I yanked my bag from the moving conveyor belt, nearly taking out some little kid in the process.

"Sorry!" I called as she ran off toward her parents. Oops. You'd think that an 18-year-old half-blood would have more control over luggage. Taking a precautionary look around for any other stray children before charging off towards the massive revolving doors, I checked to make sure that my dagger was still easily accessible amidst the tangle of my backpack straps and the duffle bag slung over my shoulder. Being in the same city as the entrance to the Underworld was an enormous risk for any demigod, which is why I had left in the first place. But after the Titan war I figured I could probably hack it for a week—besides, I had a feeling that I'd rather fight off any number of monsters than deal with my dad and stepfamily... which, incidentally, was what I was on my way to do.

Seriously, not a single monster around here?

Finding none, I squared my bag-laden shoulders and walked out to the pick-up zone. San Francisco's weather fit my mood quite well; the gray sky was dark and brooding and threatening rain. All I needed was a slow, sad country song to round out the picture of misery that I must have looked like.

I'd lived with my stepfamily the year after Percy had come to camp, which had been something like mixing water and oil; it wasn't uncomfortable, but I simply did not fit into their family of four. I didn't' know what to do with myself any more than they knew what to do with me, and at the end of the year I was ready to run away to Camp Half-Blood again simply out of boredom.

My dad and I had made some progress with each other the last time I had been in San Francisco. After running away at a mere seven years old, you would have thought that our reunion would have involved an awkward dinner at an Olive Garden and perhaps several hours of therapy, but instead my father had taken to a sky in an airplane to help shoot down members of Luke's army to aid in our escape. You know, your typical family healing stuff. What do you say to thank your estranged father for going Battlestar Galactica on your former pseudo-brother/mega crush's evil monster army? Exactly, you say nothing for several years, send him a deeply impersonal Father's Day card every other year, and when he calls you up to come visit for a week you say yes because you're wracked with guilt and can't seem to say no.

And so, this was the fragile ground on which I began my visit.

Truthfully, I wasn't too worried about seeing my dad; we were both fine with a comfortable silence, neither of us were of the touchy-feely persuasion, and his profession as a military history professor would give us plenty to talk about if we needed to bridge the gap. What am I thinking... of course we'll have to fill the gap. I suddenly wished I had brushed up on some battles that weren't either ancient Greek or ones that I had personally commanded. I wasn't worried about Bobby and Matthew; dealing with angsty 12-year-old boys was essentially my job at camp and could easily take them in a wrestling match if it came to it. No, it was my stepmother and her home that I would soon be a guest in that worried me. We'd had a strained relationship in the two years I'd lived with her after she married my father, and between the monsters and supernatural events that I brought down upon her house and her family, my terror of the seemingly invisible spiders that haunted me at night, and—well, let's face it, Athena dropped me off as perhaps the world's most inconvenient gift for my father as a token of her love, and that's probably a really hard pill to swallow as a stepmother. Seeing how I certainly never asked to be hatched from my mother's head, I hardly felt that this could fairly be taken out on me.

Stepping out into the mist (the wet, non-magical variety) I spotted my dad's old green Range Rover come into view and pull off towards me. The car had been old when I was a kid, and was ancient now, but he took good enough care of it that it looked like it had just been driven off the lot twenty years ago. Dr. Frederick Chase got out of the car and flashed his prodigal daughter a smile for the ages.

"Hey, kiddo!" he said, pulling me into a big hug, bags and all.

"Hey, Dad," I said into his shirt, smiling despite myself. He held me at arm's length and surveyed me with his best professor x-ray gaze.

"Jesus, you've grown. Again," he said, smiling sadly.

"I haven't grown in the last two years, Dad," I said, laughing.

"Well, you've still grown. You seem older, wiser." Years of missed phone calls, belated birthday cards, and overall estrangement passed between us in a heartbeat, and I suddenly remembered what that inexplicable father-daughter connection felt like after ignoring it for so long. Wanting the moment to pass as quickly as possible, I swung my duffle bag off my shoulder with a flourish.

Whack.

"Shit," I muttered, turning around to see what or who I had hit with my duffle bag, somehow already knowing it was the same kid I had almost collided with earlier. Sure enough, she was on the ground and screaming as I furiously apologized to her outraged mother. My dad tried to smooth things over best he could without knowing that it was a second encounter, and I spent the first ten minutes of the car ride laughing guiltily with him as I told him about my previous interaction with the girl.

