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“I wish I was more like you.”
Prometheus opens his eyes – he has had it closed for a few minutes now, as Heracles gently detangles his hair, first with his fingers, and then with a brush. He's a bit slow, but careful, trying not to cause the Titan any unnecessary pain as his brush breaks through the knots in his wiry hair.
Prometheus is silent, waiting for Heracles to continue.
“Strong-willed, brave, noble,” Heracles mumbles, dipping his fingers into more oil and rubbing it into his hair. It smells of olives and citrus. “Sometimes I wonder what you were thinking when you decided to bring that fire to humans. Make no mistake, I'm grateful you did, but…”
Prometheus remains quiet, waiting. It is not yet his turn to speak.
“What did you expect? Humans are powerless, even with the fire you gave them," he continues, “You knew you were going to get punished, didn't you?”
Prometheus nods. It's soothing, feeling Heracles's hand on his head, strong fingers massaging his scalp. Combined with his deep, calm voice, he thinks he could fall asleep to this.
“Yet you did it anyway.”
“A great many things in this world are simply insurmountable to humans without fire,” he elaborates, “As their creator, I think they should get to enjoy the world they live in – that’s all.”
“You’re right, as always,” Heracles sighs, combing his locks with his fingers. He moves to grab his blade as he notices some more burnt ends, pinching it between his fingers and slashing them. Prometheus opens his eyes, watching the black strands fall onto the ground.
Heracles has gone quiet, but Prometheus knows this is not yet the end of their conversation. The look on his face is one of melancholy, of pain and sadness that he has held back for years, decades, centuries.
He does hate to see him like this. He moves closer, cupping Heracles’ face with his hand.
“Uh… Sorry.”
“There is nothing to apologize for, my love.”
Heracles clears his throat. “Turn around. There’s still some burned bits I need to cut.”
Though Prometheus knows this is but an excuse so he wouldn’t have to look at him directly as they conversed.
It is comforting regardless, to feel Heracles’ hands in his hair, the wooden teeth of the brush combing his hair, slowly smoothing out the knots.
“Maybe, if I had done as you did,” he pauses, “Spoke my mind more, defied orders…”
“I do not consider myself a good example.”
“Maybe I would be spared of this… existence.” Heracles sighs, “Picking up after the gods’ mess.”
“Eternal servitude.”
“Yeah, that’s the word…” he clicks his tongue, “Can’t even think of the word, that’s how stupid I am.”
“I bid you not to speak so poorly of yourself.”
“At least they can give me a break,” he sighs, “I’m so tired of it all.”
Prometheus takes a deep breath, feeling the urge to turn around and give the big man a hug, but his fingers are intertwined in his hair, and despite his best efforts to be gentle, Prometheus is feeling more of a pull from his fingers. Not that he minds – the force is probably necessary to tame his curly hair.
“Don’t know why I even bother in the first place,” he hears Heracles mumble under his breath.
“I think it is only natural for a child to look up to their parents, to want to be like them,” Prometheus remarks, “You were simply born into unfavorable circumstances.”
“If I had known they were never going to accept me, maybe…” Heracles pauses, “Maybe I would have tried to live like a common mortal would.”
Prometheus wants to interject, but decides this is neither the time nor place.
“Should've chosen a simple life,” he continues, “Could have been a farmer, a shepherd. Still get to fight a beast from time to time, though… they'll be normal animals, I suppose.”
“Just a normal lion in the forest,” Prometheus remarks, “It’s only trying to satisfy its hunger. You would have the heart to kill it?”
“I would, if it was bothering my sheep,” Heracles surmises, “Or I could get some fur from it, and make a coat.”
“How amusing,” Prometheus smiles, “Tell me more about this common mortal life.”
Heracles takes a pause. "If you're expecting some kind of coherent plan…"
“Just humor me, won't you, big man?” he insists, “When I was still chained on the top of the mountain, I had my foresight, I knew you were coming to save me – this is true, and it filled me with hope – but at the same time I had my fantasies, of conversations we had yet to have, of adventures, of places we would go.”
“Hmm. Where are you thinking?”
“That is not my point,” he says, "At the time, despite all the pain I felt, these thoughts brought me comfort. I longed to see the world, and I knew would see it with you, even though the time was yet to come.
“And now I too, wish to know the thoughts that bring my hero comfort.”
