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Chapter Text

Hermes was not slow, in any sense of the word. 

His mind moved no slower than his body, as fast and agile as a hummingbird, and his mouth moved even quicker than either. He was, he surmised, not well-liked; few members of his family were known for their patience. He was a pest among gods, and rarely found himself truly welcome - just tolerated. 

Impossible, then, not to feel drawn to an entity that seemed to patiently enjoy his presence. 

Charon was difficult to truly understand. He could not speak, insofar as he could not form words within the groans and sighs that left him, and his expression was stiff in a desiccated mask. Still, there was nuance to his tone, with anger and approval ringing out quite differently and subtle indicators of emotions in between.

The wreath of roiling smoke that exuded from his mouth - pale purple at a glance, but deeper than that upon close inspection, a full-bodied whirl of purple and black and blue so tightly compacted it almost seemed like Hermes could reach out and grab hold of it like fabric - served as its own form of communication. It drifted out of him lazily and contently as Hermes chattered away, perched on the edge of the boatman's skiff, but he'd seen it in a great many different contexts. 

It could thicken and slow into a voluminous column, to mark some intense consideration. 

It could thin and speed into sharp wisps, to express agitation.

Once, when the subject of Charon's apparent fondness for Hades' young prince had arisen, the boatman's smoky breath had turned into stuttered puffs, chugging out of him in embarrassed clouds. Cute, Hermes had thought.

Today, he'd arrived by happenstance to find Charon's younger brother, Thanatos, hovering in the air in front of the skiff. The God of Death spoke calmly, brusquely, and Hermes thought it odd when Charon's airy groan seemed to elicit a genuine smirk from the entity. He nodded, as though the skeletal form before him had spoken clearly.

Hermes considered the possibility that Thanatos could understand his elder brother's utterances, but at closer inspection, he noticed something entirely new: Charon's swirling smoke was not alone. 

He was not terribly familiar with Thanatos, but he'd seen the chthonic entity enough to know the faint green wisps trailing along the edges of his frame were not normally present. He did not breathe it the way his elder brother did. Instead, it coiled from his skin, as though he were solid ice smoking gently as it wilted in the heat of the Underworld. 

Between them, lilac and teal collected in a shimmering flow, meeting in tendrils and wisps, joining together in the air. Hermes stared, curiously, watching as Charon's groaned sigh poured a gust of purple smoke down his dark chin, its voluminous spiral fluttering down to push and nestle against Thanatos' pale aura, without fully breaching its space.

When the young god shook his head, Hermes couldn't dismiss the feeling that he was reacting more to the smoke than the sound that had left Charon's visage. "Be that as it may, Charon, watch yourself. Our Lord may not be forgiving forever, and you are not immune to his wrath."

Thanatos did not wait for a response before he disappeared, a crack of green light encasing him, the flutter of wings burnt into the backs of Hermes' eyes - too fast, even, for him to pick out clear detail. There was a moment where Charon gazed hollowly at the space where his brother had hovered, and then he turned to see Hermes.

The smoke drifting from his mouth thickened, briefly, a great puff of it escaping him in excitement or relief... and then it thinned into wispy trails, soft as it trailed up his features and collected against the wide brim of his hat. The glow of his singular eyesocket brightened, softening in its purple illumination, and one slender grey hand lifted to wave the God of Swiftness over.

Hermes obeyed, the wings at his heels and tucked behind his ears fluttering out to push him through the air, keeping high above the surface of the River Styx until he reached the boat. As his toes touched the rim of the skiff, settling there with the lightest of anchors, he crossed his arms thoughtfully in front of his chest.

"Hey, partner." he chirped, wings flapping a bit harder to keep him steady as Charon tilted his oar, beginning a slow stroke to push the boat onward. It never stopped, truly, as the Styx flowed beneath them - but the stroke of his oar accelerated it. "Everything good with you? You getting yourself into trouble with the boss? I keep telling you to leave helping the Prince to me and mine."

Charon's breath left him in a small bubble, a puff, and it rose up and into the air above them. Hermes watched it go, and though he could easily enough identify the sound of his associate wheezing out a chuckle, his eyes remained trained on the smoke. Did it contain a word? A thought? Lady Nyx' bloodline, sharing some thread of Chaos' energy that connected them beyond language?

Why did he feel jealous?

He talked, chattered, instead of examining the thought too closely. "Then again, who's Thanatos to tell you what to do? Last I heard, he's far from objective here. My sister Aphrodite has a keen sense for these things, you know, love and all that. Sort of her domain. But you knew that already. Probably know plenty more about Thanatos than I do, too. It's true, isn't it? Coz and your brother?"

When Charon groaned, a soft "Hrrraaaagghh.", it was faintly chiding. The cloud of smoke that drifted from his mouth, however, fluffed and thickened in that embarrassed way it did when Hermes teased him.

The Olympian grinned and shifted to tiptoe his way along the rim of the skiff, allowing his body to rotate as he walked, half-pirouetting along the boat's edge. "Oh, don't blush like you've no idea what I mean. Your brother hardly seems the type to disobey Uncle Hades unless he's got quite the... iron in the fire, or something." he babbled, drawing closer, coming to rest only inches from Charon's elbow where it bent and swiped to shift his oar to the other side of the boat. "Iron in coz' fire, at least."

As hovered there, he couldn't help but watch as a swirl of purple smoke twisted in his direction, so close, within reach - and he couldn't help but stretch out a hand. It was so easy to do it so carelessly.

As his fingertips brushed into the space, the smoke fluttering gently as it encased his digits and curled around his skin, he was surprised at how warm it was. Heat scattered across his hand, and he felt the strangest pulsing sensation, as if the smoke itself constricted around his fingertips. It felt... solid, in a way he didn't expect. It shivered as his palm slid through it - or against it, he wasn't quite sure -

He jolted, startled into an un-godlike squeak, when Charon's grip locked around his wrist like a vice. His hand was pushed down a few inches, shoved away, and he might've slipped on the rim of the skiff if his wings hadn't all frantically sped to kick his weight up in the air and keep him steady. 

Eyes wide, he darted his attention toward Charon's face, and he found there an emotion he didn't expect: shock.

It was in the slackness of his jaw, mouth wide as he wheezed out a quiet sound, and the brightness of his lilac eye. Even his right socket, usually dark, held the subtlest spark of purple in its very center.

Unthinking, Hermes fluttered backwards, finding himself leaning back until his body floated at a diagonal. Charon released him the moment he began to move, and they stared at one another, a few feet now between them. Wordless uncertainty hung there in the air, and Hermes did not often find himself wordless.

