The Dragon At Knights Inn ~~ Chapter 12 part 2
Sherlock brought over a thin pair of tweezers and the sight of them reaching towards Sam's head had him clenching his eyes shut, teeth grinding, waiting for the pain but he heard a light scraping sound and then leather creak, looking up, he saw that Sherlock had gripped his satchel's strap and was lifting it up over his head. Sam pushed the back of his head down to keep it from going anywhere but of course the human's pull was stronger and it left Sam's head bouncing back down. Then the sand weight was lifted from his hand just long enough to pull the satchel fully off of him before it was placed back down. The tweezers came back and started to prod at his jacket, opening one side then the other. Sam's eyes went wide. Was he undressing him?!
Sherlock spotted a knife identical to his own Sam's and using the tweezers, gripped the case of it and eased it out of Sam's belt. Putting it aside next to his satchel. Sam's breath was going very fast, struggling desperately.
“Calm down.” Sherlock said quietly and poked at the sides of his waistband. “Have any other weapons?”
Sam grit his teeth even as tears sprung to his eyes. The tweezers pinched at his jacket some more, testing the thickness of his pockets or to see if he had any pockets that weren't obvious. Moving from one side to the other, all the while, that thoughtful frown on Sherlock's face. The magnifier came out again and Sam saw an extremely detailed view of Sherlock's left eye. The dilation, the black hole widening. Sherlock's breaths passing over his body, making his clothes ripple and hair move. The sounds the human was making without even realizing. Low hum's and the whoosh of air into lungs larger then all of them put together. Absently swallowing excess saliva. It was all too close and loud.
The worst sound was the creaking tweezers as they kept on exploring his body. Tugging at his shirt underneath, moving it this way and that. Then moving down to his pants and the legs, searching for any other hidden objects when they came to his shoes. Sherlock lifted the weight from one leg at a time to inspect the length and feel with his fingers if there was something more there, then replaced the weight on that leg to remove the other and search again. The shoes were examined closely. A cotton swab stick brought over with some kind of chemical liquid on it rubbed all over his shoes and was placed in a Petri dish. A new swab stick and dish for the other shoe.
Sherlock looked pleased with the sample and brought over a swab half soaked with water to Sam's head. Wetting his hair and mussing it up. Twisting it slightly and tugging at his hair as it became tangled with the fibers. Tugging a few strands out. Sam was confused as hell why he'd want to test that. See what kind of shampoo he and Dean use? The water was cold and didn't feel all that great on his head. The cue tip was brought over to a slide and then another clean Petri dish. Half of the things Sherlock had brought over to the table were to examine organic samples.
Even if Sam couldn't see him, he could hear Dean's low growl constant in the background. It was oddly comforting. To know that he's not alone up here, being treated like this with no witnesses. Sherlock was true to his word, he wasn't physically hurt with any of the tests so far. But being splayed out and exposed like this was frightening on its own. The threat that this human could do something unspeakable to him. With ease. Claiming it was for science. He wouldn't even feel guilty if he hurt Sam or Oscar or Dean. Like it was completely justified. He was already splayed out, it would be easy for Sherlock to lift up that scalpel and cut his chest open. See his organs on display and perhaps that's the only way to prove he's really human for the giant. Only when he's making his dying breaths, the man would have his curiosity satisfied. Sam pushed those disturbing thoughts away. They were no help to him.
Sherlock brought over a powerful microscope and put the first slide underneath, eyeing it up and making notes on a notepad nearby. The scratch of pencil on paper was felt in the table. Elements were muttered under the human's breath. The most excitement came from what was found on his shoes. Sherlock turned his head to say, “You've been to a wooded area, a diner, and in at least two other people's hands in the last 24 hours.”
“Been more fantastical places then that, Doctor Strange.” Sam muttered, continuously tugging his right hand from under the weight.
