Archive of Our Own

Needless to say, Percy is not easily surprised anymore.

But the king of Olympus, god of the sky, son of titans Cronus and Rhea, severely dysfunctional dad of his best friend, Jason, Zeus himself, showing up to his third period?

That surprises Percy.

He drops his pencil and stares, wide-eyed, at the open classroom door. Percy forgets that the test he was busy taking is timed.

Zeus—Zeus—strides into the room, power rolling off of him in waves despite the fact that he’s surely withholding nearly all of his glory for the mortals’ sake. He’s dressed in a crisp, gray, pin-striped suit and looks more like the busy, dysfunctional father that he is rather than the ruler of Olympus that he—also—is.

“Perseus,” he booms. Those who hadn’t already noticed the god look up from their papers and stare right along with Percy. Zeus fixes him with a firm gaze. “You’ll come with me.”

Nobody says a word as Percy rises from his seat and gathers his things, legs stiff and mind running a mile a minute. Percy is sure that some handy godly power is to blame for him being able to desert class in the middle of a test with an intimidating stranger, no questions asked. The shock wares off as the confusion sets in. Yes, Zeus is in his math class. That much is understood.

Why?

Zeus leads Percy into the hallway. For the second time in a minute, Percy is surprised. So much so that his brain forgets how to form and comprehend full sentences, legs forget how to bend and straighten.

“Dad?”

Poseidon, leaning one shoulder against the wall right outside the door, gives his son a quick smile.

Zeus scoffs. “Why am I not surprised that your disrespectful son once again addresses his father before addressing the king of the gods?” But the usual heat in his voice is not there. Instead, it’s replaced with worry lines between his brows and the clammy pallor of anxiety.

Zeus does not take insults lightly and he does not get worried. At least, not that Percy has ever seen. Zeus only ever gets angry and... angrier.

“Peace, brother,” Poseidon responds absently. “We didn’t come here to argue.”

"Yeah, what did you come here for?" Percy demands, with all the reverence and humility an irritated teen can afford to give an all-powerful being, who just happens to also be his (almost) least favorite uncle. He falls in step between the two Olympians, blatantly ignoring the burning glare Zeus has pointed his way.

"We... should wait to discuss this until we reach our destination," Poseidon intones. His eyebrows are knitted, but that's the only thing that gives his worry away. As always, Poseidon walks with confidence and ease, speaks with the serenity of a still sea.

"Is something wrong?" Percy presses, before quickly deciding that that was a stupid question. Of course something is wrong. Why else would two gods take a field trip to a teenager's high school?

"Yes," Zeus spits. "And..." the god trails off, looking very much like he does not want to finish the thought he started. Poseidon gives his brother a pointed look, and for the first time, a flicker of something other than dread—amusement?—crosses his face. Zeus turns red and the distinct smell of ozone begins to fill the air around them. Poseidon only smirks. It's obvious that this is something the brothers fought about beforehand. "And we... we need..." Zeus coughs like he can't force the words between his teeth. "...your help," he finally grinds out. Poseidon's face softens in satisfaction. He throws his son a wink.

Percy is not amused.

From the moment he was born, Percy's life has been nothing more than a tool in the Olympians' hands. He's a string that the Fates, for one reason or another, spun around a handful of gods and goddesses, able to be tied and snipped and yanked to and fro between their godly fingers like a bone between two aggressive dogs. He's the result of an affair and a broken oath, a mistake simply by existing. But he is also the child of not one, but two Great Prophecies; the retriever of Zeus's master bolt, Savior of Olympus, survivor of Tartarus. He is simultaneously feared and scorned, respected and looked down upon.

None of it is his choice.

Percy is tired of being a tool and not a person. He wants a choice.

"No," Percy says. He doesn't even know what the problem is yet. He doesn't care.

Both gods freeze in their tracks, only a fraction of a second after Percy does himself. They stare at the boy—Zeus with a slack jaw that is quickly clenching and Poseidon with the sad, understanding look that can only be described as pity.

"You dare refuse—"

"Percy," his father interrupts, a fist against his brother's chest to keep him from turning his son into a fluffy cloud. His face still wears that mournful look. "Please, at least wait until we can explain. This is... bigger than any of us could ever have expected. Although Zeus may not want to admit it," he says, shooting the fuming man a sharp glare, "you may be the only hope we have."

Because of course he is. Percy is always the only hope.

Why is he not surprised?

