Chapter Text
Connor had a marvelous morning if he didn’t count the hours from nine to eleven. First was a disastrous night, some of the little ones had nightmares about the titans and had to sleep in Connor’s bed just to stop crying which left little feet poking opposite kidneys. Getting the rest of the cabin ready was always an olympic sport but Nico had been particularly slow that morning, saying he felt sick in his stomach and didn’t know why. Nico was still adjusting to camp. He seemed excited by everything the two co-counselors presented to him but Connor guessed they’d run out of distractions to his sister joining the Hunters eventually. It didn’t help that said group glared at Connor and Travis extra hard that morning. He couldn’t put a finger on why. The nagging feeling he was forgetting something wouldn't stop scratching at his hairline.
Travis let out a terrified squeak and started running for the treeline. Connor, still stuck in his head, turned and locked eyes with a Hunter barling towards him, nostrils flaring and face red with anger.
Phoebe. The Hunter the two brothers lightly maimed with a poisoned t-shirt the day after capture the flag which ended them both humiliated. She had been released that morning. That’s what he’d forgotten.
There was no use running. She was already within arm’s length and Connor was fast but not that fast. If he did he would spend all day running from her, or running the whole time she was here, and he’d never be able to focus on anything else. He wasn’t good at being a prey animal and he didn’t want to start learning how.
So ready he stood, feet planted to his spot in the snow. If he was going to get pummeled, better to get it over with while he still had his dignity (did he still have that?) Not running surprised her into using words, at least. He needed something to say and quick, anything to throw her off.
“You treacherous, vile, evil little—”
“Aphrodite commanded us to do it!” Connor cut her off, bracing for the hit.
She paused, fist still raised and face still twisted in rage.
“W—what?” She stared down at Connor, nostrils flaring. “How dare you!”
“Be offended all you want, some sickness and temporary maiming were better than what she originally had in mind. Aphrodite wanted to outright curse you. I talked her into the centaur blood plan. Said ruining your good skin would be devastating or something.”
Phoebe gave a huff of a laugh. The idea so ridiculous to her it almost made her forget she was trying to kill him two seconds prior. “I do not give a rat's backside about my skin.”
“No, but I know you have that no love oath thing.”
Connor’s mouth quirked up slightly the moment it clicked in Phoebe’s head. The goddess of love, who could make you fall head over heels with anything she pleased. What an outright curse would most likely mean for her.
“You…” Phoebe blinked, still processing. She surged forward, Connor bracing himself for another arrow to the head.
Instead, she hugged him.
Connor caught his breath, her large muscles crushing him. She lifted him up so much his shoes barely grazed the snow. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Travis come out of hiding, mouth agape.
Phoebe put him down slowly. Tears formed in her eyes as she stepped away, hands still on Connor’s shoulders. He was just glad to be back on the ground with the ability to breathe. He could see other campers looking at them, a few Hunters glaring at him even harder than they were when she was in the infirmary. She did manage to crack his back, though.
Phoebe sniffed. It was odd seeing such a big, tough girl like her be emotional. He was so used to Clarisse who might as well be allergic to anything other than anger unless she was alone.
She wiped her nose, smiling. “You saved my oath.”
“Don’t make me seem all noble,” Connor scoffed, crossing his arms indignantly. “Travis is a menace and I’m petty, and you gave my brother a concussion. We would have put whipped cream in your pillow or filled your cabin with tiny plastic deer or something eventually.”
“Not anything worse?”
Connor shrugged. Travis might have if his head wasn’t feeling ready to hatch a mini Athena. “I don’t believe in permanent damage for something like this, that’s what monsters are for. All we did was play capture the flag. You haven’t been around long enough to be a proper enemy.”
“You have proper enemies?”
“Yes.”
Connor left the conversation at that. He didn’t feel like trauma dumping about Luke to this random girl. That’s what Clarisse and their sparring sessions were for, even if she’d been gone a whole month and wouldn’t tell him a thing beforehand. He had been spear training with Clarisse for ages now. He was confident enough with the weapon now that he could avoid her turning him into a shishkabob, experiencing only the occasional slash and stabs. A shishk at worst.
He was worried about Clarisse. She had been gone a long time and had been acting odd ever since she got back from her mothers. Preoccupied, barely bullying anyone, she hadn’t even called him “Shorty Stoll” once, something was definitely wrong.
Connor started walking away, but Phoebe had an inability to take a hint. The Hunter had questions and Connor was going to answer them if he wanted to keep his head.
