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The plaid curtains were still pulled closed by the time she was fully conscious. With the continuous, occasionally ringing of an alarm clock—constantly slammed with a weak hand, with a repeating promise of ‘In a minute,’ spilling from a worn out voice. The residence was an unusual quiet. One where—even despite the muffled, distant crying—it couldn’t stir the ailed woman bundled beneath her covers. The comforter rose her body heat, and though she was burning, chills shivered up her spine in one unruly attack.
May had never been one to be knocked down so easily. She herself could never recall ever being sick for more than a day. She was a healthy child, and it wasn’t a surprise it followed her into adulthood.
Though, given her current circumstances, she might’ve spoken the current curse into existence. If she’d be more than obliged to believe in ‘jinxing.’ Which, given everything she's experienced, isn’t exactly off the table of cards at the moment.
The symptoms started a week ago. Coughing up nothing, but continuing to hack until her eyes watered. May had called out the first day for work—which at first, seemed like a small blessing in disguise. It was nice to spend time with her son in the little time she normally had for privacy. Work wasn’t necessarily an unforgiving environment, but it was to May’s own comfort that she missed as little days as she could. If not for herself, then for Luke’s own security.
May couldn’t look at the threads of Fate when she wanted too—but how she wishes she could in the moment. As selfish as it may make her sound. Whilst her son’s cries grow into hollering, May can’t help but wonder how many more seconds she could just lie here. Any other mother might’ve stared at her in disbelief—disgust even. How dare she sit around as her boy calls for her. However May was sure that the moment she pulled her head up right, she would topple right back over.
There was a trashcan next to her nightstand. Her nose wrinkled as she shoved it back into the pillowcase, and in turn her ear as well—hoping to drown out the noises, and pray to anyone listening to let both her and her boy rest until the afternoon. Reasonably, she knows Luke couldn’t lay back down once he rises—he was still discovering all there could be around the house; now that he was able to stand up straight on both legs. May should’ve been happy, but she can’t help but let her mind wander, and wish that Luke would just quiet down.
The woman curses herself quietly, sniffling as a cough bubbles up her throat, and out her chapped lips. She feels sticky and sweaty; just flat out gross in the moment. Most would tell her to get up. That she’ll feel better after a glass of water. May would tell them to shove it, and then promptly pass out given the suddenness of her actions catching her entire system off guard.
Fingers twist into the sheets and pillow, causing her knuckles to turn white as she burrows her face into the fabric. Her stomach is screaming at her to eat, but she can’t keep anything down. Luke continues to cry, because May couldn’t put him back down. May can’t get up, because she’ll just go right back down.
She had never felt so lost before. A mere speck in a crowd, wondering what she could do to crawl her way out of this mess.
Across the house, in a room decorated and proofed with everything that could protect a three year old boy’s curious nature, two heavy footsteps find themselves planted on the carpet.
When had May slapped her hands against her ears? She couldn’t quite remember. Though the moment she pulls them away, the house is quiet. Seriously quiet this time around. No background noises, not even the white noise of the fan can distract her from the fact that she doesn’t hear crying.
In the worse, more dangerous side of her mind, May thinks about going back to bed—glad to finally be in complete silence again.
In the other, more human part, her motherly instincts are kicking in—yet she could barely push herself onto her elbows without nausea making her throw her head over the edge of the bed. Luke has stopped crying, and she can’t even bring herself to spring into action, in complete opposition of what a good mother would do. May spits up whatever leaves her mouth, and hears the ‘plink’ of tears dripping down her chin down into the can below.
Normally upon entering her bedroom, May would listen to the creak of the door—listen to it draw out with its own accent as it’s pushed out of the way. Though when she hears nothing, she does not so much as flinch at the feeling of a hand in her hair. It pulls her blonde waves up, and to the back of her scalp, out of the way as she feels something drool from the bottom of her lip.
May wants to feel embarrassed. Someone like her should look their best, and be put together for something like him. At the moment however, she’s sorta focused on not falling right off into the bin, so screw her for not putting makeup on and downing two bonine pills.
When her eyes finally flicker up, she spots a pair of running shoes standing at the side of her bed. On the sides are those decorated, embroidered wings that she did herself, and normally she’d remark on how silly they looked now. Then, Hermes would laugh, and say he’d adored them, and she shouldn’t sell herself so short.
