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this chapter contains mentions of non-consensual contact. (nothing extreme/graphic, but some may find it unsettling.)
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✺ SOME SORT OF FAITH ✺
Camp Half-Blood felt empty. Eerie, even.
It began slowly: a camper would go to Will with complaints of a nauseating headache and constant exhaustion, only for the son of Apollo's healing abilities to fall short. The prescribed medicine was bed rest.
Over the course of a week, young campers steadily disappeared from the main grounds, admitted to the infirmary with consistent symptoms indicative of an unknown virus. And it extended outside of the camp, too.
Parents, frantic and mortal and terrified that their half-blood children weren't responding to medical treatment, begged Chiron to make space in the infirmary so that the unknown sickness could be addressed with the mystical resources at Camp Half-Blood's disposal. Some demigods with unkind families made the journey alone, stumbling through the barrier before collapsing on the Big House's lawn. Beds filled up until they were pushed aside to make room for cots and floor mats.
The Golden Fleece was even removed from the barrier's pine tree, placed over the sick, and stared at with anticipation. It did nothing.
Then, the panic began to set in.
Will and his siblings spent nearly every waking hour weaving through the maze that was the infirmary floor, dosing out nectar and applying cool compresses and adjusting pillows until the sick fell asleep and the sun dipped into the horizon.
Annabeth and others with first-aid experience offered their services. Without hesitation, the healers ushered them into the infirmary.
Grover had taken it upon himself to research the illness with Chiron, searching for some sort of clue that would point the healers in the correct direction. Anything they shared with Will was crossed off as being unsuccessful.
Percy barely saw his friends outside of the Big House. He would stop by, hoping to be of assistance, but the effect of his healing abilities was the same as all others: nothing. With no idea of what else to do or how else to help, he spent his time wandering the camp, offering solemn updates to the campers who asked about their siblings.
His gut twisted with guilt every time faces fell at his words. His chest hollowed with each area of empty space, glaring his way with the reminder of a person he'd seen there before, followed by their current place in the infirmary.
He wasn't sure why, but he had the strange conviction that if (Y/N) was at Camp Half-Blood, she would bring up some sort of unfounded or improbable theory to look into which would eventually uncover a solution.
But she wasn't there. She'd been on a quest for the past week, personally selected by Hades to retrieve a helm that had been stolen from him.
Mark was with her.
She had insisted on going alone, but the son of Ares was confident about his knowledge of the Helm of Darkness. Percy had watched a ridiculous pride bloom on Mark's face when (Y/N) allowed him to join; it was clear that the son of Ares believed himself to be the recipient of a rare invite, rather than the asset that (Y/N) saw him as.
For the duration of her quest, no one shared any information about the situation at Camp Half-Blood. If she were to hear word about sick half-bloods with no known cure, she would immediately abandon her mission, which would pit Hades against whichever person or god or creature that had taken his Helm.
Simply put, everyone knew it was better to wait for a solution than to risk a divine conflict.
So they held onto their dwindling slivers of patience, and they waited.
— x —
(Y/N) and Mark return a few days later, materializing from a mass of shadow near the cabins. Percy jumps at the sound of raised voices.
Shouting, to be specific.
He rushes out of his cabin, looking to the clearing where an infuriated daughter of Persephone stands, her words ringing clearly enough to draw other campers to the scene.
"What the fuck do you not understand about the word 'no'?" she asks, her eyes wide with anger. Mark tries to defend himself, but (Y/N) cuts him off. "Mark, I did not let you tag along because I want to date you! This is not something I should have to spell out to you like you're a child! When I say 'don't touch me,' it means don't fucking touch me."
Percy's stomach begins to churn, the grip on his deck rail tightening.
"(Y/N), there was—"
"Nothing! There is nothing!" (Y/N) interrupts, the grass at her feet beginning to wither. "Besides, you do not, ever, have the right to believe that just because you want something, you can act on it without other people's permission."
