Title: Short and Sweet

Summary: Because we never really knew what happened before or what happened next. A series of one-shots describing times we had to imagine ourselves.

I

Tangled Up

As a young she-wolf, Lupa had never expected to get so wrapped up in Olympian affairs.

Olympians were irrational. Strange, lawless creatures. Eloping left and right, spawning demigods like lice. Betraying each other at the slightest thing, with no sense of right or wrong.

(Or a very twisted sense of it, Lupa would speculate deep into the night.)

They threw the sanctity of packs to the wind. Husbands betrayed wives, wives betrayed husbands, and so many children you could have an army with just them. And Fates forbid Neptune and Jupiter go at it again. Too much drama. They never cut to the chase, those fools.

Lupa was a wolf goddess, through and through. She lived for hunting, for the pack, for that one powerful moment when her clan would be victoriously howling at the silver moon. She showed no mercy. She showed no feelings. She was the hunter, and, if you were very unlucky, you were the prey.

And yet, one day, Lupa would be prowling by the River Tiber, and she would find two baby demigods.

"Demigods," Lupa would spit. "Disgusting little things. Always smelling of food. As bad as their parents. Rats."

But gazing at two little babies, so young and fragile-in need of a good weaning-crying so pitifully, so much like the cubs in Lupa's own pack at that age, her heart did a strange thing. It softened. Only a tiny bit. But enough for Lupa's conscience to tell her these boys were in need of a mama. A mama like her.

Besides, staring at those little puny humans, Lupa's life flashed before her eyes. Not just hers, though. The life of this riverbank, this simple piece of land, that would become the beacon of the world. The next Olympus. All in the hands of these two little boys. Blood splashed before her, war cries echoed, trumpets blared, and thousands of years of pain, love, war, and victory ran through her mind like the water of the river before her.

Two names devoured her consciousness. Romulus and Remus.

The founders of the new world.

The ones who would change it forever.

One of them-Remus, she thought-sniffled, and as if he had decided it, he began to cry. Lupa's tail swept over the infant's mouth, a usual way to silence cubs in her pack. Remus kept sobbing, however. Only his cries were now slightly muffled.

Lupa would've frowned if wolves could frown. This wasn't as easy as she thought.

Lupa awakened from her much-needed sleep to hear two human voices arguing over something that was, what with their mentality, quite stupid.

She opened one eye and saw the now nine year old Romulus and Remus facing off, shouting at the top of their lungs over why either of them was the better hunter. Lupa felt annoyance claw at her very being.

A few of her fellow wolves were pacing around the scene with their ears flat on their heads in irritation. Their tails flicked back and forth. Lupa knew they were itching to discipline her adoptees, but were afraid to anger their pack leader. It was obvious they weren't happy at all.

Lupa had had enough.

She rose in one fluid motion and pounced on both of them at the same time, so that they fell on top of each other, Romulus atop Remus. They went down with muffled oofs. She balanced herself on Romulus' chest and snarled in both boys' faces. Momentary fear crossed their expressions, soon replaced, she noticed with repressed pride, with the steely stare of respect they had learnt over nine years of living with her pack. However, she could still feel them trembling between her paws. They were quite frightened of her.

She did not adjust herself. She remained crouched upon her adoptive sons, growling menacingly.

What are you two doing, arguing like idiots? Lupa lashed. She knew that if they could, they would've flinched.

"We-we were seeing who was the best hunter," Romulus piped up, his voice squeaky, but his face defiant.

And you think shouting at the top of your puny lungs will prove that? Lupa questioned. You're as stupid as the prey we stalk. You've probably scared off all possible prey in the vicinity, idiots. Now, as an order from me, you'll have to set off hunting right this very instant. And if I don't see that you've brought anything back for yourselves, forget your meal for today. That'll teach you who the best hunter is. She stepped off of her adoptive sons. Off, you pathetic pups!
Romulus and Remus scrambled over themselves to get up, muttered quick apologies, and jogged off on their funny little legs to find something to eat.

Lupa stared off after them sternly, but with a certain fondness as well. Her tail settled above her paws. Silly little pups.

