Sleep wasn’t safe anymore. Sleep meant dreams. Dreams meant memories, and frankly he was getting tired of the bitter ones. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting a breath out. Triton would be by anytime, or maybe his dad... Instead, he heard some familiar bickering.

“Oh, come on, Hermes, it’s my turn. I haven’t had a saltwater snack in ages”

“You’re practically hoarding him, Apollo! This is about comfort, not for cravings you get.”

“Excuse me, but my gut is a sanctuary. You wouldn’t understand. You’re all stress and caffeine and FedEx energy.”

“Better than being drenched in honey.”

Percy groaned and pressed his face into his knees. So Triton would need to wait then- or maybe he could just sneak out the back. The cabin door creaked open slightly before practically slamming off its hinges. Apollo’s radiant head popped through, golden hair slightly wind-tossed. “Percy, sunshine, sweetheart, whirlpool - are you still awake? That’s bad. You need rest.”

“Not happening,” Percy muttered, glaring at the god with a scoff. He knew Apollo was trying to butter him up, and he very much didn't appreciate it. The sun god had constantly been trying to sweet-talk him into tummy time since he had accidentally been toward pushy and Percy had taken a decently sized chunk out of his forearm.

Hermes phased in right behind his brother, leaning against the door frame like he owned it. Not stepping in quite yet, because doing so would have instantly alerted Poseidon and neither god wanted to have not one but two sea gods on their asses about stealing kids. “You don’t have to dream, you know,” he said casually. “We’ve got two very plush, warm, and certified-safe options right here.” He pointed between himself and Apollo.

“We offer cozy darkness, gently rhythmic thumping, and a complete emotional reset. Five stars on Yelp.” Percy blinked at them, trying to figure out if they were serious about this. There's no way two gods were about to fight over him being a salty sea snack.

Apollo beamed. “He’s sold. Get in line, speedboy.” He declared, flicking Hermes' forehead.

“You get in line.”

“No, you-”

“I swear,” Percy mumbled, dragging himself upright, “if you two fight over me again, I’m going to crawl into the chimney and sleep there.” They both froze, silence briefly falling between them all.

Hermes held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Rock-paper-scissors?”

“Best of three,” Apollo countered immediately, a wide grin stretching across his face. At this point... Percy wasn't invested in the winner anymore; he just wanted a nap. Considering Triton and Poseidon weren't here yet...

Percy sighed, already shuffling toward them, exhaustion making his limbs heavy. “I don’t care who wins. Just… no dreams. Please.”

Apollo’s golden gaze softened almost instantly, his blinding glow dimming to a soft light, and Hermes didn't have a comeback, instead a worried look settling over the god's face.

“Dreamless,” Hermes promised, already throwing his hand,

“Wrapped in sunshine,” Apollo added, matching Hermes until both threw their hand out at the same time. Apollo sported scissors, and Hermes rock. Hermes had won the match, though Percy could have cared less at this point. Apollo let a dramatic sigh out, but stepped aside with a wink directed at the demigod.

Percy didn’t even react when Hermes snapped his fingers. Percy had learned that blinking made the whole shrinking process sort of more bearable, but at this point seeing everything massive was always disorienting. Hermes gently scooped him up, holding him close like something breakable, his fingers curled around him like a railing.

“See you in twelve hours,” Hermes told his brother smugly. Apollo gave Percy a two-fingered salute with a fond smile. Not pouting, not demanding- something that Percy appreciated, the sun god seeming to have learned boundaries since the last incident.

“Dream sweet, whirlpool.” Apollo comments, giving Hermes a pointed look, eyes narrowed like his brother was a constant offender of being 'too much'  

“Don’t scuff the kid,” Apollo muttered. “He’s got trauma in at least three flavors.” Something Percy didn't have the energy to fight right now, his head resting against one of Hermes' fingers, just focusing on the gentle heat of divinity that radiated from the god.

“I’m not you,” Hermes responded, slowly lifting his hand from his chest to his face. Percy didn’t resist. He barely had the energy to blink, let alone argue. His body felt like driftwood, hollow and slow to move. The process had, to his annoyance, become very familiar at this point, his head lolling to the side.

“Easy,” Hermes murmured, one finger bracing the back of Percy’s head like cradling a chick. “No more nightmares tonight, champ. Just hush.”

Warmth washed over him like a gentle tide when the god opened his mouth, carefully sliding Percy in, keeping his movements smooth. There was no rush, which was odd for a god constantly rushing things; a tad flattering if he was being completely honest. Hermes had sorta always been like that when it came to this, however, always taking it slow, pausing to let him back out if he wanted. Percy closed his eyes, letting a small breath out, absentmindedly patting the muscle beneath him, a silent 'go ahead'

Still nothing moved any faster; Hermes tilted his head back, gravity slowly causing Percy to slide to the back of the god's throat. His feet paused at the slight slope, the sort of slide way down. Not truly a throat, not in the sense mortals understood. The thought made Percy huff sleepily, wriggling forward to speed the process up.

"Come on Hermes, I'm tired." He grumbles, patting the roof of the god's mouth.

An amused chuckle rumbled around him, and after a second Hermes' tongue shifted him upwards before a swallow tugged him downwards. There wasn't much resistance, so he slid down slowly, like a slide full of pillows. Not exactly fast but not slow either. Then came the familiar sensation of being squeezed like a tight hug, and he landed with a plop into the god's stomach.

The space shifted around Percy, muffled and muted as if someone had wrapped him in a soft, living comforter. He settled like a sigh exhaled into deep water, his stress disappearing like bubbles floating to the surface. The walls around him were pulsing in a quick sorta pace, the warmth with divine energy and smelling faintly of lemon balm and old letters. Not paper, but parchment, dusty and timeless. Somewhere, just beyond the flesh, he could hear Apollo saying... something. He couldn't hear it, and at this point he didn't care all that much.

The space wasn’t tight, but it felt snug in all the right ways. Like being tucked under a weighted blanket that breathed. The stomach wasn’t slimy, not really. The lining shimmered faintly, plush and slightly slick with something. At this point Percy was pretty sure gods didn't actually have saliva but decided whatever they wanted. Like Apollo's weird sticky honey, like whatever it was. Occasionally, little pulses of static rolled across the walls, and a breeze washed over him.

He curled up, muscles already going slack, warmth cradling every inch of him.

The first sign that something was wrong was that Iruma could not feel the floor.

Not literally. The stone beneath his knees was still there, cold and solid through the fabric of his school uniform, but the sensation meant nothing. His body had gone strange and far away, as if he were sinking through the corridors of Babyls instead of crouching in one of its empty side halls, one hand clamped over his mouth so tightly he could barely make a sound.

His lungs burned.

He tried to breathe in and got only a sharp, useless pull of air that scraped the inside of his throat. Another came too fast after it, and another, each one smaller than the last, until it felt like he was trying to breathe through water.

No. No, no, no-

The memory hit him again, sudden and vicious.

Passing by an empty classroom when he heard a group of older students talking.

"Imagine if a human actually got into Babyls."

"They'd be eaten before sunset."

"Or sold."

