Chapter Text
Wordlessly, and without any restraint, Charon had ferried him from the depths of Tartarus all the way up the Styx to the highest reaches of Elysium. And then back down. And then again.
Thanatos never interacted much with his elder brother; the boatman’s tendency to stray away from the House and others led to infrequent visits, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And Charon didn’t seem too upset when he requested to join him on his daily trips.
A monotonous routine, all in all, and he spent the time draped over the side of the boat, peering down into whatever water they transverse. Asphodel’s fiery waves and Elysium’s milky currents... it all blurred together with the lull of the boat and the humming stroke of Charon’s oar.
Work called at the tip of the horizon, beckoning him with a stern grin back to the surface where countless mortals awaited Death’s embrace. And here he was, slacking. Skipping what little work he could get away with and spending it all brooding on a boat. Joy.
Moderately fun times had to come to an end, of course, and Thanatos is left at the Styx’s end, near the surface and gates that would lead up and out of Hades. He’s spent time here, no stranger to any far place in the underworld, due to the nature of his job, but he has never gotten the chance to just... look.
Which is what he does. Look. Really, there isn’t much. Pillars of dark marble and gold, pots and vases lying on the ground (shoddily put back together by someone, and Thanatos already knows that Zagreus had been here before. Pot-smasher he was).
It’s quiet, but he can still pick up a faint buzzing annoyance that lingers near the back of his head. A headache that he had spent much of his immortal life trying to get rid of. And a headache that he had now brought back. Does that make him a hypocrite? He’s unsure.
Another sigh escapes his lips, drawn out and unbidden by his own accord—and then interrupted by the dropping of an orange bottle. The object lands squarely in his lap, nectar splashing inside but remaining in the pristine (and highly illegal) color.
“Thanatos.”
He’s only got the reserves to glance up over his shoulder, meeting eyes with a kneeling Zagreus, blood sticking to his hairline and clothes—disgusting— but there was no mistaking the wayward Prince of Hades. Looking a bit worse for wear, if he was being honest.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” Thanatos responds, keeping his voice a level medium. He could act annoyed, unbothered, a multitude of different emotions he has on tap—but for now he’s content to stay neutral.
“Just thought you’d want something. Got it straight from... Elysium, I think? It’s been a bit.” Zagreus motions towards the bottle of nectar, wrapped with a blue ribbon instead of the usual pink. Though it could’ve been from any of the regions, there is, indeed, a sort of shine to it that would dictate its original origin.
Thanatos knows what he means by the gift, and as rude as it is, he is not in the mood. “I don’t need your pity.”
Zagreus—possibly gleefully— ignores him. “I know. You already frown a lot, but this feels different. So, here.”
Ash. He has tasted nectar, including the illegal ones that Zagreus brings into the House, and he knows what they’re like. Sweet, melting on one’s tongue in a mix of divinity that the Olympians above must get to experience daily. Thanatos cannot fathom the taste. Cannot fathom wasting such a precious thing, spilt down a throat that couldn’t feed on anything but acid. “I don’t want it.”
“Neither do I.” Zagreus shrugs, sitting down and leaning on his arms to also stare into the inky night of the Styx. Their reflections, muddled, stare right back up at them. “Why I gave it to you. And also, I’m hoping you’ll stop brooding and talk to me? Or Meg? Someone?”
“I’m not brooding,” he scoffs, dragging his gaze from the Styx to Zagreus, withholding the urge to smack him. Or maybe he should give into that urge, preferably with his scythe—send him straight back down to the House. “I don’t need to talk to anyone, actually, I have a job to do.”
“One that involves you doing, hm, nothing?”
Thanatos will be going for a more hands-on approach to murdering the prince, it seems. “Perhaps because you’re bothering me?”
Zagreus can probably sense the spark of annoyance that flares into his tone, as his brows knit, and his expression takes on something unbearably soft. He can’t stand that look, sympathy or concern, and if he had the proper control over sluggish limbs, he would’ve really smacked the prince upside.
“Than,” Zagreus starts, a hand on his bare shoulder, sending gooseflesh down his skin. Cold. For a prince with flames on his feet, Zagreus’ hands were surprisingly cold. “Please? Does it have something to do with Hypnos? I made sure he wasn’t in any danger when we went together, I swear—I would’ve rather died than let something happen.”
Empty words, considering that Zagreus died often. But also, a bit too far on the mark, and Thanatos bristles at the mere thought. “Don’t start.”
