Prophesied Powder, PJO

3.8

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Chapter 29
Apollo's Curse Takes Over

Volume 3: The Titan's Curse

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As they travelled from the pier to the Golden Gate Bridge, the sun began to dip in the west. Pallas watched it slip slowly.

"Ami," Pallas' voice was quiet, and he tugged on Pat's jacket hood lightly. Pat paused so Pallas could fall into step with him.

"I'm fine," Pat said before he asked, "Don't worry."

"Pat," Pallas tried again.

Pat looked at him, his scars deformed as he glared, "Don't push it."

He certainly looked like Aphrodite now. His look of agitation was the same, as was the way he masked it with a false calm that Pallas did not buy into. Still, Pallas let Pat have his silence.

It did not last for long. About a minute later, Pat drifted next to Pallas, knocking their arms together as he started mumbling. "I didn't know that the manticore would find us."

"Grover did not smell him either," Pallas said, "It is okay."

"Grover can't feel the future," Pat retorted, "I just thought..." He sighed, "I thought Apollo's blessing would've helped us get out of those situations, you know?"

"I told you yesterday," Pallas nudged him, "It will take time."

"I didn't know about Bianca though..." Pat's voice wavered and he paused. When he spoke, his voice cracked, "If I had—"

Pallas thought back to sitting in the back of the truck in Arizona. When Pat had told him not to blame himself, he had thought Pat was being caring—but now he thought it was because Pat was blaming himself.

"Pat..." Pallas hesitantly placed a hand on Pat's shoulder. They stopped walking, and the others only glanced back for a moment before continuing along. "Pat," He repeated, and Pat's black, scared corneas bore into him. "No one can know everything. Not even the Gods. Certainly, not one mortal prophet. It is not the end of the world."

"No," Pat scoffed, "Just the end of a person's life."

"Pat—" Pallas grabbed both of his shoulders and crouched slightly, lowering himself to Pat's face, "If you live your life blaming yourself for the events around you, you will live unhappy."

"No prophets are happy," Pat replied. He wore a near-mocking smile, tired and sadistic; Pat had given up on the idea already.

Pallas closed his eyes, shoulders sinking. Then, he opened them, squeezing Pat's shoulders. "Change that," He pleaded, "You have never followed the rules before, non?"

Pat thought for a moment. He smiled, weakly but genuinely, at Pallas. "You make me happy."

Pallas felt how hot his cheeks were. Hopefully, children of Aphrodite could not sense such things. He smiled too, dropping his hold on Pat, and said, "I told you I am here for you, oui?"