Where We Love is Home
After the war, demigods from across the world were brought into Camp Half-Blood. What they didn't account for was the rivalries among those nations of the world that, when together, cause wars of the worst kinds. When Justin agreed to this, he didn't agree to room with an Englishman.
"Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts" (Oliver Wendell Holmes)
Chapter One: Our Hearts Never Left That Place
Justin never wanted to leave his lovely home in France for some dank little camp in America. There were aspects about his family that he didn't favor so much, like the constant battles over the family name and the absence of his parents, but he loved everyone all the same. Hannah was not even his birth mother, but she accepted him with warm arms and smiles and he had grown to love her despite the truth. His father never cared to elaborate about his birth and he respected that. At some point, he must have wondered about his real mother, but now he could care less.
The French did not commit themselves towards relationships immediately, so Justin had been wary of the strange foreigner that started to cling to his every step two months ago. The boy had not even bothered to speak French and claimed that he was going to be Justin's 'friend'. When he was borderline ready to call the National Police, his father relented and told him the entire truth. Never had Justin seen his father so tired and that was the only reason why he agreed to cross the Atlantic with the foreigner that turned out to be a goat in disguise.
Justin only believed his father because he was never known to be a comedic person. He asked so many questions in the aftermath that the satyr's head must have spun, but the answers didn't make Justin grow fond of his 'real' mother in any way. Indifferent by the end of the discussion, he was only concerned with the monsters that the satyr talked about earlier. Never one to skip lessons, Justin remembered many of the myths and legends about the Greeks and their deities. His rational mind didn't want to accept it, but his father did convince him in the end.
Somewhere along the way, he committed himself towards making the trip hell for the satyr. Though he'd learnt how to speak fluent English years ago, Justin insisted on addressing the goat-boy with nothing but French. He complained about the food, the living arrangements, the seasickness, and clung to the satyr until he locked himself away in a cabin. Successful, Justin spent the rest of the trip in peace while he enjoyed the sights of the ocean. For those few days, he was able to forget about the confusing matter of 'demigods' and Greek myths.
Upon their arrival in New York, Justin decided that he didn't like America at all. Unlike the countries of Europe he'd visited, the streets were filthy and the rats were the size of small dogs. Muttering about how unsanitary the place was the entire ride in the taxi, Justin wondered if it was too late to return home. The satyr was also talking to himself, worried about monsters and the like, disturbing the taxi driver. Justin sulked for awhile until he decided to do something productive and pulled a worn book from his duffel bag. He hadn't read anything about Voltaire for months and cracked a small smile upon opening the cover.
"Is that in French?" the satyr said in a rather annoying, reproachful voice. Justin shot him a glare and responded with an irritated, 'oui', meaning 'yes'. True, the words always swayed and blurred before his eyes, but that didn't make reading impossible. Whatever nonsense the satyr had spouted about his mind being hardwired to reading Greek didn't affect his habits at all. Translations of the classics were horribly distorted and he loved his language besides that. French was still prettier than Ancient Greek when he compared the two.
"I like it. I dislike you. Leave me alone," Justin snapped in English, returning to his book in his lovely language without any alterations and translation errors. The satyr had enough of arguing apparently, because he didn't push the subject further. Even though humans didn't do it, he kept on sniffing the air, 'searching for monsters' he said. Justin had his doubts, but reminded himself that this was all for his father and he would be damned if he disappointed the man that raised him with patience and kindness.
It came as a pleasant surprise that New York actually had some forests in the middle of the concrete jungle. The unpleasant surprise was that he and the satyr had to walk to their destination from the roadside. Apparently there were monsters in these forests and he had to admit that the prospect made him nervous. It would be lovely if he died in America. That would cause some sort of international incident, he was sure. That would serve them right, for dragging him away from his home. With a scoff, he climbed over a fallen tree trunk covered in moss and unconsciously walked a little closer to the satyr.
The noon sunlight was harsh and unforgiving as they trekked through the forest canopy. Justin didn't mind the outdoors, but he minded the fact that he still didn't know where they were headed. A bit too stubborn to ask, he held his tongue and swung his bag over his shoulder as they worked their way up some hills. The satyr, whose name he still didn't recall, paused all of a sudden. Frozen to that spot of dirt and grass, Justin had a feeling that he wasn't enjoying the breeze. He took a deep, steady breath and asked what was wrong. He chose to ignore the quiver in his voice.
"Run," said the satyr, his strange half-form bursting into a sprint as he grasped Justin's hand. That normally would annoy him, but the ruckus some meters behind them made him shut up for once and comply with the goat-boy. The noise sounded something like a herd of large boars crashing through the thicket with a wolf after them. Justin wasn't stupid enough to turn around and see what was pursuing them, not when he could hardly find his footing among the forest floor. The trees didn't seem to deter the creature, and neither did the huge boulders that were easily three times the size of a human.