“Meg said that she’d never seen you more scared.”
She—Thanatos wrestles down his agitation. He folds his hands in his lap, clenching them both into fists. “And do you believe her?”
Zagreus thinks about that, his gaze flitting to the side, and he purses his lips into a tight line. “I don’t think she’d lie about something like that. Honestly, she seemed scared, too. And it couldn’t have been for me.”
He doesn’t know what to say with that. One hand, disappearing into teal smoke would be the best route of escape, but it would also be that. Escape. Running away, and though he was plenty familiar with the subject, somehow it felt wrong here. But spilling everything also felt wrong, and Thanatos was turning himself over in circles trying to pin down troublesome emotions and… argh!
But… Well… It’s Zagreus– prince of being overly kind to those unworthy of his kindness, of spending hours petting Cerberus and chasing down Dusa just to give her a gift of nectar… “Does Hypnos hate me?”
“He–” Zagreus cuts himself off. For once, he considers his words, drumming his fingers against the glass of the bottle, crystalline clicks filling the void. “Honestly? I don’t think you’re around enough for him to like you. But hate is a pretty big word.”
That’s… expected. Thanatos is sure the sentiment is reflected in many of the House’s frequent visitors. He has a job though, so it’s not like he can devote his undivided time and energy to the House. (But maybe he could’ve stopped by. Maybe he could’ve suggested to Mother that they all– Charon included– should take a vacation somewhere nice). “Should I even try to fix this?”
Zagreus stares at him. “Yes? Of course!” he exclaims, nearly startling Thanatos. The prince coughs, embarrassed, into the crook of his arm and huffs a short laugh. “I mean, I think so. He’s your brother, after all– (“I have a lot of brothers”)-- “and I think that he would really like to reconnect.” Zagreus pauses, in-elegantly, making a certain face.” Hey, wait, what’d you say after you sent me straight to Asphodel a night ago?”
Thanatos stills, stricken. The emotions are all there, he can feel them through the bond. Hurt, resentment, bitterness. (The undertones of concern and comfort are faint, barely coloring the edges of his vision, a reflex when long ago they would share their comfort when the other was down). “We fought.”
“Oh. I… assumed so. Sorry, mate,” Zagreus says with a sigh, genuinely apologetic.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he’s quick to reassure, and then, sardonically, “I might’ve had it coming.”
“Admitting your faults, now?” Zagreus leans back, miming the stroke of a long beard that, suspiciously, could look like Poseidon’s. He stops when Thanatos withdraws in disgust. “No, no– I’m serious. But instead of telling all that to me, you’ve got to tell it to Hypnos.”
What? “What?”
They stare at each other, and Thanatos isn’t sure which of them grew the second head.
Zagreus speaks first (of course he does), “you weren’t going to tell him?”
“What is there to tell? He doesn’t need to be coddled after a fight, Zagreus.” And ohh… well, Thanatos sounds a lot like his mother right now. If only he could see himself, how foolish he looks and sounds. Eternity was a long time to live, but Thanatos was sure he’d never made so many blunders before in his life.
“You could apologize?" The bottle is set down against the stone before the Styx, which Thanatos eyes warily. Should Zagreus move abruptly, their reward would be knocked straight into the river, and Charon would not be pleased to have to fetch it. “That’s a good start.”
“I don’t…” Thanatos rubs the back of his neck, scratching at his nape. “I don’t think he wants to talk.” He had seen Hypnos briefly, passing through the House from one side to the other, and all that his twin did was look away. Not even glare, which at least would’ve been him looking at Thanatos. The silence was unbearable, and suffocating at that.
“Uhh, alright.” Zagreus lifts a hand to rest his cheek on, glancing up at Thanatos from his lower view. “You could ask Nyx?”
“How would she help?”
“She’s your mom, isn’t she?” There’s slight bitterness in his tone, and Thanatos is struck with a sense of guilt. Of course Zagreus would be the one to suggest going to a parent– he had never gotten that opportunity himself for a good chunk of his life. (And going to his father to complain about his father… wasn’t the best use of time).
“I could…” he mutters, turning over the idea. Ask Mother how he could get back on Hypnos’-- get back to talking with him? At least eye-contact. “Do you really think it would work?”
“You can try.” Zagreus shrugs, flashing him a bright grin. He leans up to squeeze Thanatos’ shoulder good-naturely, imploring him with wide, heterochromatic eyes. “I’m not telling you how to live your life, mate, but trying to understand your family should be a high priority. Darkness, I’m still trying to understand mine.”
