Chapter Text
As expected, Percy falls asleep pretty much the second he gets inside to his room and even sleeps through dinner entirely. The next day he wakes up to the sun in his eyes. Wait, the sun? Shit! I'm late for school!
He bolts out of bed only to be met with the sight of his mom, Mr. Latu, and Reid in his apartment. All the movement makes him double over coughing. His mom hands him an inhaler and it calms down after a little too long.
“Bruh, you done dying? My dad’s making ‘ota ika, come sit,” Reid says, “It's raw tuna and salmon in a coconut cream soup with veggies.”
“What time is it?” Percy asks, not moving from his spot in the hallway.
“It's 11:30am, the letter from the hospital got processed and you're okay to miss up to two more weeks for medical leave. I also got your appointment with Dr. Vela moved up to this week,” Sally replies, “Paul’s gonna bring home your classwork for you to work on, we can help you with it.”
“Oh, okay,” Percy nods with uncertainty, trying to hide how anxious he's getting, “Did you try to tell me about this earlier?”
“You were pretty out of it and hypoxic up until a few hours ago, we almost took you back to the hospital. Paul told us about the medical leave, but it's okay that you don't remember. It was early and you weren't feeling well,” his mom explains.
“How long have Reid and Mr. Latu been here?” Percy keeps asking questions.
When he feels really anxious and disoriented like this, the only thing that helps him is asking questions so he can figure out absolutely everything about what's going on around him. Usually this only happens when his PTSD acts up, but if his brain fog is bad enough it feels similar enough that his trauma-tastic mind can't tell the difference.
I live such a joyous life, right?
“About 3 ½ hours, they got here around 8. I made omelettes for breakfast for all of us, now Sione’s making lunch. If you don't want that, I have some pancakes I froze that I can heat up for you— no problem,” Sally patiently replies.
“Is Reid okay? He doesn't usually come here during school unless he feels bad. And why's Mr. Latu here too? Is Paul home? Aren't you supposed to have a meeting with a publisher today?” Percy rapidly questions, growing more anxious as he starts scratching at his arms absentmindedly.
“Perce, slow down and sit first,” Sally calmly says as she guides him to the couch where Reid’s sitting, “You're starting to panic. Everybody is safe and okay. I know things are confusing right now, but it won't always be.”
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake up and be Hurricane Percy,” he quickly apologizes.
“It's okay. You don’t need to be sorry, nobody is mad at you,” Sally reassures, “Reid's okay, he just didn’t feel well enough for school today. Sione’s here because he’s working from home today and Reid wanted to come over. Paul is at Goode and will be back around 5. I moved my meeting to a phone call, it just ended 15 minutes ago. My turn for a question, how are you feeling, dear?”
Percy shrugs, “Anxious, can't fuckin’ breathe, what's new?” he replies, shakily setting up his morning meds.
He turns and flashes a smile to his best friend, noticing Reid’s manual wheelchair parked next to the couch. He only really uses that when his stuff is bothering him more than usual. Percy has literally no idea how Reid deals with constantly feeling dizzy, but gives him major props for it.
“Brain fog that bad today?” Reid asks.
Reid’s slouched against the corner of the couch with the cushions creating a softer incline to where his back is resting. His bad leg is stretched out in front of him in a brace and being propped up by a pillow with his arm on the same side curled up on his chest.
“Yeah, it's messing with my PTSD I think. I feel like I'm self-gaslighting or some shit,” Percy replies, “Are you actually okay?”
His friend shrugs, “As long as I don't try to be more upright alone I don’t feel too awful. I dislocated my knee during the tonic clonic seizure I had the other day and my arm’s still locked up, so those hurt more. Not postictal anymore, my body's just freaking out.”
“Okay,” Percy turns away and starts hacking up a lung again. When it's clear he can't easily get it under control himself, Sally comes over and rubs his back until it loosens up. His voice is raspy when he jokes, he half laughs half coughs through his words, “Think I talked too much?”
“Alright, alright, take it easy 30 Rock,” Sally smiles back, “Oxygen today?”
Percy nods wordlessly in response, his treatment having finished, and curls into himself on the couch. His mom returns with his oxygen concentrator and gently puts the tubing into place on his face. Without a doubt he still doesn't feel great, but it helps a lot.
