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“Do you miss it?”
“It wouldn’t be so bad to see her garden again. I told her I’d take care of it but I’ve never made it back.”
***
Thanatos loves what he does. It is not killing—he is not Ares or the Keres or any of those many, many ways misfortune strikes. He is Death: an end, not a means.
He cuts souls free.
He likes that, but most people don’t realize that’s what he does at all. There are many things people don’t understand about death; it’s frightening.
He understands that, too.
***
Thanatos loves the House, though he is never there for very long.
When he was young, when he and Hypnos worked together, when they—when it was all right, them working together, how long ago was that—
When he and Hypnos were young and inseparable, it was wonderful, the work. But it’s better now; someone is always at the House to greet the shades this way. That's what Mother said, a very long time ago, and she is right.
He thinks.
It’s very important, what Hypnos does. Sometimes he thinks Hypnos doesn’t realize, or anyone else. But then maybe Hypnos does, maybe—
He loves the House, but he is never there for very long. Not after...
He used to have a wing, large and white. He can feel it, still. Sometimes it itches. Sometimes he thinks he will go half mad because it feels like there are new feathers coming in he cannot reach to preen, but there’s not a wing there.
He used to be at the House more.
It’s important, what Hypnos does, but Hypnos is—
***
Thanatos loves the House. He loves what he does and is. He loves—
"How are our sisters?" he asks Charon, once.
It's not usually Thanatos who brings Charon his passengers; that's what Hermes does. He started when—a long time ago. Repayment. A string of debts, like the long stretch of a lightning bolt. First Hypnos', then Zeus'.
Thanatos does not mind he paid Hypnos' debt; it led to Hermes paying Zeus' in turn, and he is glad to have met Hermes.
Usually, Hermes brings souls, meets Thanatos to take them. It allows Thanatos to be away from the House more, a thing he... does not like, but it also allows him more time to greet the souls he cuts free, to explain, to ease them in before he sees them off. And he trusts Hermes; Hermes always smiles for them, and he always ensures the children have coins if they weren't sent off with one.
Thanatos is sworn to secrecy for that, but Hermes has...
He likes Hermes. He trusts him.
"How are our sisters?" he asks Charon once, because sometimes he covers for Hermes and sometimes Hermes covers for him and the only person who knows that is Charon.
He never knows what Charon thinks of him, but it feels like disappointment.
<...fine,> Charon says, wary. <Why?>
"I only wondered. Zagreus talks about family so much. I—I just wondered."
It's not a lie. Zagreus does talk about his family often. He asks Thanatos what he knows, he talks about the boons they give him, the gifts, he speaks so fondly of that feast, the hope maybe there might be some other excuse for them to visit because Zagreus cannot go there. To Olympus.
It’s not a lie.
<They're fine,> Charon says. <Being themselves. Atropos asks after you sometimes.>
It makes Thanatos laugh, just a little. She already knows everything that's happened.
It makes his heart warm, all the same. He misses her. She's an end too, not a means. She understands—
"I should go," Thanatos says. "I'll see you."
***
"How long did she—why didn't you say something?"
"It's fine, really! Who told you, anyway? Look, I'm so much more productive now, isn't that nice?"
"No," Thanatos says, then, "Yes," then, "It's not fine."
***
He's never at the House. That's why he didn't notice. It's better—Hypnos is home to greet every shade, a very important job. The most important. It's supposed to be better, Mother said—
He doesn't understand why Hypnos didn't tell him.
"Is Zagreus happy, now?" Thanatos asks.
"Bored," Megaera says, then looks up from oiling her whip. "Why?"
"No reason," Thanatos says.
"Don't," Megaera says. "Whatever you're thinking."
"I won't," Thanatos says. It's not a lie.
***
Thanatos loves the House. He loves what he is and what he does. He loves the souls he sends to it and he loves the way it felt so alive when Zagreus was mending all the ways it had fallen apart while Thanatos was away.
It shouldn't have been Zagreus who convinced Mother to speak to Hypnos again. Zagreus noticing first.
The Queen is back. Routine falls in. He comes back, because Zagreus is young, because Zagreus isn't afraid to call, and every time Thanatos notices—
He loves the House, but.
***
There is an island with sharp cliffs that fall into a sea of stars. The hills are green and atop the highest is a cottage; it is not night and it is not day because it is not set anywhere in time and only just set in space. There is a fig tree older than the world there.
