He could still hear it. Hear everything.

            The deathly wail of rubber skidding across concrete, as if his vehicle had already known how futile a gesture slamming his foot against the brake pedal had been. The unearthly howl of metal against metal as his car plowed into her's. The crisp shattering of glass as his windshield fell apart. And then the horrific sound of her car tumbling away, top over bottom, down the slope of that hill, marking the earth as it went.

            Corey Lindon put one foot in front of the other, feeling every bit a dead man walking as the bailiff gently guided him to his holding cell for one last stop at his temporary prison. The feeling of numbness was nothing new. It had persisted since that night, well over the course of his brief stay in an infirmary and throughout his meetings with his family and his lawyer as a criminal case had been brought against him. The sounds, too, had persisted.

            It was there again, the droning pings of his mangled vehicle beeping away as he stumbled out, leaving his keys behind. He could still remember his aching hand finding his phone in his pocket as he stumbled in shock away from the dead metal, desperate to reach the side of the hill.

            The sounds had persisted so much that he had felt as if he were barely at his own trial. He felt as if he had slipped in and out of consciousness, subsisting on whatever he had managed to be alert for at any given time. That he had missed a large chunk of the proceedings would be an understatement - he was sure he had missed most of them.

            But he was also sure he had heard what mattered the most.

            Now a voice, soft and calming. Feminine. Asking for his location, if he was all right. He had answered as accurately as he could, to both questions, and the 911 operator  had told him that emergency workers were on their way. Truthfully, looking down the slope of the hill, he hadn't particularly cared. His gut had  told him all he needed to know, needed to understand, as he had stared blankly upon the husk of the other driver's car even as his knees had given out and sent him falling to the ground. It had told him what he had done, well before her had need to see it.

            Well before he had needed to hear it. That the girl was dead. That he had killed her. Repeated countless time over the last several days, and he had been alert for every mention. Exactly as he should have been.

            A soft clink sounded, and it was with a start Corey realized that his handcuffs had been removed. The bailiff was already on the move, leaving the shaken college student to come to terms with the fact that he had reached his destination, that he had stopped moving, without even realizing it. Leaving him, too, to thank God for that seeming lapse of consciousness. Because even as his eyes found his mother, sitting calmly in a chair that rested within the confines of the cell with them and looking at him with those pitying blue eyes, he knew that three more pairs rested on his back. Brown, green, and blue, all affixed upon him. Self-conscious, his eyes drifted to the floor.

            Because they had gone first, to wait for him. His family. His lawyer. His mother, his sister, his aunt, accompanied by a woman he had known most of his life who had done her best for him in the wake of his failure. Which was why what was about to happen was about to happen.

            "Corey," Abigail Lindon stated softly, and with no lack of affection, "I'm going to go ahead and do this. Get this started, get the initial part over and done with. Okay?"

            He didn't respond. There was no need to. He didn't have a choice, after all.

            A rustle, a familiar one, and his heavy eyes lifted to gaze upon his sentence as his mother casually removed it from her purse. That hunk of black metal that he had despised growing up, that had so embarrassed him as punishments for his slights.

            This time, he had truly earned the PMRD's justice.

            For his crime, he would be...lessened. Shrunken. No bigger than twelve inches tall, no smaller than an inch. Tiny and helpless. Small and harmless. For a year he would remain so, under the direct supervision of his parents. Of his little sister, who for the first time would be allowed to use the magical device when she wished, and however she wished. And he would be confined at home unless one of his three wardens deigned to take him elsewhere, a right and a choice they could exercise three days a week, for up to three hours at a time, for the year.

            That was what his mother had fought for, as well as his lawyer and his aunt. They had refused to allow him to go to prison for his crime, despite how strongly the prosecution had pushed for it. And they had won this for him, to spare him the trip to a place they did not wish to see him go to, regardless of the extent to which he deserved to do so. Because that was where people like him were supposed to go, wasn't it? People who had done what he had.

             And yet, it was so nice of them to want to do that for him. Because he was certain he could not be a bigger disappointment to them if he had tried..

            "Mom," Corey found himself croaking as his soon-to-be warden began fiddling with the tool she would be using for the duration of his incarceration. He didn't dare look behind him, past the bars of the holding cell. He didn't...didn't want to see them, everyone else. For as long long as possible, he didn't want to.

            "Hm?" the matron lightly sounded, apparently now deep in thought as to what pathetically small size would suit him best.

            "I'm," he breathed, an audible gulp ridding himself of the persistent lump in his throat that had followed him since that night, "I'm sorry."

            The movement of his mother's fingers against the PMRD's screen halted as she froze, albeit just for a moment. A sigh left her lips, and Corey was certain that awful green flash would be following it. Instead, though, his mother simply rose to her feet from the chair, her eyes lifting from the device to face him. One step, then two, and soon she was in front of him, her blue eyes looking up ever so slightly into his own. Soft. Pitying, and likely a mirror of the  three pairs behind him.

            He barely noticed as he felt her hands on his back, pulling him into a tight, loving hug that he didn't have the strength to return.

            "I know you are, sweetie," she stated softly with the slightest of wavers. "I know you are. And through your time with us...at home...everyone else will understand how sorry you are, too. How this isn't you, and what a wonderful young man you really are." Her arms momentarily tightened around him to punctuate her statement before she parted from him, taking several steps backward. Her attention returned to the PMRD, and two taps of her finger later adjustments were apparently finished. "Here we go, Corey. I'm doing one inch for now. There are reporters outside, and I think it's best you keep a low profile while we head to the car."

            Those words had more than a little heat behind them, setting off a flinch within Corey. He wasn't sure, precisely, what had been the cause. He knew what his first instinct was, but...

            There was no time to ponder it as the PMRD was aimed squarely at him. Soon, he was bathing in that familiar green light, the first time in two years. The chill that accompanied it was still as uncomfortable as ever, that feeling of plummeting downward. Usually, he closed his eyes. It made him uncomfortable, to watch the world rush upwards around him. Not this time, though. No, this time, he just...watched, as he dwindled into his new place in the world.

            The light soon subsided, a wave of nausea making Corey regret his decision to not close his eyes. The process had always been a bit disconcerting for him, now even more so after two years of freedom from it.  The sense only intensified as his eyes focused upon the heel-clad feet of his mother in the distance and traced up her nylon-coated calves to the sharp business ensemble she wore, with a pencil skirt that stretched to just above her knees and a smart matching business jacket. It had been so long since he had...seen someone, like this. His mother peered down upon him from what seemed like hundreds of feet above, eyes trained carefully upon him.

            It was almost overwhelming, taking it all in. So much so that he had barely noticed himself stumbling into a cold metal bar of the cell that towered behind him. The contact jarred him, accelerating his rising queasiness, and he stumbled forward in short order, shivering.

            "You okay?" a kind, mature voice asked from above and behind him. Reflexively, he spun around, to be immediately greeted by another three pairs of nylon-clad feet resting in black heels. He immediately locked onto the largest pair that rested to the far right of the three, the easiest way to pinpoint the source of the familiar voice that had spoken to him.

            His Aunt Kayla, smiling down at him with the same confidently assuring curl of her lips that she had treated him with since this whole thing had started, towered over most everyone even with normal size conventions intact. At a little over six feet tall, and with her already commanding presence, it was an easy thing to do. Now, though, with her emerald irises shining down upon him and his one-inch frame...she was beyond towering. Easily the largest living thing he had ever seen. The only thing that had ever come close was his sister's friend, Melody, who two years ago and at 15 years old had already gained an inch on him.

            His sister.

            His eyes traced to the left, and his stomach lurched as they found the kind face of his lawyer, Rebecca Reynolds, framed by her strawberry-blond locks. A longtime family friend, who had babysat him on numerous occasions when he had been littl...younger. Her pretty blue eyes picked up on the fact that his eyes had settled upon her, and her straightened lips curled in a muted, yet pleasant smile that made the twenty-year old blush a little. In addition to being a babysitter, she had also been his first, innocent little crush. A fact that served only to heighten his already considerable embarrassment and shame. He was all too eager to move on further to the left, to...

