"The moment I met you,
I held my breath.
And you've been taking
it away ever since,
Nico di Angelo."
[ NICO DI ANGELO x MALE OC ]
[ PERCY JACKSON SERIES ]
[ HEROES OF OLYMPUS SERIES ]
cover by @humaneity !
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0004. | THE ONLY GOD WORTHY OF FAITH AND SACRIFICE
Vela couldn't sleep. He tried to, but he found that there was nothing enticing to him about sleep anymore. Without the temptation of seeing Nico in his dreams, Vela quickly found the entire concept of sleep as useless, completely pointless. He was suitably confused why anyone else might sleep, those weak mortal friends of his that required sleep to function. Vela was certainly glad that he could perform well enough without sleep for days, maybe weeks—he was ready to test those boundaries.
To Vela, sleep was only desirable for what it allowed him to reach, it was never a necessity. Or maybe it was. Maybe Vela found a necessity in it because he found seeing Nico in his dreams a necessity. Maybe.
Either way, his dreams of Nico were out of reach, blocked by the ancient magic of Tartarus, and Vela no longer found any necessity in sleep. Instead, he lay in bed and allowed his guilt to eat away at him as he thought of his behaviour at dinner, or even at all during the day.
He hadn't helped his friends. Maybe he didn't have any obligation to help, no other god made any exertion to help mortals nor heroes. Maybe Vela was like other gods. Or maybe he was tied to those obligations worse than any other because of who he was. Maybe, by making him the god of heroes, Zeus had burdened Vela with the worst responsibility he had ever been bestowed. If his heroes suffered, then surely Vela was under an obligation as their patron to aid them in any way he could.
He groaned aloud and ran his hands down over his face, overwrought with thought.
"Shit." He grumbled. Sometimes he really hated how he pressured himself like this, but Vela supposed that once he put his mind to something, it was his responsibility to see it through. He would have to help the Seven in all their ventures if it would put his mind to ease. At least then, he could be content in the knowledge that they were moving as fast as possible to get to Rome in time. He couldn't afford another breakdown.
He groaned again and he sat up, his t-shirt crumpled from how he had laid with his arm under his head and his side scrunched. He brushed the crinkles out as best as he could. It was his first small effort to taking care of himself—a difficult venture for him.
Coach Hedge was on duty in case of an attack by a monster during the night, which meant that no one was patrolling the corridor and the satyr was sat in his room watching the live feed of MMA fighting with a bowl of peeled grapes. Vela easily slipped through to the engine room where Leo kept his toolboxes and variety of equipment and materials for any and all occasions.
Vela took what he needed. Plaster, a putty knife, some sandpaper and paint. He crept back out into the corridor just as Coach Hedge's television blared with the screams of victory from the MMA audience. He slipped into the Mess Hall without stirring anyone. At least, he thought.
