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Thanatos, God of Death, psychopomp to the Underworld, destined to a life of work since he was nothing but a godling hiding behind his mother's skirt. His role was determined for him before he even knew what Death was, and as he grew older, no longer could he spend his days playing with Hypnos and Zagreus. There were responsibilities, things to do, places to be, souls who needed peace.
He had never been particularly expressive with his emotions, yet that never seemed to be the case with Zagreus around. He had been all but a blushing bumbling fool during their teenage years, a half-formed puppy crush over the fluttering in his chest that only Zagreus could cause.
It had hurt to leave him behind the most.
He was not always able to come back and visit. Earth grew more populated every year, and that meant more Death to deliver for Thanatos. More work. More time away.
Yet, his mind never wandered. It always came back to Zagreus. He thought of mismatched eyes, of warm hands against his cold ones, of a voice so deep and lovely it made Thanatos' spine tingle.
He was often distracted, during his first couple of years, still young and naïve. Images of warm skin against his, of a laugh, of that wonderful voice calling his name, touching him, running broad fingers through his hair. All of his thoughts, feelings, days, and hours came back to Zagreus.
Maybe, just maybe, if he had had the chance to go back, even for a little, he would have caught all the warning signs.
When Zagreus left, no warning (at least not to Thanatos), no explanation, not even a goodbye, he took a piece of Thanatos with him.
It was then, standing in front of Mother Nyx, scythe held so loosely it nearly slipped from his hands, that he realized he had done the same to Zagreus.
How could he be angry? How could he justify the anger, the sadness, the utter heartbreak of being left behind when he had done the same?
But was it even the same? No, of course not. Thanatos left because it was part of his job. Zagreus said he had understood, that he would wait for him. Stay for him.
And as much as Thanatos wanted to be angry at himself, blame himself for leaving Zagreus behind all those years, all he could think about was Zagreus leaving.
How could Zagreus look back at all those memories (memories Thanatos had engraved, remembered every word to, every touch, every laugh) and throw them all away? Did he even remember? Did he think to say goodbye?
Thanatos wanted to curse him, make him cry, make him beseech for his forgiveness, see Life beg Death for mercy.
He had never been the emotional kind. He never cried as a child when he scrapped his knees, or when Hypnos pulled at his hair so hard that moonlight-colored strands would find themselves on ruddy fingers, not even when he had taken his first life.
It never seemed to be the case with Zagreus.
He had been so angry, so sad and distraught, hot and heavy tears leaving marks on his cheeks, that he had cut his hair as short as he could get it with his sword. To get back at him , he thought, remembering how fond Zagreus had been of the soft princess curls that fell down his shoulders.
It had been the first time that he had cried in that manner. Fast and violent and desperate, sobs shaking his shoulders so hard he had to sit down to stop himself from doubling over.
Zagreus had left, left him heartbroken and on the verge of tears every time his name was mentioned, and of course, Thanatos didn’t believe he’d ever see him again.
Thanatos stopped keeping track of time eons ago. After all, what was a year or two to a God? Nothing but seconds for a mortal. But time began to nag, whisper in his ear, make him wonder how his one beloved was doing so far.
Zagreus. Zagreus. Where is he? How is he? Does he miss me? Remember me? Is he ever coming back?
Thanatos was always strong willed. Able to avoid the terrible nagging in his brain, the sense of fear and dread of seeing Zagreus again and bury himself in work. Yet, the unenviable was bound to happen — some sick and twisted trick by The Fates, who, oh, simply loved to tease their younger brother.
Life is drawn to death. Death drawn to life. They share an unexplainable bond that no one could explain. So life, palpable, free, flowing, bleeding, teetering death just barely was a hard thing to miss in Elysium where the only live thing was the egos of its champions.
Thanatos seethed, emotions verging on hysteria upon the sight of Hell’s fiery prince standing in one of the ever changing chambers of the underworld. How was he supposed to feel? What was he supposed to say?
And then, in the blink of an eye, all the anger rushed back in. The need to show Zagreus that he was doing all right, that he hadn’t thought of him not even once while he was gone, that he could do it. Survive without him.
But no, that wasn’t the truth. Thanatos was lying to himself and he knew it. He wasn’t angry, no, he was sad. So utterly disgustingly sad. He wanted Zagreus to tell him how sorry he was, how he should have thought of him before he left, how much he had missed him. Thanatos would do they same and they would make up and go back to normal. Yes, yes! Zagreus would go back home and it would all be okay. No more complicated feelings or counting the seconds in a day. With all the mustered up courage, he shifted, green mist enveloping until he stood in front of someone he could hardly recognize.
Zagreus looked the same. Handsome, rowdy, fiery laurels flaming off into smoke at the top of his head. Yet so strangely different. There was a look in his mismatched eyes that Thanatos didn’t recognize, the smell of copper he usually associated with Ares staining his once pure Zagreus. It took him a second to gather himself, glad for the monotonous tone of his voice.
“…Thought you could just get away from me, did you?”
A beat. A pause. Zagreus could have stabbed him with the sword in his hands in the moment, sent him back crawling from the Styx with his heart in his hands at the scaldingly painful accusation.
“Thanatos. I figured it was only a matter of time before Father sent you after me to do his dirty work.”
Dirty work? Dirty work? Is that truly why Zagreus thought he was here? To serve his father, drag him back against his own will? He had wanted to cry, burst out into tears at that very moment, disappear and never come back. Could Zagreus not see the heartache he had caused?
“ Zagreus. Is that really why you think I'm here? Let's see how many of these exalted champions you can send back to their doors, unless you'd rather I would send you back to yours.”
The only thing Thanatos could do to not cry then and there. A distraction to keep Zagreus occupied while he got rid of the burning sensation in his eyes.
The ground below him, once lush and green, wilted wherever he went, the tears that did manage to fall sprouting a tiny little butterfly that fluttered away before Zagreus could notice.
Now, he was angry. Angry at the treatment, at the blatant obliviousness and anger that Zagreus himself exuded.
He won despite swiping his scythe so carelessly he nearly cut down Zagreus on the way. All the anger, sadness, grief and nearly all emotions that he had felt in that time rose up, spilling from his mouth before he could stop himself.
“You left, without so much as telling me good-bye. I suppose you knew I'd catch up with you sooner or later, is that it? No escaping death, and all?”
Zagreus didn’t even hesitate. “I left when it was necessary, Than. I thought of you and hoped you'd understand. I have to do this.”
That was it. What Thanatos had been fearing from the start. His brows came together, anger staining his cheeks the color of ambrosia. Tears of anger and frustration nearly spilling from his eyes. If Zagreus wasn’t going to do it, he was going to do it for him.
“That's more motivation than I've ever heard from you. Well, if you won't say it, I'll say it. Good-bye, Zagreus.”
And as he shifted away, a lone butterfly with half formed wings, fell at the prince’s feet, leaving him just as confused and remorseful as Thanatos had once been.