•- •--• --- •-•• •-•• ---

(AN: The following Apollo POVs happen simultaneously, I just put the one with Will first because the poor boy needs a hug as soon as possible)

Apollo settled into being as a slightly older version of Lester, sitting on the sun-warm ground next to his son. Will didn’t react, but Nico’s gaze snapped to him, relief sweeping through his features as recognition dawned in his eyes. 

“I don’t know what happened.” It was less of a surprise than it should have been that Nico spoke in Italian, the words tumbling over each other like a waterfall in their rush to get out. “I looked over and he was fine and then he was stabbing Hawkeye in the chest. I brought him out here and he’s been like this ever since” he gestured towards Will’s shaking form. “I’ve never seen him like this before and I don’t know what to do. I don’t think he can hear me. Every time I touch him he flinches and it gets worse and he’s always so good at this when it’s me but I don’t know that to do and—”

Apollo cut Nico off with a gentle hand on his shoulder and aged himself by several years, going from mid-twenties to mid-forties in a blink. He let crows' feet wrinkles form around his eyes and felt the color of his hair bleed from brown to gold as his skin darkened several shades. 

When he was finished he looked far older than he usually would, but he had the feeling that the both of them needed a fatherly figure right about now. 

“It’s okay kid,” He said, keeping his voice soft and melodic. He put a tentative hand on Nico’s shoulder and Nico leaned into the touch. “This is your first time being on the other side of it, and it’s perfectly normal to be afraid. It won’t do anyone any good to work yourself up about not knowing what to do.”

“But I—”

“Take a few breaths.” He rubbed a slow circle on Nico’s back, pushing warm, calm energy into his body. “I’ll take care of Will, and I’m in the museum already. Everything is going to be fine, so you just breathe for a second and decide whether you want to stay out here or go back in. Do what’s best for you. I know that seeing him like this is distressing for you, and neither of us would think badly of you if you decide to go help in the infirmary instead.”

“I... I think I’m gonna go in.” Nico said, as if each word pained him. “I don’t trust Cap to do triage anymore and there are some people who are going to die alone and afraid if I don’t do something about it.”

“That sounds like a good choice.” Apollo said encouragingly.

Nico didn’t move.

“I could go with you if you want.” He tried.

“Would you?” Nico asked desperately.

“Of course,” He split a section of his being off into another form and the fragment stood, beckoning to Nico.

Apollo nodded reassuringly and Nico stood and walked with the duplicate, casting a last worried look at Will before entering the Museum.

Right. One panicking teen down, one to go.

He turned to Will, feeling his heart clench painfully at how unlike himself he seemed. He was curled into himself, clutching his knees to his chest and shivering despite the warm day. His skin was several shades paler than usual and soft choked sounds were escaping from where his face was pressed into his arms.

Apollo shifted closer and knelt in front of his son.

From what Nico had said, touching was a no-go, so Apollo decided on the next best thing: music. He began to hum quietly and materialized a ukulele to accompany him. It came out Celestial Bronze and bearing a suspicious resemblance to his old battle ukulele (made for him by Harley), which made him chuckle nostalgically. 

He strummed quietly and began to sing an ancient lullaby, pouring all the concern and affection he could muster into the music. 

After a few verses, Will began to melt like a popsicle in July. 

He slowly unfurled, his breaths coming easier and those heartbreaking whimpers fading into huffs. He raised his head somewhere towards the end of the chorus. 

His eyes and nose were red, and tear tracks trailed down his face. There was a smear of blood on one cheek, matching the blood on his hands that Apollo could see now that they weren’t hidden by his head. 

His gaze was bleary and unfocused. He looked unseeingly at the ground in front of him, hands shaking.

Apollo kept singing until the clarity seeped slowly into his eyes like the dawn of a cloudy day. Will sniffed and wiped his face with the back of one hand, leaving a trail of blood over his features. His gaze slowly trailed upwards, surprise registering in his features. 

“Dad?” His voice was quiet and timid. 

Oh gods, his heart wasn’t strong enough for this. 

Had Will ever called him Dad before? 

