1. Family

I was on my knees, and my hands were covered in blood—thick and sticky and warm. The blood refused to dry in the stifling heat and humidity and dripped from my fingers onto the scarred dirt and grass beneath me. I felt dazed and nauseous, looking at my trembling, blood-soaked hands. I couldn't swallow down the lump in my throat, and the tears in my eyes blurred my vision. I could hear a voice calling out to me, repeating my name, but it sounded so very far away. The voice was being drown-out by the ringing in my ears and the percussion of my pounding heart.

Someone gripped my shoulders firmly, and I tried to get away. I struggled against whoever had me in their clutches. As I fought, the distant voice became clearer. "Chase! Chase!" It was my father's voice. "Chase, wake up!"

I gasped and my eyes shot open. I was home, in my own bed, staring up at my dad. He was sitting on the edge of my bed, illuminated in the darkness by the dim bedside lamp.

"You're okay, son," he said in a firm yet reassuring tone. "You're okay."

I sat up and threw my arms around his neck. It might not have been very manly to hug my dad like that at my age, but he was my dad, I loved him, and I'd never be too old or too proud to hug him like I was still a little kid. And he didn't mind. He was there at three in the morning, comforting his teenage son who'd just had a terrifying nightmare, because he didn't mind.

These late-night rescues had become somewhat of a ritual. The nightmares began shortly before Thanksgiving and had come at least twice a week since. Mom and Dad rotated the three a.m. wake-up calls like they had when I was in infant. On the weekends when Noah stayed over, he'd take the wake-up-screaming-Chase shift, and during Lexie's two-week stay with me over Christmas break, she took the job.

It wasn't the same nightmare every time. There were four distinct dreams that had me screaming in the middle of the night, and all of them ended with blood on my hands. In three dreams, I didn't know whose blood it was, but I knew someone was dead, and it was my fault. In one dream, though, the blood was mine. I knew it was mine, because there was a gaping, burning wound in my chest, which meant I didn't have the curse of Achilles and I was dying.

I'd pinch myself after that dream just to make sure I still had the curse, and of course, I did. I never told anyone about that dream—not Noah or Lexie and certainly not my parents. I felt guilt in all the dreams, but I felt it even more in that one. I couldn't bear to think about what I'd be leaving behind and what an abandonment my death would be.

Once my breathing was under control, I released my dad from the chokehold. He gripped the nape of my neck and looked at me with a mixture of worry and understanding. "Better now?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay now. Thanks for waking me up."

"That's what dad's are for."

I attempted a smile, but I'm not sure my lips curled in the slightest.

"You want to talk about it?" He always asked, and I almost always refused. I'd described the dreams to my parents a few times, but as they'd continued to plague my sleep, I no longer needed to.

"Nightmare number two," I said, and he knew which one I was referring to. I'd labeled them one through three; nightmare number four, the one where the blood was mine, was my little secret.

He sighed. "Curse the Fates for putting you through this. I hate seeing you suffer night after night. I wish there was something I could do."

There was nothing he could do to stop the nightmares, but him simply being there for me meant more than he'd ever know. "You're doing all you can, Dad."

He gave my neck a firm squeeze and rested his forehead against mine. "I love you, son."

"I love you, too."

He kissed my head, because I was his son, he loved me, and I'd never be too old and he'd never be too proud to kiss my head like I was still a little kid. And I didn't mind. He'd pulled me out of horrible nightmares at three in the morning countless times in the last few months, so I didn't mind.

He ruffled my hair like he always did and asked, "You got any exams in the morning?"

I didn't. "No," I answered.

"Turn off your alarm and get some sleep. You can go to school late tomorrow. Just don't tell your mom."

I again attempted a smile. "I never do," I said.

Dad usually let me cut my first couple of classes when I had nights like this. Mom, not so much. Recently, I'd been missing more school and my grades had been slipping because of my sheer lack of sleep. The nightmares scared me so much, and it wasn't uncommon for me to stay awake for two or three days straight just to avoid them. The insomnia was beginning to take its toll. I was tired, so tired all the time.

