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Down, down, down below the great Mount Olympus, ancient caves snake throughout the underbelly of the grand monument. And, deep, deep, deep within those mystic caves, resided one young god, studying away on his numerous blueprints.
He sat in his self-made wheelchair, and leaned over his desk as he twisted a tiny screw into a new trinket. His workspace was his room, and his room was his workspace. Several inventions he finished lay on shelves along with more maturely organized blueprints. There was only one picture in the entire tunnel system, of him and the royal family posing for the royal portrait.
Hardly anyone dared to venture into these cavers for various reasons, and none of them bothered Hephaestus, of Blacksmiths and Fire. No, he knew all too well that most rumors were just silly lies to keep people away.
Hephaestus quite enjoyed the tunnels. Dark, secluded, and chock-full of endless information for the little psychic. Down here, the mental voices of the mountain were subdued, soft, and much easier to process. It gave him much more thinking room to do what he did best, and that was crafting.
Double-checking his work, he looked over his blueprints to see if he was still doing things correctly, or if any adjustments needed to be made. Sir Prometheus' plans tended to be dated, but they were still extraordinary for his time, and without a psychic mind like Hephaestus. Hephaestus just wished Sir Prometheus could see their creations coming to life. But, that would never happen. Father would make sure of that.
Finished. Hephaestus set down his newest toy onto his desk and marveled at it. He never liked to brag about what he made, but he had a feeling in both his heart and mind that this particular creation was quite spectacular. Using telekinesis, he wheeled himself away from his desk to get a better view of the clock that hung high over a shelf. Hephaestus’ eyes widened. 2:43?! Oh no, I didn’t mean to stay up this late!
Mother would be quite displeased with him if she were to find out - which she would, Hephaestus knew. She always found out the truth. Always. And, he predicted that his accident (that was quite minor, in his opinion) would send her into a mood so foul, the entire Divine Realm would suffer for weeks to come.
Wasting no more time, the young Olympian packed his blueprints away, frowning the entire time. Luckily, his telekinesis came in handy at times like this. All of his blueprints were folded and neatly stored in their right places with his mind, ready for the next day of work. He didn’t feel tired, he knew he probably wouldn’t be for another few hours, but he didn’t want to push his luck. The very thought of his mother’s angry mind made his upper body shiver.
Before he was able to put out his flames for bed, a new voice entered Hephaestus’ mind. He flinched at its frantic intensity, grasping and shouting, always. It grew louder as it got closer to Hephaestus. Soon, crying was coupled with it, echoing through the tunnels. Hephaestus flinched again; it had been some time since he had heard a real sound so loud. The Olympian frowned, knowing exactly who was about to appear.
The caves had no doors, so the boy came into view instantly. He was sobbing and wiping his eyes with bruised and marked hands. His dark hair tumbled down his neck and bunched up around his crying eyes. Pity clogged Hephaestus’ throat as he watched the boy cry. “Hi, Ares.” He managed to say after a swallow. It was so hard to speak, the child’s thoughts were loud and nearly unbearable, especially after so many hours of quiet. “Did you have a nightmare again?”
“Make it stop, Phee!” Ares barked. His voice was so hoarse, Hephaestus had to stop himself from wincing. “Please… Put me to sleep like Athie and make the laughing stop! Please!”
“No.” Hephaestus told him as gently as he could manage. This was no abnormal occurrence; Ares often sought comfort from his younger brother in fear of disturbing their mother. However, it was rare for him to ask to be given Mental Devastation. It must have been bad this time… “Ares, you don’t want that… you know you don’t.”
Ares lifted his head and stared at his brother. His deep purple eyes were terribly bloodshot, and his pajamas did little to hide his Soul Scars. The ugly black marks tangled all over his arms and torso now. Hephaestus always had to remind himself to keep his eyes up. Ares hated it when people stared, and he definitely didn’t need to be angry on top of frazzled. Don’t trigger his bloodlust… stay calm…
“Why?” Ares asked, so innocent Hephaestus almost gasped.
“Because…” The question caught the younger Olympian off guard. “Because Athie’s sleep hurts you. I don’t want to be like her.”
“It’s okay,” Ares nodded, taking a step closer. He was still crying, but now the crazed glint in his eyes returned. Hephaestus swallowed again. “It won’t hurt. As long as the laughing stops, I don’t care… just make the laughing stop.”
“Ares… I’m not doing that to you.” Hephaestus tried for a firmer tone, but his voice held no threat. “And please… don’t go to Athie. She likes hurting you.”
“I know.” Of course he knows. Unlike most of their family, Hephaestus refused to believe his older brother was some mindless idiot who only knew how to bark and scratch and kill. And, every day, Ares almost proved him right. “She’s listening, isn’t she?”
“She’s always listening.”
“Okay.” FUCK YOU, ATHIE!!
The sudden mental shout made Hephaestus whimper. So loud, always so loud! “A-Ares…” He mumbled and rubbed his temples. “Try not to yell, okay? It makes my head hurt.” His older brother’s onslaught of mental concern forced Hephaestus to bite his tongue. Great, now he's anxious… “I’m okay, I promise!” He tried to correct the situation with a forced laugh. "Just, try to be careful, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay... “ Hephaestus didn’t want to ask. But, he knew worse results would arise in the morning if he didn’t, and Ares would absolutely get what he just asked for. “Do you want to talk about your nightmare now?”
