#pre tlt

[incorrect-seafam-quotes]

Poseidon: *watches baby Percy run in and out of the waves on Monhawk, and manipulates the waves into chasing him up the beach*

Amphitrite: What are you doing?

Poseidon: Nothing.

Amphitrite, unimpressed: Uh huh. And I suppose that tiny child on the beach playing with your waves is no-one.

Poseidon, nervously: Haha that would be right!

[mediumgayitalian]

A whisp of hair tickles his cheek, following the elbow resting on his shoulder. Lee glances over as Cass swipes the strands back behind her ear.

“So,” she says, very nearly dropping her plate. Lee reaches over and gently tilts it back upright. His sister Does Not notice.

He lets it fall. She doesn’t notice that, either. Rest in peace, Stale Piece of Olive Bread, Single Grape, and Sprig of Parsley (?). You will be missed.

“So,” Lee repeats. He follows her eyes, gaze landing on a frizzy mess of blond curls and vacant blue eyes. “…Ah. So.”

Cass’s fork twirls in the general direction of their new baby brother. Several other people in line at the braziers also look over to where she’s pointing, glance obviously back towards the two of them, leaning close, and then pretend to look away while very clearly straining to hear. What a place, Camp Half-Blood.

“We gotta fix that.”

Lee grunts. She’s right — rarely does he ever see a kid Will’s age so blasé and sad about camp for so long.

But.

The circumstances.

“We already talked to Luke, Cass.”

She waves a hand. Her fork very nearly misses his eye. Lee would like, for once, if she could maybe use perhaps one ounce of her prophetic abilities to be less of a klutz. “Eh, Luke doesn’t know everything. There’s gotta be something he didn’t try, something Will likes. I mean, I think I saw the barest little hint of a smile when Diana was cussing Michael out yesterday.”

“Achlys would smile at that,” Lee argues. “I mean, come on. He got flamed. It was embarrassing.”

“Fair, fair.”

Lee looks back at Will. He still sits at the edge of the Apollo picnic table, chin on the worn-smooth wood, poking vaguely at the food Diana got for him. There’s a decent spread — some of the roast chicken, some of the lemon potatoes, probably more vegetables than any eight year old would be willing to eat, but it’s not like they would know. Will barely eats anything. If it weren’t for the Twizzlers that keep disappearing from Lee’s stash under the floorboards, he would’ve stuck the kid on an IV already. It’s been weeks.

“We could maybe try the weapons rounds again,” Cass murmurs. “I know Luke did it on intake, but maybe —”

She glances over, peeking through the edge of her hair, and cuts herself off, mouth furrowing as she bites the inside of her cheek. The son of Hermes in question leans on one of his younger siblings, grinning as they shriek and complain, laughing as another kid empties out what looks like the entire camp stash of cutlery from her pockets. Lee’s not dumb — he saw the difference, too. There’s no demigod more kind and welcoming and determined than Luke Castellan, Lee knows it, Lee’s experienced it, but —

When Will came up Half-Blood Hill, he was sobbing. He scratched four other demigods trying to squirm his way back to where his mother was running back to her car, shoulders heaving with her own cries, face-tear streaked and laden with guilt as she watched him go. When Will was dragged to the Big House, he was there ‘til nightfall. When Will was placed, as all are, in Hermes, he didn’t leave the cabin for days.

Camp doesn’t usually see that. Luke doesn’t usually see that. And as much as the guy has seen everything, there’s nothing he can handle less than a demigod who desperately wants to go home.

It’s not something anyone brings up.

“We’ll give it a go after dinner,” Lee agrees.

It’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing. It might help to get a tour of what Camp offers by someone a little more…qualified. Or enthusiastic, rather. Will’s eight, after all. What kind of eight-year-old doesn’t want to swing a real sword at a training dummy? Or, hell, at another eight-year-old? Not that there are many other eight-year-olds at camp this lovely April, but Annabeth is like…ten. Lee thinks. Eleven? Something like that. Maybe she’ll swing a sword around with the kid. She only tends to be lethal when someone is doubting her. She’ll probably be very lenient on someone who is just learning.

