There are fingers in her hair gently brushing through it, carding their way through knotted strands released from a braid that kept it from her face. The touch was soft, gentle and warm, and Kassandra could've stayed like that forever. 

But there were noises around her, the sounds of people trying to be quiet and a heavyweight over her stomach. The murmurs were clear, or partially so, as she kept hearing the pick of a song and the repetition of her father's names over her that made her shift uncomfortably. 

She meets grey eyes that peer down at her as she squints, watery as she continues to speak over and over her prayer. Had Kassandra been a normal person, she wouldn't have heard a thing, however, the plea to her father made her uncomfortable enough to tense, her side stretching painfully as she tries to sit up a little.

The pain is enough to remind her that she was stabbed. By Chris Rodriguez. And then passed out on the yacht like a baby. 

She whines, the sound a mixture of pain and embarrassment as she falls back the inch that she had managed to move, but it brings a flurry of movement around her. 

Annabeth's head jerks up, calling for Chiron, as her head is moved from her lap and she can see light blue eyes glaring down at her. Ah yes, her siblings. 

Kassandra avoids looking at Lee as she takes in everything else. It was like the entire camp was crowded around the crumbling barrier and dying tree -- where she happened to be lying prone at the base of, sad pines needles scattered around her. 

The golden fleece was draped over her, bunched up near her side where she had been run through, and Kassandra hissed as she shoved at it in a rush, pushing it away from her. 

"Stop. Stop, it, Kass," Lee orders, firmly grabbing her hands to prevent her from moving. "Just lay still so that we can move you to the infirmary." 

Taking a moment to look at her brother, she could trace the dark bruises under his eye, the exhaustion in his features. She had known that they were working around the clock to heal the camp, draining themselves to try and keep everyone as fighting ready that they could. As their head councillor and oldest of them, Lee would likely try to take on the most responsibilities to save the others from it. 

"The tree," she chokes out, grounding it out around the pain in her side. "Get the stupid fleece to the tree." 

"No. No, way," he says, grip on her arms growing stronger. "You came in here practically dead. You let it heal you." 

Her head falls back, blinking at the brown pine needles above her. "I did not get dragged into all that to get the fleece just to have the tree die in front of me," She said. "I feel fi- I can make it to the infirmary just fine." 

Lee doesn't look convinced, even as Chiron sends a couple of Hephaestus campers forward with the stretched to carry her, bringing her to roll her eyes skyward at the dramatics. She couldn't been carried, honestly. 

Still, she managed to watch as the fleece was placed over the lowest bough by Clarisse. This time, the tears in her eyes weren't from the pain as the pines gradually turned from brown to green and she got to see her friend get hoisted up onto the shoulders of her siblings as they cheered and carried her to the amphitheatre. 

She laid back, eyes closed as she tried to force away the tears because she knew that once she started, she wasn't going to be able to stop. 

The infirmary was a bit of a mess in an organized sort of way, a disarray of healing supplies. The beds were empty, but they looked as if they were recently in use. The one that she was laid on was clean and fresh compared to the others, the most comfortable of the lot, she knew, and attributed it to her siblings and their worries. 

Because they were all in the infirmary -- even the young ones -- and they were all at her side the moment she was down with little Christa trying to climb onto the cot just to get closer with tears shining in her wide green eyes (green that was nearly blue but still green enough to be distinguishable). 

Will was by her head, bottom lip wobbling as he began pulling away the rest of her shirt. The bottom had been torn and cut to get access to the wound, but her blood had stained the entirety of the orange shirt. 

She lays a hand over his, the bloody one, as the other moves to ruffles Christa's hair. "I missed you, guys." 

Will chokes, shoulders shaking as he sobs silently, but he doesn't move away from his work. It was hard to believe that he was only thirteen sometimes, with how smart he could be. He took clean the wound the best that he could, and Austin and Victoria grabbed her to hold her down as they prodded at the bits of sand and dirt that had made their way into her side. 

"You're so dumb," Gracie hissed, shoving her hips down as she arched off the bed. The fleece had done enough to bring her back, fill her with healing, but the stab in her side was still open, too deep to heal fully with such little time. Annabeth had used it for at least a couple of hours to be at full strength again. 

"We can roll her over now," Will whispers. 

The time passes in a boring blur of pain and a familiar process of healing that involved all of her siblings singing over her in a way that flooded her with warmth and left her feeling exhausted from the pull on her body. 

