Chapter Text
Apollo felt it as he drove up the eastern sky, the trail of mellow first light engulfing glittering stars in its wake, as he dragged the mangled corpse of Helios behind him.
Not a burning sensation like he'd always thought; instead, a soft ache yawned into existence in his chest, like fireflies in a jar.
Apollo swerved.
His chariot creaked in protest. First time since Phaethon's shenanigans had it been rattled so violently off its course. If it weren't for his horses' instinct, stubborn and defiant, to stick to their known path, Apollo would have fallen, chariot and horses and sun and god, altogether into the earth.
He breathed shakily, looking around to check if everything was okay. He looked at Helios's lifeless body being lugged, gold chains straining with the effort of connecting and keeping up with the chariot, and sighed.
Everything was as usual.
He turned back, attention now solely on the warmth spreading across his torso. He was the sun god. He usually ran hot. Warmth was his brand, but this was unfamiliar. At first he told himself it was only an offering. Must be so. An overenthusiastic offering that had clawed at his attention.
But soon it was evident that it was not. Apollo frowned. Gods are ancient creatures and did not do well with being in the dark. Especially Apollo, who was the god of the sun.
It was when he reached high noon that he heard something, almost at the back of his ear, muffled and quiet, but definitely there.
A woman's gasp.
A prayer, Apollo thought to himself. Definitely a prayer.
Soon, however, he changed his mind. He had to have been cursed. Must have. He felt these... pushes against his chest, these tiny blows that didn't land but instead felt cushioned, with a strange heaviness in his chest.
Another hour, and Apollo was forced to reconsider getting out of bed today. Really is time I joined a workers' union, he thought. He was getting dizzy, and it hurt to breathe.
Mid-descent, Apollo couldn't take it anymore. One last look at good ol' decomposing Helios, he yelled out to no one in particular, "RA! BUDDY, YOU THERE? SHAMASH! CAN ANY OF YOU GUYS HANDLE THE REST OF THE SUNSET FOR ME TODAY? OR TELL Xihe! OR MAYBE SURYA! HELL, EVEN TONATIUH?"
He thought of other possible sun deities.
Not Amaterasu, he scowled. Prettiest god he'd ever seen, but gods, lately the judgment towards his haikus...
He didn't have a good relationship with Sol either. Too many times shooting his shot had spurred him into avoiding him forever (completely unfair. How would an archery god not shoot shots?).
Not Khors, too boastful.
If Apollo hated one thing, it was that sour kind of arrogance. He himself sported a cheerful, too-flirty, almost happy-go-lucky overconfidence, but when you think you're all that and give everybody around you a bad time, all it really made you was hard to be around.
He sighed. He really hoped someone had heard his call. Otherwise... he really hoped that little thing called astrophysics that humans loved to believe was powerful enough to do a god's job.
He set course toward Epidaurus, where Asclepius would be. When your son is a doctor, you simply do not see other doctors, especially when he's the god of modern medicine and healing.
Unfortunately, the entrance was closed. No light emanated from below the door, and a dusty sign hung with cursive scribbles on it. Apollo frowned. Thousands of years, and he still couldn't decipher his son's handwriting.
With all his skills as a god of literature, he read:
"Family Vacation in Hawaii, will be back in 6 weeks. Reach Apollo in case of emergency."
Unbelievable.
Still, Apollo decided not to bother him. Asclepius took a vacation approximately every century and didn't need all this mortal drama anyway.
Instead, he dismissed his horses and materialized in Olympus.
"Yo, 'Thena, got a minute?" he said as he walked into the throne room, expecting her to be there, but halted.
No Athena. No Zeus, even. Only Ares in his throne, and Aphrodite on his lap stared back at him.
He had interrupted something.
"Oh, Jesus." He shook his head and turned away. "Sorry."
"Unclench your butt, we aren't in Late Antiquity anymore." Aphrodite said as she climbed out of Ares's embrace and walked toward him. "Theodosius is not here. Neither is Athena. You look troubled."
Apollo looked and immediately wished he hadn't.
"Girl, your buttons."
He looked away again.
"Psh." Aphrodite rolled her eyes as she raised her hands to fix her clothes. "Don't act so shy. It's not like you haven't seen them."
"Like, twice. Ever. And definitely not in the last few centuries." Apollo bristled. "Why are you guys here anyway? Father will have your heads if he finds out."
Ares spoke.
"Any bastard with half a head knows Father is probably down there inside someone too. He won't know."
Apollo narrowed his eyes. He knew Ares was probably just saying it for the lack of a better insult in his inventory as one of the unsophisticated gods, but still. Apollo was the son of Zeus and a Titaness, while Ares, the son of Zeus and Hera. "Bastard" was not a word he liked from Ares.
