Chapter Text
Hermes fucked up.
He knew he fucked up badly.
He had made a stupid decision. He decided to defy his father and the ancient laws, interfered with a mortal war that he wasn’t supposed to do anything about, and now Zeus was pissed.
He should’ve known. Why had he tried? It was a dumb decision, he wanted to help—to clear things up—but it went backwards. That should’ve been expected, after the Trojan War his father had stressed about not interfering with mortal lives, that they could figure out their problems, that doing anything would only make it worse. He was right. Of course he was, and Hermes was just so dumb to think otherwise.
Zeus had immediately zapped him to the throne room once he figured out, and Hermes could not lie and say that he wasn’t absolutely terrified.
He hadn’t gotten in trouble alot over the centuries, much less zapped (why did it have to hurt so much?). He mostly flew under the radar, out of his father’s attention (yet he still did nearly everything perfectly and got nothing for it), but this was one of the first times Zeus was actually mad at him.
(He should have known this would happen this was all his fault if he just stayed in line-)
Zeus’s stormy eyes pierced through him, judging Hermes as he sat quivering on the ground, tears running down his face. George and Martha—the caduceus—were in his arms, and he was praying to some higher being that Zeus wouldn’t target them. They had been unaffected by the lightning, so it didn't seem to care to hurt them right now, but he had heard or seen the stories of the bolt Zeus, his own father targeting loved ones instead of the actual person. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if the snakes got hurt because of his mistake.
After a fucking terrifying moment Zeus started walking towards him, and if it was possible, Hermes’ heart started beating more franticly.
He attempted to choke out an apology, “I’m sorry-“
“Silence” his jaw clamped shut. Zeus knelt down next to him. “Hand me one of your wings.”
What? “..What?” Hermes folded the wings on his head nervously. What was he gonna do- Zeus summoned a pair of scissors. Fuck.
The rate at which his heart went from beating as fast as it could to stopping gave him whiplash, in less than seconds he suddenly felt lightheaded and had to push down the feeling of bile that was threatening to escape through his throat. He felt George and Martha try to wrap themselves on his arm, an attempt at comfort, though they stayed quiet.
He swallowed to try and prevent a new flow of tears from rolling down his face, “..father.?”
A sigh echoed throughout the room, “Hermes.. you know I do not want to hurt you, but I cannot let this disrespect of the ancient laws pass. I just wish you didn’t have to force me to put you through this, although it is better than the bolt, is it not? It seems fitting.”
Fuck. A spike went through his heart as he realized he was right he wasn’t that was a lie he was lying his father was lying, he had messed up. He had made the wrong decision, he had decided to be an idiot and he had to pay the consequences. Besides, he did not want to get zapped again, and his wings weren’t that important anyways. He didn’t really need them to fly, he had his shoes to do that, they didn’t matter. They were just wings.
So why did he still feel so sick? Why did he want to scream and cry and throw up (can he even throw up?) and get the fuck away?
Martha wrapped around his arm tighter and made him aware of the fact that he was shaking badly. Gods, what was wrong with him? They were meaningless wings, he just needed to get it over with it.
Taking a breath as unnoticeably as he could, Hermes extended his wings, and bended them towards Zeus’ direction. He stared at his caduceus, not wanting to look up and confirm what was happening or his father’s disappointment. There was a small voice in his head that was shouting, urging him to plead with his father to leave his wings alone, to beg that he was so so sorry and to get the fuck away. But he held his tongue. He couldn’t do anything and Zeus was right he was not.
Freezing fingers held one of his wings. He felt his hands go numb by the force he was squeezing them, putting all the energy that screamed to cry and get the fuck away into staying as still as he could and the opposite of what every cell in his body was telling him to do.
The feeling of his feathers getting cut through nearly made him scream, holding it back last second.
His wings were getting clipped like an owner trapping their bird within a house within a cage unable to get away unable to fly birds were meant to fly birds were meant to have freedom this wasn’t fair this wasn’t fair-
Owners sometimes clipped their birds wings for their own safety right? So they wouldn’t make mistakes and get hurt? That was what his father was doing wasn’t it. It wasn’t to hurt him, it was to make sure he didn’t get hurt, make sure he didn’t make another dumb decision that was not true it was still bad either way and usually led to a higher chance of the bird getting hurt it was for his own best. It was fine. His father knew what he was doing.
