Summary: Ken has a really bad, no good day.
A thousand thanks to Amazionion for hyping me up because this beast is BIIIIIIIIIG. Like, really big. Also because I do mention some things from her works that I now consider canon because reasons :v
Of all the things that could go wrong, of all the days of the week, it had to be on his father's weekend.
It was already dark. Belloc had left him on a small clearing surrounded by trees on a small excursion they did on the surface. They had spent the day practicing his flight; or, to be more precise, his endurance. He had been forced to hover in the air for hours, forcing his wings to keep him at a constant distance off the ground and maintain a stable stance. Belloc had remained underneath him, far away enough that his enormous bulk seemed, dare he say, small to his eyes, and moved with him if the currents changed directions. At the end, close to three hours later, his wings suddenly stopped moving and cramped. That shit hurt.
Belloc caught him before he could hit the ground, both hands cupping him and using the momentum of the fall to soften the impact. Duncan would then proceed to pretend indifference to his fathers praise for his endurance, and let himself be placed on a soft bed of grass to wait for dinner.
That had been a mere fifteen minutes ago, and through the terrible cramping of his wings and back muscles, and his hunger, he could feel the tremors of his father's footsteps. He could already smell dinner.
Belloc's shape could already be seen through the trees a few feet away from his spot when a ringing, out of place melody, echoed throughout the clearing. The burner phone. Mom.
He got it out of his pants' pocket so fast he almost dropped it, his head filled to the brim with all sorts of nightmare worthy scenarios that could be taking place, and pressed the call button without checking if it was, in fact, his mother. It was not.
"Ken?" It took him a second to realize that mom was not the one on the other side of the phone, and another one to remember that he had, in fact, given Isabel and Ken the burner number so they could reach him in case of emergencies. Judging by the sound of Ken's voice, this was one.
"Dude, he's gonna kill me." What? Ken's usually calm voice is dripping with panic. He can hear screaming in the background, and then a sob. "Please, please, don't let him kill me, please."
"Ken, what the fuck is happening?" He ignores how his father's footsteps land right behind him, and a dead something is deposited a few feet in front of him. "Dude, talk to me." The crying on the other side is getting more intense, and the yelling and screaming louder. "Ken, who the fuck is that?!"
"I don't know how he got one, I swear I don't." Ken's words aren't really making sense, and with the crying it's hard to understand him. Duncan is starting to panic just by listening to them talk. "He is a fucking drunk, everybody fucking knows in this fucking town, who would fucking sell to him?!" They explode with even more anguish, to the point they start coughing from the intensity.
"Sell what to who?! Ken, you need to calm down or I can't help you, where are you?!"
"My dad's got a gun." Ken suddenly sounds really calm, almost unbothered. The words come out whispered, like they are telling him a secret everybody knows about and they have just given up on keeping it hidden. Like they have just given up, period.
He almost drops the phone in his haste of getting on his feet. He tries to stretch his wings, but giant fingers wrap around him, pinning his wings to his back, and lift him off the ground to pull him before his father's face.
"Why are you so distressed, child?" Duncan goes to answer, but Belloc's grip changes and the pressure on his wings, at this point screaming on his back, loosens. "Did something happen to your mother?" His usually serious and collected demeanor changes to let worry tint his voice.
Duncan prays he will have mercy.
"It's not mom. A friend of mine is danger right now. I need to go find them." He squirms, trying to get the hand holding him to let go, to let him save his friend, but just like he fears, his father's hold tightens, eyes hardening at the mention of somebody else.
"Then let the humans assist them. In your state another flight will destroy your wings." Belloc speaks as if the matter at hand was doing the laundry. As if a life wasn't a stake, getting closer and closer to a horrific end nobody should ever have to meet. When Belloc prepares to lay down so they can eat, Duncan ups his efforts to the point where his wings feel on fire. "Stop struggling, boy, you are hurting yourself."
"Then let me go!" Even when Belloc's free hand comes to readjust his hold so his wings are not restrained in a crushing grip, Duncan does not stop. "If you wanna stay here that's fine, but I'm not letting them get killed." He elbows one of his father's fingers when he tries to poke his back trying to assess the damage, and Belloc lets out a growl. Duncan is too busy panicking to care that he is pissing him off.
"Going into human territory like this will get you killed, and I will not stand by it." Belloc spits those words out with venom, and finally gets tired of the childish attitude and closes both hands around him, forming a cage of darkness and despair. Duncan shoves and kicks against the fingers looking for a way out frantically.
