Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.

Warnings: PTSD symptoms, swearing. Beta'ed by thein273.


"Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings."

-William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar


Hazel Levesque understood "older than you look" a lot better these days.

She wasn't. Not by much, anyway. A couple more months, and she would be fourteen. She'd never been fourteen before.

It was a bit depressing, but at least she was already there. She didn't envy Percy.

It was strange to look at him these days, when his eyes looked the same as when they'd first met, but the rest of was even younger than she was now. Hazel felt she sometimes saw two Percy Jacksons in the same space on her bad days: him now, and the him she'd initiallyembarrassinglymistaken for a Roman god. That an unfortunate return to looking like a preteen boy with the last vestiges of baby fat made Percy difficult to take seriously sometimes,Fates was something she would never tell him.

Only the Fates knew what they'd been thinking about that one with him.

Not her, though. They hadn't thought of her.

And if that was what got her up in the morning, that no one had anticipated Hazel Levesque. . .well, no one else ever had to know. She and Percy both had their secrets.

Hazel didn't demand an explanation for every faraway look in his eyes as he dealt with this too-young Camp Half-Blood, and Percy just gave her a hug when she spent some days silent as Asphodel.

Still. She worried. As she took a taxi recommended to her by Annabeth Chase as demigod-friendly to Camp Half-Blood, the conversation from the morning re-played itself in her head again.

Percy had taken it better than most people would have expected of him. She'd give him that much. But something more than nightmares had been troubling Percy lately, and Hazel couldn't figure out what.

The ominous noises from the doorknob in Percy's tight grip were not a good sign. But he was listening, at least.

"I know. Believe me, I know," Percy finally said, before giving Hazel a smile that fooled no one. "Meet up after class, Hazel? If you're okay."

"Of course, Percy. I'm okay today," Hazel reassured him on reflex, only lying a bit. "And. . .you are okay?"

His head ducked down again, preventing Hazel from looking him in the eye, and something in Hazel's gut twisted. Percy had made it through Tartarus, through the end of the world, through Othrys, and here he was now. Scared.

Hazel wasn't—if only because she was just so tired. Tired of the charade, tired of the fear and hate thick in the air of the Greek camp, tired of anticipating grief and death.

She wanted to go home, and home wasn't the Greek camp. As much as Percy tried for her.

"I'm okay, Hazel." She hoped Percy believed it. "See you soon."

Percy nearly wrenched the door off the hinges as he escaped the apartment, leaving Hazel alone.

Okay was a funny word, Hazel mused. It had found their way into a lot of their morning exchanges; okay was not fine. It was not good.

But it was also not bad. It promised that they were both still fighting, even on days when they had no idea what they were doing and trying to act normal was so difficult it physically hurt.

It also left enough gray area to make Hazel scowl at the air. The taxi driver, a son of Mercu—Hermes, gods damn it—gave her a concerned look in his mirror.

Hazel would be shocked if Percy didn't at least try and follow the questing team into the Sea of Monsters. She couldn't blame him too much. But if he died, leaving Saturn in sole possession of memories of the Second Titanomachy. . .

She gave a small shudder and shook her head. She would think about that if it ever happened. No sooner.

But for now, without a child of Poseidon, let alone someone who had done the dangerous quest, Hazel wasn't optimistic about the questing team's chances of getting out alive, even if Annabeth Chase was to be the assigned questing leader. She knew better to pick against Annabeth, but nearly everything they knew, the Lord of Time also knew.

And now she didn't have any hands left. But on a third, hypothetical hand, Hazel was even less optimistic about her, Bianca, and Nico surviving in the shadow of Olympus without him. What he had told her of Bacchus's pick for director if Chiron were to leave had sent a thrill of fear through her, as his rueful account of camp under Tantalus reminded her of Camp Jupiter under Octavian's thumb.

But if nothing else happened, if the guard instituted around Thalia's Tree managed to protect it until the Fleece was found. . .if, if, if.

Hazel would be grateful when the questing team left to go after the Fleece. That, at least, would finally be out of her hands.

She reached up over her shoulder, wrapped her hand around the hilt of her new Celestial Bronze sword to ground herself—disguised by the Mist as skiing equipment slung over her shoulder. It had been gifted to her by Cabin Nine's counselor, Charles Beckendorf, in light of Percy failing to find her a Greek sword she could use and his nervous explanation that a cavalry sword was going to do her more harm than good, unless she planned to fight only on horseback for the rest of her life.

Unlike his siblings, Beckendorf had brushed whatever kind of alarm her Roman heritage triggered aside in favor of taking her antipathy towards traditional Greek weaponry as a personal challenge. Hazel had liked him and his gentle, practical demeanor.

Percy had watched much too delightedly as she had been thoroughly questioned over what she liked about swords and tried out what felt like every blade in camp. But Hazel had still caught the strangled grief in Percy's eyes whenever he thought Beckendorf wasn't looking and knew.

In the end, after hours of trying out swords in a shape that made Hazel's teeth grate, Beckendorf triumphantly presented her with a final product that had left her staring. It wasn't her spatha.

If Hazel was being honest with herself—and dreams of fighting on Arion's back—it was better. Percy and Beckendorf had conceded her a long blade, about hand-and-a-half long, with a similar pommel to Percy's Riptide and a longer handle. The two boys spent ages discussing the million details about it, but all Hazel needed to know was that swinging the sword with a balance like that was a revelation.

