Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“What did you do!?” Poseidon demands once more when Apollo doesn’t answer fast enough for his liking.

Apollo steps back, lifting his hands in surrender. “I haven’t done anything! He was fine—”

“Does he look fine to you!? He’s terrified!”

The room trembles with the force of his father’s rage, and for a moment, Percy feels as if the entire weight of the sea is bearing down upon him. It does little to settle his already shot nerves, even though he thinks Poseidon means for his presence to make him feel safe and protected. And it had in the throne room, when he was half delirious from his seizure, and Poseidon was the only safe person in the room he could count on. Just as the knowledge his father was nearby had when he was alone with Apollo—before Percy knew who he was, of course.

But now, all the volume of his voice and the fury in his expression does is conjure images of different men lost in their anger. And it takes everything in Percy not to shrink away from his father as well.

Apollo sighs. For being on the receiving end of the sea god’s ire, he remains surprisingly calm. “I think this is all a big misunderstanding. I haven’t done anything other than heal him.”

Poseidon gestures towards him. “A misunderstanding? Does this look like a misunderstanding?”

It’s not a misunderstanding. It’s really, really not. Despite being the god of truth, Apollo seems committed to speaking lies today. The little self-preservation Percy possesses keeps him from commenting on this fact. He is not, under any circumstances, getting between his father and the solar threat in front of him.

But he is debating how fast he would need to run to reach the exit before they notice him fleeing.

The answer? Faster than he or any mortal is probably capable of.

Percy’s fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles going white as he tracks every movement in the room. The shift of Apollo’s stance, the rise and fall of Poseidon’s shoulders, and the way the door seems increasingly far away.

If he moved now—if he just ran…

His muscles tense, but his body refuses to follow through. He’s caught between two gods, and every instinct is screaming that moving will only make it worse. So he stays exactly where he is, breath shallow, pulse pounding in his ears.

Percy doesn’t realize how obvious his fear is until Apollo stops short, the words of whatever argument he was about to give faltering as he glances at Percy.

In lieu of answering Poseidon’s question, Apollo shoots his father a pointed look. “It is a misunderstanding. And before you start yelling again, you should take into account that you’re the one scaring him now.”

Poseidon goes very still.

The faint tremors that have been shaking the room come to an abrupt halt. The air remains thick with tension, but the overwhelming presence of the sea god lessens by several degrees.

Poseidon’s gaze snaps towards Percy. Really looking at him for the first time since he burst through the chamber doors.

The fury in his expression fractures, replaced by something more akin to horror. He takes a step back from the bed, from Percy.

“Percy,” Poseidon says, quieter now.

Percy doesn’t answer. He can’t. His throat feels too tight.

Poseidon shifts slightly, the movement hesitant as if he’s resisting an instinct to step closer. The feeling of the god’s presence around him pulls inward once more, like his father has finally realized just how much his aura is suffocating the room.

The silence stretches on, and when Percy doesn’t reply, the sea god reluctantly addresses Apollo instead.

“What do you mean by ‘misunderstanding’, nephew?” Poseidon asks again with forced calm. His eyes are still locked on Percy, who would love nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Apollo hesitates, glancing between Percy and Poseidon like he’s trying to choose his next words very carefully.

“I think,” he begins slowly, “that there may have been something about the current situation that set him off.” His gaze flickers back to Percy, softer now. “When he woke up, he was already stressed and given….all of the things I found, something about the exam might have triggered him. Or…” Apollo exhales, “Given the fact that his vision was also just coming back, I might have reminded him of someone else. And then he panicked.”

A tense silence follows.

Poseidon’s attention shifts fully back to Percy. “Is that true?” he asks, voice quieter now.

Wrong.

The words hit him hard, a flare of heat cutting through the fog of fear he’s been existing in. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Apollo has it all twisted, and the idea that this is all some misunderstanding or trauma response, as some of his previous therapists might say, is so wrong it almost makes him laugh.

He’s the problem.

He always has been.

But as quickly as the thought of finally being able to say this out loud surges forward, something else shifts in the air around him. A strange resistance where there shouldn’t be. A creeping pressure behind his ribs, in his throat. It feels wrong. Off in an unsettling way.

And still, he tries to push through it.

He cursed her. He cursed him. He cursed everyone. So many of them died.

Percy turns to his father, desperate to say something. To explain. His mouth opens…

And nothing comes out. It’s as if the words are snatched from him before they can exist, torn away before his thoughts become sound.

Pain claws up his chest. He tries again, harder this time, to force the words out. But the moment his mouth begins to form the words, his throat locks. The harder he continues to push, the tighter it feels, invisible hands closing around it.

Something is wrong.

That thought crashes through the fear. This isn’t just panic, or him freezing. There have been plenty of times he’s stumbled over his words when trying to say something difficult. This is different.

This is impossible to work through.

He knows exactly what he wants to say—who did this, what happened—but the moment it matters, the moment the full truth might reach someone else, something slams down and stops it.

This didn’t happen when he told Luke. Percy didn’t tell him everything, of course, but he told him enough for the older boy to make an educated guess about what might be happening. But then again, Percy hadn’t explicitly mentioned Cassandra. He hadn’t gone into detail about how it works. And….he hadn’t been talking to a god—someone who might actually be able to do something about it.

His breath stutters as he makes one last attempt to say something. Anything.

The pressure around his throat tightens.

His panic spikes.

His gaze snaps between his father and Apollo, wild. Hoping his father might see that this isn’t normal panic. Percy’s fingers twitch uselessly at his side, his body just as locked in place as his voice seems to be.

A strangled sound tears loose from his throat instead.

It only makes it worse.

The silence that settles over them after is heavy. Percy can see it in his father’s face—the way Poseidon is focusing on the fear itself and not noticing the fact that Percy literally cannot speak.

Percy shakes his head, small and frantic, trying to force his father to understand.

Percy also sees the exact moment his father comes to the wrong conclusion. Apollo’s explanation for the situation settling in his mind as truth. But Percy can’t blame his father for that. Poseidon can only go off what he’s seeing in the moment, which is just a scared kid who can’t speak after their history has been brought up.

He’s not seeing a curse.

He’s seeing Percy shutting down.

And Percy, frozen as he is, can’t argue his case.

A familiar feeling of resignation settles over him. Of course this would happen. He should have known better than to hope for anything.

Poseidon’s jaw tightens. He glances over his shoulder at Apollo, who remains at the far end of the room, golden eyes watching Percy with a mixture of confusion and concern. The god’s hands twitch uneasily at his side.

“We will speak more about this later,” his father says coolly. “Leave us.”

Apollo makes an indignant sound. “This is my temple! You can’t throw me out of my own house.”

Poseidon is undeterred. “And need I remind you that my son is also currently scared of you, which is how we got into this argument in the first place.

The sun god’s gaze drifts back toward Percy for a moment—curious and thoughtful. Like he’s a puzzle the god can’t quite solve.

Percy flinches almost imperceptibly under his scruntinty.

Apollo notices. Of course he notices.

His shoulders sag, a flicker of irritation across his face that gives way to reluctant understanding. Though strangely enough, Percy doesn’t think the irritation is directed at him.

Apollo clears his throat. “We’ll talk later,” he relents. “There’s a lot to go over. In the meantime, I’ll send some instructions to my kids. Lee and Alison will know what to do with them.”

Apollo doesn’t wait for further argument this time. With one last lingering glance toward Percy, light gathers at his feet. The air bends around him, and in the blink of an eye, he’s gone.

Silence fills the space Apollo leaves behind.

The invisible hands around his throat loosen immediately, and Percy sucks in a shaky breath.

He is at once thankful that the threat that has loomed over him his entire life is now gone, and also struck with the sudden realization that while the sun god may be gone, he’s currently alone with his father for the first time in his life. His father, who is still looking at him like he’s going to fall apart at any second.

And truthfully? He might. Percy has earned a scheduled breakdown at this point in his life and would like a quiet room, where he can do it in peace.

He still doesn’t quite trust his ability to speak, the feeling of his words being trapped lingering in his throat. So he stays silently, watching Poseidon warily as the god moves forward.

“I do not fully understand why Apollo’s presence upset you so, and I won’t force the answer from you right now,” Poseidon murmurs, stepping closer in the way a person might approach a skittish animal. “But I will have answers.”

It’s not quite a threat, not quite a promise. Just the acknowledgement of something that will happen, whether Percy likes it or not.

Percy keeps his eyes fixed on the blanket gathered in his fists. The urge to bolt hasn’t quite left his legs, but the sudden exhaustion weighing down his limbs keeps him rooted where he sits. His shoulder gives a small, involuntary twitch. He forces it still and pretends it didn’t happen.

Poseidon stops a few paces away, close enough to reach him but far enough away not to crowd.

“You are safe here,” he says quietly.

It takes Percy a minute. His throat still feels funny, his mouth still not willing to fully accept the shape of the words he wants to speak. Eventually, he manages a small “Uh huh.”

The expected response.

“I mean it, Percy,” his father says, slowly coming closer. “Nothing will hurt you here.”

Too late.

“Okay.”

Poseidon’s face falls. “You don’t believe me.”

It slips out before he can stop himself, and a part of him wishes his ability to speak had stayed gone just a bit longer. “What was your first clue?”

