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The day Thalia turns up at his door, Percy knows it’s a lot worse than he thought. This is the nuclear option. This is Annabeth’s nuclear option.
“You’re scaring her, you know.” She says, after they sit in silence for what feels like eternity. He’s sitting on his bunk staring out of his cabin window. She’s sitting next to him, probably not looking out the window. Percy can feel the way she shifts.
Percy squeezes his eyes shut. He knows. “I know.”
“Talk to me. You won’t talk to Annabeth, you’re so scared of hurting her. But she’s hurting. She sees you hurting.”
When he doesn’t respond, Thalia says almost desperately, “Percy you aren’t eating.”
Damn, so they had noticed.
Percy can’t get the words out yet. They just get caught in his throat, so thick and heavy and full of the pain he knows they will cause that he can’t breathe.
“I’m not scared of hurting her.” Not really at least, there’s always that little bit of fear in him. It hasn’t left in the five years since he left tartarus. “Annabeth’s the toughest, bravest, strongest person I know. She’s put up with a lot and I know she could handle me at my worst. It doesn’t mean I want her to. I’m scared of her hating me. I’m scared of losing her. I’m scared of her looking at me and seeing the monster.”
Thalia is silent at that. The words seem to stall her brain. Or at least one of them does.
“Percy, you’re not a monster.”
Without looking away from the window, he lets water from a bottle somewhere behind him float around the room. When it’s in front of Thalia, he freezes it and lets it drop to the floor, shattering haphazardly.
“Aren’t I?”
A hand wrenches his shoulder around, forcing Percy to look at Thalia. Her eyes are wide, and bright bright electric blue. “No! No. Percy, you’re not. You’re not.”
He doesn’t know if he believes her.
“I just want…” Thalia might understand, he thinks. She cares about percy. And she cared about him. But the difference, between Thalia and Annabeth, is that Thalia accepted what was happening with Luke a hell of a lot faster than Annabeth had. And she had been angry, too. Annabeth had been angry, yes, but Thalia, back during the first war, had been angry in a way Annabeth couldn’t be.
Percy looks back out the window. There are some young demigod running around amongst the cabins, seemingly playing a game of tag. Out at the opening, there are others sitting in the strawberry fields. He doesn’t see a single sad face outside.
“They deserve to be cared about.”
Thalia lets put a loud hiss of a breath as if she’s been stabbed. Percy knows she recognises those words.
“They deserve to be seen.”
In his head he can hear Luke’s voice from all those years ago.
They should care about us. It’s the least we deserve. I’m going to make them see me.
“I want to change things for the better. They deserve to be noticed, to not have to fight every day of their lives just to be seen, to be noticed.”
All I ever wanted was to change things for the better. We spend everyday of our lives working for a scrap of affection. Don’t we deserve better than that?
“Percy…” Thalia‘a sounds like nothing Percy has ever heard before. If percy were a little dumber, he might say that she sounded on the verge of tears.
“They’re kids. They deserve to be safe. They are supposed to grow up safe.”
What he doesn’t say is I deserve to be safe. You deserve to be safe. We all do. But it’s never really been about himself.
“Percy, I know what you’re saying.”
“Do you? Thalia, you were dying and the best thing Zeus decided he could do to save your life was turn you into a tree. Zeus. King of the gods. Your father.”
Thalia stays silent. She’s either trying to find something, anything at all to say, or fighting against saying something she knows will hurt him. Percy has a feeling it’s the second option.
Percy sighs. “I told you, Thalia. I’m a monster. I have powers over things I shouldn’t even control. I just… I’m so angry now. The gods aren’t changing. I don’t know if I can make them change.”
Quick as a flash, Thalia seems to have found her words. “I understand. Percy I do. Don’t you think that we all have a bit of that anger inside us? Don’t you think we all see it? We all remember. You’re not a monster for that. And neither was Luke.”
“Sometimes,” Percy starts, and then stops because this is the thought he’s been keeping close to his chest for years. The one solitary thought he kept to himself out of a surprising spike of self preservation. But everything else is already on the table. He may as well go all in.