After a time and moving in and out of fitful sleep, she managed to shoo most of her siblings away to the campfire for s'mores and stories, along with a few celebratory songs to honour Clarisse, her siblings, and Ares. 

It was quiet in the infirmary apart from the sounds of Lee asleep at her side, head fell back as he snored softly. She was surprised that he didn't take a bed for himself, really, but as Will and Austin went around cleaning up, finally able to put everything away now that the fleece was here to fix the border, she couldn't bring herself to make a sound to let them know that she was awake once more. 

With each passing time that she had woken fully, they demanded more and more of her adventures, listening intently as she spun a tale dramatic enough to entertain the entirety of her siblings -- and still, they listened, because they knew that she could only speak the truth, not matter how much she tried otherwise. 

It wasn't until they heard of her deafness and the magic droppers that someone had gone off in search of her things with little care for rifling through her bag as if it were their own. 

(And then they had decided upon a full examination to ensure that everything was in order and healed up properly.) 

It was nearing lights out when the door to the infirmary opened, blonde hair silhouetted by the pale moonlight as Annabeth crept into the room as if she was scared to wake her. 

Austin had dragged Will to bed with the promise to be allowed to care for her first thing in the morning and only Lee remained still passed out at her side. She was sure that nothing could wake him, not when he so clearly needed the rest. 

"Hey," she whispers into the semi-darkness, and Annabeth jumps as she spins to look at her. 

"You're awake," she says just as quiet. "Kass, what the Hades are you doing up?" 

"What were you hoping for when you came in?" she asks. 

Annabeth creeps to her side, leaning against the bed so that she could look down at her. "I spoke to Will earlier. He stopped by the campfire and he told us that you should be up by the end of the week, and everyone started taking bets on when you would sneak away," she says, shaking her head. "When Chris carried you onto the Andromeda, I thought the worst, you know? There was a lot of blood and they had said if they were a few minutes too late, the fleece might not have been able to save you." 

"It wasn't so bad as it looked," she said honestly. "People have survived worse." 

"But you continued to try fighting him afterward, didn't you?" Annabeth accused. 

Swallowing thickly, she nods. "Not long at all, but I would have. I was just so angry at him, at both of them, and Annabeth, he had a sword to my neck and a Scythian Dracanae when he knows how I feel about them, and I just--" 

Pain flares at her side, ribs burning as she tenses, anger flooding her veins and she squeezes her eyes against the rage as everything feels like it's boiling. 

"I fought against his sword with an arrow and for a moment it was like I could pretend that we were at home doing stupid things," she admits, opening her eyes to look at Annabeth. The girl was silent at her side. "I was winning, too, but the sand was uneven and I tripped, of all things, and he just--" 

She motions pointlessly at her side, nose scrunched in distaste. "I had an arrow to his throat and he just tried to talk me into joining Luke like it was a normal afternoon and we were waiting out the time before the campfire."

"It's not your fault," Annabeth said. "We all make stupid mistakes in battle. I was dropped on my head by a cyclops." 

"A cyclops slapped me so hard I went flying," she deadpans. "How does that even happen?" 

"Clarisse and Grover were slapped, too," Annabeth counters. "And Clarise got our ship sunk." 

She giggles softly, shaking her head. "Percy was turned into a guinea pig, remember?" 

The other girl snorts, quickly covering her mouth with the back of her hand. The blonde's eyes sparkle as leans forward, resting her hip against the side of the bed. Kassandra was thankful that she was in a reclined position instead of lying straight down as she had been when she was first brought in so that she was somewhere near eye level at least. 

(She would have been far too self-conscious to be lying down looking up at her.) 

"Kass, can I ask you something?" she asks. "Can I trust you?"

Her eyes widen, the question catching her off guard. She nods anyway, "Yes, you can ask me anything." 

"Do you think they're wrong?" Annabeth whispers, eyes lowered. "Luke and Chris?" 

Kassandra bites her tongue, lips set in a tight line as she dropped her head back. She breathes through her nose heavily, letting the tightness fade from her body before she looks up again. 

"No, I don't think they are. The way that demigods are treated isn't right. That's not how parents are supposed to act with their kid, but they aren't exactly parents, are they?" she says bitterly, slowly when she's still unsure how to voice her feelings on the subject because no matter how she says it, it's never quite right. "I'm mad at my dad. I hate him, but I can't just excuse what they did because I'm unhappy on some level. I couldn't just destroy camp like that because I want to make a point. Camp Half-Blood is our home. Luke was the one to tell me that. I can't forgive him or Chris just because they're hurt." 

