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For as long as Cerberus could remember, he had been the resident guard dog of the Gates of Erebus.
He didn’t remember being a pup, didn’t remember the litter he had come from, though he knew he must have had one, very long ago. He saw little pups around the kingdom all the time, scampering past his post in games of touch-and-go, their exasperated Hellhound mothers loping after them to make sure they played nice, and this is how he knew. He wasn’t a Hellhound—he wasn’t really sure what he was—but he was sure of this: he must have had a mother. He must have had a family.
The thing was, Cerberus didn’t remember what it meant to have a family. Even if he had had one, once, he didn’t anymore. All he had now was the Master, who never showed him any sign of anything but mild tolerance at best, and disdain at worst. Cerberus hated when the Master was angry with him, because the way he would look at him made him duck his head and tuck his tail between his legs in shame. Cerberus was never quite sure what he did to make the Master angry with him.
The orders were always the same: Guard the gates. Make sure no intruders get past . And for millennia, Cerberus had done this. He stood dutifully between the lines of the dead waiting for their trials, only sometimes sat down on the spirits when he got too tired, never ran after the undead squirrels he sometimes saw scampering past, no matter how bad his brain urged him to chase . In all of his time guarding, only once had he failed in his duties. But then, only once had he felt like a real, excitable pup again; the Girl had been stern, yes, but she had an intelligence her two companions had seemed to lack—seriously, he had wanted to scoff at the Boy, what dignified guard dog is distracted by a stick ?—and she had thrown him a ball. A nice, red rubber ball, chewable and squeaky and . . . and nice . It’s the first ball Cerberus had ever received. Sometimes, he found himself longing for another. Others, he found himself missing the Girl. She had promised she would come back, she would bring him another. But it had been so long, and she hadn’t returned. Cerberus whimpered, sitting down on the souls in the EZ death line, tucking his tail around himself, and he wondered: when will she come back?
—
The Master had punished him for failing to hold off the three godlings, so Cerberus wasn’t eager to fail again. When the Boy arrived—not the same Boy that had been with the Girl and the other one—he stood up straighter, bristling, baring his teeth. Something felt wrong about it, though; the aura radiating off of this Boy was familiar, and besides that, he may have been the most pitiful creature Cerberus had seen in a thousand years. He growled.
“I’m here to see my father, the ruler of this realm,” the Boy said, not sounding nearly as frightened as he should have been. He was small, very small, even for a human, and he had his shoulders drawn up, like he was prepared to fight Cerberus if he had to, but also a sort of despair, like . . . like he had already resigned himself to failure. And— his father ? Cerberus felt his ears flatten against his head as he realized why the Boy’s aura was so familiar. The Master .
He let the Boy pass, standing tall as the boy walked beneath him and through the gates. Once he had passed, Cerberus turned in a circle and craned his neck, all six eyes tracking the Boy as far as he could. Once he disappeared into the Mistress’s garden, Cerberus sat down, ears pricking curiously, ignoring the irritated hisses of the spirits he had disturbed. He wondered if the Boy would be like the rest, always going and never returning. Then a squirrel scurried a few feet away from him, and he summoned all of his inner Good Boy so that he wouldn’t chase it. He didn’t think about the Boy again.
—
He guessed the Boy must have been telling the truth: he really was the Master’s son. The Master didn’t punish him for letting the boy pass, at least. The Boy never came out, though; but then, neither had the Girl and the others. He wondered, did the Master keep them inside the palace forever, or was there another exit out of the palace that he didn’t know about?
—
The Boy returned.
He coalesced out of shadows, the same way the Master sometimes did, looking even more weary and sad than before. Cerberus wasn’t quite sure what to think of this: the Boy was the first human ever to return. Though he knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up, his tail thumped against the ground, startling some of the spirits. Has he returned for me? Has he come to play?
“Hey, Cerberus.” Cerberus’s tail thumped in excitement. “Can I pass? I have important information for Father.”
Cerberus’s tail stopped its wagging, and he stood to allow the Boy passage. He slumped down as soon as the Boy was gone, feeling disappointed and sad. But, he supposed, he should have expected this. He was the guardian of Erebus. He didn’t get to play.
He didn’t think the Boy ever got to play either, based on how sad he looked. The thought didn’t make him feel better.
—
This happened the next few times the Boy appeared: Cerberus began to learn the routine. The Boy would come, claiming some reason for audience with the Master, and Cerberus would let him pass through the gates, and he would watch the boy until he reached the Mistress’s orchard and disappeared beneath the trees. The Boy wouldn’t come back, but eventually he would show up at the gates again, and it would repeat.
