Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the Athena cabin, casting long golden rectangles across the meticulously organized floor. Every bunk was made with military precision. Every book was aligned with its spine facing outward. The cabin was a monument to order, to logic, to the way things should be.
At the center of one of these golden rectangles sat Malcolm Pace, staring down at a plate of food as though it were a complex algebraic equation that he couldn't quite solve.
Annabeth Chase stood over him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her grey eyes sharp enough to cut through celestial bronze. She had been watching him for the past twenty minutes. She had watched him push the roasted chicken around his plate. She had watched him take a single, microscopic bite of a green bean and then immediately put his fork down, his jaw working as if he were fighting the urge to gag.
"Malcolm," Annabeth said, her voice dangerously calm. "You need to eat."
"I'm not hungry, Annabeth," Malcolm replied, his voice quiet and measured. He kept his eyes fixed on the plate. He didn't look up at her. Looking up would only make it worse.
"That’s not an acceptable answer," Annabeth said, taking a step closer. The shadows shifted in the cabin. "You skipped breakfast. You barely touched your lunch. Now you're sitting here pretending to eat dinner? We have war games tomorrow. You need your strength. You need your focus."
"I know. I just... I can't right now."
"You CAN," Annabeth insisted, her tone hardening. As the cabin counselor, as the head of the Athena cabin, Annabeth viewed herself as the ultimate pragmatist. Food was fuel. The human body was a machine. You didn't negotiate with a machine; you maintained it. "This is ridiculous, Malcolm. You're a child of Athena. We are supposed to be above these... these petty physical complaints. It's just food. You put it in your mouth, you chew, you swallow. It’s simple mechanics."
Malcolm flinched. The word 'simple' felt like a slap. There was nothing simple about it. To Annabeth, his brain was a flawless processor of information, so she couldn't fathom why it would short-circuit over a piece of chicken. She knew he had ARFID—Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder. Chiron had told her in strict confidence when Malcolm had first been assigned to her care as his legal guardian within the camp system. But to Annabeth, disorders of the mind were puzzles that could be solved by simply choosing to solve them. She fundamentally believed that all eating issues were self-inflicted acts of defiance or vanity, and that giving in to them was a weakness.
"I'm not doing this to be difficult," Malcolm said, a slight tremor entering his voice.
"Then what are you doing it for?" Annabeth demanded. She reached down and grabbed the fork from his hand. Before Malcolm could react, she scraped up a sizable mound of the roasted chicken and vegetables. "Open your mouth."
Malcolm leaned back, his eyes going wide. "Annabeth, no—"
"Enough," she snapped. "I don't have the time or the patience to coddle you. If you won't feed yourself, I will do it for you. This is for your own good, Malcolm. You're acting like a child."
She lunged forward, grabbing his chin with her left hand, her grip surprisingly strong. She tried to force the fork toward his tightly closed lips.
Panic, cold and absolute, erupted in Malcolm's chest. It wasn't just the violation of his autonomy; it was the texture, the smell, the sheer overwhelming presence of the food being forced toward his face. His brain screamed at him, flashing red alerts of danger, contamination, and wrongness.
"Get off me!" Malcolm gasped, his hands coming up. He grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand away with a desperate burst of adrenaline. The fork clattered loudly against the wooden table, scattering peas across the polished surface.
Annabeth stumbled back a half-step, sheer shock painting her features. "Malcolm Pace! How dare you—"
But Malcolm wasn't listening. The moment the fork was away from his face, the dam broke. His chest seized up, his lungs forgetting how to expand. He gasped—a harsh, ragged sound that ripped through the silence of the cabin. He tried to breathe in, but the air felt like sandpaper. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Oh gods. Oh gods, no. Not here. Not now."
He curled inward, his hands gripping the edges of the table so hard his knuckles turned bone-white. His breaths came in short, useless pants. He was hyperventilating, fast and shallow, his vision tunneling as the edges of his eyesight began to swim with dark spots.
Outside the cabin, Katie Gardner was walking past, carrying a basket of freshly harvested strawberries from the Demeter cabin. She was humming to herself when the sound cut through the calm afternoon—a desperate, choking gasp, followed by the unmistakable, rhythmic sound of someone who couldn't catch their breath.
Katie froze. She tilted her head, listening. The sounds were coming from the Athena cabin. She knew Malcolm lived there. She knew Annabeth was his guardian. She hesitated for a moment, hearing Annabeth’s muffled, angry voice inside, but the hyperventilating didn't stop. It got worse.
Katie didn't hesitate any longer. She dropped the basket by the steps of cabin four and sprinted toward the infirmary.
It took her five minutes to navigate the paths, her sandals kicking up dust. She burst through the infirmary doors, scanning the room wildly until she spotted Will Solace inventorying ambrosia squares.
"Will!" Katie gasped, out of breath. "Will, you need to come now. It's the Athena cabin. Someone is hyperventilating really badly. I think... I think it's Malcolm."