And yet, staring into Romulus' eyes, there had been a certain ruthless gleam, a sparkle that was too cunning, too cruel…

No, Lupa thought to herself. Romulus is but a pup. You are imagining things, Lupa.

She struggled to lower the hair rising on her neck.

Just imagining things.

Lupa was well and content. Her pack was thriving. The prey was plentiful. The weather was fine. Her pups were growing into strong warriors.

Speaking of pups…

Lupa let out a yelp of surprise as two heavy little bodies landed on hers. Registering what was going on, she began to mock growl and snap, wrestling with two boys that were only a decade old.

"We must defeat the Nemean Lion, Romulus!" Remus masqueraded melodramatically.

"Indeed, brother!" Romulus charaded.

Grr! Lupa said, playing along good-naturedly for once. I'll eat you pesky little cubs in a flash!
Romulus and Remus laughed as they wrestled with the huge she-wolf. Even though she was trying her best to go easy on them, they still ended up with her on top of them.

Romulus and Remus were laughing like the little idiots they were, but Lupa suddenly felt like their laughter was better than the lyre of Apollo.

Good, good, she said. But your tackling needs some work. Straighten yourselves. Allow no escape.

They scrambled to get away from her, flashed her equally happy grins, and with two simultaneous "Yes, Lupas", gamboled off to play another game.

Lupa tried to pat down her fur and make it stay down, trying to look like a responsible leader instead of a feral wolf who just scuffled with two ten year old boys. She heard a chortle behind her and rolled her eyes.

"What happened to the vicious Lupa Capitolina?" Picus chuckled, shaking his feathers. The tiny woodpecker could've been pounced on, killed painfully, and eaten in the space of five minutes, yet the aggravating little bird just went on fearlessly in the domain of wolves.

Oh, go peck a tree, Picus, Lupa told the tiny bird.

Picus hemmed and hawed. He began preening his feathers. "You seem preoccupied, Lupa," he said. He glanced at her fond eyes as she stared after the twins. "I see. Mother's curse, they call it. One day they'll grow up, Lupa. You can't protect them forever."

Lupa turned her head towards the woodpecker. His beady eyes had lost humor, and were now filled with seriousness. I know, Picus, she said. It's just…

"You're worried," Picus said. "You're afraid. Of the visions, the prophecies, the dreams. Most of all, of Romulus."

Lupa nearly killed the bird. What are you saying? She snapped, uneasy that the bird had reached her thoughts so easily. Are you daft? I'm not afraid of Romulus. I'm afraid for him, and equally so for his brother. Men are awful creatures, Picus, and Romulus and Remus are about to become them.

"Slow down, they're only ten," Picus said. "You've still got at least seven years with them. Besides, it's inevitable. One day, Deadbeat Mars is going to realize that his kids are being raised, and, don't get mad, coddled by a she-wolf barely anybody knows and a woodpecker, and, of course, he's going to throw a tantrum, Jupiter is going come into the picture, and boom. No more Lupa. Traumatized kids. Nobody wins."

Your sense of humor is bold and satirical, Picus, but it will do you no good.

"Just saying," Picus said. "You're going to have to abandon them sometime. You do it all the time with regular cubs. I don't know what's gotten into you."

I know, Lupa said. It's just…it's different.

Somehow, I know, that when I leave them to themselves in the world, humanity will corrupt them, and nothing will ever be the same again.

TEN YEARS LATER

"I think we should start at the Palatine," Romulus said, puffing out his chest dramatically.

Remus scoffed. "The Palatine? Honestly, Romulus? We should start at the Aventine."

"What are you saying? The Aventine is a dump. The Palatine is where the real patricians would live."
"Just because the Palatine is high doesn't mean it's a good place to live," Remus argued.

"You just like the Aventine because it's closer to Lupa, momma's boy," Romulus mocked.

"I like the Aventine because it's the obvious choice!" Remus threw his hands up in frustration. "What's wrong with you?"

"You know what? Fine. Take your followers and go to your precious Aventine. I'm going to the Palatine and building my place there," Romulus said.

"Fine." Remus stalked off, his face dark with anger.

In the shadows, Lupa crouched and rolled her eyes. Picus, perched on her shoulder, allowed himself a small laugh.

