The Supernatural World of Vladimir and Viktor, Chapter 29
Sitting at the bunker's kitchen table, Sam sipped coffee from a cup and pushed a cup towards Dean. "Here you go."
Castiel also sat at the table, drinking coffee. Although his angel's grace fully provided for the human body he wore, he had come to notice over the years that there were still some subtle things that seemed to make it more...pliable to work with. One was drinking coffee. Another was watching his bees. He sat and observed the brothers working out their new situation.
The diminutive Dean, wearing a black AC/DC tee-shirt that hung to his knees, climbed up onto the counter to get to the cupboard. As he threw his seven-year-old leg up to do so, Sam noticed he had woven a cord through the waistband of his boxers, tied in front, in order to keep them up. Dean stood up and pulled a box of cereal out of the cupboard and crouched to get back down.
Instinctively Sam grabbed his brother by his waist and lowered him to the floor.
Dean spun around and gave Sam a nasty look and Sam stepped back with his hands up. "Sorry!"
Sam sat back watching as Dean got a bowl and poured milk into it. "Like having a son," he whispered to Castiel.
Dean dumped cereal into the milk and proceeded to chow down with vigor.
Sam smirked and thought to himself, 'Yeah, a small, bossy, foul-mouthed, womanizing, heavy-drinking son.'
Castiel broke Sam's reverie. "Eddie says his boys can loan Dean some of their clothes. Whenever you are ready."
The brothers nodded and finished breakfast.
At Eddie's, Vladimir and Viktor took Dean's new condition in stride.
"So can you still drive?" ask Vladimir
"I could if I sat at the edge of the seat. But Sammy hid the keys," glowered Dean.
"Oh, good move," Eddie assured Sam.
The three 'boys' headed to Vladimir and Viktor's room to check on clothes for Dean.
Eddie continued, "I can see right now that little Dean will be swimming in the boys' clothes. I didn't realize he would be so small, but then, there's about a five-year age difference."
"Quick note," interjected Sam. "Don't call him little Dean in front of his face. Just saying."
Castiel added a knowing nod.
"I suppose hugs are out, too," Eddie said.
"I wouldn't advise it," said Castiel.
"Anyway, Scraps agreed to sew him some outfits. She would have to keep him overnight. The staff in Glinda's palace should be able to handle him. And Scraps promised not to make anything that would make him look like a Munchkin. Strictly all-American boy patterns."
It wasn't long before Viktor came into the livingroom sobbing and wrapped himself around Eddie. "Daddy, all my shirts have holes in them," he blustered.
"Of course they do," Eddie told him. "Your wings have to push through. Did you tell him that he could tuck things back there like a backpack?"
Dean and Vladimir were in the doorway, expecting to be scolded.
"Did anything fit?" Eddie asked them.
"He's too little," said Vladimir.
Dean looked over at Vladimir like he had just stabbed him in the back.
"Well, you are," Vladimir said in defense.
"Doesn't matter," Sam jumped in to calm hurt feelings. "Scraps is going to make Dean his own clothes. Eddie, when can she do it?"
"She's in Glinda's ballroom right now, so Castiel can pop him over there now if he wants and she will take it from there."
Castiel glanced to Sam to be sure Sam was okay with that and suddenly Dean was standing amidst a crowd in Glinda's mirrored ballroom.
"Deanie, you're here!" shouted Scraps. She grabbed his arm and half-dragged him towards the hall in her enthusiasm. "To the royal fabric room!"
Dean looked about himself as they hurried along, at the people, many oddly dressed and many just odd themselves: a man with a huge flat-topped head, a woman made of china, a carving knife with a face, arms and legs...
He's so cute!" Dean heard from within the crowd as he slipped between the guests in the wake Scraps created.
'Of course I am.' thought Dean to himself.
Two royal guards kept pace behind them as Scraps and Dean headed down the hall and up the steps that would get them to the fabric room. The palace staff knew to expect the unexpected whenever Scraps came for a visit from the Emerald City.
On the way Scraps pulled items from her bag and attached them to the end of her fingers. Needles, and thimbles and cutting tools, to do what her cloth fingers could not. She twitched two blades together like scissors in front of Dean, startling him.
Dean followed Scraps into the fabric room. He stood just inside the room as Scraps marched to near the sewing table and froze. Just stood there.
Dean waited. Was he supposed to be doing something?
Suddenly Scraps threw her arms out and shouted, "Oooooooooooooooh!"
She raced to a bolt of tulle studded with tiny diamonds and pulled the material around herself, spinning furiously. Then she whirled to one side and back to the other with the veil spinning in layers of glittering light and haze. She leaped up onto one end of a long work table where she leaned her limber cloth body back so far that the tassles that served as hair dangled over the table and nearly to the floor. She began to sing, with arms swaying above her and marched in that way in a triumphant manner across the length of the table.
"Silk and lace, denim and tulle, what shall I do, eeeeeeeh! With nylon and cotton, rayon and wool I guess, to make pleated trousers and a doub'-breasted vest..."
"She's nuts!" thought Dean as the creature paused at the end of the table.
Scraps leaped from the table and raced towards Dean. She grabbed black silk fabric from the bolt beside him and threw it around him. With a 'snip' the silk was cut from the whole and Dean and all were wrapped up in the whirling fabric headed towards the stacks of material towards the back of the room.
Dean was carried along with the manic Scraps across the tops of the rows of bolted cloth and then down between them, into piles of remnants and around islands of material. As they went, the fabric wrapped around them grew tighter. Dean was afraid he would lose his breath.
Finally it all stopped. Dean was flung loose from the cyclone of fabric and across the floor towards the doorway. There, two of Glinda's soldiers stood, amused and giggling. Assured that all was normal here, the women nodded to each other and strode down the hallway away from the commotion.
When Scraps finally paused, the diamond-studded tulle was back in place and several samples of material were hanging in complete order over one outstretched arm.
Scraps tossed the black silk remnant to Dean. "We'll start with this."
She pulled buttons and spools of thread from drawers in cabinets along the wall and settled down to sit on one of the tables. She took the silk from Dean and immediately began to snip shapes out of it.
"Don't you need to measure me first?" Dean asked.
"Already did."
Dean thought back to what all was going on during the furious leaping and dancing among the rows of fabric.
"Oh," Dean sensed maybe he should feel violated.
But that odd feeling faded when minutes later Scraps handed him his long-sleeved black silk shirt, complete with a yoke, pleats and pearl buttons. It fit perfectly.
With new respect for the woman made of rags, he watched in awe as Scraps seamstressed on without pause.
Soon Scraps tossed Dean a pair of dark pleated pants with a belt built into the waistband.
"Try them on. Ozma is here and I'm sure she and Glinda will want a show."
Dean pulled on the outfit and buttoned the belt in front of a mirror. He brushed his hair over a bit and smiled. Sure, he could give the ladies a show.
