A/N: Alright, guys! I'm so excited! I've mentioned I was writing this, but it's finally up for the world to see. To everyone who accepted my little Logan with wide arms, thank you so much, and here's him as a grown boy, finding out about his Olympian half of the family. I don't plan to make this story too long, 3-4 chapters. And I seriously am very fond of this one, so I hope you all have a good time reading it.

Hidden Heritage

Chapter 1

My mother turns a donkey-legged lady to dust

Logan knew something was going to go wrong the moment he stepped outside of the classroom.

His whole morning had been strange. He had woken up in time, enough to sit down and eat breakfast with his mom and dad, instead of running out the door still chewing while his parents rushed around trying to get his siblings ready before they were too late for work. Late was more than a word in the Jackson household, it was a way of life. Waking up early was foreboding to say the least. He had shrugged it off, but things just got weirder as the day went on.

His English teacher was an old hag who loved to torture her students with tales so old she must have been there when they were written, but that morning she had dropped Shakespeare and brought a song to work with. And it didn't even suck.

His third clue to something gone wrong was at lunch. His good friend Dew was wiggling nervously in his seat. But then again, Dew was always nervous. He was a funny guy. The first time he had heard his name, he thought it was Drew, but he learned it was really Dew. Like the water on the leaves in the mornings. His parents were kind of hippie, he'd tell him later. Dew must have been an overprotected child, because he was scared of everything. That morning, though, he'd been especially jittery, looking around like something would jump out of the lunch trays and attack him. Logan had joked about it. He remembered saying something like "you look like you saw a monster."

The first lesson he learned that afternoon was to hold his tongue before he jinxed himself.

"Man, calm down. Seriously. You're freaking me out." He told Dew as they left the classroom. Dew whimpered like someone had stepped on his toe.

"Logan. Don't go home walking today, okay?" he said, still looking around. He was almost panicky now.

"Why?"

"Don't ask. Just don't. Call your mom. Better yet, call your dad." He said with big brown pleading eyes. Logan furrowed his brows.

"I'm not a kid anymore. I can go home by myself. Besides, mom and dad are working." Dew was chewing on his sleeve. The funny thing was it looked like he was actually ripping the fabric with his teeth.

"Logan. This is serious. You need to call your parents." He was almost crying now. It made Logan suddenly worried.

"Dew, are you having… Problems or something? You know you can tell me anything. I can tell mom and dad when I get home. Or you can come with me and tell them yourself."

Dew adored his parents, and his parents adored Dew. They were friends with his, apparently. They had told Logan he knew them, they had visited them many times when he was little, but he didn't remember. His dad had been really happy when he met Dew, said his dad was his best friend growing up. Logan had asked him why he never saw him then, and his dad had trailed off, saying he traveled a lot. Anyway, if Dew wanted to talk to his parents so badly, maybe he needed help. Maybe he was having some kind of problem and he didn't feel comfortable talking to his hippie parents. Logan's parents were really cool, he knew they'd help with whatever it was.

"Yes, I have a problem! And you too!" Dew stomped his foot frustratedly.

"Woah, what about me, dude?" Logan's worry suddenly turned to wariness.

"You… You might be in danger." His friend said hesitantly. Logan laughed nervously.

"Not funny, Dew. Don't play with these things." Dew almost screeched. Logan took a step back, feeling uncomfortable. "Dude, this is getting weird. If it makes you stop freaking me out, I'll call mom, okay?" His friend sighed with relief for a full second before seemingly realizing he had done something very wrong. He slapped Logan's phone away. It fell with a painful clatter, but didn't break. "DEW! What was that for?" he asked angrily, picking it up.

"Sorry, I panicked. Don't use your phone."

"What? You just told me to call them!"

"I know what I said! But I didn't realize… No, with it so close, it would go horribly."

"What so close? What would go horribly?" Logan asked him, but Dew was mumbling to himself now.

"Got to IM them. But then he'll see. It would be better if he didn't know yet." He whimpered frustratedly. "I should have listened to mom. I'm too young for this, but no, I wanted to be like dad…"

"Dew! What the hell's going on?"