"But don't you think sometimes it would be better if they didn't exist?" Annabeth asks, almost desperate for the answer. "That we can do things better? Fix everything?" 

Her tongue touches the roof of her mouth, searching for the words in all of the feelings in all of the places, that she knew stood for the way she could say this, the way she could say that she wanted them gone, that she hated them, but that they couldn't live without them regardless. That she wanted to join Luke because he was right, but so so wrong at the same time.

Because what she said mattered right now to Annabeth and the way she had come to Kassandra desperately for answers, a girl that she had to know before coming in here hated the gods just as much as Luke, but hadn't left. 

(And she had a feeling that her meetings with Luke, Circe's island and the sirens had something to do with it -- her potential, the shaky way that she had wanted to be held when she was rescued from the sea.) 

"But then wouldn't we become the gods? The ones to make decisions and be hated?" Kassandra aks. "Chris kept talking about the new order, but would that be any better? If I honestly thought it was, I might have gone with them, but I can't become the thing I hate the most in the world." 

"The sirens -- they showed me my hubris, my fatal flaw of thinking of doing things better than the gods, and Luke offered me that," Annabeth stressed, refusing to look in her direction. 

Kassandra takes her hand. "When I had that dream on the boat of Luke reaching to me, pleading for me to come, I thought I would go with him. I would have gone with him no matter what had it been really him," she whispers brokenly. "But that's not Luke as I remember. I always knew that he hated his dad, but I never thought that he would do something like this." 

"I miss him," she breathes, sniffling softly. 

She takes the girl's hand, squeezing her fingers. "I miss him, too. Both of them." 

"Even Chris?" 

Her frown is harsh, rough. She wants to say no, that she could never, but, "He was maybe the closest thing I had to a best friend, but I can't chase after him hoping he'll change his mind." 

Annabeth nods slowly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "You're right," she says. "But for what it's worse, you have new friends willing to have your back now, Kass." 

Protest immediately rise in her throat, quick denial trying to make itself known almost of her friendships turned out terribly, but she bits it back, smiling a small tentative smile. "We've almost died for each, Beth, I don't think friends really sums it up anymore." 

Her dreams were of blinding light and golden wood beneath her feet under the warmth of a spotlight in the dark theatre. 

The seats were empty, the red velvet welcoming her in the front row, encouraging her to play out her heart, telling her that they were there, that they were listening. 

Kassandra had never needed an excuse to play -- and play she did as the sound of her flute alone filled Carnegie Hall, filling the chamber with ethereal notes wafting through the open space, pulling free however she wished as she played the sound of her heart.

She could hear the companion instruments to the piece in her mind's eyes, feel them with the flow of the music, of her airy flute, and she knew, just knew, that she could never forget this piece -- her piece, as she played the pain that was held captive in her heart, the pain that circled her like binding chains, and she let them go -- singing over the heart of it all, silvery as it created light from nothing and language, art, with each passing second. 

It was like floating, letting the seats see her as she was -- baring her heart to herself as she cleansed herself anew, restarting her existence and opening the doors for who she was. The emotions would never leave, her feelings would never expire, but somehow she just knew that it would be better, solid as she took her time to merge, become one. 

Kassandra flinched as the lights were flipped on, surprising her for the moment that she took to adjust -- the music forgotten as the flute held precariously in her hands, held around her chest as a weak defence. 

"That was a very powerful piece," a voice calls from the back of the hall. "Tell me, does it have a name?" 

"Who are you?" she asks, squinting as if to get a better look. 

His sigh is audible, he shakes his head. "I had hoped that you would perhaps recognize me or have been able to at least remember the sound of my voice." 

Kassandra stiffens at that, limbs locking in a poor show of defensive reflexes. The man was blonde, that much she could tell from no matter the distance, hair like the sun, like Will, with eyes just as blue and even bluer. He was dressed in jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. The muscles in his arms were large, sculpted. He looked more like some Californian lifeguard as opposed to a god. 

"Why are you in my dreams?" she demands, shifting into a more defensive stance. 

"Is that any way to greet me?" he asks with a pout. He sighs when she doesn't respond. "This is the easiest that I can communicate with you." 

"So you just didn't get the message that I want nothing to do with you?" she snaps. 

Apollo takes a few steps towards her, self-assured as he walks down the aisle. "I figured that it was time that we had a chat, daughter." 

A wave crashed through her, anger lashing out like a violent storm, like meteors ready to burst from human skin. "I am not your daughter." 

