#hercades

HERCULES: They left the cottage without much more conversation. The Fates had stayed behind with Belle as she said goodbye to them at the door. He was pretty sure he’d her tell them to leave, but he didn’t think much about it, because the next second the door snapped shut and he was standing in the half-dark with Hades. And Georgette.

Her body floated there morbidly, her hair falling back, her arms and legs hanging limply. Her face was still, eyes closed. The rain had washed away most of the blood on her face, but it still stained her torn clothes.

Hercules couldn’t look at her for long or he would feel like being sick. His heart was thrumming hard and fast in his chest.

He’d tried to talk--once or twice, trying to start a conversation. He was a nervous rambler on his best days. He’d tried to explain what had happened: it was an accident, a tree, and--I didn’t mean--but Hades had said: I don’t care. Which had promptly shut Hercules up. He’d tried again a little later as they’d stepped into the tree line by the river.

Hades lit his hand with fire and sent it towards the dark trees, which groaned as the fire snapped and cracked through them.

Soooo, how long have you known the Fates, then?

Hades had snapped at him something about concentration and Hercules had fallen silent again.

It was a long, quiet, eerie walk towards the Gates. Hercules had never traveled so deeply into the woods and he felt the hair rising on his arms as they trudged through. The bank of the river muddied his boots. The blue fire cast eerie shadows on either side of them. It hollowed out the curve of Georgette’s neck, her collarbone, the indents of her eyes. It made her look like a ghastly, cold thing. Hercules looked away.

He wanted to talk. The whole time, he wanted to babble--because he was terrified and confused and full of grief so heavy that he felt it physically in his shoulder blades. His body ached from carrying Georgette the short distance to the cottage.

And he was thinking, couldn’t stop thinking about what the Fates had said.

Can take the magic from the boy, but not the boy from the magic.

And the dragon’s voice still hissed in his ear:

Demigod. Son of Diana.

What did it mean? For months and months now, Hercules had both yearned for answers and been terrified. What if there wasn’t any reason for the way he was? What if he was given up because he’d hurt his mother when he’d been born? Or hurt his father? Or--someone else? What if he was given up because he was mistake? An abomination? Shouldn’t have been born. Or was born of incest or infidelity--

Demigod, the dragon had said.

No good fate had ever befallen a demigod. Not even the one he was named for. He’d gone insane, he’d killed his wife and children. Achilles had died. Perseus, Theseus. Bellerophon had been irrevocably crippled. Orpheus had lost his love--

Being a hero was not something Hercules wanted.

He just--wanted to save Georgette.

If he lost his own life, well, he supposed it would be just recompense, but it did not mean he wanted to die.

Lost in these thoughts, Hercules did not even realize they were at the Gates until the river lit up blue and the earth trembled beneath his feet.

The hole expanded and expanded into a dark nothingness, like a gaping wound. A chill rose up from it. It made the hair on Hercules’ arms stand up, but there was also something about it that made his blood sing in his veins, thrumming fast and sure.

He glanced at Hades, but the other man was already walking down the stone steps that had appeared at the mouth of the hole. Georgette’s body drifted behind him, as if she was being carried by an unseen current.

Hercules hesitated and then, he gathered his courage and stepped into the Underworld.

With each step downwards, he felt--lighter. Stronger. He let out a breath (which he had not realized he was holding) as his foot hit the bottom step. Everything was dark as shadows besides the light from Hades’ flame.

Hercules flexed his hand, spreading his fingers and then, he clenched his hand into a fist. His heart still beat strong in his chest, steadier now, slow and pulsating. And he knew, without anything at all really changing about him, that somehow--his magic had been restored.

Somehow, here in this place where things died, Hercules became powerful once more.

He reached forwards towards Hades and moved his hand slowly over the orb of flame that was hanging there. It was hot, but the kind of warmth that the sun’s rays on a bright summer’s day might feel like. He let out another breath and clenched his fist, like he could grab the flame and let his arm fall back down to his side.

“Do you--know what this means?” Hercules asked, looking at Hades.

Am I a demon of the Underworld? Am I a monster?

HADES: Yeah, Hades wasn’t in the mood for small talk. He’d been hoping for a quiet night in, after all. But here he was again: traipsing through Enchantra wood toward the Gates of Hell during a muggy, wet evening.

It was even worse than usual, the summer flora having taking over much of the paths. There was barely anywhere to put his feet and they could barely see through all the foliage. He had to burn his way through in short controlled bursts, which he drew back as quickly as he could. Hades took no pleasure in any of this. He knew that Enchantra was no regular forest and what little magic sense he had was on high alert as they moved deeper and deeper...the shadows behind them lengthening, Hades’ feeling eyes on the back of his neck.

But he had no other choice if he were to save the life of Georgette Midler. And if the forest was pissed, it didn’t retaliate, at least, not yet. They managed to arrive at the Gate in one piece: himself, Hercules, and Georgette still floating in the air, suspended like a leaf buoyed by the wind.

But there was no wind. In this, the darkwood, there was barely any noise. Even the misting rain could not get in through the thickened canopy. The light was dim, Hades’ fire casting everything in its glow. As the river lit, that glow spread, and shadows danced across the tree trunks, as if they were ghosts.

There were no ghosts though. Surprisingly, not a lot hung out around the Gates. But was that really so surprising, come to think-- no ghost wanted to see the Underworld, that was why they were ghosts. No, the Gates were here for the living.

For people like Hercules, who needed-- hope.

Down they went until at last they’d arrived where the paths split. Hades had no idea what paths Hercules saw (perhaps a plain, cold tiled one, leading him straight to Dis) but Hades saw all of them. He was about to twitch his hand and bring Georgette forth when--

Ah, good. Hercules was talking again.

Hades glanced back at Hercules, who was staring down at his own hands. So the bloke got his power back just as the old wives’ tale went. Hercules, born again. Hades raised his eyebrows. “Well-- legend is if you’re strong enough to be able to walk through the Gates, you’ll be-- born again, in a way. Diseases, curses, all that stuff will lift. But there are only a few kinds of people who can walk into the Gates and not die instead. Vampires, for one and--creatures of the Underworld for another. Like me.” He flashed a close-lipped, half-amused smile. “So that must be why the Fates weren’t concerned. They smelled it on you, eh, chap? You’re one of us.”

Hades turned back around then, and flicked his hand forward. Georgette’s body drifted...and kept drifting, and kept drifting, picking one of the paths where-- yes, her soul would be. Hades stopped her body in the air again.

“Follow me and stay close. If you so much as put a toe off a path, you’ll be lost, nothing I can do about it. Sides--” he smirked again. “I know a shortcut.”

Hades ventured forth, walking the path toward the swamps. The rest of the paths peeled away and then disappeared, because Hades didn’t need them and when he was here, the Underworld knew. He hadn’t been back since February-- since he thought he was going to stay here forever. Now, it was like no time had passed at all.

Which made sense. There was no time here. And since there was no time, it took no time for the path to pebble, then wash into sand, as they came to shore of the swamps, a boat waiting for them.

Hades floated Georgette’s body into the canoe, laying it down gently. He looked back at Hercules. “You know where we are? What to expect?”

HERCULES: The silence was oppressive. Hercules felt it pressing down on him from every angle, pressing against his eardrums. He could hear the blood rushing through his veins. Still alive, still invincible. He had not been afraid to enter the Gates—but it wasn’t because of what the Fates had said, wasn’t because he knew or even wanted his powers back, but because he wasn’t afraid to die.

If he traded his life for Georgette’s, if that’s what was meant, Hercules would do it in an instant.

Especially because he didn’t want to be what Hades said—one of us. One of them. A demon. Something unwholly and evil.

(Though, he knew Hades wasn’t evil. He wasn’t the nicest person, but he wasn’t evil. He knew not all things that came from the Underworld was evil, but it was still the Underworld. It was still a place of death. Hercules was something of death.)

They walked in that awful, heavy silence. Everything was dark besides the path beneath their feet, which was plain and unassuming, but it made Hercules’ stomach churn anyway. They were standing in nothingness. It reminded him of the stories that his mum used to tell him. Of Nakara. Of Andhatamisra—the blind darkness. A darkness, cutting the tree at its roots, supposed to drive men insane.

It went on forever. Hercules’ stamina was back. It no longer cost him anything to walk and walk and walk, and he was partially glad for it, because that was what it felt like. Like they had been walking for hours. It also felt like they’d been walking for the blink of an eye.

Suddenly, there was the quiet sound of water lapping at a shore.

There was a boat.

Dark, still water stretched out before them.

Hercules thought of Puyoda, the water of pus, where men who slept with prostitutes lay, forced to eat all manner of awful things: urine, mucus, salvia. He thought of Georgette here, forced to do those things, forced to be among men who lived like dogs.

If anything, she should be in Ayahpana, forced to drink hot iron for her alcoholism.

Or, she could be here.

“The Vaitarni, o-or I mean, I-I guess you’d call it…the Styx? The—the Stygian marshes?” He cleared his throat a little.

“I—know the stories. Some of them but…should probably let me know what we’re in for…” He hit his fist against his thigh awkwardly and stepped closer to the boat where Georgette’s still body lay.

HADES: Hercules garbled off a few words that Hades had only seen in books. Growing up, he’d done his fair share of research into the worlds of the dead-- for obvious reasons. He had learned of Hindu myth just as he’d learned of the Greeks. Read plenty of Chinese, Japanese, Korean tales of ghouls and demons alongside the ones set in Great Britain and Ireland. Course, the ones that he knew best were the ones in his own backyard-- the ones that his mother adored, hence Hades’ own name.

But as Hercules spoke of the Vaitarni, he knew that the bloke wasn’t entirely off. Though-- no amount of storybook reading would prepare anyone for the real thing.

There were enough horrors in these dark waters, which in certain light, could gleam as dark as oil-- or blood. Here there be monsters-- lost, sinful souls all. What form they took usually reflected back on who the person was. So maybe Hercules would glimpse one of the Hindu’s flesh-eating birds or five-hundred toothed crocodiles.

Hopefully Georgette, soul still so young-- freshly dead, as it was-- wouldn’t have succumbed so quickly to the same fate.

“Right. Get in,” instructed Hades. He ushered Herc forward and clambered in after, talking as he did.

“So here’s the den of greed and gluttony, which-- the Fates mentioned. Some souls arrive here like we did, all able-bodied, or so they think. Usually that’s the greedy. They go treasure hunting,” explained Hades as he unwrapped the rope off the dock.

