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The sea was surprisingly peaceful, Luke noticed. Poseidon must be calm today. He seemed a lot calmer lately, like he was trying not to draw attention to himself. Not that it was any of Luke’s business, but he wished the god no bad luck in hiding whatever secret he had. To wish him good luck would be going a bit far, he was a god after all, but he seemed like one of the nicer ones, he hadn’t had any children to fuck up recently, and he was an enemy of Athena, who would never be in Luke’s good books.
The reason for that was studying with her siblings, sketching skyscrapers that looked like temples in her architecture book. Annabeth was getting so big, and yet she was still so clearly a child. The fact that in three years, she would be as old as he was when they first got to camp-
She got along well with her siblings, though she was clearly getting restless. Luke would’ve thought that the things they went through to get here would have convinced her otherwise. Then again, he had felt the same before his quest. He and Thalia hadn’t shielded her much, (too little, Luke often thought,) so it wasn’t that she hadn’t seen the horrors there. Maybe it was that she had been too young to fully understand the death and destruction involved. Maybe not being shielded from it all caused her to be desensitised, and her young age made her think it was normal. If that was true, then the safety of the camp would feel wrong to her.
(Or maybe it was just that she had yet to meet a god, and see how they corrupted every part of the world they touched-)
No, no, he wasn’t going to think that way. He couldn’t afford to. Tuck your (justified) anger away, bottle it up and leave it be. You have other things to worry about. What else to focus on?
The Stolls were clearly up to something. Their poker faces weren’t nearly as good as they seemed to think they were. Would this be one of the times when he let it happen and let them think they got away with something? Or would he catch them this time, remind them that they couldn’t run rampant?
He had notes written down for some people from weapons class, and he needed to talk to Chiron about personalized lesson plans for a couple kids. Some of them he wanted to send to cabin nine for more balanced swords. Some of them he’d send to the Ares kids, to see if they worked better with more experimental weapons.
There was a new arrival who clearly needed some therapy, but was too stubborn to accept it. Luke had almost worn him down. He thought one or two more days were all that was left before he gave in. There was an argument between a Demeter kid and an Athenian that would likely be coming to a head within the week, and he needed to be there to comfort both of them. (What they really needed was to communicate, which was a skill much of the camp had yet to master.) There was another camper that was clearly going through something, though the ‘what’ was very unclear. He’d give it a month, tops, before the kid came to him or another counselor, so he’d have to be prepared for that discussion.
When a figure walked up to him, he didn’t feel very surprised, even though he hadn’t heard him land or walk over. He kept staring straight ahead, not wanting to give Hermes even the smallest acknowledgement.
Or, well, other than bitter snark. He opened his mouth to speak-
“Please. Not tonight.”
What?
“I didn’t even know you would be here, though I'm not upset you are. I won’t say a word, and you don’t have to either. Can I just. Sit here?”
Luke was taken aback. Gods had tried that before, where they acted as if whatever they had come to ask of him was just a lucky coincidence. But never Hermes, and never with that tired, defeated tone that Luke could feel in his bones. And here he thought his dad couldn’t sound any more depressed. If it was an act, it was such good acting he almost felt obligated to listen, just to reward that level of skill. He scooched over a touch, and though he considered turning so his back was to Hermes, he knew better than to turn his back to any immortal, no matter how friendly they seemed.
Hermes didn’t say anything either as he sat down, putting a safe amount of space between them. Luke pointedly ignored the gratitude he felt for the small comfort. Just because they were playing truce didn’t mean he stopped being pissed. His barbs would simply be lighter.
“Damn. you look almost as tired as I did, a week after I first arrived at camp.”
…And oop, that kinda backfired, because now Hermes was sinking into himself, and looked even more like he was about to burst into tears. He’d never taken Luke's words that hard, and that insult was a terrible one. Usually they were higher quality. He never thought he’d say this, but…
“Dude. You okay?”
The god attempted a wry smile.
“Of course! Doesn’t this face scream emotionally stable?” And that was how Luke found out that godly sarcasm has no more magic or power in it than mortal sarcasm. He snorted.
