"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.