Chapter Text
Only a week into camp, and Alabaster was exhausted beyond anything he had ever known.
Much to his dismay, he had been pulled into a side room after dinner on his first night. He found himself sitting across from Chiron and Mr. D, looking at an Iris Message from a young news reporter. The news reporter was a clear-sighted mortal currently working on the New York Times, and making her best effort to make Alabaster’s story as plausible and normal as humanly possible.
“Andrianovite,” Mr. D begins, frowning at his empty Diet Coke can. “Tell us your sob story.”
Al shifts, “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?” Mr. D echoes, mocking him as he lowers his cup onto the table.
Chiron frowns at Alabaster, seeming very aware that he is lying, but not daring to pry.
“Perhaps you could tell us what you do remember,” Chiron amends, giving Mr. D a cautious look.
“I was with my dad, we were driving here -- something was chasing us. We spun off the road and I ran, that’s all I remember.”
Mr. D leans forward, eyes glowing a dangerous purple that makes Alabaster lean back in response.
“You watched him die,” Mr. D says, blatantly. He lays back, calm, as if he hadn’t just dug his hands into Alabaster’s mind. “The harpy ate him. The boy ran a mile, give or take, until he was able to hide with our friend. Who was kind enough to save his life and call for help.”
The conversation sticks. The lingering helplessness as his mind was torn into by a god. The pain of hearing the story again -- knowing that the reporter would be putting out a lie to make it more comfortable for those who knew them. From now on, Alabaster Torrington died in the woods that night.
Alabaster can't tell if he wishes it was the truth or not.
When his eyes snap open -- like they do every night -- he finds Luke bent over him, blurry through the gaze of sleep. He’s exhausted, and Alabaster sits up to find that many of his other cabinmates have sat up, some more sympathetic than others. Opening his mouth, Alabaster could taste the tears that had been running down his face since he shut his eyes, his throat burning and sore. He had screamed this time, then.
“Come on, let's go get some fresh air,” Luke whispers, holding out a hand and letting Al use it as an anchor to pull himself up. “The harpies shouldn’t--”
Alabaster jerks back before he can't process what’s happening, his breath falling from his lips in a rough exhale.
“ No.”
A bed somewhere to Alabaster’s right creaks, and Al sees a figure rise from the bottom bunk. Cautiously, the boy shuffles over, careful to step over the few sleeping campmates scattered around the floor.
“Travis, go back to bed,” Luke says, his voice softer than Alabaster had ever heard it.
Instead of listening, Travis shuffles into view, his wings twitching.
“I have a protection charm,” Travis whispers. “It’s a gift from my dad. It was a gift for when I’m traveling on supply runs.”
Without hesitation, Travis reaches under the collar of his shirt and shows the charm to Alabaster. Then, he pulls it off his neck, holding it out. The pendant dangles in front of Alabaster as if taunting him, begging him to rush into the safety it brings.
“The harpies think I’m one of them,” Travis gestures to the wings beside his head with a shrug. “I don’t get it either. But,” he swings the necklace. “This should keep them away from you.”
Luke glances between the two of them, leaning back and giving Alabaster a clearer view of Travis.
“Okay,” Al agrees quietly, reaching out and taking a white-knuckled grip on the pendant when it’s dropped into his hand.
He slips it over his head, comforted by the weight on his chest.
Luke guides Alabaster outside, the two of them perching on the front steps of the porch. In the middle of the ring of cabins was a hearth that burned brightly. Alabaster could have sworn it grew brighter when Luke settled.
Alabaster put his back to the wall, beside the door, his eyes scanning the skies. Occasionally, his observations would be broken by the cry of a hawk or the bark of a dog, and Alabaster silently prayed that they weren't monsters -- even if he knew they were, deep down.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Luke asks, bending down and tearing a few strands of grass from the cracks between the wooden steps.
When Alabaster doesn't respond, Luke focuses on the grass, tearing his strands into smaller pieces absent-mindedly. The cold bites at Al, and eventually, his sleep-addled mind begins to pry open.
“My dad died,” his shoulders shook. A cold fills his veins as he feels himself adjusting to match the night air around him. “It's my fault.”