He flicked a hand and the boat pushed off, as if helped by an invisible oar. And there were oars in the boat; Hades simply didn’t need them.

“They spend their whole life trudgin’ through these waters, fishing for shiny stuff in the waters below. Sometimes they band together-- sometimes they attack other boats, try to steal their haul. So be on the lookout for other boats. They’ll most likely not be friendly.

“And y’know, sometimes-- sometimes they fall in. And that’s where the gluttonous lie. Most of the souls have transformed into monsters and demons by that point, but some look like people. They go looking for flesh or guard their treasure below. So...watch out from below too.” Hades settled down into the chair and tossed an oar to Hercules.

“Where do you think your bird will be, eh? Above? Or below?”

HERCULES: Hercules listened intently, once they’d settled in the boat.   

He tried not to look anywhere but at Hades’ face. The creepiness factor had jumped from a solid 10/10 to a 100/100. And Hercules, though invincible (now), was not above succumbing to fear and horror the likes of which this swamp could possibly offer him.

Though, he felt strangely calm as the boat rowed further and further into the unfurling darkness.

With every ripple of the water as the boat cut through it, Hercules knew they were closer to Georgette. Hercules was closer to fixing his mistake and getting Georgette back. He thought this, held this certainty in his heart, as he kept his eyes fixed on Hades’ blue ones, which were hauntingly clear and bright, even in the near darkness.

Something splashed, like a fish jumping in the water, a few yards away, but Hercules did not flinch. He looked at Hades and he sucked in a breath, hoping to avoid the dangers. If he could just reach Georgette, if he could just find her…

At Hades’ question, Hercules blinked grabbing the oar, catching it in his hand, his reflexes once again quick as lightning.

“Uh—” His heart twisted in his chest, and though he had done his best not to, he looked down at Georgette’s broken body laying in the boat between them. Her head was at his feet, her golden hair stained pink with blood. Besides that and the dirt and blood, she could almost be sleeping. If Hercules ignored the rest of her body, which lay unnaturally, even though Hades had set her down as gently as he could.

Hercules stared at her face.

Gluttony or greed?

It felt too intimate a question. Hercules had known Georgette for—almost a year (he had actually met her last March…April? But they hadn’t become friends until August.) But he’d only been…dating her a week—if it was even dating. They’d never defined anything. Which was fine, but he felt bad calling it that in his head and—

Gluttony or greed?

He stuck the oar absent-mindedly in the water, turning the boat slightly South. At least, he thought it was South. South was, after all, the end of all things.

South, perhaps, was all around them at this point.

“Gluttony,” he finally settled and cast his gaze into the dark waters.

He couldn’t see anything, not really. In the half-light, no brighter than moonlight in a darkened wood, there were gems and gold that sparkled beneath the water, but no monsters. Everything was still. Too quiet.

“How am I supposed to find her?” he asked, after what felt like hours, what felt like just a moment.

How long had it been? How long?

“How—we could be at this for eternity.”

HADES: Gluttony. Hades’ mouth twitched, though whether he was going to smile or frown, Hercules’ wouldn’t have been able to tell, and the expression was gone the next moment. Hades leaned back and gazed out at the waters, smooth as glass for now. Gluttony-- where the hungry and the thirsty made their bed. Hades was not privy to know his own fate, but he knew with certainty that these were not the waters where he would lay.

This wasn’t about Hades though. This was about Hercules and Georgette and whatever sins the both of them had dragged down to these abysmal tides. He wondered why Georgette, gluttonous as she was, deserved to get saved anyway. What were those silly Fates thinking?

(Though why had Belle been saved? Hades’ own hubris? That was in a much different part of the Underworld.)

He glanced up from his own reverie as Hercules’ talked again. Hades barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the question. “The soul and the body are still connected-- barely,” he said. “That connection grows the closer we get to it. Think of it like a…gold detector, sort of, eh? We’re following where the body is tugging us. Or-- I am. I dunno what you can feel, Wonder Boy.”

And as he spoke that he wiggled his finger in the air and the boat turned just a little. “Don’t worry, just row. You’ll be the manpower, I’ll navigate. We’ll find your girlfriend.” He cracked a smile.

Around them, ripples moved from the boat. The mist thickened, the dock far away now, and only the water ahead and the monsters lurking below.

Eventually, Hades held up his hand and the boat came to a stop like he’d dropped an anchor. That feeling was back in his chest, the one that told him something was not quite right. It was the loudest it had ever been. It was steady and consistent-- like a heartbeat.

“Hear that?” Hades said, tilting his head. “X marks the spot.”

HERCULES: Hercules’ eyebrows furrowed.

What could he feel?

There was a tickle under his skin, but he was doing his best to ignore it. It was just the creep-factor of this dark and solemn place. Hades voice echoed eerily, though from what Hercules could tell there was no end—no walls or ceiling for his voice to echo off of. Just the water. Just the darkness. And Hercules rowing, telling himself he felt nothing but his own fear, his own determination.

He pulled a face at Hades’ words.

She isn’t my girlfriend, he almost grumbled, but then he knew the rest would pour out—how they had never had time to establish anything. How it had only been a week. How she was just his friend, really, someone he cared about. Hercules would do the same for anyone he loved.

For anyone he had hurt.

This is my fault, he would say.

But he knew Hades didn’t want to hear any of it. That he didn’t care. That Hercules was walking on thin ice. Or, well, rowing, technically.

He wondered if the water was cold and he swallowed, hating to think of Georgette laying down below, dark, silent, cold.

The boat lurched to a stop, as if it had hit a bank of sand. Hercules knew it hadn’t. His oar still stretched down deep into the water. Everything was still quiet. There was no tell-tale lap of waves on a shore. Only the sound of other boats, rowing in the distance.

“Right,” Hercules said, as he glanced over the side of the boat for the first time.

There was no good spot to look in a place like this. He’d kept his eyes firmly on Hades’ until now. Not that he was scared. He had nothing to fear and nothing to lose. Not really. Everyone back in Swynlake hated him. He was probably going to have to skip town again. If he died—only Pegasus would care. He’d burned all his other bridges, just like he always did.

It didn’t matter. Only thing that mattered was Georgette got another chance.

“So, uh, I guess I’ll see you in a few minutes.” However long that was in a place like this.

He set the oar down next to Georgette’s body gently, trying not to knock the wood against her. While he was still bent over her, he stroked a hand over her matted, knotted hair, caked with blood and debris. It didn’t feel at all as soft as it usually did.

Straightening, he hesitated for a few moments before leaning over and untying his boots. Then, he pulled his shirt off over his head. He didn’t need to have anything something could grab, or drag him down with. Just in his trousers then, he stood up, the boat rocking unsteadily, sending ripples out along the water, but Hercules stayed steady.

He looked over at Hades. “Wish me luck.” But, before Hades could (and Hercules didn’t really expect him to), Hercules took a deep breath and jumped, diving into the dark water.

It clawed at him like a thousand knives, the water colder than anything he’d ever felt in his life. It squeezed his lungs, and he had to battle everything in him to keep from letting out the precious air he had stored there. The feeling disoriented him.

After a few moments, his limbs stiff from the cold, he opened his eyes to a soft, gentle, golden glow.

The amulet around his neck had lit up like a beacon.

He didn’t have time to wonder at it (it barely surprised him at this point.) Hercules merely jerked backwards, a face right in front of him. It was a body, with its eyes open, floating. He realized that they were everywhere. As if the very water was made of them. He swam through them, all ghostly pale, nothing more than essence, than mist. It made his heart clench, made his flesh crawl. They watched him go, he made eye contact with many of them, but they just went back to searching to. It felt like being on an eternal subway, always waiting for your stop. Never finding it.

But, there was nothing for it. Just to push on. He kept the memory of Georgette’s face, her warm, rosy cheeks and long eyelashes; reminding him that this was finite. He just had to find her and he would be out of this nightmare.

Angling his body downwards, he began to dive down deeper. The souls did not bother him. They went straight through him. Something moved off to his left, but he ignored it resolutely. Searching every face for one he recognized.

He must have looked at a hundred faces. That was what it felt like. A hundred dead faces. And each one—he would see for months and months after this. He would wonder who they were. When they had died. If they knew that they were here.

Finally, there she was. She looked right at him—but there was not an ounce of recognition on her features. Hercules swam to her, through the souls of the dead, reaching for her hand. When he grabbed onto her, she felt solid, but paper thin, like the page of a book. He was afraid if he tugged too hard she would tear into a million pieces.

The sound of his heart rushed in his ears. The only sound in this dark, empty void.

She did not react when he kicked his feet downwards, looking up through the bodies. There was no sun to beckon him to the surface. There was nothing at all to indicate which direction was which.

He was lost.

And his lungs were beginning to burn.

He kept his hand clenched around Georgette’s and he swam. He swam and swam, each stroke growing more desperate.

Then, there was a tug.

Something on his foot.

Hercules looked down and there was the head of a creature, it’s teeth on the surface of his skin. It looked like a crocodile. No, a snake. No—a tiger. Each time he blinked it changed and shifted.

It jerked and his mouth opened involuntarily, letting out bubbles of precious air. He kicked his foot out and the head just moved back and forth. Another one appeared from the depths, moving silently. There was no tide to push against it.

Hercules felt light-headed, his lungs screaming for oxygen.

His fist formed without thought and he waited until it was close, its mouth opening, like it was going to swallow him whole. He punched it in the roof of its mouth, shattering through the surface of it, its blood thick and wet and warm and black as it bloomed like a cloud into the water. The creature made a sound like a wail and its other head released Hercules’ foot from its massive maw.

With a desperate kick, Hercules rose to the surface with a gasp, drawing the still, dead air into his lungs. It felt as pure and sweet as a spring breeze. He spit out water—it tasted like blood and bile.

The boat was right in front of him. He grabbed the edge of it and looked over. Georgette’s soul was floating just above the water, her ghostly hair moving as if it was still below the water. It reminded him of the last time he’d seen her properly alive, looking up at the stars, a storm rolling in, her hair moving in the wind.

Something splashed a few feet away, jerking Hercules from his reverie, and with another cough he hauled himself into the boat with one hand, rolling in, knocking against Georgette’s cold body. Her sweater started to soak against the water pooling on Hercules’ skin. He shivered and sat up, still holding onto to Georgette’s soul. (Was definitely not thinking too much about that.)

