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The day had been long, with many fights and foes on their path. Although Kratos didn’t feel tiredness like many, there were still aches across his back that needed for him to rest.
Not yet, he thought as he picked a boulder up for Atreus to go under. The night will not fall for another hour.
His gaze landed on his son, trottin in front of him, slightly slower, his feet heavier. Atreus was tired as well.
Nevermind the night. Kratos would find them a shelter soon.
Before he could start looking for one, something caught his attention while Atreus kept going forward, in a side room of the abandoned ruins, and when the god turned toward it, he felt a layer of softness wrapping around his broken heart. Another one of these shrines. His son would like to write it down in his journal.
“Boy,” he called gruffly, marching toward the wood and opening the wide doors. Kratos did not understand all the layers of stories in these, nor the language, but he could recognize fine craftsmanship.
He stared at the tapestry for a moment, colors and shapes a mystery to him, before realizing his son wasn’t coming. When he turned around, Atreus wasn’t even behind him.
“Boy,” he called again, louder, a light pang of worry snaking his way in his chest. His son was capable, he had proven such, but Kratos couldn’t help it.
No answer came, prompting Kratos to go back the way he came to the main hall, only to find the boy with his back to him, shoulder tensed and fists clenched. Kratos sighed, annoyance leaking in the sound despite himself, because of course he had been worried for nothing, as usual.
“Boy,” he said once more, probably too harsh at the time of the day, failing to see the signs.
“Stop calling me that! ” Atreus suddenly turned around to face him, wild anger in his gaze, teeth bared like a wolf. “I have a name, you know?! I’m Atreus! A-tre-us! It’s always ‘Boy this,’ ‘Boy that’, ‘Read this’, ‘Go there’, I’m not your dog! ”
Kratos blinked, taken aback by the outburst, but mostly by the tears in his son’s eyes. He hated them, as always, but though his heart felt heavy with guilt, he didn’t fully understand them.
Mimir cleared his throat behind him, and Kratos grabbed one of his horns, demanding he kept quiet.
Kratos stayed silent as Atreus caught his breath, one cough escaping him. He didn’t move while he brutally rubbed the tears away, looking anywhere but at him.
It was only after a few moments passed in silence that Kratos spoke again. “There is a shrine,” he said, voice low and more even than before. Atreus perked up, but didn’t look at him yet. Instead of waiting for his son, the god made his way back to the foreign art, knowing the boy would follow.
Kratos could have been angry, but they were past that now. Atreus was tired after a long day, anger being his way to express his feelings. He was, of course, familiar with such a way to cope, though Kratos wished they weren’t such alike on this point. But his son was young. He would learn in time.
Atreus joined him near the shrine, noting it down in silence. He stayed still in front of it after being done, and Kratos wondered if he was expecting to get scolded. Kratos hummed, regretting the way their relationship worked until now.
“Come,” he said in a gentler tone, going back on their track to find a shelter. Atreus seemed surprised, but ended up following him, staying slightly behind him.
After a moment of wandering, they found a place secluded enough to spend the night. Atreus left, claiming to gather wood for their fire, and Kratos let him despite hating not having him in his sight. Popping Mimir on a rock, he made room for their sleeping mats and took foot out of his satchel.
“You didn’t get angry,” Mimir stated, breaking the silence. “And you let him go.”
“Hm,” Kratos answered, not looking at the head. “He is tired.”
“That he is,” Mimir chuckled. “But you’d think a lad s’large as you would get pissed. You’re a good da.”
Kratos didn’t react, but the compliment warmed his heart.
Atreus chose this moment to come back, a good load of wood in his arms. “I found some,” he mumbled as he let it fall to the ground then gathered it again in a neat pile. As if he couldn’t help but busy his hands, he took out his fire stone, trying to use his knife to create a spark. One, two, three times, and still nothing, Kratos feeling his son’s frustration growing. He could see the mistake coming, but before he could warn him, Atreus’ hand slipped, the knife drawing blood.
“Ow!” Atreus brought his finger to his mouth, stopping the light flow, an expression of hurt and anger on his face. Kratos watched him keenly, seeing his eyes grow wet again and his fist clenched tightly around the fire stone.
“Atreus,” he called, softer than usual. His son went still, like trying to fool a predator. Kratos sighed and joined him, placing one knee to the ground to be at his level. “Show me,” he asked, extending a large hand. Atreus hesitated, but finally complied after a few seconds, his hand much smaller in Kratos’.
The cut was long and jagged, running along his forefinger, but it wasn’t too deep. The flow had already stopped, the blood coagulating easily. Taking a bandage out of the ones circling his arms, Kratos wrapped it around the wound, knowing Atreus would heal in no time.
“I’m sorry,” his boy whispered, prompting Kratos to look up at him. Small, silent tears were running on his tears, reminding him of a river flooding, and the god knew it wasn’t really because of the injury.
“About what,” he asked, more harshly than he intended. He took a deep breath as Atreus stayed silent, blue eyes in his, worrying his lower lips. “Speak your mind,” he added, remembering to forget the usual ‘boy’ at the last second.
Atreus stared at him for a few more seconds, before he finally decided to talk, words rushing out of his mouth. “About— earlier. I-I don’t know why I got angry. I was angry all afternoon, and I just— I didn’t mean it. I know it’s not— not like that.” He swallowed a sob, using his free hand to rub the tears away, in vain. “And then you showed me the shrine, and I felt really stupid, and I thought you were mad, but you didn’t say anything, so I got frustrated, and now I— hurt myself.”