The boatman slowly settled his slender, ringed hand against his chest, fingertips brushing the clinking collar of obols that graced his robes. It seemed more a self-soothing gesture than anything else, and as his fingers stilled, so too did his posture - and the smoke billowing from his mouth. It settled, thinned, and Hermes was sure he'd never seen it leak out in such a slim column. Bashful? Contrite?

"Kghhh." Charon hissed out, mournful, and his head ducked until the front of his hat covered his face: indeed, an apology.

It shook Hermes free of his surprise, and with the dam broken, he planted both his hands against his chest and blurted out, "Oh, damn, that was awful nosy of me, wasn't it? I'm too fast for my own good, sometimes, do things without thinking, you know - impulsive, pop would say. I didn't mean to, won't do it again, but you know, I didn't realize it was - well, whatever it is."

The other entity's head lifted just slightly, just enough for that singular lilac eye to gaze at him, and he was silent. Hermes found it difficult not to fill the empty air, just as he found it difficult not to gaze at the wisps of smoke licking up over Charon's wide brim.

"Say, partner, what... is it? Is it... ticklish, or... did I hurt you?" When the boatman responded with the mildest of shakes of his head, negating both words, Hermes pressed. His curiosity could not be kept under wraps, and when Charon did not immediately discourage him, he continued. "It almost seemed like... you spoke to your brother with it, or through it, or something like that. Is it... you? Or more of you?"

Charon seemed to think, his head tilting slightly, before he released a quiet and muted sigh. The smoke that drifted out on his breath roiled low and then plumed up around his face, and he lifted his oar from where it had fallen slack beside the boat, setting it down inside the skiff. With his hands freed, he took one careful step closer to Hermes, his robes gathered loosely around his legs.

The skiff did not wobble under the shift of his weight, as if it knew him so well it matched him in its floating, or he it.

Hermes watched, eyes wide, as the Stygian boatman raised both his hands up. His fingers, heavily ringed and almost skeletal underneath the metal ornamentation, circled up and over the smoke rising from his mouth. It collected there, seeming almost to disobey the natural flow of its gaseous form as it pooled against his palm and remained there, circling into a loose orb.

He cupped his hands together, holding it there in some impossible gravity, and offered them out. His purple-eyed attention was as intense as it always was, bright and piercing, but the God of Swiftness sensed a particular tension in it.

He would be careful, this time. Delicate, though delicacy was not his strong suit.

There was not an instant of hesitation. Hermes fluttered forward, now flipping his diagonal hover to lean toward the other entity, lowering himself to peer down at the smoke gathered in Charon's hands. He reached up a hand, pausing only to glance up and observe the way the boatman inclined his head in encouragement, before settling fingertips just near the edges of the smoke's furthest wisps and tails.

It was not solid, strictly, but neither was it immaterial. It tickled his fingertips, mostly heat but also a tender, velvety sensation. He brushed along its edge without pushing to breach its surface, his eyes widening as he found its wispy tendrils oscillating gently against his skin. It reacted to him, seemed to reach out to him, and he couldn't help but smile. There was something welcoming, there, or... intimate.

It was beautiful.

The smile faded, however, when his attention darted up toward Charon. The entity watched him, and from the greyed shape of his skeletal death-grin, only the smallest curl of fog escaped - and then nothing at all. He seemed enraptured, and it was difficult to tell exactly why. He did not even know Charon had the capacity to hold his breath.

Was it uncomfortable? Was he waiting, expectantly, for Hermes to stop? Charon humoured him so often, it did not seem implausible that he'd endure some unpleasant thing with little complaint.

Hermes retracted his hand, and he knew his face was reddening even as he recoiled, legs curling underneath himself as he floated to hover above the boat. "Well, then! I admit, I usually prefer to know what I'm putting my hands on before I do, but, you know, that's - I mean, certainly interesting, and -" He laughed, shortly, raising his brows in an attempt to push humour into his expression. " - well, I hope it was good for you -"

A growl left the boatman, sudden and insistent, a clipped "Hrrgh." that snapped Hermes' gaze up again. Charon's attention was almost sharp, then, and his hands shoved forward an inch.

Hermes was not one for self-control, and least of all under another's insistence.

When he reached up, he did so with both hands. This time, he let his fingertips brush against the smoke, and then pushed just a few centimeters deeper.

The breach, again, did not feel like breaking through some solid surface. It felt more like pushing into the soft plush of a soap bubble, except rather than bursting, it shivered against him before swelling to envelope the tips of his fingers. This time, it felt... more. Focused and attentive, anticipatory this time, he felt more from it.

It was not words, but a feeling. It seemed for a moment that the feeling might be his own,  except he knew instinctively that it was not.

It was affection.

It was a blanketing heat, a wanting, but nothing so mundane or mortal as base desire.

It was... love?

He felt it, and it mirrored, and reflected, and multiplied, a feeling resonating in his chest that was meant for him but not meant for him, and he gasped in air and yet could not breathe. He shivered, unable to control the over-stimulation that slackened his jaw and tightened his shoulders, and it was too much. Too much, all at once, and -

Charon's hands pulled away, suddenly. Hermes did not have more than an instant to process the concerned little "khhgrh?" that left his partner, the worried way his head cocked, the searching shift that dimmed his lilac eye, before instinct shot him up into the air and then further.

He fled the Underworld, suffocated, buzzing beyond the bounds of his skin.

He fled as if that feeling clung to him, wisps of smoke clutching his winged heels, and he did not stop until he reached the crisp, cold air of the surface. He gasped to fill his lungs with it, eyes glistening with tears - and then he plummeted, and only when he found himself sunk in the cold crunch of snow did he finally stop.

Hermes - the God of Travel, of Swiftness - did not stay still... and yet there he stayed, motionless in some frenetic panic, the heat of his body melting the snow around him.

It did not provide the numbness he wanted.

He laid in the snow and came down tenderly, slowly, and instead of numbness, found only a quiet longing.

Chapter Text

If Hermes had been any other entity, it might have taken him some time to unravel his feelings. He might have needed days or weeks to fully process the stew of thoughts that enslaved him, then - but he did not have the time for that, or the luxury of hiding away. He had a job to do.

Nothing had changed. 

He'd simply tapped into something not meant for him. The chthonic energy that formed his associate was beyond his ken, even as an Olympian. It was otherworldly, and even Charon had likely not fully anticipated what its touch might feel like to him. 

Perhaps, he realized, he'd merely caught the tail-end of Charon's feelings for his brother. He loved his family, surely, in the same complicated way Hermes loved his own. Whatever raw energy was contained in that smoke was simply too powerful for Hermes' senses to process completely. 