The taxi suddenly swung around a corner, startling Hazel out of her thoughts. She looked up just in time to see Half-Blood Hill, a proud pine tree standing at the top in the sunlight. She swallowed as she saw light bouncing off Greek armor.

No matter how many times she came to Camp Half-Blood, it never got any easier.

For all that Percy was her best friend left in the world and Annabeth had been perfectly nice, walking across the boundary never felt any less like walking into enemy territory. It didn't help that she had nowhere else to go right now that wasn't a death trap for a daughter of Pluto.

Bianca and Nico came close to making it all worth it. Looking after Nico this time, making sure he still had two sisters, was something Hazel never would've dreamed have getting the chance to do before. It helped that she'd never dreamed he had once been like this.

Frankly, he was adorable, with nothing but easy smiles and enthusiastic updates on his sword-fighting and friends for Hazel every time she saw him.

As she climbed out of the taxi, tipping the driver with an absentminded nod, Hazel thought of how Nico's older self would react if he could see them now—gods, he would probably beg to be thrown into the Lethe, again—and a private sad smile crept across her face.

Her current routine wasn't normal or even sustainable, frankly, but Hazel would take it while she had it.

She knew in her bones that she was going to be leaving Camp Half-Blood soon. Both because she wanted it and. . .well, because she must. Percy wasn't the only one who was kept preoccupied by his memories, after all.

And Hazel couldn't help but remember Canada.

British Columbia. The wars. Frank's father and ancestors. His grandmother.

Emily Zhang's death.


Hazel stood in front of the tree of Thalia, daughter of Jupiter—Zeus, and gods, this was going to drive her crazy. She gave a tight, wary smile to the patrol pair as she passed; she didn't recognize one of them, a pretty girl with dramatic mascara and long black hair in loose curls. But the other. . .

"Levesque," Chris Rodriguez greeted her with a smile and wave. Hazel tensed. "Big city treat you and Beckendorf's latest weird project well?"

She couldn't help the longing look in the Big House's direction. Hazel would eat her new sword if Rodriguez wasn't a reason so many campers treated her, her siblings, and Percy like they had the plague. "Yeah. Only attack was a flock of harpies, but Bianca, Percy, and I made short work of it."

"It's quite the lovely new sword, sweetheart. Made for you by the head prodigy himself," the girl said lightly as she studied Hazel with a keen eye. "Silena told us how it took him ages to design a sword you liked. Said it wasn't even properly Greek by the end of the whole thing."

"Well, you know Beckendorf, Drew," Rodriguez said, chuckling, "He's a mad scientist in the forge. Looks like he might've created something new."

The dark-haired girl hummed in response, her eyes fixed on the hilt of Hazel's sword. Hazel tilted her head and studied the girl in turn.

Reyna. That's who this girl reminded Hazel of, impossibly enough. She reminded Hazel of Reyna, picking up on details that would pass everyone else by. And Hazel had never been good at lying to anyone, let alone Reyna.

She tried anyway. "It's, um, an old design, actually. Beckendorf didn't say where he came up with it. Unless he told your cabin. . .?"

"Aphrodite. Cabin Ten. I'm Drew Tanaka."

Daughter of Venus and someone who had fought for the Titans last time on patrol together. This was going wonderfully. This was wonderful. Hazel fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"I arrived in the summer and Chris here agreed to show me the ropes for patrol recently," Drew Tanaka said, smiling up at Rodriguez, "As a favor to my counselor, once I was claimed."

The possessive emphasis on my, combined with the significant look she threw in Hazel's direction made Hazel wonder if the true danger didn't lie with Chris Rodriguez.

"Well, Clarisse and Silena are old friends," Rodriguez demurred, "I could hardly say no. One of them would kick my ass, and the other would schedule me on every patrol from now until the apocalypse. Drew's also quite the aim with the bow. Having her on patrols can only help camp."

Drew flushed with pride. The weight of Hazel's sword grew heavier on her back.

Rodriguez didn't know anything. The way half of camp looked at her and Percy, like eccentric relations at best and traitors at worst, guaranteed that. All he'd need was a hint of the truth to create more violent chaos in the rumor mill; Hazel knew how that worked. She and Percy were safe, for now.

Still—daughter of Venus. Together with someone who had already ensured she and Percy weren't going to win a popularity contest in Cabin Eleven anytime soon. Asking about the only sword in camp that didn't feel like it was about to bite Hazel's hand off.

Gods on Olympus, she and Percy did not need more campers thinking the worst of them.

"Well, I'm glad," Hazel finally said. If she couldn't identify what they wanted out of her, she needed out of this conversation. "Look after the tree. I need to go speak with Chiron in the Big House."

"Of course," Rodriguez agreed. If Hazel had physical hackles, they'd be raised to the heavens. "Have to go and get planning, I imagine, while we man the defenses. Though. . .say, Levesque, you haven't gotten claimed when I wasn't looking?"

"No," Hazel said, stiffening. It was typical to ask these days and she still hated it. "Not yet."

And considering if her father were to acknowledge her existence he would probably be forced to kill her, Hazel was perfectly content with it remaining that way.