“Ya sure about that? Cause’ you look more like all your friends just died horrible deaths.”
Hermes gave a little amused huff, which reminded him so much of some of the younger campers it was an effort not to slip into his Counselor Voice. This was a god and a deadbeat dad, he didn’t deserve his comfort or sympathy.
“Yes, well, some might say that’s just what I normally look like.”
Luke paused for a second. “They’re not entirely wrong.”
Hermes laughed, though it was a weak one with his current emotional state. “There was a time when people would have looked at you crazy for saying that. People rush their messages nowadays. There’s an expectation that things will always arrive perfectly on time, no matter the cost to the carrier. That attitude seems to have leaked into the gods a bit. I’ve never been so busy before in all my immortal life, not even during wars!”
“Sucks for you.”
“It does! I haven’t had the time for even a little petty thievery in decades!”
“That was sarcasm, dumbass.”
Another weak smile, stronger than the ones before. “I know.”
He continued: “Are you one of the ones that ended up ‘gifted’ with that talent of mine?”
Luke snorted. “S’not like I've had much opportunity here.” he paused. Should he say? Shouldn’t he? Fuck it- “But Thals seemed to think i was almost,” a wink to suggest that the ‘almost’ was a recent addition, “good enough to steal from someone Upstairs, and she was rarely wrong about those kinds of things. I feel like she might’ve exaggerated a bit there, though.”
He slowly started to regret that bit of unplanned openness (but not in the way he expected) when his father the god’s face morphed into the Stoll’s ‘i have a plan that will end badly for everyone except me’ face.
“You have an idea. Is it dangerous?”
“Well… wouldn’t it just be so funny, if some god or other was missing an important object. They search far and wide for it, and nearly cause a natural disaster looking for it. Then they find it, taped to the ceiling of their temple, in a corner just the right height and angle to be exceedingly difficult to recover, and impossible to not notice once they know where it is. You wouldn’t have to participate.” Hermes hastened to add after seeing the expression on Luke’s face.
“Depends. Who might that god be?”
“I was hoping you could help me decide. I’ll be filming their reactions and sending the highlights to HTV.”
Well. if he was giving him the opportunity. The first choice would always be Hera, but there was only so much that could annoy her, and there were other, almost as hated gods who would likely have much more entertaining reactions. Ares was an ass, and entertaining, but also as the least favorite child he got punched around enough to even it out. The one option left was the bitch-king himself. It also felt vaguely symbolic to have his symbol of power taken from right under his nose, only to find out that it wasn’t an enemy at all. What a fun way to shove his paranoia in his face.
“Think gramps would appreciate an attack on his paranoia?” He spoke with a sharp grin.
A thoughtful expression appeared on (his father) the god’s face, quickly morphing into an equally sharp smile.
“I believe that question requires thorough testing, don’t you agree?”
———————————————————⬧⬨⬧———————————————————
Why did Luke get dragged into this? Never mind, he knew exactly why. He couldn’t even bring himself to care, because.
It was the Moly.
The fucking Moly.
———————————————————⬧⬨⬧————————————————————
Hermes had started planning aloud. Luke had already spotted several holes, but he stayed silent, because that could be taken as helping. He had already been much too friendly thus far.
“Ooh, this is going to need so much Moly,” said Hermes, pulling Luke back to the present moment (when did he leave it? He should know better than to lose focus near a god. He shouldn’t feel safe or comfortable. He shouldn’t? doesn’t.).
“I haven’t visited the grove in a while.” He shouldn’t ask. He won’t, he shouldn’t.
“What’s Moly?” Dammit.
“Oh. Oh dear. Well, it- it’s, I don’t know, it’s a plant.” he must have had a look on his face that said ‘What.’ (The. Fuck.), because Hermes paused, looked at him for a while, then said “Oh, it’s better to show, here, let me-”
Suddenly Luke was being lifted in the air in a bridal carry. He was too shocked to even begin thinking of flailing before they were zooming through the air at near-impossible speeds. (Why couldn’t wings be one of the things he got from his father??)
