So I waited a bit before posting this since I finished the next chapter and am trying to write chapter five. I'm honestly thinking about kinda keeping these chapters short or something. But, well, we'll just have to see how this all will turn out huh?
Timothy's doctor had pulled back from him. The older man's mustache looked like it was wiggling, if only a little bit, as he scrutinized Timothy's form.
According to mother, while she was getting the car, she not only called his doctor, but sent people to grab Timothy an array of clothes. And on their ride back from the city, it was quiet. Unlike the city itself. It was… somber.
Timothy's doctor was already there by the time they got back, and Timothy could see the shock on the doctor's face. But the man quickly went to work. Starting with Timothy's feet.
So there Timothy was, in his room, on the bed that was never used, in his new, better fitting clothes, finishing up with his examination.
(It was perhaps the strangest of them all. Being in his home which he lived in his whole life and seeing how much smaller it was. He could see almost everything now. How his little house sat upon its table; how the once empty wardrobe now held clothes. The one lone painting hung above the dresser, and the lack of mirrors within the room itself. It felt… suffocating.)
And the doctor was giving a heavy sigh.
That wasn't good. It never was.
"Well?" Mother demanded.
"How is he?" Father asked.
Timothy watched as his doctor pursed his lips. His mouth wasn't quite hidden behind his mustache. The man turned to his parents and said, "he's fine. His only problem is his feet. As long as they're clean and the bandages are properly changed, he won't get an infection."
Mother didn't quite like the information as much as father did. Timothy could tell.
"What do you mean?" Mother's voice held some ire in it.
It felt like a rarity for Timothy to hear that in her voice.
"Does this mean Tim's…?" Father trailed off, turning to look at Timothy.
Timothy looked back and forth between his parents and his doctor. He too, wanted to know what this meant.
"It means your son is a perfectly healthy, normal nine year old boy. Happy birthday by the way, Timothy." The doctor said, only adding the last part as if he had just remembered it.
"Thank you, doctor." Timothy nodded.
His doctor nodded back.
"You must understand, Mrs. Drake, Mr. Drake, that this is something remarkable and never heard of before. Your son is truly a marvel and has baffled my colleagues and I for as long as he has been alive. Mrs. Drake, you didn't even know you were pregnant until after you came to us due to an unknown illness, and ended up giving birth to the boy. Born the size of a peanut, yet perfectly healthy I might add. No disabilities of any kind other than the sheer size of him. The amount of math we did in order to figure out his nutrition plan, the probability of growth, how much to give him for vaccinations… I could go on, but you know all of this. And here we are, with your son suddenly roughly the size of your average nine year old boy-"
"What do you mean 'roughly the size of your average nine year old boy'? He is the size of your average nine year old boy!" Father suddenly bursted out.
It felt even more rare for Timothy to see his father express rage. It felt rather strange… and a little frightening.
Timothy's doctor was calm. A different sort of calm that his mother was. "He just so happens to be a little smaller. If he were born normally, he would probably just always be only a little smaller than everyone else like he is right now. If your son truly stays like this and doesn't regress, I wouldn't be surprised if he never reach five feet and eight inches."
He watched as his father cool down at the doctor's words. "So. Is he going to grow up like a normal kid or is he going to shrink back down?"
Timothy, too, wanted to know.
Timothy wanted to go outside and play like other children. Go to the park, make friends. He wanted to go to school and learn things that other children were learning.
He wanted to find out about the giant plants and the bat man and his partner.
Absentmindedly, he began to think about the status of his body. That he was now tall enough to read the books in their library. That he could go fix himself meals in the kitchen. It would be much easier to learn how to cook this way.
But he also began to think about how he… felt. How much heavier he was. How his heart began to pound faster. In fact he began to feel the palm of his hands get sweaty. And he… began to ache.
"I'm not-"
A scream tore its way out of Timothy's throat as a sudden, sharp, intense pain rippled throughout his body. The pain was just as enormous as before. His eyes were practically glued shut. He could not hear anything over the sound of his screams. It hurt so much.
Timothy… might've blacked out. For the next thing he knew, he was underneath a very heavy cloth.
His whole body was shivering. His eyes leaked tears. He doesn't recognize the textile to any of his blankets…
"Timothy?" A loud soft voice calls for him.
Somehow he turned into a fish as his mouth only opened and closed continuously with no noise getting out. Shuddering a deep breath, Timothy tried again.
"I'm here!" He called out.
Still shivering, Timothy tried to find an exit. That was, until the cloth began to lift up, and light began to enter through a growing tunnel. There, at the end of the tunnel, was a giant figure.
That unmistakable mustache, the receding hairline, and that odd freckle pattern that looked an awful lot like the constellation Oron on the left cheek. There was no doubt about it. It was his doctor.
And if his doctor was that big then…
More tears fell from Timothy's eyes at the realization. He was small again.
He'll never go out to be with other children and play. He'll never make friends. He'll never go to parks. He'll never go to school. He'll never… he'll never…
He'll never get to experience the world like he did earlier that day, ever again. With strange plants, growing boys, bat men, and their colorful partners.
The rest of the doctor's visit went by like a haze. He hardly remembered anything that had happened. For all that Timothy knew, he might've automatically settled down. All he knew was that one moment the doctor was staring at him through his now, very ill fitted clothes, and the next, he was sitting in his special chair, wearing his usual clothes.
He recognized the space as the living room. With a nonfictional fireplace, and an abundance of expensive furniture and ornaments. What he was surprised about was the fact that not only was his house open, but his mother had set up a chair in front of him.
