Disclaimer: Y'all, I do not ship every ship in here. I just added scenes where the writers were very baity or made jokes at the expense of queer/sexuality or teased queerness, so sorry for the Sam/Dean scenes.

***

Really, it was incredible that Jason stayed on his feet as long as he did. He’d made it considerably further than ten paces. Try a few thousand, and a couple of fights. By rights, he should’ve collapsed the second their victory was assured, yet still he soldiered on through the night.

Pythagoras rather longed for rest himself, but had opted to stay by Jason’s side, looking on in fond exasperation; anticipating the moment his friend’s feet could no longer carry him.

Surprisingly, that moment did not come until the next morning, when Jason emerged from the palace. His last visit for the day, or so he promised; he had wished to check on Ariadne, make sure she was coping in the aftermath of the fierce, bloody war, the first of her reign. The aftermath Jason himself had ill-advisedly spent the better part of the night helping to clean up, forgoing his own rest to trawl the city; aiding the wounded, counting the dead. Despite the hard and harrowing work of the night, Pythagoras expected to see relief on Jason’s face upon returning from his queen, happiness, perhaps concern for her wellbeing but ultimately gratification that she had made it through the battle unscathed, happy that he could spend a few minutes with her in the following quiet.

Instead, when Jason locked eyes with Pythagoras on the grand stone steps, his jaw was set tightly and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. It was startling enough that Pythagoras almost didn’t notice when Jason’s tired feet finally made a misstep. 

Pythagoras barely swooped in time, catching Jason under the arms as his foot slipped from under him, holding his exhausted friend close to his own chest before he could collapse and split his head open on the unyielding stone. What a tragically anticlimactic ending to his war efforts that could have been!

“Jason!” he breathed, awkwardly shifting the near dead weight of Jason’s boneless body in his arms. “Gods, are you alright?”

Jason made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, head lolling into the crook of Pythagoras’ neck. His hot breath ghosting across Pythagoras’ skin was nearly enough to elicit a shiver.

Sighing, Pythagoras tightened his hold. “Right. No more arguments- bedtime. Come on, one foot in front of the other, off we go.”

The first stretch of the journey was the most fraught with peril; persuading Jason’s unsteady feet to negotiate the steps was no easy task. Fortunately, once the ground flattened out into the plaza, it became far easier to half walk, half drag Jason by his side. It would have been easier still with Hercules to prop up his other side, but he’d disappeared some time ago, claiming he had something to do. Inquiries to make. Pythagoras had been a little too busy monitoring the droop of Jason’s eyelids to pry further.

It took easily three times longer than usual to reach home, but reach it they did. Pythagoras almost sagged in relief himself when he found the front door to their building had escaped the skirmish relatively undamaged. Their space, too, seemed in order, although he supposed anyone who might’ve thought to hide in or loot it while the battle raged wouldn’t have found much worth stealing. He was just grateful it hadn’t fallen to flames.

Jason didn’t fight when he was herded towards the beds, Pythagoras offering  his own cot because it was closest. Jason did not complain, or even chivalrously argue that he couldn’t possibly take Pythagoras’ bed from him, and that was when he really started to worry.

“Stay awake a moment longer,  Jason,” Pythagoras muttered, stroking a loose lock of curly hair back from Jason’s sweat-slicked forehead. Still so soft, even under the accumulated grime of adventure. “You should drink some water.”

He received no answer but an unintelligible mumble. Pythagoras hurried to inspect the clay jug, and found to his relief that there was some water inside. He risked a taste; fresh, somewhat. Hercules must have stopped off at home before embarking on his mysterious errand. Pythagoras wasn’t going to question it, there were more pressing things to worry about. He poured a cup and rushed it back to Jason, setting it down on the floor a moment while he sat on the edge of the cot and slid his arm behind Jason’s back.

“Come on,” he said, gently but firmly guiding him to sit. “Drink up.”

Jason was clearly halfway unconscious already. But at Pythagoras’ prompting he managed to clumsily take hold of the cup in both hands and sip from it. Content that Jason could handle that much at least, Pythagoras left him to it and began carefully unbuckling his leather cuirass; if Jason fell asleep in it he’d wake up unbearably hot, probably with some back ache and interesting pink impressions in his skin to boot.

“I ought to check your wound again, as well,” said Pythagoras, absently rubbing at the knots of tension in Jason’s shoulders as he carefully pried away the armour. “You’ve done a staggeringly irresponsible amount of walking on it. Does it hurt?”

Jason managed a barely perceptible shake of his head. “Can’ really feel i’...”

“Well, that’s not excellent, either. Finish your water.”

Obediently throwing back the last few drops, Jason unceremoniously dropped the empty cup on the covers, dry lips smacking. He’d need some more, a lot more. Pythagoras would go and collect some while he slept. That would probably be best. If he was sleeping, it might make the next part easier, too.

