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i/ Artemis & ii/ Nico
The day is coming to an end, the sun chariot being returned to its stables. With the day running out, the last group of campers Apollo had been teaching are heading off the archery fields and back to the dining pavilion for dinner. He can hear their good-natured ribbing as they rush away eagerly.
It’s been months now since he’s been restored to godhood and even now, occasionally, he can’t help but marvel at his returned abilities. His arrows hit the mark repeatedly, and he never feels any strain in his back, his shoulders, his arms. Outwardly, his appearance screams Lester, and yet his once-twiggy arms feel like steel, like he could lift a screaming baby off a car. This must be the elusive power that courses through the veins of tired mothers everywhere.
The last time he’d seen Artemis – this morning, although he’s been seeing her almost every morning for months now – she’d taken one look at him, smiled warmly and patted his head. She’d subsequently proceeded to double take and stop smiling, before sniffing and saying, “I smell rebellion fomenting.” Then she’d punched him and walked out, the weirdo.
The reason for the strange reaction might have been to do with his newly blonde hair. He’d dyed it himself, wondering if the physical motions of enacting outward change would settle the slightly unmoored feeling he’s been experiencing. They hadn’t, but at least his changed appearance reflects his undeserved emotional upheaval.
So, he’d spent the day teaching archery at camp. It had been a great day, even when Sherman Yang had lost his temper and started trying to wrestle him instead. He doesn’t regret anything though, and he’d let Sherman win, obviously. There had been no inappropriate usage of his arrows, and absolutely no stabbing had occurred.
Ruffling his hair, he ponders the costs of dyeing his hair blonde. So far, his hair has lost its former luscious moistness. As he’s collecting his arrows, something torpedoes into the back of his head, a sharp pain blooming in his skull before disappearing almost instantaneously, and he topples over, eating dirt. Sputtering, he staggers up and around and sees his assailant’s choice of weapon laying gleaming on the grass. Squinting, he leans closer.
“Hunter Home Remedies.
For the bawdiest blonde’s crispy fried hair, an intensive deep conditioner that’ll give your crow’s nest a silky sleek finish.”
He’s being mocked! “Curses!” He shouts, shaking his fist at the sky. He can hear Artemis snickering, he can hear her! There’s a post-it note attached to the conditioner bottle, and he unsticks it from the missile. “The thicket on your head betrayed you. Never again shall you fool me, unholy urchin.” She’s crazy. Then again, it’s long been known that he has a mentally unstable and highly violent sister who expresses her love through rage. He stares at the note contemplatively. Maybe she’s hinting that he’s lost his carefully crafted sense of aloofness since he dyed his hair. Maybe he’s become less sexy!
He's in Lester form, admittedly, so he doesn’t even have any muscles, let alone a set of clearly defined, glistening abs. Perhaps this is a cry for help and a desire for attention! But no, truly, it can’t be that.
He’s a loving big brother, he can help her through whatever issues she’s experiencing. Perhaps she’s going through puberty again? She was really kicky in the womb the first time. He shrugs and continues reading the note.
“P.s I’m older than you and your dye job is patchy. If you’re going to do it right, get people to help.“ He gasps, affronted. His own sister, insulting his supreme hair wrangling abilities. Absolutely untenable. He draws himself up, ready to zap himself home and blubber at Artemis until she begs for mercy when he hears someone calling out.
“Hey, lava lamp!” He knows that voice! Nico Di Angelo is walking towards him, looking extremely strange. It takes him a second to pinpoint that it’s because he’s smiling – beaming, even. He beams back. Nobody’s going to catch this sun god slacking. His prospective son-in-law is looking tired, as always, but this time he also seems happy to see him. Finally, his efforts have availed him of his son’s boyfriend’s derision! He can’t remember what efforts they were, but the past few months of hanging around more often surely count!
“Hi, Nico! Did you come for some archery practice? Finally bowing down before the superior might of the bow and arrow, huh!”
“I’m just coming to get you for dinner, glow boy. And don’t say that around poor Gertrude here, you’ll hurt her feelings, and then she’ll hurt your body.” He pats his sword and smiles as Apollo chuckles confusedly back. This is a very warm greeting for Nico, very out of character. But more pressingly than this strange behaviour, he’s confused about who Gertrude is. Is the sword Gertrude? The sword can’t be Gertrude.
