Work Text:
***
Ethan doesn’t know how long he’s been screaming, but it’s been long enough that his voice has gone hoarse. He can feel the air scratch against his throat as his screams begin to come in short, infrequent, bursts, all silent now. Beyond that and the way it feels like the left side of his face has been set ablaze, he can’t feel much of anything.
He does, however, hear the crunch of dry leaves, getting closer and closer. Someone’s—or something’s—footfalls. He’s a bit too busy being curled up on the forest floor and trying all the pain-limiting breathing techniques he knows to look up at whoever or whatever it is. He doubts it’s his mother. She isn’t the kind to stick around once she’s gotten what she wants—one more thing Ethan’s father was right about. It can’t be a human either—he’d have heard them walking from an even greater distance, but it’s as if their footfalls simply… appeared. But whether or not whatever he has to deal with is human doesn’t matter. Ethan has learnt that anything and everything is a danger to all demigods.
So with a deep breath, Ethan sits back on his heels and looks up at the new arrival. Khaki shirt with a yellow badge stitched onto the front. A matching set of khaki short shorts, shorter than standard if they’re meant to be UPS uniform or an imitation of said uniform meant for professional purposes. Ethan doesn’t recognise him by the mailman uniform, or by the initials on the badge—HDS. It’s the show-off factor of the outfit, the blond hair, the jaw, the eyes—brown, but no less full of mischief than those of any of his progeny.
Ethan doesn’t bother greeting Hermes as the god takes in his appearance, eyes resting for a long moment on Ethan’s face.
“Missing something?” He asks, but as soon as those words leave his mouth, there’s a frown on his face. “Sorry. Inappropriate.” He doesn’t sound apologetic about it, but he doesn’t sound not-apologetic either.
“You,” is all Ethan has in response. He’s barely audible, and his voice shakes as he says it. Of course it does. It still feels like he’s about to pass out from the pain.
Hermes is silent for a long moment. He breaks that silence with a sigh. “Getting what she wants and leaving immediately after is… very Nemesis.”
That immediately sets alarm bells off in Ethan’s head. He knows that there’s only so much anything can be masked from the gods, even by another god, but he doesn’t like that Hermes is here, specifically at this time, and that Hermes seems to know what went down, perhaps even what Ethan and Nemesis exch—
“Relax,” says Hermes placatingly, “I don’t know what you discussed. All I saw was someone plucking out someone else’s eye.”
“Doesn’t—” Ethan tries to stand as he speaks and almost throws up for his efforts. He shuts his eyes… eye, pauses, takes a deep breath, and settles back onto his heels. Clearly not happening yet. “—change the fact that you were spying.”
Hermes says nothing for a moment. Probably shrugs in that silence despite the fact Ethan isn’t looking at him, completely unapologetic like his children typically are whenever they’re caught being nosy. And then, after some time: “…keeping your eye open might help, actually. And all your senses.”
Ethan doesn’t want to trust a god, especially not an Olympian, but having his eyes—eye shut is doing nothing to help him, so he… well, it doesn’t really help having his eye open, but it doesn’t feel like the queasiness is slowly compounding anymore.
Slowly and silently, Hermes extends his hand to Ethan. Ethan scoffs, thinking that he’s offering to help him up, but when he looks more keenly, he finds that there’s something in his palm. Somethings. A fairly sized square of ambrosia, and a vial of nectar.
“What’s the catch,” Ethan asks. Says. It’s not a question; he knows there’s always a catch with the aid of the gods, and he wants to know what Hermes expects in return.
“Is this what he likes about you?” Hermes mutters under his breath, something like judgement in his tone. Then louder: “Just take them.”
Under any other circumstances, Ethan would have refused this exchange. Immediately. Unfortunately, Hermes knows that he’s offering Ethan exactly what he needs right now, and that Ethan isn’t likely to refuse. And Ethan doesn’t refuse—what use is he to Luke and the Titan Army and his mother if he bleeds out here before he can get anything done?
