Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The olive-wood bed creaked softly as Odysseus shifted, his fingers tightening just slightly around Penelope’s. The room was dimly lit by the flickering glow of the fire, casting long shadows against the stone walls of their chamber. Outside, Ithaca was quiet, the gentle hush of the sea rolling against the cliffs.

Odysseus had always thought he would die on the battlefield—cut down by a spear, or drowning beneath a horde of enemies, teeth bared, wings spread. But this… this was better.

He turned his head slightly, eyes finding Penelope’s in the half-light. Gods, she was still beautiful, even with the years lining her face, her hair streaked with silver. She smiled at him, her hand still warm in his own.

“We had a good life,” she murmured.

Odysseus huffed out a breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. “I think we earned it.”

On either side of the bed, their son and their goddess sat in silent vigil. Telemachus had pulled his stool closer, his hands gripping his knees, jaw set as if he could hold back time itself with sheer willpower. Athena was quiet, watching them both with something almost unreadable in her storm-grey eyes.

“I wish I could have given you a better life,” she said at last, her voice softer than either of them had ever heard it.

Odysseus blinked at her. “We had a good life,” he repeated, as if that should be enough to soothe even a goddess’s guilt. And in truth, it was enough.

Athena exhaled, her gaze lingering on them. There was something heavy in it, as if she were weighing a decision, but then—just as quickly—she let it go.

Telemachus swallowed, his voice thick. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to,” Penelope whispered. Her fingers curled weakly around his hand, squeezing once. “You’ve been a good son.”

Telemachus let out a breath that shook, and Odysseus reached for him with his free hand, brushing the back of his knuckles against his son’s cheek like he had when he was a boy. Telemachus shut his eyes, just for a moment, leaning into the touch.

Odysseus let his hand drop back to Penelope’s. He could feel the exhaustion pulling him under, heavier than any armor he had ever worn. His wings, once powerful, now lay useless against the bed, feathers dulling with age.

Penelope must have felt it too, because she turned her head, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, letting her lips linger there.

“I’ll see you soon,” she whispered.

His vision blurred at the edges. He could still hear the waves, still feel her touch.

Odysseus exhaled.

And then—

Darkness.

Light.

Searing, blinding, burning—

Odysseus gasped, but his lungs didn’t work the way they used to. His limbs—small, weak—felt foreign. His heartbeat was too fast, his body too weightless, like he had been unmade and reshaped into something new. He didn’t know where he was, only that he was floating in a void of sensation, memories slipping away faster than he could hold onto them.

But something remained. A mark.

Pain bloomed along his wrist, sharp and undeniable. And when the light finally softened, when the pressure of rebirth relented, something warm and calloused wrapped around his new body, lifting him into a world he didn’t recognize.

A woman’s voice. A name spoken—

“Annabeth.”

Far away, in a mortal hospital, another child took his first breath.

A newborn boy, crying loudly, fists flailing.

His mother—his new mother—laughed, breathless, holding him close.

“Perseus,” she murmured. “My little Percy.”

And beneath the swaddle of blankets, on the inside of his tiny wrist, lay the faint imprint of an owl.

Chapter Text

The first thing Odysseus felt was the weightlessness of the world around him—warm, light, like floating in a vast sky. It was unlike anything he had known in Ithaca, where even in sleep, he felt the roughness of linen sheets, the solidness of the bed he had carved from their olive tree. But here, there was no bed. No Penelope beside him. No ache in his bones from a life well-lived.

There was only warmth.

And then, the sudden, terrifying sensation of falling.

The next thing he knew, his body—small, fragile, unfamiliar—was pulled into the air, the warmth replaced by coolness, the light by overwhelming brightness. He tried to reach out, to call for Penelope, for Telemachus, for Athena—someone, anyone—but all that came from his lips was a sharp, shrill cry. His own voice startled him. It was too high, too weak.

“Annabeth,” a voice whispered, gentle yet firm, resounding in his mind like a command from Olympus itself. “My daughter.”

Odysseus—no, Annabeth—opened her eyes for the first time.

Everything was blurred, shifting shapes of gold and white. And then, piercing through the haze, the face of a woman—or something more than a woman. Eyes stormy like an Aegean sea, hair woven like silver threads, a gaze sharp as a spear.

Athena.

His breath hitched. This was not a dream.

He was reborn.

Across the sea, in a room smelling of antiseptic and salt, another life began.

Penelope’s first breath in this new world came as a gasp.

Cold air filled her lungs, burning and raw. The scent of saltwater clung to her skin, thick as a second birthright. She tried to move, to speak, to demand to know what had happened, where Odysseus was, but all that came was a pitiful wail.

