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Chapter Text

Kratos would regret his fight with Atreus to his dying days. He did not necessarily think he had been wrong to be mad at the boy, he'd disappeared without explanation for two days after all, but perhaps he could have worded things better? Perhaps he could have been more understanding? Mimir said that would be expecting too much of himself, but Kratos could not help but blame himself.

Atreus had run to Asgard after their fight, and he had not seen him since. Things had quickly spiralled out of control from there.

He had gone to the Norns with Freya, hoping to find answers. Their magic quickly clouded his mind once he left and all he could remember was that Heimdall wanted to kill Atreus. He went to Svartalfheim with Brok, to make a weapon that could kill the Aesir god. Odin had intercepted him there, but refused to return his son. Freya's brother had been captured, and he went along for the rescue mission, where he was met with Heimdall.

The Aesir god was arrogant and irritating, but Kratos could hardly care about that considering the words that Heimdall spat at him.

"And you must be the little half-breed's father." There was a deep-seated contempt and loathing in Heimdall's voice. "Lucky day! You have a lot to answer for, sunshine! He's been quite the... let's call it a nuisance, shall we?"

Kratos sent Freya away, taking on the burden of killing Heimdall while she went to help her brother. The fight was brutal, but Kratos had been in many brutal fights before. He slaughtered the creature that the Aesir was riding, then focussed on the man himself.

"Weak!" Heimdall shouted when Kratos was unable to land a hit on him. "Now I see where your son gets it from. What a whiny little runt you've raised!"

Kratos growled and threw his spear at Heimdall's head. The god caught it, but did not know it would explode in his hand. Rushing forward, Kratos attempted to punch him, but was unsuccessful.

Still, the spear remained his best chance.

"Well, at least you don't mewl like your son does," Heimdall jeered. He put up an exaggerated high-pitched, whiny voice. "Father, please help me! They're hurting me!"

Those words shook Kratos' core enough to leave him open to an attack from Heimdall, who kicked him in the face, before attempting to follow up the attack with his sword. Kratos managed to step out of the way just in time and blocked another attack with his shield.

For a moment, the two men stood almost chest to chest. Heimdall's purple eyes searched Kratos' golden ones for a moment.

"You don't know..." The man muttered before chuckling cruelly. "You have no idea what All-Father is doing to your runt. Well, I can promise you, last I saw of him he was begging for death."

Kratos pushed back with his shield, creating distance to attack again.

"He's just trying to get under your skin, brother," Mimir said, though he sounded strangely nervous. Clearly, he was not certain that Heimdall was lying.

Kratos exploded another spear near the Aesir, and went to attack while he was stunned. He still could not land a hit, but it was obvious Heimdall's focus was depleting, as he had to block instead of constantly dodging.

"Hey, careful! These are new bracers," the Aesir complained as he shook out his arm. Kratos' punch might have done some damage after all.

The Spartan's anger continued to spike as Heimdall kept jeering at him.

"All-Father burned your pathetic whelp on the undersides of his feet to stop him from running. Then he started on his hands, and his face, and his-"

The description of the horrible scene was cut short as Kratos exploded the spear in Heimdall's face for a third time before surging forward. Finally, his fist made contact with the Aesir's cheek.

Heimdall stumbled back, his hand coming up to gingerly touch the cut on his cheekbone. Blood was seeping out and running down his cheek.

"You... ACTUALLY HIT ME!"

Now that Heimdall's guard had been broken once, it was not difficult to do so again. His foresight seemed completely overwhelmed and he was barely able to dodge any of Kratos' attacks.

The god of war sliced the Aesir's shoulder with the blade of his spear, then rammed him with the staff portion. Heimdall grabbed onto it with both hands, putting them in a standoff.

"Luck," he insisted. "That's all this is!"

Is it?

Kratos threw them around, slamming Heimdall into the wall and stabbing him through the arm. The spear pinned him to the wall, as he screamed for him to stop. The god of war summoned another spear, holding the point under Heimdall's chin.

"What happened to my son?" He interrogated.

The purple-eyed god grinned up at him, blood coating his golden teeth.

"All-Father needed him for a little project. Once he heard what it was about, he refused to help. All-Father was not pleased. Even if you rescued the runt now, I doubt there will be much left of him."

Kratos wanted to stab Heimdall through the chest, choke him out, rip in half, but he could not. If he killed Heimdall now, it would mean declaring war on Asgard. Who could predict what would happen to Atreus than?

"Wait," Heimdall muttered as Kratos stepped away. "What is going on in that empty head? Oh no, no, no, no, no... you are going to spare me out of pity?"

"Let it go and you may live."

It seemed Heimdall truly did not see all. Kratos felt not a single shred of pity for him in this moment. For his son, however... Perhaps the Aesir was not completely clueless about this, because he sneered at the god.

"Is this about the little runt?" he questioned. Anger appeared in his eyes when he read the answer in Kratos' mind and face. "Oh, now I am definitely going to gut him."

Kratos did not hesitate. He slammed down his spear and blew Heimdall's arm off. Blood spilled onto the ground as the god sat hunched over on the ground.

Despite losing an arm, Heimdall would not stop. Kratos was forced to put him down.

As he ran through the jungle to rejoin Freya, Mimir spoke up from his belt.

"Brother, what he said about the boy... We don't know if he's speaking the truth. For all we know, he was just trying to rile you up. Heimdall was an annoying piece of shit on the best of days."

Kratos grunted in acknowledgement, but he did not agree. There was some part of him, some deep-seated fatherly instinct that told him there was at least some semblance of truth to Heimdall's claims.

What was his son being put through?

He returned to Sindri's home in the realm between realms with Freya and her brother. They agreed to start Ragnarök, but Týr seemed increasingly against it.

"You would incinerate every soul in Asgard and call it self-defence?" He argued with Freya. No one was to be dissuaded however, not after everything Odin had done. "I see my council is no longer of use here. I believe it is best if I leave."

Freya did not want Týr to go, but the god could not be convinced to stay.

Ragnarök was a harsh battle, but nothing compared to the moment that they finally cornered the leader of the Aesir. The realms had been united against him, Thor and Heimdall were dead, and now Odin's greatest enemies had him on his knees.

"Where is my son?" Kratos growled, the flames of his spartan rage skittering furiously across his arms.

"Dead."

He did not believe it. Neither did Freya and Mimir.

After Odin was killed, Asgard had been destroyed and the wounded had been tended to, they started their journey of looking for Atreus. The smartest thing to do would be to ask an Aesir, and luckily Sif had switched sides at the last moment to protect her daughter. She was in Vanaheim, attempting to create a plan with Hildisvíni to shelter the Aesir refugees.

They did not get the answer they'd hoped for.

"I did see him once in Asgard. Odin was showing him around... I didn't see him again afterwards, I had assumed he just went back home, but... I know my daughter talked to him at some point. Maybe she knows more."

So they went to find Sif's daughter Thrúd. Sadly, the young girl was of even less help than her mother.

"Loki? Yes, I spoke with him. Not for long though. He went to speak with grandf- with Odin right away. I didn't see him again after that."

And so they were at the end of their trail. Everyone who might have an inkling as to what happened to Atreus was dead. Still, they weren't ready to give up.

"Remember all those smokestacks we've been seeing throughout the realms?" Mimir said. "Pieces of Asgard. Perhaps we can find a clue there? Perhaps even the lad himself."

It was their only chance, so they started looking.

°•Ω•°

Atreus jumped over the gap, waiting for his father to follow. The deer was just up ahead, its glowing antlers glittering in the failing light. Its nose was nudging through the snow, looking for small scraps of surviving vegetation that it could eat.

Father and son hid behind a rock and Atreus nocked an arrow on his bow. Accuracy over speed, he reminded himself as he aimed for the animal's heart.

Then his father's hand laid on his arrow and pushed his bow down.

The deer ran off and Atreus turned to his father, confused.

"Why did you do that? Now it's running!"

"And so are you."

Atreus shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts that were unwillingly invading his mind. He looked away from his father's face, knowing that doing so would be detrimental to his efforts.

"I don't understand," he lied.

"When an animal is wounded, it must stop the bleeding or it will die. You have been wounded, and this..." His father gestured to their surroundings. "This is a distraction."

Atreus scowled at his father, trying to ignore everything wrong about his face, every little detail that he couldn't quite see right no matter how hard he tried. His father's face, a face of comfort, was also a reminder of his failures.

"That's not fair," he growled. "That's not fair! I don't want to talk about this. Let's just continue hunting."

But his father grabbed his arm and pulled him down again.

"Atreus, I have taught you to face your problems head on. Hiding in your head is not a part of that."

"Well, that's easy for you to say, isn't it?!" Atreus cried, tears springing to his eyes.

No matter how much he lived for these moments, imagination mixing with his memories and even premonitions, he always hated when his own mind turned against him and forced him to confront that it wasn't real. He was not hunting with his father. He was in a cell, hiding within the recesses of his mind.

For some reason, it was always his father that reminded him. Maybe because the man had become so synonymous with being a voice of reason and strength for Atreus in the real world...

"I understand it's not easy, laddie," mind Mimir said, because the other figments of his imagination always caught on immediately after his father pointed out the truth. "But you can't stay here... You know you can't."

"You don't understand at all! I'd go crazy if I didn't..."

He didn't finish his sentence, tried to push away the memories of knives and whips and burning hot metal and ice-cold water.