The humor is actually appreciated and does a lot to damper the previously soured mood. Thanatos takes a clear breath for the first time since Elysium, and finds himself finally able to think. Thoughts that had been a jumble of emotions and snapped tensions clear themselves up into neat piles– still there, but off to the side. He’ll deal with everything later (including the ever-present need to continue working). “Thank you, Zag.”
There’s a look in the prince’s eyes, how they crinkle at the corners when his smile reaches them in such a boyish way. “Anytime. And,” he puts his hands in the air, leaning away and back, “I got to share a drink with you! Doubt the Styx counts as the lounge, but I’m sure Meg’ll accept it regardless.”
Wait, that sounds like a– “Was there a bet in place?”
Zagreus whistles, completely guilty. “No~? Whyever would you think that?”
He’ll– he’ll kill Zagreus first, and then Meg, and then anyone else who participated in a bet– to get him to drink? Ridiculous, utterly stupid– Zagreus is laughing at his face, and Thanatos lets the relief settle over him, swiping the nectar off the ground and playfully sneering at Zagreus. Who in turn reaches for the bottle, tussling to get it back and, oh, Thanatos sort of, maybe, perhaps… missed this.
(The nectar eventually falls into the Styx. He’s unsure whose fault it was, but the end result is all the same. Priceless nectar in the Styx. Hopefully Charon can fish it up later and enjoy whatever was left in the bottle. Actually, the stopper might’ve fallen off too. Nevermind).
Thanatos manages to corner Nyx during a break at the House. Technically, their assigned rest time, but since the day was night and the night was night… there really was no ‘rest-time’. And the shades were ever persistent in their march forwards to the different levels, and none of the Chthonics needed sleep (barring one annoying brother)... Blood and darkness– he found the time to talk with Nyx!
Meeting her eye-level, Thanatos is reminded of the years he spent not only looking up at her, but also wishing that he looked more like her. Long ebony-black hair and inky starlit head-wings, she was every bit as beautiful as the mortals described her as. And terrifying. And to Thanatos, with his own pale-grey hair, she looked unrelated. They shared each other’s eyes though, and he had found that a sole comfort when wondering if he was truly related to the Goddess of Night.
“Thanatos?” Nyx’s voice is soft, echoey despite the lack of echoes in the secluded part of the House. She reaches up, trailing a hand across his cheek. (He leans into the touch). “You’re concerned; what is wrong?”
Thanatos struggles to find his voice, caught where Nyx’s touch burned across him. “Do you know that Hypnos is upset with me?” A loose understatement, but he wasn’t ready to spill everything that had happened. Including his minor panic at the sheer thought that he had lost his twin.
“I did not.” Nyx’s expression remains unchanged, neutral if not a little questioning. Never fully sympathetic. He wouldn’t blame her, but sometimes wished she would show more than just the mimicked surface-level concern. “Did he do something? Sleep is such a fickle divinity…”
“No– he didn’t–” Thanatos takes a breath. No, he’s not scared. Absolutely not. “I did something, Mother.”
“Oh.” So simple, yet so destroying at the same time. A single word that sends dread to his gut, worming itself beside ribs. “Regardless of what it is, my son, he will surely recover without my help.”
Huh? Thanatos gapes at her, having to shut his mouth. No, Nyx was definitely listening to him, just… did she not care? “Mother, I– I’m asking for help. With Hypnos, I don’t want him to be upset with me.”
“I doubt he is,” Nyx says, with the intent to be comforting except that it’s not, it’s really not. “I’m sure that if you keep your distance for a little, he’ll come to terms with your actions and accept that. You have enough work to keep busy; I’m surprised you’ve been at the House so much.”
Work. Thanatos went to Mother to ask– plead with her for aid… and he’s told to get back to work. That’s what she tells Hypnos. That’s what Thanatos tells Hypnos. He, well, the apples fell close enough to the tree, but he had always assumed that Nyx’s favorite was… himself. (Narcissistic, yes, but there was no doubt about that). “I… do.”
“Perfect.” Soft, ever so soft and gentle and everything that made Nyx the goddess that she was. And Thanatos never doubted that she was incredible, more divine than any else… but he could feel the hurt from here, deepened by his proximity to Hypnos in the House. Thanatos could feel the resentment that kept Hypnos from still trying to garner his attention. Couldn’t Nyx see that? “You’re still worried, Thanatos, I’m sure this will sort itself out within a few nights. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
You’ve done nothing wrong. He repeats the mantra over and over again, even after Nyx had left him on his own and he wanders the House. You’ve done nothing wrong. But he did do something wrong. At least, wrong is his standards. Wrong in anyone’s standards, he thought. He had upset Hypnos, and he had upset himself. And then he possibly upset Nyx! Why wouldn’t the blame be placed on him?
