A/N:

Thank you to Siv Nuruodo, Shadow cat 181 and Kajensen07 for the reviews!

Dean squared his shoulders and tilted his head defiantly up to meet Mycroft's eyes, letting none of his trepidation shine through all 3.8 inches of him. This was not the time to be nervous or afraid, not with everything riding on him.

"Name's Dean Winchester," Dean introduced himself, not risking a glance towards Sherlock or John. Mycroft was the only human standing, but down on the arm of Sherlock's armchair, Dean stood lower than everyone regardless.

He let none of this show, keeping his eyes trained on Mycroft. All the pride he had in himself from years of surviving and keeping his only remaining family safe was apparent in the tilt of his chin. "My brother Sam was the one kidnapped."

"Indeed," Mycroft mused, observing each of Dean's few inches. He seemed to skip right past the fact that Dean shouldn't exist to instead review the information before him. After a while, he finally tore his gaze away to regard John and Sherlock again. "So this is why the two of you have been keeping out of trouble lately. How quaint."

Sherlock pointedly tightened the violin's bow hair, his glare losing none of its intensity. John across from him was at least attempting to hide his displeasure in the way Dean was being addressed and talked about like he wasn't there; his pursed lips and clenched fist were the only visible signs.

"Long story short, Dean and his brother come from America," Sherlock elucidated directly, concentrating on the bow in his hands rather than his brother, "and he's not only endured inhuman treatment, but after today he's also witnessed it."

Mycroft's brow rose and his tight, artificial smile returned. "That so?"

Sherlock lolled his head over to look pointedly at Mycroft. With a scoff, the elder Holmes planted his feet and settled his umbrella in front of him, thin hands draped one over the other on the crook handle. At last, his gaze dropped to meet Dean's. "Enlighten me."

Dean crossed his arms as Mycroft finally acknowledged him. His posture remained stiff and at attention while staring up at this new giant, practically grinding his teeth at the way Mycroft tried to sideline him in the conversation about him.

"When we were kids," Dean started, knowing there was no going back now, "we were separated from our father." He made no mention of his curse, and didn't plan on breathing a word about how they were once human. They needed Mycroft to believe them, so he chose to split the information into easy-to-swallow chunks.

"I was fourteen, and Sam was only ten. We tried to find help to track him down, but it didn't go so well. Our 'help' decided we'd make good pets, caged us and shipped us off to England. Back then, we found a way out before we reached our destination."

He paused for a second, working his jaw. "Earlier today, we found out that wasn't the end of those people. They lured Sam out into the open, took him away to Wembley and branded him. Like an animal for sale."

Dean started to pace, the nervous energy in him working its way out in quick motions from side to side on the arm of the chair. "They had records dating back years of selling people like us. All branded. All helpless. Sam's leg was broken, he can barely even move now." He abruptly halted his pacing and stared up at Mycroft. "There needs to be a way to stop them from doing this to more people."

While Dean talked, Mycroft's expression slowly shifted from undisguised condescension to a light frown as he considered the smaller man's words. This time, when he broke eye contact with Dean to address the others, it was with the impression that he was speaking to all three of them.

"I see why you called me. Obviously people like this-" Mycroft pocketed his left hand to lift his umbrella with his right, pointing the tip of it at Dean; seeing this, Sherlock swung his bow around to deflect the umbrella from underneath. Mycroft blinked but smoothly swung the umbrella up to rest on his shoulder, as though that had been his intention all along, but a knowing scowl from Sherlock betrayed that. He noted how solicitous his brother was about this Winchester fellow, as was John if the way he'd stiffened in his seat was any indication, before he continued. "-are a secret. So secluded that even I was ignorant of their existence. You can't go to the police, or else this would all be publicized and for all you know, your little friends will be taken away again."

"That's about the sum of it," said John through clenched teeth. "These people are a menace. They have to be taken down, brought to justice, but it needs to happen quietly and efficiently, so people like Dean and Sam don't have to worry about it happening again."

Sherlock nodded, looking to Mycroft with his least aggressive expression yet. "Whoever they are, the people we encountered today were not alone. They've got higher-ups somewhere out there that need tracking down and assets that need freezing to ensure that these dealings don't continue. It's a task that John and I simply do not have the influence to fulfill."

Mycroft hummed thoughtfully. "Then it seems I'm your only hope." He turned his eyes back to Dean, a faint confident smirk playing at his lips. "I'll do my best."

Dean stared right back, unable to hide the bristle in his shoulders after watching a giant umbrella and violin bow whip around from so close. He was more grateful than ever he'd chosen to stay near Sherlock, who was prepared for whatever Mycroft might do. Their sibling relationship was nothing like Sam and Dean's from what he'd seen both now and from the year of living unseen in the flat, watching Mycroft's rare visits with a wary eye.

"I'll just have to hope your best is as good as you think it is," Dean said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "Better not mention me, or someone might think you're smokin' the good stuff out there."

John's brow shot up at the way Dean spoke to Mycroft. That nervous energy he'd had up until and throughout this meeting was still there, but clearly his position with Sherlock backing him up was giving the little guy enough confidence to back talk the most powerful man he'd ever met.

Across from John, Sherlock smirked at Dean's gall. He couldn't have said it better himself, and the snide comment sounded much more amusing coming out of the tiny American.

Mycroft chuckled dryly, very little humor in his eyes. "So quick-witted. I can see why my brother's taken to you. Dean Winchester, wasn't it?" With a reflective hum, Mycroft lowered his umbrella to lean on it again. "You should know, Mister Winchester, that even I cannot do this entirely on my own. I shall need a team to handle the decommissioning of this organization of yours on the ground level. You can rest assured, however, that I am very good at maintaining secrecy with those under my employ. As to whether or not they'll believe me, well… they are rather inclined to do what I ask of them. Additionally, I am under no obligation to help you at all. A little gratitude wouldn't be misplaced."

