PJO/HOO One Shots

I Am Iron Man

If someone asked him how he got here, Leo would have simply answered, "I have no fucking idea."

He was Leo Valdez. He was... Iron Man.
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Alright, let's back it up now. Who was Leo Valdez? That was the question. The answer in itself was quite simple.

Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. The list could go on and on, really. Oh, you wanted to get down to the nitty, gritty bits?

Well, in that case, he was Leo Valdez, son of Esperanza Valdez, illegitimate love child of Hephaestus (just Hephaestus, no last name), two of the most brilliant minds the world could offer (besides his own, of course). No longer was he that scrawny, dirty boy from Houston with nothing but the clothes on his back and whatever his crafty fingers could offer; he'd grown, into a confident young man with practically the whole world at his feet, proving all those bullies and teachers who called him worthless and sneered, "You'll be nothing, Leo Valdez," wrong. Perhaps he had to give his lack of a father some credit; after all, he was the one who had (rather unfortunately) died early and in a shock move, left his entire company as well as all of his belongings to his only (bastard) child, ultimately thrusting Leo into the spotlight of business and politics, and leaving him filthy rich. And, who could forget, he was a genius who'd grown his father's— now his own— company (renamed Valdez Industries) far beyond the scope of what anyone could have ever imagined, and- well... he was a damn good inventor.

Of course, all of that was great, but at the end of the day, Leo had come to realize that it didn't mean anything to him, as long as he was Calypso's.

And if someone asked him, "How did you guys get there?", Leo would simply reply, "I have no fucking idea."

So let's back it up even more, shall we?
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Leo tried to hold back his grin as he whooped, flying through the air. Sure, his bruises and cuts hurt like hell, and a fresh layer of thick grime coated his skin, and grief and stress were driving him slightly insane, but none of that compared to how he was feeling right now.

Euphoric, was the only word he could use to describe it. The feeling was fleeting though, because in the next second he felt severe sadness. He remembered the girl who had helped him escape, gave her life to help him. Echo, was what he'd called her, because neither of them could understand each other, and she communicated with him by simply echoing whatever he said in a thick accent.

"Hey," Leo grunted, desperation clawing its way up his throat, "Hey, where are you going? Stick to the plan!"

Echo glanced back at him, a heavy mix of emotions swirling through her eyes: determination, sadness, anger, and finally, fear. Her pale hair whipped around her sunken cheeks, and the look in her powder blue eyes would haunt Leo for years to come. Even with her frail frame, the light emitted from the door cast a halo around her whole body, lighting her up like some sort of angel. Smiling softly at him, she bent down and picked up a rifle from a fallen soldier, testing the weapon in her grimy hands.

"Plan," she whispered, casting him a small, forlorn smile before dashing out the door, her bare feet kicking up dust with every step. It was the last smile he would ever see from her.

Leo whipped himself out of the painful memory with a gasp that sounded more like a muted scream, and just in time, it seemed. Panic was the next emotion to take over him, as he realized the ground was getting closer. Or rather, he was getting closer to the ground, free falling at what must have been 100 miles per hour.

"Fuck, shit, fuck, shi-" Leo let a string of curse words leave his mouth as he hurtled towards the ground. There was nothing left to do but pray to Jesus, he supposed.