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Existence was quiet after his trials. It had been two years since he survived Triumvirate’s attempt to destroy the world. It took him some getting used to, but Apollo was doing all the things he had always done, traveling through the sunny sky, sitting in a golden throne, gossiping with his sister. He was also visiting his children more frequently, a habit he'd acquired. On the surface, he was fine, a better god, much more compliant, at least to mortal standards.
However, in the back of his mind, none of it was enough. Not since he got his divinity back. Even when he was multitasking - being omnipresent - he would still feel it bothering him. Deep down, that emptiness was there, an itch.
If it were a different time in history, he would've denied the feeling, buried it, made some bold, stupid choices and would've just kept on living. But he was no longer that Apollo.
Zeus had once again made him human and he almost died, for good. His father's idea of educating him was making him human. He could do as he pleased with Apollo, his dear son, his greatest puppet.
The memories of his trials were enough to kill his mood, so he pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, but his feelings didn't subside. There was something wrong with him. After all, he had also lost many inhibitions, many friends. He had to re-kill one of his ex-lovers. Had to stab himself with an arrow. He had lost a brother.
"Remember what it's like to be human."
Oh. He would never forget.
He'd felt vulnerable before, but not like this. Sometimes noises startled him more than they should. His heartbeat raced fast, pumping ichor throughout his body. He knew something had changed. For good.
It was a day like all the others. The sun went up and down, but an unusual quietness poured over him and he'd started feeling guilty about most of his life choices. The tightening lump on his throat increased up to the point that he couldn't take it anymore. Enough was enough.
And that's how he found himself crying at his best friend’s California home.
"You can't keep torturing yourself forever, Lester."
Lester, the name his father chose to punish him, but also the name that gave him Meg. Apolo and Lester were the same. It didn't bother him anymore. In fact, he chose to wear an adapted version of Lester's body after became a god again.
He was shaking so much he wished he could die. However, the itch reminded him, he would exist forever.
"Meg, I am so scared. I am so – so tired," he sobbed.
"What for?" She hugged him. "It's okay."
"Don't think I can do this anymore, being a god."
"Apollo."
She would never call him by his birth name. Her posture was suddenly adjusted and her eyes looked deep into his soul.
"Breathe, please.” Meg patted his back. “I can't mock you right now, but you are a god, want it or not. You bring sunlight to people's homes, music and poetry that fills the soul. You are not a monster," she continued.
His breathing stabilized and he managed to speak without stuttering.
"Every day I fly through the sky and I'm afraid I'll suddenly fall and get injured! It's ridiculous, but I'm scared! I'm scared all the time! I'm terrified that I might come over and you won't be here anymore. I'm scared everyone will hate me for who I was, for what I've done," he paused. Tears were rolling down his face and he couldn't look Meg in the eyes. She was just a kid, but she knew hell, too. "I am scared I don't know who I am anymore."
She hugged him tighter. It was soothing enough that his pain was numbed.
They were embraced for a while, then she made lavender tea and forced him to drink until he'd fully stopped crying.
"It must be hard, being eternal," she admitted, drinking tea next to him.
"It really is," he sighed. "For me, it feels like no matter how much I try, I'll never compensate for my mistakes. It makes me hurt all over my chest."
"It's a good thing you're having these feelings. They're reminding you of how we feel too." She emphasized the word we - mortals.
"I guess. I just don't want to feel horrible about myself. Hell, I don't even know what I look like right now with this weird mix of versions of me!" He looked down at this body in agony.
"Lester, you ARE a mix of them both now. I think you just need to balance them inside this stupid head of yours." She punched him in the arm lightly.
"Yeah, maybe you're right."
He looked around. The house was very different now Meg lived in it. It still had the same magical feeling as it did before, but it gained a new sense of life. Meg's messy plant decorations definitely helped.
He'd realized he didn't even ask if she was fine. And Meg had her own reasons for being hurt.
"Are you okay?" His voice came out quiet.
"What? Why?" She raised her eyebrows behind her glasses. They were still too big for her.
"I always make everything about me, don't I?" He admitted.
Her eyes said 'yes'.
"I'm as fine as I can be. I like being here. I miss my dad, though." She looked down.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, staring out the window. It was dark now, even as a god, he was a bit tired.
"Don't be. It wasn't your fault."
After that, they decided to play some piano. He'd promised to teach her, and Meg was a fast learner, she had picked up the piano and learned a lot for the past two years. The problem was their musical tastes were a bit incompatible, even if he was the god of music himself.
"I want to play that Coldplay song, c'mon Lester, don't be an ass!"
"Why on earth do you even like that song?!" he asked, incredulous.
"It's nice, it's universal. It's a hit for a reason. Now come here and teach me the damn song."
He had to hold back a laugh. He couldn't help but think he was the one that taught her to curse.
If Apolo could be honest, he would tell others she was his little sister. He loved being a weird brother to Meg. It was this feeling that eventually led him to teach her the Coldplay song.
Their class went smoothly. He was still good at learning music by ear, it seemed. Meg was halfway through the song when she became a little distracted by her thoughts, looking ahead, suddenly.
"Lester, I think we should try therapy," she confessed.
Meg never failed to surprise him. Never.
"Really?" He was about to joke, but she was serious. "Oh, wow."
"It's about time we get our shit together, right?" Meg asked. "We both have daddy issues, PTSD and some other unresolved feelings."
"I don't have PT-." she interrupted him.
"Yes, yes you do." Her eyes were dead serious.
She hugged him again, both were facing the piano.
"It's okay not to be okay, dumbass. And it's also okay to seek help. Even if you are a God." She paused. "Your therapist doesn't need to know that though."
He felt a tear creeping on his eye again. Damn it. Was he really about to cry again?
"Will you try it too?"
"Yeah, I think I will. I deserve to be happy. So do you."
And then he was crying again. A tear fell down her cheek, harmonizing with his cries.
"You are my family, Lester. I love you and I need you to be okay."
He used up some of his divine force to control himself from crying any longer. She was right. What mattered was his family, his children, his friends.
"Love you too, dirty glasses."
"Hey! My glasses aren't dirty!"
"Not a single grain of dirt in them. Nope," he mocked her.
"Well" She crossed her arms. "I think it's charming."
"It definitely is, Meg. Sure thing."
They laughed, and she almost punched him.
"So, we're trying therapy, right?"
"Yes." He smiled.