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estrellami-1 · 3 months

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Steddie Week 2024

July 6th Prompt: Dizzy

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 7

@steddie-week

Steve stands up, and that’s where it all goes wrong.

His intent was to grab more drinks from the fridge, but when he stood, he blinked a few times. “Whoa,” he murmurs.

“Steve?” Robin asks. She sounds like she’s at the end of a long tunnel.

“Steve?” Eddie asks. He sounds closer, but not as close as he should.

“‘M fine,” he says, “jus’ dizzy.”

Then he’s waking up in the hospital. “What,” he asks, then doesn’t complete the thought because Robin and Eddie are both standing over him, one on each side, holding each of his hands, and he’d feel so much love if he could feel anything besides general panic because- “I can’t hear you,” he says, breathing picking up. “I can’t- please, I- I need-”

Eddie shuts up, staring at him with wide eyes, and after a second of hesitation, places Steve’s hand, palm down, on his chest. He takes deep, purposeful breaths, and Steve can feel his hand moving, feel the breaths, feel his heartbeat-

He takes a breath. Another. Another. By that time, Nancy had gotten a doctor.

Later, he’ll learn this is something they’d been watching for, but couldn’t be sure of until he woke up. Later, he’ll learn that Eddie lays awake at night, sometimes, hearing the sound Robin makes.

All he knows right now is how to keep breathing, how to keep holding Robin’s hand, how to believe he’ll be okay, because he has to.

He has to.

He stays with Eddie upon his release, because they’re together most days anyways, and it’s a certain kind of torture on Steve’s heart because Eddie’s started carrying around a notebook and a pen just to write to Steve whatever he was gonna say, and Steve doesn’t think he could love another person more than he did, but here’s the proof, apparently.

They’re sharing a bed, because Wayne had previously called their couch “older than Jesus,” and Steve lasted for all of an hour on it before slipping into Eddie’s room.

The good thing about sharing a room is it helps curb the nightmares for a time.

Eventually, though, they come back with a vengeance.

Steve’s laying in bed, like he does every night, when he rolls over to face Eddie. “Eddie?” He asks. Eddie’s always last to sleep, so Steve’s not hesitant about asking, except Eddie doesn’t answer.

“Eddie?” He asks again, jostling Eddie’s shoulder a bit.

Suddenly he shoots up in the air, and Steve bites back a yell.

Suddenly there’s a voice that sounds like it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating off the corners of the room, echoing louder and louder. You took everything from me. Eddie’s arms snap, and Steve yells, scrambles up, music, except what’s his favorite song—that puppet one, metal, come on brain, think—but there’s nothing here but country, bluegrass, stuff Wayne likes, and Steve turns to watch the blood drain from Eddie’s face as another gristly crunch echoes, louder than anything so far. So I’ll take everything from you!

Something reaches out for him, grabs his shoulder, and he yells, twists around, pushes away, hard enough he falls on the ground. He opens his eyes to see Eddie on his bed, Steve sitting just off it, eyes wide and hand reaching to help, stalled halfway. Illuminated by the lamp, too, which wasn’t on half a second ago.

Steve blinks at him, looks at the room. No floating Eddie in the middle of it.

“Dream?” He asks. Eddie nods. He stifles the sob and practically launches himself onto the bed, into Eddie’s arms, lets himself shake apart because he can.

Eventually he feels reverberating in Eddie’s chest that he knows means words, means speaking, so he looks up at Eddie, who’s looking at the door.

He turns to look, too, and sees Wayne. “S-sorry,” he tries, still sniffling.

Wayne shakes his head at him, walks into the room, sits on the edge of the bed. Offers his arms out in a hug.

Steve thought he was done crying. Trust Wayne to prove him wrong, because he’s tearing up all over again as he leans into Wayne.

His new position means he can see Eddie, who points at him, makes a talking motion with his hand, then points at himself and Wayne. Steve frowns. “You… want me to tell you?”

Eddie points at Steve again, insistently, and Steve understands: your choice.

“I can,” he agrees. “We were in bed and I was tryin’a talk to you, but you didn’t answer, and I kept trying to get your attention, but suddenly you- you were up in the air, and your arms and legs broke, and a voice—it was Vecna, I didn’t recognize it in the dream—said I’d taken everything from him so he was gonna take everything from me. And I was trying to find music, but I couldn’t remember the name of your favorite song, and the only stuff in here was Wayne’s stuff, country and bluegrass and stuff like that, and…” he sighs out a broken sob. “I couldn’t save you.”

Eddie reaches for his hand, but suddenly that’s not enough, he needs to be able to feel his heartbeat, have his breathing move Steve’s hand, so he tips over into Eddie again, gets his hand on his chest and his face in the side of his neck.

Eddie says something, but before Steve can move Wayne’s got a comforting hand on his back. He removes it after a minute, and Steve can feel the shift in the bed of him getting up, but before he can mourn the loss, Eddie’s got his arms wrapped around Steve as he carefully lowers them back down. He rubs a hand up and down Steve’s spine, slips the other into Steve’s hair.

Steve falls asleep like that.

He wakes up in almost the same position. He tries to apologize, but Eddie waves him off, hands him some clothes and points to the bathroom before pointing to himself and miming cooking.

Steve’s heart clenches at the thought. “Okay,” he whispers.