"You won't tell anyone else, though, right?" John pressed, needing to hear the words. "This doesn't get past anyone directly involved."

"Naturally," Mycroft sighed, swiveling his gaze to meet John's. "I have no interest in meddling in such small affairs. Though I admit to curiosity, and I expect a much more detailed briefing, none of this will be made public. Are my answers to your satisfaction?"

John considered, watching Mycroft's face carefully. He wasn't usually one to lie, and he was a very secretive person. Having that to their advantage for once was definitely an appealing thought. He nodded, turning to Sherlock and Dean to see if they had any objections.

Dean shot a quick look up at Sherlock, then nodded to Mycroft. "Your discretion is… appreciated," he forced out, setting his pride to the side for the sake of the others his size that might still be suffering. For them, he would do anything to help. Even be gracious- or as gracious as Dean Winchester could get- to Mycroft Holmes.

"Don't let my attitude keep you from doing the right thing," Dean said, coming close to a straight-up apology. "They deserve better than that. All of them."

"Trust me," Mycroft smirked, "your attitude pales in comparison to a lifetime with Sherlock Holmes. Though I'm certain that will become clear to you in time, if it hasn't already."

With a long breath and a bored expression, the elder Holmes flexed his fingers around the crook of his umbrella. "I take it this is a matter of some urgency, and it would be prudent to get on it at once."

"Immediately, if you can manage it," said Sherlock snidely, brushing his fingers across the strings of his violin to ring quietly for a moment. "I'll text you the details."

"A shocking turn of events," Mycroft retorted, tone dripping with sarcasm. He then regarded the odd company around him with a polite smile that didn't seem to belong on his face. "Expect to hear from me soon." Turning to look at Dean one last time, he added, "We'll meet again."

With that, Mycroft slunk his way out of the flat and down the stairs, swinging his umbrella idly all the way.

John sighed heavily as soon as Mycroft was gone, feeling the tension unwind there after building up the entire conversation. "Well… That could've gone worse."

Dean snorted. "That went just awesome," he said sarcastically, letting his arms fall to his sides and shaking them out in an attempt to relax from the strain he was under while looking up at Mycroft. It was more than just the physical effort of staring up at the tall human; it was the stress from staying composed the entire time, and not letting any of his nerves shine through his outward demeanor.

"Was that a threat or a promise that we'll meet again?" Dean demanded, looking to Sherlock for answers. He couldn't hide the bristle from his shoulders, disliking the fact that Mycroft now knew all about him, and some about Sam. Dean didn't want to put his brother into any uncomfortable situations, and everything about Mycroft just screamed uncomfortable. Dean couldn't imagine what Sam's knack would feel like around the elder Holmes brother.

Sherlock shrugged, his focus on putting his violin away. "Probably both. He does love to be ambiguously enigmatic." With his instrument safely packed up and tucked aside, Sherlock dug his mobile from his pocket and began typing furiously.

Not wanting Dean to worry, John amended Sherlock's answer. "I wouldn't worry about it. He just kind of says stuff like that to put people off. He's usually too busy to bother with us common folk."

That said, John got up and held out an upturned hand to Dean since Sherlock was otherwise occupied. "Want a lift back?" he offered, tilting his head toward the bookshelf that hid Dean's home. "We could be waiting a while."

Dean briefly considered his other options, his eyes sliding naturally to the books that guarded his home. Hefting a sigh, he stepped onto John's hand, inwardly admitting he'd rather save the time and effort that climbing down the chair and then back up again would cost him. "Guess I can't turn down an offer like that, not with all the work I've got lined up tonight."

The humans already knew where their home was, there was no point in denying it. Plus, he'd need his strength if he wanted to go out and restock their food and water before hitting the sack. More mouths to feed meant even their abundant supplies would run dry in no time.

"Feels friggin' weird, everyone knowing where we live," Dean muttered as he made his way to the very center of John's hand, scrupulously avoiding the edges and determined to not look down and go through the same vertigo from that morning. Once he was certain he was as centered and far away from the edges as he could get, he looked up at John and gave him a thumbs-up.

John carefully lifted Dean, stepping slowly and smoothly toward the shelf. The past two days had felt like a crash-course in holding and carrying around tiny people in his hands, and John finally seemed to be getting the hang of it. At least the nerves that usually accompanied the action were starting to dull.

"Well, like I said, we'll try not to bother you," he put in helpfully. "And in this case, we'll know where to find you when Mycroft gets back to us. So that's… something."

Letting out a short breath, John stabilized his hand on the shelf; with the books in place, there was less room for his entire hand like before, but he made do. After Dean left his hand, he sat back in his chair again and reiterated, "We'll be here if you need us."

"Right… We'll letcha know," Dean gave John a cocky salute, some of his regular confidence starting to return now that the confrontation with Mycroft- at least, Dean saw it as a confrontation, considering how dangerous any human could be, and this man more than any other- was over. He was back with Sherlock and John, and knew them enough to be able to let his guard down.

Turning to go, Dean let his hand brush against the book that leaned over his head. There wasn't enough room on the shelf for it to slip down and crush the brothers (one of the many reason they favored the shelf), and its new placement felt just as sturdy. The light grew dimmer as he walked through the leather-bound tunnel, a splash of yellow against the back of the wooden wall that waited for him.

Dean turned left, and made his way back through the entrance of their home.

A/N:

This just in: Dean actually bites down on his pride for the first time ever.

Things are in motion, and nothing anyone does can stop them!

Next: May 19th, 2019 at 9pm

Leave us a review to let us know what you think! We love to hear!