Chapter Text
Annabeth watched with worry as a Neried dragged Percy beneath the waves. He didn’t protest and he didn’t struggle, he just followed the lady like she was an old friend.
She had to trust that Percy knew what he was doing. It would be a shame if they got this far just for one of them to die like that.
He was down there for a minute. Then two. Then five. There was no sign of him resurfacing. Annabeth twisted one of the beads on her necklace, Grover looked just as nervous. He was kicking pebbles through the sand and turning to look at the sea every five seconds.
If anything, this only confirmed Annabeth’s suspicions. Killing the Minotaur was an impressive feat, but she'd written Percy off after he was claimed by Dionysus.
Then she started noticing things. Little things. The pipes in the bathroom exploded while Percy was there. The sprinklers in Medusa's warehouse had miraculously started up, too. Both times, Percy walked out completely dry. Then, of course, there was the bowing zebra that he could apparently understand.
It just didn’t make sense. There was no reason for Mr. D to claim Percy, not if he was a forbidden kid. There was absolutely no benefit. All that would do is extend the God's punishment if anyone ever found out.
"He's not Mr. D's child." Annabeth stated. It was a thought she just needed to say out loud.
Grover looked down mournfully, "No. I don't think he is."
Poseidon had broken the oath just like Zeus, and Percy was his son.
What's worse is that Percy didn't even seem to know.
Percy had been hesitant to follow the Neried into the sea, but she'd helped him out once before. It would be pretty pointless to kill him now. One good thing was that Percy learned he could now breathe underwater, sort of. The Neried must have done a spell or something, Percy wasn't quite sure if it would ware off or not.
She had handed him three pearls. Gifts from Lord Poseidon. She didn't explain why Poseidon would help them, but Percy had come to the conclusion that it was either a trap to kill them or he actually wanted them to find the bolt so they could clear his name.
Percy fiddled with the pearls in his hand as he gazed up at the large sign. There were gold letters etched in black marble: DOA RECORDING STUDIOS.
Underneath, stenciled on the glass doors: NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING.
This was certainly the right place.
Despite nearly being stretched to death, Annabeth and Grover looked like they were doing fairly well. They'd had a little run-in with a monster, but the man had been thoroughly beheaded.
Percy was getting quite good at that.
“Okay. You remember the plan.”
“The plan,” Grover gulped. “Yeah. I love the plan.”
Annabeth said, “What happens if the plan doesn’t work?”
“Don’t think negative.”
“Right,” she said. “We’re entering the Land of the Dead, and I shouldn’t think negative.”
"Just think lovely wonderful thoughts." Percy said.
Annabeth frowned slightly.
"Peter Pan."
She rolled her eyes, then nudged Grover. "We'll be fine."
“We got this far. We’ll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem.”
Calling the Underworld grim would be an understatement. Charon (not Chiron) was a security guard/ferryman. His once creamy Italian suit had been replaced by a long black robe as soon as they stepped through the elevator doors, almost like the Underworld refused to have such light colors in it.
Even Grover and Annabeth lost their color. Brown curls fell flat and looked dull. Honey-blonde hair turned to a shade more like straw and her tan skin paled.
Soon, they were on a wooden barge and sailing through a dark, oily river, swirling with bones, dead fish, and other, stranger things—plastic dolls, crushed carnations, soggy diplomas with gilt edges. Dreams thrown away in death.
“The River Styx,” Annabeth murmured. “It’s so...”
“Polluted,” Charon said. “For thousands of years, you humans have been throwing in everything as you come across—hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me.”
Mist curled off the filthy water. Dark stalactites poked through the gloomy fog that cloaked the ceiling. Ahead, the far shore glimmered with greenish light, the color of poison.
Panic crawled up Percy's throat. Annabeth grabbed his hand like she could sense his worry. Or maybe she just needed reassurance that they were alive, that they hadn't become one with the glum souls occupying the barge.
The shoreline of the Underworld came into view. Craggy rocks and black volcanic sand stretched inland about a hundred yards to the base of a high stone wall, which marched off in either direction as far as we could see. A sound came from somewhere nearby in the green gloom, echoing off the stones— the howl of a large animal.
“Old Three-Face is hungry,” Charon said. His smile turned skeletal in the greenish light. “Bad luck for you, godlings.”
So, neither of their plans worked. Charon had not believed that they died in a bathtub and Cerberus had not been interested in the stick.