Robin comes over later, and they sit on the front steps as he recounts what had happened. “He’s just so sweet,” he sighs. “And I’m an idiot who’s letting my heart get involved.”

Robin wraps an arm around his shoulders and kisses his temple. It doesn’t help as much as he’d hoped it would, but he appreciates the gesture anyways.

Later she leaves, and Eddie pulls out his dedicated Steve Notebook.

I’ve got a friend in Indy who knows sign language. I could give her a call, if you want? He writes, and again Steve’s all but overcome with love for this man.

Instead of anything he wants to do, he just nods. Eddie grins and hops up to use the phone.

He’s back in a couple of minutes, collapses onto the couch with the notebook before furiously scribbling and handing it to Steve.

I spoke to my friend. She says sorry and it sucks, first of all. Steve snorts and nods. She’s willing to talk to you, get you started, maybe even get you some books. Does tomorrow work?

Steve gapes up at Eddie. “Tomorrow?”

Eddie nods and grins, then points at Steve in a gesture Steve knows has come to mean you decide.

“That would be great,” he says. “Seriously, I- thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie waves him off, but Steve can see the happy little blush on his cheeks.

They head out the next day. It’s probably twenty minutes into the drive, and even with Eddie sitting next to him in the driver’s seat, it feels lonely. He never realized how much he’d miss the sound of tires on asphalt. He wasn’t ever truly into music, like Eddie is, but he misses the radio. He misses the wind rushing past, the silence that’s possible to share when both people can hear-

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Eddie’s pulled over, a hand on his cheek and a concerned expression on his face. “Sorry,” he tries. Eddie shakes his head, presses his palm more firmly to Steve’s cheek. “Fuck,” he mutters. “‘S stupid. Just… felt alone. I dunno. There’s, like, a million little things you hear every day that you don’t think about, like the way your hands tap the steering wheel when you turn, or the way your clothes shift and rub against each other, and it’s all silent now, and there’s not even music, and-” he takes a deep, shaky breath. Lets it out as evenly as he can. “I just… felt really alone all of a sudden.”

Eddie brushes his thumb along Steve’s cheekbone as he thinks. Suddenly, he grins and moves his hand, shoving a tape into the deck and cranking the sound. He demonstratively puts his hand on the door. Steve laughs and does the same, gasping when he feels the vibrations of the song move through him. He can’t tell notes, but it’s something, and then Eddie carefully reaches for his hand, keeps his grip relaxed until Steve smiles at him and tightens his own fingers around Eddie’s. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Eddie smiles, nods, and gets back on the road.

They arrive at his friend’s apartment in no time, and Steve would be jealous at the length of the hug if Eddie didn’t immediately step back to grab Steve’s hand again. Based on his hand motions, he’s introducing Steve.

She asks Eddie something, and he turns bright red, pulling a strand of hair across his face as he glances at Steve before looking back at her and answering.

She invites them in, scribbles on a little chalkboard, and hands it to Steve with a smile. Hi, Steve! My name is Nicole. It’s nice to meet you.

He grins up at her. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

She takes the chalkboard back, scribbles something else. Eddie tells me you recently lost your hearing. Do you mind me asking about that?

“Not at all,” Steve says, then frowns, somehow just now realizing he doesn’t know the full extent of what happened. “Honestly, all I know is I stood up and got really dizzy, and then I was waking up in the hospital.” He shrugs. “I’ve had a couple of pretty bad concussions, and I guess whatever made me pass out also just… took my hearing.” He shrugs.

Eddie shakes his head, grabs for the chalkboard. Almost. He bites his lip. You passed out, and I wasn’t fast enough. You hit your head on the floor. He looks away, takes a deep breath. I’m sorry.

“That is not your fault, Eds,” Steve tells him firmly. Eddie won’t look him in the eyes, so Steve grabs his chin. “Hey, look at me. Not your fault. I don’t blame you. Okay?”

Eddie shrugs, pointing to himself with a self-deprecating smile, and Steve knows what he’s trying to say. I do.

“Well I don’t,” Steve says. “But if- if you need to hear it. I forgive you, okay?”

Eddie nods, eyes big and wet, and Steve pulls him into a hug.

Eddie suddenly laughs, pulling away to wipe his eyes before saying something to Nicole.

Right. They’re not alone. “Sorry,” he tells her, but she waves him off, handing over the chalkboard again. I think we’ll start on the alphabet today. That way you can at least finger spell what you need, even if it’s slow.

“Sounds good,” he says, and she nods, talking the chalkboard to write the alphabet.

Slowly but surely, she teaches Steve and Eddie the alphabet. They get a little tripped up on some of the letters, most noticeably p and q, until Nicole takes pity on them and makes a p. She uses her other hand to draw a line down both her extended fingers, then tracing her own legs. She taps her thumb, peeking out between the two, and with a mischievous grin, points between Steve and Eddie’s legs.

They share a look and burst out laughing, but they don’t forget those letters again.

By the end of the day, they’ve gotten through the alphabet with enough regularity that Nicole feels they can practice on each other.

Steve pauses before they leave. T-h-a-n-k, then a pause, then y-o-u.

Nicole smiles, presses her fingertips to her lips, then brings her hand down to chest height, palm up. She does the motion again, and Steve copies her, grinning when she nods excitedly.

“Thank you,” he signs and says, grinning even wider when she pulls him into a quick hug before waving at him and Eddie.