Atreus took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes now to the ground, and Kratos felt something bubbling inside of him at how much his son could talk. Just like his mother.
Delicately, the god placed each hand around his son’s face, cupping his cheeks, lifting his face so they could see each other. There was tiredness in Atreus’ gave, along with a deep sadness. Of course.
“I was not mad,” Kratos said plainly. “Today was harsh and long. You are still young. Your energy grows thin more easily.” He rubbed callous thumbs under his son’s eyes, erasing the tears. “You are tough, and strong, but still only a boy.”
Atreus blinked, sudden and genuine surprise on his face, a new light appearing in his icy gaze. “You think I’m— strong?”
Kratos almost felt like laughing. “Yes,” he answered simply, letting go of him. “And clever. But foolish,” he added while getting up. “Work on that fire. Learn from your mistakes. And,” he said as an afterthought, before he could stop himself. “Be careful.” Atreus looked him in the eyes for long seconds, as reading between his lines, before nodding with determination, all traces of tears and anxiety gone. Kratos nodded in return and went back to his place near the food.
His mind realigned and more at peace, his son made quick work of the fire. The night fell as they warmed up dried meat, Mimir for once staying silent, despite his habit of entertaining Atreus with his tales. He probably figured they all needed it.
“I missed Mother, today,” Atreus suddenly said. The pain in Kratos’ heart was immediate, but he swallowed it. “I mean, I miss her every day, but today was… harder.”
“Grief is strange like that,” Mimir stated, saving Kratos from replying. “It’s slow and repetitive. Don’t worry too much about it, little brother. It happens. To all of us.” Kratos felt his golden eye on him and kept eating.
“You miss her too, Father, right?” The question was shy, tentative, and it hit Kratos with the same bluntness of a punch.
Every damn day, he thought, something bitter and violent burning his throat. He missed her laugh, her smile, her voice. He missed her strength, the chaos of her days, her habits. He missed her hand in his, her gentleness with him.
He missed her eyes, but he could at least see them every day.
“Yes,” he simply said, gazing at his son.
Atreus gazed back at him, seeing more than what his father said, and nodded before looking into the fire. He chewed on his food, clearly lost in thought, until his eyebrows bent upward, mourning still.
“Does it ever… stop?” his son asked, seeing ghosts in the flames.
Kratos sighed, feeling his own ghosts with him. The pain of Lysandra and Calliope’s death was still there, dull but ever present. The loss of Deimos was much older, and though it mostly faded, the memory of his brother would forever follow him. Faye had joined them, and would be with him until he passed.
“No,” he answered sincerely. Atreus’ shoulders sank and a defeated sigh escaped him. Kratos felt his pain, and decided to say more, for once. “The pain will lessen. But the memories won’t fade. Your mother will stay with you.” Before he could really weigh his actions, he reached across the fire, poking Atreus’ forehead once. “Here.” Then his heart. “And here.”
Atreus looked at him with wide eyes, then looked at his own chest, pressing a hand on it. After a moment, he clenched it in a fist and a small smile appeared on his face.
The warmth the sight gave Kratos was comparable to the one coming from the Blades.
“Sleep,” he ordered, unable to deal with the feeling just yet. “I will keep watch.”
“Or you could both sleep and I keep watch!” Kratos shot Mimir a very dark glare. “What? I only slept on the job once!”
“No.” The head mumbled a ‘Aye, fair enough’ as Kratos turned back to Atreus, expectant.
Atreus stood up, dusting dirt from his pants, but kept looking at Kratos. The god waited, seeing a question in the blue eyes. His son danced from foot to foot for a moment until he finally gathered his courage.
“Can I sleep next to you? ” he asked in one go.
Kratos didn’t show his surprise, both at the question and how much Atreus looked his age. He knew Faye and him slept together at times, during thunderstorms, after nightmare, or during the worst winter nights. Kratos could not fulfill such a role. Not in Faye’s way. But Atreus seemed to have found a way around his wariness of his father, and Kratos' tightness.
“Fine,” he answered, hiding his vulnerability behind walls of toughness. “You may.”
Atreus beamed, bright as the sun, and moved his mat next to Kratos in the next seconds. Removing his quiver and bow, he let himself fall on his makeshift bed, stomach to the ground and his head close to Kratos’ knee.
A thin smile made its way to the god’s lips. His son was his weakness, he couldn’t deny it, but probably his greatest strength at the same time. The things he would destroy for him, just to see him safe…
Atreus moved, turning to his side, pressing his back to Kratos’ thigh, he felt himself melting.
“Does it upset you?” he heard himself ask in the softest tone.
His son frowned without opening his eyes, already on the verge of sleep. “What?”
“When I call you ‘Boy.’ Does it upset you?”
“Oh.” The frown disappeared. “No, not really. It’s… like a nickname, kinda. But it’s good to hear your name, sometimes, you know?”
“Hm. I know.” He could still hear his in Faye’s voice.
Atreus chuckled, unaware of his father’s thoughts. “I’m sure you’ll still call me Boy— ” He mimicked Kratos’ tone, “—when I’m grown and old.”
Kratos couldn’t stop the huffed laugh that escaped him. “Now, I might.”
Atreus frowned again for a few seconds, incredulous, a smile stretching his lips, before the soft wrinkles disappeared. “Good night, Father.”
Kratos looked at his boy, pressed against him to chase his forever heat, and a sudden need took hold of him as Atreus’ breaths became more even. Very slowly, careful to not stir him awake after such a long day, he placed a gentle hand on his son’s head.”
“Good night, my boy.”