Hermes — Beginning
Ages: Travis (1) + Connor (0)
Hermes can still remember the day he met her.
A drunken night out with his two half-brothers. Strobe lights flickering over confetti littered asphalt. L.A. club music pounding through the still night. A slender body pressed against his back.
He remembers a voice, almost angel-like, saying hello. Sparkling lake blue eyes that dance under the light. Laugh twinkling with genuine mirth. Hair, long and hazelnut, curling through ringless fingers. A smile that draws him in and makes him yearn for more.
Raven Stoll is wild, free-spirited, and stole Hermes's heart. And wallet too.
There's the initial sadness at first, waking up to an empty bed. But Hermes supposes it's best. After all, what happened with May, with Luke, would never have happened if he didn't love and care so much.
Hermes gathers his belongings, checks his emails, groans at the messages, and promptly takes off, hand absentmindedly searching for his wallet. Thoughts of last night have all but left his mind.
Nine months later, Travis Stoll is born in the bathtub of a cheap, rusty apartment in downtown San Francisco.
His screaming fills the night sky as he comes into the world.
His mother picks up her bags and leaves. In a flash of light, Hermes appears and picks his newborn child up from the cold tiles, wrapping him with a blanket and laying him on a couch. He writes a mental note to himself to guide his son to Camp Half Blood when he's older. Then he disappears to finish his deliveries for the day and soon forgets about his son's existence.
It's not like he didn't care.
He cares for all his children!
It's just that he's a busy god with numerous children all around the world. He can't honestly be expected to remember each and every child he ever had. It's preposterous and frankly impossible. Especially if the parent drops all contact with him and the child foregoes praying.
The only sure days he'll greet them are on their birth and on their death.
A year passes in relative peace. Hermes delivers his mail, worries about Luke, about May. He sleeps with women and men alike, drinking his troubles away at bars every other night.
When Hermes appears in his newest born son's room, he's struck with deja vu. The room is strangely familiar, the darkness not overconsuming only by the moonlight. Cooing brings Hermes's attention to the lump on the couch. A baby stares back with wide, lake-blue eyes and Hermes knows that face. He had stared at the same face a year ago in the same dark room.
A tugging on his flying shoes makes him look down. An infant, with a mop of curly brown hair, is grasping at the feathers of his shoe. Dread fills Hermes.
He bends to his knees, picking up the infant by the armpits, and brings the child up to his face. The baby giggles and claps its chubby hands.
"Travis?"
"Dada!"
Connor Stoll, as much as Hermes hates to admit it, is a mistake, an accident, a blunder, a result of a drunken night out in the slums of San Francisco's night bars with his ractactious half-brothers. (Note to self: never go partying with Ares and Apollo ever again.)
There's a reason most gods and goddesses tend to not linger after a night of fun — godly duties, yes for the most part, and also as equally important the thought of a second kid.
One demigod is enough to peak the ears of nearby monsters. Two in one centralized location is just a screaming radar. It brings more monsters than one mortal can handle and their mother definitely did not handle it.
She did not even acknowledge it.
Hermes can count on one hand the amount of times he saw Raven in the apartment in the six years he took care of them. He sometimes wonders how Travis made it through his first year of life with such a negligent mother.
Taking care of the two infants — well, he didn't take care of them per se. Martha and George checked up on them daily, made sure they had food to eat, made sure they were warm, made sure they were entertained. He was only able to come once every two weeks to restock the fridge and pantry. He tried sending Martha and George to the supermarket once and it did not pan out well.
Anyway, taking care of the two infants helped reinforce his resolve to never have more than one child with the same woman.
As the father and a god, one should expect Hermes to be able to tell the Stoll brothers apart.
And he can, with 100% accuracy.
Back when they were toddlers.
Travis is the one who walks. Connor is the one who crawls. Travis can talk and Connor babbles. Travis is bigger and Connor is smaller.
Then more years pass and the differences begin to diminish. They both grow to the same height, both have the same voice with the same inflections, both have the same interests and hobbies, and both love not telling Hermes who is who.
George and Martha are no help whatsoever, hissing comments such as "Travis is the one who hums" or "Connor is the one who likes rock music" when both brothers are doing the same exact activity.
He thanks the fates that brothers didn't seem to mind him getting their names wrong. It's a blessing actually. They will giggle actually when he calls them by the wrong name and with their high-pitched voice preeminent in all toddlers, they say together, "Nope, Daddy. Try again."
They smile at him, with all the love of a child. Pure and devoted. Innocent and free.
It makes him think of Luke and how Luke will never smile like that at him.
It's unfair of him. It's cruel. It's giving false hope that their father will be a constant in their life, but Hermes can't bear himself to leave. Not just yet. Not when one of his children despises him and two adore him. Not when one is living with their mother, crazed by the oracle and who's fate he cannot tamper with.
At least with these two, he can provide a comfortable home.
He won't admit it, but it fills the gap of being a disappointment just a bit.
Then he finally meets Luke in person. They fight over his lack of presence, of never helping him, and Hermes accidentally spills he knows what's in the future for Luke. They fight more and Luke leaves more resentful of him than ever.
It feels sickening going into that dingy apartment in San Francisco.
The same day, Hermes drops Travis and Connor off at an orphanage.
He tells himself there are a multitude of reasons why he's leaving.
His mails are piling up and complaints are filing in.
Zeus is not pleased with his lack of complete effort in his job and demands him to work overtime.
The orphanage will do a better job as their caretaker. They are equipped with the tools of raising children rather than their father who's gone for the better part of the month.
The brothers are old enough to watch each other's back when monsters do come.
They have celestial weapons.
They'll be fine.
He has done all he can and it's more than enough.
This is what he tells himself as he closes the door to the children's home.
It's what he tells himself again and again, repeating it like a mantra, when twin pairs of eyes stare at him from the windows, hurt and confused.
He burns the words into his mind as he slips his flying shoes on, as Connor's small voice asks from the open windows, "When are you coming back?" as Travis says, "Dad? You are coming back, right?"
And as Hermes takes off, looking back stupidly, he tells himself that the sadness in their eyes is better than the burning hatred in Luke's.
But he's lying to himself again. They all hurt the same.
Author's Notes:
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