Hey Guys!
So, before you start reading this fic, I recommend you go read 'A New Uprising', which I cowrote with supersassysnakeeatingbadger, simply because the events in this fic are based on the events that happened in A New Uprising. Also, since this takes place around seven years after the events of A New Uprising, supersassysnakeeatingbadger is writing some shorts, which they are posting on their account, so keep an eye out for them. They will be called; A New Uprising: TITLE, so that they are easy to find.
You will notice as well that the main OCs have Shadowhunter last names. This is just to add some more symbolism to the names, and does not link it to the Shadowhunter universe. Just me being a dork.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters/settings/events apart from the ones I have invented. They belong to Rick.
-4-
Celestia
I was slowly clawing my way back into consciousness, head gradually clearing and the inky blackness on the inside of my eyelids beginning to withdraw. I went to open my eyes but then remembered what had happened.
The empousai. The mysterious dark boy. My shoulder.
Quickly recovering, I forced my eyes closed and tried to return my breathing pattern to normal. Although my limbs appeared to go limp, I was making small motions underneath the blankets, just simple movements like wiggling my fingers and toes.
"I know you're awake."
Well bloody hell, whoever this boy was, he was pretty observant. I still took my time opening my eyes, feigning drowsiness while I silently worked feeling back into my limbs. Just in case I had to move quickly. I also did a survey of my injuries, twisting and stretching my side where the empousa had sliced me. No pain there. I raised a hand to my shoulder.
"That's healed too."
I glanced up at the voice. It was the demigod from the alley, leaning against the wall and regarding me, his ice-blue eyes partially hidden underneath his scowl. I glared at him and checked anyway, prodding and poking, doing a self-analysis of my shoulder's functionality. The boy was right; it was completely healed. Finally, I turned back to him.
"How did you learn to heal like that?" I questioned, abandoning the sluggish act.
"You're welcome," the boy replied, avoiding my question and taking a seat on the bed across from me, "Any residual pain in your shoulder?"
I shook my head and the boy nodded like I had confirmed his suspicions.
"Good," he muttered more to himself then to me, "I didn't think there would be any, but it's a standard question I ask."
"So, you heal people often?" I replied, sitting up carefully.
"Yeah," he replied, "You could say that. Look, let's drop the act, okay?"
"Whatever do you mean, oh mysterious kidnapper of mine?"
The boy leaned forward.
"You clearly know I'm a demigod," he started, raising an eyebrow, "You are one too, otherwise the ambrosia would have killed you."
Well lucky he had taken that assumption for me while I was unconscious.
"And," he continued, pointing at my neck, "Judging by the necklace that you had clutched in your hand while you were sleeping, you know something about my camp. Right?"
"So, I was right," I exhaled, "You live at Camp Half-Blood."
The boy's expression was hard to read.
"Yeah, I do," he said stiffly, "How do you know about it?"
I licked my lips. How much could I trust this guy? I hardly knew him. And he had stabbed me. Although, he had then healed me. I was getting some seriously mixed signals here.
No, I eventually decided, this was too personal. It wasn't his concern. The boy noticed my silence and narrowed his eyes at me.
"Look," he said with an outburst of indignation, "This is my camp we're talking about, okay? If I can't trust you, then I'm not telling you anything about it or letting you go anywhere near it."
Who did this guy think he was? He couldn't tell me what to do, and I didn't owe him any information.
"It's none of your business," I ground out.
"It is my business," the boy growled back, eyes flashing, "My home. My family. My friends. If you are going to put them in danger then why the hell would I let you near them?"
"How dare…" I started but the boy interrupted.
"Honestly, why should I trust you, huh?" He tone was bordering on rude. "I don't know anything about you. You're just some random demigod I picked up on the street. And did you forget that I saved your life? You should be thanking me!"
"You're the one that stabbed me!"
"Well I could have left you to die there, couldn't have I? But I didn't. I picked you up and ran, I literally broke you out of prison, stole a car, drove here, at great personal risk mind you, and I'm starting to think you're not even going to say thank you."
I glared frostily at him. Prison? I hadn't been arrested...had I? And what was this about a stolen car? The boy seemed to have realised what he had said and he quickly closed his mouth. I raised my eyebrows at him and he shrugged, smiling apologetically as he tried to figure out what to say.
