World of Winchester-Craft

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em and, sadly, never will.

A/N: NO, it is not based on the WoW game, and YES, I am still working on my other ficage. But I'm bored and felt like posting this, so there ;) The first two chapters of this weird story are based on an equally weird dream I had. After that it will turn into a prompt fic. It takes place in Season Five, after "Fallen Idols." Pure, unadulterated crack ahead, with maybe some angst sometime later. Enjoy!

Chapter One: Dude, What the Hell?

Dean wakes up to bright sunshine and seriously happy, chirpy birds. He's annoyed at once.

"Ungh…shut the window, Sammy…" He rolls over to bury his head under his pillow, but his pillow is gone. Keeping his face down, he gropes around for his plushy comfort but feels…grass? That can't be right. He turns his head, and then he feels something push up his nose. It smells like flowers. Flowers?! He sits up at once, brushing his hands over his face until his nostrils are clear. "Dammit, Sam," Dean growls. "Why'd you stuff flowers under my…pil..low…" He trails off as he looks around. There is no pillow. No bed, either. No motel room, no building, no anything like his surroundings when he fell asleep. Instead, he's in a meadow.

"What the…" Dean rubs his eyes to make sure he isn't seeing anything…then brings his hands back when he sees something weird. His hands are HUGE. His ring is still right where it should be, but his hands are at least 3 times their normal size. "What the—" He looks down and finds he can't see past his chest. His very broad, impossibly muscular, bronzed, bulked-up bare chest. "WHAT the—?!" He jumps to his feet lands with a mighty THUD, but he barely registers it. It's like someone took his head off his own body and put it on Conan the Barbarian—though Dean is pretty sure he's even bigger than Ah-nold ever was. Sure he's always been fit and muscular, but THIS…bare legs thick as tree trunks, shoulders wide and round and powerful, arms… Dean flexes his right arm and finds his entire view blocked by pure muscle. HOW can those giant guns be his arms? "I can't…I don't…" Words fail him as he focuses at last on the most important area of his body. He discovers it concealed by brown fur.

"Oh fuck…please tell me that isn't mine." Bracing himself, he reaches down and touches it, and is relieved to find the fur is connected to elastic. Then he frowns. "Fur underpants. Great." He pulls it forward from his skin and has a look down at what's inside. His eyes blow wide and the elastic snaps painfully back into place. It's official: the huge factor definitely applies to EVERY part of him, from his bewildered head to the toes of his underwear-matching fur boots. There's also something digging into his throat. He looks down but can't see it, so his fingers investigate. It's his amulet; his neck is now so thick that the leather band is taut, turning the necklace into a choker.

"Okay!" Dean says, looking around the meadow as he fights to get a grip. "This is a dream. Has to be…" But somehow, he knows that it isn't. The gentle breeze that blows through his hair, through his fur briefs, and over his bare leg muscles feels like a real breeze. The smell in the air is sweet—flowers and fruit—and Dean never dreams about flowers or fruit. He bends down (trying not to look at his barbarian body as it moves, but he can't help it) and picks up a sharp rock. The object is tiny in his hands—even his fingers look like they've gained muscles of their own. But he points the sharp end at his arm and cuts in. He feels the sting at once, and blood oozes up through his skin.

"It's real." Dean tugs at his amulet choker, and he reaches back to try and loosen up the cord, but it's no use: His big fingers can't even grasp the little knot, much less pull it apart. Dean sighs. "Sam's gonna love this."

His heart catches in his throat. "Sam." Dean looks around, hoping to spot his brother, but all he sees is more meadow and, in the near distance, a forest. "SAM?!" he calls several times, but no one answers him. "Shit." Then something on the ground gleams in the sun, and he moves over for a closer look. He finds a pouch, roughly the size of a laptop carrier, but made of tan suede, complete with a long, leather strap. The thing glinting in the sun is a crystal vial that is sticking out of the top of the pouch. Dean picks up both items and studies the vial. It looks like it contains liquid, sparkly glue. He peeks inside the pouch and finds several more of these, along with some gems and a handful of gold coins. There's also a small, thin, wooden box, and he takes it out and holds it up to the light. He grins at once.

