Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cheers were still ringing in Joel’s ears long after the scoreboard faded from view.

Smallishbeans: First Place.

Fireworks shot into the pixel sky, and confetti glitched through the air. Scar was shouting something about honorary capes. Grian smacked Joel on the back and shouted, “You actually pulled that off, Beans! Didn’t think you had it in you!”

Lizzie was laughing too, light and fond. “Joel, you’ve been a disaster this whole minigame. What happened—did the server glitch in your favor?”

It was teasing. It was supposed to be funny.
It was.

Joel laughed louder than anyone else—too loud, too sharp—but even as his voice echoed through the valley, something inside him curled up and turned away.

The others were already running off to do postgame chaos—Scar yelling about snacks, Grian grabbing rockets, Pearl and Martyn wandering toward the lounge portal.

Gem turned to him, smiling. “Regression garden later? Nap fort’s got your name on it. Grian brought, like, fifty pillows again.”

Joel forced a grin. “Pfft. You babies have fun. I’ve got big kid stuff to do.”

“Joel,” Lizzie said slowly, “you sure? You look kinda—”

“I’m great,” he said too fast. “I won. Remember? Winner things. Important base work. Cliffs. Blocks. Bye.”

Before anyone could stop him, Joel fired off a rocket and soared away from the crowd, fingers clenched hard around his elytra trigger.

His base was quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed in too close when you were already fraying.

Joel landed hard. The gravel under his boots crunched loud, louder than it should’ve.

He didn’t take off his elytra.

Instead, he stormed into his storage room and grabbed whatever blocks were closest—mossy cobble, slabs, deepslate, a couple random trapdoors—and launched himself toward the back cliff.

There’d been a plan once. A lookout tower, maybe. Something grand.

Right now, Joel just needed to build. Or destroy. Or move fast enough that the pressure in his chest couldn’t catch up.

He placed a block.
And another.
And another.
Then broke it.
Then replaced it.
Then stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.

“They were joking,” he muttered aloud. His voice sounded too loud in the open air.
“You won. You’re fine.”

But his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Up and up he built, stacking half-walls and slabs in increasingly unstable patterns. His boots skidded against the cliff’s edge. He barely noticed.

He was supposed to feel proud. He’d won.
So why did he feel like crying?

Another block placed. Another pulled away. His breath came short. He crouched low, trying to steady himself.

“I’m not horrible. I’m not…”

His foot slipped.

A yelp—cut short.
The world vanished beneath him.
The cliffs blurred into motion.
Then—

[Smallishbeans was slain by fall damage.]

Lizzie had been flying nearby, collecting leftover fireworks from the game site, when the death message popped in her chat.

She froze mid-air.

Joel didn’t die from fall damage. Not anymore. Not unless something was seriously wrong.

She turned sharp in the sky and raced toward his base.

The respawn point wasn’t at the group hotel. That told her everything. He’d gone back to his first bed. The one in his mossy starter house. The one he kept resetting to every few weeks like a secret anchor.

When she landed outside the tiny stone cottage, her heart was already in her throat.

“Joel?” she called, knocking lightly. “Hey, it’s me.”

No answer.

She let herself in.

He was curled up on the bed—hoodie sleeves over his fists, knees tucked up, eyes wide and wet and not seeing her.

“Oh, Beans,” Lizzie said gently, crossing the room.

He didn’t flinch when she sat down next to him. Just hiccuped quietly and tried to pull the blanket over his head.

She didn’t try to pull it down. Just rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades.

“I’m calling Etho,” she said softly.

Joel didn’t argue.

Etho arrived five minutes later, mask off, hoodie on, calm already in his voice.

Lizzie met him at the door. “He’s not speaking. He’s not quite there.”

Etho nodded. “Got it.”

They stepped into the bedroom together. Joel hadn’t moved.

Etho crouched by the bed, careful not to crowd.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, quiet and warm. “We saw the death message. Scared us a bit.”

Joel sniffled.

“I wasn’t gonna go little,” he whispered. “Not today.”

“I know,” Etho said gently. “You were trying really hard not to.”