He repeated those last three lines in his head every time Zeus cut the wrong feather. The ones that hurt. The ones that wouldn’t regrow. The ones he would never get back and it fucking hurt he was butchering his wings this was wrong so wrong and he couldn’t do anything but sit there trembling like a baby over wings of all things- but it hurt so bad. It fucking hurt and he is couldn’t deny that.
A few tears slipped down his cheeks, out of his control, unraveling the rest of them, and his throat felt like it was trying to suffocate him.
He stubbornly refused to look at either his snakes or Zeus, electing to stare at the ground. He didn’t want to feel their shame or disappointment. He couldn't physically or mentally handle that at this moment.
After a few moments of mental agony of feeling every single clip the scissors were placed down and his father’s cold hand touched his cheek. A quiet whine-like sound shamefully forced its way out Hermes’ throat. In a split second decision of taking the risk his eyes met his father’s and he looked.. surprisingly sad. Only subtly of course, and it might have just been pity, but it was still there and his heart felt heavier.
“..I’m sorry for this my son, it pains me to see you hurt like this, but you understand the meaning— right?” Hermes nodded, not trusting himself to speak, “good, please don’t make me do something like this again.” Zeus removed his hand and stood up, turning to head back to his throne before pausing, “Oh, and, keep them like that, will you?”
“…what?” On top of everything else there was now a pit of dread in his stomach. Did Hermes understand that correctly?
“You understood me, keep them short, even after they grow back.”
He couldn’t have been serious— keep them clipped— continue clipping them—? For the rest of millenia—He thought this was just a one time thing—to keep him in check till his feathers grew back, he was going to have to do this again and again and again and— “I understand my lord.”
Satisfied, Zeus dematerialized in a flash, leaving Hermes alone in the room to pick himself up.
…
He was not telling anyone about this.
He was never letting anyone near his wings ever again he wouldn’t be able to handle it without falling apart.
With George and Martha wrapped tightly around his arm, he pushed himself up, folded his wings, wiped away his tears, and went back to what he was doing. Ganymede was going to hate him for the amount of caffeine filled drinks he was going to have to make.
He still had a job after all.
As it turns out, he in fact could not go back to normally doing his job, acting like nothing happened. This fact was apparent to him as he sat curled on his chair shaking the morning after.
Tears kept slipping out, ignoring the hands attempting to get rid of them. It was, in short, frustrating and was not helping with the stir of emotions wreaking havoc on his being.
All that had happened was him catching sight of the state of his wings in the mirror. And now he was silently weeping. Seriously?
He sensed George and Martha nearby, probably really uncomfortable and uncertain as their.. owner, he supposed, bawled his eyes out. Gods. This was embarrassing. He really needed to get himself together.
He lifted his head up, eyes locked on the ceiling to try and prevent more tears from falling, as well as not allowing his wings to be caught in his peripheral sight. His lungs attempted to expand and deflate in an orderly cycle, though it was always on the edge of failing its goal.
Gods— he had such large and prominent wings before, always clearly visible and extended— but now? They were butchered. That was all he could call them. Stripped of any of their beauty or importance. Any of their wildness.
His fingers twitched to pull at his wings, to scrutinize- to destroy them more. He needed to pick at something, to redirect his stress somewhere else other than his tears or mind, but he had enough common sense to figure if anything or anyone touched them it would only cause more distress.
Martha cleared her throat, but he didn’t look over towards her.
Um.. Hermes.. you have a visitor at the office..
Fuck. Of course he did. And of course he forgot about his job. That he signed up for. He was gonna get Iris and the others for persuading him to get that domain.
He let out a shaky breath, pushing everything back to the corner of his mind he refused to touch. With a snap he appeared more presentable, more professional, and stood up, ignoring the lightheadedness that came along.
He hadn’t even gotten his coffee yet. The time he usually spent to get it was used to cry instead.
Well, he was going to have to deal with it until he had free time.
He picked up the caduceus, ignoring George and Martha’s looks of concern, and headed out.