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1
It happened faster than Joel could stop it.
He’d been holding on for hours—too long, probably. Focused on building, grinding through the last section of terraforming for his base. He didn’t *feel* little yet, not really. But something was off. His chest felt tight, his thoughts fuzzy. Everything was a bit too loud. His body had started slipping before his mind even realized it.
And then the storm came.
Thunder cracked overhead and Joel flinched hard, fingers slipping off his mouse. The next lightning strike hit just close enough to trigger his base’s proximity sensors—flashing lights, buzzing alarms, redstone pistons clanking. A creeper wandered too close. His armor wasn’t equipped.
He panicked.
He froze in the hallway, chest heaving, knees locked. His hands trembled. And in the middle of it—right there, just steps from his storage room—his body gave up.
Hot wetness spread down his legs.
Joel stared, horror blooming inside him. He didn’t feel little—he felt humiliated. Paralyzed. His brain was loud and quiet all at once. He backed against the wall and slid to the floor, the storm raging outside, the mess soaking into his boots.
And that was when someone teleported in.
“Joel?” the voice called from the hallway. “Hey, I saw lightning hit near here. You good?”
It was one of the others—someone he liked usually. A friendly Hermit. He didn’t want to be seen like this.
But the footsteps came closer anyway.
“Oh—ugh. Seriously?”
Joel’s heart stuttered.
The Hermit had stopped short in the hallway, staring down at him.
“What—did you *piss yourself*? Are you kidding me?”
Joel couldn’t speak. He curled tighter against the wall, arms over his head.
“Dude,” the Hermit said, taking a sharp step back. “What the hell? Are you—*how old even are you right now?”
No answer. Couldn’t answer.
“Oh my god. You’re not even talking. Are you, like, regressing right now?”
Joel flinched.
“Disgusting.”
And just like that, they were gone. Teleported out. Gone without another word.
Joel stayed on the floor, face hot with shame, the storm echoing in his skull. He felt filthy. Small. Bad. Wrong.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there.
At some point, the rain slowed. At some point, he must have curled up tighter, head between his knees, unable to cry but hurting so deeply it burned.
At some point—thankfully, finally—he heard another portal hum and soft footsteps at the far entrance.
“Joel?”
Etho.
Joel couldn’t look up. Couldn’t do anything except shiver.
Etho didn’t hesitate.
He walked toward the hallway and stopped short. Joel was still in the same place, surrounded by shame and soaked fabric and a deep, gnawing silence.
“Oh, buddy.”
That was all Etho said at first.
Not disgust. Not judgment. Not a question.
Just those two words, filled with quiet heartbreak.
He stepped closer, slow. Like approaching a wounded animal. He crouched a few feet away and lowered his voice.
“I think someone hurt you,” he said softly. “Did someone come here?”
Joel didn’t answer. His chest hitched once, silent sob.
“I’m so sorry, Joel. You didn’t do anything wrong. You hear me? Nothing. This happens sometimes. You just got overwhelmed.”
He pulled a fresh blanket from his bag. Spread it carefully over Joel’s shoulders without touching the rest of him.
“I’ve got clean clothes for you in my pack,” Etho murmured. “We can go real slow. You don’t have to talk. Just let me help.”
Still nothing.
But Joel leaned forward, just a little.
Etho took that as permission.
He stayed by Joel’s side. Quiet, steady. He didn’t try to clean the mess right away. He just sat. Let Joel lean on him. Let Joel *be*.
Eventually, Joel began to shake again—but this time, the tears came with it. Wet, silent sobs. He still didn’t speak, but his hand twitched toward Etho’s arm.
Etho caught it gently.
“Not disgusting,” he whispered. “Not ever. You’re my Little, remember? I take care of you. Especially now.”
Joel finally broke, hiding his face in Etho’s sleeve, crying so hard his whole body curled in on itself.
And Etho held him through it.
It had been two days since the accident.
Joel hadn’t spoken once.
Not a single word, not even a whisper. Etho had stayed close, quiet and patient. They hadn’t left his base. Etho kept him warm, clean, wrapped in soft things. Sometimes Joel would let himself be held. Sometimes he just sat on the floor, rocking with his frog plushie, half in babyspace and half still locked in fear.
But today, Joel tugged lightly on Etho’s sleeve and signed something—simple, shaky.
“Hurt me.”
It was the first clear signal he’d given since the other Hermit—still unnamed—had walked in, judged him, and left him broken.
Etho met his eyes, voice low and even. “You wanna tell Xisuma?”
Joel nodded.
“Okay. I’ll be there the whole time. Just you and me.”
Joel clung to his hand all the way to spawn.
Xisuma was already there, standing in the meeting hall. He’d responded to Etho’s quiet request without hesitation. And the other Hermit—the one who’d said those words—was waiting, arms folded, looking vaguely annoyed.
