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Chapter Text

The winter solstice was usually a chaotic affair.  The streets of Olympus celebrated making it through the darkest night in a riot of light and greenery and music and food.  Living displays of winter flowers, magical eruptions of light, conflicting strands of live music at every street corner, and everyone out on the streets together, dressed in their finest, laughing and dancing and singing and playing.  There were feasts of magically refilling fruits and desserts, as well as horns of wine flowing freely.  At a glance, everyone was enjoying the party.

At a closer look, there was a tenseness to the festivities.  There always was; dancing a little too frantic, music a little too loud, lights a little too bright.  They were pushing away the darkness that had been creeping upon them night after night as the year died, leading to this longest of nights, cold and crisp and dangerous.  No satyr, no nymph, not even the gods themselves would venture off on their own this night.  Lurking beneath the party was a certainty that something ancient and deadly and cruel just might awaken.  Might be hungry.  So they lit their lights just as the small child calls for a nightlight to stave off the monster hiding beneath the bed.  They sang their songs and feasted and came together, a reminder that no one is alone and all is well.  That they made it through the dark.

This year’s solstice was even more chaotic than usual.  Zeus was in a mood.  There was thunder in the distance, storm clouds rolling across the country, leaving the air around Olympus at once heavy and charged with static.  There was a strong sense of something unpleasant coming, and the citizens of Olympus responded by pushing back the darkness with frantic energy.  Zeus’s family in turn was tense.  Especially Zeus’s children, though the god’s brothers and sisters were not immune to his moods.  When Zeus got like this, no one wanted to be the lightning rod to set him off.  And it was into this wild cacophony of god and myth and storm, this tense gathering of the family, that a small group of children were soon to be led.

It was Lord Hermes who came to collect them.  Luke clenched his teeth and dug his nails into the palms of his hands, gouging half-moons that would take an age to fade away.  According to Chloe, it was usually Apollo who came.  Apollo was a natural choice as protecting children was part of his godly domain, though it was his sister’s chariot that actually conveyed them to Olympus.  According to Chloe, Apollo had appeared last year as a hot teen, literally, and he had made things fun.  All the kids were looking forward to the solstice.  Not only was the field trip something different, something festive, but for many it was their only chance to see their godly parent.

Luke would happily go without seeing his godly parent.  He hadn’t fully worked out what he wanted to do.  Hide and avoid him completely or seek him out to shout and scream the pain tearing at his insides.  He mostly wanted to do the latter so Hermes could either understand or, more likely, put Luke out of his misery.  Except Luke couldn’t risk getting smote, even if it felt a fitting end to his pathetic existence to be taken out by his own deadbeat dad.  At his side, Annabeth was dancing on her toes with excitement.  He couldn’t leave her behind.

Lord Hermes walked into the camp where Chiron had gathered them, his smile welcoming and his stance open.  He was not a ‘hot’ teenager as Apollo reportedly had been.  He was middle-aged, dark curly hair mixed with silver, features elfin.  He looked just under six feet tall in his mortal guise, oddly short for a deity, his build athletic but wiry.  Despite this, his godly nature radiated off of him, making him feel tall even though Chiron towered over him.  Hermes was dressed in his classical Greek getup: winged shoes, winged hat, and bright green tunic with red cloak.  His caduceus was in its original staff form, too, the snakes still as if frozen.  All in all, Hermes appeared like a Greek statue come to life and given color, and, to Luke’s utter disgust, he radiated friendly ‘dad’ vibes.  

If Hermes had been a stranger off the street, Luke might have immediately pegged him for a kind, fatherly type who could easily be pickpocketed or, even better, duped into providing charity to the poor street children crossing his path.  But this wasn’t some random encounter and Luke did not trust that smile for a second.  He felt his father’s eyes as Hermes’ surveyed the crowd of children, perhaps lingering on those who were his own.

“Hey, kids,” Hermes addressed them, tone warm and friendly.  “Soooo…here’s the thing.  I know you all were getting ready for the big solstice shindig up in Olympus but, I’ve got to tell you, as far as fun times go, this is not it.  First you have to sit through a tediously long snoozefest we call the Solstice Council meeting, and let me tell you, you have not experienced boredom until you’ve listened to my aunt drone on about vertical farming for half an hour.  Then, if you survive that, you’ll be led to the kiddie party zone to keep you safe from the more adult festivities going on, and who wants to have to sit at the kiddie table at a party, am I right?”

The kids in question were looking at each other and whispers were breaking out.  Chiron was staring down at the god with a distinct air of discomfort.  His eye kept twitching, like it was trying to form his patented firm look of disapproval, but he kept forcing the look away because you can’t give a god of the Olympian council a look of disapproval.  Chiron didn’t seem to know what to do with his face instead.

“So, anyway,” Hermes went on, lightly bouncing on his feet, not unlike how Luke’s younger siblings got when they were supposed to be standing still.  It was so familiar that it was disconcerting, in fact.  It made Luke feel a bit angry, like their dad had no right to have similarities with the children he had refused to raise.

Or was it just Luke he refused to raise?  At this rate he’d be drawing blood in the palms of his hands from how hard he was digging in his nails.

“So anyway…I was thinking…why don’t we ditch the party and go somewhere really fun.  I know this place…it has an arcade, skating, music…all decked up for that Christmas festival all you kids are so into.”  Then, tone going from enticing to a playful grumble he added, “Some fat elf manages one big delivery around the world once a year and suddenly he’s all special?  I do the same thing every day.”

“Santa Claus is real?!” one of the younger kids yelped.  Luke rolled his eyes.

“Who do you think delivers your presents?” Hermes asked, feigning shock at the idea that a competing semi-deity might not be real.  “Anyway, so what do you say, campers?  Everyone pile on the bus, and I’ll take you to the real party.”

“Er…Lord Hermes?” Chiron tried to interject, and when Hermes turned his smiling gaze on the centaur Chiron cautiously tried to state his objections but clearly felt hindered by the need to offer no disrespect.  Each word came out slow, as if he had to chew it up a bit first and taste its flavor before he spoke.  “I’m not sure if…if your father would be pleased with our absence…going to a different party could be seen as…”

“We’ve never made it compulsory,” Hermes pointed out, “for our half-bloods to attend Solstice.  I mean, I have to at least stick my head in, but you guys shouldn’t have to suffer.  And don’t worry, I’ve made arrangements for when I have to step out; it will be perfectly safe.”

“Er…” Chiron tried to say, but then stopped, eye twitching.  Hermes clapped his hands together.