You'd never have thought they were grown men, Lupa said. Arguing like pups as usual.

"Keep it down," Picus said. "They don't know we're here, remember?"

Picus, I don't think you get the idea that I am a wolf. I define silence. And that they can't actually "hear" me unless they look directly at me.

"Um, yeah. I knew that."

Lupa shook her head in amusement.

But, watching Romulus and Remus turn away, once closer than kin, now farther away than ever before, she couldn't suppress a twinge of unease deep in her heart.

They would return to normal, wouldn't they?

Lupa settled into the grass as she watched Romulus prepare his plans from afar. A look of vague determination was fixed upon his face as he arranged things, ordering people around and building the city he'd always dreamed of.

Picus was perched on her shoulder as always; he never seemed to leave her side nowadays.

Perhaps he senses something will go amiss, she worried.

She dismissed her morbid thoughts as paranoia and continued to watch, feeling pride blossom in her chest.

They were at the foot of the Palatine Hill; nearly the border of what Romulus had marked as his territory, which Lupa had noted was quite wolflike of him. She would chuckle quietly about it at night.

The wind brought with it the fresh scent of Tiberinus' realm and the aroma of wildflowers. Lupa closed her eyes in content. She had taken to alternating watching Romulus and Remus; one every night, without their knowing, of course. Picus often reprimanded her, telling her that they were boys no longer, but men, capable of making a place for themselves in the world. But she fretted secretly. She worried. Although Lupa had promised herself not to get caught up in human affairs, she had managed to tangle herself up in one of the most treacherous ones yet; and she had managed to love it in the process.

Her eyes snapped open at a familiar voice, a voice she had not expected.

"Brother!" she heard Remus' cocky cry. She watched as the man stood just behind the border of Romulus' territory, hands on hips, looking as if he owned the world.

Idiot, she thought. Pure idiocy, to interrupt Romulus in the midst of his work. What is Remus thinking? Surely he knows better. He was always the sensible one.

She then noticed the look of malice on the man's face and realized what was happening with a cold weight settling in her stomach.

He seeks a fight.

"Lupa," Picus warned.

She dug her claws into the ground.

"You call these plans? Ha!" Remus laughed.

She watched as Romulus' head snapped up to Remus, slowly realizing what his brother was about to do. She prayed to Minerva to grant the boys some sense. She prayed to Mars to tell them that this was not the time for a fight. She prayed to Vesta to preserve the sanctity of family, while all she could do was watch.

Please, Remus, she prayed as a last resort. Don't do it, boy.

Don't do it, my son.

You know your brother's temper.

Don't do it.

But it was too late.

Remus raised one leg, and nimbly, quickly, childlishly, irrevocably jumped above Romulus' border.

Workers paused and stared in horror. Remus stood poised on the ground, an arrogant smirk on his face. Romulus stared at his brother in utter disgust, betrayal, and insult.

It is a grave insult to step above another's border and into their territory without their approval. A great dishonor.

Lupa rose.

"Lupa!" Picus said, his voice rising. "Stay!"

She dug her claws in the ground. She couldn't help. She had to stay. She must.

And in that moment, to make things worse, a red field surrounded both brothers. A crimson aura, a glow of power, defiance, and, most of all, fury.

No, Lupa thought. No, no, no. Mars. That idiot. That fool. Now is not the time to bless your sons with fighting power, you complete fool! Now is not the time to curse them with your bloodlust!
It was causing her physical pain now to stay rooted on the ground beneath her paws.

Please see better, she prayed.

Please, my sons. Please, my pups. See sense.

Her pleas were of no use.

The two brothers lunged at each other, and this time, it wasn't play.

They pummeled each other, they beat each other, they made sure the other would break bones and tear skin. Lupa whimpered in agony.

She raised a paw to rush to her sons' aid, to slap sense out of them somehow.

"No! Lupa!" Picus flew off of her shoulder and into her face. "You can't interfere! It's law!"
I have no regards for law! Lupa snarled. They're killing each other out there! I must teach them! Don't you care for them? For their lives?
"Of course I care for them!" Picus cried, and Lupa noticed the pure anguish in his eyes. "Of course. But if we interfere, Lupa, we're defying fate-more lives are going to be taken than just one. You need to let fate run its course! You need to let go!"

