Fandom: Heroes of Olympus
Rating:Teen
Genre: Friendship
Characters: Will Solace, Apollo Cabin, Malcolm Pace, Clarisse La Rue

There’s an agreement between cabins six and seven:  Cabin Seven takes point on the spiders.  Cabin Six takes point on the snakes.

Just a silly little thing to get my muses back in order, based on my headcanon that Apollo kids have a snake phobia.  No exact timescale in mind for this, but it’s probably around MOA - HOH but before the Tartarus Napkin.

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Everyone knew Athena kids couldn’t do spiders.  Will felt bad for them – while he, personally, had no issue with the eight-legged creatures and would happily relocate them outside when asked, having a whole group of creatures that targeted you specifically for your parentage sucked. It sucked even worse when they were small and crafty enough to crawl in through closed windows and non-existent cracks in walls and floors.

Spiders were a horrific thing to have as a natural enemy, and every time cabin six erupted into terrified screams and cabin seven led the charge to evict the culprits, Will found himself incredibly grateful not to be on the receiving end of that. Still he, personally, had no quarrel with spiders and was quite happy to be Annabeth or Malcolm (depending who was filling the head counsellor position)’s first port of call when they had an infestation that needed removing.

Cabin six and cabin seven had an agreement, after all.

Will almost trod on it when he left the cabin that morning, and immediately thanked his dad that his foot – clad in just a flip-flop, as per usual – missed it by a scant inch.

Well, he thanked Apollo after letting out a shrill scream he’d be embarrassed about in any other situation and scrambling backwards, away from the hss and strike of the fanged monster lying in wait.  He slammed the cabin door shut, gaining the attention of any siblings that had somehow missed the shriek and bodily pressed his back against it, aware that he was trembling like a leaf.

His siblings didn’t ask questions.  There was only one thing that his reactions could possibly stem from, and it had them hurrying to barricade the windows, faces white.  Unlike cabin six, they were only rarely plagued by creatures, much to Will’s ongoing relief.  He wasn’t sure why there was a general lack of snakes in Camp Half-Blood, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

He just wished it was an ­all the time lack, rather than just general.

He also wished that the snakes, when they came, weren’t so big, or numerous.  It was as though the serpents co-ordinated their attacks, because when they came, they always came in droves.  Will had only seen the one, but prior experience told him that there would be several other snakes lurking in the grass outside of the cabin.

They were also vicious, nasty things, and maybe it was the sheer terror welling up inside him that led him to insist that every move they made was an attack, or preparation thereof, but he had no positive snake experiences to compare it with – and as far as his siblings were concerned, he’d got off the lightest when it came to the snakes.

Austin had scarring on his leg from when he’d arrived at camp, half-carried by his protector, the satyr whiter than Will had known satyrs could get.  Will remembered staying by his new brother’s side day and night for three days as he desperately made sure that all the venom was neutralised – proof that the snakes were dangerous, and were actively trying to kill Apollo kids.

Not one of them would be leaving the safety of their cabin – safe only as long as none of the snakes had managed to slither in before they put themselves on lockdown – until every single snake was removed from camp.  It was a tall order, that was true, and it was definitely a good thing that the serpents didn’t come often because clearing out the snakes was a huge operation – far bigger than relocating spiders away from cabin six – but cabin seven had horror stories about too many of their number succumbing to snake bites even inside camp to risk it.

Thankfully, the rest of the campers liked Apollo kids enough to rally against the snakes (either that, or they just didn’t want to lose their healers; Will was pragmatic enough to know that some of them, at least, saw them as nothing more than handy healers). Cabin six took the lead, Will knew, the same way cabin seven took the lead against spiders.  It was a mutual understanding – as the only two cabins with an inbuilt fear straight from their godly parent’s natural nemesis, they knew exactly how debilitating the phobias could be.

Will was still shaking like a leaf, his back plastered to the door.  He wouldn’t be able to peel himself away for several minutes, past experience told him.  It wasn’t the first time he’d been the first one to discover the snakes.  He was dimly aware of Raphael talking him through the stages of breathing, guiding him into getting air into his lungs again, but his body remained frozen in place.

It wouldn’t take camp long to notice the snakes.  Even if Will’s scream hadn’t alerted them to the fact that something was wrong – unlikely, given that it was early morning and therefore too early for the daily screams of training – it was difficult to miss the carpet of snakes that invaded camp periodically.  They just had to wait; at some point, someone would come by with food, because snake-evicting was an all-day job and thankfully at least some of the campers liked Apollo cabin enough that they didn’t want to see them starve.  Malcolm – because Annabeth was off on the Argo II, leaving him in charge of cabin six – would let himself in to let them know when the snakes were gone.

Eventually, Will peeled himself away from the door, breathing mostly under control and limbs no longer trembling so much he was about to collapse, and made the shaky rounds of the cabin, checking up on the rest of his siblings.

All of them had bleached skin, simply the knowledge that the snakes had come enough to strike terror into them.  Austin, whose phobia was further exaggerated by his bites, was on the edge of passing out – Emma was with him, trying to keep him from hyperventilating despite not looking much better herself.  Kayla and Sam had armed themselves with whatever projectiles they could get their hands on – bows were, at Chiron’s insistence, kept in the camp armoury, but stray arrows often wound up in the cabin, and Will was pretty certain Kayla was hoarding them.  Sam had acquired a set of darts from somewhere, and Austin’s blowpipe had been set next to him on the bed by Alice.

The Snake Days were never fun for any of them.

Outside, he could hear yells as the rest of the campers mobilised.  Malcolm couldn’t be heard, but Clarisse was loud and unapologetic in her serpent scourge, her fellow Ares kids following her lead.  Will didn’t know if they were capturing or killing, and for once in his life, didn’t care.  As long as the snakes were gone, it didn’t matter how.

A knock on one of their windows – a high one, more akin to a skylight than anything else, drew his attention.  Jake Mason was perched at the top of a precarious-looking contraption, holding a big hamper, and Will gestured for Kayla – whose bunk was closest – to open it.

“Breakfast,” the son of Hephaestus announced.  “Don’t worry; it’s all under control.”

The clamour of roaring Ares kids gave no indication about how truthful he was being – whether they were winning or losing the rout, they’d be just as loud.  Still, Will appreciated the reassurance as Kayla heaved in the hamper before all but slamming the window shut in Jake’s face.  He didn’t seem offended, instead giving them a friendly wave before the contraption he was perched on began to retract.

Breakfast was picked at. None of them had much of an appetite, and each of them managed only a few bites before the food was set aside for later, when they weren’t feeling near-nauseous with fear.  Whoever had packed the hamper had clearly expected that because nothing was perishable enough to be in danger of going off if it wasn’t eaten for several hours.

Snake Days were one of the few days that music didn’t fill the cabin.  It should have done – music never failed to lift their spirits – but none of them were ever calm enough to go near their instruments, much less play them. Snakes were the only thing that could truly silence cabin seven’s music.

Too wired into fight or flight mode – most of them firmly in flight with Kayla and Sam the only two more inclined towards fight – there was little they could do except sit in near-silence, listening to each other’s shaky breathing and trying not to let panic dig into them any more than it already had.  Will hated it, hated how Austin was on the cusp of hyperventilating no matter what Emma did, hated the way Kayla’s knuckles were white around the shaft of an arrow and Alice was curled up into a ball on her bunk.

For his part, Will couldn’t quite settle until he’d done a round of all the windows himself, just to be certain they were all firmly sealed shut against sneaky snakes.  It wasn’t that he doubted his siblings’ thoroughness in keeping the snakes out; it was just an itch, that of the big brother, the one in charge of the cabin.  He kept his eyes firmly unfocused as he faced each window in turn, unwilling to catch sight of any snakes even as the vague fuzzy shapes of the other campers ran around outside, making sure all the latches were tight.

They were, of course.

All bar one.

The bathroom door was tightly shut, but when Will nudged it open to check on the small frosted window, he blanched and stumbled backwards.

A snake, thick and writhing, was worming its way through, and he had the panicked half-thought about why no-one outside had noticed before there was a rattle, down on the floor.

Exactly where Will’s foot landed, and pain exploded in his ankle.

He fell backwards, barely noticing the bang on his head against the floor, far more preoccupied by the hissing and the rattling and the snakes in the bathroom.

Behind him, there was screaming.  Will would have joined in if he had the breath to scream, but his diaphragm had frozen solid and there was no air travelling in or out, even though his chest was heaving.

“THEY’VE GOT IN!” he vaguely heard a shrill voice shriek.  Alice, maybe.  He only had eyes for the creature latched onto his ankle, tail rattling ominously, and the other snake – snakes, how many were there – slithering closer.

“Will!” someone else was shouting, hands pawing at his shoulders but shaking too much to be of any use.

Or maybe it was Will shaking that much.

Projectiles zoomed past him, most glancing harmlessly off of scales but a couple of things sticking into the creature like a pincushion.  If it let go of Will’s ankle, he didn’t notice.

Their door slammed open with a bang that shook the bunks.

“Wh-Solace!” Heavy footsteps ran across the cabin’s floor, and Will only caught sight of bulk and a ragged camp t-shirt before, with a war cry, a flash of celestial bronze neatly decapitated the snake.  “Treat him!” Clarisse ordered; Will couldn’t see which of his siblings she was addressing, but it didn’t really matter when shaking hands started dragging him across the floor, away from the bathroom door.

Clarisse strode through and slammed the door behind her.  There was the sound of chaos and snarling, but Will couldn’t tell much more as a trembling hand pressed the opening of a vial to his lips.

Nectar trickled in, although it felt like more was spilling down his chin than into his mouth.  The auburn curls told him it was Emma, and he felt like he ought to be reassuring her but he still couldn’t breathe, his chest seized and frozen in position.  Whether that was from the blind terror or the venom, Will couldn’t begin to decipher.

It felt like no time at all had passed when the bathroom door swung open again, narrowly missing Will’s foot and revealing a disgruntled-looking Clarisse.  “All dead,” she reported bluntly.

Will tried to thank her but he could barely push air out of his lungs, let alone talk.  The daughter of Ares didn’t seem to care as she came to squat next to him.  He felt assessed as her dark eyes raked over him once, taking in his condition.

“Does he need Chiron?” By the time Emma had stuttered out a negative, bulging muscles had forced their way beneath Will and lifted him from the cabin floor.  “I’ll leave him here, then.  Easier to secure.”  Rigid in Clarisse’s arms, he barely reacted as she crossed the cabin in a couple of strides and deposited him on a bed he recognised as his own.

On the next bunk over, he caught sight of Raphael cradling Austin, who’d apparently passed out.  His other brother and sisters were torn between eyeing the bathroom in terrified mistrust, and glancing over at him.  Emma hurried to his side as Clarisse moved away, storming around the cabin as though the invasion of the snakes was a personal insult before the front door opened and slammed shut again.  Will hoped she’d taken the snake corpses with her.

“D-don’t move,” Emma told him, her voice shaking just as badly as her hands.  Will felt her press down on his shrieking ankle and barely held in a cry as the pain increased.  His whole body tensed without his command, not that he’d realised his muscles had had any slack left in them, and he jumped when fingers gripped his tightly enough to bruise.

Black and purple strands of hair in his periphery declared that Alice had left her bunk to curl up next to his.  Shaking fingers with painted black nails passed through his vision before fingers settled in his hair.  Will managed to force his head to turn enough to meet her blue eyes, focusing on her as strains of healing hymn stuttered their way out from where Emma was by his feet.

It didn’t do much for helping the pain.  If anything, it seemed to increase, and with it came black flickers across his vision.  Alice’s hand tightened around his and he tried to respond in kind, but his muscles appeared to be limited to involuntary actions only.  In the background, he could hear Raphael muttering in Spanish, presumably quiet words of encouragement to Austin as their brother – hopefully – started to come around again.

Will wanted to check, but the pain was still causing little fireworks of darkness to explode across his vision and it was getting harder and harder to focus on anything.  He chose to listen to the healing chant, the words familiar enough to mentally sing along with even if his mouth wasn’t working.  If he could just stay conscious through the healing session…

Black spiralled across his vision, getting larger and more insistent, and he realised that something in the combination of snake-panic-venom wasn’t going to take no for an answer no matter how hard he tried to cling to consciousness.

“Will!” he heard faintly, a panicked voice he couldn’t identify as it echoed down a long tunnel before tapering away.

The last thing he was aware of was the sharp agony in his ankle.

Then nothing.

When his eyes peeled open, it was to a distinct lack of distant chaos.  He was still in his bed, which was good news, he supposed – although as most of the camp’s healers shared his cabin, that didn’t necessarily mean much – and there was the unmistakable feeling of bandages wrapped around his ankle.

Shuffling noises indicated that his siblings were still in the cabin, but the head of blond hair sat on the floor next to his bed didn’t belong to any of them.

“Hey,” he croaked, feeling the tell-tale taste of leftover nectar in his mouth.  More had been dribbled in during his spate of unconsciousness, apparently.  Clearly the combination of godly food and Emma’s hymns had done their job, because his ankle no longer hurt, although if he concentrated Will could feel a dull ache.

Malcolm didn’t jump – Athena kids didn’t jump, not unless there were arachnids involved – as he placed a thin leaf of paper in the book he was reading and closed it carefully. Bespectacled grey eyes flickered over to focus on him, and Will gave him a tired smile.

“The snakes are gone,” Malcolm reported.  Will felt for the sun and got back the flicker of late afternoon.  He’d been out of it for most of the day, then.  “I’m sorry, Will.  I should’ve thought to check your windows from the outside.”  He sounded like he felt awful for the oversight; whether that was because Athena kids weren’t supposed to make mistakes or because he was upset that Will had been injured, Will couldn’t tell.

“We’ll know for next time,” he reassured him, the implication resting painfully on his tongue. Next time, because the snakes never gave up.  They’d be back, their numbers fully replenished no matter how many the Ares cabin had slaughtered, and the Apollo cabin would have to go through it all over again.

Malcolm adjusted his glasses.  “It was an unacceptable oversight,” he insisted.  “No-one ever gets hurt when you help us.”

Snakes are more dangerous than spiders, Will didn’t say, because it was objectively true but he got it, anyway.  Godly parent nemesis induced fears weren’t comparable.  They all, quite frankly, sucked, and no doubt if a larger, more venomous spider ever found its way into camp…

“We’re healers,” he said instead, pulling on a reassuring smile.  “We do our best.”  He pulled himself upright, immediately gaining a hoard of siblings fussing over him. Malcolm shifted out of their way, but it was him that Will kept his attention on even when Austin wriggled under his arm on one side and Alice tutted at him from the other.

He didn’t need the support, but he didn’t push them away.  In Austin’s case, he tightened his arm around him in a reassuring hug, because his younger brother was still trembling somewhat.

“Thanks for helping us out,” he said sincerely.  It might be a cabins six and seven arrangement ranging back generations, but that didn’t make him appreciate it any less.

“Any time,” Malcolm replied, a soft look settling over his face.  “That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?  Will you be fit for dinner tonight?”

Will barely had to listen to what his body was saying.  “I’ll be fine,” he promised.  Emma’s healing hymns had neutralised the venom, leaving just a slightly disgruntled ankle.  “See you there,” he added as the son of Athena pulled himself to his feet, tucking his book under his arm and readjusting his glasses again.

“Don’t push yourself.”

“He won’t,” Alice answered for him, to a chorus of agreements from the rest of his siblings. Will let out a small chuckle.

“You heard them,” he said easily, and Malcolm gave a clear look of approval before letting himself out.

Leaving the cabin at the dinner conch put Will at the centre of attention.  Word had clearly spread like wildfire about the bite, and the looks he received were a mix of sheepish (mostly the Athena campers, who seemed to have taken it as a personal failure), worried (the majority of the rest of camp), and assessing (Clarisse, who even went as far as going out of her way to walk directly past him as he headed for the table and glared daggers at where he was limping ever so slightly on the ankle.  He got a firm grip on his shoulder as she passed).

None of cabin seven were fully at ease out of the cabin.  They never were, after a Snake Day.  It wasn’t that they didn’t trust the other campers to rout them all – they did – but there was a prickle in Will’s spine that wouldn’t quite go away, that misheard the crackling of the burning offerings as hisses and rattles.  He didn’t often wear anything sturdier than flip-flops on his feet, but hiking boots had been dug out from hiding and rarely-worn pants had replaced shorts, just in case.  His siblings were equally on edge, dressed in sturdier clothes and, in some cases, weapons hidden underneath layers.

No-one called them out on it.  Not that night, not the next day.  Will continued to be the subject of scrutiny until he stopped limping two days later, but even after that he occasionally caught Malcolm or Clarisse watching him – not that the latter ever admitted it – to say nothing of his hovering siblings, who insisted on checking it over multiple times a day until it was entirely healed.

A week later, screams from cabin six snapped them into action and Will was first inside, cupping a reasonably-sized one in his hands where it was crawling towards Malcolm with clear intent and sending his friend a reassuring grin.  “We’ve got this,” he promised as his siblings poured in behind him.

He got a grateful look in response as a sea of blond heads fled the cabin, trusting them to handle the arachnid invasion the same they always did.

Fandom: Trials of Apollo/Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard
Rating:Teen
Genre: Adventure, Friendship
Characters: Will Solace, Magnus Chase, Apollo, Nico di Angelo, Alex Fierro, Meg McCaffrey

More Valhalla time, because mortals in Valhalla is fun and so is writing Floor Nineteen :D

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<<<Chapter 23

WILL (XXIV)
Try Outrunning The Living Dead

Honestly, a large part of Will was still reeling from his short exchange with Apollo before leaving Jotunheim.  The bow was warm in his hand, nothing like the scorching threat it had been the last time he’d held it in Boston but instead the same sort of warmth he associated with life thrumming beneath his fingertips and sunshine caressing his face as he left his cabin to get breakfast every morning, and he kept tightening his fist around it far more than the longbow warranted, terrified that it would disappear on him.

Then there was the fact that, despite the occasional anecdotes the einherjar had been dropping, Will had been woefully unprepared for the reality of Valhalla.  He was no stranger to violence, even in training – being the head healer didn’t leave him with much choice on the matter – but he was a definite stranger to demigods slaughtering each other in cold blood for no reason.  At least in Manhattan it had been a war, even if it had been far from pleasant and the justification heartbreaking.

Alex beheading a man he and Magnus seemed to know by name, and vice-versa, with no hesitation at all, fit perfectly with everything they and his father had been saying about Hotel Valhalla, but seeing it in person instead of just hearing about it was different.  Possibly because stories had room for embellishment.  Somewhere, not very deep at all, he hadn’t believed Valhalla was really like that.

The headless corpse they’d left outside the elevator on floor thirty-three told a very different reality.  Surely there had been other ways to stop him raising the alarm – knocking him out, for example.  Something a little less fatal.  Even with Apollo’s reassurance that the man would be fine in a few hours, his mind struggled to settle.

As much as anything – everything – else, seeing for himself just how ruthless an einherjar could be was eye-opening.  Will hadn’t had a chance for the implications to sink in after Angrboda and the glimpses he’d got of Alex and Magnus’ fighting mentalities, and he suspected that Magnus, at least, hadn’t been quite fighting to kill then, but now they were leaving imprints he couldn’t ignore.

A war between the Greek and Norse gods would almost certainly expand until it was einherjar against the Greco-Roman demigods.  He didn’t know how many einherjar there were, but if they were all the honourable dead since Norse mythology began, they certainly outnumbered the mostly-teenage Greco-Roman demigods.  They were also more experienced, and more ruthless.

Not even someone from the Ares cabin would have cut someone down in cold blood like that.  Not without any hesitation at all.  They were trained to fight monsters, not humans. Not people they could look in the eye and immediately sense that they were the same, just on the other side of the battlefield.  If Reyna and Nico hadn’t got the Athena Parthenon to Camp Half-Blood in time, they would have had to go to war against the Romans, and Will still got chills thinking about how close it had been.

He still got nightmares about Octavian’s fate, despite knowing that Nico had been right and there had been no saving the Roman legacy of Apollo.

If the einherjar ended up their enemies, it’d be an absolute slaughter.

That terrified Will. He didn’t know which gods would win, if it didn’t end up being a mutual destruction, but he knew which demigods would win, and he’d seen enough of his siblings, cousins, family die already.

He didn’t want to lose anyone else.

Was it really a surprise that, all in all, he was struggling to keep it quite together anymore?

Meeting the rest of Magnus and Alex’s floormates – Lester’s floormates, for a while – didn’t help his thoughts, either.  He knew that the einherjar were looking for help to keep them safe and was grateful that they weren’t taking any more risks than they had to, but it was instantly obvious that the three new faces were battle-hardened in a way he associated with the likes of Percy, Annabeth and even Nico.

The ones that had gone through literal hell and back.

Magnus, and even Alex, seemed almost naïve compared to the others, and Will wondered how long they’d been in the hotel, fighting and dying day after day after day in preparation for the end of the worlds.  Next to him, Nico was eyeing all of them with the same curiosity he’d applied to the rest of the hotel.

“You’reinsane,” the redheaded girl, who bore striking similarity to Rachel in some aspects, Will noticed, said.  “What the Hel have you gotten into now, Beantown?”  Since meeting Angrboda, it had become clear that when the einherjar said hell, they were actually saying Hel, the same way Greeks said Hades.

Magnus and Alex were too busy dying with laughter to answer.  Will stepped forwards, not quite sure what to say, but knowing they needed to explainsomething.

His dad beat him to it.

“Long story, they’ll fill you in later,” he said.  “The basic gist is that I – we – need to go talk to Odin, now, or Ragnarok’s going to start.”

“No pressure, then,” the dark-skinned boy in military uniform commented.  He glanced across all of them, ending up with his eyes locked with Will’s.  “Nice to meet you.  The name’s Thomas Jefferson Jr; call me T.J.”  He stuck out the hand not holding the rifle, and Will clasped it automatically.

“Will Solace,” he said, biting back the instinct to add on his parentage.  “Sorry about this.”

T.J. laughed.  “Don’t be; we’re happy to help.”

“Happy to shake things up a lot,” the girl corrected; Will couldn’t confidently place her accent but at a guess he’d say Irish.  “Mallory Keen, and this buffoon’s Halfborn Gunderson.”  Halfborn grinned at them from behind his beard.  If any of them looked like a Viking, it was Halfborn, and Will got the horrid suspicion he didn’t want to know how long he’d been in Valhalla.

“We appreciate the help,” he said.  “This is Nico di Angelo,” he gestured to his boyfriend, who shrugged, “and Meg McCaffrey.”

“Just so you know,” Apollo added, “these three prefer to call me Apollo.”

“Weird name,” Mallory scoffed, “but sure.”

Halfborn looked thoughtful. “Apollo?” Will heard him muse quietly. “I’ve heard that name before.”

Will wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.  Sure, lots of things had been named after his dad over the years, but as an actual name it wasn’t common.  People generally knew better than to name their kids after literal gods.

“Enough chit-chat,” Alex cut in, apparently done with laughing at last.  Will wasn’t entirely sure what he and Magnus had found so funny in the first place.  “We need to move.”

“Right,” T.J. said, straightening his back.  There was no way that military uniform was just for show, Will realised.  Whenever he’d been alive – and however he’d died – T.J. had served in an army.  “Let’s go.”

“Puny mortals in the middle,” Alex declared.  “Chop chop, we don’t have all day.”

“You made you boss?” Magnus muttered, but he was already yanking the door open and leading the way back out into the hallway.

“Magnus, I’malways the boss,” the shapeshifter said with a smirk, sounding as though he was talking to a young child.  Will decided not to get involved in whatever dynamic that was, remembering the ambiguousness of their relationship status, and followed the son of Frey out of the room, dragging Nico with him.  When they got a moment, he was going to sit his boyfriend down and get out of him everything he’d found fascinating about the hotel and its inhabitants, as well as make sure he was okay.  There was no way Nico’s death senses weren’t going absolutely haywire.

“So what are we calling you?” Mallory asked from behind him.  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her walking on the other side of Meg to Apollo, and addressing his dad directly.  T.J. and Halfborn, who had come up to flank him and Nico, turned their heads towards Apollo, too.  “Lester or Apollo?”

The god shrugged.  “I answer to either,” he said, and Will remembered how shaken he’d been back in January, when he’d appeared out of the woods half-dead and very much not okay with his mortality and human identity. He’d been nothing but Apollo then, despite appearances, but come their final advance on the Tower of Nero – and, technically, Will’s first quest, even if all he’d been there for was to keep Nico under control and provide underground lighting like some sort of portable lamp, or so the Troglodytes had seemed to regard him – he’d seemed comfortable in his mortal identity.

He still didn’t know what, exactly, had happened to his dad in the intervening months, and he likewise wasn’t sure what he thought of the change.  That was something he’d have to work out once the quest was over, and Apollo back in Olympus where he belonged.  Maybe even after the talk his father had mentioned intending on having.

If we succeed, an unwelcome voice reminded him in the back of his mind.  Will forced himself to ignore it.

“Lestollo, then,” Mallory decided, causing Meg to break out in cackles.  Next to Will, Nico snorted quietly.  Apollo’s jaw dropped and he blinked a few times before apparently deciding to let it go.

He’ddefinitely changed.  Six months ago, he’d have been offended at someone messing up his name, especially doing it on purpose.  His godly pride wouldn’t have been able to let him accept anything different.  The question was, what would this change mean once he was back on Olympus, both for him and for the demigods?

Will tightened his grip on the – his – bow and told himself to stop thinking about the future. They had to get there first.

“Lestollo,” Meg echoed, still cackling, and Apollo sighed.

“Thank you, Mallory.”

“Magnus,” T.J. said suddenly, drawing Will’s attention back forward, towards the blond head ahead of him. “Which door are you heading for?”

“Floor seven’s the nearest one I know,” Magnus replied as they reached the end of the hallway.

“That’ll get you near Odin’s home,” Halfborn confirmed.  He was sneaking glances back at Apollo, and Will hoped he wasn’t coming to potentially-correct conclusions, even if he wasn’t sure how a Viking would know about Greek gods.  The less Valhalla’s occupants knew about the existence of other pantheons, the safer everyone would be.

“We’ll have to hurry,” T.J. added.  “It’s almost time.”

Time for what?  Will blinked, confused, but he heard curses from ahead and behind.  Magnus and Alex seemingly needed no more information.

“At least it’ll be different this week,” Mallory pointed out, still with no explanation as to what itmeant.

“Different doesn’t always mean better,” Magnus muttered.  “Not when we have three mortals with us.”  He jabbed a finger on the call button for the elevator, and groaned when the doors didn’t immediately open.  “Dammit, someone else took it.”

“Do we wait or do we take the stairs?” Alex asked from the rear.

Stairs sounded risky if they were trying to minimise contact, but Will was conscious that they were running out of time to get into Asgard if they wanted to beat Zeus to it. “How long is the elevator likely to take?” he asked.

“Depends on the floor,” Magnus sighed.  “If it’s one of the top floors, ten minutes.”

“And we don’t haveten-”

T.J.’s comment was interrupted by a battle horn reverberating through the hotel, ear-splittingly loud.  Will covered his ears with his hands, but even that didn’t block out the noise.

“-minutes,” the dark-skinned einherji finished after the blast ended.

“Probably don’t have ten seconds now,” Alex said grimly.  “Stairs, or elevator?”

“There’s a lotof movement above us,” Nico interrupted.  “More than I can count, and they’re all coming this way.”

“Will?”  Eyes turned to him suddenly, and he shook his head immediately.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, shaking his head.  Apollo and Alex’s words from earlier came back to him, about the type of leader he was, and he focused his attention on the other blond.  “You haven’t taken us wrong yet, Magnus.”  Magnus’ shoulders slumped, but he didn’t seem particularly surprised.  Just resigned.

A sound like thunder reached his ears from above them.  It was gradually getting louder, and showed no signs of easing.  The elevator likewise showed no signs of reappearing.

“Stairs,” the son of Frey said.  “Run.”

They ran.

Stairs were difficult things to run down.  Neither Will nor Nico were slow, camp training saw to that, but just like when they’d fled from Ratatosk on Yggdrasil it was blatantly obvious that they had nothing on Odin’s super-soldiers.  Behind them, Meg squawked, but Will didn’t dare turn around to see what had caused it. If he stopped looking ahead, he was almost guaranteed to misstep and go for a painful tumble.  No-one needed him to have a broken ankle now – even if they had three healers with them, including himself now his abilities seemed to be back up to par at last.

“What’s going on?” Nico gasped.  “It feels like the whole hotel is on the move.”

Fear clenched Will’s heart. Had they been discovered?  Were they about to have to fight their way past the entire hotel?  There was absolutely no way they’d survive.

Halfborn let out a chuckle next to the son of Hades.  “It’s battle time.”

“Valhalla’s daily battle,” Apollo clarified behind him.  “All the warriors are heading for the battlefield.”

“So why are we running away from them?” Meg demanded.  She didn’t sound out of breath at all, and Will realised the squawk must have been Apollo picking up the smaller girl so she didn’t get left behind or trampled the same way he had done as Lester on Yggdrasil.

“We’re running with them,” Magnus corrected.  “Don’t ask me why, but most of the hotel likes these battles.”

“You just don’t like them because you always die early,” Alex scoffed.  “They’re fun.”

“Except Thursdays,” Mallory allowed.  “Thursdays suck.”

“Thursdaysabsolutelysuck,” Magnus grumbled.  “I hate dragons.”

They reached a corner in the stairs and Will almost skidded face-first into the wall.  T.J. caught him by the elbow and swung him around. “Thanks,” he wheezed.

“Mortals are slow,” Mallory commented.  Will tried not to pay attention to the fact that none of the einherjar were struggling to breathe as they ran.

“Mortals don’t have Odin-blessed bodies,” Apollo reminded her.  Or godly ones, Will added mentally.  His dad was, of course, equally fine and despite the runes on his wrists, Will didn’t think that had anything to do with Odin.

Behind them, the sound of thunder had gradually shifted to the sound of hundreds, if not thousands, of feet bearing down on them.  They were going to be caught up with imminently, and Will didn’t think they’d run their way down twelve flights of stairs just yet.

Magnus cursed and suddenly dived off down a side corridor as they reached another landing.  Once again, T.J. had to stop Will from careening into a wall, and from the grunt next to him, it sounded like Halfborn had had to catch Nico, too.

As soon as they were out of sight of the stairs, Magnus stopped.

“Stupid elevator,” he grumbled.  “Whoever took it, I hate them.”

“Where are we?” Will asked, glancing around as he tried to get his heaving chest under control again.

“Thirteenth floor,” Magnus said, leaning back up against the wall.  Back in the stairwell, the stampede had clearly reached their floor and was continuing down without a pause, much to Will’s relief.

“You mean we’re only halfway?” Nico sighed, resigned.

“Once everyone’s passed, we’ll try the elevator again,” Magnus promised.  “Once the battle starts, the halls will be empty.”

“Unless the ravens or wolves realise there are mortals here, Beantown,” Mallory corrected. “Then they’ll all be hunting us instead.”

Will did not like the grin on her face at that idea, as though she was looking forwards to potentially taking on the entire hotel.  Even T.J., who at first glance had seemed the most level headed of their new companions, seemed more thrilled than terrified at the prospect.

“We’ll deal with that if it happens,” Apollo said bluntly.  Meg was clinging to his back like a koala, although she didn’t seem particularly happy about being carried.  “Nico, how long until the stairwell’s clear?”

Will’s boyfriend closed his eyes, frowning.  The new einherjar looked at him in confusion, clearly wondering why Apollo thought he could tell.  Mallory even got as far as opening her mouth before Magnus caught her eye and shook his head.  Her mouth shut with a clack, but the look she sent him was easily translated as you’d better explain later.

“About a third of them have passed,” Nico said after a moment.  “I’d say the same again, twice over, before it’s clear.”

“You’re not mortal.” Mallory’s patience for answers rivalled Meg’s.  Will understood why Apollo had said Meg would get on with her.  “Who-”

“I’m not dead yet,” Nico interrupted her.

Will couldn’t help but add a “despite your best efforts,” under his breath, and got a scowl in response.

“They’re all demigods,” Magnus stepped in, before Mallory could say anything else.  “Don’t ask who their parents are.”  Something passed between them, and the redheaded girl’s shoulders eased slightly.

“Fine,” she said. “But I want to know what he did.”

“I can sense the dead,” Nico shrugged.  The son of Hades had always been pretty blasé about his abilities, even though he’d mistakenly thought people were pushing him away because of them.  Will had come to suspect it was a defence mechanism; if he was upfront from the start, there was no room for people to start to like him before being freaked out.

As though anyone who actually knew Nico would freak out about what he could do.

Magnus chuckled. “Well, there’s a lot of those around here.”

“I’d say that’s rather an understatement,” Apollo added.  He was looking around the hallway they were in.  “Magnus, are you certain none of these doors go to Asgard?”

“I think one might,” Magnus admitted, “but I’m not sure, and even if it does, there’s no guarantee it’d get us anywhere near Odin.  The door on floor seven is our best bet.”  He paused, as though listening to something.  Will couldn’t hear anything except the ongoing thunder of einherjar warriors on the stairs.  It wasn’t a particularly comforting sound, especially when he found his thoughts drifting to the possibility of a war between pantheons and the knowledge that if the Greco-Romans had to face that…

“Jack says-”

“You’re still alive?” Whatever Jack had told Magnus went unheard as a voice Will hadn’t heard since leaving Midgard interrupted from further down the corridor.  As one, they all turned to face her.

Carrie leant against the wall, arms crossed.  She didn’t seem to be at all concerned about the fact she was outnumbered, which raised a major red flag for Will.  True, she’d only ever faced them alone, but that had been outside Valhalla, away from reinforcements.  To be alone inside the place she had allies struck him as decidedly odd.

“You-” Alex snarled, stepping forwards.

“Now, now, sister.  Or is it brother right now?  It’s hard to tell,” Carrie shrugged.  “I was simply surprised you all survived Ratatosk with your sanity intact, let alone Jotunheim and our step-mom.”

“I thought you could sense the dead,” Mallory muttered, standing next to Nico, who glared at her.

“I can,” he said. “She’s not dead.”

“How did you know where we went?” Magnus asked the Valkyrie, his hand clutching at the runestone pendant he wore.  Jack, his weapon.

Carrie scoffed.  “You weren’t exactly subtle,” she despaired. “Bandying names around like that. Anyone who tried could hear you.” She straightened up, and her javelin leapt to her hand.  “I see you’ve regained your memories, Lord Apollo.”

“Lord?” Mallory hissed, disbelieving.  T.J.’s reaction was similarly shocked, while Halfborn started muttering under his breath.

“Iknow that name. Where did I read it?”

“You don’t seem surprised about that,” Apollo observed.  He set Meg down and pushed her back, towards Will and Nico.  Will gripped her shoulder when she tried to return to his side.

“Your amnesiac phase was rather inconvenient,” Carrie rolled her eyes.  “It’s difficult to incite a war when the lynchpin doesn’t remember who he is.”

“You mean, when the catalyst is too suppressed to be detected?” Apollo asked, deceptively mildly. “I suppose that would make things a little complicated.”

“What’s going on?” T.J. asked quietly.  Will could feel his eyes on him, but kept facing forwards, where Apollo was standing a little in front of Magnus, clearly shielding the rest of them.  “What war?  Ragnarok?  What’s Lester got to do with triggering Ragnarok?”

“Apollo,” Halfborn muttered again.  “Where did I read that name?”

“No matter,” Carrie replied, obviously ignoring the muttering and focusing her attention on the god standing before her.  “It was a minor setback, but one that’s resolved itself.”  She smirked at them all.  “War is coming.  Zeus has crossed the Bifrost and Heimdall has alerted the Aesir.  And you-” she paused, raised a horn Will hadn’t noticed to her lips, and blew it “-have done your part.”

Chapter 25>>>

Fandom: Trials of Apollo
Rating:Gen
Genre:Family/Hurt/Comfort
Characters: Apollo, Will Solace, Nico di Angelo

Apollo had abandoned his son when he needed him, and the worst thing was that he’d never realised until Nico told him.

Day thirty of TOApril organised by @ferodactyl, “Forgiveness In A New Day”.   We’re at the end of the month!  This has been so much fun, even if some of the prompts (including today’s!) have been pretty difficult.  I ended up back at my favourite roots for the last day - some good old Apollo&Will because there’s never enough of that around.

There’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Apollo hurried over to the archery range, mind reeling.  Nico’s interception when he’d appeared in camp had been unexpected, to say the least, and not just because the son of Hades was almost always found with Will.

As far as gods go, you’re definitely not the worst, would have been a compliment if not for Nico’s stance, arms crossed in front of his chest.  Apollo had felt scrutinised.  So I’m going to ask now I’ve got the chance.  If Apollo had been expecting to be asked a favour – he wasn’t actually sure what he’d been expecting – he’d been sorely disappointed.  Why did you abandon Will?

Embarrassingly, Apollo hadn’t even known what he was talking about.  To his ongoing regret, there were several occasions that could have qualified, but Nico had seemed to be referencing one specific occasion, and he hadn’t been able to work out which one it was.

He’s been having nightmares.  Again, that wasn’t anything particularly new, as much as Apollo sorely wished it wasn’t the case.  All demigods had nightmares; it was an unfortunate side-effect of their blood, and while Apollo certainly took the blame for some of them – prophecies and knowledge were his domains, and if he could protect the demigods by giving them flashes of information that could save their lives, then that was something he’d willingly do – others were simply the horrors of their lives breaking into their dreams.  He’d pulled his children out of nightmares during dream visits often enough to know that. His siblings told me, but Will won’t admit they’re right.  Hard, dark eyes had pinned Apollo in place.  They’re about you abandoning him.

Apollo had forgotten that Nico had learnt to dream walk.  He supposed he was lucky that he’d never come across the son of Hades in Will’s dreams, and hadn’t been able to stop himself from checking that Nico didn’t do it without consent (the response had been an awkward shuffle and a normally, but I was worried last night.  He’s mad at me about it.  That had partially explained why Nico wasn’t glued to Will’s side that morning).

Still, the most important, and heart-wrenching, part of what Nico had said was about the content of the dreams.

He dreamt he was the only one you didn’t recognise when you were mortal, Nico had helpfully clarified, and Apollo had instantly remembered the haze in his mind as he’d looked at the blond boy and had to scramble for his name – curse mortal memories and their inability to recall even the most important facts at the right time.

He hadn’t realised Will had noticed, let alone that it would still be playing on his mind six months later. Not over one small moment that could easily be rationally explained by grogginess upon returning to consciousness. Apollo felt terrible that it had happened at all, and even worse now he knew it had hurt Will deeper than he’d realised.  But Nico hadn’t been done.

Why didn’t you stay with Will overnight?  Why did you leave him alone in the cabin after Austin and Kayla were taken?

To his horror, Apollo had realised that he had excuses, not reasons.

I- he’d started, but Nico had waved him off.

I’m not the one you need to talk to, he’d said, so there Apollo was, hurrying to the archery range where Nico had told him Will was hiding.  It wasn’t Will’s usual go-to place, although his son certainly didn’t avoid it – he was still a decent archer, even if he’d only inherited latent skills rather than an active talent – but as he approached and saw arrows flying thick and fast into a fifty metre target, abusing the red and gold rings, Apollo realised his son was letting off steam.

It was a relief, in a way, to see Will wasn’t rolling over and just accepting Nico’s invasion of his privacy, no matter how well-meaning the son of Hades’ reasoning had been.  Apollo knew his children were taken for granted and often walked all over if they didn’t have a temper to flare, so seeing evidence of some self-respect was reassuring.

That wasn’t Apollo’s business to interfere in, however.  Will and Nico would have to work that out between them, and he had no doubt that they would do, once they got around to talking about it properly.  Apollo’s business was addressing something he should never have caused in the first place.

He waited until Will had emptied the quiver at his hip before making his presence known – startling anyone with a weapon in their hand was a bad idea, even if he knew an arrow wouldn’t really hurt him.

“Are you scoring or just practising?” he asked.  Will whirled around, eyes wide.

“Dad?”  His son didn’t seem particularly pleased to see him, and Apollo wilted a little as blue eyes narrowed.  “Did Nico call you?”