The Boy never showed any real sign of interest in him, so Cerberus tried not to be interested in him, too. It didn’t work very well, though, because every time the boy returned he seemed smaller and sadder than before, and Cerberus felt the urge to tackle him and lick his face until he started being happy. He felt a strange kinship to the Boy, the Master’s son, neglected and forgotten so often, never thrown a bone or given the proud pat on the head that he so often desired.
Cerberus was contemplating this, laying on the ground with his paws beneath his middle head, when the Boy appeared, as suddenly as always. The Boy had his mouth open, like he was about to request his typical passage, when he saw Cerberus and closed his mouth.
“Hey . . . boy?” he said, hesitantly drawing closer. Cerberus pricked his ears up, but otherwise stayed still. The emotions rolling off the Lethe were strong today, and Cerberus just felt . . . sad. And something else. He didn’t know how to describe it, though he felt it often.
The Boy reached a hand out, warily sticking it out for Cerberus to sniff. Cerberus’s left head obliged, reaching up and taking a whiff, and once the Boy was certain he had approval, he let his hand land on Cerberus’s head. His fingers brushed across his forehead gently. Cerberus shuddered.
The Boy noted the action. “I guess you’re like me, huh?” he said. “I haven’t been touched in a really long time. Who would want to?” His voice was full of bitterness, but a kind of heavy sadness too, which Cerberus was well-acquainted with.
The Boy’s hand brushed his forehead again, stroking his head rhythmically, now. “We’re both shadowy, and dark, and scary. People don’t like me. Animals don’t like me.” Cerberus cocked his head, to show he was listening. The Boy’s mouth curled, just a little. Sometimes the Master’s mouth did that, but it always went the other way, down, to the end of his face. The Boy’s did the opposite, going up, squishing his face up a little. “You wanna be the first dog that doesn’t totally hate me?”
Cerberus snuffed, nuzzling the Boy with his nose. He hoped the boy could understand: Yes, me, pick me and I’ll pick you. Please please please .
The Boy’s lips curved up a little more; Cerberus decided it was a nice look, on a human. Or maybe just this human.
“Okay then.”
—
The routine began to change. Slowly, but gradually.
The Boy would come, but instead of immediately asking for entrance into his father’s house, he would tell Cerberus hello and reach up to pat him on the noses, or scratch behind his ears. He still looked sad and tired all the time, but his mouth always curled in that nice way whenever he petted Cerberus, and Cerberus made sure to wag his tail extra hard so Boy would know he was just as happy to see him, too.
Cerberus was happy like this; he was happy because finally there was someone who at least noticed him, and didn’t expect anything from Cerberus except to let him pet him and be happy to see him. Although, he didn’t think Boy expected him to be happy to see him: he seemed surprised, whenever he appeared and Cerberus let out happy barks, like no one had ever welcomed him or wanted to see him before.
He wondered how terrible the world above had to be, if that were true. He couldn’t imagine anyone wouldn’t be happy to see Boy. Boy was the greatest human Cerberus had ever known—he felt a bit guilty when he thought about the Girl, but . . . but Boy had come back, and she hadn’t.
One day, a squirrel scampered past while Boy was rubbing his ears, and Cerberus peeled a couple of eyes open to lazily watch it. He made a little, accidental whining noise, and Boy noticed, because he stopped rubbing and stepped back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and his eyes followed Cerberus’ gaze to the infernal creature. “Oh. Huh. I didn’t know there were squirrels in the Underworld.”
Cerberus’s eyes widened as he looked between Boy and the squirrel, the horrible meaning in the words hitting him like a slap. There were squirrels in the Upper world ? He whimpered, because of course, of course , the demonic squirrels also terrorized Boy’s world above: no wonder he seemed so sad and tired all the time. Thinking about how squirrels must be overrunning Boy’s world made Cerberus sad, too. He was sure, if he had to spend all his time above fighting, he would be very tired, too. And that must be what Boy was fighting against, in the war that he was always coming to talk to Master about—an evil army of squirrels.
But Boy put on a brave face. “I guess I never thought you’d be so much like a regular dog. I mean, all dogs hate squirrels, so I guess it makes sense . . . huh,” he said again, and pressed his lips together.
“Alright, Cerberus, I gotta go. After all, how can Father be sufficiently angry enough to run Hades unless I pester him to death?” With a last noses-pat, Boy moved on, and Cerberus watched him like always, but this time he was worrying if the Boy would be okay fighting the squirrels of the Upperworld without him.
