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“Hey there, boss!”
Charon breathed a silent sigh of relief. As always, somehow, Hermes managed to have perfect timing. The boatman had been contemplating the agonizing noises of the Fields of Mourning, how every wail and tortured moan set him further on edge. He was perplexed at how the sounds worsened every time he set up shop. But with just three words, all his tensions fled. And how wonderful it was that that voice was really, truly there and not in a dream.
Charon’s eyes turned upwards to take in the small messenger God, who in turn looked expectantly down at Charon from his spot hovering above his head.
Maybe it was because Charon was tired - rest was rather hard to come by these days - or maybe because words didn’t feel nearly enough, because he gave no greeting in return. Instead, he reached up and grabbed ahold of Hermes’ leg, pulling him down so their eyes were level. It always felt rude to pluck him out of the air. Charon tried his hardest to avoid doing it, but he knew that Hermes was fast enough to evade any unwanted grasps - so when Charon tugged him from the air and into his chest, the matching black of their clothing melding into one, he knew it was what Hermes also wanted. And when Hermes made no move to pull away, Charon huddled close to his little bird, caging him, for just a moment, in his large arms.
He is here, Charon told himself, and here he is safe.
By that point, Hermes had been back from his spying for a few weeks - he had even managed to visit here and there during that time - but the years the messenger had been away had taken their toll. Even after the confirmation that his lover was okay, alive, and uncaptured, it still felt like a weight off Charon’s chest whenever he got to see him in person. To see that his beloved's splendor had yet to be snuffed out, and would never be, if Charon had a say.
“Missed me that much, did you?” Asked Hermes, his voice muffled by the folds of Charon’s robes. Charon hummed in agreement. The smoke from his mouth poured out in viscous waves, caressing Hermes’ head, curling around his neck, before misting down his waist and dissipating into nothing. Charon’s eyes followed it, drinking in every inch of Hermes available to him like a man starved of water.
It was hard to believe there was once a time when he saw Hermes nearly every day. Those days were so long ago now, yet Charon’s nebulous heart ached for them. For when things were simple. Even when Zagreus (Charon’s heart also ached thinking of him - how he missed the young God) was tearing his way through the Underworld, and tensions with Olympus were high, none of it ever felt too high of risk. And Hermes was always there. Delivering souls, bringing items for Charon to sell, dropping by just to see him - none of it ever changed. They were as they always had been.
But then-
Chronos.
Charon’s arms tightened protectively around Hermes. That cursed Titan had torn everything Charon cared for away from him. His family, his job, his gold, and just when he wondered what else he could take, he stole Hermes from him, too. Not personally - Chronos hadn’t given the order for Hermes to become a spy - though he did everything but.
And that was somehow worse.
It was him who started it all. Him who destroyed Charon’s beautiful world, and him who created the need for someone as quick and stealthy as Hermes.
It was not that Charon didn’t believe Hermes could protect himself. Even as Hermes had disappeared from his sight all those years ago, he believed his little bird would return to him. No one had ever caught him, surely, that meant Time couldn’t either.
But-
There was always a part of him that doubted. A small voice that told him that if anyone could catch Hermes, it was Time - Time, who could suspend the very air, trapping a bird that was wild, free, and never meant for a cage. And it terrified Charon. After years of silence, of not knowing, he tortured himself with images of Hermes’ face stuck in an expression of horror, eternally frozen in the middle of a step that couldn’t save him, one hand reaching out, taunting Charon with how he couldn’t help-
“Charon?”
Charon’s eyes fell on Hermes, the smaller God staring at him with his eyebrows scrunched in concern. “Are you alright?” He asked, reaching under Charon’s arm and around his back so he could squeeze his shoulder. Charon let out a stuttered breath, his smoke coming out in misty puffs.
I am glad you are here, he groaned.
Hermes smiled. It was a tired smile - even Hermes, who Charon never thought could run out of energy, was tired these days - but there was still joy held within it. “I am, too.” He replied, snuggling himself back into Charon’s robes. They stayed like that for a long while, it could have been minutes or hours for all Charon knew. When Hermes was there, time ceased to exist.
A guttural sound rumbled in Charon’s throat. If only.
“Unfortunately,” Hermes said as he pulled away from Charon, his feet settling on the ground - he really must be tired - and his face pulling back into a tight smile, “I have some errands to run down at the Crossroads, so I was just stopping in.”
