Chapter Text
They headed for the cabins after the singalong ended. Percy gave the Poseidon cabin a longing glance before reluctantly following the others into the Hermes cabin. To describe it as crowded would be a massive understatement. Percy was nearly shoved to the ground just crossing the room. If an apology was offered, it was drowned out by the laughter and shouting.
He dodged what might have been a contraband can of coke as he collapsed onto the sleeping bag provided for him. Unsurprisingly, the minotaur horn had disappeared, but he wasn’t all that bothered. He’d gone on so many random fetch quests for the gods that tracking down the horn would be a piece of cake in comparison, if it came down to that.
His spot on the floor was against the wall, which was the best he could’ve hoped for. At least he wasn’t sandwiched in the middle, completely surrounded. He winced when Luke waved to get his attention. He really was not looking forward to sharing a cabin with him.
Gods, Percy had forgotten he’d be sharing a cabin with him. Luke beckoned him over again. Percy’s hand automatically slid into his pocket as he headed over. Empty. Again. He gritted his teeth. How many times now had he reached for a weapon that wasn’t there? He loathed not having Riptide. He didn’t even plan to use, not yet, but missing it was like missing a limb, impossible to ignore. He made a mental note to find a new weapon, sooner rather than later.
“Here, I stole you some toiletries from the camp store,” Luke said, handing them over.
“Thanks,” Percy muttered. He knew he sounded wary and defensive but couldn’t seem to regulate his voice to sound more normal. Luke wasn’t doing anything wrong, the opposite really. And yet, Percy found himself unable to drag his eyes away from Luke and leave him out of his direct sight. Luke had the same trouble making grin that all his siblings shared. It made him seem playful and unassuming. Unfortunately, Percy knew better.
The grin dropped, replaced by a concerned looking frown. Percy wondered if any of that concern was real. “Tough first day?” Luke asked.
Percy gave him a noncommittal shrug, not really wanting to make small talk with his future enemy.
“Don’t worry about it, Percy. The campers here, they’re mostly good people. After all, we’re extended family, right? We take care of each other.”
Percy’s fingers twitched, aching for weapon yet again. His eyes bored into Luke’s. In four years’ time, Luke was going to lead Kronos’s army of monsters into camp. If that was his idea of taking care of each other, he wasn’t interested.
“Holy Hades! Has it always been this freaking humid?” The shout came from Connor or maybe Travis. The moment broke. Forcefully, Percy reigned back in his power with a steadied inhale.
Luke turned away and Percy sighed in relief. He picked his way through the maze of arms and legs and dropped down on top of his sleeping bag with a thump.
He didn’t know if it was his expression or his demeanor, but no one tried to chat with him. It was for the best. He really wasn't in the mood. He linked his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling until whispers were replaced with silence and the occasional snore as the others fell asleep one by one.
Percy gave it a few minutes then sat up, too keyed up to even consider sleeping. He sat back against the wall and fidgeted, not sure what to do with himself. He’d go crazy just sitting here all night though. He didn’t even know if his brain would let him fall asleep with Luke just a few short feet way. He was desperate to get up and do something.
Percy stood silently, keeping his breathing steady and easy. He silently crept over and around campers until he was at the door. Percy may not have an invisibility cap but the only thing to really worry about was the harpies and Percy was confident he could slip by any that were out hunting.
Moonlight cast a dim glow over the camp, and the shadowed emptiness made everything feel unfamiliar, like he was slipping through some kind of liminal space. Aside from the occasional cricket and the soft hush of a breeze, camp was silent. Zeus must have been taking a break because there weren’t any storm clouds out, at least not at the moment. It was peaceful. For once, Percy wasn’t thinking about impending war.
His feet led him to the armory. Swordplay was his one of his favorite ways to spend his free time so it wasn’t exactly surprising. Getting in some extra practice couldn’t hurt. No time like the present, even if the present was the middle of the night.
