Somewhere in the rush of everything, Lucius had a small rational inkling that maybe he should've shut up and just tried to sleep. That was tiny though. Most of his emotions were drowned in the lack of thoughts and pain. The vague sense of discomfort and pain melded into the rush of his own emotions. It all swirled together for a moment.

"Feo," Lucius let his voice soften, though he didn't move. "Why don't you go for a run? I... some people say that it helps them. Maybe it could help you. I... would go for a flight but uhm... that's not a good idea... obviously."

Lucius let out a weak noise, a weary sigh and then settled into his blankets once again. There was a touch of a wince in his eyes as he settled down again.

It had been a while since he had spread his feathers and taken flight. A part of him was... a little more sad than he expected at that thought.

He wanted to feel better. He wanted to fly. But the sheer thought of it--the thought of flight was painful. His elbow ached.

That was the issue.

He wanted to be out in the stars, soaring in the crisp night air. Enjoying the moonlight in his hair and feathers, the rush of wind... everything.

Everything.

That he couldn't do right then.

Stuck on the bed.

Oh how he had been stuck to the bed so often, so many times. He hated it. He hated the... the stagnant nature of it. Lucius wanted to be out, to be moving. That was his main gripe.

"... just promise you'll come back," Lucius mumbled quietly. "That's all I need."

Take some time apart, something they hadn't had... and then come back with fresh and hopefully somewhat lucid minds. He wanted that. Nothing more, nothing less. But sometimes, it was harder than it seemed.

A lot harder.

His thoughts slowly melded together until he was... well, unconscious. Drifting, dozing peacefully and without dreams this time.

The warmth of the bed kept him cushioned through most of the night. It wasn't until the early morning when the ache in his arm was more than he could sleep through that he finally pulled himself from sleep... or trying to sleep.

In the haze of the headache that he had, Lucius struggled to piece through his thoughts and what had happened the day before. The entire day.

The collector. The diner... Aera, illusion Aera... and then after that he wasn't sure he really remembered much. Something about a bike. Food that smelled good.

An umbrella... something about his elbow? Arm? Maybe it was his--no, his elbow was definitely the source of that radiating and aching pain.

Unfortunate.

His stomach grumbled as well but the winged demigod was not about to get up off of the bed. He didn't even want to roll onto his side or anything. Lucius was going to stay right there where he was. He was going to stay right there and stare at the wall until his thoughts finally made sense.

Somewhere, in the back of his head, he had a small itching that something had gone down the night before. Feo wasn't in the bed, but considering Lucius did have memories to place for the night... he really couldn't tell if it was because the other demigod was going to get supplies or food or whatnot... if he... was fighting Aera, talking to the collector...

He wouldn't be gone. There was no way. Right?

Lucius lifted his head, trying to see if he could spot anyone but the movement hurt. A sharp twinge in his elbow, a massive sweep of sheer pain in his head and he sank into the pillows again. Definitely... movement was not an option. That hurt a lot in different ways, which combined into one giant hurt.

One ball of pain.

Not that it was debilitating pain but it wasn't the type of pain he could just power through. Even if he wanted to. Which, right then, he really didn't. Lucius could, when he wanted, but the bed was warm. If he just laid there, he didn't hurt too much... and hopefully it was all going to be alright.

They'd have to wait till the evening came, that was supposedly when the wrap would finish its fancy magic. Which Lucius could feel. The soft, subtle warm hum against his skin. He'd had a lot of wraps, a lot of splints, bandages... a lot of them and casts too. None of those had felt like this one did.

Lucius took in a deeper breath and let it out again, trying to steady himself to finally move.

The rest of the night dragged on in a haze of exhaustion and self-loathing. Feo didn’t go back to the hotel. Not yet.

He wandered.

Back to the bar, watching the ebb and flow of desperate men trying to drown themselves in liquor, their words slurring, their hands gripping the bar like it was the only thing keeping them upright. Feo didn’t go inside, just lingered outside in the shadows, watching them stumble out one by one, some laughing, some crying, some silent and lost in whatever thoughts they were trying to drink away.

He left when it got boring.

He walked with no real direction, just staring at whatever caught his eye. The slow trickle of water down the gutter, catching bits of streetlight as it ran its course. A fox darting between buildings, its eyes glowing for a moment in the dim light before it vanished into the night. The sky, dark and restless, clouds shifting just enough to tease at the stars hidden behind them.

