He Who Fell Off the Heaviside Layer

By Grando181 (aka AnimalBoyThing)

Special Thanks to Rem to whom I owe my love of this fandom too and some character development, Sasha for your Rumpleteazer to my Plato text messages, Taintie for being awesome even if not nearly as awesome as me, and a big hug to Kale, who absolutely abhors cats but likes all the nefarious things in this story and was able to give me guidance. (Shameless plug for Kale's webcomic/story "A Broken Winter;" google it).

Disclaimer: CATS is the byproduct of T.S. Eliot's poetry and Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical genius. All views and opinions expressed in the following fanfiction are the personal views and expressions of the author, and, quite frankly, fiction. Due to its nature, it is recommended that no one read this fanfiction unless they enjoy perversity, darkness, and things that are never discussed even in a B-Rated Lifetime movie. This bastardization will contain as many pairings as possible, hopefully gore, and other nefarious things. The author highly recommends you listen to the band, Sigur Rós – who have absolutely nothing to do with this fanfiction but are a really damn good band.

I – Corroding Memories

Munkustrap could barely keep up with the happenings of the tribe, too many changes occurring in too little time. He could barely remember the way things used to be, just even a year ago. Sure, he knew the events that happened by heart, but they might as well have been text or a movie, maybe the fables he told to the Jellicles.

He missed that time. Then, things weren't so serious, some of the toms just outgrowing kitten stage, not yet adults.

Victoria and Plato were still virgins. They'd officially mated, but Plato was so terrified of breaking her that he never made a significant move despite his friends' teases. It was Victoria who instigated it, tugging Plato with her into padded trunk of the broken car and tugged the lid shut. He lay on his back, dropped his hands, and then moved them away whispering sorry. In return, she only put Plato's hands back where they were.

Lost in the moment, Plato forgot to pull out, or maybe Victoria tightened her legs around him to keep him still to savor the moment. When it was done, before allowing himself to bask in the afterglow, Plato concerned himself with cleansing the blood on her white fur with a blush on his cheeks and a lot of "Wows" and "I love yous" on his lips.

He never thought she'd get pregnant the first time; he didn't even know that was possible. Somehow, Munkustrap doubted that Victoria thought it possible either.

Munkustrap was there when Victoria told Plato the news. She pulled him aside, away from his friends not so subtly. With an anxious smile, she took Plato's large brown paw in her tiny white hand and placed it on her abdomen, and Plato, bless his heart, said, "Cramps? Aww, babe, I'm sorry. You want me to get you some yellowtail or something?"

Munkustrap was also right there, hand on Plato's arm when Victoria whispered, "we're pregnant," the gears in his head turned, and he screamed, "YOU'RE PREGNANT?!" Hyperventilating, Plato dropped to the ground, Victoria then breaking into tears, Mistoffelees by her side yelling that Plato was an asshole while Alonzo took Plato's saying Mistoffelees needed to shut his hole and mind his own damn business. Not that anyone really had privacy who was a Jellicle.

Someone had to be the voice of reason in that terse of a situation, and Munkustrap would fill those shoes. He'd let Alonzo, Tumblebrutus, and Pouncival talk to Plato quasi-privately, thinking maybe the tom would open up to his friends, but broke it up as soon as they got on his ass about being a dumb ass for not pulling out and being too stupid to figure the mechanics of sex out. Alonzo almost seemed to relish in taking his best friend down a notch while the brothers, who Munkustrap was certain knew nothing about sex in the first place, piggybacked on his words.

Munkustrap couldn't let them taunt Plato as he guided the young tom aside, arm around his back as Plato put his head in his paws and cried. He never thought that his life of a stray would soon end, the cat unable to accept the hospitality of the other Jellicles as he turned in his life of a stray to get a collar and accompanying human home where he could steal the food that was meant for him and bring it back home to provide. Alonzo worried about his friend's fatigue, but Plato said it was nothing for Victoria even though Plato's temper wore short, noticeably so, and he began slamming things, anything to make a noise if he was reprimanded for being too immature, or the kids yelled, or Victoria wasn't in the mood after a long, stressful day. Those nights, he'd go elsewhere and grip his length so hard it was painful while he'd spy on his friends being intimate with one another or themselves. He knew Alonzo's quirks by heart and how he'd wiggle his hips right before he came, the weird noises and grunts Pouncival would emit when thinking he was alone, and the smell of Admetus's enhancing additives. Plato had no remorse for his friends' privacy. By that point, he was too bitter to care.

