Summary: Duncan's life takes a turn for the worse because I said so :v

Duncan is sure he is going to die. He keeps running, though, with his eyes locked in front of him, focused on the darkness of the tunnel trying not to trip on the rocks and cracks that threaten to hand him over on a silver platter, and away from the roaring and thumping that follows closely behind him. It's hard, though, because the tears make seeing what's in front of him fucking hard and he's running out of breath. He's been running for so long, and the last week he hasn't been allowed to even walk on his own; his legs are shaking, his feet hurt, because he can't waste precious seconds trying to dodge every obstacle in his way, and a voice in his head tells him that he still has time to give up. To stop running, let the thumping and roaring get closer and just accept what's coming next.

He keeps running, though. He keeps running because everything has changed and he still doesn't fully understand what's happening. The only things he has managed to get clear are that mom is not here anymore, no matter how much he cries and begs and kicks about it, and that if he steps foot outside he is as good as dead. He hates it. He hates it so much that he can not hold the tears back any longer and cries —even though he knows that will only make things worse. He will smell the tears and go mad. Again—, and he is so, so tempted to yell for her; to scream for her to save him, take him away from all this mess and tell him how much she loves him. He is so close to doing it that he opens his mouth and a half choked sob comes out before he can stop it.

The roaring behind him sounds like it's coming out of the fires of Hell. He can hear boulders the size of two story houses breaking, and claws attached to fingers longer than he is scratching at the rock walls like they're made of butter. Trying to make way to get to him faster, because he has heard him, heard his distress, and Duncan knows there is no stopping the inevitable.

And he keeps running, because even though he knows there is no getting out of this, he is too proud, despite his anguish, to give up yet. He wants to make it difficult, hard, to make him run a little bit and annoy him as much as he can. He also knows there will be no real retaliation. He'll be taken back, and he'll cry and he will comfort him, and then he won't be let out again.

He is so busy thinking about what's going to happen that he doesn't see what's coming his way until there's a shadow moving in front of him and his father screams his name.

(…)

Belloc has been roaming this Earth for a long time, and thus he has seen himself in countless situations that one would think are highly improbable for a kaiju to find themselves in. Being a "prisoner" is not new —he had been young and careless too, like everybody else, at some point in life—, but being bored through it?

… yeah, kind of…

It's been a mere two weeks since Abbadon and Astaroth betrayed the law of their kind and ambushed his child. A mere two weeks since he got to see his wife —oh, how he'd missed her— since their parting prior to Duncan's birth —the one he'd missed, as many other instances in his son's brief existence—. A mere two weeks since the humans in white coats, reeking of disinfectant and fear, decided it was just too much risk to try and… study him. His attitude had for sure dissuaded them —he would never admit it out loud, but seeing one of them wet himself after a, in his opinion, very non-threatening snarl, had made not smirking pretty hard—, and snapping his teeth at anyone stupid enough to get close to his "cage" had made them consider other options.

Barnes had been fuming. Always there to supervise any time anybody entered the cell, and always with a frown and a hand on his holster as if that punny gun could do anything to his thick coat of scales. They had tried sedating him, but the darts broke when making contact with his skin and any gas would disappear with a lick of fire or just be too weak for him. That's why seeing him have an aneurysm when it was decided that behavioral studies where their best option was all the sweeter.

Through a mechanical door they would send in live prey; livestock, mostly. The people in white coats gave up on trying to study his hunting patterns, as if he was a mindless beast, after the third time he covered the cameras with his own body to eat in peace. They believed him so stupid as to not see them, in plain sight, against the rock of his prison and, honestly, he wanted it that way. The more mistakes they made, the easier it would be to entertain himself while in their "custody".

Barnes was almost as red as his scales, his anger palpable through the weird energy field that separated them.

On the fourth day, when him laying around, not really paying attention to anything being said around him —their voices so annoying he almost considered just eating them instead of the unfortunate pigs—, he decided to play his cards. He wasn't planning on staying here long; just until he was sure his pup would be safe from any more dishonorable opponents, so he might as well make the best of his stay.

The moment his order —because he was a king, and he got what he wanted with no need for asking— came out of his mouth one of the men almost threw a platter with what he thought were medical utensils to the ground, and another one was close to relieving himself right there on the spot. Barnes yelled to the point of almost loosing his voice, and even went so far as to get his gun and point it at him. Belloc snorted, with an arched brow, and then proceeded to laugh in his face the moment his superiors were brought into the scene and agreed to his wishes.

It only took one threat to burn everything in the room to the ground with them inside to make the call right in front of him.