            Claire.

            His little sister, now 16, had her face pressed between the bars of the cell. Her brown eyes locked upon him, and there was definite frustration within them as he watched her bite on her lower lip. A frustration that was warranted, he thought. He was supposed to be an example to her, and yet...and yet now, he had failed at that in what must have been the most complete manner possible. He couldn't blame her, for the anger and frustration she must feel toward him, for letting her expectations down so utterly. For not being the big brother that she had adored and respected, for replacing him with the contemptuous little...thing at her feet.

            And for the first time that day, looking upon the three women that towered so enormously before him, he noted how...coordinated, they were. Matching nylons and heels, matching skirts and business jackets. All four women putting up a coordinated, united front. All four, he realized, exuding a certain power and strength. His mother, a respected professor of physics. His aunt, a circuit judge. Ms. Rebecca, one of the finest lawyers in the state. Even Claire, despite her status as a high school student, exuded it. As if it was her natural place, to be associated with these powerful figures.

            Which only made him feel even more pathetic as that lump returned to his throat, along with that wave of nausea. It probably was his sister's place, to be up there. With them. And it was his place, to be down here, with the dirt and the crud. That was where people like him belonged, after all.  Not people like her, no. She belonged, now, to a world which he had proven himself incapable of being a part of.

            Because he had killed someone. Through his negligence, through his arrogance, through his irresponsibility. He had killed an innocent girl who had had the misfortune of making one tiny little mistake at the worst possible moment. If he had just...if he had just being going slower, nothing would have happened. That girl would still be alive and well, instead of resting in a casket, leaving her parents behind to grieve.

            That lump moved upward, and it was with crinkled face that Corey discovered the object that tormented him was not a figurative one. He keeled over suddenly, a wave of sickness pulsing through him as his breakfast emptied out onto the cell floor at his feet.

"Oh, my," Rebecca Reynolds exclaimed from above, her new found enormity working against her attempt at a quietly hushed tone. Trembling from the pervading coldness that had always been the hallmark of being reduced to no larger than a thumb, Corey clenched his fists to match his jaw. His eyes were still focused upon the mucky puddle he had expelled onto the floor, his throat still burning from the passage of his stomach's fluids through it.

            "What happened?" he heard his mother inquire sharply from behind, and for a moment, Corey called himself thankful that he had not been facing her, that she hadn't seen him...

            "He had a little accide-" his lawyer started, before catching herself mid-explanation, but still too late to avoid the rather embarrassing term and wiping away any thankfulness he may have held. Already, he could feel his cheeks reddening as Rebecca re-attempted her explanation. "He, um....well, he..."

            "He threw up," his Aunt Kayla finished for her, as frank as ever, and he could hear the rather dissatisfied grunt of his mother hundreds of feet away. In response, Corey's already lowered head managed to dip even further. Within minutes of his sentence beginning, he had already made a mess...it seemed to him as if he was incapable of anything else recently.

            "Look up at me, hon," Rebecca's sugary voice suddenly demanded of him, drawing a light flinch from him. Pathetically desperate to avoid further embarrassment through his failures, his eyes lifted, and the first thing he noticed was that his lawyer now sat on her haunches, her nylons taut against legs, and his blushing threatened to intensify.

            Until he caught sight of her intentions, in the form of a white cloth large enough to act as an activities tent being brought to his face, Rebecca's arm slipping between two iron pillars to bring it to bear against him. He jumped back, just a little bit, the roving handkerchief catching him somewhat off guard. The movement seemed to go unnoticed, however, as it was apparently of such slightness that it didn't even register.

            It certainly hadn't been enough to remove himself from the oncoming handkerchief's path, and soon enough it gingerly pressed into the whole of his face with an amount of care that seemed almost otherworldly given his current size. With that same care, it began to gently caress downward along his face, and as such it soon passed below his eyes and enabled him to see once more. Greeting him in the distance was Rebecca's beautiful face, the most calming of expressions plastered across it as she wiped away at his mess, something she hadn't done for him in at least fifteen years.

            At this point, Corey was certain his cheeks, red-hot with embarrassment, were a danger to set fire to the cleansing cloth.

            "Tch."

            The light, displeased sound - sharp, and originating from above and to the left, momentarily jarred him. Before he knew it, his freed eyes were searching for the source, though it was certainly not hard to find. From where it had originated...well, there was only one person it could have been. And the moment his eyes found her, he regretted it.

            Claire was staring down at him with an almost terrifying intensity now. Her eyes, usually home to adoration and respect, were narrowed, her brow furrowed. She seemed even more frustrated than before, though Corey would soon change his diagnosis as his own eyes widened in silent alarm upon taking in the entirety of his sister's face. Particularly, her lips, and the curled-back snarl that had appeared on them. No, it wasn't mere frustration anymore.

            It was disgust. A disgust he hadn't seen on her face since three years prior. When he had stumbled home in a drunken stupor, requiring his little sister's assistance in opening the door of their home for him after he had forgotten his keys. And just like in the wake of that particular failure to act responsibly, he now stood as no more than some sort of vermin at her feet. And while that first time in such a vulnerable situation had ultimately been a harmless experience, mostly spent cuddling up in a palm (either his sister's, or one of her friends') for warmth as the owners went about their business, he just couldn't see that ringing true once more, even as it had in other times following that inaugural grounding. Not as he took in her utterly disgusted visage. Because this time, his failing had been so much worse, his sin so much greater. It was an almost overwhelming experience, standing there under her harsh gaze.

            It was certainly enough to make him step back, even as the ever-helpful Rebecca withdrew her handkerchief from his face, satisfied with his regained cleanliness. It was with a start that he felt himself back into a warm, pillowy surface that was just a bit too familiar. Craning his neck further upwards, his suspicions were confirmed as his eyes met with those of his mother, now kneeling down behind him. Her blue irises studied him momentarily in apparent effort to discern his physical state after his earlier expulsion. And then, for the first time in years, he felt the digits of another human wrap around him. Each now taller than he was, each one infinitely more powerful. His gaze returned downward, just in time to watch Rebecca's retreating hand lightly dab across the mess he had created as it went, leaving the floor virtually unblemished as his lawyer carefully folded the handkerchief to hide the little blemishes he had added to it.

            "Are you okay, sweetie?" Abigail asked with concern as her fingers finished wrapping around his torso, sealing him within their secure hug as they lifted him from the ground while his mother rose to her feet. Across the stone plain of the cell, and through the iron bars, he watched Rebecca rise as well, still looking upon him with that same care. As if he were a child all over again. The look did not last long, however, as the fingers that held him began to turn him around to face his mother. And while the world blurred from the motion, he could still make out the unnerving sight of his sister's eyes following him. It took only a moment, but then he was looking upon his mother's face once more, her fingers holding him in something of a reclined position that necessitated that his eyes continue facing upward, something that would now be a fact of his life. She was eagerly awaiting an answer, he could tell. So, weakly, he nodded.

            "Good," she replied earnestly, though with a weak smile of her own. "We'll get you something to drink when we get home. I'm sure your father has almost everything prepared by now."

            Corey shuddered, something he was surprised he could manage to do in the firm grip of his parent. He didn't even want to think about his father, just one more person he had let down. He had even been thankful that he had been forced to miss his sentencing.

            "Everyone ready to go, then?" his mother asked, though obviously not directing the question to him as her eyes rolled upward slightly. It wasn't his choice anymore, sadly enough, and three small confirmations from behind him put the matter to rest. "Okay, so," she continued, eyes returning to him, "about how you'll be...traveling with us. It's not what I'd prefer, but-"

            "Can I have him?" he heard Claire cut in, as blunt in her desires to hold him at such reduced stature as ever, but with none of the adorable, kindly eagerness that she had used to do so with.

