Scott felt as though all the air had been siphoned from his lungs as he was dizzily expelled from the wild nightmare.  He lurched back into groggy consciousness again, his eyes watery and his throat sore as though he’d been shouting.

                If this was going to start being a nightly occurrence, he knew he could already look forward to many exhaustive and troubled days of flashing nocturnal images in his mind coupled with an already dictatorial living situation.

                The twenty-one-year-old had experienced dreams dwelling on his size-changing at the hands of his disciplinarian mother, but somehow, in the three years since his last miniaturized punishment, he had managed to finally banish them even from his unconscious mind, and his sleep had been peaceful.

                Apparently, that streak was no more.  It also didn’t help matters that the dream he’d just experienced, imagining himself at a tenth of his minimum height, was undoubtedly the most darkly vivid one yet.  He could still see that version of Judy, stuck painfully in his mind, at a height that would’ve dwarfed God himself by an embarrassing margin.

                Most of his shrinking nightmares revolved around his mom, uncomfortably enough, and usually consisted of waking up at the bottom of a pair of patent leather heels just as Judy’s plump foot was forcing its way in.  But these, being so close to real life, hardly damaged Scott’s psyche.  Ironically, some of the worst dreams woke him up before he even found himself wedged under the warm sole of a family member, and instead tormented him with the image of his mother marching into some safe haven of his life and shrinking him on the spot for all the world to see.

                Just like in the frat party before he’d nearly killed a woman and set this whole mess in motion.

                Resolving not to think on this matter in the interest of getting some kind of sleep, Scott crawled forward.  Blinking to clear his vision up, he found himself in almost pure darkness, with only the soft static glow of the TV humming across the room on a commercial for soy milk.  No lights remained on in the house.  How long had he been out?  It had to be after midnight now, if not later.

                As he rolled over onto his side, though, trying to relax after his tortuously trite slumber, Scott found himself descending into a soft cushion and realized he was back on the couch, resting on the small bed his brother had constructed for him.  Obviously he had passed out from pure fatigue after spending an entire evening tending to Judy’s blistered toes, and she had simply carried him off to bed.  Grateful at least that she had the mercy to do so rather than just leaving him under her desk, Scott sat up, knowing he should try his best to fall back asleep, but finding himself increasingly unable to do so.

                It was then that Scott realized he was not alone, and with a semi-conscious start became aware of his brother Kyle sitting on the opposite end of the couch.

                The towering fifteen-year-old’s eyes were darting disinterestedly back and forth between the TV and his ever-present cell phone in his hand.  Blonde and mostly on the shorter side like his older sister Maggie, in the past few years while Scott had been away at school, he had evidently undergone a growth spurt that left him lankier, making the difference in their sizes at such close range even more of a shock to the foot-tall Scott.

                Thinking back to earlier in the day on the way home from the court, where Kyle had immediately dismissed Judy’s offer for the pair to spend time together, Scott began to reflect on his relationship with his kid brother.  Kyle had always looked up to Scott, both literally and out of respect.  Having always had much more of an interest in literature and science, Kyle hadn’t been gifted with the same rampant social graces Scott had that allowed him to generate party atmosphere from almost nothing.  As a result, he’d followed his older brother around like a puppy in his youth, hoping to pick up on whatever it was that made Scott such a titan of the teenage social scene.

                Scott had a hunch Kyle no longer harbored those feelings of admiration toward his brother.

                “Hey,” Scott finally said, his voice weak in his throat.  “Hey, man.”

                Kyle didn’t bother tilting his head in Scott’s direction as the TV returned to the show, instead just letting his phone fall back into his lap.

                “Kyle,” Scott corrected, crawling to his feet and taking a few unsteady steps across the couch cushion.  “Can we talk, man?”

                Again, nothing.  Kyle shrugged and flipped the channel dial a few times, seemingly dissatisfied with every new program that popped onscreen.

                “You’re killing me.  Please, man, it’s been so long since we hashed anything out, I just…” Scott groaned, finding himself in a state of pleading.  He hesitantly padded toward his brother’s enormous form on the opposite end of the couch.

                Even if all his brother did was ignore him, he needed someone of authority in the house to claim him from time to time so he could have some paltry breaks in between humiliating sessions of borderline slave work.  Even if his brother ordered him to clean up his room or fold his laundry, it would be miles and away more merciful than whatever the female members of the Stevens household cooked up.  After all, having Kyle on his side was the one thing standing between him and practically 24/7 hard labor in the shoes and pockets of his mother and sister.

                Scott stopped walking close enough to tap his brother on the arm, suddenly intimidated.  Even at his maximum height of one foot, he was oddly insignificant next to the reclining fifteen-year-old, the top of Scott’s head just barely being below the level of Kyle’s chest.

                Nevertheless, he knew breaking this awkward barrier sooner rather than later would be in his favor.  He began rapping his fists aggressively against Kyle’s elbow as it rested against the malleable wall of couch cushion behind him.

                This time, he got the reaction he had been waiting for, though certainly not the friendly manner he’d been hoping for.  Kyle’s right hand shot out from his lap, his fingers clawed, aiming for his tiny brother’s torso.  He grasped Scott by the scruff of his shirt and lifted him off the surface of the cushion so that his feet dangled in empty air before the elder boy even had time to react.

