#xscritchx

"Cramps."

"Oh, how dreadful." Scritch knew all about cramps; his were particularly bad, and while he had the advantage of being completely immune to poison, that also meant his body refused to absorb painkillers.

"I gotta break down and get a hot water bottle or something," she lamented, holding her aching middle.

"I can be a hot water bottle," he offered. Luna lifted her head to give him a bemused look.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Sure I can." He hopped back off the couch and clip-clopped off to the kitchen to put a pot of water on the stove. Luna sat up and watched, intrigued. Scritch, she'd learned, was an odd little thing, and it wasn't just the fact that he was a real live devil from hell. He had peculiar habits and odd ways of doing things, and this, she suspected, would be no exception.

She watched as Scritch meandered idly around the kitchen like a cat, until finally she could see steam beginning to rise from the pot. He returned to the stove, fluttering up with a quick buzz of his wings to peer into the large pot, and, satisfied by his findings, turned off the burner. Then, with no need for a potholder, he carefully picked up the pot by its sides, tipped it to his mouth, and drank.

Being from hell, Scritch could withstand just about any level of heat, and drinking boiling water was as easy for him as drinking a cold soda is for you or I. What Luna wondered about, however, was the size of the pot. She couldn't tell how much he'd filled it up, but if it was as heavy as he made it look, she imagined he'd have a hard time fitting its contents into his skinny little belly. He didn't seem concerned, though. She could hear the heavy gulps even from where she sat, and as he drank, slowly tipping the pot further and further, she saw his belly begin to swell.

It wasn't obvious at first. He wore an oversized sweater that entirely concealed his twiggy physique, and it took a while for his tummy to round out enough to even meet the fabric. That curve was pushing out against it now, though, and it continued to bump out further and further with each gulp. Luna watched in amazement as he went on drinking, seemingly unfazed by his distended belly stretching out before him. Finally, he tipped the pot all the way back and finished it off with a heavy sigh. Now, she could tell, he was feeling the weight in his belly, and he leaned back against the counter for a moment as he set the pot down, resting both hands atop the impressive bulge.

Scritch seemed a little off balance as he made his way back to the couch, much more slowly than before, and his bloated tummy sloshed precariously as he climbed up beside Luna. Beaming up at her with his big toothy grin, he took her hand and held it against his middle. It was tight as a drum, and she thought she could feel the buzz of the water still simmering inside him. It was also hot--not painfully so; his velvety skin offered just enough insulation to make it bearable.

"Shut up and swallow these," she snapped, holding his mouth open and shoving a handful of colorful pills in. He swallowed without question, followed by the big glass of water she pushed into his hands. She wrinkled her nose at the loud gulping sounds as he drank. The glass was quickly emptied, and he politely handed it back to her.

"What were those?"

"Dinosaur pills."

"Oh, how fun," he said, swinging his legs idly back and forth. He was perched high up on the examination table, and his hooves dangled freely over the edge. "Will I turn into a dinosaur?"

"No! They're going to swell up in your stomach!"

"Well, I suppose that's good enough," he mused. The scientist rolled her eyes and started a stopwatch. Scritch leaned to peer over her shoulder at it, and she shooed him away in annoyance.

"You're a few seconds late," he said.

"Shut up and tell me what you feel."

"Mm, full," said Scritch, tapping his chin in thought. "That was a lot of water."

"A lot of water," mocked the scientist. "Soon that water will feel like nothing; those pills are going to swell up inside you and you'll explode!"

"Oh, how exciting," he said, and she scowled exasperatedly at him. "Hm, I feel it now. See." He lifted his sweater, and she leaned in to look closely. Indeed, his normally flat belly was beginning to puff out, almost too slowly to detect by visual alone. The scientist glanced at her stopwatch, then back at his belly. The distension was becoming gradually more noticeable, a distinct curve pushing out under his ribs, and she held a hand against his stomach. It felt tight, and it only grew tighter as the seconds ticked by, but it wasn't long before the swelling slowed and finally stopped. She frowned. His belly was definitely bloated, but the pills hadn't had nearly as big an effect as she'd hoped.

"Filling," Scritch remarked, rubbing his belly contentedly.

"Shut up! We're trying plan B," she snapped.

"Birth control?"