            "No," his mother replied, quickly and flatly, much to Corey's relief. "There are...reporters. Outside. So he needs to be out of sight and-"

            "I can keep him out of sight," Claire interrupted once more in perhaps the most heated declaration he had ever heard from her. I was certainly enough to send Corey wilting into his carrier’s palm.

            "-and safe. With someone who can't really be jostled about," Abigail continued firmly to a huff from his younger sibling.

            "So you're with me, kid-o," Kayla informed in her usual manner, and as his mother began to move out of the cell, turning him lightly to face his aunt as she did so, he could not disagree with that decision even as he called himself thankful for the denial of his sister's request to take charge of him. Looking at his aunt's towering form...she didn't get jostled. If anything, she did the jostling. And...and truthfully, he much preferred the idea of being with her, right now. Aside from Claire's anger, his mother and Rebecca...they overflowed with pity for him, for how far he had fallen. That just wasn't there with Kayla, in her brilliant eyes, nor in her typical, confident smirk. She was just...herself, and he found some comfort in that.

            So as his mother stepped before her sister-in-law with offertory hand, he welcomed the transfer into his aunt's larger, stronger hand. Not nearly as soft as his mother's, due in part to the farm she worked with his uncle on the weekends, her palm was at least still a warm place to be.

            "So here's what we're gonna do," Kayla informed him, fingers beginning to curl behind him while he looked up at her immense face, "you're just gonna take a ride in my pocket, okay? So you'll have to deal with my hand being in there with you, so it'll probably be pretty hot. But that'll be fine, even if it's not ideal. I know you can deal with that. Right?"

            Corey nodded. That was...he could deal with it. Would deal with it. This wasn't supposed to be comfortable for him

            "Good. So when we get back to the car, I'll just leave you be while we drive home. That sound good?"

            Again, he nodded. There were worse places he could be kept, he knew that much. Places he likely deserved to be, hidden away from the rest of the world. A pocket was nothing. Far better than what he was due.

            That trademark grin returned, and Corey found himself almost knocked onto his side as a peachy object pressed forcefully against him - his aunt's thumb, rubbing playfully against his side in reassurance. His aunt always had been a bit rough, even in play, and he remembered days of being a small child and trying to slip by her during backyard football games, only to promptly be caught and lifted into the air, a spin usually accompanying it. Truthfully, as uncomfortable as her playful rub had been, there was a certain amount of reassurance to it.

            "And Corey," Abby suddenly called, and the shrunken student turned to face his mother, staring down at him between Kayla's curled fingers, "when we get home...we're going to have a talk. About how this is going to...work, with all of us. Okay?"

            “Okay,” Corey replied meekly and with no lack of nervousness – something his parent was kind enough to attempt to quell with a much too gentle smile.

            "Well alright then, in you go."

            The fingers that had loomed behind him finally curled fully inward, pressing him firmly into his aunt's palm. He could feel it in his gut as her hand went on the move - no doubt locating a pocket on her jacket. Going by the heat - shifting already from the comfortable to the uncomfortable - she had found it. As promised, her hand continued to grip him, even as he felt her monolithic body go into motion.

            Eventually he heard the creak of a massive door being pushed open, and almost immediately a flood of noise penetrated his current prison. The reporters. Each asking a question or, as it seemed like, questions, all of them talking over each other. He could pick out particular voices, here and there; His mother's, his lawyer's, his aunt’s. Never did make out Claire's, and he suspected she had been ordered into silence Still, though, while he could make out some voices, most of his trip was spent not being able to make out a word of it, likely thanks to the buffer provided by Kayla's all-powerful hand.

            Until, of course, he finally did. He wasn't sure if it had come during a lull, or due to the reporter's close proximity - possibly a combination of both. But, eventually, one question did get through to him.

            "How does it feel to have won today?" the reporter asked, her voice penetrating through Kayla's pocket and her flesh, and he could feel himself shrivel inwards the moment it reached his ears.

            That's right, he thought to himself with a grimace, I won today.

            He had. He had won, completely. He had killed a person, and he had won. He was going to go home, back to his family, and as unsettled as he had been by Claire's anger toward him, he still felt so incredibly safe.

            And that...it wasn't fair, he thought, managing to curl himself into a tight ball within his aunt's grip. In response, that grip tightened snuggly around him again. He didn't deserve to win. He didn't deserve...this, to go back home and to his family, when that poor girl would never be able to return to either place again.

            This wasn't what he deserved. With all he heart, he knew this and believed in it. But because of his family, his connections, he would be spared the prison sentence that should have been his. While that young woman, Marion, would remain dead and gone.

            Somehow, he managed to tighten up the curling of his body ever-so slightly more within his palm prison.

            No, this wasn't what he deserved. What he deserved....what he deserved, was to be in that girl's place. He deserved to be the one to pay for his mistake, not her.  In lieu of that, as he thought back to the puddle of vomit he had left on the floor, how...insignificant it had been, how easily cleansed away his messed had become, he found himself glad of just a single thing as the tell-tale sign of car doors slamming reached his ears.

            Within seconds of the characteristic pop of four locks being disengaged at once, a collection of visitors joined Corey within the threaded confines of his aunt's pocket. They probed about for just a moment before locating him, two of his new companions wrapping carefully around his insignificant form. Their target secured, the two gripping pylons began to pull.

            "And here we are, home sweet home," Kayla informed him with casual cheer as he was overtaken by the light of the sunny summer day. Before he knew it, the fingers which had held him curled and shifted, placing him in the center of the woman's palm. Squinting, he looked upward, and found himself staring once more into her confident green irises as she rose from her seat, having already opened the door and within seconds slamming it shut behind her. And while his body was certainly warm enough as he sat in the expanse of her palm, he enjoyed basking under her gaze. It was just...nice.

            Or at least, it was.

            "So can I have him now?" he heard his sister whine from behind him, and his body tensed up at the question. Claire had asked the same question twice during the ride home, and each time she had managed to add a little more annoyance to it.

            His sudden increase in tension did not go unnoticed. Still looking upward at his aunt's vast countenance, he would be remiss if he had not managed to make note of a newly arched eyebrow. Joining the relatively thin trail of hairs in motion were his aunt's always observant eyes, lifting from him and instead focusing behind. Swallowing, he found himself unable to resist following them himself, and he was unsurprised at what waited for him.

            Claire had moved in close to their aunt, and now she loomed over his comfortable platform at the closest she had been to him since his reduction as she stared down at him with that same unnerving glare that seemed to be reserved solely for him. Out of instinct, he started to back away from the veritable tower of disapproval, though he obviously had nowhere to go. Yet thankfully, albeit startlingly, a familiar object pressed into his back to halt his attempt, and gave him a firm vertical stroke. Again, he was thankful for his aunt's reassurances.

            "No," responded his mother nonchalantly as she circled around the front of the SUV. "I told you. Later."

            "It is later. I want to see him."

            "And you will. But I need you to wait a little bit longer."

            "But I've already waited for so long," his sister complained, and to his horror the immense claw of her right hand hand rose into view, eager to grasp the target of its owner's ire. "I think I've waited long enough." The presence of this new predator alone could have frozen him in place, but it was looking up between the masses of Claire's approaching talons and into her agitated eyes as she continued to voice her annoyance that sealed the deal.

            Mercifully, though, the platform underneath him began to rise, quickly bringing him up and level with his aunt's eyes and, momentarily, out of his sister's casual reach.

            "And I think you can stand to wait a bit more," Corey heard his mother exclaim with some impatience, clearly beginning to lose her good humor with this uncharacteristically bratty behavior from her daughter.

            "But why?" his sister questioned with irked tone, looking up angrily at both Corey and his aunt. "I'm in charge of him now, right? That's what the judge said about this thing, isn't it? So why can't I have him?"

