Chapter Text
Percy jerks awake to hands grabbing him under his armpits.
Immediately, his instincts kick in and he thrashes, aiming an elbow to the face of whoever is trying to get ahold of him. His eyes fly open. The elbow connects.
“Ow-!” A high shrill voice fills the tent.
Percy's blue eyes meet golden. Apollo looks down at him affronted.
“You didn't have to hit me!” He shrieks holding his jaw pitifully.
“You're a god. It didn't hurt.” Percy snarks, still waking up. He slowly leans up and rubs his eyes sleepily. “Gonna cry about it?”
“Why you little–” The god of the sun takes a deep breath and clasps his hands together in front of his chest as if trying to keep them still. “I'm going to ignore that, because I grabbed you in your sleep. And looking back, I can see how that might be misconstrued. But we've really gotta go.”
“Why?” Percy croaks. “Just because your sun is rising about this time, doesn't mean I have to.”
“No, look, I'm trying to help you here.”
“Real help there, waking an innocent man from his deep slumber, by trying to touch him.” Percy snorts with a grin.
(A lyre note plucks out of tune– sounding as if its string had been snapped.)
“You know I wasn't doing anything malicious!” Apollo blushes, looking appalled. His eyes constrict and his form flashes. Black feathers bristle along his arms.
“Your myths say otherwise–”
Apollo's hand quickly reaches over and covers his mouth. “Please for the love of Olympus, don't even insinuate I’ve done something untoward to you. Especially in your father's tent.”
Hating how stuffy the god's palm feels on him, Percy does the first thing he can think of.
He licks it.
Apollo yelps and stumbles back. Wide eyes flicker between his hand and Percy.
“You are the most insolent demigod I've ever met!”
“Thank you.” Percy grins, as he runs a hand through his hair, trying to smooth the cowlick he created during his sleep.
Apollo sniffs disdainfully. “I should leave you to your fate, cousin.”
The way he says that makes Percy pause. “My fate?”
His question earns him a scoff.
“Hare-brained-” Apollo sharply inhales and crosses his arms. His foot taps nervously. “I can't tell if you're stupid or just asleep. Aren't you forgetting something?”
Forgetting something…what could he…?
Oh right. Ares.
He crosses his arms behind his head and leans back in the bed. “If Ares wants me, he can come get me himself.”
“You are an idiot. That's what I'm trying to stop!” Tan hands reach out and tug the blankets off Percy's bed. Cold air rushes against his skin.
“Hey–!”
“Don't ‘hey’ me. You of all people should know better than to keep the god of war waiting!” Apollo hisses as he throws the blanket on the floor. “Now up! He's gonna get tired of waiting eventually.”
Percy grumbles as he swings his legs off the bed. “Ugh. Why can't I just have one day where somebody doesn't need something from me?”
“Get used to it kid. How do you think us gods feel?” Apollo says, glancing at Percy with an unknown warning in his eyes.
“I don't think I will get used to it, thank you.” Percy grumbles, wiping his fingers along the slit of his eyes to clear the bits of sleep there. “Once this war is over, I'm grabbing Annabeth and we're going straight home. I don't care who comes knocking, I'm going to lay in our cabin for a week straight.”
Apollo's hands clench and relax in a fraction of a section. His jaw flexes. “You're going home?” His voice dips into something low and confused. “Why?”
Percy blinks sleepily as he stands up and walks over to his wardrobe. “Of course I'm going back home. You didn't think I would stay here forever, did you?”
He snorts as he swings the door open and starts looking through the clothes his father had made for him. They're all expensive looking chitons and chlamys. All varying shades of blues and greys with rich embroidery.
The god turns and faces him, his eyes analyzing and squinting in confusion. “Of course I did! After the war you'll be a hero. Anything you want your father would be sure to grant it. A castle– Riches– Hades, you could ask for a city-state to run if you wanted.”
A warm gentle hand grabs his shoulder. Apollo continues, “Anything you desire could be yours. As long as you stay.”
(Lyre strings wrap around his wrist--an out of tune note plucking. The notes swirl around him, as if trying to keep him in place.)
Percy rolls his eyes. “I desire to go home.”
Fingers tighten on his shoulder. The god's mouth twists up into something sharp. “I don't understand you. Why settle for such a terrible place when you can live in paradise?”
Then Apollo steps closer and wraps his arm around his neck, pulling him into a side hug. “We can treat you so much better than those…those people back home could.” Fingernails trail along his neck, almost caging him in.
“You could belong to us.” Apollo continues softly, his touch cradling him with a possessive hint to his movements. “Come on cousin. We're family.”