Dad stood and patted the bed where he'd been sitting. Iolaus, our West Highland White Terrier who was lying at the foot of my bed, sauntered over the spot Dad indicated. The dog turned a circle then cozied up next to me. Dad petted his head. "Take care of him, Iolaus," he told the dog. Dad turned off the bedside lamp and said, "Try to sleep, Chase."

"I'll try," I told him.

Three anxiety-ridden hours later, I finally fell asleep while scratching behind Iolaus's ears the way he liked, and when I dreamed, I dreamed of my dog. I guess it was because he was the last thing on my mind when I dozed off.

I was walking him to the dog park for some exercise when suddenly he broke free from the leash and took off into a wooded area of the park. I ran after him, calling his name, but he just kept running. When I found him in the woods, I saw that he'd found something himself. It was a puppy—a wolf puppy.

The pup had a shiny silver and white coat and eyes as blue as the sky. The pup was young, but already as big as Iolaus, which was about twenty pounds. She was a playful little thing, and she and my terrier rolled and played like they'd been friends forever. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight of them romping around in the dirt and leaves.

"I think she likes him," said a voice from the past. Lily, the lieutenant of the Hunters of Artemis, stepped out of the shadows. "Hi, CJ."

I smiled, because even though she and I had our share differences, I considered her a friend, and it was good to see her. It had been a long time. "Hi, Lily. What are you doing here? And out of uniform?" I added, noticing she wasn't wearing the traditional Hunter garb, but was wearing faded blue jeans, a red blouse, and cowboy boots—an ensemble I'd seen her wear while we were in New Orleans two Christmases ago.

She shrugged. "This is your dream, so you tell me."

"Ah, so you're not really here; you're just a figment of my unconscious mind."

She smirked. "Sounds like your unconscious mind is trying to tell you something."

"That I should get in touch with you, maybe? You're not in trouble are you, Lily?"

"Seems like you're the one in trouble."

She was right about that.

"Trust me on this, CJ, from one leader to another, it's advantageous to have allies right now." To any random observer, those words would've sounded strange coming from a twelve year old, but the façade didn't fool me anymore. It was her eyes that gave her away. She may have worn the body of a young girl, but her eyes were all woman—strong, serious, sympathetic, and wise. "Don't hesitate to give me a call if you need help," she added.

"Thanks, Lily."

She whistled and the wolf pup came running up to her followed closely by Iolaus.

"She's yours?" I asked.

Lily nodded. "Echo reborn."

"She's beautiful. Do you call her Echo?"

"No, she doesn't have a name yet. I haven't come up with one that suits her. Any suggestions?"

I knelt down, examining the pup and giving her a vigorous rubdown. "What about Star? She's all shiny and twinkly like a star."

Lily laughed. "Star… I like it."

The pup tried to climb up on me when I stopped rubbing her tummy. She made a good leap and licked my face.

"Ack!" I opened my eyes to find Iolaus standing on my chest, licking my face to wake me up. I'm sure he needed to go out badly.

"Alright, buddy, I'm up," I said to him, which he responded with a happy tail wag.

Downstairs, I was pleasantly greeted by the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and not so pleasantly greeted by the sight of my mother sitting at the breakfast bar. What the heck was she doing home? It was after ten, so she should've been at work. From the look on her face, I could tell I was in deep shit.

She never said a word, only sipped her coffee as I walked through the kitchen and out the front door to take Iolaus for his walk. Any other morning it would've taken my dog twenty minutes to do his business and sniff everything that demanded to be sniffed, but not this morning. Instead of giving me twenty minutes to delay the wrath of my mom, he was done in five minutes and ready to go back home. It might've had something to do with the freezing temperature and the half-inch of snow on the ground. It was February after all.

