TheVampireDragon: thanks! and i totally forgot to do a note about it in the first chapter, but it's set pretty much any time after the season 9 finale :)
LeeMarieJack: ha! hopefully there will be a cat somewhere in the tiny winchesters' future xD

"Hey, how come Cas thought our voices sounded so squeaky? You sound fine to me, dude."

"We're both small," Sam says, "so I'm guessing we sound the same to each other, but to regular-sized people, we…don't."

Dean chews on his lower lip and nods. "You know how great this would've been for prank calls, Sammy?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "You never make prank calls. Not even when we were kids."

"It's the principle of the thing, Sam," Dean says, clapping his brother on the back. "Gotta take advantage."

The brothers make their way through the dollhouse, and even though it hasn't been used in what seems like years, most of the items inside are still intact. Sure, everything's made of plastic and the beds are hard as rocks, but it's a place to stay.

"C'mon, Sam," Dean says, sitting on the stairs and sticking his legs out from between the banister posts, letting them dangle, "lighten up. Nothing's gonna get us in this goddamn fortress."

He smacks his open palm hard against the wall, only to hear a crack from somewhere else.

"Shit," he mutters.

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam snaps. "Try thinking before you do something for like, two seconds, huh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean's pulling his legs back through the banisters now and heading down the stairs.

"Just—" Sam throws his hands up in the air "—fucking think about what you're gonna do before you do it. About what the damn consequences are."

Dean pouts playfully. "C'mon, Sammy, I think."

"Yeah? Like the time you thought about it before taking on the fucking Mark of Cain? Is that what you mean by 'you think,' Dean?" Sam glares at his older brother and stalks off into the kitchen.

"Sam!"

"No." Sam turns around and takes in Dean's slightly shocked expression. "Whatever your explanation's gonna be, Dean, I don't want to hear it. I didn't want to see you become a killer, I didn't want to see your eyes go black, and I sure as shit don't want to hear your explanation."

Dean stops in his tracks and chews on his lip again. "Okay," he finally says softly. "Fine. Okay."

They stay there in silence for a few moments, Sam sitting at the kitchen table, Dean standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb.

"I can't believe you got us into this mess," Sam finally adds, crossing his arms.

Dean drops his casual stance and stares at his brother. "Oh, I'm the one that got us into this?"

"Yes, because you screwed up and the witch used her chance to make us like this."

Dean leans on the kitchen chair in front of him and stares stonily at his brother. "Hey, I'm still learning how to control these new demon powers, all right?"

Sam glares at him. "Well, your powers aren't enough to get us out of this one."

"Ugh, I know. Cas is working on it, Sam."

"Dean. Sam."

"Jesus!" Dean yelps. He glances through the window and makes eye contact with Cas…or at least, with his eye. "Can you tone it down, Cas?"

"I have provided food small enough for you to eat. May I open the house to hand it to you?"

"…Yeah, sure, Cas." Dean scrubs a hand over his face before approaching the wall that Cas is about to pull away.

"Why do we even need a dollhouse?" Sam says, speaking to Dean's back as Dean takes the plates from Cas.

"'Cause it's awesome and we happened to find it in storage, Sam. Plus, you said we needed a bunker, so here we are."

"I didn't mean a fucking dollhouse, Dean. And besides, what if it's haunted?"

Dean turns back around and glances at his brother bemusedly. "Well, good thing we're professionals at hunting, huh?"

Sam flips him off.

Dean observes the food and makes an approving noise. "Burgers! Or at least pieces of them; good call, Cas."

"Thank you." Cas crouches down, resting his elbows on his knees. "I wanted to get them to you before they became cold, so time for research has been limited."

"How limited?" Dean asks, taking a bite of his burger.

"I have to return within the next few minutes," Cas tells them. "The library closes soon, and I have reserved a portable computer until closing time."

Dean raises his eyebrows and glances at Sam. "Takes after you pretty well, Sammy."

Sam doesn't say anything to his brother, focusing his attention on Cas instead. "So you'll be back tomorrow? Do you think you'll have something figured out by then?"

"I believe so. At least enough to make a reversal that has a possibility of being successful."

Sam nods. "Okay. That's good. Thanks, Cas."

"See you tomorrow?" Dean asks.

Cas nods quickly. "Tomorrow," he repeats. Then as quickly as he appeared, he's gone again.

"His whole 'lack-of-grace' thing doesn't really seem to be affecting his zapping around all over the place," Dean says softly, not sure if he's addressing the comment to his brother or no one. Sam doesn't reply, so he decides on no one.

They finish their dinner in silence.

About an hour later, Sam walks into the living room to see Dean staring at the faded, peeling sticker on the TV screen.

"Having fun?" he asks with a smirk.

Dean doesn't look at him. "This is what I've been reduced to, Sammy. Stuck in a dollhouse watching a goddamn fucking sticker." Dean throws his hand out in a wordless gesture of frustration.

