Chapter Text
To say he was having a bad day was an understatement. A bad day, a bad week, a bad life.
It was hard to assume things could get any worse.
First, his best friend, and really only friend, turned out to be a liar. And a goat. Or, Satyr that is.
But the liar part was more important to Percy at the current moment. He could get past the horns, furry legs, hooves, and bleps of panic. Even the obnoxious crunching of tin cans could potentially become manageable.
What he could not excuse, however, was the fabrication of their entire friendship.
A friendship apparently solely born from the Camp's protocol to recruit demigods before they could become monster-chow.
Or, Percy grimaces as he faintly hears Chiron droning on about the details of the Quest and the dangerous situation stirring between two of the big three with him at the center of the mess, or it wasn't even about saving Percy's life.
Perhaps instead it was for one reason and one reason only.
So they could get him to fix their problem. To retrieve the bolt and end the clash between his father and the King of Gods. Dragging him into the debacle even while fully aware there was no way he was capable of being the true thief. Endangering his life in the process. Resulting in the loss of his mother. Using him.
Leading him to the safe haven of Camp Half-Blood was not a gesture of kindness. It was a strategic execution.
Anger stirs within Percy's chest as he keeps his eyes cast downward. Refusing to make eye contact with either Chiron nor Grover. He doesn't want to reveal how truly angry he is.
Furious. Angry at them. Angry at the gods. Hell, he's even slightly angry at his mother.
Something that instantly causes guilt to swarm him. Tingling at his fingertips and slithering up his neck to curl around it. Restricting his airway. Choking him.
His eyes jerk up at the weight of a familiar gaze on him. His frantic ocean eyes meet Grover's concerned sad brown. It's comforting, even if Percy would prefer it to hold no weight.
He looks away quickly. Squeezing his hands repeatedly into fists.
The logical part of his brain argues there was no other choice. Mrs. Dodds, or Alecto he supposes, was already onto him at Yancy. Eventually, with or without Grover and Chiron's intervention, she would have struck.
The fight with Mrs. Dodds and the after events nag at him insistently. Along with Grover's words on the bus. They echo in his mind, 'Always sixth grade. They never get past sixth'.
The truth is a harsh one. Between Alecto, his scent, and his status as a child of the big three, he was doomed from the start.
It causes him to reach a conclusion he immediately yearns to reject.
Perhaps, by using him, they are actually showing him mercy.
For a quest has a small, miniscule, teeny-tiny chance of success.
All other options appear to point to certain death. Whether he likes it or not, Percy has always been a part of the world of the gods. He was born into it. Just because his mother tried, and ultimately failed, to hide it from him cannot change this fact.
This resolution causes some of the bitterness to fade, no longer tasting quite as poignant on his tongue.
The Quest is a chance.
His eyes glance back to Grover who has refused to stray his gaze away from Percy. The concern shining in the Satyr's eyes looks too realistic to be a lie.
He's in a whole new world now. One without his mother. He's alone. Now is maybe not the time to scorn the only allies he has.
Percy forces himself to take a deep breath and exhale slowly before deciding to finally meet and keep Grover's gaze. He manages to quirk a small smile. It's wobbly. It's unsure. But it's a start.
Grover returns his weak smile with one that dares to outshine the Sun God himself.
Percy internally kicks himself as the brightness outshines the shadows of doubt and poisonous thoughts tainting his trust for his best friend.
Yes, Grover lied to him. Yes, Grover's intentions from the start were to bring Percy to Camp Half-Blood. But that doesn't mean every moment they shared together was false. It couldn't be.
Or Grover wouldn't have risked his life during the fight with the minotaur. Wouldn't have thrown himself into the face of a grueling end if Percy was truly only a tool to him. An ends to a means.
No, he refuses to accept it.
Percy's smile grows, becoming slightly more genuine.
Chiron's voice, however, cuts through his internal crisis on the intricacies and meaning of friendship, "Percy, are you listening?"
God, hasn't he heard that enough for a lifetime. It's even worse that Chiron's switched back to his teacher voice when addressing Percy with the question.
