Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up.” - James Baldwin

High school isn't all cliches, but the way that the boy's locker room smells after athletics practice lets out at the end of the day is a kind of universal evil, a stereotype of questionable hygiene that is - unfortunately - very much rooted in reality.

Though most boys have learned to use deodorant by the time they make it to high school, by the end of a long, sweaty practice, it almost doesn't matter if they put it on that morning or not. The funk of decades of overheated bodies crammed into a too-small room has already wormed its way into the wood of long, battered benches and stiff plastic shower curtains, and even if one happens to find themselves in there alone, something foul always seems to linger.

Percy, toweling off after a particularly exhausting day in the pool, was trying very hard to limit the amount of time he spent breathing in the toxic sludge that was emanating from his classmates - not all of which was coming from their pores.

"...did you see Maya's tits when she got out of the pool at the end of that last set?" 

The obnoxiously loud voice of Aaron Tarleton rose above the general cacophony, and Percy scowled in disgust as he turned and saw his fellow swimmer - and potentially least favorite classmate - mime groping the body of one of the girls on their team. The boys around him snickered, and Tarleton, never one to ignore the opportunity to perform for an audience, did it again, now making the movement of hands and hips exaggerated and crude. The snickers became full blown laughter, cruel and hungry, and some of his friends began adding their own commentary.

"You gonna tap that, bro?" Called Lance Cruz, another of the guys on Percy's personal shit list. "I hear she doesn't have a prom date yet, bet you could probably move in on her."

Tarleton paused his show to flash a cocky grin. "Probably? Man, who do you think you're talking to? One look at my new car and that bitch'll be begging me to bend her over the hood."

Percy had been enjoying overhearing - and overseeing - exactly none of this conversation, but now his hands clenched involuntarily around the towel he was holding, and he had to fight down the urge to wrap the damp fabric around the other kid's throat. Slowly, he took a deep breath and forced himself to stay seated, trying to relax tight muscles and calm his rapid heart rate. It was March, nearly the end of the swim season, and he had successfully avoided strangling Tarleton this long. He could hold out a little longer.

You can handle this without absolutely annihilating that creep, he reminded himself after a few slow breaths meant that he could think a little more clearly. 

After all, this wasn't actually his fight, and he could do something useful without getting too involved. He didn't know Maya that well, but he was friendly with her best friend, Desireé, another girl on the swim team. The rational thing for him to do would be to ask Desireé to warn Maya about Tarleton's intentions, so that she could decide for herself what she wanted to do about him. 

He desperately hoped Maya had more sense than to say yes to this asshole if he actually decided to ask her to prom, but he didn't know what she liked, and Tarleton was one of the few guys at AHS whose family had money. Would he actually try to buy her interest? Percy definitely wouldn't put it past him, and he felt a little sick thinking about Tarleton taking advantage in that way. As a kid who had grown up poor, he knew plenty about the ways that rich folks used their resources to exploit those with less.

Taking one more deep breath, Percy finally managed to drop the now very crumpled towel into his gym bag and pull the rest of his clothes on. But before he could gather up his remaining belongings and go find Desireé, a shoulder knocked into his, hard. 

"Wake up, dipshit!" said a voice.

He had successfully managed to tune out the rest of the conversation that was happening behind him, so he'd also missed the still half-dressed Tarleton straddling the bench next to him, and Cruz leaning idly against the locker on his other side. Apparently, they'd been trying to get Percy's attention for a minute, if the number of eyes trained on the three boys was any indication.

He had also nearly managed to successfully force his tight muscles to unclench and his heart rate to return to normal, but all of that effort went out the window as he slowly turned to look at Tarleton's smirking face. Gods, it was just so punchable. 

"What do you want, Tarleton?" Percy said flatly. He hadn't been a part of that conversation for a reason - the reason being ew - and he really didn't want to get dragged into it now.

Tarleton's grin became a mischievous leer, and he leaned forward, elbows on towel-covered knees. "I was asking if you were gonna bring that fine piece of ass you're always meeting up with to prom. We're all dying for a closer look, man."

As though the other boy's words had flipped a switch in his head, two competing parts of Percy's brain suddenly started battling for control of his mouth.

The part that often spoke in Annabeth's voice immediately said They're not worth it. Don't rise to it. You're better than this! Count to ten and ignore them. You don't want to get kicked out of another school this close to graduation, do you? And what have I told you about getting into fights over me? 

But the problem was that that eminently reasonable, cool-headed version of himself was not the only internal voice that had something to say.

Percy wasn't quite sure what voice the second part spoke in, but it was much harsher, much more primal, and was utterly disdainful of the measured approach to anything. He'd deserve it if you hurt him, that second voice whispered. And you could, so easily. The world would be so much better off without him. It would be so satisfying to finally show him that real power has nothing to do with money. 

As his brain fought with itself, his body joined in, fingers flexing - though this time, unless he gave in to that darker voice, they had nothing to hold on to but air.

Oblivious to Percy's internal struggle not to punch his face in, Tarleton grinned wider, utterly misinterpreting that gesture. "Yeah man, I'll bet it's a pretty sweet handful. What's she got going on under the skirt of that uniform?"

"Fuck off," Percy snapped, hands now curling into fists, despite his best efforts. He knew what voice he needed to listen to, but it was so hard to listen to that voice when Tarleton wouldn't shut up. 

The other kid finally seemed to pick up on Percy's mood, because he leaned away from him and held up his hands placatingly…though his eyes narrowed, calculating and mean. "I bet you don't even know, do you?"

Percy scowled at him even more fiercely, biting down hard on his tongue. There was a lot he could say to that - most of it even true - but he really didn't think that Annabeth would be happy with him for telling this random, stupid, bullying mortal just how far he'd made it around the bases.

To add insult to injury, any accusation that he didn't know his girlfriend rankled, because, setting aside all of the terrifying, death-defying adventures that had tightly welded their hearts together, they had spent so many quiet moments with their bodies curled around each other that he was confident that no one else knew her quite like he did. That level of intimacy, still steadily deepening as days passed, wasn't something he could easily explain, and he didn't even want to try to with someone whose outlook on relationships was entirely physical and transactional.

But, if he didn't say something, Tarleton would think he was right, and worse, would spread his new belief about the unexplored nature of Percy and Annabeth's relationship to anyone who would listen. It was a shame that Tarleton was one of the few guys at AHS who never seemed all that intimidated by his iciest glares, because he had never been above shutting his most frustrating classmates up with a well-placed dark look.

Wrestling back just enough control to stop himself from doing something truly regrettable, he unclenched his hands for the second time that afternoon and returned to throwing the last of his things into his gym bag, maybe a bit more forcefully than he otherwise would have done, knowing he needed to leave ASAP.

"Wasn't it you who told me not to give shit away for free, Tarleton?" He finally ground out coldly, giving the other boy a last glare as he stood and tossed his bag over his shoulder. "And the cost of that information is more than even you can afford."

He knew that if he lingered in the steamy swamp he'd also be tempted to comment on Tarleton's chances with Maya, so, out of respect for her and her alone, he spun and stalked towards the door without a backward glance, ignoring the shouts that erupted behind him as he did.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  

Winter sports might be nearly over, but Spring sports were about to begin, and somehow Sarah Lafayette had been given the unpleasant task of delivering the lists of the students who were on academic probation to the various athletics coaches, breaking the bad news that some of their stars weren't going to be eligible for tryouts unless they brought their grades up. 

It was exhausting having that many of her colleagues mad at her at once, and whenever she found out who had volunteered her for this miserable job, she was going to make sure they had to do it next time.

(Her ears were still ringing from the shrieks of the soccer coach, whose fury had gotten so high pitched that Sarah wondered if she might start accidentally summoning stray neighborhood dogs.)

Sighing, she looked down at the final paper in her hand. Just the girl's track coach was left, and she was, mercifully, a friend.

Quickening her pace, Sarah strode toward the hallway that led toward the rest of the women's wing of the gym. The sooner the paper was delivered, the sooner she could leave. It had been a long, confusing couple of weeks, and she was relieved that she had nothing planned for her Friday evening other than opening a well-deserved - and decidedly uncomplicated - bottle of wine.

However, as she turned down the hallway, she was brought up short by the sight of a gaggle of students at the other end, right in front of the door to the girl's locker room, two of which seemed to be in the middle of an argument. 

She suppressed a sigh. Breaking up fights was one of the parts of her job that she could really do without, and she'd been hoping to make it home without needing to stop at the corner store for another ice pack. She was still nursing bruises from the last time she had gotten between two angry freshmen, and unfortunately, these students looked big enough to be seniors. 

But as she got closer, squinting through contacts dry from an exhausting day, she found that she couldn't actually keep that suppressed sigh from escaping. 

Why, why, why was she always finding Percy Jackson in places he shouldn't be?

The source of much of the confusion of her past few weeks was surrounded by a group of girls - all basketball players by the look of their uniforms - and though she wasn't yet close enough to hear what he was saying to them, he was holding his empty hands up in front of him in supplication, and he seemed to be trying to persuade the girl directly in front of him of something. 

It didn't look like it was going well. The girl had her back to Sarah so she couldn't see her face, but she was almost as tall as Percy, her arms were crossed over her chest, and she had one hip popped out. Sarah was willing to bet that whatever look she was giving him was unimpressed at best, and probably hostile at worst. 

"...look, fine, I get that you don't want a guy getting too close to the girl's locker room, but if someone could just tell Desireé that I want to talk to her, I'll be gone!" He said entreatingly.

"Not until you tell me why, Jackson," the girl snapped. "I don't know you like that. I don't trust you. And I'm not about to put Desireé into some kind of a situation with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Percy said, sounding a little exasperated. "She does know me! Just let her decide if she wants to talk with me!" 

If anything, the girl's stance became even more stubbornly unhelpful, and Sarah could only imagine that the expression on her face became that much more mulish. If she was trying to protect her friend, then Sarah could sympathize, and understand why the girl was being so obstinate. She truly believed that all of her students deserved a good, compassionate education, but that didn't mean that there weren't certain students that she knew that she shouldn't be alone with. 

Percy, however, was not one of those students - and to even think about putting him in that category honestly insulting - so she had to wonder why this girl seemed so convinced that he was up to no good. 

"Goddamnit Brittany, I just want to tell her something I overheard in the guy's locker room just now, okay? I think she'll want to know about it!" Percy was getting frustrated now, and judging by the colorful, not-school-appropriate language, he'd also lost any patience he might've originally had with this conversation. Had they been fighting for awhile, or had something happened in the boy's locker room that might be contributing to his short temper?

The girl - Brittany, Sarah supposed, though she wasn't one of her students - snorted disdainfully. "Nothing that comes out of a boy's locker room is worth listening to."

Sarah tended to wholeheartedly agree with that statement as a general rule, but if Percy thought another student ought to hear something he'd heard there, he had to have a reason, right?

"It is if it's a warning," Percy snapped back, fixing her with an irritated look.

Well. That was certainly a reason that demanded further explanation.

Brittany bristled, unrolling her arms and taking a step closer to Percy, and Sarah's carefully honed teacher's instincts whispered that if she didn't step in now, someone was probably going to end up throwing a punch. 

It was always better to stop a fight when it was still verbal, so stepping closer, she raised her voice, keeping her tone mild and even. "Is there a problem here, y'all?"

The reactions of the little knot of students varied by person, but were - amusingly - universally surprised. Sarah hadn't realized that she was being so quiet, but then, Percy and Brittany had been very absorbed in their argument, and the onlookers had probably been captivated by the unfolding drama. 

Brittany jumped and turned to face the teacher, eyes widening first in shock, and then with something like victory.

"Ma'am, Percy is trying to get into the girl's locker room!" She said, quickly, before Percy even had a chance to speak.

He hadn't looked nearly as surprised to see her as the others had - was he, too, resigned to meeting her in odd moments and places, or had he sensed her presence somehow? - but now his mouth fell open, and he seemed just as shocked as Brittany had been a moment ago, before his surprise morphed into outrage. 

"What?" He yelped. "I would never!" He turned to Sarah, a little bit of desperation tightening the skin around his eyes. "Ma'am, I swear, I was only trying to talk to one of my teammates! I was asking if someone could get her for me, I wasn't going to go in myself!" 

Even though they were both now facing Sarah, Brittany put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes, shooting him a sidelong nasty look. "You can keep saying that, but we all know you're lying. Stop bothering her - she already has a boyfriend!"

Percy's mouth opened and closed like a fish on a hook gasping for air, which would have been funnier if he hadn't clearly been appalled by that accusation. "You…you think I'm trying to get between her and Rob?" He spluttered. "Why the hell would I do that? I have a girlfriend!"

"In Brooklyn!" Brittany shot back. "You think I don't know guys that have a girl in every borough? I've seen you trying to chase Desireé down after biology, I know you're trying to add her to your line-up!"

"I talk to her after class because she's my project partner!" Percy cried, throwing his hands in the air. "I'm trying to not fail, not trying to make a move!"

He sounded totally flabbergasted and deeply offended, so Sarah decided to take pity on him. She'd seen how he acted with Annabeth - besotted was a good word to describe it, as were any relevant synonyms - and found Brittany's accusations to be laughably misguided, but probably, unfortunately, sincere. 

"Thank you - Brittany, is it? - for expressing your concerns. I will take charge of him from here," she said calmly, modulating her voice into a soothing tone in an attempt to placate the girl. "I will not be allowing him into the girl's locker room. You can go back to practice, or head home if you're already done."

Percy's shoulders slumped, and the girls around him smirked as they picked up bags and gear and began to disperse. Whether their intent in surrounding him had truly been a protective instinct or whether they'd been trying to start something with him - something she'd have to investigate further on an afternoon when she was less exhausted - they seemed satisfied with this outcome. 

"Busted," Sarah heard Brittany whisper, knocking her shoulder against one of Percy's arms as she hurried after her friends.

As soon as they were out of sight, Percy looked up, an odd mix of trepidation and lingering irritation clear on his face. "Am I busted?" He muttered quietly, sounding a little uncertain.

Fair enough. If he didn't know where he stood with her right now, then at least that made two of them.

Sarah tried to keep her face impassive as she gestured for him to follow her away from the door to the girl's locker room, deciding to deliver her last list first thing Monday morning. She was pretty convinced that he hadn't actually done anything wrong, but she also didn't want him to loiter in this part of the building. As he himself had seen, it did his reputation no favors. "You tell me, Mr. Jackson."

Resettling his swim bag on one shoulder, he hurried after her. "Ms. Lafayette, I swear I really wasn't trying to get into the girls' locker room, and I wasn't gonna bother Desireé. I just wanted to tell her about something I overheard that I thought she should know about. I wasn't trying anything weird! You…you believe me, right?" 

He sounded tentatively optimistic, like he had gotten used to telling the truth and not being believed…but that he was maybe hopeful that this time it might be different. 

Sarah felt a tiny blossom of warmth in her chest. She'd been trying to give him reasons to trust her ever since what she was calling 'the first aid kit incident' -  just small things, little moments of having his back or giving him just a bit more grace in class than the situation might otherwise have called for - and it seemed that her preliminary efforts were starting to pay off. 

"I believe you, Mr. Jackson," she responded calmly, looking over at him as they approached the main hallway and trying to communicate that that was true in more ways than one. "Even if I don't particularly care for the language you were using to articulate yourself." Percy winced, blushing, and she suppressed a smile, holding up a hand to forestall an apology she didn't need to hear. "However, I do think you need to tell me what you overheard that has you so concerned. Was it a threat?"

Sarah could imagine plenty of unpleasant things that he could have heard, and normally she just didn't want to know - sometimes she needed plausible deniability, after all - but anything that had (a potential superhero? no, that wasn't a helpful line of thought right now) concerned was something that she probably needed to be aware of.

For a moment he looked relieved to not be in trouble for swearing, before the second part of Sarah's statement sunk in. His face twisted in another uncomfortable contortion, and the flush rose higher in his cheeks as he raised his head and looked around them warily.

Ah. She should have realized this before she asked. He probably didn't want his fellow classmates to know that he was telling a teacher what he had heard. One of the earliest lessons Sarah had learned as a teacher at AHS was that no one appreciated a snitch, and that there were often real, physical consequences for students who tattled to teachers. 

(Not that real, physical consequences seemed to have a lasting effect on Percy, but again, she didn't want to think about that right now.)

"Um. I don't know if I'd call it a threat…" he hedged. "Just some guys being gross about who they want to ask to prom. Probably nothing to worry about."

Sarah frowned, considering. That certainly could be nothing, but it could also be a lot more than nothing. Some of Percy's classmates spewed misogyny like it was going out of style (which it was, thank goodness), and she knew for a fact that people he cared about deeply had been on the receiving end of it more than once. She shot him a sharp look, hoping to gauge how serious this particular episode was, and he smiled weakly in return, still looking around uneasily.

Maybe he'd elaborate if she could guarantee that he wouldn't be overheard? Her classroom wasn't that far from where they now stood, in the school's entrance hall. Would he follow her back there? She didn't want him to feel trapped into a conversation with her, and she never wanted to make him think he had to be alone with her, but she also wanted to give him a space and an opportunity to be honest, if he so chose.

"Alright, but think on it and make sure, okay?" She said, holding his gaze until he nodded. "Though while you're here, I did want to speak to you about your poetry project. Do you have a moment, or is someone waiting for you?" 

That was as good an excuse as any - he was signed up to present on Monday, but he hadn't actually indicated anywhere on the sign-up sheet which poem he had chosen. Perhaps she could also give him some guidance if he needed it, killing two birds with one stone. Or maybe three? Might he also take the opportunity to be honest about the other, stranger, more complicated things if she asked? 

Assuming she could (or should) ask, anyway. 

Percy glanced down at his watch, a simple, bronze metal face on a very battered leather band. "Um, yeah. My step-dad is picking me up today, but he isn't going to be here for another 15 minutes at least," he said. He looked back up, eyebrows scrunched in slightly suspicious confusion. She hadn't fooled him, but then, she really hadn't expected to. "What about my poetry project?" He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned to follow her down the quiet hallway.