“Where’s Gertrude? There’s no one around.”
Nico gives him a weird look. “Wow, who hit you in the head? You were literally talking to her last week.” He steps closer and rubs Apollo’s head. “Woah, what happened to your hair? Have you been drinking enough water?.” Apollo feels a blush rising in his cheeks. He’s starting to sense that something here might be amiss.
“Here, Gertrude – can you tell if someone brained Will?” All of a sudden, Nico’s stygian iron sword is being thrust against his forehead and Apollo squeals. It’s a manly squeal, as far as they go, but a squeal all the same. He looks at Nico, who seems to be talking to his sword, and sees a serious look. This is the kind of look that makes it obvious a revenge plan is being made in case someone did, in fact, brain Will. It’s incredibly gratifying to know that Nico is willing to embrace his vengeful son-of-Hades glory in the name of Will, but Apollo is most certainly not Will.
…Nico thinks he’s Will. Gertrude the sword is very cold against his forehead, and it feels like a gloopy cold is seeping into his brain. Nice to meet you, Gertie, he thinks, and the sword vibrates against his forehead and gets fractionally colder. He shudders.
“Huh, she really likes you! You didn’t warm up to him this fast last time, Gertrude. You’re so temperamental.” Nico is speaking fondly to his sword.
Acting like this, Apollo almost sees why Will is so fond of Nico. He’s got a bit of a bloodthirsty kitten vibe going on. And apparently he has a pseudo-sentient sword too, one of the cooler ones that actually seems to like him.
Maybe he can just pretend to be Will and swap out with him later so Nico doesn’t feel embarrassed. He pats Nico’s head. Damn it, the hair is so soft. Nico looks at him indulgently, like a house cat looking at its stupid owner.
A minute change takes over Nico’s face slowly. Huh, that’s blushing, he thinks. Slowly, his expression settles from indulgent to blank and twitching. He slides Gertrude back into her sheath, closes his eyes and takes in a long breath through his nose before exhaling. When he opens them again, Apollo sees the promise of violence. He feels a sensation like ice cold water trickling down his spine, and he realises that Gertrude just unwittingly tattled on him.
He laughs nervously and holds his hands out placatingly. “We’re going to laugh about this later!” He can hear his voice trembling. Damn it!
Nico’s voice and faint smile are both cold, a stark contrast to the cosy tone from a couple of minutes ago. “You patted my head, Apollo. Recompense must be had.”
“But- but, you were just cute! Like a kitten!” He’s wailing now.
“Cute? I’m not cute.” He rolls his shoulders and neck around. “Will would probably be angry if I permanently maimed you, and Gertrude seems to like you, so I guess I can’t stab you with my sword.” His eyes are searching around, and they alight on an arrow by his feet. “Huh, looks like I might get some arrow practice in, after all. You should probably run.” He reaches down to pick up the arrow.
“Oh, not again, fu- “ He starts running.
iii/ Percy
Apollo might hate arrows.
He’s currently laid up in the big house, grievously harmed and being nursed back to health by his miraculous son, Will.
“Ouch!” He groans loudly for extra effect before reaching feebly for more ambrosia.
“Oh, shut up, drama queen. It was tiny stabbing. Your Dad is such a wimp, Solace.” His assailant is languishing on a chair int the room, looking relaxed and happy with his decisions.
Apollo pouts. “Will, my son. Light of my life,” He hears a sigh and barrels on, “Will I be eternally debilitated? Tell me, my dawn’s light. Don’t hold back.” He hears Nico snort and beseeches Will with his eyes. “Must my assaulter be here?”
Will smiles down at Apollo. “Dad, you were already healed by the time you came to the big house.” He pokes Apollo on the belly, and Apollo shrieks. “Yep, all healed, not even a scratch. Up you get! We can still grab some food before the campfire song if we hurry.” He turns and starts gathering everything to put in a first aid bag in the corner of the room.
Apollo’s bed feels cloudy, but he levers himself up. Sure, the wound might have healed, but it’s the principle of the matter! He doesn’t even get a lollipop? He might need to teach Will more about good bedside manner. Maybe if Austin had been here, he could have been treated to some jazz while his infirm, damaged body crawled its way to recovery. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looks over at Nico and Will.