My dad was typically a pretty warm guy— it was my stepmother who had always been cold. Even if I had been the perfect stepdaughter (no monsters chasing me, no giant spiders tormenting me in the night, ect.), I was never what she'd wanted. So she did what she wanted with me, which usually ranged anywhere from indifference to hostility. Any visits back since running away were colored with cool politeness from both of us, and the resigned look on my dad's face as he once more realized that Laura and I were never going to have anything resembling a mother-daughter relationship. Or any relationship at all, for that matter.

As the city fell away into the trees and hills of the suburbs, the apprehension that had been gripping me by the stomach all morning gave a good twist. Coming back to San Francisco was always tough for me; no matter how old I got, how much I grew, what I learned, or what I had survived, San Francisco and the memories it held seemed to pull me through time, back to seven years old. I sat up taller in my seat, reminding myself that I was a grown woman now, visiting her family, not a helpless kid being abandoned to an otherwise loving home, forced to watch Laura put up walls between me and her, me and my brothers, me and my dad—and paint them all a shade of grey.

The thing about walls was there was no use wishing them away. They always stayed put.

Childhood landmarks resurfaced as we passed my old elementary school, the diner my dad used to take me to after softball games, and the church where my dad and Laura had gotten married. The street we used to live on before Bobby and Matthew were born. The park that my dad would take me to after a bad day at school. My dad chattered aimlessly about city projects in the area and a potential new shopping mall, both things that neither of us cared about much but filled the expanding tension that grew as we neared the house.

One last left turn, and we turned into the driveway of the home of Dr. and Mrs. Chase. And their teenage boys. And, for the next week, their estranged half-human daughter.

"Home!" my dad said with what I felt was overdone cheer, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car.

I undid my seatbelt and steeled myself to see my step family. I got out of the car, dragged my backpack over my shoulder, and turned to the house.

The trees were taller than when I left, the ivy had grown up more densely on the red brick. Hyacinths grew where there used to be rose bushes, the mailbox had been replaced, and the red front door looked recently painted. Not much changed around here.

As if to contradict that very thought, Matthew and Bobby emerged from the front door, looking very much changed since I had last seen them. They'd grown nearly a foot each, both sporting broader shoulders and longer hair than the little boys I had hugged goodbye the last time I'd left. It took me one look to see that my status as cool older sister was in danger—after all, what could be less cool than your girl sister when you're twelve?

"Hey guys!" I said, receiving grunts of acknowledgement. "You guys have grown a ton."

"Yeah," said Matthew, noncommittally. Then, "Our basketball coach says that we both can start this year, probably."

"Probably," emphasized Bobby, but they both looked proud. Aha, and here's my way in.

"Boys, do you think you could probably help your sister carry her stuff in?" asked my dad, ruffling Bobby's hair as he passed him in the doorframe.

"Well, I'm sure I'm not as good as you guys," I said, hauling my duffle bag out of the backseat. "But at camp we play a lot of pick-up games, and I bet I could beat you in a game of HORSE."

"No way, Matty can shoot three pointers now," said Bobby, coming forward to take my bag from me.

"Well, Matty," I said, turning to my other brother as he grinned, "I can shoot three pointers with my eyes closed."

"You can not!"

"I can too!" I said wickedly. In fact, Bobby was right—I couldn't. At least, I didn't think I could. But it would still be a good way to get them to hang out with me, and the athleticism of a trained demigod can never be overstated.

"Here," I said, unzipping the bag that Bobby had graciously taken for me. Percy had loaded me up with major brother-approved goods before I'd left, and I produced what looked like a truly violent and destructive video game with a flourish.

Matty gasped out loud. Bobby dropped my bag.

"Mortal Kombat 11?"

"If you say so," I said cheerfully, giving it to the closest twin. Me and my bags forgotten, I received a flurry of thanks and two very brief hugs before my brothers had disappeared into the house, nearly bowling over...

Laura.

My stepmother smiled thinly at me; her dark hair was tucked up in a neat bun that my tangle of curls would never be able to accomplish.

"Annabeth," she said. "I see you've riled the boys up already."

"Oh, sorry," I said, unsure of what I was apologizing for. "I just got them a video game, I thought it would be fun from their sister."

"Their half-sister," Laura said automatically.

"I... yes," I said uncomfortably. Laura looked as though she regretted saying this.

"Um, what game was it?" she asked, trying again for a smile.

"Uh, Mortal Kombat something," I said, picking up my duffle bag for the second time.

Laura frowned. "Well, that sounds violent," she said with a sniff. "I know your lifestyle has desensitized you to violence, but I don't like the idea of violent games in my home."

Of course, I thought to myself angrily. Why hadn't I thought about the kind of game I brought them? No wonder they were so thrilled.

"Laura, I'm sure Matty and Bobby have played one of the many other violent video games at someone else's house before," said my dad, reappearing in the doorway.

