Chapter Text
The sight on Mount Olympus on August 1st, 2011, was one in a million. The throne room was packed, filled to the brim with injured demigods, gods, and mythical beings alike.
The twelve Olympians were not lounging around on their chairs for once, rather, sitting and helping to heal those who weren’t so lucky to be turned into eternally powerful and immortal beings. There were even a few minor titans in the grand hall, granted immunity from the stance they held in both wars. Even the vainer gods, (not to be named as author wishes not to be incinerated where she lies rotting in her bedroom) were sitting amongst the commonfolk, six feet instead of sixty.
There was a sort of energy in the room, hanging low over every inhabitant in the hall’s head. Grief, a gaping hole where those fallen had sat, no one daring to crack a smile.
And then there was another kind of energy, radiating from a certain king of the gods, directed at our favourite god of the sun (among others). No one missed the glares directed from Zeus to his wife; the hostility in Zeus’ eyes like nothing many had ever seen, most in shock at the fact that a husband would look at his wife in such a way (said people are clearly aware of how much family really means to the Olympians. Or not).
Regardless, Zeus was very much angry. And Hera was very, very, VERY terrified. Quaking in her boots, one might have the gall to say. It would only take a few seconds of that electric company to know that something big was about to go down. And soon.
-
PERCY
It would be an understatement to say that Perseus Jackson had been through a lot in the past few days. Hell, the last few months. Years even. From being kept unconscious by a crazy hormonal goddess of marriage (but to be fair, Percy reckons he’d be crazy and hormonal too if he was married to giant oaf), to having a nosebleed that caused yet another crazy and hormonal goddess to go batshit insane.
Needless to say, Percy wanted a break. One that preferably didn’t consist of seeing a stupid god’s face for the next millennia or so.
Sighing, he stretches, wiggling his toes in his gorgeous girlfriend’s face, making her scrunch her face in disgust.
“Do you wash your fucking feet? Get that out of my face,” Annabeth says playfully, gently swatting them away with the back of her hand.
“Give me a break, girly,” he replies, tossing a grape from the small refreshments table into his mouth. “I bet your feet smell like dog shit.”
“First off, call me ‘girly’ again and I’ll chainsaw your face off. Second, trust me. Nothing will ever smell as bad as that one time-”
“Alright, alright,” Percy says hastily, “I thought we agreed to never say anything about that ever. You signed my balls, man. That’s like a blood oath or whatever.”
“What’s this about balls?” Leo almost yells. Fuck, where the hell did he come from?
“Nothing. So, uh,” Percy starts. This is too awkward. What do you say to the guy who saved your life, but whose girlfriend you promised to free from an island but never got around to it?
Yeah.
“So…” Leo titters awkwardly. “Listen man, no hard feelings alright? I heard from Thalia that freeing Calypso was in your victory wish or whatever. I get it man; shit gets busy and you forget to follow up on stuff.” Leo seemed to be trying to smile, but it came off more like the grimace of someone who had just swallowed a wasp.
Also, was it just Percy, or did Leo still sound sort of- bitter?
Whatever. Past is the past. All they could do now is get over it.
As Percy opened his mouth to say something, anything, to fill the silence, a booming voice overtook his ears, surely rendering him deaf for life.
“MORTALS. Gods. Whatever else. Be seated, we have much to get to! Once we’ve uh,” cue overdramatic eyeroll from the king of theatrics, “honoured these heroes, we can get straight to the festivities!” Cue hearty cheer from tired and beaten down audience, all too ready to get onto the booze and dancing.
-
PIPER
Piper was bored.
Extremely bored.
Like, the type of bored when you’re at your dad’s stupid meet n greet where teenage girls and thirty year old neckbeards get all hot and bothered for your own father while you sit in the back and colour in a shitty Sesame Street colouring book because your dad is so self-absorbed in his career he thinks you’re still eight years old and into Sesame Street.
Piper’s mind automatically goes through the next few hours in autopilot, dead feet dragging her up to get honoured by the stupid gods who got them into this shit in the first place. After smiling senselessly and uh, accidentally charmspeaking a few wayward dryads to leave her the fuck alone, Piped was now mega tired and mega bored.
