There was a countdown running constantly in Hermes' head.

Two days and three hours.

"Here are your packages! Just sign here…and here…thank you, have a good day!"

"Next time don't ring the bell if you must come so late! You woke the kids!"

"…have a good evening!"

One day and 23 hours.

"Hey, what is this? I ordered a set of maracas not a case of mangoes! What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I have right here, one case of mangoes for Lady Pomona."

"I can literally create fruit! I need my maracas for the Solstice! Take these back and bring me my maracas!"

"As you wish. I'll need you to sign here to that affect, expect the maracas in five to ten business days."

"Gah! Uselessbabygodlingconninghiswayupthemountaincan'tevendohisjob"

"What was that?"

"I said, keep the stupid maracas, just forget it! And take the mangoes with you!"

One day and 15 hours.

"Finally! I made the order two weeks ago! Now I barely have time to set it all up before tomorrow night!"

"Sorry for the delay, sir. Busy time of year, you know."

"Whatever…where do I sign."

"That's all I need. Happy Solstice!"

"Sure."

One day and 7 hours.

"Baby bro! You're looking a bit peaky. Been taking care of yourself?"

"Just a bit tired. Busy time of year, you know. Everyone wants their packages delivered before the holiday. But I'm fine. Look, even drank some nectar."

"Is that why you look a bit flushed? You haven't been overdoing the nectar, have you? Because…"

"Is it peaky or is it flushed, because you know those are opposite things. I'm fine. Look, still an adult, handling my job like a big boy and everything."

"Of course you are, I just…ooh, is that a package for me?"

"Yep, one special gift for my glorious…er…shiny brother."

"Weird phrasing but…where are you going so fas…

Boom

"Hermes! Get back here! You know glitter never comes out of my hair! Gah!"

One day.

Just one more day. He can manage one day. Tonight was the solstice. Tonight was the council meeting. Tonight he got to hang out with his kids and his family and

and he was so far behind schedule it wasn't even funny. And so beyond exhausted he'd pretty much come out the other side. He was avoiding Dionysus like the plague because if D saw him he'd probably tattle on the state of Hermes' current sanity and Hermes would likely be tied to his bed and he'd get even further behind and Hermes knew that he'd gone a bit insane because sane people don't start to see lights flickering in the corners of their eyes where there are none, or close their eyes for half a second and go on a brief psychedelic journey before their leg jerks and startles them back to reality

and he just had to make it through the solstice. And then it was two days until that stupid usurp holiday, another super big night for Hermes. And then he could rest. For, like, a month. And remember that he had other realms to maintain besides journeying roads and delivering mail. Not that he'd completely starved himself. People paid for delivery, and he got to run fast, and when clients were super beyond the norm annoying, he'd accidentally walk away with something of theirs after he dropped off their mail. It wasn't enough, but it was something.

He needed sleep, needed to do anything that wasn't drive, hand off packages, accept packages, smile. But he couldn't stop now. This was his busiest time of year…and it was the time that could make or break clients. Clients loved it when their Very Important Gifts arrived before the holiday they're intended for. And they loved prompt service in general. And they preferred a delivery man who was polite and subservient and didn't lord over them just because he somehow scammed his way onto the Olympian Council. Their words. Sarcasm all Hermes'.

It was tempting, oh so tempting, to call rank when he heard the soft grumbles, words they wanted him to hear but pretended were to themselves.

'Glorified mailman.'

'Stupid delinquent can't even do his one job. Two days late!'

'Thought he was meant to be fast.'

'How'd he get on the Council? Oh right…important daddy.'

It would be soooo easy to call them on it. Just something simple like 'I'll be sure to let Lord Zeus know you feel that way.' And then just watch the ichor drain from their face. Or blood. Or whatever. He was an open opportunity mailman. Sometimes he had to bite his own tongue, especially when the grumbles weren't just aimed at Hermes but at his family. The more worn down he got, the harder it was to remember why he put up with it. Why he didn't answer back. Why he didn't tattle on the worst of the worst to his dad and then just smile and watch the carnage. Zeus was not known for taking complaints against him well, nor was he known for allowing harm to come to his children.

But Hermes didn't want to be the kind of guy who hid behind his dad when people got mean. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And maaaybe it felt like… if he did complain… if he couldn't handle it… the whispers that were only barely behind his back might, in fact, be valid.

He'd worked hard to get where he was. Sure, he'd been named herald to the gods, but the delivery company was all him. No one had made him do that. At the beginning, all being a herald meant was literally going about to announce things on the behest of the gods. And 'gods' usually only meant the Olympian Council gods. Most often his own father. He had built up a company, all by himself. He had created a wireless message system, too…not entirely by himself because some mortals had started it, but it was Hermes who had seen the potential in what they were doing, who had guided the network, who had made sure it would not belong just to the elite or to a single government but to the world, both mortal and divine.

He also had other realms than heraldry. Delivering mail was his most visible role as a god, so it tended to be the one people latched onto, but it was far from his only role. Not even his most important. At the heart of it, his divine role was shepherding. Sheep…but also money, people, debates, souls. The roads were his realm but people were his focus. Other deities got forces of nature but Hermes was a younger god for a reason. In the beginning there had been no people and so no real need for him. Gods arrive when they are needed. And Hermes had basically been born running.

Now mortals counted in the billions. And even if one reduced his realm to the U.S., that was still some 300 million humans. And then there were satyrs, and nymphs, and…well, Hermes actually wielded a huge amount of power and totally deserved to be on the Olympian Council. Or so he tried to remind himself.

It got harder to believe it when he was so hyped up on nectar and loopy from the need to rest and he'd not sat on his throne for a week because he was so busy and he was failing his realms and he was still behind.

Ten more hours

He still needed to make sure his kids' gifts were ready. He hadn't forgotten his children, couldn't forget, he literally had a corner of his mind always monitoring for their prayers. But he had so much to do, and he'd set aside wrapping gifts for when there was more time.

There was never more time.

'You should rest before the meeting.'

"Martha, you are literally in charge of overseeing the shipping manifest. At our current pace, we will still be behind by no less than 38 clients who requested their delivery arrive by the solstice. The solstice itself is going to slow us down by at least a day, and then we have Christmas deliveries. If I rest now, for every hour I stop, we will lose some 50 clients."

'Even you can't work non-stop for two weeks straight.'

"Not you, too, George. It's fine. I'm fine. I'll take a break after. Sleep for, like, a month."

Four more hours

He could do this. He could totally do this. He could walk up to his dad, get Zeus to sign for his rather sizable stack of packages and letters (the usual requests and complaints supplemented by solstice cards and token gifts because no one wanted Zeus to think they'd slighted their king by forgetting to send him something at the solstice). Hermes could just walk straight in there, pulling his cart of mail, be all professional and sane and…

He still looked middle-aged. He'd checked in the mirror. Twice. As he'd applied a bit of makeup to hide the dark shadows under his eyes and how he somehow looked pale and glowing at the same time. Was the palace always kept this warm? This felt needlessly warm. Probably Apollo's fault. Or maybe it was all the summer spirits; they tended to winter in Olympus where the weather was kept more summery than not, even when it was snowing in New York.

His hair looked a bit more salty than peppery at the moment, so hah, if anything he was more aged than usual and no one should look at him and go, 'Hermes…you're looking young…are you working yourself too hard?' Because, unlike most gods, Hermes tended to go young when overburdened instead of old.

He drank another nectar just to be certain of things. It was surprisingly hard to choke down. Usually he accidentally starved himself a bit this time of year from all nourishment, the hunger for actual energy from ambrosia or nectar masked by the constant hunger for his realms beyond heraldry. It was always a busy time of year, though this year felt a bit worse than normal. Too many people had waited until the very last minute to make their holiday orders or send their gifts or cards. The point was, usually, drinking nectar was a relief and the moment the first taste passed his lips he'd be greedily guzzling it down until the whole bottle was gone.

This year he'd tried to do better than snatching the occasional ambrosia square when dropping stuff off in his siblings' homes. Plus, he'd had a new brilliant idea of mixing an unholy concoction of mortal energy drinks with the nectar. At first, it had been great. He'd had boundless energy and no need to sleep long past when he should be feeling the strain. But slowly, very slowly, the strain had caught up anyway. So he drank more of his special drink.

This time, his stomach rebelled, and he almost threw it all up. Which was just plain bizarre because gods generally don't get sick in that way, and how can mortals stand this feeling because, gross. Luckily, he didn't quite throw up. And no one was around to see the faces he made. Maaaybe he was overdoing the nectar, just a tad. Maybe something solid would have been better?

Still, the nectar did the trick, and the lights zipping through his vision receded and he could stand tall and strong and not look seconds away from passing out. Or, you know, be seconds away from passing out. If someone told him to go to sleep right after that drink, he would literally be unable to obey. He rather thought even his own caduceus couldn't force sleep on him right then.

So now he could deliver to Dad, and Dad won't notice how worn down he is and give ridiculous orders regarding taking breaks that Hermes would have to obey because Dad is also the King, and then Hermes would be sooo far behind he'd never catch up and he'd lose clients and his whole deliver service company would fall apart and all those stupid gods who already think he's useless will laugh and say I told you so and…

So, time to deliver to Dad.

"Hey, Kingman, you got mail!"

It was only after Zeus pulled a face, not really anger or annoyance, more his 'why are you like this? I am amused but also, stop that' face he got when Hermes said something inappropriate during an official Council meeting. Belatedly, Hermes glanced around and noticed that not only were most of his aunts and uncles in their thrones, but they all seemed to be in some kind of meeting with a group of foreign looking gods in suits.

"Er…I mean…greetings Lord Zeus, I apologize for the interruption, but…you got mail!"

"Is that how you let the delivery boy talk to you?" one of the visitors asked, cold and disdainful. Zeus's expression turned to stone, and his hand went to his lightning bolt. He didn't actually pick it up or try to zap anyone, but lightning did zip down his tunic and ride along the edge of his throne, and Hermes could feel the pressure in the room change, the hairs on the back of his arms sticking straight up.

"Thank you, son," Zeus said, his tone pointed and severe, though clearly not aimed at Hermes because his eyes never left the visitor. "I trust you will soon rest yourself before we all attend to tonight's meeting?"

The visitors who had not spoken took a step away from the one who had. He did not speak again, not the whole time that Hermes got his dad to sign for his mail, or while Hermes unloaded his cart (this took a while).

"You are looking a bit peaky, nephew," Demeter said while he worked. "Are you eating enough cereal?"

"Peaky? He's downright glowing," Poseidon objected, though the way he said it, it was not a good thing. "You're not overdoing it, are you Hermes?"

Aunt Hestia didn't say anything, just dropped a couple of ambrosia squares into his now empty cart as he made his escape before any of his family could notice he'd not actually answered his dad's request that he rest.

He tried to eat one of the squares. This time he couldn't keep it down. He had to run rather fast before the rather displeased dryad could recognize him and tell someone. Like it's Hermes fault that he can't tell the difference between the basic decorative trees throughout the palace halls and those that are actually inhabited.

And then, somehow, he had half an hour to get himself ready for the council meeting. It was going to be fun. He dropped off his last delivery of the night (only behind by 26 clients, ha!) and at last he could take some time away from it all. Feast, dance, see his kids. Well, there was the meeting to get through first, but hopefully there was nothing important on this year's agenda and they could breeze through that and…

Hermes felt terrible. Like his whole body had been trampled over by a heard of minotaur and then tossed into one of his brother's furnaces. A very large part of himself wanted nothing more than to just…stop. Stop everything. Lie down in his bed and sleep and sleep and sleep. Then wake up and visit the Camp (always a highlight; his kids were there, and the half-bloods embodied so many of his realms it energized him just visiting), maybe go on another heist, volunteer for a bit at a homeless shelter…feed his realms and relax and have fun.

After he slept.

But he couldn't, not yet. Whatever those grumblers thought, he was still an Olympian Council member. And he might enjoy fun and pranks, but he took responsibilities seriously. He had to be there for that. And after…there was no way he was disappointing his kids by doing a vanishing act. Even if the thought of feasting turned his stomach. Even if the thought of dancing or pranking his siblings or all the things he usually enjoyed just make him feel drained to his very soul. Or, well, whatever gods had instead of souls.

One more night. Then he'd give himself a few hours to rest before the Christmas rush. And then…a month.

He checked himself in the mirror and…no, no, no, no! His hair was gray-white, which was somewhat to be expected and that was fine, completely fine, but his face didn't match. His height didn't match. He was going younger in spite of the nectar, the gray hair doing nothing to help him look aged. He looked like a teen acting as an old man for the stage. At least he didn't think he'd gone younger than late teens, early twenties. He'd lost a couple of inches of height and his face looked a bit less pronounced than usual, but that was it. He could pull this off.

He needed more nectar.

The nectar, for maybe the first time ever, tasted revolting. Either he'd done a bad mix with the energy drink or had a bad batch or…but it worked. He forced it down, and then a second because he needed to get through the next few hours. Then he had to just sit for almost ten minutes while his stomach tried to rebel and he didn't let it.

At least the heat from before had receded. Maybe Dad got onto Apollo over overheating their guests. If anything, Hermes was starting to feel a bit chilled, even in his own temple which he usually managed to keep pleasantly warm. Gods weren't really affected by heat and cold, not like mortals, but Hermes still found extreme temperatures uncomfortable. Probably something to do with his realms having ties to mortals, who could be so fragile when it came to temperature. Apollo got uncomfortable if things got too cold, but loved the heat, for much the same reason. Aunt Demeter sometimes actively wilted if it got too cold.

But there was no time to worry about the heating, so Hermes arranged his festive outfit, then tried to arrange his face into something carefree and relaxed.

'You're not fooling anyone, you know,' Martha said, sounding just on the edge of too worried. 'No one will mind if you need to sit this out.'

A part of Hermes feared that was true. That he was so inconsequential no one would really care whether or not he was at the meeting. That his own kids would have just as much fun whether their dad was there or not. Maybe even more fun. Most were at an age where hanging out with your dad was no longer cool.

"I'm fine," Hermes answered.

'We get rats at the feast, right?' George asked, and Hermes smiled in spite of everything.

"So many rats," Hermes agreed, because they really deserved it. Next he checked on his gifts for his kids, and then the gifts he'd brought for all of Cabin 11, and then the incidental tokens that were for all the half-bloods because the origins of the Solstice had not included gift giving and not all parents bothered and no kid should have to watch everyone else get something and have nothing for themself.

Only his very own kids got wrapped presents specific to their own interests, because he also didn't want them to feel just one of the crowd for their own father. He was far from a perfect dad, he was well aware, but he at least tried to make sure they felt seen by him.

All was ready. He could survive the night.

He stepped out, leaving the presents to be summoned later, and shivered as a chill of cold went through his body. He was fine.