Tap Into My Strength, Drain it Dry

Apollo

Apollo stretches his legs out on Dionysus's bed in his apartment in the Big house, his back resting against the headboard. He'd changed into his comfortable jeans and camp T-shirt as soon as they'd arrived, while Dionysus seems to be content to wear his leotard. Dionysus hadn't even broken a sweat, another thing that Apollo has noticed lately that he has in common with mortals. He pushes the thought away, intending to deal with it later, as is his habit and waits for Dionysus to stop fussing with his chest of drawers.

"What are you looking for in there anyway?" Apollo asks. He digs the pillows out from under the duvet and fluffs them behind his back, then settles back with his arms up, resting the back of his head in his hands.

"Hmph," Dionysus grunts. He slams the drawer and gives his room a sweep with his eyes narrowed, then points at the door. It closes and locks. Apollo raises an eyebrow as Dionysus produces a bottle of wine from thin air and uncorks it. "My secret stash isn't where I left it. I disguised it as a six pack of mellow yellow, but it's not there. Damn kids better not be sneaking in here and rifling through my shit if they know what's good for them." He plops onto the bed, and Apollo has to catch himself, holding onto the edge of the mattress before he falls off.

He adjusts the pillows again and resumes his position, glancing side-eyed at Dionysus drinking directly from his bottle. "Thought you had 25 more years to go. You really risking having another hundred set upon you?"

Dionysus lowers the bottle to his lap, and smacks the headboard with the back of his head as he looks at the ceiling. "What more can he do to me? I don't give a shit anymore, not with him off his rocker and … and …" He sighs and takes another long pull from the bottle. "Nothing matters anymore. I may as well live it up while I can."

Apollo frowns. This defeatism doesn't suit Dionysus. The god is a firecracker normally: ricocheting from one extreme set of emotions to another, and tempered in between. He's never apathetic. Well, not when he's wearing his youth. "What'd he do to you? To drive you to come back here when I've got the reins? You hate it here."

Dionysus curls his upper lip, frowning and making his chin dimple, unhappiness spilling off him like emotional exhaust. "I've thought it over the past day, two days? However long it's been. It's not worth getting worked up over. It's done. I pretty much fucked myself and … and everyone else over. This is just. I can't deny that I deserve it."

Wrinkling his forehead, Apollo turns onto his side, propped up with his elbow. "You're going to have to explain what you're talking about. I can read the future, but not your mind."

Rolling his eyes, Dionysus grunts again. He lifts the bottle, but sets it back in his lap without drinking, staring at it. "I can't stand up to Zeus. He's like my father and my mother. I mean, I know my real mother and what was done to her. I risked everything to fetch her back, but I just don't have the strength to do it again. I don't have the power. None of us do any more, you notice that? I've spent the last couple of years defusing the other Olympians from their efforts to try to push you into another overthrow, but I tripped myself up in trying to appeal to father's good side. I didn't see this madness then. He's hidden it well."

"I still don't understand. What are you … I mean, what exactly are you talking about with doing it again?"

Dionysus sighs heavily, shaking his head. Apollo can read in Dionysus's face that getting a straight answer is something that Dionysus has to work up to. He radiates pain. "I tried to appeal to him, but I did it for the wrong reasons. I wasn't trying to figure out what was going on with him. It didn't even occur to me that there might be a struggle there, something I might be able to help him with. I did it because I wanted to get out of my punishment. It's freaking ridiculous that this 'punishment' even landed on me. I mean, honestly. I just cannot function at my full power when I'm tied down. It's like what happened to Pan, you know? Tie me down with rules and regulations, make me live inside a box and force me to do the same to others, and all I can do is fight tooth and nail to get out, to break free. Pan eventually stopped struggling, he conceded his dominion and then died. I was so afraid the same thing was happening to me, I couldn't see that father is fighting a battle with his own mind, not until it was too late." Tears brim up in Dionysus's eyes, distorting the color and trembling.

"Too late for …?" Apollo whispers. It feels like he may be tempting the fates by asking the question, but he senses Dionysus won't be able to tell him unless he does.

The tears spill down Dionysus's cheeks, streaking his rosy skin. "Ariadne," Dionysus says with a broken sob. "He cast her into Tartarus – or had Boreas do it – same difference really. If there was ever a woman that was more undeserving of such a fate …" He trails off, swallowing the rest of his sentence, likely trying not to think about her gentle nature for fear it'll hurt worse.

