At the age of eight Kurt lost both his mother and any faith he had in the gods.

They existed, he knew. There was proof of that all around and he truly believed that these awesome and powerful beings existed and went about their business. He did not, however, believe that they deserved to be worshiped, to be thanked, and certainly not to be relied on. If they were as powerful and kind as everyone said, after all, then why did they “bless” his mother with another child; a brother or sister that he was meant to love and look after, only to have both of them die? Why would they take his mother away from him when he needed her when they had the power to save them both?

He still remembered the look on his father's face as he tried to explain what had happened. That something went wrong in the delivery and that he wouldn't be getting a sibling after all, and that his mom wouldn't be—(here the explanation was cut off as, for the first time in Kurt's memory, his father broke down and cried. He sobbed so hard he couldn't speak and one of the many people who had come to the house for the birth led Kurt away). The message was clear.

Kurt never prayed again. Never offered anything to the gods. Gave temples disdainful glances when he was forced near them, and (in a fit of rage three months after his mom's death) threw a handful of rocks at Apollo's. He was chased away almost immediately, of course, and told to apologize and beg forgiveness. He did neither.

His attitude was overlooked for the first few years. After all, he heard whispers, he was just a child who clearly didn't understand the ways of the world and had been forced to deal with a horrible tragedy.

The grace period for his atheism was three years.

By the age of eleven he was no longer a cute little boy who didn't know any better. Now he was awkward looking, having grown too much in too short of a time, no longer young enough to be considered a child, and slightly unsettling. The adults in his town were convinced that sometime in the near future he would be struck down for being so horribly blunt about his dislike for the gods. As a result, they discouraged their children from playing with him, and Kurt grew up with no friends to speak of.

Which, at the age of twelve, caused him to try and burn the temple down. He was caught before he managed to do anything more than get a lit torch near the building, but the intent was there. He was avoided completely then. The only time anyone save his father spoke to him was when the other boys his age decided to taunt him or try to beat him. He usually got away. 

There was a small forest near the town, close enough that if Kurt saw his bullies coming he could usually make a sprint for it and be up a tree before they closed in on him. If they did manage to catch him by surprise or were just faster, he would insult them so creatively that he usually assumed they didn't know what he meant. Not that it mattered. Nobody was going to stand up for him except his father (who Kurt never mentioned any of this to), and certainly not stop them. The one time he had thought an older woman in the town was going to put a stop to it she'd simply been trying to protect her grandson. Convinced that being close enough to Kurt to touch him (or, as the case was, kick in the stomach) was putting her precious grandchild in a line of fire. There was no point in bringing anyone else down with him, after all.

Kurt had screamed at her. If Apollo was powerful enough to strike him down where he stood without being anywhere near him, then why hadn't he already? Or, better yet, why wasn't he helping anyone in the town?

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. It seemed that nobody else in the (possibly literally) godforsaken town had realized that there hadn't been any kind of godly intervention in the town in close to a decade. It was then rumored that Kurt had cursed not only himself, but everyone else. If his father hadn't been the only blacksmith in the town, they probably would've sent him away. As it was, Burt was not only extremely skilled and therefore useful, but well liked.

In his more bitter moments, Kurt thought that they must feel horrible for his dad. Having his wife and unborn child die, and then have to put up with him on top of it. He couldn't hold it against him, though. Kurt loved his dad too much for that.

So instead of dealing with the townspeople, he spent the majority of his time in the forest.

It was one of the few places he felt safe, though rarely happy. As years went by with no one to talk to, he took to spending time in the forest and talking to nothing. He liked to think his mother could hear him, impossible as that was, to give him some comfort.

Few people ever went into the woods outside of hunting parties, which was why it was such a shock the first time Kurt found someone else there.

Tina was a rebel by nature, she had told him the day when she'd quite literally stumbled upon him. He'd been hiding in his preferred clearing, avoiding everyone, and was half asleep while stretched out under a tree when she'd found him. Tripped over his legs that, after his recent growth spurt, were too long for his body.

She'd sat down next to him and struck up a conversation, assuring him that she wouldn't give away his hiding place if he'd let her stay near him. Tina, it seemed, had her own problems. She masked them by pretending to have difficulty speaking so that people would leave her alone, but it just caused her parents to be harder on her.

