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Dionysus sat alone in the Big House. Seymour’s movements were lethargic, almost comically slow. He tried to reach out for a bottle of wine, to reconnect with the domain he had been denied for 24 years. Thunder boomed, and a can of Diet Coke appeared instead.
His son, Castor Weinstein, was dead.
He thought that he felt rather like Seymour, at this moment; as if he had been cut off at the neck, left to roar and cry out. Given a voice, but nothing to act with. An entire battle had been fought outside of this very building just two weeks ago, and he had been trapped in, unable to help.
The God of Festivity slammed his hand into the table he sat at, shouting in rage. He transformed his form into his usual one: an androgynous, slender, attractive young man. Shaking himself, as if to slough away the feeling of being in the pudgier, stockier, uglier Camp Director form, Dionysus prepared to transport himself to some backwater club.
He could get drunk and get laid and forget that his son was dead. Dionysus needed something to make himself feel alive. Wine was out of the picture, so festivity and ecstasy would have to do.
Just as he was leaving, one of the children knocked on the door. Dionysus closed his eyes, trying to gather his patience, but before he could transform back into Camp Director form, the door was pushed open.
Dionysus’ living son, Pollux Weinstein, peered into the room. His son’s eyes widened at the different form he was using.
“Dad? Why… why do you look like that?” Pollux’s expression was mildly disturbed.
He sighed. “Pollux, what are you doing out of my cabin past midnight? The harpies will tear you apart.”
The surviving twin scoffed. “You mean the harpies that joined the attack against Camp?” His son twirled a spear aggressively. “If they weren’t already long dusted by the others, I would send them to Tartarus personally.”
The God of Madness sat down. His children were by nature not aggressive; sometimes unsettling, especially those that took after his madness aspect, but not aggressive. Especially not Pollux, who was so in tune with Dionysus’ domain over festivity. He gestured for his son to sit across from him.
“Speak plainly, Pollux. You and Ca… sorry; you never used to seek me out so actively as you are doing now. What would you like from me?” asked the father.
Pollux looked at the leopard head adorning the crest of the fireplace. “He looks rather underfed right now. Actually this whole place looks pretty dusty. You sure you take care of him?”
Dionysus’ lips thinned; the symbolism, and the reprimand it carried, was not subtle.
“Whatever, dad. I’m not here to argue with you,” his son said, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m here to tell you what to do.”
An involuntary shudder of rage flickered through Dionysus for a brief moment. Then, instantly, shame flooded through him. So easy it was, to forget that Pollux was not just a demigod, but his son. Disrespect was alright with this one.
But Pollux rolled his eyes. “No, dad, it’s not just because I’m your son that this is okay. It’s because you should have been doing this the whole time.”
His son stood up, almost slamming his hands down on the table in emphasis. “It’s time to step it up, dad. You’re Camp Director, a God literally right here in Camp. You can help us.”
Dionysus clicked his tongue, briefly throwing his head back. “I can’t, Pollux, you know that. We have had this conversation before and nothing is going to change.”
“Well why not! Everything has changed now! I’m alone in this world in a way I never thought I would need to be! People died, dad. That kid from the Demeter cabin… he used to help Cas—”. Pollux swallowed around a lump in his throat. “With his pollen allergies.”
His son dropped back down into his chair, closing his eyes and controlling his breathing. Dionysus felt a little wiggling sensation in his chest. He cursed, out loud, noting the humorous way Pollux’s eyes widened, but only feeling that wiggling persist.
The God of Madness swallowed briefly. Time to be brave. “Fine. I’ll open doors for war therapy.” Pollux’s eyes widened again, this time with a smile. “But! Only war-related. I can’t be a personal therapist for you kids.”
“That’s okay. I know this is hard for you, dad, but you can really help us.” Pollux was smiling widely, and Dionysus was struck with the image of a younger set of twins, both with wide gummy grins. Happy times; past times.
“I’ll announce it first thing tomorrow. Now go to bed in my cabin.” The God was very gratified to see Pollux’s eyes widen in betrayal as they both heard the cleaning harpies, reformed per Chiron’s request, begin to squawk directly outside the Big House door.
Dionysus sat on his throne in his Camp Director form, unhappy to see the other Gods filing out of the Olympus meeting room. He was left with Demeter, Athena and Zeus. Among the Council, Dionysus tended to avoid interaction when possible. This was easier with his exile to Camp, and with being the only God on the Goddess’ side of the room.
He spoke often to Hermes to coordinate Camp Half-Blood’s deliveries, and sometimes to Demeter and Artemis to discuss their shared habitat of the natural world. He even sometimes talked with Aphrodite, who sat beside him on the Council, especially after Ariadne and himself had been given a good ending.
If there was one Goddess other than Hera he avoided at all costs, it was Athena. Her cold and dismissive manner had unsettled him as a demigod, and it reflected the parts of himself he hated yet saw more of with every passing day.
“As discussed, though you were undoubtedly not listening, the Council is now openly acknowledging the coming rise of the Titans.” Athena was certainly straight to the point.
