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Stan hopped up on the hood of his car with a grunt. He set the two beer bottles down, then reached into his jacket. He freed his latest companion from its confines, and set it down on the hood beside him. It was a small plush doll, designed to look like an older man with grey hair and glasses, wearing a thin brown trench coat. Its little face had a permanent smile stitched on, like it was always happy to see him.
Yeah, right. It was just a toy meant for children.
Stan cracked open the beers, setting one beside the doll. He raised the other to his lips and took a swig.
It burned going down, any flavor he might have tasted completely drowned by the alcohol.
“Moses, that’s terrible.” Stan frowned at the beer bottle. He licked his lips, then took another swig. It didn’t go down any easier the second time. He grimaced. “What do you think, buddy?”
The doll didn’t move, still sitting there in silence.
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad, huh?” He took another swig. “Definitely’ll get me drunk, though, so it shouldn’t matter after a while.” He laughed.
The doll didn’t react.
“Cheers, eh?” Stan leaned forward, clinking his bottle against the other. He knew immediately he was too rough. The other bottle tipped, threatening to fall over, and Stan lunged to catch it. Both bottles tipped over, spilling precious liquid onto the car, the doll, and Stan.
“Shit!” He swore. He moved both bottles out of the way, then quickly dried his hands on his shirt before reaching for the doll. It was already soaked from the waist down in alcohol, and Stan couldn’t hold back a grimace. “Shit.”
He did his best to wring it out, then frowned. It was damp, and absolutely reeked of beer. He looked down at his pants, which were just as bad.
“What’re the chances of a 24/7 laundromat in this town?” He said with a sigh.
It turned out, not high enough. He was, however, lucky to find a motel with a public washer and a dryer available if he bought a room for the night. So he did- for $8, what a load of thieves- and quickly went to his room to change into less-gross clothes. The dirty things- and the doll- he threw into the washer. There wasn’t free laundry soap, but there was complimentary shampoo, which was almost the same.
He sat in the chair nearby and watched. The washer spun, around and around and around. He almost felt a bit guilty every time the doll tumbled into view, soaked in water and covered in suds. At some point, its jacket had come off. He didn't know it could come off.
Time passed slowly, but eventually the washer pinged. He pulled out the clothes and tossed them in the dryer. When he picked up the doll, it was still sopping wet, and stared up at him with that unchanging smile.
"Don't look at me like that." He grumbled. "Would you rather be sopping wet?"
Its expression didn't change.
Stan sighed through his nose, then glanced around the room. He could probably hang it up to dry, but who knew how long that would take. Or if it would still be there in the morning.
"Sorry, buddy."
He tossed the doll into the dryer and started it.
—
Stan woke slowly. The bed he was in was- while not comfortable by most measures- at least not terrible. The blankets over him were thin and scratchy, but better than what he had in his car.
He blinked his eyes open, met by the grimy walls of his motel room. He'd closed the curtains before he went to sleep, but the morning sunlight crept out around the edges.
Stan's sleepy eyes scanned the space. His duffle bag sat open on the nearby armchair, and the room was otherwise empty. He must've pushed the blankets off while he slept, as they weren't on the bed. The little plush he'd fallen asleep holding was gone, too.
Stan yawned, jaw cracking, and rolled over.
The other side of the bed was also empty. Stan blinked slowly, then dragged himself upright. He scanned the bed, still seeing no sign of it. He leaned over, peering off the edge of the mattress.
The blankets lay on the ground, with the doll on top. It stared up at him, smiling mildly.
"Hey." Stan murmured. "How'd you get down there?" The plush sat there, mild smile unchanged. He reached out with one hand, scooping it up, then set the plush down on the pillow. "Welcome aboard, little buddy."
He settled back into the blankets, letting his eyes drift shut once more. He didn't have anywhere to be, what was the harm of another hour or so of sleep.
—
Stan hurried into the motel room, slamming and locking the door behind him. He tossed his jacket and duffle bag onto the table as he passed, then pulled the curtains shut.
He checked the room for bugs- thankfully it was clear- then went to the bathroom to check the mirror. Thankfully, it was a normal mirror, showing the awful swelling of what would be fresh bruising in the morning.
He splashed his face with water, then got back to checking.
There were no bugs hiding in the bathroom either.
He splashed his face with cold water again, then patted it off with his shirt. When he got back into the motel room proper, he paused.
He'd left his jacket on the table, hadn't he? But it wasn't up there anymore.
He walked over to the table, gaze on the floor. He bent down to pick his jacket up and something fell from the pocket.
The plush doll stared up at him, a mild smile on its unchanging face.
"Why'd you knock my jacket over, huh?" He tossed it back onto the table, then picked up the doll. "You get nervous when I left you alone, or something?"
