Chapter Text
Zagreus is expecting it, when that familiar bell tolls and everything goes green.
After all, in the past hour, he’s talked Dusa through a mini-anxiety attack, dealt with Skelly’s judgmental silence, and suffered through Megaera’s attempt at…
Okay, he doesn’t actually know what she was attempting to do, but it was something. It comes as absolutely no surprise that Thanatos wants to chase him up as well.
The problem with being the son of Lord Fucking Hades is that to some extent, everybody in the Underworld believes they have a claim to knowing his life. He loves them all, he does, but some days it feels like he can’t even give his father the side-eye without being ambushed by somebody who wants to discuss it. After that stupid scene he’d made in the lounge, he doesn’t know why he had hoped to have some time to himself. Seriously. At this point, he’s shocked that his father hasn’t decided to pop in and make some snide comments over it. What does a guy need to do to get some privacy around here?
Escape, his mind tells him, which, yeah, he knew that already.
Still, his lingering irritation over having his business be the Underworld’s business aside, he can’t stop the smile that steals across his face when Thanatos appears.
Than doesn’t smile back, but he never smiles back. It doesn’t bother Zagreus anymore. He can already tell that Than’s got himself pretty worked up, judging by the way his expression’s pinched, and that’s a sign of care that means far more than a smile.
“Zagreus,” he greets, staring at Zagreus with those piercing golden eyes.
Lucky for him, Zagreus has worked off all of his annoyance and anxiety while fighting through Tartarus and Asphodel. All things considered, he’s in a pretty good mood now, and that means that Than can stare and scrutinize all he likes, and all Zagreus will feel is mild amusement.
After a few moments of staring, it becomes clear that Than can’t seem to find whatever it is he’s looking for.
Turning his head away, he sends a glare towards the warriors of Elysium that are spawning around them, and mutters, “Well, let’s get on with it, then,”
Zagreus huffs a laugh. He knows that he shouldn’t find Thanatos’ petulance so charming, but he does—every time Thanatos pushes him away or snaps at him or vanishes after a stammered retort, he finds himself even more ridiculously charmed.
Still, Than is right. They should get on with it. The spirits are singing for his blood, and his blood, as always, sings for freedom.
With a few careful spins of Varatha, he dispatches some of the spirits closest to him. As per fucking usual, several souls flitter about in the wake, and Zagreus rolls his eyes and chases after them. Another few jabs and slashes with the spear, and they fall too.
Out of the corner of his eye, Zagreus watches a patch of ground go dark. He turns around just in time to see Than raise a hand, and for the circle on the ground to light up.
Several warriors dissipate.
Their souls scatter, and as Than readies another attack, Zagreus darts in and takes a few of them out. Not too many, of course, lest Thanatos, god of brattiness, complains, but he manages to keep the score even.
Though, as the battle goes on, Zagreus finds himself less and less inclined to contribute. It’s not an entirely overwhelming arena, so he dispatches whoever comes into reach as well as chases up any errant souls, but leaves the majority of the work to Thanatos.
He’s the God of Death, after all. He doesn’t need the help.
Plus, Zagreus thinks that after the day he’s had, he deserves to stay back and appreciate some of the rare… finer points of the Underworld.
He bites back a smile, watching Thanatos glide over and take out another cluster of souls. They must be near finished now, and although Zagreus knows he has no hope of catching up to Than’s score, he’s not overly concerned. He can manage without the Centaur’s heart.
Thanatos, ever graceful, ever brilliant, rips his scythe out of the last soul flittering about, and thus it ends.
Zagreus leans on his spear and grins at Than.
He looks around the battlefield, frowning slightly, before moving towards Zagreus. For some reason, Zagreus finds that he can’t stop his smile from growing.
“I… won,” Than says, his eyes narrowed.
Zagreus laughs, standing up straight and twirling his spear. “Now, Than, don’t sound so surprised. You aren’t that bad,”
Than frowns—almost pouts —at Zagreus. “I won by a considerable amount,” he says.
“That you did,” Zagreus replies brightly. “Do you want a congratulations?”
“No—” Than starts, before cutting himself off. He glares at Zagreus, his lips pursed. He crosses his arms. “You are infuriating,”
Zagreus snorts. “People keep telling me that, lately. Can’t imagine why. I personally think I’m a delight.”