And despite her resolution not to dwell on their past encounters, as they walked Sarah found herself struggling harder than ever not to think about the last time she'd found him in a questionable part of the building outside of school hours. 

It had been two weeks to the morning that she had followed a trail of his splattered blood to the dark of the pool, and had then watched him do (at least) six impossible things before breakfast. The questions raised by his injuries and subsequent miraculous healing had consumed her, and she had walked through the next few days in a giddy daze of theories and speculations that she was just now starting to come out of.

This was always how it went, after all; she would see something that shouldn't be real, or shouldn't have happened the way that it did, and something in her brain just couldn't let it go, even when forgetting would have been more useful. As a little girl, she'd been told she had an overactive imagination. As an adolescent, she'd just been called a liar. But by the time she'd become a teenager, she'd gotten enough weird looks from classmates (who already thought she was strange) to know to keep her mouth shut, no matter what. 

Moving to New York City had initially tested her ability to keep her observations to herself - because there was just so much more to see in a city of millions - but she'd tried to leave all the oddness that seemed to follow her around back in North Carolina, and she was bound and determined to not let it affect the new life she was building for herself here.

Sarah had hoped for a long time that whatever it was that kept her eyes wide open when everyone else's were shut tight would eventually just…go away, and for a while, it seemed like it had started to fade. She didn't see so many odd figures out of the corner of her eye on the subway, always gone when she tried to get a closer look, and stopped noticing strange faces in the rain and the wind of the nastiest storms. Focusing on the human beings in her life became so much easier when that was all that she saw, and for the past few years, she had wondered if this was what it was like to be 'normal.'

But that had before she realized that those elusive beings, whatever they were, might be able to look more human than she'd ever expected they could. Because if Percy Jackson didn't claim the label of superhero - and he might not, even though it was still her best guess - were there other identities that he did lay claim to? Ones that tied him to all of the bizarre things that she'd spent her life seeing?

Three days after that strange and wonderful and terrifying day, her seething curiosity about who (or what) he was had gotten the better of her, and she'd joined a group of her fellow teachers on the bleachers of a rival school in East Manhattan, craning her neck and squinting to try and spot Percy in the crowd of swimmers as the district swim meet had gotten underway.

Almost (but not quite) unbelievably, the vicious slashes that the griffin had carved into his side a few days prior were only thin, slightly raised pink lines, and as far as she could tell, no one on the team had even given them a second look as he had casually shucked his shirt and stepped up to the block for his first race. Sarah wasn't sure if that was because his torso was already so heavily scarred that a few more lines just blended into the pattern of it all, or if most people just couldn't even see them to begin with, but both of those options made her heart clench uncomfortably and her mind begin to bubble anew with hard-to-answer questions.

Percy had set a new school record at the meet that day, and as she watched him punch the water with a wild, victorious yell as the announcer had declared his time, she was struck anew by his intensity, especially as compared to the exhaustion of his young competitors. She'd always thought he carried himself differently than the average teenager, but she had initially attributed that to standard human trauma - if such a thing existed. Now it was very clear that there was something else going on, something that made him constantly able to perform at a very high level of skill and athleticism - even after just having been violently mauled by a creature that most people didn't know existed.

Was he that way because he had to be? Would being less strong, less fast, less aware be a death sentence for someone like him?

Of everything, those were the questions that made her heart ache the most, and made her hope that she'd done enough to convince him that she was a person who was worthy of his trust and confidence. If his school records were anything to go by, it seemed that very few adults in his life had ever been deserving of those labels, and that he was used to being dismissed, disbelieved, and discarded by those who should have known better, and done better by him. How many times had he been hurt in the past, and had no-one to rely on but himself?

The door of her classroom suddenly appeared before her eyes, and too late, Sarah realized that she had fallen into the exact trap she had been trying to avoid falling into: thinking too hard about the perplexed (and perplexing) teenager walking quietly at her side.

She shook herself as she unlocked the door to her classroom. She hadn't brought him here to interrogate him, she'd brought him here so he would feel safe sharing, if he so chose, about anything that was bothering him. Perhaps his poetry project. A conversation overheard in a locker room. Or maybe, just maybe, a little piece of the larger secret that was his life.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Ms. Lafayette's classroom was dim in the grayish afternoon light, and Percy heard a distant rumble and the soft plink of rain beginning to hit the gutters outside as she flicked the light switch on for them. 

"Door open, or closed?" She asked, one hand on the worn wooden frame, as he slid quietly into a seat at one of the battered desks in the row right in front of her desk. 

"Um," Percy said, dropping his bags onto the floor and trying to think through his lingering frustration and confusion. It was nice of her to ask, but he didn't really know what he wanted the answer to be? It kind of depended on what they were going to talk about.

"Closed, I guess," he decided. If she wanted to talk about his poetry project, he really didn't care about anyone overhearing. But if she wanted to hear more about the locker room conversation, or if she wanted him to say anything about anything else…

His heart had been beating fast ever since that dumb fuck Tarleton had opened his big mouth, but the reason it's pace hadn't slowed even after Ms. Lafayette had rescued him from what felt like half of the Amazons that made up the girl's basketball team was that he had been waiting for her to do something like this for weeks.

And he really couldn't blame her, even if his weak knees and sweaty palms were making him feel like the subject of an Eminem track. How many teachers, when confronted with very persuasive evidence that one of their students was not entirely human, would have kept quiet about that knowledge as long as she had? 

His niggling hunch that she wanted to talk to him about a lot more than what poem he'd decided on for his presentation Monday - which, oops, he still needed to pick one - only became stronger as he watched her close the door, walk over to him, and then lean back against the front of her desk, hands tightly clasped in front of her.

Thunder rumbled again, this time louder and closer, as heavy as the air between teacher and student. 

The sound seemed to shake Ms. Lafayette out of the slightly nervous silence that she'd fallen into, because she visibly relaxed her shoulders and cleared her throat, offering him a small, somewhat strained smile that he awkwardly returned as her tone became matter-of-fact. "So, your poetry project. I noticed that you didn't indicate which poem you are planning on presenting on the sign up sheet. Does that mean you haven't decided on one yet?" 

Talking about schoolwork must have gone a long way towards helping her feel more comfortable, because the knowing look that she fixed him with made Percy want to squirm out of his chair. Why were teachers so good at that particular look, and why was he so totally powerless to it? He was sure she could read his guilt all over his face, which didn't help at all with his comfort.

"I…I'll have something to present on Monday, ma'am," He mumbled, dropping his gaze. That at least wasn't a lie, and kept him from having to admit that he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to fulfill the parameters of the assignment. 

Pick a poem he identified with and present it to the class? Percy didn't think he'd ever identified with a poem, and in general, he didn't tend to like them: they reminded him too much of prophecies, and he wasn't about to present the prophecy that he most identified with. He might sometimes have a tendency toward self-flagellation, but he didn't want to send himself into a war flashback in the middle of English class.

But deciding on a poem that didn't make his skin crawl too much was a Sunday problem, and it was still only Friday. Plenty of time left to figure something out. 

Ms. Lafayette raised an eyebrow at him. "I have no doubt that you'll have something to present. But I suppose that's not quite what I'm asking, Mr. Jackson."

Percy frowned, eyes flickering back up to meet hers. Her usually business-like tone had softened, and her eyes looked almost…sad? 

Uh oh. 

"What do you mean?" He said slowly, feeling his brow furrow and his own gaze sharpen as he stared back at her. The sadness in her eyes had yet to fade, and there was also concern, and a hint of that earlier nervousness. 

"Some students find it hard to find a poem that they identify with," she said simply, even tone belying the gravity of the look she was giving him. "I…I can imagine that you, perhaps, might be one of them."

For a moment, he just stared back at her, heart now thumping almost painfully fast as he tried to decide how to respond to that. She was right of course, but now that the moment he'd been waiting for had definitely arrived, was he really prepared to do this? Just because he'd sort of suspected this was coming didn't mean he was actually ready for it.

"Are we talking about poetry?" He finally asked, mouth dry, as though he didn't already know the answer to his own question, "Or are we talking about…something else?"

"You tell me," she responded, again letting him decide how the conversation would proceed.

Percy figured she must have been trying to look and sound passively collected, but he could practically feel her trying to restrain herself from saying more. On more than one level, he appreciated the courtesy, but he almost wished she'd just come right out and say whatever it was she wanted to say to him. 

Not that he knew what he'd say if she did. 

He'd spent so much time pacing around his room, stressed about what she would do if she decided to confront him about all the preposterous things she'd seen him do lately, that his mom had taken to pushing his jacket into his arms and telling him she'd rather him wear out the soles of his shoes than the floor of their apartment. Over the past few weeks his wandering feet and worrying mind had taken him all over the city, and more than once he'd come home with hair dusted gold and new slashes in his jeans from monsters who tried (but always failed) to take advantage of his distraction. 

As far as he could tell, she hadn't told anyone else about whatever suspicions she might harbor about him, and she did always seem to have his back in critical moments, which made him more inclined to trust that she wasn't interested in going on the TODAY show and exposing him to the world if he decided to tell her that he wasn't quite what he appeared to be.

And he still didn't know what he would have actually done if he'd been found bleeding half to death in the pool by anyone but her. He couldn't think of those fuzzy, painful moments without feeling profoundly grateful to her for allowing him to remain anonymous while simultaneously providing the first aid supplies that he had desperately needed. That was a lot more than most other mortals had done for him when he got caught holding the line between the mundane and mythological worlds, and Percy didn't take that kind of quiet support lightly.

So, he figured he probably owed her some answers. He wasn't sure how much she'd actually seen, but it had to have been enough for her curiosity to have been piqued, right? But…where would he even begin?

He cleared his throat self-consciously and gathered his courage, hands sliding forward on the weathered, graffitied desk as he met his teacher's eyes again. Time to at least try for a bit of honesty. 

"That's, um, kind of the problem. I'm just…I'm not actually sure what to tell you," he managed to get out, keeping voice soft. He hadn't said anything that weird yet, but still, he didn't want their voices to catch the ear of the janitor whose cart he could hear squeaking its way down the hall. "Who I am is, well, it's…complicated. And I don't have a lot of practice talking about it, so I don't know if I'll even make sense if I try and explain. I…it's hard to know where to begin."

Ms. Lafayette nodded once, an abrupt movement for a body otherwise perfectly still. "Is the truth such a difficult place to start?" She inquired carefully, matching his volume but keeping her face impassive.

"The truth?" He repeated quietly, tipping his head to the side and turning to stare out the window at the growling storm, sheets of rain now washing away the haze of pollen that had covered them. 

Um, yeah, that actually was a difficult place to start. He remembered what he had told the crotchety old river god a few weeks back - I contain multitudes - and while that was true, he'd also kind of been dodging the question. He thought his English teacher would appreciate that reference, but beginning with it now probably wouldn't help her to unravel the snarled up, knotted thread that was the reality of his life.

Especially because that thread was so hopelessly tangled with so many other threads that even he had a hard time differentiating himself from the beings and the events that had shaped his past five years. And if he couldn't figure out who he was in all that mess, how could he ever hope to truly explain himself to her? 

But she was waiting patiently, eyes soft as she watched him internally wrestle with words and thoughts and feelings, so turning back to look at her, he tried a different angle.

"I guess the truth is that I…I exist in this world, but I also exist in another world, a world most people don't know about," he said, watching her closely for signs of panic, or polite concern for his mental health. It's not like that was in any way a normal or intelligible statement to make.

But her calm expression didn't waver, and she remained silent, listening intently, so he took a shallow breath and continued, trying to remember how all of this had once been explained to him.

"And I…mostly live in the space between the two worlds. I affect both, and I'm affected by both, so sometimes it's hard to keep the balance between them," he admitted. "And that leads to, uh… incidents, let's say." 

"Incidents?" She repeated cautiously. Her expression hadn't changed in any obvious way, but Percy thought the set of her shoulders looked wearier. "You mean…the field trip? The…first aid kit?"

He nodded, mouth still so, so dry. He wanted to dig his water bottle out of his bag for some relief, but he also didn't want to break the fragile moment that he found himself suspended in. He felt oddly vulnerable, a new and powerful feeling in an afternoon full of strong emotions, and doing something so human felt wrong.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out instead, because that was always his go-to, and also, because he was. He hated it when his own problems became other people's problems, and he knew Ms. Lafayette well enough to know that she had probably been shaken by it all. "I know that I've made your life a lot more difficult lately, and that you've probably got a million questions that I don't know how to answer, and even when there isn't something weird happening I still am always messing up, and…"

As she had done earlier, she held up a hand, and he clamped down on what would probably have been an embarrassingly emotional torrent of words that wouldn't have helped or explained anything. It had never been easy to tell mortals about who he was, but he hadn't remembered being so out of sorts when he'd had to tell Rachel about the mythological world.

"Percy," she said, voice now so gentle he almost couldn't look at her. "You have nothing to apologize for."

He remained silent, but gave her a sidelong skeptical look, noting that she was using his first name again. Why? He could think of several more things to apologize for…but it seemed she didn't want to hear it? 

She lifted an eyebrow at him. "I mean that, young man," she said, voice still soft, but now with more of her usual edge. "No one - in any world - is perfect, but it seems to me that you have less reason to apologize than most. Do I need to remind you that you saved my life a few weeks ago?"

Percy blushed, and sank down in his seat, now officially not looking at her. Okay, yes, he had done that, she wasn't wrong. Sure. But he probably wouldn't have had to do it at all if she hadn't been his teacher, because it had been his presence on the ferry that day that had pissed off the spirit of the Hudson River. He could live with being a danger magnet if he was the only one who got hurt, but when others got caught in the magnetic field? It tore him up worse than any monster ever could.

And she didn't know about all the other things that he'd done that he still hadn't been able to forgive himself for. Before he could clamp down on them, some of those memories flashed behind his closed eyelids, bright and burning like acid, and he felt a shudder run up his spine as adrenaline surged through his body.

Get it together, Jackson!, he thought desperately, knowing that he was on the verge of panicking.

"Percy, breathe." There was new, sharper concern in Ms. Lafayette's tone, and he snapped his eyes open, inhaling sharply through his nose. His hands had been gripping the worn wood of the desk, and as he caught sight of the worry in her gaze, he tried - for the millionth time that day - to unclench them.

It took a few seconds, but when he finally pried them free, he and Ms. Lafayette both saw why it had been harder than before. New divots and grooves exactly the size of his fingers had appeared on the desk, cratering the scratched surface.

"Oh, shit," Percy muttered before he could stop himself, shoving his hands under his armpits. "That's new."

In the stunned silence that followed, the chuckle that burst out of his teacher took them both by surprise. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth as the chuckle turned into the kind of inelegant snort that made a tiny grin break out on his face too.

"Well, someone's needed to take a sander to the tops of these desks for a while now," she said after a moment, lips still twitching slightly with amusement. "Are you alright, Mr. Jackson?"

Percy only nodded, blushing a little. It had been awhile since he'd unintentionally broken furniture, but at least this wasn't so bad. And Ms. Lafayette's laughter had helped shake him out of the weird freak out he'd been working himself into. 

Her stare had become piercing again, but this time, she didn't follow-up with another question. "Maybe this is just a sign that we ought to cut this conversation short, for now," she said. "I'm sure your stepfather is almost here?"

Oh right, Paul. He would probably sit in the Prius waiting for a while before he got actually concerned, but Percy didn't want to worry him. He nodded automatically and stood, picking up his bags from where he'd dropped them a few minutes - had it really only been a few minutes? - ago.

"I know you don't want an apology," he said, not looking at her as he gathered them, but also not wanting to leave the conversation dangling. "But I am sorry I don't know how to explain myself better."

"It seems to me like you are trying to figure out how to explain the unexplainable, Mr. Jackson," she said, voice more understanding than he'd expected. "Quite the herculean task."

He grimaced. That guy. Why was it always that guy? He really thought he had him beat for shitty luck at this point in his life, but Ms. Lafayette, who was looking at him curiously, didn't know that. And if he didn't want to keep Paul waiting, then he didn't have time to explain why he thought 'persean' should really become the new default descriptor for difficult tasks.

"Yeah," he said instead, resolving to find another time and another way to put all of this into words. "Something like that."

She considered him for a long moment,  before nodding and sitting back down at her desk, where it looked like a stack of papers waited. "I'll be here when you decide the time is right. Now, do we need to talk about what happened in the locker room before you go?"

Oh, he'd almost completely forgotten about stupid Aaron Tarleton and his stupid, sleazy plan. A residual bit of anger flared in his chest as he thought of him, and he tossed water on the spark before it ignited. "No, I really don't think you need to worry about that, Ms. Lafayette. I can handle it."

The look she shot him as she began to gather up the papers was as skeptical as the one he'd sent her earlier, but she seemed determined to keep her thoughts to herself. "If that changes, I expect you to tell me." He nodded as obediently as he could - he would not be involving her unless he absolutely had to - and she continued, voice softening again. "And Percy…please try to be safe this weekend, won't you?"

"Oh, I always try, Ms. Lafayette," he said, unable (despite everything) to stop a tiny, crooked grin from appearing on his face. "It's succeeding that's usually a challenge."

Chapter Text

As he stood under a dripping concrete overhang, trying not to get too soaked and trying not to attract any more unwanted attention, Percy idly wondered - not for the first time - whether his dark mood and the strength of the afternoon showers were related.

He was under no illusions that he was powerful enough to be the cause of (most) of the storms that hit NYC, but his recent experimentation with nor'easters and his past experience with hurricanes had shown him that he was definitely more than capable of influencing them - particularly here, on his home turf, surrounded on three sides by tributaries of his father's domain.

And even though he wasn't currently actively trying to do anything to the weather, all of the emotional turbulence of the past few hours had collided with the warm, moist air around him, making conditions certainly right for a, uh, localized squall.

In the distance, he caught sight of Tarleton and his gang of cronies finally emerging from the locker room. Upon noticing that it was raining - geniuses, that crew - they started swearing at the sky and pulling jackets up over their heads as they took off running towards Tarleton's sleek Mercedes.

