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The heat of the engine room engulfs Leo’s body, swarming him with vicious fever but the comfort pours through his skin and seeps into his bones, tenison slipping from his tense body, but not truly, it still swims underneath his skin. The whirling and banging of his machinery lulls his head to a place of safety, where nothing but comfort and peace exists and he can think, really think, without his thoughts running at a million miles per hour and crashing into each other.
It’s the first time he’s relaxed in a while, and even now he feels guilt pounding his body over it.
Down the hall, stuck in his bed, Jason Grace is recovering with his stomach spliced and bandaged, and in this weird disconnected way Leo feels like it’s his fault entirely, even though in reality, he hadn’t done a thing.
When it happened, he’d been stuck between the panels of the wall, seeking comfort and peace. He didn’t crawl out, not even when he heard the screaming and sobbing - “Jason was stabbed! Jason was stabbed!” - and especially not when he heard Jason crying out in the medic bay just feet away from the rickety wooden door of the engine room.
Leo’s fingers stroke back and forth, up and down, side to side, over the burning hot metal of the engine’s casting. It’ll leave small blisters and rough scar tissue over the pads of his fingers, but no pain. That’s where the Gods messed up their words, where they told lies. He could swim through lava and still feel a dull ache. His flesh would be scarred, but there would be minimal pain.
He wasn’t investiable against flame, he learned that the hard way.
Hazel had cried, and Percy had said it was the Gods’ way. He said the Gods’ watched him burn, and laughed.
His eyes follow the dizzying lines of the fires powering the ship, swaying like belly dancers hidden in the warm hues. Sometimes, if he squints hard enough, he can make out Hestia’s eyes, gazing back through the flames.
His mouth is cotton dry and rough, like he’s been swallowing handfuls of sand and padding down his tongue with cotton pads. The rough, sandpaper texture goes past his tongue and dribbles down his throat, stopping near where his neck and chest meet. It itches.
There’s an heir of grief looming over him, so big and so bold, he swears he can taste it. And then he feels silly for mourning someone alive, and then he realizes he’s been mourning for months.
Once, Frank opened up to him about Ares and Mars talking to him in his head, disrupting his thoughts and fighting. A while ago, he wouldn’t have believed Frank for even a moment but now it makes more sense than anything else going on in his wild life right now. Frank had cried, and Leo held him. The sight of someone so strong, capable and kind sobbing like a little kid made him sick to his stomach with a ball of anxiety that hasn’t left since.
The information that the Gods can hear him, see his thoughts, it made the whole thing cruel.
At that moment, he realized there’s no such thing as a sanctuary as a demigod.
He presses his forehead against the cooling scraped flesh of Fetus, brushing his nose against the hardcut lines and dents. This part, this panel of gold and bronze, was Fetus’ left side, just underneath his front leg where his chest and stomach connected.
“I miss you,” Leo mouths against the hard metal, staring back at his fuzzy reflection in the polished bronze plate.
But I’m right here.
Fetus’ voice is cranky, like someone choking.
“I’m going to rebuild you someday, and we’ll go flying.” He said, soothing his cheek against the cool surface.
Okay.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK .
Leo startles, his body going tense and taunt like a rubber band ready to snap. He blinks and suddenly he’s standing, swaying unsteadily on his feet with a monkey wrench in his hand to look busy and his goggles pulled down haphazardly over his eyes.
“Leo?”
Hazel’s honey sweet voice, like marigold flowers and pure sugar, comes from the otherside of the door, muffled.
“Come on in, Miss Levesque!”
Leo coats on the warmth and cheer in his voice and hides his grief behind the biggest grin he can pull.
The hinges groan as Hazel pushes the door open, it swings hard to the left and hangs wide open. Hazel stands in the doorway, fidgeting with her fingers with this timid look painted over her soft features, her image scuffed behind the dark lenses of his goggles. She’s wearing a pair of green cargo shorts and an oversized t-shirt that was, without a doubt, Frank’s tucked into the waistline. The ends of the maroon velvet bag containing Frank’s driftwood peers from the breast pocket. She pushes her glasses up carefully before grappling at her shirt. Her posture screams nervous hesitance.
