Chapter Text
Business is slow at Hermes’ bar today. Though it's still early, just around dinner time, so they were still a little ways away from their usual busy hours. The only people there at the moment were Hermes himself, and a few of his regulars scattered around the room. Most of them there for a cool drink and to get out of the summer sun for a while. Persephone’s been back up top for a few months now, and with how short the summers have been getting, Hermes doesnt expect they have many warm days ahead of them.
Rather than dwell on that, at the moment, he focused on taking care of a few mind-numbing tasks around the bar. Cleaning glasses, bussing some tables, things like that. He was in the middle of wiping down the bar when one of his regulars, a man named Aris who’s been coming here for a few years, comes up to him. “Hey, uh… You might want to go outside.”
Hermes glances between him and the door, “Why?”
“There’s a kid out there.” Aris explains, seeming confused himself, “Just sitting on the curb. Keeps saying he’s here to see you.”
A kid? Hermes doesn’t know any kids, or anyone with kids for that matter. Plenty of the other Gods had kids, a couple dozen or hundred years ago. He’s lost count. But he’s sure every one he ever met or knew about has to have grown up by now. He tosses his rag to the side and makes his way out the doors.
Sure enough, across the street, there really is a little kid just sitting there alone. Little isnt an exaggeration. The boy can’t have even reached double digits yet. And there’s no adult in sight, no parents hanging out watching him. Hermes has a bad feeling about this already. What sort of parents are leaving a kid that young on his own outside of some random bar? Hermes knows his patrons, he knows nothing bad would ever happen to the kid here. (Anyone who didn’t have the best intention would be facing the literal wrath of a God, after all). But it’s still irresponsible as hell.
Hermes made his way over, still glancing around, hoping to spot the kids parents and give them a piece of his mind without needing to get the kid involved. But he still sees no one. No one but the little boy. When Hermes gets closer, he starts to hear quiet humming coming from the kid, spotting the way he’s tapping his foot anxiously on the ground. It’s like he’s humming to try and calm himself down.
“Hey, kid.” Hermes calls out when he gets closer.
The boy’s head shoots up, his eyes a little wide, the tapping coming to a stop. “Mr. Hermes? I’m looking for Mr. Hermes.”
“Well, you found him.” Hermes responds, stopping a little ways away. “What are you doing out here? Where are your parents?”
“My mother told me to come here.” The kid says. He doesnt elaborate, like he thinks thats explanation enough.
It’s not, as a matter of fact. “You shouldnt be out here by yourself, kid. Where is she? I want to talk to her.”
The boy tilts his head, like Hermes is the one not making sense. “Oh, she didn’t come with me, Mr. Hermes.”
That makes Hermes pause. This story doesnt seem to be getting any better. “She sent you here alone? How the hell did you even get here?” He realizes a moment too late that cursing around a kid this young might not be the best idea.
“I walked.” The kid says, glancing down at the pavement for a second, his voice getting quieter. “It was… a long way. Can i please come inside? I know kids arent supposed to be in bars, but…”
“Hold on, kid. You’re not making any sense,” Hermes interrupts when the boy trails off, “You cant have come here completely on your own. You said your mom told you to come here. What about your dad? Where is he in all this?”
The boy doesn’t even answer, this time. His eyes get sadder, and Hermes starts to feel like an asshole for even bringing it up. The kid bites his lip and just shakes his head. He doesnt need to use words for Hermes to get the picture. Whoever this kids dad is, he’s clearly not the most involved parent in human history. Hermes knows all about that. Those other Gods mentioned a minute ago? Very few of them were ever really the paternal type. Or maternal types, for that matter.
“Then who’s looking after you?”
“Well… My mother said… maybe you would?” Godsdamnit. Why did the kid have to sound so hopeful when he said that? Like that’s somehow the silver lining in all of this.
Hermes isnt the paternal type. He’s a God, just like the others, and he isnt exempt from that particularly scathing criticism. He’s got no kids of his own. On purpose, and for good reason. He’s not good with them, in any way. And anyone who knows him would know that. “...Did she? Who did you say your mom was?”
The kid sits up a little straighter, and in that tone kids get when they’re reciting something they’ve been told to memorize, he says, "Calliope. The Muse of Epic poetry.”
“...Damnit.” Hermes sighs. Everything clicking into place, now. The Muses. They’re old friends of his. Divine beings, whether they count as Gods or not is just a matter of technicality. Each one gets credit for inspiring different forms of art and the like, and all nine are known to be flighty. Coming and going on a whim, as the fancy takes them. If Calliope had a kid, it’s no wonder she couldnt stick around longer than the first few years.
Looking at the kid now, he can see a bit of the resemblance. Not all that much, he probably takes after his father, whoever that is. But he’s definitely got Calliope’s eyes. The kind that show every emotions going on behind them, clear as a cloudless sky. And right now, all Hermes can see is loneliness, fear, and that annoyingly persistent hope.
Now, Hermes doesnt count himself as a kind man, but he’d have to be entirely heartless not to feel for the kid. His mom took off, his dad’s nowhere around, and all he’s been left with were some vague instructions to find a stranger his mother used to know and hope he doesnt get left out on the street.
“Come on inside. We’ll figure this out.” Hermes finds himself saying. The kid perks up like a lost puppy, sadness completely overshadowed by hope in an instant. Hermes ignores that, for now, and just turns to go back inside the bar. He can hear the little footsteps of the kid following him in.
As they walk back into the bar, a couple of the regulars look over. Spotting the tiny child trailing after him, and shooting Hermes a few curious or concerned glances. Hermes just waves them off as the kid climbs onto a barstool that’s almost twice his height.
“What’s your name, kid?” He asks as he heads behind the bar.
“Orpheus.”
Hermes nods, grabbing a glass and trying to remember what it is kids like to drink, “How old are you, Orpheus?”
“Seven,” Orpheus answers, “I’ll be eight, soon. In the winter.”
Seven years old. The problem with divine beings like the Muses is, if Hermes manages to find and confront Calliope about all this, he can’t even kill her for it. All he can do is sigh and set a glass down in front of her son.
Orpheus stares at the yellow liquid curiously, “What is this?”
“Lemonade.” Hermes responds, “Kids like lemonade, right?”
The kid’s face lights up, and it’s like he’s already forgotten every awful part about how he ended up here. He reaches for the glass and takes a big gulp, before remembering his manners, “Thank you, Mr. Hermes!”
“No problem.” Hermes says, pretending that he isnt already making a mental note to stock up on more lemonade. And other kid friendly food and drinks. Plus every other kind of kid supplies he’s gonna need, apparently. Clothes, and toys, and school supplies. And he’s gonna have to find somewhere for Orpheus to stay. He’s got an office upstairs that he can turn into a spare bedroom. Just needs a bed, and a dresser, maybe a desk, and…
…And apparently he’s already made up his mind.
“A’ight, kid,” Hermes starts reluctantly, “You can stay. For a while. A few weeks, at most. Just until i can track down your mom and get some answers out of her. Ok?”
Orpheus doesnt seem to care about the qualifiers Hermes added to that agreement. He’s already nodding fast, “Ok, Mr. Hermes! Thank you.”
Hermes sighs, and grabs the rag he tossed aside earlier, getting back to work. “Don’t mention it.”
Little does Hermes know, in the moment, that he's at the start of a very long tale. The prologue of a story he'll soon tell a hundred times over, learning to emulate that boundless hope in the little kids eyes, always praying for a better ending than he'll ever get to see...