𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [Jason Grace]

28

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫, he was plagued by nightmares almost every night. Later he found it out to be typical demigod stuff. A few monsters lurking closeby, a random dream about girls with fire hair (he actually had met an empousa who tried to seduce him. But with a bored "I'm gay." he stabbed her).

Dorian would creep into his bed because they shared the room and tell Dante about stories from his dreams. Dorian's dreams weren't scary. They were stories and flashes. They were warnings, but vivid ones that he always related to Dante.

He would tell Dante about heroes he read in stories. He'd narrate the story of Hercules with vigor, doing voices for all the characters. He told Dante about all the great heroes, Achilles, Theseus, Odysseus, Bellerophon, Orpheus, Atalanta, and Castor and Pollux.

Somehow, his brother's voice worked best to make him fall asleep.

After essentially being forced out of the house, Dante didn't have his brother's stories at night. But people still told him stories. There was Evander, who told him about Perseus and Jason, Jason Grace himself who told him about the Iliad and how Rome was founded, the twin brothers Remus and Romulus which Dante named his daggers after and so many of his own adventures.

Dante never got sick of Jason's voice. It was soothing. Sometimes they had sentry duty together and they would just talk and talk and talk like two children who knew nothing about what their future held.

As such, after years of listening to Jason's voice, of listening to his footsteps, to his laughter, to his jokes and his breathing, Dante knew it was him before he even opened his eyes.

"Peaceful."

"It was, until you came here."

Jason looked hurt. Dante didn't care.

He was standing on deck, enjoying the open air, bracing himself on the rails of the ship. He turned back to look at the clouds as they flew over them. Dante wanted to reach out of the ship, into the night sky and scoop them. The wind that night was cool, nothing too harsh, just enough for the temperature to be relaxing.

"It's the Athena Parthenos, isn't it?" Jason asked instead. "The statue, the bane of the giants."

"I think so," Dante hesitated. "But what's the woven jail? And the pain? Doesn't sound like fun."

"The mark of Mercury, do you know what it is?"

"No clue," Dante sighed, resting his forehead against the cool metal rail. The ship really was a work of art. "I've never even met my father."

"I've never met mine either," Jason walked up to his side and Dante felt his presence. It burned. It lit him on fire.

"Don't do that," He swallowed.

"What?"

"Why can't you just leave me alone? Why are you trying to pretend we're friends? I told you we're not."

"You never gave me a reason."

"Sorry, I didn't realize I had to report to you, Praetor," Dante said coldly. He wasn't going to look at Jason. He wasn't. He wasn't. Because he knew he'd give in if he did.

His heart was in his throat and he didn't understand why. His palms turned clammy on the rail, his legs like jelly, barely supporting him. He hated that Jason had that effect on him. He hated Jason Grace. Hated him so much.

"I'm not a Praetor, not here," Jason said softly, the night wind taking his words away. "I haven't been one in a long time."

"You'd have to be after we return."