Leo opens his arms wide, grinning at her. “C’mon! I don’t bite.” He says, turning on his heels to face a panel of machine workings. He quickly scans over the panel and to his dismay, nothing needs mindless fidgeting with.
The door closes with a cry and Hazel’s soft footsteps approach, he keeps his eyes forward.
Her soft hand lands on his shoulder, she sniffles. “Leo,” anxiety pangs in his chest, he keeps his eyes forward.
She shuffles to stand at his side, from the corner of his eyes he sees her deep oak eyes are wet and dried snot rims her nose and Cupid’s bow. Her hands come up and wrap around his lean bicep, squeezing the muscle there. She pulls gently at his sleeve so he stumbles and is awkwardly unbalanced closer to her. “Leo,” She says, a little firmer, pressing her cheek against the hard edge of his shoulder. “Jason wants to see you.” She says, and Leo’s stomach churns with rocks.
“See me? Why does he want to see me?” Leo laughs, but it’s unsteady and meek. “Shouldn’t he be resting?” He jokes but the humor behind it is dry. Hazel wets her lips, adjusts her glasses and drops her hands from Leo’s bicep. “Because you’re his best friend,” best friend , the words are like a punch to the gut, “and he’s hurting, and he wants some company from you.” She says, and he can see her eyes are getting watery again. “Please. It’s the first time he’s talked since Frank and Percy got him into his room from medbay.” She says, and Leo wants to coddle the crack in her voice and soothe away the tears clinging to her long lashes.
He inhales deeply, and worries his ribs and spine are crushing his lungs when it comes out uneasy. He pulls his goggles off and lets them hang loosely around his neck, he puts the wrench back into its spot on his toolbelt. “Okay.” He says, but it shakes coming out of his throat. Hazel sniffles, hard. “But let me go get cleaned up first.” He says, and she nods.
—
Leo stares at his unsteady reflection in the mirror and hates how long and hard he has to stare at his face to decide whether or not it’s him staring back through the glass.
He used two washcloths scrubbing the dirt, grim and oil from his skin. He can’t remember the last time he saw his face clean, and he can’t figure out if it unnerves him or not. He pulls at the corners of his mouth, pinches the fleshy pudge of his cheeks and pulls down his eye bags until he can’t bear staring at his face any longer.
He changes out of his filthy clothes, and doesn’t bother taking a glance at his body, bear, in the mirror as he knows that will screw his nerves up worst. He uses two more washcloths scrubbing the gunk from his skin. He smears the odd homemade deodorant Couch Hedge’s wife, Nelly, made them, she’d given him the repice.
1/3 cup coconut oil.
1/4 cup baking soda.
1/4 cup arrowroot starch.
6 to 10 drops of essential oils, if desired.
- With love, Nelly Hedge. May your travels be safe.
He sprays dry shampoo along his scalp and brushes out the leftovers, cleans his teeth and holds the mouthwash in the pit of his mouth just to feel the odd tingling of the peppermint until it boils over and makes his nose hurt and his eyes water. He pulls on fresh, clean clothing and sighs.
He can’t say it made him feel worse, but it didn’t make him feel better.
He peers at himself in the mirror’s tainted reflection.
He smooths his hand down over the wrinkles of the deep orange t-shirt and fidgets with the fabric in his fingertips, he sighs and drops his hands to smooth out the tanned cargo shorts. He makes a mental note to not let Hazel pick his clothes out again, he looks like a first grader.
He pulls on his small set of necklaces that never come off aside from showers, a set of dog tags and a silver chain with a small locket with a picture of his mother’s beaming face inside. The dog tags were his grandfather’s. He presses them to his lips and sighs, squeezing them in his fist. “Wish me luck, yeah?” He says, glancing up towards the sky.
He pried the door open and blinked back at Hazel, who’s fresh tear tracks strike him with an arrow of anxiety.