Well.

Like, one would hope.

Whatever. It’ll sort itself out.

He repeats it to himself as he sits down, plastering a wide smile on his face and meeting Will’s eyes. Will stares back, eyes big and dead, but Lee refuses to look away first, to look down. Eventually Will return his gaze to the brown mush he’s made out of his plate.

“Hi,” he hedges.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Will hums. From beside him, Diana sighs — that is the extent of what they usually get. A little more, actually. The hi was slightly more animated than usual. More like a single two-by-four than a rotting corpse, in terms of spirited greetings.

If Lee is anything, though, it’s annoying and persistent. It’s actually what led to his getting claimed last winter.

“You get something to drink?”

Will shrugs. Lee glances into his cup to see that he has not, in fact, gotten anything to drink.

“They’re enchanted, you know.” He taps his own cup. “Anything you ask for, you get. I get Green Apple Kool-Aid.”

“‘Cus you’re a freak,” Michael mutters. Lee shoves him off the table.

Will scrunches his nose. “…Enchanted cups?”

The look he levels in Lee’s direction is equivalent, he imagines, to the look the jury gave OJ Simpson on his first foray of the witness stand, but the allure of discontinued novelty drinks must be stronger than his suspicion, because he tilts his cup closer to him, thinks for a minute, and then says, “Coke.”

All three of them hold their breath. Even Michael, who is recovering from his recent trip to the ground. The cup slowly fills with sparkling amber liquid.

Will frowns.

“Hey,” he says, something akin to a pout taking over his face, “I asked for coke.”

The drink stops fizzing. It, too, seems to regard the young boy in confusion.

“That would indeed be Coke,” Diana says eventually.

Will scowls. (It is, probably unfortunately for him, a little bit adorable, because his cheeks are very pudgy and he has quite a lot of freckles and his whole face seems to scrunch with the movement. Like a baby hippo. Lee tries really very hard not to smile but it’s something of a losing battle, he thinks.)

“It gave me cola!”

Lee looks at Cass. Cass looks at Lee. Cass looks at Michael, then, and Lee looks at Diana, and they all kind of look at each other and envision the words what the fuck floating between them in wavy comic sans.

“That would be the case,” tries Michael. Lee can see that he tries very hard not to tack ‘you dumbass’ on the end there. Lee pats him on the shoulder in recognition for his efforts.

“I asked for coke!”

“Okay, let’s maybe back up a bit,” Cass thankfully says, before Lee can utter his very eloquent ‘huh’. “What are you asking for, hun?”

“Coke!”

“No, I — I, uh, I got that part.” She purses her lips very thoughtfully. “Are you thinking of, maybe, Diet Coke?”

“No! Regular orange coke!”

“Okay,” mutters Diana. “Okay, awesome, I love it when everything makes sense.”

“Orange coke!” insists Will again. And, like, yeah, they brought this on themselves. When Lee scraped off a portion of his food and prayed for more emotion from Will, he did not specify. He was under the unfortunate misconception that his father loved him and was not a sociopathic genie. That’s on him. But still. “The fruity one! With the orange lid an’ the F on the bottle an’ not the one with no bubbles! The coke one!”

“Are you thinking maybe of Fanta?” Cass says, finally. She makes a weird shape with her fingers. “Odd bottle shape? Neon?”

“Yes!” exclaims Will, visibly relieved. “The orange coke! The good one!”

The cup quickly ripples and changes into a liquid the approximate colour of their shirts, only harder to look at. Will narrows his eyes, drags it over, dips his tongue into it, and then lights up, chugging it down with the zeal and zest Aphrodite kids do cranberry juice.

“One thing they got right up here,” he says happily, wiping the sticky moustache off his top lip. He, for the first time, looks a little less like there is a giant aching hole in the centre of him.

