Gah! Breeders and feeders and encouragers of plot bunnies! This little bastard WOULD NOT SHUT UP until I wrote something... if it's a while before I get on with this one, it's your own faults, you relentless reprobates...
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine, which is just as well, because I don't think I could afford the hair product bill.
WORKING TITLE: Child's Play
RATING: T. Winchesters be doin' swears.
SUMMARY: When a well-meaning magissa turned the Impala into a motherly woman to look after them, Sam and Dean enlisted Cas's help to petition Aphrodite to undo the spell. Apparently, Dean did more than admire the tapestries while they were there. What happened when the Goddess of Love met the Living Sex God? For a start, Sam's plaid shirts would never know what hit them...
BLAME: Lies ENTIRELY with the Denizens of the Jimiverse who kept agitating for this story. I suppose it picks up shortly after 'Teacher's Pet'. I hate you all so much...
Chapter One
Aphrodite glared at the athletic young man before her; she was shorter, but somehow managed to give the impression that she was towering over him. That, or it was the fact that he was actually cowering.
"It is time," she stated, "And you will undertake this task."
"Now, Aphrodite," from somewhere, Hermes found a reserve of courage somewhere to challenge her order, "Why don't you send one of your boys, one of the Erotes? Young Anteros would love to visit the mortal realm..."
"Anteros is still a child himself, and would no doubt pull one of his silly pranks," she opined. "Besides which, this is your job, Hermes. You are the messenger of the gods. I am a goddess. Therefore, you are my messenger. Therefore, you will deliver this... message."
"Yes, but, yes, but," Hermes stammered, "It's not exactly a message, is it? A message is information that I can pass on. I can't exactly take your 'message', roll it into a scroll, and stuff it under a door, can I?"
"Certainly not," agreed Aphrodite, "Which is why you will perform a speedy delivery, with all due care."
"Look, you know that I would love to help out, because Helpful is my middle name," Hermes told her brightly, "Hermes the Helpful, that's me, but I really think that in this case, it would be... prudent to send somebody else..."
"Prudent?" Aphrodite cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the Winged Messenger. "Prudent? Did I just hear Hermes the Helpful, say 'prudent'? The one described by no less a light than Homer as 'The one most excellent in all tricks,' the inventor of the joke amphora, and the whoopee saddle, the one who stampeded Apollo's sacred cattle through the temple of the Vestal Virgins, the one who taught the Erotes The Trick With The Rooster, The Wine Cup And The Olive Dip, for which, I might add, I have not yet forgiven you, because the stains will never come out of that carpet... did I just hear him use the word 'prudent'?"
"Well, it's just..." Hermes began, squirming under her gaze, "It's just... you know how we all have different names, and different aspects, accorded to us by different cultures..."
"Yeeeees," she drew the word out as shorthand for 'Get on with it'.
"Well, you know how sometimes, in my role as a messenger, under any of my many guises, I may have had contact with, you know, humans, or other gods, as part of my job..."
"Do go on," she told him, "I am confident that you will get to the point sometime before the sun burns out to a cold cinder."
"Well, you know how sometimes I encounter humans under fortunate circumstances, and sometimes I encounter them under not-so-fortunate circumstances, and if the circumstances were not-so-fortunate, that is, for the humans, they can get a bit, well, upset about it..."
"I've watched vines grow faster than this," Aphrodite complained.
"I'm getting there! I'm getting there!" yelped Hermes. "Well, you know how when humans get upset, they can get a bit, well, nasty, violent, dreadfully vicious things they can be..."
Aphrodite's hand shot out, grabbed Hermes' ear, and twisted.
"AAAAAAARGH theythinkI'mdead andthat'sfinebyme iftheyseemeagainthey'llkillme becauseIscrewedwiththem thattimetherewasthatlittlepr oblemwithYahweh'stwoeldest LETGOOOOOOOOOOAFFEEEEEEEEE!" She let go, and he rubbed his ear. "That really hurt," he muttered reproachfully.
"What do you mean, they think you're dead?" Aphrodite demanded. "Don't tell me you got involved with that little stoush involving the other pantheons..."
"It wasn't my idea!" he said frantically, "I was just the go-between, taking care of the correspondence! I had to, Ganesh just never has got the hang of email..."
"Right, right," Aphrodite noted sourly, "So, if Kali told you to jump off Mount Olympus without your flying sandals, you'd do it, then."
"For her, I'd eat my flying sandals," sighed Hermes. "She's hot. And I don't just mean, set-fire-to-the-wall-hangings hot..."
"Well, just because you think they don't like you, that is no excuse to try to squirm out of this job," she told him curtly. "So, give me a few minutes, and..."
"I'm not worried about them recognising me," Hermes wailed, "I'm worried about them killing me!"
"Nonsense," she snapped, "Lucifer couldn't actually kill you – do you think a couple of humans can?"
"Frankly, given who these two are, I wouldn't put money on my survival," griped Hermes. "Seriously, Affy, find yourself anotherrrrrOOOOOWWWW!"
Aphrodite grabbed Hermes' ear again. "You will perform this errand for me, little brother," she said pleasantly, "Or I will tell Zeus exactly where those joke thunderbolts came from. You know, the ones he picked up to hurl, but instead of a lightning strike, out popped a little flag with the word 'ZAP!' on it?"
"You wouldn't!" shrilled Hermes. "You wouldn't tell him!"
"He'd probably be really annoyed," Aphrodite postulated. "You know how he gets when anything interferes with his assertion of his godliness. He might even take away your status as messenger, and reassign you. For instance, did you know that the Romans actually had a deity of their sewers? I don't think we have an equivalent, but I'm sure that Zeus would be wiling to consider the idea..."
