping with the poor guy's breathing, so he'd have to think of something else.

Jacob got an idea and latched onto it. He shifted his hand so it was flatter, and then used his thumb to gently nudge the small person so he was propped up against Jacob's curled fingers like a seat. That done, he moved his thumb so it rested on the tiny shins instead, hopefully preventing any panicked flailing without constricting the little guy's breathing.

"There, isn't that- fuckdammit! "

Artwork by Mogadeer

Chapter Text

The second his arms were free, Sam went for his knife. Desperation fueled his movements, and it was out in a flash and slicing down at the thumb that was trapping him. Silver warmed by Sam’s small amount of body heat sank into the human’s skin, drawing blood and a startled exclamation.

Then he was falling.

It wasn’t the ground that he slammed into, but the surface was more firm than the beds he’d walked across more than once. Sam let out an “Oof!” of surprise as he hit, crashing into a pile. There was no time to waste gaining his bearings, and Sam shoved himself to his feet with a stumbling panic. It took a second to realize where he’d landed.

Right on the human’s lap.

Sam stumbled backwards away from the human’s torso, afraid to turn his back. He was on a mammoth leg, far thicker than he was tall. He held out his knife defensively as he stumbled, trying to protect himself at the same time as he tried to escape. If he could get near the edge, he could dive off. Grabbing onto the cover would be the fastest way to get down. He wouldn’t even need his hook.

Holy shit. Jacob tore his gaze away from his thumb, which was bleeding quite a bit, to look at the little guy that had cut it. That tiny knife, glinting silver and red and held defensively in front of the small man, had come out of nowhere. Jacob hadn't expected the little guy to have it, especially something crafted so minutely and in such detail. The little guy wasn't so helpless as he originally thought.

But he was backing away from Jacob without looking. He could walk right over the edge without realizing it!

Jacob wasn't angry for getting stabbed. A self-defense move like that only made sense. Still, there was a careful frown on his face as his uninjured hand darted around behind the little guy and coiled around him again. He winced and used his index finger to push the tiny arm back before it could stab at him again, effectively trapping the fragile little limb between his first two fingers while the little body was surrounded.

"Jesus," Jacob muttered as he reached down to pinch the tiny blade flat between his finger and thumb, which still had red beads of blood clinging to it. "Let it go," he murmured, his brow pinching with remorse. He felt bad for taking the little guy's weapon, but ... he really didn't want to get stabbed more. He pulled it effortlessly away from the small hand, not noticing the flinch of pain when he tore it from the guy's grasp. He was as careful as he could be when he set it down next to the cracker on the nightstand.

Sam writhed angrily in the human’s fist, his hand sore from having the hilt of his knife ripped out of his grip. So close! He’d been so close to the edge and freedom! Just a moment more and he could have jumped, and never lost his knife.

Sam tried to blink, his eyes hazing up. With the knife gone, he’d lost his only edge. More, he’d lost his last connection to Dean. To his family. After thirteen years trapped in a dead end motel, Sam’s knife had been a tie to the past. Sharpening it carefully with Walt’s supplies, making it shine back at him… those times were where he felt closest to his lost brother.

Not that Dean was dead, but as far as Sam was concerned, he might as well be. Dean lived in a completely separate world. Sam had been cursed, and Dean had escaped. He might be as tall and terrifying as the human holding Sam captive that very second. Hell, Dean might be more dangerous than the human. He would be a hunter, after all, and hunters rarely stopped to ask questions when they had a target, and Sam certainly wasn’t human anymore. He couldn’t stop a toddler, nevermind a full grown man like the guy trapping him now. And certainly not a hunter, armed to the teeth with weapons far larger than Sam.

Still, that knife… it was the last link to his past. He could hold it and remember the time they’d been the same. Sam had only been a foot shorter than Dean. Now, at barely four inches tall, Dean would be overwhelmingly large.

But once, they could both hold the handle of that blade in the palm of their hands.

Thrashing, Sam tried to get his legs free. “That’s not yours!” he snapped up at the human. His voice was watery with hidden tears. He’d already lost Dean. Now he’d lost his last connection to his brother, and he might lose his new family along with it. “Give it back!”

After only getting a few fearful looks and a stab in the thumb, hearing actual words come out of that tiny mouth froze Jacob in place. He stared in shock at the little guy trapped in his hand, and then at the knife he'd just put down. As he processed what the little guy said, Jacob couldn't help but notice the emotion lacing the words.

He lifted his hand from where it rested on his lap. "Uh. So you can talk," he managed, still so awed by everything that was happening. His eyes slid back over to the tiny knife he'd taken away. From the sound in that voice, the desperate anger, it was even more important to the little guy than Jacob first guessed.

Jacob's shoulders drooped slightly as he thought. He collected his memories of the last several minutes and found that he wasn't all that happy with what he found. Absolute terror had stared back at him while he simply poked at the tiny guy and moved him around with ease. He'd even idly noticed that his captive was struggling with all he had.

And he'd ignored it in the name of curiosity. Jacob pursed his lips. I'm ... fuck, I'm an asshole, he realized, though he resisted the notion as much as he could. He always tried to be a good person. He’d never been intentionally mean in his life. But now, he'd clearly struck an emotional chord with this guy who fit easily in his hand.

"Fuck," Jacob swore aloud this time. This was a person he was staring at. Four inches tall, tiny and supposedly impossible, but a person. And Jacob had grabbed him and taken his weapon without even giving it a second thought. He glanced over at the knife, and then at his thumb, on which his blood was already starting to dry. He looked back at the person he held in his other hand. "I'm ...yeah. I'll give it back ... did I, uh, hurt you when I took it? And are you gonna stab me again?"

Sam stopped struggling, shocked to hear the human not only answer him, but agree to give him his silver knife back so quickly. He stared up at the human in confusion, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe he’d get the knife back but be trapped. Locked away in a cage where the knife wouldn’t do him any good whether he had it or not. Just like Walt and Bree had been, years ago. No one would be able to save him then.

But Sam didn’t see anger staring down at him, or suspicion. There was regret. It might not be a promise to let Sam go, but that knife… his only connection to his lost family, the family he’d do anything to find again… he’d take what he could get.

Sam blinked, trying to will away any hidden tears. “Do I need to stab you again?” he asked thickly, his voice almost choking up while he tried to get the words out. He didn’t bother acknowledging the other question. For one, he wasn’t sure himself. Trapped the way he was, all he could tell was his chest was sore and his hand burned from the friction of trying to hold onto the hilt of his knife. Until he was free, he wouldn’t be able to check from bruised bones or other injuries. At least nothing was broken, so far.

The words sounded strange coming from his mouth. In a way, he was threatening to stab a human a second time. While he was trapped in that same human’s fist. Yet Sam couldn’t risk any weakness. He needed to be confident in himself. It was the only way to handle a situation where he had none of the control.

Jacob's cheeks reddened with shame at the words and he avoided that tiny gaze by looking back at the knife. It struck him again how small it was. It wouldn't cover his fingertip. And, though it was sharp and left quite a stinging wound, Jacob doubted he'd even scar.

Before trying to pick up the miniscule blade, Jacob opened up his hand and flattened it under the small man, careful not to drop him a second time. His eyes grazed over that tiny chest, the one he'd so easily pinned with one thumb. With all the rapid breathing, he wondered if he'd compressed it too much at any point. The ribs of such a small person had to be some of the most fragile things Jacob had ever handled, and he'd closed his hand around them without a second thought.

He looked back at the knife once more, reaching for it with his free hand. It was so small, he couldn't pinch it in his fingers to pick it up. Jacob's cheeks darkened further and he felt the heat in his face from blushing. He wound up pushing the blade with his thumb, knocking it over the edge of the nightstand and onto his hand. It looked so tiny sitting there on the edge of his hand.

"I, uh," he began, more remorse settling on his shoulders as he realized what he'd really done. "I'm sorry ... I really fucked up." With that admission out in the open, Jacob held out the hand with the knife. He almost didn't realize he was holding his breath and half expecting that tiny blade to stab into him again. And truthfully, he wouldn't even be able to insist that he didn't deserve it.

Sam pushed himself up on his elbows, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he watched the other hand approach. His breath hiccuped with fear at the size of the other hand. His knife was so small now. Just like he was.

Once the hand was close enough, Sam managed to bring himself to sit up all the way. He might be running on adrenaline alone at that point. Solid, terrified-for-your-life adrenaline.

Sam glanced up at the human, assessing what he saw on the huge face above him before he reached out for his bloodied knife. Guilt and remorse, more than he’d thought possible in a human that had discovered a person the size of a toy.

Some of the tension began to dissipate the moment Sam's hand closed around the hilt of his blade. He had it back. The familiar weight was a comfort in his hand as he lifted it up, checking over the silver to make sure the human’s clumsy handling hadn’t damaged the blade. Only once he was certain it was undamaged did Sam adjust his seating again, putting a hand on his ribs and grimacing at the soreness that was there now.

In an attempt to focus away from the pain, Sam began to reverently clean the silver blade with the black t-shirt he was wearing. He owned other shirts. It was more important to have the knife clean than it was to have his shirt unbloodied.

Holding out the blade when it was clean, Sam examined it carefully. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was stalling. But what else was there for him to do? He might not be trapped in a fist anymore, but he was still a captive. He was sitting on a hand that was under a massive human’s complete control. It could snap closed at any second. This stranger was calling the shots, no matter what he did. Sam’s shoulders hunched together with uncertainty at that thought.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sam said, surprising himself. He didn’t take his eyes away from his knife, staring at that to focus his thoughts. “That’s how… humans always react when they find someone like me.”

Jacob chewed his lip thoughtfully for a second. Seeing how carefully the little guy handled the tiny knife, cleaning the blade and inspecting it, Jacob was almost mesmerized. They were somewhat familiar motions, like someone taking off their glasses to clean on their shirt. But on such a small scale he almost couldn't see the tiny fingers.

Jacob wasn't sure how often humans found someone like whatever this guy was, but he believed that they always reacted exactly like this. It didn't make the guilt go away. If anything, it made it worse. "I mean, I totally get that a lot of people would have done the same thing here, but ... that doesn't make it okay. It'd be perfectly legitimate to call me a jackass. Or worse."

Jacob narrowed his eyes a little, almost bringing his hand closer to his face to look appraisingly at the little guy seated there. He barely refrained. "Are you hurt?" Fuck. He's ... shit. I broke something.

Sam couldn’t help stiffening under the close scrutiny as he tucked his knife back into his jacket. The weight felt good against his side, placed in its sheath as it was. It gave him something else to focus on now that he had no other distractions from the human. And no distractions from the unsettling prickle on his neck that meant he was in the sights of that same human.

Now that Sam was free from the enclosed fist and his knife was where it belonged, he allowed himself to worry about injuries like the human seemed to be doing. He stretched out his knife-wielding hand, moving each finger carefully. Aside from lingering soreness and a raw feeling in his skin, Sam didn’t find any other injuries hiding from the rough handling.

His ribs were next. Sam carefully pressed his hands against his chest, measuring the sore and tender skin. “Just bruises,” he announced out loud, surprised all over again that he was sitting there talking to a human.

Finished, Sam’s wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Self-conscious under the brown-eyed gaze, he folded his hands on his lap, hesitantly staring up at the human with no idea what to say.

Jacob could see the nerves lingering in the little guy's entire demeanor. What do I look like to him? He had to wonder. If this guy was so small compared to him, what did things look like from his end? Jacob had felt tall around people for years, since he was thirteen or fourteen and really shot up like a weed.

But this? This was beyond standing a head taller than a classmate.

He was holding an entire person in his hand. A person he'd grabbed and manipulated and terrified. With startling ease. It painted a picture of himself that Jacob didn't like, and he was more and more ashamed the longer he dwelled on it.

"I ... I said this already but it probably needs it again. I'm sorry I, um. Grabbed you and ... everything." He hesitated and then moved his hand over to the nightstand, tilting it so the little guy slid off next to the dropped cracker. "There's, um, that."

Sam caught his balance on the hard surface of the nightstand, off guard from the unexpected response. "You're... letting me go?" Sam asked out loud, unable to believe his luck. It was the last thing he’d expected from the moment that shadow appeared above his head.

What's more, the cracker he'd found earlier that night, the one that had put him in the entire mess, was in one piece. It must have been picked up and placed there by the human since the last Sam could recall was dropping it in a desperate dash in his bid to escape. If the human was truly going to let him go, and didn't mind... Sam might be able to help his family out yet. Get them the food that was desperately needed, buy them time to find a better source of supplies. Maybe Walt would even judge the kitchen safe to take from once more, and they could restock the small pantry Mallory kept.

The way the little person seemed so disbelieving only drove Jacob's guilt further into his chest. He really had scared the tiny guy half to death. Jacob took a deep breath and absently curled his fingers around his cut thumb, putting pressure on it and feeling he deserved so much more for the way he acted. He just couldn't get the images out of his head. Trapping a helpless person in his fist... What kind of person does that?

Jacob didn't have the voice for an answer yet, so he just nodded.

Sam straightened. “I, ah… thank you,” he said haltingly. He’d fully expected to be trapped in a cage at that point. Unable to get out, no way to get word to his family.

There was a part of Sam that wanted to grab up the cracker and dart off before his small run of luck wore off, but something else glued his feet in place.

Curiosity.

Here was a human that had let him go without any urging. Sam might have a few bruises, but all things considered, that was getting off light. Those fingers were the size of his body, after all. A single squeeze could have snapped a rib or an arm without ever meaning too. Maybe… maybe the human wasn’t as terrifying as the first impression he’d given.

Suddenly feeling bold, Sam stuck out a hand. The pain from the knife being torn from his grasp was wearing off as time passed, slowly leaving the only pain on him radiating out from sore ribs. The raw and tender skin on Sam’s hand didn’t hold him back as he offered a handshake.

“My name’s Sam. What’s yours?”

Chapter Text

Of all the things Jacob could have expected, this was not on his list. Nothing even close to this was on his list. And yet, here he was, staring down at a four inch tall man on the motel nightstand, and the little guy was holding out a hand to shake. As if Jacob hadn't just scared him into a panic. It was a stark contrast with the way the little guy - Sam, he now knew - had kicked and struggled before.

Jacob tried to swallow his guilt for a second as he recalled how those struggles hadn't mattered to him. He'd passively noticed them, and then ignored them. Because they had no effect on his capture of the smaller man.

Holy shit. I'm a dumbass.

He sighed faintly and focused on the offered hand. After everything, it'd be insulting at the very least to ignore the greeting. But Jacob couldn't help but wonder if he'd break that tiny hand if he tried to take it. He'd bruised Sam just by holding him before, squashing him in his fist so casually.

Jacob reached toward Sam with his uninjured hand, pausing briefly once it was a few inches away. His gaze flickered between his hand and Sam. Sam could be completely obscured in a fist. He was that small. And he was somehow still there, patiently waiting to shake Jacob’s hand.

Jacob was positive he hadn't earned any of the inherent friendliness in this gesture, but he would accept it like a gift. His hand closed the distance with more care than he'd ever done anything. Jacob's lips thinned to a line as he concentrated on not squishing the bitty arm as his finger and thumb all but engulfed it.

Tiny muscles flexed between his fingertips. Jacob moved the arm up and down once, and then winced and withdrew his hand. The motion was so slight to him, but he knew he'd probably jarred Sam with it. Jacob had never felt so clumsy.

"Sorry. Uh. Nice to, um, meet you, Sam. I'm Jacob." Jacob managed a thin, sheepish smile that was hopeful despite himself. Maybe he had a shot at making up for what he'd done.

"Jacob," Sam repeated. He took his hand back, flexing the fingers by instinct. The sight of the human's massive fingers closed around it shocked him. He'd never been so close to a human since being cursed to see how much height he'd actually lost all those years ago.

Now he knew for sure it was a lot. More height than he would have thought possible once upon a time.

Sam could be held down effortlessly by just a finger. Trapped by a casual gesture. The fact that he wasn't trapped currently astounded him. In the back of his head, Sam knew he himself would be curious if he'd found someone so small in his room, trying to hide. After all the years he'd spent at this size, he honestly had no idea what his reaction would be. Trapping? Talking? Trying to coax them out of hiding?

It was impossible to say.

Dean was always the more impulsive between the brothers. Sam had no doubt he'd grab first, think later. Action before words, all the time. The complete opposite of Sam in many ways, who'd always wanted to learn and understand everything before taking action. It had made him far more suited to reading and research than his older brother. Now, of course, those options for reading and understanding the world were out of reach. Books just weren't a possibility for Sam anymore. On the rare occasion he'd discovered a book in a room, he'd never had time to finish them, especially since it took much longer to finish when the pages were larger than he was.

Sam blinked up at Jacob, holding his hand in front of him. It wasn't in much pain anymore. From what he could tell, there was only a small friction burn on the palm.

"Uhh..." Why was it so hard to think of anything to say? Again the desire to leave rose up in him again. Leave, take the cracker, get his family some food. But he was still curious, and if he wasn't going to be grabbed again, Sam couldn't resist a brief glimpse at being a human again.

"Sorry about sneaking in your room," Sam said begrudgingly. After all, he had snuck in during his search. While Sam knew he had no choice on his search for sustenance, humans saw a violation of privacy in a far more severe fashion. The intrusion alone would get most humans tossed in jail, Sam remembered. The cracker wouldn't mean as much on a human scale as the intrusion itself. "I just... needed food and didn't want to risk missing my chance."

Hearing that, Jacob's eyes strayed to the cracker. It wasn't even a whole cracker, and Sam had taken a bold risk to get to it. So much fear and danger faced down this guy every single day just because of the size of things, and he'd had to throw caution to the wind just to get some food. A meager ration that was probably just one of many in a series of meager rations.  "Uh. Don't worry about it," he muttered, suddenly feeling like even more of a jerk.

Existing like that had to be hard. It was no wonder Sam was quick with that knife. He had to be. It was a matter of life and death for him.

And, in a careless moment, Jacob could have hurt the tiny man badly. Possibly bad enough that he couldn't ever fully recover, or that he'd be laid low for so long that it wouldn't matter how much food got dropped on the floor. It was impossible to get to something if you couldn't even rely on a quick sprint to get out of danger. He could have condemned Sam to a slow death with just one wrong move.

Jacob's family had never been exceedingly wealthy. His parents got by well enough, though when his dad died it put a real strain on the finances. Even with extended family helping where they could, Jacob's mother had worked multiple jobs for years to make ends meet and make sure Jacob didn't go hungry. With her recently remarried, that was only just starting to turn around.

He'd never experienced anything like what Sam's life had to be. The desperate act for such a small amount of food painted a very clear picture. It wasn't appealing or fair. From what Jacob could tell, Sam was no different from him apart from size. He'd sounded so upset when that knife got taken away ... his only defense in a world built too large for him.

Jacob self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "You could say that you were here first, anyway," he quipped, trying to believe the lightheartedness in his words. "If you need food I do have more. If you want it." Jacob wouldn't be surprised if Sam refused. After all, Jacob had just been a colossal jerk; he hadn't given any reasons so far to believe that the offer was genuine.

Sam found himself frowning. You could say that you were here first… He’d been in the motel too long now. Years sealed away from the world, unable to even have a friendly discussion with anyone but his adopted family or Krissy’s small family. It was cloistered compared to his life beforehand. Always on the road, a new motel every few weeks. Or, if they were lucky, a summer at ‘uncle’ Bobby’s. New people, new faces all the time at various schools. Now he only saw a few familiar faces day in, day out.

Sam shook his head. “I… ah… you don’t have to go out of your way. Really.” He glanced down at the cracker he was standing next to. It might be a little dusty, but it could hold his family over for at least a week if they had to stretch it, and a week gave them plenty of time to scavenge other things. “This is enough for us to get by on.”

Jacob couldn't help but stare for a few seconds. A few things battled for dominance on his face, but at the moment concern was winning, with shock bringing up a close second.

Us.

Sam had others like him that he was considering. That he needed to feed and protect. Jacob glanced down at his hand again. What if he had hurt Sam, or kept him trapped for longer? Jacob could have caused someone to starve because Sam couldn't get back to them with food.

Even if he couldn't hope to match his mistake with enough good deeds, he had to try to make up for it. Especially after hearing that some little fragment of a cracker was going to be used to feed multiple people. Jacob had a lot of food, by Sam's standards, and it'd be adding insult to injury if he sent the little guy away without trying to offer some of it.

He looked across the room at his backpack, where it sat on the table. "I've got some stuff in my bag. It's not any trouble for me, Sam. Honestly after the way I acted, I think I owe you."

With Jacob staring across the room, the prickle on Sam’s neck was gone, and the human missed the way his eyes turned into twin balloons at the unexpected generosity. “O-only if you insist,” he managed to get out, unable to believe the offer. It had been years he’d heard someone offer him food freely that wasn’t one of his close family or friends.

Sam also lacked the animosity that Walt possessed for taking handouts from humans. After all, if he really thought about it, one thing that Sam would be determined to do if he found someone small, with no good way of getting food, the first thing he’d do was offer them his own food. Even if he was trapping them, he’d never want them to starve.

Walt, having lived his entire life small enough to fit in the walls of the motel, saw taking handouts as a failure. It meant that he’d been reduced to begging for his food. For a man who prided himself on his skills - even during lean times like this last month, a harsher time than anyone could have predicted - it was difficult to be able to bend his back far enough to ask or even accept help like that.

Sam’s eyes followed the gaze of the human, staring across the room at the huge backpack lying alone on the table. If he hadn’t spoke up, would Jacob have trapped Sam inside along with his belongings? Taken Sam away from his home out of curiosity, or the misplaced notion that Jacob could take care of him better than he could? It was a terrifying thought for Sam. To lose another family, after losing Dean and John years ago in such a complete and total manner. To never be able to hug Mallory goodnight, or argue with Walt about their different styles of collecting supplies.

“But I’m fine if you need the food,” Sam finished, trying to pull out of his thoughts. This entire situation was turning his world upside down and making him remember the past he tried to keep suppressed. “The only reason I risked coming in here was because there’s been so few people staying at the motel. Business will pick up again in a few weeks… things will be easier then.”

Jacob looked back at Sam on the nightstand, incredulity on his face. Counting on business at the motel taking an upswing like that was tenuous at best. Sam could be as optimistic as he wanted, but that didn't necessarily make it true. This wasn't a tourist destination on anyone's map. Trails West Motel wasn't a total dive, but it didn't have anything around it drawing in customers. It was a place for people like Jacob, just passing through.

Having to count on people like that most of the time couldn't be an easy life. Some people would pass through without even opening their bags and leave in the morning. No food dropped, nothing but some gigantic, sluggish footsteps. If Jacob hadn't brought food in, that would have been him.

He had to break out of his thoughts before he pictured it too much. It was nothing he could change in the long term, but he could help a little bit now. "I'm sure it will be better soon, but in the meantime lemme get you some trail mix." He put his hands on his knees and pushed to a stand, and then paused.

Sam seemed to drop away on the nightstand. He was so small there. Jacob could barely see his face to read his expression anymore. At the same time, he knew his own face probably read like a billboard to Sam. Jacob backed off from the nightstand, feeling bigger than ever. He wondered if Sam could feel his footsteps.

He went to his backpack in a rush, unzipping a side pouch. A bag of trail mix was stashed in there, the top rolled up to keep it from spilling. He pulled the crinkly plastic bag out and turned back towards where he'd left Sam, honestly half expecting him to have disappeared. Either from running off or from all of this being one extended hallucination, he wasn't sure.

Yet there Sam stood, waiting patiently on the nightstand for Jacob's return. He unrolled the bag as he walked back and set it down carefully on the nightstand next to the alarm clock. The little guy took a cautious step back, warily eyeing the huge bag. "There, you take whatever you want. I promise it's no trouble for me." He offered a tentative smile and sat back on the bed, setting his hands beside him for lack of anything else to do with them.