"Or experimented on."

"Either way, they'd never survive."

The students laughed. They weren't talking about Iruma specifically. That was almost worse. The conversation had turned, in the horrible certainty that one more second, one more mistake, and everything would collapse. He had even reached the relative safety of a quiet hallway before his body had simply… stopped obeying him.

Now his chest felt too tight for his heart. His hands were shaking so badly he could not fold them, could not unclench them, could not do anything except sit there and panic while the entire world narrowed to the sound of his own ragged breathing.

Kalego wasn’t here.

That thought came next, cutting through the haze. Not because he wanted Kalego’s lectures or the sharp-edged criticism that usually followed, but because Kalego had become, in his own impossible way, a fixed point. Someone who knew. Someone who watched too closely. Someone who had made it very clear that Iruma’s continued survival was apparently a matter of personal responsibility.

And he was gone.

Out of the school.

Unavailable.

Of all the terrible luck. He could summon the demon as his familiars, of course, but it wasn’t an emergency; he wasn’t in danger. He had just had a jolting realization that he was just a snack to these demons.

Azz and Clara were nearby somewhere; he was sure of it. They would have come immediately if he called. Clara would probably have thundered down the hall already if she’d heard the first bad breath of it. Azz would have gone white with worry, then furious at whatever had caused this, then even more furious at Iruma for not asking for help sooner. They would help, and that was the problem. He couldn’t tell them what had shaken him. At this point it was something silly to be frightened about; he knew the demons wanted to eat humans, the song they sang every morning declared that constantly.

He pressed a fist against his chest and bent forward, as if that might stop the shaking. It did not. He felt dizzy instead, lightheaded, like the hallway was tilting. The far wall blurred. He tried to drag in another breath, and it stuck halfway, leaving him trembling harder.

“Iruma?”

The voice was soft, careful, and immediately his body jerked with fresh terror. He looked up too fast, his vision swimming with tears. They fell hot and heavy down his cheeks as he tried getting enough air in his lungs.

Balam stood at the end of the hallway, half in shadow, one hand still resting on the doorknob of a nearby classroom as if he had just stepped out and found Iruma there by accident. His expression was different from the one he wore in the lab, less hidden behind odd enthusiasm and more stripped bare by concern. His eyes sharpened immediately when they fell on Iruma’s face.

For one awful instant, Iruma thought of running, but his legs refused to work. Embarrassment washed over him. Here he was sniffling like a baby over something he heard every day.

Balam closed the distance slowly, deliberately, stopping several paces away instead of crowding him. No sudden movements. No questions yet. Just that unsettling, piercing calm of his, as though he had already read the answer in Iruma’s expression and figured out exactly what he needed. Iruma tried to speak; he really did, he wanted to reassure his teacher that he was fine. Nothing came out except a sound that was embarrassingly close to a choke.

Balam’s brows drew together, concern shining through his eyes. If Iruma had to guess, the demon was probably wearing a frown behind his mask. “Don’t try to talk.” His voice dropped even lower, the sort of tone usually reserved for handling wounded beasts or frightened children. “You are breathing too fast.”

His vision swam again, aware of every awful thing at once: the wet heat of tears spilling down his cheeks, the pressure in his chest, the way his fingers had gone numb, the fact that he could not stop himself from shaking. He could hear blood pounding in his ears like distant drums.

“What happened?” The question alone nearly undid him. Because of course Balam would make sure he was okay. It was clear the demon didn’t know what to do, probably assuming this was some weird human thing that just happened when they were overwhelmed or something. Iruma’s throat tightened enough to hurt. He looked away, toward the floor, toward anything but Balam’s face. The shame was immediate and hot, being scared over something that was so- so silly.

“It’s silly- really, I don’t want to bother you, Balam- Sensei.” He managed to choke out, rubbing the tears from his cheeks. He wasn’t even a crybaby; he wasn’t sure why this had affected him so much. Iruma drew one shaky breath, then another.

“It’s not silly, not if it's upset you this much,” Balam says after a moment, then shuffles closer, his arms open in a familiar manner. “May I give you the human custom of ‘hugging’” he continues, not making any other sudden movements. Iruma could see how much the demon was holding back; however, he knew the teacher loved holding small things, and well... he was rather small compared to the demon.

Iruma couldn’t help but laugh, the sound trembling. He didn’t verbally answer at first, instead just sort of collapsing into the hug with a pleased noise. Balam was always so... fluffy and nice to hug. He was more than glad he had gotten that custom to go around. Apparently hugs could regulate a human’s nervous system; who knew?

He sat there a little longer, still trembling, while Balam remained with him in patient silence. No questions he could not answer. No pressure to explain what he was not ready to say. Only time, and breath, and the strange, impossible fact that one of the few demons who knew his secret was not using it against him.

At last, when he could speak again without his voice cracking completely, Iruma said, “I didn’t want to bother Azz or Clara.”

“They are your- ah, the human word is… Friends correct? Isn’t that what you describe friends to be for?” Balam prompts gently, still keeping his arms around Iruma, the hug still comforting even now. Of course Balam-Sensei remembered that little tidbit.

“W-well- I mean I..just..not with this actually- I mean I don’t think I should…It’s a human problem, not a demon one.” Iruma says finally, watching understanding bloom over Balam’s face.

“Oh! Is it something that you need assistance with? Is there a human way of dealing with it?” Despite everything, his teacher was still so excited about discovering all of what humans needed. Iruma couldn’t help but laugh, shakily closing his eyes as he leaned closer into the embrace.

“You- ah, you can say that.” He says quietly, feeling bad for subjecting the demon to all of this... then again, he was sure Balam would get excited about learning about hiccups. “Right now... now I was having a panic attack; it um... it happens after something that triggers a fight or flight response,” he explains quietly.

Balam didn’t answer right away, instead taking note of how the boy was still trembling, still seemed out of it. Iruma took a shaky breath in, trying to ground himself, but he felt so... exposed. Kalego wasn’t there, gone, so he couldn’t exactly go ask to be stuffed in what the demon called a ‘pouch’. Unless. He slowly looked up at Balam, the demon examining him with a concerned gaze.  Oh, this was embarrassing but…Iruma would like to get back to class as soon as he could, and he wasn’t anywhere near ready to go face his classmates yet.

“Balam- sensei..I have a big ask.” He says after a few moments. A massive ask if he was being completely truthful. The demon tilted his head, clearly waiting for Iruma to continue, so he did. “A while ago, Kalego-Sensie, um... he put me in a pouch, and it was- it was really nice and comforting- so I was wondering, well, only if you really want to- if you could- I mean, just for a little while, you know, until I calm down a little.” He rambles, playing with the fur lined around Balam’s neck, not daring to meet the demon’s gaze just yet.

When he did, he was met with Balam’s eyes practically glowing with delight, pure and utter delight. Large warm hands gripped his shoulder firmly but trembling with what Iruma guessed was excitement. If Iruma hadn’t learned about Balam's sense long ago, he would have mistaken it for hunger.

