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ashestoroses018 · 14 days

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Things Can Only Get Better (Part One)

Originally posted in 2017. 18+

It is late October, 1985, when your car breaks down near your old friend's house on a freezing, rainy night. What you thought would be an uneventful and awkward night with someone you've barely spoken to in over four years has, quite literally, turned your life Upside Down.

Steve Harrington/reader, one-sided Dustin/reader

It's with a heavy heart that you walk up to the front door of your ex-friend's house. The thing is, it's raining quite heavily outside, and you're not fond of the idea of walking around at night in Hawkins, with all the weird shit that's happened the last few years; much less walking alone at night when it's raining heavily.

Knock, knock. You wait. It's likely his parents aren't home, but you're certain Steve, himself, is, because you've heard that he hasn't gone out partying as much recently, especially since Nancy Wheeler dumped him. After a moment with no response, you ring the doorbell, hoping you aren't waking him up, considering it's after 9.

“Come on, Steve,” you grumble under your breath, already starting to freeze half to death in the late October weather.

“Coming!” You hear him shout from inside. Oh, thank God. After a moment, he opens the door.

Your eyes meet his sheepishly, and a look of unmasked shock crosses his face. “Hey, Steve. Been a while, huh?”

He just nods; after a moment, it seems like he realizes that you're dripping wet. “Oh shit. Come on in. Let me get you a towel. What the hell happened?”

You follow him to the bathroom, explaining all the while that your car broke down a few blocks back, and his house was the closest of anyone you know.

“Shit. It's freezing out there. You're ice cold.”

“Thanks, Steve. You didn't have to do this. It's been forever since we were friends.”

He sighs as he helps you dry your hair, while you focus on warming yourself up with the other towel. “I'm sorry about that, you know. I've missed you the last few years.”

You glance up and accidentally meet his eyes, suddenly realizing just how close your faces are. Heat rises unbidden to your face. “I've missed you, too. What the hell happened to us, Harrington?”

Subconsciously, you pull away from him by a few inches, as he stops drying your hair to respond. “A lot of stuff, I guess. Once high school started, we sort of just...went our separate ways?”

You nod in agreement. “Yeah, you got caught up with those assholes and became King Steve, while I stuck around with my nerdy friends.”

Steve coughs and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “My friends were idiots. I feel like a dumbass for even having hung out with them.”

“Shit happens, Steve. Can I use your shower?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I can grab you some dry clothes, too.”

“That'd be awesome. Thank you.”

He tosses you a nod and half-wave as he walks out of the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, so you can undress in privacy. What a turn of events, indeed. Aside from a few awkward hellos and short conversations during shitty parties, you and Steve haven't talked since, what, '81?

As you wash your hair, you think over the last couple of years. Since Steve and Nancy had dated, you'd noticed a change in the boy, as had everyone else. It knocked him out of the “top tier” of high school popularity; but if you're being honest, for you, it feels like your old best friend is coming back. Maybe there's hope for your friendship, yet.

A few minutes later, Steve shouts through the door that he's putting clothes onto the toilet and not looking. You just laugh and thank him, imagining that awkward look from earlier painted across his face once again.

It's when you're half-dressed in Steve's spare pajamas (why'd he give you pajamas? Was he assuming that you'd just stay the night, like you used to do in elementary school?) that are about four sizes too big for you, that there's a frenzied rush of knocks and doorbell rings on the front door.

“Steve! Open up! It's Dustin. We have an emergency, and we weren't sure where else to go but here. Please hurry!” You're not a hundred percent sure who Dustin is, but it doesn't seem like Steve is going to answer the door, so you wrap a towel around your hair and run back to the front door.

When you swing it open, you're greeted by the surprised gazes of six fucking kids. “Who the hell are you?” asks a kid who sounds like the 'Dustin' from before.

“I'm F/N L/N. You could say I'm an old friend of Steve's. You guys okay?” It isn't hard to figure out that the kids are absolutely terrified.

“Just let us in.” A black-haired kid interjects, and you just nod. “Where's Steve?”

“He's around here somewhere. Go sit in the living room, or some—holy shit, are you okay?!” A red-haired girl is nursing a huge cut on her arm. “Oh shit, don't go to the living room. Mrs. Harrington will have a conniption, if blood gets on her carpet.” At least she will, if she's the same as I remember, you think idly. “Kitchen. Come on.”

The six younger teens follow you to the kitchen. As the redhead sits down, mentioning offhand that her name is Max, Steve happens to walk into the kitchen.

“What the hell are you guys doing here? Shit, Max, are you okay?”

“Does it look like I'm okay, numbnuts? I'm gushing blood right now, and you were the only place we could go. Hop would lock El back up for another year, if he found out.”

A chorus of agreements sound from the boys, while the other girl just nods silently. She must be El.

“How the hell did you do this to yourself, Max?” you ask her quietly, as you press a clean dish towel onto her wound.

She exchanges a meaningful look with her friends. “We can't tell you.”

“Look, dude, I'm not going to tell anybody. I don't really give a shit; it's just that I need to know how deep the cut goes and what type of cleaning I should do. Steve,” you address the slightly older teen, turning to face him. “I need you to get the purest alcohol you have, okay?”