Zagreus had told him to talk to Nyx, and Nyx had told him to ignore it. Was that the answer he would accept? Normally, yes, he’d be content to let his twin suffer in silence and he would only feel a smidge of guilt about it, easily put down and shoved aside for bigger concerns. He wanted to leave it alone.
And then he’s reminded of Hypnos, and how hurt he had looked in Elysium. His brother, wearing an expression other than coy cheer– practically a myth. Thanatos can feel it still thrumming in the back of his head, cascading loudly, but like a waterwall, it was also easily ignored. Call it practice from centuries of ignoring him, but Thanatos found it easy to still block out what the broken bond still gave way.
He stops at the end of the hall, already spinning to turn and keep pacing, when the shine of silver catches him from the corner of his eye. A pause is all it takes to get entranced. The liquid shimmer of a gilded mirror, looming large and apparent at the end, and there in the center is himself.
Ashen grey, gold, and black. Thanatos sees himself just as easily as he can see Hypnos– they’re not twins for nothing. (Mother had remarked, once, that she had been shocked to see them grow up more similar– she would tell him how different they were as godlings, black and white instead of their neutral grays now. Though, he supposes that he did get the more shaded of the hair colors).
He looks small, and even with the knowledge that he is anything but, he allows this feeling to partially consume him. Hah– there’s been too much feeling lately. All he’s been doing is feeling. Thanatos blames Zagreus. He blames the prince for many things (Hades’ current mood being one), but mostly he blames him for being the sun. For witty banter and stupid expressions and feeling being put into everything he does. Thanatos doesn’t want what the mortals have, no, but he does want what Zagreus has.
Teal light glints in the mirror’s shine and Thanatos is gone from the House, expelled out and away and landing right where he wanted to. Elysium.
Decorated warriors as they were, the Exalteds avoided him with wary gazes, and eventually neutrality. Thanatos would only fight if necessary, as he had taken a good number of these souls himself and preferred they keep to their eternal rest and he to his eternal work. All’s fair in love and death.
Brilliant red. Thanatos had always been partial to purple. Poppies of such color– red– blossom on the hidden banks of the Lethe, and though he’s seen the flowers growing naturally on the surface, knowing that these were brought by his hand– and nurtured into blossom by his brothers’– contains a sense of awe that even the purest of sights couldn’t offer.
Red, not like the blood that marred the House and the rugs, ruddy and dark and always seeping into every crack, but red like the dawn. Like the slow bleed that once he had witnessed, given time for a mortal to escape death, while he waited and watched the quick transition between night and day.
Thanatos takes care not to step on any of the flowers. There’s no telling where his original bundle grew, or if they were still alive at that, but there is also no question that Hypnos had taken his meager offering and expanded on it tenfold. Elysium was all blues and whites, but this alcove of the Lethe shone vermilion.
Remorse hangs heavy over his thoughts, and he lets it settle, viscous and sticky, dragging him down for a moment. He doesn’t float starkly– unlike his brother– but he allows himself to touch the grass, brush up against the closest the underworld could get to surface replication, and bury his pride and arrogance.
White (like the snow near the surface) and gold (like the crown of a king). Bundled in Hypnos’ arms are the same poppies that had entranced Thanatos not a minute earlier. They are not dropped– this is not a fairytale– but pale hands do clench just a little tighter, smudging the green stems together in the heap.
“I’m sorry.” Thanatos crosses the threshold, some line between what was the underworld’s and what was strictly Sleep’s. All Hypnos does though, is look up at Thanatos with a twisted expression, brows knit in both hurt and anger. Two emotions that should never mar his face. (two emotions that Thanatos caused). “Please. I–” he stutters, stumbles– “I’m unable to explain.”
“Try.”
An intake. Thanatos wets his lips, stabbing back the temptation to flee that has never been so clear. He shuts his eyes, a poor attempt to ground himself. “My… actions,” he clutches his chest, near his heart, “were never motivated by hatred. I don’t hate you.”