They wave back and pile into the van, Steve’s hand in Eddie’s before Steve can practically blink. He smiles, unbearably fond, and squeezes to get his attention before signing, “Thank you.”

Eddie just smiles back, throws the van into reverse, and starts home.

They practice more while they make dinner, throwing words like spatula and stir and chop around, and Steve didn’t realize learning could be this fun.

He’s watching Eddie stir the broth, hips moving in a little dance to a song only Eddie knows, and his heart is so full, he has to say something before his heart bursts. “I’m gonna say something that’s gonna sound incredibly sappy,” he says. “But just… please just listen until the end? And try not to tease me too much.”

Eddie just smiles, grabs his hand and squeezes, and Steve takes a breath before starting.

“I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad you were there that day, I’m glad you were there when I woke up at the hospital, I’m glad you were there when I realized going home meant being completely alone. I’m glad you made a complete fool of yourself in the hospital lobby, doing charades to let me know I could stay here.” He takes a breath. “I’m glad you have Nicole, because it lets me talk with you easier. I’m glad you never once let me feel like I’m alone, or like I’m going through this alone. I’m glad you’re learning with me. I’m glad you’re making this fun. I didn’t know learning could be fun, but it is with you, and I-” he takes a breath, swallows the three words that want to come out. “I’m glad it’s you,” Steve whispers, “here, at the end of all things.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Eddie’s hands are cradling his cheeks, wiping away tears. Eddie’s just as teary-eyed, though, and he pulls away, looking for the notebook. Please don’t punch me.

Steve looks up, brows furrowed, to watch Eddie spell something. I l-o-v-

That’s as far as he gets before Steve gasps, understanding, or hoping he understands, and pulls Eddie into a kiss.

He pulls back almost immediately to check that’s correct, that that is what Eddie was trying to say, when Eddie pulls him back in, dinner be damned, crowding him in against the counter and doing his best to lick into Steve’s mouth.

Steve lets him, pulling away for a sharp inhale before diving right back in, fingers tight in Eddie’s hair and the back of his shirt, and there’s a sudden vibration that he just knows means Eddie moans, and suddenly he’s dizzy again, but this time he welcomes it, because this time he’s not passing out; this time, he’s dizzy because he’s drunk on love.

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zarnzarn · 14 days

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the angsty prequel to this (ik there's plotholes now but shh I'll fix it in a bit) that i accidentally made after getting possessed and writing for 3 hours straight for what was supposed to be a short hc post jfc. angst ahead (brain damage talk, temporary mcd), but there's a happy ending!

zeus saying he's going to make athena's "kingdom fall" doesn't make sense unless you consider. the lightning bolt she takes to the face gives her brain damage.

no one notices at first. Athena brushes it all off, goes to odysseus, oversees their long-awaited reunion. stays in their house after- because it's not like they'll be around forever, after all. and she can do her work just as well from down here- there's no need, to be honest, to go back to Mount Olympus. anyone who needs her comes to Ithaka, and she's content, for the first time in a very, very long time.

and then one day odysseus comes across her seizing on the floor.

she doesn't know the details of what happened- only remembers the first terrified scream of horror, remembers warm hands on her face and being carried to a bed, remembers Penelope's voice shaking as she drags a wet cloth across her forehead. comes to confused and mute minutes later, wandering around and stumbling into walls, unresponsive to the voices begging her to stop, to rest.

finally, she reaches a familiar room with a familiar face, and she touches Telemachus on the cheek lightly before collapsing onto the nearest chair. panicked voices chatter above her and calloused palms lift her face up to meet her own grey eyes, worried and scared, and it finally dawns on her that something has gone terribly wrong.

(later she will find out odysseus held her and sobbed the whole night, knowing more than anyone else what had happened to her and what it meant; he'd taken the throne at thirteen for the same reason, after all)

(later she will find out that penelope wrote to every ally they had within the hour for healers and literature; letting more than half their cleverly planned schemes fall through in exchange for it as she begged)

(later, she will find out that telemachus went running barefoot through the market, banging on doors and shouting for the healers and making the alarmed roused villagers sing prayers for her even though it was the middle of the night)

she recovers under the attention; court abandoned in favour of emergency, odysseus proclaims when he bullies her into placing her head in his lap so he can massage her aching head, not having left her side for six straight days in a row. penelope comes in every few hours, feeding her the olives from the wedding bed she lies in, unable to move, and brushes out her hair. telemachus barely shows during the days, but he comes in every evening without fail, curling up by her side and hugging her tight.

but it happens again. and again and again, and each time she regains consciousness in one of the royal family's arms, no matter where she was at the time. she never remembers it, only has the disgusting taste in her mouth and dried spit on her chin and tears in the eyes of those around her to know it happened.

she loses time as well- has no idea how long it's been happening until she becomes aware of the sound of Odysseus' calm, steady voice dragging her out of a trance, gentle fingers tracing her palm as they stand next to an unassuming tapestry. she'll be walking one moment and be lost to everything around her the next, staring at nothing.

Odysseus has done this all before, she realises one day, when he seamlessly pulls her out of another relapse and ropes her into a cheerful, easy conversation about goats that Athena keeps having stilted replies to.

"Do you know how to do this because-" She murmurs, and his eyes go wide and then grieving.