"Dad, please, you don't understand!" Duncan throws himself at the walls of his cage and Belloc tightens the hold on him to restrain his movement even more. "Dad, please, they live in the outskirts of the city, not far away from here! There's nobody in miles to help them, I'm their only chance!"
Belloc growls again, and Duncan tries to squeeze a hand in between the fingers caging him. "Their father is going to kill them!"
The growling stops.
(…)
Belloc is not necessarily going fast, but he is not walking slowly either. Duncan is perched on his back, close to his neck, because he won't let him run or use his wings in fear he will permanently hurt himself, and he has the phone in his hands, looking at it like it will magically go off and Ken's voice will come out of it and tell him that he is fine. That he is still alive, and they are not too late yet.
Belloc is also very quiet. Since placing him on his shoulder and dropping on all fours, dinner set aside, and taking off, he hasn't heard a growl, a rumble, croon or anything out of him. Which is pretty weird, because something he has learnt with time is that kaiju are way more vocal than what one may think, and his father is not the exception. The only thing that he has said in the five minutes they have been on the move has been a "I can smell them on you" when Duncan tried to give him directions.
He doesn't know if he should be worried or not.
A few more giant steps ahead and, finally, he sees a light in the distance. Ken's trailer is laying right there, still as old and beaten as always, but with the difference of a beat down car sitting a few feet away, with the lights on. The trailer's door is open, and there is screaming coming from inside. Then a gunshot.
"Ken!" He tries to get down from his fathers shoulder, but he is grabbed in a fist before he can even jump and placed further down his back, where he can no longer see the ground.
"Be still." Belloc gives him a look over his shoulder, the one he uses when he is more in trouble than usual, and Duncan makes an effort to obey. He does not want to risk making him regret coming here.
Belloc gives him a satisfied snort and softens his eyes, then keeps walking ahead toward the noise.
(…)
Ken won't last much longer. The beating against the bathroom door is getting even more intense, and the nonsensical screaming and cursing even louder. Their left shoulder burns from being shoved against the kitchen cabinets, and their nose is still bleeding profusely from the fist they were greeted with after opening the door. He doesn't know what else may be hurt, though, because his focus is solely on shoving as much of their weight as they can —which is not much, for starters— against the cheap plastic door.
The phone is laying, broken and useless, in the living room/kitchen of the trailer, but even before loosing it they have accepted that they are doomed. They could barely hear Duncan's voice through it, old as the device is, and now they don't even know if coming to save them is even a possibility.
They hate having to depend on people, even if they know they mean it when they say they want to help, but this time… this time they don't think they're getting out alive. It's not the first time their father arrives home after weeks, sometimes even months, of running around and burning their savings in beer and poker. It's not the first time he arrives home drunk and violent —Ken is good with makeup for a reason—. It is the first time, though, that he gets home with a gun.
"I'm gonna fuckin' kill ya!" Their father screams again, kicking against the door like a mad man. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, ya lil' shit!" They close their eyes, feeling the left one sore and sensitive, and for a second they consider giving up. Letting the door open and just… just power through whatever is coming their way. That is, until they hear the gunshot, and a hole is made through the door and the wall in front of them. Merely a few inches away from their head. Fuck it.
The bathroom window is open, something they will thank any deity that can hear them for later, and it's their only way out. With tears in their eyes and a shuddering breath that makes their nose burn, they use the door to push themselves toward the window and manage to get out head first. They break the fall with their hands, shoulder screaming from the effort, and pull their legs clumsily outside, rolling on their back and landing on the cold rocky ground.
They barely let themselves catch their breath before getting up and trying to run. They discover, though, that their knee is not in the mood to hold their weight. They fall again, because crawling hurts less than limping, and suddenly their father's head pokes from outside the bathroom window. He is screaming nonsense again, but Ken's fear is taking control, and the words start to mix with one another. They are crying again, hard, until a kick to their back makes them scream.
"Stop!" He doesn't listen, and he kicks again. Ken cries harder. "Dad, you're gonna kill me! You're gonna kill me, please!" Their begging seems to make things worse. They are forced into their back with a kick to the side.
The gun is pointed to their face by a shaking hand. Not of doubt, but of anger.
"Dad, please, please…" They don't have enough strength to raise their voice, and it comes out in a quiet plea they know will not be answered. Their father looks at them with so much hatred it hurts.
"You go tell your mother-"
The gun goes off. Ken hears it very clearly, but that's the thing. If they hear it, they are not dead.
