"There's something on the beach!" A young voice called, slowly pulling Sam out of the fog of unconsciousness.

His whole body ached; that was the first thing he felt as he blearily blinked dry eyes. Then he realized he was laying in wet sand. Water lapped up to his knees. His groggy mind registered he was on a beach, but from the cooler air it was evidently not a tropical one.

Then he snapped to attention – a voice, probably human. He couldn't be seen here in the open. Sam quickly pushed himself up on wobbily arms, the sand sticking to every surface of him.

"It's a man!" The voice came again, closer. Sam's heart thudded, he knew there was no escape – he was too weak. He lifted his heavy head to look at his soon-to-be captor and found –

It was just a boy. A boy his size. Er, not exactly his size – smaller.

Sam stared, then rubbed his eyes with the back of one of his sandy hands before looking back up. The kid had a freckle dotting here and there, short brown hair, and looked no older than ten.

"Muuuum," the boy tentatively called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the Winchester. "He's moooving."

'Mum?' Sam blearily wondered. The kid sounded British.

"Good heavens, Jeffery!" A woman's voice rang out behind him, further away. "What's all the fuss about?" She could be heard shuffling through the sand before moving into sight to stand beside her son, freezing once she caught sight of Sam. "Oh. You weren't joking," she muttered in surprise, taking in Sam's washed up and bedraggled appearance.

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but instead abruptly twisted to his side to cough up the remainder of the salt water in his lungs.

The boy's mom, seeing this, broke through her own shock and jumped to motherly attention, quickly tucking some of her red-brown hair behind her ear as she bent down. "Oh! Oh my – are you alright? Don't answer that. Do you need CPR? Wait, don't answer that either, just focus on breathing." Her eyes flashed back and forth, looking for help on the beach. "I should call an ambulance," she decided hurriedly, checking her pockets for something.

Call an ambulance? Sam quickly held up a hand; he was thoroughly confused but he knew better than to get taken to the hospital, especially since he had no idea where he was or what was going on. "No, no I'm fine – I just, uh, was in a ship wreck I guess…" He pushed himself to his knees, and he jerked to look behind him, scanning the surface of the water. Where was Dean? The ocean was calm, showing no signs of the raging storm it had been, and slick, black rocks jutted up near the beach. Sam held back a shudder at the thought of how lucky he was to have avoided being dashed against those and to have made it safely here.

But where was here? Why were they his size. Or, he hesitated to think… Was he their size, human size? – but that would mean the curse had been broken somehow…

"Wuts that?" The little boy – whom he knew to be Jeffery now - spoke up again with curiosity, jutting a chin at Sam. "It looks kind've funky."

Sam looked down, hands grazing across the foam surface of the bulky life jacket Dean had made for him. If this still fit, then he couldn't have grown, unless it just grew along with his clothes. Maybe this was all just a dream then, a hopeful hallucination from lack of oxygen as he slowly sunk to the bottom of the ocean. His hands gripped the now ragged edges of the jacket; whatever it was, he needed to find Dean, his brother wasn't seen washed up on the beach and Sam wasn't going to acknowledge the nagging dark thought of worry in the back of his mind. "It's, uh, kind of a life jacket," he finally answered.

Jeffery looked it over again, then nodded in approval. "It did its job then, funky lookin' or not."

Sam smiled at that, it really did. Of course anything Dean made was going to work, he was great with his hands. His smile faded, and he sent another sweeping gaze over the beach just in case he somehow could've missed his brother. "You didn't happen to see anyone else washed up, did you?" he couldn't help but ask. "I was on the boat with my older brother before the storm hit."

The mother's eyes filled with worry and sadness at that as she straightened back up, and Sam felt his heart fall a little. "Sorry darling, you're the first person we've ever seen washed up on these shores." She looked behind her in thought, then turned back to where Sam still knelt. "But you know what? If you're really fine and don't need a doctor, how about you come with us back to the house? We'll get you all dried up and fed, then we can look in to see if there's been any reports about a wreck. Does that sound like a good starting place for you?"

Sam's mind was still struggling to wrap around what was happening, did she mean their own house? Or some place in the walls of one? The back of his neck didn't tingle at their gaze like it would if they were human. Would he still have that gift it the curse broke, though?

More and more questions were adding up and the only way he could imagine getting answers was if he followed them. He straightened and stood shakily to his feet to come to his full, impress height. Tall – that was something he forgot he was when around other people to scale. His stomach rumbled as if to agree with her suggestion of food before he could. "Yeah, that sounds great, thanks," he gave her a sincere smile, brushing off the sand on his arms the best he could. Things were weird, but he was a hunter and he dealt with weird all the time. This was just another case, he had to stay focused and piece everything together so he could figure out where Dean was, and how to get back. "I'm Sam, by the way," he offered a hand.

