Chapter Text
[Set after dragon-Mal tried to stop Audrey on the roof but this time she couldn’t do it]
When Mal failed to relight the ember and Audrey turned Harry and Uma to stone, she knew Hades was her only option. Her chest tightened as the memory of her desperate escape flickered through her mind – a blur of fire, screams, and a blast that had nearly shattered her. Audrey’s spell had knocked her out of the sky, sending pain searing through her wrist, sharp and unforgiving, as she’d staggered to her feet
Borrowing a bike from the school, she tore away, the Isle of the Lost her only destination.
The sharp chill of the wind bit at her bruised cheek as she sped across the bridge. Her reflection in the bike’s small mirror made her wince. A deep purple blotch darkened her cheekbone, and a gash carved angrily across her forehead. She could barely move her wrist – sprained, fractured, or worse – but she couldn’t let herself slow down. Not now.
She hadn’t planned to return to the Isle so soon. She’d barely managed to piece herself together after her last visit, and now she had to face the one person she wasn’t sure she could. Her father. The thought of seeing him again churned her stomach with a mix of dread and something she couldn’t name. Relief? No, not that.
But she had no choice.
Crossing the barrier, she bit back a curse as a sharp pain lanced through her injured wrist. She glanced down, frowning at the swollen, angry skin. “I swear, heroes are worse than villains, temper tantrums and all,” she muttered under her breath, yanking the bottom edge of her tattered shirt to wrap her wrist tightly. The fact that Audrey’s fury was her own doing wasn’t something Mal was willing to linger on – not yet.
Auradon was fading into the distance behind her, the spires of its castles swallowed by the mist. Mal spared it one last glance, expression sullen. She should have been there, protecting it. Instead, she was here, speeding back to the man she had sworn to leave behind.
─────☆─────
The gate to Hades’ cave creaked faintly as Mal pushed it open, and to her surprise, it wasn’t locked. She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone to stop her. But no one did. The Isle of the Lost was deserted, its usual hum of mischief and malcontent silenced. She supposed breaking into Hades’ lair wasn’t high on anyone’s list of things to do unless they had a death wish.
Her father might not be the all-powerful god he once was, but his reputation still lingered like the smoke that clung to the cave’s walls. The absence of his three-headed guard dog didn’t make his home any less foreboding. She thought of Cerberus, long gone, and a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips despite herself. The image of her father pretending not to care about the loss of his beloved pet was almost enough to distract her from why she was here.
Almost.
The smile faded as quickly as it had come, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. The weight of the ember in her pocket felt heavier with every step deeper into the cave. “I’ll take my chances,” she’d said the last time she’d seen him, walking away with the ember in hand. Now, those words felt hollow, mocking. Clearly, her chances sucked.
Her steps faltered. What if he didn’t help her? There wasn’t anyone else. The ember was the only thing powerful enough to stop Audrey, but its power was locked away, and Hades was the only one who could re-ignite it.
Mal clenched her fists, her injured wrist protesting the movement, but she didn’t care. There wasn’t a reason for him to help her, she knew that. Auradon had trapped him here, cut him off from the world. He had every reason to let them burn. And as for her, well, he hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to help her for the past eighteen years.
Maybe he’d have a change of heart. Or maybe pigs would fly. “More likely he’d get back with Mom,” she muttered bitterly under her breath. She climbed off the bike and pulled the helmet from her head, running a hand through her tangled hair. Both possibilities were equally absurd.
She didn’t have a choice. If there was even a chance – a miracle – that he’d listen, it was the only shot she had left to save Auradon. To save Evie, Jay, Carlos, Ben, all of them. She’d failed them tonight. The thought clawed at her, raw and unforgiving. Audrey’s words echoed in her mind, sharp and relentless: You’re not fit to be queen.
No. She shook her head, forcing the thought away. Self-doubt wasn’t a luxury she could afford right now. She had to be strong – strong enough to face the God of the Underworld and convince him to help her.
The cave opened up into a dimly lit chamber, the glow of blue flames casting eerie shadows against the jagged stone. Mal stopped short as her eyes landed on him. Hades was sprawled across his throne, sunglasses perched on his face, his head tilted back at an angle that made him look oddly regal despite his rumpled posture. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, his mouth slightly agape.
