Don't mind me, I'm just havin' a bit of fun with them. Don't own them, never will. If I did, Lord knows I wouldn't have quite so many loans to get me through school. Definite hints of slash from here on out, so be mindful... and gentle. Mwah.
"Hey, Feathahs... no stress. S'okay," soothed Strife in his soft, lisping tenor. After getting over the initial shock of being outed to his companions, he took in his cousin's distress and moved quickly- if somewhat painfully- to his side.
There the God of Love stood in all of his tanned, muscular glory, and he looked like his puppy had just been run over by a wagon. Strife's heart just went out to him, and the emotion was... surprising, to say the least. He had always gotten along with Cupid, of course. And there was that tiny crush he had nursed way back when, but who didn't have a crush on the featherhead? The Mischief God never paused to investigate his attraction, though, and why should he? Physically, he was nearly Cupid's opposite- dark where his cousin was light, pale as milk instead of tan, lithe and scrawny in place of Cupid's broad muscles.
"Strife, I'm sorry... I didn't mean... are you hurt?"
Suddenly finding himself too close to his flustered cousin, Strife fought back a wave of self-consciousness. His baggy homespun, so unlike the comforting armor of black leather and metal studs left something to be desired in the wardrobe department. He never thought of his usual attire as comforting before, but it did provide him with some feeling of being apart- aloof, safe, cold. Wear enough leather, add a few bits and bobs of metal and a knife or two, and no one bothered you. At heart, Strife was awkward (dare we say shy? misunderstood, perhaps?), hiding behind his war-god-in-training image, and all that leather was just a part of the masquerade. Yet here he was as himself, gangly and barefoot, hair tousled from its usual artful arrangement of spikes, hand resting on Cupid's shoulder and the Love God didn't look anything but concerned. It was enough to make poor Strife feel dizzy once again.
The former God of Mischief found himself drawn from his musings as Cupid probed the bruise near his hairline.
"Ow, geez, Cupe. Lay off," he whined in a shadow of his formerly obnoxious voice, swatting at the offending hand without properly thinking the motion through– of course, it jostled the bruised muscles and bone of his shoulder and upper arm, leaving him breathless with the pain.
"I'm sorry! Oh.. I didn't... Tartarus. Herc, what happened?" Cupid gritted curses and rounded on his favorite uncle, stepping back from Strife lest he cause further injury. The former godling, bereft of immediate support from Cupid's muscular frame, sank into the arms of a still-stunned Iolaus. From a semi-prone position, Strife watched his cousin and Hercules exchange information, both looking angry and frustrated at turns. With half an ear he attempted to listen to their discussion, fighting to stay conscious as the silent hunter checked over his injuries once again. The older man drew back, fingertips stained red, and cast a startled glance to the arguing duo.
"Whatever it is, it can wait. We need to make a camp for now. Gal...er... Strife is hurt and I don't think he can go any further today."
Strife managed a weak smile, catching the hunter's warm, calloused hand in his own, enfolding the bloodied digits.
"Iolaus... I... just wanted to thank yah for everythin' you and the big guy have done. I know I ain't one ah your favorite people or nothin'... but thanks," murmured through teeth clenched around unfamiliar aches and pains, he watched the older man's expression soften somewhat.
"No thanks necessary, kid. You rest and we'll set up camp, huh? Maybe I can teach you to hunt later– a little more involved than fishing and a lot less wet. We'll set traps for rabbits and let Hercules do all the cooking."
The voice washed over Strife, calm and reassuring. The former godling smiled again, letting Iolaus' chatter soothe him into a peaceful oblivion.
Hercules studied his nephews through narrowed eyes, puzzling through the day's events with some effort. He knew that Galen had looked familiar- but never had he guessed that the bedraggled, lost youth had been the former God of Mischief. The two bore no resemblance to one another, and it was disconcerting to say the least. As for Cupid? The demi-god fought a sudden urge to snort, shaking his shaggy head. Aphrodite's son had always been incomprehensible to him- cool, aloof, distantly amused with the world, it seemed at times. And now here he was, pristine white wings trailing in the dirt as he carded careful fingers through Strife's blood-matted locks. The mind boggled.