Charon moaned lowly, reaching out and cradling Hermes’ cheeks with his hands. A deep, aching pain radiated through his body, already missing something that hadn’t even yet left him. Hermes’ gaze softened, and he raised his hands to cover Charon’s.
“I know,” he whispered, tilting his head to press a kiss on the palm of Charon’s hand. “I know.”
They lingered there, Charon clinging onto Hermes with gentle desperation. He soothed his thumb over Hermes’ cheek, taking in every bit of his lover's face as he always did these days - as if they would never see each other again. One large hand pulled away to brush a strand of dark hair from Hermes’ face so he could better look, taking his time memorizing his every feature. His angled face. His full lips. His beautiful obsidian eyes. He was perfection, shining more brilliantly than the most luminous obol. If only Charon could hoard him to himself just the same. But he knew he couldn’t. He would never dare to deprive the world of Hermes and Hermes of the world.
“Truthfully, my good boatman, I’m only going to talk with Hecate,” Hermes said, running his pointer fingers over the rings on Charon’s hand, his own ring - gifted from Charon before he left - sparkling in the dim light, “A real quick talk-” Charon scoffed, for there was rarely a conversation with Hermes that wasn’t quick, “-actually. So if you linger around for a bit, I might have some time to spare afterward.”
Charon hesitated. Staying there for much longer was dangerous. He had already been in that spot for quite a while - honestly, he had been just about to pack up before Hermes arrived. Moving around, place to place, shop to shop, was the only way he had eluded Chronos’ clutches thus far. If he could help it, he tried not to stay longer than an hour at any one spot.
But-
Charon sighed deeply, the smoke from his mouth misting Hermes’ expectant face. If hope was an appetite, Hermes was starving, begging for just a crumb of Charon’s time. And Charon wanted nothing more than to feed him until he could handle no more.
Once couldn’t hurt, he decided.
Charon smiled, the taut skin around his teeth stretching to accommodate an expression that so rarely happened before Hermes came into his life.
I will wait.
Hermes’ smile widened. The smaller God lept into Charon’s arms, pressing his plush lips all over his face until the boatman was well and truly kissed. “I’ll be back soon.” He promised between kisses. His body was pressed so nicely against Charon’s that he had half a mind to wrap his arms around Hermes and keep him there, his Olympian heat warming Charon’s Chthonic chill. He knew he couldn’t, but he still held his little bird close, savoring every moment they had left.
Eventually, Charon sighed and let Hermes go. With one last squeeze of the hand, his lover was gone, leaving only a gust of wind and the vague sense of one last kiss pressed against Charon’s gaunt cheek. His muscles creaked as he smiled again but there was no helping it. Hermes was coming back for him. How could he possibly be happier?
Left with nothing else to do, Charon stood by his shop and waited, counting the tainted gold in his pouch. Just looking at them - the precious coins stamped with the mark of the tyrant - infuriated him. His only solace was that it would be back to its purest form soon enough.
He would make sure of it.
Minutes past. Charon wasn’t sure how long Hermes would take. He likely could make it to the Crossroads and back to the Fields of Mourning in barely any time, so he could only hope that his conversation with Hecate would be as short as he said. Each moment spent standing there was another wriggle of discomfort, another nervous glance around. Soon enough, it had been well past the hour he usually allotted himself and was slowly coming up on two.
Charon started to pack up. He organized his wares slowly, methodically, knowing that he should be going when he was done, whether Hermes was there or not. His lover would understand - though that didn’t make the idea hurt any less.
They would see each other again. Perhaps Hermes would seek Charon out wherever he was next. It was far too risky to leave a note, but if anyone could find Charon, it was Hermes. The unbroken line connecting them was as real as the pomegranate in his hand.
Charon froze. A cold, horrible feeling began to crawl up his back, like icy fingerprints pressing against his skin.
Something was wrong.
Charon stood still as a statue, staring deep into the red flesh of the fruit, his mind racing with possibilities. Something was coming towards him, he could feel it, but it didn’t feel like the warmth and freedom of Hermes or the kindness and friendship of young Melinoë. It was familiar. And yet, he couldn’t place what it was. Cold and restricting, whatever it was had made the hair on Charon’s neck stand on end.