He nods, while Max just stays quiet.

“Seriously, Max. You don't want me poking this thing to see how deep it is. Did you get stabbed or something?”

She shakes her head. After a moment, the other girl speaks up. “Demogorgon.”

You blink. “The demon prince? You hurt yourself playing DnD?”

“Oh my God, you play DnD? Steve finally picked a cool girl to date,” the curly-haired boy – Dustin – says, excitedly.

“Not dating,” Steve says with a tone of finality. “Here's the strongest shit my mom has.”

“Do you have a needle and some dental floss? I'm going to have to stitch her up. Max, you should really be in the hospital. This shit is bad.”

The girl gives you a look that brooks no argument. “That's out of the question. My stepdad would kill me.”

With a sigh, you nod. “Steve. Needle and floss. Quickly. The bleeding isn't slowing, and if this shithead isn't going to go to the hospital, we need to stitch her up.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Are you seriously going to stitch her up?” the African American boy asks suddenly.

“Yeah.”

“Be...be careful.”

“Boyfriend?” you ask Max in a slightly teasing tone. She just nods, with a slight blush. Cute. “Okay, Max. This is going to sting like a fucking bitch, but I don't have anything better. Steve's family isn't the best about keeping first aid kits.”

“Wait, I just found one under the sink,” says the only kid you actually recognize – the Byers kid. Will.

“Thanks, Will. Can you hand it here? Let me see if there's any alcohol wipes in here. Uses a different kind of alcohol, but it has basically the same effect. Max, hold the towel on your arm, okay?”

Not waiting for her to answer, you begin rummaging through the first aid kit. You find some gauze wrap, which will help a lot, as well as some antibiotic ointment. After a further few moments of searching, you find a singular alcohol wipe. That's not going to be enough for her giant cut – that thing spans nearly her entire forearm.

“Looks like we're using the vodka after all, Max. Sorry. Like I said, this is going to burn like a bitch.” You grab some cotton balls out of the first aid kid, before dousing three of them at once. “Breathe in, okay?”

She nods, as you begin gently cleaning the wound from the outer edges, inwards. As you take a closer look at it, with the blood being cleared off, you realize it looks like some sort of bite wound, rather than a slice or anything like that. You look up and make eye contact with Dustin, and he averts his eyes. Looks like the kid knows what you realized.

“What the fuck kind of animal in Indiana bites like this?” you ask under your breath.

Again, the quiet girl speaks up. “It's not an animal. It's a demogorgon.”

“El,” hisses the kid you suddenly realize is Nancy's younger brother, Mike. “why are you telling her? We don't even know her. Party rules, remember?”

“Well, Mike...She's kinda involved now, isn't she?” asks Max's boyfriend.

Dustin and Will nod in agreement. “Majority rules,” El says simply, right as Steve walks back into the room.

“We telling F/N about our double life then?” he asks, almost jokingly, but, even after all this time, you know him well enough to realize he's dead serious underneath the sarcastic facade.

Mike sighs. “I guess. Who wants to explain this shit?”

“I'll do it. She's my friend, so it makes sense that I tell her, right?”

“What the hell is going on, Steve?” you ask, before realizing he brought the needle and dental floss. “Disinfect the needle. Boiling water, ten minutes.”

“How do you know all this shit?” he asks, complying.

“Don't worry about it. Why don't you start telling me about your secrets first, hm?”

“Okay, but you need to trust us. This is completely, a hundred percent true, no matter how crazy and unbelievable it sounds. We could literally be killed for telling you. We all signed documents and shit saying we wouldn't spill.”

You blink in surprise. You've never heard Steve so serious before. “Alright. I'll do my best to believe you.”

He takes a deep breath, turning to you after he starts heating a small pot of water on the stove. You briefly meet his eyes, before returning to disinfecting Max's injury. You've gone through at least 20 cotton balls by now. You're going to run out soon, at the rate this is going. Glancing up at Max, you give her a warning look, which she seems to understand, before you pour some vodka directly onto the skin surrounding the bite. She hisses in pain, which makes you wince, but she says nothing, instead choosing to clench her teeth.

While you finish up disinfecting her and Steve puts the needle into the now-boiling water, Steve explains what has allegedly happened over the last two years here in Hawkins, and that it's been a year since the last time anything happened – but it seems like that quiet is going, now that Max just got bitten by one of the sons of bitches; it sounds like she was lucky to survive and only did so because of Eleven – which is apparently El's full name.

“Needle's done,” Steve says, after a moment of silence.

“Okay. Wash your hands, then dry it with a piece of gauze. Then bring it to me. Max, you should probably take a shot of vodka. The pain's going to be way too much otherwise.”

“Are...are you sure? I'm only fourteen.”

“Do you want to be screaming like a little bitch?”

“No, not really.”

“Okay, then. You're gonna take a shot. It's gonna taste like shit, but it's gonna be nothing compared to the pain of getting amateur stitches with no anesthetic.”