“Lunch is ready! Can y'all make it to the table or not that kinda day?” Mr. Latu announces from the kitchen.
It takes a while, but eventually everybody makes it to the kitchen table. Reid’s always slower in his manual wheelchair than his electric one, and Percy’s always slow when his lungs are being annoying like this. But nobody seems too bothered by the pace of the two teens, so there's no point in pushing it to go faster.
Percy puts a lot of blind faith into trusting that Mr. Latu will make food that he'll like. And it always works out, for that matter. Mr. Latu talks about how it's one of Reid's favorites and that he picked up the fish fresh early this morning from the market. Of course, it tastes delicious. It always does. Unfortunately for Reid, one hand is too locked up to grab anything and the other is too shaky to keep any of the food on a spoon so he keeps spilling.
“You got it?” Percy asks his friend.
“I fear I have been nerfed, my body continues to racist against literally just me,” Reid sighs, “If it's not too much, I so don’t got it right now.”
“It’s no problem,” Percy casually replies.
Percy switches his spoon to his left hand and takes Reid's in his right, switching between feeding himself and giving Reid a spoonful of ‘ota ika. Don't get him wrong, Percy’s hands are also pretty shaky by most people's standards— side effects of the constant flow of albuterol and corticosteroids he needs these days— but it's nothing compared to how Reid gets after bad seizures. And it's not Percy downplaying his own symptoms, it's an objective fact.
Anyways, they all sit down and eat together. Mostly just the adults talk while the teens stay quiet. Reid is looking like he’s starting to space out, but that happens a lot when he’s getting dizzy and doesn't wanna admit it— he just needs to be less upright and he’ll bounce back. When he and Percy both finish, Sally helps Percy back to the couch and Reid transfers back to his respective spot as his dad cleans up the dishes.
“Dad? Can you help me get my leg in the right place, it’s not cooperating,” Reid asks his dad, “Also could I have my Ativan? It’s starting to bother me.”
Mr. Latu grabs a bottle off the kitchen island, “You sure? It doesn’t usually agree with your dysautonomia. I know you wanted to stay more alert today.”
Reid sighs, “Yeah, you’re right. Heating pad then?”
His dad puts down the bottle and grabs the heating pad. The biggest ass heating pad Percy’s ever seen for that matter— more accurately described as a heating bath towel. Mr. Latu comes over and carefully lifts Reid so he’s more on the couch and gently positions his bad leg over the pillow again.
Reid sharply inhales in pain. It usually takes a lot for Reid to outwardly show signs that he’s in pain, so Percy knows it’s a lot worse than he’s letting on. His dad plugs in the heating pad and wraps it around his son’s leg, using his hand to gingerly rub the locked up muscles.
Reid holds his head in his hands, his face scrunched up as his body shakes from the pain. Mr. Latu starts speaking to Reid in Tongan, which is how Percy really knows it’s serious. He catches Reid’s nickname, La’a, but not much else. Then again, he doesn't need to know the language to get the idea of what they're talking about.
The thing to understand about Reid is that he’s so used to always being in pain, to always feeling lightheaded, to always feeling like shit in ways that abled people can’t begin to imagine. But he’s been disabled his whole life, he knows probably everything he possibly can about epilepsy and his body. For Reid to visibly show he’s in pain, it means that it’s at a level that’s unfathomable to most other people.
Percy wouldn’t even say he’s really scared when it happens, he just hates that there’s nothing in the mortal or Greek world he can do to help his best friend get any relief. When Percy doesn’t feel well, Reid talks to him about anything else to get his mind off things— but Percy can’t even do that right now. So he reaches over to Reid’s violently shaking left hand and grabs it, just rubbing it with his thumb to remind his friend that he’s there.
They sit like that for a while: Mr. Latu’s quiet comforting words in Tongan, Reid’s shaky breathing as he tries to ride the waves of pain, and the quiet puffing of Percy’s concentrator with each of his breaths being the only sounds in the room. Sally brings over a smaller heating pad and Mr. Latu holds it on his son’s right hand.
After what feels like forever Reid moves his arms away from his head, still heavily breathing. Percy knows he has chronic pain too, but he’s never been left breathless solely because of pain. Not to mention that Reid has been refusing any super strong pain meds. He says something in his language to his father, who heartily laughs in response.
