Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was originally supposed to be a pinochle game. That much Dionysus is certain of. Rules of engagement typically demanded more than one player but unfortunately for him, the god across the table hasn't moved for the last 15 minutes. Enough is enough, isn't it? 

“You’re staring.”

Apollo startled. “I’m not staring. I’m --”

“Gawking? Gaping?” a slow smile slid over the wine god's face. “Dare I ask: Brother, are you pining?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous," Phoebus scoffed. "I don't pine."

Dionysus hummed. Ever since his return to godhood, Apollo had started coming around the camp more often. Checking in on his kids, chit-chatting with campers, leading archery lessons. The little sunspot had even managed to rope him into semi-regular pinochle games. It was...nice. Not that Dionysus would ever say it out loud, mind you. There were appearances to attend to. 

Recently though, he'd started to notice a couple changes in the sun god. His eyes strayed, he'd get lost in the middle of his sentences, and there was that curious beam of sunlight always following the son of Poseidon around. No, it certainly didn't bode well. Apollo hadn't looked at someone like that in eons. He should report this to someone, no? Maybe Artemis? 

"Oh, denial's no fun. You know, my twelve-step program says that admitting you’ve got a problem is the first step to getting better. I can get you a pamphlet if you're interested.” 

“I don’t have a problem,” Apollo muttered. And he doesn’t, thank you very much. Because if he did, then it would be a huge problem. Apocalyptic, even.

He dragged his eyes back to the hill where Percy Jackson -- twice Savior of Olympus and the current bane of his existence -- is lounging with some of his friends. Oh, he's so totally staring. Really it would be a crime not to, Percy's doing this thing with his hands and --

“You gonna do something about it?” Dionysus asked. He wasn't expecting much of a reaction but the way the sun god winces is enough to spur him on. 

“Apollo," he chortled. "Don’t tell me you’ve got actual feelings for the brat. I think I might have to bully you for that one.”

Apollo aimed a kick at his brother's ankles but the effort only seemed to add to his glee. It’s not like Apollo’s in love with him, thank the Fates. Percy Jackson is just a passing a curiosity. It'll be fine. 

Fine.

He knows he sounds pathetic when he turns to his brother and asks, “Do you know if he has a boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Some hideous, third-rate, completely undeserving beau?... Please don’t say yes.

“Oh, I’m definitely going to bully you for this,” Dionysus smirked, already reigning back a few choice words. "But I wouldn’t know. We’re not exactly on good terms. You could ask Aphrodite...Wait, does she know? Who else knows?" The god of wine drew a big breath. "Can I tell Ares?”

"Okay, that’s enough."

Dionysus looked positively giddy and that’s Apollo’s cue to leave, pinochle game be damned. 

“Wait! You didn’t answer my question! Are you going to do something about it?” 

But Apollo was already walking down the steps of the Big House. “Whatever," Dionysus grumbled. "It’s not like I care.”

He shuffled in his seat. “Just don’t mess this one up!”

Chapter Text

Okay, so maybe it’s a problem. 

It’s not that he’s “hung up on The Menace” as Dionysus so delicately put it. It’s just that it’s a bad idea. Awful, really. Percy Jackson’s got off-limits stamped across his pretty little forehead. If Zeus had sent Dionysus to that demigod camp over a nymph, then Poseidon would certainly toss him into Tartarus if he went near his son. 

Besides, a smaller, sadder part of him reasoned: Daphne. Hyacinthus, Cassandra, Coronis. His lovers had a nasty habit of meeting tragic fates. If his time as Lester had taught him anything, it's that mortals deserved better than to have their lives ruined by petty gods. Especially if that mortal was Percy Jackson.

So he decided to stay away.

It was easy enough...at first. Apollo had no shortage of duties to attend to. People to heal. Plagues to inflict. Artemis’ to annoy. 

Surely there were more than enough beds in Olympus to keep him warm and he didn't shy away from the chance of jumping into them.

Most everyone thought it was his victory lap after returning to godhood but, Aphrodite. Oh, she had started giving him a Look. As if she knew that somewhere along the line, this little craving had spiraled out of control and now Apollo’s on fire and --

Oh sweet heaven and burning hell.

He had to do something before this turned into a tragedy. He couldn’t -- wouldn’t -- let this half-blood be his undoing.

That's how -- when every other recourse had been exhausted -- he found himself teleporting away to Rachel’s cave at Camp Half-Blood.

Rachel was his oracle, which basically meant she was legally obliged to be his friend. Although judging by the glare she was throwing him, maybe she hadn’t read the fine print at the bottom of her contract.  

“Rachel, I am unwell,” he heaved, flopping onto her couch for good measure. There's no screaming or panicked wailing. Instead, Rachel turns to give him a sour once over. 

“Have you been stabbed? Are you poisoned?” She narrowed her eyes. “Is Artemis after you again? I already told you I’d hand you over to her for free so I’m not really sure why you’d hide here of all…”

And he must look extra, extra miserable because Rachel lets her words trail off. It’s a comfortable silence and Apollo’s happy to let his eyes drift over the scenes she’s painted, scanning for traces of a certain demigod.

“What’s wrong?” Rachel sighed. There’s an honest concern in her voice now and a tiny, insignificant part of him wants to cheer. She cares.

It doesn’t make answering the question any easier. He came here to talk about him. To beg Rachel to stop him from jumping from the frying pan, into the Phlegethon. But Rachel’s soft spot for Percy Jackson is a mile wide and when she finds out why he’s here, well...she would probably be happy to do the stabbing and poisoning bit herself. So it’s no surprise that the first time he tries to answer her, his voice is a whisper. Throat struggling against the words. "I'm yearning."

She wasn’t having it. “I’m sorry, what was that? Was that a...word? A noise? A cry for help?” 

There’s a split second where his resolve wavers but then Dionysus’ words come rushing back to him. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to getting better. 

“Rachel, I’m yearning,” he groaned. 

Rachel blinked. Once. Twice.

“You’re not serious...are you?” A giggle. “No, no. Forgive me, my lord. Of course, you’re serious. What else could drive you to such despair?” She rolled her eyes before walking over to one of her unfinished pieces. “So who is it this time then? Another nymph?” 

Slowly, Apollo let his fingers crawl to the edge of a pillow, ready to use it as a shield if it came down to it. Rachel had a known affinity for projectiles.

“Percy Jackson," he whispered, voice a little too raw for his liking. 

"Say that one more time for me."

Apollo squirmed. Tried to remind himself that it's not a prayer, not an incantation, not a summoning ritual. "Perseu--"

Lo and behold, the pillow had been a good idea.

“No. No. Apollo you will NOT--”

A paintbrush bounced off his makeshift shield.

“--do this to him!”

An orange. 

Apollo figured that maybe, once upon a time, he might have inspired some dregs of fear in the mortal. All of it went out the window after Lester and he likes it that way, he does. But it doesn't mean he enjoys the current assault. 

“Have you lost your mind? Have you given this an ounce of thought?" 

She doesn't give him time to say yes.

“First of all... I don’t even know where to start! Okay.” She took a breath and for a moment Apollo let himself hope that the onslaught was over. A god could dream.

“Alright. Let me spell this out for you. First of all, no. Just no. Second of all, you’re a god. Percy could never fall for a god. Third of all, you’re a god with incredibly bad luck. That's right, I’ve heard the stories. Fourth of all, he deserves better.”

He winced but Rachel was just picking up steam. Apollo let his head fall back, stared at the weathered terrain of the cave ceiling. He’d spent the last couple of weeks going over every reason for why crushing on Percy Jackson was a Bad Idea. The reminders aren't necessary. Still, he can feel something in his chest clench. Percy could never fall for a god. 

It’s true. Damningly so. Percy’s dislike of the gods is no secret; it was often the topic of many heated council discussions. He could never feel for Apollo, of all deities. And he doesn’t do unrequited love -- not since Daphne. 

When he tunes back in, he’s surprised that Rachel is still going. 

“Fifteenth of all, even if Poseidon and Sally don’t kill you, good luck with that one by the way. But even if, Apollo...have you met Annabeth Chase? Ha! Haha!” she cackled.

Blonde hair and grey eyes flashed behind his lids. “I know,” he breathed out, getting up from the couch and starting to pace. “I know, okay Rachel? You think I want to get turned into shark bait?" Apollo shuddered at the memory of the time he'd been foolish enough to challenge his uncle to hand to hand combat. Shuddered at the things he'd seen Annabeth do with a knife. 

"I've tried everything. I've tried distracting myself, I've tried dating other people. It's not helping. I just--I’m feeling,” he whined, anger melting into despair.

Rachel crossed her arms and glared. The myths were full of stories of gods losing their heads and chasing after mortals. They really never learned. "Percy's more than just a pretty face, Apollo." And he has to swallow the 'I know'  crawling up his throat because he can't afford that. 

"You don’t know him. You can’t have feelings for someone you don’t know. ” 

Okay so sure. He thinks about incinerating her. Just for a second. “Fine. Whatever you want to call it. I don’t actually want to go down this road again. The last time was bad enough.” He felt his stomach nosedive and for the thousandth time, he cursed Eros to the darkest corner of Tartarus. “That I can't do again. I won't. And if you’d listen then you would know that. Rachel, just-- I need you to tell me how to get over it. How do I make it stop?” He waved a hand in invitation. "Let's brainstorm." 

The words are enough to send Rachel into a stunned silence. Sure, he'd changed after his stint as a mortal but this was most unlike him. What gods wanted, they usually took and Apollo was never particularly inclined to deny himself. She pursed her lips and not for the first time, Apollo found himself overcome by the uncomfortable feeling that Rachel sees too much, too clearly. 

“Go to him.”

Ok, wow. It’s got to be the worst piece of advice he’s gotten in centuries. Maybe Rachel was concussed. He was about to ask her this when she continued. 

“I had a crush on Percy too, once upon a time. So did Nico. Hell, there’s a betting pool on when Annabeth’s gonna ask him out, even if they insist they’re just friends.” She settled back in front of her canvas with a sigh. “It’s like a rite of passage, most people get over it eventually. Maybe it's like, Lester's leftover hero-worship. But c'mon, he’s a mere mortal,” she teased.

“Rachel,--” he was ready to launch into a protest but she waved him away.

“Find three things you don’t like about him and focus on that. It’ll pass.”

Rachel seemed happy enough with her verdict but that didn’t stop Apollo from whining about his torment for a couple more hours. The part of him that had not been tempered by his time as Lester is screaming. Cursing the fact that gravity has rearranged itself. Twisted and inverted and now he's the one spinning helplessly around this little mortal. He makes sure to swear her to secrecy before he leaves. 

Chapter Text

Until he spotted the sun god, Percy didn’t think his day could get any worse. 

He’d been plagued by a bout of terrifying dreams all night. (Turns out skipping through Tartarus does that to you). Then when morning came, Marty called and asked him if he could pick up an extra shift at the cafe. He wasn’t on the schedule today but he didn’t have the heart to say no to her. Marty was one of those people who radiated a warmth that you just wanted to bask in. 

He’d meant to help, he did. But he was tired and the place was so packed that it was making it hard to think. After he messed up four orders and accidentally burnt a tray of pastries, Marty pulled him aside and gently asked him to go home and get some rest. Her chocolate eyes had been nothing but kind but it was still embarrassing. 

By the time he left the cafe, he was exhausted and cranky and wanted nothing more than to collapse into a bed. Which he couldn’t even do because New Rome University was evicting him. 

To be fair, they didn’t say anything the first five times that Percy’s nightmares ruined the dorm’s plumbing. Apparently, six times was their breaking point. It’s cool. It’s fine. Hazel had helped him find a new apartment and he was supposed to be moving in today.

Then he spotted the sun god.

One moment it was just Percy idly walking down the streets of New Rome. Then the next, his eyes landed on sinful blonde curls and bright blue eyes. He froze midstep. It couldn’t be. He wouldn't. But the man smirked and washed away all his doubts. Apollo.

Percy, being a seasoned demigod vet, did the only reasonable thing you can do when a god suddenly appears in front of you. He turned on his heel and dashed off in the opposite direction. A laugh rang out behind him but he didn’t dare check for its source. 

If he could just make it to the plaza then maybe he could lose the god in New Rome’s bustling open-air markets. Twenty steps, fifteen --

It was no use. Percy was just starting to believe that he’d gotten away when Apollo materialized in front of him. 

“Jesus Christ!” he cursed, jumping back to avoid running into the blonde. Percy’s hands automatically scrambled for a weapon but they were past the Pomerian Line. His fingers closed around the bakery bag he’d been carrying. The chocolate croissants were no Riptide but maybe in a pinch... 

“Wrong god, actually,” Apollo smirked, high on the thrill of finally getting to talk to him. “But hey, I’ll forgive you if--”

“I’m converting,” Percy hissed, before turning around again and walking back the way he had originally intended. Whatever Apollo wanted would probably not be good for his life expectancy. He could hear Chiron’s voice chiding 'that’s no way to speak to a god, Percy'. But seriously. Can’t a demigod catch a break? 

Apollo let out a startled laugh. 

“Excuse me?!” he said, falling into step beside him. Dionysus had reported to the council that the war with Gaea had changed Percy; left him bolder. More reckless. He'd seen bits and pieces of it when Percy refused to help him last January but this was still a surprise.

Percy shot him a nasty glare. He willed his legs to move faster but Apollo didn’t have a problem keeping up.

“You said wrong god. Which isn’t true if I’m converting and if I am converting then shouldn’t you leave me alone?”

Somewhere, in a very distant corner of his consciousness, Apollo was aware that he was here for a reason. Something -- something about a list right? Ah, but he'd never been the best at impulse control, and what's a god to do against green eyes threatening holy war? 

“Alright,” Apollo said, giving an easy shrug. “Tell me one commandment then.”

The little survival instinct that Percy had left begged him to shut up, so of course, he ignored it. “Oh. Easy. Thou shall not let yourself be pestered by sun gods. That’s like the first rule,” he gave Apollo a pointed once over. “And something about murder, I think. Though there might be some wiggle room there.” 

The crowds were thinning now and Apollo lifted a hand to his heart in mock offense. Or at least Percy thought it was mock offense. He didn’t have the usual Prepare to get smote look that Percy had come to expect from deities.

“You wound me, Jackson. Tell me, does Poseidon know you’re a born-again? If he doesn’t please let me be there when he finds out." Some of their children subscribed to other traditions, through their upbringing, their lineage. It wasn't uncommon. But no one -- no one had ever stood before the gods and so brazenly threatened to convert. "Wait!" He gasped, enamored by a new possibility. "Who are your godparents going to be?” If you say Chiron, I think he'll kill him.

Percy dodged a woman pushing a stroller. His pace slowed as defeat started to settle in the pit of his stomach. Maybe the god would leave if he played along.

“What do you want, Lord Apollo?” He hoped it sounded like an insult.

The words washed away Apollo's delight and if Percy didn’t know better, he’d almost say the blonde looked nervous. Truth be told, Apollo had forgotten about this little mortal hang up. They always expected the gods to have a reason for doing something. And he can't exactly come clean, can he?

"Right, erm. Yes. I have a quest for you,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. He didn’t. But a fake quest was the oldest trick in the godly handbook. And a quest would be good. If Percy agreed to go with him, it would give them some time together.

Percy scowled. “No thanks,” he grumbled.

Gods and their quests. Word on the street was that Apollo’s time as Lester Papadopoulos had changed him. Apparently not enough. The gods never seemed to understand that demigods had lives to live. Responsibilities beyond attending to their every whim. And really, wasn’t facing down Gaea enough?

“It’s very important,” Apollo insisted, letting honey drip into his voice. 

Percy’s eyes narrowed in irritation. He had to move into his new apartment today, the deadline to return his dorm key was tonight. “Find someone else. We’re surrounded by demigods. There’s--” he stood to the side and pointed off into the distance. “There is literally a legion right there.”

Apollo’s lips twitched. Most mortals only looked to gods in fearful reverence. Many only worshipped them because they were greedy, hungry for the power that only gods could bestow. This was…refreshing.

“I’m afraid that it has to be you. It’s...um… a sea monster,” he winced. Where was he going to get a sea monster from?  

“A sea monster?” Percy deadpanned. He watched Apollo’s hand come up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Yeah. Huge one. Over by the Golden Gate area. Terrorizing the tourists.” Gods he hoped he believed him, Percy’s frown wasn’t moving. “And, uhh. Well. I need a water-proof demigod and since you’re in the area, I figured…”

The demigod raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Apollo definitely looked nervous. 

“It’ll take four hours, tops,” he pressed. “Minimal mortal peril. I just need a little backup.”

Percy wrinkled his nose. Minimal mortal peril, yeah right. He threw a glance at the street behind him and thought about making a run for it. Probably wouldn't get very far. He’d already pushed his luck and arguing with the gods was never wise. Plus, if it was a sea monster then Apollo had been right to come after him, son of the sea god and all.

Finally, he heaved a sigh. “Fine. No, don’t go glowing like that! We’re back in three hours and you’re going to help with my boxes.” 

Apollo tried to cough around his smile. “Boxes?” He asked, shooting for an innocent tone. 

“Boxes,” Percy repeated, crossing his arms. “Non-negotiable, I’m afraid. This is cutting into my day and I’m supposed to be moving into an apartment today. So. Boxes. Take it or leave it.” 

"You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart,” another glare. “But fair is fair. You’ve got a deal.”

Now, what was he going to do about the nonexistent sea monster? 

The trip down to the Gulf of the Farallones didn’t go as he expected. 

Apollo prayed to every sea deity and spirit that he knew, anyone but Poseidon’s brood, for a helpful little sea monster to spring into existence. 

It was just his luck that someone with a sick sense of humor listened. When they got there, Percy said the sea snake was “just a baby! Apollo, you can’t kill her. I won’t help you. Look at her, she’s not even hurting anyone.” 

Really. What did he expect? He remembered the way Percy had fiercely defended “Bessie” the Ophiotaurus in front of the whole council. Percy insisted on leading the (still terrifying) baby monster out to open waters, where it would live happily ever after. Chewing up ships and snatching up tasty divers, or whatever it is sea snakes do in their spare time.

It had been little over an hour and they were already back in the chariot, heading back to New Rome. Suffice to say, Apollo was not in the best mood.  He was still sulking when it dawned on him, maybe this could be one of the things he disliked about Percy. Once could be a mistake, twice a coincidence, but this? This defense of beasts was turning into a pattern and it only pointed to one conclusion. Percy was going to get himself killed. 

He peeked at him. Percy was sprawled over the passenger seat of the Maserati. He dug through the crumpled bakery bag until he pulled out a pastry. A chocolate croissant by the looks of it. 

Apollo figured he could brave it. “You gonna share that?” he asked, testing the waters. 

“No,” Percy muttered. Ripping off half and offering it to him nonetheless. 

He wanted to laugh. Gods didn’t need to eat mortal food, so they didn’t do it often. Having one break bread with you (literally, in this case) was a high honor. Something told him Percy didn’t know that. And if he pointed it out he might snatch the pastry right back. He took a bite.

“Oh Hades,” he groaned. Frowning down at the pastry to make sure it wasn't ambrosia in disguise. “How are these so good?” Maybe they were laced with something.

Next to him, Percy laughed. It didn’t send a thrill down Apollo’s spine. “I know right? Marty’s good. Her baking is like...maybe 70% of the reason why I started working there.”

Oh. Maybe there were a couple of pastry runs in his near future. He allowed himself to look at him again. Happiness looked good on Percy Jackson, making it harder to tear his eyes away.

Okay. So the waters were calm. He hadn’t drowned yet. That had to count for something. 

He rolled the dice. “So, Percy. It’s not often that you meet a hero who’s become a monster apologist…” 

All traces of humor slipped from the demigod's face and if Apollo were a wiser god maybe he would backpedal. “I mean...the ophiotaurus. Your hellhound. Didn’t you rescue a harpy? Don't get me wrong, amazing work really. I'm a fan of Ella. But not all sea monsters are harmless, what are you going to do when-- ”

"Why do you care?" The words lashed out hot enough to burn and Apollo had a hard time keeping his eyes on the road. Remembering that he is the 4,000-year-old deity here.

There's no wink, so slick line that would help and so he let his voice go soft. “I just want to know why,” he answered.

Percy was silent for so long that Apollo had started to believe he wouldn't get a reply. He very nearly jumped when he looked over again and found ocean eyes staring at him, unabashed. 

His hands tightened on the wheel. He bit back the instinct to tease.“Like what you see?” probably wouldn't fly right now. Percy looked like he was sizing him up and Apollo's mind flashed to the Egyptians, who weighed hearts against feathers. 

The demigod's eyes didn't leave his face as he started speaking, which made it really hard for Apollo to pretend that the heat under his collar was just the start of a godly fever. 

“Would you have killed that monster today? If I hadn’t been there, I mean.”

Apollo got the distinct sense that his answer was important but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Probably,” he shrugged. 

The demigod pulled a knee up to his chest and Apollo didn’t even mind that he had his shoes on the seat. Most mortals were such simple creatures that their thoughts and feelings, their prayers screamed to be heard. (It was kind of annoying) Percy was harder to read. Of course, his thoughts would become available if he were to push here, prod there. But Apollo held back. After Lester, the thought of willingly violating his privacy like that made his stomach turn. 

Percy shifted. Apollo's question made him uncomfortable, called up things he'd rather not think about. "I’m not a monster apologist,” he grumbled. Eyes glaring at a cloud on the horizon. And he wasn't. He'd been in too many wars for that. Seen too many bloodthirsty monsters defile the corpses of slain demigods. But he also couldn't deny that he'd been more than conflicted since the war with Gaea ended. “I don't know, I guess it was Iapetus who changed things for me. I--”

Oh but Apollo couldn't help but interrupt. “Iapetus? My great-uncle Iapetus? Titan lord of Mortality, Pain and Violent Death? The one they call the Pier--”

“Yes. Iapetus the Piercer. I’m sorry, do you know another one?” 

Apollo bit his lip. Shook his head. He hoped he hadn’t blown it. 

“Anyway,” Percy grumbled. “Splashed him with some Lethe water. Wiped his memory. You know, like Hera would eventually do to me. Except I told him his name was Bob, I left him with Hades and --” The words seemed to get stuck in Percy’s throat. He ran a hand through his hair before continuing. “When Annabeth and I-- when we were in Tartarus he jumped in after us. Sacrificed himself for us because he thought we were friends.” 

Apollo tried not to let his surprise show. No immortal, be they Titan or God, willingly wandered into Tartarus. And Iapetus purposely sacrificing himself for a half-blood was unheard of. The great-uncle he knew would be happier using their bones as toothpicks. No doubt Percy knew that too. No wonder Iape-- Bob's sacrifice had the godling all out of sorts. It was a walking nature vs. nurture debate.

The demigod was quiet again. They were getting close to New Rome now, much to Apollo's annoyance. He was suddenly very grateful that he still had those boxes to take care of. 

Before he couldn't think of something, anything to say, Percy spoke again. “I just don’t know what to do with that, you know?” His words were a waterfall now. Too fast, too raw. “I mean, Bessie the ophiotaurus, Mrs. O’Leary the hellhound, Ella the harpy, Bob the Titan Lord of Violent Death...How do you ignore that? Aren’t they proof of something? That things don’t have to be like this?”

Each question sounded more and more like an accusation and Percy wasn't altogether sure that they weren't. 

Jesus Christ, Apollo thought. This was supposed to be what he disliked about him. He was supposed to be just a pretty face. He would have much preferred if Percy hadn't gone and jabbed at one of the things that had been nipping at Apollo since he regained his godhood. Since he realized that troglodytes, Pandai's, peach spirits, and humans all had equally worthwhile lives.

Apollo swallowed around the lump in his throat. Percy’s honesty was disarming...and his stubborn belief in redemption made Apollo’s worst memories flash behind his lids. A selfish little part of him wondered if there was a limit to the boy’s willingness to forgive monsters. It's a terrible thought, a forbidden one. He cannot allow himself to crave that.  

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked. He considers shooting himself with a plague arrow a second later, when he realizes how rude the question might sound. Because you asked, dumbass. 

Percy doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he leans back in his seat and shoots him a humorless smile. “Because you would have killed Pearl today. A needless death."

It takes Apollo a second to connect the dots.

“Pearl...the sea snake?” Percy nodded.

"Anyone ever tell you, you’re not the best at names?”

Percy laughed, startled and Apollo doesn’t want to admit how hard it is to fight down the blush at his approval. 

He doesn’t even mind when they pull up outside his apartment building and he says: “Fourth floor. Apartment 4B. The boxes are in that car and hey? No bippity boppity. You’re taking the stairs.” 

He’s breathless when he leaves and it’s not because of the stairs. 

Chapter Text

Aphrodite rolled her eyes as she heard Apollo sigh for the umpteenth time. The nymphs and wind spirits around Olympus had been whispering, carrying rumors that the sun god was going through another one of his life crises. Apparently, they rang true. Apollo was in a foul mood.

“You know, my friend Bo used to say that whoever says money can’t buy happiness simply doesn’t know where to shop.” She flicked her eyes over a mannequin showing off a pale blue dress. It would look better on her. 

Apollo frowned down at the shoes in his hands but he didn’t say anything. It had taken him about a year and half to restore his immortality this time around. Barely the blink of an eye for a goddess of Aphrodite’s caliber, but she had missed her shopping partner. 

“If Milan isn’t good enough for you, we can go to Paris. London? Dubai? Honestly Apollo, you were the one who said you didn’t want to go shopping on Olympus. We could be having a beautiful time. Peitho’s opened up this new boutique and it’s-”

“Milan is fine,” Apollo grumbled. His golden curls were brushed back and he was tanned in that way only a sun god could be, but she still saw too much of Lester in his eyes. The last couple of times Apollo had regained his immortality he’d thrown extravagant parties to remind everyone of his divinity. That hadn’t happened this time around. Even Zeus was starting to get a little disgruntled at the way Apollo seemed to be avoiding the gods. 

Being the goddess of love, Aphrodite had more than an inkling as to his current affliction. It was a curious thing really. She had promised Percy Jackson an interesting love life but even she hadn’t seen this one coming. 

“Here,” he said, picking something off the rack and shoving it her way without a glance. “Try this.”

Aphrodite blinked. “Camo? Brown camo?" She ripped the awful thing away from him and held it at arm's length. “Gods, Apollo. Are you defective? Answer honestly.”

Apollo jumped. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed when his eyes caught the ankle-length skirt she was currently strangling. “Sorry...I’m a little distracted today.”

“Seriously, what’s up with you? You haven’t even tried anything on.” 

“Like you don’t know,” he muttered, shooting her a miserable glare.

Aphrodite fluttered her eyelashes in her best Who me? expression but Apollo’s glare only worsened. “Don’t give me that look, I know you know,” he sniffed. 

He’d last seen Percy two weeks ago and the high that the visit had left him with had quickly worn off. Stupid demigods with their stupid green eyes. Healthline dot com had this article, “How To Get Over a Crush, Even When You Have To See Them Everyday.” He didn’t have to see Percy every day, but it’s not exactly like he wanted to stop looking. Which was exactly his problem. No matter how many times he poured over the thing, it wasn’t helping. 

Aphrodite gave a non-committal “hmm” and turned to flick through the rack of clothes in front of her.  

Apollo’s rocky history with love meant that he had a rocky history with her. It had taken a long time for their friendship to develop and sometimes -- when Eros was around -- things were still a little tense. 

“Don’t be rude,” she replied. “Anyway, like I was saying. Maybe you’re shopping at the wrong store. Why don’t you get yourself a danish? Or was it a strudel?” She smirked as she caught Apollo’s growing blush. “No, I don’t think so. Oh, let me see--”

"That’s not -- I don’t -- That’s not funny, Aphrodite!” 

“Who says I’m joking?” she challenged. “Listen, it’s getting late and I have a date tonight, anyway. So why don’t I go to my happy place and burn this,” she gestured at the skirt folded over in her arms. “And you go to yours and eat a doughnut or something.”

She watched clouds roll over his brow. Ugh, talk about dense. The poor thing was running around like a headless chicken, fueled by some godsawful advice from that oracle. Lucky for him, Aphrodite didn’t mind giving him a gentle nudge--or shove-- in the right direction. “I think it would do you some good,” she added, giving him one last once over. Poseidon wouldn’t be happy but they’d make a cute couple. The bachelor god brought to his knees by the hero damned by loyalty. Yes, they had...potential. 

Apollo frowned. “What do you mean? What do you know?” he asked, but Aphrodite was already walking away. 

Percy groaned as he watched Apollo stroll into the cafe. Maybe there was still time to quit his job…

He sighed, turning his attention back to table three and the drinks he was supposed to be delivering. Would ignoring him help? His mind flashed back to the time he was left hanging from a billboard over Times Square -- without his pants mind you --just because Apollo lost his celodon. He decided ignoring him wouldn’t hurt.

He was still charting escape routes in his head when Eddie, another waitress, leaned over his shoulder and whispered, “He asked for you. Table 7. Hot blonde.” Percy’s back stiffened, his last hopes for a normal day withered before his eyes.

As he trudged up to him a memory bubbled in his ears. Thalia’s blushingly whispered “he’s hot,” that night when they’d first met him. He shook the thought from his head, took one last calming breath, and slid into the seat opposite the god. 

“If the world is ending again, do you think we could reschedule? My shift doesn’t end for another two hours. I can pencil you in around then.” 

Apollo tilted his head to the side, clearly taken aback. “Why would the world be ending?”

Percy frowned. “Why else would you be here?” He glanced around the dining room. The chatter continued uninterrupted, no one seemed to have noticed the Olympian. “Seriously my shift doesn’t end for another two hours, I don’t have time to go on a quest for you right now. I don’t really care if you lost another celodon or if there’s Muse stuck in a tree, or, or --”

Apollo snorted. “I’m perfectly capable of getting a Muse down from a tree on my own, thank you very much.”

With his baby blue shirt and gelled back hair, Apollo looked like he'd been plucked fresh off a runway. The picture was only ruined by the sullen frown on his face, and the nervous hands that were tearing a napkin to shreds. Something about him seemed decidedly off and if he weren't a god, Percy might have felt a little guilty for snapping at him.

Apollo sighed. He tore another piece off his napkin and rolled it into a tight little ball. Aphrodite said this would be good for him, Rachel thought getting to know Percy was the first step to getting over him and he had poured over silly dating columns (mortal and divine alike) but no scrap of advice could dull the unmooring in his chest. And across from him, just a table's width away sat the source of all his woe. “What if I said I just wanted to have a nice meal with a friend?”

He braced himself, 95% sure that the offer would be gutted, but rejection doesn't come. 

“Oh,” Oh. Percy blinked, feeling a blush start to come over his cheeks. That would make sense, actually. Seeing as how they were in a cafe and all. “Sorry,” He said, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. ”After all the death threats and the kidnapping, you start to get a little twitchy around gods. Um, let me get you started with some water while you wait.”

He didn’t exactly run away but it was a close call. Unholy gods, that was embarrassing. Talk about self-centered. He didn’t want to be some pretentious asshole thinking that every god that came around was looking for him. And Poseidon’s Underpants, he worked in a cafe! This kind of thing was probably to be expected. 

His cheeks were still a little pink when he brought the water over. “Can I get you anything else while you wait?” he asked, trying to summon his best customer service voice. 

Apollo’s eyes darted between Percy and the glass of water now set in front of him. “ Actually, I..I meant -- well.” He settled his gaze on Percy, a strange amusement playing out on his face. “Nevermind, I’ll take a coffee and whatever you recommend for today.”

"Right.” This situation was too weird. “Cream and sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

Percy tried to keep his expression neutral and non-judgemental but something must have slipped by because Apollo’s smile only got wider. Honestly, even Annabeth didn’t take her coffee black. 

“Be right back, then.”

Except he wasn’t. I mean, Apollo was waiting for someone, right? He didn’t need to go rushing back to embarrass himself again. So he checked on his other tables, made unnecessary chit chat with the customers, wiped down the counter. It didn't do much to distract him. Apollo's gaze burned and as his skin heated, Percy tried not to wonder if this is what those rotisserie chickens at the supermarket felt like. 

“Enjoy,” he said, offering Apollo a tight-lipped smile as he set the coffee on the table. “And the uh, the cinnamon rolls are fresh.”

Standing this close to him, the heat was impossible to ignore. Maybe it was a sun god thing? Like how Ares’ aura made people angry, or how Aphrodite drew suckers in. 

Percy took a step back, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. “Let me know if I can get you anything else,” he said, before going back into the kitchens. 

He peeked around the doorway to the table where Apollo was now drinking his coffee. Looking at the slump in his shoulders, the same nagging little feeling demanded his attention. Something definitely seemed off. 

“No. Nope. Not my problem,” he muttered, picking up a broom and deciding to clean the back instead of going out there again. He was halfway done when Eddie walked in, her eyes widening in surprise. 

“Oh hey, there you are! So, has he asked for your number yet?” she grinned. 

Percy jumped. “It’s not like that,” he hissed. “He’s -” he cut himself, realizing that he couldn’t just blurt out the fact that there was an Olympian in the dining room. “We just happen to know each other. And he came here to meet a friend.” 

“Huh. Well, you’ve been hiding out back here for twenty minutes and the friend never showed. So...” She trailed off, jerking her thumb in the direction of the dining room.

Percy took a deep breath. He had hoped that someone else would take over the table in his absence but no such luck. “Yeah, got it.”

He trudged through the dining room, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. It’s just Fred, he told himself. It’s just Fred. It’s just Lester. It’s just Apollo. By the time he got to table seven, he was actually feeling a little better. No doubt it helped that Apollo looked so...normal. 

“Did you get stood up?”

Apollo turned to him, offering a small smile. “Looks like it, yeah.”

Percy surveyed the empty spot at the other end of the table, the napkins that had been ripped to shreds, and the sad cup of coffee that must have gone cold long ago. “Maybe you need better friends,” he blurted out, before realizing his mistake. Insulting a god's choice in companions? One deep-fried Percy coming up. 

But Apollo didn't look murderous. He leaned forward, eyes dancing. “Oh are you offering?” he asked. 

“Uh--”

“Because say no more. I accept, of course.” He grinned. 

"Actually, that's not what I-"

"Though I already considered us friends. Maybe now you'll actually take me up on that offer to drive the chariot."

Percy opened his mouth but the words didn’t come. How did they end up here?  He wanted to say “No, I don’t need any more gods in my life, thank you very much,” but Apollo looked genuinely hopeful. 

“Can I get you anything else?” he grumbled. Deities were weird, erratic. Maybe if he just pretended it didn’t happen, things would be fine.

Apollo shook his head, still smiling as he made a show of getting up. “Oh no. No, this has been great. Thank you, friend. I’ll see you around...friend.”

He stood and Percy squinted at the inch of difference in their heights. Apollo was heading for the door when Percy's brain caught up. "Wait!" he called out. “You still need to pay!” Apollo didn't turn but when he looked back at the table, there was a little pouch of drachmas where the god had been. A glance at the door confirmed that he was gone.

Percy took a minute to steady himself. The gentle hum of the cafe lapped at his ears. The clock told him that it wasn’t even two o’clock yet. Maybe he should send the Fates a fruit basket or something...

That night, long after the sun has set, Percy's skin still feels too warm.

"Stop moving,” he hissed. Being an older brother to Estelle comes with responsibilities. And there's a lot of them -- staying up to date on toddler gossip, learning the words to her favorite Sesame Street songs. It’s a very demanding job.

Chief among his responsibilities? Hair braiding. 