With no other campers at the armory Percy had his choice of swords. He took up and discarded a few that looked like good contenders, slashing them through the air and putting them through their paces with a couple of quick moves each. His lack of strength was made immediately obvious by how heavy even the smaller swords felt. Annoyed but unsurprised, he settled on the one he’d mentally labeled as ‘close enough’ since he knew none would feel as balanced as Riptide and whipped it through the air in few more smooth arcs. Not great but good enough.
He didn’t bother with armor as he made his way through camp, feet crunching quietly on dirt and rock. He slipped past the barren training grounds and into the woods. It wasn’t as though he wanted to fight any monsters, but he couldn’t stay out in the open, not with curfew and harpy patrols.
He kept his ears open for the shuffling movements of satyrs or dryads as he headed through the trees until he reached the creek. The trickling flow of water would hopefully disguise any noise and, in the unlikely event he got injured, he could remove any evidence before morning.
Percy waded into the shallow creek. He grimaced as mud sucked at his shoes, more thankful than ever for his ability to stay dry. Downstream, the trees thinned and the riverbed opened into a bare stretch. It wasn’t much of clearing but he could make it work.
He stepped out onto the shore. He recalled training in a previous loop, though it had been light outside at the time. His eyes adjusted well enough to the darkness though. He wasn’t afraid. He swung his sword through familiar motions, just getting a feel for it without undertaking any particular training regimen. Far too soon, his shoulders began to ache but Percy pushed through it.
He moved on the repetitions, integrating footwork as he went, training until he was panting and sweat plastered hair to his forehead. His arms were shaking and his fingers felt numb from gripping the sword.
Percy collapsed into the creek, letting the water splash dramatically and rush over his head. The coolness of the water seeped into his skin, refreshing his muscles and invigorating him. He embraced the muffled silence, running his fingers through silt and catching his breath. Then he rose from the creek, dried himself and stepped onto the shore.
He picked up the sword again. It felt just a little bit easier than it had before. Once again, he went through the repetitions. He lasted longer this time. Maybe forty minutes. His hand felt just a little bit less numb, his arms just a little bit less shaky. He fell back into the creek and rose once more. He grabbed the sword again. Just over an hour. Back into the creek. Pick up the sword. Two hours.
Percy repeated it again and again until exhaustion and soreness spread through what felt like every cell in his body. The creek fixed most of his aches, repairing his muscles faster than should be possible. His sword was moving faster. He was lasting longer. He no longer felt quite as clumsy or weak. It was a small win, but still a win. Finally, it was looking like he wouldn’t have to go around feeling quite so defenseless.
He was forced to quit training as the sky began to turn from indigo to a pale blue-orange, and the sun prepared to rise. He knew at least a couple of the Apollo campers rose with the sun so he darted back to camp, returned the sword, and ducked into the Hermes cabin before anyone could see his bed empty.
They headed as a group to breakfast. Percy was hoping they would jump straight into sword fighting or even wrestling but instead immediately after breakfast, he was sent on his own to learn ancient Greek with Annabeth. He still hadn’t been able to hold her gaze more than a few seconds and spent most the lesson stating far too intently at the Learning Greek for Beginners book she’d shoved in his direction. In his peripheral and smaller than he was used to, she could pass as any other blonde-haired, grey-eyed Athena kid.
It was weird to go back to Greek basics. Percy had become fluent over the years and suffering through basic prepositions and conjugations again was mind-numbing. Sitting still and patiently listening to the repetitive lesson was an impossible task. He gave it his best effort but could tell Annabeth was getting frustrated by his fidgeting and darting glances. She had always been a better studier than him, able to sit still and focus for longer than Percy had even been able to. She also favored the hyperfocus aspect of ADHD and could read about topics for hours if she found them interesting enough. It definitely had its downsides, but it still made Percy, who favored the hyperactivity aspect of ADHD, envious sometimes, even if he never admitted it to her face.
