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.
Artwork by @lamthetwickster!