Percy swats away the beginning stirring of feelings of inadequacy as he forces himself to smile at Chiron, nodding his head affirmatively, as he chirps with total sincerity, "Yeah, yes.
I mean, of course."
Nailed it, Jackson. Absolutely nailed it.
Dumbass.
Percy barely manages to hold back a wince as Chiron looks at him sharply.
However, he seems to decide reprimanding Percy isn't worth the trouble, as he merely clears his throat and continues his speech, "As I was saying," he shoots an unimpressed glance at the squirming child before him, "The bolt is assumed to have been stolen by you, Percy, according to Zeus. You see, during the last council of the gods your Father and the King got into an argument."
Wow, shocking.
Oblivious to Percy's internal exasperation Chiron explains, "It began with the usual nonsense, 'Mother Rhea always liked you best', who is more powerful, and-"
Percy's eyes widen as he processes Chiron's words. He suddenly blurts out, "Wait, I have a grandmother?"
Chiron's mouth hangs open as he halts his speech. He stares at Percy with an incredulous expression. As though Percy is the stupidest being to ever grace the planet. The severity of the look makes Percy begin to believe he is.
Chiron's lips close into a thin line as Grover murmurs under his breath faintly, "Seriously not the time, Perce."
The silence afterwards between the three of them is deafening. So deafening that Percy debates if he should just stall all further questions and excuse himself to start the Quest and go retrieve the bolt. Even though he knows absolutely nothing about how Quests work.
He'll figure it out. Probably....Maybe...
Chiron, noticing Percy slowly inch further away from him, elects to have mercy. Well, somewhat.
He stomps his front right hoof on the ground causing dust to kick up underneath it, "I am telling you of the potential end of the world. A world which you must save, for the good of all humanity and Olympus combined. And your focus is on the fact that you have a grandmother?"
Percy, apparently, never learns, "Wait so, I do?"
The notion is oddly exhilarating. He's never had a family. It's always been just him and his mom. Granted, now his mom is missing. And his dad has been found. But his dad kind of sucks at the moment so Percy isn't eager to focus on him.
But a Grandmother? Grandmothers are the matriarchs of the family. The ones who look after the young and whack the heads of their own kids when they're acting like idiots.
Sure, this is a godly grandmother. But... but maybe she could function much as he suspects grandmothers do. Maybe she can help.
Maybe she'd be willing to help. To talk to Zeus and Poseidon and to get them to cool off. Or at least for long enough for Percy to retrieve the bolt in time. Because, he's not too confident he can meet the deadline. Or confident that he can retrieve the bolt at all.
What he is confident in is that he has the ability to save his mother. That confidence brims brightly within him, threatening to burst forward. Urging him onward.
He knows he can save his mother because he has to save her. There is simply no other choice. A world without Sally Jackson is one he doesn't want to live in.
He shifts his focus away from thoughts of his mother to focus back on the topic at hand.
He's unsure why the thought never struck him before. Of having a grandmother.
To be fair though, thinking of his father as a god is a new concept as well.
So, while yes, he knew the Kronides had a mother, married to Kronos, who wrapped a stone in cloth and convinced her husband that was his child and thus brought the end of the reign of the Titans, that doesn't mean he ever had a reason to make the familial connection.
That, that woman, is his grandmother. Rhea. Mother of the Gods.
Growing more and more confident at the possible potential of Rhea's intervention, Percy dares to continue his brewing line of questions.
He spews them forth, ignoring his old teacher's visible frustration and thinning patience, "Where is she? Does she know what's going on? Why haven't you called her? Or prayed I guess...Why-"
Chiron's thread thin patience snaps. His eyes flare with a multitude of emotions. Irritance, sorrow, pain, and a resounding old resignation.
His voice comes out sharply at a high volume,
"Because!-". He pauses as the two children before him flinch at his tone. Chiron sighs, dragging a hand against his face, internally reprimanding himself for losing control so easily.
He knows how Percy is. Has taught him for months. Percy is simply being Percy. To snap at him for such an action is unacceptable.
Chiron declines his head apologetically, "because no one knows."
Percy shifts uncomfortably, squinting somewhat at Chiron trying to parse out the exact meaning behind the words.