Just as he gathered himself up to protest, he was placed, standing, down on the ground. They were in a wooded area, and there was a certain texture to the air that told him this was a place tied to the gods, like the Sea of Monsters or Ogiya. There were lots of plants with little white flowers, and Hermes was already wandering over to one and pulling it up by its roots. He walked over to the little stream on the edge of the clearing and washed off the plant.
Then, as Luke watched in fascination and slight horror, he dumped the whole thing in his mouth, root first. He pulled up a second one, and handed it straight to Luke.
“Here, take it.” Luke didn’t know why, but he did. The roots were a bit bitter, but a good bitter, and the flowers were almost unnaturally sweet. He noticed Hermes flitting around, having already eaten several of the things.
The god had shifted out of the form he usually used. Instead of a tired, middle-aged delivery guy, Hermes looked younger, with short curly hair completely absent of grays. He was dressed in ancient greek clothing instead of modern fare, his helmet pulled low on his face till his eyes were in shadow, and a small capelet of thick brown fur around his shoulders.
He hadn’t noticed before just how vibrant the grass around him was. Above him, Hermes had started giggling, and there was a certain kind of levity to it that made him want to laugh too. So he did. Wait, what?
Eh, he told the confused/suspicious voice in his head. Just because I'm laughing doesn’t mean I’m on his side. (It doesn’t mean you aren’t either Shush.) He did stop laughing, but only because it felt natural. He refused to be pressured into anything by voices in his head. After all, voices without visible bodies were always a sign of danger for demigods, unless you knew for a fact it was an ally.
Hermes was smiling at him, which was kinda weird. Luke couldn’t think of the last time the god gave him such a genuine, no-sadness smile. Clearly, he had been too nice so far, something he needed to fix immediately. He tried to frown and glare at him, but he couldn’t really summon the same kind of anger as before. He could tell that without the anger, his face wouldn’t make the right shapes. His theory proved true as Hermes’s smile only grew, instead of wilting away as it usually did when Luke gave him that glare. He’d never been so frustrated at being happy.
“What is this stuff?” There! It may not have been particularly antagonistic, but it drew attention away from his embarrassment, and he genuinely wanted to know. “I read about Moly in the Odyssey, even though it took me a while to remember, but it only blocked spells.”
“It does have anti-magic properties, so it’s one of the main ingredients in my spell protection and reversal products. That ended up being the most well-known property. But it needs to be heavily diluted, because of… other properties. Some of the mortal heroes I gave it to, the ones without godly blood, reported entering a state of mind whose description was reminiscent of a demigod’s, and the demigods reported some level of antidepressant quality to it. Which led me to stop giving it out or putting it in products until thorough testing concluded that its antidepressant qualities were magical, and only removed unhealthy sadness.”
“Mortal heroes?” Even in Greek times, non-demigod heroes were rare, and now that the Greek gods were no longer widely accepted they had died out entirely.
“Oh, children of demigods raised knowing about the gods. It used to be more common for a demigod to live long enough to be a parent.”
Cue awkward pause. Hermes had stopped hovering in the air, and Luke tried to count all the lines on his finger joints. As expected, Hermes was the one to break the silence.
“Is it really best to take the zapper? Maybe something a bit less important first-”
“No.” There were very few things Luke had felt this sure about. It was probably really petty, but Luke wanted Zeus to feel the fear of having lost that most important thing. “I may be petty, but it’ll be worth it.”
Hermes seemed a little hesitant, but he agreed. “Do you have any advice for me?”
Should he? Shouldn’t he? There were plenty of holes, after all.
“I noticed some problems with the fluidity of the coating, but there’s a way to play this to our advantage…”
They went on like that for a while, discussing different points. Whether certain props or tools were worth acquiring despite distance or challenges. If this or that would bring Zeus more annoyance, or just be a hassle to set up. As they twisted their thoughts and ideas into a Grand Master Plan, they tied some things so deep into the core of it that there was no way they could use anything else.
That was when they realised that the only way to execute one of their main stunts was with the aid of a mortal or demigod.
