Note: I've picked up an abandoned story and been given permission to do as I please with it. English isn't my first language, therefore I apologise for any mistakes. I'm still looking for a beta reader. If you're interested, please send me an inbox.
Summary: "Wait for someone who keeps you sane, but also drives you crazy in all the right ways. If love be madness, may we never find sanity again."
After having a breakdown, Mariposa Jackson is confined to Camp Half-Blood as a year rounder. What could change in 365 days? What could happen when two beings who despise one another are forced to spend more time together than they'd like? He's her only chance at defeating her demons. Maybe she's his, too?
Rating: T
Pairing: Female!Percy/Dionysus
ΣΩΘΔ
Day 1
Once Gaea had been subdued – forced to sleep per Piper's persuasion – Mariposa's mind deserted her. She did not remember Blackjack drop her off on the porch of The Big House, though he must have done so. She failed to hear Annabeth and her repetitive, worrisome questions: 'Are you okay?' 'Where does it hurt?'
Instead, devastation, loss, and grief tightened Mariposa's chest unforgivingly, as if her lungs had been paralyzed and unable to let another breath in. Her heart pounded so hard against her ribcage like it belonged to a hopping heir. It took all of her effort to keep still; to ignore her quivering legs and remain upright.
An arrow poked out of her forearm. A clean shot - worthy of Apollo. Straight through. Anywhere else and it could have been fatal. The raw pink flesh should hurt, but the last remnants of adrenaline dulled the blistering pain.
But no amount of adrenaline could numb her battered mind, her broken heart. She could feel herself falling apart. Her last remaining shred of strength fraying before snapping completely, sending her plummeting over the edge and into blackness.
"He … He's really dead."
Her breathing became more rapid, more shallow. Her head becoming a carousel of wicked memories spinning out of control, each one pushing her to let go, to break, to simply give up.
Jason and Hazel stared at her, their thoughts identical: 'Who was dead?' As Annabeth fell to the floor, a hand over her heart.
"Mari, who are you talking about?" Frank insisted, but she failed to respond. He tried once more. "Mariposa. Listen to me. Who is dead?"
She ignored him.
Out of complete silence, a cry arose. Tears burst forth like water from a dam. Brick by brick, her walls – the walls that held her up, made her strong – simply collapsed. Moment by moment, they fell. Mariposa fought to reclaim control of her broken heart, shocked by the sounds escaping from deep within her chest. But the damage had been done.
Jason took a cautious step forward; but a hand, Chiron's hand, caught the boy's shoulder and stilled him, resilient even as he protested.
"Stay where you are." He whispered, discreetly meeting the eye of someone positioned behind her. "She needs help."
Mariposa grunted – or perhaps, growled – whatever she had done, it was a condescending response. Did she need help? No, but he had needed help. And they hadn't known. They hadn't seen it – hadn't seen him fall. Only she watched him die. And for what? Was it really for anything worth-while? If only to keep those ungrateful-
"Mariposa." Annabeth whispered, a pool of tears treading her eyes.
Oh, Annabeth knew. Of course she would, but the others? How could she tell them? Say it out loud? That Tyson –
Then just like that … Reality shattered. Her vision cracked, like a brilliant bolt of electricity in a blackened sky before it forked to the Earth. An ebony haze consumed her vision until it was reduced into a simple, dark canvas. She shrieked, a truly horrific sound that bruised the uncertain atmosphere like a dull blade.
Aiming, but failing, to reach the exit, her elbow contacted a lampshade on a nearby table, shattering it into a thousand pieces on the wooden floor. Her escape was hindered as she collided with a hard body. Mariposa flinched as a calloused hand, delicate, but calculated, held onto her, keeping her still. It was skilled, like how one would handle a startled mare.
She cried into her captor's chest unceasingly. It took perhaps hours before she could make an understandable sentence … and once she did, everyone's heart ached, too, though none as fiercely as hers.
"Gaea killed him." She whispered. "Tyson … My brother. He's dead."
The words had barely left her lips before the whites of her eyes dominated her sockets. Immediately, Mariposa's body fell limp. Her complete stillness suggesting her sleep could be ever-lasting.
ΣΩΘΔ
From the carousel of chaos came some order – a brief second of awareness of who she was under the tsunami of misplaced, random thoughts and memories. She felt hot, as if a fiery serpent had coiled around her very being, but it brought her no pain. Instead, it soothed her, like she'd been frozen solid. A curious healing quality. Like a flame cauterising a wound or burning out an infection. It certainly wasn't comfortable, nor pleasant, but necessary. It helped her think, too see clearly.
Rousing from a heavy slumber, Mariposa was first aware of the warmth in the air and a nauseating sterile fragrance. Bleach? And the sound of machines whirring, beeping, buzzing, tirelessly at work to perform the required task. She briefly wondered if she was still sleeping, until her eyes lazily rolled open, glazed over with the last remnants of a dream, but most certainly awake.
She slipped her hand underneath her pillow to clasp her blade before realising there was none, that she was not inside the four walls of her cabin. She bolted upright immediately, any last lingering wariness overcome by adrenaline.