Sherlock frowned at the response and decided the rest of the sample analysis could wait for now. He'd promised Sam and Dean not to ever take their photos and taking pictures of these humanoids would have the same result, since it's hard to distinguish the difference between tiny people like his flatmates, and whatever these things were. In a photo, tiny people are tiny people. He moved on to the measurements. Bringing over a scale and calibrating it to zero. Weighing the bag the first subject had, and its numerous contents individually, marking it all down, then the knife which got a thorough examination all its own, more swabs taken with care to see what all the subject used the knife on. Going so far as to soaking it in a solution to get every single trace of evidence off of the minuscule blade. Then the bag had its belongings returned to it and it was weighed again as if the tally would change in the meantime. Several kinds of rulers were brought out and marked length and width of everything. Cubic volume of the bag and calculating how much it would weigh if it were human sized.
Sam watched it all happen nearly overhead. Grain by grain, he was able to shift the sand inside the weight to lessen it over top of his right wrist, sliding it out and down, freeing it while the human was distracted. He then turned to his side so slowly so as not to raise awareness, and pushed at the weight on his other arm, freeing it. He slowly sat upright, eyes never straying far from Sherlock, who's eyes were pressed hard into the microscope as he tested the knife's metal, surprised to see that it's made of silver, just like his Sam's. That rules out Shapeshifters. Sherlock wondered if there was another kind of body duplicators that were not traditional Shapeshifters when he leaned back to think, fingers pressed together in a peak as he stared off into nowhere. Movement below caught his attention and he saw that his subject was nearly freed.
“If you insist we move on.” He said and removed the weight over the legs and dug his fingers underneath the small body, holding the small subject in his hands. He was carried the short three foot distance to the other side of the table without Sherlock even needing to stand and lowered down to the weight scale. “Stay still.” He ordered and put Sam into the middle of the flat plate.
Sam saw the hands retreat only a centimeter in every direction, still caging him in but not touching the scale. He pushed his hands up at the fingers to give himself more room underneath to escape, but the more he pushed up, the more resistance the scale gave him. Panting, he heard Sherlock sigh in exasperation overhead.
“It's a scale, not a torture device. Stay still or this will take longer.”
Sam shuffled closer to the edge but the fingers closed around him once again. Squeezing him a little. Knocking the wind out of him. He gasped for breath and was dropped back onto the scale again, one of the fingers kept the plate from bouncing anymore from the sudden weight and it stabilized as Sam was struggling to breath again, dizzy and nauseous from the bouncing floor and the tight squeeze. Sherlock flicked a grin and wrote down the result before closing the fingers around Sam. “See? Not so bad.”
“Fuck.... you...” Sam coughed, hair disheveled. His arms were at his sides, no room to move at all. He barely had enough space to suck in a full breath.
Next came a flat plastic square that was about the size of a sheet of paper, but with a grid printed out on it in inches down to millimeters in faint lines. Sherlock loosened up his fingers and let Sam down onto his side, then pushed at his chest to roll him onto his back, and left his finger there to keep him still. Sherlock's planted his other fingers nearby on the plastic sheet to keep himself from accidentally applying too much pressure to the small chest beneath.
“Lay flat out, arms stretched, legs together.” Sherlock said and rolled his eyes as Sam kicked at the palm high above him, what he could reach of it, and push with his hands against the finger holding him down. “I can and will wait all day.” Sherlock said and adjusted in his seat. Turning his eyes to the note paper once again as he waited for the squirming to stop. Writing down his observations with his free hand.
After ten minutes he was done with the notes and looked back to the subject who was trying to scratch through the thick skin. A desperate look in his eyes. He decided to stop waiting for compliance and moved the legs together with his other hand and turned his head this way and that to see all of the exposed parts of the subject's body, then let go of the body to grip the tiny hands in his fingers. He was initially going to pull the hands out as far as they'll go, but decided to trace his fingers along the arms to urge them out instead to keep from breaking any tiny bones. Taking great concentration to keep the subject from twisting or turning in a bad way.
“Please...stop.” Sam whimpered. Tears flowed freely, his face was red and pinched in fear.
Sherlock stilled his fingers and looked at the face. “Ok.” He whispered, touched by the emotions. He let go completely. Hands retreating back to give the little thing room to breath. Resting on the table near the hand tools.