After all, there was no other sensible explanation - unbelievable to think that feeling might've been about him. Charon couldn't feel that way about him, some weighty adoration, bigger and denser than Hermes could begin to wrap his head around.

The fact that Hermes was fond of the boatman, looked forward to every chance to spend a few moments with him, craved the rasped chuckles he could elicit and the shy groans of chastisement, cherished the genuine way Charon greeted him and listened to him... 

But Hermes' infatuation was one thing. Reciprocation was another.

The fact that Aphrodite's idle greeting as he'd returned to Olympus was interrupted by a mighty sneeze shaking her delicate frame, followed by her rather perturbed attention following him very closely as he hurried past, didn't mean anything.

Everything would be fine. They'd return things to normal, and Hermes would soon forget how beautiful and wondrous and painfully euphoric the feelings he'd tapped into were.

Hermes took longer than he usually would to zip across Ares' battlefields, gathering up a load of souls, collecting them like trinkets and secreting them into his satchel. Only when he felt its weight like a set of irons around his ankles did he turn his attention to the Underworld, his wings carrying him to and through the gate of Hades' Kingdom.

At the edge of the River Styx, he knelt, turning out his satchel. The shades crawled out, amorphous and small at first before they swelled and collected into vague shapes, heads and limbs visible beyond their thin veils of green light. They peered up at him, a crowd of trembling mortal souls, unsure and frightened where they hovered on the craggy bank.

He smiled, setting his hands against his hips. "Don't look so scared, little ones! The boatman isn't nearly so harsh as the stories say, so long as you've fare to cross. He's practically tame, you know, once you get to know him. Gentle as a lamb. Don't tell him I told you, though, he'd hate that."

They did not protest, though he imagined it was not due to his convincing nature. 

Hermes raised his attention - and he was not surprised to see Charon's skiff come gliding into view through the mists of the Styx. The boatman always seemed to know when he arrived, or when the souls did, at least. His timing was always impeccable, if a few minutes slower than Hermes' break-neck pace.

Nervously fluttering a few inches higher off the ground, the God of Swiftness considered for a moment the pros and cons of simply leaving.

Ultimately, however, he stayed put.

Charon mattered to him, and the idea of losing their relationship - their friendship - over some foolish moment of weakness... It would not stand. Hermes would not allow it to be, even if that meant choking down whatever strange feelings he now bore, heavy and clanging around his neck, his own collar of obols.

He gritted his teeth in a grin as Charon's skiff floated nearer, watching with his heart in his throat as the boatman peered across the water at him. The smoke coiled around his shoulders was the first indicator of a problem. 

It did not billow up in his typical sigh of greeting. It hung low, dragging, barely lifting above the brim of his hat before it dissipated into wisps of dark lavender mist.

It seemed heavy. 

He seemed heavy.

Impulse forced Hermes forward, wings fluttering at his heels and body stretching to push himself into the air. He zipped up and over the River, coming to settle just beside the small wooden dock that Charon would accept his passengers from. 

As the boatman approached, Hermes lifted a hand to wave at him. "Ho, partner. I've got some souls for you - Ares has been busy. You know, for as much guff as he gives me, you'd think he'd be a little more grateful of me picking up after him. All those souls, scattered to the winds, and who has to worry over them? You and me!"

Charon lifted his oar, pushing the paddle out ahead, catching its tip against the silt and slowly drawing his skiff into a slow deceleration. It drifted parallel to the dock, and with the oar wedged against the bank of the River Styx, stilled.

One purple eye flickered to gaze toward him, half-hidden under the brim of his hat, the fabric of his robes-collar lifted until Hermes could barely see his mouth. Smoke drifted up and curled at his brow, as if yet a third layer of some substance to hide behind. The sight made Hermes' heart ache in a thunderous clench.

Suddenly, all pretense of obliviousness dropped, and Hermes fluttered forward. He drew his legs up in a cross, grabbing his shins with his hands and leaning forward, wings flapping downward from his heels to keep him aloft.

He leaned forward, and his heart only ached more when Charon leaned back. The boatman gripped his oar with both hands, and more noticeable than his posture recoiling a few inches was the way his smoke receded, curling close to his jawline and drifting away from Hermes as if blown by a breeze.

Charon seemed reticent to allow him near. Even his smoky breath shied away, and it was an awfully unfamiliar rejection.

"You're upset with me." Hermes stated. Charon's head tilted in silence, focusing his purple gaze closer on the messenger God, the thin trail of smoke leaking from his skeletal mouth thickening slightly. "I upset you. Come on, partner, you know I didn't mean to do anything to upset you. I didn't mean - to run, either, but... well, I wasn't prepared for that, I suppose."

The way Charon turned, facing the dock and the shades gathered there, made Hermes retreat one small flap of distance. The boatman lifted one hand, arm drifting out from the folds of his robes, his slender fingers splaying out into an expectant curl. The shades began to cluster forward, each pushing a golden disk into his grip before drifting to board the skiff.

The entity's attention flickered to follow each obol as it was deposited, but between those moments, it darted back toward Hermes. He was listening, at least.

"You know, that smoke of yours is quite a trick. Bit overwhelming, if I'm being honest, not quite sure what it all was. I think I'd have a clearer head, dipping my face in the Lethe. Or after an evening with Dio. I'd wager I'm the first Olympian to experience that, hey?"

Charon was silent - even for him. Without an utterance or a groan to billow out a plume of smoke, it left only a meagre trail from his maw, just the constant flutter of his exhale. It felt a bit like he was still holding his breath and only exhaling the subtlest amount necessary, if such a thing were necessary.

He did, however, incline his head just an inch, affirming the idea.

Hermes didn't know the proper answer or the right thing to say, but speaking was a strong suit of his... and so he spoke. "Awfully beautiful, though. Felt a bit like I was peering into Narcissus' pond. Just couldn't tell what was you and what was me, you know? I'm still not sure, actually, and it was all too much at the moment."

At that, Charon's tall shoulders straightened, and he faced the other entity more squarely. His one lilac eye flickered, attentively, and Hermes' face heated under its focus. He seemed curious, and some of the starch in his towering form faded. The reaction felt encouraging, and the God of Swiftness dared to proceed, dared to admit something nearer to the truth.

"Perhaps next time, I'll be more prepared. Won't run, even if that's what I'm good at."

Finally, finally, Charon groaned out a quiet, "Hrngh.", a soft sound that was joined by a softer coil of smoke. Hermes did not know precisely what it meant, but he couldn't help but lean in closer - and as he did, Charon did not recoil.

