A Son From Lands Unknown (PJO x Male Reader)

Attempted Rest

(Y/N) was making his way back to his cabin after all that had been going on, really just wanting to sleep and never wake up. Part of him knew it was selfish, but he was tired of being on his toes 24/7. Tired of the mind games, of the disappearances. Tired of everything, really. He closed his eyes for a moment and ran his hand through the front part of his hair, but that was enough to run into someone.

"Hey, shithead, watch where you're- oh, it's just you, devil boy," Clarisse said, clearly not expecting to see him that day. Then she noticed the bags under his eyes. "You alright? Never took you as one to forget their surroundings."

"Yeah, I'm fine," (Y/N) said. "Just coming down off an adrenaline high. Ran into another Eidolon at the range."

"What?" Clarisse questioned. "Who'd they replace this time?"

"I don't remember his name, some kid from Apollo cabin."

"Wait, did he have a badge on his shirt? One that looked like the Eye of Polyphemus?" Clarisse questioned.

"I don't know, I wasn't really paying attention," (Y/N) conceded. "Look, Clarisse, I'm really tired, can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"No, (Y/N). Did he have a badge?"

"I already told you, I don't know. He challenged me to a bet, I refused, and he shot at me. I responded in kind. I aimed for the shin, but when I saw the blood disappear, I knew it was one of them."

"Alright, I'll have someone look into it. You go get some rest, then."

(Y/N) simply nodded his head before continuing towards the Hermes cabin. He felt like cinder blocks were tied to his legs, dumbbells hooked to his eyelids. So, when he got to his little corner of the cabin, he figured he would just be able to fall down into his sleeping bag and collapse into dreamland. Unfortunately, he spent the next few hours tossing and turning, still wide awake. It was as if his body was refusing to let him sleep. So, instead, he grabbed his guitar and tried to force himself to practice. The rest of the Hermes cabin was still doing their normal camp activities, so he pretty much had the cabin to himself, meaning he wasn't bothering anyone in doing so. Maybe trying to learn two songs at once wasn't a great idea, but he had made this bed, and he would have to lie in it.

He also decided to try singing along with what he was playing, as he had memorized the chord changes by the lyrics. The poetry was fitting, in his opinion. It was about a man who was offered several methods of stress relief by the Devil, causing him to take actions that would be his damnation, attempting to dissuade someone from walking the same road.

However, it seemed like his hands were refusing to go along with what he wanted them to do. He just couldn't manage to press down hard enough on the steel strings to make them ring out. In annoyance, he put the guitar down as gently as he could before going back to the sleeping bag. Thankfully, this time, he was able to fall asleep rather quickly.

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(Y/N)'s dreams that night were not pleasant, nor easy to interpret. But one thing was abundantly clear: one of the gods was angry, and whichever one it was, it was at him specifically. Even though he was sleeping in a cabin near the Long Island Sound, he felt as if he was sweating in the heat of a desert. He could feel massive sores across his skin, ones that had refused treatment time and time again. He could hear the wailing of guitars where half the strings were tuned improperly.

Heat, medicine, and music. Yeah, probably Apollo.

Lovely.

But that just left (Y/N) more confused. The only interaction he'd had with anything close to the god recently was playing his guitar, which he would admit he wasn't the best at, but that's no reason for ominous dreams in his opinion.

As a result of this, to call his nap a restful one would be a misnomer, as when he awoke several hours later, he felt even more tired than when he arrived at the Hermes cabin. He was awoken by someone knocking on the front door of the cabin, shouting his name and demanding his presence on the front porch. So, he quickly threw on some outdoor-worthy clothes and answered the door, only to be met with a nervous-looking Percy and Grover.

"What's going on, guys?" (Y/N) asked, letting out a yawn. "Man not allowed an afternoon nap?"

"No, it's not that," Percy said with obvious nervousness in his voice. "Look, Chiron wants to talk to you about something at the Big House. He didn't tell me what it was, but he didn't have a great look on his face."

"Well, better not keep the old horse waiting then." (Y/N) stretched his arms to get the stiffness out of his joints before putting on some shoes and walking to the Big House. Along the way, he was met with stares of... anger? Disappointment? He wasn't quite sure what the proper word was, but whatever the emotion that the other campers were trying to convey, all it did was leave him confused.

(Y/N) stepped onto the porch of the Big House, seeing Dionysus declare himself and his teammate the winners of the Pinochle game that he and Chiron were playing. Figuring that would be as good a time as any, (Y/N) made his presence known.

"Chiron, I was told you wanted to see me?" (Y/N) asked, rubbing his eye with one hand.

"Yes, (Y/N). Though, it would be better if we talked inside," Chiron instructed. "You as well, Mr. D."

"Do we really have to? We all know this one did it," Dionysus said. "I mean, it was a bullet that did him in."

"But that alone is not enough. Come, we must deliberate inside."

"Um, what is this about?" (Y/N) asked, twice as confused as before. "Is this about the Eidolon I shot?"

Chiron ignored him and walked inside the Big House, gesturing for (Y/N) and Mr. D to follow. The son of Mammon complied, following the centaur inside. When he did, he saw the heads of each cabin sitting around the ping-pong table in the center of the House's largest room. There was even an empty seat where it was clear (Y/N) was meant to sit, though it was more a stool than a proper chair.

Scanning the room, the head of the Apollo cabin was glaring daggers at (Y/N). The rest seemed to be doing similar, though at least trying to hide it. The only ones who weren't doing such were the Stoll Brothers and Clarisse, all three of whom were looking at him more with sympathy, like someone looking at a kicked puppy.

"Chiron, what the fuck is going on here?" (Y/N) demanded. "Why are all the cabin heads here? And why does Lee look like he wants to kill me where I stand?"

"(Y/N) (L/N), son of Mammon. You stand accused of the murder of Edward Fulcrum at 9:30 this morning at the archery range," Chiron said, having put glasses on to better read the parchment in front of him (or to be more dramatic if you asked (Y/N).

"How do you plea?"

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Been a minute, eh? I just love how my brain refuses to focus on one project at a time.

I blame Destiny 2.