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In Jason’s professional opinion, the worst part about getting resurrected were the looks.
Yeah, yeah, it sounds dumb. You’d think it would be the dying, the process of getting resurrected, or the combined trauma from both—but no. The worst part were the campers who wouldn’t stop staring at him. Whispering behind his back. Pointing when they thought he couldn’t see.
Most of the time, people had enough sense to look and stare without coming up to him. They were normal enough to realize that hounding him about his death was crossing a line. Unfortunately for Jason, and while it didn’t happen often, there were a surprising number of campers who didn’t have such qualms.
So, when Jason spotted a brunette with coal-like eyes walking towards him, his mouth scrunched up with that oh-so-specific smile, he knew this would be one of those campers.
“Hey, you’re the kid who came back to life, right?” The demigod said, his voice a delicate mix of curiosity and amusement. Jason paused what he was doing—mentally preparing himself for the inevitable—before nodding, briefly glancing around at the dozen or so campers milling about.
Look, he wasn’t fragile or anything, but sue him if he didn’t want to talk about it. Yeah, he died, was it so hard to leave it in the past?
“Shit, man.” The camper said, giving Jason a once over like he’d disappear at any second (to be fair, he very well could, he didn’t know how these things worked.). “How’d you die?”
Jason would’ve blanched, but he was far too used to this question by now. Instead he sighed, barely holding back the urge to roll his eyes. “Oh, you know, I was speared to death by an undead Roman emperor.”
Usually, that was enough. The blunt delivery. The deadpan expression. Most people left it at that and moved on. Unfortunately for Jason, this camper wasn’t like most people.
“Sweeeet.” He said quietly, his eyes practically lighting up. “You’ve gotta have scars from that, right?” The camper stepped closer, like he was ready to rip off his shirt and find them himself. “Can you show me?”
“No.” Jason said, taking a step back. The camper frowned, his eyebrows pinching together like this was the first time someone ever told him no.
“Just a peak? Come on, what’s the harm. My friends don’t believe it—I’m just trying to prove a point here, help a guy out.”
“I don’t care what your friends believe, you’re not—no, dude.” Jason couldn’t even believe he had to say this.
“Come on man!” One of said friends called from where they were a dozen yards away. “Just one peak! What’s the issue!”
There wasn’t, technically, but Jason wasn’t some freak show or a museum. He wasn’t a walking canvas. He wasn’t going to strip his shirt just because some adolescent boy wanted to see a scar.
“I’m not doing it.” Jason said firmly, already turning to walk away. “Stop asking.”
Before he could even get two steps, the camper had grabbed his shoulder and spun him around with a surprising amount of force—a difficult feat considering Jason’s stature. “Come on man! Just one little peak, you don’t even have to take your shirt off, just a quick up and down would suffice.”
Jason was frozen, not necessarily from shock, but more the pure audacity he had. “How many times do I need to say no before you understand?”
“Yeah—but it won’t hurt anyone! It’s not like I’m asking to see something private, it’s just a little skin.” The camper was squeezing his shoulder now, too tight to be comfortable. Jason wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Judo flip him? Punch him in the face? Rip his hand off and run? A few campers glanced their way, but for the most part everyone else wanted to stay out of it. Jason couldn’t blame them.
He managed to grab the kids hand. Jason was pretty close to socking the other teen and running for the hills, but before he could risk two weeks of cleaning camp dishes with lava by himself, a voice interrupted them.
“OI!” Someone—Percy, Jason realized—was jogging towards them, a furious expression on his face. “The fuck do you guys think you’re doing?”
“We just wanted to see the scar!” The camper protested, immediately letting go off Jason’s shirt to hold his arms up like he’d been caught stealing from the cookie jar. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Oh yeah?” Percy asked, coming to a stop next to them. “And what did he have to say about that?”
“Well, no, but—“
“Then no means no.” Percy snapped. “Now run along before I book you in for extra hard training sessions with yours truly.” He leaned in to the campers face, eyes dark. “And trust me, Dylan, I won’t go easy.”
Dylan’s mouth dropped, opening and closing like a fish before he did the smart thing and ran off without another word, his two friends following after him with equally terrified expressions. Jason wanted to laugh at the situation and how easily Percy handled it, but part of him was still reeling. Why the fuck wouldn’t they listen to him? What, did he suddenly lose his fear factor because he was abnormal?
He couldn’t help himself from glaring after the teens, fists clenched at his sides. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened—Jason doubted it would be the last—so he’d get over it like he always did. Hey, at least the camper “asked”. He could’ve done a lot worse if he were desperate enough.
“Wooow.” Jason said, hardly holding back the anger from his voice. “It takes you two seconds, but I say no four times and they still keep asking.”
Percy just shrugged, giving Jason with an easy smirk—an obvious attempt to calm him down. “They’re intimidated, obviously. I look scary, you look like a lost golden retriever.”
Jason blinked, not expecting that. “Hey—!”
“You can’t say I’m wrong.” Percy smirked, clapping a hand on Jason’s back. “Now come on, I don’t know what you’re up to but I’m sure you could spare a few minutes to spar, right? Especially after all that.”
Jason paused, taking a second to compute before a slow grin spread across his face. Sparring almost always helped when he felt annoyed, and Percy knew this, so who would he be if he said no?
“You’re on, Jackson.”