When Joel saw him, he froze. His hands clenched. His breathing went shallow.
“You don’t have to do this,” Etho said softly. “We can walk away. You can just go back home.”
But Joel shook his head.
He stepped forward.
And tried to speak.
One word—just one.
“Y-you…”
The other Hermit rolled their eyes. “Oh, come on. You’re still doing this? Are you seriously bringing this to Xisuma? What, you can’t handle someone being honest?”
Etho stood in front of Joel instantly.
“No. He can’t handle you being cruel.”
The Hermit scoffed. “It’s not my fault he’s acting like a baby.”
Joel gasped, loud and sharp.
It was like something cracked inside him.
He turned, stumbled back, breathing ragged. The floor felt too far away. The room blurred and shifted—too tall, too loud. His knees gave out. He hit the floor with a whimper and curled in on himself, sobbing, fully regressed.
Xisuma stepped forward.
“That’s enough.”
The Hermit blinked. “What? I didn’t do anything!”
“You did everything,” Xisuma snapped, voice cold. “You mocked a regressed Hermit, triggered a full panic regression, and now you're standing here justifying it? No second chances. You’re done.”
With a flick of his hand, the Hermit vanished.
Banned.
Joel didn’t even notice.
He was too far gone.
Etho brought him home in silence.
Joel wasn’t speaking anymore—he wasn’t even thinking in words. His eyes were glazed, thumb tucked in his mouth, head resting on Etho’s shoulder. His legs kicked weakly in the air, small and twitchy. Fully babyspace.
Once they were safe, Etho laid him down gently in the nursery room they’d added together—pastel walls, soft clouds, stars on the ceiling.
He stroked Joel’s hair.
“I’ve got you. You were so brave, baby. So, so brave.”
Joel made a tiny whine in response. Not quite words. Just need.
“Okay, little guy. I’m gonna help, all right?”
Etho cleaned him up gently—warm cloths, soft towels, no rushing. When Joel shivered again, Etho pulled a clean Pull-Up from the basket nearby.
“Think we’ll use this today,” he murmured. “Just in case. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s just to keep you comfy.”
Joel didn’t resist. He just blinked up at Etho with wide, tear-swollen eyes, completely baby.
Etho fastened the Pull-Up around his hips, careful and precise.
“There we go. All done.”
Joel whimpered softly, hands reaching.
Etho picked him up and settled them both into the rocking chair, wrapping a fluffy blanket around them. Then he pulled a bottle from his inventory—warm milk, just the way Joel liked it—and held it gently to his lips.
Joel suckled immediately, eyes fluttering closed.
“You’re safe now,” Etho whispered. “You’re mine. And no one gets to hurt you ever again.”
Joel let out a tiny sigh.
Then he drifted off in Etho’s arms, still sucking the bottle, safe and held and clean.
—————————
2
The sun filtered through the curtains in golden beams.
Joel was curled on the floor in a fuzzy onesie, his legs kicking lazily while he hummed to himself. The nursery was filled with soft music from the note block lullaby box, and the only thing on the schedule was “play.”
Which Joel took very seriously.
He was surrounded by plushies—frogs, bees, a weird squishy Ghast someone (probably Scar) had gifted him—and building blocks shaped like little biomes. He stacked them carefully, tongue peeking out between his lips in concentration.
Etho sat nearby on the couch, reading a book but keeping one eye on his little.
“Nice tower, buddy,” he said softly, watching as Joel placed a final forest block on top of the ocean.
Joel beamed and clapped, bouncing where he sat.
“Dat’s da tree!” he chirped.
Etho smiled behind his mask. “It is! You’re such a clever boy.”
Joel giggled and flopped backward, limbs sprawled out like a happy starfish. His Pull-Up peeked out from beneath his onesie snaps—soft and clean, crinkling a bit when he rolled. Etho didn’t comment. He just reached over to hand Joel a sippy cup filled with lukewarm apple juice.
Joel grabbed it with both hands and drank like it was the most important mission in the world.
His contented wiggles didn’t stop even when he kicked over his block tower. He only blinked at it and shrugged.
“Uh-oh,” he said cheerfully. “Boom.”
Etho chuckled. “That’s okay, baby. We can build it again later.”
The morning passed in happy bubbles. Joel babbled nonsense at his frog plush. He played peekaboo with Etho from behind his blanket. He crawled over to the window and stared up at the sun like it was magic.
He didn’t talk much—but he didn’t need to. Etho could read every bounce, every whimper, every hand tug.
At one point, Joel got a little squirmy and whiny, so Etho scooped him up, held him in the rocking chair, and rubbed his back gently while Joel sucked his thumb and melted against him.