Lizzie knelt beside the bed too. “It’s okay if you need to. You’re allowed to feel small. Even on big days.”

“They laughed,” Joel whispered. “Grian and you Lizzie. I know it was a joke, but it felt like—like they didn’t think I could really win. Like I was just a joke too.”

He buried his face again, voice tightening.

“And I thought if I built something—if I made it feel big—then I wouldn’t feel so…”

His words crumbled.

Etho put a hand on his back. “It’s okay, Joel. You don’t have to explain it all right now.”

“I was trying to be big.”

“You are. And you’re allowed to rest, too.”

Lizzie laid her head on the bed beside his. “We’ve got you, okay? However small you need to be.”

Joel didn’t answer. But after a long moment, his hand snuck out from under the blanket and clutched Lizzie’s hoodie sleeve.

Etho smiled softly. “Do you wanna snuggle up somewhere quieter?”

Joel nodded. Barely.

Lizzie stood and opened her arms.

Joel didn’t hesitate this time. He reached up like a child, and she scooped him into her arms—small and trembling, but safe.

Etho opened a portal back to his base. The nap corner was already set up.

And Joel, for the first time all day, let himself be held.

——————

Chapter Text

Etho’s base smelled like spruce and cocoa and something vaguely lemony that Joel couldn’t quite place.

Lizzie’s arms were steady as she carried him inside—hood still pulled up, sleeves covering his fists, eyes big and quiet. Joel didn’t say a word. He just tucked himself closer into her chest and clung.

Etho walked ahead of them, gentle and calm, pushing open the hidden door to his nap room.

It was softly lit, shaders running low and warm. Blankets were stacked in fluffy mounds, and the floor was lined with carpet and beanbags. The corner by the fireplace flickered gently, and a few plushies sat in a basket shaped like a tidepool rock.

Joel peeked.

Etho caught the glance. “That one’s for you, buddy.”

He pointed to a soft, moss-green turtle plush with a quilted shell and stumpy little legs. Its eyes were slightly oversized, a little lopsided, and very gentle.

Joel blinked slowly. Then tugged on Lizzie’s sleeve and whispered something only she heard.

“He wants the turtle,” Lizzie translated, smiling.

Etho handed it over with both hands. “That’s Pebble. He’s quiet and brave. Good at hiding when the world’s too loud.”

Joel took it with a slow blink and clutched it close. His fingers pressed into the plush shell, and he immediately curled tighter around it like it could anchor him to the floor.

Lizzie sat down with him in the biggest beanbag near the fire. Joel didn’t even try to sit upright. He curled sideways against her chest, Pebble squished against his heart, and closed his eyes.

“You want the blanket, jellybean?” Etho asked.

Joel nodded without opening his eyes.

The blanket was heavy—one of Etho’s weighted ones, made from thick canvas like an old sailcloth, soft with age and faded by sun. It was stitched from patchwork scraps of old ship banners and boat flags, with one corner still bearing a frayed RelationShip ™️ crest Joel had made in Double Life. The whole thing smelled faintly of salt and spruce, like an ocean breeze through a wooden hull.

When Etho draped it over them, Joel clutched Pebble tighter and let out a tiny sigh, the familiar boat-blanket grounding him like an anchor in calm water.

“You’re safe now,” Etho said softly, crouching beside the beanbag. “You don’t have to do anything else. Just be.”

Joel’s thumb found its way to his mouth.

Neither of them said anything about it.

The minutes passed in soft stillness.

Joel stayed quiet. His face was buried in Pebble’s mossy back, and every now and then, he let out the smallest of sounds—barely-audible whimpers or squeaky sighs—but he didn’t cry. Not now. Not with Lizzie gently running fingers through his hair and Etho adjusting the blanket when it slipped too far to the side.

It took a long time for Joel’s body to really stop trembling.

But eventually, it did.

“Think he’s asleep?” Lizzie murmured, looking down.

Etho glanced over. “Not yet. Just deep in it.”

Joel blinked up at them slowly, eyes glossy and round. Then he reached out a hand—wobbly, unsure—and grabbed at the hem of Etho’s hoodie.

