Close Enough

Adam and Freddie weren’t twins. Not really. They were born a little over a year apart though and both had inherited the same basic looks. Irish Twins it was called. Though neither Little had any idea who the Irish were, or how big they were compared to Amazons, both had the same light brown hair and square chin as their father, and a near total inability to grow a proper beard. Not quite identical, they could easily be mistaken for one another from a distance.

When you got closer to them or examined them side by side, you could pick out the finer details. Adam had his mother’s green eyes while Freddie took after Dad with a dark brown. Adam had slightly leaner and slightly more muscular, muscular features. Freddie was softer and more rounded. Adam’s chest was a little bigger and so his voice was a bit deeper, too. Not much deeper; just enough that either brother would have to purposefully heighten or lower their pitch to an impression of the other.

The final major difference between the brothers post puberty went unnoticed until they ended up having their diapers changed side by side and sharing a bathtub again. Freddie had gotten the good deal on that one.

A night of drinking to celebrate Adam’s twenty-first birthday had gone upside down. They’d been caught together. Adopted together. The Amazon bartender had become their ‘Daddy’. He’d been right. Little boys really shouldn’t ought to have been drinking in bars. Neither had been able to figure out how the Amazon had managed to slip something into their bottles of beer. Since last week the only bottles they were getting had rubber nipples at the end of them.
They were sitting in their playpen, each wearing navy blue sailor tops and matching hats, complete with cute black tassels. Other than that, they were naked with only thick white disposable diapers covering their bottoms and nothing on their feet.
This was every Littles worst nightmare, even if it was a statistical probability. According to reports on ‘Maturosis’ almost every Little family had someone in their tree with Maturosis expressing itself. If you had a sibling, chances are one of you would end up back in diapers sometime after puberty but long before senility. The Amazons used such statistics to prove the validity of their pseudo-science. Littles in the know saw it for what it was: A flex. Don’t try to avoid being pushed back into the nursery; it was inevitable.

Back when they were growing up and shared a bunk bed, the brothers had fantasized about what they’d do if one of them ever got caught; usually with the fantasy ending with the free one being the hero and busting his brother out of there through cunning and guile. Neither had imagined that they’d both get scooped up, held down and depantsed. Such fantasies were for kids anyways. Both of them were all done growing up, now.

“Ugh,” Freddie groaned, clutching his stomach. “Not again…!” He put his bottle to the mat, and shifted from his bottom onto all fours.

Adam put his down, too, but remained seated. “Aw, come one Freddie.”

“Can’t…help…it…” Freddie’s words turned into low mumbling groans as the back seat of his diaper ballooned out and Freddie filled up his non-existent pants.

Adam looked away, and pretended the world outside the white mesh of the playpen was more interesting than it was. He kept drinking the white sloshy milk, hoping that the sound of his own suckling would mask Freddie’s groans, or crinkling of his diaper, or the bodily noises coming out of his older brother’s backside.

He looked back over at Freddie when the noises stopped and his breathing came out as tired puppy-like panting. The boys had been potty trained at about the same time. Their parents had wanted to get rid of diapers altogether in one stroke. Adam used to think that that meant he was potty trained early. Now, he thought it meant that Freddie had been trained too late. Only one of them had any memories of pooping their pants, and Freddie was picking the habit back up like riding a bike.

That wasn’t fair, Adam told himself. It wasn’t his big brother’s fault. Nor did Adam have much room to brag. His diaper was just as wet as Freddie’s, bulging out from the pressure of the pulp expanding so much. The Little-Ade their Daddy kept giving them in the mornings somehow overhydrated them; made them feel like they needed to pee constantly and holding it for more than a few minutes at a time was nearly unbearable. It was like what being sloshed did to your bladder, but without the fun part of being drunk.

“Here you go my Little waterspouts,” Daddy would say as soon as they were changed first thing in the morning. The diapers didn’t stay dry for long.