Percy hated that it actually was just as nice as he claimed it was. Every time he thought about how many even nicer cars the other kid had bragged about totaling before he'd been given this one, the urge to whack him upside the head became stronger and stronger.

A quick, almost friendly-sounding beep from just behind him made him jump, and he spun, hand flying to his pocket, before relaxing when he realized that it was just Paul pulling up alongside the curb next to him. Thank the gods. He could finally get out of here, and put an end to this miserable day.

But before he could do much more than pop the passenger door open, careful not to let his (newly powerful?) grip dent another surface, jeering laughter rang out again. Paul tapping the horn had, unfortunately, caught the attention of the exact group of people that he'd been hoping to avoid further contact with.

"Hey Jackson, on your way to disappoint your girlfriend?" 

"Yeah, if she wants to trade you in for a real man after prom, tell her to come find me!"

Sweatshirt steadily soaking through, one hand clenched around the half-open door of the Prius, and his eyes fixed on the group of boys (who, mocking accomplished, were now scrambling to get into Tarleton's car), Percy tried to bury the spark of fury that was starting to flicker back to life. 

But while he had many gifts, the ability to control his temper had never really been one of them. 

The air had already been damp and heavy,  but as the doors of the Mercedes slammed shut, the ponderous weight of the sky suddenly seemed to bear down upon the sodden city even more. 

And this time, Percy knew that his finally-released anger was the cause.

All the white-hot rage that he thought he had managed to let go of earlier came rushing back with a roar, and he was sure that the abrupt, dramatic increase in rainfall was both his subconscious trying unsuccessfully to quench that flame and it trying get a little revenge on those who had reignited it.

So he wasn't a real man, huh? Well, for the first time in his miserable, pathetic life, Tarleton had gotten something right - he was something much more than a man.

The thunderous rain poured down ceaselessly, drowning out all other sound and blinding whoever was unlucky enough to get caught in its radius. The Mercedes' wheels spun and its hazards flashed as it tried to pull away from the curb, and Percy felt a rush of vicious satisfaction, sharp and searing, as its tires whirled without gaining any ground. Nothing, not even a powerful car, could escape the enduring hold of a rushing torrent of water. 

"Perce, if this is your doing… I think you've probably made your point," came Paul's dry voice from the driver's seat, startling Percy. How long had he been there? In his fury and focus, he'd almost forgotten where he was.

The evenness of his stepfather's voice was like sand on the grease fire that was his temper, suffocating the flame that more water had only made worse. 

The roar in his head began to die, and as he more fully came back to himself, he realized that he was still standing in the open door of the Prius, soaked to the bone, his body just barely blocking the interior of the Prius from also becoming so.

Taking advantage of the slowing rain, Tarleton's car pulled away, rumbling noisily and sloshing sideways in the deep puddles that still had yet to drain. As its squealing tires disappeared around the corner, Percy felt the last of his anger fizzle out with a wet hiss. 

Trying to avoid Paul's too-understanding eyes and the creeping sensation of what might have been shame rising from his gut, he flung himself into the passenger seat, willing himself dry in the millisecond before his back hit the cloth-covered seat.

Paul was too used to that little magic trick to comment on it, but Percy doubted he'd be so lucky as to avoid his step-father's curiosity (and maybe concern?) about the sudden cloudburst that had just drowned 85th street.

Sure enough, at the first light they came to, Paul turned, an expectant look framing eyes droopy from the dual exhaustions of work and worrying over a very pregnant wife. "So, want to tell me what happened back there?"

"Nothing," he muttered, sinking down in the seat as far as he could. As Paul's eyebrows nearly went into orbit, he rolled his own eyes. Just because he was less volatile than he had been a moment ago didn't mean he was feeling chatty. "Just lost control for a second. It's fine. Thanks for snapping me out of it."

He was actually grateful to his stepfather for that, despite his grumpy tone, because it very much wasn't fine - the gods knew that he would never have forgiven himself if he had really hurt Tarleton and his idiot friends with a surge of wild, uncontrolled power. 

No matter how awful they were, they were only mortals, only human, and would never be able to defend themselves against him in any way that mattered. How many times had Chiron and his mom drilled into him that he was not to use his powers on his classmates? 

The sick feeling of shame had made its way to his chest, and its burn made him turn away from his stepfather's still-kind gaze to stare out the window, past the skidding droplets of rain, into the world beyond.

More than a man? Yeah, maybe so. But that definitely wasn't always a good thing.

Usually these flashes of uneasy remorse surged up in the aftermath of a battle, in the chaotic moments when he, aching and bleeding a lot more red than gold, was all too aware of how fragile the threads were that tethered him, and all others he was connected with, to the earth.

But this wasn't a battle, no one's life was on the line, and it wasn't even anything really serious that had upset him this time. It was just high school bullies - stupid high school bullies - and nothing that they could say or do was worth letting his temper control his actions the way it so often had in the past.

"Bad day?" Paul asked, twisting to face the road again as the light turned green. His voice was calm, but knowing in the same way that Ms. Lafayette's expression had been. How did teachers all have that same superpower?

"What gave it away?" Percy said, too tired to pretend otherwise, as he pulled one knee up to lean against the door and his mind away from his conversation with his teacher.

Paul chuckled softly as he carefully dodged a couple of jaywalkers hurrying through the misty streets. "I like to think that I've gotten pretty used to most of your tricks by now, but that was one I haven't seen before. Those kids were really getting under your skin, huh?"

Resignedly, Percy angled his curled body back toward his stepfather and let his head fall back against the headrest. It looked like this was another conversation he wasn't going to be able to get out of. "I guess."

Paul shot him a sharp look as he stopped at another light, wiper blades whirring in time with the beat of the golden oldies he always put on when he was driving. "I heard what they yelled at you, Perce," he said quietly, face twisting in another classic teacher expression - well-worn disapproval. "And I hope you know that you're more of a man right now than they'll ever be."

Percy grimaced, flushing a little even though he actually appreciated what Paul was trying to do here. Since he had been a high school teacher for most of the past decade, he probably felt like an expert at reassuring awkward teenage boys who felt insecure about their masculinity that they were doing just fine. But Percy felt that his own hang ups around the concept of manhood were a lot more complicated than Paul was prepared to advise on. 

He had felt caught between two worlds from the moment he found out the truth about his ancestry, but when he had been younger, he hadn't spent much time thinking about what it would mean to actually grow up, grow into a man. The chance of that happening, after all, seemed pretty remote. But now that it seemed like he had a real shot at it, he had lately been forced to reckon with the more, uh, adult parts of the mythic past that he called reality.

"More like half the man," he said finally, trying to make a quip that would maybe deflect Paul's attention away from this topic. It was nice that he cared, but he didn't want his stepfather to feel like he needed to do the 'dad' thing here. 

Paul let out a snort of amusement as he turned onto the next block, glancing over at Percy, who tried to flash him his usual irreverent grin. 

But apparently it wasn't as successful at disarming the older man as it normally was, because Paul's eyes narrowed thoughtfully before returning to the road. "You know, I would have thought that being only half mortal man would be better overall, but that face you're making makes me think you don't think that's the case," he said conversationally.

Percy had to stop himself from fully turning sideways to stare incredulously at his stepfather. In what universe was being the son of a notoriously temperamental, notoriously passionate, notoriously stormy sea god in any way better than just being the son of a more normally fallible human man? 

"Better? Try way worse, man," he muttered, not totally able to keep that incredulity out of his voice. 

Paul frowned, gaze fixed on a construction crew in the road ahead that was attempting (with little success) to bail out their flooded cement mixer. "You're going to have to explain that logic to me, then, because I don't think I'm following."

Absently waving a hand to subtly pull some of the water out for the crew as they passed by, Percy sighed. 

Paul was a good guy, and so he usually tried to answer his questions as best as he could. He felt he owed him that, for sticking it out with him and his mom despite all the weirdness and danger he was now regularly exposed to. But this was kind of a lot of difficult conversations for one day, and he could feel fatigue starting to creep in.

Propping one elbow on his upraised knee, Percy rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm a demigod, Paul," he said, trying not to sound too frustrated or bitter or like he was feeling sorry for himself. He'd long since realized that didn't help. "A male demigod. You taught Classics, you tell me what kind of a reputation we have. Is it better or worse than most normal guys?" He asked sarcastically.

Paul hummed and tilted his head from side to side, scratching his chin absently. "That's a fair point," he acknowledged, slowly. "And not one I'll fight you on, even though I do think current public perception of the heroes of the ancient world is a little more nuanced than you think it is." Percy shrugged. Fair enough. He could accept that people had complicated, contradictory feelings about heroes - hadn't he himself really identified with Hercules, until he found out more about who he was and what he had become? Paul continued, voice getting softer: "But reputation isn't reality, Perce. And more than that, you just aren't that kind of guy."

How the hell do you know? Percy wanted to ask. It wasn't like his stepfather had ever actually seen him at his worst, in the moments where his divinity had overwhelmed his humanity. 

He certainly wasn't privy to Percy's darkest memories and ugliest dreams, which tangled together almost nightly into a snarled, thorny Gordian knot. But unlike a knot and more like a Hydra, no matter how many times he desperately swung his sword, trying to cut through the thick threads of images and sounds and sensations, he never seemed to make it all the way through.

But dreams were a whole new topic, one that he really didn't think he could handle right now, on top of everything else.

"Sure, tell that to Brittany," he forced out, trying to gather the threads of this conversation before his subconscious hijacked his waking mind again.

"Brittany?" Paul asked, sounding confused by the abrupt topic change.

"Just some girl at school who was trying to keep me from talking to her friend because she didn't trust me with her," Percy replied, waving a hand dismissively, as though it hadn't honestly been kind of a gut punch to hear that. He knew he had a reputation for being intimidating, so it shouldn't have surprised him as much as it had to learn that some girls looked at him and saw a particularly horrible kind of threat. "Which sucks, but like, I get it. It's fine. I mean, even without the whole demigod thing, I can be kind of a scary looking guy."

Paul frowned, shooting him an evaluating look as he stopped at yet another red light. Percy met his eyes unwillingly, but held his stepfather's gaze, not sure what Paul was seeing that was making the older man's eyes soften even further. That wasn't usually the reaction people had to looking him in the eye - most folks found the bright swirls of green unsettling at best, and unnatural at worst. 

"Not to the people who know you best," he finally said, reaching out with one hand to clasp Percy's shoulder as he turned back to the road. If Percy wasn't mistaken, for a moment Paul's eyes had seemed to glisten, and his grip on Percy's shoulder was perhaps a little fiercer than it needed to be.

A tiny flare of warmth bloomed up inside of him, a lot less intense than the burn of rage or shame; as it grew it seemed to illuminate more than it ignited, lighting the beginnings of a path through some of his darker thoughts.

But it wasn't quite bright enough to completely guide him out of his funk.

"Come on, Paul. You can't look me in the eye like that and then tell me I've never done something that's freaked you out," he muttered, trying to resist the confusingly contrasting urges to either throw off or lean even more into Paul's hand. Was this a dad thing?

Percy thought he was a pretty tactile person, but selectively so - he didn't let just anyone touch him, for a variety of very good reasons. (Good afternoon PTSD, thanks so much for always fucking everything up.) Paul was on that short list, but since he was naturally wary of touching his often jumpy stepson too much, Percy didn't really know what to do with it now that it was happening.

"You're right, I can't say that," the other man agreed, turning down their street and starting to look for parking. "But you doing something freaky is different from you being a freak," he continued firmly, giving the demigod's shoulder one last squeeze before returning both hands to the wheel. Percy didn't know how he'd come to that conclusion - he tended to actively think he was a freak at least three times a week - but he wasn't going to waste his remaining energy challenging it. "And the wildest things I've ever seen you do have always been done in service of the people you love."

Percy snorted quietly, knowing he was blushing again. "You think a lot more highly of my motives than I do," he said wryly, lifting a hand to point out that Mr. Rodriguez - typically the king of taking up extra spots with his bad parking - had miraculously managed to leave enough space for the Prius to squeeze in behind him.

"Maybe because I just think highly of you in general," Paul responded, tone now resolutely cheerful. Percy felt a tiny smile tug at the corners of his mouth as that bloom of gentle warmth within him seemed to expand again, just a little. Apparently Paul had decided that Percy's standard self-deprecating attitude wasn't going to cut it anymore.

And while talking to Paul had definitely made Percy feel more settled than he had earlier, a few (misplaced?) compliments weren't going to fix a lifetime of thinking he was a colossal fuck-up.

"I don't get why," he mumbled as Paul began to reverse into the spot, letting his eyes close. He hadn't realized just how tired he was until he had gotten comfortable in the snug little car, and he blamed his unusual willingness to keep talking about himself on exhaustion. "I mean, even if you ignore all the normal weird demigod shit, you know what my fatal flaw is," he said with a snort.

Paul, focused on not creating any more dents in the little blue car, didn't answer immediately. Ben E. King sang softly as the steering wheel creaked and the rain beat down, and for a moment, Percy just let himself drift on the soundwaves. It wasn't quite the ocean, but there was still something lulling about the rhythm of the song, the rocking of the car, and the slide of rain on the windows.

When Percy felt the jerk of the parking brake being engaged, he opened his eyes and found Paul staring at him, brow furrowed like he was thinking hard. Percy frowned back, lifting an eyebrow. "What?" He asked.

"Why should knowing your fatal flaw affect the way I see you?" He said, cocking his head to the side and folding his arms across his chest. He looked baffled.

Maybe they were both too tired to be doing this, because Percy felt his own confusion increasing. 

"Um. How could it not?" He replied, feeling like he was missing something. Had Paul not understood the first time he'd explained this, years ago? Maybe he needed to try again. "I'd do anything for the people I care about. Anything," he explained slowly. "And anything has included some fucked up shit, Paul."

The older man waved a hand impatiently, which was…not the reaction Percy had expected. It wasn't like he could so easily handwave some of the things he'd done in the name of others, after all. 

"I'm not disputing that it's taken you into some dark places," He said, his calm voice as bizarrely unconcerned as his gesture had been. "Or that you shouldn't grapple with the ethics of some of the choices you've made because of it. But I suspect that 'good' and 'bad' and 'right' and 'wrong' are a lot easier to figure out in peacetime than they are on the battlefield…and that you might be a little too hard on yourself when everything is said and done."

For a moment, all Percy could do was stare at his stepfather, stunned and a little off balance. Paul had no idea what he was talking about. That was obvious. So then, why did his reasonable perspective feel so soothing on his tired mind and fretful heart? "You think?" He asked, voice small in a way it almost never was around Paul.

"Mmhmm," the older man said with a tiny nod, eyes gentle as he took in his quietly befuddled stepson. "And now I'm thinking I should have probably told you this before, since I've always thought 'unparalleled personal loyalty' was just another way of saying 'unconditional love.' I'm not the expert on the topic that you are, but that seems like it's more often a virtue than it is a flaw, Perce."

It was now hard to tell where the bloom of warmth inside of him began and the warmth of Paul's steady gaze ended, so much so that he was starting to feel a little sweaty. 

In his eyeballs. 

Blinking hard, he looked away. He was not going to cry in the passenger seat of the Prius because he was tired and his stepfather was being nicer to him than he deserved. He was not.

"Look, I know I've only been around a few years of your life, so if you don't believe me, talk to your mom," Paul said quietly, when Percy couldn't seem to force words around the lump in his throat. "She'd probably do a better job than me at telling you that - flaws and all - you're still a good man, Percy. Whatever definition of 'man' you use."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The rain continued to fall into the evening, careening haphazardly off of the fire escape and steadily drumming against the tiny window just above the kitchen sink.

Though he had spent the few hours before Annabeth showed up for their weekly family dinner trying to relax after what had really been a very long week, Percy couldn't seem to settle - his body, or his steadily churning mind. 

The conversations he'd had with Ms. Lafayette and Paul had unsettled his soul more than he was really sure he wanted to admit. He couldn't truthfully say that he had ever had a great grasp on all the different pieces of his identity, but the past few hours had shown him that there were still a whole bunch of parts of it that he had yet to make his peace with.

Not being able to explain the complicated, mythological bits to his English teacher was a problem for another day, but not being able to clearly articulate to Paul why he was so uncomfortable with one particular aspect of being a demigod dude? That was something he probably needed to spend some time thinking about sooner rather than later.

Paul was right, he thought as he flicked two fingers toward the kitchen sink, filling it with hot water - he should talk to his mom. She had always been able to reassure him when no one else could, and she definitely had more insight on him than almost anyone else.

And, insight on where he had come from.

He could hear the scratch of her pencil on the day's NYT crossword behind him as he began to sort through the dishes from dinner that night. Paul had disappeared into their bedroom with an armload of towels a few minutes ago, and Annabeth was showering monster dust out of her hair from a dracaena she'd stabbed on the Subway on her way over.

If he wanted to talk to her tonight, this was probably his best chance to do so without interruptions.

What did it say about him, Percy wondered, that he was the one initiating the conversation this time? That he was a masochist, probably. His exhaustion had receded about the same time he had finished stuffing his face with dinner, but he had the sneaking suspicion that it had just been waiting for the right time to return.

How should he start? Should he ask her the question he'd been wondering about for years now, brought to his mind and his lips again by an afternoon of painful reflection on his origins?

Maybe it was finally time.

"Hey, mom?" He asked, trying to keep his tone even as he made up his mind. Maybe if he acted normal, she would think he was idly curious instead of restless and concerned and lots of other feelings that he didn't think he could name.

"Mm?" She replied, looking up at him from above her reading glasses. She'd been sitting at the table with her puzzle ever since Paul had shooed her back into her seat after dinner, saying that he and Percy could handle dinner cleanup and laundry.

"Can I ask you something?" He said, picking up a pot and dunking it into the soapy water in front of him, avoiding her searching eyes and still trying to keep his tone a lot lighter than his question was going to be.

He should have known he wouldn't be able to fool her. There had never been a time when he had been any good at it, not with her, and he was sure she'd picked up on how quiet he'd been at dinner; how he'd let her and Paul and Annabeth take the lead on conversation, how he'd picked at his third helping of chicken parmesan instead of devouring it.

