Chapter Text
According to Hypnos, it was the twenty-seventh escape attempt. Ultimately another failure—as evidenced by Zagreus trudging out of the pool of Styx, shaking the blood from his hair and pulling that cocksure grin back over his face—but a very different sort of failure. It was a new factor in the equation. An unknown.
“Oh wow— Natural Causes?” said Hypnos, his eyes darting between the parchment and Zagreus. “I didn’t even know that was possible. Gosh, was it nice? I bet it was nice. Was it like sleeping? Did you dream?”
“Don’t remember, mate, sorry,” Zagreus said with a chuckle. He actually chuckled, the impossible bastard.
“It had to be nicer than whatever gruesome end keeps getting redacted from the records…”
Thanatos hung back and watched the exchange from the shadows. His sleepdrunk brother, confused and curious, trying to pry details out of the prince with all the subtlety of a dog with a bone. Zagreus smiling and shrugging it off, changing the subject with a wink, a kind word, a well-timed bottle of Nectar. That infuriating charm of his.
For Zagreus, it was the twenty-seventh time. For Thanatos, it was the first. His eyes hadn’t even had a chance to adjust to the surface when he’d realized who he was collecting. What this meant. One answer that dragged countless new questions in its wake.
He didn’t hang around the house. Lingering there inevitably meant being cornered by Zagreus, sneered at by Meg, consoled by Nyx— all of which felt absolutely intolerable. He needed a moment’s peace. He needed to think.
One pale green flash later, he sat atop a pillar in Tartarus. Below him, shades went about repairing the damage done by Zagreaus’ last whirlwind tour through the realm. They worked mechanically as the labyrinth of chambers shifted around them, oblivious to everything but their task of undoing Zag’s progress.
“Than…?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Than, you have to take me back.”
“Obviously. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
“No! Ergh… Not… Not the house. Than, please. Please.”
“You’re dead, Zagreus. You’ve died. Now hush, we’re going home.”
“But she— I didn’t— This isn’t fair, I can’t— Nnngh…”
Thanatos had wanted to snap at him then. Scoff at the idea of fairness. The naivety of it. The entitlement. But there was something in Zag’s voice that he’d never heard before, something frayed and desperate that cut straight to his core. Instead of chiding him, Thanatos lifted him gently, one arm under his knees, the other around his shoulders, and carried him to the bank of the Styx.
“Zag, shh. I mean it. The more you fight it, the more it’ll hurt. Just… try to be still, alright?”
For once, he listened. With a grimace, he closed his eyes, laid his head on Thanatos’ shoulder, and fell silent. Thanatos could have teleported them both home in an instant. Or he could have laid Zag in the river and let the current carry him back. His role in the matter could end after his touch. This didn’t have to concern him. He could wipe his hands and gain some distance from this foolishness.
But he didn’t. Maybe it really was as simple as the river — the lilting whisper of Styx that drew him in and held him there, hypnotized. That’s what he tried to convince himself of anyway, since the matter of Zag’s pulse under his hands, beating its stubborn rhythm through death, felt far too complicated to parse. Or perhaps it was neither. Perhaps it was just nice to have a moment where the silence between them was natural. Expected and comfortable.
Whatever the reason, Thanatos was compelled to take the long way home. He carried Zag all the way back to the house, letting the sound of the river push everything else aside, for a time.
There was a string of Slain by [REDACTED] after that. Thanatos busied himself with his work and tried to ignore it, but if there was one thing Zagreus was exceptional at, it was calling attention to himself. Every time he dragged himself out of the pool of Styx, he’d flit around the house like some absurd butterfly before setting out again. He chattered at anyone who would listen, showered everyone with gifts, ran errands for the kitchen, the contractor, the servants— he even convinced Orpheus to sing.
It was ludicrous. Maddening. Zagreus smiled and laughed his way through the halls, completely ignoring the fact that he had died— on the surface of natural causes like some mortal. Thanatos was starting to wonder if his memory of the surface was just an elaborate daydream—Hypnos’ idea of a prank, perhaps—when Zagreus finally managed to find him.
He was standing in his favored haunt, lost in thought after a job that involved ushering a particularly talkative old woman to her final resting place. “If I didn’t know better,” he heard from behind him, “I might think you were avoiding me.”
He turned with a start. Zagreus was leaning against a pillar, watching him with his arms crossed and head tilted to one side, his mismatched eyes betraying a hint of a smile.
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m not,” Thanatos muttered, then put his back to him once more and resumed staring into the dark water below the balcony.
“Really? Because by my count, I’ve seen everyone else in this house—including Meg, who I’m pretty sure hates my damn guts—at least half a dozen times since you and I last talked.” Zagreus appeared in his peripheral vision. He perched on the balcony rail beside Thanatos and started counting on his fingers as he spoke. “I got Achilles to visit the lounge, had a couple heart-to-hearts with Orpheus, beat the tar out of Skelly so many times that there’s a permanent Skelly-shaped crater in the courtyard. But you—” he pointed at Thanatos with the count he’d just made it to “—are suspiciously absent every time I’m home.”
