The kid waiting outside the door stepped in hesitantly, his green eyes darting from side to side. “Dad?” he called hesitantly. Two small figures, standing on his hand, looked around with him, one eager and one nervous.

The man in the room, now standing behind the bar calmly cleaning a glass, smiled. “No dads here, I’m afraid,” he said, meaning it in more than one way. “But food’s on the house, and the quarters for the arcade are endless.

"How ‘bout you come in… stay awhile and rest.”

And with that, the Lounge was in business.

Sam arched his eyebrows at what Dean was carrying. He could only see two drinks and the two burgers, nothing else. It wasn’t until Dean sat down, across from younger Dean, that Sam realized there was more cupped in his hand.

Dean held out his hand to Sam. Three different trays were cupped between the wrinkles in his skin, by some miracle all standing upright. Sam hurried to take them, realizing Dean had no way of placing stuff down while his hands were full.

Peeking under the first bowl, Sam announced “Mac and cheese and fluff,” vaguely surprised that the strange obsession from his childhood existed in a bar, nevermind that it was sized for them, tiny noodles perfectly made and all. “Peanut butter and jelly,” he placed Oscar’s sandwich in front of him, ruffling the mousy hair. “And a salad.” He grinned his thanks at Dean, staring at the tiny leaves and smaller tomatoes.

“Plus two burgers made right,” Dean said, with his hand freed finally able to hand off younger Dean’s food.

The teenager scowled at the soda. “What? You’re the only one that gets whiskey?”

Dean ticked a finger at him. “You got a few more years before that, champ,” he said dryly, picking up his whiskey on the rocks. “You’ll live.”

Sam grinned, picking up the beer Dean had gotten him. “Perfect.”

Oscar’s eyes brightened as he picked up his very own peanut butter and jelly sandwich, made with bread perfectly sized for him. He’d never minded when Dean had to squash it down, but he’d never imagined having bread like a human.

He mulled over his first bite while eyeing the drinks the others had. Whiskey and soda were definitely out for him, between the alcohol and the fizz.

He couldn’t help the fascinated glances at the other miniature food on the table. He’d never seen a tomato so small, but there were several in older-Sam’s salad. The pasta in young-Sam’s dish was probably too small for the two Deans to see.

“I wish I knew how ta make food that size,” he announced. “I could make my own sandwiches and-and whatever fluff is and everything.”

Younger Sam picked up his fork, the fluff hanging down from it, and laughed. “Maybe we can make some fluff sometime,” he said wistfully, wishing they could go back to Oscar’s motel in the real world and take him along. “I think that’s the same either size.”

He bit down onto it, and had to close his eyes at the unexpected explosion of flavors. It was over two months now since he’d been cursed, and it was delicious. Sam had almost forgotten what it was like having food that was his size.

The two humans were mostly ignored by the kids and Sam, all three of the smaller folk used to having them around while they were eating. Dean leaned back when he finished the last bite of his burger with a sigh of contentment. It wasn’t often that burgers tastes so fresh with ingredients so crisp. He idly wondered what the apple pie would taste like, knowing that naturally this place would have pie.

“So,” Dean said, “you tell us your story, and we’ll tell you ours.”

Younger Dean smiled ruefully. “I think you already know it starts with Sam’s curse, right?” He waited for Dean to nod. “I was lucky enough to spot him when Dad came back–“

While they talked and caught up, the letters on the TV screen slowly switched, brightening around The Road Not Taken while the other names vanished into the nether. The bartender grinned, knowing soon a new group would join them.

His bar would be hopping in no time at all.

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The last step was the most important.

“Let the rules be set!”

Over the bar, he passed his hand, and a television set, ahead of its time and with throbbing letters on it appeared. It counted down the time to when the first visitors would appear, welcomed in.

“Let no one enter who would do harm. Let no harm come to those who enter. Those who are welcomed are welcomed by all, despite their differences or similarities.”

He grinned, a smarmy smirk that put Dean’s to shame. “No memories of this place may pass the threshold, and no one will enter knowingly! Yet all will come, and a berth in the storm will be granted!”

Turning to the wall, he gestured grandly. “Let it known that we are now open for business!”

The words on the screen overhead switched to Hershey Kisses and Salt Lines, and there on the wall grew two straight lines, shooting upwards until they dove across the wall at each other, forming a door.

The door opened.

Back at the table, Sam stepped closer to the young children, noting that Oscar was much thinner and frailer than his young self. “Everyone should pick a seat,” he said, gesturing to the round table made for them. “Dean’s going to have the food in a few minutes.”

They all followed his instructions, but Sam found a fingertip brushing at his hair. “So long!” said the younger Dean. “Why don’t ya cut it?”

Sam stepped away from the hand, though he didn’t feel any fear at the newer human. This was Dean, after all, though much younger and without the shadows that hung over the older Winchester.

“I like it,” Sam muttered, brushing his hair back into some semblance of order as he stepped over to the small table. Between two different Deans, he was never going to have a peaceful moment with his hair.

“I like it too!” young Sam announced as Sam sat down next to him, pushing at the napkins their size and picking up the placemats to peer under them.

Oscar swung his legs back and forth on his chair. His toes didn’t even reach the surface of the larger tabletop, but he was used to that. The thread spools he normally used as chairs were too tall for him as well.

“I don’t cut my hair very much either,” he commented, one hand brushing absently at his messy brown hair. It was reminiscent of a dandelion in some places, perpetually uneven and unkempt.

He caught himself staring at how tall the older Sam had ended up. By his reckoning, Sam had to be almost four inches tall. Both Winchesters were towering people, no matter the scale.

Shyness welled up in him and he looked away, instead finding the miniature utensils at each place set on the table. Hesitantly, as if wondering if it would be bad manners, he brushed his fingertips over the tines of his fork.

“Well I think it looks just fine the way it is,” Sam said gently, laying his satchel by the side of the chair and wondering at how odd it felt to sit at a table made for him, and one that have no indication it was made for dolls. The younger version of Dean wasn’t looking at them anymore, and gave no reaction to the statement, instead watching Dean get their food at the bar.

“Grub’s up,” Dean announced as he came back over.

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Artwork by @lamthetwickster!

Catch up on the series here!

With the tables and chairs set up in the diner half, the entertainment half took less time to design.

“Let the games come forth!” he declared loudly, his celestial power rippling through the room. Not only pool tables appeared, but also an arcade section and several tables for playing poker, with specially-designed chips and cards.

The arcade was just as carefully designed, though the pool tables would be pushing it. Instead, smaller versions of the pool tables appeared on the poker tables, giving the smaller counterparts a place to start a game or two.

And with this he smiled, and knew it to be good.

The table they picked was closer to the pool tables than the bar, and the younger Dean gently let the kids down so they could check out the table and chairs made for their size.

Dean grinned at that, pressing his fingertips to the table to give Sam a path to the table. “So we have one order of Mac and fluff,” he said, counting off, “one salad for pint-size, two burgers with everything,” he winked at his younger self, “and what about you, Oz?”

Oscar jolted out of his curious examination of the tiny chairs to look up again. The adult Dean wasn’t as intimidating from up on the table, even if he was one of the tallest humans Oscar had ever seen. He recovered faster, clasping his hands behind his back.

Over the month he spent with Sam and Dean, he’d tried a lot of different foods. While he rifled through the memories, he watched the older Sam climb down Dean’s arm. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to climb a giant. 

Not that Oscar was one to talk about normal.

He realized he had paused, and blurted out the first thing on his mind. “I-I like peanut butter,” he said, his cheeks pink. “Peanut butter sandwiches, I mean.”

Dean smiled. A rare, real smile, not a smirk or a grin. “Sounds like a plan. Watch yourself, pint-size.”

With that last caution and a brief finger to mess up Sam’s hair, Dean walked over to the bar, leaving the kids with his younger brother.

The bartender gave Dean the same, smarmy grin from before. “What can I do you for?” was asked before Dean could recall where he might know the man from.

Dean leaned on the bar like he usually did, looking back at the table. “You got Mac and fluff?” he asked, expecting confusion.

He got none. “Only the best for our young patrons!” the bartender announced, pulling out a small bowl from under the bar as though by magic.

Normally Dean might react to something like that, but something in his mind told him everything was fine, they were all alright.

The bowl was pinched between two of the bartender’s fingers, a tiny metal bit sticking out from under the warming lid. Dean let the man put it on his palm, staring at wonder at eating implements made for Sam’s size. “Ah–“ he stumbled over his words, “a salad, two bacon cheeseburgers with everything, and a peanut and butter sandwich.”

Before Dean’s eyes, a meal fit for everyone there was assembled.

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“Let the seats of rest and the tables of support appear!”

Once more, he held out his arms, going for the grandiose. The lights in the slowly-forming bar flickered, and he glanced overhead to see if it was his Father, come to visit a former son.

“C’mon, Dad! Who doesn’t love a little flair with the story!”

No answer was forthcoming, so he turned back to his work.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, but he’d already spotted the person down on the ground.

After the last few years, Dean had spent enough time with people under four inches in height that he was able to spot the kid that stepped out of the shadows the moment he appeared. Tiny, small and scrawny, this kid made the younger Sam look big. If he was over two inches in height, Dean would be surprised.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean said, kneeling down and folding his hands together to make himself less threatening. “My name’s Dean.”

“Oscar,” Sam supplied, and the younger Dean nodded, suspiciously eyeing Dean.

Dean had a feeling that his younger counterpart might just try and jump him if he made a move for Oscar, and wondered what their story was. The younger Sam had turned from his game as well to watch what was happening, his eyes wide when he saw Sam on Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey, Oz,” Dean said with a grin. “Good to meetcha!”

Oscar flinched, his mouth falling open. He tilted his head back to meet the older Dean’s eyes. Hearing the nickname that the Dean he knew had come up with, it was easier to believe that this was the same person but with a different life. Somehow. He decided not to try too hard to wrap his head around it.

With his head tilted back, Oscar almost lost his balance. He stumbled backwards, and then heat rose to his cheeks.

“Um,” he said quietly, gripping the strap of his bag. He’d put himself out in the open with nowhere to hide. Usually he would feel better if he had something to peek around for something like this.

It seemed like everyone else was looking at him. One, two, three, four sets of eyes, he counted, noticing the man on the taller-Dean’s shoulder at last. That must be another Sam. It had to be, if this was Dean.

“Ummm,” he said again, his brow pinching in confusion. He might have somehow figured out who these men were without any trouble, but knowing what to say was an entirely different beast.

He went with the simplest option, cheeks blushing fire all the while. “Hi … Dean.”

Dean’s grin softened, and Sam waved from his shoulder. “So, you three know each other?” Dean asked, glancing between the two young Winchesters and Oscar on the floor.

Younger Dean nodded sharply, kneeling on the ground to offer Oscar a hand. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, hell, I’ve got nothing but time, apparently,” Dean said, pushing himself to his feet and glancing around the place. “How ‘bout I grab us some drinks and some food, and we can catch up.”

The younger Sam perked up at that. “Does that mean Mac ‘n Cheese with fluff?” he asked excitedly.

Dean shook his head, bemused. Some things never change. “I’ll see what they got, short stuff.”

Oscar appreciated having help off the floor, especially with the older Dean standing tall again. No matter how brave he wanted to be, that was a difficult sight to take in. Oscar barely stood higher than the rubber soles of those huge boots.

Once both Oscar and Sam were in hand, the three youngest occupants of the strange place could pick a table. After exploring the room on his own, Oscar enjoyed the view from his higher perch.

“Dean, you’re gonna get tall,” he pointed out in a low voice.

“Tallest of them all,” the youngest Dean remarked with a smirk, nudging the kids both in the shoulders.

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