The wood under Percy's hand splinters, leaving an indent of his hold. He ignores the blood that pricks at his skin.
Mark glances around at the gawking campers, and he lowers his voice while asking, "Look, do we have to do this now?"
(Y/N)'s eyebrows raise, and she lets out an incredulous laugh. The ring of dying grass extends farther. "Oh, sure. Let's do it when no one's around so that you won't be held accountable for not knowing what consent is."
Mark flushes red—Percy can't tell if the son of Ares feels embarrassment or anger, but he doesn't care. He steps off of his deck, moving closer to the interaction and watching carefully.
"You need to let go of whatever fantasy you have that makes you believe that you can do whatever you want. And you also need to get this into your head: I'm not interested in you."
Mark winces at the ice in (Y/N)'s words. "I'm sorry," he says, earning a scoff.
"Oh, you'd better be a hell of a lot more than sorry. You try to grab me, or anyone else, like that again, and I'll chop your arms off myself, you got that?"
Mark nods, fear swirling in his eyes. His muscles, however, tighten with evident restraint.
"Good," (Y/N) snaps, turning on her heel. She takes a few steps before turning to look at the son of Ares again.
"Also," she says, her fists clenched so tightly that they shake, "the next time you know that your dad has stolen something for his own greed, maybe don't fuck up the quest by keeping it to yourself, yeah? Ares doesn't need protection from someone as pathetic as you."
Mark's jaw clenches, and he watches, seething, as (Y/N) walks away from him. Clearly not thinking properly, he begins to move forward, as if determined to grab her to face him again. Percy crosses the distance, stopping in front of the son of Ares.
"Back off," he says, not faltering under Mark's fiery glare.
Mark scoffs. "Oh, so she needs your protection now?" he asks, and Percy lifts a brow.
"I think you need my protection right now," the son of Poseidon calmly responds, though the ground begins to rumble with rippling vibrations. "For your own sake, listen to me, and back off." His voice lowers as he adds: "I'm doing you a favor."
The son of Ares stiffens at Percy's tone, emphasized with mockery and reminiscent of their first meeting.
Mark takes a step forward, attempting to stare Percy down as he once used to. Back then, the son of Poseidon had been nearly a head shorter, thinner and more easily terrified.
Percy doesn't falter, his eyeline level with Mark's—a cool, easy confidence ripples off of him, his skill unquestionably superior. His jaw tightens, but he watches with a hint of pride as Mark's eyes swirl with hints of orange, his temper on its visible tipping point.
Percy relaxes when the son of Ares gives up and storms to his cabin, countless eyes following him with disbelief and disgust. The door opens when he reaches for the handle, and Clarisse steps out, a packed duffle bag slung over her shoulder.
"Nope." She drops it at Mark's feet, blocking the doorway and crossing her arms.
Mark gapes at his sister. "What—?"
"Oh. Sorry," Clarisse says, kicking the duffle bag closer. "I'm kicking you out."
Percy smirks at Mark's dumbfounded state.
"You tried to take advantage of someone," Clarisse explains, giving her half-brother a bland smile. "That means instant disqualification from the Ares cabin."
"You can't be serious."
"Oh, yeah, you're right. It probably means instant disqualification from Camp Half-Blood, too." Clarisse lifts her chin, holding firm. "I'd suggest you inform Chiron of your departure before he gets an account from (Y/N). Regardless, you're not welcome here anymore."
Mark scoffs. "This," he says, his words unsteady with disbelief, "is an abuse of your power."
"And you abused yours," Clarisse snaps, stepping forward. "As your superior, I have the right to get rid of people who've done something to deserve it. You may be my friend, Mark, but I will never tolerate this."
All he does is stare at Clarisse, who rolls her eyes. She picks up the bag, pushing it into Mark's arms and making him stumble back.
"Leave."
— x —
(Y/N) struggles to take deep breaths as she storms to the Big House, fighting off the anger that roils within her being. She'd known that Mark was still intent on continuing their relationship, but she hadn't expected him to turn her quest into an effort to win her over.