Chiron is quick to clear it up. He looks momentarily at Grover who looks rather panicked and flighty by the conversation before looking back to Percy, who appears desperate for his answer, "The Mother of the Gods vanished a millennium ago. No one knows her whereabouts, not even Zeus himself."
Percy’s eyes grow stormy at the admission. The hues of blue and green becoming as dark as the ocean’s depths.
Of course. Of course that’d be his luck. His one opportunity to avoid being zapped into a pile of ash has simply vanished. Gone. Proving to be unattainable. A useless endeavor.
His anger flares, causing cracks to stretch underneath the soles of his feet. Yet even so, a small part of him echoes with a dull aching pain. The pulsing familiar sensation of abandonment teems to life within his chest. Weighing heavily on his soul.
The optimism and excitement at the proposition of having more of a family, dissipates.
Yet it’s not completely squandered.
For Percy is his mother’s son.
He won’t give up just because Rhea has gone missing. Missing for a millennium, his mind whispers traitorously. He pushes the lingering thoughts of doubt and fear to the back of his mind.
He can’t exactly blame Rhea for supposedly up and leaving, if that’s truly what Chiron means by the whole ‘vanishing’ factor.
The family of the gods is undoubtedly messy. Especially Rhea’s children.
Constantly squabbling over power, failing to see the matters of true importance and endangering all of civilization in the process. And, Percy glances around the Camp, forgetting the demigods. Seeing them much more as pawns than as their own children.
Would…would Rhea truly want that? Does she know how bad things have gotten in the millennium she’s been missing?
And, if someone was somehow able to inform her. Somehow able to make contact…would she return?
A strong breeze ruffles Percy’s hair, caressing his face in an almost gentle nature. It immediately causes his shoulders to slump, tension easing away, as the cracks below his feet cease their growth.
The breeze carries one word with it. Gentle, yet resolute. ‘Yes’.
Percy’s anger begins to subdue as a new plan forms in his mind. One he knows no one besides himself will have faith in. He’s just a kid. What does a twelve year old have against ancient gods?
The edge of Percy’s lip twitches in a half smile.
Maybe it’s time for a different messenger. For he doubts anyone besides the gods have dared to seek out Rhea. Likely seeing all efforts to as fruitless. So, why not? Why not ignore the rules of this new world and follow his heart.
The worst that could happen is his situation remains exactly the same…right?
Percy jolts slightly at the sensation of a hand landing on his shoulder. He looks up to see Chiron looking down on him with a pitiful expression.
Maybe Chiron isn’t as quite as eager as he first seemed to send Percy off on this death trap.
The heavy hand squeezes his shoulder in a show of reassurance as Chiron offers a shred of advice, “Do not trouble yourself with such ancient matters. Your job is this Quest, to retrieve the master bolt and stop an outright war ringing through the halls of Olympus.”
Percy’s innate reaction is to roughly shrug off the consoling hand and bite out a snappy insult of refusal.
Yet, he finds the strength to encase himself in a facade. Percy bites the inside of his cheek before nodding in acknowledgment.
Chiron, seeing this as a good sign, smiles and allows his hand to fall away from Percy’s thin frame. He stands taller, alleviated from the gravity of the prior topic, “Now, I believe the Lord of the Dead may be the true culprit…”.
He stumbles gracelessly down the Big House porch front steps. Legs wobbling akin to a newborn fawn's. His hands shake against his side as his whole body trembles from unease.
The memory of the green mist fogs his vision. Making it difficult to make out even the midday sun let alone his own two feet.
The images of Gabe and his snickering goons stain the back of Percy's eyelids. It's a scene he's experienced a thousand times firsthand.
Yet hearing that slithering booming voice emit from Gabe's foul mouth painted the whole thing in an even more unsettling light.
Why the Oracle was dead set on delivering the Prophecy in such a means is beyond Percy. Maybe it's her vengeance for being trapped rotting in an attic for half a century.
He raises a shaky hand to wipe away the sweat that's gathering along his hairline. He wishes he wasn't so shaken by the whole ordeal. That he could just brush it off, square his shoulders, and tell himself that he's a child of Poseidon, a child of the big three, of course he's got this.
