Archive of Our Own ^beta

Pythagoras coughed, his whole body shaking with the effort, and the sound of it made Jason grimace. It was the fourth night of sickness, and Pythagoras was showing little sign of improvement. He lay on his small bed, shivering under the blanket even in the warm night air.

“Here, drink.” He knelt by the bed and held the skin of water up to Pythagoras’s lips. The man drank slowly, careful not to choke. Jason wiped away the small droplets which slid down his chin. Pythagoras groaned.

“You shouldn’t stay. You should—” he coughed again, a guttural hack which seized his skinny body. “You should go. Before you fall ill, too.”

Jason shook his head.

Pythagoras looked at him in the dim candlelight, his eyes just barely open. He did not know what to make of Jason half the time. In the beginning the man had been a complete stranger, falling into his life like a bird from the sky, completely helpless. It had been that helplessness that had drawn Pythagoras in at first. Here was someone who needed his help—someone who had no one, someone who could depend upon him and Hercules. 

And now, so many months into knowing Jason, it was as if the roles had been reversed sometimes. He found himself reaching for Jason not only in the direst of moments but also in the easiest of times, when death did not await just around the corner. Although at present, the situation felt a bit dire.

“Could you lay with me, then?”

Jason was quick to comply. He fit himself onto the tiny bed as best he could, until Pythagroas could rest comfortably with his head on his chest. Their legs tangled underneath the covers. Pythagoras tried to sleep, but found himself staring up at Jason’s face instead. He was not sleeping, either, but staring up at the ceiling, candlelight dancing in his eyes.

“What are you thinking about?”

Jason was silent for a moment. He touched Pythagoras’s head, slipping his fingers through blond hair.

“In my homeland . . . there are physicians who could cure you. Easily. I wish I knew more of their skills.”

Pythagoras studied him.

“You speak of your home so rarely. Why?”

“I don’t know if I can ever return. It’s . . . it’s a very long way back. I try not to dwell on it.”

Another cough wracked Pythagoras’s body. It took several minutes for him to calm down. Jason’s arm felt nice where it had snaked around his waist, holding him so securely, lightly rubbing over his back. He breathed deeply.

“Was it a nice place?”

Jason hummed. “Yes, and no. It was different. Life was easy. But . . .”

Pythagoras looked towards his eyes again, and found that Jason was looking back at him. He felt quite important under that gaze, and he was unsure if he deserved it. “But what?”

“But I always felt different. As if it wasn’t truly where I belonged.”

Pythagoras nodded. He understood. It was how he’d felt his whole life, after leaving his home, after killing his father . . . he’d never felt himself a part of anything. Meeting Hercules had helped  . . . and then, of course, there was Jason. Not enough could be said about him. He felt like Pythagoras’s only purpose, some days. 

“And have you had better luck? In Atlantis?”

Jason’s gaze softened, until Pythagoras felt his cheeks heating. He knew it was not from the illness. 

“I have good reason to believe my destiny lies in Atlantis.”

Words like destiny had been coming up more and more since Jason’s arrival. It was something Pythagoras hadn’t thought much of before, the idea of his life being predetermined. But Jason made him believe in things like that. It was like he could almost feel the power of the God’s whenever he got close enough to the man—laying like this, bodies entangled, he knew it was certain. But just what exactly the God’s had planned for little old Pythagoras, he could not imagine. But oh, how he wished it was to always be near Jason.

“I hope it does. I hope you never have to leave.” He might blame the illness for his loose tongue, later, but just then, he did not care how foolish he sounded. He clutched at Jason’s tunic. He felt almost delirious with his need for him. “Say you’ll stay, yeah? You won’t leave me?”

Jason held him tighter. “I’m not going to leave you, Pythagoras. I could never. No matter what destiny says, you’re a part of my life. The very best part of it. It’s as if everything that's happened to me was leading me to you. From the very beginning.” He brought his hand to Pythagoras’s cheek, cupping it gently. “Sometimes, Gods, sometimes it feels like you are my destiny. Just you.” 

Pythagoras prayed for that to be the truth. He prayed with all his might.

"Now I want you to get better, Pyth. I'll make you better. Whatever it takes."

“Just hold me, please. I’ll get better if you just hold me.” He knew that he would. Because it was Jason. Of course he would.

They slept, then, holding onto each other tightly, as if both were afraid of losing the other in their sleep.