Days ago, Apollo would've struggled to call him cousin. But something has changed since then. Percy can't read the emotion in the sun god's eyes. It couldn't be caring. The gods aren't mortal. They don't care the same way demigods and humans do.
There's no way Apollo thinks of him actually as family.
“I–” Percy sharply inhales. “I have family back home too.”
“Your mortal family?” Apollo asks, his voice deceptively soft. “What could they offer that we couldn't.”
“It's not,” He pauses to take a deep breath, “about what they can offer or not. It's because I love them.”
(A lyre note plucks in surprise.)
“That's…” Apollo's eyebrows furrow together and his lips purse. “True.”
A beat passes.
Apollo takes a step away. “Before you completely make up your mind though. It's not all…set into stone. You could learn to love us in return. Like we're learning…” He trails off and looks away.
Percy pauses as he grabs a chiton from the wardrobe. “Like you're learning to wha–”
“Perseus!” A loud growl fills the air. Immediately, the sun god’s hands disappear from his shoulders, taking their warm heat along with them. He visibly maneuvers himself behind Percy, as if offering the boy up as a sacrifice to his angrier brother.
Ares storms into the tent.
The flaps wavers behind him as he snorts angrily, his shoulders hunching as he jerks his head in Percy’s direction.
Ares’ form flashes into something other. Eyes churn a molten red and tusks protrude from his lips. He huffs and the ground seems unsteady for a quiet moment.
Charged heat fills the air. It’s suffocating. A cloying stench of rust and copper follows, suffocating Percy’s lungs. Too much. The boy almost chokes.
Then the screams start.
It's soft at first before the noise crescendos into a loud eruption of voices.
(Not just any random voices but the sounds from the second Titan War.)
Voices of people who he saw die fill his ears. They rattle through his head, echo down to his bones, sweeping a chill throughout his blood that wasn’t there before. It’s been only seconds, but Percy can feel it impact his sanity.
Pain erupts inside his brain.
He's seconds from gripping his ears to block out the cacophony of noise (not that he think it would stop the sounds) before it stills.
He huffs, his lungs having trouble keeping his breathing steady as he lowers his head and inhales gulps of air.
A deep low chuff rings out and the noises die down.
Ares stands a few feet away with too-obviously-mortal eyes. But his attention isn’t aimed at Percy. He's staring at Apollo. His voice is deadpan. “I was wondering what was keeping him.”
Apollo, who hasn't moved a muscle since Ares entered, suddenly stiffens with a protest. “I did not–”
“He was bothering me all morning.” Percy interjects weakly, barely recovering from whatever brief torment Ares besotted him with. He gives a deep sigh. Trying to brush off the encounter. But his skin is pale and his ears ring. He slowly curls his shaking hands into fists to get them to stop from trembling.
The sun god visibly sputters. “That's not true!”
Ares crosses his arms, his eyes disbelieving. “And what was so important you had to keep him from exiting to the training fields?”
Apollo opens his mouth–
-Percy interrupts him. “He's trying to convince me to stay here after the war. Badly too.”
There’s a flash of heat. The temperature in the tent increases for a fraction of a second before dying down.
That makes Are pause, his dark amber eyes burrowing into Percy’s skin, right below his jaw. “You're not going away after the war, Perseus.”
Despite still being shaken, Percy still somehow manages to find his sass. “Of course I am.”
“No, you're not.” Ares grits. His jaw flexes as his lips dip down into a frown. He takes a step closer, his powerful frame blocking Percy into the tent. “Do you really think–”
He takes another step forward.
“-- Your father will let you leave?”
Percy pauses.
To be honest, his father hadn’t crossed his mind this morning. Would Posideon let him leave? His first knee jerk reaction is to say that he doesn’t care what his father thinks. That he’ll do whatever he wants. But Percy can still feel the aftershocks of whatever Ares did to him. And that had only been a brief anger. A spark of annoyance.
What could Posideon do to him if he really wanted to keep Percy here?
A thick slime fills Percy’s throat at the thought.
His father already isn’t the biggest fan of Annabeth. Persuading him would be difficult. But not impossible. Could Percy pull it off–?
He takes a shuddering breath.
A hand returns to his shoulder. Warmth bleeds through his clothing at the contact. Percy doesn’t have to look up to know that it’s Apollo.
“Come on now, let’s get you breakfast.” His voice is deceptively soft. “If Ares could wait this long, he can wait for you to get food.”
“Food will slow him down.” Ares grunts, crossing his arms, his stare still boring into Percy. It digs under his skin. It’s all Percy can do to keep himself from squirming.
“It’s my job to make sure he stays healthy. We’ll give him time to digest.” It’s a different tune than when Apollo was rushing him out the tent. But he guesses that now that Ares has seen him and has cooled down, it’s a different story. “He’s only mortal Ares.”
