#persephone!john

He had to have been running for miles, he could see nothing farther than a couple steps, not that he imagined anything would look familiar. Whatever power was at play here was making sure he was lost, not able to orient himself in any way.

John stumbled down the small decline he could feel beneath his feet, small stones protruding from the ground scratching his bare legs. He hissed through the pain, catching himself against a tree, bark smeared with the ichor seeping out of the cuts in his skin. He tried summoning again, hoping to feel the familiar warmth beneath his palm.

Nothing, he felt nothing. Persephone had no idea how this was possible, it should not be. Demeter’s son not able to feel anything from a living plant, it sounded ludicrous to his own mind and fear gripped his heart even tighter. What could be interfering with powers granted by Olympian lineage?

A crack sounded in the distance, a long screeching whistle, terrifying guttural noises that were looking for him. A lance of pain shot through his temples, they were closing in, John could feel it. He could feel it like any other prey would. His nostrils flared, trying to feed him more oxygen, trying to fight the terror telling him to freeze, telling him that everything was useless, that he was prey and he was done for. 

Persephone tried, he tried one last time, pushing sweat sodden hair away from his eyes, his usually delightfully chestnut ringlets now a mess of dark tangles and dirt. He had to try, he had to try to fight the hurt. But gods, it hurt, father, it hurt. He cursed the deep gash on his leg, burning like all seven hells, it jolted pain throughout his entire frame. Pain. Pain. Pain.

He felt whatever was hunting him, closing in from all directions. He knew he had to try, he knew he had to get away. But damn, knowing it did nothing to make it come true. There was nowhere to run to.

His pulse throbbed in his ears, deafening the sounds that could have helped him locate an escape route. John kept on trudging, following the small rocky mound he had been leaning against, moving towards what looked like an opening not far ahead. A cave? Shelter? 

He could feel nothing threatening inside. But again, he could feel nothing. His powers were silent once again as he tried calling them for help. He begged, he despaired, he leaned against the entrance and he begged. For what not even he could have told you.

Nothing answered, nothing rose, just the terrifying taste of ichor in his mouth, dripping from the wounds on his face. Pain. Pain. Pain. He should not have stopped. It hurt so damn much. His face hurt, his chest hurt and his right leg was an entire mass of pain. He risked a glance at it and that was that. So much ichor stained his shredded meat and through all that godly ichor, he could see the white bone.

Stupid John, stupid stupid John. That's what they always said of you, wasn't it? Demeter's delicate flower son. All beauty and spring. You walked on your father's path, never straying too far, lest you lost yourself.

Well, Demeter’s son lost. Himself and the fight. Drained of every drop of energy and powers, alone and hurt in the darkness. The last bit of consciousness left his body. Without any grace, the godling of spring and nature fell. He fell into the mud at the entrance of a grotto with marked stones at its entrance.

The beastly sounds only drew closer.

In the cruel and violent darkness, with no help in sight.

Still, no target seemed to be within reach, nothing was in sight but the dark bushes, Selene’s light bathing the greenery in their silver glares. And yet, a brow twitching with nervous energy, John could feel something looking at him with the same translucent glare as the moon. Someone who’s eyes manifested just a moment before their body materialized out of shadows and wisps of a spring night mist.

Well, one should be worried about the fact that every bit of defensiveness left John’s body as soon as the Master of the Underworld appeared next to a cypress tree. And yet, as natural as the breathing that came back to him, John’s frame relinquished every line of tension. The bramble enveloping his upper right torso receded to rest back into the godling’s skin, in a manner not so different from the way lynxes would sheath claws back into their paws.

Hades fixed his sight on a thorn, closing itself right under one of Persephone’s ears, the action disturbing a ringlet of brown curls that settled back as if moved by a light whiff of night air and not by a lethal spike hiding under fair skin. A sense of pride Gale did not bother to scrutinize too up close swelled into his chest, would you look at that.

John’s voice brought his attention back to the godling, a challenging expression on his face, “Others should be careful to thread so suddenly near me in dark forests.”

Gale acknowledged the words with a nod and a slow showing of teeth that very few would have dreamed, let alone dared, calling a smile, “Others definitely should,” he vaguely conceded in his low voice.