It moved through the boat as if it was nothing.

Hercules gathered it in his arms, turned it, and laid it parallel with Georgette.

It floated into her prone body, its bluish-greyish-greenish glow disappearing as it sank down.

He waited.

A second.

Two.

Three.

“Why isn’t it working?” he said desperately, his voice rasping from the water, the taste of bile and iron in the back of his throat. He glanced up at Hades, his gaze desperate, red-rimmed; tears gathering against his bottom eyelids.

HADES: Hades, in case you were wondering, did not wish Hercules good luck. The boy went in with a splash and then was swallowed by the water, Hades rocking in the boat until it finally steadied. But Hades had been alone on these waters before. Hades had been alone many places in the Underworld. Though, if you were to ask him, he would tell you-- that in the Underworld, he never felt truly alone.

There was a hum in the air, you see. A hum, which he felt in his own veins. If he focused in, that distant hum would become voices and he could pick out just one and listen to someone’s story. That’s what the Underworld was for Hades, just a tangle of stories, some sad and some wistful, but all of them finished.

He sat on that boat as the air hummed and hummed, and off in the distance, there was the sound of splashing. Hades did not feel the need to investigate, no, he’d let any other boats pass by and they’d do the same for him, as if they heard a humming too-- only it was more like a rattle, a warning, to stay away from the slight, pale, living boy, who knew how to walk every path.

For Hades then, there was only the wait.

So y’know, he got out his phone to text Belle. What? He literally had nothing else to do.

Hercules just dived under water 2 get girl’s soul lol.

What time is it there? How much time I miss?

Hey remember to put yams on the list for O’Hare’s.

Then he went through some pictures he’d taken and did some light photo editing so he could upload one to Instagram. Had to keep his followers happy, y’know, dead bodies or no dead bodies.

Then there were a few bubbles on the surface. Hades cocked an eyebrow and swiftly pocketed his phone, just as Hercules’ head emerged, gasping for air. Georgette’s soul emerged yet, though it made no sound and did not disturb the water. Instead it just materialized, floating there. Hades’ raised his eyebrows at the sight; for all his months trekking through this place, he’d never seen something quite like that.

“Oi, you need help?” he called to Herc, but he didn’t think Hercules heard him over his own waterlog. The boy trawled through the water and collapsed over the side of the boat the next moment, Georgette’s soul floating above.

She floated. She floated. And then, she sank, her soul moving eerily as if it were still in the water. When at last she disappeared, Hades, too, expected the body on the boat to stir with fresh, new life. But he felt nothing pass through the body. There was no heartbeat, no flicker of anything. Death clung.

Hades glanced at the dripping Hercules, and his brow twitched at his panic. He held up a hand. “Oi. The Fates had other instructions, didn’t they? We have to take the River-- shit, what was the name?” He glanced around. There were no bloody signs of course, why would they be? “Shit, it was the river that wrapped around the-- Oceanus!” he remembered.

And as soon as he spoke its name, the boat groaned and lurched, suddenly carving a new path through the waters, through the mist-- and away from here.

HERCULES: Hercules had forgotten all about the Fates. Had forgotten all about what had started them on this quest. All he had inside of him was grief--pouring out like a river itself, like a river long and wide enough to wrap itself all around the world.

He had his grief, which took many forms--panic and pain being the main ones. They stabbed at him, one after another, in equal turns, as he propped himself on his elbow and looked into Georgette’s still, lifeless face. It was covered in blood, black and red and pink. All he could think about was that fact. Not any promises by the Fates.

It wasn’t until the boat jerked that Hercules remembered any of it.

He scrambled back to sit in the boat properly.

“Where is--” but, he trailed off, because he was pretty sure that Hades didn’t know the answer.

They sliced through the water as if there was a motor tied to the boat, no longer slow and sluggish, drifting more than anything else. Water splashed up the side, ice cold on Hercules’ skin. Once again, they fell into silence, darkness all around them. Though, the water was clearer as they went. Hercules couldn’t tell what direction they were going. For all he knew they could be upside down. That was how dark it was. He felt as if he was in zero gravity, floating through nothingness.

The boat churned on, like it was being reeled in, pulled by some invisible fishing rod.

And then, as quickly as it started, it had stopped. (Or had it taken a long time? Time felt like some kind of accordion here beneath the earth.)

But, the front of the boat pulled onto sand. The river flowed in either direction behind them. Hercules couldn’t tell where they’d come from. Only that they were probably supposed to get out here. He hopped out of the boat with little hesitation. At this point, he was not questioning anything. He just wanted this over. He just wanted to see Georgette breathe again.

Leaning back over the boat, he looked at Hades. “I’ve got her.” Gently, he lifted Georgette into his arms. Her body was cold, but not stiff as her head lolled against his bicep. Her hair tickled. She felt like little more than a sack of flour. Though, the weight in his heart hadn’t lifted. But, as he sloshed through the ankle deep water, his legs didn’t shake.

He walked forwards with his head up.

The sand was dark brown, a deep, tarnished gold color. There was only one way to go, grey rock walls appearing on either side as they walked forwards. It funneled into one passageway, a light beckoning them towards it.

Hercules glanced at Hades, but kept going.

The light was sun. Even Hercules could tell that it was warming his skin in the way only the sun could. He could smell fresh air, feel a breeze. His steps quickened, ready to be out of this hell.

He stumbled into the light, squinting as his vision adjusted.

He heard a clatter of what sounded like sticks, and the scuffle of feet. Then, something sharp pressed against his skin. Even though he was invincible again, the force stopped him in his tracks. His eyes blinked a few more times before looking down the shaft of what seemed to be a spear to a woman with her dark hair braided down her back.

“Who are--”

Another of the women stepped forwards behind the first as Hades appeared at the mouth of the cave they had come from. As he did, it disappeared behind him, into a thick tangle of trees and solid stone, a stream flowing into what seemed like nothing but rock.

“Ambassador,” the older woman said and her head bowed slightly. “We were expecting you.”

“Lykopis, what about him?” The woman holding the spear to Hercules’ throat had not removed it.

“I-I’m with him,” Hercules said, pointing to Hades sheepishly.

The older woman, Lykopis, leaned forwards and whispered in the younger woman’s ear. Hercules didn’t catch what she said, but the girl’s eyes went wide and she dropped the spear down to her side at once.

HADES: There were not many stories of Oceanus in the myths, and certainly not the ones that Hades had read over and over as a child. Mostly he recalled it mentioned in a line here or a line there. It was the river that circled the world; it was the river where the stars, moon, and the sun rose from; it was the river that the sun god, Helios, traveled, as he moved from East to West. All waters flowed from this river, or so it was said, and in that way it was the opposite of the Styx. It brought not death, but life.

Beyond that though, Hades didn’t know. He had no idea where the river might end, and in fact figured it simply wouldn’t (if it circled the world, it had no beginning or end and so in this way it was like time), and so how would they know when they reached their destination’s shores?

The boat seemed to know; the river seemed to know as it carried them forth. The smell of the swamp faded and the boat cut through the heavy fog until at last the air was clear. Hades leaned over the boat’s edge to peer into the waters, but he could no longer see the souls of the dead there. They had not followed them; the monsters, too, were left behind.

Hades reached forward and let the tip of his fingers glide over the surface. The water glistened cool. It grew blue and bluer still. Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, he nearly snarked out to Hercules, but when he glanced toward the soggy demi-god pseudo-hero, he thought better of it.

Still-- didn’t feel like the Underworld anymore, did it? Not, at least, a part that Hades had traversed so far. And wasn’t that a comfort to know, that there was still new stuff for Hades to find.

So he was ready to go exploring himself when the boat finally found its way to a shallow shore, though yeah, the river did continue on. But it stopped and Hades jumped out, feet sinking into the sand. He looked around but there wasn’t much to look at, just one passageway lined with cool gray stone walls. Alright. Might as well go forward then.

They hadn’t walked long before they were stopped by none other than the Amazons themselves.

And oh yeah-- Hades had read myths about these women. A smirk sloped over his mouth. He tilted his head as one of them called him by his title. It made him feel taller, his own magic thrumming through his veins. Times like this, it was good to be Hades, wasn’t it?

And that confidence kept his feet exactly where they were as the Amazons turned to ‘escort’ them.

“Oi, wait a second,” called Hades after them. “Just wanna make sure we’re all on the same page, yeah? We’re here for the Fountain, which I assume you-- always know and that’s where you’re taking us, right? Now, what was that whole whispering thing about? You know something about my mate Hercules that I don’t?”

HERCULES: The Fountain.

And then, Hercules remembered everything that the Fates had said, his task, how he was supposed to do it all. He felt like an idiot, having forgotten.

Go to the Gates. Go to the Swamps. Don’t drown. Find the Amazons. Find the fountain.

“Holy hell, you’re the Amazons!” Hercules blurted, almost stumbling over a stick.

The pair of women looked at each other, unimpressed.

“Yes,” the older one said, after a moment.

Holy hell, Hercules thought again. The Amazons. Legendary female warriors. Guardians of the Fountain of Youth in certain iterations, though the lesser known ones. The fact had been dotted throughout history, but convoluted too, of course. Probably on purpose, to keep people from finding it. But, here they were. The fountain within reach. How many people could say they’d seen that?

Hercules couldn’t think too deeply about this, though, because Georgette was a burden in his arms, a duty he could not forget.

“Wait, you were talking about me?” He glanced at Hades.

“Everything will be explained, Hercules. Hades. Come, this way.”

“Wait, wait--does this...does this have anything to do with the demigod thing?”

Lykopis laughed. “Demigods? That is not what we are.”

“Wait, what do you mean we?!” Hercules blurted, but the two women were already walking away. Hercules wasn’t going to wait for Hades. He could follow or not.

They walked not for long, two--maybe three--minutes. Through thick vegetation, but over a well-worn path that had been walked for thousands of years.

“Is this--India?” Hercules blinked after a moment, recognizing his first home.

“I think that is what it is called these days,” mused the older woman.

“Oh, c’mon Iphito, don’t act so mysterious. Yes, it’s India. Polombe, I think it is called Kollam now.” She shrugged. Iphito smirked.

Hercules could hear the rush of the ocean at their backs, the sound coming clear as he oriented himself. They were walking away from it, though. Deeper into the forest. The trees parted, revealing a sprawling encampment.

“Holy shit,” Hercules said, stopping dead.