He holds his eye… socket open, fingers pulling back lightly at his top and bottom eye lid, and drops a bit of nectar into it. It stings, and it feels so horrible to have something touch him inside there that the nausea almost gets him this time, but the sensation is immediately followed by a soothing feeling. That feeling is amplified when Ethan shoves the ambrosia into his mouth—egg fried rice—and feels some strength return to his muscles.
The first thing he does with his newfound strength is get to his feet and put some distance between himself and Hermes, drawing his sword. Ethan knows he isn’t strong enough to do anything but lose miserably if this comes down to some sort of fight. Hermes does too, judging the way he doesn’t react at all to Ethan pointing a weapon at him. Still, it makes him feel less vulnerable in the face of a god whose actions so far point to him wanting to use Ethan's vulnerability for personal gain.
“Better?” Asks Hermes. His posture is still loose and relaxed, and he hasn’t even so much as cast a glance at Ethan’s sword.
“What do you want?” Ethan asks through gritted teeth. Even his throat feels better now, and he doesn’t sound like a bag of sand trying to speak.
Hermes sighs and his shoulders drop. Like Ethan is being difficult. Like he isn’t the one who started this… game, whatever it is.
“Delivery for Ethan Nakamura,” he says as he reaches into his satchel, rummages around a bit, and pulls something out. It’s a—
Not that Ethan wasn’t on edge before, but now… now that wariness has skyrocketed, and his whole body is tense. It’s one thing for Hermes to have been eavesdropping and waiting for the perfect opportunity to offer Ethan ambrosia and nectar to soften him up for whatever it is he wants to get, but it’s another thing entirely for—
Ethan flinches back when Hermes raises his hand, and Hermes stills immediately—
—Hermes to oh so conveniently have had what he’s trying to give Ethan right now lying somewhere in his postman satchel. Like he knew that Ethan and Nemesis would meet. Like he knew how that meeting would go down.
“What—” ‘—do you fucking want?!’, is what Ethan wants to ask, but he’s a bit too thrown off to get the words out.
Does he want a mole in the Titan Army? He and the other gods must have one there already, if he knew that Ethan was coming to the woods and when that would be. Maybe he’s trying to hold favours over demigods’ heads as a way to get them to abscond? Surely he knows that wouldn’t work well, especially not on the demigod second-in-command?
Or maybe it has something to do with exactly what it is he’s doing right now: trying to get something, yes, but the how of it. Taking care of Ethan. Because maybe, he…
And slowly, Ethan deflates. His guess could be wrong, but the idea has taken root in his head and now… now there’s a new mix of feelings in him alongside the distrust. The two emotions he recognises are disgust and disappointment.
“…you could just reach out yourself,” he suggests, hesitant.
His words are prompting—he wants to confirm whether or not what he’s thinking is true, despite the fact that he’s acting like it is. The smile Hermes gives him, all mouth and teeth and with none of the expected emotion present in his eyes, is all the answer Ethan needs.
“Wish you were a bit more like my brother’s kids,” says Hermes with a sigh.
Ethan frowns. Is that meant to be some sort of backhanded compliment? Which of Hermes’ brothers? Is he referring to more than one? What qualities? But before he can question what Hermes just said, the god continues speaking.
“Do you think that would go well?” Asks Hermes, some type of amused. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me: ‘Yeah, he’d be open to you dropping by’?”
Hermes lets the silence hang between them, as if he’s waiting for Ethan to respond. That’s stupid—he knows that the fact that Ethan says nothing is the answer in itself: ‘no’. But the longer they stand in that silence, the more everything gives way to the emotion that ultimately drives Ethan’s actions: his anger at the gods.
“Do you think it would go well?” Ethan asks, turning the question back to Hermes. The god looks mildly surprised. Ethan doesn’t care for whatever Hermes is feeling; he continues to speak. “We both know it wouldn’t, and you have yourself to thank for that. You dropped the ball so long ago, and you never bothered to try, oh, I don’t know, picking it up?! And now is when you—” Ethan takes a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger before his aura flares, “—what, want some kid to play that role—take your place—for you?”