“I’m never going to learn if you don’t stop wiggling.”

Annabeth snorted, her eyes stayed closed. “Percy, she barely has any hair. You’ll be fine .” 

Her head is pillowed in his lap and his hands are tangled in her curls. Nights like this, spent with her, feel like a balm. Percy squinted at the half-finished waterfall braid he was working on. "This one's not so bad," he mused. He would have to undo some of his work but it was still salvageable. "I've definitely done worse on Leo."

"You have," she grinned, fingers coming up to trace over his progress. "It would look better if you weren't distracted." 

Percy swallowed. He looked down to make sure his hands weren't shaking. This is it, he thinks to himself. This is the part where I tell her about Apollo. But somehow, the words won't come out. "I'm not distracted," he muttered. 

Annabeth hummed. She can see through the lie, he's sure of that. Sometimes Percy thinks that if he got himself blown into a thousand pieces, Annabeth would still know how to put him back together. Atom by atom. Maybe it's because she knows him so well that she doesn't push for more. 

"I almost jumped my professor today," she says instead. An oh, Percy knows a lifeline when he sees one and he's grateful for the change in conversation. 

"Did they deserve it?" Doesn't matter. He'd back her anyway. 

"He did," she muttered. Percy sighed, let Annabeth's story wash over him, and tried very hard not to think of any other blondes.

Chapter Text

Apollo frowned down at the steering wheel of his Maserati. He’d jumped in, ready to raise the sun and usher in a new day but right there -- tacked onto the steering wheel, in almost indecipherable chicken scratch-- was a note that read:

"Got a kid in Arizona. I think he’s in trouble. Check it out will ya? I’d do it myself but I heard that’s your thing nowadays. - Hephaestus” 

He sighed, ripping the note from the steering wheel and crumpling it in his hand. The gods had taken to asking him for help with rogue demigods ever since he’d regained immortality. He knew why. In the old days, he’d been known as the protector of youths. He’d forgotten about that part of himself over the millennia. And...yeah, that was probably another part of the reason why Zeus struck him down. 

Apollo rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension building in his neck. He didn’t mind helping out -- liked it honestly -- but the gods had a lot of kids and he’d picked up a couple of new realms since the ancient days. Busy didn’t even begin to cover it. 

“Alright, kid,” he grumbled. “Let’s see what kind of mess you’re in.” Apollo closed his eyes, concentrating on Arizona and Hephaestus’ energy signature. His hands clenched as the visions started to flood his mind. 

He found himself standing in the middle of a messy room. Dirty cleats and an overflowing laundry bag were shoved into a corner and right there, in the middle of the room, was a kid sleeping in his bed. He couldn’t be older than thirteen. There was no immediate sign of danger but he could sense a darkness gathering in the distance. 

Apollo let the force draw his consciousness. He was yanked some 30 miles out, to a junkyard way past the outskirts of town. There, in the middle of the scraps of metal, Pasiphae’s son sniffed at the ground. Maybe the monster sensed his presence because he lowered his horns and charged at the nearest wreck.

Apollo’s eyes flew open, his hands automatically reaching back to grab an arrow from his quiver but there was nothing there. Still in the chariot, right. 

The Minotaur was a deadly beast, and if he was newly risen then his hunger for demigod blood would be ten-fold. Hephaestus’ son, an untrained demigod sleeping peacefully in his bed, would make for easy pickings. There was no time to waste. 

“Uhh, hey Ra,” he called out, scrambling out of the chariot. “Something's come up. Could you pick up the slack today? I promise I’ll make it up to you. Dinner and a movie?” He wasn’t sure if the Egyptian god would hear him but he had to hope. 

He was halfway out of the Palace of the Sun when he realized he didn’t know where he was going. He froze. He had to do something, sure, but Zeus’ growing anger over his time in the mortal realm was no secret. He wouldn't be able to smite down the Minotaur without invoking his Father’s wrath. Apollo dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. 

What’s the point of being a god -- the supposed protector of youth at that -- if direct interference is forbidden? Fire sprung from his fingers as his temper flared. What was the point of learning to be better if he couldn’t actually be better? 

He took another step and summoned his bow, nocking an arrow into the bowstring. His fingers tensed. If he released the arrow, the Minotaur would fall. Simple as that.

Meg’s voice rang in his ears. “Okay, so say you kill the Minotaur.” Gods, he could almost see her picking her nose in front of him. “What’s gonna happen if Zeus takes his anger out on that kid?” 

Apollo lowered his bow with a groan. He couldn’t take that chance, he’d have to get help.

Apollo stared up at the white marble building in front of him. It had been a week since he’d seen Percy at the cafe and he wasn’t planning on coming back so soon. Especially not at 3 a.m on a Saturday morning. With the whole, east to west thing, California wasn’t scheduled to see the sun for a couple more hours. 

He grimaced, deciding to take the stairs rather than teleporting right to his door. Percy had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in any more quests so this visit was not going to earn him any points. Uhh, not that earning points was the goal. Though honestly, between Rachel, Aphrodite, and Healthline dot com, he was a little confused. He hadn’t even had time to look up how to be friends with your crush on Google. 

“No time to waste,” he muttered, raising a hand to knock on Apartment 4B. 

Silence. 

He was raising his hand to knock again when the door swung open, revealing a bleary-eyed Percy Jackson. “Annabeth is that you--.” He flinched as his brain registered that the blonde in front of him was Apollo and not the daughter of Athena. “Please tell me I’m hallucinating,” he whispered. 

Apollo’s eyes automatically flicked down. Tight black boxers and a rumpled white undershirt. Sweet Sybil. “That’s cute,” he drawled. “Dreaming would be a better word but you know, I appreciate the sentiment.” 

The surprise on Percy’s face was washed away by a fresh wave of anger. “It is--,” he whirled around to face a clock on the wall. “It is three in the morning!” he hissed. “I’m not doing this.”

He moved to slam the door in his face but Apollo wedged his foot in the frame at the last minute. Ouch. 

“It’s important.”

“It always is!” Percy called back, still pushing at the door. 

“It’s the Minotaur!” he countered, and for a second, the door stopped trying to crush his foot. Percy had a history with the Minotaur, he was the only demigod to have faced him twice and still live to tell the tale. 

Percy yanked the door back, eyes still fierce. “Find. Someone. Else.”

The image of the sleeping boy flashed in Apollo’s head -- gods, he didn’t even know the kid’s name. “I’d love to, honestly, I would. But we don’t have a lot of time, he’s stalking a demigod -- Hephaestus’ kid -- and if we don’t do something soon, the kid’s a goner.” 

Percy’s fists clenched and Apollo got the distinct impression that he was picturing all the ways he could turn Apollo into fish bait. And he was, but he was also thinking about the last time he turned down a quest with Apollo. The price for that had been Jason's death. If he said no again, there was no guarantee that this other half-blood wouldn't suffer the consequences. Slowly, his anger seemed to dull into resigned irritation and he turned to walk back into the apartment. “Fine. I need to get dressed, and then we--” He turned back to Apollo and gave him a tired once over. “You are coming, right?” 

Apollo tried to quiet the thrill he felt at the way Percy just expected them to go together. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. “No, yeah. Of course. Totally. I mean, absolutely.”

Percy squinted at him before shaking his head and disappearing further into the apartment. Apollo rocked onto the balls of his feet, unsure if he should follow. He hadn’t been invited in but waiting outside was awkward. You’re a god, he reminded himself. A couple of months ago you wouldn’t have even thought about an invitation. 

He took a tentative step inside, then another, and another. He still felt like a trespasser by the time he made it into the living room. Percy hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on but Apollo fixed that with a quick snap of his fingers. 

His eyebrows shot up as the apartment revealed itself. There hadn’t been much to see the last time he’d been here, helping with the boxes. He was still doing a 360 -- admiring the place --when he realized Percy was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and frown solidly in place.

“You done judging?”  

“Oh-- I wasn’t. I’m not. This is nice,” he winced. Smooth. Percy would probably take that the wrong way. “I like it. Very...open, light. I didn’t know you had an eye for interior design.”

“I don’t,” he answered, pushing off from the doorframe. Apollo swallowed as he brushed by. “But I’ll let Hazel know you like it. Now, c’mon. We gotta get my sword from Terminus.”

Oh. Fuck. 

Terminus. 

They walked to the Pomerian Line in silence, which gave Apollo plenty of headspace to panic about Terminus ( that gossip! ) and keep track of the Minotaur’s location. By his best estimates, they had about half an hour to intercept the Minotaur and save that kid’s life. 

Apollo hung back as Percy awkwardly tried to shake the boundary god awake. 

“Uh, Terminus? C’mon man, wake up. I need Riptide.”

Terminus grunted. “Wha- Ho! Who’s there?! Are we under attack? Oh, I’ll blast ‘em, I’ll blast ‘em right to bits!”

Percy stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender. “No, no one’s attacking. It’s just me. I’m...going somewhere, so I need Riptide back.”

“Oh, Jackson,” Apollo figured that if Terminus had hands, he might be holding one to his heart at this very minute. Marble eyes widened when he registered the sun god. “And...Apollo.”

He glanced between them before finally fixing Percy with an awfully insulting you-can-do-better look. “Seriously? Apollo ?” 

Apollo rolled his eyes. It took Percy another second to read between the lines. “It’s not like that!” he blushed, throwing Apollo an accusatory glare. “I...It’s about a monster, Terminus.”

“Oh, sure,” the god chortled. “Like I haven’t heard that one before. No, I’m sure you sneaking out of the city with him in the middle of the night is completely innocent.”

Percy looked like he was about to argue but Terminus didn’t give him a chance. “I’m not judging...Okay, I mean, maybe I am judging a little but hey, it’s none of my business. Take your sword, have a good time,” he smirked. 

Percy’s hand flew to his pocket, where Apollo assumed Riptide had just reappeared. He coughed into his hand and took a step forward. Normally, he wouldn’t mind letting rumors fly but this was different. 

“He’s not lying to you Terminus. The Minotaur’s stalking a demigod in Arizona. I figure we have about 30 minutes, probably less now, to intervene before things get bloody.” He raised a hand and waved it in the sky’s general direction. “I’m not supposed to be here, and you know how he gets. If you could keep this to yourself, I would be in your debt.” Apollo made sure to bow his head for good measure. 

Terminus still looked doubtful but the promise of being owed a favor by an Olympian was a powerful one. He glanced back at Percy who still looked very flustered. “Demigods,” he grunted. “Always dying at the worst times, amiright?. Alright, I’ll take your word for it. Just try not to wake me next time.” He yawned, and the marble of his body tried to shift into a more comfortable position. “Hair’s getting a little long, Jackson. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Thanks, Terminus,” Percy ground out, stubbornly ignoring the dig about his hair. He turned to Apollo and sighed. “How are we going to get to Arizona in less than 30 minutes?” 

“Easy,” Apollo smiled, nodding over to the bottom of the hill. He kept his eyes trained on Percy, not wanting to miss the flash of appreciation that would always cross his eyes at the sight of the Maserati. 

Somewhere in Arizona, the Minotaur caught a demigod’s scent. 

He cleared his throat. “Better hurry up now,” he said, as he started back down the hill. Percy trailed after him, mood clearly not helped by Terminus’ ribbing. 

They rode in silence for about ten minutes, with Percy bouncing his leg, picking at his shirt, and fiddling with the pen in his hands. At the eleventh minute, his patience gave out. “Can’t you go any faster?” 

Apollo raised a brow, glancing at the demigod sulking next to him. “You’re really not a morning person, are you?”

Percy sat up, squaring his shoulders for a fight. “When you get dragged out of bed in the middle of the night by a-- well, by you,” he glared like it was the most insulting thing he could have said. "Just to go on a quest to--”

“Don’t think about it as a quest. Say it’s an expedition. An experience. A favor for a friend.”

Percy frowned, fixating on the end of his sentence. Apollo had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Gods, winding him up was too easy. “A friend? You were serious about that?”

“Oh, weren’t you?” he asked, turning to face him. 

Apollo, the right bastard, looked the picture of innocence.

“You keep your eyes on the sky,” Percy snapped. 

He was silent for a beat and then he followed it up with, “Friend’s don’t make friends go on quests.”

Apollo grinned, “So you admit we’re friends then?”

Percy whipped his head around so fast that Apollo was surprised he didn’t hear a crack. “How did Meg ever put up with you?”

Memories of Meg threatening him with bloody murder bubbled to the surface and he laughed. Percy’s frown only deepened at that. “So what we’re getting at here is that you’re really not a morning person.” 

He risked another glance at Percy, who looked just about ready to throttle him. A little traitorous voice in his head whispered: You could kill me and I’d thank you, you know? He brushed the thought away and decided to keep pushing his luck. 

“It’s one of the things I don’t like about you, actually,” he sniffed. 

Percy’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, do you have a list?”

Apollo held his gaze, trying to contain his amusement. “It’s numbered, actually.”

Percy pursed his lips, trying to decide if the god was telling the truth. He gave up with a huff, raising a hand to rub at his temple. “You know what, just drive. It’s too early for this.”

Chapter Text

“I see him,” said Percy, leaning up in his seat.

Apollo looked over to where the demigod had pointed and sure enough, there was the Minotaur -- scavenging for food in a dumpster behind an abandoned Denny’s. If it wasn’t for the fact that the Minotaur was, you know, a bloodthirsty beast, Apollo might have actually felt bad for him. 

“Tell me again why you can’t just shoot him from here,” Percy frowned. 

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “Nothing would make me happier,” he ground out. Especially because it would mean that the very breakable, very mortal demigod next to him wouldn’t have to face those horns. “But I’ve been doing this a lot lately and Zeus is...not happy about it. You remember the whole interfering-in-mortal-affairs bit?”

Percy twirled the pen in his hands. “Funny. That little Ancient Law never seems to stop you from meddling in my life.” 

Apollo ignored the dig favor of concentrating on their descent. The chariot touched down some blocks away from the rundown Denny’s but he willed the Mist to thicken around them just to be safe. No need to alert the monster to their presence just yet. 

Nerves bubbled in his chest as he parked the car at the curb. He remembered what it felt like to be Lester, fragile bones and too-thin skin. “One time, I think it was in Sparta, I had to heal this hero after he had an unfortunate run-in with the Minotaur. I mean, he lived of course but still, death would have been kinder.” Apollo tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. He knew was babbling but he couldn’t seem to stop. “Oh, and there was this other time, in Spain, a total bloodbath. Where do you think they got the whole ‘running of the bulls’ thing from? You should have seen it. Even Ares --”

Percy raised a hand to quiet him. “Is this supposed to be a pep-talk? You could at least try to say something encouraging, you know.”

Apollo tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace. “I encourage you not to die,” he chirped. 

Percy gave him a strange look before reaching for the door. “I’ve done this before,” he grumbled. “Just...wait in the car.” 

Just wait in the car. He could do that. Apollo tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he watched Percy start walking down the street. He’d spent thousands of years sitting back on his throne, watching as mortals dueled with monsters. This was no different. 

The Minotaur raised his head, sniffing at the air. 

“Hey Ugly!” Percy shouted. “Remember me?”

The Minotaur roared in recognition, meaty hands ripping away at the dumpster. "Did you enjoy your stay in Tartarus?"

Apollo swallowed. The monster's nose was red, raw, and dripping with snot. Percy still didn’t break his stride. 

“My friends ran into your mom, Pasiphae, in the House of Hades. You do not want to know what happened there.”

And with that, the Minotaur charged. 

Wait in the car. Wait in the car. Wait in the car. 

Percy still hadn’t drawn Riptide, but he picked up speed and ran to meet the Minotaur. Apollo groaned. Stupid, reckless sons of Poseidon.

A second before they met in a head-on collision, Percy dropped down into a baseball slide, easily slipping between the Minotaurs legs. He jumped up behind him and uncapped Riptide, bringing the sword down in an arc that left a terrible gash in the Minotaurs back. 

“ Yes,” Apollo hissed, but the victory was short-lived. The Minotaur screamed in pain and instinctively swung an arm back. Percy’s eyes widened but he had nowhere to go. The monsters fist connected and he was sent flying through the air. He hit the Denny’s wall hard enough to leave a dent. 

Apollo’s mind blanked and the next thing he knew, he was hurtling out of the chariot. “Hey Beef Boy!” he called out, waving his hands in the air. “Over here!”

The Minotaur stumbled, the wound in his back must have been deep. He looked between the two of them like he was trying to decide who to shish kabob first. Percy took advantage of his hesitation. 

“You call that a punch?” he groaned. “You can do better than that, c’mon let me show you.” His hand clenched and the fire hydrant at the end of the block exploded. The water morphed into a fist as it rushed towards the monster and when it connected, the Minotaur was sent skidding across the asphalt. 

Apollo’s eyes locked on Percy in newfound appreciation. The demigod stood and winced as he rolled his shoulders. 20 feet away, the Minotaur sputtered. His legs shook as he scrambled to make a run for it, defeated. 

“That’s no fun,” Percy muttered. "Not so brave without Kronos' army backing you up, huh?"

He planted his feet and let Riptide fly from his fingertips. The sword sank into the monster’s back, right between the shoulder blades. The Minotaur gave one last pitiful grunt before he disintegrated. 

Percy’s chest heaved. He was still for a second before he turned to scowl at Apollo. “I thought I told you to stay in the car.”

Apollo raised his hands in surrender. He did not want to follow the Minotaur down to Tartarus. “Technically, you told me to wait in the car. And I waited...until you got tossed in the air like a ragdoll." Percy's brows furrowed but Apollo didn't wait for an interruption. "How badly are you hurt?”

“I didn’t get tossed,” Percy scoffed. He winced as he leaned down to pick up his sword. “And I’m not hurt. Nothing’s broken,” he complained. 

Apollo raised a brow. “God of truth, babe. And medicine, and healing, and --”

“Giving me stupid quests,” Percy groused. 

Oh! How cute. “I like that,” Apollo grinned. “God of giving Percy Jackson stupid quests. Has a nice ring to it.” What's one more title to a god like him?

He made sure to keep his movements slow and predictable as he approached. “But you are hurt. And ‘nothing’s broken’ is a terrible standard for your health. The least I can do is help.” 

Percy’s jaw clenched. Demigods. Always trying to push the limits of their mortality. Thankfully, Percy gave a sharp nod after a beat. 

Apollo took a deep breath. You’ve done this before, he reminded himself, as he walked around the demigod. Gingerly, he raised his hands and placed them on Percy’s back, where he’d taken the brunt of the impact. 

He frowned. The physical connection gave him a better sense of the demigod’s health. He hadn’t been sleeping, hadn’t been eating well either. Nothing was broken but if he didn’t do anything, Percy would be dealing with some nasty bruising for a couple of weeks. 

Warm energy flowed his hands as he whispered a blessing. Apollo took a step back and crossed his arms. “You have a Vitamin D deficiency," he declared. Like Percy had committed some cardinal sin. "Do you know what that can do to your immune system? One little plague and bam! Bye-bye Jackson."

The demigod rolled his eyes. “I appreciate the help and all, but don’t go getting all Will™ on me. I can take care of myself."

Apollo’s eyebrows shot up. He was gearing up to fly into a tirade but Percy cut him off. “What are we going to do about that demigod?”

The god blinked. He hadn’t thought about that. Hephaestus’ kid was old enough that he would be attracting more monsters soon. Leaving him unprotected would be a bad idea and there was no telling when a satyr would be able to make it all the way out to Arizona. 

He turned back to the demigod in front of him. “The kid’s about claiming age anyway. We can talk to his parent, see how they feel. He’s Greek but maybe he can stay at Camp Jupiter. If not, I’m sure some good little Romans will be happy to escort him to New York.”

Percy gave his best impression of a solemn nod and Apollo squinted. He’d seen that face before, all the times Poseidon had tried to bullshit Zeus. “You’re trying to distract me!” he gasped. “This conversation isn’t over.” 

Percy groaned. “Maybe I can walk back to San Francisco,” he said, taking a few steps due north.

It was Apollo’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, San Francisco is that way,” he pointed.

"Right then." Percy nodded. Pivoting on his heel and stomping off in the direction Apollo had signaled. 

Oh, he had to be joking. 

“Wait! Percy... Perseus! Please don’t leave me here to talk to the mortals alone,” Apollo pleaded, chasing after him. 

Percy sighed. It was past sunrise by the time they loaded back into the sun chariot. Apparently, Hephaestus had declined to tell Max’s mother that he was a god. Not entirely unusual. It took some cajoling to convince Mrs. Jones that the deities were real and that the ancient world was still very much alive. But really, when an actual Olympian rolls up to your door to tell you this, it’s pretty hard to ignore the truth. 

“This is so cool! ” Max cried out, nose pressed against the windows in the back seat. “I always wanted to invent a flying car! How does it work? How fast can it go? Do you have a spare?”

Apollo chuckled. “Nah, she’s one of a kind, kid. Fastest chariot in the skies,” he beamed. 

“Remind me to ask Artemis about that,” Percy murmured, smiling at god’s answering glare.

Whatever magic Apollo had worked on him earlier had certainly done the trick. It had been weeks since he felt so rested and relaxed. Percy sank deeper into his seat. The warmth of the chariot was intoxicating and he was happy to get lost in the rhythm of the rapid-fire Q&A that Max and Apollo had going on. 

It wasn’t long before they were walking past the shops that lined the Via Praetoria, hoping to have an audience with Frank or Hazel in the principia. 

Percy shoved his hands in his pockets and trailed a few steps behind Max and Apollo. The god had slung Max’s hastily packed duffel over his shoulder and the two were chatting away like old friends. But Percy’s thoughts were far away -- with Jason, and Bacchus, and that arena in Rome.

“Hey guys,” he said, nodding his greetings to the guards stationed outside the principia . “It’s okay, they’re with me. We need to talk to the Praetors.” 

The guards relaxed once they recognized Percy and groggily stepped out of their way. 

“Woah,” Max breathed out as they stepped into the building. Percy smiled. With the glittering mosaic of Romulus and Remus adorning the ceiling, the polished marble floors, and the walls draped in velvet, the principia really was breathtaking. 

And there -- behind the long wooden table at the center of the room -- sat Hazel, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. “Oh, Percy!” she smiled, making a move to stand before she registered the two other people in the room.”...you brought friends?”

Percy opened his mouth to answer but Apollo beat him to it. “Praetor Hazel,” he said, giving a small bow.”Last time we met, you knew me as Lester, but as you may have heard, I have regained my divinity. I am the god, Apollo, here to ask for your help once more.” 

Panic flashed in Hazel’s eyes. Last time Apollo had come around asking for help, the city of New Rome had almost been destroyed. “It’s not that bad,” Percy interjected. “We just need some help getting Max to Camp Half-Blood.” 

Max blushed as Hazel’s attention turned to him. Her eyes screamed ‘ Percy, What Have You Gotten Yourself Into?!’ but her smile was kind. “Why don’t you tell me this story from the beginning?”

Apollo nodded. “This morning, as I was getting ready to raise the sun, I found a note tacked onto my chariot. It was from He-- er, I mean, Max’s father. Asking if I could help get his kid out of a sticky situation.”

Max crossed his arms. “Why won’t you tell me who he is?” he whined. 

Apollo sighed. “A demigod’s claiming is a very important moment,” he said, digging up his best Teacher voice. “No spoilers. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Hazel flicked her eyes to Percy and he took the chance to mouth: It’s Hephaestus .  

“Anyway, so I went and checked on the kid and sure enough, he was being stalked by a monster. The Minotaur at that.” Max shivered and Percy took an instinctual step closer to him. “I would have killed him myself but the other deities have been asking me to help with their kids so much that Zeus -- Jupiter -- is not happy about it. Ancient Laws and all.” Apollo rolled his eyes. 

“So naturally--”

“Naturally,” Percy scoffed, but Apollo ignored him.

“I went and roused our resident Minotaur Slayer--”

“At three in the morning.” Hazel’s lips twitched and Percy got the feeling she wasn’t going to be extending her sympathies. 

“We dealt with the monster,” Apollo pressed. “And now we’re here. Max is a Greek demigod, so we need to get him to New York. My involvement here is already...bursting the envelope so--”

Understanding dawned over the Praetor’s face. “So you came to Legion for help,” she concluded. 

The circles under her eyes seemed to darken for a moment as she regarded them. “Max is it? Of course, we’ll help get you to your Camp. It would be an honor, Lord Apollo.” 

Apollo thanked her but Percy could read the tension building in her shoulders. He’d have to remember to ask about that later.

She stood. “Have you eaten, Max? Let’s get you some breakfast and then we can take a tour.” They left together, leaving Percy, once again, alone with Apollo. 

The god rocked onto the balls of his feet. “Before I leave, I wanted to let you know, I am sorry about this morning,” he grimaced. “I’ll -- if something like this happens again, I’ll find someone else next time.” 

Percy didn’t reply, head still swimming with thoughts about Rome and the god of wine. Apollo’s frame started to shimmer, a sure sign that he was leaving but Percy blurted out, “Wait!” at the last second. 

Apollo’s brows pulled together in confusion. Percy cursed himself, no backing off now. 

“There’s something I keep thinking about. Back there, in Arizona, when you got out of the chariot.” He licked his lips. Gods, this was awkward. “What were you going to do?” 

“What was I-- Well I wasn’t going to let him kill you!” the god exclaimed, clearly baffled. “I mean, yeah, Ancient Laws and all, but it was an act first, cower in fear later kind of moment.” 

Percy closed his eyes. He could still see Bacchus smirking down at him and Jason as he forced them to fight for their lives. His stomach twisted every time he thought about it. How could Dionysus -- a god who had watched him grow up -- how could he do that? 

“But, why?” he pressed, voice raspy. Why not just sit back and watch? Why intervene? 

Apollo swallowed. When Percy opened his eyes again, he found the god staring down at his shoes.

“I meant it when I said I wanted to be your friend. When I said I already considered you a friend.” 

Bacchus’ cruel smile was stuck behind his eyelids. The stories of Apollo’s worst moments burned in his ears. 

“Why would you want that?” Percy demanded. He didn’t mean to sound so aggressive but Apollo's insistence didn't make sense. 

Apollo’s hand came up to rake through his hair. “What do you want me to say?”

Percy pursed his lips, studying the blonde. He thought back to what Eddie and Terminus had said. Back to all the stories of Apollo, the heartbreaker. Everyone knows that when a god starts coming around they were likely going to 1. get you killed or 2. try and rope you into a fling. Maybe both. “I’m not going to sleep with you if that’s what you want.”

The god blushed, a splash of gold flooding his cheeks. He opened his mouth but quickly snapped it shut again. The room seemed to get smaller, Percy felt a bead of sweat build in the back of his neck. The silence stretched on until Apollo finally met his eyes. 

“That’s not why I’m here,” he said. And god of truth or not, Apollo's still taken aback by the honesty in his words. It was the reason he'd come down to him but Percy didn't have to know that. In the little time he'd spent with the demigod, he'd found more than one reason to stay.

“That’s not why I’m here,” he repeated, voice growing stronger. “You’re a good person, Percy. And I’m trying to be a better god. I don’t want you to teach me, you’re not-- that’s not your job,” he swallowed. “But when we went out to Golden Gate for that sea monster, you said you wanted to believe that another world is possible. That things don't have to be like this. And after Lester, after everything I saw when I was human, I want that too. I don’t know how to get there -- to that world-- but I think maybe we can help each other find our way.”

The ocean roared in Percy’s ears until he realized it was just his stupid heartbeat. That was...unexpected. The confession -- it certainly felt like a confession -- made him a little uncomfortable. His skin tingled. He was angry at the gods, furious. And here was Apollo, promising -- trying -- to be different. “And if I say no?” he challenged. 

Apollo’s shoulder’s slumped. “I’ll leave.”

This is a bad idea. This is a terrible, horrible, no-good, awful idea, whispered a voice in the back of his head.

Percy’s eyes traced over the forms of Romulus and Remus, immortalized in the ceiling.

He remembered the worry in Apollo’s eyes when Artemis had gone missing. The way he had helped them on that quest. His vote against his and Thalia’s execution at the council meeting. The way he healed Annabeth. How broken he’d seemed when he showed up on his doorstep that January, Meg in tow. How he’d fought the Colossus Neronis at Camp. He remembered Piper’s quiet voice as she recounted the events that happened on Caligula’s ship. 

“Friends?”

He could feel the weight of Apollo’s eyes on him. The same burning feeling he’d felt at the cafe. 

“Friends,” the god echoed. It sounded almost like a promise. 

Chapter Text

Aphrodite smirked as she watched over the scene unfolding in the principia . Her fingertips itched with the desire to intervene, but the two fools were doing a fine job on their own. 

“That’s cute,” she drawled, threading her hands through Ares’ hair. “Look, baby. They’re going to be friends.” 

The god of war snorted, but he didn’t move his head from the goddess’s lap. His nose wrinkled when he caught sight of Apollo’s lovesick face. “You’re going to ruin them,” he praised.

Aphrodite’s lips curled, and a violent flame sparked in her eyes. “I wish. But I think credit for this goes to the Fates.” 

Ares groaned and let his eyes close again, concentrating on the patterns Aphrodite was working into his scalp. If the Fates had decided to cross those two lifelines, those bloodlines..well that didn’t bode well for anyone. “If that idiot makes Jackson immortal, please shoot me.” 

Percy stepped out of the principia and winced as the sunlight hit his eyes. 

One of the guards stationed outside the building turned to give him a curious look and for one horrifying second, he wondered if they had overheard the conversation that had just taken place. 

No. They couldn’t have.

He took a deep breath and willed his legs to push him forward, trying to outrun the voice in his head that sounded a little too much like Annabeth. Of all the stupid, reckless, irresponsible things to do. First place for worst decision making goes to--

“Shut up,” he hissed back, earning himself an affronted look from a woman on the sidewalk. Great. Just great.

He dragged a hand through his hair in frustration and let his pace quicken. Before long, he was falling back into the cool embrace of his bedsheets. He squeezed his eyes shut but it did nothing to silence the jagged thoughts whirling around in his head. 

Hermes’s empty laugh after the Battle of Manhattan, when he made the Olympians swear that oath on the Styx. "After three thousand years, you think the gods can change their nature?" 

He’d been so sure, so defiant when he jutted out his chin and told him yes.

Percy groaned and buried his head in a pillow. Then the Giant War had happened and he’d found himself wondering, maybe Luke was right. What was it he'd said? 

"Don't you realize how useless it all is? All the heroics-being pawns of the gods. They should've been overthrown thousands of years ago, but they've hung on, thanks to us halfbloods."

Percy shivered.

And gods, Jason. 

He hadn’t gotten a chance to know him, not like the others knew him. But his death still stung. He never told anyone but sometimes he felt responsible for what happened. He’d died on a ship, in the middle of the ocean. If Percy had been there, if he’d just said yes to Apollo...maybe he could have done something. 

No, Annabeth wouldn’t understand his decision to befriend Apollo. Especially not after Jason. Even if she did, this felt like a secret. The thought of telling the others made him nervous.

Apollo was...infuriating, annoying. But Percy needed to know that gods could change. Needed to know that he would keep his promise to Jason. 

Friends. They would be friends.

Percy took a breath and pushed the thoughts from his head. He was supposed to be studying with Annabeth later and he needed to be well-rested for that. Slowly, sleep overcame him. 

Apollo was...doing just fine, thank you very much. 

He left the principia and flashed away to Sun Palace. 

Wrong. Stifling. Uncomfortable.  

He left again. L.A this time. 

Too crowded. Sticky. Claustrophobic.  

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in the woods behind Camp Half-Blood. 

Trees. 

Of course he ended up here. This was where Lester had felt most connected to her -- to Daphne. 

Percy’s words were still echoing in his ears, louder than the Grove of Dodona could ever be. “I’m not going to sleep with you if that’s what you want.”

He knew this, Rachel had told him as much. "Percy could never fall for a god." Still, it felt like someone had thrown his heart into a blender and set it to puree. 

Apollo tipped his head back and tried to focus on the wind running through his hair. Not for the first time, he wished for darkness when his eyes closed. Wished his ears were only strong enough to hear the thrum of his heart. No visions, no desperate prayers, no clamoring voices pulling him in a sea of different directions. He missed that about Lester. The quiet of being human. 

If anyone asked, he’d say it was all Rachel’s fault. Her little plan to go and find three things to dislike about Percy Jackson had blown up in his face.

'Aren't they proof of something?' he had asked. 'That things don't have to be this way? ' And any impulse to look for zits or fixate on character flaws had been razed to the ground. Those words hit him like a thousand scythe-bearing chariots, an echo of the very thing he had been wondering since rising to the throne. Divinity made him immortal but he wasn't sure anymore, if it made him a god and Percy -- Percy's stubborn belief in change, even when it came to monsters...It was like rum to an addict. That kind of faith was almost impossible to find. Apollo had been alive for over four thousand years and he didn't know if anyone had ever quite believed in him like that.

No, getting to know him hadn't helped. He cared about his fellow demigods and he was funny and sarcastic and easy to talk to and -- Jesus Christ, he cursed. Shaking his head at the inside joke. The very worst part, the part that marked this ever more dangerous is that when Percy told him that he wasn’t interested, yeah it hurt. But the feeling was eclipsed by the awful, yawning realization that...he didn’t much care. 

Percy wasn’t Daphne. He didn’t want to chase him around the world, half out of his mind with infatuation. This was...decidedly uncharted territory. But if friendship was all Percy wanted, then he would respect that. He would count himself lucky for it, actually. 

Apollo brushed some nonexistent dust off his shirt and squared his shoulders. 

Friends. 

He gave a sigh before he started picking his way through to trees, to the heart of Camp. Might as well pay a visit. 

With every step, his form shifted -- curls darkened, muscles faded until the person walking out of the woods looked by all intentions like Lester Papadopoulos. He sang and laughed with his children, visited some of the campers in the infirmary, tried to ignore Dionysus' teasing stare. His brother was easy enough to avoid but Rachel was another matter entirely. She hung back after the campfire, and when it was just the two of them left, she took her chance. 

"So how's it going?"

Apollo kept his eyes on the flames. Hestia wasn't tending to them at the moment but they still danced tall and lively, feeding on the camp's energy. "Ah, you know. Cloudy with a chance of meatballs. You really can't top the eighties, Rache. The stories I could tell --"

"I meant with Percy." 

Of course she did, he knew she did. "Oh that...that's old news," he shrugged. 

"Old news?"

Apollo sucked in a breath. "Yeah, he's...not what I was expecting." It's the truth, just enough of it to let her draw her own conclusions. Technically, he's not doing anything wrong by being Percy's friend but somehow, Apollo doubted Rachel would see it that way. The flames stirred, and for a second he swore he could see Hestia's honey-brown eyes peering out at him. Then he blinked, and the moment was gone.

"That's good then," Rachel said. "Cause that would have been a mess."

Apollo conjured a smile and turned it on her. "Yeah, guess it would have been."

Chapter Text

Percy winced at the sharp jab of Max’s elbow digging into his ribs. The kid leaned over, eyeing the Roman demigods that would be escorting him to New York. “You think we can trust these guys?” 

Next to him, Hazel tried to swallow a laugh. 

“Oh yeah,” Percy nodded. “We can trust them.”

They were at the entrance to Camp, getting ready to see the group off. Claudia, Janice, and Nathan were already waiting inside one of those signature black SUVs. 

Max tugged at the hem of his shirt, still clearly nervous. Percy’s heart twinged, he remembered all those years ago, when he had been introduced to the world of gods and monsters. 