Percy freezes the moment the words leave his mouth, instinctually bracing for something to go wrong. For Poseidon to react badly to his rudeness.

His father stills.

Not angry, exactly. Just…troubled.

For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Percy swallows hard. He could take it back. Apologize and pretend he didn’t mean it, and hope his father stays calm and doesn’t end up reacting badly like everyone else does when he’s impolite.

He doesn’t.

Poseidon hesitates before closing the distance between them, carefully sitting down on the edge of it.

“Percy—”

“You said I’m a mistake,” Percy interrupts before he can finish, the words once again tumbling out before he can stop himself.

There’s a brief flash of confusion on his father’s face before a slow realization takes its place. “Percy, I did not mean—

“You called me a wrongdoing in front of Zeus. I was there.”

“I spoke of breaking the oath,” Poseidon says quietly. “Not of you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not how it sounded,” he mutters, staring at the marble floor. He’s being stubborn: he knows he is. He also knows he should technically be grateful to his father for stepping in, for getting him healed, and for saving his life on the quest.

“Please do not misunderstand me, Percy,” Poseidon says softly, hooking a finger under his chin and lifting Percy’s gaze to meet his own. “I am sorry for the circumstances of your birth, yes. If you had been born in a different time and place, if other choices had been made...then these past years might have been different.”

Poseidon’s hand falters where it rests against Percy’s jaw, his eyes filling with sorrow.

“I regret so many things, my son. But never think that one of those things is you.”

Percy’s breath hitches. He stares at his father for a long moment, searching his face for a sign of some kind of lie or trick. Poseidon sounds sincere, but he still can’t quite bring himself to believe it. If his dad cares about him so much, why didn’t he care enough to shirk the rules a bit and check on him? Or intervene when Percy needed him?

“You were never there.” Percy’s voice comes out embarrassingly small. He swallows hard and tries again. “If you care about me so much, why weren’t you there when I needed you?”

His father flinches, giving him a wounded look.

“I tried—”

Percy scoffs. “Watching from the bottom of the ocean doesn’t count. And neither does sending Keto or Triton to do things for you. Not to mention, they couldn’t even do anything because you told them not to interfere. Just to “glance” every once in a while to make sure I was still breathing.”

Poseidon shifts uncomfortably, and despite the years of pent-up anger rising, a very small and annoying part of him almost feels bad lashing out like this.

Poseidon draws a slow breath. “Everything I did was meant to protect you. It wasn’t my intention—

Percy looks away from him. “Yeah, well, your good intentions didn’t keep me from getting my hand burned on the stove when I was bad, or not being able to hear good because no one felt like taking me to a doctor for my ear infections when I was little, did they?”

The words are out of his mouth before he can fully process them.

Percy freezes.

The confession hangs heavy between them.

He hadn’t meant to say that. Just like he hasn’t meant to say half of the things his friends now know. He doesn’t mean to keep bringing him up. Percy admittedly doesn’t have much of a filter, but lately it’s not working at all. Heat crawls up his neck. He stares stubbornly at the wall, suddenly wishing he could take the words back and shove them back into the locked box they belong in.

When Percy finally risks a glance upward, he sees that his father has gone completely still.

The sea god’s expression is unreadable at first—too calm, too empty. Then Percy sees it: the slow tightening of his jaw, the darkening of his eyes. The pond in the garden outside begins to ripple, and the faint tremors that shook the temple upon his initial arrival return.

Percy’s stomach drops.

He knows that look, and the kind of silence that isn’t really silence at all, just the space before something snaps. The air feels heavier, and his father’s aura is once again beginning to suffocate the room.

This is bad. This is really bad. Maybe he should just move to an isolated cabin in the woods where he is no longer required to interact with people anymore? Become the unsolved mystery he is meant to be. It would save him the trouble of getting himself into these situations.

“It wasn’t so bad,” he tries to backpeddle. “I mean, I honestly preferred that to when he or his friends—”

Nope. He probably shouldn’t do that either.

Sometimes he wonders what part of his brain drives him to say the worst things at the worst moments.

Percy continues on, hoping in vain that his father will drop it.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t live there anymore. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me back—well, maybe he does, for the money—but I’m not going. Probably. So it’s fine now.”

The rambling falls flat the second it leaves him. Even Percy can hear how weak his explanation sounds. There aren’t enough excuses to cover everything up.

“The man who raised you…” Poseidon continues, voice tight.

A frustrated sound escapes him. “Don’t. Just forget it—

“No,” Poseidon says, sharper this time. His hand tightens slightly on Percy’s shoulder. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep him from slipping into another ramble. “You expect me to just accept that you were hurt by that man?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters, Perseus.”

“It doesn’t!”

Poseidon starts to speak again, voice still firm. “Percy-”

And something inside him…snaps.

“You left me there!” It comes out louder than he means it to be, his voice breaking on the last word. “You don’t get to be mad when the only reason I grew up there is because of you. You left me there. You left me.”

The words hang between them, heavier than anything that’s been said.

Poseidon opens his mouth, searching for a response that doesn’t seem to come. His hand drops from Percy’s shoulder, hovering uncertainly in the space between them before retreating entirely.

Good, he tells himself. His father deserves to feel bad. Percy should feel

Except the look on his father’s face isn’t defensive

And Percy hates how a part of him is made uncomfortable by this. He hates how his first instinct in this situation, like so many others, is to apologize for being mean.

When Poseidon finally speaks again, his voice is rough as the waves he rules over.

“When the three of us swore the pact, it was not merely an agreement between brothers. It was a binding promise, sealed on the River Styx. Breaking that oath, bringing a forbidden child into the world, and then openly interfering with their life...” he pauses, jaw tightening. “There’s no world in which she didn’t know the oath was broken. The degree to which she decides to act on a broken pact depends solely on her mood and the severity of the oath. But interfering too much after breaking it.....that would for sure have drawn her full attention.”

Percy’s stomach twists. “You mean she would have punished you.”

Poseidon’s mouth tightens with bitter resignation.

“I am a god, and a king in my own right. Seldom do punishments manage to reach me. Including the consequences for breaking an oath on the Styx. And even then, the traditional punishments handed down to gods for breaking their oaths would be an inconvenience only for a short time. A single decade lost is a blink of an eye to someone who lives for millennia. But still something irritating enough that we try to avoid it.”

Poseidon is silent for a moment, weighing his next words carefully.

“And so sometimes, when it appears that the standard punishment is not enough, her solution to this is to choose something else—or someone else—that is connected to us to focus on instead.”

Percy goes still, Posedion’s words settling over him like cold seawater. His fingers curl into the blanket's fabric as understanding begins to dawn.

“Me, you mean.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Poseidon doesn’t answer at first.

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. At last, his father lifts his gaze.

“Yes,” he admits.

Percy lets out a shaky breath that borders on a laugh. “So you stayed away because it was easier to just let the Styx be mad at me than you?”

“No,” Poseidon says immediately. “Never because it wasn’t safe for me. That is not what I meant.”

“But it’s what you did.”

Poseidon stills.

This time, there is no argument. No attempt to correct him. Because what can his father say? He did it. He knew what could happen, and he ignored Percy anyway.

Regret flickers in his father’s face, quiet and deep. When he finally speaks again, it’s softer than before. Not another excuse, or even an apology. Just an admittance.

“My boy,” Poseidon says quietly. “I should have made you immortal. As I originally wanted to.”

Percy’s world grinds to a halt, shock temporarily replacing his anger. For a second, he’s convinced he heard his father wrong. Because there’s absolutely no way Poseidon actually considered something like that. His brain refuses to process it.

“I—what did you say?” he asks dumbly.

Poseidon’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“I wanted to spare both of you from what would come,” he says. “From the dangers that follow children like you. From…my mistakes. So I asked your mother to consider it.”

Percy blinks, the meaning struggling to settle into place. Immortal. Safe. Protected in a way he had never experienced before.

It feels too impossible.

“You…you really offered Mom immortality?” Percy asks in disbelief.

“That’s right,” Poseidon answers cautiously, watching Percy closely. “When she found out she was pregnant, I offered her immortality and a place in my kingdom. For both of you. But she refused. Harshly.” There’s a hint of barely concealed frustration in his words. “She wouldn’t hear my arguments against staying mortal.”

Percy swallows. “Did...did she ever say why?”

Because there has to be a reasonable explanation for his mom refusing, right? Accepting immortality, accepting the protection of another Olympian—surely that would have been the best option? The option that might have even offered him and his mom a reprieve from the nightmare their family has endured for millennia.

Poseidon is silent for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Dad?” he presses when it looks like the sea god isn’t going to answer.

His father heaves a sigh. “Your mother was adamantly against the idea of immortality. She may have walked with one foot in our world, but she despised every second of it. So much so that I still don’t understand why she gave me the time of day.” Poseidon lets out a humorless chuckle. “She said she would not trade one cage for another, and she refused to allow you to do the same.”

A hot, uncomfortable feeling wells up inside him.

“But she knew...right? She had to know I was a forbidden kid and that monsters would come after me eventually? That being being immortal was the better option?”