When she was finally seated back on the shiny marble of the Olympus floors, she watched Percy and Annabeth giggling and being all touchy-feely and she thinks of Jason - oh gods, Jason – and their nights under the stars and his soft eyes, shining for her and only her and suddenly she’s tearing up –
There’s someone touching her, but it’s not Jason and it’s not right, not right –
“Shit, Pipes, are you good?”
Whirling around to meet Leo’s startled eyes, she blinks the tears out of her own and tries for a smile. “Y-yeah, I’m cool.”
Leo looks hesitant. “Listen, Beauty Queen. I know that you and I aren’t as close as you and Jason, or me and Jason, but-”
Piper promptly bursts into tears.
-
LEO
Leo was unsure.
Unsure about Calypso, unsure about Hera, and definitely unsure as fuck right now.
“Piper, listen, you know you can talk to me, right?” he pats her shoulder awkwardly.
She nods, bringing her kaleidoscope eyes to his.
“So? Talk. Please, it’s just-so weird seeing you like this, dude.”
So Piper starts, talking about how she felt her time with Jason at that stupid camp was fake, a fabrication of Hera’s to save her own royal ass; to spending more and more time with him and thinking; hey, maybe I really do love this guy. Then he keeps pulling away from her, and Piper’s convinced he’s a second away from breaking it off. If there’s anything even there in the first place.
Leo is unsure.
-
HESTIA
She lets her amber eyes travel around the room, taking in the scene before her.
Minor gods, demigods, titans, even mere mortals lounging around in neat rows, waiting for Zeus’ next order, many glancing nervously at the way he was whispering furiously in a heated argument with Hera.
Paying more attention to the lesser beings laying on the floor, she took in the sight before her, making sure it fully burned into her hearth. Minor gods gently conversing with each other, huddled in the corner of the room. Satyrs nursing their broken hooves, centaurs drinking what little of the shitty booze they had, demigods snacking on ambrosia and nectar. Perseus Jackson and the Seven sitting in their own circle, two particular figures huddled together, one seemingly whispering words of comfort to the other, arms around her.
Turning her gaze away from the almost familial groups of creatures below her and focusing on her own family; arguing, slouching uncaringly, flirting, drinking – and wondered where the frick it all went wrong.
(Apologies. Pardon her language).
-
Once Zeus and Hera finished up their no doubtedly enlightening conversation, the gathered quieted themselves and waited to see when they’d be able to drink and probably fuck themselves silly to forget about this whole shitshow.
“This war,” Zeus starts, “Was a tragedy that could have been all too easily prevented.”
Whispers and shared looks echoed throughout the room. The Olympians, much less Zeus, taking accountability for their mistakes? Tartarus must have frozen over because, frankly, what the fuck?
“This,” Zeus continues, “Only lies on one person. My wife and I have had an enlightening conversation. She’s helped me realise who is truly at fault for this.
Apollo.”
Well, there goes any chance of accountability.
-
APOLLO
“Step forward.”
No. No.
This couldn’t be real – this couldn’t happen again, he-he’d already made Father mad too many times this century, too many times – he could barely even count the times he went home with singing hair and a broken heart.
Clasping his hands together so that no one could tell they were trembling, he stood onto shaky feet, clutching for his throne so he didn’t fall over and look like a fucking idiot in front of his family. He locked eyes with his mother, currently being held back by her nymph followers.
“Father, I-, fuck, I didn’t… I swear, father, please it wasn’t my fault!”
Gods, how pathetic does he sound? Begging for his immortal life in front of just about everyone. Apollo just hoped no one was recording this.
“Enough.”
Electricity crackles, hairs stand on end. Zeus raises his lightening bolt, arm poised to attack and then –
Boom.
-
Blinding.
That was Apollo’s first thought.
There was a huge flash, lighting up the room in a cacophony of explosive sound. Apollo was flung backwards, landing a nasty blow on his gorgeous and perfectly shaped ass.
(His words, not mine.)
His second thought, was oh fuck is this going to affect my perpendicular ass?
On the other hand, a permanent ass disfigurement might score some points with the poetry block he’d been having recently. Throw in some daddy issues shit, maybe some foresty scenery and he’ll have some serious bars.