"You mean they've played your violent games," Laura said irritably, casting a knowing look at my father. My dad had the decency to look bashful.

"Well, I'm a military professor. What did you expect?" he asked, and, grinning at Laura, he ushered me into the house. I noticed that Laura was smiling too, and I hoped that this meant my video game misstep was over. The total silence in the house seemed to indicate that Matthew and Bobby were already plugged into the game, and probably wouldn't be resurfacing until dinnertime.

"Well, I'm going to go get settled," I said, turning toward the staircase.

"Oh!" said Laura, hands fluttering nervously. "Um, we have you in the guest room," she said. "Matty and Bobby were tired of sharing a room, so we let Matty take your old room, I... is that okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah, that's totally fine," I reassured her. She looked relieved.

I was surprised how fine I was with it, as I unzipped my bag on the bed of the sunny guest room. Laura had put some flowers on the nightstand, which made be feel like she was trying to be welcoming, despite the initial tension over the videogame. I made a mental note to blame Percy for that one if it came up again, he wouldn't mind. A few years ago, I would have felt cast aside and mistreated if my childhood bedroom had been passed down, but it only made sense to me now; the boys were getting older, they lived her full-time, and my old bedroom didn't need to be some weird shrine. It actually felt really good to not have my room waiting for me like some time capsule that would transport me back through the years. It felt like a clean slate.

As I had predicted, Bobby and Matty had all but vanished for the rest of the afternoon, with only the occasional whooping and strangled cries of defeat echoing through the house. After asking Laura what I could do to help multiple times, she had finally relented and let me chop vegetables while she cooked. She and my dad chatted pleasantly, and I joined in where I could, and for the first time I got a glimpse of what our life could had been like if things had been different. They asked about Percy and our plans for school, my dad grilled me less-than-casually about Percy ("The tattoo is a Roman demigod thing, Dad—I know we're Greek! It's a long story."), and Laura laughed at my dad's face as I admitted that Percy had developed a proclivity for motorcycles recently. Thanks for getting him into that new hobby, Leo.

"At least it's not a plane, Frederick," Laura said, and I tried to hide my surprise that she was taking my side.

"Statistically, there are way fewer plane crashes than motorcycle accidents," muttered my dad moodily, knowing that he had been bested by Laura.

"Planes aren't good for Percy," I said, laughing. "Something about being the son of a sea god makes being airborne pretty precarious." I looked up to see intrigue written all over my dad and Laura's faces. Clearly people didn't often make declarations about ancient deities in their kitchen. "Percy's dad is Poseidon, he's the god of the sea," I said helpfully, as casually as if I was telling them that Percy's favorite ice cream flavor was mint chip. "Well, you know, Zeus and Poseidon are both pretty powerful," I explained. "And so are their kids. Percy being in the air is a pretty good excuse to get zapped out of the sky. Although," I said thoughtfully, continuing to chop, "we just had a big war not too long ago and Percy more or less saved the day, so maybe Zeus wouldn't feel right about nicking Percy out of the sky. Hard to say, they're a temperamental lot."

"I... I forget that this world you live in is real," said Laura distantly, fiddling with her necklace absentmindedly as she took a sip of her wine, lost in thought.

"Unbelievably real," agreed my dad. "We're just glad you seem safer now after the war."

"Yeah," I said, electing not to mention the recent life-threating, nightmare-inducing, horror-filled trip through Tartarus that Percy and I had accidentally made. That was a one-time thing. Hopefully. I dumped my neatly diced vegetables into the salad bowl with a flourish, and the boys were called down to eat. They appeared, looking like they hadn't wanted to pause their game but were suddenly starving as we sat down to dinner. Matty put two baked potatoes on his plate immediately, and Bobby went straight for a steak from the platter that Laura had placed on the table.

"Boys, eat your salad first," their mother warned, and they took turns taking the smallest amounts of salad possible to satisfy Laura. We felt like a normal family in that moment, eating dinner together, with the subtle vegetable warfare of the modern American family.

"So... have you killed anything today?" asked Matthew, turning to me inquisitively. My stepmom pursed her lips. There goes normal. The boys had to be let in on the whole half-blood thing years ago, when I came to live with my dad and stepmother the summer after Percy first came to camp. They had been very impressed; Laura remained decidedly not.

"Ah, no not yet," I said. "Let's hope it stay that way."

"Let's hope it doesn't!" said Bobby. "I want to see you slice some stuff up!" he said, as Matthew nodded vigorously, mouth full of potato.

"I just mean," said Matty swallowing, seeing his mom's disapproving face, "playing our video games it just seems like it would be so sick to be fighting all the time!"

