Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Percy’s knee bounced incessantly the entire subway ride to the upper east side.

 He was feeling especially wired today, and maybe it was because Annabeth wasn’t with him. They really hadn't been separated for more than half an hour at a time since the end of the Second Giant War, which was only a few days ago. A lot had happened since Percy had essentially gotten kidnapped by Hera. He wasn’t the same as he was then. Sure, he’d had plenty of not-so-fun things happen to him. Lots of demigod misadventures, and even before that, Smelly Gabe. 

But the recent months had taken their toll on him in a way nothing else ever had. Even the weight of the sky could hardly compare. And he would know. 

Most of all, he was homesick. He hadn't been home with his mom and Paul in over 8 months. So today, he was going back home. Annabeth had departed from camp early that morning, on a plane to San Francisco. She had also felt that she should go spend some time with her mortal family, even though that didn't always work out so well.

Percy knew it would be good for her, and he was proud of her for doing it, even with the rocky past her family shared, but at the same time he hated that she was going away. Not having her by his side amplified his nerves tenfold. It’s only a few days, he reminded himself. Only a few days.

The subway was far too crowded for Percy’s liking, and he couldn't stop his hands from shaking. By the time he had reached his stop, he was fighting to keep his breathing even, trying to shake off the feeling that the walls were closing in. The sooner he was out of there, the better. When the doors opened, he nearly sprinted out and up the stairs. It was storming outside, but he allowed the rain to touch him, and it made him sigh in relief. 

Finally, he was going back home. He knew his way there, despite becoming a part-time amnesiac and not having been there in well over half a year. 

Before he knew it, he was at the door of the apartment. For a moment he just stood there, working up the courage to knock. Feelings of guilt and uncertainty hit him in waves. What if his mom was angry at him? What if she was scared of him, the way Annabeth was in Tartarus? What if Paul didn't even care about him anymore? Percy pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relieve the tension there. 

He raised his hand and knocked. For a moment all he could hear were the sounds of the city, the heavy rainfall, and his own breathing. Then, the doorknob twisted. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. 

He was then standing face to face with Paul. He wanted to say something, but nothing occurred to him, so instead he ran straight into Paul, nearly tackling him in a hug so that they both staggered further into the apartment. At first Paul was so surprised that he seemed taken aback, but then he recovered himself and wrapped his arms around his stepson. He was both fascinated and a little saddened by the way Percy clung to him like a small child, fingers curling into the cloth of his shirt. 

“Sally?” he called, his normally bold voice sounded timid, or fragile. Like he hardly dared to believe this was really happening. 

At the sound of his mother's name, Percy could feel his resolve crumbling. 

When she stepped into his line of sight, something inside him broke. He let out a raspy sob, a sound containing emotions he had barely allowed himself to feel in the last couple months. And now that he could no longer hold them at bay, they crashed into him with the speed and force of a bullet train.

He roughly broke away from Paul, stumbling into his mom’s open arms. She held him so tightly. His chest hurt. The wounds on his torso burned, stubbornly protesting against the contact. He didn't care. Tears slipped down his cheeks and he was shaking and his breath was hitching in his throat. He felt his mom shaking too. 

“I- I’m sorry,” he choked out. His short gasps started to turn into violent sobs. “I’m s- so sorry,” he cried. He didn't know what else to say, but he wanted to say something, so he repeated those same words, over and over and over as he and Sally sank to the floor.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

He didn't even register until a few moments later that his mom was rubbing his back, murmuring in his ear, voice thick with emotion. “Oh, Percy. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I love you so, so much.”

In the presence of his parents, Percy allowed himself to completely break. He had been holding it together for so long, telling himself that he had to be strong. For Annabeth. For the Seven. 

He felt selfish for it, but he allowed himself to let go of the shattered pieces he was holding together, the jagged fragments of him . Because now his mom was holding him. Holding him together, so he didn't have to. 

His mom’s whispered assurances were bandages on a deep wound, cool water in a desert. 

It’s okay. I love you. You're safe.

Paul was standing a few feet away, teary-eyed and more than a little awkward, until Sally threw him a look of desperation, which he took as permission to join them.

Percy welcomed the feeling of being somewhat sandwiched between the two of them, being held. Gradually, his sobbing died down. He pulled away from them and roughly wiped any remaining tears with the heels of his hands. His mom was still crying. He finally thought of something else to say.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice wrecked.

Sally reached a hand out to his face, gently running her fingers across a scar on his jaw that she’d never noticed before. “Of course, sweetie.” She smiled a bit, and he returned the favor. They stood up together, and Sally took both of his hands. “Your room is just the way you left it, and there's spaghetti on the stove, and- oh! I’ll have blue chocolate chip cookies ready in no time!” Her face lit up despite the tears still rolling down her cheeks. 

Percy hugged her again. “I missed you, Mom.”

She didn't answer, but the way her arms tightened around him before she let him go was answer enough. 

Sally was beaming the whole evening, even though she saw the way her son was different. The permanent tension in his shoulders, the constant jogging of his legs, the way his eyes darted around as if identifying an escape, only to become unfocused for minutes at a time. None of it was new, only intensified, more concentrated. Like what he had endured was closer than ever to consuming his whole being. 

It was a bit awkward, because Percy wasn’t ready to talk about… well, everything. His parents didn't push him to talk about it either, and he was extremely grateful. When he was ready to talk about it, they would be ready to listen. 