“No,” Apollo replied truthfully, resisting the urge to cross the last few metres to his son’s side. Will didn’t seem like he wanted him to come closer.  “I just wanted to pop by today,” he added, and watched Will’s shoulders slump in what looked like relief.  “But,” he admitted, wincing as Will tensed again, “he collared me when I arrived.”

“Damn it!” Will shouted, and Apollo wondered if he should maybe have retrieved Will’s arrows first so he had something to do with his hands.  As it was, his arms twitched dangerously, as though he’d barely restrained himself from throwing the longbow in his hands to the ground.  “Why can’t he just drop it?”

Apollo snapped his fingers and a fresh load of arrows appeared in his son’s quiver, just in case Will wanted to mutilate the target some more.

He found himself pinned with a glare.

“I’m not talking about it, Dad, so don’t ask.”

Apollo raised his hands placatingly.  “I won’t ask you to,” he soothed, even though he wanted to.  Pushing Will wouldn’t do either of them any good; he’d have to wait until Will was cooled off and receptive to conversation.

Blue eyes scrutinised him suspiciously, and he sighed.  “I can leave,” he offered heavily.  He didn’t want to, but he also didn’t want Will to be on edge with him the whole time.

“I…”  Will hesitated, which was an answer in its own right.  “Can I have a few minutes?”

Apollo smiled at him wanly. “If you want them,” he agreed, not letting on how much his heart had sunk at the words.  “Do you want me to fetch your arrows before I go?”

Will glanced down at the target, and then the bunch of fresh arrows in his quiver.  For a moment, Apollo feared he’d reject the offer, but then he got a thin smile.  “That’d be useful, thanks, Dad.”

It took barely a moment to flicker over to the target, extract the arrows, and then return to his son’s side, holding out the arrows in offering.  Will accepted them.  “I’ll come back and see you before I go?” he offered, and Will looked a little relieved.

“I’d like that,” he said, and it sounded genuine, to Apollo’s relief.  “I just… need a few minutes.”

Apollo understood.  He didn’t like it, but he understood.  “I’ll see you soon,” he said, stepping back.  “And Will?”

His son looked at him warily.

“You’re allowed to be angry about this,” he assured him.  “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Will’s face was a mix of surprise and relief as Apollo walked away.

Nico caught him when he returned to the cabins.  “That was quick,” he accused.  Apollo levelled him with a vaguely disapproving look.

“He’s not ready to talk about it,” he said firmly, standing his ground as the son of Hades bristled. “I will,” he promised, “but not now.  You wronged him, and we both know you know that.”

“I was worried!” Nico protested, but there was a waver to his voice that assured Apollo that Nico really did know he’d done Will wrong.

“I know,” he acknowledged. “I’m glad you care about him, but learn from this and don’t do it again.”

Nico gulped and nodded.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of distraction.  Apollo spent time with the rest of his children, all of whom seemed a little distant themselves, clearly distracted by their brother’s mood, and dropped by to see Will again later as promised, letting his son take the lead on the conversation. Unsurprisingly, it stayed a long way away from dreams, nightmares, and Apollo’s time as a mortal, and as much as Apollo wanted to address the elephant in the room, he recognised Will’s need to regain control of the situation and respected it.

He would give Will some space, but now he was aware of how he’d hurt his son, he couldn’t forget about it.

His chance came a few weeks later.  To Apollo’s surprise, it was Will who brought it up, his son fidgeting with an ace bandage around his wrist – secured there for that exact reason, and not because he was injured, Apollo surreptitiously checked – as he greeted him on his next visit to camp.  Nico was standing next to him, one hand on Will’s shoulder in an obvious gesture of support, and Apollo was glad to see that they’d clearly dealt with the son of Hades’ ill-advised dream walking and were presenting a united front again.

“We need to talk,” Will said quietly, “don’t we?”

“We do,” Apollo agreed. He wasn’t particularly surprised when Nico squeezed Will’s shoulder in support before slipping away; despite his involvement, it wasn’t a conversation he had a right to be privy to, and clearly they’d agreed that in advance.  “Should we take this somewhere private?”

Will nodded his head, a little jerkily, before leading the way to cabin seven.  His siblings were nowhere to be seen, no doubt also aware of the upcoming conversation and staying out of the way.  Apollo suspected that Will still didn’t want the conversation – he certainly seemed awkward enough as he settled on the edge of his bunk – but they both knew it would continue to hang in the air between them until they addressed it.

“I’m sorry,” Apollo said, choosing to kneel in front of his son rather than sitting beside him or claiming another bunk to sit on.  Widened blue eyes showed that Will hadn’t expected either the apology or Apollo’s action.

“Dad-”

“I have never intended on making you feel abandoned,” he swore.  “I’m sorry I did.”

“It’s not your fault,” Will said hurriedly, and Apollo looked up at him.  “I understand.  You were worried about Austin and Kayla.”

Apollo shook his head. “That’s still no excuse for leaving you alone,” he corrected.  “My reasons for that were flimsy at best; had I took the time to think I would have realised the edge of the forest was not where I needed to be that night.” He risked a hand on his son’s thigh, relieved when Will didn’t pull away.  “I should have spent it with you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Will insisted, but Apollo could feel a tremble in his leg and the way his pulse wasn’t quite steady.  “You were emotionally compromised by the situation.”

“That’s an excuse, not a reason,” Apollo corrected.  “Mortal or not, I made a mistake that night, and it hurt you.”  He’d had a lot of time to think about Nico’s words, and the dream he’d mentioned.  It stung, but it didn’t take a genius to realise Will had internalised insecurities that Apollo didn’t care about him as much as he did his siblings, which was as far from the truth as it was possible to get.

“I don’t blame you,” Will promised, and Apollo could hear the pain-filled truth singing through his words.  “It’s okay.”

“It’snot okay,” Apollo rebuked instantly.  “It’s not okay at all, Will.  It’s upset you, and I’m sorry it took Nico telling me for me to see it.”  He felt bad about that, too.  Will was far too good at hiding behind a smile, and as a mortal Apollo had thought he’d been seeing through the façade.

He’d been seeing through the first layer, at most.

Tentatively, he reached with his other hand, wrapping his fingers around Will’s palm gently.  “My excuse was that I still knew you were safe. You were the only child I had still in the camp, but I thought you had Nico, and you were safe.”  His voice shook slightly.  “If something had happened to you as well…”  He tightened his grip on Will’s thigh.  “I should have stayed with you.”

“I understood,” Will whispered.  “I still do.”

“That doesn’t make what I did right,” Apollo told him firmly.  “You needed me and I let you down.  You’re important to me, Will, more than I could ever put into words, and you’re allowedto be upset about it.”

His words might as well have been the key to open the flood gates.  The only warning he got was an increase in the trembling of the thigh he was holding and a quivering lower lip before tears welled up and Will was reclaiming his hand so he could sob into his palms.

Apollo stayed where he was, fighting the urge to bundle his son into his arms.  Instead, he kept his hand on his son’s thigh, rubbing his thumb over the soft material of his shorts so Will knew he was there, wasn’t going anywhere.

After a few moments, Will started sobbing out words.  “It h-hurt,” he admitted, his voice muffled by his hands.  “The cabin was e-empty and it’s n-never been empty before and-”  He hiccupped.  “A-and I needed you.  N-Nico couldn’t st-stay and I-I was alone a-and I hurt so m-much.”

Each heart-wrenching sob lashed through Apollo like lightning, but he didn’t interrupt, didn’t let himself pull away.  Will needed this, and Apollo had to know how badly he’d messed up.

“A-and I know you- you were just wa-waking up, and m-maybe if it- if it was j-just that, I-I’d have looked p-past it,” Will continued.  “B-but you didn’t- you didn’t kn-know who I was strai-straight away but you d-did with Austin an-and K-Kayla, then y-you put them f-first and I-I’ve never b-been the most t-talented kid-” Apollo’s heart tore “-s-so I st-started to think th-that you- d-didn’t care ab-about me a-as much.”

“I care about you just as much,” Apollo interjected, unable to take any more.  “My beautiful son.”

He’d not said those words out loud before, he realised when Will’s sobs froze.  He’d thought them several, several times, but he’d never thought to voice them in Will’s hearing.  The urge to embrace his son grew overpowering.

“I want to hug you,” he said.  “May I?” It felt important that he ask, first, that he put the ball in Will’s court.  It was Will’s needs that had to be put first, not his own.

“Yes.”  It was only a quiet whisper, but Apollo heard it clearly and couldn’t hold back any more.  He surged upright, wrapping his arms tightly around his son and drawing him close against his chest as he manoeuvred so they were both on Will’s bed, his son near enough in his lap.

Will didn’t complain at the intensity.  Instead, Apollo felt a tug on his t-shirt as two shaking hands balled into the fabric.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into blond waves.  “I love you, Will.  I love you so much and I’m so sorry I messed up.”  There were tears in his own eyes, too, and he let them fall.

They stayed like that for some time, Apollo periodically repeating his apologies while Will stifled sobs against his chest.  Apollo’s tee was getting rather damp, but he considered it a negligible price to pay and certainly no more than he deserved for his horrific blunder.

Yes, he’d been out of his mind with worry for Austin and Kayla.  Yes, he’d thought that Will was safe and had Nico for support.  No, that didn’t excuse abandoning his son when it was painfully obvious if he’d stopped to think that that was where he’d truly needed to be that night.  Not holding a pointless vigil – and it was pointless, none of the other missing campers had reappeared or shown any signs, so there had been no reason to expect or even hope for something from his children – at the edge of a dangerous forest.

Eventually, Will ran out of tears and raised his head.  His face was blotchy and red – even his children could ugly-cry sometimes, much like Apollo himself tried to pretend he didn’t despite knowing otherwise – but his eyes were lighter, as though the tears had washed away some dark burden from within their depths.

“Thanks, Dad,” he said after a moment, smiling through the tearstained cheeks.  “I think I needed to hear that.”

There was no think about it, but Apollo refrained from mentioning that, willing to let Will phrase it however he was most comfortable.

“I love you,” he said again, just to be sure there was no room for doubt on that front.  He was rewarded with a brighter smile from his son, one that reached his eyes and really made them shine.

“I know,” Will replied, and Apollo had never been so buoyed up by two words.  “And Dad?”

He made a questioning hum, watching his son’s expression soften into something gentle and loving.

“I forgive you.”

His arms dropped to his sides in shock.  “What?”

“I forgive you for abandoning me,” Will repeated, voice earnest and ringing with sincerity.

“But-”

Will clapped a hand over his mouth, and Apollo’s protest died in his throat.  Somewhere, not very deep at all, part of him celebrated that Will was willing to be so brazen.

“You said I was allowed to be angry at Nico,” he reminded him.  “And that I was allowed to be upset.”  Apollo nodded.  “So that means I’m allowed to forgive, doesn’t it?”  He phrased it as a question but it was clearly rhetorical.  The look in his eyes was just the same as Naomi’s when she knew she was right about something.  “I can’t make you forgive yourself,” Will continued, “although I think you should, because nothing about the situation was your fault.”  Apollo heavily disagreed with that, but let his son talk.  “But I can choose to forgive you for your mistake. You didn’t mean to hurt me, and you regret it, so: I forgive you, Dad.”

Apollo stared at him, his brain scrambling to catch up.  Will was right – of course Will was right – it was his choice, his right, to decide how he felt.  If he decided that he’d forgiven him, then…

Then…

All at once, Apollo burst into tears again, wrapping his arms around his son and pulling him into another embrace as he cried into his hair.  Will’s hand slipped from his mouth and two arms wound around Apollo’s back in turn, his son holding onto him with equal vigour.

“I love you, too, Dad,” he murmured, and Apollo sobbed harder.  He didn’t deserve Will, didn’t deserve this beautiful, compassionate child who had every right to hate him but somehow, impossibly, didn’t.

“Thank you,” he choked. “Thank you.”

Fandom: Trials of Apollo/Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard
Rating:Teen
Genre: Adventure, Friendship
Characters: Will Solace, Magnus Chase, Apollo, Nico di Angelo, Alex Fierro, Meg McCaffrey

It’s time for Hotel Valhalla; of course I was never going to pass up the chance to throw the mortals into it!  Some familiar faces reappearing at long last…

Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

<<<Chapter 22

MAGNUS (XXIII)
Hotel, Sweet Hotel

“What took you so long?” was Alex’s unsurprising greeting when Magnus’ feet hit the familiar carpet of Hotel Valhalla’s many hallways.  To Magnus’ astonishment and relief, he was leaning against the wall, green hair brushing one of the too many wolf reliefs with one foot on the wall and arms loosely crossed against his chest, no sign of trouble in sight.

Nico was looking around at everything curiously, as though he found the corridor one of the most fascinating things he’d ever seen, barely even giving his boyfriend any attention even though Will was standing right next to him, new weapon clenched in his hand and, in Magnus’ opinion, impossible to miss.  Magnus wondered what the Hotel felt like to someone would could sense death.  Overwhelming, probably.  He didn’t know just how sensitive Nico’s death-sense was, nor did he know exactly how many dead people were in Valhalla, but there were definitely a lotof them.

Meg was almost mirroring Alex on the opposite wall, although she had both feet planted firmly on the ground and none of his fluid relaxation.  Then again, if Alex died here, he’d wake up in a few hours in bed.  If Meg died here, she was ending up very much dead.

She was also one of the most impatient people Magnus had ever met.

“Which way?” she demanded the moment the door closed behind them, shutting all six of them inside Valhalla. All eyes immediately landed on Magnus, which he thought was a little unfair when Alex and Apollo – okay, maybe not Apollo, considering Lester had spent his two weeks in the hotel moping in his bedroom – also knew their way around.

“Yes, Magnus,” Alex grinned, seemingly enjoying the fact that he was once again in the limelight and not liking it, “which way?”

Valhalla was an absolute maze, and Magnus still didn’t know all its corridors that well.  In all likelihood, he probably never would.  He looked around at the corridor, not too dissimilarly to the way Nico had been trying to take everything in – still was, his eyes flickering between Magnus and their surroundings and all but ignoring Will’s light touch on his arm.  Until he knew where, exactly, they’d arrived, he didn’t have a clue which direction to go in.

“The elevator,” he decided, when his cursory scan didn’t give him any clues.  At least then he’d know what floor they were on, and they could go from there.  It was risky, but hopefully no-one would realise that three of them weren’t supposed to be there.

Hopefully.

“You know that’s the most likely place to meet people, yes?” Alex rolled his eyes but kicked away from the wall into a standing position in one fluid movement.

Magnus huffed. “You’re welcome to come up with a better idea.”  To be honest, he wasn’t even entirely certain which way they needed to go to find that, either, but if there was one thing in Valhalla he tended to stumble across relatively easily, it was the elevator.

“No, no,” the child of Loki waved away.  “You’ve been here the longest.  We’ll follow your lead.”

He was definitelyenjoying this.

Magnus decided that didn’t warrant a response and stuck his hands in his pockets before striding down the hallway in a random direction.  “Don’t open any doors,” he warned.  “Some of them lead to other worlds, the same way we got here from Jotunheim.”  He still remembered Gunilla getting partially barbequed on his first day, which was immediately followed by a pang of muted grief.  True, he’d never liked Gunilla, not after the blooper edit she’d made of his death, and her animosity towards Sam, but that didn’t mean he was pleased she was dead.  Far from it. The daughter of Thor had deserved better than her death at Surt’s hands.

“Won’t some lead to Asgard, then?” Will asked, bringing Magnus’ thoughts away from his near-disastrous visit to Lyngvi and back to their currentquest, with equally high stakes.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “But some lead to Muspellheim.  Or Niflheim.  Or Helheim.”

The last world name had Will’s eyes widening a little.  “Is that-”

“Where Angrboda’s daughter lives and rules?” he finished.  “Yup.  World of the dishonourable dead.  Not somewhere you want to go.”

He did not like the sudden interest that lit up in Nico’s eyes.  Didn’t he have enough death areas to play with within his own pantheon?

“If we’re not opening doors, how are we getting there?” Meg interrupted, following right on Magnus’ heels. She was close enough that he kept thinking she was going to stand on them and make him trip.

“Through a door I don’t have to guess where it leads,” Magnus told her, accelerating a little to try and get some distance between her bright red shoes and his own heels. She sped up right along with him.

“You’ve been to Asgard before?” Apollo asked, sounding taken aback, as though he hadn’t expected that. “Last I heard, the Aesir were pretty strict on who entered.  Admittedly, it’s been a few centuries since I last spoke to a Norse god, but even so, that doesn’t seem like them.”

A few centuries?  How often did the different pantheons interact each other, anyway?

“They are,” he said out loud, deciding against asking that question.  The answer probably wasn’t important, as long as einherjar didn’t get caught up in those interactions.  “We’ll probably get blasted the moment we try to enter.  Although I do have permission.”  As long as Odin wasn’t annoyed about him attacking his wolves in Boston, or was the guy responsible for this whole mess in the first place and didn’t like the meddling.

If any of those were true then Magnus was probably as screwed as the rest of them.

“You didn’t mention that one,” Nico commented, although he didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. Will, on the other hand, was clutching his new bow quite tightly.  “Not that I’m surprised.  Olympus is much the same.”  He sent a look at Apollo, who shrugged.

“We gods are possessive creatures,” he admitted.  “We really don’t like people trespassing on our domains.  Our reactions tend to be… rather extreme by your mortal standards, I suppose.”

Magnus thought about Rán, and Njord.  That sounded about right.

“Even you?” Meg asked. Apollo’s laugh echoed through the hall, but it was hollow.

“Even me, Meg,” he agreed. For some reason Magnus couldn’t quite fathom, none of the Greek demigods looked particularly convinced.  Nico even went as far as pointedly looking at the golden bow Will was carrying, although having witnessed the conversation that had gone along with that exchange, Magnus was reasonably sure Apollo had done it to protect something else he considered his – his son – and therefore was genuinely being the exact possessive god he claimed he was.

If Apollo noticed their differing opinion, he didn’t acknowledge it.

Magnus decided it was better for his sanity if he didn’t try and work out what they were thinking. Instead, he returned his attention to the Hotel, hoping he was leading them the right way towards the elevator and trying to remember which floor the door to Asgard was on.

Alex sidled up next to him, despite the fact that he’d been taking up the unofficial position of rear guard until then.  “You know what you’re doing?” he asked quietly.  Magnus gave him a bright, fake, smile.

“Not a clue.”

Heterochromatic eyes rolled and Magnus found himself watching them.  No matter how used to Alex he got, sometimes little things caught his attention and wouldn’t let go.  He wouldn’t have it any other way, even when Alex realised what he was looking at and rolled his eyes again.

“Eyes on the road, Magnus,” he scolded, although there was the faintest bit of colour in his cheeks.

“This is hardly a road,” he retorted, but dragged his eyes away from his fellow einherji anyway.

“Eyes on the hallway, then,” Alex corrected without missing a beat.  “I definitely think we should stop by floor nineteen,” he added after a moment.  “We both know we’re lucky no-one’s attacked us yet, and let’s be honest, I’m the only one of us that stands a chance if we are.  Well, aside from the literal god.  And Jack.”

He wasn’t wrong. Tuesdays were great proof of that.

Depending which floor they were on, it could be a bit of a detour, but it would certainly be worth it if it meant that the mortals didn’t die.  Annabeth would probably be a bit miffed if he got her friends killed.  He didn’t want to face a miffed Annabeth. Then again, if it was too much of a detour, going to floor nineteen might be the more dangerous option.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.  Alex rolled his eyes again, but Magnus kept his own eyes firmly fixed on the carpet ahead of them.  “Shouldn’t you be guarding their backs?”

“Fine,” Alex huffed, although there was no genuine complaint in his voice as he slipped back, behind where Will was having to coax Nico to keep moving, and leaving Magnus to spearhead their little group.

Meg was still threatening to step on his ankles.

He wasn’t sure if it was luck or something else at play, and nor did he particularly care, but the end of the hallway opened up in front of them to reveal the familiar sight of the elevator.  Of course, it would be too much to hope for that it was already waiting for them, so with a sigh he jabbed the call button.  Hopefully it wasn’t too many floors away.

“Is it normally this quiet?” Will asked.  He was looking around warily, as though expecting someone – or something – to appear out of nowhere and jump them all.  To be fair, in Valhalla that wasn’t a particularly unusual occurrence, and Apollo in particular had been very vocal about how dangerous the hotel could be.

Magnus shrugged. “Depends what floor we’re on. Some of them are quieter than others.” Also what time of the day it was; he wasn’t sure how long they’d been at Angrboda’s, or how long they’d been travelling before reaching there, but if they were lucky, it was around the middle of the day.  The general lack of einherjar committing murder in the hallways suggested that, for the time being at least, they might have a bit of luck.

On the downside, if all the einherjar were in battle, that would include floor nineteen and left them fresh out of backup.

Well, Magnus figured, they’d survived this long without backup.

With a clatter, the elevator came to a stop in front of them, opening its doors.  Unfortunately, with it came a break in their good luck; it wasn’t empty.

Magnus ducked as an axe swung through the hair, approximately where his head had been a split second earlier.

“Nice to see you, too, Erik,” he grumbled.  The advantage of most of Valhalla having the same name was that if in doubt, he could guess and probably be right.  In this case, it was a familiar Erik, one from floor thirty-three.  Well, that probably answered the question about what floor they were on.  Not too terrible – at least it wasn’t one with a three digit number.

“Get off my floor, Magnus,” the older man snarled, lashing out with his axe again.  Jack jumped up to catch it before it made contact with his shoulder.  “And you, argr.”

Well, at least they didn’t have to worry about Erik raising the alarm.  Magnus dodged to the side out of instinct, narrowly missing the garotte that lashed out from behind him.  One day, they’d stop underestimating Alex, and maybe even learn not to use that particular term.  In the meantime, Erik’s head parted company from his body with a spray of blood that Magnus didn’t get back fast enough from, and his body fell to the ground with a wet and familiar thump.

It was good to be back, Magnus thought with maybe a little more sincerity and less sarcasm than he’d ever admit.

On the down side, it wouldn’t be long before the ravens came circling with the wolves on their tail feathers to clean up, and Magnus was not going to be anywhere near the body when that happened.  “Get in, now!” he ordered, grabbing the nearest demigod – who happened to be Meg – and shoving her into the elevator.

“He’sdead.” Will swayed a little on the spot, and Magnus wondered if someone who had been through as much as Will claimed to have done was actually bothered by the death of someone he didn’t even know. Then again, he wasa healer, and in places other than Valhalla, they probably did their best to keep healers away from the worst of the action, otherwise they might end up in need of healing themselves.

Magnus could say from experience that that wasn’t a great situation to be in.

“He’ll be fine in a couple of hours,” Apollo assured his son, putting a hand on Will’s shoulder.  The blond didn’t look away from the headless corpse.  “Magnus is right, we need to move.”  The god pushed Will in after Meg, Nico following hot on their heels and reaching to brush pale fingertips against his boyfriend’s arm.  Magnus and Alex were the last to enter, and before Magnus could decide where they wanted to go, Alex had pushed the button for floor nineteen.

“If Erik’s skulking around, there’s no battle going on,” he pointed out.  Magnus couldn’t particularly argue with his logic.

“You didn’t even hesitate,” Will blurted out as the doors rattled shut, cutting off their view of floor thirty-three and the decapitated body leaking blood sluggishly from the neck.  It wouldn’t stain the flooring – the wolves were far too thorough for that – but it was still a disturbing sight if you weren’t used to it, Magnus supposed.  The son of Apollo was slightly wide-eyed as he focused on Alex.  “You-”

“Welcome to Hotel Valhalla,” Alex grinned, spreading his arms.  “Everything here is to the death.  Even conversations in the hallway.”

Frank Sinatra started singing, again, as the elevator descended.  Magnus could recite the song off by heart in his sleep by now.  The hotel reallyneeded to spice up their music selection occasionally.

Will did not look particularly reassured – in fact he looked more horrified, if that was possible – and Magnus began to wonder if it wasn’t the death itself that had got to him, but rather Alex’s ruthlessness and callous attitude about it.  The son of Apollo really wasn’t cut out for Valhalla, although Magnus wouldn’t do him the disservice of thinking he’d be more at home lazing around in Folkvanger, half-heartedly messing around with weapons and waiting to die in the first wave of Ragnarok.

He also definitely wasn’t suited for Helheim, so it was probably a good thing he was Greek, and not Norse.  Magnus hoped their afterlives were more suited for the son of Apollo, when Will’s time came.

It had better not come today.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a long descent from floor thirty-three to floor nineteen. Barely a minute, in fact, which was probably a good thing.  The elevator wasn’t small, but with the six of them inside it, at least one of which was struggling to come to terms with the reality that was life in Valhalla, it was feeling a little claustrophobic.  Nico, Magnus noticed, was sticking very close to Will while keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the doors.

It was a relief when Frank Sinatra stopped and the doors opened, spitting them out into the familiar hallway of floor nineteen.  Even more familiar was the sounds of arguing; Mallory and Halfborn were once again flirting the only way they knew how.  Magnus just hoped they didn’t kill each other in front of Will – the healer probably wouldn’t be able to take it.

It was a far cry from the unflappable demigod he’d first met in the Chase Space a week or so ago, but if he was honest, this was definitely the version Magnus preferred.  Will felt so much more genuine now, a human rather than some unshakeable figure with a smile fixed permanently to his face.

Then again, after Angrboda, anyone who could stay that calm would have sent his paranoia skyrocketing, so it was a good thing Will had lost that mask.

“Are they always like that or is it just when I’m around?” Apollo asked, wearily but also slightly amused.

“Oh, they’re always like that,” Alex shrugged.  “If we’re lucky they’ll kill each other rather than start making out.”

“Lucky?” Will’s voice came out strangled.

“Blood is way less gross than watching them make out,” the child of Loki told him.

“I can see that,” Nico observed lightly.  Magnus wondered how he was getting on, slap bang in the middle of an afterlife.  If he could sense Magnus and Alex’s states of not-living, he was probably sensing all the einherjar… and there were a lot of those.

Will whacked his boyfriend on the arm.

“Mallory’s also ruthless,” Alex continued with glee.  That was certainly an apt word to describe the daughter of Frigg.

Will didn’t seem to think that was a compliment.  “We’re here to get back-up?” he prompted.

“They’re good back-up,” Magnus promised him.  They were also good people, who he knew from experience would help without any questions – or at least without getting any answers.  “Come on, let’s introduce you.”  He hurried forwards, past all the bedrooms, but not fast enough to prevent the Greeks from spotting the name Lester Papadopoulos on one of the doors.  Apollo had to grab Meg by the scruff of her dress to keep her moving forwards.

“There’s nothing interesting in there,” he promised.  Magnus wondered what was in there; what home comforts had the Hotel tried to provide for an amnesiac mortal who was formerly a god from the wrong pantheon? He’d never seen inside Lester’s room, and if all went well he suspected he never would.

“But-”

“Let’s go meet the rest,” Apollo said firmly.  “I think you’ll like Mallory.”

That was a match Magnus hadn’t considered until he said it, and was suddenly very nervous about. He was glad they were on the time limit of get out as fast as possible, because extended exposure to the pair of them together was probably not a good thing.

From the way Alex was cackling behind them, he thought it was a very good match.

The screaming was still going on when Magnus put his hand on the lounge door and shoved it open, and neither einherjar seemed to notice their entrance.  T.J., watching from a sofa with a look of amusement on his face, did.

“Magnus!” he called. “You’re back!  Where’re Alex and Lester?”

Alex slithered past him and sent the other boy a jaunty wave.  “Right here, T.J.  He/Him right now.”  He reached back for the others and grabbed two of them seemingly at random.  Nico and Meg glowered at him as they were dragged into view.  “And we brought friends!”

That was enough to snap Mallory and Halfborn out of their latest flirt-fight.  T.J.’s smile wavered a little.

“Uh…  Those are mortal, aren’t they?”

“Beantown!” Mallory scolded, interrupting him.  “What did we learn the lasttime?”

“That you guys are fantastic floormates and the garbage chute is a great way to get to Midgard without using the front door?” he offered.

Will and Apollo edged into the room, trying and failing not to draw attention to themselves.  It might have worked, if not for the bow Will was holding.  T.J. spotted it immediately.

“Isn’t that Lester’s bow?” he frowned.  “And where isLester?”

Apollo cleared his throat awkwardly.  “It’s a long story,” he admitted.  “And probably not one you should hear.  But… hi.”

All three einherjar squinted at him suspiciously.  “Are you a shapeshifter, too?” Mallory asked after a moment.

“But he’s mortal,” Halfborn corrected her.  “He’s not a son of Loki.”

“Luckily,” Alex muttered darkly.

“As I said, it’s long story,” Apollo said a little sheepishly.  “Shapeshifter isn’t totally inaccurate, though, so we can go with that.”

“And the other blond has your bow because..?” Mallory asked expectantly.

Apollo shrugged.  “I gave it to him.”

“We’re in a bit of a hurry,” Magnus said.  “A lot of a hurry, actually.  Very long story very short, we’ve been dragged into another quest and we’re using Valhalla as a between-worlds cheat instead of clambering through Yggdrasil and meeting Ratatosk. Again.”  His floormates winced in sympathy.  “But Will, Nico and Meg are mortal,” he gestured to each one in turn in lieu of formal introductions, “and well.  Valhalla.”

“You’re taking too long,” Alex interrupted.  “We need people to keep those three alive until we get out of Valhalla.  You lot game?”

T.J. snatched up his trusty rifle and bayonet at the same moment Mallory drew her knives and Halfborn fingered his axe.  “You have to ask?” the son of Tyr asked.

“Honestly, Beantown.” Mallory rolled her eyes.  “You know us better than that.  The garbage chute?”

Magnus shook his head. “Not this time.  We need to get to Asgard.”

There wasn’t time to laugh at the looks of horrified astonishment on their faces, but he and Alex did anyway.

Chapter 24>>>

Fandom: Trials of Apollo
Rating:Gen
Genre:Family/Angst
Characters: Apollo, Will Solace

Apollo didn’t want to endanger any more demigods, so the obvious thing to do was to sneak out while his Master was asleep.

Day twenty-nine of TOApril organised by @ferodactyl, “A Futile Hope”.   This is a dabble in an AU idea I tossed around in the toa discord today, where Apollo fell directly into CHB, rather than Manhattan, and subsequently has a very different demigod master.  I have far too many other things to write to make a full story out of this AU at the moment, but who knows, maybe one day I’ll play in this sandbox properly.

There’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Apollo felt it before he heard it, a tug with no physical tether but a tug nonetheless, yanking him backwards.  It wasn’t the first time he’d felt the sensation, but he’d hoped he’d put enough distance between himself and Camp Half-Blood that it wouldn’t happen again.

How had Will realised he’d gone so soon?  He’d snuck out at midnight (yes, with a wistful look up at the moon and the sister he couldn’t contact), when his children were all fast asleep.  Children of the sun didn’t stir at night, they just didn’t.  And yet, here Apollo was, being reeled in on the end of a very long, invisible fishing line as his son’s voice went ultrasonic from somewhere back the way he’d come.

“APOLLO, COME BACK HERE NOW!”

He fought it, because he really, really did not want to go back.  Going back meant dragging other demigods into his quest, dragging his children out onto a dangerous quest, and there was a reason Apollo had snuck out without letting on any intentions to anyone.  Not even Chiron had known, let alone his children.

The Order could not be denied, however, and he was forced to stumble backwards, falling over more than once as he tried to scrabble away from the echoes of his son’s command.

He ended up a dishevelled mess at Will’s feet.  His hair no doubt looked like he’d been dragged through several hedges backwards – not totally inaccurate, although an entire woodland would be more precise – there were several rips in his t-shirt, and several scratches (bleeding red, and no, Apollo was still very much not okay with that), criss-crossing his arms.

Will did not look happy.  There was no anger on his face, or even in his stance.  The same resigned determination from earlier was present, when he’d forced Apollo not to immediately run into the forest to find Austin and Kayla but rather help with the medical triage first and plan accordingly before they went in, but primarily he looked tired and upset.

“Why, Dad?” he asked, shoulders slumping as he held out a hand to help Apollo to his feet.  Apollo didn’t want to accept it, but he didn’t want to upset his son any more, either, and hesitated with indecision.  “We’re supposed to be handling this together.” He’d clearly rolled out of bed in a hurry; his feet were bare, his tank top was oversized and rumpled, and old and worn boxers clearly nearing the end of their lifespan peaked out from beneath the too-long hem.  He was in no state to be wandering frantically through the woods outside of the camp’s border, and Apollo fought the urge to cry.

This was exactly what he didn’t want.

“Why are you awake?” he replied, dodging the question and hoping Will wouldn’t Order him to answer. When he’d claimed his services – against Apollo’s will, but of course his children knew the stories – he’d promised he wouldn’t abuse it, and while he clearly was unafraid of using it from time to time (now being a blatantly obvious example), Apollo liked to think he knew Will well enough to know he wasn’t the sort to renegade on that reassurance entirely.

Will’s fingers, warm but shaking slightly, wrapped around his wrist when he didn’t accept the hand fast enough and pulled him to his feet.  Eyes that looked more grey than blue in the light of Artemis’ chariot looked him up and down, and Apollo wondered if he was assessing him.

If he was still a god, he’d be able to tell if Will was using his vitakinesis.

If he was still a god, he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

“You left,” the teenager said, and oh, Olympus, did he have to sound quite so heartbroken about it? Apollo left the demigods behind to protect them, he didn’t need to start feeling like a villain for upsetting them.  “Someone had to catch you.”

Someone being his son-slash-demigod master, and that still didn’t add up because Will was not supposed to be awake this far into Artemis’ shift.  He was obviously tired, powered by adrenaline that was starting to fade away and causing his eyelids to droop again, but he was refusing to give into it. Still, if Will wasn’t pushing him for more of an explanation, then Apollo realised he couldn’t push Will for one, either.

“Let’s go back to Camp,” Will continued.  “We’ll work out what to do in the morning.”  Apollo tried to surreptitiously reclaim his wrist but his son held on tighter.  “And, Dad, I’m sorry, but you can’t leave my side until I say so.”

The Order settled over Apollo like a constricting blanket, suffocating him as Will turned and took a step back towards Camp, tugging him along in his wake.

“You can’t do that!” he complained.  “Will Solace, undo that order!”

Moonlight-greyed eyes met his.  “I’m sorry,” Will apologised, and the worst thing was that Apollo could tell he meant it.  He was genuinely sorry for using the power he had over him to imprison him until further notice, and how was Apollo supposed to stay angry in the face of such sincerity from his son?  “Dad, I want you to be safe, but I can’t protect you if you run off.”

That hurt.  It wasn’t Will’s job to protect him, he was Will’s father.  He was a god.  It should be the other way around; Apollo should be protecting Will and his other children.  The fact that he was reduced to this, the fact that Will had run out of the protective barrier of the camp with no shoes and no weapons to find him because he felt the responsibility to keep him safe, stung.

Things weren’t supposed to be like this.  Apollo was supposed to be the protector – even now, it should have been him, and he tried to make it him – but with six words the day he woke up, mortal, in Camp Half-Blood, more mortal than he’d ever been before, Will had flipped the dynamic on its head and apparently nothing Apollo could do could revert it to the way it should be.

I, Will Solace, claim your service.

He’d hated it at the time, hated the target his son had painted on his own back by tying their lives together for the foreseeable future, and he hated it now, as he reluctantly trudged back past Peleus and the golden fleece, back into Camp Half-Blood where harpies screeched angrily and what appeared to be the entire occupancy of the camp were far from pleased where they were poking out of their various cabins.

“You found him, then,” Nico commented, materialising at Will’s other side.  Apollo half wondered if he’d shadow-travelled, or if he was just used to sneaking around in the dark.

“Did you have to wake the whole camp up with that screech?” Sherman yelled from the doorway of Cabin Five. “Apollo kids are supposed to be dead to the world right now!”

The use of the word dead had Apollo flinching.

“Sorry,” Will apologised, sounding genuinely contrite as he led Apollo straight back into Cabin Seven. “It was an emergency.”  It was impressive, was what it was, and even though it meant Apollo’s attempt to keep the demigods out of his dangerous quest had spectacularly failed, he was still proud of what Will could and would do, if needed.

Sherman grumbled, but the door closed behind them, leaving Nico outside and shutting out the rest of the camp.

“Dad!”  Kayla and Austin looked even worse than Will, but they still stumbled from their bunks to greet him.  “Where did you go?”

Apollo winced, and Will intervened.  “In the morning,” he yawned.  “Dad’s back for now.  Apollo, you don’t have to stick by me anymore” – Apollo relaxed as the Order released him – “but you can’t leave the cabin until I say so.”

“Will,” he complained.  His son trudged back to his own bunk.

“We’ll talk in the morning, Dad,” Will insisted.  “I know you have to go on that quest, I do, even if I hate it, but-” he yawned again “-you’re not going alone and we’ll work that out when I’m awake enough to think.”

Apollo watched him all but face-plant the bunk and fall asleep instantly.  Austin and Kayla, bleary-eyed, followed suit – his children really shouldn’t be stirring in the middle of the night – and left him standing in the middle of the cabin, cursing whatever it was that had woken Will, and by extension the rest of the camp.

He pushed at the door and it swung open, but the Order held firm and he couldn’t take a step out.  The harpies were shrieking unhappily, aggressively divebombing any camper that had dared leave their cabin – he saw Nico duck away from one and sprint the rest of the way to Cabin Thirteen – and Apollo begrudgingly pulled the door closed again, not wanting to disturb his sleeping children any more than they already had been.

Olympus,why had it ended up like this?  Come morning, there’d be a meeting about his quest and Will definitely wouldn’t let him go without him, which meant he’d be dragging his son and almost certainly Nico into the mess.

Apollo poked at a window, but the moment he tried to wriggle out through it the Order made itself known again.  Even half asleep, Will had managed not to leave any loopholes, and it was with no small amount of frustration that Apollo eventually slumped back to his own designated cot, defeated.

There had to be some way out of this.  Some way to leave alone, without a demigod entourage, without putting anyone else in danger.

Apollo ignored the little logical voice in the back of his head that said Will wasn’t going to let him out of his sight again.

Therehadto be a way out.

He didn’t find it.

Fandom: Trials of Apollo
Rating:Gen
Genre:Family
Characters: Poseidon, Zeus, Apollo

It appeared that Zeus’ favourite punishment had finally delivered a well-deserved sting in the tail.

Day twenty-eight of TOApril organised by @ferodactyl, “Was It Worth It?”.  It took me a while to figure out what to do with this one, but then Poseidon started sniggering in the back of my head and I guess we’ve added yet another godly pov to this challenge now.  TON spoilers.

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Zeus was not happy. It took Poseidon a moment to notice, mostly because Zeus was almost never happy, these days, so it was hardly a new occurrence, but once he did, it was impossible to miss.  In his hand – always in his hand, nowadays; Poseidon hadn’t seen him without it since its theft a few years ago – the Master Bolt sparked erratically, a betrayal of the turmoil behind stormy eyes.

Poseidon, for his part, was vindictively delighted.  It was obvious that something had gone wrong with Apollo’s punishment, in the eyes of Zeus.  Maybe it was the fact that the final moments of the fight with Python had been out of their sight, leaving them all with the what if of the serpent’s fate, maybe it was something else entirely.

Most likely, it was a combination of factors – even Poseidon wasn’t best pleased at not seeing the end of the confrontation with Python, if only because of a morbid curiosity to see how Apollo handled it while so thoroughly mortal (Poseidon was certainly sympathetic to the cause; he, alone, of the rest of the Twelve, knew what it was like to have power stripped away, a body mortal and vulnerable to the whims of others.  Not even Dionysus could claim as such; once he’d ascended, he’d never fallen again).

However, most curious was the way Apollo had regained his divinity.  Artemis had squirrelled her twin away immediately, but even the brief moment when Apollo’s unconscious form had materialised in the middle of the throne room, looking older than he’d chosen to appear for years, it had been perfectly clear that his divinity was back.  They hadn’t been able to see the moment of the return, a fact he knew several of the gods were muttering about, but it had happened, and that was interesting.

Poseidon remembered mortality.  He remembered the gruelling time as a servant, punished for agreeing with Hera, Apollo and the slippery Athena that Zeus needed to listen to them, and most importantly, he remembered the moment it ended.

