Spring had finally come again to the world above, and the seasons slowly began to mend themselves. A warm, but not too hot, summer was followed by a chilly but welcoming fall, and as the train pulled back into Hadestown and soft winter snow began to coat the world above, Persephone felt satisfied that she and Hades were on the right path after centuries of a strained marriage. The rush of cool air and a dimly lit platform that met her as she stepped off the train further cheered her spirits, as it seemed Hades had taken what happened to heart and stopped working overtime on the foundries and electrical grids. As she inspected the Underworld she saw lights twinkling here and there, like polished gems sparkling in the dark, and not nearly enough to overwhelm the senses.
But the best thing Persephone saw was that the Wall was in the long process of coming down at last, at least from what she could see.
"I've been tryin'," Hades said shyly as he locked arms with hers on the long walk down and gestured to the city streets with his free hand. "The Workers have less hours, longer breaks, and better pay. Some have even started remembering their names, but there's too many for me to go 'round memorizing. Seems to be more of a personal thing for them, and, well... after Orpheus, I just sort of allowed it. It seems to have improved morale."
"Sounds great, lover. Amazing, even," Persephone said as she nuzzled into his shoulder, making a mental note to go down there eventually and see with her own eyes and ears. "Are they doin' alright in my absence, those Workers?"
"Most are, especially that songbird," Hades rumbled as he cast his eyes over the buildings. "She's made a name for herself as a leader of sorts—minding your bar, for one. Doin' a fine job for herself, too; she knows where all your stashes are but knows better than to let the stock run dry."
At that Persephone blushed; she thought she'd hidden it better than that. But it was good to know that, even when she left, the bar and its amenities would be in good hands.
"But she did tell me something important," Hades continued with a sudden stop. "There's a couple workers—I think she called them Pirithous and Theseus—that wanted to talk to ya when you got back."
Persephone raised an eyebrow at the comment. Workers talking to her at all was unusual even when she manned the bar, as they were grateful for what wares she provided and spent their time gorging themselves on the sights, smells, and memories of up above. When they did chat, it was to sing her praises and beg for more, and she was always willing to oblige.
Workers and their antics were low on her list of priorities at the moment, especially with Hades vouching for them doing well, but Persephone was curious enough to ask more. "Did she say why?"
Hades shook his head. "No, and they were too nervous to take it to me directly."
Persephone gave an easy shrug. "Then it can wait. Lover, I'd say you and I have six months of catching up to do," she said as she continued the walk, leading Hades by his shoulder to the palace they called home.
It was then Hades noticed her shaking hands.
"Lover," he said with concern, "you're trembling."
Persephone grabbed one of her hands in the hopes it'd stop, but instead they both wavered, and the goddess swayed on her feet. Alarmed, Hades moved to hold her steady, and Persephone wanted nothing more than to let go and melt into his strong arms, or reach for her flask to take the edge off. The desires were equal and strong, so instead, she shook her head to clear the cobwebs away and forced a smile.
"Got the shakes, the aches, and Gaia knows what else," she stated coolly in an attempt to downplay the situation, though it was belied by wiping at sudden sweat that had formed. "Ma said it's part of going sober after so long, and I'm not inclined to doubt her."
Among other duties, Demeter was goddess of grain, which gods and mortals alike turned into wine, so both Hades and Persephone understood that she knew what she was talking about.
"Did she say how long it'd last," Hades asked. "It's been six months already, to the day."
"Mortals would be better by now, or at least better at faking it," Persephone said with a sharp, short laugh. "But for us, who knows."
The unspoken, but decidedly unwelcome, thought that perhaps she wasn't as completely sober as she claimed hung between them. Hades cleared his throat.
"Do you need anything?"
"Yeah, a stiff drink."
Hades was unamused at her little joke, especially since by her tone he could tell she meant it. But he forced a smile, then looked round before whispering to her.
"I've been struggling too," Hades admitted softly. "You've seen the Wall, right?"
Persephone nodded.
"Dismantling it isn't going as well as I'd hoped. Sometimes it goes too slowly to matter. Other times I have them build on the opposite end that they take down. It's hard to just…give up on a project that was your whole life—it's like..."
"Like tearing your arm off," Persephone finished as she eyed her husband's tattoo, the Wall on his arm staring back at her as if it were alive.
