Chapter Text
Gods are busy.
It's a generally accepted fact. There's a lot to do when you're worshipped and deified and responsible for (sometimes literally) making the world turn.
Even when he wasn't riding a flaming chariot across the sky, Apollo was also the god of archery, music and dance, truth and prophecy, healing and diseases, light, poetry, and more. The Sun thing had been a more recent development from a couple centuries ago, when the titan Helios had 'disappeared'. Well, he'd actually been turned into a flaming labyrinth and eventually faded into Khaos but that was an entirely different legally published story.
Point is, there's a million and one things that Apollo was doing. And he'd made more Apollos to do them. Gods were very convenient that way. They could be anywhere, anytime and at how many times and places they wanted. It stretched them a little thin sometimes, certainly, but as far as he was aware there wasn't another imminent war on the horizon. Apollo could afford some godly multitasking after that six month long journey as Lester Papadopoulos.
Which was why he was in the bedroom of his golden palace in the skies, with a beautiful view of the stables where his steeds grazed on their gilded grass. Apollo sat cross-legged on an all-gold chair that he'd started to find pompous after being mortal for so long. Gold had been his thing for…roughly two or three thousand years.
Time for a change.
Apollo snapped his fingers. The gold throne-like chair transformed into a comfortable green hammock, decorated with hand-embroidered suns. It wasn't like he'd pulled the design from thin air. He'd received it as an offering from one of the kids a few…decades ago.
'I should make sure they had enough drachma to cross safely,' Apollo thought, sending a messenger crow with a bag of drachma for Charon. Call it a future deposit. And a bribe.
He leaned back on the hammock, enjoying the peace and quiet. Apollo couldn't really stop his mind from racing around in circles from anxiety. It'd been a bit of a leftover from being human; certainly not a bad thing. Jason told him to remember what being human was like, even when he became a god again. Apollo was finding that…well, it was a thing. He'd occasionally chatted with Dionysus about the continuing existential crisis and more-often-than-he-should popped into Camp Half-Blood to check on his kids.
Last time he'd gone, Will and Nico had already left on their quest. Apollo had given them as much aid as was godly possible. Tartarus was a horrible destination for a quest, especially for his sunny children. Beyond his domain and influence and he wouldn't even be able to see if Will and his boyfriend needed help. Not for the first time, Apollo mentally cursed Zeus' arbitrary rules regarding quests and interventions and…Well, it's a good thing the King of the Gods wasn't the God of Mindreading or else he'd have been smote. Again.
[You have 830 missed prayers.]
Apollo stretched his godly muscles and settled in to listen. The missive of prayers appeared in a golden scroll, popping into existence on a whim and unfurling itself obediently. The words shifted and swirled and played impressive HD audio.
It was easier to deal with prayers all at once rather than listening as they came in. That was a recipe for crashing the sun chariot and nobody wanted that. No prayers and driving, people! So whenever he had the off-time, Apollo would just sit back and listen.
"Dear Lord Apollo, the prophecies-"
"You blonde motherfu-"
"Phoebus Apollo, I beseech you-"
"Yoo!! Apollo, dude, you have got to-"
"Dad!! I finally got the target 30 times in a row!"
They were very diverse. Apollo hummed thoughtfully, skimming over the names as they came along. A few romans, some greeks, nymphs, satyrs, musicians, priests, a whole menagerie. His kids were praying more too. It was…sweet. The backlog from when he was mortal was mostly his kids rambling about Capture the Flag or new campers or something equally mundane, ending with well-wishes for his inevitable return to godhood.
Some prayers he answered. A few enchanted arrows and lyres for his kids never hurt anyone and they were so looking forward to beating the Ares kids in Capture the Flag, which Apollo could 100% support. He was hesitant to talk to ex-lovers again, after the whole 'my vengeful past tries to kill me and I totally deserved it' with all the other past lovers, but he'd owed them. Apollo sent a few protections to them; wards to stave off monsters, rent money, really pointy knives…
Logically, he could do more. But some of his lovers tended to be a little too stab-happy and not very happy with his whole...ditching them with a newborn demigod. Which, totally fair and Apollo could see that now with the benefit of hindsight and a whole lot of living the consequences of his actions recently.
"Dad, Apollo, Lord, Sunshine. I don't know what to call you but I really need your help," The next prayer was sent in desperation. Apollo sat up. This was months ago. Was he already too late? "I woke up in a coffin. There's a firebreathing cat thing behind me. And I don't know where I am. Some type of castle..? SHOOT IT'S GETTING CLOS-"
The audio cut off, muffled by a roar of fire. Apollo knew his fire. It sounded hot, like concentrated blue flames that most certainly hurt.
"It's fine," Apollo panicked, sitting up straight and maybe causing a solar flare. "My kids are fireproof. Mostly. Actually that's more Hephaestus but still—"
He wasn't sure whether or not to feel relieved when he found more prayers under that name.
Euanthe Celeste.
There were around 58 missed prayers. Apollo tried to dig deeper in his memories because surely he wasn't that negligent to his kids before. Right? There must be something—
"The Giant War," Apollo swallowed. It'd been a little before he'd been dragged to court before Zeus and banished. The final battle, where the demigods had delivered the giant Athena statue, and Gaia was about to reform and…He remembered so many of his children had died. He hadn't felt much back then, too caught up in the whirlwind drama that ensued.
Now, it hit like a kick to the face. The air escaped from his lungs and he had to will himself to breathe again.
They had been…stabbed? Tossed off a cliff? He couldn't quite remember. It was probably Octavian and that made it even worst because...
Self loathing came back in full. It was an old friend of Lester Papadopoulos. Apollo didn't think it would become his friend as well.
The prayers glowed innocently suspended in the air, turning from an orderly scroll to floating baubles of light barely keeping their shape together. Apollo reached out, preparing for a long night. His other aspects reigned in, retiring for the night, as the sun god regained himself. He made sure to send an apology to Meg McCaffrey who had been using him as a make-shift torch for exploring the basement of her new-old home.
This needed his full attention.
"Good news! I'm not dead," The next prayer began. Good, good. So far, so good. "I think I was kidnapped by a cult." Dammit. "There was a whole ceremony with a mirror and this guy named Crowley, any relation to Alister Crowley? Well, he said that I couldn’t go home because the mirror and black horses kidnapped me and they don’t know where Long Island or Earth are and I'm freaking out and—"
The prayer cut off. It ended with what sounded like a wall caving in. Not a great sign.
The next few prayers were equally bad for his mental health. If not worst. There were fewer responsible adults at this Night Raven College then at Camp Half Blood!
Could his child please stop nearly dying??