His imaginary father grabbed his face, forcing him to look at him.

"I need you to be there," he said. "When I come to rescue you."

"You're not coming!" Atreus sobbed. "You're not coming for me! You'll never find me!"

"I will."

And it was said so forcefully, with so much conviction and determination, that Atreus almost thought it was his real father speaking. Only his father could sound like that.

Chapter Text

Kratos, Freya and Mimir were travelling through Niflheim. It was the last realm where they hadn't looked through all of Asgard's fragments. The mood in the group was tense, because Mimir had finally voiced the thought they were all scared to admit to out loud.

"If we don't find him here... What then?"

"Then we keep looking," Kratos had growled.

"Brother, we've been scouring the Nine Realms for weeks now. Perhaps it's time to at least prepare for the possibility that-"

"He. Is. Not. Dead."

Mimir and Freya did not dare to say anything after that. The rage was burning so furiously within Kratos that the snow around his boots was melting.

The fragment of Asgard was close now, and they could see the wooden structure that had blasted through the glacier. It was smoking and damaged, but fairly intact compared to some of the other buildings they'd found.

"Hang on a minute..." Mimir muttered, squinting his eyes. "Is this a prison?"

Hope bloomed within all of their chests. If there was anywhere that Odin might have kept Atreus as a prisoner, it would be here, right?

The prison was built out of several layers, and as they descended the guards and prisoners became increasingly dangerous. Many of the prisoners did not seem the slightest bit grateful that they were being freed, or they were already dead.

As they opened up one of the last cells, they found a notable exception.

"Freya! I can't believe it!"

"Týr! How did Odin manage to capture you again?" Freya questioned. The Aesir would have needed to do it in the few hours between Týr's departure from the realm between realms and Ragnarök, so it was not a very odd question.

"Again?" The god questioned. "I'm afraid I do not understand. I have not left this cell for several centuries now."

"What?!" Mimir shouted, voicing the thought that all of them were thinking. "But if we didn't free you a few weeks back, than who was that?"

"Mimir? Is that you, old friend?"

Kratos took the head of his belt so that the two men could see each other properly.

"In all the important ways, aye... Oh bloody hell, it must have Odin! He knew the lad was searching for Týr, he must have used his magic to disguise himself!"

The rage that had been brewing within Kratos only rose in intensity. Odin had been hiding under their noses all along, pretending to be a friend and ally... He'd seen and heard Kratos worry about his son while holding him captive this whole time. It made him want to violently disembowel the next Einherjar he came across.

"Týr, we need your help," Freya said, forgoing her anger in favour of achieving their goal. "We have been looking for a young boy taken prisoner by Odin. Have you seen him anywhere in this prison?"

"A boy..." The Norse god of war muttered, stroking his beard. "Yes, I'm afraid I have. He's in the lowest level. I can see clear as day that you care for him, so I must warn you: they have not been kind to him."

Kratos was barely even listening after the first sentence. He stormed out of the cell, towards the lowest part of the prison. Calling his son's name, he waited desperately for a response.

"Please wait here," Freya said. "Once we've found Atreus we'll get you to some proper shelter and a meal-"

"No, thank you. As much as I appreciate the offer, I... I need some time to reflect alone. I would appreciate some time to myself."

"As you wish," Freya said before rushing after Kratos.

They found their way to the lowest level, breaking open cell door after cell door as they each tackled one side of the room. Freya reached the last cell and looked through the bars, spotting a figure huddled in the corner. She'd recognise that red hair anywhere.

"I've found him!" She shouted over her shoulder, before hurriedly inserting her sword in the crack under the door and using it as a lever to break the lock. She lifted the door, rushing over to the boy.

Atreus was curled up in the corner, his back to the entrance. He was leaning against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. Even now, weeks after Odin was defeated, there were fresh wounds across his body. The guards must have continued the boy's torture in Odin's name...

Despite Freya's loud entrance, and Kratos' earlier yelling, the boy wasn't looking up. He didn't move as the Vanir goddess reached his side and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. Carefully turning him so he was leaning with his back against the wall, she noticed the dead-eyed stare. It was as if he couldn't see her. If it wasn't for his breathing and blinking, she would assume him to be dead.

"Atreus..." She whispered, laying her hands on the sides of his face.

There was no response.

"ATREUS!"

Kratos stormed in and immediately fell down to his knees next to his son. Large yet gentle hands scoured the boy's body for life-threatening injuries, and the god of war's scowl only continued to deepen when he saw what his son had been through.

The young god was still not responding to anything, despite his father pressing against what must be very painful wounds.

Freya called his name again, a bit more forcefully this time, but the boy didn't react in any way. A bit hesitantly, she put her fingers right in front of his eyes and snapped them to gauge how aware he was. He blinked as a reflex, but there was no further movement.

"What is happening to him?" Kratos asked.

"I'd like to know that as well!" Mimir called, unable to see exactly what the situation was as he was still hanging off Kratos' belt.

The god quickly unhooked him and placed him on the ground so he could see Atreus' state.

"Oh, lad..."

Kratos' worry was only growing. He called his son's name, gently touched his face and hands, even became desperate enough to press against the boy's wounds in hopes of seeing any reaction. There was nothing.

"Is this a spell of some kind?" He asked Freya.

"I don't think so, brother," Mimir interrupted before the goddess could answer. "I've seen it a few times before. When the body and spirit's been put through the wringer so much that the mind just completely shuts off to protect itself."

"Is there a way to stop it?"

"I haven't heard of any, but it's not supposed to be permanent. Maybe he just needs a moment..."

For a while, no one knew what to do. They stared at the young boy in front of them, who looked so incredibly fragile and broken, yet he was alive.

"Let us bring him home," Kratos said, before picking up his son and carrying him away.

He remembered carrying Atreus very similarly three years ago, when the boy had fallen ill after their confrontation with Modi. Even though Atreus was now three years older, Kratos noticed he was much lighter than he'd been back than.

It felt wrong.

All of it was wrong.

°•Ω•°

"Just ten minutes, lad," mind Mimir tried to convince him.

"No."

"Five then?"

"No."

"Just long enough to eat something," the head insisted. "You know they're still leaving food in the cell. You need to eat something soon."

"No, I don't," Atreus stubbornly refused.

It had been going back and forth like this for a while. The friends and family that his mind had conjured were trying to convince him to leave, to return to his body to ensure it was healed and being fed. They did this often, but last time Atreus had awoken to a burning hot iron being pressed against his back and now he was refusing to go back.

The survival instincts in his mind, or perhaps his body crying out because of the starvation, were getting truly desperate as Freya seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Gods can survive without food for longer than mortals, but you need to eat eventually or you will starve."

"I don't care."

His mind father grabbed his shoulders, shaking him roughly.

"Do not say such things, boy," he growled. "You will get out of your mind and eat. There will be no further discussion."

"I don't care anymore!" Atreus cried, struggling but being unable to get out of the strong grip on his shoulder. "Just let me starve, let me die!"

"You are not allowed to die."

He looked up at his father's distorted face, finding every imperfection and mistake in his memory. It was a hollow imitation of his father, an imposter of something real that was lost.

"You can't order me around," he said numbly. "You're not real. You're just a figment of my imagination."

°•Ω•°

"You... you found him... you actually found him!"

Kratos grunted in acknowledgement to Sindri's astonished cries. The dwarf had been staying in his home in the realm between realms ever since Ragnarök, taking care of Brok who'd been injured during the battle. Several times, he'd taken a short break to help them look for the boy, especially in Svartalfheim, and he'd offered his home to them in case they needed it.

Entering the dwarves' home, Kratos gently placed his son on the chaise by the stairs. Mimir's suggestion had not been proven correct so far, and Atreus was still blankly staring ahead as if nothing was happening.

"What's wrong with him?"

"We're not completely sure," Freya admitted. "But he's been through a lot."

Despite all their questions of what had happened to the boy, that much was clear. Bruises, burns and contusions were littered around Atreus' body.

"I'll... I'll tell Brok to make some food, and I'll prepare a bath for him."

Kratos glared at the dwarf, because his son had just returned after months of imprisonment and torture and the first thing he thought of was getting him clean? Freya cut off any protest he might have made however.

"That's a good idea, Sindri. There's a lot of open wounds and we don't want those getting infected."

Kratos admitted she had a point there. Atreus was covered in dirt, blood and what seemed like other bodily fluids. Over time, the god had learned that infection was an insidious killer. Still...

"He will not be able to bathe himself like this," he muttered to Freya as her skilled hands as a healer started expecting the worst of the injuries. She was looking for the first stages of infection and irritation, which she would have to treat quickly before they became worse.

"I know. You'll have to help him."

Sindri gave them a signal a few minutes later, before disappearing upstairs to care for Brok. The other dwarf was confined to his bed due to his injury. Kratos picked up his son again and carried him to the room that the dwarf had pointed to. There was a decently sized wooden tub, filled with warm but not hot water. Several towels were on a nearby table, clean and neatly folded.

Kratos left Mimir in the main room and made sure to close the door. While his son might not be aware of his surroundings right now, he still deserved as much privacy and discretion as possible.

Working as carefully as possible, Kratos peeled his son's clothes from his body. They stuck to his skin because of many layers of sweat that had appeared and dried there. He left on Atreus' underpants as an extra layer of privacy for the boy and then gently picked him up again.

He went to lower him into the water, but a sound made him freeze up. The moment his son's legs had touched the water, his muscles had tensed and a whimper had come from his throat.