“Lie down now, Jason,” Pythagoras murmured, throwing the armour aside and guiding his friend back down to the pillows.  “Sleep, if you can; but this might hurt a little bit. I’ll have to make sure your wound isn’t infected.”

“It’s fine.”

“Well, you won’t be saying that if I have to lop the whole leg off at the hip.”

Jason snorted sleepily. “True…”

That little snort was about the most reassuring sound Pythagoras had heard all day. Even accounting for exhaustion, it wasn’t like Jason to remain silent for so long. With that and the tears in his eyes as the palace steps, it was impossible to tell what was going on in his head. The tiniest glimpse of his usual good humour nearly had Pythagoras jumping for joy.

Collecting up what he thought he might need as quickly as possible- leaves and poultices, bandages, a needle and thread should the wound be in need of stitching- Pythagoras was back at Jason’s side in two shakes of a goat’s tail. He hesitated when he realised he’d have to take off or cut away Jason’s trousers to see the wound properly, but he brushed it off quickly. Jason would not expect him to put propriety over necessary medical care. Besides, it’s not like he hadn’t seen it all before; there was, after all, the memorable kynikoi incident…

He compromised by pulling the garment away and swiftly covering Jason’s lap with the bedsheet, offering a modicum of privacy. He had no desire to sneak a glance without the full and enthusiastic consent of the owner, anyway. Maybe one day, when Jason figured out if that was something he wanted. Pythagoras’ suspicions pointed to yes, but it seemed like a discovery that ought to be made on Jason’s own terms. 

Tossing the distracting thought aside- along with Jason’s bloodied trousers that he’d look into salvaging later when there were less pressing matters to attend to- Pythagoras set to the wound itself, untying his previous hasty dressing attempts with trepidation. To his relief, the wound had not sprung open or bled extensively, despite the strain. He must have done a better job staunching the flow than he’d thought. Currently no outward sign of infection, either. Little to do but clean and re-dress it, easy peasy.

The difficult part would be persuading Jason to stay off the leg for a few days to give it a chance to heal, but they’d cross that bridge when they got to it. They’d find a way; Pythagoras would strap him to this very bed if necessary.

...Hm. Now there was an idea…

“P’thagoras…”

Hastily shelving that thought, along with a plethora of similarly inappropriate musings, Pythagoras looked at Jason’s face. “You really should sleep,” he said, briefly breaking from his work to tuck a strand of hair behind Jason’s ear.

Jason’s head lolled on the pillow, coming to face Pythagoras more directly. His hand, heavy with exhaustion, clumsily caught Pythagoras’, trapping it against his face. “Pythagoras,” he said again, barely above a tired whisper.

“Yes, Jason? Is everything alright?”

“Are you?”

A slow smile spread across Pythagoras’ face. Darling, brave Jason; always worrying about others before himself. “I’m perfectly alright, Jason. Looking forward to sleeping off the last few days. Something to eat would be a fine thing, too. Hopefully Hercules’ little excursion involves fetching us some food; if he comes back with wine again I think I’m within my rights to throw him out the window.”

Jason’s weak laugh was music to his ears. “I’ll help you.”

“You will not,” said Pythagoras sternly, returning to his work in earnest. “You’re taking a few days off, Jason. That means no running around after stolen artifacts, no sword fighting, and certainly no throwing men out of windows.”

Pythagoras didn’t need to look up to know Jason was shaking his head against the pillow. “There’s still much to be done. I must help in any way I can, Atlantis won’t recover from this attack overnight.”

“No, it won’t- so there’ll be plenty for you to help with in a few days once you’ve rested, won’t there?”

Jason huffed, but visibly deflated. Either he was too tired to push, or he could sense that on this occasion Pythagoras would not be taking ‘no’ for an answer. “Ariadne needs help,” he attempted, voice barely pitched above a whisper. Pythagoras couldn’t help but notice her name didn’t carry any of the usual sweet reverence it usually did on Jason’s lips. Just a quiet sadness, a resignation of sorts.

“She’s the queen,” Pythagoras gently rebuked, with one last disinfecting pass over Jason’s wound before he started unwinding a length of bandage. “People will be falling over themselves to help her. She can live without her handsome hero for a few days, I’m sure.”

With his hand pressed to Jason’s thigh to hold the bandage taut, he could feel the tension that overtook his body. Pythagoras chanced a glance at his face, and saw once again the subdued sparkle of tears waiting to fall. “Jason?”

As quickly as the tension set in it fled again, exhaled from Jason’s weary body on a wearier sigh. He turned those eyes on Pythagoras, and he looked so very, very tired but Pythagoras knew, somehow, that he would not sleep until he said the words waiting on his tongue.