“I would be honored for you to trust me this much,”  Balam murmured, scooping Iruma fully into his arms and shuffling into the empty classroom, vines securing the door as an extra precaution. Iruma couldn’t help a shaky laugh at how cautious the teacher was truly being, though he appreciated the effort.

He wondered how they were going to do this; Balam was already so much larger than him, so he doubted there was much the demon would have to adjust size-wise- then again, Iruma had no idea what all Balam could handle size-wise.

“I’m going to take my mask off- oh, this is truly amazing, Iruma, the trust you are allowing me to do this,” Balam says giddily, setting him down on the desk as he fumbles with the mask concealing his fangs. Oh, that might be..an interesting trial to get past.

Balam seemed to notice him staring, tilting his head before straightening slightly. “I’ll be very careful; you won’t even feel it. I swear this to you,” the demon reassures quickly, holding his hands up with a soft warble. Oh! That noise Iruma recognized; Kalego had used it a lot recently, mostly when he thought no one else would hear it. Who knew demons were so vocal?

“Oh! I know you won’t hurt me. I just- it’s interesting because your fangs are a lot bigger than Kalego’s.” Iruma says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, feeling bad for making Balam assume he wasn’t trusted. His assurance seemed to work, considering Balam practically beamed at him.

A smile found its way to his own face at this, putting his hands in his lap. “So- um, how is this going to work? Kalego sensei sort of shrunk me the last time.” He asked, feeling a tad shy about asking. He was curious, though; Balam was a larger demon after all, and had more bird-like qualities. He wondered if that varied from demon to demon-

Right focus! Balam tilted his head yet again- well, that answered that- before smiling wide again, his eyes crinkling with eagerness to most likely explain. The teacher did, after all, like to teach.

“I won’t need to adjust your size all that much; you’re already rather small compared to him. I will adjust a bit; I don’t want you feeling crammed inside.”

“Oh! That makes sense- well, ah, I’m ready.” Iruma says, closing his eyes in preparation. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and with a small warning, he felt a tingling sensation dancing under his skin briefly, the warmth of the hand getting a bit bigger. When he opened his eyes, things weren’t completely massive, but he had shrunken a bit. Small enough that he seemed doll-like compared to the bird-like demon now. “Oh! Is this size alright for you?” He asks nervously, relieved when Balam just chuckled fondly.

“If I’m being honest, I can handle much larger, though I’m sure it might be... a tad obvious,” Balam says sheepishly, shifting slightly before hovering a hand near Iruma. “May I begin?” He asks quietly, watching him like he's analyzing any movement to suggest being uncomfortable. That was what he liked about Balam; the demon was also so focused on ensuring he wasn’t frightened. Iruma couldn’t help but lean into the warmth, closing his eyes with a pleased sort of rumble he had heard some of the other students make when happy.

It seemed to be the right noise, considering a near thunderous rumble answered his just as eagerly, clawed fingers gently wrapping around his waist and lifting him up. “You’re learning more of demon vocalizations, very good,” Balam murmured, absolutely beaming, which looked a tad odd on his face due to his exposed cheekside and fangs, but something Iruma had come to enjoy seeing.

“I figured it would help me fit in a little more,” Iruma said shyly as he was lifted up more, his feet just outside of Balam’s mouth. If someone had told him that he would have been this calm with a demon about to quite literally swallow him years ago, he would have called them insane- well, not verbally but still. “Kalego Sensei makes me practice too, just to make sure I do it right.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Then you’re doing an excellent job.” Balam compliments, the warmth washing over Iruma with each spoken word. He can’t help but relax more, his nerves dying down more. Balam wasn’t Kalego, but he was just as protective and safe.

“I don’t mean to rush, but are you ready?” He prompts, his hands steady despite the slight trembling which Iruma guessed was excitement. Iruma gave a small nod with a smile. He didn’t bother lying, not with Balam’s bloodline ability being able to figure out lies.

“Yeah-yeah, I’m ready. It’s… thank you again for doing this.” He says, giving the demon’s finger a small pat. It earned him another smile from Balam before those fangs opened up again, and he was slowly eased inside. Warmth enveloped him from all sides as he was carefully lowered inside. The tight sensation caught his ankles, a gentle swallow rolling over his ankles, pulling him down to his knees, Balam’s hand guiding him in carefully the whole time, the massive tongue shifting behind him, cushioning him from getting sliced by the bottom fangs.

“Woah…” He murmurs to himself as another swallow pulled him in deeper, and carefully past the upper fangs. He craned his neck back as he sank in deeper, taking in how the fangs glistened in the light behind him, almost framing the outside world. If it was any other predator, this sight might have been terrifying, like a finality of seeing the sun, but with a demon he trusted? It was just cool. Like an oil art piece.

“This is really cool, Balam - sensei.” He says, giving the roof of the demon’s mouth a small pat. Laughing when a delighted rumble vibrated the entire space, an almost ticklish sensation. He shifts, taking in how absurd this entire situation was; he was surrounded by razor-sharp teeth, a slick, humid environment, something that should mark the end of a life was peaceful instead. His eyes closed with a small pleased hum, enjoying the sensation of the rumbling all around him.

Then, a few moments later, another rolling sensation tugged him down more; Iruma wriggled forward more to encourage Balam to pick up the pace, letting the demon know he was fine. It was always an odd feeling being slowly pulled down, muscles rippling around him, tugging him down with each swallow. The tongue lifted him upwards more, the teeth closing with a soft clack, sealing the space into a comfortable darkness.

Gravity took over mostly as Balam clearly tilted his head back, making the trip down more straight instead of a gently bending curve of the natural shape of the throat. Iruma smiles a bit at the consideration, wriggling down as the swallowed were less tentative little tugs and more powerful. He lets a small laugh out as he was pressed upwards against the demon’s pallet, then squeezed fully backwards, pushed down until the throat muscles fully caught him and easily pulled him down, and down, until his feet hit a batch of open air. Being squeezed into the pouch was different. With Kalego, he had been smaller, so there was more of a drop; with Balam, he was a larger size, so it was more of a controlled squeeze, like soft serve into a cup. The rest of his body followed his feet, curving slightly as he fully landed inside the pouch.

“Incredible, Iruma, you truly tasted indescribable.”

Iruma blinked in surprise before nearly hiccuping with laughter. Well, at least he knew Balam wasn’t too nervous about the situation.

“Thank you, Balam-sensei… for all of this.”

He really was grateful; it was… just perfect. A non-exposed space to just rest and process his feelings. Who knew constantly shoving down your emotions could come back with a vengeance?

A bit of a weight pressed against what Iruma guessed was the ‘front’ of the pouch, and pressed into it, trying to settle the best he could into the small cup of what was no doubt Balam’s hand.

“I will always be a space you can trust, Iruma.” Balam murmurs. Iruma closed his eyes and leaned against the pillowly soft flesh, taking in the gentle vibrations of the demon’s words with a small smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Beep boop a break!!!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Iruma had been the Demon King for a decent while now; in the Netherworld, it was practically nothing, but to a human? It was substantial. To the younger demons, however, he was a legend, mostly to his classmates and peers. He had caused a lot of ruckus after all.