Lupa let out a howl of agony, but of course, nobody heard.

They were wrestling now, using the same tactics Lupa had taught them ten years ago, and her heart twisted in raw pain, a reminder that she had taught them what they were using against each other this very instant.

The fight seemed to go on and on. It was going nowhere. Blood streamed. Skin tore. They were a perfect match for each other, each as equally strong as the other.

Or not quite.

Romulus rolled on top of Remus, and the expression on his face was of pure rage. Remus slumped to the ground, exhausted.

Lupa let out a pent-up breath of relief. The battle was won. It was over.

Or not quite.

Romulus' energy had not run out yet, and neither had his anger. He picked up a sharp rock next to him and raised his arm, aiming for Remus' neck.

No, Lupa watched in terror. No, no, no! Surely…surely he's done enough? Surely it's over? He can't possibly…They're brothers! Pack members! They can't…Surely he won't kill him?

Romulus' hand plunged the rock deep into Remus' neck.

And in that moment, with Remus' feral cry of pain, Lupa let out her feelings of shock and pain and despair in one, long, grievous howl. Picus watched in horror as blood pooled around Remus, wishing he had interfered.

Suddenly, the light faded from the brothers, and so did the angry light from Romulus' eyes. He slowly began to realize what he'd done. He screamed in fear and regret, looking at the hands stained with his own twin brother's blood.

"Jupiter Almighty…" his voice trailed off as he looked as his hands, then his brother, then back to hands. "I can't…no…I can't have…I haven't killed…Jupiter Almighty, no…please, no…" he grabbed his brother's shoulders. "Remus! Remus, my brother! My kin! Answer me!" he sobbed in anguish. "I'm sorry, Remus, I'm sorry!"

And in that moment, a most curious thing happened. It began to rain. Jupiter was voicing his disapproval.

Romulus shook his dead brother's shoulders, tears streaming down his cheeks in rivers. "I'm sorry, my brother!"

Slowly, shakily, Lupa got to her feet. Picus didn't interrupt. She pawed forward in denial, into the moonlight, into plain sight. Workers, overcome with grief and shock, bowed to her as she passed.

Romulus swiveled his head to her and even more horror came to his eyes.

"Lupa," he said. "My mother. I didn't mean it; I swear, I don't know what came over me-"

Somewhere, beneath all of that grief and regret and sadness, blossomed a new emotion. Disappointment. The crushing disappointment of a mother whose child had ultimately failed her.

Romulus, son of Mars Ultor and Rhea Silvia, she murmured, her voice heavy with sorrow, addressing him with the name of his real parents for the first time in twenty years. She was now disowning him as her son, by mentioning them. You have dismissed everything, every single moral I have taught you since the day you began to walk. Most importantly, you disposed of the one single moral I value the most-pack, family, above all else. You have let your pride and your lust for power take the place of your brother, and you have killed him for it. His acts were foolish, but yours are unforgivable. To kill without reason, without sense, without repent-that is the most grave sin of all, young man.

Romulus fell to his knees. His face was filled with anguish. "Mother-"

And although it pained her like a thousand needles of Stygian iron, she uttered the final words. Do not call me Mother. You are no son of mine. She turned tail.

"Picus," he said after the bird perched on her shoulder, watching with an indescribable sadness. "Please-please, Picus, please-"

Picus turned away.

Farewell, Romulus, Lupa said, dissolving into the shadow of the night. We shall never meet again. Found your city. Become a king. I hope you're happy, with all senses of the phrase.

Perhaps the reason why Lupa had always avoided tangling with humans was that their fates almost always ended in utter, heartbreaking tragedy.

CENTURIES LATER

Lupa missed the original Rome, to be completely honest. Sonoma wasn't bad. But it wasn't Rome, either.

Picus had passed-no, he had faded- exactly four centuries ago, leaving her to the world. They had seen too many demigods who'd died young, too many tragedies. It had been too much on him. He'd lost the will to live in such an ugly world. He'd faded and he hadn't come back.

