Matt stumbled forward towards the sink, desperate to look closer at the reflection he could just make out in the mirror. That was not him staring back with a look of abject horror – well not him now, a younger him maybe ... it almost looked like Tim, but not quite. Somewhere in between what he usually saw in the mirror and Tim, almost as if they had a middle brother somewhere they had forgotten about until now.
As he stared at the foggy image before him his knuckles were turning white from how hard he gripped the counter – as it became almost harder to grip the counter he realized – his gaze drifted down and he could see his hands ever so slowly shrinking, loosening his grip on the chunky piece of furniture.
“What. The. Fuck” he loudly blurted out – then suddenly stilled wincing at the thought Tim might hear and come to investigate. He had no idea what the hell was going on, the last thing he needed was his kid brother causing problems. Even as he felt like he might faint he kept staring at his hands – they were definitely getting smaller – thinner – softer? He was well aware how big his hands were normally – he often rued their size. His mom had told him years ago it was a normal teen thing – to feel like your hands and feet were too big for your body, that they had grown and the rest of you hadn't caught up. But it meant he was prone to falling over himself, or bumping in to things or dropping stuff, and he hated it. Hell, it also meant he had to beg for new clothes and sneakers of the type he liked seemingly all the time, as his mom wouldn't pay for the branded stuff he wanted, that other kids had, as ‘you’ll only grow out of them in a few months’.
“Wait, if my hands are shrinking…” he looked down to his feet, and almost as he expected it was the same story. They were definitely, absolutely, most assuredly (as the guy on that show liked to say) smaller. “What the fuck is going on” he hissed, “This isn't, it cant be, how” and that was more of a young teen whine. He winced.
His mind was struggling to keep up with everything going on around him, everything he could see – everything he could feel. He had been feeling a little tired, he was going to take a shower to try and wake up, he was dizzy in the shower – and now this? Whatever the fuck this is?! He closed his eyes and took as deep a breath as he could - considering the circumstances - and tried line his thoughts up into something at least vaguely coherent. What was he going to do, who could help him – “fuck fuck shit balls, Tim”. He was meant to be babysitting right now.
As he reopened his eyes planning to do … something, his brain suddenly screeched to a halt. The counter was higher. It wasn't just his face, his feet, his hands – he was getting shorter too? “Wait, I’m getting younger”, he lightly slapped his forehead with his palm. Peering in to the mirror his face definitely looked younger, he could almost be Tim's age at this point. So not becoming younger, but being his younger brothers age. And that thought caused an involuntary shudder – that they would be on equal footing.
Or, maybe it was just he was standing naked in the middle of the rapidly cooling bathroom.
“Yeah, yeah okay. Plan.” he mumbled quietly almost in an attempt to self sooth. Reaching over and grabbing the nearest towel, he wrapped it around his (narrower) waist and as quietly as possible unlocked the bathroom door and carefully looked out to the hallway. Empty. He’d need to be quick and quiet to avoid Tim.
Opening the door fully with one hand, the other firmly grasping the towel around his waist, he had intended to walk quietly to his room – but in reality it was a near sprint on the tips of his toes. As he sped by Tim's room he could hear movement from within, but thankfully no sign of the door opening, so he focused on slipping in to his own room and closing the door as silently as humanly possible (whilst inhabiting a body that isn't his and shaking with a mix of fear, adrenaline, and chill).
Back against the door, pushed up against his jackets hanging there, he took a moment to force himself to let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. ‘What now, what now, what now what now what now’ his head rattled with the force of the pounding thought. How could he fix this, what was this, what was he going to do in the meantime. Questions but no answers, and he felt like his heart was beating fast enough to burst out of his chest. And that didn’t feel normal, okay there was a lot going on, but he was usually pretty calm under pressure.
What was it his dad always said to Tim when he was having an anxiety attack? ‘Sit down, close your eyes, tell yourself “I’m okay, this will pass”, and focus on something physical’. So he padded over to his bed – small wet foot prints left behind by where he was standing against the door – and sat down (well less down than it would usually take). “I’m okay, this will pass. I’m okay, this will pass” and slowly it seemed like his heart was slowing and he could start to think again.
When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was his sneakers – new(‘ish, a couple of weeks old) Air Jordan Mids. He’d not so subtlety guilt tripped his dad in to getting them for him whilst talking about how hard it was at home with everything going on. He picked one up – ‘focus on something physical’ he thought. ‘Okay, its the the left one, they are sneakers, size 9 - a good few sizes too big for me now ... but fuck that, trying to calm down - they are black and gray with red details. Laces still loosely tied, clean but a bit of scuffing on the back’. He took another long breath, it seemed to have worked thankfully, so he lightly threw the shoe back to be with its pair by the end of the bed.
As he looked over to throw the sneaker he glanced at his knee, or in actuality, the scar above his knee. The scar he didn’t usually have above his knee – Tim did. He had gotten it from a fall last summer, it was still there Matt knew, as he sometimes saw a flash of it when Tim was wearing shorts.
“But - if I have, and he has – that means” the words slowly tumbled out of his mouth, followed by the low extended “fuuuuck". He wasn't just younger, or a younger version of himself, or even a younger version of himself about the same age as his brother – he was his brother.
And then to top it all off before he could even think about what that meant – his head shot up to look in the direction of his bedroom door – the handle was turning.