"I don't believe it." It's a cell phone. A wooden cell phone! He slides the top forward with his thumb and finds wooden keys on the inside, along with a tiny glass screen. He finds the On Button and presses it, and the phone makes a sound like a woodpecker going to town on a tree. Then the glass screen fills with swirling colors, and an automated voice comes through the holes of the ornate, wooden speaker:

'Thank you for using Wish Works! One moment while we connect you to your personal directory.' A moment later, the pecking sound is back, and the word 'Connected' flashes on the screen. Then it disappears in a POOF of sparkles. Dean searches for the button to show him his contacts, but he can't find any; other than the On Button and the usual number keys, there isn't anything else to press.

'Please make a wish!' the pleasant voice coaxes. Dean looks at the phone, skeptical and a little weirded out, and the voice repeats itself. 'Please make a wish!'

Dean licks his lips. "Uh…okay. I…wish to talk to my brother? Sam?"

'Granted!'

The screen swirls with color again, and then the pecking sound comes again, drilling out the connection rings instead of the usual, automated ones. Then the other end of the line clicks.

"Dean?" Sam's voice asks, full of hope.

"Sammy," Dean breathes, smiling with relief. "Thank God. Where are you? Are you okay?"

"No, Dean, I'm not even remotely okay," Sam grumbles. "I've got—!" He cuts himself off, and Dean can just picture Sam pacing, showing the world his trademark bitchface.

"What? Sam, just spill."

"I've got wings, okay?"

Dean's sure he heard that wrong. "Wings," he repeats.

"Yeah, Dean, wings!"

Dean rolls the word to and fro in his mind, trying to wrap his head around it. It doesn't help. "So when you say 'wings'—"

"WINGS!" Sam hollers. "Big, shimmering wings!"

"Like a bird?"

"No, they're not feathery. They're more like a butterfly's wings—see-through, like stained glass, but softer. And they're green, if you care."

"Of course I care, Sammy, my brother has wings!" He starts giggling at the last few words, and he can feel Sam's glare on him through the phone. Dean clears his throat. "Sorry. So uh…wings. Anything else changed? Your clothes or, uh…" Dean looks at his rippling muscles again. "…anything?"

"Well they're my clothes, but not what I was wearing when I fell asleep. I've got my favorite pair of jeans on and my blue and green flannel. No shoes or socks though. Why, what about you?"

"No wings, but…there were changes." He scowls at the skimpy fur wardrobe. "Other stuff…"

"Like?"

"You'll have to see it to believe it. Where are you?"

Sam gives half a laugh and replies, "I'm in a giant forest." His brother is speechless. "Yeah. The trees here are bigger than redwoods, Dean. And everything else is huge, too—the flowers, the mushrooms… even the blades of grass are taller than me. And even worse—oh SHIT!"

"Sam?!"

There's a rustle on the other side of the phone, and a loud SWOOP shoots through Dean's ears. He hears Sam telling something to 'get offa me!' "Sam!" Dean yells. "Talk to me, what's happening?"

"A giant gypsy moth just tried to kiss me!" Sam shouts back. "Its feelers and sticky tongue were all over my face, ugh." Dean chuckles at the mental image. "Dude!" Sam cries, outraged. "So not funny!"

"I'm sorry, Sammy, but it is," Dean smirks. "A big bad moth got to second base with you!"

"Shut up, Dean."

"It must've thought your wings were pretty sexy."

"SHUT UP, Dean!" Sam fumes. "Just…get here, okay?"

"Fine, where's 'here'?"

"I don't know…" There's a pause, and Dean hears the tinkling of little bells in the background. "Can you see a huge lake where you are?"

"No, all I see is meadow. There's a forest over there though."

"Great, maybe that's the same forest I'm in! I'll try climbing up one of the mushrooms so I can keep a lookout for you."

"Okay. Keep your wooden cell phone on in case I have to call you again."

