Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Again, Zeus?” Hera hears herself practically hiss the words out. Her eyes narrow as her cheating husband doesn’t even spare her a glance. He doesn’t even try to humour her. There is no attempt at flattery either, no protests that it meant nothing to him, that his little plaything was nothing compared to her, and nothing to worry about. She can see that he has absolutely no remorse this time. He doesn’t even look like he’s annoyed that he’s been caught again. He acts as though it’s any other day.

“That was months ago, Hera. No child resulted from it and it was only a one night stand.” He attempts to brush her off, acting as if this wasn’t so personal to Hera, as if this wasn’t a slight, an insult against the Goddess of Marriage.

Her anger only grows hotter at his words, as if Zeus just threw more wood and gasoline onto the already raging flames. She clenches her fists as she stares at her husband, the one who promised to have her, to hold her. Hera is prideful, and while she loathes to admit her own flaws, she knows she has a temper. She would like to say she has gotten better at managing it, but her husband is testing her patience, crossing a line further than he has before.

“You think that the only reason I’d be mad is if there was living proof of your adultery, Zeus?” She snaps, meeting his eyes. “Allow me to remind you that it wasn’t too long ago that you insulted me by sleeping with that- that fluffy haired harlot. ” She seethes. “ Twice. ”

“It was more than twice,” Zeus speaks, as if his honesty would help the situation, as she would be happy to know the exact details of his affair. “And it wasn’t just me, it was Jupiter as well. Besides, I’ve already made up for that.”

Hera glowers, not at all calmed by his words. “Are you trying to anger me further?” Her voice hardens. “And Jupiter made it up to Juno. ” She corrects him hotly, reminding him that he never truly made it up to her for his relationship with Beryl Grace. “I only decided to be merciful, to not bring it up, because your bastard daughter died, the proof of your affair is no longer truly living.”

He stares at her, and for a moment, Hera almost believes she may have gone too far. Thalia Grace was strong, able to survive attack after attack. While she had help with this, it was clear Zeus had liked her, despite not communicating this very clearly. ‘I do not think I could imagine losing one of my children,’ she thinks to herself sadly. She opens her mouth to apologize for crossing that line.

But, Zeus gives her that condescending look, something far too soft and gentle to be genuine given the context. It’s an act, a front that he puts on, something that’s solely there to soothe her and douse the flames of her anger. “With a war brewing, and my Master Bolt missing, we are both stressed, my dear.” He moves closer to her, giving her a soft kiss, one that she chooses not to reciprocate. “Perhaps we should have saved this conversation for later, for when we are both less… high strung.”

This would have worked on her, once. Soft words, a gentle kiss. No child to prove that he’s betrayed her again. Once, she may have taken this as an apology. She would have allowed it to calm her, and, slowly, she would forget why she was ever mad in the first place. Not this time, however. She sees through him, knowing that he’s only placating her, that, to him, this just isn’t worth the hassle right now.

Even still, she merely scowls, choosing not to call him out for this. “We will have that conversation later, Zeus. ” She says firmly. Hera loathes to see that all too pleased smile on his face, as though he’s won this. She’s been with him long enough, seen this enough times, to know her husband thinks she’ll just go back to being his darling wife, that she’ll just go back to thinking ‘this is the last time, he won’t do it again.’

How utterly naive of her.

Yet, Hera doesn’t have it in her to protest when Zeus very gently puts a hand on her cheek. When he runs his thumb gently over her cheek, she finds herself leaning into it. She may be mad, but this is her husband. She just wishes he would hold her like this outside of this particular context.

He leans in, gently pressing a kiss to her lips again. She reciprocates this one, though she pulls away before he is ready to. “You should go speak to the others,” she murmurs softly. “See if anyone has managed to find the bolt yet.”

“It’s not as though that will work,” he grumbles out. “We both know that my brother has stolen it, I’m just not entirely sure which demigod he has used for this… but when I find out….” She watches as her husband, her smug, fool of a husband walks away from her.

Her lips press into a thin line, and she seethes. How dare he just assume that was all it would take. He didn’t even attempt an apology. In fact, he had essentially said they would talk when they had both calmed down, as though he rage, her anger isn’t justified.

Hera rages, internally. Her husband has betrayed her again, and Gods when did it practically become normal for him to do so? So normal that her rage is no longer as feared by him?

It strikes her, quickly, like lightning. The consequences have always fallen to his mistresses, the hussies that knew he was married and yet still slept with him. She continues to walk through Olympus, silent and thinking. While this worked in many cases, scaring anyone who had eyes for her husband away, it wasn’t always what happened.

Some preened, thinking that they were oh so important. They are wrong. Mortals are merely playthings, nothing more than a blip in a God’s life span. They may have caught a Gods’ attention, but it did not mean that they actually meant a thing.