“Hey, I know this is a lot to take in,” he said. “It wasn’t easy for me either.” Understatement of the century. “But the Camp you’re heading to, you’ll feel more at home there. New York’s far but you don’t have to stay forever. You can come back when you’re ready. And as for these guys --”

Hazel cleared her throat. “They’re well-trained legionnaires. And they’ll do their best to keep you safe. You can trust them.” She smiled down at Max but Percy knew her well enough to know that something was bothering her.

“And if you see my brother Nico, tell him we said hi,” she added. 

Max nodded and they watched as he climbed into the SUV. Percy uttered a silent prayer for their safety as the van sped off. 

Next to him, Hazel sighed.

“C’mon,” she said, linking their arms together as they started a slow walk back to camp.

November had draped a chill over the hills and though it didn’t compare to the harsh winters in New York, it still made Percy shiver. They passed a probatio miserably scrubbing the streets with a toothbrush and he wondered what she had done to deserve the punishment. Not much, probably. The Romans had a low tolerance for mistakes. 

Frank and Hazel had been trying to get the Legion to change its ways but they were fighting centuries of tradition. At least no one was getting sown into a sack full of weasels and dumped into the Little Tiber anymore. They’d issued a ban on that pretty early on.

Hazel reached out and placed a hand on the girl’s back. “I think you’ve done a fine job here,” she said. “Why don’t you go back to your cohort?”

A few of the Lares around them glared but no one dared to challenge the Praetor. The girl gave her a grateful smile and dashed off before Hazel could change her mind, not that she would.

“For the record, I’d take washing dishes in hot lava over scrubbing streets with a toothbrush any day.”

Hazel laughed. “Keep talking, Jackson. Now that I think about it, the bull pens in the coliseum might need some attention…”

Percy shot her a look that said: You wouldn’t. But Hazel only kept smiling. 

They continued their walk in comfortable silence until Hazel spoke again.

“You know, I never got a chance to talk to you about that morning,” she prompted, suddenly very interested in the Lares gathered at the other end of the street.

Percy felt his stomach drop. He had a feeling about where this was going.

“What morning?” he stalled.

Hazel didn’t take the bait.  Her chin dimpled when she frowned. “He just showed up at your door like that? At three in the morning?”

Percy scrubbed a hand against his forehead. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell her about that particular conversation, but he also didn’t want to lie. 

“Are you asking as a friend or as a Praetor?”

“Both,” she shrugged. “I worry about you, and Reyna wasn’t kidding when she told you the gods rarely visit Camp Jupiter. The last time the gods were here -- Juno, Mars, Apollo -- well…”

Percy nodded. She was right, of course. The Roman gods were a whole lot more disciplined. They had more respect for the Ancient Laws that forbid them from running around tormenting humans. When they did show up, it usually meant the camp was going to burn down in a couple of days. 

“You don’t have to worry,” he said, smiling a little despite himself. “I get that the gods don’t pop down here often but they’ve been treating my life like a McDonald’s Playplace since I was twelve. The hounded me even when I wasn't at camp. Hades and his sword, Hermes and his staff, Ares and his chariot.” Apollo and his celodon, he thought. “Not to mention the other quests.”

Hazel’s eyes widened as he spoke and Percy almost wanted to laugh. That’s right, he never did tell her about all those other times. 

“So an Olympian just...knocking on your door--”

Percy shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time. But seriously, Haze. You don’t have to worry. I can take care of myself and I’d tell you if the camp was in trouble.”

She opened her mouth to ask another question but Percy kept talking. He really, really, really didn’t want to admit that it had been about more than just the Minotaur. 

“Actually, now that you bring it up, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that day too.” 

A toddler ran past them, giggling as his mother chased after him. 

Percy bit his lip. “Is something wrong? I mean, I know you agreed to help Max, but ever since that day, you’ve been...a little tense.” 

Hazel took a deep breath and Percy was struck by how young she really was. Most of the time she glowed under the responsibility of her Praetor’s cloak but now she looked a little sad. 

“It’s--,” she pursed her lips and squinted at the hills on the horizon. “We’re happy to help, that’s not the problem. But crossing the continental United States is dangerous.” She turned back to Percy and tried to smile.

“No matter how many offerings we bring to the temples, we can’t be sure that they’ll get there safely. Or that they’ll come back in one piece. And I feel responsible for them. I don’t want to write another letter sending parent’s my condolences. There's been too many of those recently." 

Percy tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. 

“Hazel, I--”

“It’s not your fault, Percy,” she said, but it didn’t shake the guilt scratching at his heart. “Life of a demigod, I guess.” 

She dropped his arm and took a step back. “Listen, I have to go meet Frank to prep for a Senate meeting tomorrow. Don’t worry about them, that’s my job. Besides," she says, drawing her shoulders back. "They’ll be fine.”

She didn’t look too sure of that but Percy still nodded. "Before you go, can we -- can you not tell anyone about this thing with Apollo?" He looked down and tried not to pick at his nail beds. "I don't want people to talk."

Hazel's brow creased and she studied him for a minute. "I had to tell Frank, can't keep things like this from a fellow Praetor but... I suppose everyone else doesn't have to know the details." 

"Thanks, Haze. I just--"

"You've got enough on your plate," she shrugged. "I get it." Percy might not be graecus scum anymore but a personal visit from a god would bring him too much unwanted attention from bitter old tongues. 

He gave her a weak smile. She's not wrong but that's not really why he'd asked. Truth be told he still can't fully make sense of why this feels like a secret. 

Despite her words, worry anchored itself in the pit of his stomach. He’d told Max that they would keep him safe and if something happened to him...

‘Uh, hey Lord Hermes. Or Mercury, you know. Whichever you prefer. I don’t know if you’ll hear this but Max is a good kid. And the demigods that are with him, Claudia, Janice, and Nathan, they’re good kids too. If you can keep an eye on them on their journey, I can treat George and Martha to a couple of rats or something.’

He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets, curled his fingers against the impotence. It was all he could do. He hoped it would be enough.

A week later, the heavy pit in his stomach hadn't left him. If anything, it's gotten worse. Compounded by the stress of school, and work, and the ever-present nightmares. Gods, they're there every time his eyes close. Gaea's voice whispering to him, 'Look at what the humans have done to me. My forests burn, my mountains crumble, my skin flayed and stripped for coal. Look and then tell me, little hero,'  she would croon. 'Tell me I don't deserve revenge.'

Always his lungs would fill with mud, tar, oil, plastic and he'd wake up gasping. Unsure if he's drowning in Rome or losing himself to an oil spill in the Atlantic. Even thinking of it now makes his breathing speed up and it takes Annabeth's fingers gently tangling into his to bring him back. 

Her eyebrow quirked, the curve of it a silent question but he was too tired to give an answer. "Just thinking," he shrugged.

They'd made a habit of this, wandering the city streets at night. Sometimes she would tell him about the architecture, sometimes they would make up stories about Jason. The corners he'd frequent, which fountains were his favorite, where he would hide when he ticked off Reyna. Tonight their walk had been mostly quiet; a lazy after-dinner stroll to soak in the other's company. 

Annabeth didn't say anything but he could tell she was waiting for more. Glancing across the torch-lit streets of the city, Percy realized there was something he'd been meaning to ask her. Something he'd been asking himself for a while now. 

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like,” he said. “If we had a place like this back at camp?”

Annabeth’s curls caught the moonlight, blazed buttercup instead of her usual honey. “A place like New Rome, you mean?”

Percy squeezed her hand. Yes.

“It wouldn’t be a place like this." 

“Better?” Made by you? 

The Annabeth that almost gave her life to the Sirens might have said yes. This one shrugs. “It would be different. Less purple. No Ella and Tyson bookstore.” 

Percy hummed, letting her pull him left, toward his apartment, toward the end of their walk.

“It’s hard to imagine growing up differently,” she squinted as if that would help her get a clearer picture of the designs in her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it would have helped. Having adults around, families. Maybe then --”

Her throat twisted, knotted over old words. The guilty flash in her eyes said it all.

“Maybe then Luke wouldn’t have left,” Percy said. He’d thrown these words back at her before -- before the War, before that battle -- but recent events had leached the bitterness from his voice. Luke's still a sensitive topic between them, but he's not the festering wound he used to be. 

Gods, he hates that this instinct is still carved into her. Even years down the line, she's still holding herself responsible, still coming up with plans and strategies for how they could have avoided the war. 

Where Annabeth walks, people whisper: 'There’s no breaking a girl like that.’ Sometimes, he forgets himself. Believes them. But here in the moonlight, he can see some cracks, scars. "Maybe." He shrugged. "But we were kids, we didn't--"

"We didn't know better," she finished. It's an old mantra. She'd been told once that looking back over your past and seeing the things you would do differently should not be an indictment on your younger self. It's just a sign that you've grown. But Annabeth's always struggled to show herself that level of kindness. She used to wonder if Athena bred it out of her kids. If they were all going to end up like Daedalus, half-alive automatons. 

They reached his apartment, silently and unanimously agreed to take another spin around the block. "Would you live there?" Percy asked. 

Annabeth smiled, warmed by the distraction. "With Clarisse as a neighbor? Can you imagine?" It would be a bloodbath. 3 am vacuuming and 5 am smoothies. 

"I'd move in," he shrugged. "But only if we get rid of Dionysus." 

"We could have an accident. A building could fall on him mid-construction, happens all the time."

Percy grinned back, "Can we make it two buildings?" 

They plotted all the way around the block. When they rounded in his apartment again, he knew it was time for her to go. 

"Have a good night, Percy," she said. Stretching up to press a kiss to his cheek.

"You too."

She lingered, eyes full of unasked questions. Hazel had kept her word but it did little to ease the curiosity in Annabeth's eyes.  She knows he's hiding something and their time together has been marked by moments like this. A too-long pause that doubles as his chance to come clean. Every time his silence grows, it gets harder to break it. He's got no way of explaining why he's kept this from her, why he agreed to be his friend and so the silence grows until Annabeth's outline turns a corner and he's alone again. 

Percy shivered. The white marble building in front of him is dotted with warm lights from other tenants but for him it only holds nightmares. He glanced back down the street, too late to go after her, too early to be alone in there. 

There was one place he could go. He dashed inside, up the steps, and straight to his fridge. With a six-pack of coke in his hands, he set out again. To a hilltop far from the barracks and the city. 

Percy cracked open a can of Coke and rolled his shoulders, reveling in the silence. He was sitting in his favorite spot, if he'd gotten here a little earlier he could have watched the sunset over the Little Tiber. It's a spectacular view. Percy made a habit of coming here when he needed to be alone, which was all too often these days. Most nights he stayed until long after the sun had disappeared, tracing over the constellations and thinking about Zoe and Iapetus. 

Zoe's death haunted him. Her last moments, when Thalia curled over her and cried 'It's my fault. You were right about Luke, about heroes, men - everything.' And how softly she had looked to him and said 'Perhaps not all men. You spoke the truth, Percy Jackson. You are nothing like… like Hercules.'  Here, he would tell the stars everything. All the things he couldn't talk to anyone else about. And he'd wonder what she would say about him now. 

He was straining his ears, trying to hear that strange lilting accent again, when the grass next to him started to hiss and steam. Percy shut his eyes at the growing dread in his stomach. Not today. Please not today, it's been long enough. But the air superheated, and he knew all too well what was about to happen.

The steam cleared and when he opened his eyes again, he found Apollo sitting next to him, looking like he’d always been there. Could be worse, Percy thought to himself. Could be Ares.

“Oh no, it’s no bother. Please, take a seat.” 

Apollo didn’t seem bothered, he laid down and brought a hand back to cushion his head. “Thanks," he beamed. 

Percy rolled his eyes and automatically shifted a couple of inches away. It's like the god has a built in radar for Percy's worst days, he always managed to pop up then. 'Leave' he wanted to say. But the usual anger that rears its head at Apollo's visits is nowhere to be found. Tonight Percy is tired and he doesn't want to fight.

“I heard your prayers, for Max and the others. Wanted to let you know they made it to camp safely.” 

Percy slid him a side-long stare. Despite the cold November air, he was wearing his usual muscle shirt and dark jeans. Heat seemed to roll off of him. Seeping through Percy’s clothes and into his bones and his stupid, sun god skin is lit up in a gentle glow.

He wrinkled his nose and looked away, not wanting to reveal how much the news meant to him. “Thanks, I guess.” It did ease some of the tension in his stomach.

Apollo nodded, reaching over to grab a can of soda without asking. Percy inhaled, remembering the last time he’d shared a coke and star-gazed with an Olympian. Hermes, Camp Half-Blood. His brother had better manners. 

Apollo had watched over Percy enough to know that these moments were important to him, even if he didn’t know exactly why. Every time he caught him star-gazing he had to fight the impulse to beam down and go, ‘I’m a star too, you know. You don’t look at me like that.’

But now that he was next to him, he couldn’t do that. Not after he had gone and friendzoned himself. Sometimes he swore he could hear Aphrodite laughing at him about it. 

Apollo squirmed against the thick layer of awkwardness around them. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, if only to break the tension. He could just take a peek inside the demigod's brain but no. That wouldn't do. 

Percy squinted at him. He bit back the reflexive ‘no.’

“I’ll sell ‘em for a drachma.”

Now that’s extortion, Apollo thought. But he still conjured a drachma and held it out in the palm of his hands. The demigod huffed at the sight, surprised that Apolo had actually taken him up on it. 

Percy plucked the coin from his hand, the metal cold against his fingertips. He took a deep breath, wondering if there was a right thing to say. I'm lying to my best friend about you. He was suddenly all too aware of the space between them. Of the fact that he wasn't cold anymore because Apollo's next to him and that heat -- the one that's starting to feel familiar -- is wrapping around him. “I... don’t know how to be your friend,” he admitted. “I’ve never done this before.”

Apollo grimaced, looking away. Percy never did shy from the jugular. “I’ve never done this before either.” It was true. He’d never tried to be just friends with someone he was interested in. Most people were all too happy to fall into bed with him. Just his luck that he happened to fixate on the one person who was absolutely uninterested.

Percy tipped his chin back to the stars and sighed. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be getting rid of the sun god anytime soon. He glanced back at Apollo. His eyes were sky blue, open and unreadable at the same time and Percy got the distinct feeling that they were both letting a lot go unsaid. He didn’t feel like arguing tonight, not after the week he’d had. And Apollo was trying. He came down here to tell him about Max after all.

“How ‘bout we start over then? Name’s Percy Jackson. Son of Sally Jackson. My favorite color’s blue. College is kicking my ass. And if we’re getting real,” he swallowed. “I don’t really feel like the hero everyone thinks I am.”

Apollo sat up and held out a palm for a handshake. “My name is Apollo. Son of Leto and brother to Artemis. My favorite color’s gold but green’s been really tempting lately. I’m a Cancer. And if we’re getting real,” he smiled. “I don’t really feel like the god everyone thinks I am.”

Percy shook his head at that but he took his hand. 

“There are rules to friendship you know. I wasn’t kidding when I said friends don’t give friends quests.” He pursed his lips and gave Apollo a sordid once over. “Jot that down.” 

Chapter Text

After that night, Apollo started joining Percy in his little star-gazing habit more often. It was awkward at first but slowly, they started to get more comfortable around each other. Turns out, the god wasn’t so bad.

There were nights where they would sit in silence. Other times, he would hum unknown songs, or scribble fervently into this little leatherbound book. (Percy had tried to sneak a peek once, no use.) He would ask mundane little questions like "How are you?' and "How was your day?" and listen like Percy was laying out the secrets of the universe and not just talking about his Thursdays. 

It's always been hard for him, remembering that gods are a different species, that they can kill him with a thought and Apollo, well. He doesn't make it any easier. Even when he was 14, shivering in the frozen wilderness outside of Westover Hall, Percy had struggled to bow his head and call him 'sir.'

One day, when Apollo comes down and gestures proudly at the pinks in the sky with a near breathless 'What do you think?' Percy considers looping a sign around his neck that reads, 'CAUTION: Not. A. Human.' For his own wellbeing, really. 

He should be used to the world's truth by now, but the idea that the whirling sunset colors have been painted by the god in front of him is still...decidedly too much. So he shrugs a shoulder and tries for cool, "It's alright, I guess."

An independent observer might call it a death wish because there should be fury there. Maybe some grand display of power. After all, Apollo did flay that satyr alive. And there were those seven boys in Thebes. "Do you have a concussion?"

"No."

"Do you want one?" he asked, falling into the spot next to Percy with a grunt. He cocked his head and surveyed the skies. "Was it the orange? Too much? You have to be careful with orange." And just like that, he's off again. Mouth running.

Percy told himself it didn't matter, he was only half-listening anyway.  

It was rare now really, for Percy to spend a night on this hill without him. Tonight he can tell by the way the god's body hits the ground that Apollo is in some sort of mood. He doesn't have time to consider the implication before a copy of Camp Half-Blood Confidential is tossed into his lap. 

“We are so not on speaking terms right now, Jackson.” 

Percy picked up the book and bit back a laugh. When he finally looked over at Apollo, the god had his arms crossed, jaw locked and eyes glaring at a point on the horizon. 

In response to Apollo’s godsawful orientation film, he and some of the other people from Camp Half-Blood had put together the Confidential. It answered the basic newbie questions like ‘What is this place?’ and ‘Will I die?’ and 'Can I keep the shirt?' Unfortunately, Percy had also decided to include a few of the most ridiculous excerpts from the Welcome to Camp Half-Blood movie (which Apollo had written, directed, and starred in)...Annotated with his, ahem, genuine reactions. 

They’d sent the book out into the mortal world and twisted the Mist so it would look like The Complete History of Pavement to anyone who wasn’t a demigod or a clear-sighted mortal. He never thought the book would fall into Apollo’s hands. Well, to be honest, he never expected to befriend the god and then have to confront him about it. 

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Apollo demanded. 

Percy flicked through the book, smiling despite himself. Camp Jupiter was great but these pages made him miss home. “Sorry, what was that? I thought we weren’t on speaking terms.” 

Apollo’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, the perfect picture of righteous indignation. “About my movie, you said, and I quote: ‘You can’t unsee that kind of thing. I’m seriously considering asking Hera to purge it from my memory.’ Page 11.”

Percy wanted to say 'Well it's true,'  when he remembered the part with Apollo hula-hooping shirtless while satyrs capered around with long rainbow ribbons on a stick. His mouth would not cooperate. Note to self: Do not think about Apollo hula-hooping shirtless. 

“You wrote about that part where I fell in the sand and called it the ‘Best. Scene. Ever.’ Page 70.” He snatched the book back from Percy and jabbed a finger into the pages. “Page 95. My dance number with the satyrs. You said ‘Ahhh! My retinas.’” 

“I almost forgot about that,” Percy grinned. 

The book in Apollo’s hands went up in flames. “I should have you incinerated,” the god said matter-of-factly but Percy only shrugged. Maybe he’d be worried if it was another god but Apollo had a flair for the dramatic. He’d threatened to rain down holy hell when Percy had joked that gold wasn’t his color and here he was, still in one piece. 

Apollo pursed his lips at the nonchalance. He'd always been iffy about constructive criticism. Sure, it had been a while since he'd flayed anyone and he was on this self-improvement kick to boot. But here was this (cute, funny, irritating) brat who didn't even have the good sense to look properly terrified. If Percy wasn’t cowed by the threat of his imminent destruction, then Apollo would have to escalate.

“Actually, you know. I’m touched by your words. Truly. You truly have an eye for film. Maybe it is time to revamp the movie. Oh, I’ll even give you a starring role for your efforts.”

The demigod swallowed, horror flashed in his eyes. If Apollo stuck him in sequins and a dance number, Clarisse would never let him live it down. “You wouldn’t.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Apollo shrugged, calling up an air of fake benevolence. “We’ll make you a triple threat. Singing, dancing, and acting. We can have a screening during the weekly movie night on Olympus. Send it out into the mortal world. Who knows, maybe we’ll win an Oscar.”

Percy sat up, scanning Apollo’s face for a sign that he was joking but the stubborn set of his jaw said otherwise. Oh no, no, no. He could hear Piper laughing at him already. He spread his hands, pleading. “Okay, wait. Hold on. Wait a minute, let’s talk about this.”

Apollo grinned as he looked down over the city of New Rome, where Percy Jackson was currently muttering all kinds of curses (unspeakable things really) over his marine biology homework. 

He could go down there, right? No, no he should go down there. A little voice whispered, ‘This can’t be good for you, you know you just want to see him.’ But he squashed it right quick. After all, what are friends for? It'd be more entertaining than racing jets and shooting from his chariot that's for sure.

He closed his eyes and with the force of a thought, reappeared in the demigod’s living room. 

“Do you need some help with that?”

Percy would later swear up and down that he did not shriek, thank you for asking. He put a hand to his heart, chest heaving. “I hate when you do that,” he muttered. “You’re almost as bad as Hermes and one time, he popped in while I was in the shower.” 

Apollo’s smile crashed. “Hermes did what now?” He flicked through an extensive mental slideshow of all the tortures he could inflict on the messenger god but Percy waved the question away. He turned back to his homework with a sour face. 

“Everyone said marine biology would be my thing and it's not the worst. Better than like, math or physics or chemistry, I guess. But look at this. ‘What is the difference between an osmoconformer and an osmoregulator? Where can you find leptocephalus larva? What are dinoflagellates most notable for?’ This is a nightmare.” 

Apollo put in a pin in his Plan to End Hermes and sat down next to the demigod. “This is pretty bad,” he conceded. Taking into account Percy's ADHD and dyslexia, it was no wonder he was struggling. Lucky for him Apollo (ever the kind and benevolent god) was always willing to help out Percy Jackson's in need. “But I’m the god of knowledge. And I did invent schooling, the whole education thing really. So maybe I can--”

“You did what?” 

Apollo froze. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet Percy’s glower. “Um… I invented schooling,” he repeated. “Shouldn’t you know this? Chiron was my first pupil, you’d think he’d--”

“You did this?”  

Normally, Apollo would be annoyed at the interruption but Percy was turning a truly amazing shade of red. “No, of course this your fault, you- you,” his hands ran to his hair. “Give me a minute, I can’t even think of a bad enough word.” 

Apollo gave a gracious nod. “Take your time,” he quipped. 

Percy scoffed, sinking deeper into his seat. “I’ve been kicked out of almost every school I went to you know? I mean sure, sometimes I made the gym explode. And there was that one time I shot a revolutionary war canon at our school bus. I was aiming for something else but no one ever asks about that. And did I start that fire in the band room? Maybe. But most of the time, my teachers were turning into monsters or trying to poison me during lunch.” 

Apollo’s mind blanked. Even with the infinities of his consciousness, it took a couple of seconds to the process everything Percy had just said. Dionysus' words come floating back to him. 'I don't know what you see in him, he's a danger to society'. Apollo only wants to know more. The how and the why and the when. Finally, he coughed around his smile. Percy looks genuinely miserable and that's enough to sober him up for now. Laughing would not be good, even if none of what happened was technically his fault. “Do you want help or not?”

Percy sighed. He was irritated and yes, honestly a little annoyed that the person who went and came up with schools was right in front of him. I mean, every kid daydreams about punching that sucker in the face. 'God of knowledge, you?' he wants to say, but he does need the help. Finally, he gave a grudging nod. Finals were coming and he really couldn’t turn down the offer. Still, he made sure to call Apollo an old sot before he could give a triumphant grin. 

“It helps if you aim the pointy bit away from your body,” Apollo grinned. 

After an unholy amount of nagging, Percy had finally agreed to archery practice from the Sun Chariot. The demigod was currently kneeling in the passenger seat, struggling to knock an arrow. And Apollo was currently raking his eyes over his frame. Definitely worth a dunk or two in Tartarus. 

“How ‘bout I aim the pointy bit at your body?” Percy muttered. Probably to himself but godly hearing and all. 

Apollo laughed. “You’d still miss." 

Percy whipped around and tried to take aim at him but his fingers stumbled and the arrow flew out of his grasp. The god bit his lip. He’d said he was bad but this? He almost wanted to take him to Artemis so she could see. 

“Shut up,” Percy glowered. 

“I didn’t even say anything.”

Percy dropped the bow, settling back into his seat with a sigh. “You’re laughing at me on the inside, I can tell.” 

“I see nothing but potential,” he promised. Percy didn't miss the jab behind the words and he didn't hesitate to give Apollo a well-deserved thwack in the arm. 

They rode in silence, with Percy glaring out the window for some time. Apollo wasn’t too worried. He’d gotten good enough at reading Percy to know that the demigod wasn’t seriously angry. Before long, he was reaching over to fiddle with what he must have thought was the chariot’s radio. 

Apollo snatched his wrist before he pressed the button. “That would be the flamethrowers.” 

Percy squinted, not quite believing him but he made a move for another button. Apollo slapped his hand away. 

“Lasers,” he grinned. 

“You’re joking…”

Apollo shook his head. There was a reason they didn't have traffic on Olympus. This was fun. Percy’s hand crept out again, slowly this time. His fingers closed around the radio’s ON button but he looked at Apollo for confirmation. 

“That’s the Eject Passenger button.”

Percy yelped and his hand flew back like he’d been burned.

Apollo threw his head back and cackled. As if I'd ever let anything happen to you. “No, you had it right that time. I was just messing with you.” 

It was worth it. Even if Percy didn’t talk to him for the rest of the ride. 

The next time they meet is different. Lester had craved divinity and it's throne, but now he balks. A spoiled child wishing he had a scalpel sharp enough to cut it out. Throw it to fire. He thinks it's cruel, that only He can take this from him but then -- then he remembers green eyes and black hair. There is still a place where he can check his godhood at the door.

Apartment 4B is dim, curtains drawn against the late afternoon sun and there in the living room, curled into a ball, is the boy he'd been looking for. 

"I'm not leaving this couch, Apollo." The set of his jaw says 'Don't even try.' There is a unique intensity to Percy's gaze, and it cuts through him now. The weight of it could make even Atlas' shoulders splinter. He's sure of it.

Percy burrowed deeper into his cocoon, determined to stick to his terms. The healer in him takes note of his pallor, the purple dark circles. The lover worries. Demeter would say he's withering.

So Apollo scraps his plan to snap his fingers and take him to Delos and steps forward instead. "I can work with that," he said, summoning a couch to lay parallel with his. He gripped the back and shoved until it was a scant foot from Percy's own. "If you'll let me."

Percy watched, somewhere between wary and tired, as Apollo walked around the couch and settled in. Curling onto his side so their bodies are mirrors. He didn't make a move to speak once he stilled and Percy's nose wrinkled at the unexpected staring contest. He'd skipped class, called out of work, and cancelled plans with Frank, intending to spend today alone. Not alone with him. 

Over the years, Percy's kept a detailed catalog of all the ways people look at him. Used to the cutting stares, and the curious whispers, the pointed looks. Sometimes pity. Always, he'd hated it. They made him feel like some poor circus freak. The curiosity in Apollo's eyes is different. Softer, Piper would say. It keeps him from protesting the visit. "Is this a bad day?"

"Don't you have those?"

The question hung in the space between them. "I'm a god." And he can see it. Percy's getting ready to roll his eyes, dismissing the words for arrogance so he adds, "I have bad centuries." Darling, you should have seen me in the Dark Ages.

Percy frowned. "What, you gonna tell me 'gods are people too'? Don't bother."

Apollo let the acid of his words wash over him. His fingers itched to brush back black curls. "We feel." So much. Dionysus called heroes selfish. Well, all mortals really. After all, their nature decreed that they live and eventually, most importantly, that they die. The gods were the ones who stayed behind, bound to give, to steer, to guide. Divinity came with responsibilities, and they couldn't just walk away from them. 

And Apollo will pay his penance later but for now, he does what he's always done. He takes advantage. A snap of his fingers and reality folds until they're somewhere else. Still in these couches, still 12 inches apart; only now there are fields of wheat around them, blood-red cows in the distance and unfiltered light staining their skin. 

Percy bolted upright, arguments on his tongue before he's even gotten a good look around. Time for evasive maneuvers. "You said you weren't leaving the couch and well...technically you haven't."

"Technically," he hissed back. Still preoccupied with scanning for threats in the new environment. Almost pointless. Surely the biggest danger is the one lounging in front of him. Apollo blinked, slow and unbothered and it makes the cushions look all the more comfortable. And well, the sun doesn't feel so bad and the air smells a little cleaner. The wind makes the gold-brown wheat sing and...yes it's quite nice actually. Except for the little smile on Apollo's face, the one that's far too content. Percy settled back into his sheets slowly. Tried to glare his defiance, his 'you haven't won yet' but Apollo repeated, "Is this a bad day?" 

Anyone would look at him -- disheveled, day-old clothes, unbrushed teeth -- and they would say yes. Maybe they would be right for it but, "No." Percy sighed. "No, I guess it's not."

Usually, Apollo would cut in and croon 'because of me?' but he's learned by now that Percy's words take time. He finds he doesn't mind waiting for his thoughts to form, too caught up in trying to find a pattern to his curls. They are laying down in this strange not-together and Apollo's buzzing in the stillness. He was running when he came here but now he thinks he'd be happy if he never had to leave the couch either.

His patience is rewarded.

"I woke up, and I thought I was going to sink into my bed." The feeling overtakes him most mornings. Percy had ached for normal all his life but now that New Rome had given it to him -- a version of it at least -- well, he's found that facing down Normal is a lot harder than it seems. There is a tedium to his days, a whole different kind of unbearable. "I thought someone would stumble in maybe in a day, maybe in a week, and they'd find my body like the ones in Pompeii." 

Apollo looked away. He'd seen Pompeii.

"But I didn't sink. I got up and I made it as far as the couch, so no. I don't think it's a bad day." I think it's a victory. 'Least that's what I'm calling it.

The words are a thin veil. Smoothing over Tired and Tartarus but maybe not hiding much, not from Apollo because he hums and asks, "Can I stay?" 

Percy frowned. "Would you leave?" Please don't. They're in the middle of nowhere by the looks of it. One of the square states. Kansas? Utah? If not somewhere in the sixth dimension. You can never really tell with gods. Either way, it's probably too far away to walk back home alone.

"If you asked."

"I haven't asked."

The words are a balm and Apollo lets himself smile. Lets himself turn onto his back, face to the sky. Staring comes with a threat. Percy might see him too and so it's best kept to small doses. An indulgence here or there.

This is not Delos but it's comforting in a different kind of way. He wasn't expecting the demigod to speak again but Percy asked, "What was your worst?" 

"Pardon?"

"Your worst century," he explained. 

Oh, that. Right. "Well," Apollo started, immediately thinking about which stories he would not be telling. "When Artemis published my diary, that was a real low point for me."

Percy snorted. "She didn't."

"No, she did." It really had been awful. "Except we didn't exactly have publishing companies back then so she kind of just...yelled it out the window. Hermes didn't stop making fun of me for the next 82 years."

"Did you deserve it?"

"Only slightly."

Chapter Text

Being a son of Poseidon was exhausting. 

Percy was used to answering distress calls from sea life that needed his help. Lost hippocampi, dolphins caught in nets, teething sharks. The usual. But after the Titan War something strange started happening. 

Word had gotten out about what he did to those stables in Geryon’s Ranch. Or rather, what he didn’t do: follow in Hercules’ footsteps and poison that naiad and her river. Then, when people heard about what he did for the Hudson and East River spirits, well. His life got a little more complicated. He tried explaining that Poseidon had given him that sand dollar, that he didn’t actually have that much to do with it, he’d just handed it over and let the rivers clean themselves. But it was no use. 

Little by little, other water spirits started reaching out to him. With all the major cities sprinkled around, water pollution was a big problem. And as it turns out, the little bit of Pan’s spirit that had made a home inside Percy amplified his abilities in pollution control and ecosystem rehabilitation. 

It wasn’t much of a surprise when the IM started shimmering in front of him. The Sacramento River naiad looked a little green. And not the good kind. The e. coli levels in her waters had been on the rise and she didn’t want to be a bother but it was getting out of control. How could he say no? Grover would throttle him. 

And that’s how Percy spent his Tuesday. They got a lot done in that one afternoon but they both knew it wouldn’t be enough. When night started to fall, he whistled for Blackjack and promised the naiad he’d be back on Saturday. 

Thing is though, freshwater had always been a little bit trickier for him. By the time he returned to camp, fed Blackjack, showered, and ate, he was exhausted. Percy was snoring before he hit the pillows. 

He’d hoped that maybe - maybe - the exhaustion would guarantee him a dreamless sleep. But of course, he was plagued by horrible nightmares. 

He was thirteen again, a nightmare in its own right. He was running, trying to catch up to Grover, Clarisse, Annabeth, and Tyson as they ran full speed towards the sea. Or most importantly, as they ran away from Polyphemus’ flesh-eating sheep. Percy’s lungs burned but he couldn’t stop. They were almost to safety when a tremendous roar shook the ground. He knew what was going to happen but his heart still spasmed when he turned and saw Polyphemus, scraped up and bruised but still very much alive, his baby-blue wedding outfit in tatters, charging toward them with a boulder in each hand. 

“Young one!” the older Cyclops called. “Where are you? Help me!” 

Ahead of him, Tyson froze. “You weren’t raised right!” Polyphemus wailed, shaking his olive tree club. “Poor orphaned brother! These heroes don’t care for you. He doesn’t care for you. Help me!” 

Percy wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to beg Tyson not to listen. But how could he? He’d been so ashamed of him. Gods, he’d thought Poseidon had sent Tyson to punish him. "He's embarrassed by you!" Polyphemus bellowed.

Tyson’s fists curled and he whirled on Percy. “You. You’re not my brother. You're not even a friend,” he growled. He lunged and Percy didn’t move, didn’t try to back up or step aside. I deserve it, he thought to himself.

A second before Tyson reached him the dream shifted. 

The ground was shattered glass, the air was acid. Horrible wails filled the air. 

Tartarus. 

Percy lost the contents of his stomach before realizing that the horrible wails were coming from somewhere next to him. Tyson was still there. Clawing at his throat, tears falling from his eye. “Please. Percy, please help me.” 

He scrambled to reach him, glass tearing gashes into his hands and knees. But as he moved, Tyson’s form shifted. It shimmered and grew smaller until it was Annabeth. Writhing desperately on the ground. She’s choking, he realized. 

“No. No. Annabeth please no, ” cackled a voice behind him. Akhlys. Fresh blood dripped down her cheeks, stained her fingers as if she’d just finished clawing at her eyes. “She’s already mine, half-blood. You cannot escape me.” 

It was happening before he knew it. Anything, he begged, anything but this. Still his arm shot out and his fingers curled. He felt like he was in Mount St. Helens again, burning alive. Burning his essence. He commanded the poison, made it an extension of his will. 

It burned into Akhlys but she only laughed and laughed and laughed. Her eyes were trained on Annabeth and when Percy followed her gaze he felt like someone had driven a spear through his heart. Her back was arched in an unnatural angle and blood dripped from her mouth, her nose, her ears. It mixed with the poison and hurled towards the goddess of misery. 

Percy screamed. An awful inhuman sound but it wasn’t enough to drown out Akhlys’ raspy voice. “You did this, hero. Now tell me who’s the monster here.” 

Apollo was in the middle of arguing with Erato when it happened. As the Muse of love poetry, she was demanding (demanding!) to know who he’d been writing all these love poems about. 

“It’s my domain, Apollo. I have a right to know.” 

He’s about to snap back something petty and childish when he hears it. Percy’s voice, cracked and broken. ‘Annabeth. No, not you. Help me. Please. Oh gods, anybody please help me.’ 