A scoffed laugh, “It is good to see you again,” an earnest tone in John’s words, “It has been on my mind, to thank you for your help.”

The Ruler of the Underworld regarded him for a moment, before moving towards the younger deity with elegant strides and passing him by, “Your offerings have been received but there was no need for their plenitude,” he knelt next to the cooling body of the dead animal, quickly picking a cherry from the bramble bushes surrounding it and making sure a soul was on its right path, “Shouldn’t you be focusing on the oncoming grain season? Farmers will need that to be plentiful.” 

Demeter’s wildest followed him, a confused expression but a mirthful smile, “Offerings?” he asked motioning for the scene in front of him, “These are not offerings to the King Below,” he was now kneeling next to the much, much older deity, “Honestly, I didn’t even realize I was doing it, I was just out walking one night,” Gale observed the other’s face up close now, you could see lines of unrest around his eyes. A slight asymmetry in the features under his right eye the only apparent trace of what he had experienced. Gale wondered if these nightly walks had been a habit before and from the faraway look in the younger’s eyes was reasonably sure hadn’t been.

“When I noticed what I’d done, I just thought you would have liked it,” John murmured, “so I kept doing it,” he picked a cherry from the same branch and slipping it between his lips, concluded “It’s a good way to practice with my powers too,  they’re coming back with some novelty in them I think.”

If the godling had been paying a bit more attention to his companion then he might have noticed the sharp intake of breath, the delicate brows raised over unbelieving eternal eyes and the way Gale’s usually marble-like countenance had a storm of emotions painted all over, much like colors on a statue. 

“Not to mention that dear old Demeter might just cover the fields from here to the Aegean out of sheer joy for my prodigal return,” he added absentmindedly, getting back on his feet and looking at the boar piglet now resting in his arms, “Still, I have a feeling us wild ones will enjoy this season.”

The immortal Master of the Underworld did not have to shake himself back up to gather back a semblance of composure, just as it did not take him several moments before realizing he and the godling had started wandering the forest. John talking, cradling and shushing the small animal when it fussed while Gale reached and waved his hands guiding souls to him and away to his realm.

If small flower beds of blossoms sprouted where the souls had laid within their original bodies, well, no one would have dared mouth a word about it, the woods shielding the godling with affection and a mercurial wind making the words exchanged between the two as incomprehensible to an outsider’s ear as the Zephyr.

It took until rose fingered dawn started showing for the two to stop, sitting on a ridge, admiring the view of Eos’ painting the sky, Nyx’s slow and elegant retreat and Apollo’s impatience.

They had walked for hours, Gale’s hood was now resting on his shoulders, dawn’s rays shining on his golden hair as his sight settled on the scene in front of him: John leaning back on his elbows, playing with the shoat, making it run after marigold blossoms he summoned with flicks of his fingers. The happy squeals brought smiles upon John's face, visibly much more relaxed then it had been when Gale had first appeared. 

It was with a regret tinged voice that he broke the silence, “I have to go now,” he paused registering John’s sorrowful face with inner, and not too closely looked upon, delight. John kept swirling marigold petals around the shoat as he spoke, “I imagine it would be pointless for one to ask when they would be seeing The Unseen One again.”

Gale chuckled despite himself, it had been happening all night, John’s words bringing unusually charmed reactions out of him. Assured by this response, John continued, “I do not mean to assume, but you know, it’s not as if I can show up out of darkness and into your realms.” 

Oh, Gale thought mischievously, Thanatos would just self implode if that were to happen.

“I’ll be back,” the words were out of his mouth before he could consciously stop himself from pronouncing them, a gorgeous smile from John was his reward, “In the meantime take care of this terror,” the small boar was now running into the hem of Gale’s robes with no trace of his earlier wariness with the greater underworld deity, “I would not care to see his flowery appearance down under.”

John regarded him with a confused look but Gale had already started walking back into the forest and with a promise laced voice bade him farewell, “Go rest, Wild of the Earth, I’ll be seeing you.” 

John feared the shivers running down his spine had absolutely no dealings with the fresh morning breeze swirling his chiton, he tilted his head back, staring at the rapidly brightening sky, and willed himself back home.