Tumblebrutus used to be sweet, the definition of a Momma's boy (and really the omega of the rat pack), before he got fed up with all the teasing, maybe the boys going one joke too far, and got into nip. The worst part was that nobody noticed the change in Tumblebrutus, Munkustrap included. Hormones, Jellylorum believed in regard to her son's sometimes erratic behavior, he's about that age. And maybe there were a few comments on his weight loss from some of the girls, ones that everyone but Pouncival didn't seem bugged by. Tumblebrutus had never been one to keep secrets, but Pouncival began to feel like he didn't know his brother at all. Maybe it was the same for everyone and no one knew him. No one knew Tumblebrutus had his first kiss and sexual experience with a trained Mr. Mistoffelees until months after it happened, a high Tumblebrutus laughing to his friends about how great it was, that Mistoffelees was so much fun to play with and was willing to share his nip. His friends were mortified, and that night Alonzo stole the rest of his stash while Pouncival and Plato went to confront Mistoffelees, and then Admetus. "No more," Alonzo'd told Tumblebrutus, "no more of this," and the tom howled, and argued, and became subdued and shy, the way he used to be, and, in silence, Alonzo forgot. So did Munkustrap when the tom told him. But they took his submission for fact, taking it as his true personality versus changing hormones, a brief dabbling in nip. They looked to Pouncival as a prototype, as the older brother. It was Mistoffelees who told them they were wrong with a limp and busted lip.

Tumblebrutus had outsmarted them. No one knew about all the ways he'd beg Admetus to bring him a new hook up, giving him the cans of food that were meant to be his dinner, or how Tumblebrutus would service Admetus and get grass-stained knees. Admetus was too stoned to realize the desperation; business was business. The Jellicles did notice when a panting Mungojerrie carried Tumblebrutus's barely breathing body, bloodied and limp, to the junkyard, Rumpleteazer panicking as she tried to explain what they witnessed. The tom, having gone to Macavity's turf in order to get more after being cut off by Admetus, made the mistake of asking the first tom he saw where he could get a hook up, and what could he do. That cat was Jazzernik, second-hand cat to one of the gang leaders under Macavity, Fangor, and after deliberation said he thought they could do something. That something involved no nip, but being beaten down and tied, Fangor's gang of eight each taking their turn with the diseased albino leader taking the last round. "If you came sooner, I would have given you a go," Fangor addressed Mungojerrie while gripping Tumblebrutus's hips. It'd taken a distraction for Mungojerrie to grab Tumblebrutus when they were done, leaving him on the street for dead or more fun later, and Rumpleteazer murmured prayers.

"He can't be touched," Mungojerrie said, looking directly at Mistoffelees, then Jemima, then Alonzo. "He can't."

"You're touching him right now, asswipe," Pouncival growled, grabbing his brother from the hold, stunned at how much weight his brother had lost, Jellylorum joining the pair in a hurry, a hand touching her youngest son's forehead.

"… He didn't mean it that way," Rumpleteazer murmured quietly. Jemima's eyes watered, Mistoffelees looked to the ground, and Alonzo turned his back, walked to Cassandra, gripped her in a hug, and wouldn't let go.

And no one touched Tumblebrutus except for Pouncival and Jellylorum, the family making sure to never leave him too long unattended.

It worsened when Tumblebrutus seemed to be getting a little better. Macavity showed up, putting an end to the fantasy that surrounded their group, saying, "Holy, Holy," though there was nothing Holy about him. He said he came to check up on his "children." No one knew what children he referred to, looks given to Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, the siblings swearing up and down that it wasn't them before Victoria stepped to the plate, sweet voice begging, "Please, Father. Leave without incident."

"You still haven't told him," Macavity assessed, smirking, looking past her. By instinct, the Jellicles followed his gaze until it fell on the magical Mr. Mistoffelees. The black tom swore that was impossible, said he remembered his parents. "Foster parents," Macavity stated bluntly. "I wanted to tie you in a bag and throw you in the Thames. Your mother convinced me otherwise. I shouldn't have listened."

"Please, Father, leave," Victoria begged once more.

And Macavity was gone, leaving a shaking black tom, paws near his face, claws extended as if he might scratch his own eyes out. Victoria tried to embrace him, but he shoved her away. "You knew!" he accused. "You knew the whole time! You knew everything!"

