When the brilliance stopped radiating through his eyelids, when Jack thought it might be safe to look—to hope, to dream—they were back in Camp Othrys' titan's quarters. The Pax brothers, Luke, and Lucille were locked in heated conversation several feet away.

At the sight of Pax's wild hair, Jack sobbed. They were real. He was back.

"My boys!" Jack cried, his throat cracking with effort. That phrase had been unused in his timeless prison.

Everyone moved towards him. Words blurred together into a pleasant garbled drone. As they gathered, surrounding him with love and excitement, his chest constricted.

As they encroached, so too did thought of children's graves: Calypso's children with various, unnumbered lovers. The children that never left the island nor would age to adulthood. What would Axel and Pax's tombs be like? Would they be decorated in Greek or Mayan? If Calypso had been right, if he truly was cursed to dismembered eternity, would Jack outgrow his boys and entomb them? Encasing their bodies in eternal prisons like Calypso had caged him?

Her words drowned out those of his children, of his friends, of his love—the only dreams that kept him on the edge of that sanity, the sanity that Calypso cursed him with. Her. She was still all over him. Still in his head, her fingers still gliding through his too-short hair—

"Get these chains off of me!" Jack shrieked. He clawed at the white clothing, the sinister henchmen to that sea witch. What if she could still control the fabric here? What if she could use it to choke his boys in the night, to worm each strand under Flynn's skin and clog her veins? If he fell asleep, he might wake up to them—his boys, his love—made of nothing but yarn.

Jack didn't know he'd stolen Axel's lighter until Axel and Luke were stomping the flames out. In the warm, California air, Jack stood naked, staring at the smolder of white fabric, crushed repeatedly by his son and friend.

Someone had shouted to give him room. Jack didn't hear the exact words; he just saw a blur of motion away from him. Someone saying, "He's been through a lot." Anger. Worry. Exclamations of revenge. Someone offering a cute panda hug with no pranks attached. The words and faces existed in a flurry around him, but none of it would stay. All he could think about was how she'd be around the corner. Waiting. Knowing he had nowhere to run.

Been through a lot. Was this trauma? His mind raced with the erratic beating of his heart. This was a different way for the world to be distorted. He missed the old way: hearing voices he could decide weren't there instead of dreading a presence he knew was. He—

He grabbed Flynn's hand. She had stayed beside him when everyone moved away. In contrast to the fogginess of everyone else, everything about her was so real: the way one eyelid drooped down more than her other, the ribs of scar tissue lining her left cheek and left side of her forehead, the way her left nostril ended shorter than her right, the thinness of her lips. The sight was comforting: gritty and uneven compared to the movie-surreal quality of Calypso's beauty.

Jack always waited for Flynn to initiate contact, but he needed her right now. "Flynn—" he choked. Words still hurt from disuse. His voice was so quiet and hoarse. When he leaned towards her, Flynn gathered him up in her arms, like she had the day they came to camp, like when she'd taken away memories of his family, memories that had crept back while he despaired on Ogygia. "Take me away." He pressed his face into her neck. Her posture stiffened and her neck muscles tensed but she didn't shove him off. "Take away my sanity. Lie to me that we'll be safe and I'll never see her again. Everything is too clear here, too bright, like an endless, flat plateau boiled under the unclouded sun. Give me that shade. Grant me the oasis of a mirage."

Over the years, he heard the whispers: Flynn didn't charm speak him. It's why she wouldn't take him to bed.

But she had once: to drift him into a happy lullaby where he didn't murder his family on accident and where Camp Othrys was a choice instead of a last resort. She let him start his new life with a fresh conscious and the ability to see Pax when he looked at his adoptive son instead of the corpses of his little sister and little brother.

Axel and Pax are much too old to be my children. A voice of reason dared to breathe.

The thought was unacceptable. Jack whined. Although he could barely make the intonation correctly, he begged, "Qing, Fēi Lín."

Flynn slid a hand into his hair. "You're safe here, Jack." Her melodious voice was soft and warm. It quavered with emotion. When something wet fell against the back of Jack's neck, he realized she must be crying. "She can't get you."

The words sank in, weighing down his panic and compressing the tension smaller until only exhaustion remained. He melted against her, unaware, until he relaxed, how hard his heart thundered or how violently he trembled. Jack could see again: past Flynn's soft skin, he could see Luke, Lucille, Pax, and Axel in the hallway. Prometheus must have left or been out of sight.

From the way Luke's cheek puckered, he must have been chewing on the interior. He always worried too much. Recently, he hadn't had time to go to the bar for their weekly Luke-gets-smashed-and-Jack-has-a-Shirley-Temple. Jack wanted to tease that they needed more days along the cliff, meditating.

Pax burrowed against Axel, his amber and black eyes barely visible. They glistened with fear. Axel kept a comforting hand atop his brother's twisting hair. With the paranoia of a warrior under constant threat, Axel's fingers trembled over a sword hilt.

Silent tears rolled down Lucille's cheeks. She didn't look at Jack, but at her half-sister.