When she didn't answer, he chanced a quick glance over his shoulder. Her eyes, always so aware, met his expectantly.

Turning back around to face the sink, he took a breath, steeling himself. This was not a comfortable question to ask - which was why he'd never asked it before - and like he had been all day, he felt a little tongue-tied as he tried to figure out how to get the words out."I, uh, I'm not really sure how to say this," he said nervously. "But when you were with Dad, did he…uh, I mean, did you… I mean, gods, he didn't force you, did he?"

The question fell out of his mouth almost accidentally, and he winced involuntarily, but he couldn't take it back now that he'd said it. Knowing he was flushing and praying that her answer wouldn't be what his overactive, overtired imagination hoped it wasn't, he scrubbed at the pot harder.

The screech-clunk of a chair sliding backwards made him turn again, concerned that his currently-a-lot-more-fragile-than-usual mother might have fallen, but she was only standing up - and coming over to stand next to him.

"Oh honey," she said softly, leaning against his shoulder and wrapping one arm around his waist and the other around her swollen belly. "Do I really want to know why you're asking me this?"  When he only stilled and shook his head, not trusting his voice, she sighed and shut her eyes, looking even wearier than she normally did lately. "Well, the short answer is no. He was always gentle with me, and I…" Her soft, sleepy chuckle surprised him. "Well, I was very much a willing and enthusiastic participant in all of our activities."

Even though that was actually a pretty big relief to hear, he couldn't stop himself from shooting her a slightly disgusted look. No teenager, not even a half-divine one, ever wanted to imagine his parents together. "Okay, gross, I didn't need that mental image," he muttered, startling her into more of a real laugh.

"You say that like you haven't made me want to break out the brain bleach a few times yourself, Percy," she said, gentle amusement making her lift an eyebrow. "Is Annabeth spending the night tonight?"

Now he was really blushing, and he tried desperately not to think about where she was right now, because that was not going to help him focus. "Um. That's the plan, I think," he said, coughing a little to hide his suddenly dry mouth.

"Mmhmm," she said, eyes dancing. Many people assumed Percy got his Mississippi-wide mischievous streak from his father, but those people either hadn't met, or didn't know, his mother. "Just remember, sweetheart, this apartment really isn't big enough for two pregnant ladies."

"Mom!" Percy yelped, giving her a scandalized look that only made her small, slightly wicked smile widen even further. "That's not going to…we are…I mean, we aren't!" he sputtered, heart pounding as he tried to figure out how to deny her accusation without saying more about the things he and Annabeth were actually doing than he really felt his mother should know. Had she heard them making out during one of her many late-night bathroom trips? Oh gods, he didn't want to even think about that.

Her mischievous smile melted back into tired fondness, and she patted his arm soothingly. "Relax, baby. You're just so easy to tease."

"You're my mom, aren't you supposed to be nice to me?" He complained half-heartedly, his pulse starting to return to normal and his hands going back to the stubbornly greasy pot now that he knew this wasn't going to become an interrogation. Whew.

She laughed quietly. "There's a lot more to motherhood than being nice to your children, Percy. And that's saying nothing about being your mother."

Right. He was a demigod. She was the mother of a demigod, and therefore had slept with a god. That's what had touched off this whole conversation. 

Percy felt his own faint smile fade. "What's the long answer?" He asked quietly. When she frowned at him, confused, he clarified. "You said the short answer was that you wanted to be with Dad. The long answer?"

She sighed and rubbed her belly, turning to stare out the little window at the driving rain, again pounding down hard on the fire escape. "Is more complicated, baby. I think you know that." 

He nodded wordlessly, heart sinking. He did know that. Intellectually, yes, but also intimately: in the salty blood that pumped through his own heart and veins, as restless in its rapid course as only a true son of the sea god's was. People always commented on how alike he and his father were…but there were times that he wished they wouldn't, times when he remembered that his father had a history of bad behavior far longer and more terrible than he liked to let on.

He appreciated and valued many of the gifts he had inherited from his father. But there were aspects of him that he wanted nothing to do with.

"I have wondered what he would have done if I'd told him no," she continued slowly, rain reflected in her eyes, lost in old memories. "And I like to think that the millenia have mellowed him out some, that he would have contented himself with his wife or found himself a more interested mortal. But you know the old stories as well as I do…" She paused, shaking her head ruefully. "No, probably better than I ever will. He isn't known for his restraint, Percy."

Percy could only nod in agreement, heart sinking like a stone tossed into deep water.

His father's history with women was always a particularly discomfiting line of thought (one he tried hard to avoid thinking too much about, because again, with feeling: ew ) but he had thought - maybe naively - that having this conversation with his mom might help him feel a little better about it.

After all, he'd never had even the slightest suspicion that his dad had disrespected his mom. She had always talked about her time with him fondly, and his dad's eyes typically softened when he talked about her in turn. There was real affection between them even now, enough for Percy to wonder if there had once been love, or as close to it as a god and a mortal could ever get. 

But that was the crux of the whole thing, wasn't it? He was a god: immortal, all-powerful, and used to following his own whims and wishes wherever they led him. Mortals who caught his eye were ensnared like fish in a net, forced to make an impossible choice. A cheerful and enthusiastic yes and a few days of pleasure still ultimately resulted in the burden of bearing and raising half-divine children. But a far riskier no carried with it the very real threat of pain, loss, and death resulting from the rage of thwarted lust. And that was if the no was allowed to stand at all.

In the face of such outcomes, was there any way that a mortal might turn that was not stained with the ugliness of coercion?

Or, to really drive the point home: in the face of all his father's power, could his mother have really turned him down?

He also liked to think that his father wouldn't have forced her, because thinking otherwise was too horrifying to even consider, but the situation definitely had, even if he himself hadn't. And Percy had been the result.

Staring down at his hands, he watched the way the slowly cooling water clung to his fingertips as he dragged them through the soapy sink, bubbles following the movement under the surface, and tiny tendrils of moisture rising like iron filings on a magnet as he lifted his hands up and out. 

Just beyond his upraised hands, he caught sight of his and his mom's reflections in the rain-streaked window. The mist had muddled his mom's image, leaving her looking blurred and washed out in the dim gray light. But oddly enough, the damp glass seemed to make his own features stand out all the more. His eyes seemed to glitter, almost glow, and his jawline and cheekbones seemed sharper, more powerfully cut than usual. 

The contrast between their faces was unsettling, and it made Percy's stomach twist as he stared.

He'd always looked like his father, but in recent months, he'd come to realize just how much he'd grown into an aspect of his father's appearance that he'd never really thought much about before - his dangerous edge, that little bit of power lingering on the precipice of his being, blurring the edges of the human-like shell he usually wore.

Percy had very purposefully chosen to remain mortal when given the opportunity to become something more - more, in his mind, didn't necessarily mean better - but he was under no illusions about where that left him, despite what he might say to others. He knew he was one of the most powerful demigods alive the same way he knew when the tide changed in New York Harbor each day - and that fact terrified him.

When you could cause long-dormant volcanoes to explode, or call the sea back into ancient chunks of limestone, or create your own personal hurricane, it was important to keep your power locked down as tight as possible, lest you hurt someone you loved accidentally.

But there were always going to be slips. 

How long would it be before his always-difficult-to-restrain power broke away from his hold again, set free to cause havoc in a moment of anger or weakness?

Tarleton's Mercedes, tires spinning, flashed into his mind and he winced, making his reflection ripple. He had no love for that asshat, but what if the next time it happened, it happened around someone he did love? 

Annabeth's face replaced the Mercedes in his mind, and his stomach twisted even more violently. If he accidentally hurt her in one of those wild moments, he'd probably throw up.

And if the idea of hurting her accidentally made him want to throw up, the idea of hurting her on purpose - the way his father, uncles, and cousins had hurt so many mortals over the centuries - made him want to throw himself on his sword. 

He couldn't suppress a full body shudder at that thought, and he prayed desperately that he hadn't somehow inherited that ugly, viciously entitled impulse without realizing it. Paul had told him that he wasn't that kind of man earlier, and at least on this point he vehemently agreed - but what if some instincts were buried so deep that he didn't even know they were there?

The shiver also made him realize that his mom had turned to lay her other hand on one of his arms, and her eyes had narrowed in concern. How long had he been standing there, staring into the glassy window, eyes similarly vacant? "Percy?" She murmured, her voice quiet but firm. "Where's your head, baby?"

His throat still felt tight and he couldn't quite remember what she'd last said, but the worry in her eyes was distressing enough for him to try to force a few words out. "Just, uh, thinking that I'm glad that you and Dad were both into each other," he said hoarsely, turning his attention back to the last two plates.

He could feel skepticism practically radiating off of her, so he didn't take his eyes off of his scrubbing.

Farther down the hallway, he felt more than he heard the shower turn off, and he tensed. He was running out of time. From the way his mom cocked her head, she had heard it too. 

"Me too," she said, nodding slowly. "But Percy…this isn't really about me, is it?"

"What, no, I mean…of course it is!" He stuttered, flushing again. Damnit. If only she wasn't so good at reading him, then he might have been able to just feign relief at the circumstances of his conception and move on without her digging deeper.

Her fond look became a touch exasperated. "Sweetheart, I may be about to be a new mother to this little one, but I've been your mother for a long time now," she said, squeezing his forearms lightly and shaking them a little. "And I know my son." Pulling him around to face, she stretched her arms up to pull him into a hug, ignoring his wet, soapy hands. "You're not your father, Percy," she murmured as he returned the hug, letting his head fall down onto her shoulder the way he had when she'd held him as a little boy.

The lump in his throat was back, so it was a good thing that his face was hidden. Why were all the adults in his life so good at cutting right to the middle of the knot that he always had such difficulty untangling? "Then who am I?" He mumbled, fighting back another wave of emotion. "Because I look a hell of a lot like him, and I break reality when I'm angry."

"You also look like me, baby," she retorted with a slight snort, squeezing him a little tighter. "And I've been known to do that too." 

He lifted his head and their eyes met. A lifetime of memories passed between them, and despite his complicated mood, a tiny smile tugged at his mouth. No one who knew what had happened to her first husband would underestimate what his mother was capable of when she was angry. Maybe he had gotten that particular trait from both sides.

"But I'm not sure there's one answer to that question, Percy," she continued, voice softening again as she reached her hands up, resting her thumbs on his cheeks. "And everyone you ask will probably have a different answer."

"Then how do I figure out which ones are right?" He asked, a little desperately. 

"Hold on to the things that remind of you who you want to be, and take the rest with a grain of salt," she responded, her matter-of-fact tone at odds with the gentle, soothing way she was stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. "But I don't think you'll need to work all of that out on your own."

He leaned a hip into the metal of the sink and stared at her, confused. Hadn't she just told him not to take everyone's advice seriously? 

She smiled, and let her hands fall to his. "Paul and I are always here to talk, baby, but I think you might want to let Annabeth into wherever your heart and brain went a few minutes ago. I have a feeling that she'll be a little more helpful than us, right now."

Speaking of, he could hear her padding down the hallway to his bedroom, where she had stashed her weekend bag earlier that evening. 

Have yet another complicated conversation wasn't what he'd really wanted to do with his girlfriend tonight - he'd actually really been hoping that most of their communication from here on out would be of the strictly non-verbal variety - but Annabeth was nearly as good as his mom at knowing when he was out of sorts, so it might be inevitable. 

But his mom was also probably right - it was always much harder for him to feel unsettled and unhappy in his own skin when she was curled around him, her body pressed up against his, her pulse beating in harmony with his own. 

Maybe it was there, in the space that he felt safest, that he might find some of the reassurance that he so desperately needed.

Chapter Text

Percy hated keeping Annabeth waiting - especially when she was waiting for him in his bedroom - but there was still one thing that he really had to do before he could crawl under the covers and hope she was more interested in helping him forget about his long day than she was in talking about it.

So, after bidding his mom an awkward goodnight, Percy made a beeline for his bathroom. 

He had technically showered at school after swim practice, but the brief rinse that he allowed himself when surrounded by his idiot teammates was almost never enough to totally get the stinking film of chlorine off of his hair and body. 

Annabeth always said she couldn't smell it on him unless he had just gotten out of the pool, but Percy could feel it, a suffocating chemical coating that dried his skin and made the back of his throat itch. That it had lingered on his body this long was probably contributing to his overall discomfort, and now that the shower was free, he wanted it gone ASAP.

He knew that chlorine was important for mortal hygiene reasons - any water that high school kids spent hours swimming in was a breeding ground for diseases he definitely didn't want - but he wished that AHS had the budget to invest in a salt-water pool instead. 

(Though, on second thought, it would be even harder than it already was to suppress his supernatural swimming speed in a salt-water pool. And he was less tempted to breathe underwater when there was chlorine in it, so maybe it was better for Percy's anonymity that AHS lacked anything resembling adequate pool funding?)

Like every other room in the apartment, the bathroom they called 'his' was tiny - a little too tiny for a growing demigod. Once upon a time he'd had plenty of room to move around; now, if he wasn't careful, he was likely to knock himself out on the shower head.

But, he'd also discovered that was really only a problem if he was standing up. And since he was now officially out of energy, there were easier options. 

Stripping off his clothes and stepping into the tub, Percy only stayed on his feet long enough to twist the water on before slumping down onto his knees and letting the driving, probably-too-hot-for-anyone-but-him spray melt into his back. There was almost nothing better for forcing his body and mind to relax when they stubbornly refused to, and he could immediately feel his breathing begin to come easier as muscles unclenched and chlorine drained away. 

The little room filled with steam, and as he grabbed the soap, Percy imagined that it was also clouding his brain, giving him a little break from having to review any of the restless thoughts that had been making his head spin wildly all day.

The squeak of soap and the rattle of the pipes filled his ears as water poured down on him, and Percy let out a sigh. 

Momentary bliss.

But only momentary.

Eventually, he began to feel as cooked and red and brainless as a lobster about to be made into a bisque, so he knew it was probably time to try and get his wobbly legs beneath him. Standing shakily, he groped blindly on the countertop outside the shower curtain for his toothbrush. Annabeth was, after all, still waiting for him.

(It was fortunate that his toothbrush was right where he usually put it, because now that he was trying to move again, he wondered if he had maybe done too good a job visualizing the steam infiltrating his brain.)

After a few more foggy minutes, he dropped the toothbrush back into its cup, draped his damp towel across his bare shoulders, and flicked off the light as he staggered out into the hallway. Given his mushy state, he thought it was kind of a wonder that he remembered to do all the important things he needed to do - like put on pants - before he ventured out of the bathroom. 

The apartment was mostly still and dark, and the lack of light under his mom and Paul's door indicated that they must have already turned in for the night. As he passed their door, rubbing his towel through his still-dripping hair and trying to keep his uneven footsteps light, he heard nothing inside but soft breathing. Good. He knew they were just as tired as he was, and needed as many full nights of sleep as they could get before a crying baby made an appearance into all of their lives.

(And, them being asleep also meant they were less likely to hear him and Annabeth, which was pretty much always better for everyone.)

The only light in the dim apartment then spilled from the cracked door to his bedroom, and its beam drew him in as inexorably as a moth to a porch light at sunset. As he arrived at the door, he soundlessly put his shoulder into it, carefully bumping it open as he finished toweling off.

And stopped dead in the doorway, inhaling sharply through his nose.

Percy Jackson had seen a lot of remarkable things in his somehow both too-short and too-long life, but one sight that never failed to make his heart pound and his mind scramble was seeing his girlfriend in his bed, curled up and lazy after a long week.

The shade of the lamp that sat on his nightstand was askew, but it still filled the room with its warm glow, making the cramped, cluttered space feel a lot more soft and inviting than usual. No other lights were on, and the absence of the quiet music that he or Annabeth often played when they were reading or studying meant that she was probably done with school for the night.

As he took in the lack of books on his bed and the looseness of her relaxed, sleepy sprawl, he became even more convinced - and relieved - that that was the case. He really didn't want to have to compete with an interior design textbook for her affection tonight.

She was curled up on her side on top of his perennially rumpled comforter, facing the door like she'd been waiting there for a while. Her school uniform had long been discarded, and now the hem of her sleep shorts just barely peeked out from under the oversized t-shirt she was wearing. His weary muscles twitched and tightened as his eyes traced their way up her long, bare legs, before eventually settling on her face. Judging by the slow smile that spread across it as she met his interested gaze, they were both admiring the view that the other presented.

Percy grinned sheepishly in return, not because he was particularly ashamed that he'd been caught appreciating the glory that was Annabeth in her pajamas, but because he was always a little self-conscious to be checked out himself. It wasn't like he had forgone a shirt to make himself eye candy for his girlfriend - had he accidentally left it in the bathroom? - but now that it was happening, well, he wasn't going to deprive her by covering up.

"There you are. I was wondering if I was going to need to mount a rescue mission," she said, smile widening as she propped herself up on one elbow. Annabeth loved to tease him for his lengthy showers.

He rolled his eyes and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't know why you're always so surprised that a son of a sea god likes to take long showers," he retorted mildly. It wasn't like he hadn't heard that joke before - Annabeth had probably stolen it from Paul.

She smirked, and rolled hers right back at him. "There's long showers, and then there's your showers," she said, crooking a finger at him. "But now that I know you haven't taken an unplanned trip down the drain, get your ass over here, Jackson."

"Are you really trying to boss me around in my own bedroom?" Percy muttered, giving her an unimpressed look as he pushed off the doorframe and pulled the door closed behind him. Despite his expression, he didn't even pretend like he wasn't going to obey her - he always did, as long as she was giving an order that he liked.

Her smirk deepened. "Do you really have a problem with it?" She said sweetly, scooting over to give him the space to flop down next to her.

"You already know the answer to that," He said, flashing a smirk of his own at her and dumping his towel on his desk chair as he crossed the few feet that separated the door from the bed.