There was no breath in his lungs to talk or ask what was happening. His chest burned and his face stung from the branches that whipped his skin. They were approaching a hill, a large hill, and he was immediately alarmed. There wasn't any way that they could get over that thing faster than whatever creature was behind them. He was almost ready to just give up altogether rather than try and run uphill, but the satyr was strong for his stature and insisted that they continue. Justin thought that it was alright to glance over his shoulder now, but saw only a path of destruction and the shuddering of pine trees before he was yanked into a sprint again.
When they reached the summit and dashed past a strange, out-of-place tree with some large creature curled around its trunk, the satyr came to a sudden halt. Still with his momentum from the run, Justin managed a short gasp before he went tumbling downhill. He landed in an ungainly and disgraceful slump at the base and cradled his throbbing head in his hands. There were people whispering around him, but he could really care less at the moment. When he'd untangled his limbs from each other and the duffel bag, Justin searched for the satyr with a vengeance and found him making an escape off to the side.
"I did not come to America to be chased through a forest and deposited down a hill when I was perfectly safe in France! Nor did I ask for a personal stalker!" Justin fumed, although he might have come off as childish, he admitted. The satyr shrank back and ran off without a word and that was the end of that. While he rubbed the places over his body where he was sure bruises would appear later, he became aware of the various faces of the people that surrounded him. Self-conscious among the stares, he settled for retrieving his duffel bag to keep his hands busy. They never were good with keeping still.
Some people disappeared over the edge of the large hill, presumably to dispatch whatever had chased him and that satyr a moment ago. Justin allowed himself to shiver in the fear and realization that he'd almost died. When he'd processed the incident in his mind, he carefully pushed it away to some far corner where it couldn't bother him. There wouldn't be any use in having some panic attack, especially since the satyr had warned him about the monsters. He would just have to deal with it on his own time.
"You come from France? Cool, and welcome to Camp Half-Blood! Usually it takes awhile to get foreigners here, but I'm glad you made here safely! I'm Percy Jackson, who're you? Who's your godly parent? I think the satyr that brought you here's kind of afraid…that's probably because of the monsters," one boy in an outrageous orange shirt said. Justin cringed at the grotesque color and noticed that everyone else was wearing one as well, including the girl that came up to him and smacked him across the head. He hoped that he didn't have to wear such a tacky thing.
"Americans are rude," Justin muttered, shifting his bag between his aching arms. They had to interrogate him immediately upon his arrival, apparently, without any time for him to settle in or anything. The stay here would be horrendous, he was sure, living with people who had such manners. America was not his favorite place on earth right now. "My name is Justin Lévesque. I do not know why you wish to know, but my father is Ferdinand Lévesque and my mother is Hannah Perrot. What are the details of this camp, exactly?"
"Details…? What're you talking about? I meant your godly parent, not your foster parent. And Annabeth, I'm not rude!" the boy said to the girl beside him. While they got into some friendly, harmless argument Justin became increasingly annoyed by the strange people in front of him. The crowd had mostly dispersed now that the danger had passed, but some campers clung to the sidelines and absorbed the information with greed. All they seemed concerned with was his 'godly' parent, which he took as an insult to Hannah. Hannah wasn't his birth mother, but she treated him no different from his brothers.
"You are very rude to ask of my parents when we have just met. My real mother is Hannah, not whatever goddess you might think about. She has never done anything for me in my entire life, so she is not my mother in the slightest sense," Justin said with a scowl as he watched Percy scrutinize him. It wouldn't do to act uncomfortable, so he waited with impatience for the girl to pull him away. She seemed to be able to knock some sense into the boy, for that Justin was grateful. "What I ask is: exactly what do campers do in this camp?"
"Oh, uh, we learn to fight and stuff, of course! There's a whole bunch of stuff we do around here, but it's sort of 'free time' now…" Although Justin had learnt English rather early in life as a prerequisite in his private school, between Percy's thick American accent and his rapid speech, a headache formed instantly. He chose to ignore the boy, not because he really hated him or anything, but because he didn't even seem to be talking to Justin anymore. The French boy collapsed on the ground now that the jetlag was starting to affect him. It would be around seven or so in France, he reasoned.
"So you're new, huh? Those two bicker since they're boyfriend-girlfriend, sorry about that. I'm Richard, Richard Abel. Nice to meet you," said another camper in that tacky orange shirt. Justin squinted against the sunlight and was met with a grinning face and outstretched hand. Truthfully, he would rather remain on the soft grass and take a nap, but that wasn't an option. With a nod, he accepted the hand and Richard yanked him to his feet with a surprising amount of strength. He even tried to dust him off before Justin saw through his act.
"I would not think any less of you if you dropped the overly good manners. Do not try to impress me or anything, I'm not the type to nit-pick about it; I just dislike rude people," Justin said. He caught Richard off guard, but the other boy made a quick recovery and broke into good-natured laughter. Justin frowned, but the laughter was contagious and he found himself returning a small smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Richard*…" Justin trailed off when Richard gave him a confused expression.