A smile drifted at Hermes' lips, tentatively, and he lowered his voice. "Tell you what, partner, how about we split one of those Nectars you keep collecting from Coz? We'll feel plenty better after that. After you take care of these poor shades, anyway." He wafted his hand forward. "Go on, go on, don't let me slow you down, as if you could get any slower."

Charon's purple gaze blinked brighter, and he abruptly turned to face the queue again. It had backed up, as he'd gone to deposit the latest obol into the folds of his robe and not moved to accept the next, and he furtively extended his hand. The sharp growl that left him, joined by a clipped puff of smoke, made the next shade tremble ferociously as it offered its fare to him.

His raspy embarrassment made Hermes' smile turn into an grin, settling a palm against his jaw and his elbow against his crossed knee, hovering there in mid-air.

The fondness in his chest felt so much more acute now, so much heavier, so much brighter - but it would be sated. He'd been content until now, and nothing had changed. Nothing would change.

Normal. 

Everything would return to normal.

Chapter Text

Something was not normal.

It was relatively easy to bury himself in their typical dynamic. Charon relaxed over the course of the boat ride down the Styx, settling into a companionable sigh or two as Hermes splayed himself on the rim of the skiff, arms curled under his head and one leg dangled over the side. The heel of his boot skimmed the surface of the water, and the grasping hands of the dead underneath shied away from him.

As Hermes chattered on, idly cataloging the contents of his satchel - "I swear, you'd think Uncle Hades would at least have the decency to read them. I may as well toss these letters overboard for the good they'll do here, and I probably would, if I didn't have a reputation to uphold, such as it is." - Charon's smoke plumed broadly over his shoulder.

It trailed behind them, like a great and voluminous flag off the stern of their boat. 

That comforted him. He wasn't sure how accurate his assumptions were as to what the boatman's exhalations meant, but if the puny trickles of smoke exhibited shyness and reticence and nerves, surely a thick column meant the opposite.

As they came ashore to a small hollow - one of Charon's nests in the grey sprawl of Tartarus - however, he couldn't help an observation: as Charon disembarked and Hermes fluttered to follow him at a slow hover, the smoke drifting over his shoulder seemed to shift. 

Where it had recoiled from Hermes, before, it now seemed to stretch lavender wisps toward him. They dissipated quickly, yet more roiled up behind, flickering and twisting in his direction.

Reflexively, Hermes tightened his shoulders and hung back, eyes riveted on the smoke. He felt... wary, and certainly was not prepared yet to feel that feeling again, or any other. The fact that a knot formed in his gut, a tangled desire, only doubled his determination to avoid the sensation.

He shifted, fluttering sharply to the left, as if to circle the boatman entirely - and then froze, as the smoke roiled gently to follow him. It twisted around Charon's shoulder, blown as if by a breeze, stretching out toward him even as he moved. His eyes widened, his first instinct to look at Charon, startled.

The entity walked up the slim staircase that led to his shop with his oar held tightly in his left hand, and did not seem to notice.

Had it ever done this before? Hermes would have noticed, he was sure. The smoke only occasionally followed the whims of the wind, but it had never so resolutely reached for him - except when it had sat pooled in Charon's palm and reacted almost pleasantly to his touch.

Hermes shifted his weight, inquisitively cocking his head, hovering back toward where he'd started. Smoothly, the smoke followed, drifting through the air in a billowing shiver.

It had never done this before.

He managed one more swift flutter to the side, watching the smoke curl to match his movement, before the sound of his motion - and likely the silence of his mouth - made Charon abruptly turn to peer back at him. He growled a low, "Hrrgnnh?", questioning.

Hermes darted a glance between his shadowed face and the smoke coiling through the air, but merely forced a weak smile. If Charon didn't notice, he wasn't about to point it out. 

Normal. 

Normal. 

"H- the - ah! Nectar, right? Yes!" he babbled, airily, suddenly flitting sharply to the side and darting up the stairs ahead of the boatman.

He could feel the entity's gaze on him, and though he was sure most felt cold under the unblinking attention of the Stygian caretaker and in the chilly environs of Tartarus, Hermes felt blisteringly warm.

"Say, partner, you should really invest in some chairs. You know? Seating? It's all the rage these days." 

As Charon gazed directly at him, his smoke seemed to settle back into its vertical drift. Perhaps he exerted more control over it when it floated in his periphery rather than behind him and out of sight. That, at least, indicated he wasn't intentionally allowing it to gravitate toward the other god - if he didn't see the issue or if it was out of his control, it would surely continue to do so. 

Apparently, neither were true.

That meant it was accidental, and held some meaning -  but that was presumptuous of him, again. 

Hermes focused entirely on the obvious next step: he would stay within Charon's view. Simple, effective, negating the issue at its source. Hardly difficult to do, since he could float, and Charon was not often wont to do much but gaze quietly at him in the time they lingered together. 

Normal.

Halfway through the bottle of Nectar, Hermes sprawled horizontally in the air, hovering here and there like a leaf drifting idly on the breeze. He sipped from the saccharine liquid and occasionally passed it back to Charon when he came near. It was pleasant, companionable. It was the sort of stolen moment he cherished, even if he'd have to do double-time to make up for it.

Every time he relaxed, however, Hermes turned to see himself dangerously close to a wisp or a curl of smoke as it roiled from his companion and through the air around them.

Every time, he was stricken by a complicated set of emotions, not the smallest of which was the intense desire to let it touch him. And every time, he made efforts to surreptitiously get distance and loudly continue his chatter, to distract from it.

Impulsively, this time, he burst out, "Between me and Coz, you're getting well-spoilt, aren't you? Imagine what Lord Uncle Hades would say, seeing you laze around."

"Hhaaahhh." Charon groaned lightly, taking a sip of Nectar. He did not have lips with which to cradle the mouth of it, so his head tipped back, pouring the sweet amber liquid between his teeth. Its effects were subtler on him, but Hermes could detect the dimming of his eye and the smoke filling his insides, gaining a soft plum colour as it darkened.

As he lowered the bottle, he nudged it toward the other entity, accusatorily. "Knnh."

Hermes couldn't resist a smile, rotating in the air to lay on his side, head propped on his arm as if there were a solid surface beneath him. "Oh, it's my fault? Quite right, my very tall and very grim associate, quite right. And you'd not have it any other way."

At that, Charon straightened slightly, and Hermes could not quite detect the intention behind the way his head cocked and his eye flickered just slightly brighter.

The God of Swiftness had drifted closer - drawn, inexorably, much like Charon's own smoke to him - and when the boatman groaned out a low sound, the purple coils that left his mouth fluttered up and too near, too close.

