We Wear Red, So You Don't See Us Bleed

Chapter title is part 1 of 2. Rather than a bunch of excuses, I would like to ask yourselves how you've all been. I hope life is going well for you and if not, well, storms don't last forever.

Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus are owned by Rick Riordan.

Title is from Valerie Broussard's song, "Trouble."


On the seat next to Percy was a man, with curly dark hair, in a deep red suit. He was smiling and appraising him with his golden eyes. When he said he's an old man, Percy thought he was grey-haired, senile old. Instead, the man seated there wasn't anything like that. Sure, he's got a long pointy beard but that's it. He's not old, but not entirely young either.

"Hello, Perseus." He smiles. "You can call me Kronos."

Percy didn't—couldn't answer, at first. He fidgeted and lightly tapped his knees with his fingers. He was aware when crooked nose, from earlier, entered the car in front and moved in as though he's much smaller and graceful in size. Percy tried to ignore him and instead, studied the older man before him, his old golden eyes and the smile on his face that seemed to become more glacial than chummy as moments ticked.

"Is that your real name or—" Percy's question was cut mid-sentence.

"Oh no but it sounds much better, you think?" Kronos admitted, smiling more. "It makes me feel nonpareil." The way he talked gave equal stressing to every word that came out his mouth, especially the last one that Percy admittedly could not comprehend.

The green-eyed marine biologist frowned slightly. He titled his head a little to the side, before asking, "Make you feel like a what?"

Kronos waved his hand, ignoring his question and signaling the driver to start the car and drive.

"Where are we going?" He asked a different question then briefly studied the interior of the car, before looking back at the man beside him. There was nothing to see aside from the fact that there was no other color in there other than red and black.

"Work," was Kronos' brief answer.

Percy nodded as if this was answer enough. He looked at the two muscles sitting in front of the car. The other one might be busy driving but Percy would catch him gauging him at the mirror. He wasn't comfortable with this arrangement, but he wasn't about to do something stupid like panic or randomly punch a face.

He put on a straight face and inquired, "How did you find me?"

Kronos' lips quirked upwards into a thin smile. Percy thought he found his question humorously stimulating, but failed to see the joke in there.

"We have means." The man with golden eyes looked through—or maybe—at the car's tinted window, paused for unwanted dramatic effect and then continued, "besides, you weren't being so careful at all. You froze time for thirty-minutes without fail, spring of this year. That needed a lot of compensation."

Percy knew that thirty minutes of extra sleep would haunt him soon. He had a date the night before but also got work the next day. Grover told him, he should've set the date for the weekends but he's having none of it. Numbly exhausted and sleep-deprived the next day, he's finally willing to admit that his best friend had been right. Waking up before a minute ends, just to refreeze time was stupid and he does not recommend it. The date wasn't even great, too. How Jean or Janet was able to talk about herself for hours was a wonder to him.

"I was playing chess with one of my men out there, Bryce," Kronos gestured a hand towards crooked nose. Said man of subject only grunted. "I was getting ready for my checkmate then—thirty minutes later, I still haven't moved and then I was winning. "Check!" I told him later on and we were starting a new game. It was too fast and I stopped because I know it."

Kronos paused again and looked at him as though they were sharing a secret joke of which only the two of them know. Honestly, the only thing Percy knew at that moment was how impatient he's getting to arrive at work. Today's one of those dragging days meant for writing proposals and he's usually barely the person to sit behind a desk all day. However, Percy would happily toil with Microsoft word, if it meant getting away from whatever dog door he's gotten himself stuck in.

"I think I'd know when the world is trying to make up for lost time. It races forward, in order to catch up." The gold of his eyes seemed to glint. The car halted for a while, red light glaring ahead, and smoothly continued down the road.

These words proved to be exactly what the older man needed to get the marine biologist's slipping attention.

"Can you..." Percy found his words trailing off.

"Freeze time like you?" Kronos supplied. "No. I'm not like you, Perseus Jackson."

Percy hung on to his every word. There's a heavier and deeper sense into it, but also stubbornly unwilling to reveal itself. He didn't say anything, only kept quiet and nodded, a tuft of his midnight hair fell from their far from immaculate coif and gave one of his green eyes a good stab.

Without losing any more time and further dramatic pauses, Kronos was handed a manila folder by Bryce. Crooked Nose, Percy baptized him. The older man said a few words of gratitude, inspected the folder's contents and handed it expectedly to the marine biologist.

For a horrible few seconds, Percy could only stare dumbly at the manila folder and the man's calloused fingers adorned with thick golden bands.

Kronos waved the manila folder. Percy dubiously accepted and, with a nod from the same man, began to check its paper contents.

Luke Castellan. The letters were bolded and italicized as though to stress this Luke's significance. His basic information followed. On the right was a candid picture of a man, maybe a few years Percy's senior, with sandy blonde hair and a thick pale scar that ran from the bottom of his right eye down to his chin.

An inkling of familiarity tugged on Percy. He read the name again, looked at the picture once more for good measure and then reread the name again. Have I seen that name before? Was Percy's nagging thought.

"What do I have to do with him?" He asked, skeptic and unconcerned, as he flipped through the papers filled with information that he's no concern to read.

Kronos smiled, a little too pleasant. "You can say that now but you haven't read enough of the files, yet."

Percy looked at the older man with curiosity. He didn't say anything for a while but only gestured with a calm flourish of his hands.