"Atreus?" He whispered.

The younger god didn't respond, and he still had that unseeing stare. Still, he was clearly afraid and Kratos did not want that.

He checked the water's temperature again to make sure it wasn't too warm, then continued to place Atreus into it, whispering assurances as he did so. He kept one hand under his son's neck to avoid it being awkwardly bent over the edge of the tub.

He remembered a time many years ago, when Faye had returned home from a short walk through the forest with their son. The boy, only one winter old at the time, had found a mud pool to play in and was now covered from head to toe. He was happily wriggling around in his mother's grasp, who was watching him bemusedly as he dirtied her tunic.

"You wash him," she told Kratos as she dumped the toddler into his arms. "I'm going to change clothes."

Back then, the boy had happily splashed around the water as his father attempted to keep him still to wash him, who ended up very wet himself. Now, Atreus was not enjoying the warm water, just lying tensed-up in the tub as if he was expecting an attack any moment now.

Had the Aesir used water to torture him? Was that the reason for this sudden reaction?

Kratos did not know.

He wasn't certain he wanted to know.

"It is alright, Atreus," he hushed, carefully using a rag to scrape away some old blood, revealing a previously hidden scar. "You are safe. No one will hurt you."

He was hoping that his son's increased reactions to his surroundings was a sign he was ready to come out of his mind. Perhaps if he talked to him and reassured him that he was safe, he would finally stop having that empty look in his eyes.

Perhaps there was a chance to heal.

Chapter Text

This is ridiculous, Atreus thought as he loudly huffed and scuffed his feet across the bottom of the boat.

He was getting the silent treatment from his own mind.

He had created a completely new fantasy, about travelling through Svartalfheim with his father. He'd hoped that in doing so, they'd finally drop the subject of him returning to the real world.

It had been necessary, because the real world seemed to break through for just a single second. He felt water on his skin as he was slowly being submerged. He quickly hid into the deepest corners of his mind before his captors had the chance to plunge his head underwater, before he could hear them laugh as they violently drowned him only to bring him up just before he passed out.

For one hour, he'd been able to completely forget his true circumstances. He was not imagining he was in Svartalfheim, he was in Svartalfheim. He was not making up tasks for him and his fake father to do, the dwarves living along the riverbanks were actually giving them these tasks in exchange for rewards.

But then his mind father insisted he stop 'hiding in his head' to eat. When Atreus had said 'no', he'd stopped the boat in the middle of the lake and was refusing to move or say anything until his son had eaten.

The fact he was unable to control his mind, must mean he had reached a level of insanity that he hadn't before.

"This is stupid!" He shouted at his fake father, who watched him impassively. "You're a part of my mind. You're supposed to do what I say!"

He knew it was useless. In creating an imaginary version of his father to keep him company, he'd also given him all the stubbornness that he had to deal with in real life. Maybe he should just create a new fantasy with his mother instead...

"Do not even entertain that thought," his fake father warned.

Atreus sighed again. He didn't understand why his mind wouldn't let him die even if he clearly had no problem with it. Maybe he really was going crazy... well, crazier than he already was.

"Atreus, what do you want to do?"

He looked up at his fake father. Had he finally won their stand-off?

"I want to find that treasure that the dwarf in Nidavellir talked about. There could be something really useful."

"We will, once you have eaten." Atreus groaned at that, but his mind father remained stead-fast. "Atreus, just get out of your head and eat five mouthfuls of whatever meagre meal they have given you. Then we will search for the treasure, I promise you."

If Atreus had been able to delude himself into thinking that this was actually his father before, he definitely wouldn't have been able to do so now. His father almost never made promises. He once said it was because he does not wish to make one he isn't certain he can keep.

Atreus sighed, but admitted it wasn't a bad deal. Just eat a little bit and then his mind would finally leave him alone, would finally let him forget his horrible reality.

"Fine," he muttered.

He closed his eyes, letting the illusion he'd created fall away. When he was done, the boy opened his eyes to find...

Sindri's house?

Well, he had surely lost it now, if he couldn't even leave his fantasies behind for the real world any more, even if he was trying. Or maybe he was dead. He wouldn't mind just being dead...

He was lying on the chaise near the stairs. His father was on the floor next to him, leaning with his back against the piece of furniture as he watched Freya work. It seemed she was preparing some kind of potion. The dwarven brothers were nowhere to be seen.

As he lay there quietly, observing his surroundings, he became aware of the pain he was feeling in his body. Usually, he couldn't feel his injuries while fantasising, so what had changed? He looked around, trying to spot the inconsistencies, things that didn't make sense.

"Lad?"

His eyes moved to his right, spotting Mimir on a small table next to the chaise. When their eyes met, the boy saw a hopeful glimmer in the golden irises.

"Can you hear me, Atreus?" Mimir asked and Atreus stared at him confusedly. Why wouldn't he be able to hear him?

"Atreus..."

He looked back to his left to see his father staring at him with an expression he couldn't quite place. The man's hand was hovering over Atreus' arm, as if he wanted to touch him, but was afraid to do so. Freya had also turned around, and was now watching him from a distance.

Atreus opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

That was strange...

Usually, the only place he couldn't bring himself to talk was in the real world. The willingness had been beaten out of him from day one. Suspicion rising up inside of him, he stared at his father's face. He examined that expression that he'd never seen before, trying to place why it looked off to him.

His father looked afraid. His father was never afraid.

The strange tense atmosphere in the room seemed to be smothering him, but it was nothing compared to the weight of realisation pressing down on his chest.

This wasn't real, he thought to himself. He sighed and resigned himself to the coming pain.

This wasn't the first time that Odin had used illusions to torture him. The first time had been a complete surprise.

He remembered jumping up and rushing into who he thought was his father's arms. He'd sobbed and begged to go home, apologising for every slight he'd ever committed. His father's hands on his shoulder and back had felt safe and secure as he was led to the elevator that went to the surface. Just as they were about to leave, one of those hands had slid to his neck. Atreus had assumed his father was examining the large bruise there, until the hand wrapped around his throat and started choking him.

Odin dropped the illusion and dragged Atreus back to his cell, and the next few hours were without a doubt some of the worst of his entire imprisonment.

The Aesir continued these cruel deceptions, and Atreus' excitement and relief at seeing his father again dwindled every time. The last time Odin had tried to trick him, Atreus hadn't even looked up. He wasn't hiding in his mind, but he already knew it wasn't real. The illusion had almost immediately fallen away.

"You've realised than?" Odin asked almost conversationally, as if he wasn't here to torture Atreus.

The boy knew better than to answer. He wasn't allowed to speak anymore, and any attempts he'd made in the past were harshly punished.

"You're never getting out of here. No one is coming for you, and you are far too useful for me to let you die."

In the past, Atreus might have argued that his father was coming for him, that the man would never stop searching and that not even death would be enough to keep him away. Now, he no longer had the energy to disagree.

Still, Atreus had to admit that Odin was running a far more elaborate ruse this time. Impersonating several people, or at least making them appear to be there, must be no mean feat of magic. That was not even mentioning the change of environment. Than again, with how long Atreus had been hiding in his head, the Aesir would have had plenty of time to set it all up.

"Atreus."

The young god tried to hold a neutral expression and keep a frown of his face. He wished the older god would just drop his act and get it all over with.

He knew there was no escape. Odin only came to torture him every few days, so when he did, he would make it worthwhile. He didn't know what magic the Aesir used to keep him from retreating into his fantasy worlds, but he hated it with every fibre of his being.

"Atreus, are you with us? Say something." That was the illusion or impersonator of Freya. She was approaching cautiously, as if she genuinely cared about being gentle and unthreatening, like he hadn't already seen through the trick.

He shot an exhausted look in her direction, telling without speaking to just get out the tools and destroy his body. Atreus hated the torture, but he also hated having to fearfully anticipate it as his tormentors toyed with him. Heimdall especially had taken great pleasure in pushing and prodding him into reacting, so he could justify an even more brutal torture. He hadn't been by in a long time, so he was surely planning something horrible.

Atreus sank down in the chaise a little more forcefully when he noticed how these impersonations of his family worried over him. What game were they playing?

A slight gasp of realisation came from his right, before the fake Mimir piped up.

"Oh, lad, this isn't an illusion. This is real, you're safe!"

Had it not been for the months of torture whittling down his reactions to everything, he might have barked a laugh at his words. As if hadn't heard that one before...

Chapter Text

Mimir's words made a pain spread through Kratos' heart. His son believed them to be an illusion? Some projection conjured by his own mind or his captors? It was a thought that hurt him to his very soul, but it felt like nothing compared to the moment Mimir's reassurances seemed to be completely disregarded.

Atreus continued to stare at them, his eyes filled with exhaustion, suspicion and fear.

Kratos wanted to reach out and comfort his son, but knew that such an action was unlikely to be received well at the moment.

"Why don't you ask us something?" Freya proposed. "Something that we could only know if we were real?"

"Your majesty, while that is a good idea, I don't think the lad can talk right now. Maybe we should say something only we would know instead," Mimir said.

Kratos frowned at his friend, wondering what he meant by that. Why wouldn't Atreus be able to talk? Mimir shot him a look, one that said that they'd discuss something later. He did not often use that look, so despite his apprehension Kratos decided not to argue with it.