She nods, understanding. Steve brings over the needle and a shot glass. You thank him with a smile. At the moment, you can't even fully comprehend the story you were just told – and you're a little shaky about the fact that you're about to stitch a kid back together, quite literally.

Even with the liquor in her system – and it definitely is, judging by her red face – Max is squeezing her eyes shut, with tears coming out of her eyes. Steve whispers to the boyfriend, Lucas, that he should go hold her hand, which he does after a moment. Max thanks him with a look of gratitude; it's obvious she doesn't quite trust her voice, at the moment, as her teeth are still clenched.

Ten minutes later, she's fully stitched. “Okay, Max. Almost done. We're just gonna put some antibiotic on it, then wrap your arm, okay? If you don't want your parents finding out, I suggest wearing long sleeves for the next couple weeks. We're going to need to change your gauze every few days, though. And I need to check on the stitches every few days, to make sure you aren't getting infected. Where do you live? Or do you just want to meet somewhere?”

Steve stares at you in a mix of shock and awe. “Seriously, where the hell did you learn this shit, F/N?”

“It doesn't matter, Steve. I'm trying to help her and make sure she doesn't get an infection, despite being an idiot.”

“Fair enough. You guys staying here tonight?”

After a moment, the kids nod. Steve sets them up in the living room to sleep, with the understanding that they'd explain exactly what the hell happened tonight in the morning; after all, it's after midnight, and the kids are obviously exhausted.

After they're set up, Steve comes up to you. “That was fucking amazing, F/N. Seriously, where'd you learn to do all that?”

“Look, Steve. I...don't want to talk about it right now. Let's just say it has to do with some serious emotional baggage, okay?” You give him a strained smile, as you clean up the massive mess in the kitchen. He moves to help you.

“Alright. Just...tell me when you're ready, okay? I think it's awesome that you were able to help them. I wouldn't have had any idea what to do.”

“They obviously trust you a lot, Steve,” you say, leaning against the counter and facing him with crossed arms, while he picks up some of the garbage you missed.

He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck before meeting your eyes. “I'm a damn good babysitter.”

You can't help but giggle at the look on his face. “I have no idea what the fuck I just got into, but I missed you, Harrington.”

“I missed you, too, L/N. Thanks. Seriously.”

After you've cleaned the kitchen, you look over at Steve. “Where should I sleep?”

You don't want to tell him that you're a little bit freaked out after their unbelievable tale, and that you don't want to sleep alone. Luckily – or perhaps, unluckily – he notices almost immediately that you're nervous. He comes close to you, so you can hear him whisper without the risk of the kids overhearing.

“You can sleep in my room if you need to, F/N. You look terrified.”

You try to break the tension with a little joke. “You won't try anything, Harrington?”

“Never. You need to be protected, right now. Not taken advantage of.”

It's at that exact moment you realize Steve Harrington has become someone worthy of every ounce of trust and care you could afford him – a dangerous feeling, indeed.

#ashestoroses018 #hotpinkrose #steve harrington x reader #steve harringtonxreader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harringtonxyou #steve harrington/you #steve harrington/reader #x reader #x you #reader-insert #reader insert #stranger things

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ashestoroses018 · 14 days

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SEPULCHRAL (Part One: The Katabasis)

When your brother dies of the plague destroying Athens from within, you go on an Odyssey to save his soul from the Underworld.

If you happen to fall in love with the God of the Underworld on the way, well, that can only help your cause, right?

Hades/Reader 18+

There are steps to getting into the Underworld. This you know. The first step being, of course, to find exactly where the entrance to the Underworld is. The entrance to Hades. Orpheus’ story said he followed Hermes to an entrance and sneaked in behind him. You’re sure that Hermes won’t fall for that trick twice, so your next best bet is to follow the sages who worship Hades or Hermes and see if they have any secret insights.

When not questioning or following sages, you’re reading what little you’re able to, watching performers act out The Iliad and The Odyssey. Generally, you’re taking in every bit of information available about the gods. Still, though, you pray every day in hopes that one of the gods will save your brother, so you will not need to defy the Fates.

Still, though, in quiet moments, you find yourself unable to keep from reminiscing about him. About Alexios. His deep brown curls that you long to ruffle once more. The hazel of his eyes, so expressive and unique.

One of your favorite memories is of when he accidentally drank from your cup instead of his own.

“Sister!” he had exclaimed, “How do you drink that? It tastes rotten and bitter!”

“Wine is for grown ups, little Alexios.” You had chuckled, taking your clay mug from him and handing him his own.

“I never want to be a grown up, if I must drink that!” And so he hadn’t. Perhaps the Fates had touched Alexios with a hint of future sight.

You remember merely laughing in response, telling him how silly an idea it was that he would not grow up, and that he need not drink wine, should he not wish to. What you wouldn’t give for one more chance to laugh with him. To see him.

It takes weeks of harassing the sages to finally get any answers, and all you are told is that you must continue to pray to the gods, for the gods are the only ones who can truly interfere with the Fates. You swear at the sage who tells you this, and he promptly has you removed from the temple. They bar your access from then onwards.