“I think my body just tried to shoot me, drag me to a back alley, and then threaten me on the day of my daughter’s wedding,” Mr. Latu translates, earning the equally hearty laughs of Percy and Sally too. Well… laugh and then fall into a coughing fit if it's Percy.
“Don’t go dying on me, stealing my thunder,” Reid quietly jokes to his friend, “I think it’s mostly passed. What’s the strongest pain med I can take and still be aware? I don’t wanna lose more time.”
Mr. Latu looks through a box full of various pill bottles, “I’ve got Tylenol Arthritis and that’s about it. Everything else makes you loopy or lowers your seizure threshold.”
“Good enough,” replies Reid, tipping back three of the tablets dry then deviously smirking, “Yanno what would really make me feel better, tamai?”
“Nice try, but your disability and Tongan sweet talking ain’t workin’ on me,” Mr. Latu laughs, “I see you’re feeling better enough that I can finish the dishes now.”
That’s another thing about Reid, he has these episodes that would leave probably anybody else that Percy knows on their hands and knees begging for mercy and wiped the fuck out for the rest of the day. But not Reid, he’s too stubborn for that. Or just too used to it.
The whiplash of borderline medical emergencies to joking and fine took some getting used to at first, but now it’s just another funny thing that Percy’s grown to love about his friend. However, the crypticness is new and Percy’s utterly confused.
“Bro, I found this new video game that actually doesn't fuck with my photosensitivity. I brought my Switch, wanna play?” Reid eagerly asks in a way that’s definitely more telling that he came over solely to play this game.
Percy laughs, “Are you just asking me ‘cause you wanna watch me play it since you can't right now?”
“Whaaat no! I would never do that! Who do you think I am? I'm just a poor disabled boy looking for a shred of joy in my sad, sad, life from my dear more dexterous best friend who would always have my severely disabled self’s back in these trying times like a true Reid ally would,” Reid dramatically replies.
Percy jokingly rolls his eyes, “Your dad refused, didn't he?”
“He might've said that he doesn't need to play the game because I allegedly already told him every single detail about it that I could find online including the exact gameplay, so there's no point. But it's not the same! He doesn't get it, Perce! Playing this game will cure my fucky little brain it's so good! This is the answer medical professionals have been looking for my whole life!” refutes Reid.
“Reid, are you dragging Percy into your latest hyperfixation because he can work controllers?” Mr. Latu dramatically sighs, “Don't let him break you, Percy. Be strong!”
“...What's the game about?” Percy asks skeptically.
“You shouldn’t have asked,” Mr. Latu warns.
“Well since you asked…” Reid smirks, “It’s a story driven puzzle and dungeon-based adventure but also kinda a dating sim but also it's POV you're an ocean sunfish growing up going through the trials of life. It's got super pretty graphics of reefs and open ocean based on actual ocean footage, has a bunch of different storylines, and there's a photosensitive setting that actually works with my epilepsy unlike most other games. Also all the text is read aloud so you can get the story too. And they have DLC where you can play as other characters or go to the ocean floor.”
“I have no clue most of what you just said but I like the ocean, sure I'll play. I don’t think either of us are getting up, though,” replies Percy.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Mr. Latu jokes to his son as he kneels in front of the TV to set up the console, “My coworker recently told me there’s this new initiative in the NYU Engineering program making adaptive tech— controllers specifically. I reached out and a couple students are free to swing by today if you’re feeling up to some company?”
“What time?” Reid asks.
“4PM. You’ll have three whole hours of forcing Percy to play games for you, don’t worry,” Mr. Latu lightheartedly reassures.
Reid hesitates, “I don’t know. I don’t wanna get sick, and I always get sick after evals.”
“I told them that and they offered to wear masks and do basically a surgical scrub-in before getting near you,” Mr. Latu explains, “But it’s okay if you don’t have the energy. They seem pretty nice and understanding of things, I think the student I’ve been talking to is chronically ill too? He asked a few things about the accessibility of our place, if we had pets, stuff like that.”
“Aight, I’ll try,” Reid agrees, then refocuses to what really matters, “Is it ready yet?”