Apollo gets it. Of all his children, Asclepius is one of the gentlest souls, and he and Ariadne started out as demigods; they still have mortal souls. The thought makes Apollo's breath catch, another rising. Dionysus also began as a demigod, but of the two of them, Apollo is the one who seems to be growing more mortal. Does Dionysus still have a mortal soul? If so, then …

"I don't know why you even tolerate being in the same room as me, Apollo," Dionysus says, interrupting Apollo's thoughts. "I'm horrible. I haven't given a thought to your plight even if I have seen what the others are demanding of you. I've been too focused on my own …" he gestures randomly, like searching for the right word, "…everything."

Apollo makes the split-second decision to trust his little brother. He hadn't seen Dionysus break down like this ever. Before, when Dionysus had proved himself as a hero, and Zeus raised him to Olympian status, the first thing he had done with his newfound powers was to defy his father and the rules of nature, and even Hades himself and descended into the depths of the Underworld to bring his mother back with him. It tested the wills of the gods, but not one of the Olympians or even Hades could deny that he was setting a wrong to rights. He'd been so in touch with righteous power that Hestia, the eldest of them, had offered up her seat in the pantheon to him with a smile on her face.

"You know," Apollo starts, musing over his words. "I haven't been as inactive in dealing with the state of things as most people assume. But I gotta tell you, it's really good to see you back, like yourself again. I hate that you had to be brought so low to get there."

Dionysus harrumphs, but his tears have stopped and Apollo can tell he's pleased with the sentiment by the way he hides a small smile, taking another long drink from his bottle.

"Can I trust you, brother? I mean honestly and truly trust you?"

Lowering his bottle back to his lap, Dionysus nods solemnly and wipes the stain from his lips. The atmosphere turns serious, Dionysus's eyes unwavering as they fix on Apollo's. "You know I do not swear oaths lightly, or even at all for the most part because they're binding. But for you, tonight … I swear on the Oracle of Delphi which we both protect and upon the river Styx, whatever information you share with me, I will not use to bring harm to you or to others."

That does it. Apollo swallows hard, tears prickling his eyes. Damned emotions; they never used to affect him so strongly.

Dionysus raises an eyebrow, giving him a curious look. "Well, don't cry about it beefhead. I don't want Styx to think that you getting all weepy is causing you harm."

Apollo stifles a half-sob/half-laugh with the back of his hand. He sniffles and drops his hand again. "It's just really good to hear you say that. Hermes was always my go-to confidante, and unfortunately, I can't talk to him about what I've been up to. He's part of it."

"Mmm-hmmmmm? Am I finally going to get some clarification about what that flightly boy-toy of yours was rambling about a few days ago? He seems to be under the impression that time has jumped forward two full years. I mean, I did a mental pat down and checked my calendar to make sure. It totally hasn't, but he didn't seem to have lost his wits either."

Apollo takes a moment to reason with himself, to convince himself to actually put his faith in Dionysus's oath. The problem is figuring out whether or not sharing the truth will mess up the grand scheme of things. He pushes himself upright, sitting on his feet, his palms resting on his knees and giving him a view of the fire in the hearth. Watching the flames lick over the wood, he reads the patterns and allows his thoughts to wander while Dionysus waits.

The answer seems to rise from his own core, burning its message into his mind like an iron brand glowing hot in a bed of coals. Trust is the root of it. Sometimes knowing what is going to happen further down the road prevents you from noticing the sights you pass along the way, and in ignoring the present, you seal the fate of the future.

He drops his voice, finally answering Dionysus's question. "Yes. But first, I need you to take me to the place where we won't be overheard by anyone."

Dionysus groans, then rubs his face. "Really, Apollo? You know, even the Madlands isn't a hundred percent secure. She has access to it."

Apollo nods. "Yes. I am aware," he says, pointedly not breaking eye contact, waiting.

"All right. Hold on to your boots." Dionysus waves his hand over himself and Apollo, the room dissolving into Mist.

XxxX

The Madlands is a place similar to the shadow realm and the world between sleep and death. There are many layers to the Mist, and this is one realm that Dionysus holds as his own domain. He uses it as a place where those suffering insanity can find respite or torment, depending on the circumstance. He normally allows madness to unfold in mortals as it will, but when he does intervene, he has the ability to sway which fate the mortal will find by his own judgement.