Percy already knows the answer, of course. There’s no way his mother couldn’t have known what was waiting for him. The curse would have never allowed her to be in the dark about such things. Even if what it showed her was incomplete, Sally Jackson would have seen enough.

He just desperately wants to hear something to the contrary.

“She knew,” Poseidon whispers. “She knew very well what it would mean for you as you aged. In fact, your mother didn’t seem surprised at all by what I told her. Just...resigned. She told me, ‘Running will just make it worse for us. It will catch up no matter what we do. It always does.” His brow furrows. “She never did explain what she meant by that.”

Percy knows what she meant.

The curse.

The visions.

The dreams.

Inevitable insanity in a mental hospital or prison, or dying some strange way before then.

None of them had ever been able to escape it. They had tried. Percy’s family has tried everything over the millennia since the fall of Troy to fix this somehow. But in the end, nothing had ever worked.

Even so, a part of him wonders what would have happened if they had tried. If his mom had agreed to become immortal and take him to Atlantis to live with his dad, would things have been different? Would there have been a buffer, at least, if it didn’t fix the problem entirely?

Percy thinks back to what Grover said at the bus station.

How he thinks that one of the reasons his mom put up with Gabe for so long was to use his scent to hide Percy from monsters in an effort to keep him as close as she could for as long as possible.

And how had that ended for both of them?

His mom, dead long before her time, roaming the Fields of Asphodel for all eternity, or until her soul is reincarnated. Unavoidable, probably. But Percy is sure that being around Gabe only pushed her over the edge that much faster.

Percy, left behind with Gabe, suffering through his own mind betraying him, and whatever mood his stepfather was in on a particular day. Narrowly avoiding the monsters that roamed New York, both human and not. Never knowing if he’s going to survive until the next day.

The thought sits heavy in his chest.

Every bad day, every near miss….

And there had been another option.

“I almost did it anyway,” Poseidon confesses, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Made you immortal, that is.”

Percy’s breath catches, head jerking up to stare at his father.

“You were going to make us immortal anyway?” he asks.

Poseidon shakes his head. “No, just you. She made her choice, and I respected that. But you…you are my son. And it’s not as if your mother could have stopped me. You would have grown up in Atlantis with your siblings and me. Even your stepmother was not opposed to the idea. Unlike my sister, my wife has never held such grudges against my children.”

The answer settles in slowly.

Percy stares at his lap, trying to picture what it would have been like. Some version of his life where things turned out differently. Where his mom had accepted, and the two of them hadn’t been left behind.

Where maybe things wouldn’t have been as hard.

The image doesn’t quite come together.

“But you didn’t,” he says flatly.

“No. I did not.”

And just like that, Percy is done. With his father, this conversation, and everything else.

Percy doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t even look back up. Just accepts the answer for what it is.

The anger, the confusion, the brief, burning flicker of what if that’s been swirling around inside of him—all of it goes quiet. There’s nothing left to say that wouldn’t make this worse.

“I want to go back to camp now, please.”

Percy still doesn’t look up when he says it. His tone is polite, carefully neutral. Everything around him feels strange again. But in a different way than before.

“Percy, you’re still not well,” Poseidon protests immediately. “You should rest. Stay here—at least until you’re fully recovered.”

Percy’s fingers tighten in the blanket, and one of his arms gives another irritating, involuntary twitch.

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. You had seizures. Your limbs are still spasming—”

“If I’m going to have another seizure, I want to have it back in my cabin,” Percy cuts in. “It’s quieter there.”

Poseidon falters, the argument dying on his tongue. For a moment, it looks like he might try again—one last attempt to get him to agree.

But Percy doesn’t budge.

Doesn’t soften. Doesn’t give him anything to work with at all.

Poseidon exhales. “Alright. I’ll take you back.”

_________________

His father drops him off near the camp's border. This is usually the moment where you’re supposed to say goodbye to your parent, give them a hug or something, before running off to join your friends. Percy walks away. No thank you, no goodbye. If Poseidon is perturbed by this, he doesn’t say anything or try to stop him.

He feels rather than sees his father leave, the god’s presence fading into the ether, leaving behind a faint scent of saltwater.

Percy releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and walks faster.

The familiar sights and sounds of camp wash over him—the distant clang of swords, the laughs and shouts of the younger kids running around, and the older ones attempting to corral them. He’s actually grown to like this place, even if some of the things that go on here are batshit crazy. But today, everything feels...muted.

He knows he should report to the Big House.

He should check on Lee and Seymour. He should find Luke, Annabeth, and Grover. There are many things he probably should be doing after the quest. Not that he knows the actual protocol for any of this. Chiron still hasn’t bothered to show him the orientation film, and he’s not inclined to ask about it or ask the centaur any more questions at the moment.

But the thought of doing any of it just makes him tired.

Percy makes a beeline for the Poseidon cabin, intent on collapsing on his bed and not moving for at least three days.

He doesn’t make it past the steps of the Big House.

“Ah,” a familiar voice drawls from the porch. “You’re back. Good. Now Castellan and Fletcher can stop glaring at each other with murderous intent. And that little satyr and owlet of yours will stop haunting my porch.”

Percy stops.

On the porch of the Big House, Dionysus reclines in his favorite chair, feet kicked up on the railing and sunglasses firmly in place despite sitting in the shade. He’s holding a glass of wine in one hand and a gossip magazine in the other.

“Wait, Lee and Luke are fighting?” he asks, a hint of panic creeping in. “Hades really returned Lee? Is he okay? Why are they fighting? Is Luke okay?”

“Relax, Peter,” Dionysus says, and Percy somehow knows the god is rolling his eyes behind his glasses. “They’re fine. Fletcher came back in a mood and is making it everyone’s problem. Castellan is in a mood because you didn’t come back, and is also making it everyone’s problem. But no one is dead...yet.”

The yet is not comforting.  

Nevertheless, his brief moment of panic begins to subside.

Percy shifts from foot to foot, fingers curling loosely at his sides. The knot in his chest tightens as he thinks about his friends waiting for him—worrying about him for three days with no updates—and all he feels is a dull, creeping guilt.

He should go find them. He really should. He should explain where he’s been and show them that he’s fine now.

For some reason, the thought of doing that makes his stomach twist unpleasantly. He imagines the reactions—happy to see him, but loud and overbearing. Too many questions that he doesn’t feel like answering, and too much anxious hovering that he can’t deal with.

Does that make him a bad friend? Avoiding them all when they’re clearly worried?

Maybe.

He’s just so tired.

“That’s good, then,” Percy mutters, his tone flat and unconvincing even to his own ears.

He lingers awkwardly at the bottom of the steps, unsure if he’s supposed to stay or if he’s dismissed. Maybe he can just turn around, wander back into the woods, and pretend like this quest and everything that came after didn’t happen. He still remembers the way to the spot he found on his first real day at camp. It’s a great place to lie down and become one with the moss.

Instead, Percy reluctantly drags himself up the steps, coming to a stop a few feet from the god’s chair. Mr. D wouldn’t have stopped him if there wasn’t something to discuss.

Dionysus doesn’t bother looking up at him yet. “I guess this is the part where I congratulate you on coming back alive despite your efforts to the contrary. Tell you “good job” for finding my father’s precious lightning toy and returning it on time and all that.”

“Sure. I guess.”

Mr. D lets the silent stretch on for a beat too long, then clicks his tongue.

“You know, most demigods at least attempt to look happy when they return from preventing a war. A lot of bragging and shouting with their friends, who usually throw them a party or something. You, on the other hand...” he adjusts his sunglasses. “You look like someone just told you puppies are suddenly illegal.”

Percy’s gaze drifts towards the strawberry fields instead of the god in front of him.

He sighs. “It was a long trip.”

His sneakers scuff lightly against the wood of the porch. He contemplates making a break for it.

He could probably be halfway across the lawn before Mr. D even bothered to look up again. He doubts the god would give chase. If he cuts a path behind the cabins, he might even avoid Annabeth and Grover, who are no doubt lurking somewhere close by. Lee is probably busy in the infirmary or out teaching archery. But Luke....Luke would definitely notice. He has a sixth sense for when Percy is trying to disappear.

Besides, running now would mean having to repeat this conversation later. Probably with the addition of Chiron. So he remains fixed in his spot.

Dionysus lowers his magazine, just enough to peek over the glossy pages, then sets it aside entirely.

“And how was your adventure to Olympus?” he prompts when Percy is once again quiet too long.

Percy opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Dionysus tilts his head, peering at Percy over the top of his sunglasses. “Oh. That bad, huh?”

Percy shrugs. “Your walkways are a hazard. I’m pretty sure some of them are supposed to have railings.”

Dionysus snorts. “I don’t think Olympus was designed with mortal safety measures in mind, kid. Also, that’s not the question I asked.”

Percy shrugs again, his gaze stubbornly fixed on the strawberries in the distance. “It was Olympus. Big. Shiny. Full of gods who are jerks and don’t like to be questioned. You’ve lived there for centuries, so I don’t see why you need to ask me about it.”

Dionysus tilts his head slightly, expression carefully neutral. “Probably because you’re standing here insulting architecture instead of giving me a real answer.”

His hands ball into fists at his sides, fingernails biting into his palms.

“Why do you care, anyway?” he snaps. “Don’t you have more important things to worry about?”

