Near a forgettable motel in Breckenridge, Colorado, people are dying. Crushed beneath furniture and falling cars, the stories form a clear circle around the Knights Inn. Now Dean and his two tiny brothers, Sam and Jacob, are on their way to unravel the case and help all the motels’ residents– down to the very smallest.
‘You two are free to leave the bag?’ Did he really just …?
That was the last thing Oscar expected to hear, and so he kept watching curiously from his hiding place under the dresser. He had been scoping out the room for supplies and food, as was his usual. It was some ungodly hour of the night, so he really hadn’t expected someone to check in.
He’d barely made it to the floor in time from the top of the dresser when he heard a car pull up. The lock was turning with a metallic scraping that seemed so much louder in his frantic ears. Human! The dangerous word barked in his head. Oscar barely dragged his safety pin grappling hook under the dresser in time for the lights to switch on.
He had been about to breathe a sigh of relief, but his nerves amped up a few more steps when a loud crash filled the room. Oscar had peeked out to see what it was in time for the human to set down a second bag much more carefully than the first. The first duffel had sounded like it might be full of a bunch of spare parts, while the other looked like it held clothes.
Oscar couldn’t help but think things were completely backwards. The clothes bag could be tossed down without a care, but the other one was just obnoxiously loud.
And then of course came ‘You two are free to leave the bag,’ after moving a shirt away. Oscar frowned at the scene. He felt a sinking in his stomach that turned into plain fear when he saw two people, people his size climbing out of the clothes bag and onto the bed. He ducked back under the dresser, making sure he was in the shadows and out of sight.
His heart was pounding a frantic beat. Oscar’s entrance to the walls was nowhere near the dresser. He’d aimed to just wait until the human crashed into bed, and he could just avoid the room until he left. He could still do that, but now Oscar had the knowledge that two poor souls were captured by that human.
From the sounds of things, they were trained. They’d needed permission to get out of the duffel bag. That they were carried around in a bag like that in the first place put a sick feeling in Oscar’s stomach. What if they’d been jostled around? What if they fell out? Would the human care?
He definitely needed them all to go to sleep so he could get out of here before he joined those poor captives.
Mark cried out in alarm as the hook sank its tooth in inches from where he was crouched. A second later, he felt the air shift behind him, and he whirled around to find the human peering at him through the gap in the chair.
John’s anger melted as Dean’s voice rang out from near Sherlock’s feet.
“Dean…” he breathed as he looked down at the tiny man, awkwardly shuffling to sit at the end of Sherlock’s bed. It still made his heart race to see either of the brothers on the floor. Dean had managed to catch their attention quickly this time, but John always feared the idea of him or Sam being unable to make themselves known to their larger flatmates.
Taking a deep breath, Dean brought himself to his current conundrum. He needed a way into Sherlock’s room without going all the way back around to the entrances they commonly used. All he needed was a little crack in the wall, some weak spot… Dean pressed his hands to the wall, pushing at a spot that had what looked like a water spot.
He hissed when it gave under his touch, and delicately pushed it just enough to squeeze into the walls. From there, he didn’t have far he could go considering how small the slip of wall was between the bathroom door and the door to the hall, but it was enough for Dean to find another crack that lead to Sherlock’s room. Old buildings had their uses, especially for people who lived in the walls.
And then Dean was in a room with two giants, one clearly angry.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, doing his best not to cause too large of a breeze for his passengers, John looked to Sherlock. “Lead the way, then,” he muttered.
Sherlock stood and walked from the kitchen to the main room and John, holding his breath, lifted his hands from the table and followed. He stepped slowly and carefully to keep the ride as smooth as possible.
He felt like a bus. A giant, inefficiently shaped bus.
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.
John reached toward Dean and tapped the counter with his knuckle, just outside of reach of the smaller man’s reach.
Contrary to John’s hopes, the light rap against the countertop did not yield the desired results. After living over a decade in the walls, Dean was used to the feeling of vibrations or booming voices in his sleep, though normally sound was more muffled.
Dean shifted in place, rolling on his side with a brief “Quit it, Sammy,” thrown over his shoulder before settling back down.
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.
Timeline: Before the first story, after the brothers move into 221B Baker Street
It was just another supply run.
There was no reason for either brother to think this morning would be any different from any other.
It was becoming their regular routine; wake up early, grab some food from the cabinets, keep an eye on Sherlock and John while they were up and about. Midafternoon to evening was a good time to catch some sleep with the humans at their most active, and during the night the brothers would pick through the main room of the flat, reading up on the materials Sherlock scattered about his latest cases and grabbing extra supplies for the supply room they were building across the fireplace from their home.
It had only been a week since officially moving in, but so far the schedule was holding out. There were a few hiccups along the way while learning and they had to have chosen the most erratic humans around, but the brothers remained hidden against all odds.
“Anythin?’ “ Dean hissed at Sam as he hesitantly pushed at the entrance into the cupboard.
Sam paused, his eyes unfocused as he concentrated on the strange knack he had. Without that ability, moving into this particular flat would be ill-advised. Between the two of them and their unusual abilities, it became worth the risk.
“Nothing,” Sam confirmed, and Dean climbed into the cupboard to begin their raid.