Annabeth seemed used to people not focusing, which made sense, and she tried to compensate by taking breaks from reading and speaking Greek to give him mythology lessons on Greek gods and monsters. It would have been helpful if Percy didn’t already know everything she was telling him.
At the end of the day, Annabeth was still a kid though and kids were not known for their endless patience. After just under an hour with him, she reached her limit, and she shoved a copy of Homer at him demanding he “Go practice,” with strict instructions to ask her siblings and not her if he needed any help. Percy, who had already read Homer, grimaced but willing sequestered himself to a corner to pretend to read it for the rest of his Greek lesson time while Annabeth read her architecture book.
After what felt like hours, though it was still barely mid-morning, Percy was able to move on to outdoor activities. He was hoping for something that would burn off his restless energy. Thankfully, he spotted the Hermes kids over at the climbing wall and ran to join them before he could get roped into something like arts and crafts.
The rock wall was fun. Percy found himself winded and exhausted after racing a bunch of Hermes kids and a couple for satyrs. He didn’t stand a chance of winning against any of the fleet footed kids or the satyrs with hoofs built for standing on sheer cliffs, but he gave it his best effort nonetheless, impressing a few in the process.
It was nice to feel like just another camper for once. No one was avoiding him for being a big three kid or deferring to him like he was some kind of hero. He got the occasional assessing stare from counselors and campers who making bets on who his dad was but those were easy enough to brush off. Plenty of new kids got those stares.
After lunch, Percy did some archery, which he still sucked at. Sorry, Chiron. In his defense, Chiron really shouldn’t have been in the way. Ya know, behind him and nowhere near the targets. So maybe Percy didn’t have much of a defense after all.
They ended the day with metal working, leaving Percy liable to collapse from exhaustion by the time they got to dinner. His stamina and endurance were pathetic as a kid. After a single night of missed sleep and one day of camp activities, he felt ready to pass out into his plate of food.
Percy sacrificed to the gods. Hestia. Hermes. Poseidon. There was storm coalescing, no doubt caused by Zeus and Poseidon, but it reminded him a bit of Kymopoleia so he tossed in some fruit for her too. It likely wouldn’t help any but if it laid the road for one less future enemy, Percy would take it.
Back at the cabin after the sing-along, Percy was contemplating whether or not he wanted to leave the cabin again. He hadn’t slept since he was roused from his injury induced unconsciousness on Monday morning. It was now Tuesday night. Just shy of 40 hours. It didn’t sound like much compared to what he was forced to endure before, but now, the toll it was taking seemed monumental.
The second he sat down on his sleeping bag, the decision was made for him. He didn’t think he could get up even if he wanted to. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d spent the last two days constantly in motion or if it was because his battle with the minotaur had taken more out of him than he’d realized and he was still recovering. Either way, it looked like avoiding sleep tonight wasn’t going to be an option.
His exhaustion should have let him fall asleep easily. Percy wasn’t that lucky. Even just closing his eyes felt vulnerable. There were three kids within arm’s reach. Sure, Percy theoretically could trust them, but he’d never fought aside these versions of them. He’d even fought against future version of some of the kids in this cabin, Ethan and Luke chief among them. Percy knew Luke hadn’t attacked him until the end of his first summer and theoretically he’d been nothing but kind to Percy since he arrived at camp, but his brain was not interested in logic.
It was hours later and nearing morning by the time Percy finally lost his fight to sleep and passed out. If he though passing out would give him the chance to rest, then he was wrong. He’d had the occasional cat nap and sad attempts at fretful sleep since waking up in the past but not an actual extended rest. It figures that his first try at it was anything but restful. Nightmares hit the second he closed his eyes.
Monsters poured from the labyrinth and into camp. Gold dusted the ground as they fell. Demigods screamed as they fought. Some stood tall. Others fell and didn’t get back up. The air smelled of dirt mixed with blood.
Percy stood in the midst of it all. He watched as the light faded from a camper’s eyes. He reached out with one hand, trying to reach them but it was like he was moving through molasses. The earth swallowed him, up to his ankles, then his knees, trapping him in place. It was red and wet with blood. Gaia.