“So it’s decided!  We skip the meeting…”

“Hermes,” a new voice intervened, and Hermes actually jumped, expression momentarily that of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar before instantly morphing into an expression of utter innocence and happiness.

“Dionysus, my favorite baby brother!” Hermes said, turning to greet the second deity who had appeared unexpectedly beside him.  “I thought you had already made your way to Olympus.  I know how you cherish the solstice as a chance to get away; don’t let me take up your time.  Your Ariadne is waiting!”

“Hermes,” Mr. D said, putting his fingers to his forehead as if to stave off a headache, “You can’t run off with our children to avoid the Solstice.”

“Why not?” Hermes asked.  “It’s boring.  None of them want to go, not really.  They just want a chance to get away from here for one night.”

“On this night of all nights, you want to gather a large group of half-bloods, and bring them away from every place of safety to some random mortal establishment?”

“Well…”

“You’ll be overrun by monsters within the hour…monsters or worse.  And when you get our children killed, who is going to shield you from father when he inevitably takes offence that you tried to skive off the meeting and took all the half-bloods with you?”

“I put precautions in place, no monster is going to…”

“Hermes.”

With an expression like a sulking child, and to the clear relief of Chiron, Hermes muttered, “Fine.  We’ll go to the stupid Solstice meeting in Olympus.”  But just when it seemed like everything was settled and they could finally get into the waiting bus, Hermes’ expression suddenly turned almost savage.  Gone, in that moment, was the kindly father.  In its place was the stern godly monarch.  His eyes narrowed and he again surveyed the group as he said, “But not all of you are going.”

The children around Luke shuffled their feet nervously, glancing at each other, confused and uneasy at the god’s shifting moods.

“First of all, none of my children under the age of twelve.”

There were outraged shouts from Luke’s younger siblings, quickly silenced by a stern look from their dad as he went on to say, “I am not joking, here.  And for the record, tonight, my children includes everyone sleeping in my cabin.”

This time, the cries of outrage were louder, as several kids found their evening of excitement and fun being snatched from their grasps.  Hermes didn’t offer them stern looks this time, but nor did he soften.

“You really can’t speak for children that aren’t yours,” Mr. D objected.

“Are you still here?” Hermes asked with mock surprise.

“You’re my ride,” Mr. D answered, and Hermes made a face, for a moment looking as juvenile as any of his children.

“You…you…want to ride with us?  With the, and I quote, ‘snot-nosed brats’, when you are, for once, free to make your own way?”

“I heard father’s in a mood,” Mr. D answered, with a bit of a shrug.  “I’d hate for my little brother to get himself smote because I let him slither off.”

“Big brother,” Hermes grumbled in objection.  “And why do you think I wanted to slither off?”  Then, to the camp at large, no longer juvenile but cold and sharp, “And if you were smart, none of you will get on the bus.  You think it will be all dancing and feasts and fun?  You’ll be shuffled into a corner.  You’ll have to be on your best behavior because gods don’t allow disrespect, and child or not, they will smite you.  You hoping to get to finally meet your mom or your dad?  Do you lie awake imagining it, how they will smile, how they will offer a hug and claim you?  It won’t be like that.  If they have never talked to you before now, it’s not because it’s forbidden.  It’s not because they are very busy and forgot how quickly mortal children grow.  It’s because they don’t want to or because they don’t even know you exist.  Those of you who are claimed can sit with your parent and the rest will be with me and I don’t need another crying fit when you realize no one is coming for you by the end of the night.”

And…wow…Luke always knew his dad was a bastard, literally and figuratively, but…wow.  Telling them all to their face how unwanted they are.  And his father basically just admitted that he had never cared about Luke.

“Aaaand on that fun note,” Mr. D said, over the quiet whispers and the actual crying sobs that had broken out by the end of Hermes’ speech, “Everyone on the bus.”

“Not the younger kids,” Hermes insisted, eyes sliding past Luke to land on Annabeth, then on the other kids who had somehow made it to camp long before monsters should have driven them there.

“And who is going to watch them if we do leave them?” Mr. D asked with a snort.  “The harpies?  Oh, but wait, they won’t be here either.  Everyone is going to the Solstice.”

Hermes frowned, then sighed and, with clear effort, suddenly returned to his inviting persona he’d held at the start.  “Alright, everyone on the bus.”

Most of the kids were still disturbed by his changing moods and gave Hermes wide berth.  The Stoll brothers instead ran right up to the god, throwing their arms around him.  Luke saw Hermes’ face soften, the hand not holding his caduceus going to hug them back.  It made something vicious stir inside Luke, watching his father play happy families with his younger siblings.  Travis and Connor seemed perfectly at ease at his side, despite the show Hermes had just put on.

“What was that about no one under twelve going?” Travis was demanding in all his eight-year-old fury.

“Is there really a Santa Claus?” Connor asked.

Luke slid past them, only looking towards his father from the corner of his eye.  He saw Hermes’ hand move, as if reaching for him, but it fell back again to rest on Connor’s head.

“Of course there is,” Hermes answered his small son, tone light and playful.  As if his older son had not just walked by without looking at him.  Luke wasn’t sure what he had been expecting.  But all the rest of Hermes’ kids took a moment to connect with their dad before they climbed on the bus, though Chloe looked stiff as she greeted him.

After Hermes’ attempt to keep them all from Olympus, the bus ride was just the slightest bit tense.  Mr. D insisted on standing over Hermes’ shoulder while the god drove them, Chiron at the back of the bus in his wheelchair.  Hermes just rolled his eyes, blasted inane Christmas carols over the speakers, then took all of one minute to transport them all from the camp to New York.  Hermes herded them along, his seemingly playful mood not enough to wipe away the campers’ trepidation from his earlier speech.

“Stay together,” Hermes said as they crammed themselves into the elevator.  It took a couple of trips to get them all up.  First-timers were allowed in first, which included Luke and Annabeth so they could marvel at the City.  Thankfully, Hermes seemed more concerned with shepherding those left below than guiding those who went first so Luke didn’t end up crowded in an elevator with his father and could properly enjoy his first glimpse of Olympus.  Annabeth’s eyes were glowing with excitement and she held his hand, tugging at him as if that would make the elevator go faster, eyes glued to the changing number, passing the highest floor for mortals and just climbing and climbing until it reached 600.  The hundreds’ spot glowed in gold, separate from the two squares reserved for the mortal floors.

The doors opened on a scene of festivity and fun, music drifting across the sky from Olympus.  Someone had decorated the platform just outside the elevator with garlands and fairy lights, literal fairy lights.  It was snowing, but Luke had been told they didn’t need to bundle up warm and now he could see why; the snowflakes flurried down from the dark sky but swirled away from the platform and the air around them was chilled but not freezing.  Annabeth immediately let go of Luke’s hand and, with a squeak of excitement, ran straight towards the arched entranceway marking the end of the platform leading to the white stone path.

