Trust Me.
Wake up. Remember. Crippling, indescribable pain. The bunk bed, the rug, Hermes. Wake up. Repeat.
Over and over.
Connor lost count how many cycles he went through. How long it's been. Minutes. Hours. Days. Months.
It doesn't matter. He doesn't care. He's going to try again and again. Forever if he has too. If it's a battle of wills Hermes wants, then Connor isn't going to back down.
"He's not the same person you once knew, Connor," Hermes sometimes tells him in between the cycles.
"Travis is different now." Talking with his fake-ass worry.
"It's better if you don't talk with him." In this disgustingly, fatherly tone. Like he has any right. Like he has any place.
"If it's a big brother you want, then Jason or even Percy can fill that role far, far better than Travis ever can." Like he has ever been a father in any way or form.
Shut up. If he could scream he would. Shut up shut up shut up shut up. I know so shut up already.
He's not an idiot. Of course he knows Travis is different from the five year old boy in his tattered memories. Of course he knows Travis isn't a great big brother. Of course he knows Travis is far from perfect.
Travis is clingy. He is scatterbrained. He's careless. Has zero critical thinking skills. Is so stupid sometimes with his wacky, farfetched ideas.
None of that changes the fact that Connor abandoned his brother to die while he's survived and lived life, utterly ignorant of everything. That kind of shit earns people the title of worst little brother ever.
Hermes wipes his memories again without a word and sends him back.
Will is beside him (Apollo and Artemis's curse) like he always is. Face down in the sheets. An arm slung across his own. Passed out. (To help you. To keep you alive. Because of the curse). The… curse?
Connor wakes up back in his old room, not feeling an inch better. I can do this. Forever if I have to , he repeats to himself again as focuses on just breathing.
"Give up," Hermes tells him.
Connor swallows, tries not to dwell on how much it hurts to do the most basic of that, and just barely shakes his head.
No.
Will's passed out body.
I can do this forever.
Will's blond hair.
I can do this forever.
Will's orange shirt.
I can do this forever.
I have to do this forever.
Years days hours minutes later something changes.
He's seeing two orange shirts now and a voice happily chattering to seemingly no one. His eyes trail up, up, up to the face, expecting Percy, Annabeth, Jason, Nico, anybody really. But it's his own face staring back, a smile just growing before Connor's mind spazzes.
It's him. Himself. Is he having an out of body experience? Is that his soul? Is he dying?!
No.
The name pops up in an instant. Travis. And with the name comes the heart stopping pain and the ice cold bursting along his veins.
Connor wakes up back in his childhood home, gasping and unable to draw in air. The pain is immeasurable. The worst thing he ever experienced. It's not helped by Hermes's stupidly loud screaming either. A hand shakes his shoulder but he isn't whooshed back into the real world. Instead he's still hearing Hermes's insistent yelling and a new voice, airy and breezy and unworried and familiar.
Connor forces his eyes open to find his brother leaning over him, flashing a smile when their gazes meet.
Travis is talking, his mouth flying a mile a minute, hands moving along with whatever words he's spewing. But there's a roaring in Connor's ears. His heart beating in his throat. His eyes watering that no amount of blinking clears.
I'm sorry, Connor tries to say as he weakly clasps the front of his brother's orange shirt, I'm sorry.
But he can't breathe, hasn't been able to breathe since he woke up and the lack of oxygen is starting to get to him. His vision blurs and Travis's excited, puppy-like eyes become quizzical and puzzled.
Hermes is beside them, prying Connor's hand away from the shirt and tugging Travis's away by the arm. Urgently, frantically. Practically shoving Travis out the door.
No, wait. Don't leave. Not yet, Connor cries, watching his long-lost brother go further and further away. But the words don't come. Instead, Connor topples pathetically onto the carpet elbows first.
Travis watches with a blank stare, head tilted to the side in confusion, expression never changing as Hermes throws him out the door.
The gush of fresh air comes as a surprise and Connor chokes on it, coughing and coughing. Not even hearing Hermes's telltale flutter of his winged sandals and his apology.
He wakes up cold and in pain, nothing new.
Will (Apollo's curse. And Artemis's.) is beside him like always with his face down in the sheets and an arm slung across his own (To help you. To keep you alive.) Passed out. (Because of the curse). The —
"Sorry. Didn't know that will happen in there. Artemis's curse is one heck of a hassle, huh?" someone says, laughing loudly right after.
Connor's eyes snap to the voice, sitting just right beside Will. Oh gods, how can Connor completely miss that? Jason would be ashamed. Especially since the person is wearing the same bright orange shirt as everybody else. (No. Not just) a person. Connor stares at the face that is identical to his for a second, 1000% certain the cold is now making him hallucinate, but the person (family, brother, Travis) smiles wider — warm and safe and devoid of any and all judgement.
"Don't worry. I'll figure out something. Leave it to me."
He wakes up unable to breathe again, the sensation not at all less terrifying. The wracking pain is just minisculely less than before but what does that matter when he can't breathe.
It's the fact after, the realization, of what happened before, that made Connor grits his teeth and opens his eyes. Travis is there, a foot in the room and a foot outside the door, arms braced against the doorway, and staring at him with unnerving focus, not budging even with Hermes tugging at the back of his shirt.