(‘For now’ the crows caw in the distance.)
There’s an unspoken afterthought that hangs in the air. It holds a weight that Percy can’t begin to decipher right now.
Ares looks visibly irritated. His brows furrow and his mouth is draw up into a sour expression, but he acquiesce and let’s Apollo lead Percy by the shoulder out of the tent once he’s done changing.
Small mercies.
The barley porridge that he's portioned tastes bland. But it’s steaming hot and doesn’t quite weigh him down as much as he thought it would.
It tastes even sweeter halfway through the bowl when Apollo adds a dash of honey to it. They wait an hour by the fire before Ares is tugging him by the chiton outside of the city.
“He should’ve had meat for breakfast.” Is Ares’ only complaint about the wasted stop.
The other god acts as if he doesn’t hear the former. He speaks in a low tone as if he’s solely talking to Percy. “A balanced meal is good for not only the body but the spirit. Eating only meat is disastrous.”
The war god huffs, his eyes flashing a molten color. His mask slips for a second. “You just do not wish to go out hunting.”
“It is very early in the morning,” Apollo agrees, already giving up the pretense of ignoring him.
“Afraid you can’t catch something at this time of day?”
Golden eyes narrow at him. “I can hunt just fine, thank you.”
“Says you– Boy has only had meat once this week and it was thanks to who?” Ares smugly grins.
“Stop fishing for compliments.”
That’s the end of the discussion, but there’s an underlying hint of Apollo’s voice that makes it sound as if that conversation isn’t over but merely paused.
(A lyre string plucks quickly in an off-note melody.)
As they exit the city, Percy can't help but focus on the very distant signs of the Greek encampment across the fields and river. He wonders if he books it if he could make it towards Annabeth. It probably wouldn't be wise to do so with two gods following him, but that doesn't mean he's not tempted.
His heart longs to see her, to verify if she's still healthy and breathing. The nymphs have told him that she's alive. But he needs to see it with his own eyes.
His foot takes a step in that direction.
A low warning growl comes from Ares almost immediately. Silently, Percy takes another step towards him. He gives a sigh, looking forlorn as he glances at the camp.
Wise girl hasn't contacted me yet. ‘Dora said she gave her the drachma–
There are over a hundred reasons why she might have not messaged him yet. He hates his mind automatically skips to the worst ones.
“Thinking about your lover?” Apollo asks, his eyes following Percy's gaze. When he looks at the Greek camp, however, his eyes shine with a mischievous glint.
“I'm worried about her–”
Percy's words are cut off by Ares' snort, which the man tries to hide in his elbow. He covers it with a cough.
“I do not think you need to worry about the child of Athena.” Ares says, raising his head a bit with a smirk.
“Oh, I know that Annabeth can handle herself, you know.”
Apollo can't even hide his grin. It's like the two gods are hiding something. He narrows his eyes at them, sticking his hands through his belt loops. The chitons his father gave him don't have pockets, which makes it awkward when he doesn't know where to put his hands.
“But sometimes she tends to get in over her head,” Percy frowns, an anxious feeling nudging him in the back of his mind that something is wrong.
It's probably just his imagination. He's probably projecting his own feelings of helplessness into the air.
Of course, if something were wrong, it's not like Percy would be able to know. He's not there.
“I don’t see why you all are so determined to keep us apart.”
“You belong to this side of the war–”
“Well, yeah, my dad made sure of that. But that’s not what I mean. Me and Annabeth could have had plenty of meetings between our camps now. But, nooooooo–” Percy drawls, shooting a glare at them. “That’s forbidden too.”
Apollo purses his lips. “Honestly, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t see too much of an issue to it. But your parents are quite adamant that you two don’t meet.”
“Honestly, I think this is the first thing they agreed upon since Athens.” Ares shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry kid, but you’re not getting any help from me or Apollo. That’s not our war to fight. And frankly? I could care less about whether or not you meet with your lover. You have bigger things to focus on anyways.”
“Like what?”
“Like beating me.”
“We’ve already done this.”
The place that the two gods dragged him too is an empty field tucked away from the city and encampment. Wind ripples across the grass around them. Scamander’s river cuts through the surrounding scenery. In the distance, Troy’s walls still loom over the horizon.
“We’ve sparred yes, but not like this.” Ares faces him, the river close.
As soon as they had drawn their swords, Apollo flashed a bit away, sitting otop of a small mound. He has parchment in one hand and charcoal sticks in the other. He doesn’t look at all phased that Ares and him are about to fight. If anything he seems to be waiting for it. His pen stays poised against the paper, ready to move at a moments notice.