"So you're back with us." Mother stated. It was like she was talking about the weather with how dry her tone was. "You were in this very odd state between being settled down and being rowdy."
"I'm sorry, mother." Timothy apologized.
"Speak louder, Timothy."
"Yes mother." He did as told. He then repeated, "I'm sorry, mother."
She hummed. Her frozen eyes studied his tiny form. "Your father and I talked."
A chill ran through him. It's hardly a good thing when his parents talked to each other. Or at least, tell him that they've talked to each other.
"We have agreed that you are to never go outside again." And there it was. She always did get to the point of things. "Before you even say a thing, Timothy, I will explain as to why. It is incredibly dangerous out there, especially in this city of Gotham. Do you know how incredibly lucky you are? Who knows what would have happened to you. You could have been trampled. Any plants you came into contact with could have been so poisonous by just breathing in any pollen or something of the like. You could have been attacked by some desperate street rat taking advantage of the chaos. You could have gotten lost and eventually die of starvation. Infection. Dehydration. Heat stroke or hyperthermia. I could go on."
"No, mother. I understand." He did. He really, truly did.
Her stare did wonders to make him feel even smaller. "See to it. Now. Your father and I will be very busy with fixing up the company. Afterwards we will leave the country."
"Yes, mother."
She did not elaborate as to where they were going. She hardly does.
She left. He sat there. All alone.
With a burning desire to go outside once again. To see plants grow at an astonishing rate. To suddenly grow along with them. To run in alleyways, and see blue skies with clouds and smoke and, and, and-
That flying man bat and the colorful acrobat flipping through the air.
Timothy… wanted to meet them.
Afternoon turned into evening. Evening turned into night. And even as Timothy know his parents had already retired to bed, he did not. Instead he did one of his guilty pleasures.
Rummaging around his secret compartments, Timothy found what he needed.
Ever so silent he walked through his tiny house. Ever so silent he walked through the front door. Ever so silent did he tie the rope he had created around the sturdy, stone column that held up one of the balconies. Making sure that it wasn't frayed, Timothy threw the rest of the rope down the table. Once done, he made sure to be careful to hold onto the knots with his hands as his feet were still injured.
Going at a snail's pace, Timothy climbed down the rope. It could have been minutes, it could have been an hour. He did not pay any attention to the time. No, instead, when he got to the bottom of the rope, he let himself fall that last centimeter to the floor. Pain stung his feet.
A quick check of each foot showed that they were still okay. No blood bleeding through. That was good.
Immediately did he make a beeline over to the window. Grabbing the silky fabric, Timothy began to climb. It was always harder to climb the curtains rather than the rope, but Timothy made due. He always did.
Finally he made it to the windowsill. There, he stood as close as he dared to the glass. Blue eyes reflecting back to him. Even a baby could see the sadness within them. But he paid no attention to that. No, Timothy looked beyond that.
He looked at the outside world.
Bright moonlight shone down from the heavens above. Stars of varying light twinkled in the inky darkness. Not a single cloud in sight. The Drake garden were illuminated by the light, yet it looked the same as it ever had.
Timothy secretly wanted to see different types of flowers bloom in their garden.
Mother only accepts the ones that were strong and survived the harsh Gotham winters.
Even if Timothy never went outside, he knew how horrid their winters were. Either by watching the weather from inside, being allowed to take in the news, or even word of mouth from the few people who were allowed within the Drake Manor.
But now it was summer, and the whole garden was in bloom, in the moonlight. And what felt far into the distance was the fabled Wayne Manor.
Timothy knew of Bruce Wayne. He never seen the man in real life. Mr. Wayne was in the news often enough. Timothy even recognized Bruce Wayne's laugh once, when his parents held a party. The man had laughed so loud that Timothy heard it from his spot in his little house.
Mr. Wayne seemed to be a good man. Timothy sometimes wondered what would happen if they met.
As his thoughts turn to Bruce Wayne, his young mind also went back to the flying duo he had seen earlier that day. Perhaps Mr. Wayne would tell him about those strangers. Timothy was positive that his parents would never tell them who they were. They hardly tell him anything.
A deep yearning began to burn within him. He wanted so many things.
Whispering so quietly, that he could hardly hear even himself, he began to put his wants into words.
"I want to grow. I want to go outside. I want to meet new people. I want to meet the duo from the sky. I want to find out why there was a giant tree in the middle of the city. I want…" He licked his lips. His mouth suddenly felt dry. "I want to make friends."
The yearning got worse. The burning got worse.
A pain so familiar arose, and something in his mind clicked.
His eyes blew wide as he saw shock reflect back at him from the window. His skin became paler, and his whole body felt clammy.
He needed to get his pajamas off. Now.
Going the fastest he ever went, Timothy stripped. The moment he was able to get the last item off, he saw it. His whole body began to grow.
Timothy forced himself not to black out. Not to close his eyes. He needed to see this. His body seemed to stretch before his eyes. The whole room steadily grew smaller.
Watching the speed of his growth spurt, he realized that he wouldn't be able to stand on the windowsill much longer. Timothy forced himself to move to the edge, and with a grip of someone in pain, he went to clutch said edge. The rest of his body dangled. Soon enough, it would no longer be needed as his feet touched the floor, and his arms bent in order for him to comfortably hold onto the windowsill.
He knew his bandages were torn to shreds. Timothy was no fool. He'll just have to put new bandages around them later.
But for now… for now, Timothy shakily stood up. And he saw.
He was big again.
His pajamas were tiny.
The world outside felt closer than before.
'I…' Timothy began to think, 'I must investigate this.'