There is so much need, so much pain there that it eviscerates him. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. I told you not to die. He’s jumping through space and time before Erato can so much as frown. 

Apollo didn’t look before he flashed so he’s a little disoriented when he lands. There’s no blood --thank the Fates -- but it’s still a terrible sight. There’s a tropical storm out there, shrieking and wreaking havoc over the streets of New Rome. It doesn’t compare to Percy’s screams. 

He’s thrashing, caught in a nightmare. And later Apollo would curse himself for not stopping, for not taking a moment to think. But he can’t stand the sight of him like this. He moves on instinct. Bending over the bed to grab at Percy’s shoulders and shake him awake. 

“It’s a dream. It’s just a dream. C’mon sweetheart, wake up.” 

Percy’s eyes fly open and he gives one big shuddering gasp before he’s moving. An elbow flies at Apollo’s face and he dodges, only to realize too late that it’s what the demigod wanted. He’s a trained warrior after all. Because now Apollo’s off-balance and Percy’s reaching for a pen. He doesn’t hesitate to take advantage. Flipping them over with ease until Apollo’s pressed against the bed and Percy’s straddling him. 

He doesn’t have the brain space for filthy innuendos (and isn’t that saying something?) because Percy’s eyes are feral and there’s a blade kissing his throat. 

Anasklumos. 

Time stops. There’s no recognition in Percy’s eyes, he’s still stuck somewhere in a dream. Apollo had seen this before. In gods, in mortals. He’d lived it as Lester. Would live it again if it meant Percy didn’t have to. The demigod’s hands are shaking but the sword still burns against Apollo’s skin and when he swallows, the movement is enough to draw ichor. 

Percy’s eyes flicked down to track the drop of his blood and something -- something about it breaks through to him. 

The storm outside wails, approaching a full-fledged hurricane now. Percy’s scrambling, flinging himself back across the bed before Apollo’s had a proper chance to think.

He’s somewhere between hyperventilating and dry-heaving and hell if it doesn’t make Apollo feel like a useless god. He doesn’t move for fear of making things worse. When he speaks, his voice is so soft.

“C’mon sweetheart, focus on my voice. It’s Wednesday morning. 4:53 A.M to be exact. We’re in New Rome. Your apartment. You were having a nightmare. I heard you calling for help and came as fast as I could.” 

'Everything’s okay’ catches in his throat. Because how can that be true? Something cold is swirling in Apollo’s chest. He’s got a pretty good guess at the contents of Percy’s dreams. It doesn’t take an Olympian to see the effects of Tartarus. 

The storm isn’t dying.

Percy’s still seeing blood and ichor and poison. Is this really New Rome? The walls flicker, disappearing. That awful black mist that clouds the air in Tartarus is creeping in and gods, he can’t breathe. He can't breathe. A part of his brain wonders if he should be feeling shame. These are his darkest moments, they're not meant to be shared. But there's no pity in Apollo's eyes, there's no fear either. “Keep talking.” 

Apollo licked his lips. He wasn’t good at this, this wasn’t his thing. What can he say? Go to your happy place? 

“Anything in particular?”

Percy’s knuckles are still white over Riptide. “Anything.”

Okay. Okay. Apollo can do that. He can babble. 

“I’ve never been in your room before.” His eyes drift, latching onto the window seat. “Moonlace. Pretty plant. My sister loves it. You had it back in New York, too. Do you garden?” It’s a cute thought. Leto would love him. “Don’t answer that. Your room feels different than the living room. More you. It’s nice. Little messy but I can work with that.” He’s lost control of his mouth now. Later, he’s going to wring his hands and try to remember what exactly he said but for now, he’s okay with this. 

It helps. The room solidifies under Apollo’s words. Like he’s speaking it into existence. The moonlace sits at the window. It’s silver light dying as the morning comes. His room is a little messy. Pieces of armor litter the floor from the last time he was invited to War Games. Textbooks spill over the desk, looking entirely too untouched. There’s a picture of his mom and Estelle next to them and Percy draws his first real breath of the night. 

“She’s so annoying. She thinks just because she’s the muse of lo--,” Apollo swallowed the words. “You know, nevermind that. I told you once, on that quest for Artemis, that I expected a good haiku about your journey. You never did deliver on that.”

The storm outside has quieted to a dull roar but Apollo knows better than to say it’s dissipating. No, it’s sinking back under Percy’s skin. Coiling in his shoulders, crackling in his eyes. He’s not really sure when he stopped talking, or how long they sat in silence, breathing together.

Eventually, Percy’s knuckles relax, fingers unclenching around the sword. Apollo has a moment of fleeting embarrassment when it dawns on him that he hasn’t moved. Still pinned to that same spot on the bed. 

Act cool, act cool. He moves to sit up and the realization that he’s in Percy Jackson’s bed crashes over him. Suddenly, he feels too much like Lester. Nervous and vulnerable and soft. Made infinitely worse by the fact that Percy Jackson is also in this bed and oh gods, now he’s turned his head and he’s staring at Apollo. Those eyes, oh somebody damn Poseidon, those eyes. 

They’d fallen into a friendship rather quickly. Mostly because Percy liked to tease and poke and prod and Apollo always gave as good as he got. But that was entirely different from this. This was personal and intimate and it’s skirting a little too close to all the topics they’ve left untouched. 

It’s not exactly like Apollo can say, ‘Hey babe, what’s up? Wanna talk about the things that haunt you? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’ So instead he summoned a drachma. Felt the cool metal kiss fingers before he slid it across the bed. 

Percy snorted but he still picked up the coin. It was a tradition now. Sometimes Apollo would just pop out of thin air and just hand him a drachma. Or he’d stop scribbling in that journal of his and slide one over. It’s...nice. There’s a choice there, in what he can say. It’s not ‘are you okay?’ or ‘do you want to talk about it?’ or ‘what was your dream about?’ and Percy’s grateful for that. 

The storm outside picked up again. Howling winds and beating rain. It's not like he hasn't thought about it before. Red-blooded children of the eldest gods tended to stray closer to divinity than your average half-blood. They had been outlawed for a reason, too unearthly to walk the mortal realm so freely. And Poseidon. The Strombringer's disposition bred monstrosities more often than not. 

Tyson. Polyphemus. Charybdis. Procrustes. Anteus and his arena. Sciron and his affinity for launching bodies off cliffs, all the more fodder for his beast. Even Theseus ended up a twisted king. He did, after all, kidnap thirteen-year-old Helen of Sparta and eventually come to murder his own son.

Could he really be the exception to all that? After Tartarus, after Akhlys? He'd been different ever since leaving the Pit. Everybody knew.

Percy turned the coin over in his palm. The part that should send alarm bells ringing in his head is that sometime when he wasn’t looking, he’d started to trust Apollo. Talking to him felt easier than it should be.  

“Tyson,” Percy said, because that felt the safest. “I met him when I was thirteen and gods, I was awful to him. I was...ashamed to be his brother.”

Apollo waited for more and when it didn't come he shrugged. He didn't want to make light of Percy's feelings but divine families are notoriously complicated, always cannibalizing their kids or plotting patricide. This seemed tame in comparison. “You were a child.” 

Percy's face twisted. "No, you don't understand. Tyson was homeless, vulnerable -- he prayed to Dad for a miracle and you know what he did? He led Tyson to me." He laughed, disbelieving, and Apollo almost voiced his sympathies. That was a lot to put on a kid. "Me? I was the farthest thing from miraculous. I couldn't tell he was a cyclops at first but then we got to Camp, and the way everyone looked at him. The things they said. I was embarrassed to be seen with him, told people we weren't related, that it was all a prank. I was -- I was a monster."

Apollo sucked in a breath. Self-pity pricked at his core, if Percy thought himself bad for this then what would he make of him? If he were to know him in his entirety? 

But it’s not about you right now, he reminded himself. Apollo could insist that Percy had been a child, that perfection wasn't expected of him, that what matters is that he grew enough to know better. But the storm outside, the way Percy's lips curled around the syllables of monster...it made him think that this was about more than just old regrets. It's a shot in the dark but they say the god of archery never misses.

“That day, when we went out for the sea snake, you said maybe things don't have to be this way. You told me about Ms. O'Leary, and Ella, and Bessie and now Tyson." Apollo's throat constricted. His brain scrambled for the words. "And it's not, this isn't -- 'if they're not monsters, then why are you?'" He swallowed. "This is: Maybe that line doesn't exist."

Percy shot him a look. Half confusion, half oh-gods-he’s-lost-it, and Apollo rolled his eyes. 

"It wasn’t until Lester that I started to realize that maybe - and this is still a maybe, mind you - but maybe that distinction, that line that I always drew between gods and demigods and mortals. Maybe it doesn’t exist the way I think it does, maybe that's true for you too."

Percy frowned. Maybe it's the leftover terror or the lack of sleep, either way, Apollo isn't making sense. And there’s nothing he can say to that. Not right now, anyway. Outside, the storm has quieted, and now sitting here in the gentle light of morning, the sound of the rain is almost soothing.

He’d been too...busy to properly look at Apollo but he glances back now. Or at least it was supposed to be a glance. Percy can’t really look away. 

His face is a little too kind, too earnest, too honest. ‘That’s not very godly of you’ he wants to say. Instead, he slides the drachma back to him. Your turn. 

Apollo leaned forward, reaching for the coin, letting their fingertips meet in the middle. It burns but this is nothing like Mount St. Helens. He watched as Apollo's lips parted and Percy’s not quite sure why he’s holding his breath. 

The words are almost out when there’s a knock at the door. Percy glanced at the clock. 7:09 A.M. He shot the god a quiet “Sorry,” before getting up to go see who would visit at such unholy hours.

When the door flies back he’s greeted by a pretty blonde in a baby blue raincoat and bright yellow rain boots. Her umbrella is mangled, all inside out, but she doesn’t seem to care.

"Annabeth,” he breathed. 

Chapter Text

‘Oh fuck. What am I gonna do about the sun god in my bed? ’ is the first thought that runs across Percy’s brain. Why couldn’t it have been Frank or Hazel? Or literally anybody else in all of creation. 

Annabeth and Piper had never fully forgiven Apollo for Jason’s death. Percy was 85% sure that if she saw him, she would charge. Though maybe that would give him enough time to run.

“Annabeth! What are you doing here?” he gulped.

The daughter of Athena looked like she’d just survived a natural disaster, and to be fair, she had. Her umbrella was torn, there were leaves tangled in her hair, and the raincoat had done little to shield her from the storm. Still, her eyes were warm. “The storm woke me up and well, I figured…”

Figured it was you. Figured it was the nightmares. Figured you needed help. 

Percy’s heart warmed even as residual guilt from his nightmare landed a roundhouse kick to his stomach. Of course she would fight through a hurricane to get to him. The conflicting emotions -- panic and guilt -- must be written all over his face because Annabeth shuffled uncomfortably. “I don’t have to stay. I was just worried about you. Actually, yeah, you look like you’re doing fine. I can go.”

Gods, he doesn’t deserve her. “No! No. Come in.” Kill me now. Strike me where I stand.  

The image of Apollo strolling into the living room, shit-eating grin plastered on his face, is enough to make Percy’s ears burn. What would Annabeth say? What would she think ? 

Annabeth smiled, tension slipping off her shoulders. “Can I borrow some of your clothes?” she asked, already moving towards his room. “I kinda got soaked on the way over here.” 

“No! I mean, let me get that for you.” He scrambled to stand between her and the hallway, reaching for her arm and willing the water to disappear. “It’s my fault anyway.”

Gods, this is embarrassing. What’s he supposed to say? ‘Hey so...You wanna laugh? Hold on, let me take your dagger first. You know how you specifically asked me to stay away from quests and any godly related business? Ah well, in a moment of weakness, I kind of, sort of befriended-the-god-Apollo-and-now-he’s-sprawled-out-in-my-bed. Ha! Haha! Why aren’t you laughing? Wait! Where’d you get that second dagger from?!’ 

He can see the gears in her head turning. Maybe there’s a chance she’ll chalk his weird behavior up to post-nightmare jitters but he won’t be able to hide Apollo for long. 

“You know, why don’t I go get us some blankets?” He asked, throwing himself down the hall before she has a chance to say no. 

Percy burst into his room, ready to fling the god out of the window if necessary, only to come to a screeching halt. The bed is empty. The room is still. No one in the closet either. (Apollo probably wouldn’t hide under the bed)

Okay. Okay. Breathe.

He’s happy he’s gone. Really he is. If his eyes lingered on the imprint in the bed for a second longer than necessary, that’s nobody's business. They just...had an unfinished conversation to attend to is all. 

Percy scrubbed a hand against his eyes. The stillness of the room helps him focus but there's a headache building somewhere in the back of his head. This whole night feels like a fever dream. With Apollo gone and the panic dulling to a gentle roar, he’s got nothing to do but confront the creeping sense of shame that always accompanies these mornings. It doesn’t help that Annabeth is out there. The dream is still too fresh for that but he can’t turn her away now. 

He sighed, picking up the blankets and steeling himself against the guilt that will come when he faces his best friend again. 

Owlish eyes track his path to the couch. 

“Sorry I woke you up,” he muttered, settling down on the spot next to her. Probably woke up about half the valley too, he thought miserably. 

Annabeth poked his arm. “Don’t be a Seaweed Brain, Seaweed Brain. You don’t need to apologize.”

It’s sweet of her to lie. 

There’s a pregnant pause before she continues. “I’m worried about you, Percy. This was--”

“Bad?” A humorless smile tugged at his lips. “That’s putting it lightly.”

Annabeth bumped her shoulder against his as they curled into the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Percy swallowed, letting his eyes slide over to her. The room is still half-hidden in shadows but he has no trouble reading her anxiety. It’s clear in the way she’s fiddling with her camp necklace. 

They'd held onto each other in the aftermath of Tartarus but they'd never talked about that moment. Percy doesn't need a conversation to know that Annabeth’s worst memories of the Pit were about him and Akhlys. What he had done, what he could do. ‘Some things aren’t meant to be controlled,’ she’d sobbed. He’d promised not to ever go down that road again but still, sometimes traces of that old fear still sparked in her eyes. How was he to admit to this particular night terror without making things worse for her? Would she still be able to look at him? 

For all that they were inseparable, the Pit had drawn a clear line between them. 

“No,” he said, slouching into the warmth of the blankets. “I don’t want to.” I can’t. 

Can’t tell anyone that Tartarus had whispered to him, ‘human bodies are mostly made out of water’, and that the thought had never fully left his head. Akhlys had said she could dissolve their innards, boil their blood. And sometimes Percy wondered if he could do that too. What kind of hero would he be then? 

Apollo’s words come floating back to him, about that line between heroes and monsters and gods. But he can’t think about that right now. 

They sat in silence. Percy breathing in Annabeth’s lemon shampoo. Feeling her warmth soak into him, a reminder that she’s alive, that he hadn’t hurt her. He’s dimly aware that the sun is rising, brushing away the clouds still marring the sky. It’s a sign that they won’t be able to stay cocooned in here forever. The day will come and with it, the awful weight of responsibilities. For now, though, it's just them. Together. 

Apollo picked at the lining of a pillow in his lap. He knew who was at the door before Percy answered but the way he breathed out her name still sent a shot of ice to his heart. 

'You could go out there you know?’ his brain whispers. And he can see it now. How he would stretch and yawn and go ‘Oh! Annabeth is it? Didn’t think I’d run into you this morning. Oh, don’t worry about me, I was just leaving. Percy, lovely to see you as always.’ Maybe he’d even throw in a wink for good measure. 

His fingers itch with the impulse but Percy would probably throttle him. And he really doesn’t want word of their little arrangement getting out. Wouldn’t do to have Poseidon hear about this. What would the headlines on OympusWeekly say? ‘Local sun god driven to extinction by rabid sea life. Poseidon refuses to comment.’ Oh, Leto would weep. Better to do the right thing and leave. 

He’d taken just about two steps into the Sun Palace when Erato leaped at him. 

“That was cute!” she giggled, digging her nails (read: claws ) into his arm. Her chestnut hair was in a braid, falling down her shoulder. Beautiful as ever except for the manic look in her eyes.

Horror tugged at his gut. “Sweet Olympus, woman! Have you - were you listening ?” 

“And watching,” she winked. “I must say--”

Apollo’s heart dropped to Hades. “Must you though?” If Erato knew, it was only a matter of time before the other Muses found out and once they knew… He shuddered. If Poseidon was merciful there may be enough bits of him leftover for a shroud. What color would it be? What would the guest list look like?

“Percy Jackson” she whistled. “That’s ambitious, even for you, my lord." The first time she had seen him, the boy had been a scrawny twelve-year-old in tattered clothes and a scraped-up face. He had stumbled past the Muses' park on his way up the mountain and Melpomene whispered, 'Smart money says he's dead by nightfall.' With Olympus teetering so close to civil war, no one was sure that a successful quest would be enough to appease Zeus' wrath. Certainly not after Medusa's head. But he had walked out of the throne room in one piece, having averted the end of the world and so, Olympus knelt for him. Even back then, they called him a savior.

"I suppose all the poetry makes sense now.” Yes, Apollo was exactly the kind of god to get himself caught up in this story. The Muse took a step back, a careful gleam in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fall like this before.”

“I haven’t fallen. Who says I’ve fallen?" Erato arched a brow. "Don’t give me that look, 'sides there's no point in talking about it. I’m here to wallow.” Maybe it would have been better if he’d never gone to Rachel for advice, never popped down into New Rome on that fake sea monster quest. Because now they’re friends and Apollo cares and it’s awful and sickening (and good. So, so good)

“Wallow? Why would you-- Oh, don’t tell me this is about Athena’s girl. You could easily get rid of her."

Apollo’s chest squeezed. She’s not wrong. A couple thousand years ago, oh that’s being too fair. A couple of months ago, he would have considered smiting this Annabeth. And yeah, a part of him is tempted to go through with it, but he won’t. Can’t. After all he learned during his time as Lester, murder seems a little off-putting. 

Besides, ‘Percy deserves better’ Rachel had said. And she was right.

“I don’t want to talk about it, E.” He gingerly extracted his arm from her grip and made his way deeper into the palace. Hoping against hope that she wouldn't follow. 

“Why not?” she called after him. Truly, there should be a special place in Hades for Muses of Love Poetry. Maybe he'll have a chat with his uncle about this. “You obviously like him. And if you play your cards right, with my help of course, you could be bedding him in no time.” 

The air smoldered. “We’re just friends,” the god ground out. 

Erato followed him all the way to the grand piano.  “Friends?” Her brow crinkled. “But you could be so much more. Just think about it! If you really need the help, I know this aphrodisiac you can try. It's new, only just hit the markets.”

Apollo gnashed his teeth. He came here to lick his wounds not to have his friend rub salt right into them. Even the brilliant white and black keys of the piano seem to be taunting him, making his hands shake. 

“We’re friends, E. And that’s enough. It has to be." Percy can't be like Daphne or the Cumaean Sybil. "I’ve had enough of running after lovers that do not want to be chased.” He took a deep breath, meeting her gaze. “They always meet terrible fates and I - I don’t want to be that god anymore. Percy offered me his friendship. I’ll take what I can get.” 

Erato looked stunned. Her fingers came up to undo and redo her braid absentmindedly. “My, I guess you have changed.”

Apollo glared down at the piano keys. Angry at himself and Rachel and Percy and yes, Annabeth. He would never be her, no matter what he did. Maybe part of friendship was accepting Percy’s happiness in the arms of another, but it still stung. Not for the first time, Apollo wished he could strangle the annoying conscience he’d developed as a mortal. Would make a lot of things easier that's for sure.

“Play for me then,” Erato said. And so Apollo back straightened, and the piano spoke all which he could not say. 

It had been two days and Apollo hadn’t come back. Then it was four days and Apollo hadn’t come back. Five. Six. 

It’s not like Percy missed him. No, that’s ridiculous. Maybe it’s a bit more uncomfortable sitting out alone in the late November nights, with no sun god acting as his own personal furnace. Maybe he’s caught himself glancing over, ready to tell him a joke only to find no one there. Maybe he even brought an extra pastry once, just in case he showed up. If he ended up eating two, well then better for him, right? So no, he doesn’t miss him.

If anything, he’s glad Apollo hasn’t come back. Annabeth’s visit and the ensuing panic at being found out really highlighted how intimate insane that night had been. He couldn’t explain it to his best friend, much less make sense of it on his own. How do you tell someone that an all-powerful Greek deity descended from the heavens just because you were having a bad night? He’d get himself committed. 

Percy breathed in the sweet eucalyptus scent that hung in the air, he watched Julia giggle and dart behind a column, playing with a faun. Couples used the cold as an excuse to huddle closer together, clutching steaming cups of hot chocolate. The valley sighed with bliss, horribly at odds with the demigod son of Poseidon. 

Nobody said anything about the storm, but he still felt like they were watching him. Waiting for the next time he blew up. By the time he left class, the whispers that flew behind his back had wound him up so tight that he could feel that familiar tug at his gut. Gods save the plumbing. 

The lake, he thought. I can think by the lake. 

The lake was just past Temple Hill but Percy was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize his feet had taken a mind of their own. They pulled him off his path and took him to a place he’d never visited before. Past Pluto’s shrine and next to Diana’s temple. 

“I am so not going in there,” Percy grumbled. He could feel the pull of the lake’s waves but his feet didn't budge. 

Apollo’s temple. The round pavilion was lined by gleaming white columns that shot up to support the ceiling. Even from his spot, some 15 feet away,  Percy could hear the sweetest music wafting from the inside. It reminded him of sunshine and running rivers, dancing and carefree laughter. The music snaked around his heart, dimming away all other sounds, demanding he take another step forward. 

He swallowed, looking around like he was in a bad James Bond movie. 

“On second thought..” He’d taken one step when Frank walked out of the monstrosity that was the temple to Mars. 

“Percy!” the Praetor waved. “What are you doing here?”

In the warm evening light, Frank looked all the more like the leader of Rome. Even the gleaming purple cape paled against the quiet confidence he radiated. 

Percy blushed, glancing back at Apollo’s temple. “Uhh, I was just --” About to jump feet first into my next mistake, what about you?

Frank picked up on his discomfort way too easily. His palms flew up. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m -- it’s not my business.” 

“Oh, no, Frank,” Percy backed away from the temple, ignoring the Siren’s grip the music had on him. Look casual, nothing to see here, definitely wasn't about to go in there. Apollo who? “I was just on my way to the lake, to uh clear my head. Guess I got a little turned around.” 

Frank's eyes narrowed in suspicion but he didn’t press for more. “Wanna walk with me?” Percy offered, eager to get as far away from this topic as possible. He was rewarded by Frank’s easy smile. 

“Sure thing.”

They ended up having dinner together. As ex-Praetor, there was always an honorary spot he could claim at the officer’s table in the dining hall. 

He had a good time, always did when he was with Frank and Hazel, but there was no dislodging the frown that took residence on his forehead as he walked back into city limits. Normally, he’d be making his way to his hill-top but the weather threw that out of the question. 

He had no explanation for what happened next. 

It’s not trespassing. I’m not trespassing. It’s a temple. Open to the public is kind of the point. 

He’s just curious. There's really nothing to it. 

The wind running between the columns seemed to sing. Purple flowers softened the imposing marble. The scent of laurels filled the air with melancholy. 

Percy tipped his chin back and bit back a gasp. The temple’s ceiling was painted with beautiful frescoes. They traced a circular path around the dome, like they were telling a story. 

He followed it, unable to rip his eyes away. There was Leto, running to Delphi. The story of Apollo’s birth. A young god, golden and strong, slaying Python. So brilliant it was almost hard to look at him. He danced and sang across the ceiling. Healing the sick, helping the wounded, charming the world in his Sun Chariot. 

He started walking, following the circular path that the images blazed just to get a better look at them. Percy swallowed. Gods, he hoped no one walked in on him. About halfway through, the images started getting darker. They were violent and cruel, but just as beautiful. Apollo and the sons of Niobe. Apollo calling forth plagues. Striking down the cyclopes. There were some figures he couldn’t recognize, people who must have been his lovers. All of them suffering terrible cruelties. 

Percy’s steps echoed, he’d almost done a full revolution around the temple, when the tone of the frescoes changed again. There was no Apollo, only Lester now. Falling from Olympus, meeting Meg. The battle at Camp Half-Blood. His struggle in Indianapolis, California, New Rome. ‘ Jason’s up there ,’ Percy noted, before his eyes lept to the next painting. The struggle in New York, the Tower of Nero, Apollo regaining his godhood. He seemed to glow again and suddenly, it sank in. 

“Like a new sunrise,” he whispered. 

“If you want to call it that,” a voice answered. 

Percy flinched but still, he couldn’t say he was exactly surprised . He'd gotten a little too comfortable with Apollo popping in out of nowhere and maybe -- maybe -- he'd be willing to admit that he expected this to happen. But only for a hefty sum. “It’s been some centuries since I got such a beautiful offering, to whom should I send my thanks?”

Percy rolled his eyes. Telling Apollo not to flirt was like telling a shark not to swim. He’d learned that one pretty fast. “Sally Jackson,” he sniffed.

Apollo smiled. “I’ll make a note of it.” He was perched on the table in the center, picking through the scribbled down prayers that had been left there. Looking at him, all the nervous energy that Percy had been carrying since That Night came rushing back. And maybe he’s a little annoyed that Apollo’s looking the picture of nonchalance while their unfinished conversation has been haunting him. 

The god didn’t look up when he said, “You know, when a god appears in front of you, it’s customary to bow.”

“Bow then.” Percy challenged. 

Apollo froze and Percy idly wondered if this would be the straw that broke the camel's back. Would being vaporized hurt? 

Here it comes, Percy thought, but instead of turning him into a fine mist, Apollo looked around like he couldn’t quite believe his ears. “Di immortales! If the other gods could hear you!” They'd never let me live it down.

Blue eyes sparkled. “You’re killing my reputation, Perseus. I think I should have you excommunicated.”

Percy shrugged, not too sure what ‘excommunicated’ meant but certain enough that Apollo wouldn’t go through with it. He tipped his head back, squinting at the frescoes he didn’t recognize and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell they were doing together.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here?” 

The god’s breath was warm against the back of his neck and Percy’s skin broke out in goosebumps. 

‘Oh, I got lost. Was on my way to Diana’s temple actually, but the brochure wasn’t real specific. Can you point me on my way.’ He swallowed the words and turned to meet the god “What are you doing here?”

Percy blinked. They were much closer than he’d expected. Gods really don’t have any concept of personal space, the...cretins. Apollo gave an easy shrug, sweeping his eyes over the demigod’s face. “Weekly game night on Olympus. Got a little bored. You can only watch Athena dominate at Scrabble so many times. Your turn.” 

“That’s not a thing,” Percy frowned, trying to imagine the powers that be screeching bloody murder over a board game. 

“Stop avoiding the question. ‘Sides it totally is. One time, she played ‘abaxial’ on a triple and Zeus lightning-bolted the top off Mount Parnassus in his rage. You wanna go?” The offer’s flying out of his mouth before Apollo’s had a chance to think. It’s a line they can’t cross and they both know it. Zeus would lightning-bolt the top off of him if he showed up with the demigod, and Apollo shivered at how ready he was to risk it if Percy said yes. 

“No thanks,” Percy’s head swam with the picture of Poseidon and Hermes playing Go Fish. “We have an unfinished conversation,” he finally managed

Lately, it doesn't matter if he's brushing his teeth or working the register, their talk is stuck in his head. Makes him wonder about Luke. The son of Hermes had tried to kill him, succeeded in killing others. Backbiter didn’t discriminate between mortals, demigods, and monsters. Still, Percy had said he’d died a hero. But was he? If Hermes had raised him, would things have turned out differently? If Tyson had been raised by Cyclopes, would they still be brothers? And if that line didn't exist, where did that leave him? 

Apollo winced. He didn’t often hide from the truth, but the conversation Percy was referring to had left him particularly raw. He hadn’t admitted to anyone -- not Meg, or Rachel, or Artemis, or any of his fellow immortals -- the toll that his time as Lester had taken on him. Lester had wanted so desperately to regain his godhood but here, in the hills of New Rome, Apollo had realized he’d never been much of a god. 

“The other day, when we were talking about Tyson, you said something about a line?” Percy prompted, never one to hold back. He swallowed and then added, “Friends talk. They tell each other stuff.” 

Apollo wasn’t sure who Percy was trying to convince but he decided not to push it. “Friends talk,” he conceded. The god gulped down a breath of air, Percy’s scent overpowered the laurels. It wasn’t the tangy, salty, seaweed and fish smell of the ocean but it reminded him of sea storms nonetheless. His eyes rose to the ceiling, to confront all he'd done. Not too long ago he'd thought the mortal world had been nothing but swill and some swines. “Do you see Don?” 

“The Faun?” Percy frowned, eyes scanning over the wrong place. “No.”

You really shouldn’t. It’s absolutely unnecessary, his brain whispered. 

Shut up, Apollo hissed back. 

He reached out, fingers cupping his chin. For all of Percy's chiseled lines and biting angles, his skin is soft. And it occurs to him that the slightest flex of his hand could crush the human in front of him. And that -- no that cannot be. So with a tender touch, something that feels too much like devotion, he tipped his head to the right spot. “There.” 

“Oh.” Percy blushed, cheeks stained sunset pink. Tomorrow, he'll try and dye the sky that very shade. (He won't succeed, he's tried before.)

Apollo let his hand drop. “I never thought I’d learn so much from a faun." Much to Pan's annoyance, he'd found them dirty, and lazy. Their music a bore. But then Lester met Don and, "He gave his life to make sure the Triumvirate’s Navy was destroyed when the emperors tried to invade Camp Jupiter.” Apollo tried to still a shiver, he could still smell the acrid scent of burnt satyr flesh, see the awful way his friend -- because they were friends in the end -- had been disfigured.

Percy’s fists clenched, memories of Beckendor’s last day came flying back. Greek fire and burning seas. Sometimes -- only sometimes, because there were too many people to mourn, too many things to feel at once -- sometimes he still felt responsible for his death. “I never heard how he died.”

Apollo took a step back, putting distance between them lest his hands were tempted to touch him again. Distance did nothing to ease the hold the demigod's got on him but for now, he'd still like to pretend. “He used his last words to tell a joke, can you believe that faun?” He shook his head fondly. “He said: ‘Hey, Apollo. You know the difference between a faun and a satyr?’ Do you know it?”

Percy shook his head.

Apollo gave him a sad smile. “The only difference between a faun and a satyr is what we see in them. And what they see in themselves.”

Percy felt his throat close, heart aching for Don all over again. His easy grin and that crooked sign, "WILL WORK SING TALK GO AWAY FOR DENARII." In the fresco, he was laughing and Percy vowed to always remember him as such. “So…”

And this is the part not so easily admitted. If he were younger, he'd call it sacrilege. “So you said you were a monster, Percy. And I don’t quite believe you. Maybe you should have been better to Tyson, and maybe you’ve done terrible things. I know I have.” He waved at the ceiling, evidence of his past. “This isn’t fauns and satyrs but, heroes and monsters, gods and mortals, maybe the difference is still--”

“What we see in them, and what they see in themselves,” Percy finished. 

The words reverberated, in his skull, in his veins, and Percy's lungs creaked with what felt like his first real breath in months. Ever since he was a child, people had looked at him and seen a weapon, a threat, a death sentence. Somewhere along the line, he'd started to believe them but maybe -- gods, maybe.

"You've met your fair share of righteous monsters."

"And monstrous gods."

Apollo tipped his head in concession. "So maybe we do away with all the neatly drawn lines. What use are they anyway?" Because I'm immortal, but you're ever more divine.

The words hold...something. Maybe it's potential. No more heroes, no more monsters, gods, or men. No more us versus them. "Maybe we just are."

In the light of the dying sun, Apollo looked...beautiful, Percy decided. It was the only coherent thought he could hold onto as his world rearranged. He couldn’t hear anything over the roar of his heart. Which is why he had to look at Apollo’s lips to figure out the god said, “Close your eyes. ” Yes, that's why. He totally wasn’t staring. 

Apollo’s hand caught his wrist, pulling him forward. The god started to glow and just before Percy’s retinas burned off, he did as he was told. The floor beneath him disappeared, and they were gone. 

When the world came into focus, Percy was on his hands and knees, clutching sand. 

“Sorry about that,” a voice said somewhere to his left. Apollo, though he didn’t look sorry at all. “First time’s always a doozy. You’re not missing any limbs are you?”

Percy made a strangled noise and tried to run through head-shoulders-knees-and-toes-knees-and-toes from his spot on the sand. The god laughed. 

Bastard. 

He looked up then and his breath caught. They weren’t in his temple anymore. They probably weren’t even in the continental U.S anymore. “Where--?” he gasped. 

Apollo brightened, literally. “Hyperborea, Land of Eternal Spring,  birthplace of Leto and home to the sacred gardens of, well, me!”

Percy was tempted to hurl a gob of wet sand at him but the island's beauty was stunning. The sun dyed the grass a breathtaking gold. Forests and rolling hills reigned supreme. Flowers --roses, and honeysuckle, daffodils, hundreds of others that he couldn't quite name -- grew wild. Covering the ground in a thousand colors. 

The demigod rose steadily to his feet. “Why?” he asked, still a little breathless. 

“Wouldn’t be a love story if I didn’t try to abduct you,” Apollo grinned. 

Percy threw the sand. 

“Alright! Alright! Jeez,” the god squawked. Sand was impossible to get out. “Sensitive much?”

“I’ve already been kidnapped by an Olympian once, Apollo. I’m not about to--”

Apollo winced. “Right, right. Hera. Bad joke.”

Percy let the sand slip between his fingers. The god looked...kinda cute honestly. All flustered like that. 

Woah. Percy swallowed. Let’s - let’s put a pin on that. 

He looked remorseful but it still didn’t mean he appreciated being whisked away.

“Why?” he asked again, but the heat in his voice was embarrassingly transparent. 

Apollo shrugged. “Walk with me.”

He set out for the island before Percy could so much as blink. 

The tour was amazing, of course. The island made Calypso’s garden look like a scraggly old park. Percy half expected to see towering gold statues of the god littering the grounds, but the natural beauty was undisturbed. Nymphs peeked out and giggled at them, sometimes even going so far as to ruffle his hair. “Terrible flirts,” Apollo growled. 

They hiked until they reached a clearing, where the trees broke to reveal the most beautiful river Percy had ever seen. It babbled over the rocks, humming with power. He was so entranced that he didn’t notice Apollo had stopped walking and ran right into the gods back. 

The god steadied him before he could fall. Percy’s ears turned red. 

“You said friends talk,” Apollo started, but Percy’s mind was still stuck on the hand at his elbow. “So I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you’ve seemed a little tense lately.”

Had his eyes always been that blue? 

“So I thought I could bring you here for some release.” His eyes flicked down to his hand and he seemed to realize that he was still holding on. It dropped away and Percy...Percy was doing fine, thanks for asking. 

“Release?” Percy echoed, mind doing backflips into the gutter. 

Apollo waved his hands. “Of sorts. Catharsis, if you will. The storm --”

“Oh.” They were still talking about that.

“--was not a good sign. I mean, you could go to Dionysus, of course. This is all his area of expertise really.”

Percy shook himself from his stupor. He still wasn’t sure where Apollo was going but he knew one thing. “Look at me. Are you looking?”

“Staring,” the god smiled. 

“I would rather have," he paused trying to think of something bad enough. "A WWE Smackdown with Gaea than go to Dionysus for anything.”

