A/N: Hello!

So, this is an apology/make up for/try again with these characters, plot, and general story. That's why the title says "Re-Write" in it. The original one is on my Wattpad account, where my stories suck (you have been warned). So, if you want to read it (I recommend you don't, but read it at your own risk (I sound like Lemony Snicket XD)), it's under the same name (save for "rewrite"), under ChemistryofFiction. I'm pretty sure. It should be pretty easy to find. If not. . . well, then you dodged a bullet, so win-win (keep in mind, I wrote it when I was 15, and we all know how well that goes. . .) Although we do occasionally stumble across brilliant 15-year old writers.

Sorry, I kinda ranted there. I didn't want to make this too long. I guess at this point it's probably in vain to try.

Anyway, since I did the Fact of the Day in the beginning of my last story, I have a bit of wiggle room to establish the important premises of this story.

Actually, I finished this such a long time ago, I don't remember it very well, so I think it'd be better if I did this afterwards.

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson, or the culture of the ancient Greeks.

Here we go. Enjoy, read, and review.

"Hermes."

"Mmmm?"

"Hermes, get up," Athena called again, softly.

"Mmm. . . "

"Come now, little brother," she urged, lips pursing in a teasing disapproval.

He rolled over, wrapping his arms about himself and groaning. His eyes were shut tightly, jaw clenched, "Don' wanna."

Athena's fists came to rest on her hips. She heaved a patient sigh, but smiled, amused all the same, "And why is that?"

No answer. Her small smile dropped into a frown, puzzled until she realized her fellow god had fallen into a light doze. She strode closer to him, laying a hand across his head. She pulled away quickly, however, lips parted slightly in a silent gasp.

He should not be that warm.

She was turning to leave, in order that she might retrieve Apollo, when Hermes rolled over again. He drew a sharp breath, as if trying to pull himself out of a daze. Light blue eyes fluttered open, his gaze making its way around the room before coming to rest on Athena. She gazed back worriedly, waiting several moments as he worked to recognize her.

"Athena? What are you-?" He seemed to gather himself at last, sitting up and shaking his head a little as if to clear it. He managed to push himself off the bed, stumbling until he was forced to lean heavily on the end table, both hands braced flatly on the supportive surface. He met Athena's gaze again, "Can I. . . can I help you?"

Her brows drew closer, concern growing steadily in the pit of her stomach, "I should ask you the same, frater."

The Latin slipped out, just as it always did when she was worried. Just as it always did with most of the gods, because they felt more in control when they fell back on one of their original languages, from a time when they were properly recognized, when they controlled and ruled as they should.

But not anymore.

Hermes shook his head again, this time in confusion and dismissal. He managed a few unsteady steps towards the goddess, and promptly collapsed. Athena caught him easily, and helped him back to his bed. He groaned when he was settled, wrapping his arms about himself again.

"I have work to do, Athena," Hermes stated, almost a whine.

"Not anymore, param unam," she replied, crossing her arms over his chest, smirking in spite of her rising disapproval.

"With all due respect, do not call me that. I'm not so much younger than you, and you know it." He voice did not raise in volume; rather it stayed low, cold and cutting. "I thank you for your concern, but it is not needed here, I assure you. I merely have a few letters I must deliver, not to mention answer, as well as some packages. I will be fine, Athena. Pray take your mother-henning elsewhere."

She put her hands up in mock surrender, "Very well. But should feel worse than you already clearly do, please inform Apollo. If I discover otherwise, you can be sure I shall hit you with a Webster's dictionary. The College edition."

Hermes nearly smiled at the familiar threat (familiar to Apollo, at least), but stopped himself, settling for rolling his eyes.

But another glare, and he was quickly nodding despite himself.

She knew he had lied when she sat down with Apollo at their usual lunch spot, and he failed at first to appear. Of course Hermes had lied, she reasoned: he was the god of mischief.

