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“If there’s anything we can do to repay you,” that’s what they had told him, right?
Surely this counts… as stupid as it feels to ask for… They’d understand. Zagreus could feel that gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach, and he didn’t want it to destroy him.
Zagreus isn’t at the top of his game, he knows that. Achilles would make him run laps around Tartarus if he could see his poor form, only the grace of Herme’s speed boost making it possible to avoid getting hit by longbows.
Runs used to clear his mind, the only thing from chamber to chamber being to destroy enemies, and the only decisions which door to go to. But even that’s failing to cut through the turmoil.
There’s too much on his mind, all of it swirling like the beam of pure ice that shoots out of his bloodstones from Demeter’s boon.
He’s relieved when Patroclus’ glade opens up in front of him, and he scurries up the stairs.
“Hello, stranger,” Patroclus looks up from where he and Achilles are sitting together in the grass. Achilles has a book in one hand, probably purchased from one of the small markets in Elysium, and Patroclus’ head is resting in his lap.
They look so… normal, Zagreus thought to himself, stopping in his tracks. Domestic in a way that feels incredibly foreign, yet he longs for.
“You look tired, lad,” Achilles said, ever perceptive of his young pupil, “Come sit with us for a moment.”
Zagreus deliberates a moment before sitting down, keeping one leg bent under him and the other out to one side. He feels awfully like an intruder, the questions he wanted to ask them dying on his tongue as soon as he looked at them.
“Must be very tired if you actually stop to rest,” Patroclus has a hint of a smile in his eyes. That look is commonplace now, with Achilles back at his side.
“Yes, well,” Zagreus laughs a bit, “It’s been a tough run,” he’s toying with the torn edge of his chiton, and Patroclus looks over the various cuts and scrapes he’s sustained.
“We’ll clean you up before you go,” Patroclus is already sitting up, heedless of Zagreus protesting.
He dips the edge of his chlamys in the Lethe, “Relax for a moment, stranger.”
That feels like something out of his reach, something he doesn’t deserve…
Zagreus looks at Achilles helplessly, and his mentor laughs softly, “Best just to listen to Pat, he won’t take no for an answer.”
Zagreus stiffens just a bit when Patroclus starts gently washing out the various wounds, starting at his arm.
“Really, sir, it’s no issue, the next fountain will wash them away…” Zagreus says in a small voice, uncharacteristic of him.
Patroclus just hums, “Well, I’m closer and much more caring than some contracted fountain. Do tell me if something hurts.”
Zagreus just nods, biting his lip. He can’t look at either shade yet.
Patroclus knows that stiff look, the feeling to either run or savor the moment. Rather than call the Prince out directly, he goes for a more roundabout tactic.
“Your skin is running a bit cooler than I would have expected,” he points out, which is true. He’s never really touched Zagreus, but he’d imagine with his flaming laurels and burning souls that he’d be akin to a furnace.
“I picked up some of Demeter’s boons, sir,” Zagreus explains and Patroclus nods.
“Is that what’s on your mind?” Achilles is asking this now, offering a cloth to Patroclus as he moves on to the other arm.
“When’d this become an interrogation?” He tries for a laugh, but it falls flat, and he curses his inability to keep his smile up.
“Ah, so it is then,” Patroclus wipes at a particularly nasty cut on Zagreus’ ribs and he hisses in pain, shying away, “Well then, spit it out.”
He had wanted to talk to them about it… well.. Here goes nothing.
“I think lying to the Olympians is starting to get to me, sirs,” Zagreus begins, running a hand through wild hair, “Demeter especially…. She keeps telling me how awful her mourning is, how much she misses her daughter… she even calls me ‘little sprout’!”
“Aye, that would take a toll on you,” Achilles pats his shoulder sympathetically.
“Everytime I pick up her boon I want to tell her I’m her grandson, and that Persephone is safe and alive here but… that’s not possible, it would start a war!”
Zagreus is rubbing his arms now, not looking at either shade as a dark shadow passes over his face, “I just want my family to be whole,” he mumbles, nearly incomprehensible. There’s so much more than that, but it’s what passes through his lips.
Something clicks in Patroclus’ mind, a little bit of truth of what’s plaguing him that he can’t say out loud.
“It sounds like your wounds go deeper than flesh,” Achilles has his hand on Zagreus’ back, a bit of affection that would certainly be forbidden in the house. Patroclus looks at him, and an entire unspoken conversation passes between the two of them, Achilles nodding at him.