"What did you call me?" the other boy asked. Justin blinked and rethought his words, but there was nothing out of the ordinary about what he said. He hadn't called the American boy anything but his name…unless, unless, he thought, I pronounced his name wrong? "I'm Richard, not, not…whatever it is you said."
"O-oh, Rich-ard*," Justin said, stumbling over the strange combination of sounds. He pronounced Richard differently in French and didn't even notice it. When they'd both caught up with the conversation, they shared a good laugh until Justin's chest hurt. Without knowing why, he relaxed around Richard and had forgotten that he was in America, not France. The laughter stopped when he realized that there was nothing normal about this camp and its inhabitants. He'd come to America because his father insisted and he didn't want to let him down. Once he was here, he didn't know what to do.
"You okay? Sorry, we won't know where to put you until tonight- you'll see- but you can take a rest in my cabin if you want. It's jetlag, right? I came all the way from Nevada, so I know how you feel." Richard seemed like the type of person that was content to ramble without needing answers and Justin was grateful for it. There weren't many coherent responses he could think up at the moment. "Really, camp's so crowded this year. Not everyone's arrived yet, either. There're so many new demigods! Lots of construction went on last year."
Justin nodded occasionally towards Richard's comments whenever he turned to the French boy. In France, it wasn't that late, so he shouldn't be this tired, he reasoned. There had been a moment when he thought that he was going to die, so maybe his mind was in overdrive with the aftermath of that. But being in America and staying here for the summer seemed more daunting than when he had agreed to it at home. Already he missed his dysfunctional family.
"I'll come get you when it's time for dinner, okay? I don't think anyone will miss you on the first day. My bed's two over from the back wall. See you," Richard said, waving as he deposited Justin at the doorstep of a cabin. The sweet smell of grapes fresh from a vineyard washed over him as he entered through the wooden doors. He wanted to collapse, not from the fatigue, but from the nostalgia that permeated his chest. His father had known a family that worked a vineyard and while Justin wasn't fond of the wine, he was fond of the memories.
The sweet smells that he'd grown up around lulled him to sleep before he could even feel the bed underneath him. The sheets smell differently, he noticed in some half-aware state of consciousness, they smell musty. Prosper, his older brother, always had the sort of scent clinging to him. Whenever the days grew tough and hard to manage, he liked to close his eyes and simply drift away to remember all the good memories he had. For a brief moment, he could imagine that he wasn't in America anymore.
"J-Justin, wake up, wake up now." Justin snuggled into the pillow further and made a soft noise of protest. Rough hands shook his arm until the will to sleep had washed away. With a groan, he lifted his head and found Richard already tugging him out of bed, anxious and panicky. Again reminded of how strong the other boy was, Justin was on his swaying feet in moments. "We got to get out of here. We're going out the back door, come on."
As he blinked a few times, the darkness of the cabin became apparent, his eyes adjusting until he could make out faint shapes around the room. There were shouts outside, he realized, but only a few of them. There couldn't have been anything like a monster outside; otherwise there'd be a lot more noise. Still, Richard was persistent as he ushered Justin towards the back door. Justin yanked his wrist free from the boy's iron grip and refused to move any further. "Richard, what is happening?" The panicked expression on the American's face tripled when he saw whoever had just come bursting through the cabin's main entrance.
Justin swirled around and was met with an extremely angry blond boy with expletives flowing from his mouth in the most ungainly of accents. The words very nearly made him explode as well, if not for Richard's grip on his upper arm.
"This bloody French git is not staying within the same proximity of me for two months! I refuse to believe that we are related in any way. Unhand me!"
Notes/References:
• This story has the potential to be insulting and offensive about stereotypes of various countries. If that doesn't sit well with you, then don't read it.
• This story came about when I thought about the last book of Percy Jackson. I had remembered reading that there would be foreign demigods coming to camp, but I also know that a lot of people are proud of their countries and nationalities. So, if someone is perfectly happy in Europe, why would they ever want to come to America every summer just to go to a camp? Plus, all the monsters were centered around America, meaning that other countries would be relatively safe. It just made sense to me that this result would happen. Plus, the rivalry between the French and the English was just too good to pass up (although I don't think that they hate each other so much anymore).
• I don't know how to curse in British English or how French people actually speak, so it'd be nice if someone could correct anything I get wrong there. The whole scene with the different pronunciation of 'Richard' is a bit hard to get, but basically the French pronounce Richard as 'ree-SHAR'.
• Yes, Justin has ADHD and dyslexia, he just learnt not to exhibit signs of them. Even though it's hard, he enjoys reading in French. And he just got slapped on the hand with a ruler too many times to show his ADHD too much. The French put a heavy emphasis on education, so he's alright with it. That's also why he learnt English. He forgot about the monster so fast because it's just easier for him to cope like that.
• I'd like constructive critisim, since as a writer I don't always catch my mistakes, even if I re-read the story five times.
• I don't own the quotes, I don't own Percy Jackson.