All at once, Lee remembers the one time his mother took him with her to one of her conferences, deep down in Arkansas. They stopped for Wendy’s on the drive. Lee requested Coke. The cashier asked ‘what kind’. Lee stared blankly at her for a total of at least seventeen solid seconds before replying ‘uh, the…Coke…kind?’ and received a large disappointing cup of Sprite.

“Oh my gods,” he says. He now knows, he feels, at least an approximation of the shock Phaethon felt that one time. “You’re Texan.”

None of his siblings share in the euphoria of this realization. This eureka moment, really. Least of all Will, who seems to be wondering if he can, perhaps, put in a request to be claimed by another god with smarter children.

“Lee,” says Cass gently, “have you gotten dumber?”

“No, no, he’s Texan,” Lee repeats. “They’re like. They say weird shit down there.” He gestures at Will, who is rapidly shifting from bewildered to offended. Lee would feel bad if it wasn’t a little bit funny. “Coke means pop. Fixin’ means intending. Might could — actually, I’m not sure what might could means, and at this point I’m too afraid to ask.”

“It means might could!” Will cries. He throws his hands up in exasperation which would be better conveyed where his hands not still pudgy enough to have the little indents on the knuckles. Lee melts to the actual floor. “That’s like askin’ — askin’ what ‘the’ means! It means ‘the’!”

“Oh my gods,” breathes Diana, hand pressed to her mouth. “Oh my gods, he’s adorable.”

“What does ‘might could’ mean, he says! Nex’ thing I’mma hear’s gonna be some stupid Yank quest’n ‘bout y’all, I bet —”

There is a thump as Michael slides right off the bench. This time, Lee doesn’t even need to push him.

“Yank,” he wheezes, from the floor. There are real tears in his eyes. “You’re my favourite, kid, holy fuck —”

Will stomps his little foot. It’s so — tiny. Bite sized. The lights in the sole twinkle like crazy. He’s got Princess Leia on the heels.

Lee is going to melt into goo.

“Who authorized him to be this goddamn cute,” Lee whisper-yells. “Like, genuinely. Look at him.

“Believe me, I’m looking,” Cass says, smiling softly. She knocks their shoulders together, snorting as Will chokes on his own indignity, hollering something about and there’s no such thing as healthy brisket! how about that! til’ his freckly face glows.

“Oh, wait, shit, that’s real,” Lee says. “That’s — yo, he’s actually bioluminescing. Are you seeing this? I am seeing this.”

“Didn’t know that was something we could do,” Diana comments. She grabs her cup, empties it into Michael’s (making a truly — truly — rank concoction of milk and Mountain Dew, Lee physically recoils) and stares at it until it refills.

“Hey, Glowstick.”

Will freezes. The most affronted look Lee has ever seen on a child scrunches his squishy face. Cass coos. Michael starts cackling again.

“Who are you talking to,” Will demands, scowling.

Diana looks at him. She raises her eyebrows.

“You tell me, Johnny Storm.”

“That’s a — that’s a bad reference!”

“Just — here.” Diana slides over the cup before Will can get started again. “Here’s your coke, kid.”

Will squints at the cup for several seconds. Diana holds it out dutifully. Well, for a dutiful seven seconds before her arm gets tired, then she sets it down and moves her hand away.

“Mama says I’m not allowed two cokes in a row,” he says finally.

Lee glances over at Cass. She grimaces back.

Here we go.

Diana just blinks.

“What does your Mama say about throwing stones at people named Clarisse from the roof of the Big House?”

“She never mentioned.”

“Well, we’re allowed to do that here. The rules say you can have two cokes, too, if you want.”

Will screws up his face. He gnaws on his bottom lip. Lee holds his breath.

Finally, he takes the tiniest of little sips.

“I guess two cokes is kind of nice,” he says.

Lee smiles. He reaches over, paying close attention in case Will’s a biter — you never know at Camp Half-Blood — and ruffles the kid’s frizzy curls.

“Some good things about camp, huh?”

Will huffs. “It’s still not great.” He sets his cup down. His soda moustache sits at a firm handlebar. Cass muffles a snort in her hands. “But not bad for a bunch of Yanks.”