Hermes flinched.

Charon noticed.

Slowly, quietly, they both fell still. The boatman's shoulders lowered, and though it did not reflect in his stiff visage, Hermes saw that heaviness fall upon him once again.

This time, however, rather than recoil, Charon lifted the bottle of Nectar in his ringed grip, letting his other hand drift to cork it. The sound of cork squeaking against glass felt like a sharp and unpleasant rebuttal. He set it aside, careful to nestle it safely atop a sack settled behind him, where it would not fall.

With a faint growl of a sigh, then, Charon leaned forward. Hermes had neither the wherewithal nor the presence of mind to attempt to pull away as the other god grasped for his wrist. His grey skin was cold, colder even than the golden rings stacked on his digits, and his grip was stronger than any mortal manacle. 

Once caught, Hermes would have no better luck escaping than a bird ensnared by one fragile leg - but Charon did not pull him. His dark eye, a shadowy violet now, bored dimly into Hermes' own doe-brown gaze, waiting.

Waiting, patiently, for permission. 

Frozen in his mid-air sprawl, Hermes could not manage anything but a meagre nod. Anything. surged up, mired in that dark feeling in the pit of his stomach, the hunger that yet ached for something he could not define. The hole he'd discovered, the yearning.

He let his arm go limp as Charon pulled his hand closer, but only just close enough. He did not draw the God of Swiftness any closer, just drew his arm straight out from his body.

With Hermes' hand just before his chin, its fingers curled reflexively, the boatman lowered his gaze with a tick of his attention downward, and seemed to pause. Hermes found himself holding his breath, despite himself, gaze riveted on the chthonic god's hollow features.

And then Charon exhaled, softly, and a flutter of purple smoke glistened in the air as it scattered across Hermes' flushed, tanned knuckles.

He braced, expecting something - expecting too much - wanting it. In that instant, he craved that sun-flare of emotion that might tear him asunder or burn him up from the inside-out. He felt his body shiver, nearly dropping slack as if to hang solely from Charon's grip - 

But nothing came.

Just the heat, just the coiling and fluttering sensation, like swishing his hand through a pot of oil and water and feeling the two opposing substances bubble and slip into and through and past one another. It tickled, but that was all it did. 

Hermes blinked, gaze darting up toward the tall entity still leaned forward just a little. The way he stood in that quarter-bow made it seem terribly like he intended to kiss the god's knuckles. In a way, perhaps he had.

"Oh." the messenger god uttered, louder than he meant. "Oh... I... I don't... feel anything."

Charon's head inclined, faintly, affirmatively.

"Are you... Is it comfortable for you?" Hermes found himself speaking quicker with every word, babbling, though the way his partner's gaze remained attentively on his was hardly discouraging. "By that I mean... do you have to try to do it, or... is it harder to... not do it? Is your breath usually like this, or like before? You know, full of... things."

The boatman's expression tightened, perturbation one of the few looks he'd perfected with the limited motion of his brows and the muscles around his eyes, and then he shrugged up his shoulders. The jangling of his collar emphasized the gesture, though Hermes was only partially sure of its intent. 

He didn't care, perhaps, or it didn't matter. 

Hermes startled just faintly when Charon's grip loosened and then released him, and his thin pointer finger drifted up to point toward the other god's mouth, and then his chest. When Hermes frowned slightly, unsure, Charon repeated the gesture - this time releasing a guttural groan as he pointed at the god's lips, and a silent sigh as he indicated at his sternum.

Both drew purple smoke from his maw, though a larger plume escaped alongside his vocalization.

It clicked, slowly, then. 

"It's like talking, is it? And breathing. You're always breathing, but you've only got words in it when you're talking. When you're trying to say something. Like... before. To me. It won't happen unless you... try." 

When Charon's eye brightened in a flicker of mild approval, like a candle blown gently higher for just a moment, Hermes shifted to straighten in his hover, folding into a cross-legged seated position. Eagerness built, then, bubbling up alongside that yearning.

Was he mad to think Charon's smoke had thickened behind his teeth, grown deeper in colour? He grew careless, thoughtless, to think perhaps that feeling had been a message intended quite directly for him.

It made more sense, after all. He was sure he'd stepped through Charon's smoke before, or caught a wisp of it against his skin, and never felt anything. Certainly, the first time he tried to touch it, he'd not felt anything. 

That made him lift his chin, thoughtfully.

"Is it strange, if I touch it? You said it didn't hurt you, I know, but you reacted like a kicking horse that first time, if you don't mind me saying." He bit his tongue, impulsively, leaning forward just slightly. The boatman did not counter nor match the gesture, though there was some wariness in the way he began to reach for his collar. "Can you... feel me, the way I felt you?" 

At that, immediately, Charon shook his head. His chin lowered, and he seemed regretful. Or wistful.

Hermes felt his excitement give way to a quiet consideration - but a brief one, even for him. He should have considered longer before the thoughts turned to words, but they spilled out of him all same, clumsy.

"You spoke to me, and I can't speak back. That must be odd for you." He laughed, lightly, airily, glancing toward his lap as Charon squared his violet gaze on the Olympian. The Stygian boatman fidgeted, just once, and Hermes couldn't bite back another laugh. "Funny, partner... here I was, thinking you were the one with the communication issues."

Charon did not rasp out his hitched chuckle, instead puffing a chug of smoke that felt like a scoff. His attention lowered, then, mirroring Hermes' at a delay. 

Impulse, again, won out. 

Hermes darted forward, reaching up to grasp the brim of Charon's hat, pushing it up just a half-inch, just enough. Against the God of Swiftness, the boatman was not quick enough to do anything but stiffen as Hermes pressed a kiss to the hollow of his cheek.

His skin was cold, inherently, and roughened where it sat thinly against his bones. The chthonic god was closer even to the dead than his brother, his features almost waxen - but there was beauty in the dark flesh lit by deep violet and the way his smoke coiled and softened skeletal features.

Hermes dared to speak, softly, hovered there with his wings whisper-quiet on the air. 

"I'll try to listen more closely, if you do the same, Charon."

There was beauty, too, in the way he shivered, the motion made painfully clear by the way his collar of obols all clicked and rattled together. Beauty in the way the glow of his eye nearly winked out entirely as if he could close it. 

The Olympian was gone long before the other entity had the chance to regain himself, though the long sigh that rattled from him as Hermes twisted mid-air to zip away held a farewell in its depths. The God of Travel fled, again, a broken promise - but his partner was nothing if not patient. Had been, would be.

Charon only eventually stirred with a soft "kkkhnn", reaching to touch grey fingertips against a cheek that now felt almost warm. They lingered there, and then reached to grip the edge of his hat and draw it low. 

