Disclaimer: I don't own Trials of Apollo

APOLLO XIX

Three scheming children
(So what if one's four thousand?)
What are they up to?

Everything hurt.

That was an understatement, akin to saying that being forced to take the place of Herophile and utter his own Oracle's prophecies as they were flayed from his mortal body had hurt. Akin to saying that dying and dying and dying again and again and again as he fell, locked in mortal combat with his greatest enemy, had hurt.

His essence screamed, an indescribable agony as it was torn apart and reassembled over and over again, and Apollo couldn't ignore it. However he was not in a mortal body, but a godly one, and godly bodies did not stop functioning simply because they were shredded. Moving it was infinitely easier than dragging his mortal meat sack out of the Labyrinth had been, even with the assistance of the Meliai.

The state of his uncle was sobering; after Orion, after the rivers, where Hades had come through entirely unscathed, to see him stripped down to his bare essence, the deep purple swirls of deep darkness with just the hint of something lighter was, in a word, terrifying. The fact that it was Apollo, not Hades, who had been able to bring them to a shore and haul them out of the river, told him that whatever he was experiencing was nothing compared to whichever curses had been inflicted upon Hades.

He had no idea how his uncle had managed to lead them on so far, before near-collapsing to the ground with instructions that they rest.

Within him, Apollo felt his innate healing abilities kick into overdrive, assailing the curses sunk into his being with a viciousness that hurt almost as much as the Acheron. He was no stranger to lifting curses – it came as part of the healing package, if only barely – but it was the first time he had been forced to lift so many of such potent calibre. It was also the first time he'd had to lift them from himself, and the curses fought back bitterly in the battleground of his essence.

His bow was gone. His quiver was empty.

His voice was gone.

Hades wasn't quite touching him, but he was close enough that, if Apollo reached out, he could. If he thought his uncle would let him, he would have done, to try and accelerate the lifting of the curses on the older god, but with no voice with which to ask, Apollo was left unable to request permission.

There was nothing he could do, but wait for the curses to fade.

He didn't fall asleep, or lose awareness of Hades behind him, or the unnatural stillness of the Pit around them, but a layer flickered across his consciousness, dividing his attention seamlessly, as though he was in two places at once. It was a familiar sensation, not just because he spent most of his existence physically in multiple places, but because he was used to seeing things.

Things that were, things that are, and things that have yet to be (a fantastic line from a fantastic work of fiction that Calliope had eagerly blessed). Apollo had some control over when he saw things, and occasionally what he saw, if the Fates allowed, but the control was not absolute and this was certainly an unplanned vision by all accounts.

He couldn't be upset about it when he found himself once again observing Nico's bedroom in Hades' palace, where the son of Hades himself was sat on the floor of his room, back resting against the side of his bed, and Will squished against his side.

Will was no longer wearing the pyjamas Apollo had provided for him, but they could be seen roughly folded up on the bed. Instead, he was in a simple tank top and shorts – not Underworld-appropriate attire, but clothing he knew his son found comfortable, and as he wasn't leaving the room, what he wore didn't really matter. His head rested against Nico's shoulder, eyes half-lidded – clearly not that much time had passed since Apollo's last vision, as the post-coma lethargy was obvious.

Nico also looked like he had only recently woken up, although unlike Will seemed alert enough as he picked at a muffin, occasionally pressing chunks into Will's hand for his boyfriend to tiredly raise to his mouth and swallow. Apollo trusted that the muffin wasn't Underworld food, but rather provided by the third occupant of the room, who was sat a little way away from the two demigods, cross-legged like a school child despite looking far too old.

"How did it go?" Will asked after a few moments, swallowing another chunk of muffin and looking directly up at Nico's ear. "Did they listen?"

"Yeah," Nico replied, a far smaller morsel finding its way into his mouth compared to the portions he was passing to Will. "They said they'd talk to her."

"I am still not convinced this is wise," Asclepius mused. In front of him was an open notepad, which had several symbols doodled onto the pad. Nico rolled his eyes and made a gesture with one hand; an assortment of carpal-type bones materialised beneath the pad and rolled it towards him. A sharp jerk had an attached pen free of its confines, and he marked a tick on one of the pages, by what appeared to be the letter C in a stylised bubble letter.

