Archive of Our Own

One

Whoever designed the pyre in the dining pavilion was on top of Michael Yew’s most wanted list. Sure, it looked pretty; with it’s stacked stones and gems that glittered in the sun and its translucent cement sanded down to perfection, but its looks were diminished by the fact that it was too fucking tall . 

The embers burned at least four feet above the ground, a multitude of colors that made it clear that something otherworldly had made it plausible. At least that was what Michael was told because he couldn’t see it himself.

His first night at camp, when he’d been ushered in line by London; the energetic head of the Hermes Cabin, with a plate of spaghetti with marinara sauce in his hands. The rest of the cabin’s occupants slid into place without a second thought, even Connor Stoll, the eight-year-old whom Michael had already clocked as having a penchant for trouble making. 

“What are we doing?” Michael asked. He couldn’t see anything in front of him because London was blocking the way. Michael only reached about her hip in height.

London looked down at him, and even though her gaze was soft, it still felt like she was looming over him. “We make sacrifices to the gods during meals. Usually to our parents, but it could be whoever.”

Michael scrunched up his nose, trying to look around London to see. Sure enough, he could see Luke Castellan scraping a portion of his meal into an elevated fire pit, muttering to himself. The top stone reached to about his forearm, meaning it would probably tower over him if he were to stand next to it. 

As much as it pained him to admit, Michael was clearly the smallest person at camp. And he wasn’t the youngest—or even that close to it! He was nine, nearly ten, for fuck’s sake. That was two years older than Annabeth—the youngest camper who was seven, turning eight in a few weeks. But even Annabeth made Michael look like a pygmy mouse; he barely reached her shoulder! It was frustrating.

Soon, London was scraping her own food in the embers, mumbling a prayer to Hermes, before stepping back. “Your turn, Michael. Most unclaimed campers pray to be claimed, or thank my father for housing them, but it’s really up to you.”

Michael stepped forward so he was at the pyre’s base. Like he expected, there were at least three lines of stone above his head, not including the one flat one that seemed to be the lip. London seemed to notice too, because she quickly said. “Here, let me help!”

“No!” Michael twisted so his spaghetti was out of her reach. “I can do it myself. Connor doesn’t need help, does he?”

London shifted awkwardly in her spot. “Well, no,” she relented. “But, Connor is a bit taller than you.”

Michael snarled. “He’s eight,” he spat. “If a fucking eight year old can do it with no help, than I sure can too.”

“Language,” scolded London. “And it’s not a problem if you do need help—”

She was interrupted by another voice behind him. “Do you need help?”

Michael turned and hissed, “I’m not a fucking baby.” 

Luke raised his hands above his head as if he’d been caught. “I’m just asking, Yew.”

“Well, don’t.”

Michael was about to turn back around and attempt to sacrifice a portion of his meal in the tall fucking pyre when a girl in the line chuckled. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Michael glowered at her. The girl looked about his age, maybe a bit older but not by much, which meant she had a good foot on him. Her hair was lighter brown than his, but a bit stringy, and tied back with a bandana. She was muscular in all the spots Michael was skin and bones, and he’d be a fool to pick a fight with someone her size, but Michael never claimed to have self-preservation. 

“What the fuck did you say to me?” he spat.

The girl stepped forward, around the teenager in front of her, who was even larger and more muscular than she was, her smile taut. “I said, you could have fooled me that you weren’t a baby.”

Michael growled at her, and probably would’ve attacked if the tall teen hadn’t sighed and said. “Just do your sacrifice, I want to eat.”

“Fine.” Michael looked up, carefully calculating his next move. Normally, he would’ve climbed, but the smoothed out sides of the pit made it slick and practically impossible. So, Michael pressed the balls of his feet to the ground, lifting his heels, and putting his hands above his head. He tipped the plate slightly, moving to scrape a few strands of spaghetti into the flame.

He missed.

The spaghetti plopped down on top of his hair, the marinara running down his cheeks like tears. “Fuck!” he exclaimed, and the feeling of the thick sauce making him drop his plate to the ground with a clatter. A few strands of spaghetti tucked behind his ear like a really awful wig.

The girl started cackling, a witchy type of laughter that made Michael’s cauldron bubble. 

“Wow,” she breathed out, wiping away tears, “You really are a baby.”

“I’ll show you—” Michael lunged, his fist balled as he prepared to punch the girl with all his might. He might be skinnier than a twig, but he was deceptively strong. The kids at school stopped making fun of him after he destroyed them in dodgeball—despite the fact that the ball almost doubled in size when it was in his hands.

Suddenly, he was stopped. Someone, though Michael didn’t know who, had grabbed a hold of his forearms, almost as if to guide him away from the fight. But Michael had experience getting out of people’s grasps; people seemed to think that just because he was the perfect size to pick up, they could do just that. Michael twisted and jabbed his elbow back as hard as he could into his captor so they could let go.

As he was released and swished around to scold the person who had touched him without his consent, two things were made obvious. Firstly, it had been Luke who had tried to grab him. Secondly, Michael’s elbow had jabbed right into his crotch.

Luke doubled over, howling in pain, his eyes watering. There was a streak of red on his shorts, though Michael was unaware if that were blood or marinara sauce. London had moved to help prop him up, making sure he didn’t completely crumble to the ground. And the rest of the camp fell into a stark silence, jaws unhinged and eyes widened. Even the girl who he’d been about to attack let her guard down, staring at Michael like he was an entirely different person than he’d been a few seconds before. Michael shifted under the eyes of so many, aware how clown-like he must’ve looked with his spaghetti wig and marinara make-up.

“What are you fucking looking at?” He snarled. The camp snapped back into reality, starting up conversations that Michael would’ve had to be dumb to think weren’t about him. 

Luke was glaring at him, still leaning over and being supported by his older sister and counselor. While London didn’t verbally scold his language, Michael could see in her eyes what she thought. The normally elvish smile he’d come to associate with Hermes kids was wiped from both sibling’s faces. 