Dionysus lets out a long, theatrical sigh. “Oh, you know. Curiosity. A desperate need for gossip. The vague hope that one of you will finally overthrow the entire divine order and put me out of my misery.”

Percy finally looks at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “Now whose lying?”

“Humor me,” he says lightly.

Percy drags a hand through his hair. His chest begins to rise and fall too fast, breaths coming in short, uneven bursts as something claws its way upward. The god is still staring at him with an annoyingly patient expression that makes him want to scream and throw something.

And something inside him snaps.

He explodes.

“Fine! It was Olympus, okay? That’s it. Just the stupid floating city above the Empire State Building. I got there, I returned the stupid bolt, somehow didn’t get vaporized, and then my dad reminded me how much of a mistake it was to make me—”

Dionysus glares in the direction of the lake, sighing with the air of someone whose expectations have lowered so far they’ve begun to tunnel underground. “You don’t say...”

“And then I had another seizure, I guess, and passed out for three days, and then woke up in that stupid temple.”

Percy is getting louder with every word he speaks. His hands are shaking.

Dionysus blinks once. Twice. “That explains the very large folder of medical jargon that magically appeared on my desk, and ramblings from a very concerned fountain that also appeared in my office without warning.”

Percy doesn’t process what Dionysus is saying. Can’t. Everything that has been hastily suppressed after the conversation with his father rises back up with a vengeance.

He continues on, mind running faster than he can keep up with.

“And then! And then. He’s there, acting like everything’s fine when we both know it's not. Like he just decided to be nice and heal me like he’s the good guy in this situation. And like I’m not going to be dead soon.”

Dionysus stares at him, his relaxed posture disappearing in an instant. He sits up, suddenly much more alert. “Now, hold on. Pause. What exactly do you mean by you’re going to—”

“Nothing!” Percy snaps. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter because you can’t change it, anyway.”

“Percy.” Dionysus’ voice cuts through the rant, sharper now. “Slow down.”

Percy drags in a breath that doesn’t quite fill his lungs, hands shaking and twitching at his side.

He should stop. He knows he should. He should leave and hide in his cabin until he remembers how to act normally again.

But the words keep coming anyway.

“And my dad just expects me to be fine with everything after an ‘I’m sorry’, like that fixes anything. Did you know he had options that would have made my life suck less, and he just didn’t do it? He just dropped the ‘oh, you could have been immortal and lived with me and your siblings and it would have been peaceful’ thing like it was nothing!”

He drags a hand through his curls, a frustrated noise escaping him. “I mean, who does that!?”

Dionysus pushes himself out of his seat with a heavy sigh, brow tight with concern.  “Yeah, he’s always been bad at emotional conversations. But let’s circle back to your death comment, considering you already threatened to become an Unsolved Mystery.”

“I’m fine.”

Dionysus snorts. “Clearly. That’s why you’re ranting and twitching on my porch. A very normal reaction.”

“I’m fine!” he snaps the words coming out too fast and far too loud. “I’m just tired, okay? Everyone keeps acting like something’s wrong with me when I just need people to stop talking for, like, five minutes—”

The air shifts.

Percy falters mid-breath.

For one disorienting moment, the porch beneath his feet no longer feels solid.

Not physically—not like he’s about to fall—but like something underneath it has shifted just slightly out of place. The edges of everything blur, colors bleeding too bright, too sharp, like the world has been turned up too high.

The porch stretches.

Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him.

The wood beneath his feet ripples like the surface of water, grain twisting into something deeper, darker. The scent of strawberries sours in his nose, turning sharp and metallic, like salt and something wrong.

Voices—too many of them, layered and overlapping—whisper at the edge of his hearing. Words he almost understands, almost knows, slipping past before he can grab hold.

Running will make it worse.

It always does.

It always—

“Percy!”

The sharp tone cuts through the noise, shattering the vision apart, and Percy comes back to the present moment with a panicked gasp.

Dionysus’ hands grip his upper arms gently but firmly, steadying him.

He’s here.

Camp Half-Blood. The Big House porch. Dionysus’ hands solid against his shoulders.

Real.

Not…whatever that was.

The porch remains wood. The strawberries smell like strawberries again. He’s not being....

“Sit down, kid,” Dionysus orders softly.

Percy tries to protest, but another sharp jerk runs through his shoulders and steals the words from him. His knees—the bad one in particular—give instead, and he drops down heavily onto the top porch step. He leans forward, elbows braced against his thighs, hands dangling loosely between them as they continue to twitch in uneven bursts.

Dionysus lowers himself onto the step beside him with a quiet sigh. He keeps one hand resting lightly on Percy’s shoulder.

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The sounds of camp drift back slowly and unevenly. The distant clang of swords and laughter from somewhere near the cabins.

For a few moments, Percy just focuses on breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

It doesn’t really help, but it gives him something to do besides think about whatever the hell that was.

His hands keep twitching in his lap.

Small, sharp movements that refuse to stop, no matter how hard he tries to force them still. Every muscle in his body feels wound too tight, like a wire pulled to the point of snapping.

“So. You’re ‘fine’, huh?” Dionysus says, thumb moving in absent circles on Percy’s shoulder.

Percy stares at his lap, uncomfortable. “Maybe not that fine,” he admits softly.

Dionysus watches another involuntary jerk ripple through his arm, expression flattening. “Has this happened before? Or is this new, along with the seizures?”

Percy shrugs. “Sometimes. On and off since I was little. It calmed down a little. But it started again, a little bit, before the quest. And now it’s-”

He flexes his fingers helplessly as another sharp jerk runs through his wrist and lets out a frustrated groan.

“It’s never been this bad before!”

“Getting worked up again will just make it worse,” Dionysus chides. “Take a breath. Your nervous system is already on fire.”

Percy presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, shoulders jerking again with another sharp twitch. “That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t have to sit there while your dad explained all the ways your life could’ve been different if people had just made slightly better choices.”

Dionysus gives him a sideways look. “Considering my father is Zeus and I started out as a demigod, I do think it’s easy for me to say.”

Percy freezes.

Oh.

That’s right.

He lowers his hands slowly, suddenly feeling a little stupid.

It’s easy to forget sometimes because Dionysus is a god now. Because he lounges around camp complaining about paperwork and threatening children with dolphins like he’s always belonged on Olympus.

But he hadn’t.

Once upon a time, Dionysus had been exactly what Percy is now.

And considering the myths Percy does know about him...that probably hadn’t gone especially well.

Dionysus studies him for a moment, an unidentifiable emotion flickering in his eyes.

Percy swallows hard, staring down at his twitching hands.

“I think he was trying to make me feel better, kind of. But everything he said just made me feel worse. And also angry.”

For a moment, the usual lazy amusement drops from the god’s face entirely.

He looks older suddenly. Not physically—Percy doubts gods can really look old unless they want to—but tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. Like he’s remembering something unpleasant and very far away.

Then it disappears back beneath a carefully neutral mask.

“Yeah, fathers do have that effect. Divine ones, especially. In my experience, most of them are extremely bad at the whole parenting thing.”

“I hate him.”

“No. You don’t,” Dionysus says immediately. “But it’s fine that you think that right now.”

Percy doesn’t argue, for once, too drained to come up with a snarky comeback.

He stares out towards the strawberry fields again, eyes unfocused. His fingers twitch restlessly against his knee. Small, sharp movements that feel less like ordinary fidgeting and more like his body is trying to crawl out of its own skin.

The awful buzzing beneath his skin still hasn’t settled. If anything, it’s getting worse the longer he sits still.

“Did Zeus also suck this much when you were a demigod?” Percy asks as his arm does another involuntary spastic movement. Dionysus catches his hand before he can slam his knuckles into the wood of the porch. He doesn’t let go until Percy’s fingers stop curling and twisting like they’re trying to grab onto something that isn’t there.

The god exhales through his nose. “Yep.”

“Did he ever get better?”

“He has his moments, but he typically operates with the emotional intelligence of a slug and prefers to keep his distance.”

Percy grimaces. “Sounds familiar.”

Dionysus hums in acknowledgment, still absently holding Percy’s wrist like he’s making sure the twitching has actually stopped before trusting him not to accidentally punch the porch again.

“But didn’t you guys have less rules about interacting with your kids back then?”

Dionysus’ mouth twists slightly.

“We did.”

Something in his tone makes Percy immediately suspicious.

“Somehow that still sounds like a bad thing when you say it like that.”

Dionysus finally lets go of his wrist. Then he leans back against the porch step behind them, expression flattening into something very tired.

“Do you want me to try and make you feel better for now, or do you want me to be honest?”

Percy thinks for a moment. “Just make me feel worse and get it over with.”

“Good option. Sometimes it’s better to rip the band-aid off.”

“It sounds even worse now.”

“Because it is,” Dionysus says simply. “The truth is, it wasn’t that different from what it is now without all of Zeus’ laws.”

Percy blinks at him.

“…no?”

Dionysus chuckles humorlessly. “Relaxed laws meant nothing for most of us. They cared about their favorites. Gave them boons, help on quests, and attention. Zeus cared about the original Perseus, about Heracles, about-” he pauses, grimacing, “me, apparently. Though he seemed to have forgotten that when Hera drove me mad and sent me wandering for years. But do you think he made an effort to remember a little farm girl named Ianthe? Or the son from a merchant family who just lived a quiet life? No. I’d be surprised if he even remembered most of my half-siblings' existences, let alone their names.”