Their father is, though.
A monster, a beast, red like blood and big like life itself stands over them. They know because they can't see the sky anymore. It is also because a head, so big it makes their home look like a child's toy, stands before them. It is big, scaly, and they believe they can see what appears to be horns on it. They imagine its mouth must be really big, especially if their father is able to fit in it so easily. Ken thinks for a moment the blows to their head have finally gotten to them, because there is a voice in the back of their head narrating everything with extreme detail: a kaiju has their father in their mouth. Their father's feet and one hand, the one with the gun, are sticking out of the kaiju's mouth. The kaiju is raising its head and their father's feet remain on the ground. Their father's hand, the one with the gun, follows shortly after.
And they are so calm. Maybe they are already dead.
(…)
Belloc tastes the blood of the man on his tongue and enjoys it. He can feel him scream, both from agony and fear, and struggle against him as if he stands a chance to avoid his destiny. He swallows, and feels the body fall, alive, on its way to suffer a long, painful, death, and a powerful sense of satisfaction hits him straight in the chest. One he only really feels when soldiers fall to his fire and imagines the death he will give Barnes one day.
He is, in fact, so lost in his thoughts of rejoice and pleasure that he doesn't feel Duncan scramble off his back and jump to the ground, running toward the little body engulfed by his shadow. The moonlight shines bright, and a speck on the ground, hard to discern properly with his tired eyesight and height, shows proof of what has taken place that night. Two feet and a hand, still clutching the fire arm, lay on a splatter of blood. He feels tempted to swipe them with his tongue, sending them down with their owner so he can witness how they melt alongside him, but he considers that living them there, like a threat to anybody who sees them, is a better plan. Let them know what has taken place tonight.
That child is so small.
Belloc is not one to hold sympathy for the human race, but finding love in them, not once, but twice, he can admit certain truths to, at least, himself. It is not children who pull the trigger against them on the battlefield. He doesn't think this one in particular is strong enough to even hold the gun in the first place. He looks down toward the children; Duncan is crouched beside them, checking over the blood that stains their clothes and trying to get a reaction out of them. The kid seems to be looking up ahead, to where the remains of their sire rest, not paying too much attention to his son's words.
Belloc stops himself from spitting on the bloody limbs and growls, deep and livid.
That could have been Duncan. For a second, a mercyful second that finished as soon as it started, it had been Duncan laying on the ground, looking up at him covered in blood he had spilt and begging to be spared, and something in him broke. He, who knows what loosing a child does to the mind, the sanity, of a man. He, who had had ten healthy children who he would give the world to, only six remaining by his side.
And that vermin had tried to kill his only one.
He feels his anger skyrocket so fast that, in order to stop himself from doing something he won't regret, he dips his head until the children are within reach and gathers them in his mouth. He is fast, not giving them time to avoid the inevitable, and feels their little bodies fall against his tongue before slowly straightening up and walking back to where he left their dinner. It takes them a second to understand what is happening, because as soon as he starts walking they start moving. One of them is frantic, little hands and feet kicking, and he believes he can hear them crying. The body feels tiny against his tongue, like a corpse left to rot and loose its flesh. He doesn't bother readjusting his hold on them, not caring that there are at least two legs and one arm sticking through his teeth. Belloc has carried enough infants to have mastered the art of handling delicate bodies and limbs. Duncan, heavier and lacking any bleeding wounds, feels almost as frantic as the other child, but instead of fighting against him he tries to pull himself and the other away from his fangs.
He needs to work and get the boy more used to being handled. Tarangas' lack of care will probably be a good example of how fear is not needed when in his care.
He enters the clearing barely a few minutes later. Dinner will be cold by now, but nothing a few flames can't fix. He is careful when descending from the ravine where the actual ground level starts, not wanting to jostle his cargo more than necessary, and carefully settles himself on the bed of grass. Arms crossed and hands ready, he lowers his head and gently opens his maw. One of them, Duncan, is already struggling to get out; little legs scrambling over his teeth, and a pair of wings gracing the roof of his mouth. He uses his tongue to give him a little push and Duncan falls into his hands, eyes wide frozen in place. The other child makes things easier by being still, so Belloc only has to maneuver a little and both kids look at him from his hands.
(…)
Duncan wakes up from his frozen state and turns to look at his friend. There is no time for him to yell at his father for sticking them in his mouth. He feels himself shiver at the feeling of being covered in spit, but makes a conscious effort to pull through. Ken needs him.
