Chapter Text
Thanatos would always recognize his brother wheresoever he wandered to.
But that wasn’t often very good, nor useful, and he found himself wishing that Mother had only birthed him, instead of twins. Not that he would ever wish ill upon his brother, struggling enough as is just to keep awake during the night, but that Thanatos could wish that his mind was just, a little, more silent between shifts.
He digresses, focusing instead on the task of plunging his scythe– rather forcefully– into the heart of an unsuspecting mortal. Ah, he flounders, that wasn’t his target; glancing over at a bed-ridden mortal, deathly pale from illness. He settles on a sudden heart-attack for the one he accidentally killed, and swiftly ends the other with a well-placed swing.
The mortals weep, and Thanatos has the time to wonder again, slumping against his scythe because he knows, just knows, that nothing good ever comes from too much wondering. Wondering is what Hypnos did– elegantly and messily at the same time, jolting awake from impromptu naps at the wrong time. Thanatos did not wonder, but he did ponder about such wonderings.
Foolish thoughts. Wondering and pondering were the same. He ought to kill more, find Ares and request for the Lord of War to, well, start a war. He needed the distraction, the quietness and steadiness that came from fighting alongside such a god. Distractions– intended to steer him away from unbidden thoughts that came from an unwanted connection.
He digresses again. The humans are loud, that must be the bother, Thanatos moves away, and when his thoughts do not resettle, he stabs his scythe into the ground; opening a rift, and disappears.
Given time in the darkness, he allows himself to remember the time he first felt their bond. (If it could even be called that, for it was more like a nagging connection that rang in the back of his mind with no stopping). Not yet understanding of either of their duties– or powers– he had grown up always hearing the thoughts of his twin.
Not specifically (that would be a nightmare) but more like the figments of a thought. If Hypnos considered sneaking out of the House of Hades and into Tartarus, Thanatos would know of the plan without needing to ask him. When he had first crept to the surface and killed a mortal, Hypnos was there in the aftermath, begging for insight on what the realm was like. They were connected, bonded, but subtly; in the way one would notice something in their peripherals, or absently fidget with a ribbon or tie.
Given their respective titles, duties, and jobs, (loosely on ‘job’ for Hypnos, as Lord Hades had never really known what to do with Sleep incarnate) the intensity of such shared thoughts dissipated into background lull. It didn’t fade, certainly not, but Hypnos managed many more escapes before Thanatos caught wind of his plans.
“You should value the connection,” Nyx had said, Thanatos not having even asked about Hypnos or what they shared. “It is your responsibility to protect him.” And Death had resented her for that hopeless, daunting task. Protecting one’s immortal brother was simple, but having to protect him from other immortals, or his own stupidity, was harder.
Nevertheless, Thanatos had honored Mother’s wish, biding his time on the surface and keeping a watchful eye on Hypnos. His presence dawdled until it was all but none, and soon after, the creeping loneliness that he had felt through the bond vanished as well. That didn’t mean Thanatos stopped watching– consistently having some idea of where Hypnos was at any given time. But as much as they were twins in every sense, his brother’s strength was overshadowed by Thanatos’.
(For the desire to block out any loud thoughts came as no surprise, and the magical prowess needed to set up mental barriers was no stretch for someone like Thanatos. Breathing came easier when he wasn’t in danger of losing track of time from absent thoughts).
The rush of darkness evades him as he enters the House once more, sticking to the shadows as he glides across black marbled floors. He’s in the east hall– or west, nobody ever knows– and he’s content to wander, taking back in the sights of his birthplace. It isn’t often he’s able to come back for long stretches, but with everything happening (the crown prince’s escape) he found himself back in the House for extended periods of time.
Speaking of the– metaphorical, but occasionally actual– devil, Zagreus’ voice is loud and ringing as it drifts through the halls. And echoey, Thanatos can’t make out a single word that bounces towards him, despite the prince’s penchant for bull-rushing (hah) straight through any normal volume level.
Plug his ears and all, Thanatos waits until it slowly grows quiet once more, and he’s left with time in the House without any true end goal. He has time to kill. (And more puns to make). Astonishing, isn’t it?
He isn’t worried about Zagreus– talk of someone who could survive many hits without breaking a sweat, the prince could handle himself without any need for concern. And Thanatos, despite loyalties and all, will not subject himself to Hades’ orders to thwart the prince in his attempts at escape. Thanatos could care less whether or not Zagreus made it to the surface, but he does derive some joy in claiming victory against him in their little competitions.
