on wings of fire—

˙ ˖ ✶ Cian

"That feeling of helplessness, I know it all too well; this quest was not the first time I've ever felt like that." Ziggy sighed, remembering the steady and constant beeping of machines, the whirring sounds he'd fall asleep to, the pitter-patter of nurses going back and forth, soothing words, and the like scattered throughout and entire building. "We got lucky. I panicked and asked for help. I don't know if my mother would approve of such actions, but I couldn't risk it."

"Stubborn, and still a pretty boy," he giggled, pecking his cheek. "Just don't give me a scare like that again, or I'll come get you, Cian."

"Next time, every other time, no matter where, we will have each other. That's a promise," he said as he stuck his pinky out for the other man. It might've seemed childish, but the sentiment was honest and earnest.

"Well, I don't have a lot of body to cover you with, but I'll definitely try my best. I got you, we're in this together, pretty boy."

"Stop it, or you'll make me think you just like the sound of my voice, and then I'll just start getting a lil' crush on you," he teased. "But jokes aside, you have me in your corner, Cian, that will never change."

cian’s  smile  wavered  at  the  edges  when  ziggy  spoke  of  hospitals—too  familiar,  too  close  to  old  ghosts—but  he  didn’t  interrupt.  just  let  his  thumb  brush  along  ziggy’s  forearm  in  quiet  acknowledgement,  a  small  thing,  grounding.

“askin’  for  help  isn’t  weakness,  ziggy,”  he  murmured,  head  dipping  a  little.  “it’s  what  helped  keep  us  alive.  your  mam—if  she’s  anything  like  mine—she’d  be  proud  you  cared  enough  about  people  to  shout  for  backup  instead  of  tryin’  to  play  the  hero.”

the  kiss  to  his  cheek  startled  him;  a  soft,  breathy  sound  left  him  before  he  could  choke  it  back.  a  flare  of  color  warmed  his  face,  impossible  to  hide  with  ziggy  so  close.  “pretty  boy,  is  it?”  he  sniffed  a  tiny  laugh.  “you’re  mad,  so  you  are.”

but  he  didn’t  move  away.  couldn’t,  really.  not  when  ziggy  held  out  his  hand  like  that—small,  earnest,  pinky  extended  like  a  vow.

cian  hooked  his  own  around  it  without  hesitation.

“aye.  every  time,”  he  said  quietly,  something  solemn  threading  through  the  softness  of  his  voice.  “we’ve  got  each  other.  that’s  the  promise.”

the  little  joke  about  covering  him  drew  a  real  laugh  from  him—thin,  still  tired,  but  warm.  “you’d  do  it,  too.  gods  help  me.”  and  then  ziggy  said  that.

the  crush  bit.

cian  froze,  breath  catching  in  his  throat,  the  faintest  panic  flickering  before  he  forced  it  into  something  gentler.  “ah  now…  don’t—”  his  voice  cracked,  just  a  touch,  before  he  steadied  it.  “don’t  tease  like  that,  zig.  i’m  barely  patched  together  as  is.”

but  the  words  were  soft,  not  a  scold,  his  eyes  warm  and  painfully  fond.  he  squeezed  their  linked  pinkies  once  before  letting  go,  only  when  ziggy  did.  "i  do  like  your  voice,”  he  admitted,  a  shy  little  confession,  barely  above  a  murmur.  “and  i’m  grateful  you’re  in  my  corner.  more  than  i  can  say.”  now  he  just  had  to  prove  he  could  hold  up  his  end  of  the  promise.

he  nudged  ziggy’s  shoulder,  just  lightly.  “just…  stay,  will  ya?  for  a  bit.  don’t  need  to  talk.  just  need…  not  to  be  on  my  own.”

Come to think of it, Remy had the imaginary ghost of a famous chef guiding him each step of the way. Brent merely had muscle memories of what he thought were ingredients going into the pot. Not exactly the best way to cook, but he made the effort to bring something for the feast regardless. Perhaps he should have helped with decorating and setup instead.

He watched curiously as Cian poked at their creation and immediately shrieked in response to the thing wobbling. That wasn't right. Almost out of instinct, Brent launched a bolt of kinetic energy in hopes of striking whatever eldritch homunculus they might have concocted. A direct hit, resulting in a mixture of goo and spices to explode throughout the kitchen but mostly the two demigods in the blast radius.