“What do you mean– not like this?” Percy asks, raising an eyebrow. He holds the sword his father gave him. It still feels a bit wrong in his hand. A facsimile of what Riptide used to be.
“I mean–” Ares grins, teeth sharp. “--A fight where you don’t hold back.”
Say that again?
“What makes you think I held back the first time?”
Ares pauses, tilting his head with a vicious grin. “Because kid– I watched you. You demigods think you’re clever. But I’ve been at this game for much longer than you all have. When we last fought you didn’t use your dominion over water until the very last moment. And that was from a small source. A couple of barrels. What can you do next to a river? Without one? Think kid– this power you hold…”
His eyes alight. “You could do so much more if you applied yourself.”
It feels as if oil is poured into his veins. Like floating blobs of something slick that doesn’t go away. He doesn’t like the way Ares smiles. Percy’s eyes flicker over to Apollo who is drawing, hand sliding across the page, not even appearing as if he’s listening to them.
“If you’re worried I won’t be able to beat Achilles…”
Ares is quick to interrupt him, shaking his head. “No, no, I’m not worried about that.”
“Then what are you–”
(Boar eyes stare him down with unique focus. A smell of blood and rust cloying the air around them.)
He gets interrupted again, Ares throwing up a hand and shouting. “Enough questions! Let’s fight!”
Then the god is running towards him.
Oh great.
Percy ducks out of the way, bringing up his sword just in time to block one of Ares swings. It hits so hard that the demigod almost stumbles back.
They trade blows again.
Percy jumps back out of reach, his mind whirring.
This doesn’t feel like a spar. But why did Ares bring him out here? Why even bother? If he’s trying to train Percy– he’s a shit trainer. Luke did a better job training him when he was twelve.
He ducks under a swing, dodges another, and keeps retreating. The war god huffs in impatience.
“You’ve gotta fight back eventually.” A vein bulges out at his temple, but he hasn’t lost his smile yet.
Not for the first time, Percy wonders if Ares has always been just a little bit insane. “No, no, I’m good, really.”
“Come on–” Ares yells. “Fight!”
A small noise comes from Apollo on the sidelines that sounds like a painful inhale. But Percy doesn’t have time to look at him. He needs to focus. He only won against Ares when he was twelve and during their latest spar because neither time did the war god expect him to have powers over water.
From what he’s been told he’s been one of the only Poseidon kids who’s been able to do that.
Now Ares isn’t underestimating him.
In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
‘I want to go back to when neither of them knew who I was.’ Percy mentally complains.
He swings overhead.
Ares catches the blade’s hilt with his hand and wrenches it from Percy’s grasp. He throws the sword to the side. But he doesn’t call the duel off. Nor does he stop advancing.
“Ares–” Apollo’s stressed voice calls out. But the war god shows no sign he’s heard him.
This is so sick and twisted. Percy stumbles away, eyes glancing to where his sword is. Obviously Ares isn’t going to end this duel until one of them is down.
(The sound of swords clashing rings out in a deep laughter that reverberates Percy to the bone.)
“Use you powers.” Ares growls.
His voice is deeper than Percy has ever heard it. “What?”
“Use.” The sword lunges towards him, catching him in the arm. It glances off him. “Your.” Another swing is aimed at him but Percy scrambles further back. “Powers!”
Ares lets out a guttural roar and swings towards the boy’s heart.
“Ares, what are you doing?!” A shriek calls out from the mound. Percy has no doubt that the sun god has dropped his drawing instruments by now.
‘So sorry my dude–’
Shooting an arm out, Percy calls waters that are not his, wresting control quickly from it's owner to send a stream towards Ares.
Normally that works.
However, nothing could prepare Percy for what Ares does next. Pllanting his feet slightly wider, the war god’s sword starts to glow as if it’s growing hotter by the nanosecond, turning a fiery red as he cuts the stream of water in half. Steam trails after the swing, rendering the attack useless.
His eyes widen in shock.
Had…Had anyone done that so effectively before? Since when–
Are’s grin is more feral as he takes the now-hot-and-glowing sword and aims towards the stunned demigod.
There’s not even a seconds pause in Are’s pursuit. He’s relentless, paying no heed to the fact that Percy has no weapon, nor the fact Apollo is screaming in the background. Percy can’t even make out any of the sun god’s words with the pounding noise in his ears. He grits his teeth as he summons another wave of water, this time making a wide attack to wash him out. Ares appears in a flicker of an eye before him just as the waters parted to not hit Percy.
The hilt of his sword jams into his gut.
The force of the blow is so strong even though it doesn't cut his skin, it impacts his internal organs, punching them.
