Fantasy Define: Hero

[smolfluffball]

A 1x1 between AreSneksSly and smolfluffball.


In which the chosen hero learns that everything he's trained for is for naught.
And an inventor discovers his destiny is greater than what he ever thought it'd be.
​

 

[AreSneksSly]

Jace believed himself to be a pretty cool guy.

Well-built for his age, courageous in all things, a mind for tactics. What more could you possibly want in a tall, handsome, 19-year-old package? He was built for the battlefield, that much was clear, and anyone who would’ve said otherwise was either blind or stupid.

Which was exactly why he was both proud and absolutely pissed that the captain had chosen him, specifically, to call on both Castor and The Workshop Weirdo.

Pissed, mostly, because this was the sort of inane, menial task you dished out to some house servant, not a finely crafted specimen of battle such as himself. I mean, come on, sir! Look at him! He was supposed to be fighting on the frontlines, not trapped on some stupid swaying ship with nothing better to do other than go running about the deck looking for a freak and a hero.

Jace sighed to himself, running dark fingers through his hair. He supposed it wasn’t all bad. If he did this for the captain, that meant better standing with a higher up, and it proved he was capable of responsibility. Though there were most certainly better ways of proving that (at least in his mind), this wasn’t the worst of them.

And, well… it gave him a chance to talk to Castor, however brief that chance was.

Jace didn’t say this often, but he quite looked up to the fellow soldier. To him, they were extremely alike; both exhibiting bravery, confidence, general heroic-ness. They could’ve been close friends, allies on the battlefield, watching each other’s back as they each fought off the incoming armies, sharing secrets with each other and…

Ahem. Anyways. Unimportant.

The only thing that’d gotten in his way so far was the fact that Castor was constantly surrounded by people, even more than Jace was at home. Which made sense, you know. Obviously, with how cool and collected he always acted, people would gravitate towards him. He had the aura of a leader, someone who could keep a cool head in every situation and confidently lead the charge as they attacked their enemy. The ideal general. If only the company he kept were deserving of his presence.

He knew it wasn’t good to gossip, but by the gods could the guys around Castor be obnoxious. Constantly yammering on about this or that, with no care as to what Castor wanted to talk about. It was dumb. They were dumb. And unworthy of his presence.

But no matter. Because this time, they couldn’t kick him from their little hangout spot. After all, he was on specific orders from the captain of the platoon to call for Castor’s presence in his office. And none of them were willing to go against direct orders.

Striding across the ship’s deck with a skip in his step, Jace ignored any incoming glares from the soldiers around him, focusing solely on the boy he was asked to retrieve: Castor.

Sun-tanned skin gleamed from under his toga, unmarred by scars as most of the other recruits were. With short, light hair and an outstanding jawline, he was undoubtedly handsome, the sort of classic attractiveness that deserved its own statue in commemoration.

Hm. Maybe Workshop Weirdo could build one.

Clearing his throat, the chatter surrounding them silenced. With a straightened back and his head held high, he spoke in his clearest voice: “Castor. The captain requests your presence in his headquarters effective immediately.”

---

Jace hated being in the lower decks. The wood trapped heat like no other, and where he was going, it was about to be a lot hotter.

Stomping past the storerooms, he eventually came upon a door leading to what he knew was a small storage area, one that’d been unused for some time until a certain someone requested it be converted into ‘a more productive workspace.’ Its oaken frame was blurry through the haze of heat that surrounded the area, Jace having to wipe the sweat from his eyes just so he could read it. He barely managed to make out the word ‘Egan’s’ carved into the bark.

Cracking it open, he didn’t bother knocking before entering, seeing as the boy inside wasn’t anyone to exhibit courtesy towards. The sight that greeted him was a number of stone and metal appliances. An anvil stood at the center, behind which was a blazing fire, trapped in the clutches of a stone-bricked furnace. At the foot of it lay a wooden bucket, with a single sword cooling in the water contained within.

Jace couldn’t help but turn his nose up ever so slightly. This place was the image of a smithy, blisteringly hot and dirty, tools strewn about the place. It was filthy, and certainly not a place that deserved to be on this ship with them, but he guessed anything went once you were a ‘chosen hero.’

Quickly scanning the room, it wasn’t hard to spy the boy he’d been looking for. Hunched over a wooden desk and goggles strapped firmly onto his face, the resident Workshop Weirdo looked like a wet cat, what with the sweat clinging onto his dark hair and making it hang over his face in clumps. He wasn’t wearing a top either, letting his skinny, sweat-sheened form shine in the firelight.

“Hey, you,” Jace yelled, slamming the door frame with a fist. “Capt’n called. Wants you in his headquarters.”

“I’m busy,” was the boy’s curt reply, dark-stained fingers fiddling with something.

“This isn’t a request, freak.” Jace’s eyes narrowed. “The captain asked for your presence.”

“And I’m a hero chosen by the goddess Athena to lead the armies to victory in one of the greatest wars imaginable. Your point is?”

The soldier scrunched his nose at the boy’s blatant show of disrespect. He’d always thought he was an ass, what with holing himself up all day under the ship’s deck, but to talk about their captain like that? It was insubordination, and it was going to get him kicked out, chosen hero or not.

“Your funeral,” Jace finally relented with a shrug. Hey, if the kid wanted to get himself booted, that was his prerogative; Jace wasn’t about to make it his problem too.

---

Gregorios, in all his 20 years as a general, had never before seen two boys glare at each other with as much intensity as these two did.

The man, pushing 40 in age, had certainly dealt with unruly teenagers in his lifetime. Hades, he had 2 waiting for him at home. But these kids leveled such intense stares at each other, he was half-expecting for the other shoe to drop and for one of them to launch himself at the other.

With a sigh, Gregorios pinched at the bridge of his nose. It’d long gone crooked in his years in the army, and each time he put pressure on it, a jolt of pain shot up to his brain. He needed it to distract him from the migraine he felt coming on.

“Let’s make this quick,” he said, voice a low, gruff rasp. “I understand that the two of you have… history together, but I ask that both of you exercise some self-control during these trying times. You’ll be trapped on this boat for another month or so, so please try not to spend all of it attempting to kill each other. I have enough to deal with as is.”

 

[smolfluffball]

Ares was going to be unhappy with this development.

The soldiers around him talked about whatever. They were warm bodies around him, pressed too closely to him. They infected the air he had to inhale. They were mouth breathers who didn’t understand that he didn’t care about anything they talked about. They laughed at something pointlessly. One of them nudged Castor’s arm, still laughing. He was unresponsive.

Ares was going to be furious.

How could Athena choose the freak who lived in the bottom of the ship? What potential did she see in him? He was terribly useless with everything.

To start with, he was the pupil of Hephaestus, Ares’ personal enemy, which meant he had to be as infuriating to interact with as the god of blacksmiths. Castor had barely interacted with the pupil during their time in the platoon. Ares would have told him to avoid him, so he did that, as much as he could. The fact that they’d hardly interacted with each other didn’t matter, since it was easy to see that Hephaestus’ pupil was weak and pathetic and he could barely hold onto his sword during training. It was embarrassing to watch him try. He always had to bend over to pick his sword up from the ground again, multiple times. He left his body open to so many attacks. Ares would have laughed at him and goaded him into dropping the sword for good and using his fists instead. Maybe the weakling would be better fighting with his fists instead of with a sword.

Did Hephaestus never train him to wield a weapon? How stupid that would have been. Then he let his pupil join a platoon without any proper understanding of how to use a sword.

Ares would hate Hephaestus even more for doing something like that.

Castor didn’t particularly care about their rivalry. He just knew the chosen one was Hephaestus’ pupil and he was named Egan and he was a freak who preferred the stifling heat in the lower decks and he was miserable at being a soldier.

He shouldn’t have been chosen by Athena.

Ares would confront Athena when he discovered she’d not chosen Ares’ chosen hero. Castor didn’t really understand what exactly had happened. He could barely remember it.

Athena pointed to Egan, and not to him.

She chose Egan, and not him.

She chose the cave dweller and not Ares’ chosen hero.

All of his life he’d trained to be a hero. Ares put all of his hopes and ambitions into him and raised him almost like a son, but he had never called Castor that particular word. Pupil, yes. Ward, as well. Idiot, reckless, moron, fool, warrior, fighter, savior, hero, but never son.

Hermes told him he was a son of Ares. So did Apollo and Artemis. Hestia also reassured him he was Ares’ son, even if he was biologically unrelated to him. Eros explained that a blood connection didn’t need to exist for a familial bond to exist.

Nothing any of the gods said mattered much, because Castor knew the truth: Ares did not view him as a son. Castor was his pupil. His apprentice. His protege. The child he had raised since he was a baby to what he was now, but not his son.

Castor could never recall a time when he was apart from Ares or the other gods. They always visited him and checked on him. He had learned everything he needed to know from them and from Ares. Occasionally Ares asked one of them to babysit him, when he had godly duties to attend to. Those days weren’t very fun, since the gods were quite atrocious babysitters. He still remembered when Hermes had dropped him into a tree accidentally when he was four years old. The scar on his face had been erased because of Aphrodite’s obsession with beauty. She erased all of his scars to ensure he looked like someone that Ares would be proud to have represent him.

It hadn’t mattered. He still hadn’t been chosen by Athena.

Even though he was practically a demigod. He might have been mortal but he had been given Ares’ gift when he was a babe: strength, speed, endurance. When he left to join the war Ares gave him a fireproof cape to replace all of the ones that had been burned or destroyed before. He knew most of the gods personally and he had been trained as a god would be, to finally be the chosen hero Ares always wanted.

He failed.

Would Ares abandon him because he failed the one thing he’d lived all his life for? Gods could be fickle. Ares taught him that. Would his final lesson be a demonstration?

Maybe he was currently teaching him that.

Castor had not heard from Ares since he became a soldier. It was horribly isolating, not hearing anything from the god that he’d lived with every single day. He asked him questions and called to him, and sometimes he even prayed to him. Ares never responded. Neither did any other god.

Had he done something to upset them? They had been there to see him off. They gave him gifts. They wished him luck. They told him he could come back if he decided war wasn’t for him. Ares had squeezed his shoulder and said if it was too difficult, interacting with all the humans, then he could come back home.

A show of compassion that had made all of the gods whisper among themselves, because all of them thought poorly of Ares. Castor had always defended him. He always hated that the gods disliked his mentor. He was not horrible. He was nice frequently. He was willing to learn and he did his best to be understanding. He was as careful as he could be. He accepted Castor even when he didn’t succeed as well as Ares had hoped he would. He learned how to cheer Castor up whenever he got injured or cried, which had taken several years and over a thousand different attempts.

He couldn’t understand why the gods weren’t responding to him. He didn’t understand why Ares was silent. Did they stop talking to him because they knew he wasn’t going to be chosen?

“Castor,” an unfamiliar voice said his name. He looked at the soldier who spoke to him. “The captain requests your presence in his headquarters effective immediately.”

A strange soldier with a strange statement. Castor watched him turn and go off somewhere else and silently thanked him for not expecting him to respond.

“Ooh,” one of the soldiers next to him started a chorus of annoying oohs. “Why are you being summoned? Think it's a promotion?”

Unlikely. Not after he wasn’t chosen by Athena. Not when he was still fresh and inexperienced with war.

It was ironic, really. Even though he had been raised by the god of war he had never had to deal with any kind of conflict before except between himself and monsters. And Hermes, once, after he discovered he kept a secret from him and then never told him what it was. They resolved the dispute like: I can’t tell you because it will hurt you and I don’t want to do that to you, said Hermes. I understand and thank you for looking out for me, said Castor.

He was docile where Ares was fervent. The gods thought it was an interesting dynamic.

And they weren’t responding to him. Even a tiny sign would be better than nothing.

He had to put it out of his mind.

He didn’t deign to respond to the mouth breathers conversation and questions and instead headed immediately to the captain’s quarters. He felt the ship begin to sway and stepped closer to the wall to avoid stumbling over the unevenness. He had never been on a ship on the ocean before this one and he could say, if he ever figured out how to speak properly to the people on the boat, that he was not a fan.

His reflection was out on the deck when he left the barracks. Their eyes met. Castor felt the unpleasant prickle along his spine that reminded him that, yes, his entire life must have been a lie, unless his reflection also was a snake that Ares turned into a mortal.

Maybe he was. Maybe his reflection was a snake too. He hadn’t asked him if he was, yet, since he avoided his reflection like he was carrying a deadly disease.

It was impossible to avoid him now. He had to pass him to get to the captain’s quarters.

His reflection grinned when Castor moved across the deck. It was an inverse expression to Castor’s scowl. The curly blond-haired, pale skinned, blue eyed reflection approached him.

“How have you been since the choosing?” he asked casually.

Fantastic. What a great starting question that Castor could never respond to. His reflection would not understand how he had been since the choosing. He had not been raised to be a hero by a god. None of these soldiers had.

Castor didn’t answer but lifted a shoulder in a shrug. His reflection’s grin disappeared at the gesture. Yes, stop grinning like a moron. It didn’t fit on Castor’s face, which now looked quite sheepish, on the mirrored face.

Pollux was the name of his reflection. It was a dumb name. His reflection rubbed at the back of his neck and mumbled something to himself that sounded like some sort of admonishment.

It didn’t matter. Castor had been summoned by the captain. He didn’t want to talk to his confusing reflection that might or might not have been a snake turned human. He brushed past him and felt their shoulders connect.

He was real. He wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Castor had a twin brother that he knew absolutely nothing about. He didn’t know how to accept that fact. He chose to ignore it and went into the captain’s quarters quickly, keeping his eyes focused ahead.

---

The captain's words were senseless. Castor had no personal quarrel with Egan. Any dislike he felt towards the strange pupil was because of Ares’ influence. He would never attempt to kill anyone in cold blood, let alone another soldier who was on the same side as he.

Ares might kill him if he betrayed his platoon like that. There was a sanctity to war that Ares had instilled in Castor. Even if he hated the people he was with, they were his allies, and they were united against a common cause. They slept in the same space. They lived together. They trained together. Egan being the pupil of Ares’ most hated was irrelevant when compared to those simple facts.

Apparently his expressions the past while had been misunderstood. He bowed his head to Captain Gregorios. “Although I do not know how you've come to the conclusion that I’d kill a fellow soldier, I will do as you wish.” He lifted his head. “Is that all you called both of us here for, sir?”

 

[AreSneksSly]

Clank.

Hero.

Clank.

Hero.

Clank.

Hero.

Egan lifted the broadsword from its resting spot. The red-hot metal simmered, almost blindingly bright. It was serviceable, though the balance could’ve used some work, and it needed more time in the furnace.

‘Fit for a hero such as yourself,’ his mind whispered to him, his own sneer clear in his mind’s eye.

Grimacing, he threw the sword into the cooling bucket, letting the hiss silence any lingering thoughts he had in his mind. He couldn’t think about that. He didn’t want to think about that. Because it was just a mistake, or a misunderstanding, or some cruel, ironic joke the gods had chosen to play on him.

With a sigh, Egan collapsed onto his worktable, practically melting into the wood as he laid his head down. The fire blazed behind him, embers licking at the stone brick. It was nice. He’d always liked the sound of fire.