            "Because," Abby started, even as Corey began to sink despondently into his aunt's palm at Claire's proclamation of her new authority as granted by the law, "while that's technically correct, you only have that authority as I allow it. And right now I'm disallowing it because you need to get changed and head to practice, and I need to have a one-on-one with your brother.  Understand?" His mother's voice had gradually slipped into the sternness that had some many times brooked no argument from either him or his sister. "He'll still be here when you get home. You know that."

            "But a lot of us are going over to Mellie's after we finish!" Claire pleaded, eyes still focused upward. "It'll be too late to see him when I get home!"

            "Then I guess you'll see him in the morning. Now go and get changed, and not another word about it. You're sixteen, not six. Act like it."

            Claire clicked her tongue in response to the verbal blow, though she held it as ordered. Taking one last look up toward him, she soon exploded past he and their aunt, her heels clacking angrily as she took her frustrations out against the driveway with each step, and Corey found himself wincing at the first few thunderous cracks of shoe against concrete.

            "I don't know what in the world has gotten into her today," Abby remarked with some exasperation. Corey's head hung at that. He knew.

            "I wonder," Kayla responded with a hint of curiosity, and Corey found himself the recipient of another welcome stroke of her thumb down his back. Her hand began to lower even as Kayla turned to face her in-law just as a thunderous slam from the front door reached the three. The hand he occupied soon rested in front of his mother, presenting his minute form to her. "Here. I'm going to go have a little chat with her."

            With practiced grace and care, Corey was plucked into his mother's awaiting grasp, and no sooner had the transfer completed than Kayla rushed past them in pursuit of his displeased sister, the long strides the towering woman was capable of removing any need for a quickened pace.

            "Looks like you're off to a fun start here," Rebecca remarked dryly as she approached, her still sympathetic gaze cast upon him. A sharp contrast to both the angry glare of his sibling and the cool, casual countenance of his aunt.

            "Apparently," Abby replied, clearly unenthused as she looked upon her captive son with eyes a match for the lawyer's. "You coming in, Becca?" she added.

            "Can't. It's right back to work for me, unfortunately. My caseload has been something else lately," the strawberry-blonde tower responded wearily, and Corey's head hung again. He had made things harder for Mrs. Rebecca, apparently. With a start he felt the familiar feeling of keratin against his skin, catching him under his chin and lifting his head. Rebecca was there again, much as she had been in the cell as she had cleaned up his mess.

            "You go inside and get some rest, okay?" she told him softly with that same matronly care. "I know you haven't been getting any, but I want that to change now that you're home, 'k?" Corey could do little more than nod. It was true, over the past several days he would be surprised if his sleeping hours had reached double digits. His apparent agreement confirmed, Rebecca gave him another melting smile, though as usual lately, it was coated with a film of pity. "I'll see you guys later," she added, withdrawing her finger and lifting her eyes to look at his mother as she said it. "Maybe we can all get together for a nice dinner sometime in the next week."

            "That would be splendid," Abby confirmed pleasantly as the lawyer turned to leave, shooting one last pained smile at the diminutive convict in her close friend's hand. "And thank you again, Rebecca, for all of this." Corey perked up at that.

            "Thank you," he eked out pathetically through his parched throat, still pained from his earlier vomiting. He doubted it had reached her ears, but even still Rebecca's arm rose in a wave of confirmation as she started the short walk to her house just across the cul de sac.

            "Well," Abby stated with a huff, "if I wasn't already certain you needed a glass of water, I am now. Let's go get you something wet to wash all that out." Cory nodded meekly - why he had at all, he wasn't quite sure - as his mother began to make her own way up the driveway.

            Minutes later he was seated upon a counter top, for once cherishing the inherent chill of his insignificant stature as a welcome break from the summer heat after being confined in his aunt's stuffy pocket. A cold glass of water - itself reduced to just the right size for his current state - between his hands, he eagerly partook in gulp and gulp while his mother turned her attention to a scrawled-upon note that rested  to his right.

            "Hm, looks like your father went to buy groceries," she explained. "I suppose with all this going on, we let things get a little low without noticing." Corey grunted, looking down into his empty glass with palpable frustration with himself for the inconvenience he continued to provide even now. "All done?"Abby asked as he turned her attentions back to him. As he had done with Mrs. Rebecca, he gave a meek nod and offered the green-tinted glass forward onto the counter top so that it could be restored. A small, gentle swipe of his mother's nail distanced the container from him. A flash of light from the PMRD later, and the glass now stood as a pillar before him, easily large enough to hold a dozen of him. The PMRD joined the container on the counter then, and Corey once more boarded his mother's  hand, fingers caging upward around him as she went on the move.

            "Well then, honey," his mother kindly exclaimed as she passed into the living room and took a weary seat on the beige leather couch. The hand that held him at chest level began to lower, dropping him further and further away from Abby's tired face. Gently, he was deposited on a warm surface, one that was covered with a ridiculously soft, silky material. Regaining his spatial awareness, it didn't take long to realize where he was. His mother, her legs crossed, had left him standing upon the nylon-covered surface of her knee.

            Taking a seat upon the welcoming surface, his eyes crawled up Abby's suit until their blue eyes locked upon each other. He knew what was coming, his mother had promised it, after all. It was time for him to be...welcomed, fully, into the Lindon Correctional Facility. It was time for his new place, his new role, in the household, to be made clear. He could start...doing something, anything, to redeem himself. And as the matriarch before him - just one of his new wardens in charge of his needed rehabilitation - began to part her ruby lips to continue where she had left off, Corey almost wanted to smile at that thought.

            "Let's have our little chat."

"Okay," Corey stated in morbid eagerness to his mother's initiation of what would be the formal orientation to his life for the next year. While admittedly nervous of what might come from this, he wanted...needed to know about what he would be doing. How he would be paying back his debt, how he would be...redeeming himself, in the eyes of them, his family. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the people he had hurt so badly.

            "Obviously, this is nothing...new," his mother began, interlacing the fingers of her hands and resting the entwined pair upon her elevated thigh, "us talking. Like this. I feel we did enough of it when you were younger."

            Corey nodded. That was true enough. While he had generally avoided trouble growing up, he had usually landed himself in it every few months or so. And his mother's favored method of discipline had always involved the device that made his current incarceration possible. And they had talked, often, while he had been in a reduced state. So talking to his mom as she stood at the size of a building...it was honestly of almost comforting familiarity to him.

            "So a lot of this will be very familiar to you, then," she continued, pursing her lips for just a moment. "Because a lot of this is taken from our little system back then. With some modifications, obviously, given the difference in...circumstances, that we find ourselves in now."

            Corey swallowed, delivering a nervous nod. Obviously. He hadn't been a...a criminal, then.

            "In any case, taking our old system, I'm sure you remember the little jobs I would have you perform while you were in a little timeout. The polishing, the dusting, all of that. Correct?" Again, a nod. "Well, that's much of what you'll be doing for us now, but with different expectations given your more...full-time status. And that's the stance we, as a family, will be taking on your rehabilitation work. As such, I've decided to model your work schedule in the vein of a typical forty hour work week. Give or take a few hours as needed."

            "So the way this will work," Abigail said, the amicable tone she had started with shifting more and more into one of business, "is that Monday through Friday, I will have a list waiting for you when you wake up - and you will be up by 8 A.M. - that is to be started on at nine. From there, you will work until noon, at which point you will have an hour for lunch and rest. If you're to be home alone, I'll have one already prepared for you. At one, you'll resume work, and at five you'll report to one of us - me, your father, or your sister, I mean- and we'll take take a look at what you did for the day and, if we're satisfied, excuse you from it. If not, we'll talk about what you can do better next time. Are you with me so far?"

            "Yes," Corey replied. This sounded...this sounded fair, so far. It would keep him busy, and that was nice. He needed to be busy.