Brent wiped his face clean and sighed. There definitely was no salvaging their dish now. "King Zeus doesn't have to, because clearly I'm trigger happy these days. Sorry for dirtying you up some more, dude." He turned and grimaced at the dented stove top. Great, so he was guilty of vandalism and trying to poison the camp with his dish. "I don't think the Hestia boys are going to be very happy with me. Ovens are like, sacred to them." Hopefully a sincere apology would do.

A bashful laugh broke free from his lips as Cian suggested they hide the evidence. Brent loved the idea, despite intending to clean up their mess well ahead of time. "I never pegged you for the devious type. But since I caused the explosion, I feel obligated to tidy up by myself. Why don't you go home and get ready for the dinner?" He wouldn't ask Cian to help, even if offered. Besides, he could get the job done in half the time.

cian  blinked  through  the  rain  of  spices  and  whatever-the-hell  goo,  coughing  once  as  a  clump  slid  off  his  hair  and  hit  the  floor  with  a  wet  schlop.  he  gave  brent  a  look  —  half  horrified,  half  trying  not  to  laugh  —  before  dragging  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  cheek.

“ah  now,  don’t  you  dare  pin  that  on  yourself,”  he  said,  voice  still  a  bit  hoarse  from  the  mini-explosion.  “you  only  shot  it  ’cause  i  poked  it.  we  both  made…  whatever  that  was.”  he  gestured  vaguely  at  the  smoking  remains  of  their  culinary  war  crime.

he  reached  out  and  plucked  a  chunk  of…  something…  from  brent’s  shoulder  —  the  texture  was  questionable  at  best,  the  smell  outright  concerning,  and  flicked  it  aside  with  a  grimace  that  bent  into  a  reluctant,  crooked  smile.  cian  nudged  the  ruined  pot  with  the  toe  of  his  boot,  watching  it  wobble  as  though  mocking  them.

“look,  brent…  i  know  you’re  faster.  being  hermes’  kid  an'  all  —  you  could  probably  sort  this  whole  kitchen  before  i’ve  finished  clearin’  my  throat.  and  i  know  you’re  used  to  just…  doin’  everything  on  your  own  speed,  your  own  way.”  which  was  commendable,  really.  his  eyes  softened,  warm  as  the  low  light  over  the  counters.  “but  i’m  not  lettin’  you  stand  in  here  alone  cleanin’  up  a  disaster  we  both  made.”

he  lifted  one  hand,  palm  open  in  a  gentle,  quiet  gesture  —  not  stopping  him,  just  showing  him.  “i’ve  got  two  hands.  i  can  scrub,  or  sweep,  or  scrape  the  nightmare  off  the  ceiling  if  i  have  to.  i  can  put  my  weight  in  beside  yours.  that’s  enough.”

a  small,  stubborn  smile  curled  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  one  of  those  rare  ones  he  didn’t  bother  hiding.  “we  made  this  mess  together,”  he  said  softly,  tapping  his  knuckles  once  against  brent’s  arm  and  waiting  for  their  eyes  to  meet.  “so  we’ll  deal  with  it  together.  that’s  the  only  rule  i’m  holdin’  to  today.”

he  grabbed  a  rag,  wrung  it  out  and  nodded  toward  the  carnage. “c’mon.  before  anyone  walks  in  and  bans  us  from  the  kitchens  for  life.”

“I think… if we add enough paprika and saffron, it’ll cover the smell.” Brent was fooling himself at this point. What they made didn’t even look the least bit appetizing, let alone edible. He sighed and put the wooden spoon down. The apron he was wearing did very little to keep him clean. They both looked like two kids who got back from finger painting lessons. Only, spices and mysterious liquids covered their bodies. 

