#pjoau

And sometimes - sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, in his peripheral vison, he'll see Californian blonde and sun-tanned skin, and he'll think Annabeth, then he'll think Luke, and then he'll turn, and it's neither. That smile's all Rachel, that stance vaguely Jason, and that person's all God. Apollo.

Apollo's the only god who remembers, and cares, about what it's like to be mortal. Percy's the only ex-mortal in these parts that hates the ex- part.

He misses Meg, Percy thinks. They don't really talk about any of it. Why would they? Talking about it would inevitably bring things up that'd make them angry, and - look. The last time they had a row there was a drought and an earthquake and a terrible heatwave in Santa Monica. It's not worth the hassle. Or the lecture.

If they don't do anything stupid, the other Gods leave them alone. Well - to be fair - they leave Apollo alone. Percy's the sort of important that you can't leave out of anything. You know. Just in case he ever attempts to buy bigger boots. By killing you. 'You' being a God, and that god being Zeus, because - even Thalia's dead now. Even Thalia.

When he visits the Romans, sometimes, they just think straight-up that he's Neptune. Poseidon never attempts to rectify this assumption, because - well, migraines, split-personalities. It's hard to correct, but Percy does, each time. It apparently gets less convincing as time goes by. Percy minds this very much, but there's nothing he can do about it.

Curses are curses. Eventually, Percy will probably end up a god through belief alone. He's not looking forward to it.

Apollo's reasons for all this are just as obtuse and well-hidden as Percy's own. To admit some truth, Percy's have a hint of nostalgia to them. He supposes there could be that for the God, but it's not like Percy can tell him many stories. Oh, yeah, lets reminisce about the time your son died because of me. Like that'd go down well.

But still, he's here. In this centuries-spanning nightmare, he's here.

And sometimes, in Percy's peripheral vision, he looks like her. Like Rachel, because in a sense - well. She was his Oracle of Delphi. They were linked, on some high level. But he blinks, and it's (Luke) Apollo again. Just like always.

Percy has met Luke. Isle of the Blessed; it was bound to happen eventually. He's met Rachel again too. Clarisse, Silena, Beckendorf, Chris Rodriguez, Leo, Piper. Nico, Bianca, Hazel, Frank. Everyone. He's met them. Whether in Elysium or on Earth, he's met them, as their dead selves or their new ones.

Apollo's kids never like him, but there's a different reason for that now, than when Percy was sixteen.

"Gotta do the rounds," Apollo says. He tosses his keys up in his hand, then catches them. "Wanna drive?"

"Sure," Percy says. Percy can't figure the guy out. And the more time he spends with him, the less it makes sense. The fewer questions he wants to ask, because he doesn't want to know their answers, anymore.

Eventually, immortality's just tiring.

They leave Percy's apartment, and get in the sun-chariot-car. It's some two-seater hot-rod red sports car from this century, which means Percy looks at it and feels deeply out of place, but the interior could have been from 1999, so he can drive it.

And he does. Up into the sky, with Apollo leaning back in his seat, arms crossed behind his head. Zeus won't strike Percy down right now, because he's not a demigod in the wrong place anymore, just a not-mortal with no place at all. In the end, Percy thinks, wryly, they got what they wanted. Just without having to give Percy any real power at all. Or fulfil any of their promises.

He should have made that styx vow airtight.

But there's no point getting angry anymore. There's nobody who'll listen, and fewer who'll care.

"Why do you bother?" Percy asks.

"Don't you want me to?" Apollo asks. It goes like this. A question for a question for a question. Percy looks a little like Thalia, and he knows Apollo thought she was pretty.

"Why would you want to?" Percy asks.

"Not much else to do," Apollo says. His smile is gone, and that expression on his face, one Percy can't quite read, makes him think of someone he can't quite remember. It's been centuries, give him a break. Mortal brains aren't made for memories that distant. That far away.

They have this conversation, every now and again. Answers and questions learnt by rote, some kind of twisted performance.

"You're a God," Percy says. "You've had millenia to figure out how to pass the time," He stares straight ahead, taps his fingers on the steering wheel. "God of medicine, music. Surely there's something for you to do."

"Well, they've figured out a lot down there," Apollo gestures, shrugging, then crosses his arms behind his head again, looks up into the atmosphere. "Regrow limbs. Cured cancer. Yadda yadda. Humans have made music before I came along, and they'll make it after."

"I always wondered," Percy says. "Sun doesn't move. Earth does. How does this work?" He gestures down, at the vehicle they're riding in.

"Tradition," Apollo says. "I don't know. Moon does move, Artemis' job has a point to it. Me? I just give credence to geocentrism."