NOTE: This is the sequel to The Question of the Exploding Toilet, a crossover between PJO/HoO and The Kane Chronicles.

I highly recommend reading The Question of the Exploding Toilet first to completely understand what's at work here, then its prequel/sequels For Want of a Nail and That Strength Which in Old Days, but if not, this is an AU where Percy was raised by Amos Kane in the House of Life, Camp Half-Blood is currently losing the second Titanomachy, and picks up post-AU Battle of the Labyrinth and AU The Serpent's Shadow. Happy reading!


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

Warnings: [Flashback to] character death, swearing.


"here is the deepest secret nobody knows, (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide),

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart."

-e.e. cummings


"GET DOWN!"

At Travis Stoll's warning, Annabeth Chase took one look over her shoulder at the exploding river and dropped to the ground, crawling behind a tree for shelter from the sudden floors. Once out of range, she took in the new damage and let out a string of Greek curses under her breath.

At what, precisely, she wasn't sure. She certainly didn't lack options: the rampaging gargantuan crocodile with teeth that made her knife look like a toothpick. The Labyrinth for enabling the battle two days before.

Or Kronos. Kronos was always an excellent option.

In all honesty, if she had been told when she'd woken up that her day was going to involve a giant crocodile, she likely would've contemplated calling in sick. As it was, she had not gotten that warning, and was instead stuck trying to keep Camp Half-Blood from being ripped apart. Again.

Well—what was left of camp anyway. Kampê's rampage through camp had left behind damage that they wouldn't be able to repair any time soon; cabins weren't just destroyed, but razed to the ground. They were still conducting funerals for the dead. The arena was still aflame with Greek fire, and a sizable chunk of the forest would need to be re-planted by the children of Demeter.

And—well. They called it a battle, Annabeth considered bitterly as she watched Michael Yew duck behind the marble rubble that was all that remained of Hera's cabin. He took a useless shot at the aforementioned giant crocodile then ran for his life.

Massacre would have been a far more accurate term. A bloody, pointless massacre meticulously engineered to break them in this bloody, pointless war.

Nowhere and nothing was safe or guaranteed. A vital lesson in their lives, and yet Annabeth had been stupid enough to forget the rule beaten into her by Thalia abandoning them, by Luke's betrayal.

All them had been so stupid. Utterly convinced they were safe, foolishly believing that the words camp and safety were identical.

Every last one of them, from Chiron down to the five-year-old twins in Cabin Eleven, caught off guard by the presence of an entrance to—and therefore an exit from —the legendary Labyrinth of Daedalus.

And, gods, how they had paid the price. Still paying the price, if Michael's screaming is anything to go by, Annabeth thought darkly, fighting against the fresh crimson-stained memories. Michael shouldn't have been forced to take point like this, not when Lee hadn't even been dead a month.

Then there was the Labyrinth. The Labyrinth and yet another of her heroes failing in Daedalus and so many dead Annabeth had struggled to find grief for them all.

Campers and Hunters already armed for Capture the Flag had barely been organized when Kronos's forces exploded out of the maze; they hadn't stood much of a chance in holding the line. When Kampê had emerged, her poisoned daggers gleaming. . .

Then they had started to fall. Annabeth closed her eyes briefly, trying to will the ever-present choking grief away.

Annabeth yanked her knife out of the hellhound's shoulder with a snarl of satisfaction. She didn't lose a step as it exploded into dust, and had just given a nearby empousa a challenging glare when she heard Bianca choke out her name behind her.

"A-Annabeth. . ."

The daughter of Athena whirled around to see Bianca di Angelo on her knees, her face chalky white as the jailer of Tartarus moved away in search of other prey.

How many times would she have to lose her friends? How many, before the universe decided to stop?

The fact that there had been no sign of Nico since he had run into the Labyrinth in hot pursuit of his sister's killer had only made Annabeth's grief all the sharper.

("Chin up, Annie. Always.")

"Shut up, Thalia," Annabeth growled. "You're not even here."

If it was petulant and self-pitying and whiny, Annabeth couldn't care. She'd lost too many friends, she felt too alone, and there were too many giant crocodiles trying to finish the job Kronos started a few days ago in her vicinity for the daughter of Athena to consider petty things like how she came off talking to a voice in her head.

She had just finished directing Michael and Travis around so that they could encourage the crocodile towards the cabins—and away from the injured, among other things—when she heard a large boom and triumphant human yell.

Annabeth looked around the giant rock that had been serving as her temporary shelter, only to see. . .apparently someone who had lost their mind.

The giant crocodile in the middle of the giant U formed by what was left of the cabins was still there, and still very, very angry. Part of Annabeth's plan, and a result of Michael setting his arrows on fire before shooting them at the monster. All expected.

The surprising part was the teenager with his arms wrapped around the crocodile's neck.

Wearing what looked like black pajamas. Because of course, Annabeth thought, resigned. Camp simply having another hellish day in the aftermath of a battle wasn't enough for the Fates. They needed a strange guy walking into camp and fighting an oversized crocodile.

