Chapter Text
“Please ask Dad to let me eat! I’m sorry!”
Triton and Kymopoleia’s teasing grins dropped at the high-pitched exclamation. The past week had been odd at best, and they’d all been rolling with it as best they could, but the anxiety quickly soiling into raw fear on Percy’s face took the cake.
The oddity had started just over a week ago, when a nest of monsters Kronos was known to make had been found and routed. They were nasty little things that messed with their victim’s time, especially when mortals entered the picture. Percy, happy to help, had come along with the attack force. He’d been blindsided by one of the things due to another’s (promptly punished) incompetence.
The attack party had returned with a roughly 4-year-old Percy. It would only last a week or two, Father assured them -- the things were designed to inconvenience whoever they attacked more than anything else. And an inconvenience it was – Father’s favorite little gremlin couldn’t just be left alone like this. Father may have relieved Triton of enough duties to take care of the thing, but that didn’t make it better, in Triton’s opinion.
And so, a mere seven months after Percy had first come to live in Atlantis full time, Triton and Kymopoleia were saddled with caring for the clueless little thing. Poseidon helped in the mornings, getting Percy up, dressed and fed easily, but left the rest to them. Percy had recognized Poseidon as his father the moment he’d laid eyes on the god, though he had demonstrated no memory of any of them otherwise.
Triton was endlessly glad that Percy had decided to trust and listen to Poseidon simply because he was Percy’s father. Tearful fits could be calmed with a few minutes of burying his tiny face in Poseidon’s neck, and bouts of anger were tempered by Father’s mere proximity.
Triton had made a point to try and avoid children since his daughter’s death, but both he and Kymopoleia had come into contact with enough of them over the millennia to have an idea of how they were supposed to act, generally. Percy was not a normal child. He was bright and curious about the world, eager to learn and explore; but those tendencies were kept locked behind a persistent anxiety that neither sibling had ever seen portrayed in the near 20-year-old Percy they’d come to know.
He spoke with as few words as possible, despite his capacity to construct full sentences. He kept his hands still and to himself if he wasn’t hugging or holding hands with another – something that the adult Percy never seemed capable of. Most disturbingly of all, he tended to stay where he was put. Stayed still.
It rubbed Triton the wrong way from the first time it happened, mere moments after Little Percy was brought to the throne room to alert Father of the accident.
Percy always, always fidgeted or paced or strolled or darted after something he’d seen in the distance or changed to six different ways to sit in his chair in the first six minutes of sitting down. He was always making some stupid pun or sarcastic quip or tapping his fingers or a million other little things. Little Percy stood with his arms curled around his forearms, staring at everything around him but with both feet planted firmly on the ground, never speaking unless spoken to.
He talked to Father the same amount, if Father’s murmured responses whenever he was carrying Percy were an accurate measure. Kymopoleia had even seen Percy fidgeting like normal one of the few times he’d been left (relatively) alone. But the moment someone else entered the room, silence and stillness abounded. It had only been a handful of days – a length of time short even for mortals, but Triton was already sick of the unsettling change.
Triton may not have liked Percy all that much, but he knew better than to treat a child harshly. His efforts to seem approachable had paid off a few hours ago, when Percy quietly asked to play with him and Kymopoleia. It was the closest to his normal attitude they’d seen so far. Percy engaged with the same enthusiasm as normal, laughed at all the same jokes, and tried to pull the same tricks.
It wasn’t until little Percy, clumsy as all kids were, knocked over a random pot that the day went from strange but manageable to horridly uncomfortable. Kymopoleia had immediately jumped to teasing Percy, and Triton couldn’t help but join in when little Percy took it well enough to blow a raspberry at them. Then one of them had joked about how Percy would be in Big Trouble for breaking an Irreplaceable Heirloom of the House of Poseidon.
Percy had gone white as dying coral immediately, and he’d exclaimed, with a rapidly growing tone of fear, for them to help in asking Father to let him eat.
What?
Triton exchanged a confused glance with Kymopoleia. “What are you on about, Perseus?” He asked. Percy tucked his hands in his armpits, shoulders curling inwards a handful of degrees. He was staring at the completely ordinary, almost worthless décor shattered on the floor, pieces drifting to the ground slowly. Kymopoleia shifted in place, flicking her tail, pulling a tendril of her hair over her shoulder to mess with as they waited for Percy to answer.
“You said I’m in big trouble,” Percy said in a whisper, eyeing them from his peripherals. “Dads are the ones in charge of punishment when there’s big trouble.”
Triton coiled his tails underneath him to settle on the floor nearby, closer to eye level. “And that has to do with food how?”
Percy glanced at him a few times, shifting away from Kymopoleia when she began to shift with rapidly thinning patience. Eventually, shoulders climbing towards his ears, Percy answered almost inaudibly.