Sam curled up into a ball, hugging his legs. Sniffling into his arms. He wasn't even trying to escape now. There was no point.
Sherlock fidgeted with his fingers and the tweezers. Eyes darting to his notes and the samples. Clearing his throat and saying aloud, “You appear to be human save for your size. The sample I procured of your hair is the same as a human's. It is not fur or any other substance that is similar in appearance.” He was looking anywhere but the small figure. He looked to the dragon who was still seething with rage and then the teapot who's inhabitant hadn't made a single sound. He wondered if the tiny man was still inside or if he'd managed to crawl out the narrow hole. A look downwards to the floor to confirm that his flatmates were nowhere to be found. Guilt creeping up on him. But, he's doing this for them. For their safety. He can't let loose some creatures that he knows nothing about. Only knows that this one is likely human. He had more tests that were not based in the biological and hesitated before doing them on this first subject. If his mind could take much more. Surely someone this small would be used to being handled? Sherlock had to assume so, and that this could be a ploy to let his guard down. Still... he pushed aside his concern for now. He had to know.
“I have a machine here that can detect radiation. Another one that shows images in different waves of light. And this one, is a portable ultrasound that I uh, borrowed, from my brother.” He informed, and held up the machine in question. “I do not have to handle you to do these tests.” He said, hoping that it would be taken better then the previous tests.
Sam didn't look up. The human proved he was going to do whatever the hell he wanted anyway. Everything in him screamed to fight back but he had no more energy. He shrugged his shoulders and heard the human move slightly. Telling him that he'd seen the small gesture.
“I swear, this will not hurt.” Sherlock whispered.
Sam peeked his eyes up, wiping off his nose on his jacket sleeve. “Would you care if it did?” He asked.
Sherlock felt every bit a monster. “Of course.” He insisted. Picking up the machine and waving it over his own arm, then did the same with the other light spectrometer. “No pain. Unobtrusive observations only.”
“Sure.” Sam buried his head again. “Whatever.” His voice watery.
Sherlock stilled before slowly bringing in the Geiger counter and it clicked peacefully over Sam who flinched at every loud clicking sound it made. Sherlock then waved it around himself for the ambient reading, finding a base line. He then aimed it at the table, the dragon, the teakettle and lifted the lid to angle the Geiger inside. Everything was well within normal ranges. He was pleased to see that the small man was still inside, but he was curled up in the corner, crying quietly judging by the hitches in the tiny shoulders. Sherlock left the lid off of it. “It's alright, little fellow.”
The next enhanced spectrometer emitted several beams of light at Sam who kicked his legs out before he was forced to. Sherlock felt between pleased and upset at that. Like he was giving up hope. Expecting to be punished if he didn't comply. Looking back at his actions, he couldn't blame him. Sherlock then took the light scans of the dragon and found it was very interesting. The scales reflected differently. Absorbing the different kinds of lights and hardly showing up at all, almost like a blank spot with some mottled blots on the screen. “Your camouflage works even under UV light and several others. If you were outside, the heat signature would be indistinguishable from your surroundings. Are you cold blooded?”
Dean just growled at him.
“Likely.” Sherlock muttered to himself, and then took the light over to the teakettle and found that Oscar showed up similar but slightly different then Sam in the images. “You were not human originally.” Sherlock said. As he looked inside, the small man shivered in fear. “I don't intend on treating you any less than human.” He informed and backed off again. Taking off his watch and setting it next to Sam. He had a hunch and this was one way to test his new theory without touching them. Observing the second hand of his watch while looking up at a different wall clock. A full minute passed. “Interesting.”
“What?” Sam asked, not expecting to be answered directly.
“Time is moving differently around you. The second hand sped up to skip 3 seconds.” Sherlock leaned forward. “You're moving out of sync with the world.”
Sam shrugged apathetically. “So?”
“So it means that you either went through the corona discharge of a localized black hole, or something else profound and unusual happened to you.”
“Would you believe me if I told you we're from another world? And all we want to do is return?”