As soon as Percy had hit his first really big growth spurt, his mom and Paul had given him their old full mattress, one that they had been hoping to replace soon anyway. It was ancient and creaky, but fortunately roomy enough to comfortably accommodate at least one (and sometimes two) lanky demigods. Percy wasn't quite sure what they were going to do once they got to the dorms in New Rome, because he was pretty sure that all they had there were twin beds, but he wasn't going to complain if all that meant that he had to hold his girlfriend a little closer. 

But tonight, taking advantage of the space, he just collapsed face down next to her, shutting his eyes as they hit the cool pillow. His arms snaked around it as he burrowed deeper into the downy softness, and as he breathed in, he caught a whiff of the lemony scent of her shampoo on the worn fabric. Mmmmm. She'd been laying on his pillow.

Her quiet giggle was sort of hard to hear around his arms and said pillow, but he felt her shift her weight toward him and one of her hands card through his damp hair. "Roll over, Seaweed Brain,” she ordered.

The commanding tone of that request made it sound like she wanted something else from him, but as far as Percy was concerned, he'd already followed instructions perfectly.

"Why?" He mumbled into the pillow."You wanted my ass, not my face." And because he was maybe just shy of delirious, he wiggled it in her direction.

The laugh that burst out of her was a lot louder than her quiet giggles had been, and she immediately clapped her hands over her mouth, stifling herself before she could wake his parents. 

Percy grinned into the pillow. Two things could be true at the same time: he wasn't entirely himself today, and there was almost nothing in the world that he liked better than making Annabeth laugh.

"It's a very nice ass, but it's not actually the part of you I'm interested in right now," she responded, voice a little muffled as she got her giggles under control. 

"Well, what part of me are you interested in then?" He said, choosing not to comment on her appreciation of his ass right now - but making a mental note for future teasing opportunities. Instead, he half-rolled over his shoulder onto her, exaggeratedly splaying out his arms and legs for her amused perusal.

"Left flank," she said briskly, and a lot more matter-of-factly than he'd been hoping. When he craned his neck to shoot her a confused look, she elaborated, squirming under him and pushing at his back. "Before either of us get too distracted, I want to see how those griffin slashes are healing, Percy."

Percy liked the idea of them distracting each other a lot more than he liked the idea of Annabeth poking at the newest additions to his collection of scars, but the look on her face was resolute, so he doubted he'd have much luck dissuading her.

But that didn't mean he couldn't try.

He sighed, and flopped back over onto his belly, peeking up at her innocently from around a fold in the comforter. "Do we really have to do that right now?" he asked, lower lip quivering theatrically.

She quirked an eyebrow at him."That look works a lot better when I'm planning on doing something that you actually won't like, Seaweed Brain," she said, looking like she was trying to stifle her laughter again. 

"You mean you aren't?" He responded, dropping his pleading look to lift a skeptical eyebrow of his own.

"Since when do you have a problem with me touching you?" She shot back, eyes dancing as she grabbed his elbow to pull him both closer to the window and up onto his right side. When she seemed satisfied with his position, she rolled over him to adjust the light of the lamp. "Now hold still, and maybe I'll make this worth your while."

"Let me be the judge of that," he mumbled, letting his free arm fall across his eyes as she knelt on the bed next to him. Annabeth was (generally speaking) a very loving and affectionate girlfriend, but sometimes her opinion of his pain tolerance was just a little too high.

The warm light and gentle patter of rain on the cold metal of the fire escape was lulling though, and now that he'd covered his eyes, Percy could have very easily let himself drift off to the feel of Annabeth's lightly probing fingertips on the newly healed scars on his back and chest. 

(But since he actually was hoping for a reward for his cooperation with this whole process, he didn't let himself fade out completely.)

At first she worked in silence, slowly tracing the still slightly puckered edges of the scars with one finger. But as she began carefully pinching the pink seams of newly healed skin, Percy winced. It had healed enough that it wasn't painful per se, but as he'd suspected when she had declared her intentions, he couldn't say that it felt great. 

To distract himself from the discomfort, he let his mind wander even further into the space between sleep and wakefulness…but it seemed like only a few seconds passed before her mumbling pulled him out of that drowsy place he had been drifting into.

"...not unique to griffin talons." She was saying, and he recognized her tone as the one she adopted whenever she was confronted with a particularly challenging research question. 

He frowned, but didn't uncover his eyes. "What isn't unique to griffin talons?"

Annabeth's hands paused for a moment, before smoothing over the rough edge of the slash that had come within millimeters of tearing into his gut. "Slowed healing," she said quietly. "I did some research after you told me the wounds weren't closing as quickly as they usually do, and I couldn't find anything about the properties of griffin talons that might indicate that they inhibit healing."

Percy uncovered one eye, stomach twisting as he made himself think back to that long, painful day. Parts of it were fuzzy, but he wasn't sure if that could be attributed to trauma, or just the current, soupy state of his brain. Had it really been less than a month ago? "So you think there's some other reason why it took days for the slashes to totally scar over?"

Annabeth nodded, biting her lip as her hands continued their slow path down his side, softer and less clinical now. "Mmhmm, I have a couple theories." When he lifted an inquisitive eyebrow, she continued, sounding oddly hopeful. "Well, I know you hate chlorine, so I've been wondering if you might always heal slower in chlorinated pools than you do in freshwater or seawater?"

Curling his body just enough to press his face into the outside of her hip, Percy shook his head as he nosed the faded cotton of her shorts. His instincts told him that her examination was pretty much done, so it was definitely time for him to start trying to shift her focus in a more interesting direction.

"Pool water doesn't give me as much strength as other kinds of water, and it kind of itches after awhile, but that was the first time it didn't seem all that interested in healing me," he responded absently, words muffled by the kisses he'd started to press encouragingly against her thigh. 

Annabeth sighed, totally ignoring his mouthing (which, wow, rude), instead just sounding disappointed that he'd nixed her first potential explanation. "Well… then my other theory is that maybe your body is just getting tired, Perce," she said reluctantly, distractedly stroking the top of his head. "You've been hurt so many times that this might be like, I don't know, the magical equivalent of a repetitive strain injury?"

Face still pressed into the solid warmth of her hip, Percy grimaced and stopped trying to subtly cajole her into abandoning this discussion to lay down with him. This was not going at all in the direction he'd wanted the evening to go, but she had just made a good point, one that felt a little too timely to ignore.

Because he thought he might have potentially strained every single one of his muscles over the years, he already knew that the more you did it, the more likely you were to give yourself permanent damage. It did not thrill him to think that he had potentially accumulated so many physical and metaphysical wounds in his lifetime that the ichor in his blood was tired of constantly having to repair his fragile human skin and veins - but, especially after today, he couldn't say that it really surprised him, either.

"You know I think you're a genius," he mumbled finally, still snuggled into her hip, "But I really hope you're wrong about that."

She must have picked up on the abrupt change in his mood, because her hands on his side and in his hair became even more gentle. "Me too, Seaweed Brain," she said, her voice quiet and a little grim. "But if it isn't the griffin or the water, it's you. You know that as well as I do. And, yeah, there could certainly be other explanations, but…my gut says that we're probably dealing with some kind of a powers issue here."

A powers issue. Why did it always come back to that? The conversations of the day replayed in his ears, and he clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut. He didn't want to do this now. And despite his mom's advice, he hadn't been planning on it. He was tired and sore and stressed and he didn't need to add an entirely new worry to his plate. 

But the worries still came, appearing unbidden in his mind, as always.

What would he do if his godly side developed a mind of its own, deciding that his body and soul were only dead weight compared to all of his sublime potential? 

Was his always-explosive anger just the natural result of that much divine energy chafing and gnawing away at the restriction of bone and sinew? 

How long could his body even last, a tired, crumbling dam holding back a wave of power that would crush it, if given the opportunity?

And maybe most disturbingly:

Was this how the gods felt, whenever they confined themselves to human form, always fighting to keep their otherworldly presence from spilling out of the edges of a finite form? 

He shivered, trying to suppress those deeply unpleasant thoughts and not quite succeeding. He'd said no. He had always wanted to grow old in this body, and he'd only recently started to believe that that future might be possible. But was it, really?

"Percy?" Annabeth said softly, sounding concerned. Her hands had stilled against him, and he could feel her shifting, trying to dislodge his face from her hip.

That concerned tone is getting old, he thought grumpily, trying to tamp down on the tiny bubble of frustration that had risen up with the worry. How many people had he heard it from today?

"Too much power, or too little?" he asked the hem of her shorts, ignoring the tone and wrapping one arm around her waist to keep them both locked in place. He doubted he sounded normal either, and he didn't want her to see his face until he'd gotten his disquieted feelings under better control.

"Knowing you, too much," she responded, somehow managing to sound both frank and sympathetic. 

But she also kept squirming, shifting her hips and thighs forcefully enough that Percy knew he was either going to need to release her, or actually commit to trying to hold her down. But if he did tighten his grip, past experience told him she'd fight all the harder. And though he'd certainly been interested in tangling their limbs together a few minutes ago, it no longer felt like a good moment for that kind of impromptu wrestling match. 

(Plus, he was already on his third lamp this year: breaking another at this time of night would definitely make his parents come running. Another thing that he didn't need right now.)

So he let his arm fall away, and he rolled to face the rain-streaked window, still trying to school his expression into something different. He knew he wasn't succeeding, and that it was probably painfully obvious to his perceptive girlfriend. 

"Great," he muttered to the window, miserable and dully sarcastic, "So my powers think that they've gotten strong enough to just be held back by a physical body. That definitely doesn't make me sound even scarier than I already am."

It wasn't even a full second before he felt Annabeth's chest press firmly against his back and one of her legs slide between his. Not surprising - he really hadn't thought she was going to let him get away with that statement, that tone, or with rolling away from her. One of her hands came up to cradle the back of his neck and one arm snaked around his midsection, and he tried, valiantly but mostly unsuccessfully, to force himself to again relax into her hold. 

"Percy, you've always been really powerful," Annabeth said softly. "And even if that power is getting stronger, that doesn't necessarily correlate with you not needing a body to channel it through, or with you being scary." Percy could hear the dismay in her voice despite her reassuring words, and he could feel her curiosity pressing against him the same way her hands did. She hadn't heard much about his day yet, but he knew her well enough to know that her brain must be whirling with speculation about what might have happened today to send him into this particular mood so quickly.

And since he knew her mind was busy, he was shocked by the last part of her statement. 

Powerful not necessarily correlating to scary? In what world? Certainly not the world they lived in! She knew that just as well as he did, and actually, if he really thought about it, maybe better. A memory from the fall semester surged up, and he could feel his spine tighten, suddenly as tense as it had been before his shower, before she'd been curled around him.

"No? You're sure about that?" He said sardonically, trying not to get too snappy. He didn't want to fight her on this, but her memory obviously was letting her down right about now. He wished his could. "Remind me, what was it that you said to Elisson back in September? Oh, that's right: he's sort of scary when he gets worked up."

He hadn't realized that all his muscles had tightened up again until he felt Annabeth's fingers clench, tips digging into his neck and abdomen in a way that hurt when he was relaxed, but was kind of nice when he wasn't. 

She knew this about him, but he wasn't sure if the pressure was an intentional effort to try to get him to calm down, or a subconscious reaction to him - pointedly - reminding her that she wasn't exactly the best person to tell him he wasn't scary. After all, how many times had he scared her? Probably a hell of a lot more than he even knew about - and he could think of a dozen incidents off of the top of his head.

She was quiet for a long moment, her body wrapped tightly around him. Oddly enough, despite his churning emotions, that was comforting - she hadn't pulled away from him, despite his clear frustration and the danger it always presented.

"I'm sorry," Annabeth finally whispered. "I really thought that you'd picked up on the game I was playing that day," she said, her voice sadder than he'd expected. "Percy, I wanted Elisson to be scared of you - so he'd let us leave in peace - but I wasn't scared of you myself."

If there was any tone that was guaranteed to take the fight right out of him, it was that one - Percy hated, hated, hated when Annabeth was sad, even if the presence of that sadness meant that she'd heard him.

So, he twisted his neck and bucked his hips until she loosened her grip enough for him to flip over to face her. Carefully taking her hands in his and even more carefully meeting her eyes, he saw the sadness he'd heard, blended with a mixture of worry and regret that sent a pang through his heart. She wasn't going to like this either.

"I did catch on, that day," Percy responded, equally quietly. "But Beth, just because you didn't feel it then doesn't mean you've never felt it before."

When she opened her mouth, denial written all over her face, Percy shook his head firmly. "Don't," he murmured. "I don't like talking about Tartarus any more than you do, so don't make me bring up examples." 

She froze, mouth still open, gray eyes wide. A flash of fear made her pupils dilate, and Percy sighed internally. Confirmation. He already knew it, so it wasn't like he needed to see it, but still. It had been almost a year, and it sometimes felt like he was still there, trapped in the pit and feeling on the edge of losing his fractured mind, body, and soul. He didn't have to ask her which memory had appeared in her mind, because he already knew it was one that never seemed to leave his.

On cue, from somewhere in the recesses of his brain, Akhlys' shrieks echoed, poisoning the air of his bedroom just as surely as if her toxic rivers were flowing under the gap beneath his bedroom door.

"We both know that there were times down there where you were," he finished quietly, forcing himself to tune them out and dropping his gaze to Annabeth's collarbone so he didn't have to look at the fear in her eyes. 

It was one thing entirely to make his girlfriend feel a little sad, but it was quite another to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was sometimes afraid of him - and for good reason. Percy wasn't sure he was actually brave enough to face that, even after all this time, and his stomach twisted into an even tighter knot.

For a few seconds the room was silent save for the muted thunder of rain, now driving hard into the window.

"Percy," Annabeth said, voice so quiet she was barely audible over the sound. Her thumbs ghosted over the backs of his hands. "Percy, please look at me." 

He shook his head minutely and kept his eyes where they were: on a tiny, barely visible scar where her shoulder met her collarbone. Where had that one even come from? He heard her sigh, and then something that sounded like a sniffle. 

Nope nope nope, he definitely wasn't brave enough to face that.

When she let go of his hands, he braced himself for her to roll away from him…and was then surprised when instead he felt her melt into his chest, her hands compressing in the space between their bodies and her head tucking under his chin. He could feel a tiny bit of saltiness where her face burrowed into his chest, and he swallowed hard, knowing his own eyes were getting glassy. 

Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Would that feel too restrictive to her, given everything they'd just been talking about? Playful thoughts about bodies tangled together seemed far away all of a sudden, and he almost sighed with relief when she didn't move to throw him off.

"It's not that I was scared of you. Not really, anyway" she began after a moment, her voice as muffled as his had been when he'd been pressed into her hip. "It's more complicated than that. I was upset - really upset - but I didn't realize until after I talked with Piper what I was actually feeling, all of the things that I was really afraid of, that I'd pushed away. The war, the quest, our future…" She trailed off for a moment, voice shaky. But she cleared her throat before he could say anything, continuing stronger. "And so now I know that what I was most scared of was the idea of you succumbing to your fatal flaw, and losing everything else that makes you, you, Percy."

Percy frowned, and glanced down at her. Annabeth's head was still buried in his chest, her curls obscuring her face. "What do you mean by that?" He asked cautiously, feeling an odd sort of hopefulness cut through the miserable tide of emotions that had been threatening to swamp him all evening. He had always thought that she'd been frightened of him that day. Was she saying that it was actually the idea of him becoming someone other than himself that had scared her so badly?

She lifted her head, and this time, he met her damp gaze squarely, one hand rising to gently twist one of her curls. Even with tears lingering at the corners, her eyes, sharp and clear as cut glass, were mesmerizing. 

"Well, fatal flaws are most dangerous in a crisis, Percy - that's when they're the most seductive, when they have the greatest power to take over, and to destroy. Otherwise, they're just like…really deep-seated personality quirks." The ghost of a smile crossed her face, before quickly fading again. "And since Tartarus was basically one big, especially horrifying crisis, it stands to reason that down there we were actually both much closer to our most dangerous impulses than we ever are in ordinary life. You just had a lot more opportunities to show that you'd do anything for me than I had to be overconfident or take charge of the situation, so you were closer to losing yourself than I was."

Percy nodded. He was following, and found himself agreeing with her - at least in part. It was certainly true that his actions down there had been pretty out of character, and they hadn't just scared her - once they'd made it back to the surface and he'd had the space to breathe, he had been horrified by how close he'd come to literally torturing a goddess to death. He could pretty easily admit to having a vindictive streak, but even though he definitely didn't enjoy most of his interactions with the gods, he didn't really want to hurt them in the way they hurt others, and hurt each other. That just wasn't who he was, and it definitely wasn't who he wanted to become.

But even though all of that made sense, he thought that the destruction he could cause if he ever totally let go of his moral compass was in a completely different category than what Annabeth could do. So he was confused about why she felt that her own fatal flaw was relevant here?

"Beth, I think I get what you're saying," he said carefully, "But…I'm pretty much never afraid of your fatal flaw the way we're afraid of mine. I feel like you taking over the world would actually probably be a good thing for everyone?" He said, making a half-hearted attempt at humor.

She gave him an equally half-hearted smile for his efforts, and freed one of her hands from where it was stuck to his chest to reach up and stroke his cheek. "That's sweet of you, but you only say that because the closest you've ever seen me come to losing control of it in a way that was destructive was with the sirens." She paused, gaze turning inward as they both remembered back. "And that would have only destroyed me, probably not you or anyone else. You saved me from myself, that day."

Percy leaned into the warmth of her hand on his cheek, shutting his eyes for a moment. Gods, he was always so tired these days. The intensity of the past few minutes had made him briefly forget his exhaustion, but the relief of knowing it might not truly be him that she was scared of had made it return full-force. "You know, that's really what you did for me, too," he mumbled.

"I did?" She said, sounding a little confused. 

"Not with the sirens, but lots of other times, like back in Tartarus, with Akhlys," Percy clarified quickly, trying to get past the names as fast as possible. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't gotten my attention and made me realize I was doing something I'd really regret later, even if I was too angry to feel that in the moment. Especially because I was too angry to feel it in the moment."