“You’re so small today,” Etho whispered, pressing a kiss to Joel’s temple. “My sweet little guy.”
Joel sighed and buried his face in Etho’s hoodie.
Sometime after lunch—pureed carrots and applesauce, which Joel had made an awful face at but still finished—a quiet moment changed.
Joel was sitting with a coloring book in his lap, tongue sticking out as he scribbled a crooked rainbow across a creeper’s face.
And then he stilled.
He blinked.
Shifted.
Frowned.
Etho noticed right away.
“Baby?”
Joel didn’t answer. Just sat very still.
Then—his face crumpled.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Etho said gently, already kneeling beside him. “Did you have an accident?”
Joel nodded, lower lip wobbling.
“It’s okay, Joel,” Etho murmured, voice calm. “It’s okay, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Joel whimpered and buried his face in Etho’s neck the moment he was picked up. His onesie was damp. The Pull-Up had leaked a little, soaking through the fabric. But Etho didn’t flinch.
“Let’s get you into something dry,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to Joel’s curls.
He carried him to the changing mat, humming under his breath.
“I know it’s not fun,” Etho whispered as he cleaned Joel up. “But I’m proud of you. You’ve been such a good boy all day. Accidents happen, lovebug. Doesn’t make you bad. Doesn’t make you wrong.”
Joel hiccupped but stayed limp in Etho’s arms as he was changed into a fresh Pull-Up and clean, warm pajamas. Etho bundled him in a cloud-patterned blanket and cuddled him close again.
“You okay now?” he asked.
Joel nodded, thumb going back into his mouth.
Etho gave him a new sippy cup—warm milk this time—and tucked them both into the rocking chair.
“You’re my baby,” Etho whispered. “My perfect little Joel. All day, every day. Even when you leak a little.”
Joel giggled sleepily.
By the time the sun drifted low, Joel was asleep on Etho’s chest, breathing soft and slow.
No fear. No shame. No judgment.
Just warmth, and milk, and the gentle rhythm of being safe.
—————————
3
The day started with Joel in his “I’m big today” mood.
He’d woken up in his favorite creeper hoodie and refused his usual bottle, asking instead for a “normal” cup. Etho had obliged—switching to a no-spill training cup with a lid and straw, which Joel didn’t seem to notice.
“I wanna help,” Joel had said proudly, legs swinging off the edge of the couch. “I can do chores. I’m not just little.”
Etho looked over from the furnace. “I never said you were just anything, bud.”
Joel crossed his arms. “But I’m not a baby today. I wanna do stuff.”
“All right,” Etho said slowly, standing and brushing off his gloves. “What kinda stuff?”
Joel puffed up a bit. “I can clean my toys. And maybe build. A real build. With stone. And redstone. Real redstone.”
Etho didn’t miss the edge of strain in Joel’s voice—too eager, too tight.
He nodded anyway. “Okay. You help with toys first. I’ll prep the workshop.”
For the first hour, it went great.
Joel wiped down the plushies in the nursery with a damp cloth and sorted his building blocks into bins—grass, sand, endstone, nether. He hummed under his breath and looked very serious about it.
Etho made a point to clap for every bin.
“You’re doing great, kiddo,” he said.
Joel lit up like glowstone.
But then he asked to help with a redstone circuit. A small one—just a minecart loading bay. Etho hesitated, then let him try.
That was the moment the spiral began.
Joel placed a repeater backward.
Then two sticky pistons misfired.
Then he fumbled a lever and dropped his redstone torch into lava.
He flinched.
“I—I didn’t mean to,” he muttered, voice tight.
“It’s okay,” Etho said immediately. “Happens to everyone.”
“No, it’s not okay! I said I could do it!” Joel backed up from the build, hands clenching. “I said—I said I was big today—”
“Joel.”
He didn’t hear him. He was breathing too fast.
“I’m not a baby—I’m not a baby—I’m not—I just wanted—wanted—wanted to help—”
And then he crumpled.
Hands over his ears. Curled on the stone floor. Rocking, gasping, too overwhelmed to stop himself. His body wanted to cry, but his headspace was too scrambled to even manage it.
Etho was by his side in seconds.
“Shhh, hey. Hey. Joel, look at me, buddy. You’re okay.”
Joel couldn’t. He kept shaking. His hoodie felt too tight, his limbs too long, his thoughts too loud.
Etho pulled him in slowly, carefully.
“You were trying so hard,” he whispered, rocking him gently. “So hard. And I’m proud of you, even now. Especially now.”
Joel sniffled, finally starting to cry.
“I messed it up.”
“No, baby. You just hit your limit. And that’s not a failure. That’s your body saying, ‘I need help now.’ And I’m here to help. Always.”
Joel whimpered and clung to his hoodie, nose pressed to Etho’s chest.