Etho smiled. “You want me too, kiddo?”

Joel gave the tiniest nod.

Etho eased onto the beanbag beside them and let Joel shift into his lap, still clutching Pebble. Joel curled up like a kitten—hood puddled around his ears, socks barely peeking out from under the blanket—and rested his cheek against Etho’s chest.

No words. Just trust.

An hour later, Joel stirred.

Not because he was fully awake—just drifting back to the surface. His fingers tightened around Pebble’s shell. His legs twitched. He let out a little confused grunt and kicked the blanket off.

Lizzie noticed first. “Hey, bean,” she said gently. “You waking up?”

Joel blinked blearily. His hair stuck out in every direction, and his hoodie strings had gotten wrapped around his arm somehow. He looked utterly ridiculous and small.

Etho smiled. “Want some juice?”

Joel blinked again. Then nodded.

Etho stood and headed into the kitchenette. Joel, disoriented and still snuggled against Lizzie, started to fuss—whimpering quietly.

“Shh, he’s coming right back,” Lizzie murmured, rocking slightly. “Just getting your favorite cup.”

Joel hiccupped. “B-blue one?”

“Yep. With the turtles.”

He calmed at that.

When Etho returned, he handed over the sippy cup like it was the most normal thing in the world. Joel took it with both hands and drank without hesitation.

“Good job,” Lizzie whispered.

Joel didn’t smile, but his breathing evened out.

Etho settled beside them again. “You staying little for a while?”

Joel nodded slowly.

“That’s okay,” Etho said. “We’ll stay right here.”

The rest of the day was slow.

Joel stayed little. He didn’t talk much. He didn’t want toys or games or even music. Just naps, Pebble, and his spot between Lizzie and Etho.

And they didn’t ask anything more of him.

Sometimes, healing was just this quiet.

Just letting someone be small and safe without needing to explain why.

Chapter Text

The portal shimmered gently as Joel peeked through, small hands clutching Pebble tight to his chest.

Beyond it, the world was soft.

The Regression Garden had grown a lot since the Hermits first designed it—a modded sanctuary tucked between mountain biomes, where shaders stayed gentle and textures dimmed to comfort mode. The grass was low and cushiony, a pale pastel green. Trees arched overhead like umbrellas, leaves swaying slow and sweet. Blanket forts dotted the meadow. A low babbling brook ran through the back corner, with toy boats floating lazily downstream.

Joel stayed half-hidden behind Etho’s legs.

“You wanna go in, bud?” Etho asked, crouching. “Lizzie and I are right here.”

Joel didn’t answer.

He just held Pebble tighter and stared.

It was a lot—bright, wide, full of movement. Martyn and Grian were sword-fighting with foam pool noodles. Jimmy was carefully painting wooden blocks near Pearl, who wore a crown made of string lights and looked very proud of it. Scar was mid-fort construction with what looked like twenty pillows, a bucket of glitter, and absolutely no plan.

And then Joel saw it.

In the far corner, under a willow tree with blue lanterns strung in the branches, sat a small crib.

Except it wasn’t a normal crib.

It was a boat.

Spruce-planked and slightly curved, it had real oar pegs worked into the frame and a sailcloth canopy hung above like a lazy shade. The side rails were coiled with soft rope, and the inside was padded with navy-blue cushions and worn wool blankets. A single anchor was embroidered into the pillow at the bow.

Joel’s mouth fell open slightly. He took one slow step forward.

Lizzie caught the motion. “Wanna see it, baby bean?”

He nodded. Once. Tight and nervous.

She held out her hand. Joel took it.

Etho followed quietly behind as they walked—well, Joel waddled, still a bit off-balance, Pebble pressed against his chest, the boat-blanket draped like a cape across his shoulders.

As they reached the willow, Joel stared up at the boat-crib with wide, awe-filled eyes.

A little mobile turned overhead—felt clouds and tiny paper sails spinning slowly on a golden string.

“This is yours,” Etho said softly. “Built it just for you.”

Joel looked up at him.

“F’real?”