One day, you find yourself sitting outside the temple, just far enough out of reach that the guards won’t have you forcibly removed. The flowers bloom, despite the desolation of the city. Beauty even in darkness. Reds, greens, yellows, and purples muddy your senses. The blue of the sky is blinding. It should be gray, with storm clouds and incoming rains. A perfect day. Unseemly.

“I feel like I can hear your thoughts,” a voice whispers. You whip your head around to see a little girl, perhaps a year or two older than Alexios. Her eyes are hazy. Blind. Her hair is a tangle of curls, and the clothes she wears are stained. You know not with what.

“My thoughts?”

“Yes. Your sighs are so loud. Perhaps even the gods can hear them. Why are you sighing?

You see no reason to lie. You’re the talk of the town, as it is. “My brother died from the plague. I mean to get him back.”

Instead of the usual response of laughter or a pitiful look, the little girl gets a thoughtful look on her face. “I’ve heard whispers. Perhaps from sages, perhaps from the gods, themselves. I know not.”

The way she speaks belies her years, and it is a jarring experience. “You pray to them, but you’re hiding from them.”

“I’m not hiding,” you say, getting defensive.

“That’s not the truth.” She whispers your name. How does she know your name? You’re immediately on guard. “You’re hiding from the gods’ will. From the will of the Fates. The very notion of getting someone back from the Underworld is one of fear. You’re refusing to accept reality.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Fine. Then heed my words. I’ve heard whispers…When you lose one sense, like eyesight, sometimes the gods grant you another. If you wish to defy the Fates, to defy the gods, and break into the land where no living mortal should be, I can help you.”

“What do you want in return?” Your voice is barely over a whisper. Hope and fear grip your heart in equal measure.

“Nothing. I give out of the kindness of my heart. Besides, I’m not certain you could make it to the Underworld, anyway, so I’m not defying the Fates.” She pauses, a cute smile coming to her face. Perhaps she would have been friends with Alexios, in another life. Perhaps she will in the future. You voice as much.

“I hope greatly to be friends with your little brother, should you prove successful. Listen carefully, for I will only say it once. You must go to the Nekromanteion on the banks of the River Acheron in Epirus, near Ephyra. It is a temple to Hades and Persephone, and if you pray at the altar, you will find what you seek.”

“Ephyra? That is all the way to the northwest. Would it be faster by boat or by land?”

“I cannot help you with that decision.” She says your name once more. “Please, be cautious. If you make it to the Underworld, there is no telling what you’ll face. Kerberos and the River Styx, at the least.”

You thank her, before walking away. It is only after she is long out of sight that you realize you never caught her name.

It takes you three days of running errands and doing seamstress work to save up enough for passage on a merchant vessel out of Athens. It costs you nearly the entirety of your earned drachmae, and they warn you that it’s likely you’ll be turned away at Ephyra, due to news of the plague, which is why they offer you passage for only twenty drachmae.

The ship is a solid vessel, with enough space for cargo in the hold as well as the standard rowers. You are to sleep on the deck. The white sails are emblazoned with Athenian heraldry, and you’re warned that Spartan ships may choose to attack, which is another part of the reason your fee was discounted. With the siege on Athens abandoned due to the plague, Spartan warships are targeting merchants more and more.

The waters do not agree with you, and you find yourself seasick nearly every day. ‘You’ll get your sea legs!’ the sailors had promised you, but you find that they must have been lying. Every morning, you pray to Poseidon for calm waters and clear skies. For the most part, he appears to listen.

One day, there is a bad storm that nearly knocks you overboard. The captain of the ship warns you to hold on to a rope, and that is what you do for the next several hours as you travel through the worst of the storm. Even as raindrops larger than the palm of your hand cascade from the skies, you hold tight to the rope. Your hands burn with the effort, and you pray to Asclepius for quick healing for the rash.

Luckily, it takes only a few days of relatively leisurely travel to get to Ephyra, with no Spartan forces attacking your ship; and you disembark gladly, nearly kissing the ground upon arrival. The city is lively, with many colorful outfits and flowers adorning many windows. You do not take much time to examine your surroundings, far too concerned with your task at hand. Next stop: the Nekromanteion. Local citizens tell you the temple is open to the public, so it is your very first stop.

The temple looms high and large, nestled in a cave at the crux of the river. Sound seems to simultaneously echo and stop here, and everything feels hallowed in these halls. There are statues and portraits adorning the floors and walls, and a surprising amount of color paints the area. For gods based in the Underworld, Persephone and Hades have a very bright temple. It doesn’t seem dissimilar to Athena’s Parthenon back home.

“What do you seek?” you are asked as soon as you enter. “You can speak with the dead, here.” The voice comes from a bedraggled woman, her back hunched and her gray hair wiry with age. The wrinkles on her face are deep-seated and are so distracting you hardly notice that she is blind. You’ve encountered quite a many blind people, recently. Peculiar.

That said, speaking with the dead would be nice, but finding your brother and saving him will be even better. Why speak with him, when you can hold him and play with him again?

“I seek a katabasis. I was told that this was the place to go.”

