It had almost been a week and Atreus was still not himself. His mood was up and down, angry one minute and upset the next. Kratos agreed to put their journey on hold, concerned the stress would bring on his son's sickness. Atreus had hardly spoken a word since their return, and Kratos didn't press him.
The boy did not feel well. He wanted nothing more than to forget Modi's touch and fulfill his mother's last wish. He sat outside on the hard ground, holding her ashes.
"I miss you…" he whispered, tears dropping onto the soft pouch.
He wanted to feel her loving arms around him once more. He wanted comfort only his mother could give. His father was trying, but showing affection wasn't his strength. Atreus knew this. It cut him deeply to think she might have witnessed his abuse in spirit.
His bottom lip quivered, squeezing his eyes shut. "And I'm sorry…"
"Boy,"
Atreus jumped at the sudden deep voice, wiping his face and looking over his shoulder.
"Food," Kratos put simply, waiting for his son to enter before he closed the door behind him.
Atreus carefully placed his mother's ashes on a small stand adorned with colourful flowers and Mentha from her herb garden. She loved the smell so it reminded him of her. He took it upon himself to look after the garden when she passed. His father wasn't interested.
"How're you faring, little brother?" Mimir asked softly.
Atreus visibly tensed at the name, giving the head a small shrug.
"Your father can cook a hearty meal- colour me surprised."
Mimir received a dismissive grunt from Kratos. The head wasn't having much luck lightening the mood as of late. The atmosphere was heavy and daresay miserable.
They sat at the wooden table in silence. Atreus swirled his spoon in his bowl of stew, having very little appetite. Kratos looked off to the side where his son's wooden figures laid on the floor untouched.
The fact Atreus was spending more time with Faye's ashes didn't sit well with him. He knew his son was talking to her. It wasn't healthy nor normal in his eyes.
"You play more with your food than you do your toys."
Atreus paused, not looking up from his bowl. "…I'm not hungry," he mumbled, sighing softly as he slumped back in his chair.
Kratos knitted his brow in annoyance. "Eat, boy," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for discussion. "Or do you wish to fall ill again?" Atreus was growing thinner by the day - the boy didn't have much weight on him to begin with.
"But I'm not hungry," Atreus repeated, picking his spoon back up nevertheless. He knew better than to argue.
The silence continued as Kratos finished his meal, the clinking of cutlery the only noise between them. Atreus couldn't bring himself to eat much though, he couldn't stomach it.
Kratos put his spoon down, looking at his son. "This has gone on long enough," he told him. "What troubles you, Atreus? You have not been yourself since Asgard."
Atreus rubbed his tired eyes, feeling an invisible weight on his chest. He was paranoid. His felt his heartbeat pick up a notch, swallowing nervously. "Nothing," he murmured, never wanting his father to know. "I just…" Atreus looked down at his hands, "I miss her."
It was the truth, but not the truth Kratos sought. The father knew it was more than that, but again he didn't press the issue. He couldn't express what Atreus needed. His son was physically unharmed, aside from the small lesion on his hand. Open wounds and broken bones Kratos could mend, emotionally pain was something else entirely.
"Can I go back outside now?" he asked, feeling closed in.
Kratos looked at him for a long moment before nodding his head stiffly. Atreus picked up the two toys off the floor to give his father the illusion he was going out to play. He left the house, feeling his father's eyes on him.
He went around the side where he was sitting previously. He glanced back, wanting to make sure his father wasn't watching him before he went for a walk. He didn't have his bow and arrows, but his mother's dagger was with him always.
He hadn't asked his father what became of Modi. He couldn't speak his name. He said nothing and trusted his father killed him. He could breathe again once he was out in the open. Atreus sniffled, taking the long way around to the nearby stream. He knew draugr's were few and far between.
He felt as if he could release his thoughts out into the open – so they'd carry downstream and wash away. Atreus liked the thought of that, jumping from one rock to another before he sat down on the water's edge.
He looked at his wooden toys, frowning at the yellow and blue carvings in each hand. He had no desire to play with them anymore. He didn't see things the same way. If Atreus was being honest, he couldn't even feel anything other than anger and sadness – which he already had in abundance after the death of his mother.
Atreus felt dead inside.
He abruptly stood up and hurled the two figures into the water, watching them resurface and float away. He sat back down after a moment, collecting himself. He took out his mother's dagger and began drawing patterns in the dirt, humming the lullaby she used to sing to him.
He stopped when he caught his reflection in the blade.
"Ugly little brat."
He leaned forward to get a better look at himself in the water's surface, turning his head to the side to see his scars.
