The car wasn't hard to find—it was more like impossible to recognize. He'd never seen this model before, not even in his own time. It was a 2009 make, and while he could drive, it felt completely foreign. The trial-and-error method of locating Danny Herbert's car in the hospital parking lot had drained him more than he wanted to admit. Eventually, he found himself driving through unfamiliar streets, the addresses and layout pieced together from fragmented memories of Danny's life.

By some miracle, he pulled into the driveway of a modest home, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The lock clicked behind him—a small sound that seemed to echo louder in the suffocating quiet of the house. The first thing he did was sit on the couch in the dimly lit living room, with the weight of everything bearing down on him. He rubbed his face, his hands lingering as he stared blankly at the floor.

This isn't my body. This isn't my life. How do I even begin to process this?

He felt hollow, as if every ounce of emotion had been wrung out of him. There was no manual for something like this. How could there be? The enormity of the situation was paralyzing. He wasn't himself anymore, not in the literal or metaphorical sense. He was Danny Herbert now. And Danny Herbert had a daughter.

Taylor.

He thought back to her in the hospital, sitting in silence for hours because he hadn't known what to say after the few words he spoke to her and it was unbearable. She had been physically healed, but her silence spoke of scars far deeper than the flesh. He'd promised to try, but he hadn't said much else because...what else could he say? The thought of her looking to him for guidance filled him with dread.

His gaze drifted to the stack of papers on the drawer beside the couch. Bills. Complaints. Threats. Letters from angry dockworkers who had lost their jobs. He read the first few, the words blurring together as his mind tried to comprehend the sheer weight Danny had carried. It wasn't just stress—it was despair, a kind he could almost relate to but not quite.

He put the papers down and stood up, needing something, anything, to occupy his mind. Exploring the house became a distraction, each room a small puzzle piece in the larger picture of Danny's life. The master bedroom was sparsely decorated, almost utilitarian. He showered before lying down in bed, the sheets unfamiliar and the bed too soft. Sleep didn't come easily.

The next morning, he found himself eating breakfast, though his appetite was still lukewarm at best. He spent the day familiarizing himself with the house, noting the creaks in the floorboards and the outdated appliances. He drove around the neighborhood, getting gas for the car and marveling at how much cheaper it was compared to his time. Every action felt like a small victory, though the looming reality of Taylor returning home hung over him like a storm cloud.

While rummaging through Danny's belongings, he found a small, leather-bound notebook tucked away in a drawer. It was a diary, filled with Danny's personal thoughts and musings. Guilt gnawed at him as he opened it.

I'm sorry for this, Danny. But I need to understand.

The entries painted a clearer picture of the man Danny had been. A father trying his best but failing under the crushing weight of responsibility. A man who cared deeply for his daughter but he had no idea how to reconnect after his wife died, how he had been beaten down by circumstances outside his control.

As he read, his thoughts spiraled. The hospital bills, though, if everything goes like it does in Worm and this isn't some alternate timeline then he wouldn't have to worry about that but then other things came to mind. The dockworker threats. Taylor. The future. He knew what was coming, the events of Worm, the battles, the villains, the end of the world. How could he, someone who barely had control over his own panic, hope to keep Taylor even remotely safe through all of that?

His chest felt tight. He was breathing too fast. The room felt colder, though he barely noticed. His thoughts were racing, a chaotic torrent of fears and doubts.

I can't do this. I can't be her father. I don't even know who I am anymore. How do I keep her safe when I don't even know how to survive in this world? How can I—

The sound of cracking drew his attention. His breath hitched as he looked around and saw frost creeping along the walls, delicate patterns of ice forming on the furniture. The air was noticeably colder now, his breath visible in the dim light.

He froze, staring at the frost, realization dawning slowly.

Did he just...?

He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply. In. Out. Slowly, deliberately. The cold began to dissipate, the frost receding as the temperature returned to normal.

He sat down heavily on the bed, his head in his hands.

Okay. Breathe. Just...breathe. One thing at a time.

A laughter filled the room, it was high-pitched and full of amusement. Turning his head to the sudden noise, he wondered who in the world it was that had suddenly entered. This was his house now, and he paused, hardly believing his own eyes at what he was seeing. He considered the thought that he might be hallucinating.

He blinked.

He stared at the person and they stared right back at him.

Either this was some projection or maybe even a cape that liked to look the part. And he was willing to consider that possibility, but the person was impossibly radiant, with a golden helmet adorned with winged accents and matching sandals. His smile was sharp, confident, and entirely too familiar.

Why was Hermes in his house right now?


Hello, sorry that I haven't posted anything at all it's been a long week with school and the weather since it's freezing and all but I finally posted a chapter. Also take a wild guess on which God Danny is, it's very obvious and anyways next chapter will be more focused on Taylor since I'm thinking of time skipping it to a week later so I can focus on the very awkward but wholesome moments. Also Hermes will be sticking around.