Clovis — Dreams

     Mid The battle of the labyrinth

“You think this is going to last? That he’ll be here forever?”

Running. He’s running. 

“War is a terrible thing.”

He can’t breathe. His sides ache. 

“It just takes and takes and takes.”

Where is he running? There’s nothing here. It’s all ruins.

“It doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t judge.”

There’s nobody here. Where is he? He’s always here with him. 

“It just takes.”

It’s raining. Pouring. Torrenting. 

“It takes and takes and takes till it can take no more.”

And around the corner, there’s his brother. He’s standing (alive) and talking (alive) and smiling (alive) but there’s a girl with him. She’s holding a knife. 

She’s holding a knife and it’s pointing at him. 

Stop laughing. 

Don’t you see the  knife? Don’t you see she’s about to hurt you? 

Hello? Hey?

hey?

hey. 

HEY. 

Hey, pay attention, T—

“Who knows it might just take him too.”

—

Clovis’s eyes fly open and he goes automatically for his handy dandy trash can. 

But fortunately, this is not one of the dreams that upsets his tummy and Clovis rolls back over to his back. 

He stares at the dark canvas of the upper bunk bed. He glance at the digital clock on the night table. 2:45 am. 

A nightmare. 

He had a nightmare. 

Gods, he hates nightmares. 

He sighs. 

Lately, that’s all they been getting. It shouldn’t be a surprise. If anything, it should be getting worse and worse as the war goes on. 

He closes his eyes and roll onto his side and tries not to listen to the squeaking of a bed, the creaking of a ladder, the shuffling of clothes, and a voice— wobbly and weak— in the stark silence. 

“Travis? Are you awake?”

“Mmphhmmmmpppp.”

“I had another dream.”

“Ya wha? Whas it abou’? Do ya need so’ alo’ time?”

“It’s just the usual dream. Can I sleep with you tonight?”

A bed groans. The ladder creaks some more and bed sheets rustle. 

Then silence.

And Clovis stops trying to not listen.

-- 

“Again and again… how long is this going to go on before you realized joining me is the best choice?”

He have this thing where he drifts into people’s dreams when he’s sleeping. Not on purpose though. No, he’s a big advocate of personal privacy and would never even dare dream of spying if given a choice. It just… he just sort of tumble into the dreamscape of his fellow campers when he’s asleep and when they’re asleep. An unwilling participant to an unknowing host. 

Most of it is incomprehensible. Just a mumble jumble of visions, words, and thoughts. 

But some of them,

Their crystal clarity,

The lucidity,

It's like he’s awake. 

Most times it’s just silly dreams. Someone forgot their pants. Someone had an exam. Someone forgot to flush the toilet after a deuce. Sometimes, though, it’s like last night. Visceral. Allusory. Something more than trivial matters. 

He tries not to think about who’s the dreamer. 

He tries not to think what they mean. 

He tries not to listen.

--

“They taunt your siblings. They hurt them without repercussion. Are you not angry? Is it not unfair? Or perhaps you don’t care for them? You don’t love them? Is that it?”

--

“Your brother did this you ugly freak. He’s the reason we’re all going to die.” 

Luke isn't my brother. I’m not even a son of Hermes. Stop bothering me. Clovis wants to say but he…  isn’t really a fighter.

“Aren’t you going to say something? Huh?”

He’s more of a pacifist.

“Oi, uglyface, are you listening?”

A pacifist that really wishes someone would come save him from these three bullies.

“I’m going to knock some — shit, Connor’s coming!”

“Are you sure that’s not Travis?”

“Who the fuck cares!? I’m not going to risk it! Connor’s scary, man. I’m outta here.”

Clovis puts down the book he clutches and exhale, unable to stop the shake. He raises his head to greet his savior. 

“Thanks, Connor.”

“I’m Travis,” Travis says, eyes not at him but at the backs of the three departing campers. His eyes narrow. “Were they bothering you?”

“No,” he lies behind a closed lip smile, mind going back to  the demeaning nightmares. 

But Travis goes to pat him on the shoulder. 

“It’s okay. You’re not bothering us. If anyone picks on you, tell us and we’ll deal with, yeah?”

And Clovis nods but in his mind, we resolves to tell no one. 

They already have enough problems. 

--

A plain field. He’s walking for what seems like ever. No ones here. No one but him. Then he turns around and there’s Travis. Travis with a sword through his chest. 

He seen this a thousand times. He experienced this a thousand times. It’s a dream. He knows it’s a dream. 

Still the terror is there and it clogs his throat. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. He can’t move. His whole world is crumbling

And he’s falling. 