Lupa still missed the annoying woodpecker. She missed his jokes and sarcasm, and most of all, how he seemed to ground her, keep her in place sometimes, to prevent her wolfishness from harming her. He had been wise, that bird, despite having a brain the size of a feather.

Rome would always be her home, true, but it wasn't the center of Western Civilization anymore. And maybe it was for the better. There were too many memories in Rome, too many reminders-damn it, Mnemosyne-of things she'd rather forget.

She currently resided in the forests of what would later be called Sonoma, California, during a time that would eventually be known as the Gold Rush. The prey was good here, the woods fine, and her pack was adapting well. Or so it seemed.

She was momentarily blinded as a bright flash of light filled the area, and, suddenly, a man who looked like the driver of one of those strange new chariots-stagecoaches, they called them?-what with the broad hat and the equally broad smile.

"Lupa!" Mercury grinned. "Old friend."

Of course, the gods wanted something.

What now, Mercury?

Now, normally, any other person caught talking like that to a member of the pantheon of Olympian gods would be struck dead in the space of five milliseconds. But Lupa was different. She had raised the man who had gone on to found Rome itself. That alone was an achievement. But she had also raised so many others.

"Now, I know this is a hard time," Mercury said. "Still adjusting to North America, dealing with all the Native American gods, fights with the Egyptian and Norse ones over territory, and I know you're not feeling up to it ever since Picus faded, but-"

Cut to the chase, Mercury.

"Well, you see," his eyes gleamed. "Jupiter has a deal for you."

TWENTY OR SO YEARS LATER

Lupa knew she was betraying Rome when she agreed to meet with Chiron that night.

The guilt clawed at her heart and screamed at her traitorous being, but she couldn't help it. Chiron said he had a way to end the war, to end the bloodshed.

The centaur was waiting, looking absentminded and gaunt. His cheeks were hollow. His eyes were haunted. He had seen one demigod die too many.

Lupa felt the same. Ever since she had agreed to train demigods before they joined Camp Jupiter, she had seen one demigod die after the other and had been unable to do anything about it. This war between Greece and Rome had gone on far too long. It was time for it to stop before both sides tore each other to shreds, before one could pull a Romulus on the other.

Lupa was determined not to let any of her pups die.

"Lupa," Chiron's voice was relieved. "Oh, thank the Fates-"

Chiron, she said. You said you had a way to end the bloodshed. Tell me.

And in details, with grave urgency, he began to tell her everything, the plan to separate Greece and Rome so nobody would kill the other.

It is a good plan, she said. But temporary. It will only hold up for a few centuries or so before it is unraveled.

"I know," Chiron said. "But it is our only hope. And, hopefully, by then…the prophecy…"

The Prophecy of Seven? Lupa asked uneasily.

"Yes," Chiron. "Exactly."

Lupa lowered her head.

We can only hope, Chiron. We can only hope.

ONE CENTURY LATER

She was worried. She was very, very worried.

Michael Varus' expedition was supposed to be back by now. They were supposed to be back with all the Imperial gold, the legion's standard, and a bunch of young demigods who'd plunged into the unknown Alaskan territory.

But there was still no sign of them. They had been gone for much too many days. An entire month.

But they can't all possibly be dead, she tried to reassure herself.

She had contacted Boreas. She had tried her best to discreetly keep up with things like she did with Romulus and Remus. But it was hard for a goddess to get into lands like Alaska. It was too far north.

She took four or five wolves and made the journey to Camp Jupiter, only to find a grieving legion.

She was done now. Spent. Michael. Serena. Cylene. Uriah. Liam. Michelle. All of them dead, all of them her pups. The legion's standard, lost in Alaska, along with almost all of the Imperial gold.

At that moment, Lupa Capitolina vowed never to get attached to a human ever again.

Humans were creatures of suffering. They brought nothing but pain.

It was just that this pain was unique, because humans had a special talent of burrowing deep into your heart and then eating their way out.

Lupa now knew why she had been so wary of gods and humanity when she was in her early days.

She now knew why Picus had faded.

The world was a most awful, dreadful place.

TWENTY FIVE OR SO YEARS LATER

History had a funny way of repeating itself, Lupa found out the day she had met Jupiter's son.

