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Chapter Text

The only thing Apollo ever remembered seeing was his older sister.

Artemis’ brown-red hair, glowing silver, soft and long, covered her eyes as she grabbed his newborn body from his mother’s laboring one.

Then, darkness.

Yelling, screaming, the sound of his sister being pushed away, and the wails of his mother in pain.

There was a moment between birth and ascending where a newborn god was vulnerable, the touch of pure immortality still grabbing a hold of them. Immortality, after all, was not a thing to be created or destroyed. It was the concept of unchanging permanence, and one could not be born or dying permanently, forever. 

And those who are not gods cannot see a god’s true form without irreparable harm.

The only thing Apollo ever saw was his sister’s true form.

He doesn’t regret it; she was beautiful, and whenever anyone dared ask, Apollo says that she was all he ever needed to see.

They fight Python together, although it is Apollo who strikes the final blow, and Artemis bowed to him in the power of prophecy.

Prophecy blinds, but what can it do to a blind man?

Give sight.

Occasionally, he catches glimpses of colors and light and faces , not that he can ever recognize them even if they stood right in front of him, not unless they are his twin.

A blind god is a novelty, even in the many millennia after his birth. Children learn his name in school, and hospitals are named after him, and lawyers keep his blindfolded statue in their offices. It keeps him relevant, even if it is only because of his mask.

His mask, which a thousand sculptors shape a thousand different ways, a pure gold delicate thing that rests across his nose and the tops of his cheekbones. His mother had tied part of her veil over his eyes the day he was born, claiming that where his eyes were was only ugly burnt flesh, the only blemish on his otherwise perfect body. It was that same veil that he had worn for the first ten years of his life until Artemis had carved him a mask of wood. When Hermes was young, he had plied Apollo with a mask of bronze in exchange for some power of prophecy, which he was granted in the form of dice and knuckles. After, Hephaestus had rejoined them on Olympus, and Apollo had gained his first mask of gold. Nowadays, he had many masks of many styles to fit whatever outfit he has chosen, or, whatever outfit Aphrodite has chosen, because Apollo may be the god of art, but he can’t tell if his chiton matches his belt color.

Well, at least he knows that his outfit does match today because Hermes had complained about him being an eyesore the second he had walked into the Solstice meeting.

“Are you trying to blind the rest of us?” Hermes had joked, “That much gold together has to be a fashion don’t.”

He can sense the glare that his sister most likely sent Hermes, the spark of anger that she emitted across their bond reminded them all of the way that Apollo’s blindness was a sore spot for her. His sister carried guilt and regret as easily as he did.

“The jeans aren’t gold,” Apollo protested. He’d read the braille tags of his closet easily, slowly tracing his fingertips across all his clothes.

“The embroidery is,” Aphrodite said. “And you look beautiful, darling, do ignore him.”

Aphrodite never minced her words when Apollo’s art came out lacking something. His sculptures and paintings were always made with pure emotion and physical touch, which meant that sometimes the colors were ever so slightly off, and Aphrodite was the only one who would say to his face if something was straight-up ugly, even if it was meaningful.

“If you are done,” Zeus drawled from somewhere from the left. “We may begin.”

Apollo walked the 7 and a half steps to his throne, making sure to reach out towards the seat beforehand so he didn’t accidentally sit on something he had forgotten there. Again .

The council meeting got real old, real fast. 

Hades was there, so Demeter was acting extra prissy, especially when they brought up the topic of global weather shifts. Apollo got interrupted in his very important speech on his reasoning for the extra sun this winter (a combination of prayer, the need to relocate power since post-9/11 military funding took away from his national cancer research, and human belief) by Demeter saying that it was Persephone trying to escape Hades (obviously a lie). Then, when Apollo tried to bring it back to the fact that post-9/11 America has been disproportionally funding the Military Industry Complex and not the arts and medicine, Ares started talking about how this was the strongest he’d been since Napoleon. Of course then Zeus started on how it was an air disaster after his own heart, and then Poseidon started on how sea disasters were better, and oh look, they’re completely off-topic. Again.

Apollo could hear the near-silent sound of Athena turning her head towards him and exaggeratingly sighing, audible so he could hear how she was just as annoyed as him. Apollo’s lips twitched in amusement as the council descended into petty squabbling, only himself, Athena, Artemis, and Hermes staying out of it. Though, Hermes was simply on his phone, the sound of nails tapping buttons and clicking the 5 some three times to get an ‘L’ was pretty distinct and very common near his brother.

He tilted his head in a way that his family knew meant he was rolling his eyes, muscles twitching behind the mask but finding nothing to move. Artemis tapped her fingers, letting him know that she was similarly annoyed.

Finally, finally , Hera got fed up enough to demand a break and everyone basically ran out of the room.

Apollo waved his sister on when she noticed that he wasn’t moving. He was going to enjoy some peace and quiet while they were gone, right here on his throne.

Not that his family would notice, but Olympus got pretty loud on Solstices. Not, like, concert loud, but people loud. Satyrs would stage protests, demigods would visit, the market had their busiest days and moved carts around; it was all just a pain for him to navigate. If he ever mentioned this to his family, they’d start trying to shove a cane into his hands, again , and then Apollo would fling it off the side of Olympus, again , and the argument about how Apollo will not use a cane in his own home of millennia would start again . 

If you also hadn’t noticed, his family was big on habits and using the word ‘again.’ Immortality was like that, but it did get old fast.

He kicked his feet up on his armrest and summoned a book, a yet-to-be-published manuscript of a teen vampire romance that he was planning to edit. One hand brushed across the braille and the other hand fiddled with a red pen, casually fixing mistakes and questioning the writer’s sanity.

Then, there was a whisper of air.

Apollo’s head shot up, frowning under his mask. Every resident of Olympus knew that they had to announce their presence when Apollo was in the room, and even if his siblings neglected to do so occasionally, that was because Apollo had long since been able to recognize them without an introduction. 

“Hello?” He called out, wondering if a demigod managed to get lost. 

A pause, like someone holding their breath. A tick, then two.

Apollo sat on his throne properly, straight-backed and growing angry. “Who is there?”

Air whooshed, similar to how a wind spirit or Hermes would move across the sky, but quickly, in a direction that was not the door but not towards Apollo either.

He stood up, summoning his bow, “Announce yourself, coward!”

They flew faster, and he could hear his voice’s echo warp strangely near his father’s throne. An arrow was shot through the air before Apollo had fully registered the sound, his aim as perfect as always, yet the intruder appeared to be quicker. He heard the sound of fabric ripping, but no sound of his arrow meeting flesh, simply the thunk of metal embedding itself into the council room walls.

A clink of metal against a zipper moving away from the throne led itself to another arrow aimed, and missing. 

“Stop moving!” Apollo snapped, moving towards the middle of the room, where he could hear and aim better. 

Nothing. 

Silence reigned for a full minute, Apollo standing the center of the twelve thrones, bow in hand, his head whipping left and right as he tried to listen for any sign that the intruder was still here.

His nail tapped the metal tip of his arrow, sending the quietest wave of vibrations across the room.

The figure seemed to be aware of Apollo’s use of echolocation when aiming arrows because they dove, so forcibly and so quickly that Apollo could hear the sound of small wings beating frantically. 

Two more arrows flew through the air, each missing this being of Hermes-like swiftness, as they tucked and rolled across the floor with two metal objects held close to their body.

Apollo let out a sound of wordless rage, “How dare you intrude Olympus’ most sacred chamber you–!”

A sudden attack from behind meant that he was cut off from finishing, feet being swept out from under him and a stab from what appeared to be one of his arrows pinned him to the floor. His shoulder burned in agony, ichor welling up and spilling everywhere.

A whimper of pain escaped him, even as he bit his tongue so to try and still locate the intruder, but it was no use. He heard his bow skitter away, kicked by the unseen attacker.

Fear and fury shot through him as he realised that they were standing right over him. And, despite the way he lay on his back, staring straight up, could not see them.

“Who are you?” His voice wobbled from the force of his emotions, a puddle of gold slowly growing underneath him and making his hair sticky. He thought he might have been smoking slightly, though he had no idea whether it was the pain or anger.

The sound of a person flying out of the room was his only answer.

“Fuck,” Apollo groaned as he tried to push himself up, but his own arrow kept him down, the pain an arch of white-hot nerves flaring down his entire arm. His head thudded wetly back down onto the ground. He contemplated ripping it out, but he didn’t want to accidentally end up harming his arm in any way in fear of being even more limited in mobility.

Zeus was going to be furious . 

Shit. Artemis would be on the warpath.

Apollo tried one more time to get up and stem the blood flow, but he really had made his new trapping arrows too strong because he soon gave up.

Mere minutes later, the council chamber doors opened again and the sounds of his family’s bickering filled the room, feet slapping the ground and door hinges creaking.

Then, they all fell silent at the sound of Aphrodite’s blood-curling scream of terror as she became the first to spot the downed god in the center of the room, and Apollo’s whimper in response to the assault on his ears was the only thing heard in the room.

A gasp that could only be Hera’s was followed by Artemis’ yelling his name, and then there were hands pressing down on his wound and shouts for help and so much at once—

And Zeus was yelling about his Master Bolt being taken.

Oh fuck .