"You turn fourteen soon, too, right? Bad luck, Hazel. Happens to the best of us," Rodriguez said, his eyes softening. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."

Drew gave him a strange look at the change in mood. Hazel nodded helplessly; the whole conversation felt like she was hearing a song over a static-filled airwave. "Right. Thanks."

"Really. Jackson and the others. . .they don't get it. Especially Jackson, I imagine," Rodriguez added, too quietly for anyone else but Hazel to hear. "It's hard being ignored. But if you want a friendly ear. . .I'm here."

Oh. The airwave cleared and she heard the music. Hazel's stomach twisted and she kept nodding like her life depended on it, slowly backing away like she would from a wild animal. "Thank you. I will. . .bear that in mind. Have a nice day, Chris, Drew."

Hazel jogged down the hill rather faster than necessary, never looking back.

Going to Camp Half-Blood made Hazel twitchy in more ways than she liked to admit.


"Chris is unclaimed," Annabeth said absentmindedly as she unrolled a fragile, funny-smelling map, made out of what looked like some kind of animal skin, over a table. Hazel resisted the immediate urge to poke at it and see what it felt like. "And despite Percy and Beckendorf's best efforts, you're doing a good job of throwing people off the scent. He probably sees you as a kindred spirit."

"I'm a former centurion of the Twelfth Legion, sworn to uphold the legacy of Rome and its gods," Hazel said, deadpan; she chose to ignore the jab at Percy. He was doing the best anyone could do in his position, all things considered. "What he thinks and what I am are on. . .on different planets. In different solar systems."

"Did you really make centurion? You hold military ranks?" Annabeth asked curiously, before she shook herself. "Sorry, not the point. What I mean to say is, who you are currently is not the point. For all that you have poor choice in friends, Chris thinks you're like him and that's what's important."

"Percy said he had joined last time," Hazel remembered as she shrugged off the sword and collapsed into an orange armchair so bright it practically glowed. "And I. . .I don't know him. He hasn't done anything, yet. But he wouldn't do this if he knew the truth."

"You're not wrong. Bloody murder is much more likely." Annabeth tilted her head back with a groan, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to everything. "At minimum, I need to convince Clarisse to try and pull him off some patrols, then. Rotate him away from the new campers, just in case. The last thing we need is mass desertion if we're forced to take drastic measures."

Hazel grimaced, ideas of what the Twelfth Legion would consider "drastic measures" for circumstances like this flashing through her mind, before she looked back at the ancient map; from what little Greek Hazel knew, she could make out markers for Mare Monstra. The Sea of Monsters.

Hazel looked at the thunderous look forming on Annabeth's face and forcibly put thoughts of Chris Rodriguez out of her mind. They had more immediate, solvable problems at hand. "So, the Golden Fleece. Chiron assigned you to the quest instead of Percy."

"Yes," Annabeth said shortly. She walked to a shelf in the corner, pulling out a set of six thin red volumes as she continued to speak to Hazel. "I received the prophecy this morning from the Oracle."

Hazel raised her eyebrows. "And? Good, bad, bizarre?"

Annabeth slammed the stack of books on the table with unnecessary force as Hazel moved to curiously inspect an older map, written in an old dialect of Greek she could barely read and with a solid quarter of it covered in a rusty brown stain; Hazel had a sinking feeling she could guess what it was.

"Typical. Very typical, where the Oracle's concerned," Annabeth huffed, "Doesn't match with what Percy's told me, either. It's ominous, vague, and guaranteed to lead us into a trap of that's our own fault:

Wisdom, love, and war shall sail with warriors of bone

And on their journey face truth, through waters unknown—"

"Very clear," Hazel said lightly.

"Crystal," Annabeth agreed, her tone acerbic. She continued with the last two lines:

"To gain their wish, they must ally with enemies entombed in stone,

But watch for Sparta's child, loyalties not their own."

The first two lines were about normal for a prophecy like this, and the third line wasn't particularly dreadful; in Hazel's experience, that could be anything from particularly nasty monsters to members of the Titans' forces to a particularly mean Cyclops they had met along the way, but—

"Sparta?" Hazel didn't know much about Sparta—or Lacedaemon, she supposed, depending which part of the map they were exactly talking about—but what she remembered from her brief lessons in New Rome on the Peloponnesian War didn't bode well for Annabeth's quest. A war-obsessed city who worshiped the god most of ancient Greece had been ambivalent about at best accompanied by changing loyalties was never something that ended well.

Gods, Hazel hoped that last line about a child of Sparta was metaphorical. Or not, depending. The word rang a faint bell in her recent post-apocalyptic memory, but Hazel couldn't for the life of her remember when.

"I know," Annabeth said glumly. "I've found nothing other than the weirdest rumors, and suggestions from my cabin I don't take Clarisse along, considering the relationship between her father and Sparta, but that isn't an option. Prophecy says wisdom, love, and war, and Clarisse will jump into Tartarus before she sends one of her siblings instead."

Hazel winced, and was suddenly very glad Percy wasn't in the room.

He had gotten better since escaping Othrys; other demigods using Tartarus as a stand-in for more colorful language didn't faze him, and general mentions of the Pit usually resulted in little more than a sharp inhale or a brief shattered quality to his eyes. It all made Hazel want to find Arachne and take care of her long, long before Annabeth could ever follow the Mark of Athena.