Sherlock's eyes widened and he thought about the questions. “Perhaps.” He stated. He'd heard more about the supernatural world through Sam and Dean to know that not everything is black and white. There were gray areas to reality. “Clearly you are all suffering from separation anxiety so I shall return you all to the same holding container.”
The human tilted the teakettle onto its side and Oscar scrambled to stay in it. If he was out there, he was going to be in that human's hands again! Even a dark container like this felt safer then being exposed out there.
“Come on. Don't you want to see your friends?”
Oscar felt his world tipping almost all the way over, the kettle wiggling just a little. He lost his hold of the holes in the spout and tumbled out, landing on his side, he immediately curled up defensively. As expected, huge fingers came towards him and curled around him.
“One quick measurement.” Sherlock said and gently dropped him onto the scale. Oscar didn't move beyond his racing heart and quick breaths. “You're much too light for your frame. You need a more stable diet.”
Sam was watching from the plastic container. He stood on shaky feet, walking to the edge of it which was up to his chin. Hands planted on the rim of it. Anger starting to rise again at seeing how the human was handling his friend. Oscar was brought over to Sam's container and set down. Oscar immediately went to Sam's side and buried his face into his shoulder. Sam stroked his back whispering reassurances into Oscar's ear. Turning his glower up onto Sherlock who had put Oscar with Sam for a few reasons.
Sherlock looked at them both standing there and jotted down a number. Sam realized that it was Oscar's height. Since he knew Sam's it was easy for him to calculate it this way instead of splaying the smaller man out like Sam had been. At least he restrained his handling of his friend to minimal contact. It was far from ok, but it could be worse. “It's ok, Oscar. It'll be over soon.” Sam shushed him, hands stroking his back in comforting waves. Hugging him tightly.
Sherlock took and released a breath, looking towards Dean next.
Dean paced under the intense looks he was getting. His protectiveness over his friends. Trying to think of how far he should go. What if this was just the start of the testing? He'd thought that since Sherlock already had a set of brothers that he was letting roam free, that they'd be treated better then this. Obviously he accepted the brothers, why not them?
Sherlock brought over a hand towards Sam and Oscar who both gripped each other tighter. His hand easily closed around the pair, but with far more care this time, gingerly picking them up from the table, bringing them over to the wire basket and lifting it with his other hand. He opened his hand and allowed them to get off on their own inside. Dean had backed up against the far side. If Dean attacked, the hand could close completely and crush both of them to death. Punishment for his disobedience to the unspoken request.
Sherlock put some of his things aside, letting them all breath for a few minutes. He placed another book over top of the cage to keep them there this time. Leaving the kitchen entirely to make a long phone call.
Dean fussed over both of them, sniffing out their feelings and the things Sherlock put onto Sam. “Did he hurt you?” Dean demanded and Sam hugged himself.
“No. It wasn't fun, but, he didn't break any bones or cut me open like I thought he would.” Sam admitted and saw Oscar dance foot to foot before extending his arm again to offer another hug. “Oscar.” Sam said quietly. “He might do it to you too. Just, just listen to his directions. I know it sounds awful, but, he wont hurt you.”
“He's treating us like... like things.” Oscar cried. Dean wrapped him up in his wing. Holding him.
“He just wants to understand. This is how he does it.” Sam said, looking off into nowhere. “I've been through worse. He hasn't said anything about selling us, or treating us like animals.”
“Not yet.” Dean muttered, snarling silently in the direction Sherlock left. Making up his mind that his friends can not go though anymore. He wont let it. Sherlock returned, holding his phone out casually, sending out several text messages. Dean cursed internally. That might have been that call to some buyer now. Their time could be running out. Where the hell were the Sam and Dean from this world? What's going on?
The human returned and sat down again. Before the next demand came, Dean gave one of his own. “Take me. Let them go. Do whatever you want to me.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “What exactly should I do with you?”
Dean had no idea. It's not like he wanted to be dissected, but he had to do something. Sam snapped out of his depressed thoughts and had turned to face him. Jaw ticking from clenching it so tight with building anger before he punched the dragon hard in his shoulder. The shoulder hardly moved.