Iolaus had disappeared, presumably hunting for their dinner. That left Hercules to finish setting up camp, and he did so with a practiced ease. Dumping a small armload of kindling, he moved to peer over the younger men, brows drawn toward the bridge of his nose in something that wasn't quite concern.
"How is he, Cupid?"
The young God jerked back guiltily, turning wide eyes upon the towering figure of his uncle. Shoulders hitched, his wings rustling with the movement.
"I dunno, Herc. Seems like he's just sleeping. Iolaus said he needed to rest," Cupid mumbled, rising fluidly. Agitated, he paced away from the small campsite, crossbow and quiver clanking against the tense muscles of his back.
Hercules frowned, following his nephew and coming to a halt a few paces away. He watched the young God reign in his temper, eyes flashing a shocking shade of green before fading to their typical hazel.
"Cupid, what's going on? I thought.. Well, I thought Strife was dead."
"He was. Zeus brought him back... dunno why. None of us do. Zeus just dropped him here and said not to interfere," and at that, Cupid blanched.
"Cupid?" Hercules' frown deepened, reaching to place a careful hand on the young God's shoulder.
"I.. I'm not supposed to be here. Oh, Mom really is gonna kill me. I was just supposed to pop down, check on things, yanno? Tartarus, I'm in for it now. You'll watch him, right Herc? Please?"
The God of Love was coming dangerously close to begging, hands curled into white-knuckled fists around his crossbow. Watching the demi-god with hopeful eyes, he failed to notice his cousin struggling back into consciousnesss.
Hercules pinched ineffectually at the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache right behind his eyes.
"Strife is alive and mortal... and no one knows why... Zeus is keeping everyone in the dark, and no one is supposed to interfere with him. Why?" The demi-god carefully voiced the question, watching his nephew abruptly go from panicking to angry.
"Because's he's a deceitful, manipulative bastard and enjoys stirring the rest of us up, and that's a good a reason as any. Just keep an eye on Strife, Herc. Please."
And directly following that explosion of temper, the God of Love disappeared, his typical golden display shot through with hints of red- more common in the God of War than his gentle son.
Hercules stared into the empty space formerly occupied by his nephew and felt the beginnings of his headache blossom, completely oblivious to the campsite behind him where a stricken former godling sat, eyes bright with unshed tears.
Deceitful. Manipulative.
Is that what Cupid really thought? Had he really just been down here to check on me, to make sure I wasn't stirring up trouble with his favorite uncle?
Strife blinked back tears, watching Hercules stalk off into the trees after Iolaus. The demi-god didn't so much as spare Strife a glance, and the casual dismissal cut the already distressed young man deeply. He didn't even pause to examine the feelings- they were too new, too foreign. His heart throbbing a painful counterpoint to his head, Strife struggled out of his bedroll.
Moving mechanically, he gathered a water skein and slung it carefully over his uninjured shoulder before grasping his staff and levering himself upright with a pained hiss. Vacant blue eyes swept over the small campsite before he shook his head, turning and moving away from the tidy pile of kindling and neatly spread blankets. They didn't want him- no one did. He was a burden, a failure, a deceitful, manipulative bastard. Jaw working, Strife clenched his teeth at the flare of heartache that threatened to send him to his knees.
Dispirited, he edged back toward the rutted path to Thebes. He would make his own way, find his own path- he wasn't going to be fool enough to trust in anyone else again. Mentally sealing himself away from the feelings that would surely drown him, he set off at an invalid's pace, a bitter smile twisting expressive features.
Ares snarled, a well-muscled forearm snaking out so he could tangle fingers in his son's harness. Cupid squeaked in a very undignified manner, bracing his legs to prevent the War God from pulling him off the temple's marbled floor.
"Just what do you think you were doing? Zeus could've fried you for that!" Ares growled in a low baritone, irritation and concern warring in dark eyes.
"Chill, pops... Mom had it covered, yanno? Zeus was off with Apollo and the Muses, some kinda festival thing- though by now it's probably like, an orgy. 'Specially if Mom's still there."