Annabeth hummed thoughtfully, nodding. "Then it's a good thing that we don't usually go into bad situations alone," she said, so softly he could barely hear her, voice catching on the weight of her words.

That, he could never dispute. Every time he'd ever gone into any perilous situation alone, the only reason he'd come out of it (reasonably) in one piece was because someone else had been there to pull him out - and that someone was usually her, either in person, or somewhere in his heart and mind.

But Percy was a more practical, more logical person than a lot of people gave him credit for, and despite Annabeth's efforts to reassure him, he couldn't quite escape the truth that he felt was staring them both in the face, that she had very subtly deflected: he just had never been afraid of what Annabeth could achieve at her most destructive the way they both feared what he could accomplish at his most destructive.

And that made him the potentially scary one. Not her.

"I guess I just don't think it's completely the same, though." When she lifted a quizzical eyebrow, he elaborated. "I mean, yeah, we've absolutely helped each other remember who we are at crucial moments, when things looked really bad, but I think the scale is different? Like, in terms of what would happen if one of us lost control?”

"Sure." She shrugged, tilting her head from side to side consideringly. "But Percy, the only real difference is that I physically can't do what you can do. Me losing control would be a lot more subtle." Her eyes narrowed, and the warm little room seemed colder. "And do you really think I've never wished I could force someone stupid to obey me, or been angry enough that if I had powers, they might explode out of me, too?"

The change in her bearing and expression was so sudden that Percy almost jerked back, surprised and unnerved. If he had thought that her eyes were as clear and sharp as cut glass earlier, now they resembled razor blades, dark and flinty and cutting. For a second he thought he saw the smoke and flame of burning cities, heard the shriek of stressed metal, felt the cold pressure of chains wrapped around his wrists, and if he had been on his feet, the overwhelming urge to kneel before her might have overtaken him. 

But since they were somehow still locked around each other, all he could do was silently stare at her, mouth dry and eyes wide, body and mind frozen in - yes, just a tiny bit of fear. He had never doubted that Annabeth could be situationally scary - he'd seen her in battle, after all, and he had a very healthy respect for her biting wit - but not like this. Not like he could be.

A car went by, the muddled glow from its headlights throwing new light into her eyes and him out of the shock and alarm that had briefly paralyzed him. He took a deep breath and shut his own eyes for a moment, trying to regroup. When he opened them again, she looked like she always did at this time of night: tousled, soft, and right now, a little bit too understanding.

"See? It goes both ways. I have just as much of an edge as you do," Annabeth said quietly, smiling ruefully at the probably-a-little-haunted look on his face. "It's just not as flashy, not as easy to see. All demigods do - it's part of what keeps us alive.”

Percy nodded, trying to work some saliva back into his mouth. He knew that, too. It had kept them both on their feet many, many times, long past when they should have fallen. He'd just never realized just how deep her edge cut, how painfully similar it was to his own.

"And now you'll be scared enough of me giving in to my fatal flaw to stop me if I ever come too close," Annabeth said matter-of-factly as she watched him continue to unfreeze. "So maybe it's not really such a bad thing that we scare each other sometimes."

Percy shot her a skeptical look. He still could feel the last bit of a lingering chill in his spine, his heart rate hadn't quite returned to normal yet, and she hadn't even done anything.

"I'm serious," she said, brushing a lock of damp hair off of his forehead and replacing it with a gentle kiss. "It just means we'll know that we have to keep each other accountable to being the people we actually are, not the people our powers want us to be, when we're at our most stressed and upset."

She brought her hand back to where the other one rested against his chest, folding them together over his heart and pressing another kiss to his collarbone. He shut his eyes as he felt her lips again, just an inch or so higher. That she still wanted to touch him (and he her) as this uncomfortable conversation wound down was gratifying; that she was touching him meant that she probably had decided that it had officially run its course, for now.

And unlike his attempts to distract her earlier, her efforts had started working almost instantly. He could already feel the tension in his muscles start to drain away again, and his mood lift as she shifted, wrapping one leg around his waist. It was kind of astonishing how quickly he could go from stressed to confused to freaked out to excited, but as always, he blamed teenage hormones, and the ADHD.

"That feels like something we should just be doing anyway," Percy mumbled, opening his eyes, falling onto his back, and pulling her half on top of him. "You know, relationship basics."

"Nothing about our relationship is basic, Percy," she said, rolling her eyes fondly at him as she wriggled into a more comfortable position on his chest. 

He snorted in agreement and let his head tip back onto the pillow, giving her more access to his neck. As she began to slowly work her way up to his face, he also let his arms fall from her shoulders to her waist, hands absently fiddling with the edge of her t-shirt. He knew he was going to need time and space to process all the things they'd discussed - some hopeful, some sobering, and some that he still wasn't sure how he felt about - but it looked like that was going to have to wait. Annabeth was well on her way to shutting his brain down for the night, and he had no plans to stop her.

"Is this my reward for letting you check out my scars?” Percy mumbled after a few delightful minutes, smiling slightly when he felt her laugh vibrate against his Adam's apple.

“Partly,” she responded, lips now dancing along his jawline. “Sorry we got derailed, and didn't get to it sooner.”

"Yeah, well, it was probably inevitable,” he said, shutting his eyes again and just trying to enjoy himself. “School sucked today, and it put me in a weird mood that I haven't been able to shake," he admitted sleepily. Based on the way the night had gone, she probably already knew that, but fessing up always made him feel at least a little lighter. 

"Mmhmm, shockingly, I picked up on that,” she confirmed sarcastically, before leaving a more tender kiss on the side of his mouth. “What happened?" She asked sympathetically.

"Ask me tomorrow, when I have the energy to keep talking," he murmured, feeling goosebumps erupt on his chest as she gently scratched her nails against his bare skin. “I think I'm done with the hard shit for tonight.” He paused, opening his eyes as a stray, unwelcome thought returned to his brain. “Though, we never solved the 'I'm apparently so overpowered that it's affecting my ability to heal myself' problem, did we?"

Annabeth sighed, deep enough that he could almost feel it in his own lungs. She was clearly also done with hard topics at the moment. But her face reappeared, hovering over his own. "No, but Percy, all of that is really just a theory."

He nodded, lifting a hand to play with some of her curls again. “But it's one that makes sense. Do you think there's a way to fix it?"

She shrugged, planted her elbows on either side of his head, and leaned her cheek on one hand. “Probably. We'll keep talking about it, and I'm sure I could design some experiments, but I don't imagine you'd really enjoy any of them,” she said, grinning at the face he pulled when she mentioned experiments. “But hmm… you know, I've always sort of wondered…"

He cut her off before she could keep going, recognizing the reappearance of her research face. "Oh no, I don't like that look. Beth, I am way too tired to be your guinea pig tonight,” he said, trying to sound stern but probably just sounding a little panicky. The idea of being anyone's lab rat, even Annabeth's, freaked him out.

"Are you sure? You make such a cute one, babe,” she teased, tapping the tip of his (fortunately not currently whiskery) nose with one finger.

He wrinkled it, scowling at her. "Yeah, no. Permission denied."

“Killjoy,” she said with a mischievous grin. “Although I do have another idea, one you might like better.”

"Hit me," he replied, immediately regretting his choice of words when she cheerfully smacked his shoulder. "Ow! Not literally, you sadist!"

And because there wasn't a world that existed where he didn't retaliate, he locked his arms around her waist and flipped them, pinning her to the mattress. One of the odder things he'd learned about Annabeth since they'd been dating was that she had bizarrely ticklish ears. And in this position, it was easy to hold her down and pepper them with kisses until she was squirming beneath him, trying not to yelp with laughter.

"Okay, okay, stop!" She gasped, a little breathlessly, as she finally got a hand on his chest and pushed him back a few inches. Grinning smugly, he rearranged his limbs into something like a lazy cobra pose so he could stay where he was without crushing her, and looked down expectantly. 

He'd thought she'd roll her eyes at him when he didn't really move, but she surprised him with a slow smile that was nearly as smug as the one he'd just given her. "Well…even the gods usually choose to inhabit a body of some kind. So maybe we solve this problem of yours by reminding your divine blood that there's a lot more to having a physical body than pain and injury?"

Percy swallowed hard. He knew he had a reputation for being a little clueless sometimes, but there was no mistaking that look, or the very purposeful way that one of her hands had started to move. 

"Oh? And how would we do that?" He choked out, his own hands tightening in the folds of his comforter as he felt her fingertips skate along his abs.

Her devilish grin only widened as he sucked in a sharp breath. "I could tell you, but I think I'd rather show you,” she whispered, pulling him down into a much deeper kiss than the light, unhurried ones she'd been offering a few minutes ago. 

"Annabeth, have I told you lately that I love your ideas?" He mumbled dazedly against her mouth, before the slide of hands and lips finally drove all other thoughts from his mind.

Chapter Text

Annabeth held onto Percy long after the lamp clicked off, the rain began to settle into a more steady series of drips and plinks on the fire escape, and the misty, shadowy night had fully overtaken the cozy little fortress that was his bedroom.

They had both gotten sweaty enough testing out some of her, uh, ideas that it should have been uncomfortable to be plastered to him in the way that she was. But despite the heat, she couldn't make herself unstick her face from the (variably) smooth skin of his back, and couldn't force her arms to loosen their hold on his torso. 

She had, after all, always had his back when things looked dark. That had to include the comparatively banal darkness of nighttime, didn't it?

Annabeth shifted her weight so she could tangle both of her legs around one of his, thrown back behind the other. Sleepovers were still something of a novelty for them both, but when they did happen, Percy usually tried to put at least a little space between the two of them when it was - finally - time to sleep. Annabeth wasn't sure if there was some kind of weird, gentlemanly instinct behind it - those seemed to pop out of Percy at the most puzzlingly inconvenient times - but at least tonight, he hadn't protested when she'd curled around his back after he'd stretched out to flick off the light, and had settled one of his hands over hers as she'd wrapped it around his belly. 

(She wasn't sure what they'd do when it came time to figure out the likely-much-more-cramped dorm room sleeping arrangements, but that was a problem for another day.)

He'd surprised her by going out just as fast as the light. She'd been sure that - despite her best efforts to distract him - they'd both be laying awake long into the night, ugly memories clawing their way up into their minds from somewhere within that was just as shadowy as the dim bedroom. 

But he must have been more exhausted from his day than even she had realized - not that surprising, since she still didn't even really know what had happened - because his soft snores and even breaths meant that he was sleeping deeply, and she was now the only one awake. 

She squeezed his leg tighter with her own, trying to slow her breaths, trying to force her mind to focus only on the pleasant parts of the evening. The problem was, there hadn't been that many pleasant parts, comparatively speaking.

When she'd first arrived at the Jackson-Blofis apartment that night - glittering and jittery from a quick but nasty fight with a pair of dracaenae but otherwise in one piece - he'd been quieter and much more broody than she expected from him on a typical Friday night. His tired eyes and slumped shoulders had set off silently screaming alarm bells in her mind, and they only got louder when Paul spent all of dinner shooting her darkly significant looks behind Percy's back. 

That would have been worrisome enough on its own, but when Percy - lost in his own world, picking at his chicken - didn't even seem to pick up on one of them, she'd known something was wrong. He might not always see everything that was happening in any given moment, but he was much more observant than she had once given him credit for, and he normally would have had something snarky to say to people who were very obviously plotting around him.

Paul had pulled her aside after dinner to whisper and hint that Percy had had a bad day at school, but because he loved him enough to not reveal his secrets - not even to another person who loved him just as much, if not immeasurably more - he’d only shaken his head when she pressed him for details.

“You know he'd rather tell you himself,” he'd chastised softly, before giving her a final look, hefting an overflowing laundry basket, and disappearing down the hallway.

So Annabeth had spent the next 20 minutes furiously trying to scrub monster dust out of her hair and concocting a seven-step, probably-foolproof, Percy-relaxation plan, which had given her anxious brain something to do while she waited for him to finish his chores:

1. Finish showering and put on pajamas (she only had old ones, but she knew he liked them)

2. Get comfy on Percy's bed (claiming her favorite side)

3. Try not to fall asleep while waiting for him to finish his own, interminably long shower (maybe finish her math homework in the meantime?)

4. Tease him into letting her look at his scars (a practical pitstop, but a purposeful one)

5. Slowly transition from looking at scars to making out (Yay!)

6. Make out until…some point (always hard to determine in advance)

7. Carefully and casually ask him about his day (assuming her wits were still about her - questionable, at that point)

And at first, everything had gone to plan. She'd gotten to appreciate the way his eyes had cleared, widening appreciatively as he opened the door to his room and found her lounging on his bed. She'd gotten a smile and some good-natured sarcasm out of him as she had goaded him into letting her play nurse. And at least initially, he’d seemed very interested in moving from phase 4 to phase 5 of the plan…until her poorly-timed mumbling and half-formed theories had sparked something that she hadn't realized was smoldering within him, setting the rest of her plan aflame. 

The storm of self-recrimination and frustration and sadness that had followed had been explosive enough that Annabeth suspected it had been building up within him for a while, just waiting for the catalyst that would release it. She wasn't sure if she was that catalyst - and really hoped she wasn't - or if it was more the sum total of the events of his day, but either way, she knew that this first wave of emotion was probably only the beginning of a larger conversation that they needed to have. But she'd also figured out fairly quickly that they were both far too tired to hash it all out in one sitting, and that there probably weren't enough hours in the night to make more than a minor dent in it. 

So back to the original (slightly charred) plan she had gone, using her body rather than her wits to nudge his neurons down a different path, one that would - eventually, hopefully - lead to a less stressed, more relaxed place.

And if it had been a little longer than she'd planned before he fell into a slightly sweaty, but otherwise satisfied sleep…well, Saturday mornings were for sleeping in, right?

Annabeth turned her head just enough to unstick her cheek and re-stick her forehead to Percy's back, just between his shoulder blades. He could sleep in, anyway. She'd have to actually fall asleep first if she wanted to do the same. 

And unlike her warm, snoring boyfriend's, finally petered out, Annabeth's brain was still churning and whirling with the kind of thoughts that the distraction of a good makeout session usually killed.

So, it was time for plan B. 

Snuggling deeper into his back, she took an equally deep breath, and started running her favorite design program behind her eyes. The image of the bright screen lit up her neurons, driving away the darkness that otherwise would have engulfed them, and calming her nerves. Models and equations began to flash across her mind, and she smiled, squeezing Percy's waist a little tighter. Giving her brain another problem to work on was a tried and true method of falling asleep when it otherwise eluded her, and the heat and weight of Percy's body made it all the more soothing. Now if she could only work out this puzzle before her midterm on Tuesday…

As her arms went lax and she finally began to drift off, Percy sighed in his sleep. Vaguely, she thought she felt something in the release of air - something that slipped past the walls of his bedroom, disappearing into the slowing rain outside.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

There were very few things that Sarah Lafayette missed about the ramshackle little town that had once been her home, but the coming of spring was one of them. 

Up in the mountains spring had been a process, predictable and steady. Icy patches of snow in isolated meadows slowly melted into equally pale patches of bluets and bloodroot, and the ever-present smell of woodsmoke became less heavy as the sharp, green scent of moss and mud filled the air. Sudden cloudbursts made water pour down the sides of the mountains, turning back roads into creeks and frozen cow ponds into bubbling, roiling cauldrons of algae and tadpoles. And when the sun re-emerged, hot fingers lazily weaving crowns of leaves to drape over the naked trees, people stood in fields and streets, tipping their faces up to try and catch a caress of their own.

There was nothing nearly so idyllic about March in New York City.

The concrete and steel buildings that the city was known for struck her as cold and stark and impersonal in every season, but even the charming brownstones, colorful murals, and glittering, flashing lights that brightened the streets seemed dull and muted in the gloom of heavy clouds and near-constant, biting rain. Instead of welcoming the moisture they needed to thrive, lone plants seemed to shrivel back into the ground, trying to escape the acrid gray water that drove into the hard soil. It seemed to take so much longer for life to re-emerge here than it had at home, and while it huddled beneath bark and branch, the city remained stuck in the grip of winter. 

Even native New Yorkers, who took so much pride in their city that it bordered on delusion, could admit that March was probably the worst month of the year.

And though that had been true every one of the ten years she had spent here, it seemed especially so this year. 

Meteorologists had been puzzling over the bitter cold, howling rain, and the even-more-noticeable-than-usual lack of light for months. Quips about the sun going missing had become common as the newscasters tried to think of more and more creative ways to say what they all already knew: that it was still raining - still storming, really - with no sign of any let up.

But they also continued to repeat an important dictum to their wet and weary watchers: there are a thousand meteorological explanations for why storms form, why they build, and why they devastate - but they do all dissipate in time. 

Eventually the nastiest hurricanes run out of warm air and water as they churn and whirl across the sea, the coldest blizzards drift too far away from icy arctic winds to sustain their bitter advance, and the heaviest clouds always manage to dump all the rain they've managed to store up. Energy shifts, is diverted, and is ultimately balanced - in a process as constant and eternal as it is fickle.

Human beings have cataloged these trends for as long as we have recorded our own deeds and doings, and have given names to the most powerful tempests of each generation. A sign of respect, perhaps, for a type of power that we can observe but cannot alter - only endure, time and time again.

And though the endlessness of that cycle might make others despair, it felt oddly hopeful to Sarah, who took comfort in knowing that it had existed before her, and would exist long after she herself had faded from the earth.

That was her usual attitude, anyway - on days when she didn't come home from work freezing cold and soaked to the bone.

The colleague that she often rode to work with had been out with a sick kid on Friday, and so her commute home that day had involved flooded subway stations, deep puddles created by clogged storm drains, and waves of water launched into the air by cars hydroplaning their way through the drowned streets. 

And there were only so many electric blankets in her apartment, and only so much mulled wine she could drink before she, like everything else, floated away. Surely it wasn't normal for one city - or one woman - to be swamped by icy floodwaters as often as had happened over the past few months, was it? 

(Assuming, of course, that she had any idea what normal was. And each new day made that seem less and less likely.)

But the meteorologists were right: it couldn't rain forever, and maybe, just maybe, that last explosion of misery had been the final gasp of a worn-out weather system over an exhausted city. 

