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Help
I never needed your help Shrouded Torment I Never asked for it. 
Distant, so very distant were the memories tied into the marking that fingers currently rested against. Exactly when the deity had chosen to get a tattoo, not many knew. Even he himself couldn't always recall the reason for it, much less when he got it placed upon his body -- that was -- not up until he would seek it out in moments of rage or clouded storms of emotion that made no sense in his head. It was in those moments, as ticks of an overlooming clock passed by, that he'd touch the marking out of instinct and suddenly feel a sense of relief; tranquility as some would call it. Along with that sense of relief came memories shrouded around that marking that would force him to focus on them instead of whatever else was going on in his life. That was when he'd remember when and where he got it; plus why. It was a coping mechanism of sorts. Yet it also brought back a different kind of pain.
Simplier times. A era of bliss. He recognized it as a sense of harmony that could sweep the young god up and shield him away from the outside world. A world that was often weighed down in blood and agony. Such was the power of that marking on his ankle.
"Damn."
As he spoke the word while pressing down harder upon embedded ink, he'd hear a twig breaking nearby in the forest. It was not unusual for Deimos to escape into the woods when he was unsure of where else to go; usually out here he could be alone to steady himself. Only a few had chosen to follow over the years.
One of those entities being Apollo.
"Troubled again?" His voice was, as per usual, rather calm despite the hidden undertone of worry. How many times in the past week had he watched the younger god come out this way? Two mornings ago he was almost certain he had witnessed Deimos flee his room while covered in a layer of blood - not entirely unusual but something about it had been odd for once for reasons he wouldn't say now.
Hearing the question posed he said nothing. Glacier hues instead drifted away as if ignoring the very presence of his uncle in its entirety. Deimos knew that eventually the other would get him to bust. But for the moment he chose defiance instead of answering so openly.
It drew a faint scoff from the elder of the two.
"You know eventually you'll let me in."
"Eventually."
For once he wasn't in the mood to argue about anything. Not as tips of his index and middle finger danced over the black and blue ink that made up the imagery of a stingray.
"It still helps, then?"
Question throwing the younger off guard, he'd finally redirect his attention to his uncle. More memories flickered through his mind of the day on the beach when he had let out a storms worth of curse words as Apollo had branded his skin with needle and colored liquids. "Aye." It still helped. Not that he enjoyed openly admitting it. When he was honest was when he felt the most vulnerable. But it would be a lie to say he didn't have a closeness to the deity even if they were like polar opposites.
"You know you can find better ways to calm the mayhem of your mind." It wasn't a question, more of a statement. There were so many ways to calm ones mind. The last time they had gone with something physical for Deimos to focus on. That was why he had branded him with ink. Because he knew Deimos tended to cling to physical things more than others. But he couldn't help but wonder if there were better methods they could deploy to help his nephew.
"I don't need your help."
Retort coming rather swiftly there was almost a venomous edge to it as if a warning in his tone. He didn't want help. Not again. The last time had helped, sure, but the end result had also been extremely painful if he dwelled on those memories any longer. Now when he touched the blasted mark he not only got memories of who gave it to him, but also what had been; such was probably why he always did his best to forget until instinct made him seek out that marking to calm down once more.
At notion of that tone, Apollo's shoulders rolled and then slowly fell as he took in a breath and released a heavy sigh. "So you say." But he knew it wasn't reality of the matter. Deimos needed a lot more help than he ever was willing to admit. The kid had an issue with dropping his guard. An issue with asking for help. He could only blame his brother -- Ares. "You know he isn't here to see you in this state." Because only Ares would mentally break his child to the point asking for help would be viewed as a weakness. He knew that all too well from nights they used to spend together. Nights were the small war god would break down and let waterfalls of emotion boil over.
They never talked about those nights beyond when they'd happen.
"I don't need your help. I never needed your help! You think this tattoo helps? All it really does is remind me of pain I've tried for decades to bloody escape. You think my father broke me because I keep emotions he'd view as weak locked inside? It's damned better than branding someone so they're reminded of the pain you caused when they're already dealing with other bullsh*t!" Sure, at the time neither of them knew what would come to pass months after the branding was placed. It had been done in good faith and with one of Deimos' favorite creatures no less. It had really been meant to mark the occassion of their first trip to Earth together..... and give him something to focus on in times of stress and peril. Had been done to aid Deimos in moments like this. But all be damned if in the end it didn't add to the overall pain that had come to pass instead.
"I. Don't. Need. Your. Help. Now or ever again -- So leave."
Because, really, what more could he say than that? Perhaps the only similiarity between the sun and the moon was their sheer sense of stubborness. So he'd leave it at that and pray to the primordials that Apollo would actually listen and leave before he was tempted to assault; something neither of them needed this time.
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