Work Text:
The cold is one of the hardest things to get used to. The snow sizzles against his burning feet—he’s never felt anything like it before. And the air itself has so much life to it. It whistles through the leaves of trees the likes of which he’s never seen and carries with it scents that are so unfamiliar they make his head spin. He thinks they’re called things like “frost” and “ice” and “woodsmoke” and “leaves”. Compared with Demeter’s blessings or even Elysium, it’s almost too intense.
But the frozen woods are nothing compared to his mother’s sanctuary. It smells of new growth and sunshine and more fruits and vegetables than he could even have imagined existed. The air has neither the sweltering heat of Asphodel or the controlled warmth of Elysium. It is something altogether more natural. The perfect temperature of spring, he thinks it’s called.
And just the sight of it—so many colors, shades of green and gold, he can scarcely take it all in. If he had the time, he would want to look at each plant in more detail, learn their names and uses, but he doesn’t have that kind of time. He’s here for a reason, and she’s standing under the sun, watching him come up the path with green eyes that so perfectly mirror one of his own.
“Zagreus!” She greets him warmly.
“Mother!” He stumbles to a halt in front of her, worn out from his arduous journey and difficult battles. But it is so worth it to see her and to taste the sun and to breathe fresh air. Standing in front of his mother, surrounded by flowers and grass, he feels so far away from the gemstones and darkness he grew up with that he can hardly reconcile the two.
“You made it back to me,” she says and smiles fondly.
“I did, Mother. I did,” he says. “I’m here.”
“And your father?”
“Hasn’t changed his mind,” Zagreus says as evenly as he can though thinking about his father’s refusal to let him go even after Persephone requested it makes his blood boil. Or maybe that’s a lingering effect from his battle earlier. “He’s trying to act as though nothing’s happened.”
“He really won’t let you through to me?” He thinks she looks displeased though it’s hard to tell. He hasn’t exactly had a long time to learn to read her expressions.
“No, he’s—he’s quite stubborn.” Zagreus inhales sharply, feeling a sudden cold chill, even in the midst of this sunny clearing, but he brushes it away. No, no, I won’t. I refuse. “Fortunately, so I am,” he adds.
“That he is,” Persephone says with a sad little smile. “I’m glad to see you’ve inherited one of his finer qualities.”
“Ha!” Zagreus lets out a laugh. “I’m sure he wishes I hadn’t.”
“That may be so,” she says. “Zagreus, I know you must have many questions for me in the limited time we have together, but might I ask one of you first?”
His attempt at good humor vanishes at the reminder of their limited time, but he nods. “Of course, Mother.” She has hardly had the opportunity to ask anything of him, so he can’t deny her this. She has the right to answers as much as he does.
“Am I to understand… your father hasn’t been treating you well? Not just lately, but for much longer?”
That startles him. He’d been expecting her to ask after the House, after Father, some general question about his life. He hadn’t expected her to put her finger right on the most sensitive subject, the deepest flaw in the structure of the House. It was something he knew, of course, that his father did not treat him well, but it was never phrased in quite that way. It was always “Lord Hades is a very stern man” or “the Master is very busy with the running of the Underworld” or something that left Zagreus out of the equation entirely.
Perhaps Persephone takes his silence for confusion because she says, “What I mean is… have things always been so bad between the two of you?”
“I—yes? I don’t know. He’s never tried to hurt me before. We’ve never been close. There’s always been conflict between us. When I was younger, he was just… distant. He mostly left me to Nyx, and later, Achilles. We fought more as I grew older, and when I found out he’d lied about you… Well, that was the final straw.”
Now she definitely looks sad. Her lovely features are downcast. “Oh, my son… I’m sorry. If only I had known…”
“You have nothing to apologize f-for—ugh.” His reply starts off angry and ends up strained as he feels an ice-cold chill overtake his whole body.
It doesn’t escape his mother’s notice. “Oh, Zagreus, you’re—“
“I’m—I’m fine,” he manages to say through gritted teeth.
“You’ve been on the surface for too long,” she says gently. She reaches out to touch his shoulder, and he grabs her hand, anchoring himself to her.
“No, I—I won’t go back.” It doesn’t feel cold anymore. Now it just hurts, like his bones are being ground into dust or his blood is turning into magma. It’s not the worst pain I’ve felt, he tells himself. But it’s not pleasant either.