He picked up a toad that had been trying to escape into the grass, crouching down and letting it sit in his hands. It didn’t struggle. Just stared up at him with those weird, unblinking eyes. Maybe it understood him. Maybe it knew what it was like to want to disappear.

Eventually, he let it go and stretched his wings, taking to the sky. He flew high, past the reach of streetlights, and perched on the edge of the tallest building he could find—a different hotel, on the other side of town. The wind tugged at his feathers, cold against his skin, but he ignored it. He stretched his wings wide, as far as they would go, holding them there for a long moment before finally banishing them.

It wasn’t enough.

Nothing ever was.

Feo walked to a small stream outside of town, picking up rocks and chucking them into the water with all the force he could muster. It wasn’t satisfying. It wasn’t anything. The thought crept up on him, whispering in the back of his mind—how easy it would be to just lie down in the water, to let it fill his lungs, to let everything go quiet.

He sat on the bank instead.

Watched the water move.

Watched the sky shift from deep black to soft purple, then pink.

Then, sluggishly, he got to his feet.

His hands found the strip of leather in his pocket, and he tied his curls back as he walked, the motions mechanical. His body felt like it wasn’t his, like he was just dragging it along for the sake of it.

By the time he got back to the hotel, he looked half-dead.

His fingers fumbled with the key, nearly dropping it before sliding it into the lock and easing the door open as silently as possible. He slipped inside, shutting it softly behind him.

Then, his eyes landed on Lucius.

Awake.

Feo swallowed hard, nausea twisting in his gut.

Without thinking, the words started tumbling out of his mouth. "Are you okay? Do you need anything? Water? Food? Medicine? An extra pillow? Should I open a window? Close it? Do you want me to get more blankets? Are you too warm? Too cold?” His voice wavered, exhaustion sinking into every syllable. “Just—tell me what you need, Lucius. A-Anything. I'll get it for you."

The sound of the door was the thing that brought those sapphire eyes toward him. The ring of the key in his hands, the click of the lock.

His chest rose and fell, watching the door with some curiosity. The curiosity fell from his eyes as Feo stepped in. The young man looked... awful. He looked like a mess. A downright mess.

There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was up, his clothes wrinkled and worn.

Lucius didn't hardly hear half of what Feo said at first, more focused on how awful the Nordic demigod looked.

Was he okay?
Lucius was fine. Was Feo okay?

Did he need anything?
Probably food and then medicine.

The rest of it was all menial and Lucius couldn't care enough to change the room or environment of the space. But there was worry and concern in his eyes, watching Feo from behind the haze of the headache pounding in the empty space of his skull. His eyes flicked up and down, scanning Feo.

"... I just need to eat something to get something to dull the pain," Lucius said slowly, watching Feo. "... are... you alright?"

Had he gotten in another fight? Was that what had happened? No. He remembered the bike. It was everything after that. He had vague memories... most of which didn't make sense.

They definitely didn't tie in with how Feo looked. That... was astounding. Astoundingly bad.

He wanted to say something, say that he knew what happened. Probably apologize for it. But if he didn't know what he was apologizing for, it was going to be dumb and probably set Feo off on a tangent about how he didn't have to apologize.

But maybe... Feo would let something slip out that would let Lucius in on what potentially happened.

The Greek demigod looked back to the wall and exhaled. "I'm sorry," he whispered, leaving it slightly open and vague, "for last night."

That was somewhat specific, hopefully enough to give him a sense of remorse and prompting him into speaking. Lucius didn't care what sort of ramble it was, just that it had information. The type that he could pick up on and put the pieces together.

Or... that was the hope. The plan of sorts.

Then he could figure out what to do for the rest of the day. Lucius did not want to just sit tight. He was restless already. But the pain of moving kept him in place.

He wanted to talk. But Feo had things to say, Lucius needed to listen.

Patience was all he needed right then.

Feo blinked slowly, shoulders hitching at the question. He clenched his jaw, rolling it like he was trying to shift something back into place before answering.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice flat. “I’m alright.”

It was a lie, and a bad one at that. His throat felt raw, like he’d swallowed a handful of gravel. His limbs ached in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. His body still felt heavy from the weight of the night before, from the hours of walking, flying, and sitting alone in places that didn’t belong to him, places where no one would look twice at some tired, haunted stranger staring at the ground. What was he supposed to say? That he’d spent the whole night punishing himself for something he couldn’t even fix? That he’d wandered the streets like a stray dog, barely resisting the urge to throw himself into the gutter and stay there?

Lucius's apology settled over him like a weight. For last night.

