Sam shoo’d Dean away, keeping a tight grip on the food. “Wait your turn,” he scolded, setting up on the table.
Dean sank back into his seat, impatiently watching Sam pull out his acquisitions. Each brother got a cup of coffee, and the orange juice was placed to the side. The meals were similar; Dean’s ran heavier on the bacon and sausage end and Sam’s had more fruit, but for breakfast, it wasn’t bad. The lack of continental at the motel had seemed disappointing at first until they found a local diner that served at all times during the day. Good prices, decent food.
Sam portioned out a bit of everything on a napkin for Stan, filling the bottlecap from last night with OJ. “Maybe this’ll work better than the soda,” he said ruefully.
As everyone knows #eotm was guessed at last by @torchmlp! Epidemic of the Mannequins was inspired by the song Through Glass, by Stone Sour, and reflects a lot of the themes found within. Definitely a must-listen!
“Oh no. Oh shit.”
Sam glanced over, confusion on his face. “Dean, what…?”
Dean leapt into action when he saw Chase shift his weight, and bolt. “Sam, you’ve gotta catch him!” he snapped, his mind switching right over to problem solving mode. “Jacob will just make things worse if he tries to grab Chase.”
“But, what do you…” Sam trailed off as he spotted what Dean had seen far too late.
Jacob, standing directly over Chase after he’d shrunk.
“Just go!” Dean said, pushing Sam towards the edge. It was only a second before Sam had his hook wedged into the edge of the dresser and was dwindling down towards the floor. Dean got his own hook out, preparing himself for the same (if slightly slower) journey, and glared up at Jacob. “Make sure he doesn’t reach the door!”
By the time Dean had his hook wedged and was dropping down to the floor himself, Sam had already touched down and darted after Chase, his longer legs closing the distance.
Jacob’s eyes were wide. Everything had shifted so quickly, and yet he could probably cover the distance Chase had managed to run in one mid-sized step. His best friend was quick, but so small. He ran with the kind of fervor that only came about with blinding terror. One little glance over a tiny shoulder explained it in clear terms.
Chase was terrified of Jacob.
Is anyone else as big a fan of tiny Chase as I am? XD
Instead of immediately going over to the drawer to check on their tiny, vulnerable victim, Dean picked up the water bottle from the table, unscrewing the top for a drink while he cooled down. “I see Sleeping Beauty decided to join us in the land of the waking,” he joked, a glimmer in his eye.
Stan fought the urge to duck down behind the face of the drawer when Dean saw him and addressed him, more embarrassed that he’d been caught staring than afraid this time. It was mesmerizing, watching muscles larger than he would ever be flex and contract in Dean’s arms, back muscles rippling like waves as he worked. Stan was hard-pressed to tear his eyes away when he had no immediate cause to fear the strength in those muscles.
“Good m-morning,” Stan replied as heat rose in his neck. He hoped that his size and Dean’s distance would hide his blush, flustered to realize that he’d been thinking of the human as handsome. Now that he wasn’t hovering and Stan had space to see all of him at once, he had to admit that he, and Sam now that he thought of it, were both objectively good-looking.
With the room to himself and the third occupant awake and unnoticed, Dean chose to start on his morning workout routine. Wearing sweats and a close-fitting tee that displayed his arms as he worked, he slowly began to stretch.
Stan’s brow lifted in time with Dean’s arms as the man seemed to stretch into the sky. And yet he didn’t feel afraid, like he would if Dean was closer or was looking at him. With the distance taking away some of the natural intimidation that came with Dean’s size, Stan could almost allow himself to think of him as similar to himself, stretching out the kinks in his arms and back before starting his day.
That thought was quickly dismissed. He could never be the equal of someone as great in strength and size as Sam or Dean, and comparing them to himself put them at an unfairly low standard.
But Stan supposed there was nothing wrong with sitting back and enjoying the view while things were quiet.
Sam reached forward, nudging the little shirt Stan had shaken out from its little clump. The little guy gave the tiniest of flinches, broken out of his retrospective state, and glanced up at Sam. “You can put this back on,” he said, keeping his voice soft, the way he treated the more traumatized victims they ran into. Stan nodded and did just that, giving a slight wince when his arms were raised above shoulder level.
Dean had far less self-control, his face darkening. “What kind of person tortures a–"
He was cut off when Sam hauled him back from the table, taking a few steps away to give Stan a breather. “Dean, he thinks we’ll punish him like that,” he hissed under his breath. “Did you see the way he tenses up? Especially if you raise your voice?”
“I- I…” Flustered by the question, Stan cleared his throat and tried again. “I’ve never had anything like this. I really wouldn’t know where to start.”
A prime example came in the form of the brownish liquid Sam had given him. Stan eyed it suspiciously; he didn’t like the way it bubbled, but he approached it anyway. He had to at least give it a try.
Stan was still hesitant as he pulled the cap closer, leaning in to give the drink a sniff. It smelled unlike anything he’d ever encountered before– not that that was saying much– and when he leaned over, a particularly persistent bubble rose from the depths and gave a large pop. This startled the little guy, and he jumped back in surprise, managing to put a few inches between himself and the uncomfortably active drink.
The trip to grab food went without a hitch. Sam hovered his other hand over Stan to block him from sight of the attendant at the window. It was odd how peaceably Stan sat there, letting the brothers talk over him the entire time. If they didn’t address him directly, he didn’t go out of his way to catch their attention.
Dean’s boot came in to smash the ashes into the ground, breaking Stan out of his reverie, and made him duck a little closer to the edge of Sam’s hand. That hexbag had been Stan’s size, likely bigger than him, and now it was crushed into nothing.
Maybe that’s how they’ll do it, something morbid in the back of Stan’s mind thought. Crushing. Relatively clean, takes less than a second.
Kneeling down, Sam motioned for Dean to keep watch. The older brother backed against the wall, standing next to where Sam flattened his hand against the ground to let Stan off.
“Be careful,” Sam cautioned in a whisper. “We’ll be right here. If I hear anyone coming, I’ll knock on the wall.”
Brothers Apart 