Work Text:
Erlking Heathcliff sat at the dinner table, barely picking at his plate. The food only served to make him more queasy.
“Linton worked hard on this meal.” Every Catherine stared at him with a scorn not unlike the one he had seen dozens of times as a child, “Eat.”
The aforementioned cook shouted from the kitchen- ”Thank you mommy!!!!! Mommies” Erlking nodded lowly, finally building up the confidence to stab at it. It disgusted him, but he took a slow, careful bite.
Erlking couldn't hide his nausea much longer, when he nearly spit the food back out. Every Catherine's brow furrowed. He could only brace for what was to come.
She stood up, carrying a weapon the author couldn't be bothered to define. "Cathy, please," Erlking begged with his love, "You'll hurt the baby..." He looked at her with big, wet eyes, clutching his swollen stomach. Still, she did not give in.
"I don't care. You need to learn to be better."
Linton chimed in, "Am I better than him?"
"No. 3 more days of basement duty"
"Oh"
She threw a bottle at him, which shattered over his head. Erlking cried out in pain- "How could you...?" They wouldn't falter. He looked down at his food- that and the pounding headache only adding to his nausea- as his eyes welled up.
Every Catherine looked at him expectantly. Also Linton, too, because the author really wanted to add him for some reason.
"I... c-can't."
His voice carried a somber weight. Why? I don't know.
She slapped him across the face. He only sniffled. Erlking's hands went to his stomacgh, cradling the child within him protectively.
Every Catherine pushed their chair in, hypocritically leaving before her own meal was finished. "One of these days, you'll make me regret picking you to father my heir."
"Does this mean-"
"Holy shit, Linton, shut up. The bit got old three paragraphs ago."
Erlking watched her leave, presumably to retire to her own quarters.
A growing part of him (not the baby) wondered where he went wrong.