            "One thing I want to note," his mother continued, breaking her hands apart for just a moment to brush her dark hair back a bit before returning to their position, "is that if one of us wants you to do something in lieu of your assigned tasks, then the former takes priority. Regardless of what it is. So if, say, your sister needs you for something during the day, I want you to make sure that whoever checks your work at the end of the day is aware of it. So that we know to take that into account. Okay?"

            "Okay."

            "Now there are some other little minutiae to this system, but I'm going to leave it at that foundation for now. I want to see how these first few weeks go, and if I feel the need to go into them after that, I will. But for the most part, after five, you'll have free time. There are a couple of little things I'm working on for you, for recreational purposes, but we'll talk more about that when it's closer to happening."

            "I want to consider it a little surprise for you," she appended with a smile, "something to look forward to." Corey wasn't sure how to respond to that, though his mind was certainly racing for any possibilities.

            "Anyway,"Abby said, her more somber expression returning, "there are also a few specific rules I would like you to follow while you're here with us again. Because of...what this is." A deep breath had been taken during that pause. "The primary one, for now, since the others are dependent on your surprise: I don't want you using the phone. Not without our permission. We'll allow a certain number of phone calls over the course of a week, if you would like to take advantage of them, you may. But you will attain the permission of one of us first. I also don't want you answering the phone. Not unless the caller I.D. says it's a member of the family. Kayla and Graham included. Understand?"

            Another nod from him. Again, that was...it made sense to him. He was a criminal, and that was roughly how things worked for criminals, wasn't it?

            "Now with all that said," Abby stated with an almost nervous tenor, "the reason for this...regimented approach, lies in what happened that night. The reason you're here." Corey shivered, and his eyes immediately fled from his mother's. They hadn't really talked about what he had done. Not much. He had dreaded the very concept of it, and that was before he had been rendered so small. "The stance we're taking...on your part of what happened...is that it was the result of a failure." At that, Corey  whined slightly as he keeled over a bit in shame. A reaction that did not go unnoticed.

            "A failure not in morals," his mother added sharply in response, "but in discipline. And so that's what we're going to spend the next year kindling within you, Corey: Discipline. So that when you go before that review board, there is no doubt in their minds that you have learned from what happened. That you've grown, and that you've bettered yourself. So that everyone knows. Okay?"

            "O...okay," he forced out, still focused on the nylon mountain on which he sat. He could...fix himself, with this. Be better.

            "Let's see," his mother mused, taking a moment to think, "I believe that covers most everything. Now, do you have any questions? About how your work will go?"

            "Um," Corey mumbled, clutching at the silky material around him, pondering what he had been told.

            With almost perfect timing, a rumble of rolling thunder appeared to shake the house, a sound he hadn't heard in quite a while - his sister rushing down the stairs. He wondered with idle apprehension if she wouldn't make a pass through the living room, to make one more attempt at snatching him for herself for...whatever it was she seemed to want him so badly for. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when instead he heard her thundering stomps instead taper off as she wordlessly moved to the front door, and marked the sound of it opening and shutting.

            Something did strike him, however, as he recalled Claire's usual preferences for when she had been in charge of him.

            "How, um...how big, will I be? For my work."

            "The maximum allowed," Abby responded almost robotically in her complete lack of hesitation, meaning twelve inches. "The point isn't to make the work harder or impossible for you through the PMRD."

            "And, um,...after I'm done? With work, I mean?" he inquired, raising his head up a bit to look his parent in the eyes in again.

            "We aren't really setting a limit in that case," she informed him rather coolly. "Your size will generally be up to whoever you happen to be spending time with at any given moment. The only hard rule there is that if you're here alone, you're twelve. For safety."

            Corey nodded, even as he knew he likely had hours upon hours of being thumb-sized ahead of him. His mother and sister both had their preferences for him when he was to be subjected to the PMRD's effects, and both preferences veered more toward the smaller end of the spectrum available to him. Even if his mother generally made her decision based more on a rational goal she had set instead of just going with her gut.

            Some more thundering now, though less frequent in nature. Someone else coming down the stairs. Lifting his gaze some more, Corey soon observed his aunt passing into the room and past the couch, behind it and therefore his mother. It was hard not to miss her emerald eyes finding him on his mother's knee, even if it was only for the briefest of moments.

            "Abby, I'm gonna order a pizza. I'm starving and it's cheat day. The usual fine with you?" Kayla called, her voice easily carrying as she passed into the kitchen.

            "It is," his mother replied rather half-heartedly, her attentions still focused primarily on her diminutive son.

            "Good, 'cause I ordered it before I came down," Kayla stated casually, earning a bemused snort from Abigail that shook her body just a little, but still enough to require Corey to brace himself by clutching at the nylon material. "Before the delivery guy gets here, I'm gonna run up to the convenience store and grab the new Contract movie. Figure we could use a fun watch."

            "That sounds good," his mother replied with some genuine enthusiasm, and as had been the case with Claire, he soon marked the opening and closing of a door far off in the distance. "Well then," Abby said, turning her attentions back to him as she regained her composure, "anything else?"

            "Um," Corey started again, his speech continuing to fail him as he tried to think, "uh...where will I be sleeping?"

            This one earned a tilt of his mother's head.

            "That should be obvious," she responded with some confusion, "you'll be in your room. We got your bed all made up for you, and your father made some steps for you. So that you can get up and down as you want. When time allows."

            "Oh. Okay." He also had another question in mind now, but just thinking about it made his face redden. Instead, he returned to thinking. But as he did so now, only one thing really came to mind...one thing that should have been his focus, his first question, to begin with.

            "So should I...should I go ahead and start on something?" he asked of his mother. He wanted that. He wanted to get started with his work. Abby seemed to consider him for a moment, but not for a long one - soon enough, her head was gently shaking side to side.

            "No," she stated softly, her business-like demeanor slowly melting away, "not for today, honey. It's almost the weekend now, and I want to use these next few days as an adjustment period, of sorts. All I want for you to do this weekend, Corey, is to just relax and rest up. We might have some scattered tasks for you, but nothing big. Especially not with Claire's championship game tomorrow. I trust you want to go with us?"

            Corey nodded at that, almost vigorously. He hadn't been able to attend his sister's games in quite a while, due to college, and did want to be there for her biggest game yet. To support her. And the time allowed for him to spend outside of the house would allow him to do that.

            Even if it doesn't mean anything to her anymore, he thought, bitterly, her angry visage passing through his mind. Even if she hated him now, he at least wanted to support her. She deserved that, even if she also deserved better than him as an older brother now.

            "Anything else?" Abigail asked in those same comfortable tones. Thinking once more, and deciding to avoid asking his other question for as long as possible, he soon decided to simply shake his head. "Okay, then. Well with that little foundation set, there's just one more thing I wanted to be sure to touch on today. So that you understand your place with us."

            With that ominous statement, his mother's hands broke apart once more, and Corey was faced with the approach of an open palm, with fingers extended to receive the gulping twenty-year old. His mother's thumb and forefinger pinched around his little body with the trademark tenderness, and truthfully Corey had always been amazed at how much of a natural his mother seemed to be at these interactions. With incredible ease they lifted him from his seat, and began pulling him up the expanse of his mother's body, until he stopped just a few yards shy of his parent's glossy lips, and Corey began to shiver in preparation for the words that might soon be exiting them in explanation of his place, even as he knew that he deserved whatever designation was incoming.

            "We're so glad to have you back with us, sweetie," Abby stated, allowing her cool, minty breath to wash out over him in an almost calming wave that accompanied a selections of words he had just not expected. "We're so glad to provide a safe environment for you to learn, and to be able to insure that on our own. Regardless of what the law says, and of the...position, you're in now."

            "Because we love you, Corey," she murmured tenderly before pressing him into her lips for one of the quick little smooches she had always been fond of delivering. He parted from them quickly enough, in something of a state of shock, and that feeling only intensified as his mother pulled him away to allow him some distance, to allow him to take in her full, pretty face once again. His eyes widened a little bit as he noted his mother's observing orbs, glistening with a moist film, and now the saddest of little smiles on her billboard-sized face. "So welcome home, sweetie," she stated with as much love as ever in spite of the pitiful sight before her.