He wasn’t going off a recipe, just memory. That might be where things went horribly wrong. “I swear, this is how Ratatouille made it in the movie.”

cian  blinked  at  him,  slow  and  baffled,  like  he  was  genuinely  trying  to  picture  a  tiny  chef  hiding  in  brent’s  curls  pulling  his  hair  like  reins.  “aye,  well,  maybe  remy  had  a  bit  more…  direction,”  he  murmured,  giving  the  pot  a  cautious  poke  with  the  whisk.  it  wobbled.  actually  wobbled.  “feckin’  jesus  above,”  he  whispered,  stepping  back  like  it  might  lunge  for  him.

he  rubbed  his  forearm  across  his  cheek,  leaving  a  long  streak  of  something-orange  behind.  “right,  so  paprika  and  saffron—  that’s  bold  of  you,  i’ll  give  you  that.  but  i’m  fairly  sure  no  amount  of  spice  is  gonna  save…  whatever  this  is.”  his  voice  softened  with  a  laugh  anyway,  warm  and  good-natured,  the  kind  that  bubbled  up  even  through  embarrassment.  “we’ve  made  a  monster,  mate.  the  kind  zeus  would  smite  out  of  principle.” he looked around then, ducking his head down as if the mentioned godly entity might've heard him.

the  oven  hissed  behind  them,  a  little  puff  of  smoke  escaping  like  it  was  trying  to  flee.  cian  winced,  then  shot  brent  a  sideways  look—  shy,  conspiratorial.  “tell  you  what,”  he  said,  dropping  his  voice  like  they  were  about  to  do  a  crime,  “we  clean  up  as  fast  as  your  top-speed  can  manage,  we  bin  the  evidence,  and  then  we  tell  everyone  we  burnt  it  by  accident.”

another  beat.

“or,”  he  added,  grin  tugging  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  “we  pretend  the  monster  escaped  and  terrorized  the  kitchens.  might  be  more  believable  at  this  point.”  so  much  for  impressing  brent  camp  with  his  cooking  skills. 

˙ ˖ ✶ Cian

"That feeling of helplessness, I know it all too well; this quest was not the first time I've ever felt like that." Ziggy sighed, remembering the steady and constant beeping of machines, the whirring sounds he'd fall asleep to, the pitter-patter of nurses going back and forth, soothing words, and the like scattered throughout and entire building. "We got lucky. I panicked and asked for help. I don't know if my mother would approve of such actions, but I couldn't risk it."

"Stubborn, and still a pretty boy," he giggled, pecking his cheek. "Just don't give me a scare like that again, or I'll come get you, Cian."

"Next time, every other time, no matter where, we will have each other. That's a promise," he said as he stuck his pinky out for the other man. It might've seemed childish, but the sentiment was honest and earnest.

"Well, I don't have a lot of body to cover you with, but I'll definitely try my best. I got you, we're in this together, pretty boy."

"Stop it, or you'll make me think you just like the sound of my voice, and then I'll just start getting a lil' crush on you," he teased. "But jokes aside, you have me in your corner, Cian, that will never change."

cian’s  smile  wavered  at  the  edges  when  ziggy  spoke  of  hospitals—too  familiar,  too  close  to  old  ghosts—but  he  didn’t  interrupt.  just  let  his  thumb  brush  along  ziggy’s  forearm  in  quiet  acknowledgement,  a  small  thing,  grounding.

“askin’  for  help  isn’t  weakness,  zig,”  he  murmured,  head  dipping  a  little.  “it’s  what  kept  us  alive.  your  mam—if  she’s  anything  like  mine—she’d  be  proud  you  cared  enough  about  people  to  shout  for  backup  instead  of  tryin’  to  play  the  hero.”

the  kiss  to  his  cheek  startled  him;  a  soft,  breathy  sound  left  him  before  he  could  choke  it  back.  a  flare  of  color  warmed  his  face,  impossible  to  hide  with  ziggy  so  close.  “pretty  boy,  is  it?”  he  sniffed  a  tiny  laugh.  “you’re  mad,  so  you  are.”

but  he  didn’t  move  away.  couldn’t,  really.  not  when  ziggy  held  out  his  hand  like  that—small,  earnest,  pinky  extended  like  a  vow.  cian  hooked  his  own  around  it  without  hesitation.