Apollo’s lips twitched, and then he was full-force laughing. Percy frowned. “I’m serious. Round two.”

“I believe you,” he chuckled, making a mental note to ask Dionysus what exactly had happened there. He’d told him they weren’t on good terms but there was definitely something more to it. 

“So like I was saying,” gods, he was still struggling to keep the smile from his face. “I’m no Dionysus--”

“Good.”

“But I do know a thing or two about healing. And you, Percy, how do I say this?” He waved his hand like he was plucking the words from the air. “You’re not doing it right.”

Percy’s eyebrows shot up, the river behind them sped up. “Come again.”

Apollo winced. It wouldn't do to end up murdered on his own island. “You're right. That's-- I shouldn't have said that. It's just... It’s been my observation, as a friend, as a healthcare professional, that you’re maybe wound a little tight.”

“Proceed with caution.”

Apollo's eyes rolled to the heavens, a habit he'd kept from Lester. Why was it so difficult to have this conversation? It didn't exactly take Dionysus to see that the demigod wasn't coping well. "You've been through a lot," two wars and endless quests, and now is not the time for Apollo's guilt about that to surface. "I won't pretend to know the details and I won't force you to tell me. But I do know that you're having nightmares, that your powers are manifesting in your sleep. I'm --"

“I'm not going to snap,” Percy interrupted, shoulders tight. He's tired of having this conversation with people, didn't expect it to come from him. 

Apollo's hands went up in surrender. "I'm not saying you will." He'd already spent an inordinate amount of time combing through visions of the future, looking for anything that might give him a clue to the demigod's fate. All to no avail. There were too many choices he had yet to face, nothing concrete to divine. "But it's natural to struggle and I brought you here because I thought I could help."

Percy's eyes narrowed. Apollo couldn't blame him for it. Ares had set a bad precedent when it came to gods offering their help. 

"My father has ignored you thus far, but I’m not sure how long his patience will last. From burst plumbing to summoning storms in your sleep? Rest assured, he will not tolerate it forever. I’d rather you get some of this chaos out of your system here than have you, and all of San Francisco, be blasted off the face of the earth tomorrow.” That would suck, and then I’d probably try and fight him, and this time I think he’d really just erase me from existence too. 

Percy frowned. Thinking back over the years, he’d called his powers mostly in the heat of battle. He wasn’t like Demeter’s kids, always honing their strengths with the strawberries. Or the Hephaestus cabin, always reaching for new heights in the Forges. Even Nico had Minos at one point, though that was complicated. His time at camp had been a long list of 'Be careful, Percy. Half-bloods of the elder gods are dangerous, Percy. Choice to end Olympus coming, don’t want to be looking too reckless.'  

Chiron had warned him about it. It didn't happen often but divinity made some demigods too volatile. If they caused enough disturbances to strain the Mist, the gods would be forced to intervene in much the same way an executioner intervenes. And with Mount St. Helens, with Tartarus and his newfound fear of drowning -- well, he hadn't exactly been keen to experiment.

Still though. "How does coming here help?"

Apollo took a step forward, closer than necessary. "Think of an earthquake." His fingers itched to sweep aside midnight dark curls. "The tension builds slowly, gradually. It happens when nobody's looking and then one day..."

Percy’s throat went dry. "I told you I'm not going to snap."

"You're not," he agreed. "Because I brought you here to release." 

"And the trees? The nymphs? What about them?"

The god waved his hand. “This island has my blessing. Nothing ever dies here. It’s infused with so much power, it probably won’t even need me. It’ll heal itself.”

“Huh…” Percy couldn’t deny that it was tempting. No one had ever given him free rein before.

“You're serious?”

Apollo nodded. He could have just told him, of course. Could have told him in New Rome and left on his own separate way but, to be completely honest, he was being a little selfish here. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled, a sure sign that what was coming would be unforgettable. “Do your worst.”

It doesn't start with a storm. 

Percy looked at Apollo, waited for him to take it all back, but the god didn't budge. Slowly, carefully, he walked to the river bank. Too aware that his back is unguarded. Too aware that there are eyes on him. 

A pretty naiad blinked up at him from beneath the water. She is curly hair and quicksilver smiles and when he gets too close, her arm shoots out, pulling him into the river. Percy sat down hard, cheeks flaming. Some son of Poseidon I am.

Maybe she read his thoughts because cold lips pressed against his ear, making him jump once more. "It's okay," she whispered, trailing a finger along his cheek. "We won't be mad." And Percy's thoughts chased away, to a Labyrinth nymph and how worried she had been.

The naiad glanced at Apollo and whatever she saw there made her laugh. "Have fun," she teased. Whether she was speaking to him or the god, Percy's not too sure. And he doesn't have time to ask because in the next second, she melted into the currents. 

"Right," Percy muttered. He didn't dare look past the riverbank, doesn't need to. Apollo's gaze burns. "Right."

His chin tipped to clear blue skies. It's strange, doing this because he can. He's not angry, he's not in a fight, he's not about to die. For a second, Percy wondered if this would be a dud. Without the fuel of adrenaline, would he still be able to command this domain?

The first drop comes before anxiety's gotten a strong enough hold over him. Then the next. And the next. Before long, there's a miniature hurricane swirling over Apollo's head. "That's not what I meant!" the god squawked. Already halfway to drenched. 

Percy laughed as he watched him try and swat at it. His efforts were fruitless. 

He was starting to get a little lost -- in tanned arms, in the way honey-hair darkens -- when a tug at his hand called his attention. But when he looked, there was no naiad there. The pull comes again, it's meaning clearer now. The river is calling. Percy risked one more glance at the god before chasing into the depths. The water welcomed him, told him its history, gave its name freely. Eridanos. A river carved from sorrow. 

Percy shivered as the images came together behind his eyelids. The landscape is the same, it's still Hyperborea but it's marred by a body. A carcass, smoking and burnt. Cradled in the shaking embrace of a god he's starting to know all too well. The stories always spoke of his fury. The wretched temper that felled Cyclopes, an act so cruel he had been stripped of his divinity.

The water roiled.

But this -- with his wretched sobs -- this is something else. They never said he cried. It's the sorrow he's seen before, in the faces of parents after the Wars, when Percy had to curl camp beads into their hands and tell them it's all they have left of their children. He wants to reach out, wants to touch him even when the sobs turn to roars. Apollo looked less like a vengeful god and more like those dolphins, senselessly thrashing against strangling nets.

Water doesn't flood his lungs when he takes a breath but something else does. It feels a lot like understanding. Percy's errant brain idly wondered if he should feel a little grossed out. But the water bears no ill-intent, it feels more cleansing than the Lethe could ever be. 

He willed the current to shape into a wave, gently depositing him in front of Apollo. "These are your tears." You cried him a river. 

Apollo looked taken aback. "For Asclepius, yes."

And Percy...Percy stared. This must be what it's like to be a Seer, to know truth. Apollo looks just the same -- a startling beauty but he can't quite call it skin deep anymore. 

'Well then, these are mine,'  Percy thinks, watching as the rain began to fall in earnest, melting into the stream until there's no telling them apart. 

He's not sure how long it's been when he finally stops, shoulders rolling in satisfaction. He expected to feel drained -- a vein tapped dry -- but instead, his body gives to that addicting feeling. The first stretch on a lazy Sunday morning after he's been still for far too long. 

Percy had been worried about the island but Apollo was right. After the screaming winds died down, it still looked unscathed. A couple of nymphs gave him the stink eye but they’d forgive him eventually...probably. 

He opened his mouth, ready for Apollo to throw a grape at him, but the god missed and bounced it off his nose. 

“So Artemis is the better archer, huh?”

Apollo gasped, his pout almost genuine. “Take that back!”

Percy dived for the sand, dancing away from the fruit he's now being pelted with. He came up with a fistful of sand in each hand, he can do war. “You wanna have sand in places where your sun don't shine, pretty boy?”

Apollo tried to hide something soft and hesitant behind a patented smirk. “You think I’m pretty?”

Time slowed down and Percy imagined an Annabeth-shaped angel appearing on his shoulder. Accompanied, of course, by a Percy-shaped devil taking residence on the other. He knew he was doomed when they both whispered to him, ‘Oh, you are in so much trouble.’

“Yeah,” he swallowed. “I do.” 

Chapter Text

“You know, like objectively speaking.” Percy winced, unsure if he was making things better or worse. Over the course of his demigod life, he’d been snapped at, clawed at, blowtorched, and poisoned. And to be completely honest, he’d take any of those in a heartbeat if it meant he didn’t have to face the sun god. 

Apollo’s face twisted but he managed a nod. “Yeah, objectively speaking.”

“Like with Aphrodite--”

“Mhmm.”

“Or, Calypso.”

“Sure.”

“Or, maybe even Thana--”

And really, there’s only so much Apollo’s ego can take. “Percy, have you ever heard the phrase, ‘quit while you’re not smote’ ?” 

Percy tugged at the collar of his shirt, his heart was still committed to doing jumping jacks and the subtle threat didn’t help. Even if he was at least 70% sure that Apollo wouldn’t go through with it. “Can’t say I have, no.”

Apollo mustered a tight smile. “First time for everything then. Anyway, like I told you, this really is Dionysus’ area of expertise. You don’t have to go to him, of course. But take it from someone who knows, bottled up powers, bottled up feelings,” he grimaced. “They never lead anywhere good.” 

That night, long after the god had dropped him off in New Rome, Percy lay awake in his bed. Still trying to convince himself that his little slip didn’t mean anything. 

I mean, it’s Apollo. The living, breathing, eternally insufferable inspiration for Michaelangelo’s David. Percy’s got eyes, he’s big enough to admit that the god’s attractive. ‘He’s at least a seven,’ he mumbled. ‘But it’s not like it means anything. People can be attractive, it’s not a crime.’

Maybe it should be, his brain replied. Have you seen this guy’s a--?

‘No. No, we are not going there.’ He huffed, twisting in his sheets. ‘It’s not a thing. I was delirious. Tired from overexertion. Still am.’ He nodded to himself and put the subject under lock and key before falling asleep for the night. 

If his palms are sweaty the next time he sees him, well it nothing. If he found himself leaning into the god, it's just because it’s cold. And if it feels like there are newborn baby hydras wreaking havoc in his stomach when Apollo smiles, well that’s just indigestion. 

Things came to a head on a sunny Wednesday in early December, when Apollo whisked him away to Hyperborea. 

They’ve been back a couple of times since that first night. Apollo’s an ‘All-knowing deity and you can quote me on that, Jackson. But I never really specialized in Uncle P’s area of expertise. I mean, it’s not like the man takes interns.’ Most days, when Percy’s trying to focus on his powers, Apollo hangs back and offers helpful little pointers like ‘don’t drown’ and ‘stand up straight.’ Sometimes they bicker. Like when Apollo insists that if he focused just enough, he'd be able to bring about a sharknado. And Percy has to temper his smile because 'No, Apollo. I am not traumatizing the sea-life no matter how badly you want to fling this calamity at Hermes.' 

Today, when he settles into the grass next to Apollo, the words are there again. Like they’ve been every other time, bitten back by the skin of his teeth. He wants to tell him how and why he ended up like this. So alienated from his powers. He wants to tell him about Gabe and Mount St. Helens. Tartarus, and blood-bending. About the time the son of the sea god almost drowned. Because being here, in a place where nothing ever dies, where he can lean into his powers without being Perseus the destroyer, it helps. 

But Percy can still hear a strained voice telling him some things aren’t meant to be controlled. He still can’t let go, not really. And if anyone can understand, if anyone can see the worst parts of him and not judge, not be scared, not tell him he’s wrong for it...maybe it’s Lester. 

So the words are there, halfway out of his mouth when his breath hitches. Because Apollo’s next to him, doing an absolutely pathetic job on some flower crowns. The ADHD part of Percy’s brain is wondering if he should sign the god up for weaving classes with the nymphs at camp, but most of his attention is on the lip caught between teeth. The furrowed brow, clenched jaw, and gentle hands. He looks like something out of a painting, sitting among the wildflowers and something in his brain clicks.

Somewhere pigs are flying because Percy’s palms are sweaty, and there’s a hydra beating down the walls of his stomach.

He hasn’t made so much as a squeak, thoroughly rocked by the realization that yeah. This a thing. But Apollo still turns to him, head tilted in confusion. 

“Are you okay?” he frowned. 

“Fine,” Percy ground out. “Fine. I’m fine. This is fine.” 

The god’s eyes only narrowed. “Are you sure? You’ve got an irregular heartbeat and that shouldn’t be happening when you’re resting.”

Percy nodded through the fire in his cheeks. “Happens all the time,” he said, trying for a smile. “Just human things.” And that is definitely the wrong thing to say because, in the next minute, Apollo is tossing his poor mangled flowers to the side. 

“Heart arrhythmias are nothing to joke about, Perseus.” Apollo’s lost loves to many things but he’ll be damned if he lets a heart condition take Percy Jackson. “When was your last yearly check-up? Don’t make that face, I will call Asclepius if I have to.”

Percy would give anything, anything, to have Gaea swallow him whole in that moment. As it is, it takes way too long to convince Apollo that he is in fact okay. He dodges the visit to Asclepius only through a lifetime of combat experience. 

He still feels a little fevered that night, when Apollo drops him off. He can’t sit still, can’t watch T.V, can’t focus on his homework. Falling for a god is number one on the Top 10 Things That Can Ruin Your Life list. Which is why this isn’t happening. It can’t be happening. 

‘It’s not happening,’ Percy assured himself. ‘I just need someone to talk some sense into me. Someone to ground me.’ Annabeth’s face flashed through his mind and Percy can’t help but wince. His mom is a definite no. Thalia would laugh at him. Piper, Frank, and Hazel don’t need to see him sink so far below rock bottom.  

Percy took a deep breath, settling into the couch in his living room. He let his thumb dance over the drachma before throwing it in the air. “Oh Fleecy, do me a solid.” 

Chapter Text

“Show me Grover Underwood.”

Percy considered calling Rachel instead, she had been his anchor in the months before the Titan War, but this was different. It was about his (ugh) feelings for her patron god. There was a tiny, minuscule chance that she might let it slip, and then where would Percy be? 

Volunteering for Eternal Damnation probably. 

Nope. Better not risk it. 

The air in front of him rippled before an image of Grover appeared. He was in a kitchen, wearing a green apron stamped with the picture of cute little bees and the caption ‘if we die, we’re taking you with us.’ 

Percy frowned. It looked like the satyr was putting together his signature plate of tin-can-loaded nachos. Normally, he wasn’t one to judge his friends’ eating habits but it was late and Grover only stirred his cheese sauce like that when he was worried. 

“Are you stress eating?”

The satyr, to his credit, didn’t startle at the sound of Percy’s voice. 

"Yes, ” he grouched, throwing Percy an accusatory glare before he turned his attention back to the stove. “I’ve been waiting for your call, man. The empathy link’s been driving me up the wall. Feels like there's ants crawling under my skin. What is up with you, Perce?” 

Percy’s cheeks heated up but Grover cut him off before he could answer. “Wait! Should I be sitting down for this?”

Yes. “Okay Goat Man, listen. I’m invoking the ‘No Judgement’ clause of our friendship. This,” he paused. “This is not a good time for me.”

Grover blinked once. Twice, before stepping off-screen.“I’m getting a chair,” he muttered. 

He’s gone just long enough for Percy’s stomach to take gold in a contortionist competition. This is what he gets for not sending the Fates that fruit basket. Sure, it wasn’t like the offerings of old but it had to count for something right? At this point, he would even throw in a ‘pretty please.’ “Your hair looks nice,” he stalled.

“Percy, c’mon.”

Percy grimaced. Shoulda known that wouldn't work. “Fine,” he said. “I may have made a mistake.”

Grover’s eyes narrowed. “‘A’ as in singular? As in one individual mistake? Please, don’t let me get my hopes up.”

Oh, this so wasn’t going to be easy. “Okay, many mistakes. Many, many mistakes.” Take the biggest number you can think of and multiply it by 10.

Grover raised a hand to his temple. One time he had told the demigod that satyrs weren’t supposed to get headaches. For a while now, he’s been wanting to clarify that it wasn’t meant to be taken as a challenge.  

“Through absolutely no fault of my own,” Percy started. “I think, um, I suspect that somehow when I wasn’t looking, I maybe might have developed a tiny little crush on Apollo.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Grover snorted. Yeah right, and I’m a three-headed empousa! “Ah, good one man,” he chuckled, craning his neck to see into the recesses of Percy’s living room. “Am I being Punk’d right now? Where are the cameras? Did you lose a bet to Annabeth?”

Percy dropped his head into his hands with a groan. “You said you’d be nice ,” he hissed. 

Grover’s smile cracked --I said no such thing -- and then promptly fell dead. The feeling of watching a train crash in slow motion pooled in his chest.

“Percy. Percy, no ,” he gasped out.

He doesn’t need the empathy link to know that his friend is seconds from a spiral. Gods, he is seconds from a spiral. His brain is folding in on itself, leaping ahead and tumbling back all at once. Apollo? The Apollo? There are a million questions he wants to ask but Percy looks small and his eyes are desperate for something. It occurs to him that Percy doesn’t need Grover’s breakdown, right now he needs a friend.

“Okay,” he swallowed. “Okay. I see that. I acknowledge that. I feel your pain. Quite literally, actually. Um just real quick, how and,” maybe most importantly, “why?”

A slice of tension slips from Percy’s shoulders and then the floodgates open. It’s a rambling story about a sea monster and 3 a.m quests. Something about agreeing to be his friend, wanting to know that gods can change. He loses the thread of the conversation somewhere between rating sunsets and a visit to a temple. Grover decides it doesn’t matter. Percy could explain until he’s blue in the face and it still wouldn't make sense.

Seriously, Lester? Papadopoulos? Out of every deity in existence, did it have to be an Olympian?  

Despite all his efforts over the years, Percy Jackson is going to end up as a decorative shrub. It’s insulting. 

“And I'm not like in love with him or anything. It's just -- he's a good-looking guy you know. He's got a nice --”

"Please," Grover said, the tin cans in his stomach started to churn. "Please do not finish that sentence. The no-judgment clause can only protect you from so much."

"Jaw. I was going to say jaw."

"Mhmm."

Percy ripped a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to do. We've been spending a lot of time together. He was, gods, he was so annoying at first. And don't get me wrong -- he still is. But he's funny, Grover. I didn't expect him to be funny. I didn't expect him to be kind or gentle or soft. I didn't expect him to care, or to stick around for this long. Today when I looked at him...I just wanted to stay there. I wanted to sit there and tell him about Tartarus, tell him about Gabe, tell him about everything. And I can't -- I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do."

And Grover wanted to laugh -- a high-pitched, hysterical thing. From this side of the Iris message, Percy looks like the dictionary definition of a lost cause. But laughing would not be kind. 

“I mean, do you think he feels the same way? Do you want this to go anywhere?” Almost a rhetorical question. Grover doesn't know any god that would put this much effort in unless they were interested. Percy, apparently, hasn't come to the same conclusion. 

He chokes and the answer comes a little too fast. Oh Pan, have mercy. “No. Nope. To both. He can’t and I don’t.” 

The possibility of either of those things hadn’t occurred to Percy until now and he doesn’t want to chase that train thought anywhere. That way lies ruin. 

Grover inhaled, some Breath of Fire technique he picked up in his yoga class. This really isn’t his specialty. Why are Percy’s problems never about the health and safety of wildlife? His friend needs an anchor but Grover’s not sure what to say. It’s not like there’s a handbook for what to do when you fall for a god. Though maybe there should be. He files the thought away for later. 

Percy watched Grover absently reach for a tin can. “I don’t know, man,” he crunched. “This is,” batshit. “A lot to take in.“

“Do you think I’m doomed?”

Grover coughed. “No, of course not.” His voice is a little high pitched but Percy decided not to read into it. “There’s no need to drown in a glass of water right? People have crushes all the time. They come and they go. It’s not the end of the world.” 

“Right,” Percy nods. “Feelings come and go. This is -- this is normal.”

“Sure.”

“To be expected even.”

“Well…”

“Don’t take this from me, Goat Boy,” Percy groused. 

Grover spent the rest of the call channeling cheesy self-help books. He babbles about how it will all turn out fine because attraction is fleeting and infatuation even more so. How the best way to get through this is acceptance and making his peace with it. It'll be over soon enough. He’s not sure he believes all of it but it’s what Percy needs to hear. He makes note of the way his hands steady and his eyes clear. By the end, Grover's even got himself half convinced.

When the call cuts off, Percy lets his body collapse against the couch. He sat there, maybe for a minute, maybe for an hour. There's a stack of unfinished assignments on the coffee table in front of him and it'll stay untouched. His hummingbird heart is still beating too fast, thinking of blue eyes and deep belly laughs. The warmth that only comes from being around him.

Percy shivered. Acceptance feels foreign, wrong. It leaves him breathless, reminds him of drowning. It's easier to wrap a padlock around his feelings and chuck them down the Marianas Trench. And in the quiet of his apartment, that's what he decides to do. It wouldn't make Grover proud but denial is the only way to keep his head above water. The alternative...the alternative is not an option. 

Gods, he is so taking a self-care day tomorrow.

Apollo wondered if the world would be okay with just eight Muses. He could always ask Athena of course, but then he’d probably lose plausible deniability. 

He loves them, that’s not the problem. A constant through his eternity, his companions in the arts. Yada, yada, yada. The thing is, Apollo’s a god. Not a saint. 

Even now, Erato is badgering away at him. Editing his odes, picking out clothes for him to wear, trying to steal his diary. 

“Under the pillow, seriously E? You think I’d be that--?’

The muse dug out the small, leather-bound journal with a victory cry. She twirled herself onto the bed with unfair grace and cracked the book open. 

“That’s not mine,” Apollo scrambled. “I’ve never seen that before in my life.”

Erato wrinkled her nose at him.”It says ‘If found, please return to Phoebus Apollo at your earliest convenience.’”

She flicked through the pages, breezing past the ‘unauthorized readers will face incineration’ warning until a finger traced over the image of one Percy Jackson. It was a simple charcoal painting but the lines of his face had been so painstakingly carved out, they made the Sistine Chapel look like paint on a ceiling. 

“You’ve been so distracted lately, we haven’t even had a chance to talk--” Erato looked up only to find the god staring at a point somewhere above her eyes. The absent smile said he wasn’t seeing her at all. “Di immortales , Apollo. Are you with him right now?”

Apollo wanted to say no but down in New Rome, a slice of his consciousness was watching Percy Jackson do battle with a jammed oven door.

The demigod turned away, leaning on the counter to catch his breath before leaping back and furiously rattling the handle. 

Apollo couldn’t help it. He laughed. “I’m sorry, were you planning to startle it into submission?”

Percy glared. “It’s not funny! They’re going to burn!”

The bakery had received an order for some 50 cupcakes to be delivered first thing in the morning. Percy had been happy enough to switch his shifts, staying after closing to make sure it got done. He was getting paid overtime and he didn’t have to work on Saturday. 

“You know, they say prayer helps in moments like these,” Apollo pointed out. 

“I’m an atheist," Percy snapped. He leaned down to peer through the oven door, smoke was starting to curl around the pastries. 

Apollo sucked in a breath through his teeth, he should maybe be insulted. He should definitely not be so indulgent. “I thought you were trying out monotheism.” A snap of his fingers and the oven door opened with a click. 

Percy spared him a grateful glance. “Wasn’t really my thing.”

'Hello? Olympus to Apollo. Are you ignoring me?’  Erato’s voice sounded a million miles away. 

“It’s not really my thing either but that’s no reason to give up,” Apollo answered. 

Percy huffed. Something in him rattled when he looked at Apollo -- all smug smiles and dancing eyes. Don't you know what you're doing to me?  Maybe he does and maybe he doesn't, Percy's not sure which is worse but he's annoyed all the same. “You’re right. I have some Egyptian friends, I could probably ask around. Do you think they’re taking subscribers? Or is it worshippers?” 

Apollo’s eyebrows shot up. Reason whispered to him, 'this is the part where you shut up' but Percy's mouth runaway mouth wouldn't stop. "Doesn't matter. Bring me Egypt's gods and I'll bow."

Something a little too close to jealousy stirred in Apollo. If he could cross this distance and sear the words from his lips he would. “Don’t bother," he sniffed. "I heard it’s all a pyramid scheme.”

Two groans answered his efforts. One was Percy’s and the other…

Apollo paled. 

Erato shimmered into existence. She hopped onto the counter and had the nerve to look like she belonged there. “That was a terrible joke.”

Hungry eyes raked over the demigod before she turned her attention to Apollo. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Chapter Text

Erato’s brown eyes glinted. Taunted. And Apollo’s heart promptly took off in a sprint fast enough to outrun Hermes. Gods above, she’s going to be the end of him.

“Sphinx got your tongue? I can introduce myself if you’d like.” She turned her attention back to Percy, who hadn’t moved an inch since her arrival. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Percy Jackson. I am Erato, Muse of Love Poe--”

“No!” Apollo interrupted. “No. Nope. Time out.” Foul. He hurried forward to take her elbow and yanked her back towards the exit.

“Apollo, what are you--”

“Don’t mind us,” he waved to Percy. “Emergency meeting in the hallway. Um, we’ll be right back with your regularly scheduled programming. Yeah?” He knows they must make for a strange sight but Apollo still hopes against hope that Percy won’t ask any questions. 

As soon as they’re in the hallway and safely out of earshot he rounds on her. “What are you doing here, E?” 

There’s venom in his voice but it’s undercut by a current of nerves that leave him sounding much too vulnerable to be divine. Later, he’ll wonder if this is what prompted the change in Erato because she doesn’t go for blood, she doesn’t tease, she doesn’t poke. Apollo almost wishes she would. 

Here in the dark, this hellfire of a Muse -- she softens. When her shoulders slump, Apollo knows he’s in trouble.”I’m worried about you.”

His jaw clicks. Anything but this.

“Olympus talks. The godlings and nymphs, they know something is going on with you.” Apollo winced. Aphrodite had told him as much, but that seemed like forever ago.

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t have to be the god of truth to know it sounds like a lie. Erato's arms crossed. 

“You’re avoiding the other gods. You’re distracted. Absent. Apollo, you’re staring at him and I don’t know if he’ll ever look back at you.”

The words cleave themselves into his breastbone until there’s no more room to breathe. It's not an insult but his cheeks still burn hot. He doesn't need to be told that this is self-destructive. "What's it to you? I thought you liked your love stories a little tragic." 

Erato looked away then, and the air thickens. For a second, Apollo worries that he’s coming, that he’s here. Eros. Always as much her companion as he is.

“Not for you, not anymore.” 

He’s touched, Erato never lets her guard down easy. Still, his back steels, and Apollo’s eyes flick to the door at the end of the hall. To the person he knows is behind them. “Have you come to take me away then?”

Erato hears his defiance as clearly as if he’d screamed it. “That would not be very wise of me.” Her smile is gentle. “But I am curious about him. I want to meet the mortal who has got such a grip on you.”

The nerves come crashing back then and Apollo feels too much like a flightless bird thrown off a cliff. Erato and Percy in the same room are his very own personalized harbinger of doom. If he doesn’t focus, he might burst into a column of fire. “Well, you’ve met him. Congratulations. I can get you his autograph if you leave now. Tell your sisters I said hi.”

Erato rolled her eyes. “C’mon. Don’t be such a buzzkill.” She linked their arms together and started down the hallway, back to the bakery’s kitchen. “Besides, I’ve been good. I’ve kept your secret.”

“And I thank you,” Apollo started. “Truly, I do--”

“So let me have my fun!”

They were getting perilously close to the door. “Erato, please don’t embarrass me. I can manage just fine on my own. How ‘bout you--?

They burst through the door and Apollo blinked. Hard. This is not the time for Percy to be looking like the eighth wonder of the world. He’s going to need all his brain cells sharp and functioning to get out of this one and if you ask Artemis, she’ll tell you he has a grand total of two. 

“Percy Jackson, I have heard so much about you,” Erato beamed.

“From gossip rags,” Apollo cut in. “And other such works.”

“And other such works,” she conceded. The light bent and Apollo swears he can see her fanning herself with a small, leather-bound book but the moment passes, and his heart restarts. I’m setting a price on her head.

Percy’s eyes darted between them, to their linked arms and suddenly Apollo can’t get away from the Muse fast enough. 

“Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I am Erato, Muse of Love Poetry. Defender of Love Affairs,” she winked -- winked --at him. Gods can’t hyperventilate but Apollo’s trying his best.

Percy Jackson's name is legend and he lives up to it. He doesn’t bow, he doesn’t even nod his head and somehow, Erato finds that she doesn’t expect him to.  Apollo must have been misbehaving before she got there. There is flour streaked into his black hair, dusting over his nose. Too much of it to be an accident. That ridiculous god. She plucked the bowl from Percy's hands and shoved it into Apollo. 

“Here. Whisk.” 

Not the way to speak to an Olympian. 

Erato’s not sure how someone can look affronted while whisking but Apollo manages. He’s all scoffs and ruffled feathers and it’s the best introduction she could have hoped for. Percy grins and -- Oh. That’s why Apollo’s in trouble. 

“Can I help with anything?”

She can hear Apollo’s ‘Calming breaths. Deep breaths. This is fine. Everything’s fine.’ Much too low for the demigod to hear but it still pulls her lips into a smile. Percy looks taken aback. “Uh, yeah. I guess. Those ones over there need frosting.”

Green eyes watch as she marches to her station. “Thanks,” he says. 

She waves it away. They work in silence for a beat and then she can’t help it anymore. “So, has Apollo told you about that time I pulled the stopper in his bath?”

“Erato.” Target practice. He’s going to use her for target practice. 

“He got so scared he ended up phasing, got sucked down the drain, and...Where was it you ended up?”

“Don’t you dare .”

“Ah yes, a sewage treatment facility in Biloxi. We couldn’t find you for two days.”

Apollo might vaporize her later but Percy laughs. It’s infectious and addicting and she can’t help but lean over and stage whisper, “I have pictures.”

The god’s frantic, “She’s lying. Erato, say you’re lying. Are you lying?” doesn’t help his case. 

When Percy’s back is turned Apollo mouths ‘I’m going to end you.' She sticks her tongue out at him. 

They say an unrelenting heart is its own executioner but it doesn’t take Erato long to decide that Percy Jackson is good people. There’s a chance there, she thinks, that he’ll be the end to Apollo’s rotten score with love. Should they need her, she knows she will stand by them. Defender of love affairs that she is. 

She stays, maybe for a bit longer than she intended to. Have you seen pictures of him in the eighties? Do you want to? And did you know he caused the K-T event that made the dinosaurs go extinct? No, I know. It’s unforgivable. He’s half the reason we have rules and regulations for chariot driving. And did you know, he’s scared of hippocampi? Long story. Ask your dad. 

In the end, Erato’s pretty sure that Apollo is planning her eternal banishment but it was worth it. She turns to him before she leaves, “Come to our concert next week. My sisters miss you.”

The god sniffs. “I’m busy that day.”

‘I didn’t say what day,’ is on the tip of her tongue but she can do better. “How ‘bout you, Percy? Calliope would love to meet you.” 

“I’ll go.” Apollo yelps. “I’ll go. I’ll be there. Tell them I’ll take the solo.” 

“Thursday. Sundown. Don’t be late.”

With the last of her essence fading from the room, she whispers, low enough for only the god to hear. “I like this one.”

Having feelings for a god is arguably the worst decision Percy has ever made. Denial makes for a flimsy life raft but he clings to it nonetheless. This is a temporary affliction. A fleeting loss of reason. This is the only way he knows to make his peace with it. 

He comes Thursday morning. ‘The concert’s tonight,’ his brain supplies. But he’s distracted by the not-stutter and not-squeeze of his heart. Any rose-colored thoughts are swiftly chased away when Apollo raises his hand and heaves a dramatic sigh. “My prophetic senses are tingling. I think I’m getting a vision.”

Percy’s nose wrinkled. “That’s too bad. You know, one time, I opened a fortune cookie that said ‘Only listen to cookie; Disregard all other units of fortune-telling.’ ”

Semi-reformed god that he is, Apollo still bristles at being compared to a cookie. His talents. Equated to mere fortune-telling. He can’t help asking, “And...you burned it?”

“No, it’s still in my wallet. Seemed like pretty solid advice given all your prophecies. Wanna see it?”

Sun-tanned shoulders roll just so and Percy knows he’s struck a nerve. “Look at me.”

He looks. 

“Inches from extinction, Jackson.”

‘It’s a threat, ’ Apollo wants to clarify. ‘It’s very clearly a threat!’ But it wouldn’t stop Percy from laughing. 

“That’s progress,” he says, smile still playing on his lips. “Last time you said it was a hair's width.” 

The easy, brazen confidence shouldn’t be as appealing as it is. He sniffs and looks away, Percy always dons that insufferable grin when he knows he’s won. He'd been hoping to get Percy to help him ditch Olympus tonight. Word spread about his visit and there's every chance that he'll run into Zeus there. They haven't seen each other since Apollo recovered his godhood and he hasn't exactly been yearning for their reunion. 

The demigod’s looking for something. Probably his missing shoe but Apollo's ego will not let him help.  So he watches him instead. Not under the couch, not in the trash, not in the closet. He checks the kitchen cabinets and Apollo has to bite the insight of his cheek. When Percy sticks his head in the fridge, he loses it. 

He digs the shoe out from where he’d been sitting on it and tosses it onto the coffee table. “Where are you going?”

Percy glared while tying his laces. “Christmas shopping in town.”

Any other day and he’d dig at him for celebrating the holiday but today all he has is a simple, “Can I come?” Too plaintive, too wanting, and he's reminded again that friends aren't supposed to crave like this. It does little for his mood. 

Twenty minutes later they’re driving out of camp. Percy can sense more than know that something is wrong. Apollo’s quiet, he’s not even making fun of his driving. The lines in his face are harsh enough to make marble look weak and Percy's aware that it should send him running. It's what any sane demigod would do. But he stays quiet and feels his bones brace for storms.

When they reach the highway, Percy lets himself be swept away by memories of another deity. Juno, that day he first got to Camp Jupiter. Gods, that had been such a mess. He’d been chased out of his mind by Euryale and Stheno, the Gorgon sisters. Something they’d said had always stuck with him…

“Spit it out.”

Percy flinches when he looks over and meets golden eyes. For a second he sees Luke. Kronos. Hyperion. Flames and the Battle for Manhattan. But the fire here is different, the gold a lighter shade. He wonders how Apollo would feel about the comparison

“What do you mean?”

Gold eyes fix on his fingers, drumming tirelessly on the steering wheel and then slowly drag back to Percy’s face.

Percy flushed “It’s a weird question,” he warns. Not the sort of thing to bother a temperamental god with. 

Apollo answers with a shrug. How weird can it be? Besides, he needs a distraction. Going back to Olympus feels too much like going to the gallows.

“Do I just stink to you?”

It’s English, so by all means, Apollo should understand him. But it doesn’t make sense. “Pardon?”

Percy’s fingers pick up their pace on the steering wheel and Apollo’s curiosity grows despite his bad mood. “See, Euryale and Stheno, when they were chasing me they said they could still smell Medusa’s blood on me. And uh, I mean I’ve taken a lot of showers since then. Like...a lot. I’ve also killed loads more monsters, so do I smell like them too? Do I just stink to you? I’ve asked Grover but he won’t tell me.”