She hesitated at the edge of the room, staring at him. A dozen words spun through her mind, none of them quite right. She reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing the ember as she pulled it free, holding it tightly in her good hand. The cool, lifeless surface of the stone bit into her palm as she tried to summon the courage to speak.
“Guess who’s back.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Are you always asleep?”
“You were right.”
“I failed.”
None of them fit. None of them felt like enough. She’d tried to be strong but maybe Ben had been wrong about her. She bit down on her lip, hard enough that the tang of blood filled her mouth. Before she could decide, his voice broke the silence.
“Just spit it out already. The suspense is giving me a headache.”
The gravelly drawl startled her, and she jerked back, her injured wrist catching the railing beside her. She sucked in a sharp breath as pain shot up her arm, her grip tightening around the ember. Hades rolled his head lazily toward her, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he squinted at her.
Mal scrambled to find the words, blinking rapidly to try and clear the fog that was surrounding her brain and making words impossible to find. Strong and commanding.
Strong and commanding
“This is the second time you’ve disturbed my sleep, child. There better be a reason.”
Mal swallowed; her voice caught somewhere in the back of her throat. She gripped the railing with her free hand, her knuckles white as she forced herself to meet his gaze. “You need to help me,” she said, or tried to. The words came out thin, shaking under the weight of everything she was trying not to feel. Pain, guilt, fear – they pressed down on her chest, threatening to drown her.
“Need?” Hades drawled as he sat up slowly, his hand dropping to the arm of his throne with a soft clink as his rings struck the stone, the echo sharp and jarring. “I don’t need to do anything– ”
He stopped mid-sentence, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as they focused on her properly for the first time. Mal stood there trembling, her lips raw and red, her grip on the ember so tight it looked like she might shatter it. She looked fragile in a way he hadn’t seen before, and that was saying something. His ever-present scowl softened, just a fraction, as he leaned forward.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice flat but with a thread of something Mal couldn’t quite place. Concern? No, not quite. But close enough to make her chest tighten.
Her mouth opened, then closed, her wide green eyes staring at him in silence. She didn’t need to say it. He could see it in her face, in the way her shoulders sagged, and her arm hung limply at her side. She’d screwed up. And she didn’t know how to fix it.
In a sense the answer was simple: I screwed up. But the words caught in her constricting throat as she mindlessly took a few steps forwards, down the stairs towards where her father now stood. She wished this was all a bad dream, that she hadn't failed everyone so spectacularly. She was to be queen and she couldn't even protect Auradon. Her grip on the ember never wavered, whether it was because she was so unfocused that she didn't realise it was digging sharply into her skin or whether it was a subconscious effort to hide her failure from her father she didn't know. Maybe both. Probably both.
Hades sighed, standing slowly, his boots echoing against the stone as he took a step closer to her. “Kid,” he said, his tone softer now. “What did you do?”
Mal stood frozen, her breath hitching as the weight of the ember dug into her palm. The flickering of the underworld's eerie blue flames reflected in her eyes, casting them in a stormy green that barely concealed the tears welling within. She was supposed to be strong. A queen in waiting. But at this moment, with her father’s impassive gaze fixed on her, she felt nothing short of broken.
“I tried,” she whispered, the words cracking like fragile glass between her teeth, fracturing in the cavern’s stillness. Her voice barely carried over the low hum of the cave, but it was enough. Hades’ sharp blue eyes flicked to hers, cutting through her defenses. She wished they hadn’t; it was unbearable, the unspoken understadning. The intensity behind them made her feel as though he could see every crack etched into her skin, every failure laid bare.
She sucked in a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around the ember as if squeezing it hard enough might undo the past. As if squeezing it hard enough would break skin and let her feel something other than fear. “I couldn’t save them. Any of them. I’m not–” Her voice faltered, and she swallowed hard, fighting to keep the sob clawing its way up her throat at bay. “I’m not enough. Not Hades enough, not good enough, not anything enough.”
Not good enough to be a hero. Not bad enough to be a villain.