"I'll start," Mimir offered. "When you and yer da met me on the mountain in Midgard, I mentioned that no weapon, not even Mjölnir could cut me free from the tree. You-" Mimir chuckled a little. "You actually tried to cut through with your knife when I said that. Didn't do anythin', of course, but I appreciated the gesture none the less."

It was small and very short-lived, but Kratos saw it in his son's eyes clear as day. A small glimmer of hope that was quickly buried under several layers of trepidation. They were going in the right direction.

"After you and your father stumbled into my forest in Midgard," Freya continued. "I mentioned that your bow looked a little big on you. You said that your mother told you you'd grow into it."

Kratos was slightly surprised that Freya remembered their meeting that well. Than again, after Baldur's death, she'd likely thought back to that day again and again and wished she'd killed them that very moment. They were very lucky she was once again an ally.

Kratos scoured his mind for an appropriate memory to prove himself. He remembered moments in their quiet cabin, moments that Atreus had spent with his mother while Kratos watched on from the sidelines, too afraid to participate in the rituals of love that his wife cultivated. He'd been so afraid of touching his son, of being near him, of hurting him, that he'd kept a physical and emotional distance. So much had changed these last three years, there were so many more moments of happiness between them. Yet none of them felt capable of showing Atreus how much his father truly loved him, and how much he'd missed him.

"Your mother would sing for you," he started haltingly, watching his son's eyes flit over to him, filled with this tentative, terrified hope. "Especially when you were sick. She would hold you in her lap, and sing lullabies until you breathed easier and could finally sleep."

Memories were flooding the old god's mind, as he thought back to that singular moment when everything seemed different. They never talked about it afterwards, but it had stayed in his mind.

"One night, she had a sore throat so severe that she could not manage to sing, even though you were panting through your fever. I sent her to bed, and sang in her stead. That is the only time you have heard me speak Greek."

Kratos did not cry often. He could count the times he'd done so since his childhood on one hand. Yet seeing Atreus tentatively reach out for him, as if fearing he'd disappear after having his hopes raised, was enough to make tears well up in his eyes.

He took his son's hand gently, taking care not to rub against the scabbed skin.

The boy let out a terrible sob, and then he was launching himself off the chaise and into Kratos' arms. He clung to him like a ship-wrecked sailor who'd found a piece of driftwood. The god of war held him much more carefully, constantly aware of the injuries on his son's body. He could feel Atreus trembling all over, shaking with the weight of his sobbing.

Atreus never cried, but now he was wailing like a lost child.

Kratos wished to stay like that forever, simply hold his boy until the world did not feel so indiscriminately cruel. Because Atreus had done nothing to deserve this. He wanted to help people, be better than the gods who'd come before him.

He couldn't though. He could already feel Freya and Mimir's sympathetic stares, notice the healer's fretting hands from the corner of his eye. Freya wished to further treat Atreus' injuries, and she needed space for that.

Moving carefully, Kratos tried to peel his son away from him, but soon found it was not an easy task. Atreus' fingers were digging into any hold they could find on Kratos' body and clothes, and he was refusing to let go. When his father tried to coax him loose, a terrified whimper came from his throat.

Kratos decided to let it go.

He gestured for Freya to come closer, but his glare over the top of Atreus' head, tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder, made it clear to be slow and careful.

"Atreus?" Freya said calmly before stepping closer and kneeling next to father and son. "I want to treat some of your injuries. Is that okay?"

It took a moment for Atreus to respond, but he eventually nodded, keeping himself glued to his father the whole while. He did not even raise his head from the crook of Kratos' neck.

The goddess' hands were exceedingly gentle and careful as she started rubbing a healing poultice onto the wounds, focussing on the worst injuries first. Despite the fact she would always warn Atreus that she would touch him and where, he tensed and whimpered in fear every time as if expecting pain had become instinctual.

Kratos tried his best to shush him. He rubbed his son's back as if he was a much younger child. While he did not want to become a permanent security blanket, he knew that his son's emotional independence could be worked on when things had settled.

"Alright Atreus, if you could just turn slightly? I want to look at those bruises on your neck."

It wasn't clear why this specifically set the boy off, but it did. Atreus had been sitting fairly calmly in Kratos's lap at first, but now he was struggling like his life depended on it. His father did his best to contain him, grunting slightly when he was kicked in the stomach.

The scariest thing of all, was that despite his son's obvious fear, he still wasn't saying anything. He wasn't asking for them not to touch his neck, or to be let go. Just terrified sobs and whines.

"Atreus, calm down!" He said, still trying to contain his struggling son. "We are not trying to hurt you."

"Kratos, brother! Let him go for a moment, this isn't helping!"

He listened to Mimir, and Atreus immediately shot out of his lap, scrambling across the floor and into a corner. He curled up on the ground, his arms coming up to cover his head, as if he was expecting to be struck any moment now.

The following process took hours.

Freya and Kratos each tried to slowly approach on their own, but any time they did, Atreus would start hyperventilating. They even tried rolling Mimir towards him, in the hopes that he would be less intimidating, but it didn't help.

After a while, Mimir devised a plan. Everyone would go to the other side of the room while Kratos would remain relatively close to the boy, but at a distance. Then, every few minutes, he would take a step closer and gauge Atreus' reaction. He could keep moving or step back if needed. It would be a slow process, but possibly the only thing that would work right now.

So they set the plan into action.

For the most part it went well. Kratos would take a step closer and watch his son flinch and whimper, before he slowly calmed down again. Letting Atreus adjust after every single one of his movements, even if he hadn't stepped forward, was important to make things work.

They had one major setback, when Sindri had appeared from upstairs to see how things were going and had caused Atreus to start screaming again. The dwarf had immediately stepped between the realms again when Freya yelled at him to leave, but the damage was done. Kratos had to move all the way back to the other side of the room to calm the boy down, and found that afterwards it took longer for Atreus to trust his movements.

After another two hours of this, he was just one step away from his son's side.

"Atreus," he called softly, and was relieved to see the boy look up at him when his name was called. Clearly, he was still aware and had not retreated back into his mind. He also seemed to have calmed slightly. "I am going to step closer."

With that warning, he finally closed the distance. Moving as carefully as possible, he laid a hand on Atreus' arm. The touch was featherlight, yet he could feel his son's muscles tensing. His entire body was locked up with fear.

"It is alright," he soothed, even as his son seemed poised to flee from his touch. "You are alright. No one is going to hurt you. Do you not want us to touch your neck?"

Atreus vehemently shook his head, whimpering at the mere thought of it. It broke Kratos' heart to see his son reduced to this, a frightened child that cowered at any reminder of the horrors inflicted upon him.

"Alright, we will not." Kratos decided then it might be best to give his son time to recover from Freya's attempts at treating his injuries before trying again. "You need to eat something. Do you have the strength to stand and walk to the table?"

He asked, because he needed to know. He needed to know just how badly the Aesir had damaged his son's body so he could figure out how he was supposed to put him back together again.

To Atreus' credit, he truly tried to stand. However, he had barely gotten his legs under his body before he collapsed again. Kratos quickly caught him, preventing his body from harshly hitting the ground. The boy's muscles tensed again, as if expecting some harsh touch for his failure to walk unaided.

Kratos helped Atreus stand up and brought him over to the table. He noticed how the boy's eyes were flitting between him and Freya, as if trying to ascertain who would launch an attack first. The goddess brought over some soup, and he ate.

Kratos just stood, staring from the sidelines.

How was he supposed to fix this?

Chapter Text

Atreus did not know what to think. His mind was racing with thoughts and emotions and barely any of them were positive. He supposed he should be happy and relieved that he was home, but if he was honest, he struggled to do even that.

He felt like any moment now, the illusion would fall away and he would be back in that cell, with Odin laughing cruelly at him for ever believing that he would be free again.

His hands shook as he lifted the spoon to his lips and tried to force down the soup. He could feel his family's eyes drilling into the back of his skull, but he couldn't look at any of them.

He felt trapped.

He had the urge to move from the table, perhaps shift his free arm slightly as it was in a rather uncomfortable position, but he was nervous of every movement he made.

Odin never wanted him to move.

He made things worse if he struggled.

The young god did his best to shake that thought out of his head. After all, Odin didn't seem to be here right now.

But that won't last long, a cruel voice in the back of his head whispered. How long would it be until he was dragged back to that cell and... and...

He'd slipped back into his imaginary world before he'd even realised it, completely forgetting that he'd regained his freedom and instead living in a place where he had never lost it at all.

°•Ω•°

Kratos saw it happen, but was powerless to stop it.

Atreus had just been eating, while everyone sat around him in complete silence. Suddenly, fear once again washed over his expression and posture. Before Kratos had been able to say or ask anything, all emotion had slipped away.

His son was hiding in his head again, and there was nothing they could do to bring him out.

He laid a hand on Atreus' shoulder, hoping against hope he would react, but he didn't. He sighed and stood up, gently picking up his son from the chair.

"I am taking him to bed," he grumbled. "He needs sleep."

He wasn't even sure whether Atreus would fall asleep while in this state, but right now all he could bear to do was go through the motions. Atreus needed treatment for his wounds, food and water, and rest. So he would bring him to the bed where he could rest.

He took Mimir with him, intent on talking to him in private.

As he tucked the blankets tightly around his son, Kratos was struck with the sudden realisation that he'd never tucked his son into bed before. Faye had always done that, and once she was gone, Atreus was too old for such a thing.