Gods, for all she knew, the crocodile was his fault and this was all a trap.

The boy in question was grasping at the mysterious necklace the monster wore, even as the crocodile bucked and rolled all over the ground to try and get him off. Annabeth distantly took note of Travis coming up to stand to her left, and Chiron and Michael on the other side of the the bizarre scene before her, unsure of who should be helping, if anyone.

"Hey—No! Ju-Just stay still, for Ra's sake, so I can make you go back to your baby self!" he exclaimed, sounding only vaguely annoyed while a monster tried to tear him to shreds. He was also waving around a boomerang. Presumably it wasn't a normal boomerang, but Annabeth wasn't sure what she was hoping for. "This doesn't have to be—hard!"

Annabeth snorted as his voice jumped up three octaves when the crocodile gave a particularly violent buck. Still, she hung back, unsure of who she should be helping.

As their pajama-clad weirdo began to bang at the monster's necklace with his boomerang and was dragged along the ground for his efforts, she heard a series of small pops from her left and yanked Travis down on instinct.

Brown water sprayed over their heads. Annabeth sighed as the two of them moved around to flank Chiron and Michael. There goes the last of the plumbing.

"Think he's a demigod?" Travis whispered, watching with fascination the whole way. He'd dropped his guard, with his sword pointed towards the ground; Annabeth pushed it up with her knife as a silent rebuke.

"Maybe he escaped a mental asylum somewhere?" she suggested. "Or—"

The possible asylum escapee crowed in victory while the crocodile tried to bite his arms off. "Come on, come on—YES! Take that!"

"Okay, definitely a demigod then," she muttered, pulling out her Yankees cap. Just in case.

"Guy picked a helluva time to end up in camp," Travis commented, "Then again, he isn't dead yet."

The crocodile started to glow—because her day had clearly lacked the weird factor until now—and she and Travis were forced to avert their eyes. When they looked back up, the giant reptilian menace was gone, with only the probable demigod left, flat on his back, holding a baby crocodile up in the air, and crowing in victory. Both of them were covered with sewage. Travis grimaced in sympathy; Annabeth's mind whirled. A gods-damned wooden boomerang shouldn't have done a thing against a monster.

Unless he was a god, she realized with a start, her eyes narrowing. Or worse. She adjusted her grip on her knife and pulled out her dagger.

Pajamas Guy climbed to his feet, complaining all the way. "Of course, of course I get hit with—is this sewage?"

Never mind threat levels, Annabeth wondered if she should begin doubting this guy's common sense.

"I refuse to lose another bet to Sadie," he finished under his breath. Annabeth tucked the unfamiliar name away as her curiosity peaked. Not only was he used to fighting monsters to the point of cracking jokes, but he wasn't alone. Couldn't be older than Annabeth, too. Fifteen years and change either way, and outside of camp, no less?

Then there was something familiar in his messy black hair and green eyes. Annabeth couldn't name it yet, but it was nothing good.

She tilted her head, and watched as pajama guy finished complaining, and seemed to notice that he had an audience for the first time.

And for someone who was used to wrestling crocodiles, he stared an awful lot at Chiron, who was out of the wheelchair and still armed after the battle two days previous.

The centaur was unfazed. "I am afraid it is sewage. Apologies, our plumbing has not been the best as of late. Though you are still quite welcome here, if you wish. Do you have a name we can call you by? Do we need to send out scouts for. . .Sadie, you said?"

"Sadie? Gods, no. She's fine. Probably going to kill me." Pajama Guy gently dropped the crocodile on the ground, wiped his dirty right hand on his equally dirty pants, and extended it to Chiron. "I'm Percy Kane. Sadie's my. . .It's complicated. Family's the short answer, I guess."

Annabeth stopped dead. Stared at. . . Percy.

Black hair. Green eyes. Couldn't be older than Annabeth, who had turned fifteen last year.

Distinct resemblance to a god Annabeth had never liked. A resemblance that was pretty absurd, actually, now that she looked.

It was slowly coming together in her mind, but—it couldn't be. It just couldn't.

"Percy. . .Kane?" Chiron said slowly, his eyes gaining an intensity upon the guy that made Travis shift beside Annabeth. "Perseus, perhaps?"

Percy Jackson nodded his head, inspecting Chiron warily. The centaur took a deep, sharp breath, and it was then that Annabeth noticed, the beginnings of horror burgeoning in her chest: despite being hit with a deluge of watery sewage, the demigod before them was perfectly dry.

"Perseus Jackson." Chiron didn't voice it as a question.

Perseus Jackson froze.

Annabeth waited in fascination as his posture became ramrod straight, his head turning slowly to look at Chiron with a cold, wide-eyed expression.

She had seen that look on a god with the very same green eyes before.

No denying it. Perseus Jackson. Son of the Sea God. And who would be eligible for. . .fuck.