“I don't believe that.”
“What?”
“I don't think it's your fault,” Luke repeats, shifting to press his back against the porch railing. “Did you kill him?”
“ No --”
“Then, it’s not your fault.”
Al swallows, “The girl in the woods said that,” his eyes flicker to the open sky. “ Monster was after me.”
Travis's pendant is heavy on his chest.
“Did you summon the monster? Did you tell it to chase you?” Luke counters.
Alabaster clicks his mouth shut, huffing.
“Alabaster,” Luke continues, clearly not expecting an answer. “From what I've heard,” From your nightmare, goes unsaid. “You loved him, and he gave up his life for you. That choice was his. I know that sounds horrible, but he loved you so much he sacrificed everything for you. The situation is downright miserable, but it's no one's fault,” Luke doesn't sound like he quite believes that last part; Alabaster isn't sure he does, either. “It's not your fault. You are a kid, there is only so much you can do and understand, especially when it comes to facing a new world.”
“How could they just,” Alabaster bites back a sob, but by the way Luke winces, he didn't hide it as well as he had hoped. “He said my mom loved us. How could she love us and let that happen? Let him die, out on the street in the cold? That's not fair. Their omnipotent for god's sake, could they not help him? Even for a second?”
Luke flinches, his eyes slamming shut. This was a sore spot for both of them.
The head counselor's voice comes out monotone, forced, and robotic.
“The gods are busy, Alabaster. They have a million things to focus on and they don't,” he pauses. “They don't always care.”
“Why have kids if they don't care?” Alabaster bites, folding his arms over his chest.
“I don't know,” Luke admits. “I don't know.”
It was only seven o'clock in the morning, and Alabaster was already dragging his feet. Thanks to his nightmare and the unforgiving floor of Cabin Eleven, Alabaster was both exhausted and drowning in pain. Chris has made himself comfortable at Alabaster’s side -- Ethan sitting on the other side of Chris. Though, it seemed like Alabaster couldn't shake the Stoll brothers.
Mainly, Travis Stoll.
Travis, who had been talking off Alabaster's ear for the past half-hour.
“And, you won't believe this, Connor pickpocketed Luke! He almost gets away with it, too, but Luke noticed pretty quick. So, he tries to grab Connor, and he spends the next three days--”
“--Hunting us down with McDonald's,” Connor finishes. “He kept giving it to us every day like we were some kind of raccoon--”
“You were a raccoon,” Luke teases, but it hardly deters Connor.
“--Until eventually, he brought us here!” Connor continues, only pausing to stick his tongue out at his older brother. “Dad claimed us the moment we stepped through the barrier.”
He says it with such pride, that Alabaster forces himself to swallow his envy. He can feel Chris tense beside him, his hand curling to a fist on his leg. Alabaster doesn’t reach out, but his eyes shift down to his plate as he stabs at the food on it.
Travis seems to pick up on the tension, clearing his throat overdramatically.
“On the other hand,” he picks up, filling the awkward silence. “We were thinking about starting another prank war, with Cabin Five.”
“Cabin Five?” Alabaster echoes, brows raised in disbelief.
Connor nods, “What happened in your match was foul play, Al! They broke the rules, and they hurt one of our own.”
“Connor,” Luke warns, but he sounds more amused than scolding. “You know we can’t start prank wars in the off seasons, it’s not fair, with our numbers.”
To Alabaster’s surprise, Ethan is the next person to speak up.
“Well,” he reasons, with a half-hearted shrug. “We’re only evening the playing field. Foul play on the field, perhaps they have earned a bit of foul play outside of it, too.”
Connor reaches his hand out across the table, gesturing to Ethan in a wide motion, “Even the son of balance agrees with me! That has to stand for something!”
“A cabin vote at rest time, then,” Luke amends, much to the joy of his younger brothers.
It was nearly noon, and the day had been growing more stressful the longer it went on. Throughout his routine, Alabaster couldn’t help turning around multiple times, feeling a pair of eyes on him only to find empty space. Even when he was alone, walking along the camp barrier at free time, he could feel them. In the woods. In the archery range. In the dining pavilion.