The woman turns to you, clearly drawn by the sound of your voice. “I am the Oracle of the Nekromanteion. I can help with that which you seek, but I must warn you: most who attempt katabasis die in the attempt. Whether I will help you stands to be decided.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” you say. “My brother was only six when Thanatos took him. I mean to take him back.”

She rubs her chin. “Defying the Fates, I see. A cause worthy of Odysseus, himself. I must warn you, little one, I do not see you coming back from this journey, even if I do help you.”

“Do you see my brother coming back, Oracle?”

She hums. “The visions aren’t clear. It is a possibility, I will admit.”

“That’s enough for me. What must I do?”

“You must prove yourself to me before I help you. It is a big risk I take, helping you. The gods can be…fickle, as I am sure you are aware.”

You nod. “How should I prove myself, O Oracle?”

“If you spend ten days and ten nights in prayer to Hades, I will consider helping you.”

Hades is not your patron god, but you’ll pray to him if that’s what it takes. The Oracle leads you to a side room where the sages must sleep. She points you to a simple straw bed and advises you that this is where you may sleep. Meals are clearly shared in this room, judging by the fire for cooking in the center of the floor.

The first day and night, your prayers amount to naught but variations of ‘please let my brother go’ and ‘I promise I’m not trying to subvert you; I just want my brother back’. Not unsurprisingly, the prayers go unanswered, but you keep at it during all hours of the day, except when it is time to eat or sleep. Your knees ache from kneeling at the statue of Hades and Kerberos, but still you persevere.

Days two and three are spent fasting, as the sages recommend. You don’t feel any different, aside from quite hungry, but supposedly this shows your devotion to the cause, and apparently the Oracle appreciates it. How she would know, considering she’s blind, is beyond you.

Four, five, and six, are spent in mind-numbing silence, your only thoughts and prayers surrounding a hope for a successful travel to the Underworld. That’s probably too much to ask for, but you find you don’t care. Your knees have long-since become accustomed to the hard stone floor, and the bruising has mostly abated.

On day seven, the Oracle offers to sit with you in prayer, allowing you to inhale of her smoke. It’s a change to the monotony of praying at an altar sixteen hours a day, so you agree.

“Breathe in deeply of the smoke and let it take you. It is an honor and a privilege to breathe of the Oracle’s smoke,” she says. “I only allow this, because I had a vision of the gods. Do not mistake me.”

You nod solemnly, breathing in deeply and holding the smoke within your lungs, as you were taught by a neighbor to consume cannabis. It does not take long for your mind to open beyond that which you have ever experienced before.

“Pray, now, to Hades. Hope that he answers you.” The Oracle’s voice feels distant, yet at the same time, it surrounds you completely.

“Hades,” you say, though you’re not certain whether you say it out loud or just in your head. “If you can hear me, please free my beloved brother, Alexios.”

A moment later, you hear a calm, soothing voice. It is at once cold and not unfriendly, a bizarre combination. “I cannot defy the Fates, but I can allow you to speak with him.”

“Is that you, O Hades?”

“Yes.” His response is simple, but it leaves you reeling in a way you’re not prepared for. “I will allow you to speak with your brother, in hopes it will bring you peace.”

A moment later, you hear your name in a voice you recognize at once. Tears spring to your eyes. Alexios.

“Can you hear me, Sister?”

“Yes, yes I can, Brother. How are you? Is the Underworld treating you well?”

“It’s cold. I’m scared, but I feel…safe here. This is where I’m meant to be, Sister.”

“No, it’s not Alexios! You are meant to be in Athens, with me! Have you drank of the waters of Lethe?”

“Not yet. They tell me I will soon, and I’ll forget. I don’t want to forget, but they tell me it’s important.”

“Try to hold off as long as possible, Brother. I am coming for you, I swear it!”

“I trust you, Sister. Be safe.” With that, your brother’s voice disappears, and you hear the Oracle cough, though her lungs must be familiar with the smoke by now.

“Are you appeased by what you heard, young one?”

You shake your head in the negative. If anything, you’re more determined to save Alexios than ever before.

With a sigh, the Oracle leads you to an altar at the back of the cave, where the three rivers, Acheron, Pyriphlegethon, and Cocytus are said to meet. You had always heard that Pyriphlegethon was a river of fire, but really, the water just seems warm. How three rivers exist off of one river is beyond you. Guiding you to anoint yourself in the waters of each, she leads you to kneel at the altar in prayer.

“Offer up that which you hold most dear, and the gates will be open to you. May the Fates be on your side. You have not yet completed your ten days, but I know you saw something in the smoke, as did I.”

She kneels beside you and closes her eyes in prayer, before she begins chanting in a tongue that you don’t recognize. The tongue of the gods?

There’s nothing you have more valuable to you than your brother, so you place all of your drachmae on the altar. It’s all you have, aside from the clothes on your back.

You’re not sure how long you’re praying at the altar or what, really, you should be praying for, but you suddenly hear a gasp, before you’re falling through the water.

Somehow, when you break the surface of the river, you’re standing on land. You’re also dry. Colors here are muted, a welcome change from the vibrancy you’ve become used to in the last few weeks. In front of you sits a ferry, upon which stands a hooded figure.

