A/N: so, this is my first published work on this site, so please excuse/notify me of any problems/mistakes/etc. this story is based on some headcanons i had in the back of my mind a while ago, and i decided to write them all down together. its just your average pjo!fma au. enjoy!

Al's POV

I felt uncomfortable, to say the least. The kid sleeping next to me was tossing and turning, filling the room with soft short pants and calling out some girl's name.

He was kicking up his itchy covers, refusing to lay still on the hard infirmary cot as it creaked against his weight. Small trickles of sweat appeared on his tanned features, embedding themselves in his messy golden locks and the fabric of his cotton shirt. I could hear him muttering apologies. His soft voice breaking and slipping as he repeatedly told his fallen friends, "I'm so sorry." As he struggled on in his nightmare, worry and fear etched completely across his face, the only thing I could bring myself to think was, 'Thank the gods it's not a wet dream.'

I looked around the infirmary as I sat in my bed, glancing at other sleeping patients and out the window to the navy blue night sky. Though I looked elsewhere, my mind was cluttered with thoughts of the boy next to me: 'Should I not do anything? Should I wake him up? What would he do if I woke him up? What is he dreaming about? Where's he from? How long has he been here? Seriously though, should I wake him up or not?'

I decided against it; not knowing how or if he would react if I tried to wake him. So I waited. I waited until his nightmare was over, waited until shy lights of pink seeped into the sky. Waited until the infirmary was stirring again, until the bugs came out in the summer day, until his body had decreed it time for him to wake up.

Finally, at about 11AM, his eyes fluttered open, revealing a strange gold colour - as if the sunset had been trapped in his irises. He immediately clasped them shut again, groaning as he brought his left hand to his face, pulling it up so that his unruly bangs would uncover his eyes and letting it rest on the pillow, above his head. He let out a deep sigh and opened his eyes once again to look at the infirmary ceiling.

Now, try to understand that I would've, and had the complete functioning ability to, start a smart and coherent conversation with this guy. But of course, as you can probably begin tell, that was not the case. For I had only just noticed something that, looking back on it, should've seemed pretty goddamn obvious.

"You-Your right arm is missing!"

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I instantly regretted it.

The kid sat up, and even though he looked mildly confused, still stared at me and came back with a sarcastic comment: "Oh, really? I hadn't noticed."

"Sorry," I winced. "I didn't try - I mean - I didn't actually mean to...um... I uh..." I trailed off as I got flustered, rubbing the back of my neck with my hand and staring at my bed. "Ugh... Can I start again?" I asked as I looked back at him, putting on what I had hoped to be an apologetic smile but probably came out as a lopsided one. "I'm Alphonse," I offered, sticking out my left hand for him to shake. "Sorry about, you know, stating the obvious..."

He looked between me and my hand for a few seconds, most likely deciding whether he should actually attempt to talk to me or not. He took it after a couple more seconds, however reluctantly.

"Ed."

I smiled, glad that I had gotten a name out of him. I opened my mouth to try and start up a conversation before I dove in accusing him of his nightmare, but he beat me to it before I could say anything.

"Where are we?" He asked, looking around at numerous patients.

I blinked, thrown off by his question. "Um, the infirmary," I told him, but after still receiving a confused look I added: "...At a...camp."

"A camp?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Camp... Half-Blood, I think." I sighed, "There's probably a better word for that. Uh, I think it means half-bloods as in...demigods."

"Demigods?" He scoffed. "You mean children of gods, demigods?"

I nodded slowly.

Ed rolled his eyes, "Gimme a break."

Yeah, I wasn't too sure either.

"Well, I'm guessing that it's something like-"

"Oh, you're awake!" An unfamiliar voice interrupted my explanation.

I turned and saw a young girl, at least a year or two older than me, walking towards us. She had jet black hair that was pulled into a bun with a short fringe and bangs that bordered her face. Over a bright orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD t-shirt, she was wearing a black hoodie (how could she be wearing that in summer?) and fingerless black gloves covered her hands, in which she was holding a tray. It held a plate of something that I couldn't see with a tall glass of what appeared to be something similar to apple juice, which had a straw sitting in it that swayed from side to side.

She sat down on the chair between Ed's bed and the next, setting the tray down on her lap.

"Drink this," she ordered, handing Ed the glass of pseudo-apple juice.

"O-Okay," he said, taking the drink from her. "What is it?" He asked, looking down into it, almost suspicious.

"It'll make you feel better," the girl assured. "Trust me."

