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.