Certainly not to his face like this, with such obvious trust apparent in his voice.

He almost wanted to cry, or make a haiku to celebrate.

This wasn’t the time for that though, so Apollo just hummed and nodded in affirmation and set his ukulele down on the rubble.

“I’d like to take us somewhere a bit more private if that’s alright.” He said gently. 

Will nodded silently. In moments they had re-materialized in the patch of sunlight filtering through a window on one of the upper floors. The infirmary was on the ground level if the memories of his duplicates served him well, so they’d be unbothered for the most part. 

Will visibly wilted now that he was out of direct sunlight and Apollo winced. Maybe this was a bad idea. The fresh air had appeared to be helping. 

Well it was too late now. 

He let a soft glow light up his skin —which seemed to help— and materialized a damp cloth in one hand.  “May I?” he asked, gesturing to Will’s face and hands. 

Will nodded absently, his eyes following the movement of the cloth dispassionately. 

“If you want me to back off, tell me, okay?” Apollo said seriously, waiting for a nod of agreement before cupping Will’s chin with one hand and gently wiping the blood, tears and snot from his face with the other. 

Once his face was clean, Apollo pulled the dirtied cloth away and replaced it with a thought before moving on to his hands. He carefully cleaned the blood from where it stuck to his nails and the cracks in Will’s skin. 

Will said nothing, just staring at him blankly. 

When he was finished, Apollo banished the cloth and Will watched as it dissolved into golden light. “Right.” He shook himself and blinked several times as if waking from a bad dream, his features settling into a relaxed and neutral expression. “I should go back in.” 

It would be eerie watching someone go from looking like a complete emotional mess to confident and settled in less than five seconds, but Apollo saw that every morning in the mirror so the novelty was lost on him. 

Of traits Apollo wanted to pass on to his children, the uncanny ability to compartmentalize and act like everything was fine even as the world crumbled was not one of them. 

Will wasn’t quite as good at it as he was though. There was a slight tilt to his brow and a subtle pull to his lips that gave him away. 

That and his still-trembling hands.

“You missed a spot,” Apollo said. “Your hands are still shaking. Otherwise, very impressive. Most people would be convinced.”

Will looked down at his fingers, seeming surprised at the tremors that ran through them. “As it is, we’re staying out here for at least another ten minutes.”

His gaze snapped up at that. “Dad, there’s nobody with medical training in there.” Will argued. “It’s an infirmary without a healer. People will die, and it’ll be my fault because I’m some kind of amateur that freaks out when a patient doesn’t make it. What am I, ten? I mean, what kind of healer breaks down whenever someone dies? It’s an occupational hazard! I’m just too weak to deal with i—

“Hey, stop talking about my son like that.” Apollo said, a bit more sharply than he had intended. Will flinched at his tone and turned away. He winced internally and consciously softened his voice. “You aren’t weak, Will.” 

“You don’t need to lie to make me feel better, Dad.” Will scoffed bitterly. As if he actually believed that he would lie about something like that. Will looked up at him, squaring his shoulders as if bracing himself. “I still need to go back in. Hawkeye and Captain America know some first aid, but not enough to be much good beyond triage and bandaging.”

“From what I hear, the good Captain’s triage rights have been officially revoked. That being said, you don’t need to worry about the infirmary right now. I’m taking care of it and paramedics will be here soon. In ten minutes, if you’re feeling better, you can go back in. If not then they’ll just have to make do with the god of healing.”

“But… you’re right here.” Will said, though it sounded more like a question.

“Now that I’m a god again, I can be here for you and in working with patients and arguing with my father all at the same time,” Apollo smiled and put a warm hand on his son’s shoulder. “So believe me when I say that we have all the time in the world right now and I’m not letting you back in there until your hands are steady again.”

Will visibly slumped in relief. 

“Now what was that about me lying?” He asked as gently as he could. Will’s shoulders still tensed which made his heart twist painfully.

“I’m the god of truth, Will.” He said softly. “And you’re my son. I can share that with you, if you want.” 

