When Poseidon finds out that a very familiar son of Hades had a crush on his favorite son, he has no choice but to send the messenger god down to the Underworld to figure things out. Of course it doesn't end up going so smoothly, and Poseidon ends up showing in the Underworld with a face-to-face chat with his brother about a subject neither one of them really wants to confront.

An Immortal Diversion

Hermes tightened the strap and buckles on his "sandals", preparing to fly.

To fly? Yes, he meant fly.

He was the messenger god after all, famous for his winged sandals, and a bunch of other titles Hermes always questioned whether he deserved. He was a god with a message to deliver. Hermes should've felt apathetic to it all, but even the mailman has feelings about his job. This time, Poseidon had a score to settle with Hades.

Hermes knew all about it; heck, all the pantheons of the world knew it. It was scandalous. The son of Hades was in love with the son of Poseidon who was (thankfully) straight. Hermes' orders were simple: repeat to Hades what Poseidon said (yelled, actually) verbatim, and return with his godly ichor left intact. His feelings on the issue however, weren't nearly that simple.

Hermes could have flashed out of the beach he was treading upon—that was where he'd met Poseidon—but he chose to will into existence his traditional sandals. He had the strangest feeling this traditional reminder wouldn't hurt one bit.

Hermes broke out into a run, ignoring the sand getting trapped underneath his foot, and leapt up into the air. Flying was always a gradual thing, truly delicate. Hermes was one of the few gods that preferred flying to the modern, fancy teleporting. Truth be told, Hermes wasn't much for tradition, either; teleporting was just more handy when he was really, really late or had a dire emergency where he needed the help of demigods.

Pretty soon, Hermes was flying high over the state of Kansas.

In fact, Hermes was about to set all his ethereal form into contemplating Nico di Angelo's orientation when Mercury made an appearance, calling upon more of Hermes' form for more help with containing a monster on the eastern seaboard.

That's it! cried Hermes in his head, his frustration boiling over. I'm teleporting. And true to his word, Hermes split his essence in two, one heading for the east coast, and the other for the Underworld which lay underneath Los Angeles.

Oh, how Hermes desperately wished he could actually use the excuse, "I can't be in two places at once," for once. Just once. He did not want to incur the wrath of the Lord of the Underworld.

…

Hermes arrived in Los Angeles, the white feathers on his sandals sweeping the dirty streets. Great, he thought, he'd landed in the worst part of the city. Hermes whipped up a little Mist to hide him from the general populace. He thought briefly about appearing as a wealthy businessman, but he thought it absurd as it would only deplete his magic.

As he walked down the small alley he'd landed in, he passed a young boy, hiding in the shadows. This young boy looked up as he passed by, his bright blue eyes locking with him. They were wide and aware, altogether creating an expression that seemed much too serious with the young boy's face. His blond hair was dirty, having not been washed for days it seemed. Had the boy come into the sunlight, Hermes knew he would look much nicer.

If Hermes could feel, he would have felt a chill traverse his spine. He knew exactly who the boy was meant to be, and it killed Hermes that he couldn't turn around and sweep him off his feet and into his arms.

Hermes turned his back on him again, stepping into the busy streets of Los Angeles. All boys with blond hair must live out their lives 3 times before reaching the Isles of the Blest. He made his way with a careful, daunting gait.

From here, getting in was easy.

…

Hades looked just as he had the last time Hermes had seen him—part madman, part dead. Of course, Hades' appearance was stagnant since he was immortal, but Hermes could just pretend they were mortals talking calmly over tea. Hades was sitting in an old-fashioned high-backed sturdy chair.

Hades didn't need to look to know Hermes would be the idiot bothering him. "What now?" he demanded, clearly not in the mood.

Hermes crossed his arms. Hades was never in the mood. "It'd be easier to talk if you faced me," suggested Hermes.

"Just get on with it, messenger boy," ordered Hades.

