Molecules

Secret Santa 2013

"But, Father," he whined. Dionysus wasn't much of a whiner. Really. He didn't complain that much. There was nothing to complain about. He had everything he needed. He had a family. Ariadne, his (now) immortal wife, two sons, Castor and Pollux, and of course, the occasional leopard or so. They came and went.

So what did he need?

Apparently, his stupid father Zeus had decided he needed to go teach the brats of Camp Half-Blood. Something about character-building, disrespect for his wife, blah blah. He wanted so badly to laugh. After all, Zeus wasn't much better. Two kids from the same woman, slept with a different girl when he could, his so-called "pact." Bah! It wasn't really his fault. He'd seen Aphrodite snooping around, but at the time, he assumed she was going around trying to get Poseidon and Athena together or something. Said goddess caught his eye and winked.

"No buts." Out of the corner of his eye, his half-brother tried to contain his laughter. He rolled his eyes.

"Father-"

"You will not argue. You have an immortal wife, and you must stay faithful to her. Is that not why I granted her immortality?" Yeah, and Zeus was still so faithful.

"Yes, but Father-"

"All in favor?" Lord Zeus boomed. Poseidon raised his hand. As did Ares, Artemis, Athena, Demeter, Hades, Hephaestus, and Hera. Apollo and Hermes didn't raise their hands. He would miss them, too, for the parties they hosted were wild and fun to attend. Aphrodite raised her hand the highest.

One by one, the gods flashed out of the throne room. The winter solstice was over. Only his father remained. Zeus put a hand on his shoulder, like he was supposed to be comforting or something. Zeus had never been much of a good father.

"Come, son," he said, and there was thunder. He could feel himself dissolving, particles travelling with the wind, and even after all this time, he still closed his eyes and wondered how the hell he'd managed to get to that point. Then the pressure lifted, and he opened his eyes to see kneeling campers, a sunny day, and of course, Chiron.

"Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Mr. D," Chiron said pleasantly, his eyes twinkling.

year one

He sighed, slamming down a set consisting of the queen of jacks, the queen of hearts, and of course, the queen of spades. Chiron groaned and threw a lower-valued set down. Three 3's. Invisible hands scooped up the cards and began to shuffle them again.

"Has it only been two weeks, Chiron?" He moaned. "If this is two weeks, I can't imagine what one hundred years would look like. Stuck with these brats." It was true. They were annoying. There was that singer-Leo or Liam or whoever from Apollo, Larissa from Ares, that Lucian guy from Hermes... Why did everyone's names start with L? Or maybe he'd gotten them wrong.

Chiron nodded. "Yes, Mr. D, it has only been two weeks." He slumped. There was no way the god of madness could go a hundred years at this camp without going mad. Those kids, always stirring up trouble and making a fuss.

A little girl ran up. What was her name, Annabelle?

"Yes, Annabeth?" Chiron asked kindly. Annabeth. Was that her name? So maybe he did have the names wrong. Names were powerful things. He usually tried to act like he didn't have them right.

"Sir," she said, her grey eyes pleading. "May I watch? It's my free activity time, but there's no one around, and I really, really, want to discuss the use of gauntlets against just punching someone in the face..." He glared at his colleague as Chiron patted an empty seat next to him.

"Of course, Annabeth. Flush," he spoke. He almost cursed. It was Chiron's flush against his own, but Chiron had won that round.

"Why don't you play pinochle or something?" Anne Beth asked.

year one

"Don't you ever get tired of them, Chiron?" he asked.

Chiron laughed. "Tired? No, no. Horrified, depressed, excited, yes. Never tired." He wondered how much of that was true. Chiron sounded tired. He shook his head and stared at what was his home now, he guessed. The looming pine tree that he knew was once Thalia Grace stood tall, looming over the hill. The sky was dark, but it wasn't black as many thought. He saw the midnight blue of night bleeding out in little corners of color.

"Dionysus," Chiron said. It was the first time he'd been addressed by the centaur as so at Camp Half-Blood. He waited.