Annabeth felt like she was going to have a panic attack. Or possibly kill someone. Both.

Holy Hades, they'd fought and bled and died for Nico who was gods knew where, with six long years ahead of them, and he just—

The spiral of Annabeth's thoughts froze and reset. Things became more inexplicable.

Perseus Jackson pulled out what looked like a regular stick—until it extended into a wooden staff, a bird's head carved on top.

"Well, it's Perseus Kane," he said casually, "Technically. Jackson's my birth name. But I'm cool with either, as long as you explain how you know one of them."

Annabeth and Chiron shared horrified looks.


Percy was very lost.

Both in terms of where, exactly, he was, since chasing the petsuchos meant general orientation had gone out the window a couple miles back, and where he had ended up magically speaking. Because Percy wasn't sure what kind of strange Ren-Faire-gone-smash camp he had found—weaponry aside, the entire place looked like it had been destroyed by a large, angry toddler—but it wasn't the mortal kind.

There was also the centaur. Percy tried not to stare too much. He probably failed, since said centaur continued to stare like Percy had dropped out of the sky with magic rainbow wings and was also an armed centaur, by the looks of the lethal-looking crossbow strapped to his back.

But considering the armed centaur knew his name, Percy figured he wasn't at the top of the rudeness hierarchy. Yet.

He side-eyed the three heavily armed teenagers circling around him, and started to get an idea of why Amos wanted them staying out of Manhattan.

"So, uh, yeah. I didn't mean that question to be extra credit on the ice breaker test. Just how do you know my name?" Percy asked, tightening his grip both on his staff and the now-harmless crocodile shabti.

"Dear gods," the armed centaur said quietly, his voice heavy with what was either wonder or horror—and the fact that Percy couldn't tell the difference was probably a bad sign. "We've spent over a decade believing that you were dead."

Percy frowned. The math almost did itself. But it didn't explain why a couple strangers and a centaur were staring at him like he was a ghost? "Well, I'm not, fantastic news. . .unless it isn't. I really hope it isn't, because you all don't seem that bad."

He heard a dubious noise behind him, but no one attacked so Percy gave himself a point for diplomacy. He turned around to grin hopefully at whoever it was, and was met with a gaze so intense it looked starved.

She looked normal enough, with her princess curls, height, and good looks. Like someone who'd fit in with Drew Tanaka and her minions at school rather than whatever this was—except for her eyes. She had stormy grey eyes and gaze that was ripping apart everything about Percy and tucking it away for battle.

And he could tell it was for proper battle. He'd seen that look on too many other people after fighting Apophis.

That, and the blades she held way too comfortably for Percy to turn his back on her again.

"Wait, but if he's—" she began, looking to the centaur for guidance, "Then how isn't he dead? You said he was dead, Chiron—"

Chiron. Percy blinked. Familiar name. Mythologically familiar, according to his gut. But he knew Egyptian mythology inside and out. He would know a Chiron the centaur. Probably should've met him by now if he was an Egyptian figure.

"—Not just dead, but that everyone assumed he'd been killed by Z—him."

Percy watched, fascinated as she broke off from whatever name she was about to say, instead nervously looking up at the cloudy sky. When nothing happened, everyone but Percy sighed in relief.

He decided to assume it was a good thing for him as well.

With whatever threat passed, scary blonde girl turned back to him, her intense gaze morphing into a glare. "Where have you been? And how aren't you dead?"

Percy then noticed the very sharp blades in her hands, the way she moved with them like they were part of her body, the deadly-looking sword in the hand of her friend, the bow in the hands of her other friend, and decided that whatever was going on here, it wasn't worth hanging around much longer by himself. He unclipped his wand from his belt.

"How I'm not dead? I ask myself that very question every day, believe me," he said, trying for charming as he slowly backed towards the bit of forest he had chased the crocodile through. "And it's lovely to meet you all, scary blonde girl, friends, Chiron. Glad I could help with the crocodile!"

He spun around on his heel, already calling to mind a spell he could probably perform on the first try, just to make sure they didn't come after him or prove to be Percy-eating demons when a familiar shrill voice pierced the air.

"Kane? What are you—you're a demigod? Here? Oh, come on."

Percy rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt. You have to be kidding.

He turned around to see Drew Tanaka standing there with her arms crossed, somehow managing perfect hair and makeup in what looked like functional armor. And was that a sword strapped to her waist?

Scary blonde girl choked and looked ready to stab someone who wasn't Percy. "You know him? Drew, you—you knew he was alive and didn't say anything?"

Drew stared at her like she had just said two and two equaled four. "Of course I do. So do Lacy and Mitchell. Kane goes to my school, Annabeth. I figured he was a normal loser, not whatever has all of you in a freak-out. But please tell me it's his father. I refuse to share a cabin with that mess."

"Oh, don't worry. It's Percy Kane's father all right," Annabeth said darkly. She was now staring at Percy like he was a ticking time bomb she didn't have the countdown for. "Tell me, Drew. The name Perseus Jackson ring a bell?"