Throughout the last week, Dean had begun the lengthy process of creating entrances where they were most needed. It was a skill he’d picked up like a natural, mechanically inclined the way he was. Mapping out the walls was accomplished the first few days, and Sam had created an intricate diagram using some scrap paper and the broken tip of a pencil Dean had tracked down for them to use. On that diagram he had marked off the most desired entrances into the main area where the humans lived, and was slowly checking them off as they were completed.
The entrance into the cupboards for food being one of the most important ones to make.
Now, they could slip right in under the humans’ noses and get what they needed to survive. It wasn’t much compared to what someone normal sized might eat, but they’d learned harsh lessons early in life that they weren’t seen as people. No handouts would ever come their way.
Sam brightened up at the sight of a new box of cereal, the top already opened. “It’s fresh!” he chirped brightly, letting his hand fall to his hook in preparation.
Dean nodded. “I’ll keep watch,” he said, stationing himself between the teabags and the cereal so he could see the front of the cabinet in case it was opened.
Sam tossed his hook into the air. His aim was not as good as his older brother’s, but the three prongs made it easier to get a catch, and the sturdy weight of the hook wasn’t a deterrent with his natural strength. It caught on a flap, and Sam tugged it questioningly. With it holding fast, he started to climb up the side of the box with his boots braced against the side and his grip tight on the black thread, the weight of the cereal inside preventing it from tipping over on him.
Reaching the top quickly, Sam balanced uncertainly on the uneven ground. It took some doing, but he was able to work one hand under the top flap and tug it open, revealing the food inside. With his satchel empty, there was plenty of room to stash the food, and no way for John or Sherlock to know some was missing unless they weighed the cereal by gram as they ate.
The humans in the flat were odd, but not quite that odd.
Sam balanced with one boot on either side of the box and started to scoop up the cereal one piece at a time, filling them into his bag as he went, his position precarious.
John was especially groggy as he entered the kitchen. Not only had the night out with his friend Mike Stamford gone on for longer than he’d meant it to, but the storm that followed made John’s old bullet wound act up, disrupting his sleep for the rest of the night.
The doctor rubbed absently at his left shoulder, the gloomy morning still giving him an ache there. Ordinarily he’d get something for breakfast started before getting his tea, but ever since he’d moved in with Sherlock Holmes not so long ago, John found his schedule being arbitrarily changed– mostly his sleep schedule; John was certain he still hadn’t recovered from that late night filing through a pair of dead men’s books– and his habits shifting. Right now, he was in dire need of caffeine.
There was water left in the kettle, so all he had to do was plug it in and push down the little switch to get the heat started. Rubbing his eyes in attempt to get rid of that heavy feeling in his lids, John fumbled at the cupboard door and groped blindly for a teabag.
The footsteps weren’t unexpected, but what was unexpected was the lack of reaction in Sam’s knack. Light washed over the tiny pair as the wide door swung open.
Both brothers’ froze.
Unbelievably, considering how Sam was perched on top of the cereal box, one boot braced on either side, and how Dean was frozen right out in the open, John Watson didn’t notice them.
The oblivious human wasn’t even looking in their direction as his hand stretched out, blindly groping past the box Sam was stuck on.
Dean snapped out of his shock, stumbling away from the grasping fingers that were longer than he was tall. As he backed away, his hand fell on another of the boxes shoved in there by Sherlock.
Teabags.
Saying a prayer under his breath, Dean grabbed a teabag from the box and shoved it in the direction of John’s huge hand. All he could do was hope that if John got what he was looking for, the human doctor wouldn’t glance into the cupboard and spot Sam, who had no fast way down from the box unless he fell inside with the cereal.
John’s fingers latched onto the thin material of the teabag, curling into a loose fist around it as the hand retreated. With a half-yawn, half-groan, John let the cupboard door fall closed and dropped heavily into a chair while he waited for the kettle to boil.
As the door slammed shut, Sam sucked in a breath. John hadn’t noticed. Sam was right there, perched on a box of cereal, and he hadn’t seen a thing.
How?
While the sounds of John peacefully preparing his cup of tea filtered into the cupboard, Dean tilted his head back and waved for Sam’s attention. Catching Dean’s meaning, Sam inched his way backwards until he reached where his hook was lodged, and scaled down the box.
Time to get out of the cupboard before their luck ran short.
While Sam climbed his way back up Jacob’s arm, Dean paused and pulled Melanie into one last hug. He held her against his chest. “If we ever pass by this way, maybe I’ll have Jacob drop me off in the area,” he said with a wink. “I can check up and make sure you didn’t get into any trouble.”
Melanie’s smile was shy again and there was some pink in her cheeks. “I’d like that,” she told him, her fingers curling slowly around the lapel of his leather jacket. She had to push herself up on her tiptoes to claim one more kiss before he had to leave.
The small pair on the floor drew out their last kiss, enjoying one final embrace. Melanie’s slight form fit into Dean’s arms perfectly, filling in the emptiness in his center that had been there for a decade. He pulled away from her slightly so he could drink in her beauty one last time, brushing a thumb that was callused from years of climbing over her bottom lip.
“See you around, sweetheart,” he said softly as he straightened. It put him out of easy reach for her, his own natural height showing up for one of the first times in years.
Brothers Apart 