Chapter Text
The unanticipated grip of helplessness gnawed at Hermes, simmering beneath his mask of charm. Losing his command over Odysseus, over this mortal who dared slip beyond his reach, sent a disquiet through him he’d rarely known. Mortals were meant to be predictable, to follow lines drawn by gods, yet here was Odysseus—clever, unyielding, audacious—pushing against every carefully woven thread Hermes tried to spin around him. It was an irony as sharp as it was alluring. Hermes, who had professed to savor challenges, now found himself entrapped by one that sank deeper than he’d bargained. And still, he couldn’t bear to let Odysseus go. Watching him retreat into the tangled wilds of the island, Hermes followed, silent, his form obscured by the swaying canopy and the dense underbrush, unseen yet ever-present, his gaze slipping from shadow to shadow.
Odysseus, stalking through the jungle with a fierce determination, could almost sense the weight of that gaze, haunting his steps with every leaf rustle and every whisper of wind. His grip tightened around his sword as he hacked through vines that dared to block his path. "I know you're there, Hermes. Leave.. me.. be.” His words fell in short, seething breaths as he plowed forward, frustration churning. Yet the woods met him only with silence, a maddening quiet that seemed to mock his demand.
More than a few paces in, Odysseus’ shoulders tensed, his instincts humming with the sensation that Hermes still lingered just out of sight. Suddenly, a dry branch cracked behind him, followed by the brush of leaves. His pulse spiked, and he whirled toward the sound, jaw set and eyes blazing. "I’ve warned you, Hermes.” he bit out, voice lowered, resonating with the resolve that this was no jest. “I am not here to play your games.”
But his words were met by something else entirely. From the shadows, a soft, guttural hiss echoed—a foreboding sound that sent a shiver of warning down his spine. Then, without warning, the underbrush burst apart as a massive serpent lunged forth, its scales gleaming, body coiling and uncoiling with lethal precision. Odysseus had only a heartbeat to react, sidestepping the creature's fanged strike by a hair. He swung his blade in response, its edge scraping across the serpent’s unyielding armor, barely leaving a mark.
His muscles tensed, adrenaline surging through him, but his mind raced with a new, unsettling thought: had Hermes orchestrated this? Would he truly endanger him? It made no sense, yet distrust ran deep, rooted by years of navigating the whims and deceits of gods. Odysseus had never been a stranger to peril, but this encounter felt infused with something darker, as though the island itself pulsed with the chaos of divine meddling. Was this a twisted test? A display of Hermes' hold over him, reminding him that, on this island, no corner was beyond the god’s reach?
Odysseus gritted his teeth, lunging forward as the serpent coiled again, aiming a strike for its eyes, only for the creature to weave away with sinuous grace. His mind whirled between rage and wariness, keenly aware that any error could spell his doom. The air grew thick, heavy with tension, as the serpent loomed, its eyes dark and unfeeling, its forked tongue flicking in and out. The python's mere presence seemed unnatural, as though conjured by powers beyond mortal understanding, a reminder of his vulnerability to forces he couldn't fully comprehend or anticipate.
But even as he sidestepped the python’s relentless assault, his frustration with Hermes burned hotter the more he allowed the thought to linger in his head. The god’s unseen hand had begun to feel like a leash, yanking him in directions he hadn't chosen, stirring a resentment that only fueled his defiance to allow him in any closer. With a final, measured breath, Odysseus refocused, his stance solidifying as he prepared to face the creature head-on, determined to cut through this barrier—whether the beast before him, or the influence of the god whose intentions remained as elusive as smoke.
Odysseus lunged forward again, muscles burning with the effort, his blade slicing through the air with practiced precision. But the python, agile and unrelenting, coiled away from his strikes with a speed that belied its massive form. Each evasion seemed to mock his struggle, its tongue flicking out in brief, venomous taunts. The warrior’s chest heaved, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. Sweat coursed down his temples, dripping from his jaw, a stark testament to his diminishing stamina. Yet he refused to yield. Blow after blow, swing after swing, his focus remained locked on the serpent’s gleaming eyes, desperation driving him forward even as exhaustion clawed at his resolve.
High above, perched on a broad limb cloaked in shadow, Hermes appeared as if from nowhere, his form bathed in the soft, dappled light that filtered through the canopy. He hadn’t been there moments before, but now he sat with casual ease, his silver shaded eyes narrowed as he observed the ongoing battle. Odysseus was relentless, his movements forceful but losing their precision. It was as though he were a storm unraveling, fury giving way to fatigue. Hermes leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing in mild irritation as he took in the scene. “Foolish mortal..” he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with both exasperation and begrudging admiration.