But casual use of a mention like that. . .Hazel didn't want to see what happened when a threat like that came out of Annabeth Chase's mouth when Percy was around.

"What?" Annabeth asked, looking sharply in Hazel's direction. "Did I miss something?"

Hazel winced again. "It's nothing. Nothing to do with this, anyway."

"Oh? But it is something to do with the last timeline?" Interest glinted in Annabeth's eyes. Hazel wondered if the consequences would be that bad if she started praying to her father for a quick escape.

She and Percy may not have told Chiron, Annabeth, and Mrs. Jackson the details of the second Gigantomachy.

Details, that is, being anything more specific than explaining how Juno had a terrible plan to make everyone unite before Terra could destroy the world, a series of unfortunate quests had ensued, the world had ended, and nearly everyone had died.

Hazel would have bet every denarius in New Rome that Percy had "forgotten" to mention the bout of amnesia to his mother, let alone Annabeth, as well.

If Hazel was being really honest with herself, it wasn't like Hazel was much better in coping—she could rarely stand to be alone in the dark these days, and the vivid imagination Hecate had picked out in Hazel only seemed to make her nightmares worse—but she didn't have a living mother to avoid.

Or a younger version of the girlfriend she had fallen into Tartarus with running around Camp Half-Blood. That, Hazel decided, was an endlessly interesting conversation Percy could have all to himself. She had limits.

"It's nothing important," Hazel insisted, feeling her ears burn. "So, Sparta. The prophecy. Is there anything you do have confirmed?"

Annabeth studied her suspiciously, but when Hazel remained resolutely silent, she reluctantly dropped it. "First line is pretty clear. Myself, Silena, and Clarisse fit the wisdom, love, and war requirement pretty well. Percy made a mention of Clarisse and war zombies I want to look into from—"

She dropped a book on the table in favor of a notebook she flicked through quickly before landing on one page with a quiet a-ha.

"—fifteen days ago. The second line is vague, but presumably referring to some creature from the Sea of Monsters."

"You're keeping notes on what we say," Hazel said faintly, willing herself to disappear into the couch. She knew Annabeth regularly interrogated Percy—and less often, Hazel—with disturbing zeal, but notes? Hazel found herself desperately hoping she hadn't said anything too embarrassing for anyone involved.

Gods, she thought Annabeth had grown into being like this.

"Of course I do. How else am I going to keep this straight?" Annabeth asked with a frown. "I don't have the privilege of having lived this through."

"Privilege isn't exactly what I would call it," Hazel said flatly.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow but remained otherwise unfazed. "Fine—tactical advantage. But the first rule of war is to know your enemy, and considering recent events, I'll take what I can get. Knowledge is all we have right now."

The only child of Athena or Minerva who Hazel had known last time was Annabeth; having met Annabeth's younger self and equally competent siblings in this new world, Hazel felt safe deciding that working with one of them was like trying to direct a tornado.

She pursed her lips for a moment as she tried to figure out how to tell Annabeth that things being complicated usually accompanied everyone's emotions being complicated—to say nothing of how Hazel and Percy's foreknowledge had an expiration date that no one in their camp knew.

Except Saturn, Hazel remembered bitterly. The Lord of Time would likely know, all things considered.

"I know. And I agree," she finally said, "Just. . .be careful, Annabeth. Like the prophecy said, these are unknown waters, and Percy and I aren't the only ones trying to change fate. Eventually, our memories are going to be, well, useless, and we don't know when that'll be. I don't want you hurt because of us."

Annabeth gave a strange look, but tilted her head in agreement. Still, her eyes were bright with the promise of adventure, and Hazel really hated the reminder of how young Annabeth was.

"Don't worry," Annabeth promised, "I'd hardly be a child of Athena if I wasn't careful."

A laugh bubbled out of Hazel without her permission. "I wouldn't ever say otherwise."

Annabeth had only enough time to give Hazel a shocked look, teetering on a smile, before Chiron came into the room, out of the wheelchair and in centaur form. He was trailed by Percy Jackson, who looked like he had been tossed through a hurricane.

Hazel was one to know, considering she'd seen it happen before.

"What happened to you?" Annabeth gasped. Hazel gave Percy a quick once-over, checking for any injuries before going back to trying to decipher a map of Mare Monstra.

"Sea serpent attack," Percy said, nonchalant as he inspected a shredded sleeve with one hand and ran the other through his hair to muss it up even further. Apparently content with the damage, he flopped down onto an ugly as sin plaid couch. "It's all fine now. Tyson and I killed it."

"The Cyclops," Annabeth said flatly, "You fought a sea serpent in broad daylight. With help from your half-brother, the Cyclops."

"Well, it wasn't like my other half-brother was being helpful," Percy grumbled as he collapsed into a chair next to Hazel and ignored the incredulous looks on Chiron and Annabeth's faces. "Hey, Hazel. Good day?"

Hazel gave Percy a smile of fond exasperation. "It's been all right. I had a couple decisions to think over. You?"

"I got dragged along the bottom of the Hudson by an overgrown snake and met a weird old lady who knew who I was and could see through the Mist. Could've been worse. Find anything interesting with Annabeth?" How he wrote off the weirdness in his own life would never cease to amaze Hazel.

"Prophecy," she admitted with a sigh, "Most of it is pretty ominous and not going to end well."