“Oh, my son,” she sighs. “Now isn’t the time for your stubbornness. You can’t stay here.”
“W-watch me,” he groans. And that’s when he passes out.
Persephone watches the color leave her son’s face. Not that there was much to start with. This was what? The second time he’d seen the sun? But he has enough of her mortal blood that she can watch the pink flush drain from his cheeks as he collapses and knows instinctively to catch him.
He’s smaller than she would’ve thought. From a distance, he looks as impressive as any god, flame-footed and muscular, but in her arms, she realizes he’s smaller than she is. And he’d just fought his way through the entirety of Hell?
She doesn’t expect him to last very long. She’s bracing herself for what’s about to happen, to watch her son be taken away from her into the cold embrace of the River Styx once again.
But it doesn’t happen. There is no gasp of pain and flash of red as her son disappears. He stays—stubbornly—right here.
She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. As it turns out, she doesn’t have time for either, because Zagreus isn’t doing well. He isn’t disappearing, but he isn’t waking up either. He gives a little unconscious moan of pain, and Persephone discovers some parental instincts must be innate because she’s moving before she knows what she’s doing, scooping up her child in both her arms and rushing into her small cottage.
He’s heavy for such a little thing, all muscle and bone, but she manages to lay him out on her large quilted bed. Thankfully his feet don’t catch her covers on fire though she isn’t sure how that works. He’s breathing hard, his expression contorted with pain, and Persephone watches him with a sick feeling in her chest—helplessness, she thinks it’s called.
She doesn’t care for it one bit. The last time she’d felt so helpless—the memory hits her like an anvil. A baby, impossibly small, with mismatched eyes, and flaming feet, sputtering out, going so terribly still. A child. The same one who now rests on her bed. Her breath hitches. She does not want to watch him die again.
Her eyes drink him in, seeking out signs of life—his flaming feet, his clenching fists, the rise and fall of his chest—and she sighs in relief even though she probably shouldn’t. She needs to let him go. He doesn’t belong on the surface anymore than she belongs on Olympus.
But maybe she can at least make him more comfortable until he finally gives up. She can’t bear to see him like this. He’s as pale as a sheet, and his hands are curled into fists against the pain. When she brushes his dark hair away from his forehead, she finds he’s drenched in sweat despite his skin feeling as cold as ice.
For a moment, she flounders. Does that mean he’s too warm or too cold? But then she decides to focus on more practical concerns. He’s dressed for combat, and the scabbard at his waist is digging into his hip. She carefully removes the sword and scabbard and sets it at the side of the bed. She shudders as it leaves her grasp—the weapon feels old and powerful. How had he gotten his hands on such a thing?
She removes the laurels from his head and the bands from his arms, one of which is an old spiked collar she recognizes as having once belonged to Cerberus. He shudders when she unclasps it, and that’s when she realizes it must have been enchanted—a keepsake. She realizes how many people it took for her son to have come this far. She sets it aside with the utmost care.
He isn’t wearing shoes, but she removes his greaves, and after a moment, decides to remove his tunic too. Underworld fashion is elaborate and, while beautiful, the bones that adorn his clothes are likely to injure him if he moves too much. In just his leggings, without all the ornamentation, he looks more relaxed, freer, but after a moment, he begins to shiver, and at least, that answers that question.
She gathers spare blankets from the cupboard and lays them over him, not wanting to disturb him more than she has to to get him under the quilt he’s lying on top of. She wraps him up tight and hopes the shivering will stop.
She heaves a sigh and pulls a chair up next to his bedside, sits in it heavily. “Oh, Zagreus…” Her voice is choked with concern.
“Mmm—?”
Persephone straightens in her chair. “Zagreus?”
“Don’t… Don’t want to…” He’s mumbling, still mostly unconscious. She thinks in mortals it’s called “delirium”. Whether it’s a good sign or a bad sign is impossible to say when she doesn’t know what outcome to hope for.
“Easy there,” she says softly. “It’s okay. It’s me.”
“Mm… Nyx?” He’s turned toward the sound of her voice, eyes still closed.
Persephone feels a stab of pain even though she has no right to. Whenever he’d been hurt in the past, Nyx must have been who he’d call out to for comfort. He’d already told her Nyx had raised him. And as far gone as he seems to be, it’s impressive he recognizes her as a source of comfort at all.
“No, it’s Persephone,” she says.