He bit back his usual retort of, "I'm not a boy," and chose only to narrow his eyes at the back of the chair Hades was sitting in. Hades faced the fireplace, where unearthly flames blazed brightly. "You might want to sit down for this."

"I am," Hades reminded curtly.

"It's about your son," said Hermes.

"Which one?" Hades was still disinterested.

"The demigod," replied Hermes.

"Nico? What about him could be so important?" scoffed Hades, twirling a heavy ring on his left hand. It wasn't his wedding ring; if gods had rings for every time they married someone, they'd run out of fingers by the end of the day. It was a heavy ring whose purpose Hermes had no inkling at all as to what it could be.

"Oh, I think you know," said Hermes, his voice razor sharp.

"Are you insinuating I know more than I appear to?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, then," said Hades with a strained formality, "Enlighten me."

"Poseidon wants an explanation on your son's, er, um—" —Hermes coughed into his fist— "—status."

"Status? Alive, as far as I know."

"His relationship status," clarified Hermes.

"What do you mean?"

"His sexual orientation, Hades, don't play dumb with me."

"Oh, you want to know about his being gay." Hades' tone was clipped, unfavorable for conversation.

"Poseidon does," corrected Hermes.

"And you do too," assumed Hades, not waiting for confirmation. He put a hand on his chin. "You want to know whether all the gossip you hear is true, so you can know for yourself and all your other petty mortal reasons," he spat.

"That's not true!" Hermes defended himself; he had to. His personal pride was at stake here, and he wasn't about to let someone like Hades destroy it.

"Oh, it is. And while you pretend you don't know it—" Hades made a low derisive sound in the back of his throat, then looked up at the ceiling forlornly as if he would never see the light of day. Hades did not finish; he thought for the longest time, so long that Hermes feared he would never speak again for the rest of time, before saying quietly, "Just get out."

Hermes thought he hadn't heard him. "What?"

"I said, GET OUT!" he bellowed.

Hermes' eyes flashed dangerously. "For now, but I'll be back with Poseidon."

"Oh, you do just that. Tell him that if he wants to talk about this, he should come in person, and not tell someone as base as you, you conniving, good-for-nothing freak!"

…

It took Hermes approximately 30 seconds to find Poseidon, due to the ever so handy teleporting.

"What did he say?" asked Poseidon, literally rising up out of the waves on the Santa Monica beach. The waves of water crashed down on the beach, each of the little remaining droplets running down his body which was encased in a steel tunic.

Hermes hovered politely over the water. "Not much. Just the simple, get out."

Poseidon blinked, although he did not need to. "Simple?"

Hermes shrugged. "More or less. He yelled at me and I'm sure is cursing both of us right now. Can you believe he called me a conniving, good-for-nothing freak that was no better than the mortals?"

"Right about now I can believe anything. What else did he say?"

Hermes finished narrating what all had just occurred down there. "So, the question is, are you coming?"

Poseidon smiled, a twinkling, mischievous smile. "I'm already there," he said, transforming into the bright supernova all gods truly were.

Hermes pursed his lips. Poseidon was always quite the show-off.

…

"Hermes says you wanted to talk to me in person," Poseidon announced, grandly walking into the throne room of the Underworld as if he owned it.

Hades did not turn. "Actually, I'm not in a talking mood and Hermes is just a pain in the arse who doesn't quite understand simple language."

Hermes made a choked noise of protest.

"Your quarrel is not with him. Do not hold grudges against people who are only instruments of their fate. Face me, O Brother of mine, and tell me all you have to say." Poseidon approached the chair.

Hades finally turned and got up out the chair. "I told you I have nothing to say, and I expect an apology and a specific response as to why you of all people have come to my realm."

"An apology? Certainly, but why the sudden formality?"

"Why, why, why? Doesn't that seem to be the question of the day? Now, answer my question or be gone. You know how I care very little for the affairs of other gods."

"That we do know," muttered a particularly spiteful Hermes.

Poseidon looked his brother in the eye. "Brother, you know I would not be here if not for something truly in need of our attention. Hades, your son is gay."