Whatever was in the ‘milk’ Daddy gave them wreaked similar havoc on their guts. It filled them up enough to where come lunchtime they could feel full with just a jar of baby food, but it also made them gassy as anything; and it was hard to get out of their system.

“Two babies need burping,” Daddy would proclaim.

It seemed to affect Freddie much harder. Adam’s guts were grumbling too, but he had enough control, pain tolerance, and stubbornness to hold back. At least he wouldn’t ‘assume the position’ right away.

The sound of his big brother suffering drew their new Daddy’s attention. “Uh oh. Did my baby boys make a present for me?” He reached down and patted Freddie on the behind. “Yup. There’s a nice present.” He repositioned Freddie back into a sitting position. He stuck the half-finished bottle back in Freddie’s mouth. Freddie had no choice but to grab hold of both hands and keep suckling. “That’s my good boy.”

He walked around the perimeter of the playpen and pulled back the waistband of Adam’s diaper. “Nope, not yet.” He patted Adam on the top of his head. “We’ll get there.”

Adam shuddered at that.

“Finish your ba-bas boys. Then Daddy will burp you and change you if you need it.”

‘If you need it’: Translation, they’d only get their diapers changed if both of them had pooped. Dude had a twin fetish or something. There wasn’t a better word for it. They had to be identical, or at least close enough, to get any kind of relief. They weren’t ‘finished’ unless both of them drained their bottles. They didn’t ‘need’ their diapers changed unless both were soiled or close to leaking.

“Come on, Adam,” Freddie whispered when the Amazon walked away. “I don’t wanna get a rash. Daddy might not even use cream unless you need it too.”

Adam clenched his teeth. “I hate that you call him ‘Daddy’.”

“What else am I supposed to call him?” Freddie had a point. The bald headed bartender hadn’t worn a nametag or told them any other name to call him except for ‘Daddy’. Adam had tried several other choice names for him, but Daddy doubled up on spankings too, resulting in both brothers getting rosy red cheeks even though only one of them had opened their mouth.

“Okay,” Adam sighed. “Fine. Just…gimme a second.” He finished downing the milk and then pulled himself up to a standing position. If he was going to shit himself, he wasn’t going to do it on his knees. There was some dignity in that, or so he rationalized.

The mounting cramps made it easy to grunt and work through. His body wanted the release, even if his mind trembled at the realization. Adam bent his knees, closed his eyes and grabbed onto the top of the railing. He let out a strained grunt as he pushed the first mess of the day into his seat… He felt his cheeks widening and spreading, as the first turtle head poked out. Another push and gravity combined with bodily inertia did the mess.

His diaper was sagging enough that he didn’t really feel the first bit; it almost didn’t touch him, instead dropping to the very bottom of his plastic backed prison. It was almost like going in a toilet. The second and third pushes were harder on him. There was no getting around what he was doing then. Adam had no memories of potty training. No younger cousins either, the sensation of pooping in his clothes was utterly alien to him.

Finally done, Adam sat down, squishing the lumpy mess. He hadn’t even opened his eyes when he asked. “How do real babies do it?”
“We are real babies,” Freddie said. “That’s why we’re going potty in our pants. Adam didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Daddy had doubled back. That’s the only reason Freddie would be talking like that.

Sure enough, the Amazon had been keeping close tabs on them. “Looks like I’ve got two widdle sailor babies who need their poop decks swabbed,” he chuckled. Again, he reached down and peeked down the back of their underwear. “Let Daddy check! Yup! Good Little sailors. Let’s get you changed.”

“Yes, Daddy,” they said. The giant had a thing for them talking in unison. His arms were big and strong enough that he could pick them both up at the same time and carry them over to the changing mat he’d laid on the floor. The wipes and two identical diapers sat stacked, waiting for them. “Hi diddly dee, a sailor’s life for me,” he sang. If he could have pulled the adhesive tapes off of their diapers at the exact same time, he likely would have. He settled for one right after the other. “Swabbin’ the poop deck. Swabbin’ the poop deck.”