Percy sputters. The breath is knocked out of him as he lands on the ground. He coughs, rolling in time to avoid another attack. “St-sto-”
“Don’t you ever give up!” Ares growls, his boot kicking Percy to the side.
There’s a pounding sound. “Ares let me in! Stop this!” It’s then that Percy notices there’s a shimmer in the air. A rippling light domes around their fighting area. He glances to the side and sees Apollo beating his fist against it– firmly on the other side of the barrier.
“Use your powers.” Ares grits out, staring down at Percy with disgust.
“I a-am-” Percy coughs, crawling backwards as he tries to wonder what he needs to do.
“Not all of them.”
What.
Percy’s blood runs cold. He couldn’t mean– No. There’s no way Ares knows about what happened down in Tartarus right? Percy didn’t even know he could do that. Not until then.
Not thinking about that. Anything but that. He takes that memory and quickly buries it in the recesses of his brain.
“No,” Percy breathes out, shaking his head.
That is admittedly…the wrong thing to say. If anything Ares grin grows sharper. His eyes gaining a dark quality to them. His jaw flexes. “So you admit you have more?”
Fuck.
Percy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the smear of blood there.
“No– I don’t–”
A hand shoots out. The war god’s thick fingers haul Percy to his feet, holding him up in the air. “If you’re going to be mine I need to know what you can do.”
Something in his throat constricts.
“Yours?”
“Little champion,” A shimmer enters Are’s eyes, his tusks appearing as he loses a grip on his mortal appearance. “How far we can go still.”
Then in a blink of an eye he’s set on the ground. His sword reappears in his hand. Ares takes a few steps back and readies his sword again.
“Now…let’s try this again.”
The sparring doesn’t stop.
Not even when Percy’s hands shake from holding his sword for an hour is he granted reprieve. He’s tired. Sore. His entire chiton is drenched from sweat. But he still stands.
Apollo is still nervously pacing on the sidelines. Then he stops and yells, “That’s it Ares, I’m getting Poseidon!”
This pauses his movements for a second.
His eyes flash with annoyance as he draws back. “You wouldn’t dare. You know what would happen if he found Perseus in such a state. Do you want to lose him so easily?”
Percy nearly collapses at the brief lapse in fighting. His knees hit the ground as he holds onto his sword, buried in the ground. He breathes deeply, greedily sucking in air as he frowns. He hasn’t been pushed like this since the Tarturus.
Shakily, he reaches towards the river, using the water to soothe his wounds. It runs over his unmarred skin, curing his aching muscles. His pains slowly fade as he takes the respite in moving to heal.
Even Apollo quits arguing as he watches this, his eyebrows furrowing. “You can heal? Since when?”
“Uh–”
“See. This is what I mean. We have no idea what he’s capable of. Have you ever met a demigod who has retained so much of their parent’s powers?”
Red eyes focus on him.
“And that’s not the only thing he can do. He’s holding something back.” Footsteps approach him. “And I’m going to figure it what it is.” A shadow falls over Percy as Ares crouches in front of him. He pushes Percy’s hair back, searching the boy’s tired face.
It’s almost nice to have the war god’s hands through his hair. He leans into it without meaning to. Pressing the top of his head into Are’s calloused palm. The man’s fingers lightly drag over his scalp.
“What do you– Perseus?”
However, Percy is no longer listening. Instead there’s an itch running along his spine, drawing his attention as an invisible hand reaches into his chest and tugs towards the Greek encampment.
He blinks sluggishly.
A pounding builds up in the back of his mind. He screws his eyes shut. “I tire– Can we go back now?”
Are his words slurring? From the way Are’s eyebrows furrow together, he’s thinking that might be the case.
The war god makes a contemplative sound. “It has been a while. You’ve been holding up all day.”
“All day?” Percy looks up and blinks slowly. Are those…stars? The sky is a mix of shades of purples and pinks as Apollo’s sun sets. That couldn’t be right. Wasn’t it just morning? “We’ve been fighting that long?”
The hand in his chest squeezes.
Percy gasps, falling forward almost into Ares arms as a current of electricity goes through him.
(The dam inside him wells up and starts to overflow. Rivulets of power pouring over the ledge.)
“Perseus?”
His breathing becomes labored.
(Blood flows into water that calls out towards him on a far off shore.)
Oh shit– his blood is on fire. Lava pours through his veins and his breaths start to become rapid and raspy as he struggles to breathe. It hurts. Yet at the same time the pain is almost cathartic– a brief feeling of relief like picking off an old scab.
Percy doesn’t know what’s wrong.
But there’s a deep growing surge of feelings inside him that reminds him oh-so-much of Tarturus.