His friend looked at him with wide, scared eyes, lips trembling like he might start crying. He hesitated for one, two seconds, and then seemed to make up his mind. He put a hand on Logan's shoulder and stared at him determinedly.

"Stay here, Logan. I'll be back in a second."

"What? Where are you going? Why can't I go too?" but Dew's tone was firm now.

"Stay here." He repeated. Logan sighed exasperatedly.

"Fine!"

Dew set off down the hallway.

Logan intended to stay. He really did.

But then the donkey lady showed up.

If Logan had been looking at her face, he would probably have been screwed. She was a pretty lady. A really pretty lady. The kind of perfect pretty you see on TV, and he would have probably been more bothered by her beauty if one of her legs wasn't prosthetic. And the other was a donkey's.

Okay. A small part of him said. Okay, that's not the weirdest thing we've seen. The more conscious, dominant part of his brain was trying to decide between being terrified and exploding. He thought it had picked both.

"Hello, deary." The lady said pleasantly. She was pretty and friendly.

"Uh… Hi." She put her hands on her waist. His eyes unconsciously turned back to her donkey leg.

"Oh, look at you, Logan Jackson. You look so much like your father!" she gushed slightly. His brain was having trouble processing the image. There's no way you're seeing that, dude. It seemed to be saying. I am. It's there. He reassured himself.

"You know my father?" he asked, intrigued.

"Oh, yes! Impossible to forget! You have his eyes!" Logan did have his father's sea green eyes. Maybe she did know his dad. Maybe she was just a nice lady with a crazy hormonal dysfunction.

"Where do you know my dad from?" he asked politely.

But she had hooves. No hormonal dysfunction caused hooves.

"Oh, it's been a long time. I'm sure he won't remember me." She waved her hand, walking a little movement was the weirdest thing he'd ever seen.

"Uh, I'll mention I met you, ma'am." He said, being the nice kid his mom had raised.

"Oh, that would be lovely! When you meet him in Tartarus, tell him Kelli said hi." She grinned. Her lips pulled back over pointy teeth. Were those fangs? Man, this lady had rotten luck in the genetic lottery.

Wait a second, Tartarus? What the hell was a Tartarus? Why would he meet his father there?

"How do you know my dad, again?" he asked suspiciously. She seethed, baring her fangs in a terrifying grin.

"Oh, I tried to kill him once or twice." She said casually.

"Oh, that's ni—Wait, what?" she hissed, in what passed for laughter.

"It was nice making your acquaintance, Logan Jackson."

And then she lunged forward.

For a millisecond, Logan thought he was a goner. And then some kind of instinct he had never known he had made him throw himself to the side before she could eat him. She stumbled forward and slammed face first on the wall. He would have laughed if he wasn't so busy scrambling to stand up and running for his life.

He didn't know what the people around him would think of a twelve-year-old racing away from school while being chased by some donkey-legged-crippled-vampire woman, but he didn't dwell on it. He just ran, hoping he'd outrun the thing. His brain was still not coping, but his muscles knew better than to stick around to figure out. An image suddenly popped into his head. It was an old memory, his father sitting by the foot of his bed, growling and making faces to imitate a monster as he told him a story. He didn't know why, but the tale looked familiar now. He had thought it had been just one of his dad's silly bedtime stories, because, come on, cheerleading vampires attacking a guy at a school, boy blowing up some room and jumping out the window? Please.

He was starting to doubt the improbability of the situation.

The woman's voice sounded in his head. 'I tried to kill him once or twice.'

He felt his stomach drop, his every hair stood up. He felt cold all of a sudden. What if it wasn't a stupid story his dad had made up? What if it was real? What if his dad was the guy?

Logan heard hissing in front of him. He froze on the spot. He hadn't managed to outrun her. She had outrun him. Somehow she had caught up to him, and if his dad's stories were true, she was going to kill him. He was going to die. There was no way he could beat a monster, he was just a kid, he had no powers, no skills, nothing. He searched his memories. How had the vampires been beaten in his dad's stories? Fire? No. Noise? No, those were some birds. A wooden stick to the heart? Logan mentally scolded himself. That was no time to be funny.

A sword, he remembered. A bronze sword.