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Apollo, don’t do it. For the love of everything that's good and holy --

It’s no use. In the next second, he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and rudely, selfishly shoving his face in the crook of the demigod's neck. His nose skims a pulse and the car almost swerves. 

“Dude,” Percy squirmed. “Personal space!”

He falls back into his seat with a laugh and hell if his head isn’t spinning. Hell if he doesn't smell like trouble. “You’re turning red.”

It’s hard to look angry when you’re blushing but Percy’s trying. “I’m having an allergic reaction.”

Apollo quirked a brow. “To?”

“You.”

It sets a smile on his face, even with the weight of Olympus pressing down on his shoulders, the terrible night he knows is still to come. “You don’t stink.”

Percy glares but the damage is done. Apollo's spirits are soaring a little higher than they were 5 minutes ago. 

They get a flat on the drive back from the city. Because of course they do. 

Apollo considers, briefly, if this is his fault. If his unwillingness to part ways with the demigod manifested this. It happens sometimes, when you're a god and you're not paying attention. 

Percy's cursing and rolling out a spare. Strong arms, rough hands, Apollo could sit here and watch him do this for an eternity. Instead, he interrupts.

"Let me do it."

Percy looks at him like he's grown a third head so Apollo repeats himself. "Let me change your tire." It's an awful, mundane thing. Like going to the dentist and getting papercuts, but it's what he wants. 

It turns out to be a mistake. 

Percy comes close to making a 'how many gods does it take to change a tire joke?' and oh, is he glad he didn't go through with it. Thirty minutes later they're still stranded in the same spot. Apollo's movements are angry, he's already broken the lug wrench, and Percy's quite sure that carjacks aren't supposed to be making that noise. Not that they should be making noise at all. 

Just when Percy's starting to worry that he might incinerate the whole thing, Apollo flops flat on his back with a grunt. Laid out on the road like that -- greased shirt, ruffled hair, furrowed brow-- he doesn't look anywhere near holy. It's been a long time since Percy looked at him and saw a god, but this. This is the first time he sees nothing more than a person.

Apollo accidentally knocks the carjack loose when he moves and then the whole thing comes down with a sickening crunch. Percy's wallet faints. 

Gold eyes crack open, waiting for a ribbing, a joke, an insult. It doesn't come.

Apollo sighed. He'd needed this to go right and somehow he still wound up with his face in the dirt. Percy hasn't asked but he knows an explanation is owed.

"It's my new thing."

Percy dragged critical eyes over his form. "Auditioning to be roadkill?"

"Very funny," he lets his eyes close. "No. Emmie's been giving me cooking lessons. Jo's been teaching me my way around a shop. Meg is determined to beat gardening into me." 

Percy bit his lip at the mental pictures. Meg is a terror. She was probably making him suffer, an inspiration to demigods everywhere. 

"I'm awful at it." Does that sound as pathetic as I think it does? Does it matter?  "I was making her a flower crown the other day and I couldn't even get that right. And tonight's Olympus and it's...It's a reminder of everything I don't want to be any more so I thought, hey. A tire. I like cars. I drive the sun car. I can fix a tire."

It's a terrible line of reasoning and Percy snorts without meaning to. 

The effect is instant. 

Apollo's words wither and his face shuts down. "Nevermind. Here, I can snap my fingers and it'll all be fine--"

"No," Percy scrambled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you." He scratched the back of his neck, belatedly realizing that this must be what's been bothering Apollo all day. 

He swallowed, knowing full well what follows will be uncharted territory. "Um, Olympus is a reminder of...?"

"Everything I don't want to be anymore," Apollo finished, sitting up now. He still can't meet his eyes. "Shallow, self-absorbed, selfish."

What do you say to that? There's nothing Percy can do except drop into the spot next to him.

"I'm --," scared, he wants to say. "Worried. That it'll be a corrupting influence, that given enough time, I'll revert. That I'll want to." This next part is harder. His throat squeezes against the words. "I promised Jason, I don't want to forget." 

An eighteen-wheeler comes barreling past them then and Percy is glad. Jason's name is a punch to the gut and he needs this moment to gather his thoughts. This feels like their talk in the Principia, it's the same open honesty that's just raw enough to make him uncomfortable. 

There is one thing he knows. One thing he can not let stand.

"It doesn't have to be that," he starts, and then clears his throat. "Olympus. That's not what it is for me, at least."

He turns his head to look at the blonde and fuck, if that isn't a mistake. "Olympus fell. Annabeth rebuilt it and it stands now. Her permanent monument to the time the gods failed. The time you needed us insignificant humans."

Basic decency. Basic decency is why he offers to teach him how to change a tire. There's nothing more to it. 

He takes his time with it. When he's done and the car is ready to go, Apollo beams. He asks if he can slash the tire so he can try again and Percy really, really wishes he wasn't so tempted to say yes. 

Chapter Text

Apollo is late. And maybe Erato will run him through, but there are advantages to being late. This way, he doesn’t give them time to ask prying questions. This way, he gets to stay and watch Percy Jackson wrap gifts. (There is a process to it, apparently, crafted by Sally Jackson and to be followed religiously.)  

Music is already flowing out of the agora by the time he manages to peel himself from California.

There are a few glorious seconds where he isn’t noticed. Where he can stand to the side and witness the Muses in frenzy, that perfect harmony ensnaring the crowd. Olympus is primrose and honeysuckle, joy unfettered. 

Clio spots him first, her smile dyed purple in the sunset. He lets himself be pulled, dragged, twirled onto the stage, and for a moment, the ichor in his veins freezes. Apollo’s never known stage fright but there’s something cold slinking in his chest. The crowd is hungry, staring, whispering. Apollo’s back? Why does he look green? You think he’s gonna yak?

He had been so scared, that day in the throne room. Afraid that they would look through him and find a fraud. But now, someone -- Urania -- is pressing a lyre into his hands. The wind whispers courage, reminds him of hurricane eyes, and oh, Apollo aches. 

When he faces the crowd, he doesn’t see gods. Olympus is Luke Castellan, and Kronos and all the demigods of Camp Half-Blood -- carved into their pillars and pressed into their walls. And Yes, he wants to say. Yes, I’ve changed. Have you?

The rest of the night is a blur. Singing with Calliope, dancing with Terspischore, dodging Erato’s elbows. There’s no telling whether the music is happy or sad, only that’s it music -- gloriously indistinguishable from ichor. Normally, he might stay through the encores, keep the party going somewhere else, but Zeus hasn’t shown and Apollo doesn’t want to stick around and give him the chance. He untangles himself from the stage with little grace and disappears back to his palace. 

He owes the Muses more, a proper reunion, but it’ll have to happen another time.

The palace is cool and dark when Apollo arrives, head spinning. It’s a welcome difference compared to the heat of his skin and the silence promises peace, so of course, it doesn’t last.  

“Brother.”

Later, Artemis will swear he yelped but that’s only because Artemis is a filthy fucking liar. 

Lights flooded the room. “What are you -- In the dark!? I told you to stop doing this to me!”

A hand flew to his chest and Artemis tracked the movement with a strange amusement. She looked like she wanted to laugh but her features schooled into something soft. Her smile said Relax, sit back. I mean you no harm, and Apollo swallowed. He’d just walked into a trap.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Apollo. I just came by to see how you’re doing.” 

“And who you’re doing,” another voice continued. The air next to Artemis superheated and when the glow faded, Hermes was there, grinning like the Cheshire cat. 

Oh, Styx. Oh, sweet heaven and burning hell. Apollo’s stomach went into freefall. Down six hundred floors, past the Labyrinth, into Hades, and below the Pit. He was so naive to think the concert would be his biggest obstacle.

“We had a plan,” Artemis hissed. “Divide and conquer. You weren’t supposed to show up!”

“It’s more fun this way,” Hermes shrugged, the gesture of someone who’s used to being in trouble. Bright blue eyes fixed on Apollo. “Hello! And welcome to your intervention.”

Apollo’s eyes instinctively flicked to the exits. On a good day, he could outrun Hermes and Artemis, but he didn’t like his odds against both of them. No fleeing then. 

“I don’t need an --”

Artemis cut him off. “You have patterns.” 

“Coming late, leaving early. You’re never on Olympus,” Hermes supplied. “All that time in the mortal world.”

“All that cloaking magic,” Artemis added, if only to watch Apollo turn hydra-venom green.

Okay, maybe it’s not too late to run. If I hurry, I can apply for refugee status with the Norse. 

“I’m not sleeping with anyone,” he laughed. It’s true. He hasn’t since his whirlwind through Olympus a couple of months back; when he’d been so determined to forget about sea green eyes and blue-black hair. 

Denial alone isn’t going to get him through this and Apollo’s mouth is running before he can stop it. “I, uhh...I picked up a part-time job, actually.” 

Artemis’ eyes danced, the face of a huntress who knows she’s won. “Bagging groceries, pushing carts. That sort of thing?”

“Builds character.” 

Hermes snorted. “No, but seriously. Who is it? Aphrodite won’t say but I have my suspicions.” He sat up, eyes narrowing and Apollo cursed. Hermes was lord over liars and thieves, he would not be fooled. “Is it the McLean girl?”

“No, I’m not--”

“Lityerses? He’s cute.”

“Hermes, just let it go--” 

“Is it Percy Jackson?” Artemis’ voice cut through the room like a sword. It's more of a jest than it is an honest guess but Apollo's nervous smile slips, and he's silent for too long. He could see realization wash over Hermes; his eyes rounded, his grin grew.

“Percy Jackson,” he whistled, before turning to Artemis. “Where should we send our condolences?”

Artemis ignored him. Her eyes fixed on Apollo, his forehead a bullseye. In the two weeks that he had been unconscious after his fight with Python, Artemis had summoned Asclepius to his bedside -- forced him to run every kind of diagnostic test in existence. Thrice. 

Thrice, Apollo had tested negative for lasting cognitive impairment but at this point in time, Artemis has to wonder. She had asked about Percy Jackson as a joke because even a fool would know not to go there. 

Hermes didn’t show mercy. “When Poseidon declares civil war, where will you hide? Just top three places. Go.”

Apollo paled. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

The faint note of hope in his voice is deplorable, sickening. If she could, she would take it and skin it. Toss it's innards to her hunting dogs. Use the bones for kindling. He would be safer then, his heart less exposed, but no Apollo never could give up on love. 

“Leave us,” she commanded. Hermes attempted a pout but she will not be swayed. “And if you value your appendages, you will speak of this to no one.”

A threat from her is not easily ignored and though Hermes tuns to her brothers and swears, 'This isn’t over,' he leaves on his own accord. 

In the quiet of his absence, Apollo softened. “Are you mad?” he asked.

The clasped hands in Artemis’ lap squeezed a little tighter. Her tongue came out, tested the points of her canines. Does Dionysus take walk-ins at that camp or do you want me to schedule you an appointment?

He looks small, slouched in on himself like that. There’s a part of Artemis that wants to reach over and comfort him. A bigger part wants to keep him alive, wants to say, Run. End it. Leave him. They are ancient, and he should know better. 

“I wasn’t lying before,” he continued. “I’m not sleeping with him. We’re friends.” 

He grimaced around the last word and any relief that the statement might have brought her dies before taking root. “But you want more.”

It’s not a question. Apollo’s been hiding from the truth for a while now. He thought he’d hit rock bottom all those months ago, when he dragged himself from a stranger’s bed to Rachel’s door and asked for help. For deliverance. But the Fates could never be so kind. To the Moirai, gods were nothing but the most durable of playthings. Friendship had given him a shovel and told him to dig and now...now this hole is starting to look like a grave and immortal though he is, Apollo must admit he wouldn't mind. He'd let the maggots have him if those lips could be his final resisting place. 

“I want more.”

Artemis closed her eyes, focused on Leto's voice whispering sweet nothings in her ear. When they were younger and their fights were ever more vicious, Mother would tell her, 'It's alright dear. Count backward from ten. Think happy thoughts.' And with a twist of her lips, she'd spit back, 'Apollo's head on a stick.' The picture of it lingers behind her eyelids, more tempting than usual. 

She'd seen this happen a thousand times before. When he fell for Chrysothemis, Artemis had been there. The girl won a singing contest at one of his Delphic festivals and Apollo declared it love. She had warned and worried, 'you fall in love with the winner and the runner-ups every year' but it wasn’t enough to deter him. Nothing ever was. He and Demeter-- the girl’s mother -- had reduced mountains to rubble, laid waste to city-states. Their feud lasted longer than the affair. At month's end, Apollo could barely remember the girl's name, already drunk on some pretty boy-creature. 

“You’re like a flame to a moth, you know that right?" The words found their mark. Apollo winced and Artemis was almost moved to feel guilty. But gods, this is an old script. If she had Hephaestus build an automaton in her likeness, would he be able to tell the difference? Would he listen? "Tell me then. Is he your new Icarus?" 

Apollo's lips twisted at the jab, but he didn't rise to it. 

“How do you think this is going to end?" Because I can see it now. The blood and sweat and charred husk of another life. "Hurt him and Poseidon will see you suffer a fate worse than death, brother.” 

There is a reason the Giants hunted Percy Jackson. The oceans were always a terrible, unconquerable thing. They roiled, indomitable even to the goddess of wilderness. Polybotes knew that the demigod’s death would bring Poseidon to his knees. Only then could they stand a chance at taking the seas. 

“This is different, Artie. I--”

“Love him? Like you loved the others?” 

Oh, how can he explain? As much as she fronts, Artemis is no cold, unfeeling thing. She knows love. And yes, Apollo has loved thousands. In an ocean of different ways. Some were mid-May rain showers, campfires and glass. Others were dark nights and empty promises. Most were barely a thought. Hyacinthus alone made him want to bow, made him want to be something less than divine. A mortal soul trapped in flesh and blood and clay. But this -- Percy -- he’s never wanted to be something more. More than god. Never thought it was possible until now. 

He remembered Toni's weathered laugh. The way she had turned to him, like she was delivering a prophecy from sources unknown. 'Boy, I didn’t fall in love. I rose in it. One day -- one day you'll understand.'  

“I don’t know how to make you believe me but this is different, Artemis.”

The god in front of her is not the same one that walked the hills with her before there was a Greece. That god had grinned fire, this one has conviction in his voice.  Percy is a fine demigod and a better than average man. Thalia has a soft spot for him and fine, okay, she does too. But Percy Jackson’s safety is not her primary concern, her allegiance is to her brother.

“I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Not again. Apollo and love are like Sisyphus and his rock, but it’s in his eyes. He will not walk away from this, maybe he can’t. And this is what it always comes to, isn't it? “Alright then,” she sighed. “Let’s think of places to hide from Poseidon.” 

His smile is soft, grateful. “Maybe Ogygia is looking for a new tenant.” 

“You could set up shop in Alaska.”

He shook his head. “Too cold. I could join a commune with Rhea? He’d never cross her.”

The thought is enough to make her smile, and they go back and forth for a while. They’re joking but Artemis is already drawing contingency plans, counting which favors she can call in. 

Before she leaves, she turns to him and commands. “Don’t ruin him, and don’t let him ruin you.” And she hopes that for once, it sinks into his bones. 

The responsible thing to do is walk away. That way, Percy lives, Poseidon never finds out, and Apollo doesn’t have to spend the rest of eternity as fish bait.

His resolve crumbles as soon as he flashes into apartment 4B.

Percy is curled into the couch, buried in blankets and spooning cereal into his mouth. There’s nothing striking about it -- no heavenly choir, no birds braiding his hair -- but the pull is the same. It makes a fool of gravity, beckons him forward until he’s falling into the spot next to him. 

It’s one thing for a god to appear uninvited in your home. It’s another thing for said god to pluck the spoon from your hands and take a bite of your cereal. This is an act of war. 

“What are you--?”

“Offerings,” Apollo answered, mouth still full of food. “For the gods.”

Percy should shove him off, take the spoon back and stab him with it. But Apollo is smiling and his mutinous lips are quirking up too. “That’s not how it works.”

Apollo scoffed, all thoughts of walking away blown to the wind. “Adversus solem ne loquitor,” he said. “Ancient Roman proverb, means don’t argue with the sun. Very wise those Romans.” He’s twisting the meaning, playing fast with the translation but what does it matter. 

“Maybe if they’d argued Rome wouldn’t have fallen.” 

Apollo reeled. “Perseus!”  

“Phoebus!” Percy shook his head and took his spoon back. “I think I’m onto something here.”

“You’re not.” He fell back onto the couch with a huff. This feels sweet and domestic and he’s definitely pressing too close to the demigod but Percy isn’t shrinking away. He looks nothing like Poseidon from this vantage point. His eyes are amused, fond. If this was somebody else he’d be tempted to think they have feelings for him.

“What are you watching?”

There was a time when Percy would have kicked him out, or at the very least cursed him out. Today all he does is pick up the remote and press play. “Troy .”

Apollo snorted. “Are you serious?” And then, because he has to know. “The one with Brad Pitt?”

Percy shrugged. “I have a paper on the Iliad due next week.” He spooned cereal into his mouth. “I’m researching.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Apollo took the remote and mashed pause. “I’m a little offended you didn’t come to me first, but that’s fine. I forgive you.”

He cleared his throat. “I make a very good primary source.” He summoned paper and pen and shoved them into Percy’s hands.

“First thing first, I am innocent. Write that down: Apollo is innocent,” he gestured. “That will be your thesis statement. Homer had no idea what he was talking about. Alright, picture this, it's 1000 BCE and Thetis is getting married." 

Hermes watched the scene unfold with a frown on his face. “You knew about this?”

Aphrodite shrugged. “I know, Ares knows, Erato knows, Dionysus knows. Worst kept secret on Olympus, really.”

Back in Apollo’s palace, when the sun god had looked like he’d just swallowed a toad, everything had been funny. This -- below him -- is intimate. Serious. 

“I kinda like Percy.” He’d been there for Luke, in the end. And he never looked down on Hermes for his domains. “I don’t want to see him turned into a daffodil.” 

“He’d pick a better flower.”

“Aphrodite!”

“Relax,” she smiled. “They’ll be fine.” 

Hermes turned back to the scene below him. Apollo was lying through his teeth and Percy was indulging him.

This should make the solstice interesting. 

Chapter Text

Sally Jackson, in all her infinite wisdom, always made sure to tell her son, “Even if trouble comes knocking, you don’t have to offer it a place to sit down.”

In Percy’s defense: Apollo never knocks. He comes while Percy’s working the register, always ordering coffee and holding up the line. He pops in when Percy’s training, when he’s studying, when it’s Sunday, Apollo. I am trying to sleep in. God or not, I swear to you --

The point here is that Apollo doesn’t knock. And Percy never offered him a place to sit down but it’s getting harder and harder to say that this is just a passing crush. 

It certainly doesn’t help when he does things like this. 

It’s a drizzly Tuesday morning and they’re standing outside the Jackson-Blofis apartment building. When the semester ended, Percy found himself backed into a corner. He couldn’t fly home -- Zeus would char him. A solo road trip across the country could take days...or weeks, or months, or Hades forbid  years . 

He might have been well and truly stranded if it hadn’t been for the Olympian conveniently making popcorn in his kitchen. Percy had been a little nervous -- gods don’t do things for free and he wasn’t looking to hand out any IOUs. But when asked, Apollo shrugged an easy yes. 

Now all that’s left is two doorways and five flights of stairs and Percy will be home again. Already would be if the god hadn’t called out, “Wait!”

Percy gave him a side-long stare. Watched as he mumbled curses and awkwardly tried to dig through his pockets. Is he blushing?

“I--uh,” Apollo cleared his throat. “I have something for you.” Fuck -- where is it?! He’d been planning on getting Percy a gift ever since they went Christmas shopping. Actually picking it though? That had been a nightmare. A small kingdom? A unicorn? Magical armor to make sure he doesn’t die? 

No, he wanted it to mean something. (Though, note to self: remember to circle back to that armor.) In the end, he’d gone with something a bit more...unconventional. Erato had taken one look at it and signed him up for Wooing 101, but it’s a gamble he’s willing to make. 

Alright, here we go. Happy thoughts. His fingers wrapped around a pipe-cleaner doll and he pulled it out. It didn’t look like much; a sort of gingerbread-man silhouette of wire and yellow fuzz, but he held it like it was gold. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to wrap it.”

Percy stared at the thing in his hand. Waited for it to turn into a weapon, a drakon, Carter Kane’s giant glowing chicken avatar. Nothing was really off the table. Apollo’s blush darkened at the confused look. “Georgina -- I told you about her, remember? Jo and Emmie’s kid.” 

He remembered. 

“Well. She’s been teaching me how to make them and uhh,” he fiddled with the pipe-cleaners, tried to straighten out a leg. “She said this was my best one so I thought...You know, with Christmas and everything. I know it’s a couple days early but...” Oh Sweet Sybil, I hope the other gods aren’t watching. 

If you turned your head to the side and squinted -- like really squinted -- then the pipe cleaner doll was actually kind of cute. One leg was longer than the other and the head was almost comically lopsided. And fuck, there it is. That too-gentle warmth that steals over him whenever he sees Apollo, the one that makes him want to reach over and brush back rain-soaked hair. 

Percy frowned at the thought of this all-powerful god, hunched over a table, desperately trying to master first-grade arts and crafts. Bastard has absolutely no right to make me feel like this. This is an attack. 

He doesn’t like it. Apollo moved to shove the doll back into his pockets. “I can just -- you want a unicorn? I can get you a unicorn.”

Percy’s brows crashed. His hand shot out to grip the god’s wrist. “Give it.”

“Are you--?” The hand on his wrist flexed and Apollo nearly collapsed. Mercy.  

“Yes, I’m sure.” It’s mine now. “ Hand it over .”

Percy ran his thumb over a fuzzy arm, it’s easier than looking at the man next to him. Apollo is quicksand. The more he struggles, the further he falls and the further he falls, the harder it is to crawl out. 

“Thank you.” 

Icy rain kept falling from the sky.

“I should…” Percy jerked his head towards the apartment building. 

“Oh yeah. Totally.” 

He took two steps forward, reached the first doorway. His hand rested on the door-handle. Every cheesy self-control quote that guidance counselors had thrown at him buzzed in his ears. ‘If trouble comes knocking…’

He turned, stared. Raindrop-dark hair and too honest eyes. Gods, I’m calling it now: he’s going to be the death of me.

“Do you want to come in?” 

Apollo interrupted before Percy could knock. He picked at the wrinkles in his shirt, tried to smooth his hair. “Am I presentable? I’ll know if you lie.” 

“You’ve met my mom before,” Percy deadpanned. “As Lester too.” 

“Right, right.” Mrs. Jackson had met Apollo at his worst, this was no big deal. He was just dropping off a friend. “Do you have a mirror though?”

Percy knocked. Apollo didn’t have time to argue, the door swung back to reveal a stunned Paul Blofis. His salt and pepper hair had a bit more grey in it. He was barefoot, wearing red checkered pajama pants and a grey shirt. His surprise passed quickly.

“Percy!” He stepped forward to clasp his step-son in a hug. “What are you -- Sally! Sally, Percy’s home!” 

The demigod flushed but before he could protest, someone else crashed into him. If the writing didn’t work out, Sally Jackson could make a nice living as a linebacker. “Percy!” She stepped back, instinctively looking her son up and down for cuts and scrapes. Her hands came up to frame his face. “You didn’t tell us you were coming, is -- is everything okay?”

“Yeah, Mom. Everything’s fine,” he muttered, but Apollo could see the tips of his ears turn pink. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

Sally cooed, pinched his cheeks. “Mom,” he gestured towards the god and Apollo took that as his cue. Neither of the adults seemed to have noticed him. 

“Sally, Paul. Good to see you again.”

“Apollo?” Paul frowned. Paul had been comfortable with Lester but now that Apollo looked every bit the Olympian, he teetered awkwardly, as if trying to decide whether to bow or not. Sally looked to Percy for an explanation. 

“I had to hitchhike,” he shrugged. “He’s my ride.”

Understanding smoothed the wrinkles in Sally’s brow. Maybe she thought Apollo was everyone’s go-to chauffeur. “Well then,” she smiled. “Come in, both of you! We were just getting ready for breakfast.”

Breakfast at the Jackson-Blofis household was a happy affair. Sally dashed into the kitchen -- “I have to get more pancakes going!” -- while Paul fixed the table. Percy himself was quick to dip into the hallway, disappearing into his room to drop off his duffel. 

‘Remember your manners’ Artemis’ voice chided in his ears. He shuddered, remembering the years she had spent determined to house-train him. That was a long century. 

He approached the kitchen slowly. “Erm, can I help?”

Sally looked at him like he’s just grown a third head that Apollo almost patted his neck to double-check. But then her eyes warmed. “Sure, dear. You can finish this batch while I make more batter.”

Maybe assigning him to the stove wasn’t her best idea but if the apartment goes up in flames, at least they had renter’s insurance. “How’s Estelle?”

Sally brightened at the mention of her daughter’s name. “Sleeping. So much bigger than the last time you saw her, she’s going to be so happy to see him.” 

Apollo nodded emphatically, Estelle did seem like a bright one. He would be happy to see Percy too. 

“Are you guys talking about me?” Percy materialized at the kitchen’s entrance. The demigod leveled a suspicious look at his mother. Sally was known to break out the baby pictures if left alone with one of his friends for more than five minutes and Apollo did not need to see that. 

“Gossiping,” Apollo said, watching as the frown settled on Percy’s face. 

Sally laughed, “I should tell you about that time he tried to domesticate a raccoon.”

Apollo’s eyes turned pleading. “Okay, no. I was five ,” Percy stressed. “And you said the landlord wouldn’t let us get a dog.” He threw his hands up as if to say, ‘What did you expect me to do? ’

Sally could read the amusement Percy tried to hide and she drank it all in. It was good to have him back in one piece. And he looked different -- better than the last time she’d seen him. There’s something in his face, something she can’t quite name until breakfast comes to an end. 

It’s the easy way that Percy rips his bacon in half and hands it to Apollo without looking at him. The way the god’s chair slowly inched toward her son. By the end of the meal, they were nearly flush together. Percy’s claustrophobia meant he never much appreciated people crowding his personal space but he doesn’t shrink away from this.

They bicker and they banter and Apollo’s not good at peeling his eyes away on time. Her son, however, seems to have mastered the art of stealing glances. 

Something heavy settled in Sally’s stomach. This is a story she knows well, one she’s lived before. 

Paul leaves first, off to teach his English students. Apollo’s not too far behind him, “Thank you for the meal, Sally. Lovely as always,” he smiled. “I’m a little sad I didn’t get to see my favorite Jackson today--”

"Hurtful.” Followed by. “ But fair. She’s my favorite too .” 

“But I’m afraid I must be going.” 

“Of course,” she said. The only certain thing about gods is that they’re always leaving. “Let me walk you to the door.”

Her steps are firmer than they have a right to be and maybe she should pause. Take a moment to think about what it means to threaten an Olympian. But no, she doesn’t falter. Apollo may be a god but for her son, she will be the force of nature. 

“I know I don’t look like much,” she said, after carefully closing the door behind them. No sense in having Percy overhear.

Apollo gave her a confused look. “Sally, I’m --”

Sally cut him off. “People look at me; they see a mother, a writer, not much else.” She swallowed. “It doesn’t bother me, I know who I am. And I’m not a warrior like them. I can’t wield a sword, I don’t have a trident.” 

Apollo stiffened, realization seemed to move through him but he did not interrupt. Sally looked down at her hands, weathered and soft but nonetheless murderous. She has killed before -- for herself, for him.

“That boy in there, he’s my whole world.” Tears pricked in her eyes, defiant and determined. “It might not mean much to you, coming from a mortal woman, but if you hurt him, Apollo --” 

Her mistake is meeting his eyes. She didn’t expect to see the same helpless despair gleaming back at her. “I don’t want to,” he whispered. Sally’s face is taught, made fiercer by the tears pooling in her eyes and it’s hard to look at her. Not because she’s glowing but because now he's the one left wondering if he should bow. Somehow Apollo keeps finding himself on this doorstep, asking for her son.  

She waited for more. For promises of safety, maybe a declaration of love. They don’t come. She’s not sure she would have believed him. But he whispered again, softer this time, “I don’t want to.” 

And what god could fake a look that miserable? The Mist rippled and for a second, her eyes saw Lester. Small, lost, and wanting. Not for the first time, Sally wished her heart was battery acid and venom. Maybe things would be easier that way. But no -- the soft, mushy thing in her chest went out to him. 

She’d never brought it up but that second time that Lester had visited, she had heard broken sobs echo from the shower. Even now, Apollo looks more human than anything else. 

This though -- Percy . Sally raked air into her lungs. Her son is no caged bird, no damsel in distress. His blood runs wild with her independence, and while it’s not her place to carve out his path, she is still his mother. And with a mother’s authority, she issues a commandment, “You’ll be good to him.” No matter what. 

Apollo gave her a solemn nod. “Best I can be.”

Sally’s words shook him more than all the warnings the gods had leveled at him. 

Maybe it had to do with seeing the intimacies of the Jackson-Blofis household, how many worlds Percy’s life touches. If something were to happen to him, the light in that apartment would dim and the thought of that happening sends his heart into a drop. 

It beckons a fresh wave of ill-tempered sighs and, ‘What am I doing?’ Even Erato steers clear of him. He doesn’t expect to see Percy again for a while. Visiting in New Rome is one thing but New York is crowded with gods. He’d been careful not to get spotted but any return trips are out of the question. 

Day 2 without Percy was not a fun one. Withdrawal symptoms were definitely getting worse but Apollo reasoned with himself, ‘He’s with his family. He deserves to spend time with them, I don’t want to interrupt that.’ 

His determination to stay away is why he was so surprised to see him on day 3, Friday December 21st -- the winter solstice. 

Apollo's legs forgot how to walk. He stood frozen, looking across the throne room’s courtyard. He’d been on his way to the Great Hall when he spotted Hermes, right by the front steps. He’d traded in the mailman suit for a more casual look and his caduceus was in its original form. George and Martha eagerly chatting away with the one and only...

He was there in the blink of an eye. Don’t believe anything they’ve told you. It came out as, “What are you doing here?”

Percy blinked, taken aback by his sudden appearance, his tone. He looked to Hermes for help but the other god seemed delighted to see his brother. Right then, I’m on my own. It’s not like I didn’t know I would see him today. “It’s the winter solstice,” Percy explained. 

“Yes,” Apollo nodded. ‘No duh ’ on the tip of his tongue. 

Percy frowned. What was he not understanding? Next to him, Hermes let out a peal of laughter. “ Wow. Can you believe we made him the god of logic? I applied for the job but noo…” He trailed off at Apollo’s murderous look. Yikes.

“The winter solstice,” Percy continued. “Annual Camp Half-Blood field trip? Not really a camper anymore but Mr. D asked me to chaperone and well,” he scratched at the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to leave Chiron hanging.” 

Oh. And then, oh. Apollo’s knees felt like rubber. “Dionysus?” and Hermes? He gulped. They’ve been conspiring. 

Hermes offered him a sweet smile. “I was just offering this lovely batch of half-bloods a tour of the mountain,” he gestured to the gaggle of children in bright orange shirts behind them. Apollo’s throat ran dry. How did I miss them?

The demigods looked at him like he was a frog they were charged with dissecting and Apollo managed an awkward wave. At least none of his children were among this group. “Hi there, yes. That...makes a lot of sense.” 

Percy didn’t know what to say to that and luckily he didn’t have to say anything. He missed the way Hermes’ eyes caught on a face in the crowd but very clearly heard him clap his hands together. “Alright Campers. Follow me, the Council will be convening shortly. Lou Ellen, Sherman Yang, please stop fighting.”

The group walked off but Percy lingered, as did the awkward tension in the air. “I didn't expect to see you today,” Apollo explained. 

“It’s -- don’t worry about it.”

They stood in silence for four excruciating seconds before Apollo found it unbearable. “So Dionysus huh?” He’s grasping at straws but something seemed to light in Percy’s eyes. 

“Yeah, have you seen him? I need to talk to him and I think he’s avoiding --” his eyes widened, but it was too late. A heavy, calloused hand fell on Apollo’s shoulder. Squeezed. “What’s going on here?”

No...surely not . Apollo’s form flickered, it was all he could do not to yelp. Fates, I beg you -- but his worst fears were confirmed when he turned.

“Poseidon,” he laughed, breathless and startled. There's nothing particularly threatening about the sea god's beach bum attire but the frown didn’t slip from his face and Apollo suddenly felt very much like a two-legged crab without his shell. “I was just -- um -- talking to this demigod here. Percy Jackson, surely you’ve heard of him?”

Poseidon narrowed his eyes at the sun god in front of him. “We’ve met.” 

“Right,” he nodded. “Yes, of course you have. He’s your -- mhmm.” Are my hands sweating? Since when do my hands sweat? Oh gods, am I melting? Is Poseidon slowly turning me into water? Is this how I go? I haven’t even written my will --

“Are you glitching?" Percy asked.

“Must be,” the sea god said. His tone so dry that Apollo remembered they called him lord over droughts too. “All that time as a mortal...The damage is worse than I thought.” 

Apollo managed a weak laugh. Best to make a quick escape. “I should get going, give you two a moment to catch up.” He turned to Percy. “I’ll see you inside.”

Poseidon raised a brow. 

“And you too. Obviously. Because... I have eyes.”

He turned and very nearly ran up the steps to the Great Hall, stopping only once he was past the doors. Hyperventilating now. Percy -- Poseidon -- Solstice. His brain stumbled, maybe he was glitching.

Apollo’s steps echoed on his short walk to the throne room. He was already dreading the solstice meeting and now this. No matter which way you toss the dice, he comes out looking a whole lot like chopped liver. His mood only worsened when he saw the three gods gathered at the throne room entrance: Aphrodite, Dionysus, and Hermes. 

“Alright. Here he comes, don’t laugh,” she whispered. 

Dionysus broke first, right into a cackle. Hermes was next. “ Because… because I have eyes ,” he blubbered. Even the goddess of love tittered.

Apollo brushed past them, sullen. “You guys are the worst.” He stepped into the throne room and readied for war. 

Chapter Text

Poseidon measured the way his son’s eyes lingered on Apollo’s back. He frowned. When Percy had shown up at Atlantis, pod of whales and a hundred-foot bronze statue of Apollo in tow, he had worried. Now those worries came back. 

“Is he always like that?” 

Percy's chest heaved. Mr.D had I.M'ed  that morning about needing an extra set of hands and Percy, on principle, had refused. Dionysus had lost every right to make these requests in Rome and that should have been the end of that. Would have been the end of that but the old wine god had groused and cajoled and ‘we have so many new brats, I wouldn't be surprised if one of them happened to fall off the mountain when the horse isn’t looking.’

Percy was pretty sure that was a threat. 

‘Maybe you’ll get volunteer hours,’ Paul said. So here he was. Staring at the god who was supposed to be his father. Things between them had been tense ever since the Giant War. They’d seen each other once, when Percy dragged the Colossus down to Atlantis and even that had only been in passing, the Lord of the Sea was a busy god.

His father's garish pink and green Hawaiian shirt made Percy's jaw clench. “Beats me, s’not like I’ve known him forever.”

Poseidon quirked a brow. “No. You haven't."

He wanted to believe that Apollo would have the common sense to not get involved with Percy but he was his father’s son. Didn’t exactly inspire confidence. He smoothed out the displeased wrinkle in his nose before it could take hold. These sun gods all seemed to carry an awful affinity for his children. First Rhode and Helios and now this? 

“And one more time, that big bronze statue you brought me…” The one Delphin told me not to worry about. 