"I'm glad you did. Mine kept telling me I'd used up all my magic moments. Whatever that means." Sam sighs. "This isn't a dream, is it," he asks flatly.

"Nope. Already tested." Dean sighs as well. "Okay, hang tight, Sammy. And if any giant grasshoppers come looking for some action, you say no, hear me?"

"Very funny."

"I thought so," Dean grins. Sam just hangs up on him. Dean puts the phone back in his pouch and swings the strap over his head and across his broad chest, resting the bag on his left hip and the loop of the strap on his right shoulder. He starts walking toward the forest…only to trip on something after two steps and fall flat on his face. Dean spits the grass and dirt out of his mouth and sits up.

"Son of a bitch…" He looks around to see what he tripped on, and is very surprised by what he finds. A massive broadsword is lying on the ground, and it looks like it belongs on any number of heavy metal album covers. The long blade is gunmetal grey, yet it shines in the sunlight as if made of platinum. Runes are engraved in long lines along the blade. The handle, which is a combination of hard wood and iron, sports four angled prongs, two big ones and two small. The longer two reach from the handle's bottom like long fingers of lightning, while the inner two stick out from the guard and resemble saber teeth. Stuck in their jaws, as it were, are two spinners of runes, like the revolver of a gun. They are what catch Dean's attention, and he picks the sword up for a closer look.

The moment Dean's hand touches the handle, the runes in the spinners turn blood red. Light bursts forth from the hilt and spreads down the blade, its own runes turning crimson as well, as if they've just been forged. Dean feels a rush of power flow through the sword and into his hand, then over his entire body. Damn! is all he can think, a wide grin spreading across his face. It's like he's had ten straight orgasms and a month's supply of energy drinks all at once: he feels strong, unstoppable. Dean holds the sword high and a mighty CRACK pelts through the air, like a giant gunshot.

He brings the sword back down and examines the spinners on a hunch. Sure enough, he recognizes them now: the same runes are cast into the Colt. The blade is the exact color of the Colt's barrel, the handle the same wood. "Kick-ass gun turned into kick-ass sword," Dean beams, slashing the blade around. It feels so light and comfortable in his hand, like it's an extension of his own arm. The glow dissipates, but the runes remain firey. Dean looks around the grass to see if anything else came with it, and he finds a thick leather cord with frog bindings for the sword. Dean fastens that over his free shoulder, his broad chest now crisscrossed with that cord and the one for the pouch, and hooks the larger prongs into the frog, letting the sword rest across his broad back. Still feeling pumped up from whatever the Colt Sword put through him, Dean takes off in a run and bounds into the forest.

"Well that's just great," he says to himself as he looks at the trees. None of them are gigantic, as Sam had described; they just look like regular trees to Dean. That means he's in the wrong forest. He gets his cell phone to call his brother and ask for better directions, when his hunter's instincts pick up. He's being watched. Dean stands perfectly still and listens. It's to his right, whatever it is…somewhere behind the pines. Dean takes one step forward. It does too. A bush moves. Dean rolls his eyes. It's too early in the morning for this crap. I haven't even had my coffee yet. So he walks over to the bush and kneels down for a look. There's nothing there.

"Great, now I'm getting paranoid about bunnies…"

Then his neck gets hit with hot breath. Dean slowly stands up and turns around on his heel. A black wall of scales stands before him. He looks up. The wall is attached to the head and neck of a dragon, looking right at him with pale yellow eyes. It puffs out a little cloud of smoke from both nostrils. Dean gives it a quivering smile.

"So not a bunny!" He takes off, and the thing screeches and runs after him. The sword is spanking him with each step, reminding the warrior that he HAS A WEAPON. But Dean's too freaked to care. Furry underwear and a brother with wings are weird, but a fucking DRAGON?! That's too much for even Dean to process at once. He makes the mistake of looking over his shoulder—the beast is gone! Dean slows down and WHUMP!—the black dragon is directly in front of him again. Its head alone is longer than Dean himself, its body bigger than two city buses, and it leans down, still staring at him with those pale yellow eyes.