"This is bullying!" protested Hermes.
"No, this is blackmail," Aphrodite corrected him serenely, before letting go of his ear and slapping him upside the head. "That is bullying."
"You're mean," whined Hermes.
"I'm your big sister," Aphrodite reminded him, "I'm supposed to be horrible to you. Now, give me a few minutes, and you can be on your way. Oh, and if you were thinking of sneaking out and flitting away whilst I'm gone, why don't you pause, and consider what might happen if I told Hephaestus about the origins of the exploding rivets in his workshop, you remember, the ones that disappeared in puffs of pink smoke when he hit them?"
Hermes mumbled into resentful silence, but stayed put until Aphrodite returned.
"Fine," he griped, "If I come back dead, it will be all your fault."
"No," she told him with infuriating poise, "It will be all yours. For meddling where you shouldn't have." She handed over a small package wrapped in vine leaves. "I had the kitchen prepare you a snack. Baklava, with the rosewater syrup. Your favourite."
Hermes sighed in a deeply put-upon fashion, but bowed to his sister, left her dwelling, and carefully took wing. If worst came to worst, he mused, at least he would die on a full stomach.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Sam looked at his watch, and tutted in disgust. "Dean, are you still primping in there?"
"I am NOT primping!" came the reply from the bathroom of their cruddy room-du-jour. "The Living Sex God does NOT primp!" The door opened, and Dean, barely attenuated Killer Smile in place, emerged. "He carefully arranges his awesomeness, but he does not ever primp. Primping is what girls do. Or long-haired emos named Francis."
"Whatever," Sam rolled his eyes, but there wasn't much heat in his snarking. They had finished up a difficult job: they'd located the coven, destroyed the altar, burned the grimoire, and managed to thwart the summoning of an evil eldritch entity from a para-dimension that man ought not wot of, plus, they'd saved the abducted children who were going to be sacrificed in order to facilitate the summoning. Witches thwarted, and satisfyingly dead, children saved and returned to families, mothers demonstrating gratitude by plying them with baked goods, local police none the wiser, happy ending, fade to black, inspiring upbeat music plays as credits roll. But now the job was done, they could wind down, chill out, take some time to rest and recuperate...
"Don't pull a face like that, Samantha," grinned Dean, "You won't get laid if you pull a cranky face like that."
"Would it be too much to ask you to get your brain above your belt for five minutes at a time?" Sam sighed theatrically.
"Absolutely," confirmed Dean. "Tonight, my brain is so far south, I intend to party 'til I puke, drink 'til I pass out, and screw 'til my dick falls off."
"In that order?" Sam enquired solicitously as Dean flipped him off. "I won't make any plans for next week then," mused Sam. "Well, come on, then, if you think you're beautiful enough."
"If you like, you can hang around with me, and bask in the reflected awesomeness of the Living Sex God's astounding sexual magnetism," offered Dean as he picked up his jacket. "I don't mind at all if you use my amazing erotic ambiance to find some willing woman to remind you what your dick is for. I'll even give you a sock to hang on the door, if you..."
The barely audible noise at the door probably wouldn't have been noticed by anyone who wasn't a Hunter. Without hesitation, Sam pulled the door open, and Dean seized hold of the stooping figure, dragged it upright, and had one of their ornate demon-killing knives at its throat.
"YEEEEEEEEEP!" went the stranger.
Dean's eyebrows drew down. "I remember you," he growled, "Mercury, you asshole!" He hefted the knife.
"I'm not! I'm not!" the interloper squealed desperately. "I'm not Mercury!"
"Who the hell are you, then?" demanded Sam, "Because you sure as hell look like him. And what are you doing listening at our door?"
"I'm Hermes!" the unwanted visitor squawked, "And I wasn't listening, I was..."
"Same thing," shrugged Sam, "Hermes, Greek aspect of Mercury. Stab him, Dean."
"Wait wait wait wait!" insisted Hermes, "I'm here on business!"
"So are we," Dean gave him an evil grin.
"Nonononono!" Hermes yelped, "You can't kill me! I'm a god!"
"Dean considered that. "Maybe not," he conceded, "But this is a pretty damned occult knife, and I'm betting that I can make you go ouch."
"Hang on," Sam put a hand on Dean's arm, "He's the messenger of the gods, Dean. What business do you have with us?"
"Official business!" Hermes nodded frantically. "Real, official, authentic, approved godding business!"
"Not interested," shrugged Dean with contempt, "Gods are mostly dicks."
"WAAAAAAAAH!" went Hermes.
"Dean," Sam tried to be the voice of reason, "Maybe we should hear what he has to say."
"Listen to him! Listen to him!" Hermes agreed.
"Okay, say I agree to listen to him," Dean said, "If I don't like what he has to say, then can I stab him?"
"Sure," agreed Sam, "Knock yourself out."
Dean backed off reluctantly, and Hermes breathed a sigh of relief.
"So, what message does the messenger of the gods have to relay to us?" Dean asked sarcastically, "If you've got yourself a poltergeist on Mount Olympus, find someone else."
"Aphrodite sent me," Hermes told them, "She sends her regards, and... this."
He pulled aside his cloak, revealing a small bundle, which he thrust into Dean's arms.
"What the hell?" demanded Sam, stepping forward to peer over Dean's shoulder. "If this is some sort o- HOLY SHIT!"
"No," sighed Hermes. "His name is Roverto Ioannes – Robert John, in your idiom – and he is the son of Aphrodite. And Dean Winchester."
Yup, it's the plot bunny named Nathaniel. You encouraged him, and now the little bastard has his teeth in my ankle. You bastards.
Reviews will only make him whisper louder *fume fume*