The doll didn't move, staring at him with the same expression.
"Come on then, little buddy." He carried it over to the bed, setting it up against the pillows. He crossed the room to the dresser and turned on the tv.
It was already tuned to a working channel. He watched it for a moment. Some kind of reality show, it seemed.
"Perfect." He dug into his bag, pulling out some clean(ish) clothes. He glanced at the doll, which still sat propped up by the pillows. "You'll tell me what I miss, yeah?"
With a laugh, he went into the bathroom and closed the door. After he showered and changed, he walked back into the room to find the doll had fallen forward onto its face.
"Was the show that boring?" He chuckled. He set the doll upright again, then lay down on the bed beside it.
After a couple minutes, he had to agree. The show was pretty terrible.
—
The doll paced back and forth, practicing how to walk. Stan watched it, unable to shake his amusement as it toddled around.
It moved like a baby that had only just learned how to stand, wobbling with every step. Its head was large and unbalanced, and its little stub legs didn't cover much ground. The quiet tapping of its feet on the carpet was the only sound in the room.
The doll paused in its movement, turning to face Stan. It raised its arms, waving them in the air.
Stan grinned back at it. "Look at you go!"
It toddled towards him, then leaned against his leg. It tilted its head back, mild smile turned up to look at him. Its little stub hands patted his legs, then lifted up into the air.
"Looking to come aboard?" Stan asked. He was already leaning down to pick it up before it nodded its head.
Stan set the doll down on the bed beside him, and it wobbled on the uneven surface.
Stan snorted. "Having a bit of trouble there, little guy?"
It wavered again, then fell forward onto the mattress. Stan started laughing. One of the doll's arms lifted, waving at him.
"Sorry, sorry." He chuckled. He picked the doll up, setting it back on its feet. "There you go."
It wobbled on its feet, spreading its arms out for balance. Stan pulled his feet onto the bed, turning to face the doll properly. It overcorrected to the mattress's movement, falling over onto its back.
Stan snorted, picking it up again.
Once it was standing, the doll toddled up to his crossed legs, smacking its little stub hands on his knee.
Stan grinned at it. "What, what'd I do?"
It kept smacking him.
"Alright, alright." Stan chuckled. "I'm sorry, stop hitting me."
It let its hands come to a stop, flopping forward to rest its face on his leg.
Stan yawned. "Alright, little guy. Time for bed." He scooped the doll up, and shuffled around on the bed until he was laying down. He set the doll on the pillow beside him. It shifted, moving until it was against Stan's face. It threw one of its arms up, patting its little stub on Stan's cheek.
He chuckled, reaching up and setting a hand on the doll. "Goodnight to you too, little buddy."
—
Stan finished wrapping the end of the tape around, squeezing it slightly to make sure it secured.
"There you go." He declared.
The doll flapped its arm, and the pen stayed in place.
Stan pulled the pad of paper closer, then gently pushed the doll forward. He left his palm against its back. "Go ahead, buddy. Say hi, or whatever."
The doll turned its head, fixing Stan with its mild, unchanging expression. It turned back to the paper, and began, very slowly, to craft letters. When the doll was finished, it turned its head to look up at Stan again.
He peered around the doll. Its letters were crude, wobbly and uneven. They read simply;
"I LOVE YOU, STANLEY."
Stan found himself suddenly fighting back a thick feeling in his throat. He coughed, and started rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well. You're some kinda living stuffed animal guy. You would say that, wouldn't you?"
It didn't look away from him. It patted its stub against Stan's hand, then tapped the words with the pen tip.
Stan swallowed. "Yea, I uh. Love you too, or whatever."
The doll shifted, rubbing its little face against his hand.
"So, what's your name?"
The doll looked at him. It didn't move to write anything down.
"What, do you not have one?"
It looked at him.
"Is there something you want me to call you, at least?"
It looked at him, then back at the paper. Slowly, painstakingly, it wrote two words.
"LITTLE BUDDY".
"That can't possibly be what you want to be called."
It tapped the paper with the pen tip.
Stan rolled his eyes, then patted the doll on its back. "Alright then. Nice to meet you proper, little buddy."
The pen lifted, then tapped the first sentence again.
Stan patted the doll's back. "Yea, buddy." He managed. "I love you too."
—
"How would you like some new clothes?" Stan asked, pulling into the lot of the clothes store.
The doll turned to look at him.
"You could use a better coat, I think." Stan continued. "Maybe some baby clothes would fit you."
The doll shook its head quickly, then tapped its foot against the seat.
"Oh yea, shoes too." Stan agreed. "And then we don't have to worry about anything cutting your fabric feet open."
The doll went still for a moment, then slowly nodded.