“For real,” Lizzie added. “Scar helped with the canopy. He got very enthusiastic about sail geometry.”

Joel giggled. Just once. A quiet little puff of air.

Then he reached both arms up—requesting, not with words but with his whole body.

Etho scooped him up gently and lowered him into the crib.

Joel curled on his side without hesitation, boat-blanket tucked up under his chin, Pebble clutched tightly to his chest. His small frame fit perfectly in the curved wood. The gentle bobbing motion of the padded base made it feel like it was really afloat.

He didn’t want to leave.

For the rest of the afternoon, Joel stayed in his boat.

When the others came over to peek, they spoke in hushed, warm tones.

Pearl brought over a tiny net full of plush fish and left it by the crib. Grian crafted a cardboard telescope and whispered, “Captain Beans, the sky’s clear for sailing!” before giving him a little wave and scampering off.

Joel didn’t answer. But he reached over and adjusted Pebble to face outward, as if the turtle were keeping watch from the bow.

Etho and Lizzie stayed nearby the whole time.

When Joel drifted toward a nap, Lizzie hummed lullabies under her breath—soft sea shanty melodies she half-remembered from their pirate days.

When he stirred, Etho was already there with warm apple juice in a baby bottle shaped like a buoy.

Joel drank without fuss. Then rolled over and whispered, “M’boat.”

“Yep,” Etho said with a smile. “Your harbor. Your rules.”

By sunset, the others had packed up forts and foam swords. The lanterns overhead glowed low and gold. The breeze carried a scent of sugar cookies and damp earth.

Joel sat up slowly in his crib, hair fluffed from sleep, cheeks soft and flushed. Pebble was tucked in beside him, wrapped in a scrap of sailcloth like his own mini blanket.

“Can we come back tomorrow?” Joel asked, voice tiny and hoarse from being small all day.

Lizzie tucked his hood gently up over his head. “As many tomorrows as you want.”

Etho reached in and adjusted the blanket around his shoulders. “We’ll always bring you back to your boat when you need it.”

Joel smiled. Just a little. But it reached all the way to his eyes.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

That was the point of it. Gentle trees, gentle lighting, gentle voices. The shader pack softened every corner, the pastel flora wobbled slightly like stuffed animals, and nothing ever spawned here. Joel's boat crib sat in its usual spot under the willow tree, the stitched sail canopy rustling in the breeze. Blue lanterns dangled overhead like sleepy stars.

Joel was bundled in his boat-blanket, curled on his side in the curved wooden crib. Pebble was nestled under his chin. His fingers idly traced the anchor stitching on the pillow as Lizzie hummed beside him, weaving his hair into a loose little braid behind one ear.

“Sleepy, sailor?” she asked fondly.

Joel didn’t answer with words. He just gave the tiniest shrug and sucked quietly on his paci.

Etho was nearby laying out picnic things: sliced fruit, warm juice, some snacks from Pearl’s kitchen. A plushy sea serpent guarded the corner like a sentry. It was quiet, calm. Familiar.

Until it wasn’t.

It started slow—some cheerful footsteps. The sound of Grian’s wings flapping. A little shriek from Scar when Jimmy dropped a juice box on his foot.

Nothing unusual.

But more Hermits kept coming. Dozens. They were all invited, of course. It was supposed to be a regression-safe day—just a mellow group hangout in the garden—but it got loud quickly. Grian and Martyn were playing tag with foam pool noodles. Jimmy and Pearl had declared war on the red blanket “lava zone.” Scar had added stilts to a costume and was stomping around pretending to be a boat monster. Even Zedaph was there, testing a bubble wand that made accidental sparkles explode.

The sound wasn’t sharp. Not on purpose.

But it stacked.

Joel's body stiffened. He stopped chewing his paci and pulled Pebble tighter to his chest. He couldn't seem to focus on just one sound—everything came at once. Laughter and thudding feet, Lizzie’s soft braid touches, the snap of Etho unwrapping plastic. Even the wind rustled too hard.

His chest started to ache.

Lizzie leaned closer. “You okay, baby bean?”

