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English
Series:
Part 7 of I Hear You're Alive (How Disappointing)
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The Persead, Why...(°ロ°) ! (pages and pages of google docs links)░(°◡°)░
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Published:
2023-08-31
Completed:
2024-09-29
Words:
1,921
Chapters:
2/2
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144
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3,621
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256
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31,733

what we hide (with every lie)

Summary:

Percy hasn't had an active role in the peace talks between the Camps, but he has been keeping an eye on them. This, he decides, as he breaks up an almost-fight, was a smart move.

Now to make sure the peace talks stay peaceful.

In which Percy absolutely Does Not terrorize New Rome.

Notes:

title from BVB's We Stitch These Wounds

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: you're by yourself

Chapter Text

The hospital room was loud. Sporadic cries came from cradles, lined up in rows before a large window. Percy swept through the room, glancing at name tags taped to the outsides. He passed a Romero, a Jasmine, an Emily—and finally, Percy stopped in front of Estelle.

She had a thick shock of hair, the same color as Sally’s. Her eyes, though, were all Paul’s, hazel in the center blending into dark brown on the outside. She was pink, and pudgy, and her face was screwed up in displeasure at being trapped in a crib. Her vocal protest continued until Percy reached down and, gently—very gently—nudged her little curled up fist.

A fist that would never need to hold a sword. A fist that would grow up gripping her parents’ fingers, and her toys, and eventually pens and pencils, and phones and car keys, and purses and homework, and never, ever a weapon that her life would depend on. Percy would make sure of that.

As if sensing his thoughts, Estelle grabbed his index finger, babbling happily at this new thing she got to hold. Percy couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. “You’re perfect,” he told her, “in every way I never got to be.” He wiggled his finger, pulling her arm along, and she stared at it intently. “And as long as I’m alive, you will be safe. You’ll be protected, and no one will be able to hurt you.”

A blessing, as much for Sally and Paul as it was for Estelle. Percy slowly untangled his baby sister’s fist from around his finger, and quickly replaced it before she could get upset. Now she held a small, soft rattle, shaped like a trident. Inconspicuous enough that the hospital staff would ignore it. Misleading enough that Sally would think it came from Poseidon.

But Percy would know, and that would be enough.

He may have stayed forever, watching over his sister, making sure she was safe. But Terminus was calling him. He closed his eyes against the tears threatening to escape, and when he opened them, he was no longer in the hospital.

Percy landed in a crouch, facing away from the arguing demigods. It gave him more time to make sure his eyes were dry; he blinked quickly as he stood, slowly, then turned around.

Each delegation sat on one side of a picnic table. Clarisse was standing, fist clenched at her side, while Malcolm and Will were reaching out tentatively, almost unsure if they should intervene. Reyna sat primly on the other side of the picnic table, head inclined and arms crossed with disinterest. At her side and a step behind, Michael Kahale stood stiffly, eyes narrowed at Clarisse and hand reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Their third, a senator named Niles Marlowe who sat beside Reyna, watched Percy with narrowed eyes that did not hide his fear well.

“I guess things had to go south at some point, huh?” Percy said. “Although I’m impressed it took this long. You’ve all been doing well.”

Will furrowed his brows. “Wait, how would you know?” He asked.

“Terminus is an incurable gossip,” Percy replied.

The god in question sputtered as everyone turned to look at him. He and Seymour, the leopard’s head from the Big House, were tasked with holding everyone’s weapons during negotiations—Terminus the Greeks’, Seymour the Romans’. Eventually, he sniffed disdainfully and muttered viciously about a Greek’s lack of trustworthiness. Percy just rolled his eyes.

“So?” He pressed, drawing the delegates’ attention back to him. “What’s the problem?” Clarisse opened her mouth, but Percy held up a finger, and pointed to someone else. “Malcolm?”

The son of Athena sighed. “We can’t quite agree on a method of communication. The Romans rejected Iris Messages—although I’m still unclear as to why—even though they’re all we’re really comfortable with, and we can’t see any reason why we should allow Roman eagles within our borders, despite their insistence. Those birds sieged our airspace for weeks. We can’t trust them.”

“And that, son of Minerva, is why we will not have our messages delivered by a Greek goddess,” Marlowe said. Malcolm grumbled, “Athena,” before he continued, “We do not trust her, her methods, or you. We do trust our eagles.”

“We’ll see how much you trust those chickens when I’m done plucking them,” Clarisse hissed. Kahale growled at her. She sneered back.

Before they could escalate, Percy snorted. “Really? This is what you can’t compromise on?”

“We cannot compromise if it would send our communications through a method we do not trust,” Reyna intoned.

“So? Have you all forgotten what year it is?” Percy shook his head in disbelief. “Get a pair of prepaid burner phones.”

“Phones and demigods don’t mix well,” Kahale argued.

“Like your whole city and army base isn’t surrounded by a protective barrier? Then go through snail mail. Emails. I suppose we could train up an army of messenger pigeons together,” snarked Percy. “What about owls, like in Harry Potter?” He rolled his eyes. “How about this—we agree on burners or some other simple, convenient way of communication, or I put the party ponies on the job. Do you really want wild, drunken centaurs who may or may not decide to snoop around and read your mail delivering your correspondence?”

Clarisse cleared her throat. “Y’know, I think burner phones sound like a great idea.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Reyna agreed. When Kahale and Marlowe looked at her like she grew a second head, she shrugged. “I’ve come across the party ponies. Burner phones will work wonderfully.” And the Romans took their Praetor’s word for it.

“Maybe think about pagers, too,” Percy suggested, walking over to fist bump Terminus’ pedestal, and scratch behind Seymour’s ears, “but I’ll leave that up to you. If that’s all?” He turned to the negotiators, who all looked pleasant enough aside from Clarisse.

“Yeah, you can leave, Fish Breath,” she grumbled.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you ready to pounce when I got here.” Percy crossed his arms. “Do I need to keep an eye on Lamer?” He asked.

“No!” Clarisse spat. “Maimer isn’t going to move until we’re done here.”

“Good answer,” Percy told her. “Good luck.” Custer State Park was gone the next instant, leaving Percy looking at the glove compartment of his and Grover’s car. The Lord of the Wild was in a meeting, and would be for a while, if Percy had to judge from where the sun was. He’d given his gift to Estelle. He’d stopped a fight from breaking out during peace talks between the camps.

Percy leaned his seat back and closed his eyes. He more than deserved a nap.

Chapter 2: pray to die in vain

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Frank had a headache.

The Senators had been arguing about—gods, he didn’t even remember—for almost an hour now. He’d stopped paying attention about ten minutes in. Senator Marlowe was speaking, something to do with education and temples.

He failed to notice how quiet things had gotten until Marlowe himself stopped talking, leaving the room drowning in an oppressive silence.

Frank looked up, and turned to where the Senators were staring, and his headache instantly got worse.

Percy Jackson sat in one of the observers’ seats behind the Praetors’ chairs, seeming for all the world to be sincerely invested in what Marlowe had been saying.

Frank exchanged a stunned look with Reyna. “Percy, man,” he said, because no one else was going to talk to him, and the silence was getting awkward, “what are you doing here?”

“Hi, Frank,” Percy said with a wave. “I’ve got an issue.”

Reyna blinked, and cleared her throat. “Do you, now?”

“Yeah. Hi, Reyna. Do you have any idea how annoying it is that your mom refuses to call me by my name?” He threw his hands up in frustration, and some of the Senators flinched back. Frank would have laughed if he hadn’t seen Percy threatening the Legion back on Half-Blood Hill. He could understand, now, why people thought he was scary. “Every time I see Bellona, it’s always, “Hello, Praetor,” and never, “Hi, Percy.” It’s infuriating. I’m not still Praetor, right? Do I need to, like, officially step down, or is she just being annoying on purpose?”

“You showed up in the middle of a Senate meeting to ask me that?” Reyna deadpanned. “No, you are no longer Praetor. However, it is well within her rights to continue to call you such, as a sign of respect for the office you once held.” Percy’s face fell as she spoke.

“So she’s not gonna call me Percy.”

“That seems to be the case.”

“Even though I—“ Percy cut himself off and gestured with his head back in the direction of Camp Jupiter. “You know.”

“That seems to be the case.” Percy cursed.

A Senator named Saul Spanos spoke up. “You are fully willing to acknowledge what you did, and yet you dare show your face in these halls?” Even after a year, Frank knew, New Rome’s grudge held strong.

He nearly groaned at the way Percy’s eyebrow raised. He knew what that expression on his face meant. Percy saw something he thought was funny, or obvious, or hypocritical, or something, and he was about to make his point in the most spectacularly Percy way possible.

“Are we gonna talk about that? Let’s talk about that. Should we begin with how there was an army laying siege on my home? An army about to attack my Camp? A Camp full of children and only children?” He stood up, vaulted over the partition separating the seats from the senators, and took the speaking floor. “Or should I start by questioning why the army marching on my Camp was comprised of children itself?”

Senator Himura cut in, “They’re hardly—“

“Teenagers, Senator, are still children. You have an entire city full of adults here in New Rome, and your attacking force is made up solely of kids seventeen and under? Yes, I threatened to kill every single one of them, but why were they even there? Imagine if things had gone differently. Imagine if your children had attacked mine. Imagine if I had done as I promised and slaughtered your Legion. Their blood is not only on my hands. It’s on yours, too.

“You have the blood of every single child that dies in service of the legion on your hands because you send them out to fight. You have safe borders, you have a city and college and parks and shops, and those kids will only get to use them if they survive their mandatory ten years of service. You burn their military experience into their skin. Don’t act like you have some sort of moral high ground. You’re worse than I could ever be. At least I take responsibility for my actions.”

Percy’s voice was calm, and cold, and cutting, and his eyes were full of rage. Rage Frank had seen when Percy had scolded the gods, for the same thing he was scolding the senate.

Child endangerment.

And Frank had heard the stories. He knew that Percy was twelve when he’d discovered his heritage. Older than the youngest probatios at Camp Jupiter by four years. Annabeth had been seven, too. They had deserved to be protected.

So did the kids in Frank’s Camp. He turned to the senate himself, eyebrow raised in imitation of Percy, and waited for their answer.

This was a topic he wouldn’t grow bored of.

Notes:

same deal — marked complete, but is it? who knows, not me!

is it 6am? yes. do i wish i was asleep? yes. enjoy.

Notes:

i finished this 5 minutes ago i hope you like it!!!