Every muscle in Atreus' body ached as he was picked up off the bed and carried in a pair of large arms. He cracked open his eyes at the sound of gentle running water, greeted with the sight of a lavish golden tub. He might have found it amazing at any other place, but knowing it was his captor's filled him with a sense of apprehension.
Atreus watched Modi reach down to check the temper before he lowered them into the water. Realizing his capture was unclothed, Atreus stiffened, tensing his sticky thighs as his feet submerged under the soothing warm water.
He whimpered softly, biting his lip to stifle the sound as the water sloshed around him, making contact with his torn entrance. His captor hushed him quietly, positioning Atreus so he was sitting between his legs with his back to his chest.
Atreus' muscles gradually began to relax despite the tension. He was beyond exhausted.
"This will sting- but only for a moment, little one."
Modi's soapy hand rubbed across Atreus' back gently, the other holding his waist. The boy arched forward, struggling to get away from the touch. His muscles tightened again and he shuddered as his captor's hand drifted further down his spine.
Feeling his captor's finger slide inside him, Atreus jolted, hissing through his clenched teeth. "…No!" He rasped, his voice leaving him. Unable to move he gave up his struggle, panting as he looked down at his tear stained face in the rippling water.
The man hushed him quietly once more. "I won't hurt you again, little brother, you have my word."
Modi did keep hurting Atreus though. The boy couldn't understand why he was so gentle at times. It was confusing. Hard to decipher. It didn't make any sense to Atreus - as if Modi was torn between being two people. One cold and sadistic, and the other remorseful. He soon came to realize what a gifted manipulator the god was however, and Atreus stomach churned, refusing to remember what came after those tender words.
It didn't make much difference in the end. Atreus would never forgive the god for what he'd done to him, no matter how remorseful he was.
His closed his eyes for a brief moment, opening them to look at the faded cut on his tattooed hand. It was almost gone, but the memory was still agonizingly fresh.
"Now we're blood brothers."
It repulsed him to think Modi's blood ran in his veins. His tightened his grip on the dagger, slashing across his palm without thinking. He kept cutting in different directions, working himself into a frenzy. He just didn't want to look at it anymore.
In a strange way Atreus' heart began beating again. He dropped the dagger, his erratic breath visible in the winter air. He hadn't realize what he'd done until he was cupping a pool of his own blood.
He lunged towards the water in a panic, washing the blood away. He winced at the sting, but in a way – it felt good. He felt alive.
Atreus inhaled deeply. He looked up at the vibrant colours streaking across the sky as the sun began to set. He exhaled slowly, taking a moment to clean his blade before he started walking back home.
When he reached the house Kratos was already waiting for him outside. His arms crossed over his broad chest, looking none too pleased. Atreus' shoulders slumped as he walked towards him, preparing himself for his father's scorn.
Kratos narrowed his eyes. "You know better than to go into the woods alone, boy."
Atreus kept his eyes on the ground. "I know… I'm-" he didn't finish his sentence, shaking his head. He knew his father didn't want an apology. "I just wanted to go for a walk," he mumbled.
Kratos grunted, stepping aside to let his son into the house.
Atreus walked inside, turning on his heel to face his father. "I'm ready," he said quietly. "To take mother's ashes to Jötunheimr."
His father's expression didn't change. He always had a permanent scowl on his face. "So be it," he said, "We leave at dawn."
Atreus nodded, going to his dresser to pick up the book his mother used to read to him - about the wolves Sköll and Hati. He sat cross legged on his bed, reading it quietly.
"Your hand, boy,"
Atreus' heart plummeted, quickly turning to see his father's glowering face.
"Do you take me for a fool?" he growled, stepping closer.
"N-No, father," Atreus stuttered, "Why?" he asked.
Kratos' hand shot out and gripped his son's wrist, in no mood for games. "My patience is wearing thin, boy."
Atreus balled his hand into a fist tightly, trying to hide the self-inflicted wounds.
Kratos' nostrils flared, "Show. Me. Boy."
Atreus felt shame wash over him for the upmost time. He slowly opened his hand, allowing his father to see the damage.
His father knelt down so they were at eye level, holding Atreus' gaze. "Why do you harm yourself?" his voice was rough, but Atreus could hear the veil of concern.
The boy yanked his hand back, hugging his book to his chest. Atreus felt the tears well in his eyes. He shook his head. His mouth refused to form words as his shoulders began to shake gently.
"Atreus...?" Kratos questioned, hesitant and quiet. He reached out, holding the side of his son's face in one hand. His was so small.
Atreus dropped the book into his lap, wrapping his fingers around Kratos' thick wrist. He kept shaking his head, "I'm fine," he told him gently, forcing himself to say the words clearly – with conviction.