"I ran into a little trouble when I was getting you here."
A little trouble. Right. His body language said different. I continued staring at him, clearly unnerving him. He ran a hand through his messy hair. Had he slept on it or what?
"Look it wasn't that bad, honestly. There was a little misunderstanding about the empousai you killed. The police thought that you murdered them, that they were just some normal girls you knew. Well, at first they did, but there wasn't much evidence so they were gonna let you go, but then your wounds were really bad and they wouldn't call a doctor so…"
"So, what?"
"I broke you out, stole a car, and illegally drove all the way here. I think we're probably both on the run from the law now," he finished guiltily.
Unbelievable. Unbe-bloody-lievable! First I had been stabbed, and now I was wanted by the police? I sighed heavily, pressing my fingers to the crease between my eyes. This guy was more trouble than he was worth. First, he stabs me, then he gets me arrested and then he makes it even worse by making me a bloody fugitive. I raised my gaze to the ceiling. What was I supposed to do now? When I looked back at the boy he was staring inquisitively at me.
"What?" I spat.
"Who is Ms Ives?" He asked casually, his curiosity barely concealed.
My spine stiffened on reflex.
"Where did you hear that name?" I asked softly, my voice coated with barely contained anger.
"The cops." He stated matter-of-factly, clearly not picking up on my 'I'm going to kill you if you don't shut up' vibes, "They said that you were 'one of hers' and that's why they couldn't call a doctor for you. So, who is she?"
"I don't…"
"Cut the bull crap," the boy interrupted, "you clearly do."
I glared furiously at him. I didn't have to tell him scat. Now the boy seemed to pick up on my vibe. He glared back.
"Are you ser-...at least show me a bit of trust!" he exclaimed, "I saved your goddamn life. And if you want my help with getting to Camp Half-Blood, which I assume you do, then give me a reason to trust you. I don't even know you. I don't know where you live, your background or even what your name is. So, stop acting so goddamn shady already."
He was starting to grate on my nerves.
"You would want to stop talking now," I said coolly.
"Why?" the boy questioned, "Realising I'm right?"
I ignored him and instead looked around the room. I saw his smirk falter. He wanted to pry? Fine. Two could play that game. I started with examining the boy. From what I had already gathered, he knew this place. Had memories here. Not so happy ones, by his defensive attitude. I had noticed his gaze drifting a couple times when we were talking, looking at the furniture, the walls. Completely normal behaviour, if it weren't for the way his eyes lingered, almost as if hungry for details. His room then. But long since left behind him.
I started on the rest of the room. The beds. Beds plural, so two people stayed in this room. Relatives, statistically speaking. Two different bed covers; one with bright yellow hues, and the other with dark, more subdued colours.
Alright.
I turned my gaze to the two desks against the far wall, and the drawings surrounding them. The drawings were done by a child, I reasoned, or someone with absolutely zero talent for drawing. Two different children, with different drawing styles, even noticeable from a young age. So, definitely two people in this room.
The desks. Both made of plain oak wood, littered with army soldiers, crayons and discarded paper. Children then. Most likely older than five because there was some evidence of writing, but looking at the handwriting quality, likely not older than ten.
Trophy case. Four shelves, equally spaced along its length. The bottom two were stuffed full of trophies and medals, whereas the top two were nearly empty. Interesting. I picked up two names; Jack and Zack Herondale. Two boys. Brothers, most likely.
Closet. Split down the middle into two clear, and very different, sections. The left was filled with darker clothes; blacks and greys, whereas the right was filled with brighter colours like yellow and orange. Again with that colour scheme. What did it symbolise? The sizes of the clothes in the closet were the same on both sides, so both the boys must be around the same height and weight, and possibly even the same age.
And finally, the layer of dust coating everything in the room. I had everything I needed. I started piecing it together.