‘Ganymede,’ her mind unhelpfully whispers. The man who replaced Hebe as cupbearer to the Gods. A mortal made immortal, because her husband had hated the idea of losing him that much.

Her rage grows.

No lasting consequences have ever befallen her husband. He has never felt her ire in the way that Leto or Semele have. She’s never been able to, not wanting to ruin their relationship. Yet…

The Queen of the Gods can’t take this much longer. How many times would her husband stray? How many times would he simply choose to sleep with another because she was not enough for him?

Silently, Hera turns her attention to Camp Half-Blood. She doesn’t normally do so. After all, most of the children there are bastards. It truly did just showcase how many of the other Gods are unfaithful, and by them does she despise it.

Cabin One remains empty, just as her own does. But for how long will it? How long before her husband, with no shame, admits he strayed again? It’s inevitable, with his nature.

She chooses to turn her attention to the Hermes cabin, the cabin with the largest population. For once, that isn’t Hermes’ fault. Cabin Eleven hosts not only his children, but those who have not been claimed, or even those who do not have a cabin to call home, children of minor Gods and Goddesses.

An idea comes to mind, a potentially rash one. It would work, though not without consequences. It would put one of those children at risk, angering her husband, and making them one of Zeus’ targets.

Claiming one of these children would give her husband a taste of what he puts her through, even if she isn’t actually related to the child. Hera is silent, thinking.

She shouldn’t do this so rashly. Claiming a child of her own would be a big deal, she would be claiming a champion as well, something that Hera has not done in… Has she ever?

Instead of acting rashly, claiming a child and inevitably placing them at risk of death via lightning, she waits. She waits and silently rages. Once calm enough to face her husband, Hera slowly makes her way to her throne. She meets her husband’s eyes, offering him a soft smile.

It’s every bit as fake as the one he gave her earlier. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, seeming to be more focused on the task at hand. Hera keeps her smile as she makes her way to the throne, calmly taking her seat.

Hebe’s replacement makes his way over to her to pour her a drink. Her eyes narrow as she holds her hand up, staring at him with a dark look. He doesn’t push, backing off and going to serve someone else.

The Queen of the Gods turns her attention to her husband. The stormy look on his face doesn’t go unnoticed by her. “Were you able to find it?” She asks softly, despite knowing the answer to that question.

His blue eyes, filled with rage and brighter than the lightning he is known for, meets her own. “Not quite.” He responds angrily, though she easily notices how he’s more than a little smug. “I found the demigod who took it.”

With her interest peaked, she looks at her husband curiously. “Oh? Which one?” She asks, turning her attention back to Camp Half-Blood.

“Perseus Jackson,” he hisses out, as if she should already know the name. Slowly, she mutters the name under her breath, as if she would suddenly remember if she spoke the name herself.

“Who?” She asks, turning her attention back to Zeus while she waits for further context. It’s not a child who currently resides in the camp, of that she is sure. Hera may not like the heroes very much, but they are part of her family. She is the Goddess of family, she should at least try to remember their names.

“He may not have been claimed by him, but I know a child of the sea when I see one.” His eyes darken. “I’d recognize those eyes anywhere,” he practically growls out, his anger growing rapidly.

Hera focuses on trying to find the boy, wondering who has earned her husband’s ire. She finds him with surprising ease. The boy looks much like Poseidon, or at least the form he chooses to appear in nowadays. His hair is dark and black, reminding her of the unexplored depths of the oceans. His eyes are a bright and vibrant green, an undeniable trait that many of the Lord of the Sea’s children share.

The boy is currently in a car with a woman, his mother she presumes. She’s driving away from the Minotaur as fast as the vehicle she’s in will allow her to go. Hera decides she’s smart for it; that vehicle doesn’t look like it would hold up against an attack from the Minotaur. 

Also within the car is a satyr, Perseus Jackson’s protector. She focuses on it a little more, silent as she watches the satyr. She recognizes this one. This one is the one that failed to bring Thalia Grace to Half-Blood Hill alive. ‘I should send him a thank you card,’ she muses to herself darkly, though she has no intentions of doing so.

One moment, the car is within her view. The next, a loud, familiar noise greets her ears and the car is no longer on the road. Instead, it lays in the ditch, with half of it buried in the mud. There isn’t a doubt in her mind that Zeus struck it purposefully.

He grits his teeth, clenching his fist in anger as he watches the boy stumble out of the car alive. “If I had my Master Bolt,” he seethes. He doesn’t need to finish the sentence.

Perseus would not have survived.

“Father,” Athena speaks from where she’s sitting on her throne. Zeus shifts his attention to her, though he keeps some of his focus on the boy. Hera knows he’s waiting to strike him once more. Sharp, blue eyes meet calming gray ones. “Do not kill him.”

