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On the last day as a member of the legion, Jason Grace cries five times.
Once, upon waking, because this is the last morning in a cramped bunk bed that has allowed him withering senses of comfort and a chance to be warm if not cosy.
Second, when he sits in the dining hall listening to demigods, friends, chatter and tease and laugh and groan. He hides the majority of his tears behind his coffee cup but the few that spill over are quickly swiped by a rough palm. The only one who notices is Reyna. She squeezes his thigh, gives him an encouraging look. She’s one of three people who know this is the final stretch. He didn’t want a big fuss. He didn’t want any fuss. His sister would say it’s in character. He barely even cried when he was born. No fuss then either.
Three, the last trek up to the Temple of Jupiter. It’s mostly for decoration these days. With no Octavian to slaughter stuffed animals in front, and him rushing between here and Camp Half-Blood as the only son of the Sky God.
He lays down his SPQR banner, the mini Eagle flag he’d purchased at the Camp Half Blood gift shop after the Giant War, and two drachma. Not as a symbol of wealth towards his father but a promise to owe nothing and to be owed nothing in return. The way Hades requests drachma from the dead for passage into the Underworld, he requests passage from his father. For a life of peace, to be left to rest. A hand brushes over his tattoo. fifteen tally marks.
Fourth, when he takes a last flight over camp. Staring at the rolling hills and old cobbled pathways. The sun-warmed stone temples. The way light hits the ‘climbing wall’ just right so that every time a flame bursts free it looks not just like fire but also like a phoenix, like sunsets, like passion.
Hopes and bravery and worth have been built along that wall. Scratches and chips and notches all carved like a time capsule. I was here, the demigod says. He squints to spot the brick with the knee shaped crack in it. The day he slammed so hard into the wall he broke his kneecap. Even with a full square of ambrosia it took him months to recover. Indeed, he was here.
Five, when he hugs Reyna goodbye. It’s a testament to their friendship that she holds him even closer as he sobs into her shoulder. Years and years ago she would have offered him a tissue, waited for him to stop. Distance like isolation between them. Always an arms length away. Now he cries into the crook of her neck, blubbering gratefulness and apologies in the same breath.
“Thank you for being my friend I’m sorry for leaving you you’re the best thing that ever happened to me here please don’t think I’m leaving you I’m leaving the legion but we will always be Reyna and Jason I hope you don’t think this is the end I just need life as I know it to be over I love you thank you for being my friend.”
She kisses his cheek, squeezes him around the waist. Her eyes are misted over but she’s more put together than he is. She’ll cry in her own time, her own space.
Jason shoulders the backpack containing his only belongings worth taking and ascends into the skies.
The clouds carry the words Reyna utters to the camp.
“Jason Grace, Son of Jupiter, Praetor to the Legion, Representative of SPQR and Camp Half-Blood, has said his final goodbyes. Please wish him well on his journey at the Campfire this evening.”
He doesn’t hear the crowd. Protests or sadness or cheers or— it is only wind in his ears as he makes his way through the stinging clouds and away from the Soldiers Camp he’s called home for fifteen long years.
***
Jason Grace steps out of the shower, steam lashing at his damp skin. He bends forward at the waist, curls his neck. And then he’s wrapping his hair in a towel. With an unprovoked creak of his back, and a small pop of his right knee, he straightens up.
The mirror is fogged over, as much a victim to his scorching showers as his red skin. He rolls his eyes, swipes a hand over it, leaving a small streak of reflection.
There he can see the flush of his cheeks, the sun-gold of his shoulders, the smattering of freckles across his chest. He smiles as the song changes, something whimsical. Percy’s playlist. He doesn’t know half the songs but he loves them all.
His friend had made them all download it. Said it was imperative they know at least seventy of the one hundred on there before their road trip.
Today. The road trip today. His heart flutters with excitement. He can’t believe that after months of planning it’s finally happening.
With steady joy he gets ready. Loose cotton shorts, a faded crop top, sneakers the colour of his eyes. Before he can change out his earrings he lets his hair down from the towel. It’s so long, getting longer with each passing day, each trim Hazel forces him to endure. Hair doesn’t grow unless you cut off the dead bits Jason. Just like a plant. Like the reason forests need fires and savannahs needs flame and he left the legion.
It’s passed his shoulders now. Long enough to flick back when he’s being dramatic. Long enough to braid. Gods he loves to braid his hair. Loves when other people braid it too. The gentle hands pulling at strands, brushing along hair scalp, folding and fixing and fussing.
He brushes it out with a comb now, puts two hair bands around his wrist. It’ll dry before he can blink. Percy will barrel into his apartment, offer to give him two Dutch braids. He will say yes, and collapse on his couch in front of the huge windows. He will watch the sun dance across building roofs and sip raspberry tea and try not to fall asleep as Percy chatters away while making him pretty. Prettier, as Percy would correct.
He threads his earrings, two small gold hoops (a present from his sister the month after he left his old life), and goes to put the kettle on.
Five minutes later there’s a knock at his door.
With a smile he cannot contain, he calls to come in. And then a voice full of happiness and excitement is filling his house.
“Jase! It’s almost time to go!” Percy Jackson skids into the kitchen. And gasps! “Your hair!” The sunlight is catching it at just the right angle. He looks like he’s glowing. “Want me to braid it?”
Jason points to the two hair bands on his wrist, laughs. “Yes please.”
The raspberry tea is delicious. Percy’s babbling comforting. He feels so safe here. He feels in control. He feels free to have no control.
“And done!” His friend pats his head gently, gulps down the last of his coffee.
“Thank you.” He lets the braids run between his fingers, feeling the neatness, the softness.
“You ready?”
“Let me just grab my bag from the room.” He takes their mugs to the kitchen, rinses them in warm water, leaves them on the draining rack. A splash of bright green and pale blue against his black countertops.
“Okay,” he shoulders the leather duffel bag, jangling his keys. “Let’s go pick up our friends.”
Percy bounces out the door. Just before Jason can lock up he catches his reflection in the lounge mirror. It stops him in his tracks. Pink cheeks, glowing skin, a smile he can’t seem to abandon, pretty blonde hair, flashing gold earrings. He looks like everything he saved himself to be. He looks happy.
“You coming Jase?” Percy calls from down the hall.
He grins wider. Already here.