The great halls of the palace rang with his name. Nobles lowered their heads when he passed. Entire cities celebrated the anniversary of his ascension. Songs were written about his kindness, his impossible strength, and the era of prosperity that had followed in his wake.

Even now, the stories sounded ridiculous to him.

The King Who United the Thirteen Crowns.

The Beloved Sovereign.

Iruma still thought of himself as Suzuki Iruma. Well, mostly. He had learned the language of the Netherworld so thoroughly that he no longer had to think about it. He understood every nuance of posture, every flick of wings, every movement of a tail.  Humans smiled when they were happy; Demons displayed the sharp edges of their teeth, their tails swished a certain way, ears twitched upwards.

Humans would hug; demons pressed their foreheads together or wrapped their wings around one another, tails twining together. Humans comforted one another with words and demons rumbled, purred, clicked, growled, and made countless other sounds that conveyed meaning far more clearly than language ever could.

Iruma knew them all. He had learned court etiquette, mostly from his grandpa, battle customs, mating rituals, protective instincts, territorial behavior, hatchling care, everything a netherworld-born demon should know.

The palace doors opened, pulling Iruma from his concentration on his papers, not fully, just his thoughts wandering to who was visiting now.

"Lord Iruma."

Iruma looked up from the mountain of reports covering his desk. A familiar figure stood in the doorway, black cloak perfectly arranged, expression as stern as ever.

"Kalego-sensei!" The title had long since ceased to be accurate. Kalego was no longer his teacher, and his own rank vastly loomed over Kalego’s, yet Iruma couldn’t bring himself to address the demon as anything else. Kalego was also still, somehow, exactly the same.

The demon’s scowl deepened, his ears twitching with pure irritation; his expression flattened even more.

"You have postponed your meal."

Iruma blinked. "How do you know that?" he asked, slight amusement creeping into his tone. Someone had been tattling; that was for sure. Perhaps a servant, or maybe Alice.

"The servants told me."

"I was busy," Iruma says straightening out his paperwork with a sly smile. He had already planned to take advantage of Kalego’s concern for a rather comfy pouch nap. Being an adult didn’t take away the fact that it was warm and comfortable.

"You have also neglected to sleep."

Iruma smiled sharply, tapping the desk with amusement. Kalego was sliding right into his trap perfectly. Iruma didn’t get to this rank just by being passive after all. Life was chess at times, but at others it was more like playing Connect Four with someone who was color blind. "Hello to you, too."

Kalego stared at him; Iruma stared back before adjusting his paperwork into neat piles for later. He wasn’t going to get around to it after this, and that would be fine.  Kalego crossed the room, picked up one of the reports, and frowned.

"These could have waited."

"Probably." Iruma tilted his head as he watched Kalego scan the report before setting it back down on the desk, clearly annoyed that such a stupid report had graced Iruma’s desk.

"You are overworking yourself." The demon hissed, slamming both palms on the ornately carved wood. Hook. line and sinker. Truthfully, he wouldn’t even need to push all that much.

"I know." He says, spinning his pen with a mischievous grin, more so when Kalego’s next comment came.

"Then stop."

“Mmm. Make me.” He says, leaning forward, setting the pen aside as he looked up at his former teacher with a challenging grin. Everyone else saw the Demon King. Kalego saw the problem child who had nearly blown up a classroom. Everyone else treated him with reverence; Kalego still scolded him for skipping meals.

The demon folded his arms, nearly sneering, something that many others wouldn’t dare to do to the king. “You little brat.”

Which only made things more amusing. Iruma tilted his head thoughtfully, then he made a soft sound. Kalego froze mid sneer. A tiny trill, followed by a questioning chirp a sound of a hatchling seeking reassurance. Something Iruma hadn’t used very much, which only made it carry more weight.

Silence fell over both of them. Kalego stared at him as he had just set off another explosion in the classroom. Iruma looked innocently back, a wide grin on his face as he waited expectantly.

"...You did not just do that," his former teacher growled, his eyes narrowed to slits, but that didn’t hide the fact his pupils were dilated to the max.

Iruma smiled, resting his chin on his hands, looking up to the demon as innocently as he possibly could. "Do what?" he prompted, tilting his head. “Surely you’re not implying I, the demon king, am making baby noises.”

“I am fully implying that the demon king is resorting to such childish tactics to simply annoy me.” Kalego snaps, so Iruma made the sound again. This time, he allowed just the slightest note of exhaustion to creep into it.

Kalego's eye twitched, his pupils dilating again, his nostrils flaring as if taking in the scent of the ‘distressed’ hatchling as well. The problem was simple: in demon society, hatchling calls could not be ignored; they simply could not.

The instinct ran too deep; Iruma knew this, and Kalego knew that he knew this. After living in the netherworld for so long, Iruma had absolutely no shame, so another tiny chirp.

Kalego closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling in exasperation. "I refuse," he ground out, fangs grinding together with resistance, though Iruma could tell that was a losing battle.  "You are manipulating biological instincts."

"Yes."

"Shamelessly."

"Yes."

"You should be ashamed."

"I am not."

"Clearly."

Iruma smiled, then his expression softened because, if he was being honest, he really was tired. Ruling an entire world was difficult; people depended upon him, demons looked to him for guidance, and every decision mattered.

Sometimes he wanted someone else to carry things for a little while.

Kalego was watching him carefully now. Iruma hadn't realized the exhaustion had become visible. How exhausted he had appeared this entire time.

A low rumble escaped the older demon, followed by a deep, exhausted sigh. Come here, brat." The words were spoken with all the enthusiasm of a man announcing his own execution, which was par for the course.

Iruma brightened instantly, standing from his chair, delight creeping into his exhausted expression. "You gave in!" He gleefully declares, partially skipping to the older demon’s side.

"I most certainly did not." Kalego scoffed, fingers already moving in the size adjustment spell. Iruma shut his eyes to avoid the disorienting feeling of shrinking.

"You absolutely did." He answered in a sing-song tone, stretching slightly as he waited for the tingling to stop its little dance under his skin. He was well due for some pouch time.

"You are merely preventing yourself from becoming inefficient."

“I feel I have been entirely efficient given my current rank,” Iruma answers cheerfully.

Kalego glared at him, opening his hand expectantly. Next to him, Iruma stepped forward immediately, hauling himself up onto the hand, using a finger for balance. His eyes half-lidded as he was lifted up.

The older demon was always efficient with the process, no lingering, no tasting, so waiting to see if he was doing alright. He was pretty sure the demon had grown accustomed to his tells at this point. “A royal snack, huh, sensei?” He asks, smirking when Kalego snorts as he brought the human up to his face.

Iruma waits, watching as a cavernous mouth opened in front of him, the tongue automatically draping over the bottom fangs to avoid nicking delicate skin. He was unceremoniously tilted inside, his feet sliding against the tongue as he slipped inside, the entire length of his body settling comfortably on the muscle, which delicately cupped around him, briefly keeping him from sliding any further. Fangs clicked together, fitting like a glove, leaving him in the darkness, then the motion started. Being lifted up, pressed firmly against the hard, then soft palate of the demon. The tightness of the entrance of the throat catching his feet, a thick swallow pulling him down with a nearly rocking motion.