Percy goes quiet.

The image he’s always had of the old heroes—the favored demigods, blessed and powerful and important enough to have stories written about them—shifts uneasily in his mind.

But he doesn’t find himself too surprised at how many were forgotten. The demigods who never got songs, statues, or dramatic prophecies. The ones who were just...left to survive however they could.

A familiar bitterness curls in his stomach at the thought.

Look at his family. People are forgotten and written out of history all the time.

“So basically,” he mutters, “Olympus has always sucked. It just sucks in a different way now.”

Dionysus snorts softly. “Correct. I fear the theme of our lives has been the same since about 3000 BC. Just ask Heracles.”

“Great.”

Dionysus watches him quietly for a moment.

“Some did—and still try—to do better despite all the new laws about interaction that keep popping up. Ares, shockingly. Hephaestus, in his own way. Though he’s still as emotionally constipated as our father sometimes. Hades. And, as much as you hate him for reasons I still don’t fully understand, Apollo.”

He pauses, still watching Percy. “Even Poseidon.”

Percy can’t help but scoff at the idea.

“You’re joking.”

“You might not believe it right now, given how bad your first meeting with him went. But historically, he’s been marginally better than Zeus at this kind of thing. He cares. Even if he’s terrible at showing. An entire civilization ended up in the sea once because some fool was cruel to one of your half-sisters.”

“Well he’s spent the past almost thirteen years not doing anything about people being mean to me. So no, I don’t believe it.”

“Give it time. I’m sure the East Coast will begin suffering shortly.”

Dionysus says it so casually that Percy almost laughs.

Almost.

Instead, he just picks at a loose thread on his jeans and stares out across camp, watching the strawberry fields sway in the afternoon breeze.

The idea of Poseidon caring is uncomfortable and difficult to trust. He wants to believe it. A small part of him has always wanted to believe it. But wanting something and believing it aren’t really the same thing. And today he’s too angry to even sit with that possibility.

Percy glances at Dionysus. “You don’t really suck, though,” he says quietly. “Castor and Pollux love you.”

Dionysus shifts slightly.

It’s subtle, but Percy catches it anyway. For a moment, something softer flickers across the god’s face before it disappears beneath his usual air of boredom.

“Castor and Pollux are biased,” he says dryly, though there’s noticeably less bite in it than usual.

Percy shrugs. “Still counts.”

“Yeah, well, I do my best. Besides, Zeus can’t really enforce the “no contact” rule when I’m stuck babysitting all of you here,” he says wryly.

“I think you’re nice when you’re not threatening to turn people into dolphins.”

Dionysus shoots him a glare. “Don’t say that. I have a reputation.”

“You just sat on the porch and let me rant.”

“I was trapped. I’m technically in charge of you and cannot allow campers to wander off into the forest to become one with the mushrooms when they’re upset. I’d never hear the end of it from the horse.”

Percy lets out a noise of protest. “I wasn’t-”

“You were absolutely thinking about it.”

“….okay, so maybe I was thinking about it a little,” he grumbles.

“Mhm.”

Percy absently scuffs his sneaker against the step. “Still nicer than most gods,” he adds.

Dionysus makes a face like Percy has personally offended him.

“Your standards are horrifying.”

For a moment, the knot in his chest loosens slightly. Not enough to disappear. Not enough to make him feel completely better. But enough that sitting here on the porch steps doesn’t feel quite so impossible anymore.

Dionysus studies him for another long moment before letting out a dramatic sigh and pushing himself to his feet.

“You missed lunch,” he continues. “But we have real food inside instead of whatever tragic gas station snacks you’ve been surviving on since you left on your field trip.”

Percy swallows. “I’m not hungry.”

“Yeah, that’s how not eating like you’re supposed to works. After a while, your stomach stops hurting all the time. Doesn’t mean you don’t need food anymore.

“I eat!” he protests. Usually. Sometimes. But it’s not like Percy is starving or anything. If that were the case, he wouldn’t be up and walking around.  

Dionysus ignores him and flicks a lazy hand toward the Big House’s front door.

“There’s also a couch inside,” he adds, like it’s an afterthought. “Chiron is out trying to reason with the pegasi and their...new roommate, and your little friends are otherwise occupied. I personally don’t care enough to inform them that you’ve finally come crawling back to camp if you decide to occupy it for a few hours. Or days.”

Percy eyes the Big House like it might personally betray him.

A couch does sound nice. So does avoiding the rest of camp for another hour or two. Possibly forever if he can escape to the woods or something.

His stomach picks that exact moment to twist painfully, poking holes into his ‘not hungry’ argument.

Dionysus notices immediately, looking smug about it.

Percy scowls. “That was a coincidence.”

“Sure it was.”

“I said I’m not hungry,” he tries again anyway. “It’s fine.”

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for three days, according to the magic paperwork stack I still have to read. And I have it on good authority that before Olympus, you were surviving on crackers and hope.”

Percy huffs, knowing exactly where he got that information from. “Lee is a traitor.”

“Fletcher is honest and concerned. Very different.”

“Come on,” he says, gesturing for Percy to follow. “You’ll feel better after you eat something that isn’t crackers and sleep a bit more.”

“I just slept for three days!” Percy complains.

“You were unconscious for three days. That’s different.” He gives Percy a look. “And trust me, you want to relax a little bit more before you deal with the nightmare that is Castellan and Fletcher hovering around you like nosy bees for the foreseeable future.”

Despite his foul mood, that draws a tiny laugh out of him. Reluctantly, he stands up, following the god towards the door of the Big House.

The moment he steps through the doorway, something large and spotted launches itself directly at him.

Percy barely has time to yelp before ninety pounds of leopard slams into his chest, sending them both tumbling to the floor. Paws dig harmlessly at his shirt as Seymour lets out an indignant, rumbling chirp and immediately begins shoving his head under Percy’s chin with force.

Percy stares at the leopard currently lying on top of him in shock.

“Seymour?”

The leopard huffs loudly, as if offended that Percy would ask such a stupid question, and begins butting his head against him once more.

“You’re okay!” Percy blurts, laughter breaking through his exhaustion for the first time that day. His hands bury themselves in the leopard’s fur automatically. “I’m sorry I had to leave, buddy.”

Seymour responds by crawling fully on him despite being too large for this to be practical, effectively covering him like a very heavy weighted blanket.

Behind him, Dionysus snorts.

“Of course he’s okay. He’s immortal.”

Percy freezes mid-pet.

Slowly, he turns to look at the god. “Immortal?”

Dionysus gives him a deeply unimpressed look. “What? Did you think random leopards just decide to join a quest for fun?”

Percy opens and closes his mouth once.

Then his eyes narrow.

“Wait,” he starts, realization dawning. “Leopards. Aren’t they—”

Dionysus rolls his eyes. “My sacred animal? Yes they are. And yes, Seymour belongs to me.”

Percy looks at the large cat purring like a motorcycle against his ribs.

Then back at Dionysus.

Then back at Seymour again.

“So that’s why his eyes turned purple sometimes. You were spying on us!”

“I was supervising,” Dionysus says, sounding vaguely offended.

“Same deal.”

Dionysus doesn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, he turns his attention to the leopard still sprawled on top of Percy like he belongs there. “Seymour, come here. Let the kid up.”

The leopard immediately presses himself more firmly against Percy, acting as if Dionysus hadn’t spoken at all.

Dionysus narrows his eyes.

“Seymour,” he tries again, firmer this time. “Now.”

Seymour lets out a low, satisfied rumble as Percy continues to lightly scratch his head, pointedly ignoring the god in favor of staying exactly where he is.

Dionysus stares at the leopard for a long moment, looking profoundly betrayed.

“Incredible,” he mutters. “One road trip and suddenly I’ve been replaced.”

Seymour blinks slowly at him, utterly shameless.

The god points accusingly at the leopard. “I raised you. I feed you. I made you immortal. You want for nothing.”

Seymour responds by relaxing further, one massive paw flexing lazily against Percy’s side, claws catching slightly on the fabric before retreating.

Percy lets out a tiny, delighted gasp. “Look, he’s making biscuits!”

“Biscuits.”

Percy nods. “Danger biscuits. He’s a professional.”

Seymour chirps proudly at the praise and immediately does it again, kneading Percy’s shirt with the enthusiasm of an apex predator who has never once been told “no” in his immortal life.

“Oh my gods,” Percy wheezes, laughing despite himself. “You’re like a giant house cat.”

Dionysus watches this display with the exhausted expression of a man reevaluating every life choice that led him here.

“He was fearsome once,” the god says dryly. “A creature of divine terror. Ancient kings trembled at the sight of him.”

“He’s a baby,” Percy insists. “A baby who almost ate some kid in Los Angeles, but still a baby.”

“I’m choosing to pretend this isn’t happening,” Dionysus says with a huff, turning on his heel and heading towards the kitchen.

“Wait,” Percy calls after him, still half-buried beneath the leopard. “I never actually agreed to lunch.”

“You forfeited your right to an opinion on this the moment you had a breakdown on my porch,” Dionysus replies flatly from the kitchen.