At the age of thirteen, Tina was the best friend Kurt could've ever wanted, and certainly the only one he ever had.

They couldn't hang out together in public, of course. Tina offered, but Kurt was worried that if her parents knew who she was spending so much time with, they'd force her to stop. So instead they met in the forest. Sat amongst or in the trees, talked for hours, and taught each other whatever (sometimes useless, but fun) skill they could think of.

By fourteen she was gone.

Not as gone as his mother, but still as unreachable.  

Her parents had sent her away to be a temple maiden for… someone. There was a rushing in his ears when she tearfully explained that they wouldn't be able to see each other again, and the details were as lost to him as she was.

If Kurt had been angry with the gods before that, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. As far as he was concerned, they had taken away everyone he had ever cared about. First letting his mother die, and then claiming his only friend.

Which was why he was not shocked when his father fell ill. Devastated, of course, but not at all surprised.

Most of his life he had been told that if he didn't apologize and start treating the gods with more respect, they'd punish him. What more could they do? he had thought.

His father was well liked, though Kurt was not, and when he had suddenly collapsed on the floor of the Karofsky home where he had been working, no one hesitated to get help for him.

“Something is wrong with his heart,” the doctor had explained. “There's nothing more we can do to help. I suggest praying to Apollo.”

Kurt would have lunged at the man if he hadn't felt frozen.

That night, staring at his father's prone body on his bed, he felt more lost than he ever had before. The memories he had of his mother, few as they were, and fading every year, were precious to him. She was perfect as far as his eight year old self was concerned, and he never got the opportunity to think anything else. He had sworn to her that he'd never forget her or whose fault it was that she was gone.  She had been his world.

But.

While he'd never think him perfect, he completely and utterly loved his father. Burt was everything he could ever ask for in a parent. Patient with him even though Kurt knew it couldn't be easy with the situation he'd put himself in, loved him fiercely despite what everyone else said, and was always there.  He'd taught Kurt how to use the forge with him, got him whatever clothes he wanted (ridiculous as he knew his father found some of them), spent a truly ridiculous amount of money on a trip to the theater for Kurt's birthday one year, took him on trips to bigger cities when he had the chance, and protected him as much as he could from the hate of the one they were stuck in.

So what was he supposed to do now?

Mom's memory or dad's life? Kurt thought to himself, forcing down a fresh wave of tears. The answer was obvious when he thought about it.

“Apollo,” he started shakily, feeling foolish as well as sick to his stomach. He wasn't sure if it was because of the fear for his father or disgust with himself. “I know I'm supposed to sacrifice something to you… or maybe apologize for trying to burn down your temple… or for the times I screamed at you. I've… I get that we're not exactly on the best of terms.

“The thing is… my dad? He hasn't done anything wrong. I know losing my mom was hard on him, but he's handled it a lot better than I have. I know that. And… and he's all I have.” The tears, despite his best efforts, had started to fall while he spoke, and he forced himself to take a few deep breaths so he wouldn't dissolve into sobs and be unable to finish his prayer.

 “You didn't save my mom. Or my little brother or sister… but… but please don't take him too. I can't… please,” he clutched at his father's limp hand, trying to get enough comfort from it to do this.

“I don't forgive you. And I know I'm not supposed to hold grudges against the gods and that by all rights you should've just… just killed me by now. I get that. So can't you take me and not him?

“Please. I'll do anything. Just… just save my dad. Please.”

“You're supposed to sing it.”

Kurt whirled around, dropping his father's hand in favor of clutching at his chest in shock. A man he'd never seen before was standing in the middle of the room, dark curls falling around his tan face, golden eyes seeming to glow, and body… actually glowing a bit, with a bow strapped to his back.

“What? Who are—how'd you get in here?”

“You called me, I came in,” the stranger said with a shrug. “And I meant the prayer. You're supposed to sing it, not say it. I know you're going for medicine, but music is in the job description. And it's supposed to be done over the person who's sick.”

 Kurt stared at him blankly.

“Is this my patient then?” he asked, stepping towards Burt. Instinctively, Kurt moved between the two of them.