But he can't. Not when the last two lines of the prophecy encircle him like a deadly viper. Just waiting to strike. To inject its poison into his bloodstream. Inevitable as all prophecies are. A tragedy waiting to happen.
It had started well, 'You shall find what was stolen and see it returned’.
Awesome, right? He was destined to succeed! To find the bolt and return it to its rightful moody owner. To save civilization and prove he's not a total useless mess up!
Wrong. Dead dead wrong.
For the last two lines of the prophecy completely shift its original tone, 'You shall be betrayed by one who calls you friend. And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end’.
So okay, first of all, his list of friends isn't exactly all that long. Or really a list. More like a singular bullet point.
But the prophecy did specifically specify it wasn't necessarily his friend that would betray him but one who calls him friend.
But who does that besides Grover?
He supposes he's interacted with Annabeth. But after the whole bathroom explosion and capture the flag disaster, he highly doubts she'd call him a friend. And he's not exactly inclined to call her one either. She's already mentioned children of Athena and Poseidon do not mix due to their parents' ancient history. No... Annabeth wouldn't make any sense.
And well, who does that leave?
He's interacted with Clarisse but she's clearly not an option for more than obvious reasons.
Other than that well... Percy tenses as he stares down at his feet...there's Luke. If he thinks about it, he's spent the most time with Luke. Mainly due to his prior status as an unclaimed half-blood.
Luke has been kind. He didn't treat Percy with pity over what happened with his mom, he stole him toiletries, and he's been teaching Percy the art of sword fighting.
Percy stares at his wrist as he recalls the time he managed to disarm Luke, stunning himself, Luke, and everyone in the class who had been watching.
He still can't believe he disarmed the greatest swordfighter to be born in three hundred years. Not to mention someone seven years his senior.
But even for all the kindness Luke’s shown Percy, he never got the impression they were friends.
Luke was simply doing his job as the Senior Counselor of the Cabin for the Unclaimed. Percy was an obligation. Not a friend.
Proven further by the fact that along with the rest of the Camp Luke has avoided him like the plague ever since his claiming. He didn't even come to see Percy off from the boisterous Hermes Cabin to his sad walk to Poseidon's cold expansive and terribly empty cabin.
Luke wouldn't call him a friend.
Percy's eyes narrow as he fights back tears of frustration. He doesn't want Grover to betray him. He honestly can't really imagine it. But, who else? Who else could possibly fill the role distributed by the Prophecy?
Maybe... maybe he has yet to make the friend? Maybe it's someone he'll meet along the Quest?
Percy shakes his head in attempt to dispel the growing waves of panic and paranoia threatening to crash over him.
There's really no point in trying to decode that part of the prophecy. Because prophecies are set in stone. Unavoidable things.
All he can do is focus on the first part of the prophecy. The directions to go west and face the god who has turned. The god who has turned of course being Hades.
Chiron had already voiced his suspicions of the Lord of the Dead being the culprit. This simply confirms it.
And no, he is decidedly not going to think of how the prophecy ends saying he fails to save what matters most in the end. Because how can he return the bolt but still fail? If the bolt doesn't matter the most, then what does?
Percy glances to his right as he hears a game of pinocle taking place. He's unsurprised to see who's gathered at the table. Mr. D is the first to raise his head away from his hand of cards.
Purple eyes burn into Percy with speckles of gold. Seeing into the deepest parts of his soul. Searching for answers and uncaring of the state of mind he will leave Percy in to gain them.
Bravely, or arguably idiotically, Percy returns the gaze with a challenging one of his own.
Daring the god to do as he pleases. To surge forward and rip apart Percy's mind in search of whatever is troubling the god of madness himself.
Because Percy knows.
Percy knows he can't. And he knows it's pissing the god off more than imaginable.
Because Mr. D, no, Dionysus, needs Percy. All the gods do.
He's the only one that can end the conflict. Directly due to Zeus' own orders. The order for Percy to be the one, seeing as he is the assumed thief, to return the bolt on Poseidon's behalf.
So as much as Mr. D can throw around threats about unraveling his mind or turning him into a bottlenose dolphin, it all rings hollow. For in this rare instance Dionysus is powerless.