“Luke—“
Is all she manages to say before diving into another fit. Her sore throat burns, and she pulls herself up onto her bed again to muffle out the worse of it. Hopefully hiding her face alongside the redness that has definitely infected her cheeks. May knows she looks like a complete mess, especially with the fact she hadn’t been able to drag herself to shower in two days—she frowns as she pulls herself away from her now spit ridden pillow. Gross.
“He’s fine, May, he’s fine.”
May cracks an eye open, turning her head to finally meet Hermes’ eyes—though her attention was immediately caught by a little bundle currently being held on her arm. Luke didn’t even seem to notice her, content with playing with the buttons on the collar of Hermes’ attire. May feels relief and like the worst mother in the world all at the same time.
“Oh.”
A pause. The only sound there was was of Luke’s occasional babble.
“Why’re—“ May swallows thickly, blinking as she lays there, not even wanting to attempt to rise back onto her elbows, “What’re you doing here?”
Hermes gives her a look as if she had yelled—one that makes his face grow hurt, and his hold on Luke tighten. “You called, didn’t you?”
May shakes her head slowly. Hermes ducks his head—Luke takes it as an invite to tug at his hair, to which the god does not flinch from—before eventually rising again. He gestures towards the trashcan, then to May herself.
“Well, I suppose I’m glad I came when I did.”
“I don’t have anything for you.. at the moment,” May says a little breathlessly. Normally, she always had something to offer up—if not just the allowance of seeing Luke—for Hermes. As silly as the idea of her being able to hold something over a god was. May was still getting used to this odd routine, even if it could be a little erratic at times.
“It’s alright. I wouldn’t expect that out of you; not in your current state.”
“It’s still rude. You came all this way.”
“It was hardly a tiring trip.”
May snorts, and she feels a dip in the bed as Hermes settles down next to her. He pushes himself to sit by her hip. Luke takes his place in his father’s lap, digging into his pockets as any rascal his age would. Though May suspects it might just be a familial thing.
A hand cradles the side of her cheek, she can practically hear the way Hermes frowns, a ‘tsk’ leaving his lips as he leans down to press them against her jaw.
“Should I be worried?”
She shakes her head.
“It’s just a fever. It’ll pass eventually.”
“You mortals can be so fragile.”
Luke babbles something, and Hermes makes a note to tap his nose with his finger, making the boy squeal. May wants to smile, but she can’t help but wince.
“You’re right. Not you, my ferocious little warrior.” Hermes practically coos, wagging his finger at Luke, who puffs his cheeks out in response. Luke scampers off of his lap, making a beeline for May when Hermes scoops him back just from underneath his arms. The baby squirms, fussing dramatically as he’s forced away from his mother. May feels her heartbreak a little more.
“Ah-ah, mommy’s sick right now, we can’t have you getting sick too.” The messenger scolds lightly, poking at Luke’s cheeks with a playful grin. The boy squeals once again, though this time with a more aggravated tone, and chomps his mouth towards the aggressing hand. Intending to get rid of it once and for all. Hermes gives a short laugh, while May’s face falls into something more empathetic.
Sometimes, May could hardly see Hermes in Luke’s face, and sometimes she couldn’t even tell if she was ever a part of the equation. They’re so alike it’s uncanny, but she suspects it's due to some..odd god-like magic, or something along those lines.
It helps with the headaches if she doesn’t think about it for too long.
“Oh, baby,” May soothes as she spots Luke’s upset expression. A hand reaches out—only for her to jerk it back at the last moment. Demigod or not, babies are still fragile little things. She’d rather not deal with a sick, half-god boy, whose screams could wake the entire neighborhood. “I’m right here, honey, I’m not going anywhere.”
Hermes hums at the scene, and there's a strange sense of domestication as he leans down to peck his lips against the top of their son’s growing blonde waves. “He’s quite clingy.”
“All babies are, Hermes.”
“Yes well, when I was a baby—“
“Oh—quit it! Don’t you start again, I’ve heard enough of your stories already.”
The god has the decency to play up his offense for laughs, making the woman chuckle as he slumps from where he's seated. He holds Luke close, twisting him away from May, as his tone betrays his performance.