“Daughter, he has stolen from me. He is also the only child who the prophecy could be speaking of. If he stole from me before, what makes you think he would preserve Olympus?” He stares her down, challenging her. “Give me a reason as to why I should not strike him down now,” he orders.

“Do you want your bolt back?” Athena asks, watching him closely. “You may know that he is the thief, but you do not know where the bolt is. And, should he have it on him, it could detonate if you hit him directly. Yes, you would be rid of him, but you would also destroy it in the process.”

Zeus eyes her. He glares, as if the child is in front of him. He clenches his jaw and leans back in his throne. “Damn it,” he manages out.

“Besides,” Athena reminds him gently, “he has until the summer solstice to return it to you.” The Goddess of Wisdom does not look particularly happy that she saved a child of Poseidon. However, Hera knows that the other would rather save the son of someone she disliked over forsaking her own domain.

Hera reaches over and gently places a hand on Zeus’, watching him almost cautiously. As his wife, she should take his side. She should despise this child blindly for what Zeus claims the boy has done.

However, Hera is enraged. He’s betrayed her countless times. And, now? He’s not only betrayed her, but himself in a way. He’s forsaking his own domain, going against things he once stood for so staunchly. He may be the God of the Sky, but he’s also the God of Justice. And, currently, Mount Olympus resides in a place where people are innocent until proven guilty.

There was no trial here. There was no jury, no proof, just her husband’s own paranoid suspicions. While this child could have done it, her husband should have at least believed his innocence for a moment before deciding, not proving his guilt.

Hera can’t stand with him on this, not when he’s so readily betraying something he used to stand for. He was ready to execute the child for a crime he may not have committed, only stopping at the risk of never getting his Master Bolt back.

And so, as Hera watches this boy lose his mother, watches as he, enraged, picks up the horn that belonged to the minotaur, she begins to think. Her mind is made up when she witnesses him plunge the horn into its owner. There cannot possibly be a way for this Perseus Jackson to anger her husband any further, even with her interference.

Chapter Text

When Percy finally comes around, the first thing that he does is take in his surroundings the best he can. With him waking up periodically for brief moments, he wasn’t able to do that till now. He finds himself surprised to see that he’s not in a bed, in an infirmary. Instead, he’s on a chair, overlooking a rather beautiful view of a meadow. Over his lap is a blanket, and behind his neck is a pillow.

He’s parched and still rather exhausted, despite sleeping for God knows how long. Slowly, Percy starts to look for someone. He needs a drink. His mouth feels like he attempted to gargle sand. He pauses when his gaze lands on a cup full of what looks like apple juice. He reaches over and attempts to pick it up, desperate for something to drink. He almost drops it in the process.

“Careful.” Percy whips his head around and looks over to the source, staring at Grover. He looks rather exhausted, like he hasn’t slept at all. He’s wearing a bright orange shirt, blue jeans and a pair of shoes. Shoes, legs. No hooves or fur. Percy almost breathes a sigh of relief. Just a nightmare, he decides.

“You saved my life,” Grover says, though he almost seems to feel guilty over that. “I… well, the least I could do… I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this.” The box he had been holding so close is placed in Percy’s lap.

Percy takes a moment to register the words, and he hopes beyond hope that he just saved Grover from some sort of wild animal. Not the Minotaur, because if it’s the minotaur… He carefully grasps the lid of the box, slowly pushing it off. Inside the box is a bull’s horn, the tip of it covered in dried blood. If he looks close enough, he swears he can also spot dust.

His blood runs cold.

“The Minotaur,” he manages out, ignoring Grover’s attempt at stopping him from talking. “That’s what they call him in Greek myths, isn’t it?” Percy demands, staring Grover dead in the eyes. If that’s what his mother died to, then he wants to know the truth. The full story. He needs to know this is real. “The Minotaur. Half man, half bull.” He stubbornly states.

His best friend shifts uncomfortably, glancing away from Percy, seeming to be rather unsure. “You’ve been out for two days. How much do you remember?”

He hesitates, almost not wanting to ask. Once the question leaves his mouth, there will be no way to deny the truth. Once he asks, if Grover confirms, it all becomes real. “My mom. Is she really…”

Grover looks at the ground, avoiding eye contact. It’s enough. Percy’s eyes shift, and he finds himself staring at the meadow, staring at it in almost an attempt to ground himself. There are groves of trees, a winding stream that looks almost too inviting, fields of strawberries underneath a bright, beautiful blue sky. He’s surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one has a massive tree on the top of it overlooking the entire area.

This shouldn’t be what the world looks like right now. It shouldn’t be so bright and vibrant, in an area that could just put his mind at ease despite the numbness that takes over him.

The skies should be dark, covered in clouds. Rain should be pouring like it had that night. The sun itself should be ashamed to show itself. His mother died, and the entire world around him seemed to have moved on as if her death hadn’t mattered at all.