"No! Open your mouth," she growled, shoving a funnel into his mouth before he could respond. She tipped his head back roughly, and he simply sat with his hands folded politely in his lap as she began pouring things in. His belly swelled out a little further with the volume of the liquid.

"That's vinegar," she said, setting the bottle down and picking up another, "and this is dish soap." Scritch hummed in approval. She gave him a good few squirts of soap before setting it aside, then dumped in a couple hefty shakes of baking soda before yanking the funnel back out and shutting his mouth.

This time, the expansion was immediately visible. Scritch's belly rumbled as it swelled out even further, trembling slightly as the reaction inside it fizzed and bubbled violently. His stomach inflated like a balloon, bulging hard against his tightening skin, and he found himself having to lean back on his hands, back arched, as his belly bloated up before him.

"This time you'll explode," the scientist grinned, poking at his belly. It was tight as a drum. It rumbled loudly, and Scritch let out a big burp. A flurry of bubbles floated up from his mouth, and the scientist grimaced in disgust.

"It's sort of refreshing," he remarked, his second set of hands resting atop the alarming curve of his distended tummy.

"It's not refreshing! You're going to burst!" Scritch burped again, this time blowing the bubbles in her direction. She swatted them away angrily.

Scritch's belly grew tighter and tighter, gurgling and groaning worryingly as the pressure in his stomach forced the foam dinosaurs further along. The fizzing of the reaction was audible under his taut skin, a soft, steady sound underneath the continuous but far more uneasy rumbles. A few more burps eased the pressure as it built, and while he certainly looked like he might burst, the reaction finally settled, and the little demon remained happily intact. Irritated, the scientist prodded his tummy further, unintentionally drawing another bubbly burp out of him. She was dismayed to feel his stomach deflate a little as the gas escaped.

"You're pissing me off," grumbled the scientist.

"Oh, don't be a bad sport," said Scritch, patting her shoulder. "The important thing is to have fun."

"It's not supposed to be fun! You're not supposed to be having fun! You're kidnapped and I'm going to pop you like a balloon!"

"Why not like a bubble?" He burped again, releasing another cloud of iridescent bubbles into her face, and she let out a cry of frustration.

"Whatever! I've still got one more trick up my sleeve," she growled, turning away in a huff.

Scritch sat rubbing his belly, the immense pressure inside him forcing out periodic bubbly burps, and by the time the scientist returned to the table with her next experiment, she was annoyed to see that he'd deflated considerably. His belly was still markedly swollen, but it didn't look half as strained as it had immediately after the reaction.

"Stop letting it out!"

"I'm full," he said simply.

"Oh, you'll be full alright," she grumbled, cracking open the big bottle of soda. "Open up."

She forcefully jammed the bottle into Scritch's mouth, holding it in place as he gulped down the soda. His belly began to swell up again as it filled with liquid and carbonation, and it rumbled and gurgled with each swallow. Finally, she yanked the bottle from his mouth, shoved in a handful of Mentos, and duct taped his mouth shut. He gave her a thumbs up as he swallowed the mints.

With the dinosaurs pushed along and much of the gas from the last reaction released, there was more room in his stomach than she would have liked, but this time, she wouldn't let anything escape. He began to bloat slowly but steadily, and they both watched as his already distended belly began to stretch even further. There was a sharp curve where it jutted out beneath his ribs, and his sides bulged out impressively. Just as with the last reaction, it rumbled and gurgled concerningly, but this time, he couldn't let out the rapidly expanding gas, and the pressure built continuously inside him as he filled up with fizz.

Scritch lay back on the table with a sigh, rubbing his belly as it grew increasingly strained. It was beginning to ache, having stretched so harshly in such a short amount of time, but he still didn't seem bothered. The scientist pressed her hand against his tummy with a wicked grin. It felt almost impossibly tight, as though a basketball had been forced into it, and she could feel it vibrate under her palm as his stomach bubbled frantically. His belly button was visibly strained, flush with the skin and threatening to pop out. He let out a soft sigh of discomfort--music to her ears--but he still looked calm. She glared at him. How could he look so calm? Surely his stomach was on the verge of bursting. It was rock hard, so tight he could hardly inhale, surely in danger of giving out under that unbearable pressure building up inside it. And yet, sure enough, it wasn't long before the reaction began to settle, and Scritch was once again unharmed.