Chapter Text

Sam stared down at the huge bag. Hesitant, he stepped forward, lightly touching the edge of the bag. It gave way as he pulled, the sound of crinkling plastic filling the air. For a second, Sam’s shoulder tensed, remembering the one time he’d fallen in a similar bag of chips to that sound, waking the occupants of the room and alerting them to his presence.

But here, the human already knew about him, and had actually let him go. So Sam let himself pull the bag all the way open, revealing the mound of giant-sized food in the soft light of the hotel room.

Wasting no time, Sam shrugged his satchel off, pausing to open it and push his supplies to the side. He made sure to keep his hook where he could pull it out in a hurry, and coiled the fishing line so it wouldn’t get tangled in the food. The paperclips at the bottom Sam propped up along the sides, sectioning off the place he’d put the food from the rest of his supplies.

That done, Sam gathered up food from the bag of trail mix. Keeping survival in mind, he was cautious about what he chose. Peanuts were his main option. He remembered learning that they had plenty of protein, making them a great choice. Even better was the fact that peanuts wouldn’t go bad without a refrigerator. All the food in the trail mix bag was like that, a perfect option for him and his family.

Along with the peanuts, he packed in the dried raisins and what he thought must be dried apricots. All rare, healthy options for his family that they almost never got to have. His satchel filled up all too fast, but Sam made sure to take one of the M&M’s, packing the blue candy-coated chocolate in last. One of his favorite snacks as a child. By the time he was done, he could barely get the straps closed on the satchel, the top almost completely stretched up.

Sam stood back up, nudging his satchel back towards the discarded cracker with a boot. He wiped off his hands, brushing away the salt that clung to his skin. Good for vengeful spirits, not good for skin care.

Only then did he peer back up at the human watching him, hesitant once again. “So… thanks for that,” Sam said quietly. “I didn’t … I didn’t actually think a human would ever offer food like that.”

Watching Sam sift through for the best options in the trail mix was fascinating all by itself. Those tiny hands grasped pieces of food bigger than Sam's head in some cases, neatly arranging them in that tiny satchel. Jacob was sorely tempted to lean forward and try to get a peek into the bag, but he held back. If he leaned too close to the nightstand, he'd cast a shadow over Sam, and that was just kind of weird to think about. Jacob was like a building compared to the little guy.

Jacob chuckled self-consciously at Sam's thanks, knowing full well what most humans would have done instead. He'd come so close to exactly that. "Well. Guess I can't follow all the expectations, right? Gotta keep things interesting," he quipped with a slight shrug.

He glanced away, staring idly at his shoes. His steps were huge, tromping booms when he walked. He couldn't unsee that image. He wondered if he'd ever manage to walk softly enough to not be completely terrifying to someone Sam's size. Probably not. Jacob sometimes intimidated other humans without meaning to.

"I really didn't mean to ... well, I guess, uh, hurt you like that." He looked at his hand pensively. The fingers on it were as big as Sam was. "Not that I'm making excuses here, but I was just curious. And I wasn't gonna keep the knife, I swear. I kinda took it without thinking because I didn't wanna get stabbed again. I'm sorry."

Sam watched the way Jacob held out his hands, unable to stop a small shiver of intimidation at the sight of how big the guy’s fingers alone were. Thick enough that only one of them could be used to pin Sam helplessly down against the ground. He rubbed at his chest again, wincing at the soreness those fingers had left behind.

“That’s… good to hear,” Sam said slowly. He touched at where the knife was in his jacket, reassured once again by its weight. His eyes flashed over to the hand with the injured thumb, noting that Jacob was keeping pressure on the small wound. An injury Sam had given him. After everything that had happened, it was lucky that Jacob hadn’t retaliated against him for the attack. It would be easy for the large human to hurt Sam. He didn’t know exactly how tall the guy stood, but he knew it was big.

“I only attacked because I thought you were going to take me away,” Sam said in a stern voice. It didn’t stay that way. His throat closed up a little at the memories that rose to mind. “I didn’t want to lose another family…” he continued uncertainly.

Walt and Mallory appeared in his mind, both with blonde hair and blue eyes staring down at Sam as he woke up for the first time under his curse. Laying in a small room he was later to find was actually under the floorboards of the motel. It was only with Mallory’s gentle care and Walt’s stern survival lessons, so like yet so unlike John Winchester’s lessons, that Sam had survived thirteen years at his new size.

“They’re all I have left now. Them, and my knife.”

His family. He thought I was gonna take him from his family. Jacob avoided Sam's gaze by looking over at his backpack. Jacob didn't think he would be the type to take someone away like that, even if Sam had never spoken up. But of course he could never be sure what might have happened.

The simple fact that Jacob could have kept Sam against his will ... it knotted in his stomach. Jacob winced faintly, more than uncomfortable with the thought that he could have wrecked a family like that without even noticing any resistance Sam might have thrown his way.

Jacob absently clasped his uninjured hand around the one with the little cut, trying to stem the ashamed fidgeting in them. His fingers still drummed in a slow pattern. What could he possibly say to that? He could hear the emotions hiding just under the surface of Sam's voice, threatening to break out at any second. Jacob had put a fear there that stemmed from deep-seated worries.

"Another family?" he echoed, looking back over at Sam with curiosity once more. This time it was a worried kind of curiosity. "Did you ... were you taken from somewhere else before you came here?"

Sam paused for a long moment. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. His story, after all, was unique, and made no sense even to him most days. Well you see, I wasn’t always this size… his mind taunted him. It wasn’t Dean and John’s fault they’d left him here, after all. They’d probably searched everywhere before giving up. And it wasn’t Walt and Mallory’s fault, either. They’d done what they could. There was no safe way for them to get word to John, a hunter, that Sam was alive, and they’d rescued him. For all they knew, he’d assume they were dangerous supernatural creatures and wipe them out, an easy task for a hunter to do to such a small and vulnerable community.

Sam wouldn’t want to put the others at the motel at risk because of him. He understood their reluctance all too well. Walt had been captured when he was younger and trapped in a cage for days. Walt’s daughter, Bree, had been taken away a year before Sam had been cursed. They had no way to ever find her, and no way to know if she was even alive.

In the end, Sam decided that he could tell Jacob a little. Not the entire story, and not that he was supposed to be human, but enough to explain why losing his family, or losing his knife, was the most terrifying thought to him. Telling Jacob about Dean and John couldn’t put them in danger the same way as him telling Jacob about Walt and Mallory, after all. And the human truly seemed regretful of his actions, and Sam could feel himself starting to warm up to the younger guy a little. It was… nice… to be able to talk to someone about his past again.

“I came here with my family,” Sam explained. “I was just a kid. My brother and my father were all I had. Our mom passed away when I was just a baby. When we got here, we… got attacked. They must have thought I was dead.” He stared down at the nightstand with a grimace and scuffed a boot against the wood grain. “Dean never would have left me here otherwise. But after the attack, they were gone, and they never came back. I woke up, and my adopted family had rescued me. They nursed me back to health, and helped me adjust to life here. So I try and help them out where I can. I owe it to them, after all.”

He reached into his jacket, and withdrew the knife into the light once more. “Dean made this for me when we were young. It’s… my last link to them. I’ll never be able to see them again, but at least I can hold onto this.”

Jacob stared at the knife and his brow pinched. Seeing it immediately brought back the way it had felt pinched in his fingers when he easily wrenched it out of Sam's grip. The small blade could have broken away from its handle if it wasn't so well-made. Regardless, it had been all too easy for Jacob to take it away from Sam. Trapping the tiny arm and nudging it out of the way to give himself an opening was easy too.

Jacob had been way too harsh in dealing with that knife. It had barely left a mark on him, and when he released the pressure from his thumb, he saw that it wasn't even bleeding anymore, though the cut stung with new exposure to the air. Jacob was only glad he hadn't inadvertently broken one of Sam's small bones with his quick movements.

A panicked, desperate voice came back to him. The first words he heard out of Sam's mouth echoed with fear and the pain of losing the precious memento. That's not yours! Give it back! And even after revealing that he could speak, Sam was more focused on getting his knife back than the fact that Jacob's hand was coiled around him.

He was helpless while Jacob was taking away the one thing he had left from his family. Jacob cringed inwardly and his thoughts immediately shifted to the simple twine choker around his neck. That was to him what the knife was to Sam. A keepsake from his father, the only thing he really had left other than memories.

"I understand why it's so important," he said quietly, remorse dragging his voice into nearly a whisper. "I'm sorry about what happened then, and I'm sorry for taking it. I really ..." Jacob trailed off and sighed, brushing a hand back through his hair absently. Sam's story was heartbreaking, and Jacob had nearly made it even more so. Maybe it was too late for that already. "I really really fucked up here. You probably don't want anything more to do with me, but I guess if there's anything I can do to help and try to make up for it, you just let me know."

Sam slipped the knife back into his jacket, out of sight again. Having it hidden let him relax a little more. Jacob hadn’t made a grab at him again since opening up his hand, and that alone helped the adrenaline wear off a bit.

“I don’t need any help,” Sam said. His tone was tied between a stern demeanor and actual reassurance. He meant every word. Even without the food from Jacob, he’d find a way to get by. He always did.

Sam didn’t have the same pride in him that Walt did about surviving without actual assistance from humans, but he did know that he could get by fine on his own if he had to. Today was a rare fluke. Luckily for him, it was a fluke that hadn’t resulted in either permanent damage or him being taken away. Jacob had started out as terrifying but was showing himself to be a good person on the inside, once he opened his eyes a little to the truth.

Sam crossed his arms, staring up at the human’s looming shape. “What you can do for me, Jacob, is if you ever see anyone else like me, don’t grab them, okay? They’re not dangerous. In fact, everyone I know this size is harmless. All they do is try and get by even though the world is too big and too dangerous.” Sam let out a barking laugh. “I just wish I could tell Dean that.”

Jacob mulled over Sam's words with care. He almost wondered if he'd offended Sam with his offer to help. It certainly wasn't meant in a patronizing way, but he realized belatedly (he seemed to be realizing a lot of things too late today) that it would have sounded that way. Sam may have been helpless in Jacob's grasp when he couldn't move, but as soon as he had the opportunity he had given his all to defend himself, and nearly gotten away. Jacob, being a part of the 'world too big,’ had thwarted him only by size advantage.

Since his thought had been undeniably drawn to it, Jacob found himself absently brushing his fingertip over the single green bead on his necklace while he thought. It was a simple piece of glass, but he'd touched at it in this exact manner so many times before that a scratch on the surface was worn smooth again. He couldn't imagine how he'd feel if someone tried to take it from him. Angry. Sad. Scared he wouldn't get it back. Just like with that knife.

"I won't grab anyone again," he said solemnly, hoping Sam would believe the promise. Jacob, in his fascination, hadn't thought about Sam's reactions of terror and desperate struggling at all. Not until the emotion in that little voice had jarred him right out of his curiosity, and by then the damage was done. Jacob had never hurt someone like that before, and he certainly didn't want to do it again; once was enough guilt. "I swear."

With his promise hanging in the air, Jacob had a curious question on the tip of his tongue. After Sam's lecture and assurance that he didn't want any help, he'd said something about that brother of his, Dean, that stood out now that Jacob really thought about it. He decided to go ahead and ask, though he anticipated a refusal to answer or perhaps another reprimand for asking. "Um. Why would Dean need to be told all that?"

Sam stiffened a little at the words, but it wasn’t the fact that a human was asking it that made him stiffen. It was the fact that he’d forgotten himself for a few seconds. Forgotten that he was so different now. He’d slipped into older thought patterns from his childhood, where being a human was normal. A mistake like that could get him in trouble if he said it at the wrong time. Revealing that he wasn’t supposed to be like this would raise questions that could be hard to answer.

Sam’s satchel caught his eyes. Yet after everything, Jacob had let him go. He’d been offered food freely, and food that would last his family long enough to find a different source of supplies.

After years of living like this, there was also a sense of yearning inside him for his old life. Maybe sharing it would help. Dean wouldn’t be put in any danger, and Jacob would have no idea where Sam’s adopted family was to find them. The kid hardly seemed like he’d be interested in tracking anyone down, and he hadn’t asked any questions about where Sam’s current family was.

“I hope you mean that,” Sam said to Jacob’s previous assurance about grabbing anyone Sam’s size. And then he went on. “Dean… might react just like you if he ever saw me,” Sam gave voice to one of the hardest truths in his life. “He might never recognize who I am. Just imagine that you have to be afraid of being found by your own brother, just because you’re different now.”

Sam blinked away a hidden tear, aggravated at the emotion that rose up in him with the worst timing.

“Dean’s just as human as you are.”

Chapter Text

Jacob was practically frozen as the information struck him, though inside his mind was reeling a little. He glanced over Sam's small form once before his gaze slipped past him to the items on the nightstand that looked so big by comparison. Sam's latest revelation helped a few things click into place, even if it was still fascinating and almost beyond belief that someone so small could exist. At least Jacob had proof standing right in front of him for that much.

He sifted through what Sam had already told him or let slip by accident. We… got attacked. They must have thought I was dead. If Sam's brother was human like Jacob, their dad obviously must be, too. And Jacob was able to guess that Sam must have been human once, as well.

When he first came to Trails West.

Jacob couldn't find it in him to ask about the others that size, even though Sam had already implied their existence a few times. He had a feeling the little guy hadn't really meant to, and he didn't want to upset him more after the lecture about no grabbing. So, even though he had to wonder if they were attacked at some point like Sam, Jacob left them outside the realm of his curiosity for the moment.

"Sam ... did you get shrunk? " he asked, thinking of how ridiculous the question sounded. But Sam was standing right there, living proof that maybe some things that Jacob always thought were impossible really weren't. And if his family never found him, it made sense. Sam would be hard to find now, probably even more so when he was just a little kid. An extra little kid.

Sam’s shoulders slumped, giving him a slouched appearance. Instead of crossing his arms, he stuck his hands in his pockets, pulling his arms against his side to make himself as small as possible as the memories hit him again. “Cursed, I think is what you’d call it. Me and Dean got attacked when we were in the room alone. I was only ten, Dean was fourteen. There was a witch that must have been after both of us. Why she wanted us, I never got to find out. She appeared in the room, and Dean jumped between her and me. She slammed Dean against the wall with some kind of weird telekinesis. It was terrifying.”

Sam blinked at the memories. It was almost cathartic, to share with someone else. Like telling Jacob his past was helping to take a weight off his shoulders. “I got hit first by her spell, and that’s it. That’s all I remember. I’ve been told that our dad burst into the room seconds after she hit me, and knocked her away from Dean. They… never saw what happened to me. I was told the witch blocked Dean from seeing where I’d landed, and our dad was just trying to get Dean to safety. He had no idea I was on the ground.”

Sam shrugged. “That’s it, I guess. I didn’t wake up for a week, so I never got to try and find them. They were long gone by the time I ever got back to that motel room. They left, and they’re never coming back.”

His gaze was distant as he remembered how he’d spent the last decade of his life. “But I still watch the parking lot to see if their car ever rolls back into town. Just in case, y’know? I never want to give up.”

"Holy shit," Jacob muttered, unable to withhold the quiet, shocked phrase. Sam's story was like a knife in the side. For one thing, he was only a kid when all that happened. Something unexplainable and terrifying had befallen him and the result was waking up in a world scaled several times too large for him. And he'd never even found out what happened to his family. Sam was caught in a limbo of not knowing. He had to feel the loss every day without ever finding out, or even having a way of finding out, what had happened to his brother, Dean.

At least Jacob knew what had happened to his own lost family member. He still felt the effect of his loss, sometimes, but he didn't have to suffer the looming uncertainty of what had happened to him.

No one deserved to have to live like that.

"You ... you shouldn't give up," Jacob answered, believing his own words. If he was in that situation, he'd watch for his family, too. Even knowing in the back of his mind how unlikely it'd be, he wouldn't be able to give up. "Maybe they'll come back, or ... who knows, maybe you'll have a chance to find where they are."

Sam scoffed. He grabbed his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder. “Yeah?” he asked. “And how do you think I’ll ever be able to do that?” He gestured around the room. “I can’t even go outside. Never mind use a computer or try and track down where they’ve gone since then. Dad traveled everywhere with us. They could be anywhere in the country by now, and they never stay in one place for long.” Just long enough to finish up a hunt, Sam thought.

“This is my life now, and I just need to accept that,” Sam shot back up at the human. “I can’t… do things like you can. I can’t just order a pizza or call a cab. No, the only chance I have of ever seeing Dean again is hoping that he strolls right in that door,” Sam jabbed a finger at the massive door that sealed the room off from the outside world, “and hope that I recognize him. But who knows. It’s been over a decade, and people change. He could catch me just like you did, and there’s no way to know if he’d even believe me if I realized it was him.”

Sam took a step away from Jacob. Maybe it was time to go. The memories were too painful to face like this. The human wanted to give him false hope, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He couldn’t hold on to the past if he wanted to survive. Walt had taught him that lesson, once upon a time when he’d almost gotten caught when he’d tried to find Dean and John.

Jacob leaned away from Sam, both surprised and not by the assertive tone of his voice. After the lecturing before, Jacob anticipated he'd be scolded at least once more. But he hadn't expected it to be over him suggesting that Sam might find his family again. Jacob still believed that he shouldn't have to give up. He heard the bitterness loud and clear like he was at a concert. There were a lot of things Sam couldn't do, but that didn't really mean he had to give up.

Jacob stared down at his hands again, his brown eyes lingering on the cut on his thumb. He'd really jumped into something well beyond anything he could have dreamed up on his own. Who knew that sparing a glance to the barest motion on the floor would have him thinking about what he was considering right now?

Sam looked ready to take off after what Jacob said. Jacob didn't want to see him storm off without hearing him out, but it was hard to figure out what to say.

He finally managed it after a few awkward seconds, in which Sam's angry assurances hung in the air. "Sam," he began, using the smaller man's name in hopes that it'd cement his sincerity. "I know you said you didn't want help. And I know that even if you did, I'm the last person you'd want it from. But if I can do something, I will. If you want." He clasped his hands together, still keeping his eyes on where they sat in his lap. He didn't even know if Sam was still there.

"I lost someone important to me, too. I know how bad that hurts by itself, but I can't imagine what it's like not even knowingwhere they are. No one deserves that.”

Sam paused, stuck on the edge of leaving and staying. Jacob’s words hung in the air, offering hope in a hopeless situation. With the prickle gone from his neck, Sam didn’t need to look up to know that Jacob’s eyes were off of him. He could slip away and the human would never know where he’d gone. Back to safety, back to the dark walls where humans couldn’t reach him, grab him,trap him…

But those words held him back. Jacob was offering him a light in the dark. The chance to see Dean, to know what had become of his brother and his father. Even if Sam only got to see them one more time, at least he’d know if they were dead or alive. He’dknow if Dean had become a hunter like their father, or if he’d escaped that life and gone on to college and a normal life. He could have closure, instead of remaining in limbo, unseen but also in his own darkness, always wishing he could know what happened to them.

“What could you possibly do?” Sam asked skeptically. “They don’t have a street address, and they travel everywhere.” The memory of the Impala flashed into his mind, John dropping both brothers off at school for the day and heading off to a hunt. There was never a way to know if John would ever return every time they saw that car screech away. Sam had never known that. Dean had protected him from the knowledge of what their dad did all the way up to that last year of Sam’s life as a human.

Sam took another step back. “And how do I know I can trust you?”

Jacob raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to answer. But, much to his dismay, he didn't have a reply. How could he prove he was trustworthy to someone he'd so recently hurt with a single finger? How could he look Sam in the eye and tell him that he was a good person and would help however he could? Jacob didn't feel like a very good person, and with the skepticism from Sam he was beginning to doubt his ability to do anything for him anyway.

It'd be hard to track someone without an address. There were ways, though, and Jacob had a few resources he could at least try. Even just a name got him somewhere, maybe something about the car Sam had spent so much time watching for. But none of those tenuous leads would mean a thing if Sam didn't trust Jacob enough to give them.

"I think ... I think the answer to that one is up to you, Sam," he answered quietly. He glanced over and saw that Sam had backed away. Shit. I'm still screwing this up. "I don't really have a great answer. Because I haven't really given you a good reason to believe me."

Sam’s hand tightened on the strap of his satchel. He couldn’t believe what he was considering. But out of all the choices he’d ever had in his life, this was the one that he’d never, ever forgive himself for passing up. If there was a chance of finding Dean again, he had to take it.

Sam took a deep breath, then let it out to steady his nerves. “No, you haven’t. But you also haven’t grabbed me again, and I was raised to believe that everyone should get a second chance. No one’s perfect, and no one should expect to get things right the first time.” Sam took a halting step forward, undoing the distance he’d put between them. “If you can help me find my brother, you’ve more than made up for what you’ve done,” he said, offering forgiveness in his own roundabout way.

Sam arched an eyebrow. “But I’m not sure how you’ll be able to track them down, especially after all this time. We don’t even know if they’re alive anymore.”

Jacob was in awe as Sam stepped forward again. He had not expected to be given a second shot like that. He expected another scolding, maybe, or for Sam to get angry and storm away, never to be seen again. But Sam had stepped forward and told him that even he deserved a second chance. After the way Jacob had so casually hurt the little guy, he couldn't help but feel it was beyond generous of him.

Even with the obstacles that Sam pointed out, Jacob was happy to have a chance to help somehow. He sat up straighter and turned a little so he faced Sam better without actually leaning closer. "I think it would be really hard, you're totally right there," he conceded. "But even with a name there's something. My stepdad is a cop and I know all the guys at his station. I might be able to get a lead from one of them."

Sam drummed his fingers on his strap. A cop. That explained why Jacob thought he could help find them. To normal people living the simple life at a nine to five desk job, tracking down someone like John or Dean would almost be an impossibility. But if Jacob had an in at the police station, a wealth of possibilities opened up for them. Ways to track the names, track the car…

Though he doubted their father would appreciate having the cops put on his tail, Sam had to take this chance being offered to him. “I know their names, and I know the car’s license plate.” He gave an embarrassed shrug. “Dad would have me give it whenever we were checking in at a motel like this, so I remembered it after a while, and well, once I was shrunk…” Sam didn’t finish the thought. I didn’t have much else to think about, his mind taunted him. Just time to reflect on everything he’d lost. Time to remember all the inane details about his life. His social security number. The license plate of the Impala.

Another steadying breath. “My dad is John Winchester. We used to live in Lawrence, Kansas, at least until my mom died and the house went up in flame. He drives a 1967 Chevy Impala, all black and chrome. And my brother…” Sam paused, steeling himself.

“My brother’s name is Dean Winchester.”

Chapter Text

Jacob listened intently to the details that Sam gave him, strangely drawn into them. Sam spoke them with a certain subtle reverence. These were memories that he'd held onto for a long time. There was a sense of hope attached to them that Jacob could see from a mile away. He hoped more fervently that something would actually come of his offer to help.

"Ah, hang on," he said, holding up a hand before getting to his feet. He crossed the room to the table, remembering halfway to try to walk a little softer. That was going to be strange to get used to. He snatched a notepad and a pen from the table and returned. "Dean ... Winchester," he muttered aloud while he wrote it down. He wrote down the other details before he forgot them, having Sam repeat the license number once more to make sure he had it.

He looked over what he had written down once it was done. It suddenly came to him that the writing on the notepad wouldn't even reach Sam's full height if he were to stand next to the block of hastily written text. It wasn't a lot to go on, but some of the details were important. There had to be something there. "Okay, it's good you have details on the car. I think that'll probably be the best lead."

Jacob glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. The dark windowshades were already a clue for this, but he figured it'd be too late in the day. "There probably won't be anyone at the station this late, but I'm gonna call first thing in the morning and see what they find." And that way, maybe he'd get someone before their coffee so they weren't as likely to question why he randomly wanted to know about this guy and his classic car.