Chapter Text

Apollo sat on the edge of his bed, arm in a sling, as Asklepius fixed yet another bandage onto his wound.

He won’t be able to shoot for a few weeks, which means that there’ll be less disease in the world, which means that someone else is going to have to compensate so that Thanatos doesn’t fall behind on his reapings, but it also means that he can’t grant strokes of inspiration, and now he can already see the BBC talking about striking and—

“Anything else?” Zeus stood in front of him, the crinkling of fabric giving away the fact that he had his arms crossed.

“No,” He replied shortly. “Once again, Father, I am blind. ”

Poseidon sighed from beside his brother, “Zeus, please, that’s all we’re getting. Let your son recover.”

“Easy enough for you to say when your symbol of power is still in your hand,” Hades replied, snarl in his voice.

The scents of petrichor, of grave dirt, and of sand mix in the air.

Apollo had told them all he knew. That the thief had stolen two items, that they may have stolen a pair of Hermes’ shoes for speed, that they were comfortable in the air and didn’t hesitate to fight him. From what Athena could pierce together, they went first for the Master Bolt and then headed towards the Trident but two of Apollo’s arrows had struck Poseidon’s throne, meaning they dove and went for the Helm. Ares had Apollo break down exactly how the thief had knocked him down, eventually using their fighting style to come to the conclusion that it was likely a tall man, which supported the way that sound bounced around him.

Hades had been reluctant to admit his lost symbol of power, but he had to when Apollo insisted that he heard the thief pick up two items before fleeing. Hermes, his ever-messy brother, had been even more reluctant to say whether or not he was missing a pair of winged shoes due to the way he left his things everywhere. Both Apollo and Ares had to convince him that it very much was his shoes and even if he didn’t know which pair or where they were stolen, he could confirm to their father that it was one of his pairs that were used.

“I’m fine, Uncle,” Apollo spoke up. Artemis had set his Sun Chariot for him several hours ago, and it was nearly midnight; this winter solstice had gone on for far too long. 

“You looked dead,” Asklepius shut him down immediately. “If the thief had used an Adamant blade, you might have lost your arm for centuries instead of three weeks.”

“Good thing I don’t make my arrows out of Adamant,” Apollo joked, trying to get his son to calm down. The way his fingers continued to tremble as he checked the same bandage over and over again meant it didn’t work. “I really am fine. My pride hurts more than my shoulder.”

A risky thing to admit in front of his father, to speak of pride and shame. He despises weakness, nearly as much as he despises his children’s power. They had to be an extension of him only, perfect offspring to brag about and never fear overthrowing him.

“ Apollo ,” Zeus’ voice crackled with distant echoes of lightning striking the earth. “If I find out you have hidden a single detail from me…”

The threat hung suspended in the air like the thick static and humidity that was surely wreaking havoc on Apollo’s curls.

“Lord Father,” He spoke carefully yet surely. “I swear I have recounted every detail, and I am committed to the recovery of your symbols. The thief has gravely insulted all of Olympus, and for this, they must be punished.”

“Hm,” a grunt of pure displeased, yet mollified, Zeus was his answer. “I’d send you out to look for what you lost, but I don’t think you’d even be able to spot it.”

Apollo lowered his chin, shame burning through him. He was perfect in every way but his eyes, and to his father, that was his biggest crime. Where his mother smothered, his father froze. “Forgive me, father.”

There was a pause, most likely caused by the way he could hear the whisper of skin moving and the aura of Poseidon and Hades increasing. Zeus was being glared at by his brothers. “Stay and rest, Apollo, you have served Olympus enough today.”

A palm rested on his cheek for a second, tilting his face up, but before he could truly savor the moment or even thank his father for the acknowledgment, Zeus disappeared in a burst of ozone.

Poseidon sighed, leaning on his trident and clinking the metal end against the marble flooring. “You did well today, Apollo. Do not be disheartened by your injury, you gained it in the most honorable manner.”

“It wasn’t enough,” He said, as apologetic as he would dare be without admitting blame. 

“Only because it was the Master Bolt that got taken,” Hades huffed, “You’re young yet, Apollo, you don’t have to be perfect.”

His uncles were always the most tolerant of his mistakes. One time, when Apollo was still only a few hundred years old, he had walked straight into the Underworld by accident, simply lost while trying to explore a nice cave for one of his Oracles. Hades had picked him up, dusted him off, fed him, and then walked him back to Olympus, not a single lecture about entering his domain without permission. Another time, when Apollo had been mortal with his uncle, Poseidon guided him daily as they built the walls of Troy. A rope had tied them both together by the waist, and when Apollo had been accidentally shoved off the edge, Poseidon had pulled him back up and dried his panicked tears.

“Is four thousand years still young?” He asked.

If he reached out now, he would feel the muscle of his Uncle P’s jaw twitch as he smiled. “Unfortunately, nephew, you will always be six thousand years younger than us, and I do believe that means you’ll be forever young in our eyes.”

“I’m pretty sure Dio’s supposed to be the baby of the family,” He pointed out.

“Hmph, like the brat ever behaved enough for us to ever baby him,” Hades snorted, likely remembering the days when Dionysus would jailbreak Thanatos to go partying. “And Hermes only ever let you fuss over him.”

“Oh, so I’m just the easy option, is that it?” Apollo teased good-naturedly. “Let’s baby the blind guy, I see .”

Poseidon chuckled at his terrible joke, and Hades groaned. “Ungrateful. I’m leaving if you two are starting this again. I have to send the Erinyes out to start their search.”

“Go, brother, you should arrange your kingdom,” Poseidon sobered. “As I should mine. This thief is a fool to think they can attack our family without consequence.”

“Thank you for your time, uncles,” Apollo let his playfulness fade away. “We shall hope my recovery will be swift, and then I can join the search and retaliation efforts.”

“Of course,” Poseidon replied, but there was something ever so off in his tone, like he did not believe himself. Apollo tasted the lie in the back of his throat, like copper. “Rest, nephew.”

They left before Apollo could reply.

“They will not allow me to join the search, will they?” He asked his son, silently standing behind him.

He could hear Asklepius swallow, “I’ve done all I can, father. It’s time for me to return to my cave.”

He sighed. Paranoia and panic will soon overtake Olympus, and his family’s good nature over today’s events will evaporate. Father will inevitably blame someone for the theft, and Apollo had the sinking feeling that Poseidon and him would bear the blame. Especially with the demigod of his uncle’s that he and his siblings were all pretending not to know about, but once father starts lashing out, Athena or Ares may spill the beans to their father to avoid his anger.

Fuck.

“Thank you, my son,” He dismissed Asklepius, understanding why the boy may want to escape any further notice from Zeus. “I can return to my temple by myself.”

“With a cane?”

“Try to hand me one of those damned things and I’ll pull a Hera and fling you off Olympus with it,” He glared at the space he was pretty certain his son stood. But his shoulder still twitched with pain every time he tried to move his fingers, and he was sure to knock over another statue or trip into a fountain if he tried walking back to his temple without both arms out searching for obstacles in his current stressed-out state. “I’ll call Artie, she should be back by now.”

“Alright, father, good night.” A pair of lips pressed themselves against his temple before disappearing, taking his seldom-seen son with them.

“Yeah,” Apollo sighed into the empty air of the infirmary, knowing that it all will go downhill from here if this wasn’t resolved within the week. “Good night.”

He just wished that whatever demigod that had been, they hadn’t been so smart to take all evidence of their existence with them. At least then, he would have been able to point out the exact child of Hermes that had attacked him without betraying or accusing his brother, and this could all be behind them. Until someone else messes up first, Apollo can’t even say that there was a traitor in the camp, because then the hysteria will mean all their children are in danger from their king’s paranoia, and that is a burden too cruel for their children to bear.

No, he’ll keep his mouth shut for now, and pray that this is all resolved soon.

His children don’t deserve the nightmares of molten gold ichor eyes, pure agony and betrayal. Not like he’s been having.

His fingers traced his mask of intricate spirals of gold, wondering if his eyes truly were such a horrid shade.

Chapter Text

Thanatos was walking towards him with a pep in his step.

It was sometimes hard to distinguish between him, his twin Hypnos, and Eros, the way they walked and twitched their wings were very similar. However, when they were smug, Eros’ wings fluttered like a hummingbird, and Hypnos’ wings flared like he was Nike. Thanatos always spoke with his wings, gesturing like he was an overexcited Italian cherub.

“Apollo,” He approached. “It’s Thanatos!”

Apollo nodded to show that he heard the other god.

“No war!” He said happily, “No extra souls to reap!”

“I know,” Apollo lounged on the edge of the fountain. “I’m the one who told you to calm down.”

Apollo knew that they weren’t in danger of a civil war the second that his Oracle gave the prophecy to Poseidon’s boy. Of course, he couldn’t quite explain how he knew that when the prophecy spoke of betrayal and failure, but he could almost see cloudy figures making peace.

He plucked the strings of his lyre, “It must be good to not be working overtime again.”

Thanatos plopped himself down next to him, “It’s great! How’re your duties? I noticed I didn’t have to reap any tortured artists today.”

“They’re going,” His arm had finally healed, so hospitals and disease centres were finally back to normal levels, and the strikes were over. “No heat wave this summer, so no heat stroke victims for you.”