There were voices around her, muffled and distant, speaking in tongues she didn’t understand. A large, calloused hand cradled her tiny form, its grip familiar yet foreign. And then, a voice—deep, warm, tinged with awe.

“He’s perfect.”

She opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was a man with kind eyes and a weary smile. His hair was dark, curling slightly at the edges, and his face bore the roughness of a sailor’s life.

Poseidon.

No.

Not Poseidon.

“Sally,” the man said, turning to someone just out of her line of sight. “He looks just like you.”

A woman laughed, breathless with exhaustion but filled with love. “Percy,” she murmured, testing the name.

Her name.

Penelope—no, Percy—frowned.

This wasn’t the underworld. This wasn’t the peaceful afterlife she had prepared for.

She had been reborn.

And Odysseus… wherever he was, she would find him again.

She always did.

Chapter Text

Percy always felt like there was something… off about him. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but just different. He wasn’t like other kids. He noticed things too quickly, reacted too fast. Sometimes, he'd catch himself doing something he shouldn't be able to—like seeing too far ahead in the dark or knowing what someone was going to say before they said it.

And then there were the dreams.

Not the usual, weird, “flying-through-space” kind of dreams. No, these dreams felt real. They smelled of salt and brine, of honey and olive trees. He saw flashes of golden fields, a great palace carved from stone, a bed made of an olive tree. And a man. No, not a man. A boy. With messy curls and wings—brown speckled with blonde. A boy who looked at him with two mismatched eyes, one silver, one brown.

Percy would always wake up feeling like he’d lost something. Or someone.

Annabeth, on the other hand, wasn’t surprised when strange things started happening to her. She knew she was smart—frighteningly smart. Words she had never seen before arranged themselves into meaning in her mind. She could see the structure of buildings and know how they were built, how they could be better. Her mind was sharp, like a blade honed on a whetstone.

But the strangest thing? The birds.

Owls watched her. All the time. She’d wake up to them perched outside her window, blinking at her like they knew her. And then there were her own hands—her nails curved just slightly, sharp like talons. Her eyes, wide and too piercing. She didn’t look like other kids, and she knew it.

She didn’t know why, but she always felt like she was waiting for something.

For someone.

Then, the world began to shift.

For Percy, it started when he made something happen—something he shouldn’t have been able to do. The school trip to the museum turned into a nightmare when his math teacher turned into a literal bat-creature and tried to kill him. He still didn't understand what happened. One moment, she was lunging at him, and the next, she was gone, vaporized into golden dust.

For Annabeth, it wasn’t an attack. It was an urge. A knowing. She had to get to Camp Half-Blood. She belonged there.

And soon, a satyr named Grover came to collect her.

Something was coming.

Something big.

And the echoes of their past were beginning to wake.

Chapter Text

Annabeth didn’t move when Percy said he didn’t know who he was.

She felt it—something deep and old and sharp—echo through her. Like his voice had knocked on a door in her chest that had never fully closed.

And then, slowly, step by step, she walked toward him. Her eyes didn’t leave his. Her whole body trembled, like it was too full of something ancient to hold.

Their hands brushed.

“Will you…” she whispered, “will you fall in love with me again?”

Percy blinked, like his breath caught somewhere between his ribs. But his answer came fast, too fast to be thought through.

“I will fall in love with you over and over again,” he said, voice low and furious with devotion. “No matter how, where, or when. No matter how long it’s been. You’re mine. ”

His voice cracked on that last word.

And the way he looked at her—like she was sacred, like she was sunlight and starlight and the only truth that mattered—made her knees buckle.

Her hand reached out, slow and shaking, and he caught it in his own like it was instinct. Their fingers fit. Of course they did.

She stepped in and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tight against her chest. He buried his face in her shoulder like he needed her to breathe. Like he’d found his gravity again.

And neither of them said anything for a while.

But tears fell.

Quietly, slowly. Hers first. Then his.

Time didn’t move.

When they pulled away, just slightly, Annabeth gave him a watery smile and mumbled, “You still smell like saltwater.”

Percy snorted. “You still smell like olives.”

They laughed, all soft and sniffly, foreheads pressed together.

And then—

“Hey, Jackson!” someone shouted from down the hill. “Chiron wants you in the Big House!”

Percy didn’t respond right away. He was too busy staring at Annabeth again like she was a puzzle he used to love and just now remembered how to solve.

Annabeth looked away first, cheeks flushed.

“You should go,” she murmured.

He hesitated. Then let go of her hand, slow and reluctant. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

She nodded.