The woman shook it warmly, "Joyce," she answered, "and you probably heard from my hollering this is Jeffery." She patted her son on the shoulder with a smile. "Our house isn't far, just up the beach." She started walking to lead the way. "We got lucky when this place was listed and snatched it up pretty cheap. Ocean view and everything – only needed a little fixin' up and that." She grinned proudly, and as they made their way across the sand, Sam could see the little cottage style house she was referring too.

He blinked a couple times and stood frozen when they reached at the front door – an actual door, not a block of wood to cover the opening. This was a real house, a human house. It didn't tower above him.

"Are you coming, then?" Joyce asked from inside, eyeing him up and down as if suspicious that he did indeed need a doctor.

"Yeah…" Sam said, stepping in with disbelief. His eyes widened once he was inside the house; maybe this really was a hallucination. Everything was his size, from the couches to the lights, and the table he could see in the kitchen with an oven and microwave and… and…everything a normal, human, house would have. When he and Dean had visited the sprite's village in the forest after the whole Lich showdown, getting to explore the houses scaled to his size was amazing, but this – this was surreal.

"Here are some clean clothes from my husband – he's about as tall as you," Joyce broke through his wonder to hand him a pile of folded clothes she had quickly retrieved. "I'll go and fix you up some warm soup," she said as she bustled ahead into the kitchen. "Jeffery will show you the bathroom, you can take a hot shower to get all that sand and salt water off you."

A real hot shower. Sam stared at the clothes in his hand.

"The bathroom's this way," Jeffery said, watching Sam with a curious look. He started walking and gave Sam a 'come on' wave, Sam smiled and followed after the kid. "So," Jeffery said as they rounded the couch, "was it 'coz of pirates?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, "uh, what?"

Jeffery shot him an exasperated look as they turned down a hallway. "The shipwreck, was it 'coz pirates attacked?"

Sam let out a raspy laugh, his throat sore. "No, it was just a storm. Pirates would have been more interesting though," he conceded with a smile.

Jeffery nodded, "Yeah, pirates make everything cooler." He stopped at a door and opened it, turning on the light to show it was the bathroom. "Well, here it is. I'll see you later then."

"Wait," Sam stopped him before the kid could go running down the hallway. He hesitated, leaning against the doorframe. "Am I in… England?" That would explain their accents, but wouldn't explain how he got here from where they were located on the boat, or why he suddenly fit in to this world like he had never been cursed.

Jeffery's eyebrows scrunched together. "Nooo… Never heard of an England." He gave Sam an odd look. "Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital or anythin'?"

"No, no I'm fine," Sam quickly assured him, pushing off the doorframe to back into the bathroom. "Thanks for the help." He gave the boy a little wave before shutting the door; he could hear Jeffery's footsteps pad away.

Finally alone, Sam let out a huge sigh. Since he woke up here nothing had made sense, and his mind was scrambling to come up with answers while being assaulted with more unbelievable information at every turn. And he still didn't know where Dean was.

His eyes found his reflection in the mirror across from him, and he was startled by how strange he looked in this normal setting. He, Sam Winchester, was standing in front of a sink – not on or in, but in front of. It sounded crazy to find that odd, but after living more than half of his life at four inches, outsizing everyday objects was new to him. He dragged a hand through his rough, salt-water soaked hair with a sigh and the pale, almost-drowned victim staring back at him copied the movements. His fingers found the edge of the Velcro that kept his homemade life jacket together and the foam thing dropped the floor with a soft thump. Sam moved on to his jacket and shirt, deciding it was time to assess the damage before showering.

He hissed through his teeth once his shirt was lifted over his head to join the pile on the floor, finally seeing the cause of his aching stiffness. The water had not been kind to him, and his body was dotted with dark bruises from his legs and arms. The bulky jacket seemed to have saved his ribs from any deep bruising or breaking, and Sam sent another silent thankyou to Dean for making him wear it. His left forearm had the darkest bruise of all, and Sam stared at it in confusion before remembering - that was were Dean had grabbed him, pinched between a thumb and a finger, in a failed attempt to snatch Sam back from the water's grasp. Sam's eyes widened; Dean had been so desperate to not let the ocean claim him, but even then his brother's grip hadn't snapped Sam's arm. He shook his arm out; aside from the painful bruise, it was fine.