“You used to love my stories!”
Hermes turned to look at Luke. Their eyes meeting in sync, sharing a familiar blue with a slight tint of gold beneath the surface. “You love my stories, right Luke?”
Luke stares at him before slapping a cubby hand against his face. Giggling at the noise, and thus continuing his start of a drumming career.
May couldn’t help but find the whole thing amusing. Her shoulders shaking as she lets out wheezes that borderline the title of a cough. Eventually, her illness catches up to her, and she's clearing her throat while shoving a fist against her chest—hoping to unclog whatever it was that stuck her with this curse.
Hermes was there in an instant, hand hovering over her—unsure of what to do. Despite how he shows himself, and how easy he is with Luke, May often has to remind herself that Hermes’ isn’t mortal. Hermes was less of a thing, and more of a thought personified.
“Tell me what to do,” He says with such earnestness that it makes May feel like the luckiest woman in the world. She shifts deeper into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, effectively blocking the rest of herself away from the outside world.
“Will you stay with him? Just for an hour.“ May asks, avoiding eye contact as she listens to Luke coo. Hermes doesn’t breathe as much as she does. Every four breaths for her is half a one for him. He doesn’t need to, but he still tries when she’s around. As if that would make it make sense, make it feel a little more normal. May has already come to terms with the strangeness of it all. She’d rather he be honest than attempt to play husband with her.
“I’ll stay for as long as you need me.”
“He needs you, Hermes. I can’t be a mother like this, but he needs you to be his father.”
As if knowing he was being talked about, Luke extended both hands towards May, eyes wide as he struggled against Hermes’ hand holding him steady. The messenger glances down at him, and picks him up—holding him against his shoulder.
“I’m not exactly the best role model, May.” He laughs, but there's a hint of hesitation in his voice. May will drag him by his sandals herself if it meant keeping him from running off again. While she could accept this life—constantly wondering when something will come for her baby, when Hermes will come back and relieve her of parental worries for a spare few hours—she couldn’t right now. Not as she lies there feeling like her guts will bubble up, and spill right out of her mouth.
“Just take him,” May says with a demanding tone that harbors a fraction of pleading, “I’ll be fine.”
“And what about him? I know he can be..clingy.”
“Luke loves you, Hermes, he’ll be just fine.”
As if to prove her point, Luke makes a show as he raises both hands above his head—flopping halfway out of Hermes grasp—and shouting a barely clear, “Baba!”
Swiftly, Hermes readjusts his hold on the young demigod, sending May an unsure look—she curls a brow at that, as if daring him to say something. Eventually, she seems to win their little staring contest, as Hermes sighs—ducking his head in defeat. He pulls himself back to his feet, twirling his hand until his caduceus materializes. Luke immediately latches onto it, and only with Hermes' grip does he prevent it from becoming a slobber covered mess.
“May,” Hermes starts, his voice soft—caring in a way that most stories would presume the opposite. Though with May, there were never any tricks. The only theft he has ever made was May’s adoration. To which she was happy to give over. “You’ll summon for me if you need anything, yes?”
When May opens her mouth to make a snarky remark, Hermes interrupts her with a firm tone following his words, “You are the strongest mortal I’ve met, May, but please do not sit here in ill knowing that I can help you.”
The house didn’t suddenly settle. No clocks ticked away the minute. Nothing but a thick, heavy silence resided in the air.
“Luke hasn’t eaten yet.”
May’s tone doesn’t change, nor does any indication of irritation fix on her face. Hermes doesn’t question her further—he can’t and he won’t. May wasn’t a woman who could have her mind easily changed, and Hermes has had enough experience in the past with stubbornness.
“Okay,” He says, one of his heels turning as he points his caduceus at her, “Remember—“
“Go, Hermes.”
And with that, he was gone. May blinked and where he had stood was now full of the empty space surrounding the rest of her bed. The room eerily crept back into sound—the house settled, and so did May. She shuffled back into her sheets, content with placing her trust in the god. Hermes had never hurt her or Luke before, and maybe this was a blessing to catch up on some lost sleep.
Somewhere, on the Eastern coast of Connecticut, a convenience store was suddenly down a few products. Not even a breeze was noticed through the doors—nor did the bell jingle to alert the owners. Hermes—with Luke now firmly planted on his shoulders—jostled a plastic bag full of goodies. Ones that the toddler above him was impatient to get his hands on.