Subsequently, the last time he remembers seeing Zagreus must’ve been… two days ago? It had been a while, hadn’t it. He had caught the prince at the end of a chamber, finishing up a stray numbskull or wrath, and cheerfully at so.
“Zagreus,” he had greeted him, miffed that the dead had already been cleared before he arrived.
“Thanatos,” Zagreus replied right back, quick yet lazy, heterochromatic gaze lilted by his grin. “You’ve just missed it, mate, what a tragedy.”
“It appears I have.” Thanatos sighed, eyeing a shimmer that was palmed in Zagreus’ hand. “Another boon?”
Zagreus lifted the trinket, a pretty little thing in the color of topaz, shaped like a bent circle but clearly well-crafted if Thanatos had a say in it. “Protection from Lord Hermes. Supposedly makes it harder to detect me, but I’ve not had much luck.” The prince shrugged. So nonchalant, especially when dealing in a gift from the Olympian gods themselves.
Thanatos hmed, still mourning his loss of being able to properly duel against the prince in their games, and his gaze sweeps over the gem without much pomp or circumstance. It’s interesting, yes, but nothing that would aid him in his quests. “Don’t let Megaera halt your progress again.”
“That was one time,” Zagreus protested, leveling him with an unamused stare. “And you know I’ve beaten her before, the lack of trust in me hurts.”
Charming, and consistent. “So, I’ll see you on the surface?”
“I think so.” There’s another challenge that sparks in his eyes, one that Thanatos will not be acting on– yet. He’d rather wait until a busier chamber, spring some surprise onto him and win, soundly and securely. But the idea that this time he’ll actually make it past the Styx is one that fills him with a strange hope. Pride, perhaps, as anyone who could beat him deserved to go farther than the usual stray shade.
(He didn’t make it. Theseus managed a lucky shot to his back, and Zagreus was back in the House of Hades before Thanatos had even finished his rounds.)
The memory is fond, and he relents the smile that graces his feature upon the feelings that rise with it. Zagreus– and the First of the Furies– were the only interesting beings in Hades that he bothered with. Yes, there were others, (the gorgon that lingered in the lounge and surrounding area) but really, the pickings were slim.
Thanatos wanders the halls, unusually calm– even happy– as he does so. Has it always been this quiet in the House? He can’t remember if that’s true, there had usually been someone to disrupt the lulled conversations, the natural ambience of murmuring shades… the quiet was strange, and Thanatos couldn’t help but admit that it was disturbing.
He closes his eyes, briefly, keeping a steady hand on his scythe, and lets his thoughts expand. A neat trick that Nyx had taught him before he left for the surface, and one that he still used occasionally to locate things. Or people. Or missing scythes that he swears he doesn’t leave somewhere random.
Weapons aside, nothing is out of place. Strangely, everything seems to be in its place. Shades are drifting down halls, Lord Hades resides at his desk, Achilles near a line of vases, Orpheus at his (desk? Table?) place. And yet Thanatos cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. What a silly thing to think. Nothing was ever wrong in the House, even with the prince sending Lord Hades into a tizzy over his numerous escape attempts. Still, it was semi-normal.
He’s about to concede, perhaps go back to the surface or take his (frustration?) out on unsuspecting wretches, closing his mind off and allowing himself a break– when it hits him. Emptiness. An emptiness that Thanatos has not felt in, ah, ever. He can hear himself think, can hear shades and absent chattering in the halls, but no matter how hard he strains he cannot hear Hypnos.
There’s no need for concern, he harshly scolds himself as a cold feeling strikes him in the chest. He shoves it down, swallowing past the sticky lump that has formed in his throat. Disregarding the fact that he’s never felt this way before, there has never been a time where he wasn’t aware of Hypnos, he has enough rational thought to reassure himself that this, too, could be normal.
Thanatos isn’t above applying barriers to ward off anyone intent on reading his mind, or stall brothers that wanted to know where exactly he was so they could bother him… it’s possible, and not hard at that. But as Thanatos probes the bond, pushing where it usually was– he couldn’t find it. Not that it was being temporarily blocked, or that he had (finally) been denied access, but that it didn’t exist at all. Hadn’t existed, as if he had imagined it for all his immortal life. Or that it had snapped straight clean and the reason why Thanatos couldn’t feel it was because it wasn’t there.
