Le sigh, I know it has been like, MONTHS since I have updated this, but since summer has started I've been in a writing mood, so I decided to write some more one-shots. Don't expect anything big . . . I'll probably upload a few and then won't have inspiration to write anymore for months. XD Just, you know, a warning. XD

I know these past few chapters have been like, all about my characters, but please bare with me here. Rodge is insane. I couldn't not use him for the "Insanity" theme. I've been planning it since the beginning. XD

~*~*~Chapter Eleven, Theme Eleven: Insanity~*~*~

He would probably never know it, but his mother was famous. A movie actress. A good one, too, and still fairly young. She was dating and pregnant with another baby. Everyone was in a frenzy over the Scott Rey and Cherry Hart baby.

He would probably also never know the punishment that he had received for his father's mistake.

Rodger "Rodge" Arrington was insane. Mad. Crazy. And literally so. He had been studied and diagnosed by several doctors. None of them knew what had caused him to turn mad one day when he was six. He had, according to his foster parents, "just woken up that way". They had tried many things, treatment and the likes, but nothing worked. Finally, he was admitted into an insane asylum, where he lived for the next five years of his life.

Rodge didn't know that he was insane. He couldn't quite grasp it. He was just . . . different from others. And nobody really saw it in a good way. But he didn't care. He simply went on being the way he was, with his friends, Bob and Mary as his friends. They talked to him a lot. And they were nice to him. Unlike a lot of people. So he liked them.

He liked Charlotte, too. She was nice to him despite his differences. And she was his sister. Rodge had never had a sister before. He liked it. It was almost like having a mother. Almost.

Still. He knew he was adopted, and he wished he had met his real mother. Sometimes he thought about her, and wondered what she was like. She had to be beautiful, to get the attention of a god. And talented. Rodge knew that his father, Dionysus, wouldn't just fall for a woman he met on the street. She had to be special. And she must have been nice, too, for Rodge thought of himself as nice. But why didn't he know her?

And a question that was even more important . . . why was he different from everybody else? Why did they treat him differently and give him strange looks? Rodge was just . . . him. He was uniquely himself. He was very smart, too, but nobody seemed to care about that because of all of the other things that set him apart. So . . . why was he different?

Nearly five and a half years before, thunder rumbled over Manhattan, threatening a fierce storm. Lightning struck tall buildings. The Empire State Building itself had been struck three times. All of the frenzy over the storm was wasted, and intended to be so. The god who had made it was mad - but not in a killing sort of mood. More in the "let's-ruin-somebody's-life" kind of mood.

Zeus, the god in question, sat on his large throne at the head of the throne room. The other Olympians sat in the usual "U" in their thrones, some looking anxious, and some looking rather bored. Some minor gods and goddesses were lounging on the stairs to the entrance of the hall. A buzzing silence was heard all around, until the throne room doors opened and a figure stepped inside. This figure was a man, short and stout, with curly black hair, in a leopard patterned shirt. He strode up the line of thrones and bowed before the king of the gods, then slowly rose as Zeus addressed him.

"Dionysus . . ." Zeus spoke slowly, giving hint of his accusation to come. "You have gone out of Camp Half-Blood two times before, and we have let you get away with it." The man, Dionysus, snorted, but a quick glare from Zeus shut him up. "However, I have recently learned of another time that you slunk away . . . and for that, you must be punished."

"Listen . . . Dad, if I may . . ." Dionysus said calmly, though it just made Zeus's face contort more in rage. "You really don't know what it's like to be stuck in that infernal camp all the time! I was almost dying to get some fun, because those brats . . ."

Zeus put up a hand, standing up from his throne and to his full height. "I don't care what you want to do, Dionysus. You had a punishment, and we all know well what it is, I don't have to remind anyone . . ." He paused, as if goading on anyone to challenge the statement, but no one did. "Part of that punishment was that you couldn't leave the camp but for one day every ten years. I let you slid two times; but a third time? No, I cannot accept that. You must be penalized for infringing on your punishment."

"What, by adding ten more years on? Twenty?" Dionysus questioned with a snort. "I've been there long enough, I suppose it wouldn't make a difference . . ." He rolled his eyes.

Zeus's face became a light shade of red. A large boom of thunder and a bright flash of lightening rumbled outside.

"You will not speak to me like that!" Zeus roared, as more thunder exploded outside of the throne room. "You will care about this punishment, because you will have to deal it out."

Dionysus looked up, shock evident on his face. "Come again?"

"You will have to deal the punishment," Zeus said solemnly, trying not to let his glee at the obvious surprise that Dionysus was feeling show.