"Jack…" Flynn rested her chin atop his head. "What did she do to you?"

Looking at his friends and family, Jack swallowed. The boys were used to seeing him break down—Jack liked that. They needed to know they were allowed to show emotion, especially Axel. But, this was different. Other than Luke, they hadn't seen him begging, naked and shivering. How long had he been gone to them? On the island, he'd stopped counting the number of etchings he'd put into the new cave, making it closer to the mirror image of Odysseus'.

He didn't want them knowing what happened.

"She threw away Mr. Sunny," Jack said.

Flynn gave a choked laugh. "I'll be sure to buy you a new one." Although she already held him, Flynn cradled him off the ground with little more than a grunt.

Jack glanced up. Flynn paused to stare at the anxiety of their onlookers. Jack wanted to reassure everyone. That was Jack's job: to handle people and their feelings. Flynn didn't like to. When Jack opened his mouth, he couldn't lie to them. All he could do was tremble.

"Let's get your medicine—Phil has some," Flynn said slowly. "Then, let's have you rest—"

Jack's muscles tensed again. Some deep horror fought back the calm of Flynn's charm speak, peeling its lulling effects to shreds. "I don't have to rest. She's always there when I rest, eating my dreams."

Flynn hesitated. Another of her tears splattered onto his skin, chilling it. "Then, let's go to a Monster Donut shop with the boys. How does that sound?"

Jack wanted that to be an adoption day tradition. No one wanted to go after the first one exploded and killed Jasmine. He nodded his head vigorously, enjoying the thought of Axel and Pax stuffing their faces and happily chattering. Like things could go back to normal.

"Lucille, can you run ahead and make sure there are no questions at the shop?" Flynn asked softly. "Axel and Pax, get one of his band shirts and some jeans. Ready some stories and plans about your next band show. And, uh, Luke, don't be worthless."

There were sounds of movement. Pax uttered something in protest and Axel shushed him.

"Luke's my best friend. He's not worthless," Jack whispered.

"That's right, man," Luke said. The hand that settled onto Jack's back made him flinch before relaxing further. It was too broad and ungentle to be Calypso. "I'm gonna go find Phil to get your medication. Then things will go back to how they're supposed to be."

Jack repeated that word in his head: normal. Home with his boys, friends, and true love, never to see that sea witch again.

Something twisted his stomach and knotted his brain. You will be cursed, Jack. Even as his family scattered to prepare, even as Flynn took his face in one hand, the words slithered with the same consistency of Ogygia's tide. You will know both the torment of the Fields of Punishment—

Flynn's mouth pressed to his. The dampness of her cheeks imprinted on his, allowing their tears to join hands in their travel downwards.

—and you will know the curse of dismembered immortality—

Jack clung to Flynn, tracing and savoring the curves of her lips and the wetness of her tongue. He inhaled her harsh scent—leather, sweat, metallic—

If you stay here—

Jack tore his face back enough to see her dark eyes. "Flynn, I can bear torture in the Fields of Punishment if you're with me. I won't break under a dismembered immorality if I know you're there. Promise me our souls will be intertwined—that death itself shall not part us. Promise me that—I—" Jack wanted to be on one knee, wanted fireworks in the background, and wanted a full orchestra (by orchestra, he meant his metal band) playing. He wanted to make the world as beautiful for Flynn as it could be, instead of the distorted chaos they'd experienced. "Flynn-Dǒng Fēi Lín—will you marry me?"

This was the first time he officially asked. They had talked about it before in theory, but not…

But, before, Jack didn't know what it was like to be without her.

Flynn frowned.

Jack's heart pitched.

The same way she had when Jack adopted their sons, she groaned in annoyance. "Will an exchange of self-written vows suffice?"

Jack almost knocked Flynn off balance when he flailed. "Oh, titans, Flynn, is that a yes?!"

The tears dried up when she said, factually, "I vow to want to be and try to be with you and love you for as long as I exist."

"Oh, gods! Flynn! Flynn, you've made me the happiest man. Wait—my vows are in my room. They're ten pages long and I'll need a guitar—electric, I'm not playing acoustic ever again—"

"Jack, we're going to the donut shop first."

"Yes! We can exchange donuts as rings—Axel can be the bearer and Pax can be the flower girl. Luke can be my best man and Lucille your best woman—"

Flynn didn't shush him, as he suspected, nor did she tell him to stop dancing naked around the hallway, as he started upon being set down. She sighed and leaned against a wall, watching him with the slightest of smiles.

With his excitement, Jack rediscovered his love of planning for a theoretical, happy future, something he'd lost in the timeless, futureless island of Ogygia.

Something still felt different. Calypso had taken something from him. Maybe it was the belief in altruism, that selfless love was pure, that either could avoid the pitfalls of poison. Maybe it was that they were the good guys, that being good was definitive, or that being good mattered.

You'll avoid both fates.

As long as Jack had his friends and family, he could handle any fate.

PSA: don't get married unless you want to.

Thanks for reading! I hope you're all doing well and getting ready for the spooky season!