They materialize in a foggy marsh, the air moist and thick, coating the back of Apollo's throat as he breathes it in and nearly making him gag. His body shivers, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. The place affects him more strongly than he'd expected, but the other Olympians can't access the realm, so at least he can speak to Dionysus freely.

Dionysus tucks his arm around Apollo's waist. It's warm and real, something to keep him anchored. He relaxes a fraction, grateful for the gesture, and allows Dionysus to guide him out of the marsh and up a short hill hidden in vapor. At the top Dionysus opens a door which takes solid form after it is open, and ushers Apollo through it into a small circular-sort of room, similar to a gazebo. Dionysus shows him how to take a seat, the bench built into the wall, appearing after they have done so, the door swinging shut at the same time.

Apollo releases a shaky breath as the chill dissipates, the walls becoming more apparent in form as he relaxes.

"I'm a little concerned about you, Apollo," Dionysus confesses. "The last time I brought you here, you didn't put off this much anxiety, and that was after the second time you spent a year as a mortal."

Frowning at the reminder of his slavery to Laomedon, Apollo recalls the last time they came here. Dionysus is the only god who Apollo confided in about his trials, that the evil taskmaster had gone further with Apollo than the threat he delivered to Poseidon and Apollo together, to bind their hands and feet and cut off their ears if they didn't step up the pace. That punishment had been deemed by Zeus as 'lenient' for the offense of trying to overthrow his power. But Dionysus is right about how much more mortal he is now than he was then, after actually being reduced to one. It freaks him out more than he wants to acknowledge.

"I, uh," Apollo says, trying to piecemeal his thoughts. It's not like him to struggle with words. "I've noticed it, too. You know, Dionysus. Only Hermes knows of what I'm about to tell you, and … and I really want to keep it that way." When Dionysus nods for him to continue, he confesses. "I have dreams." He hates the way his heart stirs when he utters the words, mad at himself for the joy that comes with it. Dreams are a symptom of mortality and when they happen to a god, it's usually only at the point the god is dying, fading away. But more than that, his biggest secret looms. It's on the tip of his tongue. He hesitates until Dionysus releases the breath he'd been holding. "I think I have … a soul."

It isn't unusual to see Dionysus grow agitated, but in this moment, witnessing it simultaneously terrifies and invigorates Apollo. Perhaps he'll discover if the evolution he's undergoing is similar to Dionysus's lived experience, rising from mortal to god. Apollo holds onto the hope like an answered prayer; it's possible that he's misreading the signs of fading. Dionysus screws up his face, twisting one of his black curls round and round his finger and tugging on it. He crosses one knee over the other, then switches, reversing the position on the opposite side, his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turned down.

"This makes no sense," he says at last. "You realize this place is still accessible by Hecate? Why would you say such a thing aloud even here?"

Apollo shrugs, unable to keep the smile tugging at his lips from happening. "Because it feels good to finally say it. Freeing, really. I didn't realize quite how heavy a burden carrying that secret was. And … it's okay if Hecate hears it. I trust her."

Dionysus's eyes bulge in his face, his cheeks puffing out, the blush from the wine growing even more pronounced as he shakes his head shortly, barely moving. "I'm not hearing this. Am I actually hearing this? Where the hell did I put my wine? I'm not drunk enough to handle this conversation."

Apollo rolls his eyes. Dionysus being dramatic isn't unusual, but Apollo doesn't normally find it so amusing. Maybe it's the whole 'trust' thing. Maybe this is why mortals feel so giddy when they find their other half and put all their trust in them; having that faith in somebody else makes burdens feel manageable. He waits until Dionysus conjures up his wine once more and takes a large swig directly from the bottle. "Let me know when you're ready for the rest. I'm afraid I have a lot to unload tonight."

Dionysus's exasperation doesn't kill Apollo's hope. He needs to prove he's willing to put all his cards on the table before Dionysus will even consider doing the same thing.

Dionysus gives him a look that says Why do you have to be such a huge pain in the ass all the time? then drinks again before resting the bottle on his knee, holding onto the neck. "Okay," he says, burping, and then clearing his throat. "I'm all ears. Lay in on me, sunshine."