Than stares at him again, his gaze simultaneously softer and more piercing. He’s still looking for… whatever it is he’s looking for, it seems. The problem is, is that Zagreus isn’t sure that he’ll like the answers he’s going to find.
Then, Than closes his eyes and sighs. “You are going to make this difficult, aren’t you,” he says dryly.
And I thought you said you didn’t know me, Zagreus thinks fondly. Than isn’t looking, but he smiles anyway. Good practice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Than. Care to elaborate?”
Than stays silent for a few moments. It hangs in the air around them, floating like snowflakes on the breeze. Snowflakes, and the winter winds. That’s all Zagreus knows about the world above him. Nothing but cold.
Then, Than opens his eyes again, sending Zagreus a frustrated look. “You talked to Megaera,” he says. Borderline accuses.
Zagreus makes a face. “I don’t know that I’d call that… talking,” he says.
Than makes a face right back at him.
“I…” he starts, before pausing and wrinkling his nose in distaste. “I did not need to know that.”
It takes a moment for Zagreus to realize what’s been lost in translation. He straightens up, shaking his head rapidly. “No, no, no, I didn’t mean that. That isn’t… Meg and I aren’t… That’s not a thing anymore.”
Than, very obviously looking like he doesn’t believe Zagreus, which is fair because Zagreus did kind of mess up that denial, says, “Okay…”
Zagreus shakes his head again. “Seriously, I mean it,” he says. He winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, after all the times she’s tried, and, uh, succeeded, in killing me… that ship has definitely sailed.
The situation’s a bit more complicated than that, and in all honesty the murder attempts factor in a lot less than he’s making it out to be, but Zagreus isn’t super interested in explaining exactly to Than why he and Meg split. He’s also pretty sure that Than isn’t super interested in hearing about it, either.
Zagreus, feeling a little like a fool, stares down at the ground. They’ve been dancing around the… the flirting, and the gifts, and the unasked for and highly dangerous assistance on his quest a while now, but Zagreus had thought he had been pretty obvious. If Than still thinks that there’s something between him and Meg… Well, it’s not exactly encouraging.
Zagreus resists the urge to sigh. And somehow he’s the infuriating one.
Instead of muttering out some kind of denial or deflection, which Zagreus had expected, Than quietly asks, “Is that what you see?”
Zagreus looks up at him in surprise.
Than is staring at him, with a stubborn set to his jaw.
“What?” Zagreus asks.
“In your nightmares,” Than clarifies softly. “Is that what you see?”
Ah. The snowflakes land, and the air empties. There it is.
Zagreus guesses there really is no avoiding this conversation. Again. For the second time.
He shrugs. He doesn’t… want to turn Than away, or refuse to talk, but he just does not want to talk about it. He’s rather sick of thinking about the things he sees when he’s asleep, actually. It’s bad enough that he has to see them in the first place.
“Sometimes,” he replies. “Not always. It’s the violence. That’s mostly what I… see. All the fighting and bloodshed and such. Sometimes it’s Meg on the other side of the weapon. Sometimes it’s a nameless spirit.” He snorts half-heartedly. “Sometimes Lenny features. Those are pretty fun, I must say. He’s a great conversationalist.”
Everything left unsaid stays unsaid. That’s the nice thing about talking with Than, at least. He won’t dig. Sure, sometimes Zagreus wishes he would, but this time…
This time, he’s glad for the silence.
Than breathes out slowly. “Fighting and bloodshed and such,” he repeats, not looking at Zagreus. Not even looking in Zagreus’ direction. Instead, he stares down at the scythe held in his hands.
It’s interesting. Zagreus knows, logically, that to everybody else dead or alive, that scythe is a symbol for death. Still. Still. Still he looks at it, and can only think of protection. Of loyalty.
Zagreus huffs. “It seems to be all there is, down here.”
“It’s all there is on the surface as well,” Than says. “My work is neverending.”
That sounds like a goodbye. A Thanatos-style goodbye, because he doesn’t like normal ones. Still, Zagreus has learned the signs.
He braces himself for Thanatos’ departure, but that’s not what he gets.
