Prologue - Abnormal

The whispers lost in the wind, meant for none but one. His son (Well not technically, considering his actual father, but by blood donation), was currently living between the pagans so contentedly, side-tracked from his true purpose in the Army. He was the strongest of them all, yet he mingled with such inferior beings for what, he didn't know.

But then again, his son was one of the pagans, so he really couldn't blame him for being with them. Still, it was time to set the teen back on track. Honestly, he had it easier than the others, just because his mother was Lucifer's daughter. Even the said demon mentioned was afraid to go up against the Father of them all.

Somehow, the boy and his mother hadn't turned out to be demons. Probably because Lucifer had been human at the time he loved his grandmother.

'I am the blacksmith.' The demon murmured, the words lost to all but the hero. 'I am your creator.'

'And I shall be your salvation.'

The dark-haired boy clutched his head, wanting nothing more than the scratchy and gravelly voice to go away. How long had it been now? A week? A month? He couldn't decide anything anymore. The voice watched his every move, haunted his every dream. And worst of all, the words always seemed to linger in the boy's mind. He'd been afraid to even sleep because of that, and if the others caught onto something, the never said a word. His friends had been coaxing him to take a good night's rest, claiming that all his fears were 'ludicrous and irrational', 'probably a side-affect from the pressure' and even called him paranoid. When he had demanded proof, they pointed out that he never seemed relaxed, always looking over his shoulder.

As much he was loath to admit this . . .

. . . they were right.

His insomnia was catching up with him. He had dark bags under his eyes, he became more gaunt and thin and snappy. His patience had worn out to the last thread, and Hades, he almost kept collapsing from exhaustion. Occasionally, his mind felt like it was stuffed with cotton, his legs felt like useless appendages, his torso weighed tons, his vision went blurry and purplish, and he couldn't stand up straight.

'Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.
Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without,
Lithium, I want to stay in love with my soul.
Oh, but god, I want to let it go.'

His sanity dwindled from his experience - he shuddered at the thought of the place - in . . . There (Great. He couldn't even speak of it) and now with this, it kept crumbling little by little. The raven-haired boy was afraid he would fall, fall, fall . . . And drag the others along with him.

He didn't want that.

'Come to bed, don't make me sleep alone.
Couldn't hide the emptiness, you let it show.'

So he kept distancing himself from his friends, his family. They thought he was doing it because he needed space. After all, that place had affected him the worst and the war with Gaea . . . Don't even go there.

After all, everyone knew that the Giant War was a touchy topic with one Percy Jackson. He had witnessed the death of Annabeth Chase at the hands of Gaea before he ripped her apart with his bare hands and nearly died.

If only the Seven (Well the Five, excluding himself) were right. Things would be much, much easier.

'I can't hold on to me.
Wonder what's wrong with me.'

But then again, when did he ever get what he wanted? He never wanted this life. He never wanted to see his friends and comrades die. He definitely didn't want to be here.

'I, don't want to let it lay me down this time,
Drown my will to fly.
Here, in the darkness, I know myself.
Can't break free until I let it go.

Let me go . . .'

Even then, he had great friends who trust their lives with him, and he them. Like he hadn't already.

Sadly, the positive thoughts were blotted on the worse days.

Looking at the cheery blue sky and the first mass memorial for the war heroes that died during the Giant War they were having at Camp Half-Blood, this was definitely one the worst days. Why did the sky have to look so happy? The voice affected him more and more each time.

Oh how he dreaded its arrival.

'Come to me,' the voice whispered again. See? On time too. Screw it all, 'The hurt will all go away if you do.'

He'd be lying if he said that that offer wasn't tempting to him. It kept drawing him closer each time, but he was strong enough to pull away. Unfortunately, it got stronger. More tempting.

. . . The eighteen year old boy didn't.

These feelings returned as he kept wondering. Why don't I join him? It's not that I have anything to live for . . .

His dead girlfriend would surely slap him for such thoughts. Along with the rest of his friends.

