Chapter 8: I am having a crisis please send help

A long forgotten memory, taken, pulled, stolen from him.

White walls. A beeping monitor. A sobbing mother. A clueless doctor. Without answers and without treatment. And two children, side by side, a hand each on their mother's feverish skin. It's hopeless. Death is imminent for her. And for them too. A whole family line wiped away. Because of one careless line. Because of one mistake.

A hand curls into his shirt sleeve, a body leans on his, shaking just a little with barely concealed fear.

"Hey, Connor, what should we do?"

My name is Connor Stoll.

My mother's name is —

My brother's name is —

My brother's name is Tr —

His name —

"You should stop before you kill yourself."

Connor doesn't spare a glance at Hermes, turning his back to the god on the lower bunk bed of his family's old apartment. He would have climbed his way up to the higher one if he could have, if his body wasn't such a fucking pansy.

My brother. My older brother. His name is —

"It was to protect you," Hermes continues.

Tr —

His name is Trav—

"You would have died," Hermes says without an ounce of pity in his voice. "I rather had one son dead than two."

His name is T—

Connor squeezes his eyes shut at the blinding pain in his chest, curling in on himself. He's cold. Freezing cold. Like standing in Lake Tahoe in the middle of winter with just nothing but his birthday suit cold.

Hermes takes a step towards him.

Connor tenses and grips the blanket tight in his hand, thinking about wrapping it around his Hermes's neck and strangling him with it. Maybe later. When he's feeling more up to the task.

At the sound of another step, Connor turns and hurls the blanket in Hermes's face and tries to make a run for it. Not that he makes it far, falling to his knees at the first step with Hermes still approaching him.

Helpless. Useless. Utterly incapable of anything but just scooting back on his behind and growling like a little dog as Hermes comes closer and closer.

"Wipe my memories again and I swear I'll —"

"I'm sorry, Connor."

Waking up, he feels like he spent a full day, maybe a full week sparring hand to hand with Reyna and got his butt handed to him each time. Everywhere hurts. Especially his head. But his chest is giving the head a run for his money. And his stomach is dangerously close too. None of this is bettered by the freezing chill deep in his bones. All in all, it hurts.

And it doesn't help there's this person in an orange shirt snoring unbelievably loudly right next to his ear, face buried in the white sheets and blond hair all over the place.

He doesn't know this person. He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know anyt—

Oh wait. He sees Jason, standing by the window and looking out all gloomy-like.

Is that Jason?

No, he can't be.

He isn't.

Connor squints, rubs his eyes.

Squints some more.

Could he?

"Ja … son?"

The blond jumps, spinning around. And, oh man, that is Jason.

Connor pushes himself up by the elbows, unable to stop a laugh even though the resulting pain kinda killed him.

"You didn't tell me you needed glasses."

Connor shrugs off the weighted blanket and compresses off him, biting into the cold taco and listening as Will Solace the prodigal medic rats off what happened after he fainted at the camp's border. The battle. The make up between both camps. Fighting together side by side. Octavian's death. Gaea's demise. His wacky heart. How it stopped. How it failed five more times in 24 hours. How it's the next day. How he's lucky to be alive with zero brain and neural damage. How his body temperature dropped so fast for absolutely no reason at all in a moderately air-conditioned room and 'what the fuck is wrong with you' and 'are you listening' and 'hello' and 'are you paying attention'?

To be perfectly honest, all Connor could really focus on was that he missed the battle. Oh and that, "Octavian is dead? He's really dead?" Connor asks, looking up to Jason for confirmation much to Will's displeasure at his blatant disregard for his health. Jason doesn't like it either, but after 12 long years, Jason is used to it and just nods to confirm.

Connor stifles a small smile. No decent person is happy over someone's death. "Is it bad that I feel kind of happy? I mean, I knew him for forever and I know I should feel sad, but he was such a dick."

"It's kind of messed up," Jason admits.

"Let's get back to the issue at hand," Will states curtly, rolling beside him in his swivel chair with a pen in his hand and a clipboard on his lap. The poor guy looks half-dead — pale, hands trembling a little — and Connor is pretty sure that is because of him. "Your heart stopped. You experienced severe hypothermia. And we need to figure out why. Your vitals are normal right now thankfully but that could change any moment. Do you have a history of these problems? Or is it a recent thing?"

Connor fidgets with the corner of his finished taco wrapper, gesturing for Jason to give him another. Jason gives him a bottle of water instead, moving the bag out of the way when Connor lunges for it. Connor sticks his tongue out at his friend then grumbles, "Recent thing."

"Are there any blood-related family members with a history of illness like yours?" Will says, fingers palpating across his chest and back.

"Maybe. I don't know anyone related to me by blood," he says, wincing at the sharp stab of pain in his heart. (Yes you do. Come on. You do.) Shut up. Shut up. Shut up, he chants back.

Will's fingers falter.

Oh crap. Did he feel that? Please don't tell Jason. Please don't tell Jason, he begs with his eyes. And it works because Will makes an uncommitted sound and goes back to feeling his back.

"Do you smoke or drink?

"No."

"Any drugs?"

"No."

"Ever incurred the wrath of a god or spirit?"

"N—" Wait. "No." That sounds very wrong. "I—n—ah, yes? No? I don't know?" There's another stab in his heart. And this time it doesn't go away. Connor keels over, clutching a hand over his chest like that would do anything.

What he said doesn't make sense.

He never fought with…

He never angered…

He never…

He never

(But you did. She did. Remember.)