After a moment's hesitation, Percy nods and continues to follow the men down the hallway. He may be stubborn and completely fed-up, but he's not stupid. If two out of the big three gods are going to show up to Goode High to check Percy out from school... he's leaving, one way or another. This doesn't mean he suddenly cares about whatever knot Zeus tied his panties in today or that he agrees to help. It simply means that Percy chooses to keep all of his fingers and toes, thank you very much.

They leave the building through a seldom-used back door and enter an empty parking lot behind the school. Percy blinks at a sleek red Ferrari parked feet from the doors, and blinks again when he notices the weirdly attractive blonde guy in the front seat.

"Hey, cuz," Apollo calls with two-fingered wave. He tries to wear his usual carefree grin, but it doesn't reach the eyes.

Percy nods in response and gets in the back. Wordlessly, Poseidon climbs in next to him and Zeus takes shotgun. Percy could care less that he's in a wickedly cool flying Ferrari with three immortals. He'd much rather be on a dirty subway seat next to Annabeth.

Annabeth.

She is all that occupies his mind as they shoot off into the sky, going who knows where. The summer after the Titan War, Percy and Annabeth spent months together taking summer classes and working with countless tutors, trying to make up for all of the education they missed while Percy was an amnesiac and Annabeth was relentlessly searching for said amnesiac. Although Percy always seriously doubted he would live to graduate high school, Annabeth insisted he try to get his diploma anyway. Something about how "it never hurts to be prepared, Percy" and "stop thinking so negatively, Perce" and "you'd probably get farther with a degree than you would as a lifeguard."

So, Percy tried.

All summer, he worked through countless, mind-numbing hours of equation after equation, algorithm after formula. Shakespeare scared him more than any monster or Titan he'd ever faced—Percy could barely read English, let alone whatever language Shakespearean was. He memorized the Lewis dot structures of twenty different elements in a day just to pass a test and promptly forgot them the next. He even took an online drawing class and amazed his awe-struck teacher with all of the insanely detailed architectural structures that he definitely did not steal from his girlfriend. And, a week before his senior year started, Percy passed his junior year. Annabeth was completely ecstatic, proud beyond words. Percy was just tired.

He wonders what Annabeth is doing right now. If she'll get pulled into whatever this next disaster is, too.

Within minutes, the Empire State Building is looming in front of them. Apollo takes a sharp turn up and then Olympus itself is in full view, white spires and granite statues galore. Percy has only been here a handful of times, but the sheer beauty of it still renders him speechless every time. Even more so now that his remarkably talented girlfriend gets to be its head architect. Percy sees her touch in every new addition—the impeccable statues of minor gods and goddesses down to the arrangement of the flowers. Her attention to detail is admirable.

Apollo parks right outside the throne room, and suddenly, Percy is very aware of the sheen of sweat across the back of his neck. He has... not had the best of memories in this room. There's just something about standing before twelve all-powerful gods that makes Percy a little nervous.

Rubbing his palms on the legs of his jeans, Percy follows the three immortals into the throne room. All nine remaining Olympians are seated on their respective thrones, bickering loudly. A few notice them enter; Aphrodite gives Percy a glowing smile that momentarily takes his breath away, and Hestia offers a small wave. Ares glances away from his heated argument with Hermes across the room and flips Percy the bird.

Real mature, he thinks, and makes a conscious effort not to return the gesture.

"Silence!" Zeus's voice booms. In a flash of light, he transforms from the 6'3" man he was moments before to his godly form, towering dozens of feet above Percy. He's in his throne in three steps, followed by Poseidon and Apollo. Percy glances around as the voices in the room subside and freezes when he spots an unusual visitor—or, three. A trio of wrinkly old women stand off to one side of the thrones and seem to be the only ones in the room who aren't visibly upset. To a mere mortal, they probably look like your average, ancient, completely stone-faced grandmothers. But Percy knows these sock-knitting old ladies are much more than that.

The Fates.

Percy stands alone in the center of the room and braces himself for bad news, not for the first time. His fingers rapidly tap tap tap against his leg, but that's all the movement he allows himself. It's Zeus who brakes the silence.

"Everyone in this room is well aware of the situation at hand," he begins. Percy starts to say something, but is cut off before he can get far. "Except for you, Perseus. We know." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "Early this morning, The Fates delivered some... unfortunate news. The mist..." Zeus trails off, and, to Percy's surprise (yet again) looks at a loss for words. The room remains dead silent. Finally, Zeus seems to have found the end of his sentence. "The mist is... gone. Or will be, within the week."