Okay. He would take a shower and eat, but then he had to focus on figuring out where the hell he washed up, and where Dean went.


The shower had been amazing, something he hadn't even realized he missed; using the sink when traveling with Dean had been great but it didn't compare to the real thing. His muscles were less sore and he felt so much better now that he didn't have salt water soaked clothes clinging to him like a second layer of skin. He had toweled off and was now assessing the clothes Joyce had given him, by the looks of it they should fit his taller frame, luckily for him, and she had gathered everything he would need down to the underwear and socks. Sam ran a hand through his still-damp shaggy hair before pulling on the pants. He had some time to think in the shower but he still wasn't able to make sense of things. Maybe it was some sort of strange alternate reality where he hadn't even been shrunk as a kid. Or Dean and him had been separated through a rift in the universe during the storm? If Jeffery really didn't know what England was, that was as close as an explanation Sam could come up with.

He tugged on his t-shirt and socks, then put on the black jacket as well. His bag was missing. Sam paused, suddenly realizing the comforting weight had been missing since he washed up on the beach. It must have been torn from his shoulder during the storm. His arms hung down, feeling weird without the familiar strap to adjust and hold on to; feeling a strange sort of sadness from the loss. He had that bag for most of his life, it's what helped him be able to survive in a world much bigger than him. Without it he felt naked. Sam sighed and straightened his shoulders, well, he was lucky that was the only casualty. He had more important things to worry about, like how Dean was still missing. Sam's gaze found the hand-made life jacket and a ghost of a smile played across his lips. He picked it up by a strap, not wanting to leave it behind, and opened the door to walk back into the living room of the strangely normal human home.

He heard bustling in the kitchen; pots clinking and silverware being sorted, Joyce scolding Jeffery not to eat the bread yet – it was, just, unexplainable how weird he felt being in a 'normal' environment. He started to walk towards the kitchen but the TV – now on and showing the news – caught his attention.

"Hello, I'm Rachel Marro with News 24 coming to you live from the fire at the courthouse," a young woman reported, holding her microphone tightly in hand. People rushed frantically to and fro in the background while firemen worked hard to hose down a building that was engulfed in flames; black smoke filled the air and ashes could be seen raining down like snowflakes. "As of this time it is not certain what caused the building to catch fire, but right now our fire fighters have been bravely rescuing anyone trapped inside." She moved to look behind her to show shock blankets and first aid being provided to the victims. "There has been a report of five casualties, identified as esteemed members of our country's council and the colonel, head of security, who were meeting when the fire broke out."

The reporter paused as new shouts rang out; she jumped to the side as paramedics with a gurney tried to push pass. "Oh my god, it looks like one of the councilmembers survived!" She waved the camera man to follow her as she rushed up to the ambulance as they readied the gurney to slide inside. The camera was shaky as the man holding it tried to keep up, and Sam found himself clenching onto the back of the couch he stood behind as he watched. "Councilman Johnson! Councilman Johnson!" The reporter called out to the man on the gurney. His clothes were burnt in places and his flesh was bubbled and raw in patches, he moaned in response. "Are you alright? Are you aware of how the fire started? Is there evidence of foul play?" The paramedics tried to gently push her and the cameraman away but she wasn't having it.

"His eyes!" The councilman moaned, voice raspy from the smoke. His wild, bloodshot eyes found the camera lens and Sam felt a shiver go down his spine at the intensity and lucidness in that gaze. "His eyes were black!"

The paramedics finally got the gurney adjusted and slipped him into the ambulance, closing the doors quickly to cut off the reporter from asking any more questions. "Miss, please move away from the vehicle we need to get him to the hospital right away," one asked sternly, giving her and the cameraman a look before they obliged. The ambulance sped off and the shot panned back to the building, showing the flames were finally starting to die down. The reporter looked a little shaken, but straightened up once she noticed she was back on camera. "Thank goodness Councilman Johnson survived. We will do an update on his recovery once we know more about it." She turned back to the building, "Now as you can see the fire is starting…" she went on, but the volume started to turn down.

"Damn media, probably going to say it was all an accident when it obviously wasn't," a grumbly old voice spoke up from the recliner to the right of the couch. Sam, surprised, looked over to see an older gentleman with short white hair lounged out in the chair like he had been there all day – which couldn't be the case because Sam would've seen him when he first came in.

"Why do you say that?" Sam couldn't help but question. He had to admit, the freaked out way the councilman had shouted at the camera didn't make it seem like it was simply an accident. And black eyes? As a hunter that stood out to Sam the most, it sounded like someone could have been possessed – if the man was actually sanely saying that and wasn't delusional from smoke inhalation.

