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Normally, Percy would be ecstatic to see his mom. Before Annabeth, before camp, before any of it, she was there. His whole world. As long as his mom was okay, he could weather any storm.
But this is different.
Nine months. Nine months since he went missing and Hera took his memories. Nine months spent surviving on the streets, fighting across the country, walking through hell… Percy has changed.
A lot of it can be blamed on trauma. Power thrums in his veins, in tune after months of using it constantly. His mood changes faster—more like the tides, his father says. Demigods don’t live long, and it’s rare for a child of the Big Three to even reach maturity. He’s growing into his power, beyond what anyone has experience with.
All of that is fine, though. Sure, it’s unsettling to be more like his father, but what child doesn’t dread the realization of “oh gods, am I becoming my parents?” It’s human. So what if his father is the immortal god of the seas? Any normal kid could relate to him! Mostly.
It’s the physical changes he worries about.
Sharpened canines, brighter eyes, slightly elongated pupils. Percy’s always been powerful, but he’s never been truly unsettling. But when he looks in the mirror, he sees someone… not quite human.
A lot of the Seven came back from the war changed, the three who walked through Tartarus the most of all. Nico’s aura is near suffocating if he doesn’t keep a hold on it. Before, it was just an unsettling feeling, but now he radiates death, so much so that even the most seasoned demigods shiver as he walks past. And Annabeth, while she doesn’t have any powers, has picked up an uncanny ability to weave traps that could ensnare the most cunning monsters. She puts it to good use, teaching others and restocking camp supply. And if she occasionally turns her piercing gaze on another camper, too bright and too haunted to be entirely normal, no one really bats an eye.
Frank has to shapeshift occasionally just to get his energy out. Piper takes to vocal exercises as her charmspeak—more powerful than any in existence—tears up her throat when she uses it too much. The list goes on.
No one came back from that journey the same.
But Percy changed the most.
Camp took the changes in stride—his and the rest of the heroes. Just another day in the life of a demigod. Younger campers occasionally flinch away from his inhuman gaze, but Clarisse still lies him flat on his ass, and that warms the kids right up to him.
But his mom?
Percy shakes his head and turns away from the mirror. His bag sits, fully packed, on his cabin bunk. He just has to grab it and meet Annabeth outside, and they’ll be off to Manhattan. It’s one simple step.
Gods, just one step.
He growls in frustration and kicks his bed post. It doesn’t hurt enough, so he kicks it again. Then once more for good measure.
The door opens, and Annabeth frowns at him disapprovingly. “Stop that. We’re going to be late.”
Percy huffs.
“I’m not letting you throw a tantrum. Your mom has waited nine months to see you, almost as long as she was pregnant.” She points at him, scowling. “Don’t make her wait any longer.” With that, she grabs his arm and hauls him out the cabin door. He barely remembers to snatch his bag up on the way out.
She’s right, Percy knows. They’ve had this argument countless times over, and Annabeth always presents the same logical answer: Sally Jackson is not easily scared. Percy knows this, better than he knows most anything.
Doesn’t stop him from being scared shitless, though.
The ride to Manhattan is long, made worse by Percy’s anxious twitching. His fingernails flick across his pant legs, not enough to tear holes but just enough to catch on the denim fibers. Annabeth tries, once, to stop him, but pulls back when one of his too-sharp nails nearly catches her skin. He winces. He tries to keep them filed down, but even blunted they still hurt.
Just as he’s finally calming down, accepting the length of the car ride as time to get ahold of himself, the tall buildings of downtown come into view, and he starts twitching all over again.
The apartment looms over him, tall and opposing. He’s never thought of home as hostile before, but he’s terrified to climb the steps. The mortals on the streets pay him no mind—the Mist does all the work hiding his more unnatural features. Maybe he could just grab a coffee first, or check out the new store on the corner, or—
Annabeth grabs his arm and hauls him toward the door. “Now or never.”
The doorman waves them up the stairs, not batting an eye. Thank Hecate for the Mist.