The God of Death does not run. He doesn’t race through the halls like he did when he was younger, he doesn’t gasp for air or struggle for breath or almost drop his scythe– but if he does skid across marbled halls on his way to the common area, well, nobody would be there to see him. Wait. Nobody?
Shades linger near the entrance, some even boldened enough to cross into the deeper parts of Hades, and Thanatos knows that the job of ferrying them back will most likely fall to him (if he can’t convince Meg to take it for him). Lord Hades is absent from his desk, but Thanatos can hear rummaging from his room the hall down, so it’s not like he’s missing as well.
But the shades, unfiltered without their usual vendor, sheep without their shepherd, wander aimlessly, and the station that’s usually occupied by Hades’ most disruptive and annoying god of all– is empty. Gone. Disappeared. And if Thanatos had been worried, terribly, unnaturally so, that had been increased tenfold.
“Hypnos!” he thunders, spinning around in a slow circle and trying to observe every shadow in the great hall. Fear, a great fear that sucked what little sense he had retained, made itself known in his mind and heart, great beats that he was sure every shade could hear. If his twin had heard him shout, it would’ve been far more embarrassing for Thanatos than Hypnos, and Death would’ve had to disappear for another stretch of time– yet no one emerged from a hidden corner with excuses on their tongue. Silence. Maybe a shade that looks at him oddly, but complete, utter, shattering silence.
Thanatos doesn’t like his brother. He tolerates him from a distance, loathes his actual presence, tries to spend the maximum amount of time away from him as possible… but Hypnos was his brother. His twin. Death and Sleep. Sleep and Death. The mantra repeats, endlessly looped, as he struggles to come to terms with whatever this means. He’s alone– he’s alone in the House of Hades and he’s alone in his head where it is now entirely too empty.
Hands tighten into fists and loosen once again, white-knuckled (and he was already pale) against his side, and trying to keep himself from raking them through his hair. Rational sense tells him that everything will be fine, there’s a logical and clean explanation to everything; irrational sense tells him that his brother is missing and gone and perhaps even dead, and Thanatos is losing the battle that screams to ignore the fearful side of him.
“Than?” Dusted gold-blue (probably drinking an illegal nectar– courtesy of Zagreus), Megaera sticks her head out of the lounge, rubbing at her eyes, and if Thanatos had half the mind to comment on how slammed she looked, he would’ve. Too bad he didn’t, and he could barely process her presence. “Blood and darkness, why are you shouting?”
It’s not late, it’s never late in Hades– time has no hold here– but something about how Megaera seems tired, stings and Thanatos can acutely hear his heart in his ears. Funny, how that works, being technically dead and living at the same time and having a heart yet no need to breathe…
Instantly, Megaera stands in front of him, and he barely withholds a laugh– when did he get teleportation powers of other people?– when he realizes that it was he who moved to her. There must be something in his eyes, or maybe he really did muss up his hair, because Megaera’s flush all but vanishes as she stiffens straight. They’re not friends, never really will be, but there’s a mutual… comradery, that he finds himself able to achieve with the First of the Furies. Shared workplace, shared devotion to their work, shared ‘having to deal with the prince and his buffoonery’... Whatever it is, Megaera has the mind– unlike his own– to sober up quickly.
“What happened? Is Zagreus…?” The question doesn’t need to be finished, and Thanatos thinks, for a second, that Meg almost looks proud. Proud and worried, due to Death’s demeanor, but proud all the same. Thanatos shakes his head and Meg narrows her eyes. “Then what is it? You look halfway to the grave.”
Does he? And here he thought he was doing fine. If only there was a mirror, he definitely had screwed up his hair. “Have you seen Hypnos?”
A grimace crosses her face, and Meg’s eyes darken– all joy from Zagreus’ potential success drying up. “No? He’s skipping again, isn’t he. Want me to tell Hades about it? I swear, this is the twentieth time,” Meg says, rubbing a hand across her forehead and trying to smooth out the lines.
And Thanatos is at a lack of words. For once, and hopefully the last time. No, he’s dead, I think someone killed him. Or worse: I think he killed himself. None of those answers were anything he would speak aloud, even to Nyx, but he’s dragged Meg into this, and he’s not going to simply apologize and back down.
