The crazy homeless man (at least he looked to Simon like he must be both mental and homeless) let go of his arm, and Simon could breathe again. Mostly. His breathing did sound a bit labored. He blinked right back at Zeus and swayed on his feet as a wave of recognition and muddled memories attempted to boil up to the surface. Deimos. He knew that name.
Simon gasped as he saw something that looked like his own face twisted in what could only be described as a mask of evil glee. He was riding a chariot. More precisely, he was mowing a mass of armed men down with a chariot, and relishing every violent, blood soaked moment of it. The smell of despair, terror, blood and men's spent bowels was everywhere, and the crazed face laughed in a way that made poor Simon's gorge rise. His mouth tasted like terror, whatever that meant.
Deimos gagged and swayed again, then another memory came. Zeus' face, gleaming like the sun and with lightning in his hair, smiling down at him, his grandson. But how was that even possible? Simon had met both his grandfathers, who were both dead, and neither of them looked like that. Good old Stewart Concordia had been a kindly soft-spoken baker. Everett Gartner, on the other hand, had been a tight-lipped drunk with mean eyes and a permanent disapproving rictus to the mouth. Neither of them had bloody shot bloody lightning out of their arses, a suddenly furious Simon thought.
His ire fizzed out when he saw the facemask he had just plucked out of one of his many pockets fly from his nerveless fingers and hit the ground. Granted, it was in a baggie, but now said baggie had touched the sidewalk. The decision on whether it was salvageable or not was taken from him when the wind blew it right into the muddy gutter. So much for that, he thought with a shudder, before glancing stupidly over at Zeus again.
Did he know who he was? What were all these visions? Deimos. He knew that name. Vaguely. And who was this man? He didn't quite look old enough to be anyone's grandfather now, did he? And yet... and yet.
"Gr-grandfather?" His voice had nearly sounded like himself that one time. He hesitated once more before adding, "Do I know you?"
Deimos might not have anything close to a full recollection of his past lives, but the sense of recognition was overwhelming now that he wasn't in a right panic. He was almost moved to smile at the other man.
Until Zeus started talking crazy drug-induced talk, that is. Simon's mouth moved for a few moments before any words actually came out. "I... uh... I'm quite sure they do," he finally replied with a sickly smile. It was only then that he started noticing the chaos all around them. Some lady was being wheeled off, and a few cars had apparently been rear ended as well. "Oh, dear," he muttered automatically, like his earthly mother would have done.