Sam laughs. "C'mon, dude, it'll be fine. We'll figure out how to reverse this, and pretty soon you'll be able to catch up with Dr. Sexy in no time."

"Dr. Sexy's on hiatus!" Dean wails dramatically, sprawling out on the couch and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Sam rolls his eyes. He glances at Dean, who hasn't moved, and sighs.

"Listen, man, I'm…" Dean uncovers his eyes and looks at Sam. "I'm sorry I freaked out earlier."

Dean waves the apology away. "C'mon, Sammy."

"No, Dean, seriously," Sam says, "it was a dick move, and I know more than anybody that you have a lot of…shit to deal with. I know why you agreed to take on the Mark, even though I might not agree with it, but I know why you did it, for good reason. But this—" he gestures toward Dean's eyes "—it's a lot to handle, and it's tough, man."

Dean narrows his eyes. "Let's just skip the demon sob story, huh?"

Sam ignores him. "I…I don't know, man. I don't think I realized how fucked up it must've been for you to see my eyes go black back with, uh, with Ruby, and when I saw yours, I just…I don't know."

Dean shifts his lips to one corner of his face and looks down at his hands. "Sam…"

Sam holds up his hands and stands up. "We don't have to talk about it anymore, okay? I just wanted to apologize. So, I'm sorry. And if you nee—want to talk about it, I'm here. That's it." He looks at his older brother, who still won't meet his gaze. "G'night, Dean."

He heads toward the faded pink staircase and just barely catches Dean's soft, "Night, Sammy."

Sam feels stupid going to the non-functioning bathroom to empty his very-much-functioning bladder, but that's where Dean insisted they put the bucket—well, more like one of those little measuring cups used to dole out liquid medicine that Cas found in the house's normal-sized bathroom cabinet—and that's where Sam went.

Still rubbing sleep from his eyes, Sam starts back to his room when he notices Dean standing stiffly at the other end of the hall, staring at nothing.

"Dean?" Sam asks, taking a cautious step toward his brother.

Maybe he's sleepwalking. He hasn't done that in years, but Sam remembers what happened the last time he tried to wake him up while he was sleepwalking, and he has no desire for Dean to punch him hard enough to break his nose again. Dean doesn't turn around or show any sign of hearing him, though, and against his better judgment, Sam continues.

"Dean, are you—"

Sam is cut off when Dean claps his hand over his mouth, peering around the corner. Sam glares at him and grabs his wrist, pulling his brother's hand away from his mouth.

"What the hell, man?" he whispers.

"There's something in here, Sammy."

For the first time, Sam notices that his brother is holding a tiny fireplace poker with a white-knuckle grip.

"What?"

"Listen."

Sam stares at his brother impatiently as they both stand in the darkness. He's just about to open his mouth when he hears a sound. It's not much, just a tiny little rustle, but there's nothing in this house that should be rustling. Not when he and Dean are both right here.

Dean glances over his shoulder at him and presses a finger to his lips before turning the corner and taking a few cautious steps forward. There's a thud as something—Sam hopes it's the poker and not his brother's body—hits the floor, and Dean's whisper of "Holy fucking shit."

"What is i…" Sam's voice trails off as he takes in the scene of Dean staring straight ahead into the eight blinking eyes of a spider. A fucking spider that if they were normal size, Sam would've crushed without even realizing it, but now, it's the size of a horse.

"Fuckin' Shelob, man," Dean breathes, taking a step back. The spider takes a step forward.

"Why'd you drop the poker?" Sam hisses.

"Oh, sorry, was my reaction to seeing a giant fucking spider not acceptable to you?"

"How're we supposed to fight that thing now?"

"Running's always worked in the past."

"We need to get it out," Sam says. "There's no way I'm sleeping knowing that thing's still running around in here, dude. No fucking way."

"Then be my guest, Indiana Jones. Kill it."

"It'll kill me!"

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Exactly why I suggested we run."

Sam doesn't look at Dean, keeping his eyes trained on the spider, who is still staring intently at the brothers.

"Yeah," Sam finally says softly. "Yeah, okay, let's run. Follow my lead, dude, and Dean?"

"Mhmm?"

"Run as fast as you can."

"Sammy…"

"Go!"

Sam bursts into action and Dean follows suit. They stumble down the stairs and run through the kitchen. Dean trips himself up over one of the chairs, giving the spider precious milliseconds to catch up to him.

"I won't come back for you!" Sam yells.

"Bitch!" Dean hollers, wincing as he puts pressure on his twisted ankle. Sam is headed for the stairs again, and grabs for the door to the closet that's built into the staircase. Presumably, it's used for kids to store the doll furniture when they're done playing, but for the Winchesters, it's a prime spider trap. Sam hurls the door open.

"Left!"

Dean turns off to the left an inch before he reaches the closet, and the spider skitters inside. They can hear the thunk of its body hitting the wall, and Sam slams the door closed. He and Dean press their bodies against it, and they both eventually slide to the floor, breathing heavily.

"Jerk," Sam mutters.