"You say that, and then I drown a bunch of ghosts." Hazel gave a startled laugh and Percy returned it with a wicked grin. "Aw, don't go acting like I'm full of schist, Levesque."

Hazel was full-on giggling now, her ribs strained in a way that felt rare and wonderful. Annabeth was watching the two of them like a tennis match, her head swinging back and forth at each reference, but neither of them explained. Hazel wanted this moment before they returned to anti-apocalypse planning: where she felt her age and Percy looked it.

But the moment quickly passed, leaving a pregnant silence behind. Percy tilted his head as he studied her with knowing green eyes. Hazel fought the urge to wring her hands. Decisions. "What is it, Hazel?"

It wasn't that she was afraid of him reacting badly. Hazel knew the minute she told Percy, he would move anything and everything to make it happen for her.

It was that she knew once she admitted it out loud, there was no going back.

Hazel looked down at the map of Mare Monstra and took a deep breath before she could stop herself. "Frank's mom hasn't died yet."

Percy's eyes went wide. "Shit."

"Yeah," Hazel agreed.

"Miss Levesque, at risk of revealing anything too sensitive, could you explain?" Chiron asked kindly.

Hazel swallowed before answering. "Frank was a friend of mine, last time. A son of Mars. He was my first friend, after I—when I came to my camp. His mother was killed while serving in the Canadian military, and after the funeral, Frank's grandmother sent him to the Twelfth to serve."

"Another Roman," Annabeth murmured. "Did we know him?"

"Hell yeah, we did." Percy smiled weakly, but it quickly slid off his face when his eyes flicked up to meet Hazel's. "You want to go to Canada to warn them."

Hazel nodded. She needed to, as much for herself as for the Zhangs.

Camp Half-Blood was never going to fit her as things were, and Hazel needed to do something. She couldn't wait for things to happen in this unfamiliar war—much less willingly wait for the universe's say-so of when she could interfere herself.

The memory of Frank those first weeks at Camp Jupiter, little more than a silent and grieving shadow, flashed through her mind and what little doubt Hazel had left her.

"It's a bit reckless, isn't it," Annabeth said cautiously, startling Hazel out of her thoughts, "You would be leaving the country, traveling gods-know-where to warn effective strangers about an event that may never happen. Silena, Clarisse, and I will be leaving soon, and I don't like you and Percy traveling together right now. No offense."

"None taken," Hazel said easily while Percy made an offended noise.

Annabeth wasn't saying anything Hazel didn't already know, and more besides: the rise in monster sightings reported by satyrs and demigods out of camp. The Titans gathering their forces. The worst of Tartarus was beginning to crawl its way back to the surface again, and this could all be a very, very bad idea.

And still. "I need to do this. I owe Frank that much. Besides, it's not like I can be really useful here. Most of your campers trust me less than half the distance they can throw me."

"Oh, don't exaggerate, the Stolls don't speak for—"

Chiron cut Annabeth's protests off. "Hazel is correct, I fear. And with war drawing closer, more of Olympus's focus will turn to Camp Half-Blood. Your time hiding your identity will not last long when the gods find reason to look more closely at our activities. If our, ah, former director returns, the jig will be up the minute he lays eyes on you. It is a worthy quest, but I still do not like you going alone."

"Grover," Percy suddenly suggested, as he picked up a black pen and began to fiddle with it in usual nonchalant fashion. "He just got his license to find Pan again, right? Grover can go with Hazel."

The again made Annabeth and Chiron startle; Hazel bit back a sigh. Nearly two months in, and Percy letting himself slip up like that still never failed to get a reaction out of them. She had hoped that after their initial confessions in August, things would have gotten easier. Unfortunately, anything that served as a reminder that they hadn't shown up with a convenient list of six years' worth of apocalypses, but lived that time made things very awkward and very difficult, very quickly.

Sure, Hazel and Percy argued over being reticent about things, but in all honesty, it wasn't only Percy's pig-headedness talking.

But Grover Underwood? Hazel had only met him a few times since escaping Othrys. He was one of Percy's best friends and Hazel had heard him speak of the satyr in glowing terms. But she could barely be expected pick him out of a lineup of satyrs, let alone go on a quest with him.

"Grover?" Annabeth repeated, her frown reflecting Hazel's thoughts. "Are you sure? I mean. . .his heart's in the right place, Percy. The Cloven Council wouldn't have given him that license for no reason. But he's hardly backup if things go sideways. Maybe if Hazel needs to fight a tree. But monsters? A Titan, gods forbid?"

"I know some people who'd disagree with you," Percy informed her, his eyes bright with laughter at some joke only he understood now. "I'd trust Grover with the lives of everyone in camp. Also, if he doesn't, he's going to search for Pan, and that's going to end badly."

"How badly?"

"Grover-almost-married-a-Cyclops badly?" Percy was twirling the pen so quickly between his fingers it was a blur. "Really, we can just not and say we did this time."

"No—no, you have a point there," Annabeth managed, her face all wide-eyed confusion as she tried to make sense of that one. "But a Cyclops? Really?"

"The Golden Fleece reeks of Pan's nature mojo, apparently, and he had really bad eyesight." A wave of nostalgia came over Percy's face, but passed before Hazel could do more than tilt her head in recognition.