The blunt, blatant words seemed to do it. Hades' shoulders slumped as if in defeat. His stiff posture was gone, replaced by the lonely shell of a person that Hades was. The pity in Poseidon's heart flared up once again for his brother. "And he's in love with your son," said Hades bitterly. "Where did I do wrong?"

"You did nothing; you only did as much as you could with all the laws in place," consoled Poseidon. "I know just how that feels like. When I had to leave Percy, it was the greatest sacrifice I could ever—"

"SACRIFICE?" roared Hades. The fire in his eyes which Poseidon had initially thought was dimmed had flared again. Hades raised a threatening finger up into Poseidon's face. "Don't you ever dare compare your grief to mine. You know nothing of my lifestyle, all the hardships I've endured, everything I've lost to the world." Hades sank low into his chair.

Poseidon did not get angry at Hades' outbursts. He usually never did. Most days, Poseidon was overcome with the feeling to suddenly put a hand on his brother's shoulder and somehow comfort him, but Poseidon never took that big step. Physical contact seemed much too mortal, now more than ever. Poseidon's hands stayed at his side, and Poseidon used his words to better get his point across. "I know, brother," he said sadly.
"But what are we to do? Set Cupid on Nico's case so Percy will fall in love with him?"

"No!" barked Hades. "Don't you understand? Nico fears Cupid because of this! He thinks Cupid is a monster!"

Hermes, who had been silent for the majority of their conversation, offered some brief input. "Cupid is a monster." The words were bitter, cuspate, and Poseidon could hardly believe those words had been said by Hermes. Poseidon was so used to hearing bitter words from Hades, not Hermes. Alas, every god regrets something or the other in their lifetime.

Poseidon and Hades both craned their heads up and to the side to stare blankly at Hermes. Hermes could not remember a time when the two brothers look more alike. "Never mind," he sighed, going back to whatever he was doing before — that is, lean against one of several obsidian pillars and brood darkly.

Poseidon blinked. "As I was saying, what do you want to do?"

Hades took a deep steady breath, although he did not need to breathe. Sometimes, Poseidon agreed it was easier to pretend one was mortal rather than acknowledge that one was not. "Nothing," he replied. "Nothing at all. We let the Fates have their way. If his string is cut, so be it. It'll be okay. Nico can take a hint."

"Actually, he knows that Percy doesn't like him," corrected Poseidon.

"See, there, it's all good," Hermes chipped in.

"No. That's not what I meant. I'm saying Nico needs to learn how to be a man. He can't just sit around and mope all day." Hades' voice had taken on a tone Poseidon hardly ever saw in Hades—it was the voice of a father.

Hermes raised a pointer finger from his place. "Actually, he kind of can. In fact, that's one of the many things he's doing right now while he and the Roman girl transport the Athena Parthenos."

Poseidon looked up angrily at Hermes. His inputs were always ill-timed, it seemed.

Hermes, noticing this, defended himself. "Don't believe me? Look," he urged, waving his hand over the air in front of him. The air shimmered, replaced by the live image of Nico di Angelo himself. "Watch and listen," commanded Hermes.

Three gods were silent as they passively watched all the events unfolding before them.

Nico di Angelo was tired. He couldn't be blamed, though. He'd traveled several miles and crossed virtually an ocean in a matter of minutes, who wouldn't be tired?

Still, Nico tried to think of himself as strong-willed, mentally and physically. Just Reyna was getting on his nerves.

Her purple cape flapped in the wind, and her sandals seemed to be filling up with sand as she paced on the beach. This was all nothing in comparison to the amount of disdain dripping out of her mouth. "With all due respect, Ambassador of Pluto, this is not Camp Half-Blood," she commented with a curt tone.

Nico di Angelo narrowed his eyes. She was mocking him with his title from the Roman camp. "Well, excuse me if Percy Jackson is for once right in his assumptions." He made it sound the rudest he'd ever been.