The scene shifted. His hand was still reaching out but this time he was collapsing a bridge and Michael with it. Percy watched him fall. Watched him vanish beneath rubble. He desperately tried to call upon the water beneath the bridge, crying out in panic. The scene fell away, replaced by an eerie silence.
He was sitting at a picnic table in Manhattan. Prometheus was sitting in front of him. He sat forward and laced his fingers. His voiced seemed to echo, “You think you can change the future, Percy Jackson? Who’s to say you aren’t making things worse? I have seen what will happen. Kronos will attack. You will be overwhelmed and then you'll be destroyed. It may not have happened last time but who’s to say it won’t happen this time?” He laughed, light and cheery, like he was giving Percy friendly advice.
Percy twisted away and tried to stand on uncooperative legs. Prometheus smiled down at him as he watched Percy struggle. Percy swore, pushing at the picnic table trapping him in place. He escaped only to collapse in a heap next to it. He clambered to his feet, ready to face down Prometheus, but even as he rose, the picnic table faded to be replaced by a street in front of the Empire State Building.
Kronos stood tall, wearing Luke’s face, scythe in hand. Percy instinctively tried to stumble back. His foot collied with something and he ducked his head to look.
Where the street was empty moment ago, now there was barely any ground to stand on. It was covered in bodies and awash with blood and broken weaponry. Percy’s eyes were immediately drawn to their faces. Annabeth. Nico. Grover. Clarisse. Travis. Connor. Pollux. Those were just the ones closest to him. The entire ground was littered with corpses, bloodied and broken. Dozens upon dozens of campers, too many to count.
He raised his head to look into Kronos’s eyes. They were gold but it was Luke’s voice that spoke to him, “You see Percy, we’re extended family. We take care of each other.” Luke smiled at him.
Percy woke screaming.
He was awake.
He was awake but Kronos was still looking down at him. His eyes were blue, but it must have been a trick. Percy scrambled backward. He didn’t make it far. One arm was pinned by someone he couldn’t see. He shoved the free hand of the other into his pocket and found it empty. Why didn’t he have Riptide? How did he get captured in the first place? It didn’t matter. Percy wasn’t useless without a blade, and he immediately lashed out. His body felt weak and small though. His arm was caught and pinned almost immediately. What had Kronos done to him? Percy kicked, screaming and bucking in the hold, His head hit the wall but he just fought harder. One leg escaped someone’s grasp, and he felt something under his foot snap when he kicked out at the unseen enemy.
Now Percy wasn’t the only one screaming. Chaos reigned around him, the room overtaken by scrambling movements and shouting. Someone ran from the room. Kronos was trying to say something, but Percy shook his head, not willing to hear anything he had to say.
He didn’t know if he spent minutes or mere moments fighting. He did know the second Dionysus intervened though. One moment he was trapped. The next purple was flashing across his vision, and he felt the jolt of godly transport. He was clear headed and staring up at the ceiling of the infirmary.
He was alone with Dionysus who was facing away from Percy. He was digging the cabinet, pulling out a square of ambrosia. Almost too quiet for Percy to hear, he murmured “Relax, brother. Does it look like I’m still in your cabin?”
Dionysus turned around and tossed the square to Percy. “With me, before the rest of the brats show up.”
Percy stood to follow, disoriented. He frowned, trying to puzzle out who ‘the rest of the brats’ were. His head hurt, making it harder to think. He supposed that was what the ambrosia was for. The pieces connected. Hermes cabin. His freakout. “I hurt someone?” he asked. He could vaguely recall kicking someone at some point.
They were now in one of the lesser-used back rooms of the Big House. Mr. D pointed to a couch. “Sit,” he demanded. “Eat the ambrosia.”
Percy sat. He nibbled the corner of the ambrosia square. Some of his headache cleared up. A reddened handprint on his arm faded. “Who did I hurt?”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Mr. D replied, looking like he wouldn’t have cared either way.
