` ` Asphodel Meadows ` `

The Asphodel Meadows.

Gabriel did not often explore this land. It isn't something a God like him would hold interest in- dead things stayed dead, tended to by Hades and his lot. Besides, live specimens were always better to study than their remnants. What knowledge could Gabriel gain from watching mindless shells gather their grain for their eternity?

No, he much prefers living, breathing things.

Soil presses beneath his feet as he walks; the transition from the stone of the underworld into soft dirt was subtle, something he had not noticed until he was brushing by greenery, gray melding into organic material, clumps of purple and flora breaking up the monotonous agony of the rest of this land.

His hand brushes by an asphodel, and he carries on.

Gabriel is here for one thing.

His eyes narrow against the souls he sees littered across fields; there is no stench of death, no rot, no pain: it's just this. Endless meadow; nothing changes, save for the faces that weave in and out of Gabriel's peripheral, nameless forms and wisps of human life caught in the shell of their former selves. Human life, forgotten and disposed of, left to wander a garden.

It always irked him how Persephone could have been so enamored with this place at first. How she could have seen this unchanging meadow and found beauty in it. To Gabriel, there's no life, there's no difference, it is just...

An end.

Maybe he would've found beauty in that once, before. Before.

Shake your head of the thought. He carries on.

Gabriel wanders for a long while. His steps are with purpose, but his confidence wanes slightly as the fields simply stretch onward, never ending. It's no wonder a person could lose themselves here, their spirit stolen by the acres of stalks.

One person could have brought such much needed life here. Could fire up a hundred men with the passion that oozed from his chest, his lips, his very actions. He would have spoken the entire time- silence always unnerved him- and Gabriel would have listened and nodded along to every complaint that these people had no backbone, no spirit about them. He would've drank every word.

But that thought is shoved away for now. Not yet, not yet, not yet.

.

.

.

Gabriel is not sure how long he travels. Time is an oddity down here, even more than the overworld. It could have been hours, it could have been years- oh how he hopes it is not the latter, moreso for the man's sake than Gabriel's. He would never hear the end of it, otherwise...

If he did get to hear it again.

Every face looks the same: people blend impossibly together, just masses of obstacles, and every moment reminds Gabriel of how it should not have been here. Here, where heroes go to decay and the brightest burning lights are left to simmer out, embers stamped out underneath the heels of mindless workers. Why here?

The very thought has his teeth worrying his lips again, and he makes the effort to stop, to not begin with this already. But regardless, the anger bubbles low in his gut at the idea that a star so bright could be left to burn out into oblivion, into nothingness. He was far from nothing, damn it all, he was... he was...

Gabriel's boot scuffs the ground, his hands shaking.

He was everything. Humanity's finest traits wrapped into golden stares and warm, calloused hands. Into anger and passion, into self-loathing and guilt but determination above all. Such a beautiful representation of humanity's spirit of passion and determination; Gabriel had never known him once to give up, to stop moving, even when their worlds crumbled around them. Toothy smiles and angry rants, stomping tantrums and the gentle way he held Gabriel against him. A warm embrace. Raven hair interrupted by white streaks, falling out of loosely tied hair- and oh how badly Gabriel wanted to run a hand through it, to watch the tangles be eased by his own human form's flesh, and the way those strands looked, dry and crusted, sifting through Gabriel's fingers as he finally had that wish granted, but only as blood flaked off onto his pale skin, cold, even colder skin beneath.

Golden embers dashed onto the ground, white satin stained with red. Gabriel's light, burnt out and laying among others, just like any other man. Any other human.

Just a man.

A man who's just a face among all these others now, fated to forget, to lose himself in the monotony of meadows, his mind scattered among the asphodels.

It is impossible to stop the way his chest tightens at that. Bile rises in the back of his throat, making him nearly gag with the sudden emotion; that tar that had settled in his gut since he stepped into here finally twists into something solid, wrapping up his feeble heart and coiling around his throat, choking out whatever is left of him with a horrible wanting.

He wants- no, he needs that familiar weight on his shoulder as bad as humans need oxygen. He needs the reassurance of that form behind him, watching him, angry about who-knows-what but there. Solid and real, a company that Gabriel never realized he had come to crave until it was ripped away from him.

He needs him. HIs Achilles.

The name feels like it is being carved out of him, each syllable tightening the noose around his neck. It's ridiculous, how one being could have sunk their claws so tightly into Gabriel's heart, then completely tore it out in his absence, leaving behind mangled grief and a hole wider than the one that existed before Achilles had ever come along.

Achilles.

He wants to sob the name out. To scream it raw. To spit it out with such vitriolic hate for what he's been left with in its absence, in what it has done to him. And he wants to curse whatever was in charge of creating a universe that could harbor such love and grief all at the same time- a universe where something like him could possibly outlive something that will be far more precious than any God ever could.

His nails dig into his hairline, tugging and tugging at his form, his limbs shaking with the emotion that has threatened to drown him since he stepped into the underworld. Since he had to hold a cold love against his bosom and kiss the crown of a man who would never breathe life again.

Please, my brethren. Please. This is all I ask of you.

He can see through the gaps in his fingers.

How much more do I need to beg?

And... His eyes finally catch onto a streak of white, one that has his breath hitching.

It's him.

His feet are moving before he can process it completely. He could never mistake that face though, that body, that voice- could never mistake him, not for anyone else.

Achilles.

He's running, his legs carrying him past the mounds of souls, of people he could never mistake for the bright fire ahead of him, this burning human soul- human more than anything else. He pushes, desperate, choked sounds escaping him as he shoves others out of the way, get out of the way so he can see-

And when he forces the crowd to move, when he finds himself beholding a man, he can finally see that-

It isn't Achilles.

It feels like a stake to the heart. Truly, if a God could be killed, it would be this, Gabriel thinks.

It isn't his Achilles.

It looks just like him: darker skin interrupted by pale scarring, shaping his face into something the blonde has always found beautiful. Raven hair, this time loose around his neck, brushing his shoulders. The same build, the same form...

Gabriel bites back the mounting panic and the bile, holding back the need to be sick in favor of pretending for just a moment that this could be the same man. That this is his.

"Achilles?" It comes out softer than he intends, a question instead of a statement, because his Achilles is gone brighter, cold warmer, more vibrant than this.

But he's met with dulled eyes.

Achilles is quiet, unbearably so. He's picking at stalks, Gabriel can see: the same activity a few others nearby are partaking in, since it seems to be all these other souls know to do. Collect the asphodels into a pile, gather the stalks, wrap them up... monotonous. Horribly so. And when he looks up at Gabriel, it's-

Blank.

Not his.

Gone is the golden glow of his irises, dulled by this place. His face lacks the lines of anger, that thoughtful furrow to his brow, the wrinkles of annoyance.

Just blank.

"Achilles," Gabriel repeats, this time more desperate, willing this man to listen, to hear him. He wants to shake him, to rile him up, to do anything than be met with such unfamiliarity.

He often daydreamed of smoothing those lines of stress away, of gently easing that anger from Achilles's brow with the press of his thumb- or even his own lips. But this... this is eerie. This isn't what he wants Achilles to ever look like again- this lost, this empty.

It takes a few tries before Achilles finally looks up at him, and the sight has Gabriel fighting back a recoil. Achilles just watches him for a long moment, before finally opening his mouth.

"Oh- hi." It's too calm. It sounds like him but it's not him and Gabriel wants to hurl. He should not sound that quiet, that timid, should not be saying that. "Are you... talking to me?"

It takes a moment to force his voice to work. To not let the tremor in his hands extend to his vocals.

"I am." Gabriel swallows around the lump in his throat. "Achilles. That- that is you."

Achilles blinks at him. Just blinks.

"Oh." Not him, Gabriel's mind screams, not mine. He smiles then, and Gabriel would have nearly ripped it off his face if it was not for the way his gut drops into the floor not only at the fact Achilles had had to be reminded of his own name, but that he adds- "Who are you?"

Who are you?