“Atlas’ escape was thwarted half a year ago. Krios and Hyperion have been sighted presiding over the slowly reassembling ruins on Mount Othrys. Artemis reported on Koios’ premature attempt to take the Waystation. Kronos himself has been sighted by the two male Big Three children and my daughter. Iapetus and Oceanus are unaccounted for, still.
“It is now time to act. Clearly, the demigod traitor Luke Castellan has had more influence than expected. It is imperative that we retake control and influence over the Minor Gods. As well, we have to increase surveillance over the other potential threats, especially the Emperors, the Norse and the disturbance around Mt. Saint Helens.
“We have already been able to speak with Ares, Apollo and Artemis who will each monitor one of the Emperors, Poseidon will keep track of the Norse, and Hephaestus has his eye on Mt. Saint Helens. Between the three of us, we need to track down the Minor Gods while our King and Queen keep watch here on Olympus.”
Finally, the Goddess of Strategy took a breath. Dionysus shared an amused glance with Demeter, buoyed by the sheer amount of exposition Athena had just dropped. “Are you billing us by word count, Athena?”
She sneered at him, then continued. “Dionysus, your targets are Hebe, Hecate and Hypnos. Demeter, your job is to convene with Hades and Persephone. I will be handling the lesser Titans who are still not faded.”
“I wouldn’t call Hades or Persephone Minor Gods,” muttered Demeter.
Zeus now looked around from where he had been stroking his Master Bolt. “Of course not. But he’s still a major player, and you must convince him not to join our father.”
The quiet Goddess only pursed her lips, looking to Dionysus like she had quite a lot to say on that matter, but staying quiet.
Athena looked on passively. “Let’s get to work.”
As always, Dionysus was at the dining pavilion right at sunset, anticipating the unwillingly awake children of Apollo. They filed in, slowly trudging through the routine of throwing portions of their food into the large brazier.
Eventually, Chiron trotted in. That month’s nature spirit liaisons began to appear along the head table, and Pollux finally dragged himself in, completing Camp Half-Blood’s head table. Rolling his eyes at his son’s obviously meaningful glances, Dionysus waved him off and stood up.
“Attention, Camp Half-Blood.” There was a horrible scraping noise as the Hermes cabin decided to turn their entire table to face him instead of simply sitting sideways like the other demigods.
Rubbing his forehead, the resident God continued. “In light of recent events, the Big House will be open from 10 AM to 10 PM every single day. Appointments can be made with me in person and drop-ins will be allowed whenever there isn’t already an appointment.”
Dionysus sat down, irritably knocking back his chalice of fresh strawberry juice. He looked around blearily, realizing Pollux was giving him a vacant defeated sort of look while the rest of the audience was muttering in confusion.
What had he missed?
Strange movement to his right caught his attention, and he looked over at Chiron’s plate to see that the beans on the Centaur’s plate had been arranged into a question mark. A lightly befuddled look adorned the Activities Director’s face.
Then, Dionysus realized. He stood back up.
“These appointments will be therapy sessions. I request that no more than three people seek me out at any one time. Group therapy gives me a headache.”
The Hermes cabin noisily moved back to the usual orientation, and Dionysus looked questioningly at Pollux. His son’s eyes danced with victory.
Stepping into another God’s physical domain is always awkward, especially when the host is of comparable power. Dionysus waved his hand, disguising himself in the Mist and walking straight into the offices behind the nearest Heebie Jeebies to Camp.
Hebe, the Goddess of Youth, stood from her desk.
“You! What are you doing here?” demanded the youngest child of Zeus and Hera.
Dionysus felt a strange tugging, and suddenly found himself shorter than Hebe. Irritably, he realized that he now looked like his childhood mortal form. Flaring out his power, he tried to reassert himself into his Camp Director form; unfortunately, Dionysus had always been a rather fluid person.
“Ha! The audacity to come into my domain after you betrayed us 24 years ago! The temerity to try to overpower my hold on your youth!” exclaimed Hebe.
“Betrayed? Are you kidding me? I’ll actually strangle you for that!” shouted Dionysus, suddenly feeling a burning rage in his chest.
A vine burst through the floor, striking at the Goddess, who just raised an eyebrow. The vine, forcibly kept in an infant state, was too thin to cause any pain as it smacked Hebe. Suddenly exhausted, Dionysus let the vine go and it limply collapsed on the Goddess’ desk.
Staring at his hands, Dionysus quickly realized why he felt so suddenly tired. “You fully sent me back to my mortal form?” It must have been why he had reacted so strongly to her accusations, too.
Gods almost never felt emotions on that scale.
However, Hebe only scoffed derisively. “I can’t believe Hera ever thought you would be a useful tool. You’re so idiotic. Obviously I can’t take away your immortality. It just makes your temperament easier to handle.”
Dionysus grimaced. This was not an inconvenience he needed to deal with right now. Quickly, Dionysus ran through the laundry list of common demigodly temperamental faults: frustrating altruism, short attentions spans, maddening dyslexia, heightened emotions, the tendency to care .
Shuddering, he realized that Athena had given him this negotiation because those were all the things she was afraid to be. He cursed inwardly at falling for her ploy.
