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He hates mornings now.
It wasn’t like he didn't already, but lately, they just seemed to bite at his nerves more than normal. Getting up was now a chore, the stairs from his bedroom down to the kitchen an ever-pressing issue, yet he chose this over what he could (or really, should have). Would have most likely been easier back at the settlement. At least all the houses were flat.
Groaning, he braces his aching back once the last step in a set of god knows how many reaches him, his bare feet making contact with the rougher surface of the herringbone floor.
He wonders, before he oh so snatched the ownership of this place for the foreseeable future, who lived in it before him and used it, but the thought is left in it’s stride as while his back throbs like it has for most of the night, his stomach complains, grumbling incessantly.
He should probably take care of that, now that his brain has shifted from a primordial all-powerful god in a state of semi-awareness to mortal, magically endowed pretending to be a human lizard brain. He grimaces at the comparison. Guess it was just one of those days.
He doesn’t really take stock of everything he’s doing until he’s out of his sleeping garments and slipping on his overalls while sliding his swollen feet into his boots, both objects straining with the effort as he looks forlornly down at them. Well, technically one, as he can’t really see the other anymore.
He can barely do the clasps uponp on his shoulders as it is and he suspects that this whole ordeal should have long been over by now, but he’s being punished and rightly so.
If he ever makes it back to Kill-Creek, he’s going to stare Hera down at the next Gods and Mythical Creatures meeting. He never usually attends them unless forced by Sal or Marcus as he’d rather be meeting with Abigail instead, but he would take great pleasure in seeing her squirm under his gaze at this moment.
But this isn’t Kill-Creek and no one is here. In fact, there’s been no one here for a very long time, the exact reason he decided to hide out on the mortal plane somewhere he couldn’t be seen or heard from again. To a passerby, this is just some dumb human-built shack of a cabin, hidden in a gigantic forest of spruce, alone and desolate. To him, it’s home.
A firm kick to his ribs as he gets up from the shelf he was sitting on to finally go outside also confirms that this is his child’s home as well, if they have anything to really say about it.
They seem rather talkative today at least, which is a nice change of pace for him as much as it’s unwelcome. Given his chores aren’t relatively easy, it’s nice to know that they are enjoying his suffering, but also, enjoying his company. He just wishes it was on the outside of where all his vital organs are in this sort-of mortal body he’s made for himself. He doesn’t know how a mortal body can actually handle the strain of this whole act, but he’s in too deep now to really answer that question given his condition speaks volumes.
He blames Marcus solely for this one, Abigail would never cause him this much trouble and suffering. Stupid jerk and his nymph powers.
He’s in the middle of picking fruit on a small forage for later use when his stomach feels like it’s been punched and he’s needing to stop, hand against the thick base of the old apple tree as he pants, other arm curling around the base of his overalls as pain shoots through and then, suddenly stops as if nothing happened.
Guess that was his body’s warning that he needed to slow down.
Deciding to rest for a moment (but only one), he uses his paring knife that he found in one of the many trees surrounding the place to peel an overripe apple, grimacing at the sour yet sweet taste as he bites into it, the misty smell of rain following the discovery as it starts pouring out of nowhere, another twitch coming and going as it does so.
It’s kind of a nice feeling, watching it trickle over the land under the protection of the trees above, but it just makes him feel guilty and at some points, gloomy. Rain reminds him of Marcus. He hates that realization, as it’s not the first time something has reminded him of a person he longs to see, but cannot face.
Any water source or flower blooming in a sea of green reminds him of his former bed partners, most likely wondering where he was and if he was okay. Not like he told them where he was going or worse, gave them any means of contacting him. It wasn’t like he didn’t mean to, but when you were in a perpetual state of freak out, you forget about things, like other people, your personal wellbeing and, oh yeah, telling them you’re pregnant.
Seems the kid backs up this notion as more pain suddenly flies in once again, this time not letting up as fast as before until he’s on his hands and knees, groaning before sagging in relief, the front of his overalls and legs covering themselves in mud and water.
Great. Like he really needed that. Guess he was more tired than he thought, that or he’d pulled something and the kid was making it worse with their tumbling. One of the two.
Thankfully, the rain is only a brief shower and after rising on shaky knees, he quickly grabs the basket of apples he’d been collecting to start back to the cabin, when he hears a twig snap behind him. On edge, he turns to look out into the wilderness, but sees nothing.
Shaking his head, he lifts the bucket to his chest to hold it against him so he can’t drop the fruit inside, but only gets a few steps before another sound startles him. This time when he turns, there’s a shadow in the distance near some trees, the clear outline of something watching him. If there was no reason to panic earlier, there was one now.