Smoke billowed from him, sheets of it cascading from his mouth and up into the still air of Tartarus, an immeasurable and infinite canvas upon which his breath painted every shade of purple he knew.

Chapter Text

Stepping into the House of Hades felt, often, strange. It had felt strange well before Hermes had gotten himself involved, in a way he definitely should not be.

At Hades' behest, he made his trips in the dead of night, insofar as such a phrase meant anything in the depths of the Underworld. It minimized his contact with others, and especially now, such a subject was... sore. 

His Uncle was unaware of his involvement in the prince's attempts to escape, but that didn't mean he'd invite any more Olympian influence into his home than was strictly necessary. After all, he seemed to only suffer Hermes' invasion out of strict necessity. The delivery of messages was a begrudging allowance in return for the delivery of souls.

It was all a terribly delicate balance, and one Hermes had no intention of upsetting, as much as a part of him was mightily tempted to creep to the prince's quarters and greet him in person. The godling would have benefitted from the friendly face, he thought, especially one that knew his secrets.

But then he'd have to leave, without taking Zagreus with him. 

Better to let it lie.

He landed on the balcony, the wings at his heels and temples fluttering sharply before coming to rest in gentle flares of orange. He walked, then, stepping briskly down the hallway and toward the Great Hall. 

Only briefly did he pause, coming eye-to-eye with Achilles, the shade leaned into the wall of the chamber. He rolled his spear from hand to hand, and had nothing but a grim nod to offer. The man was so different from the warrior Hermes could remember scooping up and flying into Charon's grip. Strange, he thought, to see mortals change so much after the end. 

He wondered if the Hero knew of his agency - or thought him heartless, apathetic to his cousin's plight. It didn't matter what the shade thought, in the end, but Hermes tilted a smile in his direction anyway. 

Achilles' face, soft-lit in a greenish glow, let on to nothing at all. 

Hermes hurried forward and into the hollow chamber of the Great Hall, flattening his hands against the short skirts of his chiton and then reaching to pull his satchel around. He began to dig through its contents, searching for the particular letter he'd come to deliver, even as his gaze scattered about the space. 

Strange. He recalled the drapes and tapestries on the walls being red, last he was here, but now they hung in oddly verdant shades of olive green. It did not strike him as a choice his Uncle would make. 

A voice, soft and yet practically vibrating with some unearthly amusement, startled him. 

"Prince Zagreus has an eye for interior decoration, it seems. Or perhaps just an eye for the choices that will most enrage his Lord-Father."

Hermes turned, and found himself faced by the dark shape of Lady Nyx. Her eyes were a piercing gold, molten, and her midnight-shaded hair arrayed itself gently at her shoulders as if she were submersed in water, not air. She did not step closer but floated, her body lithely cloaked both in gentle fabrics of purple and gold, as well as a shimmering aura speckled with stars. He could feel the pull of some invisible weight, a gravity, and a lesser god might've bent into a kneel on pure reflex.

He, biting back nerves that usually resulted in more speech from him than less, merely bowed.

Her dark-painted lips curved faintly in demure pleasure, and she settled her hands together, almost plaintively. "Please, Lord Hermes, no such obeisance is necessary. We are equals in more ways than you may know."

At that, his head lifted - just a tick. Nyx' small smile lingered, a shape cut into the finest marble, sculpted to last an eternity. She did not wait for him to speak. 

"I sensed your coming, and I sense, too, that you bear something for me. I thought it wise to meet you here, rather than presume it would find its way safely to me. Tell me, what is it that you carry? Word, perhaps, from your family?" 

Hermes straightened, and he stretched his hand deep into his satchel, finding the slim parchment secreted there, sealed with Ares' blood-red wax, though otherwise featureless. He smiled only briefly before offering it up to her, Night Incarnate taller than him already and even taller still for her gentle flight. 

"I wouldn't know, Lady Nyx. I'm just the messenger." he lied.

She gazed at him, and he had never been so certain that a being saw directly through him. Not even Charon's attention could measure up, though he saw something of his partner in the entity before him... or, more accurately, the reverse. 

Her hand drifted to take the letter from him, her touch whisper-soft as it lifted the parchment away. She placed the letter into the folds of her dress, though it seemed to disappear entirely into the shadows at her waist rather than slip into some physical pocket. She folded them together once more and began to advance, giving him a berth as she hovered to retrace his steps toward the balcony. 

He followed, instinctively, remaining on the ground. He was forced to slow to match her graceful speed, skin itching with an odd anxiety. She was far from his enemy, he knew, but standing in the House of Hades made him feel nervous. He could feel the heat of his Uncle's influence draped through the halls like a dense fog.

Nyx moved with a patience and a calm that portrayed the utmost lack of concern.

"I will owe your family a great deal, I fear, after all is said and done. It warms my heart to see Prince Zagreus' kin so eager to see him home, and so willing to take risks for him. I did not know what would come of reaching out to Lady Athena, but I am glad it was this."

Hermes did not respond, walking stiffer beside her, then. She spoke so brazenly, he presumed she felt confident their conversation was private - either because Hades was absent, or she had ensured it was private, regardless. Her ability to thrust things into shadow was not unfamiliar to him. 

Achilles was gone.

The God of Swiftness was not so careless as to risk Nyx' reaction to discovering just how much he knew about the prince's intentions. Perhaps she knew already, and perhaps not. He had no interest in finding out either way. Silence felt the safer choice, and she did not seem to take offense.

"You will send my affection to my son? I fear it has been too long since we last had the chance to correspond, though I hear Charon does not want for company, of late."

If he'd stiffened before, he went rigid at that. His gaze darted to her as she drifted to a halt in front of the balcony, settling her hands in a delicate grip on the rail. Her head tilted, hair following the motion in a soft swirl of midnight-blue, and she smiled once again.

"To be honest, I did not think he wanted for company at all. A misstep, on my part - or perhaps misguided conviction on his. I think, perhaps, he has laboured in isolation so long he believed it a comfortable home. We are all finding our definitions of home shaken, I believe."

Hermes' jaw finally unglued itself, and as he managed a weak gulp, it loosed a stream of air that very quickly became words. "Say, Lady Nyx, would you mind a question? I'm very busy, mind, and I'm sure you are too, no intention to keep us both occupied, no time to gab. But since I have you here, you know, I did have... let's say, a professional curiosity." 

Her attention turned, rotating just a few degrees at the waist, the shadows at her hips coiling and twisting around her. It was hard to tell if the softness to her demeanor was kindness, or merely the patience of one who suffered no mundane concern such as dominance or competition or posturing. She did not exude strength. She simply was.