It was a rather dull town. One Hermes noted was roughly two hours or so away from May’s own—though to him, it was more like taking a step down the staircase. Not really realizing you’re finished until you’re back flat on your feet. Luke didn’t seem that disoriented—he didn’t even really note the change in surroundings. All he did was cling to Hermes, and eye every person they passed.
May never did specify how she wants Hermes to enjoy his time with Luke. She knew as well as he did that being here on his own time was crossing far too many boundaries to count. It made sense to simply let them loose—or so he imagines she believed. Hermes doesn’t outright disobey his father’s commands—it isn’t like he’s here with the boy everyday. However, you couldn’t put down a set of rules and expect a trickster not to immediately go through the loopholes.
If anyone were to ask him—he was merely sending a message to a dear friend. As per his job requirements for all things divine—even if only by proxy. May herself was something extraordinary. It would be a good ploy to play.
Though he wasn’t just doing this for May’s sake. Contrary to popular belief—Hermes loved his sons and daughters. Did he have his favorites? Of course he did! When your children are scattered around the globe it’s a bit difficult to account for every single one of them. The Castellan’s just so happened to be close to home, and the rest had become short, but well remembered history.
A hand suddenly smacked the top of his head. Hermes frowned, and shrugged his shoulders—making Luke squirm for some sense of balance. The young boy gave a drawn out whine, making hands at the bag.
“Ah-ah, watch those sticky fingers, Luke,” Hermes chastised—much to his own, hypocritical induced amusement—if Luke was going to find his way into pockets and bags, then he should at least wait until he could run without tripping over his feet.
Luke makes a noise of disapproval—bordering the lines of a cry that Hermes knew was just a ploy. However, just because he knows façades when he sees one, doesn’t mean he immediately turns the other way. Luke had a way of worming his way into people's hearts—even at such a young age. He was already being handed whatever he wanted.
“Alright, alright—“ Hermes said, digging his hand around the bag as he continued, “I’ll let you have one piece of candy—if—you guide us to the park. How bout’ it?”
Immediately, Hermes felt Luke twist around—as bright as the boy was at times, he was as inconspicuous as a griffin. There was a pause as the surroundings were taken in—or so Hermes assumes. He rocked on his heels, making Luke ‘bap’ the top of his head. The god grinned and settled down for his boy. After a moment, Luke pointed his finger out—straight.
Was it simply a game to see how his son’s abilities were developing? Perhaps. However, that was Hermes' secret to keep. His children had always been early bloomers, after-all.
Hermes tapped on his heel against the ground and off they went.
When they got to the corner of the street, Luke jabbed a finger right.
When they got to a crosswalk, Luke babbled something that remotely sounded like “at’ wa.’” Hermes wasn’t sure if baby babble counted towards his domain of languages, but it made sense to him, so why wouldn’t it?
They trudged on until Luke furiously patted Hermes’ head. Poking him until he slowed down. “Eft!”
“What was that?” Hermes asked, just to hear the frustrated—or, as much frustration a baby could manage to have—huff of Luke. Who squirmed on his shoulders. Fatherhood. It was like having a parasite for a pet. Hermes gave an amused chuckle as Luke once again yelled: “Eft!”
“Alright, little one. Left it is.”
It didn’t take long for the buildings to subside and greenery to greet them. Hermes didn't look both ways before crossing over towards the park. May might’ve said something about being a bad influence on Luke, but it was just them, and Hermes’ could keep the boy safe despite her worrying.
It was a safety hazard waiting to happen. Hermes meant that as a compliment, too. He swore the slide would give out at any moment, and the paint chipped off the structure in flacks that no doubt would be eaten by a grubby handed little creature. Not his, though, Luke knows better.
A hand smacks his forehead. Hermes’ face scrunches up but he shakes off the annoyance as Luke starts squirming again—this time seemingly trying to launch himself towards the plastic bag in the god’s hand.
Because Luke has taste.
“‘Andy!’
“I know, I know, you monster.” Hermes huffs as sticks a hand in to dig through their stolen goods. What was good for a toddler's teeth? Probably not sweets, but Hermes’ will just conjure up some ambrosia if it gets bad. He whips out a small Dum-Dum, and Luke all but snatches it from him.