Margaret answered the phone, and Duncan entered through the door not even two hours later.

The Generals, or whatever their position was called, threatened to get Barnes out of the room when he kept arguing that he was supposed to be a prisoner; and prisoners were supposed to follow orders, not dictate them, but a look from one of the women and a promise to relieve him from his position in his imprisonment was enough to quiet him. He even heard them talking about how this was a good thing; how they could study his behavior with his offspring —as if Duncan was an animal waiting to be recognized by his sire and prying to not be mauled to death in the spirit of only letting the strong ones of the litter alive—, and that maybe they'd be able to, that way, bring the boy closer to humanity or, in its defect, figure out if the kid was willing to betray them.

Duncan entered the room with what looked to be some type of uniform that reeked of the base. It was simple at best; a t-shirt and some pants, all dark gray with the MEGTAF symbol on it; and pathetic at worst. No shoes allowed, no pockets, and thin cloth so it was easier to pat him down. As if a punny human object would be needed to break him out. A good stretching session and the whole place would fall down on its axis.

Margaret wasn't there, but he could smell her in the vicinity, so she was either busy enough to not be able to be with Duncan or she was confident the boy was at no risk in his presence. He, deep down, hoped it was the last one.

The boy did a good job of hiding his nervousness, but Belloc had a good nose and the kid made the same face his mother herself made. He let Barnes pat him down, maybe more forcefully than necessary, and the people in white coats started talking to him in hushed voices, telling him to behave certain ways, asking him in which ways he was able to communicate with him, and taking notes on electronic devices while also taking their chances in studying kim.

It only took stretching his hand out, going through the energy field with little more than a shiver at the strange sensation, and the boy was already by his side. Engulfed like he was in his grasp, still young and small, it was easy to keep him protected while going through the energy field again. He could feel the boy's heartbeat skyrocket at suddenly being grabbed, and he squirmed a little, but Belloc was pleased when no real attempt to break away was made —it was something, at least—. The people in the room started scurrying away and screaming —an exaggeration, if you asked him—, and by the time a group of soldiers made it to the cell, Duncan was safely tucked away from the cameras in the cage. The child's fear lowered down, though it didn't disappear, when he was left sitting on his open palm, fingers curled slightly around him, with his scales warming him up and keeping away the cold from the sterile room and the stares.

He could hear Barnes yelling at his back, screaming how if he didn't let his son go he was gonna put a cannon in any hole in his body he was able to find and fire, and he simply looked at him over his shoulder and yawned. He made sure to put in display his teeth, although out of sight of his son, and went back to ignoring everybody else. A few minutes later he had the pup relaxed in his hold, unconsciously drawing circles in the palm of his hand, talking about his life with his mother as openly as he dared —still looking at him out of the corner of his eye like he expected him to say something negative or scorn at him—. Belloc laid his head next to him, with a content expression on his face, and when the boy didn't recoil from his touch he started caressing his arm with his thumb, both in an attempt to show affection —the boy probably didn't understand yet how the scent of emotions worked, so he wouldn't be able to fully comprehend how Belloc could communicate through it, the messages he was constantly sending of care, safety and comfort— and rub the putrid smell of the military base off the clothes. If it were up to him he would burn them to ashes, but he didn't think Duncan would appreciate it.

Before he knew what was happening, the whelp's eyes started closing, only for him to flutter them open and try to pretend not being as tired as he looked —probably exhausted from the emotional shock of finding himself in his presence with no danger creeping behind him—, and Belloc took this as a gift from his ancestors. He curled around the boy until he was surrounded by walls of red on all sides, Belloc's head laying above him to shelter him from the industrial lightning that was never turned off in an attempt to inconvenience him —nothing that his double eyelids couldn't fix—, and with a soft rumble he lulled him to sleep. He may have joined him too, given there was nothing better to do in that place.

Margaret came to pick him up in the next hour, screaming at anybody that tried to tell her that she couldn't come in without going through security first and almost kicking at somebody who tried to stop her from getting close to him. Duncan was already woken up by them, probably thanks to his mother's yelling, and Belloc decided to not press her buttons any farther and "give her baby back before she mounts his head on top of her TV". Duncan was too asleep to struggle too much when Belloc engulfed him in his hand once more and stuck it out the energy field. He was elated when, after grazing her with his finger, his wife didn't recoil from his touch.

The next time Duncan visited was the day after, and this time the boy brought a notebook with him. His boy liked numbers and wanted to show them to him.

Belloc had been thrilled, to say the least.