The sea does not like to be restrained, and his power had surged through him like a whirlpool, filling every fibre of his essence with the song of the oceans, tempestuous and roiling.  The sensation was incomparable to anything else; how could he possibly describe it to anyone else, the feeling of the dry, empty well flooding as it rightfully should have done, restoring what should never have been empty to start with?  It was invigorating; any prior weariness of mortality had been washed away, reviving him to a state of alertness he had almost forgotten he’d once had.

Apollo, too, had been the same, he recalled.  The two of them had never compared notes, never discussed their mutual punishment and the eventual ending of it, but he remembered the way Olympus sang with music again, the golden glow that permeated his nephew’s essence as he, too, regained his godhood at Zeus’ behest.

It was the opposite of exhausting, the opposite of traumatising, and yet this time, Apollo was unconscious.  Of all three mortal stints, this was the shortest, albeit the most dangerous (and Poseidon wondered at that, wondered what Zeus’ aim had really been; the mourning suit couldn’t have been for his demigod son.  Jason’s death had been months earlier and while Hera had taken to wearing a veil immediately, Zeus had barely acknowledged it).  The battle with Python might have drained Apollo’s mortal form of life, but the return of his power ought to have replenished anything lost, and far more besides.

And therein lay the other fact that didn’t quite add up: if none of them had been able to see the climax of the fight, Zeus grumpily included, then how had Zeus known when to restore his power fully?  Poseidon had assumed the trickles of divinity they’d been able to observe during the confrontation with Nero had been his brother’s doing, but that didn’t marry up with the mourning suit, and it certainly didn’t give an answer for how he’d determined the timing of Apollo’s powers.  The returning of a god’s powers was not subtle, either.  It was not something Zeus could do with a mere thought, or a wave of his hand.  It took effort from his brother to withdraw it from where he’d stored it – Poseidon remembered watching that when it had been his own, remembered the tsunami bursting free of the restraints that should never have held it back.

Zeus had never done that during the Python fight.  Poseidon had watched him, as much as his nephew, and he’d never made a single move. Nor, too, had he announced returning Apollo’s powers, and his brother was far too much a showman to resort to subtlety, lest someone get it into their head that there was any other explanation for the punishment to be over.

Add in the fact that Zeus was clearly unhappy, and the pieces of the puzzle were flowing together in a way that had Poseidon fingering his trident in amusement.  The others had not realised it – how could they have, when they’d never been on the other side and didn’t know what to look for – and for the moment he decided it was knowledge best kept to himself, perhaps privately discussed with Apollo at a later date, once his nephew was fully settled back in the Olympian routine again.

Still, he couldn’t help the smirk that danced across his face as Zeus declared them all dismissed, instructing them to reconvene once Apollo ‘deigned to rejoin them’, because it was suddenly so painfully obvious that Zeus’ delivered punishment had backfired on him spectacularly.  His proud younger brother would never admit it, of course; that would mean a confession that his power over them was not so absolute as he claimed, and Zeus would never do that.

It wasn’t that Poseidon wasn’t a little jealous of Apollo, because he certainly was.  Their situations had been different, but that his nephew had managed to do this time what he had not…  But Apollo was no threat.  Not to him, and only to Zeus because Zeus insisted on making him one.

“Was it worth it?” he couldn’t help but gloat on his way out, quiet enough that only Zeus could hear him.  “Turning him mortal again?”

He dissolved into seafoam before the lightning could strike, reappearing in Atlantis and exploding in bubbles of laughter, to Triton’s apparent concern.  He waved his son away without offering explanation, watching the eyeroll before twin tails propelled his heir to another part of the palace.

Because the answer was no, it hadn’t been worth it.  In fact, it had been a huge mistake; Zeus’ favourite extreme punishment had ended in the worst way possible, to his brother’s thoughts.  Apollo had clawed his own divinity back from his father without permission, finally pushed far enough that he’d become the threat Zeus had always feared.  Apollo, stripped bare and reduced to something Zeus thought could never challenge him, had overpowered the king of the gods.

There would be consequences to that; Zeus would not take it laying down, and certainly not if word got out about how the punishment had truly come to an end.  Apollo’s position had both been firmly cemented and made extremely precarious, and what latent prophetic powers Poseidon maintained from before his nephew took over the domain suggested change would be afoot.

In that moment, however, all Poseidon could think was that it served his brother right.

Fandom: Trials of Apollo
Rating:Gen
Genre: Angst/Family
Characters: Will Solace, Apollo, Naomi Solace

Will knew his relationship with his parents - both his parents - was better than most demigods’.  He knew he should be grateful for what he had, and he was.  Really, he was.

Day twenty-seven of TOApril organised by @ferodactyl, “The Words We Want To Say”.  This got a lot angstier than I planned it to be, whoops.  Sorry, Will.

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Will should be grateful for what he had.  He knew that. His mother was still alive, she didn’t hate his existence for things outside of his control, and his dad actually remembered to give him the time of day.  That put him in a better position than most campers, who were either lacking on the godly parent front (which was, really, the case for anyone who wasn’t cabin seven or twelve, as best he could tell), or on the mortal parent front (which was far too many of them; some year-round campers should have been able to go home, if their parents weren’t pieces of garbage).

He had no right to feel like he could have more, not when his mom was an call away and Apollo dropped into his dreams at least once a week to check in.  He knew that, but it didn’t stop the selfish monster in his chest from trying to rear its head every so often.

Mom, why can’t I come and stay for a while?  I miss you. Words that fought to burst free every time he spoke to her, caught ten minutes from her busy schedule where she had time for the son she promised she loved, even if it was easier living apart.  Forget about the concert; what about me?  He knew that music was her first love, before him, before Apollo and whatever romantic fling they’d had (Apollo always spoke highly of her in his earshot, and she never really had anything bad to say about Apollo, even after Will knew it was a short relationship that had ended with his birth, so it couldn’t have been the catastrophe some of the other campers’ parents went through).  Sometimes he wouldn’t listen to anything that wasn’t his Mom’s CDs – and he had all of them, she always made sure he got the latest one before it was released, complete with a handwritten letter, much to the jealousy of the country music fans in camp who adored her music. Sometimes, he couldn’t bear to hear a single bar from one of her songs without wanting to break down and cry.

But he couldn’t complain, because she was alive, she did love him, he got to see her sometimes and she always made an effort to meet up if she was touring in the area.  He wasn’t her first love, but she didn’t hate him for existing and that was more than too many demigods had.

So he didn’t.  He kept the ugly creature locked away in his chest and smiled brightly as she told him about her latest album then told her the (censored) stories from camp before their time was up and her life called again.

A life that didn’t involve him.  A life he wished involved him.

Apollo was different. Apollo was a god, with more duties than Will could wrap his head around, and laws governing how much he was supposed to be interacting with demigods – laws he knew his dad was pushing regularly, finding underhanded and sneaky ways to drop in on them without ever being in direct contempt of them.  Ever since Will had arrived at camp, learnt about his heritage, he’d known not to expect much from his father.

He hadn’t expected to see his father more than his mother, but that turned out to be the case and Will knew to cherish that because so many demigods went their whole lives barely being acknowledged by their godly parent.  Sometimes it felt like he was lucky just because Apollo remembered his name, let alone all the stolen dream visits he kept to himself because he knew Apollo wasn’t supposed to drop by as often as he did.

Still, that didn’t mean the ugly creature in his chest was satisfied with its lot.  Stop looking like that, it wanted him to scream whenever Apollo strolled into camp looking like Lester, complete with acne and scars from wounds that Will hadn’t been able to heal.  He didn’t, because Apollo being there at all was never something to be taken for granted and at least he didn’t look like that in dream visits, only sometimes in person – normally when Meg was around.  Meg preferred the Lester look, he knew, and who was he to monopolise Apollo’s appearance when there were other, younger, more in-need campers that benefitted better from Lester?

It wasn’t easy to swallow down the voice, although the smile at his dad’s appearance came naturally enough that he didn’t think anyone else could see the selfishness inside.  Nico suspected something, Will was sure, but he didn’t push and Will didn’t open up.  Not about this.

Please don’t leave me, tried to slip from his tongue when Apollo said his goodbyes, whether in person or in a dream.  Please stay a little longer.  He couldn’t say that.  He knew Apollo would be back – his dad never said it in so many words but there was always the air of until next time in the farewells, rather than any finality. He knew Apollo was pushing boundaries visiting as much as he did.  He knew Apollo couldn’t stay any longer, couldn’t lavish any more attention on him than he did already.

It wasn’t like Apollo didn’t answer when he called, it wasn’t like his father ignored his existence. Apollo had other things to do, duties that came ahead of pandering to his son’s every wish and risking the wrath of broken laws.  Will wasn’t important enough to break laws for, and he didn’t want to be (except the ugly little creature in his chestwanted to be, wanted to have a parent that put him first in their lives even though he was a demigod and demigods didn’t get that).

Put me first, the ugly creature in his chest shrieked at his mom when she said she had to go, now, because something or other needed her time (it was never Will who ‘had to go’, even though his job was saving lives, maybe because their calls were rare enough it just never coincided).

Put me first, it shrieked when Apollo turned up looking like Lester because Meg was there, because the other campers were more at ease when he didn’t look like an actual god in their midst and Will had never told Apollo that Lester’s appearance brought back too many bad memories.  Put me first, when he had to go, just like his mom did, because time was up and Will was left with a warm hug and an unspoken feeling that Apollo would be back at some vague, undetermined point.

Please, put me first, it sobbed when both parents were gone and he was left alone, a demigod lucky enough to still have both parents, to have both parents willing to be in his life, who didn’t hate him – but selfish enough to want more.

Will swallowed down the words, tried to avoid the ugly little creature, the selfishness of his heart, and smiled at his mom, at his dad, as they left, telling them he loves them and getting the words back (if you love me why don’t you put me first just once, the creature wailed, trapped where no-one else could hear.  Why don’t you choose me?).

After all, he was lucky to have what he had.

Fandom: Trials of Apollo/Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard
Rating:Teen
Genre: Adventure, Friendship
Characters: Will Solace, Magnus Chase, Apollo, Nico di Angelo, Alex Fierro, Meg McCaffrey

Little bit of semi-outsider pov for this chapter because I love outsider pov.  Also a few things I think people were waiting for… I also did some art for this chapter, because I do rarely do art for my own fics, which is at the bottom~

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<<<Chapter 21

MAGNUS (XXII)
Will Gets A Weapons Upgrade

Apollo was obviously not happy with the decision.  At all. Magnus had seen unhappy gods before, and was slightly amazed at how confidently Will overrode him, especially given the other healer’s apparent lack of self-esteem, but he didn’t falter at all in the face of Apollo’s protest.  The god even caved, although it was impossible to miss that he’d rather take the mortals literally anywhere else, with the possible exception of back to Angrboda.  Maybe it was the prophecy line that had cinched it – Apollo was the god of prophecy, if he was remembering that correctly, so he probably knew better than the rest of them how prophecies worked.

“Time’s not on our side,” Will said to the group at large, although his focus was primarily aimed towards Magnus and Jack, presumably because they were the ones that knew the way. Alex had been right about him; he didn’t shy away from listening to people who knew better than he did. Magnus could think of several people – mortals, einherjar and gods alike – who could take a lesson or two in the topic from Will.  “The Lord of the Skies will not be messing around and we have to reach Odin before he does. Where’s this entrance?”

Idly, Magnus wondered how Zeus was faring with Heimdall.  He couldn’t kill him, because he was fated to fight Loki in Ragnarok, but he didn’t imagine the Greek king of the gods would be taking particularly kindly to being showered with selfies.  He really hoped Heimdall wasn’t about to blow the “Ragnarok is starting!” horn and prepare all the einherjar for war, either.

“Not far at all, señor,” Jack replied.  “Are we ready to go?”  The sword buzzed a little, and floated a couple of feet away, in the direction of the entrance they could both sense, although Magnus knew that Jack was more finely attuned to it than he was.

“There’s no point waiting,” Will agreed, clambering to his feet.  “You can fill us in on what we need to know on the way.”  He glanced at the remains of the bow in his hand, and Magnus saw a torn look cross his face before he let the remains of the weapon fall and without looking back headed to where Jack was dancing on the spot to a beat only the sword could hear.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea, you know,” Apollo muttered.  “This is far too dangerous.”  His complaints went ignored as the rest of them followed Jack and Will.

“So, Valhalla?” the blond asked as they walked.  “What should we be expecting?”

“Death,” Magnus said bluntly.

“On the plus side,” Alex added, “if it comes down to it, you’ll have me and Magnus to act as human shields.  If we die, we’ll wake up in bed a few hours later.”  Magnus grimaced, but couldn’t find a flaw in his logic.

“Depending where the door comes out,” he said, “we could probably get the rest of floor nineteen to cover us.”

“Notmore demigod deaths,” Apollo bemoaned, as though he hadn’t spent two weeks living as an einherjar and knew exactly how deaths worked in Valhalla.  “There’s been quite enough of those recently.  Will, are you sure you want to do this?”

His son didn’t even look in his direction, blue eyes remaining fixed on Magnus himself, who decided to take cues about handling the god from said god’s son and continued talking.

“It wouldn’t be the first time they covered for me,” he shrugged.  “It won’t be the last, either.”

“Floor nineteen sticks together,” Alex reminded the god, apparently more willing to risk a divine temper tantrum, “and while you were an antisocial hermit who wouldn’t give us the time of day if you could help it, you’re still floor nineteen.”

“Even though I’m actually a god?” Apollo asked, sounding almost surprised that the einherjar would still consider him one of them now they – and he – knew who he really was.

Magnus just laughed, remembering X and the revelation that they’d been living with Odin all along. “You’re not the first hidden god we’ve had on the floor.”

“Floor nineteen’s the best floor,” Alex grinned.  “Never a dull moment.”

“If the rest of them are anything like you two, I can believe that,” Nico said dryly.  “Assume things don’t go to plan; what do we need to watch out for?”

That was a smart question, but also one they didn’t want to know the answer to, in Magnus’ opinion. “The Valkyrie, for one, and then the other einherjar,” he said.  “Most of them are crazy and will jump at the chance to kill you.  You can’t let your guard down for a second, any of you.”

“Otherwise, there’s the wolves and the ravens,” Alex added.  “You’ve already met the wolves.”

“That’s a short list,” Meg pointed out.  “We took down the wolves easily last time.”

“Don’t take Valhalla lightly,” Apollo warned.  “There are tens of thousands of einherjar there, and none of them will hesitate to take a life.”

“Best case scenario, it’s battle time and the halls are mostly empty,” Magnus told them.  “Worst case scenario, it’s just before the battle when everyone’s bloodlust is highest.”

“Or a few hours after the battle, and everyone’s out for revenge against whoever killed them,” Alex added lightly.  “Let’s be honest, the chances of all six of us surviving the trip through Valhalla are pretty much zero.”

“This is why I don’t want to do this,” Apollo griped.  “It’s not too late to change your minds, you know.”  He sounded incredibly hopeful that they would, but also resigned to the fact that they were all far too stubborn to back out now.

Sure enough, none of the mortals even hesitated as they continued to follow Jack, who was singing along to himself as he danced on ahead, much like the old story of the pied piper.

“Any other plan would take too long,” Will said firmly, finally acknowledging his dad’s words.  Considering how desperate he’d been to find him in the first place, his attitude now that they hadseemed a little contrary and Magnus wondered what was going on in his head.  “We can handle Valhalla for a few minutes.”

Apollo shook his head in what Magnus thought was a little too much like despair.  “Don’t underestimate Valhalla,” he pleaded again. “Will.”

His son went back to pretending he hadn’t spoken.

Magnus just hoped they were only there a few minutes.  Valhalla was huge, and if they didn’t appear near any of the Asgard exits he knew of, it was going to take a trek across the hotel while dodging everything that wanted to kill them.  If it came down to it, Alex was right.  The two of them would have to play human shields for the rest, while Jack led the others out.  Magnus couldn’t say he was particularly enthused at the idea.  He might be used to dying, but that didn’t make it fun.

The entrance to Valhalla wasn’t particularly grand, nor noticeable.  If it wasn’t for Jack, Magnus didn’t think any of them would have known it was there at all, which was probably a good thing.  The last thing any of them particularly wanted was giants joining in the daily battles on their own whim, or even invading Valhalla en masse to use as a stepping stone into the other eight worlds.  Thor was protecting Midgard, but Magnus wasn’t so sure he was protecting any of the others.

It was a crack between two stones – boulders, more like, each as large as the Chase Space yet crammed so tightly together that not even Nico, the skinniest of the six, ought to be able to squeeze through between them.  It certainly wouldn’t be big enough for the likes of Halfborn to muscle his way through, despite being one of the ways to invade Jotunheim if this was where Ragnarok began, without a little magical assistance.

Magical assistance was something Magnus and Jack both had in spades.  Or swords, more accurately.  Pointy, talking swords who pointedly nudged their hilts into Magnus’ hand and then swung with no real regard for whether or not Magnus’ arm was supposed to bend in that direction.

They were getting better at that, mostly as Magnus slowly learnt how to actually wield a sword and adjusted the rest of his body’s stance to accommodate the swing of his arm. Still, it would probably never not be weird having the movement of his arm dictated by a sword, rather than the other way around, even if the sword in question was a sentient, talking one like Jack.

He saw Will eyeing his shoulder in the corner of his eye.  Apollo, too, didn’t look overly impressed, but then the god was still grumpy about their chosen route to Asgard.

The gods, he had been told by Annabeth, were bad news when they were grumpy.  He had some experience of that himself, of course, but his cousin had been actively dealing with gods since she was seven.  She didn’t have many tales to tell about Apollo, not compared to carefully-worded complaints about Zeus and Hera, and even a very cautious mention of her own mother once, but the implication was still there, and Magnus hoped that Apollo wasn’t going to go full godly temper tantrum on them at some point.  The looks the god kept sending his son were loaded with something that on a mortal he’d call concern, but Magnus wasn’t confident in interpreting godly expressions so maybe it was something else entirely.

So far, though, he hadn’t exploded, and Magnus was sincerely hoping it stayed that way – or at least until they got into Valhalla, when it didn’t matter if he and Alex ended up dead a few thousand times over and could shield the mortals rather more effectively because he didn’t want to see any of them die, and certainly not from death-by-the-god-they’re-helping.

Speaking of Valhalla, Jack had once again proven himself the sharpest known blade in the nine worlds and cut a neat slice through the gap between the boulders, tearing the fabric of Jotunheim apart and giving a glimpse of familiar hallways and wolf motifs through the resulting portal.

Magnus might be used to the wolf decorations by now, but that didn’t mean he had reached the stage of being happy about them.  He was pretty certain he never would.

“Guess I’m up first,” Alex drawled, sounding bored as he gripped his garotte tightly and strode towards the portal, all pink and green and lazy confidence.  “Just in case there’s something waiting to execute anyone that comes through.”

The chance was a little higher than even odds, Magnus reckoned, although he didn’t bother saying it out loud.  Alex knew what Valhalla was like, and the mortals plus god all looked varying shades of green at the idea – or Alex’s nonchalance at possibly going to his death. That too.

“Don’t hang around too long,” was his last warning, before he ducked through and vanished.

“Last chance to change your mind,” Apollo said insistently, looking at the three mortals.  “Will, Meg-”

The daughter of Demeter didn’t bother waiting for him to finish speaking before following Alex, fist full of seeds at the ready.

Apollo sighed dejectedly. Magnus saw Will at least acknowledge the god again, this time with an apologetic yet firm look, before stepping forwards with Nico, but didn’t manage to pass through before his father’s hand grabbed his arm firmly, pulling him to a halt.  Nico paused, but Will nudged him to keep going before turning to face Apollo.

“Apollo,” he started, “we-”

“Don’t have time to argue, I know,” Apollo overrode him, “or to find a different way.”  He still didn’t seem happy about it, but there was a set to his jaw that Magnus thought read a little more like determination than desperation, right then.  “But the einherjar,” he nodded at Magnus, who gave a tight-lipped smile, “are not exaggerating, and nor am I.  Valhalla is deadly, Will.”

“So was Manhattan,” Will retorted.  “And Camp Jupiter.  And the second Gigantomachy.  And the Tower.”  Magnus didn’t know the story of the last one beyond the brief run-down Will had given way back at Fadlan’s Falafel, but he’d heard about the other three from Annabeth in more detail, who had been through them all.  It hadn’t occurred to him that the demigods he was with right now might have been there as well.  They didn’t seem old enough.  “Camp, too, when we were invaded by giants and other monsters.”  Magnus was pretty sure she’d mentioned that one, too.

Apollo winced at every event his son named, but ploughed on.

“That doesn’t mean I’m letting you go in defenceless,” he insisted.  Will’s fingers twitched around air, the remains of his broken bow somewhere behind them in Jotunheim, likely never to be seen again.  “Actually, it makes me even more determined that you won’t.”

“There’s not exactly a choice.”  Will tugged to get free, but Apollo’s grip didn’t relent.

“There is.”  The hand not clutching Will’s arm like the demigod would disappear if it let go extended forwards, until the knuckles of the fist lightly bumped against the bright orange CHB t-shirt the blond was wearing.  In its grip was the golden bow.  “Take it.”

Will’s jaw dropped as his eyes widened.  “But-  Dad-  That’s yours!” he stuttered, blinking at the weapon in disbelief, and what seemed to be more than a bit of horror.  Magnus wondered if he realised that was the first time he’d called the god as such since Angrboda.  Apollo certainly did, if the way his shoulders lost a fraction of tension was anything to go by.

“And now I’m giving it to you,” the god said firmly.  “You are not entering Valhalla unarmed, Will.  Take it.”

People with common sense tended not to defy gods – Magnus had never claimed to have any of that, and Alex and Sam would both back him up on that in a heartbeat.  Unlike Magnus, clearly Will did have at least some common sense, because his fingers cautiously wrapped around the bow, tentative as though he thought it was about it bite him, but taking hold of it just the same.

His eyes widened as he did so, but he still didn’t look enamoured with being given a godly weapon. In fact, he looked more like he believed he was in a dream, or even a nightmare, from the way he was eyeing the bow with some trepidation.  Magnus figured that as long as it didn’t talk – or at least have a terrible taste in songs – it couldn’t be worse than Jack.

“I can’t take this,” Will said, shaking his head slowly.  “I can’t draw this.  No-one can draw your bows, Dad.  They tend to immolate people who try.”

“Unworthy people,” Apollo corrected.  “You, Will, my son, are not unworthy.”  He let go of the bow, leaving it entirely in Will’s hands.  “I haven’t given you the attention you deserve, I know, and I understand if you resent me for it – you have every right to – but if there’s one thing I say that you listen to, please, listen to this:  You are worthy, you’re amazing, and I am so proud to be your father.”

Will looked like he had half a mind to argue with that, so maybe he didn’t have as much common sense as Magnus had attributed to him after all, but a look from Apollo seemed to quell any protests sitting on his tongue.  It didn’t, however, stop Will’s other argument.  “They’re also too heavy, Dad,” he said.  “This is at least twice the draw weight I can manage.”

Apollo chuckled lightly. “You’ll do fine,” he promised, placing his hand on top of Will’s head and musing up the blond strands there a bit. “William Solace, you have my blessing to use this bow.”  A golden glow lit up the demigod and weapon alike, brighter than anything Magnus had seen Will produce himself, before sinking into skin and golden bow.

Will’s blue eyes, a lot like his father’s, Magnus noticed not for the first time, widened again in shock.  Magnus himself was surprised; gods tended not to give out blessings unless there was something in it for them, but all Apollo was doing was disarming himself by giving Will his weapon, especially with his own powers apparently not readily available thanks to Odin’s runes (and that was a thought Magnus quickly skipped over rather than dwell on any longer).  There was no notable benefit for the god, and that went against all his encounters with Norse gods and all the stories he’d heard about the Greek ones.

Suddenly, he felt like an intruder, witnessing something sacred that was never meant for his eyes – or the eyes of anyone aside from Will and his father.

Slowly, Will pulled an arrow from his never-ending quiver and nocked it to the string.  Apollo moved to one side, standing next to Magnus but not acknowledging him, and both of them watched as, with trembling fingers, Will raised the bow and slowly drew back the string, astonishment all over his face as it actually obeyed him, drawing all the way back to his jaw.  He held it there at full draw for a heartbeat, maybe two, before letting the arrow fly off into the distant landscape of Jotunheim.

It was another heartbeat before he lowered his arms, both the left hand holding the bow and the right hand hovering at his shoulder, looking absolutely gobsmacked.

“I-”

“I said you’d be fine,” Apollo reminded him, something that could have been a proud smile if he wasn’t still so clearly unhappy about the next stage of their quest playing across his lips.  His hand rested on Will’s shoulder, and his son looked up at him with wide, still disbelieving eyes.  It made him look more like his age, Magnus thought, suddenly remembering that the blond wasn’t even as old as he’d been when he’d died.  Will didn’t act like it.  The god’s face shifted into something a little more serious.  “We don’t have time to talk now, Will, but we will do. I promise.”  He looked genuinely remorseful about their time limit.  “Unfortunately, we need to get moving now.  Jack and Magnus have been remarkably patient, but I somehow doubt they can hold the doorway open forever, and I’m sure the others will be wondering what’s taking us so long.  Quite frankly, I’m a little surprised Meg hasn’t come back to drag us through.”

Unlike the portals on and off of Yggdrasil, which were temporary at best and a drain on Magnus if he tried to keep them forcibly open for any length of time, the doors into Valhalla were permanent, if not normally held open.  Magnus wasn’t actually feeling any strain from opening the door, which was nice, although he could do without the aching shoulder when Jack had yanked it just a little too far in the wrong direction.  Will glanced over at him and Magnus got the feeling he was being assessed, which was proven correct a moment later when the son of Apollo approached him and placed his hand exactly over the strained muscle.

“Let me,” was all he said before humming quietly, barely audible even with Magnus’ enhanced hearing. It was an unfamiliar tune, but when he looked over at Apollo, the god was smiling fondly at his son, something that could only be pride clear in his eyes.

It reminded him of how his own dad looked at him, how Mom used to look at him, and Magnus suddenly realised that Apollo loved Will, a fact that was completely at odds with the stories he knew of the Greek gods but explained the god’s actions perfectly.

Warmth on his shoulder pulled his attention back to the other demigod.  It was the first time Magnus could remember being successfully healed by someone other than himself; obviously, Will’s technique was different, but Magnus could feel the fibres of his muscles shifting around until the ache vanished, leaving his shoulder feeling as good as new.

“Thanks,” he said, more automatically than anything else, and Will smiled at him.

“No worries,” he promised. “I know I’ve not done a good job of showing it so far – not that that was my fault,” he added hurriedly when Apollo made a pointed noise in the back of his throat, although Magnus wasn’t completely sold that he believed what he was saying, despite the pep talk he’d been given earlier, “- but healing’s always been my primary ability.”

“One of the best,” Apollo interjected quietly, and Magnus wondered how he ever missed the god’s thoughts on his son.  “It’s rare for my children to inherit it quite so strongly, you know.”

Magnus couldn’t read the look that flickered briefly through Will’s eyes as his fellow blond let his hand fall back to his side and muttered something under his breath he probably wasn’t supposed to hear.  “Did the others get it at the expense of everything else, too?”

Unfortunately for Will, Magnus wasn’t the only one with keener ears than the average mortal.

“Healers aren’t warriors.” Apollo flashed his son a soft, proud smile.  “You save lives, not take them, and trust me, that’s far more impressive.  Your powers-” there was a stress on the plural “-are all incredible, just like you.”  He gestured at the bow.  “That’s to keep you safe, Will, not turn you into something you’re not meant to be.”

If Apollo’s aim had been to cheer up his son, Magnus didn’t think he did a particularly great job of it, because Will frowned.  “Now you’ve got nothing to keep you safe,” he pointed out.  “Without you, this quest won’t finish.”

Magnus saw Apollo squeeze Will’s shoulder lightly in a manner that was obviously supposed to be reassuring.  “I’m a god, Will.  I’m not defenceless anymore, and einherjar can’t kill me.”

That did not pacify Will in the slightest, judging by the look on his face.  Either Apollo was totally oblivious, or just didn’t want to discuss it any further – which was definitely more like standard god-like behaviour, in Magnus’ experience – because he ducked around his son and vanished through the door, leaving the two healers and Jack behind.

Will’s knuckles went white around the bow, but there was a soft look of reluctant fondness creeping onto his face that didn’t make his thoughts on Apollo any less confusing to decipher.  “He’s ridiculous,” he muttered, before turning to look at Magnus.  “Let’s get going before they start worrying.”

“Alex, worry?”  Magnus rolled his eyes.  “Your boyfriend might, but Alex will just tease me for being slow.”

“And that isn’t his way of worrying?” Will asked.  He disappeared through the door before Magnus’ brain could catch up.

“Nah,” he said to the portal, Jack hovering alongside him but not the point of address.  “He’s worrying when he comes to find me.  Let’s go, Jack.”

He stepped through.

Chapter 23>>>

Fandom: Trials of Apollo
Rating:Gen
Genre:Family
Characters: Artemis, Apollo

Apollo could lie all he wanted, Artemis was the older one.  She’d never felt that as keenly as she did now.

Day twenty-six of TOApril organised by @ferodactyl, “Missing You”.   We’ve got some TON spoilers in this one as I once again start playing around with godly relationships during this challenge.

There’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Apollo was back.

Artemis didn’t know how, none of them had been able to see the ending of the confrontation with Python, a confrontation Apollo had looked far too much like he was losing for her comfort before Hephaestus TV had lost track of the battling duo, but he’d appeared in a shower of golden light in the middle of the throne room and she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  Their father had had nothing immediate to say on the subject, still dressed in mourning clothes, and Artemis hadn’t waited to hear what anyone might have come up with before acting.

Apollo was back.

He was unconscious, a state a god should never find themselves in, let alone a god as powerful as Apollo, and as naked as the day he’d finally deigned to leave the comfort of their mother’s womb (and no, Artemis would not forgive him for taking so long, nor would she ever let him get away with calling her little sister), but he was back.

Artemis was still worried. She’d transported him directly into her palace, her power singing as it wrapped around her other half, the sun to her moon, feeling the content hum of her twin’s essence for the first time in far too long, and settled him on a reclining couch before waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

It had been nearly two weeks since his dramatic return.  She knew the others were waiting, too, wondering what was taking so long when Apollo clearly had all his divinity back at last, but there was only one other she ever allowed so deep into her sanctum, and that was the twin laying far, far too still on the couch.  Apollo was safe at last, defended in a way she’d so desperately wanted to do for the past six months yet, barring one all-too-brief encounter as Diana, had been restrained from doing.

Apolloloved to call her his little sister, and it had never failed to rile her up because it was a lie, she was the elder, she was the one that had spent nine twin-free days on Delos before he deigned to join her at last, but she suspected she knew why.  He’d got it into his head, at some point, that it was his job to protect her. Olympus knew why, maybe it was something to do with mortal thinking influencing him over the years, the very human thought that brothers should protect sisters regardless of age order.  She couldn’t blame the Atlas Incident of a few years prior, because it had started far earlier than that, but she was well aware that it hadn’t helped matters at all.

He’d got worse since then, after all, and Artemis had the horrid suspicion that that had been the idiotic thought process behind his dealings with his blasted Roman descendant – he’d been too weak to help her directly, forced to rely on demigods and Hunters, but maybe if he had a stronger prayer base again, he might have been able to do something else, or so her daft twin could so easily have been thinking.  For the god of knowledge, sometimes he was unbearably stupid.

She’d been the older twin for four millennia, but never had she so keenly felt what it was like to be the big sister than now, with Apollo approaching two weeks of unconsciousness. He was back, but she was still almost as helpless as she had been during his mortal punishment.  She’d done everything she could think of to rouse him, applying what little healing knowledge she had in the hopes of finding something she could fix, only for his essence to sing out to her that he was perfectly hale and healthy and that there was nothing tofix.

If he was truly hale and healthy, he would be awake, reciting his daft poetry at her (why oh why had he decided that he preferred composing those terrible haikus over the masterful epics of the Hellenistic era that she’d actually enjoyed listening to?  Admittedly she’d never told him they were good even back then, but still), a grin as bright as the sun chariot he drove and the dreaded little sister falling from his lips as his eyes shone with amusement.

He knew was annoying. Of course he knew was annoying, he was her twin.  It was his job description to be as infuriating as possible, and never let it be said that Apollo wasn’t fantastic at anything he applied himself to. Archery, music, poetry, being the bane of Artemis’ existence… Apollo had it all down pat.  She gave as good as she got, of course – being a twin was a two-way exchange, after all – but she was pretty sure she never annoyed him as much as he did her.

Keeping watch over his unconscious, unmoving form, Artemis would have given anything to see his eyes open again, to see the golden fires of the sun focus on her as they flickered smugly. No doubt, she’d very quickly regret it, because Apollo was very good at being annoying (she called him her irresponsible twin for a reason, even though it was half a lie because Apollo took his duties just as seriously as he did his pleasures), but right then her future irritation didn’t matter, because it would mean Apollo was finally himself again.

Finally awake. Finally safe.

It seemed ridiculous that this was as painful as it was.  She should be elated to have him back, relieved beyond words even in her twin’s arsenal that he was on Olympus once more, his power restored, but it just didn’t feel right.

Apollo seemed small, laid on her couch with a thin sheet covering the parts of his anatomy she had no desire to see more than absolutely necessary (why mortals insisted on immortalising her brother in stone without any clothes, she would never understand). That didn’t make sense, especially as he was in his default young adult appearance rather than the late teens he’d been favouring for the past few centuries, so by rights he should look bigger, but as he was so still, devoid of his natural dramatics while unconscious, he just seemed small.

Vulnerable.

Artemis hadn’t missed her brother as fiercely in her entire existence as she had since Gaia’s defeat, and it wasn’t a feeling that was going to go away until Apollo was awake and back to normal, no matter how much she hated his teasing.

“If you wake up now I’ll let you spend a week with the Hunt,” she bargained quietly, kneeling beside the couch and resting a hand on his arm lightly.  It wasn’t the first time she’d made the offer since he’d reappeared.  It wasn’t the only offer she’d made him, either. She’d give him almost anything he wanted, if it meant he’d finally come back to her.

Almost anything, because there was no way she was relinquishing the title of eldest twin to him. Not when, like this, he was so clearly her little brother.  Diana remembered his emotional outbursts, his honest emotional outbursts, after saving his life too clearly for that.  He’d been protecting her – unnecessarily, she might add – for centuries, perhaps millennia, but right now it was painfully apparent that the one that needed protecting was him, and as his big sister, Artemis was going to do exactly that.  Somehow.

Like all the previous offers, this one didn’t get a reaction, either, and she sighed sadly.

“When are you going to wake up, little brother?” she murmured.  Unsurprisingly, but still depressingly, he didn’t answer.

She wouldn’t leave his side until he did.

Fandom: Trials of Apollo
Rating: Teen
Genre:Family/Romance
Characters: Apollo

Everything had its own song.  Apollo couldn’t hear his, so he improvised.

Day twenty-five of TOApril organised by @ferodactyl, “Songs That Never Go Away”.  I don’t have a clue what this is but also my brain’s been in a slightly weird place all day so that probably contributed to this.

There’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Music and life were closely intertwined.  Everything had its own song, and as the god of music Apollo knew them all.  He knew the sounds of nature, every ditty and warble the birds made, every cry of an animal, every hum of the plants.  He knew the rhythm of heartbeats, the way no two humans’ sounded exactly the same even though humanity had the measure of pulses and what they meant.

He knew that all those heartbeats had a finite length, that one day, too soon, they’d fall silent, never to be repeated again.

Apollo didn’t remember making the conscious decision to memorise the unique sounds of human heartbeats. Not all of them, he’d seen billions of humans across the millennia after all, but the special ones. His lovers, his children, the mortals he intertwined with deliberately and personally, who flickered through his existence for such painfully short yet bright times, those he memorised. He could recite them all, one after the other, from the first to the latest.  Sometimes he did, weaving them into a single, continuous melody made up of parts that didn’t last long by themselves but as part of a whole had yet to end.

As a god, he didn’t really have a heartbeat.  Not in the same way as a mortal, not a countdown to his demise.  Gods had their own songs, too, their essences singing out to him in their own way, but it wasn’t the same thing.  Not at all.

The only song Apollo couldn’t hear was his own, the same way mortals couldn’t hear their own voices the same way everyone else did.  Not even the best recording was truly accurate to the inflections that made every voice unique, and not even the sharpest ear for music in existence could hear his own song.  He created his own instead, to fill the silence.

It was that same song of the mortals, a storyline to music the way the best songs were, emotions and experiences spinning together into something unique, reflecting the way they shaped him, because they did.  Apollo was not so naïve he didn’t know that the mortals he loved didn’t have an impact on him, one way or another.

Most were subtle, barely there and only a few bars of the song, too quick to be identified if Apollo didn’t concentrate on them.  Others were far more important, major events in his timeline even if they were still the tragically short existences of mortals.  Certain lovers who had left their mark, for good or for ill.  Admetus, Hyacinthus, Daphne, Commodus, to name but a few.  Each of their heartbeat songs spanned several lines, accentuated with a vast array of emotions as Apollo recalled with perfect clarity how each of them had made him feel.

Some of his children also took up large parts of the song.  Asclepius was one, the mortal heartbeat before he joined the ranks of the gods and his song shifted to one of an essence drenched in regret, sorrow and a deep pride.  Will was another, on the far more recent end of the spectrum with a heartbeat that sang of compassion and kindness.

Then there were other, rare additions of mortals who were neither lovers nor children.  Meg was the most recent example, somehow a sister in all but blood whose heartbeat sang of stubbornness, of blooming flowers and fond insults.

Apollo sang the song to himself, over and over again in the sanctity of his palace.  He never had a reason to, yet always had a reason to. His memory was flawless – he was the god of truth, god of knowledge, how could it not be – but he sang it to remember them all regardless.  He sang it to grieve for the too-short mortal existences he had no choice but to let pass to Thanatos and Hades one by one, he sang it to celebrate their memories.

He sang because he wanted to, because music was important and the mortals that had been and gone were important even when he was the only one left to remember them (who cared to remember them), or perhaps because he was so often the only one left to remember them as time continued its ever-progressive trudge and the mortals whose lives they’d touched passed away themselves, leaving nothing but whispered stories and legends of those who had made a loud mark on history, and nothing at all for those who had ghosted under the radar.

He sang and he saw them all in his minds’ eye, from the first time he’d laid eyes on them, to the moments he’d spent (snatched, more often than not, especially in the case of his children) with them, to the instant Thanatos summoned them and he rarely got the chance to say goodbye.

He sang so he wouldn’t cry every time he thought of them.  It didn’t stop the tears at other times, when he remembered their varying fates (so many far, far too cruel, mortal lives didn’t haveto end so abruptly but so few of them made to old age and a peaceful death in their sleep; not even the most recent ones, the ones where he’d interfered more than he’d dared for a millennia, had been afforded such a luxury), it didn’t always stop the tears anyway, but it was a way to remember their lives, and not their deaths.

The little things. The colours in their eyes, the music in their voices, the way their faces lit up when something went their way, when they were happy.  The things that made them them, as unique as their heartbeats.  Their parts weren’t even in length because his time with them wasn’t equal in length, for a variety of reasons that sometimes weren’t even Apollo’s fault, but they were the best reflections he could show.

It wasn’t enough.  It could never be enough; for such short lives they all shone so bright.  It was all Apollo had, as millennia passed and everyone else forgot but he remembered.

And it never stopped growing, new heartbeats threading in where the previous had fallen silent, because they were mortal but Apollo wasn’t and the world, his existence within it, wasn’t over yet.

Fandom: Trials of Apollo/Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard
Rating:Teen
Genre: Adventure, Friendship
Characters: Will Solace, Magnus Chase, Apollo, Nico di Angelo, Alex Fierro, Meg McCaffrey

Unfortunately for you guys, there’s going to be a longer wait for chapter 26 than normal because I’m busy irl.  I’m not yet certain if the next update will be next Saturday, or the Weds after that; it’ll depend on rl.  In the meantime, enjoy~

Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

<<<Chapter 24

WILL (XXV)
Some Unplanned Nap Time

Nico jerked upright. “People are coming,” he said urgently. Dead people, the son of Hades no doubt meant. Einherjar.

