Work Text:
Crocus dropped to the ground. Hermes fell likewise to his side, screaming out his name. His love, his light, now a broken in half red puddle on the ground. Visual of thinning breath blurred out by tears that were quickly flooding onto the fallen’s face. A discus, an item of his own domain, lodged in his beloved’s body.
Useless hands climbed down the other, aiming for the foreign item before panicked knowledge flooded through his mind. You weren’t supposed to remove an impaled object unless you had a proper way to seal the wound afterwards. He knew that from Apollo. Apollo.
Another burst of adrenaline shot through him, but before he could finish calling out for his brother, a line snapped back in his head-
“You can’t be upset now; you knew falling so attached to mortals was foolish.”
His own line. What he had responded with when Apollo came crying him over a similar incident
(but he doesn’t have a wind god to blame for this)
. Yet here he was, weeping, cradling his lover in his arms because he was too attached. If Apollo saw, he would remind him of his hypocrisy.
Because that’s exactly what this was. Hypocrisy. Reminding others of the fragility of mortals, what little it takes to break them, and then forgetting it himself. Getting too lost in the look of another he had forgotten was as fragile as the others.
This is why they were supposed to stay away. His care, his actions only led to the hurt of not only himself but others. How could such an invincible being get so caught up in a lesser being?
He already knew all this, so why would he keep making these mistakes?
The body burned up in bright light before being uncovered as small, purple, and fragile flowers. The god got up, staring at the flowers with dried eyes, and headed back to wash the blood off him.
Apollo only learned of the event near millennia later, when few suppressed texts were uncovered. He wondered why Hermes hid his face behind feathers for that one month. He almost wonders why he never came to him.
Hermes can’t remember Crocus’ face by now. He can’t remember his voice. He can’t remember his touch or lips. He still feels the warmth of blood.
“I’m just another mortal in your eternal life, you’ll get over me” and Hermes realizes he’s grown too attached again. Because May is right, he’ll get over her eventually. Like he did so easily with many others. Like he had to do with Crocus.
He had been doing good at keeping his distance. Until May walked in, with a familiar laugh. Maybe that’s why he let her in so close.
“Fine, we’ll go,” and Hermes allows May to walk to her doom. He lets her son follow years later. Because it would’ve been worse if he had involved himself more. Because it did turn worse when he involved himself more. Because he’s learned this lesson before, but just forgot.
Maybe this time he won’t.