A very long time ago, Thanatos and Hypnos would fly to the top to get the best of its fruit together. They were inseparable and there was no House, not yet; it was always terrifying, the Titans and their wars and the change, but the island was—
"Hello, little brother," Atropos says, opening the door.
***
"I just think," Thanatos says, "it would make him happy. To go to Olympus. To have more—they are always fighting, aren't they, and he needs to fix things. Doesn't he? Isn't it part of who he is?"
Clotho hands him a cup; steam curls from it and it smells... he thinks Hypnos would like it.
"What is this?" he asks.
"It will be tea," Lachesis says.
"All this for a boy," Atropos sniffs. "But I suppose..."
"It's not... Don't you know? You know everything already."
Atropos grins, her teeth sharp.
"Don't encourage her," Clotho sighs. "She's already insufferable, remembering everything I forget."
"But not the future," Lachesis says, white gold eyes focused sharp on Thanatos.
He holds the cup closer; his shoulder aches trying to curl in a wing that has not been there for a long, long time.
"What do you want, Thanatos?" Lachesis asks.
"You already know what I'll say. Isn't that enough?"
He wishes Hypnos were here. Hypnos always understood her best. Hypnos—
"I don't know what you're going to say," Clotho says gentle, setting her hand on his wrist. Her hands were always so worn, so smooth. Warm. All that thread that she's spun, forever, with her touch as light as stars. He wonders if they’ve changed.
"Will they be happy?" Thanatos asks quiet, throat tight.
"They will have the choice to be," Lachesis says.
"They don't now, not really," Clotho says.
"Used to, though," Atropos says. "Way back when. So did you."
"If you don't ask, nothing will change," Lachesis says. "It will not happen."
He wants—
Wanting is not a thing he does. He simply is. That's what he's supposed to be. It's what's best.
But.
He licks his lips. Takes a breath he doesn't need. He's not meant to want, because it's best to simply be, to do his job well, but he wants—
"When—I—Mother asked me for... not long after Zagreus was born, she—you know." He stops. Clotho's hand is still on his wrist; she is rubbing her thumb slow over skin. He can see her doing it. "You used it. What she took back."
Unmade.
He didn't need... the House was in so much turmoil after the stillbirth, after the Queen left. Mother said it would be best for the House, and she was right—she came back with Zagreus, who has fixed all the things Thanatos never noticed decaying. Has—
"I know," Atropos says. "I remember."
She sounds so angry.
"If he doesn’t have that, what was mine, will he—he won't die, will he?"
"Not now," Clotho says. "He's woven in properly now, not a loose end."
Her hands are so skillful. They used to play games together, string looping between their fingers. She taught him and Hypnos.
He doesn't mind. Not really. Mother asked, and the House. He's—
It’s fine, his fingers fumbling, always being cold, never quite sure what he’s touching. The gauntlet makes up for it. He barely notices, really. He's glad to have met Zagreus. But if—
He wishes he had his wing to hide under.
"I just want what's best for the House," he whispers, staring at Clotho's hand on his wrist.
"Then you want what keeps Zagreus from reaching Olympus," Clotho says.
He can't talk; he nods, instead.
"This will upset very many people," Lachesis says. "Do you understand?"
"Even—"
"Especially," Lachesis says.
He wonders if she won't talk to him. How long. If it will be better or worse than when he—than after—
Atropos leans in, soothes the memory of a wing, straightens half-forgot feathers neat.
"...will I be able to hide the cost?"
"For a little while."
He stares at tea that looks so warm. At Clotho's hand on his wrist.
"Thank you," he says, and hopes he does not regret it.
***
He wakes in Erebus.
Dies.
Wakes in Erebus.
Dies, confused, chest hurts, ribs, he's not sure what's—
Wakes in Erebus, struggles to rise, falls, gasps—
gasps in, breathes in, out, in, out, keeps gasping though his chest is—there's noise drowning him in his chest, his ears, air ragged in his throat, breathing, he has to—
Forgets, dies.
Stops forgetting, eventually.
***
He's rarely at the House. It's lucky.
Lucky he's not tied to the Styx. That his name doesn't appear on the list.
He can't—not right now. Not now. It will upset... Lachesis said he can hide things. It will be—
Zagreus doesn't die in his mother's garden. The elation. The giddiness. The trips to Olympus.
