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Dionysus slowly lowered himself to the ground, sitting beside Pollux, one of his sons, his only son. Normally, he would mine the dirt that would come to stain his clothes, but he couldn’t find that in him now. He hadn’t had to search the camp like a maniac looking for his son because he knew where Pollux would be, deep into the depths of the strawberry fields. It was late enough in the day and into the summer that the sun was beating down on their backs as harshly as it might have been back in June when Dionysus left. He had gone to meet with some of the minor gods to find out where their loyalties lay and make sure it was still with Olympus. His journey was cut short, though, after receiving an Irish message from Chiron. The centaur hadn’t told him what was going on, just bits and pieces of battle, informing Dionysus that they had won, but he still needed to return to camp. When the god had asked him why Chiron had told him, he was a manner that shouldn’t be discussed so far apart from each other.
Chiron had been right, like always. The news had been something so unexpected, something soul-crushing to even a god. “You have a privilege most gods do not get. I know that now it doesn’t seem like that, but you got to meet your kids and you got to know them. Go be with your son, Dionysus. He needs you the most,” Chiron had told him, a hand on his god’s shoulder squeezing gently. Dionysus’s punishment gave him something no other gods got. A chance that none of them really wanted either. He got to meet his kids and get close with them. He got to learn their names, Pollux and Castor, their favorite foods and drinks. He knew everything about his kids. It was a gift in a punishment, something he had taken so for granted now that he knew it was there. However, what was a gift didn’t seem like one anymore.
Castor and Pollux had been six years old when their mother first dropped them off at camp. They had been so youthful looking with curly blonde hair and chubby little cheeks. Dionysus hadn’t spared a second glance at them, just proclaiming, “Those brats are mine.” Back then, he hadn’t expected the boys to cling to him like they had. They basked in a privilege none of their peers at camp would ever get, and that was a true connection to their godly parent. While Dionysus treated them like he would any other campers, like they were nuisances, he knew deep down he cared so much in his heart for those boys. He just didn’t show it, not like he should have.
“I wasn’t quick enough. I just kinda froze,” Pollux’s voice was softer than usual. Dionysus’s usual loud and proud boy was reduced to one who could barely speak above a whisper. Tears curled in the corners of Pollux’s unnatural violet-colored eyes, that if you looked close enough at him, you could see were just deep brown but somehow managed to have this purple mist around them. The boy’s hair, which was usually well kept, was greasy. His curls looked pitiful and unkept. Overall, he looked like a wreck, and his father couldn’t really blame him. Dionysus felt like a wreck himself, and he couldn’t imagine just how distraught Pollux was feeling. He and Castor were identical twins. They did everything together. You rarely saw one without the other, which made it very difficult to tell them apart, not for their father though. He could always pick out which was Castor and which one was Pollux. Now, though, he was sure nobody around camp would have trouble telling the boys apart.
“Pollux, what happened to Castor was a tragedy. You had nothing to do with it,” the god assured him, softly. There was none of that sarcasm or barely there harshness he was used to speaking with the kids with. If you would have told him back when he first been banished to Camp Half-Blood, this would be the worst part of punishment he would have never believed you. When his father had told him of how he would spend the next century stuck here with all these brats having to stay completely sober, he would have thought the sobriety would have been the harsh, the worst part of the punishment. What is the god of wine without wine? Now, sitting next to Pollux hearing how the boy was blaming himself for Castor’s death, he knew this was the worst part by far. It made a part of the god deep down wish he had never even gone against his father to begin with, that he had never touched that nymph. Then, he could stay ignorant as the rest of his brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles when it came to their children, having just another nameless demigod gone added to the list of ones that had already lost their lives.
“I watched him die, Dad. I watched them stab him and I just couldn’t do anything,” Pollux’s voice cracked as he spoke, and the god could do nothing but wrap his arms around his son, holding him tightly against his chest. The selfish thoughts that lingered in his brain were shaken away because he could never imagine letting Pollux cope with this alone. The boy had already been losing himself since the battle; everything about the way he looked currently proved that, and without Dionysus there to put the pieces back together, he was sure the boy would stay like this, a broken puzzle with nobody who could put it back together. When Chiron had told him what had happened, he had left out the details that included Pollux being there watching as Castor died. Now that he knew that, the thought of Pollux being there watching as Castor was stabbed had finally set in. Dionysus would disobey his father over and over again just to be here with kids, just to get to meet Castor and Pollux.
Eventually, Pollux pulled away from his father. He took his fist and rubbed the unfallen tears away from his eyes, which had gone red and puffy. “I told him he couldn’t die just because you left without saying goodbye,” Pollux spoke, letting out a wet laugh. There was a sad smile that edged its way across his face. Though, his eyes didn’t have that glow to them like they usually would. Dionysus smiled back at the boy for his own sake or Pollux’s, he wasn’t quite sure. The god put a hand on his son’s shoulder, squeezing slightly.
“I cared about him a lot, even if I didn’t show it well,” Dionysus told him. It was the truth; he cared so much about those boys. He let them spend actual time around him instead of sending them away like he would do with the rest of the campers. The two boys had realized that not even a month into them first being at camp and used it to their advantage. Dionysus smiled fondly, remembering when he had tried to teach them how to play poker, but it hadn’t worked out and did end up sending the boys on their way after the fifth time. Castor had told him, ‘Go fish.’ Another time, he had sat on the deck of the big house, letting both boys talk his ears off after they’d come home from spending Christmas with their mother.
“He knew Dad, we both knew,” Pollux replied. The god nodded his head, pulling his son back into his arms for a quick hug. Truly, he couldn’t imagine being ignorant or ignoring his kids like the other gods did. He couldn’t imagine not knowing Pollux or having gotten to know Castor. He knew the other gods did it to avoid getting attached, to avoid having to do what Dionysus was doing now: grieving his son, his boy. Most demigods had tragic fates, and all the gods knew that. They did let their kids close for fear of what would happen. Dionysus was knowing living what happened: his kid was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. But he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if Pollux had to do this alone. He needed to be here with him, needed to be beside him now when his kid needed him the most.