Chapter Text
In a way, this all started a long, long time ago, back when Ouranos was such a bad father that his children committed patri-slash-regicide.
In another sense, the way this started was a generation later, with Time swallowing all it has birthed, maybe out of paranoia, maybe because that is what time does, maybe because the cycle of abuse is one of the first inventions of their pantheon.
Yet another way this starts is another generation later, with one more divine king afraid of the end of his rule, afraid of their family’s longest tradition continuing though his favorite perfect son, his son who is blatantly throwing the rules in his face.
This just will not do, this divine king decides.
Turning his son mortal had worked before. Had worked twice, even.
It will work again, this divine tyrant prophesizes – and, oh, the irony of precisely that being one of the domains of the son in question.
It will work especially, is the opinion declared, if it is a little harsher than before.
In more than one universe the one who finds Apollo once he has been thrown off Mount Olympus, once he has fallen from the sky, landed in a dumpster, been renamed Lester Papadopoulos, and has been robbed, is none other than Meg McCaffery, orphan, neglected daughter of Demeter, and adopted child of Nero and The Beast contained within – which is, of course, just Nero himself, but that is a realization for a later time.
This universe is special, this one differs, in the fact that while the so-called ‘Lester’ appears to be sixteen when he crashes into that dumpster, he does not stay that age.
His new identity, the name he has been assigned, did not come in the form of a junior driver’s license, but a library card.
By the time the two of them, Meg and Apollo — both still slightly bleeding and injured from their earlier fight — have made it to the apartment of the Jackson-Blofis family, he has, in fact, shrunken all the way down to toddlerhood and is panicking accordingly.
That is to say, he is completely losing his mind to the point that Meg has to carry him to move further, which is not helping.
“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” he keeps muttering, which sounds increasingly wrong the longer it goes on, the smaller he gets, the more the washed-out Led Zepplin shirt resembles a dress.
His jeans, socks, and shoes would’ve ended up getting left behind in a random alley a handful of blocks away if Apollo’s smaller form hadn’t had tears wallowing in his eyes at the very idea.
So now he is clutching them instead, which does not help the situation be any less strange.
The door opens and Percy Jackson, who, as he will tell them later, had been fully prepared to slam it in their faces, has to take a second for his brain to catch onto what his eyes are seeing.
“Am I- are you?” He splutters. “Apollo?”
The god compressed into a mortal toddler nods, not yet having paused his muttering.
Percy looks at Meg who does a one-armed shrug. “I don’t know, he looked sixteen when I found him like an hour ago.”
He sighs. “I suppose you better come in.”
“Where have you been?” Percy asks, after Meg and Apollo have been sat down on the couch, while the physically(!) oldest among them is making them hot chocolate, with the intention of ‘spiking’ it with nectar — apparently it was more potent for demigods the more comfortable the presentation was or something?
This, while probably true, feels like something Apollo should definitely know and the fact he does not is not sitting well with him at all.
But still, he has a question to answer. “Fighting in Athens? With everyone? You were there?”
Considering the lack of panicked yelling and screaming, their great-grandmother had presumably been dealt with, so it is probably the morning after or something of that sort.
Percy frowns as he navigates the kitchen of the small apartment with a sense of direction and security Apollo is currently lacking. “Dude. I am trying to say this as nicely as possible, but. That was the better part of a year ago and no one has heard from you since.”
“WHAT?”
Meg snorts. “That’s wild.”
That battle and what little he had been permitted to see of the aftermath were the last things he had remembered before today. For that to have been months ago and him not having formed as much as a single permanent memory suggested horrible things.
Well, no.
There was one memory.
His father, taking a form several times larger than him, shouting, as The Bolts twitch at his side. “Your fault. Your punishment.”
But it’s not like he’s going to say that.
“No one’s heard from you in months! The sun’s been less bright and, according to the rumor mill, the muses are working overtime. Your kids are worried and so’s Mr. D, though he’s pretending not to be.”
Beneath his pain and panic, Apollo is touched, really. Not surprised — of course people in his family other than Artemis were concerned about him. He is the most awesome god of their pantheon, after all.
Or…
He used to be, at least.
“I- I,” is the only thing Apollo manages to stutter out, because he himself does not have any answers and is also a little bit busy holding this stupid form back from crying.
“He crash-landed in a dumpster in my alley earlier,” Meg informs Percy. “Looked like it was a fall from quite a height.”
