Chapter Text
Once again, Percy found himself waking up in the infirmary to his brothers beside his bed. His top was cut in half and damp, as if he’d been soaked in water, looking at his wrists and ankles, he saw bruises and scratches where the vines had held him down. Resting at the foot (Ha!) of the bed was his leg and crutches, he groaned as the remainder of his injuries caught up to him.
Chiron clopped in, a sombre look on his face, as if he wished he had prevented the attack. Percy looked for his father, but felt sad when he didn’t enter, instead his siblings crowded him, smothering him in hugs and love, fussing over him.
“Dionysus is busy talking to his Maenad followers about the incident, finding out what caused the attack and expressing his disappointment.”
“But while we wait we could explain the whole ‘Cass’ stuff.”
Pollux sat at the foot of the bed, putting a comforting hand on Percy’s flesh leg.
“Dad, as part of his domain is genderfluid. Part of it is due to how he was brought up, when young to hide him from Hera, he was raised as female. (I actually knew that before I was told, as part of my nerdsona.) Genderfluid, in the simplest of terms means your gender shifts from time to time. Sometimes it may be female, or male, or even neither, that's a term known as non-binary.
Dad doesn’t have a name preference, but as his offspring we can inherit the genderfluidity. So I on fem days prefer Polls, but on a neither day its Pol, make sense?”
Percy sat for a moment, head reeling at all the information, before slowly nodding his head as he soaked it all in. From what little he knew it made sense, and he’d probably look even more into it on his own time.
“I prefer Cass or Cassie on my fem or neither days, Clarisse and most year-rounders know about it, so they will respectfully ask. Don’t worry about it though, it may not happen for you, Dad doesn’t often have many kids cause he loves Aunt Ariadne. But let us know if anything feels wrong.”
“Feels wrong?”
“You’ll know.”
The sky outside was filling with dark clouds, heavy with rain, and a low rumble filled the silence. A breeze had picked up, and despite the barriers against such weather, the smell of rain was heavy in the air, a lingering presence. What little he could sea of the sound (geddit? Sea, not see? I punny.) was churning, white tipped waves were fighting each other, racing to the shoreline.
The boys sat in silence, watching the brewing storm, all wondering the same thing; if the storm will pass or march into the camp, reigning its load on them all. Dionysus wandered in then, and took a seat.
“Boy’s, give Percy and I some time alone please.”
The two stood to leave, “They can stay, anything can be said in front of them, I trust them.”
“It’s complicated and personal.”
“They can stay.” Thunder clapped.
“Zeus and Poseidon are fighting. Its what your dreams have been about.” Percy opened his mouth, brow furrowed in confusion, “Let me speak first. I wasn’t going to say anything, but recent developments have forced my hand.”
Castor and Pollux shifted closer, offering comfort and support.
“Long ago, the Big Three: My father, Uncle P and Uncle H, had powerful children, so powerful they affected the mortal world. The children all in some way caused and fought in the World Wars. After those wars ended, the Big Three made a pact on the River Styx, a powerful pact. My father broke it about 19 years ago, then seven years ago his offspring was brought here, a daughter, unfortunately there was an incident and she didn’t make it. The point is, 12 years ago, Barnacle Beard broke the pact also, and came to me, I thought it was the last of it, until this fight. Until your dreams.”
He paused, watching the pieces slot together.
“So, I’m...”
“Yes. And due to circumstances, I think you should go on a quest, fetch my fathers lightning bolt, its what's missing, claimed stolen, by Poseidon. Supposedly. Now sides are being picked, but if you find and return it, then this impending war may just be stopped before it truly begins. To get a quest, go to the attic, speak to the mummy, she’ll give a prophecy for a quest.”
Percy sat, once again processing what he was told. It was a lot for anyone to take in, all major fidgets stopped, he was completely still, the only signs of life was him breathing. No one dared speak. After several minutes, Percy put his leg on and limped up four flights of stairs to the attic.
He took a deep breath and entered the green trapdoor that led to the attic. Inside was all sorts of Greek Hero junk, it was like a bizarre garage sale of old armour stands, rusty shields and old leather trunks labelled with a variety of stickers.
There were jars of preserved claws, eyes and other monster parts, other trophy pieces were in the form of heads, like the horned snake head that read ‘HYDRA HEAD.’ There were various other trophies, with the year they were collected, and what the item was. Further in, on a tripod stool by the window was a human female body shrivelled into a mummified husk. She was dressed Hippy style with a tie-dyed sundress, beaded necklaces and a headband. The age of her mummification lead Percy to believe she’d been dead for a very long time. The very sigh of her sent chills down his spine.
Then she sat up. Spilling a green mist that coiled thickly on the ground, hissing. Percy ran to the trapdoor. It slammed shut. Inside his head came a hissing voice; ‘I am the spirit of Delphi, speaker of prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python. Approach seeker and ask.’ He jumped out of his skin at the otherworldly presence in his mind, with some thought he realised it didn’t feel evil, just ancient and non-human, and uninterested in killing him. Always a bonus.
“What's my destiny?”
