Chapter Text
Ned watches his hands dance in front of him,
taken aback.
"Peter?"
×××
Percy doesn't think about Ned very often, but when he does, it's nostalgically, tied in with the life he would've led if things had panned out differently when he was a kid. Not that his is such a bad life, anymore.
There are the obvious people, who wouldn't be holding him together, without it, without the worst experiences of his life - Annabeth, Grover - but there are less direct ones, too; if his mother hadn't been forced into marrying Gabe, she would've found a better guy sooner, wouldn't have met Paul, wouldn't have had Estelle.
Baby Stella is almost four, now, the age Percy was when he met Ned; that's the whole reason he's thinking about it. She's met some girls in nursery, who live a couple buildings down, whose parents arrange playdates, and meetups, and mutual childminding partnerships with his mom, and with Paul, already. It makes Percy's heart ache, a little.
Yeah, he's twenty-one years old, with a NRU marine biology degree tucked under his belt, a ship full of close friends and a hundred more casual ones, but deep down, there's an elementary schooler missing his first ever, ever friend. When you're ten, the friend you've known since you were four is the friend you can't imagine life without, the friend you've spent more than half your life with.
So, okay, he only knew Ned six years, but they were the longest six years of his life, the earliest half a dozen he can remember. They left an impression.
This is what makes the gaps feel scary.
He might've been a little kid, with a spotty memory, but the holes just don't feel organic. Four, five, six, is young enough for things to be missing, but not for him to lack any logical explanation as to where in the world he was, half the time - unless he and Ned were wandering aimlessly on the streets. They never went round to Percy's (not with Gabe around) and it's not like they were completely living at Ned's. Maybe five times out of ten, but not every day.
There's this throbbing, at the back of Percy's skull. It won't stop.
His move, that's hard to explain, too - when Percy, and Mom, and Gabe left, went from Queens to Manhattan, he hadn't put up a fuss. Granted, he hadn't been aware of quite how strict Gabe would be over their movements, how he'd control every street Percy's mother set foot on, how he'd sneer at the mention of their old home, let alone friends, and their support system.
So, yeah, Percy hadn't known that he'd be cutting off contact with Ned entirely - but he had known it would drop, that they wouldn't be able to hop over to one another's houses, to call on one another (to run back to Ned's, or the unknown, blank of a place). Surely, surely, he would've put up more of a fuss at leaving Ned, his only friend, with no friends of his own.
Ned was a target; he always had been. Bullied since he could barely walk, Ned's mom had whispered to his, once, before she'd passed away, when they thought Percy and Ned couldn't hear, squished behind the door (but why were they squished, when two people could fit in that spot comfortably).
Why would Percy feel so guiltless at leaving Ned completely alone? The thought feels so foreign, even now. It's been eleven years, and Percy feels pathetic for it, but he looks down at little Estelle, little Stella, and he worries.
And the inconsistencies are getting to him.
So he visits his mom, and he asks if she remembers the number for Ned's lola's land-line.
Ned's lola is one of the loveliest people in the world. Percy didn't have much experience with grandparents, when he attented elementary (it's not like he has a lick of positive experience, now), but the crumbs Mom left about her own, made them sound like judgemental creatures, the kind of people who wouldn't want dumb, troublesome kids (like Percy) corrupting their descendants.
Ned's lola wasn't like that. She wasn't completely fluent in English, back when they were small, but she knew enough to make it clear that any friend of Ned's (or, Ned's only friend) would be welcome in her home; she'd fed him, when Sally was at work, and Gabe was drunk off his feet, and was endlessly, casually, unconditionally kind.
Percy feels more guilt creep in, as the phone rings, that he had never paid it back in more than discounted sweets, and his own loyalty. He couldn't do anything for Ned at school, he'd been kicked out of that elementary after just one year (and it really was a feat, managing to get expelled as a kindergartener) but outside of school, bullies were fair game.
He remembers - an unquestionable truth - that he used to defend another, weedier kid back then too. Nothing else about him.