"You were the one to mention it," he retorted.

"They took our places," Will mumbled. He still sounded upset about it, but Apollo refused to feel bad; between upset and dead, he vastly preferred the former. "We can't just do nothing. Even though I feel like that's all I'm doing."

Nico poked him in the chest, hard enough that Will winced. "Shut up," he scolded. "You came up with the plan. I'm just the messenger."

"You're not just anything," Will argued.

"And you're not useless," Nico overrode him before he could say anything more self-depredating, to Apollo's approval. "So, who's next? Percy or Annabeth? Should I do them both in the same night?"

"They'll talk to each other anyway," Will agreed, "but don't push yourself too far."

"This is hardly pushing anything," Nico grumbled.

"Perhaps you should wait a few days," Asclepius suggested; the look Nico sent him in response was black. "Lady Artemis is one thing, but others…" he trailed away as Apollo startled.

Artemis? What did Artemis have to do with anything? His twin knew nothing about what he'd planned to do, or where he'd gone. She wouldn't be pleased about his disappearing act, but he was confident she'd at least understand, even if she didn't approve, once he explained the basics to her.

How could they even contact her? Hades had been explicit in Asclepius' orders. There was no communication channel save Hermes between the Underworld and his sister – and even then, only if Artemis allowed Hermes to find her – but Hermes ran the high risk of information passing by his father, and that, Apollo hoped they had enough sense to avoid.

"Everything needs to be in place by the time they get back," Nico argued. "If we're not ready-"

"It will be several days at the least before their return," Asclepius overrode him firmly, but not harshly. "And that is if they have achieved their aim yet."

Will's breath hitched, and Nico put an arm around him. "But they've been gone so long," he said. "Shouldn't they be back soon?"

"It takes nine days simply to descend," Asclepius reminded him.

"I know," Will sighed. "But-"

"I survived the Pit for several months, and they are both far more powerful than I." Asclepius reached forwards and put a hand on Will's shoulder. "Have faith in them."

It was a neat little piece of benign deception; Apollo could still tell that Asclepius was not at full strength, and was well aware that his son had almost not survived his time in the Pit, but Will had no way of telling that. Asclepius had also seen Apollo after his first encounter with Orion, and knew that even he wasn't powerful enough to shrug off everything the Pit had to offer.

Still, Apollo couldn't complain at Asclepius' misdirection – not quite a lie because he had never said that he and Hades would be fine, but an implication in that direction nonetheless – because it drained some of the tension from Will's shoulders, his son relaxing more fully against Nico's side with a sigh.

"You're right," he admitted. "But I can't stop worrying."

Nico nudged him with the shoulder he was resting on. "Worry less," he coaxed. "Asclepius knows what he's talking about." Apollo had his doubts that Nico was completely at ease, either – of the three, Will was the only one who had never seen the horrors of the Pit for himself – but he appreciated his attempt to calm Will.

So, judging by the soft look he gave Nico, did Will himself.

"I just wish I could help," he mumbled.

"Will-"

"You're the one carrying the messages," Will continued with another sigh, ignoring Nico's attempt to pacify him. "While I'm too lethargic to do anything."

"Believe in them," Asclepius told him, squeezing his shoulder again. Will looked up at him – their eyes weren't quite the same shade of blue, but it was close. Even if he wasn't fully aware, Apollo was pretty certain he'd be able to identify that the two of them were related despite Asclepius' much older appearance.

"I do," Will promised – Apollo knew he was telling the truth, could feel Will's unwavering faith in the back of his mind. He was scared, but since he'd learnt who his father was, Apollo had never felt Will's faith weaken (he didn't count when he was mortal; he couldn't feel any faith at all then, mortals didn't need belief in the same way, although it certainly didn't hurt). "I do, but…"

"No buts." Asclepius shifted where he crouched. "We gods are powered by belief, Will," he explained – Apollo was glad Zeus couldn't hear him talking; that was the exact sort of thing his father heavily disliked being revealed to mortals. "Without belief, none of us would manage to survive."

Will's eyes widened and his breath hitched, but Asclepius wasn't quite done.

"So believe in them," his older son said, earnestly. "Believe in our father, believe in Lord Hades. Believe they will come back, the way I know you already do." His face softened, his expression shifting into something that could imaginatively be called a smile. "And know that that's the most powerful help you can give them. Everything Nico is doing… it will all be for nothing if they fail to come back. What they need the most, right now, is your belief, Will. Nothing more."