Joel didn’t answer.

His shoulders rose higher. His fingers dug into Pebble’s shell. His eyes were wide and shiny, darting between motion and sound and flash.

“I—I don’t—” His breath caught. “It’s loud. It’s—”

Lizzie nodded, her voice low and steady. “Okay. You’re okay. Let’s go somewhere quieter, yeah?”

Joel flinched at a sudden shout—Grian had just tripped over a beanbag.

And then he bolted.

He scrambled out of the boat crib, stumbling as his socks slipped on the mossy stone. He ran without direction, tiny legs wobbling under him, hoodie sleeves dragging. His pacifier dropped behind him unnoticed.

“Joel—!” Lizzie called after him, heart lurching. “Sweetheart, wait!”

But he was already gone, crashing through the ferns behind a wide birch trunk, Pebble still gripped in his arms.

Etho set the juice tray down instantly. “I’ve got him.”

“No,” Lizzie said, already standing. “Let me.”

Joel was crouched behind the tree, tucked into a shivering ball. His hands were clutching his head now, Pebble pressed tight into his collar. He was rocking, barely breathing. Tears streaked down his face in panicked silence.

“Too much,” he whimpered. “Too much, too big, too big—”

Lizzie crouched down a few feet away. Not touching yet. Just there.

“I see you, sweetheart. You’re not in trouble.”

Joel didn’t answer. He was barely even looking at her.

“Can I come closer?” she asked gently.

Joel didn’t speak, but his head gave the smallest, tiniest nod.

Lizzie inched forward until she was beside him, resting a steadying hand on the grass.

“You’re safe now. Just us. Not loud anymore. Can you hear me okay?”

Joel hiccupped and nodded again, tighter this time.

Then Lizzie opened her bag and pulled out something she always kept on hand: soft blue noise-cancelling headphones with little sailboats and clouds stickered on the sides.

She reached forward slowly, letting Joel see them.

“May I?” she whispered.

Joel blinked at her, teary-eyed. Then nodded.

Lizzie gently fit the headphones over his ears. The world hushed.

Joel’s whole body shuddered in relief as the noise fell away—like a wave pulling back from shore.

“There you go,” Lizzie whispered, brushing his bangs back. “Just us now, little bean.”

He was still shaking. Still too small to answer. But he leaned into her hand.

Etho arrived a moment later, stepping softly. He knelt beside them and laid down the boat-blanket like a picnic cloth. Lizzie guided Joel onto it, curling him gently into her lap.

“Want me to keep braiding?” she asked.

Joel gave a tiny nod.

So she did. Slow, methodical, grounding. She worked strand by strand down the side of his head, then undid it and started again on the other.

Etho placed a warm bottle beside them and tucked Pebble gently back under Joel’s arms.

“No rush,” he murmured. “Take all the time you need.”

Minutes passed. Joel’s breathing evened. The tears slowed.

Eventually he blinked up at Lizzie and whispered, “Sorry.”

“Oh, baby,” Lizzie said, cupping his cheek. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You got overwhelmed. That’s all. We’re here to help.”

“You ran because you were scared,” Etho added. “But you let us help. That’s really brave.”

Joel sniffled and nodded. The headphones were still on. The world was still soft.

When his breathing stayed steady for five whole minutes, Etho asked, “You wanna go back to your boat now?”

Joel glanced at the path, still wary. But Lizzie gave his braid a little finishing twist and said, “We’ll go slow. Nobody will come near unless you want them to.”

Joel gave a tiny, whispery “’kay.”

So they walked him back together—Etho on one side, Lizzie on the other, holding hands.

When they reached the boat crib, Joel climbed in carefully and immediately lay down on his side. Pebble was tucked close. The blanket went over his shoulders like a sail catching safe wind.

Lizzie sat by the hull and rubbed slow circles on his back. Etho turned the little mobile above them—felt clouds and tiny stitched sails spinning slowly in the willow-filtered light.

“Storms pass,” Lizzie murmured again, voice soft as seafoam. “And you’re safe here.”