“I don’t wanna be big anymore.”
“You don’t have to.”
Etho kissed the top of his head.
“You can be small, you can be medium, you can be anything at all. You’re mine either way.”
Joel didn’t answer, but he melted.
Later, after warm milk and soft pajamas and a long nap wrapped in Etho’s blanket, Joel finally whispered:
“I liked helping.”
Etho smiled.
“You still can. Just… in little doses, yeah?”
Joel nodded.
“Next time,” he said sleepily, “I’ll do one bin at a time.”
Etho stroked his hair.
“That’s my boy.”
—————————
4
The sandbox in Grian’s backyard had been transformed into a whole biome-building pit.
Little!Mumbo was halfway through burying a fake observer block under a mountain of sugarcane-colored foam blocks. Joel, tongue between his teeth, was building a “volcano that explodes if you touch it.”
It was going great.
Both boys were in their mid-to-little headspaces—chatting in garbled logic, trading plushies, shouting “NO TOUCHY THAT’S LAVA!” and giggling when Grian or Etho “accidentally” stepped too close.
They were filthy. Covered in sand. Mumbo had a bucket on his head. Joel was wearing a too-big sun hat and clapping every time something collapsed.
It was perfect.
Etho sat on a picnic blanket, watching closely, his “emergency cuddles” hoodie already set out in case one of them tipped too small. Grian had snacks and juice boxes, and occasionally made creeper noises to make them shriek and scatter.
But then—it happened.
Joel was scrambling up the edge of the sandbox to place the “lava core” (a glittery redstone plush) when he slipped. His foot caught on the edge of a buried block, and he tumbled down hard.
Thud. Crack. Silence.
Then—
A wail.
Loud. Instant. Sharp as a bell.
Etho was already running.
Joel sat in the sand, cradling his knee, which was scraped and starting to bleed. Not bad. But to Joel—panicked, overstimulated, and off-balance—it felt like the end of the world.
“No no no no no—” Joel whimpered, rocking where he sat. “Hurts hurts hurts—!”
Mumbo froze, watching from behind a wall of blocks, eyes wide.
Grian gently led him back toward the house, whispering, “Let’s give them a minute, bud. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Joel was already spiraling.
His breath caught in hiccups. His hands flailed weakly. He couldn’t even cry properly—just sharp gasps and shaky sobs, head darting like he didn’t know where he was anymore.
Etho dropped to his knees and pulled him in, holding him close despite the sand.
“Shhh. You’re okay. You’re safe now. I got you.”
Joel screamed into his chest. It didn’t help.
“It hurts! I fell! I didn’t mean to! Don’t be mad—”
“I’m not mad,” Etho said firmly, hugging him tighter. “I’m never mad at you for falling, baby. I promise.”
Joel didn’t believe him. Not at first.
He was shaking all over now. His voice cracked.
“Thought I was big! Thought I was—was fine! Now I’m bleeding—I ruined it—Mumbo’s gonna hate me—”
“No, baby,” Etho whispered, rocking him slowly. “Mumbo loves you. You didn’t ruin anything.”
Joel clung to his shirt.
“Make it stop,” he whimpered.
Etho reached into the bag beside him and gently pulled out a pacifier, guiding it to Joel’s mouth. Joel took it, eyes wet, and let his body go limp.
“Let’s clean you up, lovebug,” Etho said gently, lifting him.
Joel didn’t resist. His thumb curled tight in Etho’s hoodie. He was deep in babyspace now—nonverbal, drooling a little, face tear-streaked but quiet.
Etho cleaned the scrape with wipes, bandaged it, and wrapped Joel in the emergency hoodie. He didn’t say a word about the ruined playdate or the sand stuck to Joel’s face.
Just: “You’re my brave boy. I’ve got you.”
Later, Grian peeked in.
Mumbo trailed behind him, still in his play clothes, holding a juice box.
Joel blinked at them from Etho’s lap, bleary and sniffling.
Mumbo walked up carefully and offered the juice box.
“’S okay if you cry,” he mumbled. “I cry too sometimes. You can sit by me again later. If you want.”
Joel hiccupped. Then nodded, just once.
Etho smiled.
“Tomorrow,” he said softly, rubbing Joel’s back. “We’ll try again.”
Joel leaned into him and closed his eyes.
—————————
5
The house was quiet when the nightmare hit.
Joel woke with a gasp.
He sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat, his blanket tangled around his legs.
For a second, he couldn’t breathe.
The dream still clung to him like damp fog—blistering, heavy.
He’d been small, so small. Standing in the middle of the hallway at his old house. Wet pajamas. A puddle on the floor. And yelling—that voice, his father’s voice. Sharp. Loud. Hands grabbing his arm too tight. Dragging. Shoving. Cold tile. Shame.