Apologize? There’s conflicts warring in his mind, torn between two different paths, and Thanatos– in all his glory and brooding manner and pragmaticness– he can’t believe he even started to choose. And he was choosing against Hypnos. His bond was missing, disappeared without even the notion of hurt or struggle or something that Thanatos could’ve stopped, and he’s here, debating if he should back down and keep his mouth shut in front of Megaera!
He’s said it before, he’ll say it again: time has no hold over Hades. But, alas, in which Meg’s features slowly shift from annoyed curiosity to straight up fucking horror? Lack of vocal control was, apparently, something that ran in the family. He had said all that out loud. Ah.
“He what?” Barely a whisper, graced from lips but in no means comforting or heartfelt, though it certainly came from the heart. Megaera was no-nonsense, beat people with her whip and look badass while doing it (not Thanatos’ words, he swears), except that was possibly all forgotten as she implores Thanatos with a dreadfully horrifying stare. “How do you know? That’s not possible.”
Oh, yes, twin telepathy and all makes me able to hear his thoughts, annoying right? But they’re gone now and I can’t even detect his presence. Thanatos manages to reign in that spill, pursing his lips in a tight line. “The magic that allows me to recognize him has disappeared. And no, he’s not just hidden it.”
“I believe you,” Meg offers, quickly, supposedly reassuring but at this point, Thanatos is slowly losing his grasp on what’s actually happening. He hasn’t stopped poking around where the bond had been, disgustingly marveling at how quiet everything had gotten. And then scolding himself for even thinking that.
(He had thought it before, even wished it, but never would he actually want it. Hypnos was annoying, obviously!, but mortals needed sleep. Even the gods liked their sleep, though they didn’t actually need it. And he– he needed Hypnos. Needed to feel that annoyance every time he saw a head of starlit curls, or recognized his own golden eyes in his twin).
“He lives near the Lethe, yes? I’ll start there, and you should probably check the back hallways.” Meg’s quick to formulate the plan, and even though it seems like she has the worst end of the stick, Thanatos realizes that he really doesn’t want to have to walk the halls by himself. He thanks the Fates that he is not the God of Daydreams or Dreaming, because he’s able to squash any intruding (horrific, disgusting, shattering) thoughts that attempt to surface. “Alright, Thanatos?”
“Alright,” he hears himself say, and the words taste like ash on his tongue. If only someone (not Meg) could see him now. How far the mighty have fallen, or whatever the mortals say. Death incarnate, barely able to hear past his heart beat and relying on a Fury to help him through… whatever this was. And, gods, this wasn’t a one-off thing. Unless Hypnos was just killed by a stray wretch, and was taking a really long time to regenerate– then he was gone. Thanatos feels sick.
Meg, awkwardly at best and uselessly at worst, pats him on the shoulder before slipping away. There’s no danger, theoretically, and her whip remains at her side. But she’s not steady, and it gives him at least a little assurance that Meg is equally affected by this. It’s not obvious, but her feet hit the marble harsher than normal, and her wing is prickled up in distress. Distress over Hypnos, something that Thanatos had never thought he’d be privy to.
(And maybe this was all a dream, a harsh concoction by Sleep himself to take revenge on Thanatos. Maybe he would wake up in the end and be greeted by a teasing smile and coy words. And he finds that he wouldn’t even be angry. A little upset, sure, but just the knowledge that his twin was safe? Hypnos had control over dreams, but had nothing over the destruction of Thanatos’ mind).
Blissfully, the shades stay out of his way as Thanatos trails down the halls. Meg was most likely rushing about, heading straight to the Lethe and possibly Theseus and Asterius– not that they would know. Or maybe they did. Nevertheless, rushing seems pointless now. Meg couldn’t peer into his head and hear how empty it was. How a piece of himself was missing, stripped to the bone and laid bare before him.
He considers dissolving his scythe, it serves no use here, in the House, away from anything that could harm him. And even if something managed to break in, or if his feet led him outside to Tartarus, he was confident in his casting abilities to withstand anything wretches could throw at him.
Briefly, Thanatos wonders when the last time he saw Hypnos cast. Not just the casual spells of dispelling his pen and parchment, or the levitation spell that he seems to permanently have activated, but actual spellcasting. And he finds that there is no memory of Hypnos’ recent casting. (And then the spiral sets in, that if Hypnos encountered any of the wretches that Thanatos knows roam Hades, he doesn’t want to know the end of that tale. Hypnos was short, quicker than Thanatos, and it does supply him with some relief that his twin could give the wretches a (literal) run for their obols).