Not what I asked, Percy thought, but it sounded like he hadn’t grievously injured anyone so that was something.
Mr. D had taken the couch opposite him; he was staring Percy down and looked displeased. Percy stared at the wrinkles of Mr. D’s animal print shirt rather than into his blood-colored eyes. He opted not to speak first.
“Are you fond of having an intact consciousness?” Mr. D asked.
Percy sighed and flopped back into the couch. “I’m fine.”
Mr. D summoned a Diet Coke. Percy thought it was a bit early for coke, but he supposed that sort of thing didn’t really matter to gods. Mr. D took a long sip then set it to the side. “PTSD. Grief. And, of course, the small matter of whichever god messed with your mind.”
Percy frowned. “Who says any of that applies to me?”
Mr. D’s expression told Percy just how stupid he thought that question was. “It was my power that pulled you from a flashback just moments ago. I may not be able to read minds or view memories but once my power passed through your mind, the maladies were clear to see.”
Mr. D was clearly growing frustrated with him. “It does not, however explain how your mind came to be that way. I do have one theory though. Would you like to hear it?”
“Go for it,” Percy said, curious to see how close his theory would be,
Mr. D leaned forward, primed to watch Percy’s reaction. “I think you stole my father’s bolt.”
Percy’s mouth dropped open. That was quite possibly the last thing he had expected. He probably looked like an idiot but he couldn't erase the incredulity from his face. He recovered the ability to speak. “What? Why?” he asked, too taken aback to even be offended.
Rather than answer his question, Mr. D slumped in his chair, sipping at his Diet Coke as he did so. “So much for that theory.” He looked his favorite TV show just took a turn he didn’t like. “Well, that’s disappointing.” A dark and pensive look flashed over his face, “and concerning.”
Percy let out an aggrieved huff. “You can’t just accuse me of stealing the bolt and then not explain why.”
Mr. D turned his coke in his hand before answering. “The work done on your mind through godly influence raises some questions. It is clear it was done sometime in the past year and the intent was to erase your memories and it is equally clear it was not done by a god or goddess with the proper skill to do so, such as the Lethe.”
“How can you tell?”
Mr. D looked like the last thing he wanted to be doing was giving Percy a lesson on mind tampering but he explained anyway. “Some gods, ones skilled in the matters of the mind, like myself, or Lethe, for example, can enter minds and leave without a trace. Other gods, who have no business messing with such things, leave remnants. Their lack of skill is apparent. It leaves a mark.”
“Why does it matter which god did it?”
“You clearly have more knowledge about your connection to the divine than you should. Combine that with the missing memories and timeline of when the bolt went missing, it would stand to reason that a god could have influenced you to steal the bolt then poorly wiped your memory afterward.”
Percy kind of hated that that theory sort of made sense. “Right. Okay,” he muttered. Then he remembered what Mr. D said earlier. “You said concerning. What’s concerning?”
“I could tell there was something off about your mind when you first awoke. It would be one thing if you were driven mad. It would be simple enough to remove the madness and that would be the end of it.” Percy recalled Mr. D doing something like that for Chris after he escaped the labyrinth but was driven insane by Minos. He nodded, following the explanation so far.
Mr. D continued, “Grief, PTSD, the remnants of whatever was done to your memory, those are things not so easily undone.”
“You keep on saying ‘the remnants.’” Percy pointed out. “Are you saying my memory hasn’t fully healed. That there is still stuff I don’t remember?”
Mr. D gave him a somewhat pitying look. It wasn’t a look that Percy felt belonged on his face. “Whoever erased your memory did so poorly. The mind was clearly not their domain to interfere with. I do not know what state you were in in the immediate aftermath, but I am willing to bet that pieces of your memory still lingered. That the job was incomplete. Similarly, the recovery may be incomplete in the same way. Whoever performed the job did not care for the state of your recovery. Demigods are rarely seen as more than pawns, so it is not surprising.”