“Conversation with you is always so dead,” Thanatos groaned. 

“You only ever come to me to talk about duties,” Apollo pointed out. “Or to ask if I’m DJ’ing at a party. You’re the one who’s killing here.”

“Uh-huh Mr. Destruction andDeath are a part of being the God of Civilisation ,” The other god let his wings rest against the top of the fountain’s water, the softest splashing noises as he cools down from sitting next to him for too long. “What’s that? New album coming out soon?”

“One of my kids sacrificed a new score they wrote for their school play,” Apollo plucked the strings faster. “Or maybe they balled it up and burnt it because they’re frustrated. I’m not quite sure, but I’ll send them a review.”

“This is why I don’t have demigods,” Thanatos leaned in. “Too much extra work in raising them. Did you see what Athena and Poseidon’s kids did on HTV? Eros won’t shut up about wanting to set them up together.”

“Oh I saw everything,” Apollo went to put his lyre down to wave a hand in front of his face, and instead got an answering splash. “Ah fucking damn it!”

Thanatos just laughed at him, “Serves you right for always making those stupid blind jokes!”

“Shut up,” He grumbled, sticking his arm in the water and searching for his poor instrument that had missed the edge of the fountain and went for a swim. 

Feathers rustled, “I’ll leave you to go looking. You should probably have that before the council starts.”

Apollo growled at thin air, fingers grasping at water and tiles, no instruments to be found.

“That asshole!” Thanatos may be the most tolerable of the winged trio, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a right bastard. 

Water splashed on his face as he reached out for what he thought was his lyre brushing against his pinky, but instead, it turned out to be a koi fish. This wasn’t the first time he’d dropped something in a fountain. Olympus knows that if you see a book in a ditch or a paintbrush on a statue, it means Apollo had put it down and couldn’t find it again, but he needed his lyre for meetings.

“Uh, are you okay there, mister?” 

Apollo’s head shot up, ears searching for the person who had snuck up on him. Well, not really, it’s just the solstice, and Olympus is busier than Times Square on New Years Eve, he couldn’t pick out their footsteps and movements against everyone elses.

“Who’s there?” He demanded, heartbeat picking up involuntarily.

“Oh! Sorry, I’m Percy. It looked like you dropped something.”

Percy? Who’s Percy? Did some nymph lose her son? And why didn’t they announce themselves earlier? Don’t they know who he is?

“Yeah, my lyre,” He grumbled, fingers still searching. “How deep is this stupid fountain?”

Footsteps approached until they stood next to Apollo, but then they sat down. 

“A lyre is a harp, right? You need to move your hand a foot up and to the left, it’s under a lilypad.” The kid spoke, “Do you want me to grab it for you?”

Yeah, of course a lyre is in the harp family, did this kid not know anything about instruments? That’s a crime. And the devaluation of the arts in the public school system in action. He really needs his family to listen to him about that this solstice. 

“No, I’ve got it… ah-ha!” He yanked it free victoriously, drying it immediately after it hit the sunlight. “Thanks, kid.”

Percy made no move to help Apollo up or to take the lyre from his hands or to do it for him despite Apollo telling him he could do it. He just helped then watched Apollo do it himself.

“No problem,” Fabric rustled and muscles clenched as the boy shrugged. “Are you Apollo?”

“Am I–? What other blind gods do you know?” He asked, incredulous.

“None, I guess. I just found out about all of this like two weeks ago,” There’s a whoosh in the air like a preteen waving around their hand. “I met your daughter Valeria. She’s banned me from archery, even though Chiron says she doesn’t have the power to do that.”

“That sounds like her,” His wheelchair-bound daughter was a tad bossy, he’s heard more than one prayer from Lee about how making her Cabin Head was a mistake. “What did you do?”

“I’m really bad at archery,” Percy said.

Apollo couldn’t help but laugh at that, “Right. I bet I’ll take offence if I ask for details, so I won’t. Now, what is a demigod doing on Olympus? Do you have an appointment with someone, or is Chiron letting you kids join the protests?”

Percy was quiet for a moment, “Uh… I was returning the Master Bolt?”

Apollo jolted. Oh, he was stupid! Nobody tell his siblings that he didn’t recognise the prophecy child.

“Oh, you’re that Percy!” He snapped his fingers, pretending he made the connection himself. “You must have your mother’s voice. May I?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a demand, his hand already going to the direction of Percy’s face. Yet, the boy answered with an affirmative and guided Apollo’s hands to his either side of his head.

“You must look a lot like your mother,” Apollo remarked. “Your cheekbones and jaw are your father’s, but that nose isn’t. And your eyebrows aren’t as bushy, too. I’ve never felt his hair be as straight as this either.”

Percy jerked in his grip, “Everyone says the opposite. We look pretty similar, coloring-wise.”

“Well,” Apollo said, amused. “I have no idea what that would look like, so I guess I’m going to have to trust you here.”

“Right,” Percy said awkwardly. “I should probably… go…”

“Yes,” Apollo stood up, tucking his lyre away onto the clip on his hip. “My father won’t be happy to know you were dawdling, even if you were helping me. Especially if you were helping me.”

Zeus has not been the fondest of Apollo since the last solstice, and his long-standing friendship with Poseidon meant that he had been making himself both scarce and very visible to his father. In sight, but out of mind, just another one of his many children that could fade into the background. It meant a lot of time with his mother and his sister, but never them both together, because he would never subject his twin to that, especially not after his injury. His mother was overbearing on the best days, and always insisted that Artemis, as the oldest, should have more responsibility over Apollo. It drove him insane that he couldn’t do anything himself, and Artemis spiraled whenever Leto blamed her for Apollo so much as walking into a statue when she wasn’t even in the room.

“The exit is through the second street to the left,” Apollo gestured with his head. “Walk some forty feet, then follow the path that curves away from the gardens; you’ll be back in the entrance courtyard.”

“The smelly gardens that feels like you walked through a vegan farmer’s market where people are selling their homemade fertilizer or the flower garden that seems to have invented new colors to add to the rainbow?”

Apollo cocked his head to the side, fascinated by the descriptions. “The flower garden. Have you ever written poetry?”

“Uh, no?”

“Try it, you might like it,” He instructed. “Goodbye, Percy.”

“Bye, Apollo,” The child seemed to have no care in the world about respectful titles and the like. It was refreshing. Poseidon always did make strange children.

He walked away, mind churning as he focused on the upcoming council meeting, hopefully with the identity of his attacker finally being revealed. 

“Apollo!” Artemis stuck her head around the door of the council chamber. “Stop wandering off!”

“I didn’t! ” He complained, speeding up to reach her sooner. “Someone’s kid got lost and I had to help them!”

Poseidon didn’t miss a beat from his own throne, “Oh dear, the blind leading the lost? I swear I’ve heard that one before.”

Apollo stuck his tongue out in his vague direction, delighted to hear yet another blind joke. Between the two of them, they’ll never run out of material.

“Don’t you two start,” Hera snapped. “Sit down, Zeus will be back in a minute. Athena, put that book away–”

He let the bickering of his family fade away into background noise. All was right again, yet, somehow, too many puzzle pieces were still missing.

He couldn’t wait to see how they will fit.

Chapter Text

“Do you think it was a bad idea?” Hermes asked, his winged sandals fluttering in anxiety.

Apollo carefully loaded another sample into the centrifuge. He’s never tried curing a magical disease with mortal methods before, but he’d already had to sneak into Camp to get a sample from Thalia’s tree, he wasn’t going also magically to heal the tree, he needed to create a cure one of his kids could recreate and apply. Not that he was in any way attached to his demigod sister, but Father’s temper barely had a moment after after Percy had returned his Bolt before it had plummeted once more with Thalia’s poisoning.

“Do I think that telling a thirteen-year-old with a protective dad to grab his little cyclops brother and his best friend to sneak on board the ship captained by the guy who attacked me , our demigod sister, and the thirteen-year-old and try to convince him to come back to the light side like father isn’t on a rampage right now?” Apollo asked dryly. 

He’d been focusing pretty heavily on medicine recently, a side effect of his search for a cure. He’d supervised as HPV vaccines got rolled out and approved the Rotavirus vaccine, then turned around and spread e.coli and botulism outbreaks around the states. He’s pretty sure the Nobel Prize had gone to the medical field that year, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t have time for this.

“So you don’t approve.” Hermes didn’t even bother phrasing it as a question.

Apollo swiveled in his chair, turning his back to his lab equipment, and raised a single eyebrow from where it peaked out of his mask. He was being practical today, it was just a thin gold band that wrapped around his head and molded perfectly to his features, as if someone had taken a paintbrush to ichor.

“You know those kids are going to go fetch the golden fleece, right?” Hermes bobbed in the air, sandals bringing him up a bit higher. His voice echoed uncomfortably in the lab, bouncing off the glass vials and equipment. This was why Apollo rarely let anyone other than Athena and Asklepius into his private lab, his family didn’t know how to shut up and leave him alone. “You can stop your experiments now.”

Apollo hissed and turned back to his work, hearing the centrifuge beep impatiently at him. “This won’t be the last time someone tries to use magical poison on demigods, and it won’t be the last time that father’s own rules tangle him, and us , up. It was your son who used the poison, what if he tries some of it on himself?”