Heracles falls quiet, dutifully searching through Prometheus's hair for more burned bits. It's too vulnerable, perhaps – but at this point he hopes they have seen each other at his worst, and perhaps Heracles would be willing to open his heart.
“...can't remember the last time anyone asked what I want.”
Prometheus nods, though he suddenly feels as if Aetos had pecked directly at his heart. This would only be the beginning.
“If Megara and the kids were still around, I… I would like to spend more time with them,” he sighs, “Teach them how to ride a horse. How to shear a sheep, how to skin a cow’s hide. Sing to them before bedtime.” He sighs again, “It all sounds like such a luxury now.
“My brother, I still think of him sometimes,” he resumes, “I could have protected him better, yet I was so blinded by rage, so caught up in my desire for glory.”
He knows he dreams of them still, on nights when he would wake up in terror. How painful this must be for Heracles – to have the rest of eternity to dwell in his mistakes, his sorrows, his regrets – the weight world on Atlas's shoulder is but a fraction of the pain he carries.
“I have no right to say this, but I wish I can see them again…”
Prometheus tries to turn around, but he feels Heracles tug at his hair slightly, asking him to remain still, so he does. He’s no longer fussing with his hair now – Prometheus can feel his fingers tracing down his neck – Heracles leans closer, his breath hot against Prometheus’s neck as he slowly rests his whole palm on his shoulderblade, slowly gliding down his back, tracing his scars.
“Maybe the sacrifice isn’t worth it," Heracles sniffs, clears his throat. “If I had accepted my life as a mortal man, if I had chosen a humble life, and not the life of a hero…
Prometheus turns around, no longer feeling any resistance from the man behind him – Heracles flinches, raising his hand to cover his face, but Prometheus knows this would happen, and swiftly caught his wrist.
Heracles looks away, his final defense, but it’s plain to see that he’s on the verge of tears, his eyes glossy and his lips trembling. Perhaps he thought it unseemly for the mightiest of men to break down in tears, but even the toughest marble will wear away in the unyielding rain.
"Heracles, my dear hero, my sunshine." He brushes the hair away from his forehead, and feels Heracles lean into his palm.
“There is greatness within you, Heracles – this you cannot deny,” Prometheus says, “You cannot wish to be more like me, because you are far greater than I am.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Heracles scoffs, “Me, who brings only death and destruction to everyone who crosses my path. You, who brought fire to humankind.”
“Fire brings life, and at the same time, death and destruction. You are no different – for every beast you slayed, for every war you ended – from the ashes, new hope arises.”
Heracles takes a deep breath as Prometheus moves to close the gap between them, immediately burying his face in the crook of Prometheus's neck. It's something of a hiding spot for him, being able to hold him in his arms without having to worry that he might study him too closely.
"You are so fragile," Heracles mumbles, “Sometimes I fear what I might do to you.”
Heracles has remarked that he is the perfect size to hold; that he likes feeling the warmth of their skin against each other, the ichor coursing through his veins, the heart beating within his ribcage. Prometheus can think of no higher compliment.
“I will stay by your side, no matter what,” Prom reassures him, “You know better than anyone how stubborn I am.”
"Prometheus. When your plan is complete, and everything you foresaw comes to pass, I'll find a nice little town for us to settle down and rest a while." He smiles, "This too, is a wish of mine."
"That sounds lovely," Prometheus concurs, "Anywhere on earth will do, as long as I have your company."
"I will find a place that befits the saviour of humanity." He feels Heracles wrapping his arms tighter around his waist; can see his eyelids flutter closed, his weight shifting towards him. Prometheus moves slightly, straightening his back before he slowly leans back, settling onto the ground beneath them.
"Somewhere close to the sea, overflowing with olives and wine," Heracles rambles on, "I'll find all manners of sea creatures for your study. I think you'll find them quite amusing."
"That sounds lovely," Prometheus says, gently running his fingers through Heracles' hair. The big man has calmed down now, his breath slowing as he drifts to slumber.
And in the silence Prometheus thinks about the words that rise in the back of his throat, though he knows it is not yet the time to say them, for these are dangerous words – he cannot bear to see Heracles grieving again, especially not because of him.
So he swallows them, bitter as his healing herbs – he can only hope Heracles can feel his words, somehow.