Munkustrap remembered how it struck him, the aftermath of having a niece and nephew, both extremely dear cats to him even if Mistoffelees could get a bit egotistical at times. Like a switch, Demeter became uneasy, the way she always was whenever Macavity was involved. Her body braced, and the tribe followed suit until Mistoffelees sat alone save for Victoria who kept trying to touch him and would keep getting pushed back. Munkustrap remembered the tom's heartbroken cries, and how he personally struggled to approach Mistoffelees, to ignore the distinction between sweet-faced Quaxo and his magical alter-ego. Victoria was safer; she was innocent.

But he had a job to do, the Jellicles to lead when Old Deuteronomy passed, and Munkustrap dropped to his knees, arms encircling Mistoffelees' back, listening as, in a broken whisper, the boy pleaded. "You have to tell Tugger. I can't."

Munkustrap hadn't understood at first, not knowing why the cat would be so firm about not telling the Rum Tum Tugger himself, but he was the protector, and he promised, and that evening, when he stood next to his younger brother in the alley, he watched Tugger's expression carefully. At first, he seemed confused, then said a surprised, "shit, man," and then he was silent. The Rum Tum Tugger was never silent. And it was in silence that Munkustrap understood.

They walked alongside each other, still not speaking until they got to the docks and sit on the edge, legs dangling over the side. The moon and scattered street lamps caused uneven reflections of white.

"I don't care about it. That doesn't change anything to me," Tugger had finally said, thumbs hooked on his studded belt.

"I know."

"Yeah."

"Tugger?"

"What?"

"It really doesn't matter to you?"

"Maybe. A little." Tugger gazed across the water, fingers squeezing into a fist. "I don't know what to do, Munk."

"Truthfully, I don't think it's a good idea to pursue this. It's just a bad idea. He's going to be persecuted enough; he doesn't need any contributions to that."

"How would it contribute to that?!"

"Do I really need to answer that? Think about it."

Tugger looked toward the sky. "I don't want to."

Munkustrap rest a paw on his youngest brother's shoulder. Even though by now Tugger had grown taller than Munkustrap, he seemed like the small kitten Munkustrap grew up with and helped raise when Old Deuteronomy showed signs of rapid and shocking aging. "Are you going to do what's best for you or him?" Tugger's face scrunched up, and he hung his head, thick mane shrouding his eyes like a curtain. Munkustrap turned his torso just enough to embrace his sibling and whispered, "I'm sorry, Tug. I'm so sorry."

They returned to the Junkyard by eleven, Tugger making a beeline toward Mistoffelees before leading the other down an alley. The Jellicle cats exchanged perturbed looks with the echoing sounds of the argument, words that were indistinguishable syllables, unable to be deciphered from this distance. Crying came next, a sudden wind amplifying the noise, but when it slowed, dried leaves and styrofoam cups scattered across the ground, it fell silent. Alonzo volunteered to look for them with Plato, but Munkustrap said he'd go on his own. The less cats who knew, the better.

He found them locked in embrace, cries muted in each other's fur, and, by midnight when the clock struck, the two tore apart. Until that moment, that horrible break, they kept in a tight hold. Their shadows were elongated by the long street lamp, flickering until the bulb burned out.

The best thing that ever happened to Munkustrap was the birth of his daughter. Jemima grew up sweet and innocent, Munkustrap's pride and joy with Demeter even if he'd been unable to have any other children, the curse of infertility passed from Old Deuteronomy to him. He didn't care about having any others; Jemima was all he could ever wish for. But, since she was the only one, maybe he was a bit too protective of her. Munkustrap meant well, and Jemima meant the world to him. That was why, Munkustrap reasoned, not seeing Jemima for lunch, he crept through the junkyard, taking to the shadows. He had a strange feeling, an inkling of something. That was why, Munkustrap reasoned, when he saw Jemima he clenched two fists and stalked up to where she was sitting on the ground with Tumblebrutus, head turned, kissing him fully, his paw fitting perfectly over hers as he guided it toward the crotch of his jeans. It was why, Munkustrap reasoned, he screamed, scaring Jemima and Tumblebrutus alike, Jemima breaking into tears as Munkustrap gripped Tumblebrutus by the scruff of the neck and drug him across the ground, screamed that he was a worthless niphead, someone not respectable enough for his kin, his only kin.