He freezes, unable to move as another protest from his back surges though, knees shaking to stay upright and still as his wide eyes stay on the shadow. When it suddenly moves in his direction, Cat moves as well. Just in the opposite.
Apples practically bouncing for dear life against his chin and back still in shambles, he doesn’t know how he’s moving so fast, but the poor kid in his abdomen is getting the ride of its not even begun life as he dashes awkwardly from one side of the field to the other, his gait wide and stumbly thanks to the 30 or so pounds currently on his front with the extra 2 from the apples weighing him down.
He makes it just as whatever was chasing up gets out of the woods and he slams the door behind him, locking it just as another pain sends him groaning to the ground, a hand palming the floor while the other curls around his stomach, feeling zips of pain up his spine.
The feeling is nothing new, given this whole process has been as painful as possible, it’s just more. More than he’d ever thought something like this would feel and now, he’s got more to worry about, as he can hear footsteps outside.
Seems whatever was hunting him, had seen him come inside from their vantage point. Shit.
His eyes flickered to half-covered windows, as he can see a tall shadow circling all of them, clearly attempting to find a way in. Thank god all of them were locked, he’d never been one for opening them, so that had been a good choice on his part.
Only problem is, he can’t move. The pain is still there and it’s not letting go.
He tries to stay silent, teeth grit as the shadow keeps passing by every so often, going around and around in circles. He can hear banging and pulling and some sort of noise that sounds like...well, something, but he can’t really make it out right now as not only is the cabin quite soundproof, he’s got bigger problems on his hands.
He feels heavier than normal, like all his clothing is weighing him down, his stomach almost touching the floor from where he was braced, groaning under his breath.
He needs to get somewhere else and fast, so whatever is out there will leave him alone and he can figure out what the actual hell is happening to him and fix it before it gets worse. Was he hurt? Did he injure himself? Is that why he was being chased? If that was the case, it was most likely a bear, given his location, but were bears really that smart? Didn’t matter.
Crawling across the floor as best he can till he’s able to stand using the staircase, he clutches it for dear life as he moves upwards, legs practically useless as they keep trying to give out underneath him while he tries to stay quiet so as not to alert anything to himself.
It takes him almost a lifetime to get to the top and he ends up crawling from the hallway to the main bedroom that is now his own, a hand pressed to his front pocket at the widest point of his stomach to counteract the weight currently pulling him down, but it’s no use as no matter how far he gets to his feet, the pain just sends him back onto his knees again, a sudden veil of terror he hadn't felt for centuries floating over him as everything emotion-wise he’d been holding back hit him all at once, tears flooding down his flushed cheeks.
This is it. This is where he dies. All alone, in a cabin where no one knows he’s hiding, while some creature stalks him from the outside, ready to eat him alive. Great job Cat, you finally managed to fuck everyone over, including yourself and by the feeling of another pain gripping him from the inside out just as the previous leaves, this kid’s a goner too. He’s taken this too far and now, he’s going to pay for it with both his life and this child’s life as well.
He stills as best he can when suddenly to his horror, there is the sound of crackling and groaning coming from below him, practically splintering its ears almost like the clap of thunder that had startled him earlier when there’s a loud sound of giving way and something falls, most likely the front door given the sudden smell of wet ground wafting upwards and coldness seeping in from the still damp breeze as loud footsteps made themselves known.
Whimpering, he casts a look towards the slightly open closet that is just big enough and crawls on his hands and knees, having to stop halfway as his breath is knocked from him again, but crawling faster than before when hearing the footsteps rounding onto the staircase and pulling himself into a sitting position, legs curled as best they can be and the door now closed as he waits in the pitch black for who, or whatever it was that entered his home at his most vulnerable and terrified, to fucking leave.
Had he still had some of his powers, he would have thrown them out the door and repaired the damage quite quickly, but nothing about him is quick and his power fizzled out just as he started showing, so he’s practically useless and more human-like than ever as he hears the creak of the door before the first set of feet started entering the room carefully, hearing a second pair he hadn’t detected before under them following swiftly, gripping onto the coat rack bar above him as tries to keep his voice and breathing down, despite feeling like his spine’s going to give out the more he lingers.
He can hear them whispering, muddles of English and another familiar language that he knows, but can’t really make out thanks to the echo the wood carries as things are being touched and picked up or opened and searched, plus, he kind of has a bigger problem going on right now, like a sudden ramping of pressure between his legs and down his lower back that makes him feel like he’s about to explode.