They’re talking quietly and he distinctly hears something about Gertrude and liking him and it seems like maybe that’s a gloomy look on Nico’s face and some muttering about lack of taste. That doesn’t make any sense. Maybe the stab wound has given him a concussion or affected his hearing.
Just as he’s asking Will to give him an eye test, he hears footsteps coming towards the infirmary, and the door flies open. A gust of fresh sea-scented air enters with Percy, and Apollo takes a second to just look at him. He’s relaxed in shorts and an orange camp t-shirt, his biceps popping, keys swinging in his hands and hair chaotic like he hasn’t run a comb through it in days.
He walks right up to Apollo, so relaxed he might as well be whistling. “Hey, Will! You seen Apollo about? Apparently, he fell on an arrow and gave himself a boo-boo.” His eyes flick up to Apollo’s head for a second and Apollo can tell, he knows with the force of a thousand sons that the thought just flitting through Percy’s head had been about how dry his hair looks.
Damnation to bleach and hair dyes! The biggest drawback of this situation is that he’s probably going to have to use the projectile conditioner he was attacked with. Insult upon injury. He gives himself a second to soak in the unfairness for a second before he processes what Percy actually said.
He takes a second.
He heaves in a breath, and puts his hand on his chest, offended. He’s sure his face is reflecting his betrayal. He’s about to start a monologue about this indecent backstabbing. It’s going to be delicious. This is exactly what he’s needed after this day of being wrestled to the ground and punctured with arrows by only one angry teenager.
He doesn’t even get a chance before a flash of understanding consumes Percy’s face, and he guffaws. “You-“ The laughter makes him break off what he’s about to say. “You dyed your hair blonde? Woah, talk about twins. You’re the spitting image of Will. Why did you dye your hair?” He grins as he takes in Apollo’s face, and runs his hands through the blonde hair, flipping it around. “So, you’re committing to it, then? You should, it suits you!”
Apollo feels his face heating up. He pushes Percy’s hands away from his head. Nico looks horrified, and Will looks so happy that Apollo is convinced he’s gleaming a little around the edges. He must be so proud to look like his father. Apollo is blessed with an amazing son. “I think you’ll find my twin looks nothing like Will, and that he takes after me, not the other way around. I’m undecided if being blonde is for me.” He sniffs and holds up a finger so everyone knows to stay quiet while he resumes where he’d left off. “Treachery, Percy! I should have you muck out my sun horse stables for the mistake. My personal spit swapper should be able to tell me and my baby boy apart! My own lover, the worshipper of my nubile young body, thinking that I’m 15 years old!”
Will is choking, and Nico looks like he might be gagging, pushing him out. “Go, go! I refuse to be traumatised any more than this. We’ll get the first aid stuff later. Disgusting, abominable. He should never be allowed to copulate, I’m going to ask for a ban on it. I swear, I’m going to take it to the council.”
“Hey, wait! Where are you going? Son? Son-in-law?” Apollo gets up to follow them out and the door slams in his face with a resounding “No!” ringing out from behind the door, all to the background of Percy’s bright laughter.
“I think he might hate you calling him son-in-law more than you talking about us copulating.” He hugs Apollo. “So, no reason for the change then?” There are strong arms encircling him. They’re warm, and solid. He feels warm and solid himself. He finds himself gripping on tightly, tucking his face into the junction of Percy’s shoulder and neck. He feels the curve of a smile pressing on his hair.
“No big reason. I just felt like a change.” Percy hums. “And, uh, I might be committing to some changes in my personal philosophy. So maybe some inside changes should be reflected super subtly in some outside changes. I’m not definitely committed to it yet, though.” He says this tentatively, wondering how absurd it sounds that a god might be feeling like they’re changing. As much as he’s been told that he can be better, different from a millennia’s worth of history of distanced apathy, he might be afraid that it won’t actually happen.
“That’s pretty cool. I think commitment is a good look on you.” Percy’s tone is light, and Apollo isn’t sure if he’s understood the stand that Apollo is trying to make. He carries on speaking though. “Maybe I should dye my hair too, like in support of you shaking things up. What colour would suit me?”
Apollo feels a little silly. Percy feels like comfort and support with no expectations. The easy acceptance is like a balm. Still, there’s something else niggling at him. He can’t be sure, but if he’s guessed right…
“Stop thinking blue.”