“Screw you, Dean!” Sam punched again, venting. “You don't go sacrificing yourself!”
“So he is a Dean.” Sherlock made a silent mental confirmation as he watched the two bicker.
Dean bared his teeth at his friend. “Dude, I'm damaged goods. You got to go back to your brother and take out that monster that's been killing people in those woods! Back in my home? I am the monster. My family is going up against everybody! We are fighting against other Hunters. In case Sam and Cas failed to mention. The Hunters, basically my co-workers, that see me as a monster. My world would be better off without me in it. You're doing far more good Hunting with Dean then I would with my Sam. I'm not exactly able to walk around in public without people wanting to kill me anyway. So I might as well stay here. Take one for the team.” Dean turned to Sherlock who's eyes were fixated on him. Guess he didn't deduce all that about them.
“You jackass!” Sam punched him again. Distantly aware of a three pronged hook flying up to the table's edge a few feet away. Cat's out of the bag. Might as well lay it all out for the jerk, it's not like they could tell the detective to forget all that and let them discuss this in private. Not when it just got interesting. “Do you have any idea the pain you'd cause your family? What would your Sam do if you never came back? Huh? I know that I would tear every universe apart looking for my Dean. Probably get killed in the process. You can not do that to him. And what about Cas? Dude, he loves you. I know my Dean isn't into dudes, but no one cares about that, no hate or judgment here. FYI.” Sam had to add in case Dean was self conscious about letting that part of himself out. Cursing himself for letting it slip. Dean might not have been out of the closet yet. He paused to give an apologetic look for the slip-up. Continuing on because this was important. “Cas would think he did something wrong, to drive you away. He might blame himself.” Sam said, pleading in his eyes, “Think of your family, Dean. Don't be a selfish jerk!” Sam punched him some more. Frustrated that he'd even consider this form of suicide. There was no way that that human would be as gentle with the dragon as he was with the small humans.
Oscar pushed up against the wing and his eyes were wet. The wing uncurled and allowed Oscar to move around to his front. No words, he just wrapped his arms around the front of Dean's torso. “D-don't give up.” He whispered.
Sam paced, working off some of his frustration before joining in the hug.
Sherlock was silent. Hands had dropped to his lap. It didn't matter that he was careful in his handling. He knew how people act when they're faking it. And how they are when it's real. Studying his fellow humans for his whole life from the outskirts of humanity. He'd expected some form of unnecessary heroics, but slowly realized that there would be no need for self sacrifice if he'd let them go at the start. Feeling every bit the monster he seemed to be to these people. “I just...” He started, getting the attention of everyone there, including his friends who had just lifted themselves up onto the table top.
Sam and Dean had been researching possible origins for these people and the dragon. Research takes time and they trusted their huge flatmate not to do anything rash, but now, looking at all the equipment and seeing it all clearly, they'd been wrong to trust him alone. Dean especially thought that he was past all that. He'd never tried to study him or Sam with any of this junk... was he just waiting for the chance? An opportunity? But the expression on his face, it showed his deep regret and it gave them pause.
Sherlock couldn't stand looking at the disappointment in his flatmate's faces. The way they hesitated in coming any closer. Like they'd be next on the slab. Dean was holding the handle of his knife while it was still in it's sheath. The fact that he was thinking about pulling it out. Sherlock swallowed hard. “I was...” and shook his head. Eyes closed. He knew what he did, what it would come across as to them. Excuses. All he had, were excuses. It didn't seem to matter that he had the best intentions in mind. He should have had Sam and Dean up here instead. They would have been more... humane. “Forgive me.” He said, still facing downwards. His hands reached forward and he effortlessly lifted the books up and away from the top of the waste basket, then lifted that next from overhead.
The three stood there, trembling anew. Waiting for them to get snatched up in a fist, put into smaller containers or diced up as an experiment. Sam let go of Dean and turned to face Sherlock again, fists lifted anew. Oscar had no weapon but he turned as well and spread out his arms to block Dean from the human. Only managing to cover his forelegs to chest. Wild haired head reaching Dean's shoulder height alone. Dean looked down at his short friends and then over to the other Sam and Dean who were walking closer to him. Everyone looking up at the human sitting at the table. Trying to figure out what he's going to do next.