Lee decides that he will take that. A stubborn, sarcastic Will is better than a miserable one. They got time. They’ll get there.

Plus, when Michael takes a mindless sip of his Surprise Concoction and sprays it all over Diana’s face, hacking and cussing up a storm, Will even smiles.

Yeah. They might even get there soon.

[frozenrose20]

Pre-tlt Luke and Lee where the camp heart throbs everyone had a crush in one of the two. It used to be a joke are you a Lee girl or a Luke girl? all the while the ones close to them couldn't help but laugh because they both were to interested in eachother to even notice.

Random girl : Lee or Luke?

Luke (overhearing): Lee obviously

*Cue the Stolls dying of laughter*

[number-onekidqueen]

heyy !! i hope ur doing well (: can you write a luke x gn!reader where they are chubbier and short and luke Lovess the height x size difference but they thinks like making fun of them but in reality he’s just teasing ): they open up to him about past issues regarding that and he comforts them and says he’ll protect them ): maybe a bit of protective!luke

𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐲?

Luke castellan x gn!chubbier!shorter reader

Summary: Luke loves to talk about all your physical differences and how you still fit together perfectly. But you have a few bad memories. 

Anon, I am sooooo sorry this took so long, I've had a mad case of writer's block lately, and I no time. It's kinda short and sweet (if you get what I mean *wink*) but I hope this is what you were picturing, and that you enjoy <3

warnings: mentions of fatphobia, gen z language (“Luke is technically a millennial!” not anymore he’s not), mentions of insecurity, panic, teasing.

“Hey shawty!” 

Immediately, you stiffened. Even if you recognised the voice as one you trusted - Luke, your boyfriend of nearly a year, who you loved dearly - the nickname still made you feel cold all over. But Luke didn't mean the nickname in that way, you were sure.

Right?

You didn't have much time to ponder it however as a warm hand materialised around your waist, pulling you into him. You let the sandwich you had been making for lunch settle onto the table, freeing your arms so you could reciprocate his embrace, although rather stiffly.

"How you been?" He murmured into your hair, while he peppered kisses on your scalp. And then he noticed. He pulled away from you, still gripping your shoulders but gazing at you with concern. "What's wrong?"

You decided to drop it. He wouldn't have meant it that way. Even if your boyfriend before had, Luke wouldn't do something like that. "Nothing," you replied, forcing a smile, "you just caught me by surprise is all."

There was a pause in which he scanned your face, searching for signs you weren't telling the truth. He still appeared wary, but he seemed to let it slide for the moment, scooping up your sandwich plate and tugging you along to his table. Loud greetings hooted about, as his fellow Hermes siblings noted his and your appearance.

Your suspicions were confirmed as you sat, after saying hello to everyone, when he clasped his hand in yours, resting it on his knee. This was something he always did when you were feeling overwhelmed or sad, to reassure you that he was always there. He hadn't been convinced by your facade then. Damn.

Beginning to eat your sandwich, you were wincing at the near-stale texture of the bread, and how hard and dry it was in your mouth. Chiron must be running on his last few loaves and forgot to get extra supplies. You were glad for the distraction of Chris, who was always happy to explain his schemes with grand theatrics, and hand gestures that often tipped over glasses. That and Luke's wild laughter from beside you got you through the unpleasant meal.

"-and you won't believe what happened next, and even though it is coming from me, it was pretty damn impressive-"

"Ok man, I'm gonna interrupt your yap session right there while I can. Anyone getting seconds?" Luke asked, holding up his own plate.

"No dude, I'm sooooooo full, how are you not?" Chris groaned, laughing.

"He didn't steal my bag of jerky, Rodriguez!" Someone down the table accused.

"Hey, that was in the middle of the cabin floor, it was fair game!-"

"I'll have some," you volunteered, turning to Luke, and accepting his hand to help you rise from the benches.

"See, lucky I can be a big back with them!" He laughed, walking away with you and back to the table filled with food.