Will made a confused noise and furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t often give this gift to my children, but I could share my ability to see the truth with you.” He hesitated. “Do you want that?”

There was a long moment where Will stared at him like he’d grown another head, and an even longer one where he seemed to be considering the offer. Eventually he nodded his assent. Apollo smiled and brushed the blonde hair out of his son’s face, letting a shadow of his power sink into the skin there and settle behind his eyes.

“There. Now look at me, Will, and tell me if I’m lying.” 

He waited until those sky blue eyes met his own before he spoke with as much conviction as he could muster. “You are not weak. You’re young and traumatized —don’t look at me like that, I know you know the symptoms of PTSD. You’re not weak, you’re not immature and you’re not broken. You have saved hundreds of lives and I am so proud of you. You are strong and kind and talented. And even if you weren’t any of those things. Even if you couldn’t be strong anymore, even if you stopped healing and ran off to join a circus I would still love you.”

Will’s eyes flashed gold and he blinked in surprise, a tear escaping his red-rimmed eyes to run down his tanned cheeks. 

“Did I say anything just now that I didn’t wholeheartedly believe to be true?” Apollo asked. 

Will shook his head in disbelief and something painful tugged at his ancient heart.

“I’d like to hug you now.” Apollo stated, smiling a little as the flash of gold lit up Will’s eyes. Will leaned forward, and Apollo wrapped his arms around his son, pulling him close as Will's shoulders began to shake. 

He hadn’t been a very good parent all these years. Not if one of his children looked so shocked to hear that he loved them. 

Apollo remembered years of looking on from a distance as his children grew. Years of prayers left largely unanswered. Pleas for help and strength that he had replied to with a particularly warm ray of sunlight or a stupid haiku. 

He closed his eyes and cupped the back of Will's neck to help him settle his face into a more comfortable position. He nuzzled his son’s hair with his nose gently and squeezed him lightly. 

“You’re so good, Will.” he crooned. “So talented and strong and kind.” Will’s breath hitched as he continued, “You’re a better healer than I am, I think,” 

Will’s head snapped up, eyes meeting his own in shock. “You healed everyone at camp when they lost limbs or got themselves impaled,” he said. “I could have done that, sure, but you were the one who held the cabin together after the Battle of Manhattan. You were the one soothing nightmares and making soothing tea at two in the morning. You were the one comforting everyone else, even though you were grieving too. I don’t know if I could have done that.”

He held his son’s face in his hands, wiping the tears that fell from those sky-blue eyes, so like his own. “I am so sorry for not being there for you. I’m sorry that you had to be strong because I was off being a god when I should have been with my kids. I’m so sorry for the way you’ve had to grow up so fast, and at the same time I’m so proud of the person you’ve become.”

Will buried his head in his chest again, and Apollo let him. He gently ran his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck and traced slow circles on his back. Hot, wet tears dampened his shirt. 

He closed his eyes and made himself a promise. 

He’d do better. 

He’d be a better father. 

For Will. 

For his kids in the Apollo cabin. 

For the ones who were too old or too young to be staying there. 

For all of them.

I’ll be a better father, I swear it on the river Styx

And for once, he felt that the spirit of the river approved of his promise.

•- •--• --- •-•• •-•• ---

When Apollo materialized in the MOMA, he hadn’t expected to see Leo Valdez unsuccessfully tackling Captain America. 

In hindsight, he would realize that Valdez had been blocking the man’s eyes so he wouldn’t disintegrate as Apollo appeared. 

That was a lovely sentiment, but seeing as this was only about half of his consciousness it was quite unnecessary. 

The other half was split between arguing with his father and comforting his son, though the latter obviously took precedence. 

Well, he supposed. There’s no reason to be impolite. 

“Hello there.” he said warmly, holding out a hand to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Cap.”

The good Captain just stood there staring, his mouth hanging open in surprise. He was favoring his left side slightly, one arm hovering near it on instinct.

“Sorry,” Apollo said quickly, realizing his mistake. “Can I call you Cap? That is what the Avengers call you, but I suppose a complete stranger would be different.”