'But you did so much!' They would say. 'You're are a hero!'

See his point? Even his friends practically thought of him like those great heroes. His namesake, Achilles, his half-brother and so many more. He was one of those people, the immortalized dead heroes.

. . . Okay, that didn't make any sense. But you get the point.

All he wanted to be a normal (well, as normal as a demigod can be be) person, with normal friends. But no, the Fates hated him (Lady Tyche admitted that she liked him, and in fact tried to ease his pain. Sadly, she was powerless against the Fates, the stupid old hags) and they didn't just make him a freak amongst mortals, but even one of his own kind. (He may be a lauded hero, but that was beside the point.) People sent fearful glances towards him, like he was going to attack him any moment (His time in that place had changed him after all) and as much he shrugged it off and kept a lopsided smile on his face, it was all fake. Each wary look struck him like a blow to the chest, and even when his friends discovered it, sending death glares towards the offenders (and boy, were they scary.) it still hurt him like Hades.

Even his family was scared of him.

'Don't you see,' the voice whispered in his ear, 'I keep telling you this, but you don't listen. Come, and I will make your life happier. Trust me; but before that, you have to lead another war. After that, I promise you, you will be left alone. No monsters will tail you, and you will be shielded from all prying eyes.'

Some part of him believed the million gods-damned voice, but the majority of him screamed, 'Don't trust this guy!'

And when had he ever denied his instincts? They always helped him, and why should now be any different?

'And in the end, I guess I had to fall,
Always find my place among the ashes.'

He grabbed a pen and paper on his beside and saw mournful brown eyes with the blaze of an inferno.

"Lady Hestia!" He yelped in surprise. "Why are you here?"

The usually six-year old but now thirty-year old goddess had a sad smile on her lips. He had a sudden urge to crack a joke, because no, that expression did not suit the Goddess of Home and Hearth, who always inspired hope among the fallen. "Firstly, do not call me Lady Hestia. We are family. Secondly, I know you are leaving, nephew," she said, "and I have come here to aid you."

His eyes widened, and he back-paddled a bit in surprise. If her expression wasn't mournful, it was positively crest-fallen now. "I don't mean any offense, Lady Hestia," Hestia scowled at the title, "but why do you want to help me? I mean, I haven't done anything for you."

Hestia smiled kindly. "You have done more for me than any hero has," he blushed at that, "and I also discovered that your mother died," she said slowly, trying not to hurt the young-adult. Said young-adult had fresh tears in his eyes. His mother died during childbirth. After all she had faced, all she had to tolerate, she died of something as meager as childbirth. Artemis must hate him. "And I thought, since I always wanted a child that I could . . . Adopt you?" Hestia said uncertainly, afraid of his reaction. When he said nothing, Hestia mentally berated herself. That was a stupid —

Her thoughts took a screeching halt as the newly turned eighteen year old boy hugged her tightly. She embraced him back, and saw hopeful bright eyes boring into hers.

"Really?" He asked innocently, sounding like a small child. He looked smaller in that moment than he had in years. "Would you really do that for me? After all that?"

She nodded. "Of course. You did so much for me too."

"Thank you . . ." He whispered, before smiling lightly. A weight had been lifted from his chest thanks to Hestia. He was forever grateful to her. "Mom."

Hestia's wide smile threatened to crack her face.

- X -

Looking back on the incident, Sam Winchester was not proud of himself.

He had yet another (yes, another) shouting match with dearest daddy of the year (not) about college, and he hadn't even glanced at his clearly suffering older sister who had quietly curled up in a corner and watched the fight with glassy eyes. How could he not have noticed that?

Sam mentally berated himself yet again.

Deanna was his sister, mom and dad rolled into one. Sam had never appreciated her . . . Until now, now that he was about to enter college.

Yep, Samuel Winchester was homesick already. How embarrassing.

But he couldn't turn back, not now. His father's words still echoed in his head

'If you leave through that door, don't come back!'