Will's eyes flickered down at the floor, his teeth nipping lightly at his lower lip. "What if my faith's not enough?" he asked quietly. Nico snorted, as though that was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

"Says the guy who yelled out for two baying-for-blood armies to hear that Apollo would never try and incite a war between us, even when the evidence was looking pretty damning," he said.

Something twisted inside of Apollo's essence; he'd never known Will had done that, and he wasn't sure whether to feel delighted that Will had believed in him so strongly even back during the war with Gaia, when he'd gone effectively AWOL from his children for months without so much as a warning, or guilty, because he'd done nothing to deserve that level of faith, and certainly not back then.

"It's enough," Asclepius told Will before his younger half-brother could respond to Nico's words. "Your faith is enough, Will." His hand left Will's shoulder and rested lightly on blond waves instead. "Perhaps you should believe in yourself more. Father certainly believes in you."

Apollo did, but for a moment he feared Will would dismiss Asclepius' words. His younger son was still looking at the floor, giving off an air of despondency. "He spoke to you about me?" was the question he eventually asked, hesitant and a little surprised.

"Father is not one to withhold praises when he believes them due," Asclepius said, "and certainly not when it regards his own children."

Well, Apollo certainly couldn't deny that.

Nico nudged Will gently. "Remember when we were in the tunnel with him?" he asked. "When you showed him what you could do?"

Apollo remembered that well; Will had surprised him that day – most of his children had some degree of affinity for sunlight, but it had been a long time since one had last been able to exude their own light. Not that Apollo was surprised in hindsight; the ability suited Will.

From the small smile that made its way onto Will's face, his son recalled it, too.

"Yeah, I remember," he said, leaning back against Nico and dislodging Asclepius' hand from his hair. "He said he was proud of me." Thankfully, despite his other self-esteem stumbles, Will seemed to at least have accepted that Apollo hadn't been lying when he'd said it.

"Well, there you have it," Nico pointed out bluntly. "Apollo's proud of you, and believes in you – and you believe in him, so it all works out."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Will mumbled. "I can't really argue, can I?"

"Nope," Nico said, satisfaction thrumming through the single word. "So save your breath."

Apollo loved the way the son of Hades refused to let Will wallow in self-depreciation; he didn't know when, exactly, Will had begun to internalise the feeling of not good enough (and he hated himself for that, a little bit – what sort of father couldn't spot the signs early enough to head them off?), although he was certain that the wars and the number of deaths Will had been forced to witness – and in many cases unable to prevent – had done nothing but compound it further and further into his psyche. Seeing Nico, who had several layers of severe trauma himself, reaching out to unapologetically bolster Will, made him delighted for both of them – Will, for having someone there for him, and Nico, for having the strength to still reach out despite everything.

Asclepius didn't know either demigod or their history well enough to truly understand the significance of their dynamic, but from the way he regarded the pair of them, Apollo suspected that his older son, too, approved of Nico's attitude.

"Saving," Will surrendered. His eyes fluttered half-closed, broadcasting the leftover lethargy from his coma. Nico shifted slightly to accommodate the greater weight as Will's body began to slump, but otherwise didn't react to Will's near-narcolepsy.

Apollo wondered how long it had been since Asclepius had woken him, and how many times Will had dozed off against Nico, using his boyfriend as a pillow regardless of Nico's potential opinions on the matter. Neither Nico nor Asclepius made any move to chivvy Will back onto the bed, seemingly content to let him sleep at least for the moment where he sat.

No doubt Asclepius would insist on moving him at some point, before the position risked a cricked neck or other unpleasant and avoidable consequences of sleeping somewhere that wasn't specifically designed for it.

For the moment, Asclepius and Nico paid Will's drift into sleep no blatant attention and resumed what appeared to be an earlier conversation about Artemis. Apollo really wanted to know what they were planning, especially with regards to his twin, who he had carefully kept out of his confidence for this quest (so maybe he was a little salty about the Ophiuchus hunt and being captured by Atlas thing she'd pulled a few years back), but just as Nico started saying something about Reyna, the Fates clearly decided that Apollo had been shown enough.