He figures he can make it through it without making a sound at first, but when the pain suddenly sinches around him and feeds the feeling, making it intensify, he lets out a loud yelp that suddenly alerts the two people within the room, slapping a hand over his mouth as he realizes this, given the footsteps are coming his way. Knowing he has no choice, he readies himself to fight back as the closet door is slowly opened before he leaps out snarling and arms clawing their way into some sort of contact-
-only to come face to face with a quite terrified Marcus being held off the ground by himself and an equally as startled Abigail, both in travelling garb and dirty from the recently starting rain. He almost feels like a flower in winter, dropping him with a sudden bang onto the wood and withering around his body protectively before he’s taken over by pain once again and forced to his hands and knees, not really processing the situation.
His eyes are closed and he’s attempting not to let out a sob as the pain doesn’t let up and his hands feel like they’re gaining a thousand splinters as he digs them fruitlessly into the wood. How did they find him? Was he not careful enough? Did this mean Sal or Hera or someone worse was also with them? Were they in danger? Was he hallucinating? Was he dying? So many questions and yet, he can’t even find it in him to make a noise. Any noise, other than moaning or groaning, but that’s normal.
His skin feels hot and clammy and his body isn’t letting up, hips grinding against his overly stuffed pelvis as he attempts to stop himself from passing out, just as someone takes his hand and grips it tightly. Looking up through fearful eyes, he can see Abigail’s sweet face and she’s speaking, but he can’t hear anything she’s saying over the pain, having to drop his head against after a short while and letting out a growl as he has to shift his legs wider to ease so of the discomfort, if only for a moment.
Eventually, it slows down, but not to the point of going away. It leaves him aching and shaky and in feeling arms gripping his shoulders, gives him enough time to be picked up and manhandled to a somehow semi-standing position, only for his legs to feel like jelly before whoever’s just helped him to his feet has to catch him as his stomach clamps down and tries to send him back to the floor, him crying out involuntarily.
He ends up crouching, despite it not being any better than the floor, arms wrapped around his stomach that stuck out like a (very) sore thumb as he wobbled there, held up by god only knows which person as he can feel something starting to give way from his insides and he doubles over back to his hands and knees from the pain that suddenly washed over him again, hearing Marcus - it had to be - vaguely speaking something around the lines that there was blood straining his overalls, but he doesn’t really know if it’s true.
Actually, he doesn’t really have a choice in caring really as the pain is getting worse and judging from the tone of Marcus’s voice, so is the so-called blood he’d called out what felt like moments ago as before he can protest, his overalls are being gently unclipped and slid down his body to leave the bottom half of him almost bare and the top half just barely covered by his shirt which strains around his stomach now it’s as tight as it’s become.
As soon as the overalls hit the floor, so does Cat, unable to stand any more thanks to the pain sweeping over him. His whole body is tight and he can’t get out of it, withering and surprisingly pliable, as his legs fold out with a dull thud as soon as someone’s rather cool hand touches them, aching for relief like the rest of him. The feeling doesn’t last long, however, as the pain roars for his attention again, making him finally crack and let out a whine as he feels like he’s going to be sick and nothing’s going his way at all.
Someone bends his knees and a lot of time passes, a /lot/ of time, before suddenly he has conscious thought again and when this happens, it’s of course when his chest and arms are filled with not too very happy little bodies, tiny arms and legs stretching out and mouths wide open and fussing about being kicked out of their home. The three of them (Three! How were there three in there!?), 2 of which happen to be fully blue and another who is light-skinned like a human, but has the bluish tint of something more around their eyes and palms and soles of their feet, cry loudly as he just stares at them, exhausted and spent, before turning to look at the other two adults, fearful.
Equally, both have words to say to him. Some he does not dare repeat and covers the ears of the young ones to spare them despite them only being a few minutes old and others which made him sob like a child (though he barely remembers being one) as he tries to heed them.
He apologises, hell he apologies a hundred, a thousand times and he planned to do so more, as many times as he could before his breath ran out. For now, however, he’s so tired and they are as well from their journey trying to track him, so they come to a tentative truce in their admitted rift as all 7 of them somehow get into Cat’s rather squashy four-poster bed he’d stolen and somehow fall asleep altogether just as the sun is setting outside the walls in the distance and the pink of approaching night splatters the sky above them.
There will be a lot of talk and a lot of new experiences to come, but right now, the god, the nymph, the human and their children sleep soundly. After all, tomorrow is always another day.