Hello! This is another one-shot I just thought of one day. Tell me if there's any mistakes! Thanks!
Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians or Heroes of Olympus.
There was nothing wrong with New Rome. No, it was perfectly perfect with its neatly paved streets, large, comfortable houses, and colleges and schools. With the safe atmosphere that surrounded the gardens and libraries. It gave Percy a sense of comfort he had always longed for. It gave him a chance to start a family, to rest and just live like someone his age should.
Percy would be lying if he said he hated it, because he didn't. It was great there. He could study surfing—well, not surfing, but marine biology, Annabeth told him—and his girlfriend could design buildings like she had on Olympus. And there was nothing he couldn't want in New Rome. It should be his dream to be here, in the hospitality of the Romans.
But it wasn't, and Percy knew why. Oh, he definitely knew why.
He had always fit in with other demigods, he liked to think. Maybe. When his memories were gone, he wasn't accepted immediately, due to his godly parent—but the campers had trusted him enough for him to go from probatio to praetor directly. That was certainly something, right? After he saved their camp, they respected him. Accepted him.
But that was it, wasn't it? He had saved their camp. Their home. No matter what he said, no matter what he did, Camp Jupiter wasn't where he belonged.
In reality, Percy was a Greek, and he was suffering because of it.
Camp Jupiter was similar to the Greek camp—very much alike. But not enough. It definitely wasn't the same.
He missed the disorganized atmosphere of Camp Half-Blood. He missed his cabin, he missed the activities, and most of all, he missed the campers. He missed his friends, the ones he fought for and would die for, like some died for him. He wanted to hear Katie Gardner's shrieks when Connor and Travis Stoll played another prank on her. He wanted to listen to the laughs and jokes of the Hermes campers, the rapid-fire inquiries of the Athena cabin, and the songs and poems of the Apollo demigods. Heck, he even missed Clarisse and the threats of the Ares cabin. But he knew Clarisse was in college and many other campers he "grew up" with weren't there and newer demigods were streaming in. But still, he missed his home. And Camp Jupiter wasn't it.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost see Camp Half-Blood. He could almost see the dining pavilion, the Greek-styled buildings, the campfire. Oh, gods, the campfire. How he missed singing silly songs about how Grandma puts on her armor, smiling all throughout the tune. The beach, his favorite spot in the whole camp, with the waves reaching out longingly to shore just as he reached out longingly for Camp Half-Blood.
It was true what they said. Home is where the heart is.
He loved Camp Half-Blood. His home was Camp Half-Blood, and Camp Half-Blood was his heart. It wasn't a special place in his heart, because it was his heart. It was where he met Annabeth, the love of his life. Everything and everyone he loved was in Camp Half-Blood, in his heart. (His mother was there anyway. She was special.)
He would visit there every other weekend, and he would see the rest of the Seven sometime during the beginning of every month, but it wasn't enough. It was so hard letting the Greek camp go. Letting others take care of it, nurture it, even though he knew he was a legend there. (In fact, the Seven were legends anywhere, and he hated how he was more of a legend in Camp Half-Blood. He couldn't have done it without any of his friends.)
So, no. There was nothing wrong with New Rome. In fact, as a "retired" praetor, he was respected immensely. As a savior of the world twice, he was treated like he was special. And as a survivor of Tartarus, he was treated like a thin sheet of glass: fragile and easily broken, as if one wrong word would make him snap. Maybe that was part of the reason he preferred the Greek counterpart of Camp Jupiter. He was treated normally there. The campers at Camp Half-Blood knew him well. They knew him better than anyone else, except for Annabeth, who had shared many harsh experiences with him. They were ordinary demigods, forced together in dire circumstances. They had fought together, bled together, and died together. That created a special bond no one else had.
The fact was simple, and it wasn't hard to see: Percy missed Camp Half-Blood. And he knew he always would. He never wanted to forget it, and he knew he never could, even if he tried. No matter how great New Rome could be, would be, and became, his heart would always be with Camp Half-Blood. Their camp. Their home.
His heart.