“No-” the Captain said, sounding slightly strangled. “No, Cap is fine.”

“Are you okay?” He asked, concerned. 

“Yup, I’m good.” Cap said unconvincingly. 

“Can I check?” Apollo asked. The man looked quite pale —like he was going into shock or coming out of a fever. 

“Uh… sure?” Cap said hesitantly.

He pressed a hand to the man’s forehead —the only place he could touch bare skin— and sent out an inquisitive pulse. 

What he saw surprised even him. 

Being the god of both medicine and knowledge, it was safe to say that he knew human bodies inside and out, but this was something entirely new. 

“Fascinating,” he breathed as he investigated further. “Your ability to self-heal is really quite remarkable, you know. ”

“Uh, thank you?” Cap said. Bless those old-fashioned manners. 

The rate of cellular reproduction was nearly four times that of the average person, and it seemed that the number of times each cell could replicate had quadrupled as well. His metabolism was insane, requiring far more energy than usual to accommodate the increased cells. It was a completely sustainable accelerated healing system that wouldn’t have a detriment to his life span in the long run. 

He could feel a hairline fracture in Cap’s left rib healing. It would be back to normal in hours rather than weeks. Bruises were already yellowing and the few nicks he’d gotten already had the scabs falling off. 

“What are you doing?” Cap asked. Apollo didn’t respond, his attention catching on a knot of energy in the man’s mind. 

Ah, there it was. 

That looked quite painful. 

No wonder he looked so pale, he was one more impossible revelation from going insane. He hummed in sympathy. Poor guy must have had quite the day. Aliens and flying metal dragons were quite a lot for a mortal mind to comprehend. 

“Who is this guy?” Cap glanced at Pyre nervously. “Is he a healer like Raphael?”  

Leo, who apparently responded to ‘Pyre’ now, snorted. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Apollo detangled the edges of the knot, tugging gently to get the kinks out until energy flowed more smoothly through the man’s mind. 

He sped up the healing on that fractured rib while he was at it and smoothed over the cuts so they wouldn’t scar. He felt a shudder under his fingers as Cap blinked and shivered at the feeling.

“Woah.” Cap said as Apollo took his hand away and opened his eyes. There was far more color to his face, now, and he wasn’t favoring his side the way he had been earlier. “What was that?”

“A word of advice, Cap.” Apollo said conspiratorially. “Just roll with it. Nothing makes sense. Ever.”

Cap nodded reluctantly.

“Much better.” He said, satisfied. Then he brushed a hand through Leo’s hair, sending a wave of healing energy through his fingertips and into Leo’s familiar fiery body. 

“Thanks, man.” Leo gave him one of his softer smiles.

“Always… Pyre, was it?” Apollo asked as he walked towards where he guessed the infirmary was. Leo followed, with Cap trailing behind like a lost puppy so he must be going the right direction. The view from his chariot sadly didn’t extend indoors, but he had a fair idea of where it would be by the injuries he could feel nearby. 

Leo nodded and explained about the nicknames, running through them quickly. Apollo didn’t have too much trouble assigning the names to people without Leo having to say their real names. Most of them were pretty straightforward.

“That’s a clever name, by the way,” he complimented. “A nice nod to… well. You know.”

“To dying in a blaze of fire?” Leo asked gleefully. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“What did the others think?” He asked curiously. He entered the room, which was brightly lit and well organized. Will had done a good job. There weren’t many people there that hadn’t been treated already. He shed off a few strands of his consciousness to care for the untreated ones and started checking on the ones Will had worked on earlier.

“Gods, that’s weird to watch.” Leo said under his breath. 

“What?” Cap spluttered from behind them. 

“Roll with it, dear.” He chided gently.

“Right.” Cap groaned, shaking his head and walking off.

Leo snickered. At a prompting glance he spoke again. “They didn’t get it originally, I had to explain it afterwards. They thought it was too morbid. I’m pretty sure if we’d been in the same room, Azrael would’ve punched me.”

“One would think that Azrael of all people would appreciate the morbidity of it.” He chuckled. “His moniker is quite fitting. The angel of death.”