Joel’s paci had been returned, cleaned and warmed, and he slipped it into his mouth. His breathing had slowed to little whuffs, quiet and even. His fingers twitched as he drifted.

By the time Scar peeked around the tree with a new sparkly wand and Grian tried to wave with a pool noodle, Joel was asleep in his crib, headphones still on, braid half-loosened, and Pebble guarding the bow.

They didn’t come closer.

They just left a little shell necklace near the hull as tribute, and backed away smiling.

Chapter Text

The willow tree swayed gently above the boat crib, its long vines rustling like lullabies. Lizzie sat on a mossy quilt just beside it, humming a soft ocean song as she slowly combed through Joel’s curls. Her voice blended with the breeze—low, wordless, and warm.

In the boat crib, Joel lay curled on his side, deep under the sail-stitched blanket, hoodie hood tugged halfway over his head. Pebble was tucked tight to his chest. His pacifier bobbed slowly in his mouth as he sucked—comforted, but quiet. Not fully present. Not fully gone.

Just little.

Really little.

Joel hadn’t spoken all morning. Not a single word.

Etho had carried him out of the hotel that morning after he whimpered at the daylight, shielding his face and curling into Etho’s hoodie. Lizzie had wrapped him in the sailboat blanket right away and laid him gently in the boat crib. Since then, he hadn’t moved much—just the tiniest flinches at distant sounds, the smallest of squeaks when Lizzie paused her braidwork, the faintest of hums when his pacifier slipped and was returned to him with a kiss to the forehead.

“He’s more than just quiet today,” Lizzie murmured to Etho, who had returned from refilling the water bottle at the garden’s fountain. “He’s… adrift.”

Etho crouched beside her. “I noticed. His regression’s deeper than usual. Not sad, exactly—just real small.”

Lizzie resumed braiding slowly, fingers steady. “He’s been holding in so much. All that pressure to be okay, even after the movie night. Even after the panic. And now that things are still, it’s finally catching up.”

Etho nodded. “He’s letting go.”

Joel’s small body twitched once under the blanket. Then, after a moment, he stretched an arm out from under the covers and reached—wobbly fingers curling around the air until they caught on Lizzie’s sleeve.

She froze.

Then gently cradled his hand between both of hers.

“Hey, jellybean,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Joel didn't answer. He just gave the tiniest, barely-there squeeze.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t make a fuss. But his breathing hitched like his chest had just remembered it could finally soften.

Etho leaned in. “Anything you need, bud. You don’t even have to say it. We’ll figure it out.”

Joel’s head shifted just a bit. A muffled noise escaped his pacifier, high-pitched and unsure. Then a barely-whispered syllable, lost between his lips:

“Gwin…”

Lizzie blinked. “Grian?”

Joel nodded slowly, eyes glassy.

“You want Grian?” Etho asked gently. “To come play?”

A tiny, whimpery breath. Then: “P’ease.”

Lizzie melted. “Oh, baby bean.”

Etho squeezed Joel’s blanket-covered foot gently. “I’ll go find him. You stay cozy.”

Joel didn’t answer—just curled tighter, pacifier bobbing again, Pebble tucked like armor under his chin.

It didn’t take long.

Grian arrived within ten minutes, wings fluttering with care, shoes kicked off at the garden gate. His usual chaos was nowhere to be seen. He padded softly over the moss and crouched beside the boat crib, eyes warm and kind.

“Hi, Joel,” he said softly. “You asked for me?”

Joel peeked out.

Just barely.

But he nodded.

Grian didn’t climb in. Didn’t joke. Just knelt beside the crib and rested his arms on the edge.

“I missed you,” he said simply. “Been working on a floating base idea. Thought maybe we could design the sails together?”

Joel blinked at him, lips still wrapped around his paci.

He stretched one hand out—slow, uncertain—and pressed his palm gently to Grian’s sleeve.

Grian’s heart just about split in two.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m here, jellybean.”

Lizzie handed Grian a soft plush starfish from the toy crate beside the tree. Grian gave it to Joel without a word. Joel hugged it tightly.

Then he pointed at the empty spot beside the boat.