"I shouldn't have let you come here, Mr. D." He spoke quietly, but was rushing out the words as if he were going to be stopped. "You think I am right only because you believe Zeus to be wrong. But let me tell you now, Mr. D, that you can't avoid it forever. You won't be able to let them go. Laugh now, but a hundred years later you will know I am right."

He didn't say anything. Maybe he believed it. Maybe he knew Chiron was right. But he just leaned back and stared at the stars, counting one for each camper.

year four

He just stood up and walked away, touching his sons' shoulders gently with his hand. Then the moment was over, his tender face changing to his usual, grouchy mask.

Ares. Athena. Not Apollo, not Hephaestus, not Aphrodite, and most definitely not him. Only choosing from the best, huh? That little brat. He hadn't even spared Dionysus' cabin a look. Instead, the Hermes kid chose from who he thought was the best. The fastest. The smartest. The most witty, clever, qualified for a quest. And not his own kids. He didn't quite understand. Castor and Pollux-what was wrong with them? They were strong, fast, smart. It made him feel... unimportant, unwanted. A puppy discarded on the side of a road. He stalked to his usual spot, on the porch of the Big House in a faux fur chair.

The sound of clopping hooves made him look up. Chiron put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He smiled. He himself didn't return it.

"I don't understand, Chiron. Are my sons not qualified enough? Are they not ready to prove their worth on a quest?"

"He chose who he thought would help him attain his goal the best. Luke.." Chiron glanced at the sky. "Luke is not quite ready, I think. And the fact that he brings along whom he thinks are camp's best fighters makes him feel better. More confident. Do not blame him, Mr. D. He is still scared, and he is hungry, greedy for power, for fame, for attention. His mind is not ready." He said nothing.

The next day, he glared at Lucky Stellar as he made his usual speech. "May you do well on your quest, son of Hermes. Make us proud, blah, blah, come back alive. Good job, you landed yourself a quest. Let's see if you're ready for it." But as he watched them walk down the hill, his glare maybe (just maybe) toned down a notch, and he raised his glass in a half-hearted salute. Come back, kid.

year four

It'd been three weeks since he'd seen the brat. Sorry, brats. The water he'd been drinking suddenly tasted sour, and he swallowed hard.

Okay, so maybe he was a little worried. Kind of hurt. He had to hand it to the kid. The guy was annoying, yes, but he'd been funny and pretty wicked with that sword of his. Not that he would ever, ever admit it, but he missed him. A little, tiny bit. Without knowing how, he'd grown fond of the brat(s), even with his efforts to remain closed off. He'd started to believe Chiron.

That wasn't a good thing. Of course, when you realized Chiron was right, usually you were at the point where something bad happens, and oh look, here was Chiron heading straight towards him now. waited for Chiron to start acting like the teens around him-hey, he'd been here for years! Why wouldn't he have picked up the language and attitude the teens had?

Okay, more like he was expecting Chiron to give him a look and say, "I told you so." Of course, he should've known that would never happen in the history of Western Civilization.

Instead, Chiron solemnly walked up to him and said, "We must prepare a shroud." Judging by the look on his face, the brat was dead or missing. Or both. Or undetermined. Or- Okay, so the kid was pretty much out of the picture. His throat closed off. Well, as they said, shit.

Then the horns blew. Yells sounded back and forth. He didn't move, though. The more he showed, the more cracks there were in his walls, the harder it would be for the campers to care about him. They would hate him, he decided, and he knew that maybe if he was cold, then he wouldn't care so much either. So instead, he tipped his head back and took a long drink from the wine goblet.