I won’t, Luke had said.
Hermes agreed.
I can’t, Luke had said.
Hermes nodded along.
We’ll find another way, said Luke.
Hermes said nothing.
“Fine. Where do we start?”
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Zeus was not having a good day. He rarely did, of course, but today was especially bad. After sending a few warning thunderclouds at overly insulting demigods and staring at Thalia for far too long while Jupiter nagged him in the back of his head about it, he had gone back to his temple to check on all his things and make sure nothing was gone. He was sure there wouldn’t be, as his display room was designed to thwart even Hermes, but it would never hurt to make sure none of his family had betrayed him.
(“Did you ever do that trick where you move every item in a room a centimeter to the right?” Luke had asked, still grinning like the Stolls.
“Have you ever used the illusion sticks I know cabin nine gave cabin eleven a decade ago? The ones that make an object look like a different one from far away?” was the equally devious reply.)
A strange wave of uneasiness passed over him the moment he entered the room. It was odd. Everything was exactly where it should be, yet every sense was screaming at him that it was all off. He walked closer to the cases, and realised with a start that everything was in the wrong case. Why didn’t he notice earlier? He walked right up to them, and saw that ||||| the labels were all with their correct items. In the wrong cases. The labels that had been fused to the correct case.
He summoned the secret catalog he kept in case someone tried to mess with his memory and/or convince him that whatever they had stolen had never been there in the first place. It was doubtful that someone had messed with it, as he kept it in the safest, most hidden place he could think of. It listed everything as belonging to exactly where they were, despite him knowing that they went somewhere else.
(“This is where he hides his super-special-secret-backup?” Luke said, staring at the extremely obvious trapdoor in the floor of Zeus’s temple, ‘hidden’ under a carpet with stormclouds, bulls, and crowns. It was exactly the kind of ostentatious bragging you’d expect from him. Thing was, it was in a place where no functioning being would ever place a carpet. There was also the very visible bump that was obviously shaped like a doorknob.
“Of course!” was Hermes's reply. “Where did you think he’d put it? Somewhere sensible?”)
The fact possibility of the catalog being tampered with was highly unlikely. It almost made Zeus wonder if he was the issue here, misremembering something. With as many lifetimes as he had stuck in his head, there was bound to be something that slipped away for a moment, wasn’t there? He banished the idea quickly, though. The king of the gods was much too powerful and intelligent to be this confused.
He ignored the fact that the situation was much, much more confusing without that answer.
A good way to take out his frustration for this situation would be to hit some random creatures with lightning. He went to get his Bolt-the one thing that hadn’t been moved, his protections were too much-
It was a fake. The lightning bolt in his most high-security holding case was a fake. It wasn’t even a good fake, it was just regular celestial bronze. He would have thought that his brothers would do better when they finally stole from him.
And of course it was them, or one of them, who did it. There was no one else who could possibly have done it. His brothers had always been jealous of his control and power, and it seemed that they had finally snapped. He had to gather his children and any other gods that would support him.
He stormed down the halls of his temple, grumbling and muttering all the while. Athena would stand beside him. His favorite daughter always would, the Odysseus incident notwithstanding. Ares and Apollo would likely side with him too, unfortunately. Artemis might side with him, or she might choose to stay neutral, which would be a massive loss, especially if her brothers decided to ‘help’ him. He had absolutely no idea where Demeter would stand, but Hestia would always advocate for peace, which would remove her from his side but also remove her from his brother’s side. Hepheastus was another one he was unsure of, too far away from everyone for anyone to know where he stood. Aphrodite would choose the side that would cause more drama, but she was also a child of the sea, and apparently that was a powerful connection, though she usually stayed away from it. Dionysius might be helpful, but he was in punishment and would not be pulled away from that.
He was almost to the front door when something glinting in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Most of the time some random shiny thing wouldn’t distract him from gathering a war council, but there was something about this one that was extremely familiar. He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at it.
Why was his lightning bolt hanging like a chandelier from the ceiling, covered in pink lace bows and metallic spikes?