The boy in front of me was either Jack or Zack. This was his room that he shared with his brother (Jack or Zack respectively). Considering the obvious and numerous attempts to create two different themes, therefore express individuality, and the fact that all the clothes were the same size, I concluded that Jack and Zack were probably twins, although I couldn't be sure if they were identical. I also concluded that Jack was older, as most people unconsciously decorate left to right or top to bottom, and Jack's name appeared first all around the room. Assuming this theme was continued, which was likely, that meant that Jack had the darker colour scheme. I looked at the boy again, who was still staring at me funny. Black hair, black shirt, dark jeans.
Jack.
That begged the question; where was Zack? Twins generally got along quite well, and the drawings on the wall showed great collaboration. So, why wasn't he here? In fact, why hadn't he, or Jack, been here in what seemed to be years? The dust levels were quite high in the usual areas; on top of cupboards, around objects that weren't generally moved, but was also surprisingly high around areas of frequent activity; the beds, the desk, near the door. No one had been constantly using this room for a while. So why not? A thought-provoking question.
They didn't move houses; their clothes were still here. And the room was in too good condition for it to have been abandoned. So that meant someone still lived here. Who? A family member? That would explain why everything was left the way it was, but then why wouldn't Jack and Zack have revisited? Unless they were forced out? But why? It couldn't have been danger, because someone still lived here. Family dispute? Possibly. I did another quick glance around the room, hoping to catch something that I had missed.
I did. The trophies. They were clean, bordering on polished. So someone had been in this room. Not Jack, he was too tall, and there was no dust disturbed at his height. Someone shorter. Another, younger, sibling? Maybe a girl, judging by some of the drawings left on the desk.
I scowled. I should have picked that up straight away. I was getting rusty.
So, a younger sister. The level of dust would indicate an average sized twelve-year-old girl, and considering that Jack was just above average height, I assumed the girl was too. So, Jack and Zack had left in a hurry, but their little sister had stayed. Jack and Zack had run away? But they clearly had a strong connection with their little sister, because she visited their room occasionally and cleaned their trophies. Were they forced to leave? Just them, not their sister? I slowed my thinking and went back over what I had seen. Clothes in cupboard. Sister still here. Jack and Zack not here. Family members still here.
Family members. Duh.
Definitely family dispute. Jack and Zack sent away, the little sister left behind. Sent away on pretty bad terms too if they haven't come back in years. Maybe seven or eight years judging by the dust levels. I was satisfied. I had what I needed.
"Well Jack," I began, relishing the surprised look on his face as I called him by his name, "My turn."
"Your name is Jack. This is your room that you shared with your twin brother Zack. You are older, but Zack's more talented."
Trophy case. Zack had heaps of trophies, Jack had hardly any.
"You and Zack left this place in a hurry about seven years ago, leaving all your belongings and your younger sister behind," I continued, "Its possible you ran away, but more likely you were forced to leave, because your sister didn't come with you and, considering how often she comes into your room, you were pretty close. So, you wouldn't have willingly left her behind, would you? You left, with Zack, about seven years ago, and you haven't returned in that time. That implies that there is something keeping you from returning, or more likely, someone."
A pause.
"Considering that you are both boys, I would go ahead and assume it was your father that cast you out. Must have done something pretty horrible to be kicked out the house aged eight. What did you do, wreck one of daddy's toys? Oh, wait, sorry, would you like me stop? Too personal?"
Jack's face was pale. He looked devastated. I felt my satisfaction sour a little. Maybe it was too personal. Wouldn't have been the first time I had taken it too far.
"How could you possibly know all that?" he asked softly, shaking his head.
I gave a small smile, feeling like I had to give some kind of apology.
"I have my ways," I shrugged. Smooth.
An awkward silence followed as Jack looked at me incredulously. It was interrupted as a girl paced purposefully into the room, her dark hair like cape behind her.
"Good to see you're up," she said to me with an air of authority. She turned to Jack.
"We need to go?" Jack asked before she could get a word out.
The girl nodded silently, her expression filled with sorrow. I looked between the two. This must be the little sister. Jack cleared his throat and stood, opening his arms wide. The girl practically leapt into them, burying her face into his chest. Jack rested his chin on the top of her head and closed his eyes, holding her tight. I awkwardly looked away, feeling like I was interrupting. They broke apart, both looking like they had wanted their goodbye hug to last just a little longer. Jack ruffled her hair, and then walked over to me.