“Oh is that what it means?” Leo asked. “Wait, does that mean Azrael is Catholic?”

“Not necessarily. He was raised in Italy though, so he probably is at least familiar with the saints and angels of the Catholic church.” Apollo mused.

“Are you going to use one?” Leo asked excitedly. 

“A code name?” Apollo asked. He hadn’t thought of that.

“No, a Catholic saint.” Leo said sarcastically.

Apollo snorted. “I hate to disappoint, but I hardly think that’s necessary. I’m used to responding to Lester already.” 

“That’s even more unimaginative than ‘Fai’” Leo said, scowling playfully.

Apollo hummed. checking in with his other selves remotely as he moved on to an older woman. “Azrael will be joining us in a moment. Oh!” he cheered excitedly as he healed the nasty open fracture in her arm. “Hawkeye’s here?”

“I take it you’re a fan?” Leo chuckled. 

“He’s a fan of who?” Nico asked, coming in through the entrance with yet another Apollo (who was far older than he usually went —wonder what that’s about)  and making a b-line for one of the deceased —a teen with curly dirty blonde hair.

“Of whom, Azrael” Apollo corrected, specifically not answering.

“Hawkeye.” Leo grinned. 

Nico nodded at the answer and picked up the teenager with a soft huff before walking out of the room. He must be giving the dead their proper funeral rites in one of the other rooms. 

A soft pang of sympathy laced through him. He didn’t envy that task. 

A sliver of him followed, equally sympathetic. Good. One of him would deal with that.

“So are you?” Leo asked again. He blinked and looked back at the boy. He looked like an excited puppy. Apollo decided to play with him a bit.

“Am I what?” he teased, chuckling at the pout Leo sent him.

“A fan, Lester. Are you a fan?”

“Of course I’m a fan!” he answered enthusiastically. “He's an excellent archer. One of the best in the world.”

That was probably a bit of an understatement. Apollo had seen flashes of his life from his sun chariot for years, and could honestly say that Hawkeye was one of the funniest, kindest people he’d ever seen. He was definitely a bit more than just a fan of Hawkeye’s archery skills.

“It’s a pity he got rid of all the purple once he joined SHIELD,” Apollo said. “It suited him.”

“How did you know that? How do you even know my name?” the man asked from behind him. Apollo very nearly jumped. Hawkeye was a master spy and assassin, so it made sense that he would be sneaky, but that level of stealth was just unfair. Apollo prided himself on his excellent hearing. Being snuck up on was unsettling.

“How could I not?” Apollo split himself again and turned to carry on the conversation as his other half checked the woman over for other injuries. “You’re truly a master of your cra— oh dear.” The playful lilt fell from his voice as he saw Hawkeye’s haggard face. 

“What, am I that ugly?” The shorter man asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, you’re quite attractive. You just look like you’ve been run over by a truck.” He said frankly. “And your lack of reaction just now was concerning. I just split in two and you aren’t even surprised.”

“My capacity to react to weirdness has officially burned out. It’ll be offline for the next 5-10 business days.” Hawkeye said wryly. It was true, he gave off an aura of sickly blue energy that Apollo itched to clear away.

Apollo chuckled. “I could help with that if you don’t mind—” he waved his hands vaguely.

“I haven’t had the best experiences with glowy magic as of late, so I think I’ll pass.” The archer shivered. 

“Besides, you have other patients to deal with.”

“It isn’t magic, just healing. And I think I’ve made it clear that I’m capable of multitasking.” Apollo hummed. “I won’t force you or anything, but I do suggest you get yourself looked at by a capable healer some time soon. Your energy is… off.”

“What do you mean, off?” Hawkeye asked cautiously, shifting on the balls of his feet. He sent a suspicious look to Cap, who must have nodded or something because he relaxed slightly.

“I mean you’re practically crackling with blue energy.” Apollo said seriously, noticing the way Hawkeye’s skin paled at his words. “I can’t even see auras usually —not unless someone is dying— but this is… obvious even to me.”

“Blue energy?” Hawkeye repeated, voice strained.