Her words spilled out like blood from a wound she hadn’t realized was still bleeding, and she stumbled back a step, suddenly unsteady. Because she’d thought the words a hundred times before, but never had she uttered them aloud. The ember slipped from her grasp, bouncing once on the stone floor before coming to rest near her feet. She stared at it, her vision blurring as the tears she had been holding back began to fall.
For a moment, silence swallowed the cavern. Then, slowly, Hades moved. His boots echoed ominously as he stepped forward, closing the space between them. Mal tensed, bracing for the scorn, the biting remark she had no reason not to expect from him. But instead, his hands – calloused and steady – grasped her arms, grounding her in place.
And then he hesitated. She felt it, the brief pause where he considered retreating, a battle waging in his stormy eyes. But instead of stepping back, his grip shifted, and he pulled her into his arms. The movement was awkward, stiff, as though he’d forgotten how to do something as simple as hold someone. For a heartbeat, Mal froze, instinctively resisting, her shoulders rigid against him.
“You don’t have to…” she started, her voice cracking, but the words died in her throat. Because beneath the awkwardness, there was warmth. His leather jacket creaked softly as he adjusted his hold, and she caught the scent of him – leather, smoke, and something sharp and spicy, like embers smouldering in a forgotten hearth. It shouldn’t have been comforting. And yet, it was.
She sank against him, just enough to feel the tension in her own body start to ebb. The trembling in her hands subsided as she let herself lean into the solidity of him. Hades shifted again, his movements unsure but deliberate, bringing one hand up to card gently through her hair. It was clumsy but strangely soothing, the kind of gesture she hadn’t known she’d needed until now.
“Stop,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. It wasn’t a command, but it held enough weight to anchor her. “You’re more than enough, kid.”
She blinked, startled by the softness threading through his tone. Her wide, tear-streaked eyes met his, searching for the catch, the punchline she knew had to follow. But there wasn’t one. Only his steady gaze keeping her steady.
Hades loosened his hold, stepping back just enough to see her face properly but not so far that the warmth of his presence faded entirely. His hands remained light on her arms, steadying her even as she wrestled with whatever storm was raging inside.
“I mean,” he added with a crooked smirk, “you’re only half Hades. But you’re the best damn half there is. Hades top ten material.”
Mal felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth spread through her chest, her heart swelling despite herself. For Hades – someone who viewed himself as the pinnacle of greatness – to call her his “best half” meant more than any compliment she could have imagined. She knew how much he valued his own legend, and for once, he’d let her in on it, even if only for a fleeting moment.
But then she saw it: the instant he realised what he’d said. The faint flicker of discomfort in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened. Hades shifted his weight, leaning back against the arm of his throne, his confidence quickly reasserting itself like armour snapping into place. She could practically hear the internal cringe, the unspoken acknowledgment of how much he’d let slip.
“Of course,” he said, his tone shifting back to its usual sarcasm, “we all know the remake is never as good as the original, but you can try.” He smirked, though the sharpness didn’t quite reach his eyes. Despite his retreat, he stayed close, close enough that if Mal faltered again, he could catch her without having to think twice.
“Asshole,” Mal muttered, the insult lacking its usual venom. There was no real heat behind the word, just a hint of fondness buried beneath the exasperation. She rolled her eyes and let out a sigh, her lips tugging upward in a small, reluctant smile she didn’t try to hide.
But even as her smile lingered, her shoulders sagged under the weight of her thoughts. The brief levity evaporated, replaced by the grim reality that had driven her here. Auradon was in danger. Her friends needed her. And she, somehow, was supposed to carry all of it. A teenager with the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders. The pressure etched itself into every line of her face, the wildfire of her thoughts flickering behind tired green eyes.
Hades noticed the shift immediately. He’d spent an eternity studying souls, watching them twist under the weight of their own burdens, and he could see the same spiral happening in Mal now. It was a look he knew all too well – the kind that came from carrying too much for too long.
She’s just like me, he thought, a pang of something unnameable flashing through him. It wasn’t pride or pity, but an unsettling mix of both. A lifetime of keeping his emotions locked away had made him an expert at hiding them, and it was a skill he recognised in her. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t bring himself to let her keep spiralling.