"Let's go," he said extending a hand.
I ignored it and stood up by myself, only slightly woozy from the ambrosia. Jack nodded and paced over to the window. He opened it and climbed out. I followed close behind, but first I walked over to Jack's sister. She had silent tears running down her face. I extended a hand and she looked at me warily.
"Thanks for the help," I said, "I'm sorry we had to leave so soon."
She shook my hand.
"Not your fault," she sniffled, "Look after him, okay?"
I frowned in surprise. She noticed and gave a small smile.
"He's not as tough as he looks," she explained, "I'm Zoe, by the way."
"Celestia," I replied. Zoe tilted her head at the window.
"You'd better get going," she said letting go of my hand.
I nodded. I walked over to the window and started climbing out. Jack was waiting for me down on the ground. He reached out to help me and I shrugged him off. As I reached the grass and starting walking, I turned and raised a hand to Zoe. She raised her hand in return.
Jack never looked back.
...
"So, where are we going?" I asked.
"We?" Jack replied, scrunching up his eyebrows, "There is no 'we'. Your little Sherlock Holmes thing in there didn't do anything. I still don't trust you. We're even."
What was wrong with this guy? What exactly had I done to tick him off?
"Actually, I need your help," I replied angrily, "I need you to take me to Camp Half-Blood."
"No."
"Yes," I countered, "You are the only person I know who can."
"Look," Jack replied, exasperated, "I healed you, okay. I get it. And somehow you know every detail of my life. But, that does not make us friends. I'm not taking you there."
I stopped, fuming. Here was my one chance to finally get to Camp Half-Blood after all these years, and this...this pigheaded imbecile, wouldn't take me. He didn't get it. I needed to go there. Jack stopped too, turning back to face me.
"I don't know you," he said slowly, "And I don't trust you. We are even. I am not taking you there and that's all I'm saying on the matter."
He turned back and started walking again. Something inside me snapped.
"Fine," I ground out, "Leave. I can take care of myself, thanks."
Jack frowned, clearly surprised, as I turned on my heel and walked away.
"Do you even know where you're going?" He called out after me.
I gave him the finger over my shoulder. Screw him. I'd find the camp by myself. I navigated the streets easily, two years of experience making it childsplay. Screw Jack. Who did he think he was? The camp wasn't his. I kept walking, muttering under my breath the entire time. Only when I was about a block away from my destination did I realise what trouble I would be walking into. I had left this morning with Ms Ives money, disappeared all day, and now here I was.
No pastries, no money and hours past curfew.
My anger gave way to fear and dread. I was so screwed. I considered trying to find the pastries, at least, but then my fear and dread gave way to numbness. Why bother?
I should leave, a small part of me whispered. Then spoke. Then yelled. Until my whole body was screaming, screaming out against this horrid little town, Ms Ives and her stupid rules and manipulations and telling me I should leave. I should leave. I should just walk straight in, tell Ms Ives where she could shove it, grab my stuff and leave. The rational side of me argued, asking where I would go. But, the pure primal rage was overpowering. Soon the rational side had joined the campaign, showing me how to leave, where I could stay. I found myself walking, no, storming, towards the iron gates, the only thought in my head, leave, leave, leave. I furiously brushed hair out of my eye and my hand came back wet. I was crying.
Good. Let her see what she had done to me.
I kicked open the gates, the hinges screaming, sounding like an orchestra of dying cats. The door was flung open from the inside. Ms Ives stepped out. She was saying something but I didn't listen, I simply brushed past her. She squawked after me but I kept ignoring her. I ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time. She followed. She grabbed the back of my shirt, pulling me towards her. I turned and pushed her, sending her enlarged form tumbling down the stairs. I laughed, a high, maniacal sound that squeaked out of my throat. I continued up to the bedrooms. Other girls that had come out of their rooms, eager to see what the fuss was, shrank back as I reached the landing. I didn't care. I walked to my room and yanked open the door.
Bare walls, bare floors. My padded cell.