“aye.  every  time,”  he  said  quietly,  something  solemn  threading  through  the  softness  of  his  voice.  “we’ve  got  each  other.  that’s  the  promise.”  the  little  joke  about  covering  him  drew  a  real  laugh  from  him—thin,  still  tired,  but  warm.

and  then  ziggy  said  that.

the  crush  bit.

cian  froze,  breath  catching  in  his  throat,  the  faintest  panic  flickering  before  he  forced  it  into  something  gentler.  “ah  now…  don’t—”  his  voice  cracked,  just  a  touch,  before  he  steadied  it.  “don’t  tease  like  that,  zig.  i’m  barely  patched  together  as  is.”

but  the  words  were  soft,  not  a  scold,  his  eyes  warm  and  painfully  fond.  he  squeezed  their  linked  pinkies  once  before  letting  go,  only  when  ziggy  did.  “i…  i  do  like  your  voice,”  he  admitted,  a  shy  little  confession,  barely  above  a  murmur.  “and  i’m  grateful  you’re  in  my  corner.  more  than  i  can  say.”  he  nudged  ziggy’s  shoulder,  just  lightly.  “just…  stay,  will  ya?  for  a  bit.  don’t  need  to  talk.  just  need…  not  to  be  on  my  own.”

"i'm glad too. but i won't have any of this talk from my boy," a hand gripped his chin, gentle but firm. foreheads brushing together as he breathed in, hand drifting down to his waist as he pulled him in closer, a tight, protective hold.

"sure is one thing i'm less and less the longer we spend here." he says, hand caressing his hair, "but i have seen enough and i know enough to see you're not giving yourself enough credit."

he leans in, letting him be comfortable enough to linger and melt under his touches if he so wishes. lips press against cian's forehead, thumb rubbing a tense spot in his neck. "don't talk like that anymore hm?" his mouth moved lower, kissing his cheek, nuzzling him, "can you do that for me baby boy?" at once fatherly and not so innocent, but there was no pressure, not aside from the gentle order and the expectation he would do better from now on, if not for himself then for ezequiel and his mother.

"gonna be good for me, won't you?" it was not as much a question anymore, enveloping him in his arms, mouth on his skin. claiming him in a way, cian was already someone under his care but it went deeper now, after everything, with the way he looked at him, fell into him, listened to him. he knew enough about people to know he was a romantic, to know where this would lead if ezequiel was the kind of man cian dreamt with, he knew he checked boxes but he also knew the baggage he carried; the authority, the draw of him, the ring on his finger.

cian  went  quiet,  but  not  from  retreat  —  more  like  something  in  him  had  finally  stilled.  the  warmth  of  ezequiel’s  hand  against  his  jaw,  the  low  murmur  of  his  voice,  the  sheer  steadiness  of  him  —  it  all  gathered  into  a  kind  of  peace  he  hadn’t  known  he’d  been  missing.  his  breath  came  out  slow,  shaky  but  sure  and  his  shoulders  eased  as  though  he’d  set  something  heavy  down.

his  eyes  flicked  up,  soft  and  searching,  and  for  a  heartbeat  he  just  looked  —  at  the  man  who  somehow  made  the  noise  in  his  head  go  still.  it  wasn’t  worship,  though  it  came  dangerously  close;  it  was  gratitude,  raw  and  wordless.  "i'll..  try.  promise."  his  thumb  brushed  absently  over  ezequiel’s  wrist  before  he  seemed  to  catch  himself,  drawing  back  only  a  little,  still  in  the  space  between  them.  his  nod  was  offered  partially  into  ez's  shoulder  and  neck,  but  it  was  easy  to  catch  regardless,  especially  with  how  close  they  were.

"yes-  yeah.  i'll  be  good."  he  had  a  wetness  in  his  eyes  he'd  deny  if  pointed  out  when  their  eyes  met  again,  brows  pulled  together  when  lips  parted  once  more  —  attempting  to  form  words,  but  failing  miserably  as  he  just  clasped  his  mouth  shut  again  shortly  after.  he  shouldn't  be  doing  this,  should  he?  he'd  been  sitting  on  his  emotions  for  a  little  while  now,  terrified  the  son  of  athena  read  those  out  of  him  like  he  devoured  books.  but  if  he  knew...  he'd  not  ...said  anything.

nor  did  he  ridicule  him.

he  didn't  know  what  he'd  do  without  ezequiel  here  in  camp.  leave,  probably.  but  he  preferred  this,  the  void  within  his  heart  absorbing  every  ounce  of  affection  the  older  man  offered.  their  noses  almost  touched  and  the  urge  to  lean  in  was  all  he  could  think  about  in  that  moment.  though  good  old  fear  kept  him  like  this,  frozen  between  them  despite  the  opportunity.  fingers  trembled  as  they  wound  around  the  other,  breathy  shaky  when  foreheads  touched.  about  time  ezequiel  dropped  him  on  his  arse.