"Who are you?" A spear pointed at his throat, anger flickering in eyes that were unafraid, just daring Gabriel to move a step in the wrong direction, accusations already settling on his tongue.

This time with a blank stare and none of the life.

"Gabriel." It falls from his lips in a whisper, his voice quivering a small bit. His hands tremble. "My name is Gabriel."

Achilles gives him another horribly empty smile, before simply turning and returning to his work, a small hum coming from him. Some old song, something Gabriel might have heard Achilles hum in the secret of his tent late at night, when he thought no one was listening. Embarrassed, he always got...

"Gabriel..."

Gabriel denies the urge to correct him, to beg to hear the word ‘Gabe' fall from chapped lips. Only one person was allowed to rip off half of his name then return it tender and cleanly cut, and this is not that man.

"That's a nice name." Is all Achilles says after a moment.

"You have heard it before," Gabriel says, unable to help himself, as he bends over a little to catch Achilles's eye. He wills the man to listen, to recognize anything at this point. "I have introduced myself to you previously."

"Have you?" Achilles doesn't even raise an eyebrow. "Huh- small world."

Did it not even click? Did he not care? Gabriel wants to rattle him around, to shake the memories back into him, to make him care for even a minute about what he has to say-

"No- um, Achilles, please." His hand moves to grab Achilles's shoulder- but hesitates, before ultimately falling away. "I am trying to tell you, we have met once before. Can you-"

A small sound escapes him when Achilles hoists up what he had been gathering, then starts to walk away, desperation tugging at his heartstrings at the sight of Achilles leaving. "Can you please look at me? We have... we have met. I know you."

"I think I'd remember you," Achilles lets out a little chuckle that grates on Gabriel's ears. Unnatural; it sounds so much like Achilles, but without anything that makes the man himself. His eyes roam over Gabriel's form, taking it in for the (first) time. "I would remember someone like you."

"Well- it is complicated-"

Stop moving, Gabriel wants to yell at the form walking away. But he just follows, like he always has, like the chaser of humanity he will only ever be-

"Your memories, they were... they were taken-"

Achilles is not looking at him. It is either that consciousness in this place is difficult, or that he simply didn't care to listen to the ramblings of what must seem like a mad man, in a place such as this. Gabriel is caught between the urge to rattle him, or fall to his knees and start pleading to Hades, even if he were ultimately not to blame for this.

Instead, all he can do is stare at the man leaving him- again.

He is so tired of watching. So tired of just staring, letting things escape him, precious things like this. Everything has always just passed him by, humanity gone in flashes, to be spectated by gods in their infinite time-

And he can't do it again.

Not again.

"Achilles," It's laced with a pressing desperation, mixing with the determination and fear in his gut, but active nonetheless. He drags himself forward with shaking hands and steps into Achilles's sight, not letting him go, not yet. "The first time we met, you raised your spear at me and threatened my life. Do you recall?"

Obviously not.

"This is my home." Achilles says simply: a non-answer. Peace is all he has known, here.

"No, that is far from here: a kingdom. You were- are the prince of it. Your home is not of this place; it is in palaces, glory, battle fields-" and my side.

And I dragged you from it, he wants to say, but holds his tongue. This isn't the time for depreciation or guilt, for what Achilles might have ultimately done himself.

His heart aches at the way Achilles looks at him.

"That sounds like an exciting life," Respectful. Said from the perspective of an outsider. The look of feigned interest is one that Gabriel knows, but as if it were from a completely different man, wearing his beloved's face.

"It was yours," He's trying to be firm, as firm as a crackling dam can. Why can he not get Achilles look at him, with those adoring gold eyes? Even if Gabriel thinks the sight may wash away the rest of his nerve. "You were a general for the finest of armies. I watched you command men, I watched you fight, you were the very best-"

"Was I?" A snort; unbelief.

To me, you were. "And you respected every servant, everyone who was beneath you. So many others stared after you because of it, but you never seemed like you cared."