Mr. Latu hands Percy the controller, a specialty one with a clear body and layers of greenery that features Pikmin characters. Percy smiles, of course Reid has specialty controllers that he can barely ever use. It is, admittedly, a cool controller though.
Reid absolutely loves video games, but can’t play a whole lot of them between his photosensitivity, tremors, and questionable at best dexterity. So he reads about them like an absolute fiend, learning absolutely everything he can about them, and occasionally asks Percy or his dad if he can watch them play it. On the rare occasion that Reid has the mobility to use a controller, he instantly takes the chance to play one of the many games on his ever-growing list of them.
Reid points to which game it is, the cover art is an objectively ugly ass fish. Reid directs Percy to go to the settings to change all the settings so it’s optimized for both of them, then to start the actual game. It opens to a beautiful scene of a coral reef, filled with colorful fish and other sea life.
Percy’s internally thankful they didn’t use actual sounds from the ocean, otherwise he’d be totally distracted by everything being said. That’d be a hard one to explain to a mortal. The game is pretty fun, even though Percy has to pause it a lot because his breath keeps snagging. Reid’s patient though, rambling about little details of the game and the sea life that they encounter. They’re currently in fish high school trying to figure out the puzzle to ask a date to the fish homecoming when there’s a knock on the door.
Sally answers the door, then calls over Mr. Latu and closes the door. Two college students enter a few moments later wearing N95 masks and putting on hand sanitizer as they take off their shoes. On top of that, they’re led to the kitchen where each of them thoroughly wash their hands up to their elbows.
“Thanks for understanding, the boys really can’t afford to get sick,” Reid’s dad says, “I’m Mr. Latu, we’ve been talking over email?”
One of the students has a forearm crutch and the other one is carrying a duffel bag of supplies. The two are talking with Mr. Latu, while Sally takes the cue to start preparing dinner. Percy decides it’s best to get out of the way and forces himself to drop the oxygen and move to one of the chairs in the living room. After a few minutes, the students come over to the living room and approach the two boys.
“Hi! I’m Kellen and this is my partner Vaughn, we started the NY Adapt team together,” the student who was carrying the bag introduces himself.
The other, apparently Vaughn, sits down on a stool that’s appeared out of nowhere, “I hope you don’t mind me sitting for this,” he says as he lays his crutch on the floor.
Reid waves with his left hand, “All good. That’s Percy and I’m Reid, he/him. Nice to meet you both!”
Vaughn turns to Kellen, “I thought we were only doing one evaluation today?”
“You are,” Percy butts in, “Just ignore me.”
Kellen nods, “Reid, would you like more privacy or is this okay?”
“I can’t move much right now and neither can Percy, so this is okay. What do you need from me?” Reid replies.
“Alright,” Vaughn says, “So we are making adaptive controllers and toys for disabled people. Me because well… look at me, Kellen because of me. We want to know what kinds of things get in the way of using traditional controllers for you, what hasn’t worked with other adaptive controllers, anything else that’s important.”
Percy zones out after that point, not that he’s not excited for his friend but moreso that he’s fucking exhausted . He drifts off to the sound of the three talking and the smell of onions being caramelized. For a split second, he almost feels perfectly fine. Almost. That happens right before he falls asleep. When his pain and the ever-strained feeling in his lungs ease just enough to allow him to sleep. He wishes he could stay in that split second forever.
When Percy wakes up, he wakes up in the middle of a coughing fit— which is pretty normal for him. Especially as of late. What isn't normal is the two random college students looking at him like he's the second coming of Typhoid Mary or something.
“Not sick,” Percy manages to spit out before his lungs clamp down even harder.
“Need some help in here!” Reid calls out to Sally in the other room, then turns attention back to the students, “It's not contagious. He's having an asthma attack, he gets a lot of them. It sounds bad, but they've got it covered. You wanted to see my right arm’s range of motion, right? It can't move a lot right after bad seizures, usually I have a little more than I do right now.”
The students don't refocus and are obviously distracted by all the noise. Neither of the teens can necessarily fault them for it though. It's admittedly sorta distracting to hear somebody coughing and wheezing that hard. Percy was secretly hoping this would be a more chill asthma attack that his inhaler could fix, but it is rapidly becoming abundantly clear this one is bad.
