Page 4 of Patron of Mercy

Thanatos put up his hand in the universal sign to stop Hermes. “Who’s Lach?”

Next to him, Charon let out an angry sound that was almost a growl. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

Thanatos looked at his brother. “Lach?”

Again, his brother wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Glaucus,” Hermes interrupted. “It’s what Glaucus goes by now.”

It seemed impossible that after so many years, that name would still have the ability to make Thanatos feel like he’d been struck in the solar plexus. The air left him, and the ichor in his veins rushed in his ears, loud enough to drown out the noise of the train around them.

The memory of last time he’d seen the owner of that name rushed back in bright, angry images, worn and faded at the edges, but no less painful for that fact.

“I’m immortal, Thanatos. Why would I tie myself to Death?”

That sweet voice spewing those poisonous words; it was all of Thanatos’s insecurities boiled down into a single question. Why, in fact, would anyone want to bind themselves to the embodiment of death?

Hermes guided souls, but he was a messenger.

Charon ferried the dead, but it was nothing more than a job to him.

Thanatos was, unquestionably and incontrovertibly, death itself. No one would ever want to tie themselves to him for long. They would always remember what he was, and like Glaucus, leave him alone. His sweet, beautiful, golden Glaucus. But not his. Not anymore. Maybe never had been.

In the thousands of years since he’d last seen Glaucus, he’d tried a few more times to forge a bond with someone else, but everyone left eventually. None had destroyed him quite so thoroughly as Glaucus. He didn’t think he’d ever managed to piece his heart back together enough to be broken again.

“—you hear me, Hermes?” Charon was saying, almost shouting—an exceptionally strange behavior from his brother. “After what that jackass did last time, he has no right to be asking for anything.”

Hermes didn’t look surprised, just resigned to the abuse, and that was what snapped Thanatos’s attention back to the situation at hand. Hermes was a manipulative little bastard, but it was nothing more than Zeus had made him. The downtrodden way he accepted Charon’s anger hurt Thanatos almost physically. Like he thought he deserved it.

“Charon,” Thanatos interrupted.

His brother spun to look at him, eyes wide and bright. “No. Absolutely not. You remember what that ass did to you last time you let him in?”

“I do.”

“I was picking up the pieces for a century, Thanatos. I’m not going to let him—”

“Charon.”

“No!”

Thanatos stood and put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “I understand. I’m sorry I leaned on you so heavily—”

“That’s not the problem—”

He took his right hand from Charon’s shoulder and put a finger on his lips to stop the flow of words. “I know. You’re a good brother. I appreciate you trying to help me. You can’t possibly know how much I appreciate you. But Hermes wouldn’t come here and ask this of me if it weren’t important.”

“That’s true,” Hermes said, his voice hopeful. Thanatos didn’t know if the hope was for affirmation or no more yelling, but either made sense. With a father and stepmother like his, Hermes had surely dealt with more than his share of yelling. When Charon turned to him, he flinched. But then he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and when he spoke, his voice was stronger. “He says he has a way to fix what’s happening. With the plants. And how, um, people are going... to starve?”

Hermes looked confused, as though he wasn’t sure that was what he’d meant, or if it had been, he wasn’t sure why. The messenger god wasn’t well known as charitable, so Thanatos understood his confusion.

After a long pause, Hermes sighed. “Look, he showed me these pictures, and there was this little girl with big brown eyes, and who the hell can say no to kids? She was hungry, and I figured if you can help him feed her or something...” He threw up his hands and turned around. “That’s it. I said I’d tell you he wants to see you. He’s at Dionysus’s club in DC. It’s your call if you let the little kid starve. It’s not up to me.”

He stormed off the train the second the doors opened, then back on a moment later, huffing. “Funny, Charon, letting me wander off into Hades. I need to get back upworld. I have work to do.”

Charon gave a nonchalant shrug, but he said nothing. He was still pouting. Hermes threw himself into a seat facing away from them, also pouting.

As always, somehow, it fell to Thanatos to act like the only adult in a group of ancient immortals. He nudged the forgotten sandwich in his brother’s direction. “Eat your lunch.”

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