Of Shocks and Seashells

Of Chats and Crutches

Disclaimer: I owned PJO...in a dream...

Percy's Point Of View

I walk over to Thalia. She's sitting on a bench, a pair of crutches next to her, one of her legs horribly twisted and shattered. But she's alive. She's alive.

"Hey Seaweed Brain," she says with a wan smile, from where she sits. I plop down next to her.

"'Sup, Pinecone Face?" I ask playfully, and she rolls her eyes.

"Oh, you know, getting over the shock of saving the whole fricking world, silently cursing Hera, trying not to move my leg, craving a cheeseburger at McHale's...same old, same old," Thalia answers with a grin, running a hand through her spiky mess of hair. I notice she's grown it out; it goes to about an inch under her shoulder blades now.

"Gods, it's been a while, hasn't it?" I ask. "Y'know, since we've had a regular conversation. With just the two of us."

"Yeah," Thalia agrees, after a short pause. "Yeah, it has. So. How does it feel to be Mr. Big Shot?"

"Not fun," I admit. "So many people, Thalia. So many people died."

"I know," Thalia replies. "Beckendorf. Michael Yew. Silena."

"Luke," I add, and her face tenses slightly.

"He was a hero," she said hoarsely, her face now gaunt and haggard.

"He was," I agree. "He was the hero of the prophecy. It was never me."

"Always had to frickin' prove himself," Thalia says, and I think I catch a silvery tear dripping down her cheek before she turns slightly, shielding her face from view. "He always had to push himself until he got hurt."

"He'll go to Elysium," I say. "He said he was going to try for rebirth and Isles of the Blessed. But I think he should just relax and be happy."

"We both know he was never really happy after...well...I was turned into a tree," Thalia replies, then sighs heavily. "None of us were ever happy until we found each other. I guess one time I was...but then it was taken away, and that was the last straw."

"And what was it that made you so happy?" I ask carefully.

"Well...the thing is...I had a brother..." Thalia mutters.

"A brother?" I ask, shocked. "You have a brother?"

"Had, Percy, I had a brother," she says bitterly.

"What do you mean, had?" I ask.

"My mom murdered him when he was two," Thalia answers, and I feel my blood run cold.

"Oh, gods, Thalia, I'm so sorry, that was a stupid question to ask."

"You had no way of knowing, it's not your fault," Thalia replies, but her tone is laced with remorse, grief, guilt, and sorrow.

"What was his name?" I ask, hoping I'm not going to make her upset.

"Jason."

"Jason? Like, Jason and the Golden Fleece?"

"Yeah."

"Kind of funny...you know, since the Golden Fleece is the very thing that revived you..."