Two containers of ichor beat near him. He can hear every thump of their immortal hearts. Every beat. Every pulse of the golden fluid running through their veins.
A cold realization washes over him. If he could feel it– he could probably move it. Would the fluid answer his call? What if he simply reached out his hand?
(His hands try to stem the breaks cracking along the dam. Try to fix the damage and hold the water inside where it’s meant to be. But he can’t. It’s too much. Power shoots through his fingers as they escape their containment)
Apollo is beside him now, hands on his chest. His movements are stiff and medicinal, trying to understand why the demigod looks seconds away from convulsing.
Poison swells up in his mouth. Acidic and bitter. It beads along his teeth.
The hand in his chest tugs him towards the Greek camp. The grip it has on him is insistent now.
“Percy!”
His eyes snap towards it’s direction, ignoring Apollo checking him over.
That was…Annabeth’s voice. He knows that voice better than his own. There’s no mistaking it.
Was Annabeth in trouble? He wills himself to stagger to his feet, cracks appearing along his skin as he tries to hold the power inside of him.
He’s failing.
“Shit- Shit- Shit-” Apollo’s voice are a background noise by now. All of Percy’s attention is devoted to the horizon where the Greeks lie.
One second he’s in the field next to Ares and Apollo.
Then, as he takes a step towards his desire, the next he’s gone.
His feet land on the smooth stones of a riverside. Men are shouting loudly. What’s the issue?
His head pounds. Poison continues to fill his mouth. With nothing left to do, he spits it out onto the ground, not even looking at the black smudge he expelled.
There are swords drawn, with men in crudely carved half masks approaching a figure by the riverside. The demigod tilts his head before he recognizes who they’re attacking.
Wise girl.
His heart stutters in his chest. It’s feels like it’s been so long since he’s seen her. He wants to rush to her side. Wants to cup her face in his hands and simply feel her pulse under his fingers. But sadly, they aren’t alone.
The world is still blurry around him. He stumbles a bit. His footsteps feel unsteady and unsure, but he slowly finds his footing. Percy steps over a battered body on the ground. Oh, there’s several bodies on the ground, actually. He hadn’t noticed. Puddles of blood are running into the water. Looks like Annabeth has been working hard on their numbers.
(For a second his mind briefly wonders if they’re truly dead– but with the heat and confusion pouring through his blood he finds himself apathetic to finding out.)
River green eyes glance back to her. Then he flashes his poisonous teeth as he sees how many men are ganging up on his girlfriend.
They dare point their weapons at Percy’s best friend? And next to a river at that? Surely they knew about him.
Something feral and possessive curls inside his chest.
(The dam cracks further– more widespread than it’s ever been.)
Raising a hand, he opens his palm and laughs. The sound is high pitched and rings of something vaguely inhuman. Like always– the water rushes under his control, a current of liquid separating Annabeth from her pursuers. Acting as a shield around her. Percy stands behind them.
When the men turn and raise their swords to face him– they freeze.
One by one Percy can see their expression drop.
(Something ancient rings in his ears. Heat and confusion warring in his heart before giving way to a whole new emotion- power.)
The air grows thicker. Warmer. There’s a hiss as a trail of something warm drips off of Percy’s forearm.
Then each one of them does something unexpected.
Some shake. Others drop to their knees and start murmuring something in hushed tones as if praying. Almost all of them are a ghostly pale white.
“What do you think you are doing?” Percy asks in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own. Did this river have good acoustics or something? It almost echos here. “She’s off limits.”
A single man staggers into a kneel and looks up with him with fear clear in his eyes. “My lord– we did not know.”
“Cut the shit,” He runs his tongue along his teeth, surprised slightly at how sharp they feel. “If you didn’t know what you were doing was wrong than why are you all wearing masks?”
“We plead for forgiveness–”
Ignoring their cries, he raises one arm in an almost bored manner. He’s seen enough. He doubts Annabeth would kill others for the sake of it, and by knowing her character he’s already condemned theirs.
Her voice cuts him off from his thoughts.
“Per-Percy?” Annabeth’s voice is quiet from where she’s shielded with his powers. “Is that really you?”
Suddenly all his attention is on her.
“It’s me Wise Girl,” Percy answers back. His eyes soften as he glances over to her, but when her eyes meet his– she flinches.
His blood turns cold. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, her mouth pressing together. However, her eyes portray her true feelings. They shine with worry. Not for herself, but for him. “You’re- You’re hurt.”
“Really? I don’t feel hurt. In fact, I feel great-” He blinks in surprise and looks down.
Oh.
Oh.
No wonder she flinched. There are golden cracks in his skin that look as if they’re bleeding out a mixture of red and gold. Percy grimaces, and tries to keep his voice even. “I can explain?”