Sam smiled, the first real smile he’d had so far since his desperate lunge for the cracker. Hope was poking at his heart, a real hope that gave his day unexpected light, despite the darkness outside. “That sounds like a plan,” he agreed with Jacob. “I… should get back, anyway.” His family needed the food, and Sam couldn’t wait to bring it to them. Peanuts and dried fruit were a rare treat, and Sam could cut into the thick chocolate to be found inside the candy shell of the M&M. With hope like this, he could afford to indulge himself in his favorite snack. It wouldn’t be the same as chowing down on a bag of M&M’s that fit in his hand, but it would be close enough.

Hitching up his satchel, Sam stooped down and picked up the cracker that had caused his capture. With the offer from Jacob to help find Dean, Sam was almost grateful he’d been sloppy enough to be caught. He’d be on his way back home right now, his trip a success, but his life destined to never leave the walls of the motel. Even the bruises he could feel developing on his chest were worth that hope.

“So, when should I check on things?” Sam asked Jacob, his eyes drifting to the paper that held the information on Dean and the Impala. His every hope was contained on that simple slip, inked out in letters the size of his hand.

Jacob tilted his head and his gaze became absent as he thought about it. "I'll probably call in at like seven, seven-thirty, that's usually when someone is around. I dunno how long it'll take them to find anything and get back to me, but I bet if there's anything and they don't have other things to do they'll be fast." Assuming there wasn't a huge crime wave in Iowa, which was exceedingly unlikely, Jacob had high hopes. "Probably eight-thirty at the earliest, but I'll be around most of the morning." Jacob looked back at Sam at the end of his explanation, encouraged by the more hopeful demeanor he could see in the smaller man.

With that said, Jacob set the notepad down on the bed, tossing the pen to land on it. He threw one glance towards the floor, noting how high up that had to be for Sam. Since Jacob had put him up there in the first place, he thought it might be courteous of him to help Sam get down.

He reached toward the smaller person and gently scooped him into his hands, cupping them beneath him. Jacob was careful not to trap Sam or pinch him as he gathered him up along with his bag and the cracker he'd claimed. He lowered Sam to the floor next to the nightstand just as carefully, flattening his hands for him.

Instinctively, Sam tried to flinch away from the hands that suddenly swooped around him. It was too late to stop Jacob, the human moved too rapid for Sam to be able to escape the grip. He ended up on his back on the huge palm, staring fearfully up at the human with no way to know what was about to happen. Two huge hands surrounded him on both sides. Even without being pinned down by a finger, Sam knew he was trapped like this. At any second the hands could snap together and trap him in a dark cave or crush him with no resistance.

As luck would have it, Sam’s fears were unfounded. Vertigo struck as the hands swiftly moved downwards, instead of up to the human’s level. Jacob simply lowered him to the floor, the hands flattening under him when the ground was near. Sam scrambled off as fast as he could, shrinking back against the side of the nightstand to give himself a modicum of cover. His heart was pounding in his chest from the unexpected transition, his eyes flashing to the sight of Jacob’s shoes. He’d been planning on climbing down the back, using the conveniently placed cord to the alarm clock to get down. Now, he was face-to-shoe with exactly how small he was compared to the human.

Sam stared up at Jacob, trying to slow his breathing and calm his heart. “I… I thought we agreed no grabbing,” Sam managed to get out. If he wanted to come back to the room, he needed to know he could trust Jacob. If he couldn’t trust the human to do what he asked, Sam would be in danger and he just couldn’t afford to take that risk. Not when he was small enough to be trapped in a single hand and there was no one else he could rely on to save him. Sam was on his own here.

Jacob drew his hands back and frowned with concern. He hadn't expected such a fearful reaction to his gesture when he did it. But watching the way Sam looked up at him warily, practically trying to blend into the nightstand, he realized what he must have done. His lips thinned to a line and Jacob felt his face heat up as his cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

He hadn't thought he grabbed Sam at all. But Jacob remembered musing to himself about what he must look like to Sam. Big enough to completely hide him in a fist if he wanted. And Jacob, thinking he was being helpful, had simply picked Sam up without warning.

No way of knowing he wasn't about to be trapped. No way of stopping it.

"Fuckdammit ..." Jacob breathed, grimacing and covering his eyes with a hand for a second. Then, he shifted slowly, lowering himself to his knees a few feet back from the nightstand. Seeing Sam cowering there like that drove home his mistake. He didn't want Sam to cower. He didn't want him afraid. "Sam, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," he hurriedly explained. "I thought I was just being helpful, I didn't... I wasn't even thinking." He held up his hands in a gesture that usually stood for 'no harm meant,' but quickly stuffed them into his hoodie pockets as he was reminded all over again about the size difference. Jacob stared earnestly down at Sam, feeling so big and clumsy for his mistake. "I'm sorry. I won't do that again, I swear."

With Jacob down on the floor, Sam let himself slip away from the wall. The consternation on Jacob’s huge face helped. Things that were threatening to Sam were commonplace and simple to Jacob. They lived in completely different worlds, and as long as Sam was going to be interacting with a human, he needed to remember that for his own safety.

“It’s just… you move really fast, Jacob,” Sam said. He needed to let Jacob know these things. It was impossible for the human to have a similar frame of reference to his experiences. “Remember, I can’t say no when you move like that, and there’s no way for me to stop you. I can get myself around if I have to. I’ve lived this size for at least thirteen years now. I’m actually pretty good at climbing, believe it or not.” Sam shifted the flap of his satchel, displaying the three-pronged hook he’d scavenged some years back. “At least ask, okay? That way I can let you know if I want to be picked up.”

Jacob listened intently, practically hanging on Sam's every word. With Sam down on the floor, he couldn't help but think of how much he loomed, even from a couple feet away. He tried to hunch a little lower as he listened, his cheeks still burning with shame over his mistake. He thought he'd been making good progress with Sam, after his rocky start with the little guy. Jacob wanted to make a better impression, but he wondered if he'd even be able to.

He could try all day to imagine what it was like for Sam, but the solid truth was that he'd never be able to understand it.

"You got it. I'll uh, I'll ask if, um. Next time." He sighed and avoided Sam's gaze for a second. But he glanced back at the hook and let himself be a little fascinated again. He wondered what it looked like, to see Sam in action with that. And he wondered if he'd manage to see it. If I quit making these damn mistakes. "Sorry again, man. I'm gonna do better. I didn't mean anything by it."

Sam nodded. “Just remember that, and you’ll be fine.” He gave Jacob a strained smile. “This is new for you, just like it’s new for me. If you’re willing to learn, I’m willing to give it a shot.”

And he was. In thirteen years of living out of sight, Sam had learned the value of patience. If Jacob truly listened to what he said, Sam was perfectly willing to keep trying, so long as the human continued to learn from his mistakes.

Sam took another step back. This time, it wasn’t from fear or lingering intimidation. It was time for him to go. His family needed the food, and it was late. With all the excitement in the last hour, Sam needed to sleep and digest all the new revelations. He needed to think things over and consider his options in the safety of his own home.

“I’ll, ah… see you in the morning then, I guess. Just… do me a favor, and watch your step, okay?” Sam was completely serious as the words left his mouth. He glanced at the huge shoes, knowing that a single misstep from a human like Jacob could end Sam, or leave him crippled.

Sam turned, and vanished into the shadows.

Jacob stayed where he was long after Sam left. He could hardly believe Sam had actually seemed to forgive him for the slip up. The terror that kept cropping up on the tiny face was like a slap in the face. Jacob couldn't believe he'd ignored it at first in the name of his own curiosity. He'd ignored Sam's fear, and struggles, and he'd hurt him without even realizing it.

And Sam said he'd come back in the morning? Jacob glanced over at the notepad on the bed thoughtfully. He stood and picked it up, moving it to the nightstand. He set it down right where Sam had stood a few moments ago. The letterhead, with the motel's logo and contact information, was bigger than the piece of cracker Sam had salvaged. He'd been convinced that cracker alone would be enough to hold his family over for some time.

While Jacob trudged to the bathroom to clean up for the night, he watched every single step he took. Even though he knew Sam was long gone and unlikely to be out in the middle of the floor, he couldn't help but notice how big his strides were, how much they echoed in the floor. Sam was just so small. He could be so easily missed down there if Jacob didn't know. And he lived like that all the time. Humans were too dangerous to let them know about his existence.

Jacob had done a stellar job proving exactly that.

He left his shoes by the table and shut off the lamp there, leaving the lamp on the nightstand as the only source of light in the room. Jacob got into bed with a sigh, but didn't feel tired at all. He set the alarm for an early wake up and left his phone sitting on the notepad, and settled down for the night. After a long pause staring at the scribbled details about that 1967 Impala, he flicked of the lamp and lay with his eyes open. He closed his eyes before they adjusted, and replayed things over and over in his head.

It was a while before Jacob drifted off, letting himself rest after the guilt and resolving to do better in the morning.

The darkness between the walls of the motel closed around Sam. He let out a sigh, slumping back against the wood paneling that surrounded him. Dust rose at the motion, billowing up around the downsized human.

For years, the darkness he could find here had been a reassurance. It was a place where there was no danger of being seen by the much-larger humans that came and went. The mice that shared the nooks and crannies of the motel were friendly and helpful. Sam had even raised one as a pup, at least until Mallory had found her hiding in Sam's room. He'd returned her to her mother, sadly saying goodbye to the small rodent. She was the closest he'd ever come to having a dog of his own.

That hadn't been the last he'd seen her, luckily. As she'd aged and grown, she'd never forgotten her childhood friend. Any trinkets that she found, she'd give to Sam, tracking him down when he was out in the walls scavenging for supplies. She even brought him the occasional present of food, especially when everyone was short on food, and he made sure to return the favor when he found food of his own.

The walls could be dangerous as well. Along with the mice and small people that lived there, spiders and rats could lurk. Fast and dangerous, either of them could easily kill someone Sam's size. A rat would come out to equal the size of a full grown grizzly bear at Sam's four inches. He'd helped Walt take them down more than once. Walt had a razor, carefully sharpened. Sam's knife was a godsend for him. It made taking a rat down easier and less dangerous, though the danger was still potent. A single mistake could cost Sam or Walt their lives. Mallory hated to see them go out on a hunt, but she knew as well as anyone that rats needed to be killed. If pest control set their sights on the motel, everyone was at risk of death.

Spiders were smaller, but far more insidious. Fangs that could close around his throat, multiple types of venom that could infect him... Sam had no interest in risking a tussle against an arachnid. The exoskeleton made them hard to kill, and the eight legs made their movements hard to predict. There was no easy way out if he needed to take on a spider. It was one of the creatures that made Sam miss his former size most of all. There had been a time where he could simply step on a danger like that. Now it was a battle for his life if he took the risk.

Sam pulled himself away from the wall. He sent a brief glance over his shoulder, wondering at the way the human had let him go.He wants to make up for the way he acted, Sam thought to himself. In the morning, he'd check out the room, survey it to confirm that Jacob was truly trying to help him track down Dean.

If not... he'd just vanish into the walls and never look back. Jacob would never see him again, and Sam would make sure no one else ventured near the room of the human.

But if he was telling the truth, and trying to track down Dean...

Then Sam's life might be changing. And hopefully for the better.

It was late by the time Sam got back to the small home he shared with Walt and Mallory Watch. He glanced surreptitiously around at his surroundings before pushing the block of wood that they used as a door out of his way and let himself into the cozy interior.

"Sam? Is that you?"

Out of the darkness, Mallory materialized. "Oh, thank goodness," she said with a soft smile, drawing him into a hug. "We were so worried about you."

Sam smiled gently. "I'm fine." He carefully pulled her arms from around his shoulders, lowering them down. "I found food for us, plenty to live on."

She followed him over to the counter they used, a small block of wood that was repurposed from an old renovation on the motel and covered up with a fabric drape that Mallory had created herself. Sam dropped his satchel on the block, unclasping both of the metal clasps and pouring out his 'findings.'

Mallory gave a small gasp. "That much?" she asked with surprise coloring her voice.

Sam nodded, glad Walt wasn't around. The older man was good at seeing through Sam, and the last thing he wanted to do was worry his adopted parents. "I found a bag of trail mix. Grabbed what I could from it. I didn't mean to be out so late..."

"At least you found what we needed," she finished for him. "Sam, just make sure you keep safe, okay? Walt is out getting what he can, but I know he wasn't having much luck. Just remember that the food is worth nothing without you around. We need you to be safe."

Sam let her give him another hug before she started to bustle about. The room was dark, but both of them could see, her a little better than him. Years of exposure to the darkness in the walls had helped Sam's eyes adjust to the dim lighting that was around him constantly.

"That reminds me," Sam said as he started to help put the food away in their tiny pantry. "I might be gone for a few days." He gave her an abashed smile. "I was thinking about going further out to explore. Y'know... see what's out there that I haven't been able to see before."

It wasn't a lie. If he ended up leaving with Jacob, that would be the farthest that Sam had ever gone since being cursed. And he'd see things that he'd never seen before at his reduced size. He didn't want her or Walt to worry, but if there was a possibility of finding Dean...

Sam would have to take the chance. Even if it was only so he could tell Dean what really happened that night and say goodbye.

Her eyes were surprised as she met his gaze. "Of course, sweetheart." In her and Walt's mind, Sam knew that he must be following the expected past. Going out, finding a new home to raise a family in. Krissy was a nice girl, and both families would approve.

It was just what was expected. No one ever said a word about it, but everyone knew the day would come when they settled down together.

Little did Mallory and Walt know that Sam's heart wanted to take him in a direction that lead away from the motel in its entirety.

After the food was away, Mallory returned to the room she shared with Walt, bundling herself into the nest of covers that made up their bed. Sam retired to his own room. Inside, instead of a nest of fabric, there was a small bed and a matching desk. Both came from a set of dollhouse furniture that they'd scavenged from some years back. Mallory and Walt had allowed Sam to take the desk and bed because of the way he was torn between the two worlds. Having a bed to sleep in again had helped focus him, remind him of who he'd once been, and who he was becoming. The desk had been welcome. Sam had also found a small journal with that furniture. Next to his knife, it was his second most important possession.

Sam brushed his hand over the desk, but was too exhausted to think about doing anything but sleeping. So much had happened during the day. It was time to lay down, close his eyes, and reflect on what was happening. Think things over with a clear mind and let sleep claim him.

With that plan, he sank into the bed, flopping down facefirst. Sam gathered his pillow into his arms, bunching it up as he finally relaxed for real after a day full of shocks. Even the bruises that covered his front from Jacob's clumsy handling did nothing to dissuade the comfort he found in the bed. By the next day, he almost expected his entire front to be black and blue from the feel of how tender his chest was. The bruises would heal, he knew. They just needed some time.

Dean...

What if they found him? What would Dean be like after so many years apart? Sam found himself remembering his older brother. The smirking, snarky kid that Sam had looked up to all his life. He'd be... 25, now? 26? The years had slipped away in the limbo of the motel. Over half Sam's life, spent locked away from the world he'd known as a child.

However old he was, Dean would be a man. More than likely, he'd be a hunter as well. Approaching him, even with Jacob for backup, could be dangerous. Jacob, though he was huge all on his own, was younger than Sam. It was easy to tell from his softer features. Even his actions with Sam came across as someone that didn't have as much experience. He was clearly trying even as he made mistakes.

Dean, older than both of them, would be more set in his ways. A hunter that would be able to handle himself without a problem if he was anything like John after all these years. As much as Sam could wish that his older brother had found a peaceful life away from the constant dangers of hunting, he doubted that Dean would follow any other path. The older boy had idolized John Winchester, doing everything their father said and trying to be just like him.

The same way that Sam had tried to mimic his older brother's mannerisms and confidence. Following in Dean's footsteps even as a child, wanting to be just like his big brother.

Those footsteps will be a lot bigger now...

He had to push away the images of Jacob's huge shoes away. Dean's feet might be even bigger than that, and Jacob was big enough. The image of a human's massive boots walking towards him popped into his head, sending a chill up his spine at the disparity.

Sam could only hope that Dean remained the person he remembered. There had always been a light in Dean back then. Goofing off with Sam, even the weeks where their father had rode the older boy hard for things that Sam didn't understand... things he'd come to realize had related to Sam himself. After reading the journal, Sam had learned that John had blamed Dean more than once for putting Sam in danger.

Yet Dean was always the good big brother around Sam. Letting him eat the rest of the Lucky Charms, making Sam a knife of his own for protection... always watching out for him. No matter what.

That side of Dean, he hoped, would never vanish. Even so big that Sam would barely be the length of a finger... if that part of his big brother remained, Sam would be safe.

He tried to imagine once more staring up at Dean. Seeing his brother for the first time from his new perspective. Dean would be a giant.

What will he look like?

All Sam could remember was green eyes. Spiky hair that teetered on the edge between blond and brown. Freckles that dotted a nose and cheeks. A mouth that was either smiling or smirking constantly. A mischievous glint in those eyes.

It was strange to realize that Sam might be forgetting what Dean looked like. Maybe... maybe Jacob had come just in time. Before Sam's past slipped away from him completely and he settled down at the motel, prepared to live his life out. Have children. Raise a family in a place they were never truly safe.

It would become his life, and it would be a lie. Every second, he'd know he didn't belong. He wouldn't deserve a family if he thought like that, but he knew there was no other way for him to think.

He didn't belong here.

Sam's thoughts drifted in and out of coherence as the world faded away at last.

Chapter Text

Jacob was knocked out of sleep what felt like way too soon. He rolled over in surprise as the alarm wailed at him, and his arm swung in a wide arc to shut it down. He missed the nightstand entirely with his first attempt. While his hand fumbled around on the surface of the nightstand, knocking the pen and the remote to the floor in the process, his other hand ran down his face sluggishly.

The silence was almost deafening when he found the snooze button. Jacob's hand rested next to the alarm clock and he loosed a heavy sigh. Why the hell did I set the alarm so early? He had so much time before checkout.

Jacob turned over and stared blearily at the nightstand. Light from the window was filling the room in a soft illumination, enough to see the junk that remained there. His phone had been knocked aside, and the notepad was askew. Jacob grabbed it in a sluggish hand and tilted it so he could read it. His sleepy mind couldn't make more than alphabet soup with his handwriting for several seconds, but then the words took form before his eyes.

Dean Winchester.

1967 Chevy Impala.

John Winchester.

KAZ 2Y5.

"Oh, fu--"

The snooze alarm went off once again, drowning out Jacob's fuckdammit of realization. He sat up in bed and glanced at the floor. The pen and the remote were strewn about, and he suddenly wondered what it would have been like if Sam had been down there. The pen was like a lamppost and the remote was like a couch, crashing down to the ground. Watch your step came back to Jacob in Sam's easy-to-miss soft voice and he suddenly felt like it was some kind of twisted joke.

He dragged himself the rest of the way out of sleep and shut off the alarm clock. He'd resolved to help Sam, and he was going to. He put the remote and the pen back, but grabbed his phone and the notepad when he stood and stretched. Both he discarded on the table as he crossed the room, still glancing often at the floor.

After washing his face and getting in a brief shower, Jacob was a lot more awake, and a lot more focused. He returned to the table with a huff, shoving his backpack out of the way. He stared at the notepad for a few seconds before flipping open his phone to dial a number into it. It rang a few times before anyone at the precinct where his stepfather worked answered. He could tell right away that the man hadn't had time to let his coffee kick in yet.

Perfect.

"Hey, Alan, it's Jacob. Andris, yeah. No, no need to put him on, I bet he hasn't even come in yet." He greeted the desk officer amicably, chuckling slightly. "Yep, I'm still on my road trip. Uh-huh. Hey, I was just kinda curious about something I came across while I'm out here, some old clipping from a car show ..."

After giving all the information he had, Jacob hung up the phone and idly stood to stretch. His stomach growled at him, so he helped himself to a protein bar from his backpack and balled up the wrapper with a loud crinkling noise. He got the pen from the nightstand, considered watching some TV, but knew he'd be unable to concentrate.

All of his focus was on hoping a phone call would come back with actual results.

He was idly watching the pen roll along on the uneven table and moving it back when his phone buzzed at him again, a chiming ringtone cutting through the silence. Jacob answered quickly, grabbing the pen and holding it poised on the notepad, ready to jot down what he got. "So, didja find anything for me?"

Jacob started writing down everything the station had, which wasn't much, honestly. But as he wrote some details down about Dean Winchester, he frowned thoughtfully. The guy was already a pretty interesting guy to say the least. Jacob wondered if he should have anticipated this, seeing as Dean's life was already colorful enough, having a little brother get cursed to be extra little.

"No, this is great, man. Thanks for looking that up for me. Curiosity is a real bitch, huh?" Jacob laughed at something the other man said. "Yep. Say hi to Mike when he gets in." With that, Jacob ended the call. He'd gotten what information he could, and he even had a somewhat promising lead. Now, all he had to do was wait and see if Sam decided to return.

Sitting around waiting would make him restless too quickly. Jacob returned to his bed, still watching his damn steps everywhere he went. He lounged on his bed and turned on the TV to channel surf, discarding the notepad beside him on the covers.

It was time to wait.

Little did Jacob know he was already being watched.

High above Jacob’s head (or at least a few feet up, the human could probably touch the ceiling if he tried), Sam was sitting in the overhead vent. He’d been there ever since the human had finished his protein bar, watching and waiting, occasionally snacking on a raisin he'd brought for supplies.

If there was one thing Sam had learned in his life, it was patience. He’d gone months with his journal, not being able to use it because he had nothing to write with. Finding the small tip of broken pencil lead had been an accomplishment he was proud of. Sam knew to wait patiently in the walls for an opening, the moment it was safest to cross over and grab what food he could. Yesterday he might have underestimated the occupant or his luck, but that was the first time in thirteen years he’d been caught. Everyone’s luck ran out sometime, Sam was just lucky the human was a decent person that had been willing to let him go.

Now he was surveying the situation. Jacob may have let him go, but Sam needed to make sure that the human was true to his word. Trust was something that needed to be earned every step of the way, and Jacob had a long way to go. If he was honest in his desire to help Sam find Dean, then Sam would return to the room. If he didn’t try and contact the police station at all, it would be time for Sam to fade away into the background and leave Jacob wondering if he’d imagined it all.

Luckily for them both, Jacob was true to his word. Sam watched with bated breath as the human got a call, talking to a man at the station about Sam’s brother. Even just hearing someone else talk about Dean got Sam’s hopes up. For so long, he’d feared Dean would get himself killed if he started hunting, driven by their father to dangerous tasks.

Once the call was over and Jacob kicked his feet up on the bed, Sam decided it was time for him to go. The human was true to his word, and had sought after the information Sam needed. The pad of paper was too far away to read the words that now adorned it, so it was time for them to talk again. Jacob had earned that much.

Sam made his way through the walls. It only took about ten minutes until he reached the entrance to Jacob’s room, a path that Sam had memorized years before. After he’d found his journal, he’d made a map of those walls so he could know where he was at all times. Nowadays, he knew it all by heart.

Another sign he’d been there too long.

As soon as he entered the room, Sam darted to the back of the nightstand and began to scale up the clifflike surface. The alarm clock cord made it an easy climb. He didn’t even need to dig out his hook and fishing line.

Sam had packed his satchel earlier that day with extra clothes and enough supplies for survival. If he was going to go off to find Dean, he needed to be prepared to face the world. The satchel was just as full as it had been the day before when all of the food was stuffed inside, but only a bit of it was actual food.

When he reached the top, Sam took a second to look around the room, noting the television was on now and Jacob’s eyes glued to it. Deciding he’d wait, he hopped on the alarm clock to sit. There was no need to disturb the human just yet, so he patiently settled down to watch what was on. Inwardly, Sam knew he was stalling. There was a buzz of nerves related to the notepad Jacob had dotted down his notes on Dean and Sam was worried about what it might say. So he watched, and he waited.

Patiently.

