Chapter Text
Various blogs catering to new parents brought up the awkwardness of bringing the newborn back home for the first time. Seemed like they both skipped that step, and just headed straight for the battle of readjusting to a new routine. The first part of the routine to falter was the use of those obnoxiously big post-partum pads; an expensive online shop later, and Cronus way preferred to don period boxers instead. Even if it meant changing every hour.
Part of that routine involved an awkward bringing of the newlaids back to the doctors for the first time. Despite the name Cronus Ampora being nothing close to Kankri Vantas, staff once again assumed it was the shorter of the two who had been carrying. Cronus, still tender and sore, loved being Kankri’s righthand man, doubling up at the PALS desk to complain. Of course, Kankri was serious, already prepared with printed and highlighted excerpts from various legislations and documented rights; Cronus just enjoyed the attention, letting his domineering frame do most of the talking as he loomed over his fireball of sass to stare (literally) down at the poor receptionist.
They became somewhat of local celebrities. The Trolls Who Got Pregnant. Kankri had his Facebook account suspended on grounds of spam, having spent every ridge of his digital fingerprint politely ripping everyone a new arsehole: The Human Who Happened To Look Like A Troll Got Pregnant Through Intimate Means, The Details Of Which No One Else Is Entitled To Speculate, Along With The Unconditional Support From His Troll Confidant Who Happened To Look Like A Troll And Also Was The Best Friend And Hivemate To The Previously Referenced Human. Cronus proudly framed a screenshot of that fateful Facebook notification in the front room for all to see.
Kankri, for all intents and purposes, hated it.
Cronus, for those very same intents and purposes, loved it.
Being centre of local attention meant that the walks with the clutch might as well have been a Fun Fair attraction. Eventually, Kankri got a little box with a coin slot; if folks wanted to gawk at some non-Mother Grub troll eggs, they might as well earn some petty cash. Which is to say, everyone wanted to have a look… and then promptly be disappointed as they were wrapped to buggery to keep warm and shaded.
Of course, they didn’t have to bring them out. Cronus helped Kankri take one of the incubators upstairs, setting it in one of the spare bedrooms. It was quite easily decided that the top floor would be permanently inhabited, acting as their flat. It did mean that Kankri had to dip into his precious savings again, installing a basement where accommodation for funky-shift volunteers to find respite.
Kankri was right (he was always right): his hive was much more suitable for a new family. It was also comforting to Cronus that, once he had to return to work, he need not worry as Kankri (or others) would be on site.
His hive wasn’t quite gathering dust, but it was on both of their minds as what to do with it. Would they sell it? Get a nice chunk of cash to play with? Or would they succumb to the tsunami of AirBnB culture? And get pocket money with each infrequent booking? Until the industry collapses in on itself in a catastrophic fashion?
Both hives were used as grounds for celebrations. Once Cronus felt presentable, and Kankri had instructed visitors with a sensible list of rules (“C’monnnn, you don’t need to tell folks not to kiss eggs, I don’t think they can be that stupid” “You would be deeply disturbed with my findings”) they hosted a number of get-togethers. Friends and found-family came from miles around, some very literally flying in from abroad. Both Cronus and Kankri were a little saddened that some couldn’t come because they were literally in space, but they did their best to focus on sharing the joy down on Earth-C.
Kankri was also right (he was also always right): Cronus really didn’t want a human baby. It was already stressful and mind-numbingly awful getting to grips with the new normal. He couldn’t begin to imagine just how much more horrible it would be if they had to deal with something that screams to high heaven every waking moment, night or day. And that’s not factoring in being disturbed by the basement works; eggs don’t wake for nobody.
It also meant a very favourable lack of police visits when going on nights out; a human baby left at home is a red flag, eggs left at home is just common sense.
Of course, there was the ongoing question of whether or not to send them to the caverns for a more ‘realistic’ hatching environment, but Cronus liked looking at the incubator first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Until Kankri could see something going wrong, that was that.