            "And welcome back to your family."

            Light, blinding in both its suddenness and its radiance, overtook Corey as his eyes wearily fluttered open. His body reacting on its own to halt this uncomfortable invader, his eyelids quickly shut tight with a grunt as he wiggled back into a comfortable rest. Simultaneously, a familiar, comforting scent reached his nose, and he could feel his mouth begin to water in response. Moreover, as his senses gradually booted up, he was slowly becoming aware of a tickling against his scalp, of the fact that something was tousling his hair.

            Turning with a grunt, his body knowing almost instinctively which way to face, he forced his weary eyes to slowly open once again. Greeting him, for the first time in quite a while in this particular manner, was the face of his mother. An adoring grin was stuck to her face as she leaned over the bed, an arm outstretched and undoubtedly the source of the mess his hair was becoming. With half-hearted frustration, he lazily brought a hand up and against her own in an attempt to force it away. Curiously, though, what his hand found...it couldn't be a hand, nor could it have been a wrist. It felt, really, more like a forearm, but that...wasn't possible. He was looking at his mother's forearm.

            Curiouser, though, was that his pushes against whatever his hand had found seemed to be completely ineffective as his parent tousled away as if she were meeting no resistance at all. So, to allay his growing confusion at this, Corey began tilt his head upward, and what was happening became clear. It wasn't his mother's hand brushing tenderly through his hair.

            It was her finger. His hand was barely wrapping around, and in a losing battle against, her finger.

            Corey snapped awake in increasing awareness of his situation. His eyes, essentially in a spasm, took in his now foreign surroundings. His stature.  And then, in a panic, he pushed his body away from Abby's looming form with almost primal terror in an attempt to distance himself, kicking at the soft surface upon which he had rested.

            All for naught. Corey's flapping was put to an immediate, pitiful end as his mother's hand pressed against him from above with a ridiculous balance of speed and tenderness, her fingers wrapping around his torso. They clasped fully around him, uncompromising in their power, and showed not a hint of response to his alarmed struggle, as if he had been bound by a bronzed straight jacket. And as he continued his futile wriggling, he became aware of a gentle, soothing shushing.

            "Shh, sweetie," Abigail commanded, her voice warm and tender, "everything's okay. You're okay." The security inherent in those reassurances went to work, easing his struggles. "You're at home, Corey. You're at home." His struggles cut out in earnest now, his legs stopped kicking and his elevated breathing began to calm. His composure returning, little by little, he began to take in his surroundings again.

            He was in his room. Or at least, the room where he had grown up. It was...mostly unchanged. His bookshelf was still there, loaded with pages upon pages of both science fiction and science fact. His desk, too, where had spent hours reading and working - either on assignments, or on the assorted model planes and robots that adorned his furniture. Corey was somewhat surprised to find his TV, back in its usual spot atop his chest of drawers. His parents must have had it sent back from the university, he thought with a frown.

            But what was he doing here? The question passed through Corey's mind, and he wasn't quite sure of the answer. The last thing he remembered was being an inch tall and making a nest for himself on his aunt's lap after she had returned and the pizza had arrived. His mother had gone to change, and in the interim, Kayla had begun to eat.  She had offered him some, hadn't she? And he had eagerly accepted. So she had pinched off the tip of her slice for him, handing the greasy food over to his miniature self. And while essentially a crumb to his aunt, it had been a large slice of the pie to him, so he had gobbled it up with gusto. And then....and then...

            He couldn't really remember much after that. His mother had come back, they had started the movie, and then...nothing. It was as if he had simply blacked out and been transported to his current position atop his bed; and, going by the relative size of his mother's hand as it continued to clasp him, he was certainly much bigger than before, and he estimated himself to now be at 12 inches, the largest that was...allowed to him, now.

            "Everything okay now?" Abby asked in those same sweet tones, and Corey turned to face her radiant, smiling visage, to give her a quiet nod as he continued to settle. "That's good," she continued, slowly removing the hand that had held him in place even as the finger that had accosted him earlier returned to continue its ministrations upon his scalp, "I'm sorry for startling you like that. I didn't think about how you had just conked out yesterday after Kayla gave you a bit to eat." Her lips split then, to playfully reveal her immaculate pearly whites. "You just looked so precious there, I couldn't help myself." Corey grunted in mild embarrassment at his mother's doting.

            "It's okay," he muttered bashfully, turning his head away for a moment to once again take in his bedroom, now a prison just like every other room in the house. Almost idly, he became aware of the obviously reduced blanket that now sat some proportional feet away from in in a woolly blue mass, and he realized he must have kicked it away in his confused scrambling. So, too, did he notice that he still wore the previous day's adornments of a dress shirt and slacks - hardly sleeping attire. Allowing him his rest had clearly been the priority. "How long was I-"

            "A while," his mother gently cut off, sensing his question. "It's Friday, now. Little bit after nine."

            "I'm sorry," he blurted out, almost unconsciously, as he turned his head to face his parent again. If it was nine on Friday morning, then he had been asleep for...God, over twelve hours. Well over. And bubbling up inside him was a sense of shame at his slothful behavior. He wasn't here to...

            "There's no need for that," Abby assured as her tousling continued. "I told you, these next three days, I just want you to rest and adjust. I know you've been running on fumes lately, and I know you needed this."

            "And," she added with a regained smile, "we've got something else you need downstairs. So let's get up and go get it, shall we?"

            Though somewhat confused, Corey did sit up, and offered no resistance as his mother's hand wrapped around him, lifting him up from his comfortable bed. Deftly, she maneuvered his small form until he was sitting on her right forearm as the arm itself tucked in to it's owners stomach in an L-shape, allowing his back to rest against the soft cotton of her bright floral shirt as she stood and began to walk.

            Another feeling of familiarity bubbled upward as Abby made her way to the stairs - that feeling of embarrassment at being cradled like this. It was true that, for the most part, he greatly preferred this height to the smaller ones that fit the preferences of his mother and sister, but that didn't mean that being a foot tall wasn't without its negatives in comparison. He had always felt that being cupped in a palm was a bit more...dignified, than being cradled like a little baby.

            Not that he was particularly deserving of that, at the moment.

            As his mother deliberately made her way down the stairs, taking care not to jostle him, Corey once more became cognizant of the scents that had initially greeted him when his eyes had first opened this morning. His mouth watering anew at the scents he recognized from years of growing up in this house, he found some feeling of anticipation as his carrier made her way into the kitchen.

            "Morning, champ," greeted his father, Howard, as they passed through the threshold. Corey shuddered at the words, this being the first time he had seen the man since his incarceration had begun. That shame began to return as he looked at his father, his role model, and the tired yet friendly eyes that had been his hallmark during his career as a physician. While he did good work at the hospital, and was well compensated for that, it had always been the hours he had put in at the volunteer clinic that his father had been most proud of. It was that work that had inspired Corey in his attempt at following in his father's footsteps, becoming a doctor himself, and just...helping people, like his father. It was that same drive that saw him volunteer his time throughout high school and his two years at Aegis University to charitable causes that were in reach. That was all he wanted to do. And his dad, his mom...they had both had so many wonderful expectations for him based on that, and yet he had...

            A finger press into the side of his head broke that thought.

            "I know you haven't forgotten your manners," Abby chided as she pulled her finger away

            "Good morning," Corey almost muttered after a hard swallow, and his father returned his response with a sad smile. That same piteous thing that had been on the faces of both Mrs. Rebecca, and his mother.

            "Come over here, pick out what you want for breakfast," Howard stated kindly, pivoting to allow his wife passage past him, and pointing to the counter just beyond him. Corey's eyes widened at what awaited them. A veritable smorgasbord, with stacks of pancakes, crisp bacon and sausage, toast, eggs, and a bowl of mixed berries. He hadn't seen a breakfast like this since his last visit home, and the sight the delicious food was almost overwhelming. "Anything you want," his father added from behind them.

