Parcel slid out from under the cloak, clutching his snake stuffie tightly, the real snake wrapped around his arm. Travis turned his harpe back to a bracelet and Parcel's eyes zeroed in onto it, and how it now fit his brother's wrist perfectly.

"Don't even think about it," Travis said, sounding firm but tired, "Dad meant it to go to me…didn't he." It wasn't a question. Parcel shrugged, because Travis was probably right. But probably wasn't definitely, and Parcel was definitely going to try and get it back if he could. He found it. It was his. And he needed it so he could keep everyone safe. Travis gave Parcel a long look, as if he knew his every intention, then sighed, and went down on his knees next to him, looking him up and down. "You alright? The acid didn't get you?"

"I'm fine," Parcel answered. "You're the one it almost made a snack of." And maybe he wasn't completely fine, because he remembered how close things had come, and now he was shaking, as if his body were trying to push out a memory of them all dying that never happened. Connor came over too, also frowning, and studying them critically.

"Parcel, you're bleeding."

Parcel looked down at himself, because he didn't think he was hurt at all, but now that he looked, he had a scrape up one arm, and there was a patch of red at his knees. Only after he saw that did he feel the sting, but suddenly it was all too much and Parcel burst into tears, wailing as only a hurt child can.

'Hermes?' said the voice of the snake, sounding weak and confused.

"He's not here," Travis said, carefully pulling Parcel into his arms without aggravating the snake, trying to assess both. The snake had a scratch across his face, but it looked like whatever bleeding it had done had scabbed over. Parcel clung to him tightly, making it hard to look at any part of him except the arm with the snake, because even in his distress he was being careful of George. Still, though Parcel was far younger than the kids Travis usually took care of, he had enough experience to guess that Parcel had just gotten a bit scraped and what he mostly needed was comfort. Travis could give that. In some ways, he needed to give that, because he needed comfort, and this was the next best thing.

Connor put a hand on his brother's shoulder in support, then gathered up the discarded cloak, folding it up small again. There was no sign of the acid that had hit it, not even a wet spot, so it gave him no trouble. "Now what?" he asked softly.

"What was that?" asked Travis, who had a child still wailing in his ear, though Parcel had quieted some once he was in his arms.

"What do we do now?" Connor half shouted.

Travis didn't answer. They could go back to the apartment, clean up Parcel, clean up themselves, because he was starting to feel the sting of his own scrapes and bruises, regroup. Wait for Percy. But it felt wrong. Their dad's truck was shattered on its side, his mail scattered, and Travis knew how much Hermes would hate that. How much he prided himself in always making the delivery. But it would be stupid to stay, to…do what? Gather up all the lost mail? And then what? Deliver it themselves?

On the other, other hand, what if there was a clue lying about as to what had happened? They just found George. What if Martha was lying around somewhere, lost, maybe unconscious. Surely not dead. Could they even die? George had been injured, the staff was broken…what would they do if Martha was dead?

So Travis didn't have the answers. But he did have a small child bawling into his shoulder, clinging to him. And he did have a clearly injured George.

He was just about to open his mouth to say, 'Let's go home' when they heard the clip clop of an approaching horse.

Wary and suspicious, both brothers instantly held their harpes at ready, and the only reason Parcel wasn't thrown under the cloak and hidden was because he was clinging too tightly and there was no time. Parcel did sense something was wrong, at least, and stopped crying at once, face white as he looked up.

Percy rode into view and Travis and Connor almost collapsed from the sudden rush of pure relief, staggering under the unneeded adrenaline rush as their hearts struggled back into a quieter rhythm.

Percy didn't seem to notice, either that they had first greeted him with weapons, or the sheer relief on their faces when they didn't need them, just stared around at the destruction with wide eyes.

"What happened?" he demanded, sliding off of Blackjack's back with practiced ease. The horse fluttered its wings but otherwise stood still, a well-trained mount, though even he was staring at the scene a bit aghast.

"Told you, something attacked our dad," Travis answered.

"Yeah, and then something attacked us," Connor mumbled. He still hadn't actually turned his harpe back into a bracelet, though it was lowered in the face of no threats.

