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Ichor dripped, a trail of tiny golden splatters following him. Each breath hurt. His ankle wings shook off the excess blood lest it weighed him down, though largely in vain as more dripped onto the already mottled feathers. Hermes took in another haggard breath as he hobbled down opulent halls, hand clutching arm, ichor staining his palms and seeping through his fingers.
He laughed to try to distract himself from the pain blooming in his thigh, the offender a broken tip of a golden spearhead. Limping to the door, they opened automatically, blowing Demeter’s frigid winter air over his sweaty face.
Every time he tried to flap his head wings, a terrible pain struck through his head. When he tried to use his fleet-footed abilities, the gold spearhead would burn, forcing him to slow down to an unacceptable level. Trying to fly to Olympus at the speed he was now restricted to might as well be suicide. If it wasn’t the extreme wind-speeds at the summit that would blow him right back down, then it would be the harpies that would tear him apart.
The only direction left was down, toward the mortal surface. Ideally, Artemis would find him in Ephyra or Erebus and drag him to the Crossroads. He’d also settle for a cave or abandoned shack to hide in and try to fix himself up.
Stupid satyrs. Those blasted weapons of theirs, he knew he could evade the spears. He didn’t account for the rockets and their ability to follow him, nor for them to have such a large blast radius and send chunks of marble raining down. In his lapse of pain as a sharp chunk sliced his arm, one of them managed to get a lucky shot in.
In hindsight, he should have expected Chronos’s troops to have weapons of the future and tools capable of hurting gods. He should have figured that out way earlier, with all his spying and reporting. He should have avoided that entire group, really.
He could blame it on the fact that years of nonstop running had hindered his judgment and instincts, but he was a professional, dammit. He shouldn’t be making such rookie mistakes this far into the war.
Hermes hissed as another wave of pain rolled through him, stumbling behind a pillar and sliding down onto the ground. He tried to remove the spearhead again, fumbling with ichor-slicked fingers and unable to get a good grasp on the point. Blood and darkness, it stung more than Ares’s punches. Digging his fingers in, he tried to wriggle it out, shoving his scarf into his mouth and screaming. His head thunked back against the pillar, hand falling to his side uselessly, staining the snow with more of his blood. He panted, watching each breath puff disappear into the clouded sky.
The last time he nearly got caught, it was early on in the war, when he was still settling into his spy role.
~~~~~
Though he hid his Olympian glow, there was no hiding a white chiton against Underworld walls trying to snoop around. Hermes skittered through Tartarus, hunted by a bunch of wretches and satyrs.
Charon had taught him some of Tartarus’s hidden routes, but with Chronos’s remodeling, said paths might as well not exist anymore. He used to rely on the Styx as she’d direct him with her hands, but she too was replaced, a river of sand instead flowing through the chambers. Hermes cursed, speeding through three more chambers and swerving around a pillar. Speed was excellent in navigating open skies and sprawling cities, not so much closed off labyrinths with countless obstacles.
The biggest obstacle was those damned hourglasses. The domes of light they created trapped unfortunate shades inside, suspended in stasis. Hermes didn’t want to test if he could escape it or not, avoiding them altogether. If Chronos was smart. he’d put them over the conventional entrances and exits, a second theory Hermes didn’t want to tempt.
Braking at a dead end, Hermes could hear the grunts and hooves of Chronos’s minions coming ever closer. He cursed and glanced around, debating how many he could take out with his caduceus and force an opening to escape through. The chamber itself was on the smaller end though, Hermes trying to calculate if he even had proper space to swing.
On another pass, he paused as he saw a patch of murky red water in a pool, quickly kneeling down over the platform. A few hands emerged, grasping toward his direction.
Once, when they could spend lazy days passing a bottle of nectar back and forth on Charon’s boat, he had dangled an arm over the edge absentmindedly. The Styx hands brushed up against his, Hermes blinking and looking over his shoulder. He smiled, letting the hands palm at his fingers, perhaps curious at the feeling of a living being.
“I thought the Styx was supposed to drag unsuspecting, unfortunate souls overboard?” he half-joked, half-asked. Charon chuffed, little puffs of lavender smoke trailing up as he took a sip of nectar.
“Sssshhhh… mmmmmrr…”
She likes you.
An adjacent chamber echoed. Taking a deep breath, Hermes jumped into the pool right as the doors opened and a stampede of hooves followed.