Percy grumbles something under his breath, but eventually manages to untangle himself from Seymour enough to get up and follow.

The second he steps into the kitchen, Dionysus starts opening cabinets.

“Bread?”

“As long as there’s no seeds in it.”

“Fruit?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

Percy makes a face. “You never know which fruits are going to betray you one day. Like sometimes you get two things of strawberries from the store, and one is fine, but the other tastes different.”

Dionysus pauses mid-reach. “That makes no sense.”

“It’s true!”

The god exhales sharply through his nose and tries again. “Soup?”

“Only the vegetable kind and only if the vegetables are for sure soft.”

“Cheese?”

“Sometimes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means sometimes.”

Dionysus slowly closes the cabinet and refrigerator doors like he’s resisting the urge to slam his head into one of them.

Behind Percy, Seymour hops gracefully onto one of the kitchen chairs and watches the entire interaction with open interest.

“Crackers?” Dionysus asks at last, sounding deeply suspicious.

Percy perks up slightly. “What kind?”

“Oh, for the love of—”

“They taste different!”

“They are crackers, not wine pairings.”

“And sometimes they betray you like fruit does.”

Dionysus stares at him for a long moment, then points toward the kitchen table. “Sit down before I develop a migraine.”

Percy obeys mostly because Seymour has already claimed the chair beside him.

Dionysus opens the refrigerator, looking like he’s preparing to accept defeat. “Pasta?”

Percy hesitates.

The god narrows his eyes immediately. “Why are you thinking about it that hard?”

“It depends on the shape.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then another.

Dionysus scrubs a hand over his face, resigned. “Then what do you eat?”

Percy sinks slightly lower into his chair under the weight of Dionysus’ stare.

“I mean...” he says cautiously, “I do like mac and cheese? The boxed kind.”

Dionysus blinks once.

“Are you telling me you survive on a diet of emergency crackers and boxed mac and cheese?”

Percy stares at him. “The spirals taste better than the elbows.”

“I’m immortal, and that sentence still reduced my lifespan.”

Seymour lets out a low sound from beside Percy, as if he wholeheartedly agrees with the pasta assessment.

“Oh, not you too.”

Percy shrugs helplessly. “It’s consistent, okay? It always tastes the same, and you know exactly what you’re getting.”

Something in Dionysus’ expression shifts at that—not mockery this time, but sudden understanding.

“Ah,” he says quietly.

Percy immediately regrets speaking.

“Don’t make that face.”

“I didn’t make a face.”

“You absolutely made a face.”

Dionysus sighs dramatically and reaches for a pot anyway. “Fine. Congratulations. You’ve managed to reduce a god to making boxed macaroni for a twelve-year-old at three in the afternoon.”

“Technically, I’m almost thirteen.”

“That somehow makes this worse.”

Dionysus mutters something in Ancient Greek that Percy is fairly certain would get him banned from the campfire sing-alongs and sets a pot on the stove with far more force than necessary.

Seymour immediately abandons Percy to investigate the possibility of cheese.

“You are contributing nothing to this household,” Dionysus informs the leopard as he digs through the cabinets.

Seymour grumbles.

“Don’t talk back to me.”

Percy watches, oddly fascinated, as the god of wine and madness aggressively prepares boxed macaroni.

It’s a little absurd.

Dionysus glares suspiciously at the instructions on the side of the box. “Why are there six steps? It’s pasta and cheese powder.”

Seymour hops back onto the chair beside Percy and places both enormous paws on the table, staring unblinkingly at his master.

“You are not getting macaroni,” Dionysus informs him.

Seymour huffs in protest.

“You ate an entire rotisserie chicken yesterday.”

A few minutes later, Dionysus finally stalks over to the table and drops a steaming bowl of mac and cheese in front of Percy.

“There. Consume your cursed orange noodles.”

Percy blinks down at it.

Then immediately reaches toward the refrigerator.

Dionysus narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Do you have shredded cheese?”

“It already has cheese.”

“Yeah, but today is a sometimes cheese day, so I want more cheese.”

Dionysus takes a deep breath before walking back over to the refrigerator. A bag of shredded cheese is launched across the room at him. “Thank you!” he says as he catches it.

Then he promptly dumps a small pile on the table for Seymour.

Dionysus glares at both of them, but takes the seat across from Percy anyway. He reaches for his wine glass, then stops and eyes Percy like he just remembered something. With a wave of his hand, he turns the wine into a mug of coffee. Percy still doesn’t understand why he keeps doing that. He’s seen the god drink wine plenty of times from a distance.

For a little while, the kitchen settles into something strangely peaceful. Seymour contentedly licking the table beside him. Dionysus clutching his coffee and still looking somewhat exhausted with this entire situation. And Percy finally starts eating like he hasn’t been surviving on gas station snacks and stress for the past week.

“This is good,” Percy admits after a few bites.

Dionysus looks deeply offended. “Of course it’s good. I’m a god.”

“It still tastes kinda like the boxed stuff.”

“That was the goal.”

Percy shrugs. “Max makes it like this, too, sometimes.”

“Max?” Dionysus asks curiously.

Percy nods, now stirring shredded cheese into the pasta. “Uh huh. He’s been my neighbor since I was like…three, maybe? He’s nice. So is his roommate, who is definitely not just his roommate, but he’s in denial about it. Big time. Anyway! Yeah, he babysat me a few times. Mostly, he just sold illegal things to my mom.”

Dionysus stills.

Slowly, the god lowers his coffee cup onto the table.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a beat. “He sold what to your mother?”

Percy blinks at him. “I mean, marijuana is legal now, so that doesn’t count anymore. But yeah, usually whatever she was interested in buying.”

Dionysus stares at him.

Percy keeps stirring the pasta.

“And sometimes,” he continues, “he’d ask me to help with deliveries if he was busy.”

Dionysus leans forward so fast he nearly sends his coffee flying off the table. “Deliveries?”

Percy shrugs. “Yeah. I know the neighborhood and the people. I do some of the drop-offs, and then I get a cut of the money for my emergency fund.”

For one long moment, Dionysus says absolutely nothing.

The kitchen falls silent except for the soft scrape of Percy’s spoon against the bowl and Seymour crunching loudly on something he probably shouldn’t have.

Dionysus pinches the bridge of his nose.

“And you just... keep hanging out with him. Doing….deliveries?”

Percy shrugs again. “Yeah. He’s cool. And he makes me mac and cheese. Sometimes we watch Courage the Cowardly Dog.”

“He’s cool, and he makes you mac and cheese,” he repeats slowly. “That’s your standard. This is really the criterion you use to judge people? The willingness to occasionally make you a box of pasta and fake cheese, and watch a cartoon about a purple dog?”

Percy takes a bite of said pasta and fake cheese. “Uh...I guess.”

The kitchen is silent.

Dionysus takes a long drink of his coffee, staring off into the distance. “The bar is in hell,” he mutters in disbelief.

“What bar?”

Dionysus waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Eat your lunch.”

Percy eyes him suspiciously but returns to his food anyway, taking another spoonful of mac and cheese as Seymour hops down and flops across his feet beneath the table.

Dionysus, meanwhile, continues staring into the distance.

“Illegal deliveries,” he says faintly to himself. “Emergency fund. Questionable mortal relatives who let this happen.”

“I don’t think they really let it happen, you know?” Percy says around a mouthful of pasta. “Like, my mom was barely functional, and my stepdad was too busy to notice anything. So I don’t think they knew. I think they were just happy the rest of the rent money magically appeared every month.”

Dionysus goes completely still.

Very slowly, he lowers the mug from his lips.

The expression on his face shifts into something Percy can’t quite identify—not anger exactly, but something dangerously close to it.

“Seymour,” the god says calmly, still staring straight ahead. “If I commit a double murder today, you saw nothing.”

The leopard lifts his head from Percy’s feet and chirps in what sounds suspiciously like agreement.

“I mean, my mom’s already dead, so….”

“If I commit a single murder today, you still saw nothing,” Dionysus corrects.

Percy snorts before he can stop himself.

A few seconds later, Dionysus reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone.

His thumbs immediately begin moving across the screen with alarming speed.

Percy tilts his head. “Are you texting someone?”

“No,” Dionysus says immediately as he continues furiously typing away on the sleek bronze device.

“You look like you’re texting.”

“I am adding notes to the agenda for an upcoming meeting I am scheduling with Keto and Phorcys. And also Persephone.”

Percy tilts his head. “Why are you meeting with Keto and Phorcys?”

“Because Olympian-on-Olympian violence is frowned upon, and my chthonic form is less likely to do damage when speaking with my sister.”

Percy stares at him.

“You have a chthonic form?”

Dionysus pauses mid-typing, glancing up from his phone with mild annoyance. “Percy. I am the god of madness, intoxication, rebirth, ritual death, and the general collapse of societal inhibition. Of course I have a chthonic form.”

“That somehow sounds fake.”

“I assure you it’s not.”

Percy opens his mouth, probably to ask a follow-up question he absolutely does not want answered, but the screen door suddenly bangs open behind him hard enough to rattle the windows.

Dionysus briefly closes his eyes. “Ah. Right on schedule.”

