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theproverbialpen · 16 days ago

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Do the Benefits Outweigh the Cost?

Summary: Zeus refuses to wrestle with his emotions as he listens in on the conversation between not one but two Poseidons. Inspired by @neal-illustrator's "Phantom Pains" comic.

Word Count: 1477

Warnings: Discussions of childhood trauma

Notes: After a month of not writing anything, Neal Illustrator posted this comic in her discord (you should subscribe to her Patreon if you're able btw it's such a lovely community) and I was struck with inspiration like one of Zeus' very own bolts. As soon as I got the notification that Neal posted this on her tumblr I got so excited, finally getting some time to post. Hope y'all enjoy this little angst piece I cooked up:

Time was a strange thing—boundless, all encompassing, and utterly inescapable. All were subject to the ceaseless passage of the seasons—neither mortals nor gods were free from its linear march. Linear, that was to say, in most cases.

Ever since Zeus and his siblings banded together all those millennia ago to defeat the Titan who had once reigned supreme over Time, they had enjoyed relative stability and peace (disregarding that one little uprising incident but, well, Zeus had dealt with that handedly). However, there were a few occasions on which Cronus would rouse ever so slightly from his imposed slumber down in the depths of Tarturus. Those were occasions when time got…weird.

Hence, the scene currently playing out before Zeus. He had felt a ripple in the fabric of reality—that telltale sign that his bastard of a father was acting up again—and had travelled to Aegae to alert his brother. He had planned for them to go down to see Hades together so that the three of them could ensure the seal was holding fast and thus found himself marching through the halls of his middle brother's underwater palace. It was in a central chamber, at the foot of a grand marble statue depicting the Ruler of the Tides, where he had come across Poseidon. Correction—where he had found two Poseidons.

The younger Poseidon was just as Zeus had remembered him, as much as a child his age could have recalled. His hair was a short bob, well on its way to becoming the long, rippling mane that defined his brother in the present day. The edges of his jaw were still soft, marked by a faint peach fuzz that would eventually grow into a well-groomed, tri-pointed beard. He wore a blue ribbon around his neck from which a gold medallion was hung, etched with his emblematic trident—the same medallion he would eventually incorporate into his belt. He still had that youthful sparkle in his eyes, eyes set upon a face that could not hide a single emotion that passed through the young god’s heart; after all, Poseidon had always had one of the biggest hearts of them all, second only to Hestia. And of course:

This Poseidon still had his right arm.

The young God of the Sea, with all his limbs and his animated personality still intact, was a far cry from the deity sitting next to him. Zeus could hardly believe he was watching the same people converse with each other. Zeus’ brother, as he knew him, was a ruthless being. He had his moments when he got flustered, sure, but Poseidon Agolotraina was defined by a coldness as sharp and piercing as the three pronged weapon he wielded. Zeus would often make light of Poseidon’s dour demeanor—as was his right as both his youngest sibling and his king—but the Thunder Bringer was no fool. Zeus was well acquainted with the rage that constantly simmered beneath Poseidon’s surface and he knew better than to underestimate the danger his brother could pose. It was a rage and a danger that were notably absent from the teenage version of Poseidon sitting on those steps, and that thought alone made Zeus’ chest tighten with a sadness he did not care to address.

Typically, Zeus would have sauntered over to the pair, offered some sort of witty one-liner, and generally just have inserted himself into the situation unbidden. However, defying all of his usual desire to command whatever room he was in, Zeus found himself quietly stepping behind one of the pillars and concealing himself from view (as best someone with a form as imposing as his could). His breathing grew shallower as he strained to listen in on his brothers’ conversation, leaving him just about able to make out their exchange.

“Staring is rude,” present-Poseidon chided in his deeper, baritone voice. Zeus snuck a glance around the marble column and spotted past-Poseidon’s fallen face, embarrassment washing over his features like the tide dragging along the shore. The young god quickly averted his eyes and Zeus ducked back into his hiding place, cursing to himself when he noticed his untamed curls peeking out past the edge of the pillar. Thankfully, it became apparent that he had remained undetected when present-Poseidon spoke again. “I can’t tell you how it happened.”