“Is it because we insulted her children?” Phoebe bit her lip as the possibilities churned in her mind. “And why did the goddess pick you?”
They were walking together now, and it looked even odder to the camp than her hugging him. He decided sitting on the stone wall lining the path was better, or at the very least kept the glares he could see to a minimum. Phoebe crossed her arms in front of him. Even with the height of the wall the older teen-looking girl towered above him.
Connor shrugged. “The gods wanted Percy to go, and what the gods want, the gods get. Your leader should know that better than anyone, yet she picked you to go anyhow.”
“You are passing the blame for your actions onto Zoё?” She humphed, glaring slightly.
“No, but she picked what was comfortable.” He let his legs swing back and forth, boot heels tapping against the stone. “Fate doesn’t care about your comfort, and neither will the gods.”
“That still does not explain why Aphrodite, or you.”
Honestly, Connor was still reeling from the dream himself. He heard from her indirectly through Mr. D all the time, but seeing her and talking to her was a whole other kettle of fish he never wanted. Out of all the gods he wanted to say the wrong thing to Aphrodite the least. The other gods might make his life hell but when she fucked with someone's life she fucked with it.
“She said Percy going to rescue Annabeth was a better plot.” Connor sighed, tired of talking about this already. “She pushes campers together just to get entertainment, like watching a romance TV show—you know what television is right?”
“I know what a television is,” Phoebe deadpanned, pausing like she had to do some mental math but then decided the answer wasn’t worth giving out. Connor usually did the same with math if it wasn’t money or math homework. Calculators existed for a reason. “That still doesn’t explain why Aphrodite chose you .”
Her nose upturned and scrunched, making her whole face suck inward towards her nostrils. She said “you” as he would say rat, or garbage, or microfiber towel.
“We’re pranksters, if anyone could pull it off it’s us. We’re kinda famous for it, which helps when there’s a total of four point two people in the entire camp.” Connor chuckled at his own joke. Phoebe only raised an eyebrow. “And she knows me from theater group. Mr. D runs it but she often checks the scripts and casting, mostly to deem the romantic plots are juicy enough and to pair people up.”
“You hand out the scripts?”
“I act, thank you very much. Sing too if it’s a musical,” Connor tutted. “But I write them sometimes too, when they let me.”
Phoebe paused, uncurling her arms and looking him over. It was almost as if she was seeing him for the first time, something clicking about Connor that made her relax.
“You…are queer?”
Connor jolted. He looked down at his puffy jacket or his jeans, wondering if he had stuck a pride pin somewhere or was wearing his rainbow scarf and forgotten. There was nothing but plain blue fabric and slush from sitting on the rock wall.
“Thespian, theater kid if I must. Mr. D made me join after one of our pranks and said it would be a ‘good outlet for my creative energy.’ It was a punishment, but now I enjoy it which annoys him more.” Connor patted his legs trying to fill the awkward silence as Phoebe just stared and put her hands on her hips. “Not everyone in theater is gay…Okay I am, but my point still stands! Stereotypes are harmful.”
“Not interested in women?”
“That’s usually what gay means nowadays. When did you stop watching TV?”
“1985.”
“Well, that explains it.” He smirked, his signature grin slowly making its way back to his face as the terror wore off. “What, Superfriends ended and you were too upset to watch anything else?”
Phoebe shifted. “No.”
“Ha!”
Phoebe smiled a bit too, moving to sit next to him on the wall. Her movements were elegant in a strange way. Graceful yet still taking up space, unlike most girls he knew who tried to take up the least amount of the world as possible. Her movements careful like a ballet dancer almost by memory, the training so fundamental nothing from the Hunters had removed it, simply compacted along with it. Connor wished he could move like that, so sure of every step before he took it. Most of the time even if he was feeling confident his movements were jagged and sometimes even clumsy before coffee entered his bloodstream. It wasn’t hyperactivity like most demigods. He was calm even compared to Travis. He had been tested for ADHD when the school diagnosed Travis and he came back with nothing. It was like his body was so detached from how he pictured himself that he had to be reminded he had one. Maybe that was why he trained and did theater so much, anything to make the meat sack he was inhabiting feel less foreign.
Phoebe clicked her tongue against her teeth, side eyeing him. Her gaze was no longer that of prey and predator, but Connor still didn’t like it. “So you are…safe?”
“Again, whip cream and tiny deer.”
“You know what I mean,” Phoebe huffed, rolling her eyes a bit. “There is no risk of you falling for me, seeking romance at all.”
“I’ve never had much luck in that department, even if I was into girls it would still probably be a lost cause.”