“Yes. Electric blue.” Apollo confirmed, confused. “This is clearly distressing you, I can back off if you need.”

“What, did you get hit by one of those alien gun-things?” Pyre asked, “I thought they just made things explode.”

“No— I… Could you get it off me?” Hawkeye asked, desperation clear in every line of his body.

“The blue energy?” He asked. Hawkeye nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Relief broke through his face, the fractured-glass creases in his face easing. “Do it.”

“Alright,” he shifted to put his hands on the man’s chest, where the energy seemed strongest, but paused before he made contact. He met the shorter man’s eyes. “You might want to sit down for this.”

“Right.” Hawkeye said, promptly sitting on the ground.

He sat down in front of the man, glancing around to make sure they weren’t in anyone’s way. They were right in front of the old woman and a little bit in the middle of things, but there was enough room to navigate around them. It wasn’t ideal, but… 

Well that was his own fault for not specifying.

“Right then.” Apollo cupped the man’s head with one hand, thumb pressing against his temple gently, and placed the other directly over his heart. His senses were immediately overwhelmed with icy blue darkness.

He recoiled instinctively, swearing in Ancient Greek and shaking his hands out. Hawkeye was listing forward, his whole body shivering.

“What’s wrong?” Leo asked, sounding panicked.

“Nothing, nothing,” He said soothingly. “I’ve just… never felt anything quite like that before. It’s dark and cold, like… ” he trailed off uncertainly.

“Like frostbite spreading over your entire body.” Hawkeye whispered.

“That’s an apt comparison, yes.” Apollo confirmed before grinning confidently. “Fortunately, I kind of specialize in warmth and light.”

“That’s convenient.” Hawkeye raised an eyebrow, still shuddering from artificial cold.

“It really is.”

“Well, let's see if this helps.” Apollo gathered warm sunlight in his palms and they glowed faintly. He resumed his earlier position and pushed his heat through that icy cold. He closed his eyes to focus on the spiky edges of frost. Hawkeye tensed beneath his fingers. The blue energy began to melt, slowly at first and then faster once the warmth reached further inside.

Hawkeye gave a final shiver and then relaxed almost completely into his hold, going limp enough that the only thing keeping his head up was Apollo’s hand.

Well, that was certainly progress. 

He skimmed through his body, fixing up a mild concussion and repairing strained muscles. At last, he reached the man’s consciousness, a tangled mass of ice and torn lines of energy.

“Oh dear, something has gone and made quite a mess of your mind.” Apollo crooned sympathetically as he ran metaphysical fingers over the mass, melting the ice and beginning to sort through the threads. “No wonder you were so out of it.”

“Someone.” Hawkeye corrected.

“Someone?” Apollo questioned. He’d never seen an injury like this before. It felt as though the threads of his consciousness had been seized by an outside force and tugged like the strings of a puppet.

No, that wasn’t quite right. It was like whoever this ‘someone’ was had taken his mind and forced it to function within their parameters, causing it to chafe against the sharp icy restraints like a person’s wrist would if they were forced to wear handcuffs for days on end.

“A god.” Hawkeye confirmed.

Apollo froze, eyes snapping open. “A god?” He didn’t know of any god that could do damage like this. 

Sure they could drive mortals mad, but that was about it: once they were crazy they acted on their own. 

That was besides the point. 

How did this mortal know about gods? If he did, how wouldn’t he recognize one this close? He shared a look with a wide-eyed Leo, who looked just as confused as he felt.

“Yeah, can you believe it?” Hawkeye said, eyes still closed.

Apollo continued his work delicately. “Which god?” He probed, looking over his work for evidence of godly interference. There was none. He sighed quietly and resumed his healing.

“Loki.” Hawkeye answered. “He pressed the tip of his spear to my chest and next thing I know it’s days later and I’m tied to an examination table in the infirmary.” Well at least the amnesia made sense. Almost every god he knew could wipe memories using the mist or glamor or whatever a pantheon called the force that hid them from mortal eyes.