“You look nice.” she says around a sniffle and a swallow of the odd, snotty mixture that pools in the back of your throat when you cry too much. “I feel like a first grader.” Leo says and Hazel’s laugh is soft. She pushes off the wall and takes his hand into hers, her skin is soft compared to his scarred, rough palm. “I hope you can make him smile.” She says, leaning up on her tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
She gently leads him by the hand down the hall and stops at Jason’s door, second to last on the left. Frank’s room is directly next to Jason and he’s standing outside his door with his big arms crossed over his chest. Frank doesn’t say anything, he just nods and smiles tightly but Leo can see the effort in his deep, brown eyes.
“Hi, I brought someone to see you, Jason. Is it okay to come in?” Hazel says as she opens the door, and Leo’s anxiety spikes at the scene inside.
Annabeth is washing her hands in a plastic tub of water, it’s turning red as she scrubs up to her elbows. There’s a sheen of sweat gleaming on her temple, her baby hairs are already wet with it. The gray tank top she’s wearing is wet, maroon spreading out over the stomach of the shirt. A bundle of rusty colored bandages sit in the trash can and the room reeks of bleach, iron, ozone and sulfur. The taste of pennies leak onto Leo’s tongue just from standing in the doorway. Percy is hunched over Jason’s form, pulling a bandage taunt over Jason’s lower stomach to a soft chorus of panting from Jason.
“We’re almost done.” Annabeth says, wringing her hands out on a rag. Percy hums, seconding her statement. “Jason,” The son of Poseidon says, Jason mumbles listlessly in response. “Hazel brought someone to see you.” He says, smoothing over the bandage and cotton before standing upright. His hands, tanned and strong, are red and stained with blood.
Now out of the way, Leo takes a moment to marvel at Jason.
The blond was leaning back against a mound of pillows, the sheets and comforter scrunched at a pile covering his feet. His head is turned away from Leo, but he can see how tightly his eyes are squeezed shut. His hair is slick with sweat, stuck to his forehead. He’s red in the face, panting lowly. He’s shirtless, and by the looks of it only wearing a pair of gray sweatpants which Leo swears up and down he’s seen Percy wearing. His stomach is wrapped tightly with bandages, already turning red.
Crazy that even here, bloodied and injured, Jason still takes Leo's breath away.
Hazel steps into the room, dragging Leo in with her.
“Who?” Jason says, strained.
“Leo.” Percy hums, taking the rag, now sopping wet, from Annabeth and cleans his hands as he sits on the edge of Jason’s bed. Leo doesn’t miss the way Jason’s hand curls around Percy’s bicep, squeezing.
Jason sucks in air through his teeth and snaps his eyes open, and Leo wants to melt under Jason’s intense eyes, the same color as lightning flashes.
Percy stands, and drops the rag into the plastic bucket of water. He glances between Leo’s face, burning red, and Jason. “We’ll give you two some space.” He says, before gathering up the plastic tub into his arms. “Come on, girls.” He says, herding Hazel and Annabeth from the room. Hazel presses a kiss to his cheek before rushing out of the room, Percy shuts the door.
Leo swallows, awkwardly chewing down his nerves. “Hi.” He gasps out, curling and uncurling his hands into fists. Jason doesn’t respond, his eyes are wide like a predator, scanning over the shrew crowding in the corner. Leo doesn’t understand why it makes butterflies swarm inside him.
Leo looks around wildly before grabbing the desk chair and pulling it up to Jason’s bedside, plopping down with a grunt. Jason’s eyes never leave his face.
Once he’s seated, Jason’s large hand pulls away from his side and extends towards Leo, grasping fingers before Leo gets the message and slides his hand into the son of Juptier’s. Jason’s eyes scan over his face before they soften, eyelids relaxing. “Hi.” He finally says back, but his voice is a shell of what it used to be.
“I heard you were asking for me,” Leo says and prays. to the Gods? No. He’s not sure who but he prays that the blush blossoming over the apples of his cheeks isn’t noticeable, and he hopes he doesn’t look like a kicked puppy, or that the butterflies trying to pry themselves out of his body don’t pour out, or that the little voice begging him to confess don’t get to him. “What’s that all about, superman?” He asks, and Jason smiles ever so gently.