“Annabeth!” Luke shouted, tone as stern as he could make it as his heart leapt into his throat; there was a wall-less drop six hundred stories high over New York City all around the platform; they could see the city below them, and Annabeth was running right along that edge.  Not to mention Luke could easily imagine the seven-year-old crossing the stone pathway only to get lost in Olympus, distracted by lights or following ancient architecture.

Annabeth did stop at his voice, but then turned and said, “I just want to see the pilaster!” and tried to keep going.  Tried, because she ran straight into an invisible wall.  For a moment, the wall was visible, a bright green stretching not only across their path but all along the edge of the drop, encircling the space in front of the elevator.  Annabeth yelped and fell backwards onto her bottom.

“Annabeth!” Luke said, running to her and pulling her back to her feet.  “You can’t just run off!”  And then, “Did it hurt you?”

“No,” Annabeth answered, frowning.  It wasn’t her, ‘I’m hurt but I’m trying to be brave’ frown.  It was more of a pout at being thwarted.  Then, eyes narrowed, she cautiously reached a hand towards the barrier.  Luke picked her up and hauled her back to the rest of the group.

“Wow,” said Connor, who was not a first timer but still had managed to wiggle his way into the first elevator trip.  He was looking up at Luke with an impressed expression on his face.  “You sounded just like Dad.”

Luke, in that moment, had to remind himself that his little brother was just a little boy and might even have meant that as a compliment.  So he did not growl or shout or shake Connor but turned away in an annoyed huff and dumped Annabeth back on the ground.  One of her older sisters immediately claimed her hand, and Luke tried not to get annoyed by that either, though he couldn’t help but scowl at the sister’s words.

“Really, Annabeth,” she scolded, “Curiosity is a fine thing, but it must be tempered by wisdom.  Never run where you can walk.”

“Is it true that all the thrones are designed to reflect the gods?” Annabeth asked, deceptively calm and still.  She didn’t bounce on her feet when excited or interested.  No, when Annabeth went absolutely still, that was when Luke had learned to watch her the closest.  It was when her mind focused so completely on whatever had interested her that she’d forget all promises, all common sense, and dart away, often into something dangerous.  Still, if the current distraction was the thrones of the gods, then at least she wouldn’t be darting off right then.

Connor tugged at Luke’s shirt, and Luke automatically put his hands to his pockets even though he knew they were empty.  Those pockets, anyway.  As if he’d carry his drachmas in so obvious a place.

“Luke?” said Connor.  “Why do you hate Dad?”

Luke felt his face twitch, fingernails digging into his palm again as he reminded himself that this was his brother, an innocent child.  Well, as innocent as any of his siblings could be.  And that they were about to enter Olympus, that their father would at any moment be joining them again and this was so not the time or the place to share the story of his life.  So instead of growling out his every grievance, Luke instead forced a smile to his lips.  If he had only known, it was eerily similar to how Hermes had switched from stern to playful.

“Why should I hate Lord Hermes?” he asked.  “I don’t even know him.”

Connor’s eyes grew huge and he said, “But…”

But that was when the elevator doors dinged and the rest of their group came pouring out to join them on the platform.

“Stay together,” Lord Hermes’ voice called out over the general murmur of many voices talking at once.  He sounded somehow like a bored teacher and like the ‘cool’ uncle playing about being a bored teacher, though it was hard to explain how he managed that exact inflection.  “Stay away from the edge…great, one of you already tried to fall off, fantastic.”

Lord Hermes reached down and picked something up from the corner of the platform and for one moment the green barrier shone again, before fading to nothing.

“Alright, campers, follow me and I will not be happy if you make me play catch on the walk into the city.”

Lord Hermes walked ahead of them, growing bit by bit until he stood at least a head taller than the tallest of them, though he didn’t look taller.  He was just bigger than before, as if a child were playing with dolls and had thrown in one the wrong size for the rest.  Nothing stopped him from stepping onto the path, or any of the kids that followed.  Luke found himself reaching for Annabeth’s hand, just in case, but her sister already had her so he grabbed Connor’s hand instead.  Together, they followed Lord Hermes into the city.  This was the second time Luke had ever met his own father, that he could remember, and it felt somehow appropriate to be staring at the god’s back while his father, fulfilling his role as guide to the letter, still ignored his existence.

Chapter Text

Luke hated to give his father any credit, but Hermes was the god of shepherds, and he was actually doing a fairly decent job getting their group down the streets of Olympus.  His bigger size and godly glow had everyone automatically getting out of his way, allowing the entire group easy passage along the street while making it hard to lose him to the crowd.  And there was a crowd.  All the campers could not help but ogle the exotic array of festive offerings all along the main street; vendors, street performers, and attendees had gathered in such large crowds that the occasional chariots trying to make its way along what was actually a very wide street were constantly forced to a standstill.

In fact, the campers were so distracted that, had Lord Hermes simply kept his back to them and made his way up to the palace, he’d likely have arrived alone.  Not that this would have been a horrible calamity, and Luke was secretly disappointed it hadn’t played out that way.  After all, they had the older campers to help, and Chiron of course, though Mr. D had vanished almost at the moment the last of them had exited the elevator, so they could have found their own way.  And it would have meant not having to follow his father, which Luke continued to feel annoyed over.  And maybe would even have gotten Lord Hermes in trouble, or at least embarrassed him.

It didn’t play out that way, though, because the moment they had all crossed the bridge, Lord Hermes turned and walked backwards along the street, utterly confident that everyone behind him would get out of his way before he stepped on anything…or anyone.  Not that he was so big that was a real threat, but Luke saw the panicked faces of those hurrying out of the way and imagined that tripping up a god probably had instant and possibly deadly consequences.  The point was, Lord Hermes had his eyes on the group he was leading and was able to slow his own steps to their slower pace.

Even more annoying to Luke, Lord Hermes appeared to take his role as tour guide seriously.  Or, well, maybe not seriously.  He seemed to be having fun pointing out extremely random points of interest.  For the entire way up the mountain.

“To your left, you can see a nymph playing the lyre, a beautiful instrument if ever there was one,” Lord Hermes said, “hey, kid with the white hair, yes you, nothing down that alley, stay with the group.  And, oh, that tray of candy to your right is called sesamous…feel free to fill your pockets, campers, though I’m sure there will be plenty of treats after the meeting…”

Connor dragged Luke over at that to a clearly disgruntled street vendor who was mumbling something about ‘a drachma a bag’ despite his subservient bow towards the god.  The god in question smirked as if he knew exactly what the vendor was thinking, before giving him a wink and tossing him a bag.  When the vendor turned it over in his hands, golden drachmas spilled out, and his demeanor turned much more positive after that.