“M-mother?” He shudders. “Oh… Hurts. Don’t want… to go back.”
That just about breaks Persephone’s heart. “Yes, it’s me. Your mother. It’s okay. It’s okay.” She cards her fingers through his hair like her own mother used to do when she was small, and he leans into her touch. He’s so trusting for someone who has been hurt this much.
“I c-can stay?” he asks.
He’s delirious, she thinks, so she tells him what he needs to hear. “Yes, sweetheart. Stay with me.”
He sighs, and some of the worry lines disappear from his face. “I will.”
She regrets the words when pain arcs through his body and he gasps like he’s been stabbed. “No! I’m…”
She doesn’t know what to do. It’s hurting him to stay. She can see that clear as day. He’s only suffering so much because he won’t let the Styx take him. But she can’t bear to send him away either. She doesn’t think he’d listen even if she tried. Certainly not in this state where he can barely string words together.
“Mother…”
“It’s me,” she says soothingly as she strokes his forehead. His hair is the same color as his father’s, but the feel of it in her fingers is more like her own—thick and wild and untamable.
“H-help?” he whispers.
Something inside her breaks, and she nods, even though he can’t see it. “Of course, Zagreus. Of course, sweetheart.” She doesn’t really remember how to do this. She’d rarely had the chance to bestow favor upon anyone.
But she gathers all her power and whispers a blessing. It sounds like songbirds and smells like pomegranates, and it falls on him like spring rain. The young man grows still under her fingers, and her heart stops until she sees he’s still breathing, just more slowly and evenly than before.
He’s sleeping peacefully now, but she hopes he wakes up soon. They need to talk.
Consciousness returns to him slowly. The first thing he notices is warmth—he’s surrounded by warm softness. The air smells different too. Fresh. That doesn’t make any sense. The Styx is cold and musty. Wait, he isn’t—
His eyes snap open. He’s in a bed that isn’t his own, and his whole body hurts like hell, like he’s pulled every muscle in his body, but he feels… stable. The tug of Styx feels distant. It hovers on the far edges of his consciousness, waiting patiently.
“I’m… still here?” His voice sounds a bit feeble, but he manages to speak.
“Zagreus!” His mother is by his bedside, and the relief in her voice is palpable.
“What happened?” he asks. He tries to sit up but quickly regrets it as all his muscles scream in protest.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Persephone says. “You fought for a long time.” She brushes at his hair soothingly, and he blinks in surprise but leans into the touch.
“Did I… win?” he asks uncertainly.
She doesn’t answer. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I was trampled by a Cyclopes. But other than that, I’m fine. I’m not in immediate danger of dying, I think,” he says. He can’t keep his wonder out of his voice.
His mother smiles ruefully. “I should hope not. You took the most powerful blessing I had to offer.”
He mulls that over for a moment. “You’re holding back the Styx? Mother, that’s incredible.”
“I have my moments,” she says. Then her expression grows serious. “We needed time to talk. My blessing will last a while, but it won’t last forever.”
Zagreus’ spirits plummet. “You mean I still have to go back?”
“My son, I’m so sorry.”
He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, trying to force back tears. “It isn’t fair,” he says. “All I did was be born.”
“I know… I know,” she says. “It isn’t fair at all.”
It feels as though the Fates are playing another sick joke at his expense. He labors time after time to escape the Underworld, only to learn he truly can’t leave. “He—he said this would happen,” Zagreus confesses. “He said, ‘There’s no escape for one such as you, boy.’ I just—I just didn’t want to believe he was right. About me.”
Persephone’s green eyes are somber for a moment. Then she says, “Isn’t it the worst when parents think you’re only what they believe you to be and not who you truly are?”
“He might be right,” Zagreus says. “I can’t leave. I’m bound to him and the Underworld where I’m completely useless. I might as well be what he thinks of me. Some pathetic weakling.”
“Don’t you dare say that,” she says. “You’re not only his son. You’re mine, and I think you’re extraordinary, Zagreus. I know I’ve only known you for a short time, but your determination and bravery, your humor and kindness… They’re remarkable.”
“I—“ Zagreus swallows hard and doesn’t quite succeed in choking back tears. It’s the kind of thing he’s wanted to hear from his father his whole life, and hearing it now from his birthmother is a dream come true. “Thank you, Mother.”
“You’re very welcome, son,” she says.
