Chapter Text
The acrid tang of Typhon's sulfurous breath still clung to the air, mingled now with the metallic scent of Heron's blood. Seraphim watched, a cold knot tightening in his gut, as Heron slumped against the damp cave wall, his chest a bloody mess, breath coming in ragged gasps. This wasn't the fiery rage that usually consumed him when he faced Heron. This was… different. Heron was broken, vulnerable, and a flicker of something long buried ignited within Seraphim. My twin. Born of Electra, just like me. The thought was unwelcome, yet undeniable.
A harsh voice in his mind screamed, Let him die. He’s Zeus’s favored, the son of the god who ripped our lives apart. He’s everything you’re not. But another, quieter whisper, like Gorgo's ghost, urged him. He needs help. You know how to help. Rage warred with a grudging, unfamiliar sense of duty. He found himself moving, pulling the familiar satchel from his hip. This cave. Gorgo. Her gentle hands, her quiet wisdom, the way she'd shown him the healing properties of the hellebore. He remembered her touch, the way she'd looked at him as if he weren't a monster. He learned this from her, this simple act of mending. And now, he was using it on him. The irony was bitter, yet a strange sense of purpose settled over him.
"Don't move," Seraphim grunted, his voice rougher than intended. He knelt, pulling out the crushed leaves, mixing them with water from a small flask. He avoided Heron’s eyes, focusing on the wound, the torn flesh. It hurt, a dull ache behind his ribs, to see his twin brother, battered and broken. This wasn't the kind of victory he craved against Heron. It felt… hollow. Worse, it felt wrong.
Heron gasped as the poultice hit his skin, a sharp intake of breath. The wound still oozed, the blood taking its time to slow. "Seraphim," Heron rasped, a touch of surprise in his voice, but no fear. Just… acceptance.
Seraphim pressed the poultice firmly, his hands surprisingly steady. "Quiet. It'll sting. And it won't be immediate." He worked in silence, binding the wound with strips of cloth. He expected a taunt, a demand, anything. But Heron merely watched him, his gaze surprisingly gentle. It unnerved Seraphim more than any blow.
The minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Heron's breathing slowly evened out, but the pain was still etched on his face. Seraphim sat back on his heels, watching, unable to leave. The air in the cave was thick with the lingering scent of blood and the damp earth. This forced proximity, the raw vulnerability of Heron, was excruciating. Every time Heron winced, a tremor of something akin to empathy ran through Seraphim. He cursed himself for it. "Thank you," Heron finally murmured, his voice stronger now, though still strained.
Seraphim scowled, looking away towards the cave entrance, as if he might see Typhon lurking there. "Don't flatter yourself. The Titans won't fall if you're bleeding out in a cave." His words were sharp, a desperate attempt to push Heron away, to maintain the familiar distance. The thought of bonding with this son of Electra, this twin he’d been pitted against, felt like a betrayal of his very identity.
Heron merely nodded, his gaze unwavering. He knew the anger was a shield, but a part of Heron still recoiled from it, from the memories of their mother's death, of the terror Seraphim had wrought. Yet, beneath it all, was that desperate yearning for connection, for the brother he'd always longed for. "You didn't have to. You could have left me." He paused, then pushed, gently. "But you didn't. Why, Seraphim? Was it… Gorgo?"
Seraphim flinched at the name, a fresh wave of grief and regret washing over him. "What do you care?" he snarled, turning his face further away. The memories of Gorgo here, in this very cave, flooded his mind. Her warmth, her belief in him. How could he reconcile that with the monster he had become? The monster he still felt himself to be, even now, performing this unexpected act of kindness? He felt a crushing weight of remorse, not just for Gorgo, but for the years of hatred, for the twin brother sitting before him now, still suffering because of a monster like Typhon.
"I care because you matter to me," Heron replied, his voice firm, refusing to be shaken. He shifted a little, ignoring the lingering ache in his chest. "And because I know she mattered to you. She saw something in you, didn't she? Something good. Something worth fighting for."
Seraphim clenched his jaw, fighting an intense internal battle. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to lash out, to deny. But Heron’s unwavering gaze, devoid of judgment, chipped away at his defenses. He wanted to confess, to unburden himself, but the words felt like ash in his mouth. He was Seraphim, the monstrous son of King Periander, abandoned, left to rot, not some tearful supplicant.
Hours crawled by. Heron eventually succumbed to exhaustion, drifting into a restless sleep, his breathing soft. Seraphim watched him, a strange quiet settling over him as the rage that usually fueled him began to subside, replaced by a profound weariness. He looked at Heron's hand, resting limp on the cave floor beside him. After a long moment of intense deliberation, battling every cynical thought, Seraphim slowly, carefully, reached out. His fingers hovered, then brushed against Heron's, then gently, almost reverently, he took his twin brother's hand, intertwining their fingers.
This hand, scarred, like mine. Seraphim looked at his own clawed, monstrous hand, then at Heron's. He was no longer truly human in form. The power he wielded, the sharp edges of his new body, they were a testament to his strength, but also to his isolation. Would he flinch if he were awake? Would he pull away from this… this thing I am now? He thought of the servant who had raised him, of her kindness before she, too, was taken. He thought of his uncle, Periander’s brother, trying to murder him in his crib. He thought of Zeus, who took Electra and Heron away, leaving him to the wolves. That raw, primal abandonment still festered. He was given a mother. I was given nothing but a forest and a life of constant battle. The fear that Heron’s acceptance would crack under the reality of his changed form, and his poisoned history, was a bitter ache.