Turning his head towards the flames, his lids dropped low. Hero. He couldn’t stop coming back to that word. Hero. That’s what he was meant to be. The platoon’s joke, the one who never spoke to anyone, who couldn’t even wield his sword properly.

Alright, that wasn’t true. He could’ve run circles around these idiots when it came to technique. He just… didn’t have the strength to back it up.

With a groan, he shoved his head between his arms, slamming his forehead against the wood. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Him being here was stupid. Him fighting was stupid.

He’d always hated being around soldiers. Confident, cocky, oblivious, self-serving. They were all self-righteous assholes, too busy with their heads shoved up their own backsides to realize other people existed. He hated them. Hated them all.

So why? Why was he here, why was he chosen, why had Hephaestus wanted him to join?

No. He knew why. He knew exactly why. Him and Ares and that stupid, idiotic rivalry they had over Aphrodite.

He’d known, since the moment that Hephaestus had heard the news, that he was going to end up here. Shoved next to the meatheaded dumbass that was Ares’ pupil for no other reason than to make a woman think better. He’d always respected his mentor for a plethora of reasons, but his devotion towards Aphrodite was where he drew the line. He could never respect her, despite her marriage to the god who’d raised him. Hermes was a good source of gossip; Egan knew exactly what she’d done to his mentor, and he would never, ever forgive her.

Shoving his face into his hands, he let the scrape of leather on skin shock him awake. As he drew his hand away, he noticed there were still metal shavings clinging to the palm.

Egan snorted. Hero.

He wasn’t a hero. Frankly, he refused to be. He’d never be pompous, nor egotistical, nor filled with hubris as heroes were wont to be. This was all some insane, stupid misunderstanding, and Athena was playing some practical joke on them all. Or she’d just mistaken him for someone else. Or some other reason that he couldn’t come up with at that moment.

Because Egan wasn’t a hero, and he was never going to be.

Picking up one of his tools, he looked around for one of the figurines he’d been working on earlier in the day. He could try and commune with Athena afterwards. At that moment, he had work to do.

The creak of his door told him otherwise, though.

---

‘At least it’s cooler up here,’ Egan thought to himself, turning his eyes around the room.

He didn’t know why the captain thought he was going to kill the high-and-mighty douchebag. Or why he thought he was capable of killing him. Sure, Castor was a coward who let his lackeys do all his work for him, despite his stuck-up ‘honour above everything’ attitude (which was exactly the sort of hypocrisy Egan hated about heroes too, by the way), but he wasn’t going to strangle him in his sleep or anything. He had better, more productive uses of his time.

Egan snorted to himself, a rare smirk raising his cheeks. ‘Other than lounging on the deck and doing nothing.’

The sound of snapping fingers drew Egan out of his thoughts, the captain’s weary face staring back at him. “Egan?” He said, voice dripping with exhaustion. “I trust you understand as well, then?”

“Sure,” the boy replied, shrugging his shoulders. “No killing the meathead. I got it.”

The captain sighed, doing that thing again where he pinched his nose and his eye twitched. “Well,” he murmured, “I suppose that’s that dealt with.”

Rising to his feet, the graying man held his hands behind his back, chest puffed out. “The two of you may now take your leave, then,” he said. He nodded towards Castor, then to Egan, though the boy didn’t fail to notice the slight release of breath as he did so.

Egan, knowing better than to push his luck, bowed in response, deciding to take a page out of blondie’s book for once. “Thank you, sir.”

Then, while making sure to avoid eye-contact with Blonde the Boofus, he turned and left the room, opening the door to the deck.

 

[smolfluffball]

Meathead?

Castor eyed Egan. What in Olympus did that mean? Was it a word that humans used in human society? How could meat have a head, unless it was a whole fish or some other whole animal carcass? Or was it, potentially, something offensive? How was it meant to offend? Meat was inoffensive. Heads could be relatively offensive, if they were removed from bodies with a sword not fit for decapitation and rolled easily and had been dropped at the feet of his thirteen year old child self. The chimeras head had been a head that had meat, technically, in the most basic sense of the two words. It was improbable that Egan knew about that mildly horrifying and utterly awful incident so it could not relate to the word meathead.

He was so distracted by the most bizarre word that he almost missed the dismissal Captain Gregorios gave them. He waited for Egan to finish speaking before he also thanked the captain.

What a pointless summoning. It barely lasted long enough to distract Castor from his new terrible life. The baffling meathead word was more distracting than the captains request. There had been no point asking them not to kill each other. Realistically, Egan did not look like he’d be able to succeed at the act. His posture was awful and he always had some dirt smeared on him somewhere. He had barely any muscle on him and he carried himself like he didn’t want to be noticed.

Which was potentially why Athena had chosen him. If he acted unassuming to throw everyone off from his skill or nature then that’d be something that’d attract the goddess’ attention.

Was that the situation?

Was that why Athena pointed to him and ruined Castor’s life?

What was he meant to do now that he wasn’t a chosen hero? What was he supposed to do after he failed? Who was he when everything he had worked for and bled for and cried for was removed from him?

A soldier. An eighteen year old boy raised by a god. A snake. A pathetic excuse of a chosen hero. A failure. Nothing important. A story that would be lost to time. The gods would, eventually, forget about him. Memories only lasted so long if they weren’t written down or engraved into stone.

He desperately wanted to ask Ares what he should do. He’d settle for asking Hermes, too. He needed instruction so that he could strive toward something. Someone had to tell him what to do, like they had forever. He couldn’t figure it out by himself.

I could use your guidance now, Hermes, he pleaded to the god, but not to Ares, since he didn't want him to know the truth yet. Please.

No response came back to him.

Egan pulled the door open and left through it. Castor followed after him quickly but quietly and pulled the door closed behind himself, wishing that he could close the door on his messy thoughts.

“Egan! Friend of mine!”

[Egan’s frown dropped momentarily, replaced instead with one of those diminutive smiles he so rarely had.

“Pollux,” he replied, raising a hand in greeting. “It’s good seeing you around.”]

“Good seeing you too, dearest friend.” Pollux beamed at the black-haired chosen one and came over to them. Castor moved past Egan but was blocked by his reflection.

“And it’s Castor, right?” Pollux held his hand out to Castor. “I’m Pollux. Do you know why you look like me?”

Castor stared at his extended hand, not at all aware of what to do with it. Ares had never taught him what this meant. It didn’t appear to be a threat. It was very peculiar. Why extend a hand vertically? What purpose did it serve? Was this some human greeting? The gods appeared and disappeared and never properly greeted him, ever. They simply situated themselves into any moment and spoke with him.

He didn’t think he could do that with humans.

What did this hand mean?

“Did the gods not teach you how to shake hands?” Pollux asked, laughing at his own joke. “Here, like this.” He grabbed Castor’s hand and shook it up and down, then released him. Castor still stared at his hand, some sort of uncertainty dancing in his eyes. “Guessing it wasn’t the god of archery that took you in, huh?”

He stopped staring at his hand and wondering about the gesture and the peculiar touch of a human hand against his own. Pollux’s eyebrows were raised expectantly. Castor recognized the look from whenever one of the gods asked him a question that caught him off guard and was eager to hear his answer.

The suggestion that Apollo might have taken him in rattled around his head. Apollo? Truly? Because of their shared blond hair? Apollo visited him often enough but he had encouraged too many dangerous ideas Castor had as a kid so Ares ended up forbidding him from coming by himself. He came with Artemis sometimes, although he had snuck in by himself a couple of times as well.

Castor didn’t enjoy the thought of his reflection or the other soldiers thinking he was taken in by him or any other god. It’d be a disservice to all the time Ares spent raising him.

“It was Ares,” Castor mumbled. “Not Apollo.”

“Ares?” Pollux echoed, mouth dropping into an O shape. “That wasn’t who I thought it was, huh, Eggy?” he asked Egan.

[“Nice try, Lux,” Egan said, peering closer at Castor’s face. Everyone else always had a different reaction to hearing his new nickname, and it was funny every time.]

Eggy? Castor didn’t get it. What was that for? Egan did not look like an egg. Castor glanced at him to confirm that he did not look like an egg and saw he was being watched. He didn’t know why, but he was right. Egan was too tall and human shaped to resemble an egg. Was his reflection completely stupid?

[Again, one of those tiny little smirks Egan liked so much appeared on his face. The furrowed brows, the slight twitch in expression; if all blondie did was shut his mouth and let his face do the talking, he’d be a lot more tolerable for it.]

“So, I have a suggestion for both of you, which is why I stopped both of you.” Pollux looked between both Castor and Egan. “Before I suggest my suggestion, though, I do want to know why you think we look like each other.” He gestured to his face, then to Castor’s face. “Did the gods shape you to look like me?”

[Ah, now that was a good question, and one Egan himself had been wondering for a while now. He hadn’t ever met Castor beforehand, despite their relatively close proximity to each other. He’d known Ares was raising a boy, but there’d always been that little niggle of doubt that that ‘boy’ was actually… well, a person. It did sound a bit stupid in his head, Ares taking something else and turning it into his pupil, but hey. He was just some mortal. His opinion was, at least to the gods, largely irrelevant.

Though, that assumption was pretty much proven wrong the moment Pollux had reappeared in his life. Because there’d be no reason for Ares to make two faux-people and then release one into… the ‘wilds,’ as it were. So that left only one reasonable explanation, and that was Castor, despite all his attempts to prove otherwise, was mortal.]

Castor did not understand what Pollux suggested. Why would the gods shape him to look like his reflection? They would have shaped Pollux after Castor, if anything. It was nonsensical that they’d have done that. Hephaestus was the one known for creating various things. Hephaestus hated Ares. He would never shape two boys that resembled each other then give one to Ares to raise.

Plus, Castor bled. Constructions did not. Egan was right: Castor was mortal, but several creatures had mortality. Birds, reptiles, fish, deer, almost every animal and certain mythical creatures. Mortal, in Castor’s mind, did not equate to human. Mortal simply meant that the being could bleed and be killed and die.

Gods could not be killed or die. A few mythical creatures also were incapable of death. That made them immortal. Castor could be killed. That made him mortal.

He had to say something in response to Pollux’s question. He did not think he’d be able to avoid answering his question although he very badly wanted to. What could he say, truly? He hadn’t the slightest idea as to why his reflection even existed.

They were twins, obviously. He had learned what twins were from Artemis and Apollo. Twins were related to each other by blood and had at least one shared parent, according to genetics.

But Castor had no parent. Ares had never mentioned parents before. He explained that Castor had been a baby snake that he rescued from a hungry hawk that almost killed him. He turned him into a human to better take care of him, since he knew better how to tend to human injuries than reptilian injuries. He hadn’t thought he’d turn into a baby but it hadn’t mattered. He tended to his wounds and decided to raise him to be a hero.

Pollux’s existence destroyed that fact of life, unless Pollux was a snake too. It didn’t make sense that they had never met before, if they were twin snakes, but the gods were strange sometimes. They could have wanted to keep them apart for some reason.

“Are you a snake?” Castor asked. He was tired of going back and forth because of this reflection.

[‘Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh—’

What was supposed to be a stifled cackle ended up sounding like a yelp, Egan pulling his face away to conceal a smile beneath a palm.

Snake. Snake. That’s what Ares had ended up telling him. He was… a snake.

He thought Ares was an idiot before. This new fact was a garnish on top of that thought, pulling the dish together and definitively proving that he (as usual) was utterly correct in that assumption.]

Castor ignored Egan’s reaction to his question and saw Pollux give his "dearest friend" a look that might have been full of annoyance.

“A snake?” Pollux asked Castor, expression shifting to something confusing. “Like, hiss hiss? Uh, no. I sincerely doubt that I’m a snake. Pretty sure my blood is warm. Don’t snakes have cold blood?”

They did. Castor averted his eyes from his reflection and wanted to be able to disappear in an instant like the gods could. He didn’t want Egan to be around them to listen to this conversation.

“What does a snake have to do with why we look alike?”

“Because I’m a snake,” Castor mumbled. “So you have to be a snake too, if we’re twins.”

“You’re a snake?” Pollux looked over Castor’s body. “You look human to me.”

“So do the gods,” Castor whispered, taking a deep breath in an attempt to slow the rapid pace of his heart. “I do not understand how or if we truly are twins. What was your suggestion?”

“Uh. Right. I had a suggestion.” Pollux pointed above them, to the bright sun overhead. “It’s noon, which means lunch is going to be served soon. I thought it’d be a good idea to get food together so that you guys can tell me about why you were called into the captain’s quarters.”

That was a terrible idea. Castor had no desire to explain his non-existent relationship with Egan to anyone, let alone his twin that was nearly definitely not a snake. It was noon, however, and Castor was hungry. Maybe he’d be able to figure out if Ares had lied to him all of his life if he had something to eat.

“That’s a terrible suggestion. I have nothing much to say in regards to your dearest friend. However, I am hungry,” he said simply, then stepped around his reflection and went across the deck and back to the innards of the ship.

"Oh-kay." Pollux watched him for a few moments then looked back at Egan. "Have you ever heard of a snake turning into a human? Is that possible? Do you think I'm a snake made human? Have I ever hissed?"

 

[AreSneksSly]

Egan shrugged at his friend’s question, pulling his eyes away from the retreating back of Ares’ pupil. “Not enough to take note of, no. And honestly? Kind of find it hard to believe you’re a snake. Snakes usually have better predator instincts, and you…”

Lifting a hand, he lightly flicked at his friend’s nose. Pollux rubbed at the spot he’d hit, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as though about to retort, before working himself into a fit of giggles before he had the chance. Egan followed suit with a light chuckle.

“See? A snake would’ve caught me before I had the chance.” Egan waggled his finger, as a teacher would when scolding their student. “That is why I dub thee, Pollux, human. Or at least not a snake.”

“I could’ve definitely caught it in time,” Pollux huffed, lips rising to a smile. “I just didn’t want to hurt my friend, is all.”

“Sure, Lux. Keep telling yourself that.”

“I will.”

With Egan’s teasing out of the way, there was a slight shift in Pollux’s expression as he glanced at where Castor’d been standing. His eyes seemed to soften, somewhat, the man going silent as he considered something.

“You really should give him a chance, Eggy,” he finally said, those vibrant blue eyes meeting Egan’s duller dark browns. “I know you have a whole thing with heroes but… well, you’re a hero now, right?” Pollux gave him a wry grin, bumping their shoulders together. “So can’t you two at least… y’know, try to get along? As heroes?”

Egan tugged his gaze away, though not before retaliating with a shoulder bump of his own, as he tossed around the idea of– shudder– trying to get along with that meathead. Imagining them getting all buddy-buddy with each other, while their d– mentors were completely and utterly in hate with each other?

Yeah. No. Wasn’t happening.

With a labored sigh, Egan ruffled his own hair, furrowing his brow as though in deep thought over something. “Fine,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “I guess I’ll try. But only for you, Lux.”

At that, Egan flashed Pollux a smile, genuine and soft, but he turned away before he could catch his reaction. “Now let’s catch up with meaty over there. If we’re gonna call a table with him, we’ve gotta do it before his usual gang does.”

---

“So what was learning under Ares like? Did you learn war tactics? I’m guessing you had to learn how to fight too, huh?”