“Sometimes, I don’t think Luke was wrong. He wasn’t right, but he want wrong either.”
Percy looks to his left and stares at the water fountain his father gave him when he was fourteen, repaired when he was 16. He cannot bare to look at Thalia after his admission. Not when he will see the look of betrayal he knows is on her face. The look that could get him killed if he’s wrong about trusting her.
But then he feels warm arms wrap around him, and the cold that’s been creeping into his chest and his hands and his feet seems to fade away.
Percy flinches. He turns to look at Thalia, but as soon as he does his face is pushed into her neck. A sob breaks its way out of Percy’s throat. It doesn’t stop at one.
~~~
Everything about Poseidon is calm, like little waves lapping at the shore of the lake. Percy clenches his fist and says nothing. Poseidon has come to him, Poseidon can tell him what he wants.
“I received a prayer from a demigod for the first time in four years, today. Imagine my surprise when it wasn’t my son that was praying to me, but a daughter of Athena.”
Percy doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t had anything to say to Poseidon for four years. That hasn’t changed since the god is standing right in front of him. (This is a lie. There is a list longer than the drop into hell of things left unsaid between Percy and his father. Percy just knows that nothing he says will make a difference.)
“There has been talk on Olympus, Perseus.”
Still not looking at his father, Percy whispers, “Don’t call me that.” He squeezes his fist tighter and feels the relieving sting in his palm, anchoring him.
“Percy, the council is growing weary. Athena herself is suggesting we do something to get a better control over you. Or perhaps better said, your powers.”
“So, what? Are you here to detain me? To take me to Olympus? Turn me into a god? Kill me?”
“Of course not.” Poseidon sounds offended at the implication that he would agree with the Olympian council. More so than the implication he would kill his own son. “Percy many gods, myself and Apollo included, have been quick to defend you. You have more than earned your right to peace. Zeus is…”
“A paranoid bastard?”
“Well, that’s one way of putting it.” Percy can hear Poseidon chuckle, still he does not look at him. Then he sobers up, and Poseidon lowers himself to sit next to Percy on the dry sand, far from the waters edge. “Percy, you are my son. Do you think I cannot tell when something is wrong?”
Percy scoffs. Because, what, aside from monologuing at him for the millionth time, can Poseidon actually do? Or, more accurately, what is he even willing to do?
“Do you doubt me?” Poseidon asks, and Percy just knows it’s taking everything in him to not force Percy to look at him. “Do you doubt my love? Or do you doubt my ability to help?”
Percy shuts his eyes, and pretends for a moment that he’s alone. When Poseidon doesn’t disappear, he just sighs.
“You don’t love me,” Percy says. And it’s not a goad, it’s not some cry for help because Percy self esteem was flushed down the toilet years ago. It’s a simple fact. Like the grass is green. Satyrs are more helpful than fawns. Zeus is an asshole. Poseidon is a god, and he does not love Percy.
Despite this, Poseidon deems Percy’s statement the most important thing in their conversation so far.
“I’m not sure what has made you think that, Percy. I told you once, that you were my favourite son, that I cared for you. Is that not enough proof? I have never once declared a favourite in my entire existence.”
Existence. At least he got that part right.
“Being the favourite and being loved is not the same thing.”
“Then what more do you want? I tell you I love you and you dismiss it as easily and one would dismiss a lie.”
“Because it is a lie!” Percy doesn’t know where the rage comes from, but it’s here now and he doesn’t want it to stop.
“You say you love me, but you are a god. You don’t know how to. You don’t love me, just like you don’t love my mother. You obsess over us, sure, and there’s devotion. But it’s not love. And you, Poseidon, don’t love me. You love the fact that I’m yours. Your soldier. I was never your son. You never raised me. You chose me when you needed me and supported me when it was in your best interest.”
Percy can feel the way Poseidon bristles in anger. He can feel the power radiating off of him. Percy finds that he does not care.
“Percy…” despite the anger, Poseidon still speaks calmly, almost resigned.
“I may be your son biologically, but I’m not yours. You don’t own me!”
