A/N:
Thank you to Siv Nuruodo for the review!
To the side of the table, Moira came running out of the wall. Her hair was disheveled and her bag bouncing by her side, like she'd just snagged it and ran the moment she heard John's voice. "Sam!"
Sam shifted in John's hand, distracted from the doctor's questions by his adopted sister's arrival. "M-Moira?" he said in disbelief, wondering if he'd really been gone only for the day.
Dean pulled himself away from the others at the table, waving at Moira to join them and coming up next to John's hand. "It's a long story, kid," he said to Sam. "Getting you better comes first."
Sam bit his lip nervously. "It's more a question of what doesn't hurt anymore," he admitted, feeling the strain from the day's trials on every bit of his body.
John frowned thoughtfully. "I guess we can start with the leg, fix up that splint job." Besides being rather bulky in appearance, John doubted Sam could be comfortable with it over his trouser leg. "Er, Dean, could you help Sam onto the table? I'll need both hands."
Sherlock remained silent where he sat, steepled fingers pressed to his lips as he watched the motley crew of tiny people settle in on the table. He couldn't help picking them apart one by one in his head. A father and daughter, obvious enough by their physical resemblance and his protective nature over the child. The older man was protective of little Kara, too, but he was protective of everyone. Even the one from the separate cage, and the loner who had personal experience with being handled. Her lack of hesitation where it existed in the others was proof enough of that. Tamed and conditioned.
In addition, the few others he'd heard speak were American, just like the Winchesters. If he believed in such things, Sherlock would call it incredibly lucky that he and John happened upon yet another group of people shipped overseas and rescued them before anything could happen. As it was, he was incredibly fascinated by the lot of them.
John looked back at Moira, keeping his hand where he'd put it on the table. With all that was going on, he distractedly started to reach a hand toward the Winchesters' sister before catching himself. Ears going pink, he stretched his empty hand flat as a platform, his arm forming a bridge over the gap between them. "Do you want to join us?" he asked Moira.
Moira eyed the hand up doubtfully, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird's wings from how quick it had moved at her before John caught himself. She wasn't as sanguine with these humans as Sam and Dean appeared to be, with their fast movements and impossibly large sizes, but she was trying to do her best.
"S-sure," she said, sending one last glance at Dean before she stepped into the palm.
Dean gave her a thumbs up from the table, torn in too many different directions by everything that was going on. He was driven to take charge, knowing the others rescued with them would need help adjusting, but Sam and Moira always came first in his mind. Sam, especially, needed the help. Christian and the others had no obvious injuries to Dean's practiced eye, one reason he'd checked on them before coming over. They looked sore, but nothing like Sam.
"C'mon Sam, let's get you onto the table," Dean murmured, slipping one arm behind Sam's back and the other under his knees.
Sam hissed with pain as Dean lifted him and swiftly laid him on the table. There was no hiding the amount of pain he was in, not from Dean and not from John.
"They did something to my back, too," Sam said as he painfully lay flat again. "Burned it or something."
John nodded as he carefully ferried Moira to the table, letting her off near Dean. It was hard for him to miss the bandage across Sam's back, half-hidden by his shirt, and he'd wondered what they could possibly have done to him there. Knowing it was a burn didn't make John feel any better.
"Right. One thing at a time," he muttered, mostly to himself. With both hands free, he flipped open the first-aid kit. He took out his own gauze and medical tape, using a pair of small scissors to cut both into strips that smaller hands could manage. "Dean, if you could work on cutting that splint off, please? And roll back his trouser leg to the knee once it's off."
Dean nodded, kneeling down next to Sam and pulling out his knife. He could ignore the scissors in John's hand. Though the sharp edges on them were longer and more deadly than the small knives the brothers held in such high regard, he knew John would be assiduously careful with them near people so small.
Moira edged closer to Sam while Dean and John worked, her face a mask of shock at the condition Sam was in. She knelt by his side, taking his hand and squeezing it.
"Keeping out of trouble?" Sam asked, glad for the distraction as Dean made short work on the splint, taking his frustration out on the reminder of Sam's captivity.
"More than you, apparently," Moira said, brushing Sam's bangs from his eyes. "Glad to see you back."
As Dean started to toss the scraps from the splint away from him and Sam so they could start rolling up the pant leg, Moira stood and took a few steps towards the strangers on the table. Her family didn't entertain guests very often, but she knew how to offer hospitality. And, maybe, she could help reassure them, considering the way Sherlock and John could loom. Sherlock especially with that focused look in his eyes.
Moira spared him one last glance before opening up her bag, a smaller version of Sam's. "Is anyone hungry?" she asked in a small voice. "I don't have much, but my mother made some cakes," she offered shyly, pulling one out and unwrapping it from the fabric coiled around it.