Cupid smirked, though mentally he shied at the thought of his mother and any of Apollo's greasy hangers-on. Ew. The Sun God had notoriously bad taste in lovers, and the Muses? Gag. The younger God shook himself out of that line of thought, untangling himself from his father's irate grasp with a huff.
"Don't do it again, Cupid," Ares muttered before fully releasing his wayward son, stepping back to rake still agitated hands through sable curls- the same loose waves that Strife's hair curled into when unmanaged, Cupid realized with a pang. Both Gods eyed one another with a similar mixture or weariness and sympathy, though no words passed between them.
With a terse nod of understand, the Love God blinked out of the temple, leaving his father to sink into his chair to brood. Hera had come by earlier in the day, no better informed than she had been prior to her little visit to the Fates. Ares snorted. The Fates, bah. Meddling hags, that trio...always up to something, and never up front about it. If it was one thing the War God could appreciate, it was simplicity- and the Fates were anything but.
Shaking himself from the edges of melancholy, Ares cast an appraising eye across the day's scrolls. Skirmish in Athens, a little border dispute near Mycenae, and there were two warlords making advances on the same territory. Sorting scrolls and mentally mapping out strategy, the War God found himself opening his mouth to bellow for Strife... only to pause, lips twisting. He hadn't made that mistake in years. This whole situation was really getting to him, and a distracted War God was not a good thing. Hissing in irritation, Ares blinked to scrolls to some of his underlings- let Deimos and Phobos sort out some of the smaller skirmishes, and Eris could steer the warlords into proper positions... well, once she finished with the bandits unfortunate enough to target her son earlier that day. Expression shifting into a fierce smirk, Ares blinked into the midst of the border dispute. A little mindless violence would take his mind off of things for a while.
Iolaus glared at his longtime friend, the small brace of rabbits he trapped for dinner lying discarded near the untended firepit. Hercules returned his stare levelly, only a hint of guilt shadowing his eyes.
"Herc, how could you just leave him alone?" Exasperated, the hunter threw up his hands, fighting a sudden urge to throttle his partner.
"He was sleeping, Iolaus. How was I to know he would wake up and wander off?" The demi-god seemed to share in his frustration, growling out his words.
They both continued their silent stand-off, each trying to sort through irritation and worry before saying anything they might regret. Finally, Iolaus sighed, dragging a hand through his shaggy blond locks.
"Look, Herc... I'm not blaming you. Maybe Strife just needed a little time alone and he wandered away. Maybe he'll be back in a little while. I mean, he doesn't know anyone and he has to know he's better of staying with us, right?" The smaller man looked hopeful, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as he spoke. As his larger friend nodded, he bent to retrieve the makings of dinner, thrusting the game into Hercules' capable hands before setting off, following the trail of footprints that led back toward the road.
"Good. I'm just going to check around and you can work on dinner," Iolaus tossed over his shoulder before melting into the lengthening shadows. Hercules just grinned ruefully, settling down to build the fire back up.
It didn't take long for Iolaus to return, muttering under his breath. Hercules wisely chose not to comment, offering his friend a bit of roasted rabbit. The hunter flopped down, practically inhaling his share of the food. Wiping greasy fingers on the patchwork of his vest, he turned a frown upon the silent demi-god.
"He's gone. I followed his footsteps to the road and lost them... looks like a caravan or two has gone by, probably on the way to the festival in Thebes, and marked over his tracks."
Hercules glanced away for a moment, trying to determine if he felt disappointed or relieved. He was disappointed he couldn't fulfill Cupid's wish for him to watch over Strife, but also relieved that the troublesome former God would no longer be residing in their camp. There was no love lost between Hercules and the House of War, after all. Trying to be tactful, he settled a somber gaze upon his obviously worried friend.
"Iolaus, I'm sure he's fine. He has some provisions and a weapon, and he definitely knows how to use it. The Gods are watching out for him."
The hunter just shrugged, settling down onto his blankets for the night, listening to Hercules do the same nearby. He wasn't as certain as Hercules that their former charge would be fine on his own. Feeling a bit of foreboding, Iolaus tried to drift into sleep... though rest was to be a long time coming this night.