The river was thick and muddy, perfect to hide his white chiton. The hands pushed him quickly, the currents carrying him underneath the chambers and swiftly out of Tartarus, weeping and whispering in his ears. He doesn’t understand her like Charon does, but he knew she was mourning the loss of her waters, passengers, and ferryman.
He would thank her, but he knew better than to open his mouth. He didn’t dare poke his head out, not even when his chest began to hurt.
Mercifully, finally, the hands pushed him upwards and out. Hermes inhaled a large lungful as soon as he broke through the water surface, sputtering as a stalk of wheat hit him in the face. Waving it away, he looked around, realizing that the Styx had smuggled him into the Fields of Mourning through the Cocytus.
The Cocytus wailed, and a resounding groan replied.
A wooden boat and the silver end of an oar quickly came into view. Hermes grabbed the oar end, was lifted out the river, and deposited inside. He flopped against the benches and looked up at Charon with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry boss, sorry for this, I’ll clean up if you got a rag,” he offered, as the boat floor was now half sludge. Even more splattered against the wood as he shook his head and wings to get rid of excess river water.
Charon, uncaring of the mess, knelt down and helped Hermes sit up properly onto a corner bench, letting him lean against the boat sides. After picking out the more stubborn clumps of mud, Hermes’s wings were clean, if a little damp. He wrung his scarf out the best he could and draped it over the mast to hopefully dry a bit.
His chiton, however, was a lost cause. The fabric had stained into rusty reds and browns. Hermes sighed and tried to wring some of it over the boat edge. A few miasma clouds brushed against the bottom of the boat, apologetic. “I have another set on Olympus, but I’d have to make it back up there first. Pops been causing storms left and right, which great, nobody likes thunder bolts thrown at them, but nobody also includes me,” he grumbled.
“Hhhrrggghh, sshhhhaaa…” Charon held up a finger and shuffled toward one of the many storage compartments. The boat continued to meander through the fields. In the distance, Hermes heard a beastly howl. Moving aside reagents and bottles, Charon finally took out a bundled cloth. Hermes paused his futile attempts at wringing his chiton out.
“You got a change of clothes for me?” Charon nodded with a soft groan, a little plume of lavender and pink smoke floating from his teeth as he held it out.
A sleek black chlamy, embroidered in the yellows and oranges Hermes loved. On top, a tassel in the three colors of the Unseen, no doubt made by little M with help from Artemis, judging by the slightly singed, uneven ends that would fit perfectly on his belt. Even before touching it, Hermes could feel the underlying power thrumming inside the thread: a rudimentary veil of Night. It would hide his presence both in the Underworld and on the surface, obscuring his Olympian glow alongside his own enchantments.
Hermes practically vibrated to shake off the last bits of river water off his person and grabbed the chlamy out of Charon’s hands. Flinging his ruined chiton into some corner of the boat, he immediately put the new one on, grinning when he saw that it only draped over one shoulder and rode up to mid-thigh.
“Did you pick out this design, my dearest boatman?” Hermes teased. Charon sputtered a trail of smoke, but did not deny said statement. Flying in slow circles, Hermes marveled at how soft and lightweight it felt, perhaps even lighter than his old chiton. Charon watched with an appreciative groan, adjusting a fold here or there, mostly as an excuse to touch Hermes.
As soon as he got his scarf properly cleaned, he would be flying with newfound confidence and strength. He was more than happy to fly dressed in the garb of the Underworld.
He hugged Charon tightly, burying his face in the divot between neck and shoulder. Charon exhaled low and deep, smoke enveloping them both. Running his fingers through Hermes’s hair, he pressed a cold kiss on top, right between wings that fluttered with delight.
“I love it, boss,” Hermes whispered. “I really do, thank you.”
“Mmmmrrr…” He missed feeling his curls getting caught underneath Charon’s rings. His ring still sat on his middle finger, a gift from Charon, right before they both lost their jobs as psychopomps and became messengers. A sudden tightness in his throat formed, the threat of tears simmering in Hermes’s eyes. He held Charon’s wrist and pressed a kiss to the palm.
The Cocytus wept, rocking the boat.
Hermes wondered if this is what mortals felt, clinging onto fleeting moments, knowing that the moment their fingertips separated, there was no telling how much time would pass until they could see each other again. The countless souls he gathered before, lamenting in waiting for a love that would never return.
As he flew away, he couldn’t help but look back to see Charon’s arm still outstretched, palm up, smoke thin. He wanted nothing more than to fly back into those arms.
