"Do you like it?"

I tug the cap of my new parka over my head, look myself in the mirror and grin at the frog eyes that stick out. The parka is a soft viridian green with a headcap that's made into a frog head. It falls to mid-thigh and is at least two sizes too big for me. "I love it, Mom!"

Sally Jackson laughs then and flicks the little red flap that sticks out over my forehead. It's supposed to be the frog tongue. "I'm glad, then! It's nearly spring, I thought you'd like something not too warm that still protects you from the rain."

"I love it," I say again. I really do. I stroke a hand over the smooth material. A blind man can see the parka's made of quality material. This sure as hell didn't come out of a thrift store. She must've spent a pretty penny on it. "Thanks, Mom."

I have to stand on my toes to peck her on the cheek. Twelve year old I might be, I still haven't hit my height growth yet.

Mom smiles and goes to the kitchen, from where a delicious smell of freshly baked cookies is coming.

Outside our little apartment in Manhattan, thunder cracks the sky.

.

I wake up feverish, and squint up at Argus, who's retracting the hand which he'd shaken me awake with. There's a small smile on his face that straightens into a neutral line when Luke appears beside him. They're haloed by a bright blue sky. The sunlight throws half their faces into the shadows.

The sky's the one thing that doesn't make sense. It should be grey and dreary, announcing the coming of a torrent or a thunderstorm or a splattering rain, as it has been doing for weeks now. People blame climate change for the meteorological weirdness. They're only partly right. Zeus had been in a theatrical bad mood for a whole semester now.

"Fever's finally hit you, huh," Luke leans into my space and checks the temperature of my forehead in an echo of Argus, "Took longer than expected."

My tongue feels stuck to the parched roof of my mouth. "Wha- what's happening to me?" I can barely move my body.

"Monster dust. It might be sparkly but it's toxic for us demigods, especially the first few times. You were covered in it when we found you. We managed to get most of it off but you must've inhaled some."

But it isn't the first time I got covered in monster dust. The Minotaur is definitely not the first monster I encountered and killed. This fever, however, is new. It's strange. I open my mouth but then think better of it.

"Don't worry, first time's always rough. You'll be mostly immune to it after your third kill or so." Luke says.

He and Argus haul me out of the car. My body hangs limply between them, I can barely plant my feet on the ground. The world goes hazy. Nausea crawls up my throat. I groan miserably. Someone -Argus- pats my head.

I promptly pass out.

I don't want to go back to sleep.

.

The next hours, or days -time is hard to keep track of when you're puking your guts out- are filled with weird dreams and very brief instances of wakefulness. My body feels bruised beneath the covers of the bed they put me in, and so heavy I cannot move a single too. I am effectively paralyzed. Everytime I'm awake someone has to turn me on my side so that I don't choke on my own bile.

That someone is always at my bedside, with a head of short curly blond hair and assessing aquamarine eyes.

Not grey.

"You're not her," I mumble once, when my fever hits a peak and I feel like I'm simultaneously cooking and freezing from the inside. The blond -boy? Girl? Their features are fairly androgynous- helps me take sips of water for my parched throat.

"Who?" And if I wasn't sure before, the boyish voice and utterly flat chest tell me it's a boy. Or I'm being a stereotyping moron.

"Her." I whisper, already falling back asleep, "Ann…"

When I fully awake, it's to the sweet smell of strawberries carried in by the wind drifting through the open window. Birds are chirping and by the amount of light that falls in I know the sun has just risen up. I sit up, groggily rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

"Good, you're up." It's the boy, walking in through the open door and carrying a set of folded clothes. "You were out for about a day. How do you feel?"

Like shit, I'm about to say only to realize it's not true. The opposite actually. I feel like I'd got a good night's sleep. I close open my hand, feeling no pain. It's healed. My whole body is healed.

"Wow," I look at the guy, "Thank you."

He waves it away, "I'm an Apollo kid, it's what we do. Now follow me. I'll take you to the showers. "

Someone has washed me while I was out of it -Gods, I hope it wasn't him- but I won't say no to the chance of a real shower. Jumping out of bed, I realize I'm dressed in a papery shirt and calf length pants, the kind they give to hospitalized patients.

He notices my confusion, "A satyr once worked at a hospital. He was kind enough to bring us supplies." He shrugs, "Your clothes were ruined. We like to use them."

