𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [Jason Grace]

80

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 breakfast.

Once upon a time, Dante would have worried about all of them being together belowdecks with nobody at the helm, but ever since Piper had permanently woken up Festus with her charmspeak— a feat Dante still did not understand— the dragon figurehead had been more than capable of running the Argo II by himself. Festus could navigate, check the radar, make a blueberry smoothie and spew white-hot jets of fire at invaders simultaneously.

Besides, they had Buford the Wonder Table as backup.

After Coach Hedge left on his shadow-travel expedition, Leo had decided that his three-legged table could do just as good a job as their 'adult chaperone'. He had laminated Buford's tabletop with a magic scroll that projected a pint-sized holographic simulation of Coach Hedge. Mini-Hedge would stomp around on Buford's top, randomly saying things like 'CUT THAT OUT!' 'I'M GONNA KILL YOU!' and the ever-popular 'PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!'

Today, Buford was manning the helm. If Festus's flames didn't scare away the monsters, Buford's holographic Hedge definitely would.

But honestly, Dante didn't care about the machines. Leo did though. And he had been going on and on about the table and the figure head which is why so many details were stuck in Dante's head.

He looked around the table, noticing the distinct lack of Leo.

Percy was eating a huge stack of blue pancakes (what was his deal with blue food?) while Annabeth chided him for pouring on too much syrup.

"You're drowning them!" she complained.

"Hey, I'm a Poseidon kid," he said. "I can't drown. And neither can my pancakes."

To their left, Frank and Hazel used their cereal bowls to flatten out a map of Greece. They looked over it, their heads close together. Every once in a while Frank's hand would cover Hazel's, just sweet and natural like they were an old married couple, and Hazel didn't even look flustered, which was real progress for a girl from the 1940s.

Piper sat twirling her dagger to Dante's right. Her anger at seeing Juno was still clear as day over her features.

Piper being angry at the goddess, Dante could understand. What he couldn't figure out was why Jason was so pissed. He chalked it up to the smoking wound in Jason's gut. Clearly it was messing with his head. For as long as Dante had known him, Jason Grace had held the gods in high regard. He wouldn't just start calling them out randomly.

Dante and Jason were at the head of the table, Jason with his shirt taken off on Dante's orders (for convenience of cleaning the wound).

Jason had always been hot, Dante meant temperature wise. Like a burning bolt of lightning, as if electricity was coursing through his very veins.

It had been so long since Dante had touched him. Like actually touched him, not just dragging his half conscious body through Tartarus, or clinging onto his t-shirt like a lost child in front of a horde of monsters.

After Tartarus, and just thinking about it made Dante want to curl up into a ball and die, he had started to look at Jason more often too. Jason was the only one who understood, who had been there through it all with him. Jason could read him just as easily as Dante could understand Jason's looks.

Sometimes they found themselves on the deck alone at night because neither could sleep. And even though by morning the two were exhausted, they would just stand side by side in silence. Jason made everything seem a bit more bearable.