Iphito leaned in towards Lykopis. “Fetch Diana and Melani.”

Diana. Son of Diana.

Hercules stomach flipped over and he began to feel sick. “Holy shit,” he said, more of a breath now.

“The Fountain is this way, come. We should hurry. The soul will not stay within the body for long.”

That sprung Hercules into action and he followed after the woman again, towards one edge of the camp and through the trees again. She walked swiftly and with purpose a few strides in front of them. Hercules felt like his chest was bursting.

He turned to Hades, lowering his voice slightly.

“Hades,” he hissed, “I think I am an Amazon!”

HADES: His questions were not answered and Hades wasn’t a fan of that. He lifted his eyebrows and contemplated just staying here. He’d done his part after all-- he, the ambassador, had delivered the Fates’ Chosen One to his destination, with his corpse bride and all. Who said that he needed to poke around this Fountain or hang out with Amazons? Could just hang by the boat. Text Belle more. Take a nap.

He wasn’t going to do those things, if only because he was curious. But he didn’t like being ignored, and while the slight bow his way smoothed over some of that ire, Hades’ respect had not yet been earned. Yes, he knew that the Amazons were stuff of legend; yes, he knew that they held great power, because even Hades’ rudimentary perception skills could feel their thrumming magic, recognizing it as close to his own. It was power that existed beyond life and death, after all. Power that transcended time.

But Hades was like them-- also stuff of legend, also of great power. And he’d made shit decisions in the past. So sue him for not banking on the eternal wisdom of another bedtime story.

He let Hercules fangirl all he wanted-- watched him romp forward like a puppy. Hades cracked his neck, kept his face impassive, and strolled a step behind Hercules and the Amazons, determined to take everything in on his pace instead.

The farther they went, the more time trickled back under Hades’ skin, that strange quiet of the Underworld farther and farther behind. It wasn’t like the entrance to the Underworld at Swynlake at all; there were no steep stairs to climb, no light at the end of the tunnel. They simply were in the land of the living before Hades knew it. He blinked, tasting the fresh air on his tongue.

That was when Hercules hung back one step and told him his big revelation.

Hades chuckled at once. Raising an eyebrow, he shot the kid a look. “Ah, is that so? Would explain some stuff. Thought there were only women amazon though,” he pointed out. “Unless that part’s all made up.”

HERCULES: Hercules frowned, shifting Georgette’s body in his arms, more of a nervous habit than for any reason to need to readjust. Hades was right. The Amazons were women. Famed women warriors, who were equal to men.

Maybe he was wrong…

There was something in his chest that told him otherwise. A feeling. An instinct that he couldn’t quite place the name of.

He watched Lykopis trot off, but his name was called the next moment and he jumped a little before letting out a breath. Shooting Hades a look, he picked his way towards the woman, who had climbed up onto a stone dais. The stones were well-worn. Hercules could hear the trickle of water, but he could not tell where it came from. The basin was filled to the brim with beautiful, crystal water. He peaked his head over the lip to see down into it. It was no deeper than a bath, or a jacuzzi, which felt like an odd comparison to make for the infamous Fountain of Youth. There was a mosaic in the bottom, which reminded Hercules of the baths he’d seen when touring the ruins of Pompeii. There were two fish circling each other, one black, one white, the rest of the tiles shimmering blue.

He wondered who had created it. What gods. What mortal hands. What Magick.

“This will—bring her back?” Hercules asked, turning towards Iphito. She was tall, standing shoulder height to Hercules, and almost as broad. When she moved to shrug, the flowing cloth she wore wrapped around her like a sari rippled like water.  

“Yes and no,” Iphito said, “she will be different. The Fountain can mimic life, but not return it completely.”

“She will—will she be the same?” Hercules asked, his voice taut.

“Her mind, yes. The Fountain is different with each, but that remains the same.”

“I’ll do it,” Hercules said, without hesitating. It didn’t matter to him. Georgette could come out looking completely different, could be shorter, gain more weight, become taller, change the colour of her skin or hair or eyes—it didn’t matter to Hercules. As long as she was still Georgette. His Georgette. The same girl who laughed at his stupid jokes and felt so fiercely about the wrongs that had been done to him in his life. The one who kissed him sweetly and let him hold her hand when he walked her home. The one who wasn’t afraid of him, even though she should be.

“It is yours.”

Hercules didn’t hesitate then, either. He was eager to have Georgette back. To see her smile, the light in her eyes catch like a flame again. To see the blood wash from her hair until it shown like rays of sunlight again.

Walking up the three steps that encircled the basin, Hercules knelt and laid Georgette into the water, which felt cool and light and refreshing on his skin. As soon as she touched it, the water’s ripples became more apparent, washing the blood from her body.

“Let her sink,” Iphito instructed.

Hercules slipped his arms from her shoulders and knees.

She floated for a moment and then disappeared to the bottom of the Fountain, the water turning pink and then red as it swirled around her.

Hercules stayed watching. Transfixed. His heart in his throat.

GEORGETTE: Georgette awoke, eyes opening to a myriad of crystal clear blue water.

There was water everywhere, above and below her, rushing into her ears, active ripples lapping over her skin. She couldn’t understand why she was submerged under water, but her first instinct was to move. She lifted herself up from the water, eyes slowly taking in her surroundings.

Georgette had no idea where she was.

There was thick vegetation in front of her, but unlike the kind that grew around Swynlake. Her legs were now standing firm on what appeared to be.... a basin of water? The ground covered in a beautiful mosaic-tiled pattern not in the likes to anything she had seen before.

She could begin to hear the beating of her heart drowning against her own ears. It was thready at first, small, almost insignificant teetering over the line of non-existent. It grew stronger, crushed itself against her chest. It caused Georgette to take a breath in, the first without realization to be taken in since the opening of her eyes.

The oxygen swept through her lungs, filling the empty spaces, but they had hardly felt starved, hardly felt the need for the air that was pushed in.

Georgette dropped her eyes to her body, her clothes were ripped and tattered both shirt and jeans but all washed clean.  Her skin was free of all marks, all dirt and blood but appeared foreign to her own eyes: porcelain like and pristine.

Her hands dropped to her side and there by her right waist Georgette felt—nothing.

That was impossible. There was suppose to be a scar there! Thick with pungent ragged ends. What.... what was going on?!

Georgette felt as though she was covered by a veil of confusion. Everything swirled in a fuzzy haze in her mind, thoughts scattered in broken pieces. She couldn’t even remember the last thing she was suppose to remember,  where she had been, what had happened, or where she was now.

She turned, to find a mirror of faces most unfamiliar to her. Two women with stone impassive features none of whom she knew. A man pale with stark blue eyes whom she didn’t recognized either. Then there was Hercules, a cloud of utter relief settling over Georgette to see that he was at least here. She quickly moved to reach him, ignoring the presence of the others, her eyes filled with a sense of lostness and utter confusion.

“W-where are we? I-I don’t— I don’t remem—” She paused in mid sentence her brain only now clearly taking in and clicking at seeing  Hercules’s full appearance in front of her. “Hercules, why—why  are you wet and covered in-in black, thick, murky stuff?! What happened?!”  

HADES: She will be different. The Fountain can mimic life, but not return it completely.

At these words, Hades lifted his head and appraised the scene before him: the basin where the fountain waited, Hercules with his arms trembling as he held his love, and the Amazons, guards over life and death-- or so it appeared. Hades was not sure where he was supposed to fit into this scene, if his job was to remain the quiet third party, mediator between the worlds all, and nothing more than that. If that was so, he was supposed to be impartial here. It was Hercules who made the decision, and now Hades felt that it wasn’t the Fates’ intention to, necessarily, resurrect Georgette at all-- rather it was to move the chess pieces and put Hercules here.

This is about his damn tapestry, isn’t it, he thought to himself. They want to see what he’ll do.

But they must have known. Hades knew, after all, what Hercules would do and he barely knew the bloke at all. And sure enough, Hercules didn’t hesitate, only stumbled forward.

He wondered if Hercules thought, for a moment, what Georgette might want.

But then she was in the water and it didn’t matter.

The air grew water, besides the rushing of the fountain, the water sounding like any water, but Hades knowing it was anything but, the magic that emanated from the basin. He waited, his eyes flicking between that basin and Hercules, who looked like he was a second away from collapse. But the fountain would work. Hades knew that the fountain would work.

It didn’t take long. Maybe only a minute. And then Georgette emerged from the water with a heavy, dragging gasp, taking her first breath for her second chance of life.

Hades stepped back, as if he was sinking into the shadows of the scene-- content to watch, curious to see what happened next.

HERCULES: Hercules held his breath. He stepped back off the dais and he held his breath, hoping with all the hope left in his body. This had to work. The Fates were cruel, but they were also just. Georgette was not supposed to die now, so she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She would live. Hercules could wash this mistake from him in the water too. As it scrubbed at Georgette, it scrubbed at Hercules too, and he felt his heart lighten.

And then, Georgette’s head lifted from the water, the rest of her following. Her clothes were still torn, part of her thigh and bra and arm peeking through, but she was whole and perfect again. Her hair shone like strands of sunlight. Her eyes sparkled, as blue as the water all around her. Hercules let out the shaky breath he’d been holding, the relief flooding through him like he had been dunked in the fountain too.

He clamped his own hand over his mouth to contain the sob that shook through him, the tears blinking out of his eyes. Cool with their relief. They were grateful, thankful tears.

Georgette caught his eye and reached towards him.

Hercules reached back automatically. He didn’t even think about it. His powers were back, but they had been gone for days and days, and he’d gotten used to holding Georgette. Touching her without being afraid of what he could do to her.

Their fingers brushed, and her skin was cool from the water, but there was the unmistakable, inextinguishable warmth of life beneath it. He slid his hand under her palm, so that he could help her down from the pool and the three dais steps. He reached up and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, chuckling lightly at her bewilderment. Seeing it now, he thought—that was the moment that he may’ve first fallen in love with her. Among the smoke and fire of that awful car accident, Georgette’s blue eyes wide with surprise, her spluttering so endearing.

He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over the smooth, porcelain skin. Just as he had remembered it. All of her, exactly as he remembered.

“Shh,” he hushed her gently, his words fond and chuckled up, that relief still escaping him. Too big to keep inside his chest. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay. You’re okay. Bloody hell, Georgette, you’re okay!” Without thinking about it, he pulled her into a hug, his hand smoothing down over the back of her wet hair.