The Cocytus cried again and urged the boat along, lest they both get caught by Chronos. The very tail ends of purple smoke floated up, carried by the wind left from Hermes’s takeoff.
Come back to me, little bird.
~~~~~
Hermes sucked in a deep breath. The distant ocean air was salty and pungent. Thankfully, the smell of rotting beaches didn’t reach up the mountain. He limped to the cliffside, gazing out.
Ephyra was across the rift of Thessaly. At the bare minimum, he should be able to make it to Ephyra, hide out in an abandoned shack, and use the town square’s fountain to clean his wounds. Afterwards, he could make the secondary trek to the Crossroads to properly heal. With luck, maybe even yank out the offending spearhead when his fingers weren’t sticky and slippery from his blood.
With Lady Selene obscured by thick grey clouds tonight, he could only hope his own domain was enough to grant him safe passage.
Charon’s ring was cold as he kissed it for a little extra luck. A grounding sensation against his feverish skin.
The sound of hooves neared. With a pained grunt, Hermes took off into the night sky, leaving behind Mount Olympus. A stuttering shooting star.
Undead fleets zoomed by underneath him. The swinging lanterns burned green. Hermes glided on sea winds, clutching his messenger bag. Each movement came with a twinge, Hermes bit his lip as he had to turn right to avoid getting spotted by a larger warship, muffling a hiss.
The shoreline didn’t seem to be approaching any faster. Ichor rained in droplets.
The rolling waves were approaching faster than land was. Hermes tried to beat his wings and yelped harshly as pain shot through his head. His vision tilted as he tried to readjust. A panic flap of the wings to get back on Zephyr’s winds. He spat blood and gasped, plummeting.
There was far too much green below. He jerked himself away, ankle wings fluttering desperately. He cannot fail now, he cannot—
He paled as he remembered that the rift was Poseidon’s domain, not Charon’s.
Crashing into the ocean, the black waters immediately swallowed him up. The saltwater was an iron poker against his wounds. Hermes cried and inhaled water, bubbles escaping as he flailed. The waves surged overhead.
He had to get back to the Crossroads, he had to get back to—
Kicking his legs and ignoring the searing pain, he managed to get his head above the water. Hermes sputtered as he swallowed more sea water. Cursing, he summoned his caduceus and held it up into the air with his good arm. Surely, one of his siblings would notice! Or Poseidon might notice that hey, one of your nephews is drowning, maybe lend a hand?! Or that Icarus kid! Blood and darkness, he’ll even take that shadow witch’s help!
His arm trembled to keep his staff raised. Hermes tried his best to tread above the waves, but with a half-mangled leg and injured arm, he found himself sinking more than floating. More than once, he dipped below the surface, coughing, bubbles escaping, caduceus raised.
Minutes, perhaps seconds, both equivalent of forever in his mind, passed when something landed over his caduceus and head. With a sudden pull, Hermes felt himself caught in a net, widening his eyes. He tried to muster up enough strength to will the ropes to fall around him. The spearhead burned down his whole leg. He cannot get captured by Chronos—!
The net yanked him above water and up against a boat. Hermes gasped as he slammed against the wood, looking up and staring at several purple tinted shades, equally shocked as he was. In their boat was a stack of gold, fished up from the sea floor to be destroyed by Charon later. Warship remnant spoils.
Hermes laughed hysterically, nearly crying in relief. The shades quickly dragged him into their boat and pulled the netting off him, Hermes taking the moment to cough up all the seawater he inhaled over the edge. He was too big to sit amongst the shades, instead having to lie down on top of the gold in the center. The shades frantically ran around, two grabbing the oars and rowing as fast as they could back to shore. Five unsuccessfully tried to pull his messenger bag into the boat, Hermes shaking his head and undoing his scarf.
“Don’t bother, just tie it to the mast with this.” All of them looked scandalized at having to treat a god’s divine items so disrespectfully, but were too afraid to disobey. They tied the scarf to the mast and tied the bag to it, letting it float on the river trailing behind them.
A couple of shades bowed over and over, apologizing for the less than stellar seating and unacceptable treatment of him. Hermes weakly laughed, waving his hand.
This was the best outcome he could ask for, really.
He should be keeping an eye out, being the only god amongst the little shades. He should apologize for getting blood all over their hard-fished up gold. He should sit up properly and guide them. This war between gods and titan must be extra hard on them.