He sat on the edge of the bed, one large hand gently stroking back the hair from the boy's blank face. The red hair had grown out in his time in captivity. He'd need a haircut, Atreus always hated it when his hair was too long and got in his face.

"What did you mean earlier?" Kratos asked Mimir. "You said he might not be able to talk now. Why?"

The head sighed from the barrel that Kratos had placed him on.

"Because I've seen it before. Odin doesn't like it when his prisoners are talking to him or to each other, so he has the urge and willingness beaten out of them. He never did it to me, my voice was much too valuable to him, but I've seen him do it to the prisoners he took while I was still his righthand man..."

Mimir fell silent. Kratos knew there were few things that the man regretted more than his service to Odin and the things he'd done in his name. To see the mistakes of his past reflected in someone he cared about in this way, must be agonising.

At the same time, Kratos was worrying about the possibility that this was indeed the case. Atreus was talkative, always had been. He had started conversations left and right on their journey three years ago, and it had formed a group of friends and allies around them. His words were kind and curious and downright cheeky at times.

"You live alone?"

"It's better this way..."

"Yeah, my father doesn't like people either."

"Boy!"

"Well you don't!"

The thought that this urge for connection had been tortured out of him, was causing rage and pain to well up in equal measures. It couldn't be the truth, and if it was, than it couldn't be permanent.

Kratos would not accept such a reality.

°•Ω•°

Atreus had forgotten where he was when he woke up. He just laid on his back for a while, letting the ache and pain of his wounds flood back into his subconscious, before attempting to move and possibly hurting himself further. However, he wasn't feeling as much pain as usual.

Then he noticed the soft surface he was lying on, and the warmth of his surroundings, and the thick blanket covering his body.

Opening his eyes, memories flooded back to him.

He was back with his family. He was in Sindri's home without the Aesir watching his every move, looking for an excuse to torture him again.

Looking around, he found he was in his bedroom, alone. He couldn't remember going to bed, but he had acquired several large gaps in his memory in his days in captivity, so that wasn't very strange.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, feeling more lost than he had in years. He was reminded of the morning after his mother had died, when he'd sat on the edge of his bed for an hour as he wondered what he was supposed to do. His father had been outside, but Atreus had believed that he'd gone on another one of his week long trips, and had just left him. Only when he came back inside, did Atreus come out of his stupor and did he start on his chores.

He supposed... that was what he was meant to do? Just get back to ordinary life?

It's certainly what his father must be expecting of him. The man had no time for emotions to get in the way, his behaviour after Fenrir's death proved that.

So he stood up from his bed and walked out to the main living area. His father wasn't there, but Mimir was. The head greeted him, and he raised his hand as a way of saying hello.

It still didn't feel right to talk.

He found some food in a nearby cabinet and started making breakfast for everyone. The whole time, he could feel Mimir's eyes staring at him.

"How did you sleep, lad?" The man eventually asked, breaking the tense silence between them.

He gave a thumbs-up, despite having slept rather poorly. He was fairly sure he'd had a nightmare, but he couldn't remember any of it. Maybe that was for the best.

There was another long silence, broken only by the quiet crackling of the fire above which Atreus was roasting some meat.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

No, he did not. In fact, it was the thing he wanted to do least of all right now. Just the thought of Odin, and that cell, and the burning pain all over his body made him quiver and wish to hide in his own mind again.

"Odin is dead, little brother," Mimir told, suddenly shaking him out of his stupor. "Your father killed him during Ragnarök. He can't hurt you anymore."

That... made him feel marginally better, but not by much. The memories were still very real.

He finished his breakfast preparation and grabbed a plate for himself, before sitting down at the table next to Mimir. He couldn't help but look around at the familiar room that he hadn't seen in a while. It felt strange to be sitting here again.

After a while, Freya appeared from her own room.

"Good morning, Atreus," she said, giving him a gentle smile. "How are you doing?"

He gave another thumbs-up before returning to his meal.

"Good morning, your highness," Mimir said. "The lad made breakfast if you're hungry. "

"Oh..." The goddess seemed surprised, but didn't comment on it, grabbing a plate of food instead. "Thank you, Atreus."

They ate in complete silence, while the boy tried to think of what would be happening next. There was no more need to prepare for Ragnarök, which is what he and his father had been doing for the past three years. Simply living had not been an option since his mother had died. Would they go back to their home in Midgard? Would they keep doing what they'd been doing for the last few years? What about the giants' prophecies that they had seemingly subverted? What about Loki?

Atreus sighed.

His head hurt just thinking about those questions and their possible answers. He just wanted to lay down in his bed and stay there forever.

There was a heaviness in his body that made him slump down in his seat. His head felt stuffed full of wool, and his chest felt tight. He blinked rapidly against the tears that were randomly forming in his eyes.

I'm fine, he harshly told himself. Nothing's going on, everything is alright now!

So why didn't it feel like that at all?

He felt the urge to hide in his head again, pretend the world was safe for just an hour or two, but then his father came out of his bedroom, and his attention was pulled away from his mind. The man seemed totally unchanged from before Atreus' time in captivity, unfailingly strong, never tired, a constant in the world around him. It stood as a stark contrast to how the young god felt. A part of him seemed to be missing from within him.

He felt empty.

He felt dead.

It was such a morbid thought, even compared to the others he'd had since he had become aware of his rescue. Relief had died as quickly as it had come, but Atreus didn't know why. He didn't know why he wasn't happy Odin was dead, or that he was finally back home safe. It was like he was too tired for it, but this didn't feel like a physical kind of tired. His head felt tired, was the closest he could come to describing it.

"Well, just tired, I suppose," Mimir had said once. "You've seen one dear hunt, you've seen 'em all."

"How can you feel tired when you never sleep?"

"There are other kinds of tired, lad. You'll see when you're older."

Atreus felt like he understood now. He wasn't tired in the sense that he wanted to sleep, the exhaustion went deeper than that. How could he even fix such a thing? How could he feel alright again?

"Atreus?"

He snapped out of his reverie, looking up at his father who now stood beside the table. The older god was looking him up and down, his gaze as intense as it had always been. After a moment, he jerked his head towards Atreus' bedroom.

"Come, we must talk," he said, leading the way and leaving no room for argument.

Atreus stood up and followed his father, feeling strangely like he was being led to his execution. Once they were in his room, his father closed the door behind him.

The boy didn't know why that caused him to shiver, why the feeling of being in a room with the door closed left him so uneasy. He knew his father would never hurt him, and even if he didn't, it wasn't as if the door was locked! He could leave if he wanted to...

"Oh dear, here we go..."

Atreus had not even noticed that his father had taken Mimir along, but he was putting the head down on a nearby barrel. At Mimir's words, the young god looked at his father's face and found exactly what he'd expected. The two older men were in some ways painfully predictable. Mimir always said the same thing when Atreus' father had a particular look on his face, that made it clear he was about to have a conversation he was not at all comfortable with.

It was not often that Atreus ever saw his father looking uncomfortable, but any conversation that included them needing to be open and honest about their feelings was bound to do the trick.

Neither of them was ever any good at those conversations.

°•Ω•°

Mimir knew from the moment Kratos came out to the main living area what the man was planning, and immediately knew that it was unlikely to end well without his diplomatic intervention. Atreus was unlikely to willingly talk about what had happened, and Kratos was not one to give up or be too gentle with his approach. An unstoppable force meeting an immoveable wall. Of course, he loved both of his brothers for who they were, but couldn't Kratos at least try not to look constipated at the thought of having a conversation with his son?

"Atreus, what happened in Asgard?"

Ah, the usual Spartan tact, he should have known.

Mimir looked over to see how Atreus was reacting, and saw the boy look down at his feet in a way that seemed so unlike him. A new stab of hurt went through the heart that was no longer beating to keep him alive, watching this boy he'd come to care so much for... He almost resented Kratos for bringing him into the room for this conversation, as he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know what had happened to Atreus, what horrors Odin had inflicted upon him...

The lad was not looking up at his father, keeping his eyes firmly on his socks and shaking his head. Even without speaking, he'd made his wishes clear.

Kratos looked over to Mimir, and there was a look on his face that Mimir had seen only once before. When the boy had fallen ill, the father had rushed him to Freya, and begged her to help. It was not often that a mighty god of war had a pleading look on his face.

Realising that his friend needed his help, Mimir spoke up.

"Little brother, we understand this isn't... easy. I know just how twisted Odin truly is, and I don't blame you for not wanting to talk about it, but that's kind of the point. You're not talking at all, and-"

He wanted to keep going, but he was interrupted by a chocked sob. Atreus was biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, trying desperately to keep back the sobbing that was evidently forcing its way out of his throat.

"Oh lad..."

Kratos stepped forward, and in line with his current behaviour of constantly surprising Mimir, he pulled the boy into a hug. Not the loose arm across his shoulders he usually did, not the hand resting steadily on his back.

A proper hug.

Mimir didn't even know he could still get misty, but apparently he could. Looking at father and son like this was both wonderful, yet heartbreaking for the story behind it.

Perhaps it could be blamed on Kratos' height, but Atreus looked so small at that moment.

Chapter Text

Atreus hadn't meant to start crying. He was fine after all, there was no more reason to cry, but he couldn't help it.

The tears had forced themselves to the surface despite his best efforts, and once his father had pulled him into a hug, there had been no stopping them.

His father's arms were tight and protective around him, and Atreus was certain that anyone who would try to hurt him right now would meet an unfortunate fate. His father was protecting him...

Holding him...