You weren't hungry anymore, at all. Every delicious, hot meal on the table that had tantalised you only moments before now seemed like soggy sticks. Luke had mentioned stuff about your body twice now, in such a short period. You were sure he meant it now. He must be just like your ex in that respect, even if he had treated you better. He felt the same as your ex had done. Even after all this time, your body wasn't good enough- you weren't good enough-

"Hey, you can't decide? Try the macaroni, I just had a bit and oh my Gods-"

"Uh- I don't really feel too hungry anymore." You said awkwardly, gulping down your insecurity.

"Ok," he said slowly, and there was his brown eyes again, deep and full of questioning. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's all fine just... not hungry." You smiled weakly, praying he would drop it as he did earlier. Your stomach rumbling punctuated the silence. He frowned at you, second helping forgotten and pulled you to the side of the dining pavilion, near some dense bushes where you wouldn't be seen.

"Hey. Please tell me what's going on," he begged, squeezing your hand. When you looked in his eyes, you knew you were a goner. You cracked.

"Do you still- like-like- do you still like me?" you mumbled, gazing down at your feet.

"What do you mean?" He asked, confused, "Y/N, I love you, so yeah, of course I still like you."

“I- just- I- I know you didn’t mean any harm and I know you only meant to tease, but it just reminds me of my ex sometimes.”

"Wait, what? What does?" He urged, pulling you closer.

"Just the... you know, like little comments- it's just-it's kinda like the stuff he used to say that hurt my feelings."

He pulled away from you, face hardening. 

“What did he say to you?”

“It was nothing, just he commented on my weight constantly and how much shorter I was than him and sometimes- look it doesn't really matter. It's just that the 'hey shawty' and 'big back' and all that, it shouldn't, it's stupid of me, but it reminds me of him... and like, I know it was a mistake dating a guy that was older in the first place, but the biggest mistake I made was letting him say the stuff he said."

"Don't you dare call yourself stupid," he began sternly, "because if anyone here is, it's me. My gods, baby, I'm so sorry I said stuff like that, it was just a joke or a little pet name to me, I-I didn't know it reminded you of that-ugh, if I had known I would've bleached my mouth out."

You laughed a little, and his face brightened.

"You know I don't wanna be anything like him, right? Man, if he was here I might have a hard time stopping from doing something to him, what a dick."

Laughing again, you nodded, smiling at him.

"And, you know you're also perfect right? Like who cares if you're shorter or a different shape to me? That's what makes you, like you, and I love you for all of it."

He kissed you swiftly, sweetly. It was warm, and you were both smiling through it. He was Luke, not your crusty ex that had broken contact the minute he got accepted to college. And he would always love you for who you were, you were sure of that now.

He broke apart, your noses brushing. "I love you," he whispered, each syllable falling softly on your upper lip.

"I love you too," you whispered back. He backed away reluctantly, holding your hands in both of his tightly.

"Ok, let's get you some macaroni now, because I'm not kidding when I say that it hits-"

And you let him lead you back to the chaotic normality of camp, with all of the delicious food and comforting people you loved.

[valewritessss]

Seeing pictures of Leah at the age Annabeth would have been at when she ran away makes my heart hurt

[unubinary]

So I have a headcanon that Grover was blessed by Hermes with persuasion for getting his favorite kid to camp safely. The main reason for this is daring SoM Grover convince the Cyclops that he’s all so a cyclops (which he’s sent should given away he’s a syter.) And piling that off for weeks at least. And with the new a tv series he manipulates Areas. The convincing the nature spirits to Aiden with Manhattan is just more evidence of it.

[nomi9006]

[alltheglowingeyess]

Lee sighs, shifting in the stiff chair for what feels like the twelfth time in ten minutes. He makes a mental note to talk to (harass) Chiron about upgrading the infirmary’s furniture—clearly, these chairs weren’t designed with the average growing teen boy in mind.

His scowl deepens as one of his folded legs bumps against an armrest. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to focus on his current job: watching over the two resting demigods in the nearby cots.