Warm.

Protective.

Safe.

Kalego let out another low rumble, the sort adult demons used to reassure distressed hatchlings that everything was secure. Iruma could feel himself relaxing almost immediately as the vibrations washed over him, and he was pulled downwards deeper into the core of the demon.

He smiled as his feet hit open air, the rest of his body following with a squelch as he landed in the organ. "Thanks, Kalego-sensei." He murmured, giving the nearest ‘wall’ a small rub.

"You are impossible."

"Probably."

"You abused instinctive behavioral responses."

"Definitely."

"You planned this." That made Iruma laugh without any shame, looking up despite seeing nothing but darkness. His former teacher had him figured out to the max. "Absolutely," he chuckled, leaning more against the cradle of natural warmth. Kalego was silent for a moment; the silence was always comfortable, something Iruma appreciated.

"...Did it help?" Iruma let the thought roll around in his mind for a moment before smiling softly. "Yeah."

Another rumble, stronger this time. "I see."

Iruma smiled. The Demon King, the ruler of the Netherworld, the terror of his enemies, the pride of his people, and, apparently, still a hatchling. At least where Kalego was concerned.

The elder demon sighed. "Do not tell anyone about this."

"Tell anyone what?"

You would think that after stopping Kronos, waking up after months of amnesia, marching through Tartarus, defeating giants, saving Olympus for a second time, and generally making himself a target for every monster in the western hemisphere, people would have decided that maybe, just maybe, he deserved a vacation.

Unfortunately, many of the minor and major gods and goddesses didn’t seem to think so.

Percy stuffed another spare shirt into his backpack. Something Percy had learned on quests: clean clothes were amazing; he shoved an extra pack of underwear in just in case. A day quest could turn sideways in seconds.

Ambrosia squares sat in a plastic baggie he had borrowed from the camp shop. Nectar was carefully sealed inside a metal flask. Annabeth had insisted on the extra supplies after the last quest.

The last quest.

The fact that he needed to think, Which one? probably said enough. There had been far too many mini quests. Pick up this, do that, find this. Busy work, but… something to keep his mind off the suffocating burning feeling of…

He zipped the backpack up, the sound pulling him back to the present. He swung the pack onto his back, tightening the straps until it fit snug. No one liked a bag that got jostled when you were trying to fight. Still, he made sure it was loose enough to slip out of just in case he got snagged.

"I'm going to say no this time," he muttered.

Nobody heard him. His cabin remained stubbornly empty, thankfully. Well, for now, until his dad either broke the oath again or his friends visited. Jason never liked his own cabin after all.

"Seriously."

Nobody answered as usual.

"I'm absolutely putting my foot down."

At that exact moment, a harpy swooped past the window carrying an envelope. It crashed into the wall, dropped the letter onto Percy's bed, and flew away. Leaving his sheets a mess- well, more of a mess; he rarely made his bed anyway.

Percy stared at it.

The letter was sealed with golden wax. He didn't open it. Not right away. He couldn’t help the feeling of relief washing through him. Something to do, something to fight.

"You have got to be kidding me." He hissed between his teeth, despite reaching for the letter automatically.

"Language, Peter Johnson."

He jumped, hand on his pocket out of reflex before pausing and rolling his eyes. Mr. D stood in the doorway wearing a leopard-print Hawaiian shirt, purple running shoes, and an expression that suggested he was deeply disappointed in the universe, or in dire.

"You know my name." Percy points out, crossing his arms. He swore the director did it on purpose or something. Then again, if he had been banned from like- water, his entire self, he might be a little cranky too.

"I know several names. Yours happens to be among the least interesting." Mr. D didn’t step into the cabin, probably because he knew doing so might get him chewed out by Poseidon. Apparently, gods very much didn’t like having another god in their space, who knew.

Now the silence was weird. Gods, did Mr. D have a quest for him, a double quest day? "Then why are you here?" He asked, finally hoping to draw something out of the stubborn god.

"Unfortunately, because of you."

For anyone who didn't know him, Dionysus looked exactly as he always did, bored, irritated, and vaguely offended by the existence of other people. Percy knew better. The god's shoulders were stiff, his fingers tapped against his arm, and most telling he lines around his eyes seemed deeper than usual. It was strange seeing an immortal look tired, because they could absolutely change how they looked.

"You look stressed." Alright might not be the best thing to start with, considering he had a cranky, tired god on his hands, but Percy had done absolutely stupider.

“Watch it, Johnson.” Mr. D snaps back with a slight sneer before sighing. It was such an unusually human sound that Percy almost checked the room to make sure the real Dionysus hadn't been replaced by a monster, or another god. He wisely decided to stay quiet for a bit.

"Peter Johnson," he said, his voice almost condescending, "how many quests have you undertaken in the last two weeks?"

Percy opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "...A lot?" He wasn’t sure, actually; most days tended to blur together when he wasn’t sleeping. No sleep meant memories got a bit hazy.

"An astonishingly accurate answer." Came the flat response from the god. One thing Percy gave credit to the god: Mr. D was about as sarcastic as him, which was saying something. He had been crowned king of sarcasm one night with the seven. The letter crinkled in his hand.

"Look, if this is about the letter-"

Mr. D snatched it from his hands and, without even glancing at the seal, the parchment burst into purple flames. Percy stared at the ash float away, carried off in the breeze as if it had never existed in the first place.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Somewhere outside, a conch shell sounded. Camp was bustling around like Mr. D hadn’t just blowtorched a letter in protest of... something. Finally, Percy pointed toward the ashes drifting onto the floor.

"You just destroyed a divine summons."

"Yes."

"You're allowed to do that?" That really didn’t seem like something that should be done- then again, he was mortal. And gods did sabotage quests way too much for his liking. He lowered his hand finally, wiping it off on his jeans despite there being no ash.

As if answering his silent question, Mr.D spoke again, "I am a god," he said, his eyes flashing purple as if reminding him. Probably because of their first meeting. Percy swore the smell of grapes and wine was permanently burned in his nostrils. "Furthermore, I am quite annoyed." Mr.D continued summoning a Diet. Coke can, cracking it open and taking a sip, giving Percy time to make a quip of his own-

"Also normal."

Worth the annoyed glance at him. He swore Mr.D teetered between tolerating him and wanting to turn him into a dolphin, so Poseidon had to deal with him.

"After the war with the giants, Olympus has developed an unfortunate habit." Mr.D proceeded like Percy hadn’t said anything at all. Another common thing gods did: ignoring; they were great at that. "Whenever a situation arises, everyone asks themselves the same question."

Percy had a terrible feeling he knew where this was going suddenly. Mental health. A topic everyone kept dancing over ever since the whole war had ended. No one really talked about their traumas, and Percy was more than happy to leave dark thoughts there. In the dark.

"'Who shall we send into terrible danger against overwhelming odds?'"

Percy winced, swallowing hard. The sense of unease was creeping up his back like a centipede. He could feel every prickling nerve as the god kept speaking.