The feeling grew tighter and tighter with each moment passed, like a string threatening to snap. Charon glanced to his right, reaching for his oar slowly as if trying not to spook a wild animal. His fingers fell into the worn grooves on the base.
Miasma rocketed from the ground, filling the air in an instant.
Charon reared back, using his oar to try and wave it away, but it was too late - the dreadful red hue had surrounded him, and worked quick to fill his head with gloom. As it choked his throat, so too did a mournful sob. His head ached with dread and paranoia, but it was nothing compared to horrible pain of heartbreak stabbing at his chest. Never had he felt so sorrowful, so lonely, so unloved.
whereishermeswhyisn’theherewhydidheleavemedoesheevenlovemewhatishe-
“There you are.”
The pomegranate fell from Charon’s hand. The air stood still, the wind holding its breath as he broke from his malaise and took a wide swing with his oar.
The world slowed.
As his oar froze in place, stuck right before the moment it would have struck, Charon’s eyes connected with his assailant. He had never seen him before, but he knew immediately that he was staring into the cruel, merciless gaze of Time. Charon looked at him in terror, unable to look away from those blank, haunting eyes. There was nothing in them but Charon's own reflection, a gaunt face frozen in shock staring back at him. And as reality began to fade, darkening around the edges, the last thing he saw was the cold sneer of a Titan who knew he had won.
Hermes hummed as he flew. It was a tune that was already upbeat and jaunty, yet he hummed it even faster still than it was meant to be. He couldn’t help it. The world was falling apart, Time himself was against them, and his job as a psychopomp had become all but obsolete, but seeing Charon made it all feel not quite as bad. The boatman had always been a monolith of reliability for Hermes. And in a time of such mass confusion and uncertainty, that reliability had only become more apparent, and needed.
The talk with Hecate had gone on a little longer than he would have liked, though it was hard to tell if that was Hermes being himself, as most conversations went by far too slow for him, or if the conversation has truly dragged on. The Titaness was a being to be respected, to be certain. Each word she spoke was filled with the wisdom of a being who had existed long before Hermes - but by Olympus, she talked so slow. And with the thought of Charon waiting for him, it had felt like waiting for an eternity to pass.
Perhaps Hecate had told him all she needed to, or maybe she was taking pity on him, but she freed him from their conversation with a wave of the hand and an “until next time, God of swiftness.” Hermes hadn’t needed to be told twice - he was out of the Crossroads before her hand had finished its motion.
Hermes twisted happily in the air, the wind dragging mightily against his straining wings. He still couldn’t believe the boatman had agreed to wait for him. There was a risk, but surely, one time couldn’t hurt? And once he returned, perhaps they could go off together. Maybe even have more than a few lingering moments? They could travel together for a while, like how they used to.
Hermes sighed. He longed for the old days, before Chronos, when he could see Charon every day. In those days, he had always appreciated the boatman’s presence, but since Chronos, he had begun to wonder, had he ever cherished it? He wasn’t sure he had. How could he, when he hadn’t known it was something that could be so easily taken away? There was never a thought that it could be. Even when tensions between the Underworld and Olympus were high, it had never been even a thought in his mind. Charon would always be there in his boat, waiting. Ready to pull Hermes into his boat where they could row for hours on end, talking about everything and nothing. If only he could tell himself to hold those times close because they would soon disappear.
Hindsight. It came for them all.
It took barely any time to get back to where Hermes had last seen Charon. He rocketed through the Fields of Mourning, passing by soul after tortured soul. They were a sad sight, limping around the field like lost sheep - but they would get their help soon, M would be sure of that. So he passed them by without a second thought. He entered the clearing where Charon would be-
Only to find it empty. No boatman in sight.
Hermes stopped abruptly, his smile turning into a deep frown. Had Charon left? Looking around, it appeared he must have. Disappointment weighed heavy on Hermes’ shoulders, clouding his head and stinging at his chest. It was hard - hard enough that always-jovial Hermes was biting back tears - but he supposed if Charon left, there must have been a good reason.
Perhaps it was for the best. A boon in disguise.
A boon.
A boon?
Hermes paused mid-takeoff, spotting one of his golden boons shining brightly from the other side of the clearing. Immediately, confusion cleared away his disappointment. Why would Charon have left one of his boons? As he approached, flitting over like a nervous hummingbird, he realized it was still resting on the cloth Charon started using to display his wares.
And it wasn’t just the boon. Everything was still there.