A boy appeared on the hill.

year eight

He rolled his eyes at the sky. Blah, blah, his father's lightning bolt stolen. Then into the picture goes Poseidon, and of course, naturally Hades. He was not against his uncles as much as Zeus would have liked him to be. They were a decent folk, and besides, as far as he could see, Poseidon and Hades actually had a brain lodged in their thick skulls. Zeus just kept calling meetings, demanding his precious weapon. Surely, Zeus would've married his lightning bolt if he hadn't fallen for Hera. How he had managed that still baffled him. Hera was a good-for-nothing stuck-up brat. Lightning streaked across the sky, and the waves pounded angrily across the sky. It wouldn't rain-it never rained, but that didn't mean his father wasn't angry. As each streak of lightning raced down, he could hear his darling father cursing in so-called "Ancient" Greek. Come on, it wasn't that old, just, say, a couple millennia. Now the time Demeter spent raving about a) her daughter or b) cereal... That was old.

He strolled down another row of strawberries. Satyrs were very nervous around him, but the Demeter kids just tended to the plants and acted as it he weren't watching them and influencing the plants. It was summer, again, and then the kids would come pouring in. Whoop-de-doo. More people for him to watch over.

In the far distance, through pounding rain, he thought he could hear a roar, stirring up the faintest of memories.

year ten

Okay, so Dionysus could most definitely see why Poseidon's lover had named the kid Perseus. Seriously. His name meant "the destroyer," and this boy was obviously a destroyer. A destroyer of rules, in fact. So maybe he was being a hypocrite as breaking the rules had gotten him into this mess in the first place, but this little Percy Trouble Jackson...

And also, Perseus Jackson was a destroyer of peace. The kid just didn't know when to stop. Seriously. He had four years of no quests after.. what was his name? Lucian? Luke. And then bam! The son of Poseidon was plopped down at Camp Half-Blood, there was Kronos, the stupid guy, the borders were failing, some Cyclops got in, and Chiron was fired then rehired. Also, that weird guy who couldn't eat appeared, and he had to admit that Tantalus had no appreciation for poker.

And then, look, more Big Three demigods. How many more years left?

He let the kid and his pegasus go on the quest anyway. Couldn't hurt, could it?

year eleven

War, war, war. He supposed only Ares was getting anything good out of this. Blah, blah. The war god was insane, and this was coming from the god of madness. He knew what he was talking about. Ares, always trying to get the girls and start a slugfest. Nowadays he was the only one sane around. Even his father (especially Zeus, the old man) was crazy.

What year was it, eleven? Gods, he needed a vacation. Wasn't summer for vacationing? He'd heard Maine was very nice this time of year from some person or the other. A monster roared. He snapped his fingers, wrapping it up in vines. Hey, this wasn't direct interference. He sliced through another monster like it was nothing.

And then there was a twisted, jagged cry of utter pain. No. He knew that voice, knew it like he knew sunshine on a cold day, knew it like- No. Nonononono.

Dionysus screamed, his eyes burning as he ran towards his son. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think- No. Not my son, no, no-

year twelve

Okay, Blinky was being annoying. Heck, his head was being annoying. Why did he have to crash land into a pile of rocks and hurt his head? Gods, he should've hurt his leg or arm or something. Anything but the head. Anything.

His wound was bothering him more than he had known it could. Geez, he just wanted to reach Level 254. Dionysus jerked the joystick back and forth, glaring at the red... thing that followed him.

"Come on, Pac-Man, come on," he chanted. The cherry was right in front of him. He gobbled it up, turning and making a right to get to the right places. He'd gotten most of the level done, but the one he called Blinky kept following him. Stalker. And then he felt the presence of a half-blood. Of course.

"Oh, good, you're here," he said, not taking his eyes off of the screen. A little more. "I'll have a Diet Coke." Now Coke... well, sugar and caffeine was the best bet next to Merlot. It was pretty good for a mortal drink. (One that he'd helped along, of course.)

"Mr.D?" Did the boy have to sound so surprised? This was a pretty nice party.

"Really, Peter Johnson-" Percy Jackson, he thought. "-how long will it take you to recognize me on sight?" He thought he heard something about the boy's name. The conversation continued, but he wasn't really paying attention. He could feel all of the souls that were perishing, all the crying for help, and the sheer amount of insanity vibrating through the streets. He remembered what it was like being a demigod. His hand tightened around the stick.