Alabaster only knew one person he could trust with this, but he couldn’t find Luke for the life of him. He taps his foot impatiently, eyes scanning the open fields from where he had perched on the top step of the Hermes Cabin. Luke is nowhere to be found. Alabaster has asked every single cabin -- including Cabin Five, much to his dismay.
Storming around camp like a poorly contained spitfire, Al climbs half-blood hill -- the only place he had yet to check -- quickly coming to an abrupt stop. Luke Castellan is lying across the grass, his arms folded under his head and his legs in front of him. His eyes are shut, and in the light of the afternoon sun, he looks like a child of Apollo. The way the sunlight curls around Luke’s features draws Alabaster's attention to the figure beside him, Lee Fletcher, who is humming softly, his back against the tree at the center of the hill while his fingers picking absent-mindedly at the guitar in his lap. The moment feels intimate, too private to be walked in on.
Luke’s brows crease, his face contorting as his eyes open.
Alabaster's gut twists with embarrassment. He draws in a deep breath, feeling a warmth spread from the center of his chest. It seems to wrap around him in tendrils, pressing into his skin and curling around him almost possessively. The corners of Alabaster's vision darken with a wave of exhaustion, and his foot adjusts to account for his swaying.
Luke's head lifts, eyes squinting at Alabaster, but failing to locate him.
Lee stops strumming his guitar, glancing at Luke with a concerned expression.
“What is it?”
Luke pauses, brows furrowed. He opens his mouth before closing it again, carefully.
“I thought I sensed a soul,” he admits, glancing in Alabaster's vague direction.
Lee frowns, his eyes scanning the field and skipping right over Alabaster.
“Relax,” Lee soothes after a moment, relaxing back against the tree. “It's our free period. You know how your powers act when you’re stressed out, it’s probably the hospital in the city, again.”
Looking down, Al notices that he can't see himself either. He flips his hands, raising them in front of his eyes, only to see through them. Panic rushes through him, and in it, Alabaster stumbles back. Before he has the chance to roll back down Half-Blood Hill, two cold hands grab onto his shoulders, stabilizing him. With his back supported, Alabaster regains his balance, scrambling away from the figure holding him.
Be careful, she scolds, but her voice is more fond than angry.
Around them, the world ripples like crashing waves.
The woman in front of him wore a long, black peplos that fell to her ankles in length. Her feet are bare, walking forward delicately as if she was savoring her connection to the ground. Across her face was a delicate black spiderweb that seemed to fade into her dark hair. The longer Alabaster stares into her eyes, the more he can see. First, he sees himself approaching Luke and Lee. Second, he disappears out of thin air. In the third, he watches himself turn away from his head counselor and move back down the hill.
Alabaster blinks, before scrubbing at his eyes with his palms, “What is this?”
“Ah, do you like them?” She teases, a warm smile on her face. “My crossroads,” she hums. “Every choice we make.”
Alabaster stammers, frozen in shock as the woman approaches with long, graceful strides. In the presence of a goddess, Alabaster is aware of both her beauty and her power, leaving him scrambling back in an attempt to get to his feet, despite his urge to kneel and beg for her mercy. Her hands are warm as they raise to cup Alabaster’s cheeks -- he’s overcome with a sense of belonging, settling in his bones like a weighted blanket.
“Hello, my son.”
Her eyes seem to sparkle with anticipation and excitement, with an underlying tint that Alabaster can recognize as nervousness.
Al finds his voice.
“You're my mother?”
Her smile grows.
“Hecate, goddess of magic, crossroads, witchcraft, sorcery, ghosts, and necromancy -- though some would argue I am a Titaness,” she smirks, brushing her hand through the air. In front of Alabaster's eyes, a nearby butterfly becomes purple, “Oh, and I am the creator of the mist, of course,” she offers a warmer smile as Al's mouth falls open, his hand reaching out and allowing the butterfly to perch on it. “I think it was time we met officially, though,” she frowns at Luke and Lee, “perhaps somewhere more private would fit.”