“Let’s start over. Hello, Hebe. I have been sent by the Olympian Council to negotiate your allegiance in the Second Titanomachy.”
Pollux was the first one to make it in. Dionysus was glad to see him, if only to reassure himself that he was still alive. Then, he saw the smug look on his son’s face and he felt rather like strangling himself.
“So you got what you wanted.”
“Hm. Yeah.” His son’s lips were pursed. Squinting, Dionysus realized that his son was trying to hide a smile.
He raised his eyebrows, trying to emulate Chiron’s expression when he caught one of the Hermes kids red-handed. Pollux just pursed his lips more.
Glancing briefly out of the window, Dionysus realized there was actually a line up of demigods waiting for their turn. Allowing himself this one informality, Dionysus hung his head backwards and groaned in frustration.
“Son, don’t make me break my head over this. Just spit it out, whatever it is you want to say.”
Pollux’s lips finally split open, turning into a raucous peal of laughter. “Don’t you see? You never even specified what type of therapy it had to be! Now you have to give any therapy to all of us!”
Dionysus’ head crashed down on his hands with an audible smack. He sobbed once in fake despair.
His son was gasping for breath from the hilarity. “That little Athena girl is going to come up to you and talk about the spiders under her bed for hours! You’re going to hear about Drew’s crush on Lorraine since forever! The Stolls— well, they’ll do something to you for sure!”
With a great thud, Pollux’s chair fell backward, and the demigod scrambled for a moment, off balance, before a thick vine caught him by the shoulders. Dionysus waited for the boy to regain his balance and composure before banishing the vine.
His son left, eyes still dancing with delight, and Dionysus let a small smile play out over his lips.
Hebe poured out a Heebie Jeebies Cola for him. It was disgusting, like a trail of fizzy slime dredging his throat.
“I want my place on the Olympian Council. Those are my terms, non-negotiable,” declared the Goddess of Youth.
Dionysus closed his eyes, summoning what patience he had left. “That discussion was closed in 1984.”
Hebe slammed her hands down. “I don’t care! I am the only remaining legitimate heir to the throne apart from Ares, may Eileithyia have faded in peace. It is my right to—”
He raised a hand to the forehead of his teenaged visage. “I literally don’t care. Last time I helped you with your crusade for a throne, I got stripped of my main domain and sent to babysit Camp.”
“Oh! Don’t you mean, chased a forbidden nymph?” smirked the Goddess.
“You know full well what you three did to me!” Dionysus’ voice started at a shout, and he forcefully reduced his volume as he spoke. “You used my unwillingness to cure the Oracle to coerce me into that. There is no more power in that. Hades’ curse is over now, if Hera cared to check. Apollo is only waiting for the next host to arrive.”
Hebe seemed to think for a moment, before snapping her fingers and sitting upright. “That’s right! The curse on the Oracle! Wasn’t it just fascinating that you fell for that? You know well that my mother could also have undone the curse, right?”
Dionysus rolled his eyes. “Obviously. I said as much to her back when she approached me. I ‘fell for that’ because Hades and Apollo cannot touch the Queen of Olympus in a meaningful way. Imagine if they came after me! I would be—”
“Exactly as you are usually?” Hebe gestured to the way he had been forced into his teenaged mortal form in her domain.
“Oh what’s the point of this!? You’re just going to run around in circles. I’m leaving.”
The Goddess of Youth just locked the door with a wave of a hand. “Sit down, Dionysus. Remember, you didn’t get nothing out of that fiasco in 1984. I gave you a gift, and now you owe me one.”
First in line was Travis Stoll, cabin counsellor for Hermes. The God of Madness prepared himself for an hour of pure inanity.
He was surprised when the son of Hermes seemed to almost drag himself in. The Big House lounge’s anti-Mist capabilities, implemented for the sole Camp landline, stripped away a layer of illusion, exposing alarming dark eye circles and a pallid visage on the boy. Now distinctly looking unwell, Travis sat down heavily into the armchair.
This was not the Stoll that Dionysus knew. Typically, in his experience, the older sibling was the happier one. Connor usually had the sharper edges and deeper shadows.
Dionysus leaned back in his chair, picking up his clipboard and summoning a pen into his hand. “So, Travis, what brings you here?”
The demigod’s eyes were wide with surprise. “Did you just call me Travis?”
He frowned, briefly considering that he could have mixed up the two nearly identical Hermes counsellors, but reassured himself that he had not. Then, Dionysus realized, with a twinge of guilt, why the boy was shocked.
“Do you want me to call you Trevor?” asked Dionysus, refusing to give away that he felt guilty. It was a survival mechanism that he called the demigods by other names.
Travis’ eyes narrowed, and the unusually powerful son of Hermes probed him. Dionysus allowed it. The magical probe returned to Travis, and whatever the demigod had felt must have been good, with the way the boy relaxed.
The older Stoll swallowed. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Dionysus paused. This was bad. He had to proceed carefully. “That could mean a lot of things. Would you like to expand on that?” he asked, keeping his voice purposefully neutral.
