A/N: I had originally planned for this story to be much more serious, but it turned into…. This.
"Stop them!" Angry voices shouted behind the trio. The sounds of guards chasing them – the clank of metal armor plates, the slight rustle of fabric, the creaking of leather, and, over all else, heavy leather boots slapping against the ground – gave the three the needed adrenaline boost to keep going. The sounds all mixed in a jumbled cacophony, overlaid with the rasp of swords being drawn and the creak of tightening bowstrings. They ran blindly into an alleyway, guards following. The sounds bounced off the stone walls of buildings and the ground of packed dirt, echoing and repeating back on itself like a bizarre – and deafening – orchestra.
It made Jason's head throb. The loud sounds were bad enough, but they were beside the docks. The fishermen had drawn in their nets hours earlier, and had gutted and cleaned the fish in preparation of the morning market. Intestines from days and even weeks past stubbornly clung to the docks, despite the attempts made to clean them off. Fish that had fallen off the cleaning tables still lay there, rotting and staring with dead and decaying eyes. He could feel the air around him, hot and stagnant with summer humidity. The oil coated his skin, his lips, his tongue. He could taste the rot on the air he breathed. But the smell was easily the worst. The overwhelming stench of decay combined with seaweed, saltwater, and seafood gone bad had his stomach churning. As he ran, he glanced at the others. They didn't seem to be as bothered by the smell. And, by the sounds of it, neither were the guards. Despite the smell, he couldn't seem to get enough air in his lungs. It felt like there was a weight in his chest, and no matter how deep a breath he took, it never felt like it reached the bottom.
Turning into another alley, he desperately prayed that this one smelled better. It didn't. The boxes stacked up behind the buildings were overflowing with old food. Some of the crates reeked of the sickly sweet stench of rotten fruit, while others smelled of decaying meat. All were underlain by the sharp tang of animal urine. The skittering of rats followed their arrival. Small shadows ran along the edges of torchlight, eyes glinting red and teeth disturbingly white. Jason fought back the gorge rising in his throat, not an easy task while running. The muscles in his legs and chest burned with effort, and a painful stitch was growing in his side. He ignored the black spots that flashed across his vision. Twisting and turning through the city, they eventually lost the guards.
Stumbling to a stop, the three of them stood, panting. As he attempted to take a step forward, Jason staggered. His limbs trembled, and he couldn't breathe. Bands of iron had wrapped around his chest. The world tilted crazily around him, and he heard a rushing sound, like water going down a drain. The black that had lingered along the borders of his vision came back in full force. He couldn't see. He was vaguely aware of the sensation of falling, and he faintly heard someone – Pythagoras? – calling his name. His last thought as he drifted into the inky darkness of unconsciousness was of triangles.
Pythagoras leaned against a wall, panting and weak-kneed but alive. They had escaped the palace guards again! It was more like a game than anything, by now. Glancing at Hercules, he grinned. The large man smiled back, chuckling. Pythagoras looked back at Jason, and his smile dropped, replaced by worry. "Jason?" The man's face was red and blotchy, and it looked like he was having trouble breathing. A sheen of sweat coated his entire body, and he was shaking. As he watched, his friend collapsed, pitching forward and falling to the ground. "Jason!" Pythagoras shouted. He darted toward the fallen man, Hercules on his heels. Rolling him onto his back, he listened to the labored breathing, flinching with every gasping, rattling breath. He noted the high fever. He could feel the heat coming off his friend in waves, noticeable even in the sweltering heat of an Atlantis summer.
"Hercules," he said. Said man immediately looked up. "Pick him up. We need to get him back to the house."
Hercules nodded and did as he asked. Luckily, they had ended up just a few streets away from their small home. Pythagoras entered first, rushing about, gathering herbs and boiling water. Hercules looked at the pile of blankets that Jason usually slept on and snorted. He turned to his own room and placed Jason in his bed. From the kitchen, Pythagoras saw the concerned expression on Hercules' face as the larger man gently swept Jason's hair back from his sweaty forehead. He looked away quickly. Mashing the herbs together, he spooned the mix into a cup of warm water and took it to the room.
He handed the cup to Hercules. "Make him drink this. It'll help with the fever." Hercules put the cup to Jason's lips and made him swallow. Jason coughed, and some of the foul-smelling liquid dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. He looked so young. They hadn't realized until that moment how young Jason actually was. He couldn't have been any older than Pythagoras.
His eyes fluttered open. The two men standing above him jumped, asking if he was alright.
"W're 'm I?" he slurred, looking around blearily.
"You're home, Jason," Pythagoras told him, smiling in relief.
Jason shook his head. "No 'm not. No telly. No computer. No books or posters. 'S not m' bed." Hercules and Pythagoras shared a look. Jason continued. "I've got a flat in the dead center of London. No cars outside, here. No buses or trains or planes." He paused. "No exhaust, either. Can't be home." This outburst seemed to tire him out. His eyelids drooped, desperately pulling together. Within seconds, Jason was asleep.
Hercules and Pythagoras were incredibly confused.
"Did you understand any of that?"
"Not a word."
They looked at the sleeping man.
"Where do you think he's from?"
"He said it was some place called 'London.'"
"Ever heard of it?"
"No."
They paused.
"What do you think it's like there?"
"Ask him when he wakes up."
If he isn't delirious, they both thought.
Jason woke up a few more times during the night. Each time, without fail, he spewed words and phrases totally beyond their comprehension. A few of his comments stood out to them, though.
"You're the reason I almost failed Geometry, you know," he said to Pythagoras.
"What?" Pythagoras asked. Hercules looked on interestedly.
"You!" Jason said, jabbing a finger at him. "With all your theories and theorems and angles and sides. You're just an old Greek guy with a long white beard and glasses! What do I care if a squared plus b squared equals c squared? It's not like I'm ever going to use it!"
Hercules couldn't contain his laughter after he looked at Pythagoras' face.
"And you!" Jason said, turning the same accusing finger at Hercules. "You shouldn't be fat!"
Pythagoras giggled.
"You're supposed to be this big, strong demigod. Instead, you're a fat drunkard."
Hercules' eyes were wide. Pythagoras was covering his mouth with his hand, failing to hide his smile. Then Medusa walked in.
"Look out!" Jason shrieked, clapping a hand over his eyes. "It's the snake lady! Don't look at her or you'll be turned to stone!"
Medusa raised an eyebrow and looked at their exhausted faces. "He's been delirious for a while, hasn't he?"
"Two days," Hercules grumbled. "He's been talking nonsense the entire time."
"Has his fever gone down at all?" she asked Pythagoras.
"A little, but not enough," he replied, a worried crease between his brows.
"I'm sure it'll break soon," she assured him.
And she was right. The next morning, Jason woke up to both Pythagoras and Hercules sitting beside his bed, totally awake. He groaned. "What happened?" he asked thickly.
"You were sick," Hercules accused. "You didn't tell us. We had to carry you all the way back here after you collapsed."
"Sorry," Jason mumbled.
"Why didn't you tell us, Jason?" Pythagoras asked, concerned blue eyes locked onto Jason's brown ones.
Jason looked away, picking at the loose threads of his blanket. "Just didn't think about it," he finally mumbled. "Never had anyone that cared."
"Well, you do now. And since you're not sick anymore," Hercules said, getting up. " You can get out of my bed."
Their laughter carried down into the streets.