“Where from?” Will asked, looking around.  He let go of Meg so he had a free hand to pluck an arrow from his quiver.

“Behind us,” Nico clarified. “From the stairs.  There’s too many to fight our way through.”

“Can you stop them?” Will hated asking it, because he was certain that the effort of controlling that many dead would leave Nico incapacitated, but incapacitated was marginally better than dead.

Nico shook his head. “I don’t think I can control einherjar,” he admitted.  “I haven’t tried, but it doesn’t feel like I can.  Maybe because they’re under Odin’s domain instead of my father’s?”

Apollo nodded.  “That would do it,” he admitted in a low voice, as though he didn’t want Carrie or the new einherjar from floor nineteen to hear him.

“Then we’ll have to keep running,” Magnus said, tugging on his pendant.  Jack materialised.  “Lead the way, Jack.”

“Right, señor!” The sword started forwards, only to block a swing from an axe.

Carrie smirked again, the expression twisting what was a reasonably pretty face into something ugly and cruel.  “You’re not going anywhere,” she told them.  “I told you, Lord Apollo – you’ve done your part.  As for those two-” she sneered at Nico and Meg, “-their deaths will add a little more fuel to the fire, wouldn’t you say?  A son of the so-called Big Three and a daughter of one of the elder Olympians – their parents don’t usually get involved in wars, do they?”  She flung her javelin straight at Nico, who barely dodged in time.  “The deaths of their children should incite them nicely.”

“Olympians?” T.J. asked, turning to face the approaching stampede behind them.

“Like the Olympics?” Mallory sounded equally confused.  Halfborn, on the other hand, let out what sounded like a very colourful string of expletives in Norse.

“The stories… the gods of Greece… they’re real?”

“Of course they are, you oaf,” Carrie rolled her eyes, before returning her attention to Apollo, who looked as taut as a bowstring.  “As for your son, Lord Apollo, well, I don’t think anyone will miss him.”

Nicosnarled and lunged forwards before Will could even process what she’d said.  Stygian Iron flashed, a void in the hallway of Valhalla, and clashed against an axe.

A warm hand rested heavily on his shoulder, squeezing tightly.  It was trembling minutely, and Will glanced at his dad, whose eyes had shifted a hue or two closer to burning gold.

“What is going on?” T.J.’s voice had climbed half an octave.

“We’ll explain later!” Alex’s voice cracked through the air.  “Run.”  A jaguar launched itself at Carrie, shoving Nico out of the way of a swinging axe and swiping deadly claws at the Valkyrie, who dodged backwards.  “I’ll handle my sister.”  He snarled the term as though it was the deepest insult he could give.

With the hoard of einherjar almost upon them, they needed no more encouragement.  Jack shot past where the jaguar was suddenly wrestling with a wolf, before it turned to a bear and a wolf, and if it wasn’t for the streaks of pink and green in the bear’s fur, Will wouldn’t have had a clue which one was Alex as he followed Magnus and the others in darting past, barely noticing when Apollo’s hand fell away but aware of his father keeping pace with him in his periphery.

The wolf snarled and tried to snap at them as they fled, but the bear flung it into the wall before picking it up again and hurtling it at the oncoming einherjar.

Will didn’t look to see what happened as he kept running, bow held at the ready in his right hand and an arrow in the fingers of his left.  Behind them, there was noise, animals howling – wolves, and more than could be accounted for by the two shapeshifters – and battle cries in multiple languages.

He really hoped their exit wasn’t far, because they were being gained on every moment.  Alex was no doubt in the thick of the fray, but there was no way the child of Loki could keep their pursuers all at bay; Carrie alone was a dangerous threat, and she wasn’t even an einherjar, by the sounds of it.

The same thought must have run through the minds of the rest of them, because without warning the rest of floor nineteen, barring Magnus, stopped running.

“Go!” Halfborn bellowed when Will faltered.  “We will hold them back.”

“This is what Beantown asked us for in the first place,” Mallory reminded them, a sharp grin on her face.  Her thin knives flashed as she twirled them in her fingers.

“Make sure you do whatever it is you need to,” T.J. added.  “Floor nineteen!”

The trio’s war cry was at least as impressive as anything else Will had heard from behind them as they charged back the way they’d come.

“I owe you guys!” Magnus yelled back at them.  Unlike the rest, he hadn’t slowed at all.  “They’ll be fine,” he urged, a lie because Will knew they were going to die, but there was enough conviction in his voice nonetheless that Will found himself speeding up again, running alongside Nico with Apollo and Meg now immediately ahead of them.  Magnus himself ducked back until he was covering their backs, taking up the position that Alex had held all the way through Valhalla.

Unlike Alex, Magnus didn’t give off quite so much of a comforting air, as though nothing could get through him.  Then again, Magnus was primarily a healer, not a warrior, despite his current situation as one of Odin’s honoured warriors.

Will found the energy to run a little faster, keeping his eyes studiously on the glowing sword hurtling through the air ahead of them and trying very hard not to think about who they’d left behind, how much time the four members of floor nineteen would be able to buy them, and the fact that they were going to diefor them.

“Nearly there!” Jack promised.  He wasn’t even singing, which Will registered as an unusual occurrence.  Not that long ago, he’d have thought a talking sword was unusual, but Jack had come through for them enough times that he was just part of the group now.

Three to start, and six to end.  They’d thought the six of them were the same six that had been travelling through Jotunheim together, but Alex had fallen behind, and Jack wassentient…

But that meant that Alex was going to be killed by his own sister, and Will wasn’t desensitised enough by his exposure to the einherjar to be able to think of death as anything less than final, despite everything he’d been told to the contrary. To have it at the hands of family – by the definition of shared blood, because Alex and Carrie certainly didn’t seem to consider each other family the same way Will thought of Austin, Kayla, Jerry, Gracie and Yan, to say nothing of Lee, Michael and the others he’d lost during the last two wars.

He shook his head fiercely. Now was not the time to think about his dead siblings, who were very dead and not secretly squirrelled away in an afterlife hotel in preparation of a battle.

“Just around the next corner!” Jack encouraged them, before disappearing around said corner himself. Without an einherjar to help him make the turn, Will almost stumbled over his own feet trying to decelerate enough to make it without crashing into the wall.  His shoulder still knocked it, and he dropped the arrow he was holding.

A moment later, something large and heavy crashed against the wall behind him, narrowly missing Magnus. It was pink and green and red, a deep crimson that smeared the wall as the bear pulled itself back upright and shimmered into a far more familiar face.

“The others are down,” Alex reported, running bloody hands through his hair as they kept running. “There’s wolves right behind me.”

Wolves?  Will remembered the wolves outside the Chase Space, aggressive but weak to the same things as any other canid.  “Just wolves?” he asked.

“Just wolves,” Magnus muttered, his voice a little higher.  “Just wolves, he says.”

“They’re the closest,” Alex confirmed.  “By the way, she and her now.”

Will did not have the mental capacity to react to that and their situation at the same time, so he left that unacknowledged.  “Run on ahead,” he said, slowing and drawing another arrow from his quiver.

“Will!” Apollo and Nico yelled immediately, slowing in turn.  Will shot them both his best I know what I’m doing and you will shut up and listen or so help me glare, perfected from years of dealing with problematic patients.

“Keep running,” he demanded. “And cover your ears.”

He couldn’t stop the einherjar.  But he could slow down the wolves.

Apollo made a pained noise and Nico yelled at him again, but Will refused to cave.  “I know what I’m doing,” he promised, vocalising the words because clearly his glare hadn’t been good enough, “Dad, you need to get to Asgard.”

“Ineed to stay with you,” his father disagreed, neatly dodging Meg’s attempt to grab him as Magnus yanked Nico along despite his protests, collaring the daughter of Demeter when she seemed determined to hang back with Apollo, too.  The god returned to Will’s side so fast he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d actually teleported.  Part of him wondered if Apollo just didn’t trust that he could hold the wolves off alone, but then he remembered what his father had been like during his trials, adamantly refusing to let anyone else put themselves in danger if he could help it.

He remembered hearing about Jason, and realised that maybe his dad wasn’t slighting him at all.

Will slowed down further, Apollo matching him in his periphery.  Alex hung back with them, too, but before Will could turn his glare on her – she didn’t need to hang back, too - she turned into a snake. He flinched as scales coiled around his leg, dropping another arrow, and then the smooth texture disappeared to be replaced with something small and leathery in that way tough skin had.  A glance he couldn’t really afford showed a small mole clinging to him instead.

Well, at least he wasn’t alone in case the plandidn’t work as he hoped, Will accepted in some relief. He stopped running entirely, turning back to face the corridor after one last glance at the trio still running – or rather, Magnus dragging the other two along.  There was a door immediately ahead of them, and Will hoped that was the one they were after.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention back the way they came, aware of his unarmed father – who was a literal god and could fend for himself, he had to remind himself – next to him, and held his bow at the ready, first arrow nocked and waiting to fly.

The first wolves rounded the corner barely half a second later, teeth bared in snarls and stained red. Will carefully didn’t let himself wonder which of the floor nineteen’s einherjar the blood belonged to. Standing his ground as the creatures advanced was nerve-wracking, every instinct in his body screaming for him to run, but he locked his muscles and refused to give in to the instinct.  Instead, he shot arrow after arrow, feeling more than hearing the golden bow sing, as he both thinned their numbers and waited for them to close in.  Next to him, he couldn’t see what Apollo was doing, but there were more wolves dropping than the number of arrows flying dictated there should be.

The closer they were, the more effective the whistle would be.  The closer they got, the more wolves would be in range.

The closer they got, the better chance they all had.

Warmth flooded through his whole body, a golden glow shimmering into existence in his periphery. It wasn’t his own doing – he wasn’t the biggest fan of turning on the light, so to speak, and had no reason to it right then anyway – although he didn’t think he’d ever be able to mistake a blessing from his father for anything else, anyway.

He’d been blessed a few times in his life, although until today it had always been during particularly intense healing sessions, but never twice in the space of an hour.

It was a quiet comfort, that Apollo was helping him out in more ways than one, but that still didn’t make it much easier to stand his ground as time slowed – not literally, thank the gods, but in the way that battles had, with all his senses working overdrive and his reflexes honed in tandem.  The first time he’d felt it had been the Battle of the Labyrinth, when he’d lost Lee.  Then it had been Manhattan, and he wondered if this was how Michael had felt, standing his ground on WilliamsburgBridge, covering everyone’s retreat as he stared death in the face.

Will could really do with his big brother’s sonic arrows right about now, but that was Michael’s speciality, not his.  All he had against this pack was his whistle, and as the first wolf got close enough to make a flying leap for him, he dropped the latest arrow he had been about to nock, put his fingers to his lips, and let the ultrasonic noise pierce through the hallway.

The effect was as effective as it was instantaneous.  The wolves dropped like flies, bloodstained snarls replaced by heaps of stunned fur and the occasional, pitiful whimper.  The lead wolf landed barely an inch short of Will’s feet, and he stumbled back before it tried to take a bite.

“That’s useful,” Alex said, human again next to him.  Will barely had a chance to notice her change of shape before she was gripping his arm and all but dragging him towards the others.  Apollo’s warm hand caught his other arm, hauling him forwards with godly strength that almost yanked Will’s shoulder out of his socket.  “Bet Magnus wishes he could do that.”  She flashed him a bloodstained grin, not too unlike that of the wolves.  Were her canines always that sharp?

“Hurry!” Nico’s voice sounded strangled with panic, and Will stumbled a little as Alex increased her pace. His boyfriend’s face was white, even compared to his usual complexion, and his grip on his sword was white-knuckled. Both he and Meg looked a hair’s breadth from abandoning their position by the door and running back towards him.

Even without looking behind him, Will knew from their reactions that there was something dangerous on their heels.  Not a wolf – too quiet for that.  Probably not one of the einherjar, either, for the same reason.

“Will!” Nico screamed, and something slammed into him, knocking him sideways into Apollo, who caught him in a tight, bruising grip.  His shoulder, already smarting from the previous collisions it had suffered, complained loudly at the contact.  Drawing his bow was going to smart.

He tried to push himself upright again and winced at the protest of his bruised shoulder but couldn’t let that stop him.  Apollo’s hold was just getting tighter but Alex wasn’t holding onto him anymore; he didn’t know what had happened to her, but he had to keep going.  His dad barely gave him a chance to find his balance again, clutching him close and half-dragging, half-carrying him towards the door.

Will wished he hadn’t, not because he didn’t appreciate the help – he did, his legs were tired and trembling from fear, adrenaline, and exhaustion – but because it gave his eyes the opportunity to wander.

The wolves were moving again, slow and unsteady but finding their way to their feet nonetheless. Numerous einherjar and girls wearing the same uniform as Carrie – other Valkyrie, no doubt – were advancing on them, slowed by the wolves in their way but picking their way around with single-minded focus and murder in their eyes.

In front of it all was Alex, swaying where she stood with a familiar javelin through her chest at a skewed angle.  Realisation crashed over Will, and he almost threw up as he realised the javelin hadn’t been aimed at her at all.

She’d pushed him out of the way.

Right behind her was Carrie, perfect ringlets in disarray and weighed down with crimson matting. If she was still mortal, there was no way it was all hers, although her Valkyrie uniform was in tatters.

Alex cursed her weakly, blood erupting from her mouth, before her mismatched eyes glanced over Will and focused on someone ahead of him.  He knew without looking that it had to be Magnus.

“Get them out,” she ordered, voice a rasp, a grin curling across her mouth even though she looked pissed.  Bloodied hands gripped the garotte tightly.  “If I wake up to Ragnarok…” she coughed, more blood spurting from between her lips, “…I’ll kill you myself.”

Will watched in horror as she turned back to face the advancing enemies, barely able to stay on her feet but refusing to go down without one last fight.

It was barely a fight. Carrie lunged forwards, dodging the garotte that slashed her way, and got her hand around the crimson-stained shaft of the javelin, yanking back until the weapon slipped out of Alex’s body with a disgusting squelch.  Faster than Alex’s injured body could react, Carrie whipped it around and the point impaled her neck.

Alex went down and didn’t get back up.

Apollo’s arms tightened around him further, if that was even possible.  Will blinked back tears that he didn’t have time for, never mind that Alex would supposedly resurrect in a few hours, and somehow missed the moment they left the hotel and landed in a flagstone courtyard.

“Shut the door!” someone, maybe Jack, shouted.  A moment later, there was the sound of something slamming closed, and then there were four of them in a heap on the flagstones.  Will was trembling, and he suspected some of the others were, too.

“Will!”  Apollo’s grip on him loosened a fraction as Nico gripped his arms tightly.  “Will, are you okay?”

No.  “Y-yeah,” he said, pulling himself the rest of the way out of his father’s hold and meeting his boyfriend’s dark, worried eyes. “I’m not hurt.”  His shoulder told him he was lying, but he ignored it. “But Alex-”

“Alex will be fine,” Magnus cut in.  He was the only one of them still on his feet, looking around agitatedly.  “She died in Valhalla, so she’ll resurrect in a few hours.”  He shook his head.  “I know it’s rough to see, but that’s just what Valhalla’s like.  She’ll be mad about it, but she’ll be fine.”

Will swallowed.  “If I hadn’t-”

“If you hadn’t stopped the wolves, we’d all have been torn to shreds before we got out,” Magnus said firmly.  “There was no way we’d have made it.  Alex knew she was the least likely one to survive all the way to Asgard.  We both knew we’d sacrifice ourselves in a heartbeat to keep you lot alive.  Actually alive, I mean, not einherjar-alive like we are.”  He held out his hand for Will to take.  “Come on.  We have the end of the world to stop.”

Will looked at his companions.  Nico was still white, but he seemed to be accepting of what Magnus was saying because he was watching Will, his focus very much on the present rather than off with the ghosts as he sometimes got.  Meg was shaking a little, fiddling with her seed pouch and sending glances towards where the door had been that looked more than a little afraid.  Apollo might have relaxed his grip slightly, but his face was ashen and he was trembling almost as much as Meg and Will.

None of them were in any sort of state to challenge a god, or two.  But what choice did they have?  The prophecy had been unusually plain on that regard:

The abused child must stand tall
Or else the nine will start to fall

They were the only unresolved lines now, Will suspected, running the whole thing through his mind rapidly.

Dead yet alive the stolen god sleeps
Where healing hands swing the sword that speaks

Those lines were simple enough; Apollo had been stolen – although admittedly on whose orders was not yet known – and kept as an einherji in Magnus’ floor.

Thought and memory separate, unite
Die once, die twice, and risk true sight

Those referenced Apollo’s self-induced amnesia, and the way he’d died twice – properly died, not einherjar-death-and-resurrection – before his powers had returned.  The riskwas almost certainly the fact that as soon as he’d returned, he’d drawn Zeus’ attention and become a potential catalyst for war.

Three to start and six to end

Arguably, there were only five of them right then, so that line wasn’t necessarily fully revealed, but it seemed obvious enough.  Maybe his earlier thought was right and Jack counted.

Mixed blood to face the one who’d rend
Like from like, turn peer to foe
Sit on back, enjoy the show

Those lines, Will realised, had been about Angrboda; mixed blood had been all of them – demigods, both Greek and Norse, as well as the simultaneously mortal and immortal Lestollo, to coin Mallory’s nickname.  He and Magnus had been the like, and all five of them had been the peers, while Apollo – as Lester – had been unaffected and forced to watch them tear each other apart alongside a clearly pleased Angrboda.

Misfired arrow shall find the mark
Buried deep inside the father’s heart

And, as he’d always known, those had been about him and Apollo.  No-one else was ever going to be shooting their father in the heart, and Will was never going to get over the sight of Lester with his own arrow in his heart, even if it had been the final, necessary, trigger to get Apollo’s memories and powers back.

Unfortunately, while the last line was almost certainly a warning that Ragnarok was waiting for them to fail, he still had no idea who the abused child was supposed to be, and how that would stop Ragnarok, let alone Zeus and an inter-pantheon war.

An inter-pantheon war that seemed to have already started, he realised as the unmistakable crack of lightning echoed through the courtyard.

Magnus was still holding out his hand, and Will grasped it, letting the einherji pull him to his feet and finally looking around at their surroundings.

The courtyard itself was empty aside from them, which was probably a good thing because none of them had been in a state to fight immediately after arriving in Asgard.

Asgard.  Arguably the Norse equivalent of Olympus, if there was such a thing.  The flagstones they stood on were gold, stone buildings surrounded them, so tall they were lost in the clouds above, and the doors were made of hammered bronze.

It simultaneously felt nothing like Olympus – no Greco-Roman architecture, no white marble – while also thrumming with the sort of godly power that Will had experienced in his dreams, and when he’d seen almost the entire pantheon united after defeating Typhon. It was, unmistakably, no place on Earth- Midgard.

Thunder rolled and lightning cracked across the sky.  Will was familiar enough with Thalia to recognise Zeus’ lightning when he saw it.

“Is it too much to hope for that father isn’t with Odin?” Apollo sighed, standing at his right shoulder. Will gave him an apologetic look.

“What do you think?” Meg was less apologetic.

“Angry god time, yay,” Magnus muttered sarcastically.  “Let’s get this over with.”

Asgard wasn’t built to human proportions, but the door on floor thirteen had spat them out close to where Zeus was throwing his temper tantrum.  Will wondered how many of the other Greek gods he’d brought with him; there was no sign of any other godly powers being used, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

In fact, if Zeus wasn’t alone, that hopefully meant he was just sparking off in rage, but that no actual fighting or war had started.

“Why did he have to get here first?” Apollo muttered unhappily, and Will suddenly remembered that Apollo hadn’t seen any of his godly family, barring Artemis-as-Diana briefly, since being turned to Lester.  He hadn’t seen Zeus since the king of the gods had initiated his punishment.

This was hardly the ideal family reunion, even before the presence of the Norse gods complicated things further.

The five of them reached the next courtyard over, and Will’s breath stuttered in his chest as he caught sight of the gods, some familiar and some not, staring each other down as godly power flickered over the forms of the Greeks – all of the Greeks present, and there were several – and the Norse stood strong in front of them.

One of the gods, Ares, took an impatient step forward.  All hell broke loose, but Will didn’t get a chance to notice as all of a sudden agony burst through his abdomen.

The golden bow, his father’s bow, his bow, slipped from numb fingers to clatter to the equally golden paving.  Crimson splattered the ground, a lot of it very quickly, and Will’s vision started to swirl, grey encroaching on the edges and turning everything gloomy and fuzzy.

“Will!”

Nico’s voice was shriller than Will had ever heard it before, but faint.  Muffled, as though someone had stuffed his ears with cotton wool. He blinked, trying to locate Nico, but black clothing merged with darkening vision and he couldn’t make him out. Couldn’t make anything out.

His knees screamed as they jarred against something hard and unyielding.

And then there was nothing.

Chapter 26>>>

Fandom: Trials of Apollo
Rating:Gen
Genre:Family/Hurt/Comfort
Characters: Will Solace, Apollo

Will wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been a grieving Apollo.

My response to this week’s @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt, “asking for permission”. This one clocks in at 914 words, according to MSWord.  This prompt had to be Apollo&Will.  It just had to be.

There’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Will wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when, looking to get a little time away from the hustle and bustle of camp, he ended up wandering aimlessly into the forest – yes, a bad idea, he knew, but he wasn’t going far and he really did want some actual time to himself – and his feet brought him to Zeus’ Fist.  It certainly hadn’t been to end up there, somewhere he’d done his best to avoid ever since the battle of the Labyrinth a few years earlier.

Itdefinitely hadn’t been the young man sitting on the ground listlessly, one hand pressed to the earth while his back rested against the rocky outcrop.  Golden hair looked darker, maybe because he was in the shade of the trees and rock, maybe because he’d gone for something slightly different, and fell limply about his shoulders.  It was completely loose, unusual for that length, which Will was used to seeing in a more half-up, half-down style.

He was sitting on the spot where Lee had died.  With his darker hair, he looked like Lee, a little.  The hair was too long – Lee had always kept his cropped short – but for a brief moment, Will’s heart stuttered.

Apollo didn’t look up, and the thought flickered through Will’s mind that his arrival hadn’t been noticed. Feeling like he shouldn’t be there, that if Apollo wanted company he’d have come into camp proper rather than sneaking into the surrounding forest without a word, Will turned to leave again.

A call of his name, quiet but unmistakable, stopped him.

“Stay,” Apollo said, but it sounded more like a plea, the slightest uptick in inflection at the end posing it like a tentative invite.  Will turned back around to see dark blue eyes peeking up at him from behind the curtain of dark gold.

He’d gone wandering because he wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t resist his dad’s call.  Besides, it was different with Apollo; Apollo knew.

Will padded quietly over to his side, trying not to think too hard about how this had been where Lee died, that Lee’s blood was saturated through the soil beneath his feet. Apollo’s hand was still pressed to the dirt, palm flat against the ground, and Will decided he didn’t want to know the reason.

(He knew why.  He wasn’t the only one that knew exactly where Lee had fallen.)

Apollo didn’t acknowledge him when he tentatively lowered himself to sit next to him, the god’s eyes once again focused on the ground at their feet.  He looked small, less like a god and more like a mortal even though he still had the godly looks Will was familiar with, more or less.  It was the way his shoulders were hunched in on themselves, a little.  The curved slump of the spine.  The downwards incline of his head.

He looked sad, and there was something like a little oh in Will’s chest when he realised that Apollo was mourning his son, that he really, truly, did mourn them not just when they died, but in the years following.  It wasn’t that Will had thought he didn’t, but he hadn’t put much thought into it at all, really.  After all, Apollo was a god and had many, many children over the millennia. Part of Will had thought that maybe he was numb to it by now, used to the routine and capable of boxing it all up and tidying it away neatly in the back of his mind.

That part of Will had just been thoroughly proven wrong.

“Can I hug you?” he asked after a moment, unsure what Apollo wanted, needed from him but seeing him upset and feeling the urge to do something to help, if he could.  Apollo was usually free with hugs – often the one initiating, although Will was acutely aware that he’d been the one to start a few, especially when he’d been mortal – but something about the situation felt a little different, like asking for permission before touching the grieving god was necessary, this time.

There was the faintest nod, as though Apollo wasn’t sure how to say yes, or if he should say yes, and Will decided to take the chance.  He slid an arm across the back of Apollo’s shoulders, pressing their sides together and tightening his grip a moment later, when Apollo didn’t pull away.

For a heartbeat, there was no reaction, and then – quick as a striking snake – Will found himself wrapped up tightly in his dad’s embrace, Apollo’s face buried in his hair.

“You never have to ask,” he heard murmured above him.  The arms around him trembled slightly.  “Will. You can always hug me.”  In answer, Will threaded his other arm out of his dad’s grip and wrapped it around Apollo in turn, his arms near enough overlapping around the god’s back.

He wasn’t even sure which one of them the hug was for, not really.  He’d wanted to help Apollo, however he could, but he’d also been wandering around because he’d thought he’d wanted to be alone – or at least to be free of responsibilities of camp, for a while.

Maybe, he’d really just needed his dad, because the warmth surrounding him flooded through him, washing away the turmoil flailing around in his chest, leaving him feeling far calmer than he had all day.

If he was honest, he didn’t actually want the hug to end.  Thankfully, Apollo seemed to feel the same way.

Breaking Through

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Rating: Gen

Genre: Family

Characters: Lee Fletcher, Michael Yew

Lee’s newest brother needs something. He isn’t going to stop until he works out what.

For @flashfictionfridayofficial​ #157: Need More Space. I’m having a lot of fun figuring out some backstory and history for these boys, I have to admit. This was written on tablet, which hates Tumblr and vice versa, so will sort out the formatting when my laptop decides to behave again, whenever that’ll be… Word count 787. 

*****

Lee’s newest sibling was tiny, and very, very prickly. He hadn’t told them anything about himself yet - not his age, where he came from, or whether he had any mortal family - but all the signs were pointing to yet another abused demigod child struggling to adjust to his new reality.

The only things they did know was that his name was Michael Yew, and that despite not sharing any physical characteristics with their father, Apollo’s legendary temper seemed to have been inherited by this particular son. Maybe it was just because he was short (Lee had heard that short people tended to be angrier but that tidbit of information had come from a smirking John from cabin eleven and Lee’s spine had prickled so he didn’t think it was true), but Michael seemed to be on a hair trigger where anything and everything could set him off.

Several people, from both cabin seven and other cabins alike, had ended up in the infirmary with arrows where they shouldn’t be, and Michael had only been in camp a week.

The other thing he’d clearly inherited from Apollo, aside from the temper, was archery. Lee had been one such unlucky sap with an arrow through his thigh when he’d tried to talk to Michael and made the mistake of doing so when a bow was in reach. It was a mistake he’d just made again. Michael seemed to enjoy making thighs into pincushions (maybe he secretly liked seeing them fall down to his eye level).

Emily Teague, his eldest sibling and the current head counsellor, shook her head with a sigh as she patched him up. “You need to give him more space,” she told him. “Let Michael come to us when he’s ready to open up. Trying to force him will only make things worse. He’s still adjusting to everything.”

The pale golden glow faded from his thigh and she pulled her hands back, passing him a small square of ambrosia. Lee nibbled on it obediently, the familiar yet homesick-inducing taste of his mom’s homemade cottage pie sliding over his tongue, and frowned.

He didn’t think Emily was right, this time. He’d been at camp long enough to see others adjusting and this didn’t feel right. His sister was smart, and Lee knew she’d tried to help Michael settle in, too, before he snarled and swore at her every attempt, but giving Michael space didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

Michael had taken longer to shoot him the second time.

Their tiny little gremlin of a new brother needed something from them, and Lee wasn’t going to stop until he worked out what.

It earned him three more arrows and three more reminders from Emily, and took him another ten days of poking at a very volatile younger brother, but eventually Lee was rewarded with another small fact about Michael Yew: he was nine years old.

Considering his height, Lee had been sure he was younger than that, but his spine hadn’t prickled so it was the truth.

The second breakthrough came two weeks and another arrow later: his mom was alive but his stepdad was, to use a censored equivalent of Michael’s description, a bastard (yes, that was the censored version; where a nine year old had learned that language, Lee didn’t know, but his own vocabulary had been impressively and colourfully expanded since knowing Michael). There were also younger half-siblings (mortal ones) in the equation and it didn’t take long to put two and two together.

Lee finally discovered his angle of attack.

Clearly, Michael’s idea of half-siblings was not a positive one. It took a single conversation with Emily (Lee knew this wasn’t something he could do alone) to get the ball rolling, and immediately Operation Prove We Do Want Michael Around began in earnest.

Lee made sure he was at the spearhead of it; he’d been the one to reach out the most persistently, and he wasn’t retreating any time soon.

It began small, making sure that Michael wasn’t overwhelmed by the attention, but no less vital for that. Invitations to join activities were no longer put off by Michael’s attitude and renewed in enthusiasm, small gifts kept ending up in his bunk (if Lee saw Michael angrily dash away tears one time, he kept that to himself, especially when he realised nothing got thrown away), and the entirety of cabin seven joined the mission to make sure their newest, youngest brother realised that he was one of them and wouldn’t be tossed away or shunned.

In short, the thought that Michael needed more space was completely overturned; it wasn’t space their little brother needed, it was love and a real family.

Fandom: Trials of Apollo/Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard
Rating:Teen
Genre: Adventure, Friendship
Characters: Will Solace, Magnus Chase, Apollo, Nico di Angelo, Alex Fierro, Meg McCaffrey

And so it ends.  This fic was a lot of fun to write, and I’m delighted at the response it’s received.  Thank you so much for your support for this fic, and the welcome I got into the TOA fandom.  It’s been absolutely incredible, and I hope this won’t be the last longfic you’ll see from me (I have another one planned!).  Thanks for reading this story!  Tsari.

Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

<<<Chapter 29

APOLLO (XXX)
Everything And Nothing Changes

Olympus hadn’t changed at all since the last time Apollo had laid eyes on it, which was a bit concerning because Annabeth was supposed to be redesigning it and she’d barely managed to get started on the renovations before Zeus had closed it in light of Gaia’s rising.  Maybe Zeus hadn’t yet opened it back up to their aspiring young architect, which if you asked Apollo, seemed rather dumb.  Did his father really want to keep wandering past all the rubble that signified Kronos’ near-successful attempt to destroy their home?  Apollo wasn’t really a fan of it, himself.

If he knew his half-brother at all – and he did – Hermes was no doubt still beside himself at his son’s death, and the reminder had to be agonising every time he saw it.  Apollo was self-aware enough to know he’d be beside himself if it had been one of his children in Luke’s position (as it was, he, too, had lost too many children in that war and wasn’t particularly enamoured with the reminders), and would almost certainly have done something inadvisable by now.

Something inadvisable like standing up to Zeus in front of two pantheons and effectively telling him he was being stupid.

Which was exactly what Apollo had just done.

Great.

“Putting it off will only make it worse,” his sister reminded him.  She’d returned to her usual form at last, the familiar twelve year old face looking up at him with eyes that had seen millennia pass. Apollo had considered shifting back to Lester’s appearance – the original one, not Odin’s einherjar-perfect-warrior one, although it had been nice to have actual muscles and no acne – but while that had become a comfortable form over the past seven months, it still wasn’t his favoured form, and experience told him he didn’t want to broadcast exactlyhow much he’d changed to the other Olympians.

Gods were not fans of change.

That being said, he’d kept his clothing the same style of t-shirt and jeans, although now the t-shirt was a replica of the same black Icarus shirt Percy Jackson had originally dressed him in for the irony.  This one fit far better than that one had, the cut flattering his godly-perfect body, and there was no label proclaiming BLOFIS (with the return of all his memories had come the knowledge that it was not, in fact, a protection spell, but rather the very mortal need to put names on their clothing), but it was otherwise identical.

Just a little something to remind Zeus that the past seven months had happened, and that Apollo had not forgotten that his father had been the primary orchestrator behind it.

Artemis’ disapproval was a tangible thing in the air between them, but she didn’t bother to say anything about it out loud.  She also stuck by his side as the doors to the throne room loomed before them, rather than breezing on ahead as so often happened in her determined, huntress, way. The problem with siblings, especially a twin, was that sometimes – often, when said twins were immortal – they liked to make sure they were viewed as uniquely as possible, which meant that it was rare the pair of them presented a united front to the entire council.

Today, Apollo needed his sister to stay by his side, and she was giving him exactly that, keeping in step with him right up to the door and not leaving more than a pace between them until they were level with their thrones, growing with every step until they were the perfect size at the perfect time.

Thrones seven and eight were opposite each other, and never had Apollo been more glad for that as they seamlessly peeled from each other’s side at the exact same moment, as though it was a dance they’d choreographed and practiced for eons, and not just two twins perfectly in tune.

Like everything else in Olympus, his throne was exactly as he’d left it.  Were it not for Will’s recounting of his dreams, and Zeus’ furious words to Odin, Apollo could have fooled himself into thinking it had been left in statis, perfectly preserved until his return.  Certainly, there was no sign of the black cracks spidering across the gold that Will had hauntingly described, and the throne was as rune-free as Apollo’s bared wrists, but it didn’t take much imagination to picture how it had been.

It was not a pretty image.

Thankfully, it was in the past, never to occur again, and he refused to hesitate in front of the rest of the gods even for a moment.  He sank into the familiar chair, moulded exactly to fit him, at the precise same moment that Artemis delicately settled into her own.

For the first time he could recall since the rise of Gaia, the twelve seats of Olympus were filled.

“I told you not to keep me waiting,” Zeus rumbled from the head of the arc, hands clenching the arms of his platinum throne.  “Apollo.”

He could have reminded his father about the demigods, how Will had been nearly killed by Ares – sat on his ragged throne next to Apollo and oozing aggravating emotions as though he wanted Apollo to try and destroy him the same way he’d almost murdered his son – or how someone had to make sure they got home safe.  On some level he felt he probably should, but Zeus’ temper was clearly not yet abated and Apollo only had so much defiance in his essence.

“My apologies, father,” he bit out instead, feeling his twin’s eyes on him as he did so.  She didn’t show it, would never show it and certainly not during the Olympian council, but he could tell that she was relieved.

“Now you show deference.” Despite that, Zeus did not sound appeased.  “In front of our own, but not in front of Odin?”

Apollo fought not to let his hands ball into frustrated, yet frightened, fists, and said nothing.

“He stopped a war, brother,” Hades interjected, the lord of the Underworld on a simple throne of obsidian a short distance away from Hermes’ – not part of the twelve, but on a raised dais nonetheless.  His throne had been the first thing Annabeth had made room for, likely because they all – gods and demigods alike – owed him for his intervention in the second Titanomachy. “I think Apollo can be forgiven some impertinence considering the circumstances.”

“He disrespected me in front of another pantheon!” Zeus growled.  “You would have me let that slide?”

“I agree with Hades, father,” Athena broke in.  “Both sides were manipulated equally by Loki; Apollo saved us from being used to trigger the apocalypse.”

“You have a target to take your wrath out on,” Poseidon added, lounging back in his throne as though he didn’t particularly care what happened either way despite the words he was saying.  “The girl is to blame, not Apollo.  In fact, I would remind you why Apollo was vulnerable enough to be taken in the first place.”

Thunder crashed.

“You go too far, Poseidon!” Zeus snarled.

“Do I?”  The god of the seas had no fear when it came to confronting his brother, something Apollo had lost millennia ago.  “Or are you too proud to admit your involvement?”

“Poseidon-”

“That same pride had us almost enter another war,” Poseidon continued.  “You are simply angry because you needed Apollo to open your eyes to the truth of the situation, and have blinded yourself to the fact that Odin, too, needed the same, or have you forgotten that he believed Apollo’s presence in Valhalla was our orchestration?”

“Watch your tongue,” Zeus warned, “I will not have you blame me for this.”

“No-one here is to blame,” Artemis spoke up, to Apollo’s horror, even if what she was saying was true. “Loki and his daughter, Carrie, are the only ones responsible for this situation.”  Apollo wondered if he was the only one who heard her unspoken so they’re the only ones who should be punished.

From the way Zeus’ eyes flashed, he heard it, too, but even the temperamental king of the gods couldn’t find a reason to disagree with her; if he did, the blame would come back to rest on his head.

Apollo loved his sister, even if she terrified him sometimes.

“The girl,” Zeus ground out.  “A feeble mortal who thought to defy the gods.”  Me, Apollo rather suspected his father actually meant by that, his pride wounded and seeking a target to lash out at.  “As she so clearly wishes to toy with immortal powers, she will discover what the consequences of that are.”  

Apollo tried to feel sorry for Carrie, but the girl had never shown any indication that she was being forced by Loki, nor had she shown any remorse for her actions.  Her sins were her own, but even if they were not – if she had simply been Loki’s toy soldier with no autonomy of her own – she was the sacrificial bull to keep the peace.

It was harsh.  Cruel, even.  The demigods would be furious, and after spending six months as a mortal pawn himself, Apollo could understand why.  He could even, to some extent, agree with them.

However, it was also necessary.  His time as a mortal had not changed him so much that he couldn’t sit back and objectively (if not impartially; Carrie had killed him once, effectively extended his punishment past its supposed conclusion, and – worst of all – threatened demigods he was fond of) observe the situation.  If Zeus did not take out all of his frustrations on the former Valkyrie and some of them were left to stew and eventually boil over, they were still at risk of igniting the inter-pantheon war – and potentially Ragnarok – after all.

There could be no lightening of her sentence, and Apollo would not try.

“As for you, Apollo,” his father continued, lightning eyes pinning him firmly in place.  There was no consideration in his tone, and Apollo braced himself for yet another punishment.  “Your duties have been sorely neglected this past year.  I expect you to dedicate your entire efforts into rectifying this.  There will be no time for slacking off or dallying with mortals.  You’ve done more than enough of that recently.”

To casual ears, that was hardly a punishment.  If anything, it was a reinforcement of the ancient laws none of them had really been taking seriously for the past half a decade or so.  For Apollo, who had done his best to be as close to his children as possible despite the law even before his tenure as a mortal, and had every intention of keeping that up, learning all about his current children and being an active presence in their lives (the bow had been a gift of necessity, and he had several ideas for things he could gift Will that better suited and honed his son’s already impressive healing talents – and with the memories of the quest fresh in his mind, specifically how much it had torn his son down, he was well aware that the paltry attempts at talking to Will he’d managed so far were nowhere near enough – and he had several other children to bond with and shower with gifts), it stung.

No doubt that was Zeus’ aim. His father hadn’t even worded it as a punishment, so Apollo couldn’t protest the injustice of being punished for preventing the apocalypse without putting himself in the wrong and appearing as though he didn’t want to do his duties.

Sometimes, he really, really resented his father.

His fellow gods shifted in their thrones, none of them blind enough to not see Zeus’ manipulation, but not willing to draw attention to the fact that none of them had upheld those ancient laws as rigidly as they were supposed to in recent years in case the king of the gods’ wrath descended upon them, too.

“Zeus, why are you targeting Apollo?”

None bar one, and if he were still mortal, Apollo would have got backlash from how quickly his head whipped around to face the speaker.

She stood at the foot of the dais that held their thrones, the self-proclaimed least and last of the gods. Petite, human-sized, and wearing her customary appearance of a girl younger than even Artemis, the goddess of the hearth rarely involved herself in Olympian matters since passing her throne to Dionysus.

Hestia was, however, the eldest of the six elder gods, and for all the temper and self-righteousness of the Big Three, when she did choose to involve herself, she was heard.

No-one spoke as she made her way between the thrones, her hearth at her back and bare feet passing soundlessly over the marbled floor.  As softly spoken as she was petite, she did not raise her voice, but her words reverberated around them anyway.

“Your son has returned, having completed trials beyond the capability of the gods as a mortal.  What happened to the Olympus that rewarded heroes for doing what the gods could not?”  She stopped in the centre of the horseshoe, directly between Apollo and Artemis’ thrones, and faced Zeus with her head held high.  “You turned Apollo mortal so that the Oracles might be freed, because you understood that only a mortal could succeed, did you not?”

Not even Zeus defied his eldest sister, but he grumbled and slumped back in his throne regardless. “Apollo needed to be punished for his role in the rise of the earth,” he protested.  “It was simply convenient to solve two problems at once.”