“Oh, oh! I heard from Eggy that you lived in Olympus! Is it really like all the stories say? Does it really smell like honey and wine all the time?”

“You had to have known all the other gods, right? What were they like? Were they nice? Were they attractive?”

“Lux,” Egan interrupted, between mouthfuls of salad, “slow down. I’m pretty sure you’re overwhelming the guy.”

Pollux turned back towards him, lips pushed into a pout and a crease in his brow. “You think so?” He turned back around. “I’m sorry if I’m overwhelming you. Should I talk slower? I can talk slower if you like. Just say the word.”

Egan stifled another laugh. That was something he had to do a lot around Pollux. It was starting to get a little embarrassing.

Suddenly, his eyes caught on an unfortunate sight. The Usuals– which was the name he’d given the dolts who’d started mocking him a few weeks earlier– were approaching their table, and fast. His expression lowering right back into its usual glare, Egan set aside his eating utensils and readied himself; if this was going to go how he thought it was, then he’d have to be quick with grabbing Pollux.

 

[smolfluffball]

The bread was a touch stale when Castor bit into it. He listened to his reflection’s questions but decided responding would be too difficult to do when he kept speaking and speaking. He could practice answering in his head, though, as Ares had told him to do, if he needed to.

“Learning under Ares was most assuredly an antithesis to how you were raised. It would take too long to recount and I do not know appropriately how to explain my upbringing, to start with. He did teach me war tactics, some of which he stole from Athena, but he focused more on ensuring I knew how to fight under any circumstance. He wanted me to be an exceptional warrior.”

“I lived on a part of Olympus that was set apart from the majority of it. My home was an oasis away from all of the gods prying eyes, so that Ares could raise me without much interference. The few times I ventured from my home, the mountain breeze did carry a sweet smell that was, most likely, honey and wine.”

“I did not know all of the gods, but I knew the vast majority of them. They all were different and it is quite impossible to describe them collectively with only one word. They were nice to me and they did teach me multiple things. Hermes visited the most and he told me stories frequently about humans, as did several others. Hestia always brought warmth and sweet treats into my home. Poseidon once took me to the ocean to try to teach me to swim in it. I ended up almost drowning because I could not adjust to the turbulent waves that are common to the ocean but not to the lake I swam in back home. He laughed at me. Ares yelled at him and almost impaled him with a spear.”

He finished his stale bread and pondered the last question his reflection asked before Egan chided him and showed a surprising amount of consideration to Castor, which was interesting.

Were the gods attractive? He had no idea what that meant. Yes, the gods had tried to explain what love was to him, as well as attraction and the more intimate acts. That particular lesson had been Ares’ task, until he gave up and never tried again and told Eros, who also tried to explain several days later, to “Stop talking. He won’t understand it. You’re just going to confuse him. There’s no example you could provide him that’d help him learn.”

His mentor had been right. He did not understand it. He truly was clueless when it came to any sort of romance.

Ares asked him a week after the failed attempts at teaching him about romance if he’d like to go watch some townsfolk. If he saw people he hadn’t grown up with then he might finally get it. Castor refused, because the risk of going to watch humans could lead to a human seeing him then confronting him and speaking to him. Ares had been disgruntled with his response and muttered that he was missing out on a whole side of life that was quite fun but he had not pushed him.

Castor hadn’t cared that he, apparently, missed out on a whole side of life that was quite fun. He still didn’t care. He did not think he’d ever care. He was miserable at speaking to humans and he had zero romantic experience. He was, decidedly, not a viable option for romance, because of those two facts, and because, until proven otherwise, he was a snake and not a human.

Several of the gods had said he was handsome, but that was a word that meant nothing to him. It was a word that could be applied to several soldiers on the ship and to multiple gods, based on his own understanding of what handsome meant. That did not change his opinion about any of them.

If he had not grown up around the gods and if he did not view them as aunts and uncles, then he might have a better grasp on what attraction meant. He might be better equipped to handle the feelings that were to come to him during his time with Egan. However, that was not how he had been raised, so he would have to remain painfully naïve.

His reflection offered to talk slower. A nice gesture. Unnecessary, though. He could keep up with responding in his head perfectly fine. It was getting words to actually come out of his mouth that was where the problem lay. He didn’t entirely understand why he had such difficulty speaking to humans, apart from the awful experience he had around them once before.

He didn’t think that problem would be why he had difficulty speaking to humans. It had been a one time issue that resulted in multiple horrible things happening in a row, but there should have been no correlation between that and his current predicament.

The humans on the ship were not screaming and running away from him out of fear. They were curious about him. They seemed to like him. Some of them were even friendly.

And yet he found himself holding his tongue and saying nothing to anyone.

He could talk to the gods perfectly. He spoke to Ares easily. He talked to Fídi, as well, even though Fídi was not able to talk back to him. He had a large lexicon thanks to the instruction he received from Athena’s tutors. He could put sentences together without thinking too hard about it. He did want to ask questions and speak properly with the humans, even if they made little sense to him.

He spoke with his reflection well.

His reflection looked exactly like he did. Perhaps that was why speaking with him was easier.

“The offer is appreciated but not needed.” He picked up an apple and bit into it, considering what to say. Ah. He didn't actually have to answer anything, did he? That'd be easier. “I would answer your questions but did you not stop me from leaving to discuss with Egan and myself why we were summoned by the captain?”

“Oh.” Pollux laughed, loudly. “Right! You’re totally right! I did want to do that. Sorry, I’m just so curious about the gods and Olympus and everything. I mean, you were raised by the gods, Castor. That’s so—”

“Castor!” One of the mouth breathers came over to their table. Castor recognized him as the one who asked him if he was getting a promotion earlier. “Why the fuck are you talking to these freaks? Have they decided to sit with you so that the rest of the ship will start to like them?”

The other mouth breathers started to surround the table. Castor eyed them suspiciously. Six would outnumber three, if a ridiculous fight broke out, which seemed likely. He had been told by Ares, before he left, that most guys were frequently rowdy and got into fights for the stupidest reasons. Castor, Ares said, was an exception, since he had never truly fought with any of the gods. Even being told that, and being told by Ares that it was a fact of human life, Castor still didn’t understand why humans fought one another unless it was for resources or pride.

He did not think the mouth breathers had any pride. They were, put simply, very fucking stupid.

Maybe humans fought each other because they were all fucking stupid.

Looking at the mouth breathers, Castor kind of believed they might be. The atmosphere around them was unpleasant and hostile for no reason. The lamentable followers were muttering amongst themselves too quietly for Castor to make out what they were saying. They all were sneering. Castor bit into his apple again and didn’t respond to the mouth breather's question, since he couldn’t actually answer for Egan or Pollux, and since he had no desire to speak with morons.

“Awww, Lysias, scared that if the rest of the ship starts to like us you’ll miss your opportunity to seduce one of us?” Pollux was grinning. He gestured between himself and Egan. “Remind me: which one of us is it that you like again? It’s Egan, right? You keep making fun of him so he’ll pay attention to you, yeah?”

“Fuck you, Pollux,” Lysias snarled. Castor saw his fist clench. “It’s cute you’re trying to defend your freak of a boyfriend but tell me this: do you really think Castor wants to talk to you? Hasn’t he been avoiding you? Why do you think he keeps doing that?”

Pollux’s eyes met Castor’s. Castor couldn’t maintain eye contact with him and focused on the food on the plate in front of him. Guilt.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s been avoiding me." Pollux shook his head. "At least he actually spoke with me. Has he even said anything to you and your friends? Every time I see you all together you’re always talking over him and he never responds to anything you say.”

“Of course he’s responded,” Lysias said, looking at Castor. “Right, Cas?”

Castor did not enjoy the unpleasant feeling in his chest when all of the eyes of the mouth breathers turned to him. He swallowed his apple around the tightness of his throat and shrugged.

“Yeah, that’s definitely a response,” Pollux said sarcastically. “I don’t think he even likes you. Why else wouldn't he talk to you?”

“It’s the freak he doesn’t like.” Lysias glared at Egan. “I don’t even know why you’re trying to cozy up to Castor. Are you so desperate for a friend that you’ll play nice with the guy that hates everything about you? How pathetic could you be?”

 

[AreSneksSly]

“Castor!”

'Fuck.'

If Egan had a hat, he would’ve pulled it over his eyes. Don’t be mistaken; his reasoning for doing so would’ve been far from ‘I’m ashamed about being caught in the open.’ He couldn’t have given less of a shit if Mr. Walking Muscle over there hated him, nor would he have been embarrassed over Pollux realizing he was being bullied. Pollux already knew what Egan felt about those idiots, and it certainly wasn’t ‘embarrassed.’

Not for himself, at least.

He just didn’t want to give them any more reason to go after him. He’d been doing a good job so far of staying under-noticed, (or at least, under-noticed as best as he could’ve been under his particular circumstances) and he was smart enough to know causing a big fuss would’ve just drawn the ire of the captain. Which he definitely did not need after his and Castor’s shared berating.

So, for now, he was playing calm and collected. It wasn’t hard, especially when Pollux was excellent at expressing all the snippiness and sarcasm for the both of them. Egan’d even been a little close to jumping in a few times. ‘No, no, Pollux, it’s Castor he wants to seduce,’ was his particular favourite in response to Lux’s liking comment. ‘That’s why he goes out of his way to show off just how unempathetic and cruel he could be! It’s practice for when they finally get hitched.’

At the whole Pollux-being-avoided-by-Castor bit, Egan couldn’t help but steal his own little glance towards their shared eating-fellow. He knew perfectly well how Castor acted and felt towards him, but the fact that he’d been avoiding Pollux was certainly news to him. For the briefest moment, he thought that maybe, just maybe, Castor would retaliate. After all, the two of them were fellow soldiers, and he’d been sufficiently polite towards Pollux that whole afternoon. Perhaps he’d stand up to the idiots. Correct them.

His down-turned eyes quashed that feeling quickly.

When Egan turned his attention back towards the mockery the two of them were one-sidedly facing, it was just in time for him to catch his ‘name,’ and the following string of insults. All of which bounced off of him with ease, half-lidded eyes betraying nothing in his expression.

“Yeah, yeah, real tragic. I’m crying inside,” Egan said. He took another bite of his salad before he continued. “For your information, I’m perfectly aware that Castor hates me. You could even say we were destined to hate each other, considering our tutors.” He gave the blondie a mockingly sly wink. “But I’m not trying to change that. The only reason I’m here ‘playing nice’ is because of the idiot beside me. And I can call him that, because he’s my friend. Another thing you guys seem to get wrong about me. Constantly. It’s pretty annoying.”

In hindsight, that probably should’ve been where he stopped. Blow off these dummies with Pollux, head back downstairs, go back to working on more important things. But when it came to people he didn’t like causing trouble for people he did?

Let’s just say Egan was always more of an Epitmetheus than a Prometheus in that department.

“Really, at this point I’d rather you guys just start beating me up.” He slowly rose to his feet, a sneer worming its way onto his face. “At least if you guys hit me until I pass out, I won’t have to look at your ugly mugs all the time whilst having to endure the same overused nickname. What, did your little leader over there not give you a list? I can help out if you want, Castor. Oh, and before I go spend my time on something productive, I have one last thing to say to you– what was your name again? Doesn’t matter.” Egan leaned close to Lysias, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I’m not the one trying to appease a guy who doesn’t even acknowledge my existence half the time.”

When Egan pulled back, the smirk on his face was wholly warranted. Lysias looked good furious. Nose scrunched, mouth pulled into a snarl, his shoulders tensed and trembling– the image made for a good painting.

“C’mon, Lux,” Egan said, patting his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s go back onto the deck. After all, we wouldn’t want to cause a scene–” He practically growled, glare turning to Lysias, “–now, would we? Especially not in front of our hero here.”

Waiting for Pollux to rise to his feet, even snickering a little as his buddy stuck his tongue out at the boy he’d just given a verbal whipping, before turning to leave—

When a block of muscle interrupted his path.

Turning his head up to look at the absurdly tall young man in his way, Egan, once again, got that funny feeling. The one he got whenever he indulged his impulses.

It was regret, probably, as that block wrestled him back around to face Lysias. ‘Push comes to shove, I can just treat both of our wounds,’ Egan thought to himself, unimpressed at the raging, likely extremely jealous bull he came face to face with.

“You,” Lysias ground through his teeth, “have a lot of nerve, freak. You think you’re a big shot now, just because Athena chose you as a hero, when you’re still nothing. You think that because of that, you can go around sitting with whoever you like, insulting whoever you like, and there’ll be no consequences whatsoever. All because Athena pointed at you. But you haven’t changed at all. Under all that bravado is still the sniveling, cowardly idiot, who’s just using his newfound status as a pedestal to justify acting foolish.”

“So basically what you’re doing with your status as Castor's friend?” Egan raised an eyebrow.

The dark-haired boy readied himself for the incoming punch, even allowing himself a smile as Lysias swung, but he opened his eyes not to a blooming pain in his cheek; instead, Lysias’ fist hovered in front of his face, moments away from contact. On his face was the largest, most shit-eating grin he’d seen on him so far.

“You know what?” Lysias said, cocking his head as he shook out his hand. “You’re right. We wouldn’t want to make a scene. Especially not after the captain’d dragged you and Cas into his office. That’d just get both of you in trouble.”

Like a shark honing in on fresh prey, Lysias turned his eyes towards Pollux, who at that moment was desperately wriggling in the grip of another lackey. “Him, on the other hand…”

“Hey, hey, hey, is it too late to talk this out? I think your and Castor’s relationship is actually really cute! You know, how you always try to draw his attention to you by acting out? Granted, it hasn’t worked out so far, but I’m sure that wailing on his new buds—”

Crunch.

If Hephaestus were here, he’d probably spout something wise and stoic. ‘Little fire,’ he’d boom, ‘I understand your agitation. By dragging your friend into this, they have overstepped their boundaries. But violence will not solve your fury, nor will it soothe it. Anger is like a fire. You do not put it out by feeding it. You starve it, allow it to simmer, for cooler thoughts to take hold. And just like fire, when your anger grows too powerful… well, it only leads to someone getting burnt.’

Crunch.

But Egan didn’t care about that.

Crunch.

All he could think about was that sound.

Crunch.

Pollux.

Crunch.

Something about that sound had awoken something in him.

Crunch.

Something small, and angry, and red.

Crunch.

Something that hadn’t seen the light of day since he was 13.

Crunch.

Something that made him want to take Lysias by the throat and hold him to that fire, hold him until they licked his bones clean, until he was as red as Pollux’s face was.

Crunch.

"There, that should get you to sh—”

If you’d asked the guy holding Egan, he would’ve said he slipped out. Slid through his fingers like a restless rabbit. If you’d asked Egan, he probably wouldn’t have said anything, because he was still coming off the high of beating a certain someone up. Ask anyone who was playing close enough attention, though, and they would’ve said they saw Egan rip his arms out his captor’s grip, eyes darkened, zero hesitation, before he launched himself at Lysias.

And they’d be absolutely correct.

 

[smolfluffball]

Were he and Egan truly destined to hate each other because of their mentors? What a peculiar thought. Castor didn’t agree with it. He did not base all of his relationships off of Ares’ relationships. He created his own opinions about the people around him. Egan’s wink at him was confusing and made no sense.