Nearest to him, the girl claimed by Aphrodite lies curled on her side under a thin blanket. She looks relatively peaceful, though the illusion is shattered with every wheezing breath she takes in. They’d done what they could—cleaned the blood that had stained the lower half of her face and given as much nectar as possible for her vocal cords until Callie declared they couldn’t risk any more—but it’s clear she has a long way to go.

Lee still can’t shake the image of the girl collapsing, blood spilling from her slack mouth like something out of a horror movie. Clarisse, of all people, had looked ready to be sick at the sight, to the point that he received no push back to his desperate orders for her to go get help.

Officially, Chiron had kept the situation tightly contained to Lee, Clarisse, Callie, and Darcy. Unofficially, Lee and Clarisse had exchanged a single glance after Chiron dismissed them and practically sprinted through camp to find Silena.

The second she heard about her new sister, Silena demanded to see her. Unfortunately, this left Lee with the difficult task of convincing Callie to stop hovering long enough for Silena to climb through the infirmary bathroom window and sneak into the main room.

It had been worth it, though. Because the moment Silena’s gaze landed on the girl’s small frame, he knew she was in deep. Without a word spoken, that girl was one of her own.

She’d left only a few minutes after, just before Callie returned from her hunt for the medical scissors that so happened to be in Lee’s back pocket. Though, not before extracting a promise from Lee that she would be on the top of the list of contacts the second the girl woke up. 

That left the kid on the other cot. The boy, nicknamed Tiny by Clarisse, sprawls on his back, snoring softly. His dark hair, still slightly damp from Callie’s earlier work, clings stubbornly to his forehead. Thankfully, the only physical sign of injury on him is a faint streak of dried blood down the side of his face, though Callie had warned them about the likelihood of a concussion. It seems like the golden light that radiated from him upon claiming dealt with some of the smaller injuries, in addition to notifying that the boy is one more for the Apollo cabin.

So, his brother, apparently.

It’s not odd for their cabin to receive new siblings, of course (their dad really gets around) but the boy’s arrival was quite the scene. Adding in the fact that both the kids had no protector guiding them to Camp, well—he can only assume what circumstances led them here.

Sighing, he shifts in his seat, peering over once more to the boy. His brow furrows even in sleep, and it takes all his self-control to not step closer and smooth out the slight wrinkle that forms.

"How are they doing?" comes a soft voice from the doorway. He tears his gaze from the kids to Callie, arms full of miscellaneous supplies as she steps inside. Her auburn hair is tied back in a loose low-hanging bun that’s seconds away from falling apart, strands falling across her face as she approaches and gently places the supplies on a nearby cart.

“Still out of it,” Lee answers, drumming his fingers along his chair’s arm. “Tiny especially has been looking tense the whole time.”

Callie shoots him a look at the nickname, but nonetheless hums as she leans over to check the boy’s pulse, her fingers glowing with a flash of white-gold light as they brush his wrist. “Well, we’ll know more when he wakes. Head injuries are a little tricky, but he should be fine." 

She releases his wrist, turning back to Lee. She stares at him, scrutinizing for a moment before crossing over to where he sits and pulling him into a tight hug. He’s stiff for a moment in confusion, but almost immediately melts into her grip, burying his face into her chest.

“It’s okay if you’re worried,” she says softly as he feels a hand drag through his hair. “But they’re in good hands now. Our hands, right?”

Lee sighs, nodding once as he lets her hold him a little longer before pulling back with a small smile. “How do you always know when I’m all…” He’s not really sure how to word it, so he kind of waves his hands around his head a little and waits for his sister to get the vibe.

Callie stifles a laugh, fixing him with a warm smile. “I hate to say it, but your face is really loud, brother dearest.” 

He pouts at that, before attempting to school his expression when he realizes he’s proving her point. This time, Callie doesn’t hold back her laugh, pinching his cheek as he tries to bat her away. He opens his mouth to complain when—

The boy’s eyes shoot open, wide and unfocused. He sits up so fast the cot squeaks beneath him, gasping for air. 