(“Those bows are ridiculous and embarrassing, and he’ll hate them.” Hermes had said as they walked through the craft store. He then got a grin on his face. “They’re perfect.”
Luke was looking to the side, having spotted something a distance away. He walked over and grabbed a package of decorative metal spikes. “Thalia’s favorite brand. She used to put them on everything, not just clothes. I remember waking up one morning to find that I almost got stabbed by her sleeping bag because of the amount of spikes she put on it. ” He gave a broken laugh.
When Hermes looked at his son, he saw a pain reflected in his eyes that he had never wanted to see on any of his children, and yet saw all too often.
They walked out of the store with two items in their bag. Luke turned to Hermes.
“Remind me again why you, a god, are getting supplies from a mortal craft store??”)
It was such a shocking (this is a no-pun household) sight that he stood frozen for a ridiculous amount of time. It was most definitely the real bolt, he could feel the power radiating off it. As he stared at the newly recovered weapon, he noticed that it seemed to be welded to the string that held it aloft. He followed the path of the string and discovered that it ran all across the ceiling. He reached over to the most accessible part and tried to tug the whole thing down, but it didn’t even budge. The entire thing was reinforced with some kind of metal-adjacent thing that glimmered with a subtler shine than godly bronze or gold. He tried to cut it with one of the secondary weapons he kept with him at all times, but the knife simply bent around it until there was a semicircle missing from the blade. He sighed and started looking for a spot where the rope wasn’t reinforced.
He found the spot. The only spot. It was in an angled corner where the ceiling height changed and several pillars met. One of the few spots that the god-king genuinely could not reach without much trouble. As he looked closer, he noticed that the threads were arranged so that… something… would happen the moment this thread was cut. Something or other would fall into place.
With a tired sigh that knew it was not ready for whatever was coming (and perhaps, deep down, knew that it deserved it), he mangled his body into an uncomfortable shape, but the only one that would fit into that particular corner. He flew up and cut the string with a sense of finality, and rushed over to get his bolt before it all collapsed on top of him, returning to a more comfortable form. He stepped far back and watched as the rope slipped off the hooks, things weaving into place as whatever they formed pulled tighter. He braced himself for some kind of attack or containment device-
The shimmering substance melted, then solidified once more into an equally shimmery powder. The powder drifted through the air, and seemed to catch on every surface available. In a few seconds when the dust was mostly settled, he looked around and realised that it coated the entire room in the shimmering stuff. He was sure it got in all the crevices of his couch and other furniture; as the sky god, it was always breezy in his temple. He tried to magically clean it up, but it wouldn’t follow the neat little air currents he set up for it. Most of it left, but there was always a little bit that fell out of the stream into the room. He already hated the substance, glittering so innocently-
…Glittering.
Whoever did this was going to die a very painful death.
———————————————————⬧⬨⬧———————————————————
The fact that he hadn’t even noticed the camera yet was the cherry on top, thought the two manically giggling individuals. They hadn’t stopped giggling since the moment they saw him blink and stare, baffled, at the easy-to-replicate glass cases. They had ordered them after they smashed the old ones.
“Whaddya wanna bet Hera won’t step in there for another century or two until he cleans all of it out?” asked the younger one (you know his name). The older one laughed in response. The younger continued: “We got rid of slash scrapped all the things that he’d label a declaration of war or someone who wanted to dethrone him, right?”
(Zeus compiled the evidence in his head, putting it in a list.
They could break into his highly secure display room and the cases within. They knew the location of his Secret Storage Space, as evidenced by the tampered-with catalog. They could make a fake so visually accurate that it fooled him when he was too distracted to pay attention to the aura. They had desecrated his Symbol of Power with bows to cause shame and embarrassment and spikes to signify a threat. They had flaunted a previously unknown substance strong enough to cause a god trouble, and made sure it would leave a lasting mark on the space. A threat and reminder.
Clearly, a previously unknown enemy was taunting him with their knowledge.)
“Oh please, darling,” said Hermes. “That’s the impossible you’re asking.”
[fin.]