“Mr. D,” Luke starts as he barrels into the kitchen, slightly out of breath. “Have you heard anything abou—”

He cuts off abruptly.

Percy watches the exact moment Luke’s brain catches up with what he’s seeing.

The frantic edge vanishes all at once, replaced by stunned disbelief.

“Percy?”

“Hi.”

For a moment, Luke just stares at him—taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the lingering tremors in his hands, the fact that he’s sitting at the kitchen table eating mac and cheese while a leopard lounges protectively over his feet.

Then he crosses the room in three quick strides.

Percy barely has time to stand before Luke grabs him by the shoulders like he needs physical proof Percy is actually here.

And then he pulls him into a hug.

“There you are,” Luke mutters, voice rough with relief.

Something inside Percy gives way at the edges.

His fingers clutch instinctively at the back of Luke’s camp shirt as exhaustion crashes over him all at once, sudden and heavy.

“Rough quest, huh?”

Percy nods into his chest, squeezing tighter.

Luke’s arms tighten around him for another second before he finally pulls back just enough to look him over again, brows pulling together with poorly hidden worry.

“You scared the hell out of everyone,” Luke says, softer now. “Annabeth’s been pacing so much she’s worn holes in the Athena cabin. Grover is trying to pretend he’s not worried and failing spectacularly. And Lee...” Luke hesitates. “Let’s just say everyone is making a good effort to stay out of his way right now.”

Percy huffs out a weak laugh, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve. “You guys aren’t still fighting, are you? Please don’t fight.”

Luke stiffens, his arms briefly tightening around Percy before he lets out a small sigh. “I’ll do my best. Things are just complicated right now.”

Percy frowns. “That’s not an explanation.”

“No,” Luke agrees tiredly. “It’s not. But you don’t need to worry about it. It’s fine.”

Percy looks unconvinced.

Luke reaches up and ruffles his curls anyway, expression softening slightly in a way that makes him look older and more exhausted all at once.

“Seriously,” he murmurs. “You’ve got enough going on without trying to mediate cabin drama too.”

Percy opens his mouth to argue that he can handle himself just fine, but another small jerk runs through his shoulder before he can get the words out.

Luke notices immediately.

Concern flashes across his face so quickly that Percy almost misses it.

“Yeah,” Luke says quietly, like that settled something for him. “Definitely done for the day.”

“I’m not dying,” Percy mutters.

“That’s a very reassuring thing to say after disappearing into Olympus and coming back with mysterious tics.”

Percy winces. “Okay, fair.

Luke’s expression softens again, relief and exhaustion still tangled together beneath it. For a second, Percy catches a glimpse of just how worried Luke must have been these past few days. It leaves an uncomfortable ache in his chest.

“You done eating?” Luke asks, nodding towards the nearly empty bowl on the table.

Percy glances down at it like he genuinely forgot the food was there.

“Oh.” He quickly shovels another bite into his mouth before pushing the bowl away. “Yeah. Probably.”

Luke narrows his eyes. “…..we’re going to work on this.”

“Good luck. The boy is suspicious of the wrong brand of crackers,” Dionysus scoffs. “And if you’re going to take him, make sure he actually rests and doesn’t escape into the woods like the feral raccoon child he is. I’m not going after him.”

Luke gives the god a mock salute. “That’s already half of my job.”

“Hey!”

Luke ignores that.

“Come on,” he says, nudging Percy gently toward the door. “I’ll try to fend off all the people who want to ask you things.”

Seymour immediately rises from beneath the table, falling into step beside him with the unwavering devotion of a bodyguard.

Dionysus once again looks like the universe has personally betrayed him. “He’s your problem now.”

Seymour gently butts his head against Percy’s leg.

Dionysus points at the leopard. “Remember this when you come back here later looking for dinner and affection.”

And for the first time since waking up in Apollo’s temple, Percy almost feels normal as Luke steers him out of the Big House and back toward the cabins.

_________________

Word spreads immediately that Percy is finally back from Olympus.

By the time Luke gets him halfway across camp, heads are already turning. A few campers openly stare. Others wave excitedly. One Apollo kid nearly drops an entire armful of bandages when they spot him walking beside Luke and Seymour.

Percy briefly considers lying down and playing dead like a possum to avoid talking to people.

He doesn’t get far before a familiar voice shouts his name.

He doesn’t get far before a familiar voice shouts his name.

“PERCY!”

Grover barrels into him hard enough to nearly knock him backward into Seymour.

“Whoa—”

Then Grover is hugging him so tightly Percy can barely breathe, small horns catching awkwardly against his shoulder as the satyr makes a strangled noise somewhere between relief and outrage.

“You were gone for three days!” Grover blurts, pulling back just enough to look him over frantically. “Nobody would tell us anything! Chiron kept saying you were on Olympus, dealing with quest stuff still, and—”

“I’m okay!” Percy tries to reassure him quickly.

Grover’s eyes immediately narrow.

“That was a terrible lie.”

“Yeah, fair.”

Before Percy can defend himself further, Annabeth appears beside Grover, looking significantly less outwardly frantic but somehow even more furious.

“You idiot,” she says immediately.

And then she hugs him too.

It catches Percy completely off guard.

“Three days and not one update? Really?”

“I was unconscious! That’s not technically my fault!”

Annabeth’s expression tightens at the word unconscious.

Her gaze flicks briefly toward the lingering tremors in his hands before she crosses her arms tightly over her chest like she’s actively stopping herself from asking fifty questions at once.

“You look awful,” she mutters instead.

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

“Because it’s true,” Grover says anxiously.

Seymour chooses that moment to shove his giant head directly into Percy’s side, nearly knocking him into Annabeth.

Grover startles so hard he makes an alarmed bleating noise. “I can’t believe we didn’t realize it was Mr. D’s leopard the whole time,” he grumbles under his breath. “Mr. D is okay with Seymour following you around all the time?”

“I’ve been chosen,” Percy says automatically. “Seymour can make his own decisions about his life.”

Annabeth pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m too tired to question any part of your life anymore.”

Luke snorts quietly beside them.

For a few minutes, things almost feel normal again despite the exhaustion dragging at Percy’s limbs.

Then Luke glances toward the archery range in the distance.

“Oh,” he says softly. “Speaking of people having nervous breakdowns about you being missing.”

Grover and Annabeth both wince, sharing a concerned look.

“Yeah,” Grover says quietly. “You should probably go check in with Lee. He’s been…kind of terrifying since he got back and you weren’t here.”

Percy nods. “Right…I heard.”

The archery range is quieter than usual by the time they get there.

A few younger campers linger near the targets, nervously collecting arrows while casting wary glances toward the far end of the field where Lee stands with a bow in hand and the general energy of someone two seconds away from committing a felony.

Three targets in a row are absolutely obliterated.

Not just hit.

Destroyed.

Splintered wood litters the grass below as the celestial bronze arrows, glowing with a suspicious sun-like energy, hit their target each time.

“That can’t be good for the equipment,” Percy says.

Lee spins so fast Percy almost thinks he’s about to fire on instinct.

Then recognition hits.

The bow slips from his fingers entirely.

“Percy?”

He gives Lee a little wave. “Hi.”

The next thing Percy knows, Lee is across the range and grabbing him in a crushing hug hard enough to make his ribs creak.

“Oh, thank gods,” Lee breathes out shakily. “You absolute little shit.”

Percy lets out a muffled noise somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze. “Hi to you too?”

Lee pulls back just enough to grab Percy by the face like he’s checking for damage.

“You disappeared for three days. Annabeth and Grover said you went to Olympus by yourself. Chiron and Mr. D hadn’t heard anything. My dad wasn’t even answering me. Nobody knew what happened to you! They were taking bets on whether or not Zeus smote you.”

“Uh…sorry? If it makes you feel better—”

Before Percy can finish, Lee yanks him into another hug—less frantic this time, but somehow tighter.

“You scared me,” he mutters into Percy’s curls.

The honesty in it hits Percy strangely hard.

His throat tightens a little.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly, though the slight twitch in his hand immediately betrays him.

Lee notices.

Of course he notices.

His gaze drops sharply to Percy’s hand, then traces upward, taking in the lingering exhaustion under his eyes and the stiffness in the way he’s holding himself.

Concern flashes across his face. Right alongside anger.

Not at Percy. Past him.

Percy glances over his shoulder automatically.

Luke stands near the edge of the range, hands shoved into his pockets, trying very hard to appear casual despite clearly tracking the entire interaction. The moment Lee notices Percy looking, his expression shutters.

“Castellan,” Lee says flatly.

“Fletcher.” Luke’s tone is perfectly even, but the tension snaps tight between them anyway.

Percy, still smushed against Lee, glances between them with increasing worry. “Please don’t fight. Why are you two mad at each other anyway?”

Neither of them answers his question, just continue to glare at each other from across the range. Which somehow feels worse.

“Please…” Percy says again, quieter this time.

Lee looks back at Percy immediately, expression softening again. “How are you feeling?” he asks, changing the subject quickly.

“Tired.”

“You look like death warmed over.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Percy huffs out a weak laugh.

Lee reaches up automatically like he’s about to fix Percy’s hair, pauses when his hand twitches violently halfway there, then smoothly redirects into flicking Percy lightly in the forehead instead.