Trying to sit up, his arm shot out from underneath him, Hermes falling back with a wince. The shades were now blurs of purple, faintly chattering and gesturing in a frenzy at each other. He was far too tired to parse the language of the dead. Mustering the last of his energy, he cast a small boon upon the boat and moaned in pain at the strain.
The shades paused for a second before rowing even faster. Several started bowing frantically with their entire bodies by his head.
“It’s… the least I can do, for you all helping me out…” Hermes reassured. “Thank you all… for getting me out of here…” His very eyes felt heavy, Hermes finally closing them to try to focus on his breathing and mitigating residual pain.
Fading in and out of consciousness, the salty air of Thessaly faded into the staleness that blanketed Ephyra. The shades rowed along the rivers, stone obstacles and branch debris cleared away with a glow of orange. The moments Hermes was lucid enough he spent trying to reassure the shades they didn’t need to praise him so excessively for clearing their path so graciously; it was the bare minimum he should do, as the God of Travellers.
It’s been so long since he got to bless mortals.
Finally, they were floating down the Acheron, ruined pillars and cracked walls replaced with looming shadows and crooked branches. The boat came to a rocking stop at a mossy pier shrouded in mist. The shades disembarked in a rush. Hermes had long closed his eyes since, was just glad he reached Erebus at all.
Just a few minutes, he just needed a few minutes…
His instincts kicked his consciousness back awake. Somebody was approaching. Stupid, stupid to doze off in the middle of Erebus! As much as it was an endless maze to deter Chronos’s forces and shelter the Unseen, there was always the off-chance a mourner or a wailer to accidentally wander through the right pathways. And there was no guarantee this pier was under Hecate’s wards.
Hermes hoped that his chlamy’s veil was enough to hide both him and the boat. Every part of him itched to run, but it wasn’t like he could get very far. He was more likely to trip and fall into the Acheron than step onto the pier in his condition. With whatever little luck he had remaining, may the intruder wander past and go on their merry lost way.
The presence was coming closer. Hermes cursed in his head and summoned his caduceus, making sure it sat on top of the coins so they wouldn’t shift and make noise. Even with his hurt arm, he could still get a mean swing in. With the range, hopefully it could knock them over the head and out.
The presence was nearing the pier. Hermes held his breath. His knuckles creaked around the caduceus.
The moment a shadow cast over his face, he swung as hard as he could, twisting his body around to add momentum. It was immediately caught by a silver-ringed hand, a low rattling groan snapping him out of his panic.
“Charon—?” Hermes gasped, dropping his caduceus with a choked wince as the strain made itself readily known up his leg. Wobbling the boat, he nearly tipped over the edge if it wasn’t for strong, calloused hands he missed so, so much quickly grabbing him, mindful of his injured arm. Lifting him out the boat with a gentleness he hadn’t experienced in far too long, Hermes collapsed in his hold, sagging in relief.
A soft groan echoed around him. Their surroundings warped. A brief brush of numb coldness passed over him before they were on a very familiar, very beloved boat.
A twinge of guilt crept over him, of Charon having to see him like this. But the alternative would’ve been much worse for the both of them.
Charon lowered him in his usual corner seat, Hermes blinking as he felt cushions and soft fabrics, something that wasn’t there before. Then again, it had been a while since he’d been in said boat. He wouldn’t be surprised if Charon had added the fabrics so little M had somewhere to sleep. Knowing the little rambunctious princess, she would absolutely beg to ride down the river, then fall asleep halfway through.
He sent a little apology to her, for taking up her space. He blinked to clear his thoughts and saw Charon looming over him, thick plumes of worried grey-purple smoke wafting up.
“Ah, sorry boss, sorry, really messed up while trying to spy around Mount Olympus,” Hermes mumbled, trying his best to smile. Judging by the dimming of Charon’s eyes and another darkened cloud puff, he was unsuccessful. Charon moved the end of his chlamy up, a near-black heavy smoke seeping through his teeth as he saw the embedded spearhead. “A lucky shot from a satyr, really on me for stopping. It’s a right pain—“ Hermes tried to use his godly healing powers again, hissing as it glowed and burned, ichor dripping out. “—like that. Can’t fly right, can’t run, I cannot believe this is the speed that your sister flies at! I cannot stand it, how is she, by the way?”