Immediately, they both are standing at his side, and Lee speaks first, hands raised, palms outward. “Hey—hey. You’re safe, okay? Take a deep breath.”

His words seem to fall on deaf ears as the boy’s eyes dart around the room, breathing picking up further. He scoots backward on the cot until his back slams into the wall, hands gripping the edges of his cot. Callie steps forward, hands raised as well, but she doesn’t even get a word in before the boy hisses at her, smacking her hand away. 

Callie curses under her breath as she starts whispering something about protocol to Lee, but he doesn’t hear her. All he can focus on is the boy’s hand, no longer curled on the edges of the cot but instead with fingers flexing, grasping desperately for something.

His bow.

Lee turns to Callie, cutting off whatever instructions she’s giving him. "I’ll be right back."

Her eyes narrow at him, clearly ready to protest. But Lee is already moving, weaving through the rows of empty cots to the weapons rack near the entrance. He finds the golden bow easily, gleaming in the dim light. When he holds it, the warmth is familiar—no surprises there, really; their father’s blessing unmistakable.

When he returns, Callie’s eyes land on the bow, expression darkening. “Leander Wyatt Fletcher, don’t you dare—”

But it’s too late. The boy’s eyes quickly find the bow in Lee’s hand, breath hitching as he immediately leans forward in interest. Lee approaches slowly, crouching in front of the cot and laying the bow gently on the blanket.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, in a flash, the boy’s hand shoots forward, snatching up the bow. His fingers close tightly around the bow’s limb, holding it close, as though it’s his favorite stuffed animal. His breathing slows, though the suspicious look doesn’t quite leave his eyes as he glances between Lee and Callie.

"Better?" Lee asks softly. When the boy says nothing, he tries again. “Can you tell us your name?”

Silence settles again, and Lee suppresses a sigh as he prepares for his efforts to continue to go nowhere. Then, the boy clears his throat. “Michael," he mutters, barely audible. His gaze flicks between them, still very much guarded, though his grip does loosen around the bow.

Lee nods encouragingly at the reply, forcing himself to not appear overeager. “It’s nice to meet you, Michael. I’m Lee, and this is Callie. We’re…”

He falters, unsure if telling him that, hey—they are his siblings would be coming on a little too strong. He glances to Callie for help, but she’s still glaring daggers at him. Looking back to the kid, he decides to table the sibling talk for another time. “We’re here to help you.”

Michael stays quiet at Lee’s response, and before he can speak up again, Callie cuts in. “Michael, would you like some water?”

He doesn’t move, still glaring, for a moment, before nodding minutely.

“Great, we’ll get you a bottle. Sit tight for a second, please.” As she begins to turn away, she wraps a hand around his arm, pulling him away. “And you, step outside with me. Now."

Lee throws one last glance at Michael, still curled protectively around the bow, before following his sister. The second they’re out of earshot, Callie rounds on him, previously warm blue eyes now the color of winter frost.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I—”

“He was panicked and violent,” Callie cuts him off. “And what—you give him a bow? You don’t give patients weapons. That’s why we have the weapons rack. Do you know how much of a hazard that is?”

“I didn’t give him arrows! Just the bow.”

"And that makes it so much safer? He could’ve easily attacked us!"

Lee opens his mouth to argue but stops himself, sighing instead. “Okay, well—” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to make sure he felt safe, and I followed my instinct. You’re right, though—it was dangerous. I’m sorry.”

Callie glare softens slightly, though she still crosses her arms tightly over her chest. “You ever undermine my infirmary rules again, and I’m pulling you from the rotation for a month.”

Lee raises an eyebrow. He knows now is not the time to tease, but he can’t ignore an opportunity to wind up his sister. “I think you’re overestimating how much I like working here, Cal.”

As he expected, her scowl deepens as she reaches out a hand to lightly smack him upside the head. “Go get the water, funny guy. I’ll handle this.”

Lee salutes with a proud, “Okie dokie,” earning an eye roll in reply. As she turns back toward Michael, he catches the faintest twitch of a smile on her lips, though she mutters something under her breath about him being a dork.