Instead, he gets Than turning his eyes to the ground, quiet and shy, and saying, “Well, it’s not all there is.”
“Than?” Zagreus asks quietly.
Than continues on. “There’s this flower. Red. Blood red.” He looks up at Zagreus with a small, gentle smile. “It grows wherever there are battlefields, in the thousands. In some places I go, it’s all I can see in every direction.”
His throat strangely dry, Zagreus says, “Wherever there are battlefields?”
He looks down at his feet, as if expecting this flower to pop up in the grass, but it’s just the Underworld. Always just the underworld.
Than nods. “Wherever there are battlefields,” he confirms. “They cover it all up. Like… like a sea of flowers.”
“Or a blanket of snow,” Zagreus adds.
Thanatos’ smile grows a little stronger. “Yes,” he says. “Or a blanket of snow. It swallows up all the ugliness of war.”
Zagreus breathes out. He can’t imagine it, really. Even a week ago, it felt as though knowing the touch and taste of snow was impossible.
“Why are you telling me this?” Zagreus asks. Than has always been quick to remind him that the world above isn’t all that it’s made out to be, but this is the first time Zagreus has heard him say something so… positive. So evocative.
Than looks away from him again, and Zagreus thinks he might even see some colour on his cheeks.
When he replies, he looks back towards Zagreus, with those endless, endless eyes. “All there is down here for you is violence. It’s all you know.”
His voice doesn’t tremble, isn’t pained, because he is Death and nothing touches Death, but Zagreus thinks it might come close.
Zagreus wants to throw his arms around him and never let him go.
Than continues. “I… I want to give you something else, to think about. Something to remember. Then maybe the next time you dream, it won’t be violence. You can dream about what comes afterwards instead.”
Zagreus tries to conjure the image. No blood. No pain. Just him, and an endless field of flowers. Or him, and an endless blanket of snow. Or a neverending shore, or a mountain that disappears into the clouds, or a river that goes on forever.
Then, like lightning, Zagreus wants. Zagreus wants so desperately. He wants to escape, and he wants to know, and he wants to live: live with the knowledge that Death will always be a shadow at his side.
You cannot outrun death. Death is everywhere.
That, Zagreus thinks, is the entire point.
He meets Than’s gaze, with all of that quiet uncertainty and unsteady hope, and he smiles.
“Thank you, Thanatos,” he says. He hopes that Thanatos hears all of it: all of his want, and his sincerity, and his love.
Thanatos smiles back. Hesitantly, he reaches out an arm; Zagreus is leaning into his touch before it’s even there, letting his face fall into Thanatos’ caress with ease.
Thanatos smooths his hand down Zagreus’ cheek. Quickly, quick enough to catch those fleeting touches, Zagreus turns his head to press a kiss into Than’s palm.
Thanatos, eyes wide, keeps his hand very still. Zagreus thinks he could stay like this forever and ever and never want anything more.
A lie, of course, but a beautiful one all the same.
“You know, it wasn’t all violence, growing up down here,” he says.
Than looks genuinely surprised by that. Fair enough. It’s very, very rare that Zagreus has anything good to say about the Underworld.
“No?” Than prompts.
Zagreus shakes his head, soft, just enough that Than can feel the movement in his fingers.
“You were there as well,” he murmurs.
Than’s fingers tremble against Zagreus’ skin. “I wasn’t there very often,” he replies. He frowns. “That hasn’t changed.”
Zagreus smiles at him. Kisses his palm again, just to feel the way Than shudders.
“You’re here now, aren’t you?” Zagreus asks. The countless other times that Than has done this, shown up out of nowhere and aided in Zagreus’ fool’s errand, remain unsaid, but not forgotten. Zagreus does not forget them.
Than exhales. “Yes,” he says, and Zagreus watches as his other hand drops his scythe to the ground. “I am here now.”
Zagreus doesn’t know who leans in first, when their lips meet. He doesn’t know anything except for this: the warmth of Thanatos’ hands, the taste of his mouth, the hum of his heart. The violence of the Underworld seems eons distant. It is just him, and Than, and the lack of distance between them.
Zagreus hopes that, if he ever dreams of that field—if Than really has managed to chase away his night terrors—that among all of that red and green, he won’t be alone.
Above all things, Zagreus is sick of being alone.