He barely hears Grover speak, caught up in his own thoughts. He’s only brought back into reality when he sees the other’s shoe practically fly off his foot, or hoof in this case. The shoe is filled with styrofoam, with a hood shaped hole cut out of it so the Satyr could wear it.

“Oh, Styx,” he mumbles out, thunder rumbling across the clear sky. Somehow, that makes Percy feel just a bit better. He only wishes it was accompanied by the grey skies he should be seeing right now.

He feels that he should be shocked about the apparent truths of this world. Satyrs exist, the Minotaur exists, but his mom is dead. Anything else just pales in comparison. Compared to everything else, to all that should be impossible, that’s the only thing that doesn’t feel real.

He was just at Montauk with his mother. She had given him his welcome home gift, consisting of blue candies that  Smelly Gabe came to despise, a small symbol of his mother’s defiance.

Once that thought crosses his mind, more roll in. This summer will be the first birthday he spends without his mother, without the blue birthday cake that she painstakingly made for him despite the batter wanting to turn it green.

The last time she made her cookies, her homemade, blue chocolate chip cookies, that’s the last time that he will ever taste them. No more coming home for winter break to that smell that he adored so much. No more Christmas mornings with her, opening the gifts that she so painstakingly saved up for.

No more summer days spent in Montauk, in the same cabin they always went to, enjoying the water and the view, the sand between their toes. His mother is gone, ripped away from him.

Despite how much he wants to cry, to scream, he finds himself unable to. It doesn’t feel real yet, like he could wake up from all this and go to her in the morning, telling her that he had the worst dream.

He doesn’t wake though.

His train of thought is broken when he hears Grover sniffling, and his heart aches as his friend seems to shrink on himself, almost as if he expected to be yelled at or hit, like it’s happened before. “It wasn’t your fault,” Percy says gently.

Grover looks back at him, eyes sad and filled with unshed tears. “Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you.”

Percy can’t explain why those words anger him. Maybe it’s the fact that his friend is just a kid, his age, or more likely it’s the fact that Grover just happened to be there. “Did my mother ask you to protect me? To protect her?” Percy asks somewhat firmly.

“No. That’s my job. I’m a keeper. At least I was.” Grover answers, stilling when Percy attempts to get up from his chair. The blanket falls to the ground as he attempts to stand up. “Don’t strain yourself,” Grover speaks, alarmed. He rushes over and places a hand on Percy’s shoulder, pressing down to force him to sit and rest.

“Then come over here.” It’s almost a demand. Hesitantly, his best friend moves closer to him. Percy gently grabs his arm and tugs him down, pulling him into a hug. His friend stills.

Percy grips him a bit tighter, silent for a moment. “We both need a hug,” he mumbles softly to Grover. He feels the other’s arms tentatively wrap around him.

Percy isn’t sure who breaks first, him or Grover, but one of them sobs, and a few moments later they are both crying in each other’s arms. This isn’t something that Percy sees them bringing up later, but this is something that they both need at this moment. Just a second to hold and to cry over their mutual discomfort.

Slowly, Grover’s tight grip relaxes, and he pulls away to rub at his eyes. “Thanks,” he says Percy does the same. “I needed that.”

“We both did.” He admits, though he finds himself blinking a bit rapidly as his vision begins to swim. He starts feeling dizzy, and Grover looks rather alarmed when he realizes. He picks up the glass and helps Percy hold it, putting the straw to his lips.

The taste takes him by surprise, and he feels more tears fall as the taste of his mom’s blue chocolate chip cookies fill his mouth. It feels warm, like the type of warm that would have his mom telling him to be careful ‘or you’ll burn your tongue. The chocolate chips could hurt you.’ It’s buttery, and if a drink could melt in your mouth, then this one had achieved it.

He knows she’s gone, but still, he feels his mom’s hand brush against his cheek, wiping his tears away. It’s as though she handed him a warm cookie after a rough day. He can almost see that smile on her face, the warm one that Smelly Gabe didn’t even deserve to glance at. Her voice rings clear in his mind, even if she’s not here to speak the words. ‘Everything is going to be okay. Hold fast, Perseus.’ She would have told him.

The words feel as though they are designed to break him. ‘Hold fast, Perseus. Brave the storm that was made to break us for we are unbreakable as long as we have each other.’ But he doesn’t have her now.

Far too soon, the glass is drained, leaving Percy feeling more than a little disappointed. The ice cubes remain at the bottom of the glass, despite the fact that he could have sworn that he just had something warm. It feels like he drank hot chocolate on a cold day.

“Was it good?” Grover asks, gently, as though Percy would break. When Percy nods, Grover continues. “What did it taste like?”

“Sorry,” he says guilt seeping into the word. “I should’ve let you taste it.”