"Yes," He murmurs sadly, and Athena feels guilt settle in her belly at making him go through this again. He massages at her temples, and she closes her eyes, listening to the smile in his voice. "But there is no hardship, Pallas Athena. The sadness is that you have to go through this, not for the taking care of a cherished one."

"And anyways, Laertes suffered madness in the wake of a terrible fever and the stress of a famine," Penelope says without looking up from the newest scrolls they'd received. Athena feels the guilt worsen at the sleep bags under her eyes, when she knew the reason and just didn't have the courage to- "Your sudden collapses could be due to this one witch curse we found, or perhaps a-"

"It was Zeus."

The room falls silent as two heads slowly turn to look at her.

"What?" Odysseus says quietly, with barely withheld rage.

Athena takes a shuddering breath. "I am sorry, my Penelope, that I didn't have the courage to tell you before." Penelope leaves the desk to cross the room to her, and Athena feels tears prick at her eyes as the queen takes her hand. "But when I petitioned the court of Olympus, Zeus did not take kindly to everyone agreeing to me over him- and such was his punishment. To make-"

Her breath hitches in a sob and she notes with surprise that she's crying. Penelope and Odysseus are both crying with her, staring down in horror.

"To make my kingdom fall, he said," Athena whispers, shoulders jerking oddly as she forces it out, acknowledges what he'd done. "But my kingdom is the mind and-"

Odysseus lets out an animal cry of sorrow and descends on her, pulling her to his chest as she breaks down into shivering tears, the fear running through her as she realises the scale, the enormity of the consequences. Penelope stands by the bed and trembles with anger for a full minute, before she crumples too, crawling into their bed and pressing Athena tight between them.

"I forget things," She confesses in a whisper, shaking. "I blank out during fights, cannot recall certain strategies- I- I do not know how much worse-"

"Easy, darling, easy," Penelope whispers in a rush, stroking her face. Odysseus really is so lucky to have her as a wife, she thinks disjointedly, pressing into the gentleness. "Don't say that. It won't get worse."

"And even if it does," Odysseus continues, pressing a kiss to her cheek, where the lichtenberg scars cross her right eye, to her brow. "We will write down everything you know, copy it a hundred times and keep it safe. So you will never forget."

"And we will find you a Lytrakas owl, to keep you safe when we are no longer here to do it," Penelope murmurs, lips brushing Athena's neck as she speaks. She relaxes finally under the combined reassurances, at the solutions and possibilities that would work, finding a content she has never achieved before in their embrace. "We will keep you safe, our goddess."

And they do. When she teaches the children of Ithaka sparring, at least one of them is there, ready to intervene smoothly if they sense something wrong. They make the books they promised her, and she sends it to her realm, so she doesn't lose them. They cannot come with her when she has to travel- she wouldn't ask it of any of them- but Telemachus is always humming a hymn when she's away so she remembers where to return. When she dissociates in the middle of talking, Penelope guides her over to the loom so she can weave until she feels better, muscle memory kicking in enough for it to help the gradual lift of the fog.

Odysseus always somehow knows when she's about to have a seizure, in the forty years after that they spend together. In all her time in Ithaka, she never woke up from one without the familiar gravely cadence of Odysseus singing under his breath above her, head in his lap and Telemachus perched on her thighs or Penelope by her shoulders.

But it can't last forever.

Odysseus kicks her out of the room when he dies, Penelope's breath already slowing on the bed behind him, peaceful in the way that means she won't survive the night. They all know Odysseus will go with her, and Athena feels herself tremble as Odysseus gently guides her outside.

"You are not watching us pass," He tells her firmly, as she opens her mouth to scream at him. He's an old man now, but his eyes are the same, and the different versions of him flash in front of her eyes as he gives her a crooked smile. "I will not have you watch, are you crazy?"

"Odysseus," She chokes out, gripping tight onto her spear.

"My beautiful, wonderful goddess," Odysseus murmurs adoringly, leaning up to press their foreheads together. She sobs. "Thank you. For everything. And know-" His breath hitches. "-know that, for the rest of your existence, remember it- that you were loved."

"How can I ever forget?" She smiles back through the tears. "I will never be the same."

"My Athene," He whispers, swaying them back and forth. She closes her eyes, trembling, and pulls him into their last embrace, last touch.

"You will always be my favourite," She confesses, half-laugh, half-sob.

Odysseus smirks at that, a trace of smugness, then turns to a sobbing, chuckling Telemachus, who's also been kicked out, pulls them both in a hug. "We will meet again, my son," he murmurs. "But Penelope is waiting for me now. Goodnight."

He closes the door, two bright last flashes of smiles aimed at them as it shuts and Athena and Telemachus both fall to pieces.

Telemachus takes twice the care of her than his parents did, somehow juggling ruling the kingdom and spending as much time as he can with her as he can. His wife is sly and mischievous, more fox than owl- but Athena loves her too, just as she loves their children. Telemachus goes with a smile on his face and an arrow in his heart, having taken an arrow for someone else, holding Athena's hand as he laughs for the last time.

It is horrible and she wanders around desolately for days, grieving. But then she sees bright eyes spying on her from behind a bush, carefully watching her to see if she's alright and Athena smiles and goes back to continue the legacy.

For 500 years, Ithaka does not fall- when it does, she makes sure the grey-eyed children all make it off the island, scattering on the mainland as at last, her job is done.

