one shots and stuff about laurel and her friends

chrys has a bad dream

on average, i sleep about twelve hours a week. kenna says i replace my total blood volume with coffee at least twice a week. i'm probably half girl and half espresso at this point (actually, a quarter girl, a quarter goddess, and half espresso, but who's counting?). i'm up until 3 or 4 am most nights, either drawing up plans or researching. and occasionally, as it goes, reading bedtime stories.

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"laurel!" chrys's hoarse whisper rattled me from my typing trance. i go through phases- the brainstorming phase, the researching phase, the note taking phase and the write-up phase. my friends joke that my note-taking phase is "that time of the month" because of how pissy i am (funnily enough, they often coincide). i left my laptop screen on and glanced out the window. a cold-looking (new york's mid-october nights were starting to get chilly) chrys stood, hugging himself. i pushed open the window; the cool air provided a refreshing breeze.

"you okay?" i bit my lip as soon as i asked. his eyes were red and puffy- he was a mess. (a nagging voice in the back of my head told me i looked like that when i showed up at his cabin, shaken and sobbing). "i'll be right there." i shut the window and my laptop, then threw a sweatshirt on. the cold ground dug into my feet as i tiptoed around the cabin. "chrys?" i asked.

"uh- can you come over?" he mumbled. his teeth chattered; he wasn't wearing a jacket. of course.

"yeah. sure thing." i reached out and touched his arm. i gently tugged him in the direction of his cabin. "c'mon."

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the demeter cabin always smelled like flowers. to me, it was honeysuckle and jasmine. i was hit with a waft of soft, flowery air as we entered. "i'm going to make you tea, okay?" i grinned and let go of his arm. he nodded, and i followed him into cabin four's kitchinette. the kettle was brewing moments later, marginally warming the room.

"it was really bad." chrys said. he was perched in the brown leather armchair i'd sat in. his hands covered his face as he broke down. tears squeezed out from between his fingers as he cried. watching him made a familiar ache grow in my stomach. i crossed the room and touched his shoulder, opening my mouth to speak. before i could say anything, he was standing up and i was holding him while he cried.

all of a sudden, i was angry. i was angry at the gods. most of us were. i was angry at demeter for treating her son like shit. i was angry at my own dad, for how he drove rosalie and i out of our home, getting her killed. i was angry that athena let it happen. i was angry that my father and chrys's father and every single demigod's father and mother had chosen a god to have a child with. i was angry that the gods chose to have sex with mortals. i was angry that i was stuck comforting my best friend in the middle of the night because neither of us had homes to go to. i wasn't angry that he needed me, no. i was angry that we were stuck in a summer camp that tried to be a substitute for a home. i felt my hands clenching into fists as he cried on my shoulder, but i took a deep breath and relaxed myself before