“Can you pay the toll?” he asks, voice gravelly.

You shake your head no. You had given all your drachmae as an offering at the temple.

“Then find your own way!” The man you presume to be Charon shuffles away, rowing his ferry away from you. It seems he didn’t know your status as a living mortal. Interesting.

There is nothing in the tales of the gods that says you can’t just…swim the Styx, so that is exactly what you intend to do. As you begin to step into the water, though, a cave catches your eye. Shrugging, you walk over to it.

The inside of the cave is surprisingly homey, with patchwork quilts and beautiful, hand-painted clay pottery. The walls are painted with glowing colors, a myriad of flowers, birds, and small animals. This is a beloved home.

Sitting on a comfortable looking chair is a rather tall woman, her hair cascading in layers of blue. “How come you to be in my presence, Mortal?”

“I prayed at an altar and found myself here,” you say. Somehow, you find that you cannot lie to this woman, nor hide the truth from her. She must be Styx. Her eyes are a striking blue that matches her hair, and you find that you can’t look away from them, though you want to.

“I see. And what just cause have you to be in the Underworld, child?”

“I’m here to save my brother, Alexios. The Fates were wrong to take him, and I must save him.”

She smiles at you kindly. “Though you cannot lie to me, I appreciate the honesty nonetheless. I sense that you’re not trying to deceive me. I will grant you a boon. Swear by my name that you mean no harm to the Underworld or its denizens, and I will grant you passage across my waters, Mortal.”

“Why would you help me?”

“Why, indeed. Perhaps because you took the time to speak with me, perhaps because I wish to interfere with the Fates whenever I can. Regardless, swear the oath, and I will grant you safe passage. I can’t guarantee your safety beyond my waters, but I can guarantee your safety across them.”

“I swear by the River Styx that I mean no harm to the Underworld or its denizens.”

The smile on her face grows wider at the ease with which you swear the oath. “Come along, then. I’ve a boat you can use.”

She leads you to a small boat not dissimilar to the one Charon was ferrying. Handing you the oars, she whispers a few words over the boat, itself. “Good luck, Mortal,” she says as a farewell, waving you off.

The boat is a small thing, with room for no more than two people. That’s just fine for you, and you lift the finely crafted oars and prepare to cross the murky waters of the river. You wave back to her and set off. The waters are no kinder to your stomach than the travel from Athens had been, though that feels like a lifetime ago, now; despite only a few hours, at most, having passed. Time seems to move differently here, though, and you get the sense that you were talking to Styx for much longer than you were praying at the altar.

Though the waters are choppy and you definitely see monsters the size of legends swimming around, Styx keeps her word and no harm comes to you. It takes only half an hour - or what feels like it - for you to cross the river from her cave. Disembarking, you aren’t certain what to do with the boat. It seems to know, though, because as soon as you touch land, the boat sets off of its own volition, back in the direction of the cave, which you can no longer locate. Odd.

Now that you’ve crossed the river, you’ve about come to the extent of your knowledge of the Underworld. You know of Elysium, Tartarus, and Asphodel Meadows, of course, but you know not the layout of the land nor how to get where you need to go. Most likely, Alexios is in the Asphodel Meadows…Hopefully he hasn’t drank of the waters of Lethe, yet. That is your only thought. Your only prayer.

The fields are filled with beautiful gray-white flowers, and the sky is a complementary hue of gray-blue. There is not a cloud in the sky, nor a sun to be seen, yet you feel calm and warm, as though you’re walking through a field on a beautiful spring day. There is a faint hint of lavender on the air, though you see no lavender plants.

Aimlessly, you wander, hoping you’ll find your way somehow, like you did with Styx. There seem to be no monsters nor people, here, and your sense of direction is completely thrown off by the land. No longer can you see the river, but you feel as though you haven’t been walking long enough to have lost sight of it. As you walk, your inner musings wander once more to Alexios, and you find yourself lost in the memories of your favorite person.

When Alexios celebrated his sixth year on the mortal plane, you got him a sweetcake and sewed him an Athenian soldier doll. When he saw the doll, he ran to you and hugged you with Herculean force.

“Sister!” he had cried. “How did you know I wanted a doll? The other boys don’t play with dolls. They say only girls play with dolls.”

“Well,” you had said, “sometimes girls play with dolls, but boys can, too. And what is stronger than a warrior?”

The grin that had covered his face was wider than any smile you had seen before or since. “You’re right! Nothing is stronger than a warrior. Thank you, Sister.”

“Of course, Brother. Happy name day. Six years, now,” you had whispered to yourself, getting wistful. Six years, it had been, since your mother had been with you, caring for you. Six years raising Alexios with the help of your neighbors. Six years of happiness and sorrow. You’d had to grow up so fast. Alexios had had to grow up even faster.

He had said your name, you remember. It was always a rarity he called you by your name, instead of ‘Sister’. “I love you,” he had said. Though the words were never a rarity, the solemnity with which he had said them was. He had said them as though he truly understood the meaning of the words, rather than just repeating what he felt was the proper thing to say.