A god powerless in the face of a demigod. A ludicrous concept, but the truth all the same.
And Percy knows it.
As does Dionysus.
Mr. D huffs as his eyes shine with a flash of molten gold before fading back to purple. He makes a grumbling noise as he redirects his focus back to his cards and the game.
Percy would smirk if his body didn't feel close to collapsing.
Percy: 1, Mr. D: 0.
It's at this moment Chiron decides to acknowledge Percy's presence from his place at the pinocle game. Intelligent ancient eyes analyze Percy paired with a tired knowing smile, “Percy, my boy, why don't you have a seat?"
His throat grows dry at the offer. His eyes dart between Mr. D, Chiron, and Grover who are all gathered around the playing table. The Oracle's words slither along his mind, ‘betrayed...fail'.
He opens his mouth to respond, but all that leaves is a choked gasp.
Mr. D rolls his eyes, Chiron's newly kindled hopes fade, and Grover, Grover places his cards down.
He rises, hooves clopping and all, and shoots a quick glance to Chiron conveying something Percy can't make out in the moment. Chiron simply nods. But his eyes do not leave the pair as Grover loops his hand into Percy's and tugs him away from the table.
Percy allows Grover to drag him along, stumbling every so often over his own uncooperating feet. He doesn't bother trying to take in the looks they're garnering as Grover leads him up to Thalia's tree. A place where very few people frequent.
Percy blinks roughly as a loud sound snaps in front of his face, "Percy? Earth to Percy?
Come on man, it couldn't have been that bad..."
A small mirthless chuckle escapes Percy's lips as the haze fades from his eyes. Finally, the green mist disappears. No longer obscuring his sight. And with it, the voices.
Percy sighs as he rakes a hand through his hair and meets Grover's uneasy expression,
"Say, Grover...would you ever...." Percy trails off before his eyes snap to Grover, "betray me…?"
Grover's voice wavers as he croaks out a stunned, "What?"
Immediate guilt splashes onto Percy's tongue.
God, why did he say that. What is he an idiot? Does he really think Grover would even admit to that?
The words tumble out of his mouth in a haphazard apology, "No, wait," he waves his hands in the air to dispel the growing conflict and hurt blooming between them, "I didn't mean it like that exactly I just-
Grover cuts Percy off, voice etched with a deep understanding yet tinged with unbridled horror, "What did she say?"
Percy averts his eyes, knowing that if he continues to look at Grover's horror-stricken face he may crumble before it, "She said I'm gonna mess up."
Grover looks at Percy with deep consideration before knocking a fist against Percy's shoulder with not quite enough power to be called a punch but definitely enough to hurt.
He ignores Percy's yelp of indignation, "Words in prophecies have deeper meanings Percy. Don't assume you're gonna fail like-"...the words ‘like me' go unspoken between them. Yet, Percy hears them all the same.
"Come with me."
Grover startles, dropping his hand away from Percy and taking a step back. His voice is thick with confusion, "What?"
Percy steels himself, knowing that even with the chance of Grover's betrayal, Percy cannot do this without him. He offers his best friend a lopsided smile, "Don't you need to complete a quest successfully to get a searcher's license?"
Grover goes still. An intensity Percy's never witnessed before washes over Grover as he implores with careful words, "You're serious?"
Percy grins, eyes dancing with promise, "Yeah."
Grover's hands twitch at his sides as he considers the likelihood of their success at his final attempt to achieve one step closer to his dream.
"But-"
Grover's head snaps up violently at the mischief reflected in Percy's tone.
The prophecy spelling doom only pushes Percy to furth embrace his insane plan, "you have to tell me what you know about Rhea."
Grover stares at him in an almost unseeing nature.
A good five seconds go by before Grover's spluttering at Percy's audacity, "What? Are you crazy!". Grover's voice echoes down the hill, causing his eyes to widen before narrowing as he speaks at a much lower volume, "Did you not hear what Chiron said? Let ancient pasts be ancient pasts. This is way over your head Percy."
Percy shrugs half-heartedly, disappointment stark in his heart, voice dejected, "Okay fine, don't help me. I'll figure it out on my own."
Just as he turns around to leave a hand pulls him back.
Grover is clearly uncomfortable, based on how tight his grip is, and the way his eyes scream with fear and hesitance as he looks into the direction of the Big House. Even so, he mutters, "Okay okay look, I'll tell you what I know. But only because it'll make you realize how badly you need to drop it."
Percy's eyes shine with appeasement. More than ready to divulge in what little information is available regarding his grandmother.
Grover's tongue is thick in his mouth as he finds himself struggling to weave the tales he's been told by the elders, "The Mother of the Gods wasn't just a goddess of motherhood. She was also a nature goddess. Specifically that of mountains." He blows out a stream of air as he gathers his thoughts, "She was kinda in a sense seen as a mother of everything, including the earth I guess." His eyes gain a sorrowful note to them as he recalls, "They say Pan was a companion to her."
Pan. Pan who is missing.
What are the chances that both nature gods have gone missing?
Percy picks up on the connection instantly, "So, if we find Pan do you think we can find Rhea?"
Grover's lips twist into a frown as a small burst of frustration and anger alights in his chest,
"Are you forgetting that everyone who has ever gone in search for Pan has never returned?"
Percy grows quiet at the comment, knowing he has hit a personal nerve.
Grover sighs, feeling all the fire within him extinguish with it, "Look, let's just focus on the Quest for now." He bumps his shoulder against Percy while smiling lightheartedly, "Leave the search for nature gods up to me, okay?"
Percy's smile is barely present as he mumbles, "Yeah, yeah you're right. I'll drop it."
Percy does not drop it.
If anything, the conversation with Grover has only made him more curious. And brought a new realization to light.
If Percy is able to contact Rhea, there's a high possibility she may know what happened to Pan. As to where he's gone. He could solve Grover and all of the satyr and nymph's problem.
Though, going off the little information he has, that Rhea went missing a millennium ago and none of the gods know where she is, and that she’s a nature goddess that vanished without a trace similar to Pan, isn’t exactly promising.
Percy bites at his bottom lip as he leaves behind his empty horridly deathly quiet cabin to make his way to the dining hall pavilion.
He’s been debating asking Annabeth.
Surely miss know-it-all would have a clue as to what’s transpired involving Rhea. And, even if she doesn’t have any new intel, Percy knows she’s brilliant. Her strategy during capture the flag proved that.
A frown pulls at Percy’s lips as he recalls as great as a strategy it may have been, it came at his expense.
So maybe Annabeth could offer some insight. Something that Percy’s missing.
Or maybe she would attempt to completely talk him out of it. Claiming he’s insane and leading her to tattle to Chiron putting Percy in a world of trouble. He’s really not too keen to be on kitchen duty or cleaning out the pegasus stalls.
Percy huffs as he picks up his pace, ignoring a few campers that float nearby. Yeah, there’s no way he can share this with Annabeth. She already has little to no faith in his smarts. There’s no need to jeopardize his mission before it’s even begun.
Suddenly a feeling of deep unease cascades over Percy like a bucket of frozen water. His feet come to a grinding halt, kicking up dirt beneath his shoes, as he jerks his head up, meeting a chest that leads up to a god exuding murderous intent.
Percy’s throat grows dry, his skin becoming clammy, as he stares into the raging eyes of the god of madness.
His first and only thought is ‘Oh shit’.
What did he do to piss off Dionysus now? He hasn’t even seen the god since their stare off during the pinocle game! And it’s not like Percy flaunted the knowledge he knows Dionysus can’t actually smite him. He’s not that much of an idiot.
The vibrant purple of Dionysus’ eyes has completely given way to divine molten gold. Just making eye contact with the god is enough to make Percy wince, yearning to raise his hands protectively in front of his eyes.
Whispers of accusations and insults prod Percy’s mind as the god stares him down. A puny mortal before a pillar of divinity.
Before Percy can so much as react Dionysus grabs Percy by his wrist and yanks him away from the direction of the dining hall, steering him away from where everyone is gathered. Away from all potential witnesses.
Oh god. Wait…gods?