Luke didn’t want to eat the candy on principal but, well, free candy.  He told himself it might be the only thing his father ever gives him, and accepted a bag.  He’s pretty sure Connor and Travis took at least five bags each, but the vendor didn’t look unhappy so Luke didn’t worry about it.

The walk was long, and uphill, though they were allowed a break in a garden where some satyrs were dancing.  Dryads offered wreaths for their heads while they rested, eating sesamous and fried donuts dipped in honey as a wild music played and lights flitted about their heads.  If this were what they had come for, the trip might even have been worth it.  But after a bit, Hermes started calling for them to follow once more.

Lord Hermes’ tourist comments on the palace became even more inane, glossing over the art and architecture to point out a chipped urn or a cracked wall.

“And there is where Lady Demeter once managed to send Ares into a wall, proving once and for all that his head is harder than stone…there is the corner where Apollo failed spectacularly at flattering a fair nymph with his poetry, but worry not, I joined them and…actually, I think most of you are too young for that story…”

These stories went on until they stood at the entrance to the throne room, when Lord Hermes once again stopped them.  Stopped and, for a long moment, just stared down at them.  He’d grown himself to what might be considered his godly height, now towering far over Chiron’s head, though he didn’t come close to the full height of the ceiling.  The campers were tired; it was a long walk uphill and even in the palace, the halls were made for godly feet and so also stretched vast distances, and the throne room was at the heart.  So the children were tired, and under the god’s stare they grew quiet and still, feeding off his seriousness.

“When I lead you through these doors,” Lord Hermes announced, “You will approach the central throne where Lord Zeus resides, bow, and then go to the throne of your godly parent, should your parent have a throne and should you be claimed.  Those who do not, and my own children of course, will follow me to my throne.  You will NOT touch the thrones.  You will also bow before the god or goddess who inhabits the throne.  If your parent is not yet seated and not in the room, you will bow before the empty throne.  And when your parent approaches you will stand, and bow, before retaking your seat.  You all have your own seats, and I expect you to stay in them.  If you have an emergency, and I mean ‘I’m about to die or maybe wet my pants’ emergency, stand, bow first to the throne of the god you sit next to, then to Zeus, before you leave.  Older campers, I expect you to help the newer and keep hold of the younger.  You will all show your respect to the gods and you will sit silently through the meeting without one peep.  Do I make myself clear.”

No one answered, though many managed a nod.  There was a long moment of silence, while Lord Hermes continued to give them his stern look.  Then he relaxed slightly, smiled gently, and said, “Good.  So, before we go in…any questions?”

Timidly, one of the younger children raised their hands, and when Lord Hermes gave them an encouraging nod, asked, “Where is the bathroom?”

Luke had a sudden weird thought and wondered if gods even used bathrooms or if their godly nature took care of that kind of mundane function.  A few of the kids giggled, but most were too nervous and it was a genuine question.  Lord Hermes just smiled.

“You are in luck; we actually had mortal-sized toilets installed after a…ah…unfortunate accident involving a palace dryad and a very desperate half-blood.  Do you see the small doorway to the right of that column?  Enter and you will find relief.”

“For boys or for girls?” someone asked, and for a moment Hermes looked puzzled.

“For anybody who is of small stature,” he said in the end.  “Though there’s an array of sizes.”  Then, almost as an afterthought, “Actually, before I take you in…everyone try the restroom.  It can be a long meeting.”

After the trip to the surprisingly modern facilities, with stalls ranging from doll-sized to small god-sized and all inbetween, they again stood before the entrance to the throne room.  And Lord Hermes gave his entire instructions a second time.  Only then were they finally allowed in.

The throne room appeared as an optical illusion; for one moment it seemed average sized with a horseshoe shaped arrangement of thrones.  Except each throne had what, at a glance, seemed to be doll’s furniture arranged around it.  And then they got further into the room and the illusion was broken; it was a humongous room with gigantic thrones surrounded by regular sized chairs.  Lord Hermes again had his back to them as he confidently led them down the center of the room, approaching the central throne where the god that must be Lord Zeus was sitting. 

If Lord Hermes had appeared a bit intimidating in his godly form when he had turned serious, he had nothing on Lord Zeus.  The god radiated power; it flickered over him in static bursts and filled the entire room, making the hairs on Luke’s arms stand up on end.  Lord Zeus surveyed them all, a monarch on his throne, and offered no smile at all.  Lord Hermes came directly before him and bowed deep.  The children reluctantly followed and copied him, Luke included, suddenly very glad they had been told what they were expected to do because this god did not look like the kind to forgive ignorance.  The air in the room felt heavy and charged.

“Father,” he said, his voice reverential.  “I have brought the half-bloods from the camp.”

“You took your time about it,” Lord Zeus answered, and even his voice was regal and powerful, rolling like thunder about the room.

Luke suddenly wondered how Lord Zeus would have reacted if Hermes had actually followed through in his attempt to take them all somewhere else.  From the look of him now, he would not have been pleased at all.  But when Hermes answered, he didn’t sound worried, or even particularly apologetic.

“I thought to give them a tour of the City,” he explained lightly.  “I forgot about their shorter legs.”

“Hmm,” was all Lord Zeus had to say to that, and then Lord Hermes was shooing them all along to their seats.  Luke had been reluctant to approach Lord Zeus, but he felt equally reluctant to approach his father’s throne.  But it wasn’t like he had much choice, unless he intended to hide out in the restrooms for the entire meeting.  He took his time instead, watching to make sure Annabeth was successfully brought to her mother.  Annabeth’s siblings seemed capable, at least.  One led her by the hand and helped her bow to her mother before dragging her to a seat near their mother’s throne.

Luke finally turned away to where most of Cabin 11 was already carefully bowing to Lord Hermes as he’d told them to.  It felt annoyingly ostentatious and the fact that Lord Hermes had demanded this show of respect grated.  But Luke wasn’t ready to rebel over something so pointless so he did his part.  Maybe his bow was more a nod of the head than something reverential, but his father didn’t call him on it, smiling the same gentle smile he’d offered all of them, and Luke went to try and find a chair as far from his father as he could get.

“Luke!” Connor whisper shouted, waving from his seat next to Travis, right next to Lord Hermes, “Here’s your spot!”