Oh, right. He was supposed to be warning the kid. Righhht.

He progressed to level 254. "Ha!" he shouted. Blinky. Ha. "Take that, you pixelated fiends!"

"Um, fabric of civilization," Percy prompted.

"Yes, yes. Your entire society will dissolve. Perhaps not right away, but mark my words, the chaos of the Titans will mean the end of Western civilization. Art, law, wine tastings, music, video games, silk shirts, black velvet paintings- all the things that make life worth living will disappear!" Well, wasn't the boy thick. He still didn't have a Diet Coke. Mentioning this was pretty important. Blah, blah.

"Can I go now?" he asked. No. Castor, Castor, Castor, don't let it happen again, a voice whispered.

"One last thing. My son Pollux. Is he still alive?" Rhetorical question.

"Yeah, last I saw him." That was good. That was very good indeed.

"I would very much appreciate-" It was hard saying the word to a person he'd kind of despised for the past four years. "-it if you could keep him that way. I lost his brother Castor last year-"

"I remember. I'll do my best." His best. Oh, how reassuring. The best coming from a leader of camp, who had a lot more important problems than the son of Dionysus. His throat burned bitterly. He needed a drink.

"Your best. Well, isn't that reassuring." Kind of was. "Go now. You have nasty surprises to deal with, and I must defeat Blinky!" Because it's the only thing I can do. Keep the party going. The demigod faded from view, and he turned his attention back to the game, though his heart wasn't into it.

year thirteen

Oh, great. Oh, boy. Now what? Hera, gone. Percy, gone. Everyone else? Crying. Him? Being called back to Olympus for once, and this time it wasn't even that important... probably. Come on, everyone hated the old cow, anyway.. Queen of the Heavens. Humph.

He wasn't particularly worried about the boy. He could handle himself. He'd proven that last year in the Battle of Manhattan. Rome wasn't that much harder. Don't care about them, he chanted to himself. The less you care, the less it hurts. Oops.

The throne room was beautiful, though some parts were still half-built. The girl, Annabeth.. She'd done a good job. Whatever.

He caught a glimpse of Poseidon's face before the meeting began. It was old, tired, like the light had drained out of his eyes and reflected in the sea. He wondered, sadly, what would happen to his own self if Pollux disappeared. Would he look like that; broken? Or would he turn away with a cool face, like he didn't care.

Dionysus didn't know anymore.

year fourteen

Another one bites the dust. And another one's gone, another one's gone, another one bites the dust. Hey, I'm gonna get you too, another one bites the dust. Another one bites the dust. Another one bites the dust and-

We are the champions, my friend. And we'll keep on fighting 'till the end. We are the champions, we are the champions, no time for losers, 'cause we are the champions of the world.

Blood streaked the ground. Orange and purple shirts lay tattered on the grass, looks of pain, of anger, set in the dead demigods' faces. Ichor, too, dripped slowly onto the grass, and he bit his lip, staring at the bodies covered in golden sulfur.

What was he counting? The number of monsters that fell to hisblade, or the number of demigods who would never see the sun rise again?

year fifty-five

Hermes jogged up the path, his face bright red as he pushed into the throne room. His eyes were full of pain, sadness that was not his. He doubled over, gasping. Dionysus slid off of his throne and gripped his half-brother's arm. The insanity washed over him. What was wrong?

He could feel it, though. He knew where it was going, where the words would fall, dead to the ground. His throat closed up, and he automatically reached for the flask on his waist, taking a large gulp. It burned, and his vision swayed slightly.

"Hermes," he said. "Hermes. Who?" It couldn't be his son, it couldn't be, no, no.

"I-It's Percy. Percy Jackson." Hermes didn't continue, but he stopped cold. Percy? The hero/brat/bane of fifty years? "He- There was the monsters, it was the monsters, a-and then they came to Camp, to Camp Half-Blood... Annabeth was telling him no, please-" don't go, he finished inside of his head. No, please, don't go. "But he did, and there was... there was Echnida and the Chimera- the other monsters were there, too- and then, and then, no one had time; they were fighting, they were fighting!" He took another swig. No.