Charon grumbled, rummaging through the storage compartments and coming out with a basin and a large waterskin. Wetting a rag in the clean water, he began to wipe down the trickling ichor on Hermes’s leg and arm, Hermes sighing as the cold water soothed over his feverish skin.
“Still causing trouble for Hec? I know she has that whole deal with your mom that all your siblings and you are welcome at the Crossroads, but are you sure it can’t be amended?” Charon grumbled again, Hermes chuckling and sitting up the best he could so Charon didn’t have to lean too far down to wipe his face. “Artemis complains to me all the time, not exactly relaxing to sing when somebody is screeching the same words a few steps away—“
Charon drew back with a concerned click, the rag having new ichor stains. Hermes blinked and ruffled his fingers through the front of his hair. The wetness was not remaining ocean water, but his blood.
“Huh. Well, would you look at that! I don’t recall hitting my head lately. Though I suppose if I did hit it hard enough, I wouldn’t remember, and there has been this persistent pain—ah. Maybe I did hit my head.” Charon groaned, setting the rag aside and reaching up to sift through Hermes’s hair to find the source.
The lightest brush against his head wings made Hermes flinch. He didn’t even bother trying to laugh it off, only gripping the sides of the boat and lowering his head again. Pale fingers carefully parted aside the hair around the base of the wings. Hermes sucked in a harsh breath as Charon brushed against them again, squeezing the wood.
The base of his wings were crooked and sprained. One of them was near broken, ichor seeping at the base.
“… Judging by your silence, dear associate, I’m guessing that it’s bad?”
“Mrrrrr… ssssshhhh hhrrrrrgnnn...”
“Oh, yeah that’s pretty bad. I think I can…” Hermes reached up to reset them back in place, flinching and jerking against the boat the moment he touched the base. Worried puffs of smoke floated over him. “Not going to lie boss, you might just need to pin me down and snap them back in place,” Hermes said, hissing again as he failed to get a grip.
Charon shook his head, grey and near-blue smoke trailing between his teeth. He batted Hermes’s hands away from his head.
“I trust you, don’t worry about hurting me. I can take it.” A very pointed, doubtful violet glare. Hermes tried to smile resolutely again, gripping the sides of the boat again. “If anything, there isn’t anybody else that I would ask to do this! Just a quick straightening of the wings, that’s all. Just get it over with, only take a second or two!”
Cradling Hermes’s face, Charon groaned low, the gaps between his teeth glowing purple. Hermes blinked, glancing around—it was still only them in this little alcove of the Acheron, the foliage so thick he doubted even Selene or Artemis could find them.
“I would take up your offer, but we don’t have that kind of time, I’m already so behind schedule—“ Hermes hissed as he tried to move, reminded of the speartip. Shock had dulled the pain before, his mind too occupied with more pressing matters. Now, he realized how much everything hurt. If he passed out from the pain, then who knows how long it would take him to wake back up?
Charon rumbled. He ran a thumb under Hermes’s eye, tracing the dark shadows that took up residence years ago. Hermes lowered his head, pressing his cheek against Charon's palm, silver rings cold, refreshingly so.
“… I swear, one day I’ll win an argument,” He sighed, not without a smile. He craned his neck up as Charon leaned over him, holding his face with both hands.
Pressing their mouths together, Charon exhaled a large cloud of smoke into Hermes, sliding his thumbs and fingers along the underside of his chin. As Hermes inhaled, Charon pressed his jaw shut, trapping the smoke inside. It dissipated and filled every inner corner of his lungs and throat, Hermes feeling the world around him tilting sideways as more smoke than oxygen sat in his chest.
Charon’s fingers slowly moved away and he exhaled out, only a few trails of lilac escaping his mouth. Moving Hermes to sit in his lap, Charon readied another smoke plume. One hand held the back of Hermes’s head, another rested right where his head wings sat.
No living being was meant to take in so much darkness, the essence of the inbetween and stardust. Hermes inhaled and exhaled again, eyes half-lidded as he struggled to parse his thoughts, his surroundings a muted haze. He faintly registered some dull aching along his temples as Charon’s fingers carefully straightened his wings back into place. Perfect Charon and his perfect hands, probably sculpted by great Nyx herself. Beautiful Charon, so diligent, so exact, so focused.
Something was holding him against Charon’s chest. A part of him was screaming to move, that such sluggishness was a curse. He should move, escape out of this trap, regain his thoughts and limbs. Something was holding his arm down.