He finished balling up their ruined diapers and slid the replacements under them before he said anything that wasn’t complete nonsense to them. “I hope you two are ready for a big day tomorrow,” Daddy said while powdering Adam’s bottom. “Because one of you is going to daycare tomorrow.”

The brothers looked at each other. One of them?

He shifted and did the same to Freddie’s backside. “I wanted to enroll both of you in public daycare,” he said, “but when I told them I had twins, they offered to pay me money to just send one of you.”

“Why?” Freddie asked.

Daddy looked at Freddie’s crotch and then pulled the fresh diaper up. “Oh it’s not because you’re bad, Freddie. You’ve both been very good boys this week. Very good.” Adam was next. “But twin Littles with the same Mommy or Daddy? That’s super rare. So they wanted to do a study.”

“We’re not twins!” Adam yelped. For crying out loud! The guy had checked both their ID’s and seen the different birthdates.

The boys’ ability to speak lasted only as long as it took Daddy to finish pressing on the tapes of Adam’s diaper. Then they both got pacifiers shoved into their mouths. With a click and a turn of a knob, the rubber teats ballooned out, gagging both Littles and making it impossible for them to spit out.
“Close enough,” the giant replied. “So one of you gets to stay with Daddy, and the other gets to go to New Beginnings. Isn’t that neat?”
Gagged by their pacifiers and still laying down, both brothers looked at each other, afraid they’d be the one to go to.

The next day it was settled by a coin flip.

Freddie lost.

Adam’s first day of infancy without his big brother was good; as good as perpetual infancy could be: Peeing and pooping in his pants, being bottle fed and burped, and pretending to be interested in bead mazes were quickly becoming par for the course. If there was a downside it was that he was the sole focus of Daddy’s attention for close to eight hours; a downside that was quickly negated by the fact that he didn’t have to wait for Freddie to be in a similar state or express similar needs in order to get fed or changed. It was the closest thing to independence that the Little had gotten to experience since being adopted.

“How was my Little guy today?” Daddy asked the lady who brought Freddie up to the car.

“Freddie was positively an angel,” She said, buckling Freddie into his carseat. “We did mostly diagnostics today, but I think we’ll find his developmental plateau very shortly. Isn’t that right Freddie.”

Adam’s brother mutely nodded, even though no pacifier gagged him.

Satisfied, Daddy turned on the Ruffy playlist loud enough so that the two Littles could converse without being understood. “How was it?” Adam asked. “What happened in there?”
Freddie looked thoughtful. “Goo-goo-ga-ga,” he said.

Adam blanched. “What?”

“I said it was goo-goo-ga-ga.” Freddie repeated.

Adam felt a tinge of relief. Freddie could still talk. “What the…” he saw Daddy’s ears prick up and lowered his voice. “What does that mean?”

Freddie looked annoyed. “What do you mean ‘what does that mean?’ I said it was goo-goo-ga-ga.”

“Bro. Say what you said again. Slowly.”

With deliberate slowness, Freddie repeated himself. “It. Was. Goo. Goo. Ga. Ga.” Freddie’s eyes opened with realization. He clearly hadn’t been hearing himself before. “What the…? ! What did I just say?”

Adam’s mind started racing. “What did you do today?”

Freddie started to babble incoherently. “Blaga-mak-tak-urgle.” The poor boy looked down his noise as if his mouth had betrayed him. The look of panic was growing in his face. “Ug-ug-goo-goo!”

“Quick,” Adam said. “What’s your name?”

“Freddie.” The tension was palpable.

“How old are you?”


“What’s my name?”


“What’s three times four?”


“What’s the name of the daycare you went to today.”

“Marma-goo.” Freddie gasped. A full chorus of ‘Wheels on the Bus’ passed before either one spoke again. “I can’t do it,” Freddie said. “I can’t talk about Fafafafafa-murg.”