His eyes widen at that, and he shakes his head no. “No! That’s not what I meant. I just… wondered.” He says it as though there’s something that Percy doesn’t quite know about the drink.

Either way, he answers. “Chocolate chip cookies. My mom’s. Homemade.” He responds softly.

Grover seems to feel guilty again, letting out a soft sigh. “And how do you feel?”

Percy gives it some thought, giving a slight grin as he answers. “Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards.”

“That’s good. That’s good.” He repeats to himself, as if he’s reassuring himself. “I don’t think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff.

“What do you mean?” Percy asks.

Instead of answering, Grover gingerly takes the empty cup from Percy, cautiously setting it on the table. “Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting.” Though that is a non-answer, Percy trusts him.

His legs wobble as he tries to walk on the porch. While he feels a lot better after drinking whatever that was, he clearly wasn’t up to normal quite yet. “I could carry the horn for you,” Grover offers gently, reaching a hand to take it from him.

Percy’s grip tightens on the horn automatically, and he finds himself shaking his head no. He had paid a hefty price for it. It’s a souvenir, a reminder of the worst moment in his life. He wasn’t going to let it go, not for anyone. Grover doesn’t press.

As they come around the porch, Percy finds himself taken by the buildings. It looks like ancient Greek architecture, straight out of paintings. There’s an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, and a circular arena. However, there is a key difference between the photos of the ruins in Greece. These are all brand new. The marble columns seem to glint in the light of the sun.

At the end of the porch are two men sitting across from each other at a card table. Percy blinks when he finally gets a better look at the girl that spoon fed him the butter popcorn pudding. She’s leaning against the porch rail next to them.

The man facing Percy is smaller, and a bit chubby. He has large eyes, with a colour that feels impossible. At a glance, he could think they are brown, but when he focuses they feel like a deep red, almost reminiscent of a red wine. His hair falls down in coils, and it almost looks purple. Though, surely, it’s just black. He wears a tiger print Hawaiin shirt. The man looks like someone Gabe would have invited to a poker party, but only once. Percy has a feeling this man could out gamble even his step-father, and Gabe would never invite someone like that again.

As they come upon the table, his friend leans in and begins to whisper something, but Percy finds himself growing distracted as he looks at the man in a rather familiar wheelchair. The tweed jacket, the thinning hair, the beard-

“Mr. Brunner!” He exclaims, feeling rather relieved to see something familiar in this sea of strange and new things.

“Ah, good, Percy. Now we have four for pinochle.” He features to the chair next to the man who looks like a cherub- if the cherub had not so gracefully aged.

The man looks up at him, letting out a sigh as Percy sits down next to him. “Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now don’t expect me to be glad to see you.” The other grumbles out, not sparing him a second glance.

Percy finds himself watching the other a bit closely for a moment, hesitating ever so slightly. “Uh, thanks.” He scoots a little farther away from him, making a point to not make eye contact with him. One of the things he recognizes from being around Gabe and his poker buddies is when someone has been drinking. If anyone tried to tell him that Mr. D was a stranger to alcohol, Percy would call them out for being the liar they clearly were.

“Annabeth?” Mr. Brunner’s voice breaks him from his thoughts. She comes over to them, and Mr. Brunner gives them both a proper introduction. “This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don’t you go check on Percy’s bunk? We’ll be putting him in Cabin Eleven for now.”

This doesn’t shock Annabeth in the least. “Sure, Chiron.” She says, as though that’s just part of the routine.

She’s his age, maybe a couple inches taller than Percy, and she looks incredibly athletic. She has a deep tan, and curly blonde hair. She looks like a typical girl from California, though her eyes, her most striking feature, ruins that. They are a stunning gray, dark like storm clouds. They are intimidating, with her eyeing him as though she’s trying to figure out how to take him down.

Those eyes glance down towards the Minotaur horn that he clutches in his hand. He thinks she’s going to ooh and awe over it, fawn over it and tell him how cool he is for slaying the Minotaur.

Instead, Annabeth looks back at him with an unimpressed look in her eyes. “You drool when you sleep.”

She sprints off without another word, her blonde hair flying behind her. Percy blinks at the almost rude comment and clears his throat. “So,” he says awkwardly, trying to change the subject, “You uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?”

“Not Mr. Brunner,” he replies, though he doesn’t seem at all offended. Perhaps more amused than anything else. “I’m afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron.”

“Okay,” he says, unable to hide his confusion. He hesitates, turning to the man who reminds him of his step-father. “And Mr. D… does that stand for something…?”

Mr. D stops shuffling his cards, pausing and looking at him oddly. “Young man, names are powerful things. You don’t just go around using them for no reason.” He says.

The words catch him off guard, and his mother’s words ring through his head. He looks away again, blinking rapidly to avoid tearing up again. “Oh. Right… Sorry.” He takes a short breath, grateful when Chiron starts to speak again.