Great. Perfect. Now he was safe! He carried a bronze sword around all the time! All he had to do was whip it out and go samurai on the monster's face.

Not.

He tried running back. With a high jump, she landed behind him. She was quicker than you'd expect with those crazy legs. He gulped. There was no way he'd survive this, but he had to keep trying. He couldn't just lie down and die.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother suddenly rang through his head. 'Make her talk.'

It couldn't hurt, could it? The worst it could happen would be her killing him, which was going to happen anyway, so he had nothing to lose. He said the first thing that came to his mind.

"So… What are you?" she groaned, dropping her clawed hands.

"I'm an empousa, you silly demigod!"

"I'm not silly, just misinform—Wait, what did you call me?" she huffed, as if she had had that conversation a million times.

"A demigod."

"What's that?"

"It doesn't matter. Stand still while I suck out your eyeballs." She said annoyedly, marching forward. He took a few steps back.

"Hey, wait, Miss… Kelli was it?" she nodded exasperatedly, still walking. "What's an empousa? I mean, is that your family name, or like… A disease?"

"I'm a Greek monster, boy!" she screeched. "You're even worse than your father!"

"You don't know anything about my father!" he defended, partly because his mom's voice kept telling him to keep her talking, partly because he wanted her to keep talking about him and tell him more about how she knew his dad.

"Oh, quiet, child! I know all about your father! Damned demigod, been wrecking havoc since he was your age! Such a pain! Blowing me up all the time! I couldn't even kill him, just a little bit, he wouldn't let me!"

"How inconsiderate." Logan said sarcastically. The sarcasm was lost on Kelli.

"I know! And he'd be all 'Go back to Tartarus, Kelli! Why don't you just stay dead, Kelli?' I mean, is he rude, or what?"

"Very rude." Logan agreed, backing off slowly. He looked around at something he could use to hit her. There were a few bricks strewn around from a construction site. It was no bronze sword, but it may make her a little dizzy for a while, enough to give him time to run away.

"Ugh! Back in Ancient Greece, oh, those were the good days. People were scared of us!" Kelli said smugly.

"I'm pretty scared of you." He said nervously. She waved him off.

"That's sweet, Logan Jackson, but it's not the same. Before, ah, demigods would tremble before us. Now it's like we're just a nuisance!"

"I'm sure it's just a phase." He said reassuringly, backing closer to the bricks. He was crouching down to pick one up when she turned to him.

"You're so nice, Logan Jackson! You're the sweetest demigod I'll ever kill…" she stopped, spotting the brick on his hand. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." He said quickly, fingers closing around the object.

"You're trying to kill me! You weren't listening! You pretended to care!" she accused him. "You're despicable!"

"Sorry." He stood up, brick in hand.

"That's enough! Now, Logan Jackson, you die!"

Before she could lunge, he tossed his half-assed weapon. It hit her straight between the eyes and she screeched, hands flying to her face. He didn't stick around to see her recover. He shot down the street, running as fast as his legs could carry him. She caught up quickly. He hadn't managed to slow her down, just make her madder. Soon, she was hot on his heels. He heard before he felt her claws stretch forward. He couldn't dodge it this time. Her claws grazed his shoulder, tearing his shirt and skin. Pain exploded in his body. He had never felt anything like that. Not even when he broke his arm falling off a tree in second grade. His knees bucked, and he fell face first on the ground.

His shoulder was burning, his legs throbbed from the effort of running. There was a dull ache in his cheek from where he'd just fallen. He saw by the shadow looming over him that Kelli was close. Too close. That was it.

He was going to die.

He closed his eyes and waited.

Nothing happened.

He heard the clicking noise of a gun, and his mother's voice sounded, clear and dangerous.

"Step away from my son."

He opened his eyes. His mother was there. She was dressed for work, black pencil skirt, white blouse and heels, her blonde hair was pulled back in a falling bun, like she had hurried there. The stormy grey eyes his brother had inherited glowed with a dangerous hue. She had her arm outstretched, a bronze gun in her right hand, pointing straight at Kelli.

His eyes did a double take. His mom was there. She was seeing Kelli and not freaking out. She was staring at the monster like she might kill her.

Which she apparently could do, since she was holding a gun.