So they didn’t…

Whatever was going on in that place was bad enough that the first thing they did was silence the Littles who went there.

The topic of New Beginnings was easy enough to avoid. Neither one wanted to particularly talk about their day. Not much point in catching each other up if it was one sided and unpleasant on both ends. So, Freddie would be dropped off. Adam would spend the day with Daddy. And in the afternoons and evenings, they’d try to find something to talk about when Daddy wasn’t listening. Old Movies. T.V. shows. Girls they used to beat off to. Anything.

Despite their attempts to remain sane, cracks were starting to form for Freddie though. The third day he was brought back, the lady gave Freddie a tickle, a light one. His eyes looked panicked and scared, but the rest of his face smiled and giggled as though he were delighted.

“My baby boy sure loves making friends with all the other babies!”

Freddie tried to disagree. At least that’s what Adam hoped he was doing when he started sputtering babble the first two minutes of the car ride.

Things got worse at “dinner” the next night.

“Heeeere coooomes the birdy! Tweetie tweetie tweet-tweet!” The spoonful of green mush darted into Adam’s mouth. His mouth contorted into a frown. Bits of the slime accidentally dribbled out from his lips and down his chin as he did his best not to gag. There was more than just bland vegetables in that spoon.

“Mmmmm-mm-mmm-mmm!” Freddie’s face was likewise contorting, but his lips went up instead of down.

Daddy reached over and dabbed Adam’s face. “Swallow, baby boy.” Freddie’s eyes clouded over for a second, and he swallowed… “Good baby!”

When his eyes unclouded the two brothers looked at each other from their highchairs. Adam made himself swallow, too.

“What happened to you in the highchair?” Adam asked that night in the stillness of their nursery.

In the pale of the night light, Adam saw his brother frown. “What are you talking about?”

“Daddy was feeding us that mush and you swallowed it.”

“So did you.” Freddie sounded more than a bit defensive.

“Yeah, but like…you didn’t spill a drop.”

“I had to.”


“Cuz Daddy said so.” This was said with such certainty, that Adam thought Freddie hadn’t heard himself again; another programmed response, like the panicked laughter or the babbling. Adam wasn’t sure where to go with that. When it had been so quiet that Adam worried if his brother had fallen asleep, Freddie said. “I’m glad that it was me going to murka durk.”

The younger brother’s blood ran cold. “You like it there?!”

Freddie started to babble and then stopped. He spoke with more deliberate slowness. “What I mean is…better me than you.”

Adam’s heart jumped up into his throat. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m your big brother, stupid.” Freddie whispered. “I’m supposed to take care of you. So if that means I go…” he stopped. “Better me than you is all.”

Tears not born of diaper rash or a broken toy, started to form in Adam’s eyes. “Thanks bro. I appreciate it.”

Silence again. Then.


Adam picked his head up off the pillow. He’d finally been about to drift off into oblivion. “Yeah?”

“I am the big brother…right?”

“Of course, dude.”


Adam didn’t feel like the younger brother when he looked over. Freddie had drifted right off to sleep…

He was sucking his thumb.

When they were both in Daddy’s living room, he’d often change them side by side. First thing in the morning, though, he’d clean them up on the changing table in their shared nursery. “Such a heavy wetter, my baby boy Adam is!” Daddy proclaimed. Adam laid still on the changing table, allowing the giant to casually violate him. “You really need your diapers, don’t you?”

Adam made no reply. For all intents and purposes he was a corpse as he was stripped, wiped, powdered, rediapered, and then shoved into a romper.

Plopped back in his crib, he had an almost front row seat for Freddie’s change.

Freddie did not lay still. Nor was he silent. Instead of thrashing and kicking and screaming like they both had at first, he lightly kicked his legs and wiggled and cooed. “Someone’s a squirmy wormy.”

“Yes Daddy.”