Or, to be more accurate, force her over.
She would step away from him when their arms brushed, and he'd move closer. She would pull her hand back when his got too near, but he followed her motions until he touched her. She sent the Helm of Darkness back to the Underworld after giving Ares a stern piece of her mind, and Mark had moved to embrace her in victory; she'd avoided his hug, but he kept trying until he'd nearly cornered her against a tree and she finally voiced her refusal.
But he chose not to comprehend what that meant.
She'd been lost in thought, examining an animal track when he walked up behind her and tried to whisper in her ear, grabbing her waist and moving to pull her against his chest.
Her teeth grind with the disgusting memory of his touch, clenching her fists repeatedly as she imagines how good it would have felt to break his fingers. At least she came close to spraining his arm.
The Big House arrives into her view, and she picks up her pace, looking around to see if Chiron is anywhere outside. Instead, she finds a daughter of Athena.
Annabeth rushes across the distance when she sees (Y/N), and the daughter of Persephone's anger fades instantly upon noticing the terror on her best friend's face. She halts, and Annabeth crashes into her with a hug.
"Thank the gods, you're here," she mumbles, pulling back and shaking her head. (Y/N)'s brow furrows with concern, but Annabeth speaks before she can ask her questions, her words quick with panic. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to do."
"What happened?" (Y/N) asks, the question more of a command.
Annabeth pulls the daughter of Persephone along with her to the Big House, explaining: "That thing that Lou Ellen came down with a week ago? It's been spreading. It started with just a few of the kids, but now campers have been catching it like the plague. Nothing's been helping; not even the Fleece."
"How bad are they?" (Y/N)'s stomach begins to twist, her prior fear of Lou Ellen's sickness bubbling back up.
"For now, they've primarily been exhausted and delusional," Annabeth says, running up the steps to the deck, "but we don't know if it can get worse." (Y/N) nods, swallowing thickly as they approach the door to the infirmary. Annabeth pauses, her hand on the doorknob.
"And," she starts, blinking quickly, "it . . . it got Will, too."
The words were almost a physical impact, hitting her in the gut with so much force that (Y/N) feels as though she could vomit.
She squeezes Annabeth's hand for stability, struggling to keep from hyperventilating. When dizziness begins to creep around her mind, she gives her head a firm shake, shocking her conscience back to reality.
Annabeth opens the door carefully, and (Y/N)'s heart sinks upon walking inside.
She quietly steps through the narrow space lined by the thin mattresses on the floor, putting a name to each discolored, sleeping face that she walks past.
"Most of them don't even stay outside of summer," she whispers to Annabeth, frowning. "How did they manage to get it?"
Annabeth shrugs, though the action is disheartened. "We're still trying to figure that out. Pretty much every parent who dropped them off said the same thing. They were fine one day and then the next, sick with something that modern medicine had no impact on."
"Or vitakinesis," (Y/N) breathes, weakening when she spots Will, sleeping, in the back corner of the infirmary. She strides over, Annabeth close behind. The daughter of Persephone lets out a quiet whimper, nearly falling into the chair at his bedside as every muscle in her body weakens.
"He was so sure that this would get better on its own," she says, her chest tightening. "Oh, Annie, what do we do?"
Annabeth sighs, shaking her head. "I really, really wish I knew."
— x —
Percy pokes his head into the infirmary, scanning the room before noticing (Y/N). He hesitates, grinding his teeth in preparation before stepping inside.
"Hey," (Y/N) says without turning her head. She sits with her foot propped up on her chair, resting her chin on her knee while she holds Will's hand. Her focus remains trained on the younger boy's face, waiting and watching in the hopes that he'll open his eyes. Instead, they stay closed, his breaths even and deep.
"Hey," Percy returns, carefully stepping around. "I just . . . I think I left my phone in here."
The response is immediate: "It's in your back pocket."
Percy freezes, his eyes widening as he looks at the daughter of Persephone. She hadn't even glanced his way.