I strode over to the bed and tore open the mattress. My beautiful swords tumbled out, landing with a clang on the stone floor. I picked them up gingerly, marvelling in their perfect balance, honed edge and elegance, like I always do. But, there would be time for that later. Plenty of time. I paced over to the desk and grabbed my satchel that someone had taken up to my room for me. I ripped open the cupboard and shoved my clothes and small collection of belongings into it.
All of them. I was never coming back.
I swung the satchel over my shoulder and grabbed my swords, placing them in their sheaths. Stomping on the stairs. Ms Ives must have recovered from her fall.
I walked quickly to the window and slid it open, its well-oiled hinges not making a single squeak. One leg over the sill, then the other. Now I was sitting on the edge of the window, overlooking the well-kept garden. I pushed off and landed in a roll, practice making the movements come with ease. I started walking purposely through garden. I considered kicking through the plants as a bit of pay-back, but decided against it. Ms Ives would just make the other girls fix it, and my problem was not with them. They were alright. Speaking of which… I turned back to the window. Faces stared back at me through the shutters.
"If you can hear me," I yelled, "Leave while you can. Ms Ives is not the only option, okay? Anywhere, literally anywhere would be better than that-."
I called Ms Ives some names I am not going to repeat. But there was no reaction. The girls kept staring at me, not even a single hint of understanding lighting up their faces. Gods dammit. Why couldn't I get through to them that Ms Ives was horrid. No matter. I was leaving either way. I continued on my way, Ms Ives screams following me. Something along the lines of; don't ever come back, you have nowhere to go, blah, blah, blah. I turned and screamed back at her, not words, just rage.
She shut up. And I kept walking.
...
What the hell had I just done? I walked quickly, almost running in my haste to get away. Tears streamed down my face; not tears of sadness or regret, but vast, unchecked anger. But I couldn't have cared less; I had a plan. I followed the streets in reverse of how I had come. I was going to go to Camp Half-Blood. That Jack boy was going to help me. No matter what it took. I continued my pacing, my unsheathed swords now swinging at my sides. No one stopped me. I estimated I was about halfway back to Jack's house when a shadow dropped down from a nearby rooftop and landed in front of me, rolling as it hit the street. Jack rose from his crouch and tweaked an eyebrow at me.
"Where do you think you're going?" he enquired.
I continued walking straight towards him, swords still drawn. He seemed to pick up my mood, dropping the casual demeanor and lowering a hand to where his knives were kept at his side.
I didn't stop.
I swung my right blade hard at his head and he ducked, clearly surprised. I spun, swinging with my left, and he rose, meeting my blade with a jarring clang. He jumped quickly to his feet and drew another knife so that he too had one in each hand. Good. I wanted a fight. I attacked again, striking with first my right, then my left and then my right again, in one fluid motion. Jack narrowly blocked them, my onslaught pushing him backwards. He then countered, stabbing forward. I stepped inside his strike and elbowed him hard in his sternum. He doubled, wheezing. I grabbed his shoulders and shoved him into a nearby wall. I held one of my swords to his throat, my other arm keeping him firmly pinned. Jack stared at me in shock and bewilderment.
"You," I declared softly, "Will take me to Camp Half-Blood. Capeesh?"
Jack glowered at me, his chin held high. I ran the edge of my blade lightly along his throat and he flinched as a couple drops of blood fled down his neck.
"Capeesh?" I growled.
Jack gave me a black look, but nodded slowly as I pressed my blade firmer against his skin. I reached down and relieved him of his blades. I pushed him into the wall and stepped back, keeping the point of my sword steadily aimed at his jugular. Jack stared icily at me. I tilted my head toward the empty street in front of us.
"Let's go."
"It's the middle of the night," Jack spat out.
He had a point but I didn't reply. He looked at me for a little longer and I could almost see the gears in his head ticking as he thought over the situation he was in. Then he dramatically rolled his eyes.
"Come on," he said, pushing away my blade and starting to walk, "I know somewhere we can hideout tonight."
I was instantly suspicious, of course. But, considering I didn't have much choice, I followed him.
Hope you enjoyed! If you have any requests/recommendations/issues/general comments, don't be afraid to chuck them in a review, as long as they're constructive criticism and not flames. Next chapter will be posted in 8 days, and if you have any questions, feel free to PM me.
Peace out - excusemewhileiasdfghjkl