The fluttering of wings stopped, and Hermes went deadly still. 

“He wouldn’t,” He said lowly. “You wouldn’t.”

Apollo snorted, ignoring the silent threat that screamed. “Since when do I let myself get dragged into the problems of others, brother? Your son is yours, and you are my brother. Do you see me going to Father right now?”

Hermes deflated, sandaled feet once more touching the ground. He sighed loudly, displacing the air as he came forward and rested his forehead against Apollo’s back, the curls on the top of his head brushing Apollo’s exposed nape.

“Thank you,” He whispered against his brother’s back, his lips brushing the material of his shirt. “You’re the only one who tells me the truth.”

Apollo sighed, reaching back for his little brother, laying a palm on his crown despite the awkward angle. “We all have our problems, Hermes. Just… don’t inflict yours on others. Take care of them yourself.”

Apollo had lost too many to let himself get involved with others anymore. He’d tried to be the perfect son for his mom, tried defending her as she did him, and so he struck down Niobe’s children along with his sister, yet his mother’s praise felt curdled. He’d loved Hyacinthus, yet another god had made their jealousy their problem, and now Apollo can never trust the wind to guide his throws ever again. His problem with Eros had become Daphne’s problem, and as much he still loves her, he cannot trust his own love anymore. Even with Koronis, Artemis and her need to protect him from all that might hurt him had killed his lover, though he had known from the white raven what was happening… He had loved her enough to not care…

No, by the time the fall of Troy had come around, Apollo had known to keep to himself unless his interference had been directly prayed for. He hadn’t even wanted to get involved, but Troy had named him his patron, and he hadn’t nearly died building those walls for them to just fall.

“Yeah,” Hermes mumbled against his back.

Apollo could never hold a grudge against his little brother, no matter what happened. Sure, Luke Castellan had attacked him, and Apollo wished to blind the boy in return in hopes that he gained some insight, but he wouldn’t kill him. That’s for Hermes to decide.

“Do tell me you at least sent them off with supplies?” He ended up asking, “That Percy child seems the type to get in trouble easily, please tell me you gave him extra molly.”

“You think they’d run into Circe?”

Apollo chuckled, lightly tightening his grip in his curls and guiding his brother’s head so it rested on his shoulder, feeling the younger god respond by wrapping his arms around him from the back. “From what I can see, it’s more of a when .”

It’s been a long time since a prophecy had sent him images, though it did come with a pretty bad case of writer’s block, a migraine, and a nose bleed.

Hermes gasped next to his ear, “You saw them?”

It was barely more than a splash of color with sounds, the smell of pigs and Circe’s potions, the breeze of waves hitting shore of Aeaea and the tingle of magic, but it was something. Black and green and golden yellow and white. He assumed that is what Percy had meant that he had Poseidon’s coloring, though he had to admit he was surprised to learn about that shade of green existing. Were Poseidon’s eyes that same color? When Artemis had described his appearance to him the first time they had met, of the depths of the sea made visible to the land, Apollo had imagined the murky green-brown of Polybotes he had seen once three thousand years ago. He saw color so rarely… Yet this was clearly one of intrigue. 

“Just a flash,” He replied. “I didn’t know green could look like that.”

Hermes startled, “Have you never seen Uncle before? Or any of his children?”

Apollo’s face shuttered, knowing what would come next. “Hermes, I have never seen you before.”

Due to his family’s lack of presence in prophecies, all keeping far away from anything to do with mortals and demigods, he doesn’t think he’d ever seen any of them. Well, except Dionysus, but that was just an endless sea of maddening reddish-purple that spoke of a demigod ascending. He knows the color of Artemis’ hair, but not of her eyes. The color of her hair and the color of Dionysus’ eyes are the only shades he’s ever seen of his family. Sometimes he wished that he could keep the power of prophecy to himself, to stop sharing the burden with his Oracles, even if he knew it would drive him insane. Colors were so beautiful, and in four thousand years he hadn’t even seen half a rainbow.

“Oh,” Hermes withdrew, leaving the sun god cold. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have–”

There it was again, that stupid tone of voice that screamed that his family saw him like some sort of delicate crystal, capable of reflecting rainbows of light but easily shatterable because of his transparent nature.

“Perhaps you should go check in on the mess you’ve created,” Despite the summer’s day, Apollo felt like he was the winter sun. An archer who never got close enough to his prey to get messy. “I’m sure they’ll try harder to beg your son to come to his senses if they’re still alive when he finds them returning with the fleece.”

He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t sense his quietest brother, but he knew he flinched.

Winged sandals carried him away, leaving Apollo alone in his lab.

The glass sample tube melted in his hand, the molten liquid mixing with the failed concoction and dripping down his hand onto the table. He sighed at his own heated temper, vanishing the mess with a flick of his wrist.

The worst thing, he thinks, about being blind is the way that people tend to both forget about it, and assign it as his only trait. He’d tried to be as loud and boisterous as his brothers, to be as stern and serious as his sisters, and either way, nobody could see through it and they could all see right through him. He saw right through him.

He set up his equipment for his next trial run.

Chapter Text

Driving the Sun Chariot is one of the most relaxing things in the world.

Just the Chariot, his horses, and the open sky. No sounds of Olympus, no smells or feelings or stimuli that attacked his forever-sensitive senses. Just… peace.

No Father and Hera arguing, no sibling bickering, no Mother demanding he sit down and let her serve his meal portion, no Artemis–

Artemis.

He sighed, gently tugging on the bridle of his steeds, indicating that they had to land soon, even though they had just taken off.

The horses were well-trained, handed down to him by Helios, and so there was far less danger involved with his driving. He remembered the stink that Artemis had torn up the day the two of them had woken up as Solar and Lunar deities, how she had fretted that he could not navigate his way through the empty sky. At the time, when Julius Caesar was just a boy, and the Roman Empire was yet to become what it would be, Apollo had first tried out the mask of overconfidence and youthful arrogance. Hence, he had leaped upon the Chariot and rode across the sky with no training, no guidance, and no ear for his many many siblings telling him to get his ass back to Olympus. He had to prove that he could do it, and he did, with only a small heat wave accompanying. Father had been forced to overrule Artemis’ and Leto’s objections and allow Apollo to have the Sun Chariot.

Not without some small safety modifications added by Hephaestus, which Apollo had complained about loudly and often at the time. Yet, now, he had more mixed feelings about the wish for his safety and the bypassing of his choices.

The Chariot landed safely on a patch he could sense was filled with his sister’s soft-stepping Hunters and a handful of louder children, likely some future Campers. Stepping off, he adjusted his modern visage, that of a young twenty-year-old Californian college student, so he glowed less brightly. It contrasted strangely with his ancient Chariot, but he only ever turned sportscar mode on if he was in the mortal world.

“Hey Artie,” He addressed his sister; looking in the vague direction he could hear an immortal heart pump ichor. “What’s up?”

Then he heard a pair of voices make an exchange from the back of the pack, far too quiet for anyone other than him to hear.

“Wow,” A voice of high-pitched thunder of whistling wind spoke. “Apollo is hot.”

“He’s the sun god,” He knew that voice. Percy Jackson. What is he doing with Artemis?

“That’s not what I meant.” Is this Thalia, his Father’s returned demigod daughter? She had the voice of Father’s demigods.

Apollo’s ears were swiftly angled to hear more, but the two appeared to have shut up. This was unfortunate because as much as he liked hearing compliments about himself, he liked overhearing things about others even more. He’s the god of Knowledge, after all.

“Don’t call me that,” Artemis called back. 

Yeah, she is definitely not happy with having a boy in the group, and whatever else is involved, because she sounded stressed . Artemis never complains about him calling her Artie unless they’re in front of those who aren’t family or her Hunters.

“Sure,” He agreed easily enough. It was winter and his driving had been interrupted and he has had a very tiring past few years. “What do you need? Did the mp3 player I gave you for the Stymphalians break again?”

“I need a favor,” She replied instead, which was what he was expecting. Of course, she just needs a ride and he’s the most convenient. It’s not like she hasn’t been avoiding him nearly all year. “I have some hunting to do, alone , I need you to take them to Camp.”

“Alone?” He frowned. That meant something that she didn’t trust anyone else to get hurt hunting. Always the one to think she could do things better by herself… which she usually could, but it tended to sting to be left out of his older sister’s plans. 

“It’s none of your business,” She snapped.

Alright, something was definitely wrong.

“We share hunting, sis,” He coaxed. “C’mon, I know you hate your baby brother cramping your style, but I can totally help track–”

“I don’t need you,” Artemis turned around, her boots scuffing leaves as her heels scraped the dirt. “It’s not like you can see what I’m looking for.”

He heard her flinch before he even registered his own.

Vaguely, he heard a Hunter gasp, and Thalia mutter an ‘ouch.’

“Fine,” His face shut down, glow disappearing and leaving only the cold winter air. The sun was behind the clouds, and he wasn’t letting it out. Let Artemis hunt in the dark. “I’ll cash this favor in later. Dinner with mom together sounds great, don’t you think?.”

It sounded awful, but he knew that Artemis would have a much worse time than he would.

His sister didn’t answer, instead running into the woods.

