If you could have only one wish, what would it be? Your wish could be anything, and it could do anything, except make more wishes.

When I was little, I wanted to fly. As I grew up more, I became more of a realist. I began to wish for things like the chance to make a real difference to the world, not some three hundred odd demigods. I wanted to be immortal, and for everything to be perfect.

When I hit fifteen, I became more of a romanticist. I guess that was the real reason I played that charade with her for so long. Not because I loved her, but because I wanted to. Eventually, I gave up on her.

Naturally, that pissed her off, and she started sniffing around, intent on finding the real reason I ended "us." Finally, she found the truth- I liked guys.

I remember her fits of anger- her hatred, her rage, her wrath. And how the next day she'd come back to me, apologize, hand me a cake, and talk about boys.

I could never understand her, or how her mind worked, I think only her sisters ever did. Her brothers weren't girls.

My next wish came after the first war. I was so tired, and after we learned there was another one on the horizon, I was ready to give up. To die. I went to hades and asked if I could give him my soul.

He turned me down, and when I let a monster kill me, he booted me out, and sealed my lips. No one was to know.

So I endured. I survived the Giant War, and when it was over, and I was no longer necessary, I vanished. I was old enough at seventeen to support myself, both financially and physically.

In short, I gave up on the gods, Greek, Roman, whatever. I wasn't about to take over the world or anything, but I was no longer their little "quest boy." I was never going to go back.

(^)(^)(*)(^)(^)

Do you know what depression is? How it can take over someone's mind so completely? It hit me then, after a few months living by myself. It hit me with the force of a baseball bat with a star swinger behind it. Before I knew it, I was pointing an ordinary kitchen knife at my chest, ready to kill myself the mortal way.

They say Elysium shifts around to fit the soul's view of perfection. I had always wanted to see what it would look like for me, provided hades would actually let me in this time. Would I ever see Luke again? Beckendorf? Silena? Anybody I knew, who'd died?

I never found out. I killed myself, that I was sure of, but the next thing I knew, I found myself standing in the middle of the Sahara, hovering about five feet off the ground, calling down snow and hail for the fun of it.

At the time, I didn't know how I was doing it. All I knew was that I could do it, so why not? I didn't care about the results.

A white haired boy came down from the sky and started yelling at me, something along the lines of, "What the fuck are you doing? Do you really need to steal my season?" I found it hysterical at the time. I'd never heard of anybody stealing a season.

I was still laughing when I accidentally entered his head. In there, it was an extremely fragile cloudy place, with all the secrets heavily guarded. Except one. In some of the corners of his mind, I could see what motivated him, what made him who he was, memories that were locked away. It looked like the memories weren't locked on purpose, so I slipped through a crack and started watching them. They were pretty cool, though I felt like I had done way greater things than him. As I slipped away from the memories, I unlocked them and held the door slightly ajar, so if he ever wanted to remember again, he could.

In the very center of his mind, there was a blank space, ringed by a desperate need. I planted an idea in the space, which would be fed by the need, and slipped out again.

I saw his face, staring blankly at me, and then he turned and flew away.

I continued my fun.

Ten years later, he came back. He told me that he knew what I had done, but it didn't matter anyway, because he had come to thank me. He told me that what I had done had probably saved life as we knew it, and that he was a Guardian now. He was very proud of himself. I just smiled.

I hadn't spoken a word ever since I had died, and now I wasn't sure if I could. Certainly, one's voice would be a little hoarse if you'd never spoken as far as you could remember.

The first time I tried to speak was also my last, and for good reason. I couldn't.

I tried for over two days, with a result of: nothing. I was going to have to find an alternate way of communicating. It was not going to be sign language.

(^)(^)(*)(^)(^)

"You okay?" my boyfriend asked. "You've been sitting like that for over ten minutes, staring at the same trees. I got worried."

I tried to give him a reassuring smile, but apparently he saw right through it. "You sure?"

I made letters out of a combination of water and ice. You know, I don't need you to baby me all the time. I did fine without you for ten years.

He laughed. "And yet with me, you became a trouble magnet."

I was like that before I died, too. I hardly believe you're the cause. I grinned and started walking to Jamie's house.

You coming or not?

He laughed again. "Where?"

As if you don't know me so well. And it was true. In the first few months we were dating, he learned me better than she ever had. And I loved him more.

"Let me think." He said. "Your favorite color is… puce?"

He picked up his pace a little to catch up to me. "It'd be faster to fly, you know."

You need the exercise. You're getting fat. He looked down at his skinny frame, and said, "Me?"

I grabbed his foot and weighed him down when he tried to fly, but he kept hovering anyway, so it looked like I was holding onto a Jack-balloon.

"You little shit."

That's my specialty.

"Fuck you."

Gladly.

We were on the last block before Jamie's house (he's bought his own in the last twenty-five years) when Jack finally decided to land.

When we got there, I let him knock on the front door. I hung around the side of the house.

In a few seconds, it was opened by a little boy of about nine years old. He was missing his two front teeth. "Dad!" He yelled. "It's Jack!"

He was ushered away by a thirty-four year old man. When he saw Jack, he grinned.

"Finally decided to come for a visit, huh? It's been a while."

Jack rubbed his neck and sheepishly mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "an accident…."

"And did you finally decide to bring along your 'secret boyfriend?'" Jamie mocked.

"Actually," Jack laughed. "He brought me."

I stepped out from the side and walked up the front steps. When I reached them, I stuck out my hand and tried for a smile.

Jamie's eyes instantly alighted on me and he shook my hand rather vigorously. "Pleased to meet you."

I smiled again. I decided to keep my letters a secret till the very end. It'd be a nice surprise.

Jamie ushered us inside the house, where we met his kids- yes, there were multiple- his very old dog, and his wife, who he'd met at the animation studio he worked at. I find it ironic that the boy who believed grew up to become one who makes stories. I'm sure he loves the hell out of it. Actually, I think he loves the hell out of everything. He's just that kind of guy.

We stayed for a little while, before making our goodbyes. His kids were very disheartened at our departure, but the brightened when we said we come back soon.

"We'll be back before you know it." Jack said.

Jamie smiled sadly from the sidelines. He knew that soon meant a week at most for his kids, while it could mean up to a decade for spirits.

"You'd better be back within two months. For my son's birthday."

"As if I'd miss it." Jack replied.

And if he forgets, I'll drag him back here myself.

Jamie looked stunned for a moment, before nodding. "So you can talk."

Not in the conventional way.

"Not in the conventional way." He agreed.

Jack and I linked hands and walked away.

I love you, Jack Frost.

"And I you, Percy Jackson."

I guess all my wishes came true, after all.

And the memories? They were just a birthday present.