"Easy, dragon," Dean says, taking a step back. The dragon steps with him. Dean turns to run but the beast is faster this time: it pins him down between its front paws, using its sharp, silvery dewclaws to keep Dean from moving. It dips its head down again, and Dean panics. "No…trust me, dragon, you don't want to eat me. I'm not the tasty kind of white meat, I swear!" The dragon's snout closes in, and Dean shuts his eyes, braces for the end…

…and winds up covered in silken kisses. Dean cracks his eyes open and finds the dragon's long black tongue licking him up and down. It feels like a wet, satin ribbon, and it kinda tickles. Dean giggles, "Okay, okay, you like me, I get it!" He gently pushes the snout away, and the dragon gives him a final kiss on the cheek and lets him up. It sits low on the ground, giant tail swishing like a happy dog, and Dean swears he can tell that its smiling. Tentatively, he reaches out a hand, and the snout comes right back in for a pet. Dean soothes his hand along the scales and finds them soft and pliant. The dragon starts to purr, but not like a cat. It's a much better purr. A purr that Dean would recognize anywhere.

It can't be! He looks at the claws again. They're chrome—or at least, they resemble chrome. Dean peers up at the dragon's eyes. Headlight Yellow, he realizes. Giving the snout another rub, he smiles and asks, "Baby? Is that really you?" The dragon makes a happy, chirpy, yet rumbly sound, like a really big bird that's just found a really big bird bath. "I don't believe it," he grins. "Look at you! You're a dragon!" The head tilts left and right, like she's studying him, and she gives another rumbling chirp. Dean grins down at himself. "Yeah, I know, I'm different too, but you…" He stands back and takes her all in. "You're just awesome," he laughs, still grinning wide. She leans her head down and nudges him with affection, and he scratches her jaw. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's find Sam."

She sits up and looks around, suddenly worried. "It's okay," Dean reassures her. "I just talked to him a few minutes ago. But he's lost, so we have to find him." The dragon nods, and Dean motions her to follow. She swiftly shoots her head down by his feet and, using her snout, nods him up onto the back of her neck. Dean's barely registered what happened and where he is when the giant, muscular body—not his, the other one that's even bigger—scampers forward, each powerful paw landing with grace instead of the expected thumps. Dean notes for the first time that his baby doesn't have wings. He's very, very relieved.

"Go find Sam!" he calls. The dragon screeches happily and runs even faster, as they move deeper into an ever-darkening forest…

Sam is pacing back and forth across the flat top of a giant, speckled mushroom. Come on. Dean, he thinks, impatient and on edge. Every jumbo woodland critter has made an appearance since he got off the phone with his brother, and they all seem to think he's the greatest thing in the whole wide world. He's been hugged by a chipmunk, nuzzled by a rabbit, cuddled by a squirrel, and cooed to by a morning dove. None of them have been mean in anyway, but their adoration is somehow worse. They all make Sam feel so…small. The chipmunk alone was already as high as Sam's waist, and that's before it stood on its hind legs and brought him in for a snug. He keeps telling himself it's just an illusion—that he's the same height, but everything else is just bigger. It doesn't really help.

Now, as a raccoon the size of a grizzly waves from across the huge lake, Sam checks his phone for the zillionth time. As usual, no message waits for him. "Crap." The breeze flows past him, and his wings flutter in response. He has no control over them whatsoever—and no, that isn't helping his mood, either. One minute they're still, the next minute they're curling around him like a protective shroud, and a minute after that they're flexing, back and forth, almost as if they're eager to get in the air. But worst of all, whenever he turns, the upper wingtip of one or the other blankets his face. Sure enough, as Sam turns back to pace the other way, his left wing gently hits him in the nose and wipes off his face as he keeps walking. He knows he should stop pacing, but he can't. It's about the only thing keeping him from completely losing it right now.

Sam looks out at the vast grass field again, searching for any sign of his brother, but there's nothing. Just the lake and the big blades, gently swaying in the breeze. Sam's shoulders droop, and his wings droop with him. "Get off," he growls as he bats them away. He just needs to see Dean. At least with his brother next to him, he won't be alone here in Giant Land.