Not much of what Egan said made any sense.

What exactly was a friend? Castor knew of that word and the meaning attached to it but he had never had a friend before. A pet, yes. Mentors and teachers. Ares and the other gods never called him a friend. He didn’t think he’d ever had a friend before.

Egan called him a “leader”. Of who? Of the mouth breathers? What an awful thought. He was terribly mistaken, too. Castor did not lead them to do anything. He didn’t know why they insisted on sitting around him or why they, apparently, had a problem with Egan and Pollux. It was senseless. Now that he had listened to Egan and Pollux talk, he didn’t have any complaints about either of them.

Sure, his reflection made absolutely no sense, but he was quite nice. A friendly soldier on the ship that was curious about him and willing to accommodate for him. And, yes, Egan was still a freak that liked to live in a cave, and he still couldn’t hold onto his sword, but he wasn’t so weird that he warranted any harassment. His isolation from the rest of the soldiers may have been to guard himself from the harsh treatment from the mouth breathers.

Castor watched Egan turn to go with Pollux. One of the mouth breathers cut him off. Egan mentioned hero and Castor knew he was talking about him. He really did have some sort of issue with him, didn’t he? His name had been brought up too frequently for it to be anything but the fact that he had a problem with him.

He didn’t like him, it seemed. Why not? They’d never interacted before. What could Castor have done that’d warrant such dislike? Perhaps it had to do with Athena’s choosing or with their mentor's rivalry. Neither of those reasons would be easy things to work around. Would it even be worth it to work around them? When Egan kept goading on Lysias and the others?

Ares would clap his shoulder and be happy to see that Hephaestus’ pupil wasn’t as pathetic as he thought he must be. Lysias looked absolutely furious. Ares would be pleased to see that words could elicit such a reaction from someone.

“So basically what you’re doing with your status as Castor's friend?”

What did that mean? Castor was lost. There was too much happening for him to shift through it all and discover what these soldiers even meant. He knew that he was definitely not any friend of Lysias’ or of the mouth breathers. He knew that he really did not like them. He knew that Egan disliked him for a reason he most likely had nothing to do with.

He knew Pollux was going to get punched even when he tried to plead with Lysias. There was no saving him from the violent outcome that collided with his face. The crunch of his nose cracking sent a jarring reminder of the neck bone breaking when he had successfully bested the manticore.

Pollux stumbled back from the punch and clasped at his nose, a slew of swears and unfriendly words pouring from his mouth much like the blood pouring from his nose. Lysias barely got to smirk before Egan was on him, fists flying.

Castor had never seen a physical fight before. Not between the gods, and most definitely not between humans. Ares had raised him to be a sensible warrior and a smart fighter. He knew how to land a punch that’d hurt if he needed to. He was strong, too, so punching any of these humans would probably be quite damaging.

He didn’t want to fight them. Pollux was bleeding from an injury that had caused him to stumble. He needed to get away from the action so he didn’t get damaged any further.

The other mouth breathers cheered on the fight. Castor ignored their atrocious cruelty and quickly slipped from his seat to grab Pollux’s arm before he could jump into the fight too. Egan could handle himself, if he threw himself into the fight of his own free will. He pulled his reflection out of the jutting elbows of the mouth breathers and tore a strip of his skirt off, then pressed it against Pollux’s nose without speaking.

“Ow, fuck,” Pollux growled, tilting his head back. His eyes were watering. “Aren’t you going to fight them too? Didn’t Ares teach you? How can you stand being around them?”

“Ares taught me to raise arms against others only when I thought it was vital to a situation,” Castor answered, applying more pressure to Pollux’s nose. “He said I did not need to be aggressive and combative like he is. If I punched any of the mouth breathers then I may break their bones. And you are injured and bleeding quite badly.”

“They’d deserve it!” Pollux looked back at Egan. Castor’s hand stayed on his nose. “They’re going to outnumber Egan!” He tried to shake off Castor unsuccessfully. “Let go of me! I have to help him!”

“He’s the reason you’re bleeding, Pollux.” Castor eyed the fighting. Egan was lighter than Lysias. If the other mouth breathers interfered then he'd be overwhelmed. It was an unfair fight. “Stay and keep pressure on your nose. I’ll go get your friend.”

He didn’t wait to see if Pollux listened to him. He went back to the ring around the fight and saw it had grown significantly. Humans truly did enjoy violence and bloodshed, didn't they? Ares did as well. Castor was not overly fond of it. He circled the crowd of soldiers for an opening but missed a flying fist that connected with his eye. He winced at the hot pain that’d certainly bruise and heard Ares scold him, inside of his own thoughts, for not paying enough attention to his surroundings.

Hands on his back distracted him from his task. He looked back and saw the dark-skinned soldier who’d summoned him earlier. Why was he here? What was he saying? Why was he touching him?

“—okay? Who’s fighting?” The strange soldier stood on his tiptoes and looked between the shoulders of a couple of bodies. “Ah fuck. Captain’s going to be pissed. Egan! Lysias!”

He pushed between the bodies. Castor went through the narrow path as well and saw all of the blood and bruises on Egan’s face, and on Lysias’. Maybe the cave dweller really was better at fighting with fists than with a sword.

The two morons had too many weaknesses with their fighting stances and movements. Castor found an opening easily and shoved himself between the two of them, shouldering Lysias back and grabbing onto Egan’s wrist before he could land another punch.

Lysias’ fist connected with the same spot that the other fist hit. Castor did his best not to wince at it and spared a glance back at Lysias to find he was being held back by the dark-skinned soldier and Pollux. He ignored whatever sputtering came from Lysias and locked eyes with Egan.

“This isn’t a worthy fight, Egan,” he said, mirroring what Ares told him several times before. “You’ve taught the mouth breather that you won’t let him hurt your friend. Stop with this fighting and take care of the injuries on your face before you commit an act that you won't be able to come back from.”

“HEY!” Captain Gregorios’ yell came from somewhere behind the bodies. The soldiers surrounding them scattered. “This better not be- Oh, come on.” Captain Gregorios approached them, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s it. All of you. My cabin. Now.”

 

[AreSneksSly]

Egan was never really good at talking through his feelings.

Part of it was because he’d never really had anyone to talk to, another was because he just didn’t like it. Talking was awkward and intimate, and when you talked to someone face-to-face, there was a weird vulnerability to it as well.

That’s why, for most of his life, Egan had worked through his emotions by doing. He punched anyone who mocked him, he focused on smithery and ironwork, and, as a child, he’d resolved himself to a nearly 3-year-long journey just to accomplish a single task. Egan had spent his life with actions, not words; this was just the culmination of that philosophy.

When Egan was angry, he didn’t care about tactics. He didn’t care about diplomacy, nor compromise, nor ‘playing nice.’ He didn’t care about losing and he didn’t care about winning. When he was angry, all Egan craved was release. The satisfaction of letting his anger loose on the person he believed deserved it, allowing his body to work through the high of battle, feeling the stings of pain wash over him like a cold waterfall.

When Egan got angry, he wanted to hurt. He wanted to punch, and to kick, and to bite, until every bit of his anger was used up. That was how he worked through his feelings. That was how he always did.

Hephaestus had seen him, the wild, violent flame of a child he’d been, and he’d taken him in. He’d redirected that single-minded focus onto something else. He’d given Egan a different task, something he could do without hurting others, that allowed that flame to shrink through other means. To Egan, his work wasn’t just a way of improving himself. It was his own personal therapy, a singular outlet for every bitter, distasteful emotion he felt.

But he didn’t have his work right now. All he had was the sting, the lava in his veins, the ecstasy of seeing his injuries mirrored on the person who’d hurt his first friend. That was all he needed. Forever.

When Castor’d stepped between Egan and his target, the boy hadn’t recognized him at first. All he could think of was the red, and how much he wanted to see that red on Lysias. ‘Fuck him, he’s in our way!’ Screeched the brutal, violent beast in Egan’s mind. ‘Shove him aside and get back to beating up the dickhead that hurt Pollux! I’m going to strangle that little bastard until his face is blue—’

‘No, we need to think calmly about this,’ countered another voice. The one that’d formed thanks to Hephaestus’ encouragement. ‘We’re going to get caught, the captain—’

But neither version could trump Egan’s own thoughts, simple as they were.

‘He’s injured.’

With a sudden and resounding clarity, Egan had paused just long enough to notice that Castor had a bruise on his eye.

The red-hot adrenaline that’d been running through his veins cooled near instantly, his gaze taking in the serious, flat expression on Castor’s face as he said some… legitimately reasonable things. That this wasn't a fight worth continuing, that he'd already made his point, that he should stop before things went too far.

‘But why is he telling me that?’

As he took in Castor’s words, the flames that’d raced throughout Egan’s body sapped. It helped that his grip was solid and warm against the cool of Egan’s skin. He didn’t feel… much, honestly. Just a lingering bitterness, a mere flickering flame when compared to the rush he’d had earlier. And that he probably should’ve thought that through more. Because he could feel blood dribbling from his nose, and his knuckles ached really badly, and he just wanted to go back to work.

Any further comments from his mind were silenced by the captain’s yell, followed by a groan of disappointment. Egan glanced at the direction of his voice, watching the man stomp towards the two of them, his jaw set. “That’s it. All of you. My cabin. Now.”

Seeing the captain retreating back to the deck, and watching as a few of the soldiers started to help pick up their buddies, Egan’s eyes strayed back to the wrist Castor had held. For a moment, he let himself pause, allowing his skin to soak in that subtle warmth.

Then it was gone, Egan sliding his wrist through Castor’s grip. “C’mon, blondie,” he murmured. “Time to get yelled at. Again.”

---

“...the single most unruly, childish platoon I have ever led!” The captain slammed his desk, the sound reverberating through the room as a number of them winced.

“Sir, I understand you’re angry, but—” A dark-skinned soldier started. He had his mouth open, hands raised in preparation for a speech of some sort, but a single glare from the captain made him close his mouth.

“I don’t want to hear from you, Jace. And you two,” he grimaced, turning towards Castor and Egan. “Right after I talked with you? I’d thought that both of you were better than this.”

"Egan, I understand you have not had the best of relationships with the platoon, but I believed you could've at least stayed cordial during your time here. You may not be the best of fighters, sure, but you do have a knack for smithing, and you've shown yourself perfectly capable of keeping a level head in most scenarios. I, like I'm sure most others, were surprised when you'd been chosen as one of Athena's heroes, but as I thought it over more, I acknowledged that it made some semblance of sense. You are intelligent, Egan. That is one thing I will give to you. But this... example today has made me question not only your abilities as a hero, but your place on this ship as a whole. You've been needlessly stand-offish and snide towards your fellow soldiers– a position that I can tell you now, you have not earned– and you seem perfectly content to let your friendships aboard this vessel rot while you sit in your workshop, separated from the rest for no apparent reason."

Egan bit his tongue, letting the pain bring pinpricks of tears to his eyes, his fingernails digging into the skin of his arms. Sure, he could've given the captain stand-offish, but snide? All he could recall was avoiding Lysias and his obnoxious, persistent posse. They were the ones who'd taken to chasing him around the ship whenever they saw fit, calling him names and mocking his abilities. He'd just wanted to dodge any big, stupid fits he'd been sure they would've thrown up had he spoken to anyone, the captain in particular. He'd been trying, by the gods had he been fucking trying, and now his position was being questioned all because of one little moment of weakness for him. He hadn't even started the fucking fight! If Lysias and his stupid, idiotic, brainless gang of lackeys hadn't punched Pollux first, none of them would've ended up in that situation.

The boy didn't say a word of his thoughts, however. He'd already done enough today. All of them were bruised, and beaten, and some stupid dumb dummy muscleface had ended up getting involved when he wasn't supposed to, which had earned him a black eye. Which was still dumb, by the way. Castor should've just stayed out of the way and let him and Lysias get in trouble. Because now there was a stupid, dumb, weird twinge in his chest whenever Egan looked at the oversized figurine come to life, and he just wanted to get this over with so he could bury himself back into his work to make it go away.

"And Castor. Castor. When I first saw you, I knew in an instant that you would be the perfect fit here. Level-headed and strong, you showed incredible talent during the physical tests, and I was honest-to-the-gods amazed when you were assigned under my command. I'd looked forward to seeing how you would flourish, and up until now, I thought you'd been doing quite well for yourself. Creating relationships with the rest of your team, conversing with them on the deck of the ship– from what I'd seen, you made the perfect... never mind. And I understand, I get that you may be frustrated with Athena overlooking you as one of her choice heroes, but to engage in petty, needless squabbles in the mess hall, not to mention targeting the person I'd specifically asked you not to—"

 

[smolfluffball]

This was entirely asinine.

“Fuck you,” Castor mumbled.

“What was that?” Captain Gregorios asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, I’m forgetting my manners.” Castor cleared his throat. “Fuck you, sir.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I don’t think I will, sir.”

Castor had listened to Captain Gregorios berate Egan. He listened carefully to try to better understand Hephaestus’ pupil. He hadn’t expected the attack to turn to him. He didn’t even understand why he was in the room with these morons.

He hadn’t been involved in the petty, needless squabble in the mess hall. All he did during the fight was tend to Pollux’s injury and get in between the two assholes that he basically only knew the names of. He never raised his fist against another. He never attacked anyone. He didn’t understand why the dark-skinned soldier was here, or why Pollux was also in the room with them. From where he stood, the only people that should have been called in to get berated by the captain for the petty pointless squabble were Egan and Lysias.

So why the fuck was Castor having to listen to this utter nonsense?

Why the fuck was Captain Gregorios saying he created relationships with people on the deck?

Why the fuck was Captain Gregorios speaking about Athena's choosing when he couldn’t possibly understand?

Why the fuck was Captain Gregorios so fucking wrong about everything?

Why the fuck was Castor here, now, having to listen to this completely brainless captain ramble on about completely brainless things?

Castor was very much over it.

“You’re already on thin ice, son,” Captain Gregorios warned.

“I don’t give a fuck, sir,” Castor snapped back, crossing his arms. “You’re wrong about everything and I’m not going to stand idly by and let you keep talking about shit that you have no idea about. Sir.”

The dark-skinned soldier and Pollux gave him wide-eyed looks that went unnoticed.

“I’m wrong?” Captain Gregorios gestured to Egan. “Then tell me why both you and Egan have injuries. Why is he so beat up, if I'm wrong? Why are you injured, if I'm wrong? Why were you holding onto him, if I'm so wrong?”

“Are you blind, sir?” Castor pointed to Lysias. “Can you not see the injuries on that mouth breather's face? Are you completely oblivious to what the fuck is happening on your ship, Captain?”

“Castor—” Pollux said softly.

“The reason I was holding onto Egan was so that he stopped fighting with Lysias, sir,” Castor said, glaring at Lysias. “You obviously are blind, sir, since you can’t see what the fuck is right in front of your face. The mouth breathers are the issue - not me. When have I ever done something that’d warrant a warning to not kill Egan? Why have I been brought into this beratement when I’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve it?”

Captain Gregorios looked furious. Castor didn’t care.

