January 7th excerpt:
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.
January 6th excerpt:
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?”
January 5th excerpt:
“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.
January 4th excerpt:
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.
January 3rd excerpt:
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.
January 2nd excerpt:
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.”
January 1st excerpt:
With the music barely loud enough to be heard, Sam relaxed a little, lifting up his cupped hands to peer inside. “You okay?” he breathed, forming a crack with two fingers that was just big enough to make out Stan’s tiny form huddled inside.
Stan could feel the tension leaving Sam’s hands just before they lifted. The quieter, darker environment he found himself in helped him relax a little, too, and he lowered his hands and picked up his head to find concerned hazel eyes peeking in at him.
He felt heat rising in his neck, and he was grateful for the darkness of the little alcove Sam had made with his hands. Stan was pale by nature, and the slightest blush was obvious in his complexion. Ever since Dean had told him to calm down, he’d been trying to do just that, in the hopes of appeasing him and his brother. He could only hope that such skittish behavior would be forgiven.
December 31st excerpt:
Stan crouched low in Dean’s hand as it moved, bracing himself through the movement. He couldn’t keep his grip forever, though, especially when the hand tilted beneath him. A yelp died in his throat as he was passed to a new palm.
Sam’s palm.
After Stan sat himself back up, he froze at the sight. He found he had even more room in his new spot, much more than he ever found in Nicholas’ hands. Glancing at his fingers, cupped and bloodstained as they were, wasn’t comforting in the slightest. If Stan thought Dean’s fingers were tall, he was sorely mistaken. There probably wasn’t a single one of Sam’s that Stan could stand a chance at outsizing.
December 30th excerpt:
Sam nearly dropped the journal when Dean shoved the hand holding Stan at him, hurriedly pocketing the book to be able to cup his hands. There was no time to worry about the droplets of blood staining the side of his fingers, something he normally didn’t worry about until they finished the hunt. “Dean!” Sam hissed, frantic about how quick his brother was moving with the little guy.
“Don’t worry, he’s fine! ” Dean insisted, tilting his hands into a slight incline to slide Stan into Sam’s hands. “Right, kid?”
December 29th excerpt:
“See?” Sam shot up at Dean. “Not a leprechaun.”
Dean rolled his eyes yet again. “Like it’s a hard mistake to make. You have to admit he fits the profile.”
“Minus the magic.” Sam took the knife back, tucking it into the sheath in his jacket. “I doubt he’d sit quietly in your jacket for thirty minutes if he had spells he could sling at us.”
Brothers Apart 