"Hey, dad-" The rest of the sentence was forgotten when the boy saw the bags by the door.
It was never a question of 'if' but 'when' Ares would leave.
Phobos had lost count of how many times he'd watched his father's retreating back and he was probably better off not knowing the exact number. This time was a little bit different.
Ares' leaving was inevitable now that Zeus was dead. Staying would be foolish, would probably mean certain death - his dad had to leave. However, knowing all that that didn't mean he was eager to see his father leave. While they still didn't really talk a lot, they were getting better at avoiding those awkward silences that liked to pounce them out of nowhere regularly.
If they had more time, they might be able to make them go away. If. But there was never enough time, was there? Not even with eternity at their disposal.
The boy didn't know when and what went wrong or how and why they ended up like this. All he knew was that somehow it was his fault.
"...need help with those?" he asked, nodding towards the luggage, and slipped his hands into his pockets. Like always he wished he could do something useful, but like always he found himself in the position of not being able to do anything at all.