Grinning, Lee ducks into the office, heading for the mini fridge. He grabs two water bottles and pauses before snagging a grape juice box and a pudding cup. Closing the fridge with his foot, he rummages in a drawer for a spoon, tucking it into his back pocket before hurrying back to the main room.

Nothing seems to have changed—at least, not at first glance. The bow is gone, but Lee spots a glint of gold circling Michael’s finger. Michael’s arm is outstretched, his gaze flickering warily between Callie’s face and her softly glowing hand, which rests lightly against the underside of his wrist.

The moment he enters, Michael’s head snaps up, his sharp eyes locking onto him. They flit quickly to the items Lee is holding, and his tense expression is overrun by hunger.

Lee places the bottles of water and grape juice on the counter before stepping closer. He hands over the pudding cup and pulls the spoon from his back pocket, offering it with a small smile. “If you want another flavor, let me know.”

Almost immediately, Michael jerks his arm away from Callie, much to her clear annoyance, and snatches the pudding cup. Without a word, he tears it open and digs in, practically inhaling the food.

Callie mutters something under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. She glances to Lee, as though to ask are you seeing this?  Hejust shrugs, stepping back to give the boy some space.

She steps back as well, glancing toward the doorway as footsteps start approaching and Darcy appears, pantomiming something frantic. With a sigh, she pats Lee on the shoulder. “I need to step out for a bit. Don’t let him out of your sight, okay?”

Lee nods as Callie disappears, her voice drifting faintly back to him as she joins Darcy. Left alone, Lee shifts awkwardly before sitting down again, stealing glances at Michael, who is already scraping the bottom of his pudding cup.

“So,” Lee starts slowly, “did Callie get to tell you much before I came back?”

Michael shakes his head, his dark eyes darting up briefly before he returns to licking at his near-empty pudding cup.

Looks like it’s your time to do some big brothering then. “Okay, cool. Well, um, anything you want to know?”

Michael pauses, then nods toward the other cot. “Is Drew going to be okay?” he asks, voice quiet.

Lee makes a mental note of the name for Callie later, nodding. “Yeah, she’s just exhausted herself getting you both here. She was really brave, so now she gets to rest. Do you remember what happened before this?”

Michael squints, chewing on the edge of his plastic spoon. “The ugly cab driver and his friend were trying to kill us,” he says slowly. “I shot one, but then it grabbed me and threw me, and my head was hurting...”

He can’t help but wince at the events, but does his best to keep it off his face for too long. “Your friend seems to have dealt with the other.” Nodding to the ring on his finger, he asks, “You shot the monster with your bow?”

Michael’s expression tightens, the finger with the ring twitching momentarily. After a moment, he nods.

“Where did you get the bow?”

Michael’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t steal it, jackass.”

Lee blinks, caught off guard by the cursing. The kid couldn’t be older than nine, and Lee’s pretty sure nine-year-olds aren’t supposed to talk like that. He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Wasn’t accusing you, dude. Just curious. It looks neat.”

Michael hesitates, still wary, but he can’t quite hide the way he preens under the compliment. “It is. God gave it to me.”

Lee’s brows knit together in confusion. He has a pretty good idea which “god” Michael might mean, but the singular term throws him. “God?”

Michael nods firmly. “In my dreams. Blonde, tan, big talker.”

Lee’s eyebrows shoot up. Sure, Apollo’s more sociable than most gods, but usually, he’s an absentee dad until a kid makes it to camp. “So you met Apollo already?”

Michael’s brow furrows. “The fuck is Polo?”

Lee purses his lips, briefly glancing skyward to ensure no sudden lightning strikes him. “Apollo. He’s the god you’re talking about. My, uh...” He falters, unsure if introducing the whole “sibling” concept now is a good idea.

Michael cuts him off. “Since when does God have a name?”

Realization dawns on Lee. “Oh. Okay, let’s start this from the beginning. What do you know about Greek mythology?”