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Smug is the only word that could describe Hercules as he strides in, beaming. “No need to thank me, boys.” He proclaims, planting three skins of wine on the table, ignoring Pythagoras’ “no, no, not there.”
“You still owe me money,” Jason accuses, while Pythagoras hastily moves the skins off of his work.
To his credit, Hercules’ expression doesn’t falter. “And while that is true, and I haven’t forgotten, I didn’t buy these.”
“You stole them?” Pythagoras looks ready to drop them, so Hercules snatches them back. “No! I won them, fair and square.” He uncorks one and sniffs thoughtfully for a moment. “Even though the initial deposit might have been your money, I don’t understand why the two of you aren’t thanking me profusely.”
“You know,” Pythagoras started, arms folded and looking petulant more than anything else. “That money could have gone towards food.”
“Shouldn’t have left it lying around.” Hercules shrugs and put the skins back on the table, but Pythagoras wasn’t concentrating on that any more.
"We have no food and no money, we do not want a repeat of last time.” Pythagoras shoots Jason a glare, who shuffles from foot to foot in embarrassment. They may have laughed at the situation afterwards, but it didn’t change the fact that they still had nothing to eat.
"Oh, really? That’s not what you said—"
"Hercules!" Pythagoras snaps, not missing the way Jason is looking between them curiously, and oh gods, he can feel his face heating up.
Hercules takes a seat, back to sniffing the wine reverently. “You need to loosen up a bit, we may not have food, but we have the next best thing.”
—
The wine is potent and fruity and makes him feel heavy and sleepy and far more at ease than he had done in a long time. Everything seems warm and slightly fuzzy, his limbs feel lax and weightless.
He could fall asleep right now; it wouldn’t be unwelcome; his nightmares still plagued him. The encounter with the Furies felt like reopening an old wound, and it was harder to heal the second time. But time had passed, and with help from his friends things were easier. On one memorable occasion, Jason set up his blanket on the floor next to him to keep him company through the night, though that didn’t help Pythagoras sleep, quite the opposite. He had listened to Jason’s gentle breathing (and occasional snores) with rapt attention, watched his chest rise and fall and the way his eyelids fluttered as he slept. And before he was finally lulled asleep, concluded that he had a serious problem.
Pythagoras never drank very much. His body just couldn’t take it, especially on an empty stomach. He thinks that is perhaps why he comes to be sitting under his table quietly, cup in hand and admiring the floor. He doesn’t notice Jason join him. “Hi.”
It takes Pythagoras a moment to reply, both of them now curled up in this small space. “Hello.”
“Do you not like it?” Jason asks indicating the cup, hardly touched.
Pythagoras sighs, swirling the crimson liquid thoughtfully. “It’s not that, I’m just… thinking.”
Jason, to his credit, appears to sober instantly and grows very serious. “Do you want me to go?”
“No.” Pythagoras says abruptly. “No, stay here, please?”
So Jason stays and they sit in contented silence, curled up under the table like children. It feels like a sanctuary, strong and sturdy above their heads, and with the pleasant warmth from the man next to him, it is comfortable and secure. Jason stares at his empty cup for a long while, then finishes off Pythagoras’ when he doesn’t object.
It is a long time before Pythagoras breaks the silence, perhaps ten minutes, perhaps an hour. “Can you tell me more of where you came from?” Jason blinks at him through the haze the wine has created. “You don’t talk about it very much. You miss it.” Jason’s curiosity melts away as his eyebrows furrow and his hand stills on the cup.
What he has learned of Jason’s home has come from snippets of conversation, fleeting moments where the other man had forgotten himself completely and slipped bizarre terms and words into his regular speech. But ask him about what a ‘clock’, ‘dishwasher’, or an ‘Internet’ were, and he would hang his head and mumble like a child. It seems strange, Jason slotted into their lives almost seamlessly, and yet there are days when it seems he belongs to a whole other world.
Jason falls silent for a long time, until Pythagoras thinks he has chosen to ignore the question. When he finally does speak, his eyes betray that he is hundreds or thousands of leagues away. “It was so different to here. I remember… The buildings are far taller than anything that you have here, sometimes ten or twenty storeys high…”
“Storeys?” Pythagoras frowns and looks to Hercules to clarify that he is not the only one who doesn’t understand, but the other man was slumped in his seat and beginning to snore.