“Hope y’all ain't squeamish, he's aboutta puke,” Reid warns as Sally rushes over with a lined garbage bin in one hand and a prepped nebulizer machine in the other, “Push the big machine on the other side of the couch towards them. It's his oxygen.”
As Reid predicted, Percy gets sick from coughing so hard pretty soon after. After a while the medicine starts to kick in and his breathing, although still strained, evens out more. He slumps over to rest his head in his hands as shoulders still heave in breaths. His mom gets up to go clean out the trash bin. Kellen is worriedly whispering to Vaughn, who’s rubbing his leg with one hand and pushing away his peer with the other.
“He's not contagious, it's part of his chronic illnesses. It would be obvious if he was sick like that,” Reid reiterates before turning his attention to his friend, speaking firmly but gently, “Perce, sit up more. You can't breathe like that, look at me instead. This is going to pass. It's not going to be like this forever. Shit sucks right now, but it's not always gonna suck this much.”
Bad attacks get Percy into this headspace where he thinks it's always gonna be this awful and he's gonna die like this. Mr. D tried to explain it once, that it has something to do with being forced into this primal psyche that messes with his PTSD. Because of course it does. Everything goes back to his fucked up brain and his PTSD at some point or another.
When he’s coming down from bad attacks, half of the work is trying to keep himself from panicking so much that he triggers another one. Which of course, Reid has seen and knows how to help with. Still, Percy feels embarrassed causing a whole scene in front of strangers that are here for Reid. Like he can't get his shit together for just a few hours so his best friend can have one nice thing.
Luckily, Reid redirects the attention back towards the task at hand. “My right arm can usually move decently enough to push large buttons as long as they don’t take too much force to push, but my hand is almost always too locked up for anything too precise. Right now, my arm is worse so I can only really move my forearm up and down. My left arm is fine most of the time, but I have bad tremors,” he explains, demonstrating his range of motion and showing his shaky left hand.
“Sometimes it's not so bad,” Percy mumbles.
“You’re right, it’s not always bad,” Reid nods, “I had a big tonic clonic seizure a couple days ago, so it's a lot worse right now. Usually my tremors just make me have shitty handwriting. My right hand shakes worse too, but on good days I can coordinate it enough to use the right side— not on smaller controllers though, they gotta be full size like the GameCube or Pro ones. Unless I'm having a really good day.”
“You don't play fighting games,” Percy adds in, turning away to cough again.
He knows he should know better than to talk so much right after an attack, but he needs the distraction. It’s a real damned if you do damned if you don’t situation. There’s no real winning for Percy.
“Oh yeah! I can't play most fast-paced games because I'm too photosensitive. Most of the games I play are simulators or slower paced. I'm more sensitive than a lot of other people are, so even photosensitive settings aren't always enough for me,” Reid continues.
At that moment, the door swings open and Paul walks in wearing a mask, holding an armful of assignments to grade and a blue binder that Percy recognizes as his own. Both Sally and Paul have been wearing masks every time they go out, not just in crowded places like they did before, ever since Percy got sick back in November. The idea of him catching anything again wasn't a risk worth taking.
“Oh! We have guests! Hey hey, my name's Paul Blofis, lovely to meet you,” Paul greets, putting down his things to thoroughly wash his hands, “Will you both be staying for dinner as well? I can run out to get a few more things, no problem.”
“...Is it safe to?” Kellen asks.
“Are you feeling sick or have been in close proximity to somebody who's sick recently without any PPE?” Paul asks.
“No,” the two answer in unison.
“We live together, it isn't wise for me to get ill. We both are quite careful in our daily lives as well,” Vaughn explains.
Kellen slips into sign language talking to the other college student. Percy can understand it, but doesn't tell them that. He's asking if Vaughn is feeling up to staying and that he can tell he's starting to crash. Vaughn replies that he's fine and wouldn't mind having real food for once. Kellen agrees, but makes the other promise to let him know if he needs to leave.
“If it's not too much trouble, we wouldn't mind staying. How can I help?” Kellen asks, “V, give your back a damn rest and sit on the couch or a real chair or something.”
The other student grumbles and moves himself to the closest plush chair while Kellen gets up to help Sally prepare dinner. Paul heads back out with a list of ingredients to pick up at the bodega that’s a few doors down from them.