Phoebe grinned, letting out a “ha” and slapping him on the back. Connor stumbled forward, landing in the snow in front of them. This only made her jovial laugh louder, sliding off the wall and in one swift motion picking him up off the ground.
“Thanks.” He coughed, trying his best not to flitch more as she put a hand on his bony shoulder.
“Connor Stoll, I no longer want to kill you.”
“...Thanks? Wanna play poker?”
===
Everyone was astounded he wasn’t in pieces. Travis most of all, relieved he hadn’t let his brother get clobbered as he ran for the literal hills because obviously, that would look bad. Nico didn’t care, Nico was too busy trying to shoot arrows with the rest of the cabin and shooting himself in the foot.
Connor had spent most of the afternoon in the infirmary glaring at Will until Nico’s toe was back on his body and they both could walk back. He had to keep reminding Nico to not bounce out of excitement as he explained the day. All the magic he had seen in the infirmary, and how cool Will was for being so knowledgeable a healer so young. Connor stopped listening when he heard the words ‘Will’ and ‘Cool’ in the same sentence. It gave him a chance to pay attention to the rest of Nico. He was obviously excited, but there was something else Connor couldn’t quite place. Something stirring under the surface ever since he learned Bianca was leaving on the quest. Even resting on Connor’s bed with his foot propped on a pillow he could see Nico hiding, or more likely trying to ignore, any emotion that wasn’t enthusiasm. He’d seen kids in his cabin do everything from try to shove all emotion down, to stay positive even to their detriment, to break down at every moment they could. Nico was looking like a time bomb, each bounce a tick towards his inevitable explosion if he kept it up.
The atmosphere around them didn’t help. It was quieter in the winter, most of the kids opting for home rather than the cramped and falling apart cabin. But with that came less distraction, less masking of the musty smell perturbing from the walls and the body order coming from everywhere else. Less noise to drown out the silence of their parents who hadn’t claimed them even when they lost everything but their sleeping bag.
“Nico,” Connor started carefully, sitting on the foot of the bed and playing with the tassels of his neatly folded quilt. “You’re angry with your sister, aren’t you?”
A pregnant pause. Nico’s smile halted, dropping in jagged intervals once the shock wore off.
“I, um,” he swallowed, gripping at the orange hoodie Will had given him that swallowed most of his legs. “Who told you that? No, I’m not.”
“Neeks, you’re good at poker, but a bad liar.” Connor reached his hand out, nothing too intimidating. Just a hand to hold if Nico wanted it. “You’re allowed to be upset, you know. It doesn’t make you bad.”
Nico let out a shaky breath. It amazed Connor how quickly kids could switch from one emotion to the other. Happy one moment and then sniffing on a dime. Connor had to remember he was still a kid too, only a few years older than Nico was now. Yet here Connor was, being the one to open the can of worms of emotions for Nico and ensuring he could handle anything that happened next because he’d been handling it for two years.
“I just don’t get it,” Nico sniffed, arms crossed as his face turned sour. “What’s so great about the Hunters? Why’d she join?”
“Well, lots of reasons. Honestly, if I was a girl I think I’d want to join.”
“The immortality?”
Connor smiled, shaking his head. He hadn’t given the Hunters much thought before this morning, but he’d connected with Phoebe so fast. The group had his attention, as much as it could without going into territory of fantasy. Dreams of joining squashed before they could become thoughts. Those never helped him.
“Nah,” Connor sighed. “Immortality is great, but the energy that comes with it? I can’t imagine it. They never get tired, you know? And they always have people to take care of them.”
Nico cocked his head, scowling. “Don’t you have your brother taking care of you?”
“I do, but now it's different. It's hard to take care of yourself when you need to do it for other people. It’s no one's fault, but it’s taxing, takes a lot out of you. Just a fact of life, but especially when you ain’t ready for it. You can’t be a child and a parent too, and parent must win if you want to do any good.”
Nico blinked rapidly, looking Connor up and down and noting every feature of his face. Having eyes on him, especially Nico’s intense black ones, made Connor want to shrink. The eye contact made his skin crawl. If he was on stage he could write it off as people looking at a character, but there was no hiding here. No masks would hide Connor from the hurting boy in front of him.
“How long were you here?” Nico breathed “You look my age.”
“Got here when I was five.” Normally this was when he’d jokingly brag about being the youngest demigod to make it to camp in recent memory, but the way Nico was looking at him it didn’t seem anything to be proud of even as a jest. Pity never sat well with Connor even if Connor pitied his younger self too.