“What happened to you?”
“I-” His voice pauses. What had happened to him. “I was sparring with Ares-” He had been pushed to his limit. Just like in Tarturus. Just like when blood answered to his call. When he felt a part of himself crack into pieces. He’s done his best to piece himself back into the semblance of something human. But hearing Annabeth scream his name had broken that-
His eyes drift over to the bodies on the ground that fell to his girlfriend’s sword. More specifically– he looked at the blood running into the water.
The sight sings in his veins.
It looks horrific.
It tastes of sacrifice.
Had Annabeth thought of him when she killed them? But that doesn’t make sense. Why would Percy have felt that? That’s…That’s not a thing that demigods do. This reeks of something that Percy doesn’t want to think about, so he presses the issue back into his mind. He’ll think about it later. When he has time to process it.
Right now?
There are more concerning matters to consider.
He turns his eyes back to the cowering men in front of him, placing one hand on his hip.
“What to do with you all?” He purses his lips and tilts his head. “If I leave you alone you’ll just hurt Annabeth again-”
“Sir! We wouldn’t dare! We would never anger a god so.” One cries. “Let us free and we’ll never raise a sword to her again.”
What is with people and thinking he’s a god lately? First Hector’s wife and now these guys? Percy snorts as he approaches them.
“And how can I be sure you’ll keep your word?”
All the men flinch as he steps closer to them. The speaker of the group wets his lips and swallows nervously. “We’ll swear it-”
“Swear it on the River Styx.” Percy interrupts, crossing one of his ankles behind the other. “And if you raise a blade towards her than you’ll perish and your life will belong to my uncle.”
It has the effect that Percy hopes for. They all look terrified of the thought. Good. They should be scared. It’ll be a fraction of what he felt when he heard Annabeth calling out to him.
Immediately a few begin to swear their oaths. The magic of their words tangle in the air in a promise that Percy can tangible see. Golden strands wrap around them as they speak, disappearing after a few seconds.
He nods towards the ones who swore it, but halts the others. “All of you need to declare it–”
One man’s face screws up in anger and Percy takes that as full permission. Raising his arm, a torrent of water rises from the river and wraps around the man’s ankle, dragging him to the river. His fingers and hands scratch at the stone and dirt to try and keep him on land. But it’s of no use.
Seconds later and he’s dragged into the depths, his screams quickly being silenced by gurgles.
The bubbles stop after a minute.
The son of Poseidon turns towards the other few remaining men. “Any other complainers?”
They all shake their head and utter an oath to the Styx immediately. They quickly scramble to their feet and rush away, leaving Annabeth and Percy alone on the riverside.
He drops the shield around his girlfriend, his mouth parting as he scans her for injuries. Finding none of importance, he sighs in relief. Quietly, he opens his arms in a silent invitation.
Finally. After all this time, she’s here. He’s right in front of her.
Annabeth doesn’t wait. Her feet break into a run towards him.
Her arms stretch out wide to pull him into an embrace.
Only for them to clasp nothing but air.
Percy is by the riverside.
Then he’s back at the training field, lying on the dirt, gasping as he feels torn apart.
He’s in the ocean. In the air. In every particle around him. Every atom in his body feels as if it’s part of the water around him. As if he’s a million things but only one at the same time.
He screams.
No sound comes out of his mouth. Does he have a mouth? Lungs? What is he?
Where is he?
(Hands of cold water reach back towards Annabeth– That is where he wants to be– Gentle hands gently tug them back to the field. Hands full of calouses from holding weapons.)
(The song of war and lyre both try to calm the roaring waves.)
(“You’re okay- You’re fine- You’re whole.”)
He blinks.
He’s falling towards the ocean near rocks on a foreign shore.
He blinks.
He’s in the air near Olympus, reaching towards someone’s hand.
He blinks.
He’s still in the training field, screaming again. This time though he can hear his cries of pain and anguish. He feels too hot. Too broken. As if someone is trying to stuff an entire river back into a glass, cracked jar. There’s not enough room in his body for all that Percy needs to be.
How does he stop existing everywhere when he’s finally learned how to?
Hands cup his jaw. “He’s ascending! Ares I can’t heal this-”
“Do it anyways!” A deep voice growls. Percy gives a cry as he feels his entire being catch on fire. It burns. Everything is on fire.
He looks up and can see clearly finally.
Ares is there, looking down at him with a frown and furrowed eyes. But the way he glances at the far off ocean betrays his worry. He looks frightened.
“It hurts-!” Percy cries in anguish. “I can’t-”
“Pull it together. You can do it. Place the power back behind the wall you broke down. You’re not a god yet. You can still revert back-”
“Ares were losing him.”