“Great,” He said sarcastically. “Everyone pack up and hop onboard, I guess.”

Zoe, with her ichor veins and scent of drakons, cautiously appeared at his elbow. “My lady did not mean it.”

“I know that,” The worst thing is, he isn’t sure if that’s true. Artemis lived with the fact that she blinded him every day, and he knew she thought of the possibilities of another life. 

“Do thee?” He could almost imagine the look she was giving him. The sculpt of muscles as they contorted into pity. He thinks he might even be able to paint it.

Anger flared in him. He was a god, and he was perfect . How dare she pity him?

“Do you think that the reason why you and my sister get along so well is that you can never forgive yourself either and so you lash out at men for resembling your regret?”

She gave out a draconian hiss and stomped away to lick her wounds far from his senses.

Which… did not make him feel better. Fucking great. Artemis and Zoe are pissed at him now.

He sighed, fiddling with what was sometimes a pair of car keys, sometimes a guitar pick, and sometimes an epipen. The Chariot had transformed into a school bus, fit to carry all thirty hunters plus the four add-ons.

“This is so cool!”

Apollo absolutely did not jump at the little kid voice coming from elbow height. He didn’t . And if you think he did, then he would like to counter by asking why this latest generation of demigods are so sneaky?

“What?” He turned his face down at the strange child who seemed completely unbothered by him.

“Is this really the sun? I thought Helios and Selene were the sun and moon gods. How come sometimes it's them and sometimes it's you and Artemis?” The child (boy?) continued to babble. It’s voice had the same grating rocks of most earth gods, so he had no idea whose child this was.

“Uh, downsizing?” He said. “I was the light and then I was the light of the seasons and all of a sudden Greeks and Romans were calling me the sun god… I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I’m Nico di Angelo!” The boy seemed just happy to be there, which was an unusual sentiment for… well, most people. “Are you really blind? Why are you wearing sunglasses?”

“Excuse me?”

A demigod broke away from the rest and snatched Nico, shoving him behind him. “Right, that’s enough! Nico, why don’t you go help Grover?”

Percy seemed pretty desperate to keep the boy from getting smote, which, while admirable, was not very likely, even when Apollo was in a mood. 

“Is he new?” He ended up asking the other boy instead.

Percy’s heart sped up slightly, a small tinge of sweat in the air. “Uh, yeah. We just found him and his sister. He’s… got a lot of questions.”

“I can tell,” Apollo relaxed, teasing singing in his tone. “Questions are good; just make sure he doesn’t ambush the wrong god with those.”

Percy’s heart rate slowed, his breathing evening out. “Got it. Keep him far away from Mr. D, thanks.”

There’s a satyr in the group, the wisp of fur was obvious against Nico’s clothing. The satyr sounds like he is herding the kid onto the Chariot, which is good and will keep him from trouble. Apollo has learned with Hermes that, the younger they are, the more likely they are to get in trouble.

“How’s your poetry going?”

“Huh?” Percy’s head whipped around, his hair disrupting the wind. His black hair, which is a fact that he knows now.

“Last time we met, I told you to try out poetry.” Apollo arched an eyebrow over his dark red sunglasses, heavy mist and magic hiding his missing eyes from all. “Don’t tell me you forgot?”

“Sorry,” Blood rushed to the surface of Percy’s skin, vessels contracting and expanding.

“Mortal memories,” Apollo sighed into the crisp cold air. “Always fallible. Should I remind you again, or will you have a poem ready for me next time we meet?”

The teenager shuffled his feet, readjusting a bag’s straps and letting the weight of it thud lightly against his back. The Chariot was nearly filled now, only them and a pair of Hunters yet to climb aboard.

“You think we’ll meet again?”

Apollo grinned, “God of Knowledge and Prophecy, Perce. I know all.”

Percy’s answer startled a laugh out of him, not expecting the automatic reply from the impulsive teen. “But you don’t see all.”

Look, Apollo is more than used to people throwing his blindness in his face. Most times, it was just annoying. A few times, it hurt. But sometimes, when it was just him and his uncle joking around, it was hilarious.

And Percy sounded just like Poseidon did, all those years ago when Apollo first met him. Poseidon had asked Father if he was sure Apollo was his, because it tended to be Poseidon’s children that were missing eyes. Leto had tried to attack the sea god and had to be held back by Artemis and Athena, but Apollo had just laughed. It wasn’t meant to be mean or to remind him of his weakness; it was just to state a simple fact about the universe.

“Sorry!” Percy spluttered as Apollo cackled. “That was rude!”

“That was brilliant!” He corrected, clapping the boy on the shoulder. “Good one! I see now why people compare to your dad, you have his humor.”

He strode forward, moving toward the Chariot and leaving the teen to his own shock.

He stepped twelve steps towards the East wind and his sister when he landed, then three to the North as he spoke to Zoe, One more to the North with Nico, and then he stepped twice back to the West and his Chariot with Percy. Retracing his steps, he returned to the door perfectly, not even bumping a toe or elbow.

“Hey, Zoe,” He called as he climbed aboard.

The Huntress was sitting at the front, and her voice echoed against the windows, vibrating with unconcealed hatred. “What?”

He tossed the keys in his hand in her general direction. The clinked against the hand of a Huntress that had sat next to her– Iphigenia, if he recognized the deer-like reflex properly— and was handed over to the lieutenant. “You’re driving.”

It was a peace offering, one that Zoe easily recognized. As one of Artemis’ very first hunters, she knew how to drive the Moon Chariot, and, at points over the centuries, joined his sister when she drove his Sun Chariot. Likewise, Artemis allowed him to drive the Moon Chariot for her at times, but due to its lack of safety features, always insisted that one of her huntresses accompanied him, and Zoe was the huntress least likely to be afraid of snatching the reigns from him. Not that she’s had to do so.

“Good,” She said shortly after a long pause, standing up with a creak of pleather seats. “It is thine duty to watch over the boys.”

“Yep,” He agreed genially. “C’mon boys and satyr, back of the bus time, far away from these badass ladies.”

Percy didn’t make a sound as Apollo grabbed him and used him as a guide to the back of the busy bus. Only muttering a quiet warning of “bag” when he was about to trip over Phoebe’s bag. And he knew it was Phoebe’s because, in the past five hundred years, that girl still hadn’t managed to remember that Artemis kept her campsites tidy and uniform just in case for Apollo.

Apollo flopped down in the middle of the back row, spreading and lounging in a way that would have his sisters complaining. “So what’s up, Campers?”

Instead of a proper answer, Nico di Angelo made a reappearance from… the floor for some reason?

“Why do you have Daredevil glasses?”

Apollo internally sighed, recognizing that his quiet day had been completely and utterly hijacked. “One of my kids based Daredevil on me. Next question.”

That was the wrong thing to say, but it was right, too. The kid was a delight, even if his curiosity would make even Hermes wince.

He wondered if his brother knew what was going on with Artemis. If Artie had been ignoring him, and Hermes had been ignoring him, then surely they might have been ignoring him together, right?

Surely, they were just holding some secret from him or something. They didn’t actually think he was too incompetent to help him. 

Surely.

Chapter Text

Artemis is missing.

Artemis is missing .

Apollo slapped a different bucket of color with his hands onto the canvas.

Artemis is missing, and his father won’t let him help!

Those stupid fucking Titans have taken her and he can’t help!

Apollo dunked a fist into the bucket labeled brown and punched his own canvas. Browns, reds, and oranges splattered across the canvas, leaving behind a mix of colors he hoped looked like how Artemis’ hair did. If there was one thing that sucked about being the god of Art while also blind, it was color-theory. Apollo could count on his fingers the number of colors that he knew, so he often left the color-choosing part to his Muses and Aphrodite, but today, he didn’t want to be bothered.

The texture of the impacts that he left behind would convey his emotions well enough. The paint was specifically picked out to leave the most amount of imprints of his application method.

Apollo loved modern art, loved the way that it was made to be interacted with. The way that it crossed boundaries and was more accessible to the disabled, the way that it was made to invoke emotions through a contextual story rather than a visual one. Apollo had enjoyed the Renaissance, but during it he had left the painting and sketching side almost completely to the Muses, and when he returned he found the designs almost completely inaccessible to him. At times, he rebelled by making the visual arts not as realistic. Gave mortals a look at what it was like to not have 20/20 vision through Monet, Picasso, and other artists. Until it continued to transform into Modern Art, where Apollo made all the rules.

“Apollo?” Urania’s voice called, delicate and unsure. 

Apollo considered splashing silver, the color that Artemis said she favoured, onto the canvas. It would apply smoothly, like the way that her skin felt. “What.” He ground out the syllables.

“I think you should check in on the demigods,” She suggested very tentatively from the doorway.

He froze, mind racing with concern. He had already sent the Oracle out from the attic to speak a prophecy to Zoe the second that he realised where Artemis had ended up, before Zeus hunted him down to personally tell him he’s not allowed off of Olympus. “What has happened?”

“The children seem to have become mildly lost,” Apollo could hear her fidget with her chiton, the fabric rubbing against itself and her fingers. “Zoe has been using the astral-navigation techniques I taught her. I overheard her prayer for it to get dark quickly so she could use them again, but then she started cursing about running out of train tracks to follow. I think she meant it for Artemis, but I’ve been taking care of the Moon, so…”

She trailed off, waiting for his reaction.