Restricting him....

He wasn't sure how his thoughts so quickly spiralled towards panic. How could protection suddenly feel so terrifying? How could the arms of his father feel like chains holding him captive?

Atreus was no longer in his room in Sindri's home. He was not even in his imaginary world. He was back in his cell.

The underground prison was cold, just as it always was. Condensation dripped down from the ceiling and walls, right onto Atreus' face. The guards had tied him down to a table with thick metal chains. He had tried to free himself but failed.

All the muscles in his body tightened when he heard footsteps approaching. It was Odin, leisurely strolling into his cell as if nothing was wrong. It was the first time Atreus had seen him since he'd been imprisoned here, several days ago.

"Let me out of here!" He immediately snarled upon seeing the other god.

"Sure, I'll let you go," Odin said. "If you can break out of these chains, I'll set you off at Midgard, and we'll meet again when Ragnarök comes to destroy us all, hm?"

Atreus did not even try upon hearing the offer. For one, he did not believe Odin would hold his end of the bargain. Secondly... he'd already tried and failed many
times before. He was not strong enough to break through the Asgardian metal.

"Oh, that's right," Odin mused. "You're not strong enough, are you? I have to admit, I was confused when I met your father and you. Clearly, you did not get his strength..."

He was looking down at the boy disdainfully, like he was an ant he had partially crushed under his boot, and was allowing to struggle before finishing it off. Atreus shivered, feeling fear run up and down his spine at the haunting look in the All-Father's eyes.

He had no way of fighting back against Odin, no way of regaining control. The only thing he could still do in this position was talk, so that's what he did.

"When my father gets here, you'll see just how strong he is."

Odin hummed, as if calmly considering that possibility. As he did, he took out his knife and started cutting the inside of Atreus' arm.

The young Jötunn hissed, his body instinctively struggling against the restraints despite knowing it was hopeless.

Odin continued to create new cuts, not speaking at all even as Atreus started cussing him out. Blood spilled over his pale skin, running down and staining the wood of the table he was tied to. Eventually, he started hearing a steady drip, drip, drip, of his blood falling to the ground in tiny droplets.

Atreus was biting his lip so hard it bled. He didn't want to give Odin the satisfaction of hearing him in pain, but it hurt so much.

Odin deftly cut away his tunic to reveal his chest, and starting cutting there too. He shimmied the blade under his skin, separating it from muscle. Once he'd done so to a large area of skin, he started cutting along the edges of the affected area, lifting a large slab of skin from his chest.

Atreus couldn't help but scream.

"STOP! STOP! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

"For you to stop making noise," Odin said.

"W-what..?"

"No more screaming and whining. No more talking. Nothing."

"But—"

Atreus cut himself off when Odin stabbed the knife into his shoulder, then pulled it out again. Blood pulsed out of the wound, coating his entire shoulder crimson.

"The moment you stop talking," Odin hissed into his ear. "Your life will become much easier."

Atreus gasped as he returned to the present. He was sitting on the ground, his father in front of him and talking to him. His gruff voice was muffled, and Atreus
couldn't understand what he was saying.

It was as if someone had wrapped a belt around his lungs and pulled it taut. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get a full breath. Black splotches were appearing in his vision.

What was happening?!

He tried to ask his father, but he didn't have any air. He uselessly scrabbled at the hand on his arm, trying to make it clear he needed help. His father was still speaking, but it was like they were underwater. Everything was muffled.

He was dying!

He was dying.

He was dying...

°•Ω•°

Kratos had no idea what to do. His son, so small and weeping in his arms, had suddenly tensed up. The shaking of his sobs had changed into something else.

"Atreus?"

The boy whimpered.

He pulled back from their hug, only to find Atreus had become unusually pale. His breathing had quickened and there was a far off expression on his face. However, Kratos could immediately see this was different from Atreus’ previous episodes of disappearing into his mind. In the past, he’d seemed to be somewhere else mentally, and it had been terrifying, but Atreus had also been calm during those moments.

Now, he was clearly panicking, frightened of something Kratos couldn’t see or fight.

He had seen something like this before, in a Greek soldier of his old battalion. The man, still young and inexperienced, had acted exactly the same after fighting in his first major battle. The medic had not known what was wrong, and afterwards the soldier described being back on the battlefield out of nowhere, surrounded by blood and corpses.

At the time, Kratos and the others had assumed it to be some kind of curse, put upon this random soldier for no discernible reason. Now, he knew better. He had experienced the mind playing tricks on itself firsthand after the death of his Lyssandra and Calliope.

“Atreus,” he said again, trying to draw the boy out of the memory. “Follow my voice. You are safe.”

He could feel the boy growing weaker in his arms, with his knees buckling beneath him. Kratos gently lowered the two of them onto the ground, while still speaking more gently than he had ever spoken to another.

Mimir was thankfully staying silent, allowing him to handle the situation without distractions.

After a few minutes of trying to calm Atreus, the boy jolted and a hint of clarity returned to his eyes. He stared at Kratos with a frightened expression still painting his face.

The father continued to speak, reminding Atreus that he was safe and that he would not permit anyone to hurt him. He tried to ignored his son scratching wildly at his hand, drawing small pearls of blood to the surface.

As Atreus fell apart, Kratos remained steady. A calming, unmoveable presence that would protect him no matter what.

He did not know what eventually shifted his son’s mood, what led to the slow calming of his breathing and heartrate, but it came, and he was grateful.

The young god slumped against him, his shoulders moving up and down as he took the deepest breaths he could.

Kratos held him close.

After a long while, Atreus shifted away from him. He lifted his arm tiredly, as if it took him great effort, and pointed at his bed.

“You wish to sleep?”

Atreus nodded.

A part of Kratos wanted to refuse. There was a whole conversation that he’d planned to have, that they needed to have. His son was far from healed of Odin’s torture, and this situation just made that more clear. There had to be something he could do to help, but Atreus just insisted on avoiding the subject at every turn.

However, he pushed this part of him aside. He felt almost selfish for wishing to demand anything of his son at the moment.

The boy had been through a horrible ordeal, and he needed rest to recuperate.

So he gestured to the bed, and Atreus stood to crawl under the covers. He and Mimir both stayed in the room until he had fallen asleep, after which Kratos picked up the head and brought him to his own bedroom, where they could talk in private.

“Well, that definitely could have gone better,” Mimir said, the moment he was put down. “What are you thinking, brother?”

“He is hurting.”

It was all he could bring himself to say.

“Aye… but he’s a strong lad, and not just physically I mean. In the end, he’ll get through this. You know he will.”

It was not this that concerned Kratos, it was how Atreus would end up healed. In ways, he himself had healed from his guilt about his actions in Greece, but the experience had changed him in an irreversible way. Was that Atreus’ fate? To be forever marred by the scars of Odin’s deeds?

Then there was the problem of how long it would take, and how in the world Kratos was supposed to help him in this process. It was this last question that haunted him most of all.

“I do not know how to help him,” he confessed.

“I know, brother.”

°•Ω•°

When Atreus woke up, he still felt exhaustion clinging to every fibre of his being. Despite his determination earlier in the day to just move on as normal, he had already given up on that wish.

Instead of getting out of bed, as he would usually do shortly after waking up, he turned over and curled up. He stared at the wall, trying not to feel the rolling unease in his stomach.

Everything felt wrong, he decided. This entire day was wrong. He should just try going back to sleep and hopefully things would be better tomorrow.

It was a false hope, of course.

Things had never been better the next morning while he was imprisoned by Odin. No matter how bad things got, the Aesir somehow always managed to make things worse.

He didn’t even turn around when he heard the door open, despite recognising Sindri’s tentative footsteps.

“Hello Atreus,” the dwarf said softly. “I-uhm… It’s been a while.”

That was true.

The last time Atreus remembered seeing him was just before his imprisonment, when he’d ran away from his father after their fight. He’d transformed into a bear and pushed Sindri aside. He hurt him.

The dwarf cleared his throat awkwardly when Atreus didn’t respond, before walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Things were so weird while you were gone,” he said. “I mean, at first we were a little upset with you of course, after you just ran off… but then you didn’t come back and we got worried. Your father really missed you. I don’t think he took a moment’s rest until he found you.”

That was something Atreus could believe.

If his father’s behaviour during the past two days was anything to go by, he’d been very concerned for Atreus.

“And— well, I don’t know if you know this, but your father fought Heimdall at some point.”

He did not.

“And he said some… He said some bad things about what the Aesir were doing to you, so of course that only made us worry even more.”

The young Jötunn was getting the idea that Sindri was rambling, desperately trying to fill the silence that Atreus couldn’t fill with words.

“Then came Ragnarök… and it was terrifying, because for a while we were sure you were dead, but your father… he just refused to give up hope, and then he found you. What I’m trying to say is… we care about you, Atreus. And we want you be okay.”

Sindri was silent for another moment, as if hoping Atreus would say something. When he didn’t, he sighed and patted the boy’s shoulder, before leaving again.
He didn’t hear the soft sobs that came shortly after his departure.

Chapter Text

“Are you certain about this, Kratos?” Freya asked for what must have been the tenth time.

The god of war grunted as he put some more supplies into a pouch on his belt. He was growing tired of this discussion even if he understood Freya’s concerns.

“Our home in Midgard is more familiar. Atreus grew up there. He has more positive memories there, than he does here.”

“There’s also less people around,” she reminded him. “Less people who know and care about him, who could help if things get rough.”