“Good baby!” he said, untaping Freddy’s soiled diaper. Freddie lightly kicked his legs and reached for and batted at the mobile above the changing table. He giggled and cooed while he was wiped. If Adam hadn’t known any better, he’d have sworn that his big brother was an actual baby.

“Thank you very much for the present,” Daddy beamed, balling up the mess and tossing it in the nearby pail. “Daddy loves it when you make him presents.”

“Do it cause Daddy said so!” It came out half panicked and almost robotically, but it made the Amazon smile.

“Thaaaaat’s right.”Freddie sucked his thumb and gurgled around it through the rest of his change. Overcome with anxiety, Adam started to bite his fingernails. Daddy turned his head and saw. “Looks like I’ve got two Little boys just munching on their hands! It’s gonna be a good day!”

One afternoon, while Daddy was watching TV, Adam smelled one of the rankest stenches he could yet remember. He looked up from the toy xylophone Daddy had put in, debating on whether or not to try it and saw Freddie on his back, his legs lifted up to his stomach.

“I like to poop my pants.”

The wrinkle in Adam’s nose turned into a full blown snarl. “What did you just say?!”

Freddie strained briefly. “I like to poop my pants.” He gave a final, tired sigh and then lowered his legs. Not a hint of blush or embarrassment was on Freddie’s face. They were both in footed one-pieces, but Adam didn’t need to see the back of Freddie’s pants to know he’d filled it. The smell alone was enough.

“I’m sorry, bro,” Adam said. “I…don’t have to go right now.” He was breathing short gasps through his mouth.

“That’s okay.” Freddie said. He up, no doubt spreading the foul smelling mush even further. “I like it.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” Adam asked.

“I like to poop my pants.”

The younger brother had no idea if Adam was telling the truth or just echoing a conditioned response. “Maybe if you cry loud enough?”

Thumb already in his mouth, Freddie used his free hand to pick a plastic mallet off the playpen floor. “Good babies don’t bother Daddy. He decides when we need our diapees changed. We should just play with our toys like good babies.”

The infantile vocabulary. The simplicity and certainty; like reading from a script. It was almost too much for Adam. Through gritted teeth and locked jaw, he leaned over and hissed, “You’re. Not. A. Baby.”

Freddie’s eyes clouded over. “Daddy says so.” He whacked the xylophone with all his might. The resultant shockwave sent both of them into rolling giggle fits. It was one of those toys!



Freddie was spasming on the floor rolling, yet managed to keep striking the toy. Adam rolled on the floor, cackling. It wasn’t a happy feeling, precisely. He felt the surge of adrenaline and excitement; along with an almost drunken giddiness, but the surge of chemicals flooding his brain at that moment was something like a tickle.

Adam shoved his fingers in his mouth, doing his best to muffle the manic laughter flowing out of him. Too Little, too late, it seemed: Daddy stood over them looking down in the playpen. “Oh! There’s my favorite hand munchers! Eating their fingy sammiches! Giggly boys too!” He reached down and dug his fingers into Adam’s sides. “Gigg-i-ly, gigg-i-ly, gigg-i-ly!

The younger of the two called out, begged even. “Daddy! No!” Too late. Adam’s face contracted in that same rictus grin- the one that didn’t come close to reaching his fearful eyes- that was on Freddie’s face almost every day after daycare. It was uncomfortable to the point of pain, but he laughed all that same.

Tickling. They were tickling his brother’s brain.

Speaking of tickling, the involuntary spasms extended deep inside of Adam. As it turned out, he had a present for Daddy. It just needed more teasing out.

“Let’s get you two rascals changed.”

Both lied there on the changing mat as snaps came unpopped and diapers were exposed. Freddie wiggled and stuck his fingers in his mouth, gurgling idly, stimming while Daddy undid his diaper and wiped his privates for him. Exhausted and feeling traumatized, Adam did the same. Except he jammed his fingers into his mouth to stop from screaming, and his wiggling was more twitching due to a sudden surge in adrenaline that dropped into exhaustion.