"Mom!" he cried out, half relief, half astonishment at seeing his nerdy architect mother pointing a gun at a monster. He didn't know she had a gun. He didn't even know she could shoot.

"Logan." She said calmly. "Stay very still." She didn't have to worry about it, he wasn't moving any time soon.

"Annabeth Chase!" Kelli screeched in a half laugh. "Long time no see!" Logan saw his mom aim.

"You messed with the wrong demigod's kid." Kelli laughed.

"What will you do with a gun? Mortal weapons can't hurt me!" she said smugly. His mother smirked. An amused, dangerous smirk that almost made him feel sorry for Kelli.

"Good thing this isn't a mortal weapon, then." Logan saw understanding dawn on Kelli's face and she tried to make a run for it, but his mom was faster. "Oh, and by the way? It's Jackson now."

She pulled the trigger. Kelli dissolved in a column of smoke and dirt. Some of it landed on him. Logan felt like throwing up, not quite sure if for the monster dust, or the whole terrifying experience. Now that the shock was over, he became conscious of the scorching pain on his shoulder, his every limb was sore and throbbing. He would have liked to say he stood up proudly and handled the pain barely gritting his teeth like an action movie hero. What he did was cry out 'Mom!' and cling to her as soon as she rushed to his side.

Yes, real macho, Logan.

"It's alright, honey, everything's fine now." She told him soothingly. His cheeks burned red. At least he wasn't crying. She pulled him away and took a look at his shoulder, wincing a little. "Ow. It's looking ugly. Dew!" she yelled over her shoulder.

He hadn't noticed, but his mother's car was parked just a few meters back. Dew tumbled out of it, clumsier than ever, crouching beside him to help lift him up.

"You're alive!" he bellowed out. It sounded a little like bleating.

"Yes. And you let my mom face a monster on her own?" he accused. Dew looked offended.

"I knew she could handle it! She's Annabeth Jackson, she's a legen…" his mom cut him off.

"That's enough, Dew." She said gently, checking his wound while walking them to the car. It wasn't deep, but it hurt a lot. It had stopped bleeding, but his shirt had been soaked with blood.

"She's a what?" Logan asked confused, then turned to her. "You're a what?"

"Nothing. Get in the car, both of you. Dew I'll drive you home. I should probably talk to Chiron about this." She said with a sigh.

"Who's Chiron? Your dad?" Logan asked Dew. He did the same bleating thing, but it sounded like laughter this time.

"No, stupid! He's the camp director! Well, activity's director."

"Camp?"

Logan was really confused. He didn't understand what was going on anymore. First he's attacked by some creepy greek monster, then his loving, admittedly a little scary but in no way homicidal mom turns it to dust with a bronze gun, his friend knew all about it and by the looks of it, he knew a lot of other things he hadn't told him. And now his mother was talking to his dad's floating head.

Wait, what?

"What… What?" he pointed at the image of his father, half his body showing through a thin wall of mist. Was that a rainbow?

"Iris Messaging." Dew said happily. "That's the IM I was talking about before."

"But… But…" Logan was at loss for words. Or thoughts. Or actions. He just didn't know how to handle it.

His mother waved her hand through the mist and the image disappeared. Without another word, they hopped into the car and his mother started driving. Silence reigned for a few minutes, the kind of awkward silence that precedes something big, like an explosion. His brain's explosion, Logan guessed.

"Alright, shoot." Annabeth said, keeping her eyes on the road, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Where are we going?" were the first words that tumbled out of his mouth.

"Camp Half-Blood." She said like it answered everything.

"Where?" he asked doubtfully. Her eyes seemed to sadden a little.

"I suppose you wouldn't remember. You were so little…We used to take you a camp… Don't you remember anything?" he forced his memory.

"Just vague, random things. Lots of cabins… People wearing orange. It' the place you and dad met, right?" she smiled at him, the stormy grey in her eyes turned lighter, like silver, the way it always did when she talked about his father.

"Yes. I can't believe you listened to the story." She said jokingly. He blushed.