Granted the green-eyed man didn't have any other options, he read the first few words of the very first paper of the many files. There were three papers, okay? More than two is definitely many. Percy ran his eyes on the blond's basic information again: his name, age and even his birthdate. There was nothing that jumped on him until he stumbled upon the word "teleportation." His eyebrows scrunched even before he was aware of it.

"The bureau calls you "anomalies." Pretty contemptuous but it serves its meaning." Kronos answered his unasked question. Percy didn't even look at him but remained staring at the nonsensical word.

"What happened to him?" He thought out loud, not really expecting for an answer. Nevertheless, the man with eyes of gold delivered.

"There's a clandestine group specifically made by the government that monitors and deals with your kind. They like to be called "Olympians," Kronos laughed lightly, laughing at another joke that he only knows. "Pompous and pretentious," he murmurs and although Percy might not look like he's paying him any attention, he heard this particular comment and wanted to laugh at his unseen irony.

Kronos opened his hands in front of him. "We just call them "bureau" instead. In any case, they've taken Luke. We've known each other for years and he's become a son to me, you see. So, I keep tabs on him. His containment was heartbreaking but necessary. There were many men who wanted to capitalize his abilities. Recently, someone told me they're moving him to the main office..." He trailed, rested his ring-adorned fingers on his knees before he continued, "It's usually not good news if an anomaly's to be sent to the heart of the bureau."

"What do you want?" Percy cut to the chase. He didn't look at him but he knows there'd be a perfectly grave expression right there. No, he decided. He didn't need to see that. Instead, he focused his attention back on the paper and the word that went after "teleportation." It's either a good or bad word, depending on the context and situation.

Luke Castellan had long lost his ability to teleport but he's still a prisoner of the bureau, a prisoner of what he was and what people wanted from him.

"You're an anomaly and Luke is an anomaly. Will you just let him die?" Kronos continued, challenging, and unbothered that the younger man seemed to pay him zero attention.

A twinge of indignance and then guilt arrested Percy. Who was this man to put him in such unwanted shame? Why was the bureau doing this? He looked at Luke Castellan's picture, once more, and wondered what kind of man he is. Will the bureau put him out for good? Why transfer him then? And if they are, will he really let this person die?

He heaved a deep sigh, closed the manila paper and leaned back on his seat, eyes already boring holes on the car's roof.

"What is it again? Corvus oculum corvi non eruit?" Kronos broke Percy's monotonous, unruly but rather conscientious thoughts.

"I don't know what that means." He grumbled back, lifting his head to now look at the older man who only smiled at him, imploring.

A heartbeat passed. Percy asked, "What's in it for me?"

Kronos angled his head to the side, a look on his face said that the answer is obvious enough. Still, he replied, "A guilt-free life and peaceful nights; knowing you have all this knowledge of what's about to happen to this man and you did something. You saved him."

Percy straightened on his seat, not quite convinced, yet. He looked at the older man with gold eyes, a shade darker than the last. There's a dimple between his eyebrows and a new question in his mind. "I mean no offense sir, but, uhm, you seem like a man with resources," he paused, "why can't you do it yourself?"

"None taken!" Kronos laughed, rich and loud as if he were a bigger man. "We're capable of doing many things, Perseus—"

"Just Percy, sir."

Kronos nodded, urgent. They're almost to work, not enough time for more chitchat and pleasantries. "We've done many things on our own, but not this one. This is something we'll need your help with."

"Let me get this straight," Percy opened his hands in front of him. "You want me to do what?"

"Get him out," Kronos replied, casual. He looked again at the tinted window, before looking back at Percy."I would offer you bring some of my men to help with the labor, but we both know they'd be useless once time stops, right?"

Percy knows he's right. Kronos could extend help in any way he can but once time stops, he's on his own. That is to say, if he's willing to go about the older man's plans. There are doubts, fear and also unreasonably rigid defiance not to do anything. Percy may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but this is dangerous stuff, illegal probably—no, certainly—and he's not entirely up to that. But. There's always a but, isn't there? Would he really just let Luke Castellan die?

"Can I sleep on it?" Finally, he asked.

"Sure, Percy. Sure." Kronos replied, hurried. He didn't seem disappointed, just patient. "My card." He handed said card to Percy. There are a telephone and a cell number there, both in small black letters, and a glinting gold symbol of a sickle inside a circle. "We'll be in touch tomorrow."

The car stopped at the corner near where Percy would spend most of the day, writing proposals for funding, fieldworks, and experiments.

"Now, off you go," Kronos told him. "I know you don't need me constantly pestering you but be careful. You don't want them to catch you." His words were heavy and Percy tethered on his seat.

"Them?" He asked, green eyes looking critically at the older man.

"I think you know," was Kronos' only answer.

Percy didn't see the need to respond. He pushed open the car's door, threw the manila folder on the seat with a soft plop and left.

He didn't look back to check if the car already left. He walked with purpose and pushed the front door with equal determination to go about the day.

Right, he needs to do his work. The papers, proposals, papers. He wishes he's doing fieldworks. Coffee. He needs coffee. Again. Maybe cookies. Yes, definitely cookies. There's also that thing with Castellan, too. He needs to mull over that, what was unwarrantedly thrusted to him.

Yup, it's gonna be a long day.


Thank you for giving this read your time. Tell me what you think.

Do not just exist. Live. Never let yourself be grounded. Aim high.