Jacob was hardly paying any real attention to the show he'd settled on. Morning television had some eclectic choices, and he'd wound up with some low-budget murder mystery show. The kind that he suspected his grandmother might watch before leaving the house for brunch or something.

His thoughts were stuck on what he'd discovered the night before. Tiny people existed, living in the walls like those borrower books. The one he'd met happened to be a former human, cursed to be that size since he was a kid. Jacob still wasn't sure if that was how they all became tiny, but it was beside the point.

Tiny people existed.

And, in his awe over the revelation, Jacob had gone and scared the shit out of one of them, and hurt him in a single careless movement. His mind continuously played over what happened, and he wondered if he'd have done it differently. It was difficult to tell. Jacob was still amazed that he caught the little guy and then let go of one of the craziest discoveries he'd ever made.

He shifted and reached towards the nightstand without looking, thinking to pick up the bag of trail mix that was still there. It would be a meager distraction, but he needed to try to move forward. Sam had offered him another chance. He had a shot at making up for his mistake.  He turned his head to look where he was reaching and his hand immediately froze.

Inches from Sam.

Jacob jerked his hand away and leaned back from the nightstand, startled. He curled his fingers inward, completely unsure of how to turn the near miss into a casual gesture. If he hadn't looked he could have knocked Sam right to the floor before the little guy could move out of the way. The warnings about how fast he was came back to him and Jacob's cheeks heated up again.

"I was. I was going for the trail mix. That wasn't ... I wasn't gonna grab."

It wasn’t until the hand moved back that Sam started breathing again. The last thing he’d expected was to look over and see the hand reaching in his direction again. The fact that Jacob hadn’t been looking in his direction lended credence to the human’s words.

“It’s… it’s okay,” Sam said, trying to sound reassuring in his startlement. “Honestly, it’s probably more my fault. I’m… used to keeping quiet. Staying out of sight. I didn’t want to attract any attention. I should have let you know I’m here, so don’t worry about it.”

Every word was true. Sam knew that if he was going to spend more time around a human or two, he might have to try and change the way he thought. They couldn’t know to watch out for him every second. All it would take was one mistake on Jacob (or Dean’s) part and he could end up with a broken arm or leg, or worse.

The bruises that covered his front were a testament to that. Jacob had been curious, simply trying to pin down an oddity to get a better look. He hadn’t meant to injure Sam like that. Dean could do the same, or worse, if he didn’t know Sam was around. Gotta remember they can try all they want, but I’m the one that needs to stay alert. I’m the one that’s vulnerable.

Jacob chuckled quietly, nervously. "If you say so," he muttered, moving so he sat up on the bed and faced the nightstand. He was more conscious of his movements than usual, especially after nearly knocking right into Sam like that. He settled his feet lightly on the floor, since he knew he wasn't about to kick someone. Probably. It'd definitely take some getting used to, considering where he placed himself all the time, but he had to try. All it took was one mistake.

Jacob came back to himself when the shock had time to wear off. "Right, okay, so I made the call and they did have some stuff on file for your brother and the car," he said, reaching back to pick up the notepad. He glanced down on it, finally taking his gaze off the person he'd nearly shoved off the alarm clock. "Traffic cam in Chadron, Nebraska spotted the car, looks like he got a little antsy at a red light." That, Jacob felt, was minor compared to the other things he'd found out. He raised an eyebrow and looked back over at Sam. "Your brother's got a little bit of a record, too."

Sam’s face lit up at that. He’s alive! One of Sam’s worst fears, gone in a flash. Dean was alive, he had their father’s car, and he’d run a red light, letting Sam find him again. Giving Sam a chance to find his family, no matter that Dean had most likely done it out of typical impatience.

Jacob hadn’t mentioned John at all. Sam wasn’t surprised by that. Their father had spent his life flying under the radar. It would be almost impossible for a small town police station to track a man that had dedicated more than twenty years of his life to staying off the map. Especially since that police station had no reason to dedicate any real resources to the search.

Dean though… Dean they’d found. He was alive and there was a chance that Sam would see him again. It might only be to say goodbye, face-to-face, but it would be something he needed. And there was a chance that it would be more. That Sam could reunite with Dean and not be forced to return to the motel. As much as he loved his adopted family, he’d do anything to change the path of his life. Find where he truly belonged.

Sam finally caught up to the rest of Jacob’s words, his brow furrowing as he considered them. “A record?” he asked. “What do you mean ‘a record?’ ”

"Grave desecration," Jacob answered, reading it of the notepad as if he didn't quite believe what he'd written down. But that was what Alan had told him, sounding as weirded out about it as Jacob felt. It was definitely not what he might have expected out of Sam's brother. Then again, Sam was the victim of a curse, so Jacob wondered if he ought to throw out any assumptions before he made them.

"Grave desecration and a couple other little charges. So we have a lead on the car, which is great, but honestly I'm a little caught up on that one. Know anything about what got him into that kind of charge?"

"Oh." That wasn't as bad as Sam had thought it would be. Digging up graves was part of everyday life for John Winchester, and now Sam knew Dean had officially followed their father's footsteps.

Dean was a hunter.

Arguably one of the most dangerous types of human for Sam to be around, Dean was trained to hunt and kill anything supernatural. Sam didn't bother lying to himself. He knew Dean could hunt down people like him.

Whether Dean would was the question.

After a moment to digest the revelation, Sam turned his eyes up to Jacob. "That means Dean followed our dad and dedicated his life to 'the family business.' Our dad, after our mom was killed in that house fire, dedicated his life to finding what killed her. Because it wasn't a normal fire. Ever since then, he - and now Dean - discovered that there are creatures that hide in the dark, stalking innocents and taking their lives. Dean wanted to help people, all his life, and this was the best way he thought he could help."

Sam crossed his arms. "All those ghost stories you hear aren't just stories, they're true. If you dig deep enough, you can find the source of each legend. Vengeful spirits are dangerous, and can lash out at people... some at targets that fit a specific guideline, like a woman that was raped will go after men or women that try and rape others. Some, if they're angry enough, will go after anyone that's alive. Digging up the corpse and salting and burning the bones disperses them for good, and that's what Dean's doing."

Sam gave Jacob a wry smile. "Law enforcement rarely agrees that it's a good thing, though."

Jacob snickered at that. "Who can say why, I mean what's wrong with a little corpse-burning with the family to bust some ghosts," he quipped. The only reason Jacob even considered believing Sam was the fact that Sam was four inches tall. Anyone else saying that would easily be laughed off as crazy or having an overactive imagination. Ghosts weren't supposed to exist.

But, Jacob was coming to realize that maybe there were a lot of things out there that existed whether or not they were supposed to.

Next he's gonna tell me fairies and vampires are real, too.

"Okay, so, your brother is a vigilante against ghosts. That's kinda cool," he mused. Jacob was relieved, at least, that Dean should be open to the idea that his brother was pocket-sized now. He may have been jumping the gun, but Jacob was wondering how he'd approach the subject with Sam's estranged brother. How to explain that the attack he remembered was a lot more than just a light show and a mysterious disappearance.

Sam wasn't exactly a ghost, but he'd be coming back to life as far as Dean was concerned.

"Well, Chadron is kind of a long drive away," Jacob said, getting back to business. "On the right roads I can probably get there in a little under eight hours. Up for a bit of a road trip?"

Sam stared up at him with the impression of a man in the desert that had just been offered water. Something that was an impossibility for Sam, a huge, impassable distance, would become possible with Jacob’s help.

Sam swallowed, his throat dry at the realization how far Jacob was actually willing to go to help him. Eight hours out of his way just to bring Sam home to his family. “You’d go that far for me?” Sam asked, his voice hoarse.

Even though Jacob had already offered to do it the day before, hearing how far it was, remembering the size of such a distance compared to Sam… it put it all into perspective. Hundreds and hundreds of miles. If Sam tried to walk such a distance, he might never get there. Even if he did, Dean would be long gone, off to the distant corners of the country with no idea that his little brother was trying desperately to reach him. Braving unknown dangers, massive animals… the risk of being picked up by other humans. Maybe even turned into a pet if he was caught again.

Jacob noticed the hopefulness in Sam's entire demeanor, the fragile yearning in his voice. While Jacob was still catching up to the belief that any of this was real, Sam was clinging to the belief that he'd get back to his brother soon. That he'd find his familyagain, something he'd never be able to tackle on his own. Even if Jacob was put off by the distance, it'd be hard to turn down such a wide-eyed look of hope. He had a chance to help put a family back together after losing each other in such a complete fashion.

"Well, yeah, of course," he answered with a soft smile. "It'd be kind of a dick move to tell you all that and then just stop helping," he quipped with another faint chuckle. Already his own spirits were lifted a little. Here was a guy whose family had been hit with one bad thing after another, and who was unable to get to his own brother on his own. Jacob was going to help Sam as much as he could.

He had to.

He glanced over at his backpack when he spoke next. "I'm pretty much packed already. Probably have to stop for gas once or twice on the way but it's a pretty straight trip there otherwise." Luckily Jacob had a good, up-to-date road map in the car. He didn't have a new enough phone to get directions on it.

There was only one more question that needed to be answered. He hesitated to ask it, looking thoughtfully over at the nightstand. "So, I'm guessing you don't wanna walk to my car," he began with a faint smirk. "How did you want to, uhm. Travel, I guess?" Something about how do you want to be carried didn't feel quite right, especially after the scoldings the night before.

For some reason, the question caught Sam off guard. He’d forgotten, for a moment, how much harder it was for him to get around. Of course he wouldn’t be able to walk to the car. Sam wouldn’t even be able to get in to the car. The door alone would be far over his head. Sam would need Jacob to open it, then he’d need to use his hook and line to climb up it.

He was so different now compared to the last time he’d rode in a car. Back then, he’d sat in the back seat of the Impala. Sometimes reading from roadmaps from boredom, other times just watching the other cars pass by and trying to find license plates from all fifty states. Now, the seat of a car would be a cliff. He couldn’t use a seatbelt to stay in place. He couldn’t reach the radio to change the station and piss off his brother (and his father, on some days). What they did, he had to live with, unless they changed the station when he asked.

“Um,” Sam said, trying to think. His eyes flashed up Jacob’s looming form. The human might as well be a building. Legs clad in denim that were thick columns, blue waves of fabric that made up a hoodie… all of it outsizing Sam by almost twenty times.

The answer was in the hood. Sam’s eyes locked on that, realizing that it offered him a perfect place to hide, and one where he’d be able to see his surroundings from a human height. “How about your shoulder?” Sam offered. “If there’s anyone else around I can just drop in the hood. It’s a perfect hiding place.”

Jacob turned his head and tried to get a view of his own shoulder. He couldn't really imagine someone perched there at all. Then again, his shoulders were pretty broad for his age. Sam would probably have plenty of room. "Okay," he acquiesced. "Lemme just grab my stuff and we can get on the road."

That said, Jacob slowly reached beyond Sam to pick up the bag of trail mix, offering a weak smile and apologetic shrug in case that was seen as an invasion of his personal space. Jacob backed off and went about putting his few belongings into his bag and hitching it onto his shoulders. Once he had his shoes on his feet again, he had everything except Sam.

He returned to the nightstand and stooped a little so he could reach before holding out a cautious hand. His fingers lay flat, bridging to the edge of the furniture a few inches in front of where Sam waited.  Jacob took a slow breath and tried to hold himself still, hopefully ready for the first time he picked Sam up this way. He'd have to make sure to wait for some kind of sign that the little guy was ready for him to move again. He couldn't screw this up.

Sam watched the hand lower to the surface, thick fingers making a bridge for him to use. Jacob’s hand was broader than a sidewalk, making the crossing safe above the far-away ground. So long as Jacob didn’t flinch when Sam stepped up.

Another moment of staring passed, and Sam realized it was his turn to make a move. Jacob’s thumb twitched, and Sam had to suppress a flinch of his own. Why did humans have to be so much bigger? He literally would have to trust his life to Jacob when he did this.

Sam took a step, and then another. He swallowed, and took his first step onto Jacob’s hand willingly. The skin moved under his boot, and he had to force himself to take the next step and put himself completely on the hand. The way the ground gave beneath his steps was disconcerting and nervewracking. Dean will be the same, Sam reminded himself. This is what my life will be like if I do this. They can't help how big they are any more than I can change my size.

Those thoughts were what got him the rest of the way onto the hand. Once there, he saw the way Jacob’s arm stretched out before him, and decided he could get himself up the rest of the way. There was no reason to wait and have Jacob put him there. Like Sam had affirmed more than once, he was capable of taking care of himself. The fabric of the hoodie was thick, and easy to hold onto and use for climbing. Even better than his hook, really.

Before Jacob could react to the person standing on his hand, Sam had darted across his wrist. The small Winchester wasted no time climbing up, easily hauling himself up waves of fabric. It took less than ten seconds, and he was up on Jacob's shoulder, staring in amazement at the way the room stretched out. Suddenly he could see what it had all been like when he was a child. The furniture no longer loomed over him. It was still huge, but he could look down on it from up here.

“So,” Sam said casually, as though he hadn’t just climbed up a giant, “ready to go?”

Chapter Text

Jacob was frozen to the spot when Sam spoke up. The voice just barely broke him out of his wide-eyed freeze. He straightened up a little stiffly, allowing his arm to relax after it had all but seized up. Sam had just climbed up his arm like it was nothing, using the sleeve like it was a staircase. Jacob, who'd been waiting for a tiny wave or thumbs up, was not expecting such a show of skill.

Sam had really meant it when he assured Jacob he could get around on his own. Most people wouldn't even dream of making a climb like that, without a safety harness or a net below or anything.

Jacob picked his jaw up off the floor. He almost turned his head to look at Sam, but worried he'd throw the little guy off balance (if such a thing was possible). He had to grin. "Okay, just gonna throw this out there, that was awesome. You did not lie." After giving his assessment, Jacob took a quiet breath and turned towards the door, conscious of the faintest weight on his shoulder.

Holy shit. I'm actually doing this. He took a few hesitant steps, and then some longer strides. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "This works, right?"

Sam found himself grinning at the awe in Jacob’s voice, his shoulders straightening in pride. After years of being used to getting around like that every day of his life, he’d forgotten how out-of-the-ordinary it was to a human. No one could deny Sam’s skill with climbing, not even Walt, who’d been climbing steep cliffs and harsh surfaces longer than Sam had been alive.

Before Jacob opened the door, Sam flattened himself on the shoulder. A few folds of fabric were enough to conceal himself from easy view, and Sam dangled his legs off Jacob’s back, ready to drop down into the hood if anyone’s eyes strayed towards him. With Jacob no longer able to see Sam, the tingle from his neck was gone. It would be easy to tell if anyone spotted him in a casual glance.

“This works,” Sam confirmed. He slapped the neck next to him to reassure Jacob. “This is your world now.”

Jacob smirked and raised an eyebrow when he felt the faint tickle of a tiny hand slapping against his neck. He could feel Sam shifting around on his shoulder, if he concentrated on it. It blew his mind that an entire person was perched there. He had to be aware of his steps now, not necessarily because someone might be underfoot, but because one stumble could send Sam plummeting.

No pressure. Jacob opened the door and stepped outside. He was more aware of everything with the constant tickling near his neck. The morning was at an odd time, with few people around the motel. There was just an exhausted family with their loud, rolling suitcases loading their car several rooms away. Jacob kept an eye on them, making sure they didn't notice, but they didn't even look his way.

He made his way over to his somewhat rusty Mercury cougar. It wasn't bad for a first car, a very reliable little thing that thought it was a corvette. With somewhat terse motions, he tossed his bag into the backseat before settling into the driver's seat. Then he finally let himself breathe, relaxing into the seat.

"Still hanging in there?" he asked, glancing up at the rearview mirror to check on his small passenger.

Sam pulled himself up from where he’d flattened against Jacob’s shoulder. “I’m good,” he said. The sight of the family walking along outside had been an ardent reminder of his helplessness out here. He was literally relying on Jacob with his life.

Now that they were safely contained inside the behemoth car, Sam brought himself to a sit, letting his legs hang casually off of Jacob’s shoulder. He gave Jacob a grin in the rearview mirror before peering curiously around at his new surroundings. He’d only ever driven in the Impala, and the interior of that car was nothing like this new one. Sam found himself missing the sight of the leather bench seat in the front, where John and Dean had always rode. Sam would sit in the backseat, watching everything with wide hazel eyes.

Aside from the car being so different, the size made it new all over again. The sight of Jacob’s huge backpack in the back reminded Sam of the way he’d thought he’d be trapped inside at one point. An impossible place to escape from at his size. Jacob could carry it around without much exertion while Sam could never hope to budge such an immense bag. It was bigger than his family’s home, after all.

The world outside was more familiar. Sam had sat up on the roof of the motel more than once, watching the sun set as cars drove in for the night, searching for a place to stay. The parking lot had become his backyard, and he’d spend any night he could searching for the Impala. At first out of hope, and eventually out of habit. Hope had slowly begun to fade from his mind in the last few years. Why would Dean ever return to the place his baby brother had died? There were too many memories attached to the building, after all.

Sam moved closer to Jacob’s neck, feeling a little more stable there. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, the excitement coming through in his voice.

Jacob chuckled quietly, but didn't let it last long with Sam even closer to his neck. It was a strange sensation, but he had to smile faintly anyway. After all, he'd made some decent progress if he had enough trust for Sam to settle himself there like that. He would have to keep doing his best to keep the little guy safe. Jacob had coaxed him, as vulnerable as he was, out of the safety of his home. The world was big for such a little guy to be out in. It was on Jacob to make sure he reached his destination… and his family.

He started the car with a sputter of the engine. While the AC caught up, he turned to flip open the road map on the passenger seat. He picked it up and rested it on the steering wheel, tracing his fingertip over the route he intended to take. The names of small towns murmured out of his lips as he memorized his exits.

With the trip ahead planned out, Jacob set aside his map and put the car in gear. "Alright, Nebraska awaits," he announced. "Soybeans, cornfields, and sandhills." He gave the closed door of his motel room one last glance, amazed by the turn of events that had happened just behind it. Hopefully his mother wouldn't catch on that he'd gone off the route they discussed before he left on his trip. But at least it wasn't as though Sam would go tattling. "Let's see if we can't catch up to Dean."

The smile on Sam’s face wouldn’t leave. Let's see if we can't catch up to Dean. Words that contained every hope in his heart. “Yeah, let’s go find my brother,” Sam said, unable to believe it was really happening. He was actually going to go find his brother. In all the years he’d spent in this motel, he’d never thought those words would actually pass through his lips.

Let’s go find my brother.

Dean.

Sam settled comfortably in the crook of Jacob’s neck as the car pulled out of the parking lot, letting himself start to relax with the human’s attention on the road before them. “I remember watching movies about a cornfield,” Sam thought out loud, letting his memories turn towards the past. If he was truly on his way back to his brother, there was no reason to hide those memories anymore. Instead of pain, he could find comfort and hope.

“It was so long ago, I don’t remember much,” he admitted. “Just that it was supposed to be scary. Dean made fun of the movie. I didn’t figure out why until I found out what our dad did for a living. I guess movies like that aren’t as scary as the real thing. But Dean was always there for me if the movies gave me nightmares.”

Jacob could feel Sam settling in more. It helped him relax a little as well, normalizing the task he'd taken up on himself. He listened intently as Sam took his stroll down memory lane, probably talking about things he hadn't told anyone in ages. "I guess I can see why he wouldn't give those movies much credit," he admitted. Though it did get Jacob wondering once again about what sorts of things this Dean Winchester dealt with daily.

"But in Nebraska the football fans are the scariest thing you'll find, hands down," he quipped, getting onto the highway that'd get them a good portion of the way there. Serious again, Jacob asked "So you and Dean were pretty close, huh? It really sounds like he really looked out for you. That's pretty cool of him." Jacob had to wonder how Dean would react to finding out his little brother wasn't dead. He was just his little little brother now.

Sam laughed along with the joke, then let himself slip into the past again. “You could say that,” he said. “Dean was the one person I ever had to rely on growing up. Our dad… wasn’t around much when we were growing up. His… crusade kept him busy. Sometimes we’d be left in a motel room for days or weeks at a time, and Dean would have to find ways to keep food on the table.”

Sam stared down at the shoulder he was sitting on, idly threading his fingers through the thick fabric. “I didn’t know how much he did, at first. I just thought we always had what we needed. But there were times I found out later that Dean had to steal so we could eat. We didn’t have the money to buy food, and there was no one we could call for help. It was better when dad left us at Bobby’s. He always made sure that we were taken care of. But dad and Bobby argued a lot, and then it would be months or years before we saw him again.”

Sam sighed. “I guess my life’s never been normal,” he said softly. “But it’s always been my life, and something I deal with. Dean was the one part I could always count on, no matter what else was going on, and losing him… It felt like I lost everything.”

Jacob didn't have anything to say right away. He heaved a sigh, his brow pinched with concern and no small amount of empathy for Sam's story. Jacob's childhood hadn't been nearly as sparse, but things were definitely tight. His dad had always worked so hard to make sure Jacob never realized it. Jacob glanced at the speedometer and noticed that he was speeding. But he didn't slow down; the sooner they found Dean, the better.

Sam needed his brother back.

"That was pretty brave of him, stealing to make sure you had food," he finally replied. From the sounds of things, Dean had taken on some very adult decisions way before he ever should have. All to take care of the little guy that sat against Jacob's neck now. Sam was putting a lot of trust in Jacob, all in the hope of getting to see his protective big brother again.

"I can't wait to meet him. Sounds like a good guy."

“I can’t wait for you to meet him,” Sam said, warming to the topic. He was proud of his family, in no small way. Even though their father had left them alone for weeks at a time, he’d been saving lives, trying to get rid of the evil that lurked around every corner while pursuing his own quest to find the killer of his wife.

And now Dean was doing the same. Putting himself at risk to make sure others people didn’t suffer at the hands or claws or fangs of monsters. More than anything, Sam wanted to be able to help. To keep another child from suffering from a curse like he’d been placed under. To do a little good to help offset the bad.

A smile broadened his face at a specific memory. “Just don’t get involved in any prank wars with him,” Sam said warningly. “He has no problem escalating things. One day… I kid you not… he put nair in my shampoo. I had to grow it out all over again.” He protectively brushed a hand over his fluffy locks, remembering how it had felt to have bare skin there.

Jacob couldn't withhold his snickering that time, though he did his best to make sure he didn't laugh out loud with Sam so close. "Wow. That is a committed joke, right there, thanks for the warning." It definitely seemed to fit in with the big brother role just as much as all the stuff Dean did to take care of Sam as they were growing up. Jacob didn't have any siblings of his own, but he'd seen enough sibling interactions for it to be familiar. "Holy shit. Y'know, you'll have to get him back for that someday. Maybe sneak some dye into his shampoo or something."

Jacob found himself imagining what Dean must be like based on the few stories Sam had told him already. While he was sure a lot probably changed in all that time, the guy had to have some remnants of who he was as a kid still lingering. Maybe Sam would bring that right back to the surface after all this time.

“Maybe,” Sam said, his thoughts once more drawn towards what Dean must be like now. He tried to imagine pranking a giant the size of Jacob. He almost couldn’t imagine it. Humans were so big. How could he possibly pull something like that without Dean noticing?

That brought to mind more worrisome thoughts. It had been over a decade since they’d seen each other, and Dean must assume that Sam was dead. What if he ended up not believing it was his little brother standing in front of him? There was a lot Sam could take, but that…

Losing Dean all over again, and more complete than ever…

He didn’t know if he could stand to see disbelief like that in his brother’s eyes. Not after years of hoping and praying for a chance to find him. Not after finally being offered that chance from a stranger that had started out their relationship by catching Sam and treating him like an object. Jacob would be all he had left to rely on if Dean rejected them. He’d have to ask the human to take him all the way back home again, traveling another eight hours in defeat to the Trails West and accepting his new life there.

