Known Abilities: Quick and quiet, it’s hard to keep Kara in one place. She’s a great climber and may give Sam a run for his money once she grows a little. Since she’s barely half his height, she’ll have to work twice as hard to cover the same ground.
Background: Kara grew up in an underpopulated motel out in Hibbing, Minnesota. When her dad was taken away by humans, she did a very unexpected thing and went to find help– from a hunter staying at that same motel. Lucky for her, it was Dean.
Quote: Someone as big as you shouldn’t be afraid of anything!
Known Abilities: An adept seamstress who makes all the clothing for her family, and took the time to teach their neighbor Krissy how to sew just as well. She would have done this with her daughter Bree, but Bree was taken away before she was able to pick up the necessary skill.
Mallory is also quite good at getting her boys to get along, and has steamrolled right over Walt in the past when he grows intransigent. Don’t underestimate her just because she’s 3 inches tall.
Background: Mallory has been with Walt since she was a teenager, and had a child with him, Briella Watch. They’ve stayed in the Trails West motel for years, and lived in the bed and breakfast that it was before renovations. She may have passed away in Brothers Apart, but she is forever remembered by the children she raised and the husband she left behind.
Quote:
“Be careful. For me. Remember, just because he’s your brother doesn’t stop him from being dangerous, even just by accident.”
John couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of detail he was able to see through the small lens, if slightly distorted. The individual spikes of Dean’s hair which swayed as though in time with a breeze; it didn’t take John long to realize that the breeze was his breath, and he made a conscious effort to lessen the gust. Freckles across Dean’s cheeks and stubble on his chin, the tiniest things that John wouldn’t be able to make out ordinarily. Bloodstains on his black shirt, and… John squinted and looked closer, a little thrown by the sight of a necklace resting against Dean’s chest. Even with the magnifier, all he could really make out was an outline of a leather cord and a metallic gleam from a pendant.
“What is that? ” Sherlock piped up, leaning in close again.
Leaning on the slight incline of John’s fingers, some of which outsized him in length, Dean had never looked smaller and more vulnerable.
This was further accentuated when a longer, paler finger came from behind John to poke at Dean’s shoulder, flipping the tiny person onto his back.
“Stop that!” John hissed, slapping Sherlock’s hand out of the way. The hand supporting Dean wavered ever so slightly, causing his head to loll to the other side.
Dean eyed up the clouds overhead, but was unable to keep his attention on the growing darkness.
He was laying on his back out in the field past Bobby’s house, absently fiddling with some tools he’d taken from his dad’s supply before the oldest of the Winchesters had taken off. It was a good distraction, taking apart the various spare parts Bobby kept around his junkyard, and a good way to avoid homework.
Sam wasn’t far from the sixteen-year-old, busy exploring the ground around his older brother to see what was there. Dean kept a sharp ear out for the kid, always alert for any dangers that might lurk near them.
Sam was, after all, only just barely three inches tall, having hit a brief growth spurt over the summer. It pained Dean to know that if not for the curse, Sam might tower over even him one day. The kid showed no sign of slowing down yet.
A cool breeze rustled over the grass, and Dean turned his head to watch Sam, distracted from his attempts to pry open the rusty machinery.
Sam turned slightly at Dean’s shift, despite the fact that Dean was convinced he’d done it silently. More and more, Sam was growing almost impossible to sneak up on. He always seemed to know when Dean, Bobby or John were around, even if Dean took care to slow his breathing. Good instincts to have at Sam’s size, but also a problem for Dean when he was trying to catch his brother off guard.
This wasn’t one of those times. Dean gave Sam a half wave from where he was stretched out on the ground, his body flattened and still much higher than Sam was tall.
Sam grinned broadly when he spotted Dean’s movement, waving back at his older brother. Despite the fact that the kid was only a foot away from where Dean was laying, it seemed much farther for the twelve year old. Distances became extreme at his size, and he always had his knife on hand for any unexpected surprises, like an opportunistic bug or spider lurking in the shade provided by the tall green stalks of grass. He also had a cloth satchel slung over his shoulder, full of items he’d collected over the last week of staying at Bobby’s, and a safety pin thread combo that served as a climbing implement, given to him by his good friend Oscar, a young boy they’d met a few years back in a dead end motel. Sam hoped to see him again in the future, but with their drifter lifestyle with John Winchester, there were no certainties. Sam couldn’t even recall the name of the motel from those days, only the refreshing feeling of knowing someone his own size.
Dean might not be his size, but the brothers remained as close as they’d ever been.
Sam was in the middle of contemplating an attempt to climb up an especially thick blade of grass when it happened.
Something wet and cool hit his head, completely soaking his fluffy hair and making him sputter in indignation as he tried to wipe his eyes clear.
Dean snorted with laughter, his deeper voice easily heard despite the water clogging Sam’s ears. “Smooth move, pint-size. You’re lookin’ all washed up.”
Sam glared at Dean through the sheen of water dotting his face, but tilted his head up at the sky above. The cloudy day had turned dark while he was distracted, and now the heavens were opening up.
Another drop hit Sam square in the face, and he lost balance, tumbling backwards onto his butt. Dean still sniggered, but this time actually sat up, brushing a few stray drops of rain from his spiky hair. At his scale, the rain was cool and refreshing. At Sam’s, the rain was heavy and clung to him after it struck, leaving him sodden and bedraggled. If he was on his own in the field, he’d need to seek shelter fast. Flash floods were very much in danger of sweeping him away.
