Chapter Text
Zagreus is quieter than normal, and he only remarks about an interesting snowflake or an odd creature once every three minutes. (“A squirrel.” “Can I touch it?” “No.” “Why not?”)
“You know, Than, I really enjoy these little dates of ours,” Zagreus cheers, as they watch the squirrel scurry up a tree. “It’s quite nice, being on the surface.”
Thanatos deeply dislikes the surface.
And Zagreus knows that, but Thanatos would tolerate anything for him. So, Thanatos supposed that those two things cancelled each other out.
Also, it doesn’t take long for them to find a dead bird.
Thanatos watches Zagreus kneel onto the snowy ground, Varathra discarded beside him. He keeps a short distance away, enough to peer over Zagreus’ shoulder without blocking out the sun.
“Poor thing,” Zagreus murmurs. He runs a gentle, tender finger down the bird’s shattered wing.
The sincerity on Zagreus’ face is… overwhelming, to say the least. Thanatos’ heart rushes again—uncontrollably, wonderfully—as Zagreus pouts.
“They’re called doves,” Thanatos says softly.
“Doves?”
“Yes.”
Zagreus says it again. “Dove.” He glances at Thanatos, seeking his approval.
Thanatos nods briefly.
Before Thanatos can protest—or stop him—Zagreus takes Varathra and makes a clean, sharp cut on his forearm.
Alarmed, Thanatos demands, “What are you—”
“Hush.” Zagreus dips a finger into the bleeding gash. He takes his blood-coated finger and touches it to the bird’s wings.
Thanatos watches as Zagreus squeezes his eyes shut. He shifts from one foot to another, leaning on his scythe, confused.
And then he sees it.
The bright, sharp glow of red. The sudden rush of power that is anchored in Zagreus, and spreads out. Then, Thanatos watches slack jawed as the bird slowly rises. It flaps its previously-broken wing proudly, merrily.
Zagreus looks to Thanatos’ and his eyes are so bright.
“See?” he whispers. The bird begins to fly again, gently, and Zagreus’ blood grows bright. “I… It’s alive.”
Thanatos kneels beside Zagreus. At a loss for words, all Thanatos can say is, “Blood and fucking darkness, Zag.”
“Language!”
Zagreus can bring things back to life.
Thanatos’ heart speeds up.
“It’s cute, right?” Zagreus murmurs. The dove pecks Zagreus’ hand, almost in prayer or thanks.
Thanatos thinks of what the Olympians would do if they found out of Zagreus’ power. He thinks of Master Hades, too, who rules the fucking Underworld, who takes souls and sorts them and makes sure they stay dead. Oh, chaos would arise at the talk of a Chthonic prince who could raise the dead, who could cheat Death.
Thanatos’ mouth is dry.
“It’s quite fitting.”
“Sorry?” Zagreus looks worried, almost, like Thanatos would scream at him. (In turn, Thanatos schools his features into something less... sinister, he hopes.)
“You keep doing the impossible.” Thanatos reaches for the bird with his gauntlet-covered hand. Gods, his Zagreus was more powerful than Thanatos. Than his Lord Father, maybe. Than any other god that has and will ever roam the earth, below, and beyond. Gods—
Zagreus grins, all teeth and joy. The bird has flown to Zagreus shoulder, perching there like a little friend.
“You aren’t… you aren’t angry?”
“Why would I be?”
“The way I see it, I could take away your job prospects.”
Zagreus bursts out laughing, and Thanatos rolls his eyes.
Quietly, though, Zagreus murmurs, “It’s a shame I can’t use this ability for too long. You know… dying on the surface and everything.”
Thanatos purses his lips. "Let's..." How do I say this? "That gives us enough time to figure your powers out." How do we keep this hidden? Who do we tell? Who can we trust—
Zagreus shrugs, unbothered by his power. Thanatos supposes it's quite in character for him—Zagreus is the Prince of the Underworld, the world bends at his will.
Moments pass in silence. They sit together beneath the snowing sky, and the bird has began ruffling Zagreus' golden laurel.
“Than? I..." Zagreus exhales slowly. He grips Thanatos' wrist. "I'm feeling... Ah, blood and darkness, that hurt."
Thanatos brings his trembling Zagreus to his chest.
"Let's go home," Thanatos murmurs, as Zagreus begins to shudder. "I don't... I don't want to see you taken by the Styx."
"Let’s go home,” Zagreus agrees. He breathes slowly, evenly, and their little dove friend flies away with a mighty, showy flap of its wings.
They'll figure it out.
Probably.