“Must be nice having so much time to socialize.”
“And according to Dusa,” Zagreus went on as though he hadn’t heard him, “you’re here. Apparently just always in whatever room I’m not.”
“Tsch. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Just because you quit your job doesn’t mean all of us can— or want to, for that matter. I’ve been busy.”
“Hmm. Alright. Guess I’ll just have to wait until natural causes come for me again? We’ll talk when duty demands it?”
Thanatos spun to face him again, realizing too late that he’d been baited. Zagreus looked… hopeful. Playful. Like this was all some game to him. “I— have to go,” he managed. “Work calls. See you around, Zag.”
“Than, wait—”
He heard the exasperated frown that had likely replaced Zagreus’ smile, but his face was washed out in a flash of green light as the house disappeared.
The second time, he was more prepared, but only slightly. The place he’d been called to was shrouded in mist, even more than his view of the surface normally was, but he recognized it immediately. It had… almost a smell. A taste? Something familiar, but too faint to isolate and put words to. Combined with the strange gold quality of the light that shone through the mist, it struck a chord in him that he’d experienced before. This was the exact place he had collected Zag.
And sure enough, there he was, on all fours and struggling to stand as he faded into view. His sword lay off to the side, already dissolving into ghostly wisps for the mist to carry home. Thanatos knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He stopped struggling under the touch, but didn’t lift his eyes from the ground.
“Zag. It’s a done deal. Save your strength for the next fight.”
“I don’t… want… to fight.”
“Mm. Yes, that path you and Stygius carved getting here is definitely the work of a pacifist.” He tried to put his usual stoniness into his voice, but the traitorous thing came out sounding soft. Fond, even. “Come on, up you get.”
“Ungh— I’m… I’m serious, Than.”
Thanatos lifted him and walked to the Styx. He was so warm, even as the last gasp of life swirled out of him and rushed home ahead of them. Warm and breathing and argumentative and decidedly dead. Always such a contradiction, Zagreus.
“Well you’d better cut that out before we get home,” Thanatos said, “or Cerberus will never let you back in.”
Zag’s laugh was brittle, turning into a cough before it could fully escape him. “Blood and— Ow,” he grumbled, then buried his face in Than’s shoulder. “It’s so beautiful here,” he said, his voice small and muffled. “She asked me to come back. She…”
He trailed off and Thanatos found himself turning questions over in his head. What is this place? What do you see that I don’t? How did you even make it here? Why do you walk willingly into a place that you know will kill you? Why do you want to leave so badly? Is the house really that miserable? Is there nothing there that…
Knowing Zag’s energy was limited, he settled for, “Who?”
The silence stretched for several more heartbeats. Then, “I just… want… to rest.”
Rest is for mortals, Thanatos wanted to say. It’s for people who have to end. Instead, he sighed, floated an inch off the bank so his footsteps wouldn’t disturb Zag, and followed the river home. They were silent for the rest of the trip.
The main hall was empty, save for a softly snoring Hypnos, when Zagreus marched out of the pool of Styx and made a beeline for his chambers, seething around the stubborn set of his jaw. Thanatos watched him disappear around the corner, then glanced at his brother’s scroll. Escape attempt thirty-six, death by Natural Causes, an itemized list of damages, a formal complaint from Theseus… Any useful information was either hidden between the lines or locked away inside Zagreus.
Thanatos followed him. He made it all the way to the courtyard before he realized that Zag was already gone. Stygius was back in its place and the Fists of Malphon were missing. He was letting his recklessness take the reins, then. Fine. Great. Let him blow off some steam. Whatever. At least it would be a short excursion — he never got far with Malphon. He’d live just long enough to chase a gorgon straight into a lava pit or try to punch through a flame wheel like an idiot. In a foolhardy mood like this one, it seemed unlikely he’d even make it out of Tartarus.
Thanatos took advantage of the empty courtyard and paced. He’d organize his thoughts: throw out the ones that were too soaked in emotion to be useful, unravel and analyze the ones based in logic, have his questions ready for when Zagreus returned. Thanatos would corner him for once. He’d be prepared this time— wouldn’t let him through the gate until they’d talked— had an actual conversation, not just sparred with coy small talk and half-answers. He would… He…
He was being called. There was a gentle tug at his center like a thread going taut, meaning there was a soul to collect on the other end. Someone who had managed to reach their end without cutting things short somewhere along the way. The timing was less than ideal, but he could probably still be there and back quick enough to intercept Zagreus. Work was a more effective way to pass the time than brooding anyway. He quit pacing and let the thread pull him in.
The thing about Thanatos’ work is that it was very consistent. In all the ages of mortals, the role of Death Incarnate had remained a constant. There was a certain meditative quality to be found in its predictability. The Fates gave every mortal an expiration date, and if they were able to reach it, Thanatos came to put the period at the end of their sentence. Yes, there was the occasional troublemaker who tried to wriggle out of it—finagle the period into a semicolon or haggle for a comma—but they were few and far between. More often than not, people at their end had been visited by Hypnos first and they were quiet. Calm and contemplative and ready to lean into his touch. Some smiled or spoke softly, releasing one final secret from their hearts before sinking into his arms. Others insisted on taking that first step across the threshold themselves, stoic and proud, but never pulling away from the hand at their shoulder. Always, there was a peaceful sort of finality.