But Deanna . . .

How would she be feeling?

Awful, definitely. He meant the world to her, and what has he done? Left her due to his pride.

Damn.

Sam felt horrible for doing that to her. God, he was such an ass. And now she was all alone, in a vegetative state, no doubt.

And that's what kept Sam overly worried. Deanna could get reckless at times. Which was not a good thing. And with her low self-esteem . . .

Just what in the name of God had he done?

It was too late now. Dearest daddy wouldn't let him in now.

Well, he'd just have to make Deanna proud here.

And with that thought in mind, Samuel Winchester entered Stanford.

- X -

The first people Sam encountered in Stanford were warm, kind, cheery and smart.

One of them was a redheaded girl wearing a shirt that said: 'I'm a nerd and proud of it.'. And she certainly looked the type. She took law, like Sam.

The other was a guy with auburn hair and the most piercing eyes Sam had ever seen (even more so than Deanna's stormy grey) which churned in shades of blue, green and soft red, like fire, reflecting its emotions. They had a haunted look in them, like the owner had to grow up too fast. It was a look Sam often caught on Deanna. He studied Architecture.

The red-haired girl's name was Jess, Jessica Moore, who coincidentally happened to be his dorm mate. The guy's name was Luke Castellan (which Sam suspected wasn't his real name, because his face was nagging at the recesses of his memory) and his dorm was just opposite to theirs.

They became the best of friends, and the more time Sam spent with Luke, the more he reminded Sam of Deanna.

The same joking, sarcastic, happy-go-merry attitude. The same eyes that pierced into your soul. The same feeling of being in the presence of someone older and much more mature.

He just had that aura to him that dragged others to him like moths to flame. He was a natural born leader, amazingly street smart and (how should Sam put it?) strangely detached, considerate, and loyal at the same time.

Yeah, Sam knew. The last sentence didn't make any sense. But it was the truth, and it could not be denied. Luke was loyal to a fault, wore his heart on his sleeve and seemed to living life for someone else like he didn't have the energy to go on but did it for the sake of someone dear.

And by God, Sam would be damned if that didn't remind him of his older sister.

Deanna was unwaveringly loyal to him and dad (though heaven knows the old man didn't deserve it after what all he did), felt deeply and hid her emotions behind a façade of sarcastic humor and just lived for Sam.

Deanna thought Sam didn't notice, but he did. He wasn't blind.

At least it helped his homesickness.

That is, until Deanna barged into their dorm at too early o'clock. And apparently startled Luke so badly, it had the normally understanding guy hold a knife to Deanna's throat.

"Let me go you," Deanna sputtered, "you lunatic! I'm not here to hurt anyone."

That one sentence had Sam and Jessica sprinting to the kitchen where the fire escape was. And seeing his sister unleashed unbridled joy bubbling in him, even if a knife was held at her jugular.

"Dean?" Sam asked, opting not to call her with her full name. He knew she hated being a girl because all the Supernatural beings thought of her as weak. That is, until she killed before their very eyes ruthlessly. "What are you doing here?"

Deanna was rubbing her throat, by now Luke had let her go and was standing next to Jess. His eyes looked shattered, broken, as he looked at Sam's sister. Just who did she remind him of?

"Dad hasn't been home for a few days." She said, putting on a tough girl act and failing miserably. Sam could detect the undertones of worry in her voice.

Sam narrowed his eyes. Deanna was getting worried for no reason. "Yeah? So he'll come back."

Luke flinched.

Just what exactly had happened to him?

"Dad's gone come home after a hunting trip." Deanna emphasized. Sam's eyes widened. That did the trick.

"Excuse us for a few minutes; Jess, Luke." He said. Jessica walked away, while Luke looked impassive.

Sam and Dean gave him a meaningful look.

He didn't budge, pretending not to notice.

When they continued their silent plea of please go away, Luke cocked an eyebrow. "Are going keep staring at me for the whole time Hunters, or will you get onto the point? John Winchester's missing. Why and for how long?" He asked calmly, like it was a passing matter. Sam could have sworn he saw slight longing in Luke's gaze before it vanished.

