Work Text:
Meg watched as Apollo all but collapsed into Hazel's arms - she may have been small, but she was strong and with Lavinia, they managed to carry him between them. Meg watched as his head lolled to the side, already limp to the purple that threaded through his veins. Meg watched as he unconsciously choked on even the miniscule sample of glittering unicorn draught, and Hazel had to concentrate with a surgeon's precision to manipulate the gold and silver medicine down his throat.
Every part of it felt wrong. Throughout her entire journey, they had defended each other with their lives. Yet here Apollo was, defeated and withering into a husk, and Meg could do absolutely nothing but watch-
He made a choking cough, and Lavinia adjusted her grip on him to push the hair away from his face. She so badly wished that she was the one carrying him: she'd hauled him into Camp Half-Blood with nothing but fear of her stepfather and even greater terror at the distant unease of the woods, but that was when they were carrying nothing but the clothes on their and she was relatively uninjured. She wanted to stop the girls, wanted to beg them to let her carry him, but that would only slow them down from getting him to a doctor. She wasn't even sure that she could actually carry him now - not with aching bones and wounds from debris. She certainly wouldn't do a better job than Lavinia, who was stocky and tall and capable, or Hazel, who was tinier but still bigger than her and carried muscle and deathly power.
Meg didn't have anything to do on the way back other than carrying Lavinia's manuballista for her and casting worried glances back at him. His face was sweating and pinched, a face that she'd grown familiar with upon their months of travelling together, a face that very much signified that he was in agony, and she forced herself to grab at the manuballista instead of him. Her grip around it was tight enough that her knuckles turned white, that she feared it might splinter.
"Easy." Hazel said calmly. It took her a second to realise that she was talking to her and not Lavinia or Apollo's unconscious form. "We'll get him back to Camp Jupiter and heal him soon."
Meg scowled and hugged the weapon closer. "You guys couldn't fix him the first time. How is giving him the same stuff going to help him?"
The girls cast looks at each other. Lavinia helpfully didn't offer anything, leaving her centurion to fend for herself. Hazel's voice adopted a tone of gentleness she'd grown accustomed to coating anger, even though she could tell that Hazel wasn't angry. "Meg," she began, placatingly, "I can't tell you that he won't die. There's a thick aura of death around him. But I can tell you that he will absolutely not die today, and there are a lot of things that we can do for him in a day."
She didn't know what reaction she was supposed to make, so she nodded jerkily and snapped her gaze back to the ground.
That was how they made their way back to Camp. In silence, the only real noise being made was Lavinia almost inaudibly humming and the ragged, cracked gasps that drew out of Apollo with horrifying ease. The purple in his face didn't move, but every time she looked back at him, his skin was a little more ashen, a little more dried. When she didn't look at him, she was struck by the freezing and terrible paranoia that he had died and she would need to kill him before his corpse killed her-
They didn't go the way they had came. It had been difficult enough before, and there was no way that Hazel and Lavinia could carry him and manoeuvre up the rocks and hills at the same time. Instead, they began to lug him down to the tunnel - not the secret one that they had entered, but the main one that actually led into Camp Jupiter.
It should have been harder for the two Romans to haul him past traffic, but she didn't concentrate on anything beyond making sure that she didn't get hit by a car herself. The guards on shift at the entrance stared, one anxiously abandoning his post to assist them. Lavinia took over, and she said a kind, reassuring and very un-Lavinia "thank you" as she took the manuballista back. Meg was relieved not to carry it, but now she had nothing to hold at all.
Her hands buried into her pockets as Hazel and the new legionnaire began to pull her friend down the tunnel. Here, surrounded by stone an all sides, Apollo’s pain grew louder. Meg desperately tried to ignore them, tried to focus on the sound of her own breathing, but his distress seemed to clear through all of it with ease.
Stupid, stupid Apollo. Why did he let himself get scratched? Why did she let him get scratched? She'd been training since she was five, wielded her scimitars and fought with them every single day, and she let him get scratched-
"Meg." Hazel's voice cut through her panic and she turned to face dark, dark eyes. She looked so much like death. "Apollo is going to be okay."