“Luke was everything for our cabin. He knew everyone so well… fights would disappear as soon as he approached. Like, really disappear. People instantly made up and everyone loved him.”
Lowering his head, Dionysus waited for Travis to continue.
“I… I’m supposed to follow that? How? I’m the oldest left in the cabin by a good year, but I can’t even get everyone to breakfast on time! Nobody got seriously hurt for four years while Luke was counsellor. Now, after one year under me, four – four! – of my kids are… gone.
“Connor is the same age as two of them were. He shouldn’t have to carry half the responsibility. He’s been trying to take care of me all my life, because I can’t do it for myself ! I’m the older brother, I should be able to get my fucking shit together, then get his for him too!
“I’m the most powerful son of Hermes in a millennium and I can’t even have a serious conversation with someone!”
His frustrated rant rang out in the silence of the soundproofed room. Dionysus finished up his notes, brain churning furiously as he recalled every single interaction he had ever witnessed Travis Stoll take part in. A million options raced through his mind, and none of them seemed right for the demigod.
If he got this wrong, Travis might not recover.
Dionysus spun around, desperately trying to contain the burning feeling of rage at his half-sister’s words. “You call that a gift? Maybe it was at the time, but you know very well that it has not been anything other than a curse.”
Hebe smiled coyly. “Maybe that’s what I wanted.”
“Obviously, you idiot.”
Her smile vanished. “I hope it made them hate you when they realized.”
The knot of rage loosened slightly. Luckily, he realized, being closer to his demigod self meant that humour was also easier to access.
“Funny story, they thought it was neat that they were aging at half the speed,” he smirked.
“Yeah, I bet it was real funny knowing that it would take them twice as long to have the strength to defend themselves properly,” snarled Hebe, all friendly demeanors abandoned.
Dionysus tilted his head down, acknowledging her words silently. “You’re right. It wasn’t. Especially when they both ran away.” He searched his young and immature feelings, and realized he could find a great truth in them. “Yet, despite fearing for their lives and minds, they got to live their childhoods to the fullest. That happiness is not something any other demigod gets.”
She sneered, and he knew he had won this point.
“Besides, Hebe, it’s not what you can do for or to me that matters now. Olympus, your parents, are seeking your alliance.”
“I think it does matter, though. I gave your sons the ability to experience sixteen years while aging eight. Imagine what I could do with the power of an Olympian throne invested in me. Perhaps I could even return your children to eight, give you the chance to redo their teenage years. Maybe I could even reach people beyond eight years of age.”
Dionysus decided to ignore her manipulations. “Is it power you’re after? I’m surprised. With how obsessed the modern mortal world is with youth, I thought you would be practically glowing.”
Hebe shot him a disdainful look. “You of all people know that an Olympian throne is its own tier of power. Plus, you shouldn’t even be on the Council. Why are there seven Gods and five Goddesses? Myself and Eileithyia should always have had thrones. Legitimacy is the foundation of monarchies.”
He laughed at that, causing her to begin flaring her power, reminding him silently that he was deep within her domain. In turn, Dionysus tapped his bracelet, the mark of a diplomatic envoy, and a look of extreme consternation crossed Hebe’s face as she reigned herself back in.
Satisfied that he was no longer in mortal danger, he replied, “You know very well that our father cares nothing for legitimacy. Ares barely has a throne with the way he’s treated. You really think you two would be treated better?”
Soon, Dionysus realized he could not keep thinking in silence. Travis Stoll was biting his lip, now, and some hint of regret was creeping into his eyes. Cursing himself silently, he decided his approach would be gentle.
However, he was horrified at what slipped out of his mouth. “Do you think this is a serious conversation, Travis?”
The boy was entirely confused. “What? I mean, yeah. But that’s not what I meant. We had 37 campers last year. This year, 19 came back. By the end of summer, ten more were gone. I know it’s at least partly because people don’t think I can take them and their problems seriously. And it’s true. Connor tried to talk to me about dad, and I just…”
Dionysus let them sit still for a second. The Hermes cabin had been the clear first place in number of inhabitants for a long time. Now, with only nine members accounted for, they were barely bigger than Aphrodite’s cabin.
“First of all, I want you to acknowledge that regardless of your own capabilities, Luke Castellan is an incredibly charismatic man. The fact that you’ve kept a quarter of your campers is impressive considering how deeply his fingers stretched into the collective psyche of your cabin.”
After the demigod had nodded to signal his agreement, he continued, “Why don’t you tell me about your father?”
Immediately, Travis’ face closed off. “Connor hates him, I don’t.” His mouth pressed closed, as if he was stopping himself from saying more.
Quickly, Dionysus recalibrated his follow-up. “Okay, that’s good. How about let’s continue addressing your other concerns. Does coming to me, to therapy, count as taking care of yourself?”
As expected, Travis caught on. The boy pursed his lips, but nodded.
“Good.” Dionysus blinked a couple times at his notes, swallowing dryly. What came next? How did one have a serious conversation? “Can you expand on why you think Connor has been, as you said, taking care of you?”
Travis opened his mouth and closed it without saying anything a few times. Then, the demigod hung his head. “He thinks I’m too trusting. Before I came in here, he tried to make me leave. Connor doesn’t think trusting you with this will help me.”