“I’m not thinking blue!” There’s a long pause, and then a sheepish question follows. “How did you know I was thinking blue?”
Apollo’s not silly. Percy is predictable.
iv/ Rachel
Before his trials, Apollo would have felt that walking to his destinations was a drag. Why would he subject himself to waiting around and experiencing the eked-out anticipation of a long-awaited reward when he could just get whatever he wanted instantly? Delayed gratification just wasn’t something he’d considered enjoyable, not when instant satisfaction was an option even before the conveniences of the modern day.
Of course, now he’s been exposed to the fruits of planning and patience, having faced off against the triumvirate, so he’s been given a painful lesson first-hand into the benefits of doing things the hard way.
Now that he’s walking to Rachel’s cave, he finds that it’s a moot point anyway. It’s not like even a long walk is going to tax him. It’s not comparable to, say, holding up the sky. So, he’s not getting anything out of this walk, really, except for the opportunity for introspection as he paces onwards, footsteps light.
The weather is really nice for a hike, a blue robin’s egg highlighted in stark contrast against fresh greenery. Gentle breezes of warm air flow around him, fluttering his clothes.
He doesn’t know how long it takes to get the Cave of his Oracle, but he thinks by the time he’s arrived that he’s lost a fair bit of time. He probably should have woken up and gotten a move on earlier but after a day of unending trauma (attacked with his own weapon of choice, super hurtful), nothing had seemed better than a lazy meander towards his destination.
The braziers are out, and the thick purple curtain is pinned on one side with a gold brocade rope, giving the entrance a lavish ambiance. Inside, sunlight filters through gently. Light gold dapples illuminate the interior walls that are once again covered with paintings.
Rachel is frantically painting a scene when he enters and she barely turns to take him in before flapping her hand urgently at him. “Over there, go on, go on. I haven’t got anything new but I’ve been getting flashes. I need to paint them before I can’t see them anymore.” Her strokes are harsh, hardly conducive to bringing details to life, but he can see a structure coming into being under her hands, and he marvels at her artistic abilities.
Rather than disturb her, he hums and walks further into the cave. He feels like he’s floating, and the darker recesses seem to brighten as he walks along. His eyes wander along the walls. Each painting elicits a strong memory, almost like the paint is splashing on his face and seeping into his brain.
Perhaps having her sight limited for so long had encouraged Rachel into painting scenes from the past year. As obvious as it is, people seem to forget that the past informs the future. He’d been one of those people, until recently. She seems to understand that now, as evidenced by the murals of his trials on the cave.
He freezes as he reaches the final, biggest mural. He hadn’t been aware that Rachel had even seen this. There he is, face tired and grief-stricken, crouching on a ledge with his hand outstretched as a primordial reptilian beast plummets into an sinister inky void. There’s something in Lester’s face on that mural that Apollo has never seen on himself. An intermittent glow beneath the skin heralds his returning godhood, but the depth of emotion on his face transforms the scene from merciful or victorious into something desperate. It confuses Apollo.
He's happy that his archenemy is no longer alive to poison the future, but the tableau elicits a melancholy inside him even after he looks away from the paint. The Apollo of today is only possible because of Python, after all.
Scuffed footsteps announce Rachel’s approach. “What were you painting? You mentioned you haven’t seen anything new.” Apollo is hoping that distracting Rachel with her obviously vexing task will work, but apparently he’s not as good at diverting attention as he thinks, since she ignores what he’s saying.
“He was much more relatable by the time we sent him off to that final battle. I was so eager to see Python dead, I didn’t think the end would look anything like this.” Lester was more relatable, and the end was looking like what? He might have spoken about himself in the third person every now and then in the past, but that was something he liked to think was behind him. More than that, though…
“What do you see when you look at this?” His question is pitched low but it reverberates in the soothing low light of the cave.
Rachel approaches the painting, fingers stroking across Lester’s fatigued likeness. “He looks like…” She stops and starts again. ”Both of them were so invested in each other’s deaths and so focussed on the end goal. Even though they both had an eternity to consider it… Apollo, especially. I don’t think he considered that he might want to save Python. Even I just wanted him gone, destroyed and out of me.” There’s a barely there shudder. “By the end, could any of us say they had a bigger influence on who Apollo’s become? Everything that happened was a result of Python rising again – this whole opportunity for change was because of Python.”