And that’s where they went out on one crisp early autumn night: out. It was an establishment that very much catered to a predominantly human demographic, tucked away from Clevedon’s high street. It came with a dress code, a separate wine list, and a seemingly overjoyed Ampora, already having enjoyed their evening walk out by the marina.
The conversation went in all sorts of directions before Kankri admitted he would be paying; Cronus was having none of it.
“Ya know, you ain’t gotta foot the bill, Kan. Not gonna lie, I am flattered, but it feels real weird not to be the guy handin’ his credit card over.”
“I very much insist. I am still rather embarrassed I was unaware of the concept of push presents, so I would like to try and at least have this as a very-mild replacement.”
Cronus swirls a glass of claret before he took a sip. Another benefit to not being biologically human: no breastfeeding means less concern about drinking alcohol.
“Kan. I mean it. I can pay. If anythin’ you can keep your money for the hospice work.”
“…What would you like? As a present. Please let me at least try and attempt to follow human cultural customs. For you.”
“I told ya, don’t need one. I got six fat lil droplets cookin’ in their oven, and a smokin’ hot guy sat right in front of me, what more would I need?”
“…A label?”
He put his glass back down on the table; Kankri continues to cut into his sub-adequately seasoned mushroom steak (“Do ya even like that?” “Well, at least it’s not default grubloaf…”)
“A label?”
“A legally recognised label. To distinguish our relationship from other assumptions.”
“…Gimmie your hand, chief.”
With his cutlery placed down, Kankri brought one hand across the table, hovering over the lit tealight glowing through frosted glass.
“Kankri Vantas. The Insufferable. The was-gonna-be-the-second-coming-of-The-Imposter-but-carved-his-own-fate-instead. The guy who had a whole religion started because of him in another lifetime. The guy who, when asked what he wanted his own direct descendants to call him, instead of ‘mum’ or ‘dad’, he insisted ‘Kankri Vantas’—”
“And that is because I am neither and yet both of those things so it would be an amalgamation and thusly I would either be a ‘mad’—”
“— a ‘mad’ or a ‘dum’, yeah yeah, it was funny the first six times already.
“Look, I don’t know what we are, and I don’t care.
“All our lives, and all our infinite afterlives, everyone has looked at us and jumped to conclusions as to who and what we are. You fight my corner, and I fight yours, and we sure ain’t gotta follow what everyone else says.
“I love you. I hate you. Everythin’ in between and everythin’ outside of it. And you ain’t gotta say it back. And as long as that keeps going, whether we put a name to it or no, then I’m mighty fine.”
Kankri took one hand away, and in place of Cronus’ hold, he brought the rim of his glass to his lips and took a sip for confidence.
“What if…. I want a label?”
“…You changed your mind?”
“I think my mind has been irreversibly changed from all of this.”
Cronus grinned.
“Give me a perigree, not even three months, and I’ll see what I can do.”
__________________________
It never really occurred to them that their session of SGRUB was still ongoing. Afterall, evidently, death didn’t stop them from continuing their lives. And if that didn’t do it, what would? The Reckoning was only a means to set-up a new game with new players; it didn’t mean the old one ceased to exist. They were resurrected living proof it happened; if it happened, then until the official game over, it will forever be happening.
Afterall, in order to have data to mine to reanimate their Dream Bubble selves, that data must be from somewhere.
Which is why, from their perspective, nothing has really changed. But eventually, slowly but surely, they will find themselves one day realising that they no longer age.
They felt themselves being metamorphosed into something new; they just didn’t see themselves ascend.
Perhaps it is better that way, lest they fall into pre-determined categories driven by bad habits and ill-fated assumptions. Not that it ever stopped them before.
For now? With Kankri soaking in his recuperacoon, with Cronus starfished on their bed, with six eggs awaiting their unknown future, and with no less than three vases filled to the brim with such flowery arrangements, they can rest peacefully knowing that life ahead will be worth the wait.
Downstairs, in what was once the common room, stood a single armchair, arm’s length to a bookcase and facing the fireplace.