Another cloud of smoke brushed over his lips and Hermes breathed it in, head falling against a solid shoulder as his thoughts escaped him again. Like the clouds and cities he would fly over, mere color blurs and shapes as he headed to his next destination. Charon set aside a roll of bandages and shifted. Hermes slowly blinked as he was laid back down on the cushions, staring up at the foliage of Erebus. No wonder Artemis was the Goddess of the Hunt, if she could hunt so easily through Erebus, then mortal forests must be an afternoon stroll.
His legs were being handled. They rested over Charon’s lap, his ankle wings flapping weakly, confusedly. Charon rubbed one thumb over them, massaging the tendon, and Hermes melted, objections gone.
Strength, gained from rowing for eternity, worked out all the tensions and knots Hermes didn’t even know he was carrying in his feet, leaving his body boneless and more relaxed in years. He floated on mist, little wisps of smoke escaping the corners of his mouth and caressing the back of his teeth.
He remembered Zagreus—how he misses his cousin, he was a lot more fun to chat with than the majority of his family—talking about visiting Chaos, how their realm was endless and fathomless, how staying in that realm made him feel untethered, existing just a little out and to the left of his physical body. Apparently the void makes for a great fishing spot.
A strong forearm rested over his hip, pinning him against the cushions. A hand trailed up his thigh and rested over the wound. Hermes faintly heard the gurgle of flesh as Charon gripped the spearhead, easing it out in small increments. For his own sanity, he focused instead on the lapping of the Acheron against the boat sides, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths.
He missed the Styx. He missed the Lethe. Elysium was practically unreachable now. The Temple of Styx was completely overrun by vermin and satyrs with Cerebrus missing, and the Phlegethon was raging against the sand rivers trying to flow out of Tartarus. If the Bone Hydra was on their side or Chronos’s, Hermes hadn’t been able to find out.
A soft groaned dragged his mind back from the riverbanks. Charon’s eye, bottomless and ever-changing shades of purple, loomed over him. Against the thick shadows, Hermes believed that Charon could give Selene a run for her money on being a lone guiding light amidst darkness.
One last exchange of smoke, Hermes softly whimpered as his moon retreated away. He exhaled and followed the wisps of violet instead.
With one more pull, Charon extracted the speartip out, ichor staining the fabrics below. Hermes gasped and sucked in wind. His godly powers rushed back through his veins, the dam broken, flowing freely, overwhelmingly. Tears rushed forward as the lightness and speed he missed so much finally returned to him, Hermes sniffling and wiping them away. To the side, he saw Charon wrapping the spearhead in cloth, no doubt to give to Hecate and Odysseus later to study and hopefully, come up with something to prevent future incidents.
The wind in his lungs waved away all of Charon’s smoke in a hurry, Hermes almost dizzy with how fast he regained clarity. However, with clarity came the acknowledgment that he was still in severe pain, thigh now oozing sickly yellow and gold. He tried to reach for the rag and basin, but Charon picked them up first, cleaning his thigh and spilling dark indigo smoke.
“Why… are you sad…?” Hermes slurred, fumbling until his fingers brushed against Charon’s hair, winding the silver curls around and around. “I’m all fixed up and right by your most capable hands. You know that I don’t even go to Artemis for something like this? She’s too rough and tough. You’re always so gentle and sweet with me.” Charon groaned, looking away to rinse the rag out and grab the bandages again. “I’m serious, Charon, Charon—“
Hermes tried to sit up again, Charon rattling and immediately reaching out to steady him. He softly laughed, smiling up at Charon.
“See? You treat me so well. I’m free to fly, thanks to you,” Hermes reassured. A little trickle of grey purple smoke seeped out and Charon continued to dress Hermes’s remaining wounds with the same reverent care since the start.
“Hhhrrrrrmmm…” Hermes shook his head and tugged on Charon’s collar until he finally let the bandages go and stood over him. Towering and beautiful, highlighted in only the glow from his eyes and the scant moonlight that slipped through leaves.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Hermes said. “There was no way you could’ve known. The rift is my uncle’s domain. Your shades managed to fish me out—if anything, you did save me! Those shades wouldn’t be out at sea fishing for gold if it weren’t for your orders!” Charon’s shoulders slowly lowered with a soft puff of lavender. Hermes smiled, pulling Charon down until he could press a kiss to cold teeth. “I know you always have my back, both above and below.”
"Mmrmrrrg... hhoouuuggg, ooouuuu...?"