“Apollo, I swear to our father if you don’t-”
Golden light spreads from Apollo’s hands to the boy’s wounds. As soon as it touches them he screams and thrashes. He bucks against their hold trying to get their hands off him. He kicks and punches and is surprised when his movements actually move them.
That’s not usually how it worked between them. Unless they allowed it, they were like walls of stone against his hands most days. Except now, he finds it as easy to push them away as it would to push away another demigod.
A strong arm presses down on the middle of his chest, their elbow digging into his ribs.
Percy cries again.
“Hold him down– Keep hi– Keep him still!” The blonde barks out orders to Ares as he places his hands straight onto the golden cracks of Percy's skin. “Come on– Heal– Keep it together cousi– Fuck!”
Suddenly, he hisses loudly. His hands flinch away from the fissures and are cradled to his chest. The golden haired god glances down to his hands and pales. His eyes widen and his mouth quivers.
Apollo's body shakes in fear.
An expression Percy must be imagining. Because he's never seen the god of the sun afraid before. Especially not because of him.
That's…impossible.
“Apollo– Apollo– Oh for fucks sakes. Phoebus!” Ares snaps. “We're going to lose him!”
Shaky, raw hands slowly go back to Percy's wounds. There are blisters on his skin. Red open sores that his blood has caused. Slurred apologies slip from his lips as he tries to pull the cracks of his skin back together.
He doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt. Not on his watch.
“Keep- Keep doing that.” Apollo’s voice croaks as he continues to run his hands along the seams of Percy’s brokenness. “That’s it. That’s our cousin.”
Ares deep voice whispers in his ringing ears. “Finds what makes up you and pull on it. If you find what makes up your core than you can place everything else around it.”
What makes up Percy? Did Ares not know? That’s not a hard question. At the center of his being has always been one thing:
His family.
Memories of his mother’s smile flashes through his head. Sand digging between his toes on not-too-hot summer days by the shore. Waves washing over his skin as the open sky expands above him. His father showing up in little ways that you have to squint for.
Sally Jackson. Grover. Annabeth. Nico. Clarisse. Will. Chiron. Rachel. Piper. Hazel. Jason. Leo. Frank–
Images of all their smiling faces bloom in his mind and he grabs at all the glowing strings attached to them. He wraps the strings around his fingers and pulls inward. Dragging all the pieces scattered across the void back towards himself.
(I am here. This is where you belong. Come back now.)
Percy orders the straining power to return.
And like a devout follower to their deity– they obey.
The dam rebuilds stone by stone, helped by golden hands that are made of music and hands that are made for swords.
“Ah-”
Percy gags.
And he's back in his body again.
All the air in his chest feels heavy. Like he’s sucking in oil instead of air. He coughs and turns to his side, sputtering in the grass as he gets used to the act of breathing again. Were he to explain the experience before in words, he’d come up short. It was as if he had been breathing everywhere all at once, and now he’s forced back into one body. One whole.
He sucks in a breath as Apollo holds him up, keeping him from collapsing into the ground.
“Cousin, say something,” Ares orders as Percy continues to gasp. Hands rub small circles on his back as he tries to speak. His tongue is lead in his mouth, trying to meld to its floor.
“Fuck you.”
“Look, see, he’s better now.” The god of war says, gesturing down to the boy.
Apollo stares at his brother with abject horror. “The fuck he is.” He looks between the demigod and then Ares. “He just split apart into something greater than he is and then stuffed back into a mortal shell. Do you know how disconcerting that must be? We’ve always been like this.” He inhales sharply then sneers. “Nevermind. You’ve never been forced into a mortal body as a punishment. You’d never understand.”
Tan hands close into fists at Are’s side as he huffs. “Do you think I am so stupid I’d not be able to comprehend what just happened?”
“Well– you were the one who said it. Not me.”
“You two–” Percy gasps, leaning up until he’s sitting on his knees. “Stop fighting. My head hurts.” He grips his air, continuing his breathing exercises.
“Sorry cousin,” Apollo smooths a hand over his head and the pain eases fractionally. Yet–
He won’t meet Percy’s eyes.
His golden irises are still narrowed at Ares and when they do finally flicker towards him, just like Annabeth, the god flinches.
His hand drops from his forehead. The sun god stands. Then in a flash he’s gone. Percy stares at the blank space with a frown.
That was strange.
“Come,” In a second Percy is lifted off the ground as Ares carries him. “I’ll take you back to camp.”
It speaks volumes of how weak the demigod feels that he doesn’t complain. Instead he nods, leaning his head against the war god’s shoulder and closing his eyes as he lets the gentle motion of being carried back to Troy lull him to sleep.