—
Boy stumbled from the shadows with his arms behind his back, and at first Cerberus raised his heads in alarm. Was Boy injured ? But no, he was doing the mouth-curling thing, which Cerberus was pretty sure he wouldn’t be doing if he was hurt. Boy’s mouth-curling thing was like Cerberus’s tail wagging: he only ever did it when he was really excited about something, or happy.
“Okay, so I have something for you,” he started. “You might not like it, but . . .”
And from behind his back, he pulled a . . . BALL!
Cerberus sat up on his haunches, tail thumping the ground so hard in his excitement that Boy bounced a little. Boy let out a little tinkling, happy sound. “Okay, okay! Settle down. Sit!”
Immediately, Cerberus sat. Boy looked a bit surprised. “Whoa. I didn’t think you’d know how to do that. Didn’t think my dad trained you to do, like, modern dog tricks.”
Cerberus’s three heads were cocked; he was gazing at the ball with longing. It was much bigger than the ball the Girl had thrown him, and a different color. He whimpered, going down on his paws so he was eye-level with the Boy, begging. Please, ball, please, ball, please .
“Okay,” Boy made another happy, musical sound. Cerberus would have to wonder about what that was later. He pulled his arm back, and—“Fetch!”
He threw, and Cerberus bounded, chasing the ball off into the distance. He retrieved it, chewing and salivating as he loped back and dropped it at Boy’s feet expectantly. Boy obliged, throwing it again, and Cerberus again chased . He felt alive. He felt unstoppable, even when he had to skid to stops so he wouldn’t fall into the Lethe, or ram into a tree, or run over Boy.
But too soon, the game was over; he dropped the ball, now not quite so round, at Boy’s feet, and Boy picked it up, frowning as he inspected the puncture marks made by his sharp teeth. “Yeah, so . . . I think we need a new toy.”
Then he seemed to remember something. His shoulders slumped. “But not today, okay? Father’s asked me to run errands, and if I don’t, well. You know how he gets.”
Cerberus whined in empathy. Boy sighed. “I know, I know. But I’ll think about the perfect toy for you while I’m gone, okay? I promise, what I bring you next will be much cooler than a ball.”
—
Cerberus didn’t think anything could be cooler than a ball.
Boy was holding his hands out in front of him, eyes squinted shut, and Cerberus watched him, emotions torn between feeling curious and unimpressed. Boy had claimed he could produce something way better than a ball, that could last longer. But so far all he was doing was standing in the middle of the EZ death line like he’d fallen asleep while waiting his turn through the gates. Spirits did that sometimes, but Boy wasn’t a spirit. But then, he did always look tired . . . Cerberus’s tail flicked concernedly. Had Boy fallen asleep?
But no—Cerberus’s tail stilled, as he watched something white and long begin to emerge from the ground. Boy’s face scrunched up, but he kept his eyes shut until the thing was all the way out of the dirt. It was about as tall as Boy, and twice as thick—which perhaps wasn’t that impressive, since Boy was about as tall and thick as one of those toothpicks from Mistress Persephone’s sandwiches, but still, impressive enough, he supposed. Cerberus tilted his head as he looked at it, wondering what it was supposed to be. He felt like it should be obvious.
“It’s a bone,” Boy explained. He bent down to try and pick it up, grunting as he got one end up off the ground, before it crashed back down. He yelped as he let go, just barely preventing one of his human paws from being crushed. “A very old, very heavy dinosaur bone. I think it’s a femur—dinosaurs had femurs, right? Anyway, check it out.” He had better luck with nudging it closer to Cerberus with one of his lower human paws. The three-headed dog eyed the Boy skeptically for a moment before bending to sniff. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
“So, we can’t play fetch with it, obviously,” Boy said, obviously noting Cerberus’s indecision. “But you can chew it. You like to chew things, yeah? And they last a really long time, so you’ll have something to play with when I’m not here!” Cerberus blinked at him. Boy sighed, and sat down on the ground, resting his head on one of his paws as he thought. Cerberus could tell Boy had thought long and hard about this—there was also the fact that he had summoned it out of the ground, which had obviously taken a lot out of him. And, well, it did look sort of interesting: not small and breakable, like a stick.
Boy was beginning to look dejected, the way he hadn’t looked around Cerberus in a long time. That decided it for him. Cerberus picked up the bone—it was big enough that it reached all three mouths, he noted with some surprise—and bit down hard. There was a crunching sound, but the bone didn’t snap. He licked it experimentally. It tasted okay. He tossed his head back, and the bone flew through the air. Cerberus followed it with his eyes, ears pricking, and when he glanced back at Boy, Boy was watching him warily. With a bark that he made sure sounded extra-happy, he chased down the bone.