"... I think you could! The rift is almost all dead warships and fleets, it stands to reason that it could count as an honorary Underworld river. Uncle isn't too terribly attached to that region either, considering his actions is what caused this whole fleet mess." Hermes grinned, clapping his hands. "I bet you could get a proper sized boat up there! There's definitely not enough room in those little boats those shades have been using to hold all the gold sitting at the ocean floor!" Charon murmured in thought, nodding. In his excitement, Hermes went to jump up, hissing in pain and flinching. Charon hurriedly urged him to lie back down, shelving the idea for another day.
With his powers restored, he should leave right now and just heal up on his way back to Olympus. He should leave right now, he lost so much time with this detour and he still needed to get his messenger bag and scarf back from the shades’ boat. He should leave—
Charon tucked Hermes under his chin and laid down on top of him, mindful of his injuries. Hermes closed his eyes, breathing in damp wood, coin, and pink smoke. The boat gently rocked back and forth, the Acheron in no hurry to go anywhere. Quietly weeping, softly lamenting.
He wished he could burrow into Charon’s ribcage, hidden from the world, if only for a little bit. If there was a way, he suspected Charon would let him, more than happy to whisk his most prized bird away to a place only they knew of. Where they had all the time in the world, unburdened by duty.
“I need to go, I’m so far behind schedule, family’s going to be a right mess and all up in my face once I get back…”
“Grrrhhaaa, mrrraggg… ksssshh…”
“Hah, if only… if only…” He should leave. He clung harder to Charon.
Dark purple with streaks of grey purple trailed out in thin lines. Hermes shut his eyes and shook his head. They don’t have time. They don’t have time to stay like this. The longer they stayed, the more Time advanced. Like pulling tar, he let go of Charon’s robe, sniffling and taking all the little kisses they could exchange.
“I need to go back, my messenger bag and scarf—“ Charon groaned and pointed to the side, Hermes seeing said items resting on a bench, folded neat and dry. Chellen at some point, after realizing they were not tumbling through the ocean or bobbing down a river, had crawled out his messenger bag to her favorite spot: the top of the boat figurehead. She was quite content, watching the crying souls from her vantage point.
A wet, choked laugh escaped Hermes’s throat. He hugged Charon again, relishing in the bone-creaking hug Charon gave back. “What would I do without you…?” he whispered.
Charon repeated the question back at him, smoke curling around his teeth and brushing up against Hermes's lips.
The Acheron rocked the boat slightly. Chellen began her descent back down onto the benches of the boat and back into Hermes’s bag. He sighed, Charon finally letting him go and standing up with a sad, low moan.
“Let me leave you with these.” Hermes stood up with care for his still tender leg. How much he wanted to sleep in the boat, like the old times they cannot go back to, not yet.
On the cushions were all the broken feathers and plumes that fell off with Charon’s preening. Hermes scooped them up and dipped them into the bucket of rinsed ichor, lightly scrubbing them until they glowed with life again. Fluttering around the boat, he tucked them into gaps of wood and metal slivers.
Hidden boons of speed and luck. For the rivers to be clear, for the oar to be swift, for a safe return, again and again and again. Extra were placed by the mast and dais where Charon usually stood. Charon started rowing out, emerging out of their little hidden corner back to the waterways. With each dip of the oar, their time together shortened, and Hermes tucked another feather in a hidden corner.
They stopped at the edge of Ephyra, where surface river bled into the Acheron. Hermes stood on the edge of the boat ledge, gazing up at the now-cleared night sky. Charon reached up and brushed his knuckles against Hermes’s cheeks, his silver rings glinting in the moonlight. Hermes reached up and held his hand there, his own gold ring shining.
“Thank you again, for everything, as always,” Hermes whispered, bending down to kiss him one more time. Charon softly groaned, letting his smoke caress his face and dance over their lips. Hermes breathed in deeply and crouched to take off, glowing with godly power.
Come back to me, little bird.
An orange streak in the sky, illuminated by Sister Selene’s light. Charon watched until Hermes vanished into the multitude of the stars that made up Mother’s sky, hidden by her veil. An unbearably tall order, to relay information and get them ahead, to be faster than Time itself.
He rubbed the orange feather that hung underneath his robes between his fingers. Above, rocketing through the headwinds that surrounded the summit, the last few wisps of purple smoke left Hermes’s lips, the savor gone, but memory still sweet.