Feo's stomach twisted. His fingers twitched like they wanted to grab something, hold onto something solid, but there was nothing. Just air.

He wanted to brush it off. Tell Lucius it was fine, that he was just being dramatic, that none of it mattered. That Lucius didn’t need to apologize for anything because Feo had already decided that this was his fault. Every single piece of it. But the words didn’t come. Instead, he exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his tied-back hair before muttering, “I didn’t go back to the hotel.”

It was the closest thing to an admission he could manage.

“I walked. Flew. I dunno.” He waved a hand vaguely, like that explained everything. Like that would somehow justify the sunken look in his face, the way his movements were sluggish and hollow. Like that would be enough of an excuse for why he looked half-dead, for why he felt like he was hanging onto himself by a thread. “Didn’t sleep.”

The words felt heavy in his mouth, like something thick and cloying. Like they weren’t enough.

There was more to say, but he couldn’t make himself say it. Couldn’t make himself tell Lucius that he’d been angry, but not at him—never at him. He’d been angry at himself. Angry at how he’d snapped, how he’d let his own damn emotions get in the way again, how he’d made Lucius feel like he had to spell things out for him.

He wanted to say that he hated himself for it.

He wanted to say that every time Lucius told him not to treat him like he was fragile, Feo felt like he’d failed him all over again.

But instead, he forced out something else.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he muttered, voice quieter now, rougher around the edges. “I—I get it. You were pissed. I deserved it.”

He shifted his weight, glancing toward the door like he was already considering walking right back out. He could leave, give Lucius space. Maybe he should. Maybe that was what Lucius wanted, what he needed.

But the idea of being alone again, of stepping back out into the streets with nothing but his own thoughts clawing at him, made his skin itch.

So instead, he forced himself to stay put. He forced himself to lift his head, to focus on something other than the weight in his chest, and he said, “…I can go get you something to eat.” His voice was hollow, distant, but he pushed through it. “Whatever you want. Just tell me.”

If he could do anything right, if there was anything in his power to fix, it was this. He could get Lucius food. He could do something.

Feo barely finished his offer before another, much more intrusive thought barreled into his skull like a battering ram.

Medicine.

What kind of medicine? What did Lucius even need? He’d said something to dull the pain, but that didn’t mean much to Feo. He knew pain. He lived with it, worked through it, ignored it when it suited him—but treating it? That was different. He knew next to nothing about medicine beyond the basics, and even those were shaky at best. Bandages, stitches, cleaning wounds—sure, he could handle that. He’d had enough experience patching himself up after fights, and even then, it was mostly trial and error. But actual medicine? Pills? Dosages? He didn’t know where to even start.

His pulse ticked up, his fingers flexing at his sides.

Where did people even get medicine like that? Did Lucius need something over-the-counter, or was this the kind of thing that required a doctor? Would he have to take Lucius to a hospital? Would Lucius even let him take him to a hospital? That seemed unlikely. Feo didn’t think he could drag him there, either.

Okay. Okay, think. What could he get from a normal store? Painkillers? Would those be enough? How much was he supposed to get? How often was Lucius supposed to take them? Gods, what if he got the wrong thing? What if he made it worse?

His throat tightened.

And then there was Aera.

If he went out again, if he had to buy something else, would she be watching? Would she see him "flaunting" his money again? Would she come back and pick another fight, this time with her claws out? Would she take a swing at him, at Lucius?

He should’ve just fought her the first time. He should’ve torn that weird illusion apart, or found wherever the real her was, and saved them both the trouble.

Feo clenched his jaw, trying to shove that thought away. That wasn’t the problem right now. The problem was that he didn’t know what the fuck Lucius actually needed, and he couldn’t afford to guess.

His hands curled into fists before he forced them open again, exhaling sharply.

“Right, uh—what kind of medicine?” His voice was taut, strained. “I mean—what do you need? Like, I don’t—I don’t really know what works for this kinda thing.” His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips as he fought back the instinct to spiral. “Do you need, like—hospital shit? Or just, I dunno, something from a store? I can—I can figure it out, I just—”

He cut himself off, shaking his head sharply. His pulse was still climbing. His brain felt like it was trying to work through quicksand, struggling against the weight of all the ways this could go wrong.

He didn't go back to the hotel. That much was blatantly obvious. Lucius wasn't sure why though. Feo had left... last night? He walked, he flew... didn't sleep. What... had happened? None of that made sense in the slightest. Lucius kept a slightly concerned look in his sapphire eyes, a small furrow in his brow.