"Yes, so sick," agreed Bobby, proving this point by punching the air beside him.

"Well, it won't be so sick when you break your thumb when you punch someone," I said, nodding at Bobby's incorrectly formed fist. "You have to have your thumb on the outside of your fist, or it'll break on impact." There was a moment of silence in which I knew I had made a mistake; Matthew and Bobby looked awestruck, my dad looked grim, and Laura looked horrified.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I'm a counselor at camp it's... it's a habit."

"That's awesome," said Bobby, looking at his thumb like he never had truly appreciated it before.

"You should do it anyway, just to see what it would feel like," said Matty.

"No," my dad, Laura, and I all chimed in unison.

"I think that's enough talk about fighting for one evening, isn't it?" asked Laura with a silencing look at her sons. I also received a fleeting look that plainly conveyed that I was not to give any more combat tips.

"Annabeth, you've settled for sure on the university in New Rome?" asked my father, changing the subject. "You could have your pick of Stanford, Berkley, any of the schools out here."

"I'm settled," I said with a smile. "It's got protections, so I won't have to worry about monsters or anything like I would at a regular university." Matty elbowed Bobby at the mention of monsters.

"Still architecture?" asked Laura, ignoring the monster comment and taking an unusually large gulp of wine.

"Yes," I said, brightening. "I am really excited." Bobby and Matty looked positively bored at the mention of architecture, and since their interest level seemed to correlate with Laura's frustration level, I discussed blueprints and plans and architects at length for the rest of dinner. Laura and my dad were fascinated, Matty and Bobby looked miserable. Mission accomplished.

"When is Percy going to come visit?" whined Matthew as we cleared the table. He and Bobby were somewhat infatuated with Percy; not only did they know that Percy was behind their most favorite gifts of the last year, they also had figured out that Percy was a very tall, very strong, monster-slaying hero. Of course, I was all of these things too, but as a sister it just wasn't that interesting.

"Uh, soon, probably," I said. "He's going to New Rome too, which isn't far from here, so you'll probably see quite a bit of us."

"And does Percy know what he wants to study?" asked Laura.

"Oh, Gods no," I said, laughing at Percy's complete ambivalence to academia. "He doesn't know, I think he's just going to school because he knows it would make his mom proud. But I think he'll end up teaching in some way, it's what he's really good at." I got a sudden stab of homesickness thinking of Percy at camp, teaching lessons, correcting grips, making the younger kids laugh, being tough with the older kids to make them better fighters.

"A teacher," said my dad with interest, nodding approvingly. Laura rolled her eyes.

"You said that just to get your dad on Percy's good side after the motorcycle and tattoo thing," teased Laura, smiling at me again. Maybe this was an olive branch after our tension at dinner.

"Motorcycle!?" asked Bobby with glee, as Matthew said "Tattoos?!"

"Go back upstairs and play your game," said my dad, shooing them out. He didn't need to tell them twice.

"Well, I'm beat," I said, stretching and giving a yawn. "I think I'll clean up a bit and go to bed early, do you mind?"

"No, no, not at all..."

My dad gave me one last hug and a kiss on top of my head, making me feel like a little kid again. For the first time in a long time, that didn't feel like such a bad thing.

"Good night, Laura," I called over my shoulder.

Halfway up the stairs, I felt a hand grab my wrist. I spun around in surprise to see Laura, looking equally as shocked by what she was doing.

"Uh, good night Annabeth," she said nervously. "Um... I'm very glad you're here to visit us."

"Uh, thank you, me too," I mumbled. I had a quick memory resurface of a thirteen-year-old Percy telling me that, Hey, your stepmom seems really nice—I don't know what went down between you guys but she seemed like she was pretty worried about you. She told me to tell you that you always have a home with them. I had written off the offer as Percy just trying to protect my feelings, even back then. Maybe I shouldn't have doubted it.

I opened my mouth, not knowing what I was going to say. Laura saved me from having to say anything, though.

"Right," she said, all business, releasing my wrist abruptly. "There are two towels in the guest bath, let me know if you need more, and... and I'll see you at breakfast."

"Right, thank you," I said. We shared the briefest of smiles, and we both turned away for the evening.

I guess I had been wrong—which, mark this down, because this is something that a child of Athena doesn't often say. I had thought that once the walls went up, they always stayed put, but Laura had pushed a big one down tonight. There was once a time that if I had sat and thought it through, there wouldn't have been anywhere as cold to me as Laura, but that wasn't true anymore; it hadn't been for years, and tonight was a first step in acknowledging that.

As a settled in for bed, thunder cracked overhead as a storm moved in for a night. What a shame, I thought to myself, snuggling down into the covers. What a rainy ending given to a perfect day.