Deanna looked suspicious, whipping out her gun. She fired a bullet at him. Sam would have sighed in exasperation if it wasn't his friend at gun point and Sam was too far to help him. Deanna was always a 'kill now, talk later,' kind of person.

And the most shocking thing happened.

Luke stopped the bullet in mid-air.

The Winchesters gaped at him as the bullet disappeared in a clap of flames.

Was he a demon?

No. Then he'd have killed Sam long ago.

Luke grinned good-naturedly. "Is that how you greet a fellow Hunter?" He asked playfully, but the broken spark remained in his eyes.

Deanna snarled at him before standing in front of Sam, making him huff indignantly. He didn't need protection!

"You're not a hunter!" She accused. "We're human, you're not."

Luke rolled his eyes and immediately winced, as if recalling some painful memory. "I'm just as human as you are."

"Luke." Sam warned him, and even though Luke was his friend, he could not go looking at Sam's older sister like that.

"Yeah?" Deanna scoffed. "And the bullet just stopped and disappeared in flames all on its own." The sentence was said with so much sarcasm, it had Luke actually smiling one of his rare genuine smiles that only came when he talked to Jessica and his parents. Especially his mom.

Yep, Luke was a momma's boy.

And Sam was seething in jealously each time. How could he experience the love of a mom when he couldn't? She was taken away from him when he was hardly six months old.

But still, he had seen the way Luke flinched at the mention of his dad. So maybe Sam didn't have the right to be jealous.

Sam heard him mutter something that sounded like 'Hestia help me, these knuckleheads are going to chew my head out.'

Yeah, Luke was odd like that. He always said 'Oh My Gods' instead of 'Oh My God', 'Holy Poseidon/Hestia' instead of 'Jesus', 'Hades' instead of 'Hell'.

Why he was obsessed with the Greek Mythology, Sam had no idea. But he wasn't going to judge Luke on it.

"I got cursed by a witch once;" Luke explained patiently, "and my curse was to hurt everyone I knew with Supernatural powers. I killed her and the curse went, but the powers remained."

Deanna nodded. She'd heard of such incidents earlier, when the witch was exceptionally gifted and skilled in witchcraft. "So," Deanna asked. "Why do you want to talk to Dad?"

Luke's face hardened. "I need some answers, and you sure as Hades can't give them."

Deanna narrowed her eyes.

Luke didn't even flinch.

Sam was impressed. Not many could stare down Deanna like that. Reluctant, the eldest Winchester explained the situation to Sam and Luke, the latter of whose mind was in his little own world.

Now the problem was, would they survive long enough to find daddy of the year?

Probably not. Sam thought, considering the little showdown they had earlier. Hell, they had to be more afraid of each other than any Supernatural being. Literally, Sam felt like he'd gotten two atomic bombs together and he was waiting to see which one would explode first.

But since when was luck on their side?

That's right; never.

Guess we'll just have to wing it . . .

For now.

-X-

Percy had seen a lot of A-grade shit in his life.

So why did it surprise him when a Demon, of all things came after him? And what was with the "You are not in the right universe" crap that he got from him?

The Demon had touched his collarbone (with a lot of resistance from Percy) and he blacked out for a second.

Percy found himself in the exactly same position he was two seconds ago; minus the demon. The only off thing was . . .

He couldn't hear the hum.

"Jace?" He called out. "Pipes? Repair Boy?"

He didn't get an answer.

Maybe they were in Camp Jupiter, Percy tried to tell himself. Someone will answer.

Hesitant, he walked a bit closer to the Strawberry Farm.

"Haze?" He shouted. Receiving no response, Percy began panicking. "Frank? Nico?"

He still did not get an answer.

Percy panicked. He was positive that yes, he was in Camp-Half Blood, but where the Hades was everyone?