Big trouble meant that punishment was decided by the “dad of the house”, he told them. Dads all over the world, Gabe asserted (whoever that was), had got together and agreed what were right or wrong punishments for different kinds of Big Trouble.
Percy didn’t mean to break the irreplaceable heirloom (Triton had to keep a smile from showing at how little Percy carefully tried to repeat the bigger words), and he was sorry. That made the Big Trouble a bit better, but it was still Big.
Then Percy uttered one of the most chilling sentences Triton had heard from a child in several centuries.
“Mama’s not here to make Dad pick a different punishment, so that means I’m not gonna get to eat until Dad says I’m not in trouble anymore.”
Kymopoleia went utterly still, blank faced and pale. Triton could hardly spare any attention for her, though. Most of his own focus was on not teleporting to the surface and killing Sally Jackson and whoever the “Gabe” man was, and from keeping his form and face from contorting into something that would scare the child further.
Punishment via withholding food had been a crime under Father’s law since the day he’d taken the Atlantean crown. Triton had no idea where or when Percy had gotten the idea that Poseidon would ever even entertain punishing any child in such a horrid manner (much less his favorite son), but it was a notion Triton needed to disavow immediately.
He swam closer, holding a single hand out palm up in invitation after he’d settled on the floor again. Percy was an affectionate person, and he was always calmer when in contact with another. Percy glanced between Kymopoleia’s still and silent form, Triton’s neutral face, and his hand a few times. He did thankfully set one tiny hand in Triton’s.
Triton curled his fingers just enough to pin the tremors in those little fingers into stillness. Gentle. He needed to be gentle right now. “I need you to listen to me, Percy.” He said seriously. He waited until Percy nodded to continue.
“Our Father has never, and will never, punish a child by keeping food from them. You can eat as much as you want, whenever you want. That won’t change no matter what.” He leaned forwards and rested his chin on his fingers, ignoring the way Percy twitched backwards for both of their sakes. “And even if he tried, I won’t let him, okay?”
Percy finally made eye contact. “You promise? You’ll make dad choose a different way?”
Triton shook his head. “You’re not in trouble at all. I promise. Kymopoleia and I were trying to joke with you, have some fun. That’s not an heirloom, it’s an old, cheap piece of pottery no one cares about. We just thought it’d be funny to tease you for being clumsy.”
Percy flushed. It was enough of a relief to see some color come back to his cheeks that Triton didn’t care about the building irritation overtaking the fear. He’d take anger over that pale, drawn look any day.
“That’s mean!” Percy declared in a voice still wavering with anxiety. “Dad told you to play nice with me this morning!”
“He did,” Kymopoleia said quietly. Triton glanced over at her to see a deep sorrow etching its way deeper into the lines of her face with each passing moment. Her anger was, strangely enough, nowhere to be seen. “I’m sorry, guppy. We shouldn’t have scared you.”
Percy deflated a bit. “You promise I’m not gonna be in big trouble for being stupid and breaking the pottery-thing?”
“You weren’t being stupid!” Kymopoleia declared hotly.
“You are not in trouble.” Triton declared at the same time.
Percy glanced at the shards of pottery again, evidently disbelieving of either of them. Triton rose to standing and pulled Percy close, picking him up in one smooth motion. Percy squirmed until he could see the room clearly but accepted being carried.
“Come,” Triton said to them both, swimming swiftly. “let’s find Father so you can snitch on Kymopoleia and I for being mean. Show you what Father does when there’s trouble to be had.”
Percy hesitated. “But…”
Kymopoleia cackled. “Excellent idea, brother. Father asked us to be nice to you and we weren’t!” She caught up and shot Percy a bright, confident grin. “This way you can see what it’s like to get in trouble with Father without being in trouble yourself! Know what’s coming for when you break something on purpose next time!”
Triton snorted. “Perseus is too well-behaved to do anything of the sort.”
Percy’s head swiveled between them as they launched into a light-hearted bicker. Kymopoleia argued for teaching Percy how to get into Little Trouble, as she dubbed it, and Triton argued that Percy was too much of a prince to engage in even harmless destruction. It seemed to distract him from being worried about Father’s response fairly well. He didn’t seem to notice they were headed right to where Poseidon was until they arrived.
Percy’s little hands remained tightly fisted in Triton’s collar even when they got to Father’s personal library and found him pouring over ledgers and scrolls. It was the first time he’d refrained from immediately approaching Father for an embrace in months. Percy’s breath was shallow in his ear, quick but steady. Father clocked the fear before he’d even raised his gaze, frown of concentration becoming a frown of concern.
