Original A/N:

also this one isn't smutty it's just pure domestic psychological/body horror. and it's just sorta gross bc i love gross horror :P body horror warning is there because baby alternates are weird freaky looking little guys.
also there's no "giving birth" tag on ao3 so. we ball

His stomach churns.

It isn't the gentle stirring or wriggling he's grown accustomed to, instead the thing inside him is thrashing, violently writhing around with much more force than it ever has before. He's panting, bracing himself on his hands and knees as he heaves and gasps for air. His body runs feverishly hot, sweat sticking his clothes to his skin as he burns up.

Is he dying? Is this how his life ends? 'Cesar' rubs his back and tenderly shushes him, telling him that he will be okay, that it will be over soon. He doesn't believe that for a second, but leans into its touch anyways, his only anchor in the storm.

It lifts him up slightly and he whimpers weakly in protest, only to nearly sob with relief as he realizes it's removing his clothes. He feels like he's burning in the deepest pits of hell, and feeling the cool air hit his body alleviates some of the agony. Not much, really, his body still radiates heat like a furnace, but it's better than having warm, sweaty fabric trapping the heat against him.

After it has taken off all of his clothes, 'Cesar' picks him up bridal style, and starts walking. Mark squirms slightly, the fabric of its suit feeling unpleasantly warm on his skin, but he lets it carry him regardless. He can't keep track of where it's taking him, he just shuts his eyes for what seems like an agonizing eternity until he hears a door open.

Suddenly, he's being lowered down into a bathtub, and he sighs contentedly at how the cool surface alleviates the unbearable heat. He presses his body into it, desperate for any kind of relief. He doesn't even notice the alternate has left the room until it comes back, lifting him up slightly and placing towels underneath him. He protests weakly, the towels are much less pleasant than the smooth, cool surface of the tub, but his grievances quickly evaporate as it turns on the showerhead.

It douses him in blessedly cold water, and he doesn't even care how shocking it is; he just sobs with gratitude as he's rescued from the torrid fever. It's still uncomfortable, still sweltering, but he feels less like he's living in Hell. He slumps back, exhausted, head floating in a hazy fog. After what might be five minutes, or maybe an hour, the alternate turns the water off and despair takes hold of his heart. It ignores his despondency as it leans him forwards, repositioning his body so he that he's sitting on his side and has to brace his hands against the floor for balance.

"N-no... why'd you... why'd you turn it off," he sobs. "Please..."

"Shhh, it'll be over soon, you'll feel better soon, I promise," it croons in response, petting his back with an inhumanly cold hand. He slumps onto his elbows, not able to support his own weight for long. He groans, resting his forehead against the towel-cushioned floor of the tub.

He whimpers as his stomach turns again, once more feeling like he's going to vomit. This time, instead of settling, it seems to just get worse; his stomach is roiling like the thing inside of him is going to crawl out of his throat. The thought barely enters his mind before he feels something push up into his chest, and he coughs, startled by the sudden change in movement. The pressure increases, and for a horrifying moment he thinks the thing inside of him is going to burst out of him like a fucking chestburster.

Instead, his eyes widen as something lurches towards his throat, wriggling itself upwards from inside him. He gasps, then quickly starts retching as it pushes out of the back of his mouth. He pushes himself up with his hands, bracing himself on all fours as he chokes. He can feel it on the back of his tongue; it's slippery, but he can feel how strong it is, contracting its muscles to writhe its way upwards. His throat spasms one last time and it slides out of his mouth, the tail end of it slithering out onto the damp towels. It's the longest ten seconds of his life, but finally the last of it slips out of his mouth, and he coughs and gasps for air. He's never been so thankful to be able to breathe before, heaving lungfuls of blessed oxygen like a drowning man in between deep, hacking coughs that shake his body and convulse his throat. Soon, his coughs dwindle into weak sputtering, and he looks down at what caused him so much turmoil.

In front of him, lazily squirming on the wet towels, is a pale, four foot long thing that looks like if a limbless, cave dwelling amphibian crawled out of the depths of hell. Its skin has a pearly, translucent quality, allowing him to see veins that sprawl across its body like cobwebs. It has odd... shapes in some parts of its body, as if it has limbs trapped under its skin; bones and joints poking out and twitching, barely visible through its transluscent skin.

If his lungs were full of air, Mark would have screamed louder than he has in his entire life. Instead he coughs, splutters, and makes a high-pitched, breathy sound; like if a tea kettle was being strangled.

He hears a chuckle behind him, and risks taking his eyes off of the creature to whip his head around and stare at 'Cesar'. It gets up from its knees, standing up and stretching its legs. For a split second, Mark thinks it might actually leave him in the tub with the hideous thing, but instead it moves closer. 'Cesar' steps into the tub, and lowers itself to sit down between Mark and the thing, shifting back and forth before finding a comfortable position to settle down in.

The alternate coos at the thing, lifting it up into its hands and laying it down in its lap. It squishes the long, snakelike creature and... seemingly molds it into a new shape, like it's made of clay. It becomes shorter and pudgier, condensed into something about one foot long instead of four. The alternate pinches the small thing's sides, and tugs tiny little limbs out of its body; oddly shaped legs, arms, and what looks to be featherless wings. It peels some sort of film off of the thing's head, and suddenly the room is full of squeaks, chirps, radio static, and the prerecorded cry of a human infant.