Before he could say anything about it, something twisted in his chest. Physically. He could feel it.
Then nausea hit him. Doubling slightly forward, he groaned.
"Fuck."
"What's going on?" Aphrodite narrowed her eyes.
"I don't know." Apollo panted. "Something's wrong."
"We can see that, dipshit," Ares said. "WHAT is wrong?"
Apollo straightened.
"I don't know. I feel something pushing in my chest. There's also this... twisting feeling. I'm nauseous, so nauseous."
"Maybe that Lana Rel Day girl published music again," Ares muttered to Aphrodite, who rolled her eyes again.
"Did you drink too much?" she scrunched her nose. "Did you buy off-brand nectar again?"
"No. Haven't drunk for days." Apollo heaved. "I've been feeling like shit for hours, and now it hurts like a bitch. Feels like my insides are twisting here." He put his hand on his midsection.
Ares snickered. "No way. You're pregnant again."
Apollo wished he had his arrows on him.
Then sudden contractions in his chest sent waves of fresh pain so intense he doubled over again.
"Bet it's twins again." Ares muttered to Aphrodite. Aphrodite shushed him. Apollo hyperventilated as the squeeze went away, but not completely, a small string of pain remained. Then it came back. Apollo's breaths were beginning to turn into sobs.
Aphrodite knitted her eyebrows and stared at Apollo. Face red with pain, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. His blue eyes shimmered.
"Hold out your hand," she said.
Apollo did, and she gasped.
On his right wrist, a small spot, two inches from where his palm ended, glowed softly. When Apollo looked, he detected a faint pulse. Irregular, weak, but there. He looked to Aphrodite with the terror of sacrificial bulls and all but screamed,
"WHAT THE FUCK'S HAPPENING TO ME-"
"Shh," Aphrodite cut him off. "There's......no fucking way."
She grabbed his wrist and touched the spot tentatively. Something flickered across her face.
"Apollo," she whispered. "No. Fucking. Way." Apollo frowned, confused, and pressed two fingers to the spot, trying to decipher what could've rattled her so.
For a minute, nothing happened.Then his knees buckled.
Like raindrops, sharp senses embedded themselves in the back of his eyes. Smell of saltwater and burnt sugar, the feeling of a callused hand in his, glittering seas and wine-dark seas and fierce towering waves engulfing him and... and then soft sunlight on green eyes.
Such bright, tender eyes, staring back.
His own voice lilted a quiet hymn in the background, singing to the holder of those eyes. The sides of them crinkled as that someone smiled.
Apollo's heart ached.
His entire body buzzed with warmth, and a pleasant, phantom weight pressed on it, like someone was sprawled all over him. He heard loud laughter, slashes of swords, and roaring waves. The palms of his hands tickled. He could distinctly feel the presence of grime and exhaustion on them. Black locks of hair flying in the wind, an ancient chorus wept at his ears. When he breathed in, saltwater filled his mouth, like he was underwater. Apollo thrashed, gilded chains holding him down.
He looked down. He grasped a small blue flower in his hand. It trembled in his shaky grip, fragile petals swaying in the wind. Bile rose to his throat.
He gripped harder, the flower crushing in his palm.
When he opened it, it was a dark blue liquid. He identified the texture to be that of food coloring.
"Hey," said a voice rich like honey, but petulant like that of a child. "You're ruining it."
He looked down.
The blue food coloring replaced, a hand stained with blood stared back at him. Sticky and warm.
Apollo flinched awake.
When he came to, he still tasted citrus on his tongue. His wrist still pulsed, but now with an urgency. He was back on the floor of the Mount Olympus throne room, and Aphrodite and Ares stared down at him with a mix of fear and confusion.
His cheeks were wet with tears.
"Bro." Ares whistled. "Why're you still down there?"
Apollo blinked his tears away and looked down.The vision had knocked him onto his knees on the ground.
"Love is a sacrament best taken on your knees," Aphrodite simply said, and offered him a hand up. "Your son said that."
"I... I saw..." Apollo mumbled as he stood, grasping her hand like he needed an anchor. "I..."
"You don't have to tell," Aphrodite assured. She was being surprisingly sympathetic about this. She took her scarf and wiped a tear away from his face.
"Where?" She pressed her hand into his chest. "You can do it. Concentrate."
"N... New York."
Aphrodite smiled.
"Could be worse. Go."
Apollo took a wobbly step back, then ran.
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* * *
Down in Queens, New York, Sally Jackson clutched her stomach, worried amidst intolerable pain, as her baby stopped moving.