I nod and follow him down the corridor. Apollo kid seems to sense my unasked questions as he begins explaining without needing prompting, "I don't know if they explained it to you but you're in Camp Half-Blood. The infirmary, to be precise. You inhaled too much monster dust, and had your first go at Ambrosia. That's why you developed a fever. The human part is not made to combat that. Luckily for you, it passes quickly."

He leads me to a room down the corridor which seems to be a hospital bathroom. Nothing extravagant; a glass door shower, a sink, a small bathtub and a few cupboards.

"Take as long as you need." He tells me and leaves, for which I'm secretly grateful. I need time to myself, to think, and really, to just be.

I go under the stream. Immediately my muscles tense and my lungs expand. I let out a baleful sigh and close my eyes. Water has always had an energising effect on me. It heals me too, otherwise my body would have a lot more scars and bumps from years of playing it rougher than the average New York problem child.

I concentrate until the damp droplets on the glass door start sliding towards a center point. They amass and cling together, forming one big puddle that defies gravity. I make the puddle write out my name, then let it form a fish, a heart-

Except none of that happens. Just like the thousand other times I tried to shape water, nothing happens. There's not one hydrogen and oxygen bond in the universe that has ever bowed to my will, in either of my lives, and not for the first time I wonder why the hell I was reborn as Percy Jackson. I'm turning out to be a shitty replacement, that's for sure.

Useless.

I quickly finish washing off, and dry myself with a fluffy towel I find in one of the cupboards. The clothes I was given consist of the orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt that's two sizes too big for me, socks, underwear, and gym shorts (thankfully, those fit).

I open the door to Apollo kid holding up my shoes. Someone has cleaned them. The gesture, wholly unnecessary but kind, threatens to break the unnatural calm state I am in.

"Come," he says, "Time to meet the big heads."

He leads me through hallways, a few rooms filled with cots and then out in the dawning day. The mini-van is parked in front of what I assume must be the Infirmary. We follow a well-trodden path across the edge of a lush forest, our footsteps muffled by the twittering of birds and the rustling of bright green leaves in the wind.

Camp Half-Blood is beautiful. Peaceful. Just as I imagined. Just like Mom told me.

Don't think about her.

The Big House, true to its name, has to be the biggest chalet slash tree house I've ever seen. The inside is even bigger than the outside makes it seem. Luke is waiting for us.

"Percy," he greets me with a small upward twist of his lips. He turns a neutral look at my companion. "Thanks… Michael, was it? You can go, now."

Apollo kid, Michael -his name tickles in the back of my brain- stays where he is and mutters, "Not my counselor."

Luke pauses and fixes him with his steel blue eyes. Maybe it's the scar, maybe it's the chilling contrast of his eyes with the deep tan of his face, maybe it's the way he holds perfectly still, or maybe it's because his expression doesn't change. Whatever the reason, Michael mutters something unintelligible and disappears out the double doors.

Luke looks like he wants to sigh but turns to me instead. "You're going to meet the directors of the Camp. They're different from you and me. Chiron is a nice guy. It's the god you've to be careful of." He lowers his voice, "Words of advice, Percy, if you want to survive to your eight-teens," the play on words is a dull surprise, "Don't trust gods."

He waits, his stare boring into me. Only after I give a slow nod does he lead me to the backroom, where a fat man is sitting at a small table playing a board game on his lonesome. Bottles of wine sit haphazardly around him.

Three guesses who this is.

Dionysus finally deigns to look up from the board. His eyes, rimmed red and watery the way all sleepless alcoholics' eyes are, settle on me. They widen. I'm suddenly painfully aware that I get a lot of my looks, of Percy's looks, from the godly side of the family. A godly side Dionysus is part of, and knows intimately.

He must be seeing the resemblance.

"So, you're the new brat, huh," Dionysus looks me up and down, "Thought you'd be taller."

Two sentences in and he already manages to pinch my sore spot. "Who the fuck are you?" I say flatly, ignoring Luke's sharp whisper of "Percy!"

The god of wine takes a big gulp out of a wine bottle. Water drips down his double chin but what he splatters on his bermuda shirt is a distinct wine red. "Not the brightest, eh? God of wine and parties, Camp Director against will and fortune, Agrios, Bassareus, the one and only Dionysus, not at your disposal."

My brows furrow, "Thought you'd be handsomer."

