Chapter Text
When Percy turned four, Sally Jackson sat him down and told him to never ever let anyone get their hands on his coat.
She told him of the story of their ancestor, the goddess Áine, and how she was the first of the swans to have her cloak stolen and forced to marry a man. She was not the last. Sally Jackson was the young daughter of a Swan Maiden and a Selkie, and saw many of her kin have countless near misses with humans. She also remembered those who were not lucky enough to have a near miss. Her own aunt had been lost to a fisherman who had taken her coat while she swam off the coast of the Faroe Islands. Her parents moved them to America where the general population was far less attentive to the stories of fae and gods compared to the populations on the coast of the Irish Seas.
“Always hide in plain sight, Perseus,” She told him, taking his feathered coat and shaking it out until it became a blue raincoat. “Humans can be quite stupid nowadays. They forget the stories of us, and we need to be thankful for that. Never swim naked, never forget your raincoat, and never ever let someone hold your coat.”
Percy’s great-uncle Liam had gone swimming in the Atlantic in the middle of winter, near the base of the Statue of Liberty, where the water causes hypothermic death to all that enter. When a poacher spotted him, he bled to death like any other seal would.
Percy had the urge to grab his coat and go hide in his room when his mom brought home Smelly Gabe for the first time, but he didn’t. He sat on the couch and pretended to tolerate the man. A precious cloak is a far bigger target than a random old coat. Hiding in plain sight.
He hated that his mom would not leave him, even though her coat hung neatly and in reach on the coathanger every day.
Eight years later, Percy is far more aware of the consequences of having his coat taken. At twelve, he knew the details of what would happen to him.
So when he stands in Camp Half-Blood, hearing Greek demigods speak of gods coming down to visit mortals, Percy tugs his flannel jacket tighter around his body, ignoring the tingle of not-Greek power curling around the feathers embroidered on his sleeves.
He wondered if his mother had her coat on her when he was born, then remembered her eyes full of longing and love whenever she spoke of that summer. At least Percy had the comfort of that.
“I know this is a lot to take in,” Grover had apologized as they sat on the edge of the canoe lake.
Percy shrugged, swinging his feet so his toes grazed the water. “S’not that bad.”
He’s grown up knowing that he wasn’t human; the ancestry of a foreign god to his mom’s stories isn’t that big of a shock. He grew up avoiding mushrooms and saluting magpies, and mom would lock the doors during the Winter Solstice so no hunters would decide they were prey. Percy knew the stories of Fisher Kings and Swords in Stones. He knew never to trust an elf, never to make a deal he hasn’t given himself an out of, and to leave food out for any wandering nisse. His mom had spoken of many gods of many lands, and Percy was kicking himself for never thinking about the gods she hadn’t taught him about.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” Grover continued nervously.
Percy knew she wasn’t dead, though. His mom was a swan maiden, not a common beast of the Mediterranean; she wouldn’t have turned into golden dust. There wasn’t even a feather left behind.
He couldn’t say that, however. He knew he could never say what he was, especially in the hearing range of gods who did not care about his own wishes.
“She’s not gone from me yet,” Percy replied instead. “You said that monsters come from the underworld, right? It’s a place I can get to?”
Percy knew that his ancestors lay in the Otherworld, beyond the misty waters of the West, and that many heroes had gone there before. Cúchulainn, Fionn, and Bran all have gone there and returned, though they had to be invited. Percy didn’t think there was some woman with an apple waiting around a burial mound to invite him to Mag Mell so he could get his mom back, so he would play this the Greek way.
With a mummified woman spewing green mist telling him to travel West.
Okay, maybe his dad’s side wasn’t so different from his mom’s.
No, not that different at all. Percy learned more and more about the similarities between their worlds as the quest progressed, and he quickly realized that his mixed heritage was far more comfortable here than in the human world. However, a few culture shocks did crop up.
“Percy, what are you doing?” Annabeth watched him clutch a pure iron necklace in a death grip as he walked through the woods of New Jersey, further and further away from the water.
Percy squinted at a tree root that he was sure had been there to trip him earlier, “Trying to remind a bunch of woodland fairies who is boss.”
A branch fell on his head.
Grover glanced up, but didn’t see the small creatures hiding under leaves and in trunks. “Percy, I know we said myths are real and all, but fairies aren’t real.”
“That’s what you think,” He muttered under his breath.
That night, instead of taking watch, an angry cygnet flew around the woods, biting at all the pixies and fairies who thought to mess with a Swan Child. Honestly, he knew that most people liked to preach about how beautiful and graceful and regal swans are, but, as Sally Jackson had gleefully taught her son, swans can be mean and vicious and absolute menaces.
Percy took those words to heart, and Sally never would regret them, even if they caused her many heart attacks in the future.
His dad, on the other hand, would mildly regret approaching the pretty swan at the beach who chased anyone that littered. Percy inherited too much from both of them.
“I’m sorry you were born, child,” Poseidon sighed, leaning on his trident. “I have brought you a hero’s fate, and with your mother’s coat-shifting blood too… You’ve heard the stories. The endings are rarely happy.”
Percy’s heart dropped, and he fiddled with the zippered edge of his coat, now a beautiful dark blue hoodie with delicate embroidery of swans and lakes. “I don’t mind, father.”
Poseidon pinned him with a look, “Not yet, you don’t, but once you’re older and hunters and fishers notice you and your coat? I am Greek, and per our laws, I can not interfere if one of our monsters comes after you, though I wish to stand behind you. However, because of your mother’s blood… if anyone ever dares to steal your coat or tries to hunt you, call for me. I promise you this.”
Relief coursed through him, and the young shapeshifter smiled at his dad, “Thank you, Dad.”
Poseidon smiled in return, identical in all but age. “You can thank me by going home to your mother, Percy. I am sure she is worried about you.”
Percy had been just as worried about her, but when he saw her, all his worries disappeared.
Sally Jackson was wearing a lovely light blue and white knitted cardigan with flying white birds pattered all over the sleeves as she opened the door for her son to come home.