For just a moment, he wanted to forget everything that had happened and have a normal dinner with his parents. And they were all happy, because he was finally home again.

Chapter Text

In his own defense, Percy hadn't really planned on falling asleep. He had no idea what kind of nightmares would plague him, or even how he’d react when he woke up, what with being in a different environment and not having Annabeth there at his side. 

Anyway, despite his better judgment, Percy had basically passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow that night. 

He dreamt of Tartarus. 

His feet are on the rough, fleshy skin of the primordial god. Nowhere is safe. There is nowhere Tartarus cannot find him. Percy falls to his hands and knees. Fiery blood pulses through veins in the ground beneath him, and the all consuming heartbeat of Tartarus is pounding in his skull. His skin stings, breaking out into festering boils in the toxic air, the god’s breath. The stench fills Percy’s nostrils, making his sinuses ache. He tries to breathe but there is no oxygen to be had. The empty air grates on his throat. Everything about this place, this state of being, is designed to assault his senses so utterly that he can’t even remember who he is.

He looks up for help, for Annabeth, for anything, really. But he is alone. All alone, that is, except for the hundreds of arai descending upon him. He tries to scramble away but he is too slow, too weak. In a matter of seconds they’re all piled on top of him. He’s stuck between the curses and the very skin of Tartarus and he wants to fight back, but he’s a coward. The river Cocytus tells him so, flowing through the god’s veins, inches away from Percy’s body. He wants to give up, but he doesn’t. He struggles against the spirits, kicking and punching and flailing in a mad and desperate attempt to free himself. The resulting pain is immediate and all encompassing. Everything disappears. All that remains is himself and the shooting pain in his chest, the heaviness of his arms, the gorgon’s poison eating him up from the inside. The blood coursing through his veins has been replaced by bitter, persistent agony. 

“Percy!” Someone is calling out to him. 

“W-where are- Percy!” It’s Annabeth, and for a moment, he feels the tiniest spark of hope.

“YOU LEFT ME!” she shouts, and the sound permeates in Percy’s skull. Her voice is breaking, but still so loud and accusing. She’s breaking down, screaming and sobbing. It’s his fault. She’s floundering blindly, searching for him, but he’s right here. He’s barely conscious, he’s writhing and convulsing, but he hasn’t left. He’s right here. He wants to scream it to her until his throat feels like sandpaper, but when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. He tries again, desperate to communicate. Nothing. He tries again and again and again but his voice is failing him, and he is failing Annabeth. Fury and guilt and panic swirl like a hurricane deep in his chest and he wants to lash out but he can’t move. The pain in his chest is intensifying, and someone is shouting directly into his ear, “Percy! Please, wake up!” and it’s too much. He wants it all to stop. The storm in his gut reaches a climax and he lets loose a ragged, gut wrenching scream, and-

Percy’s eyes shot open, and he sat up so fast he thought he would fling himself off the bed with the rocking of the Argo II, or hit his head on the top bunk in his cabin.

But he wasn't in either of those places. His chest hurt and he couldn't breathe and his nerves were buzzing in his limbs and pure panic flashed through his mind. He didn't know where he was. If he wasn't at camp, and he wasn't on the  Argo II… Tartarus. Percy let out a panicked sob at the thought. He had never gotten out. They had never won the war. It was all a dream and he was alone now, searching in vain for the Doors of Death and- no, no that couldn't be right. 

He was terrified and blood roared in his ears, but he could just barely hear familiar voices, hovering distantly, calling him. 

“Percy, you're home, you're safe.”

He did not feel safe. He drew his knees to his chest and curled into himself. His cheeks were damp from sweat and tears.

He heard a voice again, this time a deeper, more resonant one. “Percy, can you take some deep breaths for me?” 

Percy didn't know how to communicate that no, he couldn't. He was flailing in a void where nothing existed but him and sheer panic and these voices floating around him like ghosts. He didn't know how to make it stop, but after a moment he noticed a new sensation. There was something warm and soft on his hunched-over back, rubbing up and down between his shoulder blades. Something about the motion made the muscles there relax. There was a hand in his, shaking a little, and it made him feel less shame at his own shaking hands. And if there was a hand on his back and a hand holding his, that meant he wasn't alone, right?

 The void melted away, and his panic dissipated just enough for him to be aware of his surroundings. He was in his bedroom, in his parents' apartment in Manhattan. He was not alone. He was not in Tartarus. 

“Perce, I know you’re scared right now, but we need you to breathe, bud.” 

Percy knew the voice now. It was Paul. He recognized the trembling hand in his as his mother’s, cool, slightly calloused palms, soft fingers. He made a feeble attempt at slowing down his breathing, but he only managed a couple deep, shuddering breaths before he choked and broke down into sobs for the second time that night.

Paul and Sally shared a bewildered look. Even Percy’s worst nightmares hadn't normally been this bad. And even though she didn't know the full extent of what all had happened, something told Sally there were many more nights like this to come. All she could do was hold her son. Her son, who had grown so fast she sometimes forgot he was still a child. 

No one spoke. Paul left the room once Percy’s breathing had evened out, satisfied that the boy would be okay. Sally held him, whispering soft assurances and stroking his hair until his head lolled and his body went limp. She laid him back down, hoping against all hope that he would sleep through the rest of the night.

You cannot heal it all

We bend ‘til we break

We don't wanna take a fall

Oh, I’m not feeling so malleable

A brittle sense of self, yet capable