Achilles does not respond to that one. He simply continues walking, Gabriel chasing after him, always following. The familiarity hurts; they haven't walked like this since they first met, when Gabriel had been, hesitantly, allowed to trail, following after Achilles' heel as the man studied him in return, curiosity building alongside annoyance and something that Gabriel has come to learn was respect.

"Mm." Achilles stares at the ground, at his feet and simple sandals. A man listening to the legends of a stranger. "You know a lot about this guy."

"I do." More than any.

The thought has a hole burning through Gabriel's pocket though, up until he reaches and drags out the offending object, the culmination of his recent centuries' work- and he begins flipping, the soft sounds of pages being filtered through filling the space between them.

"Let me tell you about it." Gabriel says, with the evidence of a life held in leather-binding and tidy scrawl. "Please."

And he does.

He speaks, information rolling from his tongue easily, barely needing to check his own notes at first. He has memorized each of these pages after all, each read over and studied like worship, as if a God would ever need to do such a thing. Still- in the dead of night, when Achilles slept, Gabriel simply read, ensuring each observation was a perfect description of the sunlight that lay in bed across from him.

"You had a sister, though you hardly spoke of her-"

"You loved to read: history books, strategies, legends of old kings-"

He spoke of Achilles' life. The titles Achilles held, the places he went, the way Gabriel trailed after him to each, obsessed with this spark of humanity. Useless information- names and dates and people they have met, places and cities and the way Achilles preferred his hair, preferred his wine, simple things.

"I witnessed you give a servant boy our last morsel once-" You were kind.

"You are always so easy to stir, it has gotten us into trouble more than once-" Angry.

"We met" and "We traveled" and "We become friends, comrades-" bleeds into admissions of closer observations, Gabriel's very own research presentation tarnished with biases and personal records. That doesn't matter to him now.

He recounts every story he has scribbled down, every fact he has carefully and lovingly added to the book of Achilles, baring his entire heart here on display. Letting Achilles see everything, for once.

None of it seems to break that shroud around him though, and it has Gabriel's lips prying wider, heartache spilling into the words he thrusts at Achilles, desperate for an opening. For anything to stick and remind him of something, anything. Objectification of facts, studied notes- it is lost, just as impossible as removing himself from this narrative. He cannot help the way his voice raises, softness forgotten.

"You told me you wanted to be a hero, something to be respected. That you would be glorious one day." You were to me. To me.

"You were a great man, Achilles, one of the greatest I have had the pleasure of knowing."

And the truth in Gabriel's words finally begins to constrict around his own throat, his own noose, when his audience looks to him with vacant eyes. It has his heart hammering, his hands needing to reach out and grab something, anything, while his voice grows more cracked, emotion tearing at him.

"You love gold, the color," His voice is failing him, a stupid, desperate thing. "You told me that, the night we escaped Phrygia. I thought it was fitting- It matches your eyes."

His hands are shaking, pages slipping through his numb fingers. He doesn't even feel it when the notebook finally hits the ground with a dull thump. When the facts that tumble out of him are no longer from written records.

"Your scowl only eases when you sleep. That was how I knew you were at peace- and you get the loveliest smile on your face when I smooth it in your rest."

His eyes sting. His vision blurs, dull gold spreading like watercolor.

"You act like you cannot stand contact, but you melted whenever I touched you. I think you enjoy it, you just never could admit it."

And, finally, Gabriel's voice cracks.

"...You held me once."

Warmth gently trails down his face, wet. He can't feel his throat.

"You- You held me, once."

I want it to mean something to you, again.

Eye contact is impossible then; Gabriel just lets his head dip, his hands reaching around to grip himself.

He cannot bear to look in the face of grief any longer.

He squeezes his eyes shut, his hands gripping hard enough to ache as shivers wrack over himself. He isn't even sure if gods had physical hearts- but the way his feels as if it's being squeezed, the blood starting to slip out his eyes, has to mean something.

He isn't sure why he says this, after all of that. Why the hole in his chest decides to choke out one more word, something else to hurt him. But it does.

"I love you."

A parting gift for a dead man.

A goodbye to an era.

.

.

.