"'Who has repeatedly demonstrated an appalling willingness to sacrifice himself for others?'"

"Mr. D, I get it you don’t need to-"

"'Who is powerful enough to survive, foolish enough and troublesome enough that the gods do not mind burdening him with more work?’”

"Okay, that one was a little harsh," Percy interjects, his voice wavering. He wasn’t foolish; he just..really needed to do this. To do something. Annabeth had Olympus to re-design, temples to build, and he had..camp. But training didn’t happen constantly, and he needed to just..fight. To breathe, to stay awake, anything to stop that heavy, that painfully cloying that-

"Perseus Jackson."

Percy took a sharp breath, his gaze snapping to meet the gaze of the god. He wasn’t sure what he looked like, but he looked like Mr.D’s expression shifted every so slightly before settling back into an annoyed glare.

He had no rebuttal, nothing to say. He licked his lips nervously, grasping the strap of his already packed bag. A bag for a quest he hadn’t even received yet. Mr. D was quiet; that was unsettling all by itself. The god turned from him, leaning against a pillar and looking toward the strawberry fields, taking another sip from his can.

"Do you know how many heroes I have seen die, Peter Johnson?"

Percy didn't answer. Couldn’t. The sound of swords clashed in the distance, the sound of arrows hitting targets, but so much fewer due to them having lost so many in the first war. How despite everything, camp sounded so much quieter.

"Thousands."

The breeze rustled through the cabin. It didn’t smell of the sea for once; no ut carried the scent of wine, of vines, of summer. It was strange for a cabin tied so heavily to the sea.

"I have watched them burn brightly and vanish. They always believe they have more time than they do." Mr. D folded his arms. "You are an irritating child. You are reckless. You are impertinent. You routinely disregard instructions."

"Thanks." Percy croaked, wincing at how his voice came out. That was..very much not how he wanted to sound right now.

"You interrupted me." Mr.D’s gaze landed back on him, his eyes narrowing just slightly, though his tone held no heat- it did, however, hold authority he rarely heard from the god.

"Sorry." He murmured, adjusting the strap of his bag, suddenly interested in the floor. A long-winded god speech never failed to make him consider perspective, especially from someone who had been a demigod once. Mr.D had briefly been part of him. Had known what it was like.

"And despite all of that, you are perhaps the most absurdly loyal hero I have encountered in centuries." Percy wasn't sure what to say. The god pinched the bridge of his nose. That he was used to. Adults being annoyed with his antics, that he could process. "At this rate, you are going to make me change my form into something with gray hair."

"I didn't know gods could do that."

"We can." Said with some annoyance.

"You'd look weird with gray hair."

"I know." With more annoyance and a pointed glare before Mr.D took a sip from his drink again. The bubbles fizzed, filling the silence of the conversation. Percy really didn’t want to get into why he was accepting the quest. Maybe the god understood without him saying anything. Gods, he hoped so. Just because he had been subjected to forced sleep days with some gods and unfortunate rescue methods, this was still not something he wanted to talk about.

Dionysus was old enough that centuries felt like passing seasons. Entire empires rose and collapsed while he barely noticed.

Yet he could remember Percy Jackson arriving at camp for the first time with astonishing clarity.

The child had been skinny, angry, confused, and altogether too willing to throw himself into danger for people he loved. He had been willing to fight the god of the underworld after just barely discovering he even existed, just for the chance of seeing his mother again.

The boy standing before him now was broader across the shoulders. His movements were smoother. More efficient. More dangerous. A popular topic during council meetings. Of what to do if Percy’s loyalty wavered. Dionysus knew as long as they didn’t mess with his little group of friends, they would be fine.

Of course, no one emerged from Tartarus unchanged. Not even gods.

Percy had.

Annabeth had.

And though neither of them spoke much about it, Dionysus knew enough. He had seen the physical evidence. Some of the scars had been there much before the Second Giant war: the puncture wound on his hand, a few smaller cuts and scrapes- those he knew about. Tartarus itself was a wound upon existence. Merely surviving the place was an accomplishment. It was never meant for a mortal's gaze. That much was obvious given how the two demigods acted.

Dionysus was, among many other things, the god of madness. Mortals often misunderstood what that meant. Madness was not merely insanity. It was grief. Terror. Panic. Despair.

The mind's desperate attempts to protect itself from things it was never meant to endure.

Right this young man in front of him was a prime example of it. Most concerning of all, he kept accepting quests, not eagerly, no, never eagerly. That would have been simpler. That would have meant Percy was unaffected. Percy complained; he insisted that he wanted a normal life. To be a teenager and just go to school so he could attend college.

"I'm serious," he would say. "I mean it this time." "I don't want to do this anymore."

Then he would pack his bag. Every time, sometimes even before a quest had been asked of him. Minor gods leap on this opportunity like hungry scavengers. Immortals didn’t have the same grasp of thoughts and emotions as mortals did, living centuries, and centuries did that to a being. They would never grasp something as simple as this; Dionysus struggled with it at times now too.

At first, Dionysus had assumed the reason was simple.

Loyalty.

Percy Jackson possessed enough loyalty to qualify as a natural disaster.

Eventually, however, Dionysus had begun to suspect another explanation.

Percy needed to fight.

"Tell me something. If another camper came to you with your collection of injuries, your exhaustion, your experiences, and your obvious inability to distinguish rest from idleness, what would you advise?" Percy was silent. Not even looking at him. Something Dionysus had gotten used to in these more recent months.

"Peter Johnson?"

"I'd tell them not to go." An instant response. The boy was many things, and one of those things was ferally protective over the younger campers. In fact, the God was sure he would fight whatever god was messing with the camper.

"Precisely."

"Yeah, but that's different."

"How?"

"It's me."

Dionysus pinched the bridge of his nose, taking an annoyed breath in. Of course. Right. This was old Barnacle beard’s kid, as stubborn as the sea itself. Thousands of years. Thousands. And heroes still managed to produce the same spectacularly ridiculous logic.

"It is astonishing," Dionysus informed him, "that your species has survived this long."

"Look, I appreciate it. Really. But I'll be fine."

There it was again. Fine. Dionysus wondered if there was some ancient curse compelling heroes to utter the word whenever they were most certainly not fine. Percy adjusted the straps of his pack. Shifting like he was prepared to go on yet another quest despite not having been summoned yet.

Dionysus took a deep breath in. Something he didn’t need to do, but brought some comfort from ages ago, of still being mortal. "I'm borrowing you." He said finally, crossing his arms as he looked at the hero.

"Borrowing me?" Percy asked slowly, taking a step back. The boy probably had some idea of what was going to happen. This much to his annoyance wasn’t the first time he pulled this trick out of his sleeve.

"For a few hours."

"You cannot just borrow people!"

"Think of it as a quest then," Dionysus says, raising an eyebrow. The light swept around Percy. For a brief instant, Dionysus sensed confusion, indignation, and a remarkable amount of exasperation. The demigod squeezed his eyes shut as he shrank into something more bite-sized. “You should be thankful I don’t just change you into a hamster and lock you in a cage.” He said drily, gently, but quickly snatching the demigod up before he could dart off. Having a mini son of Poseidon running around camp sounded like a headache, frankly.