The words still echoed in his ears:
"Disgusting. What’s wrong with you? You’re not a baby—clean it up!"
Joel blinked hard. His chest ached. He was here now. Not there. Not anymore.
But it didn’t feel that way.
Tears prickled behind his eyes.
He crawled from bed, the soft onesie he wore suddenly too warm, too tight. He found his way to the window—hoping the view might help, calm him down.
Outside, the clouds rolled in low and heavy.
The storm was coming.
Etho had left the door cracked.
Joel knew he could have gone to him then. He almost did.
But something in his chest pulled tight—fear, hesitation, old panic curled around his ribs like vines.
He sat by the window instead, knees drawn to his chest, staring out into the brewing grey.
The first thunderclap hit like a slap.
Joel jumped so hard he nearly tipped over.
Another flash—brighter this time, and closer.
Then the sky roared.
Joel’s heart pounded.
His hands flew to his ears. He rocked back and forth, little whimpers escaping his throat.
The second flash cracked too close.
He bolted.
Running on instinct, legs shaking, vision blurry with tears.
He tripped over the rug in the hallway and barely caught himself before tumbling again. His breath hitched. He didn’t know where he was going. Just away. Somewhere small. Somewhere safe.
The cabinet under the stairs.
He ducked inside, huddled tight in the corner, knees to chest, arms around his head.
Another flash. Another boom.
And just like that—he felt it. Wet warmth spreading between his legs.
He gasped.
The fear doubled instantly.
He’d had an accident.
Just like the dream.
Just like back then.
He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
Etho’s gonna hate me.
He’s gonna yell. He’s gonna—
He shook harder.
You’re disgusting. You’re not a baby.
Joel whimpered.
He didn’t even know if the thunder was still happening anymore. All he could hear was his heartbeat and his own shallow breathing and those terrible words that didn’t belong to Etho—but still felt like they might come.
He tucked himself deeper into the corner.
Etho heard the slam of tiny feet and the whimper of the door creaking.
He stood from the couch and scanned the hallway, heart already speeding up.
“Joel?”
No answer.
Then another thunderclap—and something like a squeak or a sob from behind the stairwell.
He knelt gently beside the storage door, pulling it open slowly.
A sour, panicked scent hit him.
His heart cracked.
Inside, Joel sat curled up in a tight ball, trembling, soaked through, red-faced and sniffling.
Etho didn’t speak at first.
Didn’t lurch toward him.
Didn’t reach in.
He simply sat.
Cross-legged. Calm. His voice low and steady.
“Hey, sweetheart. I hear you.”
Joel flinched but didn’t answer.
“I think you’re scared right now. I think something reminded you of something bad.”
Still nothing.
“But you’re here. You’re safe. I’m not mad. I’m never mad when your body has an accident, okay?”
A tiny sniffle.
Joel peeked out from behind his arm, his eyes glassy.
“You... you not gonna hit me?” His voice was so small it nearly broke in half.
Etho felt his whole soul ache.
“Oh, baby—no. No. Never. Not ever. My job is to keep you safe, not hurt you.”
Joel’s lip trembled.
“But I... I peed... it’s wet, and... and I hid and I was bad, and—”
“No,” Etho said firmly but gently, scooting an inch closer. “You were scared, and you did what your brain thought would keep you safe. That’s not bad. That’s smart. And you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Joel stared at him, not quite believing it.
Etho held out his arms, patient, waiting.
When Joel finally crawled forward, it was slow and shaky.
He fell into Etho’s chest like a falling leaf.
“I got you now,” Etho whispered, wrapping the blanket around him and holding him close, wet onesie and all. “I got you. You’re my brave baby boy, even when you’re scared. Especially then.”
Joel sobbed into his shoulder.
Etho rocked him gently, whispering soothing things until the tension started to melt.
“I had a dream,” Joel mumbled, hiccuping. “They hit me. Yelled. Said I was—was gross. And then I woke up and it—happened. I thought it was real again.”
“I know,” Etho whispered, brushing a hand through Joel’s hair. “That dream wasn’t your fault. And the accident wasn’t either. You’re not gross. You’re my little one. My Joel.”
Joel whimpered.
“But I was big…”
Etho gently tapped his chest. “You don’t have to be big all the time. You’re allowed to be little. You’re allowed to need help.”
The thunder rolled again, quieter now, farther away.
Etho helped Joel out of the wet onesie, cleaned him up, and dressed him in a fresh Pull-Up and his softest pajama pants. He gave Joel his pacifier, tucked him in against his chest, and curled up with him on the couch under a heavy quilt.
Joel was still shivering, but less now.
He sucked his paci and held tightly to Etho’s hoodie.
“You’re staying?” he whispered.