Percy was still caught on his father. He hadn't seriously thought about his father in. . .Thoth's beak, probably years. Not since he'd seen Julius and Ruby after defeating Set, and they'd told him. . .

Percy clenched his fists around his staff and wand. Reminded himself to not take the word of Ren Faire actors over his gods-damned actual family. He turned his attention back to Drew and the blonde girl currently chewing Drew out.

"Silena has to have told you," Annabeth said with no small amount of exasperation, as Drew maintained her air of disaffected antipathy over whatever Percy had kick-started. "Perseus Jackson? Demigod murdered when he was a toddler? Great Prophecy? Giant feud every solstice? Not ringing a bell?"

Prophecy. Ren-Faire-gone-smash had something to do with his mother's murder. His father, who was also dead, was somehow important to this conversation. Just what Percy needed during exams.

"It's coming back to me, sweetie. I don't see how it changes what's happened, but if you need, I can tell Olympus myself that Percy's disgustingly alive," Drew drawled, flipping her hair and seemingly unfazed. But her dark eyes raked over Percy with a pressure that was palpable. "Geez, Chase. All this fuss over death boy, and the prophecy half-blood just walks into—"

Percy's head snapped around to glare at her. "Death who and the prophecy what?"

"Demigods, honey," Drew said, rolling her eyes, "People like you and I. Somehow. Did no one give you the rundown?"

Demigod. The word that Percy hadn't been able to find a good answer for since waking up months ago, something he'd never been able to bring up with Sadie or Carter. And now Drew Tanaka of all people was using it so casually.

"Yeah, no," Percy snapped, "I just came here for the petsuchos. No one's told me a single thing, and unless you all feel like explaining whatever a demigod is, I'm going home."

Annabeth frowned before leaning over to whisper something to the brown-haired guy next to her. Chiron raised a hand. "That is the start of a much longer conversation, I believe. If you would be amenable, Perseus—"

"Percy. It's just Percy. No one alive calls me Perseus these days."

"—Percy, then," Chiron amended after a brief pause. "If you would be amenable, with a large part of camp so vulnerable, this would be best taken inside the Big House."

Percy gave him an incredulous stare. How stupid did they think he was?

"We do not mean to harm you," Chiron promised. "And we will not keep you against your will. But with your sixteenth birthday, presumably, on the horizon, there are a few facts that you should be made aware of."

"I've also heard that one before. And the hell does my sixteenth birthday have to do with anything?"

The centaur sighed, while a haunted look crossed Chase's face. Drew Tanaka rolled her eyes and Percy could hear her muttering, "too stupid to live," but the blond-haired guy with a bow and quiver strapped to his back just looked like he had been told about someone's funeral.

A prophecy, Drew had mentioned. It'd been quick, but Percy had noticed.

He looked back at the sun setting on the horizon, the shadows of the forest dark and grasping towards the clearing he stood in. The past few months, everyone in Brooklyn House had moved on, creating their brand of normal, post-Apophis. Sadie had started dating Walt and teaching their anklebiters, Carter had learned to rule with Zia and Amos by his side in Egypt, the initiates had been able to properly learn magic without the House chasing them down.

Meanwhile, Percy kept waking up with half-remembered dreams of people and monsters he couldn't name. Except—

Demigods.

That. The word rang through his head and it felt like a tuning fork was struck against Percy's spine.

He turned his gaze forwards, at the mess around him. Looked down at the shabti that was probably responsible for a chunk of the damage in camp, turning the tiny crocodile over in his hands. Hot shame rose in him as he thought about how he had put the place down as a shabby Ren Faire.

For the first time, he really took in the oppressive smell of smoke, the half-melted buildings that must've been cabins once if this was a camp. Looked at the strained, exhausted quality to the faces of the people around him. Noticed that the brown-haired guy next to Annabeth had one hand wrapped up and down a pinkie, while Annabeth Chase had a rather spectacular bruise blooming on her left temple.

She looked a special kind of exhausted—the kind that came from the weight of the world on your shoulders. It clawed at you until there was nothing that didn't know violence left, and your mistakes would be the reason someone died, would always be the reason someone died. And you would be left, somehow even lonelier than before as the guilt ate away at what was left.

At this realization, Percy's head fell forward with a soft groan of defeat.

Gods of Egypt, he wanted to help.

"All right," Percy said, feeling resigned to his fate. "All right. Take me to your. . .what did you call it?"

Annabeth Chase's face became slightly less grim, the defeat falling away at his answer. "The Big House. Follow us."

Percy adjusted his grip on his staff—he wasn't born yesterday—then followed Chiron and fellow armed friends towards what they called the Big House.


"Okay. Let's say you're right, for a second—"

Percy had been expecting weird and bad.

"Which we are. Idiot. You think I get in this armor because it flatters my body type?"

But Greek gods knocked things out of the ballpark.