“Stay away from—”

“Kurt,” the stranger said soothingly. “I can't help him if you don't let me near him. You asked for my help, let me try.”

“How do you know my name?” he asked, not moving away from his father.

In response the stranger glowed brighter. The small bedroom was filled with bright sunlight, and a faint sound of music filtered in from seemingly nowhere. The display lasted a few seconds before everything went back to how it was before.

Kurt shook his head rapidly, “You're… you can't be.”

“Apollo,” he said with an awkward smile. “God of medicine, music, poetry, prophecy, sun, light, knowledge, oracles… there's another one, but we'll just stick with those.”

“You're lying,” Kurt said with finality. This was not happening. There was not a god in his house.

“Who lies about that?”

“You, apparently!”

“Look,” the man (who Kurt was still refusing to believe was actually Apollo) said, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I'm kind of short on time here, so if you want me to help your father, we really need to move on from this.”

Kurt nodded, shoulders slumping, and stepped aside. The man (god, Kurt corrected himself) walked over to Burt and kneeled in front of him, a look of concentration on his face.

“Why weren't you here sooner?”

Apollo's back tensed before he forced himself to relax, “I thought I got here fairly quickly, especially considering that you didn't call me properly.”

“Eight years ago,” Kurt rasped.

“I don't know what you mean,” his voice had gone strangely flat and the glow around his body seemed to flicker slightly.

“My mother,” Kurt insisted. “She was pregnant, got sick, had the baby too soon, and then they both died. Why couldn't you have helped then?”

“Childbirth is not medicine,” he said lightly, though his back was tense again. “It's… complicated and… actually, it's just scary.  So my darling twin handles it, because she is scarier. Much scarier. Than anything.”

Kurt opened his mouth to argue (his mother got sick first, didn't that require medicine), but Apollo had gone back to focusing on Burt and then began to sing. His voice was beautiful, though Kurt didn't know why he was surprised. He assumed people didn't get… godship or whatever it was called, for things that they were horrible at.

Still. It was a beautiful sound, though Kurt wasn't really sure what the words were. Everything got a fuzzy quality to it while listening. It felt like curling up in his dad's lap while sick, while his mom made him something to eat that would hopefully stay down. He could almost smell the spices she used, hear the way she hummed, the feel of dad's chest rising and falling under his cheek. Like the comfort that comes from knowing that things will be okay soon.

Until the sound abruptly cut off.

“I'm… oh, Kurt, I'm so sorry.”

Kurt blinked, disoriented by the sudden memories and then the sudden loss of them. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. “I don't… why are you sorry?”

Apollo looked up at him, glowing eyes looking… wet? Was he crying? “I can't… I can't do anything. There's… there's a, not a mark exactly, but…” he trailed off, looking pained.

Kurt was afraid to ask, “But what?”

“I can… I can sense Hades on him. He's… it's out of my hands now. I can't stop… I can't help when he's already been… I'm sorry.”

“He's dead?” Kurt croaked, feeling his chest tighten painfully. He was vaguely aware that his knees suddenly hurt, but the sensation was distant, overshadowed by the sudden fuzziness of his head (so, so different from a moment ago) and the ache in his chest. A sharp pain that was quickly spreading.

Apollo was suddenly on the floor in front of him, grabbing his face in both hands. I fell, Kurt realized dully. That's why my knees hurt. I fell.

“Kurt, Kurt, I need you to take a deep breath.”

The voice sounded distorted. Like someone was yelling at him from a great distance away. Why was that?

“Styx,” he muttered, and then there was more singing.

Kurt felt himself breathe again, but didn't feel the comfort of a moment ago.

“You with me?” Apollo asked, still not letting go of Kurt's face. He nodded, though he wasn't sure how true it was.

“He's not dead,” Apollo said gently. “Just… close to it. Too close for me to heal him. There's… there's nothing I can do, but you still have time to… to…” he trailed off awkwardly, and Kurt realized what he meant.

There was time to say goodbye. And then wait to be orphaned.

He jerked back sharply.  “What is the point of you?”