His phone rings—well, taps—and he fumbles it in surprise. "Sam? You there?" Dean's voice asks from the little device, now lying partially wedged in the mushroom's top. Sam picks it up and wipes the shroom goop off on his pants.

"Yeah, Dean, where the hell are you? I've been waiting for…" he checks his watch, "over half an hour!"

"Well I've been LOOKING for over half an hour," Dean snaps back, "and I haven't seen any giant lake or giant trees or giant ANYthing."

"What about giant flowers?" Sam tries.

"Yeah, that's covered under the 'no giant anything,' genius."

"Not even the huge purple ones with the yellow bells inside?! They're everywhere!"

Dean sighs. "No, Sam, not even the huge purple ones with the…" Dean pauses, and Sam listens in. "I think I see some way up ahead," Dean murmurs. "Do they make actual bell sounds?"

"Yeah, they sound just like jingle bells!" Sam cheers.

"The song or the sound?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know—that's why I'm asking you!"

It's Sam's turn to sigh. "The sound, Dean. Just get over here, okay? You're not gonna believe how huge they are."

"Okay okay, I'm coming. Stay on the line."

Now that he knows Dean is on the way, Sam feels like jumping for joy—and that kinda scares him. Sam Winchester does NOT jump for joy. So he keeps his bare feet firmly on the mushroom and watches for Dean. He hears his brother tell someone to 'wait here—don't wanna spook him.' "Who are you talking to?" Sam asks.

"It's a surprise," is all Dean will say.

"Great," Sam grumps, "just what I need, another—"

Sam freezes. Something immense has just entered into the field—so immense, in fact, that Sam can't even tell what it is. It's like another planet has just dropped down in front of him—that's how big it is.

"Sam?" Dean calls, and Sam can hear his voice in the distance.

"Shhh!" Sam scolds him through the phone. "I can hear you, you're close, but so is that thing."

"What thing?" Dean whispers.

"The giant…thing! Don't you see it?"

"No, I don't. I'm all alone out here. I don't see any of your giant flowers, either, Sam. Just some little ones over there."

The thing THUDs forward, and its shadow drapes over the giant lake and everything around, including Sam and the mushroom. The only thing that exists in front of Sam now is brown fur. Up down, left right. It's his entire world.

"Dean," Sam says in a hushed voice. "Get. Here. NOW. This thing is gonna crush me and not even notice!"

"Where did you say you were again?" Dean whispers, and again, Sam hears him on the phone and somewhere in the distance.

"On a giant speckled mushroom by the giant lake by the giant purple flowers with the yellow bells!" Sam whisper-shouts, throttling the phone in place of his brother's neck. "How many times do I have to TELL you?!" He hears Dean chuckle. "What's so funny?" The phone clicks off. "DEAN?! What's going on?"

Sam looks up as the shadow grows darker, and something that can only be described as the Hand of God for sheer size and might appears high above him. Sam actually lets out a little "eep!" of fear, and he jumps off the mushroom and runs. But the gargantuan hand soon grabs him anyway, pinching the scruff of his flannel together and lifting him up. The ground soon drops out of sight.

"No!" Sam kicks and punches and squirms, trying and trying to free himself. "I'm not letting you eat me!"

"Dude, relax," Dean's very loud voice says. "I like cheeseburgers, not fairies."

Sam is turned around until he faces Dean. His brother's nose is half as big as all of Sam, and his grin stretches far out to the left and right of the little captive. Sam just gapes.

"Dean, you're…GIGANTIC!" He's too stunned to state anything but the obvious, and Dean chuckles again.

"No, Sammy, 'fraid it's the other way around. I'm normal," he gestures to the surroundings, and he twirls Sam around by his shirt scruff so he can see for himself. "And you're tiny." Sam comes to a stop facing Dean again, and his brother smiles. "You're pretty cute, too."