His eyes flash golden, burning like the sun, and she can't look at him as it seers into her retinas and leaves her seeing dark spots. 

She flinches as he comes closer, taking an instinctive step away from him. 

"Kassandra, please, if you just give me a moment," he pleads, the sound of his voice something that she can almost remember. 

The girl looks up to him carefully, blinking to clear her vision still. "I've heard you before," she says in realization. "You told me to move. Gave me warnings." 

The god chuckles, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He keeps moving forward though, still coming toward the stage. "It was the first time you were open to them. I could finally reach you to speak to you. You are very good at blocking out the things that you don't want to hear." 

"You say that like you tried to speak with me before." 

"I do what I can," he says, almost defensive. 

She wants to laugh, really she does, but she's reminded that even in a dream, even as her father, this was a god and gods were not nice and the very things that she hated.

"I almost died today, apparently," Kassandra says flippantly. "And, you know, I didn't think once of calling to you. I knew that you wouldn't come." 

He's so close now, stood just at the base of the stage looking up at her. "I saw. I couldn't do anything." 

She scoffs. "I know. I stopped expecting you to when you were never there for anything," she says. "I spent years thinking I was insane. My entire childhood I thought I was crazy. They were going to lock me away for 'my own good' because they couldn't help. Where were you?" 

The muscles on his arms flex, jaw clenching. The sight makes her shift nervously. "I cannot interfere whenever I want." 

"No, but you can when you need to. You could have sent a sign, you could have at least claimed me when I got there instead of making me wait four years!" she screams, eyes burning, and she hates herself for that because she was just so angry at him and he was right there and she was going to ruin everything by crying. "Do you realize what that felt like? All those feelings of self-doubt and embarrassment? I thought that I wasn't good enough, that I wasn't worthy enough to be half-god. I was bathed in embarrassment every time I sent offerings because I didn't know who to send them to so I prayed to everyone begging them to send me a sign. 

"And when the signs became clear, when people began to assume but didn't say a word to me of it even as I was too shameful to admit it to myself as I enviously watched who I thought were my siblings, I prayed and hoped until it became clear that I wasn't the problem," she says viciously, angrily pointing her flute at him. "So don't diminish my feelings by showing up like this, trapping me like this, when you know exactly how I feel." 

Apollo looks at her, blue eyes unreadable, but he sighs, hanging his head. "I am aware of how you feel. Sometimes I can hear little bits that slip through your mind freely. Will you let me have a moment to explain?" 

"You can start by explaining why you're here," she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest. 

He shakes his head, laughing, and she's struck for a moment by his smile as it's the same one that she sees in all of her siblings -- that same sunny, glowing smile. 

"While I already planned to do so despite all the rules, your siblings prayed and prayed for me to help you from the moment that they saw you in that Iris message and have not ceased to do so until they fell asleep," he tells her. "It was originally my idea to do so regardless, so I just had to make sure you were healed." 

"Oh, so they pray and you answer, but when I beg, scream and grovel, nothing?" 

"I watched you get stabbed, Kassandra!" Apollo bellows, the glow of the sun bursting around him. "You, the daughter I had never met. You, the daughter that I had never known. You were stabbed and I watched your life fade desperately hoping that you would sing a hymn or send a prayer so that I may give you a touch of life, but you hung limply from that boy's arms and I was left uncertain of whether you would live long enough for me to meet you."

Kassandra stood still, unable to look away from him. It was hard to match his words to watch she knew of the gods and of her father. He had never shown before that he cared, not when she needed it and not when she didn't. 

"I am the patron of truth so I must admit to you that I made many mistakes when it came to you, Kassandra, but in my attempt to correct them, I have only made many more," he says, much more gentle, much more kind. "But no matter the circumstance, I only want what is best for my children."

"But you didn't do anything to fix things," she chokes, unsurprised that she's crying. "Everything only got worse and I don't want anything to do with you!" 

Kassandra stomped her foot, screaming as she shut her eyes angrily. "I don't want to hear any of this! I want you to leave me alone! I want to wake up now!" 

There's a flash of light that burns even behind closed eyelids, and the warmth is right in front of her, her father right there. Heat flashes at her side, scorching. 

"I'm very proud of you, Kassandra," Apollo says, and there's a suspicious pressure on her forehead. 

"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

☼ ☼ ☼

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so i hope that this is good? and makes sense? and that ppl aren't too OOC ???? 

unedited

written: 2021-01-27

posted: 2021-03-09