“I gave you that warning because I’m not blind, Castor,” he said through clenched teeth. “I understand that you dislike Egan. I didn’t—”

“When have I ever said I dislike him, sir? When have I ever acted like I disliked him?”

“You called him a freak,” Lysias muttered.

“He is a freak but that doesn’t mean I dislike him,” Castor said, glowering at Lysias. “What purpose does punching his friend and then Egan himself serve, exactly? Do you feel better about yourself now that you’ve bloodied and bruised both yourself and three other people?”

“That’s enough, Castor.”

Castor turned his attention back to Captain Gregorios.

“You’ve spoken out of turn for long enough. I never thought you would be insubordinate. You’ve made your point, so let me—”

“I’m being insubordinate?” Castor let out a breath. “Ares would be so proud. I can talk well enough with the humans to be insubordinate. Fuck. Fuck.” He didn’t look around the room when he took a step back. “If I’ve made my point, Captain, then I don’t believe there’s any further reason for me to stay.”

“Castor!”

He left the room in a rush and moved across the deck, not catching the curious looks from all of the other soldiers. Not paying attention to where he was heading, he ended up in front of the door to the room he shared with five other people. He pushed the door open and went inside to grab the sword Ares got for him.

Whenever things didn't go his way, Ares told him to grab his sword and hit something.

He went to the bow of the ship. There was no one around. Probably all still eating.

He approached the rail and raised his sword above his head, then sliced it down on the wood hard. Oak shards chipped off and went flying into the ocean. One of them scratched his cheek and clattered against the deck behind him. He hit his sword against the railing again.

He didn’t know what to do with this feeling. Ares never taught him how to deal with this. He recognized it as anger, from whenever Ares was angry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to hear something break. The wood groaned again when he hit it another time. If he broke the railing he'd be in trouble, wouldn't he? It didn't matter.

Insubordinate.

He had been insubordinate.

Ares would be proud he was able to speak enough words with humans to even be called insubordinate, but he’d scold Castor for being insubordinate. He was supposed to respect the captain no matter what, just as he was supposed to respect his fellow soldiers and every human he met. Ares had instructed him to be respectful to humans, even if he was raised by a god. It would be easiest for him to follow the rules and not overstep and draw attention to himself.

Being insubordinate broke all of that apart into tiny little pieces, much like the wooden chips scattered around him.

Being insubordinate meant he went against Ares' instruction.

He had never done that before.

But... But he couldn’t be respectful and not overstep when the humans were horribly mistaken about him or a ridiculous situation that he hadn’t even been involved in. He couldn’t respect them when they believed horribly incorrect things about him.

He wouldn’t kill Egan. He wasn’t involved in the fight. He wasn’t doing quite well for himself.

He actually thought he was doing the worse he’d ever done in his entire life.

All because he left home.

What am I supposed to do, Ares?

The wood cracked when his sword smacked against it again, sending a vibration up his arms that made him feel tingly. The railing split in half under his blade. He stared at the destroyed railing and took in the jagged edges of wood that he created. He could feel how heavily he was breathing. A deep breath in, then a slow release out.

He collapsed to his knees in front of it and ran his fingers carefully over the sharp, broken wood, abandoning his sword on the deck. He did this. He broke it. He destroyed it. Why did he do this? What was happening to him? He couldn't exist in the human world if he resorted to breaking things when he got angry.

Ares did that. Castor didn't consider that he had learned this particular trait from Ares. He wouldn't consider it for a long time yet.

 

[AreSneksSly]

Egan had never thought he’d ever seen Gregorios this mad.

His frame was visibly trembling, eyes closed as he took in a small, shaky breath. He was barely moving now. Just an inhale, then an exhale, and repeat. The tension filling the room was physical, heavy and overbearing, leaning on each person’s shoulders as all four of the remaining boys stood, straight-backed, awaiting their punishment.

“Cleaning duty,” the captain finally said. His voice was an eerie, pantomimed calm. On his face was a smile that stretched to his ears. “That will be your punishment. All of you. Pollux, Lysias and Jace, you can take the mess for this week. Egan, you and Castor can start on the decks. Why don’t you go ahead and tell him, Egan? I’d quite appreciate it.”

Egan almost wanted to laugh, a strained, manic sound, at the cosmic indifference of the gods for having him get paired up with Castor. Why now, of all times, had they decided to start sticking those two together so often?

He didn’t laugh. That would’ve just pushed the man off the precipice he was very visibly clinging to by the tips of his fingers. He just shuffled out with the rest of the group, their proverbial tails between their legs.

“Geeze,” Pollux wheezed when the door was fully and safely shut behind them. “I thought he was going to snap and kill us all.”

“'Us' all? I’m pretty sure the only one he wanted to kill was the f– your buddy over there.” The dark-skinned soldier, who Egan just barely managed to recall was named Jace, jabbed a thumb at him. “Punishments aside however, cleaning duty isn’t… the worst, I guess. Oh, but by the gods, did you see how Castor went off on the captain? That was—”

As Jace started to go off on a tangent that Egan was pretty sure none of them were actually listening to, he watched as Lysias stalked off to the mess without another word, Pollux ducking close to him with a wry smile.

“You good?” He asked. “Because you got a little something on your face.”

“I noticed,” replied Egan flatly. “Sorry for uh, getting you involved, I guess. By the way. I just—”

“I know, I know. Lysias was being a dick. He deserved to get punched.”

“You didn’t, though. And it was, maybe, possibly, just a little my fault you did. Because, you know. I probably shouldn’t have goaded him like that.”

“Not your brightest moment, I will admit, Eggy. But…”

Pollux paused, eyes locking onto his, as the boy cocked his head and gave him a small smile. Slowly raising his hand, Egan didn’t even have time to react as he lightly flicked him on the nose.

Egan, in response, simply blinked. A giggle bubbled out of his throat, Pollux following suit with his own chuckle.

“I deserved that,” Egan said, offering a sheepish smile to his friend.

“Revenge for last time,” Pollux huffed, crossing his arms. “Seriously, though, I get it. You were sick of playing quiet and patient. Been a while since I’ve seen you go wild like that, though. Honestly, it was kinda refreshing to see a little bit of the old Cali in there.”

“He just got a new attitude, is all. I’m cool now, haven’t you heard? Gotta be. Especially if I wanna live up to that hero status.”

“Speaking of heroes…”

Pollux’s head turned to the bow of the ship, just in time for the sound of cracking wood to drag all of their gazes towards the soldier at the far edges of the boat, his arms swinging with terrifying efficiency as the rail slowly began to snap under the weight of his weapon.

Egan had the feeling he wasn’t going to survive today.

“Uh,” Pollux said, very helpfully. “Never mind. I don’t think it’s a good idea to approach him right now.”

“Oh, really, Lux? What makes you say that?”

“Eggy, while I appreciate your sass, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to go over there. Like, I know your moods, and I know you’d never beat me up in a passion-fueled episode of violence and anger, but I can’t really say the same for him. I’m pretty sure he’s a nice guy, but I also don’t know how nice a guy he is exactly.”

Egan sighed, wiping a hand across his face. “I know. I know that. But…”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re actually gonna talk to him.”

“What else am I gonna do, Lux? He is actively getting himself into more trouble, not to mention getting the both of us more work to clean up later!”

‘Also, a dumb little voice in my head is telling me to help him, and I suspect that if I do, it might actually go away.’

“Just… let me talk to him. Hey, he’s the one who said he wouldn’t kill me, so…” Egan shrugged.

Pollux gave him a look, brow furrowed as he chewed his bottom lip. “Well… if you’re sure. I’m still gonna jump in if anything happens, got it?”

Egan gave him a smile. “I wouldn’t expect any less. Now go over and help Jace up, I’m pretty sure he’s fainted from fear. Or… horniness. Either way, he needs help.”

Letting his friend walk off, Egan took a deep breath, turning to look at Castor’s distant back.

‘Hey, look on the bright side. At least he dropped his sword.’

‘I say, knowing perfectly well he could snap me in two with zero effort.’

Alright. So, this could go one of two ways.

Way one: Castor sees him approach and kills him, instantly.
- Pros: Would be mostly painless, would get him out of cleaning, and would get him out of hero duty, all at once.
- Cons: Would die. Wouldn’t get to make fun of Pollux anymore. Also would make Pollux sad, probably, which would make Egan’s ghost sad.

Way two: Castor doesn’t kill him instantly.
- Pros: Would stay alive.
- Cons: Would stay alive, and be forced to deal with the fallout of a mad Castor.

Ugh. This was going to suck, a lot.

With another sharp inhale, Egan strode as confidently as he could manage, only slowing when he got close enough to reach out and touch Castor. At first, he considered tapping him on the shoulder, but a few more goes of that mental simulation mostly ended with him over the side of the ship or broken like a flimsy doll. So, touching was a no go. Talking would have to work.

“Hey, uh, big guy…”

When Castor turned to look at him, Egan felt his heart lurch in his chest. Taller, Castor was taller, and he’d been in this situation so many times before so why was it causing trouble for him now?

Every thought in Egan’s head came to a stuttering halt, as the boy, for just the briefest moment, flashed back to a smaller, younger version of him. A version who’d cowered in his room, waiting for the noises to stop, for the bad day to turn into an okay one when his mom went to bed. As long as he could escape, as long as he could leave, then it’d be an okay day. Then he’d be alright.

Mentally shaking himself for recalling old, unnecessary memories, Egan willed himself to speak, to say anything, but found his mind only coming up with blanks.

Honestly, what was he supposed to tell him?

‘Hello Castor, pupil of Ares. I understand your rage, and I thoroughly apologize for my actions in causing it, if I was involved in causing it. Just. Please don’t hurt me.’

‘What’s up, man? You got it all outta your system? I have to say, I love what you’ve done with the rail there. Real artsy. Real cool. Would love to have a go at it, myself. Don’t feel like it now, though. Maybe earlier. But then again, if I’d done it earlier, Lysias wouldn’t be nursing a wicked bruise right now, so I say what I did was much more fun.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Yeah. No. None of those were going to work.

Grinding his teeth together, Egan rubbed at the back of his neck, finally releasing a sound in the form of a heavy sigh. This was dumb. If Castor was going to kill him, then so be it. He wasn’t going to spend his last moments acting like spooked quarry.

“We’ve got cleaning duty on the deck, so I hope you enjoy splinters because I am not touching that.” Egan gestured weakly to the broken rails. “I already got beat up, anyways, and I do not want to spend my evening picking wood chips out of my skin on top of that, so…”

 

[smolfluffball]

He hesitated.

Castor saw Egan freeze.

Because of him.

Again.
Again.
Again.

He made someone scared of him again. He made someone not want to approach him again. He made a human fear him again. He ruined everything with a single action again. He was scary and terrifying once more. He was the boy with the head of the chimera at his feet and the blood of his kill all over his hands and face. He was the boy who made an entire town of humans fear his very existence.

Although he tried so fucking hard to never be that boy again.

At least this time there wasn’t screaming and he wasn’t completely covered in blood.

No. He was. He reached up to his cheek and felt a liquid there that didn’t belong there. When he looked at his hand to check that it was real the red of his blood burned in his brain and sent memories back to him that he couldn’t relive.

How many monsters had he killed? How much blood had he spilled? How much destruction had he caused?

He wasn’t a hero. He was a murderer. He was a brute who was terrifying and unapproachable. He could break things too easily. He could break humans too easily. He broke the oak railing like it was a stick.

He could break Egan too easily, with a touch gone wrong. He could break any of the soldiers too easily, if he used his sword against them. He shouldn’t have been on the ship. He needed to get off of it so that the humans could be safe from him. All his presence around the humans would bring was bloodshed and horror.

It happened before. It’d happen again. It was happening right now, with Egan petrified and looking at him like he was a monster.

A monster.

That was it, wasn’t it? Ares had tried to raise a hero. Castor failed him and instead of being admired and written down in legends, he’d end up being the monstrosity that the chosen hero had to slay. It made perfect sense.

He got it now. Athena’s choice made sense now. She didn’t choose him because he was what had to be defeated.

He had too much blood on his hands. Heroes didn’t make humans scared of them. Heroes were beloved and adored, and given praise and kind words. Monsters were feared and hated, just like he was. Monsters were what had to be fought in order to become a hero, just like he'd tried to do so many times before.

Even with all of the monsters he defeated, he wasn’t chosen. Because he was the very thing he’d been raised fighting against. Athena knew. She knew and she chose someone else to defeat him. To save the humans from him.

What would Ares think? Would he abandon him now that he knew the truth? Had he already abandoned him because he found out he was a monster?

Egan unfroze and finished approaching him. Castor felt his foot hit against his shoe when he took a step back. Egan couldn’t get too close to him. He’d break if he got too close.

He kept getting closer. He didn’t know how dangerous being close to Castor was to his wellbeing. He was a naive human who didn’t know that there was a monster who looked like a human on the ship with him.

He didn’t understand why Athena chose him like Castor now did.

Castor saw Egan’s lips move and he heard him say something. He could barely hear whatever he said over the thoughts drowning him.

He was so damaged. His nose was bleeding and broken. He had blood above his lips and very bloody cuts near his black eye. His eye was already swelling.

Egan asked him something again. Castor couldn’t pull his eyes away from the injuries on his face. This was what humans looked like when they were done fighting. This is what Egan would end up with after he realized the truth and raised a sword against Castor to slay him.

Unless Castor just let him kill him without putting up a fight. He wouldn’t want to kill Egan. He didn’t want to ever make anyone bleed. Ares wouldn’t approve, but he already wasn’t going to approve of having spent eighteen years raising a monster.

Egan looked like he expected an answer. Castor had no idea what he’d said. His voice had fallen on nearly deaf ears.

“Your face,” he whispered, reaching up to his own face to rub at the cut on his cheek. He held his bloodied fingers out to Egan. “It’s as red as this.”

He considered the blood for too many seconds too long. His eyes fell to the sword on the deck. The sword Ares got for him when he was a child so he could learn how to become a warrior.

The sword that had killed so many creatures before.

The sword of a monster.

He bent to pick it up with the hand that had blood on it. He didn’t look at the horrified expression he knew Egan must be making. He didn’t hesitate when he threw the sword over the railing he broke and into the ocean. He didn’t look at Egan again to see what expression he was making.

He didn’t want to be a monster. He didn't know what else he could be, since every chosen hero needed a villain to defeat, but... He desperately did not want to be the creature that Egan had to kill.

Getting rid of the sword might help ensure that he didn’t become one.

He didn’t want Egan to look at him. He had no idea what his expression looked like. He felt something wet in his eyes that he blinked back when he went around Egan, giving him a wide berth.

“Apollo and Asclepius taught me first aid before I left in order to help my fellow soldiers,” he said over his shoulder, not looking directly at Egan. “Follow me and I’ll do my best to fix your face.”

 

[AreSneksSly]

‘Alright, well. Going well so far.’

Egan, after having mildly sassed Castor, had not expected his response to be nothing. Maybe a growl, a glare, or even the classic shove. Anything would’ve been better than silence. Which was bad for him, because that was exactly what he was getting right now.

Unnerving. That’s what the silence was becoming. Unnerving. Not to mention the blank, empty stare Castor was levelling at him. As if he was thinking of eating him. Which was not a way Egan’d thought this interaction could’ve gone.