“Hm.” Dionysus tapped the pen on his chin. “And how does being too trusting become not being able to take care of yourself?”
The son of Hermes was getting frustrated. “I don’t know! I always do something stupid and then he has to save my life and he gets hurt for it! Even now he’s in a cast and one eye is too bruised to see through, all because I trusted that Evan wouldn’t betray us.”
Dionysus reached out and handed the demigod a mint. “Travis, remember that we’re here for discussion.” Travis looked mollified by the candy and kind words. “Can you tell me what happened to Evan Benson?”
“An impala gored him through the stomach.”
The God tried to find his ability to speak after that plain statement. “I see. Is that from Hermes as God of Animal Husbandry?”
“Yeah. Not that it was enough. Connor still got hurt.”
“How about this, Travis? Who didn’t get hurt by Evan?”
The demigod looked appalled by the question. “His mission was to kill Malcolm Pace.”
Dionysus felt his lips curl into a grim smile. “And Malcolm Pace remains alive, one of the only fully unharmed combatants. The truth is, Travis, how do you know that Connor stepped in because of you and not because of Malcolm?”
Seeing how taken aback the kid was, Dionysus decided to finish the hour with the most important question he had. “Travis, do you think it’s wrong of your brother to want to take care of you?”
A miserable smile made its way onto Travis’ face. “No, it’s not wrong. But maybe I don’t deserve him.”
“You can’t just compare me to Ares, you know. He may be my full-blooded brother, but I really think I take more after Aphrodite!”
Dionysus could not help the sarcastic bark of laughter that escaped him.
“Excuse me?” Hebe objected loudly. “You laugh? I’m a more powerful beauty goddess than that silly bird could ever be! You said it yourself; where do people look when they want beauty? Youth!”
He was still smiling with mirth. “For your own sake, abandon this line of… ‘reasoning’. She does not take such insults lightly.”
The Goddess seemed to puff up at his words, bearing a striking resemblance in that moment to her mother, Hera. “You warn me as if you have any right to? Let me remind you that my mother also doesn’t forgive such things easily. I can just inform her of the sheer nerve you have had today, and she’ll tear you apart.”
Dionysus leaned forward, eyes suddenly cutting and cold. “My stepmother lost any blackmail she had on me the moment she decided to throw me under the bus.”
“Oh, why are you so sore about that?”
“Four of us walked in there, Hebe. Our most esteemed Queen made sure that I was not one of the three that walked out.”
Hebe stood, and paced around the room for a minute. Finally, she relented. “Alright, I’ll bite. What happened after Eileithyia and I were kicked out?”
Finally, Dionysus had her on a hook. He had to milk this for all it was worth.
“The King wanted the Queen to explain herself. She decided to tell the story as if I had coerced both of you, and her, into pushing for two additional Olympians. She completely flipped the script. I became the pushy upstart helping his two ‘weak’ daughters get thrones while she was just dragged along for the ride.”
He cleared his throat, summoning all his talent as the God of Theatre. “Zeus did not believe her.” His half-sister’s eyes widened in shock on cue. “He makes it his business to know every member of the Council inside and out. Immediately, he tore apart her story, knowing in perfect detail how she turned the story around on me.”
Letting the story ring out briefly, Dionysus quickly checked that Hebe was still engaged in his performance.
“Unfortunately for me, Zeus caught something critical. I was not at my full power, because most of myself was in a hospital with my latest mortal lover, holding one of my newest twin children, the same ones you had blessed to age at half the rate for their first eight years. I was forced under threat of the Master Bolt to reveal what I was planning.”
Another dramatic pause, even as he felt pangs in his heart at the memory of his failure. Hebe’s mouth was hanging open, and he could feel how she was enraptured by his story. Mentally, he prepared himself, shoring his weaker, younger mind against the coming memories.
After forcing Travis Stoll to commit to another appointment at the same time next week, Dionysus finished up his notes, triple circling to begin working on independence for both of the Hermes cabin counsellors.
The door creaked open, and Sherman Yang, son of Ares, stepped in. Unlike Travis, his countenance was as solid as ever. A bastion of knowledge on the techniques of saber combat, the second-in-command for the Ares cabin was the only one from that cabin who was not allowed onto the front lines of the Battle of the Labyrinth.
He had been placed with Malcolm Pace and Lyra Faust, two children of Athena, in the strategic command center. From there, the three had successfully coordinated the defense, until a son of Phobos, Evan Benson, had broken into the Athena cabin.
Most likely, Sherman was here to talk about that.
“So, Sherman, what brings you here?” Starting the same way as he had with Travis seemed safe enough.
Sherman sat down, still appearing calm. “Mr. D, how seriously are you planning on taking this?”
Dionysus leaned back, setting his clipboard and pen down on the table, momentarily. He examined the boy. The demigod’s hair was combed, shirt was ironed, eyes were alert, and posture was perfect. All of this was normal for the disciplined Sherman.