Apollo, oddly, looked wounded. “I'm sorry, but there's—”

“Nothing you can do,” Kurt finished for him, glaring. “There's never anything you can do, is there? You couldn't help my mother because it wasn't real medicine, and now you can't help my father because… because why? Because you're useless!”

“Kurt,” he said, a warning in his voice. Distantly he realized that he was yelling in the face of a god.

What more can they do to me? The thought came back. All those years asking himself, and he finally knew. They could take his dad.

They already have, he's practically dead.

There really wasn't anything left to lose, and Kurt felt years of frustration rising up in him. He glared at this… this useless god in front of him and prepared himself for tongue lashing of the century. If he was going to be struck down for this he was going to earn it.

He was also going to get off of the floor. Angry rants were more effective when delivered by someone upright.

Kurt pulled himself to his feet, and stared at Apollo's concerned gaze, ignoring the way his hands fluttered as if getting ready to catch Kurt if he lost his balance.

“You wouldn't save my mom because you're afraid of childbirth, and you're refusing to help my dad because what? You're not powerful enough? Because you don't want to help? Because this is your way of getting back at me? Kill me, send me to the Fields of Punishments, but leave him out of it!” Kurt was yelling now, distantly aware that his voice was cracking and his eyes were welling up again. “What was the point of coming here? To just… just mock me? Get my hopes up that for once you'll help me, when really you weren't… you were never going to save him in the first place, were you?!”

There were suddenly arms around him.

“I'm sorry,” Apollo said, his voice coming near Kurt's ear and he was dizzy again.

He'd expected to be… shot, honestly. The bow on the god's back certainly looked powerful and there wasn't a doubt in Kurt's mind that Apollo would manage to hit him. Yet here he was. Being hugged of all things. He tried to struggle out of the hold, but wasn't strong enough. Maybe this was how he was going to die. Crushed, rather than used for target practice. 

“I know, I know, how much you hate me, and I'm sorry, but there is nothing I can do.”

“Then why bother showing up now?” Kurt asked, his voice sounding defeated even to his own ears.

“I really did want to help. To try and make it up to you.” Apollo released him and took a step back, but grabbed his face again. Why did he keep touching him? “But you need to stop offering your life in exchange for someone else. It won't help anything and it's dangerous.”

“I have to do something,” Kurt insisted, though his voice still sounded off. “I can't just let him die. I have no one else.”

“I know it hurts. I understand. But short of going to the Underworld yourself and begging Hades for help, there's nothing you can do, you need to say goodbye.”

Kurt pulled his head back and stared at Apollo, his eyes wide. “I can do that?”

“Say goodbye? Of course, but—”

“No. Not that. Go to the Underworld. That's an option?”

Apollo shook his head rapidly, “No. No it's not an option, forget I said it.”

“It's been done before, right? I remember stories. It can be done.”

A warm feeling flooded Kurt's chest, making his limbs shake slightly as adrenaline rushed through him. There was still hope.

“In theory, yes. But it never works. You can't bring souls back from the dead. Hades won't allow it, and if he does offer you a chance, then it's already doomed to fail.”

“You said it yourself! He's not dead yet! I just have to… I have to convince Hades to… to leave dad alone and he'll be fine.”

 “Kurt,” Apollo's voice sounded strangled, and Kurt was incredibly confused as to why he was acting so strangely. “That's… that's a suicide mission. It won't work. I know Ha—I know my Uncle. He won't listen to you, and you'll just be… trapped. You won't be able to leave. Mortals don't… he doesn't care enough about them to listen to you. Everyone dies eventually, he won't, he won't… he wouldn't delay the inevitable. It doesn't make sense to him.”

The hope that had been flooding Kurt's system abruptly stopped. Apollo wasn't powerful enough to save his father, and Hades didn't care enough to let him live. What was the point of having so many powerful gods if none of them did anything? How could they just not care?

“He won't listen to me, then?”

“No,” Apollo answered, dropping his head.

Kurt didn't understand why he was so invested in this. If Apollo had wanted to help so much, why hadn't he done anything sooner? Why would he bother showing up now, offering hope and assistance, if he wasn't going to do anything?

But he was here. And seemed to be willing to try. Angry as he was, Kurt had to give the god some credit. He at least looked like he wanted to do something…

“You do it.”