Apollo could certainly believe that Zeus considered his punishment an act of convenience. He did not, however, believe Hestia was correct about his original reasoning, but knew better than to voice those thoughts, otherwise he’d ruin whatever it was his aunt was trying to do.

“His punishment ended with the defeat of the serpent,” Hestia reminded them all.  “His actions after that were outside of its scope, and just as worthy as the other heroes you have rewarded through the years.”

“Hedefied me,” Zeus protested.

“As did Perseus Jackson,” the goddess agreed, inclining her head towards Poseidon, “and yet, when he saved us from destruction, we rewarded him regardless.”

“We would not have lost to the Norse!” Ares protested, leaning forwards on his throne.  With Hestia stood in front of Apollo, it left him also leaning closer to him, and Apollo had to resist the urge to flare up at him.

Ares would not be forgiven for the spear in his son any time soon.

“Only the Fates could say that for certain,” Hestia replied, meeting the eyes of the god of war.  “I believe the prophecy was clear; had no agreement been reached, Ragnarok would have begun.  We have weathered many things over the millennia, but nothing of that scale.”  She returned her attention to Zeus.  “I understand your reluctance to reward Apollo for events that came out of his punishment,” she promised, “but I see no logic in punishing him further.”

Zeus’ fingers twitched on the arms of his throne.

“I agree with Hestia,” Artemis voiced, trying to give Apollo another heart attack, apparently.  He appreciated her sticking up for him, but he was terrified at the retaliation Zeus might inflict, no matter how much he usually favoured her.  “Even if you do not reward him, father, why does he need to be punished again?”

Quite frankly, Apollo wasn’t bothered if he wasn’t rewarded.  A year ago, he’d have been horrified at himself for thinking that, but after his time as a mortal, he was more tired than anything else.  Let the sun direct the attention onto someone else for a while, especially if that attention was Zeus’.

One by one, other voices spoke up in assent.  First Hades, then Athena and Poseidon, followed by most of the pantheon.  Only Ares and Hera stayed quiet, neither of which surprised Apollo in the slightest.

He was more surprised that the rest of them hadn’t.

Zeus snarled.  “Very well,” he said disdainfully, “I will overlook Apollo’s misconduct just this once.  Let that be his reward for his deed.”  He turned back to look at Apollo again, who forced himself not to avert his eyes.  “Regardless, I expect you not to be lax in your duties, and remember the ancient laws. The demigods are not to be coddled.”

Coddled, no, but protected and reassured as best Apollo could manage without directly interfering and thereby breaking the ancient rules rather than just bending them a little?  That was a different matter entirely.

“Of course, father,” he agreed, shoulders slumping in relief.

“Does anyone have anything else they wish to address?” the king of the gods demanded, pinning them all with a look, one at a time.  No-one spoke.  “In that case, this council is over.”

He rose from his throne, and disappeared in a flash of lightning.  Apollo hoped he didn’t see his father again until the next council; he was not ready for another encounter any time soon, and would be quite content if he didn’t have to interact with him again for at least the next century.

Then he remembered neither he nor Artemis had mentioned Odin’s appointment of Magnus as an ambassador, and winced.  That would need to be brought up before the son of Frey made his first journey.

“We’ll deal with that once father has calmed somewhat,” Artemis said softly, crossing the room to stand in front of him and proving that a year apart had done nothing to her ability to read what he was thinking.  Around them, the rest of the Olympians were disappearing back to their duties. Apollo tried not to feel hurt that not one of them had bothered with so much as a ‘welcome back’, reminding himself that he’d never expected it anyway, even if they had all gone to Asgard because of him.  “I did not think now was a good time to mention it.”

“I would not take too long, whatever it is,” Hestia murmured, drawing Apollo’s attention to the fact that she hadn’t yet retreated to her hearth.  He slipped from his throne and shrank down to human size, sensing Artemis do the same.  “My brother does not like things being kept from him.”

Apollo winced.  “I know,” he said, before kneeling down so that he was the same height as his aunt’s child form.  “And thank you,” he added heartfeltly.

“Family may be my sister’s domain, but we share the home,” Hestia reminded him, reaching out a small hand. Apollo didn’t pull away as she cupped his cheek.  Her skin was, as always, warm and reassuring to the touch, even to a god used to the heat of the sun.  “Welcome home, Apollo.  My hearth has been rather colder without you; I am glad to see you back.”

She regarded him warmly, and he cracked a smile.  “Thank you,” he said again.

“I will continue to look over the children,” Hestia reassured him.  “Your father may have rescinded his punishment, but do not test him. Focus on your duties for now; they will be safe for as long as they remain in camp, and I do not expect any of them are eager to leave just yet.”

She was right, of course, but the memories of Will looking so down, so broken, after Angrboda, haunted Apollo’s perfect recall, along with the giantess’ words: a mother who never wanted a child and gladly gave you away to be someone else’s responsibility.  Apollo had nothing but fond memories of Naomi Solace, and he was ashamed to admit to himself that on the occasions he’d checked up on Will as a young child, he had never realised she hadn’t been as good a mother as she had been a lover. If Angrboda was to be believed – and Apollo had the unsettling feeling that she hadn’t lied – Will had never known true parental love from either parent.

That was something he had to change, as well as taking a much closer, more critical, eye to how the rest of his children were treated by their mortal parents – and it wasn’t something he could change by staying away.

Artemis squeezed his shoulder.  “I’m sure my Hunters wouldn’t mind a rest after tearing apart the world to find you,” she said lightly, a familiar-sounding sibling tease that didn’t quite distract him from the implications behind it.  His sister had been worried, much the same way that he had been a few years earlier, when she’d been captured herself.  “I’ll send them to camp for a while.”

“As long as they don’t give my kids extra work to do,” Apollo quipped, choosing to fall back into their regular banter before things got too emotional in the throne room. He was more touched than he was willing to voice at the silent reassurance both goddesses were promising him. “No more people in the infirmary than necessary.”  No more work for his children, for Will.

Artemis snorted and took her hand back.  “That will depend entirely on how the campers treat them,” she reminded him, “and how many of your children are foolish enough to challenge them in archery.”

“My children are just as good as your Hunters,” Apollo protested, rising to his feet again.

His sister smirked at him. “We shall see,” she taunted.  “Your daughters are always welcome to join them.”

Apollo gaped at her for a moment, outraged in a way only his twin sister could provoke.  “Leave my daughters alone!”

“I make no promises,” Artemis laughed.  Apollo knew that she would never force anyone to join who didn’t want to, but that didn’t make him any happier about the ever-there potential for his daughters ending up under his sister’s patronage instead.  What could he say?  He wasn’t a big fan of sharing; he was a god, after all.  As he’d told the demigods on the quests, gods didn’t like others trampling over their domains, not even him.  And not even if the one doing the trampling was his twin sister and it actually meant his daughters became immortal and he could spend more time with them.

Okay, so maybe Apollo didn’t mind that bit.

Artemis sobered up again after a moment, and met his eyes.  “I should go to my girls and let them know you’re back,” she said.  “Try not to get into trouble while I’m gone.”

“Who, me?” he asked, mock-offended as he placed a hand over his chest.  “I would never!”  He’d had enough of trouble for the time being, and was looking forwards to a nice, trouble-free few years.  If you asked him, he more than deserved it.

The look she sent him made it painfully clear she didn’t believe him for one moment, but she said nothing, disappearing in a shower of silver and leaving him alone in the room. Hestia had slipped away unnoticed while they’d bantered; her hearth burned as healthily as ever, but the small figure that often tended to it was absent.  Apollo assumed that meant she was already at its sister hearth in Camp Half-Blood.

He was a god again. Standing alone in Olympus, without any other gods around to watch him, he could let that properly sink in.  No more trials, no more mortality, no more runes binding him to another power.  Just Apollo, restored again to his rightful place, albeit with a slightly different mindset than before.

But different mindset or not, as Zeus had said, he still had duties to attend to.  Helios’ old palace was no doubt covered in a thick layer of dust that would need clearing, and the horses would be angsty after remaining cooped up for so long.  Apollo was well aware he was in for several equine temper tantrums, which needed to run their course before he could even think about harnessing them.  No doubt, that would take most of the night.

Come dawn, Phoebus Apollo would drive out the sun chariot once more.

Fin

Fandom: Trials of Apollo
Rating:Gen
Genre:Family
Characters: Apollo, Austin Lake, Will Solace, Kayla Knowles, Apollo Cabin

You know those days where everything goes wrong no matter what you do?  Today was one such day.  To begin with, anyway.

For some timeline clarification, this fic is set in 2012.  Don’t ask me what I’m doing back in first person Apollo pov again because I don’t know.  Clearly I wanted to torment myself for a while.

Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

You know those days where everything keeps going wrong – your little brother steals the keys to your sun chariot, so you’re late with dawn because he’s a twisted little scamp that makes you run all over Olympus on a scavenger hunt before it transpires that he hid them in the chariot the whole time (they were in the cupholder) and your father gets mad at you for being lax in your responsibilities even though it wasn’t your fault, then your lyre gets a snapped string and your spare one also breaks, and just to add insult to injury, one of your current favourite mortal singers dies?

Yes,those days. Horrible things that would make a lesser individual buckle and snap under the unfairness of life, or at least burst into uncontrollable tears once in the safety of your own domain where no-one else gets to spy on you (I, personally, did not cry, but when I heard the news about Brian Hibbard there might have been a wail of despair).  That was the sort of day I was having, so when Austin’s prayer floated into my awareness, I was both ecstatic and also feeling woefully inadequate for whatever it was my son wanted.

Dad, his prayer began (I call them prayers because that is, functionally, what they are, but really it’s more akin to a one-sided phone call that I let my kids make whenever they like – Iris complains at me because it deprives her of the drachma they ought to be spending, even though demigods tend not to use drachma to communicate with gods anyway, but I prefer that they aren’t worrying about whether or not they can affordto talk to me.  Regular communication is difficult enough between gods and mortals anyway, even when those mortals are our own children).  Could you drop by camp sometime today?  It’d be great to see you.

I wish I could say that the call filled me with absolute joy – after all, my son wanted to see me, what could be more joyous than that? – but with the day I had, so far, been having, I am ashamed to admit that the request filled me with some degree of dread. You see, my children do not tend to request my presence.  This is in no way their fault; I have never made it blatant that I will come if they do so I assume they follow the unspoken warning and don’t set themselves up for disappointment when I inevitably fail to appear sometimes, but it does mean that on the rare occasions I am directly requested, there is seemingly always something rather catastrophic going on.

(I try not to think of the aftermath of Will and Nico’s sojourn into Tartarus, and the desperate screaming that had filled my awareness as my younger children tried desperately to keep their brother and his boyfriend from slipping back into the Underworld for good.)

With the way my day had been going so far, despite the non-urgency of both Austin’s words and tone, my heart leaped straight into my throat.

Strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to visit Camp Half-Blood unless I have godly business there, and with Dionysus filling the role of resident god, it is very difficult to find business that would necessitate my dropping in (my younger brother might find his punishment grating, not that I can fault him for that, but it has also been rather a source of discontent for me, too – after all, if we’re being technical about it, I am the god of Camp Half-Blood. It wouldn’t exist if not for me, you know!  But for as long as Dionysus is there, father frowns very heavily on any other gods dropping by – even Hermes has to keep his delivery times brief to avoid a stern lecture and that’s him genuinely doing one of his jobs).  However, since the events of last year, Dionysus is a little less openly hostile in my direction and as long as I endure a game or few of pinochle and his smug grin as he thrashes my godly behind every time, he does not make a fuss if I drop by for a little while, every so often.

I split off a fragment of myself and reappeared at the border of the camp, giving Peleus the berth he demands from where he resides as always around the base of the pine tree that holds the golden fleece.  From there, I made my way, as low-key as it is possible to be when you’re me, into the camp proper, tracking down my children.

None of them were in the infirmary, to my delight.  There’s almost always at least one of them on duty there during the day, so it made a nice change for the infirmary to be deserted (and no, it was no deserted because they were busy dealing with a patient in the field – my godly healing senses could pick up no hint of serious injury, nor could I spy any signs of distress in the demigods as I approached the main pavilion.  In fact, some of the demigods seemed to be rather excited).

The residents of cabin ten – Aphrodite’s children – seemed to be particularly vibrant, buzzing with the same sort of energy I had seen from their godly mother far too many times to be particularly comfortable with.  Do not underestimate the whims of that goddess, or her children – they are things to be treated with a very healthy level of respect.  Further into camp, I could also see some of Demeter’s children gently tending to plants and creating bouquets (Meg was not in their number – I knew this for a fact because she was back in Aeithales; I had spent yesterday attempting to teach her the fine art of piano playing.  She is an enthusiastic student, but her fingers have not yet developed the unique sort of flexibility required to do more than basic scales), while some of Athena’s brood seemed to be bartering with Connor Stoll over something I should probably make an effort not to listen to.

Of my own children, there were no sign.  The Me Cabin, with its gloriously shining golden exterior, was completely devoid of demigods, and I will admit the panic started to climb up once more.  Where were my children?  The archery range and amphitheatre likewise came up empty, and when I found myself at the lake, staring out at the water with none of my kids in sight, I started to feel a little frantic.

In hindsight, I should have simply followed the signal of Austin’s prayer to the source, but at the time I had seen no need to do so – the camp was not that large, and he had specifically mentioned it so they would not be elsewhere – a mistake I was now paying for.  That is not to say, however, that I have no method of locating my children (what sort of a god would I be if I couldn’t find a few mortals when I pleased?) but the unexpectedness of none of my children being anywhere predictable was rather disconcerting.

“Are you losing your touch or do you simply enjoy running around on a wild goose chase?” a voice asked from behind me.  I span around to see my brother there, lounging against a tree with a can of diet coke in his hand.  Dionysus took a lazy swig of the drink and rolled his eyes.  “You might want to try the arts and crafts cabin,” he continued, sending me a look that could only be considered amused.

That is not necessarily a good look on any god, and certainly not when aimed in my direction. Artemis is particularly fond of it, usually as an accompaniment to a kick me sign on my back, and I saw it just this morning in Hermes’ eyes before he led me on his merry goose chase after my sun chariot’s keys.  On Dionysus, well, the last time I’d seen a look quite like that, it was 1709 and it turned out that the Maenads were on their way to crash one of my concerts.  Hehad found that amusing; Ihad found it really rather irritating.

Considering my children were the presumed topic of conversation, as well as the sort of day I’d had so far, this did not help to put me at ease at all – rather the opposite, in fact.

“Don’t bother joining me for pinochle today,” my brother continued, still looking far too amused – rather like a leopard who had got the cream, although that is not a combination that I would ever recommend, either.  “You won’t be worth my time.  I’ll put an afternoon of games on your tab, instead.”

With that rather alarming proclamation – I could never defeat Dionysus at pinochle, why did he believe that today of all days I would be boring to thrash when none of my siblings ever passed up a chance to do so – he disappeared in a flash of purple.

Having no better lead, I reluctantly followed his advice and made my way to the arts and crafts cabin, ducking inside to finally locate all of my children sat around one of the tables, chattering away to each other.  Austin had golden paint smudged on his cheek and seemed to be trying to smear more of the substance on Kayla’s face while the others laughed at them both.

Will was the first to notice me; he lit up (not literally, which was slightly disappointing because I always love seeing him glow) and a huge smile graced his face.  “Dad!”

Immediately, I was set upon by a stampede of young demigods, which was easily the best thing that had happened to me so far that day (although even if I had had any other positive experiences, it would still have been top of the list; my children are amazing like that).

“Hello, hello,” I responded, before greeting each of them individually.  It transpired that Austin was not the only one with paint streaked somewhere on their person – all of them had something, somewhere, although Will’s smudge of gold on his forehead looked suspiciously like a deliberate sun rather than a haphazard accident or by-product of a sibling paint war.

Not one of them seemed surprised to see me, which told me that Austin had likely been the spokesperson for all of them with his prayer, rather than it being something specifically from him.  I was a little surprised that it hadn’t been Will, as the head of the cabin, but that was far from a complaint – I love hearing from any of my children.

“What have you guys been making?” I asked them once the relevant greetings and updates were exchanged (Kayla had managed to increase her range by another ten metres since we’d last spoken, Austin’s channel had gained another thousand intelligent people with good taste – I mean, subscribers).  “Austin, I take it you know you have paint on your cheek.”  Certainly, I wanted to know what had prompted them to summon me, but I feared that if I asked that outright, they might think that I was only there because I had been called (which was true, admittedly, but only because that had given me a tangible excuse to drop by and not because I had felt obligated), so I refrained from giving voice to that particular question.

“Oh, I know,” Austin grinned in response.  His body moved a little jerkily, and Will yelped, before glowering at his brother.  Presumably, a foot had just made contact with a shin under the table, although why, I was not sure.

Then Will picked up the conversation, and I realised it was Austin insisting that he take point on the topic – perhaps the reason I had been called.  The fact that they seemed to have elected a spokesperson for the job, and that said spokesperson was their eldest brother and head counsellor, did not fill me with much confidence.  Dionysus’ smug expression and his insinuation that I wouldn’t be worth his time after seeing my children today flickered through my mind and I felt my smile waver slightly.

Will’s words turned the smile into a look of confusion.  “Dad, do you know what today is?” he asked me.  There was something hidden in his words, and my mind was too abuzz with sudden doomscrolling to be able to pick up on the exact nature of it.

I did, however, know the date.  One of those little things that comes with being the reason the sun rises every morning (well, one of the reasons; pesky astrophysics).  “June the seventeenth,” I answered, puzzled.  “Or Sunday, if you’re after the day of the week.  Why?”  What was so important about that?  Aside from it being the day the world lost the voice of Brian Hibbard (a true tragedy).

My children all gave me expectant looks, as though I had not given the answer they were after, and I wracked my brain to try and think of what other answer I could give. It wasn’t the solstice – that, and the boring yet compulsory council that went along with it, was in four days’ time.  Nor was it any of my children’s birthdays… was it?   I did a hurried mental inventory of all the birthdays of my children, just to be sure I wasn’t forgetting one (it would be just my luck, the way today has gone so far), and then their mortal parents’, too, just to be sure, but no, all birthdays were firmly stored in my mental calendar and June the seventeenth was completely empty.  No forgotten birthday.

Will reached over to a nearby shelf and picked up a small box.  It was messily wrapped in shiny gold paper and tied off with a sky-blue ribbon complete with smiley sun motifs.  Exactly my aesthetic, as my children knew well, but that didn’t stop my brain screeching to a halt as it was held out to me.

From the way it was wrapped, it had to be a present.  Only presents got wrapped like that, and as I looked closer I could see a golden gift tag blending in with the wrapping paper.

Was it my birthday? No, no it wasn’t.  Well, technically when translated into the Gregorian calendar it was only a couple of weeks away, but it wasn’t like I ever expected anything from my children, if they even knew when it was, (or anyone else, for that matter), so that was rather a moot point anyway.

Clearly, I was supposed to be accepting it, whatever it was for, so with a glance at all the bright, expectant faces of my children, I took the small box from Will.  It was a little heavier than it looked – not heavy,by any means, but weighty enough to be certain there was something inside, rather than an empty box (not that I would ever accuse my children of giving me fake gifts, but with Hermes as a brother I have developed something of a suspicious countenance when it comes to unexpected presents).  With one finger, I flipped up the tag to find Dad in beautiful penmanship (Jerry’s, if I was not mistaken), followed by lots of love from and all of my children’s names in their own handwritings.

I blinked at it, not comprehending what I was seeing.

Will came to my rescue. “Open it,” he coaxed, smiling brightly at me.  His siblings all crowded around the two of us, their faces remaining expectant, and I was left with no choice but to lightly tug at the ribbon.  It unravelled easily, coming away in my hands as the paper unfurled, no longer held in place.  The box that was revealed was plain, and if I didn’t miss my guess, was not being used in its original capacity, but rather as a useful method of simplifying the wrapping process.

I opened the box and could not stop my jaw from dropping in an astonished gape as I caught sight of the contents.

It was a mug – slightly misshapen in that way homemade crockery can be if not made by a professional – which by itself was an astounding gift.  No-one ever gave me mugs; technically, as a god, I didn’t need them, so I supposed that made sense.  Nectar came in vials or glasses, so it wasn’t like I had any real use for a mug when hot beverages tended not to cross my palate (unless, of course, I was out on a date in the mortal world, in which case the mugs were provided for me).

However, it was not just a mug.  It was golden, no doubt the same gold I could see decorating my children’s skin (and hair, in Yan’s case; it stood out strikingly against their naturally dark locks) prior to being glazed, but that was not what had my eyes flooding.

#1 DAD was picked out in red, in Jerry’s calligraphic penmanship.  On the other side of the mug, banishing any doubts about who the words could possibly be referring to, was APOLLO.

I had to set the mug down quickly before my suddenly shaking fingers dropped it.

“I- What- Why- How-” My usual eloquence mercilessly abandoned me, rapidly reducing me to a blubbering mess of a god.

My children, bless them all, were not at all perturbed by their godly parent’s transformation into a pathetic, teary mess.  Then again, it was hardly the first time they had seen me in such a state, so perhaps they were tragically used to it.

“Happy Father’s Day, Dad,” Will told me, closing the gap between us to wrap his arms around me tightly. I sobbed into his shoulder, unable to grasp any words to express the depth of my emotions at the gift, and felt the rest of my children move in until I was at the centre of a group hug.

When it comes to being a parent, I always fall woefully short of the mark.  This is something I have been aware of for centuries, certainly long before any of my current children were born, and reluctantly resigned myself to. I wish I could say I try my best, but quite frankly, how much I try behind the scenes does not translate across to the parenting my children receive.  A parent should give more than they take, but all I ever feel as though I’m doing is taking and it is to my children’s great credit that they do not confront me about it.

What I had done to deserve this mug, this honest, unabashed compliment of the highest accolade – higher than an Oscar, or any of the various music, poetry and archery trophies in my overflowing trophy cabinet (it’s more like an entire room in my palace, if I’m being pedantic) – I could not even begin to identify, but the fact remained that my children gave it to me, and my response was – understandably, in my opinion – to cry all over them.

I could say that the tears were the result of too much emotional turmoil in one day.  Certainly, I would be entirely justified in blaming the whiplash from the start of the day compared to my children’s unexpected gift for the rivers of tears racing down my cheeks and the stuffy, bloated feeling of the inside of my mouth.  The truth of the matter, however, is that I would have reacted the exact same way even if I had had the best day of my life leading up to that point.

My children are the kindest, most amazing people on the planet and I do not deserve them, although I am also far too selfish to ever let anyone else have them.  How they do not hate me is a question I have no answer for.

“I-” I tried, only for my voice to crack in a very un-godly manner.  I swallowed and made a second attempt.  “I’m not-”

“Youare,” Kayla interrupted me aggressively, even going so far as to squeeze my chest in a way rather reminiscent of the Heimlich Manoeuvre.  Had I had anything in my airways, it wouldn’t have stood a chance.  Were I mortal, it likely would have threatened the integrity of my ribs, too.  Coming from her, in particular, the sentiment was enough to render me speechless. After all, I was not Kayla’s only father, and surely Darren had a far greater claim to Number One Dad than I did – for starters, he was actually a consistent figure in her life, even though she now lived at camp all year round.

“We love you, Dad,” Austin told me firmly, leaving not a single sliver of room for doubt or untruth, and that was more than enough to provoke a fresh wave of messy, ugly crying from me as I clutched all of my children as tightly as I could manage.

“My beautiful children,” I wailed, sniffling unattractively.  “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

If possible, their hugs got tighter.

I did not manage to regain my composure for the rest of the day.  No doubt Dionysus had known exactly what my children had in store for me, because he was absolutely correct – I would have been a pathetic opponent, not least because after finally leaving my children, several hours later, I refused to put the mug down for anything at all.  Even when I eventually returned to my palace on Olympus, the precious ceramic (they had made the whole thing from scratch themselves, I’d learned; Gracie had shown me the failed attempts at spinning the clay) remained clutched firmly in my hands as I pondered where to keep it.

In the end, the answer was obvious, and I made my way into my trophy room, heading straight for the centre table, where the most prestigious of awards were displayed.  My Olympic wreath for beating Hermes in a footrace, one of my oldest and most gloat-worthy (he prizes himself on being fast; I have never been forgiven for that defeat, to my great amusement) accolades has held pride of place here for millennia.

I moved it to one side, and placed the mug there instead.

Fandom: Trials of Apollo/Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard
Rating:Teen
Genre: Adventure, Friendship
Characters: Will Solace, Magnus Chase, Apollo, Nico di Angelo, Alex Fierro, Meg McCaffrey

Only one more chapter to go after this one, and it’s honestly incredibly surreal that we’re nearly done. This chapter contains one of my favourite scenes from the entire fic, I have to admit - and guess what, I drew it!  The art is, once again, lurking at the end of the chapter.

Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

<<<Chapter 28

WILL (XXIX)
The Best Healers Are The Worst Patients

Logically, Will knew that he wasn’t injured any more.  He had been injured, and badly, but between Magnus and a Norse god who was apparently Frey, he knew that he was completely healed.  His brain, however, had yet to get the memo and was sending protesting signals whenever he moved too far or fast, so while Nico and Apollo’s clinginess was a little overwhelming – especially both of them simultaneously - he couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful for the help staying upright.

Not having to make his own way back to camp was definitely a bonus.  He sank comfortably into his dad’s power as it swelled around him, enveloping him in a warm, safe light before they re-emerged in the middle of the cabins.

Some more summer campers must have arrived, because there were far more faces staring at him than he’d expected to see, although none of his own summer-only siblings seemed to have reappeared yet.  His present siblings were sat around cabin seven’s table, eating what looked like lunch – was it really only lunchtime?  Will’s sense of time was completely skewed after running through Jotunheim, Valhalla and then nearly dying in Asgard.  Did any of those places operate on the same timezone as New York, anyway?

Pushing away the too-complicated thoughts on how timezones worked across multiple worlds, Will focused his attention on the five familiar faces, both glad to see them all again, and glad that none of them were manning the infirmary, because that meant that no-one needed help or observation right then, and as a healer he was always happy to have no patients.

The other campers were milling around as well; the Hermes contingent were bothering the Ares cabin as they tended to do, judging by the outraged yells coming from the cabin five table and the sniggers from cabin eleven’s.

The Olympian twins materialising in the centre, near the hearth, along with three campers certainly got everyone’s attention in a hurry.

“Will!”  Austin and Kayla were first to move as the eldest and longest-legged of his present younger siblings, shooting up from the benches and almost stumbling in their haste to get to him, before skidding to a halt as the god next to him registered.  “Dad?”

“It’s good to see you kids again,” Apollo grinned, holding out the arm that wasn’t still clinging to Will – and keeping him upright, although Nico on his other side was having a pretty good claim to that role, too – in an open invitation for a hug.

Gracie was the first one to slam into him, young enough not to have any hesitation, but the others followed suit almost immediately until there was a mass of cabin seven limbs in an awkward group hug.  Will had no way of getting out of it, even if he wanted to, and when he felt Nico try to pull away, he grabbed his boyfriend’s sleeve tightly.

The son of Hades sighed, but ceased attempting to escape.

“Welcome back, young heroes,” Chiron said, his approach betrayed by the clip-clop of his hooves on the stones.  “Lord Apollo, it is good to see you back again.  Lady Artemis.”  He dipped his head in the goddess’ direction.

“It’s good to be back,” Apollo replied, not extracting himself from the group hug. In fact, Will thought he tightened his grip on them all.

“Dad, are you-” Austin asked, a head above most of the youngest ones and crushed against Will’s chest.

“Back to my proper godly self?” Apollo finished.  “Absolutely, thanks to your brother here.”

That was not the way Will would have phrased it, not in the slightest, but with his father’s arm clenched around his shoulders and Nico grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly, he didn’t have much room to protest it, either.

“What happened?” Kayla demanded.  “Why are you all covered in blood?  Are you hurt?”

“Will needs the infirmary,” Nico inserted dryly, although there was an unmistakable undercurrent of concern.

“I’mfine!” Will protested, trying to pull away from all the hands and arms as his sibling’s suddenly-panicked attention turned on him.  “I got healed, remember?”  He tried to tug his hand back from Nico to ruffle the hair of his younger siblings reassuringly, but Nico held on tight and his other option was dropping his bow and trying to escape his dad, which was even less possible.  “You, on the other hand-”

“Will?” Kayla interrupted, sounding absolutely terrified all of a sudden.  Austin’s skin had paled considerably as well, and Will wanted to curse when he realised where their minds were going.

Apollo cabin had lost two head counsellors – two big brothers – in two consecutive years. Will had been head counsellor for longer than Michael now; following the grisly pattern of his big brothers, it was past the time he was due to die, too.

And he nearly had.

“Hey,” he said, adopting the reassuring big brother voice he used to chase away nightmares in the middle of the night even while his own swirled around in his thoughts.  He tugged his hand away from Nico insistently and this time, his boyfriend let go and he was able to gather the two of them into his own hug.  “I’m fine.  I’m not leaving you.”

“Your top’s more red than orange,” Kayla told his shoulder; to Will’s alarm, there were tears in her voice. “Will, you-”

“I’mhealed,” he promised her.  “I won’t say it wasn’t bad, but… god of healing?” he reminded all of his siblings, even if he wasn’t talking about the one they would think he meant.  “I’m okay, I promise.”  He shot a glare a Nico.  “Death Boy over there is overreacting, and needs to go to the infirmary himself, as does Meg.”

His boyfriend did, to his credit, grimace apologetically, apparently just remembering cabin seven’s recent track record, before defending himself.  “As you’re proving, when it comes to others you wouldn’t care how many gods of healing were involved, you’d still lock them up for ‘observation’ for a week.”

Apollo chuckled. “It’s not a bad idea,” he pointed out. Will had hoped his father would at least keep quiet, even if he’d have most liked it if Apollo had helped him reassure them, not worry them more.  Apparently, that was not happening.  “You’re physically and emotionally drained and need to rest.”

“I can sleep just fine in my own bed!” he protested, before a sea of worried eyes focused on him pleadingly and he faltered a little.  “Guys…”

“Please?” Yan asked, their eyes wide and threatening the same tears Kayla wasn’t even trying to hide. This particular little sibling was good at turning on the waterworks when they wanted to, and Will had been forced to learn by necessity how to resist them, but this time, with the rest of his cabin looking at him equally distressed, he realised he had no choice but to cave.

“One day,” he said firmly.

“Three,” Nico countered, but Will was having none of it.

“Who is the head healer here?” he pointed out, hoping Apollo wasn’t going to override him again. “One.”

“Two?” Jerry ventured, and Will shook his head at him fondly.

“One,” he repeated. “I’ve left you lot unsupervised long enough.”

That, at least, managed to get a watery laugh out of the eldest two, while the younger three pouted at him in betrayal.

“One with the right to extend it if it turns out you’re not as fine as you say,” Austin clarified, and Will sent him a glare with no actual heat in it.

“We’ll see about that,” he allowed, knowing whyhis brother wanted the reassurance but also not willing to completely hand over autonomy of his own care, otherwise they’d keep finding excuses to keep him in as long as possible.

His siblings seemed to realise that was as far as he was going to give, because their shoulders slumped, but they didn’t try and debate it further.

“And what about you, Dad?” Kayla said instead, her blue eyes fixing their father’s bloody and ruined HOTEL VALHALLA shirt with a suspicious look.  “That’s a lot of blood.”

“Blood, not ichor,” Apollo reassured her.  “I’m completely immortal again, Kayla, you don’t need to worry about me anymore.” Will looked up at him to see a slightly sad expression on his face.  “I’m sorry you ever had to.”

Kayla didn’t look convinced, but there was no real arguing with a god, even if that god was their dad.

“I sense now is not the time to hear your story,” Chiron inserted himself back into the conversation. “Will, I believe the three of you have beds in the infirmary with your names on it, and your siblings will not rest until you’re in yours.”  It was an amused observation, but Will suspected the old centaur had another reason for not wanting them to recite their quest in earshot of the entire camp.

There was no way Chiron hadn’t known that they had ended up mixing with the Norse pantheon, and if the disaster that had been the Greco-Roman reintroduction was anything to go by, he probably didn’t want that becoming common knowledge.

“Nor will I,” Nico added in. “Come on, let’s go.”  He ducked back under Will’s arm, yanking it back from Kayla and Austin in the process and slinging it over his own shoulder. Apollo, much to Will’s surprise, ceded his own grip to Austin, who clutched at Will as though he thought he was going to disappear.

“I’ll see you there,” the god promised.  “I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Will watched him walk a few steps away, shadowed closely by Artemis, although the goddess remained silent and ignored the gawking campers, and stop in front of Meg, who’d been drawn into cabin four’s group, her half-siblings huddled around her and talking a mile a minute.  As he did so, his appearance shimmered until he wore Lester’s face again – and remembered, to Will’s relief, to change his green HOTEL VALHALLA t-shirt, or what remained of it, into a plain white one.  The less blatantly Norse things they left on display, the better.

He didn’t hear what the two said to each other, mostly because his own cabin were nattering in his ear as he was half-carried towards the infirmary, but he did see Meg throw her arms around Apollo in a tight embrace.

There was no mistaking the fact that the past six months had forged a bond between the two of them that defied explanation, and Will wasn’t going to pry into it.

“Will, why is there a bloody hole in the back of this t-shirt as well?” Kayla demanded suddenly, drawing his attention back to his immediate surroundings and the fact that his younger sister had positioned herself as his effective rear-guard, thereby giving her a perfect view of what had been the exit wound.  “Did you get impaled?”

“I’mfine,” he reassured her again, for what was no doubt not the last time.  Nico made a quiet noise of disagreement, and Will cuffed him around the head before he could freak out his siblings more than he already had.  “There was a god of healing with us.”

“Thankfully,” Nico muttered under his breath.  Will pretended not to hear him.

It didn’t take the cabin seven plus Nico procession long to get to the infirmary, even with Will stumbling more than he cared to admit, his weight almost entirely being carried by the combined forces of Nico and Austin by the time they got there.  He couldn’t really fight his escorts when they arrived and he was deposited straight on one of the beds.

“Right, let’s get you out of this.”  In his absence, Kayla and Austin shared the role of running the infirmary, and it was Kayla who was taking charge now as she planted herself firmly in front of him and started loosening the straps of the quiver.  “How many arrows did you get through?” she asked idly as she worked.

“No idea,” he admitted. “Lots.”  She laughed, sounding utterly unsurprised, and he ducked his head down as the last straps came undone and she pulled it away.

“Good thing you took it with you, then,” she pointed out, setting it to one side.  “Now, let’s have a look at this ‘fine’ injury site.”

Austin clearly took that as his cue to deploy a pair of fabric scissors on Will’s long-suffering t-shirt, refusing to let him even start to claim he could take it off normally. The only reason Will didn’t complain was because the clothing was ruined already.

That, and the palpable relief that settled over all of his siblings when his torso was bared and there was no sign of injury, not even a scar.  Austin probed at the area, much the same way Will himself had probed at Lester’s healed wound, back when they’d first arrived in Jotunheim, and must have come to the same conclusion, because he stepped back after a few moments.

“There’s no sign of damage,” he proclaimed to the rest of the cabin, which was exactly what Will had been telling them all along, but he couldn’t really blame Austin and the rest for wanting to double-check.

“Can we rethink my stay, then?” he asked pointedly, only to receive several withering looks in response. That was a no, then.

“I will personally sit on you if you try and leave before they clear you,” Nico told him.  Will got the feeling this was some sort of payback for all the times he’d forced Nico in for observation, although in his defence, Nico had needed it.  And honestly, after the shadow travelling Will knew he’d done in Angrboda’s home, he wanted to keep an eye on him again, anyway.

“I wasn’t planning on you leaving, either,” he said, and his boyfriend’s dark eyes narrowed.

“Will, I’m not the one that got kebabbed by a spear.”

“No,” Will agreed, “but you did shadow travel several times, and you know my rules on that.” He frowned.  “And can you not terrify my siblings?”

“You did that fine all by yourself,” Nico retorted, “Camp Half-Blood t-shirts are meant to be orange, not red.”  He pointed at the ruined fabric Austin had tossed into the designated ‘unsalvageable clothes’ bin.  It did look rather horrifying, if Will was honest although he had, unfortunately, seen worse.

“What happened to your bow?” That was Kayla again, blessedly changing the subject as she inspected the golden bow he had yet to let go of without touching it.  “This is one of Dad’s, isn’t it?”

“It’s Will’s now,” Apollo corrected, walking in through the door.  Meg hadn’t followed, and Will made a mental note to chase her up as soon as he got the chance, too.  His dad looked like himself again, the Lester appearance gone.  Artemis ghosted in behind him, clearly not interested in letting her twin out of her sight at least until he returned to Olympus. Considering the past seven months, Will couldn’t blame her.  “His broke, so I gave him a new one.”

“I thought it was just for the quest,” Will blinked, finally putting it down on the bed next to him.  “There are plenty of bows here for me to choose from. I’m not a good enough archer to warrant that one.”  It had made sense, on the quest, for Apollo to make sure he was still armed after losing his own bow; after all, even healers needed something to protect themselves with.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want the bow – it was a gift from his dad, of course he wanted it – but he didn’t feel like he deserved it.

Kayla huffed, and for a moment he feared she was upset – after all, if any of them diddeserve one of their dad’s bows, it was the best archer in camp.  But it wasn’t one of her sulky huffs, it was an amusedone. “That just means you need all the help you can get,” she teased, flashing the same grin she’d worn when giving him the refilling quiver.

His siblings laughed for the first time since bundling him into the infirmary, much to Will’s relief.

“Skill has nothing to do with whether or not you should have it,” Apollo corrected, “and I don’t take back my gifts.”  Will knew that, he did, but it felt surreal that he really did have one of Apollo’s own golden bows for life.  “That bow’s yours now, Will, and there’s no-one else I want to have it.”  Apollo walked over to where he was sitting and put a hand on his shoulder, crouching down until they were at the same level. “You did well on this quest.  I’m proud of you.”

Will felt his cheeks heat up a little.  “Thanks, Dad.”

“And don’t you go scaring me like that again,” Apollo added, pulling him into a gentle hug.  “I didn’t give you that bow for you to take it as an excuse to stand on the front lines and get yourself hurt,” he murmured in his ear, too quiet for his siblings to overhear – although Nico was likely another matter entirely.  “I’ll admit it didn’t work so well with gods in the mix, but the point of it is keep you safe while you save others, understand?”  Will blinked, a little startled.  “Let it be a reminder that you need to stay safe, too.  You’re a great healer, Will, one of the best I’ve had the privilege of fathering in centuries, but you can’t heal others if you’re dead.”

His embrace tightened, a steady warmth pressing against Will’s skin and curling around him protectively, one warm hand resting on the back of his head.  After a heartbeat, Will returned it slowly, fists bunching in the back of his dad’s t-shirt and mind blanking a little at the fact that this was real.  He, a demigod, was actually getting to hug his godly parent.  It had been initiated by his godly parent.  Not keeping him upright, not a group hug, but a proper, parent-child hug, like he didn’t even remember ever getting from his mortal mom.

“I’m sorry the quest – that I – needed so much from you,” his dad continued, still too quietly for anyone else to hear.  “I’m sorry it hurt you so much.  You didn’t deserve that.  You didn’t deserve any of that.”  Moisture beaded in the corner of Will’s eyes and he trembled as the fabric his face pressed into grew damp, tightening his hold on his dad.  Apollo’s hand buried itself deeper into his hair, pulling Will closer to him until there felt like there wasn’t even room for air between their torsos, and for just a few moments, he could forget about the rest of the world and sob quietly into his dad’s white t-shirt.

They stayed like that for a while, Will’s face buried in his dad’s shoulder and hands fisted tightly around fabric as he committed the feeling to memory, before he remembered that they had an audience of his younger siblings silently watching him break down and forced himself to take a few deep breaths, trying to get himself back under control.  As his tears stopped, Apollo let out a quiet sigh and drew back fractionally. Reluctantly, Will loosened his own hold in preparation for when he pulled back entirely.

Apollo didn’t immediately, although he raised his head and let his voice carry through the infirmary, words no longer just for Will’s ears only.  “I’ll still be watching over you once I’m back on Olympus.  All of you,” he clarified, head shifting in a way that told Will he was looking at the rest of cabin seven.