“Always,” Etho murmured into his hair. “I’m staying right here.”
By the time the storm passed, Joel was asleep again—safe, dry, and warm in arms that had only ever known how to hold gently.
And this time, there were no nightmares waiting.
Just breathing. And peace.
Morning came slow and golden, light filtering through the windows like honey.
Joel was still in his softest pajamas, the ones with little bees on them, sleeves too long, cuffs covering his hands. His Pull-Up crinkled faintly when he shifted, but he didn’t mind. It was warm and safe, and Etho hadn’t left.
Etho never left.
He sat cross-legged on the carpet now, a big sheet of craft paper spread out in front of him and a bucket of crayons dumped beside it. Joel sat on a folded blanket, legs splayed out in a little “W,” a red crayon clutched in one hand and his pacifier tucked safely in his mouth.
He was humming—quiet and off-key—while drawing thick scribbles across the page. Circles. A sun with too many rays. A green thing that might’ve been a tree or a really weird dog. A person with spiky hair and a square body, surrounded by squiggles of black.
Etho watched from a nearby beanbag, sipping tea, letting Joel have his space. Letting him decide when to come closer.
After a while, Joel turned to him.
“Dis me,” he said, pointing at the scribbled person. His voice was soft and sleepy-sounding, paci tucked in the corner of his mouth. “I drawed me.”
Etho smiled. “You did a great job. I see your hair and your arms, and—oh, is that your house?”
Joel nodded but then frowned.
“Not... not this house,” he whispered. “The old one. The mean one.”
Etho’s heart softened.
He set his cup down and crawled closer, sitting beside Joel without touching him.
“You wanna talk about it, baby?”
Joel pulled the pacifier from his mouth and fiddled with it between his fingers. He stared down at the drawing.
“Woke up wet one time. Was... four? Maybe littler. I dunno. ‘N Daddy got real mad. He made me stand in it. Made me say I was bad.”
Etho didn’t say anything. Just listened.
Joel kept coloring, dark black over the drawn floor.
“Said if I was gonna act like a baby, I should smell like one.”
His voice trembled, but he didn’t cry. Just pressed harder on the crayon, the paper wrinkling.
Etho reached out slowly, gently covering Joel’s little fist with his own.
“You’re not bad,” he said quietly. “You never were.”
Joel sniffled.
He crawled into Etho’s lap without another word and curled up there, a tiny, warm shape clutching his crayon and pressing his cheek into Etho’s chest.
“You love me even if I pee?” he asked.
“I love you even if you flood the whole base,” Etho said softly, wrapping his arms around him. “Every single part of you, Joel. Big you, little you, accident you, storm-scared you. All of it.”
Joel’s breath hitched.
“I don’t wanna go back there ever again.”
“You won’t,” Etho promised. “You’re here now. With me. And I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”
Joel nodded, slowly, and nuzzled deeper into the safety of Etho’s hoodie.
They stayed there for a long time—just crayon marks on paper, two mugs of tea cooling on the floor, and the quiet, healing hum of morning wrapping around them both.
—————————
+1
The base was warm with sunshine, all the glass windows catching gold and scattering it across the stone floors. Somewhere outside, birds chirped. Inside, Joel was padding barefoot down the hallway in a soft onesie with a stegosaurus tail stitched to the back.
He felt little. Not because he was scared this time—not because something bad had happened—but just because he wanted to be.
His head was floaty and soft, his limbs light and wobbly. He giggled when his Pull-Up crinkled a little as he walked. He didn’t even need it right now—it just felt good. Right.
Safe.
Etho was already in the living room, building a pillow nest on the floor.
Joel beamed and toddled straight into it, half-diving and half-collapsing in a pile of flannel, squealing softly into his hands. His paci bobbed from between his lips.
Etho looked up from arranging the blankets.
“Well hey, someone’s feeling tiny today.”
Joel nodded eagerly, crawling up into his lap without hesitation.
Etho wrapped him up in a fluffy burrito hug, bouncing him gently.
“You wanna stuffie?”
“Bocky,” Joel said around the pacifier.
Etho reached behind him and retrieved a well-loved plush sheep, handing it over.
Joel immediately clutched Bocky close and nuzzled into Etho’s shoulder with a happy hum.
He was just beginning to drift in the soft rhythm of it all when a knock echoed at the base’s front entrance.
Joel froze.
The knock came again.
“Just a second,” Etho murmured, gently untangling himself and standing. “Stay here, okay, little bug?”
Joel sat bolt upright in the blanket nest, Bocky clutched to his chest, eyes wide.
The door creaked open.
Joel could hear the voice.
“Hey, Etho! Sorry to drop by—was just in the area, thought I’d—wait… are you busy?”
It was Grian.
Joel’s heart skipped.
