Work Text:
It wasn’t until everyone settled down for sleep that the full weight of the day hit Apollo. He had almost died. Had Medea succeeded, he would have been condemned to oblivion. That was the thing about this pathetic half state he was in as Lester that he really didn’t want to acknowledge. Just because he was mortal didn’t mean he gained a mortal soul. If he died on these trials, there would be no trip to Erebus for him. Maybe that was for the best. He was starting to think that judgment wouldn’t exactly go his way. Not like Jason Grace or any of his children who died in the past few years.
For immortals, normally “death” wasn’t really death but rather an unpleasant trip to Tartarus to reform. He wouldn’t get that either. Part of him was relieved Medea’s scheme revealed that he did have at least some godly essence left, even while stuck in this meatsac known as Lester. But after what happened, how much of it was left? He suspected he would be lucky to have enough to live a halflife like she had forced Helios into, and wasn’t that a miserable thought.
No, most likely, if he died there would be nothing except a one way trip to Chaos’s realm. Gods don’t actually know much about Chaos and rarely talk about it. Is it an afterlife like Erebus is for mortals? Or was it really just an abyss of nothingness and darkness? If he died tonight in his sleep, would he even notice or would it just be a change from something into nothing?
That thought was even more disturbing and left him not wanting to fall asleep. But his mortal form was beyond exhausted and he eventually drifted off. Dreams of Styx taunting him for his failures was just another reminder of his weakness after a week of nothing but. He woke with a start, tears stinging painfully on his sunburned cheeks. Next to him, Meg snorted in her sleep and turned over, oblivious to his struggles. He wiggled his body out of his sleeping bag and went to the other side of the hillside away from the others.
Apollo realized the real question wasn’t whether he would notice if he died, but whether anyone else would. Not too long ago he would have laughed at the idea no one would notice his absence, but the week had been too trying for him to rely on that delusion any more. After all, Helios’s disappearance passed without too much fanfare, even though he left people behind who loved him dearly. He doubted any of those people knew Helios had returned in any form and likely didn’t notice his final death.
Gods just know when they receive a new domain, plus the gift of prophecy meant that Apollo knew for years that the sun chariot would eventually be his. Back then he didn’t think much about what that meant for Helios. Did the titan know what was coming just like Apollo did? Could he feel his domain slipping away, or was it a shock, where one moment he was there and the next the moment he wasn’t?
His wife certainly noticed. Apollo closed his eyes at the thought. Rhode. Much like her own parents, while there were children born to both of them outside their marriage bed, they were also fiercely devoted to one another. Rhode was devastated by her husband’s fading. It took quite a long time for her to accept it, even when it was Apollo driving her husband’s chariot across the sky every day. There was a time when he was close with his cousin, but things changed after he gained the sun. She didn’t blame him but it became uncomfortable. She stopped coming to Olympus and the farther they moved from Greece, the easier it was for him to avoid her. At this point, he hadn’t talked to his cousin in centuries. Rhode deserved to know what happened, what Medea did and to know her beloved was at peace, but the idea of being the one to tell her filled him with dread.
Apollo didn’t have anyone as devoted to him as Rhode had been to Helios. Before this whole ordeal he would have bet that immortals would have been rioting on Olympus at the idea of him fading. Now though? There were no riots, there were no protests. There had been no intervention even as he was moments away from dying.
That part hurt. He’s starting to understand that maybe he hasn’t been the best brother over the years but no matter how annoyed Artemis acts with him, he thought she still loved him. Maybe not though, as she was nowhere to be seen as the last bits of his essence were torn from his body. Things with Hermes had been strained ever since his lover tried to become the Pythia and failed, but he didn’t think his brother would just leave Apollo to die. And yet, where was the trickster when he needed him?
Poseidon had always been more of a father to him than Zeus and Apollo suspected the sea god had a hand in returning Jason’s body to them the other night. But he wasn’t in that chamber to help him either. Maybe he didn’t think Apollo deserved his help like Jason Grace did. Maybe it was his piece of flesh for Rhode’s heartbreak. Maybe he was right.
He tried to think of others he expected to help him and came up blank. His Muses weren’t fighters, nor was his son Aristaeus. Asclepius was still imprisoned in his old hospital, and besides most gods associated with the medical arts avoided conflict as much as possible. He knew better than to expect help from other Olympians; most of them wouldn’t stick their necks out unless it directly affected them.
But when he thought of immortals who definitely would not have his back, the list got a lot longer. He always chalked it up to jealousy, but was it really?
