I turned away in disgust as I pulled out a tattered workman's safety boot, size 12 at least. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought they'd been salvaged from the dump. The faux leather coating was falling apart, one boot's sole was partially torn from the base, and the shoelaces were incredibly frayed. There were dark stains scattered across the boot, while dried mud stuck to the underside of the soles and formed crusts around the sides. I held it in front of me at arm's length in complete shock, unsure of what to do. I turned to the cashier and said in a loud, astounded voice "Are you seriously expecting my nephew to put this... this Thing on his foot? I can't believe you're actually trying to pass this off as a sale!"
He shrugged his shoulders. "They're a part of our vintage range. They may look well used but I assure you that is merely part of their charm"
Charm my ass! I was going to give a strong, stern talking to my brother when we got back to his place. Where did he even pick out such a ghastly looking pair of boots? I searched high and low on the Funko website for the well-worn shoes I'd often see youths wearing from the shop with no luck. Though admittedly, I never did try to order anything featured online because they were always new models. Maybe each shoe had its own customisation options during the ordering process. I made a mental note to look into that the next chance I had. But for now, I had to deal with this nonsense. I dumped the boot back into the box and dropped it on the floor. "These are obviously second-hand, maybe even third-hand. Can't Butch pick out another pair instead? I'll pay for the price difference"
The old man shook his head. "Mr. Castillo specifically chose these Outbacks for his son to wear. The quirks and fit were custom designed specifically for his own intentions and would not suit any other customer, nor will any of the other shoes in this store fit your nephew. I'm afraid they're one of a kind, made just for him".
The way this guy spoke about the boots creeped me out. What would happen if someone else were to wear them? How could they be specifically designed for Butch when they were more than twice the size of his feet? Besides, there was nothing intentionally designed about these filthy things. I hadn't seen anyone wear footwear this dilapidated from the store. And that couldn't be a good thing. I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. I'd seen so many boys leave this store with oversized shoes, all of whom had inexplicably changed in some way. I wasn't comfortable with my only nibling going through a similar situation, especially when he had no say in the matter. However, this also seemed to be my only chance to find answers, and I could sense Butch was getting embarrassed by my outburst. So I threw my hands up in defeat and passed the box to Butch. "Fine. He'll put on the boots if it's really that big of a deal".
Butch picked up a boot and grimaced. "Do I have to? They smell kinda funky..."
I crouched down next to him. "The sooner you put them on, the sooner we can leave this place and get back home". I leaned in closer and whispered "You can take them off once we get to the car".
After a minute of reluctance, Butch finally took his sneakers off and slipped the massive boots onto his tiny feet. They completely swamped him, rising a few inches above his ankles and leaving plenty of space around his thin calves. Pressing down on the boot showed that his toes barely reached halfway inside. They were so oversized for him, he couldn't even lift a foot without the boot almost slipping right off it. Yet by sheer willpower, and who knows what else, it managed to stay put. I reassuringly slapped a hand on Butch's shoulder and reached down to grab his sneakers, only to find that they'd vanished. The box the boots had arrived in had gone missing as well. And, unsurprisingly, so had the cashier. There was nobody else to be found inside the store. I knew I should hunt that unhelpful man down, but a much bigger part of me didn't want to bother. I was too fed-up and spooked to complain. My first look inside this mysterious store was a frustrating let-down. There wasn't much else I could do inside the empty store. I took Butch by the shoulder and guided him towards the exit.
Stumbling in his boots, Butch turned back and cried "But what about my shoes?"
"I'll get you a new pair. Now hurry up, your dad was expecting us back ages ago"
"I'm going as fast as I can. I can barely move in these things. Can't we just take them back and get my old shoes?"
"That's not my decision to make. You'll have to take it up with your old man"
"But they were my favourite Narcisses. They were limited edition!"
"They're a dime a dozen, kid. You have so many of them at home, I don't know how you differentiate one pair from the next"
We left the store, both of us disgruntled at the experience, and walked back to the car. I kept periodically stopping and waiting for Butch to catch up with me. He could barely put one foot in front of the other without almost falling flat on his face. I wanted to help him, maybe carry him back to the car, yet there was something holding me back. It was as if I assumed he was putting on an act, like his shoes weren't a problem at all. I knew that wasn't true, I have a notebook filled with dozens of examples after all, yet it didn't stop me from tapping my foot impatiently and tutting every time I had to wait. Eventually, Butch managed to find his footing and could almost walk at a leisurely pace without looking like a total prat. We eventually reached the car and in a few minutes, we were driving off home.
The drive back to Chad's was almost as quiet as the journey to the store. It was unnerving to say the least. The route was complicated so I had to keep my full attention on the road lest I got us lost. So when I felt something uncomfortably digging into the back of my seat, I couldn't turn back to see what was wrong. I knew Butch was sat behind me, so I said "Hey buddy, think you can put your feet down? They're kind of distracting me". Butch mumbled something unintelligible and I felt him shifting behind me, yet the pressure against my seat didn't change. "Butch, can you move please?" Eventually, I heard a seat-belt unbuckling and I could feel Butch shift his body to the other side of the car. The pressure against my back disappeared. I turned my attention back to driving.
It wasn't until we stumbled into a minor traffic jam that I could take the opportunity to turn around to look at Butch. He was stretched out across the entire back of the car, as gangly looking as ever. A bit too much. He'd had a growth spurt of sorts, The bottom of his shirt brushed along the waistband of his shorts, which used to end below his kneecaps and were now almost halfway up his thighs. It turned out that I wasn't feeling his feet digging into my back earlier, but his knees which were bunched up tight against the back of the seat. I tried not to react, but I might have given it away. The changes were already occurring. Did it always happen this quick? I hadn't seen anyone in the process after all. "Uhm, do you need more space back there? Try pulling the lever over here".
Butch leaned down and adjusted the seat next to mine. The seat back flipped down, and he quickly shifted his torso to stretch his legs out in front of him. There was a surprising amount of small hairs scattered across calves, those definitely weren't there earlier..."Thanks, that helps a whole lot" he said in relief, before grasping his throat in shock. His voice was usually on the verge of breaking, yet now it was a dry baritone. Was that just a natural change in his voice or something much bigger?
I decided not to draw attention to his sudden vocal dissonance. Making a big deal out of it would probably frighten him more. I tried the more subtle action of passing him a half-empty bottle of water. He took it from me with a weak smile and immediately gulped down the contents, then chucked the empty bottle into the empty space at his feet. I frowned, it wasn't like him to litter, even within the untidy pits of my car. I hoped that was a one-time occurrence and not due to the boots. Hold on, the boots... Butch was still wearing them! I thought he'd taken them off the moment he got inside. I tapped one of them, and a small chunk of mud fell from the sole. "You know you don't need to keep these on any more. And honestly, they're kind of making a mess. Maybe you should take them off".
Butch shot me an icy glare, like I'd just insulted his gaming skills before saying "I tried to take them off earlier but they're stuck. Besides, I think they're growing on me".
That was very OOC for Butch. It usually took a lot to get such a cold response from him. And he was beginning to like the boots? He hated unstylish footwear, he hated dirty messes, and he definitely hated dirty boots. Curious, I pushed my fingers into the top of the boot and dread filled my chest. Where his feet originally barely reached halfway into the boots, there was now only a third of empty space within. Bruce was the one who was growing into the boots. Once again, I hid my worries and turned back towards the road as the traffic was moving again. This wasn't a good sign of things to come...