Munkustrap didn't think anyone would be perfect enough for Jemima, but Alonzo came close, and he'd brought up the prospect of him caring for Jemima. Alonzo's hesitancy because of his relationship with Cassandra strangely only reinforced Munkustrap's idea that this situation was and would be ideal, that Jemima wouldn't be pressured, that she would be protected. Tumblebrutus was too young, too immature, but mostly Tumblebrutus was an omega. It was after that day that Tumblebrutus began to disappear for hours and sometimes days at a time, his nip abuse developing, and Munkustrap had wondered if, inadvertently, Tumblebrutus's downfall was his fault. Sometimes, when he saw the tom struggle to walk, he knew it was his fault.

Jemima had cried that day, and said she hated Munkustrap, and it pained him, and she apologized, and begged forgiveness when he started to cry. No tom's good enough, Munkustrap tried to insist, sniveling, and Jemima nodded her head in reluctant agreement.

The next time he caught Jemima, she had gotten more clever, hiding inside the pipe, straddling a faintly striped tom, a small one. He'd charged them, crouching down, ready to demand what the hell was going on when their heads turned and he realized that tom was actually not a tom but Etcetera, fluffy fur matted to her skin from sweat. When Munkustrap looked at Jemima, his daughter frozen in fear, little paw hidden between Etcetera's thighs sound of the border, he passed out.

Munkustrap came to lying on a blanket, Jemima sitting next to him, his paw clutched in hers, tears wetting her fur. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Daddy. I'm sorry."

"Are you--? Are you a--?"

"I don't know. I don't… I don't know. I promise I'll never… I… never again, Dad. I promise."

"Jemima, that's not what--" but he wasn't able to finish, Jemima's face buried against his chest as she sobbed. He'd embraced her and rocked slowly.

The toms still liked to play tag, even though they were getting too big for it, some of them like Alonzo, Admetus, and Plato already looking like grown toms, but they still did it, getting out a lot of their energy. Munkustrap liked to encourage their play, a stressless way to deal with tension, to be young. And, though it brought an air of nostalgia, Munkustrap couldn't help but smile when the toms would encourage Tumblebrutus to join in from where he sat on the sidelines watching. He used to always say no until Jellylorum said it was fine to tag on the shoulder and back, just not to play too hard. That inclusion would depend on how he felt then. Sometimes he declined, but usually if Pouncival couldn't rile Tumblebrutus up enough to chase him, Admetus could, and, though it probably wasn't as obvious from ground level with their shouts and excitement, Munkustrap noticed how the toms slowed their paces, sometimes allowing themselves to be tagged before passing the torch, still sometimes tagging Tumblebrutus to make sure he felt included, to make sure he didn't feel like they were pitying him.

It felt richer the afternoon they played when Mungojerrie and Coricopat had joined the boys from the get go, something that surprised the other toms until they realized it stemmed from some sort of feud over who had the better sister and they got distracted with hitting each other, much to the other tom's pleasure. But, it was the unexpected Asparagus, who definitely gave Tumblebrutus a run for his money, Tumblebrutus laughing harder than he had since diagnosis as he scooted around garbage cans, the older male not too far behind.

"Can we join, too?" Mistoffelees called optimitically as he walked up alongside Skimbleshanks, one of the only cats who hadn't shunned him for his unfortunate relation to Macavity. They parted as Tumblebrutus scooted between them, then looking to their new target.

"Skimble, prepare to be it!" Asparagus called before bellowing out, "CHAAAAARGE!" And, with a high pitched squeal, knees pulled up to his chest, arms above his head, with every step, Skimbleshanks flailed wildly as he ran around and wove through the toms, setting them off into peals of laughter.

Munkustrap laughed hard at the display, maybe louder than he thought as a few of the toms turned their heads to look at him, smiles on his face as they beckoned him forth. "You want to play, too?" Tumblebrutus panted.

Munkustrap smiled. "I don't think there's anything right now that I'd rather do."

"Good, because you're it," Tumblebrutus said, hitting the tabby's shoulder before he took off, Munkustrap at his heels with a laugh, unable to keep from noticing that Asparagus and Skimbleshanks were still rolling on the ground like kittens, limbs wrapped around each other like tumbleweeds across the tundra.

To Be Continued...

A/N: Ended on a happier note, didn't it? Well, don't worry because like hell that's going to last in part II.

Reviews make me feel tingly and warm.