She wanted to scream, but she bit her lip and clenched her hidden hands into fists. She didn't understand how Hazel could be so calm and sure when she had just said that he had an aura of death. It mirrored Nico's relative unconcern when he had first seen him on the porch of the big house… except Nico had been looking at someone freshly bandaged, not someone on the verge of death.
"He's dying." She bit out, turning back to the distant opening. Sunlight streamed in from the exit of the tunnel.
"Hey, listen." The legionnaire, who had been silent until now, hefted the former god in his arms. "The infirmary get people who are dying all the time. Nine times out of ten, they save them. Phoebus- well, Apollo, I guess - is a tough piece of work. He's not dying on you anytime soon."
Apollo let out the beginnings of a whimper, which Hazel spoke over hurriedly. "We're almost there Meg. The doctors here are good."
"Better than Nico's boyfriend?" She sniped, voice lightening with relief as they exited the tunnel, entering the daylight, feet firmly on grass and earth. At least here, she didn't feel like she was suffocating.
"Don't tell him I said that."
She snorted despite herself, nudging a particularly large tuft of grass with her foot. The life around was reassuring, reaffirming, and she gasped as she heard Apollo groan exactly like he did when he was about to wake up.
His eyes had flickered open only the barest amount, staring straight at her. His lips twitched and another noise came flooding out, but no other part of him moved. He looked like he was-
"Meg." Hazel said slowly and carefully. "I need you to run to Camp Jupiter and get someone from the infirmary. Tell them that Apollo's infection is worse, and that he's possibly been paralysed."
"What do you mean, paralysed?!" She demanded, voice raising into something hysterical.
"He will be okay, but the sooner the doctors can help him, the better. They won't know what level of infection he'll return with unless someone tells them."
"I'm not leaving him-"
"Meg, please."
She hesitated, unable to look at Hazel's face. She focused on Apollo, watching as he could do nothing but stare blankly at her, unable to even twitch. He needed help.
With a deep, deep breath, she looked at the clump of dandelions next to her foot and knelt down, fingers brushing the stem and slowly curling around it. She could hear Hazel and the legionnaire pause in confusion, but she didn't have the time to dwell on it. With a shove at the nature, and a shove at herself, she teleported into Camp Jupiter.
A Roman shouted next to her, startled. Meg stood up shakily - this was only her second time teleporting - and gasped a question out at them. "Where's the infirmary?"
"Uh-" they jabbed a thumb at a building to her left. "It's there. Where's Hazel-?"
She took off sprinting. Her legs wobbled underneath her, threatening to buckle and sprawl her achingly on the floor, but she persisted, tearing across the cobbles, running straight through a yelling lares and almost knocking over a startled swordsman. Her hands scrabbled for the handle of the door and yanked it clean open-
A guy in a white shirt promptly dropped a pile of books clean on his foot. He swore, winced, and then squinted at her as worry flooded his face. "It's… Meg, right? What-"
"Apollo." She gasped. Teleporting was hard. "Infection worse. Paralysed."
"Where is he-?"
"Ran ahead. He's at the river- with Hazel-"
"Give me ten seconds." The healer said, snapping his body into a sprint and racing back into the infirmary. Other healers and patients yelled at him, and he yelled right back, snatching up an apron and what looked like a bag of medical supplies. It took him just over twelve seconds to scramble back to her, narrowly avoiding a collision with a wheelchair user and promptly ran. Meg blinked once before moving into action next to him.
She cursed silently as her muscles began to throb - she wouldn't be teleporting any time soon. The healer… was his name Pranjal? Probably. Pranjal outpaced her easily and she felt almost guilty as he slowed down for her. She didn't need to keep up with him - Apollo needed help.
By the time they had skidded frantically out the gates, Hazel and the legionnaire were accompanied by two more as they hurriedly crossed the river - they were using one of the girl's shields as a makeshift stretcher to carry him on, eight hands and Hazel's manipulation of the imperial gold stopping him from falling into the river. Most likely for the better. The last thing he needed was to be exposed to anything shocking.
Pranjal waited as they made their way across and Meg could do nothing but at the lolling head of her best friend. It bounced slightly whenever someone shifted their grip, and that was about the only movement he could make. Terror seized her in sickening, violent waves: Apollo, who screamed and cried and laughed and fought and was constantly moving was forced into immobility, his body held captive by an undead tyrant, and as usual, Meg had made everything worse. If she hadn't tried to attack Tarquin, then Apollo's infection would have been slower and less painful and none of this would have happened-
They exited the river neatly, and let Pranjal immediately begin checking the wound. The soldiers didn't complain about his weight, instead focusing on each other, and his limp, helpless form.