Another blank.
The phone trills a smidge more, before Ned's grandmother picks up; Percy collects himself, and balances it on his cheek.
He gets an address, and a number, but he stays on the phone, after, for what feels like no time, but must be at least twenty minutes, until Sally comes back from putting Stella down for her nap, and takes the phone from him. His throat feels cloying, his voice distant and hard to exercise, from the nostalgia of it all.
His mom laughs, teary, a smile plastered across her face, as she says something about Gabe (and her loss of him), clutching the phone closer.
"I can't believe I never thought to do this," she whispers, later, when it's in its holder once more, and they're curled together on the sofa, "I really can't. Thank you, Percy."
×××
He puts off calling. It's not like Mrs Leeds has his non-existent number to pass onto Ned, and he doubts that the boy (man, now) is going to wheedle Percy's mom's out of her, to try and get to him first - not when it's too daunting for Percy himself to make a move, with a far clearer, easier route laid out in front of him.
He talks to Annabeth about it, like he does all things that bother him, in their room, in their little apartment in New Rome. They're trying to move out, but the housing market is a nightmare, in New York.
"Have you ever thought about living somewhere else?" Annabeth asked him, once, "By the sea, less polluted, with space for our own offices, and a family?"
It's tempting, that's for sure. He really wants kids, and there's an itchy, godly voice in his head, screaming at him that if he doesn't hurry up, it'll be too late. He's so old, for a demi-god. He can't expect to live forever.
They've talked about it, Percy and Annabeth. There are a million half-orphaned demi-god children out there, and once they're older, not too close in age to the kids, it's a given. No frantic, melodramatic voice is ever going to be enough to change that.
He's scared to call Ned. He keeps distracting himself.
Annabeth tells him that's what he's doing, by asking her. He doesn't really need her advice.
×××
Percy calls him.
×××
It's awkward, nearly as awkward as Percy expected it to be, but just the sound of Ned's voice is enough to relax his tensed muscles, hesitant and slightly confused at the sudden contact, or not. It's like living in a memory, being eight years old again, giggling with his best friend, building LEGOs to take his mind off his vile stepfather, inside the blanket fort they built in Ned's room.
He can tell Ned feels it too; everyone has a special connection to their first nearest, dearest friend, but when you grew up almost isolated, it's magnified tenfold. No, he and Ned didn't have a million things in common, but none of that ever mattered then, and none of it seems to matter now.
"This sounds silly, but could I come over?" Percy's voice wobbles slightly, in a way it rarely ever does, nowadays, "Mrs Leeds gave me your address; I didn't ask for it or anything - I'm not creepy."
Ned laughs, taken aback, not entirely surprised, "I know you aren't, Percy."
I know you, Percy. It's left unsaid, because out loud it would come across almost ridiculous - they've lived more of their lives apart than they have together. It doesn't matter.
"Now?"
"No - soon, I just meant soon."
"Oh," Ned hesitates, "Well, this sounds dafter, but I don't really have any plans for - um, today. I'll have to check with my roommate, but you could totally come over today. Like, now."
"Oh," replies Percy, breathily. "Oh."
"Is that - okay?"
"More than okay!"
Neither of them says anything, for a minute. Ned mutes himself, to go ask his roommate ("Michelle, but her friends all call her MJ,") because he has a mobile, and mobiles can do that. Maybe land-lines can too, Percy's never checked.
Michelle sounded a little confused, Ned relays, after he returns, but intrigued, because she heard a lot about Percy when they first got to know one another, in high school. Ned says this sheepishly, like it's something to be embarrassed about.
Percy's heart squeezes, when he thinks about those years between his move, and Ned meeting Michelle. He shouldn't have been alone in middle school.
"Okay," he repeats, tingling with happiness, and regret, "When's best for you?"
"At one, maybe? We could grab lunch."
"Sounds perfect."
"Alright, bye Percy."
"Bye, Ned."
The call cuts, and Percy's alone again, in his mother's living room.