“Hey- HEY look hang on stop stop, there’s literally no reason for this!” Percy hisses out, kicking and squirming in his hold. Gods, he swore, for all the fuss they put up, he always nearly melted once inside. So he didn’t dignify a response as he lifted the boy to his face.

With a scoff, he tugged the boy’s bag off, flicking it aside. That would be a later problem.

"You're kidnapping me," the demigod hissed out, having the audacity of trying to bite him. Either way, it wasn’t going to end the way the boy wanted.

Dionysus’s lips quirked upwards in a sort of smile, adjusting his grip on the squirming demigod. "I prefer the term 'temporarily relocating.'" He pointed out, lifting Percy more above his face as he tilted his head back. He didn’t exactly want to drag this out; he had experience with the boy making this part difficult.

"You're seriously kidnapping me."

"Only for a short while."

"You cannot be serious."

Dionysus raised an eyebrow before chuckling a bit. It was cute when demigods thought they could actually fight back against gods. Then again, if anyone could actually defeat them... it would be Percy. Right now, however, the demigod didn’t seem to be interested in fighting.

He opened his mouth, giving Percy a brief second before dropping the demigod into his mouth. He didn’t pause to give any time for a reaction other than a yelp before swallowing. The feeling was always interesting, like a bit of food that wasn’t quite going down. A very human feeling, and yet one Dionysus delighted in, because it reminded him of before immortality, of ascending. He found himself pressing a finger against his throat, trailing the pathway down until the lump disappeared beneath his collarbone.

It lasted only seconds, yet the feeling lingered perfectly. Percy landed with a small squelch, the demigod flailing around. No doubt partly disoriented and other parts out of protest.

Then, of course, the silence was broken by sounds of pure annoyance and disgust. “Kidnapping- this is- I thought my dad said no more of this.” Dionysus could feel the broad gesturing, which was admittedly a tad entertaining.

“There are some exceptions I’ve been told.” He says, stepping away from the cabin and back to the Big House. He was due for a rematch with Chiron after all. “And one thing is your well-being, so I assume I receive a pass for stopping you from running yourself into the ground.”

Stubborn silence met his answer, causing him to chuckle. His stroll slowed just a brief moment. While he had the boy here…

"Do you know what I am the god of, Peter Johnson?"

A scoff answered him. Dionysus could practically see the eye roll as Percy answered, "Wine."

"Besides wine, smartass"

"Madness?"

"Precisely." The god continued his walk to the Big House, his hand ghosting over his middle. Such a stubborn little demigod; then again, he had seen so many young brats tumble down the same path. "I understand quite a bit." He continued, feeling the boy shifting within him again. So Apollo and Hermes were right; Percy didn’t like to speak about his mental health after the pit.

“I know Tartarus changed you,” he said.

Percy went very still. That, too, was a kind of answer. He had a feeling there was much more to what those two had gone through in the pit.

“That you came back with knowledge no mortal should have. The part that doesn’t sleep properly. The part that listens for disaster the way other people listen for music.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” Percy says after a heavy silence. Guarded, always guarded now adays.

“I want the truth.”

“You’re a god. You can probably figure it out.”

Dionysus’s mouth tightened. “Humor me.”

Percy was quiet again.

Then, with obvious reluctance, he said, “You ever have one of those experiences where you don’t know if you survived it because you were strong or because the place itself decided not to finish you off?”

Dionysus did not move, stopping mid-step at the stairs to the big house before continuing.  “No,” he said at last. “But I understand the concept.”

Percy’s laugh was short and humorless. “Yeah. Thought so.”

The boy leaned against a stomach wall, Dionysus’ hand meeting the small weight instantly, another form of support. He could feel the small frame settle more against the curve of his hand.

“When we were down there,” he said, “everything was wrong. The ground, the air, the water, the monsters. Even the rules were wrong. Nothing worked the way it should’ve.” This was it. The things that Percy had never said out loud before.

“I did some things that scared Annabeth and...” More silence, stubborn, stubborn silence. Dionysus was getting real tired of it. Humans had invented this delightful thing called therapy, something this stubborn little sea brat could benefit from if he could ever actually speak about his madness.

He could feel it, however, that ugly mass shifting within Percy. The threat of madness, a madness that even Dionysus had no idea how to even begin to unwind. Something he would never attempt with at least Apollo and Poseidon by his side.

“Alright- all right. Stop it, before you hurt yourself, brat.” He grumbles, heading to his chair and taking a seat. He could feel Percy moving again, thankfully not catatonic with panic. It was something they would need to address... but... for now. This worked.

“Just... sit still, I’ve got a horse to beat.”

“…You’re going to lose.”

Still so cheeky. A smile danced on Dionysus’ lips.

“Shut it, brat.”

“Try not to trip over yourself, Seaweed Brain,” Thalia whispered, causing him to jump. Right, wonderful. One of his most annoying cousins was also part of said group and was also here.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Percy muttered back, “if I trip, it’ll be because you zapped me with one of your ‘friendly’ nudges,” which was met with a snort and another zap. At this point he swore he was going to get shocked one day and not even feel it. Another party trick, 'hey look at me, I can get shocked and keep going'.

Ahead, the Hunters were ghosting between the trees, silver eyes gleaming under their hoods. They moved like liquid through every obstacle as if they had the land memorized. Artemis was a few paces ahead, her silver bow drawn, intense concentration on her young, eternal face. She was in her 12-year-old form, which would occasionally shift into something older when there was a snap of a branch, like she was about to launch into protective mode. She was focused. Tense. Almost…worried? Then again, the goddess had always been protective over her group.

They were tracking something old. Big. Something that had reportedly flattened a dryad grove and torn apart a Cyclops like it was made of papier-mâché. For Percy, a typical day; for these hunters, some who looked very new, probably not so much. A lot of them looked young, but there was no guessing how old they actually were. He had met a 10-year-old who apparently had been 10 for a while, judging by how she spoke.

“So,” Percy whispered to Thalia as they moved, “how exactly did I get drafted into the 'no boys allowed' hunting party?” He thought that was kind of their thing, no boys allowed.

“You’re bait,” Thalia said cheerfully. “Monster likes demigods. Especially smelly ones. Lucky us, you’re the stinkiest.” Wow. Rude-

Percy opened his mouth to retort, but Artemis raised her hand. Everyone froze.

Then the trees exploded.

The monster whatever it had been before it was twisted into nightmare-fuel came barreling out of the dark. It was at least fifteen feet tall, covered in black fur and jagged plates of bone, with too many eyes and not enough legs, some of which were definitely arms. Something Percy had seen in the pit leapt into his throat.

Chaos erupted. Arrows flew. Thalia whipped out her shield, Aegis, flashing it toward the beast and stunning it for half a second, enough for Percy to summon Riptide and move toward the creature. No time for battle strategies, just to hack whatever nightmare this was down. Annabeth probably knew what it was and its weaknesses, but right now Percy was going to jab at it and hope for the best.