They were somehow beginning to graze the subject of whether Loki should be considered an ally or an enemy to Thor (rather heatedly, actually), when Hermes charged out to the Cuspis Videre Super (as they affectionately called their spot), decked out in his classic get-up: winged sandals, winged cap, toga, caduceus. It was obvious he was running on pure adrenaline: eyes shining with ignored exhaustion, cheeks stained a bright scarlet, and stumbling a little even as he flew.

But he claimed he was fine, claimed he had too much work to do, claimed that he couldn't eat with them, not today.

"I'm not hungry, anyway," he dismissed too quickly, even as he snatched a healthy-yellow apple from the tray on their table, and flitting away so swiftly they hadn't time to rebuke him.

Apollo hummed in disapproval as he spooned some steamed rice. "I don't like this. I can't remember the last time I actually saw him eat, Athena. I think we should check up on him, see how's he's doing. My healing instincts have been nagging at me since I finished with the chariot this morning."

Athena nodded, grim, "He looks tired; perhaps he's had trouble sleeping lately? I don't think he's quite moved on from the events of the war, nor have the rest of us."

"Meet me in front of his place at midnight, and then we shall see if can trust our intuitions."

That night, they found the sparsely decorated palace sitting idly in an eerie sort of quiet, as if no living creature had ever lived there. They teleported inside regardless (and easily, for they had long ago made a pact to keep their doors unlocked, so they could talk to the others), and settled themselves warily within Hermes' bedroom.

Eternity and an hour passed, in which they talked of all they could think to.

Around four in the morning, in the middle of a conversation centered around the motives and legacies of Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, Hermes stumbled in, shivering and exhausted. He didn't notice his startled siblings, fever-bright eyes fixed firmly and vacantly on his bed. He almost reached it, but his knees buckled suddenly and he collapsed in a heap.

Athena darted to him, gathering him worriedly in her arms. Fever-clouded eyes peered up at her, and his voice was but a weak whisper, "Athena, it hurts. It hurts so very much. Please." Then his head was lolling to the side, resting in the crook of her neck, as he wheezed.

His cheeks were flushed, a stark contrast to the frighteningly deathly pallor of his face; the sweat dotting his forehead accompanying it like an abusive friend. His skin burned now, too, rather than the deep warmth Athena had felt before.

As determined as a contingency, Apollo teleported out instantly, trusting Athena to do what she could for the time being.

She feared moving him, but recalled her brother's words- "if he's merely ill, it won't hurt to move him a little, especially if it's to his benefit"- and carefully peeled off the top of his toga to cool him. She made her way to his bed, slipping him beneath the covers.

By the time she was done, two simultaneous flashes of light shone behind her, and then Apollo's son, Asclepius, was beside her. He let out an alarmed noise at the sight of Hermes' corpse-like appearance.

"Oh dear. . ." he murmured. "I should think this is the worst case I've seen seize a god in the last few centuries, if memory serves."

"But you can help him, right?" Apollo demanded, shaken as well.

"Yes, of course, Dad," Asclepius replied, scoffing almost with indignity. His face fell again, grave, "However. . . it shall eat up significantly more time than we should like to cure him."

"It doesn't matter how long it takes," Athena reassured him. "Whatever must be done to help him."

A/N: So, the ending was kinda weak, but there it is.

By the way, in case you guys were wondering, the chapter before, is the "vocab" for this specific chapter. I wanted to incorporate some Latin in here, since I actually take Latin (fourth year, what's up), and it was really exciting (I'm a huge nerd for linguistics) to stick some in there.

It took me a while to figure out a way to translate this for my readers without it being this huge hassle, and this is the result. So feel free to swipe back and forth whenever needed. Every chapter will have it's own "vocab chapter", and I won't repeat any vocab, because I like to assume my readers are smart enough to not need a repeat (I feel like that sounded meaner than I meant, whoops).

I feel kinda sucky at writing today, but perhaps it's because I'm too excited about Endgame coming out today.

Now, onto the Fact of the Day!

Fact of the Day(#12): Ironically, Guinness Book of Records holds the record for being the most stolen book from libraries.

Wow, that backfired for them, huh? XD

Anyway, please read and review, and hopefully I'll have the next chapter up soon.