On the bright side (well, not so bright, the Underworld was still glum as ever), Annabeth still had a red rubber ball on her that she'd stole from Waterland. Percy hadn't even seen the rubber balls when they were there. He also had no idea why Annabeth picked it up in the first place, but he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.
On the super not bright side, Annabeth couldn't play ball with the dog forever, so she finally threw the ball and snuck past him.
“How did you do that?” Percy asked her, amazed.
“Obedience school,” she said breathlessly, “When I was little, at my dad’s house, we had a Doberman...”
“Never mind that,” Grover said, tugging at Percy's shirt. “Come on!”
Good things never lasted. The second they made it through the EZ DEATH gate, alarms started blaring, and the security ghouls started screeching.
They ran and hid and did more running. They ended up in the Fields of Asphodel. It was singlehandedly the most depressing place Percy had ever seen. At least until he looked to his left.
The Field of Punishment were so much worse. The screams could be heard even when they were standing so far away. The place was coated with red and smoke curled all around. It was a vast, cracked wasteland with rivers of lava and minefields and miles of barbed wire separating the different torture areas.
Percy couldn't stare for too long, he felt like throwing up.
On the right was Elysium. A much better place. If Percy focused on it long enough, he could almost drown out the screams. It was a beautiful valley surrounded by walls. Beyond the security gate were neighbourhoods of beautiful houses from every time period in history, Roman villas and medieval castles, and Victorian mansions. Silver and gold flowers bloomed on the lawns. The grass rippled in rainbow colors.
In the middle of that valley was a glittering blue lake with three small islands. The Isles of the Blest.
“That’s what it’s all about,” Annabeth said. “That’s the place for heroes.”
'The place for heroes' was rather small. So few people did good in their lives, it was depressing.
After a few miles of walking, they heard familiar screeching in the distance.
Looming on the horizon was a palace of glittering black obsidian. Above the parapets swirled three dark batlike creatures: the Furies.
Mrs Dodds, round three. Percy was ready. Mostly.
“I suppose it’s too late to turn back,” Grover said wistfully.
“We'll be fine." Percy reassured him. "We're all gonna be so fine."
He hoped.
“Maybe we should search some of the other places first,” Grover suggested. “Like, Elysium, for instance...”
“Come on, goat boy.” Annabeth grabbed his arm.
That was when, somehow, everything got worse. Grover's shoes sprouted wings, and despite his yells, they wouldn't go back down. Percy and Annabeth tried to run after him, but he was far too fast. Just when it looked like Grover was about to burst through the gates of Hades’s palace, he veered to the right sharply.
He entered a tunnel. It was dark and cold, there was no black grass or trees, just crumbly rock. The hairs on Percy's arms bristled. It smelled horrible, old and musty, evil, almost.
The tunnel widened into a huge dark cavern, and in the middle was a chasm the size of a city block.
Grover was sliding straight toward the edge. Percy paused in his running. He'd been there before, in his dreams.
What saved Grover was his hooves. The flying sneakers had always been a loose fit. All it took was him hitting a big rock, and the left shoe went flying off his feet. He was ten feet from the edge when they caught him. The other winged shoe tugged itself off, and circled around angrily before flying off into the chasm to join its twin.
They all collapsed against the obsidian gravel. Their rest was short-lived. A deep whisper rose up from the darkness.
“Percy, this place—”
“Shh.” Percy stood.
The sound was louder, a muttering, evil voice from far, far below. Coming from the pit.
Grover sat up. “Wh—what’s that noise?”
Annabeth could here it, too. “Tartarus. The entrance to Tartarus.”
Percy uncapped Anaklusmos.
The bronze sword expanded, gleaming in the darkness, and the evil voice seemed to falter, just for a moment, before resuming its chant.
Percy could almost make out words now, ancient, ancient words, older even than Greek.
As if...
“Magic,” Percy said.
“We have to get out of here,” Annabeth said.
They did, in fact, get out of there. As fast as possible. Percy saw that cavern once in his dreams and decided it was enough, seeing it in person was a whole new uncomfortable feeling.
Percy walked and walked, through wilting grass and glass-like sand, until he reached the gates of Hades’s palace. The Furies circled up ahead like vultures. The outer walls of the fortress glittered black, and the twostory-tall bronze gates stood wide open.
Throught the gates was a garden. A flower-less garden, instead, there were piles of gems scattered all over. Diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. Percy could just tell that his powers wouldn't work here, no matter how many poisonous mushrooms and brambly thorns there were.