Which means there is nothing left for her here, and it is time to go back to Mount Olympus.

She's met with teasing quips and pointed comments, but general ignorance, no one bothering to ask where she was. After almost six hundred years of care, it feels untethering and strange, but the grief of losing Ithaka makes her relieved for it, even if she has to lie down sometimes, press her face into the roots of the olive tree scattered about in her realm and pretend there are three sets of hands in her hair, a familiar voice humming above her.

How did you do it, she wants to ask Penelope. How did you survive knowing what you were missing, she wants to ask Odysseus. Will you sit with me one last time, she wants to ask Telemachus.

Eventually, she can no longer bear the quiet, and one evening she sets out and crosses the pantheon floor to go gently sit down in Apollo's room.

Artemis is there, slouched on the floor with mud in her hair and an arrow in her eye as Apollo chides her. They both look up when she comes in, bowing and worriedly asking if something was wrong.

"Nothing," she says, ignoring the pang of sadness that that would be the only reason she was here. But the idea of leaving back to the books written in Odysseus' horrible chickenscratch penmanship is worse, and she takes a tentative seat in the corner. "Continue your work."

They do so hesitantly, conversation slower and interspersed with bouts of asking her if she wanted ambrosia or a new dish or something while she was here. She declines.

She feels awkwardness radiating off all three of them as she leaves an hour later, but it doesn't stop her from coming back again, stubborn. She will hold a conversation this time- it has been two decades since Ithaka, but that is nothing to her, and she cannot have forgotten how so soon.

Apollo seems to have prepared for the same thing this time, lighting up with a pleased grin like he wasn't sure she would come. "Enter!" He says cheerfully. "Come here, give me your wisdom on this piece I've been composing- I know, I know, owls are not songbirds, but just see if you can help, it's driving me mad-"

Athena closes her mouth and listens to the melody quietly. Thinks about how Telemachus' third daughter would have spun it, added her Ithakan folk style to it, interspersed the perfection with carefree, imperfect beats.

"May I?" She asks, holding her hands out, and Apollo's mouth drops, even as he scrambles to hand her the lyre. She concentrates, trying to pull the melody out from the strings. "Here," she says, manifesting her spear and shield and handing it to an increasingly wild-eyed Apollo. "Bang them together. Create a tempo."

They create something of a passing song in the next few hours until Athena's headache makes its way to the forefront and she has to retreat. Apollo accompanies her across the floor to her room, pressing herbs onto her even as he chatters a mile a minute, excitedly going on and on about new ideas and begging Athena to come by again. She smiles, briefly, and promises to return when she is free, going back to her pallet under the olive trees.

(She cannot bear to sleep anywhere else.)

The next day, Apollo is busy creating new songs and she knows better than to disturb him. She turns and goes to his twin's realm instead, shedding her armour for bark and a bow. Artemis and her women look as equally terrified as Apollo did at the start, looking at her like she's lost her mind, but they all straighten up when Athena raises an eyebrow and silently descend on the night.

"You must teach me!" Artemis enthuses at the end of it. She does not do anything other than scowl often, but she looks more like her twin than ever now, as she beams up at her. "I never knew there were so many strategies, how much smoother-"

"Peace," Athena chuckles, amused. "I will teach you, sister. Next fortnight?"

"Aye," Artemis says, hair matted and covered in filth, eyes sparkling.

"Here," Athena says, taking out her own ribbon- one of the many she has from Penelope, braided in her hair from all those years ago- and turns Artemis around to tie her mess of a mane out of her eyes. "Do not impede your vision in the name of wildness."

"Okay," Artemis squeaks quietly, and Athena snorts and squeezes her shoulder as she departs.

She sits in Aephastus' forge next, watching him create weapon after weapon, with the best of each round being blessed onto a blacksmith in the mortal world.

"Come to see if my work is up to par, Pallas Athena?" Aephastus says self-deprecatingly, a flash of resigned hurt in his eyes.

"No. I wish to learn," Athena decides suddenly, pushing herself up and removing her helmet at the blast of heat that comes from the forge as she nears. "It is shameful, I think, that I know not how my own tools are made."

Aephastus stares at her with surprise, then his kind eyes crinkle into a smile. "Only if you let me replace that," He nods to her admittedly rather dented helmet. "I have been wanting to fix your armour to something respectable for centuries."

Athena laughs.

Of course, once it is done, she has to use it. It fills her with excitement she had almost forgotten, the idea of a good, difficult spar, and she barges into Aphrodite's realm and bangs on the edge of the bed with her new spear, making the occupants screech and jump in fright.

"Good evening," She nods at Aphrodite, who looks to the side and then back at her as if she'll find an explanation somehow, stunned. She turns to her brother, and tries on a grin. "Ares, my brother. Would you care to spar? Aephastus has gifted me this new set and I find myself eager to test it out."

"...Are you fucking possessed?" Ares asks her, flabbergasted, and she clicks her tongue and smacks him upside the head.

"Yes or no?" She says, crossing her hands.

"Y- yes, yes!" Ares blurts out, straightening up. He looks something approaching disbelieving excitement, a small, tentative grin appearing on his face. "You are... not joking, right?"

"Do I look like I joke?" Athena jokes, smiling. Ruffles his hair in a bout of fondness. "You are the only one who will actually give me a good fight, as erratic as you are. I look forward to it."