Nico's bedroom dissolved away from his awareness, leaving him once again fully focused on Tartarus.

Nothing of note had occurred; he and Hades were still wrecks compared to their usual godly selves, more or less physically intact once more with minimal leaking essence or ichor, but the curses continued their relentless and unremorseful assaults on their beings. Most of his own had started to fade – the pain of the injuries had lessened with the disappearance of the injuries themselves – although a few stubbornly held him in their grip. Apollo desperately tried to ignore them, reasoning that out of mind, out of existence (so what if that wasn't the actual saying, but then again, the modern out of sight, out of mind wasn't ad verbatim what Aristotle had originally said, either), although he couldn't claim much success.

He focused on his uncle, instead, pushing aside his own pains, tremors, and feelings of inadequacy and impending doom to instead try and determine how quickly Hades' curses were decaying.

Sparks of lightning, flashing brightly yet ethereally like little sprites in the wake of the sun chariot, made him grateful that if any of the Arai had been carrying Zeus-crafted curses for him, he'd managed to avoid either killing or being struck by them. Water no longer poured out of Hades' mouth with abandon, but frequent upheavals of the liquid proved that whatever curse Poseidon had once called upon his older brother had merely lessened, and not dissipated entirely.

If there were any other prevailing curses, Apollo couldn't see them, but he had no doubts that they were still there. Hades was hunched over a little too far to not be in intense agony, his grip on his sword white-knuckled as though he was considering somehow turning Stygian Iron on the curses within him.

Apollo was fairly certain that would be a very bad idea, even for Hades of all beings.

His hand moved without conscious thought. By the time the idea had crossed his mind, Apollo's arm was outstretched, palm hovering within touching distance of his uncle, although even his subconscious mind knew better than to touch without asking.

It didn't seem like Hades had even noticed Apollo's unconscious reach, but instead of taking the chance to pull his hand back – foolish, what was he even thinking; Hades would never accept help, even for something like healing (especially for something like healing) – Apollo purposefully shifted where he sat.

His form screamed at him for the movement, reminding him that it was still under the thrall of several curses, thank you very much, and did not need additional work to do while it was trying to drive them out, but Apollo ignored it with the ease of practice (mortals never got the luxury of instant healing, not even his own children) as Hades' dark eyes snapped to him. His uncle quickly honed in on his outstretched hand, and Apollo prodded it into glowing a soothing, healing, colour to hopefully communicate his intention and request.

He didn't even try to vocalise anything. That was a curse he was all too aware of, heavy and suffocating within his throat, lying in wait for future attempts at speech in song so it could throttle them out of existence. It felt just like a serpent, coiled thickly around his vocal cords again and again and again, but despite the obvious connotation, Apollo knew it wasn't Python.

Python had other things to curse him for; his voice had never been high on Python's list of grievances against him. That didn't completely discount him, it was true, but his voice and his archery?

No, Apollo knew who had placed those curses, and he feared that they would not lift when the rest of the Arai's inflictions faded away.

Hades watched his glowing hand for a moment, before his dark eyes met Apollo's squarely. Apollo couldn't read his uncle's expression, and the small, scared instinct that hadn't entirely been developed during his time as Lester gave the violent impression that he should pull his hand back and stop being so foolish – why would Hades accept help? He'd been an idiot to offer.

But Apollo was a healer. The choice was Hades' – to reject or, unlikely, accept – but Apollo wouldn't pull back and make that choice for him. He silenced the panicked impression in the back of his mind, and waited for Hades' response.

No words were spoken. Perhaps Hades could tell that Apollo's voice was still out of commission, to put it bluntly, or perhaps he simply had no wish to deign to speak.

Whatever his uncle's reasons, the silence hung in the air between them, heavy with something – anticipation wasn't quite the right word, but it was something along those lines, something waiting out of sight for something to trigger it – for what could have been moments or an eternity. Apollo wasn't even sure if it was Tartarus or something else that made the passage of time in that moment blur out of meaning.

He was wholly unprepared for Hades to move, grace and elegance despite pain broadcasting out of every action, until his shoulder was pressed against Apollo's still outstretched palm. Still, no words were spoken, but Hades' eyes met his own with no hesitation, and his uncle gave the minutest of nods.