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because Dionysus’ grip on his wrist absolutely burns. It feels like his skin is actively being singed off from his bone. Percy grits his teeth at the blossoming pain, unwilling to give the god the satisfaction.
Though Dionysus doesn’t even seem to be aware of said pain he’s inflicting.
A small gasp emits from Percy’s lips involuntarily as Dionysus promptly drops his grip on Percy as they’ve now reached a more secluded area of Camp.
Surely soon to be dubbed, The area with Percy Jackson’s soot stain on the ground. Mind your step.
Dionysus absolutely seethes as he hisses out between clenched teeth, “What exactly do you think you’re doing sea-spawn?”
Percy stares at the god like he’s grown two heads.
Dionysus is not appeased by the response. If anything, it only causes more fury to brim in his eyes. Emotions flaring akin to a dangerous flame seeking to destroy all in its path.
The god begins to rant almost frantically as he catalogues Percy’s face with a dreadful deliberance, “You seriously think you could do anything? That you could possibly do anything that we haven’t already thought of? That I haven’t considered?”
Percy blinks. Once. Twice.
Oh. Huh. This about Rhea…isn’t it?
Percy narrows his eyes, unhappy that his interest has been noticed. He doesn’t need a god interfering with his plans.
He snips out haughtily, “What’s it to you?”
Dionysus leans further into Percy’s space, leaning down until their noses almost touch, “That, Perseus Jackson, is none of your business.”
Percy’s not sure what’s more confusing. The usage of his name correctly for the first time or why Dionysus has such a deep investment in Rhea. It’s not like he’s her child. In fact, they technically have the same connection to her. Both grandsons. One fully divine while the other partial.
Dionysus stares him down, and Percy stares back. Mirror flames burning within them.
Except, suddenly Dionysus’ dies.
He jerks his head away from Percy as though slapped.
His eyes, which are now cataloguing Percy’s features repeatedly, glimmer with an aghast aire. He murmurs under his breath, undeniably pained, “You dare look at me with her eyes…her face…”
Dionysus grabs at his hair, yanking it roughly as he groans with displeasure. Incredibly frustrated by the situation at hand for reasons Percy cannot in the slightest deduce.
Percy takes a hesitant retreating step back. It instantly garners the god’s attention. Dionysus’ nostrils flare as he bites out, “Run away while you can little copy-cat. Before I actually decide to kill you for your transgressions.”
Percy doesn’t need to be told twice.
For the first time that day his feet actually obey him. He runs as fast as he can away from the crazed god, heading to his original destination, the dining hall. Somewhere that he’ll be safe. There’s safety in numbers after all.
By the time he reaches the opening to the dining hall pavilion his knees are weak and he's actively panting, chest seizing with effort to intake air.
He leans against a column as the scent of dinner wafts around him. Fresh barbeque, fruit, bread, and various other options of food are scattered on plates throughout the area. All of the tables are packed with campers, chatting amongst themselves as they happily dig in to a well-deserved meal.
His eyes scan along the tables.
First he catches sight of Grover who's sitting at what he knows to be Dionysus' table, along with a few other satyrs and two blond-headed boys.
While the two boys appear to unbothered by the god's absence, the satyrs all look uneasy. Fidgeting in place as they meagerly pick at their plant-based food. As though they can somehow sense Dionysus' rage tainting the air.
Percy is quick to redirect his gaze away from the table. The last thing he needs is Grover making eye contact with him and instantly being able to tell something's up. Hell, knowing Grover he'd somehow smell the god's anger lingering on his form.
He finds himself looking toward Annabeth where she sits with her siblings. Again, he wonders if it's worth it to rope her into his plans. And again, he dismisses it.
Lastly, his eyes find the most crowded table in the entire pavilion. Luke's cabin, or er he supposes, Hermes' cabin.
He watches as the campers at the table knock into each other with their elbows, some purposeful while others accidental. Many boisterously laughing while others stare down tiredly at their plates. Yet all together nonetheless. Unified.
Percy used to be one of them. One of the unclaimed, that is.
He never thought he'd miss it so much.