He curled in tighter, ducking behind a pillow, cheeks flushing scarlet.
He could hear Etho’s calm, warm response: “Nah, it’s alright. Just a little quiet time right now. Come in, if you're gentle.”
Joel peeked up as Grian stepped into the room.
He looked cheerful as always, feather cape draped over his shoulders, tools on his belt, a little sparkle of mischief in his eyes—until he spotted Joel.
Then his whole face softened.
“Oh.”
Joel ducked farther under the pillow, letting out a tiny squeak.
Etho sat back down beside him and rubbed his back. “He’s okay. Just shy. Real little today. He chose it.”
Joel peeked out again, blinking behind the pacifier.
Grian crouched down a bit to his level, careful to keep his distance.
“Hey, Joel. You look really cozy. Can I say hi from here?”
Joel buried his face in Bocky again but nodded faintly.
“That’s cool,” Grian said quietly, smiling. “I didn’t bring anything noisy or scary. Just me.”
Joel whimpered and crawled into Etho’s lap again, curling tight against his chest like a koala. He peeked over Etho’s shoulder with one eye.
Etho chuckled gently. “Someone’s a clingy dino today.”
Joel made a soft mrrph noise and held on tighter.
Grian stayed where he was, calm and respectful.
“You’re lucky,” he said softly. “Etho’s a good nest to hide in.”
Joel peeked again. The words made something warm flutter in his chest.
After a long moment, he pulled his paci out and mumbled, “Hi Gwi’an…”
Grian beamed. “Hi Joel.”
Then Joel stuffed the pacifier right back in and tucked his face away again, heart pounding like a drum but not in a bad way. In a big way. A safe way.
He was little.
And it was okay.
After Grian left, the quiet returned like a weighted blanket. The front door clicked shut, and Joel didn’t even lift his head.
He just curled deeper into Etho’s hoodie, Bocky the plush sheep pressed between his chest and Etho’s ribs. He was warm, safe, and a little bit fuzzy-brained. Grian hadn’t laughed at him or called him names—he hadn’t even looked weirded out—but still, Joel’s cheeks were hot with aftershocks of shy.
Etho’s hand rubbed his back in slow circles.
“You’re okay, baby,” he whispered. “You did so good.”
Joel mumbled something against his chest. It sounded like, “Didn’t cry…”
“You didn’t,” Etho agreed. “Even when you wanted to.”
Joel didn’t speak again. He just gave a tiny nod and sagged in closer.
Eventually, Etho shifted. “Let’s get you some food, yeah?”
Joel made a soft noise of protest and tried to burrow into the hoodie again.
“Just something small,” Etho coaxed. “Nuggets and applesauce. You can sit in my lap the whole time.”
Joel peeked up at him with a bleary look and nodded once, fingers already twisting the fabric of Etho’s sleeve.
Dinner was quiet and gentle. Etho didn’t put Joel at the table—just sat in the big chair and held him close, with the plate balanced nearby. Joel took a few bites on his own but quickly grew clingy and tired, his brain foggy and small. Eventually, he looked up with his paci in and tapped Etho’s hand softly.
“Help…?”
“Of course,” Etho said without hesitation.
He fed Joel tiny bites of applesauce and warm nugget pieces, never rushing him, praising every swallow like it was a little miracle.
“You’re doing such a good job,” he said after a sip of juice. “Just one more and we can be all done, alright?”
Joel nodded sleepily, eyes fluttering half-closed. His fingers stayed tangled in Etho’s hoodie, and he leaned heavily against his chest, cheek warm with trust.
After dinner, Joel didn’t want to be put down. He clung tighter, small and wordless, and mumbled into Etho’s shoulder:
“Can we do… bath?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Etho said, rubbing his back. “We can do that.”
It wasn’t about getting clean. Joel just wanted the ritual. The quiet. The warmth. The familiarity of running water and soft towels and someone being there.
They didn’t talk much during it. Joel sat nearby while the water ran. He kept his paci in and his arms around his knees, watching the bubbles rise. He didn’t want to be touched, not right then, but he didn’t want to be alone either.
Etho sat on the floor next to the tub and talked softly, about the day, about Grian’s visit, about all the good, brave things Joel had done.
Joel listened with his cheek resting on the edge of a folded towel.
Afterward, he changed into a fresh onesie on his own, moving slowly, still deep in little space. Etho didn’t hover—just offered soft praise and held out his arms when Joel was done.
Joel collapsed into the hug with a relieved whimper and clung tight.
“You ready for bed, lovebug?”
Joel shook his head.
Etho raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“Color first,” Joel whispered, barely audible around the paci.
Etho smiled. “Coloring it is.”