Stan pulled into a spot close to the door and stepped from his car. Then he scooped up the doll, tucked it into his jacket and zipped the zipper most of the way up. The doll's head and hands stuck out at the top of the zipper, resting just under his chin.
"There we go, buddy, nice and cozy." Stan patted the doll's head, then stuck his hands in his pockets. "Let me know if you want me to stop for any reason, okay?"
One of the doll's hands patted the zipper.
When Stan walked into the store, one of the workers immediately shot him a side-eye. He supposed he was an… interesting customer. Greasy hair, dirty jacket, torn jeans, worn shoes. And a little doll of an old man tucked into his jacket collar.
Stan ignored the attention, heading straight for the kid's section. The plush was small-probably smaller than any baby he'd seen before. But it couldn't hurt to check first.
"You got any style preferences, little guy?" Stan whispered softly. He saw from the corner of his eye as the doll patted the zipper. "Alright. Pat if I say something you like. Layers?"
Pat.
"Button-ups?"
Pat.
"T-shirts?"
No movement.
They'd made it to the kid's section. There was no one else there, so Stan shrugged and kept talking. "Okay, no tees. How about jackets?"
Pat.
"Alright. Button-ups or jackets it is." He scanned the racks, searching for the babies sizes. "Any shoe preferences?"
No movement.
"Just something to cover your feet then, huh?"
Pat.
There they were. Tiny onesies, little button-ups, graphic tees, the works. He flicked through the clothes, frowning. They all looked far too large at first glance. After he looked around again, he spotted a bench nearby. He grabbed the smallest size of the white button-ups and brought it to the bench. He unzipped his jacket, careful to make sure he kept a hold of his buddy the whole time. He set it down on the bench, and it turned to stare up at him.
"Let's see if this fits you, huh? I think this is their smallest, but if it's too big there's always doll clothes."
The plush waved its little stub arms at him, and it took a moment before it clicked in Stan's head. "Right." He muttered. "No fingers."
He knelt down to help the doll work the jacket off, sticking it into his pocket. Then he fed its arms through the tiny baby sleeves. The shirt was a little long, so he folded up the sleeves to free the doll's hands. He buttoned up the shirt, folding the torso up a little so it didn't hang so low.
"How's that?"
The doll shifted, moving its arms and head around. It looked back at him then raised its hands.
"Is that a good fit, then?"
The doll waved its arms and nodded.
"That's a relief. Baby clothes were the right direction after all."
The doll stomped a foot.
He picked it up, zipping the doll back into his jacket. "Let's find you some other ones, too." The doll patted his jacket and shook its head. "Just a few more shirts." Stan reasoned. "In case the others are dirty, yknow?"
Back at the clothes, he picked out a pale blue one and two of the little half-zip sweaters in the same size, stuffing them all into his pockets. Then he went over to the outside clothes rack, flicking through the coats with vague annoyance.
"They're all so bright and colorful." He complained under his breath. "Way too flashy, it'll get you spotted."
The doll patted Stan's jacket zipper in agreement.
Stan finally settled on a tiny buttoned leather jacket- he was pretty sure it would hang below the doll's knees, which he thought was hilarious- and turned to leave the section. Just as he did, though, he spotted a flash of maroon on the floor under the rack. He bent down to pick it up, then began to smile.
"Would you look at that, little buddy?" Stan held it in front of them. It was a tiny replica of his jacket, fluffy hood and all. "The hood probably won't fit your head, but how about that?"
The doll didn't move.
"We'll be matching. Like partners in crime." He grinned. "Stan and his mini old guy. Hell of a pair, huh?"
Stan walked back to the bench, freeing the doll from jacket prison as he went. He knelt in front of the doll, then carefully helped it into the tiny jacket. It was big on the doll- at least one size too large- and it looked ridiculous, like a kid in their dad's clothes.
It reminded him of the bomber jacket Ford had been obsessed with when they were kids, that he begged Pa to buy for him. There had only been one left, two sizes larger than him, but Ford had insisted he'd grow into it. Pa had refused adamantly, and they'd left without the jacket. That year for their birthday, however, both twins had been ecstatic to find it in their present.
Stan hadn't gotten a present for himself, but that hadn't mattered. He'd just been happy Ford was happy.
One of the doll's stub hands patted Stan's fingers. He'd frozen mid zipping up the jacket. He cleared his throat, quickly zipping it the rest of the way.
"There you go, little buddy." He announced. "It's a perfect fit."
The doll looked down at it, then back up. It waved its little hands, flapping the loose sleeves.
"Yep." Stan nodded. "Perfect. Let's find you some shoes now, huh?"
When he buys a candy bar and leaves the store, the doll tucked in his jacket has on new tiny boots from the doll section.