            "Um," Corey sounded, looking over his options. "I'll have a piece of pancake, I guess."

            "A piece?" he heard his mother ask above him. Her arm moved underneath him, and with a bit of care he soon found himself held in front of her face, hands grasped securely around his foot-tall body as her eyes looked at him with some curiosity. "Sweetie, just because your aunt finds it cute to watch you nibble on a little piece of her pizza doesn't mean that's going to be the norm here. We have the PMRD, we can size your meals down for you. You know that."

            "Why?"

            He hadn't quite meant to ask that question out loud, though his self-control obviously wasn't the best at this point. His mother's brow furrowed at the question, and it was clear she didn't care for it.

            "Because I told you. You're home. With your family. And all other things considered...you're still a son in this house, Corey. And you'll be fed like one, if nothing else."

            "So go ahead," his father encouraged, peaking over Abby's shoulder, "whatever you want, Corey. This breakfast is for you, for your first day back with us, and for your sister on her big day. Eat up, and enjoy it."

            Corey considered their words silently for a moment, before swallowing once more.

            "Can I have my usual?" he asked, still a bit out of it. His mother smiled.

            "Of course. Howard, can you get it for him? I'll go show him his seat."

            "I’d be glad to."

            With that, his mother was on the move, though still holding him aloft before her. Within a few steps, they were at the breakfast table, and Corey caught himself being lowered onto its surface. And with that, he also noticed the varnished chair that awaited him there - his chair, reduced to be a perfect fit for him, and now placed on the area where he might have formerly received his plate. And with it, an equally reduced glass table - one he recognized as the table that had used to rest on the outside patio - upon which already sat a glass of orange juice. It almost brought upon him a sense of delight, that his place at the table had been preserved for him.

            "Have a seat," his mother suggested, and Corey complied.

            And just as he had, an enormous plate was placed before him, stacked high with pancakes and lined with bacon and sausage. Atop the syrup-coated pile, a square of butter melted away. A knife and a fork, he finally noticed, also joined the feast before him. Yet before he could appreciate it more, a green flash overtook it, and that feast soon became the size of a regular breakfast meal to him. He watched with some wonder as the two slender fingers approached the tiny plate and gingerly grasped it between them, lifting it up as if it were a prize in a claw game, and then deposited it upon his little table.

            "There you go, sweetie," Abby cooed downward.

            "Thank you," Corey stated upward. Grasping his knife and fork, he prepared to eagerly dig into the syrupy stack, only to freeze as his ears picked up on a succession of heavy footfalls from the distant stairs that soon quieted, only for them to pick up once more as their cause moved closer and closer. A gust of wind blew at his back as a presence passed behind him, causing him to lightly shudder. His eyes shifted upward from his breakfast as the screech of wooden table leg against tile met his ears. There, to the right of his position at the larger circular table, stood his sister, already in her soccer uniform. Her long black hair was already prepped for the game via being tied back into a pony-tail. As Claire took her seat, her eyes found those of her reduced brother, looking up at her with utmost trepidation. She regarded him coldly, not saying a word as she settled in.

            "And what will our other champ be having?" his father called from back toward the buffet, making it no secret as to who he felt would be winning today's game.

            "Usual," Claire replied rather simply, lifted her icy gaze from Corey. Suddenly feeling the need for warmth, he took a welcome bite of his pancakes, then another, and a sip from juice.

            Another plate soon landed, and Corey's eyes took a furtive glance at his sister's usual breakfast. A short stack of pancakes, topped with fruit, a small selection of eggs, and a few links of sausage. A glass of juice to match his own joined it, and Claire wasted no time in spearing a sausage hunk on her fork. Corey winced, returning to his own breakfast with a mouthful of bacon. He glanced at Claire once again to find her chewing rather quickly on the sausage, her eyes locked upon him in that same chilly manner, and found it best to return his attentions back to his plate.

            It didn't take much longer for their parents to join them.

            "All ready for the game?" Howard asked between bites.

            "As I'll ever be," came the curt response from his sister. Corey could tell that she was as zoned in as ever, as she often was in the time before an important game.

            "How's the team looking for it?" Abby inquired before taking a drink of her milk.

            "Me and Maggie have our offense covered," came that same curtness, though with a hint of fire behind it this time. "We'll have to."

            "Keeper not working out?" came the question from their father.

            "She's not Mellie," Claire answered with a shrug, and Corey found himself wondering how much of an indicator of quality that could really be. His sister's friend was the definition of prodigy, and had pretty much dominated every sport she had taken part in during her high school career.

            "Well then, you'll just need to support her as much as you can," Abby calmly stated.

            "Yeah," Claire replied coolly, back to that cold emotionlessness. The clank of silverware against glass caught his attention, and his eyes wafted up to find that his sister had already devoured her breakfast. That screech of her chair backing away met his ears again, just as she took another look at him, her gaze still a match for her morning mannerisms.

            He hated it. It sent his stomach into a tumult, having her look at him so. With renewed shame, he returned to his own half-finished meal.

            "I'm gonna go ahead and go," she announced, lifting up her plate and casting one more narrow-eyed glance at him as he faced her again. Corey's fingers wrapped around his silverware in a deathgrip. He didn't like this, this coldness. In some ways it was even worse than the boiling anger that had driven her constant demands to hold him the day before. Now it was as if wasn't...wasn't even worth that. As if  he was just something to be quietly disdained as she went about her life.

            Yet a part of his being told him that this was just due to the pending game. Claire always got serious as gametime approached, so her demeanor really couldn't be anything new, could it? And, he thought to himself, hadn't he always been able to pierce through that in the past, in the leadup to these important matches?

            "C-Claire," he choked out as his sister passed behind him once more, and in the wake of another gust of wind. He heard her pace come to a halt, and took a cautious glance upward. She was staring down at him, of course, no change in her countenance. Just those same cold, narrowed pools. Corey swallowed again, hoping the faint light that was building up within wouldn't become a part of that motion. "G-good luck, at the game," he sputtered out, with the most encouraging voice and smile his pitiful self could manage, and with no lack of genuine care. Because he did want her to do well. He did want her to be safe out on the field, remain healthy. He did want her to win. And her brown eyes regarded him, and he thought he noticed them widen slightly with his well-wishes, as if she might perk up.

            Instead, they simply narrowed again.

            "Yeah. Thanks."

            That chill was still there, stronger than ever, as those two words extinguished whatever little light had built up in that last moment, and Corey turned his attentions back to his plate in defeat. His words of support had always lifted her out of that pre-game seriousness, even if only temporarily.  That impenetrable exterior had always melted with delight at his words, a symbol of how highly she thought of his support for her...how much it meant to her.

            And yet now, as she went to clean her plate while their parents echoed his sentiment, there was nothing. His words didn't matter, nor apparently did his opinion. She had accepted that he had said them, and nothing else. She just didn't care, now, about his words, about his support.

            And why should she?

            The words in his head prompted him take another bite of pancakes into his mouth, even as his sister began to leave. It was an excuse to not look up again, to lose himself in his meal and in himself as one last thought came to his mind: That his sister truly did loathe him now.

As his parents approached the field, Corey took more and more notice of just how...busy, it was. How occupied. There were, truthfully, more people attending the game than he had expected. Taken on it's own, he was glad for that. His sister's team had worked hard to get here. They deserved the attention, the support, and it was certainly there as a chatty crowd filtered into the stands.

            Yet seeing just how many people were here only served to reaffirm the decision he had made when they had parked, when he had gotten a small peak at the number of attendees while his mother had cradled his then foot-tall self onto her arm yet again. It was something he never would have thought he would ask, but the sight had prompted the incarcerated young man to make the request that had put him   in his current position: That his mother use her warden's tool to reduce him to a stature much less...visible. And while she had been a bit put off by the request at first, she had understood after taking in what they could see of the crowd.