She had been out hunting. Looking for something to eat, seeing as she was quite hungry and the youngsters were in charge today so naturally she wouldn't have much to eat if she relied on them for a stable meal.

And it was then she heard the child's cries.

Lupa's maternal instinct stirred inside her, and she pelted across the forest floor, looking for the child who was in need of a mother.

She found him finally, sitting against a tree, looking confused and scared. He was dirty and in desperate need of a good cleaning. He looked like he'd just woken up. Abandoned. Lupa analyzed the child. He was a demigod, no doubt. He emitted a stench that was much more powerful than that of a normal demigod.

His hear was blond, and his eyes were electric blue, eyes that reminded her of a certain god…

Oh, no, she groaned internally. Not again, Jupiter. I thought you swore on the River Styx!

The child was making quite a racket, quite like his father in that sense. At this rate, he would attract all the monsters in the area. He looked about two, a year or so older than Romulus and Remus when she had first come across them on the banks of the River Tiber.

She picked the child up by the collar of his shirt and sat him on her back, her maternal instincts overcoming her initial desire to stay out of Jupiter's affairs.

She heard a voice behind her and groaned yet again. She had, once again, gotten herself entangled deep in gods' affairs.

"I see you've met Jason, Lupa," Juno's voice rang across the forest, cold and crisp.

Lupa turned around to face the Queen of Heaven. She was as regal as ever in toga and goatskin, although Lupa had never really respected the goddess, she had treated her with courtesy before as to not get thrown into Tartarus.

If you're planning on killing the boy, kill me first, Lupa growled, screaming at herself to shut her snout. What was she saying? She was literally telling the most temperamental of goddesses to kill her! All for a child she just met in the forest!

It seemed Fortuna was on her side, however, because Juno seemed to be in a good mood. "Oh, I have no intentions of killing him," she said, waving a hand carelessly. "In fact, he's my favored mortal."

That's why his name is Jason, then? Lupa asked. After Jason the Voyager?

"Exactly," Juno said. "Now, Lupa. I need you to raise this boy until he becomes of age to join the Twelfth Legion Fuliminata."

Lupa repressed irritation. What am I, a babysitter? However, she inclined her head respectfully.

Of course, my lady, she said. Anything else?
"Take special care of him," Juno said. "He's very, very important. He's one of the Seven of the Prophecy, after all, and, of course, one of the products of my husband's accursed affairs."

Lupa gulped. The child on her back was one of the Seven. Her responsibility. If he were to die…

Yes, my lady.

"Then farewell, Lupa Capitolina," Juno said, morphing into a cuckoo bird that reminded Lupa painfully of Picus. "Take care of Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, chosen one of Juno."

Lupa inhaled deeply.

Come, Jason. Come.

EIGHT YEARS LATER

Jason, remember, Lupa said. Remember what I've taught you.

The child stared at her in earnest.

"Yes Lupa," he chorused.

Pain is nothing, she reviewed. You can only be the best. And the most important lesson of all, Jason? Tell me.

Jason piped up on the spot, a studious little boy that had endeared himself to Lupa's heart the moment she taught him to talk. He said in his squeaky little voice, "Pack above everything."

Lupa nodded in approval. Pack above everything, Jason. Including you.

"Including me."

Nothing is to keep you from your pack, she drilled into him. Your pack is your essence, your very being as a Roman. You are nothing without your pack.

"I am nothing without my pack."

Most of all, Jason, Lupa said. A man who betrays his pack is the worst man of all.

"A man who betrays his pack is the worst man of all," he said. "Got it. Can we go now?"

Lupa repressed laughter, knowing she had to appear strong-willed and indifferent before the cub.

"Yes, Jason. Let us go."

As they traveled to Camp Jupiter, Lupa felt worried. She only hoped that she had taught the boy well-enough so that he would not make the same mistakes Romulus and Remus had. She only hoped that she could save at least this boy from a life ended with pain.

She had an addiction for getting attached to humans, it seemed.

SIX YEARS LATER

Jason had disappeared, and Perseus was now asleep in the woods, waiting for the time to rise and initiate the prophecy.

It had begun. The end of the world had begun.

Lupa settled and prayed for her pups for seemingly the last time, biding her time.