“Apollo,” Artemis spoke for the first time, her tone warning.  “We need to go.”

The god sighed again but slowly stood back up after giving Will one last squeeze, slipping out of his reluctantly loosening grip.  Warm hands lingered on Will’s shoulders for an extra second before Apollo let go entirely, and even once they were gone, he could feel the phantom heat leaving an invisible imprint of his father’s touch.

“I know,” Apollo said reluctantly, then turned to Nico.  “Keep looking out for him,” he requested, “and yourself, too.  You’re a good kid, Nico di Angelo.”  He gave him a grin.

Nico nodded in response. “Don’t go turning mortal anymore,” he said.  “I don’t think Will could take it if his dad vanishes again.”

Apollo laughed softly. “It’s not on my to-do list,” he said. “Three times is quite enough.”

“You’d think once was enough,” Artemis rolled her eyes, before her voice regained its urgency. “Apollo.”

“I know, I know.” Apollo reluctantly turned away, reaching out to give the rest of cabin seven brief hugs that Will suspected left the same warmth lingering in their wake, before heading for the door.  He only looked back once he reached the threshold. “I’ll try and see you all again soon.”

He stepped outside, and a bright golden light flashed from beyond the doorway, followed almost immediately by silver.

Chiron walked in a moment later, accompanied by a quietened Meg, and sighed heavily, fixing Will and Nico with a tired look.  “It seems we have a lot to discuss.”  The centaur turned his attention to the rest of cabin seven.  “Would you leave us for the time being?  Your brother will not be leaving that bed under my watch, I can promise you.”

None of them looked happy about it, but Chiron was not one to be disobeyed, so after a brief hesitation, they filed out.  Kayla stooped down to pick up the quiver, but left the bow where Will had set it down. It occurred to him that he should probably check with Apollo next time he saw him whether the bow would still immolate people, and if so, what the criteria was.

It was only once Chiron was certain they were out of earshot that the centaur nudged the door closed with a hind hoof and returned his focus to Will and his two quest companions. “Apollo was trapped in Valhalla?” It was less of a question and more of a statement, but Will nodded anyway before giving a rundown of everything that had happened, Nico and Meg interrupting him at various points to clarify something or correct him.

By the end of the tale, the centaur looked openly worried.  “Odin means to open up communications between the two pantheons?” he asked.  “I cannot see that ending well.  I fear this child, Magnus, will run afoul of Zeus’ temper sooner rather than later.”

“Did you know Annabeth had an einherji cousin?” Nico asked suddenly.  Chiron shook his head.

“She did not tell me that, no.”  His tail swished from side to side.  “But I cannot see Athena being ignorant of that fact, and certainly not if Frey is aware of Annabeth’s parentage.  In fact, Odin may be looking to use that connection to smooth things over.”  He frowned.  “Even amongst those counted wise, Odin has few peers.  Whatever it is he’s truly planning, it is beyond my comprehension.”

Will leaned forwards. “You’ll let Magnus in when he comes, right?” he asked.  “I think there’s a lot we could learn from him.”

“You just want to talk healing with him,” Nico called him out, and Will felt his cheeks heat up slightly, although didn’t back down.

“And what’s wrong with that?” he demanded.  “The amount of trouble our lot get into, the more healing knowledge we can get, the better!”

“Should Magnus arrive, I see no reason to turn him away unless Olympus requires it,” Chiron reassured him.  “Thanks to his relationship with Annabeth, he is no doubt better versed in the Greek ways than any of you are in the Norse, so I do not think he will make too many waves, but I must bow to the will of the gods – our gods – in this matter.”

It was as good an answer as Will could have hoped for, he supposed, and he slumped back against the pillows.  Chiron chuckled.

“It seems that I should let you three rest now,” he said.  “Will, perhaps your siblings can be persuaded to let you out this evening for the burning of the shrouds if you behave yourself now.”

Patient or not, Will was still head healer.  There was no way he was missing that.

It took some persuading, outright arguing, and eventually Nico siding with him – but only on the caveat that they come straight back afterwards – but he got his way.  It was the symbolic end of their quest, and after napping all afternoon (if he and Nico had ended up curled up together in the same bed, well, his siblings didn’t seem to care as long as it meant they stayed put) he was definitely strong enough to sit by the fire for the ceremony, although he wished Apollo was still with them.  It had been his quest, too, although Will could admit the idea of burning a shroud for his dad filled him with a very specific brand of terror.

He’d spent enough time fearing Apollo’s death since January.  Now that his dad was, finally, a god again, that was a fear that he was all too pleased to bury.

Cabin seven shrouds were normally plain gold, but his was neatly embroidered around the edge with healing prayers in golden thread, barely visible unless someone looked closely. None of his siblings admitted to being behind it, but Jerry was by far the best of them with a needle in the infirmary, so Will had a strong suspicion that even if it hadn’t been his idea, his had been the fingers used.

Meg’s siblings had gone all out on hers, with soft greens and browns decorated with peach and grain motifs.  The girl in question had been all too happy to throw it on the fire and watch it burn, the flames reflecting off of her glasses and turning the rhinestones a deep orange.

As the only inhabitant of cabin thirteen, Nico had no siblings in the camp to create his own, but to Will’s pride, cabin seven had taken that task upon themselves despite also having his to make.  It was black, the same deep, light-absorbing black of his sword, with a deep purple trim and bones picked out in white embroidery.  Nico didn’t cry when he saw it, but his grip on Will’s arm – because he refused to let go for an instant as though he thought Will would make a break for it if he did – tightened, and he looked at the ground rather than watch it burn.

Their quest was over. Apollo was back on Olympus, a god again, and everything was finally put to rights for perhaps the first time since Percy Jackson had been claimed, all those years ago.

Chapter 30>>>

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians
Rating:Teen
Genre:Angst/Family
Characters: Apollo, Michael Yew

The war is over, and Apollo has a body to find.

My response to this week’s @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt, “far from perfect”. This one clocks in at 999 words, according to MSWord. This is actually the start of an AU I’ve been toying with which may or may not get expanded on in the future.  It’s come to my attention that the amount of Apollo&Michael fics in existence is, honestly, tragic - barring a single fic on FFN from 2010, I’m the only person I can find who’s ever written them, so there might be a bit more of these two’s relationship appearing from me!  Naming this thing was a real pig; a title was eventually taken from the lyrics of Into The West.

There’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Williamsburg Bridge, or what was left of it, was a disaster zone.  Mortals milled around, gaping at the destruction that had occurred while they were asleep. More than one was screaming about their car – either severely damaged or washed away in the East River below. Frantic calls for people to answer as friends and families tried to find each other again reached Apollo’s ears from where he was standing precariously on one of the still-intact suspension cables that spanned the gap where the bridge should have been.

Like them, he was there for loved ones.  His heart screamed in agony and a little bit of sympathy for the worried mortals, but while they had hope, he had none.  All he would find were bodies, dead and cold.  Already he had found an arm – just an arm, brutally torn away from the rest of the body – belonging to Nathan, and the knowledge of his son’s fate weighed down upon him heavily.  Somewhere in the river below him was the other missing one – his eldest, Michael. None of his siblings had found him (they’d found Elias, and Sally, but Michael’s body had eluded their tired searching), and while they tended to the still-living, Apollo had taken it upon himself to continue the search.

Not that anyone knew he was doing it.  The gods were in an emergency council, in a ruined throne room with the son of Poseidon making outrageous but justified demands of the gods and thoroughly distracting Zeus from the fact that not all of Apollo was in that room, no matter that he was supposed to be.  When he found Michael – when, not if – he would take him back to camp personally. He could, at least, spare his surviving children the trauma of preparing the body for the funeral.

With the distant frantic cries of mortals ringing in his ears, he jumped down, a fall that would kill a mortal – had killed demigods – and came to a floating halt just above the water.  It was clogged with bridge debris – tarmac and rods of metal and unfortunate, mangled, cars – and looked like a particularly ugly, haphazard dam.  Both Elias and Sally had been caught up in that, alongside many other demigods, from Kronos’ army, and their bodies were long since retrieved.  Apollo made a cursory check, to make sure, but he knew, deep down, that Michael wasn’t there.

He followed the estuary’s flow, walking on the water and casting out all of his senses for something, anything, that would tell him where his son had ended up.  Michael was small, and the waterway was big, but Apollo was a god and he would findhim.

An empty quiver, floating on the water with a broken strap, was his first clue, and Apollo snatched it up, instantly getting an impression of Michael, confirming the ownership. It was battered, damaged by what looked like fire and metal alike, and Apollo pressed it against his chest in despair as he continued his slow search down the river.

Michael was good at hiding; he was small, lightweight, and loved to perch in high places where no-one could see him.  It made him a fantastic archer in the grounds of Camp Half-Blood, where trees provided perfect vantage points, but Williamsburg Bridge’s provided vantage points were far from perfect.  His son had been unable to fight the way he was best suited to, and it had ended in tragedy.  That same, small, lightweight body remained good at hiding even now.

Apollo almost missed him, even with all of his senses on full alert.  Likely, part of him hadn’t wanted to see the broken body washed up on the bank, surrounded by more bridge debris, but he had and he didn’t waste time travelling by foot, instead disappearing and reappearing in a flash of light.

It was not a pretty sight. Some injuries were older, bandages wrapping around them and proving that he’d survived until at least the first lull in battle, where emergency treatment had been possible, but others were open to the elements, from his fall or shortly before it.

Michael’s body was crumpled unnaturally, all his limbs twisted and disembodied in a way that screamed shattered bones, and part of his chest was caved in.  A gash, angry and vivid against the too-white skin, ran from temple to chin, deep enough for the glimmer of bone to be visible.  Tears welled up in Apollo’s eyes and he let them fall unchecked as he knelt reverently beside his son.  His fingers shook as he reached out to touch his cheek, brushing damp, unruly hair away from Michael’s face.  It had escaped the ponytail he favoured at some point and clung like strands of web to the skin.

At the first contact, a spark rushed through Apollo, originating at his fingertip, where it touched clammy skin, and zipping straight the way through his essence, screaming out at him the whole time.

He choked back a disbelieving sob.

“Michael?” he rasped, voice raw, as he tentatively cupped a pale cheek in his hand.  His son’s eyes, their beautiful deep brown so like his mother’s, were closed as if he was in sleep, and Apollo’s tears grew heavier as he felt the faint, so faint, song of life still straining to sound a final few notes.

Somehow, two days after falling, his son wasn’t dead yet. Yet – his body was broken beyond mortal repair, or even demigodly; it was only a matter of time before it finally gave out.

The council was still going strong; no-one was looking at him.  No-one knew he wasn’t all there.

The Ancient Laws forbade interference.

Apollo had lost too many children to the war.

He made a decision.

“You’re not going to die,” he promised, cradling the broken body close in his arms and extending his essence to wrap around Michael in his entirety.  He was so small.  “I won’t let that happen.”

A flash of light later, they were gone.

Fandom: Trials of Apollo/Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard
Rating:Teen
Genre: Adventure, Friendship
Characters: Will Solace, Magnus Chase, Apollo, Nico di Angelo, Alex Fierro, Meg McCaffrey

Starting to wind down now.  I still hate wrapping up fics, but this chapter wasn’t too bad, at least.

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<<<Chapter 27

MAGNUS (XXVIII)
Magnus Willingly Signs Up For Powerpoints

Odin’s choice was not a choice at all.  As soon as Magnus had heard the first option, he’d known that whatever the second one was, he would have to take it.  Forgetting about the Greeks meant forgetting about Annabeth, his favourite – and arguably only – cousin, and while it was true he’d gone most of his life without having her in it, he had absolutely no designs to lose contact with her again now they were finally on the same page.

One look at his dad, Apollo, and even the auburn-haired goddess, told him that they all thought he should take the memory wipe.  Apollo and the goddess he could understand, because he was pretty sure neither of them even knew about Annabeth, but Frey’s opinion left him feeling cold.  It was almost entirely down to his father that he’d reconnected with her in the first place, so why the change of heart now?

Meg didn’t seem to have an opinion one way or the other, which Magnus suspected he should be offended by, but in reality understood.  Despite going on a quest together, the girl hadn’t really interacted with him on a personal level.  They certainly weren’t friends.  Acquaintances, at best.  Will and Nico, on the other hand, seemed to agree with him.

Then again, they were also friends with Annabeth, and they were pretty cool, despite the mess that had been Angrboda.  Magnus knew that Alex liked them, too, even if she hadn’t said it in quite so many words, and Alex was pretty judgemental when it came down to it.

Magnus didn’t need anyone else to approve of his decision, but secretly he was quite glad that he was going to have at least two people in his corner.

“I’ll take the ambassador job,” he said bluntly.  “There’s no way I’m forgetting everything that happened on this quest.”

He heard Apollo sigh deeply next to him, but to his credit the god didn’t try and talk him out of it.

“Even if Alex Fierro does?” Odin pressed, and Magnus stiffened.  “Or will you sign her up for this dangerous position, too?  Two ambassadors isbetter than one, I suppose.”

Magnusreally wished Alex had made it to Asgard, not just because he’d been the lone einherjar amongst the other demigods, but because she hated other people making decisions for her.  If given the choice, Magnus was certain that she’d take it – it was the exact sort of risk-taking danger she revelled in, and she also got on entirely too well with Annabeth’s boyfriend – but she’d also never forgive him for making the decision for her, no matter how well he knew her.

“Alex makes her own choices,” he said.  “I’m not choosing either option for her.  You’ll have to ask her what she wants.”

Odin glared at him, and Magnus immediately felt two inches tall.  The All-Father didn’t even need to challenge him to a Flyting to have that effect, apparently.  “Are you telling me what to do?” he demanded.

Self-preservation insisted that he back down, apologise, and make a decision.  Frey and even Apollo were notably on edge, and it definitely made a nice change to have two gods undeniably on his side, but Magnus knew neither of them could actually do anything to oppose Odin – especially Apollo, given that it would likely re-incite the same war they’d just halted if he tried.

For the most part, Magnus had pretty good self-preservation instincts, or so he liked to think.  It kept him alive a few seconds longer in the hotel battles, and before that had definitely kept him alive on the streets.  He wasn’t generally one to poke a snake with a stick, but sometimes, sometimes, he did.  Besides, the better self-preservation was keeping Alex happy.

“I’m not making Alex’s decision for her,” he said firmly, and braced himself for whatever retaliation Odin had planned for his disrespect.

Odin, being the unpredictable god that he was, threw back his head and laughed.  “A wise decision!” he proclaimed.  “Very well, I shall present the choice to her shortly.  In the meantime, however, I will take your decision.  You are certain you want the dangerous job of ambassador between pantheons, and not the safety of ignorance?”

For a god whose hobby was doing weird things in order to get as much knowledge as possible, Magnus thought it was pretty rich of him to call ignorance safety.

“My cousin is the daughter of Athena,” he said stubbornly.  Apollo’s eyes flickered with recognition, and Frey sighed in resignation. “I’ll take the job.”

Odin grinned broadly. “I’m pleased to hear it!” he boomed. “Very well, I shall hear Alex’s decision, and then you shall begin your lessons on ambassadorship.”

Magnus realised he had just signed himself up for Odin’s infamous powerpoints and did his best not to wilt.  It was worth it, he told himself.  This way, he could even visit Annabeth’s beloved camp at last and see it for his own eyes.

The All-Father morphed into a raven, and took flight in the direction of Valhalla.  Magnus hoped Alex had revived already, otherwise she was going to get an unpleasant shock when she woke to find Odin in her room. Frigg, who had remained silent the entire time, offered him a small smile – one he couldn’t work out if it was supposed to be reassuring or pitiful – before turning and walking away, leaving Frey the only Norse god still in the courtyard.

“Magnus,” his father said quietly.  “That-”

“I wasn’t taking the memory wipe,” he interrupted.  “Not a chance.”

Frey sighed.  “I didn’t expect you to,” he admitted, “but I had hoped you would.  It won’t be easy, Magnus.  Your cousin is mortal; you will watch her and your other Greco-Roman friends age and die, and outlast them all.  Forgetting would have been the easier option.”

Annoyingly, Magnus could see where he was coming from.  T.J. had said something similar to him, back when he first arrived in Valhalla. Mortals and immortals weren’t designed to interact; it only ended in heartbreak.

Still, he wasn’t changing his mind.

“But for it’s worth,” Frey continued, resting his hands gently on Magnus’ shoulders.  He was no bigger on touch than he’d been before he died, but with his dad it was always different, mostly because he only saw him once in a blue moon.  Also, he reminded Magnus of Mom, of the hikes they’d taken together, of everything from before his life fell apart.  A little rush of strength ran through him, too, which didn’t hurt.  “I’m proud of you, Magnus.  I already was, but working with another pantheon is something not even gods – most gods,” he corrected himself, glancing up at Apollo, “can do.  As you saw.”

Apollo laughed hollowly. “Demigods are amazing creatures,” he said, coming up to stand next to Magnus.  He still had his arm around Will’s shoulders, and Magnus got the feeling he wasn’t going to let go of his son until he absolutely had to.  From the good-natured grimace Will gave when their fathers weren’t looking at him, the other blond was aware of that fact, and while appearing resigned was probably actually very okay about it.  He certainly still needed help standing, even though the injury itself was closed up.  “If I hadn’t spent the past six months as a mortal, thanks to my father…” He trailed off, but the implication was clear.

“Apollo,” the auburn-haired goddess said sharply.  “Don’t anger him any more than you already have.”  Magnus really wished he’d paid more attention to Annabeth’s explanation about the Greek pantheon, because he didn’t have a clue who she was.

That was something he was going to have to learn, he realised.  He could hardly be an ambassador when he only knew a handful of names, and could only put faces to a selection of those.  If Hades, Athena and Poseidon hadn’t looked so much like the offspring he knew, he wouldn’t have had a clue.

Well, okay, maybe Hades’ all-black regalia might have clued him in without his similarities to Nico.

“What’s he going to do?” Apollo retorted, sulkily.  “Make me spend another six months as a mortal?  Because that ended up so well this time.”  Despite his words, though, he’d pulled Will even closer to his side and Magnus got the feeling that he was genuinely scared of whatever Zeus had in store for him – a feeling he would have dismissed if not for that one prophecy line.  Who would ever have thought that the ‘abused child’ would be a literal god?  Come to think of it, Angrboda had said something similar about Lester, hadn’t she?

The goddess’ eyes softened slightly.  “Apollo,” she sighed.

“I’m fine, sis,” he insisted, turning away from her to face Frey as Magnus frantically tried to remember if Annabeth had said anything about Apollo’s sister.  Oh, who was he kidding, it was less of an ifand more of a what.  “Before we leave,” the god continued, “I want to thank you, Frey.”  He rubbed a hand up and down Will’s upper arm.  “Thanks for saving my son.”

“Dad-” Will started, but Nico interrupted his boyfriend to offer his own inclined head to Frey, complete with thanks in a shaking voice.

From what he knew of Nico, that seemed like a huge gesture of respect.

“It was the least I could do,” Frey replied.  “You had the far harder job, and I’m sorry I was unable to help restore the peace.”

The goddess snorted. “With our lot all on the warpath, no alf seidr would have been enough, Frey,” she said.

Magnus’ Dad grimaced in agreement.  “Let’s hope we don’t end up in that situation again, Lady Artemis.”  That was her name.  Goddess of the moon, man-hating virgin goddess who recruited girls to join her eternal hunt.  Magnus remembered now.

“I’m sure your son will do his best to prevent it.”  Her eyes, silver like the full moon, focused on him, and he tensed.  “I will be interested to see how well he manages.”  That wasn’t at all ominous.

Apollo poked her in the side.  “Don’t scare him, Arty,” he scolded.  “He’s a good kid.”  His twin glared at him, which went ignored.  Magnus supposed that was a sibling thing, although it would never not be weird seeing immortal beings acting human.  “Unfortunately, we should be going now.”  Apollo didn’t sound pleased about that in the slightest. “If Alex takes the ambassador position… ask her to come see me?  I want to thank her for her help.”

“And to come see us,” Will chipped in.  He was still pale, and Magnus was aware that while he and his dad had healed the physical wound, the mental impact of his near-death and probably the entire shit show that had been their quest was still taking its toll on the son of Apollo. “I’d really like to replace that last memory of her with something a little less fatal.  Even if she doesn’t, come visit soon.  I’d love to compare healing techniques with you when we’re not fighting for our lives.”

Magnus nodded, already looking forwards to that.  He got on with the einherjar just fine – well, those his own age, anyway – but being the only healer in a group of warrior-minded individuals did leave him a little out on the edge, sometimes.

“Will do,” he agreed. “I’ll come visit as soon as Odin’s done with his ‘training’.”  He really hoped the powerpoints wouldn’t be too long and arduous, although he was pretty sure that was a hope in vain.  “Alex or no Alex.”

Will smiled at him. “See you soon, then.”  He nudged Nico, who rolled his eyes.

“What he said.”

“Nico.”

“Will.”

Apollo chuckled at the pair of them, and turned to Meg, who was lurking on the edge.  “Going to say goodbye, Meg?”

She shrugged. “Why?  I’ll see him soon, apparently.”

“If you’re sure.” Apollo let the silence hang meaningfully for a few moments, but the girl didn’t say anything more.  Magnus wasn’t particularly surprised, and nor, from the fond look on his face, was Apollo.  “Well then,” the god said after the silence began to stretch.  “We should probably go before we start another war. Don’t be a stranger.”

The smile he gave was genuine, and stayed on his face as he started to glow golden.  Beside him, Artemis’s form shimmered silver.

Frey’s hand clamped over his eyes suddenly.

“Don’t look,” his dad warned.  Even through his hand, the light reached blinding levels, before suddenly they vanished, plunging Magnus’ vision into darkness.  A heartbeat later, Frey moved his hand.  “The Greco-Roman gods’ true forms will immolate anyone who sees them,” his father explained.  “If you’re going to be interacting with them regularly, you need to remember to close your eyes if they ever start glowing like that.”

“Right,” Magnus muttered. “Noted.”  The courtyard was empty of everyone except them, now.  “I guess that’s my cue to go back to Valhalla?”

Frey gave him a sad smile. “I suppose so,” he agreed.  “Come, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Did they really forget to say goodbye to me?” Jack asked suddenly, making Magnus jump.  The sword had been silent since Frey had joined him in healing Will, even going as far as to return to pendant form after a few moments rather than give Frey so much as the time of day.  “The cheek of it!  I had a message for Riptide, too.”

Magnus winced.  “We’ll see them soon,” he promised his sword. “Maybe we’ll even see Riptide so you can pass on the message in person.”

“Humph,” Jack sulked. “I’ve half a mind to ignore them next time, see how they like it.”  Magnus decided not to point out that if he hadn’t disappeared back into a pendant, they might have remembered to say goodbye to him, too.

“Why didn’t you take much energy when you reverted?” he asked instead.  Thanks to Frey giving him a burst of energy or few, he wasn’t entirely dead on his feet, but he suspected that he was going to need a nap sooner rather than later.

“I didn’t get to domuch,” Jack complained.  “None of us did, well, except for him.”

Magnus shouldn’t ask, he knew it, but, “us?  Him?”

“Us weapons,” Jack said, as though he was stupid.  “Or did you not notice the lack of arrows?  The lack of swordplay?  Stygian was the only one that got any exercise!”

They reached the door to Valhalla – the front door, which looked identical to the front door in Midgard, although as Valhalla was actually inAsgard,this was probably the actual front door, and Magnus was going to stop thinking about that before he gave himself a headache.

“Well,” Frey said, “this is goodbye for the moment.”  He smiled at Magnus.  “Try not to get obliterated by the Olympians.”

What exactly could he say to that?  “I’ll do my best, Dad,” he muttered, letting the god pull him in for a quick hug. “See you around?”

“Of course,” Frey promised. “You know where to find me.”

Alfheim was not high on Magnus’ list of worlds to visit, but he nodded anyway.

There was no point hanging around.  He stepped forwards, the wolf-emblazoned doors soundlessly opening to admit him, and with only a single glance back at his dad, who offered a wave, he returned to the halls of Valhalla.

The daily battle had to still be ongoing, because the hallways were deserted.  The elevator arrived immediately, almost mockingly fast compared to the last time he’d tried to call it, and he and Jack were alone with the repetitive drone of Norwegian Frank Sinatra as they travelled up to floor nineteen.

Alex was waiting for him outside her door.  She’d changed from her quest outfit into a green and pink tartan miniskirt, striped knee-high socks of the same colours, and a hot pink spaghetti-strap top, complete with plaid green neckerchief.

“I hear we’re Odin’s new Greco-Norse ambassadors,” she commented.  “I take it that means all gods are back where they belong?” Alex raised an eyebrow.  “Please tell me that bitch got what was coming to her.”

“We are,” Magnus sighed, unsurprised that she’d taken the same decision he had, before giving her the brief run-down of Asgardian events.  “Will got kebabbed, but Dad was there to help while Apollo yelled at both pantheons.” And hadn’t that been a sight, Apollo still in Lester’s wrecked, blood-stained Hotel Valhalla t-shirt going head-to-head with both pantheon rulers simultaneously.  Magnus hadn’t envied him that in the slightest.  “Turns out it was your mom orchestrating it all, and Carrie was working for him because she wanted to, so as appeasement, Carrie got handed over to Zeus to do whatever he wanted with.”

“Please tell me he made her death slow and painful.”  Alex joined him as he walked past her room, making a beeline for his own.

“She disappeared in a ball of lightning, so I think he zapped her back to Olympus,” Magnus told her. He glanced around at all the closed doors.  “The others still resurrecting?”

“Yup,” she said.  “I would have joined the battle, but it’s not the same without you to watch die.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly, reaching his own room and shutting the door.  “I’m gonna go crash out for a bit.  Try not to get too bored without me.”

She scoffed.  “Magnus, you are not my only method of entertainment, even if you’re usually the most amusing.”  He received a shove in the back that sent him stumbling forwards into his bedroom.  “Go and get your beauty sleep.  I’ll interrogate you for the rest of the details later.  I’m sure the others want to hear all about it, anyway.”

He groaned, remembering that Halfborn had apparently figured out about the Greek pantheon being real and would no doubt be after the full explanation, and gladly faceplanted his bed.

After a few days sleeping under bridges and in Jotunheim, his bed was heavenly.  “Wake me up never,” he told Alex, or rather the pillow.

The last thing he heard before sleep claimed him was Alex’s amused laughter.

Chapter 29>>>

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians/Trials of Apollo
Rating:Teen
Genre: Family, Friendship
Characters: Michael Yew, Will Solace, Apollo, Nico di Angelo

During the Battle of Manhattan, Michael Yew fell into the East River; his body was never found.  Two years later, a homeless kid known only as Ferret has a chance encounter that changes everything he knows.

This was supposed to be a short Michael lives!AU because I refused to write another longfic when I have too many planned already.  At over 16k words, ‘short’ is not the word I’d use.  I’ve given Michael a bit of a dirty mouth, so a language warning on this one, as well as a panic attack.  Disclaimer that I have no idea about homeless culture in New York.

Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Ferret snarled at the asshole that had veered his car into a puddle and deliberately splashed muddy, gross, New York puddle water all over him.  “Screw you, too!” he spat after the vehicle as it sped away, straightening back on the road until it was in the middle of the carriageway where it belonged, leaving no doubt that the assault had been entirely intentional.

He hated bastards like that. Being ignored?  Being ignored was normal.  Most people liked to pretend he didn’t exist, and Ferret wasn’t the biggest fan of that, but he’d learnt the hard way that it was better to the usual alternative – behaviour like that.  Why some assholes thought it was funny to pick on homeless kids, he’d never know, but he hated it.

Once upon a time, he’d retaliated far more viciously – he wasn’t afraid of fights, and he wasn’t afraid of starting fights – but then people had started calling the cops on him, and Ferret liked the cops even less.

The cops hated him, too. There was something about him that rankled them; it was probably the fact that Ferret was the only name he’d give them, and no matter how hard they investigated, they’d never got another name.

Ferret had let the investigations happen, until it became apparent they were going nowhere.

The cops didn’t know who Ferret really was – the problem was, Ferret didn’t know who he really was, either.

His first memory was waking up on the bank of the East River, seeing some unfamiliar faces, and then passing straight back out again.

His second memory was waking up behind a dumpster, with some rugged, rough-looking older men sitting around him.  There had been pain – pain in his arm, pain in his chest, pain in his leg – and when he’d tried to sit up, automatically taking the situation in – four men, mostly malnourished but one guy looked like he could enter a brawl and win, between him and the main alley, unlikely he’d be able to leave easily – he’d almost screamed as his body protested loudly.

“Easy, kid!”  The guy that looked like he could win a brawl had caught him as he fell backwards, lowering him back down without his permission, not that he could do anything about it.

“Good to see you awake,” one of the others had croaked; he was missing several teeth, giving him a gappy mouth, and straggly light brown hair had looked like it was in sore need of a brush.  The matching beard had looked worse.  “You’ve been out of it for two days.”

“You got a name, kid?” a third had asked – this one the youngest-looking, barely into adulthood with cropped hair that would probably have been blond if it hadn’t been so dirty.

He hadn’t recognised any of them, and something inside him had bristled.  “The fuck are you guys?” he’d snapped, trying to push himself upright again, gritting his teeth against the pain.  Brawler had put a hand on his back, a support he had neither asked for nor was grateful for.  “What do you want?”

Fear.  That’s what had been coiling in his chest – the fear of the unknown, the fear that he had no idea how he’d got there, no idea why he was there, no idea who he evenwas.  His instincts had screamed danger at him, but he hadn’t been able to see any outright signs of it.

“We found you passed out by East River,” the fourth one – tall and lanky – had said quietly.  “Not far downstream from Williamsburg Bridge. From the looks of you, you were on it when it collapsed?”  It had been a question, but he hadn’t had an answer and said nothing, instead glowering at the man.  “We’ve kept an eye on the news, but no-one matching your description’s been on the missing list and you don’t look like you’ve got the money for hospital so we brought you to our patch.  None of us are in the business of letting kids die on the streets.  The name’s Rook.  This fella’s Jimmy” – the youngest of the four – “then you’ve got Scout” – the gappy-mouthed one – “and Mika.”  That was the brawler guy keeping him upright.  “So, you got a name, kid?”

“I’m not a fucking kid,” he’d snapped, on an impulse he didn’t recall but fell into the familiarity of as the words came out.

Jimmy had failed to stifle a snort.  “You look like you’re about twelve, kiddo.”

“I’m-”  The words had died in his throat as he realised he didn’t know how old he was.  He’d bristled instead.  “None of your fucking business.”

If the men had been insulted, they hadn’t shown it.  Instead, he’d got a fond eyeroll from James and Gappy that made him want to punch them. The pain pulsing through his body had stopped him.

“How long have you been on the streets?” Rook had asked.  “You got a patch of your own to get back to?”

Was he a street kid?  A glance down at what he was wearing had told him he probably was – a faded orange tee had been ripped and torn, whatever words had once been on it illegible.  His jeans hadn’t look much better, and there was a disturbing amount of staining on both items that had looked dark and potentially red.  Shoddy bandaging around his leg and arm was badly done, but there had been no way for him to try and re-do them with the pain in his arm.

“Hell if I know,” he’d grumbled, not realising what he’d admitted until the words were out and it was too late to take them back.

Four pairs of eyes had widened.  “Shit, you hit your head?” Mika had asked, a hand immediately brushing through his hair. He’d pulled away sharply and let out a pained hiss as his chest – his ribs, something told him, three cracked and one broken – had protested abruptly at the movement.  “What do you know?”

He’d bared his teeth at them and snarled.  Unfortunately, they’d taken that to mean exactly what he hadn’t wanted to let on – he knew nothing.

“In that case,” Rook had said, seemingly the leader of the little group of four.  “You’re staying with us.”

“The Hades I-”

“We’re not letting an injured kid out on the streets alone,” Rook had overruled him.  “If you want to bugger off once you’re healed up, that’s your call, but until then, you’re staying with us.”

And that, really, had been that.

That had been two years ago. Ferret – “we can’t keep calling you ‘kid’.  If you don’t know your name, we’ll give you a nickname.” “He’s small and feisty, how about Ferret?” – had ended up sticking with the four after he’d healed up, and they’d taught (re-taught?  He still didn’t know if he’d been a street brat before) him how to survive on the streets. Where the shelters were, which shelters to trust and which ones to steer clear of.  Safe places and danger zones, how to dodge the cops when they came calling.

None of them knew how old he was, despite two years of checking the news for missing kids, and then going back even further than the destruction of the Williamsburg Bridge in case he’d been on the streets before that, there was no record of a kid that looked like him at all – black hair he kept in a short pony, barely brushing his shoulders when loose, brown eyes, and undeniably short.  The men had, eventually, settled on a guess around the thirteen mark, although Ferret protested it, which made him maybe-fifteen now.  He still hadn’t breached five foot, much to his frustration – compared to tall and lanky Rook, he really did look like a little kid.

Life on the streets was tough.  Ferret might not remember what it was like to not be on the street, but he still knew that the life he was living was rough – and it wasn’t made any easier by the Monsters.

He didn’t know what they were.  None of the other guys ever seemed to see them, and for the most part the things left him alone (although not always, and Ferret was glad he was a fast healer, even if that was something the others found a little odd about him – apparently a broken leg wasn’t supposed to heal perfectly in four weeks without any professional medical attention; Mika had been convinced he’d have a gammy leg for life but Ferret’s leg never bothered him after it healed up), but sometimes he got attacked by what everyone else invariably called untrained dogs, or crazed drunks.

No-one had ever called him out for killing them, even though he knew that was what he was doing.  Then again, when they died, they all turned to dust. He didn’t know what the others saw, but it certainly wasn’t that.  In the wreckage of the Williamsburg Bridge, he’d found a bronze-coloured weapon no-one else seemed to see, just a knife but it was something he could use and he was under no illusions that without it, he’d be long-dead.

Ferret wasn’t entirely sure he was sane; even if he knew what he was seeing, doubt crept in every time no-one else saw monsters masquerading as humans, as dogs – as pigeons, that one time a flock of something mean and nasty had come for him and only been scared off when he’d run into the subway just as a train had thundered past, echoing in the tunnel and sending the birds packing.  His fast healing meant he didn’t so much as scar from the encounters, either, and more than once he started to wonder if it was all in his head.

They’d never found a head injury – not that he’d trusted the others near his head for several months, so any signs of it would have been long gone by then, anyway – but considering he already had one glaring brain problem (two, if you counted the fact that reading was a real headache and letters wouldn’t stop swimming around long enough for him to make out the words; most of the research into missing kids was being done by his four pseudo-guardians because Ferret inevitably started tearing up papers or narrowly missing library computer monitors with his fist when he got frustrated) another wasn’t as far off the cards as he’d have liked.

Soaking wet – considering it was August, New York had entirely too many puddles for asshole drivers to splash all over homeless kids with barely any spare clothing to change into – he stropped back to their patch, his meagre collection of pilfered earnings stuffed in his backpack.

The advantage of being small for his age (he assumed, although even if the others were right and he was fifteen, not even being five foot was far too fucking short), was that he was good at getting around unnoticed.  He was also very fit and strong for his size – jimmying open windows, sneaking into unguarded houses and snatching cash and food wherever he could find them was almost disturbingly easy.

Rook, Scout and Jimmy didn’t look quite so malnourished any more.  Ferret considered it repayment for looking after him when they’d found him, and for still looking out for him two years later.  Monsters aside, people tended to leave him alone when the other four were with him – especially Mika, who still had his brawler’s appearance. Ferret provided the food and cash; they provided the shelter, safety and experience.

He’d had to go a decent way out of their patch this time – stealing in the same areas all the time drew attention, he’d learnt the hard way after cops caught up with him one time and he’d spent the night in lock-up before one of the local shelter helpers (one of the good, safe, ones) had turned up with bail in hand and got him out of there.  The four older men had fussed over him for the rest of the day, ignoring him when he snapped at them to drop it.

Ferret had a hell of a temper and he knew it – the various dumpsters in the area knew it; several of them were dented from where he’d grabbed the heaviest things he could (or most breakable, depending on his mood) and hurled them against the metal.  He always hit the same place with every object, leaving some deep dents in the metal by the time he was done.  Other people knew it, too – it was the main reason he got into fights – but the four he lived with found him more adorable than threatening, for the most part.  They let him rage and destroy things and exhaust himself before offering him what food they had to spare and Mika (it was always Mika) squeezed him in a too-tight hug.

All the regular homeless in the area knew he was the quartet’s ‘kid’.

He was the other side of Manhattan now, though, the streets less familiar and his wariness ramped up to eleven as he trudged his way back towards his usual territory.  He’d made a good haul today, any residual guilt at stealing long since trampled by necessity and his hackles raised by the asshole driver to the point that he simply didn’t care.  He stomped as he walked, dodging puddles because his boots – the same ones he’d woken up in, his only ones – were getting worn through and he didn’t want soggy feet to go with soggy jeans and the too-big tee Scout had picked up from a homeless shelter for him a while back.  As always, other passers-by ignored him, preferring to pretend the scruffy kid didn’t exist than acknowledge his existence and the fact that yes, New York had a thriving population of homeless kids.

All the passers-by except the ones that weren’t, because there was hissing, snarling, and Ferret had his knife out of his pocket straight away even as he broke into a run. He didn’t know this area well enough to use it to his advantage in a fight, and a glance around showed him five women with snakes for legs (why did that exist) and three huge, black dogs with glowing red eyes bounding after him.

That was more than Ferret had taken on at once before, and he only had one knife.  Well, he had other things that counted as weapons – broken pieces of metal, mostly, with a few shards of glass – but he’d learnt the hard way that no matter how many of those he threw, they never did a lick against the Monsters.  Eight monsters at once… he couldn’t outrun the dogs, and the snake-ladies were unfairly quick, too.  He’d have to find somewhere to bottle-neck them, force them to fight one at a time, but he didn’t know of anywhere nearby where he could.

He skidded around a corner, nearly knocking over a kid all in black who he shoved out of his way desperately, to an indignant shout that quickly changed into a noise of alarm – that was different, but Ferret couldn’t focus on that right then, not when he was being chased.  His eyes constantly glanced around, looking for somewhere, anywhere, he could turn to his advantage so he hopefully survived the encounter, and he spotted a narrow alleyway half flooded with puddles.

Apparently he would be getting wet feet after all, but it was that or death, and Ferret could always dry his boots once he got back to his home patch.

He spun to a halt, knife out in front of him, and eyed the opening, waiting for the first Monster – one of the dogs, they were the faster of the two types chasing him.  Then he heard the commotion.

The dogs were yelping and snarling in the distance, and the snake women were hissing something fierce. Part of Ferret wanted to peer out of his hastily-chosen alley to see what was going on, but common sense honed by two years on the streets, where attention was bad, just wanted to lay low in the hopes of avoiding a fight he’d struggle to win.

His decision was made for him when a yelping dog with arrows – literal arrows – in its side came barrelling into the alley, jaw open and tongue lolling rabidly.  Ferret dodged to the side, leaping up to grab the side of a fire escape and monkeying his way up a few feet, out of immediate biting range of the huge beast, before dropping down onto its back, knife sweeping straight for the thing’s neck.

It disintegrated into dust, dropping him the last few feet to the ground.  Pain lanced through his ankle, but he grit his teeth and ignored it, whirling back around to face the mouth of the alley before the next Monster came through.

It didn’t.

Instead, the same goth-wannabe kid in his black clothes burst in, a wicked-looking black sword in his hand.  Dust glittered in his hair, the same kind Ferret was currently standing on.  Ferret raised his knife defensively – he’d never fought another human before, but unless something was hiding beneath those all-black, skull-motifed clothes, the kid seemed completely human to him.

Dark eyes zeroed in on his knife, then flickered down to the dust at his feet.

“You killed the Hellhound?” Ferret couldn’t place the accent, but it wasn’t a New Yorker’s.

“The fuck are you?” he snarled back, not letting the blade lower in the slightest.  “What did you see?”

Did this random kid – although he looked to be barely younger than Ferret’s own estimated age – actually see the Monsters for what they were?  Had Ferret finally, somehow, found someone else that saw what he did?