Percy's fingers still, not that he notices. His brain can only seem to form one word: what?

So, he voices his thoughts. "What?"

Zeus shoots him a how-are-you-this-dull look before continuing. “For some unbeknownst reason to us, fate has decided that it’s time for the mortal and immortal worlds to... intermingle. To no longer be separate and hidden from each other. When The Mist recedes, there will be nothing to veil our world from mortal eyes any longer. Every being you meet, immortal or otherwise or in between, will be able to see as clearly as us twelve Olympians ourselves. By the end of this week, there will be no veil, Perseus.”

Percy’s brain short-circuited somewhere around “the mist is gone.” He stands as still as the statues in the courtyard, feet frozen to the white stone floor. Zeus’s words are nothing more than floating flecks of dust in the air above his head, incomprehensible bits of information that Percy can’t quite connect. 

The mist is gone. Or will be, within the week.

But... that would... basically destroy modern civilization. That would disprove thousands of religions. Challenge basic scientific principles. Sure, Percy handled the whole discovering-your-dad-is-an-ancient-Greek-god thing pretty well, all things considered—but he had Annabeth, Chiron, Grover, dozens of people there to explain and teach and basically make sure he didn’t go insane.

But the whole world? In a week?

The words connect. Percy feels dizzy.

His hand jerks out to the side, searching for something to steady himself on. But nothing is there. Oh yeah. He’s dead center in the  throne room of the gods, all twelve of them looking at him expectantly. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say.

Words fumble around in his mouth, but none of them can portray the rushing, twisting thoughts in his head. "Why—how..." he tries. "Wouldn't that mean—" Sigh. "What do you need me for?"

At this, Zeus grimaces. All of the gods and goddesses, save for a handful, turn pale and find something other than Percy to look at. Almost directly in front of him, his father's mouth is a straight line, brows set. He meets Percy's eyes with a face full of regret and sorrow.

Athena breaks this silence. "As devisor of the proposed plan, it's fitting that I should explain it to the demigod," she begins. "I trust you've come to the same conclusion we all have: the total and instantaneous disappearance of The Mist will cause human civilization as you know it to collapse. Chaos will erupt. Nations will revolt. Wars will ensue. This poses a threat against us immortals as well: many ancient powers may use the complete upheaval of the human race as an opportunity to attempt to overthrow our godly reign. Because of this side effect, we as a council have decided to take action."

Percy's brows furrow. Would they not have otherwise...?

Athena continues without a pause. "Our first thought was to somehow prevent The Mist from dissipating at all. However, as you yourself know, it's never a wise decision to manipulate fate. We also considered doing nothing for the humans and instead strengthening our own defenses." Well that confirms Percy's suspicions. Athena gives a small frown at the thought, while Ares only looks giddy. "But that, too, would've been unwise and dishonorable. After all, we do have an obligation to our children. That leaves one more option: to quell the effects of The Mist's absence on humankind."

"But how?" Percy blurts.

Athena shoots him a glare for being interrupted, but it quickly softens. "We need to find a connection between our two worlds to show humans that it's possible for gods and mortals to coexist peacefully. Simultaneously, we need to distribute some kind of formal introduction of modern Greek civilization to all people that will explain away most of their confusion. Some kind of message that will catch people's attention and keep their attention; something that they won't discard in fear or confusion; something that will give them a detailed explanation of our world and a reason to trust it. And I believe I've found this something." The goddess pauses for only a moment with a gleam in her eyes before announcing her genius solution: "A book."

A... book?  "A... book."

"More accurately, a biography," she explains, face glowing. "An in-depth exposition of an individual's life—one who has seen and accepted both of our worlds and who can function as a mediator of both. An individual who has had to discover the truth for themselves and therefore can be looked upon as an example. Someone who is... likeable," she says, twisting that word in her mouth. "Someone who is relatable, honorable, and interesting. Someone who is willing to share their story for the sake of humankind."

"O-kay..." Percy replies. "A biography, then." He is reeling. His brain is frantically trying to make connections, to understand where this is going. He knows he's missing something. The gods and goddesses are all staring at him expectantly, waiting for a reaction. He is blank. "Of who?" he finally says.

Athena blinks, like this detail should be obvious. Percy instantly understands, a split second before she says the words herself.

"Of you."