"The same something?" Percy asked, and Travis and Connor actually had to think about that one for a moment.

"Nah," decided Travis. "Monster. Dad would have handled that thing, no problem."

'Hermes?' said George's voice, yet again, and Percy's attention jerked towards Parcel's arm.

"And we found George," Connor said. "Well…Parcel found him. We still don't know what happened to Martha. George has been pretty out of it. I don't think he knows anything, either."

Percy looked at George, but then turned his attention and smiled at the small boy in Travis's arms. Parcel was just staring at Percy, face wet from crying, with an oddly assessing expression.

"Hello, Parcel," Percy said, gently. "My name is Percy. I'm a friend of your brothers…and your dad."

Parcel studied him, leaning back into Travis, pinky resting next to his lips but not yet in his mouth.

'Hermes?' George asked, but the time he started to unwind himself, climbing up Parcel's arm, winding his way until his torso clung to his shoulders, loosely about his neck, and his head was lifted to look the boy in the eyes. George was only just big enough himself to manage it. Travis, Connor, and Percy watched with wide eyes, feeling a very primal uneasiness to watch a serpent encircling such a small child, even knowing it was George, and that he was unlikely to hurt him. It still froze them. Parcel didn't look scared in the slightest, his hand leaving his mouth to reach gently for the snake, petting him.

'Hermes?' said George yet again, and then, 'Hermes, what happened to you? How are you mortal?'

At Olympus, Asclepius was having difficulty. His first instinct was to find his father; Apollo was his natural liaison when he needed to pass on information to the other gods. Hermes was a close second, being herald to the gods. It wasn't that Asclepius couldn't just go to the throne room and request an audience with Zeus, but Zeus was an intimidating god and almost no one but his own children approached him directly.

All normal ways to communicate had broken down, though. Apollo was nowhere to be found. The streets of Olympus were oddly quiet, in fact; news of the attacks had spread and people were nervous. What if whatever was attacking gods came to Olympus? Came after them? If a great god like Hermes, like Dionysus, like Poseidon could not fight it…what would it do to them?

Which led to Asclepius's current problem. He couldn't find anyone to share his news. He had gone to his office and tried Iris messaging first, but got the equivalent of a busy signal. Clearly, in the absence of Hermes, the system was so overworked that it couldn't fulfill every request. Or whoever was running it these days was down too, a horrible thought. He sent out some of his helpers next, but they either came back to say they couldn't find the person he sent them after, or they didn't come back at all; and it should not have taken them that long for a simple message.

Naturally he decided to change his approach. So he lifted his rod, ignored his python's moping (it had hit hard when they had seen Hermes' broken staff with its missing serpents), and turned brisk steps towards the throne room. If his father was not there, then someone would be, someone important enough to pass on information. And failing that, Zeus would be there.

And Zeus was. And so was a long line of gods and goddesses seeking his audience. It was unusual, but they were scared, and he was their ruler, their protector. To be fair, some were geared up in armor, likely ready to offer their services, but some were mothers with children, and the louder ones who protested the need to wait in line were insisting they had information. They probably didn't, or at least, nothing that would really help; this was a chance to win favor and the more enterprising gods were determined to win it with whatever little gossip or barely related knowledge they could share. At least one of the people in the line was one of Asclepius's helpers who hadn't returned.

And Asclepius was different, and he knew that; he wasn't coming to Zeus to win favor, offer services, or request protection. He was literally in charge of the welfare of the fallen gods, and had a new understanding that was important to know. If he was right, there was a version of Hermes still out there, and a search should be launched. Either Hermes had been captured by his attacker or he was lying hurt somewhere, too hurt to return home or even attempt a message.

Or Asclepius was wrong in his guess, and Hermes' body just presented differently from Dionysus. Two gods were not really enough to form a firm hypothesis. Not that he wanted there to be more. That would be disastrous. So he wasn't sure, but if it was even just possible, someone needed to know, someone should be searching for Hermes. Maybe uniting the two Hermes could even help cure him. So Asclepius shouldn't have to stand in line.