Odysseus swung again, narrowly missing the serpent’s head as it darted to the side, and Hermes couldn’t suppress the roll of his eyes. The man was nothing if not obstinate. "You can’t win this alone," Hermes called down, his voice lilting but edged with warning. The response was immediate—Odysseus didn’t even look up. “I told you to leave me be!” he snapped, his voice strained with the effort of holding his ground. His strikes were growing slower, his footwork less steady, and Hermes could see it as clearly as the sweat glistening on his forehead: the mortal was nearing his limit.
Still, Hermes remained where he was, arms folded as he surveyed the scene below. He tapped his fingers against his forearm in thought, recalling the stubborn defiance that had led Odysseus to reject his earlier offers of help. The god couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation at being rebuffed. He had never faced such resistance before. Most mortals begged for his favor, yet this one—this man who fascinated him beyond understanding—persisted in keeping him at arm’s length. Even now, when it was painfully clear that he was faltering, Odysseus refused to relent.
“Do you even know what you’re fighting against?” Hermes called again, his voice carrying an edge of impatience now. “This creature is beyond you, Odysseus. You can’t outlast it alone.” But the man below didn’t answer. He was too focused on the serpent, his every movement a testament to his stubborn pride, even as the python began to press its advantage. The beast struck with brutal speed, forcing Odysseus back. His footing faltered, and for a moment, it seemed the warrior might lose his balance entirely.
Hermes sighed, dragging a hand through his tousled hair. “Mortals.” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. His tone was equal parts frustration and reluctant fondness. Then, louder, “You’re going to get yourself killed. Let me help you!”
The words finally seemed to cut through. Odysseus staggered, his sword lowered for just a moment as he turned a glare toward the trees. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, his face flushed from exertion. “I don’t need your help.” he growled, but the fire in his voice was dimmed by the sheer effort it took to speak.
And then, the python struck again, faster this time. Its massive form lunged toward him, jaws gaping wide, and Odysseus barely managed to throw himself to the side. He hit the ground hard, his sword skidding from his grasp as he landed. Pain flared through his shoulder, but it was the sight of the serpent coiling for another attack that froze his blood. For the first time, he felt the creeping tendrils of doubt. He couldn’t fight this thing—not like this.
“Hermes!” The name tore from his throat, raw and desperate, as he scrambled to his knees. “I—” He hesitated, pride warring with fear, but the sight of the serpent bearing down on him shattered whatever resistance he had left. “I was wrong, I can’t— I need your hel-help! Please.” His voice cracked, and the admission tasted bitter on his tongue, but it was the truth.
Hermes didn’t need to hear more. In an instant, he was there, a blur of gold and white as he descended from the trees. The python lunged, its massive jaws snapping toward Odysseus, but before it could reach him, Hermes moved. His staff, shimmering with divine energy, arced through the air with deadly precision. The serpent let out an earsplitting shriek as the blow connected, its body convulsing violently before collapsing into the undergrowth. The air grew still, the oppressive weight of the battle lifting as the beast’s form began to disintegrate, its remains scattering like ash in the wind.
Odysseus knelt on the ground, his breath ragged, his body trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline. He looked up at Hermes, who stood over him, his expression unreadable. “I wouldn’t have let it kill you, you know.” the god said, his voice soft but firm. “Even if you hadn’t called for me. I made you a promise, Odysseus. And promises aren't taken lightly with me.”
Odysseus nodded faintly, his exhaustion too great to form a proper response. He stood up, likely too fast and suddenly leaned back unexpectedly, his body swaying unsteadily, and before he could stop himself, he began to fall. But he didn’t hit the ground. Strong arms caught him, pulling him close against a chest that was warmer than it had any right to be. Hermes held him there, his grip firm yet gentle. “I’ve got you..” the god murmured, his voice low and soothing.
Odysseus groaned softly, still trembling as he sagged against Hermes’ chest. His body felt leaden, and his breaths came out shallow and uneven. The god adjusted his hold, supporting him with ease as if Odysseus weighed no more than a feather. Silence hung between them for a moment, the quiet hum of the forest and the distant rustle of leaves filling the void left by the serpent’s demise. Finally, Odysseus, his voice hoarse and low, broke the stillness.