When he brought it back and dropped it at Boy’s feet, Boy looked down at the bone for a long moment before looking up at Cerberus. His mouth was beginning to curl up happily, eyes bright even in the darkness of Hades. “What’d I tell you? Much better than a flimsy ball, huh?”
Cerberus still liked balls a lot, but he decided dinosaur bones were just as good. He barked again, and then he did something he’d wanted to do for a long time: he licked Boy’s face.
Boy fell back, startled, but then he let out one of those happy tinkling noises Cerberus had heard him make a few times before; he thought it was like the mouth-curling, only as a sound. He wrapped his arms around Cerberus’s middle neck, at first as a way to pull himself up, but then he stayed like that, arms gripping tight, and Cerberus stilled. It was . . . different from any sort of contact Cerberus had ever had before, and he thought it might have felt threatening if it wasn’t Boy. But because it was Boy, and because Boy had begun trembling slightly, like he needed this, whatever it was, Cerberus thought it wasn’t so bad. Not bad at all. It was nice, even.
Hesitantly, one of his other heads nosed at Boy’s neck. Boy sniffed, and let out another happy noise, though it sounded a little more watery than usual, and let go of Cerberus. He pulled back enough to look him in the eyes, and Cerberus saw that they were slightly tinged red.
“You’re a good boy,” Boy told him, smoothing a hand over Cerberus’s forehead. Then, quieter, “You’re my good boy.” Cerberus’s chest swelled with happiness, and something like pride.
And you’re mine , he thought, and made sure Boy knew this by lifting his heads and barking, a single, resounding bark, echoing through the entire Underworld and filling up all the lonely, silent spaces.
—
Somewhere along the way, the Boy became his Boy . His Good Boy , naturally, because he was good, he was the best human Cerberus knew. (The fact that he was the only human Cerberus really knew was insignificant. Even if he met every other human of the Upperworld, he knew his Boy would still be his favorite, the very best.)
He wondered, one day, why so many bad things had to happen to his Good Boy.
His Boy materialized out of the shadows like usual, but Cerberus could tell immediately that something was wrong. There were waves of emotion rolling off Boy, waves of sad , that immediately had Cerberus’s tail drooping, his heart thumping heaver in his chest. He whined in concern, turning in a circle before dropping to his forepaws in front of Boy, who wouldn’t even look at him. He was staring at the ground like he wished it would swallow him up, even though this was as far as it went. (Well, unless you were talking about the Bad Place, which Cerberus . . . didn’t. Just thinking about that Place made him shudder.)
Boy had his fists curled, like he was preparing himself for a fight, like he was preparing to start it himself. Then, finally, he looked up at Cerberus, and all of the fight seemed to go out of him at once. He slumped, shoulders sinking, making him look impossibly, painfully small. He let out a tiny, choked noise. His eyes welled up, turning shiny in the dimness, and he held out his arms. Cerberus knew immediately what he was asking and went to him.
Boy latched his arms around Cerberus’s middle neck like before, but this time there was something that made the whole thing just . . . just awful. It made Cerberus sick, not because Boy was holding onto him, but because Boy was sad , he could feel it radiating off of his skin, and being this close made Cerberus want to whine and whimper, but he couldn’t because Boy was whimpering, and making more of those small choking noises, and Cerberus knew he had to be strong. Boy needed him to be strong.
His fur was getting wet, and he wondered distantly why, until Boy finally pulled away and he saw that the wetness was coming from Boy’s eyes. Gingerly, he leaned forward and licked at Boy’s face, tasting salt. More water leaked out of the corners of his eyes, and Cerberus desperately licked at it, too, wondering if it would help. But the more he licked away, the more appeared to replace it, and Boy just sniffled and held tighter to his neck. He had stopped making those awful sad sounds, but now he looked tired and miserable, and Cerberus was at a loss.
What do I do? he thought in panic. How do I make him feel better? There must be something , but Cerberus was no good at this. He had never had a human before, he didn’t know how to take care of them, he definitely didn’t know what to do when things were wrong with them. Against his will, a whimper tore from his throat, and Boy sniffed again, reaching up to wipe his own face, which was wet and sticky with the water from his eyes and Cerberus’s own dog drool. Cerberus felt a bit guilty as he watched, wondering if he actually made things worse, but Boy didn’t seem angry at him. The water had stopped spilling from his eyes, at least, he noticed with some relief.
“I’m sorry,” Boy said, voice sounding different, thin and watery, like it might start spilling from him again. “You probably don’t appreciate tears and snot all over your fur. I didn’t mean to cry.”
