Work Text:
It’s quiet in the house. The lap of the Styx, the soft susurrations of the shades. Familiar.
The tile is still warm, despite everything.
It is not so dark; Mother is not at her post, nor Hades. It’s only a little effort to feel out Zagreus, near the surface; less effort to know Mother is with Chaos, a grandparent Thanatos is still surprised to know exists.
It is quiet, except—
“Welcome to the House of Hades!” Hypnos chirps, and the whole hall glows a little bit brighter.
Hypnos is so often at his post, when he’s not with Thanatos. Thanatos wonders, again, how he never noticed…
He never noticed a lot of things; he’s not sure how. He supposes he just never came home enough; there was always work and he wanted--wants--so much to help the House. To do what is best for it, because that pleases Mother and when Mother is pleased—
Zagreus changed a lot of things, didn’t he? Brought up a lot.
“Thanatos!” Hypnos says bright, smile spreading wider on his face; Thanatos sets aside thoughts that churn. Thoughts, at least, don’t kill him. Usually. “You’re back already! Didn’t run into anything, did you? Don’t see your name here, so that’s good!”
“I can be careful,” Thanatos says, which isn’t what he wants to say. He doesn’t know what he wants to say. He doesn’t usually, does he?
That didn’t used to matter with Hypnos.
He should go. There is always work; it’s not like his sisters took his work away when they agreed to his request. The one Zagreus is still furious over, the one that makes Megaera’s lips press, the one that—
Maybe he should ask them to change things back. They would.
But—
“Thanatos?” Hypnos asks, that smile faded just a bit.
“Sorry,” Thanatos says, looking away. Crosses his arms, stops.
It’s the lack of sleep--it matters now. It matters the way not wearing proper layers matters with the winter, the way that overheating matters, the way that arrows hurt and animals wound. The way he knows all the parts of himself a way he didn’t before because he doesn’t just see them anymore.
Overwork can kill. He knows that now.
(He still remembers Hypnos’ face terrified, hands covered in gold, and how every breath was blindingly white; he still remembers you have to--you have to breathe and the conversation, after.
The upset.)
(He hates seeing Hypnos’ heart break.)
“Are you busy?” Thanatos asks.
“No,” Hypnos says; Thanatos has no idea if he’s lying. He used to be able to tell. “Is everything all right? Do you need—”
“No,” Thanatos says, then sits down on Hypnos’ couch before he can change his mind.
He needs the rest, and he can’t sleep alone. Overwork kills--if not directly, then all the things he doesn’t notice because he’s never had to, before.
Like breathing.
“How is Lord Ares?” Thanatos asks.
“Oh, um, well, good? Great, even!” Hypnos says, then, “Actually, last time, we went horseback riding, that was neat, it’s a lot different from driving a chariot!” He keeps going, words spilling--not warm, but bright. Familiar. Actually settles on the couch next to Thanatos as he talks about horses, about how green Olympus is right now, about Lord Ares’ smile and just how wasteful they are with the wine because the source is just right there, isn’t that wasteful, Thanatos?
Thanatos nods, head against Hypnos’ shoulder, arms still crossed. Makes a noise.
Hypnos keeps talking.
He’s so tired. Not all the time, but it feels all the time because he rests and then he wakes and then not even a day later he’s tired again. Or he was always tired but didn’t notice, could push it off. He doesn’t know how Zagreus is never tired. Was. A difference of domains, Hermes would say, Charon, Hypnos and his sisters and isn’t Death supposed to rest?
He doesn’t remember. There’s always been work. Work makes Mother happy. It’s best for the House, isn’t it?
Hypnos is talking about flowers. Fields of them, Lady Aphrodite’s gardens, Lord Ares gave him a guided tour, roses and climbing ivy and red, red windflowers that bend in the breeze, that almost look like poppies and how much Hypnos loves them. The shocks of colour scattered throughout because Aphrodite really does know beauty isn’t uniformity, isn’t she amazing, Thanatos? It’s no wonder Lord Ares loves her so much.
Thanatos nods, eyes closed. Hypnos’ cloak is soft against his face, warm.
There’s work to do; no one is here. Just them. Just the Styx gently lapping the steps to the House. Just the shades settling to rest. Just Hypnos, talking bright and easy, words wrapping around him a comfort.
Familiar.
There’s a splash, somewhere. A fish, maybe. They sometimes get in the pool; Hypnos feeds them, though Mother hates it. It’s not very elegant, she says, but Hypnos feeds them anyway.
He wonders how long Mother didn’t speak to Hypnos.
Hypnos is still talking, the words a blend of white noise soothing, shoulder still soft.
It would make Hypnos happy if he sleeps; Thanatos has done so much to upset him lately.
It’s bright, falling asleep. Like being caught.
There’s no one here to see.
He sleeps; the work can wait.