Remember.

Will is asking him something. Jason is shaking his shoulder. There's a roaring in his ears. He can't breathe. His head spins. Everywhere hurts. It's cold again. Freezing even. He's going to pass out. He can feel it. Man… he shouldn't have tossed the blanket off him. If he's going to die, he could at least die warm and comfy in a blanket burrito just like how he always wanted to go out.

Opening his eyes, he sees Hermes again in that room with that bunk bed and that colorful rug and Connor remembers.

His brother's name is Travis.

"You need to stop," Hermes says.

Warm. Soft. It's Heaven, if you ask him. But people are talking, loudly too if he's being honest and Connor forces his eyes to open, unable to stop the groan as he realizes just how shitty he feels.

There's more people in the room other than Jason and Will.

Percy. The blonde girl who knows martial arts — Annabelle or Annie, Anna-something. Nico. A centaur.

Will looks even worse than last time. There's heavy bags under his eyes and a whole lot of empty ambrosia packets beside him.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" Will asks.

"Amazing," he responds. "The best I've ever been in years."

Will runs a hand through his hair, sinking back in his chair. "Your heart arrested again. I don't know why this is happening. Chiron too. And my dad isn't answering me. I-I don't know what to do."

Connor winces when Will's voice cracks and he looks like he is on the verge of tears. On a typical day Connor would treat his wounds himself and scurry away to his bunker for some rest and rehab, opting to take care of himself and leave the camp's medics with one less patient. This doesn't look like something he can take of by himself and, man, does he hate it. "You can always pray to my dad," Connor suggests, "He's the god of a whole bunch of things. One of them ought to —"

His dad.

Mercury.

No.

Hermes.

Hermes is his dad. He's Greek. He has a brother. His name is Travis. Travis lived. Somehow. Someway. And he's here. He needs to apologize. Where is he? Where—

He's back in the apartment with the bunk bed and rug. Hermes is there.

Travis is older by 11 months, he remembers.

11 months.

Which means for one month they're the same age and Travis used to always, always, always lied for that whole month and told people they're twins.

"Please stop this."

"Chiron, there has to be something we can do!"

"I'm afraid not and consuming any more ambrosia will kill both your friend and our medic."

"I-I'm fine. I can take a little bit more. Maybe there's something we're missing. We'll have Chris or Cecil go steal—borrow! I mean — a couple reference books from the hospital. We'll give them back afterwards. Give me a pen and pencil. Paper, I mean. Give me paper. I'll write what to get."

Voices bounce around without names, mostly because that requires brain cells that Connor absolutely does not have right now. So he just burrows deeper into the warmth of the blanket and wishes for a thicker, more insulated one.

He's still so cold.

It feels like he's becoming a popsicle.

Jason. He definitely hears Jason's voice. Please turn on the heater or something. It's —

"Try speaking to Apollo again. Maybe he'll realize it's an emergency this time."

Apollo. For some reason, that god's name is so, so important. Octavian is Apollo's son. Will too. But it's not that.

(Remember.)

Apollo. Artemis. Siblings. Their mother.

The curse.

11 years ago.

His mom. Brother. Travis. Apartment. Hospital. Hermes and his promise. His promise to save both him and Travis. Lupa. Camp Jupiter. Hermes lied. Hermes lied. Travis. He abandoned Travis. He abandoned him. Left him to die in the hospital. Alone, with false hope. And oh god. He needs to apologize. He needs to apologize right the fuck now.

There's the bunk bed.

There's the rug.

There's Hermes, distraught and annoyed.

He missed Travis's birthday, he realizes. June 20th. The cusp between Gemini and Cancer. He always thought that fitted his brother. He wonders if it still fits.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

Waking up, he's alone. But with another layer of blanket over him so it's not all that bad.

There's shouting outside the door. Jason and… Percy? Chiron? Maybe both.

"I already lost Leo. I don't want to lose anyone else!"

Leo? Who's Leo? And lose? Is Jason talking about him? Is he going to die?

(He almost died.)

He? Who's he?

His brother. Travis. He remembers now. Travis is here. He saw him. He's here. He's here. He's here. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get—

Bunk bed. Rug. Hermes.

Before they knew who their father was, Travis told him and mom that Hermes was his favorite of the Olympians because of how cool he is. Connor can't believe he actually thought the same back then.

"Please, Connor, just give up."

He wakes up.

Jason is beside him.

Travis shares Jason's blue eyes.

The bunk bed. The rug. And Hermes, tired and groaning.

"I can do this for years."

.

Connor blinks, back again in the apartment room. He stares at the upper bunk bed.

The upper bed is his but he sleeps in the lower one with Travis. Travis likes the warmth. Travis falls asleep faster that way. Travis kicks in his sleep, but that's okay because Connor is the blanket hogger. A lose-lose for both of them.

"And so can I."

Author's notes:

Hey everyone. I just want to start by saying thank you for all your support! They make me so happy and greatly brightens my life! I go throughout my day with a smile and happy thoughts :) I also want to say that I will definitely do my best to have the chapters be at least 1k long. But if they're shorter because I have nothing more to say, then so it must be. I'll try to update twice a month but, you know, everyone's life is crazy right now and I am very lonely without my family. I am also on Tumblr (MiracleSnail), currently obsessing over Hollow Knight and Alan Becker's Stick Figures so feel free to talk to me over there :D

Happy Halloween!

Note: ffn was acting funny :/ and I reuploaded this chapter.