Okay. Alright. No. He wasn’t gonna go through this.

Taking a step forward, Egan almost jumped when Castor flinched back. And that look in his eyes, it was almost like—

… he was afraid?

Cocking his head, Egan was half-tempted to wave a hand in front of Castor’s face just to… to snap him out of whatever he was going through. “Big guy?” He asked instead. “You… good? Are you even listening to me right now?”

A blink, and the stoic, silent hero was back. Saying stuff that was already super obvious to him.

Egan watched, confused, as Castor bent over to pick up his sword and drop it into the ocean, before turning around and telling him he was going to help him fix his face.

Which was… good? Maybe? Or it was code for ‘I’m going to beat you up harder than Lysias did,’ because if so, Egan would’ve honestly preferred that over whatever…

The boy glanced back at Pollux, who was still busy trying to steady Jace. The blonde gave him a little wave, gesturing towards the direction Castor’d walked, and all Egan could manage was a shrug. He had no idea what was going on, and he was guessing Pollux didn’t either.

But.

But.

That voice hadn’t gone away yet. It was still there, whispering away, telling him that he should follow Castor, just to see what he’ll do.

And honestly?

Egan was sort of curious too.

Flashing his buddy a thumbs up, Egan trailed after the unchosen hero, letting their steps sync up.

---

The two stepped into the room, Egan looking around curiously. 3 pairs of beds greeted him back, all squeezed just closely enough that a young man could reasonably waddle around without too much discomfort.

He hadn’t ever spent much time in the bedrooms before. From the first moment he’d known he would be forced to share a room with 5 other people, he’d resolved himself to never step foot in his.

That plan had been successful, so far. He tended to sleep in the lower decks, previously in whatever miscellaneous rooms he could find, and currently in his workshop. Sure, it made running up for morning drills a bitch to get through, but if it meant keeping his privacy intact, then he’d sleep in a cave for all he cared.

Which he did, literally, under Hephaestus’ care. But his cave was nice, and it was really spacious, so he didn’t think it really counted as one.

“Nice place you got here,” Egan said. “Very cozy. So, uh. How are we gonna do this, muscleman?”

 

[smolfluffball]

Muscleman. Another name that was bizarre, but not as bizarre as the former meathead. At least this name made sense to Castor.

He didn’t comment on it and went over to his bag. He had no idea what he could say to Egan anymore. He wanted to say something, anything, about the fact that he was part of the reason they’d been berated by Captain Gregorios. He was still quite annoyed by the fact that he'd been involved in something as stupid as that, and it had been, largely, Egan's entire fault. If he hadn't gotten into a fight then Castor wouldn't have the pain around his own eye and the cut that was most likely still bleeding on his cheek. If they hadn't been called in to talk to Captain Gregorios then he wouldn't have been called insubordinate and Egan might not have looked at him like that.

But he couldn’t say a thing against the chosen hero. Not when he was, potentially, the monster that he’d have to kill.

That really was not a pleasant thought. He tried to shove it away when he pulled out a jar of ointment that Asclepius gave him and a handful of small cotton strips that Ares had always used for taking care of his injuries.

He had to look at Egan again to see how much cotton he’d need to soak up the blood. This time he was able to focus solely on the damage done to his face. His nose was slightly crooked. Most likely broken. Apollo had demonstrated how to fix a broken bone on Dionysus when the god of wine was very inebriated. Castor could, theoretically, set Egan’s nose back in place so that it’d no longer be crooked and bleeding.

To do so would require him to break his nose again. To promote healing. So that he could breathe through it normally and so that it recovered properly. He didn’t know how willing a chosen hero would be to let a monster break a bone again.

He didn’t mention it and slid his eyes over to his bed, then pulled a few more cotton strips out of his bag. “Sit down on a bed,” he instructed quietly.

Egan shuffled over to a bed while Castor picked up his supplies. He turned and saw Egan sitting on the bed that belonged to Lysias. Oh. Whoops.

Oh well. He didn’t need to know that was the bed of his harasser.

Castor approached him and handed a strip of cotton to Egan. “Hold this under your nose so that it stops blood from getting onto your lips. I’m going to try to clean up your wounds then apply an ointment Asclepius created onto them. It’s fast acting and has some kind of magical property that helps relieve pain, or so he said. I’ve never understood the gods' magical abilities.”

Egan listened to him without much complaint. Castor went over to the water jug near the door and lifted it, then brought it over to set it on the floor by the bed. He removed the lid and dipped a strip of cotton into it, then pulled it out and sat on the bed next to Egan. Not close enough to touch him, but close enough that he could see the most injured side of his face without having to look up at him.

He considered the left side of Egan’s face. How gentle could he really be with a human? Ares tried to be gentle whenever he took care of his injuries. Castor had never gotten the opportunity to tend to anyone else’s wounds before, since the gods rarely got injured, or if they did get injured then they healed too quickly.

He didn’t feel confident taking care of Egan’s wounds. He didn’t want to be too harsh with his hands. He didn’t want to hurt him further.

He folded up the wet cotton strip and sighed. He said he’d try to fix his face. He had to follow through. He couldn’t break his word, even if he didn’t think he’d do a good job at patching up the chosen hero.

If he did it then maybe it’d be another thing to stop him from becoming the monster Egan had to eventually face.

He dabbed the cotton against a wound that was actively bleeding. Egan winced at the touch and grumbled something that Castor couldn’t entirely understand. He, as gently as he could, worked on cleaning Egan’s wounds. He moved slowly and delicately, trying to be precise with his dabbing. Egan kept grumbling while he worked. When he was finished with cleaning, he opened the jar of ointment and scooped a blob of it out with a finger.

He brushed it over Egan’s wounds, his fingertip barely crazing over Egan’s skin. The ointment clung to him well and was easy to apply, as Asclepius had said it’d be. He put a fair amount around Egan’s black eye then pressed a small strip of cotton over the ointment, pleased that it held the cotton in place. He proceeded to lay cotton over the other injuries on the left side of Egan's face then leaned forward to try to see the other side of his face.

Egan leaned back and mumbled something about personal space. Castor rolled his eyes at the comment but didn’t respond to him. He placed the cotton strips on top of each other but picked one off his pile to set on Egan’s leg.

“Best of luck taking care of the injuries on the other side of your face and your broken nose,” he said, standing from the bed. He grabbed the jar and went back over to his bag. “I’m finished now, since I know you won't let me touch your nose, if personal space is such a problem. You can leave. I know you dislike me, and I am not terribly fond of you at this current moment either. You departing from my room would be in both of our best interests.”

 

[AreSneksSly]

This was awful.

This sucked, and this was awful, and Egan hated everything about this.

The soft, gentle touches and strokes, each careful in pressure. Those too-blue eyes studying him, his face, just– just staring, looking him over, observing him. Bad enough that Castor’d apparently been serious about the whole ‘taking care of his injuries’ thing, but did he have to… did he have to look at him so much?

Flustered. Egan was flustered, and embarrassed, and he really would’ve preferred just taking care of his injuries by himself because that was way less complicated and intimate and…

And just less.

From under his breath, Egan slowly began to mumble mathematical equations to himself. They were barely intelligible, just a not-quite random assortment of numbers to cool the rising heat in his cheeks. It was something he liked to do when he was stressed. It helped him focus.

It certainly didn’t protect him from Castor leaning close, though, a motion which was followed by Egan tilting his head back with a wince and muttering ‘personal space.’ He could handle the touches and the looks– not well, mind you– but the one thing he couldn’t abide by was people invading his bubble. That was reserved for people he liked and people he tolerated, two things that the pupil of Ares was certainly not.

Well… not the first one. Castor was maybe working up to the second. Maybe.

As if in reaction to his thoughts, the other boy pulled away, shifting the bandages save for one. With a cotton strip placed on his leg, Egan watched as Castor stood and brushed himself off, returning the strange tingly ointment to his bag. There was a sliver of a moment where Egan wanted to reach out, to hold him in place, but the thought passed by with ease. Gone in a sea of others.

“Best of luck taking care of the injuries on the other side of your face and your broken nose. I’m finished now, since I know you won't let me touch your nose, if personal space is such a problem. You can leave. I know you dislike me, and I am not terribly fond of you at this current moment either. You departing from my room would be in both of our best interests.”

Hm. That certainly simplified things, and it made stuff a whole lot easier. He could just pop on over to Pollux’s, ask him to fix his nose for him, and—

And…

And Lux really didn’t deserve to have more of his time being taken up by him.

Ugh. Egan’d already gotten him punched by Lysias, he couldn’t go over and demand he start babying him. That wouldn’t have been fair. Then again, Castor and Jace and Pollux getting punished for something shitty Lysias (and yes, Egan himself) had done.

Punished for him, punched for him, now nursing for him… Pollux had too much on his plate. The least Egan could do, stupid and impulsive as he was, was limit himself to doing two stupid, impulsive things a day.

Then again, who else was he supposed to go to? The medic? It’d be a warm, cozy day in Hades before he ever let a complete stranger touch his face. Castor was bad enough.

Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh ugh. This day really was working up to be the worst in his life. Possibly ever. The wolf attack was pretty bad though, so that one was definitely still the worst. This one, though, definitely second. At least third.

No Pollux, no medic, certainly no Castor again. That left only one reasonable option, and it was… less than ideal.

‘Alright, this can’t be all bad. Just think happy thoughts, like obliterating Lysias with a well-aimed groin punch, or jumping off this ship and drowning to death.’

Still plopped on the bed whose owner he had no clue as to the identity of, Egan slowly reached up to his nose, brushing his calloused fingers over the bridge. Even the lightest touch made him cringe slightly, a jolt of pain shooting sparks directly to his brain. Still, it was either this or, shudder, asking Castor for help, and at that point he’d rather have to go through another wolf attack.

‘Breathe, Egan. It’ll be all over in a second.’

 

[smolfluffball]

He didn’t hear Egan get up from the bed and walk to the door. With a contained sigh, he glanced back at Hephaestus’ pupil and saw him doing something completely moronic.

Castor quickly went over to the other boy and grabbed his wrist to stop him from trying to put his nose in place by himself, without a mirror. He moved his hand away from his nose and shook his head. “Don’t be stupid again. If you try to set your nose without seeing what you’re doing then you’ll damage it further.”

He released Egan’s wrist and considered his face for a moment.

If he did set his nose in place, then that’d be the potential monster breaking the chosen hero's bone, right? If he broke his nose to fix it right now, then would that prevent any further breakages happening at a later time? Did chosen ones and their destined monsters work like that or was he thinking foolish thoughts?

If only you were here to guide me on the right thing to do, Hermes. Artemis. Hestia. Anyone.

Still no response. Castor felt a brief pulse of annoyance at the gods’ negligence towards him but pushed it aside. Egan’s nose was broken. He needed to have it fixed.

Monsters and chosen ones aside, that was the current situation. It was the most important issue. He could not be left with a broken nose and if he tried to set it himself then he’d break it worse than it already was. If Castor repaired his broken nose then perhaps it would solidify, in Egan’s mind, that he had no ill-intentions toward Hephaestus’ pupil.

That is, if Egan was even considering Castor in that way. He knew that the other boy disliked him, possibly hated him, but he did not know anything else apart from that. All he understood from the minimal interactions they had up to this point was that they knew nothing about each other except for what their mentors had told them, and he knew that their mentors' words had influenced their thoughts on one another.

At least, Hephaestus had influenced Egan, since Egan thought they were destined to hate each other. Castor did not think that Ares had influenced him, at least not so heavily that he warped Castor’s personal opinions so drastically.

He didn’t know if it would be worth it to try to develop any sort of relationship with Egan. A monster and a chosen hero weren’t meant to become anything to one another, not truly. Castor did not know the proper way to develop any sort of relationship with any human, even if that human had a similar upbringing to himself. He also did not think that Egan was very interested in talking to him, if he disliked him already.

Was it worth it to try to change his mind? He got in a stupid pointless fight and didn’t interact with any of the other soldiers. The captain had called him stand-offish and snide, and he was a freak, in the simplest definition of the word. He was horrible with a sword and had done nothing so far to prove why exactly he had been chosen by Athena.

He also tried to assist him when Pollux asked question after question, though. He had a soft spot for his friend and it did seem, somewhat, like he hid himself away from the crew because of Lysias and the mouth breathers. He also… Surely had other redeeming qualities…?

Hm. Did the good outweigh the bad? Castor didn’t know. He didn’t want to think about it, since, realistically, it was completely unimportant. After Castor finished taking care of his face, they’d go back to not speaking with each other. Theoretically. There was no reason for them to still speak to each other after Egan left the room, unless Pollux intervened again.

Castor was thinking too much about things once again, wasn’t he? He kept doing that, didn’t he? He didn’t think this much before he left home. Humans made no sense and were too distracting. His emotions around the humans were too strange and left him feeling uncertain about most everything. Living with Ares had been so much simpler.

Taking care of Egan’s broken nose would be simple too.

Simple was nice. Easy. Not bizarre or complicated. Castor preferred simple.

“This is not going to feel good,” he muttered, moving his fingers so they hovered over Egan’s crooked nose. “If you cannot hold back, then you may punch me. Please do try to avoid my cheek or eye.”

He didn’t linger over his nose and set it as Apollo had instructed him to, holding onto the less injured side of Egan’s head to stop it from moving. Another crack came from the nose and Egan swore loudly but did not punch him.

Castor stepped back cautiously and did his best to examine Egan’s nose, ignoring his incessant swearing and hand blocking any more blood from getting onto his face. It looked straight. Appeared straight. A more thorough investigation would need to be done, but Egan could go to the doctor whenever he stopped bleeding all over the place.

Bleeding all over the place. He was on Lysias’ bed. Castor had not known Lysias’ name before the fight, but he did know that Lysias would be furious if blood got onto his blankets. He was the tidiest one out of the mouth breathers, along with Castor. It was one redeeming quality about Lysias, among all of the other annoying, stupid ones.

Blood stained various materials and could be difficult to get out. Castor did not want to have to listen to Lysias’ grumbling about some blood on his bed. The simplest way to ensure that did not happen was to get the still actively bleeding boy up and out of the room.

Castor didn’t say anything when he grabbed Egan’s unoccupied hand and tugged him off the bed. The cotton strips on his knee fell to the floor, but Castor paid them no mind and pulled Egan over to the door. He pushed it open and nearly threw Egan out of his room but stopped before he let go of him with force. Tossing the bleeding boy would be bad for his injuries and Castor did not want to damage Egan any further than he already was.

Letting go of him without any sort of roughness would be better for him. Castor stepped into the hallway and brought Egan out with him, then released his wrist and went back through the door.

“I’ve done what I can. Seek the doctor out so that he can take better care of your nose. The Chosen Hero's face should not be so damaged. I don't believe Athena would like your current appearance.” Castor began pushing the door closed. “Hopefully nothing scars. Goodbye, Egan, Hephaestus’ pupil. It has been rather interesting interacting with you, but also annoying and confusing. We do not need to speak again, since you dislike me and think we are destined to hate each other.”

He closed the door in Egan’s face and studied the wood, not sure what he was meant to do now. The group he usually sat with were morons that he did not want to associate himself with anymore. Pollux was somewhere. The dark-skinned soldier that Castor did not know the name of was somewhere, as well. Egan would be going to the doctor to get his nose looked at, if he had a brain inside of his skull.