Although her mind blistered with confusion, Mariposa sighed, relieved, taking in the medical suite at Camp Half-Blood.
She was safe.
Panting heavily, Mariposa sat quiet and still for several moments, forcing her rapid heartbeat to steady. Aside from the Hephaestus cabin outside, she remained in silence, nothing to be heard inside her tiny corner of the room. Her only company belonging to the sea of sleeping bodies beside her. She couldn't put a name to any face for it was simply too dark to see much at all – early hours of the morning, she presumed – and her only source of light was a small bedside lamp a couple of feet away that hadn't been switched off.
The clink of a door unlocking, and following footsteps, had Mariposa's body lock into place. Her grip nice and firm on the metal rack beside her carrying an IV bag.
Ready for an attack, Mariposa was not expecting a gentle chuckle to fill the room, stirring multiple bodies but never actually waking them.
"Relax, Mariposa. I can assure you, that won't be necessary."
Mariposa faced the speaker – eyes cool and hard. Three men stood in the doorway. It was the taller one who spoke.
The man wore a peculiar outfit; a pair of Bermuda shorts and a brightly coloured button up. Mariposa could feel his stare burning into her as he searched for something, anything, on her face, but she refused to give. Oh … he looked so much like Tyson.
She looked away, preferring to study the men beside him.
The second tallest slouched ever-so-slightly, but he still impressed with a proud and imposing manner. His large, round and chubby face was flushed, the blotchiness in his cheeks evident from years of alcohol abuse. The mess upon his head she reluctantly labelled as hair was greasy and knotted, a colour so dark that in the daylight various strands had acquainted a violet tint. But his clothing was the biggest repulse of all, as anyone who wore such attire should be arrested under the term "Crime Against Fashion."
Mariposa was thankful that her third visitor did not appear as potentially stuck up. Instead, his face was kinder, neither handsome nor ugly, but a perfectly normal middle-aged man; who had rather large, bushy eyebrows that curled upward towards a spotted hairline. His intense brown eyes watched in concern as she shifted uncomfortably on the bunk.
"What-" Her muscles contracted, a desperate plea for water. "Happened?"
To her knowledge, Dionysus had been recalled to Olympus (a combined celestial presence was the only way to repair their home). While Chiron had, rather, unfortunately, bore a fraction of Zeus's wrath. He was, ah, laying low – in Alaska. Or so she'd heard.
"Mariposa, my dear." Chiron breathed, regrettably. "We must speak."
ΣΩΘΔ
Mariposa stared out of the open-bay windows.
She, rather unfortunately, often received maddening migraines. Once they began, she'd be held prisoner in her own body, completely helpless. Her temple would throb so ferociously Mariposa often wondered why her head didn't simply split open. Today was one of those days.
"Okay. So," Taking a deep breath, she palmed her forehead. "You're telling me, I basically … went completely nuts?"
"You got snowed." Chiron lay down Mariposa's medical charts in front of her. Although she couldn't understand half of the words written, she suspected the worst. "Dionysus put you on a heavy dosage of anti-psychotics and Benzodiazepine. You slept for almost 52 hours straight."
"Woah." Her mouth became dry. "Talk about a power nap."
"Mariposa, please be serious. You have PTSD. Most of the camp does. For you, it caused severe sleep deprivation and emotional numbing. So, when Tyson … Well, you know, of course. Everything you had been keeping tucked away came rushing back all at once. Ultimately, it led to a breakdown."
"And the leg brace?" She asked, pulling aside the duvet to reveal the ghastly-looking support tied around her calf. "I certainly didn't do that fighting Gaea."
Chiron sent Dionysus a reproachful glare. "There was a bit of a struggle subduing you."
She waited, but he failed to elaborate. Frustrated but unable to do much, Mariposa forced herself upright. She swayed briefly as her brace squeezed her skin uncomfortably, although the cool floor tiles felt heavenly against her blistering skin.
"Am I okay now?" She drawled, tactlessly. She'd asked time and time again, but on every repeat her question went unanswered. "I'm fine, now, yeah?"
"For now?" Chiron sighed. "Yes, Mariposa. You are stable. But I'd like for you to stay here, under my protection, for a little while. You've endured terrible grief, Mari. You've lost your brother." Her mentor looked at her sympathetically. "It would be very easy for you to relapse. You need to be close to Dionysus should that happen. At least until you're feeling better."
She sighed. Her will crumpled and finally, she looked at Poseidon's face. The God's face slackened immediately; eyebrows furrowing. He looked as if he wanted to teleport away for a place to hide. Truth be told, she wasn't much comfortable in his presence either. It reminded her too much of Tyson.
Nevertheless, Mariposa parted her lips to speak. To seek comfort – or to provide it. She didn't really know.
But she fumbled soundlessly. No words came out.
Poseidon's face softened considerably. "I know, Mariposa. I know."