Percy freezes, cups in hand, and stares at them flatly. “There are so many things wrong with that sentence. Crash-landing? Your alley?”
“Yeah, it’s mine.” Meg glares at him, which is probably not a smart idea. Apollo is willing to bet most beings that do that don’t do a lot more after that. Or not without a trip to the pit.
“I’m not discounting that, it’s just… you’re too young for that.” Percy pauses again. “Unless you are also stuck in a deaging situation and have just decided not to mention it until now?”
Meg shakes her head.
“Right, so you’re a preteen, also known as someone who should especially not be homeless. Tyson told me too many horror stories.”
She crosses her arms. “I get by just fine.”
“Congrats! You still shouldn’t have to.”
“What about me?” Apollo interrupts, dragging that final syllable out only slightly, because, really, they shouldn’t be focusing on anything other than him, especially considering the mess he finds himself in.
Percy looks back and forth between them, still filling mugs in the kitchen, as Meg sticks out her tongue.
“I mean, on the one hand, yes, fair, but on the other hand, do you always get this uncomfortable when things aren’t about you for five seconds?”
Okay, rude?
But this stupid body he is trapped in reacts way more than he should. This is so stupid!
However, this is when he notices something.
Not only is he bleeding red, not only does he not have his strength, not only is he tiny, but he also feels no connection whatsoever to his domains. Not even a whisper of a hint.
That is when the tears start flowing.
“Are you serious right now?” Meg asks, her voice sharp as a blade. “Are you that desperate for attention?”
“Not that,” he manages to get out between sobs. “No powers. I am so weak.”
“Like none?” Meg wonders, sounding almost offended.
Now if only he could trust that it was on his behalf.
“Then what’s the point of me claiming your service if you’re tiny and powerless?”
“Again, so many things wrong here,” Percy calls from the kitchen. “Maybe I should’ve guessed some of that by the lack of healing going on, but can you elaborate on the everything, please?”
Between the two of them, they manage to tell Percy the rest of their day so far in the time it takes the teen to add marshmallows.
Percy hesitates before adding the nectar to the hot chocolate as well. “If… if you’re bleeding red this time, and you don’t have your strength or access to your domains at all — and I am sorry, really, I am, but this is so weird to say while looking at a t- at someone toddler-shaped,” Apollo is quite thankful for the correction, not that he is going to say it, “Just. How sure are we, exactly, that nectar’s gonna be safe?”
Sadly, Apollo finds himself nodding, tears still running down his face. “Better not to test.” Death is, after all, famously hard to come back from.
Usually.
Percy hugs him in response to this and Apollo is struggling to remember if he has ever been hugged by a male family member other than his little brothers and his sons before.
Like, obviously he is still the older out of the two of them, but in this stupid body, it certainly doesn’t feel like it!
So he hugs back with what little amount of might he currently possesses.
“This sucks, man, I know that, even if I have no understanding of the details. Since we decided not to test the nectar, we’re still going to have to at least try to take care of your injuries. We’ve got a mom-and-Paul first aid kit in the bathroom, let me go get that,” he says softly, moving one hand gently and repeatedly down Apollo’s back, which is way too small.
The thing is, Apollo doesn’t want to let go. This feels so much nicer than the rest of this stupid, stupid day.
“Do you want me to carry you there with me?”
This is so embarrassing. If his siblings find out about this literally ever, he is not going to hear the end of this.
He nods anyways.
“If he keeps getting smaller, I am not changing any diapers,” Meg announces when they come back a few seconds later. “Just to let you know in advance.”
“Thanks,” Apollo says through tears that won’t stop flowing and are significantly less golden than they should be, “I hadn’t considered that.”
‘Considered’ very much does not sound how he would like it to. His mouth in this stupid mortal form can’t even form all sound properly.
Everything, every single little thing, about this is terrible. This is why gods normally don’t normally do this whole toddlerhood thing. Or the waste thing — such an inefficient system, really.
Percy opens his own mouth, then pauses. “I will not verbalize the thought I just had to avoid tempting them.”
What Apollo tries to say is ‘Appreciate it, thanks’ but this mouth can’t quite figure out that either.
He hasn’t shrunk in what feels like a while, but Apollo is super-duper sure that this form and mortality is messing with his perception of that.
…and also his internal monologue?
This is already the worst time he has been mortal and this is literally day one.
“Why me?”