Luke's faint "Oh my gods," is drowned out by Dionysus' loud bark of laughter. "You're going to be a problem, I can already smell the bullshit on ya. And Chiron thinks he's got you already pegged. Chiron! Where's that sentimental fool? Chiron, bring your hooves!"

"No need to yell, Lord Dionysus." We turn to the newcomer entering the room in his wheelchair.

"Mr. Brunner." I say.

"Perseus," he sounds and looks grave. He cuts straight to the point. "I wish we could've done this under better circumstances. I've kept things from you. Secrets about your heritage, certainly. And secrets that are mine."

He grows out of his wheelchair, his real form, his horse parts gradually appearing from under his waist. Bronies would have a field day if they were here to witness it. As it is, the only reaction out of me is a hum. Chiron notices my unsurprised expression.

I shrug. "I've always known."

"And your mother never brought up Camp?"

"She did. But I didn't want to leave her alone. Besides, evading monsters is easy." I furrow my brow, "Was easy. I don't know why-" lie, "but this year they started showing up more and more."

"Wait, the Minotaur wasn't your first monster?" Luke pipes up, "Then why did the dust make you so sick?"

I'm fairly sure it was the Ambrosia that turned me into a feverish, puking mess. I'm also fairly sure only mortals and monsters experienced pain from drinking or eating the food of the gods. As I'm not looking to get on anyone's radar, I opt to divert attention from this potential thread of thought.

"Before the Minotaur, there was another monster." The lie slips out easily. A lifetime of lying to a scarily observant mother about a secret past life bears its fruits. "Think it poisoned both me and mom. We couldn't think straight after. That's why the Minotaur got us easy."

"Got you good, too," Dionysus mutters. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we. Do you know who your daddy-o is, boy?" He nods at me.

I think about the men in mom's life. Poseidon, duh. But others came after. The biker guy. Her boss who always smells like candy.

I shrug, "No."

Chiron frowns, "She never told you? Nothing?"

"She would've," I tell them flatly, "But I never cared about him."

Luke clears his throat two times. Except for him behind me, the room is silent. Until Dionysus snorts. "Oh, they're going to love this," he sniggers under his breath.

Chiron clears his throat, "Be that as it may, Percy. You should know this about him. Your father is a greek god. That is why the monsters are after you."

I give a slow blink. Too slow, maybe, because Dionysus seems to come to a realisation. "Right, nearly forgot," he mumbles and snaps his fingers.

A dizzying sensation overcomes me, and I stagger back, right into Luke's chest. He places steadying hands on my shoulders.

"W-what happened?" I stammer faintly, clutching my head. It's as if it's been filled with cotton. Or more like, it was filled with cotton this whole time, and I'm only just noticing.

"Nothing much. A numbing spell," he waves dismissively, "Didn't want a screaming, hysterical -not to mention snotty- kid on my hands before Summer Camp's even started, so I…" and here he shoots an inquisitive look at Chiron, who's frowning disapprovingly, "...dampened your emotions. They'll be coming back to you over in the following hours, along with a migraine or two. You're welcome."

All I do is stare. It's a very good thing that I've been effectively lobotomized, because otherwise, I'd have smashed one of the wine bottles over his big fat head.

Dionysus loses interest in the conversation after that and Chiron is left to explain what Camp Half-Blood is, what life as a demigod entails, etc. Nothing I don't know from the books. "Until your godly parent claims you, you'll be residing in the Hermes cabin," he says and lays a proud hand on Luke's shoulder, "Luke is Counselor and will help you assimilate to Camp life."

Luke offers me a grin I don't return.

Dionysus claps his hands once, "Now that we got the introduction over with, I got a game to finish with you Chiron. Dismissed, boy."

I turn to give him my full attention, "My name's Percy."

"Yeah, yeah, Peter." He waves lazily.

"Per-cy." Asshole.

Dionysus looks at me then, with bloodshot eyes the color of wine, and shows me-

It's mad emperor Nero dressing himself in fur and attacking servants, dragging his empire down with him, it's the prisoner in Guantanamo suffering through unjust prosecution and crying and screaming and never stopping, it's the witches of Salem pleading for mercy and burning, burning bright-

"Lord Dionysus." Chiron's voice cuts through the haze of madness and the fat god huffs but turns back to his pinochle board.

I lower my eyes and take a quiet shuddering breath. Alright, alright. I get the message. Open my mouth, get turned into a dolphin. I don't say anything else.

