incessant disobedience

Tim’s body hasn’t quite caught up with his mind, still caught in the whirlwind of his rapidly shifting headspace. The growing headache is no surprise, just another thing that he ought to be accustomed to by now.

He blinks through the pain, a familiar habit, and scooches away from the caregivers. Though the onesie does not construct his movement, he’s hyperaware that his crawling shows off the puff of his diaper. Tim will never convince his brothers that he’s big if he continues to appear so utterly infantile.

“Nuh uh,” Tim finally rasps, voice rusty from disuse. “No, no, no.” Tim is not begging yet but he will be if they don’t put down that bottle soon. He doesn’t need the anti-suppressants anymore. His body isn’t nearly as agonized as it was when Jason initially found him, so there’s no reason for the lack of energy he has now.

Depending on adrenaline can only get him so far, but it’s all he has to give. It has to be enough to get him to a phone. One call and his dad can make it all better. Just two little pills and this can be over. No more bottles, no more diapers, no more snuggles, or forehead kisses, or hugs, or, or—

—

Tim is finally big again after spending days in littlespace.