"Somethin' like that, yes," Hades sighed. "Who knows how the Workers feel about it—the foremen don't say."
Persephone idly wondered if that was what those two Workers had wanted to talk about—what were their names again? She'd already forgotten.
"Well, as long as you're trying," she finally said, and Hades nodded. "We're both trying. That's all we can do."
As the couple made their way home, Persephone put the odd request out of her mind for the time being. When she and Hades had caught up enough, she found herself focusing on the day-to-day of running the Underworld, trying to calm the tremors and shakes that came with sudden sobriety after a lifetime of drowning her sorrows, and ensuring Hades practiced what he preached while he ensured she did likewise.
Persephone still visited her bar now and then, but more infrequently than before, as passing drinks around and feeling the joy in the room made her feel like indulging—when she felt the old itch, she told herself to trust the songbird Eurydice in the matter, that the Workers wouldn't mind who ran the bar so long as someone was running it. And as days turned to weeks turned to months, she'd forgotten the anecdote completely.
But the Workers hadn't forgotten it—or her.
By the time Persephone was nearly ready to leave for spring, she and Hades were both on the mend. Seeing each other had done them both some good, and as Persephone ensured the Wall went down and stayed down, Hades made sure she wasn't sneaking a drink or two before breakfast, dinner, or bedtime. It was a collaborative effort between them, and while it wasn't without struggles, the psychopomp Hermes kept an eye on things as well and was quick to raise a finger in warning if one of them wavered—and both of they knew that while Hermes loved to gossip and spread tall tales, when it came to the Underworld rulers he told nothing but the truth.
The last thing they wanted was to start trouble again, fall into old habits and harsh words, and in Gaia's name, they were committed to it as a couple. It had the bonus effect, Persephone thought ruefully, of easing her mama Demeter's worries. She'd never quite been the same since her flower child had run off with Hades all those years ago, even with the six-months compromise. The recent strain on their marriage had only seemed to prove Demeter right, and Persephone knew that heading down in time for winter wasn't enough—going back in time for spring was just as important, as all it'd take would be one slip-up for doubt to rear its ugly head once more.
So it was with watery eyes but a full heart that Persephone bid Hades goodbye for spring, promising to be ready to head back as soon as the first leaves started to fall. He walked her to the station, and as she waved goodbye, he trusted she'd make it to the upper world on time. Hades wished her well and promised to meet her on top when he was supposed to, and not a second earlier, before turning round for home. Persephone blew him a kiss goodbye and turned to see two workers approaching her, holding out their hands to take her luggage. Without a thought, she handed it over, already thinking about the work that lay head in the coming months.
But instead of leaving her be after they put her luggage away, the workers took their Queen by the arms and wouldn't let go.
"Let go," she snapped, but the taller of the two, a man with a brown mustache and beard and blue-grey eyes, shook his head.
"Go," he stage-whispered to his companion, a slightly shorter man who'd traded his worker's cap for a green beanie and had a similar beard to his friend, but less full.
The two of them hustled Persephone off the platform before she could properly react, confusion and indignation and the nerve of them mixing in her head. As they marched down the streets to an achingly familiar bar, Persephone could feel their hands trembling involuntarily, saw the unsteady gait the two of them shared, and privately wondered if maybe the Workers had more in common with her than she cared to realize.
Inside, the bar was empty except for the three of them, and the taller of the two Workers went to lock the door as the shorter one led her to a chair and sat her down. Persephone was still trying to puzzle out the why of everything, until a half-buried request from the moment she'd arrived in Hadestown last fall slowly drifted to the forefront of her memory.
"You're those two that wanted to see me about something," Persephone said as she put the pieces together aloud. "Well, you've certainly got my attention. You know those rumors about Hades kidnapping me were just that, don't you?"
"I'm so sorry, my Queen," said the taller of the two, "but this was the only way to ensure you'd hear us out. I am Pirithous," he said, dropping to his knees, "and this is Theseus."
Theseus joined his companion in kneeling, and Persephone rolled her eyes. "If you're fixin' to marry me, you all know I'm taken."