He had heard it a thousand times, how his parents had met in the camp, how they had hated each other in the beginning, then became friends, then more than friends and then finally got together after years of people telling them to just date already. He even knew they had gotten thrown on a lake after their first kiss, because his Aunt Rachel had told him. He would huff and puff and pretend he was bored, but every time his sister begged to hear the story of how their parents met, he would sit close by and listen. It was embarrassing, but he liked to hear it. It was nice to know his parents liked each other like that.

"Well, I will have to tell you that story again, the full complicated, terrifying, mildly scarring demigod version." She said with a chuckle.

"Demigod." He blurted out. When his mother sent him a questioning look, he explained. "That monster used that word. She called me a demigod. What does it mean?"

His mother turned to him for a second, her eyes sharp and challenging again.

"Think, Logan. You're my son too, you should be able to figure it out."

It came crashing onto him like lightning.

"You don't mean… Not like the myths." She smiled proudly.

"Exactly like the myths."

"But they're just… Ow!" he turned to Dew. He had leaned forward on the back seat and was now applying some kind of medicine to his injured shoulder.

"Don't call them myths, honey. It will upset your grandparents." His mother said cheerfully.

"What are you doing?" he asked Dew.

"Nectar. It heals." His friend said sheepishly.

"Nectar." Logan deadpanned. "Okay." He turned back to his mom. "If what you say is true, mom, then to be a demigod I'd be half human, half-god, right? You're not a goddess." He pointed out. "You're just… Mom." He finished pathetically. She sent him a sympathetic look.

"I suppose if you want to get technical you wouldn't be a half-blood. Maybe… A quarter-blood? But then again, the percentage…" she started, but he cut her off.

"Wait… You… You said grandparents. You said not to upset my grandparents, you don't mean…" she grinned. He shook his head incredulously. "No! I've met grandma and grandpa, they're normal!"

"We prefer to use the term mortal." Dew supplied. Logan glared at him and he shut up.

"You don't mean to tell me… My grandparents are gods."

"Not all of them, no. My mother…"

"No way! Grandma Thena?"

"What do you think Thena stands for, Logue?" she asked him. Her grey eyes were shining. She was having way too much fun with this. He opened his mouth to say he didn't know, but he couldn't. Because he did know.

"Athena." He said quietly.

And the thing was he could believe it. He had met his grandmother before, but he didn't see her much. She had always looked too young to be a grandma, with her black hair and his mom's intelligent calculating eyes. They had told him she lived in another town, but he could easily believe it was another world. This strange side of the world where women had donkey legs and fangs and his mother shot monsters to dust with bronze guns where he was now included. He remembered the last time he had seen her, on his seventh birthday. He remembered trying to squirm away from her measuring eyes, remembered her aura of power. He had cried until she placed a hand on his forehead and muttered a blessing. He had always thought it was a typical grandmotherly blessing. He wasn't so sure now.

Another, even more overwhelming thought occurred to him.

"When grandpa says Poseidon…" he started. His mother cut him off with a loud laugh.

"Yes. He meats it."

He stopped, trying to absorb the information.

Okay. His brain decided. Exploding. Now.

"Why… Why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked. He didn't mean to sound upset, but it just didn't seem fair to dump all of this on his head all of a sudden. His mother's eyes saddened again.

"It's complicated, love. We didn't know what would happen. When demigods realize what they are, monsters find them easier. Your scent gets stronger."

"Now what? I stink?" he grumbled. She chuckled.

"All demigods have scent. It's how monsters find us. We tried raising you in this environment at first. We took you to camp. We taught you mythology. We hoped you'd be safe and turn out mortal. But it wasn't what happened. Monsters found you. We got scared. So we did our best to hide the Olympian factor of our lives."

"But how didn't you know what I'd be?" her expression darkened. Her eyes got that far off look they got some days, before his father talked to her and pulled her back from wherever she'd gone.

"There are no registers of any kid being born of two demigods, sweetheart." She said softly.

"What? Why?"

She turned those sad, haunted eyes to him, and suddenly he remembered all those tales of Greek mythology never ended well. They had always ended with falls from grace, people going insane and tragic deaths. He knew then, that his parents's lives hadn't been easy, that they had gone through a lot to be where they were now. He knew then that they must have sacrificed a lot to be there, talking to him.

"Demigods… Don't usually live that long, love."