“I love you, too, Alexios. More than the sun, the stars, or the wind in our lungs.”

Alexios had hugged his doll to his chest, then, before yelling a thank you and running off to play soldiers with his doll. He had deserved to feel like a child, even just for his name day.

You’re torn from your recollections by the sight of what can only be Kerberos. Though all of the tales have been proven true, so far, you’re especially surprised by the sheer size of him. He must be at least ten feet tall, with each head spanning at least two feet. Currently, he sleeps at what you presume to be the gates of the oft-hinted at Keep of the Dead, but you’re certain with ears as large as his, he’ll hear any attempt you make at sneaking by him. Even so, you’ve not much other choice, so you move towards him, as quietly as you can manage.

You’re successful. For the first few seconds, anyway. Taking a stray step too close to the giant, three-headed mastiff, you get the chance to truly see his serpent’s tail. You don’t get the chance to see if he truly has lion’s claws, but you know he doesn’t have a mane of snakes, for he is immediately running towards you, and you feel that snakes would be hissing in anger.

There’s no way to outrun the beast, but you try anyway. He catches you in less than fifteen seconds, but you’d like to consider it a good effort, regardless. If this is to be how you die, at least you’re already across the River Styx. That’s one problem resolved!

Kerberos stops just short of you, however. He tilts his three heads inquiringly, and you take the chance to see that, no, he doesn’t have lion’s claws - those would be much too small for a beast of this caliber. His claws are his own. Each appears to be razor-sharp and as thick as your hand is wide.

Seeing as how he’s not actively attacking you, you take the chance to glance around you. You’ve made it to the gates of the mysterious keep; how you managed to run in the correct direction is beyond you, honestly. Kerberos makes no moves towards you, and you make no moves closer to the gates. Why you’re at an impasse, you’re not certain, but you will not die here today.

“Good boy, Kerberos.” You hear from behind you. Why do you recognize that voice? It’s itching at the back of your head, but you can’t quite place it. “Heel, boy.”

The giant of a dog’s three tongues loll out as he excitedly bounds to the voice, giving you the opportunity to turn around and see who is speaking. The man before you is very nearly a giant, standing several heads above you. His eyes are red, his hair black, and there is a gentle scar on his lips. He very well may be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. You’re immediately on guard.

In a less friendly tone of voice, he says your name. “The Oracle warned me you would come, that another god had given her permission to let you through the gates to my domain. She did not say which god, but he and I shall have words, when I find out. As I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, I am Hades, the god of the Underworld, and I must ask: what, exactly, do you think you’re doing here?”

This was not in the plan. Repeat: this was not in the plan. Your heartbeat speeds up; your mouth dries; your palms sweat. “I–” You attempt to speak, only to find that your voice is swallowing your words. Coughing, you try again.

“I am here to save my brother, Alexios!” you exclaim all in one breath, hoping you sound far more courageous than you feel. Though the stories all tell of Hades’ fairness, he is also often portrayed as cold and unfeeling and sometimes quite underhanded. He stole Persephone from her mother, after all!

In response to your words, he just sighs. “Your brother is meant to be here. Nothing you can do can change the will of the Fates.”

“How do you know it is the will of the Fates, that it is Fate? Perhaps, Lord Hades, it is Fate that I should save my brother, and he should go on to become a great sophist or poet or historian!”

Hades rubs his chin at that. “I’ll admit - that is a new one. I can’t just give your brother’s soul back to you, though.”

“Has he drank of the waters of Lethe?” you ask, defiantly.

“Not as of yet, no.”

“Then there should be nothing holding me back from bringing him home!”

“There is everything holding you back, Mortal!” His voice has suddenly risen from its previously even tone. You flinch. Seeing this, he takes a breath and speaks more evenly. “Even the gods cannot directly defy the Fates, Mortal. Your tales of us should warn you, no?”

You simply nod in response.

“Good. So you are aware that there is nothing more I can do for you. I’m truly sorry you came all this way, but I hope that you find a peace with your grief.” He goes to turn towards his keep, but you call after him.

“Lord Hades! Please, wait! What of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

He scoffs. “Orpheus with his lyre, who didn’t trust me enough not to turn back and doom his Eurydice? Yes, I remember the fool. One whose love was not strong enough to die for his wife, nor was it strong enough to trust the gods, themselves. Foolish.”

“Orpheus only lost a wife he’d known a short time. Of course his love was not strong enough to die. I would die a thousand times over to save Alexios. I do not need to be with Alexios to be happy. Oftentimes, I’ve thought and realized that his life would be better, were he to be adopted, than it ever was with me. I will gladly trade my soul for his. I would drink of the waters of Lethe and happily stay in the Underworld, if it meant my brother had a chance at a good life.”

Hades beckons you to follow him into the keep. You do. As you walk, he begins to speak again. “You cannot simply trade your soul for your brother’s, no matter how pure your love.”

“Then I will fight for his soul!”

“Hold on, Mortal. I’m thinking.”