--

“Keep the dagger up. Elbows out. Be aware of your surroundings. Don’t get too focused on one thing, okay Callie?”

“Okay, Connor!”

In another world, Clovis would say how wrong it is for a child to teach another child how to hold a dagger. It’s wrong to teach a child how to protect herself from nonhuman and human attackers. It’s wrong for a child to be fighting at all. Callie’s six. She should be holding crayons or a book, learning how to read not how to butcher a monster. 

But this is their world. 

And their world is breaking apart. 

The ground tremble. People are screaming. A horn is sounding. Someone, everyone, is running. 

He hears Clarisse yells, “Lock shields!”

He hears roaring, inhuman roaring and without his permission his knees shook.

Connor stands with steely eyes, sees the trembling in his hands, and he hates the worry he sees in his eyes. He knows Clovis isn’t a fighter. He knows Clovis is a wimp. He knows Clovis is going to pee his pants the first minute he sees a monster. 

“Kronos is attacking. Clovis, take Callie somewhere safe and stay with her.”

And before he could say anything Connor is running to where the monsters are.

-- 

He walks through a mountain of corpses. Lee. Michael. Silena. Beckendorf. Castor. Pollux. Clarisse. Katie. Miranda. Percy. Chiron. Annabeth. 

And at the very top, his brother. 

“This is what’s going to happen in the end. I’ll make sure you’ll survive. You’ll walk wthrough your loved ones graves. You’ll be the sole survivor and you’ll suffer for eternity. For eternity, you’ll be left with your failures. You failed to save them. You failed to choose the right side. You failed.”

“Tell me, Connor. Are you willing to bet everything on your brother’s faith to the gods?”

--

The first battle (of many). 

The first casualties (of many).

Clovis presses his fist into his eyes and sobs. Gods, why did this have to happen? Everywhere around him, all he hears are weeping and he doesn’t want to sleep tonight. He doesn’t want to sleep ever.

Clovis watches the burial shrouds burn of their friends, their brothers and sisters, a counselor, until it’s their cabin turn to burn their losses. 

And he watches Travis and Connor takes the torch together and light up three of their shrouds. 

Martin. Ava. Celise. 

It’s unfair. It’s not right. They’re only kids. We’re only kids. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. 

It’s not fair.  

--

Something’s different. This isn’t right. 

He stares at the burial shrouds before him and there’s a hand squeezing his heart, squeezing his throat. 

“That was easy, wasn’t it? A single swing and goodbye, Lee. A little stab and night, night Castor. And your poor cabinmates. One eaten oh so slow—” 

He screams, curling into himself. “Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! ALALALALALA I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you.”

But that’s wrong. He can hear him loud and clear. 

“You can’t protect him forever. One day you won’t be fast enough. You won’t be quick enough. You won’t make it in time. He’ll die. And it’ll be on your hands. But I can guarantee his safety. I can guarantee his life. Not even your father can do that.” 

“Travis, your father let your brothers and sisters die. If he truly cared for you like you hipe for, then Tell me. Why are they dead.”

When Clovis is shove back to reality, he reaches for his trash can to throw up everything. 

--

Clovis plays with the helium-filled balloon in his hands. Bouncy. Light. Elusive.

A single push. 

And it goes wherever he wants.

 The only thing keeping the balloon grounded is a string and a weight. 

So easy to manipulate.

Clovis steels himself and glances at his counselor. His dried-eyed counselor 

“You okay, Travis?” 

Which is stupid. Of course he’s not okay. None of them are okay. 

But Travis and Connor never mocks them for something like that. He looks up from his work to face him. “Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m perfectly fine. A-okay.”

And Travis even forces a smile to complete the image. 

“You seem distracted. Are you worried Chris won’t be good?”

Travis stiffens, his hands stilling. 

“I won’t know until he gets here. But I have total faith in my brother.” And Travis nudges him in the shoulder lightly. “You should too, Clovis!”

“Are you worried you’ll lose Connor?”

Travis bites his lips but still answer nonetheless.

“Connor is incredibly capable. I think he’s more worried about me. But, yeah, I guess I worry about that sometime.”

Clovis looks down at the string wrap around his finger. He isn’t good at this. He’s never good at this. And he’ll be exposing his secret if he says something. But … he got to try … he needs to. Travis is… Travis can’t… 

“You can’t join Kronos, Travis,” he blurts. 

And Travis’s eyes widen. 

“How did you—

But it’s cut short when the door slams open and Chris, with his head bowed, yells

“H-Hi everybody!”