“If it comes to that, I will ask for help,” Kratos promised.

Atreus had seemed… neutral about the idea of returning home. His father wasn’t sure if he truly did not care whether they left or stayed, or if he perhaps could not express those emotions. Right now, he was in uncharted territory with his son.

“Alright, I’ll come by after a few days, to see how you both are doing.”

Kratos nodded at her appreciatively, before gesturing for Atreus, who was sitting at the table, to stand up and follow him.

Mimir did his best to fill the tense silence as they walked across the branches of the world tree, and through Midgard just a short while later. The cabin that Kratos and Faye had lovingly built together had seen better days, as there had been no one to maintain it for months now, but it would suffice until repairs could be made.

Kratos immediately lit the hearth to chase away the chill in the cabin, while Atreus sat down on his bed with Mimir. The God of War watched his son, so silent, so different from how he’d been before. They were at the same place they had started their journey together, yet everything had changed.

“Get some rest, Atreus. We will go hunting tomorrow.”

°•Ω•°

"I have to say, Loki, for someone who’s been told many times to be silent, you’re awfully loud," Odin said, his calm voice starkly contrasting against Atreus' panicked, heaving breaths.

It was a cruel comment to make, considering the Aesir was torturing him. How was he supposed to be silent if he was in this much pain?

Atreus blinked rapidly to clear the blood out of his eyes, that had dripped down from the cut on his forehead. His hair stuck to his sweat-covered skin, causing an itch that was overshadowed by the pain of the knife that Odin had stuck in his leg.

Despite the unfairness of the situation, he did his best to comply. Disobeying on purpose or cursing at Odin, despite the appeal, would only make it worse.

It seemed his efforts to be silent were not enough however, as Odin twisted the knife, causing a spike of pain to shoot through his leg. He screamed, throwing back his head as his body twisted in the chair he was tied to, instinctively trying to get away from the pain.

“Be silent, Loki.”

Atreus heaved in huge gulps of air as he tried to work through the pain. He sobbed loudly, practically drowning out the god's words.

The knife was twisted again, the other way this time.

He screamed even louder.

There was a loud, irritated sigh from Odin, as if he was being forced to do an annoying chore. He pulled out the knife from Atreus’ leg, instead trailing it up. The sharp point came to rest on his bruised and lacerated chest, where it poked and prodded a bit.

Then all of a sudden, the blade slipped through Atreus’s flesh, past his ribs, and deep into his chest. All the air was forced out of his lungs, and when he tried to gasp, he felt blood filling his windpipe. The boy hunched over in the chair as far as he could, coughing and hacking blood onto his lap as he tried to take a breath.

Odin simply watched him, while he felt his strength and consciousness slip away from him.

He was dying…

The next thing Atreus knew, a wave of green and blue energy was washing over him. He gasped and his entire body convulsed as the stab wound healed.

“Do you see how much control I have?” Odin whispered, looming over him. Something was crumbling to dust in his hands, a resurrection stone. “I can choose to kill you, and bring you back… or not. Your life is in my hands, Loki. I am your master and you will never escape me.”

The young Jötunn awoke with a scream, before he immediately slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.

He couldn’t make noise, that wasn’t allowed, heneededtobequiet—

“Lad? It’s okay, it was just a nightmare,” Mimir’s soft voice breaks through the panic in his mind, and so does the creaking of his father’s bed. The man appears in his field of vision, his gaze concerned yet steady.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I think it was a nightmare, brother.”

No, not a nightmare, Atreus thought to himself. A memory…

His father laid a hand on his shoulder, heavy and grounding. Atreus sighed, trying to let the panic escape his lungs along with his breath.

This was not the first nightmare he’d had since he’d been rescued, but it was the first after which he didn’t immediately hide in his head. He’d ‘come to’ hours later, having barely any memories of what had transpired.

He wondered if the nightmares would ever leave.

°•Ω•°

They went hunting the next morning, bringing Mimir along for a constant stream of conversation. Fimbulwinter had released its freezing grip upon Midgard, leaving the local populations of wildlife to flourish once again. Especially in their neck of the woods, where there were few other hunters, the signs of life were everywhere.

Atreus had followed the tracks of a deer, which ended up being large enough to feed them for a week. His father had hauled the carcass over his shoulder as they walked back home.

Everything was fine.

It was almost normal.

Then they spotted something by the cabin that hadn’t been there before. A piece of paper was nailed to the front door, blowing in the wind. Atreus’s father stepped forward and ripped it off, reading the words written onto it.

“What does it say, brother?” Mimir asked, and then listened carefully as it was read aloud.

“Kratos of Sparta and Loki of the Jötnar, you are hereby invited to a challenge. Face the past to face the future. Master Valhalla, master thyself.”

“That’s it?”

“There are directions.”

Atreus peeked past his father’s arm to read the letter himself, frowning at the unfamiliar scrawl. He didn’t recognise the handwriting, meaning it was probably not someone they knew.

But what stranger would invite them to Valhalla?

His father grunted and folded up the letter, once again shouldering the deer.

“We will discuss this later. First, we will skin the animal and eat.”

They did exactly that for the next few hours, separating all the useful parts from the deer and preparing a meal that they ate together, Mimir watching the stew with some envy. Atreus knew he missed eating, even if he usually kept it to himself.

“So, what are you thinking, brother?” the head eventually asked when their stomachs were filled. The sun was already setting outside, and it caused the air to chill.

“We will go.”

The man’s tone made it clear there was no argument to be had, and Atreus also thought they should go, but he did notice Mimir pursing his lips. When he saw him staring, the old man gave Atreus a smile. He didn’t say anything, until the boy was in bed, pretending to be asleep.

“Are you sure it’s a smart idea?” he asked Atreus’s father. “I don’t think the lad is well enough yet. Perhaps we should wait a while…”

There was a grunt, one that told the young god that his father disagreed.

“It will be good for him. Such a journey could help build his confidence again. He is not helpless.”

“I know that, brother, I know he’s not helpless, but what if you’re wrong? What if something happens, and he can’t handle it? Or he can’t ask you for help? We should at least wait until he can bring himself talk again. Besides, Valhalla isn’t exactly a relaxing spot for a holiday.”

“What do you know of it?”

“Not much,” Mimir muttered, in that strained tone he sometimes employed when there was a subject in which his curiosity had never been satisfied. “Again, it’s not a place people will go to regularly. It’s the place that the Einherjar went before they were brought to Asgard by Odin, and that it is an area sacredly guarded by the Valkyries.”

Atreus tried to push down the tears stinging his eyes. He knew he had changed in that cold cell underneath Asgard, but it hurt to hear it laid out like this. Mimir thought he couldn’t handle himself, that he was weak… He might not have used those words exactly, but what else could he assume he meant?

“If something happens, we will help him,” his father said, even though it wasn’t much of an answer to Mimir’s concerns.

The head sighed, clearly realising he wasn’t winning this argument because of the man’s hardheaded attitude.

A silence descended upon the cabin.

°•Ω•°

They started their journey the next day.

They had to pass over the ridge of mountains that surrounded the valley Atreus had called his home his entire life. after a couple of days, the trees had grown denser and they’d arrived on a shore, where they found a boat stuck under some seaweed.

They went out onto the water, Atreus using the compass Freya had given them years ago to make sure they were going the right way. The directions on the note were brief, but they were enough to be certain of their path.

Slowly, they left the open waters and ended up in a small archipelago, with black pillars of stone sticking out of the water, creating uninhabitable islands. Atreus’ father slowed down, not wanting to crash the boat against the cliffs.

“You are certain you remember nothing of this place?” The man asked Mimir, who was sitting on Atreus’ lap.

“Oh, nothing that would help us… Tell me brother, why exactly are we doing this?”

That was a question Atreus had been wondering about as well, but had not wanted to voice through his writing (which is how he’d been communicating with his father and Mimir if he really needed to). He was just glad to go on an adventure to take his mind of things, and he didn’t want to make his father doubt his decision.

There was a short silence, before his father confessed he didn’t know.

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Mimir muttered sarcastically, and Atreus couldn’t help but giggle a little.

He’d been trying very hard to get better about making sound. He still flinched whenever he did, and everything remained soft and rare, but it was better than nothing. Many times now, he’d caught his father and Mimir sharing hopeful glances whenever he didn’t silence himself, even though he hadn’t spoken yet.

They arrived on a shore with black sand, just as the invitation had described to them. Out in the distance, between two towers of stone, they could see the statue of a winged woman looming out from a tall wall. However, they’d barely gotten a good look at it, or stepped foot onto the beach, before a strange tingling ran over Atreus’ skin.

“Something is happening…”

Sparks came from both his and his father’s bodies, dissolving their armour and magic into glowing orbs that floated away in the breeze.

Atreus shuddered, realising that this might just be a trap as Mimir had suggested.

Whatever was laying ahead, they would have to be on guard.

Chapter Text

The three of them approached the wall that the statue was looming over. There was a massive set of doors, with a bright, golden light shining between the cracks. Glowing letters had been carved across the entrance.

Atreus’ father read out the words, and the boy was proud he had learned the language so well. After spreading his mother’s ashes three years ago, he’d insisted on teaching his father, as his previous attempt had been interrupted. The man had acted uncaring about it, despite agreeing, but Mimir had told him in secret that his father was actually very happy to do it with him.

“To be one’s own master—” Mimir translated.