"I love you."

The admission nearly escapes him, amidst his grieving. It could have come from himself, words slipping out of the cracks between his teeth.

Warmth follows the vowels, though.

Something soft and calloused touches smooth skin.

A familiar motion has sparks lighting in Gabriel's chest, hesitantly though, afraid to hope. It buzzes, the way he feels the light tug of his hair, before a thumb finds his chin, his jaw.

When he looks up, red-rimmed eyes meet lightly confused ones.

Achilles is staring at him quietly, his face twisted into some complex emotion Gabriel couldn't possibly place right now. Something like confusion, awe, and care all gently wrapped up into one as his body acted by itself. Instinct.

Gabriel is lucky this mortal form does not require human functions; he's been frozen, unbreathing, since he heard those words.

Achilles' hand gently trails up, until the warm palm cups against the soft skin of Gabriel's cheek, damp. He's left staring into those golden eyes, and even if this is a shell of his darling, it's still beautiful enough to captivate him. The way his eyes crease when he's focused, the way his brow tilts in curiosity...

Gabriel's breath hitches when a thumb traces his cheek.

The pad brushes over his cheekbone, underneath his eye, gently wiping away the tear streak that had been left there. Gabriel's breath stutters, limbs and expression frozen as Achilles stares.

"I love you," Achilles finally whispers again, his voice breathless and soft. The admission is easy, almost natural. This isn't something that requires memory, when faced with golden locks and red-rimmed, turquoise eyes; he knows this.

His thumb brushes away the next tear that falls. Gabriel's lips tremble.

Golden eyes finally focus.

"Gabe?"

The name he gave Gabriel. Gods were called many things, a thousand names, yet this was the gift Achilles had delivered him: a name by a mortal, something that Gabriel wanted to hear over and over, only from the lips of the man who had blessed him with it. Gabe, Gabe, Gabe, he wants to soak in it, in the thing he had thought he would never get to hear again.

The sound he makes, broken and needful, has arms finally tugging him closer, surrounding him in warmth of life, warmth of a human, mortal thing, something alive. And even if the hands that tuck his head into the crook of Achilles' neck are still a bit hesitant, a bit fearful, there's recognition and desire behind the act that has Gabriel reaching out desperately, wanting to hold on and never let go again.

"Gabe," It's a prayer that's whispered into his soft hair, a hand tangling in it around his back, a motion that has another choked sound escaping Gabriel's throat. "Gabe..."

He cannot even bear words right now. They're not needed anyway, with the way they cling to each other.

"I'm here." Achilles whispers, hoarse, and Gabriel just sinks. Whatever strings had carried him into this place are cut right there, leaving him boneless and aching, only able to leave dampness in darker skin and nail marks in his back.

"You are here," Is all he can manage back.

His eyes are streaming by the time Achilles eases back Gabriel's head, his hand returning to his jaw to cup it gently, like it were something precious. Gabriel's hold tightens impossibly; it's the other way around, for him.

"I don't..." Achilles scowls, the way he always does when he is struggling to put his words together. It's such a familiar look that it nearly has Gabriel crying again- still kind of does, with the way another tear rolls down his cheek. "I..."

A deep breath. Then, in a tone that is so distinctly Achilles, awkward and embarrassed and awed despite everything, he says, "You... really wrote all that down...?"

That... of everything...

Something in Gabriel's chest finally eases, finally comes undone. There's a deep seated feeling of relief that floods his bones; they are not done here, far from it actually, but here, with Achilles' charming awkwardness, the feeling of arms around him, and the gentle prayer of Gabe, Gabe, still running through his head, Gabriel feels like he can, at least for this moment, come undone. Let himself enjoy the fruits of his labor.

The sound that escapes him is neither a laugh or sob- something in between, just a huff of air to express amusement as he clings, closer, closer.

"Yes." Gabriel whispers back. He doesn't have the energy nor will to explain away his previous speech. "Yes, I did."

Achilles' own not-quite laughter rumbles against his chest. Alive, alive, alive. "That's... You're a weirdo, Gabe."