The moment her hand hits Alabaster's shoulder, he finds himself ripped from the world around him. When they do land, deep in the woods of Greece, Al’s hand rushes to cover his mouth.
“The foloi oak forest, a place so beautiful, it aided in inspiring the mortal’s belief in centaurs, nymphs, and dryads. It is one of my favorite places, these days,” Hecate explains, as if that remedies the millions of questions in her son's mind. “Don't worry, there is a version of Alabaster Torrington sitting by the lake. No one will notice your absence, for now.”
In place of responding, Alabaster lowers himself to the ground. His mother sits beside him on a newly-existing log, peeling apart a piece of meat with her hand to feed to the dog at her feet. The dog glares at Alabaster as if he is intruding, but her tail wags, and her eyes spark with curiosity.
“I haven't had many children over the years,” Hecate begins, once Alabaster has stopped dry heaving. “It pains me to be separated from you all.”
He frowns, his hands reaching down and fighting the urge to tear grass from the ground to fidget with. He finds himself tearing at a loose string on his pant leg, instead.
“Do you visit all of your children like this?”
She's silent, before answering quietly: “No.”
Then, why visit me? Alabaster wants to ask, but he knows better than to question the actions of a deity. Against the voice in his head that sounds oddly like Luke, he asks the question of most children in Cabin Eleven harbor.
“If you know I'm your child, why haven't you claimed me yet?”
Hecate sighs, as if she knew to expect this, but dreaded it.
“They will not treat you the same,” she answers honestly. “The council-- they will view you as a threat. Their children will follow, though it is no fault of their own. If I claim you, promise me this: Do not stand out. It will only make you a target.”
Alabaster swallows, hesitating as he glances at the Titan-goddess. She smiles fondly at him, tipping her head as if urging him to continue his onslaught of questions.
“What made you visit me?”
Hecate’s lips twitch as if she was trying not to laugh at him. She reaches out, grabbing the string at the back of his neck. Travis’s pendant falls out from under his shirt collar, and Alabaster's face grows red in embarrassment.
“You wear the protection of another god,” she answers. “Perhaps my reasoning is selfish, but I feel rather, displeased, that you wear another gods gift. Additionally,” she drops the string, “I couldn’t help but wonder, is your father,” Her voice trails off.
Alabaster’s eyes burn with tears, but he forces himself to answer anyway.
“My father is dead.”
She looks upset, her eyes growing watery as she looks away, letting out a quiet ‘oh’.
“It is not often that I grow attached to mortals,” She begins after a moment of quiet. “Your father held a passion for magic as it existed in all things. He was kind. He held no hunger for power. He loved what he did, regardless of what it made him in the eyes of his peers. When we met,” Alabaster perks up, despite himself. His father had never told him about her, not like this, at least. “I was distraught. Your sister, Lamia, was kind. The girl in love with the king -- my cousin, first removed, of course -- and driven mad by his wife as she slayed her children. However, your sister's grief grew unsustainable, until it consumed her completely. Her curse on demigods, the creation of a smell that would allow monsters to track them, had killed one of your siblings. I hid in the islands near my child's home country. Your father was the first to approach me. He made an effort to make me comfortable in any way he could -- even allowing me to take his bed, at the price of him taking the floor, when he found that I had no home there. I did not feel like an outsider, despite my divinity. My daughter's death had made me feel powerless. Experiencing the innocent care of a mortal after such an experience, I felt connected to the people of that island in a way I have never felt before.”
“I spent my days in comfort, but I could not be neglectful of my domains. Your father had confided in me that he had felt lonely in this life. His condition, and his longing for companionship, had all made him feel isolated from his peers and from his world. His parents, your grandparents, had died months prior. The trip was an escape for him, as it was for me. We never meant to,” her eyes glanced at Alabaster, and then away, ashamed. “I wished to create a life with your father on that island. To live in peace, free from the world. Respected in my own right, as a woman and as his friend. I truly felt understood in the eyes of your father, cared for, even. I created you,” Her hand guides Alabaster's head to face her, her thumb brushing over his chin. “You were a tribute to that. To the kindness of your father, to his respect for my domains and myself. The gift to cure his loneliness, but also a symbol of the care he had given me, and the fondness I harbored in return. I cared for your father as a friend, as he cared for me. We understood each other in a way I cannot explain.”