"Wha—? How did you—?"
"You always keep it in your front pocket," (Y/N) explains, the words distant and unfocused. "The right one, usually. It was a gift, and you don't want to get a new one, so you're careful with it. If you know you've actually lost it, you panic. But every time you think you lose it, it's in your back pocket. It's the last thing you check."
Percy stares, struck dumb by her perception. At the feeling of his prolonged gaze, she sighs, turning her head to look at him with tired eyes. She lifts her eyebrows expectantly.
Percy lets out a huff of disbelief, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and holding it up to show her. "Well done."
(Y/N) purses her lips in a tight semi-smile, returning her focus to Will. "Why are you actually here?" she asks, and the son of Poseidon pauses. "We both know that you put that there intentionally in case you needed a quick escape."
Brushing off his surprise, Percy stuffs his hands into his pockets. "I . . ." he closes his eyes, shaking his head before sighing, "I wanted to see if you were okay."
A chuckle escapes (Y/N)'s throat, and she lets out a quiet scoff. "I'm fine."
"Really?" Percy asks, stepping forward. "Because from what I gathered back there, you were a little bit shaken up."
"Yeah, I was pissed off at a man who probably thought it was his genuine right to act on any impulse he had. Of course I was a little bit riled up."
"That's not what I said."
(Y/N) sighs, turning her head to face him properly. While he shrugs, his expression drowns in concern.
"Now, I'm not trying to put words into your mouth or make you tell me what happened," he says, his hands lifted slightly to convey his peaceful intentions. "I only heard you talking about it. So I don't know what Mark did, specifically"—his muscles tighten, and he takes a breath—"but I know that it was out of line. And while you obviously handled the situation, you seemed really upset. He's leaving camp now, if that's any consolation. I don't think he's coming back. But if he did anything that made you uncomfortable, it's okay to feel shaken up after that. No one expects anything different."
(Y/N) grits her teeth, looking at Percy. Her eyes narrow slightly, and she rifles through her thoughts for a while before shaking her head.
"He didn't try to . . . touch me or- or violate me in any way," she says, noticing how the son of Poseidon loses some of his tension. "At least, I stopped him before it got to that point. He tried to hold me, when I was off my guard, and after I had told him explicitly that I didn't want him to. I'm okay. I'm just disappointed that he didn't know better. And I'm a little bit angry at myself for not noticing it before. Happy?"
Percy's brow knits slightly. "No."
(Y/N) tilts her head with confusion, and he huffs a quiet scoff.
"No, I'm not . . . happy. You went through something that no one ever should." He runs a hand through his hair, sighing as his arm drops to his side. "I am glad that you're okay, though. And it may not mean much, but I'm . . . I'm sorry . . . that that happened."
(Y/N) blinks in a quick succession, regulating her emotions before offering a tiny nod. "Thank you."
He was sorry about so many things.
Keeping his distance, pushing her away, not being there to defend her.
But now wasn't the time for those apologies. Not when people she cared about were hurting.
Percy returns the nod, flashing her a small, awkward smile. (Y/N) looks at Will again, squeezing his hand. Taking that as his cue to leave, Percy turns and moves to the door; he pauses with his hand on the knob, looking back.
"He's going to be okay," he tries to console, earning no reaction from the daughter of Persephone. "They all are."
(Y/N) swallows, her head moving with a tiny shake. "You don't know that."
Percy lowers his head, swallowing down the other canned reassurances that he'd become used to telling everyone else. (Y/N) knew when he was lying. She couldn't help Will with false promises.
How could it be a kindness to offer them?
"You're right," he sighs, nodding in defeat, "but we've at least got to have some sort of faith. Don't we?"
(Y/N) stares blankly at the son of Apollo, the muscle in her jaw ticking. The sound of her voice chills Percy to the bone:
"And since when has that gotten us anywhere?"
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genuinely don't know what to put here so imma just say:
I hope y'all liked this chapter!! have a great day/night xx