“Just a statue, Dad.”

“It didn’t, you know, mean anything? You’re not --”

“Dad.”  

“Good, that’s good. I’m just making sure.”

They stood there for a minute, in the smothering grip of an uncomfortable silence. “Oh, hello, Percy!” Iris smiled. She veered closer but then seemed to freeze once she caught sight of their expressions. “I was just...going,” she breathed out, hurrying up the steps. Possibly to ring out a shelter in place. 

“Nice weather we’re having.”

“You could have sent a card,” Percy muttered. 

He watched his father grimace, though he didn’t seem surprised. They had to talk about it at some point. “Sea - V - S doesn’t sell anything that felt...appropriate.”

“Couldn’t get one custom made?”

“I tried. Dolphins look at you funny when you ask them to write out, ‘Sorry my sister kidnapped you and threw you into a war to kill my batty old granny/ex-lover.'" His head cocked, "Though to be fair, they can’t exactly write so...”

“Right,” Percy nodded, “Good talk then.”

He turned to leave but a hand at his elbow stopped him. 

“Son,” Poseidon tempered a sigh. Mortal tongues were too crude for the things he wanted to say. In the years since Percy’s birth, he had come to understand Kronos. The brutality of what Father did and the ease with which he did it. It’s hard to love the gun to your head, the child who heralds your doom. And Poseidon almost -- almost -- gave in. He thought about quieting the boy’s lungs in that crib. Making it look like an accident. 

But already there had been too much of Sally in him. Too much leash-less kindness to be so carelessly extinguished. So he whispered a blessing instead. Over the years, unwillingly and against his better judgement, he had grown to care for his son.

But while Mars and Ares duked it out in that poor boy’s head, he had chosen to keep his distance. He’d kept it even on the battlefields of Greece and it had festered. This time around, there had been no visit once the fighting ceased and the last sword was sheathed. 

Poseidon just -- didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t easy for a god like him to admit that he had been too weak, too powerless to shield his son. There was shame in that. And he feared that the next time he met him, Percy would see a mollusk and not a god. 

Oh, blast it. If only he could make the boy understand. But they didn’t have time now. 

“Walk with me,” he said, moving up the steps. “The meeting will be starting soon and you know how your Uncle gets.” He always took a preventative Advil when facing Zeus but gods, he could still be such a pain in the -- 

“No.” 

Poseidon’s brow crinkled, unused to the word. “No?”

Once upon a time, dear old Dad had told him, ‘Know which fish are big enough to land.’ Know which battles matter enough to fight. Maybe this wasn’t one of them. Maybe Poseidon would always be a god first and a father last.

“I can’t, Dad. I’m here as a chaperone. Someone’s gotta watch out for these kids,” Percy took a step back. “I have to do another lap and make sure we don’t have any stragglers but,” his gaze flicked down the way Apollo had disappeared. “I’ll see you in there.” With my eyes. 

It was a good excuse, and Percy did keep his eyes peeled for the tell-tale orange shirts, but more than anything, he needed a moment to breathe before facing the assembled gods. It wouldn’t do to blow through all his reserves of patience with his father.

He had seen the gods at solstice before but those had always been somber encounters. Tonight the mountain was on fire. Nectar, ambrosia, and wine flowed freely. Godlings and nymphs twirled through the streets. The Muses were shredding lyres on a stage. He even saw a line of satyrs tapping kegs like nobody’s business. After two wars, Olympus had a lot to celebrate. 

If he didn't know better, he'd say some of the Lotus Casino's magic was clinging to the air. The white-columned porticos, gilded terraces, and bronze braziers were hypnotizing. Begging him to forget his troubles and join the festivities. His shoulders dropped, his hands unclenched. Poseidon who?

He was too distracted to notice the nymph sneaking up on him until it was too late. A hand clamped down on his wrist. It belonged to a pretty nebulae, her blue skin exposed in a shocking state of undress. “Wanna dance?” she grinned. 

“Uhh--,” he didn’t get a chance to ask about Olympus’ public indecency laws before she was off, nearly tearing his arm off its socket. She handled him like he was a ragdoll. Twirling, running, leaping too fast for Percy’s brain to catch up. Bystanders cheered. Either someone snapped a picture or Percy was seeing the white light at the end of the tunnel.

The whole ordeal lasted maybe a total of 4 minutes and then, as quickly as she’d come, she darted away. Leaving him stranded in a darker corner of the mountain.

Percy groaned. His feet were firmly planted on the ground but he was pretty sure his stomach was still whirling somewhere. Someone behind him laughed. “You shouldn’t go dancing with cloud nymphs if you get airsick so easily.”

He startled, one hand automatically drawing Riptide, only to come face to chest with a centaur, "Chiron," Percy gasped. "Don't sneak up on me, I thought I was getting jumped again."

Chiron's brown eyes twinkled at his reaction, "No, my boy. I've come to find you. I'm afraid you're the last of our party and the throne room isn't too happy about the delay."

Oh, typical. Not one foot past the threshold and they were already angry at him. Chiron swung him across his back, "Hold on now. Don’t want to splatter, do you?” And they were off. 

Percy squeezed his eyes shut as Olympus zipped by. He needed to survive this solstice, Annabeth would kill him if he didn't pick her up from the airport in a couple of weeks. 

“Here we are,” Chiron came to a stop in front of the throne room’s double doors. Percy slid off his back. The centaur cocked his head, studying him for a moment. “Focus. Let me see your pious face.”

Percy snorted. They hadn’t done this in a long time. In his first few months at camp, Chiron always asked him the same thing before letting him step foot into any room with Dionysus. Fine. He bowed his head and tried to summon his best, ‘Please-do-not-smite-me’ face. 

“Terrible.”

“Really?”

“You haven’t been practicing,” Chiron sighed. “Too late now. Come. We’ve already pushed our luck.”

Apollo was pretty sure his reputation had just gone up in smoke but he was less worried about that and more concerned about the fact that he may as well have held up a sign that read, “Hear ye, hear ye! #1 weakness here. Ripe for exploitation.”

He didn’t hide from his father’s stormy eyes as he stepped into the throne room. Oddly enough, they steadied him. He couldn’t afford to be frazzled. This was his first solstice, his first time seeing Zeus since Python and he was done abdicating behind sunglasses and earphones. He'd played the ditzy blonde for long enough. If this was ever to be a council, it needed the voice of reason. His voice. He needed to be present. Anything less than that would only play to his father’s tyranny. 

Apollo tried to ignore Ares’ stare as he settled into his seat of power. His brother sat next to him, slouched low and wrapped in leather. Whittled bone turned toothpick dangling from his lips. 

“So, Princess,” he smirked, leaning over so no one else could overhear. “Tell me: Is this like Cyrene?” His eyes hooded in a whisper. "Do you just want to see how he breaks?”

Apollo’s head whipped around. Ares knew?!  He glanced at Aphrodite’s throne. Of course Ares knew. This was getting out of control. 

“I will feed you to my sun horses, war god.”

Ares chuckled. “Guess it’s not then. I take it we won’t be sharing this one?”

Despite his self-control, anger made flames jump from the arms of his throne, he was about to snarl back something nasty when Poseidon walked through the double doors. Curiously alone. 

At the head of the room, Zeus grumbled. “You’re tracking sand everywhere. Look at him, Hera. He’s --”

“So get a broom,” the sea god snapped. Falling into his throne with a huff. His mood seemed exponentially worse. “Did he just --” And then they were off. Sniping at each other like children. 

Apollo was starting to get a migraine. Maybe later he’d have Hephaestus crack his skull open and take a peek in there. See if he still had a brain.  

“How do you like salads?” Ares continued. “‘Cause I’ve been doing some research, in case you need ideas."

"Because you're such a kind and considerate god."

"That's what I keep telling everyone. So did you know Perseus is a kind of cucumber? Personally, I would go with something more inspired but -”

“Don’t say his name,” Apollo hissed. He glanced toward his uncle but Poseidon was still wrapped up in his fight with Zeus. 

Ares frowned. “Do you want to use code words? Honestly, Apollo. You’re such a girl.” 

“I’m not a--” he took a deep breath. “Nevermind, I have better things to do.”

The demigods filed in and Apollo stood. Some of the other gods -- Hermes, Iris, Hebe -- had chosen to mingle with their children while they waited and he decided to join them. Even Artemis was talking to some of the girls, though that might have been just a recruitment drive judging by the pamphlets she was handing out. 

“I told you, you should have gotten him chipped.” 

“My son is not a dog, Zeus,” Poseidon grumbled. “He’ll be here.”

Apollo pushed their bickering to the back of his head. His children deserved his attention and their smiles put him at ease. 

The effort of wrangling his family was worth it if he got to see them. If he could make things better for them. He was halfway through talking Kayla on what to expect at the New York Indoor Archery Championships when the double doors opened. 

It escaped his notice at first but then he felt the whip of wind at his neck, the hush that fell over some immortals. 

Percy’s steps echoed across the chamber. Chasing gods back to their thrones. 

“Finally,” Zeus grumbled. He might have said something else but Hera’s hand shot out to curve delicately over his forearm, the gesture strangely intimate. Between any other couple, it could have been taken as an act of simple affection. Never those two. 

Their eyes met. Apollo's knees melted. If he wasn't careful, he might actually dissolve into goo. Maybe it was written on his face because Artemis brushed past him, whispering, “Try not to drool, will you?”

“Uncalled for,” he hissed back, hand automatically coming up to wipe his chin. 

Once everyone was back to their places, Zeus stood. The bolt in his hand flickered and spat until it had grown to a terrible size. “The winter solstice is upon us,” he boomed. “I call the Council of the Gods to order.”

Outside, lightning shrieked. Some of the younger demigods shrank back. 

“Do you have to be so loud?” Poseidon groused, one hand raised to his temple. 

Demeter looked up from the basket she was weaving. “Poseidon,” she chided. Shooting her brother a warning look. Don’t get him started. 

The Lord of the Seas shrugged. ‘He’s pathological’ he mouthed. Zeus ignored them. 

“We have much to discuss,” he intoned. “Our meeting today will be split into two sessions. Demigods, you will be with us for the first part.” His face twitched, like maybe he was trying to remember what a kindly smile looked like. This was surprising in its own right. After the lightning thief debacle, they had cut down on allowing lesser beings into the throne room.

“Then we’ll break for a time. All gods are expected back for our reconvening but children, you will be free to wander the mountain and partake in the celebrations.“

He looked around the room, delighting in the captive audience.

“First to the floor: Athena.”

“Father,” she bowed. And then she was off. Detailing the improvements, the progress that had been made since the wars. Apollo knew this routine well. At the end of strife and bloodshed, emperors, presidents, and god-kings alike had to be quick to reinforce their people’s allegiance. Assuring them that it had been a necessary holy war, that they were better off for it. Guiding attention away from leaders and the mistakes that precipitated it.

Look at the peace your blood bought! Look at the spoils of your loss. It couldn’t have been any other way.

Bile rose in his throat. This is why the demigods were allowed to sit in. After the bitter silence of the Giant War, even Zeus knew he needed to placate them. 

The second session, when the doors were closed and it was just the gods again, that’s when they would discuss the real problems. Apollo had heard rumors of trouble in the other pantheons. Of course, he would have known more if not for the six months he spent as Lester.

He shifted. Or maybe not. Maybe he wouldn’t have bothered to pay attention. 

“With my Parthenos on Half-Blood Hill, the camp is safer than it’s ever been. Demigods can rest assured that they will be protected against any and all threats. Of course, continued worship and offerings wouldn’t hurt.”

“Surely, we need to do more than that,” Apollo interrupted. 

The room rippled. Athena glanced at Zeus but she recovered quickly, “State your case.”

“Neither Thalia’s boundary nor your Parthenos were able to hold off Nero’s Colossus.”

“Exceptional circumstances. My statue draws power from my followers. The camp was nearly empty.”

“Certainly,” Apollo conceded. “But it's not unusual for camp to empty during winter, isn't it Chiron?”

The centaur shifted, uncomfortable under the stare of two Olympians. “Er...Yes, that is what usually happens, my lord.”

“And do you imagine that all our enemies will be so kind as to twiddle their thumbs until summer, waiting for our forces to strengthen?” 

Chiron cringed but Athena spared him from answering. The grey fabric of her dress shimmered as she settled against her throne. “You’ve made your point.”

“Wise words from my son,” Zeus grumbled, unhappy at being cornered into action. He smiled his most soulless, corporate smile. “We’ll see what we can do.” 

He clearly intended that to be the end of the conversation but Dionysus asked “And when will that be?” Still not bothering to look up from his magazine. “Please don’t think I care but mortals tend to flail and scream when they’re being invaded and all that ruckus makes it hard to watch my shows.” 

Apollo didn’t need divine sight to see through Dionysus. He caught his brother’s stare but D rolled his eyes and raised the magazine over his face.

“We’ll pencil it in,” Zeus said. “Somewhere between one and eleven.”

“Months? Decades? Centuries?”

“Sure,” he grunted. He turned to his other son, “Now Hephaestus, what can we expect now that the Archimedes Sphere has been discovered?”

Of course. Apollo shook his head. The hair on his arms prickled and he looked up to find Athena’s calculating stare boring into him. She tipped her head, just the slightest bit, in recognition and so, Apollo did the same.

After that, he tried to focus on the speakers, he did. But his eyes kept returning to one mortal. Perhaps Percy really was magnetic. He should have him tested. One of the little ones tugged at tanned brown hands and just like that, they were being picked up and carried, propped against the hero’s hip. Apollo smiled.

He tried to focus on the basket Demeter was weaving. Counting the number of tiles on the floor. The stars dotting the domed ceiling. It was no use.

‘Have you already forgotten what’s like not to think about him?’ Aphrodite’s laugh tittered in his head and he flinched. 

“Gods, woman! Don’t--”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to him. Zeus quirked a brow, “What was that?”

'If you want to plead insanity, D can tell them you’re certifiable,’ her voice bounced off the walls of his skull. Aphrodite’s hand curled around the arm of her throne. She did so love to see gods undone. 

As if things weren’t bad enough, his lapse had refocused Poseidon’s attention. Given him a target. The sea god leaned forward in his throne, hands clasped in expectation.

“Well--,” Apollo swallowed thickly, shooting Hermes a panicked look. 

His brother rolled his eyes. “He must have had a vision, Father.”

Poseidon wasn’t fooled, he wasn’t easing up either. “Share with the class.” 

“I --” the sun god glanced around the room. Zeroed in on her and defiance danced on his jaw. “I saw Aphrodite,” he challenged. “Just...falling down a flight of stairs.”

Aphrodite snarled a smile and Zeus looked between them, stumped. You don’t manage a council of gods for eons without learning to read the room. Were these two having an affair? 

'Rude,’ she whispered. Even as some of the goddesses cooed their concern. Though it did give her a bit of hope. Funny as the scene outside had been, Apollo would need to remember his spine if he was going to make it through this in one piece. 

“Right,’ Zeus said. “Watch your step. Now, as I was saying…” 

‘Stay out of my head, ‘Dite.’ 

‘Maybe if you weren’t being so obvious.’

‘I wasn’t being --’

‘You look at him the way George looks at rats,’ Hermes cut in. 

On the other side of the throne room, Dionysus snorted. “Sorry,” he said. Waving the room’s attention away. “Just a snore.” They took him for such a lost cause that Zeus only scoffed.

'Get. Out. Of. My. Head. All of you.’

'Is it always this dusty in here?’ Ares mused. 

'Out!’

'Oh, leave him be, ’ Dionysus said. ‘Can't you see he wants to be a big boy god and focus on the meeting? ' 

Apollo growled under his breath. 

'D, is there such a thing as cucumber wine?’

Dionysus’ face curled in disgust, Hermes stifled a laugh. They were starting to attract the room’s attention again. Athena squinted at them.

‘Enough! All of you, enough.’

The ribbing was getting old. It wasn't Ares' aura egging him on, but his own temper flaring. He was tired of being the butt of their jokes. ‘Do not test my patience. My bow washed Thebes in blood. I am not above spilling yours.’

His brothers backed off, grumbling about twisted panties and cucumber vodka, but Apollo could feel Aphrodite’s lingering presence. ‘Good,’ she whispered. 

For once her form stilled. Her eyes warmed into brown, her skin was the deepest umber. Jewels glittered in her cornrowed hair. Always a breathtaking beauty. ‘Change all you want, Apollo, but don’t forget your power. Don’t forget your teeth. I know the oceans well, and they are never merciful to the weak-willed and spineless. Poseidon will ruin you if you let him.’

Apollo held her gaze. He nodded once and tried to tune back in to the meeting. Iris was telling the demigods about the new products at her shop, courtesy of the economic boom from the war. Fleecy was handing out vouchers for ambrosia infused granola.

Percy looked green. 

The first session concluded pretty quickly after that. “Enjoy the solstice, half-bloods. We have much to be grateful for,” Zeus said. Somehow, it sounded like a threat.

Apollo slid off his throne and started making his way to the half-bloods by the hearth.  

‘Who wants to play keep away?’ Hermes asked. 

‘Not me,’ Dionysus grunted. He walked away, presumably to find Ariadne. 

Apollo was about to ask what they were on about when Hermes beelined for Percy. 

‘Hermes, what are you -- what are you doing, Hermes?’

“It’s for your own good, hun,” Aphrodite patted his cheek, having crossed the throne room to meet him.

She glanced over his shoulder and sobered up, “Remember what I told you,” she said, before walking off into the crowd. 

He was about to keep walking, intent on beating Hermes to his mark when another voice spoke. “You know, I never thanked you for sending me that Colossus.”

This time, Apollo didn’t flinch. Alright stay calm. Remember your breathing exercises. He turned to face his uncle and came face to face with the trident. It’s tips glowing green. There were only three weapons in existence rumored to be capable of scattering a god’s essence to the winds. The scythe, the bolt, and the trident. 

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“Oh but I do,” Poseidon’s smile was pinched. He stretched his hand and the tips of the trident came to rest inches from Apollo’s chest. “It makes for great smiting practice.”

Apollo swallowed. He had faced a host of angry fathers before, he could do this. “I’m glad. It’s important for gods your age to stay in shape.”

Was he imagining the rumble in the floor? Poseidon’s grip on his weapon tightened, his face darkened. They were interrupted before he could skewer the sun god. 

“So how long?” Zeus asked. 

The lord of the skies eyed the trident and shot his brother a quizzical look. Apollo’s stomach sank. He mustered a polite smile, “Father.” Judging by Poseidon’s raised brows, it wasn’t very convincing.  

“How long have you been having an affair with Aphrodite?”

“Aphrodite?” Poseidon frowned. 

Apollo glanced between the two brothers. From across the throne room, Aphrodite gave him a thumbs up. 

“I want to ride the games.”

“Can we get food?”

“Is there a bathroom?”

“Butch, stop pulling my hair!”

“Why is that lady naked?”

“Guys,” Percy pleaded. Barely out the door and he’d already lost a camper. His eyes skimmed the crowd, trying to make out Max’s curly brown hair but it was no use. “Damien, Chiara, do you think you can keep an eye on things while I try to find Max?”

“Sure thing, Perce.”

“No problem,” Damien saluted. 

“Thanks.”

Percy pushed into the swarming crowds. The size seemed to have doubled since the meeting started, it would be nearly impossible to find him. The music, the sights, the smell. It was overwhelming. 

“Are you okay there?” a voice asked. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Percy turned to face Hermes. He looked about 25, lithe, with salt and pepper curls falling over mischievous eyes. Right now though, his smile seemed more kind than impish. 

“I lost a kid,” Percy answered, turning back to keep looking. “And I’m pretty sure Mr. D threatened to punt someone off the mountain so…things are not looking good.”

Hermes chuckled, blue eyes sparkling. “You really think he would?”

“You really think he wouldn’t?”

“Fair,” Hermes said. “I’ll help you look then.” 

He cocked his head, as if listening to something, and then nodded. “This way.” 

Percy hesitated. Accepting help from a god could be dangerous but Hermes had always been one of his favorites. He wasn't nearly as homicidal as his brethren. 

He followed.

Hawkers in the market offered him ambrosia-on-a-stick, commemorative t-shirts, and the best shield that drachmas could buy. He dodged and weaved around grabby hands. "Most close up for the solstice," Hermes explained, thumbs blurring over his phone as he typed. "But there's always a few who don't give up the game."

Almost as if to prove his point, a hand shot out and locked Percy's arm in a vice-grip. "You!"

"Me?!"

His assailant chuckled, "Yes you." He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with curly brown hair and unsettlingly red eyes. Gleaming white horns curved around his head. A satyr then. 

Percy tried to wrench himself free but the satyr’s grip tightened. He steered him toward a line of tents. One glance at Hermes said that asking him for help would be useless. He was grinning, "Sorry, god of merchants. Wouldn't be right for me to interrupt." 

"You know what a hero like you needs?" The satyr hiccuped, maybe more than a little drunk. “A sword of course! Now, ‘Why a sword?’ you ask?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Bah! Mortals, always slobbering over the newest toy. Tell me, have you guys figured out how to shoot lasers out of your eyes yet?” He gave Percy a pointed once over.

"They haven't," Hermes supplied. Rather helpfully if you asked him. 

“No? Didn’t think so. Until you can do that, little guys like you need a weapon you can trust. And there’s nothing more trustworthy than a sword.” 

Little guy? 

Hermes watched as indignation tinted Percy's cheeks pink. He had a sneaking suspicion about where this was going and well, it would be a crime not to add fuel to the fire. "Quite right,' he said, earning a scathing glare. If Apollo played his cards right and the demigod took immortality, they could be good friends. 

“Exactly!” The satyr cried out. His outburst caught the attention of a nearby nymph who took one look at the "clients" and immediately started making cease and desist motions.

“Komus,” she hissed. “I don’t think you realize who that is.” But the salesgoat ignored her. 

He zeroed in on Percy like a shark coming in for the kill. “Alright, for you, I’ll cut a deal. 25% off on the most authentic replicas of Anaklusmos on this side of the continent!”

“Oh sweet ancient gods,” the nymph whispered. “Forgive him, he’s been in his cups.”

Percy frowned. Maybe he hadn’t heard that right. “Did you say replicas?” He turned to Hermes. "Did he say replicas?"

Komus wagged a finger. “Authentic replicas. See I knew you’d be interested. These other guys, they’ll sell you decorative models but my Riptides will have you slicing and dicing monsters like Percy Jackson himself.” 

Hermes could have giggled. Percy looked like he'd swallowed a toad. They waited as Komus stepped into the tent and rummaged around. “Let me show you. Oh, I’ve got a box here somewhere. Where did I -- aha!” He bent down and hauled a crate of bronze xiphos onto a rickety table. The hilts were riveted in gold studs and the double-edged blades were all shaped like sloping leaves. 

The whirling returned to Percy’s stomach. He would take dancing with nebulae over this.“You -- you sell these?” 

Komus frowned. “Bit slow aren’t you?” He reached into the crate and pulled out a blade. “That’s exactly why you need a sword. Now, for legal purposes, I do have to say that just because you buy one of these bad boys, well that doesn’t mean you can go around stabbing Titan Lords and Giant Kings." He pursed his lips and looked at Percy. “I’ll just have you sign a waiver.”

Shaky fingers dug into his pocket and Percy uncapped Riptide. Holding it side by side with the sword Komus had offered. They were identical. 'Look again,' his brain said, but there were no differences to be found. The sights and sounds of the solstice faded away and suddenly he was twelve again, Cupid cameras transmitting his image live to Olympus. His life entertainment for the gods.

"Are you --," Komus turned to Hermes, his eyes wide. "My Lord, is this a blessing?"

Panic closed its icy fingers around Percy's throat. He took a step back but the satyr followed. "Percy Jackson," he bleated. “You know, if you sign these blades, I can stop forging your hand. Up my prices some fifty, maybe sixty percent. We can split the profits. You’ll be a rich man in no time.”

'That's a pretty good deal,' Hermes thought to himself. But you wouldn't be able to tell by the demigod's face. This discovery seemed to upset him.

“I take it you haven’t seen the Mythomagic statues then.”

Percy froze. “You’re kidding.”

"We have that!" Komus yelped, he scrambled back into the tent, presumably to find them.

“You have three thousand attack power." Hermes continued. "More if paired with Miss Chase.”

“I don't think you understand. You have to be kidding.”

“There’s an action figure too. Comes with the sword but some of your other items are harder to find. I still don’t have the Minotaur’s horn.” 

Percy threw him a wild look. “What? It’s a collector’s item,” he shrugged. 

The crowds had parted for the Olympian but even with the wide berth, Percy felt trapped. “I need a minute,” he wheezed. “Maybe two.”

Hermes frowned. If the mortal expired on his watch, he’d have to go into witness protection. He took his elbow and dragged him away from the stares, ignoring Komus' squawked complaints. When they were in a quieter corner, the gardens of Rhea, he let him go. “You don’t take well to fame, do you? Hercules loved the stuff."

“I’m not Hercules,” Percy muttered. He walked to one of the fountains and splashed some of the water on his face. Hermes winced. Poseidon’s kids were always so weird. He wouldn’t be surprised if the demigod climbed in. 

“Why’s it bother you?”

Curiosity sparked in Hermes' eyes but he didn't seem the type to judge so Percy sank to the ground, the rough stone of the fountain pressing on his back. They needed to find Max but he wouldn't be getting far if he didn't get his breathing under control.

Hermes hesitated, he looked around for a second as if to make sure that no one was watching, and then he sank down into the spot next to Percy.  

The garden stretched around them. Olive trees and rose bushes, and more plants he couldn't name. Here, the air smelled like honeysuckle and the babble of the solstice faded. Slowly, Percy's heart picked up its regular rhythm. He scrubbed a hand to his face, feeling the grooves and ridges of Hermes' question. He'd seen the way some of the younger campers looked at him, awe clouding their eyes, tinting their words when they spoke to him. He had no idea it extended to Olympus. 

Percy turned to Hermes, "It bothers me because I'm the one who had to live my life. It's been," he took a breath. "The furthest thing from easy and I didn’t do it so people could go and make a cheap buck by turning me into a doll with customizable hair.” 

“Your hair isn’t customizable,” Hermes said. Though it was a good idea. He should pitch it to the manufacturers. “Idolatry can be dehumanizing, I'll give you that, but that’s not what they’re doing. Komus is just a little enthusiastic."

Percy said nothing. 

The god sighed. “In the aftermath of war, people need to feel safe. Your image, whether through sword or statue, gives them that protection. They didn’t crown you Savior of Olympus for nothing.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Percy frowned. “They’re just...things. They can’t keep anyone safe.”

Hermes fixed him with a strange look. “Would you say the Parthenos is just a rock?”

“That’s different. I’m not a god.”

Hermes was about to reply when Mr. D walked -- or stumbled really -- in on them. His leopard print shirt was stained down the front and the goblet in his hand was empty. He gasped seeing them together, “Hermes you dog .”

“It’s not --” The god stood. “Is something going on, Dionysus?”

‘I thought you weren’t playing.’

‘I’m not.’

He gave Percy a dry once over, like he was gunk stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Somebody said you were looking for me.”

Once upon a time, Percy had thought Mr. D looked like a middle-aged trailer park cherub. Now he seemed more like a skin tag with hair, though maybe that was the bitterness talking. He wiped his hands as he stood, face settling into a mask. Unwilling to give Mr. D any ammunition.

Unfortunately, it was true. He had a half-baked idea rumbling around his head and Mr. D was the go-to god here. It couldn’t be helped. “I was but erm, we kind of lost a half-blood.”

Mr. D raised a hand to his heart. “Thank you for your service,” he hiccuped. “Next time make it two.”

‘D, come on.’

“They’re under your care,” Percy snarled, hands clenching. “The least you can do is --”

“Oh, alright alright. Don’t be so dramatic," Dionysus scoffed. "I’m the theater god here. No one likes a usurper." 

He swayed. "Let’s go find the brat then.” He managed three steps before turning, “You can walk and talk, right?”

Percy scoffed, and started picking his way out of the gardens. Dionysus tried to take another swig of his cup and frowned when he found it empty. “He is so annoying,” he whispered to his brother. “One time, he and that Chase girl threatened to have a sit-in at the Big House, can you believe?”

Hermes’ lips twitched. He was willing to believe a lot of things about Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase. “Why’d they do it?”

“More time on the climbing wall, later curfew, less getting eaten by the Harpies,” he shrugged. “Your cabin made shirts. If it wasn’t for that horse, I would have killed him.”

Hermes grinned, picturing a 14 year old Percy Jackson tormenting Dionysus. “I believe you, but do refrain. You know how Apollo gets.” 

Dionysus grunted. 

When Percy turned back, he was only being followed by the wine god. 

“Take a left.”

Percy rounded a corner. 

“Your other left.” Honestly, what did Apollo see in him?

There. He spotted a head of curly brown hair, sitting on a blanket picnicking with nymphs. 

Dionysus seemed content to hang back, letting him stomp forward on his own. “Out with it then. What did you want? Or did you just miss me terribly?”

“I had an idea --”

“Did it hurt?”

Percy’s fingers twitched, power coiled in his gut. Rome still burned behind his eyelids. The arena where Bacchus made him fight for his entertainment. It was taking a good deal of his self-control not to smack the god across the nose but knowing Mr. D, getting a rise out of him would only make him happier. 

He kept his eyes forward, better to not even look at him. “Demigods need a safe way to travel between the Legion and Camp Half-Blood. The camps are meant to be united, we shouldn't be losing half-bloods on trips between them.”

Dionysus hummed. “And I suppose you want me to do something about that?”

“You’re the camp’s director.”

“Well don’t remind me,” the god groaned. 

They reached Max’s picnic. “Percy!” he gasped. “I saw a man with two heads, and a woman with wings and a --”

“That’s nice, kid, but you can’t be running off like that.”

“He’s right,” Dionysus said. “Not all these gods are as nice as me.”

Percy snorted. He was about to walk off with Max when the wine god stepped in front of him. He took a step to the side but Dionysus cut him off again. And again. 

“I’m not dancing with you,” Percy threatened. 

The wine god grimaced. “Gross,” he said. He gave Percy a measured look, he really did hate this mortal. “Come to the next session. Let’s have the rest of the gods hear what you have to say.”

"Why?"

Dionysus turned on his heel. "Peter Johnson, this is Olympus not the Fields of Punishment. I'm not about to be the only god subjected to your 'thoughts' and 'ideas.'"

Chapter Text

‘This,’ Percy thought to himself. ‘ This is what self-sabotage looks like .’ If there was an award for Most Unhelpful God in the Universe, Mr. D would be a shoo-in, and still, he’d gone and talked to him. He knew to leave well enough alone but that first stab of guilt -- when he realized that Hazel would be meeting with next of kin if something happened to the demigods escorting Max to New York -- it never fully healed.

Even after they returned unscathed, the what-could-have-been hounded him. They could have died getting Max to safety. His own trip to New York probably wouldn't have happened if not for Apollo and not every demigod can swing a carpool with the sun.  

So he’d gone and opened his mouth.

As Percy slipped into the throne room, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe he should have slipped a note in his pocket. A scribbled down, ‘ The Olympians did it ,’ just in case this ended with his body tossed into some shallow grave.

The room yawned open. Domed ceiling, massive thrones -- Annabeth’s work was exquisite but the opulence pressed foreign into his sternum. Especially now that the campers were gone. Unbidden legs carried him to the hearth, it’s flames were leagues more inviting than anything else. 

As he drew closer, the fire licked warmth into his bones. Reminded him of dinners at Sally’s table. Curling up on some floor with Grover and Annabeth, volunteering for first watch just to listen to them snore. In the face of that, his anger at Dionysus, his...discomfort with replicas and mini Percy Jackson statues. It quieted. 

Lady Hestia was in the form of a young girl in white robes, hair pulled into a bun, copper skin glowing softly. The goddess smiled. “You’re back,” she said, and the echo of it sounded something like, ‘You’ve been missed .’ 

Percy ducked his head. “It’s an honor, my Lady.”

None of the other gods noticed him at first -- at this height, he probably looked like an ant to them -- but it wasn’t long until Zeus was frowning, feeling the air stir with the faint thrumming of a half-blood heartbeat. 

The first time they met he’d been twelve. Scrawny and unsure of himself. Back then, he could barely manage looking at the god without feeling a tingle in his back. His very atoms combusting. Things were different now. The scales a bit more balanced. 

Maybe it was the hearth’s borrowed courage but when he held the King’s gaze, Percy found himself wondering whether or not his uncle had ever been a boy. He tried to picture it. This stoic god a dark-haired child, unfettered. Trying to count the stars on sticky summer nights. Falling asleep to Cyclops Had A Little Lamb.

He couldn't have sprung into the world like this. Jaded and cold.There must have been a before.

“There was,” Hestia whispered. Voice so low that Percy might have imagined it. 

Up on his throne, Zeus shifted. “Are you lost?” he asked. “Is that it? Do you need me to walk you to the door?”

His words called the gods to attention and suddenly Percy was all too keenly aware of the space between Ares and Hephaestus. The one place his eyes had been avoiding all night. Slaying Titans was one thing but confronting a 20-foot-tall version of his crush? Not happening. 

“I asked him to be here, Father,” Dionysus said, idly studying his nail beds. “He’s had an idea that the Council would do well to hear.”

The humor drained from Zeus’ face. So this wasn’t a joke? “Then he can request an audience. This is a sensitive meeting.”

Dionysus clicked his tongue. “Oh dear me, did I forget to tell you?” The wine god asked, voice dripping with insincerity.  “Chiron’s reported that the boy made contact with the other pantheons.” Disbelieving whispers swept the throne room. “I know,” he nodded. “They didn’t smite him either, it was a surprise for me too. I thought Horus for sure--”

The master bolt crackled, “You told me nothing of this.”

“Must have slipped my mind,” said Mr. D, shrugging off his father’s glare. 

Hera intervened before the spat could unravel. She sat forward, concern peeking through her impassivity. “Is this true? Have you met with other gods?” 

And just like that, he was back in their crosshairs. “In my defense,” Percy started, “Nobody told me not to.”

At once, the room roared to life. Arguments broke out in some language older than Ancient Greek. Most of it flew over Percy’s head but he caught the words ‘alarming’ and ‘dangerous.’

“Peace!” Hestia cried out. “I have welcomed the hero to our hearth. He stays.”

Zeus’ razor blue eyes bore holes into Percy’s skull. “So he stays,” the god drawled. There was mumbling and shuffling among the gods, as if they weren’t all on board, but nobody protested. 

“We’ll proceed as scheduled then. Hermes, your report.” 

The messenger god tore his gaze from Percy. He slid from his throne and stepped forward, moving in a soft silver light, the phone in his hand lengthening into a caduceus. 

'Okay, just like we practisssed. And a one, and a two and one - two - three.’

Hermes rattled his staff, “Just a second,” he muttered. “Forgot to set them on vibrate.”

‘Uh-oh, I think he’s forgotten the words.’ one of the green snakes rasped.

‘George!’ Martha chided . ‘Don’t embarrass him.’

He tapped the caduceus to the ground and the chatter finally stopped. Some of the gods snickered. It was Percy’s turn to shoot him an encouraging smile. 

“Right,” Hermes said, turning his attention to the Council. Despite the mishap, he looked uncharacteristically somber. “The winds carry rumors of havoc across the realms. The Egyptians almost fell to the snake Apophis, the Norse stood on the brink of Ragnarok.” Percy watched the swift exchange of grim looks. He’d heard as much from Magnus and the Kanes. 