Daddy didn’t seem to care.

“Okay boys,” Daddy said. “Are you ready to be potty trained?” A gleeful, malevolent grin, Daddy placed the plastic potty down on the floor.

Both boys were naked save for their diapers. “What?” Adam said. “Are you serious?” If he hadn’t peed fifteen minutes ago, he might have wet himself in surprise.

“Of course.” Daddy replied. “If you’re ready.” Adam looked to Freddie, wondering if this was some kind of trap. Freddie didn’t seem to see his brother, though. His eyes weren’t glazed over this time, just somewhere else. There was fear in those eyes., real, heart pounding breathtaking fear. “All you have to do is go potty.”

The younger brother heard the older brother’s gasp. It wasn’t a happy one. Freddie was breaking out into a sweat.

“Both of us?” He asked.

“Nope.” Daddy shook his head. “No twinning this time. If either one of you shows me you know how to go potty, that’ll let me know you’re ready to grow up.”

Adam saw Freddie. He was shaking.

“If your Maturosis isn’t severe enough, you can wear big boy pants…”

Freddie lowered down to his knees.

“…grow up…”

Freddie lowered further and moved to all fours.
“…go to big boy school…”

Freddie stuck his bum in the air and scrunched up his face. Adam watched, expecting the back to balloon out, but nothing was coming. Freddie was empty.

“…maybe even drink one day!”

“I like to poop my pants!”

Daddy tilted his head. “Are you sure, Freddie? Don’t you want to try to go potty? Even a tiny bit?”

The older brother shook his head. “No! I like to poop my pants!” It looked like Freddie was saying a magic word that wasn’t working. “I like to poop my pants!”

“Pleeeeease?” Daddy smirked.“Won’t you at least try? For me? For Daddy?!”

One slow limb at a time, Freddie crawled to the plastic potty chair there in the middle of the living room floor. His head jerked backwards away from the bowl and his breathing became fast enough to be audible. Two incompatible commands had been put into Freddie’s brain and they were fighting over control of his body. To Adam it seemed like an invisible dog leash had been roped around his brother’s neck and he was slowly but surely being dragged towards the object. “Nnnn…I….nnn….like…nnnn…to poop….my…nnnn….pants!” As he got closer to it, the frightening giggles that he broke out into failed to disguise the waves of pure terror he was feeling. “Haaaahaaahahaha!”

“Here,” Daddy said. He picked Freddie up. “Let me help you.”

Freddie thrashed and screamed harder than even the night they were taken by Daddy. “NOOOOO! Bagaagagagagagwwaaaaa!”

“All you have to do is sit on the potty. You don’t even have to use it. Just sit!”

That only made the older sibling bawl harder. He wasn’t on the rim for even a second before springing up and dropping back down to all fours. He screamed as if the potty had been made of red hot iron.

“I LIKE TO POOP MY PAAAAAANTS!” The rest was incoherent babble.

Daddy picked Freddie back up and soothingly rubbed his back. “There there, baby boy.” He said. “You’re not ready for the potty, and that’s okay. And at twenty-two if you’re not ready now, you’ll never be ready. Isn’t that right.”

Freddie nodded his head. “Buh-buh-buh-buh-muuuuuuuuh!”

From his spot on the floor, Adam saw Daddy give Freddie a pacifier. Freddie mumbled and sucked on it. No inflating bulb was required. “There there,” Daddy said. “There there.” Adam looked up and started to push the waiting mass in his diaper. It was weird doing it on his hands and knees, but he was quickly getting used to it.

Daddy noticed. “Adam?” He asked. “Are you going poopy?”

Adam felt like sobbing. “Uh-huh.”

“Do you want to try sitting on the potty?”