And then they’re at the door. A summertime wreath hangs on a hook, sporting fake sunflowers. It’s one of two apartments in the hall with decorations, the other belonging to the sweet elderly woman who has lived in this building longer than Percy has been alive. He wonders how she’s doing.
He doesn’t knock. Can’t knock. His hand twitches, spasms as he tries to lift it. A bead of sweat forms on his forehead and trails down his face.
Annabeth sighs and knocks on the door. Percy whips his head to her with wide eyes.
Before he can say anything, the door swings open, and Sally Jackson stands in the entryway, wearing a pink blouse and light wash jeans.
“Oh, my baby,” she whispers, and yanks Percy into a hug.
He’s stiff, twitchy. Her hair is up in a bun, and it tickles his chin. She’s a whole head shorter than him now, he realizes absently. When did that happen?
She smells like cookies, like warm summer days and bedtime stories and home.
His hand spasms, once.
Then he melts into her embrace, bringing his arms up to envelope her. Tears prick at his eyes.
She clings to him, grasping his shirt, and begins to shake. She sniffles, then a sob breaks through, and she shakes harder. Percy holds her up as she cries, fighting off his tears as best as he can, but he loses the battle. They slip down his cheeks.
He feels twelve years old again, coming home from his first quest. His mom, her arms around him, whispering words of comfort into his hair. But this time there’s no Gabe, no smell of alcohol or a monster’s head in a box. It’s just him and his mom. Home.
“Hey mom,” his voice cracks. “I’m back.”
Another sob wracks her body, and Percy takes the opportunity to guide her inside to the couch. She shakes like a leaf, furiously wiping her eyes. Percy keeps a tight hold on her hand as they settle, careful to keep his fingernails away from her too-delicate skin.
Her crying subsides, and she blots her eyes with the hem of her shirt. Percy avoids eye contact, keeping his gaze firmly on her hands as they move.
His surprise, then, when her hands come up to cup his face. He looks anywhere but in her eyes. His hands start twitching again. He can’t face her, can’t show her what he’s become.
“Sweetheart,” she says, stroking a thumb over his cheekbone. “Look at me.”
He swallows, tries to shake his head, but her hands prevent it.
“Percy,” Sally whispers, and gently pushes his chin to force his eyes to meet hers.
Green eyes meet blue, and hers begin to well with tears. Percy tries to pull away, suddenly panicking. Oh gods, he’s upset her, he’s scared her, she’s realizing that he isn’t her son anymore—
And then she smiles. Even with tears in her eyes, even as she sees what he is, she smiles. “You look like your father.”
Percy barks a surprised laugh, then slaps a hand over his mouth.
Sally catches it, though, and frowns at him. “You don’t have to hide from me.” Gently, she guides his hand away from his mouth.
She’s… not scared? Not angry? He doesn’t understand. She looks at him with the same love as always, not even a hint of surprise on her face. Sadness, yes. Regret, maybe. But love all the same.
He tries a smile.
She lets out a long sigh. “Hi, baby.”
“Hi mom.”
She strokes a thumb over his cheek, smile growing. “I’ve always been able to see through the Mist, Percy,” she explains. “Your father wasn’t the greatest at looking human all the time.”
Percy blinks.
She cups his face. “It’s okay. You’re exactly who you’re supposed to be.” Her eyes flick to Annabeth. “Has he been torturing himself with self-hate?”
Annabeth sighs. “Yes, all the time.”
Sally scoffs and fixes him with a motherly scowl. Percy blushes. “You know better than to do that. I’ve taught you better.”
He rubs the back of his neck, blush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, well, I’ve always been a bad student.”
“Strike one,” Sally chides. “No self-hatred in this apartment.” She stands, holding a hand out to Percy. “I was just about to put cookies in the oven. Paul will be home soon. He had a meeting at school.”