She turns away from the painting, starting to lead him back to where she was painting. “Obviously, it’s a good thing he’s gone. I don’t think he would ever have stopped trying to kill Apollo or trying to take back control of Delphi. The only thing he remembered was his hatred. I guess it’s just a lesson that while our worst experiences can define who we become, good can still come out of them. Nothing is permanent. Not even immortality or divinity… Let alone personality.”
It's startling to know that his Oracle is so perceptive. Even after becoming less self-absorbed, he hasn’t been noticing how clear Rachel’s sight really is, and how much she truly sees beyond even that. He smiles at her, unable to express how truly happy he is that she accepted the responsibility of prophecy.
“I’m sorry, Will. Like I said, this is the only thing that flashes through my mind when I think of the prophecy, It fades fast whenever it comes, so I needed to get it down.” She turns unsettled eyes to him. Her words can’t hide the worry in her voice.
Apollo stares at the painting. There’s a looming structure behind two figures holding hands. One of them is gesturing urgently at what could be a gigantic gate or palace, and an eerie fiery colour emanates from a river in the background. It’s not enough to hide Will’s glowing in the darkness. It evokes a sense of urgency, like they’re in imminent danger.
It also evokes a sense of urgency in Apollo to smother Will with affection, and to stop him from attempting this quest. He doesn’t want either Will or Nico to venture into Tartarus.
In the second it takes Rachel to look from the painting to Apollo, he’s disappeared. The waning light from the day makes her art look more bleak and ominous, and when she turns to see no one standing beside her, her small sound of realisation echoes more than it ever would in the daytime.
v/Tristan + 1/Meg +1/Percy
The McLean house looks cheerful from the outside, a stark difference from how their LA home had looked stately and cold. The façade gives the impression of a lived-in home, and it’s clear from the garden that someone has been tending to it regularly. There are sectioned off, labelled areas on one end of the yard. On the other, a riotous bloom of flowers are coming to life, verdant and bright. They smell like renewal.
Tristan McLean is crouched over a patch of earth, planting seeds. He looks much more whole than the man who had been ruined by the Emperors. Apollo had taken the initiative to help deal with the debt the McLean’s had been manoeuvred into, but he hadn’t known whether it would prompt Piper’s dad to move back to LA and try to resume his career. It seems, however, that the move to Oklahoma is agreeing with both Piper and Tristan.
As Apollo walks closer, he takes a look at the seed packet on the ground. It’s labelled Zinnia seeds in flowery, cursive writing.
“Uh, hi Mr McLean, is Piper home?” Apollo can tell Piper isn’t home, but it seems rude to just vamoose and not even try to have a conversation with Mr McLean and his many abs. It doesn’t matter that they’re hidden behind a layer of body fat, they deserve to be respected.
The former movie star is apparently still taller than Apollo-as-Lester, and he still has soulful eyes set in a handsome face. Apollo is not going to stutter, or flirt with his friend’s dad, or accidentally fall into his arms and cry “Catch me, I’m falling!” He has a boyfriend, after all.
“Ah, hello Will! How have you been?” As Tristan smiles at him, shakes his hand and squeezing his shoulder with the other, Apollo feels a small part of his soul leave his body. The remaining, larger part struggles to form coherent thoughts and makes a noise like glugging. The door bangs open.
“That’s not Will, Mr McLean. That’s Apollo. You can tell from the way that Will isn’t a walking drool sack when he talks to you.” Meg appears in the doorway, bright traffic cone colours assaulting Apollo’s eyes. Tristan laughs, let’s go of Apollo’s hand and stands back to look at his bed of soil.
“Meg! Aren’t you supposed to be in Palm Springs?”
“Lu’s look after everyone there, I decided I needed a break.” She jams her finger up her nose , continuing to talk. “You look better when you’re copying Will.” She drags a booger out and wipes her finger off on Apollo’s shirt. He shudders, gagging a little, but finds the strength within himself to pull her in for a hug, subtly trying to rub the booger off on to her dress.
“Nasty as always, I see.” He comments. “I missed you and your booger-eating as well. I’m pondering on whether to keep it, change can be oh so dangerous..”