Sam’s shoulders slumped a little. His fingers wound deeper into the threads in his sudden stress as he considered a future without Dean. “What if… he doesn’t believe us?” Sam asked Jacob haltingly, letting out some of his greatest fears. “What if he doesn’t believe I’m Sam? Or he’s changed so much that he’s not the person I remember?”

Jacob frowned, once again finding the tone of Sam's voice heartbreaking all by itself. The fear of rejection hung on every worried syllable. Jacob realized that he hadn't even considered something like that happening. He pursed his lips as he thought about it. Dean was basically a more badass ghostbuster. It shouldn't be hard to at least convince him that it was possible for Sam to have been cursed way back then.

That still brought in the matter of proving that it was really Sam. That Jacob wasn't some ... vengeful spirit or whatever that somehow played on Dean's hopes or memories or something. Holy shit something like that probably exists, Jacob realized.

He almost shrugged, just barely stopping the motion in time. Hopefully the momentary tension in his shoulder didn't upset Sam's perch there. An idea hit and Jacob grinned. "Your knife," he said aloud, blurting it but remembering to quiet his voice from the initial volume. "You said he made it for you, right? He's gotta recognize that. And you know all kinds of stuff only you two would know. That's gotta count for something, right?"

Sam blinked. “You’re right,” he said in realization. It might be smaller now, but the knife bore Dean’s handiwork. After working on it for months, Dean knew that knife as well as he knew any weapon. Sam might have changed in the years since seeing Dean, but the knife hadn’t, past the size. Each night it was carefully cleaned and stashed away, the most important item in Sam’s life. He cared for it the same way he cared for himself. It carried all his memories of his family in it, and he relied on it to save his life when he was in trouble, with rats or humans or anything.

Tugging his hand free of the hoodie threads, Sam took out the knife, carefully running a hand down the blunt side. The blade was meticulously sharpened with Walt’s whetstone anytime the edge grew dull from use. Reassured by it all over again, Sam slipped the knife back into its sheath. It was a good thing he’d managed to hold onto it all these years, even with it smaller than an inch in length. If it tumbled out of his grasp at the wrong moment it would be all too easy to lose down a crack in the floor.

Sam sighed. “Thanks,” he said to Jacob. “We can do this. I know it. I’m just… afraid of losing him again if we get so close.”

The dark hoodie threads he’d been fiddling with moments ago caught the corner of his eye. “Shit!” Sam hissed. He’d tugged them out of the shirt, unraveling part of Jacob’s hoodie. Frantic, Sam tried to pat them down, hoping to get it back to normal before the human noticed. The last thing he wanted to do was risk Jacob growing angry with him while they were alone. Sam was relying on his help, and had no way to even get back home without Jacob now.

And here he was, fucking things up.

Chapter Text

Jacob was proud of himself for remembering Sam's knife. It was enough to avert the less favorable 'what ifs' that Sam was heading towards. Jacob wasn't sure he'd have been able to avoid thinking along those lines himself without the glow of hope that little knife offered. He was gladder than ever that he hadn't broken it or done any damage when he yanked it out of Sam's hand. If he had twisted the blade beyond Dean's recognition, it'd all be on Jacob.

Of course, he didn't expect to hear a hissed swear out of Sam, but he couldn't miss it happening right next to his ear. He almost turned his head to look, worried that Sam had slipped or something, but stopped himself and turned his gaze to the rearview mirror instead. His voice and his expression were full of concern when he asked "You okay? What's up? I didn't make you drop it, did I?" Jacob glanced at the road, ready to pull over the car if they needed to search for Sam's knife.

“No... no…” Sam hurried to reassure Jacob. “That’s fine. I’ve got it in my jacket.” He didn’t bother to say that if the knife fell, he was more likely to dive after it than curse. That knife was his life. He would be down on the seat before Jacob even realized he was moving.

Sam tried to flatten down the threads, wishing he’d paid more attention to what he was doing. The conversation about Dean had distracted him completely. He knew it was easy to dethread clothing like that. He’d helped Mallory dethread fabric before, after all. It was simply a matter of working their small fingers between the frayed part of the fabric and taking it down to the smallest string they could find. She’d then use that to create the clothing that all three of them wore, including Sam’s jacket and the jeans he was wearing at that very moment.

“I just…” Sam trailed off, trying to think of how to explain it. “I wasn’t paying attention while we were talking about Dean and I might have pulled out the threads in your hoodie and I’m really sorry I’ll fix it I swear…” By the end he was completely out of breath, the words and sentences running together until they formed one solid stream of words.

"Ah," Jacob said slowly, perplexed by how much worry he could hear in Sam's voice. It was like a gong right next to his ear. He realized with a frown that Sam was scared of what Jacob would do about the frayed threads on the hoodie. And Jacob couldn't exactly blame him.

Sam couldn't do anything to stop Jacob if he decided he was upset about the damage.

Sam must not have noticed the other wear and tear on the jacket. Jacob had owned it for a decent amount of time and he wore it a lot; hoodies were pretty much his thing. But even if it was brand new, he couldn't be angry with someone over something like that.

"Dude, don't worry about it at all," he said, a chuckle finally escaping him. Hopefully Sam would be reassured, but Jacob sent him an earnest glance in the mirror just in case before focusing on the road again. "I can't even tell, you don't have to fix it."

Sam tried to smooth the threads down one last time before throwing in the towel and giving up. “Ah, yeah,” he tried to chuckle along with Jacob, but his voice was still unsteady from the bolt of fear. “Right. Forgot…” about how small it is to you, Sam’s mind finished off for him. It was hard to remember that big things to him were inconsequential to humans.

In an effort to distract himself from his mistake, Sam threw his mind back. There was something Jacob had said before that had caught his attention. “You said you lost someone like I did…” he was hesitant to ask. It wasn’t any of his business, but he was curious. It felt like that loss might be a big part of what had driven Jacob to such lengths to help Sam. Jacob was very focused on Sam being reunited with his family, more than he might have expected from someone he’d just met. That determination must be driven by something that had happened to Jacob in the past.

“You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want, but… what happened?” Sam’s voice was soft in the air, almost hidden under the noise of the engine as it rumbled along.

"Oh, yeah," Jacob muttered, remembering that he had indeed mentioned it. "No worries, I don't mind you asking," he reassured Sam, knowing it could seem like a touchy subject. Indeed, in the few years directly after losing his dad, Jacob hadn't been okay with people asking about it. He'd since made peace with the loss, though the sigh he breathed showed that it still very much impacted him and who he was now.

"It's not exactly the same, but it was my dad. When I was seven, they found out he had cancer. They think it started in the lungs, but by the time they found out it was kind of all over the place. He held on for a long time, though, when it started he was bigger and stronger than I am now." Jacob couldn't help but grin, remembering how huge his father had seemed back then. Even as treatments wasted him away to almost half of his usual bulk, his dad was the biggest man he ever knew.

"We were pretty close, I guess. It definitely made me feel like I was in the twilight zone or something for so long. We started getting cards from relatives I didn't even know I had. Some of 'em all the way from Greece."

Jacob wondered how different it would be if it wasn't cancer that had taken his dad, but something he could actually fight. A monster, like whatever took Sam's mom. Jacob might be out there right now looking for it, just like John Winchester. But he couldn't really hunt and kill an illness.

Hoping to lift the mood back up a little and avoid letting gloom settle in the car, Jacob thought up an amusing story to tell. "When he was in the hospital, though, he played some of the funniest pranks on his nurses, I swear. Convinced one of them that he didn't speak any English at all and I was his interpreter."

Sam couldn’t hide a snort at that. “Sounds like he’d get along with Dean. If my brother knew a different language like that, he’d totally try and pull that on people if it got him out of school. I’d have to back him up, of course… good thing he wasn’t one for other languages.”

Sam leaned against Jacob’s neck, growing a bit more comfortable in the stories they were sharing. “So, you speak more than one language?” he asked. “My dad had me learn Latin, but I never really got the chance to practice it off of the paper. I didn’t even find out he had me learning it until I found out he was a hunter… apparently Latin’s used in different exorcisms and spells. Dean never really caught on when we were kids. There isn’t really anyone he could prank with that language, at least.”

Sitting like that, Sam became aware of a gentle thrumming behind him. His pulse. It’s his pulse. Something else he’d never notice if he was still a human. His life was startlingly different just because he was so small. Jacob probably had no idea he could feel it.

“Are you fluent?” Sam asked. Fluent, at least, was one thing he wasn’t in Latin. He’d only been learning when the curse had struck. Perhaps one day he’d get the chance to finish his studies, especially if he had humans he could trust. Like Dean. Maybe even Jacob, since the guy was turning out to be a much better person than Sam’s first impression.

Jacob snickered sheepishly. "Fluent might be kind of a strong word, since the only one I talk to in Greek anymore is grandma, but mostly I guess?" Once again Jacob was inclined to shrug, but he had to stop himself. At least this time he was better prepared for his own habit so he just glanced at the rearview and let his expression do it for him. "At the very least I'm kinda rusty."

Jacob paused in the conversation to change lanes and let someone speed past him, the engine of their sports car roaring as they ate up the highway with a speed at least fifteen over the limit. Jacob had to smirk, knowing he himself was going rather fast. It'd be better for that guy to get pulled over than him; at least the other driver probably didn't have a tiny person perched against his neck.

"Latin, though, that's pretty cool," Jacob started again, sounding properly awed. "Exorcisms and spells, holy shit, Sam. You've got stealth, climbing, that rad knife, and you could learn exorcisms. All you need is the hat and you're basically Indiana Jones."

“Really?” Sam asked in amazement. “I never thought about it that way.” It was so weird to think a human like Jacob might thinkhe was cool. He couldn’t even turn on a light in the motel rooms, after all! Or open a door, order himself pizza…

Find his way back to Dean.

“I just… humans always seem to be able to do so much more,” Sam said. “I can’t keep up with you if I’m walking. I mean, one step and you’ll outdistance me. I’m too short to reach the lights, I can’t talk to people like normal… it’s just so different, y’know?” Sam stretched out a hand, staring at how small it looked in the surroundings of a simple car. A button would outsize it. “I needyour help to just find my brother. And, thanks for that, by the way. I never thought I’d get the chance.”

Jacob grinned. "Of course, man. Don't worry about it. You've got stuff you can do, and for the things you can't ... it's okay to get help."

The easy conversation continued while Jacob's car continued to put miles behind it. Much to his relief, Sam seemed to be warming up to him a little after their rocky first meeting. Jacob was determined to help and to prove that he wasn't the monster he'd acted like at first. He found himself more and more hopeful with each passing road sign that said they were closer to the destination. Meeting Dean Winchester and bringing the news that his little brother was alive was definitely a goal worth the effort.

Near noon, Jacob had to stop to fill up the gas tank. There was a small restaurant nearby that offered cheap takeout. Jacob made sure Sam had dropped into hiding in his jacket hood before walking in. He could tell the little guy was nervous, so with a purposeful gait and vigilant eyes, Jacob made a quick order at the counter. He'd tried to figure out what Sam wanted to eat, but couldn't get much out of him. It was just like the night before where Sam had barely accepted the trail mix.

Jacob felt like he was carrying a sign that said Suspicious! on it. Sam's weight in his hood was so slight, and yet it was the heaviest thing in the world. While the clerk boxed up the sandwich he ordered, Jacob couldn't help but feel like anyone would look over and point out the secret he carried. He was ready to defend Sam if he had to, but he was silently praying it didn't come to that.

He couldn't let Sam's existence get out there. Jacob was responsible for anything that happened to him now. He'd pretty much taken on that mantle when he first grabbed the little guy. Jacob would be making up for that for as long as it took.

But he needn't have worried. He got back to his car and opened up his food without anyone noticing a thing about him. Being tall tended to help with that. People didn't notice that he was a bit younger than the average patron.

With the car fueled up and them both well-fed (especially Sam, who'd had more food available at lunch than he knew what to do with), they got back on the road. Western Nebraska unfolded before them, and it was mid afternoon when Jacob found the small town of Chadron. He cruised a little slower around town, wondering where they should convene and figure out the next step.

Sam’s eyes were wide as he stared around the town. Dean was here. The Impala could be parked in any of the lots around them, just waiting for Sam to discover her. There was a rising hope in him that couldn’t be dispelled by worry.

His brother was so close. Sam might be able to reach out and touch his goal in minutes. It felt like so many years of his life had been spent waiting for this opportunity.

He shaded his eyes, watching for a familiar vintage black car. Jacob didn’t know her like Sam did. He didn’t see her behind his eyes the way Sam did whenever he went to sleep. If anyone was likely to spot the car on the slow cruise through town, it would be Sam.

While Jacob was searching for a place to pull over to talk for a minute, light glinted at Sam from the side. He was drawn to stare towards what was an older, more rundown motel than the Trails West had ever been.

And sitting in that parking lot, right outside a motel room, was a vintage Impala, the sun winking off the slick black body.

Dean!

Before he realized what he was doing, Sam leapt to his feet. “That’s her!” he blurted out, right as he slipped on the slope of Jacob’s shoulder.

And tumbled off.

Chapter Text

Jacob only had a second to react. He was startled enough by the sudden exclamation right by his head. But then he felt the tiny boots stumble and slip. He saw in the corner of his eye as Sam lost his balance and started to fall forward. Jacob did what many startled drivers would do.

He slammed on the brakes.

Thankfully, there was no one else driving on that street at this time of the afternoon, so he didn't get smashed into. But Jacob felt a panic suddenly surging in him as he realized how devastating the action could be for Sam. Before his tires even finished screeching on the pavement, one of his hands left the steering wheel.

He managed to catch Sam in a cupped hand against his abdomen. Jacob's jaw dropped and his heart absolutely pounded. Sam could have died right then and there, so close to the goal. All because Jacob had been careless. And now, he had the little guy basically pinned to his stomach while his arms were almost frozen with shock.

He pulled the car into the parking lot one handed and double (maybe triple) parked. Then, he finally moved his hand away from his stomach, cupping it under Sam and hoping against hope that he wasn't about to see a broken Sam lying on his hand. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry," he breathed. "Tell me I didn't break anything, Sam. Are you okay?!"

When the hand moved out into the open, Sam was lying flat on his back, staring up at Jacob in shock. “N-no…” he managed, trying to push himself up to a sit with both hands. The adrenaline refused to let him get that far. Both arms shook, and he slipped back down. For a moment, he let his arms flop out to the side, mentally going through every limb and searching for new pain.

Aside from a slight flare-up in his ribs, there weren’t any new pains. Sam managed to regain control of his arms, and this time when he sat up, it was for good. He patted himself down, double-checking to be certain. He couldn’t imagine trying to convince Dean, facing down an immense human just like Jacob, with a crippling injury like that. He was already vulnerable enough.

Satisfied, Sam met Jacob’s eyes, giving him a wane smile. “Nothing’s broke,” he stated. “I’m fine. And that one was my fault. I just…” he trailed off, trying to see outside of the car. “I thought I saw the Impala…”

Jacob held his breath until he got Sam's assurance that he was okay. He leaned his head back against the seat, gazing at the ceiling without really seeing it. Holy shit. Holy shit. That was way too close. He took a few slow breaths to calm down his rapidly beating heart, wondering absently if Sam could feel his accelerated pulse through his hand. He probably could.

After composing himself, Jacob looked out the window of his car and scanned the lot. There weren't many other cars at the dingy motel, so it was easy to find the Impala. He raised his eyebrows in an impressed reaction to how nice the car looked in person.

After making sure no one was around, Jacob cupped his other hand near the one holding Sam and lifted him slowly above the level of the windows. Sam should be able to see out without any problems, but Jacob remained watchful for anyone that might peek at him and notice his small passenger. "That the one?"

Sam’s mouth parted in his amazement. It was her. He could even make out the blessedly familiar license plate from where he was sitting in Jacob’s hand.

KAZ-2Y5

The sunlight winked off the car once more, as though the world itself was bringing his attention to her. Sam held up a hand, instinctively trying to put it against the glass pane of the window, despite the fact that he was sitting a foot away from it. “That’s her…” he whispered. “That’s the Impala I grew up in.”

Sam blinked away the rising emotion in his chest. Right now, Dean was less than a hundred feet away. Nothing else mattered. He was close to his brother for the first time in over a decade. In a few minutes, he might be able to talk to Dean. Find out what had happened in the last thirteen years.

Sam bit his lip. “So, now what?” he asked. Nerves rose up again. He could suppress them all he wanted, but the fear of rejection was always floating right beneath the surface.

Jacob was staring at the car with his own kind of reverence. They'd actually found Dean. Somehow, despite it being a long shot to track him down, they'd found him. Judging by the way Sam stared at that car, and even how he instinctively tried to reach for it, there was no doubt about it. Jacob couldn't help the swell of pride in his chest. Maybe he'd really messed up at first, but he could make up for it in some small way if he helped Sam put his family back together.

"Okay," Jacob said, acknowledging that he'd heard Sam's question and thinking about how best to approach that door. Jacob stared at it for several seconds, chipped paint and all. One of the numbers screwed to the door was slightly askew. He realized belatedly that he was taking in those details and stalling his introduction to Sam's older brother. He knew he shouldn't have a reason to be nervous, but then again it'd be tough to walk up and bring him this kind of news. Jacob would have to be careful about how he brought Sam up.

"Well, I think I should get in the door before anything, try to talk to him first. That way you can stay hidden as long as you think you need to. What do you think I should say to get him to let me in?"

Sam took a deep breath. They were there. They'd found Dean. Now all they had to do was explain to him that Sam hadn't died, that he'd lived in that same motel ever since being cursed, and that he barely stood four inches tall.

Simple.

Suddenly he wondered if it was even possible. Who'd believe that their long lost brother was alive and cursed?

Dean will. He's never let me down.

Closing his eyes, Sam threw his mind back in time, trying to think of a way to let his older brother know he was alive. It wasn't easy, and Sam knew it would be hard to convince anyone of the truth. But they had to try. Why else had they driven eight hours and tracked down one car out of millions?

He needed to try. He'd never forgive himself if he just gave up, so close to his goal.

"He helps people," Sam said. That, more than anything else, stood out to him. "He always wanted to help people." His eyes blinked open, staring up at Jacob before flashing back to the Impala. "If you asked him for help, he wouldn't turn you away. Iknow he wouldn't. That's just not the way Dean is. Even his worst enemies wouldn't get turned away right off the bat if they truly needed help."

Jacob nodded slowly. The excuse would hardly even be a lie, if he really stretched it. Jacob had made the calls and driven all this way. But the last person would could finish up this self-assigned mission of his was Dean. Dean needed to see Sam and accept him. Jacob couldn't take that step for him. No one else could.

With everything planned out, Jacob sighed, staring out the window a little longer. "Alright. Guess you'd better get out of sight for now," he suggested, moving his hand up to his shoulder for Sam to make his way to the hood again. "I'll talk to him for a bit, see if I can convince him of something, get him ready for the shock of his year." Or maybe his life. "You come out when you feel ready, I won't give you away."

Once assured that Sam was settled, Jacob took a steeling breath to collect his thoughts, and stepped out of the car. He almost had a mind to fix his parking job, but the lot was so sparse that it really didn't seem to matter. And if he got a ticket ... big deal. Jacob had more important things to worry about.

Like the person hiding away in his hood even now. Every step towards the door in front of the Impala was taken with care.

Jacob only hesitated for a second when he got to the door. With a surprisingly steady hand, he rapped on the worn surface with his knuckles.

Dean took a sip of his coffee as he perused the town records he was reading from.

Right now, he was looking at a late night. He’d have to wait until the night to sneak into the town graveyard. The spirit he was hunting shouldn’t strike again, with the house she haunted being completely empty, but he wanted to clean up the mess that night. He didn’t want to risk any more innocent onlookers stumbling in and getting savaged by the vengeful spirit.

It was a fairly straightforward case. A girl had been murdered by her jealous fiancee, and years later was starting to kill off anyone that had been close to him. Dean wasn’t sure what had taken her so long to start, but he knew that spirits could lay dormant. Maybe she’d been at peace and her gravesite was disturbed…

He was researching into that line of thought when there was a knocking at the door.

Dean glanced up in surprise. He didn’t know anyone in town, and for once he didn’t think he’d stepped on any toes so far this case. He’d only talked to the family of the victims. They thought he was a reporter, doing an article for their loss in the local Tribune.

The knocking came again.

Dean pulled himself out of his chair. Instinctively, he pulled out his gun, padding silently over to the door. He left the chain on, opening it up. The gun was out of sight, leveled towards…

A kid?

The guy standing outside couldn’t be over twenty. In fact, if he was pushing eighteen, Dean would be shocked. Standing shorter than Dean, the kid was brown haired, brown eyed, and looked like he was seeing a ghost. The gun in Dean’s hand wavered in place, lowering at the unexpected sight.

“You lost, kid?” Dean asked gruffly.

Jacob was more than a little caught off guard by how gloomy the man was. After hearing Sam's numerous stories about his protective big brother, the one who chased off his nightmares and played pranks on him, Jacob wasn't expecting the man to be so gruff. And yet here he was, looking at a distrusting face through a door opened only partway.

Jacob recovered a few seconds later, remembering the faint weight in his hood. All expectations aside, he had a job to do. "Uh. No, not lost," he answered, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. "Unless you're not Dean Winchester ... I need to find him. Someone told me he helps people."

Dean arched an eyebrow at that. The last thing he was expecting was to hear his own name come out of the guy’s mouth. Ever since arriving in town he’d gone by Jimmy Paige, the guitarist from Led Zeppelin. It always made him smirk when no one noticed the odd correlation.

So how had this kid figured out who he was? Dean cast his mind back, but he didn’t remember ever helping out anyone that looked like this kid. Did Bobby send him? Dean wondered.

“Who wants to know?” His voice was no less gruff, and edged between worried and demanding. Unknown factors could screw up a hunt, and a kid appearing out of the blue that knew his name would definitely be filed under unexpected.

Jacob raised his eyebrows, still thrown off by the suspicion in Dean's entire demeanor. At the very least, the question pretty much confirmed that he had the right guy. He was just quite a bit more paranoid than Jacob had expected. Guess fighting monsters all the time would make this kinda necessary, he conceded to himself. At least the door hadn't slammed in his face. Yet.

"My name is Jacob Andris. I met someone who said you could be counted on to help no matter what. Is that true?"

“Jacob Andris?” Dean repeated, going over the name in his mind and locking it down. Maybe Bobby knew the kid. It wouldn’t be the first time Bobby had sent a case his way, and it wouldn’t be the last. John was another possibility… but considering the radio silence the man was flying under, he found himself doubting it. If John wouldn’t talk to his only son, why would he talk to some random stranger and send him to Dean?

“I might know a thing or two that could help you,” Dean said cautiously. “It really depends on your issue. You might be better off just getting help from the police.”

Really, ghostbuster? Jacob thought, some exasperation leaking onto his face. But, again, he couldn't blame Dean for being cautious. From what Sam had said, he was in a dangerous line of work. Dean was allowed to be extra cautious. But Jacob was, in turn, allowed to be extra persistent.

Sam was counting on him.

"Yeah, okay, that is a possibility," Jacob answered, though he made it clear that he wasn't convinced they could help at all. He shrugged halfway before thinking maybe that would disturb Sam's perch in his hood and stopped. "But I'm thinking 'people who you think are dead not being dead' is a little bit beyond their pay grade? Maybe?" Hopefully that would catch Dean's attention to at least get Jacob in the door. Beyond that, there wasn't much more explanation needed.

Dean considered Jacob, cocking his head as he thought it over. “That really depends on how they came back to life,” he said dryly. He shut the door in Jacob’s face, unlatching the chain before opening it again. “But maybe we should do this talk inside,” he finished, stepping away from the door. ‘People who you think are dead not being dead’ could cover a broad range of subjects, from something easy like a kidnapping victim escaping all the way to a zombie slipping out of their grave. The last thing Dean needed was people hearing that conversation right outside his door.