Percy wonders how much of Poseidon’s anger is genetic. Father of monsters, someone said to Percy once. Are those monsters murderous because they inherited Poseidon’s anger? Did Percy? Or would it have been there regardless of his parent?
Percy thinks of Tyson, and his huge smiles and even bigger hugs. He didn’t inherit the anger. If there was anything Percy was sure of, Tyson was the calming, cooling breeze on a hot summer’s day. Tyson was the warm currents and the soft sand and the seashells that wash ashore. The ones worth collecting.
“Do not insult me by presuming to know how I think and feel Percy.”
“Do you not do the same to me?”
“Do you think I would not do something about your disrespect?”
It’s like a tennis match, and Percy could go on like this all day.
Percy just raises an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”
This is a goad, this is Percy calling his bluff. Show me what it means to be the father of monsters, Percy thinks. It’s almost a prayer. Almost, but not quite. He squeezes his fist tighter, and welcomes another surging sting.
“Fine,” Poseidon says, “you say that I assume your thoughts. Perhaps you are right. You are torturing yourself Percy. I do not know if it is some form of masochism or martyrdom, but I have received multiple prayers asking for my interference.”
Percy scoffs, but does not say anything. There is more to come.
“The Olympian council has taken to listening in on these prayers, unable to ignore them any longer, especially when it is their own children making the prayers. Do you know what they say? That my son, the fierce warrior, survivor of hell itself, is out of control. Some call for your extermination like you are some kind of rat.”
There it is. Percy wonders who would call him a rat. Hera, most likely. And Athena would also be in the running.
Percy ignores most of what Poseidon has said, and how it has proved Percy’s entire point.
Instead he says, “what do you think it is like, being the son of the father of monsters? What do you think that means?”
Just another item in the list of things he and Poseidon had never spoken about. Percy is not expecting an answer.
Percy uncurls his hand and looks at the little crescent shapes indented on his palm. Beads of blood are slowly seeping out, and has even started drying under his nails. Still red.
Poseidon just sighs. He grabs Percy’s hand and a thumb over his palm, healing the small wounds.
“Percy,” Poseidon says, and Percy wishes he would stop saying his name like that. All weary, as if he has a headache. “Hurting yourself only makes you weaker. There is nothing wrong with being weak, but you should be working on fixing it, not making it worse. I should not be getting prayers from other demigods about you. My fellow Olympians should not be asking why their children pray to me and not their own parents. If this keeps going, I will be pushed to take drastic measures.”
Percy wants to scoff again, but finds he doesn’t have the energy. This time, he really does know that Poseidon is bluffing. He won’t do anything that lasts, he never has before. And who’s to say Percy won’t be dead by the time ‘drastic measures’ will need to be taken.
Percy gets up, and dusts himself off. He wonders when he will stop being useful to Poseidon. He wonders what will happen then. He wonders what will happen if he dies before his usefulness is up.
Percy looks at his father for the first time in the entire conversation. And he asks something he’s been wanting to know since he was 12 years old. “You were born a god. Did you lose the ability to care, or did you never have it in the first place?”
It’s a genuine question, too. Percy wants to know. He wants to know whether the gods cared once, but grew apathetic to the world around them as it continually changed and they stayed the same. Or maybe, they have never understood what it is like to care, just like they have never understood what it is like to die.
Percy can feel the stares of his friends as he makes his way back to his cabin. He feels the way their gazes have changed. From confused to worried to suspicious. They are waiting for something, they just don’t know what. Neither does he.
~~~
Percy cannot imagine a life in which he does not love Annabeth Chase. He cannot conceive the thought of not following her, of not listening to her. He cannot imagine for a second ever not thinking she is beautiful. And most importantly that she is good. She is a person that has never let anything stand in her way. She has never succumbed to the bitterness despite everything life and fate and the gods has thrown at her. She is good.
And Percy is just angry. He has been his whole life.
“Seaweed brain,” she breaths as she strokes his hair calmly. “Will you tell me what you’re thinking? Please?”
Percy cannot imagine a life in which he doesn’t tell her the truth.
“I don’t-“ His voice comes out choked. And suddenly, Percy can feel the tears welling up behind his eyelashes. He fights them.