Will’s head snapped up. The relaxed posture of the head counselor vanished in an instant, replaced by the sharp, focused demeanor of an experienced medic. He grabbed his emergency bag. "Is Connor in there?"
"No, I think he's at the arena," Katie said.
"Find him," Will ordered over his shoulder as he took off running toward cabin six. "Tell him to get to the Athena cabin. Now."
Katie nodded and pivoted, sprinting off toward the arena to find the Stoll brother.
Back in the Athena cabin, the world was dissolving around Malcolm. He was sliding off the chair, ending up on the floor with his back against the bed frame. His hands were trembling violently. He couldn't feel his fingers. His lips were tingling. The logical part of his brain—usually so loud and helpful—was completely drowned out by the primal alarm bells screaming that he was suffocating.
Annabeth was standing over him, her face pale but set in a hard line. "Malcolm, stop it," she said, her voice stern. "You're breathing fine. This is an overreaction. You're blowing this completely out of proportion. Just take a deep breath and stop acting dramatic."
Her words were like pouring gasoline on a fire. The guilt and the shame of his own body betraying him only fueled the panic attack. Tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes, though he didn't even realize he was crying.
The door to the cabin slammed open. Will Solace skidded to a halt, taking in the scene with a single, sweeping glance: Annabeth standing rigidly, Malcolm on the floor gasping for air, the scattered food on the table.
"Get away from him," Will barked, his voice carrying the absolute authority of Apollo's son. He dropped to his knees beside Malcolm, entirely blocking Annabeth from Malcolm's line of sight.
"Will, I was just trying to make him eat—" Annabeth started.
"I said move," Will snarled, not looking up. He reached out and gently took Malcolm's icy, trembling hands. "Hey. Hey, Malcolm. Look at me. It's Will. You're safe."
Malcolm’s wide, terrified eyes locked onto Will’s face. He tried to speak, but only a wheeze came out.
"Don't talk," Will said softly, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles into Malcolm's palms. "Just follow my voice. You're not choking. Your airway is clear. Your brain is just tricking you. We're going to slow it down, okay? Inhale with me... one... two... three..."
Will exaggerated his own breathing, taking a slow, deep breath through his nose. Malcolm tried to mimic it, but the breath hitched.
"That's okay. Try again. One... two... three... four. Good. Now exhale. Slowly. Through your mouth."
As Will worked meticulously to bring Malcolm's respiratory rate down, applying a subtle, warm pulse of healing magic to ease the tightness in his chest muscles, the cabin door opened again.
Connor Stoll walked in. He had been sparring at the arena when Katie had found him, out of breath and frantic. The moment she had said Malcolm's name, Connor had dropped his sword and run faster than he ever had in his life.
He took one step into the cabin and saw Will on the floor with his boyfriend. He saw Malcolm's tear-streaked face, his shaking shoulders, the absolute terror in his eyes. Then Connor looked at the table. He saw the scattered food. He saw Annabeth.
Something inside Connor Stoll shattered. The usual prankster, the easy-going jokester, vanished. In his place was a fiercely protective sixteen-year-old who was looking at the person who had broken the person he loved.
Connor walked past Will and Malcolm, his eyes locked on Annabeth like a predator stalking prey. Without a word, he reached out, grabbed Annabeth firmly by the upper arm, and physically dragged her toward the door.
"Connor! What are you doing?" Annabeth protested, trying to pull her arm back. "I am the cabin counselor, you can't just—"
"Shut up," Connor hissed. His voice was low, deadly, and entirely devoid of humor.
He pulled her out of the cabin, down the steps, and across the grass. The closest place that was out of earshot of the Athena cabin, but still within the main hub of the camp, was the Pavilion. It was dinner time, and the Pavilion was crowded with campers eating and laughing. Connor didn't care. He dragged Annabeth right up to the edge of the pavilion, near the fire pit, and finally let go of her arm, shoving her back a step.
"Connor, if you ever touch me again, I swear to the gods—" Annabeth started, her grey eyes flashing dangerously.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" Connor screamed.
The noise cut through the din of the Pavilion like a blade. Dozens of heads turned. Conversations stopped abruptly. The clatter of silverware ceased. Connor Stoll was standing there, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides, looking at the daughter of Athena as if she were a monster.
"Connor, lower your voice," Annabeth ordered, glaring at him. "You're making a scene."
"Good! I hope the whole camp hears this!" Connor yelled, stepping closer to her, getting right in her face. "What is wrong with you?! What kind of sick, twisted person tries to physically force food down someone's throat?!"
"I am his guardian!" Annabeth fired back, her own voice rising to match his, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face at the sheer fury radiating off the Hermes camper. "He wasn't eating, Connor. He was being stubborn. He needs fuel to function. I was doing my job!"
"Your job?!" Connor let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh that was completely devoid of humor. "Your job is to protect him! Not to assault him! Do you have any idea what you just did? Do you even understand what ARFID is?!"