Reyna did not smile, and Nico di Angelo did not either. "What I don't understand is how anyone mixes up Camp Half-Blood with the Galapagos Islands!"

Nico sighed. It was true. They were nowhere near their destination. Somehow, they'd landed on the wrong continent, and of course Reyna was fuming. "I told you I've never actually transported this much cargo before. My only experiences bringing along other things was when I brought Mrs. O'Leary and Percy along from New York to Connecticut. Every other time, I was alone," he told her.

"Yes, and now you're not. How do we get to Camp Half-Blood?" she demanded, her face still deceptively blank.

Nico let out a long yawn, sitting down cross-legged on the sand of the beach. The beach was deserted, no one was around, and storm clouds were brewing just over the horizon.

"I don't know," he mumbled, his eyelids drooping closed. He leaned backwards, and his back hit the warm sand. "Let me take a nap, and I'll tell you when I wake up," he promised Reyna. Frankly, he did not care how fast she needed to leave this place. He needed his beauty sleep.

Reyna was unkind. "Oh, and I suppose you sleep every time you bring cargo," she spat.

"Yes. Yes, I do," was the last thing he murmured before curling into a ball and going to sleep.

And if he noticed how she stood guard over his sleeping form while she continued to yell at him, he did not indicate it.

Hermes, Hades, and Poseidon were silent for the longest time. Finally, Hermes spoke. "I thought you said he was gay."

"I did," said Poseidon, still staring blankly at the image of Reyna towering over a sleeping Nico.

"I will not have my son falling in love with a Roman praetor!" roared Hades, his hands clenching into fists.

Poseidon turned back to look at Hades, the alarm registering once again in his brain. Fireballs had begun to take form in Hades' hands. "Okay, okay now. This doesn't mean anything. You know how most mortal loves are." Poseidon paused. "Fleeting," he clarified.

Poseidon held his breath, pausing for a count of three. Hades raised his gaze from the image to Poseidon. Black, Poseidon noted offhandedly. Hades' eyes were black as the pits of hell. Hades lifted a finger. "You're wrong on that account, but still, I'll let it go this time."

Hermes laughed. "What are you worrying about, Death Breath? This," he said, gesturing to the screen, "is improvement. This means he can move on from Percy."

Hades looked up, his black eyes seemingly unfocused as he stared off into space. "Are you lying to me? Because if you are, I shall have your head cut off and I shall throw you into the depths of—"

Poseidon put up two placating hands in the air. "Okay!" he shouted loudly. The two gods took a step back. "Enough with the fighting. Now, I came down here for one thing and that was to ask you a question. Is everything the truth?"

Hades' face pinched into a grimace. "Yes," he said at last. "It apparently seems so."

Poseidon allowed himself a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I shall take my leave now, as will Hermes."

"I will?" echoed Hermes. Poseidon shot him a dark look. "I will," he agreed with more cheerfulness. Poseidon turned around and walked out of the throne room, Hermes just a pace behind him.

"Wait," Hades finally called. "Are you to do nothing?"

Poseidon waited, twisting his head to the right. Only his profile was visible to Hades. "Yes. And the same goes for you, brother. We have never been in charge of destiny. We have been as much affected by the course of events as mortals themselves. After all, we're the ones who move from civilization to civilization so quickly. We are the gods of Ancient Greece, but we are not the Fates. This—and anything else—is up to the Fates and the Fates only, as has been the way since before our time. I pray you heed my advice, Hades, Lord of the Dead, or else something much worse than a simple rejection of the heart may consume your son."

Poseidon did not look back as he flashed out of the Underworld, which to this day is his least favorite place in the entire pantheon.

Hermes however did look back at Hades, only to see him seated on his throne made of bones and fingering that heavy ring once more, a sinister smile creeping across his face. Hermes was not at ease, but teleported out anyways.

The Underworld always gave him the creeps.

Sorry for the patch-job ending, but I thought this was quite an interesting delve into the minds of the gods. Tell me what you think.