Tears. Cry . Cerberus memorized these words, filed them away to study later. He nuzzled at the short fur on Boy’s head to let him know it was okay. How do I help? he asked in the gesture, hoping Boy understood, Tell me what’s wrong .
“It’s just,” Boy’s voice cracked, “Everything is wrong . With—with me . I’m wrong, Cerberus. I didn’t want to believe it, but . . . I have no choice. There’s only so long you can run from the truth, and I’m so tired of running.”
He sat down, then, falling to the dirt, looking like the ball he had brought Cerberus so long ago after it was deflated. Cerberus lay down and curled his body around Boy, and Boy leaned back against him. He looked so broken that it made Cerberus feel like he was breaking, too.
“Why does it have to be me?” Boy whispered. “I never asked for this. For any of this. I didn’t want—I don’t want to be— ” He shook his head, shifting so that he could twist his fingers in Cerberus’s fur. It hurt a little, the tight grip Boy had pulling at him, but Cerberus didn’t complain. “I’m not going back there, Cerberus. I can’t—can’t face him . I can’t do this anymore.”
He let his eyes shut, looking far more weary and hopeless than any of the spirits Cerberus had seen in three thousand years. He turned his face into Cerberus’s fur and breathed, quiet and shaky at first, and then evening out, puffing warm against Cerberus’s side. He realized Boy was asleep.
Cerberus curled himself tighter around his Boy, making himself into a ball, his body a shield impossible to penetrate. Maybe he couldn’t make Boy feel better, but at least he could protect him as he slept. No one would be hurting Boy here. Not if Cerberus had anything to say about it.
—
A long time went by where Boy didn’t come. Cerberus began to worry.
His worry made him anxious. He began snapping at the little pups that would scamper by, causing them to yip in fright and their mothers to glare at him. Their glares didn’t reach him, though; he was too preoccupied with his distracted thoughts, frantic Is Boy okay? s followed by Where has he gone? s chased by What if something’s happened to him? s. He grew more impatient with the spirits, sitting on them and scattering their line more often. He chased his tail, but even that didn’t release him from the frazzled energy that coursed all throughout his body.
Eventually, a squirrel made the mistake of crossing his path, and he snapped.
He chased it. It wasn’t like chasing a ball or a bone—it didn’t give him that same blissful joy, didn’t make him feel young or free at all. This chase was a frenetic amalgamation of all Cerberus’s worst emotions: fear, at the thought that something may have happened to Boy; anger and sadness, that he was helpless to do anything if something had ; indescribable fury , because Boy was gone and nothing was okay and stupid squirrels were still prancing around like the Underworld was their undead acorn, like it was their turf and not his.
So he chased the squirrel down the Lethe and through the Fields of Punishment, he chased it around the poppy trees of Asphodel and cornered it just inside the gates of the palace. And he had it—he had it — until —
“Cerberus,” the Master barked, much fiercer and harsher than Cerberus could. “Heel.”
Cerberus sat up on his haunches, frozen, only now realizing how much trouble he was in. He hadn’t even thought about the Master, hadn’t thought to be wary of him, too wrapped up in his worry for the Master’s son. The Master’s eyes were black flames as he looked down at him, his face cold and cut from marble, and normally Cerberus would already be curling his tail underneath him, but—then he thought, what’s the point? Boy is gone. If Master wants to punish me, let him .
Master must have somehow sensed what he was thinking, because the twin fires in his eyes dimmed, just a little. “Oh, Cerberus,” he gave a long-suffering sigh, and his hand came down. Cerberus flinched, involuntarily, but the Master’s hand just settled on his head, stroking in that familiar way Boy did sometimes. He was . . . petting him , Cerberus realized with some shock. Master Hades, who hadn’t shown him any sort of fondness since the day he had adopted him from the Tartarus’s Moderately-Deadly Monsters Shelter .
“Nico is fine,” Hades said, though he frowned deeply. “Well, perhaps not fine —my son has not truly been that in a long while—but he is not in mortal danger, for now, at least. He is on a quest, but he will come back. He has not forgotten you.”
Cerberus whimpered. Because, buried deep down underneath all of his other fears, that one had lurked, the worst one of them all: the fear that his Boy had finally forgotten him, like the Girl had so long ago. He wondered how the Master knew that. Perhaps because he was a god, he could sense Cerberus’s fears. Or perhaps he was just guessing, just trying to comfort despite not knowing how, the same way Cerberus hadn’t known how, until Boy came along.