“That’s a question I’ve asked a lot myself,” Percy states commiseratingly. “So far I’ve not gotten an answer. Well, not a satisfying one.”
“I’d also like to know the answer to that question,” someone says from the doorway. “Along with what is happening and who are you?”
Apollo and Meg stiffen, but Percy greets them enthusiastically. “Mom! Paul! This is Meg and, well, Apollo.”
The man near the door turns to the woman next to him. “Did I just hear that correctly?”
“Well, if you just heard the name of Percy’s sunny cousin, so did I,” the woman, presumably Percy’s mother, says.
She turns around and-
“What’s with your tummy?”
Everyone else turns to stare at him, still being carried by Percy.
“I’m pregnant.”
Apollo frowns. This word is familiar. What was it again?
Oh.
Oh, yes, of course!
“You really should know that,” Paul states with a frown.
Percy nods enthusiastically. “For multiple reasons!”
Apollo agrees, quite strongly, even. He is Knowledge, he is Healing, father of Medicine, son of Motherhood, brother of Childbirth, half-brother of Midwifery.
But his memory…
“Brain’s all weird. Dunno how Dad looks,” he says. It both is and is not what he wanted to say — the emotion, the sense is right, but very much not the way he would have preferred to word this. Where’s the poetry?
And then the very worst thing so far occurs to him.
“I don’t ‘member Arty’s face,” he says through tears, again.
He ignores the awkwardness and buries his face in Percy's chest, because he does not want to think about it, does not want to see the horror and outrage on his behalf that is surely plastered on everyone else’s faces as well — because what other emotions could they possibly be feeling? Pity? He is Apollo.
Mortals don’t feel pity for him. They never did back home and they certainly don’t here, now. That’s just not an option.
Right?
In the attempt not to think about that, his thoughts, unfortunately, do not land in a better place, because he can’t leave the fact that he has memory problems.
Does he remember Ηελλενικα? His own first language?
He’s not sure. He remembers the name, clearly, but he’s not sure how much further it goes and is terrified to find out.
And if he’s no longer Greek, no longer his domains, no longer a protector of youths on account of being one himself, and no longer even remembers his twin’s face…
What is left of him?
Now he’s crying harder again.
Percy’s mom, who he’s sure he’s heard the name of at least once from Uncle P, hurries over. “Hey, it’s- well, it’s not okay, right now, but it’s going to be. You all have figured out everything so far, haven’t you? And we will help in every way we can, won’t we Paul?”
“Obviously,” Paul responds. “Tell me what I can do and I will do my best to do that.”
“Talking is so hard,” Apollo sobs, because that is probably the easiest complaint he has right now.
Meg isn’t even commenting right now, she seems somewhere between stunned and suspicious as she observes these new adults.
Paul, however, nods. “I imagine it’s quite the experience, and not a good one. If it’s any consolation, you’re doing better than I’d expect a mortal kid your a- size to.”
“That does help,” Apollo says, drying one of his eyes and finally motioning Percy to set him down.
“Since I assume this whole servitude thing you mentioned is off the table, and all,” Meg speaks up again. “What else are we supposed to do now, huh?”
Percy catches his mom’s expression. “Thank you!”
“You can stay here,” she declares. “And I will help you figure things out, including whether this is a longer term solution or not.”
Both Paul and Percy voice their agreement at that proclamation and somehow tears are welling up in his eyes yet again.
“But first, I will make some food,” she says. “Unless you made something already?”
Percy shakes his head. “I was studying before. A little too distracted to continue, now.”
Meg snorts. “That’s fair.”
“About that, Sally,” Paul interrupts. “I- I have just had a thought,” Paul says. “And that thought is: should we be concerned about allergies?”
“Not for me,” Meg comments.
If he weren’t currently stuck in a form not even a full meter tall – and that one centimeter had most definitely been on purpose – he would’ve said no.
But he is stuck, so Apollo shrugs. “Maybe.”
“That is not good. Do we have an EpiPen, just in case?”
“I think so, yes,” Paul adds a bit more securely, “but it’s old enough that I’m not sure it’s not gone past the use-by date. I’ll go check.”
“I think I should maybe head to Camp,” Percy comments, “give them some updates if that’s alright with you.”
“Speak with my kids. Please. Tell them I love them. So much,” Apollo begs.
“Will do,” Percy promises, which calms him down, because Percy always keeps his promises.
Always.