“Loki.” Apollo repeated. He supposed that, of the thousands of gods in this world, he would have a fair chance of pulling this off. Loki specialized in trickery and manipulation, and this was… similar to that, just infinitely more powerful and precise.  

“You’re familiar with him?”

“Vaguely. Hair like autumn leaves, red eyes with acid scarring beneath them, puncture wounds around the lips?”

If this mortal had seen Loki, that meant he had recovered his strength much faster than expected. He’d have to inform the Norse pantheon immediately. His bindings must be faulty. 

That’s what you get for using entrails as rope. He thought, rolling his eyes.

“Not at all.” Hawkeye blinked his eyes open, brow furrowed in confusion. “His hair is black, and he doesn’t have scars on his face at all. I didn’t see any scars on him, actually. He could’ve been hiding them though.”

He’d have thought the man was lying, but each word rang with truth.

“Huh, must’ve been a different Loki.” He said weakly.

“How many gods named Loki are there?” Hawkeye asked, exasperated. 

I’d thought there was just the one. Apollo mused. 

He should wipe the man’s memory of this conversation. 

He almost did it, but something made him pause. Hawkeye already had enough god-related memory gaps. Adding to the mental damage and trauma of the situation, even through a simple manipulation of the mist, left him with a bad feeling in his stomach. 

Apollo shook his head and re-focused on his work. There were just a few more tangles and— there. Hawkeye gave a sigh of relief and all the tension in his body abandoned him, causing him to crumple. 

It was fortunate they’d been sitting down. It’s much easier to steady a sitting person than to catch a falling one. 

Apollo gave the man a moment to get a hold of his faculties and when he was supporting himself again, he withdrew his hands and placed them in his lap. He fidgeted nervously, unsure of how to broach the subject. Then again he’d never been one for subtlety, had he? Might as well just go for it. “Your deafness affects your balance more than I’d thought it would.”

Hawkeye’s eyes snapped to his, startling in their sudden keenness. 

Any trace of the hazy confusion that had clouded his mind earlier was gone and his expression was sharp and intense. He looked very much, at that moment, like the bird of prey he was named for: face harsh and angular and his head cocked in a remarkably birdlike fashion. 

Apollo slowly put his hands up, palms out. 

He’d just taken the man’s biggest weakness and prodded it with a stick. 

“That wasn’t an insinuation that you are at all incapable.” He said calmly. “Just that it is truly remarkable how skilled you are in spite of that.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” His voice was clear and cutting as glass and gods that was hot… 

Wait, no. 

Focus, he chided himself internally. 

“I could fix your balance.” Apollo offered. “So you wouldn’t have to compensate so much.”

“You could do what?” Those eyes widened and his head tilted to the other side.

“I could fix your balance,” he repeated. “I’d offer to restore your hearing, but that might cause you to lose the advantage of your improved eyesight. That and it really wouldn’t end well for anyone.”

“You can just… do that?” Hawkeye asked incredulously. “You can fix my balance? Just like that?”

“In this case, I think so. Sometimes it’s not that simple..” He couldn’t imagine the trouble he’d cause if he restored the wrong person and messed with the Fates’ plans. 

He shivered. 

Not many things frightened him anymore, but the Fates would always unsettle him.

“So what would that entail?” Hawkeye’s voice was carefully neutral, but there was a spark of hope in those blue eyes. 

Wow. 

He’d thought that was just a reflection of the energy, but that was all gone now. His eyes really were just… that blue.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking away. “Your hearing loss isn’t what causes the imbalance, they were just damaged at the same time and are near each-other. I could repair the vestibular system, which is what causes it.” He glanced up into those piercing eyes, which were still watching him like a… well, like a hawk. 

He looked away again. “If you want I could also even out your hearing loss. You’re 70% deaf in the left ear and only 50% in the right. I could give you an even 50-50 if that’s appealing. You’d have to recalibrate your aides, of course, but you’re friends with Stark and that’s child’s play for him.” 

“You would do that?” Hawkeye looked confused, disbelief etched into his features. “Why?”