Fingers slid his shirt up and she looked away almost immediately. She'd seen some gory things in her time - rushed amputations, slitting of throats, shattered bones and so many more, but this wound took pain to the next level. The purple infection did more than corrupt the veins laced through his skin - it inflamed them, tore them, and wriggled through them in an attempt to claim his body. The actual stab wound itself…
Meg tried to look and almost threw up.
"This has gotten a lot worse." She stumbled away from the group, only distantly aware of Pranjal speaking. "I think we need to apply unicorn shavings directly."
"Do you want me to help?"
"...no. Hazel, you're over-exerting your powers. You need to rest. Go to the infirmary and get nectar for yourself. Tell the other healers what's happened, and ask for a cheese grater-"
A what.
"Get him into the stables," Pranjal instructed the other three, taking over from where Hazel had left to stumble away, and they began to walk in an odd, shuffling manner.
Meg knew she couldn't do a lot, but she gripped the side of the shield he was lying on and helped them carry it. Her gaze focused everywhere and nowhere at the same time - on Apollo's face, his wound, his sweat-dampened hair, his usually twitching yet unmoving fingers.
Soldiers stared at them as they pulled him along, gasping and muttering amongst themselves. The eyes made her skin crawl, but they were laced with just enough sympathy that she could manage it until they got him to the stables.
Hurriedly, they ushered Apollo's limp form past the gate and a staring, confused unicorn and laid him on the ground. Someone propped him up so he was lying on the shield as opposed to the hay, and he let out a shocking loud whimper that made her heart clench. A unicorn plodded over to investigate, head nudging the side of his chest, and one of the legionnaires gently shooed it away.
Moments later, another healer came running out of the infirmary, accompanied by Hazel. Pranjal frowned at her direction, making a vague gesture to her arms which were- oh. They were glittering like jewels. Will had told her that Nico dissolved into shadows when he overused his powers. Hazel looked like she was in the very early stages of becoming a gemstone. She shot a withering look back at him and gestured down at Apollo, whose veins were currently coated with amethyst, although when he motioned at her to sit down, she did so without argument.
"You guys," Hazel sighed at the legionnaires that helped carry him. "Go find Frank-"
"-Reyna's on shift, right now-"
"-go find Reyna, and tell her what happened. Lia, get someone to relieve Lavinia and Olivar of watch duty. Lavinia can give an explanation of what happened-"
"Pranjal." The second healer handed over a gold, angled box with a handle on top and started cleaning the wound as Hazel continued her instructions. "Grater."
Meg blinked and gawked at it. "Why are you trying to heal him with a cheese grater?"
"Unicorn shavings." The healer explained as Pranjal stood up gently, and went to one of the unicorns. It nudged him, poking his chest experimentally with its horn, and he stroked its back, coaxing it slowly forward until its wide-eyed head hovered cautiously over him. “You’ve seen the unicorn draught, right?” She nodded, and he continued. “We usually mix the shavings with water and medicine so it can be digested. But for cases like these, with an open wound, we apply the shavings directly onto the wound.”
“And that helps?” Meg squinted at him.
“Yep.” He didn’t explain further, choosing to focus on his cleaning of the wound. White fabric in and out of flesh that was stained purple like a berry bush had exploded inside of him and tore his skin open. “Pranjal, can you manage the unicorn shavings?”
“I’ve got it from here, Callum. You go back to the infirmary, and take Hazel with-”
“I’m staying here.”
“Hazel-”
“I’m staying.” She insisted, staring at him dead in the eye. The black of her iris seemed larger than usual, as if her eyes were overcome by shadow. "I've already taken nectar. The infirmary is just going to overwhelm me."
Both healers cast a look at her, then decided they didn't want to argue with a centurion. Callum ran off. It then hit Meg why they were hurrying: they still had an outrageous number of wounded from their last battle. Hot, fiery guilt burnt straight into her as she realised that Apollo’s injuries were distracting the healers from people who might have needed it more, and that she had caused this-
The grater slowly slid across the unicorn horn and thin, long shavings of gold slid into Pranjal’s hand. He took them carefully and began uncurling them, gently laying them out on top of Apollo’s stomach. She stared at the shavings as they dissolved almost instantly.