"I'm having a moment, Tanaka. Let's say you're right. The Greek gods are real. Fine." Percy's head was spinning, just a bit. "You're at war with the Titans, their predecessors. That sucks. But this camp is a haven for demigods. Demigods, the kids of said gods. How are they having kids?"

He adjusted his grip on his staff, clinging to it like a security blanket. Annabeth Chase, self-proclaimed daughter of Athena, looked like she wanted to skewer Percy with her bronze dagger from her perch on top of an overstuffed green couch. Behind her was a giant map of the country on top of a pool table, small figurines right out of a Mythomagic game marking positions. "Didn't your parents ever explain where babies come from?"

"My mother was murdered when I was three," Percy said flatly. He hadn't seriously thought about his parents since Uncle Julius had claimed his mom was lost as far as the Egyptian Underworld was concerned. That his dad was dead. "And apparently my father is not dead, but has been an all-powerful god who couldn't figure out I was in gods-damned Brooklyn for over a decade. Totally makes sense."

Unless Percy was imagining things, Chiron—the immortal centaur who had trained a bunch of ancient Greek dudes, which was a new one—was looking more than a little uncomfortable. "Ah. Yes. I will have to ask you about that later. Because we should have known. It isn't entirely inexplicable, but it is. . .not a good sign."

The way Chiron glanced at the others before settling on "not a good sign" did not sit well with Percy's instincts, which had spent the past twenty minutes arguing over whether he needed to get out of there—and preferably set the camp on fire on his way out—or whether he was where he needed to be.

He had no idea which one he wanted and that scared him to death.

As much as he wanted to know, to explain the weird things in life he had started taking for granted at some point. . .one of those options meant he had been lied to.

("They're my parents." "Were.")

Percy shook himself. Later. Problems for later. "Cool. More mysteries. How do they get those kids in the first place? Do they just. . .inhabit a poor person, or go and find—"

"What the Hades are you talking about? It happens the same way mortal kids get born. Sex. Love. Some mix of the two," Annabeth added, old bitterness threading through her voice, "You've probably heard some of the stories about the lord of the sky. My mother has literal brain children out of affairs of the mind. Mostly, it's the birds and the bees, Jackson, and the gods can never leave well enough alone. It happens."

Percy was pretty sure she had meant for that detail about her mom to make the least amount of sense to him. "But ancient gods don't just walk around—"

"I dunno what other ancient civilization you just came out of," Travis Stoll, the four-fingered guy from earlier, joked with an uneasy grin. "But while the Greek gods have rules about dealing with us mortal plebs, they're as capable of walking down Madison Avenue or doing the devil's tango as we are, on the whole."

Drew shook her head in disgust. "You're five, Stoll."

"Still makes me more of an adult than you, Miss Gods Forbid I Fight Without A Perm."

"You shallow little—"

And the two of them were off like they had been fighting for years, while exasperation crossed Annabeth's face. Percy was more preoccupied with the problem of ancient civilizations—something that Chiron seemed to share, if the frown forming underneath his beard was any indication.

"Yeah, okay, sweet Is—" Percy broke off, "Okay. Jesus Christ, I get the idea. Greek gods can do it themselves. I'm the son of. . .Poseidon? Greek sea god, right?"

It felt weird, not using one of the Egyptian gods' names with impunity. Especially in what was hands-down the weirdest conversation Percy had been a part of since the Rio Grande and realizing a goddess had decided to set up shop in his head—come to think of it, this explained a lot about the Rio Grande.

But Percy, while sometimes not the most sensitive guy around, could get a hint, and right now he was getting the hint that any more godly revelations in this conversation weren't going to end well.

"Try not to use the name too much, or you'll attract attention," Annabeth warned him with a curl of her lip, "King of the sea, lord of horses, Stormbringer, Earthshaker. You're the son of the Sea God."

Son of the Sea God. He wondered if Nephthys had known. Percy gave a small, helpless laugh.

"Are you finding this funny?" Annabeth demanded.

"Huh? No," Percy said quickly, "No. I wouldn't. I have a couple memories that I'm re-examining right now. But that's my problem. So. . .Greek gods. My dad's your god of the sea. You're—we're—all demigods, their kids. Fantastic. So why are you all so invested in me? Prophecy?"

Percy spat the word like it was the worst of insults. Chiron, Travis Stoll, Drew all frowned at the vitriol. In a surprising show of solidarity, Annabeth matched it with a sneer. "Prophecy. Unfortunately, we haven't yet found a way out. But you're probably involved."

"Probably?"

"Unless you die before it happens," Travis interjected with grim cheer. Percy decided he liked him. "We are demigods. Painful death is totally still an option."

". . .There's a time frame?" Percy chose to focus on that, first. Painful death wasn't new, and besides, he had always been a big believer in solving problems one at a time.

"Your sixteenth birthday," Annabeth said with enough zeal to make Percy shift in his seat, "Short version is that the first child of the eldest gods—Zeus, Poseidon, Hades—to reach their sixteenth birthday will make a choice to destroy or save Olympus."