“I saw you being chased by a pack of Hellhounds and Dracaenae,” the kid said.  “We dealt with the rest, but one got past us.”

The Monsters had names.  Ferret almost couldn’t believe it – after two years, he had actual proof that they weren’t just all in his head.  One part of what the kid had to say, however, stuck out at him.  “We?”  The guy wasn’t alone?

As if in answer, another voice floated into the alley.  “Nico? Did you get it?”

“Nope!” the kid – Nico – chirped, sheathing his sword, “looks like the demigod they were after knows how to fight back.”

Demigod?

Ferret cautiously lowered his knife a little as the other’s weapon was put away.  The word was familiar, in a weird way – the sort of familiarity he had in faint spurts, but could never cling to long enough to work out why.

“Is he hurt?”  The other voice got louder.

“I’m fine,” Ferret snarled before Nico could try and check him over.  His ankle would heal up soon enough, and he had to get back before the others started worrying after him.  “Thanks, or whatever, but I’ve got places to be and you’re not it.”

Annoyingly, Nico was between him and the exit, but the other kid looked like he could be pushed past without much trouble, so Ferret limped forwards regardless.

“Wait!” Nico protested, moving to stand in front of him.  “There’s somewhere-”

Whatever he was about to say got cut off when his companion finally appeared.  Where Nico was all black and pale, the other guy was bright – blond waves tousled down around his ears, light blue eyes widened in what looked like shock, and he wore a bright orange tee that looked a lot like the one Ferret had woken up in, two years ago.

He couldn’t read the black print on it, not with the ripples of the fabric as the blond guy moved, dropping a longbow into the muddy puddle and stumbling a couple of steps forward, before staggering back against his companion.

“Michael?”

The name came out strangled, choked up with a bunch of emotions Ferret didn’t care to try and identify.

“What?” Nico demanded, and Ferret found himself under scrutiny again.  “Will, do you know this guy?”

“Michael?” the other guy – Will, apparently – repeated, and while the name was a question it didn’t feel like he was unsure about it.  “You’re alive?  Where- Why-  How?”

The level of emotion rolling off of him was palpable, and Ferret didn’t want to even begin dissecting it. The name rolled around in his head, but he couldn’t let his hopes rise.  What were the odds that, after two years of scouring everything he and the others could find to try and work out who he was, he’d happen to bump into someone in the street who knewhim?

Not worth placing any bet on, that was for sure.

“What are you on about?” he snapped, resuming his push forwards, but neither Nico nor Will moved out of his way, and when he tried to push past them, he found that both of them were stronger than they looked.  Ferret’s unusual strength for his size gave him no leeway in trying to get around them.

“Michael,please,” Will begged, and there were tears forming in those blue eyes.  “I know it’s you.  It’s me, Will.  Will Solace.”

Ferret’s “I don’t know you,” was drowned out by Nico.

“Are you sure it’s him?” the dark-clad teen asked.

“Yes,” Will near-whispered. “That-  That’s Michael’s camp necklace.”

Ferret’s knife-free hand flew to the leather thong around his neck, with its seven clay beads.  It was a bizarre collection, and he hadn’t ever been able to make heads nor tails of whatever the various designs on them were supposed to be, but he’d kept it anyway, because it was a clear link to the past he didn’t remember.

“It’smy necklace,” he snarled.  “Get out of my way before I make you.”

“But…” Will trailed off, looking absolutely heart-broken.  “Michael.  Why didn’t you come back?  I – we – thought you died.  What happened to you?”

Ferret attempted to muscle his way past them, but both of them were taller than him and Nico grabbed his arm.  “Don’t you dare walk away,” the taller boy snarled, suddenly feeling dangerous. Ferret shifted his grip on his knife. “You owe Will an explanation.”

“Nico-”

“Why?” Ferret demanded. “I don’t owe him-”

“Because he’s your brother!” Nico snapped, and Ferret was abruptly cut off as the word slammed into him.  Automatically, he looked at the other teen – about his assumed age, blond and bright with blue eyes, nothing like Ferret’s black hair and brown eyes – trying to find any indication that it was true.  “And when you didn’t come back after the war,” the other boy continued, clearly not done, “you left all the responsibility for your siblings on his shoulders. He was thirteen.”

Ferret should say so what and walk away.  The urge was there, but when he tried to say the words, they died in his throat. There was something about the blond boy, maybe the tears in his eyes, although Ferret wouldn’t call himself soft enough to be affected by that, that made him pause.

“I don’t fucking know,” he lashed out instead, tearing his eyes away from Will, because Will was difficult to look at, and focusing on Nico instead, because Nico was easy to snap at.  “I don’t fucking know.  I woke up on the edge of the East River one day and I don’t fucking know how I got there.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Will’s direction, but he didn’t dare look back at him, not even when the teen asked “you don’t know?” in a small, quiet voice.  “Michael-?”

“Two fucking years, I’ve been trying to find out who the fuck I am,” he cut him off.  “And now I run into someone who’s apparently my brother, when those gods-damned Monsters come after me yet-a-fucking-gain.”  It felt ridiculous.  It felt contrived as hell, and Ferret’s hackles came up even though something hopeful was blooming in the back of his mind.

“Amnesia?” Will asked, and there was an edge of hysteria to his voice.  Ferret had heard it amongst the homeless often enough to recognise it when he heard it.  “Gods, Michael.”

“What of it?” he snapped back, making the mistake of turning his head again.  “Not one missing persons report.  Not one.”  And that hurt, that he – apparently – had family who had never even bothered to look for him.

“We looked,” Will told him, eyes bright and intense and earnest.  “We were fighting monsters on Williamsburg Bridge, and you fell when it broke.  We looked for you, I swear we looked for you.  We found your bow, your quiver… but we never found you, or the others that fell.”

“You gave up.”  It wasn’t a question, and Ferret’s heart ached when Will sobbed, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“It was war,” Nico interceded sharply.  “A lot of people died.  Mortals think it was freak weather, but it wasn’t.  It was a gods’ damned war and there was only so much any of us could do.”

Mortals? Ferret frowned.  “I don’t care,” he said, stepping back.  If he couldn’t go through them, he’d have to go around instead.  Rook and the others had to be worrying about him by now – they went looking for him whenever he went missing, they were the ones that had bothered the shelter helper into bailing him out of lock-up that one time.  They didn’t give up on him, even though he was rude to them more often than not.

“Come back to camp,” Will begged him.  “Chiron or Mr D. might be able to help your memories.  Dad might be able to help.”

Go with two kids who claimed they knew him – no matter how convincing their story was – that Ferret had no recollection of to a place he didn’t remember, or go back to his four pseudo-guardians?

It wasn’t even a choice. Ferret had lived on the streets far too long for that.

“No,” he said.

Nico bristled, but Will’s face crumpled.

“You-”

“I don’t even know you,” Ferret snapped at Nico, stepping back a pace and willing his ankle not to crumple beneath him.  “I’m going nowhere with you.”

“Living on the streets, being attacked at every turn, isn’t worth it!” the dark-haired boy snapped right back.  “Camp has protective barriers.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Ferret argued back.  “I’m notgoing.”

Nico snarled, but Will’s voice interrupted him.

“Okay,” the blond said, and he sounded upset about it but also resigned.  “We can’t make you-”

“Ican-”

“-if you don’t want to,” he continued, overriding Nico’s hair-raising interruption.  Ferret moved another limped step away from the teen.  “I wish you would, but we can’t force you.”

He seemed genuinely honest about it, but Ferret still warily kept his distance.

“But,” Will added, raising his hands to the back of his neck and snapping Ferret’s attention to the beaded necklace he wore, too.  There were eight beads on it, most of them the same designs as Ferret’s own.  “You should take this.”

“Will, are you sure?” Nico asked, suddenly sounding hesitant as the blond unfastened the cord and started shimmying beads off of until he had one in particular in his hand.  Will gave a watery smile to his companion.

“I’m sure there’s a spare or two back at camp,” he said, “and even if there isn’t… Michael gave more to the war than I did.  It doesn’t feel right that I have one and he doesn’t.”  He held out the bead for Ferret to take.

Ferret wasn’t sure what possessed him to accept it, but he let Will drop it into his palm.  It was no larger than the others on his necklace, clearly part of the set even though its design, like the rest of them, didn’t seem to be part of a matching set at all.  The bead itself was a reddish-grey, like natural clay no-one had bothered to paint, but on it was a painstakingly detailed rendition of the Empire State Building. Surrounding it were minute words – names, Ferret realised.

“Keep it,” Will insisted, curling Ferret’s fingers around it until he was holding onto it tightly.  “And… if you ever change your mind – Camp is on Long Island.  Follow the signs to the strawberry farm.”

“I still don’t see why we can’t grab him and go now,” Nico groused, and Ferret edged away further, only to stumble as his ankle flared up and find himself parked butt first in a muddle puddle.

Great.  Just what he needed.

“Michael!”  Will was on his knees next to him in a flash, worried hands hovering over his ankle.  “Let me help.”

Ferret swatted at him, surprised when he met air – he’d thought for sure Will meant helping him up, but instead the blond’s hands were heading towards his busted ankle, out of swatting range.  “I don’t need your help.”

“I can heal you,” Will told him bluntly.  “I know you heal faster than most people, but I’d be much happier if you weren’t hurt at all.”

Ferret flinched as his hands made contact.  “What the fuck are you-”

A golden glow – an actual glow – shimmered into existence around Will’s hands, and warmth sank into Ferret’s ankle.  Gobsmacked, he watched with wide eyes as the other teen hummed a familiar tune Ferret couldn’t name but somehow knew he knew and the pain in his ankle lessened, fading away into nothing.

Demigod, Nico had said earlier, called Ferret one, and he didn’t have a clue what that meant, but he knew that whatever Will was doing wasn’t something humans could do.

It made his head hurt to think about.

“There,” Will said after a few moments, humming dying away to nothing and the glow along with it.  “All fixed.”  He gave a shaky smile, which Ferret ignored as he cautiously scrambled back to his feet, tentatively putting weight on the ankle to find no twinge of warning at all.  Suddenly, Ferret’s fast healing didn’t seem so bizarre after all – not if his apparent brother could do that.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly. “Now fuck off.”

“I hope we’ll see each other again soon,” Will said earnestly, pulling himself to his feet using Nico’s elbow.  “Please, at least think about coming to Camp.”

Ferret huffed and turned away to stalk out of the alley, before a thought struck him and he paused.

“I have one question,” he admitted, not looking back.  He got the feeling that, if he did, he might cave to Will’s bright blue eyes after all. There was just something about them that felt like they could manage to change his mind.  “How old am I?”

There was a stunned silence from behind him; obviously, Will hadn’t expected the question.

Ferret wasn’t expecting the answer.

“Eighteen,” Will said quietly.  “Your nineteenth birthday is on the twentieth.”

That was… three days away. The same day he’d woken up behind a dumpster to four older guys who more or less adopted him on the spot.

They’d called him twelve when it had been his seventeenthbirthday.

Ferret let out a bark of laughter.  “Don’t follow me,” he ordered, before slipping out of the alley and letting himself be swallowed up by the crowds of pedestrians walking around.

It wasn’t until he got back to the safety of his patch that he realised he still had Will’s bead in his hand.  He scowled down at it, at the names that somehow didn’t float around the same way words usually did for him, until his eyes caught one in particular.

Michael Yew.

That… that was him. He didn’t know how he knew, but there was a certainty that settled into his bones as the name flooded his mind. Finally, after two years, Ferret knew without a shadow of a doubt what his name was.

The sun was starting to lower, the brightness of the day making way for the vibrant oranges of sundown, and Ferret – Michael – knew that he had to get back soon.  Rook and the others would be having kittens about his absence by now.  With nothing better to do with the bead, and a new attachment to it that meant he couldn’t even entertain the idea of dumping it in the street, he hurriedly slipped it onto the leather throng around his neck, letting it clack into place next to the last one in the sequence – an intricate maze-like design picked out in silver against a crimson bead.

Then he hurried the rest of the way back.

Sure enough, all four were ecstatic to see him, pulling him into tight hugs even as he was scolded for taking so long, and he let himself relax.  No matter who he was, no matter who his apparent brother was, he had this.

He considered not telling them about the encounter, about Will and finally having a name for himself, but they’d been working just as hard as he had – harder, even – to find out who he really was, and he couldn’t bring himself to keep it a secret.

“I met someone today,” he told them later that evening, while they were dining on a feast of not-yet-expired bread he’d managed to swipe before everything went wrong.  It was the most heavenly fare they could ask for, outside of the shelter-supplied food they mostly lived on.

“Ooh?” Jimmy asked, waggling his eyebrows.  A small stone was thrown at his head; it landed spot on between his eyebrows, as intended.

“Someone who knew me,” he clarified, and instantly the air changed.

“You’re sure?” Rook asked, ever the cautious leader.

He nodded.  “Yeah,” he admitted.  “What he said about me… it fits with what little I remember.  Why I was on the Bridge, why my own fucking brother apparently never put out a missing report for me, where I used to live.”

“Wait, your brother?” Scout asked, astonished.  He’d lost more teeth over the past two years, so now there was more gap than teeth in his mouth, and his voice whistled when he spoke.  “You met a guy who said he was your bro?”

“What was he like?” Mika added, before he could answer.  He took a mouthful of bread to buy himself some thinking time.

“Too good to be true,” he settled on, once he’d swallowed.  Will, with his bright demeanour, bleeding heart, and tearful blue eyes seemed too nice.  “Doesn’t look a thing like me.”

“You think he was lying?” Rook frowned.  That was an easy question.

“Nah.  I still don’t fucking remember him, but he felt like he believed what he was saying.”  How he knew that, he couldn’t say.  Maybe it was the bead, warm against his sternum where it sat.  “He wanted me to go back with him.  Kid was crying his eyes out; thought I was dead, apparently.”

No-one asked why he hadn’t gone with Will.  Street life was like that – if you jumped at any sob story that seemed too good to be true, it probably was.  Best to check around first, see how much truth it had in it.

“So, what do you want to do about it, Ferret?”  Rook asked, before pausing.  “Did he give you a name?”

“Mine or his?”

“Either.  Both?”

He frowned.  “Kid’s name was Will.”  Will Solace he’d said, but the name on the bead had been Michael Yew and that felt far more natural than Solace did.  “He called me Michael.”

Mika chuckled.  “Good name,” he said, like that wasn’t his own full name.  “So, you a Michael, or you a Ferret?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?  He didn’t know – ever since he’d read the bead, felt the familiarity of the name embracing him, he’d been confused.  He’d been Ferret for as long as he could remember, but Michaelfelt right, like a missing piece slotting back into place after so long.  He shrugged.

“I’d say he’s our Ferret,” Jimmy piped up, leaning over and putting an arm around his shoulders.  He shoved him off, and the older man laughed. “Whatever the rest of the world wants to call him.”

Ferret – Michael – Ferret, yes, that felt more comfortable, he didn’t remember beingMichael, after all, rolled his eyes.  “Shut up,” he muttered, but none of the men were fooled.

“Ferret it is, then,” Rook continued, with a fond smile.  “So, what do you want to do about it?  Now we’ve got a name, we can probably find out more about you, if you want to know.  Or we can forget about it and keep going on the way we are.”

The older man looked at him, and Ferret knew what he wanted.  What all of them wanted.  They’d never hidden their distaste for kids like him – even if he wasn’t a kid, and that was a bombshell he still had to drop on them – living on the streets. If there was a reasonable out for him, they’d want him to take it.

Problem was, Ferret didn’t know what he wanted.  Life on the streets was tough, harsh and sometimes downright cruel, but he knew it, now. He didn’t know this kid called Will, or anything about that camp he wanted to take him to, or really anything at all about a different way of life.  He shrugged.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, and got a fond ruffle of his hair from Mika, who was not at all dissuaded by Ferret swatting his hand away.

“That’s okay,” the big guy said.  “You’ve got time to think about it.”

“It’s a shock,” Rook agreed. “Sleep on it, see how you feel in the morning.”

He was probably right – having something from his forgotten past appear in his life suddenly, in such a stressful situation, wasn’t doing Ferret’s head any good.  Hopefully it wouldn’t keep him up all night; Ferret had a solid ability to fall asleep wherever and whenever he could, thanks to life on the streets, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have times where things just circled around and around in his head and he didn’t catch a wink.

As it happened, when he curled up in his sleeping bag in the cranny behind the dumpster, he had no problems falling asleep at all.

He wished he had.

Fear.

Blood.

Golden, cold, eyes.

Tremors, falling, pain.

Screams.

Hellhounds and dracaenae and giants and empousai and a Minotaur and- and- and-

(How did he know what they were called?)

Lava, harpies, screeching, more screaming, blood, blood, blood, death-and-dying and blood on his hands, got to heal, got to help.

Arguments, shouting, curses and poetry and arrows and swords and-

A chariot that flew.

Gods.

Gods.

Prophecies,Olympus to preserve or raze.

Bright sunshine, a golden lyre made of light.

Faces.  So many faces.  Laughing, crying, screaming,dying.

Pain.

Going to die I’m going to die the bridge has to fall break the bridge!

“-ret!”

Snakes, Monsters, what’s going on-

“-erret!”

Demigod, father’s a god claimed welcome to cabin seven.

Blood, skull smashed in, giants safe-not-safe, death death death.

“FERRET!”

His eyes snapped open to worried faces looking down at him.  Arms were wrapped around his shoulders – he was shaking like a leaf, he couldn’t breathe, there was too much information in his head, like a dam had broken, shattered and everything was flooding in all at once.  His eyes started drifting closed again, darkness dragging him back down, but there was a tap on his cheek and a hand on his chest.

“Hey, Ferret, you gotta breathe first, kid.”

He dragged his eyes open again – an action that took far too much energy – but couldn’t even muster the energy to glare at the owner of the voice.

“In and out,” the voice said insistently.  “C’mon, Ferret.  In, and out. In, and out.  In, and out.”

A hand rubbed at his back firmly and he subconsciously arched into the grounding pressure, somehow wrangling his lungs into at least trying to let air back in again.

“That’s right,” the voice encouraged.  “Like that.”

Ferret felt like he was drowning – water, breaking bridge, falling-falling-falling – as he gulped down air, desperately trying to keep his head up, out of the torrent of whatever it was (memories, memories) trying to drag him under.  The hands helped – too many to belong to a single person, hands on his cheeks, on his chest, on his back, arms around his shoulders, holding him against a warm, moving surface – but he still couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t steady his breathing beyond frantic gasps, couldn’t focus on his surroundings enough to know who was where, just that he wasn’t alone.

That he was safe.

“There we go,” the voice said, sounding relieved.  Ferret blinked, his chest still heaving, and Rook’s thin, tall figure solidified in front of him.  “You’re okay, kid.  You’re safe.”

Something nudged at Ferret’s mind, a tangible thread in amongst the chaos of thoughts and memories that didn’t seem to have a tether, and he scowled.

“’m not a kid,” he rasped, pushing himself fully upright.  Most of the hands fell away, but one stayed steady against his back in silent support.  He didn’t pull away from it.  “’m nineteen.”

Stunned silence met his declaration.

“No way.”  Jimmy shook his head in Ferret’s periphery.  “Pull the other one, Ferret.”

Ferret snarled at him, belatedly becoming aware that his face was very, very wet and scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his forearm angrily. Dawn hadn’t broken yet – how long had he been asleep?

“Did you remember something?” Scout asked, peering in close.  “That was a hell of a nightmare you were having.”

Ferret scowled.  “Will told me, yesterday,” he admitted.  “I turn nineteen on the twentieth.”  He ignored the probe about the nightmare.  They were memories, he was sure of it, but it was all too muddled and painful to even try to make heads or tails of, and when he tried to grasp at any of it, his breathing stuttered again.

The hand on his back rubbed reassuringly again, and he pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to force it back under control again.

“Who’d’a thunk it?” Mika chuckled in his ear.  “You really are small and vicious, huh.”

He got a snarl for that, but it lost any potency when another spiel of memories crashed over him.

Keep your temper in check.

Don’t let it rule you.

I hope you all die!

Ungrateful bitch! Is your pride that fragile you self-centred cow?

If Kronos doesn’t get you, I’ll kill you myself!

Ferret hunched over with a pained gasp, hands clutching the side of his head like a vice.  Fear, anger, despair punched him in the gut, almost a physical abuse, and he choked on a breath.

“Damn,” he heard one of the men whisper.  Arms wrapped around him again, and he half-heartedly fought to get free.  “What are we supposed to do?”

Phantom pain lanced through him, his leg and ribs screaming at him as he remembered falling, toppling sideways and hitting anything and everything solid on his way down.  He keeled over, but he couldn’t tell if it was in his head or if he was actuallyfalling.

“Not much we can do,” one of the others said, barely audible over the screaming in Ferret’s head, the noise and chaos of weapons ringing against weapons and blood splattering over every surface.

So much blood.

“All we can do is stick with Ferret and hope this passes soon.”

It did not pass soon.

Ferret lost track of time almost immediately, curling up in his battered sleeping bag with his hands clutching his head as thoughts, emotions and memories smothered him, out of sync and so jumbled he couldn’t begin to decipher them but impossible to ignore. There was death – his death, his siblings’ deaths – there was pain and grief and exhaustion, and just when it seemed like that was all it was, happier moments interspersed.

Will, looking younger but unmistakable as the same kid he’d met in the alley, flashed up several times. Other faces and names – Lee, Austin, Kayla – floated into existence, light moments of ribbing and teasing before suddenly he was staring at a bloody corpse, at golden eyes glinting with malice, monsters bearing down on them, intent on tearing them limb from limb.

He screamed more than once, but he didn’t know if it was just in his head.  He sobbed and choked on tears and snot running down his face, he thrashed and fought enemies long-gone.

Sometimes, there were touches.  Moments of lucidity when he blinked and it was Rook, or Mika that he saw.  When Scout tipped water into his mouth, and he heard Jimmy worriedly rasp he’s burning up.

The sun blazed down on him. Not in the alley, in the dumpster that gave shade and shelter, but in his head, scorchingly bright with a grin to match.  Take these, said a warm voice that cascaded over him like sunbeams and arrows that crackled threateningly appeared in his hand.  Live.

He’d died.

He hadn’t died.

He’d been certain he was going to die.

Everythingburned.

He’s getting worse, he heard dimly at one point, between rushing lava and the horns of battle.

Dark, light, day, night, black, bright.  Ferret- Michael- Ferret- Michael-

He didn’t know what was in his mind and what was reality.  Memories and nightmares blurred, if they weren’t the same thing in the first place, events jumbled and all out of order and someone help me I can’t do this.

More gentle touches, ghosts of them, and he didn’t know what was even real any more.

It was easiest just to scream.

—-

“His fever’s finally broken,” he heard.  Something cool swiped across his forehead.

“That was the most terrifying thing I’ve seen in my life,” someone else – Jimmy, he thought – concurred. “What has he even beenthrough?”

“We knew his life was rough,” Rook chided them.  “He’s always jumped at shadows.”

They were talking about him. They had to be.  He swatted away whatever was on his forehead and pulled himself into a sitting position, opening his eyes to see his four companions sitting around him.

“Easy,” Mika cautioned, a warm hand on his back.

“Drink some water,” Scout insisted, handing him a bottle that he grasped and tipped back.  “You’ve had nothing to eat for two days.”  Some bread – going hard, but still edible, especially with the water – was pressed into his hand.  “Try and eat.”

His stomach grumbled at him in concurrence, and he tore off a chunk with his teeth, chewing it stubbornly until water and saliva combined to soften it up.

“We’ll get you something from the soup kitchen when it starts serving,” Rook promised.  “How are you feeling?”

“Like crap.”  His head still hurt, and he had a shit-tonne of memories to sort through now they’d stopped assailing him randomly and seemed to have settled into some sort of order, but he was lucid and breathing wasn’t a chore. It was an improvement, at least.  “Some asshole decided to slam seventeen years of memories into my head all at once.”

“Does it even work like that?” Jimmy wondered out loud.

Ferret (he still wasn’t quite Michael, not yet.  Not that demigod – fucking demigod, what the Hades – son of Apollo who’d fought and almost died to save a bunch of gods’ seats of power.  They must have won the war, they must have done, otherwise Will would’ve been dead, but he didn’t know what the Hades had happened and his head was going to explode if he got any more new information) scowled at him. “Ask my gods-damned head,” he bristled, and got two hands up in surrender.

“Presumably meeting his brother triggered it,” Rook pointed out.  “But the how and why doesn’t matter.  What matters is that Ferret’s tired, spent the last two days in a nasty fever, and needs to rest.  We’ll work out what to do next once he’s feeling better.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ferret griped, but Rook fixed him with a look.

“You need some proper food in you,” he said firmly.  “I don’t know what you remembered, and I’m not asking, but you look like absolute shit, Ferret.”

To Ferret’s annoyance, he knew the older man was right.  His hands were still shaking a little – nothing like the tremors from earlier, but a far cry from being still – and the headache didn’t seem like it was going to leave him alone any time soon.  “Screw you,” he muttered, and got a relieved smile in response.

“There’s our Ferret,” Jimmy grinned.  “You’re not right when you’re not snapping at anything that breathes.”

Ferret flipped him the bird.

At his pseudo-guardians’ insistence, he barely left the cranny behind the dumpster for several more days.  His nineteenth birthday – nineteen, Ferret could hardly believe he’d jumped from maybe-fifteen-if-we’re-generous to nineteen in less than a week – came and went, accompanied by far too much fanfare (it was tame, compared to his slowly-organising memories of camp, even if at camp he’d usually joint-celebrated with Will seeing as their birthdays were only three days apart) from the men. They were, they insisted, making up for the last two birthdays that had passed completely unacknowledged.

Ferret called bullshit, but that didn’t make the traitorous part of his mind that loved every minute of it any less happy.  It was only a thrown-out cupcake with a cigarette lighter jammed into the too-crispy icing, but it was something.

It certainly didn’t make his decision any easier.

He’d dismissed Will’s plea to return to camp, figuring that with no memories it wasn’t worth trying, but now his memories were back, slowly sorting themselves out into something that was starting to feel less and less like watching a reel of someone else’s life and more like what could actually have been his own, the lure of camp was starting to call.

Monsters were getting bolder.  It was hard to fight them when he was being fussed over so much, but they were finding him, now.  More than once, he’d found himself having to throw his dagger straight at one – if there was one memory he was grateful for, it was the training that went with the instincts – and scrambling out to retrieve it from the dust when he got a chance. He was less impressed with the knowledge that the more he knew about who he was, the stronger his so-called demigod scent was, and the more monsters he was attracting.

If one of the guys got hurt because of him, Ferret (Michael, whispered a little voice in the back of his head, reminding him that he was feeling more and more like Michael again every day), would never forgive himself.

The guilt from his argument with Clarisse, for being the factor that made the Ares cabin not come and fight, was already bubbling away viciously in the back of his throat.  He’d read the names on the bead – so many names, ones he could put faces too, now, and get whacked by the sledgehammer of grief when he realised these were the names of the dead, that he’d never see them again even if he went back to camp – and wondered how many of them had died because the Ares cabin weren’t there.

And yet, part of him was getting desperate to see camp (again).  He was a bit old for camp now, he knew – Luke, damn the son of Hermes – had been the oldest camper by some margin at nineteen, and now Mic- Ferret was nineteen.  But, he reasoned, he was still being pursued by monsters.

Leaving to go to camp would mean leaving the guys – mortal, not even clear-sighted, just four well-meaning mortals that had found him half-dead and decided to help him even though they had nothing.  They couldn’t come with him, and he couldn’t leave them in a better place.  He was their main source of non-shelter food and money.

He hadn’t counted on the men working out his dilemma by themselves.

“You’ve got a home, somewhere, haven’t you?” Scout asked him, two days after his birthday.  “Is living on the streets really better than that?”

Ferret jumped, glaring at him from where he was sharpening his dagger – he didn’t know what the others saw it as, but they never questioned it – on a piece of stone. Hardly perfect, but it would have to do. “The fuck you talking about?” he demanded.

“You said your brother wanted you to go with him,” Scout continued, unperturbed.  “So you’ve got a home, yes?”

His thoughts flickered to camp, and his chest ached.  It wouldn’t be the same, but damn if he didn’t want to see it again.

“So what?” he grumped.

“Is it a bad home?”

“Huh?”

Scout sighed.  “I’m trying to work out why you’re still here, Ferret.  Life on the streets is for the desperate.”

“If there’s a good home waiting for you, you should take it,” Jimmy added.

Ferret huffed.  “What makes you think it’s a good home?” he demanded. “It could be a shithole for all you know.”

“If it was, you wouldn’t be considering it at all,” Rook pointed out.

“How-”

“It’s written all over your face, kid,” the thin man smiled wryly.  “You want to go, but you don’t want to leave us.”

He bristled.  “Who says-”

“Ferret. Michael.  Whichever name you want to go by,” Rook interrupted.  It was the first time he’d called him Michael and it silenced him instantly.  “We’re grown men.  We looked after ourselves just fine before we found you.  We’ll survive if you go back home.”

“We’ve always wanted you to be somewhere safe,” Mika added.  “When you didn’t have a place to go, the safest place we could find was with us. But now there’s a home in the equation – if it’s safe for you, that’s all we want.”

“Although you’re more than welcome to come by and see us whenever you want to,” Jimmy chipped in, as Ferret stared at them all.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said bluntly.  “Are you kicking me out?”

“No,” Rook assured him. “Not at all, Ferret.  It’s your decision, but don’t you dare decide to stick around with us because you feel bad about leaving us.  That, I won’t forgive.”

“You’re a good kid,” Mika told him earnestly.  Ferret thought about some of his memories, about how he’d been the reason they’d been down their best fighters, and had to remind himself that they didn’t know about that.  He hadn’t told them anything, because how the fuck did he even start to explain the demigod thing?  “Don’t throw your life away because of us.”

He’d thrown his life away for others once already – for Will, scared at the end of the bridge, for the rest of his siblings who had barely got out the way in time.  He’d known he was going to die.  He’d ended that life.

The eighth bead on his necklace, the one with all the names he’d poured over, didn’t let him let that life go entirely.  They’d have burned a shroud for him, that chapter of his life had closed, but Will had given him the bead, an end-of-summer award from after the burning of the shroud, re-opening the door he’d never thought he’d even see again.

It was Will’s birthday tomorrow, he realised.  Will, his gentle brother who’d ended up in charge of the cabin after he’d fallen from the bridge, who’d begged for him to come back but been willing to let him walk back out of his life anyway, if that was what was best for him.

Nico had been right. He owed it to Will, at least, to try. He’d been a terrible big brother, dumping everything on him like that, and two years of absence would be impossible to make up for, but he could at least step through the door his brother had hopefully left open for him.

The delighted whooping from the guys when he muttered that he might go visit – visit, he stressed – his brother, family, tomorrow, almost got the cops on them for disturbing the peace.

—–

It was a lot of a trek to get to Camp Half-Blood.  The last time he’d made the journey, it had been in one of the camp vans, and every single one of them had been terrified during the two hour trip.  Scruffy and clearly homeless, there was no way he could hail a taxi to get there, but if he walked it, he wouldn’t make it in time for Will’s birthday.  Monsters were also rife around the camp’s border; exhausted, he’d be easy pickings.

Rescue came in the form of one of the shelter workers, the same woman that’d bailed him out of the overnight lock-up.  One of the guys must have told her he wanted to get to Long Island (he hadn’t given them an exact address, but it had felt wrong to give them nothing at all, even though they’d never be able to reach camp), because she caught his attention as he shouldered his backpack with his meagre belongings in it – the guys’ insistence, despite him stressing that he was only visiting, not planning on moving back in – and started the trek out of their patch for what he steadfastly refused to be the last time.

To her credit, she didn’t ask questions.  The ride passed in silence, barring the radio blaring out some familiar music that did nothing to quell his nervousness as they grew ever closer to camp.  Naomi Solace had never been his preferred genre, but with her son as a half-brother, he was familiar with her music regardless. Hearing her on his way to see her son, on his birthday, didn’t put him at ease at all.

Eventually, they reached the signs for the strawberry plantations, and he directed her to stop on the side of the road, insisting that he’d make his own way.

“Are you sure, Ferret?” she asked, looking around at the wooded area with no signs of civilisation in sight – at least, not to her mortal sight.  In the distance, he could see the heartachingly familiar archway with CAMP HALF-BLOOD inscribed in Ancient Greek.  “This looks… rather creepy.”

“It’s fine,” he said shortly, jumping out.  “Thanks for the ride.”

“Ferret?”

He left her behind without a second glance, rucking his backpack further up onto his back before striding out towards the archway, celestial bronze dagger in hand.  On top of the hill, golden scales gleamed – Peleus, guarding the golden fleece, itself shimmering in the perpetual sunlight over the camp.

With every step, he felt less and less like Ferret, the amnesiac homeless kid who didn’t even know his own name, and more like Michael Yew, the demigod that belonged there. It was a strange feeling.  Downright bizarre, in fact.

He gripped the beads on his necklace with one hand, and came to a halt just outside the barrier. Beyond, he could see the cabins in the distance – something looked different with them, but he couldn’t tell what. The Big House sat where it always had done, and campers were hustling and bustling around in the same disorganised chaos he remembered.

It had changed.  Something had changed, and it wasn’t just him.

But it was still camp. Still, somehow, home, and Michael took the last step through the barrier, away from the mortal world and back where he belonged.

His feet wanted to take him straight to cabin seven, to the gleaming beacon of gold that called out to him like a song in his bones – home, family – but he hesitated.  He couldn’t just walk into camp and pretend nothing had changed.  The younger demigods wouldn’t know who he was, and the older ones, the ones he knew (how many of them would even stillbe here?  He knew who hadn’t died in Manhattan, but he didn’t know how many had left for college.  Will had been one of the younger campers, but he was turning sixteen today, officially part of the older cohort now) would likely be gone.

Michael turned away from the cabins and headed for the Big House instead.  Chiron would still be at camp – he’d know what to do.

He made it halfway before there was the familiar (and sorely missed) sound of hooves.  Turning, he caught sight of the centaur, towering above him as he always had done, heading straight for him in a near-gallop.

“My gods!” Chiron exclaimed, skidding to a halt just short of trampling Michael where he stood.  “When the dryads told me they saw you, I couldn’t believe it!”  He knelt down, onto his forelocks – it still didn’t lower him quite to Michael’s eye level, but it was close.  Warm hands grasped his shoulders and old eyes looked him over.  “Michael.  My boy. You’re alive.”

“I am,” he said, meeting his old teacher’s eyes steadily.  “Didn’t Will and Nico tell you?”

Chiron’s tail swished behind him.  “No. Did they know?”

“They found me… about a week ago?”  With the way all the days had blurred together with the cascade of his memories returning, Michael found he couldn’t put an exact date to it.  “Will gave me this.”  He held up his necklace, showing Chiron the eighth bead.

“Ah,” Chiron smiled.  “I wondered why he told me he needed a new one. But I have to ask – why did you take so long to come back to us, my boy?”

Michael clutched at his necklace again.  “I didn’t remember,” he admitted.  “Some guys found me half-dead and looked after me, but I must have had some sort of traumatic amnesia.  I didn’t remember a thing – not even who I was – until Will gave me this bead.”

Chiron made a mournful noise.  “You’ve been living on the streets for two years?” he asked sadly, “without knowing who you are?”

“I was fine,” Michael huffed.  “Found a celestial bronze dagger in the wreckage of the bridge which dealt with the monsters when they came sniffing but they mostly left me alone.”

The centaur didn’t look at all appeased, but he wasn’t a fool and knew when to drop it.

“I am still sorry you had to go through that,” he said, standing back up to his full height again, “although as you managed to miss a second war” – what – “I suppose there is some silver lining to be found.”

“A second war?” Michael demanded, thinking of how many of his siblings’ names were on the bead, how Will was the least-combatant demigod he knew yet would have been in the meetings, on the front lines again.

He’d yelled at Clarisse for not being there for them… but then he’d gone and done the exact same thing.

“There were less casualties,” Chiron assured him quickly.  “None of your siblings were lost.  Your father went through some, uh, interesting times, but I’m sure you will hear all about that at the end of summer fireworks.”

Michael didn’t even care what Apollo had been through.  His thoughts were far more preoccupied with a whole second bloody war he’d managed to miss.

“For now, if you are ready, I believe there are some people who would dearly love to see you again,” the centaur continued.  “Something tells me it is not a coincidence that you returned to camp today, of all days.” Mi

Fandom: Trials of Apollo/Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard
Rating:Teen
Genre: Adventure, Friendship
Characters: Will Solace, Magnus Chase, Apollo, Nico di Angelo, Alex Fierro, Meg McCaffrey

Well, we’re getting near the end of the fic now, and I’m being reminded how much I hate wrapping storylines up…

Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

<<<Chapter 26

APOLLO (XXVII)
Hostage Negotiations Are Had

Thank Olympus for Thor, Zeus’ counterpart where it mattered.  It was unlikely that the single bolt would have killed either Apollo or Odin, but they certainly wouldn’t have escaped unharmed.  Memories of every molecule of his existence being seared more than once told Apollo that.  Hammer raised high, the Norse god of lightning caught it on Mjolnir, redirecting it from its intended target and channelling it down harmlessly to the ground.

“Father!” Artemis protested.  On his knees, Apollo found himself looking up at her, still looking seventeen but unmistakable with her auburn ponytail and silver bow.

“I said if he touches him,” Zeus rumbled.

Odin released the first wrist and snatched up Apollo’s left wrist, repeating the process.  It took Athena and Artemis combined to stop Zeus from hurling another thunderbolt as Apollo cried out again.

“Look at his wrist, father,” Athena said.  Apollo raised the wrist in question up, taking in the unblemished skin as the rune on his other wrist burned.  “Odin is removing the bindings.”

Another surge of magic later, and the All-Father dropped Apollo’s other wrist, leaving him breathing heavily but unmistakably intact.  It was a relief to no longer feel any power inside him except for his own, finally settling him into who he shouldbe in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time; long before the punishment.

Those had been a long six and a half months, and he was under no illusions that he didn’t want to risk it happening to him again.  Unfortunately, Zeus was clearly not pacified by Odin’s actions, and as much as Apollo appreciated Athena and Artemis doing their best to persuade him, he knew that they wouldn’t be enough.

The abused child must stand tall.

He wanted to have words with his Oracle for describing him quite like that, ruthlessly forcing him to confront his relationship with Zeus once again.  Had his admittance at Temple Hill, when he’d stared up at the looming statue of his father and caved enough to call him an abuser in the safety of his own mind not been enough?  Unlike Meg, whose abusive step-father had been defeated and would never trouble her again outside of memories and dreams, his father was going nowhere, and he had millennia more to spend with him.  It was just saferto roll with the punches he couldn’t outright avoid.

But no, apparently he wasn’t allowed to do that anymore.

“He should never have placed them in the first place,” Zeus boomed against the common sense of his daughters.  Apollo grabbed his twin’s elbow and used her to pull himself back to his feet, planting himself directly between the two pantheon rulers.

“He was deceived, just as you’re being manipulated,” he said firmly, forcing himself to stand his ground and not back down as eyes the colour of sparking lightning focused directly on him.  The last time Zeus had looked at him like that, he’d lost six months and then regained awareness rudely as a mortal falling into a dumpster.  It was not an encouraging thought.

“None of us benefit from a battle between the pantheons,” he continued, gesturing to both pantheons with wide sweeps of his arms.  “None of us benefit from Ragnarok.  Most of the Aesir and Vanir are fated to die when that rolls around, and where will we stand when Midgard is destroyed and those that believe in us are wiped out as collateral damage?”

Their children would be the first to go, and as a mortal one of the things he had quickly realised was how little weight the name Apollo held amongst non-demigods.  Helios had faded when people stopped believing in him.  Pan had faded when the wild was destroyed.

Unlike the Aesir and Vanir, whose lives were tied to golden apples and the unchangeable fates set aside for them, the Olympians had nothing so tangible holding them in place.  Maybe they’d survive Ragnarok, maybe they wouldn’t, but Apollo was in no hurry to find out.

Athena had a thoughtful look on her face, and Apollo hoped the goddess of wisdom was drawing the same connections he was.

“Theonly one who benefits from this is Loki,” he pointed out.  “Not the Olympians.  Not the Aesir and Vanir.”

