Disclaimer: I don't own PJO, Rick Riordan does.

Guardian

Lesson 1

Always ask relevant and meaningful questions.

"Mr. Castellan, let me put this bluntly. Your request for another life has been rejected. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you," the portly man sitting across from me says, glancing over a paper at the top of the thick folder he has on his desk.

He says it in such a monotonous tone that it takes a few seconds for the words to sink in. Then, well...I don't handle it very well. "What? Why? I didn't do anything wrong! Well, I did in life, but that's why I need another chance! Don't you get it? I-"

"However, you have been approved for another job," the man continues as he looks at another paper, practically impartial to my outburst. So far I'm really not liking this guy. I don't know why; maybe it's because he looks oddly similar to my kindergarten teacher.

Why do I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach? I lean back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest. If Mr. Kindergarten Teacher thinks that this news is supposed to make me jump for joy, he's got another thing coming. "Listen, dude-"

"Patrick," he interrupts.

"Listen, Patrick, whatever this job is, I'm not interested. I want another life, and I want it now." This guy, in all honesty, probably has no control over what happens to me whatsoever and shouting at him isn't going to do anything. But hey, who said ADHD was logical?

A snide smile forms on Patrick's face. "The alternative to this job is eternity in the Fields of Asphodel. I urge you to at least hear what this job entails." The tone of his voice would suggest otherwise.

Fields of Asphodel or job that hasn't been explained yet. That one almost required a second of thought. "Let's hear it," I grumble, trying to keep the anger I feel under control, as well as the dread that is welling in my stomach.

"Luke Castellan, you've been approved to be a mortal's guardian angel."

Okay, I'm going to take a break from the weird scenario that's unfolding here and fill you in on my time in the underworld. Besides, I should probably take some time to think this over before blurting out the rather rude response that's forming on my tongue.

I've been dead for roughly just over ten years. Being dead isn't that bad, just really boring. It gives you a lot of time to think, and that's not always a good thing. You start analyzing everything you did in life, thinking about every last mistake, all the people you hurt, and after a while you start to miss being alive.

When I first got here, I was surprised. They have a whole file on you! You're not allowed to see all of it, and I'm not exactly sure why. You're dead. What are you going to do?

Anyway, then I found out that you have to fill out a lot of paperwork if you want another life. There are all these questions like, Were you dissatisfied with your last life? If so, why? What is your main reason for applying for another life? Do you have a preference for your next life? Seriously, out of all places, who would expect the Underworld to be so organized?

They tell you Hades goes over each one personally, just like they tell you that the American Idol judges see every contestant. In other words, I suspect that Hades has a team of people who read the applications over and give him the noteworthy ones.

Then I found out that I'd have to wait for judgment in the Fields of Asphodel. The worst punishment for someone who has ADHD can be found in the Fields of Asphodel. There's absolutely nothing to do there. On another note, I didn't even know that stuff like ADHD stuck with you after death. Does that mean that people who had cancer or autism or stuff like that still have it after they die?

Then today I was greeted by a tall man in a suit. You could tell that he didn't belong among the dead just because of the way he seemed to give off life. His smile practically radiated, or maybe I've just been spending too much time around dead people. "Luke Andrew Castellan?" he said.

It took me a few seconds to realize that he'd just said my name. Hey, after a decade of being around dead people, you'd be a little slow too. I'd nodded mutely, unable to form words.

"Follow me," he said. He led me through the Fields of Asphodel to a place that could be considered the "nicer" part of the Underworld. I have to say I was surprised. There was practically a whole little town there.

Sensing my surprise, the man shrugged. "Hey, it takes a big team to keep a place like the underworld going."

"There are people...who work here?" I said, finally finding my voice. The thought of people working here is just weird. Not exactly a job you'd see many people going to college for.

"Yes, well...not everyone is good enough for the Isles of the Blessed. Some people are offered a job, and most take it. It's better than, say, the Fields of Asphodel." There was a hard edge to his voice as he said this.

"You're dead?"

"Since 1908."

"You don't look dead."

His only answer to this was a shrug. "See that tall brick building over there? Go there and tell the receptionist your name. She'll instruct you from there."

Before I could conjure up a response, the tall guy in the suit was gone. I found the building he had pointed to and entered. The lobby looked just like one you'd see at a regular office, almost like the one at the Empire State Building. Well, I've been told that Hades built his kingdom to resemble Olympus.