After the whole gods' children thing, Percy swallowed any questions about just how literal she was being about Olympus. "You know, when you mentioned prophecy, I was hoping it just meant I had to fight a monster or something. I don't suppose this prophecy has any hints, if I can't get out of it?"

The way everyone except Percy suddenly went a bit gray and stared at the carpet didn't inspire confidence. Percy laid his staff across his lap, leaned back in his chair, and stared at them all expectantly. The awkward silence instead thickened until it was tangible—and even Chiron remained silent, his gaze instead studying Percy just a bit too coldly for Percy's own liking.

Eventually, Percy broke. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I want to help. Really. But I have no idea what's happening, and you're all as friendly and transparent as an angry pack of weasels."

"I should hope so," Annabeth said, her eyes narrowing, "We are at war—a war planned for years, and one we've fought since I was twelve. And in all that time, we only survived by watching each other's backs in every fight, and watching where the knives were going. You're not getting that trust by dropping out of the sky and asking nicely, Jackson."

"Then tell me what I can do to get it. I want to help you, and you won't even tell me the problem in the first place!" Percy was trying. He'd gone through the House of Life's civil war. He knew the kind of distrust fighting created. He knew these people wouldn't trust him when they were clearly hurting from betrayal, but sweet Isis, Annabeth Chase just refused to connect.

Every time she met his eyes, it was all banked rage and brutal analysis.

"To be honest, part of the problem is that we're all pretty confused over how you're still alive," Travis Stoll said bluntly, "Most demigods start attracting monsters young, and it gets bad when we're twelve or thirteen. You're Big Three—if rumors are true, powerful enough to attract them before you could walk. You're, uh, also supposed to be dead."

Percy tensed. This was when he should speak up, say just where he had been. That he had been accidentally scooped up by the future Chief Lector of the House of Life and raised as someone with very questionable competence in Egyptian magic, before going through a series of attempted apocalypses which most recently ended in him getting swallowed by an overgrown snake.

Yeah, there really wasn't a good way to drop that on people who only reacted to his staff and wand by telling him to "put the boomerang away."

But Chiron's gaze lingered on the carvings of hieroglyphs. Percy wondered if he could read them.

"It is not completely impossible for demigods to survive on their own for some time," Chiron said gravely, "But it is a difficult, fraught life for even children of minor gods, and you are a special case. Your father knew the moment your mother died, and assumed you died alongside her. There is a bond between immortal parents and their children, and he could not find you."

Percy blinked. Brooklyn House's wards weren't limited to gods of the Egyptian kind, then. Useful.

"The Great Prophecy demands a child of the three sons of Kronos, for Olympus to preserve or raze—" Chiron continued, before Annabeth cut him off with a hiss and Percy gave a violent start at preserve or raze.

He was the normal one out of Brooklyn House. Or at least, he was supposed to be. Not the one subject to freaking world-ending prophecies.

"Chiron. He could—"

"Learn something he already knows?" Chiron asked. A light flush spread across Annabeth's cheeks. "If he has been raised by. . . someone with the prophecy in mind, Annabeth, then we reveal nothing. And if he doesn't, then I think we can both agree him making informed choices would be for the best."

"I'm right here," Percy drawled, trying to keep nonchalant. "I have no clue what you're talking about, but I'm still here."

If Annabeth's looks could kill, Percy would've been dead on the floor. "Yes. Right when we are still recovering from the latest attack upon camp, highly vulnerable, and you're able to conveniently defeat a monster in front of us. Nothing suspicious about this at all—"

A loud boom and the world suddenly shaking cut Annabeth off. The house gave a violent rattle, tossing her from her perch on top of a couch, while Percy, Travis, and Drew fell out of their chairs. The framed pictures on the walls clattered.

The shaking stopped, and Percy reached for the table to pull himself up when the entire house shook again.

Two. Three. Four. Percy could feel his teeth rattling against his skull as he clutched at a coffee table for dear life, and someone beat the world like a drum. He silently counted the beats in his head, hoped the windows didn't shatter, and shared commiserating looks with Drew Tanaka for the first and last time in his life as her armor tapped an ugly staccato against the floor.

After beat twenty-five, the world stopped and stayed in place. Percy looked around, waiting for something lethal to appear, but when the world stayed in place and nothing tried to kill them, he slowly climbed to his feet.

He offered Annabeth Chase a hand. She stared at him stonily. Very deliberately, she climbed to her feet on her own before pulling her knife back out of its sheath.

"Chiron!"

Percy's head whipped around in time to see a girl with brown hair, dark eyes, and the build of a rugby player from Sadie's favorite team rush in. She had a shield in one hand, and a spear with electricity crackling around its head in the other.

As she walked past, the spear swung close enough that Percy felt his hair move. Percy leaned back from both it and the owner's glare. Just a little.

"Clarisse?" Chiron questioned sharply.

