Written before episode 3 because Pyth is my baby.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, unfortunately.
Happy reading!
He wasn't ready.
He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers for the second time in less than a minute. His mouth was dry, his hands were shaking and his head was pounding. His heart was beating so loudly it was a wonder that Jason couldn't hear it.
He was going to fail them.
He had tried to hold on to what little hope he had, tried to ignore the obvious, but it was too late now. The six days they'd had to master the art of bull-leaping had gone by in a blur of terror, nerves and frustration. I'm going to fail them, he thought miserably. I will fail and we will die and everything will be my fault. It was almost too much to bear.
He watched Hercules' sleeping form, wracked with guilt. He knew the older man had been keeping an eye on him during training, for he, more than anyone else, knew that Pythagoras was the weakest link in the chain. Although Hercules hadn't said anything, he hadn't quite been able to hide the disappointment in his eyes.
He resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. By the gods, even Hercules could do it, and he was neither young nor particularly agile. But Pythagoras couldn't, he just couldn't. Except for that one, glorious time where he'd somehow flown over the beast, he hadn't been able to do it. He was too cowardly, too afraid of taking chances, too sure that he would fail even if he tried.
He could feel Jason's eyes on him.
Just thinking about Jason sent a fresh wave of guilt and shame through him. Brave Jason, who had saved him so many times and faced the charging bulls without hesitation. Kind Jason, who had done everything in his power to help him those past six days. Sweet Jason, who whispered encouraging words and believed in him.
He was going to die, too.
And it was all Pythagoras' fault.
He blinked back tears, promising himself that he wouldn't cry. That was exactly what he needed now: to be even more pathetic than he already was. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms so hard they almost drew blood.
He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't cry.
"It's a strange sport, isn't it? Bull-leaping," mused Jason. Pythagoras looked up, his blue eyes meeting the hazel ones he loved so well.
"It's..." He cleared his throat, fervently wishing for some water. "It's not meant for entertainment, but to appease Poseidon. It's supposed to be... strange." As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he realized how blasphemous they were. Go ahead, Pythagoras, offend the Earth Shaker just before he has to decide your fate.
Jason shrugged. "I don't really see the point of it. And yes, I know it's ritualistic," he added as Pythagoras opened his mouth to once again explain the whole deal to him. "But it's still strange."
"Don't they bull-leap where you come from?" asked to mathematician. Wherever you come from. He hadn't confronted Jason about that particular subject (even though he really did want to know what a 'sub' was), knowing that it would only make him uncomfortable.
"No," said Jason, smiling slightly as though he found the idea amusing. "We do have a similar sport, though. Bullfighting. Only people from the south do it, though." And then he started explaining what it was about, and how these men called 'toreros' taunted the bulls with a brightly-colored cape, and how they wore strange clothes, and Pythagoras quickly forgot about his nerves.
"They make a spectacle out of killing an animal for entertainment? That's barbaric!"
"It's part of their culture, I suppose."
"But what's the point?"
"There is no point, that's why they do it."
"Why don't they offer the bull as a sacrifice to their gods?"
"Um..."
And then Jason changed the subject, talking about this other thing that those southerners did with bulls, and how they did it once a year in this place called Pamplona that the mathematician had never heard of, and how they basically let the bulls chase them through the streets.
"I would probably fare better there than I'll do here," Pythagoras said quietly, and Jason's smile was replaced by a look of concern.
"You're too hard on yourself, Pythagoras," he said, moving over to where the blonde was and sitting next to him. "Just relax, it'll be fine."
"But it won't!" And suddenly he was yelling and telling Jason everything: how he was sure to fail, how he couldn't bear the thought of being responsible for their deaths, and how it was too much, all that shame and fear and guilt.
And Jason didn't take his eyes away from him, not for one second, his eyes still full of that kindness and concern. When he was done, the older man took both his hands in his, and Pythagoras' heartbeat sped up for reasons that had nothing to do with nerves.
"You can do it, Pythagoras. I know you can do it. And I know you will."
Those words were still echoing in his mind when the guards came for them. They were still there when they walked into the arena. They were all he could think of as he faced the charging bull.
I know you can do it. And I know you will.
And guess what?
He did.
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