“I’ll explain everything,” he murmured to her, the relief now hot and wet in his throat. “I’m just so glad you’re alright.”

GEORGETTE: Georgette was genuinely confused.

Everything still felt so scattered, broken pieces trying to assemble back together like the ends of a jigsaw puzzle. She still couldn’t remember much. She didn’t know what brought her to where she was now, why her clothes were ripped, why Hercules appeared the same if not worse.

What she remembered last was taking a walk with Hercules and then everything sort of went blurry from there.

But Hercules was here now, his hand gently touching the skin of her cheeks feeling so soft and warm, his eyes brimming over with tears. He kept saying that she was okay and Georgette.... she couldn’t understand why.

Had something happened?

Hercules pulled her into a hug and for a brief moment she allowed all of her confusion to wash away so that she could be engulfed in his arms. Her own came up so that they were able to wrap themselves around the nape of his neck, fingers curling into his hair.

She hugged him tight because even though she may not know what was going on, she knew Hercules had gone through something and she was glad he was okay.

Georgette pulled back slightly her eyes falling over the faces around her in whom she was still unfamiliar with. Suddenly she felt—exposed. She was standing out in the open with very tattered and ripped clothing even parts of her bra was showing through the rips.

It was uncomfortable. She felt small and vulnerable around people she didn’t know. Georgette stepped closer into Hercules’s arms where she often felt safe.

“Hercules....” She whispered, almost in a fragile voice. “What.... what happened?”

HERCULES: Georgette hugged him back. It was a fierce kind of hug. The kind that would knock one of them off balance if they weren’t careful, one of them pushing too hard and then they’d fall over. Hercules had never had a hug like that. He couldn’t hug people, not usually. They hugged him and that was it. Sometimes he could hold them loosely in return, but not in any significant way. It felt natural to hug Georgette now, though. They’d been doing that for weeks--hugging, kissing, holding hands. Because they could do that. Because Hercules didn’t have his powers--

Holy shit. Hercules had his powers back.

He felt himself freeze, all that relief flushing out of him, like someone had pulled a plug. Now, he was terrified that if he moved, just a little, he would do something to hurt her. That would be something the Fates would absolutely love, wouldn’t they?

The hero saves the girl, just to murder her in his relief.

(It would echo the story of the original Hercules to a laughable degree, wouldn’t it? The poor sot had killed his wife and children in his madness.)

There was no such thing a happy hero.

Georgette pulled away and he watched as her gaze darted from face to face and he felt her step closer to him. That urge to protect rose up in him automatically and he shifted his body as carefully as he could to cover as much of her as possible from the eyes of the other people witnessing their reunion. It wasn’t too hard, she was tall, but so was Hercules--and broader too.

He looked down at her as she spoke and smiled again, though--he didn’t know how to explain. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her more, confuse her more, or scare her more. There really wasn’t any way around it. There was no good way to say that someone had died.

“I--” Hercules started and the tears came back, squeezing his throat tight with guilt. “I saved you. I-I couldn’t--but--I did. We’re--it’s--it’s the Fountain of Youth, like--like the stories.” He said this because he knew Georgette liked those stories, he’d told her so many of them. And she was surprisingly knowledgeable about many of them.

GEORGETTE: I saved you.

But.... saved her from what?

It was all Hercules now, the only person she could see in front of her. He had managed to block the faces of those she didn’t know with his body and that gesture had brought her a tremendous measure of comfort. She felt a soothing ease settling over her skin that small sense of trepidation that came with her feelings of vulnerability simmering down.

Hercules always knew what to do to make her feel comfortable again, to make her feel safe.

She looked into his eyes now those dark, deep and beautiful rich brown eyes that she had grown to become so fond with.

They were filling up with tears though some coursing down the skin of his cheeks. Her hand lifted, fingers gently wiping at the fallen tears to brush them away. She couldn’t understand why they were forming at all.

I couldn’t but I did.

Georgette tried to wrack through her brain, tried to see if she could remember anything past their walk so that maybe she could understand what Hercules was speaking about. It was all such a blurry whirlwind of a haze parts and sections all tangled up and webbed a mush... but something must have happened then, something that caused all these ripped up clothing and Hercules to well up in tears.

It’s the Fountain of Youth.

Georgette blinked confusion evident on her features. She has heard of the legendary fountain it’s water rumored to have restorative powers but that was all.... stories..... wasn’t it? She turned her head gaze falling over the pristine clear water so beautiful and serene.

Even if it was true Georgette couldn’t understand why there would be a need for restorat—

And suddenly it all began to hit her the scattered bits and pieces falling into place.

The walk, the tree, the searing and excruciating pain that had lashed in anger through every inch of her body— “Oh my god I-I—”

Georgette couldn’t even finish her sentence much less speak. All sense of words were ending up choked up in the back of her throat. It was like her world had been suddenly snatched from right  under her feet. All air was being ripped from her lungs, and tears began pooling in rushed streams in her eyes. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t talk, she couldn’t move.

She died, oh god, she had died!

HERCULES: Hercules knew he wasn’t being the most eloquent storyteller at the moment, but when was he ever? He was a bumbling, inarticulate idiot most days--and now was no exception. Now, the relief and the excitement tangled the words on his tongue and he didn’t care to explain the nitty-gritty details. He would protect Georgette from those, if he could. She didn’t need to hear about the deep darkness of the Underworld. Or how he’d been so afraid he’d never see her smile again or hear her voice.

But, of course, it was going to come back to her.

He watched as Georgette’s eyes widened in shock. His own stomach twisted as she stuttered, the realization slamming into her.

“Hey, hey, it’s--it’s okay,” Hercules murmured to her. They were close enough that he could do murmur like that, so no one else could hear. “You’re alright.”

He wanted to say so many things. Mostly sorry, however. God, he was so sorry, he didn’t even know if he could put it into words. The sorry pumped through his veins, hot and fierce. He wished he could take it all away. He may’ve saved her, but it didn’t feel like enough. He wanted to do more.

“It’s alright,” he said again. “I’ll--I’ll explain--”

“Hercules?”

Hercules stopped talking at the sound of his name. He half-turned to see who had spoken it, still shielding Georgette half-behind him. The woman wasn’t anyone he recognized. Not really. She was beautiful, with long, dark hair and deep, dark eyes. Those eyes were shimmering and she was holding a hand to her heart, like she could keep it inside of her body. There was a girl at her side, looking at him with sharp eyes--also deep and dark, but much colder. Her arms were crossed over her chest.

“Uhm,” Hercules said, as eloquently as ever. He felt something shift, like the earth beneath his feet had begun to turn, even though it stayed solid.

“Oh, it is you!” the older woman gasped, and she did cry then, two tears curving down over her plump cheeks. She reached up and wiped them away, smiling wide.

She strode right up to him, and it was then he saw the spear strapped behind her. He turned fully, Georgette behind him--just on instinct. But the woman didn’t draw her spear like the girl who had first ‘greeted’ him at the entrance to the Underworld. Instead, she opened her arms and threw them around Hercules’ shoulders. She was strong, even with his strength, he could feel it, and he gave a little ‘oof’ as she tugged him down to hug him better.

It lasted for several seconds. Hercules cast a wild, confused look in Hades’ direction, not knowing where else to look or what else to do.

(And he knew, there was some part of him that knew. It was the woman’s reaction. Maybe it was just--instinct. But, he knew.)

The woman stepped back a little, just enough to grab his face in her hands, searching his eyes for a moment. She let out a little breath, a smile, pushed some of his hair back.

“You look just like your father,” the woman said.

Hercules felt his stomach twist inside of him. He blinked once. “Mum?”

Diana nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Yes, that’s--that’s me. Oh my gods, I never thought I’d ever see you. You’re so handsome, isn’t he handsome, Melani?” She turned to ask the girl she had arrived with, who looked young, a teenager, nothing more.

“Yes, mother,” the girl said dutifully, though her expression didn’t change.

Diana laughed and looked back at Hercules.

Mother. “Is that--”

“Your sister?” Diana said, apparently unable to help herself, “yes. Melanippe.”

“Half-sister, technically.” Melani’s lip twitched, just the slightest bit, but her expression was so stony any movement was easily caught.

“Holy shit,” Hercules breathed out. “I gotta--I’ve gotta.” He stumbled back a step, almost knocking into Georgette, but he managed to turn and plop down on the steps of the fountain putting his hands on his head as he shook it.

“Holy shit,” he said again.

GEORGETTE: No. It was not okay!!! And no. She was not alright!!!! None of this was okay and none of this was alright.

No, no, no, NO!!!!

Georgette wanted to scream to the mountain tops, even to the freaking heavens right now!  But she also wanted to cry. To drop to her knees and allow a waterfall of emotions to drain from her eyes. She had died. She had DIED! And there was no proper form of emotion fit to describe that realization and how it continued to sink deeper and deeper in her head.

She wanted to shout, she wanted to yell, she wanted to scream, she wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, she wanted to go through the whole damn rainbow of emotions because nothing felt like it was properly working in her mind anymore.

And she could feel tears beginning to stab and collect on the rim of her eyes. They were tears of shock, tears of hurt because it hadn’t been an easy death. It wasn’t like she died in her sleep. She died painfully.  

They were tears of anger because she’ll have to live now tortured by the memory of that pain, just like she had to live tortured by the memory of her rape too. If the death couldn’t have been prevented she should have just stayed dead! It had already happened, she had already died!

There was that part too, this part of Georgette that knew that if Hercules would’ve never relinquished his magic it could have been prevented and that in sorts made her anger simmer more, even when another part knew it wasn’t fair at all to blame this on him.

But that part was only mere whispers in comparison to everything else.

Georgette was getting ready to place into words all that was wreaking havoc in her mind, but was stifled shut by the scene that was currently being played out in front of her.

Apparently, a mother, sister and son reunion.

If Georgette was in a right frame of mind, she would’ve gone to Hercules’s side to offer him support through what was probably a very shocking moment for him now. She would’ve given that teenager a deadly glare for being so apathetic towards the reunion too, but she wasn’t in her normal frame of mind. She was still bleeding from her own wounds and as it was had remained where she stood not wanting to be a part of any of this.

She didn’t want to be here anymore and she could feel those tears started to slowly course down her eyes. Georgette wanted to leave.  

HADES: Well well well. Wasn’t this touching? Looks like Hercules had been right-- he was an Amazon.