In the corner of his eye, Artemis moved like silver lightning, leaping and firing from midair, her arrows finding joints and soft spots. Which was epic, awesome really, but as Percy was discovering, his sword scraped off its armor plates, revealing a regenerative property.

“Eyes!” she barked out like an order. “Blind it!”

Percy didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped, slicing at the central cluster of glowing yellow orbs, yanking the monster’s attention toward him. Maybe that was a mistake; he realized that a half a second too late when it swatted him like a bug.

Pain exploded in his ribs. He crashed into a tree, then another, and landed hard on the forest floor, dirt spraying around him along with chips of wood and bark. The world spun. Voices echoed, Thalia shouting his name; Artemis’s clear command to keep fighting. Everything was spinning, and he could barely breathe.

Oh, this would be a stupid way to die.

Then darkness.

When Percy jolted awake, his lungs screaming at him as he gasped for air, coughing a bit, which only made the pain swamp his chest like a tidal wave. He wasn't on the forest floor surrounded by wood chips or in a crater; he was sure he had just been thrown through several trees. Instead, he was on a bed of soft furs, a faint flicker of what looked like flames dancing on the silvery walls. Was..he inside a tent? How did he get here? His head spun, groaning as he tried to sit up.

Soft white furs were spread across the floor. Silver light flickered from a fire that somehow wasn't a fire, casting dancing shadows across canvas walls that rose higher than they should have. The whole thing smelled faintly of cedar, pine, fresh snow, and something sharp and clean that Percy immediately associated with moonlight.

Which was ridiculous.

Moonlight wasn't supposed to have a smell.

Then again, neither was the Underworld, and that had definitely smelled like wet stone, old metal, and despair.

“Nice of you to rejoin us, Perseus.”

Percy let a startled noise out, kicking out of reflex, groaning in regret when his body protested with another wave of pain shooting through him. " U-ugh... what-what happened?"

“You were foolish,” Artemis said, but not unkindly.

“Brave. You distracted the beast long enough for us to strike its heart. You saved lives.”

Percy groaned, attempting to sit up again. Pain shot through his side like he’d swallowed lightning. Which, given how many times he had been shocked, he figured he would be used to by now.

“Lie down,” Artemis ordered. “You sustained some rather serious wounds.”

“So just a normal Tuesday,” he muttered.

By this point, however, he had pieced something together. He hadn't seen the goddess once at this point. Not in the slightest. The tent walls shimmered like silver cloth caught in a breeze. Shadows danced across the canvas despite the fact that nothing seemed to be moving. A mimicry. Something he had experienced way too many times at this point. Which meant.

"So...I'm guessing you're healing me?" Percy asks carefully. His pain had faded as he sat here. It felt less like bleeding out on the battlefield and more like lying in bed the day after, sore but alive. Silence met him at first before a sound that sounded like fluttering birds came from around him.

Ah.

Yep, he was most definitely inside a stomach right now- or less stomach and more like whatever Artemis assumed should be there. It would make sense if it was like the hunters' tents. If she was going to comfort her younger or new recruits, this would be familiar, safe.

"And others assume you have no common sense, Peresus."

Her voice sounded amused this time, fond even. Which was rare for a goddess who allegedly hated men. Then again, it seemed less like hating men in general and more like stupid men taking advantage of women. Which, fair, he always felt pure hatred for the guys who leered at his mom or took advantage of her. A sense of satisfaction settled at remembering Gabe's statue.

"I have my moments, but ah... thank you..I mean you could have just shoved some ambrosia in me and sent me back to camp." He says with a shrug, knowing she couldn't exactly see it. The space moved slightly, the tent fabric fluttering, much like wind was ghosting through. Probably a laugh, or a huff.

"You do not comprehend how injured you were. You needed a more in-depth method of healing." Artemis explains patiently. Not annoyed, thankfully, just exasperated, like she was trying to explain to a toddler not to shove their fingers in an electrical socket. Percy nods slowly, lying back down against the furs, closing his eyes.

Becoming an unwilling missile crashing through trees probably wasn't exactly a feat meant for humans- well, half-human.

"Still, thank you." There were few gods he genuinely respected; Artemis was one of them. She clearly cared for her hunters as much as a god could, at least. There was a pause of silence before the lights dimmed against whatever mimicry of fabric lined his vision. It was a different sensation of healing than his father's.

The sea had always felt energetic. Alive in a sense like crashing waves, urging him to get back up, to keep moving, to fight. Like having espresso for breakfast, lunch, and dinner

This...

This was quieter. Like moonlight on still water healing instead of strengthening. Sort of like sipping tea in front of a fire. The silence that had settled around them was comfortable, nice even. Time seemed strange here. The flames were wild and untamed, but seemed to repeat a cycle, like a memory of how fire should look. The shadows didn't behave properly. Every so often, the canvas walls would ripple gently, and Percy would catch glimpses of moonlit forests, snow-covered mountains, and star-filled skies. Every god and goddess always seemed to have a stomach that didn't even look like a stomach. This one reminded him of Aphrodite- no technical stomach appearance.

"For now... rest. Once camp is settled, I will let you out." Artemis murmurs, startling Percy from staring intently at the flickers of the fire. The light dimmed more, like the sun fading, the twinkling of stars appearing in the darkness that had spread. Percy was going to protest, but ultimately decided that it wasn't worth it. Fighting sleep had always proved very ineffective to anyone who had crammed him down.

When he woke again, he wasn't in pain anymore, blissfully thankful to the gods- well, specifically Artemis. At first he assumed he was still in the stomach- or what passed for one until he realized the tent had an entrance this time. One that one 12-year-old goddess stepped through. She didn’t smile, but her gaze softened. Something he had seen her do when interacting with the younger campers. It was weird having it directed at him.

"You seem in better spirits." She commented after a moment, her gaze ghosting over him, seemingly satisfied with his lack of injuries, which he apparently had a lot of. One glance down at his clothing showed exactly what all had been healed.

"Well, I am no longer actively dying... which is kinda weird for me." He answered, licking his lips. Oh, he would absolutely kill for water right now.

Footsteps approached, and Thalia ducked inside, holding a canteen. Thank the gods for some relief from his pain. He held his hand out automatically, already knowing that there was wonderfully wet water there.

“Hey, Seaweed Brain. You look like you got sat on by a god.”

“Did I at least look cool doing it?”

“You screamed like a startled dolphin.”

Artemis shook her head as she exited, but Percy swore he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips. Maybe the bickering reminded her of her brother. He was pretty sure the two bickered constantly. He took this moment to gulp down the water, feeling like a dried-up sponge rehydrating. Sure, the pain was gone already, but water always felt better.

“You did good," Thalia murmured after a moment, looking to the entrance of the tent, probably to hide the look of concern on her face. Her silver circlet glinted in the shine of the campfire that was no doubt outside.

"Awe, praise? From Pinecone herself, I must be in Eslisym." He says dramatically, smirking when she snorted, rolling her eyes. "Don't make it a thing. Jackson." She snaps, no heat in her tone.

He smiled, wincing. “Yeah… I think I’ll let you all handle the next ancient horror. I’ll stick to fighting my normal big bads.”