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The halls loom around him, darkening the corners of his eyes and swimming in his blurry vision. Thanatos has never felt cold before– sure, it’s not warm in the House (disregarding Asphodel), but he fears that this is what mortals feel like when they die. It’s wholly unpleasant, the chill that has wormed its way into his chest, carved out a hole and decided to stay.
Noise catches his ear, and if Thanatos had a wing like Meg, he’s sure it would’ve spiked straight off his body. It’s not talking, nor whispering shades, but it is bones scraping across the ground. Not the usual marble either, and he realizes that he’s close to the courtyard. He can see it down below, looping out from where Zagreus’ room is.
He drops down, landing hard on his feet, and drawing a very surprised noise from a skeleton. Thanatos furrows his brow, trying to remember if Zagreus had ever mentioned having a pet skeleton– or training dummy, as the weapons scattered around might suggest. Skelly? Zagreus had talked about a something that helped him prepare and gain more strength… take out any anger he built up whilst trying to triumph over the Bone Hydra.
“Right there you are, scared me real good!” Skelly– yes, that must be his name– drapes forward just to straighten out, revealing a few holes in between his ribs. Were all human skeletons this… see through? “I don’t see you ‘round here very often, what can I do, mate?” (And if that wasn’t a tick he picked up from Zagreus, may the gods strike him down).
Thanatos clears the tar in the back of his mouth, regretting his choice of accessories for the lack of access to rub his sore throat. What could he do? Thanatos wanted a lot of things, possibly a break, a nap, some kind of vacation– but most of all he just wanted his brother. “Have you seen Hypnos?”
“Curls?” Skelly’s head turns towards Thanatos, cracking on his collarbone.
An odd nickname, rightly applied though, Hypnos did sport unruly curls and neither Thanatos nor Nyx knew where that trait came from. Even Chaos, their theoretical grandparent, was said to have thin, straight white hair. “Yes?” he croaks, “has he passed through here?”
Skelly taps his chin with a finger– actually having removed said finger from the other hand to knock it back and forth along his jaw. Oh, the limits of the undead. “Now that ya mention it, yeah, he was heading up with boyo a couple hours ago. Brought Stygius with ‘em, but no other weapon, which I thought was pretty stupid. Ya can’t win a proper fight when only one of ya has a weapon.”
Zagreus! Zagreus? Zagreus. Thanatos might be the first god to get whiplash from thinking so hard. He’s able to cycle through the many emotions that one feels when the name of the prince is spoken, and then, only then, does he have the chance to register that Hypnos had, in fact, escaped out of the House of Hades with Zagreus. And that the chance he could be dead somewhere in Tartarus or Asphodel was incredibly higher.
“Where did they go?” He knows his voice is grave, can feel how it ricochets into his chest and expands outwards. Skelly, for all his credit, just fixes him with as unamused a look that a skeleton can manage.
“Out. Into Tartarus? I’m not the boss of the prince, broody, I’m just here so he can whack me to pieces when he wants to,” Skelly says, still keeping that air of nonchalance. Or stupidity. Or both. “Have you tried looking in Tartarus? Maybe in Elysium?”
“I should have you removed for your insolence.” The words hold little meaning, and Skelly even senses that, as all he does is shrug. Thanatos is out the open, always open, window, hopping down into Tartarus and disappearing in a hiss of cyan smoke. Distantly, he hopes he doesn’t run into Meg somewhere, because admitting that he followed the advice of a skeleton is not the way he wants to go with her.
Two options are now running through his head. Firstly, that Zagreus– benevolent, giving gifts to strangers and feeding puppies– was the one who had, literally, taken Hypnos out back and slaughtered him. But Zagreus’ style was not swift, and Thanatos would’ve felt the terror and hurt from the connection before the deed was even done.
The second option, most likely, is that Zagreus had been foolhardy enough to get himself and Hypnos into trouble with no good way to get out of that trouble. And someone had been hurt. And it wasn’t Zagreus.
(Both of those ideas have serious errors though, and he’s avoiding the fact that, when either or happened, Thanatos was the one who missed the urgency that would’ve been propelled through the bond. That he had blocked off too much from Hypnos and hadn’t been alerted when something did happen. Not being able to see Zagreus murdering someone runs true though, he’d be shocked).