"What did I FUCKING MISS?" Aphrodite shrieks after her as she goes. "Wha- Athena, get back here, you better have not fallen in love while I wasn't looking-!"

But Athena's not ready to face Aphrodite just yet, so she takes advantage of their height difference and strides back to her realm as her sister chases her, shouting.

The next day, they meet in the arena, and Athena feels herself freeze up as soon as she steps in. Sees the lightning scorch marks on the ground she had almost forgotten, and cannot move.

"ATHENA!" Ares booms, snapping her out of it. "TODAY YOU WILL MEET YOUR DEFEAT AT MY HANDS AT LAST!"

"WHY ARE YOU SO ANNOYING," She shouts back automatically, and Ares bursts out in a peal of laughter, surprised out of him. She knows he has three aspects- the boyish glory-seeker, the soldier filled with bloodlust, the hardened warrior- but Athena thinks the first one suits him best.

He readjusts his grip on his sword and grins. "Begin!"

She continues this, finding a strange happiness she never had before in meeting all the other gods, major and minor. She'd never known how intimidated they all were by her, but they open up readily enough, bringing her peace for a little while as she sits with them.

(She avoids Aphrodite, who is getting increasingly more frazzled by the day as she fails to find a hidden lover that does not exist and then switches to trying to find Athena a companion when it is clear that there is no one, in a comic game of chase around the realms that is a great source of amusement to everyone else.

She avoids Hermes too, because it hurts too much to see him. But she leaves him a book of riddles once in a while, when he's away, and he always takes it.)

Hera walks in her room one day, with her train of peacocks and attendants.

"God-Queen," Athena bows, setting her weaving down.

"Athena," Hera nods back. "I hear you have been visiting your siblings."

Athena nods, confused. "Yes?"

Hera studies her and Athena shifts, wondering what she's seeing. "The Pantheon is no longer silent, you know. The Olympians meet in the court almost every day, sharing their gifts with each other. Something I have found out is because of you."

Athena has no idea where this is going.

Hera shifts closer, opening her mouth to say something, then her eyes catch on the weaving, widening in shock. "What is that?"

Athena looks down, also unaware of what exactly she'd made. Then her heart skips a beat in fear.

"No, no, no, no," Athena snaps to her feet, shaking her hands out in dismissal, trying to stop the impending damage. "This is not what you think it is."

Hera's eyes are getting wider and wider, a manic grin on her face. "Athena! A wedding veil? Do you-"

"No!" Athena interrupts. "No, Hera, it's nothing like that, please-"

"Nonsense!" Hera says, grabbing it from her and holding it to the light, grinning wider than Athena has seen from her in years. "You must have made it for a reason. Do not worry daughter, I know you are shy, I will handle it all."

"Hera, it really is not like that!" She pleads. "I was simply weaving- I made a fisherman's garb the other day as well, it does not mean I want to get out into the sea!"

"Have you made the rest of the outfit as well?" Hera says excitedly, ignoring her as she moves to the wardrobe to rifle through. "Oh, Athena, how beautiful! Is this what you would like to wear?"

She pulls out a men's wedding outfit and Athena stops protesting to stare in disbelief. When had she made that?

"I must go announce this to the others," Hera squeals, bangles jangling. "Oh, I had almost given up on you, dear, but you have made me so happy today! I would have arranged something for you so long ago, why didn't you tell me you were interested?"

"Because I am not," She groans, pulling her hands down over her face. "Hera, please, I do not even have anyone-"

"Easily remedied," Hera dismisses her with the wave of a hand as she strides off. "Oh Aphrodite, you won't believe what I just found in your sister's closet! Look!"

A deafening din rises from the crowd there and Athena is forced to tackle Hera to the ground.

She laughs, surprisingly, and tosses the outfit over to Aphrodite, who snatches it up with a scream of excitement. Athena is immediately flanked by a crowd of screaming gods, each talking over the other, and Athena has to bellow at them all for two hours before the misunderstanding is cleared.

"Oh, but you really have outdone yourself with this one," Aphrodite gushes appreciatively as she lands next to a panting Athena. She turns it back and forth. "So soft, and such patterns! The Ithakan style, yes?"

Then her smile drops like a stone as she hears her own words and freezes, and Athena's stomach swoops, heart skipping a beat as she stops breathing. Aphrodite turns to her slowly, cold horror in her eyes, realisation solidifying at the terrified, raw, pained expression on Athena's face.

"The Ithakan style," She repeats in a whisper, horrified grief creeping into her voice. "Athena-"

Athena snatches the outfit from her and closes herself off in her realm, breathing hard in the dim blue light of the olive tree orchard. She suddenly realises she's holding the robes against her chest and unfolds it hurriedly to look at them.

It is the Ithakan style. It is, in fact, a mix of Penelope's and Odysseus' wedding outfits, in her size.

She throws it into a trunk and screams.

She does not know if Aphrodite tells Hera, but the latter does not stop coming by every day to pester her for details of an imaginary wedding.

So now she has three gods to avoid.

But of course, the effects of her affliction cannot be hidden forever. She gets up one day from the Pantheon floor to retrieve the threads from her room to be used in the game they are playing, and feels the room swim in a familiar, hated manner, and she only has a moment to feel dread before she tilts sideways and falls.