But just as he turned to go, a hoot echoed from a low branch of the pine tree.

Annabeth stiffened. She knew that sound.

The owl plushie—tucked into the crook of her bag—glowed softly, one eye blinking.

Then: “Y’all done crying or what?” Athena’s voice buzzed from inside it, sharp and smug. “Because I have opinions.”

Annabeth groaned. “Gods, not now.”

“I ship it,” Athena said dryly. “Tragically. Fervently. I need therapy now. Thanks.”

The plush’s eye dimmed.

Percy stared at it like it might bite him. “What… what was that?”

Annabeth sighed. “My… uh… mother.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and walked down the hill silently.

She watched him go, still clutching his warmth in her hands like it was borrowed lightning.

And behind her, Athena’s voice murmured again, quiet this time, like a lullaby:

“Found you again, little owl.”

Chapter Text

They sat sprawled in a quiet patch of the woods just outside camp. Percy had plopped down first, grumbling about needing five minutes of peace. Annabeth joined with a sigh that meant same, and Grover—who had been quietly humming to himself and picking at bark—promptly flopped down with his head in Percy’s lap.

Without a second thought, Percy started scratching gently behind his ears, fingers finding that perfect rhythm like it was second nature.

Grover hummed again, this time in contentment. “Mmm… thanks, Mom.”

A beat of silence.

Annabeth snorted. It was more than a snort—it was a full-blown cackle, the kind that made her curl over and slap her knee like a damn Ithacan king. Percy blinked down at Grover with a face of mock offense, then grinned wide.

“Oh? Mom?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “So I’m the mom now? Cool. That makes you my son. I’m seriously tempted to call you by my dream son’s name. Don’t test me.”

Grover froze. His eyes widened in slow realization. Percy narrowed his eyes, still grinning. “Don’t make me say it…”

“…Telemachus,” Grover whispered, voice cracking just slightly.

Annabeth stopped laughing. Percy’s hand paused mid-scratch.

“You knew?” Grover blurted, eyes darting between them. “You both knew?”

Percy and Annabeth exchanged a long, knowing look—the kind only two old souls could share.

“We knew each other,” Annabeth said softly.

“From the beginning,” Percy added, just as soft.

Grover’s mouth fell open. Then—“So… I can start calling you Mom and Dad?”

“Hell yeah,” they said in unison.

Percy beamed, eyes going suspiciously watery as he cradled Grover’s face and squished his cheek. “Kardía mou,” he whispered, thumb brushing over Grover’s temple. “My heart.”

Grover melted. Just fully melted. He curled into Percy’s side, burying his face into his hoodie, and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “missed you both so much.”

Annabeth rested her head on Percy’s shoulder, wrapping one arm around the two of them.

In that small, quiet corner of the world, it didn’t matter that they were technically a goat boy, a sea demigod, and a child of wisdom-turned-owl. They were just… a family. Again.

Chapter Text

It was too sunny.

That should’ve been Percy’s first clue. The sky was so obnoxiously blue it felt personal. Like Zeus was taunting him. Again.

They stood on the hill overlooking the arena, armor glinting, nerves buzzing. The other campers were stretching and shouting and smacking each other with swords like this was a normal day. Meanwhile, Percy was vibrating with the combined energy of someone about to get absolutely flattened and someone who’d accidentally married the enemy in a past life.

Annabeth hadn’t said much that morning, but she didn’t have to. She moved beside him with a kind of quiet force, like a hurricane waiting politely. Her expression was neutral, but her knuckles were white on her helmet strap. She glanced at him, eyes scanning, calculating. Protective.

She looked at him like she always had. Like she remembered everything.

“Alright, Seaweed Brain,” she said, voice cool but fond. “You’re with me.”

He blinked. “We’re on the same team?”

“I’m captain of the team.”

“Oh. So nepotism.”

She gave him a look that could’ve turned a god to stone. “You’re good. You don’t know how to use a sword and you trip over your own feet, but your instincts are ridiculous and I want you where I can see you.”

Percy was vaguely offended but also kind of flattered. “I love when you insult me and compliment me in the same sentence. Really keeps me grounded.”

Grover jogged up, already out of breath, twigs stuck in his hair. “I don’t want to die today,” he announced, then stared up at them like a sad little woodland son. “Can we not die?”

“You’re not gonna die,” Percy said, immediately shifting to that voice—soothing, motherly, despite himself. “You’re on flag duty.”

“Which is a target,” Grover said. “You both keep volunteering me for target things.”

Percy reached out and fixed his crooked helmet. “Because we believe in you.”