The little grey-eyed girl tugged excitedly at her dad's hand, and he reached out cautiously to take it. The nerves had never quite left his face, and he quickly glanced at Sherlock and John before passing the cake to Kara. "Thank you," he said.
"My name's Moira," she offered, smiling at the little girl. "Sam and Dean are my brothers. What's your name?"
"I'm Kara!" Kara replied, her toothy grin thrilled as she took a bite of the cake. "Daddy, this is good!" She shoved some back at him.
Moira offered the other cake to Mikael, but he waved it off. "I think Anita and Bree could use it more," he said, gesturing at the two girls. "I'm Mikael, and that's Christian."
Christian jumped slightly at his name. "Y-yeah. Thanks for the help." He nervously fiddled with the cake.
Watching from above, Sherlock was intrigued by the new interactions Moira was introducing to the group. Taking note of her polite manners and sense of hospitality, he paid close attention to how each and every person reacted to her. Mikael refusing food in favor of the others was especially interesting. He didn't appear to be related to any of the others, yet he had established himself as an elder of the group and prioritized them over himself. A noble quality, Sherlock had to admit.
For her part, Anita stared suspiciously at the cake when she was offered one, but a glance over at Kara happily eating some helped her relax. Giving Moira a confused look, unsure what she or Sam and Dean were to these humans, Anita took her share with a grateful nod.
"Wh-what is all this?" she asked Moira after taking a tentative bite. All those years of eating bland food and drinking stale tap water had left her tolerance for food with taste all but nonexistent; she enjoyed the cake, but she would need to take it in slow, small nibbles. She glanced furtively up at Sherlock and John. "You're not their pet…?"
Moira stiffened at the implication of being 'pets.' "If anyone tries to make me into a pet, I'll stick 'em," she said, brandishing the pin she wore at her side, her hand placed just above the rounded red bottom.
The quick movement caused the wing on her shirt to billow up enough to reveal the knife she still wore at her side, and Mikael's eyes widened. "I've never seen a weapon like that," he said, pointing at the knife.
"This?" Confused, Moira pulled the knife from her belt and held it out for them to see. "It's Sam's. I'm just holding onto it for him."
"It's… intricate." Mikael stared, a cast falling over his face to disguise his emotions. "And… you trust these humans…?" he ventured, looking up at Sherlock, who continued to scrutinize them.
"Well…" Moira said, glancing from Sherlock to where John was carefully checking over Sam. "Dean trusts them, and he's one of the smartest people I know. So I'll trust them too."
Sherlock shifted in his seat to lean one elbow on the chair's thin arm, stroking his chin in thought. "So," he began, his voice a quiet rumble over the six tiny people in front of him. "You're all American. Aside from you and you." He pointed at Moira and Anita, making an assumption about Bree, the only person he hadn't heard speak. He felt safe in that guess, given she was in the cage with the other Americans.
Mikael crossed his arms, standing as tall as he could when surrounded by humans. "That's what they called us," he said. "All I know is we lived in a motel in Hibbing, Minnesota. There… wasn't anyone left in the motel but us…"
Christian looked over at Mikael from where he was crouched next to Kara, sharing some of her cake. "M-Mikael was caught first," he added. "Then me. I couldn't even get to Kara before they had me. And Kara made it two weeks on her own before they got her too." His poor daughter, so thin and frail by the time she was in his arms again in that infernal crate. The only reason he was glad to see her was the fact that he knew she'd at least get consistent meals with them.
"I was already there," Bree said, her eyes cast down. "They caught me and took me from my home when I was just a kid. I just… never expected they'd sell me. Not after they gave me to their daughter as a present."
Sherlock's brow furrowed at the information being freely given to him. Sam and Dean had kept their stories close to their chests for weeks, but with these people, he'd asked one question and practically gotten a life story from each of them. Even the quiet one.
"Interesting," he mused. "You said you lived in a motel. Clever, taking advantage of drifting human beings in order to keep hidden from them. Though, I imagine pickings can get thin when business is slow."
Still, he had to admit, whatever these tiny people were, they were a hardy bunch. Even the little girl was able to survive on her own for a surprisingly long time. "Anyway, Minnesota is in America, that's why you're called that. Now you're in London, England. Making me, John, Moira, and…" He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head at the other whose name escaped him.
"A-Anita," she provided, her insides churning at the scrutiny she was suddenly placed under. Thankfully, her quick answer sent those enormous blue-green eyes back toward Mikael.
"English," Sherlock finished. "Or British. Either way."
Mikael thought that over. "So many different names for people," he commented. "You humans love to name everything you find. Sometimes multiple times."
A/N:
Mikael thinks all humans are a little obsessed with naming things...
Next: April 24th, 2019 at 9pm
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