“What do we say?”
Luke doesn’t say anything because he’s already ripped into the sucker. Hermes deflates just a bit before he’s reaching back to remove the boy from his shoulders. Luke doesn’t do so much as flinch as he’s manhandled back to the ground—content with the sweetness in his mouth. Working as a distraction no doubt.
Hermes stares down at the little one. Luke tilts his head up to look at him.
It was moments like these that makes Hermes remember that he isn’t exactly the best with children below speaking age. He could hold a conversation with a child—language as a whole came easy like that. Though keeping an almost silent one entertained? He felt like he was being watched on all sides, or judged, or perhaps both. Luke had that look about him.
The boy popped the sucker out of his mouth, turned on his heel, and started walking away.
“Hey—“ Hermes’ called after, “Where are you going, Luke?”
Luke didn’t answer, of course. He just kept walking. Though he stumbled a bit due to the bumpy terrain of the park’s natural setting—he trekked on Dum-Dum in hand. Hermes just shuffled behind him slowly. Would it be wrong to just scoop the baby up and walk around until he fell back asleep?
Yes, yes it would. Hermes was seriously considering it, because if there was one thing he didn’t like it was moving at any rate he considered slow. So, roughly anything below sixty miles per hour. Fatherhood. Parasites. A test of patience.
“Luke,” Hermes began as he stepped side by side with his llittle boy. Luke didn’t seem to pay him any mind as they continued on through the park grounds. “Don’t you want to play? Daddy will push you on the—“ Hermes’ glanced behind him at the hazardous attractions “—Seesaw.”
What a convincing argument it was, too. Hermes had thought to himself. Though Luke in his unending chain of stoicism never even looked the god’s way. It wasn’t until they reached a small bench residing in the middle of a small, bricked surface. Luke stumbled at the change in terrain, but his mission came to an end at the sight of a locked, miniature library standing at the end of his path.
Luke stared at it, then turned to Hermes with the widest eyes a toddler could manage. “Book.”
“You want a..book?”
“Book.”
Well, who was Hermes to deny his son the obviously righteous path of knowledge? His half-sister would be so proud.
Scooping Luke up by his underarms, Hermes settled him on his hip to look through the window of the case. What a fun idea, it was. Perhaps they should instill something like this back home. The thought is immediately brushed aside. Knowing himself and his family, the mere concept of communal items and sharing is a fool's game.
The hand unoccupied by candy reached forward; Luke squirming in Hermes’ hold as he tried to brace himself on the library itself. Luke grabbed onto the small lock—a rusting metal that was bound to shatter any-day—and the following could only be described as a small, yet audible ‘click.’
Hermes beamed as the lock fell to the ground.
“For a moment I was worried I mixed up my children again.”
Luke giggled in a way all toddlers do when their parents act with praise. Hermes presses his head into the blonde waves of his son’s, and plants an appreciative kiss right on top.
“Let’s not make a habit of that, though. At least not in-front of mom.”
Hoping that his son caught at least some of that—and actually comprehended it—Hermes lets Luke point out what fable he wants exactly. The boy stares for a bit, before a bright blue spine seems to catch his attention. Luke all but jumps for it, held back only by Hermes’ tight grip as he wrestles his son back into place.
“Slippery snake you are—worse than George. Is this the one you want?” Hermes picks it out from the collection, turning it towards Luke to see the cover. Luke nods so quickly his head might’ve toppled right off. He sticks his sucker back in his mouth, and reaches for the book—snatching it from Hermes without a second thought.
Now his siblings might’ve considered such an act rude from one of their own children. Hermes however, found it all the more endearing.
“Book.”
“So I’ve heard the past three times, son,” Hermes replies as he sits them both down on the accompanying bench. Luke leans into him, eyes glued to the shut cover of the novel, his early candy all but forgotten as it slips from his hand. The sucker hits the dirty bricks all dramatic like—rolling off underneath the bench to be picked at by ants. May wouldn’t approve of waste, but Hermes is sure she’d make an exception for sweets.
Hermes’ own collection of things settled at his feet to be devoured later—or more likely than not tossed away. Modern mortal food wasn’t exactly a taste of his, but some of it had a certain kick to it.
