The ultrasound reveals a pulpy mess of limbs and teeth. "We have to get this thing out of me," Kyle whispers, calm and quiet amid babbling from the doctors, panicked gasping from his mother, and violent retching from Stan.
They schedule the procedure for tomorrow morning. It doesn't have eyes yet, but as Kyle stares at the screen, he can't help but feel that the thing is looking back at him.
They're treating it like a regular surgery.
They put him under hours ago.
Kyle sees everything still.
Watches the doctor advance on him, scalpel in hand. Watches him seize up, howl in pain as his skin drips from his body before bursting entirely.
Of course it wouldn't be that easy.
A truck comes. Ford Titan, silver and large.
Kyle steps in front of it, doesn't give the driver time to veer away or stop fast enough. The grill barely grazes him before the entire vehicle flips back and slams into the asphalt, pulverizing the cab into a mess of twisted steel and glass. The wreck ignites when Kyle thinks about trying again.
A warning.
Kyle falls down the stairs. Accidentally of course. It was easy to, holding such a large laundry basket. It wasn't unusual to misjudge footing and slip a step.
When he's teleported back to the top of the stairs, Kyle isn't all that surprised.
It moves now.
Kyle can feel it press and bulge and scrape against his insides. A wriggling mass of something that moves constantly. As if it feared that any reprieve or lack of movement meant that Kyle would forget its existence.
The only thing that ever seems to help is Stan, for some reason. Rubbing Kyle's stomach, softly talking to it about day to day things, or reading books, singing songs. Acting like the good father Kyle always imagined he would be for someone else's real child. The thing seems to settle down for that.
"You know it's not an actual baby, right? Or a human one anyway. It's not even yours." Kyle says, after Stan's finished reading Lily's Purple Plastic Purse to his stomach.
"Yes it is. It's mine. And yours too."
"It's demonic hellspawn that will probably kill me and bring about the end of days. Stop bonding with it."
"He doesn't mean it little guy, he's just grouchy because his feet are swollen," Stan coos to Kyle's belly, rubbing the top gently before starting in on Stellaluna.
Kyle huffs and turns away, ignoring the warm feeling that swells in his chest.
The weather forecast calls for severe thunderstorms, tornadoes, flooding, and more. The anchors joked about the world ending on Good Morning Denver and Kyle laughed until he was sore.
The stop at Safeway was meant to be quick, but with everyone else in town attempting to do the same, moving from aisle to aisle was like pulling teeth. He's in the middle of comparing two boxes of baby wipes, wondering if it mattered to anti-christs if products used on their skin were hypoallergenic or not when a woman appears before him.
Her hair is thin and stringy, sallow skin and in her eyes, a wild, crazed look. Like Kenny's mom after a meth binge. Fewer teeth though, he notes after she opens her mouth to speak. "You. You are a walking abomination. Whore of Babylon you are carrying the bastard child of the devil and the Lord Almighty has tasked me with smiting the beast," She hisses, adjusting the old worn tote bag hanging limply from her shoulder. Kyle spots a flash of silver and inhales sharply.
"Technically he's the bastard child of the bastard child of the devil. And if you come near me or my son I'll drive those fucking knitting needles into your eyes." Kyle smiles at her, tossing both boxes into the cart before moving on to the frozen foods section; patting his stomach to compliment the baby for not burning her alive or slicing her in half like the other two that tried.
The praise is cut short by screams from the woman and the vicious barking of dogs.
Covered in sweat and blood, Kyle sits on the hotel bed, cradling his newborn son. Through the haze of pain he watches him shift and form into something much more humanoid and familiar.
"Good boy, good boy Liam." Kyle murmurs, wincing as the open bite wounds on his abdomen throb before healing over, his own body knitting back to the way it was ten months ago. Liam sinks his teeth into Kyle's wrist, and as much as it hurts, Kyle can't help but smile.
"Look at him Ken. It's too early to tell but I think he has my eyes. The first pair anyway," Kyle says. His smile falters when he looks up at Kenny. There's an odd gleam in his eyes as he stares at Liam, who is still suckling from Kyle's arm.
"It'll all be over soon," Kenny says, flat and grim.
Dread overwhelms Kyle and he clutches Liam closer.
"Kenny...Kenny don't. Please, please he's just - he's just a baby you can't-" Kenny comes closer anyway.
"What you feel isn't real Kyle. You fought it off, in the beginning but now it has you. It's making you love it, making you want to protect it. Kyle you don't understand this thing is going to annihilate the world. Please. You don't have to look, just close your eyes and let me do it. Please there isn't much time." Kenny raises his arm, blade in hand. It's ancient, covered in bizarre symbols and rusted in some areas.
Something moves behind Kenny, and Kyle struggles to keep his eyes on the lance, keep Kenny distracted.
"For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?" Kyle asks, before looking Kenny in the eye again, right as Stan jerks the weapon out of Kenny's hand and pins him to the ground. They struggle, grapple around and it's almost comical to Kyle, how Kenny kicks and begs when Stan starts hitting him with the slab of stone used to level the bed.
"Stan - Stan stop we're friends - you're my friend please-" Kenny chokes and gasps with each strike.
Seven times Stan pounds the brick into Kenny's head before he stops moving.
Stan tosses the brick to the side, steps over Kenny's corpse to get closer to Kyle and Liam.
"I'm sorry. He lied, Sheila wasn't in the lobby, nobody was. I'm sorry-"
"Come here," Kyle says, kissing Stan when he does, ignoring the blood smeared across his cheeks and lips. Liam pulls away from Kyle's arm, squeaking and hiccuping. Stan strokes his little hand, tearing up when Liam grips his index finger tightly before falling asleep. The sun starts to rise, and Kyle wonders how exactly he's going to tell Damien to fuck off back to Hell. Maybe he'll send a postcard.
"The first pair of his eyes kind of look like yours," Stan whispers after some time, and Kyle laughs.