“Forgive me.” Sherlock said again, lifting his head to meet their gaze. He stood up and watched them freeze. He pinched the knife up out of the solution, drying it with a nearby swab and laying it a half foot away from the small group so he didn't crowd them. Bringing the bag over next and then the hook. He didn't coil the line, sure his fingers would be too clumsy for the act. Sam darted forward to grab his knife and hold it up defensively. Sherlock's eyes danced at the tabletop, across the notes and tools he had yet to use. That he was planning on using turned his stomach now that he saw the full scope of the situation he created. Nodding once before leaving the room, heading to his bedroom.
Dean looked down to Sam and Oscar. “I was not expecting that.”
“What just happened?” Sam lowered his knife, finally looking around them and spotting the foot on the counter. Holding his mouth with his free hand. “Oh God.” He turned away from it so Oscar wouldn't be curious to find out why Sam was turning green. The thought of how close they'd gotten to being hurt. Killed. It was not his imagination going wild. They'd gotten mixed reactions in each world previous, and Sam saw that this one had the biggest probability of actual dissection. Going by the set up that was not far enough away from them. Sam turned to Oscar. “You ok?”
“F-fine.” Oscar nodded a few times, still pressed close to Dean's side.
Sam and Dean hesitantly walked closer, a guilty look in their faces. “Sorry about... uh everything.” Sam started, Dean agreed.
“He can be a bit intense at first. Caught Sam and me when we were grabbing cookies from the counter.”
“Biscuits.” Sam corrected, rolling his eyes. “We've been here for how long and you still haven't picked up the lingo?”
“Can it, they look like cookies, taste like cookies.” Dean turned to the others. “What would you call them?”
“Uhh, I don't know.” Oscar mumbled. Feeling like he's put on the spot.
“When in Rome.” Sam said for him. “Biscuits.”
“Figures you'd agree with you.” Dean chuckled lightly. The tense air was far from dissipated but it was more awkward to address it in front of everyone. The longer Sherlock was gone, the better. “Sherlock... he gets uh, protective of the ones he likes. His friends and even family. We lived here for years before he found us, captured us, and he was fully intent on studying and questioning us when John came in and put a stop to it. I guess...” Dean rubbed his neck. “I guess his curiosity never fully went away. John made him promise not to go near us or try and find out more about us if we didn't start the meeting. It took a few weeks and the shoelace incident to get back to normal. Well, a new kind of normal.”
Sam pipped up from next to Dean, “I'm not going to say that what he did was right. Just that, for someone like him, who needs to know the answers, having you guys show up out of the blue tripped every one of his triggers for investigating. If all of you looked like any other small people, he wouldn't have done a thing besides let us know he saw more of our kind.” Sam looked extremely apologetic. “It's bad luck you look like me. Because you are me? From another world you said?”
Sam nodded, still sticking close to Dean and Oscar. He didn't fully trust these two. “Why didn't you stop him?”
Dean took this question. “We didn't know if he was right, or that he'd go that far. We went home to see if anything was messed up. If you were a diversion or had looked though our things to learn all about us. And also if we could find out why you looked like Sammy, why there's a talking dragon. Research takes time and we only had the resources of our memories written down when we had escaped after arriving in England. Writing down our lives and knowledge onto scraps of paper to help us remember where we came from. Even our adoptive family doesn't know we used to be human. Pretending to be one of their kind for so long, we start to believe it and... things fade.”
“We couldn't find any information on small monsters and came back to see what Sherlock had found out. But, when we saw what he'd done...” Sam shook his head, looking down at the tabletop. “I thought he'd just ask questions. Honestly.”
The front door opened and everyone froze until the resident Sam and Dean sighed with relief. “Don't worry, it's just John.” Sam said and when their flatmate entered, Sam actually called him over, “Hey! John. We got any biscuits for our guests?”
“You have guests?” John's voice filtered into the room from where he was taking off his coat. Walking into the room and standing there, the grin fading into a look of confusion.