When Sarah woke up Saturday morning - head still buzzing a bit from the bottle of wine she and her roommate had drank last night and stomach unhappily reminding her that 2 sleeves of Oreos and a bag of popcorn did not constitute a proper dinner - the weak glint of sun on her windowsill, just barely poking through the clouds, was enough to make her practically vault out of bed.

Her roommate had had plans and so was already gone by the time Sarah staggered out into the main living space, weaving carelessly through the furniture that decorated the tiny apartment to get to the electric kettle. She wasn't normally the type of person to sleep in…but then, she also wasn't normally the type of person who overindulged on a Friday night. 

After making herself an extra-large mug of tea, she slumped down on their squishy, overstuffed couch - a lucky acquisition, inherited from neighbors who didn't want to deal with moving a giant couch down five flights of stairs when they moved out - and tiredly evaluated the messy apartment around her. She wrinkled her nose as her eyes swept over pizza boxes, dead flowers, overflowing purses, papers that needed grading…all the detritus of the life of a young, overworked teacher, spread across 800 square feet. If she hadn't been 100% sure that she'd shut all the windows last night, she would have thought that yesterday's storm had blown through the apartment, making the mess even worse.

Sarah took a long sip of tea and tried not to sigh, temples gently pounding. She was too much of a neat freak to ignore this mess, especially now that she had the time to clean, but all she really wanted to do was take advantage of what was looking like the best weather they'd seen in months. Maybe if she got moving now, she'd still have time to get outside this afternoon?

Nodding to herself, she gingerly rose to her feet and made her way over to the window that opened to the best view of the city below. In the meantime, she could crank those windows as wide as they'd go, bringing at least a little more light and warmth and fresh air into the stuffy little space. 

A muffled, jangling tune sounded from somewhere in the living room, and Sarah turned, swearing softly under her breath as her eyes flitted over the mess again. Her phone must be buried somewhere under it all.

Diving back toward the couch, where she had taken up residence the night before, she tossed blankets and the empty Oreo container behind her, scrambling to get in between the cushions of the couch before the phone stopped ringing.

After a few seconds of frantic fumbling, she pulled her hand out triumphantly and squinted down at the name on the caller ID. 

Did that say…Giovanni?

Frowning, Sarah sank back down onto the couch, and held her phone up to her ear. “Hello?” She said cautiously. She only knew one Giovanni, and while she had been touched that he'd wanted to stay in contact with her after the ferry accident - to ‘check up, make sure she was still doin’ okay’ - she hadn't really thought he'd actually ever call her.

She smiled slightly as his voice crackled over the line, sounding just as hesitant as she felt. “Hey, uh, this is Sarah Lafayette, right? It's Giovanni Marino. Remember me? From the Miss Ellis Island?”

“How could I forget you?” Sarah responded with a little laugh, carefully standing to walk back over to her window. She had no idea what this call was about, but it wasn't going to keep her from the sun. She tilted her face up toward it, closing her eyes happily. “Thank you again for all your help, that day. I'm sure you already know how grateful I am.”

He laughed nervously in return, sounding a little embarrassed. “Oh, well, I didn't do all that much,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding odd. “That kid did…well, a helluva lot more than me.”

Sarah's mouth twisted into an ironic, knowing smile. What a way to put that. “Yes, I know. Percy is a very special student, and I'm grateful to him too,” she said carefully, unsure what else to say. What else could she say? Giovanni hadn't seen what she'd seen, and she didn't want to compromise the burgeoning trust Percy had placed in her by blabbing about just how special he actually was to the old crewer.

“Special,” Giovanni repeated, sounding oddly thoughtful. “Yeah…I guess you could say that.”

Sarah opened her eyes and pulled the phone away from her ear for a moment, her frown returning. That really was an odd tone. It almost sounded like he, too, wasn't sure what to make of Percy. Was there a chance that…he'd seen something, too? Sarah's memory of getting back on board the ferry was very, very fuzzy for very, very good reason, but she had heard later that Giovanni had helped Percy with that process. Could something have happened then that she didn't know about?

“Would you say something…different?” she asked slowly, considering her words. The tea had helped with the headache that the wine had left behind, but she wasn't yet fully confident that her brain was firing on all cylinders. And this conversation was suddenly feeling a lot more complicated.

Giovanni blew out a breath that she could hear even over the static of the line. “Uh, well, no. He's…well, it's just." He paused, sounding flustered, before changing tack. “Look, I don't wanna upset youse or nothing by askin’ questions about such a shitty day, but I was callin’ because I was just sorta wonderin’ if maybe you'd seen anything kinda…strange, in the river?”

Sarah's frown deepened. “Did you see something strange?” she responded quietly, ears starting to burn with curiosity. She knew that answering a question with another question wasn't particularly polite - and was definitely evasive - but she needed more information. What had happened while she'd been passed out? Had Percy done something else that defied any sense of logic?

“Not so much that day. But…later,” he said in a rush. He sounded a little relieved. Maybe he'd been expecting her to scoff at him, or treat him like he'd lost his mind? She smiled sadly. She knew what that felt like, and avoided doing it to others whenever she could. “I haven't been able to stop thinkin’ about it, and I didn't know anyone ‘cept you who might understand,” he finished desperately.

Sarah bit her lip and stared out the window, thinking hard and trying to decide what to do with that confession. She had been a little thrown when Giovanni had said that he hadn't seen something the day of the accident, but later. Why did he feel like she was still the best person to understand him, then? She had very purposefully avoided the Hudson River since she'd been released from the hospital, not wanting to get too close to its wild, icy waters. Giovanni obviously didn't have the luxury of doing that, but right now, it sounded like he wanted to.

And if he'd been so shaken that he hadn't been able to get it out of his mind the past few weeks, then he must also have seen whatever it was very clearly. In her experience, most people forgot seeing strange things almost before the memory of them had a chance to form. 

A wary, tentative thought crossed her mind: was there any chance that he was…like her? Other than grandmama, she'd never met anyone else before, and for a long time had dismissed it as a random genetic quirk unique to her family. But then, until recently, she'd also never seen a teenage boy use pool water and candy to heal himself from catastrophic injuries. So maybe the odds were better than one might think?

She could hear all the feelings she usually felt in the aftermath of a weird encounter with something outside the realm of normalcy in his voice, and in his words. And hadn't she been in that place lately, too, her restless mind and worried heart going back and forth as they tried to figure out what to do with this strange collision of old experiences and new knowledge, brought to life in the person of an unusually gifted student?

But would said student view it as a betrayal for her to talk about her experience of him with another person, even another person who might be aware that he was something so much more than meets the eye? Or would he understand, knowing that the wide world(s?) that he occupied were too large to be truly comprehended by one human mind, and that perhaps shared knowledge equaled shared understanding? The conversation that they'd had yesterday - truncated as it had been - made Sarah think that perhaps it might be the latter, but a ‘perhaps’ was not a ‘definitely.’

Sarah bit her lip harder, worrying it between her teeth. “Giovanni, I don't quite know what to say,” she said at last. “But it feels like this conversation is too big for a phone call, and I need some more time to think about it.” She heard him sigh, and hastily continued. “But it looks like it's going to be a beautiful day! How do you feel about meeting somewhere for lunch in a few hours?” She didn't want him to think that she wasn't willing to talk. She just wasn't sure what to say - yet, anyway.

The unchecked relief in Giovanni's voice made her smile sadly, but also made her feel more confident in her decision. “Yes ma'am, thank you ma'am! You name the place, and I'll be there.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Even after nearly 6 years of knowing him - and knowing just how variable and unpredictable his moods could be - it would never fail to astonish Annabeth just how quickly and completely Percy's entire bearing could shift: sometimes in moments, sometimes overnight, and often inexplicably. She knew that she could probably blame Poseidon for most of that aspect of his personality...but at least this morning, she found she didn't mind it. 

When she'd woken up, Percy had been full of life.

Leaning back against the concrete wall that was currently serving as the backrest to her musings, Annabeth closed her eyes, smiling slightly. She didn't know how much her own tactics had played a role in the shift, but she had to think that they had had at least some impact. And really, the final result had been even better than she expected, given the detour the plan had taken.

He'd woken up before her, something that was so rare that when she'd felt his lips on her cheek, she'd sat up so fast that she'd almost knocked her head into his. He must have been expecting that, because he'd gracefully dodged back, laughing, and informed her in no uncertain terms that if she didn't want him to eat all the blueberry pancakes his mom had whipped up, then she'd better get up.

Even though she'd known that that wasn't an idle threat, Annabeth had had to sit still in shock and wonder for a moment, so surprised by how sunny his smile had been. It had been contagious, and once she'd convinced herself that it was real, she'd rushed through her morning routine, making it to the table just in time to wrestle with him for the latest stack. Sally had stood smiling at the stove, her belly protectively covered in several blue-stained aprons, clearly too relieved by her son's much improved mood to chastise them for it, even when they'd ended up knocking an entire bowl of powdered sugar all over the floor.

(Cleaning up the explosion of fine white powder had taken long enough that there was a whole new stack of pancakes ready by the time they were finished, which Sally loudly stated ought to prevent any more duels from taking place in her kitchen. It had…for a little while, anyway.)

As she watched him rocket around the skate park, she shook her head happily: no one watching him now would ever have known that he'd spent so much of the previous day in a deep-seated funk.

Her smile widened as she heard him whoop in delight as he skimmed the edge of one concrete bowl before plunging down into another. She'd intended to get some homework done when she'd agreed to come with him this afternoon, but she was too distracted by the welcome sight of him enjoying himself to concentrate on her designs.

Annabeth loved looking at Percy no matter what state he happened to be in - and had been known to especially appreciate how he appeared in battle, armor askew, hair mussed, arms bloody, with a feral grin lighting his face - but there was something almost ethereal about him when he was happy. 

He popped back up over the lip of the bowl that he'd just dove down into, going fast enough to catch some air onto a nearby rail.

Annabeth winced as his board shrieked and rattled against the scuffed metal like talons against a shield, but most of her smile stayed intact as he finished the slide with a kickflip that arrested his momentum just enough for him to skid sideways into a stop, directly in front of her.

Shading her eyes from the sun with one hand, she craned her neck to give him a once-over. He was panting, cheeks flushed, and his hair was swept back by wind and exertion. He'd shed his sweatshirt almost as soon as they'd arrived, so his arms and t-shirt were grimy with sweat and dirt. There were a few new muddy rips in his jeans, and as he plopped down next to her, she could see scrapes and bruises from an earlier fall blooming through the tears in the denim. 

He was a hot mess. With enough emphasis on the ‘hot’ part for Annabeth to ignore the sweat, mud, and general smell of teenage boy post-workout to lean over to claim a kiss.

He rocked onto one hip and into her space, happily obliging her - until she had to pull away to catch her breath, internally cursing his seemingly endless lung capacity.

“You seem happier today,” she observed, finally deciding it was time to put that in the open.

“Yeah, I guess I just woke up feeling less stressed?” he said with a shrug, picking up her sketchbook and setting it to the side. “I dunno. Talking to you, and mom, and Paul last night helped. I think I probably just hit max saturation for feeling sorry for myself.”

“Yeah, what was up with that? I didn't expect last night to be so, uh…emotional,” she hedged, mentally crossing her fingers that this line of questioning wouldn't kill his burgeoning mood.

Percy grimaced, running a hand back through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, well. I didn't come home in a great place. Had a weird conversation with Ms. Lafayette. Then that creep Tarleton pissed me off, so I brought yesterday's storm down on him. Which, uh…felt pretty amazing in the moment, but a lot less so when Paul snapped me out of it,” he muttered, rubbing his neck.

Annabeth made a face. She was surprised Percy had only called him a creep - if she was thinking of the right idiot, he usually used stronger descriptors for that asshole. But maybe he was still feeling guilty? That would be like him. “He probably deserved it,” she said, as neutrally as she could. Had Ms. Lafayette not been there the first time that kid cat-called her, she would have made sure he never got the chance to pass along his genetic makeup.

“Yeah,” he agreed, making a face. “But I still shouldn't have done it. I don't want to be the guy who wallops annoying people just ‘cause I'm stronger, and ‘cause I can. That'd just make me like him,” he said, sounding disgusted.

“You're nothing like him, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth responded firmly. “He's the one who called my uniform ‘kinky school girl shit’ back in the fall, isn't he?”

Percy pulled a face. “That's him. That's, uh…partly what pissed me off, actually,” he said, suddenly blushing and looking away from her.

Annabeth sighed, affectionate but exasperated. He knew she could fight for herself - and would, if given a good opportunity - but that never seemed to completely stop him from trying to fight for her. “Do you need another reminder that I don't need you to defend my honor? I'm not some damsel in distress, Percy.”

“I know, I know,” he said, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “It's not even that so much. He, uh, well…he was talking about prom, and trying to get me to talk about your body, and when I wouldn't, he said that I couldn't, because I didn't know anything about it,” Percy mumbled quickly, hands fisting against his eyes.

Annabeth snorted, loudly enough for Percy to drop his hands and turn back to look at her, still blushing faintly. So that's what this had been about? Arrogant boys, and their stupid locker room talk? She shook her head, and patted his arm, trying not to laugh - it had been sweet of him to not participate, after all. “Well, it's not like either of us have that many knowledge gaps, but if you want, I've told you that I'm down to correct the biggest one…” she said, smirking playfully at him. 

He blushed a little deeper and reached over to grab her hand, expression not matching her sarcastic one, but instead becoming suddenly oddly tender, and very earnest. "No, Beth, not yet. I wanna wait until we can be alone. Really alone, no chance of interruptions,” he said quietly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead, leaving his lips there as his arm snaked around her waist. “Just you and me and all the time we need to figure it out. It feels like something that needs time to do right,” he muttered. “And I wanna do it right.”

Annabeth could feel her own cheeks heat up as he spoke, but not with embarrassment. There was a lot more passion in his voice than she had expected to hear, enough that she wondered if this, too, was something he'd been thinking about for awhile. 

They'd talked about it before, sure, but he hadn't explained himself much when he'd initially expressed his desire to wait, so she had assumed that he was simply nervous - either about being caught by his parents, who had been clear in saying that they trusted them to control themselves, or, about the act itself. She had thought that it would be a logistical nightmare to safely plan at this moment in their lives, so she hadn't given it much further thought either. She was happy enough with what they currently got up to, and at least this way, she didn't have to worry about becoming a teenage pregnancy statistic.

But now…it seemed that nervousness wasn't the (main) determining factor in his hesitation, it was lack of time. And thinking of him taking his time with her was enough for her to tilt her chin up, silently asking for a kiss that was probably a little too deep for the corner of Percy's favorite skate park. 

The kiss was steady and sweet, and in it, Annabeth tried to communicate to him how much it meant to her that he was being so thoughtful about this. Few teenage boys were, and even fewer teenage boys were who also happened to be demigods. When she broke away, gasping, she tried to put it to words. “It'll be right because it's us,” she whispered, curling the fingers of one hand around the back of his neck. “And it'll be right because you're a good guy, Percy. Ignore those dickheads at school - I bet they don't know even half of what you do. Or are as good at it,” she murmured, grinning up at the surprised look on his face, so close to hers.

Still with his forehead pressed to hers, Percy let out a snort, shock quickly becoming amusement. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” he said, smiling back, against her lips. “Thanks for the ego boost.”

She grinned back, and shut her eyes, ready to continue the kiss…before suddenly the mood took an unexpected left turn as the hands beneath her elbows suddenly shot upwards, hauling her to her feet.

She went with a muffled protest, sketch pad flying and pencils and protractor clattering to the ground as she found her balance.

The noise made him break away, and they both looked down at the mess, before meeting each other's eyes at the same time - Annabeth confused and unimpressed, Percy sheepish again. 

He shrugged, and scratched the back of his neck, wincing. “It was time for you to move?” he said, hopefully. She glared at him, and he changed tack, stepping closer and holding up his hands placatingly. “Sorry. I needed to cut that out before things got…uncomfortable,” he said, coughing a little, still red. “And I actually came over here in the first place because I had an idea of something we could do?”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. Definitely more of a concern for him than her, but okay, fine. She wasn't unsympathetic to that predicament, but couldn't he have warned her, first? And to think that, only a few minutes ago, she'd been musing about how grateful she was for his constantly shifting mood. “Uh huh. Your bright idea better not have smudged my draft,” she said, twisting her frown into a rueful smile and sticking out her tongue at him.

Percy grinned, and knelt to pick up the helmet that had been sitting next to her since they'd arrived. Sally always insisted he wear it, so he always brought it to appease her, but Annabeth couldn't recall ever seeing it on his head. “That's what erasers are for,” he said breezily, before holding the helmet up for her to take.

Frowning suspiciously, she took it. “Why do I need this?” she asked.

“Because I've decided I'm gonna teach you to skate, duh,” he said, popping the board up and offering it to her as well.

Annabeth blinked, nonplussed. In all their outings to this particular skatepark, he'd never offered to teach her before, and she'd never asked. “Why now?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno, with our lives, you never know when it might come in handy. Just came to me while I was riding that rail. Why - is wisdom's daughter afraid to learn something new?” he asked, eyes glinting mischievously. 

Her eyes narrowed, and she crammed the hemet down over her braid and snatched up the board. A challenge, eh? Previous topics were swept from her mind just as quickly as he'd hauled her to her feet. “Never,” she snapped back. “Where do we start?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The sun had begun to blaze in earnest by the time Sarah settled into her seat outside the little cafe she had chosen to meet Giovanni in. 

Even though her still-not-adequately-full stomach had started to remind her that this was perhaps a meeting she ought to be nervous about, she couldn't stop the sigh of contentment from escaping her as she watched rays of watery light dapple the pinks and purples of the budding flowers in the planter on the rail next to her.

She'd arrived first, so she ordered herself an iced tea with extra lemon and extra sugar - a poor excuse for real sweet tea, but as good as she could get without making it herself - and opened a book, trying to distract herself until he showed up.