“I must return to work,” Master Hades said at last, with another sigh. “Souls are not going to damn themselves, after all, and I do have that appointment with Daedalus to discuss the new overpass project this afternoon. But do not be so anxious, friend. Know that one way or another, Nico will return to you. He cares too much not to.”
And with a last pat to Cerberus’s head, Master Hades walked off, leaving Cerberus staring after him in equal parts confusion, happiness, and ease: as well as with a strange new feeling of validation in his chest that he hadn’t known he was missing until, finally, he didn’t have to anymore.
—
There was a familiar scent: fresh-turned soil, the kind that could only be found in the Upperworld, and the faint but distinct smell of human sweat. One human’s sweat, in particular.
Cerberus’s heads whipped around from where he had been watching the Furies chase down a rogue soul that had somehow escaped from the Fields of Punishment, locking immediately on his Boy, standing there in front of him with his mouth curled up in that happy way that automatically set Cerberus’s tail wagging. His eyes looked brighter than they ever had in the Underworld, meaning they must be even more so in the world above. He didn’t look so tired anymore, either, and the scent of sad on him was so subdued it was barely there.
“It’s been a while,” Boy said, sounding a bit guilty about that, though it didn’t disturb his overall happy aua. “How’s my favorite boy been?”
Cerberus yipped, conveying all the things he had felt in the time Boy was away into the sound: Lonely, sad, worried, missed you, hoped you were okay, worried, wanted you to come back, worried, anxious, and worried .
Boy looked even more guilty at that, which, Cerberus loved his Boy, but he thought he kind of deserved it. “I know. I really am sorry, boy. But see, there was another war, and I was out of commission for awhile, and then, well, it wasn’t safe for me to shadow travel, so I couldn’t come. It was a lot, but it’s over now. So here I am.” His mouth curved up higher, and he reached up to rub Cerberus’s ears in that way that made Cerberus’s whole body feel warm. But too soon, he pulled away, and his mouth began to curl down a little. “But . . . I don’t know how often I’m going to be able to come anymore. I’m taking time off from helping Father—he said I deserve a break, after everything, and anyway, I’m pretty sure Will would throw a fit if I started putting myself in new dangerous situations while I’m still not fully recovered from the old ones. So I won’t be in the Underworld as much as I was before.”
This news made Cerberus feel heavy, though it wasn’t anything he hadn’t been expecting. His Boy was a Good Boy, and he had had to put up with too much Bad for too long. His Boy deserved a break more than anyone else. Cerberus knew that more than anyone else.
Still . . . he had missed Boy, so much, while he was away. He missed playing fetch, and he missed Boy rubbing his ears and his tummy, and he missed the shield-sized snacks Boy sometimes brought him, which he said he got off of something called an ‘Amazon.’ He missed the mouth-curling-sounds Boy made when Cerberus did something amusing, and sometimes just when he was really happy. He just . . . he just missed Boy , everything about Boy, because Boy was his human. Thinking that he wouldn’t see him as much as before, even after not seeing him at all for a long time . . . it made him sad.
“Hey, hey,” Boy soothed, reaching to stroke Cerberus’s head. “Don’t be sad. See, I’m not going to leave you all alone again. I won’t do that to you. You’re my boy.”
You’re my boy , Cerberus thought, bumping his head against Boy’s hand. Boy’s mouth curled up again.
“C’mon,” he stepped away from Cerberus, nodding his head at the gates. “We’re going inside.”
Cerberus looked from the gates to his Boy, thinking certainly Boy must have gone insane in the time he was away. He was never allowed inside: Mistress Persephone detested dogs and said he would track mud all over the palace floors. Boy made a mouth-curling-sound. “Trust me. It’s all going to be fine. I won’t let Dad get mad at you.”
And well, maybe he was worried about getting turned into a vase of daffodils again, but here was his Boy, asking him to trust him. And how could Cerberus ever deny him that?
—
“Father,” Boy stood in front of Master Hades’s throne, and Cerberus stood just behind him, tail flicking nervously. The Master looked at his son, as impassive as ever.
“Son. What brings you here today? I thought that boyfriend of yours had you under strict instruction not to return here until you are fully well.”
“I’m well enough,” Boy replied, though something strange was happening to his face: it was beginning to dust over in light pink. “And anyway, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I’m here to visit my dog.”
The Master arched an eyebrow. “Indeed? But you have done that many times, and none of those have you barged into my palace without some piece of so-called urgent information. You have interrupted a very important meeting with my life coach. We were going to discuss the supposed improprieties of creatively cursing souls to the Fields of Punishment in the middle of important business meetings. I should incinerate you for your impudence.”
Despite the threat, Boy didn’t look very concerned. Although his mouth twitched as he snagged on a particular piece of information—“You . . . have a life coach?”