"Why won't you explode?!" the scientist shouted, throwing her hands up in frustration. Scritch simply shrugged, looking innocently up at her. He pulled the tape off his mouth and folded it neatly, then pulled his sweater back down with a shiver and rested his arms behind his head, the smaller pair of hands rubbing his bulging tummy.

"Can I go home now? This is nice," he said, patting the table, "but I'd rather sleep all this off in bed."

By the time he made it to his destination, between running and the weather getting to him, he was just about out of energy, now feeling chilled and lethargic. He was eager to get inside and warm up, hopefully with something good to eat. He hopped up the porch steps and knocked at the door. Nobody answered. He peeked into the window. The living room was dark. His heart sank, and his floppy ears and thin tail dropped limply. He was sure he'd had the time right; he'd promised Luna he'd be over for dinner, but she was nowhere in sight, nor were Bruce or Teddy, or even Stelian.

Scritch turned to look out at the world beyond the porch. The rain was coming down hard now, and the cold breeze blew the chilly mist onto him even as he cowered back away from it. He couldn't go back out. Even if it wasn't raining, he felt half-frozen by now; his body felt slow and stiff, and he doubted he'd make it to the end of the block before collapsing entirely. With a quiet whine, he sat down against the side of the house, trying to tuck himself behind one of the crappy little porch chairs for shelter. He pulled his legs up to his chest and hugged himself tightly. Maybe they'd be home soon. They were just running late. Surely somebody would come around before long. He flicked his ears and buzzed his wings, trying to get the water off them, and sniffled.

By the time his friends made it home, it was dark out, though Scritch didn’t know it. He’d long since fallen unconscious, and when they finally trudged up the porch steps, they found him curled up under the chair like a dog, shivering and sniffling, whimpering softly in his sleep. He didn't wake when Luna exclaimed in worry or when Bruce scooped him up into his arms, but he held onto Bruce, clinging to his warmth.

When Scritch woke up, he was inside on the couch, snuggled up against Teddy while Luna ruffled him dry with a soft towel. He still felt sore and sick, and a little disoriented, but he was warming up, cozy in Teddy's soft arms, and there was a pleasant smell in the air. He sniffled and stretched his wings. Luna gave his hair a final dry-off, and when she pulled the towel from his head, she was greeted with his sleepy eyes peering up at her from beneath the wild purple curls.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry we left you outside," she said, hugging him tight. "We got stuck in traffic for like, two hours."

"Bruce is making some soup," said Teddy. So that was what the smell was. Scritch's belly rumbled.

"I made some tea, too," said Luna, passing him a steaming mug, "so you can warm up while we wait."

"Thanks," said Scritch, holding the mug to his chest before taking a sip. The tea had a pleasantly spiced flavor, maybe chai or something like that, he couldn't quite tell. It was comforting and hot, though, and it made him feel warm and cozy from the inside out. Luna sat on his other side, and, sandwiched between his two friends with the hot tea in his belly, he began to feel much better. He was certain he'd caught a cold, but he didn't feel stiff and half-frozen anymore, and he was glad to not be alone. He was even more glad when Bruce cheerfully called out that dinner was ready.

While his friends had at least been able to have a snack in the car, Scritch hadn't eaten a thing since his early lunch, and he was feeling ravenous now. He was happy to join the group at the table and dig into a hot meal at last. It was a hearty baked potato soup, thick and creamy and carby and delicious. Scritch's ears flip flopped happily as he ate, tail swinging back and forth behind the chair, and he and his friends chatted over dinner, finally catching up after the long day. Scritch didn't have much to say, but he was perfectly content to listen while he enjoyed his soup.

He had a big appetite and an impressive capacity for such a little guy, but between the tea already in his stomach and the size of the bowl, Scritch soon began to feel full. He was glad for that. He'd been hungry all afternoon. Despite that feeling of fullness, which came to him about two thirds of the way through his meal, he finished the entire bowl, and by the time he did his belly felt stretched tight, though not unpleasantly so. The warm weight in his stomach was wonderfully comforting, even if the feeling of his jeans hugging his bulging tummy wasn't. He leaned back in his seat with a contented sigh, resting his hands atop his round belly.

"Full?" Luna half-teased, and Scritch nodded, a sleepy smile on his face. She gave his belly a friendly pat, and it made a firm thumping sound, like a melon.