He tilted his head, his voice breaking the silence with just enough force to snap her out of her reverie. “What happened?” he asked, his tone calm but firm, his words cutting through the tangle of her thoughts like a blade. It was a simple question, but the weight behind it was enough to send Mal’s gaze skittering away. She took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling in a measured attempt to collect herself.
Mal blinked, her mind struggling to refocus. The question hovered in the air, simple and direct, but heavy with expectation. And though she wanted to retreat back into the safety of her silence, the steady presence of Hades, standing just close enough to catch her if she fell, made it impossible to ignore.
She bent to retrieve the ember, her hand trembling slightly as she scooped it up. Its surface was dull, lifeless, but the pressure of it against her palm anchored her, just enough to find her voice. She passed her tongue over her dry lips before she tried to tackle the question
“I lied to them,” she began, her words soft, almost hollow. “To Ben. To Evie, Jay, Carlos– everyone. I told them I could handle it, that I had everything under control. But I didn’t.” Her grip tightened on the ember, her knuckles whitening as the guilt spilled out. “Audrey came to me first. She – she asked for my help, and I pushed her away. If I’d listened, maybe…”
She trailed off, her voice cracking under the weight of her regret. Hades stayed quiet, his expression unreadable but focused, his gaze never leaving her face. She appreciated that silence. It wasn’t judgment or pity, just space – something she didn’t realize she needed until now.
“And then I couldn’t even keep the ember dry,” she added bitterly, the words laced with self-loathing. A humourless laugh escaped her lips. “How pathetic is that? The one thing I was supposed to protect, and I ruined it.”
Hades let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through the cavern like distant thunder. Mal’s head snapped up, a mix of confusion and indignation flashing across her face.
“Easy mistake,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “I once dropped it in a bowl of soup.”
Her brow furrowed, caught off guard. “Soup?” she repeated, her voice disbelieving.
“Yeah,” he replied, his tone deadpan. “The vegetables were giving me the eye.”
Despite herself, Mal let out a small, startled laugh. It wasn’t much – just a sharp exhale followed by a quiet snort – but it was enough to chip away at the heavy knot in her chest. She shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitching upward despite her best efforts.
“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, her tone somewhere between exasperation and fondness.
“Guilty,” Hades said, his smirk returning. He leaned casually against the arm of his throne, but his eyes remained on her, quietly assessing.
For a moment, they fell into a comfortable silence. Mal turned the ember over in her hands, her expression growing distant again. She leaned slightly against the throne’s armrest, her proximity to Hades both unintentional and deliberate, as if her body sought the reassurance her mind refused to ask for.
“I keep thinking this is all a dream,” she admitted quietly, not looking at him. “Even this – us.” The words hung in the air, fragile and uncertain. She didn’t know why she’d said it, why she’d let something so vulnerable slip out. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way he hadn’t let go when she needed him to hold on.
Hades didn’t respond right away, and the silence stretched just long enough for Mal to regret speaking at all. But then he shifted, turning slightly toward her. His hand twitched, like he might reach out again, but he stopped himself.
“Dream or not,” he said finally, his voice softer than she expected, “you’re here. And so am I.”
It wasn’t a declaration, but it wasn’t dismissive either. It was something in between, something that made Mal’s chest tighten and loosen all at once. She nodded, swallowing hard before she straightened, her resolve hardening once more. Nothing had changed, she wasn’t naïve enough to believe this was anything of substance, but it had felt nice. For a moment. To have Hades.
“I may not be able to fix this,” she said, her voice steadier now. “But you can. You can relight the ember.” She hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her makeshift bandage. Letting Hades through the barrier was a bad idea. But she didn’t have a choice anymore. “Will you?”
Hades watched her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
“Come on, sweet pea,” he said, his lips curling into a faint grin. “You’ve got a kingdom to save.”
The pet name was one of the only things she knew of Hades before he'd left. Hearing it now after so many years felt like a distant echo of a life she didn’t remember. It left her cheeks aching as she beamed up at him, the smile soft and unguarded in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time. For just a moment, the weight on her shoulders seemed lighter.
But the moment was fleeting. As they walked out of the cave, her smile faded, replaced by a creeping unease as the reality of the situation crashed back down on her. The ember in her hand felt heavier than ever, a constant reminder of what was at stake.