            So now he sat once more in his mother's palm, her fingers caging around him to insure his absolute safety. They had passed several other people so far, but as of yet none had paid him in any mind. He was thankful for that, and for the concession his parents were making for him in reducing him down to a much less conspicuous height of an inch. But as thankful as he was, he also couldn't shake a measure of shame from himself at his abject selfishness in attempting to and succeeding in running away from the repercussions of his failures.  As they passed another pair of attendees, he almost found himself wishing that someone-

            "Hi Mrs. Abby, Mr. Howard!"

            Corey shuddered as that familiar, cheery voice interjected itself amid his thoughts. Already his mother was turning to return the greeting, and for Corey's part he merely braced himself, that familiar trepidation washing over his body. He was done going unnoticed, he knew that much. She would definitely see him, likely immediately.

            "Well hello, Jenna," his mother exclaimed, her voice light and friendly, and a similar greeting sounded from his father. There was a considerable amount of warmth in both their greetings - as there should have been, given the closeness of their two families. "Here to cheer Claire on?" Abby inquired, now facing the strawberry-blond girl.

            "You know it," Jenna confirmed, while Corey looked upward between his mother's caging fingers at his sister's grinning friend as she approached, her wavy hair bouncing with every perky step. And as he had guessed, her icy blue eyes immediately shifted down toward Abby's hand to take in the sight of his fragile little form. "Hey, Corey," she appended, baring her teeth in a delighted smile.

            "Hi, Jenna," he peeped upward, causing that smile to widen even as he adjusted to having to look up to a girl that no one would ever mistake for tall at 5'2". Yet with the PMRD's science at work, even a girl his sister dwarfed by eight inches was now a tower of several hundred feet.

            "I'm glad Mom was able to get you home," Jenna stated happily, eyes still locked upon him. Corey didn't doubt the veracity of that declaration, though he could feel his throat drying in consideration of it. Looking up at her cool eyes and sparkling teeth, he was reminded that this was far from the first time that he had been the size of a bug before her. More than that, though, was her playful visage's troubling reminder to him that she shared his sister's fascination with holding a reduced human in the palm of her hand, and the numerous times she had delighted in handling his smaller form. And it wasn't that she had ever given him any reason to fear for his safety - Jenna was a bit more playful compared to Claire's grabbier nature, but she had always shown great care in her interactions with him.

          It was the fact that her fascination came from a much different place than his sister’s. And he’d have to be stupid to have not noticed that.

         “Thank you,” Corey replied to his younger friend, doing his best to shake off his nerves. “I’m very grateful for her help. I know she took on a…a lot of extra work for me. I hope it wasn’t-”

         “Nah, she was happy to do it,” Jenna informed through an upbeat interruption, wide smile still beaming down toward him. “And a lot of us are grateful she could help. We really are.”

         “Oh yeah, speaking of us,” the girl suddenly said, suddenly and sharply leaning forward until her billboard-like face hovered level with his mother’s palm, “I’m here with Angela and Alexis, you wanna come sit with us? They’d love to hang out with you for a bit, I bet.”

        But not as much as you would, I bet, Corey thought morosely, his mind slowly beginning to whir in an effort to come up with a polite excuse. Again, not that he necessarily doubted the girl’s claim – Angela and Alexis were yet more members of the rather large and yet tight-knit community of close friends his parents had cultivated and passed from their own generation to his own. But that truth didn’t abolish its sayer’s intentions – especially not as she brought said intentions to the foreground.

      “I’ve even got a seat all ready for you,” Jenna proudly informed him as she rose, just enough to place him face-to-face with the breast pocket of her crimson t-shirt. A pale finger snaked into the pocket from above, hooking behind its lip and pulling the fabric prison both wide open and taut, holding it so for only a moment before the hooking finger allowed it to slip free and snap shut. Above, a wide smile welcomed the young man to jump into the offered prison, while a pair of bright eyes seemed to demand it.

      Corey counted himself a little bit thankful as the decision was made for him.

      “Sorry, sweetie, but he’s going to have to decline,” his mother kindly responded, and to say that Jenna’s face went immediately sour would be an understatement. Not that anyone but Corey noticed, of course. “He’s not quite here to go off and socialize. Just to support Claire.”

      To Jenna’s credit, she didn’t miss a beat as that sour flash morphed back into good humor.

     “That’s fair,” she conceded with a wry smile as she returned to a straighter posture, eyes cast down upon him all the while before suddenly peeling away. “Oh, right, Mom wanted me to ask if Monday would be fine for that dinner you promised her.”

     “Well, I certainly don’t remember promising a dinner,” Abby replied with some apparent amusement, “but I suppose I can see how it got turned into that. But yes, Monday should be fine. Howard?”

     “I’ll be on-call, but aside from that, sounds perfect.”

     “Great!” Jenna exclaimed with a perky clap of her hands that caused the young man to nearly jump from his seat, though the return of the girl’s eyes upon him did a decent enough job of affixing him to his seat. “And Corey is gonna be there to socialize, right?” The resulting laughter of his mother at the comment served as a stark contrast to his own stony face as the humor sent his platform a-tremble.

     “Of course,” Abby replied mid-chuckle, rocking Corey slightly on his palm platform.

     “Then I guess I’ll see you all again then,” Jenna remarked, focused eyes and wry smile easily convincing Corey that the use of such a collective term wasn’t at all an accurate one- particularly as a playful fingertip suddenly tapped lightly against his scalp before withdrawing as quickly as it had appeared. “I need to go find Allie and Angie. It was good to see you!”

     “Good to see you, too, Jenna,” Howard remarked, with Abby confirming as the peppy girl trotted off ahead of them and into the stands, thankfully bringing this little exchange to a close.

      His parents soon followed her, albeit at a much more deliberate pace. His mother’s fingers lifted higher and closer as they more fully entered the crowd, caging him more effectively from the surrounding titans – and from their eyes most of all. Eventually they would enter the stands, and an inaudible whisper from wife to husband apparently set their destination.  Corey couldn’t exactly count himself as displeased as they approached the top end of the stands, which were much more sparsely populated, eventually settling down nearly alone along the next-to-last row. Good seats, he noted, as the back of his living platform settled onto his mother’s jean-clad knee. They afforded them a great and mostly unobstructed view of the field below, even accounting for his vantage point level with his mom’s waist, and his back was bathed in the warmth of the sun as it peeked over her shoulder.

     It was with some anxiety that he silently observed the steady filtering in of the remaining attendees, the stands gradually filling out while thankfully remaining a few rows shy of his family’s position. Still, more than a few people caught a glance of him nestled in his parent’s palm, their reactions ranging from curious looks to amused snickers that reddened his cheeks. The latter would usually be met with a reassuring rub to his back from his mother’s thumb, which helped with his nerves but not necessarily with the matter of his embarrassment.

     Eventually, though, the filtering in of attendees came to an end, and instead it became time for the players themselves to take the field. Claire’s team came first to a round of applause and encouraging cheers, the loudest coming from a familiar set of voices down in front. Finding his sister among the group of athletes was an easy enough task, all he had to do was search for his sibling’s canary-yellow headband – her favorite among the several she owned. Once again his anxiety rose as he found her, noticing that she was going through the same procedure herself in scanning the stands for her family. It took but a moment for her to glance upward toward their position, and for a moment Corey thought that they…that he…might be blessed with the proud smile and wave that had always come their way at these games.

     No such thing would be the case. Instead, her face remained much the same as it had at breakfast. Cold. Impassive. E at this distance, Corey couldn’t quite shake the feeling that her eyes were boring straight through him and to the bone. And as that coldness began to overtake him, so, too, did an immense and looming shadow. One that blocked the warm light of the sun behind him, even as it heralded the arrival of warmth of a different kind.