Dean tucked his colt back into his pants. “Maybe you should start from the beginning,” he prodded, wondering what secrets Jacob was carrying.

Jacob had thought, for a brief second, that the door slamming in his face was Dean's way of sending him off. That he'd failed to convince the man on his first attempt to reach out to him. It was no small relief that the door had opened up again, this time with an invitation into the room, albeit a cautious one.

And there was no way on Earth that Jacob would have missed the gun as Dean stored it away. Or the absolute arsenal of weapons arranged on one of the beds. Holy shit. He coulda killed me right there. Dealing with Dean was turning out to be nothing like dealing with Sam. Jacob took a shaky breath, knowing that Dean still could. He made sure to never give his back to Dean completely. Brother or not, the man was a danger to Sam until they could sort things out.

Hell, Dean could be a danger to both of them.

Jacob sighed and wondered how he'd bring up the subject. But, Dean had told him to start at the beginning. This had all started with one thing. "Okay. I need you to keep an open mind on this one. I met your brother yesterday."

For a second, memories flashed through Dean’s mind. Him, plastered to the wall. No way to move, no way to help. That blonde bitch, laughing at them as she raised her hands in the air to send a bolt of light towards the third figure in the room.

Sam.

The light refracted around the younger boy, dancing around him until it was too bright to see. The light faded…

And Sam was gone.

Dean slammed a hand into the front of Jacob's hoodie and hauled him forward. “Sam’s dead,” Dean growled. “I was there when he died. Try again.”

The sheer strength in the motion had Jacob more shocked than the intense glare that Dean leveled on him. He could swear he felt a tiny flinch in his hood as Dean took hold of his jacket, jostling the hood. The smaller brother was trapped and subject to the whims of the unknowing older brother. In order to keep from sending him plummeting, Jacob didn't even think about trying to break out of Dean's grasp. He put his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide.

"Dude, wait a second," he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could while a guy he knew was armed had a death grip on the front of his hoodie. "Sam didn't die when that witch attacked you. He's been lost but not gone, okay?"

Please don't shoot me.

Sam had his eyes closed, desperately clinging to the fabric of the hoodie. Out of all the possibilities, the last thing he’d thought would happen was a human the size of Jacob would be tossed around like it was nothing.

Dean, just listen to him… please… A tear leaked out of the side of his eye.

He was so close…

Chapter Text

Dean narrowed his eyes, practically taking Jacob apart with his intense gaze. A long, pregnant pause passed with the two humans stared each other down and Sam hung hidden inside of a hood. With the emotions in the room running so high, it was too dangerous for him to reveal himself.

Of course, there was no way for Dean to know that.

Dean finally let go of the jacket, straightening. He didn’t see a lie in Jacob’s eyes, and that was the only reason he even thought to listen. “How do you know about that witch? And what makes you say he didn’t die?” His lip curled into a snarl. “I was there, not three feet away. And when she was done, Sam was gone.”

Jacob took a wary step backwards when Dean released him, a futile attempt to escape some of the pressure on him. Dean's gaze followed him like a hawk, and there was no evading it. Jacob brushed the front of his jacket with a sigh, glad he'd managed to avoid pissing Dean off enough to make him knock Jacob back. A fall would be disastrous for so many reasons.

"I know about the witch because he didn't die, Dean. He told me about her. And he told me about you. I told him I'd help him find you and here I am, finding you. I know it's kinda weird to believe but Jesus, you fight ghosts and shit. Sam may have been harder to find but he wasn't dead."

“Yeah, I fight ‘ghosts and shit,’ ” Dean shot back without missing a beat, “but we searched everywhere for Sam. We followed that witch until her trail fizzled out! There was no sign of him. I mean…” his throat choked up for a second. What if he had abandoned Sam all those years ago?

What if Sam never died?

Putting forth his best efforts to stay unnoticed by either human, Sam carefully climbed up to Jacob’s shoulder while Dean was drowning in uncertainty. If he was jarred from his position, he’d just slip back down into the hood. He had to see. He had to see Dean again.

He managed to position himself where a fold of fabric concealed him from view. He could just make out the other man in the room, standing there and glaring at Jacob… and Sam. Holy crap, Sam thought to himself. If he’d thought Jacob was terrifying…

Dean was on a whole new level.

The man standing there was dark and intense. It was obvious he’d trained for years. His arms were heavily muscled, and he had long, thick legs that ended in powerful boots. One of the largest humans Sam had ever laid eyes on at his new size.

Dean was built. Sam might be muscled from years of climbing up towering heights, but Dean clearly devoted himself to not only staying in shape, but also staying fit to fight. His muscles alone outsized Sam.

And likely expertly trained, Sam reminded himself. By their father, who was once in the marines, nevermind all the years spent hunting. If Dean decided Jacob was a threat, Sam and Jacob would both regret it.

To Sam, Dean’s voice was a low rumble as he went on. “What do you mean, he was ‘harder to find?’ ”

Jacob almost didn't notice the motion against his shoulder. He stiffened slightly as he realized Sam was climbing up. He almost thought the little guy was revealing himself now, while Dean was good and pissed off. Jacob wouldn't be the one to stop him, but he'd be ready to do what he could to defend Sam if he needed to. By the way Dean was built, Jacob sincerely hoped it didn't come to that. He was strong himself, but Dean's muscles were clearly honed by experience.

Dean didn't react to a tiny person suddenly appearing on Jacob's shoulder. Very sneaky. Hope you know what you're doing, Sam.

Jacob took a deep breath, keeping extra still both for his passenger and to avoid inspiring any counterattacks in Dean. "Sam was harder to find because he's a little different now." He held up a hand and positioned his finger and thumb roughly four inches apart. The measurement looked so small like that.

"Sam is about this tall now. I think that counts as pretty hard to find."

Dean and Sam both stiffened in unison at the official declaration of Sam’s actual size, Sam holding his breath and Dean staring in shock. “That… tall?” he repeated, trying to wrap his head around it. Dean held up his own hand, approximating the same size. He had fingers longer than what Jacob was showing him.

“Not possible,” he said in a flat denial. “I’ve never even heard of that happening to anyone before. It’s not possible.” He shook his head, trying to dispel the hope that was trying to poke and prod at his heart, sneaking in through the wall he’d built up around himself so many years ago.

A wall that grew thicker every year Sam was gone.

Jacob saw a new emotion break through some cracks in Dean's gruff demeanor. He wanted so badly to believe that Sam was alive. It was hard to reconcile something like that, and Jacob couldn't blame him for being so thrown off by the revelation. "It ispossible," he insisted gently. He took cautious steps closer to the table, glancing over the different research materials Dean had arrayed over the surface before looking back up at the man.

From the way Dean talked, he needed Sam as much as Sam needed him. He just needed to be able to accept the truth and let Sam in.

"I didn't think any of this stuff was possible until I met Sam. But it's true. And he ... well, he told me he didn't know how to find his brother now that he's this way. So I said I'd find you for him. You gotta believe me, man." Jacob leveled a hopeful, earnest expression at Dean. He tried to put as much sincerity into what he said, and waited for Dean's response.

Dean licked his lips. “But… that means I abandoned him.” When he blinked at Jacob this time, his eyes were sorrowful. “I’d never abandon my brother,” he said, his voice hoarse.

That was as much as Sam could take. He hauled himself up, stubbornly determined to find his own way to break through to Dean. The hunter’s eyes widened as they fastened on the small, vulnerable person that had been hiding in the hoodie. Sam stiffened a little at the scrutiny of someone so massive, but it was more from instinct and training than actual fear. He knew those green eyes. They might be hard and cold now, but they were the same eyes that had watched over him so many years ago. Keeping him safe, as much as another kid could.

“Dean…” he said, his voice so soft in the air after the rumble of the humans. “Dean you didn’t abandon me. I promise. I know you’d never leave me… none of this was your fault…” he pleaded with the hunter. He didn’t want Dean shouldering the blame for actions that belonged to the witch that had cursed him and no one else.

Dean’s eyes flashed between Sam and Jacob, his demeanor that of a cornered wolf. “Not possible…” he managed to croak out. “Sammy? Is that you?” He took a step forward, almost reaching for Sam out of instinct. He snatched his hand back like it burned. “How?”

Jacob couldn't turn his head to see Sam's face without feeling like he'd knock him down. He remained mostly still, watching the reunion only from Dean's side of things. Emotions battled just behind those intense green eyes, just as strong as the anger Jacob had seen only moments ago. Now, there was awe, sorrow, disbelief, longing. Dean was like a blind man given sight, teetering on the edge of belief. He just needed a push.

Jacob glanced to the side and shifted his arm so his hand rested on one of the books on the table. He didn't bother to reach up for Sam. He knew that if the smaller man wanted, he could easily make the climb to the table.

Sam saw what Jacob was doing, and followed through with the motion like he was expecting it. Like they’d planned it. He scaled down the long arm in seconds, letting himself bounce off the fingers that stretched out against the book.

Sam took a few steps towards Dean, and the hunter retreated from him. Like Sam was the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen.

Dean was afraid. Sam was forcing him to confront a past that was long suppressed and buried, walled away so no one would ever see how broken he was inside.

Sam’s voice was gentle and understanding. “Dean, I never died. That witch… she cursed me. You never saw me because you didn’t know where to look. I promise, you didn’t abandon me. Neither did dad.” He stepped around a book, putting more distance between him and Jacob, and closing the distance with the hunter. It was a dangerous ploy, one that could turn around on him in a second if the hunter in Dean lashed out.

But Sam was determined to prove to Dean that he still trusted his older brother.

With those huge green eyes still suspicious above, Sam felt the hidden tears start to rise to the surface. All the pent-up emotion from the last two days, built up ever since Jacob had trapped him and caused Sam’s belief he’d be taken from another family, started to come out. “Dean, it’s not your fault.” He brushed a hand through his hair, trying to think what he could say to get the suspicion above to fade. “Please…” Sam’s voice was as hoarse as Dean’s now. “Please, I came all this way… I just wanted to see you at least one more time…”

Dean’s mouth tightened. He teetered on the brink of rejection and acceptance. The emotions from the small man standing on the table hurt to see. And those small eyes… The memory of hazel eyes staring up at Dean came back, Sam doing his best to coax the last of the Lucky Charms out of Dean.

He took a step forward. “Sammy?” he asked.

Sam didn’t respond, his head buried in his hands. How far did they come? Dean asked himself. How far did Sam go for me? He stretched out a hand. This time, he didn’t recoil from the smaller man. This time, his fingertips brushed against a tan jacket, carefully wrapping around Sam’s back. He could feel a fragile spine beneath his fingers. A thumb rested against Sam's small sleeve, rubbing a reassurance.

And then Sam's feet left the table.

He barely had time to look up in surprise before he was suddenly lifting into the air. “Dean?!” he cried out, trying to pull his legs up so they weren’t dangling out over the drop as he was suddenly lifted to Dean’s height. “What are you doing?!”

“It’s really you, isn’t it?” Dean asked in surprise.

Sam nodded. Before Dean’s eyes, Sam drew a small blade out into the open air. The dim light of the motel room reflected off the silver knife. A smile teased at the edge of Dean’s lips. With his free hand, he lifted up his amulet, the keepsake dangling between his fingertips. For years he'd held onto the amulet for the constant reminder of Sam. His hands closed further around Sam, trying to be supportive.

The edge of Sam’s jacket was pulled up as he closed his hand and his heart froze at the sight of a nasty bruise on Sam's front. “How…” Dean trailed off. He lifted Sam up further, ignoring his small brother’s squirming attempts to push down the shirt and hide his injuries. Dean easily ignored that and pushed up the edge with a cautious fingertip, showing a bruise that covered Sam’s entire front. “How’d you get hurt?” he asked.

Suddenly the excitement from the reunion vanished, replaced by the familiar cold determination.

Jacob had watched the reunion with awe and hope, practically holding his breath. Every step Sam took away from him and towards his brother just lifted his hopes even further. Jacob kept glancing between the brothers. Sam's upturned face was almost heartbreaking on its own, and Jacob couldn't even see it completely from this angle. Once again, he was witnessing things mostly from Dean's side, and Dean looked like he was on the edge of a knife between believing and rejecting the small man on the table.Come on, Dean. It's your brother.

You gotta believe him.

Hearing Dean call him Sammy had actually brought a smile to Jacob's face. That sounded like a big brother nickname if ever there was one. And when Dean had reached a hand towards his small brother, it was gentle and reassuring, not grabby like Jacob's first encounter with the little guy.

Even when Dean suddenly lifted Sam off the table, Jacob flinched but soon realized that there wasn't a fist constricting the smaller brother. Sam was held carefully. Jacob thought that, being his brother, Dean probably got more of a pass for picking Sam up without warning than Jacob ever would.

Jacob frowned in confusion at Dean's words. He'd lifted Sam up higher and pushed his tiny shirt out of the way. Jacob tilted his head and leaned somewhat to the side to get a glimpse, and his expression became a mask of shock. He only caught a glimpse of the dark bruising on the absolutely tiny body, but he knew without a doubt what had caused it. A memory of settling his thumb over Sam to keep him from escaping came back in full force. As if to remind him, the small cut on Jacob's hand twinged with a sudden sting. Now he could see firsthand why Sam had been so desperate to escape.

Sam was so fragile. Jacob had never once realized he'd hurt him that badly. Sam told him he was bruised, but hearing about it and seeing it were two different things entirely. Jacob felt like a monster for a few seconds.

And here he was, standing in front of a man who hunted monsters for a living. Jacob's eyes trailed slowly to Dean's face. That intensity was back. Jacob pursed his lips, knowing it was probably a matter of seconds before either Dean put it together, or Sam explained what had happened, and what Jacob really meant when he said he "met" Sam.

Despite that fearsome gaze, Jacob prepared himself for the anger he certainly deserved.

“Who did this to you?” Dean asked Sam. His voice was dark, but his grip was as gentle as ever. He let Sam tug the shirt away from his fingers, covering up the painful injury he was trying to hide. Dean’s eyes flashed straight to Jacob. “Was it you?” he demanded.

Sam tried to head things off, seeing them start to spiral out of control again. “Dean, wait… he didn’t mean it, he just didn’t know…”

Dean scowled, freezing Sam out of fear for the expression. The hunter didn’t notice. He carefully lowered Sam to the table, letting him off and doing his best to stay away from his injured chest.

With Sam out of his hands, Dean whirled towards Jacob. A second later, and he was in motion. A fist slammed into Jacob’s jaw, dropping the kid like a rock. “What the hell were you thinking?” Dean demanded, staring down at the young man collapsed in front of his boots. “He’s four inches tall! ” All Dean could see was an innocent victim, downsized and helpless and getting hurt just because he didn’t have any way to protect himself.

Jacob was motionless. He sat propped up on one hand while the other covered up the bruise that was already forming on his face. He could feel the headache forming and the pain in his neck from his head suddenly snapping to the side. Dean hit hard.

And now, he looked all the more menacing, standing over Jacob like that. Dean Winchester, the monster killer, his rage entirely focused and aimed at Jacob. Of all the things Jacob should have expected, this was on the top of the list. He could never have really expected to get away with hurting Dean's brother. Everything Sam had told him about the way Dean looked out for him when they were kids came back to Jacob.

There was nothing Dean wouldn't do for his baby brother.

Jacob's memories also helpfully reminded him of the gun Dean had tucked away on his person, and who knew how many other weapons. His gaze flickered to the side, where more weapons were arranged on the bed and within easy reach for someone as fast as Dean had just demonstrated he was. Jacob was in trouble.

"I ... I wasn't thinking. Th-that's the whole problem with me," Jacob admitted weakly, pushing himself backwards a little but unable to escape the shadow of that anger. He'd earned a punch in the face, at least. But Jacob, seeing how livid Dean was to be reunited with his lost brother only to find he'd been injured ... Jacob was worried about how beat up he'd be before Dean tossed him out.

Chapter Text

Dean took a step, closing the distance Jacob tried to put between them. "You better --"

"Dean, wait! Please!"

The soft call from behind froze Dean in his tracks. Sam was standing on the edge of the table, a pleading expression on his face. Begging his big brother to listen to him. Gone was any fear for the massive man staring down at him. Now all Sam could feel was worry for his new friend, Jacob. Seeing him go down like that, dropped by one hit from Dean made Sam realize how he'd put Jacob in danger by bringing him there. Sam could have found a different way... some other way to approach Dean that didn't involve putting Jacob at risk.

Sam was probably the only person in the world that would ever be able to stop Dean Winchester in his tracks, even with his emotions running so high. Even after thirteen years spent apart.

Especially after thirteen years apart.

Dean glanced over at the table, one hand still curled into a fist and ready to lash out.

Sam took a deep breath, ignoring the way that fist could close around his entire body. It wouldn't. This was Dean. There was no one Sam could trust more, even if he was four inches tall. "Dean, please. Jacob didn't mean what he did." His hands both went to his shirt, clearly holding against his tender chest. His eyes remained determined. "He messed up. He didn't know what I was, and he was curious. Hell, if I found a person standing four inches tall when I was human, I might have done the same thing. I made a mistake, and it got me caught. It's not Jacob's fault that I got hurt, it's mine."

Dean's hard expression softened at that. "Sam, please, this is not your --"

Sam cut him right off with a sharp shake of his head. "No, it is. I made a stupid call because I needed supplies. So Jacob caught me. But he also let me go, once he realized what I was, and then he offered to help. He's more than made up for his mistake. He helped me find you, after all. If it wasn't for Jacob, I'd still be back at that motel, with no idea if you and dad were alive or dead.And you'd never know what happened to me. You wouldn't even be able to suspect that the witch didn't kill me. So yeah, he fucked up big time. But he's my friend, and I didn't..." Sam's voice choked up and he shook his head emphatically. "I didn't want you to hurt him. Please. He really wanted to meet you. He drove eight hours, out of his way, just to bring me here. Can't you just... give him a chance? For me?" His hazel eyes were shining.

For a long moment, there wasn't a sound in the room after Sam's pleading tapered off. Dean's gaze shifted between both of the others, his brow furrowed as he considered Jacob. A long moment of silence crawled by, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

There was almost a palpable feeling of relief when he straightened, then offered Jacob a hand to get him off the floor.

Jacob stared at the offered hand with some lingering trepidation. Somehow, despite being something like a twentieth his brother's size, Sam had stopped Dean's momentum as assuredly as if he'd physically held him back. Jacob was certain he'd get hit at least once more before getting thrown out of the room with the door slammed behind him. No way of really knowing what would happen after that.

But here he was, offered a hand up from the same guy that knocked him down in the first place. Jacob glanced once between the two brothers before accepting it, getting to his feet again. His murmured thanks was almost inaudible to all but Sam.

Jacob looked over to the table, and though he wanted to move towards it to see Sam better, he remained where he was. He didn't see a need to get Dean jumpy over his little brother all over again. The overprotective part of the big brother in Dean had clearly survived all those years with Sam presumed dead.

Even so, Jacob was both mortified that he'd injured Sam as much as he did, and curious to see for himself whether the little guy was okay. Looking at him from a few steps away would have to do.

Sam had called Jacob his friend. After what he did, Jacob never would have guessed this turn of events. His amazement showed on his face as he beheld the smaller man. Seeing how little he looked compared to the books and papers, even remembering how small his weight was on Jacob's hand, brought the point back loud and clear. Sam was fragile enough to hurt with a careless mistake, and yet he'd still trusted Jacob enough to go on an eight hour car ride with him. Sam had been completely alone with him all that time, with no way to really control Jacob's actions.

"Sam ... I'm sorry again for what I did," Jacob intoned softly, for a moment taking his focus off of Dean and what he might think of the apology. "I'm so sorry that I hurt you just by being careless. I'm really glad you're back with your family now. You deserve this after everything you've had to deal with, man." After struggling just to get by in a world built too large for him. After surviving all those years with the odds stacked against him.

Jacob glanced towards Dean, then at the door beyond him. He considered sidling right past the man and heading out before he overstayed his welcome. If it's not already too late for that.

Finally looking back at Sam, Jacob offered a faint smile, noting with minor awe that the motion agitated the bruise darkening on his face. Holy shit he hit hard. "So, are you, uh. Good here? I can go, if you want. You guys probably have a lot of catching up to do and I wouldn't want to get in the way of that."

"No... Jacob, wait." Sam's voice cut through again. He didn't pay Dean any mind for a second, worried for his friend. After spending the last eight hours getting to know Jacob, the last thing Sam wanted was the last time he saw the guy to be full of fear and pain. "Please. It's not your fault, I'm fine, really." This time his gaze encompassed both humans standing in front of the table, Dean the closer of the two and Jacob standing farther back. The younger human looked ready to bolt and the older just looked concerned and thoughtful, as though he was considering the last few minutes.

"It's just a few bruises," Sam reaffirmed. "They'll go away. I've done worse when I learned to climb." He offered them both an easy smile with big eyes, determined that his big brother at least give Jacob a chance. He didn't have to take Sam eight hours cross country, but he had. The least they could do was properly thank him.

"You might at least want to put some ice on that," Dean stated, catching everyone off guard. Before Sam could ask, the green eyes turned to him. "Both of you, not just Jacob. You're not getting off the hook that easy, pint-size. I know injuries, and those are some nasty bruises, no matter how fine you say you are."

Jacob winced a little, knowing it to be true and knowing he was the one who'd caused those bruises. But there was a new hopeful gleam in his eye. Dean, at the very least, wasn't set on kicking Jacob's ass out the door anymore. He might not forgive Jacob as easily as Sam was doing, but it was an encouraging turn nonetheless. He let some of the tension wind out of his shoulders, looking less like he might bolt and more like he was cautious but optimistic.

"Ice would be pretty awesome," Jacob agreed, managing a casual tone despite the recent almost-altercation. If Dean was willing to look past his mistakes, Jacob was willing to look past getting knocked to the floor by an angry and protective big brother. "But first things first, man. I feel like I started this whole deal pretty badly." He chuckled and glanced over at Sam. "Sam could tell you my first impressions could use a lot of work."

Jacob held out a hand to Dean. "So. Good to meet you, Dean. Glad we caught you while you were still in town."

Dean hesitated. Over on the table, Sam held his breath, praying his brother didn’t just leave Jacob hanging after everything he’d done for him. The tension practically bled from the smallest person in the room when at long last, the hunter reached out his own hand, clasping Jacob’s in a firm hold.

Dean gave Jacob a partial smile. “Can’t say I’m sad you managed to track me down. Not with shorty over there in tow.” He released Jacob’s hand. “It’s impressive though. I don’t exactly stay on the map if I can avoid it.”

Walking himself over to the mini-fridge, Dean was on edge with Sam out of sight for a moment. He knew all he had to do was turn, and he’d see his brother standing there on the table. But now that Sam was back, he was afraid to look away.

Afraid Sam might vanish into the air all over again.

Dean gathered up enough ice for the other two, and grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom. It wasn’t the most graceful ice pack for Jacob, but it would get the job done. Dean passed it off, then sat down near Sam with the last cube. “Hey kid,” he said softly, realizing his actions before might have startled his smaller brother. “Let's get you fixed up.”

With the two brothers occupied, Jacob sat in the other seat, though he was far from relaxed into it. He touched the hastily-made ice pack to his jaw, grateful at least for that hospitality. Otherwise, he tried to avoid drawing any attention to himself.

Sam nodded, knowing better than to argue with Dean when he was on a mission. Thirteen years and he still couldn’t hide an injury from Dean. Why wasn’t he surprised?

Dean watched as Sam slipped off his tan jacket, folding it and laying it down on the ground nearby. Sam stopped to take a deep breath to compose himself, then he took off the grey t-shirt he was wearing.

The bruises were dark on his torso. Dean held his breath, leaning down. “You call this fine?” he asked, holding out the ice.