“Luckily for you, stranger, I know how to heal matters of the soul just as well,” Patroclus put down his cloth, rearranging himself so he was cross legged in the grass, “C’mere.”
Zagreus looks at him for a long moment, utterly lost, “Sir…?”
“Good gods, Zagreus, I’m offering a hug,” Patroclus says flatly, but they can both tell it’s lighthearted.
“Trust me when I say he gives the best hugs,” Achilles urges Zagreus to arrange himself so he’s sitting sideways in Patroclus’ lap.
Without another word he’s got his arms around the prince, and he swears Zagreus melts at the touch.
Patroclus is taller than Zagreus, letting him bury his face into the soft folds of his cloak, wrapping his arms around the shade’s back.
As a shade, Patroclus doesn’t quite have flesh, and he’s cool to the touch, but there’s something so deeply comforting being squeezed just enough to release all of the tension in Zagreus’ body.
The prince’s nose scrunches up, eyes screwed up tight and he tries not to cry, he really does. But then Achilles starts rubbing his back and the dam bursts.
He lets out a shaking sob, tears staining the soft chlamys, “I-I’m… I’m-”
“I will not accept any apology, stranger,” Patroclus hugs him even tighter, “This is a guilt free hug.”
He says it so matter of factly there’s no room to argue, and Achilles is murmuring soft words of comfort to Zagreus, looking at Patroclus as a silent conversation plays out in just their expressions.
“He’s never gotten this sort of affection in his life,” Patroclus’ eyes say he moves a bit so he can pet the back of Zagreus’ neck, running his fingers through black hair.
“Aye, and it’s a good thing we can give him that comfort,” Achilles is chewing the inside of his mouth, worry in his eyes that Zagreus can’t see.
Patroclus nods a bit, making sure not to disturb Zagreus as he gasps and sobs his way through layers and layers of grief. It’s a bit hard to make out his words through the pain, but they manage.
They can’t know exactly what it’s like to be Zagreus, to feel so fundamentally unlovable and to lie to those so closely related, but Patroclus thinks he knows a bit about loss.
He had spent so long sitting alone in the glade, waiting for someone he thought would never come, feeling nothing but the soft fabric of a chlamys from times long past.
It makes all the better hugs, that understanding of loss, and a heart healed.
Patroclus knows to let Zagreus let go first, that however long he needs the hug to last is as long as Patroclus will hold him. Given how the prince is gripping his chiton like his life depends on it, that won’t be anytime soon, but Patroclus is a patient man.
Achilles is paying more attention to Zagreus’ words than he is, whispering to assuage his fears, reminding him he is worthy of love. They work together as a pair to support Zagreus as he has done for them, helping stitch closed wounds of the heart.
It goes so much deeper than just lying to Demeter and the other Olympians. They listen to how he feels worthless, trapped, all of the horrible thoughts that now finally have somewhere to go.
Patroclus’ heart squeezes when Zagreus admits he once, before finding Persephone, he was tempted to drink from the Lethe to become a faceless exalted shade. He hugs him closer, skin on skin contact making Zagreus relax even further until he’s boneless, breathing deeply and evenly.
It’s not too much longer until Zagreus quiets down, simply existing without any thoughts keeping him awake.
“He’s asleep now, my love,” Achilles murmured, “First time he’s done so in… far too long.”
Patroclus repositioned himself so he could pick up Zagreus, doing so slowly so not to wake him.
“We should take him back to the house, the bed is more comfortable than grass,” Achilles whispered so not to wake him.
“Mm, agreed,” Patroclus led the way, being sure not to jostle him. They both knew the way, it was a well traveled path as of late.
Every shade in Elysium had a house of their liking, somewhere in the eternal fields. Patroclus had never had a reason to find his before Achilles, but now it was the perfect place to let Zagreus rest.
The walk was short, with Achilles pulling off Zagreus’ pauldron and laurels once they were inside.
“Will his feet burn the bedding?” Patroclus wondered as he lay the Prince down.
“Hasn’t been a problem before,” and lo and behold, the bedding was unscorched.
Achilles tucked him in, pulling the sheets up to his chest, hesitating a bit with his hand on Zagreus’ shoulder.
“Oh, just do it, he’s not awake,” Patroclus chided him.
Achilles chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss into Zagreus’ temple, “Sleep well,” he murmured before they both left, looking to busy themselves in the home while they let Zagreus rest.