Jason continues, oblivious, “It would rain almost every day, and when it stopped the air seemed fresh and new, but not for long.” Jason frowns and before Pythagoras can stop him, tries to stand up, but his head hits the underside of the table so he gives up and drinks some more instead. “There is noise all the time, sirens and traffic and people, except for just before the sun rises. Then, it is so tranquil you have to stop and listen in disbelief.”
“I have never heard of such a place,” Pythagoras says slowly. He can’t fathom it at all. There is so much of what Jason says that seems unreal, even impossible. Perhaps it is the wine talking. Perhaps it is the wine making Pythagoras believe him. “It almost seems like a fantasy.”
Even through the haze of alcohol, he knows Jason well enough to notice that he had said something wrong. It is very slight, the way his spine straightens and he looks intently into the distance, eyes razor sharp and clear. Scared to say any more, Pythagoras can only watch as Jason turns to look at him, but he seemed to be seeing though and beyond him. Jason puts down his cup and grips the material of his shirt, fisting a hand into the worn fabric as if feeling it for the first time. Pythagoras squirms under his scrutiny; the effects of the wine bubble through his body, but he fights it to be there for his friend.
“Maybe it is. I could have sworn…” There were a thousand ways to finish that sentence, but he says nothing more, as if the words simply couldn’t come out. Pythagoras recognizes that look in Jason’s eyes. Like reopening an old wound. The longer the silence stretches on, the deeper Jason seems to get in his own mind, becoming more and more vacant to the world around him. The change is subtle; Pythagoras can see it because he’s been there before.
"Jason."
"I… I can’t remember home."
“Jason." he says more firmly, placing a hand on his arm. Jason doesn’t move, or even react, but he now seems to be actually looking at Pythagoras. His expression sobers Pythagoras enough to speak eloquently. “You are always welcome here, no matter where your home truly lies. Although we never have any money for food, our house is falling apart, and Hercules snores too loudly, I only want for you to be happy. You may feel like you don’t belong but there are people who care about you, who want you here. Like me." Jason’s puzzled look makes it dawn on him what he had just said. He suddenly feels dizzy, and this time it has nothing to do with the wine, though that must have had everything to do with what he’s just done, and Jason is still looking blankly at him, and he can’t tell if that is better or worse than his look of anguish.
"You…" Jason finally manages, and Pythagoras can see his wine addled brain thinking it over. It is almost painful to watch, and it is for that reason, and the fact that the corner of Jason’s lips are stained a warm, rich red from the wine, that Pythagoras leans over and kisses him softly. For a horrible moment, Jason doesn’t respond, but when he does, he does so enthusiastically, and one hand comes up to settle against Pythagoras’ jaw, making his heart leap. Jason tastes strongly of wine and while Pythagoras has never been fond of the taste, it seems even more intoxicating on Jason’s lips.
But nothing, not even the heady effects of alcohol could have prepared him for what Jason says next. “I don’t think I should be doing this.” The other man’s words cut through the hazy happiness in his mind; Pythagoras pulls away instantly, so quickly that he smacks is head into the table leg and sends it screeching a couple of inches across the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he narrowly avoids kicking over their cups as he scrambles to untangle himself. Stupid wine… Stupid Pythagoras… Oh gods, what had he done? “I’m sorry!” He repeats, unable to manage anything else right now, when Jason’s hand wraps around his arm. He’s ruined everything and Jason’s grip tightens, and Pythagoras probably deserves whatever is coming for being so foolish.
He doesn’t stop struggling until Jason says “No, I didn’t mean it like that, wait!” and Pythagoras levels him with the best look of incredulity that he can muster. “It’s just… I think we should do this when I haven’t drunk nearly a whole bottle of wine to myself.” Pythagoras still isn’t sure how to react to that. Jason sighs and leans closer again. “I don’t think I will remember very much tomorrow morning, it would be nice to remember this.”
Pythagoras nods slowly, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart and ignore the tense knots that seem to have formed in his chest. It doesn’t quite sink in until Jason leans against him, and the tension begins to dissipate from the both of them. He allows himself to trace graceful curls of dark hair that tickle his neck with a finger, gently pulling out any knots that he finds. When Jason falls into unconsciousness, Pythagoras stays strong and solid by his side and doesn’t let him fall.