A/N Thank you for the reviews. I'd just like to wish you all a belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
He crouches in the darkness. Huddled in a corner with a growing sense of terror at a nameless fear. Something was out there, waiting for him. His breathing quickens and he can hear the sound harshly in his own ears. He knows that he has to be quiet, to keep absolutely still, so that the nameless thing that is lurking in the shadows won't find him. His breathing refuses to co-operate no matter what he does – coming in harsh bursts, louder than ever. He shifts quietly in the blackness, wishing for some light to see what was coming for him, at the same time as knowing that the darkness is his closest ally – if he cannot see them then they cannot see him.
Hard hands, some holding sharp knives, come out of the darkness and grab at him; clawing and ripping at clothes and skin alike, and he is hoisted, chained by his wrists to a high hook and left to dangle – the tips of his toes just touching the floor. They leave him hanging there in the darkness all alone; leave him for the nameless terror to find. And it seems as if he's always been alone, never had anyone else.
Then it is there. Hot breath on the back of his neck, searing him, burning him from the inside out and he cannot help but cry out in fear and pain, knowing that if he could see in the blackness all that would be left of himself would be a burned out husk. Nothing worth saving.
The voice that answers his cries is soft and gentle – so heart-achingly familiar that he instinctively reaches out to it even though he cannot quite put a name or a face to it. A feather light touch strokes across his forehead, followed by something wet cooling his burning skin. The voice soothes him all the while like a balm on his tortured soul – and he wants to tell the person that it isn't worth it, that he isn't worth it but his energy is spent and he cannot seem to form the words. Flailing he grabs a hand in the darkness and clings to it like he's drowning all over again.
"It's alright, Jason," the voice says, calming him. "Go to sleep. It will all be better when you wake up."
Allowing himself to be comforted, he sinks back into a dreamless sleep, and the cycle begins once more.
The first light of dawn crept grey and featureless over the roofs of the city as Pythagoras stood on the balcony trying to get some air. A light breeze ruffled his blonde curls into a fluffy halo as he raised his tired face and briefly closed his eyes. Sunrise couldn't be far away, bringing with it light and colour and all the promise that a new day could give. He felt his spirits lift. His mother had always told him that hope returned to men with every sunrise and he had never quite been able to let go of this childlike belief no matter what he had seen and done. Hercules might laugh at him but for Pythagoras every new day was a new chance and brought with it renewed hope and belief.
Hearing a soft moan behind him, the mathematician turned and made his way back inside and over to the alcove that had once been a storage area and now served as Jason's bedroom. His dark haired friend tossed uneasily on the bed, caught in the grip of a fevered dream. Pythagoras grimaced in sympathy – he knew from experience that the nightmares that accompanied a high fever were some of the worst that a person could have. After three days Jason still looked pretty awful – pale and drawn, his face flushed with fever and a few errant curls sticking to his forehead where he was sweating. One of his friends had sat with him at all times since he had come home – trading off with each other in order to get a few short hours sleep when they could. His fever and delirium were still both very high and it galled Pythagoras that all they could really do was try to keep him as cool as they could and try to soothe him when the nightmares got too bad – apart from that they would have to wait until his fever broke.
The blonde sat down on a stool alongside the bed and rubbed his gritty eyes – gods he was tired! Not that he would do anything differently if he had the chance – apart from possibly tying his friend to a chair to stop him taking the job that had been the start of all this. He reached into a bowl of water at his side for a cloth, wrung it out and carefully started to mop his friends forehead, hoping that a change would come soon.
Hercules winced at the pitiful cries coming from his friend. He might not admit it, even to himself, but he had grown very fond of both the boys he lived with. And they were both still boys, young enough to be his sons when you got right down to it – not that he would ever admit that he was less than youthful himself. He frowned. Both he and Pythagoras had known from quite early on that Jason was special, even if the boy didn't always seem to know it himself, so to see him like this was dreadful. He looked across at the alcove. Pythagoras was trying to calm their friend, but it was obvious that the dark haired lad was having none of it, crying out pitifully for his father. He sounded like a lost child and his cries were getting more frantic all the time.
Hercules strode across to the bed.
"It's alright son," he said. "I'm right here."
Pythagoras looked up at him sharply.
"Dad?" Jason was suddenly calmer. "I've missed you so much."
Hercules closed his eyes – the boy still sounded so much like a lost child that his heart ached. He crouched down beside the bed and grasped one of the flailing hands in his own, while using his other hand to gently brush the sweaty curls back from the hot forehead.
"Sleep now, Jason," he said. "I'll be right here when you wake up."
Jason relaxed back peacefully and drifted away from them again.
"What did you pretend to be his father for?" Pythagoras hissed.
"It calmed him down didn't it?"
"But you lied."
Hercules almost smiled.
"It gave him peace," he said.
He was back in the sub again with the glass imploding on him. Even as he shielded his eyes he felt the water rushing in, pulling at him, filling his ears with a roaring sound. He held his breath for as long as he could, lungs bursting and head pounding from the pressure. Logically he knew that he would be dead long before any rescue could come. He struggled to free himself from the twisted remains of the sub but the water kept pulling him back. He knew he was drowning even as he tried to struggle towards a surface that he couldn't even see. He was going to die...
Gasping, Jason suddenly came back to consciousness. Even in the aftermath of the dream it was hard to shake the feeling that he was drowning and he swallowed hard, trying to calm his erratic breathing. He slowly opened his eyes and let the room come back into focus. He was home, in his own bed, in the house he shared in Atlantis. He was safe. He swallowed again still feeling the lingering effects of panic.
"Shh. It's alright Jason. Just go back to sleep." The voice was decidedly feminine and quite familiar. Jason turned slightly towards it.
"Medusa?" he asked, unsure why the woman Hercules loved was sitting by his bed. His voice sounded rough and weak to his own ears.
Medusa looked at him properly and smiled, her joy written on her face. The young man in front of her looked pale and weak but the hazel eyes were lucid and clear of fever. She ghosted a soft hand across his face to assure herself of the fact that his fever had finally broken.
"Welcome back," she said simply.
Jason frowned in confusion.
"What?" he asked.
"You've been very ill," Medusa answered. "But I think you might just be alright now. Would you like a drink?" On receiving an answering nod, she reached down beside herself and picked up a drinking cup. Carefully slipping her arm beneath her friend's shoulders, she helped him to sit and drink, before gently settling him back down again and brushing the dark curls away from his eyes. She was more than a little startled to discover both how weak Jason was at the moment and how maternal she felt. She smiled down at him as he closed his eyes, unable to stay awake any longer, and settled herself back into a more comfortable position on the stool, as exhaustion claimed the young man and he drifted into a dreamless sleep.