“Perce, wanna move back to the couch? I can help you,” Mr. Latu offers, Percy nodding and then getting settled next to Reid.
“That was a pretty bad one,” Reid lightly comments.
“I've been having like 3 or 4 of those a day since last week. Only one today? Total upgrade,” Percy replies.
“Still sucks. Do you want me to do the talking?” Reid offers
Percy nods in response, effectively launching Reid into an infodump about adaptive tech he's tried over the years. Vaughn even joins in on the conversation at some points with comments. Percy’s never really seen Reid talk to other people like this. Not that Reid isn't friendly, but more so that most people treat him like he's about to break. The conversation is interrupted when Mr. Latu starts setting up TV tables and extra chairs in the living room.
“Mish mash dinner night: French onion pasta, rosemary chicken, chukuchuk, tofu musubis, and some roasted veggies. I know it doesn't go together, but there's a little something for everyone,” Mr. Latu explains, “And we figured it's easier to have dinner over here. Everyone's tired.”
“I would've been fine to sit at the table, I don't wanna get the couch dirty,” Reid says.
“Couches can be cleaned, don't sweat it,” Paul replies, “More comfy here anyways, plus it’d be best to not work Percy into another bad attack. No offense, bud.”
As much as Percy wishes he could deny it, he knows that Paul is right. Walking to the table would almost definitely leave him pretty winded. And the food does smell really good. It’s hard to enjoy eating when you can’t breathe.
Percy and Reid both get tray tables with already prepared plates while the rest pass around the dishes to serve themselves. Reid’s hand is less shaky now, but still not coordinated enough for utensils. Percy can tell that the adults made the funky mix of dishes with that in mind so the dishes aren’t too hard for Reid to eat independently. Still, there’s no way around cheesy, onion-y spaghetti.
“Want some pasta?” Percy asks his friend.
Reid shrugs in response, which means “yes but I don’t want to inconvenience you” for him. Percy reassures that it’s okay and he’s not that hungry anyways. He twirls a mouthful of the pasta onto Reid’s unused fork and holds it out for him to take a bite.
“Thanks Mrs. Jackson, it tastes amazing,” Reid smiles.
“So!” Paul says, “I hear you’re both Tandon students?”
“Yeah! We’re both in the PhD program trying to study the intersection of biomedical engineering and human-centered design principles when creating mobility aids. Basically, we’re trying to argue that making this is done best when you actually talk and spend time with disabled people, not just listen to what medical professionals say about disabled people. My dissertation is on the human centered design part, Vaughn’s is on the biomedical engineering part,” Kellen explains enthusiastically.
“Wait. Are you using me for your research? I don’t consent to research,” Reid immediately clocks.
“No, we’re not. This is a side project we started to get more undergrads interested in making adaptive tech. We just wanted to do this one to ensure it’d be safe for you, can’t trust those grimy undergrads. If you wanted to be part of our research, we could discuss that. There’s no medical tests or triggering flares. On your end, it’s surveys and interviews about how the tech’s working for you and what you would want to see changed. No pressure,” Vaughn explains, “I know what it’s like to feel like nothing more than a researcher’s lab rat too.”
“Do you do wheelchairs? Electric customs,” Reid asks.
Kellen nods, “Yep, we work with a PT to make sure everything’s right. But everything’s free for you to keep after everything and we compensate for the evaluation, survey, and interview time. But again, the controllers are no strings attached. We genuinely just like doing this kind of thing for fun. No separation of work and life, I know.”
“I’ll think about it,” Reid decides, “Perce, can I have some more pasta?”
Percy has to shake himself out of the shock of hearing that conversation. He knows that Reid has a lifetime of dealing with the medical system and if the way their first day of school’s shenanigans says anything, it’s been bumpy to say the least. Still, it's different to hear how the experience seeps into the core ways he thinks.
Maybe he should talk to him about it sometime. Not that Percy’s dealt with the mortal medical system, but he knows what it’s like to be seen as nothing more than a tool for somebody else’s agenda and not even a person. He twirls another forkful of pasta and gives it to his friend.
The adults continue talking while the teens quietly eat. Reid occasionally contributes a comment or two, but is obviously more interested in hearing from the two PhD candidates as he tries to scope out their motivations. Percy often jokes that he has enough mental illness for the both of them, but it doesn't mean that Reid doesn't have a completely reasonable basis for not trusting them.
Percy is also totally starting to crash, he keeps having to turn away every other minute to cough and it's pissing him the fuck off. The short nap he had earlier was obviously not enough and he's way too exhausted to try to suppress his symptoms like he normally would around guests.
“Bud, how many bad attacks have you had today?” Paul asks after the billionth time Percy has to put down his fork to hack up a lung.
“Only one,” he replies.
“...It's been more like three, one since you left this morning around 4pm,” Sally grimaces, “Perce, you had one a bit after midnight and another around 5am today. Plus the one you had when you got up wasn’t exactly a calm one. Sorry, I know you don't remember. You woke up having them and fell asleep again right after.”
“Oh…” Percy’s expression drops, “I thought I was doing better today.”
“How are you feeling? You're not sounding too hot,” Paul continues asking, “Alison Parry asked about you today.”
Percy shrugs, “Shitty, I guess.”
Paul looks at him like he wants more of an explanation. Sometimes it annoys Percy, but he knows it's because they have to give the school daily updates along with the generalized doctor notes or else the absences get reported as unexcused. Still, Percy hates having to talk about how fucking miserable he is. It means he has to think about it.
“Mom said I was hypoxic most of the night and the morning, I actually woke up at like 11:30. I had a few minor attacks, been wheezing pretty bad most of the day, even on oxygen. Brain fog and pain is bad. Hate it, PTSD’s been awful. Can't talk or walk much either,” Percy elaborates.
“I think it’s time that we buy a wheelchair for you, just a generic one for bad days if we need to take you to the doctor or it hits suddenly,” Paul suggests.
“I guess yeah, Mrs. Parry asked about me?” asks Percy, trying to change the subject.
“Yeah, we had a staff meeting today so there was an interpreter. Big topic today was your medical leave. I've never heard her talk that much in a meeting before, but she forced them to change your IEP to actually include your COPD and asthma,” explains Paul, “Mr. Rever didn’t say anything, though. But nothing bad means something good, coming from that guy.”
Percy quietly nods, then goes back to trying to force himself to finish his plate and making sure Reid’s able to finish his pasta too. The food tastes really good, he wishes he could enjoy it more but he’s just so tired. The college students seem nice too, he’s just feeling too dazed to pay much attention. Plus, he feels bad that he’s grossly coughing so much— it can’t possibly be appetizing to eat with somebody hacking up shit every few minutes.
“Have you tried CPT before?” Vaughn asks Percy.
“Hmm?” Percy replies, “They did CBT with me a few times when I was admitted to the psych ward, I hated it. Felt too gaslighty.”
“Not CBT, CPT. Chest percussion therapy. It typically helps me a fair amount with airway clearance, although it’s hard on my back— I have spina bifida, so it’s more involved to do it properly. But PEP also does the job,” Vaughn explains further, “My condition has caused complications with my other systems, even though spina bifida technically is only a spinal cord defect.”
“Damn don’t I know that,” Reid jokes, “Doctors love you then, don’t they? They looove a good multisystemic case study.”
“Yes, all too well,” Vaughn laughs along, “I advise starting to look for a new care team for adulthood before you turn 21. Unfortunately, I don’t have any I could confidently recommend for your needs. The only overlap we may have is my immunologist.”
“Nah, I don’t see an immunologist. Most of the treatments have a side effect of lowering seizure threshold, which is sorta a deal breaker. Just no point,” Reid replies, “But noted, noted.”
That’s the point where Percy falls asleep again. Not out of a lack of care or trying to stay awake, but more so just pure exhaustion. He falls asleep hoping that nobody is too mad at him about it. When he wakes up, Vaughn has his bad leg hanging over the arm of the recliner while Kellen sits close to his other leg on the floor in front of him as the adults all quietly chat.
He feels an oxygen mask over his face, he must’ve not been breathing great while he was asleep and somebody put it on him. Reid’s sleeping too, so Percy tries to be quiet. Operative word being tried because it’s at that moment his lungs decide it’s a good time to freak the fuck out. Percy rips off the mask and stumbles into the bathroom preemptively— the poor guests don’t have to see him barf twice.
The Jackson and Blofis apartment have nebulizer machines in basically every room, an advantage of having godly connections that are a little out of touch with how much of things mortals actually need. He grabs the bathroom’s machine from the cabinet and quickly sets it up, then tries to breathe in as much of the vapor as he can. He’s coughing too much for it to work and just has to hold it near his face as he leans over the toilet bowl. Gods, I’m so sick of this shit. He hears the bathroom door open and tries to wave them away. As much as it sucks, he does know how to handle them on his own.
A voice speaks up, “It’s Vaughn, may I help?”
Percy nods, knowing that no isn’t exactly an acceptable answer in this situation.
“Can I touch your back? CPT requires hitting it, but it doesn’t hurt,” he quickly explains, getting another nod in response.
The older student carefully lowers himself to the floor, leaning his crutch against the wall, then gets to work. He then gets to work, firmly patting different sections of Percy’s back with cupped hands. Percy can feel it loosen up the shit in his lungs and he’s able to cough it up enough that the treatment can actually work. Soon enough, Percy feels confident enough to move away from the toilet and rest against the wall.
“Sorry, I know you didn’t sign up for this when you came over today. It’s gross,” Percy signs.
“It’s alright, I am quite familiar with attacks like that. It would be hypocritical for Kellen or I to be squeamish,” Vaughn replies in English, “Your family is quite nice. Your mother and… fathers? Or your boyfriend’s dad? I will admit, I can’t quite tell.”
Percy huffs out a wheezy laugh, then signs again, “They’re not my dads, my dad doesn’t live with us. Paul’s my mom’s fiance and lives here, they’re getting married soon. Mr. Latu’s a family friend and Reid’s just my best friend. We go to school together. They live in this building too, but on the first floor.”
“Sorry! Kellen and I meet a lot of different families, and we almost never meet any with such warmth or closeness as you have all shown us tonight,” Vaughn apologizes, “Kellen and I have the opposite problem. They always assume he’s my caretaker or something, but he’s my partner.”
“I didn’t realize,” Percy comments.
“We know how to be professional,” Vaughn shrugs, “Feeling up to going back? Reid’s awake and begging for somebody to play some game for him to watch.”
Percy laughs, “Of course he is. Yeah, just give me a sec.”
He pulls himself up using the toilet, only a little bit out of breath from the act, Vaughn swings his legs around to an awkward position then hoists himself up with his crutch.
“I come bearing gifts,” Vaughn announces as they reach the living room.
“Four attacks today. I'm up to four now,” Percy deadpans.
Sally gives him a sympathetic look, “If this doesn't let up, we should talk to your doctor from your dad's side or go back to the hospital. Oxygen?”
Percy doesn't argue and flops back on the couch and puts the cannula back on, “Sorry if I woke you,” he apologizes to Reid.
“No sweat,” Reid smiles, “Could I possibly influence you with the healing powers of video games? Fishy, fishy video games?”
“My hands are shakier than usual right now, but sure. Good distraction,” Percy agrees.
Mr. Latu sets it up and hands Percy the controller, dramatically sighing, “I lose another soldier to my son's charm once again.”
In all honesty, Percy really likes playing video games that Reid's hyperfixated on. He doesn't have to actually think about any choices or retaining information, so he just gets to enjoy the gameplay and the story. Plus, he never gets impatient when Percy’s kinda mediocre because his hands are too shaky.
The video game quickly becomes an affair for the whole household with everybody captivated in the gameplay. Even Mr. Latu. Everybody's lightheartedly bantering as they move through the story and talking about what decisions to make or how to solve a puzzle. At one point, Percy can't coordinate his hands well enough to beat a certain level and Kellen happily helps out. The college students even offer to make Percy an adaptive controller too, even though he insists that he can manage fine enough.
In that moment, everything feels just right. That Percy is exactly where he should be. He doesn't feel the heavy guilt of being too sick, too disabled, too fucked up— like he's felt ever since Mount St. Helens. That the only reason he's alive is to die in August so that it's not Nico instead. Or that he's a failure of a son that can't even scrape by in the most basic of classes. Right now, he belongs. He is exactly where he should be: with his family, able to unapologetically be himself. And maybe, just maybe, things could be okay.