Apollo froze, caught like one of Khione's ice statues at the entirely unexpected action. He'd been certain Hades would reject his offer – all gods had some degree of healing ability, especially self-regenerative, and had little need for actual gods of healing. The fact that he hadn't, that he'd agreed to let Apollo help him heal… it seemed borderline ridiculous, yet it had just happened.

But while most of Apollo faltered in surprise, the healer aspect didn't hesitate, ignoring the panicked thoughts that swirled through his mind as he tried to parse why, exactly, Hades had acquiesced and letting his power rush out, flickering over the surface of Hades' essence as it sought the biggest maladies in need of addressing. A biting cold, worse than the frigid flames of the Phlegethon, worse than Antarctica in midwinter (don't ask; it was Hermes' fault) clung to Hades, threading through him, and Apollo let the power of the sun swell in response.

He would never say that his power could overpower Demeter's – he had seen what she could do, remembered bitter winters in his early years as she and Hades waged some sort of war over Persephone – but this was not Demeter herself, merely a manifestation of words she had once said brought into existence by the cruel daughters of Nyx. It was harsh, yes, but still a pale shade of what the elder goddess herself could do, and Apollo's sun chased away the ice, forcing it into a springtime thaw.

Hades shifted again, catching Apollo's attention as a hand reached for him, stopping just a little short the same way Apollo's own hand had hesitated, waiting for permission.

Apollo had no idea what Hades was offering – his uncle wasn't a healer, the dead and the underground had little by way of curse removal or restoration – but Hades had let him in, showing a degree of trust that might have struck him dumb if the curse hadn't done so already, and Apollo…

Well, if Hades had let him, it was only right that he grant his uncle the same permissions. Catching the older god's eye as his sun chased out a particularly stubborn patch of ice, he gave him a nod in return.

Hades' touch wasn't cold.

It was not the first time during the quest that Hades had touched him, so Apollo ought to have known that Hades didn't run excessively cold already, but – perhaps due to the curse from Demeter he was systematically deconstructing – the comparative warmth shocked Apollo.

It wasn't even warm the way exhaled air fought not to chill in the middle of winter. It was warm like a summer's day, like light and life and everything Apollo thought opposed his uncle.

Then the obvious thought occurred to him; his own power, turned up to high heat, was obviously affecting Hades' essence in turn. It must be his own warmth coming back around, washing over him and chasing away the lingering pains and other curses, although with Hades as a conduit, it felt different to usual – not in a bad way, definitely not in a bad way, but different all the same.

Apollo found himself enjoying it, and not just for the way it curled softly around his throat, feather-light against him but vicious against the curse ensnarling his voice. Healing could be like that – gentle yet aggressive all in one package. Sometimes it needed to be, in order to work.

Certainly, the heat Apollo was having to broadcast against the chill of Demeter's curse could be considered violent, although he was careful not to unleash the full force of it against the parts of his uncle's essence that had been mostly defrosted. He didn't know how Hades would react to so much sun when he hardly got to see it and the last thing he needed was to off-balance the older god.

Hades didn't speak as their what could only be described as mutual healing session continued. Apollo couldn't speak, not without the heart-breaking cacophony of sound that had replaced his voice. He didn't think he'd have anything to say even if he could.

When was the last time someone had healed him? Mortal times notwithstanding, Apollo didn't remember the last time he was the one on the receiving end. Not even Asclepius had ever healed him, although a large part of that was no doubt their forced separation – and the fact that Apollo (as a god) had only needed healing a sparse few times across his existence.

Not even all the foresight in the world could have predicted Hades ever healing him.

The lump in his throat might not have entirely been the manifestation of the curse stifling and throttling his voice.

Curses were not easy to lift. Apollo had done it before, and on mortals it tended to be somewhat easier, given that most mortals were not cursed by some of the most powerful beings in existence, but from a god, in some of the deepest depths of Tartarus, it was a challenge. He suspected that, without Hades' strength also fighting against the curses snarled into his uncle's essence, he alone would not have been enough to lift them earlier than their natural expiration.

The same went for the curses curling through Apollo himself; he had felt them weakening gradually long before Hades started to help him, but there was an unmistakable acceleration in their dissipation once his uncle's power rushed into him.

He felt the moment the coil around his throat loosened.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari