Prophesied Powder, PJO

4.10

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Chapter 42
I Grow Wings

Volume 4: The Battle of
the Labyrinth

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Pat didn't dream often. When he did, he saw things from his childhood and imagined large gardens and softball fields where he'd play at with his father. He didn't have many of the classic demigod dreams. Apollo's blessing came for him when he was awake.

That night, however, he dreamed, and he knew it wasn't a normal dream because he couldn't see; no, this was a phone call. He smelt roses, mixed with coffee from a cafe in Long Island and acrylic paint.

"Mother..." Pat murmured, then glared. He swiveled around, trying to get a feel for where she was. It took all of his willpower and the strength of Apollo himself for Pat to keep his tongue down and stop himself from shouting; Oh, fuck off! I really can't do this today, your highness. I'm in the middle of trying to save Olympus so you can go on ruining more of your children's lives! Might I have one good night's sleep? That's too much to ask for, isn't it?

"My dear boy," She said, melodic and warm in her tone. She was to his left, but as he turned to her, she approached and cupped his face. Apparently, he was taller than her now--at least, in this form that she took. "Look at you, all grown up."

Pat ground his teeth together, his jaw clenched.

She noticed and chastised, "Don't grind your teeth, Patroclus, it causes dental problems."

"You've been fucking with me," Pat snapped, pulling his face out of her grasp. "F-first, Greg, now Pallas--" He stumbled on his words as he stormed away from her, but he turned to face her again as he asked, "I mean, what do you want from me? Do you just like seeing me in pain?"

"Patroclus," And Aphrodite had the nerve to sound upset by his accusation.

He cut her off, "No, I'm talking now." Apollo would've killed him for that one. "You certainly loved to see my dad suffer, the way you played with his heart, so is that what this is? You like seeing the Randolphs cry? Well, Mom, I can't--" He laughed, slightly hysterical, "I can't give you any tears!"

"Patroclus, come here," Aphrodite said, and Pat had to listen. He wasn't sure if it was charmspeak, the fact that she was a goddess and he was testing her patience, or maybe just that tone that made boys listen to their mothers--the one that Harley always used to make Pat stop playing so roughly with David, or to make David move his shoes from the stairway.

He shuffled over to her, head low, and she sighed so softly that he choked on tears that he couldn't release. "You love me, right, Mom?" He pleaded, almost desperate, but he'd never dare say it. "Gods, I-I told Greg you loved me, b-but do you?" He made a weak sound, one that made him cringe, and he tried to back away.

Aphrodite put her hands on his shoulders. They were the same deadly hands from when he was ten years old, delicate but mighty. "Patroclus," She said, and he tried to silence his sniffling. "You are my son. I love you, as I love all of my children. If you were to call upon me, I would aid you in any way that this world allowed me."

She'd never said such a thing to him before. When they'd traveled to Camp Half-Blood together years ago, she was crafted out of tough love and hard lessons, always insisting that she was teaching him how to survive. It hadn't mattered that Pat felt unloved and abandoned back then, but here was his breaking point. By the Gods, he was fifteen and tied together by tourniquets and strings of fate.