Or, well, he was something, wasn’t he? Hades’ eyes flicked him up and down, then slid over to the rest of the women who had gathered. None but Hercules’ mother seemed particularly warmed by the family reunion or even Hercules’ existence in general. Which made sense. Hercules was a boy. Amazons were women. Hades didn’t make those rules; that’s just how the legends go.

And that was why the Fates intervened, wasn’t it? Hades’ mouth twitched, a silent snort of air leaving his nostrils. Now it was making sense.

This wasn’t about Herc’s powers. This wasn’t about being a hero. This wasn’t about second chances and it wasn’t about Georgette; the Fates couldn’t give a fuck about Georgette Midler. She’d been an easy pawn.

They had known that Hercules was born from the Amazons and the only way he’d make his way back here was through the Underworld. He wondered how much of it was orchestrated….the tree that crushed Georgette, if Atrophos had weakened its roots...or if it went even further, back to the chandelier dangling from town hall’s ceiling, which had been the first domino, leading Hercules to give away his powers in the first place.

Only the Fates would ever know because only the Fates saw Hercules’ tapestry. But Hades wondered if Herc would put two and two together. And he wondered-- well then, what next? Because there had to be a reason they wanted the prodigal son to go home.

None of that was Hades’ business. He’d been a pawn too.

Buuuut he was curious. He watched this scene unfolding with little interest to Georgette, mostly wanting to know the same answers that Hercules was probably wondering about now.

“So this is fun,” he finally announced, reminding the Amazons that he were there. Several glances jumped his way and Hades grinned. “Love a good family reunion. Only, see, I’m a bit confused. Aren’t only women supposed to be Amazons?” He tilted his head and made eye contact with Hercules’ mother. “Yet he seems to be, more or less, immortal too. How’s that work out?”

HERCULES: Hercules looked up at the sound of Hades’ voice.

It was silent for several seconds.

His gaze hovered on Diana, but it jumped to Iphito as she took a step forward. Her face was pinched, like she had been sucking on a particularly sour fruit.

“He is not an Amazon.”

Diana glanced away, her arms crossing over her chest—Hercules recognized the stance at once as defensive. How many times had he stood just like that, arms crossed, fingers indenting into his skin? It was like looking into some strange mirror.

“Amazon are skilled warriors. Trained. Poised. And, yes, women.”

Hercules swallowed the lump in his throat. “Then—what am I?”

“A mistake,” Diana said then, looking over at her adult son.

The words pierced Hercules’ heart straight through and it was his turn to look away, tears stinging at his eyes. He let out a shaky breath. That was no more than he had expected. How many times in the last year had he thought it? That he had been given up because he was a mistake. Unwanted. His powers haywire. A freak, for all intents and purposes. Too dangerous.

“That’s what they’ll have you think, anyways,” Diana continued with only a breath of a pause between, but the damage was already done. Even if her face looked stormy now and she came to sit down on the stone dais next to her son. She touched his cheek, stroked his hair. “You were not a mistake. I loved you.”

“So much so that she almost got herself excommunicated. If Amazons could be excommunicated,” his sister, Melanippe spoke up. Her face was still stony.

“Amazons are birthed inside of the Underworld. That is what gives us our powers. Ever since the first Amazon, our queen, Lysippe, wife of the first Ambassador, whose name has been lost to time, gave birth to our first daughter, Anaxilea, within the Gates.” She tilted her head a little, eyes sliding to Hades. “It is why we are honorbound to serve the Ambassadors.”

Her eyes slid back to Hercules. “When we have boys, we do not birth them within the Underworld. We birth them in the First World, and we give them to loving families. Your mother thought that if you were birthed within the Gates, she would be allowed to keep you.”

Hercules turned his head to look at his mother. She was staring stonily at Iphito. The lines on her face were smooth as stone, her skin the same shade of brown as his own. Though, her look matched that of Melanippe. Hercules had never looked so harsh.

“You weren’t allowed?” Hercules asked quietly.

Diana turned to him and lifted her hand to touch his cheek. “No,” she said with a watery voice, that stone-façade breaking as soon as she looked at him. “I fought so hard to keep you, my son. In the end—”

“It was me or you,” he filled in.

She nodded. “I’m so sorry, my son. Your absence has kept my heart broken for the last twenty-three years.” Leaning forwards she touched her forehead to Hercules’.

“We did not know what you would become,” Iphito continued, looking like she had smelled something particularly fowl. “I apologize for any grievances that your strength has caused you.”

Hercules scoffed a little. “Yeah, thanks.”

HADES: All in all, what Diane reported wasn’t far off from the myth after all. It made sense that the daughters of the gods (wasn’t it Ares or something?) would be born in a place like this, and that the Underworld-- Death, itself-- would give them their power, their might, and their brutality. He didn’t know why they would give their males away though, besides he figured...tradition. Or something. But some Magicks were so stuck in their schticks, so superstitious themselves (though they’d probably say they were spiritual-- more in tune with the Powers That Be) that it never occured to them to question why they did the things they did.

At least Diana wasn’t a complete idiot. Though in the end she’d let tradition rule their life.

If it were Hades, he’d be cast out with his son, not let his son rot alone in a world that was not built for him.

But hey, Hades was here to ambassador, not here to pass judgments on these demi-goddesses and the rules they lived by. Though they did say they were meant to serve him…

Too bad Hades was not at all invested in Hercules’ life or what became of him. Anyway, it wasn’t like they could turn back time. What was done was done. Hercules was raised in a mortal realm and Diana had lived without her son. As far as he could tell, they would continue to be separated.

Though-- okay, Iphito, no need to be so condescending.

Hades snorted too then. “Don’t seem sorry to me,” he declared. His eyes jumped to Diana. “You either, Mum. Any mother worth her salt wouldn’t let her kid go. You should have left with him at the very least. Though just so you know--” he gestured to all of the Amazons, “-- far as I can tell, that “no men” thing is a load of outdated bullshit. That’s your Ambassador’s two cents.”

He looked back at Hercules then. “Anyway. You ready to go?”

HERCULES: Hercules had let his eyes flutter closed as his birth mother touched his hair softly, said that she loved him. His heart was a bruised thing in his chest. Between what had happened to Georgette and all of…this, Hercules felt like someone had taken his heart, beaten it, and put it back into his chest. He may have regained his strength, but Hercules didn’t know if his heart would ever recover, or if it would always feel like this heavy thing in his chest.

Hades spoke from behind him and Hercules moved back, eyes opening, though he didn’t look at his mother, but past her. To Georgette, who was standing off to the side, look lost—and…there was an expression on her face he’d never seen before.

That guilt inside of him dug deeper and deeper.

He wished he could drown out Hades’ words, but the man spoke with a finality that sounded hard to argue with. Hercules certain wouldn’t be the one. Though he wished that his mother would. That she would offer some other explanation as to why she hadn’t come with him. Why she had given him up instead.

But, there was silence instead, for several moments.

“You do not get to cast your judgement so quickly, boy,” Iphito said in Hades’ direction, her eyes flashing hard as flint. “Or speak on things of which you do not know.”

But she did not offer any further explanation.

Hercules wasn’t paying much attention. He was watching his mother, as a tear, and then another, slipped down her cheeks.

“You can’t come with us, can you?” he asked, his own voice trembled, too tired to keep itself steady.

“No,” she said.

“She doesn’t want to either. What is there in the mortal world that we would want?” said his half-sister from across the clearing, where she was standing near Iphito.

Me, Hercules wanted to say, but he knew that was hardly a way to sway anyone to his cause. Hercules wasn’t even worth enough for his mother to want to keep him around. He swallowed the word down and grit his jaw. Then, he stood.

His mother stood with him. Her hand was on his arm. They were almost of a height. She searched his face for a moment. “Maybe you can come back, one day,” she said.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice a little harder than he meant it.

Her face balked a bit, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she reached up to touch his cheek and touch their foreheads again. “I love you, my son.”

Hercules hesitated. He didn’t want to lie and say it back. He didn’t know if he loved her. He didn’t know if he was angry or hurt or—

“I love you too,” he finally said, though he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t help but say it, seeing the look on his birth mother’s face.

He stepped away after a moment, clearing his throat before stepping around Diana and going towards Georgette. He reached out his hand for her, though, dropped it almost as quickly. That was right, he had his powers back. He couldn’t touch her the way he wanted to. There was a part of him that wanted to turn right back around and demand more answers from his mother. But, there was a bigger, more stubborn part of him that didn’t want to ask for her help. She had been the one who put this curse on him in the first place.

“Come on,” he said to her softly, his voice tired, his eyes watering. He lifted his hand to touch her shoulder, as softly as he could, as much as he dared. “Time to go home.”

GEORGETTE: Georgette was standing a small ways off from the scene that was unfurling between Hercules and his mother and half-sister. She could hear words transferring between everyone but most if not all of it wasn’t processing.

She felt far off. She felt…. she felt like that very night she had been raped.

Broken, scattered, fragile. She didn’t know herself, didn’t know where one thought started and the other ended. It was a desperate sort of feeling, anxious and frightening, everything all jumbling up and whirling chaotically together.

And a part of her, a part that could probably be reached hidden somewhere under everything else that was running amok ached for Hercules. She felt for him in having to find out about such a truth in this matter. To have to see a mother who gave him up, and hear from a sister who sounded like a cold stone bitch.

Again, if she had been in her right mind, Georgette would’ve raged at all of them, even if they would’ve most likely kicked her ass in the process (being Amazons and all). No one ever stood up for Hercules, ever, not even his own biological mother who stood right in front of him.

But that wasn’t the Georgette that was standing here and now.

This one was shattering, was the same one from that night that had ruined her and turned her life into shambles.

So when Hercules had placed a tender hand on her shoulder, Georgette flinched. She felt that rigid twitch of a movement shake all the way down to her toes. Her skin crawled, it tightening and grew squirmish all in the same way it did with everyone she didn’t know, with those she felt threatened by, when she felt unsafe. It was when the tears began to fall one by one from the blue of her eyes.

This was Hercules, her Hercules, her sweet and kind and gentle Hercules. He was the one person after everything who had believed her and helped her. He was the one person she grew safe in being around with, who for once she felt comfortable in being herself with.

And now when he touched her, her body just felt repulsed. The knowledge of it all broke her.

She was right back where she started. After everything, everything Georgette was right back where she started. Right back to where she had been running from, right back from where she had been trying to fix and better herself from. Right back. All of this had brought her right back and her mind couldn’t stop from yelling at her of how it all could’ve been prevented.