                “Hey, glad to see you can hear me,” Scott said in his most amiable tone, resting his forearms on his brother’s massive balled fist as it clenched most of the foot-tall young man’s shirt so tightly that it ensured Scot wouldn’t be able to slip out of the clothing to escape.  He smiled and tried to chuckle good-naturedly, though as he finally made cold eye contact with his brother, he could tell it wasn’t going to be very effective.

                “What do you want already?” Kyle answered curtly, clearly far beyond tolerance for annoyances at this hour of the night.  His arm wavered slightly as if testing the feathery weight of his reduced brother.

                “Um, you could probably put me down if you want,” Scott offered innocently as he pointed downward toward the couch.

                “What do you want?” Kyle repeated, his fist seemingly not about to budge from its powerful grip on Scott’s shirt.

                “I just want to talk,” Scott, trying to keep himself from slumping in midair by wrapping his arms around Kyle’s wrist for support.  “I wanted to earlier, but you know, I’ve been kind of… busy.”

                “Right.  So if I put you down, are you going to stop punching?” Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow, a small smile crossing his lips when his brother said the word “busy.”

                “Sure, anything you want!” Scott answered with more enthusiasm than he intended, coming off slightly panicked.

                “Cool,” Kyle shrugged, releasing the iron grip of his fingers from his brother’s shirt, allowing Scott to tumble back onto the cushion.

                “Thanks,” Scott said immediately as he pulled himself back onto his haunches, now with Kyle’s limited attention finally squared on him.  “Listen…”

                “Let me guess,” Kyle interrupted, scooping his phone back out of his lap and returning to typing.  “You want me to help you.”

                “I… um, well, yeah,” Scott said, folding his hands behind his back with embarrassment.

                “You want me to babysit you sometimes so Mom and Maggie don’t suffocate you in their shoes.”

                “Yes,” Scott managed to peep with shame, knowing that despite the bluntness of the phrasing, altering his brother’s words would only mar the truth further.

                “And how do you know I won’t do it?” Kyle said simply, his voice deepening with impact.  “How do you know I won’t decide to wear you in my shoe?”

                “Because,” Scott swallowed meekly, trying not to sound anxious.  “Because I heard you say you hate the idea of it.”

                Nodding in agreement, Kyle bit his lip, clearly unfazed.  “I could still just make you an inch and leave you in my sneaker sometime.”

                Scott hung his head, unable to say anything else.  Obviously this situation was much more hopeless than he’d guessed.  He’d expected some animosity beneath the surface with Kyle, the kid who’d spent half his life trying to be exactly like his older brother, but nothing so hostile as this.  Then again, he could hardly blame him, given the circumstances.

                “Stop looking at me like that, I’m just screwing with you,” Kyle snapped with irritation.

                “Oh.”

                “But you know it’s no more than you deserve,” Kyle admitted with a sudden bitter softness in his voice that cut deeper in Scott’s ears than any of the more aggressive threats his brother had just made.  He could tell he was serious this time.

                “C’mon, man, I’m just trying to make things right here,” Scott pleaded, lifting his head again.  “I want to make things right.”

                “You want to make things right?” Kyle grumbled, pointing an extended accusatory finger at his brother.  “Then learn how to bring babies back to life.”

                “Kyle… c’mon, bud, I just… just…”

                “Just what?” the younger brother demanded, prodding his finger at Scott’s chest hard enough to topple the shrunken sibling over onto his back.  “Just screwed up for the millionth time in your life, even with all the stuff that’s gone wrong before, just to make absolutely sure that everyone thinks you’re as much of a dick as you seem?”

                “I…”

                “What?”

                “I was drunk,” Scott uttered.  It was all he could manage.

                “I guess that fixes everything, doesn’t it?” Kyle angrily responded, leaning forward over his sprawled brother on the couch, the volume in his voice steadily rising again.  “You get a free pass for killing someone and almost killing another one because you’re too stupid to think about anyone else before you get in a car.”

                “Kyle, you’ve got to believe me,” Scott blurted, finally seeing a necessity to share what had been on his mind all this time since the event.  “I don’t remember getting in that car, okay?  I wouldn’t have gotten in that car.  It… I mean, I don’t know how it happened, but… but… it wasn’t my fault!”

                “Wow,” Kyle breathed.  He only shook his head as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the couch cushion again.  “You really are that evil, aren’t you?”

                “Please, bro,” Scott muttered wearily, finally out of options.  “I need your help.  Please.”

                “Listen,” Kyle hissed as he rose from the couch and flipped the switch on the TV remote, plunging them both into pitch blackness.  “You treated me well when I was a kid.  For that, I owe it to you to not screw with you the way Mom and Maggie do.  But don’t think that just because I used to think you were so cool you get a get-out-of-jail-free card for this.”

                “But…”

                “You’re a criminal.  That’s that, and I honestly don’t care what they decide to do to you.”

                “Kyle,” Scott practically cried, clasping his hands together prayerfully despite the inability for the gesture to be seen.

                “Have fun tomorrow,” Kyle said simply as he sauntered off toward the staircase for bed, leaving his stunned tiny brother in the throes of self-pity and hollow, disbelieving loss.  “Maggie set her alarm clock early for you.”