“You’re so nasty, I saw the way you were eyeing up Piper’s dad. I’m telling on you. You’re going to get beat up.” She’s studying the soil where Tristan’s dad planted the zinnia seeds and Apollo, being well versed in Megalese understands that this is an incredibly heartfelt and emotional greeting. It would bring tears to his eyes if he hadn’t been trained out of blubbering, so he just lets his heart feel like it’s going to squeeze itself out of his chest instead.
“Those’ll grow real quick, and they’ll be blooming through summer as well. Zinnias are really hardy.”
“Great! I’m beat, I’ve been working in the garden all morning. Who’s up for some grub? Apollo? Meg? Piper’s out with Shel, I don’t think she’ll be back anytime soon.” You’d think an actor would do a better job at hiding his amusement, but apparently not. Apollo is not feeling embarrassed.
They all end up inside. As Tristan throws together a quick lunch, Apollo and Meg catch up on what’s been happening at Aeithales. When Apollo tries to bring up Joshua, she kicks him in the shin, although that doesn’t stop him from noticing how happy she looks, and when he brings up Percy and how she used to have crush on him, she kicks him in the other shin, which doesn’t hurt any less, and when he’s about to reminisce some more, he’s pretty sure she uses her weird memory sharing power to remind him that one of her nicknames was Crotchkicker McCaffrey by showing him a montage of her kicking a variety of crotches. It’s a nice way to spend lunch.
Soon after Tristan joins them, the conversation turns to why each of them are in Oklahoma.
Meg’s eye twitches. “If I didn’t get a break from my foster siblings, I think someone would be getting assassinated right now.” Tristan laughs, clearly not understanding that Meg was being serious, and would likely be the one doing the killing.
“I’m just here to talk to Piper. She gives good advice, it’s pretty handy.”
“My daughter is very wise for her age, you’re right,” Tristan’s face is proud. It’s incredibly compelling, “But maybe Meg and I can give you a hand. I think between the two of us we might be able to cook something up.”
“Ungh.” Meg grunts an affirmative. Her mouth is stuffed full of oranges. The peaches on display are untouched, and Apollo’s fingers twitch. They look juicy. However, once again, he foregoes the pleasure of the juicy peach just in case Meg’s revenge-loving, diaper-wearing karpoi is hanging around. He wouldn’t put it past Peaches to set fire to him.
Apollo hesitates then blurts out, “I dyed my hair blonde. It’s a big change, you know? Like… what if my outfits all clash with my hair? I can’t buy a whole new wardrobe! Fast fashion is the sourge of the environment.”
Meg nods like this is exactly what she was expecting. “Unfortunately, no clothes will avoid the clash with your face.” She pats Apollo’s hand, while Tristan looks thoughtful.
“I’m surprised you’d come to Piper for fashion advice, I wouldn’t have expected that.” Meg throws an orange segment in her mouth and decides to try talking and chewing at the same time. “Yeah, she makes some really bold choices. So cool. I don’t think you could pull it off though.” Tristan laughs and pushes some apples towards Meg. He definitely appreciates Meg’s no holds barred style of living life. “Let’s not be too hasty, Meg, fashion is all about pushing boundaries.”
He turns to Apollo. “Do you think the blonde hair will really change your outfit choices that much? I think it’s a very agreeable colour.”
“It’s more than that. My sister said it looks really dry. And everyone keeps thinking I’m Will, even though Will is the one that looks like me! But I think I’m more afraid of what my dad will say. He’s famously against dyeing hair blonde, there are rules against it.”
“Ah,” Tristan seems to think he’s gained a deeper understanding of Apollo’s indecisiveness. He rubs his chin, and his hand makes a rasping sound against his stubble. “You know, Apollo… One of the most difficult things a parent can do is to let their children make their own mistakes. For a long time, I was afraid of making mistakes with Piper and I let other people make choices about her schooling, and her punishments. Needless to say, when that all blew up in my face, I wanted to overcompensate for that because I’d missed out on so much but… At that point, she’d already grown into a self-assured, independent, young woman. So I had to trust the person she’d become, and let her make her own mistakes, and just be prepared to give her advice when she wanted, to listen when she needed me to, and to talk when she wanted that.” He swipes a hand through the air. “What I’m trying to say is, experimenting and learning are a part of growing up. That’s the way you find out who you are and who you want to be. If you don’t do it now, you’ll have to do it later. No one else can tell you who you are. And I’m all for changing philosophies if I think I’m doing the right thing. Do you agree, Meg?”