'Demigods don't exist anymore,' a voice said in his head, one that Percy could recognize anywhere. 'They were wiped out long ago. Now the gods decided that they will create no more demigod children, which is why it surprises me as to how you are my champion, and Poseidon's son.'

Percy groaned.

How in name of Hades' underpants was he going to explain this to Hestia?

- X -

The hunt in Jericho had gone along nicely; save for the few scrapes, bruises, and cuts the trio had gotten.

Constance Welch was now at peace, Sam could go attend the interview he had in time, and Luke could get to his mom without either of the Winchesters noticing.

But apparently, the Fates had other ideas. Stupid old hags.

"Jessica!" Sam roared from their shared apartment.

Luke bolted like Hades had set his dogs on him into Sam's room, and to his immense horror found Jessica pinned to the ceiling, a gash across her stomach from which she bled profusely, and flames licking at her body.

He was here.

He was here.

He was here.

Sam looked terrified, and Luke was frozen to the spot. Luckily Deanna Winchester had pulled over and dragged their sorry asses from the burning building.

Luke had gone quietly, his soul had shattered even more. Sam, however, had kicked, punched, protested among other things, and Luke commended the girl; Dean had single-handedly pulled them both out.

Still . . . this was Rachel. The Oracle of Delphi of Camp who quit. The one who helped Luke pick up the pieces after the world broke like glass, the one who helped see through the fractured remnants. The one who chose Law in hopes of legally stopping her father's business of destroying forests.

Rachel had found her other half in Sam. Luke was happy and all, but why did she have to leave?

She was his best friend. Who died.

He was going to kill the Blacksmith, erase him out of existence.

Even if he had to go through Tartarus once more.

It wasn't a threat . . .

It was a promise.

"-uke?" Deanna shook him. Luke's eyes snapped open. "Luke?" Once Dean saw his eyes open, the Hunter breathed a sigh of relief. "Dude, you were really out of it."

"I guess I was." He murmured.

He guessed he was.

"I am going to kill that son of a bitch!" Sam snarled angrily, once the shock settled in. Luke just nodded dumbly in agreement.

I'm with you there, Sam.

- X -

"So that explains it." the auburn haired goddess said.

"Explains what?" Percy narrowed his eyes.

Hestia frowned slightly. "You were attacked by Chronos' mortal son."

Percy blinked. "Come again?"

"Chronos," Hestia explained, "Is the Primordial of Time –"

"I thought Kronos was the Titan of Time?" Percy interrupted.

"Yes, he is," The Goddess of the Hearth said impatiently, "But there was also a Primordial Chronos. C-H-R-O-N-O-S. The Titan's name is K-R-O-N-O-S. There's a difference. So, he had a mortal child with Padma Patil back in eighties, who made a deal for his mom to live a bit longer, as she was killed by Ananke out of spite. His soul was collected in ten years, despite his best efforts. For that," Hestia grimaced, "He was sent to the part closest to Lucifer's Cage where a demon would not get affected by the Morningstar's light, since the closer you are to the Cage, the faster time runs. Aman Patil gave up and became a demon."

"So this Aman guy," Percy said, "Why is he after me again?"

"He isn't," Hestia replied. The answer was far worse. "The Yellow-Eyed demon though, is another story."

Percy paled, his pallor even paler than Hades'.

He knew exactly whom she was talking about.

And if he was after him . . .

All Hades would break loose.

He mustered a grateful smile on his face. "Thank you, Lady Hestia."

Hestia wore a disapproving look on her face. "I think I told you to call me mom." She scolded him.

Percy almost laughed out loud.

No matter which dimension I'll go to, Hestia will remain the same.

Percy smiled, genuinely at that. "Okay mom." He kissed her on the cheek. "Love you."

Hestia grinned before vanishing in a clap of flames.

At least I had some familiarity in this new world. He thought before fire-travelling himself.

Ookay. So I can cut off madness related fic off my list. I hope you enjoyed this idea.

R&R

Star