Apollo was over 4,000 years old and had very little to show for it. A bunch of trees in the desert had a more loyal family than he did. And wow, wasn’t that sad.
He didn’t even know if his own mother would notice. Leto disappeared years ago, before they realized Kronos was rising. The two were obviously connected and it was assumed she was currently reforming in Tartarus. He had that dream that suggested she had returned, but was that real? Apollo had no idea.
More than anything he wished she was here. Apollo was a momma’s boy at heart and he wanted to curl up in her arms and have her tell him everything would be okay like she did when he was still young, before he became an Olympian, and even after when life got to be too much. He would snuggle up in her arms, breathing in her scent of lavender and sage, and believe. It had been a long time since he last did that, since he believed she could truly protect him from the cruelty of the world, from his father’s rage, from the heartbreak that seemed to follow him everywhere. And maybe she couldn’t, but he craved that small moment of delusion.
He could imagine what she would say now. She would caress his hair and tell him none of this was his fault. She would blame Zeus, or the Fates, or anyone else but him. And Apollo would believe every word, even though he knows they are lies.
His musings were interrupted by a grumpy and still half asleep Meg. “Why are you awake?” she grunted as she plopped down next to him.
He shrugged and then winced, because yes that still hurt. “Couldn’t sleep.”
They fell into silence as the sun started to rise in the distance, the first tinges of pink reflecting off the clouds. Apollo always loved the stillness that came at dawn even before he gained the sun chariot. Today though, it was just a reminder that he wasn’t really needed; the sun would rise whether Apollo endured or not.
“You did good,” Meg finally said, digging her heels into the rocky dirt. “With Medea and Helios. You did good.”
“And with Crest?” he scoffed.
Meg shrugged. “He made a choice. Like Jason. Like you. What happened to him is Medea’s fault, not yours.” He closed his eyes. It was his fault. Even Styx knew that. They sat in silence as the sky turned red, and then orange. All it did was remind him of Helios and his fate.
“Would you notice if I died?” he suddenly asked.
Meg blinked at him owlishly, which looked all the more ridiculous with her broken glasses.
“Well would you be dead in front of me?”
“What?”
“I mean, I would notice if you were dead, like right there,” she said, waving in hand vaguely to the ground in front of them. “Would be hard to miss.”
Now it was Apollo's turn to blink at her. He probably shouldn't have expected anything different. He was starting to think demigods didn't have a level of fear of death that Apollo would consider healthy, or at least prudent.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
They lapsed back into silence. The sky really was beautiful this morning. It had that vibrant quality that only came after a much needed storm.
“I would notice,” Meg finally said, picking at her tights.
“Really?” Apollo couldn't help asking. He hated how small his voice sounded but he needed reassurance.
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Well, probably.”
He couldn't help the small smile that tugged on his lips.
“Would you notice if I died?” she asked in turn. The smile faded.
Before he knew the answer would be no. Gods rarely paid any attention to demigods besides their own children, and mortals besides some former lovers and a few special mortals who are particularly dedicated to their favored domains. As a former Praetor but more importantly as one of the prophesied Seven, there would at least be a notice put in Olympus Weekly for Jason. But a daughter of Demeter would have never crossed his radar, let alone one essentially left on the streets by her deranged stepfather. Looking at her now and knowing everything she’s gone through, the thought hurts his heart.
“I will,” he answered and he meant it. He may not be able to track all demigods everywhere, but he was starting to realize many of them needed more than just their godly parent in their corner. And for demigods like Meg who had a particularly absent godly parent, that was even more important.
He thought back to the kids at camp. Miranda, and Billie, and Sherman, and Chiara. Nike’s twins and Damian and Paolo. He thought of Georgina and Lit back at the Waystation. His trials weren’t over but he had a growing list of responsibilities if he returned to Olympus. When he returned to Olympus, he mentally corrected himself.
Meg examined his face before turning back to the sunrise. “Good,” she said simply. But Apollo saw a small smile on her face that may have been a bit pleased.
Just then Herophile came around the hill. “Meg! Apollo! Come!”
“What’s going on?” Meg asked while getting to her feet. Herophile just grabbed her hand and dragged her further down the hill. Apollo stiffly got to his feet and followed. His heart was still heavy but maybe not as much as it was before.
Maybe he didn’t deserve to be noticed before, but he would change that. For Jason, for Crest, for Meg. He would change to be the type of person people noticed, not for his skills or talents or domains, but for the type of person he was. That was one promise he could work on for as long as the Fates gave him.
He could remember, and maybe that would make him worth being remembered in turn.