XxxX

"Okay, okay, okay … Let me get this straight," Dionysus says when Apollo stops to catch his breath. It feels like he's been talking for more than an hour straight. "So you looked ahead to the future and saw something you didn't like, and so you got together with the the goddess of magic and decided to just … change it? You know how dangerous that is. Like, setting the world off-balance sort of dangerous."

Apollo wipes his brow with the back of his hand, then grimaces at the layer of sweat. "I think I need some water," he says, deferring answering Dionysus's question, and earning himself a dark look from his brother.

"You shouldn't need water, Apollo. Have you thought that maybe your interference might be what's causing you to become less like a god and more like a mere human?"

Apollo frowns, giving Dionysus his best puppydog eyes.

Dionysus closes his eyes and drains the last of his wine, his cheeks rosier than they have been in ages. When he opens them again, he shakes the bottle and clear water fills it from the bottom up. He passes it to Apollo.

Apollo drinks, savoring the clear taste, the refreshing coolness, aware that Dionysus is watching and worried, but unable to stop until he finishes it off. He sighs loudly when the bottle is empty and leans back against the gazebo wall, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, finally refreshed.

Apollo turns to look when Dionysus clears his throat. He's tired now and the concept of sleep is so tempting.

"We were discussing you and Hecate fucking up the world by trying to alter the future," Dionysus reminds him. "I still cannot believe we are having such a conversation. Of all the gods, you were always the one that interfered the least on your own accord. You always, always, knew where to draw the line between gods and mortals and for some reason, the mortals liked you even better because of that. I looked to you for guidance in how to learn how to maintain that balance myself. What in Hades were you thinking?"

Sighing heavily, Apollo shakes his head. "It's not really how it sounds. I know I'm insufferable to talk to, that I hold my cards close to my chest, but you know that's more because I've been trained to operate that way under the threat of Father's punishments." He pauses and steadies his breathing, his mind drifting to what Zephyros might be up to right now. Then, he shakes his head, not wanting to think about what had led to him needing to ask Hecate for assistance. "I didn't alter the future, actually, technically … I didn't alter anything. The past two years unfolded normally, but a small group made some poor choices – sort of got carried away – and had they been allowed to continue that path, they would have exploded the sun; All of us, everything, would be 'poof,' gone. Even the fates value their own existence enough to look the other way when Hecate does her thing. It's not bad working with a force who can cross any boundary."

Dionysus massages his forehead, then clears his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He takes his bottle back from Apollo and fills it with wine again. "Okay. So Hecate is the one who actually did … what now?" He shifts, scooting to the end of the bench, turning sideways and lifting his feet onto it. He rests the back of his head against the wall, holding his wine bottle balanced on his thigh.

Apollo smiles crookedly. The way Dionysus carries himself – especially dressed in his purple leotard, his long black curls resting on his shoulders and cushioning the back of his head, his expression haughty – reminds Apollo of a Prima Donna he'd favored in the 1920s, kicking back in her dressing room after a show. He pushes the thought from his mind, losing focus again. "Sorry. Where was I?"

Dionysus stares at Apollo, his violet eyes unamused as he drags his bottle to his lips and drinks, his Adam's apple bobbing. Lowering the bottle, he wipes his upper lip and breathes out through his nose, his lips pursing. "Hecate. What. Did. She. Actually. Do?" he says, punctuating each word as if to drill it into Apollo's head, though his tone is gentle.

Apollo's cheeks heat up, but he finds his train of thought again. "There were four of them: one mortal, three gods. She wiped the memories of the past two years from three of them, and, uh, I asked if she'd be more selective with the last. Only take the memories of … you know … the rebellion plans."

"For fuck's sake," Dionysus says, shaking his head. He looks almost as tired as Apollo feels. "I assume the one you made a special case for was Zephyr? And your reasoning …" he pauses, his tone changing from mild curiosity to pitying as he continues, "… You're back together again. Aren't you?"

Apollo nods slowly, then pulls the photo Dionysus had given him from out of the Mist and stares at it. "Today I learned that this wasn't the first time such a memory spell has been used on a god. That's what happened to me, isn't it? And Zephyr. Long ago." He looks up at Dionysus again. "It was Hecate back then, too? Father asked it of her?"