That gives you pause, so you immediately clamp your mouth shut. Hades leads you down a maze of walkways, into a giant, dark building. For the first time, you fully take in your surroundings. The Underworld isn’t nearly as dark and horrifying as you initially expected it to be. It’s no earthly world, with its vibrancies, but it has its own unique, muted beauty to it. Even the keep, a dark, sandstone structure, would not be completely out of place in your world. That is an odd thing to think.

He leads you through several hallways, into what you think must be his office. Sitting down behind the stone desk, he motions for you to sit across from him. The chairs don’t look uncomfortable, the padding a deep yet muted red. Looking down, he shuffles a few scrolls and nearly spills an inkpot, though you catch it for him. He thanks you, before sighing.

“I cannot just give you Alexios’ soul, even if I wanted to. My job is to shepherd souls, not to release them.”

“Is there anything you can do, Lord Hades? I will do anything to save my brother.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

Hades’ face screws up in thought, and he is silent for what must have only been a moment but feels like an eternity. “I can offer you a chance, Mortal. Not a promise.”

“Anything!”

“Mortals have no place in the Underworld, you know, and they taint their souls with every second they spend here alive. It’s why so few make it in, much less make it out.”

You hadn’t known that, but you aren’t about to let him know.

He continues. “As such, a fitting trade would be thus: spend one year of your mortal life in the Underworld as my guest; feel the Chthonic magic and learn of the inner workings of my realm. You are to have no contact with the mortal world nor with your brother Alexios in this time.” Though you move to interrupt, he holds up a hand. “For all intents and purposes, you will be dead. Your soul will be corrupted, and you will likely never make it to Elysium on your own deathbed. At the end of the year, if you have fulfilled all of my requirements, I will give Alexios the choice to stay in the Underworld or return to the world of the living. In this time, I will not force him to drink of the waters of Lethe, but should he wish to, he may, and you will have no way of knowing.”

You bite your lip. That is a steep price, indeed. To taint your own soul for a chance at your brother’s future? There is no question. “I agree.”

Hades snaps his fingers, and an attendant - a goat-legged man, a satyr, walks in the room. “Get me Styx. She is needed for a contract.”

In the silence, you speak up. “If you don’t mind my asking, Lord Hades, where is Lady Persephone? In the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, she was also presiding over the judgment.”

“She spends six months out of the year with me and the other six months on Earth. Currently, she is on Earth. In fact, she only left a few weeks ago.” He shrugs, not seeming particularly bothered by it. Interesting.

Not even ten minutes later - though, you admit, it may have been longer; time works very, very strangely here - Styx arrives. She graces you with a proud smile.

“I see you made it to Hades. Congratulations, Little One. I hope you get what you’ve been praying so loudly for. You’re the talk of the gods, you know.”

“Hush, Styx. You’re here for a reason, not to gossip.” Hades’ tone is firm but not unkind.

“Yes, yes, my lord. How can I be of assistance?” You think you catch Styx rolling her eyes at the lord of her realm, which surprises you.

Hades turns to you, the look on his face stony and serious. “Swear by Styx, Mortal. Swear that you will spend a year in the Underworld with no contact with the mortal realm or your dear brother. Swear that at the end of the year, you will give your brother the choice to live or remain here. Swear it, and it shall be done.”

“I swear by Styx. I will spend a year here in the Underworld with…with no contact with the mortal realm or my brother. At the end of the year, I will give Alexios that choice to live or remain here. I so swear.”

“She swore with her whole heart, my Lord. There was not an ounce of dishonesty or malintent. I believe her. I should also tell you that she swore another oath to me: to do no harm to the Underworld or its denizens.”

“Thank you, Styx.” He sighs, turning to you. “I have guest chambers, for rare occasions when other gods come to visit. They’re usually visiting my wife, but regardless. Follow me.”

Somehow, you understand the twisting paths through the keep better this time around, as if your oath magically made you part of this world. That’s silly, though! Oaths couldn’t possibly have that much power, could they?

He leads you to a nondescript room that is larger than your entire shack in Athens was. In the center of the room sits a large gray and white bed. There is a seating area where you presume you’ll take your meals, and an empty bookcase. The walls are a muted gray-blue, and there is a single window that looks out over the fields of asphodel flowers. You don’t think you’ll hate it here, curiously enough.

“Feel free to do whatever you’d like with your room. Believe it or not, there are shops in the city below, and the dead have little need for money. I’d like for you to at least be comfortable while you’re here. At no point should you ever feel like a prisoner. You can leave whenever you like.”

“I will not leave until my brother has the chance at a future,” you say firmly.

For the first time, Hades cracks a smile. It is beautiful. “I believe you.”

“Thank you,” you say simply, smiling back up at him.

He leaves you to your own devices, then, telling you that should you wish to go to town, you need only feel your intent strongly, and the realm will lead you there. You fully intend to go at some point, but with Hades gone from the room, your exhaustion hits you all at once. You’ve barely slept in seven mortal days and had been miserable for the days leading up to that, on the ship. By the gods, you’ve barely slept since Alexios died. Now that you have a chance to save him, the relief fills your body, and you fall on the bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

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