Those were all the people he knew on the ship, excluding the vexing Captain Gregorios. Castor threw his sword into the ocean so he could not go outside and run through drills like he frequently did. Perhaps he could go watch other soldiers practice with their weapons. Perhaps there was an extra sword somewhere on the ship. Perhaps he could dive into the ocean and see if he could find his own sword, since he did regret that he had thrown the weapon he'd grown up using overboard.

He did not know how to properly swim in the ocean. Poseidon had laughed and rescued him from the water when he first tried. Ares had been too upset to let him go back in to practice and he attacked Poseidon for endangering his pupil's life. Castor, himself, had been mildly frightened by the waves, so he had been glad Ares brought him away from the water.

He must have had fog in his head when he dropped his sword into the salty water. Why had he done that, exactly? Because he didn't want to be a monster? Removing the sword was the best way to keep his inevitable fate away, but if he took more steps to prevent the future fight then... He hadn't needed to toss his sword. There were several other swords on the ship. It had been a completely foolish decision.

Ares gifted him that sword so early in his life. He could not remember when, precisely, he had been given it, but it was one of the first things his mentor gave to him. Ares had told him that he needed to learn to wield a blade so that he learned not to fear them. It was one of the first lessons Castor could recall. He told Castor he'd get him a better one when he got older, but Castor had never wanted a different sword. Ares' first gift had been modified over the years and given enhancements to make it stronger, to make it a sword befitting Ares' pupil, but it had never been replaced.

Ares, all of Castor's life, had never understood why Castor was so attached to a simple sword. It was nothing fancy, he said frequently. A more polished sword would suit Castor more. Something named, at the very least. Something heavier, or larger, so that he could handle monsters easier. The other gods had brought other swords to him to try to convince him to change his mind.

But none of those swords would be as important as the first gift Ares gave him.

The gods weren't talking to him. Ares wasn't answering him. Ares might have abandoned him. Ares might never speak to him again because he was a monster. Ares might hate him.

Why did he throw the sword into the ocean? It truly had been the most foolish decision Castor ever made in his life. He really wanted to go get his sword back from the ocean so that he still had at least one thing to hold onto from Ares. So that he had some kind of proof that Ares had cared for him, even if he was actively abandoning him.

Even if he ended up hating everything about him.

Castor sighed heavily and reached up to his cheek. The wet blood smeared against his skin. He needed to take care of his own wounds before he could figure out how to get his sword back, now that the human was out of the way. He wasn’t sure where exactly his injuries started and ended on his face though. He could feel the pain on his cheek but had no idea how bad the cut was.

He moved away from the door after momentarily considering asking Egan to tell him where his injuries were. He did not want to be involved any further with Hephaestus’ pupil. He did not know the proper way to interact with him and he did not know how to sort through his muddled thoughts about him. And, his sword was gone, and Castor did not think he was making a good face to show to any humans, but especially not to one that hated him. The door was closed on Egan and the outside world, and it would remain closed until the day came when the chosen hero needed to destroy the monster. That would be the simplest way to go about things.

After he took care of his injuries and got his sword back.

 

[AreSneksSly]

What.

What?

Egan stood outside of Castor’s dorm with an expression that one could charitably call ‘flabbergasted.’ He’d just had his nose set very painfully (though he was already ready for that), yet also somehow very gently (which was weird and dumb and made him feel weird and dumb).

Egan was… well, he didn’t quite know what he was. That brilliant, efficient mind had been silenced, thoughts chugging to a crawl as he stood with his mouth agape and his wrist in his hand. The same one Castor had held. The same one that was still warm. It was like he’d been touched by the sun.

Then, with a snap, Egan turned his head back, shock transformed into indignation as he remembered something; that something being the fact that they were still on deck cleaning duty together.

“Hey!” He screamed at the door, uncaring of whoever heard him. “Get back out here, stupid! We still have to fix that rail! The captain is gonna have both of our asses roasted if he sees what you did to it, and I for one am not interested in getting treated even worse than I already am! I’m the one who had to endure weeks upon weeks of torture from those shitheads who call themselves your friends, I do not need the captain to start mocking me either! I know your big hero status before this gave you an inherent advantage in this platoon of mostly assholes, but that won’t save you from the old man locking you in a cell until you start behaving, so you’d better get out here and are you even listening to me right now?!”

Perhaps the screaming was unnecessary– they were, after all, only separated by wood– but screaming helped get his aggression out, and it helped him ignore any second thoughts he might’ve been having.

Oh, but slamming his foot into the door was just for him. He needed it.

“Fuck,” Egan hissed under his breath. The lump of muscle wasn’t answering, because of course he wasn’t. He just had to make things difficult.

Annoying. That’s what he always had to be. Annoying.

Trekking in small circles outside of Castor’s room, Egan’s mind raced. He knew he couldn’t let anyone see the damage, let alone Gregorios himself, but he really didn’t want to go around cleaning up Castor’s mess for him. That just felt silly and stupid. Plus, it was getting late, and he couldn’t exactly fix up a rail by himself while acting inconspicuous, no matter how talented he was at carpentry.

Those were the two key roadblocks: speed and stealth. He couldn’t perform one without sacrificing the other. Damnit, damnit, if only he hadn’t—

With a groan, Egan ruffled his hair. He was wasting daylight, and Gregorios could’ve already glanced out and noticed the damage to his ship. That wouldn’t do either of them any good. Definitely not.

Finally, Egan sighed, stomping his foot into the ground with a huff and crossing his arms. On his face was a look of determination– along with a nasty bruise forming at the bridge of his nose.

This was fine. He could work with this.

After all, he was Egan, Hephaestus’ pupil. A broken nose and a broken rail meant nothing to him.

---

Egan sighed, finally stretching out his back. It cracked loudly, his spine screaming a medley of silent curses at him, each of which came and went without acknowledgement. He really had to find a better stool for his desk. One that wasn’t so tall that he had to slouch just to examine his work properly.

He’d done it. He’d managed to put the broken pieces back together. It’d taken some odd hours of work on his part, as well as the sacrifice of one brave, empty crate, but the remnants of the rail were now back together as a whole. Tack on an hour or two for touching up the paintwork, and it was basically good as new.

Egan didn’t have a window to glance out of to check the time, but that didn’t matter. He never needed it anyway. He only stopped when he was done; seeing the sun set over the horizon wouldn’t have distracted him.

Standing up, the boy quietly cursed, pins and needles prickling at the nerves in his legs. He walked around his workshop for a bit, wincing with every step, until the tingling sensations subsided. Walking was good. He should do it more.

Sparing a glance at the exit, Egan silently prayed to the gods that the stupid cloth he’d hung over the broken section of the rail was still in place. He’d had to be quick about it– since trying to avoid notice while loudly hammering nails into wood was a little difficult– and he hadn’t had the chance to check the quality of his work. Really, who was he becoming?

With another sigh, he decided he might as well check on it. It’s not like he had anything to lose. If his silly attempt to hide the missing section had worked, then he at least had to try and extend that luck until tomorrow.

---

Egan always liked the boat at night. To him, it was his natural habitat. Although his lack of sleep often made him miserable during morning training, he could never give up the quiet intimacy that the moon gave him. When it was night, he was free to do whatever he wanted. Run around barefoot, sit and stare at the stars, rummage through storage. No one was going to call him names. No one was going to chase him back into his beloved, though sometimes stuffy workshop. He loved being out at night. It was his home.

Which was why he was so caught off guard when he saw a certain lunkhead laying on the deck.

Before Castor could see him, Egan ducked his head back down, feeling himself start to sweat despite the cool of the air. That stupid muscle-for-brains wasn’t part of his plan, and it meant he definitely couldn’t go out and check on the cloth now. Gods, what if he’d already seen it? Would he have felt grateful to Egan? That would be dumb. He shouldn’t be grateful. Especially since Egan was the one who got him punched.

That wasn’t true. He hadn’t gotten him punched. He hadn’t even touched him. It was Castor’s fault for trying to intervene. Egan was the one who should’ve gotten a black eye, not him. Stupid. Idiot. Musclebrains. That’s what he got for being annoying and making him feel bad.

Stupid hero.

 

[smolfluffball]

After much consideration and a surprise from Poseidon, Castor felt slightly better about how the day had gone. A good mood, no matter how small, Hermes would say, should not be wasted. Castor, if he was back home, would sneak into Ares' room, if he was away, and find an interesting scroll to read. If Ares was home, then he would take Fídi out on a flight over the lands outside of his home to feel the air blow through his hair and whisper over his skin.

Fídi was not with him, but the night sky was beautiful and Poseidon had returned his sword to him. Those two facts alone boosted how he felt quite significantly. He did not know what exactly to do with the good mood he currently was experiencing, but the sky above would not judge him for simply laying and ruminating.

Poseidon had, unsurprisingly, not left behind any message or hint that it was he who retrieved the blade. The water stains that had been on the bed sheets and on the floor, however, could not have been caused by anyone else but him.

Castor had felt immensely grateful for Poseidon's help. He had gotten back from checking the ocean outside to see how bad the waves were and had nearly missed the sword on his bed. He had been too focused on taking his cape off and changing into something that covered less of his skin, so that he could swim in the ocean easier. The sword on his bed would not have been retrieved by any humans on the ship. That meant the gods were still paying attention to him or that Poseidon, at least, still cared for him. Castor would prefer to speak with Ares or Hermes or Hestia, though he knew that any contact was better than no contact.

In war, any sign of life was better than nothing. Ares explained to him that even the smallest clue that there was still hope could change the course of the fight. Castor had understood it only slightly, back then.

Now, he understood it perfectly.

Poseidon retrieved his sword from the ocean. The gods had not abandoned him. The moon was vibrant and full of life above him. The railing had a new cloth over it that had not been there when he destroyed it, and he did not know who else on the ship would hide such a thing, except for Hephaestus’ pupil. Strange as it might have been, it was another thing to add to the reasons why he was in a better mood.

There were various obstacles that he did not know how to overcome that, when he remembered them, put a slight taint on his mood.

Such as the mouth breathers that slept in his room. He had no interest in ever speaking to them again. Which, rather foolishly, left him with nowhere to sleep. He did not want to risk sneaking into his room and waking any of them. He did not want to talk to any of them. He would like to remove them from his life completely.

Egan had yelled at him from outside of the door earlier in the day. Castor had not heard what exactly he had said to him. He assumed, after he heard a resolute huff, that Egan had said whatever he wanted to say to him, and he was no longer outside of the door when Castor checked. It had been only a slight inconvenience, since he had wanted to ask Egan to tell him where his injuries were at, but Castor had resolved that without involving anyone else.

The scratch on his cheek was an open wound and his eye was tender. He had received worse wounds from training before. The side of his face being damaged did hinder Castor’s ability to sleep, but, again, he had experienced worse before.

He would experience worse when Egan discovered his true nature and fought with him to solidify his role as hero.

He did not want to dwell on that thought. It was, Castor decided, utterly unpleasant and quite abysmal.

Another unpleasant thought was that since he could not remove the mouth breathers from his life completely without tossing them all overboard (which would be noticed by, presumably, a human or two, which was really such a shame), he had resorted to sleeping outside. He had not seen Egan after he had guided him out of his room, and he had seen neither Pollux nor Lysias nor the dark-skinned soldier. Without their disturbances, he felt confident that he could sleep through the night peacefully.

He would sleep under the stars once more, as he had done for the first nine years of his life. The breeze that blew across the deck was refreshing and cool. The soft sounds of the waves lapping against the ship soothed him and almost lulled him into a light sleep.

Ares had raised him to pay attention throughout all of his life, however. He was a light sleeper frequently and he noticed things within seconds. That was why, when a figure walked close to him, he could tell it was Athena’s chosen hero. The hunched form Egan always took was easily spotted and specific only to him.

Castor watched him duck his head down and wondered what to do.

Speaking would be the normal course of action to take, correct? He still did not know the proper way to do that.

He had, genuinely, not intended to speak with Egan again, after they parted ways. If they did not interact then Egan would never discover Castor's new truth. He had managed to avoid speaking with him throughout the entire time they’d been on the ship together and Castor assumed, perhaps foolishly, that they would not ever get into another situation where they needed to speak with each other.

Would it be strange to not say anything? He hadn’t moved or given any indication that he had seen him, although the light coming from the sky lit the deck of the ship fairly well. If Egan realized that Castor had seen him and hadn’t said anything to him then that might be weird, to him. Castor's preference was to remain silent and watch him to see what he would do, or perhaps let him speak first.

He did not enjoy not knowing the correct thing to do. Ares had never taught him about situations like this.

With a sigh, he sat up. He did not know what to say to Egan. The rag was a new addition to the deck and Castor did not know who else would try to hide that it was broken, since no one else had seen him break it. That seemed like a safe topic to discuss. It would be easier than discussing anything about their mentors or their fates.

”Was it you who did that?” he asked, nodding to the rag. He voice had a slight scratch to it, since he had not spoken to anyone after he lashed out at Captain Gregorios and forced Egan to leave his room. He cleared his throat. “If you did, then I would like to know why exactly you decided to do so. I am the one that broke it, so I am the one who should fix it. Is it a strange form of an apology for earlier or is it a strange thank you for tending to your injuries?”

 

[AreSneksSly]

Oh, just his damned luck. Of course Ares’ pupil was observant, why would he expect any less? He bet the meathead spent his weekends hunting and running through the woods shirtless and barefoot and waving his bow around like an idiot. Gods he hated him so much.

And of course he was asking about the cloth. Well, at least now he knew it was still there, which was a bit of good news from this horrible, shitty day. But why did the idiot have to ask about his intentions too? Couldn’t he just take a good deed as it was? Did he need to know why it’d been done? There was a saying or something, talking about looking a gift in the mouth when you should just leave it alone. At least, Egan thought that’s how it went. He didn’t pay much mind to sayings.

Well, Ares’ pupil demanded an answer, and it wasn’t like Egan could slink back now that he’d been spotted. That would’ve just been ridiculous and maybe a smidge rude.

Oh, but he couldn’t say outright why he’d done it either. He didn’t even know why he’d done it.

Was it an apology? An apology for what? Getting Castor punched? That obviously wasn’t his fault. That was Castor’s. He’d been the one to get in the middle of a fight he didn’t have to be involved in. If anything, Egan should’ve punched him for that; given him another black eye to match. Maybe then it’d be fair. It'd at least make his stupid chiseled face symmetrical.

It wasn’t really a thank you either, though. Egan… appreciated what he’d done for him, taking care of his injuries and all, but it’s not like it meant he owed him a favor. He hadn’t been forced to cover up Castor’s mess, he’d just…

Whatever. Whatever. It didn’t matter.

“Well, I tried to tell you to fix it earlier,” Egan huffed, doing his best impression of a confident saunter over to where Castor sat. “But you weren’t listening to me. I was planning on fixing it myself, but I figured that'd look suspicious. Besides, if I hadn’t covered it up, Captain Gregorios would’ve probably assumed we’d gotten into another fight. That would’ve been way more annoying to deal with. Now that I’ve hidden it, though, I can get you to act as a shield while I fix it tomorrow.”

