#hypnos just wants to go back to his post and doze ok

[thanzag]

someone who’ll set my heart free

the river styx does not wash away the poison that led to zagreus’ most recent failure. thanatos lends a hand.

than/zag sick fic, meg/zag mentioned in passing as something that is happening but otherwise not really relevant for this story.

fic masterlist here

content warning for mention of the concept of vomiting, but no description of it

Normally when Zagreus walks out of the River Styx and back into the House, it’s as if nothing happened. The adrenaline from his escape attempt (failed, again) will have faded, his injuries are healed over, and he’s as good as new. Normally he either walks right past his father to dip into the lounge and say hello to whomever is inside, or he greets Hypnos and Nyx and goes straight to his room. With Achilles being caught up in his own thoughts about Patroclus lately, there’s not a lot of reason to head to the West Hall, most of the time.

Normally, he doesn’t have to drag himself out onto the steps, the tile, as if the pool is trying to suck him back in. Normally his head isn’t pounding, his skin isn’t hot, and the torchlight doesn’t leave terrible auroras burned into his brain. Normally he is able to get his feet beneath him to stand. Normally, standing isn’t even on a list of problems.

The lingering shades, stuck waiting in line, are looking at him. Chattering amongst themselves. He doesn’t have it in him to care. He drags himself a little further out of the pool and groans. Trying to sit up gets him nowhere.

“You don’t look so good down there!” Hypnos enthuses from above him.

Zagreus isn’t sure when he dozed off — it’s been either an hour or an eternity. He drags his heavy eyelids open and tries to speak, though that doesn’t really work out, either. Hypnos looks down at his clipboard before looking at him again. “I mean it, you look terrible. That satyr poison will make you sick, you know!”

“…thanks,” Zagreus eventually drags out. Why does his throat hurt? Hypnos cocks his head to the side, smiling brightly.

“You’re welcome!” He turns to leave, to head back to his post, and —

“Wait!” It hurts to speak. “Can you — help me?” He swallows. “Please?”

Hypnos turns back to him, quilted cloak billowing as he does. He folds his clipboard against his chest. “What do you need help with, Zagreus?”

Surely Hypnos can tell that this isn’t normal for him, right? Zagreus has come out of the river so many times —

“I need help to my room, I think,” he says after a long moment of Hypnos watching him, and the other man brightens again.

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so? I can’t really leave my post, but I’ll get someone!” Maybe Achilles will help him, if he can be drawn from his thoughts.

At least knowing that he’s emotionally invested in someone else will keep his crush from resurfacing. Or maybe Nyx will help him, though her support has always been more from afar.

Hypnos leaves him there, face pressed against the cold tile, and Zagreus tries to keep it together.

“Oh, you are kidding me,” Meg says, drawing him out of his stupor.

“Thank you Miss Megaera!” Hypnos chirps, and then the sound of him walking away echoes in Zagreus’ ears.

“What did you do, Zagreus?” she murmurs, standing high above him. He recognizes the way she’s standing, even though her face is hard to see from down here. The stalwart ‘this is bullshit’ stance she has so often when she’s gatekeeping him from Asphodel. He groans and tries to turn over onto his back to better look at her, and — eugh. That’s a bad idea.

“…dunno. Sick.”

“And you need help getting to your room,” she says flatly, not-asking, and he hopes she’s willing to take pity on him enough to at least help him stand before she ducks out of this one. Hypnos should have asked anyone but her, even Dusa. Or Cerberus. What he and Meg have is great, but it’s not something borne out of care-taking. This is out of her comfort zone. He’s thinking in dizzy circles when the sound of her saying his name draws him back to reality.

“Zagreus.”

“Yeah, sorry.” He mentally shakes his head — if he really does, he might be sick. “Help me up?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she says — not the expected answer, truly — and then she’s kneeling to scoop him up in her arms.

Moving so quickly does make his head throb, and he spends however-long it is that she is carrying him thinking — of course she can carry me. She’s so strong. She always is. I should have known better. But why —?

The darkness of his room settles onto him before he finds a real answer in his mind. She lays him on the bed, on his back, and he can feel her watching him now. He groans without meaning to, but it’s easier to open his eyes in this low light.

She’s standing at the side of the bed, and she’s got her arms crossed like she’s annoyed. If he had the energy to be sardonic with himself, he’d think that of course she is — she’s always annoyed with him. But he doesn’t, and instead he lets his eyes slide off of her and onto the mirror at the other end of the room. It’s easier than looking at her face right now.