His head suddenly snapped back up. “I can't—”

“Do anything, yeah I got that. But if Ha—”

“Please don't say his name.”

“… Why? Don't answer that, I don't care. If he won't listen to me, then he'll listen to you, right? He's your… Uncle? He'll listen to you.”

“He might, but that's… I actually cannot do that. I'd get… No. I can't do it. It's against rules.”

 “What rules?” Kurt exploded again. “The rules against stopping someone from being an orphan in a town that would not mind seeing him dead?”

“Rules against… interfering like that,” Apollo explained quickly. “I'm not, well, none of us, are allowed to… to meddle with mortals' lives like that. We can help some, and there's certain, uh, circumstances when we can get involved, but… but it has to be in our area. It'd be like… like Artemis trying to control dawn. It just wouldn't work. It's against the laws.”

That, at least, sounded like a valid reason. Kurt gave him a searching look, “You can't ask for my dad's life for me?”

“No. I'm sorry.”

“And you say I can't get to the Underworld and back on my own.”

“You'd… you'd die.” The tone of his voice made it sound like that would be the end of the world. Which meant that he wanted Kurt alive for whatever reason. Not great odds to play on, Kurt realized. But better than nothing.

“So I have to make my case for myself, but I need help getting in and out of there, right?”

 “Essentially, but—”

“You take me.”

“I just told you, I can't—”

“Hear me out,” Kurt practically begged. “You can't ask for help yourself, but you could… you know how to get to the Underworld, right? Better than any mortal I'd come across, anyway. And… and I'm going to do this no matter what. So wouldn't my chances be better if you helped me?

“I'm not asking you to even talk to Ha—your uncle. Just… just get me to him. It'd… it'd be interesting enough to get his attention, wouldn't it?”

“It would, but… but it'd still be getting too involved. I would get in so much trouble for doing that.”

“You said…” Kurt took a deep breath. “You said there were circumstances where you could get involved. What are they?”

“My area is medicine, so healing. And I can bless mortals. Give them… little help. If someone needed an arrow to fly straight or… or to play an instrument really well for a night. Things like that.”

Kurt braced himself. He may have hated the gods, but heard the stories about them. Most of them didn't do much to help endear him, but he knew enough to take a guess at what “circumstances” would help him out. “I may not like you, but I've heard the stories. If it's… I could do that. For my dad. It that's what it'd take.”

Apollo looked confused for a moment, before he started immediately shaking his head. “That's not going to help.”

“Gods can take mortal lovers,” Kurt forced the words out, feeling his face flushing. “Everyone knows how… how many… half siblings you have. So it's obviously allowed, and I'll do that. I can… I can, if… if it'll be a… a loophole.”

“It doesn't work that way, Kurt. I wouldn't be allowed… contact afterwards. And… well…”

“I'm not exactly thrilled about it being with you, either. But think of the bigger picture. Just… just pretend I'm someone else if it helps.”

“It's… it's really not that, it's… styx… it's… your, well. Your family. We're… we're not supposed to… you were declared off limits.”

Kurt, once again, stared blankly at the man in front of him. “I'm… off limits? Who… who decides things like that?”

Apollo's eyes darted around and he scratched at his head again, “It's a long story, and I've really been here too long already. Just… look. I'm sorry. But gods are really supposed to leave your family alone. It's a… a future thing. I don't know the details.”

“You're the god of prophecy. How do you not know?”

A pause, “Let's… let's not get into that.”

Suspicion clouded Kurt's mind again. “How are you here now if you're not supposed to be, then?”

Apollo rubbed at his face, sighing heavily before looking resigned to the conversation. “I've been… I've been tamping down my… godliness? My powers. Aura. Whatever you want to call it. So it's harder for… for the others to find me. It's also not something I'm really supposed to be telling mortals,” he added as an afterthought.

“But you tried to heal my dad,” Kurt pointed out. “And you're… glowing. That seems godlike to me.”

Apollo sighed. “I needed some power to try and help your father, so I didn't turn it off all the way, it's just… down. If I stay here too long, though, someone will notice.”

“Can you turn it all the way off?”