“I missed you.” Jason says, and that’s enough.
“I missed you too.” He says, and falters when Jason squeezes his hand.
“Why didn’t you come?” He asks, and Leo hates the way Jason’s voice cracks.
“The ship needed work.” He lies, and Jason laughs but it breaks into a cough which breaks into a whimper - whimper, he’s never heard Jason whimper - of pain.
“Don’t lie, please.” Jason says, and Leo doesn’t know how to tell him he’s been lying for months.
“You got it.” Leo says, and Jason squeezes his hand again, and this time doesn’t let the pressure go.
They fall into silence but it’s comforting, not scary. Like it’s right, like it’s okay. He remembers the few times that happened, traveling with Jason and Piper solely on Fetus’ back, when he and Jason would be the only two awake.
When Jason’s arms would wind around his waist and squeeze, his cheek pressing to his shoulder like a hot iron and they’d sit in the quiet, and in those moments, safety came from the quiet for the first time in Leo’s life.
Looking at Jason, in the quiet, the feeling to pour his love to the son of Jupiter is becoming impossible to ignore. The results of his fantasies are playing in his head on a loop.
He wants to kiss Jason, and he hopes Jason would wrap his fingers around Leo’s wrists and kiss back.
He wants to press their foreheads together, and tell Jason he loves him, loves him so much that living without him loving Leo back is too much.
He wants to kiss and touch the pain away and bring Jason nothing but pure, unbridled pleasure and comfort.
He wonders if Jason understands Spanish, it’s a passing thought.
“I need to tell you something.”
Jason croaks, straining his vocal cords just to whisper to Leo. There’s something to be said there, but Leo can’t pick apart what.
“Oh,” Leo says briefly, and the overwhelming need to tell Jason finally reaches a breaking point, he decides he’s going to tell him. “I have to tell you something too.” He says and adores the butterflies swarming, maybe for the first time ever.
Jason hums, his blinking is becoming slow and heavy and Leo can sense the need to sleep pulling Jason down.
“You first.” Leo says, and he can’t say he’s not letting his hopes rise to the sky.
Maybe, they’ll turn those cruel false memories from Juno into reality.
Jason purses his lips, he blinks slowly and lulls his head into his pillow. “Promise to keep it a secret.” Jason says, like it’s a dirty word. “I will.” Leo says.
Jason reaches out and pulls himself up to lean on his elbows, Leo can feel his hot breath fanning over his lips. Jason presses his forehead against Leo’s shoulder and squeezes his hand.
“I don’t love Piper.”
He says, and Leo’s breath catches a standstill.
“I know.” He says, and Jason winces.
“Do you love someone else?” He asks, and Jason nods, mouthing ‘yes’ against Leo’s shoulder. Leo’s heartbeat speeds up, pounding an uneven rhythm against his bones. “Who?”
He pulls away from Leo, sinking down into his pillows. His eyes are unsteady, unfocused. He’s staring back somewhere over Leo’s shoulder, he drops Leo’s hand and brings it to lay over his chest. He wets his lips and gently shakes his head, glancing back at Leo with the eyes of someone who’s seen too much, too young. “I can’t say.” He says, and the weight of it sounds like it’s chaining Jason to the ground.
It makes Leo want to kiss the lightning shaped scars driving up Jason’s neck and ease his worries away with a slight of hand.
“I think you can.” He says, and Jason shakes his head, as his eyes get heavy and wet. “No.” He says, adamantly. “I can’t hurt him like that.” He says, and his eyes are already closing. Leo wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him around.
He scoots his chair closer and leans over Jason gingerly, picking Jason’s hand back up. “I’ll keep it safe.” He promises, but Jason is quiet, softly snoring. Leo gulps, pressing his forehead against the top of Jason’s hand. He wets his lips and pushes to stand from his chair, now bent over Jason.
He brushes his sweat-sticky hair back carefully with draft fingers before pressing his lips against Jason’s forehead, skin heated and hot to the touch. He gently presses a kiss there and whispers his secret.
“I love you, Jason. Too much.”