When she regains consciousness, she feels for a moment the delicate hands on her cheeks, the weight of a young man on her belly, the gravely singing above her- and then it dissipates and she becomes aware of shouting all around her.

"Can you hear me? Athena, can you hear me?" Hera says, shaking her. "WILL SOMEONE FIND APOLLO?"

Athena moans and pushes off the hands on her body, bruising in their panic. She pushes herself up, ignoring the dizziness. "Do not bother."

"Athena, what on Gaia was that?" Ares demands, ashen. "Have I injured you? What-"

"It is of no concern," Athena snaps, getting to her feet and glaring at them, mortification blazing through her. "All I need is rest. Goodnight."

They shout after her, but she's already at her room, closing the shields back up. It nearly knocks her out again to do so, and she barely drags herself to her bed before she collapses.

"What are you staring at?" Hypnos asks her the next day, confused. Athena blinks and realizes she's standing between the thrones, facing an odd patch of wall and losing time.

"Nothing," She sighs, and hefts her spear and walks away.

She fends off all other questions, curt and snapping, and the others uneasily let it go. She has not forgotten her purpose, after all, and will not do anything less than a perfect job, even with this impediment.

Yet-

"Athena," Aphrodite shakes her, and Athena blinks as she comes to herself. It is night, Pantheon bathed in blue and both of them in their nightclothes. Aphrodite is crying and Athena's face is wet.

"What-?" She murmurs.

"You were calling out for Odysseus," Aphrodite whispers, sounding stricken. "Asking him to stop hiding from training. Then laughing with nothing and telling Penelope to stop tormenting your allies."

It hits her straight in the sternum, making her gasp with grief that hits her so hard it feels new, and oh, she misses them, she misses them, she misses them so.

She sobs, and Aphrodite brings her close, holding her as she shakes.

"What is happening, sister? Why is this happening? Please, tell us," Aphrodite pleads. "We only want to help." She pushes her back to stare at her. "It cannot be just for them- something else happened to you."

Athena cannot reply for weeping, and Aphrodite's face crumples on seeing her tears. "You loved them." She says, her own voice catching tears. "You loved them so much, didn't you? That's who the dress was for. Them."

Athena sobs louder and doesn't reply.

Zeus' eldest daughter has not talked to him for over eight hundred years.

He still burns with anger some days, on remembering her insolence, her disrespect for his orders. Yet, now it has cooled off and he rather misses her quiet presence, her wit. She is angry with him in turn, cold and formal when they talk, never meeting his eyes.

"How fares Athena?" He asks casually one day. Hera stops removing her earrings and looks up at him sharply- she's been frosty with him since that day as well, disapproving of his actions. "I have not seen her in quite some time."

"That is of your own design," Hera replies blandly. "She spends time often with her siblings now. I am quite proud of her for it, actually- it is no mean a feat to get the entire Pantheon to sit down and indulge in few games without bloodshed."

"Games?" Zeus frowns. "With the others? Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"

"Well, if you left your realm ever, you would know." Hera says distractedly, shrugging as she takes off her necklace. "They gather in the courtroom, usually."

The wind blows in, blows out.

Zeus ponders on this in silence, thinking of what to do next. Perhaps he should extend the first hand, since she had followed all the rules. He remembers her on the ground, beaten and burning, one hand extended to beg him to let that insolent hero she had pinned all her hopes on leave Ogygia. Frowns again in discomfort at the memory.

Her gamble paid off. Even as the Greek Pantheon declined in power, the story of her hero persisted to give the gods power, to keep them remembered.

Wise Athena, he thinks fondly. Smarter than him, he can admit now.

Zeus is just about to ask Hera if Athena would appreciate a spar when the rustle of fabric past the door of their realm catches his attention.

"Who is there?" He calls out, and Hera turns as well to look. No one enters and they both look to each other with a frown.

Quick footsteps sound out and both of them push themselves to their feet immediately, armed and tense as they rush to the door.

"Athena?" Hera calls out, confused, as they look down over the empty courtroom, Athena pacing erratically silently alone in the middle, no lights on. She does not reply. "Athena!"

Zeus feels foreboding creep up on him as they carefully walk down. "What are you doing up, Athena?" He calls out, voice authoritative. Hera glares at him, and he amends his tone, gentling it. "Is something the matter?"

Athena does not stop walking, at that same hurried pace, turning around at the end of the hall and continuing back towards them, ignoring his words. Zeus feels irritation spark, but the sudden glimpse of his daughter's eyes makes the words die on his tongue, unseeing and glazed over. She does not have her armour on, and her hair is tangled and open, he suddenly realises, along with the growing certainty that something is wrong.

And then Athena drops to the ground and starts seizing.

"ATHENA!" They scream as one, and all the gods of the Pantheon come awake, lamps catching fire as they all come stumbling out of their rooms and realms. Zeus reaches out and holds her hands down as she starts clawing at herself, drawing blood. The others start shouting and crying around them, Athena's head snapping back and forth gruesomely, eyes bleeding ichor. "Athena, gather yourself!" He shouts at her. "Cease this- cease this at once, you are stronger than this!"

"She cannot hear you!" Hera cries, falling to her other side, trying to straighten Athena out from the fetal position she is curling into with painful, stuff jerks. "She never does- she doesn't-"

"This has happened before?" Zeus bellows, outraged. His answer comes in the form of Ares pulling her weapons off her body, the ones who can't help holding onto each other and hiding their faces in each other's shoulders or staring at Athena with fear as they sob.