“I must say, Percy, I’m glad to see you alive. It’s been a long time since I’ve made a house call to a potential camper. I’d hate to think I’ve wasted my time.” That stings slightly, though Percy can’t quite place why. It feels like an odd comment.

“House call?” He asks numbly.

Percy doesn’t have it in him to listen to the explanation, not fully anyways. He gets the gist of it, however. He doesn’t bother trying to remember the beginning of the year. He has a feeling he wouldn’t really remember it in any case.

Percy only tunes back in when the man next to him begins to eye him suspiciously. “- know how to play pinochle?” 

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. This feels like the first time Gabe forced him to sit down. His worthless step-father had asked him if he knew how to play poker the first time his mother tried to give him allowance. The gleam that Gabe used to get when he ‘taught him’, only to rob him, is missing from the camp director’s eyes, however. Instead, he’s sure that he sees a surprisingly patient look on his face.

“I’m afraid not,” Percy confesses.

“I’m afraid not, sir. ” Mr. D corrects him.

“Sir,” Percy repeats, liking the other less and less.

“Shame. It is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules.”

Chiron looks as though he’s going to say something, but Percy finds himself talking despite his better judgement. “My step-father taught me poker to swindle me out of my allowance, does that count?” He asks, looking back at Mr. D.

The other blinks at him, letting out a soft noise. “Sounds like an awful man- choosing poker over pinochle.” He grumbles out.

“The boy can learn,” Chiron provides.

“Please,” Percy changes the subject, not even looking at the table. “What is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun- Chiron, why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?”

Mr. D snorts at that, seeming to be amused. “I asked the same question,” he grumbles out as he deals the cards. Grover flinches every time one lands in his pile.

“Percy, did your mother tell you nothing?” The question takes Percy off guard, bringing a bitter feeling over him. His mother, who lost her life to bring him here. He stares blankly at Chiron for a moment, slowly looking away from the other.

He remembers the saddened look in her eyes as she looked at the sea, as though she was reminiscing on something that Percy couldn’t understand. “She said… She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn’t leave. She wanted to keep me close to her.”

Mr. D scoffs at that, as though his mother did something wrong. Percy frowns and looks at him, eyes narrowing in slight anger. “Typical,” Mr. D grumbles out. “That’s how they usually get killed. Young man-”

“So it’s a crime for my mother to want to be near me? She’s my mother!” Percy snaps, his heart aching. He can’t help the tears that come to his eyes. “Was- was my mother. She was my mother,” he whispers out, trying to keep the tears from falling again.

This is overwhelming. His mother is gone. He’s in a place that his father, who he’s never met before wants him to be. The Minotaur is real, his best friend is a satyr, and he’s positive that the camp director isn’t mortal either.

He sniffles as he sets his cards face down, wiping the tears away quickly before they can fall.

Silence falls over the table, and Percy can almost see a flicker of guilt in the director’s eyes. If it was there at all, it’s gone just as fast as it appeared.

“How- how do I bid?” He croaks out, needing a distraction from his new reality. Mr. D is silent for a moment before he responds to him, teaching him how. Percy bids.

Some sort of conversation happens around him, and Percy can’t bring himself to pay attention to it. He hears something about how some sort of orientation film wouldn’t work, and then his friend calls his name.

“-ercy? Percy?” Grover’s fake foot taps against the floor, and he finds his friend looking at him almost anxiously.

“This is important, young man.” Mr. D scolds him before he looks back at the game. His eyes light up, and he grins. “Oh, a royal marriage! Trick! Trick!” He cackles, tallying his points up.

“I, sorry…” Percy looks back at Chiron. “I’m, I know I should be shocked- I’m, pretty sure you just told me that the Greek Gods are real.” Right now, that feels more real than his mother’s death.

“Yes, I did. The Gods we discussed in Latin class are real.”

“Zeus,” Percy says, repeating the names that they had discussed. “Hera,” he feels almost a chill go down his spine, as if, in that brief moment, he was being watched just a bit too closely. “Apollo. You mean them.” The sound of thunder greets his ears, despite the clear skies that go for miles.

Mr. D focuses on him again. “Young man, I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you.”

It’s the same advice that his mom gave him, that Mr. D has already repeated to him. And yet, angry and feeling the need to lash out at something- anything, Percy argues. “They’re just stories,” he snaps, part of it a desperate attempt to cling to the fact that maybe the Minotaur wasn’t real, though the box in his hand says otherwise. “They’re myths to explain lightning and seasons and stuff. They’re what people believed before there was science.” He snaps.

“Science!” Mr. D scoffs, snapping back at Percy. “And tell me, Perseus Jackson,” Percy can’t help but flinch at the use of his full name. He hasn’t told anyone what his full name is. “What will people think of your ‘science’ two thousand years from now?” He continues, not waiting for an answer. “Hmm? They’ll call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That’s what. Oh, I love mortals, they have absolutely no sense of perspective, they think they’ve come so~o~o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me.”