Dionysus shrugs. "Heavens if I know. They didn't tell me anything back then, still don't in fact." He frowns briefly before making an 'oh well' sort of expression. "Luckily, I'm not offended. I really don't give a damn about what they all get up to. All I need is freedom to move around and be myself. Fuck. I had hoped this conversation would lift my spirits a little, you know. Instead, I'm more disgruntled than I was before."

"Yeah. I don't blame you," Apollo says. "I don't think the fates are involved with my 'mortal' dilemma. I think it might be Aphrodite that has a hand in it."

Dionysus raises his eyebrows, his forehead disappearing under his hair. "Yeah? She's not a goddess you want to cross. What'd you do this time?"

Apollo fights his smile, then caves to it, his lips stretching into a mischievous grin. "We got married, Zephyr and I." Saying it aloud lifts his spirits, the gazebo changing in response. He goes on, explaining himself as the wall opposite him, previously grey and indistinct - fuzzy around the edges - solidifies. The wooden beams fill with color, deep, rich reds and browns, like polished cedar. "Anteros warned Zephyr that the fact Zephyr could see him was both a blessing and a curse. I dunno. If the curse was that we got temporarily separated, it's not so bad." He frowns, recalling Aphrodite's unwelcome visit, the horrible mood he'd been in before Zephyros had returned, his loss of the ability to sire demigods, his growing resemblance to mortals. "But even if the curse is something else, I don't care. It's worth it."

When Dionysus doesn't respond, Apollo turns to look. Dionysus stares back, his eyes bugging out, his jaw dropped, his lips stretched into a shocked O.

"What's up with you?" Apollo asks, giving one of Dionysus's ankles a squeeze.

Dionysus slowly closes his mouth. A full minute passes before he says anything.

"You are treading dangerous waters. Did you ever stop to consider that what you do, what measures you take and that are laid upon you have a direct correlation to the society of the mortal world? Marriage is Hera's domain, and rewriting the rules …" He wrinkles his forehead, pausing, then rubs his temples. "What am I saying? I swear to Zeus, Apollo. The bullshit I'm spewing isn't my own. I've been held down for so long, I'm reciting the company lines now."

Apollo chuckles to himself and rubs Dionysus's feet when he moves them to Apollo's lap. "It's really good to see you coming back to yourself, brother. I know that Zephyr and I are risking a lot. Hera stopped pressuring me to find a wife after Eros took up his campaign to ruin my life. I know she's not going to be happy about it, more because she doesn't consider wind gods worthy of an Olympian than because we're both gods."

Dionysus has soft feet, responsive feet. He massages them, watching the cares and worries fall away from Dionysus's face, listening to the happy sighs he makes. But Apollo's attention is divided, half on the foot rub and half on the concerns Dionysus brought up.

"You are right to chastise me though," Apollo says, pressing in with his thumbs. "I did it without really thinking. Since the battle at Athens … you know, my glittery dispatch … I've not been able to, uh – " He stops. It's still painful to talk about. But siring demigods is how the gods stay present, how they keep going.

Dionysus opens his eyes, his hands clasped on his stomach. He lifts an eyebrow. "Yes? Did he take something else from you?"

Apollo shrugs. He switches to massaging the other foot, concentrating on it rather than on Dionysus's face. "I haven't been able to father any demigods. Going on three years now. It's not for the lack of trying or willing women. It's stupid, but … I kind of worked it out in my mind, that if Zephyr and I got a woman pregnant together, that it'd be like … tangible proof of us being 'together', you know? And when it failed every single time, I just felt like a failure, like with everything weighing me down, that was just the thing that broke me. And when he told me about Anteros … I couldn't help it. The proposal came pouring out and …" He smiles, laughing under his breath, "… I don't regret it for a single second."

Dionysus flexes his foot, as Apollo had stopped rubbing. He resumes the massage.

"As soon as you finish my toes, we need to get back. You've got a long drive ahead of you."

"Yeah," Apollo says. "Thanks for this …" He gestures vaguely around the gazebo before continuing the foot rub. "…listening and all. Not judging. It really helps."

It does too. It doesn't even matter that Dionysus verify his hopes or not. Right now, his heart soaring, his troubles not pressing him into the ground, Apollo feels very far from dying. He's so alive, in fact, he wants to sing, and being the god of music, naturally, he does just that.