Apollo sighed, letting the tension leave his body. It would do him no good scaring his Muses. If they thought they couldn’t approach him, even if he was in a bad mood, then they could have another repeat of the Written Word Breakdown of 1100BCE. 

“I should interfere,” He should gather his resolve and simply break Father’s rules. Yes, the punishment could be nasty, but this was Artemis, his sister was worth any pain, punishment, or disability. How could she not be? “Thanks for telling me.”

Urania relaxed, “Should we distract the king? Calliope has a new poem she wants to share, she was going to ask you to check it first, but the king would appreciate being the first to hear it.”

“What is it on?” If it was about one of his children, there was a good chance Father would be distracted for the few minutes he needed to get the questers back on track.

“The girl, Thalia,” She took a few feather-light steps into his paint-room. “Of her epic sacrifice before she returned, strong as ever. Think that’ll be enough?”

“Plenty,” Zeus was practically preening about having Thalia as the prophecy child, he would sit down and hear the muses out from start to finish, despite his other daughter being missing. “I leave in twenty. Go grab your sisters. I owe you girls one.”

“No, you don’t,” Urania’s hand flapped in the air, dismissing him with a soft sound. “We miss Artemis too.”

Apollo couldn’t help but smile softly. While he may have complained about having too many brothers in the past, loudly and often, he had never done the same about sisters. And the Muses were his little sisters, just like how Zoe was his and Artemis’ little sister. 

He gave a few moments to allow the Muses to drag Zeus into their tale, before he left Olympus, taking a path he knew they never blocked. Nobody ever took it because it was basically a small hole in the side of the mountain, one of the caves that was so dark and small only Apollo and Persephone knew about. Persephone because she lived in darkness and underground for half her life and felt comfortable in the small hide-aways on Olympus, and Apollo because he had tripped and fallen inside when he had been little more than a child himself, then continued on forwards because he had no idea it was too dark for any normal god to walk through. He had ended up at a crossroads, one path went down into the Underworld while the other went up into wherever the local mountain range was. Now that they were in America, it meant he appeared in the Rocky Mountains, in Montana.

Apollo made sure not to fly, rather choosing to run as fast as possible across the rapidly shifting landscape under him. Father would notice him if he flew or used his powers to teleport, but a good old-fashioned jog wouldn’t catch his eye. Even when Apollo nearly tripped over one of Hephaestus’ little junkyards, those things always echo weirdly and don’t map properly in his echolocation.

Apollo ducked into an alleyway, throwing his cloak over his head and letting it transform to something inconspicuous. A classic beggar should do the trick. He cocked his head to the side, letting his mask melt into what looked like two white sightless eyes. He never exposed his true eyes, not since he was a few days old, and he wasn’t changing this now. 

“Hey, who’s there?” He called out, pretending to not be able to tell from where the sounds of teenagers came from. “If you’re looking for a fire, there’s plenty of it! We can share, no need for any hooligans stealing my warmth!”

Footsteps came closer, as well as the sound of teeth clattering together. He knew it was winter, but they must have lost their supplies if they were shivering this bad. 

“Thank you, mister,” A voice said as they approached. Percy Jackson. The boy must’ve joined the group sometime since Apollo last checked in on Zoe. “We missed the train home.”

“Pah,” Apollo pretended to spit, not actually doing so because that would be nasty and gross. “There should be another one soon. Warm up first.”

The teenagers all rushed to be the fire, trying to practically stick their hands into the flames. They talked amongst themselves, trying to figure out a plan and completely failing to make themselves sound normal to Apollo. It was endearing, almost, but their lacking ability to fly under the radar did not promise good things with the rest of this quest. To rescue Artemis, a stealth and trickery mission would be best, he did not need anyone actually fighting Atlas or Ladon, they would surely fail.

He heard Zoe speak about having to go solo for the quest. Oh for goodness’ sake, when will that girl stop pushing everyone away in fear they’ll betray her?

He intervened, “You know, you're never completely without friends." His face was grimy and his beard tangled, but he kept his expression as kindly as possible. “You kids need a train going west?” 

"Yes, sir," Percy said. "You know of any?" 

Apollo pointed one greasy hand. 

He heard them craned their necks, shuffling dirty sneakers to see where he was pointing at. It was a train he’d summoned, just for them, extra fast but still lowkey. No need for Hermes or Poseidon to notice something was up at how quickly the kids were moving.

"That's… convenient," Thalia said. "Thanks, uh…"

Apollo had already gone invisible, his own appearance melting back into something normal. He wasn’t a big fan of the beggar routine, it was more of Athena’s play.

He followed them from on top of the train car for as long as he dared, eyes always tracking upwards for any sign from Urania that he should head back before he was discovered, but he just had to stay. Just a little longer.

Eventually, all the demigods were asleep. All of them, except one.

And he knew why.

Apollo turned visible again, not in the homeless disguise, but still looking scruffy. In his painting clothes, with clay on his jeans and a 5 o’clock shadow on his face partially hidden under an old fabric mask that covered his eyes. It was the sort of appearance that one of his siblings would find him in when he got lost in the artistic flow, and that his parents would scold him for.

“Oh, don’t be afraid of dreams,” Apollo told Percy. “If it weren't for dreams, I wouldn't know half the things I know about the future. They're better than Olympus tabloids.” 

He cleared his throat, then held up his hands dramatically: “ Dreams like a podcast, Downloading truth in my ears. They tell me cool stuff. ”

“Apollo,” Percy recognised him immediately. 

He put his finger to his lips. "I'm incognito. Call me Fred." Not his best alias, but he was working under pressure.

"A god named Fred?" 

His cheek twitched, “Father insists on certain rules. Hands off, when there's a mortal quest. Even when something really major is wrong. But nobody messes with my big sister. Nobody.” 

"You’re helping us with the train. How fast are we moving?" Percy had figured it out quickly enough, not even doubting if Apollo would help them.

Apollo chuckled, this is why he liked this boy. “Fast enough. Unfortunately, we're running out of time. It's almost sunset. But I imagine we'll get you across a good chunk of America, at least.” 

"But where is Artemis?"

Apollo pursed his lips. "I know a lot, and I hear a lot. But I don't know that for certain. She's… mostly clouded from me. I know who took her, but Zoe did too, so we have both made a good guess as to where she is. I don't like it." 

“And where is that?” Percy was tapping his fingertips against his leg.

“I won’t tell you. If I’m wrong, then I would have distracted you from the Fates’ path. If I’m right, then it’s Zoe’s story to tell. I won’t piss her off by telling you this; she’s like my little sister.” Zoe would be furious if he told someone that Atlas had taken Artemis to use as leverage against her, and Apollo wouldn’t risk anyone questioning Zoe’s loyalties before the quest was over.

“And Annabeth?”

Annabeth? Who was that? Did he know an Annabeth? Wait, did he mean Athena’s girl?

“The girl you lost?” He frowned. “I can’t sense her right now. You think she’s alive?”

If she was, she could have been used to lure Artemis away from whatever she had been tracking. Apollo didn’t like the way this painting was turning out.

"What about the monster Artemis was seeking?" Percy swapped tracks. "Do you know what it is?" 

"No," He said, he could hear Urania urging him back now. "But there is one who might. If you haven't yet found the monster when you reach San Francisco, seek out Nereus, the Old Man of the Sea. He has a long memory and a sharp eye. He has the gift of knowledge that is sometimes obscured from my Oracle."

"But it's your Oracle," The demigod protested. "Can't you tell us what the prophecy means?" 

Apollo sighed, he hated this question. "You might as well ask an artist to explain his art, or ask a poet to explain his poem. It defeats the purpose. The meaning is only clear through the search." 

"In other words, you don't know." 

Apollo grinned, a little crookedly. “I have no idea. But then again, go ask your father to explain why certain fish schools follow certain migration patterns. He has no idea either. Our domains aren’t the end-all or be-all; they’re just a part of us. Like I said, don’t be afraid of your dreams just because they’re unknown; they’re a part of you. Now, I have to run. I doubt I can risk helping you again, Percy, but remember what I said! Get some sleep! And when you return, I expect a good haiku about your journey!”

The boy had already forgotten his haiku promise once, he won’t let it happen again. He wanted to know what that curious mind could cook up with his imagination.

Apollo went straight back to Olympus, barely arriving back in time in his paint-room before his Father barged in.

Apollo was holding a cup of silver paint that had been labelled with ‘WARNING: Glittery’ on the side, and he was preparing to throw it onto the side of his canvas. “Yes, Father?” He asked, letting the irritation in his voice show.

“Hmph,” Zeus crossed his arms, striding into the room without so much as a ‘how-do-you-do’. “Are you aware of what your Muses are doing?”

“If this is about the Writer’s Strike,” Apollo started crossly. “I’ll have you know I told you that I would do it if you didn’t allow me to help look for Artemis. I don’t care if your TV show is on hiatus, I’ve been putting this off for three years at your request and I’m not stopping it now.”

“No,” Zeus said. “Although we will be talking about that later. I’m talking about how they ambushed me about their new poem and wanted my feedback. Now, I’m happy to hear a poem about my children’s great feats, but this is something they go to you for.”