Hermes kept going, babbling the story. "And he killed the Chimera, he did, but then-" he faltered and continued in a whisper. "-but then he'd forgotten about Echnida, they all had, and she was so angry, she had a sword, Imperial Gold, five, six feet-" He stopped and straightened up, turning to look Poseidon in the eye, his own eyes determined and angry.

"He's dead. Percy Jackson is dead. I'm sorry, Poseidon. They couldn't save him. He was losing too much blood... His funeral is tommorow." Numb. His fingers were numb. He was numb. His flask fell to the ground, and he knew the terrible, terrible weight on his chest was a thousand times worse on Poseidon's. Their eyes met through the din.

year fifty-five, next day

Chiron came to stand next to him. They watched the curls of smoke disappear into the sky, the flames flicker, once, twice. He drank deeply, Merlot, his favorite. Pollux was next to him already, drinking diluted wine himself. No one wanted to remember this day.

Through a drunken haze of grief, he watched people step up and say a few words. (Paragraphs, more like.) The words of Annabeth Chase, though, who stood there bravely, her face sharp even in his blurred vision cut through the buzzing.

"-and maybe he's... gone. Maybe Death has taken him away from us, his spirit waiting for judgement in the pavillion. And it hurts, I know. But it's okay, because our lives are fragile and will break at any moment. That's what's beautiful about it; that was what Percy lived for- for the love and everything he could give and get. Because we're not immortal, and we're going to keep going, and we have this mortality that makes us different. It was the little moments that we should keep, and not the grief that we hold now."

The little moments. A victory cry. Holding hands with his son, talking to him like a real father. Annabeth, laughing as they dealt cards. Luke, his face bright as he stared at the brazier. Thalia, lightning flashing around her as she stood up for her friends. Grover, causing a Panic, the chosen one of Pan. Nico and Bianca, playing Mythomagic with ferocity. Hazel, getting pretty steamy with Frank. Leo, whooping as he danced, grabbing random people like Reyna, like Piper, like every single girl he could find. Jason, getting down on one knee. Lee Fletcher and Micheal Yew of the Apollo Cabin. Silena and Beckendorf- Charles- as they kissed, wrapped around each other. Every single name. Travis and Connor. Katie. Miranda. Lou Ellen. Castor and Pollux and Dakota most of all, his sons, his blood.

Dionysus found it quite stupid he was standing there grieving the death of someone he had wanted to hate. He thought it quite hilarious in fact, touching the ground and letting some flower rise up.

"You were right, Chiron," he said quietly, turning to his friend. "You shouldn't have let me come here. I tried, you know," he muttered. "I tried to stop myself, to detach myself from the demigods. The more they knew, the more I cared, and the more pain I would go through. Names are powerful things, are they not?"

"Yes," Chiron said, nodding. "Indeed they are." The crowd of black dispersed, tears falling as people comforted each other. Pollux's hand tightened around his arm, and for once, he let it. Fifty-five years. He wrapped an arm around the young-ish man.

"Hmm," he noted. "Maybe I should've let them spontaneously combust, eh?" Chiron grinned.

"No. Too much trouble."

"Saving the good memories, I suppose, then," he said, lifting his flask in a silent salute. "Saving the good ones," he echoed. It hurt, but he'd be okay. Generation after generation, they would preserve and keep going. It happened, generation after generation, demigods paving the way to a better future.

"Yes," Chiron agreed. "Save the good ones, Mr. D. You never know when you'll have to use them."

year fifty-six

Yeah, just kidding. I'm done. Written for Secret Santa 2013 on PJFC- I hope my reciever likes it. Though unfortunately I cannot say who quite yet, but I've already picked the names.

Merry Christmas! I hope you liked the Dionysus centric; remember that Zeus cut his years down to fifty. Review, and I hope you'll enjoy tomorrow!

Achieving Elysium