Luke's grip on my shoulder is tight to the point of painful as he drags me out of the Big House. The day has brightened even more, and the Camp is fully awake by now. I can hear the campers talking and laughing in the distance, probably heading for the breakfast area, wherever that might be.

"You," he sighs when we're ten paces out the door, "are a problem."

"Let go." I say and can't help but notice the flat tone of my voice, the way my brain is telling me what I'm supposed to feel, instead of secreting the necessary hormones and making me feel.

Luke lets go. "Come." He beckons me to follow him.

"I'm not hungry," I quickly say, which is half-true. I won't say no to an egg sandwich but just the thought of facing three dozen curious hyperactive teenagers after the visions silences any pang of hunger.

He makes a noise of disbelief, keeps on walking. "Even if you were, I'm not taking you to the Pavilion."

"Where are we going, then?" I ask, two steps behind him.

He looks over his shoulder at me. His eyes are unreadable. "We're going to bury your mom. You should say goodbye."

.

A young woman wades knee-deep in the cold ocean water. The soft waves lap at her rolled up jeans and a cool breeze ruffles her brown curls. She's looking for seashells, has already collected a few pretty ones and holds them in her left hand.

She looks up and meets the gaze of a young man with windswept black hair and sea-green eyes. In his hand, a queen conch.

She smiles.

A time and a world away, the Fates snip a dark blue string.

.

They bury her at the edge of the forest, at the base of a large tree, just outside of the barrier where the sky is a foreboding grey and the air is stagnant and humid. Mortals can't enter the domain, and a dead mortal is still a mortal.

Chiron has beat us there, along with Argus and, to my utter surprise, Chris.

There she lays, washed and dressed in a white chiffon, her long brown hair left loose. The soft curls frame her serene facs. She looks young. She is young, I realize. She's my age. She was eighteen when she had me. Thirty is nowhere near old enough to die.

I don't know what the procedure is for these things. Surely, this isn't the first time a mortal parent has died on their doorstep? But Chiron stays silent, face solemn. We stand there for a few awkward moments, the only sounds being out quiet breaths and the wind rustling the leaves of the forest.

Chris doesn't hide his yawn, nor the impatient glare he shoots me. "We don't have all day, romano."

"Chris, for Hades' sake, man," Luke says, exasperated and pulls him back so they all form a semi-circle behind me.

At first, I don't understand. Then realisation hits me. And it hits hard. This is a burial. There has to be an eulogy. By me. The only person among us who knew her.

"Mo-" I begin, but my voice breaks. I clear my throat. Don't be a baby, I think furiously. "Mama- Mama. I'm sorry. I miss you." What else? What else, dammit. My mind is blank. I'm not feeling anything.

My mom is going to be buried and I feel nothing, because a god decided to mess with my brain and didn't give a single fuck about my thoughts on the matter. Otherwise I would be a screaming crying pile of demigod failure. "I-I-"

"Gods, this is embarrassing." Chris mutters but even that comment is said very softly.

I take a deep breath. "Salma Anais Jackson. Sally Jackson. Mama." My voice trembles with the effort I'm putting. "I love you. Goodbye."

Nothing happens for a minute. Then the grass around her moves. It starts wrapping itself around her, covering her, hugging her. The earth under her turns and she's slowly but swiftly eaten up my nature. I take a step forward but Chiron puts his hand on my shoulder. Her face goes last and when the tip of her nose disappears, new flowers sprout and form a rectangle, marking what's now mom's grave.

The warm wind rustles the leaves of the trees, moves the flowers and the grass. I stay there, staring at the place where she's just been buried. I am suddenly very very glad my emotions have been muted. Still, my hands are shaking.

Chiron squeezes my shoulder, "Do you want me-"

"No." I cut him off quickly. I don't care what he has to say, don't have the energy to look at, nevermind speak with anyone.

"Okay." His hand retreats, "We will leave for Camp. Come back when you are ready." I hear the clip clop of his hooves recede, followed by footsteps of the others.

Finally alone, I kneel next to where mom's head is buried and lean back against the tree. I close my eyes and let myself fall back in the dull embrace of cotton thoughts.

Sorry, Mom.

.

.

Finished this in a day. I hate these build-up chapters like,,, I wanna get to the good part already!!

Still, Percy's just lost his mom and I don't want to rush the grieving process. It's the five stages of grief we're gonna get through and let me tell you when we get to Anger it's gonna be one hell of a ride. Next chapter will have Annabeth, Grover and daily Camp life.