Grian sat.

He didn’t ask questions.

He didn’t expect conversation.

He just sat.

And together, they watched the breeze move the vines, and the sun dapple through the leaves, and Pebble and the starfish tucked together on the edge of the boat.

Joel didn’t need to talk to feel heard.

Didn’t need to play loud to know he belonged.

He’d asked.

And someone had come.

Chapter Text

The day started slow, just the way Joel liked it.

Sunlight spilled through the hanging vines, and the garden buzzed with lazy warmth. Joel was curled up in his boat crib with his pacifier and Pebble, his sailboat blanket tucked all the way up to his nose. He wasn’t asleep—just still. Letting the world move soft and slow around him.

Etho was making tea under the willow. Lizzie sat nearby, brushing Joel’s hair into a loose braid. She hummed under her breath—something soft and sea-shaped. Joel didn’t talk much, just blinked, dreamy and quiet. He’d been this small all week. A little braver each day. A little more at home.

Until someone stepped into the garden gate.

Lizzie looked up. Etho stilled.

It was Xisuma.

No helmet. No red admin trim. Just a hoodie, pulled up over his head like armor, and soft socks brushing the moss.

Joel blinked and sucked gently on his paci.

“Sooma…” he whispered.

Lizzie tilted her head. “You know him, jellybean?”

Joel nodded. “He ‘dmin. But nice.”

Xisuma hesitated on the edge of the garden. Not out of fear—but sadness. A weight behind his eyes. His hands tugged at his sleeves like he didn’t quite know where to put them.

Lizzie stood and walked over slowly. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

Xisuma gave a tiny, tired smile. “Not really.”

Etho appeared beside him. “Doc and Keralis?”

Xisuma nodded. “They had to log off. Some real-world stuff. I’m fine, just… not very big today.”

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Lizzie said warmly. “Joel’s been tiny all morning. The crib’s got plenty of room beside it.”

Xisuma looked at Joel, tucked safe and small in the boat crib. Joel blinked back at him with slow, glassy eyes—and after a second, patted the spot next to him on the boat rail.

“Sooma come sit,” he mumbled around the pacifier.

“You sure?” Xisuma asked softly.

Joel nodded. “Is boat. Boats for floatin’. When feewings heavy.”

Something in Xisuma’s expression cracked at that.

He padded over quietly and sat beside the boat, knees drawn in, hoodie sleeves over his hands.

“I’m not used to being little without Doc or Keralis,” he admitted. “They usually notice before I do. And today I woke up and… they weren’t there.”

Joel shifted, his blanket falling down a little. He reached one hand over the edge of the boat and pressed it gently to Xisuma’s.

Lizzie watched it happen and smiled. “I’ll be just over there, okay? You boys holler if you need anything.”

Etho passed Joel a little boat-shaped pillow for cuddling, then wandered back toward the lounge stairs.

Joel didn’t talk much. He didn’t need to. He just leaned his little arm over the edge of the crib until it rested on Xisuma’s shoulder and gave the softest pat.

“S’okay,” he whispered. “I miss fwiends too.”

Xisuma swallowed. “You do?”

Joel nodded.

“Was scared after da movie,” he murmured. “Felt too big. Nuffin felt safe.”

“And now?” Xisuma asked gently.

Joel looked around at the soft vines and the blanket sails and the warm spot Lizzie had braided into his hoodie strings.

“Now I float.”

Xisuma exhaled shakily. “That sounds nice.”

Joel reached into the crib, found Pebble, and with great ceremony, handed him over.

“Sometime, pebble help float too.”

Xisuma accepted the plush turtle like it was made of gold.

They sat like that for a while. Joel curled small and calm in the crib, and Xisuma resting beside it, hoodie up, face soft. Eventually, Joel passed him a second blanket—light blue with clouds stitched like sails—and Xisuma laid down beside the crib, hand still holding Pebble.

“You’re good at being little,” he murmured.

Joel’s paci bobbed sleepily. “You too.”

And in the hush of that quiet garden, one boy in a crib and one beside it, two Littles floated together—safe, steady, not alone.