Triton withheld a sigh, already bracing for the lecture that would come from the imminent conversation. “Kymopoleia and I are in trouble,” he told his father solemnly. Kymopoleia nodded firmly besides him, to their father’s growing confusion.
“What kind of trouble?” Poseidon asked slowly, rising and approaching. Percy shrank back, and Triton saw a flicker of hurt pass over Father’s eyes. He approached nonetheless. He examined Percy with his eyes, gently extending a hand to brush through his hair. Percy accepted the brief touch, staring wide-eyed and silent, more confused than Father.
“We almost made the guppy cry,” Kymopoleia reported solemnly, latching her hands behind her back. Percy’s hands tightened around Triton even more. “We made him think you were going to be mad at him and it made him worried.” She continued, and Percy squirmed more with each word out of her mouth.
Father’s mouth tightened with displeasure. “And why would you do such a thing?”
“I’m sorry!” Percy exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to break it! It’s just Kym was chasing me so quick and she was gonna win the game, we were playing freeze tag, and I didn’t turn fast enough!"
Father tipped his head to one side, opening his mouth to speak. Percy bowled right over him.
“And, and, I really didn’t mean to knock it over, I promise. I didn’t even see it until-”
Father resettled a hand in Percy’s hair to silence the frantic rambling. “So you broke something, your siblings decided to tease you about it, and it made you think I was going to be mad at you?” He guessed calmly. Percy hesitated.
“…Yeah.”
Father hummed. He turned to Triton expectantly. Triton notedPercy’s anxious shifting and switched to Atlantean to speak plainly about the real issue.
“Do you know who a “Gabe” is, in reference to Percy? From what he told us earlier he seemed to be some sort of caretaker.” Triton was careful to lilt the pronunciation of Gabe’s name enough to be understandable to Poseidon’s fluency, and unrecognizable to Percy’s ignorance.
Poseidon thought for a moment. “I’ve heard mention of the name from Percy before. I believe he was his mother’s first husband. He was not around when I visited for Percy’s 15th birthday, though.”
Triton eyed his father and made a military hand signal that asked Poseidon not to react until the end of his report. Poseidon’s eyebrows shot up.
“I believe he may have starved Percy as punishment on more than one occasion.” Triton began quickly, hoping to get through faster than father’s temper could rise to full boil. “When Percy believed himself in trouble with you for breaking a piece of pottery, he near fainted with fright and asked us to help him plead with you to choose a different punishment than withholding food. We were unable to soothe his belief that you would punish him for the accident. Kymopoleia and I thought it might help to ‘get into trouble’ with you ourselves to demonstrate to him you won’t injure any of your children in such a manner, especially considering he knows we disobeyed you as opposed to his accident. He said his mother would prevent the man from starving him, and that all fathers give such punishments when there is, quote, ‘big trouble.’”
Poseidon stared at him calmly, growing fury expressed in shivering winds and growing waves far away instead of his face. “Thank you for telling me the truth of the situation, son.” He said in English. His fingers curled to scratch at Percy’s scalp instead of just resting there. “I’m a bit disappointed that you and your sister decided to disobey me by frightening your brother, but I appreciate your attempt to repair things once you realized Percy was anxious.”
He smiled at Percy warmly. “As for the pottery.” He leaned forwards to press a kiss to Percy’s forehead. “I don’t care,” he said with a shrug.
Percy gaped at him. Poseidon snorted. “I’m a King, my son. I can just wave a hand and have a dozen more of the pot you broke made by the end of the day if I wished. Accidents happen.”
He patted Percy’s head with a lopsided, friendly grin. Percy launched himself from Triton’s arms and straight into Father’s. He caught and swung Percy around until he laughed, tucking him against his shoulder to rest. Percy let out a heaving, relieved sigh. “I’m glad you’re not as angry as Gabe is,” Percy said simply, voice muffled against Poseidon’s shoulder.
Poseidon patted him and turned to them, no evidence of his anger in his touch, held only in his eyes where his adult children could see. “As for you two? I’m revoking Percy privileges until you can prove to me you’re not going to be mean to him again.”
Triton and Kymopoleia performatively protested. Percy giggled quietly when Kymopoleia whined loudly and wordlessly. They were both fully aware that Father was only “withholding” Percy until he was an adult again in a week or so; as well as all but outright thanking them for pinpointing a potential threat to his health without Percy panicking over the unexpected pocket of hurt.
“Son, take Rhode and speak with his mother about this Gabe. Find out as much as you can of what he did to Percy. Daughter, find some options to punish him for transgressing against a son of mine,” Father ordered in Atlantean, speaking into Percy’s hair with the same soft tone every parent uses to utter sweet nothings to their child, reaching to tickle his side.
Triton bowed and swam from the room, Kymopoleia not far behind. Percy shrieked with laughter behind them.