Yet, something still felt wrong. Dionysus leaned forward instead, narrowing his eyes. Then, he spotted it. His ankles were tensed, making the tips of his shoes lift off of the ground. He had to put the son of Ares at ease.
“Should I go back to calling you Seamus?”
The demigod’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and his ankles relaxed. Satisfied, Dionysus waited for Sherman to realize that he had used the camper’s real name. A note of surprise appeared in Sherman’s eyes.
“No, Mr. D. Just ‘Sherman’ is fine. I need to get something off my chest.”
Dionysus smiled pleasantly, picking his clipboard and pen back up. “Let’s get to it.”
“Well, what were you planning?” asked Hebe, impatiently.
Dionysus realized he had sat on the suspense for too long. Quickly, he tried to squash the serpent of pain coiling around his heart; he needed to reel his audience back in quickly.
“I was planning to live with her. It would have been Angela Weinstein, our two twin babies, and me. I wanted it so much…”
He closed his eyes, holding his breath for a moment to stop himself from sniffing and tearing up.
“Athena was summoned, and she analyzed my behaviour over the past ten months. Later on, Zeus would find out that Hermes was living with his mortal thanks to that. Then, even later, Aphrodite. Both of them exhibiting all the major points of Athena’s analysis on me. To punish Hera for her lies, he forced her to announce that you and Eileithyia would never receive thrones.”
Hebe’s face was gobsmacked. Perhaps it had never even crossed the vain goddess’ mind that her mother had not willingly betrayed their plan.
“For me, he made me abandon Angela right as Pollux fully emerged. She then died giving birth to Castor. Her last words were, ‘He said he would be there, at the end.’ I wasn’t.” He trailed off in a whisper, with 24 years of regret swallowing his voice.
This time, nothing he could do would stop the sniffle that sounded throughout the room. Silently, he bore the pity that was plain in Hebe’s gaze, but Dionysus accepted the tissues offered without complaint.
“Having made me witness her death, Zeus then told me that my primary domain of wine would be stripped away for fifty years. In addition, for as long as either Pollux or Castor was alive, I would have to serve as the Camp Director of Camp Half-Blood, so that I could always be as close as possible to them when they died.”
The Goddess of Youth looked aged, then. Her face was creased with sorrow, body bowed as if weighed down. “I cannot take back what my father did to you. I never meant for Castor and Pollux to suffer. It is a shame our father has so little regard for us.”
Dionysus closed his eyes, briefly sinking under the wave of emotion at the well crafted apology. Despite her abrasive conceit, Hebe’s royal upbringing showed itself in her polite words. Perhaps they could come to a peaceful conclusion with this negotiation.
Sherman wrung his hands, and he started rocking his left leg. Nervous , Dionysus noted on his clipboard.
“I’m pretty good, y’know?” began Sherman. Then, the demigod’s eyes widened. “I— I just meant that I’m usually considered one of the better melee fighters here. Clarisse, Percy, and Miranda are probably better, maybe Annabeth, maybe , but…”
Dionysus reminded himself that Sherman and Miranda were currently dating.
The son of Ares exhaled sharply, clearly trying to calm his nerves. “They made me stay back at Cabin Six with Malcolm and Lyra. I should have been out there with them all on the front lines! Maybe we wouldn’t have lost so many if I just tried to get myself out there more.”
Earnest though the words were, Dionysus remained unconvinced that this was the issue that prompted the therapy session.
“Survivor’s guilt is a common enough attribute of War that I doubt a child of Ares suffers much from it.” Dionysus had never known one to truly need therapy for this issue.
The God of War did not allow his children to be taken so easily by a more general ailment like this. There must be something more specific and personal behind this. Sherman’s lack of reaction to the accusation only proved that point, and Dionysus relaxed, content that his risky move had paid off.
“You’re right. It’s not that I survived and so many didn’t. Actually, I don’t even care that much about being on the front lines. I think… I think I actually kinda hate fighting.”
Unsurprised, Dionysus waited for the demigod to continue. When only silence rang out, he raised his head to see the son of Ares gazing at him, as if waiting for a comment. Then, he realized what was unclear to Sherman.
“I’ve known many children of Ares, Sherman,” he said calmly. “One thing that seems to run quite strongly through them all is that they usually dislike fighting, or at the very least, feel distaste at the necessity for it. Many of your siblings have similar sentiments.”
Sherman frowned. “Isn’t that, like, really ironic?”
He smiled, thinking of his half-brother’s few and far between candid moments. “No, Sherman, I don’t think it is as ironic as you think.”
The exchange hung in the air for a minute.
Wetting his lips, Sherman blinked rapidly, and Dionysus surmised that he was preparing to continue his story. “That traitor… he came out of nowhere. We’re lucky Malcolm didn’t get hurt.”
“I presume you are speaking of Evan Benson, son of Phobos?”
Nodding, the son of Ares continued. “Yeah, him. He came out of nowhere. Used his powers, and me and Lyra… we couldn’t move. Struck by terror. It’s entirely down to the Stolls. They tracked him down from where he abandoned Cast—”
Unbidden, a wave of furious sorrow dredged Dionysus’ soul. Sherman’s gaze was overflowing with guilt and pain. The revelation that Evan Benson had not only injured Connor Stoll severely, had not only tried to murder Malcolm Pace, but had also abandoned Castor, his son , to die…
That little speck of mortality was lucky he was only impaled by an impala.