Georgette looked at Hercules her eyes water filled, but those blue hues far off, rigid and cold. “I can’t.”

She choked, her words filled in grief and anger and a lostness she didn’t know if she would ever recover from. She shoved her shoulder back, her arms moving upwards to curl themselves around herself in a tight hug as she stepped back.

HERCULES: Georgette pulled away from him.

He should have expected it, but he didn’t. After a week, a little over, of touches here and there--casual, hardly a thought to them--he hadn’t thought much about this one either. He had thought careful and don’t hurt her, but he hadn’t thought--don’t scare her. And she had that wide, terrified look in her eye. Hercules had seen it there before, though rarely directed at him. She flinched away like--

Like she expected him to hurt her.

It was like she had drawn back an arrow and shot it right at him with that movement. His own face crumpled and he curled his hand back, dropping it down to his side.

“No one is gonna hurt you, Georgette,” he promised her softly, trying to catch her eye--but it was far off and glassy. It reminded him of how she had looked before she had died. Wide-eyed and terrified and not looking at him at all. Already gone--too full of pain to say anything or even look at him properly.

He felt the exhaustion heavy on his shoulders then. He didn’t know what to do.

“Georgette--”

“You cannot stay here, girl,” Iphito said then, stepping up alongside Hercules. “You must go home. You do not belong here.” Her gaze went from Georgette to Hercules to Hades, like she was casting a net about them. “None of you do.”

“Yeah, got that, thanks,” Hercules said before turning back to Georgette.

“It’s alright, no one is gonna hurt you. Let’s--let’s just go home.”

Iphito stepped away, then.

Hercules did too, backing down the dias, but keeping his eyes on Georgette, coaxing her along. He didn’t look at his mother. They had already said goodbye. His sister, apparently, had no words for him, and he didn’t know what he would say to her either.

Instead, he glanced at Hades. “Don’t touch her,” he told him, more as a warning than a threat. Georgette looked a second away from shattering into pieces and he knew anything could trigger her, even a friendly hand on the shoulder. He didn’t want to get two rings into the Underworld just for Georgette to fall apart in the middle of the marshes, or on the neverending paths.

He just wanted to get through it in one piece.

HERCULES: It was raining hard when Hercules finally made it to the door of the Acherons’. He had not figured out what he was going to say, he had no idea how to explain, how he was going to convince them to help him. All he knew was that Georgette was dead. It was his fault. And if he had any hope, any hope at all, of saving her, it was going to be Hades.

He’d do anything to make the man open the Gates of the Underworld.

That was all he knew as he came to a stop outside their door. There was a light on in the living room, illuminating the front door halfway in golden light. It shined upon Georgette’s hair. Usually, Hercules knew, that kind of light would hit it so it glowed like a halo, but even her hair was lifeless, stuck to her face in ringlets, wet from the rain. There were leaves in it and dirt smeared through it.

Hercules’ arms trembled with the weight. He was not used to carrying such a burden. Georgette hung heavy in his heart, just as she hung heavy in his arms. That heart of his, though, it beat furiously on. Even when it felt like it was going to burst right out of his chest.

He hoisted Georgette higher, lifting her towards his chest and onto his biceps, so that he could knock at the door. The sound echoed dull and haunting, like the hollow tick of a clock, still moving ceaselessly in an abandoned place.

It felt like eternity before the door opened, the light sliding open to reveal them both.

“Please,” Hercules said, looking up at Hades’ stony face, “help her.”

“Oh my god,” gasped Belle startling to a stop as she came up behind Hades.

HADES: Literally nothing good had ever come from a stranger appearing at Hades’ door.

He could count the amount of times now where a knock disturbed the peace that he and Belle fostered here together. This home was supposed to be their safe space. Wasn’t that the point? Hades figured that was the point, or so he’d read in books and seen in movies, even if every home he’d ever known would have uninvited guests no matter what, as the dead flocked to him, moths to his eternal, blue flame. But Hades knew how to deal with ghosts. For Hades, ghosts could be just another quirk of the foundation-- the creaking staircase, the door that sticks, rattling pipes. Every house had such quirks.

But not every house attracted trouble like this one did. First a dragon, then a vampire, then a vengeful, psychopathic muse, then a piss-poor, long-lost father. What could possibly come next?

So when the knock came, Hades knew they shouldn’t get it. Nothing good waited for them. It was raining, it was late, Belle was not expecting anyone and Hades had no one to expect. He had no missed calls or unseen texts.

He didn’t budge from the armchair; he just stared at the door, almost like he was challenging it.

“Hades?” Belle called from upstairs; she’d just been out before the rain unleashed, visiting Phillipe, and so she went to change out of her boots. “Is someone at the door?”

No, he wanted to say.

Oooooh, this is a good one, whispered the ghosts.

The knock came again: knock-knock-knock.

He heard the stairs creaking. It was the stairs, Belle’s impending arrival, that got Hades’ up out of the chair and to the door first, to intercept it. If they were going to be facing their next threat, he’d prefer to be the wall in front of Belle. He flung the door open, about to snarl at their intruder to leave--

The intruder was Hercules, walking disaster, and he held a dead body.

“Oh my god,” gasped Belle. Hades’ face remained neutral. He put his hand on the other side of the door frame, making a physical barrier to keep Belle on one side, Hercules on the other. He stared at his desperate, wet, terrified face, a face he actually knew quite well. For every person who hissed and spat at Hades and Persephone, there was another just like Hercules-- who believed that death could be fixed.

Death could not be fixed (unless you were Hades. But this boy was not Hades.)

“Not everyday someone shows up with a dead body on our doorstep,” he quipped. His eyes remained hard. “You’re in the wrong place, mate. I suggest you take that girl to a hospital before we call the cops.”

HERCULES: Dead body, Hades said, and Hercules’ heart twisted.

He knew it was true, though. Georgette’s skin was cold to the touch, no trace of warmth or liveliness upon her cheeks. It had taken him too long to get the tree off of her. Too long. He’d killed her—because he had wanted to be normal. And now, his arms quivered to hold her. He felt like he was on the verge of collapsing. His stomach felt sick

Hercules had never felt so awful in his entire life.

“It’s my fault,” he blubbered, his words choked as they came out of his throat. “But I-I want—I need to fix it.” His fingers curled into Georgette’s shoulder, holding her body closer to him.

He had managed to go his whole life without killing anyone, but now that he didn’t have his powers, he’d been helpless to save someone. He could hear the Fates laughing, as if they were standing on the doorstep with him.

Hercules didn’t know what had driven him to Hades’ door, but he couldn’t stop now. It was the desperation of a madman, probably, but he didn’t care. If it helped Georgette, if it saved her, he didn’t care.

“Please, she—she doesn’t—I just—I’ll do anything,” he begged, not above getting down on his knees to do so.

He meant it. He’d do anything to bring her back.

“Hades,” he heard Belle murmur, touch her husband’s side.

Hercules didn’t look away from Hades’ face.

“Hades, we should let him in,” Belle said, firmer now. “At least, out of the rain, until the ambulance comes.” She turned her face to smile gently at him, Hercules’ eyes darted to her face like a moth to a flame. He took a step forwards, drawn towards her.

“Please,” he said again, “she’s—so heavy.” His voice broke off in a sob and he dropped his head as it shook through him.

He missed the look that Belle gave to Hades, moving closer towards the frame of the door, edging him slowly out of the way.

“If you come in, you’ll let us help you, yes?” Belle coaxed him, ducking her head a little to draw his line of vision backup to her face. She smile sweetly.

Hercules knew she didn’t mean bringing Georgette back to life, but he was so exhausted. Hades was his last hope. He felt as if some string had been cut and he was falling through the center of the world—down, down, down.

“Yeah, I-I’ll—yeah,” he told her, meeting her gaze for a moment. It was just a moment, because the next second she looked at Hades and reached up to put her hand on his forearm, to draw it away from the frame of the door.

HADES: No, Hades wanted to say, as his fingers gripped the other door frame. No-- this is not our fight.

The only problem? That was, maybe, a lie he was telling himself.

Because as Belle coaxed and Hercules wavered where he stood, Hades’ eyes dropped to the lifeless body in his arms. It was not a face he knew well, though he recognized her enough to know she’d maybe come into the shoppe or he’d seen her at an event. He didn’t know her name, because Hercules had not spoken it. But Hades didn’t need these details for his sixth sense to thrum like a second heartbeat inside of him. He looked at her lifeless body, and just as he once knew that the little sparrow he and Ella had rescued was doomed to die, he knew that this woman was meant to live.

A thread, along the way, had split. It was unraveling back, not yet cut, but not yet complete. Hades had never felt this way before. His reaper sense, as he called it, had only bared its unpleasant teeth when he was around the doomed. It was a different kind of stomach-ache then; now, it felt like an itch he needed to scratch. A scab he needed to peel back, so it could heal a different way.

It was like a whisper in his ear, a whisper of a voice he knew…

Belle put a hand on his arm and he started slightly, glancing back up from the girl and looking toward Belle. The colour flushed in her cheeks, healthy and pink and alive. His lips parted like he was going to say something.

But the whisper in Hades’ brain spoke first.

“Come now, Hades-- let them in or they’ll catch their death!” said Atropos behind them, before she cackled.

“Motherfucker--” cursed Hades.

“Shh,” said Clotho. She put a finger to her lips. Her eyes twinkled. “Save your breath.”

The Fates were in his living room.

The Fates were in his living room. Hades half-turned toward them, and saw Lachesis sitting criss-cross on the armchair, Atropos lounging on his couch, and Clotho standing near one of the bookcases, holding a cup of tea-- was that his favourite mug in her hands?!

“Where the hell did you come from--” growled Hades, pushing away from the door frame (so Hercules could enter) and stalking back into the living room.

“A stupid question, though we appreciate the pun,” said Clotho. She sipped her tea. “Isn’t wordplay always fun?”

“Get OUT of MY house--”

“Is your name on the deed?” snickered Atropos.

“And did you miss me?” pouted Lachesis.

“And are you ready for one riddle more?” said Atropos. She sat up, snipping her scissors. “We’ll cut to the chase--”

“We’ve come to erase,” said Lachesis.

“What Hercules has brought to your door.” Clotho adjusted her glasses. She gestured toward the couch and Atropos got up and moved away from it. “Our hero has come a long way, with heavy burden too. Hercules, lay your burden down, and the Fates will help you.”