Percy finds himself staring at Mr. D, furrowing his brow at the way the man had said the word ‘mortal’. It was as if the man himself was not one. He looks up at him, quiet. It would certainly explain why Grover has been so scared of the man this entire time.

“I’d be more careful with your words, young man.” Mr D murmurs to him. “Before one of them incinerates you.”

Grover comes to his defence, despite his obvious fear. “P-please, sir. He’s just lost his mother. He’s in shock.”

Percy can’t help but flinch slightly at the reminder. Gods are real. The monsters from Greek myths are real. The Minotaur is real. His mother’s death is real, as much as it doesn’t feel like it is.

Mr. D grumbles something out as he plays a card. He waves a hand in the air, almost reflexively. The sunlight seems to bend, seeming to weave the air into glass. A goblet appears in front of the man, and fills itself with red wine.

This shocks Percy out of his thoughts, and he finds his jaw dropping at the sight of it.

Mr. D is definitely not mortal.

“Mr. D,” Chiron warns, only glancing at the goblet, “your restrictions.”

Mr. D looks at the goblet, feigning surprise, as though this hadn’t been as reflexive as he made it look. “Dear me.” He looks towards the sky, yelling to it as though someone is listening, “Old habits! Sorry!”

More thunder answers him, almost feeling like a conversation.

With another wave of his hand, the wineglass changes into a fresh can of Diet Coke. Percy examines it, almost stunned. He can even see the condensation on the can. Mr. D sighs rather unhappily as he opens the top of the can before focusing on the game in front of him.

“Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off limits.” He explains.

“A wood nymph…” Percy says slowly, his eyes still focused on the can of diet coke.

“Yes,” Mr. D confesses, rolling his eyes almost dramatically. “Father loves to punish me. Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years. The second time- well, she was really pretty, and I couldn’t stay away- the second time, he sent me here. Half Blood-Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. ‘Be a better influence,’ he told me. ‘Work with youths rather than tearing them down.’ Ha! Absolutely unfair.” 

The other grumbles out as he finishes telling the story. He sounds like a child who was told they couldn’t stay up late.

It takes Percy a moment of thinking, of staring at the God. “Isn’t Zeus married?” He blurts out. “I mean- I know he has his…” He trails off, frowning as he struggles to come up with the right word. “Affairs,” he settles on, “but to say a wood nymph is off limits, while married , that’s,” he finds himself scowling. “Angering.”

“Hasn’t stopped him before now, has it?” The God asks him, tilting his head to the side.

“... No, it hasn’t. Or you wouldn’t be here.” Percy decides to say boldly, ignoring the way Grover frantically waves his hand in front of his neck, silently and almost aggressively telling Percy to cut it out. “You’re Dionysus, right? The God of wine.”

Mr. D rolls his eyes at him. “What do they say these days, Grover? Do the children say, ‘Well, duh!’?”

“Y-yes, Mr. D.”

“Then, well, duh! Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?”

Percy stares at him for a moment, eyeing him in an unbelieving way. He glances at the Diet Coke can, remembering how it appeared out of thin air.

Yet, he chooses to challenge the other anyways, wanting to know what Dionysus would do to prove it.

“You’re a God.”

“Yes, child.” Dionysus sounds utterly exasperated already.

“A God. You.” He can’t help the slight challenge in his voice.

Mr. D raises an eyebrow, turning to look Percy in the eyes, allowing a glimpse at his true nature. Purple fire dances in his eyes, though Percy somehow looks past that. Images of grape vines wrapping around an unbelievers neck and squeezing , even as they clawed desperately at the vine in an attempt to get it off. Gasping for breath, but unable to breath.

Drunken soldiers and warriors, completely insane with battle lust, feral grinning as they charged at each other. Even as they shouldn’t have been able to fight through the pain, they would clash, just for a chance to inflict harm upon another. The way they relished in the death of a fellow human before they went to find their next victim.

Images of sailors, watching with utter horror as their hands began to change to flippers. A scream leaving their mouths, slowly turning into another noise entirely as their faces elongated into dolphin snouts, leaving them unable to communicate their pain or horror.

Percy continues to stare into Mr. D’s eyes, even as the purple flames go out, being replaced once more by the wine red eyes from before. He has no doubt that it was for his own safety. The other could show him so much worse, do so much worse. Things that would get Percy wearing a strait-jacket in a rubber room for the rest of his life.

“Would you like to test me, child?” He asks quietly. The tone can almost be mistaken for a kind one, but underlying threat is there.

Percy can’t tear his eyes away from the other’s. “No, sir.” The colour seems to become less intense, and Percy blinks. “You’re also the God of madness,” he finds himself saying, a fact he almost forgot.