“If you’re going to vomit, don’t get it on me,” she bites out, and he shakes his head even though it does, as expected, make it ache more.

“I won’t. Thanks, Meg.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m not your nursemaid. If you need anything, get Dusa. Or anyone else.” Her words are stern but, more briefly than he can comprehend, her cool hand is touching his forehead. And then she’s gone.

Zagreus falls into a fitful sleep sometime after she leaves, feeling hot and cold in turns in a way that has him wrestling the covers on and off of him. He has terrible fever dreams, reliving past escape attempts. Reliving the feeling of being run through with blades and cut down with — whips, and other things.

When he wakes up again, it’s because he can feel someone watching him. He drags his eyes open and turns his head, expecting to see Nyx, maybe, or possibly (very unlikely) Meg back again. But it’s not either of them.  

“Than?” His voice is pitiful, but at least he can bear to speak, unlike before.

“These things would only happen to you,” is what Than says, lingering at his bedside. Zagreus thinks he’s come a little closer, though that might just be his faulty vision.

“I’m special that way,” Zagreus says with a smile, distantly aware that that’s not a normal response, or even what he meant to say. He has very suddenly become hot, all over, and he tosses the blankets off of him. He’s sweat-soaked.

Than does come closer, now, and touches his head. His hand is so cool on his skin.

“You’re burning up, Zag.” Than sounds either unimpressed or worried. Right now, he can’t tell.

“Yeah, sounds right,” he agrees. Than’s hand moves from his forehead to his cheek, and Zagreus turns his head minutely to press a weak kiss against his palm.

“You’re incorrigible. What happened to you?”

“Mmmh. Satyrs in the temple,” he answers. Nuzzles into Than’s hand. “I’m cold.”

“You threw your blankets off. Of course you are,” Than says dryly, but he pulls the covers back over him anyway. Zagreus privately mourns the absence of the hand on his face.

“Missed you.”

“I know, Zag. I missed you too.” Even dizzy and addled, Zagreus is aware that this is not — being brushed off. He knows it’s sincere, even though Than is curt as ever.

“Come cuddle?” He feels so terrible.

Than frowns, minutely, and even from that Zagreus knows it’s going to be a no. “I can’t stay. But I’ll bring you Mort, alright?”

He just groans an affirmative, nestling a little further into his blanket cocoon.

Than does leave for a moment, returning with Mort in both hands. He presses the little mouse against Zagreus’ chest, tucking it under the blanket. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs. He’s half asleep already, but he doesn’t miss the soft, tentative press of lips to his hot forehead.

He rests again, still fitful. He can’t get comfortable, still sweaty and aching all over, but he does doze. At some point Nyx and Dusa do come through — he thinks someone turns up with an extra blanket, maybe. But it’s easier and more comfortable to just sleep, so he doesn’t put effort into waking.

The next time he does really wake, it’s against his will. Someone is shaking his shoulder, talking to him instead of around him.

“Come on, Zag, sit up.” It’s Than again, and Zagreus is just aware enough to know that it must have been a long time, if Than’s had time to go do work and come back.

He groans but does try to sit up, manages to get an elbow beneath him.

“Whassat?” Than’s holding a corked bottle of glowing liquid.

“I’ve got the antidote. Drink this,” he insists with little preamble, popping the cork out. Zagreus lets Than tip it into his mouth, swallows it down. Almost instantly, he does feel better.

“Than,” he says, swallowing again, licking his lips. He feels refreshed, too. “Thank you.”

“You’re feeling better?” Zagreus blinks slowly, thinking about it.

His head still feels fuzzy, and he’s a little warm. “Probably should rest some more.”

“You must be feeling poorly still to suggest it yourself,” Than says, but he’s smiling that indulgent smile that Zagreus thinks is just for him. “I can stay for a little while, now, if you wanted company.”

“— really?” If he had the energy, he’d be delighted. As it is, he feels warm all over in a way that has nothing to do with his departing fever.

“Yes, really.” Than discards his scythe and sword, leaning them against the wall. He unbuckles his pauldron and leaves it on the floor. And then he’s climbing onto the bed, underneath the blanket, right next to him. “It was hard enough to leave the last time.”

Zagreus turns over and curls against Than’s side, presses his face against his shoulder in lieu of trying to find the right words to say. Than’s arm wraps itself around his back, stroking his spine, and he nuzzles in a little further.

“Glad you’re here,” he does say, and lets himself sleep again.