All the children of Hermes, in fact, had seats right up by the throne.  They were a different color from the others, with fancier cushions.  Maybe Lord Hermes felt he had to do something to show his children were special versus the rest of the cabin, but Luke hated it.  It didn’t make him feel special.  It probably just made the unclaimed feel worse, showing how they were second-hand campers.  And Luke didn’t want to be a part of that.  Again, it was not the time to fight, so he took his seat.

“Everyone seated?” Lord Hermes asked, looking down at them, still smiling benevolently.  “Comfy?  Good.”  He snapped his fingers.  And immediately each chair reached about and grabbed the child sitting in it.  At least, that was what it felt like.  Luke immediately tried to stand with a shout, but the chair didn’t so much as scoot and whatever was holding him held him firmly in his seat.  He looked down.  There were ropes of green light crisscrossing over his shoulders to his hips with a third between his legs meeting the other two in the middle.  It was like the five-point harnesses put into toddler car seats.  Not uncomfortable but inescapable.

Cries of surprise and outrage arose among the Cabin 11 campers, the loudest offenders being Travis and Connor, who clearly had no fear of Lord Hermes.  Lord Hermes snapped his fingers again and the noise instantly ceased.  Not that everyone stopped trying to make noise but suddenly nothing was coming out.

“That’s better,” Lord Hermes said, still smiling.  “I did tell you that you will have to sit still and be quiet for the meeting, but I know how difficult that can be for small children so I thought I’d…help you out.  If you need to say something to me, tap your medallion three times and I will unmute you.”

Medallion?  Luke looked down and saw he was indeed now wearing a medallion around his neck.  It glowed green, like the ropes.  He instinctively tried removing it, seeing as there was nothing actually restraining his arms, but the necklace part tightened the moment he tried to fit it over his head and it wouldn’t come off.  He let it go and it fell to its old length again.  He growled, then used its mute feature to safely say exactly what he thought of Hermes and his ridiculous restraints.  Around him, he could see kids’ mouths moving and suspected they were doing the same.

“Really, Hermes?” another god asked.  He sounded disapproving.  Luke liked him already.  “You tied your kids up?”

“Restrained,” Hermes corrected, leaning back in his throne.  It was odd to observe the conversation.  While the gods clearly were not in their natural, full on godly forms, or all the non-gods in the room would be toast, they were in their full size to fit their thrones and towered over everyone.  They also radiated power, though Luke had to admit that his father’s power was much more comfortable than Zeus’s had been; less dangerous and warmer.  The angle of looking up at them was disorientating.

The standing deity, who absolutely towered over the sitting half-bloods, put his hands on his hips and frowned in disapproval.

“Hermes…you cannot restrain the half-bloods.”

“It seems that I can,” Hermes answered, tone mild as he lounged back.  “Or do you see Father complaining?”

The tall god pursed his lips, as if annoyed.  Hermes sighed, sounding suddenly exhausted.

“’Pollo, how many kids do you have, like, right now?” Hermes asked.  “Four?  Five?  Less than ten, I imagine, and probably mostly over the age of twelve, am I right?”

“I currently have eight children,” the god, Apollo if Luke had interpreted how Hermes had called him correctly.  It probably was Apollo; young, buff teen matched how Chloe had described him, and his godly power felt hot.

“Uh-huh,” Hermes agreed, “And how many of those eight are here, tonight?”

“Three,” Apollo admitted, still frowning.  “And you will notice none of them are tied up or…did you gag them?!”

“There’s an idea,” said another god who was already on his throne, Ares based off the kids seated next to him.  “You hear that?  You two behave or I’ll tie you up and gag you.”

The Ares kids didn’t look too worried to Luke, just rolled their eyes.

“If you all properly instilled a sense of discipline into your children, there would be no need for such threats,” a goddess insisted, voice annoyingly superior.  It was Athena; Luke could just about see Annabeth swinging her legs in her seat, staring up in awe at the goddess.

“I have five of my own here tonight,” Hermes said, “And another sixteen whose loving parents have chosen not to take them out of my hands.  Twenty-one fragile children with the attention spans of goldfish and the impulse control of a drunken satyr.  It’s like herding cats.  I figured it was either restrain them from the start or half of them would be going home with Uncle Hades.”

Eyes glanced towards an empty stone seat, then away again.

“You could try talking to them,” another goddess suggested, coming to stand next to Apollo.  She looked young, maybe as young as Luke, but exaggerated in her larger size.  She had similar facial features to Apollo and a bow strapped to her back and if Luke had to guess, she was probably Artemis.  It was strange seeing so many gods and goddesses together; he knew they were real, of course, but it still felt a bit like stepping into a storybook, or a time machine.

“You’re used to your disciplined little soldiers,” Hermes objected.  “Most kids don’t just step in line when ordered.”

Now both twins were frowning at him.  Hermes shifted in his throne, and when Luke glanced up at him he was leaning forward to put his head on his hand, elbow propped at a knee as he sighed tiredly.

“Look,” he said, “I’ve been shifting packages nonstop for a week now, because of course our all important meeting comes at my absolute busiest time of year.  I’m tired, I’m underfed in all non-delivery related domains, and someone strongarmed me into playing tour guide…”

“I didn’t strongarm you!” Apollo objected, “All I said was I intended to…”

“Yes, we know what you intended,” Hermes interrupted, which was annoying because Luke found himself oddly invested in their argument and kind of wanted to know what they had missed out on by having his father instead of Apollo.  “The point is, I am exhausted, and I can’t pay attention to Father and the council and babysit, so…restraints.”

“Come on,” Artemis said, tugging at her brother’s elbow while giving Hermes a look of pure disgust.  “The council is about to start.  We can teach Hermes the proper ways of childcare later.”

“But…” Apollo tried to say, clearly still appalled at how a bunch of children were literally tied down to their chairs and muted.  A roll of thunder interrupted whatever he’d been about to say.  Immediately, all those still standing scurried for their thrones or, if they had none, seats.  There were many gods about who didn’t have an actual throne, Luke noticed.  None of them had half-bloods sitting next to them.  Neither, for that matter, did Zeus himself, or Poseidon, or Hera.

Everyone gave Zeus their complete attention, even Hermes pulling himself out of his slump to sit up properly.  Zeus sat regally in his throne, crackling with power, his thunderbolt in hand like living lightning.  His expression was stern, a slight downturn to his lips, his eyes piercing as they swept the room.

“Now begins the Council of the Winter Solstice,” he announced, voice booming.  “My family, I ask for your news on the year.”  Then he sat back and waited.  He called no names, but the gods and goddesses clearly already knew what to do, and Hera immediately started to speak.