The attic transformed into a familiar scene, causing Percy to flinch and recoil at the sight of the cave with the Cyclops. Percy’s flinch caused him to fall back, landing on his ass.
The faux cyclops spoke first in its own voice: You shall go west and face the god who has turned.
The voice switched to Castors: You shall find what was stolen and see it safely returned.
To Clarisse’s: You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend.
Finally it changed to the mummy’s voice: And you shall fail to save what matters most in the end.
The vision vanished, and Percy was left, trapped in his nightmares of the memory. Remembering the fluent voice change, the confusion the cyclops faced, the mother eating, the awful amputation. He stayed in the attic for several minutes before he snapped, violently, back into the present with a gasp for air. Of course, by then the oracles spirit was dormant once more, and the surge of questions that flooded to his mind were pointless to ask.
Instead he wandered back down in a daze, half-floating as he recalled the prophecy and the manner in which it was recited to him. It took him sometime to realise he had walked back to the infirmary, even then, he didn’t see the infirmary, he was only half present, he mind kept floating back to the cave. Castor, Pollux and Dionysus watched sadly as sea-green eyes (with flecks of purple) were dimmed, they could all in some capacity see the tortured scenes in his mind. Being the god of insanity, Dionysus could see the flashback the clearest, the scent of grapes filled the air as he eased his son’s suffering, until he was fully present for longer than a few minutes.
Percy shuddered to life, gagging and throwing up into a bowl his dad had conjured up, emptying his already empty stomach. Castor handed him a glass of blue ginger ale to settle his stomach, none of them pushing him to say what happened. They simply sat him back on the bed and offered him comfort, giving him hugs and when he asked, Pollux fetched his sketchbook. That's when they considered he’d gone mostly non-verbal, considering all that had happened to him, they couldn’t blame him. So they asked if he wanted to be left alone, he shook his head, so they asked who he wanted, and he sketched his family and Luke. Their dad summoned a satyr to get him.
They all sat in relative silence, filling the room with soft chatter while Percy drew. Each finished drawing he gently tore out and passed to the group with so much detail the drawings felt alive, they could all feel the emotion in every stroke.
The first page depicted the mummy coming to life, the coiling smoke rising to form the cyclops. Some of the pencil strokes were shaky, illustrating (ha-ha) his fears, details that aren’t in attic indicated that it triggered him as the background showed the cave, as if the oracles spirit had watched.
Next page had the Mummy and cyclops mouths open and the smoke formed the first line of the prophecy. You shall go west and face the god who has turned. It really showed how the smoke was the true spirit while mummy and cyclops were merely conduits.
The third page had Castor if he was a cyclops, which the group took to, rightfully, mean the cyclops used Castors voice. The smoke saying: You shall find what was stolen and see it rightfully returned. In the background, the mummy was faded as if Percy had blocked out it’s presence during the experience.
Fourth page contained a Clarisse shaped cyclops, the twins barely contained laughter at the imagery, Luke was more impressed he had befriended her, although the smoke said different. ‘You shall be betrayed by one who calls you friend.
Finally the mummy and the cyclops merged into one creature while existing at the same time, mouths open to say: And you shall fail to save what matters most in the end.
After the prophecy pages came a flurry of flashback pages, showcasing his feelings at being shown his worst nightmares. His panic oozed off the page, they could see why it triggered him to become non-verbal. One at a time they group gave him a hug and he melted a little more into each one. Luke went first, giving him a big brother-esque hug, giving him as much time as he needed in comfort. The twins took their turn, as always together, glomping on from both sides, wrapping him in a warm hug. Finally his father gave him one, the sweet smell of wine and grapes enveloped him, a smell that seemed more comforting than it probably sounded.
“Right, so, moral of the story/prophecy, is not to befriend anyone new, including this god who has turned.”
“Thanks Castor, never would have guessed.”
Dionysus and Luke gave each other a side eye as the topic of the panic attack was avoided, though at least it got Percy to joke a bit. Apart from the joking, Percy stayed mostly non-verbal, staying in the middle of a comfort cuddle. He communicated via drawing, when asked he would take he drew his brothers, he would have drawn Luke but it was explained three was the perfect number as more drew in monsters.
He drew Luke anyway, with a pleading expression on his face as he drew, putting detail into the scar and the rest of his facial features. Turning to his father with a begging face, silently pleading for him to allow it to happen.
“Please dad. He’s older and he’s been on a quest before, he could help us stay on track.”
After looking at his son’s face, and taking into consideration how it meant enough for his son to ask aloud rather than stay non-verbal. He nodded. (HA WHIPPED!) That earned him another hug from his youngest son, which made him feel better about bending the rules. The four demigods started planning right then what to pack and where to go, Luke producing a map from thin air and mapping a basic route that ended in LA. It was explained that as the heart of Olympus moved to the West, the heart of civilisation, so too did the entrance to the Underworld. After all. “Who else could the god in the west who turned, be?”
After Luke left to pack, Dionysus held his boys back.
“Keep Percy’s true parentage to yourselves.”
“Yes dad.” Covered the sounds of shoes scuffing in efforts to leave the room, despite none of the three moving.