A small snort leaves Mr. D, though he focuses excitedly on the card game in front of him. “I believe I win.” There’s a gleam in his eyes.

“Not quite, Mr. D.” Chiron says. He sets down a straight and begins to tally up the points. “The game goes to me.” Percy can almost see the smirk on his ex-Latin teacher’s face.

Mr. D glares at Chiron, and it’s a look that Percy recognizes far too well. Once, after Gabe had started forcing him to play poker for the sole purpose of taking his allowance, Percy had sat down. He had angrily done quite a bit of research at a computer, looking up guides on how to play poker. What the best strategies were, the rules. The works.

He unveiled his newfound skill the next time Gabe sat him down, far too excited to try and scam him out of his money again. That time though, that time Percy had been ready. He out gambled Gabe, and it was the only time that he had ever been able to do so.

Gabe had slowly stood up, staring Percy down with a look that screamed danger. The smug look on his face had slowly disappeared, and he had gone pale. No words had been spoken, but Percy knew immediately that Gabe had looked ready to kill him.

Percy had bolted from the apartment, running down the stairs to prevent Gabe from following as easily.  He knew once he was in the lobby, Gabe wouldn’t dare try anything.

That’s the look that Mr. D has right now. And Percy doesn’t doubt the God’s ability at all. His breath catches slightly in his throat, and he shrinks down on himself slightly, as if trying to make himself disappear in the moment.

Mr. D surprises him, however.

“I’m tired,” he states. “I believe I’ll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment.”

“Y-yes sir,” Grover stammers out, sweat beading on his skin.

Then, Mr. D turns to him. He stares at him for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face as he does so. “Cabin Eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners.” He walks away after that, heading into the farmhouse with Grover following close behind.

Percy takes a moment to calm down before turning to Chiron. “Will Grover be okay?” He asks, voice slightly too small for his tastes.

Chiron nods, unable to hide the slightly troubled look in his eyes. “Old Dionysus isn’t really mad. He just hates his job. He’s been… ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can’t stand waiting another century before he’s allowed to go back to Olympus.”

“Mount Olympus.” Percy pauses, frowning as he thinks. “So the Gods are… Greek Gods. Why would this place be here and not in Greece?”

Chiron smiles at the question. “Well now, there’s Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there’s the home of the Gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It’s still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the Gods do.”

“So the Greek Gods are here? Like… in America?” He asks curiously, wanting to clarify.

Chiron explains, patiently, as he did when he taught Percy Latin in class. He breaks it down to him, answering his question and explaining why the Gods move around as they do. And, as he always has, he grabs Percy’s attention and doesn’t let go until he’s down explaining.

And… Percy finds himself staring at the end. It’s too much, and the fact that Chiron used ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ throws Percy for a loop. It’s as though he’s part of some sort of exclusive club that most are not privy to.

“Who are you, Chiron? Who… who am I?” He asks, staring at his teacher as if the other has all the answers.

Chiron only smiles as he shifts his weight, as if he’s going to get up from his wheelchair. That was impossible, however. He’s paralyzed from the waist down.

“Who are you?” He muses. “Well, that’s the question we all want answered, isn’t it? But, for now, we should get you a bunk in Cabin Eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s’mores at campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate.”

He rises, causing Percy’s eyes to widen as the other starts to get taller. However, there was something that was off in the way he did. His blanket falls away from his legs, which had stayed stationary. His waist gets longer, rising above his belt. Percy thought it was just very long, velvet underwear at first.

But he keeps rising, taller than any man that Percy knows of. His eyes widen in realization, piecing together that no, that’s not underwear. It’s fur. The wheelchair wasn’t a chair either, it seemed to be some sort of magic box built specifically to help disguise Chiron’s unique body.

A leg comes out from it. It’s long, and knobby-kneed with a hoof on the end of it. Percy swears he can almost see his shocked reflection in it. Another front leg follows. Then his hind quarters, leaving behind an empty box with a couple of fake legs attached to it.

He stares at the horse that had come out of the box before his eyes. Mr. Brunner isn’t his Latin teacher. He isn’t even Mr. Brunner, and he certainly isn’t human. He’s Chiron, works at Camp Half-Blood, and is apparently a large, white stallion with his former Latin teacher’s upper body practically pasted onto it.

“What a relief,” the centaur says, almost seeming to relish the surprised look on Percy’s face. “I’ve been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson. Let’s meet the other campers.”

He continues to stare at him for a moment longer before face palming. “Chiron. Trainer of heroes Chiron. Trainer of Achilles , Chiron. The centaur, Chiron. I feel stupid. ”

This draws a laugh out of Chiron, and a gentle hand finds its way to Percy’s back. “Do not fret, this is all new to you.”

With that, the centaur starts to guide Percy away from the farmhouse and towards the unfamiliar surroundings.