“Pythagoras,” Jason mumbled. “Have you ever…”

“Have I ever… what?”

“Have you ever… been in love?”

Pythagoras’ heart ached for him, in that moment. For a variety of reasons. “Yes, I have.” I still am, he didn’t say, though he imagined it was written across his face for anyone to see. Anyone with a tad more awareness than Jason, that is. How dreadfully ironic.

Jason chewed his chapped lip, hand flopping over his chest to fiddle with his beloved necklace. “Is it supposed to hurt?”

Pythagoras could feel tears of his own prickling his eyes. “I suppose it can. And it does. But no, I don’t believe it’s supposed to. Jason… what happened in the palace today?”

Sighing, Jason closed his eyes. “Ariadne. She told me she… that we can never be together. Not even now, with no Minos or Pasiphae to tell her what to do.”

“I’m sure she has her reasons,” said Pythagoras gently.

“I know she does, I just…” Jason’s brow furrowed, frustration mingling with exhaustion on his face. “I just don’t understand them. I wish I did. She says she could never marry someone not of royal blood, but what does it matter? Why should that dictate our fates?”

“She’s a queen, now; her duties must come before matters of the heart, I’m afraid.”

“It isn’t fair.”

Pythagoras sighed. “You’re right, it isn’t. But it’s reality. Ariadne carries this entire kingdom on her shoulders, now. Alone. She will have adversity enough to face even if she does toe the line of tradition; she must hold onto control where she can find it.”

“I suppose…”

Pinning the bandage in place, Pythagoras pulled the sheets to cover Jason more completely. “Jason… can I ask you a question?”

“‘Course.”

“It’ll probably sound rude.”

Jason huffed out a feeble laugh. “That’s never stopped you before.”

With a small, sad smile, Pythagoras laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “How do you… know? That Ariadne is your love?”

Jason blinked, uncomprehending. “What do you mean?”

“How do you know that you love her? No, let’s put it a different way; tell me what you love about her.” He hadn’t wanted to be so blunt about it, or to rush Jason into this line of thinking. He was rather hoping this was a question Jason would find his own way to at some point, in his own time. But Pythagoras had no way of knowing how long that might be, and to sit here and watch Jason break his own heart was unbearable.

“She’s beautiful,” said Jason without hesitation, eyes cast to the ceiling as he considered. “And intelligent. Kind. She’s one of the most incredible women I’ve ever met.”

“Is that all?”

Jason stared at him. “Well… what else is there?”

“How does she make you feel? When you talk, or touch, or kiss?”

“It feels… nice.”

Pythagoras waited a moment, to see if he would elaborate. He did not, which was either deliberate obscurement of his true feelings or a telling lack of opinion. Shrugging, Pythagoras smoothed down Jason’s shirt. “Would you tell her things you tell myself or Hercules? Would you tell her more? Or are there things you would be embarrassed to share?”

“Perhaps. But everyone’s embarrassed of something.”

“True. Everyone carries something they would never tell a soul. But I think when you love someone, truly love someone, it’s… it’s like the pressure to be someone you’re not is lifted. The pressure to put your best self forward at all times.”

Jason, despite blinking back tears and tiredness, was clearly listening to him raptly. “D’you think?”

“Yes. I believe so. Perhaps not for all types of love- for there are many types, I’m sure of that. The love between a mother and son, for example, is different to a love between friends, which is different again to love between romantic partners, although they may bear many similarities.”

“Philia,” Jason mumbled, fidgeting in place. “Eros.”

Pythagoras blinked. “Pardon?”

“I remember. Sort of. Seven types of love. Someone told me a bout it once.” He giggled quietly, and Pythagoras wondered if his exhaustion was morphing into outright delirium. “Maybe you lot haven’t made it up yet. S’not the only thing.”

Pythagoras raised his eyebrow. “Your life before Atlantis continues to intrigue and bewilder me, Jason. Alright, go on- what are the types of love, as you understand them?”

“Um… Philia, that’s the friend one. Storge is the family one. There’s the selfless one, the one that’s spelled like ‘agape’. Ugh, there’s, there’s a lot of names I can’t remember now but there’s the flirty one, and the self love, and the practical one that isn’t very romantic but… but I suppose is the one Ariadne will be looking for.”

“And what about the other one you said,” Pythagoras prompted, gently steering Jason away from that upsetting line of thought. “Eros, describe that one to me.”

Jason, rather prettily, blushed. “That’s the, y’know. R’mantic one.” He giggled again. “The sexy one.”

Pythagoras could have guessed that from the word, in truth, but he didn’t regret making Jason say it. “Right. There you go, very comprehensive. Which is your favourite?”

“Which is yours?”