"Ken! Dude, come on, I know you can hear me." He gets on his knees and makes them look at him. Those eyes are empty. Duncan grabs their face and looks at the black eye and broken nose, still bleeding. "Where else are you hurt? You gotta talk, Ken."
Ken turns to look Duncan in the eyes, and something in him fears this is one of those moments in life where a person can't just come back from. "He's dead."
Duncan bites his lip. He knows. He still feels his stomach churning from seeing, hearing, the man's bones crunch when mutilated. His screaming when being eaten alive. He doesn't know if he should be ashamed for not feeling bad. For being happy to know he is going to suffer to his last breath. "I know. He was going to shoot you, Ken." He wants to say kill, because it's the truth, but he feels that is just too cruel for his friend. He can not imagine how Ken must feel right now, being stuffed in a kaiju's mouth. Their own father tried to kill them. For real.
Ken's lips tremble, but they suddenly take in a deep breath through their nose, making a face when the pain flares at the action, and wipe both blood and spit from their face. Suddenly, realization falls on their face, and they look down, to the red scaly palm of his father's hands. Oh, that's right. Belloc is still there.
Duncan looks up at him, and deliberately wipes his cheek with the back of his hand with a frown as deep as it can get. "Was it fucking necessary?" His father's eyes soften, even showing a playfully evil glint, and he lowers his head. The tip of his tongue slithers out of his mouth and manages to tap him in the face with the help of a little push on his back with one of his fingers.
"Very. Now go and call Isaiah and your mother." The hand he has been sitting on engulfs him before he can complain and pulls him away from Ken. He is dropped a few feet away, close to his father's stomach, and then is given a nudge with one of his fingers. "And bring some of your clothes." He wants to complain, because leaving Ken in this state with Belloc of all people seems like a crime, especially him being the one to have killed their father before their very own eyes. But Belloc is also right. He needs to get his mom and , the only people that can really help them right now, and Ken's clothes are covered in their own blood, still trailing down their broken nose, and his father's spit.
He also doesn't think Belloc would save them just to kill them afterwards, right? Right? He decides he has no choice but to trust his father has some left over decency to spare.
"If you do something to Ken, I'll tell mom." He sees Belloc snort at the threat, but deep down he knows the mere thought of his mother pissed at him —well, more than usual, that is— terrifies him.
Duncan leaves, fast on his feet, in the direction of the entrance to the underground cave system, phone in hand with his mom's number on fast dial.
(…)
Ken really doesn't understand… anything, really. The past twenty minutes of their life are a blurry mess in their head, passing in front of their eyes like a black and white movie that has chunks cut out from it. One moment they are sitting on their coach, watching some crappy kids cartoon on their old TV. Then they are in the bathroom, back to the door and bleeding, the sound of yelling and cussing as the soundtrack. And later they are in a really dark, wet and hot place, panicking, and with the image of their fathers feet forgotten on the ground in front of them.
And now… they don't dare to look up. They have heard voices, a conversation taking place right in front of their nose, and suddenly Duncan is ripped from their side and they're left alone. With him. Last time a kaiju attacked a human settlement was before they were born, and their generation only has PSAs and recordings and posters that remind them that survival is their duty and how to act when kaiju are in the vicinity, especially when they are looking for food.
Nobody ever explained what to do when the fucking King of kaiju shoves you inside his mouth and doesn't eat you. Nobody ever explained what to do when the King of the fucking kaiju is your best friend's father and you are left alone with him after killing, eating, your own father —after the one tries to shoot you while drunk—.
Ken doesn't even dare to cry like they want to —whether it is because their own father tried to kill them or because said father is dead, they don't know yet— out of fear of pissing the kaiju off. They don't move, even though just knowing they are sitting on said kaiju's hand makes them feel nauseous. They don't look, because they don't know just how true it is that eye contact makes them even more dangerous. Speaking is not even a question.
Belloc, apparently, thinks otherwise. The hand holding them moves, and Ken has to swallow a scream when those gigantic fingers close around him and a thumb, bigger than his head and as wide as his chest, forces him to lift his chin and look the kaiju in the eyes. The claw is so close to his throat Ken doesn't even dare to breathe. Belloc lowers his face, eyes locked on them, and frowns. Ken's eyes fill with tears. They haven't done anything and the king is already pissed off.