Other than the surprise on his face just a few moments ago, Hermes looks largely unmoved. In fact, he looks amused as he asks the next question:
“Are you just ‘some kid’?” He doesn’t even need to raise his hand and make air quotes for Ethan to hear exactly where he’s put them.
And now, Ethan wants to raise his sword again and give his whole new sense of sight a spin by trying to skewer the ‘slipperiest god’, as per the titans. Also, he wants to scream. He wants to walk away before he’s driven crazy by Hermes and his bullshit. What the actual fuck?
“Is this shovel talk?” Asks Ethan, unable to keep the incredulity out his voice. “You aren’t an involved enough father for that.”
From way Hermes’ eyes narrow and harden just the slightest, Ethan can tell that that one struck. Still, the amusement on the god’s face doesn’t fade away. Not entirely, at least. It just gets more… plastic.
“You’ll know when it’s shovel talk, Nakamura.”
Again, Hermes raises his hand. Slower this time. Ethan looks at it. Stares. He wants out of this forest, this conversation, this situation. He wants to turn around and leave. However, as un-threatening as Hermes has tried to be, Ethan is sure that he wouldn’t hesitate to try… other methods of persuasion if Ethan were being too difficult. And if Ethan continues speaking freely… well, there’s only so long Hermes will let jabs at his shitty job parenting his kids—one in particular—slide off his back.
“What do you want?” Asks Ethan. This time he doesn’t sound too much like he’s asking just to shoot Hermes down. At least he thinks so to himself. Just as Hermes opens his mouth, Ethan raises his hand to stop him from speaking. “And stop talking in circles. Get to the point.”
For a moment, it looks like Hermes is considering continuing to beat around the bush. Then he sighs, and for a moment he looks… miserable. Then both those moments pass, and it’s back to put-together, though no longer amused.
“I…” Hermes pauses. Continues: “…I’d just like to know that there’s someone watching him. Over. Watching over him.”
And that’s… with a sigh, Ethan sheathes his sword. “Cause I’m not doing that already, huh.” There’s no bite to his words.
Hermes huffs, but it doesn’t transform into a full laugh. “Just want someone I know for sure will…” his voice trails off like he doesn’t know what to say. He shrugs.
“For you?”
Hermes nods.
And Ethan… fuck! Maybe his father was right. Maybe he is soft. Maybe he’d have been better off not chasing after his mother, an act his father had repeatedly described as an open invitation to any and all trouble. Maybe he’d have been better off staying in a pantheon with a single god who rarely makes any appearances and who stopped at just one kid millennia ago, instead of sneaking away to camp with the satyr. Really, no competent second-in-command would consider doing this for the enemy. But did Hermes approach Ethan in his capacity as an Olympian, confronting a member of the Titan Army? Or did he approach him like an absentee father does the kid his kid hangs out with most?
Ethan scrubs at his face. Winces, when his hand presses into his newly emptied eye socket. This is exhausting.
He reaches for the eyepatch in Hermes’ hand. Hesitates a moment. Takes it, and holds it up to his good eye to examine it in the barely-there light of dusk. It looked black at first glance, but Ethan can see that it’s actually a really deep red. The straps feel like they won’t cause him any discomfort from prolonged wear. The patch itself feels reinforced, but not like something that would aggravate the state of his eye. There’s a faint aura to it—the aura of the god who just handed it to him—but it doesn’t seem particularly vindictive or harmful.
Ethan slips the patch over his head and adjusts it over his eye, and he instantly feels even better than before. Does Hermes have…? Whatever.
“Thanks,” says Ethan, quiet.
“It’s all I ask of you,” is Hermes’ response. A promise
Ethan gives Hermes a single nod. He’ll do this one thing for Hermes. Won’t even resent him for it. But he never wants to be approached like this again, so he hopes that for both their sakes Hermes is promising this to him seriously.
“Let’s keep it that way.”
***