Michael quickly combed the spaghetti out of his hair with his fingers, and used his brand new camp shirt (that, despite being a youth small still swamped him) to get the sauce off his cheeks. Instead of moving around him, like he had expected, the campers who hadn’t done their sacrifices (which was only one cabin, based on the emptiness of the tables, though he wasn’t sure which cabin it was) stood stoically. Even the girl didn’t move to make her sacrifice.

“Here, Mickel.” 

Michael looked up, dropping the hem of his shirt to see who he recognized to be Mr D—the god, Dionysus—from his tour earlier that day. He looked overly tired, his violet eyes rimmed with red—and he held a plate of spaghetti in his hands.

Michael gulped, unsure how to proceed. “Thank you?” He went to grab the plate, but Mr D lifted it above his head. 

“I’m banning you from sacrificing yourself,” Mr D said. “As entertaining as that was, Chiron’s currently watching over the infirmary which means that I have to be responsible. Which sucks.”

“Um—”

“And leave the fighting to the armory,” Mr D grumbled. “I saw that whole thing.”

“You could’ve prevented him from elbowing me,” Luke hissed. 

Mr D rolled his eyes. “You brought that on yourself, Link. Everyone knows not to grab a traumatized kid.”

Luke grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “And let him fight Clarisse?” but Mr D ignored him.

The god moved to the pyre and scraped a portion of the food into the flames. “One of you claim this little gremlin.” Michael could see the licks of flames up from the tips of the stones. 

The plate was handed over. “Go sit down. And ask for help next time.”

Michael's face felt like it were the color of marinara as he made his way over to the Hermes table.

Two

Michael had gained the reputation as Camp Half-Bloods resident chihuahua—small but vicious. He didn’t really have friends because he bared his teeth at whoever came too close to him, and rarely listened to London’s directions. 

Two days into camp, and no closer to getting claimed, London had reached her limit. She’d thrown her hands up in despair after spending ten minutes trying to coax Michael out of his sleeping bag without resorting to picking him up—because she was convinced if she did, he’d have no qualms about punching her in her boobs or another sensitive spot like he’d done to Luke.

“Luke, get over here!”

Luke had been actively avoiding Michael, something Michael found hilarious, and looked skeptically from where he’d been allowing Travis and Connor to put stickers on his arms. “Why?”

“‘Cause I said so,” London shot back.

Luke slowly made his way over, his hands not so subtly blocking his crotch. “Yeah, Lon?”

“You’re in charge of Michael today.”

Luke gaped like a fish out of water. “What?”

“Take him around camp and find something he likes.” London elaborated. “I’m not dealing with him, so get him excited about camp if it’s the last thing you do.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably. “Do I—?”

“Yes, you have to,” London sighed. “Or would you rather take the rest of the cabin kayaking?”

Luke flinched, but multiple ears around the cabin perked up. “We’re kayaking?” Travis asked.

Millie—an unclaimed nine-year-old girl who, unlike Michael, had begun to feel right at home in Cabin 11—grinned. “Boating’s my favorite!”

“Fine, I’ll help Michael find his niche,” Luke grumbled after a moment. “Come on, Yew.” He held his hand out to help Michael stand up, but Michael glared at him.

“Touch me again, and the last time I elbowed your crotch will feel like heaven in comparison.”

Luke, smartly, put his hand down, and Michael stood up and followed him out of the cabin, leaving London to round up the other two dozen campers. 

“What’s first?” Michael questioned. He had to jog to keep up with Luke. 

“Fighting.” Luke waved at a few Athena girls, one of whom Michael recognized to be little Annabeth Chase. “It’s my favorite, and you seem like the type to enjoy it.”

Michael scrunched his nose at the implications of the statement. “What weapon do you use?” he decided to ask instead.

“Sword.” Luke grinned that Hermes Cabin grin. “I’ve been here less than a year, and everyone already says I’m one of the best swordsmen here.”

Michael hadn’t heard anyone say that, but he hadn’t really been listening much to camp gossip. It bored him. “Am I getting a sword?”

Luke stopped, like his brain was taking a pause, and not even flinching when Michael ran into him. “I was thinking more a dagger or a knife.”

Michael could see something a bit guilty in Luke’s expression, and decided to be the little shit he was. “Why?”

Instead of answering, Luke just started walking again towards the arena.

“Why, Luke?”

“Why, Luke?”

“Why, Luke?”

“I just think a dagger would be easier.”

Michael glared at him. “Is it because I’m small?”

“Not at all,” Luke stumbled out way too quickly. “Look, we’re here!”

The arena looked exactly like Michael had expected; the tall walls, the multitude of weapons, the dummies, it was exactly what was conjured in the mind when the word ‘arena’ was said. Luke grabbed a sword off the shelf and swung it a few times, feeling the weight of it. Michael watched, enraptured by the way the movement seemed to echo.

“Alright,” Luke said after a few moments. “Let’s get your dagger.”

Michael crossed his arms. “I want a sword.”

“Look, Yew—”

“Let me try,” Michael replied.

“It’s almost your size.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Michael spat out. “Let me try.” 

Truth be told, Michael really didn’t have any interest in sword-fighting. It was rigid, and fair. If Michael knew one thing about being small, it’s that playing by the rules would get you nowhere. But, he would not give Luke the satisfaction of being right. 

Luke looked at the blade in his hand, as if checking his reflection. Even though he was only fifteen, Michael could see the creases in his forehead. “Let’s make a deal.”

Michael raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “What kinda deal?”

“You see that shed over there?” Michael followed his finger and saw what Luke was talking about. It was an old, dingy little shed that seemed to be made entirely of splinters. “That was the old armory before the Hephaestus kids built a new one, but there’s still a ton of stuff in there. Specifically, on the top shelf is a rubber duck.”

“A duck?” Michael repeated.

“Yes, a duck. I don’t know why it’s there, but it is. If you can get the duck off the shelf, I’ll let ya try the sword.”

“Fine!”

Luke grinned. “I’ll be over here practicing, get me when you give up.”

Michael spat at the floor by Luke’s feet, relishing in the way the older boy jumped back, before marching over to the old, probably abandoned shed.

