A Crown of Golden Leaves: A Percy Jackson Fanfiction

Caput XLV: Gone with the Wind

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here." -William Shakespeare 

Caput XLV: Gone with the Wind

THERE was nothing in Jason's eyes. The light that constantly burned in his eyes that Percy had rarely noticed unless it had been extinguished was simply... gone. They were open – his eyes – but there was nothing in them. 

Only emptiness was left. They were completely blank. 

"Jason?" he whispered. "Jason?"

Slowly, his friend's head rolled back, as if there was nothing there supporting his weight. He cradled the back of his head between his hands before it could fall against the ground. There was a strange roaring in his ears that drowned out everything else. He didn't understand what was happening - didn't want to understand.

"Jason? Jason! Wake up!" He shook him, and his hands were trembling. This can't be happening. This isn't possible. He's too young to die. "Stop messing around, Jason. This isn't funny. There's...!" The woman. He'd forgotten about her.

Cursing his absentmindedness, he lifted his head and squinted into the distance, but he could discern nothing in the gloom. That was odd. It was almost as if a fog was creeping in around him. Except instead of those familiar gray clouds, this was a darkness that was as black as ink, darker than night. He'd almost describe it as insidious if the mere suggestion wasn't so irrational. After all, fog was fog. There was nothing insidious about it; it was an inanimate object, and inanimate objects were incapable of feelings.

Except, this was the work of a goddess. An insane one, not one of the ones who tolerated mortals. Maybe those kinds of things didn't apply here.

Uneasily, he reached for his sword—but it wasn't there, even though he could have sworn he had taken it with him when he had stepped outside for a walk. Jason had always warned him about that; always said that it wasn't safe for him to walk around weaponless, but Percy had never taken him seriously before. He always thought that if anything truly serious happened, Jason would be right there to get him out of a tight spot. Always believed that. He had never let him down before. 

He tightened his grip on Jason's forearm, shook him again – as if that would waken him—but there was still no response. All right, fine. So, Discordia, whoever or whatever she was, had put him in some sort of state where he was unresponsive. He could figure out how to get them out of this by himself. He was good at that. Improvising. Thinking on his feet. 

The alternative, that Jason was... Well, it was so unfathomable that Percy could barely consider it. Jason was a son of Jupiter, the king of the gods. As much as he liked to pretend they didn't exist at times, he had seen him survive too much to just die like that out of nowhere. This was the person who could summon lightning and storms with his fingertips! He had more power in his little finger than Percy had in his entire body. He couldn't be gone, just like that.

Dammit, Jason. Stop fooling around and wake up!

But the last time Jason had figuratively pulled the wool over his eyes was... years ago. He couldn't remember what it had been about, other than he had been exasperated at the time. So, no... Jason was many things, but cruel was not among them.

It was impossible to not have a pulse if you were among the living, too. And his skin was already cooling to the touch.

Percy gulped. He shook his head, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. There was a feeling deep inside of him that was telling him that something wasn't right. That there was something inconceivably, irrevocably wrong, but he couldn't name it with any words he knew—not in Greek, and not in Latin.