But, he glances toward the four empty tables knowing his spot is reserved at one, loneliness is a surprisingly suffocating emotion. He'd take the stuffy overpacked Hermes' cabin over his vast secluded cabin any day.
Take comradery, over isolation. Ostracization arguably.
A bitter seed that has only continued to grow threatens to soon blossom in Percy's chest.
His frustration and anger towards his father teem with life, pulsing in his veins and a constant pressure at the back of his head.
It only heightens as he forces himself to enter the pavilion, ratty shoes squeaking against the marble floors as the chattering of the campers diminishes slightly as he walks by. He feels not unlike a zoo animal as he grabs his plate and carefully begins to choose what he'll place upon it.
He nibbles at his lip as his fork hovers over a slab of steak. Would a nature goddess eat meat...? Or would she be like Grover who only eats tin cans and plants?
The image of an ancient goddess feasting on a spread of rusty tin cans causes a small snort to escape Percy.
He brushes away the image as the severity of the situation sets into place. This is the most important step of his entire plan. If he fails to get her attention, or even worse, manages to offend the titaness and Mother of the Gods...well then he'll truly be on his own. And the possibility of assisting Grover in his search for Pan beçomes null.
He spears his fork with fresh strawberries, a few grapes, cheese, and a small piece of brisket for himself. Along with it he adds a buttered roll to his plate.
Sure it's not exactly a feast fit for immortals but if Percy's suspicions are true, this will be the first offering Rhea has received since ancient times. No matter what he offers, it is sure to garner some type of attention.
Hopefully good attention, he pleads internally, as his fingers grip his plate so tightly the tips turn frost white.
Now with a full plate, Percy turns to face the central blazing fire. He swears he sees his reflection in its flame as he approaches. Heat comes off of it in waves, tingling his skin.
Ignoring how he feels as though the fire is going to swallow him whole, Percy bows his head and begins his prayer.
'Uh, hi.'
Smooth Percy, smooth.
Percy swallows back his anxiety and soldiers on, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself.
‘You don't know me, but I know you...kinda. And well, I could really really use your help right now.’
Okay okay getting better.
'You see, your son, my dad, is threatening the entire balance of the world.’
Well, he supposes it's not just his dad, 'And so is your youngest. Actually, it's mostly your youngest. I haven't even met the dude and he wants to smite me.'
Focus focus, pull it back.
Percy squeezes his eyes where they remain tightly closed, 'The balance of humanity and Olympus is at threat. Everything', Percy swallows thickly, 'everything may be gone. And it'll be my fault.'
Desperation grips his soul, 'So please, Rhea, Mother of the Gods, hear my prayer and grant me your mercy.’
Percy's eyes fly open as he thrusts his plate forward...and dumps the entire thing into the fire.
Whoops, he stares blankly as the food begins to become consumed by the flames. He hadn't meant to include the meat...that was supposed to be for him. Hopefully she won't take offense.
He's not left to ponder much longer on that as the fire suddenly roars. The flames extend from their hearth forcing Percy to stumble backward if he wants to avoid being torched to a crisp.
The heat from the flame feels different this time, however. Like it's reaching out to him with purpose. Inspecting him and asking him who dares all in the same breath.
"So, who was that for?"
Percy jolts, nearly dropping his plate as he whips his body around to meet Luke, who stands next to him completely unbothered. Yet, Luke is noticeably not facing Percy. Instead he's facing the flames, seemingly entranced by the power behind them.
"Uh," Percy fidgets as Luke casts a side glance in his direction, "just...just my dad", it comes out as a near whisper.
Why is Luke here? They haven't spoken in days. Why now would Luke finally choose to approach him?
A small bead of hope that Percy isn't entirely on his own settles in his chest as he hesitantly meets Luke's gaze.
Luke hums noncommittally, a lazy smirk gracing his lips. He moves, his hand patting Percy on the back soundly, "Whatever you say kid, whatever you say.”
And with that, he leaves. Returning back to his table as though nothing of importance had taken place. And maybe to Luke, nothing had.
Percy exhales slowly, directs his sight above to the twinkling stars and murmurs, "Please."
Inside a cave on the island of Krete, ancient ocean eyes snap open as the scent of fresh meat and fruit fills the space.