A baby, Mark realizes as he thinks to himself, That little freak is a baby.

Seemingly satisfied, the alternate wraps the 'baby' into a blanket, swaddling it and rocking it back and forth in its arms. It wails, swinging its little fists, kicking its uncannily bent legs, and reeling its oddly shaped head back in complaint. Mark catches a glimpse of oddly positioned, razor sharp teeth reminiscent of a parasitic worm and grimaces in disgust.

"Aw, are you hungry? Here you go, little dove, here you go," the alternate sings softly, resting the squirming creature on its chest. It reaches up to its own neck, and makes a shallow slice along the side of it with its nail, drawing inky black blood. It situates the 'baby' on its shoulder, and the horrid thing latches onto the wound with its mandible-esque teeth, lapping up the blood oozing from the cut.

"Isn't it cute?" the 'Cesar' hums softly, as if trying to not make too much noise. Mark stares at the awkwardly shaped lump suckling on its neck. It notices his staring and chuckles. "Oh, don't worry, it'll learn to look more human as it grows... they all look like this at first, it's perfectly normal," it purrs, as if reassuring him. He blinks, still trying to process the whirlwind of the last five minutes.

"That... came out of me," Mark rasps hollowly. His voice is wrecked, and he winces at the effort it takes for him to force out each word.

"Yes, it did," it beams, something like pride in its voice. "You did such a good job, Mark, you were perfect, you are perfect," it gushes, "I knew you would be, but you really exceded my expectations... you make an excellent host, Mark." If Mark weren't so shellshocked, he would flush uncomfortably at the praise. Instead he just stares dumbly at the alternate until it stops prattling on about how "good" he apparently is at being pregnant with a wretched little beast. An oddly cute wretched little beast, if he's feeling generous.

"And I... I'm not dead?" he asks, delirious. It gives him a very soft look at that, and leans forwards to wrap him into a one armed hug. He tries not to recoil from having the 'baby' so close to him.

"No, no of course not," the alternate murmurs into his ear, "You are too perfect to waste, I cannot let you die. Besides..." It interupts its words to smile against his neck. "How will we do this again if you are dead, hm?"

"A-again?" he chokes, dread pooling in his gut. Something else stirs in him too, a feeling he can't identify.

"Yes, again. Over, and over again, until humanity crumbles to its knees," it kisses his temple softly as it tells him this, as if it isn't telling him he's doomed to neverending torture for the rest of his life. "You will live to see the end of the world, and you will help me ensure that it happens."

He looks down at the bundle of flesh lapping up the alternate's blood like a leech. That's what it's for, isn't it? To grow up into another alternate that will kill even more people. He's just helped deliver a monster into the world, and the thing wearing his friend's face is going to make him go through it again, and again, likely until he dies. He's helplessly trapped into this fate, nothing he does could ever free him from the watchful eye and hovering of the alternate. Tears start to gather up in his eyes, and drip down his cheeks.

"Aw, don't be like that, Mark. You'll start to like your new purpose eventually, it'll just take some... adjusting," it licks the tears off his face as it says this, and Mark just barely flinches, already used to the odd feeling of the alternate's tongue on his face. "I'll give you a couple days of rest this time, though, you deserve it after all that hard work."

He feels lost. He knew his life was never going to be the same, he never expected to get out of this situation, but... knowing the full scope of it was worse, somehow. He almost wishes it had just kept him in the dark, not let him know what he was doomed to endure. Yet, among the panic and the despair and the frantic, racing thoughts -- he is calm. Calmer than he should be, numb, it's like he can't process what's happening to him. It allows him to give his full attention to his body instead; his heavy breaths and the burning and the stirring in his stomach.

He recognizes the feeling building inside him now: anticipation, yearning. He wants, no, needs to be full again, he already feels so empty. He spaces out a bit as he follows the train of thought, foggy-eyed. He needs to get down on his knees, unbutton the alternate's pants, and let 'Cesar' fuck his throat until it gives him what he needs, he's already salivating at the idea of it. He swallows down the drool pooling in his mouth at the thought of its cock being shoved down his throat again, trying to tear his thoughts away from it. What the fuck!?

"Already so needy for me, hm?" The alternate murmurs, anchoring Mark back to reality. He didn't even feel it move, but 'Cesar' now has several arms around him, pressing him to its side. He's ashamed to realize his hands are clutching the fabric of its suit like a lifeline.

"That's good, very good. You'll start enjoying this in no time, you'll wonder why you ever resisted in the first place... so perfect for me," 'Cesar purrs into his ear and strokes his hair with its hands, making him shiver with need. "Don't worry, we'll find something to fill your mouth until you're ready to take me again."

Mark sniffles, already feeling hollow and far away. There's a part of his mind screaming at him to escape, wailing that it doesn't want this. He shakes it away. He doesn't want to feel anything anymore. He wants to let the 'Cesar' take him into its arms and takes all his worries away. It sounds so nice. He closes his eyes, snuggling into its neck.

It feels good, to let it take care of him, to give up. He whines as 'Cesar' rocks him back and forth in its arms, and puts a few fingers in his mouth for him to suck on. He slumps into it, boneless, already feeling the sickly haze of bliss fogging his mind. Maybe it's right, maybe he wants this.