“You would have me let this insult pass unpunished?” Zeus demanded, still towering over Apollo and casting a shadow that never felt right.  The sun was the ultimate source of light; nothing should cast a shadow over it, but that was Zeus for you, a law unto himself.  “Show the other pantheons that we are weak and willing to retreat at the first sign of war?”

Some of the gods murmured quietly in assent – Ares, Poseidon, Dionysus, even Athena.  Artemis placed a hand on his arm, gripping tightly, and Apollo knew that his sister was torn, too.

“I would have you find a solution that isn’t the apocalypse,” he snapped, unable to soften his tone at all.  Maybe, just maybe, bluntness would get through to Zeus this time.  “A solution that doesn’t condemn our children to death, or destroy the world more thoroughly than the titans and giants ever managed.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he realised he’d struck a nerve.  Zeus stormed forwards, crackling with power, and despite his intentions to stand his ground, Apollo stumbled back a half-step, millennia of learned fear rising up his throat.

“You go too far, Apollo!” the king of the gods roared.  He raised his hand, the Master Bolt lashing out at the air, and Apollo flinched at the sight of it.

“No.”

Darkness shimmered in front of him, between Apollo and Zeus, and Apollo’s eyes widened.

“Apollo is right, brother,” Hades said.  “More war is not the answer.  More death is not the answer.  The Underworld is already overcrowded.  I do not wish to see my domain expand any further than it must.”

“And yet you came because you feared that Odin was planning to steal your owed dead,” Poseidon pointed out.  The seas were temperamental at the best of time – Apollo saw it every day, as he flew the sun chariot across his uncle’s vast domain – and while in recent years Poseidon had showed a mostly mellower side, no doubt in large thanks to his demigod son, the rage of the sea had never left him.  Right then, even with all his powers of prophecy, Apollo didn’t know which way Poseidon’s mood was going to fall.  Which brother he was going to side with.

“A fear that has since been proven unfounded,” Hades answered.  “If it was Loki, not Odin, who took Apollo, then Odin has continued to operate only within his own bounds.”

“Loki is still Aesir,” Athena interjected.  “Father is correct that there is a responsibility on Odin’s behalf.”

The Norse gods, who had mostly stayed silent to watch barring the occasional quiet comment to each other, bristled at his words.

“Loki is bound,” one of them snapped, stepping forwards.  He had only one hand, Apollo noticed, and immediately recalled what he – what Lester – had read in Valhalla on the Norse gods.  That hand had been lost to Fenris, Angrboda’s eldest son.  “We no longer associate with the trickster in any capacity.”

“Peace, Tyr,” Odin interrupted, raising a hand for silence amongst his fellows.  “Athena is correct that an insult has been dealt to the Olympians.”

“And their uninvited crossing of the Bifrost was not an insult to us?” the same god – Tyr, god of justice amongst other things – returned.  “They are the invaders.”

“No.”  Apollo found his voice again, and moved away from his uncle’s shadow.  “Both sides have been insulted, but the root of both was Loki.”

Neither pantheon seemed to be impressed by his words; immediately Norse voices accused him of siding with his father, while the majority of the Olympians pointed out that it was Odin who had kept him bound in Valhalla.

Zeus was the loudest of all, and Apollo almost hid behind Hades again as his father’s fury focused on him once more.

Once he got back to Olympus, he was staying out of Zeus’ way for at leasta century.  Possibly longer.  He’d work out what to do about the solstices later.

“Enough!”  For a change, it wasn’t Apollo saying it.  Instead, it was a woman, with startlingly red hair and faint scars running down her cheeks.  Frigg, Apollo remembered from Lester’s readings, the wife of Odin and queen of Asgard.  Unless he missed his guess, she was also the mother of Mallory Keen.  “This fighting will get us nowhere,” she said firmly, standing by her husband’s side.  “Apollo is right; a compromise must be reached.  Odin, my love, what are your thoughts?”

It sounded less like a question, and more like an instruction, Apollo thought wryly.  He didn’t know much about Frigg, beyond what he’d read; she kept herself to herself, and certainly didn’t go socialising across pantheons.  Still, he got the impression he’d rather have her as a step-mother than Hera.

“Loki is not the only guilty party that I can see,” Odin announced.  He met Zeus’ eyes without flinching, and Apollo wished he had his self-assuredness in the face of the furious god of the skies.  “We cannot turn Loki over to the Olympians in appeasement without releasing him, but the other guilty party there is no such restrictions upon.”

He spoke a word that Apollo wasn’t familiar with, although from context he assumed it was a runeword, and the demigods all appeared in the midst of the gods.  Apollo immediately placed himself beside them, delighted that they were all on their feet – even if in the case of Will and Magnus, it was barely.

Seeing his son mostly conscious and no longer on the brink of death did wonders for his emotions, and uncaring of what the other gods thought, he wrapped his arm around his shoulders, tugging him close against his side.  Nico pressed up against Will’s other side, with Meg next to him, Magnus’ arm over her shoulders.

In front of them, on the golden paving and covered in blood, was the defiant form of Carrie.

Frey was nowhere to be seen, and Apollo made a mental note to track him down as soon as possible to thank him for saving Will.

“Carrie, daughter of Loki,” Odin boomed.  “After the success of Samirah and Alex, I had thought that the children of Loki might be changing in modern times.  That, it seems, was my mistake.”  He stepped closer to her, and she snarled, trying to scramble her way to her feet.

Meg kicked her back down, while Nico trained the point of his sword on her.  Both of them were covered in wounds that hadn’t been there when Apollo had left them, but they had the unmistakable air of assured victory around them.

“Zeus,” the All-Father continued, “Loki was the brains, but Carrie was the willing body that carried out this task.  She is dismissed from the Valkyries.”  He made a sharp movement with his spear and the girl screamed as her uniform and weapons disappeared, leaving her in tattered jeans and a t-shirt that said Team Loki in snake green letters.  Above it was the face of a handsome man that Apollo knew from his forays into modern cinema.  Not the real Loki, but given her parentage, it was a damning statement regardless.  “Beyond that, I relinquish the rights to her punishment to you, to do with as you wish.”

Children should not be punished for the sin of the parent.  Angrboda had been adamant on that, and despite everything else about her, Apollo had agreed with that stance, but as he looked at the furious yet tearful girl, even with his newfound hatred of pushing demigods around like toys, he struggled to find pity for her.  Alex was proof that children of Loki were no more bound to obey their parents than any other demigods, and with her actions, Carrie’s sins were as much her own as her father’s.

“Your peace offering is a mortal girl?” Zeus demanded, sounding incredulous.

“The girl who would see us trigger the end of the world,” Athena corrected.  “Even now, I sense no remorse for her actions, Father.  It is a sound offering.”

“Humph.”  Apollo shifted out of the way, pulling Will with him protectively and tightening his grip further as his son stumbled at the movement, as his father approached Carrie.  She spat in his direction, and the god’s face seized.  For a moment, Apollo was convinced that he’d need to shield the rest of the demigods from Zeus’ wrath, but almost impossibly, Zeus didn’t smite her then and there.

Instead, he snapped his fingers and she disappeared in a flash of lightning.

“Very well,” he said, fury still lacing every word he spoke.  “I will accept the girl, Odin, but do not allow this to happen again.  Next time, I will not be so lenient.”

“I will endeavour to prevent a next time,” Odin agreed.  Zeus, with all the manners Apollo expected him to possess, simply turned his back on the All-Father and addressed the rest of the Olympians.

“Leave,” he ordered bluntly.  “I will see you all on Olympus.”  There was no argument from most of the gods, and Apollo gathered the demigods to him as the Olympians one by one turned into their true forms before vanishing, until only four of his brethren remained.

Hades was the first to approach, running worried eyes over Nico’s many wounds for several silent moments before being seemingly satisfied that his son was not about to drop dead.  Frey quietly stepping forwards and placing his glowing hands on both injured demigods, closing up their wounds soundlessly, probably had a lot to do with that.  Demeter was behind him, running her own critical eye over Meg, although her daughter scoffed and refused to acknowledge her.

The goddess pursed her lips, before disappearing.  Hades, however, was less inclined to leave in silence.

“I’m proud of you,” he told his son.  “If you have any questions about what you’ve seen on this quest, you know where to find me.”

“Hades-” Zeus growled, but the lord of the Underworld waved him off.

Likewise ignoring the lord of the skies, Nico almost glowed with the praise, although he kept a tight hold on Will which broadcasted to Apollo, at least, that he wasn’t going to be leaving his boyfriend’s side any time soon.  “I know,” he said simply.  “Thanks, father.”

Hades seemed content enough with the response, nodded serenely before turning to Apollo.  “I will see you on Olympus,” he said, before disappearing himself.

That left Apollo and the demigod children with only Zeus, Artemis, and the Norse pantheon.

“Why are you still here?” Zeus demanded of him.  “Your time with the mortals is over, Apollo.  Return to Olympus at once, where we shall discuss your new attitude.”

Apollo couldn’t suppress the flinch, and didn’t fail to notice the worried look Will sent him, apparently aware enough of his surroundings to notice things like that.  In answer, he squeezed his his son further against his side, hoping he wasn’t going to have to suddenly push him away from the danger zone if Zeus lashed out.

Artemis, his beloved, amazing, sister, intervened.  “We have to ensure the heroes are returned home safely, first,” she said.  “We shall return to Olympus as soon as that is done.”

Zeus huffed.  “If you must,” he said, turning away.  “Do not take too long, or I will reconsider my decision.”

With those ominous words, he disappeared in a ball of lightning, and Apollo’s knees almost gave out.  Artemis gripped his arm tightly.

“Decision?” he asked her weakly.  “What decision?”

The look on her face was one of equal bafflement, which didn’t reassure Apollo at all.

“Speaking of decisions,” Odin interjected.  Apollo supposed it was too much to ask for that the Norse gods also disappeared, although with the departure of the majority of the Olympians, it seemed most of them had dispersed.  The only ones still standing in the courtyard were the All-Father, his wife, and Frey.  “Magnus Chase.”

The einherjar jerked upright as though he’d been zapped by Zeus’ lightning.

“Yes?” he asked, caution palatable.  Apollo couldn’t really blame him, when he’d misused Valhalla’s doors to bypass Yggdrasil and bring in outsiders to Valhalla.

“I should punish you for your treatment of my wolves,” the All-Father mused, “and for bringing Greeks into Valhalla and Asgard.”

“Can I say please don’t?” the einherjar asked nervously.  “I’m not too fond of punishment.”

“Asit happens, your actions resulted in helping to delay Ragnarok once again,” Odin continued, “so, I shall give you a choice.”

“What if I don’t like either option?”  Apparently, it was not just the children of the Big Three who had a compulsion to run their mouths at powerful gods.  Apollo wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not; it shouldn’t be, but this generation of demigods were amazing in ways he hadn’t seen in centuries.  Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed, a thought that caused his stomach to sink unpleasantly.

Odin laughed, a deep, belly laugh that did nothing to reassure Magnus, from the look on his face.  Apollo wasn’t particularly reassured either, and the look Frey was giving the Aesir suggested he felt much the same way.

“Well, we shall see,” the All-Father said, several moments later once his amusement was sated.  “Your first option, Magnus Chase, is to have all your memories of the Greek pantheon removed.  The pantheons are not designed to mix, as I think we all just saw.”

As far as punishments went, that was mild – and also smart, on Odin’s part.  No doubt the rest of floor nineteen would be subjected to the same mind-wipe, thereby tying up any loose ends and minimising the risk of what had happened repeating itself again.

Magnus, however, looked absolutely horrified at the suggestion, as though it was the worst thing he could possibly imagine.  A glance at Will and Nico showed that the pair of them were likewise not happy at the idea, which Apollo could understand – they probably didn’t want to lose a new friend.  Nico, in particular, had very few of those.

“What’s my other option?” Magnus asked warily, and also a little desperately.

The satisfied look on Odin’s face had Apollo wanting to snatch Magnus away and hide him in Camp Half-Blood, even though it would be a supremely bad idea.

“Or,” the Aesir said, “you will work for me as a liaison between the Norse and Greco-Roman pantheons, as required.  It would be a dangerous position – as you have no doubt realised, Zeus’ temper is legendary and he does not hesitate to smite those who upset him.  There is a high chance that you will find yourself vapourised at some point.”

“Just between the pantheons?” Magnus asked, sounding a little suspicious – and even hopeful, which had Apollo wanting to scream at him that Zeus’ temper really was no joke and he’d be better off taking the mind-wipe, “or between the demigods, too?”

“Magnus-” Frey started, the first time Apollo had heard him since that night in Stockholm.  His voice instantly brought back memories that Apollo probably should not be having while he had his son tucked under his arm.

Odin laughed again.  “My ambassador would be able to visit the camps, yes,” he clarified.  “So, Magnus Chase, which will it be?”

Chapter 28>>>

Welcome To Hell

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians
Rating: Teen
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Characters: Will Solace

War is just hell on earth.

My response to this week’s @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt, “welcome to hell”. This one clocks in at 399 words, according to MSWord. Not my original plan for the prompt - that got too long, so I guess it’s joined the pile of things to write later.This thing, on the other hand, is short and a little experimental in style.

There’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Welcome to hell, the blood sings from where it leeches into his hands, dyeing the skin with what feels like a permanent colour even though somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows it’ll wash off.

He knows it’ll never wash off, not in his mind.

Welcome to hell, the hellhounds howl as they charge forwards, felled by arrows but there’s too many beasts and not enough archers and no-one to defend them so they have to defend themselves.

It’s more luck than skill, who escapes the jaws.

Welcome to hell, the screams whisper in his ears.  He doesn’t know who they belong to, he doesn’t want to know who they belong to.

He doesn’t want to know who’s dead and who’s dying.

Welcome to hell, the breaking bridge roars.  He can’t tear his eyes away from the sight, from the way his brother loses his footing, falls, disappears, can’t ignore the way the background tug of minor and not-so-minor injuries disappears from his awareness.

Dead bodies don’t need healing.

Welcome to hell, golden eyes taunt, staring out of a familiar face that was once a role model, once a friend, now an empty shell occupied by the stuff of nightmares, stuff that revels in their suffering and gloats at their losses.

Why did he come to killthem?

Welcome to hell, the clamour of battle echoes around him, too loud, too deafening, too close.  He can’t get away from it, wherever he turns there’s more and it feels like he’s stuck in the middle with no way out.

Even if he could leave, they need a healer.

Welcome to hell, glassy, dead eyes transmit directly into his mind.  Familiar eyes, eyes he’s seen full of life day in, day out.  Eyes that will never blink or smile or cry again, just stare blankly forever more unless someone places drachma over them.

It feels like he can’t save anyone.

Welcome to hell, bones creak as the dead rise up, their god at their head and their prince leading the advance in pitch black armour with a wicked black sword to match.  He knows they’re on their side, but it’s no less terrifying than the army that opposes them.

Death is the opposite of everything he is.

Welcome to hell, the world cries as it collapses all around him, leaving everything a blur of fear-terror-panic-blank.

There’s no escaping it.

Fandom: Trials of Apollo/Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard
Rating:Teen
Genre: Adventure, Friendship
Characters: Will Solace, Magnus Chase, Apollo, Nico di Angelo, Alex Fierro, Meg McCaffrey

And we return to regularly scheduled posting!  There shouldn’t be any more disruptions between now and the end of the fic, you’ll hopefully be pleased to hear.  This chapter has been a Long time coming, and not just because of the brief pause in updates.  It’s not the longest, but it’s a big one regardless.  And it’s a pov I know people have been waiting for!

Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

<<<Chapter 25

APOLLO (XXVI)
Olympian Family Reunion, AKA Drama Time

No! Apollo’s mind screamed, at a volume to rival Nico’s vocalised scream, as Will collapsed to the ground.  There was a spear running straight through his son’s abdomen, and Apollo’s medical mind inconveniently immediately rattled off all the delicate organs and other things vital to living that would have been damaged by the weapon now impaling the unconscious teen.

It was a familiar weapon, one he’d seen a thousand times before.  His half-brother had an ever-growing collection of the things, and while that had never been Apollo’s cup of nectar, it had never particularly bothered him before.  Seeing one of Ares’ spears stuck through his son as though he was a kebab, however, did more than botherApollo.

Itinfuriatedhim.

His first emotion, when he’d seen the gods at a stand-off – before the spear exploded towards them faster than any of them, Apollo included, could react – had been an uncomfortable mix of delight and apprehension.

They were all there. Zeus, of course, was a given, and also the biggest issue, but he’d been far from alone.  Artemis, his beloved sister and, according to Will, the one who had sent out the most searches for him – including the three that had found him – looked older than usual, seventeen or so compared to her favourite twelve, but was as always unmistakeable.  Poseidon and, to Apollo’s complete amazement, Hades, flanked their younger brother, the Big Three united, while two of their sisters stood at the back. Apollo hadn’t expected any of his aunts and uncles to be there, but certainly not the goddesses; Hera hated him – a mutual feeling – while Demeter preferred to avoid conflict. Athena and Ares stood on the outermost flanks, the god and goddess of war in their element as it loomed.  Hephaestus, Hermes and even Dionysus lingered back with the elder goddesses and Aphrodite, tense and ready for action.  Hestia, as always, was the only one missing.  The hearth waiting for them to come home, once everything was over.

The fact that they had all been there for him, regardless of the nuances behind that decision, had hit Apollo hard, sending his emotions haywire as he tried to work out what he was supposed to be feeling at the sight of them.

Then Ares had moved, the two pantheons had collided in a burst of energy that was still just posturing rather than war (thank Olympus), somehow one of his half-brother’s spears had ended up in his son, and all the emotional confusion their presence had brought melted away until only two emotions remained.

Fear and rage.

“Will, don’t you dare.” Nico was on his knees, clinging to his boyfriend tightly as though he had the power to keep him alive through sheer stubbornness.  Technically, Apollo supposed he did.  “Don’t you dare.”

Apollo didn’t remember falling to his knees next to his son, his dying son, but he was down there, too, and his hands were pressing on the wound, trying to stem the blood as he drew on his powers of healing.  His wrists twinged warningly, as they did whenever he used his powers, but Apollo ignored them; despite what he’d told the demigods, they weren’t powerful enough to actually affect his abilities.  The issue with them was something else entirely.

Other hands joined his, glowing golden, and he looked up to see Magnus next to him, grey eyes hardened in determination.

“I’ve got this,” the Norse healer said.  “Go. Stop them.”

He should.  Apollo knew that.

Apollo also knew that he had lost too many children in the past three years.  None of his children had sided with Kronos, but while that was a source of pride and comfort that they did, at least, love him more than they hated him, it had meant that they had been one of the largest cabins going into battle, ending up on the front lines despite not being front line fighters through sheer, cruel necessity.

Will was not going to be joining his fallen siblings, not today.  The quarrelling – warring – gods could wait until he was sure his son would live.  And he wouldlive.  There was too much Apollo still had to say to his son, too many cracks that had yawned into chasms during the quest that he’d yet to do more than weakly paper over that he needed to address properly.  Too much that he’d put off, because there was an apocalypse at stake and it wasn’t going to wait politely for him to give Will everything his son needed from him, everything Apollo wanted to give his selfless – too selfless - child.

Willcould not dietoday.

“Apollo.”  Nico’s face was tearstained, and Apollo knew that the son of Hades could feel the life threatening to leave Will’s body just the same as he could. Nico, however, could do little more than frantically tether his soul – healingwas beyond his powers.

Small hands on Apollo’s shoulders announced Meg’s presence.

“Go,” Meg said firmly in his ear, leaning in close enough that her breath tickled his skin.  “You need to stop this.”

“Will-”

“Magnus is on it,” Nico told him, although the son of Hades was shaking as he ran his fingers through blond hair.  “We won’t let him die.  You have to do this, Apollo.  You’re the only one who can.”

He was right, as much as Apollo was at loath to admit it.  Any of the demigods would be torn to shreds if they even tried to get closer to the arguing gods; as it was, they were close enough that any moment they could end up in the same state as Will, whose body he could feelknitting back together again beneath his and Magnus’ ministrations.  Outside of Valhalla, even Magnus would die for good.

Enough demigods had died at the whims of the gods.  Enough demigods had died for Apollo.

Determination, fuelled by rage – both at himself and his brethren – flooded through him, and he let out a measured breath before pulling back his bloodstained hands. Immediately, Magnus’ shifted to cover where his had been, still glowing brightly gold.

Apollo tore his eyes away from the limp and bloodied body of his son and pushed himself to his feet, turning away from the tangle of demigods and facing down the carnage that was the battling pantheons.

“Shouldn’t you take the bow?” Nico asked as he started to take a step forward.  “You’re weaponless.”  Apollo paused and looked down at the weapon, gold against the golden paving and splattered with crimson droplets.  The bow he’d stored Apollo in, out of Odin’s power but close enough to Lester to trickle in behind the seal he’d placed on his heart when necessary, and explode back where it belonged once his own power shattered it. The bow he’d then given to his son – to keep him safe, to protect his amazing, kind-hearted healer of a son who should never be asked to take a life but the Fates clearly had other plans for him – stained by the blood of the very same teen it was supposed to protect.

Breaking up an inter-pantheon conflict without a weapon for protection sounded like madness, but he didn’t reach for the bow.  It was Will’s now – for all the good it had done his son so far.  Apollo’s journey with that weapon was over; he had willingly gifted it away and he wouldn’t take it back.  Not now, and not ever.

“Adding another weapon to the mix won’t stop anything,” he said out loud.  “Stay back, and stay safe.”

Without looking back, he started walking.  One foot in front of the other, fear bubbling under the surface as he realised what he was about to do but tempered by the determination to protect those four lives behind him, and stop this.

He didn’t have a weapon, but really, that didn’t mean that he was helpless.  Instead, Apollo let the fear, the rage, the determination, swell up. He saw Will, skewered by his own uncle’s weapon as a thoughtless piece of collateral damage.  He saw Alex, refusing to back down and buying them every last second she could.  He saw the rest of floor nineteen, staying behind with grins on their faces to hold back an impossible stampede.  He saw Jason, heard the dying voice yelling for him to REMEMBER.

Remember what it was like to be human.  Remember what it was like to be the sacrificial heroes, fated to die like thrown-away toys of the gods.

He let it all bubble up, just like the tunnel, when he’d battled Commodus for the last time, and then let it all out in a single-note scream.

No arrow would break up this battle.  No golden light would be enough to distract the single-minded gods.  No shouting and waving would get their attention, except maybe as a target to hit.

The scream crashed into the gods like a physical force, knocking some of the slighter ones back and stunning the rest into stopping in their tracks.  They weren’t weak enough to be destroyed, not like Commodus, but while Apollo was no Big Three, there was always a reason Zeus came down harsher on him than most of the rest.  There was a reason it had taken six months to strip him down to total mortality, six months that still remained a gap in his memories, despite the restoration of everything else.

Hands balled into fists, trembling slightly from the flood of emotion, Apollo stalked forwards into the midst of frozen gods, feeling their eyes laser in on him.  He didn’t acknowledge any of them until he was right in the centre, the sun he’d been ever since Helios had faded.  Not Zeus’ blazing fury, not Athena’s scrutinising look, not even Artemis’ relief.

He stopped exactly between the two sides, took a deep breath, and said one word.  “Enough.”

For a blessed moment, silence reigned.

Then the shouting began.

Somehow, Apollo had forgotten just how loud his brethren could be, although the addition of the various Norse deities – most of which he couldn’t name – really wasn’t helping the noise levels.  He glanced across to where the demigods were huddled at the edge of the courtyard, and blinked when he realised they weren’t alone.

Magnus, his glow weak and his body no better, had been joined by an older man with the same blond hair and aura.  Jack was pointedly hovering the other side of Magnus, although not touching him, which was interesting considering the man was one of the few Norse gods Apollo knew by name – and last he’d seen Frey, he and the sword had been nigh on inseparable.  Inconveniently so.

If it was any other god, from either pantheon, Apollo would have stormed straight back over and dragged him as far away from his son as possible.  It was tempting to do that anyway, but he forced himself to think rationally.  Frey was the Norse god of peace; he wouldn’t do anything to risk aggravating the situation further.  He was also, like his son, a healer.

Besides, Nico was there, and like all the current Greek children of the Big Three, Nico had noqualms about telling gods to shove it.  Combined with his love for Will, there was no way the son of Hades would hesitate the instant Frey did anything that wasn’t directly helping.  Apollo’s son was in the best possible hands outside of his own.

The thought calmed him some, for all that it chafed that he couldn’t be the one saving his son’s life, and he reluctantly let his attention return to the gods all yelling at him. Zeus looked almost apoplectic, and storm clouds were gathering above them, blotting out the sun.

That was not a metaphor Apollo was particularly keen on at the best of times.  Right now, he hatedit.

“I said enough!” he roared.  The gods all quietened, probably more out of shocked offence than obedience, and Apollo seized his chance before they worked themselves back up again.  “Do you want another war?” he demanded of his own brethren, avoiding looking directly at Zeus, “so soon after the lasttwo?”

“Why not?” Ares shrugged. Apollo rounded on him, feeling his power flare up.

“Your spear is currently in my son,” he growled.  “I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”  The god of war scowled, but Aphrodite appeared next to him, a hand on his arm, and he kept whatever retort he had to himself.

Zeus, on the other hand, had no such restraint.  “Do not speak to your brother like that,” he ordered.  “Odin has reached beyond his territory, even now his taint is on Olympus, and that is an insult that cannot be let pass.”  He stepped forwards, towering over Apollo despite not being that much taller.

He didn’t need to be.

“A father who terrifies you,” Angrboda had said.  She hadn’t been wrong, for all that Apollo tried in vain to pretend that he wasn’t scared of Zeus.  He didn’t stand up to him because Zeus was the king, not because he was afraid of what would happen if he did… Except he was, and that was a lie he’d told himself over and over again, hoping that if he said it enough, it’d become the truth.  As though the god of truth could make a lie come true.

The last time he’d displeased Zeus, a minor infraction brought about by flattery, and something inconvenientcoming out of Rachel as though Apollo had any control over the timing of prophecies, his punishment had been the worst one to date. This was the first time he’d seen his father in person since then, and the urge to apologise, step back, and let his father do as he wanted, again, rather than risk another punishment bubbled up temptingly.

He turned away, and faced the god standing opposite Zeus instead.  He’d never met Odin in person, but the power rolling from the one-eyed god matched the magic in the runes on his wrists perfectly, leaving his identity unmistakable.

“If you carry on fighting, Ragnarok will start,” he told him.  “This war isn’t worth it.”

Odin’s fingers tightened around his spear, and when he spoke, his voice rolled over Apollo as heavily as Zeus’.  “I am not the aggressor here, boy,” he said.  “If you want to prevent this war, I am the wrong person to appeal to.”  His one visible eye flashed with rage.  “I have half a mind to strike you down where you stand for infiltrating my halls.”

“Touch him, and die,” Zeus snarled.  Apollo wished that was because his father cared about him, but he knew better than that. It was all about Zeus – Zeus’ authority being undermined, his territory being advanced upon.  Apollo was just a convenient god-shaped representation of all of that – Zeus’ property, not his son.

Apollo’s eyes found his own son again, still limp but no longer on Nico’s lap.  Magnus was barely conscious next to him, leaning heavily against his own father and no longer glowing while Frey continued to work. Movement next to them snatched his attention, and his eyes widened at the sight of Meg and Nico, wrestling with a bloodstained girl with ringlets and a tattered Valkyrie uniform.

Of course, Carrie was a Valkyrie.  Travelling to Asgard was well within her powers.

Nico had his sword out, parrying every blow Carrie made, while Meg danced around them both, calling up plants in an attempt to snare the daughter of Loki.  Despite the state she was in, Carrie seemed determined to take at least one of them down with her, and Apollo remembered what she’d said earlier. Neither Hades or Demeter would sit by idly if their child was killed on Norse ground.

By pure chance, Meg caught his eye.  Meg, who had stood up to Nero when it mattered the most, who had faced her personal demon, her abuser, and claimed her own life back.  Meg, who had the strength Apollo lacked.  Meg, who in a single look reminded him that no matter what, she believed in him.

Apollo couldn’t let her down.  Couldn’t let down any of the demigods that had got him this far.

And Odin’s words had given him the last piece of the puzzle.

“Enough,” he said, again, turning back around to glare at his father.  “Odin will not smite me, and you will not use me as an excuse to wage war.”

“Apo-”

“You sound very confident of that,” Odin said, overriding Zeus’ furious response.  Apollo was glad for that, because it meant no-one else had noticed him flinch at his father’s tone.  Hopefully.  “Explain.”

“You won’t smite me, because if you do, Loki wins,” Apollo declared, facing the Norse All-Father again. The Norse gods shifted, murmuring amongst themselves.  “I didn’t enter Valhalla of my own choice; I was brought there, stolen, if you will, by a Valkyrie.”

“One of myValkyrie?” Odin raised his visible eyebrow, but the rage in his eye didn’t abate in the slightest.  “You were not brought to Valhalla on my orders.”

“I know.”  The moment Odin had called him an infiltrator, the question about which god was responsible had been answered.  “The Valkyrie in question was her.”  He pointed to the fighting demigods, and sensed Hades and Demeter both stiffen at the sight of their children caught up in battle against a shape-shifting menace.

Even if she was mortal, and seriously injured, Carrie was still a Valkyrie.  With Nico on the defensive, protecting Will, and Meg without her scimitars, it was an even fight.

“Carrie,” Odin rumbled.

“Daughter of Loki,” Apollo confirmed.  “She captured me on his orders, not yours.”  He stepped forwards, holding out his rune-marked wrists.  They were still throbbing warningly, protesting against his usage of his power even though they couldn’t stop it.  “Remove these, and set me free.”

Behind him, Zeus sucked in an indignant breath as he saw the runes.  From his earlier words, Apollo suspected the same runes had sunk into his throne on Olympus.

“Father,” Athena said quietly.  She’d come up next to Zeus, the favourite daughter and advisor.  Her words were enough, for the moment, to silence the king of the gods, but Apollo knew it wouldn’t last.

He met Odin’s eye squarely, refusing to back down.  Silver glistened in his periphery, and he knew without looking that his twin had come to stand beside him.

Odin regarded him for several moments.  “You’re impertinent,” he said.

“I’m right,” Apollo retorted, “and you know it.”  Odin, All-Father, seeker of knowledge, god of poetry and divination.  In many aspects, they were each other’s counterpart.  All Zeus and Odin had in common was their position as the ruler of their pantheon, but Odin and Apollo?

Not equals, perhaps, but there was something between them.  Understanding.

“As I said,” Odin replied. “Impertinent.”

He reached out with one hand, and clasped Apollo’s right wrist, exactly over the rune.  His magic burned as it activated, searing pain forcing its way through the rune, and with a choked cry, Apollo sank to his knees.

Zeus’ fragile hold on his temper broke, and lightning crashed down.

Chapter 27>>>

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians
Rating:Teen
Genre:Angst
Characters: Will Solace

Will’s life might sound like a fantasy, but at the end of the day it’s still a reality.

My response to this week’s @flashfictionfridayofficial (this week hosted by @stories-by-rie) prompt, “fairytale ending” . This one clocks in at 707 words, according to MSWord.  Something short and scrappy because I’m on holiday and neglecting my poor boyfriend to write this; some Will pov on Michael’s death and the war.

There’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Will Solace is thirteen years old when he realises there’s no such thing as a fairytale ending.

When he was younger, before demigods and Apollo and monsters and Kronos, when it was just him and Mom and no real stories to speak of about his absent dad (Mom had never had anything bad to say about him, she’d just never really said anything about him at all), sometimes in his wilder daydreams he’d thought what if his dad was someone super important, or famous.  What if, like those stories he heard, like those songs Mom sang or played on the radio, one day he’d sweep back into their lives and Will’s life would be exciting and special (although he never quite wanted to be like Luke, with a villain for a father, no matter how much he loved watching and rewatching Star Wars even though Mom insisted he was too young for it).

The irony is that Will’s life is exciting and special.  He’s a demigod, his father is Apollo, a name everyone’s heard of even if they don’t know the legends (lots of things get named after Apollo; when Will first heard the name it was in relation to the space missions, not the god).

It’s also, he realises with a stomach sinking so fast it must be lined with lead or even kryptonite, a real life, entrenched in reality despite the fantastical nature of it, and reality doesn’t leave room for fairytale endings.

Will Solace is thirteen years old and his big brother just got swept away in the rapids of the river below as the bridge shatters.  He’s thirteen years old and the screams of Nathan are still ringing in his ears as the hellhound dragged him away and tore him to shreds.  He’s thirteen years old and he’s not the oldest in cabin seven but he’s the one with the most beads and he knows what that means.

His bow is gone, broken or maybe just dropped at some point when Kronos – Kronos – of all people advanced down the bridge in Luke’s body (not Luke Skywalker but Luke Castellan and being corrupted and possessed isn’t a fairytale ending, either), golden eyes laughing at them all but not nice laughter like Apollo’s golden eyes. Cruel laughter, laughter that knows resistance is futile just as much as Will knows it, but Will also knows they won’t give up even though that’s the choice they’re being offered.

Theycan’t give up, not after Michael sacrificed himself to pause Kronos’ advance (not stop it, no matter how much Will wishes one sacrifice, one shattered bridge is all they need to lose to win the war), not after so many have died to get them this far.

Will clutches at the little pot of paste as Percy drags him away, the older demigod either not realising or not caring that Will’s the one in charge of cabin seven now by default and leaving his siblings with futile orders to save someone that’s already dead (not that Will wants Michael to be dead, far from it, but reality’s come crashing down and he can’t feel Michael in need of healing, there’s a void where his injuries had previously been singing out and Will knows what that means even if he wants to scream and cry, but he can’t because Annabeth needs healing and he’s the only chance she’s got).  That little pot of paste is all he has left, now.  Everything else has been dropped or used up and all he has is a little pot of godly paste he woke up with the morning Typhon burst free, after Apollo gave it to him in a dream (they’d all woken up with gifts that morning).

They’re not giving up but they’re losing and unless something changes they’re going to keep losing.  If this was a fairytale, this is when a knight in shining armour would appear, or when a god might come to fight alongside them and save the day.  When a miracle occurs.

But Will’s realised that isn’t going to happen.  And even if it does,it still won’t fix things.

His life might sound like a fantasy but it’s still reality, and reality doesn’t have fairytale endings.

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians
Rating:Gen
Genre:Hurt/Comfort/Angst
Characters: Apollo, Outsider POV

There’s a man sat on the broken bridge, but no-one else can see him.

Holiday internet is terrible but I scribbled this out yesterday and it looks like this morning the internet will let me post something, so here it is!  Outsider POV is always fun to write.

There’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

There was a man sitting by the edge of the bridge, almost dangerously close to where the machinery for repairing it would soon start moving about.  Normally, Shaun would leave well enough alone – it wasn’t his business where other people chose to sit, and it wasn’t quite in the way of the crane he was due to start operating once the sun went up, but something drew him to the man anyway.

Maybe it was the fact that no-one else was disturbing him; not even the foreman had stomped over to tell him to shove off, that work to rebuild the bridge would begin as soon as it was light enough to see the machinery controls.

In the pre-dawn gloom, it was difficult to tell if the man’s hair was black or a very dark brown as it fell in subtle waves about his neck, brushing the top of his shoulders even though his head was bowed over.  He was sitting with one knee drawn up to his chest while the other dangled off the side of the bridge, one arm hugging his shin and the other hand pressed palm-down against the ground.

You know work’s about to start here, was what he meant to open with as he walked over to the man, his steel-toed boots loud against the cracked tarmac.  You’ll need to move.

“Are you okay?” came out of his mouth instead, surprising him just as much as the man, whose head whipped around so fast Shaun winced in sympathy for the crick his neck no doubt just gained, even if the man didn’t react to it.  He wasn’t sure where the question had come from – the man was sitting on a broken bridge before dawn, of course he wasn’t okay – although Shaun didn’t think he looked like he was about to jump.  There was something too grounded about the way he was sitting for that.

Wide, dark eyes, their exact colour impossible to make out in the greyness of pre-dawn but likely some shade of brown, fixed Shaun with a startled stare.

“You can see me?” the man asked, his voice quiet and rasping in clear disbelief.

Shaun couldn’t quite hold back the scoff.  “I have eyes,” he said.  Why did the man think he wouldn’t be visible?

The thought that he might be talking to a ghost flickered through his mind, and it wasn’t so outrageous an idea that he could completely dismiss it.  He ought to be able to – he wasn’t really one for believing in the supernatural – but considering where they were, why he was there, tasked with operating a crane as a bridge was rebuilt, it wasn’t entirely out of the question.

There was still no confirmed death toll.

“Ah, yes,” the man said, “so you do.”  He said it as though that meant something, rather than just an idle comment that of courseShaun had eyes; everyone did.

Clearly this wasn’t someone Shaun wanted to actually be talking with, no matter that he’d started the conversation, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop, or leave.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he commented, lowering himself to sit next to the man.  “Are you okay?”

If this was a ghost of one of those killed on the bridge – although he looked unhurt, and weren’t ghosts supposed to look like they did when they had died – maybe he needed some closure to move on.  The bridge was a major one, tales of it being haunted wouldn’t go down too well.

And maybe Shaun didn’t want to be working on a haunted bridge, either.

The man sighed heavily. “I should be,” he said, turning his gaze skywards for a moment before facing the swirling water of the river below.

“But you’re not?”

“I’m not allowed to not be,” came the cryptic answer.  Shaun shook his head.

“I don’t understand,” he admitted.  Part of him was wondering what the best way to leave the conversation would be.  The rest of him was still very curious.

The man sighed again. “You know what happened here?”

Shaun was repairing the bridge, of course he knew.  “An earthquake,” he said, unable to quite keep the duhout of his voice. No-one who had been in New York – or likely even the entirety of the US – didn’t know about the freak earthquake that had wrecked Manhattan and some of the bridges.  The geologists were completely stumped about what had caused it.

“Right.”  The man sounded dubious about it, even though he’d nodded slightly.  “My son died here.”

The death toll of the collapse of the Williamsburg Bridge was still unknown.  Miraculously, most people had escaped their cars in time, but not everyone had.  Divers were scouring the waters below for bodies.  Some had been found, but several names were unaccounted for.  Shaun somehow doubted they’d ever all be found.

He wondered whether the man’s son had been found or not.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “There’s no chance..?”  Not everyone had died.  There had been stories of survivors washing up on the shore of the river, half-dead but not beyond saving.  Some loved ones of those lost had been on the news, insisting that more of the shore needed to be searched, that the lost person had to still be alive.

“No,” the man sighed, his voice shaking.  “If he was still alive, I’d know.  His soul’s moved on, out of my reach.”

He’d given up, then.  Shaun supposed he couldn’t blame him – less painful to accept the probability now than cling to a faint hope that anyone else could see was foolish.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, because what else could he say?  The words were routine, an empty platitude, but they were all he had for this strange man no-one else could see.

“Barkley, get that crane ready!” came the shout of the foreman.  There was no acknowledgement of the man he was sitting beside.  “Sun’ll be up any minute now.”

“Yessir!” he called back, before glancing at the man again.  “You probably shouldn’t stay here once the machines start up,” he said apologetically.

The man gave a sad smile. “That’s okay,” he said.  “My job starts at dawn, too.”  Shaun supposed that explained why he, too, was up so early.

“Unlucky buggers, the both of us,” he offered, pulling himself to his feet.  The man gave a light huff that Shaun hoped was amusement.

“Unlucky indeed.”  There was a pause.  “Thank you for talking to me.”

Shaun shrugged.  “You looked like you could do with some company,” he said, still not sure what, exactly, had driven him to talk to the strange man.

The man shrugged again. “I suppose I did.”

Shaun started to turn, another call of Berkley! dragging his unwilling attention over, but one last thought made him pause.  “Your son… what was his name?”

The first rays of sunlight passed over them, seemingly focusing on the other man.  His hair was black, but there was something warm about the colour, as though it was absorbing the heat of the dawn.  His eyes were brown, but there was something golden in their depths.

“Michael,” the man said, with a sad smile.  “His name was Michael.”

There was another, impatient, yell of Shaun’s name and he instinctively glanced over at the foreman again.

When he looked back, the man was gone.