“Yeah, they just popped in for some food. This is Dean, and this is Sam and this is Oscar.” Sam introduced and the mood had lightened considerably considering the three of them waved in turn. Dean and Sam were pretty good at reading people and felt that this human was trustworthy. He didn't see them and immediately go for a hammer for instance...
“Cheers.” John said back, coming closer to sit in the chair Sherlock had left. “Why... is the waste bin on the table?” He saw the people go still and guessed it's purpose. “Oh that bloody bastard.” A scowl coming across his face, hands planting onto the table to launch himself back up out of the chair to give Sherlock a piece of his mind.
A flap of wings got John's attention back, “Don't bother, I think he knows he fucked up.” Dean said and sat down.
John blinked a few times. “I thought you were a lizard. I didn't notice the wings...” He muttered. “Christ.” He pinched his leg under the table. Not a dream. Turning to face his small flatmates. “Did Sherlock drug the tea again?”
“Nope.” Dean said, folding his arms. “All real. Alternate universe whatever. Anyway. These guys have been through enough, from what I can see, and I think they could use a cookie for their troubles, don't you?”
“Of course.” John said and stood up from the table to go to the cabinets. “Bloody hell.” He spotted the foot and covered it with another hand towel. “Sorry about the mess. It's this, case he's on.” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a few different kinds of biscuits, laying them out for their guests perusal. He was glad that they asked for food, normally his flatmates would insist on working in exchange for food, or, scavenging for themselves. Unable to accept handouts. This was a good excuse to feed them without making them feel guilty for taking it. The two new men and what appears to be some kind of scaled thing, looked stressed out and he had enough experience with people suffering with PTSD to see the signs. Not wanting to add to it by asking the tones of questions on his mind. Another day. Not all mysteries are supposed to be solved. Curiosity burned in him though, but he had a better grip on it then most.
Oscar had never had such variety of food in a single day before. Ever. From pretzel M&Ms from 2017, to delicious pastries made by the sprites of Wellwood, to sugared treats from England. This trip had some perks. Sam was kind enough to carry around the spoils of the day for him.
Dean declined the food, still looking wistfully at it, but he was still full from that stick of beef jerky earlier. What he would give to be able to eat these without throwing them up ten minutes later. So instead of eating, he once again, gave these guys their story. It wouldn't be fair to keep it from them since they'd told everyone else with two ears. One good thing about repeating it though, it did help him see that he's not the villain or victim. He's just doing what he can to get by. Sometimes bad shit happens, and now that he's telling them about it, he's able to remember that good stuff happens as well. Sure, there's going to be times when they can't take it anymore, but they've got each other to pull them back up. So long as he is there for them in return.
The food eaten or stored, the story told, it was time to head out. Sherlock made an appearance just as the trio were getting ready to return to the floor. The tall human walked closer, held tight to himself and stood before the table. Eyes either downcast or looking at them with equal parts guilt and hope. His hand came forward, mindful of speed and unfolded to show them what was inside. He explained what it was as he let it slide down his fingers to the tabletop. “Since the brothers arrived, or rather, since we found out about them living here, I'd spent a long time thinking about what they use, day to day.” He nudged it closer. “As it turns out, they are self sufficient in every way. I have however noticed that at some point, your group must have misplaced this item.” It was a meticulously crafted bag with a three pronged hook but smaller then Sam's. The line was made of very fine threads that were woven together to make it easier to grip. He used a closed knuckle on one outstretched hand to nudge it in Oscar's direction and the smallest man stepped back. “I assure you it is alright.” Sherlock seemed so earnest. A peace offering. He had no idea what else he could give to make it up to Sam specifically, hoping this could be useful.
Oscar gulped and stepped forward, lifting up the bag and finding it a perfect size for people like them. The stitching was large, indicating that the human himself had hand sewn it. Oscar peered inside and found an Exacto blade with a thread wrapped handle on it. It was brand new and slightly curved, likely the replacement blade was part of a set from an art store. The handle made out of the thread made it comfortable to grip and hold. Even if his hands were sweaty, this knife wouldn't slip out of his grip. Other items inside were sheaf's of fine tissue paper, cut into squares and formed into a small handmade book. Pencil lead from mechanical pencils rolled around on the bottom. Oscar's eyes were shining when he looked back up at the human.