Laughter, talking, what he’s sure is the river Lethe floating through the lush gardens; guh-gong! Thanatos phases right into the fields of Elysium, not even winded from the teleportation spell. He hasn’t been winded in a while, and it comes naturally enough that he can still judge his location with expertise. But, come to think of it, the Exalteds don’t talk. They mumble, groan even with their bejeweled life above the dredges of Hades, but they don’t talk about it. (Certain Elysium champions not included).
“Thanatos?” Twin voices of different timbres may actually give him whiplash from turning around too quickly. And he considered himself in shape, not one to crack bones at every harsh movement.
Zagreus is the first he notices, proudly decorated with a few bruises and cuts that had spilt blood down his sides. He, actually, looks almost happy to see Thanatos, which makes sense considering he usually comes bearing gifts for the prince. (If he’s able to beat him in their game, that is. Sometimes he loses, and then he’s left with having to go to the next chamber without much of anything).
And the other–
–his eyes blur, and he really hopes that he isn’t crying right now, though Thanatos can’t see another alternative if his vision has suddenly vanished from him. It wasn’t like Helios and his chariot had descended upon Hades just to spite him.
Hypnos has the gall to tilt his head at him, big golden eyes blinking back in a mix of confusion and– concern? Why in the gods’ name would Hypnos be concerned for him? If anything, it’s the other way around. He’s not even harmed, everything perfectly in place, maybe minus the few stray specks of blood on his bangles, but surely that’s from Zagreus instead of him, as it's the prince’s red blood, not the gold ichor of the Chthonics and Olympians.
Things aren’t adding up though, and despite the nagging thought that Thanatos still can’t feel anything from the bond, it doesn’t matter. Hypnos isn’t dead, he’s right here and alive and definitely confused on why Thanatos isn’t moving and possibly crying– and gods does he not care. A little. He cares enough to feel a spark of embarrassment, but that’s about it.
“Thanatos, I was just wondering when you would show up–” Zagreus only has the time to begin before he’s enveloped in a harsh teal-green light and teleported into the next chamber. Or what he hopes is the next chamber, but receiving Hades’ wrath for advancing Zagreus was the last thing on his mind.
“Wh–” Hypnos sputters, raising a confused brow at Thanatos. He floats up a little, just to meet eye-level, and rubs the back of his neck. Sheepishly. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I? And to think that you were coming just to say hi…” the brightness in his tone dies as soon as it starts, ripped out by how Thanatos stares at him.
He doesn’t want to feel anything, but happens to feel everything. The pain in the center of his chest, cold and warm at the same time and beating along with his heart. “Where did you go? I thought you– I thought you died.”
An incredible hush drapes itself over Elysium, and the river Lethe remains softly churning in the background, an ever-present backdrop to this confrontation. “Died?” Hypnos huffs a short laugh. “It’s been a bit since I’ve had to regenerate something, but I think I’d be fine. And I’m right here? Perfectly alive?”
Thanatos is reminded how much his twin manages to annoy him. He’s just not getting it. “I wasn’t able to sense you, I’m still not. What happened? Why are you here?” He lets the anger and concern rush into his voice, and he numbly realizes that he’s pleading with Hypnos. Pleading that he’d understand the kind of pain that had taken him by the heart and thrashed him straight around.
Hypnos’ eyes dart to the side, and there’s nothing there, only tinged-blue grass and strange, metallic statues. He reaches into his red duvet, pulling out a familiar amber gemstone. Hermes. That was the talisman from Hermes that Zagreus had shown him. The one that he explicitly said didn’t work.
Hypnos wordlessly tosses it to Thanatos, and the lack of comment would be an odd point if he wasn’t overwhelmed by the rush of connection. Perhaps poking holes in a hidden bond wasn’t the best solution, as the many walls he had set up now had gaps in them. He can feel– in great detail– the confusion and embarrassment and stern resentment that steadily flows in. Thanatos isn’t sure he’s felt that much since he cut off most of the bond all those years ago.
“Is that it? Zag gave it to me for protection, and now he’s moving on trinket-less, so thanks for that.” Dry sarcasm, and an unamused look. Missing the usual cheer. He stretches lazily, swirling a hand in the air. “Don’t know why you spun yourself dizzy though, I doubt that’s what’s blocking the old bond.”