“Do you not like taking care of people?”
“I do,” Connor nodded, voice skeptical without meaning to, and just a tad bitter. “But it’s still hard, some days it gets easier or I have a moment with a kid that makes it all worth it, and sometimes I just want to live out my days in the back of a gas station or something, anywhere but here.”
Connor could run away and live with Lorenzo. He’d either get eaten immediately or get Lorenzo eaten, but before they were a meal Connor could picture it: Just them living in Lorenzo’s double-wide with his parents and grandmother, cooking what he remembered of his Mama’s recipes and Lorenzo would cook his own from Chile. They’d scream at the TV throughout soccer matches and Connor would rub it in Lorenzo's face when his team lost (again.) He’d do his homeschool coursework while Lorenzo did his essays or whatever freshman prelaw students did besides beer pong. He’d stay up late and then sleep until midday, or whenever he woke up naturally instead of six in the morning. It would be a disaster, a good dream but nothing more.
Nico shifted, eyes distant and deep in thought as he moved his non-recently-stabbed-with-an-arrow leg up to his chest, arms wrapped around it like a buoy in a storm. Head resting on his knee like even his neck was tired of the load it was carrying in that little brain. Connor had opened something, put something into place Nico had never considered. It wasn’t an easy lesson learning you were sucking the childhood from someone without even thinking about it.
It could be worse, Connor thought (but would never say.) His sister could have taken everyone who was supposed to replace her as Nico’s caretakers away and then tried to kill Nico and everyone else at camp. Also joined the Titans. Definitely could be worse than the non-evil ageless girl gang who liked trees and stabbing things a little too much.
A mutter, barely audible. Nico’s mouth was too pressed up against his knee to travel very far.
“Sorry, what?”
“What do you do about the monsters?”
Nico’s voice was still small. Eyes completely changed to terrified. The kind of terror only memories that attacked in the night could make. Connor had looked like that a lot after living in Appalachia.
“Train,” Connor answered simply, “soon they become easy as a sport.”
“No, I mean, the ones that attacked before you got here. Dr. Thorn…the way he took that Athena girl, almost killed me, Bianca, and Percy. How do I sleep without that image being at the back of my mind constantly?”
Right. He’s been so worried about Annabeth disappearing he’d almost forgotten that encounter was Nico and Bianca’s introduction to their world. It wasn’t a giant leap for them to assume fighting manticores and similar monsters was going to be the rest of their lives. They had no other monsters to compare. Dr. Thorne took out even the most competent fighter camp had, so what chance did they have?
No wonder Bianca chose the girl gang. No wonder Nico was so scared of losing her.
“Time, I suppose. I still have nightmares of the Jersey Devil, but I’m not that five-year-old trudging through the mountains anymore.”
Connor still shuddered at the memory. After two days of being stalked, it finally attacked when they were just at the tip of the state heading towards New York City. He could still hear the echoes of their satyr yelling “It’ll be fine boys!” before getting his human half chomped with a sickening crunch. He poofed into some plant form before the Jersey Devil finished its snack and turned to them, the Stoll brothers running as fast as their little legs carried them until Dionysus showed up. Connor didn’t take too kindly to being lied to like that.
“Do you ever wish you were mortal?” Nico muttered. “What would you do if you were? Would it be better?”
Connor shrugged, “I’m not sure, I’m not one, so I’ve never dwelled on the question much. It never helps playing what ifs.” Connor moved to the head of the bed, wrapped an arm around Nico, and held him close when Nico leaned in. Played with his hair just as his mama used to do when they had talks like this. Talks about gods, monsters, and the worst of all mean people. “Mortals start playing the what if game and never win. Add in fate, prophecies, and the will of the gods and us demigods doing it will make you crazier than one of Mr. D’s victims. You learn from what happened if you can, but you can’t go back and change it. That game is never worth playing.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Nico nodded, but his voice faltered halfway through, his gaze a million miles away. He had shifted again. Just as quick as anger came, sadness had swooped in.
Connor could tell Nico that his guilt and anger weren’t worth holding onto again and again, but it took more than saying the words. Knowing something and feeling it, really letting a lesson sink into one’s bones, took effort and time. He could be there to remind Nico as often as he could and support him as he healed, but ultimately it was Nico’s journey and Connor couldn’t force it to happen. Rome was not built in a day, nor was someone’s self-worth.
For now, the warm cup of milk before bed would have to do.
===
Connor was dreaming. Of course he’d get pulled back to this day.