The world was getting blurry. “No…” Not if it meant leaving Freddie behind. Not if it meant outpacing his brother. He was self sabotaging and he knew it. Adam didn’t know if he could live with the guilt. He could live like this though. The last few weeks had proven that.

“That’s fine, kiddo. It’s okay to not be ready, either.” Adam was given a condescending pat on the head and a pacifier.

This was all a sham, Adam told himself. Daddy would never actually want them to sit on the potty. He’d never let them potty train again. He was just checking on how far Freddie’s brainwashing had progressed. His poor brother was more than eager to defecate himself and seemed absolutely terrified of so much as sitting on a toddler’s toilet, even with the diaper on.

Point of fact, though, Daddy was checking on both of their progress.

One cried loudly and needed the pacifier to calm himself. The other wept softly, but used the pacifier for much the same reason, even if the emotions involved for either were infinitely more complex than just a child’s need to self soothe. Neither one expressed an interest in potty training or put up much of a fight in getting changed or being fed.

“Come on, Adam!” Daddy stood on his knees, gesturing for Adam to come closer. “Come to Daddy. That’s it! That’s it!” Adam crawled- hand, knee, hand, knee- all the way over to Daddy. He didn’t even try to walk. Freddie had lost the ability to walk almost two weeks back. At most, he could pull himself to a standing position, but the moment he let go he’d lose balance and fall back down. Adam followed suit.

The xylophone had made it easier. Whatever frequency it was on did something to fuck up his inner ear but good. Now Adam was almost as helpless in that department as Freddie. He’d made sure to do it plenty of times during his mornings alone with Daddy. He didn’t want Freddie beating him to tummy time.

He could have walked, he supposed, but Freddie became visibly upset seeing his brother walk without him. The masking laughter only applied to what happened with the Amazons, it seemed. Freddie was allowed to cry when Adam did something upsetting. Adam could have just walked when Freddy wasn’t home, but he wasn’t going to have anything ‘special’ or ‘secret’ with Daddy. So he crawled.

“There’s my little crawler! Good thing I’ve got the whole place baby proofed, huh!

Dejectedly, Adam nodded. “Buh-buh-ugh.”

Neither of the boys were talking much these days. Whatever they were doing in that hellhole was expanding to more and more topics than just the daycare. Freddie could reliably say a few words, like a ‘pee-pee’ or ‘poopy’ (he was starting to announce when he was doing it now), and of course ‘Daddy’, but everything else was touch and go to the point of Freddie being incoherent.

Adam had stopped talking, too. In his head he had developed a warped kind of game. It wasn’t a game he’d consciously decided on, or one where he understood the rules, but at three weeks out, it was a game that was slowly building up inertia. To actually use his words would feel like a failure. It was getting easier and easier not to talk, but to just babble. Laugh when he was scared. Cry when he was angry or sad or wanted something. Say nonsense syllables when he wanted to remember what his own voice sounded like. Eventually, he imagined, he might forget that using actual words is an option for him.

Daddy seemed happy enough with the arrangement.

“You and your brother are doing so good, Adam!” Daddy beamed. “After the experiment is over, you can go to daycare with him! Won’t that be nice? You can spend all day together!” He added, “And I can get back to my job…”

Adam giggled at that. Finally! An end to this pain would be coming. No more guilt

“Wanna know a secret?” Daddy cooed. “Bad people are saying that Littles only turn into babies because of how places like New Beginnings treat them. They think we turn you into babies. But that’s not true! Is it?”

Adam couldn’t disagree more. His cynicism came out as excited laughter, just like his brother.

“There are people who thought you two would have extremely different developmental plateaus! Thought that you might start to grow up if you didn’t go to daycare with your brother. But you’re never growing up! That’s just not what Littles do! And you and your brother are proof of it! Isn’t that wonderful?”

The boy laughed because he was too emotionally drained to cry.“Buh-buh-buh.”
“I think someone has earned a diaper change and a nice nap. Then when you wake up, we’ll go pick up your twin!”


“Close enough.”

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