“I owe you an apology..” he rasped, his tone laced with weariness and something softer—vulnerability. His head remained bowed, his eyes fixed on the ground, as if the admission cost him more than any wound the battle had inflicted. “I pushed you away. I spoke out of fear, and perhaps... mistrust. The gods who’ve meddled in my life—” He paused, his throat tightening as memories of divine interventions, both cruel and suffocating, flickered through his mind. “They never asked. They took liberties, made choices for me, and I— I grew to resent them.”
Hermes said nothing, his expression calm but watchful as Odysseus struggled to articulate the tangle of emotions knotted within him. “When I was trapped with Calypso..” Odysseus continued, his voice thick with bitterness. “..her affections were like chains. She smothered me with her love, made me feel as though I had no escape. It twisted something in me, Hermes. It's made me doubt everything, including you. I...” He faltered, his fingers tightening briefly against Hermes’ tunic. “I may have exaggerated my anger with you, and for that, I am sorry.”
The god’s brow furrowed, and his grip on Odysseus subtly shifted, more steadying than restraining. “Odysseus,” Hermes began, his voice quieter now, stripped of its usual mirth. “you’ve had every reason to feel what you feel. If the roles were reversed, I might have grown distrustful too.” He tilted his head with a careful finger, his gaze softening. “But I am not Calypso, nor any other god who’s toyed with you. I don’t interfere unless you wish it. That’s the difference. I came to help, to stay by you because I care—because I choose too. Not because I see you as a toy in some divine game.”
Odysseus finally looked up, meeting Hermes’ soft eyes with his own weary but resolute gaze. “I see that now..” he said quietly. “You’ve proven it, time and again. Unlike the others, you... you've respected my choices. Even though sometimes reluctant, you do. And for that, I am grateful.” He hesitated, the faintest trace of a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “Though I won’t deny, I still need some distance. After everything, it’s... been incredibly hard to allow someone in.”
Hermes nodded, a flicker of understanding passing over his face. “I’ll give you all the space you need.” he said. “But know this: I made you a promise, Odysseus. I've swore to stand by you, to guide you when you need it, and to leave you be when you didn’t. And I don’t break promises I make. If you ever truly want me gone, I’ll go. But until you say those words... I’ll be here.”
There was a conviction in Hermes’ voice that made Odysseus pause, the weight of the god’s sincerity settling over him like a blanket. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs, his vision growing hazy, but he managed a small nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you.” he murmured, the words carrying more meaning than he could express in his current state.
Hermes smiled faintly, his usual playful demeanor tempered with something deeper. “You’re welcome, Ody.” he said softly, the nickname slipping from his lips with surprising tenderness.
Odysseus’ body betrayed him then, his legs buckling as his strength gave out completely. He almost fell in a spin sideways on trembling legs, expecting to hit the unforgiving ground, but instead, he found himself cradled in Hermes’ arms. The god had caught him once again with ease, his hold firm yet careful, as if handling something precious. “I’ve got you.. you needn't worry yourself any further,” Hermes murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t let you fall again. Not while I’m here.”
The words carried a weight that Odysseus, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, couldn’t fully grasp. His head lolled against Hermes’ shoulder, his breaths slowing as sleep claimed him at last.
For a moment, Hermes simply stood there, his gaze fixed on the man in his arms. His expression shifted, the lighthearted mask he often wore slipping away to reveal something darker, much more possessive. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of hair from Odysseus’ face, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. “That stubbornness is much more trouble than I predicted.” he muttered, though the words lacked any real bite. He adjusted his hold, lifting Odysseus effortlessly before turning toward the trees. “You’re mine to protect. You may not know it yet.. but you will, in time.” he murmured, the words spoken as much to himself as to the sleeping mortal. “And no one—not gods, not mortals, nor beasts—will harm you while I draw breath.”
With that, Hermes adjusted his hold, cradling Odysseus against his chest with a soothing touch circling gently along his back as he began to walk. The serpent’s massive form, now reduced to nothing more than shimmering ash, scattered in the wind behind him, the forest reclaiming its quiet. Each step was measured, purposeful, as Hermes carried Odysseus back toward the makeshift camp, managing to pick up his forgotten sword that lied nearly abandoned on the ground. And though his expression had softened once more when he gazes toward the peacefully dreaming mortal within his hold, a glint of desired claim still burned in his eyes. And in the distance now, the remains of the serpent continued to dissolve into nothingness, leaving no trace of the battle behind, as though in an abnormal, otherworldly way.