At the question, Ares swallowed, jumbling his marked fingers together. He looked so small as he shook and attempted to explain. “It… It was him this time. I tried everything. I made knives and threw them at his face and stabbed him and chopped him up! And… I kept trying, and trying, but he wasn’t dying! And he wouldn’t stop laughing at me!”
Oh no! His thoughts quickly clouded with rage. When Ares’ breath hitched and grabbed thick fistfulls of hair, Hephaestus had to step in. “Ares?” He called his brother in an attempt to bring him back to reality. Please don’t slip into bloodlust! “It’s over. You’re down here with me, okay?”
“I hate him, Phee.” Ares mumbled, not letting go of his hair. Hephaestus was glad that his gaze was down; he was sure his own panic was written all over his small face. “I hate him so much! Why won’t he just die?! I want him to die…”
His sobs returned as he dropped to his knees. Silently, Hephaestus wheeled over to his brother, and automatically, Ares collapsed into his lap. Snot and tears got all over his pants, but Hephaestus only combed through his brother’s hair. “I know.” He whispered, blinking away his own oncoming blurriness. “He put you through so much… you don’t deserve it. Not even a little.”
“He thinks I’m a monster,” Ares murmured, head still on his little brother’s lap. “That’s why he laughs. Because he’s stronger than all monsters.”
“You aren’t a monster,” Hephaestus chided with a calming smile. “If you were, I would have used my traps on you.”
Ares laughed, and it rang through Hephaestus like a warm flame that had just been born. He was always mistaken to be past the age of maturity due to his size and numerous Soul Scars, but his laugh was always a dead giveaway of how old he really was. And, just like that, he was on a new topic. “Can I try some tomorrow? Please? I’ll be careful!”
Hephaestus knew to keep the conversation going. Ares was back to normal now, smiling and excited at three in the morning. “Of course. I make them so you can test them out.”
“Really? You make them for me?”
“For the most part, yes. You tend to be put in unique situations when you… do your job, so I want to be sure that my creations work in different scenarios.”
“Wow! I love you, Phee! You’re my favorite brother!” That was no shocker to Hephaestus (Hermes was a baby, and Apollo annoyed him to no end), unlike the sudden hug his older brother gave him. Hephaestus gasped, then his own laugh squeezed out, and Ares’ returned.
Together, the two brothers filled the aged caves of Olympus with their youthful melody.
And, together, the laughter died down when Ares started to yawn. His panic returned to his thoughts, so Hephaestus told him, “You don’t have to go back to your room. You can stay with me.”
“I can?” Ares asked quietly, craning his neck to the cave entrance. “But what if the laughter comes back?”
“It won’t.” Hephaestus was firm again, and immediately grabbed Ares’s attention. His eyes were wide and young and desperate. He yawned again, and Hephaestus added with practiced grit, “I’ll be here to protect you this time. No laughter will come. Not even his. I swear on Styx’s waters.”
Ares gasped. “No.”
“Yes. I won’t let you suffer anymore tonight.” I wish I could stop it for good…
For the first time in a few timelines at least, Hephaestus watched his older brother soften. Ares’ shoulders slacked ever so slightly, and he hummed with even contempt. Without a word, he moved towards his younger brother’s bed and pulled out the sheets. Hephaestus could have easily done so with telekinesis, but he could tell from Ares’ very obvious thoughts that he just wanted to help with what he could.
That included lifting Hephaestus out of his chair and, with so little grace, plopping him into bed. Hephaestus wasn’t even allowed to adjust himself; Ares moved him (again, with so little grace), until he was sure that his little brother was comfortable. Satisfied, he went to push the empty wheelchair closer to the desk. Only then did the elder brother climb into bed with his kin.
They faced each other for a moment after Ares pulled the blankets up again. Hephaestus’ pity returned now that Ares’ features were so up close. There were bags under his eyes and several tiny scars that dotted his olive toned cheeks like freckles. So worn…
Ares’ eyes were not on his brother. He looked past Hephaestus to a spot on the wall. Hephaestus knew where he was looking from the mental images. Father’s mangled corpse on the ground, and Ares, forever hacking away... Hephaestus forced himself not to shiver. “Do you hate him?” Ares asked, his eyes never leaving the family portrait.
The question was so sudden and void, Hephaestus had no idea how to respond. It wasn’t something he enjoyed spending his time thinking about, not like Ares. Hephaestus knew his place, and, like all things in Olympus, could be replaced with the snap of his terrible finger. Athena always saw, always watched his mind (even now, as she slept, Hephaestus felt her daunting presence in the back of his consciousness), and one wrong thought could have him thrown over the cliffs of Olympus all over again. There was no hatred for his father, there couldn’t be.
But as he gazed at his brother again, and saw those horrible Soul Scars snake up his neck, something nasty grew inside of him. Was it hatred? For once, Hephaestus didn’t know.
He did that. He ruined my brother . Hephaestus often wondered what his brother would have been like without Spirit magic twisting his soul beyond repair. How easier he could have laughed. How easier he could have spoken. How easier he could have expressed himself without fear. None of that would ever be a reality, and the thought almost made Hephaestus cry.
His mind scrambled with quick, intense emotions, and Hephaestus’ room grew more blurry by the second. The fires in his room dimmed, and Ares pulled him closer into a warm hug. His brother said one sentence. One sentence that broke Hephaestus’ mighty dam. The silent tears finally rolled onto his big brother as Ares whispered to him.
“That’s okay, I have enough hate for the both of us.”