An awful, squirming feeling settled in Hermes’ stomach. As his eyes scoured the makeshift shop, he dropped his feet to the ground, unsure yet what to think. Had Charon stepped out for a bit? Was he coming back? It didn’t make sense, but the alternative-
Hermes walked quickly past the shop to the spot where Charon had been standing. He placed a shaking hand on a barrel, tipping it towards him to see it filled with the various items Charon would pawn off to earn a few extra coins here and there. Why would he have just left them? Any random soul could wander up and steal them. Charon would never have been so careless. Never.
The sinking feeling in Hermes’ gut worsened. He yanked his hand from the barrel like it had burned him, backing away and turning wildly around as if Charon would pop out from the mangled trees at any moment. A thought probed Hermes’ mind, an idea of what could have happened, one that he was unwilling to consider just yet. Surely, Charon hadn’t been- he couldn’t have been-
From the corner of his eye, sticking out like a sore thumb among the dead, decaying grass, Hermes saw a spot of brilliant red. He turned and approached the item hesitantly. For once, his feet moved as slow as a regular God’s might, each step bringing him far too quickly to the conclusion he was trying desperately not to draw.
There was a pomegranate.
Just- laying there in the barren grass. As if Charon had dropped it.
No. No no no no-
“No no no- hello?!” Hermes called out; his voice pitched with fear. “Charon? Are you here?!” His chest pumped erratically as he searched the shop again, looking for something, anything to prove what he was seeing wrong. “Please say you’re here; I’m having a bit of a freak out right now, so if you’re-” His voice rose in hysterics, bordering on madness “-if you’re here, playing a trick on me- ahahaha, it was funny, but I need you to come out now!” Hermes gasped for air, suddenly at a loss of it despite not needing it. When his manic ranting was done, he quieted, waiting for Charon to appear.
Nothing.
“Charon?” Hermes called out far more weakly. “Please- please come out?” He tried, but all that responded was the whistling of wind and the far-off sounds of moaning souls. The truth hit Hermes like a punch to the gut, nearly knocking him to the ground:
Charon was gone.
Hermes sucked in a breath, frantic eyes falling back down to the pomegranate. He leaned down and picked it up, holding it to his chest as if it was the only thing tethering him to reality. With resolve - or perhaps ardent denial - Hermes was in the air, flying rapidly back toward the Crossroads. Tears now fell freely, heedless of how dangerous it was for him to fly so fast while unable to see. He was back in record time. He nearly bowled over Melinoë, who stood by the entrance gate, seemingly about to head out for another run.
“Lord Hermes? What are you- are you alright?” She asked, rushing to his side as he bent forward, gasping from the exertion he had just caused himself.
“Is Charon-” He tried, barely able to get the words out between his fear and exhaustion, “Is Charon here? Please tell me he’s here!” He asked, grabbing desperately onto Melinoë’s arm with one hand, his other still clinging onto the pomegranate. He looked up at her concerned face but didn’t care one bit about it - he just wanted answers. He needed to know Charon was safe.
“Hermes, what-”
“Is he here?!” He cried out. Melinoë’s eyes flickered nervously between his own, searching for an answer before slowly shaking her head.
No.
The pomegranate burst apart in Hermes’ shaking grip as he collapsed to his knees, hitting the ground with a force that would have shattered a mortal’s legs.
Charon was gone.
Taken.
Likely by Chronos himself, because no other being could have possibly bested the boatman of the Underworld. The very idea had Hermes shaking his head, but there was no denying it. Charon would have never left his shop, certainly not in such a state. Certainly not with his wares just lying on the ground.
And it was-
Oh, Gods, it was all Hermes’ fault.
If he hadn’t asked Charon to stay, if he hadn’t been so selfish, wanting a moment more of Charon’s time, he wouldn’t have been captured. He was entirely to blame. And anything that happened to Charon, too, would be on his hands.
“What happened?”
At some point, Hecate had appeared. Melinoë’s voice fell into the background as she spoke with her mentor - as did everything else in the world - until a large, gentle hand rested on his shoulder.
“Hermes, what has befelled Charon?” Hecate asked, pulling Hermes’ eyes from the ground.
He choked on a sob. “It’s my fault.” He said, his words spilling out in one long sentence. “I asked him to wait for me at his shop and he said he would so I came and talked to you but when I got back he wasn’t there but all his wares still were and he’s gone, he’s not there!”
