v, bloodshot

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The Hermes shrine sits on an outcropping that overlooks a great distance of Tartarus. Dark red shapes flit around in the distance below them. Here, however, they're untouchable for a little while. The crumbling structure shields them. The hallowed greyed stone gives him a sense of peace contrary to the surrounding chaos. He finds comfort in the old Greek symbols and lettering that adorn the ancient building. The ground of Tartarus, bright, burning coals, cast an almost angelic firelight over Nico's pale sleeping state.

Jason watches Nico drift in and out of a fitful consciousness beside him. He sits with one knee drawn to his chest and the other leg stretched out in front of him. His sword leans against his knee, hand clutching the blade's hilt even in his sleep. Jason wants to unwind, unknot him, but fears retaliation. So he sits still and watches the dark boy while he sleeps.

He can't tell how much time passes. Time is strange in Tartarus. Perhaps it's only been hours since they've entered, but his pain feels as though its accumulated over days, even weeks. Not only that, but he has no idea how much time has passed outside of Tartarus. Maybe they're already too late. Maybe Gaia has already risen. Maybe the crew, Piper, and Leo are all dead.

Jason buries his head in his hands and breathes. He can't let himself succumb to these dark thoughts. He has to stay strong. For himself, for Nico. His thoughts travel back to the son of Hades who sits restless beside him. As angry as Nico may be when he awakens, he needs to sleep. Jason resolves only to wake him if necessary.

A slight frown creases Nico's pale brow. He mumbles something, sighs, and then it fades. He looks peaceful, but all too ghostly, when he's asleep. Jason fears he'll never wake up. He finds himself checking for the soft sound of erratic breaths, feeling that paper thin wrist for a drumming pulse.

Then Jason's head starts aching again. He closes his eyes. His grip on Nico's wrist tightens. He focuses on the strain, the hurt that rings in his head. It hits him all at once with a bright flash and a sharp gasp.

Jason found him sitting then much as he was now, sable and sharp, under the shade of a tree. Storm clouds rolled overhead. He had taken a recon mission to take out a sudden influx of monsters edging on their camp's borders. The oncoming rain, which could deter others, eased his spirits. He could imagine his father standing at his back, encouraging, as he pressed forward.

He was eager to get away from Camp Jupiter and take some time for himself. Nothing but him, the forest, and whatever monsters he came across. Ever since he became a Centurion, everyone's expectations of him heightened (yet again). He was getting tired of it. He couldn't talk about it with anyone except Reyna without feeling like he was complaining, and she had her own problems.

He was a few days' walk from camp mulling over these thoughts when he stumbled across him. Jason approached what he feared was a corpse and knelt down, feeling his wrist for a pulse. The boy's eyes snapped open at the rumble of thunder.

Taking advantage of the grip he had, he held Jason's wrist and flipped him onto the ground. After wrestling his way on top of him he pressed the flat of his dark sword to his throat. His sunken chest surged, shadows encroaching his form. The grass underneath them browned and died.

"Don't touch me," he growled. His hands shook holding the sword, but his gaze did not waver. The black blade pressed tight against his neck and Jason took a shaky breath. Those dark eyes pierced him--he couldn't look away.

"I'm sorry I startled you," he apologized. The boy was quite malnourished. He looked like a wild animal. If he wanted to, he could throw him off with ease. But Jason couldn't afford to underestimate him in his position, so he remained still. Some part of him knew getting the boy off him would only be the first hurdle. He tried to explain himself, "I thought you might be dead. I was checking you for a pulse." The boy's clothes were tattered and worn, his shaggy black hair went down to his shoulders, and the crown of his head was matted with blood. "You're injured."

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