"Name?" a little girl typing on a computer called out.

"Aren't you a little young to be working here?" I said, still thinking like a mortal. What I mean is, when you get to the underworld, you quit aging. Still, a four-year-old on a computer will never look normal to me.

The girl sighed and turned her attention away from the computer. "I died in 1349 of the black death. Submit any other mindless questions in writing and allow two to six weeks for response." I'm not sure if she was kidding or not.

There was silence except for the tapping of keys when I remembered that she asked me for my name. "Luke...Luke Andrew Castellan."

"Ninth floor, room 53. First door to your left. If you use your brain, you can't miss it." Her eyes stayed glued to the computer the whole time she said it.

I looked around the lobby for an elevator before finding it. I got in and hit the nine. There wasn't any elevator music, thank the gods, although I'm pretty sure that it was Elvis who was standing next to me.

So I got to room number 53 where I met Patrick, who told me to sit down. He pulled out a file from his desk, and then broke the news to me.

Okay, now you're all caught up. I'm not sure whether to feel relieved that I haven't been approved to be a...well, whatever you'd call Patrick for the rest of eternity. But on the other hand, an angel? I'm not exactly an altruist.

"Don't angels, you know, not exist?" I protest, thinking that maybe this is all a joke and Patrick is going to announce that I've been approved to be a janitor or something.

Patrick sighs and recites something that he probably knows by memory. "Angels don't exist in the Christian sense. Not every soul gets a guardian angel. Only those who we believe will need the extra assistance."

"Patrick, do I look like the kind of guy you'd want watching over someone?" I challenge.

He looks down at the file. "Mr. Castellan, I do not know you. It is my job to tell you that you've been approved to be a guardian angel. Now I am required to answer any questions you may have before you make your decision."

I look around his office, at the neutral pictures that adorn the walls, then at his plain desk. No pictures of his family or anything. Why would there be? They're probably dead as well. "How did you die?" I think out loud.

He stiffens. "Mr. Castellan, I don't believe that pertains to the matter at hand."

I shrug nonchalantly. "You said you were required to answer any questions I may have. You never said they had to be about this angel mumbo jumbo. Hey, do you know what year it is?" Give a kid with ADHD someone to talk to after ten years of solitude and you're bound to get a few random questions.

Patrick tugs on his tie nervously. "Now do you want the answer to that or your first question?" Something about his demeanor is leading me to believe that he hasn't met a lot of people like me.

"Both."

"Car crash in '79 and 2020," he says flatly. "You've been dead for 11 years. Now do you have any other irrelevant questions or shall we get on with things?"

"Hm...so I'll be an angel. Does that mean I get wings and a halo?"

"No."

"Can I fly?"

"No."

"Do I get mind reading abilities?"

"No."

"Is there anything cool that I can do?"

"You're still basically a spirit so you can walk through walls."

I yawn. "What's the average life expectancy for a person these days?"

Patrick makes a face so I imagine he thinks this is another irrelevant question. "Late 80s to early 90s in the nicer parts of the world."

"So I just follow a person around for 90 or so years?"

He sighs. "Mr. Castellan, even without wings or the ability to read minds, there are some expectations of guardian angels. It is your obligation to keep your charge out of trouble and avoid early death whenever possible."

"And how am I supposed to do that without any cool powers?" I say. Now maybe I should be treating Patrick with a little more respect, but what can I say? I've never liked authority figures.

Patrick reaches into his desk and pulls out a thin book. The title is written in spidery script: your worst enemy when you have dyslexia. However, the picture of winged creature with a halo on the cover clears up any confusion. Hey, I thought you didn't get wings. "You have a publishing company down here?" I say.

"Yes, right next to the water park," he deadpans and slides the book over to me. Before I grab it, he says, "You know, as soon as you pick up that book you've agreed to the job."

I frown. "Do I get to know who I'm going to be watching before I agree to this?"

Patrick smirks. "Oh, Mr. Castellan, did I forget to tell you that you have a limited number of questions? I apologize, but rules are rules." He taps the book. "Answers to all your questions are in this book, should you agree to the job."

Maybe I should work on that problem with authority figures. Okay, time to think. Can being a guardian angel really be that bad? I guess I'm about to find out. I grab the book. "Sign me up."

Author's Note: Thanks to Aish Sheva for betaing. Nothing else to say really, other than please review! CC is always welcome.