Her golden eyes gentled, fondly. 

"Speak, then, and I will do my best to answer." she returned, silken.

He raised his hands, pressing his palms together in front of his lips. It took a moment for him to muddle through his thoughts, but only a moment. 

"You know, Charon and I have been associates for a while now, and I sort of got used to his odd communication style. A real gentleman, you know, but very quiet. Bit of a one-way conversationalist and all that. Well, I noticed Thanatos having quite a bit more luck speaking to him, and that it was somehow related to that smoke of his. Experienced it a bit myself. I was just... wondering, you know... how does it all work? The smoke, I mean."

Nyx did not consider the question long before she canted her head. "It is a complicated matter, Lord Hermes, as most things are under the shadows of Chaos. My sons lie on a delicate balance between the realm of the dead and that of the living, and they each soul-speak in their own way. But Charon is chained tightly to the Underworld, and so the dead are chained tightly to him. He is what he needs to be, and no more."

That ached in a strange way, and Hermes found himself frowning, found himself wishing he had the guts to protest her words. The feelings he'd experienced had been anything but dead, and in that smoke he found vibrance and warmth and life, in its own way.

He focused, instead, on the rest of her words. "I caught... a glimpse, or something like a glimpse, but it was a bit like Poseidon cracking me over the head with a wave. I got a feeling, but not much more. The shades can hear him? You, and Hypnos, and Thanatos can? In... words? Not just a... wave?" 

She nodded, gently, the deep purple earrings dangling from her ears giving the softest chime as she did. "Yes. Though it is a... simplification, I think, to call it speech, they commune with depth." she murmured. "Thanatos, less so, as the souls he reaps are still warm from the blood of life - and Hypnos even less, for he steps deep in the dreams of the living, and only the far shore of sleep brushes against death."

As Hermes weighed that, thinking, Nyx paused for a brief moment.

Her smile eventually edged with a delicate sadness, like fine crystal reflecting only the faintest sparkle of light amidst her dark form. "But I cannot. Something bloomed in their bloodline that is beyond even I, a gift and a chain from their father. But I see this has not stopped you from forming a bond, and for that, I am grateful."

Comfort stirred at that, because she was right, perhaps more than she knew. Their relationship had blossomed irrespective of any communication but the shared understanding they'd forged on their own, and learning more about him could only deepen it.

He raised his hand, carefully pushing the heel of his hand against his lips, thoughtfully exhaling against it. He'd kissed Charon, and been too much of a coward to remain and see the reaction - but he was not afraid to return. On the contrary, the twisted knots in his gut felt like need, and he could tell it would not ease until he did.

His skin prickled with the tangible shift of an aura against his skin, and his gaze only belatedly caught onto Nyx' form as she bent, head turned, almost leaning out over the balcony in order to tilt her head into his view. There was an eeriness to it that he almost could not put his finger on, her delicate frame twisting just - just - too sharply in order to align her gaze with his.

"Lord Hermes, if I have learned anything in these recent days, it's that the greatest gift one can receive is to be understood. To be known, and to know in return. Even mortals can manage that, can they not? Surely it is no challenge at all for us."

Hermes' fingers curled at his sides, and before he could stop himself, his wings beat harsh against the air, all four giving strong flaps that kicked him up into the air. She straightened as he lifted off the balcony's floor, watching as he zipped up and over the rail, turning to face her as he hovered over the River Styx only a short distance below.

He smiled, and it was easier to manage it genuinely, then.

"I will send your best, Lady Nyx. It's my job, after all, never turned down a message and don't plan to start now. Though perhaps your own words might mean more than mine, if you find the time to visit him. I'm very sure he'd enjoy seeing you."

She smiled again, and this time, she seemed almost like she might laugh - but the only sound that left her was a faint hum, gentle and reserved. Nyx pleasantly tilted her head, as if in a soft bow. "I would not have believed you, I think, a short while ago. But perhaps I will try. Fly safe, child."

When Hermes left, it was eagerly, and only a portion of that eagerness was the rush to get well away from his Uncle's domain. The sooner he caught up with his work, the sooner he'd have a new batch of souls, and the sooner he'd buy himself some free time.

He didn't know what he wanted to do with it, precisely, but he knew with whom he wanted to spend it.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Hermes enjoyed the feeling of ground beneath his feet. It was a quaint novelty to shuck his boots and dig his toes in the grass coating the mortals' domain, a little guilty pleasure, taking just a moment to soak it in before he took flight once again.

This day, he couldn't stay out of the air if he'd tried. He could barely stay still.

Flitting to and fro over the shore of the Styx, Hermes waited impatiently, gaze darting down the length of the river. The load of souls had been... large, of late, almost too much to keep up with. He'd even crossed paths with Thanatos on occasion, his fellow psychopomp respectful but uninterested in any conversation, despite Hermes' best efforts. 

Perhaps that explained Charon's delay; perhaps he was struggling to offload souls fast enough to pick them up. Or, equally likely, perhaps he was held up by Prince Zagreus. A worthy-enough distraction, Hermes supposed, though he'd much prefer it was him.

Even if the chthonic god had reacted poorly to his kiss - which occurred to him, though he quickly rejected the idea - he'd not have allowed it to impede their work. And he always knew when souls sat waiting.

It was surely not more than a few minutes, though to Hermes, it felt like an eternity. He barely spared the time to soothe the shades as they milled near the docks, speaking to one another in whispers and chimes of breathy air. He needed soothing himself.

By the time Charon's skiff finally drifted into sight, pushing through a low-hanging fog, Hermes' patience had thinned to the point that he simply bolted. His wings flared, lunging up with a sharp kick of his legs, and he darted down the length of the river, feeling the air eddy sharply behind him as he moved. He saw the boatman notice him, and from his mouth came an excitedly billowed cloud of smoke, so thick and puffed it almost looked like a violet raincloud.

Hermes did not stop.

Charon had time enough to hesitate, to draw his oar up from the Styx' cold waters and grip it tightly in front of his chest, before the God of Swiftness was against him. Hermes slowed just enough to keep from colliding directly into the other entity, though his bare knees brushed the surprisingly soft fabrics of his professional associate's robes.

As the boat continued forward, a current carrying it along - despite the fact that the River seemed to run the other direction, last Hermes checked - Hermes was forced to hover backwards, wings only gently fluttering, matching its momentum where he floated.