Sam took it with a shrug. “Like I said. I’ve done worse before when I was learning to climb. I think I bruised some ribs one time when I slipped off a nightstand not too many years after I shrunk.”

Dean frowned at that, but had no choice but to accept it. It wasn’t like he’d been there for his brother all those years. Sam was so small… he couldn’t imagine how dangerous it was for someone who only stood four inches tall. Barely the size of a finger. No wonder he’d gotten so injured…

“So,” Dean said. “What happened during your ‘first impression?’ ” Despite offering Jacob the ice, there was still an edge in his voice. Across the table, Jacob avoided looking at Dean, choosing instead to focus on Sam. His brow was pinched in concern at the state Sam was in. The state Jacob had put him in.

Sam looked up, holding the ice against his torso with a wince. “I think you’ve got the general idea. I saw food on the floor, and I made a stupid decision to run out and grab it. Jacob saw me. When he grabbed me, he was rough. He didn’t do it on purpose… he was just curious.” Then Sam grinned. “I did get a good slash in with my knife though. Almost got away.” His voice was proud.

Dean gave a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah?” Despite the fact that he was listening to the story of Sam getting caught, he couldn’t help his own pride at the thought of Sam using the knife he’d made him for defense. “Showing him who’s boss, that’s my boy.” He smirked and glanced up at Jacob. “Anything to add to that first impression?”

Jacob almost missed Dean's question. He was still occupied with the fact that Sam's entire torso needed ice. It was a good thing an ice cube was enough for the job. I did that to a person, he thought. It was so easy. Jacob hadn't even meant to squeeze Sam that hard. But now he'd probably live with the guilt over it forever. He resolved to be more careful. If he was ever allowed near Sam again after this, that is. When he glanced up and finally registered that Dean had spoken to him, Jacob could see the intense and wary distrust there.

Sam may have forgiven him, but Dean would take a little more time to catch up to his little brother. It was impossible to tell if Jacob would make the cut.

Chapter Text

Jacob shifted to switch the hand holding the ice pack to his jaw. With his hand freed he turned it and held the thumb up to show of the cut that Sam had left. It was still an impressive wound for such a small blade, clean and straight. And it still stung in the open air. "He's definitely the boss," Jacob agreed lightly, though his own smirk was subdued.

Jacob shrugged, unsure of how much he wanted to add to the story. Just knowing he had bruised Sam up so badly got him decked right to the floor. "I'm not sure what kinda answer you're looking for, here. I grabbed him too fast and fucked up. Didn't know what I was dealing with." Jacob averted his eyes, losing yet another staring contest with Dean. "No amount of apologies will make up for it, and I know that."

Sam brightened at being dubbed ‘the boss,’ even if it was jokingly from both humans. He’d have to put that to the test at some point if he could manage it. His motions down on the table didn’t get notice from Dean, being out of the direct line of sight of his older brother. He was too busy putting all his energy into staring Jacob down.

Dean’s gaze relented after a moment. “Look, if Sam says you’re okay, you’re okay. But you better be true to your word. If you ever try trapping him again, you’ll be answering to me.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, he’s not going to do anything to me. If he wanted to, why would he bother hauling ass all the way across the state to find you?” He grinned up at Jacob. “We wouldn’t be here without you.”

With a pointed glare from Sam, Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, whatever pint-size.” He turned to Jacob as well. “Thanks, man. Without you, I might never have found him.” It was short and clipped, but it was genuine, and the closest they’d come so far to congenial conversation.

A thought occurred to Dean. “How did you two manage to track me down, anyway? I mean, I’m not a master at it like dad, but I know I’m not easy to find. I made sure of it after spending some time in St. Louis.”

Jacob switched hands on his ice pack again, not quite ready to remove the blessed cool from his aching jaw. His neck hurt like a bitch, too, but overall things were minor compared to the bruises on Sam's front. He felt immensely lucky that some of the tension forming a wall between himself and Dean was beginning to chip away.

"Luck, mostly," he admitted with a shrug. He glanced down at Sam before explaining. "Sam told me what he remembered. The details on the car are what got us here. Lucky for us you ran a red light the other day and got that Impala's picture taken by a traffic cam." Very lucky. It was the only lead Jacob had managed to get from the police, and without it he and Sam would probably still be floundering for a direction to go.

"My stepdad's a cop so I just called the station and made up some bullshit excuse to see what they had on you. Don't worry about your ninja skills, dude. They had basically jack."

“Heh,” Dean shook his head. “Son of a gun. Who’d expect speeding through a red light would end with Sam coming back from the dead?” In all his years, he’d never heard of anything even close to a curse that turned someone to almost a twentieth of their normal size. He tried to imagine what Sam had looked like all those years ago, when he was just a kid and shrank down to such a vulnerable size and no time to adjust.

Dean folded his arms on the table, resting his head so he was closer to Sam’s level for the time being. The ice cube was melting, so Sam was trying to shift it away from his pants. Dean tugged a napkin out from one of the bags he had strewn nearby and handed it off to his younger brother. “So, how’d…” his throat closed up for a moment, the subject he wanted to bring up a tough one for Dean to stomach, “how’d you manage all those years on your own?”

Sam shook his head in a negative. “Not alone.” He wiped his arm off on the napkin, shaking the water droplets free. “I have a family. They’re the ones that saved me from getting… stepped on all those years ago when I first got attacked. Without them, I never would have made it.”

He turned his eyes up to Dean, sincerity in his gaze. “Dean, please, don’t go looking for them. It’s not their fault I got downsized and they aren’t dangerous, I promise. They just try to get by out here, and it’s hard when you can’t even open a fridge.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Sam, I only hunt things that need killin.’ I’m not about to go hunting after the people that saved my little brother. If I ever see them, I’ll have to thank them.”

More tension leaked out of Sam at that. “Good,” he mumbled. Then looked up again, this time with a curiosity that was familiar from so long ago as he latched onto Dean's previous statement. “What did you mean you’ve got to stay off the map since St. Louis?”

Dean winced. “Oh. That. I, ah… ran into a shapeshifter in town a month back. Before I caught up with it and dealt with the thing, it took my form. Sorta tried to torture and kill and innocent girl while lookin’ like me. So now, the authorities have my mug on a murder case, but they think I’m dead, since I killed the shifter while it was wearing my face.” He even sent a smirk Jacob’s way while he recounted his misadventure.

Jacob's lips were parted in either disbelief or awe. He decided it was probably both, since the surprises didn't seem to quit with these two. Ever since he'd glanced to the side and seen Sam darting towards the nightstand, Jacob had been confronted with one shock after the other. Nothing quite like discovering a long-lost family member, but enough that he chuckled almost exasperatedly.

"Shapeshifter," he echoed. Of fucking course. Somehow, that hadn't gotten through when the station called him back. Maybe they needed to update their records on out-of-state criminal reports. Figures they'd have the latest traffic violations but not murder cases. "Well, damn. You just bring the party wherever you go, don't you," he quipped, suitably impressed by the story.

Dean had faced down himself and killed the false image. Jacob would be lying if he said he didn't think that was pretty badass. It made him appreciate all over again that the man had listened to Sam. That kind of tenacity had been set on beating the tar out of Jacob a few minutes ago.

"Better than the party finding me," Dean countered. It was more than true... and the reason he slept with a weapon under his pillow every night. Gun or knife, he felt naked without it within reach at all times. "There's plenty of strange in this world. Getting rid of a few monster freaks is the best thing I can do. At least shapeshifters don't have superhuman strength. They're just pains in the asses to track down." He pointed at his eyes. "One of the only ways to be sure is to see them in a camera. Their eyes flare up white."

"And silver takes them down," Sam piped up from down on the table. He was in the middle of wiping off the excess water, since the cube had melted most of the way down on him. Once that was all clear he put his grey tee back on, feeling more comfortable with the injury hidden from sight. The last thing he wanted was a constant reminder to the two giants in the room of how easy he was to hurt, even though at this point he trusted them both to not just reach out and grab him. Jacob was clearly repentant, and from the look on Dean's face, he wasn't about to let anyone within reach of Sam if Sam didn't want them near. A riled hunter was not someone to mess with.

Dean's face broadened in a grin. "You remember all that?" he asked in surprise. "I thought you only got hold of dad's journal once." The reason he'd made Sam's blade silver was because of monsters like that. At the time, he'd been determined to give his little brother any edge he could, and an edge made of silver was a huge boon when some monsters weren't affected by anything else.

Sam shrugged sheepishly. "Well... maybe a few other nights. I was curious about everything going on." Listening and waiting for Dean to fall asleep, then slipping it out of their father's belongings... the book had information that he'd never dreamed possible, and he'd wanted to know it all. He'd read through it more than once and still wanted to know more. Maybe now he could.

"I would be, too," Jacob chimed in. His smile, though not as broad as Dean's, was no less amazed. Unlike the brothers at the other side of the table, Jacob was hearing all of his information new. He was completely uninitiated in the knowledge of the supernatural, and he was willing to bet it'd show no matter what topic came up.

"Good thing you got your reading done back then," he mused, moving the ice pack away from his face and brushing off a few stray drops of cold water. "You'll have to help Dean out with his ghost hunting now."

Sam’s sheepish expression broadened into a smile. “You think?” he asked. He stared down at the table, tracing a knot in the wood with a finger. “I always thought I’d be too small for the actual cases.”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “Maybe against a werewolf, sure. But if you’ve got some iron or salt, you’ll do fine against a vengeful spirit. They might not even see you coming. Too busy kicking my ass while you save the day.” He lightly nudged Sam’s small arm with a finger, getting his brother to try and elbow him back.

Sam gave the finger one last annoyed push before it retreated, then glanced up at Dean. “What happened to dad?” he asked worriedly. “Do you hunt on your own now? Did he…?”

Dean shook his head, dispelling Sam’s fears. “Far as I know, he’s fine. He up and vanished a few months back. I haven’t heard from him since.” He reached into his jacket, tugging out an older, leatherbound journal that he lay reverently on the table near Sam. Opening it up to the first page, he went on, “This is all he left me. I’ll track him down eventually, I just need a good lead.”

Sam bounced to his feet, walking over to the book. He looked up at Dean, getting an encouraging smile before he stepped onto the pages to see it once more. Now, each letter was about the size of Sam’s palm, but he could still manage to use to book as long as it was open.

Dean stretched his arm out protectively alongside the book, one finger touching the edge of the page Sam stood on, before turning to the third member of their group, who’d been watching most of the conversation from the sidelines. “So, did you have plans we’re keeping you from or you just killing time now that you’ve helped us?”

Jacob glanced up from the journal, his own curious look fading into surprise to have Dean address him. Sam was clearly lost to the conversation for the moment, with his father's journal laid out beneath his boots. He didn't even give Dean's protective movements a second glance. He had a lot of memories to catch up on, plus whatever might be new since the last time he snuck that book away.

Jacob shrugged and set his ice pack down on the table to give his bruise some air. He counted himself lucky that he was even still there. It'd be a pretty depressing drive if he had to get out of town sporting that mark, the only thing he had to show for getting Sam back together with his family. Even so, he didn't want to overstay his welcome. "I didn't really have any plans. I can, uh, head out whenever you think I ought to, though. I do appreciate the ice."

As engrossed in the journal as he was, Sam still found the chance to shoot Dean a pointed look. Don’t you dare scare him off, was what it said, loud and clear. After Jacob had done so much for them, tossing him out onto the street was a below the belt hit, as far as Sam was concerned.

For the moment, Dean took it in stride. He shrugged, glancing back at Jacob. “Head out whenever you want. I’ve got a date tonight with a…” he paused for a second, wondering how much he should tell the kid. But Jacob already knew about shapeshifters and curses, vengeful spirits wouldn’t be stretching things too far. Dean gave a laugh. “I’ve got to run to the cemetery and try and find a grave. A spirit of a girl who’s been working her way through an entire family before I got in town.”

Grave desecration, floated back through Jacob's memory in the voice of the nonplussed desk sergeant he'd called. A smirk grew on his face. "Lemme guess. Blind date," he quipped. Who knew a tiny town in western Nebraska could play host to a murderous spirit? It seemed like something that should skip past the more idyllic places. It made Jacob wonder what kind of supernatural things happened behind closed doors (or under filled graves) in his own hometown.

"Not to cut in on your action or anything, but if you want a little help ... it's the least I can do after everything," Jacob offered, hardly able to believe what was coming out of his mouth. Had he just volunteered to go and dig up a grave?! Since when did he get himself into shit like that? Still, despite his surprise with himself, he didn't retract the offer. He wanted to make up for his mistake with these brothers.

Dean considered the offer, giving Jacob a good look, head to toe. “Things might get hot,” he warned. A second set of hands would be welcome. He hadn’t had backup on a job in years, aside from a case or two with his dad before John vanished into thin air. Digging up a grave was hard work, and keeping an eye out for any onlookers just made it harder. So long as Jacob behaved himself around Sam, they wouldn’t have any problems.

“But hey. I won’t turn down help.”

Sam brightened at that. “I guess that means I can give you a hand?”

Dean hid a smile. “Sure. I’ll just go grab you a spoon, pint-size.” He ignored the glare being shot up at him. “We could use a lookout, if you’re up for it. This is your first case, though, so you’re sticking behind the salt line. At least until you get the hang of things.”

Jacob raised an eyebrow at the mention of a salt line. Dean had mentioned salt before, though Jacob wasn't sure what it was actually for. He supposed if he dug deep he had some memory of hearing or reading something about salt and ghosts. It might have been a movie, or a superstition. But, apparently, salt had an actual effect on ghosts. Because ghosts were real.

Holy shit. What did I really get into here?

He grinned, encouraged that Dean seemed to be accepting him little bit by little bit. He looked down at Sam, glad to see the little guy looking a little better, slightly more at ease. He was back with his family where he belonged. "Salt line or not, you're still ahead of me on this one. I had no idea about any of this stuff 'til yesterday, y'know. You'll have to catch me up on anything I need to know on vengeful spirits."

Sam sat down on the edge of the journal, stretching out his legs. "Salt can keep spirits out, so if you form a line across a window or a doorway, they can't get through. Or if you're desperate, a circle of salt around you can help buy some time. Did you ever hear about tossing salt over your shoulder? It kind of came from this. Throwing salt at a spirit can dispel them. Iron can, too, but it has to be pure iron."

Dean didn't say much while Sam spoke, nodding along with his younger brother. He still wasn't quite over the my brother came back from the dead and he's four inches tall phase, so he was content to just listen to the small voice. His hand was stretched out on the table only a few inches from where Sam was sitting, and he was slightly awed to see the sheer size of it... and how calm Sam was sitting nearby. He really did trust Dean, after everything that had happened before he arrived. Considering that a single finger had put those bruises on him, he was showing a lot of trust sitting with not one, but two humans.

Don't you worry, Dean thought while Sam continued on about spirits, clearly thrilled to have someone that actually wanted to listen to him about everything he'd learned in secret those years ago. And someone that didn't already know it all, like Dean. No one's getting their hands on you like that again. Not with me around.

"And once you find where the body is buried, salting and burning the remains gets rid of the spirit..." Sam was finishing up. "Our dad wrote it down as 'death for a spirit,' but no one knows what happens to them after that."

Jacob listened intently, trying to commit every word to memory. Sam's explanation came quickly but succinctly enough that Jacob kept up with it, as much as one could keep up with an entirely new worldview. A world in which words like ghost and werewolfshould be taken seriously and things like salt and iron elevated from mundane to life-saving. Jacob found himself leaning ever so slightly to make sure he caught Sam's quiet voice all the way through.

" 'Death for a spirit,' huh," he echoed. He briefly wondered how it was first discovered what was effective against spirits, and what happened to the poor bastards they accosted before that. Considering the fact that Dean's entire job, finding and getting rid of these things, was necessary, it wasn't anything good. Dean really was fighting to help people. "They probably just move on," he mused, sitting back in his chair again.

"Well, I wouldn't call myself an expert yet, but I probably know enough to help out with at least this one, if you'll really have me along."

Dean nodded, deep in a contemplative air. He shared a look with Sam, surprised at how natural it was becoming already. His answer was already set in his mind.

“If Sam gave you a second chance, I guess I can too. Tonight you’ll be hunting your first spirit.”

Chapter Text

Dean threw a container of salt at Jacob from his duffel. “If you see anyone around that skips or you can see through, toss that at them. One second with your guard down, and she can toss you across the graveyard… or worse.”

Sam was standing on the edge of the table, watching the hunter get ready for the night with wide eyes. He’d never been a part of the actual preparations while he was growing up. He was still too young back then.

Dean grabbed a sawed-off shotgun from the bed, opening it to check if he had the salt rounds or regular ammunition inside. Satisfied, it was closed up and stuffed in the duffel that Dean slung over his shoulder. He jabbed a finger at Jacob. “And make sure you listen to what I say out there. You’re older than I was on my first hunt, but you’ve never been around this stuff. It can get hot.” He couldn't emphasize that enough.

Jacob stared at the label on the salt container. Something so familiar that it normally barely registered to him could very well save his ass before the night was over. It certainly didn't look all that remarkable. The faded label was peeling in one corner. But Jacob held onto it carefully. "You got it," he answered with a sincere nod. Jacob had no plans to try to prove himself on this one. He wasn't usually one to rush into conflict anyway, and Dean was clearly the one in the know on this stuff.

Hopefully, in the end, he wouldn't actually need the defense. Maybe the spirit would be off somewhere else, and they wouldn't see a wink of her before burning the bones. Jacob didn't regret offering to help, but he never could have prepared himself for something like this. It'd be a learning process from start to finish.

Once Dean had packed away his weapons (including a shotgun that looked like it was shorter than was strictly legal), it seemed they were all ready to go. Jacob didn't have a weapon other than the salt, and he didn't ask for one. He wouldn't be any good with the arsenal Dean had at his disposal.

Dean went over to the table. “You… ah, good, Sam?” he asked, suddenly realizing he wasn’t sure how Sam wanted to come with them. He obviously couldn’t walk himself out to the car… and Dean wasn’t sure if he was ready to just let Jacob carry Sam again in his hoodie. He was afraid to say that though. It would come off that he didn’t trust his little brother to make his own decisions… after abandoning Sam in that motel for so many years, Dean wasn’t sure he could make that argument to him.

Sam glanced back at Jacob, his round hazel eyes emotional. He didn’t want to just push his new friend aside. He’d warmed up to Jacob after eight hours in the car. Telling each other stories about how they’d grown up, seeing the differences between their lives. The differences were stark even before Sam had been cursed. One life spent on the road, from motel to motel in the Impala. The other life spent in a neighborhood, with friends that lived nearby and a school to go to.

Despite feeling a new connection with Jacob, Sam still wanted to stick with Dean. Find out what his brother was like, spend time getting to know him all over again. The older Winchester was different from when Sam had seen him last… darker. More brooding. But there were brief flashes of the old Dean, and if there was anything Sam could do to bring that back out, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Sam got an understanding nod from Jacob when he locked eyes with the big browns the size of his head up above. Grinning, he gestured at Dean to drop a hand. Dean’s eyes lit up at that, his old personality shining through like a beacon when he realized Sam wanted to come with him. It was like seeing an excited puppy appear out of the dark hunter.

Dean cautiously extended a hand, expecting Sam to step on. He remembered the bruises on Sam’s chest, and knew they were from grabbing the small guy too roughly. He was determined to never make that mistake. If a grab could put bruises on Sam, how much harder did the grip need to be to break an arm? Or a leg? Dean never wanted to find out.

To his surprise, Sam didn’t just stand on his hand and wait to be lifted up. Before Dean realized it, Sam dashed across his wrist, using it like a sidewalk. The smaller brother jumped up, scaling his own way up to Dean’s shoulder like a speedy monkey.

“Holy crap, you’re fast,” Dean said appreciatively, trying to turn his head to see Sam even as he straightened in place.

Sam slightly swaggered when he reached the peak of Dean’s shoulder, unable to help showing off to the two humans. He might not be able to reach a doorknob or keep up when they were walking, but they’d never catch him in climbing skills.

“And don’t you forget it,” Sam snarked back, crossing his arms and leaning against Dean’s neck with feigned confidence. He knew he was in no danger, but still there was a part of him that saw the size of his human brother and quailed slightly, his ribs twinging a reminder. None of this came across in his aspect.

Jacob grinned, remembering how surprised he'd been to see Sam climb up his own arm. He was clearly an expert at it, so his puffed up demeanor was entirely justified. Jacob could never hope to climb hand over hand so quickly, and Sam had hauled himself right up to Dean's shoulder in seconds. Jacob doubted anyone could have imitated the same feat.

He'd almost been bemused to see Sam look up at him so hopefully. Like he was worried Jacob might be offended that Sam wanted to go with Dean. Considering how far they'd come to get those brothers back together, Jacob certainly didn't plan to try and keep them separate.

Besides, if Sam would be hanging around Dean so much, his older brother would need to learn quickly how to carry himself when he had an entire person sitting on his shoulder. Jacob wouldn't need the skill as critically as he would.

"Don't let too much of that go to your head, or you'll topple," Jacob quipped, gamely playing along with Sam's banter. But, soon, Dean was leading the way to the door, and a sense of seriousness fell over the teen. He couldn't help a glance around when they left the motel room, looking for other people. There was no one around at this time of night. No new cars had entered the parking lot, so Jacob's completely shitty parking job was left alone. Not that it mattered.

They were taking the Impala. Jacob had to grin. While Dean tossed the duffel into the backseat, Jacob slid into the passenger side, glancing appreciatively over the interior of the car and running a hand over the leather seat. It was well-loved, but kept in excellent condition.

Once Dean was settled in the driver’s seat, starting up the car, Sam allowed himself to relax away from his brother’s collar and neck. He might never get used to being out in the open like that after so many years living in the walls.

Not that he should, really. It was fine for Dean and Jacob to be visible outside, but for Sam, even with humans as backup, it could be dangerous. All it would take was dropping his guard for one second and he could get snatched up. Jacob might have let him go and helped him find his way to Dean, but the next human might not. They had all the proof they needed of Sam’s relative fragility, as much as he hated to admit it. He put a hand against his chest, willing the bruises to vanish. He wanted that reminder gone.

Though he wouldn’t laugh at Jacob’s injury, Sam did have to smirk that now they were both sporting injuries from their first encounters. Sam with Jacob, and Jacob with Dean. So far, Dean was on top as far as injuries were concerned.

Dean adjusted the volume on the radio before backing the Impala out of the spot. They were on the main road before he heard Sam’s voice pipe up yet again, this time almost right in his ear. There was no way he’d miss Sam talking from there.

“Did dad give you the Impala?” Sam asked curiously, leaning over the edge of the shoulder to stare down at the bench seat between the two humans. A mess of maps and pamphlets was scattered there, many from the area but others Sam could see detailed Kansas or California. It was a good way to tell Dean’s transient lifestyle, never staying in any one place for too long.

Dean bobbed his head. “When I turned sixteen. Called it my coming-of-age present, or some crap like that. Since I’d already drawn first blood on a hunt.” Dean smirked. “I think he was starting to search for an excuse to give her to me. He had his eye on this massive truck he thought might help out with hunting more. Me, I’ll never give her up.”

"I wouldn't either," Jacob chimed in appreciatively. "This car is the shit." It was a stark contrast to his own car. His was reliable, but far from stylish. It was a good option for someone still in school, though, so he didn't complain. He just needed to get from A to B, and having a first car that was capable of road trips? It was lucky, all things considered. His old beat up mercury had gotten Sam and Jacob to Dean without even a hiccup.

As the small town passed them by Jacob stole a glance over at Sam. It was still kind of incredible that he'd discovered a tiny person, a curse victim. Completely at random. If Jacob had decided to stop earlier or later on his aimless trip, Sam would be going about his day in the motel, and Dean would be going on this hunt alone. Instead, Sam was sitting on Dean's shoulder, eagerly glancing around the cab interior.