“I don’t think I know who Percy Jackson is anymore.”
Annabeth doesn’t stop stroking his hair. Percy thinks, as he focuses on the minute movements, that that is the only thing that has stopped him from breaking down completely.
Percy opens his eyes, and stares up at Annabeth’s eyes from where is head lays in her lap. She isn’t angry. And she isn’t scared. She’s a little sad, but there’s a furrow between her eyebrows that means she is thinking hard. He wants to lift his hand, to smooth it, but every part of his body feels heavier than stone.
“You are Percy Jackson,” she says, so surely that Percy is going to believe whatever she says next. “You are the hero of Olympus, the saviour of the world. The only son of Poseidon and the most powerful demigod of our generation.”
Percy’s heart falls apart in his chest.
His face must fall too, because Annabeth just grows more worried.
“What is it?”
“That’s just the problem, isn’t it? I’m Olympus’s hero. I’m Poseidon’s soldier. I’m the Demigod who keeps leading children to their deaths. The more people say that, the more my blood just turns from red to gold.”
And Percy would rather go through tartarus again than see himself immortal.
“All I see, Annabeth, when I look in the mirror, is anger and bitterness. I don’t know who Percy Jackson, the mortal, is. I don’t know who Percy Jackson, the son of Sally Jackson is. What if he’s gone, ‘Beth?”
Percy thanks everything, and hell itself that his voice doesn’t break.
Annabeth doesn’t hesitate in her response, except it’s not the one he expected. Instead of trying to convince him that he’s not a monster, like Thalia had, she just moves around enough until Percy is sitting up, and then gets up, pulling Percy up with her. She leads him by the hand away from the beach and towards the cabins.
Percy ignores the giggling that comes from some of the younger campers. He’s painfully aware of the rules they’re breaking, but Annabeth doesn’t seem to care, and Percy just doesn’t have the energy. He also ignores the watchful stares of some of the older campers, the ones who know somethings wrong.
In his cabin, Annabeth stops him directly in front of the mirror on the far wall. It’s cracked in the corner after Percy through his sword at it and mostly missed.
Percy squeezes his eyes shut. “Annabeth,” he says, but doesn’t know what else he wants to say. Doesn’t know what she’s doing.
“Please look, Percy. Please,” she whispers.
Percy forces his eyes open, and looks at his reflection. But his eyes don’t stay still for long, instead they flit about the reflection, looking at his bunk, at Annabeth, at the slightly singed t-shirt he is wearing. He does not dare make a sound.
“Percy,” Annabeth says, after he meets her gaze in the mirror again. “When I look at you, I don’t see the hero of Olympus, solider of the gods. I see the boy I fell in love with when I was twelve.”
She wraps her arms around his torso and give a squeeze. Something about the contact makes Percy feel marginally better.
“I was wrong when I said that being a hero was who you are. Being a hero of Olympus is your achievement. Who you are, above all else, is good. That is who Percy Jackson, son of Sally Jackson, is. If there’s anything you believe from what I’ve said, I need it to be that.”
He doesn’t, is the problem. But even is Percy doesn’t believe Annabeth, he trusts that she wouldn’t lie to him. And that means she must see it, the good, somewhere.
“Annabeth, I don’t- I- It doesn’t mean…”. Percy doesn’t know what he’s saying, but he’s too tired to argue. He’s too tired to even listen. He listens anyway.
Annabeth shushes him. “You are Percy Jackson, mortal as they come, and your powers don’t define you. You are the boy who shows kindness and empathy to everyone you come across. You are the boy who never forgot me, even when you forgot everything else about yourself. You’re the boy who chose for a great prophecy to be about yourself, rather than let Nico be the one to suffer even more. Even though we were sure it was going to end in your death.”
The tears Percy had fought away before are back, and this time it’s more like a flood building behind his lashes. He has no way to hold them back. When the first one slides down his cheek, Annabeth wipes it away. And then the next. Percy does not make a sound
Then she says, “Percy, your anger does not make you a monster, and it’s not wrong. It makes you human. And everything I said? It’s the start of a very long list that everyone at camp would add to in a heartbeat. You aren’t the monster you think you are. You bleed red, just like everyone else.”
