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Language:
English
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Published:
2018-07-16
Completed:
2018-07-16
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2,666
Chapters:
3/3
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Two beings, but one set of prints

Summary:

three times Kratos carries Atreus

Notes:

ive never been interested in the God of War franchise until the Dad of Boy game, so just....take this lol

Chapter 1: sick

Chapter Text

The truth of Atreus’ sickness wasn’t completely truthful; yes, his godhood and mortalhood clashed, yet Atreus was still a child born early, born little, born sickly. So while that intense comatic fever never returned, others did; it was not uncommon for him to fall ill especially in the cold weather, and unfortunately it was cold nigh all the time.

Today was no different; the weather was cold, but the earth was muddy; the snow had begun to melt, making the dirt wet and mushy, which was helpful for tracking a deer through the woods. Yet the wetness sank into Kratos’ boots, and no doubt his son’s too; they’d trekked for days now, chasing this particular buck deep within the green and far from home.

Kratos waited for Atreus to catch up, eyeing along the horizon for a sign of the buck; the boy was falling behind on the hike and though Kratos would very much like to continue onwards, his boy was tired, wheezing, muffling coughs in his tunic. Kratos turned back to the path.

“Boy.”

Atreus hurried his pace, though his lungs could not take enough air to compensate for his movements; he coughed, though his grip upon his bow was strong enough that the pit of worry did not run as deep as before in Kratos. “Did you find the tracks again?” His eyes were alert, ready for a battle, but Kratos was not deterred.

“Come,” he pressed the back of his fingers to Atreus’ brow, just as Freya taught him; there was heat there, noticeable even with how fast Atreus pulled away.

“I’m fine!” His face took a determined turn, something Faye may have called a pouting glare. “I’m not sick.” But the coughs came then, and Kratos gently pushed his son off the pathway.

“We will find a clearing to stop. Then head back home in the morning.”

Atreus persisted, however, that he was well; he sniffled, and trotted along as quick as possible. “I can go on! We’re so close, Father, and the buck was ginormous; enough meat for weeks!” At no change in his father’s demeanor, Atreus stomped his foot in frustration. “I’m ready!”

At that, such a simple saying carrying so much weight, Kratos turned and knelt; he took his son’s shoulders in his mighty hands. “I know you are; however, there is no weakness in resting when needed. You are ill, and I would rather not relive a life threatening episode again.”

Atreus’ face eased; his brows unfurled, and he turned his eyes downwards in deference. “Yes, sir; sorry, sir.”

With a reassuring huff, Kratos stood again; as they walked along, Atreus went about gathering kindling for their fire. They found a clearing near a stream and Kratos announced this would be their camp for the night; as Atreus began to set up a firepit, Kratos filled their water skins and took inventory of what food they had left on this journey. Plenty enough to last their trek back home, and there would always be another buck; Kratos handed his son a roll of bread and strips of jerky.

They ate in silence by the roaring fire as the sun set; Atreus ate slowly, little bites of bread and barely touched the jerky. Feeling his father’s gaze on him, Atreus offered the meat to him and Kratos accepted only to not waste it.

“Finish the bread,” Kratos near growled and Atreus did, however slowly, though he clearly tore the bread to crumbs; Kratos brushed the leftovers from Atreus’ tunic, helping the sleepy boy remove his bow and quiver. “Rest now; we will move in the morning.”

Atreus was happy to obey and he curled by Kratos’ side; Kratos needed less sleep, so he stays alert. The fire was stoked, kept aflame, and when Atreus shivered in the night Kratos pulled him closer. The night was a long one, but a quiet one and when the sun began to rise Kratos doused the fire which awakened Atreus. A brief meal of fresh berries found near the river, accompanied by warmed bread by the fire, and Kratos lead the way through the underbrush.

Atreus was quiet during the journey and Kratos ensured to keep his pace slow to accommodate; as the day continued, however, Atreus grew worse. His coughs could no longer be hidden, and there was something sticky that could be heard in his throat; his lungs tired from the effort until Kratos couldn’t take it anymore. He waited for Atreus to catch up and then pushed the boy to sit on a boulder nearby.

Atreus’ breathing was stunted; it wheezed through his throat in an uneven rhythm and he leaned heavily upon his knees. The rock was rough beneath him, but he was too thankful for a reprieve of movement that he didn’t care. Kratos let him be, opting to scout ahead while Atreus tried to catch his breath, and upon his return Kratos took a knee in the mud.

Atreus still struggled to breath properly, stifling coughs for there wasn’t enough air to breath and dislodge the phlegm; still, his body wanted the phlegm gone and so it robbed him of the air in his lungs. He leaned further forward, supported by Kratos, and let the sickness come out; it dribbled down his chin, thick and disgusting, and Kratos wiped the strands away.

Blessedly, the coughing stopped and Kratos eased his son into a sitting position again; he was pale and gasping, and Kratos made a decision.

He fit his hands beneath Atreus’ arms, lifting the boy with ease as he stood in one fluid motion; he may be nine, but Kratos was a god and Atreus was small. Carrying his son was no feat, and he stepped easily over a fallen log as Atreus rested his head upon Kratos’ shoulder. One arm clung to the back of his armor as the other curled between them, and the boy’s eyes slowly fluttered shut; lulled by his father’s warmth and the safety he provided, Atreus easily fell asleep.

His lungs had calmed, his body relaxing, breath puffing softly against his father’s neck as Kratos carried him home.