Throwing one last tissue into the garbage bin, he turned to Hebe. “Let’s finish these negotiations. We should…”
He trailed off at the look of surprised disappointment on her face.
“Dionysus, do you really not understand what just occurred in this room?” she asked, her tone teetering on the edges of polite and impolite befuddlement.
Shaking his head, he took another tissue to blow his nose.
Hebe clicked her tongue. “My father is the source of literally all of our issues. Don’t you see? There is another way, you just have to join us. After he is gone, I will get my throne, and you will get freedom from your unjust punishments.”
The slimy tissue fell from his fingers onto the ground. He sat up straight, frowning slightly at his half-sister. “You’re telling me you’ve already joined the Titans?”
As if entranced, Hebe slowly rose from her seat, and reached for the desk drawer. Out of it, she dramatically raised a circular bronze plate, emblazoned with a scythe and a sword, with a snake coiled around both.
Then, her eyes refocused. “Of course I did. My father refuses to acknowledge me, my mother announced what has amounted to my exile, my sister is gone forever, my brother doesn’t speak to me in fear of our father’s judgement. Dionysus, you are the first person from Olympus to visit me since your sons were born. I thought maybe Aunt Hestia, but not a soul. But our grandfather, he visits. He has proven to me that he cares. Not sure about his chosen mortal though. That boy seems unstable.”
Raising an eyebrow, Dionysus pushes the bronze plate out of his face. “Hebe, you are being offered full amnesty and protection, a guaranteed temple for your Roman form in Camp Jupiter, and a spot on the roster for Hephaestus’ next game show, Olympian Shadow Legends.”
Hebe rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in the air. She paced back and forth for a minute, stewing in thoughts.
“Dionysus, I don’t understand how you can still sit on that Council. You are the least powerful of the Twelve, and all of them know it. You are consistently ignored, bullied, blackmailed, caught in a never ending tug of war between different selfish Gods, all for votes . Our grandfather offers a real chance for change.”
During her speech, he pretended to think about what she was saying. In truth, he already knew all of that. It ran through his mind every single time he was summoned to the Council. He said as much.
“You don’t think I know all of that? I hate the politics of it all. I hate those stupid Ancient Laws that our father enforces. I hate that I’m only seen as a pawn to sacrifice when needed. I don’t need you to give me reasons to not be on the Gods’ side.”
His clipboard dropped to the floor as he leaned forward, pinning Sherman Yang to his chair with piercing purple irises.
“Tell me everything, from beginning to end, in detail .”
Feeling a protracted stab of regret at the spark of fright in the son of Ares’ eyes, Dionysus looked away, letting the demigod gather his wits.
“Um… there were an odd number of demigods, so Travis and Connor were put in a trio with my brother Mark Daniels. Evan Benson was paired with Castor. Your other son, Pollux, was with Katie Gardner. I was with Malcolm Pace and Lyra Faust,” started Sherman, setting the scene.
“Evan ditched Castor to try to sneak into the Athena Cabin, where his mission was to take out Malcolm Pace, and, if possible, Lyra Faust and myself. Without someone to watch his back, Castor was stabbed in the arm and head by an enemy daughter of Demeter.”
The demigod stopped speaking, swallowing several times. Dionysus realized his throat was dry, and produced a glass of water for him to sip on. Meanwhile, he realized he knew which demigod had killed his son.
It was Marcella Oak, a mean little smear of grime that had ditched Camp at the first sight of a side that would let her draw more blood. Dionysus felt a grim satisfaction that she had died slowly, from bleeding out.
Somehow, it was still hollow.
“The Stolls and Mark saw all of that happening. Mark stayed to hold off Marcella, and the Stolls ran to stop Evan. They reached us just in time. The traitor took off Lyra’s left hand when Connor engaged him. Eventually, Evan took off out of the Cabin, pursued by them. Malcolm stayed to give first aid to Lyra, and I had to guard him, since Evan revealed him to be one of the Titan army’s targets.”
Dionysus felt a slight burning sensation in his chest. Twangs, like strings snapping, seemed to echo through his body. Stinging at his eyes.
“Mark died. Castor died. Connor and Lyra nearly died. And I just stood there, as if turned to stone. I’m worthle—”
Sherman began to sob. The demigod’s shoulders heaved as great hiccups overcame him. With horror, Dionysus realized that the singing within him was the song of empathy.
Dionysus, Olympian God, felt just as worthless as Sherman Yang, temporary speck of mortality.
“You’re not worthless,” he blurted out, wholly unprofessional in that moment.
The son of Ares gazed up wildly, eyes alighting on Dionysus’ own tears. Both took a shaky breath, in sync. “And for what reason?”
The God shook his head emphatically. “You’re not. You can’t be.”
Because if you were, then I would be, too .
Now, Hebe sat back down. “If you have so many reasons to leave, why stay? You didn’t even mention the fact that your punishment also includes not being allowed to see your wife, Ariadne.”