It should have been riveting, hearing how a goddess spent her year.  To Luke’s extreme annoyance, his father had not been lying about the Council Meeting being boring.  Hera started off with a long flowery speech praising her husband, while Zeus did not soften to the flattery one iota but just waited it out.  This was followed by talking about her peacocks.  At length.  After Hera went Poseidon, who grumbled about pollution and overfishing then spent a solid twenty minutes bragging about his son Triton.

It was in the middle of Demeter’s speech on the merits of cereal, her hope for the future in vertical gardening (something she failed to actually explain beyond how awesome it was), and her lament over her daughter, that Luke’s bored, wandering gaze caught sight of another bored child.  Or not bored.  That wasn’t how Annabeth acted when bored.  It was how she acted when she had zoned in on something that interested her greatly.

Annabeth had slipped away from her seat, unnoticed by any of her siblings or her mother, and was quietly making her way up towards Hera.  No, Luke amended.  Annabeth was not interested in the goddess.  She was making her way towards Hera’s throne.  The throne that Hermes had warned everyone to not touch.

Luke squirmed, his first instinct to run over to her, but of course he couldn’t.  He couldn’t shout for her either, not that he would considering that would just get her noticed.  No one had noticed her yet, that he could tell.  All the gods and goddesses either looked bored or were feigning deep interest in Demeter’s report.  Hermes was one of the latter.

Luke tried to escape again, willing at the ropes like he would a lock, even knowing it was probably useless.  All that happened was Hermes suddenly shifted and glanced down at him, frowning.  Luke glared up at him, then looked again towards Annabeth.  She was almost to the throne, reaching out a hand.  Hera had not noticed her, too far beneath her notice.

Zeus had.

Feeling his heart accelerate, Luke tore at the restraints, willing, reaching, as if he could stop this.  Surely, surely Lord Zeus would see a curious seven-year-old child and…and…

Zeus frowned and, without a word, with the same annoyance a mortal might swat at a fly, he sent a blast of lightning at the child.

It happened extremely fast and extremely slowly at the same time.  Fast, because there was no time.  Zeus saw her, and he zapped her.  Slow, because Luke’s heart was racing and so was his brain and a million thoughts passed through his head inbetween seeing what was about to unfold, and then having it actually happen.

An impossibly bright lightning bolt whited out his vision, no thunder but a sizzling, ripping noise as the lightning tore through the air.  There was a rush of pressure and wind as it happened.  Luke's ears popped.  And then, Luke was blinking away spots from his eyes, frozen to his seat, his heart refusing to accept what his eyes could see.  Where Annabeth had been standing, only a moment before, there was nothing.  Nothing at all.  She was gone.

Chapter Text

Luke just stared at the empty spot on the floor and she was just gone.  Not even a mark to show a girl had been there.  Not even a pile of ashes.  Not even…wait.

The floor where she had been was empty.  The floor next to where she had been was full.  It wasn’t Annabeth.  Annabeth was not that tall, and Annabeth had not been wearing a red cloak.  There was a man curled on the floor, lying utterly still.  No…not a man, for all he was man sized when a moment before…Luke glanced at his father’s throne.  The throne was empty.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Muttered the god where he still lay curled up on the floor, only audible because the rest of the room had gone utterly silent.  Not from shock or horror, as one might expect; when Luke glanced around he saw a lot of startled faces but only some that looked particularly horrified that Lord Zeus had just smote a small child.

The voice of said small child was suddenly heard throughout the throne room in a sobbing cry of distress.  It cut off abruptly for no apparent reason, but Luke had already heard.  Annabeth was…alive?  Alive enough to cry.  Slowly, carefully, Lord Hermes pulled himself up.  Beneath him, curled in a ball on the floor and now crying silently, was Annabeth.  Hermes looked down at her, frowned, then, very slowly, started to pull himself to his feet.  He looked unhurt, too, at a glance, though he moved as if in pain.  No one ran over to help him.  Luke glanced at Zeus.  The god was frowning, but no more than he had been before.

“Really, Hermes,” said Lord Zeus, sighing the sigh of a father exasperated with his child’s antics.

“Sorry, Father,” Hermes said as he stood.  He grew as he stood until he was godly height again, and in his bigger form Luke noticed that there was a golden substance trickling from his ear.  “I saw the child and went to chastise her for her daring.  I should have realized you already had it in hand.”

“I applaud your diligence, my son, but I cannot say much for your attention to your surroundings,” Zeus said, actually sounding amused now.  “A warrior, you are not.  Still, I suppose you found yourself duly punished for your inattention?”

“I suppose I wasn’t fast enough,” Hermes agreed, putting a hand to his bleeding ear.  Or would it be ichoring ear?

“Not faster than your father, eh,” Zeus said, openly smiling.  In fact, to Luke’s growing anger, a good half of the gods were laughing, and those that weren’t mostly smiled, as if this had all been one giant joke.  Hermes reached down and scooped Annabeth up in his hand, and for a horrible moment, especially after Hermes’ talk of going to ‘chastise her’, Luke expected some new horror.  For him to dump her in front of Zeus so he could have a second go at smiting her.  For him to crush her himself.  She looked like a baby in his arms, as big as he’d become.  It would be easy for him to do.

He staggered, gave Athena an assessing look, then hobbled over to Apollo and dumped Annabeth on his lap. 

“Still think restraints a bad idea, brother?” he asked.  Apollo just stared at him with wide eyes.  Annabeth, Luke noticed, was now wearing one of the same medallions all of Cabin 11 had forced on them.  No wonder she was quiet.

“Now that that has been dealt with,” Zeus’s voice boomed, “Continue, my dear.”

“As I was saying,” Demeter said, actually sounding a bit offended to have been interrupted, “I’ve been working with Apollo and Hephaestus to work out the energy difficulties in growing grain in a tower…”

And she droned on.  Luke no longer listened.  Hermes half fell onto his throne, which in itself looked uncomfortable considering it was made of stone, though it did have a cushion on the seat.  The two snakes from his caduceus, who up to this point had been pretending to be nothing but decoration, crawled down his staff to slither about his shoulders.

Luke felt strange, like he’d been filled with ice, his heart still hammering even as the danger seemed to pass.  He’d complained long and often about how little the gods had for their children.  He thought he understood, that he knew.  And in a way, he’d just been proved right.

Zeus would have killed Annabeth without a regret, without a care.  He cared so very little about it, that he hadn’t even seemed to care that he’d missed.  Which was good, because if he cared, he’d have made sure of things.  Annabeth would be dead.