Connor had been three when he encountered his first monster. It would be a long time before he realized the lady even had been a monster. His Mama had been picking Travis up from school at the time so it had been just him and his step dad, just like any other fall day. The heat of summer still hung on making everything crisp and golden.
“Connor, go inside.” His step dad ordered, red bandana hanging off his wide shoulders and worn jeans frayed at the ankles. He hadn’t even put on shoes before he walked out the back door, stomping through the yellowed spiky September grass. At any other time a tall skinny man with a farmer's tan and a gap in his teeth wouldn’t look intimidating, but he hadn’t hesitated to come barling down the hill with his shotgun when the old woman showed up.
Connor couldn’t remember how she got onto their property. He hadn’t heard her walk through the woods to the clearing where Connor was making a tiny castle out of sticks and leaves. One minute he was alone and the next she was there asking what he was making, a large wicker purse in hand and wrinkled body trembling in her old flour stained wrap dress and half her face concealed by a bright pink hat like the old women at church always wore. Connor hadn’t even processed her sudden appearance or the question before he heard the storm door slam.
Adam Crawford Stoll stood over Connor, shotgun in hand and barrel pointed straight at the women. The woman tried to act shocked, scared, but he didn’t move. Just clicked the safety off and aimed. His oversized white shirt blowing in the wind was the only movement to him.
“I see you,” he yelled, making the woman still. “You snake ass bitch.”
“And what can a mortal like you do?” She hissed, not a metaphorical hiss of talking through her teeth but an actual reptile hiss that made the hair on the back of Connor’s neck stand up.
“Connor. Go. Inside.” Adam ordered, not taking his eyes off the woman until Connor started moving. The little boy backed up slowly, whimpering a little until he reached the porch. He tripped over the first step, breaking the still tension of the two still in the yard. The women moved inhumanly fast towards Adam. A scream of “watch out” caught in Connor’s throat. A single shot rang through the woods, right at the woman’s now half snake feet. None of the magical blurring of her form had fooled the man, a single hole smoking inches away from her. Adam raised the gun, no one moving as it cocked back into ready.
“They’re bronze,” he said, the woman’s eyes going wide. Connor to this day had no idea if it was true. They never had celestial bronze bullets before and had no contact with the gods, Hermes or otherwise, since leaving the Dominican Republic. Neither of the Stoll brothers ever found them in the house afterwards. It was fully possible Adam Stoll had been lying straight through his teeth, but his unwavering demeanor was enough for the snake woman. She glared, the air still so hot between them it felt solid. With one final hiss she melted into a coppermouth and slithered off into the woods to terrorize another house, but it would never be that one.
Adam breathed, the air leaving with a shake out of his chest and with a sob right behind it. He clicked the safety back on before dropping the gun entirely, taking a step back and turning to Connor. The little boy rushed to him, messy tears falling on his cheeks matching his dad’s silent ones. Adam opened his arms, Connor coiling into his chest and holding onto his shirt for dear life as he picked Connor up.
“It’s okay, she’s gone,” Adam soothed, rubbing Connor’s back, “shhh, I’m here.”
“She knocked it all over.” Connor sniffed, Adam’s attention going back to the little stick castle. It had been stepped on, the entire left half snapped in half and the roof of apple tree leaves scattered.
Adam took another shaky breath, holding Connor in his arms as he reached down, silently putting the sticks back in place and plucking a big leaf from the maple tree for a new roof.
“Better?” he asked him with a smile, his crows feet crinkling by his warm hazel eyes.
“Yeah,” Connor nodded, a grin on his face like he was obvious to the danger they had faced moments before. His mind wondered if that had actually happened for years until he came to camp.
“Alright,” Adam gingerly picked up the gun with his other hand, getting both back to the creaking back porch. “Travis and Mama should be back soon. Why don’t we make a snack for when they get back, huh?”
“Pop-Pop’s sandwiches!” Connor yelled, so excited he forgot Adam’s ears were right next to him. His dad just chuckled as they entered the house.
“They're called tomato sandwiches.”
“No, they’re Pop-Pop’s sandwiches.”
Connor remembered the house well, missed it like you could only miss home. A tiny shack of a 1940s farmhouse, all graying wood and peeling linoleum tile and bouquets his parents gave each other from the garden hanging on the ceiling next to the raccoon tails. If Connor concentrated hard enough he could pinpoint when they added each of the ten locks on both of the doors.
“Alright, Pop-Pop’s sandwiches. What else?” Adam asked, locking the back door behind him as Connor’s bare feet pitter-pattered to the kitchen.