"Did you receive any blows to the head?" The question catches them so unprepared, and the claws holding him are so close that Ken can not bring themselves to answer, even though just the thought of offending the kaiju makes their knees shake. Belloc presses his thumb under their chin until the grip is uncomfortable, but Ken doesn't dare to open their mouth. "Speak, child." He says. Ken remains silent, eyes fixed on those pearly white fangs that mutilated their father. The same mouth they had been in not even three minutes earlier. They feel like puking, even though they barely have anything in them at the moment.
Belloc grunts, and when his face starts getting closer, Ken's eyes fill with tears. They don't notice the way the hold the kaiju has on them changes; two hands cupping them one thumb on their chest and the other firmly under their chin, stopping them from moving away. They don't plan to because they can't. They feel their muscles tense, locked in their place, and their eyes hurt because of the efforts they are making to not burst out crying again. Belloc leans in until Ken can count individual scales on his snout, and then starts sniffing. They can feel their hair moving from the force of it, and the nose, straight and rough to the touch, starts rubbing against their face. If Ken was tense before, they are sure they are breaking something now. The panic is so strong they start seeing little black dots. They don't know if passing out would be a good idea.
After a few seconds the sniffing stops, and Belloc pulls slightly away to look at them with those blazing eyes that seem to see into their soul. The kaiju grunts again, snorting smoke into their face, and Ken fights to stop a cough to break free from their throat.
Belloc frowns again and, with Ken's stomach falling to their feet, opens his mouth.
(…)
The child shows no apparent reaction, and if Belloc's experience as a father tells him anything, is that children who don't cry when scared are dead children. That is not good. The whelp shows no reaction when moved, to his voice, or his touch. He doesn't smell death around them, so that's good, one less thing to worry about, but one would think that being almost killed at the hands of their sire and then being in the presence of the King of kaiju himself would bring at least some tears. He would feel offended if it weren't for the fact that, at the moment, this child's fear would bring him no satisfaction.
The bleeding that seems to come from the nose looks slower but no less messy, and their pale skin is starting to look purple. He knows for a fact humans are not naturally that shade, so that is also not good. He also doesn't know if the child has any internal wounds. By the time they arrived at the weird metal-looking den —so similar to the automobile Isaiah uses to come and go— the whelp was already facing the barrel of the gun; he doesn't know what that bastard may have done to his own child while alone.
He decides that the more pressing matter at the moment is to get the whelp moving, so he gently —sometimes it's easy to forget that Duncan is way more durable than other humans even when being so tiny, especially human children, and the last thing he wants is to kill the little thing after saving them. Just out of spite toward the man still kicking in his belly— maneuvers them until they are laying on their stomach on the palm of his hand. Still nothing. He rubs his thumb on their back, like he had done so many decades, centuries, back with all his children the moment they hatched, trying to coax them into taking their first breaths, and when that doesn't work, he starts softly patting with the pad of his thumb. That seems to get a reaction, because both hands and feel start moving slightly, and he notices the kid is trying to get up. Good, they are aware of their surroundings.
He raises the child to his face again, and this time, although still quiet and with the same expression of panic, the child moves, grabbing his fingers as if trying to get them off. They are, also, panting. That is, definitely, not good. He doesn't think it's the nosebleed that's getting them so worked up; more so the reality of the situation is finally settling in.
Choking children are also dead children, so he decides that, even though the kid is not going to like it, desperate measures are needed.
(…)
Ken feels their lungs constrict and force out all the air on them, just to not fucking let it in after. The moment they were forced on their stomach and pounded on, his arms acted by themselves and had them scrambling to get up and away. It did not really hurt, as much as it surprised him. It was nothing compared to being kicked, but the intensity had the same effect. And then they were again face to face with those eyes, the ones that judged them to their very core, and that mouth that had swallowed their father —the same one who hurt them so much—, and Ken's lungs forgot how to breathe.
And now, now the mouth is opening, and Ken's eyes are gonna pop from the pressure of the tears that so desperately want to come out, and they can not breath, and their best friend's father is gonna eat them and-
Belloc's tongue slithers out of his mouth and laps at their face. The action leaves them paralyzed, looking up ahead, almost detached from their body. They can see the kaiju prepare to do that again, and with a croon the gigantic muscle comes down again and, until they feel the rough wet texture of it on their face, they don't move.
And suddenly the dam is broken. Ken feels, sees, their vision turn blurry as tears stream down their cheeks, and then their breathing is even more agitated, but not because they are suffocating, but because the sobs coming out from their chest are so intense it hurts.
Dad actually tried to kill them, and it took a fucking kaiju, the number one enemy of humanity, to stop him.