“You believe in my disposable status.”

Annabeth elbowed Percy lightly. “Don’t let him die. That’s an order.”

Percy mock-saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

They started at the creek line, red versus blue. The flag shimmered high in the trees. Clarisse from Ares stood across from them, looking like she wanted to personally reenact the Trojan War with just her and a spear.

Annabeth surveyed the battlefield like a general, then turned to Percy. “Go wait in the bathroom.”

He blinked. “I—what?”

“Bathroom. Over there.” She nodded toward a run-down building near the tree line.

“I’m sorry, am I benched?”

“You’re in the strategic reserve, Seaweed Brain.”

“Why the bathroom?!”

“Because Clarisse can’t reach you there, and I like my husband in one piece.”

Grover squawked, “Husband?!”

Annabeth didn’t correct herself. She just turned and walked off like she hadn’t dropped a time bomb in the conversation.

Percy stared after her, jaw slightly slack. Then he glanced at Grover.

“She—did she just—”

Grover nodded, eyes wide.

“…So it’s not just me who remembers things,” Percy muttered, then sighed. “Alright. Fine. I’ll go wait in the bathroom.”

“Strategic,” Grover whispered dramatically.

The battle started with the subtlety of a brick through a window.

Swords clashed. Arrows flew. The Ares kids charged like they were auditioning for 300: Camp Half-Blood Edition. Grover bolted into the woods with the flag and a panicked yelp. Annabeth darted through the chaos like it was a dance she’d choreographed herself.

But Percy—

Percy never made it to the bathroom.

Clarisse caught him halfway there.

“Well, well,” she sneered, cracking her knuckles. “The new kid. Ready for your dirt nap?”

“Not particularly,” Percy said, stepping back. “Can we reschedule?”

She lunged.

He dodged the first swing. The second grazed his shoulder. The third slammed him full-body into the creek.

And then the world paused.

The water wasn’t cold. It was home.

It curled around him like it knew him. Like it had been waiting.

He didn’t choke. He didn’t drown. He breathed.

And when he stood up, dripping and blinking, the cut on his shoulder was gone. His skin glowed faintly, sea-bright. The water didn’t leave—it clung, like it missed him already.

Everyone stopped fighting.

Grover, covered in dirt, dropped the flag.

Annabeth—who’d been in mid-swing—spun around.

Thunder rumbled. The sky cracked. Not with violence, but with recognition.

And then the symbol flared above Percy’s head: a trident. Blazing. Undeniable.

“Oh,” Percy said. “Cool.”

Clarisse backed up like he’d grown a second head.

Annabeth didn’t move.

Grover whispered, “Poseidon.”

Percy blinked. “Huh.”

Annabeth took one shaky step forward. Her hand trembled at her side.

That’s when the lightning struck.

It was a single bolt, out of a clear sky. A crack of divine temper.

Annabeth collapsed mid-step.

Grover screamed.

Percy’s heart stopped.

He was at her side in a blink, catching her before she hit the ground. Her body spasmed once, then stilled. A scar burned itself into her shoulder—sharp and silver, like a god’s signature.

Annabeth exhaled, slow and pained. “…Ow.”

“Annabeth?” Percy whispered, panicked.

Grover leaned over her, panic bubbling. “It happened again! That Zeus-smite thing! Why does it keep happening?!”

Annabeth coughed. “Because someone up there is petty.”

A flicker. The air shimmered like heat off pavement.

And then—casually leaning on a tree stump like she wasn’t still being actively smited—Athena appeared.

“Hey,” she said to the group, then to Grover specifically, “…Other children.”

Grover screamed again.

“Athena,” Percy hissed, trying not to jostle Annabeth. “What the hell—”

“Zeus is still mad,” Athena said, mildly. “He gets twitchy when I do things like… you know, create a reincarnated version of my favorite mortal via immaculate forehead birth.”

“You think?!” Percy snapped.

Annabeth groaned. “Can you two not fight while I’m horizontal?”

Athena glanced down, her face shifting just a little. “…You good, Owl?”

Annabeth managed a weak thumbs-up. “Still alive.”

Athena exhaled. “That’s my girl.”

She disappeared without another word.

The camp was silent for a long time after that.

Then Chiron cleared his throat and said, very gently, “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one afternoon.”

No one argued.

That night, they sat curled together under the stars.

Grover was half-asleep against Percy’s side, a warm weight. Percy had a hand in his curls, absently scratching. Annabeth leaned against his other shoulder, her arm bandaged, her expression unreadable.

“You’re a son of Poseidon,” she said.

Percy nodded slowly. “Guess I am.”