Apollo put down his paint cup with a bit too much force, splashing it onto his already-filthy shirt sleeve. “And?” He asked, “They know not to bother me right now.”

“Apollon,” Zeus sighed. Shit , he just got full-named. “You know I’m doing this for your own good.”

“Ares and Hermes are out there,” He crossed his arms, not falling for the guilt-tripping. Not again. “There is a quest of five demigods. They kidnapped my sister on our lands, and you want me to stay shut up here?”

“ Apollo ,” Zeus’ patience was running thin. “Your brothers are out there because they have their own duties. We have a war to prepare for, and they have their places in it. You, however, are not needed for this part of the preparation process. You want to go after your sister, I understand, but we need you here, safe, able to warn us about what is coming next. You won’t be helping anyone if you get yourself taken alongside your sister.”

Apollo knew not to press any further lest Father find out that he’s already meddled. “Fine.”

Zeus approached, reaching out to grasp his shoulders and squeeze gently. “Artemis is tough, she will be fine. Our priority right now is to mitigate the damage. Which means keeping you on Olympus where your prophecies can’t fall onto the wrong hands. Thalia and Artemis’ lieutenant have this.”

Did Father even know that Percy had joined the quest? Probably not.

“Yes, Father,” Apollo dropped his arms, slumping slightly into his hold. “I know.”

“Good,” Zeus clapped his back. “Now go speak with your Muses so they don’t distract me from my work again. Hera was unhappy about it.”

His Father left, leaving Apollo all alone in his room.

He sighed, grabbed his paint cup, and threw it randomly in the direction of the canvas. Why did nobody ever believe he had something to offer beyond his prophecies? He can help in this war if only they let him.

Of course, they wouldn’t even let him help his sister.

He went back to his canvas of frustration and grief, hoping it would help fill the gap his sister had left him.

Chapter Text

If it was up to him, his freshly freed sister would not be doing her part in the Winter Solstice Council Meeting, she would be in bed, resting.

Instead, he had to listen to her try to convince Father not to kill the demigods that freed her.

"At my Lord Zeus's command," Artemis said, "my brother Apollo and I shall hunt the most powerful monsters, seeking to strike them down before they can join the Titans' cause. Lady Athena shall personally check on the other Titans to make sure they do not escape their various prisons. Lord Poseidon has been given permission to unleash his full fury on the cruise ship Princess Andromeda and send it to the bottom of the sea. And as for you, my heroes…" 

That had been an argument and a half, trying to figure out their battlestations. Apollo was lucky that Artemis vouched for hunting with him, if not he believed he would have been locked up on Olympus at the fear of him having his own turn at being a kidnapee.

She turned to face the other immortals, the metal of her silver sandals lightly echoing as she turned. "These half-bloods have done Olympus a great service. Would any here deny that?"

The silence was oppressing, nobody particularly wanting to argue against his headstrong sister.

Apollo flashed a quick thumbs up in the vague direction of the heroes before straightening up and clearing his throat to get his family’s attention. “I gotta say, these heroes did superbly. Especially with all the dangers they faced–”

Dangers like the one that killed Zoe. The huntress was dead, killed by her own father and betrayed by her own sisters, and not a single person other than his sister and these demigods were mourning her right now. Zoe had been with them for three thousand years for Khaos’ sake! She could drive the sun and moon chariots without a single error, she could shoot an arrow nearly as well as they could, and she always tussled with them just like… no, not like. She was. Zoe Nightshade was their sister, and she was dead now because of this stupid war that nobody had taken seriously until it was too late.

“Um, yes, first class.” Hermes interrupted him, because of course he did. His own favourite son had just taken a nasty fall of a cliff and then disappeared from his sight, and now their Father was asking them all to help hunt the boy down. Apollo couldn’t blame him for being antsy, but he could blame him for dismissing his own honoring of the heroes. “All in favour of not disintegrating them?”

A few hands started going up, gods shifting in their seats. Apollo didn’t bother being subtle, he stuck his hand straight up in the air and waved it a bit in the hopes that maybe they’d count him as two votes. 

"Wait just a minute," Ares growled, in that sort of way when he was falling back into old defensive habits of biting first. "These two are dangerous. It'd be much safer, while we've got them here—" 

"Ares," Poseidon cut him off, a threat of drowning him on land in his tone, "they are worthy heroes. We will not blast my son to bits." 

"Nor my daughter," Zeus grumbled with an echo of thunder. "She has done well." 

Wow, that’s a rarity with Father, a compliment. Apollo hoped that Thalia was basking in this moment, because unless she did something like killing Kronos bare-handed, he doubted this would become a common thing. Then again, Father had always been more free with praising his daughters than his sons. Us sons of Zeus tended to have him listening intently as the Muses praise our actions as his sign of fatherly pride, but Artemis or Athena could still go straight up to him and sit on his lap and demand a pony.

Athena cleared her throat and sat forward, her spear scraping against the side of her throne. "I am proud of my daughter as well. But there is a security risk here with the other two."

Oh for fuck’s sake, can’t anyone give the heroes a fucking break?

"Mother!" Annabeth said. "How can you—" 

Athena stopped her with probably one of those steely scary looks of hers that Hermes insists she has. "It is unfortunate that my father, Zeus, and my uncle, Poseidon, chose to break their oath not to have more children. Only Hades kept his word, a fact that I find ironic. As we know from the Great Prophecy, children of the three elder gods… such as Thalia and Percy… are dangerous. As thickheaded as he is, Ares has a point." 

"Right!" Ares said. "Hey, wait a minute. Who you callin'—"

“Oh sit down, Ares.” Apollo snapped at the same time as Dionysus did, which meant an unfortunate combination of solar flash-bang in his brother’s face as well as several vines growing to yank him back down like a seat belt.

“Argh!” Ares yowled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Seriously? You two are protecting these brats?”

“Those brats just saved our sister,” Apollo reminded him with a glare. That’s it, he’s going to ruin Ares’ favourite TV show. Season 4 of Lost is about to come out, but he is so ruining the writing of Season 5 and 6, there’s going to be a damn plague upon those writers.

Dionysus gazed down at the demigods, silent but definitely sizing them up wearily. "I have no love for them. Athena, do you truly think it safest to destroy them?" 

"I do not pass judgment," Athena said. "I only point out the risk. What we do, the Council must decide." 

"I will not have them punished," Artemis said. "I will have them rewarded. If we destroy heroes who do us a great favor, then we are no better than the Titans. If this is Olympian justice, I will have none of it."

Okay, Artemis is pissed , but, you know what? So is he.

“These youths ,” He emphasised their ages and the fact that they were still protected under his domain. “Gave their lives to rescue my sister. Zoe Nightshade and Bianca di Angelo gave their lives to Olympus out of pure loyalty and devotion. These heroes finished their quest despite all reason not to, from monsters to mortals and even us trying to push them off course. Death is not justice, it is a punishment. I say, if we kill all our allies, then we will be alone when it comes to the final stand. We will let them live.”

He smacked the arm of his throne in emphasis, making Aphrodite squeak lightly and Artemis to swiftly reach out to him, placing her own hand on top of his.

Artemis was here, she was back, she was safe. But too much was sacrificed for this.

"Well," Zeus never liked it when his children made good points, it reminded him that technically one day one of us was supposed to inherit his throne. "Perhaps. But the monster at least must be destroyed. We have agreement on that?"

Apollo is going to assume everyone is nodding, because if anyone is shaking their heads, then he will start blasting flash-bangs.

Then, Percy decided to add in his two cents: "Bessie? You want to destroy Bessie?" 

"Mooooooo!" The Ophiotaurus agreed with the teen.

Poseidon sounded more baffled than the time that he caught Apollo and Triton sneaking off to a Mykonos party. "You have named the Ophiotaurus Bessie?"

Oh boy.

Percy Jackson was at least good at arguing for his cause. Or, at least, guilt-tripping his dad into keeping the bane of Olympus as a pet. Now, if Will or Lee came up to him, begging him to give them a hellhound as a puppy he would… actually, no, who was he kidding, he would definitely give them a hellhound. Maybe a little three-headed one like Hades’ pet, they could teach it how to be a support animal for healing and… shit, he missed half the conversation.

Oh, Artemis was talking.

"Thalia," Artemis said. "Daughter of Zeus. Will you join the Hunt?"

“I will,” Their sister answered.

Would the girl who is currently having the world’s messiest breakup with her not-boyfriend ex-co-parent of a fully grown teenager like to have a reprieve of men, romance, and dating life forever? Obviously, that’s such a no brainer and– why is everyone shocked? The prophecy, seriously? Their sister obviously wasn’t going to be the hero, Apollo has seen Percy more than any other hero. Apollo had told people this when the hero had gotten claimed. Ugh, why did nobody listen to him?

Okay, maybe Apollo was in a bad mood and that meant he was being short with his family, but at least he was keeping 90% of his amazing zingers in his head.

Zeus tried to talk Thalia out of it, but Thalia was luckily quite stubborn. She also had some basic common sense and some will of her own, talking about resisting Kronos’ temptations. Artemis would take care of her, but Apollo would likely have to come visit her soon and talk to her privately about taking care of Artemis. Also, he had to ask whether or not the rumour she had a fear of heights was true because, if so, they would have to pass chariot duty to Iphigenia, which is a terrifying thought because that girl was a speed-demon worse than the Gray Sisters on coke.