“I felt another gods hold on you, attempting to sever our connection. I worried that perhaps, something had tried to take you from me, as it had taken your sister. I had hoped that the sanctuary I had placed on your home would protect you from the evil of this world. I see now that I was mistaken.”
“My lady, my father's death was--”
“No need for that. Your father was a caring and loving man, I do not doubt that he took that sentiment to his end,” she chides. “He loved you more than life itself, Alabaster, even before he knew you. You must not disgrace his memory by believing your survival was selfish.”
Alabaster cries. For nearly half an hour, he sat in the woods, curled in on himself -- his mother's hand firm on his back -- crying in the face of the goddess. He felt ashamed, even as she reassured him that it was only his grief making him feel such a guilt. His mother apologizes, shushing him as she leaves him in the place of his Mist-figure.
“I must go,” she had said. “I am sorry I have not claimed you, my child. Think, if this is what you truly want. When you are ready to bear the eyes of your peers and gods, call to me. I will answer.”
He finds Travis Stoll by the archery range in the last few minutes of free time, tearing an arrow out of the target before trekking back up the small hill. Travis lifts and readies his bow, giving Alabaster a short smile before letting the arrow fly. Bullseye, again.
“I never took you for an archer,” Alabaster admits, perching himself on a small chair set aside for the archery instructor.
Travis shrugs, “I’m not.”
“You might as well be, with that aim.”
“Only Cabin Seven has archers.”
“That’s dumb--” the moment he says it, Travis’s eyes widen, before a frown overtakes his features. His eyes glance towards the sky, and when whatever he is waiting for doesn’t come, Travis readies his bow again. “--If you’re a good archer, you should be one. I don’t think your parentage matters when it comes to talent.”
Travis lets out a laugh, but it’s a choked noise.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Travis spits, though Al knows the anger is not toward him -- he was too drained to be upset, anyway. “You don’t have that pressure yet. Right now, you could do anything, and no one would tell you it didn’t fit your parent's domains.”
Do not stand out. It will only make you a target. Alabaster's open mouth closes, his face pensive.
“I already know who my mom is,” he whispers, praying the wind won’t carry the sound.
Travis lets his arrow go too soon as a sudden jerk goes through him, burrowing his arrow in the grass a few yards away. Deciding against running to retrieve it, he lowers the bow to his side. For the first time since Alabaster joined him in the archery range, Travis turns his entire body towards his fellow demigod.
“Who?” Travis asks, before slamming his mouth shut and shaking his head violently.
He closes the distance between them, giving Alabaster no time to answer, and places his hand over his mouth. He looks serious in a way Alabaster hadn't seen on him before.
“Don’t say it, here, just,” Travis grabs Al’s hand, guiding it up to his bare forearm. “Write it on my arm.”
“Why can’t I say it?”
“Because you aren’t supposed to know until they claim you,” Travis whispers through gritted teeth, before straightening his arm out.
“How would you even understand that--”
“-- My dad is the god of language,” Travis answers flatly. “I understand just about everything.”
Hecate, Alabaster writes. Travis hesitates.
“How do you know?”
Alabaster shuts his eyes and sends up a prayer that he isn’t about to make a fool of himself. He pulls at the feeling from earlier and Travis lets out a startled gasp. The warmth comes easier now, as if it was finally open to him.
“That’s so cool! Is that the mist?” Travis waves his hand through the bent mist, watching it ripple around his fingers. “That’s amazing.”
He sounds breathless, his eyes and smile wide with awe. Before Alabaster can stop him, Travis is reaching through the Mist, giving Al only a second to drop it before Travis throws his arms around Alabaster and lifts him in a hug.
“That’s amazing!"
Alabaster lets out a heavy breath, finding himself back on his feet with a worried Travis frowning at him.
In Alabaster’s eyes, the world dims.
“Oh-- oh!” Travis yells, rushing forward to catch Alabaster as he falls towards the grass.