Back in the kitchen, Mom was still sitting on her stool—calm, quiet, and collected. I knew that demeanor; she was about to have a come-apart. I poured myself a cup of coffee, stirred in two spoons of sugar, then sat down on the stool beside her.

"Why aren't you at school?" she asked.

"I didn't sleep well last night."

"So, you've been skipping school when you have the nightmares?" She was trying really hard not to yell at me for cutting class. She took my education very seriously.

"Not the whole day. Just a few morning classes."

"More than a few. Your principle called my office this morning. Apparently you've been late eight days in the last month alone. He said in addition to missing classes, your grades have fallen by a full letter in some subjects, and you're lethargic and inattentive when you do make it to school," she explained in a tone that was a combination of disappointment, anger, and maybe a little sympathy mixed in there too.

I hated that I'd disappointed my parents so much. I'd always tried to do really well in school and sports and be a great leader at Camp Half-Blood like they were, but I was only mortal and doing the best I could with what I had. It wasn't like I just decided not to try anymore. It was the nightmares; they had all but taken over my life.

"I'm lethargic and inattentive because I'm exhausted," I told her.

"Well, he thinks you're on drugs."

"What?" I gaped. "Mom, you know I'm not on drugs."

"Yes, I know. Though, I'm beginning to wonder if you should be."

"Uh…" I blinked. "Huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Something to help you sleep, CJ. Not crack."

"You know what would help me sleep? The Fates not hijacking my dreams all the time."

She sighed. "Honey, I understand what it's like—"

"Do you, Mom? I mean, really? Did the Fates play out doomsday in your brain for months on end, all snipped yarn and bloody hands and guilt-ridden death? Did you not sleep for days at a time just to avoid the possibility of a paralyzing nightmare?"

She didn't answer; she only stared at me with her analyzing eyes. "What aren't you telling me, CJ?"

That woman could read me like an open book. It was so annoying. "You don't wanna know," I told her.

"I think I do."

I shook my head. "No, you really don't."

"Dammit, CJ, what could possibly be so bad that you can't even tell your own mother?"

"I die! In one of my nightmares, I die!" And as soon as I said it, I regretted it.

I just wanted her off my back, but when the color drained from her face and she froze like a statue, I wanted to take the words back so badly. She knew dreams had meaning and could foretell future events, and I knew telling her about my dream would hurt her. That was why I hadn't done it. And that was why I wished I hadn't just done it.

"Mom, I…" I didn't know what to say.

She slammed her hand on the bar, causing our coffee cups to shake. "No! You're not going to die, CJ. That won't happen. It can't happen." Wise Girl had exited the building and was replaced by Delusional Mother.

"It can happen. I've seen it happen. I've felt it. I know it's not set in stone. The dreams are on a spinning wheel, and when the time comes, whichever one it stops on will be the one to play out, but the possibility is there. The prophecy says there will be a loss of a hero, and that hero could very well be me."

"You can't think like that."

"I have no choice but to think like that. And you and Dad need to prepare yourselves for the possibility that I may not be coming home from camp this time."

She didn't respond other than taking my coffee away from me and pouring it down the sink. She never liked that I drank coffee. She grabbed a bagel out of the fridge, poured a glass of orange juice, and gave them to me. She draped her arm over my shoulders and led me into the living room where we settled onto the couch.

"Let's find a movie to watch," she said, grabbing the TV remote.

"You're not going back to work?" I asked.

She brushed my unruly hair out of my eyes and gave me a warm smile. "Not today. Today, you and I are going to watch movies."

I snuggled up to my mom like I had when I was a little kid. And she didn't mind. She loved me, I'd always be her baby, and she'd always be my mom no matter how old I was. She was missing a day of work to spend with her stressed-out son, because she didn't mind.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, sweetie. More than you'll ever know."

And I didn't complain about her calling me sweetie, because today, I didn't mind.

Disclaimer: I do not own PJO.