“But you can’t deny that you, at least, don’t like me?” Hypnos responds with humor, but it cracks near the middle, faltering. A usual facade that fails him at least. Not that Thanatos can remark smugly, he left his pride at the House. “Not, well, nobody really does.”
“Zag does. And,” he pauses, finding the name, “and Dusa. And Meg– she just doesn’t show it. And me.” He fists his gauntlets, wishing his nails less blunt to scrape along the side. “I don’t– I like you. You’re my brother.”
“Has that been the only thing?” Hypnos asks, and Thanatos has to parse through the meaning of it. “Being brothers. Did M– Nyx suggest this? I’ve gotta say, a great attempt for a prank except that it’s gotta be real embarrassing to actually cry–”
–“Stop!” he snaps and, miraculously, Hypnos does stop. But now, shit, now Thanatos looks like the fool and losing his temper was not how he wanted any of this to go. “I just– stop deflecting. This isn’t easy,” he strains, feeling a lot like he got punched in the throat, “so if you could spare me? From the jests.”
Hypnos swallows, eyes darting to the side. He shuts them, steadies, and opens with his gaze back on Thanatos. “Yeah. Yes, uh. I can do that.”
“Good.” He’s relieved for a moment, now that he knows neither of them will run away. (Cowards, the both of them, possibly something that they all get from Nyx, strong as she might be). “I’m sorry.”
“You said that. For what?”
For what? He echoes, wisely. For… for blocking their bond in the first place? For ignoring him decades on end? For over-reacting and panicking and scaring both of them? “Being your brother.”
Bluntly, frankly– whatever– Hypnos’ backtracks like a whip, jaw dropping for a moment until he reacts back into motion, protesting sharply, “you’re not, you– you’re not a bad brother. How could you say that?” he murmurs, the fight draining from him as quickly as it came.
“I should’ve said something, should’ve stayed when Nyx was backing out,” there’s a sharp quality that clouds his eyes, mentioning Nyx, “I should’ve done something. It wasn’t fair to you.”
“No.” Hypnos huffs a laugh, a little in disbelief. He looks at Thanatos with a sense of waryness. “It wasn’t fair.”
Impatience. And the nagging sense of embarrassment. Thanatos taps his foot against the ground. “Are you going to agree with everything I say? Don’t you want to, ah, yell at me? I’m letting you.” He gestures to himself, roughly shoving with an open palm that bounces back out in loose yet jerky movements.
Hypnos looks down and Thanatos is struck by a heady wave of guilt. “It doesn’t feel real, that’s all. Do you want to pretend this didn’t happen? I’ll get over yesterday, I promise. Honestly, I think you’re scaring Mom.” He cracks a small smile.
Thanatos restrains from rolling his eyes– he’s above that!!– and shrugs. “I don’t think she knows. Part of the reason why I’m here. At least one of us has to care.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Thanatos nods, clashing with an expectant gaze and he almost turns away. “So. I’m sorry. For everything.”
Hypnos looks down, expression turning to an accursed kind of bitterness, a word that brings such sweet sorrow to the one who owns it. And then– like sugar on the tongue– that, too, melts. “I forgive you.”
The flowers under his feet sway in whatever Elysium breeze allows them, or perhaps it’s the breath that Thanatos releases, feeling an invisible weight lifting off his chest. His throat still aches, he still feels the press of tears against the corners of his eyes– but it’ll be okay. He hopes. When has it ever not?
“Thank you.” Thanatos huffs a short laugh, carding a hand through his hair and not even feeling foolish when the strands come loose, falling across his forehead. “That wasn’t so hard, I suppose.”
“You certainly sounded like it was rough,” comes the teasing reply, consistent as ever as Hypnos moves, tucking flowers away, all while still looking at Thanatos. And there’s a warm, fluttering feeling in the back of his head that he gladly lets in, soothing over the cracks in their damaged bond.
“It was, a little,” he admits, and can feel Hypnos’ mirth before he sees it. Familiar, like this, when he would be able to tell every little emotion without ever needing to see his twin. He’ll keep it, he decides, keeping the bond was probably a choice he’d regret later, but to be able to fully feel every twinge of tiredness and mischief and have his own (annoyance, boredom, love) be felt back?
Hypnos laughs, bright and airy, and despite feeling the call of both their respective jobs, he’s sure that the mortals can wait. Everyone can wait, in fact, they have all of eternity to continue to fix and mess things up. Oh, to be a god, he muses. (Oh, to be a brother, he realizes).
How did Thanatos ever live without Hypnos? After all, he was born knowing him.