They walked up the steps of the palace, between black columns, through a black marble portico, and into the house of Hades. The entry hall had a polished bronze floor, which seemed to boil in the reflected torchlight. There was no ceiling, just the cavern roof, far above.
Every side doorway was guarded by a skeleton in military gear. Some wore Greek armor, some British redcoat uniforms, some camouflage with tattered American flags on the shoulders.
“You know,” Grover mumbled, “I bet Hades doesn’t have trouble with door-to-door salesmen.”
Percy's backpack weighed a ton, he could feel it straining his shoulders. Nothing new had been added to it, and despite his nerves, he wasn't feeling any weaker.
Hot wind blew down the corridor, and the doors swung open. The guards stepped aside.
“I guess that means entrez-vous,” Annabeth said.
Hades was the third god Percy had ever seen, but he was the one that really made it click. They were gods. Percy's father didn't particularly look godly, and Ares had been dressed like a biker.
Hades was at least ten feet tall, for one thing, and dressed in black silk robes and a crown of braided gold. His skin was albino white, his hair shoulder-length and jet black. He wasn’t bulked up like Ares, but he radiated power. He lounged on his throne of fused human bones, looking lithe, graceful, and dangerous as a panther.
“You are brave to come here, Son of Poseidon,” he said in an oily voice. “After what you have done to me, very brave indeed. Or perhaps you are simply very foolish.”
Percy was tempted to collapse and die right there, but something caught his attention. "Poseidon isn't my dad."
That should have been the first sign something was off. Everything only went downhill from there. Hades refused to believe that Dionysus was actually Percy's dad, it was ridiculous. How could Poseidon, of all gods, be Percy's father? It didn’t make any sense.
Not that Percy could blame Hades. Just when he'd been trying to prove that he was a nice, honest demigod, he found the master bolt in his bag. His bag. The bag he'd had with him for days.
Then Hades accused Percy of stealing his helm of darkness.
After that, everything went to hell.
Percy barely got to see his mother. She'd been stood there encased in gold, and Percy didn’t save her. She was the entire reason for his quest, but when it came down to getting his mom or giving Hades the master bolt... Percy couldn't take that risk.
The three of them escaped quickly. They crushed Poseidon's pearls beneath their feet and ended up encased in milky white spheres. Percy had told Hades that he would retrieve the helm of darkness, and he intended to. As soon as he stabbed the god that tricked them.
Well, maybe not stabbed, Percy didn't have a death wish. If he did, he wouldn't have left the Underworld.
But there would be some serious talking.
So, Percy did end up stabbing Ares.
If one could even call that a stab, it was more like a slash.
The god had been waiting for them once the coast guard dropped them off at the beach.
He was just standing there with his smug facade and extremely large shotgun. There may have been some slight goading on Percy's end, but in his defence, Ares had summoned a boar to kill them. The guy couldn't even be bothered doing it himself.
Which was how Percy ended up in a sword fight with the God of War.
There were slashes, stabs, and sparks. Sirens, yells and vines at some point. Percy was going to blame the tidal wave that slammed into Ares on Poseidon.
But despite it all, Percy drew first blood. The God's golden ichor was painted across his bronze sword. Before Ares could retaliate, something old had shown up. Not literally, but Percy could feel its presence. It was old, ancient even, so evil Percy could almost choke.
Ares had left. The thing in the pit had some kind of hold on him.
Percy didn't really know how, he didn't want to know. Instead, he scooped up the metal helmet that lay on the sand and handed it to Mrs Dodds. There was no fight between them, no round three.
The three of them were questioned by the police, reporters shoved cameras in their faces. They all seemed to have a story sorted out. Something they all believed.
Percy only really remembered saying one thing before they were on a flight to New York. “All I want, is to see my loving stepfather again. Every time I saw him on TV, calling me a delinquent punk, I knew...somehow...we would be okay. And I know he’ll want to reward each and every person in this beautiful city of Los Angeles with a free major appliance from his store. Here’s the phone number.”
Percy doubted that Smelly Gabe watched the news, it was too informative for his tiny brain. But if he ever did see, Percy was definitely going to get killed for it.
The flight was a nightmare. Percy didn't have a problem with heights, but planes were utterly horrible. He'd never been on one before this, and he didn’t want to go on one ever again.