There’s a steady stream of tears rolling down his face. When he lets out a sob, Annabeth lifts he arms higher, and brings his head to rest in the crook of her neck. She walks them over to his bed and Percy all but collapses. He barely notices the way she wraps his in a blanket and holds him to her chest. He’s too exhausted from everything - his lack of sleep, his guilt, his argument with Poseidon, his anger. Percy just wants it all to stop.
Slowly, he starts to feel his breathing calm down, and Percy focuses on the patterns Annabeth draws on his back. Some of them are random, but some feel like protection sigils. Percy lets the lull of sleep take over him.
~~~
When Percy wakes, he hears voices.
One is Annabeth’s, and he is so goddamn thankful that she hasn’t left.
The other is- “-sure he’s okay? I’ve been feeling weird- tense- for weeks now, but this morning it was like… I haven’t felt despair like that in a long time.” Grover?
Percy had been sure that Grover was on the other side of the country doing Lord of the wild business. He isn’t due back for two more weeks.
“It’s not good, Grover. I tried to get Thalia to talk to him a few days ago. They have that Big 3 whatever going on. I was sure it would help. And then Poseidon came to talk with him, yesterday. But I think that made everything worse. I really think some time away will do him some good.”
Time away. He hopes that is a them thing and not a him thing. Etch doesn’t know if he could deal with being alone at the moment. Annabeth sounds teary, though. It makes Percy want to get up and make sure she’s okay.
“Alright. I’ll wrap up here over the weekend. I should be back at camp by Sunday. I love you, okay? Don’t die without me.”
“Love you too. And same goes for you.”
Percy heard shifting, and he sits up as soon as he can tell Annabeth is making her way back to him.
He blinks blearily. “Was that Grover?”
“Yeah. He iris messaged, very concerned about his best friend who has been sending some concerning emotions through their empathy link.”
Annabeth smiles.
“Isn’t he on the west coast? What’s he talking about being here on Sunday.”
“Oh. I thought it might be a good idea for the three of us to take a trip for a week or two. Somewhere the gods won’t interfere, so we can all get a breather. It’ll be just like the old days.”
Percy frowns. “What about Grover’s business? Doesn’t he have a meeting with the nature spirits on Monday?”
“He said he’ll postpone.”
“He’s Lord of the Wild! He can’t just postpone.”
“Why not? He’s Lord of the Wild after all.”
“Because it’s important. It’s his job. Pan gave it to him. It’s the most important thing to him. Grover can’t just abandon that for me!”
Annabeth gives Percy a look. “Percy, some things are more important than being Lord of the Wild.”
And that… that stops Percy’s train of thought.
“I-“ he starts, but doesn’t finish because there’s a knock on his cabin door.
Percy flinches at the sound. Annabeth lifts her hand to lightly caress his cheek with her thumb, before getting up to answer.
“Chiron,” she says, coolly, stepping out the door.
Percy doesn’t hear what the centaur says, but finds he doesn’t care. He gets up off his head, and heads to the wardrobe.
“Yes, I’m aware we are breaking camp rules, no I do not care.”
Percy thinks he hears the word inappropriate travel through the door. He picks out a fresh t shirt to change into.
“We aren’t doing anything.” Annabeth’s voice softens. “I'm just trying to help my boyfriend. Is that a crime?”
Percy goes to his basin and washes his face quickly.
When he makes his way to stand next to Annabeth on the veranda, he hears her say, “Chiron, you know I love you, but I’m not afraid to tell you to fuck off.”
Percy smiles as he loops an arm around Annabeth’s waist. Somehow, this one feels real. Maybe it’s the fact that Grover’s coming. Maybe it’s the fact that Annabeth knows, and she doesn’t hate him. Maybe sleep have him the energy to feel something other than wallowing emptiness.
Either way, Percy doubts it will last.
For now, he just says, “Come on, Chiron, we were leaving now anyway. I haven’t eaten all day and I’m starving.”