"There's someone at the barrier. Multiple someones. They can't get in, and Sherman thought they were humans who had gotten lost, but they took out staffs like—like that." She pointed an accusatory finger at Percy, who waved with a pained smile. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Clarisse, Percy Jackson. Don't kill him. Percy, this is Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares," Annabeth introduced, looking between the two of them like she was expecting a duel to break out. "She's one of our senior counselors. Also should be on patrol."

"Jackson," she repeated. She looked at Annabeth, who grimaced before nodding. La Rue took the confirmation in stride with a shrug and sigh. "Fucking terrific. Lose one, get another. Any relation to the weirdos at the border?"

Percy suddenly had a very, very bad feeling he was about to have a major setback in his mission to convince Annabeth Chase to not stab him in his sleep. "Let me guess: One of them was blonde, in combat boots, probably threatened to cut off your kneecaps, had a silver amulet around her neck."

As Percy ticked them off, he watched Annabeth's face darken and La Rue nod in time. "Uh-huh. Her and three others. Every time one of them touches the barrier, it shudders."

"Barrier?" Damn it, Sadie. All he had wanted in the first place was to go for a run. Clear his head a bit. He hadn't wanted to fight a petsuchos, find the world-ending prophecy or accidentally make Sadie launch a rescue mission.

Gods, he was so dead.

"A shield that protects us from monsters and the outside world at large," Annabeth explained; Percy bit back a groan. Death threats or no, these people hadn't asked for this. "The only thing protecting us from the Titans right now. You know them?"

"Yeah. You, uh, asked about them earlier. That's my cousin Sadie," Percy said, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling more than a little bit like he had his hand caught in the magical cookie jar. Judging from the looks on everyone's faces, this wasn't something typical for when mortals found them.

He really hoped Sadie hadn't decided to bring Isis into this. Percy had to fix it.

"Well, your lunatic cousin is currently trying to break down the only thing between us and being monster chow, so talk her out of it before we take care of it ourselves," La Rue growled, her spear crackling in response to her temper rising.

Percy, now on his feet with his staff in hand, scoffed. "I'd like to see you try."

"Test me, Prissy Jackson. Really, make my fucking day."

He was going to help them before his cousin with a penchant for blowing up everything in her way destroyed this camp's apparent last shield from destruction. He was.

One more boom rattled the house, making them all clutch at the walls for support. Behind La Rue, a window finally shattered, sending shards of glass across the floor. Percy took a deep breath and reminded himself of his priorities, while Annabeth Chase came up barking orders.

"Enough," Annabeth snapped, "Jackson, do something to stop whatever's going on out there. Clarisse, don't maim him and don't let him out of your sight. Travis, Drew, check out the hospital wing and arena to make sure nothing happened with the medics and injured. Chiron—"

"I do believe I have a thoroughly unpleasant call to make to Olympus in my office," Chiron said, tired, "Alert me if the situation changes, Annabeth. Percy Jackson—"

"Kane." It came out before Percy could stop himself. Being called Jackson by these strangers felt weird. "I—I'm not whoever you think."

The everyone-stopping-and-staring routine whenever he said something they found weird was getting old in record time. Still, Percy gamely stopped and stared back. He hadn't made it to fifteen years old and through several apocalypses without being willing to play other people's games. Sometimes literally, in the case of Neith.

"No. No, you are correct," Chiron conceded after a tense moment, "I do hope I am terribly wrong about you."

And with that comforting line to give Percy the warm and fuzzies, the centaur trotted—did centaurs trot? The questions Percy now had to answer—out of the room. Travis Stoll and Drew took it as their cue to leave, while La Rue crossed her arms and glowered at Percy. "Get to it."

Percy glowered right back. Annabeth silently watched them both, her face unfriendly and unreadable.

"You guys are so welcoming around here," Percy muttered under his breath. Annabeth's glare intensified.

"We've lost enough to be wary," she snapped, "We won't win this war by trusting strangers who've been not even the gods know where. Not when it was started by a damned traitor."

Traitor.

There wasn't just rage in what she said for once. Something worse, really.

"I'm sorry," Percy said sincerely, "I wish I could've been here."

Annabeth's head snapped up. Her eyes met his—wide, startled, and dark. Percy saw the familiar maw of grief, twisting and inescapable, rise in her face.

But just as quickly, she regained control. Her face smoothed over, her jaw set. She walked out alone, towards, presumably, where Sadie was, trying to break through this camp's last protections.

Percy followed.


The dead magician formerly known as Prince Khaemwaset, now named Setne Khamwas, was having problems of the Greek kind—that these problems were inextricably linked with his long-time Egyptian ones were adding up to a rather miserable day for him.

Since the Kanes had banished Apophis to the depths of the Duat, possession of the Book of Thoth had done him little good. The House of Life was firmly re-united under Amos Kane, a pharaoh once again sat on the throne in unfortunately strong-willed Carter Kane, and Horus had tightened his grip on rule over the Egyptian gods. Ra had gone into peaceful retirement. In short, the Egyptian gods and House of Life were as stable as they'd been in centuries.