Luke babbles something in his still freshly learned English—Hermes translates it closely to that of a demand to start reading. The god lets out a short, amused laugh, but flicks the cover over with the tip of his finger.
May wouldn’t mind their prolonged absence too much. Hermes will take the blame for it, anyway, just in case.
With the weight resting on his lap and on his hand, Hermes finds himself relaxing for what felt like the first time in a good few decades. For a moment, he felt like just another father enjoying the fresh air with their son. The domestication of a trickster was a hard feud that many had failed, but it seemed the Castellans had stolen a free ticket right into Hermes’ heart.
Oranges and purples had soon found their way to the skyline when the front door creaked open. The curtains in the small living room had finally been pushed aside to make room for the light. The door to the master bedroom was ajar, and there was the sound of humming accompanying the otherwise silence of a warm home.
Hermes skipped a few steps when carrying a now sleeping Luke towards the room. The boy hadn’t lasted that long after finishing their story. Hermes had let him scurry around the park grounds—as well as scuffle through their earlier stolen goods, as would any curious kid desire—before Luke had all but begged to be picked back up.
He was out like a light before Hermes could even get them back to May’s hometown. He tried to slow it down so as to not jostle the toddler from his slumber. Fortunately, Luke hadn’t stirred once throughout the trip back. Hermes was thankful for that—crying children aren’t exactly an issue he was well prepared for.
It was smooth sailing, though, so luck herself must’ve been on their side that day.
When Hermes peaked around the corner of the doorframe, May was sitting on her bed—a scrapbook lying over her lap with supplies scattered around the rest of the mattress.
Their eyes met and she looked as lively as the day they met. Hermes smiled in the way he hides just for his lovers, and approaches the woman with a tight grip on their boy. Luke’s cheek smushed right against his collar; breathing steady and low.
“How are you feeling?” Hermes asks before May could interrupt.
“Better,” she says, sticking a piece of decorative tape on her open page, “I told you I’d be fine.”
“I worry about you, May. You know that.” He says, taking a hesitant seat beside her as to not jostle her collection.
“You have better things to do than worry. Did you two have fun?”
Hermes decides not to entertain the first phrase, and instead gestures to the sleeping Luke in his arms. May coos just like any mother would do, and sets aside her craft supplies so she could brush back the boy’s blonde hair.
“Slept the whole way home,” Hermes remarks; much to May’s surprise. “Really? I’ve barely been able to get him to bed without some sort of fuss.”
She tilts her head to look at the god, who blinks innocently at her until that mischief smile crosses her face. The same one that had caught his attention the first time he saw her. “Must get his dramatics from your side of the family.”
“We aren’t—“ Hermes immediately goes to defend, but deflates rather quickly when he realizes that just last week their resident twins had argued over whose solar or lunar eclipse would come first this year. As if it hadn’t been the same order for the past centuries. “His sass is clearly your doing then.”
May makes a mock gasp and backhands Hermes’ shoulder—though just softly enough as to not affect Luke by proxy. “Rude! So, so, rude. To think I had an offering just fresh from the oven, too.”
Hermes perks up, staring at her wide eyed, “May, I said that wasn’t necessary—“
“I know what you said, Hermes. I also know that you wouldn’t turn down my baking, now would you?”
“You play a tricky game, Castellan.”
May’s shoulder bumped into his, her head just grazing his jaw as she situated herself neatly against his side. “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”
“You mustn’t strain yourself for me. You’ve done enough by having Luke—“ Hermes starts, but is swiftly cut off by warm lips pressed against his. Throughout the years of countless and endless lovers, there would never be ones quite as remarkable and memorable as May’s. They make all other senses around them quiet down to a mere hum in the background. As though the world itself, and Hermes alongside it, decided they would slow down to let the moment linger.
Below them, Luke fusses and two hands drag them both back into reality. The boy’s eyes remain close, but he’s taken to wiggling in Hermes’ hold. May lets out a sigh of content, and offers to take him with a signal of her hands.
Hermes however keeps the boy firmly tucked against him. Patting his back twice to remind him of who’s still here.
“How about those offerings?”
“Oh? I thought you didn’t want them.”
“And let your hard work go to waste? Ridiculous.”