Apocalypse, Thy Name be Clementine

A/N: First off I should say that I don't own the Percy Jackson characters or mythology in general. Now that that's been so obviously established, I'd like to point out that this is my first fanfic, and I'm still working on the plot. I'm going to be switching from the points of views of Chris and Percy, and maybe one other character later on… Things might get a little OCC, and I'm sorry if they do, but I'll try to stick to canon. Anyway, I promise I won't abandon this fanfiction, and if you have any thoughts or suggestions, feel free to ask/tell me, I'd love to hear what you guys have to say! Anyway, tata cheerio, and enjoy. (P.S. T for swearing… and basically for anything else T related x3)

This hall was dark, the rock walls rough and damp as it narrowed, forcing the two to rub against its slimy surface. Most of the darkness that the labyrinth contained was an eerie vale of black, the air thin and bearable, but here it was as if it was choking him, a thick wall of shadows that roared at every step he took through their seams. But that was the problem; it was seamless, almost as if it were a solid shape, embracing him, tempting him. Self-consciously, he felt behind him for little Mary, freezing abruptly when he clawed through air.

"Mary?.." Nothing. Panicked, he turned around, feeling the darkness enclose around his chest, making it harder to breath. Breaths coming out in ragged stutters, he began running, ignoring the rough sided rock as it further enclosed around him, tearing at his shirt. "Mary!"

He almost screamed, stumbling through the endless black. And that's what is was; endless. Was he even running in the right direction? The echoless thump thump that his feet made in the tunnel dimmed into background noises, the blood rushing through his ears creating an unbearable pressure against his skull. Half expecting a pair of red eyes to hover above his shoulders, he whipped around, hitting his head of the stone and stumbling back with a straggled grunt. Feeling himself tip over, he put back his foot, anticipating the hard earth that would send tremors through his leg and cause him to recoil. But that was the problem with the labyrinth, once you began to anticipate something, it would travel through your mind, find your biggest fears, and use them against you. Being underground was already a touchy situation for a son of Hermes, but what came next was enough to make his breath catch in his throat. His body teetered on the edge of a pit, before tipping back and sending him into cascading darkness, arms flailing through the air. He couldn't find it in himself to scream, his mouth opened in wordless horror as brisk air forced itself into his lungs, making him splutter and cough. No matter how many times he clawed for air, only a burning fire would answer him in his lungs, and he fell through the nothingness like a fish out of water. No.. It wasn't nothingness. It, wherever the hell that was, had begun to shift, until hands reached out towards him. Many, many skeletal hands framed in rotting flesh and illuminated by a ghostly light that they themself emanated. At every touch he felt his skin shiver, before crumbling into dust and blowing away in the wicked breeze that now whistled with moans and shrieks. He couldn't move, couldn't even truly comprehend what was happening, and instead his mind conjured up an image of Mary. His body was nothing more than a fading image, a shuddering holograph as more hands stretched out pleadingly grasp at him. Finally he screamed, feeling bony fingers burry themselves in his chest, crushing bone and tissue as they felt for something. His heart. He didn't die as the vital organ was pulled out, didn't even feel pain, but he felt as if his soul was now being sucked from his body. The hand had continued to fall with him, holding his still beating heart and slowly increasing pressure. Now he felt it, a tightening around his chest that grew with the ghostly hand's grip, letting out wheezing sounds that should have been screams, a roaring sound forming in his mind. He began trashing, now, clawing at his bloody chest and trying to look away from his heart that looked at bursting point. This was it, he was going to die. Die in the deepest depths of his insanity. But just as his soul began to wither, the roaring sound morphed into a redundant boom, and he was engulfed by the gaping jaws of a rotting skull. And then nothing.

Chris P.O.V.

"Dionysus, what in the name of Hades did you do to him? He isn't moving, damnit."

"It takes longer than a few seconds for somebody to come out of a coma, Clementine."

"It's Clarisse, asshole."

"No matter."

"I should call you Dino. Dinonysus, God of Useless Tools and Clementines."

"Then what does that make you, A-Pole-Hoe, God of Yawn Raping?"