The pressure resting on his chest lifts, just not enough. He still can't breathe and Travis can see that, frowning with a small pout before he turns to look beyond the door.
Connor's vision is swarming with the lack of oxygen, but he clings the best he could. Desperately trying again and again to draw in air. He can't pass out yet. Not till he gets some answers.
Where have you been? What have you been doing? How did you survive? How did you get here? Do you hate me? Why are you doing this? Do you hate me? Why are you helping me? Do you hate me?
Do you hate me?
Not a single thing has changed in the infirmary. Will is still passed out. He still feels like shit. The room feels like a make-shift freezer and the bed a pack of ice. He could see the sun setting from the window, the rays that hit his bed doing absolutely nothing to warm him up.
All in all. It's. Bullshit.
And just right outside, people are banging on the closed door, yelling and screaming like this isn't a place of healing and quiet. They're familiar though, one of the voice's definitely Jason's. And if Jason is yelling then something is definitely up. Logistically, Connor knows he should get up and find out what's wrong. That's what a good friend and legionnaire would do. And Connor definitely will! He will. Once his chest stops burning and his stomach stops churning.
It takes him more effort than he feels like it should to rest his palms on the bed and push himself upright. His abdomen protests the whole way up.
"Shut up," he groans, eyes squeezed shut as the floor spins and twirls. "You weren't even stabbed today. Why are you acting up?"
"Hahaha! Ditto. I know that feeling. It's awful, isn't it? I heard green tea is good for that. Want me to get some? I know Will keeps a stash somewhere."
For a few stupid, horrifying moments, Connor thought his stomach talked back to him. He prods it, expecting to feel a blob of sentient being attached to his side. Like from that manga Parasyte Dakota brought a few years ago. It's not until the hearty laugh that Connor finally activates his apparently one and only brain cell and looks over.
Travis looks okay. Travis looks more than okay. Actually, Travis looks absolutely great. Well fed. Unbruised. No visible scars. And obviously packing muscles somewhere because Hermes has his arms hooked around Travis's shoulders, tugging hard, and still Travis is unmoved, unfazed and unbothered. Like there's not even a god there at all. Travis just continues patting the walls and the furniture like he's trying to find a secret button.
Before the pain becomes too much, before his oxygen-deprived brain could quit on him, Travis pouts and sighs at the same time, arms crossing over his chest that sorely reminds Connor of their childhood days. When their mom refuses to get them a puppy, when the teacher didn't pair them together for a play, when the curse was laid on all the family.
"For sure, I'll get it next time." Then Travis takes a running dive out the bedroom door.
A door slams open. Connor sees Jason's panicked face for only a second before the infirmary door is slammed back shut by a brunet in the camp's usual, eye-burning bright orange t-shirt.
"What are you doing? Who are you?" Connor groans, attempting to get up and failing. He hopes for his dear life this is a friend and not some crazy, vengeance-seeking demigod. The most he could do is twitch a finger and stare at the back of the stranger's… oddly familiar head.
The boy sighs, rests a hand on his hip, scratches his cheek with the other. "Well, I kind of was not as sneaky as I thought I was. Which is actually rare for me. I am a very sneaky person. I snuck into the Pentagon so many times and I never got caught. Or maybe it was because I was a seven year old back then. And I guess I also had help sneaking in. Plus I wasn't the one behind the plan. So maybe I'm not sneaky. Huh…what soul-shattering news. What about you then? Are you—" the boy turns, enough for Connor to see the profile and he's struck with familiarity, a sense of I know this person and oh, I remember now .
It's not until Travis is sitting up top on the bunk bed that Connor can finally breathe.
"Did I do it?" Travis says, "I did it! Yes! Whoo! Third time really is the charm! Dude, Connor, I have so much stuff to tell you. You still go by Connor right? I still go by Travis. Well, for a time I had a different name but I don't use that name anymore. But if you don't want me to use Connor that's fine I'll call you whatever you want. Oh hey! I totally forgot about Mr. Teddy. You know, the teddy bear mom gave us when we went to the fair? Look! See, still looking like he's — oh, whoops—"
The whole frame lurches to the side as Travis slides off head first.
Ah. He panics. You idiot . He dives out late by a few seconds, just barely grazing his brother's ankle.
The air is knocked out of him and he's suffocating again.
Someone is grumbling, their shoes squeaking rhythmically on the clean floor of the infirmary. About how it's unfair and how the gods are cruel. How this is messed up. How they haven't done anything wrong so why are they the one suffering and maybe if he buys them some tacos and quesadillas from Del Taco as an offering they'll chill.
A blade to the eye will work better, he thinks instead.
"You know, the sun is setting now." Travis says, voice coming from the top bunk, bed creaking as he bounces on the bed. "The curse will shift soon. It won't kill you if you go into the real world. It'll hurt. A lot. But you won't die."
Hermes says no, absolutely not, never.
Travis says, "Do you want to?"
Yes, definitely, always.
"Okay then. See you out there."
Notes:
Work is so hectic guys T ^ T
Eventually I will get this done but it might take years.