". . .Alright," Annabeth said a moment later, her nose wrinkled at that image. "Point taken about Grover. How would the two of you make it to Canada?"

"The same way we escaped Othrys," Hazel said with a shrug, "The Labyrinth should work. Everyone's preoccupied with the Golden Fleece right now and won't be looking for someone like me going north, much less through that."

"You'll need to be careful. Grover's underground senses aren't great in the best of times, and the Fleece is, like, satyr catnip." At more staring from everyone else in the room, Percy held up his hands. "It was a very weird quest. One I'm apparently not allowed to go on, despite knowing how to get it done."

Hazel stiffened from where she stood behind the pool table. And here we go.

"I don't make a habit of actively trying to defy prophecy where my students are involved, Percy," Chiron said mildly, "It has an eternal habit of ending in tragedy."

Percy stopped fiddling with the pen. Hazel eyed his tight grip on it.

"Besides, it's not as if the Titans will be entirely unaware of this. They will be waiting for you—"

"I know. I don't like worrying about prophecy, but I know. I'm not that stupid, despite evidence saying otherwise," Percy said tightly, "I just. . .I've done this quest, Chiron. A little hard to watch this."

"And they'll know it. Besides, the Oracle didn't say wisdom, love, war, and the resident Seaweed Brain," Annabeth said, her voice sharp with annoyance. Hazel was torn between being grateful for her cutting to the heart of things, and worrying over whether Percy was going to break the pen in his hand. "You've laid out everything you met last time in the Sea of Monsters, right? Have a little faith in me to get this done."

The look Percy gave Annabeth left Hazel's chest hollow. "It's never been a question of faith, Annabeth."

Rather than meet his eyes, Annabeth looked down, studying the book in her hands with all the fierceness of someone facing down an army. Hazel met Chiron's eyes across the room and felt a little relieved to see the centaur looked equally uncomfortable in the thick silence.

Some days, Hazel was fiercely jealous of Percy and Annabeth and their relationship—that they had received the chance to be a couple, to live and fight and die with each other, where the world had ended no sooner than Frank had begun to look at her the way she wanted.

This was not one of those days.

When Annabeth remained fascinated by her book and Percy didn't seem inclined to continue the conversation, Hazel decided to move things along. She clapped her hands together and said brightly, "So. Sparta! Did Chiron give you the prophecy on the way in, Percy?"

Percy gave Hazel a look that promised he knew exactly what she was doing, before giving her a grumpy yes. "No idea what any of that stuff was about, though. I was going to ask Annabeth whether she had decided on—"

"You're not going," Hazel groaned, "You can't. Percy—"

"Hazel," Percy interrupted, "I know."

"You do?" Hazel asked, dubious. She moved so that she was standing in front of Percy. She refused to play out fifty versions of this argument. She wasn't going to pretend this wasn't easy for Percy, but gods, Hazel needed to go to Canada, and this new prophecy didn't leave room for a son of Poseidon to go with Annabeth, Clarisse La Rue, and Silena Beauregard.

Someone needed to stay with Camp Half-Blood—with Bianca and Nico—and it had to be him.

Percy met her skeptical gaze with grudging honesty. "I do. I promise. Go to Canada. I'll be here."

Hazel released a sigh, one from somewhere inside her that was very tired.

"Okay. I. . .okay," she repeated. She squared her shoulders into something that could pass legion inspection and nodded. "Good. Thank you, Percy."

Percy tilted his head back to better see her at this response. The sweet smile he gave Hazel met his eyes—something rare, these days, outside when he had made her or the di Angelos laugh. "I know how important this is to you, Hazel. If you're going to go to Canada and Daedalus Junior is going after the Fleece, someone's going to have to keep an eye on the Death Twins."

He held his hands up and inspected the black ink stains on them with a sheepish air. "Besides. I can take a hint sometime between now and the end of the world."

"Thank the gods, I was beginning to worry," Annabeth muttered from behind Hazel, who looked over her shoulder just in time to see the amused glint in Annabeth's grey eyes.

Percy began to grumble mutinously over a lack of respect; Hazel bit down on her lip to try and keep a snicker back as Chiron made a thoughtful noise. "Worst comes to worst, we hardly need untrained children of the Underworld thrown into battle, and you have firsthand experience with Bianca and Nico. But do try to be subtler, Percy. There's only so many times the counselors will believe I have no idea what they're talking about."

Any response Hazel and Percy would've had to that was cut off when Clarisse La Rue stalked into the room, intruding on their little council. Hazel shifted her posture, relaxing her shoulders and leaving behind the more. . .Roman stance she had fallen into without thinking about it.

Clarisse promptly gave Percy a poisonous glare that Percy met with a smug grin and wave. "What did you mess up now, Clarisse?"

"I didn't do anything, Jackson. Blame your pint-size nerd shadow," Clarisse snapped back. It was only through her legionnaire training that Hazel didn't give a violent start.

Percy had no such compunctions about hiding his worry. "Nico? Is he all right? Did something attack?"

Clarisse rolled her eyes. "He's fine, mom. I had to break up a fight between him and one of the Stoll trolls before someone got hospitalized. Near as I could make out, it was something something, defend the honor of your Royal Seaweed-ness. I wasn't paying attention to the details. Figured I'd give you a heads-up."

Hazel fought the urge to face-palm.