“—master thyself,” Atreus’ father finished.

“A more poetic way of putting it, but yes.”

Atreus frowned at the locked door, wondering how they were going to get through an obviously magical seal. Perhaps there was a clue nearby?

His father apparently did not entertain such notions, stepping up to the door and forcing his fingers between the crack. He grunted, pulling the doors apart and letting the light spill out onto the black stone and sand.

It was clearly difficult to hold it open, so Atreus quickly stepped under his father’s arm to go through, with his father and Mimir not far behind.

All of them were blinded by the bright light, but slowly their sight returned, something else taking its place.

Atreus panted, leaning forward slightly as he tried to place this strange feeling permeating his entire body. He felt weaker, like he might just collapse if he wasn’t careful.

He wasn’t the only one feeling the effects, as his father commented on the same. Only Mimir seemed immune, and it was likely because he was undead. Despite this, they pressed on, attacking the raiders that seemed to rise out of the ground.

“Valhalla may not appreciate our breaking in…” Mimir theorised as Atreus and his father fell into their familiar patterns of battle.

As their foes disintegrated into ashes, they focussed on their surroundings. A dense fog surrounded them, but they seemed to be on some kind of bridge. Straight ahead was a chest, and behind it was a passage into a mountain face that led to another door. The door that they’d passed through to get here was gone. It seemed moving forward was their only option.

The next arena was a circle enclosed by stone walls. Draugr appeared from behind the pillars, stumbling forward on their rotting legs.

As they kept going, Atreus felt his strength draining more and more. He no longer had the endurance and speed his father had trained into him after spending months in captivity, so the magic siphoning off his energy was hitting him worse than it was doing for his father.

“Are you alright, lad?” Mimir asked, noticing how pale he was getting. His father turned, his concern expertly masked.

Atreus made a dismissive gesture, as if to say it was nothing, and gestured to keep moving.

There was no regular door now, but one of the magic gateways that they’d used to travel throughout the realms.

Stepping through, they did not go the branches of the World Tree, but instead into a much larger area of Valhalla. A pocket of Asgard seemed to have crashed nearby, and Atreus followed his father in exploring their environment, despite the fact that he felt like he could barely breathe.

“You truly believe Freya would have aided us in this?” Atreus’ father asked Mimir.

“Aided us, talked sense into you, win-win either way, really. I certainly can’t see how there’s any benefit into avoiding her.”

“I am not avoiding her,” the god argued, but Mimir pointed out how he’d gone to Valhalla to avoid her.

“At least be honest with yourse— Lad, are you sure you’re fine?”

Atreus had gone to lean against a wall, trying to stop his legs from shaking. His father came over to him, placing a supporting hand on his elbow and looking him over.

“We should find a way out,” he said.

The boy shook his head, taking out his journal and scratching a quick message.

No, I’m fine.

“Lad, you look like you’re about to collapse any second now. The magic of Valhalla is doing something, and if it’s affecting your father, than it’s certainly affecting you. It’s not safe to keep going like this.”

Atreus wanted to argue, wanted to insist that he was fine and could keep going. Before he could however, his knees buckled and he almost collapsed onto the ground. His father’s support was the only thing that kept him upright.

“We are leaving,” the man insisted, only letting go of his arm once he was sure the young god wouldn’t collapse and had understood his words.

There was no way for them to go back, so instead they had to move forward in the hope it would lead them outside. Instead, the next mystic gateway put them in an arena with Einherjar.

Atreus felt all the air leave his lungs at the familiar white skin and the purple bifröst glowing around the warrior's weapons. Their snarls in an unfamiliar tongue as they lunged forward, and Atreus just barely ducked out of the way in time.

He couldn’t let them hit him, he couldn’t let them touch him, he couldn’t let them capture him again.

In his panic, it didn’t even occur to him to try shooting them down. All he knew was that he needed to get away, needed to flee.

But there was no way out.

He could barely move.

He was trapped.

°•Ω•°

Kratos was completely unbothered by seeing the Einherjar. To him, they were no different from the raiders of Midgard, simply enemies that needed to be dealt with. That is, until Mimir shouted out to him, though not because someone was attacking from behind.

“Brother, the boy!”

Kratos had enough space to shoot a quick glance over his shoulder. While he was dealing with one of the Einherjar, the other had focussed on Atreus. His son… wasn’t fighting. He was avoiding the swings of club to his body and head, but he otherwise seemed mostly frozen, his breathing even more laboured than before.

He was terrified.

Kratos cursed himself for not considering how seeing the Einherjar might affect the boy. After they had aided in his capture and torture, of course he would be terrified of them.

He jammed the Draupnir spear into the chest of the enemy he was fighting five times, then set them to explode, so he could go help his son.

However, when he finally saw Atreus, the boy had been backed into a corner. His hand was tightly gripping his bow, but it did not even seem to occur to him to use it. Kratos had never seen this before. His son had never frozen.

“Atreus, move!” he shouted, seeing the Einherjar raise its sword.

The words seemed to startle the boy out of his state, ducking to the side.

Too late.

The blade slashed through his armour, leaving a large gash across his shoulder, chest and stomach. Atreus shouted and dropped to the ground, his face twisted in pain. Kratos’ axe arrived just a short moment later, burying itself into the Einherjar’s chest. It was not enough to put it down, and it left the god with no choice but to fight it while his son was bleeding out just a short distance away. He fought like a ferocious beast, like a mother bear protecting her cubs.

All of a sudden, the world seemed to disappear and all faded to black.

After less than a second, Kratos regained control of his body and shot up. The Einherjar were gone, and they were back outside. Atreus was sitting up beside him, suddenly unharmed, and Mimir was a short distance away, lying on the floor.

“We’re back outside…” the head muttered, just as confused as them.

Any conversation to check up on Atreus was halted by a voice.

“You marched into Valhalla without even talking to us first?”

Freya had arrived with three other Valkyries and the clinking of her armour. All of them were clearly displeased with Kratos, Atreus and Mimir, though Sigrun did pick Mimir off the ground, knowing it couldn’t be comfortable for him.

“Nice to see you too, my lady,” Mimir said, once he was once again at eyelevel with everyone else.

“It was a personal matter,” Kratos argued. “And I would not take you away from your duties.”

As he talked, he helped Atreus to his feet. The boy was unstable, but now that Valhalla’s magic was gone, he no longer seemed weakly. Kratos gave him a small nod, to ask if he was alright. Atreus nodded in return.

“You breached Valhalla. Consider it worth my time,” Freya said, clearly trying hard to keep her voice under control. “This entrance is secret. Who told you of this place?”

Kratos turned to Atreus, who retrieved the letter from his pocket. The boy showed it to Freya, who almost ripped it out of his hands.

“Nailed to our door, three days ago,” he explained, while the goddess started reading the invitation aloud. She was clearly very sceptical, but also intrigued. If Mimir was to be believed, very few people knew of this place, so this was no surprise. “Who else knows of this entrance?”

“Odin and us. It’s likely a trap,” Sigrun explained.

Freya turned to father and son, scrutinising them closely.

“You’re thinking of going back in,” she said, as if she’d been able to read their minds.

Kratos did not know what his son was thinking, but he himself wished to know who had invited them. Whether they were an ally or not, they would need to be dealt with.

“Would you join me?” he asked. Freya was a formidable warrior, and she would be very useful with her knowledge of this place.

“Oh, don’t let me intrude on your personal matter,” she said sarcastically. “Besides, I can’t. Unlike you, I've never died.”

Kratos looked up. They hadn’t known that was a prerequisite to entering Valhalla. Was that why Atreus had been so affected by the magic? But Freya was looking at Atreus, concerned and uncertain. It gave the idea that perhaps she thought…

No, that couldn’t be. When could Atreus have died? Odin would have had no reason to kill him during his capture. But Atreus was looking away, insistently not meeting their eyes with his own, as if ashamed and uncomfortable.

“What happens if we return inside?” he decided to ask to avoid the topic. He would question Atreus about it later.

“That depends on you. Valhalla draws on the memories of those who enter. In there, you’re an open book,” Freya explained. Kratos decided to ignore her subtle jab at his closed-off attitude, and simply grunted in understanding.

“How did you even get past the gate?” Sigrun asked, looking between the locked door and Kratos.

“I forced it open.”

“With his bare hands!” Mimir added.

The Valkyries all started laughing incredulously. Even Atreus cracked a smile, realising just how silly it was that his father had resorted to brute force almost immediately.

“There is an easier way inside if you insist on going back in,” Sigrun told them. “Let’s send you two back in properly prepared this time.”

°•Ω•°

Valhalla’s magic was gone when they returned inside. Kratos kept a close eye on Atreus, but saw none of the previous faintness. So his earlier, terrifying theory had been correct? Atreus had at some point died? When? How?!

He asked these questions as calmly as he possibly could in a lull between enemies.

But Atreus shook his head, refusing to answer.

Kratos was feeling his frustration grow every day, every time that Atreus refused to speak about what had happened during his imprisonment. Part of him understood, he’d hardly been completely honest about his own past. However, he wanted to help Atreus and could hardly do that if he didn’t know what was wrong.

“Sit down,” he said. They were in a safe enough area, and were not in a hurry to move on. “We must speak on this.”

When Atreus made a face, Kratos showed him the lightest glare he had in his arsenal. He knew it was unsympathetic to push, perhaps even cruel, but he needed to help Atreus.

And a selfish part of him wished to understand.