A bolt of fear rockets through Percy. Paul. He’d forgotten Paul would see him too. He can’t fully see through the Mist, but, well, the Mist shows a person what they’re expecting, and Paul is expecting demigods and monsters and war stories. He’ll see something, even if it’s not everything.
Sally must notice him panicking, because she squeezes his hand. “Paul will understand, just like I did. He knows you.”
Percy tries to believe her, but he can’t help the anxiety that bubbles under his skin as they put the cookies in the oven. He tries to wash the dishes, but the water pressure reacts too strongly to his emotions and keeps spraying everywhere. Sally sends him back to the living room before he can blow up the plumbing.
He busies himself playing with a fidget toy from his bag. When that doesn’t work, he starts pacing, but Annabeth drags him back to the couch with a hand on his mortal spot. She grounds him by tapping out a rhythm on his skin.
Then the lock clicks, and Paul Blofis steps through the door. “Sally! I have—” He freezes, eyes locked on Percy.
Percy stares back, unable to move.
“Oh my god, Percy—” He drops his bag and rushes forward to envelope his stepson in a hug.
Percy wheezes as Paul crashes into him. The man is shorter, and thinner, but the force of his hug knocks the wind out of him. Percy hesitantly hugs back. “Hey Paul.”
Paul pulls back, hands braced on Percy’s shoulders, and studies him. Percy fidgets under his gaze.
His stepfather squints, clearly trying to see through the Mist, then blinks in shock. “Oh,” he says. “Wow.”
Percy’s face flushes. He scratches his neck.
“You look good, son,” Paul says after he regains his composure. “And I’m not lying, so stop with that look.”
Percy tries to wipe the incredulousness off his face.
“I’m sure your mom has already given you a good talking to, but I’ll repeat it.” He fixes Percy with an intense gaze that makes him look full professor. “You’re not weird, you’re not a freak, you definitely belong in this household, and if either of us hears you say otherwise, we’ll smack you hard enough to send you to Olympus.”
Percy blinks, mouth falling open.
“And then drag you back and feed you cookies, most likely, because your mother is like that and we’re not losing you again.” He smiles and claps Percy on the shoulder. “Got it?”
Percy nods, mouth still agape.
He grins. “Good talk. Hello, Annabeth.”
“Hey Paul.” She waves. “It’s been a bit.”
Paul pulls her into a hug, too, and Percy is struck by how much he missed in his absence. Months of Annabeth staying over at this apartment, talking to his mom and stepdad, spending the night, watching movies… they must have bonded a lot. Grief does that to people, even people as guarded as Annabeth. And, well, Sally Jackson is known for breaking down carefully put up guard walls and worming her way into the hearts of stubborn demigods. Just ask Nico.
A wave of love washes over Percy. Oh gods, he loves his family. So much it almost hurts. The emotion rockets through him so powerful that his knees buckle.
Paul shouts in alarm, falling to his knees beside Percy. Percy doesn’t really react, because a sob breaks through his mouth just then, and he bursts into tears.
Annabeth gently scoots Paul out of the way so that she faces Percy. She runs a thumb over his cheek. “Hey Seaweed Brain, it’s okay, let it out.”
He does, not even bothering to feel embarrassed. It’s been so many months, so long since he’s sat in this apartment and felt truly safe. He’s home. Finally, he is home.
“His father says it has to do with the sea,” he hears Annabeth mumbling to a concerned Sally and Paul. “Strong emotions, they come on suddenly. ‘The sea is constantly changing.’” She mimics Poseidon’s voice, poorly, and it gets a surprised laugh out of Percy.
She smiles at him. “There we go. See, all good now.”
Percy wipes his eyes, trying to hide his blush. “Gods, yeah, sorry. I just love you guys. A lot.”
Sally joins them on the floor and wraps her arms around him. “We love you too, baby.”
Percy smiles, watery and sniffly, as Paul pulls them all into a hug, Annabeth included. It’s cheesy and ridiculous and so cliché it hurts, but he doesn’t care.
Finally, he’s home.