"I knew this day was too boring," Percy declared, "Hadn't hit my quota for the day yet with the creepy old women and murderous overgrown snake."

"So it would seem," Annabeth drawled; she seemed to have quickly figured out the best way to deal with Percy Jackson when she didn't quite trust him was to remain stubbornly composed in the face of his ramblings, until someone was bleeding or something was on fire. "I don't suppose you gave them kitchen patrol duty or extra border shifts?"

"Nah, didn't see the point. Half of Cabin Eleven's already going to be guarding the border all night, and they're still keeping the fighting to themselves. Unless someone else wants to intervene. . .?" Clarisse trailed off with a meaningful stare in Chiron's direction. "They haven't been the same since losing Luke, and I don't blame them."

Percy flinched like he had been punched.

"Grief is not prone to listening to reason, Clarisse. I've already spoken with them multiple times. I can't do much more short of separating them," Chiron said, frustration visible beneath his beard. "And whoever was forced to leave would feel they were being punished for little reason. Besides, where would they go? I can't separate any of them from their siblings. Not in times like these."

Hazel grimaced and she heard the silent warning. Especially considering, well. . .Hazel chanced a quick peep at Percy, who remained silent. It would be favoritism of the claimed potential child of the Great Prophecy and his friends, which wouldn't do much for morale as things were. There would be no faster way to drive a cabin full of unclaimed demigods to the enemy.

"Fine, then," Clarisse fumed, "I'll tell Travis and Connor to either shove their issues where the sun doesn't shine or talk to a fucking therapist, and hope it doesn't come back to bite anyone. Meanwhile, Jackson—get your kids claimed and out of Cabin Eleven or your reputation under control. I don't care how."

Percy's silence in an uncomfortable conversation, true to form, didn't last long in the face of a challenge.

"They're not my kids," he said, dangerously close to being as scandalized as one of the stuffier nuns from Hazel's old school in New Orleans. "I'm about as responsible for them as I am for Hazel or Annabeth."

Hazel arched her eyebrows. It was a. . .funny way of looking at things.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth said, "Whatever happened last time, they're certainly your kid-shaped problems now."

"Last time?" Clarisse repeated, rubbing her chin in confusion. "Just how long have you known these guys?"

"The quest," Annabeth added hastily, before Hazel and Percy could do more than share mutual panicked looks. "I'm just talking about the Master Bolt quest from June."

It couldn't have taken more than a second before Clarisse shrugged it off in acceptance, but the split second of silence as Hazel willed Clarisse La Rue to believe Annabeth, coming dangerously close to drawing on whatever power over the Mist she retained to make it so, lasted an eternity.

"Whatever. But get something done, idiots. I shouldn't be the one breaking up fights," Clarisse grumbled, "I'm the daughter of the god of war. I should be starting them."

With that said, she turned around on the heel of her armored boot and left. The minute they heard the door slam closed, Percy muttered something in Greek that Hazel couldn't make out, but made Annabeth give him a reprimanding glare.


Traditionally, only the monsters followed them back to the Jacksons' apartment from Camp Half-Blood.

"Before you go inside, you should know that I found another demigod."

This was not one of those days, Hazel reflected.

"You what?" Percy exclaimed, a bit too loudly. At Mrs. Jackson's hushing motion, he asked in a whisper, rapid-fire, "How? Who? How?"

Mrs. Jackson raised her hand again to stop him before glancing over her shoulder at the kitchen, as if she expected something—or someone—to come running out of it. "I found him in Sweet On America on my way home. I don't think I know him, but he looked like he could use a hot meal and bed. If it helps any, I think he was busy scamming the cashier when I walked in."

Something seized in Hazel's chest, but she shoved the thought out of her mind before it could fully form.

"Good for him. But how do you know he's a demigod, Mom? Doesn't take a demigod to break into a cash register," Percy added unnecessarily, clearly trying to convince himself of the same thing Hazel was.

"The pair of hellhounds outside the store and his panicked looks in their direction were a good sign," Mrs. Jackson said dryly, "Besides, when he's not lying and I can get a straight answer out him, he says that he's on the run from some special part of the government. Had the name Sparta attached to whoever was chasing him—heaven knows why."

It's not him, Hazel reminded herself.

"Right," Percy said slowly, "Sounds about demigod. But whenever he's not lying?"

"He. . .well, he reminds me of you, Percy," Mrs. Jackson admitted. "After I returned from the Underworld. I knew something was wrong, and I was incredibly worried you were going to run, really."

It's impossible even by our standards, you stupid thing, Hazel told that bubble of hope in her chest as viciously as possible.

Percy's eyes went wide. "Mom. I didn't—I would never—"

"Percy. It's okay," she said sadly, "I know. Meanwhile, we have another demigod waiting in the kitchen, and I don't have the advantage of having raised him with Leo."

What was left of Hazel's patience snapped. She ran past Mrs. Jackson into the kitchen only to stop dead at the entrance, Percy nearly slamming into her back as he followed suit.

She had just enough time to see dark, curly hair and a scrawny build she would know at the end of the world, before she met his eyes and forgot how to breathe. Percy made a choked noise.

"Leo!" Mrs. Jackson called out kindly from behind them. "I'm sorry for the delay. This is Hazel and Percy. They're also demigods."