The door creaked as Michael opened it—revealing a deceptively large room. There were no light switches, but it seemed to glow all the same. Every inch of wood was littered with splinters and more weapons than Michael had ever seen in his almost ten years of living. And just as Luke had said, on the top shelf was a small rubber duck.

Michael scrutinized every detail of the room, trying to see what things he could climb on to grab it. Problem was, if he put his hands on the wood, he would undoubtedly get splinters, and if he fell, he’d land on a trampoline of swords and daggers. His next thought was to try and find something he could throw and possibly knock down the duck when the door creaked behind him.

Michael jumped, turning around. He expected to see Luke’s unblemished face and bright blue eyes, but instead was met with dark brown ones. 

The boy was someone Michael hadn’t met, but that wasn’t too unheard of. He looked about Michael’s age, and almost every exposed inch of his skin was littered with scars and burns. His left arm was wrapped tightly in an ace bandage. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the boy jumped too, “I didn’t expect anyone to be here.” He looked at Michael—down, as he was so much taller than him—and a confused look turned to one of understanding. “Hey, you’re the kid who elbowed Luke in the nuts!”

Michael grinned, something he’d been told was unsettling, but the boy didn’t seem frightened. “Yeah.”

“Jake,” the boy introduced. “Son of Hephaestus.”

Normally Michael would bare his teeth at this point in the conversation, but something about Jake made him a bit hesitant to act like his normal, stand-offish, self. “Michael. I don’t know who the fuck’s my godly parent.”

“Connie says we’re not supposed to cuss,” Jake mumbled under his breath.

Michael shrugged. “I don’t know who the fuck Connie is, so I don’t give a shit.”

Jake glanced around the room. “She’s the Hephaestus Counselor,” he said. “She’s always yelling at Maurice and Lyndsey for cussing around Beck and I, since we’re the Cabin’s youngest t

“Connor’s the youngest in the Hermes cabin, but I’ve heard him say fuck before. Hell, I’ve taught him a curse or two.”

“Do you always cuss this much?” Jake asked.

“Makes people respect me,” Michael shrugged. “Makes them realize I’m not a fucking toddler, you know?”

Jake frowned. “But, you’re still a kid, right? How old are you?”

“I turn ten in early August.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little young to cuss?” Jake asked. “I mean, I’m nine too, but my Mama would wash my mouth with soap if I said half the stuff you say before I’m eighteen.”

“I don’t really give a shit what people think.”

“I can tell,” Jake grumbled. “Well, I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing. I just need to grab an old shield to model the one I’m making in Forging lessons.”

Michael almost let him leave without saying another word, but just before he could, his mouth said, “I’m getting the duck down for Luke!” without his brain catching up.

Jake nearly dropped his shield. “What do you need the duck for?”

“Luke said if I get it down, he’ll let me try a sword. Thinks I’m too small or whatever.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way—” Jake began.

Michael growled at him. “You never know unless you try.”

Jake seemed to contemplate that. “Good point.” He glanced up at where the duck sat on the shelf—staring menacingly down at the pair of them. Michael wanted to impale it with the sword once it was down. “But how do you plan to do that?”

The closest thing on the ground was a small dagger, a simple, yet detailed design on its hilt. Michael spun it a few times in his hand before lifting it up over his head, preparing for a shot. “Knock it down.”

Jake instinctively held his shield up. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Sure it is,” Michael grinned. He rocked the knife a few times for good measure, before tossing it. 

Good news: it hit the duck.

Bad news: it impaled the duck and got stuck in the wall.

“Shit,” Michael said.

Jake looked around his shield. “That looks pretty lodged in there.”

Smacking his hands a few times, Michael surveyed his surroundings once more. Maybe he could get up there without splinters, but he’d have to be extremely careful. 

Jake followed his line of sight. “Uh—do you plan on climbing the shelves?”

Michael stepped to the lowest one and picked a splinter off, tossing it aside, mapping out his path. “Yup.”

“Those don’t look very stable.”

“I’m light.”

“And the splinters?” Jake questioned. “And the fact that if you fall you’d land in a pile of extremely sharp weapons?”

“Minor inconveniences,” Michael retorted. He could do this; he was a climber. Ever since he was a toddler, his mother would find him on the highest places in their apartment. He climbed up onto the first shelf like he was exiting a swimming pool, ignoring the scrapes of his knees and the palms of his hands. Once he was firmly on the shelf, he stood up. One more shelf to go. 

Jake was beside him, the shield held upside down like an extremely un-buoyant trampoline ready to catch his fall. “Uh, Michael?”

“What?”

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Whatever.”

Michael grabbed the next shelf, and hoisted himself up to right beside the duck. Even though Michael didn’t weigh a lot, the shelf was old, so it still creaked and groaned underneath him. Michael sat beside where the knife was lodged, grabbing the hilt.

“Got it!” Michael exclaimed.

That was when things, expectantly, went wrong. With all his might, he yanked the hilt, and the dagger came loose far easier than expected, causing Michael to tumble off the shelf.

Michael yelped, but clutched the duck safely to his chest to make sure he didn’t lose it. There was a loud clang as he landed in the underside of the shield, and Jake groaned slightly at the impact, but managed to stay still.

Jake slowly lowered the shield to the ground, with Michael sat in it, still clutching the impaled rubber duck. “I told you that was stupid.”

“I still got the duck though,” Michael pointed out. He clambered out of the shield and stood up, dusting off his t-shirt and shorts. “Now Luke’ll let me sword-fight!”

Michael all but sprinted out the door. 

“You’re welcome,” mumbled Jake.

Michael turned around. “Thanks, but I didn’t need it.”

“Sure, you didn’t.” Michael heard Jake grumble, but he was out the door before he could think of a reply.

Three

Michael got claimed the morning of his tenth birthday, and in true Apollo kid fashion, it was a dramatic affair. 

Michael had, not-so-surprisingly, not done too well in his sword-fighting lessons with Luke; it had become apparent once he’d presented the son of Hermes with his duck on a knife that there was something Michael was extremely good at—anything involving aiming.

And he enjoyed it too. All London would have to say was that they were going to the archery range, and Michael would be out of his sleeping bag in a flash. The Hermes counselor was extremely grateful for the ease after how much she struggled the first few days with Michael.