ONE YEAR LATER

Lupa was proud, incredibly proud, of her pups, her beautiful, wonderful pups.

Gaea had been put to sleep once more, and this time, for good. Rome and Greece were allies once more.

More importantly, the cubs she had raised had survived.

(Well, most of them.)

Jason had survived, Reyna and Percy and Hazel and Frank and Nico, Annabeth and Piper too, the Greeks, and only one had sacrificed himself for the good of the world was young Leo Valdez. Lupa could still detect an undertone of sorrow in the midst of celebrations, but she was fine. She still grieved over the loss of a pup, but the world was saved. It was done.

The Legion was perfect. Jason was now working on new shrines (something about action figures, too…?). Frank and Reyna were a perfect team. And, at last, that fool Octavian was gone.

She mourned what could've been a good life, one well spent, but now she was happy that Octavian had been stopped just in time before he practically blew up the Greek camp. Everything seemed to be fine.

So why, oh, why, did Lupa find Jason sulking in the Garden of Bacchus, one might ask?

Well, sulking wasn't quite a suitable word. It was more like contemplating. Thinking.

You seem preoccupied, Jason Grace, she said, approaching him.

He jumped with a start. He then relaxed, realizing it was her, then immediately straightened, realizing it was her. She nearly chuckled at her ridiculous understudy, especially with those glasses.

"Well…" he said. "Just thinking."

His eyes were dark with emotion, but Lupa didn't question him; the boy had been through a lot in the past few months; it was understandable.

So, she sat down next to him and remained in comfortable silence, until he began again.

"Lupa, can I tell you something?"

How many times have I told you that it is no use asking questions with no answer?
"Sorry. Um, I was thinking, you see. About my friend, who…passed? Leo. Remember?"

Leo Valdez. The son of Vulcan. Your crewmate, if I remember correctly, she said. You feel guilty, don't you?

"Well…yes," Jason said. "It's just…I was there when it happened, Lupa. I could've prevented it. I could've sacrificed myself and saved him. Instead, I fled like a coward. You always told me the most important thing about being a Roman, about being a demigod, was that pack is always above everything. I failed you. I failed Leo." He said it all quickly, all at once, like he was trying to get it off his chest quite desperately.

Lupa sighed. Jason, sometimes, there comes a time when we cannot do anything but stand by, she said, remembering Romulus and Remus, her first human pups. Because it is fate. It was Leo's fate to do what he did. And it was your fate to live. If we are to interfere…nothing would be gained. That is how the Fates operate. You must learn that.

"Yes, Lupa."

It isn't anybody's fault. Leo chose his fate, and he chose the right one. You chose the right one too. Together, your choices got rid of Gaea with the least amount of losses possible.

"But it's still a loss," Jason said bitterly.

I believe, Jason, that all losses are simply delays of victories, she said, getting up. Think about that. Farewell, Jason, our saving grace, as always. She smiled inwardly at her pun.

"Goodbye, Lupa," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Thank you, by the way."

Your welcome, Jason. It's my job, after all, to teach pups.

Later, Lupa would speculate that maybe humans and their antics weren't so bad after all.

First off, even though I dislike disclaimers and think they're overkill, I DO NOT OWN THIS SERIES. AT ALL.

Second, thank you, for taking the time to read this story. I worked really hard on this-it's the longest fanfic chapter I've ever written. Please reviwe, since it sort of provides motivation and all the junk.

Third-to clear out a few things in this one-shot:

1) I am very well aware that Lupa didn't teach Romulus and Remus their whole life, but instead they went to live with this shepherd. I know. I changed things up a bit for the sake of storyline. Forgive me.

2) Picus actually is in the myth, since Lupa weaned them and Picus brought them food. I thought it would be interesting to bring him in.

3) When Lupa and Chiron meet, it's during the Civil War. Okay? Okay.

4)I know Jason seems a bit Percy-esque in this, but I like to think that they took a few things from each other.

So, Lupa had always been a bit of an intriguing character to me, so I decided to explore her with this one-shot. I've always admired her wolfish strength, but also her maternal love of her pups. Forgive me if it's too cheesy.

So yep. That's it. Please follow, favorite, review, whatever. Next one-shot, coming up!