Ursula K. Le Guin was always a good choice when her heart and mind were unsettled, and when the world that she lived in felt too small to contain everything pushing at its boundaries. Taking another deep breath, she shut her eyes, trying to keep fantastical creatures from flying and squirming off the page and into the busy streets of NYC - as if she had any control over such things. 

A soft throat-clearing made her open them again, and there stood Giovanni. 

Something about the river or the storm must have made him loom larger than life in her memory, but in actual fact, he was a rather small, slightly hunched man. Even on this season-changing afternoon, he wore the faded corduroys and a knit sweater she remembered seeing before, all covered by a jacket proudly emblazoned with longshoremen's symbols. In his hands he clutched a weathered flat cap, which revealed that the wild gray hair at his temples did not extend up over the curve of his head.

He would have reminded her of grandpapa…if his eyes hadn't been so bloodshot that it looked as though he hadn't slept in days.

Sarah was on her feet in a moment, politely ushering him into the chair across from her, the spirit of her grandmother spilling out from under her skin as she fussed over him. “Giovanni! Sit before you fall!” she said, leaning around him to catch the waitress's eye.

(She'd been going to say that he looked like he'd seen a ghost, but that felt…indelicate, given the potentially extraordinary nature of the planned conversation?)

The waitress bustled over, dropping another tea in front of Sarah, and fixing a beady eye on Giovanni, who had slumped into his chair. “What can I getcha, sweetheart?” she asked, giving him a dubious look.

“Uh. Coffee,” he said slowly. “Black. And you got pastrami?”

“‘Course.”

“Then gimme pastrami on rye, with the works,” he said, looking a little more alive at the prospect of food and caffeine.

The waitress nodded, and turned back to Sarah. “You decide whatcha want yet?”

She nodded quickly, even though she hadn't. Randomly, she picked a sandwich, hoping it had been one of the choices on the menu. “Yes, I'll have the club sandwich with a side salad. Thank you.”

The waitress nodded, smacking her gum, and left them alone in their little corner.

As her footsteps became less and less audible, it began to feel as though the little table was being enveloped by an ever-growing bubble, blocking out the sounds of traffic and chatter and birdsong. There were no other patrons anywhere close to the two of them, and the rickety little table and stained cafe chairs suddenly felt as though they had entered into some sort of space between realities, a place where the air was heavy with the weight of multiple worlds.

But before Sarah had a chance to panic at the too-loud sound of her own breathing, magnified in the charged atmosphere, the waitress's footsteps began to clack on the edge of her hearing again, getting louder as she returned with Giovanni's coffee. She took a deep breath, settling again. Whatever this oddly-oppressive feeling of otherness was, if the waitress could pierce it with her presence, then it must not be detectable to others.

Coffee delivered, she left, sealing the bubble up behind her as she went.

When Giovanni leaned forward to grab and then take a small sip of it, Sarah could almost swear she heard him swallow. She shook her head, no longer panicking, but still unnerved by the sudden acuity and pressure of everything. Trying to ignore it enough to talk normally, she took a sip of her own drink, watching him set his down. 

Where to begin? She had thought they might start with some idle small talk, but nothing about this heady atmosphere suggested that it made sense to start anywhere light. Especially now that she had seen Giovanni's face - it looked as though whatever he had seen, he was still seeing it.

“You look good,” he grunted, surprising her, and breaking the mood a bit. He colored a little as he heard his own words. “I mean like…recovered, ya know.”

“I am, thank you,” she responded carefully, relieved that her tone and volume seemed normal. The dark purple circles under his eyes were so pronounced they almost looked like tattoos.“You look…tired,” she finally said bluntly. 

He nodded wordlessly, taking another sip of coffee. “Not sleepin’ too good,” he muttered after a moment. “I keep seein’ it.”

“Giovanni…what did you see?” Sarah asked, unable to suppress her worry or her curiosity any longer. She had been shaken by the weird feeling around them, yes, but she had far too much practice remaining calm in the face of similar weirdness to let it control her. What truly unsettled and unnerved her was how unwell he appeared.

His hands still held his flat cap, and he twisted it into a roll, before shakily flattening it out again. Carefully, he looked around, and seeming satisfied that no one was paying attention to them, cleared his throat. “I dunno,” he whispered back, voice hushed. “But it was somethin’ not a part of this world.”

Sarah froze, heart abruptly beginning to pound like it was trying to leap out of her chest. She'd expected something like this - she wouldn't be here if she hadn't - but she hadn't expected him to be so blunt about it.

But then…how could he not?

He was staring at her so desperately that she knew he was starting there because he had to know whether or not she was going to believe him - the whole conversation would be an exercise in futility otherwise. 

Slowly, she nodded, locking eyes with him. “What kind of otherworldly thing?” she responded quietly, putting in some real effort to keep her nervous voice even. “I find that there are…many different varieties.”

The breath he let out was deep, long, and loud. Slumping in his seat, he dropped the cap in his lap and brought his hands up in front of his eyes. When he lowered them, his sunken eyes were bright with unshed tears. “There are, ain't there,” he said, voice cracking a little. A small, watery smile broke out across his face. 

Sarah returned it, relief rising up within her like the sun had emerged over the clouds this morning. It had been so long since she'd spoken of this to anyone, and with the crack of his voice, she could feel the weight around them shift, as though a few of the realities engulfing them had settled into a more comfortable position. “Especially when most folks don't see them clearly,” she added, continuing to carefully set down the heavy burden of secrecy that she always carried with her.

“Or don't see ‘em at all,” he agreed, voice sad, but face somehow looking years younger. “How…how long have you been seein’ ‘em?”

“My whole life,” Sarah said, closing shaky fingers around her glass. It felt good, but also completely surreal to be talking about this with someone who wasn't grandmama - the only person she had ever really told about what she saw. “But I learned not to talk about it young.”

He nodded. “Me too,” he whispered, shaking his head. “The Navy thought I was bonkers,” he confessed. “And the church thought that either I was possessed, or I needed to become a man of the cloth,” he said with a snort. “Ain't never really thought they had the right shape of it, but I still figure God's probably the only one who can understand it all.”

“That's what my grandmama said, too,” Sarah said disbelievingly. Her grandmama had been sure that the creatures they saw, deep in the old-growth forests that bracketed her town were things that only God knew the name of, and only God knew the purpose of. Sarah wasn't sure about that, but grandmama had been unflappable in her belief. “She saw things clearly too, and remembered them after - the only other person I ever met who could, until you.”

Giovanni nodded. “My bisnonno,” he explained, looking as though all of that was very familiar to him. “He tried to warn me before I went into the Navy, but I didn't listen real good.” He shook his head again, shuddering. “There's stuff out at sea that makes the stuff on land look like teddy bears.”

“And stuff on the river?” Sarah asked quietly, sensing an opportunity to bring him back to the reason he'd called her in the first place. She felt torn - on one hand, this was an opportunity unlike any she'd ever had before, and she was hungry to compare notes with this older man, to swap stories, to revel in the joy of being known.

But she also couldn't lose sight of the fact that they were only here because one of her students was at the very center of the maelstrom that was swirling around them both, and she was starting to get the niggling suspicion that he, too, might not have very many people he could talk to about this. She felt determination rise up to join the relief - she and Giovanni had had to keep their mouths shut when they'd been young, but that didn't mean that the next generation needed to suffer in that way. What else could she do to help him?

Giovanni winced, but nodded and sat up straighter. He still looked like he'd been walloped by the same waves that had dragged her under all those weeks ago, but his eyes were clearer, and the relief of being believed had obviously done a lot for his nerves. “Yeah, definitely. It's…it's kinda a long story,” he said, frowning a little. “But the gist is that last week I overheard that kid who rescued youse from the river talkin’ to this…thing, at the end of the dockyard where our ferry is gettin’ fixed.”

Sarah frowned in return. That sounded…ominous, and she felt her worry for Percy - ever since the pool incident, always somewhere within her - resurface. “What were they talking about?” she asked, suddenly feeling cold. She knew that Percy had fought creatures that didn't seem to exist…but talk with them? For what purpose?

Giovanni's frown got deeper. “I wasn't followin’ it very good at first, but it sounded like the thing had a bone to pick with the kid, because the kid kept it from sinkin’ our ferry, the day of the storm.”

Sarah breathed in sharply through her nose, feeling her eyes widen as several pieces of hazy memory abruptly became much less muddled. 

Waves, crashing over her head as she fought to stay afloat, had pulled on her…almost like hands, dragging her down.

And the icy water had been so cold that it had honestly felt like…teeth, biting through her already frozen skin.

But, even as she remembered those unsettling details in greater detail, the worst one of all rose up: a pair of electric blue eyes glowing eerily in the dark water beneath her, just before she'd lost consciousness, and just before she'd been woken by Percy's bright green ones.

“What did it look like?” she whispered, voice shaky, hands clutching her cup. In the initial euphoria of talking to someone else who knew what was lurking in the shadows of the city, she'd forgotten just how terrifying some of those shadows could be.

Giovanni seemed lost in his own memory, because he crossed himself as he answered. “Like…some kinda spooky river knight or somethin’, all wet and wearin’ armor made of trash. With glowin’ eyes and a voice like he'd been eatin’ razor blades.”

Sarah took a deep breath, trying to settle her now much queasier stomach. “Glowing blue eyes?” she whispered, dropping her cup to wrap her arms around herself.

Giovanni looked up, his own eyes haunted, zeroing in on her posture. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, that's right. You…you seen it too?”

She nodded wordlessly. “When…” She coughed, and took a fortifying gulp of her tea. “When I went under, just for a moment. I think…well, I think it might have dragged me under,” she whispered back.

Giovanni swallowed hard, and muttered something under his breath that sounded like Latin - and to Sarah's half-trained ears, also like a prayer of thanks. “Glad the kid got you back,” he finally said, reaching out to clasp one of her soft hands in his weathered one. “Explains why he was so pissed, later.”

Sarah blinked, touched by the gesture of support, but also surprised. When had Percy gotten angry? She didn't remember that at all. “The day of the storm?” 

“No, the other week,” Giovanni said, blowing out a long breath. “The kid - Jackson, right?” She nodded wordlessly, and he continued. “I dunno how, but when I saw him talking with that thing, he didn't seem like he was intimidated by it. Kept taunting it, actually. I thought he was gonna fight it,” Giovanni said, shaking his head as though he still didn't believe it. “He looked mad enough to. Mad enough that I think he scared it.”

Sarah shook her head, for lack of something better to do. Of course Percy could be scary - hadn't she herself witnessed some of his classmate's fears about him only yesterday? Them being unfounded in that specific area didn't mean they were entirely unreasonable - he could be very unsettling, in those moments when he was closer to…whatever it was that he was.

But scarier than that thing? She didn't want to imagine what he must have looked like in that moment, and it made her heart hurt that he'd felt the need to do so at all. It only further cemented her belief that he had likely always had to fight his own battles - and on more than one occasion, had had to do so alone, with nothing to rely on but his own wits and strength. All the most frightening people she had ever known had felt as though they had their backs up against a wall, and were using everything they had to continue to stay on their feet; whether rightly or wrongly, she didn't feel capable of judging them for it.

“But he didn't fight it?” she finally asked, setting thoughtful sadness aside in favor of gathering more information. She wouldn't know the best way to be able to ally with him if she didn't have all the facts about this latest encounter with the supernatural.

“Nah. He convinced it that it would be a bad idea to attack him,” Giovanni said, a new undercurrent of awe in his voice. “And this is the part that I really didn't get…he said somethin’ about his dad bein’ a king?”

Sarah blinked. Royalty was not an angle she had considered, in all of her wonderings about who Percy was and where he came from. “Could he have just been bluffing?” she asked, knowing she probably sounded baffled. Percy didn't have any of the genteel manners that she might expect from somebody born high class…unless he was hiding them under his rough and ready appearance?

Giovanni shook his head. “That's what I thought, too. But it seemed like the thing knew his father, and knew he wasn't makin’ an idle threat when he said his dad wouldn't be happy about them fightin’.”

“Knew him?” Sarah whispered. “How?”

To her surprise, Giovanni blushed. “Well, uh. I kinda got a hunch about that,” he said, scratching the back of his head like he was embarrassed. “But it sounds crazy.”

Sarah snorted, more inelegantly than she'd planned. “Maybe to someone else,” she allowed. “But I doubt to me.”

He laughed nervously. “Yeah, that's what I was countin’ on. But still.” He paused, before looking around again and leaning in closer. “When the kid mentioned his dad to the thing, it turned and looked out to sea, all scared-like, like that's where his dad was,” he said quickly. “And then, just before he left, he called it Hudson, like the river.” 

Sarah could feel the blood drain from her face as the potential implications of that began to swirl around in her mind, but Giovanni was still talking.

“...and at first I was thinking that maybe the thing was the river, but then I was rememberin’ watchin’ The Little Mermaid with my nephew, and him tellin’ me each of Ariel's sister are ‘sposed to represent the oceans, so I thought: what if this Hudson guy is like some kinda really ugly mermaid? And is the mermaid in charge of the river? And what if he reports back to some kind of mermaid king, like the king in The Little Mermaid?”

Somehow, Sarah's brain had split itself in half, one half listening to Giovanni unspool his theory, and the other half evaluating it in real time. 

It wasn't a bad theory, and it seemed to strike a chord with what she already knew about Percy. She’d known, for example, that there was no mention of his biological father anywhere in his paperwork - the only male parental figure in life seemed to be his stepfather, Paul, who she had met with at a parent-teacher conference in the fall. Paul was so incredibly ordinary that she somewhat doubted he was anything more than he appeared, and as far as she knew, he had never claimed to be anything other than a stepfather.

And it certainly might explain Percy's unusual relationship with water - his healing, his ability to create portals in midair from water vapor, his swimming speed, his unnatural resistance to cold water…and apparently, his ability to keep ferries from sinking? That was a new piece of information, and one she was going to have to spend more time considering. Had he been doing something to hold the ancient, rusting piece of metal together in the storm? If so, it certainly explained quite a bit about that news report that her friends had sent her to watch while she was still in the hospital. The reporter had seemed as baffled as anyone that such a serious series of incidents hadn't led to any deaths…but now maybe they knew why.

But could his father really have given him all his strange abilities? And if so…who did that make his father? She very much doubted that it was, in actual fact, the king in The Little Mermaid. But those stories had been based on other stories, which had been based on long-ago legends and myths, whose origins were mostly now forgotten…

“Merman,” she eventually corrected, still absently pondering what she knew of those old stories. As an English teacher, she had access to all sorts of books, and now she was itching to dive into them.

Giovanni, who had seemed similarly lost in thought, started. “Huh?”

“A woman is a mermaid, a man is a merman,” she said, blushing herself. “At least, according to all the fairy tales I used to read. I'm not sure Disney's The Little Mermaid would have bothered with the difference, but there are many ancient tales that do.”

Giovanni shrugged, as if the difference in terminology mattered less to him the reality of a creature who was half human and half fish. And, well. Upon revaluation, maybe he had a point. “Either way,” he said. “I was thinkin’ that maybe that's who the kid's dad is. And I didn't see any fins on him or anything, but maybe real mer…people don't have ‘em?”

Sarah shrugged helplessly. “I haven't seen fins or gills or anything like that either,” she said, thinking back. But no - she hadn't been paying attention to his legs either in the river, or when he'd been injured in the pool, but he mostly certainly hadn't had fins when he competed in his swim meet. “Unless…maybe he can control when they appear?” she wondered aloud. “He can control other things related to water.”

“He can?” Giovanni said, taking his turn to look shocked.

Ah. She hoped Percy wouldn't be upset with her for accidentally revealing that - she had meant to give it more thought before offering any of the information she had. But Giovanni seemed like a good sort of person, and her instincts around that were rarely wrong. So, only a little reluctantly, she nodded. “A few weeks ago, I saw him in the school pool before classes, bleeding heavily from some kind of creature attack. He seemed to be able to use the water, and something he had on him that looked like candy, to heal himself.”

Giovanni whistled, low and shaky. “Bet that's useful,” he mumbled nervously. “But if it wasn't that Hudson guy, I hate to think of what could've done that to him.”

Sarah sighed. “A griffin,” she said miserably. “Do you know what those are?”

Before he could answer, a shriek split the air around them, somehow penetrating the remnants of their little bubble, making them both jump and look up…to an extraordinary scene, framed between two buildings in the street running parallel to theirs.

Screaming through the air was a creature that Sarah had looked up all too recently, russet feathers, golden fur, and razor-sharp talons nearly glowing in the sunlight. It would have been a beautiful, awe-inspiring sight…if it hadn't had a teenage boy's arm clutched tight in its claws.

And if said teenage boy hadn't been shouting obscenities in multiple languages as he attempted to pull himself free, hacking at its wings with a bronze sword. 

And if an equally loud teenage girl hadn't been keeping pace below, wobbling around on a skateboard that she seemed barely able to stay upright on.

And if one good swipe of the sword hadn't bitten deep into a wing, sending creature and teenager careening through a vacant lot and tumbling through a wall that had definitely seen better days. The girl, arriving seconds after the crash, leapt off the skateboard and through the newly created hole, drawing a white sword from nowhere as she vanished into the dust.

For a moment everything was as silent as it had been before the crash of bricks and scrape of metal on bone…and then a murmuring collection of bystanders tentatively began to approach the collapsed wall - from which wild yells and metallic shrieks had begun to emanate.

“That was a griffin,” Sarah choked out, spinning to look at Giovanni. “But that was also…” She trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence to get confirmation that they'd seen exactly the same thing. He had gone white, and was muttering something that sounded like another prayer under his breath, trembling hands clutching at a saints’ medal, pulled from under his sweater.

Fumbling in her purse, Sarah ripped open her wallet and pulled out a few bills, tossing them onto the table as she jumped to her feet. Grabbing Giovanni’s arm, Sarah yanked him to his feet, hurrying out of the cafe and toward where a confused crowd was starting to gather. 

Her heart clenched. What had they all seen? What could she do? She had never before been in a position to help Percy before anyone had gotten hurt…but maybe today would be different.