He reached up, but rather than touch Charon, he stretched his fingers out in a splay and let them flutter in a roll through the smoke drifting up from his partner's mouth. The warm and oily texture roiled between his knuckles, the smoke parting to wrap around his fingers and then merging again on the other side. He didn't miss the way Charon's focus darted to watch it, fingers clenching so strongly on his oar that lesser wood might've collapsed under the pressure.

"Hello." he murmured with a grin, softly, and that snapped Charon's attention back on him, purple eye flickering brighter and hotter.

"Khhrhhh." the boatman uttered with a quiet click of his throat as he swallowed. The smoke roiling forth joined that which was swirled around Hermes' fingers, coiling lower as it thickened, and tendrils and wisps began to curl at the bottom of his palm and thumb. It was tinglingly pleasant, raising goosebumps up his arms, a feeling halfway between oil-slick skin against his and ragged silk.

He raised his arm just an inch, and the smoke grazed eagerly lower, writhing tenderly against the soft skin at the inside of his wrist in a way that made his spine curl. It was a terribly curious sensation, and he was a curious being. He wanted it even lower, and elsewhere, and -

"I was a bit fuzzy on Nectar, last time, forgot to make sure you didn't mind. Though Dionysus would have my head, you know, if he thinks I'm running around using his libations as an excuse for such a thing - but I'll ask now." Hermes tilted his head, curling his fingers into a fist and feeling the smoke compress against his palm before it escaped his grasp in a rush of heat, as if it could not be separated in his grip in the way Charon had done.

The gesture did send a bolt of rigidity up the boatman's body, subtle, and Hermes noted it. A simplification indeed, to think of it as merely speech. The idea that it might hold some erotic, sensitive nature was almost too much to absorb all at once.

"Mind if I kiss you, partner? And mind if I make it a habit? I'll try not to embarrass you in front of the shades, at least."

Charon's jaw clacked shut, teeth clenched together, and smoke escaped from the gaps between in a wheeze of air that fluttered heat between them. A curl licked high, brushing delicately against Hermes' jaw, just beside his chin. 

The chthonic god turned his face, tipping it slightly, proffering his thinned cheek in a delicate tilt. When he spoke, it was almost a whisper, burbled in the back of his throat shyly. "Ghhrgh."

Hermes' expression surged into a grin, eagerly bending forward to press his lips against Charon's cheekbone, closing his eyes as he nestled close. He was immensely curious to investigate what a real kiss might be like, intrigued by the prospect of taking that oil-silk smoke against his tongue, but Charon's comfort was top priority. 

Hard enough to know what he was thinking. Harder still, to trust that he'd argue if Hermes over-stepped.

And then fingertips grazed his left ear, and his body stuttered slack as a puff of air left him. They were cold, and roughened by the endless rowing to which he was dedicated, and Hermes shivered with a pleasant shock as sharp black nails scratched at the soft skin behind his ear. Charon's fingers were slender, bony, within his own relative proportions - but against Hermes' slight form, they seemed so much larger.

A sharp contrast to the cold, his right cheek blossomed with warmth as smoke fluttered up and cozied around him, a gentle undulation of soft mist kissing delicately against his skin. It curled against his jaw and over his neck, as if it could pull him close and hold him there. He did not feel anything, but he did not need to in order to feel a flush of affection, in order to feel wanted. 

So close, it was hard not to inhale, and he could smell the familiar scents that typically followed his partner around: lavender incense and a dense earthiness and something enticingly mulled and bitter, like a put-out candle, smoke and burnt wick and crisp carbon. 

Charon's knuckles brushed against the small wing by his head, currently just gently flared to balance him as his lower wings kept him hovered there, and the soft rasp of skin-against-feather-against-feather made his knees buckle. Fortunately, floating there, he didn't need them.

He released a faint sound, a gentle "ah" of appreciation, and opened his eyes as he pulled back only an inch.

Perhaps he was projecting, or steeped in wishful thinking - but the softness in Charon's eye and the sigh that left him seemed to mirror a longing back to him. The smoke that burbled up between them puffed upwards, collecting under the brim of his hat and shading the space between them, as if to afford them privacy.

The other god gently uttered, "Hhhaah.", and it was soft and affectionate. Hermes meant to smile, or drift closer against him, but did not get the chance. 

The glow - or tightly compacted smoke, he observed - forming his eye suddenly flashed bright enough to force Hermes' to blink. 

The Stygian boatman turned away with a rustle of his robes and a clatter of his obol collar, thrusting his oar into the water and drawing it into a tight turn. The water beneath them flooded against its flat edge, and the turbulence caused them to turn sharply, sharper than should have been possible in normal waters. They rotated, and Hermes was forced to flutter down and steady himself with a foot against one of the seats before he was left floating over the Styx.

As the skiff reoriented, Hermes realized they'd overshot the dock entirely. 

As Charon's smoke billowed up, a thick sheet of lilac that puffed and expanded as he groaned out a sharp series of noises that Hermes could only identify as swears, the God of Swiftness couldn't help but laugh. He folded his hands over his stomach and bent forward, wings in sympathetic flutters as he broke into giggles, cheeks flushed but humour undaunted. 

"Ghhhraghh!" Charon hissed over his shoulder, a familiar cadence of irritation that Hermes could never take seriously, and even less so under their current circumstances. "Hhhherrh, khkk -"

Hermes raised one hand, biting back laughter as he hurried out, "Alright, alright, now, partner, you know I was hardly going to keep to that promise. I said I'd try not to embarrass you, not that I'd succeed. And you can't put all the blame on me, when you were more than a willing participant. Eager, I'd say. Enthusiastic, even."

The smoke thickened with every word, and Charon's movements to drive the oar through the water turned almost fearsome. They bumped up to the dock in mere seconds, and as he jammed the oar into the bank of the Styx, the cluster of shades waiting at the edge peered up at him curiously. 

They looked unafraid.

The growl he loosed - "Khhhrkkggh!" - swirled smoke forward, coiling and curling about the shades where they floated in a cloud that might've swallowed them whole. There was an explosive rush of movement as they all zipped into a shivering single-file line, each clutching a bright obol. 

Charon sighed, sharply, and held out his hand.

Hermes bit his lower lip, fluttering to settle in a hover by his elbow. He smiled, gentler now, cocking his head. "I can't stay, more work to do, always more. But I'll be back soon. Save some of that enthusiasm for my next visit, hey, partner?" 

Though the entity did not remove his gaze from the shades, beginning their procession onto the boat, a curl of smoke flickered from the core of his trailing column and stretched in his direction. Hermes dared to bend forward, allowing it to reach his cheek, where it breezed warmly against him before dissipating. 

And then the God of Travel was gone, and Charon was left with his passengers.

They, at least, knew better than to pry.