Without really thinking about it, Egan settled next to Castor, sprawling his legs out but avoiding touching the non-chosen hero. There was a flicker of panic as he realized what he’d done– which was essentially invite himself to sit beside the guy that everyone on the boat would've killed to capture the attention of– but he stomped it down before it could get out of control.

He had to stop panicking around Castor, whatever the reason behind it was. This was good practice.

He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the blanket of stars above them. He didn’t remember all of their names, since Hephaestus had been busy teaching him more practical skills than just memorizing the titles and locations of a million identical-looking lights, but he could still recognize a few. He’d had a lot of time to himself on his way to Olympus, and looking up at the stars had been one of the ways he’d picked up to pass the time.

“Why are you out here?” Egan found himself asking, then snorted. “What, did the idiots who call themselves your friends finally get on your nerves enough to drive you outta their room?”

 

[smolfluffball]

Ah. He hadn’t heard him earlier in the day. He must have tried to tell him about repairing the railing outside of his door, when Castor had been preoccupied with reminiscing. Castor doubted that Captain Gregorios would assume they got into a fight, since it would be very strange for a fight to involve the railing, but he kept his mouth shut and listened to Egan speak.

Fix it… Tomorrow? Egan wanted his assistance with acting as a shield. That statement made little sense to Castor. It was not as if Egan would be in danger from a sword or some other attack. He did not understand how he could act as a shield when there was nothing to protect Egan from.

He also did not want to interact with Egan tomorrow. That seemed like a horrible idea.

Egan would talk to him and expect him to respond. He did not know that Castor was a monster. Castor did not think it would be fair for Egan to interact with him if he did not know the truth about their fate.

Ares taught him to use the element of surprise wherever possible. Egan would, most likely, be surprised whenever he discovered the truth. If Castor kept their true fate to himself, then he could, hypothetically, win against Egan, in their destined battle.

He had no desire to win, though. Winning against Egan would mean killing him and Castor had no desire to hurt him, or any human, ever. He also had no desire to be slain by the Chosen Hero, because he did favor life, even with the silence from the gods. It would be much simpler and far less stressful if Castor was not the monster and Egan was not the hero.

It would have been even simpler if Castor had been chosen.

He watched Egan sit next to him and regretted it immediately. Sitting next to him meant he had no intention to leave. The gods sat themselves next to him whenever they wanted to have a conversation with him. Egan, presumably, wanted the same thing.

Instead of speaking, Egan looked at the sky. Castor studied his slender throat and remembered when Ares told him slicing deeply across any neck can kill most creatures. That lesson had been applied to almost every creature that Castor had fought against, and it was a terribly effective, and terribly bloody, method to kill something.

Egan was wide open. He would be powerless to stop Castor from drawing his blade across his neck. Ares would be happy he listened and chose the surprise attack. Castor could almost imagine the blood that would pour over his pale skin, that was glowing underneath the light of the moon.

He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away from Egan, feeling quite nauseous at the thought of cutting the throat of a human. Creatures were different. They normally could not speak or beg for mercy. They also never had skin that glowed softly and black hair that contrasted so dramatically against it.

The question Egan asked him was a welcome distraction, although not one he wanted to answer. It was the beginning of the conversation Castor nearly thought they’d avoided.

He opened his eyes and focused on a pole far away from where they were sitting. “They are not my friends,” he mumbled, lifting the knee of the leg closest to Egan so he could rest his chin against it. “I have no friends. I have no desire to sleep in our shared room any further because I dislike them and I think that sleeping in the same space as them is a terrible idea. Also, I have no desire to speak with you, because—”

Because I don’t want to tell you the truth about our fate.

Because I can’t look at you without feeling completely horrible.

Because I dislike that you were chosen for the role I trained my entire life for.

Because I have no idea how to speak with you.

Because I never want to hurt you.

He couldn't say any of that. He didn't understand what he was feeling. He wanted Ares to help him.

“You should go back to your room,” he said quietly, pressing his forehead into his knee. “I was about to fall asleep before you came over. Please leave so that I can rest.”

 

[AreSneksSly]

Now that he had the chance to sit with him for a bit and just stew together, there was an… unexpected calmness to the pupil of Ares that Egan had not expected him to have. He wasn’t obnoxious or loud or scrambling for any ounce of talking time, he just… was. Simple as is. It made him feel a little funny for having assumed that Castor was going to try and maul him earlier.

It also made him feel funny for assuming other things, but he still thought he’d been at least a little justified there, considering his past experiences.

At Castor’s passive attempt to chase him off, Egan couldn’t help but chortle, a sharp, aborted breath catching in his chest. It wasn’t a pretty sound– not that Egan ever made the effort to seem ‘pretty’ in any sense of the word– but it still happened, and he couldn’t exactly take it back.

“Y’know, that’s why I called them ‘the idiots who call themselves your friends.’” Egan had an amused smirk on his lips. He did not make an effort to leave. “And if you really don’t have any friends, I think Pollux would be happy to take up that mantle. He’s kinda stubborn about making friends, if you haven’t already noticed. It’s hard to get rid of him.”

Egan let out a sigh, laying down on the deck. The wood was chilly, presumably having cooled over the course of the night. It wasn’t too uncomfortable. Would’ve been nicer if he had a blanket, though.

“Are you really gonna sleep out here?” Egan asked without thinking, which he was starting to realize he did a lot around Castor. That was pretty bad. Not thinking was bad. “You might catch a cold. I don’t want the person who’s gonna act as my shield tomorrow to catch a cold. What’ll I do if you collapse and they look over to see you in a pile and me crouching over a broken rail? It’d be really hard to fix after that.”

Strange. Egan was rarely the one doing the talking in conversations. Usually he left that to other people, like Pollux, or… well, it was mostly just Pollux. But Pollux liked talking, and Egan usually didn’t, so their dynamic worked.

“I just don’t think it’d be a good idea to sleep out here,” Egan continued to blabber. “Who knows? Maybe a stray siren will spot you and decide you’d make a nice, chewy meal. And sure, you’d probably be pretty good at fending them off normally, but if you wake up to them singing their weird, entrance-y song, it’s not like you could fight back at full-capacity. Besides, even if you don’t get swept off in the middle of the night, if one of those assholes you dislike catch you up here, they’d definitely be pissed. Might even try fighting you, which would be a really bad idea. Though I think both of us know that they’re not really smart. I mean, if having to sleep in the same room with them is that bad, there’s still an empty room beside my workshop. It isn’t fancy and it can get kinda toasty in there, but it’s better than a cold, freezing, open-to-any-threats deck, right? I think I’ve even still got my old bed there.”

Mid-rant, Egan’s brain had, at some point, become aware of what exactly he was asking Castor to do. Or, well, asking wasn’t the right word. Inviting. He was inviting Castor to sleep in his old bed, which was weird, and dumb, and kinda desperate of him.

Not desperate. He wasn’t desperate. What would he be desperate for?

“The captain might get mad too,” he added quietly, not as an afterthought. Definitely not. “‘What kind of hero would leave a fellow man-at-arms out in the cold, open air full of potential dangers?’ I bet that’s what he’d say. So, if you want a place to sleep that isn’t hard, uncomfortable wood, my door’s open.”

Psh. Desperate.

He wasn't desperate.

 

[smolfluffball]

He was not leaving, which was rather annoying.

Castor listened as he talked and wanted to protest various topics that Egan brought up. He was not interested in befriending his reflection. That was an idea he felt very strange about. He was not going to catch a cold. Multiple years of sleeping outside had made him resistant to common illnesses humans caught. A siren would not affect Castor. He had never experienced attraction and he understood that sirens manipulated people with that in order to lure them to their deaths.

It wouldn’t matter if the mouth breathers came over to him. Maybe he’d finally say something to them and figure out the correct way to admonish their behavior earlier. If Lysias truly thought he was someone so respectable, then surely his friends would listen to what he had to say. Soldiers did not get into brawls with their commanders, and Castor thought that, perhaps, that was how his relationship with his roommates had been.

Lysias disliked Egan because of an off-handed comment made about him. Castor understood that now. The others followed after what Lysias said and did and acted towards others, but Lysias followed after what Castor said. It was a terrible mentality, to be that of a follower. An even worse mentality was to be a clueless leader.

Ares would be disappointed he had been so clueless. He would also be disappointed that he let Egan lay down next to him without speaking his mind. He would be upset that Castor was not able to speak with the humans. He’d tell him to come home. He’d tell him he could come back if he was uncomfortable.

If he was speaking with Castor, but he was not. If he still cared for him at all, which he might not.

This was slightly ridiculous. Castor realized, rather foolishly, that he was overthinking things, which every god told him he did frequently. Ruminating and speaking little was something he did when he was upset, feeling shy, or rebelling, Hermes told him, once. Castor had thought he was being annoying at the time, but he had been right.

It wasn’t shyness or rebellion. It was sorrow and at least four other emotions Castor did not know how to label. The gods would not help him with them now. Ares had sent him away to test him and he already failed, and he continued failing and failing, with every new difficulty put in front of him. He did not know how to remedy his erroneous ways. He did not know how to talk to anyone properly. He did not like how he was behaving.

Egan had also been raised by a god. He knew Ares had raised him, just as Castor knew Hephaestus had raised him. He was chatty and friendly, but he also was not listening to his request. He even made sure to ask nicely. Yet he did not listen to him.

A monster had no right to be friendly with a hero. Castor did not even know how to be friendly with anyone. But he did know that a monster sleeping in the hero’s old room broke every rule about monsters/heroes.

Ares would think there might be something for him to discover there. Something he could use to undermine Hephaestus. That was their own personal rivalry, and not anything Castor wanted to be involved in. It felt wrong to accept Egan’s offer. He had no desire to accept it. He was fine sleeping outside.

“No,” he said simply, not looking at Egan. “Although your offer is surprisingly kind, I am not interested in accepting it. Even if sirens did come, which they won’t, I do not think they would affect me. The mouth breathers would not fight with me. I’m not going to catch a cold from a single night slept outside. Ares ensured that I developed resistances to human illnesses.” He shook his head. “I do not need to sleep in your room. It would be inappropriate for me to do so. If you are worried about the captain seeing me then—”

A loud rumble overhead interrupted Castor’s train of thought. He lifted his head from his knee and looked at the sky. New large clouds were moving across the stars, blocking them out and darkening the night. The temperature of the wind dropped significantly and he felt the hair stand on his arms.

The gods really were not happy with him, were they?

He frowned at the sky. “I’ve slept in worse conditions than some rain,” he mumbled, glancing down at Egan. “You should go before it starts to rain. Chosen Hero’s shouldn’t get caught in the rain. It’d ruin your appearance.”

Egan most likely did not care about that. Castor looked away from him and let out a quiet breath.

“You should not be kind to me. There’s no reason for you to offer me a place to sleep. My situation is not any of your concern. You earn nothing from being nice to me. You have nothing to prove to anyone. You’ve already been chosen.” He did not mean to say that. He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to his knee. “Please leave, Egan. I’d rather be alone. It's easier if no one talks to me.”

 

[AreSneksSly]

“No,” Egan replied, equally as plainly.

This time, he didn’t have to think about it. He didn’t have to go through panic after panic after panic, flipping through mental scripts as he tried to come up with clever, yet still sufficiently aloof answers. This was just Castor being stubborn. Egan could do stubborn. He was stubborn.

The boy yawned at the darkened clouds. He was tempted to goad Zeus into striking them, just to prove a point to Castor, but he felt that was a little too close to approaching hubris for him. “I don’t know if you’ll be surprised by this, but I’ve actually slept in worse conditions too. I can handle a little rain."

“Also, dumb.” Egan huffed. “Do you really think I’m doing this to… ‘earn’ something? Some invisible point score that I’m supposed to care deeply about, despite not at all being privy to said score? Because I’m telling you right now, oh pupil of Ares Castor, that I’m not. I respect Athena plenty, but being one of her ‘chosen’ doesn’t change my way of thinking. I’m not leaving you alone in the cold to get rained on and possibly struck by lightning, and I’m not going to make things easy. I don’t want to. So either you’re going to sleep in my bed, or I’m sleeping out here with you.”

“And don’t call me that,” he muttered. He couldn't stop the hint of vitriol he felt from slipping into his voice. “Chosen Hero. Tch.”

 

[smolfluffball]

Why would Egan not leave him alone? What propelled him to keep being annoying and ridiculous? They didn’t get along with each other. Egan did not like him. They never talked to each other before Captain Gregorios had called them in. What had happened that made Egan feel like he did not want to leave Castor alone?

Senseless. Baffling. Castor could not understand the reasoning behind Egan’s actions.

Unless it was simply that they were soldiers, and he did not want to leave a fellow soldier alone? But that couldn’t have been the reason. Egan did not seem particularly inclined to follow the way of life that every soldier followed. He was late to training and he did not interact with anyone else. He fought with Lysias, who was another soldier. He would not have fought with Lysias if he truly respected him as a fellow soldier. Castor doubted that Egan respected him as a fellow soldier, as well. Which meant that his reasoning could not be explained with that answer.

He also didn’t answer why, exactly, he covered up the broken railing. And he did not explain why he wanted to fix it. He avoided answering that question specifically, then changed the subject to distract Castor from focusing on it.

Clever. Another reason Athena might have chosen him.

Castor was not completely useless when it came to conversation. He also had a skill at not answering questions. He normally never needed to avoid answering things, but Egan was proving to be more and more annoying with every new thing he said. His obstinate determination to not leave Castor alone, for whatever insane reason he must have had, was quite stupid. Him not wanting to make things easy made absolutely zero sense to Castor.

What did that even mean? Why did he want things to be difficult for Castor?

Oh. Right. He disliked him.

That was the reason. That made several of his actions make sense. Covering the railing and wanting to help could not be explained with that reason, but humans always had several motives behind their actions. Egan could have covered up the railing and wanted to fix it because he disliked him, in some strange, backwards way. Maybe he wanted to undermine Castor and show off, even further, why he was chosen by Athena. Maybe Hephaestus had poisoned his mind against Ares’ pupil. Maybe he wanted to create a rivalry between them. Or maybe he wanted to do something else unpleasant.

Castor didn’t want to deal with it. He would like Egan to leave, but he was being stupid and ridiculous. If he had slept in horrible conditions before, then he could suffer through it again. He wanted to be dumb and not go away, and Castor refused to go into Egan’s room, so that left no other option.

“I do not think I'll be struck by lightning,” he mumbled, reaching behind himself and grabbing the cloak he’d rolled up to use as a pillow. “If you are worried about that, however, then removing my taller form from you would help lessen the likelihood of you experiencing my electrocution. Because of that, and because I know you dislike me, I will go sleep somewhere further away from you.” He held his cape close to his chest and stood, then frowned down at Egan’s prone form. “I want to rest, so stay away from me. Please.”

He didn’t wait for a response and turned away from Egan, then moved across the deck to one of the poles. The sail was put up overnight to ensure the ship did not go off course, but maybe it could provide some cover from the incoming rain. If worse came to worst, then Castor would use his cloak to block out some of the bad weather.

Huffing, he sat down on the deck and unfurled his cloak. He laid it across his legs and leaned against the pole and listened to see if Egan would not listen to him yet again.