Feo was exhausted, twitchy and guilty. Guilty for what? His gut twisted in his chest. Oh he knew. Lucius could feel the pain from what Feo was guilty about. A part of him knew full well that he had already said plenty about Feo not being at fault for that. There was a fuzzy memory of shouting at himself. Though he was entirely sure that wasn't real.

He didn't have to be sorry? No, no, clearly he should have been. Whatever had happened last night ended with Feo looking like that and gave Lucius a swirling headache, a lack--had he been drinking?!

No.

He would never.

But...

But if he was pissed?

A small burst of panic swept through his chest. Wouldn't he taste it? He had... that was a long time ago. Wouldn't he smell it? He hadn't been. Lucius had vowed not to--he didn't even want to. But it made sense, didn't it?

What else could've caused that--

Food.

Lucius turned his attention back to Feo.

But there was no way that Feo would've let him drink. Unless Feo didn't know. No. That made no sense. Ugh. If he could just scrounge for the memories--that would make everything so much easier. But they were out of reach, if there at all. It was like someone had torn pages out of the book of the night before and Lucius... had no idea where to find them. What was there was stained and blurred, the ink blended between pages.

The voice of Feo caught his attention again, stirring Lucius into realizing he hadn't even answered the first question about food. What he wanted--he... really didn't know. Something?

"No, no, it's... just Aspirin... that... that's all I need. Something simple. ... okay, maybe some Anacin too. Hopefully that'll solve the headache," he winced lightly, using only his eyebrows to scrunch together. That hurt.

A lot more than he really wanted to admit. "We--" he paused for a moment or two. "Yeah, we should probably add that to our essentials. I don't think I need any morphine from the hospital. It's not that bad, just something to take the edge off of the pain. It's dull, but just uncomfortable, y'know?"

Lucius blew a small breath and sighed. "Food--ah, I don't know. Something warm? Just something? Thinking kind of hurts, I ain't gonna lie."

Lucius fell silent again, putting most of his brain work into piecing together the figuring out of what on earth had happened.

And desperately praying that he hadn't been drinking. Oh he didn't know what he'd do if he had been.

Probably cry.

Yeah. That sounded right.

Lucius tipped his head lightly and slowly, careful not to disturb the fragile shards of his brain. "Be safe," he said quietly, "okay?"

The door closed tightly, a bit hard. But Lucius didn't pay too much attention to it. He definitely did not want to cry. That would make his head absolutely explode--ugh and he'd jostle his arm.

Don't cry.

But the way Feo sounded...

Had they both been drinking? Oh he hoped not. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The headache that was probably from a hangover...

Ohh his heart twisted in his chest. No no no no. He couldn't have. That went against his very being, the absolute fibers of everything he was. He couldn't turn into his mother, he just couldn't!

Suddenly, his throat felt tight and the tears stung the back of his eyes.

Panic.

No no no. He couldn't cry. That was bad. It would make the headache worse.

Feo said he didn't have to apologize but if he had drank?! What if he had persuaded Feo to drink and that was the yelling--?!

No.

Noo. Ohh no.

Lucius let out a squeak of a noise, the barest slip of a shaking sob.

It slipped out without him trying. His eyes watered, burning with the hot tears of betrayal and anger. He couldn't have. How could he?

How could he do that to Feo and himself? He didn't want to even drink, so what had happened? Had it been the nurse's remedy? Did he even say no?

Ohh, he had a large apology to make and it was probably going to be done with tears. Feo didn't deserve this.

It had just been a busted elbow, it was no matter to get all worked up over. But to drink? That was a matter he could not look past. No matter how hard he tried.

All of the pieces clicked together. The puzzle made sense. If she had just brought out some sort of concoction to drown the pain out... it would make sense.

But oh, the betrayal he felt inside. He should've known. He had to have known, to have smelled it, to have done something. Even in shock, he knew better. It was a fundamental piece of who he was.

Lucius was torn between hiccuping sobs, pain wracked groans, sobs and the hiss of pain. It was a vicious cycle, the tears of betrayal mixed with the tears of shaking pain as his chest heaved his agonized elbow. The shards of his brain felt like a puffer fish had inflated and now stabbed the very corners of the inside of his skull.

But he couldn't stop them.

The moment Feo stepped back in, the apology escaped. The mournful sobbing of how sorry he was, that he hadn't meant to drink, that it was his fault, that he didn't remember anything because they had to have drank and gotten drunk--he couldn't stop it.