"Now for the Ophiotaurus," Artemis said. 

"This boy is still dangerous," Dionysus warned. "The beast is a temptation to great power. Even if we spare the boy—" 

"No." Percy was really attached to the idea of keeping Bessie as a pet. "Please. Keep the Ophiotaurus safe. My dad can hide him under the sea somewhere, or keep him in an aquarium here in Olympus. But you have to protect him." 

"And why should we trust you?" rumbled Hephaestus. 

"I'm only fourteen," Percy said. "If this prophecy is about me, that's two more years." 

"Two years for Kronos to deceive you," Athena said. "Much can change in two years, my young hero." 

Apollo rolled the empty sockets he had for eyes. Why was she always so cynical?

"Mother!" Annabeth said, exasperated. 

"It is only the truth, child. It is bad strategy to keep the animal alive. Or the boy." 

“It really isn’t,” Apollo had to butt in. “Athena, this is literally the strategy of controlling all the assets. Sun Tzu said if you treat your men like your own favoured sons, then they will follow you into the deepest valley. Perhaps if you all stop threatening to kill our own heroes, maybe they will stop hesitating to go on quests.”

Thankfully, at least Uncle P listens to him.

"I will not have a sea creature destroyed, if I can help it. And I can help it." Poseidon stood up and summoned his symbol of power to his hand, filling the room with a sharp scent of sea salt. "I will vouch for the boy and the safety of the Ophiotaurus."

"You won't take it under the sea!" Zeus stood suddenly. "I won't have that kind of bargaining chip in your possession."

 "Brother, please," Poseidon sighed. 

Father, please sit your geriatic, paranoid-dementia riddled ass down . Do you know what the word compromise even means?

Zeus's lightning bolt appeared in his hand, a shaft of electricity that filled the whole room with the smell of ozone. 

Apollo shrank down in his seat, pulling his hands back to his chest and trying his best to project the idea that he wasn’t here. He wasn’t the only one, Hermes’ feet shifted as if he was getting ready to run and Ares sat up straight like he was ready to fight.

"Fine," Poseidon said. "I will build an aquarium for the creature here. Hephaestus can help me. The creature will be safe. We shall protect it with all our powers. The boy will not betray us. I vouch for this on my honor." 

The crackling of lightening softened as Father thought. "All in favor?" 

Immediately, Apollo shot his hand up in the air. This was the closest Father would allow to the word compromise, and he wasn’t the only one who knew it. 

"We have a majority," Zeus decreed. "And so, since we will not be destroying these heroes… I imagine we should honor them. Let the triumph celebration begin!"

Shit . Apollo realised. That means I’m supposed to be in charge of the music .

If he was in charge of the music, right now, the entirety of Olympus would be listening to his Top Ten Mourning Songs from Hektor’s Death. He needed to call the Muses and put Klio on the turntables so he could talk to Artemis.

But, as the party progressed, it was clear that Artemis did not want to talk to anyone.

They had stood together, silently for a good hour in a broom closet, which was the best they could do to escape a Zeus-ordered fiesta, but every time Apollo opened his mouth to say something, Artemis would only squeeze his hand tightly and say ‘not yet.’

After the second rendition of ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls, and the sixth hand squeeze, Apollo got a hint.

“I’ll leave you alone for a moment,” He told his sister. “Let me get you some nectar, you’ll give yourself a headache with all this crying.”

Artemis had learnt to cry silently millennia ago, thinking that it would stop him from showing up every time she cried. It did, but it hurt that his sister always made a point of hiding her feelings from him in the hopes of being that model, mature older sister. In the end, it didn’t stop him from knowing how she felt, just made it harder for him to comfort her.

“Brother–” Artemis tried, but he shut the door after him.

He loved his sister, he did, but sometimes there was a dark chasm between them and it was so hard to bridge the gap. He tried, he did, but sometimes he would take his own shovel and start digging just out of spite.

Bodies bumped into him and he got shoved several times, too drunk or manic to notice it was an Olympian they were elbowing.

“Oh for fucks’ sake,” Ares appeared at his elbow with a growl, taking him by the arm. “DJ stand or food?”

Ares was never one to show he cared, until he did. He was more of a ‘little things’ guy like that. Everyone would forget he was the eldest of their generation until suddenly he was cheering you on from the sidelines of your wrestling match or handing you some water and saying that you would get dehydrated if you didn’t pace yourself.

“Food,” He leaned on his brother. “Is Aunt Hestia nearby? Artemis won’t talk to me.”

The crowd was suffocatingly loud, pulsing like a heartbeat, and making him dizzyingly lost.

“She’s with my mom,” He replied. Someone came to close to them and nearly tripped Apollo, “Oi! Watch your step, asshole!” He turned back to his younger brother. “Older gen dipped the second we got distracted, they’re talking about Gramps if you want to help Owl-head eavesdrop.”

“No,” Apollo frowned. “I want Artie to speak to me.”

“Look, ‘pol,” Ares sighed. “She’s just scared. War has basically just been officially declared, her lieutenant is dead and soon a few more huntresses will be too because these battles won’t be pretty. Plus, she just got kidnapped. She needs a minute.”

“I lost Zoe too,” Apollo pointed out. Sure, they weren’t as close, but Zoe was still like a sister to him. “She never gives me a minute. When I got stabbed two years ago, Father had to practically ban her from fussing over me.”

Ares just sighed again, “Brat, just go eat some ambrosia and listen to the music, okay? I’ll go talk to her.”

Apollo wasn’t sure if that was the best idea, but as long as Artemis stopped ignoring him.

“Fine,” His hand reached out and tapped the table, searching for a plate or cup he could steal.

“Stay here.” Ares commanded.

Apollo rolled his eyes, “I’m not a dog!”

“Uh,” That’s not Ares. “I can see that?”

“Percy!” Apollo gasped in over-dramatised surprise. “Where did you come from?”

“I was here already,” The teen replied. “Ares kinda left you in front of me and then gave me a threatening eye and finger gesture I’m pretty sure means that I’m supposed to keep an eye on you.”

“Military signs,” Apollo shook his head. “He knows I hate them. You know, him and Hermes invented sign language just to talk behind my back? They’re so annoying.”

“Rude,” Percy agreed. 

“I know right? Don’t have siblings.”

“I think that’s out of my hands.”

Right. Forgot about that detail. He pointed at the direction of the demigod’s face, “Beg your dad to stop giving you siblings.”

“An oath didn’t work, you think I can do anything?”

“Hey,” He shrugged. “Bessie is not dead. I think you have more power than your realise.”

“Sure.” Wow, what is a god to a non-believer indeed.

“Speaking of power you don’t realise– where’s my haiku?”

“Uhhh,” Percy was panicking. Apollo could tell, his heartrate was nearly as loud as the music.

He tried not to smirk in amusement, “I’ll give you a raincheck if you give me a dance? But that doesn’t mean I’m forgetting about this.”

“What are you hearing?” Percy sounded reasonably suspicious, which was hurtful.

“Fix you by Coldplay,” Apollo could definitely have been listening to something better, but he wasn’t in the mood. “You?”

“Soulja Boy,” Percy admitted. “I don’t think these songs are very compatible.”

“Ah, there you two are,” Really Uncle P? Now is the time you interrupt?

“Uncle!” Apollo straightened, leaning away from Percy and smiling in a direction. “I hear your meeting is done.”

“Left,” Percy hissed in his ear.

Apollo turned his head further to the left, “Say, was it Ares who interrupted? I asked him to help me find Auntie Hestia.”

“No,” Poseidon just sounded amused. “Hermes tried to help Athena eavesdrop and we could hear them arguing through the door. Hera called it quits because it sounded like they were about to strangle each other.”

Good thing he didn’t join in that mess. “Really? I had no idea that was happening.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” The domain of truth was unfortunately a little snitch that made him a terrible liar. “Listen, I have to borrow Percy.”

“Sure, that’s fine, I’m good here,” He waved them off, poem-less and dance-less. “Do tell one of my older siblings to come fetch me, if you see them. Otherwise I’ll be stuck here… forever… unable to navigate the crowd…”

“Stop it with the dramatics, Apollo.”

He pouted, “You’re stealing my dance partner.”

“Ah, Demeter, there you are.” Oh no. “Keep Apollo company, will you?”

“Of course, brother.” Demeter slid up at patted his cheek from the void, making Percy laugh at his horrified expression. “Oh, Apollo, you look skinny dear. Let’s get you a sandwich.”

Oh, Poseidon has just gotten demoted to second favourite uncle.

“I’m fine, Auntie.”

“No you aren’t,” She hooked an arm through his. “How about we escape this awful din and go back to mine? I’ll make you a grilled cheese with extra ambrosia shaving, just how you like it.”

Actually, nevermind. This was his ticket out of this wildly inappropriate celebration. If he played his cards right, Aunt D would make him iced tea too, and he could gloat to Artie that while she was sulking alone, Apollo got some of the best cooking on Olympus.

“That sounds great, Auntie, lead the way.”