"How, why.  - Guys, does he really have wings - "

There's a few simultaneous "Yeah"s and "Yes"es.

"...because I am a decent person and you are children in crates."

"Why are there other wingy people to blend in with."

"Oh! Some of them are like me from another universe - just one of those now and we've both got this kind but eventually there might be feathery ones of that persuasion - and some I resurrected from the dead and they wanted wings when they were getting new bodies anyway."

("What's 'this kind'?")

("Some sorta like, blue bat thing.  With a tail, too.")

("Huh.")

One of the scientists hands Cam a list of codes for the mechanical locks keeping the crates shut.

"Thank you kindly. Please do not immediately kill people, kiddos, I'd feel obliged to resurrect them and it'd be a whole thing." Numbers numbers.

"I'm fourteen," the first one mutters.

"I don't know what the age of majority is around here but I was considered a child till I was eighteen!" Unlock unlock.

They climb out one at a time and loiter without attacking anyone.  The darkest-haired one takes the redhead by the hand and holds it.

- But once they're all free they exchange glances with each other and bolt out of the room in unison.

One of the scientists is out of the way of the door but the other . . . isn't.  He takes an elbow to the face and his head cracks against the doorframe.

Cam sighs. He remembers the hallway well enough to put another door across it. Downed guy have a pulse?

So far!

There are a few shrieks and thuds at the appearance of the door, then the flock turns about and tries racing in the other direction past the crate room.

There is a door there. "Look, I'd be happy to let you go on your own power if I knew where you were going to go! You don't have to go with me if you have some other plan but I don't want you to crashland somewhere and die of dehydration or starve trying to make it as hunter-gatherers."

There's just some more running and whispering and rustling around in response to this.

Head injury scientist mutters indistinctly from where he's lying on the ground.  Uninjured scientist is operating some sort of buttony pager phone thing.

"I am a doctor but I am not your doctor," mutters Cam, paging Felicity for first aid instructions on concussions.

It's pretty similar to what he's familiar with, honestly, except that crystal healing can do a lot of patching up once the patient is gotten somewhere safe and calm and flat.

" - Kill him," the other scientist realizes.  "Or don't, but that's what he's asking for.  If you really can bring people back."

(The mumbling is still not very clear but he does seem to be trying to implore Cam to do . . . something . . .)

"I have never killed anyone and don't want to start here but if you do it and he confirms later that was what he was saying I will not be ticked off at you about it. However, I will not be offering him snazzy extras at this time, since I don't want the bird kids to have to live in the same place as him and at present it might be complicated for someone with snazzy extras to live topside."

"I'd also rather not, thank you much."