Jake, who had quickly risen in the ranks of people Michael could stand, had fashioned him his own bow, since the ones at the range were too large and cumbersome for Michael to pull back. He’d grinned at the Hephaestus boy when it had been presented to him—clutching the bow to his chest.

Archery wasn’t the only distance fighting Michael had taken a liking to. He also had a penchant for knife throwing. Which is what he had been doing on his birthday.

London had promised him that he could choose the cabin’s activity for their choice activity as a birthday treat—something Michael jumped at the opportunity to do. Soon, the entire cabin was huddled in the archery range with a few Apollo kids who had been tasked with running the range. Michael didn’t really know the Apollo kids that well since he’d only used the range when Chiron was instructing, but they didn’t seem overly terrible.

The counselor—she’d introduced herself, and then Michael had conveniently forgotten her name almost immediately—had given an archery safety talk that was mandatory whenever anyone stepped on the range, but Michael barely listened. Chiron’s own speech had practically ingrained itself in his mind; he didn’t need it anymore.

“Is everyone doing archery?” she asked, once her speech was complete. There was a collective affirmation from everyone else, except from Michael himself, who loudly said, “No.”

The counselor looked around, “Who said no?”

Michael pushed himself to the front, quickly realizing his original spot was practically hidden. He had a big Birthday Boy sash across his chest that London and Luke had insisted he’d wear, pinned down so that it wouldn’t be a hazard when fighting. “I want to use throwing knives,” he declared. 

The Apollo counselor looked down at him, her lips drawn into an unreadable expression. “Alright. Happy Birthday, by the way. How old are you turning?”

“Ten,” Michael replied. 

The counselor tried to hide her shock, but didn’t do it so well. However, her shock quickly morphed into understanding. “You’re the kid Chiron’s told me about—Michael, right? He said your aim is impeccable for a newbie."

Michael tried to appear nonchalant, but the thought of Chiron praising him made feel giddy. “Yeah, Michael Yew.”

“Well, it’ll be cool to see you in action,” she grinned. “You got the last two targets; the ones that are stacked on top of each other, and I’ll get the knives for you. Lee, would you get everyone else set up?”

An Apollo boy, who was probably a bit older than Michael—eleven, twelve perhaps—nodded, and moved around the range as if he owned the place. Michael swallowed down a bit of jealousy as he moved over to his two, stacked targets. He could see Lee easily helping the rest of Michael’s current cabin mates find their proper sized bows; even managing to calm down Odilia—who was usually jumping off the cabin walls to the point where Michael’d heard London sacrifice food to ask for her claiming—and get Clovis, a new eight-year-old arrival who’d Luke had taken to carrying around since he’d do nothing but sleep, to actually participate. Michael wasn’t quite sure how he did that, but it suddenly made a lot more sense why his counselor asked him to help rather than the other two Apollo kids who looked to be older than Lee.

“I found the knives,” the counselor grinned as she came over, a stack of a dozen or so knives in her arms. She was bright and bubbly; what was stereotypical for a child of the sun god, and had a flame of red curls that were tied in a bun with a dulled arrow stuck through. “Do you know how to do it?”

Michael nodded, snatching two of the knives and, without much thought, tossed them. The first one impaled itself into the bullseye of the bottom target, while the second dug into the bullseye of the top target.

Her eyes widened as she took in the two separate bullseyes. “No wonder Chiron thinks you’re an Apollo kid.”

As if the gods heard her words; a bright light surrounded Michael, engulfing him in sunshine. The rest of the Hermes cabin all stopped shooting, putting down their bows to stare at him.

He glanced down at his arms to see that they were glowing? 

“What the fuck is happening?” Michael shrieked. “Why am I a glowstick?”

The counselor next to him—his older sister? Michael really needed to get her name now—chuckled. “That’s Apollo claiming you.”

London ushered Justyn—a Hermes kid known for his need for speed—to go find Chiron as Michael patted his arms, legs, and every other exposed inch of his body to try and dull the glow. At least it wasn’t nighttime, because that would have been infinitely worse. 

Chiron returned with a knowing look about him as he proclaimed him Michael Yew, son of Apollo, and a multitude of other titles that seemed far too professional. Michael was still dripping with shock when everyone stood back up—were they really kneeling for him?—and he heard what sounded suspiciously like Millie say, “Since he’s claimed, can we do a different activity now?”

London hissed at her to be nice, but soon enough the Hermes cabin decided to go do something else and leave Michael to get acquainted with his new cabinmates/siblings.

“Take him over to Hermes after lunch to grab his stuff, Wendy,” London said as the rest of the Hermes kids got into their buddy line, Michael’s old buddy—Lucy—tripling up with Connor and Travis. 

“Will do,” the Apollo counselor—Wendy, score!—waved back, and after a countoff, the Hermes cabin was gone. 

Chiron nodded once, curtly, at Michael. “It’s always nice to see a camper be claimed.” Chiron said, “You’ll do great things, Michael Yew.” before he too left on the ominous note.

Thankfully, Michael had stopped glowing, though his awkwardness didn’t cease at all when he realized the four present Apollo kids were still staring at him.

“Good birthday present?” a girl with long, pin straight blonde hair said at last. “Dad claimed me on my birthday too, five years ago.”

“Yeah—” Michael drawled out. Everyone had made being claimed seem like such a big deal, but now that it happened, it seemed very anticlimactic. “Something like that.”

“It’s a big change, Clem,” Wendy brought up, “He’s probably still comprehending everything. Give him time to adjust.”

Clem shrugged. “Whatever.” She glanced at Michael, who felt like he was shrinking—even at his small size—under her gaze. “I’m Clementine, but you can call me Clem, the rest of our siblings do.”

Our siblings. Michael had gone from an only child to someone with a bajillion siblings in the span of two minutes. Sure, he knew logistically there was a high probability he had siblings when he came to camp last month, but it didn’t really click till now.

“I’m Maude!” The last girl, who’s brown eyes were practically identical to Michael’s—they even had the same circle of yellow in the center—introduced. “And the one putting away the bows is Lee!”

Lee waved over.

“As much as I’d love to continue doing archery and knife throwing,” Wendy said, snatching the knives that she had dropped during the whole hubbub, “We probably should go and introduce Michael to the rest of the cabin. I’ll go get Michael’s knives—”

“I got it!” Michael quickly insisted. “I can get my own knives.”

His siblings, siblings, glanced suspiciously at him. 

“Um,” Clem began, “I wouldn’t take this the wrong way—”

“I know I’m fucking short,” Michael spat back. “But I can get my goddamn knives myself.”

He marched towards the targets and yanked the knife out of the bottom bullseye, which was about his eye level. He put the knife in the grass beside him and reached up to grab the second one.

Only to realize he couldn’t reach.

In fact, he couldn’t even reach the bottom of the white ring on the top target.

“Here, let me—”

“No,” Michael hissed at Lee, who had come over. “I got it.”

Michael jumped, and his fingertips scraped the bottom of the inner blue ring.

“Are you sure—”

“I fucking got it!”

He jumped again, and this time touched the red ring. 

The three Apollo girls made their way over. “You know, it’s no shame in needing help,” Wendy mentioned.

“I don’t,” Michael jumped again. “Need.” He was getting closer, he could feel it. “Help.”

He backed up slightly, giving himself a running start. His fingertips scraped the outer yellow ring. So close. But no cigar.

None of the older Apollo kids were laughing at him—not like the kids at school who would hold things above their heads to watch him struggle. 

“If you want to grab it yourself, I can pick you up,” Clem suggested. “When I started at camp at ten, our older sister, Penelope,  used to do that with me until I could reach myself.”

Too embarrassed to verbalize his failures, Michael just lifted up his arms. Clem grabbed him by the waist and picked him up, and let him pull the knife out. She didn’t even stumble when Michael’s weight leaned back into her and the effort it took to remove the knife.

Michael grumbled as he was put down, snatching the first knife he had left in the grass back up and hugging them both to his chest.

“We’re always here to help,” Wendy told him. “It’s what big siblings are for.”

Four

Michael was one of the youngest in the Apollo Cabin, and while he still had qualms about needing help with simple tasks, the fact that almost everyone helping him was older did help make him feel marginally better about himself.

Michael was definitely the odd egg when it came to being an Apollo kid. Sure, everyone looked incredibly different—Clem’s straight platinum blonde hair was juxtaposed by Maude’s coily near-pitch black hair, and Lee’s pale blue eyes looked nothing like his own dark brown—but everyone else had a sunny disposition and a bucket load of energy. Michael had energy too, but his constant scowl was anything but sunny.

Despite being the odd one out, the Apollo kids were incredibly accommodating about his height. Steps had been added to random spots throughout the cabin, and everyone was incredibly cautious about making sure to put items that Michael might need in a spot where he could reach it. Wendy had always said it was important to garner independence, and Michael was forever grateful to his oldest sister for that. Even after Wendy died on the quest she went on with Luke, the rest of the cabin still made sure to follow her ways.

Sure, being so short sucked still, but it was getting better. 

That was until Will Solace arrived.

Will was a camp anomaly; one of those really little kids who arrived at camp despite still being only seven or eight. He’d, apparently, been attacked by a flock of Styphalian birds in Central Park with his mother while walking about, and Marron had found them and brought him to camp despite his age. Gossip spread like wildfire around the camp, and the Apollo cabin was not above a good gossip.

Clem ran into the cabin when the rest of them were having a free block—she’d become head medic since Ricky, the new head counselor since Wendy… was a pretty horrid healer—after having fixed up the new little kid and sending him off with Luke (who’d become counselor after his quest. London was still around, she just was ‘retired’ as she said). “Oh my gods, you’ll never guess what I found out!”

Robin looked up from where they were tuning the mandolin, raising their eyebrow. “What?”

“Will? The seven year old who just arrived at camp? His mother’s fucking Naomi Solace!” 

A few of his siblings' jaws dropped, and at least three different percussion sticks clanged to the ground. “No shit?” Maude gasped.

“Yes!” Clem squealed. “Phoebus, I hope he’s an Apollo kid, I’d love to have Naomi Solace’s son as my brother!”

“I’ll bite,” Michael said after a moment of silence. “Who’s Naomi Solace?”

A good few of his siblings gaped at him. “She’s one of the best alt-country singers!” Clem exclaimed. “Ever!”

That explains why Michael didn’t know her. He had nothing against country music, or alt-country, he just never listened to it of his own accord. He was much more of a rock fan. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Clem mocked. 

Michael threw himself at his older sister in an attempt to tackle her, but Clem just grabbed him and threw him over her shoulder. 

“Clementine!” Michael squealed. “Put me down!”

Clem did as he asked. “That’s what you get for attacking me, you shithead.”

Michael flipped her off.

“Stop it,” Ricky called over idly, his tone clear he didn’t actually care what they did, as he was far too focused on polishing his tuba. “I don’t want to fill out an incident report because you’re fighting a child, Clem.”

“I’m almost twelve!” Michael called. 

“Yeah, a child,” Ricky replied. 

Mary Kate, who was only twelve days older than Michael (he didn’t want to think of the implications of that) grinned over from where she and Lee were sorting the woodwind instruments. “The new seven year old’s probably taller than Michael.”

Michael, unsurprisingly, lunged at his sister, and since he had shock value on his side, he managed to pin her to the bed. 

“Michael,” groaned Ricky, while the rest of the cabin laughed.

Later that day at dinner, Michael got his first look at Will and, much to his chagrin, the little kid was, in fact, taller than him. Not by as much as everyone else at camp, but still enough to be noticeable. 

“Not a fucking word,” he hissed at Mary Kate as they got in line to do their sacrifices, and Will had no trouble at all doing his sacrifice by himself. 

“I said nothing,” Mary Kate grinned.

The small graces is that over the two years he’s been at camp, he could now do his own sacrifices. Sure, he was still a bit shorter than the pyre and couldn’t see the flames himself still, but he could scrape the food in without the risk of dumping something on his head again. Wynter, who claimed she had prophetic powers, stated she’d seen him grow to be at least four foot six when he stopped growing, but Michael believed she just used her vitakinesis to check. Wynter also claimed that she saw them winning a volleyball game against the Demeter cabin that they lost spectacularly to, so he didn’t believe any of her ‘visions’ anymore.

As everyone sat at the table and began their dinner, Ricky said. “I just spoke to Luke, he wants us to take Will tomorrow.” He took a swig of his bug juice before continuing. “Said he has a ton of campers and could use the help.”

“Then why ask us?” Maude questioned. “We’re the second biggest cabin.”

“He probably bet he’s an Apollo kid,” Mary Kate said.

“Probably,” Ricky agreed. “And since London’s taking retirement far too literally and now refuses to do anything but lounge around with a glass of sparkling juice, we’re the next best thing.”

Lee looked at his reflection in his drink. “But tomorrow’s infirmary cleaning day.”

The entire cabin groaned loudly. 

“He can help Michael with sorting the medication in the cupboard,” Clem suggested. 

That was always Michael’s job—since he had pretty horrible bedside manners despite being a decent healer, and was too small to do any of the big moving things himself. “I don’t want to babysit a seven year old!” Michael whined. 

“You’ll do fine,” Ricky said. 

***

The next day, Luke dropped Will off bright and early. So early, in fact, most of the cabin was still in their pajamas. Michael was actually still in bed, Mary Kate and Lee trying to pull him out.

“Thanks again, Ricky,” Michael heard Luke say. 

“Not a problem,” Ricky dismissed. He waited until Luke walked away. “Apollo kids, this is Will. Will, this is the Apollo cabin.”

“Hi!” Michael probably should’ve guessed with his mother being a country star and all, but Will had a light southern accent. He also had a ton of energy. Michael glanced over and could see him bouncing in his spot.

Most of the cabins yelled greetings back, which made Will’s bouncing a bit more intense.

“I know it’s not super exciting,” Ricky began. “But, we’ll be cleaning the infirmary today. Michael’s gonna be watching you. Mike, raise your hand.”

Michael groaned, as Mary Kate pulled him out of his bed, and Lee raised his hand for him. Lee’s own hand was barely to his cheek. 

Ricky rolled his eyes. “That’s Michael.”

“He’s very teeny tiny,” Will said.

Curse little kids and their bluntness. The rest of the cabin burst into laughter—Mary Kate literally fell to the ground. Michael kicked her.

“Michael,” Ricky sighed. “Anyways, let’s go to breakfast, and then the infirmary.”

***

Will was talkative, Michael found out pretty quickly. He also knew way more about medicine than should be possible for a seven (almost eight! Will had said) year old. His questions were so detailed during breakfast that he’d left Clementine, who normally could not be quieted, speechless a few times. 

The questions continued even after Clem and the others separated to do their own tasks. Michael led Will over to the medication cupboard to begin their sorting. The cupboard itself was a small little thing with three low shelves that Michael could easily reach. There was a fourth shelf, on the top, but that was mostly vacant barring one or two medications that Michael would have to go find a ladder to grab if he needed them. Normally, though, those ones weren’t needed though, since the Apollo cabin made sure he was independent.

Michael quickly explained the sorting system, which Will picked up way faster than Michael had expected, and the two set to work. Will’s ramblings—about healing, Star Wars, healing in Star Wars—became a sort of white noise that helped Michael focus on his work. He was so zoned out he barely heard the ramblings stop, replaced with a soft, “Michael?”

Michael nearly jumped at the sound of his name. “Huh?”

Will’s cheeks looked sunburnt as he showed Michael a bottle label. “Is this a little b, or a d?”

“B,” Michael told him. Will grinned gratefully as he put the medication on the right shelf. “Say, you want to know a trick for remembering little B’s and D’s?”

Will looked up, slightly shocked. “Really?”

“Yeah, I have trouble reading too, so I make little tricks to help me.”

“Okay!” Will scurried over to Michael, who had grabbed two medications—one for section B and one for D. “I’m ready.”

“The b has a baby in it’s belly,” Michael showed him, tracing over the bump in the little b. “See?”

“I see it!” Will grinned, tracing the bump as well. “Just like when my mama had me in her belly.”

“Right.”

“And the d?”

Michael couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s got a big dump truck.”

Will looked at the medication suspiciously, “What?”

“You know? A gluteus maximus? A dupah?”

Will gasped, before erupting in a fit of giggles. “Michael!”

“What?” Michael couldn’t help but grin. “It’s true. Now, go put these in their right buckets.”

As Will scurried off, Michael realized he was missing one of the medications—some aspirin. He searched through the lower shelves, frowning, as Will was obliviously sorting his own sections, when his eye caught a yellow shadow cast down from the top shelf.

“Shit.”

Will whipped around, his jaw dropped, “Michael! That’s a naughty word!”

“Sorry,” Michael grumbled, despite not being sorry. Because there it was—the aspirin—on the top shelf. How it got there, Michael wasn’t sure, but he’d have to go and get a ladder, and bring Will with him since he couldn’t be left alone. Why was this his life? “We need to grab a ladder from outside, one of the medicines is on the top shelf.”

Will looked up at the bottle. “Is that it?”

Michael nodded, before taking a running leap at the shelf. Might as well see if he’s grown since the last time he tried. 

Good news: he had.

Bad news: he hadn’t grown enough.

His fingers scraped the bottom of the shelf, just barely skinning the wood. “Fuck.”

“Michael!”

“Sorry.”

Will looked at the bottle on the shelf, and then at Michael, and then back at the bottle. “Let me try, I’m a good jumper.”

Michael scoffed. “You’re not going to reach it.”

Will went underneath it, standing on the tips of his toes like a pointe dancer. Michael wasn’t even sure how Will’s light up Star Wars sneakers could hold him like that. He stretched as high as he could.

And he was able to knock the bottle off the shelf.

Fuck Michael’s life.

Will grinned, picking up the bottle from the floor. “I got it!”

“Thank, kid,” Michael grumbled as he snatched it from the little boy. “Hey, could you promise me something?”

“What?”

“Never mention this to anyone. Ever.”

Five

When Will was unsurprisingly claimed by Apollo, and Michael made his little brother (“I don’t care how tall you are, I’m your ‘big’ brother and you will only refer to me as such) promise not to help him grab things. Will had frowned, saying he didn’t understand why he couldn’t help, but he wouldn’t anyway.

Michael stood on his toes to ruffle his brother’s blonde curls.

After Will, more younger campers started to arrive in the cabin. None were quite so young as Will, so all were a good deal taller than Michael despite being a year or two younger than him. Michael had all of them make the same promise as Will, and refer to him as their big brother, rather than older brother. 

Older campers left: Ricky had gone to study Creative Writing at a small liberal arts college somewhere here in New York; Clementine left to take some summer courses before being pre-Med; Maude was majoring in something theater related, Michael couldn’t remember what; and Lee had stepped up as the new head counselor. Even though Michael wasn’t the second-oldest, he’d somehow been at camp the second-longest, and was next in line to be counselor. The switch between being the cabin’s baby to the cabin’s big brother had been gradual in theory, having taken a few years, but it had felt so stark.

It didn’t really hit until Chiron approached him at breakfast right as summer began—a few weeks before he turned fourteen.

“Mr. Yew?”

Michael swiveled as quickly as he could on the crowded Apollo bench. His siblings were staring at him unabashedly. “Yes, Chiron?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to lead the archery lessons this summer now that Maude has left for college?”

Silence fell over the table before Will and Isabel, the two youngest campers at nine respectively, whooped in congratulations. Michael hid his reddening face in his hands as he mumbled a, “Yes, Chiron.” in reply.

His siblings pounding his back in congrats, whooping and celebrating the entirety of breakfast before Michael had to go and do his first lesson.

***

His first lesson was with the Hephaestus Cabin, who were all already standing there, and the Ares Cabin, who were fashionably late as per usual. Jake, who was probably Michael’s closest friend (and totally not his crush, why would you think that? Ignore his dark cheeks, that’s a trick of the light) grinned as he approached.

“I heard you’re doing archery this summer. Congrats, man.” Jake grinned as Michael passed to put down his bag. 

“Thanks, Jake.”

Lyndsey, the cabin counselor who’d begun last summer after Connie left, had already taken out the bows and passed out the arm guards, which Michael was grateful for. You could always count on Cabin 9 to be prepared. 

Michael wasn’t waiting for Cabin 5, he instead went to the shed to grab his own, specially made gear—he always told his siblings it was because he was too cool to share, but in reality it was because he regular arm guards went well past his elbow and the smallest bow still didn’t work for him.

“Let’s get started!” Michael called, marching back out.

“But, the Ares—”

“Snooze you lose,” Michael cut Beckendorf off. “Easy as that.”

All the Hephaestus kids had a shot, even with Michael’s demonstration for the new girl, Nyssa, by the time the Ares cabin arrived. Michael was propped on the edge of the picnic bench, idly talking to Jake (and not blushing) while the latest group retrieved their arrows.

“You were supposed to wait for us,” the Ares counselor, Aviva, he believed, scowled. 

Michael jumped down and marched forward, ignoring Jake’s yelp of, “That’s a bad idea, Mikey!”

Michael reached Aviva’s elbow, barely. No one should be that tall, in his opinion. He glared up at her, his arms crossed, and his face in his trademark scowl. “I’m not gonna make the Hephaestus kids wait just because you guys are assholes without a watch.”

Aviva narrowed her eyes at Michael. “You better watch yourself, little boy.”

Michael was very tempted to punch her somewhere that would hurt to high Olympus, but Jake gently tapped his shoulder. “Don’t get in trouble on your first day.”

Michael took a shaky breath. “Just help your cabin into your arm guards, I need the larger bows.”

Aviva turned up her nose, but marched away, leading her siblings over to the arm guard basket as Michael walked towards the archery shed.

Jake followed, grinning. “I’m proud of you, Michael.”

Michael gave him his signature smirk. “You won’t be in a minute.”

Just as Michael opened the shed, he heard a loud proclamation:

“Michael Yew, you stupid kid

I’m gonna bang you with a lid.”

Michael chuckled as he stepped inside. Behind him, Jake sighed. “Rhyming couplets really?”

Michael’s smile probably lit up the shed. “No one calls me little.” 

Jake sighed.

Michael made a peace symbol towards him, before looking around. “Where does Chiron keep the largest bows?” He mumbled, mainly to himself. And there he saw it.

On the top fucking hook.

Great.

“Mike,” Jake began softly.

“Nope, don’t need help,” Michael cut him off. 

“You can’t impale it like you did with the duck,” Jake pointed out.

Michael stuck his tongue out. “I was nine, give me a break. I’m not nine anymore.”

“I know,” Jake agreed. “It’s just—”

He was interrupted by Michael’s yelp as he jumped up and failed to reach the bow. He barely made any sound as he landed on the usually creeky ground. “Fuck.”

“I won’t tell Aviva if you won’t?” Jake said softly. 

Michael turned towards him, his face set. If it were anyone else, he would’ve refused, but this was Jake. The Jake who caught him with a shield when they were nine so he could try sword-fighting, and who never tried to help him without asking. Who he still did not like, thank you very much. 

“Fine,” Michael grumbled. 

Jake smiled, before bending down to grab Michael around the waist and pick him up. Michael hoped his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt as he dislodged the bow from its spot. He clutched the much too large bow to his chest—it was almost twice his size, it felt like—as Jake lowered him to the ground. 

“Thanks,” Michael grumbled. The bow was clumsy in his arms, dwarfing him in size more than usual.

“No problem!” Jake smiled. “I can make some stools here so you can grab things yourself, or lower the hooks.”

Michael was sure his face was red now, but he hoped the large bow covered it. “Thank you.”

They stood there for a minute until Aviva’s voice rang throughout the shed.

“Apollo boy, you stupid cow!

You better get back here right now.”

Michael had to collect himself before he went back to his job.