So Ken cries, and for a moment they don't care how pathetic they may look, or sound, or that they are technically still laying, covered in spit, on a kaiju's hand —their best friend's father's hand—, or that their nose hurts because it's still broken. Not even Belloc coming down to lick them again, and again, is enough to make them stop, and they want to be selfish for a moment, because their dad tried to kill them, and it took another monster to stop him. They try to curl on themselves, wanting to regain at least some self of privacy, maybe dignity, while they bawl their eyes out like a baby, but the giant fingers around them stop them. They forget themselves for a moment and try to push them away when a thundering voice makes them almost jump out of their skin.
"You will sleep later, child." Belloc jostles his hand just a tiny bit, enough to get his point across, and then forces them to look ahead at him, thumb again under their chin. "Now answer, did you receive any blows to the head?" They can feel Belloc's rumbling voice through their hold. This time, Ken manages to give a verbal answer.
"No, no I- No, sir." They're not really sure what's the proper way to address him. They're not even sure if addressing him at all is permitted, but they are still in one piece and Belloc seems content with their words.
"Good. My son will come back in no time with clean clothing, and his mother and a trusted friend will be able to assist you." Ken closes their eyes when Belloc's face approaches again, and tries not to gag at the feeling of the cat-like tongue on their face. It takes a few seconds for the licking to stop, and when instinctively they reach with their hands to wipe the spit off, they come clean of blood. Their nose hurts like hell, but the bleeding has stopped. "In the meantime, you will feed from the hunt and I will assess your wounds. It will simply not do if you die." Ken is still processing the words coming out of the kaiju's mouth when they are lowered to the ground.
They are placed on the soft grass, right in between Belloc's arms, in perfect position to see how he reaches over their head to grab the thing laying a few feet away. They hadn't even noticed there was a dead animal so close to them. Belloc drags it closer, leaving a trail of blood behind, and rips it apart. Ken covers their eyes, because they simply don't want to see the innards of a dead beast that's ten times their size. They can hear ripping sounds, and wet crunches, and after a second they almost fall on their back when a fire is lit a mere ten feet from them. Belloc's hand comes down upon them again and they are herded toward the kaiju's chest.
Belloc leaves his hand around them, shielding them from the flames, and Ken can't help but lean against the giant chest on their back. They are exhausted, both physically and mentally, and they want nothing more than to lay down and just… never get up again. Belloc seems to feel them falling asleep, because a finger nudges their back and has them scrambling to a sitting position.
"Eat, child. You will rest in a moment." Ken likes how that sounds, so they do their best to get up without putting too much weight on their bad leg. It doesn't work; they are too tired, and they hurt all over, and Ken just want to fucking go to sleep and-
Tree-trunk fingers coil around them and pick them off the ground. Ken doesn't complain, especially when they are sat in front of a decently sized fire that manages to chase away the desert night cold. They are carefully crossing their legs to seat more comfortably, leaving their bad one straight to not move it, and a piece of cooked meat as big as they are wide lands on their lap. Ken doesn't really know what possesses them to talk. Maybe it's the shock, maybe how tired they are, or the fact that their own father hasn't put food on the table since they were twelve, and here is a man eating beast; fucking feeding him what they would normally eat in a week in just one sitting. The tears come back again. "Thank you, sir." Ken feels a sliver of pride when their voice comes out less shaky and more strong, but still meek and teary.
Belloc doesn't answer, but they can hear a rumbling croon coming out of him. It reminds them of the ones big cats make; like purring. The fact a kaiju, the King of kaiju, can actually purr makes them feel like in a dream; one where their father is alive, their mother is too, and none of this has happened. Ken starts eating, ignoring the way they feel like curling in a little ball again and crying. The meat is bland, but they have never been one to say no to free food. They feel tears falling down their cheeks again, but this time from a warm feeling stuck on their chest they hadn't felt in years, and Ken pretends they don't feel the giant knuckle rubbing their back.
It won't be until two hours later, when they will randomly wake up from a deep sleep they didn't even know they had fallen into, next to Duncan, sprawled out on Belloc's hands, that they finally think that maybe, just maybe, things are gonna be alright. They can hear Margaret and Belloc, with another male voice they don't recognize, talking in the background. His best friend's mother says the words take in and care for, and Ken lays back down against the warmth of the hands holding them. Duncan snorts in his sleep and Belloc croons, rubbing a finger over them.
Yeah, just maybe, things will work out.