"It's an excuse," Annabeth said, her jaw setting. "It's a self-inflicted issue. If he would just apply some logic and discipline—"
"Logic?!" Connor shrieked, his voice cracking with sheer rage. "You think a neurological eating disorder is cured by LOGIC? You think he CHOOSES to be terrified of food? You think he wakes up and decides, 'Hey, I think I'll have a panic attack so severe I can't breathe today'?! Are you that arrogant, Annabeth?! Are you that stupid?!"
The word 'stupid' seemed to physically strike Annabeth. She recoiled, her mouth opening and closing in shock. No one spoke to Annabeth Chase like that. No one called her stupid.
"He is not doing it to spite you!" Connor continued, pacing furiously in front of her, his hands tearing through his hair. "He can't help it! His brain literally will not let him eat certain things without sending him into a full-blown panic! And your brilliant, 'logical' solution was to pin him down and shove a fork in his face?! Are you a child?!"
"I was trying to help him!" Annabeth yelled, her composure finally cracking.
"You were trying to control him!" Connor roared back. He stopped pacing and pointed a shaking finger directly at her chest. "You were throwing a tantrum because he wasn't doing what you wanted, so you decided to use force. That is not help, Annabeth. That is abuse. That is a CRIME!"
A murmur rippled through the listening campers at the Pavilion. Annabeth looked around, realizing they had a massive audience, and paled slightly. "You're overreacting, Connor."
"Am I?" Connor took a menacing step forward. He was slightly shorter than her, but in that moment, he seemed to tower over her. "Let me spell something out for you, Chase. You are legally registered at this camp as Malcolm's guardian. That means the laws of the mortal world apply to you with extra weight. You just assaulted a minor in your care. You just triggered a severe medical episode through forcible confinement and attempted forced feeding."
Annabeth swallowed hard, the reality of the situation starting to pierce through her stubborn denial. "Chiron wouldn't—"
"Chiron is going to be horrified," Connor cut her off, his voice dropping to a deadly, icy whisper that was somehow worse than his screaming. "And if this goes to the mortal authorities—if Will and I decide to report this, which we absolutely fucking can—you don't just get a slap on the wrist. Because you hold a position of trust as a legal guardian, the minimum sentence for what you just did is five years in prison. FIVE YEARS, Annabeth."
Annabeth’s face drained of all color. Her knees actually buckled slightly. "You... you wouldn't..."
"Keep testing me," Connor said, his eyes hard and wet with angry tears he refused to let fall. "Keep acting like you're the victim here. Keep acting like a spoiled, entitled brat who didn't get her way. See what happens. You think because you saved the world a few times you are above the law? You think you can treat my boyfriend like garbage and get away with it?"
Connor stepped back, his chest heaving. He looked at her with absolute disgust. "You are supposed to be the smartest person at this camp. But right now, you are acting like a childish, ignorant bully. You don't deserve to be a counselor. You don't deserve to be his guardian. And if you ever, EVER go near him again without his explicit permission, I will personally drag you to the police station in Manhattan myself. Do you understand me?"
Annabeth stood frozen in the middle of the Pavilion, surrounded by the silent, staring campers. For once in her life, the great Annabeth Chase had absolutely nothing to say. She looked small. She looked terrified. And Connor didn't feel an ounce of pity for her.
Without waiting for a response, Connor turned on his heel and ran back toward the Athena cabin.
When he burst through the door, his anger evaporated instantly, replaced by a crushing wave of heartbreak. Will was still sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed. Malcolm was tucked tightly against Will's side, his face buried in Will's shoulder. His breathing was no longer the ragged, terrifying gasps from before, but it was still shaky and uneven.
"Malcolm," Connor whispered, dropping to his knees on Malcolm's other side.
Malcolm flinched at the sound of his name, but then he turned his head. When he saw Connor, his face crumpled. "C-Connor..."
"I'm here, baby. I'm right here," Connor said, gently maneuvering himself so Malcolm could lean against him instead. He wrapped his arms tightly around Malcolm's trembling frame, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I've got you. She's gone. She can't hurt you anymore."
"I couldn't... I tried to breathe, but I couldn't..." Malcolm sobbed, clutching the front of Connor's shirt like a lifeline.
"I know. I know you couldn't," Connor murmured, rocking him gently. "You did so good. You're safe now. Will's here. I'm here."
Will quietly packed up his medical bag, giving Connor a solemn, reassuring nod. "His vitals are stabilizing," Will said softly. "He's going to be exhausted for the rest of the night. I'll go get him some apple juice and a rice cake from the infirmary—something safe."
"Thanks, Will," Connor said, his voice thick with emotion.
As Will left to get food, Connor held Malcolm close. He could feel his boyfriend's heart rate slowly starting to calm down against his own chest. Connor rested his chin on Malcolm's head, staring at the wall.
He meant every word he had said to Annabeth. If she ever looked at Malcolm the wrong way again, Connor would burn her entire world to the ground. But for now, all that mattered was the boy in his arms, slowly learning how to breathe again.