Asclepius was an important god, but he was not one of the great gods, for all his father was, and the looks some of those in line gave him when he skirted around them, making his own way to the door. It was unnerving. And of course there was now a bouncer at the front of the line, and Asclepius had the strangest fear he was about to be blocked, that he was going to be asked, 'What makes you so special? Get back in line!' And it unnerved him.

The bouncer was not particularly intimidating though; he was tall enough, but his posture was too relaxed, his expression rather distant, as if his mind were elsewhere. His clothes were wrinkled, and it looked as though he'd dressed in the dark; a striped shirt paired with camo pants and a baseball cap to top it off. If it weren't for the lion lounging calmly at his side, Asclepius had no doubt the line would be ignoring him entirely and pushing through. It was only when he was almost to him that Asclepius realized he wasn't a god but a titan. And not all titans fought against the gods, there were still plenty around who had been neutral, or even on the side of the gods, but…coming face to face with a race Asclepius had come to think of as evil incarnate, and an enemy, was unnerving.

Granted, this titan didn't make any move to attack him, though his lion did raise itself up and bar his way. The titan blinked at him, as if noticing him for the first time, and absently put down a hand to stroke the head of the lion, as if it were just a cat.

"Epimetheus," Asclepius greeted the titan, forcing himself to speak with all the dignity of his own worth as a master healer to the gods, and to not fidget like a boy trying to sneak into a bar. He coupled it with a smile, the kind he tended to give patients to put them at ease. For a moment, the titan just blinked at him, as if he had no idea who he was, but this proved untrue when he answered.

"Asclepius, Apollo's boy," he said, slowly, then, "I.D.?"

Asclepius snapped his fingers and a photo I.D. appeared in his hands. He waited while Epimetheus scanned it, trying not to fidget in annoyance. Of all the things for the gods to have gotten off the mortals, he sorely wished this weren't one of them. Still, he could hardly blame them for being cautious. Copying another's form was child's play for most gods, but the I.D.s could not be counterfeited.

Apparently, Asclepius passed, not that he expected not to, seeing as he really was himself, and the titan returned his I.D., saying, "And what are you here for? You have news?"

"I must see my father, or failing that, my grandfather," Asclepius said firmly, opting for his 'doctor voice' he usually reserved for very stubborn patients.

"Lord Apollo left," Epimetheus answered. "Hunting, with Lady Artemis. I could let you see Lord Zeus."

But he made no move to unbar the way or call his lion off.

"Thank you?" Asclepius tried, wondering if it would be fine to just walk past them, or if it would mean being attacked. He probably could take a lion, or at least, his python could, himself being a man of healing, not violence, but it would be messy. And he wasn't in the mood to stitch himself up, or any bystanders for that matter.

"I need to know if it is truly important," Epimetheus objected. "Can't let just anyone in."

"Very important," Asclepius said firmly, not interested in sharing details with just anyone, especially a titan. He must not have fought against them in the latest war, or Zeus would never have allowed him to act as his bouncer, but even doctors can have prejudices and this one ran deep. Epimetheus gave him a long look, then shrugged.

"Let them by, Violet," he said, and the lion, with clear reluctance, moved aside. Asclepius was walking past, almost in, when Epimetheus spoke again.

"Did you cure them, little healer? Did you resurrect them?"

Asclepius said nothing but stiffened, then strode onwards through the door.

Far down below, three men and a winged horse stared at one very small boy and his snake.

"George," Travis said, slowly, "This isn't Hermes. He's…he's another son of Hermes."

'Of course he's Hermes,' George objected stubbornly. 'Only Hermes tastes like Hermes.' He flicked his tongue out as if to show them, though it didn't actually touch Parcel.

Percy looked at Parcel and George, than looked at his horse, then back again. "Blackjack says he smells like a demigod."

'Mortal,' George agreed. 'Was that part of the plan?'

"I don't remember," Parcel told the snake with calm seriousness, despite the way his face was still wet from crying. Everyone was staring at Parcel again.

"Parcel…are you Hermes?" Connor blurted out.

Parcel wrinkled up his nose as if thinking hard, then said, "You said I'm your brother. And our dad was the sleeping delivery man. And Hermes. And I'm not a sleeping delivery man. And now my name is Parcel. Not Hermes."