She wasn’t dead.  He could see her.  She was in Apollo’s lap, and the god was very clearly doing his best to help her.  Her face was still wet and shiny from crying, but Apollo had given her some kind of candy and was cooing softly over her, too soft for Luke to hear over his still racing heart, and Annabeth’s expression was more bewildered than consoled but she had stopped crying.  She was fine.  She was with a god who protected children.  The fun god, according to Chloe.

She was fine.  She was more fine than Hermes.

It took a long time for Luke’s brain to work backwards and figure out what he’d just seen because everything had been too fast, too sudden, too horrible.  One moment, Hermes had been in his throne, Annabeth across the room and in the direct path of a lightning bolt.  In the next Hermes had moved fast enough to shield Annabeth.  Hermes had gone small as he flew because…because why?  From a speed perspective it made no sense; he’d have further to go. 

Luke imagined it, a giant god covering a girl so tiny she was like a baby to him.  He imagined him flying between her and a lightning bolt.  And…either he swept her to the side or the bolt itself blasted them both to the side because they moved from where Annabeth had been.  In his giant body he might well have crushed her.  He was…he was protecting her.  That was the only thing that made sense.  Hermes saw, maybe Luke’s struggle had alerted him, maybe he looked up in time, but he saw what was about to happen, and he came between Annabeth and Zeus in the way that would most fully protect the child.  Hermes could say he hadn’t noticed Zeus all he wanted, that he himself meant to chastise Annabeth, but if that were true then his actions made no sense.  He would have no reason to move so fast.  No reason to go small when he did.  No reason to situate himself as he did, curled around her.

Maybe Zeus knew the truth and didn’t care.  Maybe Zeus was just very willing to believe Hermes that inept.  People saw what they wanted to see, sometimes, and Zeus clearly liked the narrative that his son had accidentally intercepted his lightning bolt.  But Annabeth was safe, and it was because of Luke’s father.  The father who wasn’t supposed to care.

Hermes was sitting back in his throne, his stance rigid and stiff, hands clutched into fists.  His snakes, by contrast, were coiling and uncoiling, wrapping themselves about him.  Luke couldn’t hear them, if they were talking at all, but somehow, for being reptiles, they radiated concern.  Hermes’ siblings kept glancing at him, though their expressions varied between concern and mild amusement.  Athena pointedly did not look at him or Annabeth, her stony expression kept firmly fixed on Demeter.

The meeting went on.

Athena talked about the achievements of some of her children and her success in some research project or other.  She still did not look at Annabeth.  Ares talked about how America was doing in various worldwide conflicts, and the trouble Ares had run into with different local war deities.  Aphrodite was thrilled to share about a new reality show.  Hephaestus’s report was short and to the point and basically went, ‘things continue as they did the year before’.  Mr. D grumbled about his punishment.

“It is the consequences of your own actions,” Zeus responded, frowning, playing with his bolt and Dionysus shrunk down in his throne, though his expression was more petulant than fearful as he muttered, “Sure, starve the wine god.  You’re just lucky that teenagers are half insane or I’d probably have faded by now.”

When it was Hermes’ turn, he sounded oddly normal.  Relaxed even.  Not as if he were in pain, though his hands were still clenched into fists and his snakes had not left him.  There was still a line of gold dripped down from his ear, staining his red cloak.  His report was just as boring as any of the others, all about Hermes Express’s numbers for the year, a list of promising athletes, and then a dry recounting of a few heists he’d had a hand in.  Almost as an afterthought he added, “And I would like to again ask if an internal extension of Cabin 11 could not be allowed, seeing as all of your children have had their home within its walls?”

“We’ve already discussed this, Hermes,” Lord Zeus said with a frown, his bolt dribbling lightning down his robe.  It might have just been a trick of the light, but Luke was almost certain he saw his father flinch.  “Your cabin cannot surpass that of the other gods.”

“Which is why I only wanted internal…”

Lightning hit sizzled across the room and Luke flinched, shutting his eyes, though he could still see it for a long time after, burned across his vision.  It didn’t hit anyone this time, as far as Luke could tell; it had left a singed mark at the foot of Hermes’ throne.  The other bolt hadn’t left any mark like that.  Probably because it had gone through a person first.  If Hermes had flinched, he was over it by the time Luke was blinking away the light, because Hermes just sighed, as if tired.

“Yes, father,” was all he said.  “I was only concerned for the wellbeing of our children.”

“Our?” Zeus hissed, eyes narrowing, and Hermes lost some of his tired demeanor, sitting rigid once more.

“Ours except for the big three, of course,” Hermes was quick to say.

Luke thought about Thalia, and glared at his own lap because glaring at Zeus right then felt extremely unwise.

The meeting went on.  After everyone had reported, Zeus going last and droning on the longest about storm systems and about godly statistics, Luke hoped the council would finally be over.  It wasn’t.  Next the floor was open for the lesser gods to speak.  Few did, thankfully, after the first few who petitioned for some help were glared at and turned down.  Clearly Zeus was not in the mood to grant favors, though he did help a few who asked.

Finally, finally the council drew to a close.  Hermes’ snakes returned to his staff.  Gods and goddesses stood.

“Bow to Lord Zeus before we leave,” Hermes softly hissed at the campers surrounding him, and he snapped his fingers.  The restraints were gone, though not the medallions, and Hermes led them one last time to bow before Zeus’s throne.  Hermes wasn’t staggering anymore.  Probably, lightning bolts didn’t really hurt a god like him.  It would have killed Annabeth, but Hermes seemed to have shaken it off.

Luke still didn’t know what to feel.  His father, the father he hated, the father who was never there for him, the father who didn’t care…had saved Annabeth.

He needed to see Annabeth.

Lord Hermes gathered his cabin around him just outside the throne room and waited, looking regal and godly as he leaned on his staff.  Luke could still see dark smudges under his eyes, though.  Ichor staining his ear.  It was like two images juxtaposed over each other; the great god, regal and dangerous and Other, and the common man, kind and fatherly and tired.  Luke could see both and it disconcerted him.  This wasn’t how meeting his father was supposed to go.  His father wasn’t supposed to have humanity beneath his godly cloak.

They waited until other gods came slowly trickling out and more and more half-bloods returned to their fold.  A few ran for the restroom the moment they passed the doors.  Some of the gods and goddesses dropped off their offspring like parents stopping by a daycare.  Athena approached Hermes, her children minus Annabeth following behind like very stressed ducklings.

“I don’t need you to rescue my children from the consequences of their own actions,” she told Hermes coldly.

“You’re welcome,” Hermes answered lightly.  She glowered at him.