He glanced down at the salt in his hands, rested on his lap. Jacob had a feeling he'd take a long time to fully grasp what he'd gotten himself into here. But at least he hadn't ended this encounter thrown out the door. It'd just leave a bad feeling for a long time, not knowing what became of the brothers after he helped Sam return to Dean. He only wished he hadn't ended up hurtingSam before figuring out the right thing to do.

"Hell yeah she is," Dean said. "I handle all her repairs myself, top to bottom."

They pulled into the graveyard all too soon. Sam, eternally curious about the world he'd missed out on for so long, almost had his head on a swivel the entire trip, watching the neon signs of the stores pass them by. It was like he'd been given a second chance, an opportunity at his life all over again. He knew in his heart that he may go back to the motel afterwards, but only to check on his family and make sure they'd be okay without him. It was time to move on, and he'd been offered a chance to return to his old life. It was a chance he couldn't refuse.

With the Impala parked away from any streetlights, Dean dug into the trunk, opening up the fake bottom to reveal his own arsenal he'd built up over the last few years. Sam watched as he took some of the salt shells out, putting them in a hidden pocket in his jacket. Anything could happen on the easiest case, after all. Two shovels were taken out as well, one shoved at Jacob without even looking. With those in hand, Dean closed up the trunk.

It was time to hunt.

Chapter Text

Jacob idly propped the shovel up on his shoulder, staring briefly at where the trunk had recently been open to an array of weapons. All kinds of weapons, he couldn't help but notice, including several blades and guns. Whatever came for him, Dean would have to be ready for it. Jacob couldn't imagine that pile of weapons being understocked for any occasion.

He followed after Dean, glancing around the graveyard as he went. Here and there, faded plastic flowers adorned the marble and granite structures. He even saw a few stuffed animals, amazed that they hadn't been completely destroyed by weather yet.

After several ‘Here Lies’ and ‘In Loving Memory’ headings later, Dean found the site he was seeking. The grass was still a little patchy over the site, tufts of green poking out of the fairly recently overturned earth. It'd be packed a little tight, but not as badly as those graves that had been filled in without attracting someone like Dean to them.

From the dates on the gravestone, the girl was only in her early twenties. Barely getting started. And someone had cut that short. It was hardly a wonder her spirit had trouble letting go and moving on. Time to put her to rest by ... desecrating her grave. No problem.

While Jacob waited to the side, Dean dropped his duffel on the ground and knelt down. He started to go through the pockets, digging around for the other container of salt he always kept inside. Sam balanced on his shoulder, watching with a clear fascination.

Once Dean had the salt in hand, he offered his other hand to Sam. With only a slight hesitation, Sam found himself stepping onto the broad surface, momentarily fascinated by the calluses that covered it.

He could tell just by a glance that Dean used his hands a lot. Small scars and nicks covered the skin. Thick fingers that were even larger than Jacob’s stretched out, curling slightly at the end to guard Sam from falling.

Sam took a deep breath, then nodded up at Dean. This time, he was lowered sharply to the ground, almost tossed off balance by the sudden movement. We’ll have to work on that, Sam thought with a hint of entertainment. And also hope, to think that he’d have the chance to adjust to being around his brother.

“Sit tight,” Dean grumbled at him right before standing to his full height. Sam stifled a gasp, stepping back towards the duffel bag he was standing near as he instinctively sought cover. Not once had he stood directly at Jacob’s feet, so he was thoroughly unprepared for the new perspective.

Dean leaned over, pouring the salt in a thick circle on the ground. The circle encompassed Sam and the duffel both, protecting the smaller Winchester along with all of the supplies. While Dean sidestepped around the bag to complete the circle, Sam couldn’t help but follow his brother’s progress, watching the movement of the giant that was walking so close.

With that finished, Dean tossed the empty container in the bag and grabbed his own shovel off the ground. “If you see anyone coming, spirit or regular human, you let us know,” he said, head tilted down so he could see Sam from all the way up in the air.

Sam nodded, silently watching Dean go over to the grave. The shovel broke ground in the first stroke, and the tedious work of excavating a grave began.

The work was arduous, but Jacob held his own. Though he wasn't a fighter by any means, exemplified by how easily Dean had knocked him down, Jacob was not a weakling. He worked out regularly enough that he was actually able to contribute to the work of piling dirt beside the grave. Dean's work was halved, making the process quicker.

The night was quiet, and there was a cool, peaceful breeze. It was a sharp contrast to what Jacob was actually doing. And that was digging up a grave, occasionally glancing around nervously as if worried they'd be caught. The night was silent. There weren't even any cars on the nearest road at this time of night, no headlights rushing past to cast shadows over them. The moon took care of that.

When Dean's shovel stabbed downwards with a hollow noise, followed by the splintering sound of the coffin breaking, Jacob wasn't quite prepared for it. He turned towards the sound in time for the worst stench he'd ever encountered to practically slap him in the face. "Jesus Christ on a bicycle," he muttered.

With the grave dug deep enough, Jacob retreated. They couldn't both smash up the coffin without getting in each other's way, so he let Dean do what he was quite experienced with and climbed out of the grave. His arms strained a little after all the exertion, but soon he stood in the open air again, taking deep breaths of it. Breaths that didn't smell like a rotting corpse.

He wiped his brow with his sleeve, and then felt a chill run right up his spine. Following the feeling was the faintest sound on the wind, like a mournful sob. Jacob looked over his shoulder but saw nothing.

Any other night, he might have just said it was the late hour playing tricks on him. But they were here to burn the bones of a vengeful ghost. Jacob couldn't afford to write off that feeling. He turned to the circle of salt around the duffel, squinting in the dark. He couldn't see if Sam was still over there. "Hey, Sam, you're still behind the salt, right?”

At that call, Dean jerked upright just as the shovel smashed the last bit of plywood out his way. Sam?!

Sharp green eyes panned across the graveyard, searching for where he’d left his duffel bag. The dim moonlight crept through the branches above, affording them only a slight light to see by.

From down in the grave, Jacob was a dark, towering figure. Ten feet from where he was standing Dean could make out the duffel sitting in the shadows. Without any light, there was no way to know if Sam was over there.

Before Dean could fumble out his flashlight to find out what had become of his little brother and if he was still standing within the safety of the circle, a figure flashed into view. Sam’s voice cried out a warning from the duffel bag. “Jacob! Behind you!”

Dark eyes glittered in Jacob’s direction. Standing out of the grave, he was the tallest, and he was unprotected. Thoroughly untrained to be a hunter, and just helping out Dean, and clearly more concerned about whether Sam was okay than himself. That, more than anything, made Dean realize that Sam’s trust in Jacob, even after being trapped so recently, wasn’t unfounded. Everyone made mistakes. Not everyone sought to make things right.

Dean cursed, going to haul himself out even as the spirit raised her arms towards the teenager. “Jacob, use the salt!”

There was no time for a reaction before she shrieked “Traitors, all of them traitors! They will know what they’ve done to me!” and plunged her hands forward. Jacob was caught right in the midsection, tossed over five feet across the graveyard and rolling to a stop on the ground.

Her ghostly visage flickered, then was standing directly over him. She reached a hand out, stabbing straight towards his chest.

She never noticed Dean holding his sawed-off shotgun only inches from her face. “Sayonara, bitch,” he growled as he pulled the trigger. An explosion of sound, and she dispersed into the air with a scream.

Jacob stared upwards where the ghost used to be, fighting off the shock. His hearing was muffled for the moment, drowning in the sound of that gunshot that flashed just above him. His heart, which he realized might have just been torn out if not for Dean, was pounding frantically in his chest. Even without it, he was definitely going to be sore where the dead bitch had smacked him.

"H-holy shit," he breathed, finally looking at Dean. He sat up and got to his feet hastily, stumbling only a little. Jacob's eyes trailed over to where he'd left the container of salt, in order to free up his hands for the dig. He hadn't even bothered to pick it back up once he crawled out of the grave.

"Well, fuck," he muttered, brushing a nervous hand back through his hair. "Thanks, Dean ... for completely saving my ass there." He smiled sheepishly, knowing his own lack of experience couldn't have made itself more clear.

Dean shrugged it off. “Don’t mention it. We all have to learn sometime.” He grabbed the salt off the ground, tossing it at the teen. “Always know where your weapons are. Even things like salt.”

There was a flashlight tucked away in Dean’s jacket, and he soon had that in hand to pan it over the ground near the duffel. “Sammy?” he called out, scanning for his downsized brother.

As luck would have it, Sam was standing only a few inches from where he’d been seen last, well within the salt ring. The only movement he’d done in the last few minutes was dashing to the edge of the ring to yell a warning to Jacob.

Dean thudded over to the bag, getting the fire accelerant out along with matches. “We gotta torch this bitch before she comes back,” he said to his companions. “You ready for your part?” He brushed a finger over Sam’s hair, messing it up and getting a curse out of him.

Sam arched an eyebrow, trying to bat away the fingers. “What can I do for help?” he called up in surprise.

Dean winked, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a book of matches. “The most important part.” He held them out to Sam, letting his much-smaller brother take the pack. It was bulky, but manageable.

Sam watched for a moment as Dean stood again, taking a step towards the open grave and pouring the accelerant down. He started to follow Dean, momentarily nervous about the way both of his companions looked while he was standing down on the ground. Dean and Jacob were not small guys by any stretch of the imagination, and here he was, walking towards them.

Jacob was next, shaking the salt into the pit as Dean directed him. The salt was just tapering off as Sam reached the edge, hesitantly putting a hand on Dean’s boot to lean over and stare down. In the darkness, he couldn’t see the corpse of the girl, but he knew it was there.

“Ready, Sammy?” came a voice from above.

Sam nodded. He shifted the book of matches around, pulling off one that was the size of a baton to him. Dean knelt down, taking the book so Sam could swipe his up and light it. With a powerful toss, the third and smallest member of the group put the finishing touch on the routine salt and burn. The grave burst into flame.

Sam didn’t even complain as Dean swept him off of the ground, away from the sudden, sweltering heat. The hunter took a step back and they all stood there to watch the fire burn itself down to nothing.

Even though Jacob thought it was really kind of fucked up that they were standing around watching a corpse burn, he was happy to be there. He was witnessing a reunion that was a long time coming. No one deserved to be separated from their family for so long. Jacob was glad he'd been part of bringing them back together. As odd a scene as it was to see Sam's tiny body standing on Dean's protective hand, it was a heartwarming moment.

Even though he'd messed up a little getting here, it seemed like things were getting better by the minute. Him getting smacked by a ghost aside. At least he seemed to have earned enough of Dean's forgiveness to have his life saved. Dean made it look so easy.

"Pretty good bonfire, Sam," Jacob quipped, sending the smaller brother a grin. They'd just come through victorious from their first hunt. It was both relieving and encouraging.

Sam grinned right back up at him from his perch on Dean’s hand, held next to a giant chest. If he concentrated, he could even make out the telltale thump of a heart that was larger than his entire body. And the deep gale of breathing that echoed up out of either humans’ lungs. He knew now that he might be smaller, but he’d never have to worry with Dean around. All those years of worrying that his brother the hunter might be a danger to Sam himself were unfounded.

“Next time, I’ll have an even bigger bonfire,” Sam joked back, glad to see that things were starting to relax after Jacob and Dean’s altercation.

He knew those words were true. In his heart, Sam wasn’t meant to stay in one place. He was meant to be out there, in the world, helping people. Saving people. Whether they were humans or they were the same size as he was, it didn’t matter. No one deserved to die at the hands of the monsters that lurked in the dark. If Dean would have him, he’d go on with the hunter. He’d learn how to hunt, no matter how small he was.

Chapter Text

Once the fire died down, Dean let Sam back down by his duffel bag. The flashlight was put next to him, pointing towards the gravesite. With clouds moving in, it was growing tough to see their surroundings.

Dean started to pile the dirt back into the hole. A smile hid at the corner of his mouth. It had been a long day of research and hunting, but it had all been worth it. After all, he had his brother back. Sam had never died, and Dean could keep him safe. The way he was meant to. The way a big brother should.

Jacob helped Dean refill the grave, finding the task a lot easier than emptying it. Salting it and burning it hadn't come as easily either, as evidenced by the bruises forming on his middle from getting smacked. He supposed, being a ghost, it didn't matter how petite the woman had appeared. She was pissed and he was there.

It was just a little poetic justice for Jacob that he was collecting bruises here and there. He was still getting off pretty light compared to the terror and pain Sam had had to endure to get here. It was no small relief that both brothers seemed to have forgiven him.

"So, am I indoctrinated now, or do I have to take a pledge before I can say I'm a hunter?" Jacob quipped, sending a sizeable pile of dirt into the grave. It made a quiet thump as it reached the bottom and forced air to move aside. Jacob couldn't see much but he could see the sparse light illuminating the puffs of dust from their work.

Dean smirked at Jacob as the grave was quickly filled in by the two humans. The extra help was certainly making the case finish up faster, by far. "Nah, no pledges. Maybe next time you'll be a little more prepared and ready to take them on. Can’t be slacking when a werewolf’s in town, after all." He straightened once it was filled in, stretching out his own arms. “This case was calmer than normal. I didn't even butt heads with the law enforcement around town."

Jacob chuckled, inwardly amazed that he'd actually heard next time come out of Dean's mouth. So he might actually get to learn more about this side of the world, which Jacob couldn't help but think was completely badass. Dangerous, he knew, thanks to the ghost kindly showing up and demonstrating for him. And things would continue to amaze him just by existing when they weren't supposed to. But someone else might have been killed by that spirit if they hadn't done this. Jacob could join in helping people.

"This town probably only has one cop," Jacob mused, judging by the size of it. One town cop, most likely getting his badge by being the only guy willing to do the job. The rest would be state troopers. "The grave might not even get anyone's attention. You could hit Vegas before they realized what happened."

Dean shrugged as he stepped back. “We’ll be gone first thing in the morning.” He surveyed the grave, packing the last of the dirt on top. Another case, another town behind him. Only this time, he’d have someone to come with him.

Because of Jacob.

Even with the mistakes Jacob had made, there was no denying that without him, Sam wouldn’t be standing down by Dean’s duffel, waiting for the others. He might never know if his brother was alive. And Jacob had been so concerned over Sam that the spirit had caught him off guard.

If Dean had a second chance with Sam, Jacob deserved a second chance of his own.

Kneeling down next to Sam, Dean offered a hand once more. This time he wasn’t surprised to have his brother scale right up to his shoulder like there was nowhere else he belonged. If Sam decided to claim a shoulder as his own, Dean didn't mind. Grabbing the duffel, Dean turned towards Jacob while Sam put himself close to his neck to sit. “So, you gonna stay the night? We’ve got the room.”

Jacob raised his eyebrows. The offer was very generous, coming from a man he'd only met that day. Even if he had brought the guy's lost little brother back to him. Jacob was still basically a stranger to them and had never expected that kind of offer, regardless of the help he'd offered himself. Somehow he'd snagged room and board for himself despite his mistakes.

He grinned appreciatively, taking on flashlight duty since Dean had Sam and the duffel bag. While they made their way back, avoiding tripping on the smaller grave markers, he answered "Well, hey, I wouldn't want to take up all your space or anything, but I appreciate it if you really don't mind." Otherwise, Jacob would either have to check into his own room (an interesting venture this late at night when he was so young and yet so big for his age), or sleep in his car.

Dean snorted. “I doubt Sam needs the leg room over here, so you don’t need to worry about taking up all the space.” He ignored an elbow in the neck at his statement, smirking internally at the thought of how brash Sam was for his size. His Winchester roots remained strong. “You came all this way and gave up your motel room to bring Sam here. It’s the least we could do.”

"Awesome, thanks!" Jacob replied, appropriately humbled by the generous gesture.

They reached the car without incident. Dean tossed the duffel in the trunk while Jacob settled in the passenger’s seat. Sam slumped down a bit once they were on the open road, starting to fall asleep from exhaustion. The excitement and terror of the last two days left him more than ready for a good night’s sleep. Already, he was comfortable around his brother to let his guard slip enough for his eyes to flutter closed. Not even the roar of the engine was enough to keep him awake.

The roar of the engine was, however, enough to keep Jacob's car envy alive. His old mercury was going to seem so tame after this, with its sputtering engine and a trunk that you could open with a well-placed kick. At least he and Sam had determined just that day that the brakes worked like a charm.

Hopefully Dean never found out about that little mishap. The bruise on Jacob's face twinged as if in agreement.

"So, you said you'd be heading out pretty quick. Does that mean there's already another case for you to hop to, or do you just kinda cruise around looking for them?" Jacob asked curiously. The whole job seemed so touch and go. It was probably worth a lot of excitement, having no idea where the monsters would act up next.

Instead of shrugging, Dean bobbed his head. “No case on the horizon, but there’s always things that need to be done.” He’d have to stop at a bar sometime soon, try and stock up on some fast cash with a few games of pool. “Another case should fall into my lap soon enough. Just gotta check the newspapers whenever I pass through the towns. If you know what you’re looking for, they’re easy to spot.”

Werewolves mistaken as animal attacks. Demonic possession often covered up as a multiple homicide. Suicides by people that were well adjusted and had never exhibited signs of depression before their sudden death. It was all out there, underneath simple words of sympathy and mourning.

Dean would always be on the road, trying to keep people from dying. Gank a few more evil sons of bitches and try and make the world a better place.

Jacob was growing more and more intrigued the more he thought about it. Maybe it was simply because it lacked the structure of his own life. It was simple, and dangerous, but worthwhile. Sam was back in that fast-paced and exciting life, after thinking he'd dead-ended at that little motel in Kansas. And, regardless of what he went on to, Jacob would not be able to simply forget that things were out there.

"I wouldn't wanna get in your way or anything," Jacob began, glancing at a flickering streetlight as they passed under it. "But if you feel like calling in some extra hands on something, I wouldn't mind helping out. I like to think I'm a quick learner, if nothing else." He wasn't sure if either brother would actually want much to do with him after this, but Jacob was at least a little hopeful anyway.

Dean pursed his lips consideringly. Having a partner on a hunt, or two if he included Sam, wouldn’t be a bad option. “If you’re up for it. We’re gonna have to work on those reflexes of yours, if you want to hang with me an’ Sam, that’s for sure.”

He gave Jacob a smirk at a thought that popped into his head. “Of course, I don’t think you’ll be pulling off any FBI guises anytime soon,” he pointed out. Jacob was tall, but he didn’t look a day over 20 at the most.

Jacob grinned sheepishly. He'd definitely have a lot to learn if he was going to keep up with how quickly Dean had responded to that ghost. Like it was as simple and easy to him as breathing. And then FBI guises filtered into his brain and Jacob caught up to what that really meant. Holy shit. The bag of tricks was supplied with more than just guns and knives, apparently.

"Yeah, okay, that side of things wouldn't be my forte," he admitted gamely. "But if nothing else I want to be ready in case something shows up on my own doorstep. I can't be much help if I'm caught off guard as easy as I was here." Even though the fight had been a short one, one second off and Dean might have been too late to be of any help to Jacob.

When they got back to the motel, Dean paused before getting out of the car. Sam hadn’t move a muscle since the drive started. Shifting slightly, he checked the rearview mirror to see how Sam was doing. Yup, out like a light. Sam's tiny body was curled up into the crook of Dean's neck, his arms tightly crossed over his chest and his legs drawn close for warmth.

Hesitant, Dean put a hand next to Sam, tilting his shoulder enough for the lightweight body to slide off and into his grasp. Amazingly, this shift didn't wake Sam up, making Dean realize all over again how important it was to him to keep that trust.

Dean cupped Sam next to his chest as Jacob left to run out to his car. It was unreal to look at his hand and see someone barely the length of a finger laying there. In fact, the second Sam was on his palm, he’d curled up into the curve of Dean’s fingers like it was his bed.

While Dean slowly gathered himself and his brother, Jacob grabbed his bag from where he'd left it in his car. He paused, considering fixing his parking job. But, it wasn't like the lot was all that packed. He was exhausted enough anyway. The exertion of digging a grave, not to mention the drive before that or the brief fight with the ghost, was beginning to catch up with him. The people of Chadron would survive his infraction.

He followed Dean into the motel room, releasing a sigh. He'd pent up a lot more tension than he realized, leaving that place.

Dean tossed the duffel onto the bed, grabbing a shirt out of it. Until he found something better, it was either a shirt or a pillow on the bed for Sam, and he didn’t want to risk Sam on a bed so close to a giant. All it would take was a simple shift from either Jacob or Dean to hurt him. It wouldn’t be worth the risk. Better to let Sam stay on the nightstand on his own. Give his fragile ribs some time to heal.

Setting up the shirt, Dean tried to figure out the best way to put Sam down without waking him. An act that was complicated by how Sam had managed to claim Dean’s hand as his bed, going so far as to turn so one cheek was resting against the plush part of Dean’s palm.

After setting his bag down in a corner by the unoccupied bed, Jacob took quiet steps towards where Dean sat by the nightstand. He glanced curiously over the setup while Dean dealt with his internal dilemma of how to get Sam to his makeshift bed without waking him. The nightstand itself was so familiar, and yet so different. Jacob had seen, on a different nightstand miles away, Sam sitting idly on an alarm clock a lot like the one sitting there now. He'd set down a tiny, bloodied knife there after taking it away from Sam.

Making him think he'd lose his only tie to his family. How far he'd come from that. Now, Sam's actual family was there, trying to figure out how to put him down gently.

"Since you're the fighting expert you'll have to teach him too. Get him trained with that knife. How badass would that be?!" Jacob murmured, keeping his voice down since Sam was clearly exhausted. After everything he'd gone through, the emotional rollercoaster of the last twenty four hours, he'd earned his rest.

Dean smiled. Compared to earlier that night, his expression was soft. The hardened lines put there by his brother’s loss were starting to fade like they’d never existed. “Anyone who messes with him from now on will regret it,” Dean swore as he carefully tilted Sam onto the shirt. It took a few cautiously well-placed nudges with a finger to get Sam to reluctantly surrender his comfortable position.

Once on the shirt, Sam automatically snuggled into the fabric, flopping facedown without ever waking up. He didn’t even pay any mind to Dean when the hunter shifted part of the shirt over him, covering him up against any chill.

With Sam settled, Dean got up from the bed and went over to the room’s mini-fridge. He grabbed a few beers, handing one over to Jacob. “To starting fresh,” he toasted, nodding at Jacob a silent thanks.

Jacob took the beer gratefully. "To starting fresh," he mimicked the toast before taking a drink. There was nothing quite like a cold beer after a lot of hard work. Of course, Jacob had only ever figured that out under the radar. His stepdad, being a cop, wasn't about to have a beer with him while he was underage for it. Jacob would be hiding a lot more than underage drinking from the man now, if Dean really did intend to take him on as a sort of student.

"So there's actual ghosts, werewolves, shapeshifters, shrunken brothers ... is there anything out there that doesn't exist?" he mused, half serious in his curiosity.

“Bigfoot’s a hoax,” Dean said with a smirk. “And there ain’t any little green men running around abducting people. But yeah. Pretty much everything else you hear about is lurking around, ready to sink their fangs into unsuspecting victims.” He shook his head. “Yesterday I didn’t even think shrinking was a possibility. Now I’ve got Sam back and he’s barely four inches tall. No matter how long you hunt, there’s always more out there to see.”

After the beer, both of the humans got ready for bed. It had been a long day, and one that had paid off in more ways than one. Another spirit was put to rest, Sam was safely back with his family and Jacob had discovered an entire world he’d never known about before.

While Jacob was finishing up in the bathroom, Dean leaned over Sam, checking on the small form. Past curling the folds of the shirt closer to his body and bunching part of it up in a facsimile of a pillow, Sam hadn’t shifted since being placed down. Dean let a rare, real smile appear on his face now that there was no one around to see it, brushing Sam’s bangs out of his eyes with the pad of his thumb.

His brother had found his way home.

FIN