Chapter Text
Zoia was a fucking delight. She was quick on her feet, easy to anger and almost as stupid as Percy had been those first couple of years. There was a rage inside her that Percy hated as much as he recognized it as his own. She delighted in sword-fighting and wrestling with the younger kids, no matter how often Percy reminded her that she had the strength of a god and it wasn’t exactly a fair fight.
Ares was a terrible influence. He kept showing up to cheer his daughter on and he gave her a frankly obscene amount of weaponry. Percy would’ve much preferred armor, or even one of those stupid looking plumed helmets over another spear, but that was War for you.
(Secretly, he was desperately afraid of the day self-sacrifice would roar its ugly head as her first domain. Recklessness was one thing, sacrifice another. A domain like that wasn’t going to stay dormant and the Fates sure as shit wouldn’t have given it to her if she was never going to have to use it. Sometimes, late at night, Percy thought Zoia was a proper Greek tragedy in the making. He pushed those thoughts away.)
Most of all, Zoia was loyal. She was a real daddy’s girl, practically kissing the ground Ares walked on. She got along splendidly with her (immortal) siblings, and regularly went to feed the horses in front of Ares' chariot. She was dedicated to Percy, doing whatever she could to help at camp. Which mostly meant she was a terrible influence on the decidedly mortal demigods. And still, Percy was absurdly proud. She wasn’t afraid of cliff-diving, of jumping first to show others it was safe. She wasn’t afraid of wild animals or monsters and she would snark to any god she wanted. Percy blamed that on her father, even though Poseidon insisted that she was an exact copy of Percy.
Her father, who was both far more present than Percy had expected and yet pointedly absent. They’d never progressed much further than their foreplay disguised as bickering, even after they had a child.
Admittedly, Ares looked tantalizingly good – especially when sweat was running down his back in the arena as he demonstrated a new move. He was powerful and tall, dark haired and red-eyed and possibly, maybe, exactly Percy’s type. He’d long started avoiding Aphrodite because she was Ares' mirror image and that kinda freaked him out. Besides, so-what Percy had a type; that didn’t necessarily mean anything. And if he wanted Ares’ teeth biting his neck, his hands as a bruising grip on Percy’s narrow hips … well, he didn’t really have a defense for that. Hot mean men who would fight him (and maybe, potentially, kinda beat him) were attractive. He’d been a child soldier, some wires were bound to get crossed.
And yet, when he saw Ares with Zoia hoisted on one hip, that did something for him. Ares was by no means a good father, though for divine standards he was better than most. The delighted shouts of Zoia as she was thrown upwards pierced the relative quiet of camp. Percy glanced down, past his big sunglasses, and licked his lips. Behave, he scolded himself.
Even if Ares was a hot DILF who Percy wanted to climb like a tree, that didn’t mean he liked the god. In fact, most of their conversations ended in physical fights. Kymopoleia had once snidely compared them to a divorced couple with a custody agreement. She was a little bit right.
“Having fun there?”he called.
Zoia nodded enthusiastically, her face cherry-red from hanging upside down off her fathers back. Ares was grinning, eyes hidden by his sunglasses. He was smoking a cigarette and blew the acrid smoke right in Percy’s face. He coughed and gnashed his teeth. No matter how often he’d told Ares to not smoke at Camp where the demigods could smell it, he kept doing it anyway. Percy pushed his sunglasses back up his nose bridge, mostly to hide his eye-roll.
(Listen, Percy was not oblivious. He obviously knew about the underground trade of cheap beer and cigarettes that the Hermes cabin was running. That had been a thing when Percy had been a demigod. But he didn’t need to encourage it, did he? Damaged lungs made for children that couldn’t run very well, after all.)
“Ares,” he greeted. Ares raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. Percy steeled his shoulders for the verbal match he was about to get himself into.
“Jackson,” he took another drag of his cigarette. Percy was pointedly not following the way his lips wrapped around it, sucking inwards. He definitely didn’t notice how Ares’ adams apple bobbed, as his throat constricted. Calmly, he released air through his nose.
“What brings you here?” Zoia was back on Ares’ shoulders now, despite her physical age being about nine, so realistically far too big to still be carried around like that. Ares didn’t care. Why would he? He was nearing seven feet, a nine year old was tiny in comparison.
“Summons to Olympus, cuz’. It's the summer solstice, in case you forgot.”
Internally Percy groaned. Indeed, he’d forgotten. Who could blame him? Time at Camp seemed to rush past, seasons coming and going in the blink of an eye.
“Again?” he complained.
Ares nodded in commiseration. A strongly muscled arm wrapped in a leather jacket reached upwards and easily plucked his daughter from his shoulders. Zoia was delighted and set off to find some poor campers to terrorize as soon as her little feet hit the ground. Percy opened his mouth to tell her to go easy on them, but Ares had already reached forward and teleported them. He rolled his eyes even as his stomach went a little queasy. He hated this sensation – Ares knew that too, judging by his smirk. Percy showed him the bird, but the war god didn't care, bumping their shoulders together before pulling him along.
“Why do I even have to be here?”, Percy whined. Zoia didn't! And she was a god just as much as he was.
“Why would I know, brat. Now stop your hollering, you look like a drowned kitten.”.
“...”
Evidently realizing he’d just compared Percy to a kitten of all things, Ares abruptly turned and strode into the council room. Percy trailed behind him, pointedly dragging his feet.
He greeted his father with a small wave, gave a two-fingered salute to Hermes and nodded to Apollo. Then he sat on his (smaller, because never let it be said that the gods weren’t petty about hierarchy) throne, conveniently placed between Ares and Poseidon.
“Son. How is my beautiful granddaughter?” Poseidon was a very attentive grandfather where he had been a fairly lacking father. No, Percy totally didn’t resent that. Poseidon loved Zoia almost more than his own children.
“She’s doing good. She’s discovered free-soloing for herself.” Poseidon’s face scrunched in confusion. “It’s a form of rock-climbing without a harness", Percy added, almost as an afterthought. Ares snorted.
“Harnesses are for pussies!”, he declared.
“They’re most definitely not,” Percy argued. “And don’t go telling your demigods shit like that, yeah? It’s already difficult enough keeping them from killing each other in the arena.”
Ares lounged on his throne, chiton riding upwards on his thighs beneath his armor. He shrugged, showcasing an impressive array of sharp, sparkling-white teeth. Percy felt like he’d just encountered a predator in the jungle.
“So what? If they are defeated that easily, they probably deserve it.”
He didn’t mean it and he knew that just as well as Percy did. Ares loved his children – he wouldn’t keep giving out spears like they grew on trees if he didn’t. He let the bit of posturing slide and demonstrably turned towards Zeus. Surely, Ares would get bored if he didn’t pay attention to him. He ignored the prickling feeling of eyes on his nape.
“Esteemed council and -ahem- guests-” Zeus sent him a pointed look, which Percy resented. He hadn’t even wanted to come here in the first place!
“-I welcome you to this year's summer solstice. Now, onto the first point on our long agenda. Athena, if you will-” he made a widespread motion with his hand and Athena got up. She was as much of a statue turned person as ever. Sometimes he thought Athena had lost all her emotions millenia ago, if she ever had any to begin with.
“Thank you, father. Now, I believe it is high time we come back to the topic of the recent educational reforms made by the mortals-”
And Percy stopped listening. Athena brought this up every time. Did those reforms suck? Sure, but the council didn’t want or asked for his opinion on it anyway. He was probably here to present some new info about camp, which was almost always the last point on the agenda. Meaning he’d have to sit here quietly for at least another eight hours. Luckily, his ADHD had pretty much disappeared after his ascension but that didn’t mean this wasn’t boring at all.
It didn’t help that Aphrodite sat immediately in front of him, and he couldn’t really look at her. Her hair - a black tangle of waves, interlaced with a sheen of red, almost like dried blood- pooled against her shapely figure, her eyes - burning red, like her winged son, like Ares, fixated on his face. She knew what he saw, he was pretty sure. And despite Aphrodite not being a jealous lover, she surely didn’t like this either.
He looked down at his hands, fingers twisting in his lap and examined the star-burst scar left behind by that scorpion all those years ago. Most of his scars had disappeared when he’d become a god, but this one stayed. The truly meaningful ones all stayed. The white in his hair from Atlas stayed. The puckered mark from Camp Jupiter stayed. (When he was in front of gods, mortals or anyone that wasn’t Annabeth, he wore armor covering his mortal spot. He might’ve lost his curse but he only trusted Styx as far as he could throw her.)
He was forcefully pushed out of his morose musings by a projectile that hit him square in the face. What projectile, you might ask? A grape. His eyes flicked towards Dionysus but the god was deeply invested in some sort of vineyard magazine and didn't even look up to face him.
Then, very slowly, Percy turned towards Ares. Another grape hit him, this time right in the chest. Ares grinned devilishly. “Punk,” he mouthed. Percy took a deep breath,
If the calming methods hadn't worked on him when he was twelve, they were sure as Hades entirely redundant now. Gods didn’t really do restraint. He bared his teeth and made a motion with his finger, running an invisible line along his throat before pointing at Ares. The god had the audacity to look amused in the face of a threat by the twice-hero of Olympus. Please, gods, give him strength, Percy prayed. He'd once asked Artemis if gods could pray. They could. Nobody would answer – typically.
Today? Today someone answered.
Abruptly he became aware of the other conversations in the throne room trickling out. Percy turned away from Ares. That’s when he saw it -him-.
“Again?”, he cried and hoped that didn’t traumatize the child too much.
He could hear Hermes snicker and Dionysus dramatically set down his magazine.
Ares, besides him, ran a hand through his unfairly good-looking hair. A second child before they ever progressed past the talking stage. Great, just great.
The boy was maybe five, a tad bit older than Zoia had been. He had his pudgy hands set on his hips, and glowered discontently at his parents.
“Stop fighting!” he demanded. Even Artemis began laughing then.
“Congrats, Ares, Percy, it’s a boy! May I introduce the God of Peaceful Resolutions?” Apollo said, bowing at the waist.
Oh fuck, no.
“This is your fault.” Percy told Ares decisively. His eyes flared brightly in response.
“My fault? It’s your fucking spawn. Peaceful Resolutions, all-mighty gods, fuck!”
“You started it with those fucking grapes!”, Percy threw his hands up. Ares snorted, the bastard.
“Oh admit it, you like it, you fucking tease!” That was edging dangerously close towards what others-lesser beings-would call flirting.
Percy could feel the ichor rushing to his face. “What? No, I fucking don’t!”
It likely would’ve progressed into a full on fist-fight if he didn’t suddenly have a lap full of a newborn son.
“I said stop!” the boy, who didn’t even have a name yet, but sure as hell had inherited his fathers audacity, told him firmly.
“Stop being a meanie,” He then told Ares from his place on Percy’s lap. Ares smirk dropped as he examined his son.
“You’re gonna be really annoying, aren’t you?” he says, which Percy is definitely not a fan of, even if he’s thinking the same thing.
“You gotta talk it out!” his son - who definitely needed a name - said with all the wise knowledge of a being that was about two minutes old.
Percy felt a headache coming on.