Deimos listened to what in his view were the ramblings of a madman with growing apprehension. It wasn't the raw panic from before, however, so at least the poor mortals were not getting hammered with dread again. Yet.
"Right... I... uh," Simon began, but never actually finished his sentence. A part of him wanted to explain out loud to Zeus not only the rather hilarious impossibility of him giving birth to anyone or anything (little did he know), but also that he had actually met both his grandfathers. His earthly grandfathers, anyway. However, something stopped him. It wasn't just the prospect of the crazy man becoming agitated, but also that little niggling voice in the back of his head that had awoken after his parents' funeral when that other strange person had approached him claiming to know him too, and commending him on his disguise, after a fashion, like his whole life was some sham and they were sharing a joke only the two of them would get. Except Simon didn't get it. Not even a little bit.
Then the dreams had started, or rather, the nightmares. Visions of carnage and terror, like the worst horror movie ever created, but on steroids. Memories, that persistent little voice said. And a name. A name that gave him shudders. Day-something? Zeus' chatter distracted him from his line of thought momentarily. Did he just say his wife Hera? Something about giving birth to Ares? Simon was no mythology expert, but he was enough of a nerd to have loved the classics, and he knew just who this old man was talking about, somehow with the authority of a scholar. Which made no sense, but that was neither here nor there at the moment. But then that would made the old man... "You're ZEUS?" Simon blurted out, followed by an unstoppable barrage of rather hysterical giggles.
His mirth was awfully short lived, because then the man was bawling, and Simon had a few seconds of feeling like a heel thinking he had hurt the poor sod's feelings before he was coming at Simon with those filthy hands and in those smelly rags and God the stench. Simon felt his gorge rise convulsively, and he started moving backwards awkwardly, trying to get away. He instinctively braced Zeus' blubbering form with one arm, which made him let out a long whimper when his palm made contact with Zeus' back. His other hand somehow fished his pocket Lysol out of his jacket and he started spraying Zeus, wielding it like Mace. Tiny, clipped cries wrenched from his throat, and the poor humans around them felt that cold clawing terror tearing at their very souls.
The cops on the scene flew into a panic amidst all the screaming. Shots were fired, and the mob of onlookers that had begun to gather to see what was going on turned into a stampede. One thing was certain, no one was running towards Deimos. Unfortunately for him, one might add, because at that point being trampled by a human stampede would have been a much preferable fate to Simon than having this virtual Petri dish of potential disease clinging to him bodily. Simon could not even form words. He was literally weeping as he gasped for breath once again. Something had to give.