Annabeth and Grover went back to Camp Half-Blood. Percy had debated taking them up to Olympus, but if anything went wrong, Percy wanted them to be safe.
The elevator ride up to Olympus was nerve-wracking, but the second the doors slid open, Percy was breathless. It was magnificent, to say the least. Olympus was like a perfectly preserved Ancient Greek city that clung to the sides of a large mountain and was surrounded by clouds.
Percy passed through Olympus in a daze. Then he came to his next problem. Stairs. Lots and lots of stairs. Leading straight up to the largest palace.
It would be so embarrassing if Percy went through all that just to collapse of exhaustion in the Olymians throne room.
There were only two people in the throne room. Percy was hit with a sense of familiarity when he looked at them. He'd had a dream a few days before his quest, one he hadn't paid any mind to. Strange dreams were common, his brothers had said. There had been an eagle and horse, fighting on a beach.
The eagle sat on a large throne made of solid platinum. Zeus, the King of the Gods, he wore a dark blue pinstripe suit, he had a well-trimmed beard, marbled gray and black like a storm cloud. As Percy got closer, the air crackled and smelled like ozone.
To Zeus’s left was his brother without a doubt. Since Hades was out, it could only be Poseidon. He wore leather sandals, khaki Bermuda shorts, and a Tommy Bahama shirt with coconuts and parrots all over it. His skin was deeply tanned, his hands scarred like an old-time fisherman’s. But his eyes and his hair... Percy almost felt like he was looking in a mirror.
An older, fishier mirror.
Even Poseidon's throne was a deep-sea fisherman’s chair. It was the simple swiveling kind, with a black leather seat and a built-in holster for a fishing pole. Instead of a pole, the holster held a bronze trident, flickering with green light around the tips.
Percy approached slowly but made sure to stay a good distance away, the tension in the air was overwhelming. He knelt before the platinum throne and didn't dare look up. "Lord Zeus."
"Boy." The God's voice was as loud as thunder. "What is your name?"
"Percy, uh...Perseus Jackson." Percy was technically a nickname, and though he felt more comfortable using it, the thought of the King of the Gods using it felt like an infringement of some kind.
"Well, Perseus, you have my master bolt."
Percy took out the metal cylinder, which began sparking in the Sky God’s presence, and laid it at his feet.
There was a long silence, broken only by the crackle of the hearth fire.
Zeus opened his palm. The lightning bolt flew into it. As he closed his fist, the metallic points flared with electricity, until he was holding what looked more like the classic thunderbolt, a twenty-foot javelin of arcing, hissing energy that made the hairs on my scalp rise.
"Tell me, who stole my master bolt."
Percy did. He told them everything. And he had to do while Zeus stared at him sceptically, and Poseidon stared at him with something in his eyes that Pecry couldn't quite figure out.
He almost felt like a puzzle that the Gods were trying to pick apart.
“I sense the boy tells the truth,” Zeus muttered. “But that Ares would do such a thing . . . it is most unlike him.”
“He is proud and impulsive,” Poseidon said. “It runs in the family.”
"And you aided the boy, because?"
"Clearly, he was the only chance I had of proving my innocence. Despite what I have being telling you the entire time."
Percy could already tell they were going to argue and he'd rather be out of the city when that happens. "Lord?"
They both said, “Yes?”
“Ares didn’t act alone. Someone else—something else— came up with the idea.”
Percy told them more, about his dream in the animal van and his encounter with Ares on the beach.
“In my dreams, the voice told me to bring the bolt to the Underworld. Ares hinted that he’d been having dreams, too. I think he was being used, just as I was, to start a war.”
“You are accusing Hades, after all?” Zeus asked.
“No, I mean, Lord Zeus, I’ve been in the presence of Hades. This feeling on the beach was different. It was the same thing I felt when I got close to that pit. That was the entrance to Tartarus, wasn’t it? Something powerful and evil is stirring down there...something even older than the gods.”
Poseidon and Zeus looked at each other. They had a quick, intense discussion in Ancient Greek. Percy only caught one word. Father.
Poseidon made some kind of suggestion, but Zeus cut him off. Poseidon tried to argue. Zeus held up his hand angrily. “We will speak of this no more,” Zeus said. “I must go personally to purify this thunderbolt in the waters of Lemnos, to remove the human taint from its metal.”
He rose and looked at Percy. His expression softened just a fraction of a degree. “You have done me a service, boy. Few heroes could have accomplished as much.”