“Ow.”

“That was for worrying me.”

“You hugged me twice!”

“I can multitask.”

Behind them, Luke chuckles quietly despite the obvious tension between the two of them.

Lee’s smile disappears so fast it’s almost impressive, and his hand instinctively moves towards his fallen bow, but he stops himself.

Percy squints suspiciously between them. “Okay, seriously. What happened while I was gone? Why do you both look like you want to kill each other?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Luke says.

“Absolutely something you need to worry about eventually,” Lee says at the exact same time.

The two glare at each other.

Percy groans loudly. “I’m going back to the Big House.”

_________________

Percy spends the rest of the afternoon and into the evening fending off curious campers who have a thousand questions about the quest.

‘Did you really fight the furies?’

‘Echidna!?’

‘You went to the Underworld?’

He can’t fault them for being curious. Heroic quests and demigods accomplishing great feats of strength are part of the culture here. Most of them likely won’t even receive a personal quest in their lifetime. And honestly? Percy is thankful for that. He got lucky. Many times. There’s no guarantee any of them would.

The Medusa comment is what drove him to his limit. It came from a child of Athena, naturally.

‘Did you cut her head off like the other Perseus?’

‘No, but I considered sacrificing something awful to your mom afterward.’

Annabeth had stepped in after that quickly, dragging her furious sister away before it could devolve into a full fight.

Luke had also taken that moment as a sign that Percy had had enough for one night.

With the exhaustion catching up to him once more and making him unreasonably irritable, Luke steers Percy in the direction of the Hermes cabin rather than the Poseidon cabin. Percy goes without much protest. Despite how crowded and noisy the Hermes cabin could be, Percy has missed falling asleep knowing others were there. Not to mention the fact that he would rather sleep in a tree than anything belonging to his father at this current moment.

Seymour, however, is dismayed at this development. The leopard had been banished to the porch of the cabin. Partially because the cabin is already so full, and partially because some of the campers, despite Seymour’s typically docile behavior when it comes to campers, are still nervous about a divine man-eating leopard sleeping near them.

The sense of betrayal is apparently immense.

Seymour spends a full ten minutes sprawled dramatically across the Hermes cabin doorway like a fallen soldier, periodically making mournful chirping noises at Percy through the screen door.

“You are literally immortal,” Connor tells him flatly while trying to step over his tail. “You’ll survive not cuddling Percy for eight hours.”

Seymour responds by placing one enormous paw directly on Connor’s sandal, trapping him in place.

“Percy,” Connor says immediately. “Control your cat.”

“Seymour, behave.”

The leopard grumbles but releases Connor, flopping on his side again and continuing to make downright mournful noises.

When it comes time for lights out, Percy quietly suggests he take a sleeping bag on the floor to avoid taking up more space or kicking someone out of their bed.

That idea is shut down immediately, with Luke, Chris, Travis, and Connor staring at him like he just said the dumbest thing imaginable.

“You just got back from a quest. And apparently had at least two seizures while you were out,” Chris says flatly, chucking a pillow at him. “Either agree to switch places with someone or prepare to get cozy with them for the night.”

Percy ultimately loses this argument through sheer exhaustion and curls up next to Luke in an exhausted ball.

Percy has shared a bed with Luke exactly once before. During his first week at camp, when he had wandered around in a dissociative state for about two days, there had been a night when he wouldn’t calm down unless Luke was with him. He remembers none of this, of course. But that’s what he was told.

Apparently, it had involved crying, a panic attack, and Percy trying to sleep in the canoe lake because he’d become convinced the water would “hide” him from something he couldn’t explain.

Luke had dragged him back to Cabin Eleven, soaking wet and exhausted, then climbed into bed beside him because nothing else had worked.

And it’s even more cramped tonight.

Malaika, the youngest Hermes camper, has decided that the space under her bed is haunted, despite repeated attempts to prove to her it isn't. She’s curled up in a little ball against Luke’s back, curls splayed out wildly around her, her tiny fingers gripping her brother’s shirt as she snores softly. Her other hand clutches Walter the Seal tightly, which Percy let her borrow after telling her he’s magic and will keep the ghosts away.

Percy, meanwhile, is trapped between the actual wall and the wall that is the exhausted Hermes’ cabin counselor.

Probably on purpose in an effort to make sure he can’t wander away without Luke knowing.

“Luke,” Percy whispers.

“Hm?” he mumbles, still half asleep but already moving to sit up. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

“I’m fine!” Percy says hurriedly, keeping his voice low. “I…I just had a question.”

Luke pauses halfway through sitting up, clearly unconvinced.

In the faint moonlight filtering through the Hermes cabin windows, Percy can just make out the tired crease between his brows. Luke glances briefly toward Malaika to make sure she’s still asleep before lowering himself back against the pillow with a quiet sigh.

“I don’t believe you at all, but go on.”

Percy worries at a loose thread in the blanket for a moment, suddenly unsure how to phrase what’s been bothering him since he got back. The cabin around them is quiet except for distant snoring and the occasional creak of shifting bunks.

“Why does Lee keep looking at you like you did something wrong?”

Luke’s expression flickers—guilt, frustration, something harder to name.

“It’s nothing,” he says after a beat. “Lee’s just upset because you disappeared for three days and nobody would tell us anything useful. I may have...argued with him about it more than once.”

Percy blinks. “That’s it?”

Luke shrugs one shoulder. “Lee gets intense when he’s worried about people. You know that. I said some things, he said some things. Kind of spiraled from there.”

“That’s stupid,” Percy whispers immediately. “You didn’t even do anything. You were just worried like he was.”

Luke lets out a quiet, humorless huff at that, rubbing a hand over his face like he suddenly feels far more awake than he wants to be.

Percy ignores that entirely.

“You and Lee never fight like this,” he whispers instead. “You’re both acting weird.”

Luke goes still for a moment.

Not tense exactly, but careful in the way people get when they’re trying to pick the right thing to say.

“It’s complicated,” he says at last, voice quiet enough not to wake the rest of the cabin. “And not something you need to worry about right now.”

Percy frowns. “You keep saying that. What’s so complicated about it? You both looked like you wanted to kill each other in the archery field today.” He pauses, suddenly even more worried. “Please do not kill each other in the archery field.”

Luke exhales softly through his nose, sounding faintly exhausted.

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” he murmurs dryly. “Though Lee did threaten to shoot me in the face with an arrow this afternoon.”

Percy’s eyes widen in alarm.

“In his defense,” Luke adds quickly, “it was only after I told him to stop pacing holes into the dirt outside the infirmary. And that if he’s this worried, he shouldn’t have let you finish the quest without him.”

“That’s still concerning!”

A tiny smile tugs briefly at the corner of Luke’s mouth before fading again.

“I think Mr. D would try to banish us from camp to preserve his peace if we both actually tried to kill each other. So don’t worry.”

The attempt at humor lands a little flat.

Percy shifts under the blankets, suddenly unable to shake the uneasy feeling curling in his stomach at the thought of Luke leaving.

“You wouldn’t actually leave, though....right? Not yet, I mean. I know people don’t really stay here forever, but…” he trails off, staring at the older boy uncertainly.

“No,” Luke says immediately. “I’m not leaving.”

“Okay,” he whispers, something inside him loosening at how sure Luke sounds.

Luke squeezes his shoulder. “Now get some sleep.”

“Okay,” he says again, letting his eyes fall shut. He can still feel Luke watching him, probably waiting to make sure he actually goes to sleep this time.

But he can’t.

His brain still won’t slow down enough to allow that. He lies still anyway, keeping his breathing soft and steady, hoping that if he fakes it well enough, Luke will go back to sleep and stop worrying for once.

He must be doing a good job because, eventually, he hears Luke sigh and feels him tuck the blanket around him a bit more securely.

There’s a long stretch of silence after that, broken only by the soft breathing of the sleeping campers and the occasional creak of old wood settling around them.

Then, so quietly Percy almost thinks he imagined it—

“I’m sorry.”

The apology settles strangely in his chest, heavy with something Percy can’t quite name. More guilt, maybe. The kind of exhaustion that goes deeper than just being tired.

Luke shifts, carefully turning over on his other side and shushing Malaika when the movement almost wakes her. “I’m sorry,” Percy hears him say once more, to his baby sister this time.

He wishes he knew what Luke is sorry for. But thinking too much about it gives him a headache.

Phantom shouts fill the Hermes cabin, shouts he knows no one else can hear. Little black shapes skitter around the cabin, unnoticed by everyone else who remains blissfully asleep. His fingers twitch. This time not a result of the spasms and tics that have been plaguing him since he got to camp, but because of the awful burning sensation in his hand coming back once more. Like he’s been stung by something.

Percy curls his aching hand against his chest beneath the blankets, squeezing his eyes shut as the burning spreads through his fingers like venom beneath his skin. Around him, the Hermes cabin remains warm and crowded and alive—Malaika snoring softly, Luke breathing steadily beside him, dozens of campers asleep in crooked bunks stacked toward the ceiling.

Seymour sleeps right outside the cabin door, unable to come in due to how crowded it is. But still where he’s not too far.

Safe.

He should feel safe.

So why does he feel like something is going to go terribly wrong?