"Gorgo..." he whispered into the silence, his voice raw, rough with unshed tears. "She taught me. She… she believed in me. She saw past… all of this." He squeezed Heron’s hand. "And you… you keep seeing it too. Damn you, Heron." A tear escaped, tracing a hot path down his cheek. "Part of me… a part I didn't know existed… it craves this. Craves… us. Being just… brothers. Without the hate." The confession, breathed into the darkness of the cave, was a monumental admission, a stripping bare of his deepest, most guarded desire. With the weight of his confession, and the surprising comfort of Heron's hand in his, Seraphim finally slumped against the cold rock, drifting into the first truly peaceful sleep he'd known in years.
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The morning light filtered weakly into the cave, a soft grey against the shadows. Seraphim stirred first, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he was disoriented, then he felt the warmth of Heron's hand still clasped in his own. He pulled his hand away abruptly, a jolt of panic and shame shooting through him. He'd been vulnerable. He'd confessed. And Heron, damn him, had heard it all.
Heron's eyes slowly opened, meeting Seraphim's. There was no surprise, no judgment, just a quiet understanding. "You didn't have to pull away," Heron said, his voice husky with sleep, but clear. "I wasn't asleep, Seraphim. Not the whole time." Seraphim froze, his blood running cold. "You… you heard." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
Heron nodded, pushing himself up, wincing slightly as his wound, though much better, still twinged. He reached out, not to take Seraphim’s hand again, but to gesture gently between them. "Every word. And I'm glad I did." He looked directly into Seraphim's eyes, an unwavering depth of sincerity in his own. "Because that part of you that craves this? That craves us? It's not alone. That part of me… it craves it too, brother. More than you know. Even after... everything." The last words were soft, a lingering acknowledgment of the pain, but not a barrier.
He then recounted tales of their mother, Electra, a warmth entering his voice, painting a picture of the loving home they had shared for a brief, precious time, a warmth Seraphim craved. He spoke of Electra's enduring spirit, her quiet strength, and how she had always spoken of Zeus's children with sorrow, never hatred, longing for a world where they might all live in peace. He spoke of his own childhood with Electra, of the stories she told, the lessons she taught, the simple warmth of a home, a life Seraphim had been denied.
"You believe that?" Seraphim asked, his voice barely a whisper, the layers of cynicism momentarily stripped away. "That I… can be more? After… after all of it?"
"I've always believed it," Heron said, his gaze firm. "We're twins, Seraphim. Born of the same mother, even if our fathers are different. There's good in you. I saw it even when you were blinded by anger. You just needed to see it yourself. We can face this, together. For Gorgo. For all of us." He paused, looking at his brother, then out towards the faint light of the cave mouth. "We have a war to fight. And we have to win it. But after? After all this is over, Seraphim… I want to work on this. On us. I want to try to be brothers. Properly."
Seraphim's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. The idea. A relationship. Not just a temporary truce, but something built, something real. "Work on it?" he echoed, the words foreign on his tongue. He still felt the sharp edges of his own transformation, the fear of his monstrous form pushing others away, the echoes of abandonment. But Heron was looking at him, not with fear, but with weary hope.
"Yes," Heron affirmed, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. "It won't be easy. There's a lot… a lot we've done. A lot that's happened. But I want to try. Do you?"
Seraphim nodded slowly, a single, decisive movement. "Yes," he rasped, his voice rough with emotion. "I... I want to try." He paused, then his gaze sharpened, shifting from introspective to resolute. "If we're going to try, Heron, there's something else. My plan to save Gorgo. She's trapped in the Underworld, torment. She never received funeral rites because of what happened... because I wasn't there. It's my fault she can't find peace." His voice cracked with the confession of guilt. "To get her soul across the Styx to face judgment, and hopefully reach the Elysian Fields… we need to bribe Charon. He won't accept mere coin for a soul so long trapped and un-buried."
Heron leaned forward, his earlier weariness replaced by an eager intensity. His heart ached for Seraphim's burden of guilt, and for Gorgo's suffering. "Anything. What is it?"
"The Necklace of Harmonia," Seraphim stated, his eyes fixed on Heron's. "It holds immense power. It's the only thing that could ever truly break Hades's hold, or at least negotiate with him on equal terms, to free her. It’s a fool's errand for one alone. But with you..." He left the implication hanging, raw and vulnerable, a desperate plea for help.
Heron's expression hardened with unwavering determination. He understood the immense personal stakes for Seraphim. "Then we get it," he vowed, his voice low and utterly sincere. He met Seraphim's gaze without hesitation, a silent promise solidifying between them. "I swear it, Seraphim. Whatever it takes. We'll get the Necklace of Harmonia. We'll save her. Together."
The shared acknowledgment hung in the air, a silent promise. It wasn't a hug, not yet. But it was a fragile bridge, newly built across a chasm of hatred and regret, cemented by a shared purpose that pointed towards a possible future where Electra's twins might finally find peace as brothers.