The look on Master Hades’s face was downright exasperated. “Well I couldn’t very well call him my death coach, could I? That doesn’t sound right at all. Just—tell me what you want, you insufferable child.”
“Right.” Reminded of his reason for being there, Boy straightened his shoulders. “As you know, I won’t be back for a while.”
Master Hades nodded his head. “I had assumed as much. I thought you might appreciate time to spend in your new home, now that the war with Gaea has ended. You can imagine my surprise at seeing you here now, only months after I released you from kingdom duties.”
“Yes, well,” Boy looked back at Cerberus, who was trying very hard to follow the conversation but was hopelessly lost anyway. “I couldn’t stand the thought of Cerberus being down here all alone, worrying about me while I was perfectly fine. I’ve solved the worrying problem for now, though I will make sure to visit again, whenever Will decides it’s safe.” He said this last part with a tinge of exasperation, but it was coated in fondness, so Cerberus knew whoever this ‘Will’ was, he must mean a lot to Boy. Though he did hope this ‘Will’ wasn’t the same Boy who had thrown a stick at Cerberus all those years ago.
“I sense a ‘however’ coming on,” Master Hades said with a sigh.
“However,” Boy continued, and now he glared at Master Hades. “The ‘all alone’ part is something that shouldn’t even be a problem. But when I first met him, Cerberus hadn’t had anyone to play with in years. Millennia, probably. How long has it been since you spent any time with your dog, Father? How long have you been forcing him to sit outside all by himself, with no toys, no snacks, no walks, no affection—don’t you know how important taking care of your pets is?”
Cerberus was beginning to grow a bit worried; he loved his Boy, and loved that his Boy cared about him, but he didn’t want Boy to get blasted to cinders for his sake. No one, as far as he knew, had ever talked to Master Hades like that, except for perhaps Mistress Persephone and her mother, Demeter. But they were goddesses. Boy was only mortal.
But, to his surprise, the Master turned shamefaced. “I . . . I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Of course not.” But Boy didn’t sound bitter, or angry. Just exasperated again. “Listen, Cerberus isn’t just some monster who guards your fortress and completes tasks for you when you can’t be bothered to do them yourself. He’s like any mortal dog, or like Percy’s hellhound, Mrs. O’Leary: he needs love and attention. He like bones, and playing fetch. He likes it when you rub behind his ears, and he likes walks, and he likes the Hellhound-Portion Milk Bones that you can only order exclusively on Amazon. And he hates squirrels,” Boy added that last part like an afterthought, brows furrowing like this thought, of all things, still mystified him. “Look, my point is: I’ve spent time with him, and have gotten to know these things about him. In that time, he’s become a really great friend. He’s loyal. He’s a good boy.”
Boy looked at him, then, mouth curling happily at him, and Cerberus’s tail started wagging in response. Boy looked back at his father.
“All I’m saying is, spend time with him, Dad. He can become a good friend for you, too. It’s not good for him . . . for either of you to be lonely, if you’re both right here to keep that from happening.”
Cerberus watched Master Hades’s reaction for that characteristic anger, but it seemed to have vanished entirely. He looked at his son for a long moment, and then he turned his eyes on Cerberus, looking at him in a way he never really had before. Like he was seeing him, not as some ferocious monster, but as a dog, a dog in need of appreciation and acceptance. And he looked like he was finally ready to give it.
“Well,” Master Hades sighed. “Persephone will not be pleased. But I suppose you do have a point, son. I will make it a point to . . . spend time with my dog.” He said these last words like he never had before and had never imagined he ever would. (He most likely hadn’t, to either of those things.)
Boy lit up. He turned to Cerberus. “You hear that, boy?”
Cerberus barked. Master Hades watched with some bemusement.
“Oh, and another thing,” Boy turned back on his father once more, with a pointed expression. “You are not making Cerberus sleep outside anymore. I think he’s earned his place here.”
Hades’s expression turned pained, like he was already imagining the conversation he was going to have to have with his wife later, but he didn’t object.
—
For as long as Cerberus could remember, he had been the resident guard dog of the Gates of Erebus.
He didn’t remember being a pup, didn’t remember the litter he had come from, though he knew he must have had one, very long ago. He saw little pups around the kingdom all the time, scampering past his post in games of touch-and-go, their exasperated Hellhound mothers loping after them to make sure they played nice, and this is how he knew. He wasn’t a Hellhound—he wasn’t really sure what he was—but he was sure of this: he must have had a mother. He must have had a family.
But even if he didn’t remember his old family, that was okay. Because now he had a new one.
