The Path Of Glory (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

3. Hawaiian Shirt And Wheelchair

"Sorry for what?"

"I abandoned you to go here and find people. I should never have done that. You almost died because of me. You see, I was supposed to protect you, and I let you alone with your fate."

"Well, I'm still alive. It's not that bad, is it?"

"Y/N, please try to understand. It is bad. Anyway, don't worry about it. Come, Chiron said he wanted to see you when you'd wake up."

Y/N stood up and put the fang inside his pocket, its point still out. He followed Ethan out of the room, and they arrived on a porch. It wrapped all the way around the building, which was a farmhouse. The landscape was breathtaking. The valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between there and the farmhouse, there were many buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In the nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Ethan's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, but that had to be Y/N's eyes hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a table. One was in a wheelchair, a blanket on his knees, looking forty or fifty. He was the exact image of the Latin teacher. The other was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and he would've fit right in at any poker party.

"That's Mr. D," Ethan said. Was it respect in his voice? "He's the camp director, so be careful around him. And in the wheelchair, it's Chiron."

Surely hearing the sound of Ethan's hooves on the porch, the so-called Chiron looked back at them and smiled. "Perfect," he said. "Don't you think pinochle is better when we have four?" he asked the other man.

Hawaiian guy only grunted. He showed Y/N and Ethan two chairs, and they sat. He smelled so much wine Y/N wondered why he remarked it only now. Mr. D sighed and looked at Chiron. "Is it mandatory?"

"I suppose it is," Chiron said.

"Welcome to Camp Half-Blood," Mr. grunted. "May the odds favor me and get you away as much as possible of my eyes."

"Er—Nice to meet you," Y/N said.

"I must say, Y/N, I'm glad to see you alive," Chiron said as Mr. D shuffled the cards. "Ethan told us a lot about you. And it seems he wasn't wrong since you got here alive."

Y/N looked at him. Was he joking? "Does it happen all the time? The monsters and—well, you understand what I mean."

"Quite often," Chiron replied.

Mr. D finished shuffling the cards and stared at Y/N. "Tell me you, at least, do know how to play pinochle."

"Uh, I must have some remainders."

"I must have some remainders, sir."

"Sir," Y/N repeated.

"I like this one," Mr. D told Chiron. "At least, he knows a little the greatest games ever invented by humans, not like the other, your student."

Chiron nodded and smiled as if remembering something funny.

"Along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, pinochle is one of the greatest indeed," Mr. D continued. He handed the cards out. Ethan eyed intensely the Diet Coke on the table.