"I feel fine," Ed insisted.

The girl stared at him through intense dark brown eyes.

"Just drink it," she told him and set the plate down on the chair as she got up, taking the tray with her.

Ed looked at me, waiting for me to tell him what it was. I shrugged. He shrugged as well, taking the straw in between his lips and started drinking the liquid. As he drank it, his eyes widened and he flinched a bit, and he took his mouth off of the straw to dink it from the lip of the cup. It was the fastest I had seen anyone drink something: 3 seconds flat.

"When was the last time you had a drink?"

"Oh god, I don't even know. But this," Ed gestured to the drink in his hand, "this is the best thing I have ever tasted. I'm not even exaggerating."

"Right."

"Where did you say we were again?" Ed asked as he sat down the empty glass and picked up the plate, which had sliced up pieces of an apple on it.

"Um...a camp," I replied, staring at Ed as he inhaled piece after piece of green apple. "...Camp Half-Blood."

He nearly choked on his food. "Camp what?" He asked, apparently only now taking in the name of the place. He looked pretty offended.

"Half-Blood. But probably not the way you're thinking of. Half-blood as in de-"

"Demigods, right," he interrupted with a wave of his hand.

Our conversation was quiet for a minute while Ed finished the apple slices.

Just as I was going to ask Ed about his nightmare, I was once again cut off before I had the chance.

"Hey." It was the girl who had given Ed his food and drink, jogging towards us. "Chiron wants to see you," she said as she came to a stop. "Both of you."

Ed's POV

Let's get one thing straight: I absolutely hate being pushed around in a wheel chair.

Not only is it bad enough that someone else is pushing me; I can almost feel the sympathy radiating off of everyone that's looking at me.

'Oh, poor boy, reduced to a wheel chair.' Yes, thank you for your riveting observation. It's not like I haven't heard the exact same thing over and over again for the past two weeks.

'And he's so young, too...' Congratulations! You are the 100th person to say that to me in my short time here! Please, step up and accept your trophy!

'I can only imagine what he's going through.' Well no, you probably can't, seeing as you continue (and show no signs of stopping) to give me enough pity to fill 10 funeral homes.

My eyes glaze over the - admittedly kind of cool - architecture that fills the landscape, too tired and too bothered to process the grand buildings and vastness of this camp. I know that the big and noticeable structures are really bright in the midday sun, and that's enough for me to know before I rip my eyes away to look further into the valley. There's an alarming amount of kids. I mean, I don't think I've ever seen this many teenagers in the same place at once. There's probably not that many; I would expect the same population in a small school. They're dotted across the camp: some are playing basketball, some are canoeing in the lake and others are on horses, and if I hadn't been knocked out for the majority of the past fortnight, I wouldn't have believed for a second that the stallions had wings. Oh, and a about a quarter of the kids had goat legs. Yeah, I don't know what they've put me on.

The girl (who'd given me apple slices and that drink) wheels me up onto a porch; I hadn't even noticed there was a house here in my half asleep recognition of the camp. We enter the main door, take a right turn down the end of the hallway and move into a sun filled room in the corner of the house. The space is strangely decorated - grapevines are everywhere. They cover every wall, snaking up and down each wall and completely swallow the ceiling. To the side of the room, there is a stone fireplace holding smouldering wood surrounded by a coffee table and leather couches. Buried in one corner, an old Pac-Man arcade game beeps and blinks. Poking out of the vines, hung on the walls are a variety of masks - the smiley/frowny theatre ones, large carved wooden types and a bunch of other assorted masks that I don't recognise. The only thing that seems to be mundane is two middle aged men having an intense conversation. One of them is sitting in a wheelchair (twinsies!) with thinning hair and a scruffy beard. The other one is big and porky, with a red nose, bloodshot eyes and hair so black it could be mistaken for purple. Right as the girl wheels me up to them, their conversation stops before I can hear a thing that they say.

"Ah, Lan Fan," the one in the wheelchair starts, addressing the girl behind me. "Thank you for bringing these two here. You may return to the infirmary."

I turn my head to the left to look at her as she nods and walks briskly out of the room. I noticed the kid from the infirmary - what was his name again? Alphonse, that was it - standing in the doorway eyeing the different masks on the wall while fidgeting and playing with his clothes.

I turn back to the two men. Wheelchair Guy is giving me a warm smile. The fat one is looking a little pissed off, but otherwise bored.

"Good morning, Edward," Wheelchair says kindly. "My name is Chiron. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood."