you weren't so bad, this time.

Wind wildly whipped the sand around, the weather harsh and hot even as the sun had begun to fall in the sky. The light bathed everything in a yellow, almost orange glow – Scenic, almost majestic against the mountains and pyramids that surrounded them, sand sprawling for miles.

Save for the explosions happening nearby. It did ruin the vibe just a bit.

But that’s not what he was here for. 

He didn’t feel the need to explain himself further. Why?

Because you already know what he’s here for.

“Do you remember that beach we used to go to?”

He could remember it clearly, surprisingly.

The way the wind whipped the sand around, getting the tiny annoying little grains into the gaps between his metal skin, burying themselves into his joints. It was much like now, the feeling uncomfortable, fully immersing him in his memories. Unlike now though, there were waves, a full sea of briny deep blue topped with white foam. Boats sailed in the distance, some small and others not, as the waves gently lapped against the darkening sands. 

Normally, there would be people here, families that were splashing about the shallows or young adults surfing on the waves. But there was none of that here now. He had cleared it out, just for the occasion. A nice, peaceful, scenic beach view, just for him.

“Dad, look!”

…And the child he had brought along.

“You couldn’t get enough of the feeling of sand on your feet, and the way you just stared at the sailboats…”

The boy had run a few feet ahead of him, sunlight bathing him in a bright glow. He was barefoot on the warm sand, laughing now – Though Apollo knew that he would be complaining later when they got home, squirming to get the sand out of his nooks and crannies. It was just how he was, despite his love for it. He was quick to love, and just as quick to regret later on.

Apollo watched as he twisted to face him, disturbing the sands as he stretched an arm out toward the waters. His gaze followed where his hand pointed, ignoring the glare of the sun that reflected off his skin, eventually landing on an object in the distance.

It was a boat, a little closer to the shore compared to others. The vaguest shapes that could be mistaken for something humanoid seemed to move about the surface of it, tiny little specs that he didn’t bother trying to differentiate. The ship at least was something he recognized. It was branded with his fleet’s logo, after all.

His gaze fell back onto the child, who was beaming at him. With the air of confidence only one as young and as idealistic as himself, he declared, “I’ll be on one of those one day! I’ll be piloting a whole ship, all on my own! Just like you!”

Apollo hummed. Wrong type of ship. The right type of enthusiasm, he supposed. “…I’m sure you will.”

The child grinned, turning and running closer to the water. He had half a mind to call out, tell him to come back over, remind him again of the corrosion and rust it would cause if not handled properly.

But he didn’t. The boy was old enough to handle himself now. And if he wasn’t, he’d just deal with it later on.

“…I know you can’t really hear me, with this whole ‘being dead’ thing and all, but… I really want you to know. I–

“–love you dad!”

Little arms wrapped around him, squeezing around his leg, an excited little force that buried its face away from him. It was heavy, warm, almost uncomfortably so as it continued to cling. The noise around them seemed to pause, soften, narrowing down as he slowly tilted his head to look down at the child clinging to him.

He can’t remember why this had happened, what events led up to this, but he could remember this moment in almost perfect, discomforting detail. He remembered how the air around them seemed to still, how the waves receded almost quietly. He remembered searching for something, anything, as he was held.

…It felt as though everything was waiting for his response.

The waves roared as they slammed into the sand behind him, flinging wet clumps of grain onto his shoes and legs. His voice almost drowned beneath the sound as he responded, “I–

“–really hate you.”

Apollo pushed the kid’s head down, ruffling his head as he responded. He could barely hear the words come out of his speakers, feeling unfamiliar and strange despite having said it before. He could feel him squirm under his hand, beaming brightly even after he released him.

“Love you,” the boy said again, tone almost singsongy, leaving an uncomfortable little bubble sitting in his chest. The kid was unaware of what he’d done, as he ran off into the water once more, laughing. The surface broke as he jumped in, splashing up onto him as he kicked it up. He seemed thrilled with it, reaching his hands into the water before pulling up clumps of wet sand, tossing it further into the sea or above his head.

He looked like he was having fun. He looked happy.

Apollo watched him, letting his hand drop to his side. Wind gently blew his antennas back, causing them to sway. His screen dimmed, vision darkening as he ‘closed’ his eyes. He waited a moment, his chest slowly rising as a gull cried out in the distance and the child kept laughing.

…Nothing.

He exhaled, screen flickering to life. Sighing, he went to sit down on the towel.

He’s not sure what he was expecting with that.

“I even hate the way you died.”

It had happened so suddenly.

One moment, the child was in view, still splashing in the surf, his laugh clear as day. He had even waved, making sure that Apollo could see him. Then a wave had risen, growing tall, much too far for either of them to see. The next moment after, he was gone – The wave had washed over him, crashing into the sands once it had finished.

Apollo stared, slowly processing what he had just witnessed. A tight feeling squeezed his chest, freezing him in place as he hesitated to rise from his place in the shade. He watched, waiting to see if he would surface the waves, searching the ocean for a sign.

…

There.

A loud splash cut through the silence, a head popping up and gasping for air. It looked as though the wave had dragged him into deeper water, given how much he was struggling. He had never really been good at swimming, Apollo recalled, at least not in water that deep and far from shore.

He should have run towards him. He should have rushed into the waters, panicked and worried, trying to help the kid out. He knew he needed it. He knew he was supposed to.

…But he didn’t.

Instead, he kept watching as he was, waiting. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he was curious – Did the boy really need help? Or could he do it himself? He was fighting remarkably well, almost surprisingly so by Apollo’s standards. There was panic, yes, but also determination, drive. A will that burned bright. 

How strong was that will though, in the face of adversity? Would he allow himself to sink or finally learn to swim?

…

The boy went under the water again. He continued to wait but, after a few moments, he simply didn’t come back up.

Apollo sighed, tension leaving him as he finally got to his feet.

“They told me you had so much grit, and I come back to this boring waste of a planet, a small, tiny speck of a planet–”

He had been upset, he recalled. Or maybe it was more a thought, a vague feeling.

Apollo had marched into the waters, ignoring the cold shock that flooded his systems, blindly searching for the flailing boy. He found him eventually, pulling the now crying child from the waters, and held him, even as he became soaked from the sea and tears. He had walked back onto the beach, both of them dripping, feeling small hands clutch at his clothes–

–and then he had dumped the kid onto the sands and he had scolded him.

…Even if he hadn’t actually been upset, he had sounded and acted like he was. He knew based on the child’s reaction – How he flinched back hearing his voice, how he shrunk in on himself, making himself small. He had been trembling, gripping the hem of his soaked shirt, head bowed. Quiet, save for some sniffling, obviously holding back tears.

Pathetic.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, trying to keep himself from sobbing. “I didn’t– I just– I was trying, and it was too strong, an-and I was scared–”

Apollo should have felt bad. He should have felt horrible, for making this little boy cry, for making him hold back his tears for fear of his anger.

Maybe, he almost did. For just a small, tiny moment, he had felt guilty for making him cry.

But then that moment was gone.

“And you couldn’t even reclaim this.” 

Eventually, he cut the boy off and sighed.

He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t upset, wasn’t guilty, wasn’t annoyed, wasn’t sad. He was just… tired. Though, numb might have been the better term, as he reflected on it now. Maybe hollow.

Apollo looked at this sniffling little kid, this boy that was supposed to be his son. He looked at him, and waited. Waited to feel any slightest little hint of emotion, waited to feel what he was supposed to feel for him, waited to feel anything. 

He wanted to feel something.

…

But he just felt nothing.

“I wish I could say that you meant anything… but you barely mean anything as a son.”

“We’re going home now, Junior.”

Expecting the boy to follow, he turned–