“I had help, sir,” Percy said. “Grover Underwood and Annabeth Chase—”
"To show my thanks, I shall ignore your baseless assumptions and allow you to return to Camp Half-Blood."
"Thank you...Sir."
"Do not let me find you here when I return. Otherwise, you shall taste this bolt. And it shall be your last sensation.”
Thunder shook the palace. With a blinding flash of lightning, Zeus was gone.
Percy was suddenly stuck alone in a room with Poseidon. Percy wondered if he should bow to him now
"Zeus," Poseidon sighed, “has always had a flair for dramatic exits. I think he would’ve done well as the God of Theater.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"Uh, thank you for your help, Lord Poseidon. We wouldn't have made it out of the Underworld without those pearls." A nice, easy start. "Can I ask, what was in that pit?"
Poseidon regarded him. “Have you not guessed?”
"Kronos." Percy sighed. "The King of the Titans."
Even in the throne room of Olympus, far away from Tartarus, the name Kronos darkened the room, made the hearth fire seem not quite so warm on my back.
Poseidon gripped his trident. “In the First War, Perseus, Zeus cut our father Kronos into a thousand pieces, just as Kronos had done to his own father, Ouranos. Zeus cast Kronos’s remains into the darkest pit of Tartarus. The Titan army was scattered, their mountain fortress on Etna destroyed, their monstrous allies driven to the farthest corners of the earth. And yet Titans cannot die, any more than we gods can."
"Whatever is left of Kronos is still alive in some hideous way, still conscious in his eternal pain, still hungering for power.”
“He’s healing,” Percy said. “He’s coming back.”
If Zeus wouldn't listen, someone had to. But Poseidon only shook his head. “From time to time, over the eons, Kronos has stirred. He enters men’s nightmares and breathes evil thoughts. He wakens restless monsters from the depths. But to suggest he could rise from the pit is another thing.”
“That’s what he intends, sir. That’s what he said.”
Poseidon was silent for a long time.
“Lord Zeus has closed discussion on this matter. He will not allow talk of Kronos. You have completed your quest, child. That is all you need to do."
"But—uh, okay. Sir." Arguing with another God would do Percy no good, he was already on Ares's bad side. And possibly Hades’s. "Would you know if Hades returned my mother?"
"Even the Lord of Death pays his debts.” Poseidon said. "If you returned his helm, he has returned your mother."
"Thank you, Lord Poseidon." Percy bowed slightly. The god said no more, and Percy took it as a cue to leave.
He was about five steps away when he considered that walking off first might be rude, but he wasn't blasted so he just kept going.
Percy didn't stop until he was outside the door to his mom's apartment. The conversation with Poseidon stuck in his head, it was strange, the god had been weirdly subdued, actually helpful in a way.
Finally, Percy rang the doorbell, and there she was—his beautiful mother, smelling of peppermint and licorice, the weariness and worry evaporating from her face as soon as she saw him.
“Percy! Oh, thank goodness. Oh, my baby.”
The air was squeezed right out of him, along with all the uneasiness of the past weeks.
She told Percy she’d just appeared at the apartment that morning, scaring Gabe half out of his wits.
She didn’t remember anything since the Minotaur, and couldn’t believe it when Gabe told her Percy was a wanted criminal, traveling across the country, blowing up national monuments. She’d been going out of her mind with worry all day because she hadn’t heard the news. Gabe had forced her to go into work, saying she had a month’s salary to make up and she’d better get started.
Percy swallowed his anger and the urge to swing Riptide at Gabe's head. Percy told her the first part of his story, killing the Minotaur, waking up at Camp.
"I can't believe you never told me Dionysus was my dad." He muttered.
He felt he mom nod above him before pausing. "What?"
"I mean, Dionysus? Really? He wasn't exactly what I expected, but I got two cool brothers out of it. And—oh my gods, I haven't called them."
"Percy—"
"I said I would Iris-message them every day and it's been almost a week." They were going to kill him.
Or maybe not kill him. But lock him inside the cabin and never let him leave.
"Percy." He looked up at his mom. "Did you say Dionysus?"
"Yeah. I thought you knew my dad was god?" Percy asked. "Did you just not know which god he was?"
His mom had a confusing look on her face. Like she was trying to figure out everything out without having all the details. "Tell me again. From the start."
This time Percy told his mom everything with no pauses. He just got to the fight with Ares when Gabe's voice interrupted from the loving room. “Hey, Sally! That meat loaf done yet or what?”