Pythagoras considered it. “Well. I’m sure we’d all like a little more Eros in our lives. But my friendships… they define me. I cannot imagine where I would be without them. My love for my friends, for Hercules-” he lightly prodded Jason’s chest- “for you. It gives me purpose. Makes me stronger. I suppose, in that sense, I connect most strongly with Philia. But not exclusively. I wouldn’t be adverse to other forms of love in my life, or to the ones I have… shifting.”

Jason, though clearly alert to the conversation at hand, looked wearier by the minute. “If there truly are so many types of love under the sun, how do you ever choose which is… it?”

“Does there have to be just one?”

“I suppose not, but… where do you draw the line, between one and another? How do you know which relationships to… pursue?”

Pythagoras smiled sadly. “I don’t know. But I imagine it’s a bit like breaking new ground in mathematics; you can make all the predictions you want, but sometimes it just comes down to trial and error.”

Jason snorted. “Great.”

Sighing again, Pythagoras smoothed Jason’s rumpled hair. He was aware that he was touching it a lot, far more than usual, but Jason didn’t seem to mind, and there was something grounding about burying his fingers in those appealing curls. “I don’t want to tell you what you do or do not feel, Jason. I can guess all I want, but in the end your feelings are your own. I suppose I just wanted to help you find… perspective. Consider her, please. Think on what you feel for her, how far it scratches the surface; perhaps you truly do love her, in fact, I’m certain you do.  The question is how you love her. If you figure that out… well, perhaps you will find this setback is not the end of the world as you know it.”

“Is that what you did?” asked Jason, eyes fluttering closed under Pythagoras’ attentions. “When you were in love?”

Safe from his searching eyes, Pythagoras smiled. “Oh, yes. I know exactly how I love them.”

He didn’t use the past tense as Jason had, but the man was clearly too out of it now to notice or point it out. “How d’you know, then,” he mumbled, turning Pythagoras’ question back on him. “That they’re your love?”

“Some of the same reasons you do,” said Pythagoras softly, eyes memorising the soft planes of Jason’s handsome face. “They’re beautiful, and kind- kindest I’ve ever met. I doubt I’ll ever meet another with a heart so strong and pure. I admire them; their strength, their skill, their boundless courage. And…”

“And…?”

Jason’s voice was barely a mumble now, and Pythagoras could see the slow of his breathing. He’d drift off any second now, finally to rest after long, long days of trying too hard, working himself to the bone, for everyone’s sake but his own.

Pythagoras breathed out slowly, hand cupping Jason’s cheek. He didn’t seem to notice, or mind. “And they’re one of my best friends. I trust them with my secrets, and my life. I trust them to love me, too; even when I go on on tangents about triangles.” He snorted. “No pun intended. They’re… they’re patient, and loving. Being near them makes me feel safe but also brave, makes me take risks I never would have dared to face alone. Being with them gives me new purpose, a new outlook, makes the world seem so much bigger, so full of promise. And I can see in their eyes that they care for me, as I do them, even if they haven’t quite realised it yet. But that’s alright. I can wait. As long as it takes, I’ll wait.”

Jason’s breaths came soft and even, his mouth slightly open. Peaceful, at last. Pythagoras held him a moment longer, committing this moment of confession to memory.

“Some people are worth waiting for,”  he whispered.

There was really no way of knowing how much he’d heard, or how much he’d remember when he woke. But that was alright, too. Jason didn’t need Pythagoras to spell it out for him; he’d find his own way there, eventually. Of that, he was certain.

Smiling softly, Pythagoras disentangled his hand from Jason’s hair and stood, gathering up his herbs and supplies to put away. He put them down again almost immediately, choosing instead to concentrate on pulling the sheet from Hercules’ bed and laying that on top of Jason as well; carefully arranging it to cover his vulnerable skin, tucking it beneath him, safely cocooning him from the outside. It felt like such a small, silly thing. But if Jason could protect the whole of Atlantis from ruin, protect his friends from certain supernatural death time and again, protect the entire world because helping others was all he knew, then Pythagoras could at least protect him while he recovered his strength. He could, and he would, for as long as Jason needed.

He hesitated at Jason’s bedside. There was much to be done; put away his tools and tinctures, go in search of water, of food, of Hercules if he didn’t come staggering back of his own volition. But he spared another moment to just watch Jason’s sleeping face, smoothed out and slack, betraying none of his confusion or heartache.

And then- because he was feeling bold, and exhilarated, and acutely aware of how many times they had nearly lost each other in the last day alone- he bent down, pushed Jason’s hair back one last time, and dropped a soft, dry kiss to his forehead.

Take all the time you need, he said silently, granting patience and understanding with his kiss. To recover. To contemplate. To love me back, if you like. 

“Sweet dreams, my love,” he dared to say out loud, a small, wry smile on his lips. “My hero.”

***