“How did you know that?” demanded Dionysus, eyes flashing dangerously at the mention of his wife.
Hebe rolled her eyes, once again dramatically reaching for her drawer. Before she could draw out her bronze plate with Kronos’ symbols, he waved her off.
“Yes, yes, I get it. He knows many things he should not.” His eyes narrowed, then. “In fact, by flaunting that bronze plate so much, you’ve just shown me that the Titans are further along in their return to power than we thought.”
The Goddess of Youth’s eyes flared bright. Dionysus felt himself become shaky. At the same time, from some other part of himself, a wave of heartache and guilt slammed into him.
“Alright, I’ve had enough, Dionysus. I’ll ask you one last time: why do you not come over to us?”
Overwhelmed by the emotional echoes from the other part of himself and the youthful lack of control forced on him by Hebe’s presence, Dionysus let slip, in a whisper, the truth that only Chiron had ever heard.
“Because they are my family.”
Hebe paused, looking entirely annoyed. “We’re all related, of course the Council are your family. Why should that matter? Our father cut his father’s head off. His father cut his father’s genitals off. Family doesn’t mean anything to us Gods. What’s the actual—”
“No.” Dionysus cut her off. “I wasn’t talking about the Gods.”
At once, her pinched expression relaxed into a mocking smile. “You’re talking about your children!” Her delighted voice betrayed the pity she felt. “How quaint! That’s fine. We can reunite your twins in Erebos, then you’ll come running to us.”
When her words registered, he stood up. Flames filled his purple eyes, and the power of a newly minted Olympian God flooded the room. Suddenly, he knew that Hebe’s decision to force him into his youthful form was a mistake on her part.
Rage focused him, and an enormous vine snaked its way out of the floorboards, grapes exploding into full bloom. Hebe felt a tingling feeling in her mind, as the staff in the Heebie Jeebies began to pound on her magical barriers, having been turned into the insane Maenads that worshipped the God of Madness.
“I was talking about all of the children. They are my family.” As the room burst into purple flames, Hebe’s exterior finally cracked into the smallest panic. Dionysus grabbed hold of that panic and blew it into a raging fire. Suddenly, he found himself able to change back into his mature form.
But he stayed as he was, the powerful and heroic youth that took down Giants and rose to be an Olympian. He walked straight up to the Goddess that used to hold this territory as her domain, staring her down. “If I ever catch wind of your presence around me and my family, especially my children, I will show you why the people of Greece worshipped the twice born son of Zeus at a time when Heracles and Theseus were both at the height of their fame.”
There, cowed and defeated, the Goddess of Youth simply lifted her hand and pointed shakily behind him. Furiously, he whirled around, but stopped short at the sight of Hermes.
The God of Messengers, tiredly pushed a vine aside with his Caduceus. George and Martha hissed in delight when they saw Dionysus.
“D, we have to leave, now.”
The unspoken admission hung between Sherman and him, and the two sat in silence. Both of them let their tears run, small gasps for breath being the only sound in the room. The cloud of Mark Daniels’ and Castor Weinstein’s deaths hung over the Big House, as rain moved into Camp Half-Blood.
A knock at the door snapped the pair out of their shared unspoken pact to grieve together.
“Dad,” came the voice at the door, “is Sherman still in there? You guys are almost half an hour overtime right now. Also, it’s, uhhh, dinner time.”
Tissues appeared in both of their hands, and they wiped their tears away.
“We’ll be…” Dionysus paused to try to stabilize his voice. “We’ll be right out. Thanks for coming to get us.”
Sherman nodded, inhaling shakily. “Thanks for speaking with me. Let’s finish this another day.”
Nodding at the demigod, Dionysus watched as Sherman left and quietly said hi to Pollux. His son made his way in, glancing curiously at the clipboard on the ground, then at his face.
“Cas would’ve loved this mess,” whispered Pollux.
Gazing into the face of his living son, identical to his dead one, Dionysus felt a permeating shame flood through him. A lifetime, Castor’s lifetime, of moments and memories scratched like broken records as they played in his mind.
“Dad? Are you alright?”
Unlike other Gods, he had the chance to live with his children. Unlike other parents, he had spent twenty four years with his sixteen year old twins. And now, in this moment, sitting in front of the only remaining twin, something deeply painful struck him.
With all this time, he had done nothing but waste it.
“Woah, dad. Hey let’s sit down, ok? Here I’ll grab some tissues for you.”
Zeus’ neverending proclamation that his rulings were for their happiness rang through him. It did not matter whether or not the King of the Gods meant what he said. This punishment had been Dionysus’ chance for happiness.
And now, half of that chance was gone.
“You gotta talk to me, dad, please. You’re all I have left.”
A hundred thousand strings streamed past him as he fell backwards, and he grasped for any one of them to hold himself upright.
Then, Hermes’ voice echoed in his mind. Typhon has risen. You must come to fight .
Strings slipped through his fingers, and he fell. Pollux’s outstretched hand faded into nothing as the stormy slopes of Mount Saint Helens materialized.
And now, his last chance was gone.