Zeus heard a deep sigh before a higher-pitched voice rang out through the chamber. “I figured as much,” past-Poseidon lamented. His statement was accompanied by a subtle crack, his timbre oscillating between rich fullness and pitchy squeaking in the way that only an adolescent’s could. Fully into his own adulthood, Zeus could not help but find the sound amusing. And yet, it also caused a part of him to ache with a potent nostalgia. It was as if past-Poseidon’s four words alone had transported Zeus back to a simpler time, a time when that very voice was a grounding source of comfort. It was a time when that voice—pitchiness and all—belonged to the man whom Zeus admired the most in the world.

Being the closest in age, Zeus had spent the most time with Poseidon before the domestic embrace of family was so cruelly ripped from him. To be fair, it wasn't as if the rest of his siblings weren’t involved in his rearing. Hades was a stoic yet kind eldest brother and while the girls weren’t technically his sisters, the bonds they all shared gave Zeus a feeling of safety and serenity that ran far deeper than blood. But when Zeus wanted someone to play with, Poseidon had always been the first to volunteer. When he needed a shoulder to cry on, Poseidon’s was the first one he had found. And when their lives were at stake, Poseidon had been the one to tuck him into that secluded corner while maintaining a brave face, ensuring that young Zeus had no idea anything was wrong until it was far too late.

Zeus could still recall the feeling of being tucked securely in the crook of his older brother’s arms as Poseidon’s footsteps echoed through the eerie, empty halls of Olympus. He could still recall the warmth of his older brother’s hands wrapped protectively around him. Young Zeus had no idea it would be the last time he’d ever feel the comfort of Poseidon's right palm splayed across his back again.

“Can I ask you a question?” past-Poseidon continued, breaking Zeus from his increasingly disconcerting recollection.

“Of course,” present-Poseidon responded.

The room fell quiet for a moment, so quiet that Zeus had to hold his breath lest he disturb the pensive stillness of the air. Then, he heard that familiar, cracking voice again.

“Does it still hurt?”

The ichor froze in Zeus’ veins as every muscle in his body went taut all at once. He imagined present-Poseidon was experiencing the same paralyzing, stomach-dropping sensation if the prolonged silence was anything to go by. Zeus could picture the Sea God's facade cracking in his mind’s eye, could almost see the surprised look that must have overtaken Poseidon's impartial expression as his older brother sharply inhaled.

“Don’t fear the pain,” Poseidon finally answered after what felt like a millennia had passed. “The benefits far outweigh the cost.”

Zeus barely managed to hold back his snort. ‘Don’t fear the pain,’ Poseidon said, as if he had not let out a scream for their mother so blood curdling that it still haunted Zeus to this day. ‘The benefits outweigh the cost,’ Poseidon assured, as if he had not tried to overthrow the very same brother for whom he had lost that arm protecting. Through his deflective platitudes, Poseidon had left the heart of the question unanswered. Perhaps he could spare his younger self from the truth, but Zeus had seen Poseidon flinch at nothing more than enough times to know the real answer which his brother had left unspoken.

As Zeus stood in the shadow of that pillar, one hand clenched tightly into a fist at his side, he could not help but wonder—was there any truth to Poseidon’s words? Did he really not regret his decision all those years ago? Was it worth it, losing both a part of himself and the years of his youth trapped in darkness and acid, all to protect his younger brother? Was Zeus one of those ‘benefits’ that outweighed the cost of Poseidon’s choice to face their father head on?

Or were these all just hollow words meant to assuage the fears of a young god not yet marred by the trauma of their youth and the strain in their brotherhood?

Worrying about such things was beneath Zeus. With a gruff exhale, he pushed himself off of the sandstone pillar and stalked back down the halls toward Aegae’s front entrance. Clearly Poseidon was busy—Zeus would just consult Hades on his own. Staying any longer would just be a waste of time. That was why Zeus was leaving without a word.

It was most certainly not because he feared learning the answers to his own questions left unasked.

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