Percy dropped his gaze to his lap. He clenched his fist tightly. Percy and Jason—pawns of Hera. Sounded accurate, and infuriating. “And you can’t fix it?”
“Fixing what has already done is out of my reach. At best, having seen the aftermath, I could prevent it from happening again.”
Percy’s head snapped up. Something like hope filled him, in contrast to the complete disaster the rest of this conversation had been. “You could do that?”
“With my knowledge of the domain and they’re clear lack of knowledge? It’s definitely possible.” Mr. D said.
Then he added, giving Percy a searching look, “Do you anticipate such intervention being necessary?”
Percy met his eyes and said nothing.
“I’ll look into it,” Mr. D promised. Then as if realizing he just offered to do something nice, he shot glare a Percy. “Don’t expect any miracles. It will take time. And may be impossible.” He stared Percy down with an unnecessarily grim look. Then his seriousness faded, and he waved a dismissive hand at Percy. “Leave, I’m sick of seeing your face.”
That was more like the Mr. D Percy knew and tolerated. Percy left.
He swung by the infirmary to check on and apologize to whoever he injured earlier after waking. Connor Stoll was sitting on the infirmary bed. Percy winced. He was kind of hoping he had injured Luke or maybe Ethan.
“Percy, hey! We’re you in there with Mr. D? You didn’t get into trouble, did you?” Connor asked.
“No, he was just checking on me,” Percy said. His eyes were drawn to where Connor was rubbing his injured arm. An empty package of ambrosia was next to him. Percy grimaced. “Sorry about your arm. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Connor dropped his hand from where it was rubbing the arm. “Hey, it’s fine. Not your fault. I’ll be right as rain by the time capture the flag comes around in a couple of days.”
He was looking at Percy like he was an abandoned puppy. “Really kiddo, its fine. I’ve hurt myself worse falling off the rock wall. Besides, now I have tons of time to plan pranks. Seriously, go on, get back to activities. I’m fine.”
It was weak excuse, but Percy nodded and headed out, at the very least so he could stop being called ‘kiddo’ by a guy that was not that much older than him physically, and younger than him mentally.
The good news was he missed his Ancient Greek lesson while stuck in the Big House. The bad news was everyone was staring at him from the moment he got out. Gossip had always spread like wildfire at camp. No doubt everyone already knew what had happened in the morning. Wary looks were shot at him from what felt like every direction and anyone he dared make eye contact with dropped their gaze and looked away immediately. It was as frustrating as it was depressing.
Percy eventually found the Hermes campers foot racing with the nymphs. Luckily, Percy had always sucked at foot racing, so it wasn’t hard to stick to the back of the group where he got fewer stares. Luke, and oddly enough, Travis, both tried to draw Percy back in but everyone else looked uncomfortable enough that Percy stuck to avoiding everyone. They had canoeing afterwards, and Travis pulled Percy into his own canoe so Percy wouldn’t be alone. Percy tried to ask him why he bothered, considering Percy had hurt his brother, but he just gave him a look and called him kiddo just like Conner had. Growing up really couldn't happen fast enough.
They had wrestling scheduled with the Ares kids after lunch. Percy, who normally hated wresting, found it his favorite activity of the day by far because the second Clarisse saw him, she shoved him, laughed when he stumbled, then yanked him into one of the makeshift wresting rings to fight him and told him to “get ready to be knocked on his ass.” It was such a relief to be treated like a normal camper that Percy didn’t even mind when she proceeded to follow up on the threat and knock him on his ass three times in a row.
After wrestling, Connor rejoined them for strawberry picking then slung an arm around Percy and sat next to him at dinner afterwards which seemed to help alleviate some but not all the tense glances he got from the rest of the cabin.
At dinner, Percy sacrificed to Hestia, Hermes, Poseidon, and Kym. Percy was certain he’d never been more ready for a day of camp to finally end.