“Do unicorn shavings have a limit like nectar and ambrosia?” Meg asked, shuffling to look at Apollo better. She hugged her knees.
“Not really?” Pranjal answered, not looking up from where he was untangling a particularly large shred of gold. “The more shavings used, the less effective they become. But they don’t ever stop healing.”
The shavings were carefully laid on top of his wound like a glittering bandage, covering the wound entirely from sight. They started fading into his skin just as quickly as before, and Meg tried to pacify herself by watching the gold sink into purple. It really didn’t look like it was helping.
Hazel pointed a finger at a particularly thick clump of gold, and it straightened immediately. Pranjal shot her with a look as he laid it over the gash. “I won’t make you go to the infirmary, but you need to stop using your powers.”
She smiled semi-apologetically and scooched over to sit beside Meg. The healer's face scrunched up in concentration as he continued his work. The unicorn whinied softly.
She could feel her eyes settle on her. Meg ignored her. She didn’t want to talk to Hazel, didn’t want her to attempt to reassure him that Apollo was okay when he wasn’t, when he was dying, when it was her fault. She hadn’t been the one to try and fight Tarquin, hadn’t been the one to charge out and force the tyrant to force himself into Apollo-
“Meg,” Hazel said softly. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on Apollo. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She mumbled into her knees. The sound was muffled, but Hazel heard it anyway. She was a centurion - she probably heard that excuse a lot.
The older girl said nothing, keeping her company in silence as Pranjal worked. He pushed Apollo's T-Shirt as far up as it would go, and whilst it would have usually made Meg squawk in annoyance as she caught a glimpse of healthy coloured flab, now made tears threaten to spill out of her eyes as she could only helplessly stare at the sprawling mess of sickly, violent purple. The acne, usually an angry shade of red, was a shriveled shade of black. She looked away and let the tears spill- this was her fault, and now all she could do for Apollo was to watch-
Apollo made a forced, strangled noise.
All three of their heads snapped to Apollo at once. He was still sprawled on the shield and it rocked ever so slightly as he started to twitch. Meg could have sobbed in relief as the paralysis broke, or at least began to break.
"Meg." He whimpered.
Her heart exploded and she was leaning over him in an instant, one hand scooping the curls away from his face and another snatching his with careful precision. His eyes didn't open, but his fingers curled around hers on reflex. Feeling their hands slot together felt as natural as breathing.
Pranjal frowned. "He shouldn't be awake yet-"
"Meg." And that's when she knew something was wrong. It wasn't a tone of recognition or relief, but instead a mumbled plead. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his face was clenched into an unamused frown. Like he wanted her, and didn't know she was there.
"What-"
"Apollo," Pranjal spoke loudly and clearly, causing her to startle ever so slightly. "Can you hear me?"
He mumbled something feverishly and she panicked, gripping his hand even tighter. The fear must have been obvious on her face, because in a second, Hazel was taking her arm and slowly pushing her back into a steady sitting position, this time cradling Apollo's arm as if it was made of glass.
His skin was burning hot to touch. She clung tighter, unaware of what else she was supposed to do. Pranjal was a doctor. Hazel could manipulate gold. All she could do was play with plants and swords. She felt useless, useless, useless-
Apollo let out a hoarse whine and stilled momentarily. The opportunity to lay more unicorn shavings on him was there and taken, and she would have snatched up the grater and done it herself had she not been too busy holding his arm and desperately trying to hope that he would suck in a burst of godly energy and jump upright to laugh at her. What she wouldn't do to listen to one of his stupid, cringe jokes, to listen to him lament the horrors of mortal society and to overdramatically wail about one of his exes.
Her eyes began to water again as a silent teardrop slid down his grimy, sweaty cheek. How much pain was he in, right now, that he couldn't hear them? She didn't know. She wasn't sure she wanted too.
She heard Hazel distantly trying to comfort her, trying to say that his aura of death was reducing, trying to convince her that she could feel the golden unicorn shavings flood through his veins, but she couldn't answer her. The only thing she could do was hold Apollo's hand, and cruelly wish that she could hold it forever.