Leo Valdez was more baby-faced than Hazel remembered him. The chair he sat on was teetering on its back legs and Hazel couldn't help but notice the twisted piece of Celestial Bronze in his hands, caught between what it used to be and whatever Leo was using it for now.

Well, Hazel considered with a calmness she only ever achieved through sheer hysteria, hellhounds. Probably some kind of weapon.

It was funny, really, how it had taken this long for her to feel hopelessly out of her depth in this whole mess.

"Hi, Leo," Percy said in a strangled voice. "Great to meet ya."

Leo gave them a tight grin and waved the Celestial Bronze at them. "Hi, friends! Your mother's crazy. I should know, considering I'm an expert in crazy."

Hazel opened her mouth, couldn't think of anything to say, and closed it. Besides her, Percy looked to have also fallen into a similar problem.

She mentally chastised herself for losing it now, and tried again, forging past her voice repeatedly cracking as she stared at him. "Leo. Do you. . .do you know who we are?"

Something in Leo's eyes dimmed. Hazel tensed as his gaze shifted towards the window and he stood up. "Pretty sure I'd remember a pretty girl like you. Hazel, right? Wish we could've met under better circumstances. Or with less. . .demigod? Yeah, demigod crazy involved."

Don't we always wish? Leo started to back towards the window—and the fire escape. Hazel wondered what on earth had happened to him to make him this twitchy. She looked to Percy to see if had any ideas, but he was already talking in gibberish.

At least, Hazel thought so. It took her a moment to realize it wasn't gibberish, but Greek. Of course.

Percy was speaking too quickly for her, but Hazel watched in fascination as Leo scoffed at whatever Percy said before giving a rapidfire response. Percy grinned and continued to talk. Leo interrupted him, stopped, resumed, and trailed off as his face became an increasingly comical study in disbelief. Instead of returning to English, he rambled in yet another language.

"Sólo para comprobar, ya que el inglés no es mi punto fuerte. . ." Hazel remembered enough of Sammy's Spanish to get the gist: Just to check since English isn't my strong point. . .

Leo inhaled sharply and raised his hand carrying the Celestial Bronze, pointing it at Percy accusingly. "That's cheating."

Percy shrugged. "You were about to jump out a window, man."

"Either I'm having another psychotic break, or. . ." Leo trailed off and began to mutter under his breath. Hazel tried to say something, to tell him it was fine, that he was among friends, but Percy tapped her on the shoulder and made a swiping motion in warning.

For a moment no one said anything as they waited. Then—

"Greek gods are real?" Leo shrieked, "What are you and the universe on? No, nope, I'm sorry, I refuse to deal—"

Hazel made her silent apologies as Leo backed to the window, looking very determined to get to the fire extinguisher. She raised a hand and Leo's Celestial Bronze flew from his grip into hers before anyone could blink.

Being chased by hellhounds and with a city name from a prophecy called for extreme measures.

And, well. Hazel felt pretty sure the last five minutes were proof enough that this was their Leo. If in a younger form.

"Daughter of Hades," she said carefully, pointing to herself. Her side could be explained later. "You're likely a son of Hephaestus. Percy's a son of Poseidon. Mrs. Jackson's mortal—"

"Dear, I've said. You're more than welcome to call me Sally."

"—but she can see through the Mist, which hides most of this from normal people," Hazel explained, "There's a lot more, but that comes later. . .if you want."

Leo began to look vaguely ill, but thoughts of the fire escape seemed to have left him. "More? Later?"

"If you want," Percy said casually, "Look, Leo: I didn't want to be a half-blood. None of us do. There's a lot to it and it tends to suck hard. But there are ways to handle the side-effects. There's even a camp nearby for helping us out."

"Like being followed by monsters, or the magic powers," Leo said shrewdly, "But you want to help me? What's in it for you?"

"I don't like seeing other people like us die if I can help it, Leo. Also," Percy added, looking suddenly thoughtful, "Camp's got a lot of places for demigods like you. Children of Hephaestus. You're one of the most talented mechanics on the planet."

Hazel met his eyes and could hear the unsaid words. We need someone we can trust working on re-opening Bunker Nine.

"But not for now," Mrs. Jackson said firmly, "He can spend the night here, and you two can explain how everything works so he can make his decision tomorrow, if he wants."

Leo didn't immediately respond, his face blank as he thought their words over. Hazel studied him as his hands beat out an irregular staccato against the table and her heart nervously tried to keep time to the fast beat. Oh, please stay.

Hazel thought it would be years. Years before maybe they could see other members of the Seven again.

Leo stopped the nervous fidgeting to look at the ground, give the fire escape one last glance of half-longing, and then finally at Percy and Hazel, looking up at them through the curly hair falling over his face, his gaze still bright and familiar. "So. . .you're not with the lunatics using those dogs to track me?"

"Very much not," Percy said with a hoarse laugh, "We fight them, Valdez."

"I can see that. " Leo's eyes drifted to the pommel of Hazel's sword rising over her shoulder, and she could see the beginnings of a true smile on his face. "Then don't let me stop you. Tell me what I've missed, Percy Jackson."


A/N: At this point, just assume I'm going to resurrect myself from the dead every five months, new chapter(s) in hand while cackling madly.

Let me know what you think if you want as always, and know that I love you all dearly either way. :D