Unfortunate, if one was a dead magician who needed some good old-fashioned chaos to exploit in one's favor before one's soul was reclaimed by a bore of a death god in Osiris.

The list of possibilities for him that didn't end in his soul being consumed by Ammit wasn't as long as he would have liked. Resurrection wouldn't be too tricky; the problem would be what came after resurrection. It would still leave him very mortal, and with the current infuriating lack of corruption in the House of Life, it wouldn't buy him much time.

Osiris just had to go and inhabit the brother of the Chief Lector, Setne thought with disgust.

Resurrection wouldn't do the trick. Setne needed to return to life but he also needed a shield from what would come after, and he needed protection from when the inevitable complaining started over little boring things like No violating the rules of life and death, Setne, You must be punished for all the murder, Setne, and Stop trying to blackmail the gods, Setne.

The complaining would come, and backed by the power to match. Power Setne could hardly match as a ghost, and barely as a freshly undead magician. Resurrection wasn't what he needed.

Setne needed immortality.

But that was something the Egyptian gods had only granted twice. Imhotep and Amenhotep were both so dull Setne couldn't fathom why they had never changed their minds, but there it was. So Setne was forced to get creative. Find gods who were more relaxed about these things.

That the Greek gods and their Titan predecessors happened to be in the middle of a bloody civil war was just a plus.

So Setne had offered his services to their Lord of Time, Kronos. Always up for a good revolution, him.

Of course, he had spent part of negotiations studying the method Kronos had used to possess the body of some stupid soul. Crude, but the closest thing to an Egyptian god he had seen out of Greece since the whole mess with Serapis. Setne could appreciate the violent power inherent to the process. Unfortunately, it had been the friendliest part of the whole thing. The Greek Lord of Time didn't see much in the Book of Thoth, and dead as he was, Setne couldn't make him.

Setne had chosen to elegantly bow out of the negotiations for the day when one of the brothers of Kronos began to threaten Setne's continued existence.

It was with all this in mind that Setne continued to invisibly putter his way down a deserted street in San Francisco and the frankly wonderful mess of the Duat there.

And then he felt power. The kind of power only death and the Underworld could generate, cold and cutting and pulling him in like a magnet.

He let it draw him away, through brick buildings full of the loud living, down and up a hill or two, until he came down a dark alley and to a stop, looking at the source of that raw power.

Setne looked down a huddled mess of a little boy.

Besides him there was discarded armor in an old Spartan style and a sword with a black blade. His knees were pulled up to his chest, dark hair obscuring his face. He was sobbing loudly and without a care, grief projected loud enough that Setne would've almost cried, if he still had tear ducts.

Furious, grieving, and alone. Perfect.

"G-Go away." The words were muffled by the boy's arms, but ragged and angry nonetheless. "Unless you're my sister, I-I-I told the ghosts to go away."

Setne winced as the weak command passed over him—but a foreign command, he realized. That wasn't Egyptian power.

He answered in Greek. "What if I want to help you?"

"I don't care! Leave me alone!"

It was spat in teary, albeit perfect, Greek. A powerful Greek demigod, Setne mused, and one who would command the spirits of the dead. Possibly. . .

"But I do, kid," he said kindly, "Promise ya, I do care. Let me help you up, and find you somewhere better than an alley to sleep for the night."

The boy looked up. He couldn't have been more than twelve, if Setne took a guess. His cheeks were red and raw from crying, and the big teary eyes and messy hair made him look like a puppy caught in the rain.

"Really?" he asked, giving Setne a dubious look. "You're a ghost."

There was a prophecy. Created in the last century; he had never paid much mind to it. But it was one that had gotten the Greek gods panicked to the point of making oaths they would never keep. More than that, it was a prophecy concerned with a kid who could potentially be a child of Hades.

A kid, Setne knew, that certain people in a godly civil war would be very interested in.

Leverage. Truly perfect.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. "You don't know much about ghosts, do you? C'mon, I just want to help. What's your name, kid?"

The boy stared at him before answering with a loud sniff. "Nico di Angelo. Who're you?"

Setne paused for a moment. Demigods were tricky things; never knew what they should, were never ignorant when it was useful. If he played this right, the kid would have to trust him, and he had an. . . unfortunate reputation among certain human circles.

A vivid memory of a furious Sadie Kane flashed through Setne's mind, and he grinned.

Oh, he knew what to say.

"Call me your Uncle Vinnie, Nico."


A/N: "Uncle Vinnie" is what Sadie spends a solid portion of The Serpent's Shadow calling Setne/saying he looks like, in case it's been a bit since you've read that trilogy. Setne originally found it mildly offensive and hilarious in turns, and now, useful, in what is probably the most unpleasant POV I have ever written.

And yeah, I re-worked Crocodile Wrestling for the intro here. Characterization is much different than when I wrote that (And, hopefully, my writing has improved), but I still liked the premise as a lead-in.