Hermes shuddered, clutching his chest in an attempt to stop the aching. “I took too long.”
Melinoë ran a comforting hand over Hermes’ arm. She whispered soft and gentle things to him, hoping to help, though all Hermes could focus on was how grim the Titaness looked. With even just her eyes showing, Hermes could see the somber look on her face.
“This is... dire news,” she relented. “When Charon decided to leave the Crossroads, I had hoped-” Hecate paused and shook her head, pulling her hand away from Hermes’ shoulder. “Allow me a moment to confer with Melinoë.”
The young Goddess looked reluctantly at Hermes, torn between soothing a friend and obeying her mentor, before quietly standing and following Hecate a few feet away. They fell into whispers, yet Hermes - who was never against a good bit of eavesdropping - found himself entirely uninterested in what they were saying.
All he could think about was Charon.
He thought back to their last moments when he had rushed off so eagerly, unaware of the fate he had set into motion. What torture had he delivered Charon to? Hermes stared down at his hands, stained red with juice from the pomegranate. Was Charon, too - as Melinoë had described of what had become of her family - frozen in time? Unable to move, think, or feel? Or- was he to be subjected to a worse fate for actively working against Chronos’ regime? The thought made Hermes want to curl up on the ground and never get up again.
Was that the last time he would ever see Charon’s face? The last time he would ever kiss him? Hold him?
His boatman. His poor, poor boatman. Of anyone, everyone, he deserved this the least. All he had done was try to help, try to save people who had long ago cast him aside because of how he looked. And Hermes had-
Hermes sniffled, trying to do the impossible task of wiping away the tears streaming down his cheeks, likely staining his cheeks red in the process. Eventually he gave up his fruitless endeavor and let them come, watching as they dripped onto the dirt below him.
Unable to dwell on his guilt any longer, his ears tuned into the conversation happening not too far away. From the corner of his eye, he saw Melinoë glancing his way, her mismatched hands rubbing together in concern.
“I was not- aware that they were-” She said, interrupted by Hecate.
“Shh, child.”
The two shared a look then turned, walking back to Hermes with different levels of calmness. Hecate was a paragon of confidence, while Melinoë wasn’t doing entirely well of hiding her nerves.
“Hermes, do you believe Melinoë will complete her task?” Hecate asked directly, standing tall before the messenger God. Hermes’ bloodshot eyes flicked rapidly back and forth between the two.
How did he answer that? He had always believed in Melinoë. Already, she had fought her way to Chronos and won, if only temporarily, but even before that, Hermes had been sure she would succeed. But now, there was a wriggle of doubt, a nervousness that Melinoë would fail - not because of a lack of abilities, but because it was a war no one could win. The odds felt impossible with Charon gone. Everything felt so much more bleak.
“I- yes,” he replied nervously, his throat choked off with emotion. Hecate stared him down, taking her time coming up with her words.
“I do. As do so many who have lent their aid to her.” She continued, offering a hand to Hermes. He reluctantly took it, standing on wobbling legs until he finally found his balance. “The years she has spent in training will not be for nothing. Her task will be completed. And when she does, Charon will be amongst those rescued from Chronos’ possession.”
Hermes fidgeted nervously. He wanted to believe it - he had believed it. But, without Charon-
“I can’t do it without you, Lord Hermes,” Melinoë admitted, shuffling herself closer to Hermes. She took his soiled hands in her own, looking at him with a small gleam of hope in her eyes. “I believe in my heart that I will rescue Charon, along with my father and all the others. And I know that I will do it all the faster with your assistance.” She joked lightly, bringing a small, wobbly smile to Hermes’ lips. She smiled as well before her expression fell serious once more.
“With Charon gone, I will need more help than ever. I will need your help more than ever. Will you continue your efforts to aid me? So that we might save him?”
Hermes took a deep, shaky breath. Without his boatman there, it would be hard, so hard. Though they only saw each other once in awhile, at least Hermes had always known he was there. Without him, his chest felt torn open, a gaping hole doing its best to consume all his hope.
But what use was sitting there wallowing in it? If Charon was in danger, and Hermes was the one who put him there - by Olympus, he was going to get him back, no matter what. He would fight for Charon until the bitter end.
He nodded, squeezing Melinoë’s hand.
Hold on, Charon, we’re coming for you.