She closed her eyes. “He isn’t going to be happy to see you, Percy. The store got half a million phone calls today from Los Angeles... something about free appliances.”
“Oh, yeah. About that...”
She managed a weak smile. “Just don’t make him angrier, all right? Come on.”
When Gabe saw Percy, his cigar dropped out of his mouth. His face got redder than lava. “You got nerve coming here, you little punk. I thought the police—”
“He’s not a fugitive after all,” his mom interjected. “Isn’t that wonderful, Gabe?”
Gabe looked back and forth between them. He didn’t seem to think Percy's homecoming was so wonderful.
“Bad enough I had to give back your life insurance money, Sally,” he growled. “Get me the phone. I’ll call the cops.”
“Gabe, no!”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did you just say ‘no’ ? You think I’m gonna put up with this punk again? I can still press charges against him for ruining my Camaro.”
“But—” Gabe raised his hand Percy watched his mother flinch.
For the first time, Percy realised something. That Gabe had hit his mother. Probably more than once. Percy didn't know for how long or how often he spent so much time at boarding schools that he had no way of finding out.
Percy toward Gabe and instinctively took his pen out of his pocket.
He just laughed. “What, punk? You gonna write on me? You touch me, and you are going to jail forever, you understand?”
“Hey, Gabe,” his friend Eddie interrupted. “He’s just a kid.”
Gabe looked at him resentfully and mimicked in a falsetto voice: “Just a kid.”
His other friends laughed like idiots.
“I’ll be nice to you, punk.” Gabe showed off his tobacco-stained teeth. “I’ll give you five minutes to get your stuff and clear out. After that, I call the police.”
“Gabe!” my mother pleaded.
“He ran away,” Gabe told her. “Let him stay gone.”
Percy was itching to uncap Riptide, but the blade wouldn't hurt humans. And Gabe, by the loosest definition, was human. He could just wrap the man in vines and dangle him out a window.
“Please, Percy. Come on. We’ll go to your room.”
His room had been completely filled with junk. There were stacks of used car batteries, a rotting bouquet of sympathy flowers with a card from somebody who’d seen his Barbara Walters interview.
“Gabe is just upset, honey,” his mother said “I’ll talk to him later. I’m sure it will work out.”
“Mom, it’ll never work out. Not as long as Gabe’s here.
She wrung her hands nervously. “I can... I’ll take you to work with me for the rest of the summer.
In the fall, maybe there’s another boarding school—”
“Mom.”
She lowered her eyes. “I’m trying, Percy. I just... I need some time.”
A package appeared on his bed. Percy could've sworn it wasn't there seconds ago.
It was a battered cardboard box about the right size to fit a basketball. The address on the mailing slip was in Percy's handwriting:
The Gods
Mount Olympus
600th Floor,
Empire State Building
New York, NY
With best wishes,
PERCY JACKSON
Over the top in black marker, in a man’s clear, bold print, was the address of our apartment, and the words: RETURN TO SENDER.
They clearly hadn't appreciated his message. But this gave them an opportunity. He could...
Percy looked at his mom seriously. “Mom, do you want Gabe gone?”
“Percy, it isn’t that simple. I—”
“Mom, just tell me. That jerk has been hitting you. Do you want him gone or not?”
She hesitated, then nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes, Percy. I do. And I’m trying to get up my courage to tell him. But you can’t do this for me. You can’t solve my problems.”
"I can solve this one." Percy told her. "One look inside the box and he won't bother anyone ever again."
She glanced at the package, and seemed to understand immediately. “No, Percy,” she said, stepping away. “You can’t.”
"I can. You deserve better than this, Mom. You should go to college, get your degree. You can write your novel, meet a nice guy maybe, live in a nice house. You don’t need to protect me anymore by staying with Gabe. Let me get rid of him.”
"You sound so much like your father." She muttered.
"I wouldn't say so." Percy replied. "But, please, Mom.
Your quest has reminded me that if my life is going to mean anything, I have to live it myself. I can’t let anyone, not even my son, take care of me. I have to... find the courage on my own.
“I’ll leave the box,” Percy said. “If he threatens you...”
She looked pale, but she nodded. “Where will you go, Percy?”
“Half-Blood Hill.”
“For the summer...or forever?”
“I guess that depends.”
She kissed his forehead. “You’ll be a hero, Percy. You’ll be the greatest of all.”