The older man's gaze shot to Sam, eyes a sharp hazel, and let out a humph. "The head councilmen were altogether for a meeting, and the building just happens to catch fire? I don't believe in coincidences, do you?"

"No, I don't," Sam gravely agreed. He was right, it was too suspicious. Sam felt the usual thrill from a potential case rising inside of him, chasing away the worry and confusion that harbored there. Maybe he could look more into this fire, it would give him something to focus on while he tried to figure out what was really going on, and where he was.

"Sam, the soup is done!" Joyce's voice ringing out from the kitchen cut through his thoughts. He turned to see her walking in with a warm smile. "It's hot and ready for you. I see you've met Charlie, my dad; better come in the kitchen quick before he holds you captive and talks your ear off." She beckoned for him and lead the way to the kitchen. "You can come too then, Dad, I'm sure you're hungry as well," she offered over her shoulder. There was a grunt of agreement and the old man popped into the kitchen after them.

Sam found a seat and sat down, pausing to take in the setting. Jeffery was already here, slurping soup, Joyce passed around bread and butter, and Charlie helped himself to a huge bowl of his own.

"I hope you like chicken noodle," Joyce spoke up, noticing Sam hadn't moved to get any yet. "It's the best soup for feeling better."

Sam looked over with a smile, "I do, thanks." He accepted a bowl of the steamy soup and his stomach growled. A bowl, and silverware his size – it was crazy; he shook his head in dismay.

The sound of the front door opening came through to the kitchen, making everyone pause. "Bloody hell the traffic was bad," a man's voice called, and shuffling could be heard as he made his way into the kitchen. "I didn't think I was gonna be able to make it home!" The owner of the voice burst into the room, he had black shaggy hair and was almost the same height as Sam, with a wiry frame full of the energy the Winchester could tell had passed on to Jeffery. "But I put enough hours into that job and told the heavens – 'Enough! I must get back to my love!'" He moved around the table with flourish and landed a big kiss on the top of Joyce's head. "And the heavens must've listened for here I am, darling."

Joyce rolled her eyes but Sam could see a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "No cursing in the house, Frank," she tutted, jutting a chin at their son who grinned devilishly before sucking up a noodle.

"That's right Jeffery, don't curse," Frank agreed, pulling out a chair at the end of the table and sitting himself down. "Say bloody heaven instead of hell."

Joyce opened her mouth in rebuttal but must have thought it useless so she changed the subject instead. "Why, pray tell, was the traffic so bad then?"

"There was a fire, near the middle of the city. Ambulances were going back and forth and all kinds of crazy stuff."

"They got the fire out," Joyce's dad grunted out, not looking up from buttering his bread. "It's all under control now, we saw it on the news. They took everyone to the hospital."

"Where is the hospital, by the way?" Sam pipped up; if he was going to start a search, it would be best to begin questioning the surviving councilman.

"Not too far from here, 'bout a five-minute walk." Frank said, grabbing a bowl for himself. Then he paused and looked up, finally seeing Sam – though the newcomer was to the right of him the whole time. "Hello, wait a minute." He raised an eyebrow. "Are you a long lost cousin or something? I swear you weren't here when I left this morning."

"Honestly Frank," Joyce said with a smirk, "he could have been here for weeks and you probably wouldn't have noticed."

"Oy! You underestimate my detective skills, woman. Of course I would've noticed him, sharp as a tack, I am." Frank puffed out his chest in mock pride before giving Sam an uncertain side glance and lowering his voice, "Uh, you weren't here for weeks, right?"

Sam shook his head, letting out a little laugh. "Uh, no – to both actually. I'm not a long lost cousin, and I haven't been here for weeks. I actually - my boat crashed during the storm and Joyce and Jeffery were kind enough to take me in while I kind of, get my bearings."

"Huh," Frank said thoughtfully as he filled his own bowl of hot soup. "I don't remember there being a storm, but I'm glad you're alright and they've gotten you all taken care of." He paused to take a big slurp of his soup. "Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking. Your accent is kinda funny."

"Uh, America?" Sam answered hesitantly. He thought about lying but this way he could gauge their reactions and hopefully understand where he was.

Everyone at the table paused, passing sidelong glances at each other in question. "Never heard of it," Frank said shrugging decisively, "But of course I never really paid attention to the geography lessons, I'm practically useless when it comes to anything that isn't about this country."

Sam didn't know whether to feel relieved or not from the answer. If they didn't know what America was, maybe this really was an alternative realm he'd slipped into traveling through the storm.