The ground around Sam darkened more, and he looked up to see Dean’s hand suspended above him to ward off the raindrops. Dean might tease, but he never slacked off if Sam needed help. His other hand flattened on the ground close by, offering Sam a ride.
Sam accepted without any complaints, still trying to brush the water from his hair.
“I think we’ll have to wait for a better day to go outside,” Dean commented, laughter lurking at the edge of his voice as he lifted Sam up and tucked his two hands close to his chest. “Otherwise you might be floating down the stream soon.”
While the rain grew harder and more insistent, Dean started to make his way to the old house waiting for them, wondering if there would be food waiting.
What little breath Sam had left, he called up to grit out “Terrible. Crowd… to work with… Why talk?”
Euan’s face twisted with irritation. He was sick and tired of this Sam’s backtalk, but as much as he wanted to silence the little pest for good, he was valuable merchandise.
“You need to learn your place, boy,” he seethed through clenched teeth.
Infuriated, Dean’s hand closed into a fist around the tinfoil cup, crumpling it into a ball. “Son of a bitch! ” he snarled, whipping the ball of foil at the stack of books. Glowering at the way it just bounced off the topmost book, he shoved his boot back on, threading the laces and pulling them as tight as he could, searching for a place to funnel his anger.
Timeline: A year before the first story will start
“See? What’d I tell ya? It’s perfect.”
Sam frowned, glancing from side to side in the newly-discovered ‘room’ they’d taken for themselves in the wall of one of the flats on Baker Street. It was cozy and dark, some scattered beams of light slipping through cracks in the wall. Sam brushed a hand against that wall, peering out into the flat beyond.
None of the humans that called 221B Baker Street their home were around at the moment, leaving the brothers on their own to check things out. And there was plenty to see.
So many rumors dogged this place that they’d nearly heeded their adopted family’s advice and gone elsewhere. But it was so tempting.
For two brothers, raised to make a difference, the last place they’d want to end up at was a dead end, unable to help anyone. Hell, unable to help themselves.
Dean had heard of the Consulting Detective and his doctor of a flatmate, two men who did what they wanted to do– helping others, whether they saw it that way or not.
It was an irresistible temptation, and once Dean had looked in on the events at the flat, his mind was made up. The chance to hear about cases? Solving murders? Sign him up, he’d take it. Though it might not be hunting monsters with his dad the way he’d thought he’d be doing years back before his curse, it would do.
“I suppose,” Sam said slowly, his voice lowered so any possible humans in the area would never be able to hear him. “It’s not the worst…”
Dean almost glowed at the assessment and jumped straight into his excited rambling, already prepared to make his case.
“If you check out over here, the wall’s nice and weak. We’ll be able to make a door just like at our old place. And back here,” Dean gestured, dragging Sam along with him, “there’s a straight shot to the kitchen counter. Whatever else they keep in there, they have to put food in the cabinets eventually, and that means we’ll be able to snitch it.” He waved over his head. “Old walls, plenty of passages and weak spots, lots of clutter in the main flat so anything we take goes unnoticed…”
Dean paused, and looked at Sam. “It’s perfect,” he reiterated hopefully.
Sam’s mouth thinned to a line as he considered it. “What about the ‘experiments?’ ” he asked quietly.
Dean’s eyes shot towards the kitchen with a slight wince. They both knew all about Sherlock Holmes and his ‘experiments.’ Far too much. Rumors abounded in the walls about the odd body parts Sherlock kept around, even going so far as to keep them in the fridge or microwave. It was right out of a horror movie, if the man got his hands on any people like that.
“We’re not gonna get caught,” Dean affirmed. “We’re some of the best around, and you know it. With your sense and my knack… we can make this work.”
Sam was caught off guard by the sudden pleading in Dean’s eyes. It wasn’t often that Dean tried turning his own puppy eyes on his younger brother, since they rarely worked so well but this time…
When nothing turned up there, Sherlock got up to repeat the process around the room. He paused, squinted and leaned over the worktop to scrutinize a minuscule smudge. There were a few tiny dots of blood, long since dried, a short distance from the book pile where the knife had been found, one of them spread thin in the vague impression of the toe of a minuscule boot.
A tiny foot kicks Sam’s knife across the surface, hard enough to cover several inches in distance.
Sherlock frowned at the image that flashed in his mind. If Sam was truly in danger from another human, why would he rid himself of his sole weapon? Unless he wasn’t alone…
Bobby stared down at the floorboard he’d torn up seconds before, startled by what he was looking at.
Nestled between two supports, there was a small room, swept clear of any remaining sawdust from the construction of the house, and with a fine layer of dust spread over a few pieces of furniture.
Knowing about people the size of his finger living nearby and seeing proof of their existence were two completely different things.
He worried his lip. The floorboard needed replacing, and it didn’t look like anyone had lived there in a long time. He recalled the place Rumsfeld had chased him from months before, a fleeting glimpse of bright red hair running from him clear in his memory. They must have once lived in his house, before relocating. He wondered why they might have left, and decided it didn’t matter.
Carefully gathering up a cradle and two makeshift chairs, Bobby pushed himself to his feet. He could find a place to leave them, and hope their former owners found them. They deserved to have all of their possessions, no matter what had driven them from the house.
Brothers Apart 