"God of Awesomeness."

"Seems legit."

"Please be quiet, I believe he is waking up, and I'd rather he not be greeted by totally different forms of insanity."

"Told you so, Chalice."

"Clarisse."

Waking up? Feeling his conscience thawing, he tried to regain control of his limbs, frustrated when only a tingling sensation spread itself throughout his body. What was this, had his insanity developed a tamer obsession with adding voices in his head? He let out a mono-toned groan, his chest tightening with the threat of a yawn. Parting his jaws, he finally felt his body shift itself, relishing the peaceful dream and letting out another heartfelt yawn. The labyrinth was having mercy on him at last, giving him these tranquil moments of rest to regain his - With a spluttering cough he sat up, eyes bulging open as he felt a strange sensation in his throat, his head banging off something hard.

"Son of a-!" The other cursed, cut off by the smug laughter from somewhere beside him. Before he could get a clear look of his surroundings, a dark cloud of dizziness knocked him back into the pillow, hindering him from getting the bearings on his attackers.

"Chris!" Numerous voices chanted in unison, and he felt himself being yanked upwards again, head lolling numbly to the side. Blinking the fuzziness out of his gaze, he stared in utter confusion at the faces in front of him for a moment, his frozen mind running circles, trying to pin down their personas. "I'm glad you've woken up, we were beginning to worry."

The voice was calm, wise, and made him feel sick with guilt the moment he heard it. It was Chiron, trainer of half-bloods and son of.. Kronos. And then the memories hit him. Everything that had happened before now; betraying the camp, joining Kronos's army, the labyrinth. Basically anything that could have been used against him in a court room. With a drowsy blink, he let his gaze lock blankly on the bearded face of the old centaur, surprise by the worried wrinkles that creased his eyes. "Chiron..? I- the army, I.. It's not what - I mean.." What do you say to somebody you betrayed? Probably something else.

"Don't talk about it now, Mr. Rodriguez, you'll just become a pyscho again.." The painfully bored voice of the painfully dreaded and painfully dressed Dionysus drawled from a corner, he gave him the same blank expression he had to Chiron.

"Okay?" He forced out with a squeak, glancing at the others that had been watching him sleep. A sheepishly smiling Percy Jackson, a reproachful looking Apollo, one hand applying pressure to his forehead, and oddest of all, a gawking Clarisse LaRue. Feeling exposed, he sunk back down into his fortress of rumbled pillows, avoiding the curious looks and staring at the ceiling with a sudden, fascinating interest. "Why am I here?"

He finally whispered, taking a shaky breath and risking a look at Chiron, who grimly pressed his mouth in a firm line, knowing exactly what he meant. "Chris, don't think like that.."

Think like what? Wasn't he aloud to hate himself for what he did, for what he did to others? And yes, that was exactly what he did, he hated himself. "How can I not." He said almost inaudibly, and Dionysus rolled his eyes, hoisting himself up from his chair and giving him a meaningful look.

"Don't be a drama queen, please." He smiled, eyebrows rising in challenge before he swung open the old wooden door, disappearing into the leading corridor. Chiron motioned for the rest to follow, and they did, but not before Clarisse had time to whirl around and demand:

"Are you a traitor?" Was he a traitor at the moment? No. Was he once? Yes.

"No.." He replied warily, thankful as the man in the wheel chair ushered her out, closing the door and turning back to him with a sympathetic smile. He hated that smile, because it made him feel even more broken, more unfixable, more redundant compared to the rest of the world. He hated it almost as much as he hated himself.

"We're glad to have you back, despite what you yourself may think, and nobody blames you for leaving. You, not unlike Luke, had your reasons." Chiron began, his eyes warming into a mousy brown colour as they studied his face for reaction. He said nothing, twiddling his thumbs and trying to think of something intelligent to say.

"Why am I here?" He repeated, bark shaded optics hardening into an icy mud colour. So many questions that needed answering.. The man looked at him for a moment, before retrieving some nectar and ambrosia from the bed side table beside him and holding it out. He took it, only now noticing the dull throb in his stomach, which felt like somebody had blown cold air into it, signifying hunger. While he began to take small nibbles and sips, Chiron folded his hands on his lap, beginning a tale that just made him cringe.