Throughout a chorus of coughing and groans of pain, Apollo managed to get back onto his feet, dragging his eyes around the room as he rubbed his poor, poor ass.
“Jesus Christ,” muttered Jackson, “The fuck was that?”
All eyes on the room were trained on him and Zeus, but Apollo only had eyes for the small slip of paper laying on the fine marble in the middle of the throne room.
“I don’t know who in Tartarus that was but it sure as hell wasn’t me,” said Zeus, anger slipping into his tone like rat poison.
“Father,” Athena interrupts and gods does Apollo hate that suck up little smartass. Thinks she’s so much cooler than him since she’s the goddess of wisdom or whatever. But who really needs wisdom when you’re the god of knowledge, right?
Athena points to the piece of parchment paper on the floor. Seriously, who uses parchment paper these days? That’s so 3rd century of them. Not caught up on the times at all. A disgrace, really.
Hestia slinks over to the note, reaching it before anyone else got the chance to pick up it. Skimming through the neat print, eyes widening as she reaches the end of the mysterious letter.
“Well?” pipes up one of the Seven, a kid with curly brown hair and a strange utility belt, with- wait, holy shit is that Calypso? “What’s it say then?”
The gathered chorused their agreement, urging the old goddess to share the parchment’s contents. Apollo included; he positively despises being out of the loop.
Instead, Hestia adverts her eyes towards the thirteen majestic thrones, gliding up to where her youngest brother and sister were sat back in their respective seats.
Once Zeus’ beady little orbs transfix on the letter, he opens his mouth and hell itself pours out of his stretched thin lips.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?”
Hera snatches the paper out of her husbands hands, reading it out to the room.
“Hello Olympians, gods, demigods, mythical beings.
The war you’ve gone through, will not be the last of your difficulties. Even we, the fates themselves, have no power over this tragic fate.
Which is why you are gathered here today.
There are books. Written about you, all of you, in an alternate universe. You’re here to read about the next events that happen. The name of the book is censored for the time being, although all will become clear in due time. You’ll take turns reading said book, with all time outside of here frozen. You will all stay until you are finished. No harm will come upon anyone. We have taken the measures necessary to protect the safety of all.
One more thing: the two main characters from the future will be joining you. Please do not ask them any information about themselves, not even their names. They have been taken from the end of these books and have also been informed of why they are here.
Happy reading. And please, for the love of Gaia, stay civil.
-Fates.”
“Well, damn.”
Well, damn indeed.
-
Once everyone had stopped yelling confusedly and settled into the plush couches brought in for the occasion, they’d finally chosen the first reader: Hermes.
He was grinning, practically buzzing, excited out of his mind that he could be the first to know all the juicy secrets from the future.
Apollo, on the other hand, was slouching, internally terrified at the prospect of what his father would do once they were out of here. At least he had immunity for now, to figure out what the fuck he was going too do.
Apollo’s dragged out of his mind by his old hunting buddy Chiron.
“Wait- before we start, where are those two extra guests from the future going to arrive?”
Huh. Apollo had completely forgotten about that.
Before anyone could say anything else, there was another blinding flash and two figures crash to the ground.
-
Once Apollo blinks the light out of his eyes, he focuses on the two disoriented kids before him.
One was a kid, no older than fourteen, with mismatched clothing, two shiny rings on opposite fingers and short, choppy hair. She was frowning, mouth set into a hardened scowl (was he dreaming, or was it directed at Zeus?) with a strange look in her eye. Certainly not one a fourteen year old should ever have.
The other one looks around 16, with olive skin, curly brown hair and sparkling, golden eyes not unlike his own. He had a light dusting of faded acne, wearing typical teenage boy attire; scruffy, baggy jeans with a Led Zeppelin shirt and zip-up. He had a smaller than average but lean stature, tense and shoulders all bunched up; giving the appearance of a bunny rabbit stuck in headlights. He looked scared almost, eyes fixated on three occupants of the room: Jason, Apollo himself and Zeus.
Huh. What an odd pair.
-
Once everyone was seated again (with the two strange new inhabitants barely saying two words to them, instead whispering furiously amongst themselves, Hermes opens the book and reads out the chapter title.
“Chapter one: Mortality Blows.”