He looked the man right in the eye and furrowed his brows. “Why not?” He shrugged. “It would make your life easier, and it won’t cause any harm that I can see.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hawkeye blinked, which seemed like much more of a surrender than it should have been. He leaned back and lost the predatory edge he’d been exuding. It was different from when Apollo changed behaviors, more… genuine. Like he really had switched from being suspicious to accepting that quickly.

The switch was so disarmingly sudden that for a moment Apollo almost didn’t realize what Hawkeye had said.

“Okay?” Apollo lifted his hands, nodding at them and raising a brow quizzically. 

“Okay.” Hawkeye confirmed. Apollo cupped the man’s face in both hands, using his godly self control to keep the blush from rising to his cheeks, and closed his eyes as he sent tiny tendrils of his power through his fingers. 

It was delicate work, but not overly difficult and it took only moments. 

When he leaned back, finished Hawkeye blinked several times and tilted his head experimentally from side to side and Wow that should not be as adorable as it is, he’s a grown man and he could shoot the wings off a fly from a hundred yards and gods that thought was not helping.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a careful sniff. Hawkeye was cupping his hands over his mouth and the beginning of tears had gathered in his eyes. He very suddenly had an armful of afor-once-not-related-to-him-archer as Hawkeye whispered “Thank you, thank you, thank you” into his chest. He wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders —nope bad idea those are very muscular oh gods he was not prepared for this. 

He settled one head near Hawkeye’s head and the other on his back. That seemed safe. 

He tugged on the threads of his own consciousness, checking in with them for something to do. He’d evidently ended up taking Nico aside as well. Good, the kid had looked shaken. Oh, Lee— 

He quickly shifted his attention elsewhere. 

The multiple incarnations of his beautiful face were evidently too much for Cap, who had shaken his head and gone out to look for more wounded.

The other demigods had been cycling through, dropping off or picking up mortals as they went. Avengers had been doing the same, all of them save the redheaded Black Widow. The blonde lightning one —and didn’t that sting— was named Thor and called himself the god of thunder. As someone who had met the god of thunder, Apollo was unconvinced. He looked far more like that god with a talking sword. Frey, was it? 

Thankfully, through a true miracle of timing, none of the others had met Thor yet. He had the feeling that would bring up some complicated feelings and conversations —which would distract them from their ever-important task of gathering mortals.

He was glad his other self had had the foresight to move Will. He wouldn’t have been comfortable with that many people —not when he was vulnerable like that, he and Apollo shared an intense hatred for negative feelings and an even stronger hatred for burdening others with them. 

The paramedics would be here soon, he realized as he viewed the world from his chariot. Five to ten minutes at mo— 

His hair is very soft. His hands informed him, interrupting his thoughts.

He took his earlier assessment back. Nothing about this was safe.

think of something else thinkofsomethingelseohgods

He patted the man’s back awkwardly and blushed a radiant gold, looking straight ahead. Maybe if something about this situation was straight it would help. 

Leo caught his eye and immediately collapsed into silent giggles.

He glared at him, but that just made him laugh harder. 

What was the point of being a god if his friends still made fun of him mercilessly?

Hawkeye gave a final sniff and pulled back. Apollo was suddenly very aware of the empty space he had just vacated.  “Sorry, I just…” he shook his head, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand before fixing him with a gaze heavy with sincerity. “Thank you.”

Apollo cleared his throat. “No problem, Hawkeye” his voice cracked. Leo redoubled into his giggling. 

Hawkeye took him in with an assessing gaze and a hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Call me Clint,” he said smoothly.

Zeus, just strike me down now. He thought desperately. 

Mercifully, Hawkeye tilted his head at that moment. He grunted and lifted a hand to his left ear, adjusting the volume with a wince. “Yeah, I am.”

Thank the gods.

Someone must be talking to him over his communicators. He held up a finger in apology and Apollo waved him off. He stood, walking out of the room. 

Evidently this was a somewhat private conversation. 

Apollo took the opportunity to let out a strangled whimper and clutch at his chest. Leo finally lost control and full-on cackled.

“With friends like these, who needs enemies?” he whined.

Leo just laughed louder.