Master Hades may not have been the perfect pet owner, but he was good enough for Cerberus. In the mornings and evenings, they went on relaxing walks through the Fields of Punishment, and Hades talked about his creative new torture device ideas for damned souls while Cerberus listened, at least, when he wasn’t entirely distracted by the undead demon squirrels.
Master Hades was also beginning to get the hang of fetch. He didn’t quite understand why Cerberus saw a thrill in chasing things, but since he was a god, he could actually throw the heavy dinosaur bones, which was a whole new level of excitement. He wasn’t very good at throwing yet, admittedly, but he was getting there. And what he lacked in throwing abilities he, well, he didn’t make up for in personality, though he wasn’t really as bad as Cerberus had thought all those centuries. He was just bad at not being terrifying, which Cerberus could relate to.
It took longer for him to come around to Mistress Persephone, mainly because it took her a while to come around to him. She hadn’t been happy when Hades had moved Cerberus from outside to a doggy bed in their chambers. She had claimed allergies, though she was a goddess and goddesses didn’t get allergies, and slept in an entirely different part of the palace for two weeks. What finally changed her mind about him was when he trotted into the family room to find her bawling over some movie she was watching and hopped up on the couch with her, hating to see anyone sad, even if it was Mistress Persephone. She had protested at first, sniffling something about no dogs on the couch, but then something else happened on the screen that sent her clutching Cerberus and crying into his fur. They were good after that. Sometimes she would invite him to sit in her garden with her and have biscuits and tea. He never drank tea, of course, but she had ordered those treats from the ‘Amazon’ in bulk, so she would give him treats and he would listen as she complained about her mother.
Together, all three of them were a—for the most part—happy family, but they wouldn’t be complete without their Boy.
He came home one day when Hades and Cerberus were in the middle of fetch, so Cerberus didn’t even know he was there until he ran into a tree and heard that beautiful mouth-curling-sound that only one person he knew made. He turned circles in his excitement before bounding over, and Boy was waiting, already reaching up to scratch at his neck and ears. “I’m all clear, boy,” he said happily, “Doc gave me the okay.”
Hades came up behind Cerberus, holding the extra-strong-rubber ball (also ordered off ‘Amazon’). “Son,” he said, not sounding exactly pleasant, but not sounding hostile either. It was just his voice, but he was happy to see Boy. Cerberus could tell.
Boy nodded. “Father. I hope you don’t mind my dropping in.”
Hades quirked an eyebrow, but there was a ghost of something on his face—if Cerberus didn’t know any better, he’d say he was almost doing the mouth-curling thing, up instead of down. “Even if I did, I highly doubt you’d take that into consideration.”
Boy curled his own lips up, and Cerberus really wished he knew the name for what that was called. “Well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt any more meetings with your life coach. How’s that going, by the way?”
“Just fine, thank you,” Hades said breezily. “We’ve been trying meditation recently. I’ve been feeling very enlightened. Every time I ‘find my center’ it makes it that much easier to concerntrate on tormenting souls later.”
Boy shot Cerberus a look, like what Master Hades was saying was particularly amusing.
Later, Mistress Persephone walked into the family room, where Cerberus and Boy were laying on the couch and watching a movie. She glared at Boy like she wanted to say: No children on the couch . But then she sat down on Cerberus’s other side, sinking her hand into his fur as she asked, “What are we watching?”
Boy curled his mouth up in that way he did when he found something especially amusing. “Disney’s Hercules .”
Mistress Persephone didn’t have any problems with Boy when the movie was over. Hades did, however; they kept making jokes all throughout dinner, which he didn’t understand but made it increasingly more difficult for him to find his center. Hades was relieved when dinner was over and Boy said goodbye. Cerberus was only a little sad to see him go, because Boy promised he’d be back very soon.
He kept his word. Boy started coming by at least once a month to visit them—though mostly just for Cerberus, he promised whenever his father and stepmother weren’t around. Those days were Cerberus’s favorite days, because not only on those days did he get to see Boy, but they were also the days when his family felt entirely complete. And that was his favorite way for things to be.
Because if there was anything Cerberus knew, it was that he loved his family. Sure, they weren’t perfect: they were made up of one Lord of the Dead, one spoiled, stuck-up springtime goddess, a three-headed monster dog, and a boy whose life was in another world. But there they all were, piled together in the family room, watching strange movies that more often than not had Boy and Mistress Persephone falling over each other in their laughter while Master Hades looked on in unadulterated bewilderment, and then there was Cerberus, in the midst of it all, sitting beside his Boy and just happy to be part of the family.