ΣΩΘΔ
High above in the blackened sky, dark coils of acidic vapour interwind. Their eerie serpent-like bodies taunted the landscape below. The bruised sky cackled down at Mariposa and Annabeth. A cold, brutal slap of reality as they stilled, fearful, insignificant to the world as wicked rays of electricity forked boldly to the floor; identical to Zeus's fierce tempest above Earth.
A loud, abrupt crack echoed close behind them, and suddenly, the heavens opened, releasing a tsunami of acid rain that harassed Mariposa's already bruised skin, stinging the frail surface of her cheeks.
"Can you not feel it? Tartarus is a living, breathing creature." Akhlys whispered, circling them both provokingly. "With every step you take, do you not feel his beating heart?"
Releasing a breath of poisonous air, Mariposa stepped forward; true to her word, a loud 'thump!' 'thump!' followed after her. Akhlys smirked.
"He knows we are here," Annabeth whispered.
Then suddenly, an unseen force began eating away at Mariposa's vision, until it was reduced into a simple white canvas; an image of pure bliss compared to the vision which soon followed. A single fleeting moment that had branded itself into her weary soul.
Gaea's last act. Her last punishment. All for Mariposa.
She could remember the triumph. The feeling of relief and joy that had flooded throughout her body as the opposition fell. She could picture the defeat of Gaea, of how she and her fellow demigods cheered in pleasure at the Primordial's descent.
But even in Mariposa's new-found happiness, the facts of her heritage remained. She was a demigod, a daughter of Poseidon. And for as long as she could remember, Mariposa had never been one with good fortune.
Tyson, unfortunately, shared such a trait.
So, when one miserable, inescapable thing went wrong, Mariposa was not surprised.
She could recall the loud, blood-curdling shriek that pierced the air from out Tyson's mouth. She could visualise the dark crimson blood that spread rapidly through the fabric of his shirt, blemishing the perfect patch of orange cotton visible beneath his unlatched armour. She could picture through wet eyes as others attempted to reach for him, but his body collapsed and spasmed in a desperate attempt to diminish the pain.
Instinctively, Mariposa's hands reached for the wound, but she knew the damage had been done. The blade that pierced his flesh was celestial bronze, one of the three metals fatal to demigods because of their blood - blood of the gods.
It was too much. It was all too much.
She couldn't breathe. Her baby brother was dying.
"Mariposa." He whispered, gargling on a blood clot. "Sister?"
Strength, one which did not belong to her, dominated her, pulling her back and away from his fading body. She inattentively heard Poseidon growl as she elbowed his stomach unforgivingly, but it proved ineffective.
"I love you."
Three words. The last words he spoke, before Tyson's single eye slid shut.
Adrenaline wracked through Mariposa's body and she shot upright. Her eyes snapped open wide, feigning alertness, instinctively drawing her blade from underneath her pillow, and waving it blindly in the dark.
The light above her bed flickered on immediately, and she sighed thankfully, taking in her empty bedroom.
"Calm down, Mari." She whispered to herself. Wiping away the beads of sweat dancing on her forehead. "Bad dream."
With a deep sigh, Mariposa stood, pushing the tangled duvet onto the floor with a resounding "Swish!". The lack of a decent night sleep taunted her as she managed small, weak steps toward the door and throughout the big house; the cool temperature of the air con soothing her feverishly hot skin.
A sliver of the porch light miraculously penetrated its way through the dirt clotted window; the leopard-print rug lien over the polished floorboards suddenly bursting with colour and relinquishing its dull and dirty demeanour. Mariposa hovered before the exit of the house, all movement coming to a stop as she caught wind of whom had claimed one of the two seats on the deck, questioning whether she was right to continue. The blooming ache in her calf made the decision for her.
With budding apprehension, and a sliver of fear, Mariposa bit down on her lower lip; the delicate surface cracking underneath the added pressure. Steadily, she reached out for the polished handle.
Dionysus did not care for company. A vile taste embedded itself on his tongue, and with reluctance, he choked back a sneer. It had been an eventful day, to say the least.
Whispers had passed through Camp Half-Blood of what Ariadne had done. And when the demigods discovered the rumours to be true, each one of them expected Dionysus's wrath to descend as his fury flared. What they did not expect, however, was for his 'No Alcohol' ban to be temporarily abolished – and thus a highly-intoxicated deity barking orders around camp at any given moment.
Word had it, Ariadne's transition into an immortal had been difficult. She found it hard to adapt. That, coupled alongside Dionysus's absence, Ariadne had finally had enough. Requesting an audience with Zeus, she'd expressed her desire to transition back to her previous state: "To live. To die. To be reborn."
Naturally, it had been granted. No one could be held on Olympus against their will.
"I'm sorry." Mariposa whispered quietly. "For your loss."
His cool violet orbs saw beyond the cloak of darkness and locked onto her unflinchingly. She was barely an adult, caught in the cross-fire of two superior species simply because of who her father was. She paid the price, and then some. Perhaps he wouldn't turn her into a dolphin for disturbing him tonight. He'd exercise restraint – only this once.
"As am I, Jackson. As am I."