It isn't that hard, convincing the Queen that Hypnos should go too, sometimes. For diplomacy. It makes Hypnos so happy, Zagreus—he doesn't remember the last he saw either smile so bright.
There are so many ways to die.
***
“You’ve been scarce late,” Hermes says all cheer.
“Busy,” Thanatos says and wonders how long he can manage to hold his breath. Not long enough.
He trusts Hermes. It’s—Hermes won’t say anything. He's never told anyone about when Thanatos asked him to— Hermes never says anything about how they cover for each other, sometimes.
“Aren’t we always?” Hermes laughs, attention slipping away.
He doesn’t comment on how few souls there are.
***
His numbers are behind. There are places he can’t go as easily now, as safely; it will be noticed, eventually.
It’s dark in Erebus, where he wakes. No stars, just the sound of shadow. Sometimes he sits and tries to figure out what he will say. How. He can’t—He doesn’t want to disappoint anyone. He can—Lachesis said he would be able to hide it a while. He will. He just needs to figure out what to say.
He’s never been very good at that.
He sits in Erebus, looping string over and over around his fingers. His hands are so warm now; he’d forgotten what it was like to—it wasn’t that long, but he’d forgotten. He picks up stones, rubs those too. Feels them warm; feels warmth.
Zagreus is so much joy; the House is full of so many new things coming back with him. Some of them make Hypnos smile, ramble delight.
His fingers don’t fumble. He feels—he dies, but he feels so whole.
***
Thanatos’ numbers are behind, but if he is careful, if he is quick, he can make up enough difference to pass it off as exhaustion.
He is exhausted. All the time.
He has never, once, been worried about a battlefield. It will be fine; it’s only he’s a little more fragile, that’s all. He’s always been very good at swatting arrows away before they get near. If he’s careful, vigilant.
He is tired. He’s always tired. He wants so much to simply lay down, but sleep has to wait because he is behind and he hasn’t been able to think of any reason that will not upset everyone, but if he can only just—
An arrow hurts much, much worse than any other way he's died so far.
***
“—to relax, you need to breathe. You can’t stop, keep going, pain will be gone just a minute—”
It feels like the first time he woke in Erebus; it feels like—he doesn’t know, he doesn’t—
He’s dreaming, he’s delirious; hallucinations, that's it, he must be hallucinating, he didn’t know arrows did that, but he must be because Hypnos is here—
“—he wants to go under, can’t you, can you—”
—blue gone pale, like... like...
“Than, stay here, stay here, Than, our friends are here, you have to be a good host, stay here, I’ve got you, it’s safe, you’re safe now.”
His side doesn’t hurt so much. He just feels... loose. Tired. He’s so tired. Hypnos is here, or maybe it’s not Hypnos, maybe it’s—he wonders. But breathing is just... light. A fire somewhere else. Not in his lungs.
Still difficult. Still thick. There’s hands at his side he can’t quite feel anymore; he tries to turn his head, but Hypnos’ hand is on his cheek and—
“Than,” Hypnos says, eyes gleaming stars.
He reaches up, uses what little will he has to send his gauntlet to his scythe, his dagger, and pats Hypnos’ cheek.
Hypnos’ cheek is as soft as he remembers.
“I’m fine,” Thanatos sighs, closing his eyes. “I’m fine. There’s work, though, a battle, I need—”
“No there isn’t, silly,” Hypnos laughs. “Lord Ares is right here, can’t be a battle if he’s here!”
“Oh,” Thanatos says, opening his eyes, looking and—yes, there is Lord Ares, hands covered in so much gold. Hermes. Hermes, right next to Thanatos, hands all gold too, turning something between his fingers over and over.
He flashes Thanatos a smile, quick.
“Ought to rest,” Hermes says. “Get your sleep while there’s no work.”
“See?” Hypnos says. “It’s okay. You know you really need it if Hermes says so!”
Thanatos’ eyes are so heavy, all of him so loose. His hand slips down, grips the edge of Hypnos’ cloak and he doesn’t—it’s... it’s so plush. It’s—he’s...
“Sleep, Than,” Hypnos says, voice so warm, like it used to be, hand slipping around Thanatos’, thumb rubbing over his fingers. Not cold, but not so hot, just—warm. His hands are so soft, still. “I’m right here. I’ll keep watch.”
He nods.
It’s so easy, falling asleep resting against Hypnos.
Maybe...