“Are you crazy?” he demands, harsh at that. To speak with such carelessness about what had caused him a thousand deaths worth of pain? Sure, Hypnos was clueless and brash, but wasn’t this overkill? And couldn’t he feel the absolute relief that was bleeding from Thanatos?
Golden eyes narrow. “Are you? I don’t even see you for– for years on end, and all of a sudden you come waltzing in and crying? And expecting that I’ll understand anything? This is ridiculous, Than, even for you.” Hurt. He feels hurt. Thanatos’ emotions and Hypnos’.
The mental barriers are shattering, one at a time, and Thanatos has half a mind to let them. He remembered why he built them, he wasn’t senile, but he also remembered how he made sure he could always access Hypnos. Always know that he was there and alright and even though he became more adept at blocking out the loneliness and hurt (it had been necessary), he would at least know Hypnos was alright.
A rune is drawn in the air, teleportation and the sigil of the House, and Thanatos restrains the bolt of electricity that demands he moves to stop it. “You don’t understand–”
–“You’re right, I don’t. And since you’ve kindly ruined my off-time, I’d better just get back to work.” Hypnos levels him with a single stare, and when did his brother get so cold? So distant? Unable to cross a chasm that Thanatos hadn’t ever known was there.
Something breaks. If the world was perfect, there would’ve been a rush of emotions. A rush of everything that Thanatos had ever thought and was thinking. Hypnos would’ve realized, finally understood, and they could’ve… could they make up? Start new? With everything that had already happened?
The world isn’t perfect though, but something does, indeed, break. Something small, just a leak of thoughts through steel and darkness. The rune hangs still in the air, missing the connector seal that would activate it. Hypnos has paused.
“I thought you broke it?”
Thanatos is embarrassed. He’s embarrassed that he had acted so rashly that Meg had gotten involved, that he had sent Zagreus possibly half the underworld away, and that he allowed Hypnos– of all gods– to recognize such weaknesses. “Why would I?”
The rune dissipates, falling to the shimmering ground in sparks of bone-white. “But you did. After you and– Nyx– told me to, essentially, fuck off, you broke our bond. Which I didn’t even know was possible but I guess divine twins are rare and there’s no real guide for the Chthonic version.” Hypnos huffs out a breath, touching down on the grass, his levitation spell faltering.
(Like it would do when they were young and he lost full concentration. Which was often, as he was distracted by the many things that made up Hades. Fond memories, if not always tinged with hints of sadness and nostalgia).
“I didn’t break it,” Thanatos tries to explain, slowly, attempting to take his time, still believing he could calm down from the adrenaline spike from earlier. “I just… hid it. Barred myself off, but I made sure I could still recognize you.”
“Well, you didn’t afford me that same care,” Hypnos says, bitterly. He crosses his arms, managing to look disappointing (oh, how the tables have turned!) while having to stare up at Thanatos. “It hurt, knowing that you and Mother abandoned me.”
“We wouldn’t– we were right there!” he protests, shattered by even the thought. They didn’t, wouldn’t– wouldn’t just abandon him. They had agreed to try and allow Hypnos to gain the independence he desperately needed… but they wouldn’t leave him for the hounds!
“Not to me!” Hypnos’ voice cracks, and he shuts his eyes with a harsh intake of air. The wing in his hair trembles, and considering there’s no breeze in Elysium, he’s certainly feeling something now. Maybe more than just a bit of their bond had filtered back. (Would it even come back to normal? Was there still a normal for them?)
“Hypnos,” he tries again, silenced by a glowering stare.
“Go home, Than.”
Thanatos realizes, belatedly, that his twin sounds awfully like him. Not in pitch or timbre, but in tone. Words. Hasn’t Thanatos spoken that same sentence all those decades ago? He had been the one shoving Hypnos away, blocking what they had cherished and denying him the simple comfort of his brother. And he can’t say that he didn’t regret it.
Fully stopping the bond was not his intent, especially now that he knew how much pain and hurt it had caused, but he had meant to stall it. For what he believed was the good of both of them, at Nyx’s request. He had wholeheartedly gone along with her plan, no questions needed– she was his mother. Was he now doubting that same authority?
Teal light bathes the Lethe in its glow, spiriting Thanatos away from the scene and only allowing him to glance once more, longingly and hurt, at Hypnos. He was sure that the Lethe would guide him home, and Zagreus would eventually wind up back at the House via expressway from the Styx. Thanatos wasn’t worried, yet paradoxically, he thinks he’s never been more.