Plus One

Jake did end up making step stools for all around the archery range, as well as one portable stool that could transform into a satchel and hang across his shoulder. Its sleek and discrete design had nearly sent Michael into tears when he had been gifted it on his fourteenth birthday. Sure, he was better than he was at nine about being embarrassed with needing help, but it was nice to not highlight it. Though, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t grateful to be tall enough to sacrifice dinner to the gods without becoming a spaghetti monster, as it had been dubbed by the Hermes kids.

His siblings—mainly Mary Kate, Isabel, and Will—had even been enlisted by Jake to decorate it with stickers. Michael wasn’t even sure half of the Star Wars characters Will had stuck on, nor Isabel’s Pokèmon, but Michael appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

“It’s just really sweet of him, you know?” Michael ranted the night of his birthday to his siblings as they all got ready for bed. “He’d already set up the archery range to be more accessible, and honestly I could just carry a foldable stool around if I had to, but to make it inconspicuous?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mary Kate fake yawned. “We get it, you’re in love with Jake.”

“Woah!” Michael whipped around towards his sister. “Who said anything about that?”

“Lee said you want to kiss Jake,” Will said.

Michael turned towards Lee with a betrayed look on his face, as his head counselor gasped. “Will, that was our secret.”

“Oh, sorry,” Will mumbled.

“I never said that!”

Mary Kate patted his shoulder. “It’s alright, we know you thought it.”

“You guys are grasping at strings,” Michael insisted, shrugging off his (very slightly) older sister. “You’re delusional.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Dude, I say this in the most sincere way, you’re fucking oblivious.”

“You were just gushing about how sweet he is,” Isabel stated, not even bothering to look away from where she was braiding her chestnut hair in the mirror. “My brother, Karson—my mortal step-brother—only talks about his girlfriend Teagan like that.”

“Well,” Michael crossed his arms, “He was being sweet.”

Mary Kate rolled her eyes, “Gods, Mike, you’re a simp.”

“I’m not a simp!” Michael screeched.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Michael flipped her off, which made the entire cabin giggle. Lee sighed, flopping back on his bed, not bothering to scold Michael for his non-verbal profanity.  

“Look, Michael,” Lee said, “We’re not trying to make you uncomfortable. If you ask us to stop, we will. But we’re always here for you.”

Michael was certain his cheeks were beetroot, and he hid them in the collar of his shirt, though he knew his siblings could see. Truth be told, he did have a teeny tiny crush on Jake that he’d realized a few weeks earlier, but he hadn’t told anyone. He’d been denying it to everyone—including himself—but the stool had been the catalyst to make him realize he couldn’t deny it much longer. Besides, his siblings were always so supportive (how couldn’t they be? With a father like their own?) and they already had suspicions. What could go wrong?

“Okay, okay,” Michael’s words stumbled out. “I might have a tiny tiny crush on Jake.”

His siblings all stopped chattering, apparently not expecting Michael to admit to anything. Will broke the silence first, raising an eyebrow that looked suspiciously like the look Clem would always give him. “So you do want to kiss him?”

Michael’s face felt like a volcano. “Maybe a little. Not a lot.”

Will nodded in a thoughtful way. Michael was wondering what was churning in that head of his as the rest of his siblings seemed to try and formulate words. For the kids of the poetry god, they all get tongue tied quite often.

Mary Kate got out of her stupor first, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I have an idea!”

That sparked interest.

“What is it?” Lee asked.

Mary Kate put her hands on her hips, fists resting on the bone. “Michael takes his new stool, walks over to Jake, sets it up, then boom, they kiss!”

Michael felt like he was going to implode. “I’m not doing that!”

“Why not? It’s a great idea.”

“What if he doesn’t want to kiss me?” Michael shot back.

Mary Kate’s eyes widened, like she hadn’t even considered that a possibility. “Oh, I didn’t think of that.”

“Because Jake totally wants to kiss you,” Isabel added. “He talks about you like you talk about him.”

“Yeah!” Will added. “He kept rambling about you when we were decorating your stool. It was really romantic.”

Michael wanted to sink into the ground and never return, but that wasn’t an option, so instead he turned away from the three most vocal siblings, and his eyes landed on Lee. “You know,” Lee began, “You could just do a cheek kiss. As a thank you, you know? And you can play that off as platonic.”

Michael sat on his bed, silently, not bothering to reply. “Still—”

“Or don’t,” Lee said. “It’s up to you.”

***

It took four days to muster up the courage, but Michael was gonna do it. He was gonna kiss Jake on the cheek. Would it be weird to thank him for his birthday present late, despite them having spent copious amounts of time together since? Maybe. But he was gonna do it anyway. 

Jake was leaning against a tree, waiting for Michael so they could go on a hike. Alone. Though Michael knew his siblings were stalking him—he saw a glimpse of Will’s light-up sneakers in the bush as he was walking over. 

“Hey, Mike!” Jake said, standing up straight. Michael took a deep breath and set the stool beside Jake wordlessly, before stepping onto it.

“Mike?”

Michael still needed to go on his tiptoes (what the fuck?), but he was able to press his lips to Jake’s cheek. He could hear soft squeals coming from the bushes that sounded oddly like Isabel and Will, as well as a shush that had to be Mary Kate. 

Jake’s cheeks steadily reddened. “Mike?”

“I just wanted to thank you for the present,” Michael prattled. “Because I can do that without you leaning down now.”

Jake’s blinks were heavy, calculated, and his cheeks somehow got darker. “Well, you’re welcome?”

Michael moved to step off the stool, when Jake stopped him with a soft tap to his hip. “Wait.”

“Mhm?” Michael tilted his head slightly to his side in question.

“My cheek isn’t the only place you can reach to kiss without help now.”

Michael almost choked on air, resembling a firetruck. “No, I guess not, but first.”

He turned to face the bush. “Get the fuck out of here, you bitches.”

He heard a few giggles, before he caught a glimpse of Will, Isabel, and Mary Kate scrambling off. Mary Kate caught his eyes and gave a wink before she was gone.

Jake watched the three retreating figures. “They were watching?”

Michael shrugged. “You know siblings.”

He looped his arms around Jake’s neck and pressed their lips together; glad to not need any help this time.