When Thanatos relaxed into the pull of the thread, he was prepared for that finality. He was almost longing for it and the momentary quiet it would bring to his mind. He was not expecting to end up back in the heavy golden mist, the river whispering behind him and that delicate almost-taste tickling the back of his throat. It was far too soon, they had only just gotten home, Zagreus couldn’t possibly have made it to the surface already — and with Malphon at that.
“Wait! No!” Zag’s voice warbled through the air before the mists parted to reveal him on his hands and knees in front of Thanatos. “Gods damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!” He punctuated each damn it with a punch to the ground, Malphon dissipating a little more with each impact.
Thanatos took a knee in front of him and reached out as though to cup his chin, but stilled his hand before actually touching him. He was a mess — his breath coming in great heaving gulps, his red eye swollen shut, his body covered in more blood and burns and bruises than anything should have been able to live through.
“You look terrible,” Thanatos said. He arched an eyebrow and scanned the mist for any hint of what this place might be, but the Styx remained the only discernible landmark. “I don’t suppose you have any insight as to how this—” he moved his hand to the side of Zag’s face, the backs of his fingers just shy of touching his cheek “—is a natural death.”
The last threads of Malphon untangled themselves from Zag’s hands and were spirited off toward the river. With a frustrated cry, he pulled away from the touch, collapsing to the ground with the effort. He rolled onto his back and peered up at Thanatos with his good eye. “Nice to see you too,” he croaked.
Thanatos narrowed his eyes. “How did you even get here this fast? You just left.”
“Had help,” Zag grunted. He lolled his head to one side, revealing a softly glowing plume tucked into his laurels. Its light was slowly fading, sputtering like a dying candle, though the feather didn’t dissolve into the mist like Malphon had. The divine signature was faint, but familiar.
“Hermes, then?”
Another grunt. A nod.
“Tsch. Zagreus. How many times are you going to do this?” Thanatos pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed himself to his feet. “What are you trying to prove? You did it, you made it to the surface, you showed your father. Good job, you escaped— and this is going to happen every time.”
“It’s not—” Zag shot him a one-eyed glare and breathed in sharply through his nose. The fight seemed to go out of him on the exhale. “I don’t care about proving myself. Not anymore,” He said, reaching one hand above him. Thanatos pulled him to his feet, where swayed for a few seconds before losing the battle and stumbling into him. It was instinct for Thanatos to throw a quick arm around the waist and hold him upright. A few shaky breaths followed as the last puffs of life escaped and drifted away. “That’ll never not feel weird.”
“It’s just what I am, Zag,” Thanatos said with a shrug. He stooped enough for Zag to throw an arm over his shoulder, then helped him limp towards the river. “Both of us are a little different up here. Death Incarnate and… I dunno, I guess you’re just dead.”
Zag choked on a laugh. “Gods— ahh, don’t make me laugh right now. Pretty sure my insides are busy stitching themselves back together.”
“Charming.”
“Oh, what— Death Incarnate’s stomach turned by a bit of viscera?”
“Peaceful death, remember? Viscera is Ares’ domain,” Thanatos said. “Speaking of… I still don’t get how this counts as a job for me.”
“You’re serious?” Zag said, throwing a frown over his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s hazy, but, Than… look around.”
“At what? The mist?”
“Hmm… Guess it must be my magnetic personality reeling you in.”
“Definitely not.”
“Then the Fates truly work in mysterious ways.”
“Fine,” Thanatos scoffed, “be cryptic.”
Zag sighed and leaned a little harder. “This place,” he said when they reached the bank. “You really can’t see it?”
Thanatos shook his head. “The surface is… blurry sometimes. Too bright to always make sense of,” he said. “But here more than usual for some reason. I see the Styx.” And you. “That’s it.”
“Well. It’s… peaceful here. I won’t pretend to understand it all, but if it’s peace you’re drawn to, then I think it makes sense that… that it’s you who…”
Thanatos turned his head to look at him as they walked. Both his eyes were open again, though unfocused and staring dreamily into Styx’s dark waters. The cuts and bruises had already faded, and even though his limp was becoming more sure-footed with every step, he didn’t move his arm from Thanatos’ shoulder, or pull away from the arm around his waist. If anything, he relaxed into it.
They walked in silence for a time, the golden light fading behind them until it was swallowed by the mist, the murmur of the river pulling them forward. It was a sound that fell just outside language, a message that could almost be heard, almost understood, but slid out of reach like the memory of a dream as soon as the listener reached for meaning.
“You’re going to do it again, aren’t you?” Thanatos said when the temple came into view.
“Have to,” Zag said softly.
Thanatos thought of his own work, of his immovable role in the mortal world, and wondered, for the first time, how much choice Zag actually had in the matter. With a curt nod, he wrapped his free hand around the wrist draped over his shoulder, focused on the temple, the river, the weight at his side, and spoke no more of it.