They went to their cabin to pack, or started to, Grover approached Percy, knowing it was his last chance to before either of them left camp. The satyr barrelled into his friend, sobbing at all the emotions he felt built up in him. For a time, the two just hugged, soaking in the comfort of the other.
“Perrrrcy! I heard about everything. I’m so sorry for what's happened to you. I would have spoken to you sooner, but, well, I can feel your emotions and I feared it would be too much for me.”
“For you? How about for me G-man? To live though it all, the amputation, mum, the Maenads? Heck, even just before, having to remember the cyclops with the oracle!”
Grover shrank back at every word, looking more and more sorry for not being there, the guilt was evident on his face, down to his body language. He squirmed under his friends hurt and angry gaze, doubly so at all the emotions coming off in waves. Thankfully Chiron came over to de-escalate the situation and save the young satyr, who bolted at a reassuring nod from the centaur.
“Percy, satyrs age at half the rate of humans, technically he’s 24, but mentally he is your age. He’s both your age, feeling back already for everything that happened to his friend, and he’s also having to feel what you do. It wouldn't be easy on anyone. Hades, even the older satyrs have been having a hard time feeling your negative emotions. That's of course not to say how you are feeling isn’t important, its what your chats with your dad will help with.”
Percy looked at his feet, tearing up and feeling properly chastised, even if he knew that wasn’t the point. Everything in the last few weeks was catching up to him at once. The rush of emotions flooded his system and he sniffled, breaking the dam and tears flooded his face as for the second time in one day he broke down. Acutely aware of the campers surrounding them, Chiron gathered the child onto his haunches and took them to a more secluded area, to allow him the moment in peace.
When at last he calmed down, they didn’t acknowledge the breakdown, instead Chiron took him to cabin 12 for him to pack for the quest. When he got to the cabin his ‘brothers’ (that hurts man) didn’t acknowledge the tear tracks or his red-rimmed eyes. All they did was convince him no one would judge him if he packed a plush to take with them. So he packed a small satyr plush, a few fidget toys, including his finger skateboards, 4 of them, one for each of the questers.
Once he packed the essentials: clothes, fidgets, plushie and a sketch book, he sat on the sofa by the plants, staring at the as the grape vines gravitate to him.
“Are we still brothers despite my true parentage?” He played with some of the curling vines, voice small and scared.
“Of course we are.”
“Can’t get rid of us that easy Perce.”
“Dad claimed ya, gave you his blessing and all.”
“Doesn’t do that lightly, your stuck with us and dad.”
They met up with Luke and Chiron on top of Half-Blood Hill, there he introduced him all to Argus. A surfer looking dud who acted as the camps Head of Security, with a body covered in eyes. He was to act as the groups chauffeur and would take them into the city so they could start the quest and travel west. It was decided since there was four of them they’d take the camps van, the once used to take the strawberries into the city to sell. (Convenient transport to have for large groups. Luke gave Percy a pair of flying shoes for luck, he said.
“My father gave them to me for my first quest, now I’m passing on the favour.”\
Percy flushed at the special attention from Luke, asking him to help put them on before getting tips on how to use the shoes. After that the quartet were ready to leave for the quest, they all piled into the open van and set off for the city.
After a long drive on the highway, past many missing posters of Percy, they arrived at the Greyhound station, near Percy and his moms apartment. Only weeks ago, he had been at this very station, unaware of the world he was about to learn of. Argus helped the, get their luggage out and buy tickets before waving them off.
They were the first ones on the bus and grabbed seats at the back, quietly chatting amongst themselves as they waited for the bus to fill. If Percy had been paying attention he would have noticed a familiar face getting onto the bus. But he was already fidgeting, he wasn’t sure if it was the ADHD or nerves for the quest, but he couldn’t even pick a fidget to use. He finally settled on doing quick sketches of the bus and its occupants. Luke sat back, watching as his young ward drew, only a bouncing knee and an occasional hand flap showing the excess energy. Meanwhile the twins were horsing around, play shoving and wrestling while waiting for the bus to fill.
Eventually the bus was full, apart from a few empty seats, and started up, that's when Percy saw the familiar figure, the back of the head, the leather jacket.
“Mrs Dodds?”
“Your old algebra teacher? The Fu- Kindly One?”
“The very one, I thought I vaporised her!”
“Guess you weren’t lucky with her re-spawning.”
“Yea I thought it could take years.”
Before they could (panic) talk more, Mrs Dodds and her two clones stood, proclaiming to need to use the buses restroom, before heading towards the back. Percy felt something slip onto his head then his hands went invisible and a familiar blonde became visible. (The Sneak.)
“Annabeth? What are you doing here?”
“Saving you from a Kindly One apparently.”
“Does Chiron know?”
“Obviously not.”
The Furies went past, sniffing as they did. Percy snuck past, invisible, until he was next to the bus driver, who was oblivious to the new commotion in the back. The old Ladies, (We mean the furies) paused by the demigod group and hissed, “Where is it? Where??”
In the resulting panic Percy grabbed the wheel and jerked it, just as they entered Lincoln Tunnel.