Sam folds his arms, and his wings flutter as if they're just as irritated as their owner. "I'm not cute," Sam snits. "And how do you know that you're not a giant anyway, huh? Where's your proof? I could still be normal! The giant lake could still be a lake!"

"Funny, looks like a puddle to me," Dean replies. "Big puddle, sure, but still a puddle."

Sam just grumbles to himself, tugging at his flannel scruff still stuck between Dean's stupid big fingers. "Just lemme go."

"Suit yourself."

Dean releases him, and Sam plummets. "DEEEEAAAAAN!" Dean catches him in his palm and holds him back up, and Sam is glaring at him.

"What? You said you wanted me to let go, so I did! It's not my fault that you didn't fly…" Dean's eyebrows rise when Sam says something too quiet for Dean to hear. "What was that?"

"I said I CAN'T FLY, Dean."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Have you tried?"

"Sorta."

"How sorta?"

"Enough to know that the wings have minds of their own," Sam growls. "Drop it, okay?"

Dean looks at him more closely now. Mini-Sam is about five inches tall, same floppy hair and normal clothes, and his shimmering olive wings are almost as tall—or as short, really—as he is. They flutter in the breeze. Dean holds them up for a closer look, wondering if one of them is injured and that's why Sammy can't—

"Stop doing that," Sam grumbles.

"What?"

"Staring!"

Dean holds him back a little. "Why? You've been staring at me this whole time." He smirks and adds, "If you want your own little pair of furry underoos, I bet I could make one from a bunny tail—"

"NO I DON'T WANT MY OWN PAIR OF FURRY UNDEROOS!" Sam yells, wings flapping furiously.

"Uh, Sam?"

"Shut up, Dean!" Sam points his little index finger into the tip of Dean's nose. "The only thing I want right now are answers! I want to know where we are, why we're here, and who decided YOU get to be the big muscle man and I have to be the STUPID FAIRY!"

"The stupid fairy that's now flying."

"I—wha?" Sam looks down and sure enough, he's hovering over Dean's palm. The moment he notices, he falls on his little fairy ass, breathing hard.

"Guess you have to build up your strength for that," Dean observes. Sam just bitch faces him and looks down. He can't believe the size of Dean's legs. Even if he weren't a giant—and Sam still firmly believes Dean's big and Sam himself is still normal, despite the fairy wings—he'd still be staring at those bulging muscles all the same. The rest of Dean isn't much better—or rather, any less stare-worthy. The guy's pecs are like a rock face on a mountain, all strong and firm and huge. His arms are thick, his hands are strong…Sam looks down at himself and feels even scrawnier just by muscle comparison alone.

And I am NOT scrawny! Sam yells in his head. His wings are flapping again, and he catches his brother smirking. "What?" Sam challenges.

"Nothing."

"Dean…"

"It's just funny, is all. You being so short and now you're so short-tempered, too."

"DEAN!"

"What? We've only been talking for a couple minutes, and you've already yelled at me three times! And I haven't even done anything except speak the truth."

Sam opens his mouth to yell...but stops himself. His little heart is pounding in his little chest. What's wrong with me? he can't help but wonder. Why am I so angry?

"Cheer up, Sammy," Dean smiles at him. "At least you still get to wear your normal clothes. This half-naked, half-fur deal? Not as comfy as you might think."

"Yeah…true…" Sam is still puzzling over his new emotional state; the anger left him as soon as he thought about it. He decides to keep a closer watch on himself until he figures out what's going on.

"So you flying or you riding?" Dean asks. Sam looks up, confused. "Me. Riding…er, no, bad choice of words, I meant riding along…shit, that's not much better…" Dean sighs and starts over. He lifts Sam up to his left shoulder. "Do you want to sit on my shoulder or fly right now?"

"Uh…neither?"

"Option One it is."

Dean dumps the little guy on his shoulder and walks them back toward the trees. Then he whistles and calls, "Found him, Baby! Come on out!"

The scream Sam lets out when the enormous black dragon emerges and tries to kiss him is so loud that it's heard in the next alternate universe over.