"But . . . if it's my punishment . . .' Dionysus stated slowly, as the other gods shifted in their thrones. They had no idea what Zeus was planning.

"Oh, no, no, no," Zeus said, stepping a bit closer to the wine god. "The punishment is not for you . . . but it will affect you."

Dionysus raised an eyebrow, squirming nervously. "How so?"

"Well . . . you're going to make you're son insane," Zeus replied, speaking slowly, letting the words roll slowly off of his lips so that Dionysus took in every detail of them.

The wine god blinked once, then twice, and finally three times, before he started to feel a bit woozy. He stumbled a bit, back away from Zeus, then looked up to the king god, his eyes widening in shock and dread. He fully understood the words . . . he was just hoping that he was wrong.

"Come again . . . ?" Dionysus asked, blinking again, looking quite sick. The gods around him were stony silent, and as still as statues. Most of them didn't know what to think. The punishment . . . it was horrible. Most of them cared enough about their kids to know that Dionysus must have been feeling alarmed and regretful.

"You. Will make. Your son. Insane." Zeus stated, taking in the look of terror in Dionysus's eyes.

"But . . . if I messed up, then . . . just punish me," Dionysus stuttered, almost pleading as he looked up at Zeus once more.

Zeus shook his head. "No . . . you'll never learn if I add more years on to your sentence. You never seemed to learn that way in the past."

"But . . . but . . . I will, really, I will," Dionysus claimed.

Zeus shook his head. "No . . . no, you will never learn that way. Now come on, your son awaits."

Seconds later, Dionysus and Zeus appeared in a quaint townhouse in San Diego, California. The warm, late summer breeze was drifting through the room that they were in. The walls of the room were painted blue, and had stickers pasted on them. Glowing star stickers illuminated the room ever so slightly, along with the moonlight from the moon out the window and high in the sky. The night seemed almost perfect, but it was truly a terrible one for Dionysus.

The wine god slowly walked over to the bed that was standing against one of the walls in the room. A small figure lay upon it, curled up in a ball with a teddy bear in its hands. Dionysus stepped up to the bed and gazed down at the small figure . . . a little boy. His little boy. His son, his child.

Dionysus glanced back at Zeus. "Please . . . don't make me do this . . . the child didn't do anything. He doesn't deserve this." Every word was spoken quietly, so as not to wake the little boy up.

Zeus shook his head, speaking just as softly, "No. This is the only way you will learn, Dionysus. If this is what it takes to get you to see reason . . . then I will have to take that chance."

"Please, Father . . ." Dionysus pleaded quietly, adding the 'Father' part for a touch-up. "Please, don't make me do this . . . don't make me ruin his life . . . would you do this to your own son?"

Zeus eyes flashed with sympathy for a moment, but he repeated, "This is the only way you will learn, Son."

Dionysus turned back to the bed with a heavy heart. It seemed to weigh him down, making it hard for him to move his bones and muscles. He gazed down at his small son again, then brushed the bangs out of the boy's eyes. Dionysus bent down and placed a light kiss on his young son's forehead.

"I'm sorry . . ." he whispered into the little boy's ear, even though the boy would never knew they were spoken, or what they were spoken for. Dionysus straightened slightly and stroked the boy's cheek, then pressed the palm of his hand on the boy's forehead. He mumbled a few words in Ancient Greek. A white light burst from his palm and encased the boy's body within a few seconds, but just as quickly as it appeared, it faded. The wine god stepped back and looked over the boy one more time, before disappearing into dust with the king of the gods.

Dionysus had been scarred that day, and it often took a lot to scar a god. He no longer slunk out of camp when nobody was watching; instead, he remained there, like he was supposed to, and only went out when Zeus told him that he could. He cared about his children, really, he did. Maybe not as much as some of the other Olympians, like Apollo or Hermes or Poseidon, but he did care about them. He never wanted to hurt one of them again like he had had to hurt Rodge. It was just too much, even for a god, to have on his shoulders.

Most of the other gods look on in sorrow when they remembered what happened that night. A lot of them, even ones that didn't have children, thought that Zeus had done a terrible thing. It was almost barbaric. But of course, they had to remind themselves that they were Greek gods, from Ancient Greece. Everything had been barbaric in their prime.

Rodge Arrington would never know what his father had done to him, and that was probably for the best.

Well . . . I really hoped you liked it, since I actually decided to update it . . . XD And . . . well . . . that chapter actually kind of hurt to write. :'( Zeus is such a bastard sometimes! :( O.= But . . . it seemed like a kind of Zeus-y thing to do, in my opinion. ) So yeah. But still. :(