“I can't... this is too much.” he said, holding it out to tall human.
“It is too small for me to have any use for it.” Sherlock commented with a slight smirk. He worked on the bag in secret, it was going to be one of two gifts for his flatmates. When he'd spoken to Sam and Dean, he learned that their duffle and satchel bags were already gifts, dear possessions that they never planned to part with. He wouldn't force this one on them, make them feel like he'd be upset if they didn't switch bags. This just saved him the trouble of keeping it hidden, as well as redeeming himself a little in their eyes. He truly did not want to keep these people, but his curiosity got the better of him again.
Oscar looked around himself, and saw the the others were fine with him having the new bag. He wiped off his face and smiled, holding it to his chest. “Thanks.” His own bag was back home, and had seen better days. He did not have anyone at the Knights Inn that knew how to tan leather, so his bag was made of cloth and had been repaired several times. This one would last a fair bit longer since it's made with new cloth, not ones discarded and worn too thin. Care worn cloth is best for clothes.
That done, Sherlock waved farewell and stepped far back from the table. Sam and Dean went back to the hook he'd lodged and swung off on down. Dean walked behind his Sam and Oscar, as the little guy tried out his new hook and line. It was far easier to use to climb and halfway down, he urged Sam to try it out for himself as well. Dean flared his wings out, waiting until they were just a few inches from the floor before gliding down. He landed a few feet away and waited for them to catch up. Every few seconds, they'd make a note where Sherlock and John stood. The new entrance they'd made was still uncovered which was good because if they had to unblock it, it would have left them with even more sour thoughts.
Sam and Dean showed them the way along and stopped and stared at a section of inner wall. “Ok, that's different.”
Sam looked up at Dean and said, “That's probably for us.” Starting to recognize the hints indicating other universes in the subtle differences of building material. “If you value your sanity, don't follow us in. Fact, I'd just stay back and block off this way for, I dunno, a week? Month? Till we get this thing sorted out.”
“Whatever you say, Dude.” Dean saluted and stood back next to Sam.
“Good luck.” Sam waved and the others waved back before disappearing before their eyes.
“Ok, where are we now?” Dean said, sniffing the air. “Probably the moon or some crap.”
“No... I'm pretty sure the moon doesn't have mice.” Sam said as he kicked a few pellets away from his path.
Oscar's eyes were wide and his breath hitched. Standing still and looking past Sam to something that was scurrying about ahead of them.
Dean grumbled. “Not another rat.” And flared his wings again. “Ok, you know the drill.”
“Flower!” Oscar cried out and ran forward into the dark tunnel. Sam ran after with Dean going as fast as he can though the narrow walls. They caught up to the little guy just as a brown mass of fur jumped onto him followed immediately by seven smaller ones. Oscar's giggles and flailing's told them everything they hoped to hear. Oscar knew these mice. They were back in the Knights Inn. “We're just outside my front door!”
Sink or Swimchesters Chap 10
Chapter one here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter two here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter three here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter four here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter five here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter six here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter seven here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter eight here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter nine here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter ten part one here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter ten part two here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter eleven here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter twelve part one here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter twelve part two here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter thirteen here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Chapter fourteen here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Final Chapter fifteen here: wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Dragon Dean versus Tiny Sam : wolfie180g.deviantart.com/art/…
Or you could read the whole fic as it's meant to be read (with italics! whoa-shit!) for free and download it and see my other works there that aren't on deviantart yet. Like the sequel to Dragon!Dean which is Shenadragons!
Originally, they get put up on the table and before anything happens, Dean offers himself and that's it. He lets them go. But yeah, I am evil. (Shrugs)
Oz needed a new bag, other ones too worn out. And mice named flower make things all better right?
Sometimes you just have to be evil in the name of awesome writing
Oz deserves his mice friends! (so soft)