Jacob could do nothing but wait in horrible anticipation, having seen Marco mash his finger into the EXECUTE button and yet unable to tell what exactly he had just done. For a moment he held onto the tiniest hope that nothing would happen - a hope that was dashed when he heard a cry from down the hall, a cry that very clearly did not come from a grown man. He turned and felt his heart plunge into his stomach when he saw a flustered little Latino boy stumble into the living room, a child of about ten panting and blushing up a storm as he held his grown-up clothing to a skinny body around which it fluttered and bagged. James, clearly aware of his regression, looked around wild-eyed at the four boys but received only gawks and gapes in return.
"D-dad?!" Marco sputtered, his eyes wide and his little fingers barely clinging to the Chronivac. "Is that you?"
"It-it's going to be okay, Marcito." Though James seemed determined to calm his son, the panicked squeak of his voice - to say nothing of the way he blushed even deeper at the sound of it - did not inspire confidence. "I...I don't know what's happened, but...but I'm sure it'll be okay..."
"I know what happened!" Paul cried, his jubilant air clashing with the room's anxiety. "It was this thing that did it!"
Paul pointed at the Chronivac. Marco's eyes fell to the screen and widened in sudden realization.
"It was this thing," he murmured. "I saw your picture on it and a bunch of stuff about you and I thought it would show me a picture of what you looked like when you were ten."
Marco looked up at his regressed father and frowned when he saw the ten-year-old's confusion and anger.
"I...I didn't mean to!" Marco insisted. "I didn't think it actually did stuff like that!"
"Well...I..." James put a hand to his head, as though struggling to keep all the panicked and disbelieving thoughts inside. "It's okay, Marco. I'm not mad at you. Just...just give it to me so we can figure out how to turn me back."
Marco nodded and took a step towards his father - but then he stopped.
"...you're gonna take it away from me?" He peeped. James widened and then sharpened his eyes.
"Marco! That thing is not a toy!" He scolded in as authoritative a tone as he could muster. "Whatever it is, it's obviously very dangerous and I can't have you playing with it!"
"No, but wait!" Marco put on a negotiator's smile and then started toying with the device again. James had barely taken a step towards his son when he was suddenly stopped in his tracks, color draining from his cheeks and his high, despairing cry filling the room as he was overcome with a now-familiar sensation. The four boys looked on with fascination, amazement, horror and fear as James grew smaller and cuter, as his cheeks grew plump and pinchable, as he was stripped of another three years and brought down to his son's level. Though Jacob was entranced by the sight of yet another co-worker being dragged ever deeper into his childhood, he couldn't help but notice the puzzled air that Rick's stare took on - as though he were for the first time trying to remember whether it really was a virus that had put him back in diapers. Frozen by the terror of his transformation, James lost his grip on his swampy pants, seemingly not realizing their absence until he squeaked in embarrassment at the cool air between his bare and skinny legs. When it was over, the adorably mortified boy stood there in nothing but a floppy dress shirt that hung down to his shins, that swallowed his arms and swamped his little seven-year-old self.
"See!" Marco said, triumphant. "Now you can have a sleepover with us! And, and we can turn you back in the morning, okay? Pleaaaaaaase?"
It was a moment before James could get himself together enough to address his son - and another moment before he could swallow the fact that little Marcito was now an inch or two taller than him.
"Marco," he peeped as he held up his sleeve-swallowed hands in entreatment. "Listen to me, okay? That thing is dangerous. I know that it's a fun thought that your dad could have a sleepover with you, but we don't know what'll happen if I don't get turned back. I might be stuck like this and not be able to take care of you. You might really hurt me or you or your friend or the babies. Please, Marcito. Please give it to me."
Marco frowned as he pondered what his shrunken father had to say, his little face scrunched up in thought. After what seemed like an eternity, he...