HERCULES: Hades and Belle shared a look. Hercules didn’t know what it said, but he knew they were communicating with it. He’d seen couples do that before. His mum and dad did it all the time. He’d never had something like that. He’d thought that—maybe now, maybe that he was—normal, he might be able to have that too.

But, now, there was a dead woman in his arms. A woman he cared about. A woman that he, may even, love.

She was dead and Hades and Belle were silently communicating and Hercules had no idea if they were going to help or if they were going to call the police on him. Honestly, if that’s what they did, he wouldn’t stop them. Not now. Even without his powers, all he did was hurt people. He deserved to be in jail.

Another voice spoke, though, one he didn’t know, a shiver running down his spine. Hades and Belle turned at the same time, their bodies opening like doorways, to reveal a woman sitting on their couch. Her cloak was heavy around her shoulders. Green, but so dark it was almost black, and drifted down like smoke, as if she came from flame.

There was another—there by the bookshelf, clad in black, and another—in an armchair, a purple sleeve reaching out to stroke the large hound who’d come to investigate.

Hercules stared.

The girls and Hades traded barbs back and forth, it rose and fell like poetry. Their voices sounded deeper and grittier than one might have expected, especially considering how lightly they spoke.

His eyes trailed to the scissors in the one woman’s hand. They winked in the light, even though they looked dull and old.

When the woman by the door spoke his name, his eyes drifted to hers. He was still holding Georgette in his arms and they were trembling. His legs trembled too. He thought Pegasus punching him in the face was the worst thing he was going to feel but—hold Georgette was like holding the world on his shoulders.

“Hercules, come on, it’s alright,” Belle said softly. He almost had forgotten she was there, standing in the doorway, her hand reaching out towards him. She seemed unperturbed by the women, a smile on her lips for him still. It was that little smile that gave him the strength and the courage to step over the threshold.

It was silent as Hercules knelt at the couch and placed Georgette’s broken body there. He touched her side gently, pulling her shirt back down over her exposed stomach from where it had ridden up. Belle was next to him, with a pillow from the couch to slide beneath Georgette’s head, smoothing her hair down gently.

Like this, she could almost be sleeping.

Hercules knew she wasn’t.

Belle stood next to him, with her hand on his shoulders, the touch warm and comforting. Hercules swallowed the sharp lump in his throat.

“Alright, what do you want with her, then?”

“Mm, always so impatient, Belle,” Atropos clicked her tongue from where she was hovering behind the couch, looking down at the body lying there.

“We were getting there, we won’t dwell,” promised Lachesis, though she wasn’t looking at Belle, but up at Hades, smiling.

“Then tell us what to do, I have a feeling whatever needs to be done will take a while and I’d rather my husband be finished with this sooner than later.” She stood with one of her hands on her hips, glaring at Clotho. “And this poor girl doesn’t need to suffer any more than she already has.”

“Fair enough, my lady,” Clotho told her, taking a sip of her tea, “so smart you’ve always been. Settle down and let the epic begin…”

HADES: He didn’t want to stand for this. Damn the ‘feeling’ in his gut, damn destiny, damn the Fates-- Hades’s nostrils flared as he stared at each Magick and wanted to will them away. Or set them on fire. But he knew that if he so much as tried to grab one, his hand would grasp at only air. Atropos didn’t even have to move if she didn’t want to; the corpse would fall right through her as if she were a ghost.

They weren’t ghosts-- they weren’t even projections, not really. They would not be solid in the Underworld or any other place because the Fates were more force and energy than flesh and bone. If another Magick of a different culture interacted with them, they’d not even appear as three women. The universe bent its magic to the stories that mortals grew up with-- that was the only way that Hades and Belle, and even Hercules, would be able to understand them.

Otherwise, Hades would be shouting at invisible energy, as intangible as the feeling in his stomach, as voiceless as the fire that danced on his fingertips.

You couldn’t kick invisible, universal, omniscient, omnipotent power out of a house.

So he had to stand for this. Un-fucking-fortunately.

“I am sure you know the tales of us three, we the Fates who know the destinies of all. At birth, we measure each hero’s lot, and Atropos decides when death shall call. 

These decisions rarely yield-- though sometimes they can change,” Clotho’s eyes flicked to Belle. “And sometimes other forces do intervene. When such events occur, we attempt to revise… Or sometimes, we discover new destinies unseen.”

“So you can be wrong, and you miss stuff, and nothing is as set in stone as you like mortals to believe, bla bla bla, get to the bloody point,” snapped Hades. He crossed his arms.

“Do you want to attempt to communicate in verse?” snarked Clotho right on back. “Because by all means, Hades, do go first.”

Hades just glared.

“Alright then.” Clotho sniffed, then looked back to Hercules. 

“We Fates wrote no such death for your friend-- she should have been saved by your hand alone. You have a chance to rewrite her end, and through your quest, perhaps, atone. Should you accept the trials before you, then the Ambassador shall bring you and the girl--”

“I’m sorry, I’ll what--” Hades interjected, leaning forward as if he’d not heard correctly. He had.

“--to the Gates, and to the Swamps of Greed and Gluttony, deep within the Underworld.”

“You want me to waltz him into the Underworld?!” Hades exclaimed. He was ignored.

“And after you reclaim the girl’s soul, if not first drowned by the monsters there--follow the River to the Amazons. The Fountain they guard shall answer your prayer.”

“Who the hell are the Amazons? What bloody fountain? There are five rivers, also, by the way--”

Clotho gave him a withering look. “The river that circles the world. Now shut up Hades, and help save the girl.”

HERCULES: Hercules listened. He listened desperately. He didn’t take his eyes off of the woman before him. Hades ranted and raved in the background, but Hercules barely heard him. His heart was pounding hard and fast and certain in his chest. He even leaned forwards on his toes, slightly, like he was going to get a running start. That was how frantic he was. The Fates, the real, honest-to-god(s?) Fates were standing before him, telling him that he had a chance to save Georgette. That he should have already saved her.

That by getting rid of his powers, he had literally twisted her destiny and stolen it away from her.

He didn’t care how he would make Hades listen to him or come along, he would do it. There would be nothing that stopped him, now that he had the blessing of the mystical women.

Go to the Gates. Go to the Swamps. Don’t drown. Find the Amazons. Find the fountain.

Sure, yeah, that was—that was definitely doable.

Hercules wasn’t even afraid. He knew he was mortal now. He knew that he could drown or be killed as easily as anything. He knew that his fate may not to make it back out of the Underworld alive, but he didn’t care.

If Georgette got to live, he’d happily sacrifice his own life to make it so.

He didn’t have questions like Hades did, he just cared about one thing: completing this mission that he had been given. There was only one other thought in his head.

Hercules looked over his shoulder slightly, to where Hades and Belle stood. She had inched closer to her husband as the Fates had spoken and now, there was a worried line creased between her brows. She hadn’t said anything, she wasn’t stopping any of this—for that Hercules was grateful, and it meant, he had to ask—

“Hades—he’ll be alright, yeah?” His eyes drifted to Atropos, with her glinting, rusted scissors.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Such a hero, to worry so. The Ambassador will be fine. His fate is does not end here. My craft is more divine, our plan for Hades: much more dear.” Her eyes flicked to Hades and Belle and she tilted her head as she eyed them.  

Hercules nodded his head once and turned to look at Hades, standing tall. They were of a height, more or less, though beside Hercules, Hades looked even more pale, even more like a spectre himself. Hercules stepped towards him, but he looked at the woman at his side.

“I’m—sorry, Belle,” Hercules said softly.

She smiled at him and shrugged a little. “It’s his job.” Her hand came up to rest on Hades lower back as she turned her head to look at him. Hercules looked down and away for a moment, feeling ashamed of himself.

“Will you come with me, then?” he asked, glancing back to Hades. “I’ll find a way, even if you won’t.” The Fates hovered just over Hercules’ shoulder. He could feel them close, watching and waiting. He wondered what they would do if he said no.

Hercules almost wished he would. The guilt was already clawing him so deeply, he felt like he may never recover from it.

HADES: It appeared that Hades didn’t have a choice.

Appeared because, of course, Hades did have a choice. If there was anything he had learned in the past three years, it was simply this: fuck destiny. Fuck fate, fuck the Fates, fuck predetermination-- fuck all that stuff. Because Hades had believed very strongly in all those things once, and he’d quickly seen how they had unraveled. From Persephone’s death, he’d had to rebuild brand new ideas about what it meant to be the ambassador-- what it meant to hold the power that he held.

So, the Fates could snark at him all they wanted, but in the end, Hades knew he had the power to say no. He could look down at that woman’s corpse and be judge and juror. Hercules would have to live with his choices just as Hades had to live with his own. (And yes, he did think of Persephone--and how the Fates had been silent when she’d lifted the berries to her lips.)

Course Belle would kick up a fuss. They’d fight. She’d demand a reason and Hades would not have any good one because in the end-- in the end, there was the opposite of that feeling: like Georgette should be alive.

The clock was still ticking. It was not finished. But time would run out.

So Hades would “do his job” or whatever but not because of Hercules’ heartfelt plea or his destiny. He didn’t deserve any second chance, but Georgette didn’t deserve to lose her life over someone else’s mistakes. So for Georgette, Hades would take on the quest.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he said bluntly to Hercules-- because he hated egomaniacal heroes with nothing to back them up. Maybe if he’d still been immortal. “But lucky for you, I will help-- her. I’m helping her.” He looked back at the Fates. “Only one problem-- he’ll die as soon as he walks through the Gates.”

“Ah, perhaps if he were born of a more mundane blood, then the ending would be tragic,” said Clotho. “But his pedigree is strong and so--”

“Can take the magic from the boy, but not the boy from the magic,” piped up Lachesis with a grin. She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Vague and unhelpful as always, thank you,” said Hades. “So you’re saying it’s because he’s not human, he’s-- like a super strong fairy or half-troll or son of an ogre or something.”

“Something like that-- but no time for theories, you must make haste,” said Clotho and she put down her tea on the coffee table. “Georgette’s soul sinks deeper, there’s no time to waste.”

“Yeah, alright, we’re going,” said Hades. He sighed deeply then looked down at Belle. For her, he summoned a small, tired smile. “I’m sure I won’t be gone long. I’ll text you updates.” He leaned down and gently pressed a kiss to her temple.