“Well. Um. Yes. I can. But then I'm… essentially mortal. No healing powers, can't see the future, lowered senses, can't… feel, I guess you would say, the… others.”

“And if… if you can't feel them, then they can't feel you, right? No one would know.” A new plan was forming in Kurt's mind.

“I… yes. That's all true.”

Kurt looked over at his father and gathered his courage. “I'm going to the Underworld. And it seems like you really don't want me to.”

“I don't, please don't do this.”

“Come with me,” he said, turning back to stare the god in the face. “I'll need help. And even without powers, you'd still know things. Like how to get there. And maybe get me back.  Just… turn your powers off and you won't get caught.”

The glow around the god started to flicker again. Kurt took it as a sign of discomfort, but ignored the realization. If he was going to be turned down for help again, then the person doing so should at least feel guilty about it. And he had to help, didn't he?  

“It's not… it's not that simple. They'll notice if I'm gone. Maybe not right away, but eventually someone will get curious. Or need me for something.”

Kurt nodded. It had been a long shot, anyway.

“I understand,” he let out a bitter laugh. “It's not like you've been a big help to me before now, I don't know what I expected. You can go.”

He turned towards his father, ignoring the pained sound that Apollo made. “I'm going to make this better,” Kurt mumbled into his dad's ear before kissing his forehead and standing up.

“You… Kurt—”

“Are you still here? Go. I get it. You can't help me. It's fine. I am more than used to doing things on my own.” He pulled an old bag out from a cupboard and walked to his room. He began grabbing clothing and folding them carefully into his bag, cursing when he realized there was no way it was all going to fit.

“Here,” Apollo said, holding out… a quiver?

“I don't know how to use a bow,” Kurt told him shortly, turning his back. Why didn't he just leave?

“It's enchanted. It can hold anything you put in it without getting too heavy. A gift.”

 Kurt looked at it, then back at Apollo. “Keep it. I'd hate for you to lose that on a failed quest.”

Brushing past him, Kurt headed for the kitchen. Once again, he was followed. “Please, just… just don't do this. Say goodbye and, and—”

Kurt stopped dead in his tracks and took several deep breaths. “And move on? Apollo, there's nothing for me to move on to. He is all I have.”

Finishing his journey to the kitchen, he grabbed another bag, this one larger, and started looking through cupboards, grabbing foods that wouldn't spoil on what he suspected was going to be a long journey.

“This will get you killed, you realize that, right?”

“There are worse things than dying,” Kurt replied, refusing to look up from his task.

“What about your father?” Apollo asked, sounding desperate. “How do you think he'd feel if he woke up and realize you traded your life for his?”

Kurt swallowed hard, but didn't turn around. “It sounds like it's not going to work anyway, so he'll probably never know.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“It's better than doing nothing.”

Apollo made another noise that didn't sound human. He isn't human, that's not at all surprising, Kurt thought to himself. He started searching for the stash of extra money he knew his dad hid in the room somewhere that was used for emergencies only.

Because the two of them didn't always see eye to eye on what constituted and emergency, Burt had neglected to tell him where it was.

“I… fine. Fine! You win.”

Raising an eyebrow, Kurt turned to look at his guest. “I win?”

“I'll… I'll go with you. But there's… rules. To follow. So I don't get… caught.”

“Such as?”

“You can't call me, or any of the others, by our real names.”

“I can't… why not?” Kurt asked, completely bewildered. Did this mean that they weren't going to talk at all? Because he could find quite a few upsides to that arrangement, but it still didn't make sense.

The god sighed, looking up towards the ceiling and then forcing himself to look at Kurt again. “Names have… power. It's how we can hear prayers. We just have to… to listen for someone talking about us. Typically speaking, we only answer when it's done properly, but… we can sense where there's a need for us.”

Kurt nodded slowly, “So… if people start looking for you and they hear me using your name, or theirs, they'll come for me?”

“You're very smart,” Apollo said, smiling at him. “Which is shocking because you're doing something so stupid, but yes. That's essentially it.”

Kurt ignored the insult. “What should I call you then?”

Apollo's eyes burned brighter for a moment, seeming to focus on something that Kurt couldn't see, before the glow around him slowly faded into nothing.

“Blaine. Call me Blaine.”