“Sure, that sounds good. As long as I can still tell him he’s dumb when he’s being stupid.”
Tristan chuckles. “We all need people who’ll keep us down to earth!”
He’s right, and Apollo can’t think of anyone who’s more well-rooted that Meg. Surprisingly, Piper’s dad is also a well-spring of sage advice. Maybe this is where Piper gets it from. Aphrodite certainly hasn’t thrown any gems like this towards Apollo before.
“Anyone feeling like dessert? I think I might have some peach cobbler in the fridge.” Tristan doesn’t seemMeg’s horrified look but by the time he comes back from the fridge, all he sees through the kitchen window is Meg chasing Apollo with a large stick.
“You promised me baby cows!” Meg screams.
“Will you ever get over the cows? You and your yam-growing abilities terrify them! Cows are famously terrified of yams!”
By the time Apollo leaves, he’s promised to find a baby cow that doesn’t cower before Meg’s almighty yam-growing powers, he’s gotten a hug from Tristan, and he’s very loudly and effusively refused to indulge in any sweet, juicy peach cobbler..
When he arrives back at camp, it’s during the campfire. Everyone’s already seated around the multi-coloured flames. Today they’re roaring, and the happy mood is catching. He manages to finagle a seat in between Will and Kayla, getting a big group hug going between the Apollo cabin and himself. Even Nico gets dragged into it on Will’s other side. He knows that his friends in other cabins might be looking on and hoping one day that their own godly parent will be able to come join them.
Apollo had decided at the McLean’s house that he would keep his blonde hair. Maybe one day, be that sooner or later, other gods will also decide to dye their hair blonde in defiance of his father. After all, they all have a limited amount of time to spend with their mortal loved ones. Every single moment with them is precious. Apollo, at least, will do his best to cherish every second, including this one, where he can feel the happiness of his children and his friends. It’s reflected in the blazing golden flames. It only takes on person to change the course of the future.
Afterwards, he walks back to his cabin, and he makes sure that he tucks everyone in, even Will. It says something to him that none of them protest. When Will sleepily reaches up to grab a clump of his curly hair, pats his face, and mumbles, “Night, Dad,” Apollo feels fully content.
He sneaks out soon after and sits on the beach. All he can hear are the gently sloshing waves and all he can see is a blanket of lethargically twinkling stars. Percy collapses next to him, dragging Apollo into his side, warm against the cold sea breeze.
“Not going to mistake me for my own son this time, traitor?” Apollo’s joking this time, but he wouldn’t be Apollo if he wasn’t a little dramatic.
Percy huffs. “It’s easy to tell you two apart, Will isn’t a massive cry-baby.” Fingers turn his face gently to the side, and lips brush his cheek, making a journey towards his lips. With every kiss, another sentence. “And he doesn’t stare when you think I won’t notice.” A finger to smother his denials. “You always make me feel like I’m spending a day at the beach.” Arms drawing him closer.
The stars pass overhead, and when Apollo is next aware of Percy speaking, his lips aren’t leaving love letters behind. “You’re going to stick around now, right?”
“Yep.” Apollo doesn’t have to look at Percy’s face to tell he’s smiling smugly. “It’s not because of you!”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s not!” Apollo tries to get up, but he’s dragged back down. “You now, I felt up Tristan McLean today! The abs are definitely still there.”
“Ooh, Piper’s gonna beat you up, babe.”
“Why aren’t you jealous? I’m incensed!”
“Hmm, I don’t know. Hey, maybe I’d be jealous if you didn’t spend so much time drooling over my biceps.” A finger taps Apollo’s nose. “Besides, my sources confirmed nothing sketchy happened.”
“Do your sources have rhinestone glasses and a severe aversion to colour co-ordination?”
“No comment. Hey, I’d watch out for any diapered grain spirits. My sources saw you eat peach cobbler.” All of his protests are diverted to screaming when Percy picks Apollo up and decides they’re going for a midnight swim.
A few days later, Peaches gets his revenge during archery training.
Apollo hates arrows.