Her arm slips Zeus' grip and swings at him erratically before he can grab it again. It nearly knocks him down, so powerful in its animal madness that he actually feels his aspect waver to half its size for a moment- but he is her father and he pulls himself together enough to stay standing, pinning her down again.

"No, let her go!" Apollo shouts as he sits down besides them in his night robes, flipping through an old book of some kind, barely holding in his own panic and fear. "Don't hold her down, give her space."

Zeus grimaces but lets her go, feeling nausea and fear rise within him as she writhes and twists, unhearing of Hera's desperate sobs for her to stop. "What is happening to her?" He demands, unable to watch. He is furious, lightning blazing in his hands as he itches to find the culprit, to find who dared to do this. "Who did this to her?"

"I do not know," Apollo says horrifically, lips pressed thin, eyes flicking up to her and then back down to the book. "But I found this in her realm- she apparently is aware of it, this is some sort of book of instructions on the affliction-"

"Give me that," Zeus growls, snatching it away, and flipping through it. "Go get a bed," He instructs, the other Olympians springing up to do so immediately, desperate to help. "Olive- olive branches, she wakes to branches. Get water- no, get ambrosia, get a cloth to wipe her face. A change of clothes. A cold compress, if she has fever. It will stop on its own, let it run its course- Muses, what is this?"

"A lullaby," Euterpe says, pulling the book down to scan it. "From old Ithaka, if I'm not mistaken."

The gods all stop and stare at her. "Ithaka?" Zeus repeats, flipping to the front of the book. "Who has written this-"

"PENELOPE!" Athena screams suddenly, making them all jump in fright. Her back arches to a painful degree, spit running down the side of her mouth as her eyes roll back in her head. "PENELOPE, TELEMACHUS-"

Aphrodite puts her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes shut, just as Athena takes a deep breath in and screams louder than before, "ODYSSEUS!"

(In life, he had only failed her once. But now he is dead, and cannot come.)

"Odysseus, please," She moans, in the old Greek that has not been used in decades. "You promised to help, please- Penelope, where are- where is- Telemachus, please-"

Zeus feels his heart break as proud, strong Athena breaks down on the floor, calling for mortals clearly much dearer to her than they thought. But it's not the end of it- he flips through the book again, desperately searching for something to stop this, a cause, an enemy- and then he sees his own name.

Curse proud Zeus, may his life never be happy, may his legacy forever be tainted, Odysseus has written, the letters harsh and burning with fury, even though the curse means nothing from a mortal, even though he risked the ire of the gods writing it. Below it, in what must be Penelope's neat handwriting, an equally furious and clipped diagnosis is penned- brain damage, extensive but occasional, caused by a lightning bolt to the face, that targeted her realm's power and left her with seizures, memory loss and dissociation.

A lightning bolt to the face.

Zeus stands there numbly, as the Pantheon scrambles and chatters worriedly around him, hesitantly singing along to the lullaby in the book as Athena continues to shake, unresponsive. His fault. It is his fault that she is like this, that she is left reduced to calling for dead mortals, crying blood over her siblings' feet.

He did not mean to, he thinks, feeling small and pathetic and monstrous. He did not mean for this to happen- only wanted to teach her a lesson, keep his pride; had not meant for her realm to sustain damage for so long. He thought she'd healed. He thought she hadn't been hurt, past the scar on her face that he'd felt vaguely guilty about, from time to time.

How stupid he was.

"Athena," He whispers, aching to reach out, but she screams again and it's drowned out completely. His daughter. All his own, no longer his- because she was never angry at all, these past years; she simply no longer saw him as her father. And why should she, when he has done the unforgivable, when he has done what no other had managed to do, and broken her.

What has he done?

"We are here," Hera says desperately, taking Athena's head in her lap. Ares sings creakily next to her, offtune and shaking. "We are here, love."

"Odysseus," Athena wails, unseeing. "Penelope, Telemachus."

Zeus steps back to let the others rush in, each providing their own solutions, some calling to Athena entreatingly to guide her back to herself. He is not needed here- he does not deserve it, and knows not what more damage he will wreak.

I am sorry, he wants to tell her, as froth escapes her mouth like a rabid dog. I am so sorry, I beg forgiveness, my daughter, please let me fix it.

But she cannot hear him and Zeus raises his head to look for Hermes instead. The messenger god is standing at the very back, well out of view, with a blank face as he meets Zeus' gaze. He feels a surge of fury at the lack of caring, before he remembers that Athena's hero and his son were descendants of Hermes- and sees past the facade to see the other's gods multiplied distress at that fact, unable to come forward to help without possibly making it worse with the likeness.

Zeus inclines his head and then tilts it towards Hades pointedly. Hermes twitches in surprise, then nods determinedly, running off.

Zeus exhales and looks back at Athena as she finally calms, breathing hard. Shoulders slump in relief, frightened muttering taking its place- this wasn't supposed to happen to gods, to Olympians.

Zeus steps forward and brushes her hair out of her eyes as Athena loses consciousness, as they pull her onto a makeshift palanquin and prepare to take her to her room.

"I am sorry," He whispers to her, but it is far, far too late.

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