“They have prevailed for now, just as we have, but the world cannot continue operating at this level of disorder. Even now, the Mist wears thin from the strain.”

Dread slinked down Percy’s back, he wasn’t the only one to look nervous. A thinning Mist would be catastrophic. Looking into the Duat, witnessing the world in all its truths had almost melted his brain. Without the Mist’s protection, mortals and demigods would fare worse fates. He glanced at the old camp director. What exactly had Mr. D gotten him into? This had nothing to do with connecting the camps. 

Ares rolled the toothpick in his mouth. “Our wars are over. Things always sort themselves out when civil order returns. This will too.” Some of the gods murmured agreement but not many looked convinced. 

“We can’t be sure of that,” Athena said. Her steely eyes fixed on Percy, like this was somehow his fault. “Speak, hero. Tell us of Boston and Governor's Island.”

Something in her expression gave it away. The smallest tick of an eyebrow. Slowly, Percy realized, “You mean...you don’t know?” 

A few of the gods coughed. 

“Percy,” Poseidon looked strained. “You witnessed the violence that erupted when the Greek and Roman pantheons collided,” at the mention of the word Roman some of the deities seemed to flicker. “And we are like two sides of the same coin. Coming into contact with other gods --”

“Dangerous.” 

“Too many egos.” 

“If I ever see Thor again I’ll have him deep-fried.”

“We used to have these once-a-century cross-pantheon dinners,” Hera supplied. “Surely, you can see why they ceased.”

And then, “I miss those,” he said. His voice warmed Percy’s cheeks, like he was at his side, sitting too close and speaking against his neck. “Sif’s cooking,” Apollo groaned. 

Hermes sighed. “Too much history. We try not to get in each other’s way. As the god of messengers and travelers, I run into them more than most but even then, they’re careful of what they say. Guarding their sovereignty and all that.” 

Artemis crossed her ankles, “We would be wise to do the same.”

“My point being,” Hermes stressed. “We have the big picture. Brushstrokes. But the minutiae, maybe you could help with that.” 

Percy looked around the room (except not there ). This really wasn’t how he expected his day to go.

“Speak,” Zeus commanded, muttering under his breath about obedience school. 

So Percy explained. He told them, “Annabeth knows a lot more about the Norse than I do since she’s like related to them,” but he had helped train Magnus in Boston. He told them about Governor's Island, how Setne intended to assemble the Crown of Ptolemy, swallowing all the Greek and Egyptian magic in the world and turning himself into a god in the process. 

“I hate Ptolemaic magic,” Hecate muttered. 

Percy could sympathize. “So Carter and I distracted him. He went all giant chicken warrior. I hosted the goddess Nekhbet, we fought. Then Sadie and Annabeth used the Book of Thoth to imprison him. We got cheeseburgers afterward.” 

Silence took the room.

Hecate was the first to break it. “You did what ?”

Percy blinked. “We got cheeseburgers? There’s this place called P.J Clarke’s --”

“No, boy,” she grunted. “When you say you hosted Nehkbet, I take it we’re not talking wine and cheese? Some crackers maybe?”

If only that had been an option. “The other kind of hosting,” Percy grimaced. He’d coughed up black vulture feathers for days afterward. Annabeth still cracked jokes about it. 

“That’s not all though, is it?” Mr. D said, idly twirling a grape vine between his fingers. “It never is with you. Setne offered you something.”

Percy met the purple flames in his eyes. Dionysus was toying with him. Why -- he wasn’t sure. “Immortality,” he nodded. 

“And you turned it down,” Zeus deadpanned. “Again.”

‘ Obviously .’ Percy thought to himself. He didn’t get a chance to voice it though, because there was a commotion to his left. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” 

“Us,” Hermes coughed. 

“Us!” Apollo amended. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He’d forgotten to ask about Percy’s Egyptian friends but in his defence, he figured it meant ‘friends who happened to be from Egypt.’ Not the blood of the pharaohs and their thrice-cursed vulture goddess. 

Percy tugged at his ear lobe. It wasn’t his fault that Mr.D had failed to notify the council but he had a feeling that that wasn’t what Apollo was talking about. “It...just didn’t come up,” he offered. Gaze studiously trained on the opposite side of the room. Aphrodite smirked down at him. 

“Well,” said Zeus, reclaiming the room’s attention. His tone was icy calm. “What are we to do about that?” 

Hecate stood. Mist curling around her onyx dark dress. “Can none of you sense it? The tumult, the frenzy. If anything, Setne is proof that the world is missing a pillar. Until the balance is restored, Egyptians, Norse, and Greek alike -- we will stay on the knife’s edge of annihilation.”

Athena’s hands clasped in consideration. “You find our fates related?”

“Pallas, you argue that correlation and causation are different things but Mist and Magic are my domain. Think, we have known these signs to herald the end of an age or the birth of a new power.”

A smothering quiet followed her words. 

Zeus’ gaze was stuck on his nephew, “I’m partial to a reset.”

Hades had been quite reserved for the whole affair but now he groaned, “Brother, not this again.” There wasn’t enough space in the Underworld and he couldn't take time off to overhaul it now. He and Persephone were planning another honeymoon.

“And why not?” Zeus challenged. “Offerings have slowed down, the humans have made such a mess that soon enough the planet’s going to be uninhabitable. Why not wipe the slate clean? Why not let a new age dawn?”

His eyes flickered with images of two figures clinging to a sinking chest. Percy had never seen them before but their names sprang from his core. An old story Chiron had told him. Deucalion and Pyrrha. Lone survivors caught in the divine deluge that marked the end of the Bronze Age.

If he was right, they were talking planetary genocide. “Uncle,” Percy curled his hands into fists to hide their trembling. “You can’t.”

“Oh, I assure you I can,” he replied. “Though your father helped last time.” Zeus turned to his brother. “What do you say, Poseidon? We can call it a bonding activity, make Mother happy.”

“I will have no part of this," Poseidon said. Things were bad enough between him and Percy. They didn’t need to bring up his past.

“If we’re doing this, we have to make the next race of humans less annoying,” Ares chimed in. 

“But think about how long it would take them to reinvent the wheel.”

“And deep dish pizza.”

“Are we committed to the whole ‘human’ thing? We can go in another direction. Carbon-based life forms are so passé.” 

Fear soured Percy’s mouth. His errant brain hyper-focused on the faint sounds of the solstice. Music and children’s laughter. He thought of his mom, getting ready for bed. Estelle already wrapped in a dream. Annabeth celebrating Saturnalia with the Romans. All of them unaware of how airily the gods discussed extinction. 

“You can’t,” he breathed out. 

“Do you wish to try me, boy?” An empty smile played on Zeus’ lips. “Humans die. It’s what they do. It’s what the race before you did, it’s what yours will one day do too. It would be kind to end it now, save you all some suffering.”

There was something of Gabe in him, Percy thought. His eyes skirted around the room. Catching on his father’s sandals, Demeter’s braids, the braces around Hephaestus’ leg, Mr. D’s awful satin shirt. Finally coming to rest on Apollo. Blonde haired, blue eyed, golden Apollo.

The thing about gods, Percy realized, the thing about gods is that they’re copy-cats. Vast forces of world-ending power wrapped in the guise of skin and bones. Because this, the breezy way in which they talk about ending the world like this is just another Friday -- it’s the furthest thing from human. 

This should scare him, should force him to his knees but Percy Jackson was wrought in the Titan War. Forged into something else by Tartarus. No more denying his father's lineage, Percy was born a manifestation of the divine. Human doesn’t fit him either. Not all that well.

The fear dissipated, leaving room for conviction. “It would be wrong,” Percy said, words scraping across his tongue. Both a protest and an indictment. “Is that who you are? No different than Kronos or Gaea. Is this what we fought for? What your children died for?”

“Percy,” Poseidon pleaded. 

But he didn’t care. He would speak to them as equals, even if it killed him. If he died, at least he’d die honest. “They called you the highest among gods. Just. So be just. Be better. Don’t do this.” 

“Father, don’t mind him,” Hermes tried. “It's the oxygen deprivation. Being on the mountain for too long, you know how it is for them.” 

“You accuse me of being wrong,” Zeus said. He savored the word, cocked his head at the taste.

Poseidon gripped his trident, ready to intervene but Apollo spoke first. “It would be below the throne, Father.” He shot Percy a warning look, Shut up.

“Watch yourself," Zeus growled. "Insubordination from the half-blood is one thing, I will not tolerate it from you." 

Apollo shrugged. “I speak only as the god of truth.”

Zeus started to rise but, “If I may,” Dionysus said. Tweedledum and Tweedledumber were going to get themselves incinerated. Not that he cared but...someone probably did. “I believe we’re ready to hear Perry’s idea.”

The goddess of wisdom was incredulous. “You want him to do more talking?”

But Mr. D’s bored stare didn't waver. “Well?”

He knew it would come to this, Percy realized. And now the god was giving him the same condescending look he knew from teachers. Like they were wondering just how slow he really was. “We talked about the camps…” But it didn’t make sense, how could that help now?

“Bravo. He remembers.”

Grape vines bloomed and shriveled around Mr. D’s throne, their pace frenzied. Hypnotic. “I told you we need a safe way to travel between the Legion and Camp Half-Blood.”

“You did.”

“It’s too dangerous now. Almost impossible for a lone demigod.”

Mr. D’s voice was soft, still taunting at the edges. “And why does that matter, Mr. Jackson?”

“Because your children shouldn't have to fight tooth and nail just to survive,” Percy answered. Mr. D arched a brow, waiting for more. He racked his brain, wishing he had some of Piper’s charmspeak or Reyna’s poise. “Because-- because it was unity that saved us -- saved you in the Giant War.” 

A spark of approval danced across the god's face before it was extinguished by his trademark indifference. “Was it?” 

“Yes,” Percy said, picking up steam now. He turned to Hera, “You drove a wrecking ball through my life for the sake of it. The only reason Gaea isn’t standing is because of Greek and Roman cooperation. The only reason you’re not all hanging out in the bowels of Setne’s stomach is because Greeks and Egyptians worked together.” Setne had swallowed an Egyptian goddess, he made it clear he intended to come for all of them. 

Some of the elder Olympians grimaced, reminded about the years they spent in their father’s gut. 

Percy was on a roll now. “I was here when the hearth gave out. When the flame of Western civilization was nothing more than a few warm coals and some sparks. And it was unity that saved you then too. Luke’s decision to work with us.”

He faced Zeus. “Whatever this thing with the Mist is, the answer won’t be found in razing the world. Cutting down the people who bled for you. If it’s affecting the other pantheons, maybe you’ll have to come together to solve it. And that starts at home. With the bridging of the camps.” Otherwise, it had all been for nothing. 

The quiet that followed sucked the air from Percy’s lungs. 

Zeus rubbed at his beard. The demigod’s words had merit. They had moved some of the gods, he could see that. They weren’t as open to the idea of destroying the humans anymore. “Athena?” 

The goddess of wisdom held Percy in cool regard. He stared her down. Annabeth’s mother was one of the most influential voices on the council, her next words could condemn the world. 

“If it comes to a vote, I will stand by the hero.”

“As will I,” said Hera. How right she had been to call him the glue of the Seven. “Besides,” she turned to her husband. There was an art to reasoning with him. “It would be prudent to build a united front. Solidify our power before the next threat rises.”

Zeus grunted. “Being told what to do by a half-blood again .”

“All in favor,” Poseidon said. 

The vote was nearly unanimous. Ares abstained, as did Dionysus and a few of the minor gods. 

“We have a majority.”

“Very well, Percy Jackson,” Zeus groused. “I suppose I’ll let you live. But this business with the camps won’t just take care of itself, you know? Why don’t you and Dionysus work together on this one? A little group project since you’re all about teamwork.”

Percy glanced at the leopard print wrapped terror. “Uhh --”

“Take the win,” Hermes counseled. 

“Oh, absolutely not,” Mr. D protested. “I didn’t even vote for this. Father, you can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Zeus answered. “Since so many things slipped your mind maybe this will help you be more grounded.”

Dionysus looked like he wanted to argue but Zeus waved his hand, “Adjourned.”

The rest of the night was a blur. 

Percy walked out of the throne room, nerves frayed, only to be steamrolled by the celebrations. All these people, nymphs, satyrs, gods, all unaware of how close they’d come to the end. Let alone the rest of the mortal world...He pushed the thought from his head. It was going to make him sick and he still had a job to do. 

Now that he was paying attention, he could see the Mythomagic statues and Riptide replicas on quite a few of the shops. Some even sold his image on vases. Percy steered the campers away when they got too close to one of those stands. Not a can of worms he wanted to take back home. 

He moved on autopilot. Skirting around gods and keeping the kids together. I just have to get through these next few hours. Just a bit more. 

By the time he was loading the campers into buses, Percy was sure his brain was full of T.V static. He barely even heard Mr. D’s, “Come to camp in two weeks.”

The breeze outside the Empire State building was blessedly cold. It kissed his forehead, carried away some of the breathlessness. So much had happened since the day began, he wasn’t sure he was capable of processing it all.

It was only a 4-minute walk from here to the subway line that would take him to the Upper East Side but Percy never made it that far. The indigo sky meant it was somewhere around 2 a.m but New York was still awake. Tourists and twenty-somethings crowded the sidewalk in various states of intoxication.

Percy ducked into an alley just to get away from them. He didn’t intend to stay but it was better than being out there and the muck, the smell , it reminded him of waking up in that underpass. No memories except his name. You know things are bad when you start to miss your days of living on the street but he could use a dose of that amnesia right about now. 

He walked further into the alley. Turned a corner so he was safely out of sight from any passerby. Percy leaned against one of the walls, let the back of his head knock against it. New York’s December is unforgiving but he’s lived through worse. 

The darkness to his left coughed and Percy jumped, fingers closing around Riptide. No monster came. Across the alley, some 10 feet away, a pair of brown eyes blinked at him. In the dim light, he could make out bushy grey eyebrows, an old man wrapped in a tattered sleeping bag and dirty blankets.

“You woke me up,” he croaked. 

“Sorry,” Percy said. He’d been on the other side of this, knew just how awful it was. 

The man peered at him. “S’no problem,” he yawned. “Stay as long as you like. You look like you need it.” And then he was snoring. 

Maybe it was the day’s toll, but the tiny act of kindness struck a nerve. Percy blinked back watery eyes. He settled back into the wall, and focused on the push and pull of his breathing. If he pinched his thumb and forefinger just so, he could feel his pulse. 

Was it really so bad that his image was being sold on Olympus?

‘Uh, yes,’ his brain replied. But some of the initial shock was wearing off. “It makes them feel safe,” Hermes had said. He couldn’t really blame people for that. It was...better than having nothing. 

In his mind, he saw a young Nico di Angelo, buzzing with energy. If he gave it time, it could be sweet even. Fame was strange -- startling for a boy who had been raised in a house where splurging meant Burger King and a movie.

But fine, Percy made his tenuous peace with it. No harm no foul, right? It’s not like he could stop them. Maybe it was even a good thing if it made people happy. Though the fewer people who knew about this the better. His friends would tease him about getting a big head. 

As for the council meeting...Percy rubbed circles into his temple. Having to work with Mr. D was bordering on cruel and unusual punishment but he doubted Zeus had an appeals process. 

“Gods,” he muttered. Or was it cursed?

He wasn’t expecting an answer but the space next to him flushed with light. The next time his eyes opened, Apollo was standing in front of him, smiling out, “Hey you.”

Percy groaned. And then there was him. 

Apollo’s eyebrows arched, “Sorry, were you expecting one of your little Egyptian friends?”

“Don’t be jealous,” Percy teased, looking over to make sure they weren’t bothering the sleeping man. His snores continued uninterrupted. 

The god spluttered. “I’m not -- I wasn’t -- What exactly are you doing here?" he finally asked. 

Percy's fingers itched to pull him closer. He tucked them into his pockets instead. "I am...invoking my constitutional right to freedom from religion."

"That's a new one."

"Mhmm."

"It's freedom of religion by the way. Completely different things."

“Says you.”

Apollo hummed. Coming down here was risky but he figured with everyone distracted by the solstice, he might get away with it. Exhaustion painted lilac bags under Percy’s eyes. He wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted to see another god after the night he’d had. 

He stepped closer, hand coming up to stretch out an inky black curl. “I can leave.” 

Percy turned into the warmth, let the god’s fingers graze over his cheekbones. “Can you?”

He'd promised as much, that day in the principia when Percy had spit out a challenge, And if I don't want to be your friend? If I said no?

'I'll leave,' he'd sworn. Somehow, he wasn't sure the oath held. 

Apollo stilled, aware that they were talking about more than just this moment. Even with the stench, the dumpster full of rotting waste, the threat of being found out -- there was nothing more unthinkable than leaving. Except perhaps staying, because it brimmed with a fierce and terrible potential. Breathtaking highs and equally daunting lows.

No matter what, it would come to Percy's corpse on a pyre, tonight made that clear. So he settled for the truth. “I don’t know.” Not anymore.

He curled into the wall. Shoulder to shoulder.

'This must be what Semele felt,’ Percy thought, gaze hopelessly tracing over the god’s face. This...nebulous undefined thing between them could ruin him. Worse, he might just let it. Semele’s story had always left him confused. She must have known -- how could she not? That looking at the true face of god was asking for death. 

The why had always tripped him up. He never could imagine what kind of madness drove her to it. If that was Love, he never wanted to know it. Now though, he wondered if she smiled when the lightning split her open.

The solstice had been a kick in the teeth. A reminder of the gods’ inhumanity. He wished it had changed something, knocked his moral compass straight, sent him running for the hills. But no. He might as well be rooted here, staring at the sun. 

“I brought you something,” Apollo said. 'Heretic' his siblings will whisper. He opened his palm to show off a small cube of ambrosia, broke it in half, and held up a piece. “Offerings.” For the demigod. 

“Reparations,” Percy corrected, taking the gift. The square dissolved in his mouth. Sweeter than homemade cookies, warmer than flames. Next time he looked into Hestia’s hearth, he would see this moment. He was sure of that. 

Chapter Text

Dreams have always come to him easier than most but they run freely now, under the seams of sleep. Enough of them that Percy’s got half a mind to put up wanted posters for Morpheus. If he ever sees the god, it’ll be on sight. An anything goes, elbow-to-the-throat kind of fight. 

Sometimes it’s nymphs and nightingales, rolling rivers straining to be clean. His mother’s kidnapping and that pale, desperate moment -- the roaring giant Polybotes hurling acid water, killing him almost. (This is how he realizes that it wasn’t Tartarus that taught him to bend poison.) 

Plague strewn bodies. Arrow pierced lungs. Janus’ forked tongue. He’s a boy again, sun-ached and gasping, letting Chiron’s solemn voice wash the sea of monsters from his skin. “You carry the hopes of humanity into the realm of the eternal.” The words chilled him now more than they did when he first heard them. 

Sometimes it’s the corner of a smile, the flash of bronze hands. Never his full face.

It doesn’t matter. He knew him as Fred, and friend, and Lester too. Would know him blind, by the way the air around him moves. In the dream, he holds up a cracked open pomegranate and Percy bites, lets ruby -- tart --  drip down his chin.  

“You know what happens now, don’t you?”

“Tell me anyway.”

There’s a finger tracing words into the slope of his shoulder, warm breath prickling his back. “You have to stay. Here and forever.”

If he turns, he knows, he will catch the edge of red-stained teeth. He would have to stay too. “That’s a bit derivative, poet.” 

This last dream is not prophetic. It’s missing the clarity that comes from divine visits. And this is almost worse, because it’s just his imagination then. Calling for something other than himself.

Home is good, in the days following the solstice. 

California made a spectre out of winter but it’s real in New York. Snow comes kissing down and the apartment is hearth-warm. Full of barely restrained laughter the day he caught Paul furiously knitting mittens for Mom. 

“They’re hideous aren’t they?” 

“Well, no. I mean -- I mean, they kinda are,” Percy said, biting his lip. Burgundy-brown, lumpy and mangled. “But you know what? I think she’ll love them even more for it.” 

Paul beamed. “I watched a tutorial.”

“Watch it again maybe?”

“Percy!” he gasped. Before motioning to the laptop in front of him. “Actually can you rewind it for me? I think my hands are stuck in this.”

Estelle still doesn’t have enough hair to braid and she won’t for a while. He bundles her up like the world’s warmest burrito and takes her to parks. Wills the water into snow sculptures -- whales, dolphins, wolves, swans. She giggles when they come to life and Percy spends the day making up stories about them. Until a boy in the playground starts pulling on his mom’s hand. 

“Did you see that? The water just moved .”

He expected the Mist to hide them but now that he’s paying attention, there are more than a few people whispering in their direction. So he picks up Estelle and mutters, “Smile and wave, kid. Smile and wave.” 

She’s a natural.

They hightail it home after that. 

Most of all though, he likes spending time with his mom. Washing dishes. Bopping to the radio. Talking about her book. 

They’re sitting on the couch when it hits him. Estelle’s asleep and Paul’s at work so it’s just them. Still in their pajamas, a bag of blue candy growing steadily smaller.

His head dropped to the side just in time to catch her biting the head off a blueberry gummy bear. It’s kinder that way , she would say. 

There was a time, Percy remembered, when things weren’t like this. When they had more scars than friends and she would press their foreheads together, “You and me against the world, baby. ” Because they were one, once. Before his birth split them in two. 

In the end, he hates Gabe the most for ruining them quietly. Leaving bruises where no one would ever see, strangling Life from them with more than just his hands. 

“Bet you I can land this next one in my mouth,” she grinned, holding a jellybean. 

Percy arched a brow. Watched the jelly bean sail through the air and land on her eyelid. He snorted. “Gods, Mom.” 

“No, watch. I’m gonna get it.”

Sally found something radical in kindness. From her, he absorbed the simple fact that greatness was not measured by the monsters that he vanished, but by the heart’s tendency towards compassion. It had saved him, whenever Kronos whispered in his ear, during that time he spent in Tartarus -- she had saved him. 

It took a long time but they don’t flinch when the door opens anymore. Their eyes don’t catch when they hear footsteps coming down the hallway. Before Zoe, he used to say Hercules was his favorite hero but really, it was always her. Would always be her. 

Percy’s throat ached, he let his head drop onto her shoulder. “Mom, I’m really proud of you. I hope you know.”

Even after all the world wrung from her, Sally had fought for a life beyond survival. And when everyone else was sure he would die at sixteen, she believed he would find one too. Gods be damned, her boy would live. 

She turned, mid-chew. “About the jellybean?” 

“No,” he laughed. “No, about everything, I guess. I don’t know how you did it. I don’t think I could have but Mom, look at this place,” he waved a hand at the living room. The books and tea cups and worn-in couches. “Look at you .” 

His meaning sank in slowly, making her eyes go misty. 

Sally laughed a sob. She picked up one of Estelle’s toys and rattled it. “We’ve really come a long way, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Percy smiled. “We have.”

They’d been holding onto each other for so long that people at the airport started fashioning harpoons out of stares. Percy didn’t care. The sweet smell of lemon-lavender filled his nose. She was home. Annabeth. 

“Hey,” she said, pulling back just enough so they could get a proper look at each other. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail and little owl earrings twirled in the light. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

Behind him, a voice answered, “Turn around.” 

Percy whirled. “Goat Man?!”

“That’s Mister Lord of the Wild to you.” 

Grover was wearing his usual human disguise. Complete with red Rasta cap and tie-dye shirt. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be somewhere in the Midwest?"

"I came to see a friend."

“Alright," Annabeth smiled. "You two stay here. I’m going to go see where our baggage claim is.” 

As soon as she was out of earshot, Grover rounded on him. “She knows, right? You’ve told her? Tell me you’ve told her. Percy, you know damn well I can’t keep a secret.”

Percy’s grin died slowly. Oh that’s right. That. “Can we not talk about this here?”

Horror dawned across Grover’s face, “She doesn’t know. Oh, she doesn’t know,” he licked his lips. “That’s great. That’s -- I’m a shit liar, Percy. I get stress hives. Look, here comes one now.”

“I’m not asking you to lie, just…selectively withhold certain information.” 

Grover glared but Annabeth was back before he could say anything else. “Downstairs. Baggage claim #4, come on.”

They followed. The walls, Percy noted, weren’t closing in on him but it sure felt like it. He didn’t want to lie to her anymore, didn’t want to force Grover in this position but he’d backed himself into a corner. There would be no easy way out. 

Dawn was starting to paint the walls of his bedroom a dusty pink. Percy charted the faint freckles across Annabeth’s nose, Grover’s soul-deep eyes. 

The queen-sized bed really wasn’t meant for this many bodies, but it didn’t matter. They’d climbed in anyway, one tangled mess of limbs. He was half-way sure they shared a heartbeat.

"My toes are cold," Annabeth said. 

"Your toes are always cold. I used to bring extra socks on quests cause you always stole mine."

"No I--"

"Did too," Grover grinned. "But we used to steal your snacks so I guess it's fair."

"That was you?" she gasped. 

"You always brought the best ones." The conversation dissolved into bickering about how many socks were owed and just which snacks they took when. They spent the rest of the night like that. Listening to Grover's reed pipes, remembering better times. Percy was asleep before he knew it. 

This is a dream he’s had before. 

The weightlessness of plummeting through hot air, the euphoric uncertainty in whether or not the wings would catch and then, inevitably, Daedalus’ steady command, “Spread your arms! Keep them extended.” 

Percy had survived Icarus wings once but the boy soaring ahead of him, he won’t. His arms pumped, desperate to cut through the air and warn him. “Stop! You don’t understand, you have to stop.” 

Already some of the feathers were melting away, the beginning of his slow metamorphosis. Icarus turned and their bodies circled each other. Tracing DNA spirals in the sky, this is who they’d always been. 

“You have to stop,” Percy shouted. The shores of Crete blurred away, below them, the sea’s arms glimmered. 

Icarus laughed, blood-drunk, sun-stained. “If I said I loved him, would that be the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”  

The wind carried a father's desperate pleas. “You’ll die!”

Icarus’ brown eyes smiled. He swooped in close until Percy could smell the salt of his skin. Could see that there was no turning back from this. “Mortals are born noosed,” he whispered. “I reserve the honor of choosing my own rope.”

In the back of his throat, Percy could taste magma. The wings had been stripped almost to the wire, fire licked at the frame. 

When it touched his skin, he knew it would not burn.

Together -- light-headed, light-devouring -- they completed their transformation.  

 Grover chewed his can carefully. “I heard some dryads talking about concealment problems, being spotted by mortals. Thought it was fluke.”

“They have to do something,” Annabeth frowned. “I mean, think of the camps. What’s going to happen if the Mist stops veiling them?”

“Okay,” Percy sighed. “Repeat after me: Not our problem.” 

The days slipped by much too fast but they made the best of it. Walked the city, crushed blackberries between their teeth, babysat Estelle. 

They still end up sleeping in the same bed every night. Not for warmth, not because it’s comfortable, just to be together. Alive. Breathing. 

This is how his downfall starts. 

Annabeth had been still for so long, he figured she had fallen asleep. Grover looked well on the way to following, so Percy let his mind drift. 

Born a child of abandonment, he was no stranger to the ache that comes with missing people. The feeling laid waste to him time and again. Even paid him a visit in the days following Luke’s betrayal. Before hurt curdled into spite. 

When he woke up an amnesiac with vague memories of a blonde, Percy thought he had invented something else altogether. Surely “I miss you” couldn’t hold a candle to that -- those months he spent without Annabeth had been like learning to breathe without a lung. 

Which was why, after a lifetime of mourning people who weren’t there, he was surprised to discover that there was another way to ache for someone. 

Missing him is not constant pain. If it were, it might be easier. Eventually, he’d adjust and the feeling would fade into the background. Some dull roar. 

But he’s caught himself more than once -- laughing, looking around to see if he’s laughing too, only to have realization pierce his ribcage like a spear. Just as painful, he reckons. It always sends him ripping a hand through his hair because this -- fuck --- this can’t be good for him.

And no, the colors haven’t been bleached from the world but his center of gravity is off. Wrong. Like his body had gotten used to maneuvering around the space where Apollo was supposed to be and now that he’s not, Percy might as well be a planet untethered.

Every time he looks in the mirror, he can hear the lilting words of a Beauregard. Silena’s, “Would it really be so bad? If you let yourself want what you want?” And it’s getting harder and harder to find a good enough answer. 

“You reek of nostalgia,” Grover muttered. And beyond the surprise of realizing he was still awake, Percy wondered if he was right. Maybe that’s what it is. Can you be nostalgic for things that haven’t happened yet?

“Percy, I am begging you. Please. Please, stop thinking about him. I just want to go to sleep. That’s all I want.” 

“Grover,” Percy warned, sending a panicked glance at Annabeth. 

“It’s what I deserve. I have rights. This is like, against the Geneva Convention.”  

The covers stirred. Annabeth blinked sleep out of her eyes, “Stop thinking about who?”

Grover froze. “What were you guys talking about?”

Percy pictured himself strangling a goat. He shot the image through the empathy link. Message received judging by Grover’s shade of green. But really, he should have come clean about this a long time ago. 

“Do you really want to know?”

Annabeth’s nails cut crescents into her palm. Nobody likes to think about the dead stars. Some of them, she knows, died thousands of years ago. The beams of light that reach the Earth were just one last rebellion against nonexistence. Proof that you can see memories. 

That’s what he looks like right now, a memory. Some ghost-to-be. His grave dug the moment he chose to let Apollo into his life. 

Anger burned a path from her fists to her jaw. He knew about Frederick, about Beryl Grace and May Castellan and still, he chose this. Chose to keep it from her too. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Percy grimaced. Exposing an awkwardness he hadn't donned in a long time. “I was...embarrassed,” he swallowed. “About what I needed him to be. I judged myself and after everything that happened, after Jason, I didn’t want other people to judge me too.”

Gods -- Jason.

Annabeth was tempted to grab him by the shoulders and shake. Scream. But if Jason’s death wasn’t enough to deter him, nothing would. She hugged her knees to her chest a little tighter. 

She turned to Grover. "You knew." The tone of it landing between question and accusation.

"I did." 

“Is it love?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I don’t think he does either.” 

Silence roared. Annabeth closed her eyes against the wild stream of her thoughts. Curses and half-baked insults, fragments of stories about the god and his lovers. Of course she had noticed the changes in him. The way he lied about where he had been, how he struggled to meet her eyes sometimes. She'd chalked it up to the Pit, to Akhlys, but this...

It felt too much like a betrayal. Did he think they didn’t worry for him? That they magically stopped needing him around while he was with Apollo. She’d told him once, that he and Thalia were more alike than he knew and here was her proof. Thalia had left her for Artemis. Percy would disappear chasing the other twin. 

When the child of war spoke, her words were slow. Calm and measured even as her hands trembled. “When did it start? At what point did ‘I want to be alone’ start meaning ‘I want to be alone with him ’?”

“Beth --”

“This is all they’ll remember about you. You’ll be just another footnote. Another hero with a god in his bed.” 

Grover laid a hand on her shoulder but she flinched away. He didn’t try again.

“He can’t love you," Annabeth said. Rearing the bite from her words. She looked at him plainly. "He will never be faithful. We’re like gerbils to them. Cockroaches with fire.” 

“It’s not like that --”

Now, her lips twisted. How could he be so naive? "Don't tell me you think he's different." It was always like that. They would never be more than a blink to them. 

“Annabeth, please --” 

“No,” she said. Stubborn tears making her face hot. "You don't get to do that. Don’t ask this of me. Don’t ask me to stand by and watch this kill you. I can’t, Percy. I won’t.” 

Grover twisted the hem of his shirt. She thought he might chide her but instead, he whispered, "Percy, I don't want to see you die either. These kinds of things -- they never end well."

Was it cruel what Icarus did? Did he ever think of the pain he caused his father? Percy saw it now, reflected in the eyes of his friends, and it harrowed him. 

A hand reached out, closed around Annabeth's forearm. When she didn't move away, he tugged. Her body unsnarled and he pulled her back to her old spot, the three of them were one again. "I'm not leaving you. I know what this looks like. Trust me, I know what my odds are. But nothing’s happened yet. Just me and my stupid heart.”

"But you want it to?"

Grover and Percy might share an empathy link but the two of them invented telepathy. She knew his answer, even if hadn't figured it out himself. 

“Percy, I’m awful at taking care of potted plants.”

“You’ll have Grover. He can help.”

That got him a shaky laugh. “I won’t water you.” 

“I’ll see if Apollo takes requests,” he said. “Maybe I can be a cactus.” 

In the end, this is who he’d always been. A boy too ready, too willing to open his heart to people. He couldn't undo this in much the same way he would never be able to tear the bits of god from his marrow. No matter how much he wanted to. 

Annabeth pulled back to look him in the eye. “I won’t forgive you. If this is what kills you, I won’t ever forgive you.” 

“I know.” 

They stayed like that for hours. Things weren’t okay. Hurt still spread like spider cracks in her chest but eventually, he whispered, “I think I want to be remembered not for the monsters I killed, but the people I loved."

Apollo was just starting to bring the sun chariot into a descent when he felt a tug at his core. Summons from Hestia. 

Splitting his form, he followed the pull, appearing just outside Camp Half-Blood’s Big House. The goddess was nowhere to be seen but Nico and Will were sitting on the steps. 

“Dad? What are you doing here?”

Apollo frowned. “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me. Is someone injured?” Demigods did tend to have nasty little scrapes with the lava wall. 

“Not yet,” Nico grinned. 

“I don’t understand, what’s going on?”

Will sighed. “It’s Percy and Mr. D. They’ve been arguing for three days. Chiron evacuated the Big House but he wanted to have a healer on hand. We’ve been taking shifts.”

“They’re like chihuahuas,” Nico added. Using his hands to mime two dogs fighting. “Everyone says today’s gonna be the day Mr. D snaps. The Hermes cabin is taking bets if you want to --”

He was gone before Nico finished his sentence. 

When he burst into the living room, he found chaos. One of the chairs was on fire. He could hear pipes rattling. Dionysus was gripping his thyrsus in one hand, a shriveled vine in the other. Percy looked near murderous. Words flew like javelins. Neither of them noticed his entrance. 

“Are they always like this?” he whispered to Chiron. The centaur stood a safe distance away, clopping nervously. 

He barely startled at the god’s appearance. “Things between Percy and Mr. D have always been tense. There was this one summer,I really thought he wasn’t going to make it. But this,” he shook his head. “This is a new low.” 

“Should I say something?”

“Please do.”

“-- you insolent little protozoa --”

“ -- can’t believe they made you a god --”

On second thought, Apollo did not like the idea of getting between that. “Um, you know, Hermes is technically the god of diplomacy. Maybe we should call him down. Have the expert deal with it.” 

Dionysus’ shrill tone interrupted before Chiron could say something. “What are you doing here?”

He turned my grapes into raisins, Apollo. Find another toy, I’m turning this one into a porpoise. Call the Maenads. 

It would be easier if Percy’s eyes didn’t sucker punch him every time he looked at them. “If I could just --” What would Hermes say? “Maybe I can bring out some calming tea, we can sit down, take a deep breath.”

Dionysus looked affronted. “Whose side are you on?” 

“Mine,” Percy sniffed. 

The thyrsus glowed. “Is that right? Let’s see about it then.” Twin glares aimed straight for his head.

Apollo swallowed. “Well --”

“Don’t answer that,” Chiron hissed. Giving a slight shake of the head. “Do not answer that.” 

He hesitated for a moment too long. 

“Unbelievable.” 

“You’re on the horse's side?!”