“I still don’t want to go back. He’s going to be insufferable.” He can hear it now. You’re late, boy. What nonsense is this? Defeat me? The very idea is laughable!
“What about Cerberus?” his mother says.
“Pardon? I don’t follow.”
“Cerberus will be happy to see you,” she says.
“Yeah, I… suppose he will,” Zagreus admits. He isn't quite sure what she’s getting at, but he’s willing to hear her out.
“And Nyx,” Persephone says wistfully. “She must care for you so to have raised you so well.”
A faint smile crosses his lips. “She does. She’s wonderful.”
“Who else is there, Zagreus? Tell me.”
“Achilles,” he says at once. “He taught me to fight, but he taught me so much more than that too. More than I learned from Father at any rate.”
“And?”
Color returns to his cheeks as he says. “Thanatos. Megaera. Tough as diamonds and even more beautiful.”
His mother smiles at him with something close to pride. He thinks that’s the best way to read the look on her face at least. “See, Zagreus? You have so many people behind you. You can lean on them.”
“But I have to leave you,” he says.
“It won’t be for long,” she says. “You’ll find your way back to me. There’s not a god below the earth or above that could stop you.”
“All right. I’ll be back soon,” he promises. His body protests, but he manages to sit up and place his feet on the floor. “Where are my things?”
“Here,” she says and helps him back into them. The keepsake from Cerberus goes on last and with a level of care rarely afforded to old dog collars. He feels stronger once it’s securely around his wrist.
“How long do you think I have?” he asks once they’re done.
“It’s hard to say,” Persephone replies. “Somewhere between ten minutes and an hour.”
“Enough time for you to show me around your garden?” he says tentatively.
She smiles, dazzlingly bright. “An excellent idea.”
His muscles are still aching from his earlier exertion, but he manages to stand and follow his mother out into the open air of her sanctuary and listen as she tells him about all of the different plants she’s growing and what their names are and what they’re good for and how much sun and water they need.
“This is a raspberry bush. You don’t have those in the Underworld, do you? I think I would remember that. They mostly tend to themselves, but in the summer, they ripen, and you can eat the berries right off the bush.”
“What do they taste —oh, no—“ He feels like he’s been plunged in ice-cold water.
“Zagreus?”
“Mother, I can’t stay much longer.”
“It’s okay,” she says soothingly. She grasps both his hands. “Don’t try to fight it anymore. Just rest.”
“Mother, I—“ He grimaces as pain jolts through him. He can feel the tug of the Styx in every fiber of his body. “Okay.” He’s much too tired to fight any more even if he wanted to.
“Remember, Zagreus. You have so many people who love you. I’ll see you again soon.”
“I’ll… be back,” he manages to say. Then with a grunt of pain, he falls to the ground, his vision swimming. It’s red. Everything is red and cold. He lets go. He’s gone.
Zagreus drags himself out of the Styx and onto the cold stone floor of the Great Hall. His body is completely restored to how it was before he left the House, so it must be his mind that’s making his hands shake. He can’t quite summon his usual bravado as he gets to his feet and looks around, expecting to see the usual crowd of shades and Hypnos.
Instead, he’s greeted by a Fury and Death Incarnate, the latter of whom says, “Zagreus! Do you know how long it’s been?”
Meg in particular looks so angry that Zagreus thinks she might hit him, but instead she does something that surprises him even more—she wraps her arms around him so tight he thinks his ribs crack. “You idiot,” she whispers. “We thought you had left us. Lord Hades has been back for hours.”
Zagreus wants to reply, but he can’t draw enough breath to form words.
“Megaera,” Thanatos says. “He can’t breathe.”
She lets go of him and take a few steps back, flicking her hair in an angry way. She doesn’t meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he says when he can breathe again. “Can we… talk somewhere else?”
Thanatos and Megaera exchange a glance and without saying a word, they glue themselves to his sides and begin walking him down the hall. He’s fine to let them guide him. For once, he doesn’t protest. Their touch on his arms grounds him, makes him feel more stable in his body.
“Hey, Zagreus! You’re back!” Hypnos says as they pass. “Those natural causes, huh? That’s gotta be rough!”
“Not now, Hypnos,” Thanatos tells him, but Zagreus finds Hypnos’ complete cluelessness kind of comforting. He’s thinking about what his mother said, about all that people he has behind him.
Now comes that part he’s dreading. His father’s throne looms at the end of the hall, the god himself engaged in parchmentwork. Hades looks up from his work at their footsteps. “No escape, boy,” he says coldly, and then goes back to signing pacts as if that’s all the time he has to spare for his one and only child.
Thanatos and Megaera march Zagreus past without sparing their Lord a glance, and Zagreus feels a rush of warmth for them. They turn right past the lounge, and Nyx is waiting for him in her corner of the House.
“My child!” she says. She could be talking to Thanatos, but she’s looking at him. “The House was greatly concerned for you. Are you well?”
“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m sorry to have been a cause for concern.”
“Tch,” says Thanatos. “As you should be. Mother Nyx feared for your wellbeing.”
Nyx nods. “This is Thanatos’ way of expressing that he was also concerned for you, child.”
“Mother—!”
Zagreus laughs softly. “I really am sorry.”
“Don’t be, child. I suspect you received the far greater share of suffering for your actions. I hope in the end you were able to achieve some sort of clarity?”
“I think I did.”
“I am glad.”
Megaera looks between the two of them, and Zagreus wonders how much she knows and how much she suspects. “Nyx, what do you mean?”
“I believe that question would be better directed at Zagreus. Take care of him, both of you.”
Megaera nods, and Zagreus senses an unspoken understanding pass between them.
“I understand, Mother,” Thanatos says, and he guides both Zagreus and Megaera into Zagreus’ bedchambers. On another occasion, this might have flustered Zagreus somewhat, but now he understands that this is the best place to have a private conversation away from the prying ears of the rest of the House.
His bedchambers are exactly how he left them—comfortingly cluttered with scrolls and weapons and clothes and curios. For once, his bed doesn’t look so uninviting, and a wave of mental exhaustion hits him. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
“You want to sit down?” Thanatos says. “What exactly happened to you out there, Zagreus?”
He supposes that’s fair. His dislike of sitting still is so well known it’s something of a running joke around the House. But he sits down on the edge of his bed anyway and feels Megaera, uninvited but always welcome, sit down beside him a moment later. It seems she isn’t keen to let him out of arm’s reach.
“Well, I… made it past Father,” he says. “I found my mother again.”
“You were gone for so long,” Megaera says. “We thought you’d found a way to leave us permanently.”
Thanatos paces back and forth at this, agitated, and Zagreus wants to invite him to join them on the bed, but he doesn’t have the words. “I tried,” he admits. “I fought the pull of the Styx for… quite a while.”
“Zagreus!” Thanatos stops his pacing and turns to look at him, stricken. “Do you have any idea how foolish that is? Styx is no ordinary Chthonic power. Even Lord Hades cannot resist her influence. Is that what Mother Nyx meant by ‘the greater share of suffering’?”
Zagreus looks away, feeling sick. “I know,” he says hollowly. “No escape.”
“That isn’t—!” Thanatos grits his teeth. “That isn’t what I meant. This isn’t about you not being strong enough or something foolish like that. This is about you taking unnecessary risks and hurting yourself. And for what? So you can leave everyone who cares about you?”
“Thanatos,” Megaera says. “Sit down for darkness’s sake. You’re stressing me out.”
After a moment, he sits on Zagreus’s other side, angrily closed in on himself, and Zagreus thinks about what Nyx said earlier—that this is Thanatos’ way of expressing concern. “It wasn’t because I wanted to leave you. Either of you.”
“Why was it then, Zag?” Megaera asks.
Zagreus struggles to put it into words that don’t sound foolish and inadequate.
“Is it your father, Zagreus?” Thanatos says.
And Zagreus, begrudgingly, nods. “He got under my skin. More than usual. I started to think… maybe he was right about me. And I wanted so badly to prove him wrong. To leave him behind.” He laughs self-consciously. "Maybe I took too many blows to the head.”
“Yeah, maybe you did,” Megaera says. "The Zagreus I know never listens to a word his father says.”
"Well, maybe if he did, I wouldn’t be so tired now.” And he does sound tired. Tired enough that what he meant as a joke comes out instead starkly serious.
“Wore yourself out, Zag?” Megaera says quietly. “I thought that was my job.”
He laughs and slumps back on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling of his room.
“I wish your father wouldn’t say such things as upset you,” says Thanatos. “But you needn’t pay him any mind. He does not speak for all of us in the House.”
Zagreus nods absently. Right. Right. He knows that. But it’s different when it’s his father. It’s easier to shrug off abuse when it’s from someone like Theseus who clearly doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s harder when it’s someone who by all accounts should know him well. His father has witnessed almost all of his failures and victories. And there have been quite a few failures.
"Hey," Thanatos says. “Don’t shrug me off.”
“Sorry. I’m not trying to,” Zagreus says. He sits back up and runs his fingers through his hair, making it even more spiky and unruly than usual. “I’m not quite myself at the moment.”
"I know. I just—I want to make sure you hear what I’m saying,” Thanatos says. “All of us at the House… care for you.”
Zagreus smiles because he does hear what Thanatos is saying—or rather, what he isn’t saying. Words aren’t Thanatos’s strong suit, especially when it comes to feelings, so Zagreus is learning to read between the lines—something which isn’t his strong suit either. “Even Meg?” he teases.
“Ha! I can’t speak for her,” Thanatos says.
She punches both of them on the shoulder in quick succession. Thwack! Thwack! “Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Ow! I just died, remember?” Zagreus complains.
“So? I die all the time.” But she snakes her arm around his waist and pulls him close to her so they’re sitting with their sides pressed together, Zagreus’s head on her shoulder, and he accepts her silent apology.
“When do you have to go back to work?” he asks. Because their time is always limited, and he has to prepare himself for being alone.
“What do you mean?” Thanatos says in his driest voice, the one reserved only for truths hidden in lies. “We’re on assignment from Mother Nyx right now, aren’t we?”
Zagreus smiles. “Looks like Meg is doing most of the work, Than.”
Megaera smirks and runs her hand through his hair. “I’m a dedicated professional.”
“Tch…” Thanatos huffs. Zag might be imagining it, but he thinks he sees a blush on his partner’s handsome face. He extends his free hand in invitation, and Thanatos takes it, allowing Zagreus to draw him closer until they’re sitting with their legs touching, Zagreus’s right hand in Thanato’s left.
“Better?” Thanatos asks.
Zagreus smiles and squeezes Thanatos’s hand. It's cool to the touch, but softer than he would expect, considering how hard-working he is. “Better.”
“Good,” Megaera says. Her hand traces soft patterns on his side, and it feels so nice to be touched with gentleness that his eyes flicker closed. He isn’t really used to gentleness—playfulness, roughness, even violence are more familiar—but it feels really nice to be cared for.
“How did I get lucky enough to have you two?” he asks.
“It’s hardly luck,” Thanatos says. “You worked hard to get where you are.”
“What do you mean, Than?”
“You were far more honest than either of us were willing to be about how you felt and what you wanted,” he says. “Thanks the gods that you were or I don’t know what would’ve happened.”
Megaera laughs softly. “He’s not wrong.” She turns her head and drops a kiss on the top of Zag’s spiky hair. He feels warmth blossom in his chest, and he melts, realizing for the first time how much tension he was carrying in his body as it fades.
“I’m going to fall asleep,” he murmurs as he realizes it. It’s been a while since he’s slept—he doesn’t really need much—so it takes him by surprise.
“One of us will be here when you wake up,” Thanatos says.
“Thank you.” He sighs contentedly and buries his face in Megaera’s shoulder. It fills him with so much comfort to know that he won’t be alone—that he didn’t even have to ask—that he’s already half-asleep.
He feels a cool hand—Thanatos’—carding through his hair, and he hums happily. He can almost forget about the pain and frustration from earlier and the struggles still ahead of him, safe as he feels between his lovers, with Megaera’s arm around his waist and Thanatos’ hand in his hair.
He’s too tired to protest when Thanatos abruptly stops petting his hair, but he misses the sensation. When he feels Megaera pull away too, he opens in his eyes, confused, and she shushes him before he can speak, pushing him back on the bed, and he realizes they’re trying to get him to lie down. He lets them lay him out on the bed, adjusting his legs and slipping a pillow under his head with gentle touches. He smiles when one of them kisses his forehead. His eyes have fallen closed again, and he doesn’t know who it was, but it was cool and tender so he thinks it was Thanatos. The hand that laces its fingers through his own certainly belongs to Meg anyway—he can tell by the nails. She’s sitting near by; he can feel a slight dip in the mattress.
Thanatos must be close too. He can feel soft fingers running through his hair, and the gentle reassurance that the two of them are near is all that he needs to fall swiftly into a dreamless sleep.