They spent the next little while snuggled on the couch, Joel in Etho’s lap with a coloring book balanced across a cushion. Joel’s little hands gripped a red crayon as he scribbled over a drawing of a creeper and a chicken. Etho held a blue crayon, doodling beside him in gentle silence.
Joel sighed dreamily. “This one’s Grian…”
“Oh yeah?” Etho asked, tilting his head. “The creeper?”
“Nooo,” Joel giggled. “The chicken. He got featherrrs…”
Etho snorted quietly. “That tracks.”
Joel colored with slow focus, pressing a sticker onto the page and proudly showing it to Etho. His cheeks were glowing. His paci bobbed a little as he sucked it between grins.
“Can we sleep wif Bocky tonight?” he asked softly, voice starting to wobble with tired.
“Of course, baby,” Etho said, smoothing his hand over Joel’s head. “You and Bocky both.”
Joel leaned back into him with a long, happy sigh.
“Wanna stay little f’ever…”
Etho kissed the top of his head.
“You can be little as long as you want, Joel.”
And he meant it.
Joel woke up feeling squishy-brained and warm, his paci already in his mouth and Bocky tucked under one arm. His eyes blinked slowly open. Etho’s hoodie sleeves were soft under his cheek. The house smelled like waffles.
He stretched with a tiny whimper.
Etho noticed the movement right away. “Mornin’, bubs,” he said softly. “You ready to get up?”
Joel nodded, though he made no move to shift. Etho smiled and leaned down, scooping him into strong, steady arms.
“Guess what?” Etho said as he carried Joel toward the kitchen. “You have a playdate today.”
Joel blinked slowly. “Playdate?”
“Mmhm. Little Pearl’s comin’ over. She’s your age right now—tiny and giggly and full of dinosaur facts.”
Joel perked up a little, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “She gots toys?”
“She’s bringing some. You’ll share yours too, right?”
Joel paused, then nodded with solemn seriousness. “I share Bocky if she’s gentle.”
“I’m sure she will be.”
Pearl arrived mid-morning, with her hair in two uneven pigtails and a big sparkly backpack bouncing on her back. As soon as Etho opened the door, she shouted, “HI JOEL!!!” and barrelled inside like a meteor made of glitter and foam blocks.
Joel squeaked and hid behind Etho’s leg—but peeked out quickly.
Pearl waved both hands. “I brought dinos! And snackies! And crayons but don’t eat the green one ‘cause it tastes bad!”
Joel stared for a second, then gave a slow smile behind his paci. “Hi…”
Pearl gasped. “You got Bocky! I brought Squish!”
She held up a round, rainbow-colored axolotl plush with one fin half-sewn back on.
Joel came out from behind Etho and carefully held out Bocky. “This Bocky. He don’t like louds.”
Pearl nodded seriously. “Squish got scared in the thunder once and cried all night. I gived her hugs though.”
Joel and Pearl stared at each other for another long moment, both clutching their plushies like sacred offerings. Then Pearl grinned and plopped down onto the playmat.
“Wanna make a pillow cave?!”
Joel giggled and toddled over after her.
They played for hours.
Pearl was a whirlwind of ideas. First they made a pillow cave (Etho helped stack the couch cushions). Then they filled it with all their stuffies. Then they made up a game where Bocky and Squish were best friends who went to the “Snack Forest” to find hidden cookies.
Joel was laughing so hard at one point he fell over onto the mat and just stayed there, gasping around his paci.
“YOU GAVE SQUISH THE COOKIE THAT HAD BUGS!” he wheezed.
Pearl nodded, unrepentant. “Protein.”
“EEWWW!”
Etho checked in every so often with juice boxes and goldfish crackers. He stayed in the background mostly, giving them space to just be.
But when Joel started to get quieter and clung a little closer to Bocky, Etho gently called, “Need a break, bud?”
Joel nodded and toddled over, arms raised. Etho scooped him up instantly, settling him in his lap on the couch.
Pearl followed a minute later, her Squish plush tucked under her arm. She blinked up at Etho.
“Can we do drawin’ now?”
Etho nodded. “Sure. But I think it’s almost quiet time. So coloring and maybe a story, yeah?”
Pearl nodded and climbed up beside Joel. They both accepted coloring books and crayon boxes with sleepy gratitude, leaning into each other as they scribbled aimlessly.
Joel glanced at Pearl halfway through coloring a purple cow.
“Pearl?”
“Yeah?”
“You my best friend now?”
Pearl blinked, then grinned. “Duh.”
Joel smiled so wide his paci almost fell out.
Later, after a story about a baby bee who wanted to be a cloud, Joel and Pearl both drifted off under a shared blanket, tangled up with Bocky and Squish between them.
Etho watched them for a long time, arms crossed, smile soft and patient.
“Best friends,” he whispered.
And the house stayed quiet and warm.