the not-so-secret agenda of a recently discovered Little
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caught somewhere between big and small by scooter3scooter
Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types
13 Oct 2025
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“Kid, open up before I break the door down,” Jason calls out. He pounds again, successfully making Tim whimper. He doesn’t know if his sorta-brother can hear him or not but his voice seems to soften nonetheless. “Say something or I’m picking the lock.”
No, no, please. If Jason sees him, sees this, he’ll never leave him alone. Surely his caregiver instincts will go into overdrive, eager to smother the newfound baby. Tim can’t let that happen. He’s hidden it for so long, he can’t ruin it now. He didn’t change his own soggy pull-ups, wash his sheets in the bathtub, and nibble the skin around his nails raw just to destroy it all in one shitty day.
But he can’t make his mouth move, his tongue leaden in his mouth, saliva now molasses-heavy and choking. He can’t say anything, doesn’t remember how. He opens his mouth and all he does is sob. Nothing more than a little boy just wishing that his mommy could come save him.
But Janet isn’t here. Even if he called, she wouldn’t pick up. There’s no one left to fix it now.
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Or Jason and Dick find out that Tim has been secretly suppressing his little headspace, making himself sick in the process.
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Less than twenty-four hours and half of the family already knows. They didn’t even let him know that they had planned to tell Alfred. Big Tim knew that this would happen and yet the second he was shown a gentle touch he rolled over like a pathetic dog. Eager to please no matter how many times you step on its tail.
Everything seems to sharpen, like a camera lens focusing. The problem is, he can believe how quickly he succumbed to all of the attention. His parents knew that this would happen. Give him a taste of his headspace and he turns into an all-consuming beast. Needy for what’s not his to take.
Tim was never meant to be a Little.
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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—
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Tim is finally big again after spending days in littlespace.
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