"Actually, we recently remembered we married each other," Pirithous admitted with a blush. "It was on the surface, during the summer—I don't remember how far back, but I do remember we went to Hadestown for our honeymoon, and, well…"
"It wasn't the paradise we thought it'd be," Theseus added, but his eyes sparkled with a frantic desire. "At least not until you brought drinks and sustenance and stayed longer and longer every year, Our Lady of Means. We had to work harder and harder, true, but your grace lightened our load just a little, and now..."
"It's better now, ain't it? Or has my husband pulled a fast one behind my back," Persephone asked.
The pair shook their heads no, and the goddess heaved a sigh.
"Then you'll have to get on without me. Six months below, six months up top—no more, no less—is what we agreed to all those years ago," she continued.
But at the very thought of her leaving, the two Workers panicked, scrambled to their feet, and clutched her ever tighter, their nails digging into her arms even as their hands trembled.
"It's better, sure," Theseus began. "Mr. Hades has kept his word. But…"
"When he didn't, you were here longer. You gave us more sunshine, wind, and rain than we could handle, and you never seemed to run out. We need you," Pirithous finished, and in his strained, pleading voice and shaking hands, Persephone felt the same ache she shared—the longing for the bite of alcohol to wash away her problems.
"What did you want to ask me," Persephone asked slowly, removing their hands gently as guilt began to wash over her.
"We wanted to know if you'd stay with us, just a little longer. Give us more drinks, give us more experiences and life," Theseus begged, eyes shimmering with tears waiting to be shed until they finally boiled over.
"Was it all the Workers, or just you two," Persephone continued, letting him cry before moving on.
"We're pretty sure it's all of us—well, most of us," Pirithous said. "Eurydice said she wouldn't help us. But the others were receptive."
"The others need you as much as we do," added Theseus, wiping at his eyes with his beanie. "We just chose to do something about it."
Persephone watched the two men weep and quietly beg for just a little of her time, a little of her sunshine and wind and rain, and she saw herself in them.
"Please," Pirithous finished, eyes low. "We don't know what else to do."
Quietly, she stood and moved to embrace the two, holding them until the shaking stopped.
"I have to go," Persephone said finally, "but I know what you're going through, and I can share what I've learned with you and the others. It won't be easy to stop, but I do know it'll get easier."
They started to protest, but she concentrated as flowery vines burst from the earth and sat them in chairs of their own, not enough to bind completely but enough for them to leave her be. Brushing herself off, she headed to the door and jumped as it burst open. Eurydice, Hermes, and Hades stood in the doorway, ready for battle, but immediately softened as Persephone stood in front of them, face grim.
"I told Mr. Hermes," Eurydice explained, "and he told Mr. Hades. Are you okay, Lady Persephone?"
"Yes and no," she replied.
Hades' eyes darkened and the air around him seemed to grow thicker and crushing. "If they've harmed one hair on your head, the Great Beyond will be the least of their worries."
"They didn't, husband," Persephone said in a soothing tone before growing serious again. "But they told me something important that couldn't wait—the Workers are suffering from the same withdrawal I was, and these two most of all."
Hermes looked at Pirithous and Theseus and raised his eyebrows. "Got a plan to fix it? They'll need more than a 12-step program, and I don't mean dance steps."
"We…we need to collaborate," Persephone decided. "We can all help them—Hades when I'm away, and I can when I'm here."
"I'll help too," Eurydice said with a smile. "I already know how to organize your stashes and keep track of who orders what and when. If the more sober Workers are willing to help as well, I know we can get things back to normal around here. They need mercy, not a punishment."
Hades looked unsure at first, but Hermes gave him a grin. "It'll help in tearing down that wall and keeping it down."
The god of the dead finally gave a small, but genuine, smile. "All right. For my wife's sake, at least, we can try this."
"What if it doesn't work," asked Pirithous, who was still eyeing Persephone like she might fly away.
"Then we keep trying," Hermes said simply, and none of them could argue with that.
With a goodbye and a thank-you to Hermes and Eurydice, a wish of good luck to Pirithous and Theseus, and an extra-long hug and a kiss to Hades, Persephone was soon back on the train, luggage in tow, and only a few minutes later than expected. Her mama Demeter would be worried, she knew, but instead of making up a white lie about what transpired, Persephone thought to tell her the truth. The Workers shared the same afflictions she did, the same withdrawal symptoms, and it hurt to know that she'd just trusted things would be better on their own.
But hopefully, with the same support she had, they'd all turn out all right in the end.