Annabeth was quiet for a long time.

Then: “That’s gonna be complicated.”

He snorted. “What, like us not already being two reincarnated spouses with unresolved god trauma?”

She smirked. “Touché.”

Grover murmured, “Can I still call you Mom and Dad?”

Percy kissed the top of his head. “You better.”

And in that quiet moment, despite the chaos, the gods, the lightning scars and impossible truths—they were home.

Again.

Chapter Text

The night was too quiet.

Percy stood at the edge of the woods, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like that would shield him from the magnitude of what tomorrow meant. The moon hung low above Camp Half-Blood, lighting up the strawberry fields and cabins with silver. Behind him, the Big House glowed dimly. Inside, Chiron was preparing the last of the quest documents. Legal demigod things. Probably involved celestial liability waivers.

Footsteps crunched behind him.

“I can hear you brooding from the dining pavilion,” Annabeth said, stepping beside him.

“I wasn’t brooding,” Percy replied. “I was… contemplatively staring.”

“Same thing.”

Grover trotted up after them, holding a bag of marshmallows he definitely wasn’t supposed to have. “I brought snacks.”

“Perfect,” Percy said. “Let’s emotionally process with sugar.”

They sat in their usual patch near the woods—same place they always ended up when the world got too big. Percy plopped down first. Grover followed, immediately curling into his side like a tired toddler. Annabeth sat cross-legged beside them, arms brushing Percy’s.

For a while, they said nothing. Then Grover mumbled, “I don’t want you guys to go.”

Percy wrapped an arm around him. “Hey. We’re coming back.”

Then, as if summoned by divine bad timing, a CRACK of thunder rolled across the sky.

Annabeth winced sharply, clutching her side. Lightning scars lit up along her arm like tree roots made of light. She breathed through her teeth, blinking hard.

“Again?” Percy whispered, jaw tight.

She didn’t answer, just gave him a shaky thumbs-up.

“Does this happen every time Zeus smites Athena?” Grover asked.

“Yes,” Percy and Annabeth said together.

Grover shook his head. “That’s so messed up. But also—why does it happen here ?”

“No idea,” Annabeth muttered. “Camp’s just… used to it now.”

A beat. Then Percy said, “You good?”

Annabeth nodded again. “Fine. Just recovering from Zeus-related trauma.”

“ Recovering? ” Percy snorted. “Girl, you’re still going through it. ”

They shared a tired laugh. Grover passed them the marshmallows in solemn solidarity.

⸻

The next morning, they stood on the porch of the Big House as Chiron—Mr. Brunner again in tweed and wheelchair disguise—rolled out with a weathered scroll in his lap and tired centaur eyes.

“Good morning,” he said. “I trust you all slept terribly.”

“Thanks for the optimism,” Percy muttered.

Chiron didn’t smile. “We have little time. As you know, Percy has been claimed by Poseidon. This has… escalated things.”

“Escalated how?” Grover asked, gripping the straps of his backpack like they were a life vest.

“Zeus believes Poseidon has stolen his master bolt,” Chiron said. “And by extension—”

“He thinks I did it,” Percy finished.

Annabeth’s hand found his behind her back. She squeezed.

“We believe the bolt is in the Underworld,” Chiron continued. “Which means your quest will take you cross-country to Los Angeles.”

Grover raised his hand. “Do we have to talk to Hades? Because that sounds… terrible.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Chiron said. “But you won’t go unarmed.”

He handed Percy a pen.

“Riptide,” Chiron said. “Ancelmos said it’s been waiting for you for a while now.”

Percy clicked it. The sword shimmered to life in celestial bronze. Familiar. Right. Like it belonged in his hand.

“And now,” Chiron said, “you must receive the prophecy.”

⸻

The attic reeked of old monster heads and mothballs. The Oracle—a shriveled mummy girl with smoke in her lungs—sat in the corner like a haunted doll someone forgot to bury.

Percy stepped forward.

The smoke poured out of her mouth.

“You shall go west, and face the god who has turned,

You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned,

You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend,

And you shall fail to save what matters most in the end.”

The room went dead still.

Percy blinked. “Okay. That’s vague and terrifying.” And then, vaguely terrified, he walks right back downstairs with a face pale as paper.

_____

When the sun finally rose, the trio stood at the camp border.

Chiron nodded solemnly. “Good luck, children.”

They turned to go. Just before they crossed the barrier, Percy paused.

He looked at Annabeth. Then at Grover.

And smiled.

They were his husban- wife. His son. His people. Again.

“Let’s bring this bolt home.”

And they stepped into the mortal world together.