"Many months ago, Clarisse found you wandering around outside an entrance to the labyrinth. You were mentally unstable, so much so that we had to keep you away from the other campers. Either way, while you were awake you would refuse any food, and often mention 'the string' and the name Mary. Clarisse has been watching over you in her free time, especially when you slipped into a coma, which was well over six months ago. At any rate, the labyrinth has been destroyed, and Dionysus has brought you back to sanity, and your past is forgotten as far as we're concerned. Nobody will be able to tell the difference." The bluntness in his tone hurt, but he supposed he needed to hear it.

"I know the difference." He replied, and Chiron sighed, taking the nectar and ambrosia and placing it back on the table with a clink. "Tell Clarisse thanks."

He nodded, opening the door with a brief struggle and rolling his wheelchair out, turning back with a weary expression. "In a few days you'll be able to tell her yourself."

Percy P.O.V.

"Are you glad he's finally woken up?" Percy asked Clarisse neutrally as they strolled out of the Big House. Mistake number one. She growled, tightening her fist and delivering a hard blow to his shoulder,

"Never say that again, punk, or I'll bash your face in." The daughter of Ares grumbled, stalking off into the direction of the Training Arena, crossing her arms grudgingly over her chest. He blinked; sub-consciously rubbing his shoulder before turning to the two Gods- correction, one, he thought, Dionysus had disappeared. Apollo returned his stare with a slightly agitated grind of his teeth, making him drop his gaze.

"I will never yawn rape again." He heard him mutter, and quirked his lips in a discreet smile, stifling a laugh. Not even he would have thought doing that to somebody would be a great idea, and face it, he really didn't have the best of ideas. But the happy mood soon died inside of him as he passed a group of weeping Apollo kids, their heads bowed down, shoulders hunched as they grouped together, oblivious to their father's presence. Glancing up at the blonde God, he noticed the weary shudder that passed through his body, and a guilty cringe that formed over his face. He had always liked Lee Fletcher, and his death affected him as much as any other, hence the sad smile he offered the group. Apollo stopped where he was, dismissing Percy with a wave of his hand and kneeling beside his children and whispering something inaudible to them. Not wanting to see any more, he left them alone, wandering over to the Athena cabin, where Annabeth sat expectantly, pallid hair pulled back into a ponytail. She greeted him with a raise of an eyebrow, questioning his down drawn eyes with a, 'Care to alliterate, seaweed brain?' He smiled, plopping heartily down beside her, tracing a circular pattern on his palm to distract himself. "He's awake, and sane.. I think."

Annabeth nodded absently, gray orbs flickering over the mourning campers, "Gained one, lost two." She murmured sadly, and Percy shook his head, motioning to where the Ares cabin was lounging around the Training Arena.

"Two, we gained two; Clarisse is definitely back to normal." He muttered, rolling his sore shoulder and sighing in resignation. Every year something horrible would happen, and then sort itself, but the deaths of two camper's right before their eyes would haunt them for a while yet, he felt it. At this thought, he risked a look over to Apollo, who was trying to comfort a small girl who had strung her arms around his neck, gingerly stroking her chocolate coloured hair. Weird, he had never pictured the cocky God of the Sun to be such a father. His thoughts were interrupted by an icy silence that suddenly spread throughout the camp, and raised his head to follow where everyone was staring.

"Oh. Oh." Percy squeaked, staring at a befuddled Chris Rodriguez, who now stood awkwardly in front of the Big House, guiltily averting his eyes. Nobody said anything, probably because Clarisse was glaring dangerously with those roan red eyes of hers. From somewhere near the Hermes cabin, a accusing voice sounded from a crowd, a young boy raising his arm to point a finger.

"Traitor."

Yeah, okay, bad place to leave the first chapter, sorry xD I couldn't think of anything else. Either way, I hope this wasn't too bad, and I'll update again soon! And, by the way, I know I'm exactly following events correctly, but I did try to warn you that not everything was going to be the same. Thanks for reading. 3