“I’m not rescuing you from the consequences of your own actions either,” she said.  “You deserved that bolt.”  And she turned and glided away.  Her children didn’t follow this time, standing in a lost, miserable huddle with the others.  Luke half wanted to go over to them.  To comfort them, maybe.  Or to shout at them, to shake them, to demand how they could have let Annabeth slip away like that.  In the end he did neither.

“I told you Father was in a mood,” Mr. D said as he walked by with his wife and children.  They all stayed together as they went on to wherever the party was supposed to be.

Apollo showed up soon after.  He was still carrying Annabeth, but he also seemed acutely aware of his own children.  He also approached Hermes.

“The little one is fine,” were his first words.

“I never aske…” Hermes started to answer only for his brother to stuff a square of ambrosia into his mouth, so his words trailed off into, “mmph”.

“Thank you for protecting the child where I could not,” Apollo said while his brother by force had to chew and swallow to clear his tongue.  Apollo placed the hand not still holding Annabeth on Hermes’ shoulder, and for a moment the two of them glowed.  Hermes staggered slightly into his brother, and Apollo reacted by throwing his arm around his brother in a half hug.

“What are you…stop that,” Hermes grumbled, though he didn’t actually pull himself free.

Hermes looked much better.  Luke had been telling himself over and over that Hermes wasn’t really that hurt, that he was fine, that he could walk off a lightning bolt.  But the difference between before and after Apollo had done whatever he’d done, healing magic or whatever, was staggering.  Hermes face went from a chalky white to a more natural color, and lines of pain he’d mostly managed to hide became obvious as they smoothed away, his entire body relaxing.  He still had shadows under his eyes but not as starkly.  The ichor vanished too, except from where it had already stained his clothing.  Apparently magic healing didn’t extend to dry cleaning.

“If you would stop playing the part of father’s lightning rod, he wouldn’t have to,” a new voice said.  Artemis had joined them.  Her tone was more teasing than mocking and Hermes rolled his eyes.

“If everyone would just restrain their brats, I wouldn’t have to,” he said.

“I still don’t like how you restrained them,” Apollo said, but soon added, “But I can see now it was not the cruelty it first appeared.”

“It totally was,” Hermes objected conversely, then, “Are you letting go any time soon?”

“Zeus’s lightning bolt, almost smote Athena’s child, Hermes’s a hero.”

“I think that’s a no,” Artemis put in helpfully.  Hermes grumbled and finally startled struggling.

“Wrestling again, brothers?” Ares asked as he passed by. “I thought Apollo already won the gold.”

“I invented wrestling,” Hermes objected, then did something probably underhanded that got himself free.

Annabeth was finally, finally settled on the ground.  Her siblings immediately tried to surround her, but Luke got there faster, hugging her tight.  She squirmed in his arms but didn’t say anything.  Or if she did, he didn’t hear her.

“Oh, right,” Hermes said, and snapped his fingers again.  Immediately, a small cacophony of voices started up.

“Let go, let go, let go!” Annabeth was shouting in his ear.

“Never, ever, ever get yourself smote again,” Luke ordered, now that he could.

The next part of Solstice was the party.  It was more fun than Hermes had made it sound back in the camp.  There were sweets, and there was wild music, and dancing.  The gods who attended with the half-bloods all made themselves small again to better fit in.  Luke couldn’t bring himself to fully enjoy it.  Too wound up from the Council Meeting.

Too confused over conflicting emotions.  He was still angry, so very angry, and hurting.  He was shaken at almost losing Annabeth.  And he was…grateful.  So very grateful that Hermes had thrown himself between her and death.  And so very, very confused.

In the end, he did choose to approach his father, rather than to avoid him.  But he didn’t start shouting or raging either, like he’d imagined he might.

“Lord Hermes?” he started with, looking up at him, his serious tone at odds with the festive party.  His father, who had been indulgently wandering about, handing out sweets to already over-sugared children with an easy grin, turned and gave Luke his full attention.  Luke half expected him to say something inane like ‘call me dad’, as if they should just forget the past and be one happy family.  He didn’t.

“Yes, Luke?” he answered.  Not ‘son’.  Luke wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or disappointed.  His instinct was disappointed.  His father always disappointed him, after all.  It was natural to feel that.

“Thank you for saving Annabeth,” Luke said.

Hermes’ expression was piercing, not kind or stern, but intense.  As if he were giving the whole of his attention over to Luke.  And the whole attention of a god, especially one with such divided realms as Hermes ruled, was no small thing.  Luke could feel his eyes on him like the warm blast of a furnace.  Luke wondered if Hermes would wave it off, repeat the lie about trying to chastise her, or saying it was nothing.  As if saving Annabeth were nothing.  He didn’t.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and unlike when he’d spoken to Athena, he sounded like he meant it, and not as a reflexive response to a thank you, either.  Like he really meant it.  For a moment neither of them spoke, but nor did Hermes turn away, his attention still on his son, a shared silence rather than an awkward one.

“Did it hurt?” Luke blurted out into the silence.

“Did what hurt?” Hermes asked, tone cautious.  It was hard to get a read on what he was really feeling.  Was he annoyed with the questions?  Pleased to talk to Luke?  Luke couldn’t tell.  And he really wanted to say, “leaving me.”  Or “leaving mom” or something like that, to get his father to confess.  Confess to what, Luke didn’t know.  Either that Hermes didn’t really care about Luke.  Or that he did.  Luke chickened out, in the end.

“The lightning…did it hurt?”

“Yes,” Hermes answered simply.

“But you’re a god,” Luke said.  “Do gods feel things the same?”  And Luke himself couldn’t have said if he meant pain or…or other kinds of feelings.

“Luke…” Hermes said slowly, “lightning hurts.  I can take more abuse than a mortal but…it still hurts.  Every time.”

“Your own father hurt you,” Luke pointed out.  “And he didn’t care.”

He wasn’t sure what his point was.  Maybe he just wanted to see a real reaction from his father.  Something to prove he had feelings that could be hurt.  It was cruel and unfair, but… Hermes had abandoned him.  Luke had run away as a nine-year-old child, and lived on the streets.  Because his mother, a woman Hermes supposedly must have liked at least a bit for Luke to exist, was insane.  And Hermes never came.  Being cruel felt…fair.

Hermes stared down at Luke as if Luke were an enigma.  There was depth to Hermes’ eyes, maybe pain, maybe something else.

“I am not my father,” Hermes finally answered, as if he could hear every unsaid accusation.  He reached down and placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder.  It felt heavy and warm.  Hermes’ eyes bored into him.  “I am not my father,” he repeated.

Around them, wild music raved and people danced and feasted and rejoiced as the longest night moved ever closer to the dawn.