Over his head, the three men shared a confused look, unsure what to make of this.

"He's definitely mortal," Travis pointed out. "I mean, he bleeds. Like, blood."

"Wouldn't George know him, though…" Connor pointed out. "If he were with dad when this happened then…George would have been there."

They all looked at George again. George had relaxed himself, snuggling about Parcel's shoulders while the boy pet him carefully. Parcel seemed unaware of the attention and his free hand went back to his mouth. He looked about as far from being a god as one can be; eyes wide and teary, face covered in snot, sucking on one of his own fingers. He looked like a very little boy who had been pushed to his limit and needed comfort and attention.

He did have Hermes' features. But so did Travis and Connor.

"Parcel," Percy said, addressing the boy gently. "Since we're here…can you walk us through what you remember about what happened?"

Parcel didn't answer, though his eyes flickered to Percy, then back to the snake.

"Look," said Travis, "Enough of this. Let's go home, get cleaned up, regroup. We can figure this out there."

But suddenly Parcel was wriggling in his arms, freeing himself, until Travis was forced to set him down or drop him.

"No!" Parcel shouted. "We aren't leaving without Martha!" And he shoved George into an unsuspecting Percy's arms, then ran for the split van, diving for that dark space where he had found George before, evading hands that reached out to grab him.

Travis and Connor ran after him, shouting curses, trying to stop him as he disappeared into the narrow crawl space. For a moment, it looked like Travis did catch him, but when he pulled back all he had was the snake stuffie.

Percy watched them, standing next to Blackjack and still holding George. The snake had grumbled at the exchange, but then had wound himself around Percy's arm and seemed to be comfortable enough.

"Huh," said Percy out loud, "Soooo…he remembers Martha, then?"

'Of course Hermes remembers Martha,' George protested. 'Why wouldn't he?'

"They told me he didn't remember anything. Not even his own name." George had no reply to this, though Percy could feel his coils tightening marginally. He gently patted his head, avoiding the scrape. Then, still watching while Connor wedged himself into the space after Parcel, only managing to get himself stuck, Percy said, "George…what did happen here? Who attacked you?"

'Attacked? Yessss…we were attacked. Blast hit our chariot…knocked us over. Blocked our signal, couldn't call out. Couldn't warn…' He trailed off.

"Yes, but who?" Percy persisted. Connor had managed to free himself from the van and Travis was trying to get under it next, even though he was slightly bigger than Connor. Both were still shouting after Parcel, ordering him to come back out. Percy couldn't hear Parcel replying. Surely, he hadn't gotten hurt under there, where they couldn't reach him.

'That titan!' George shouted, his ire giving him strength. 'He had some kind of missile launcher! Blew up our chariot. We tried to zap him, tried to knock him unconscious, but…he…he was ready for us. Blew us up! Hermes…we had a plan but…I don't know what happened!'

"Who?" Percy repeated, "Which titan?"

'Hermes doubled himself,' George went on, ignoring the interruption, too worked up, 'Should have doubled us too, I knew he should, we could have helped. Said we were too much. Went small, had to, not a lot of room and…he was being stealthy. Under the cloak. We went to face that backstabbing, fire stealing, side switching titan head on, Hermes had us, and his harpe, and his shoes while other Hermes was going to sneak around with the cloak…I don't know what happened! We got blasted and…I only just woke up, and it was dark, and there were no rats to eat, and no Hermes, and no Martha…and now I found Hermes and he's mortal and…what did he do to him?!'

"Who?!" Percy demanded.

The commotion around the van suddenly increased as Parcel reappeared. Travis and Connor grabbed him as soon as he was in reach, shouting at him.

"I told you not to run off!" Travis shouted.

"You could have gotten stuck, and we couldn't reach you!" Connor shouted over him. Parcel didn't seem upset over being shouted at, barely even seemed to notice their concern. He was grinning and holding something in his arms.

"I found Martha!" he exclaimed, then, "But she won't wake up." And, as if someone had flipped a switch, his elation transformed into tears.