Chapter Text
“There is a swelling storm
And I'm caught up in the middle of it all
And it takes control
Of the person that I thought I was
The boy I used to know”
He hadn’t meant to fight a sea serpent, but trouble always follows him.
Of course it does, it never fucking leaves him alone. So he picks up Riptide, readies it, but the sword feels heavy in his hands. He doesn’t like fighting. He doesn’t want to. It makes him moving the blade that much harder when he hates every jab, every strike, every parry of the serpent’s fangs. He is pushed back and the serpent rears its head, snarling and telling him to get out of his home.
Percy hadn’t even realized he had wandered into its territory.
But he fights back, because that’s what he’s expected to do. Even if it’s just a creature defending its home. He slashes and swings (he vaguely hears a merman call “Wait, my prince! Please don’t harm it!”) and then the serpent’s body falls to the seafloor below him, inky dark blood muddying the waters around him. He’s still gripping Riptide tightly, the glow of the sword illuminating the murky waters around him. More movement, and he’s ready to fight again, but then his grip loosens in surprise. A smaller sea serpent screeches and swims to the body, nuzzling it. Oh, gods. It had a family. He watches as the baby just keens and wails, swimming around and around in circles, trying to wake up the parent.
Riptide slips through his fingers. The baby looks up at him, fear glinting in its eyes. It doesn’t run, though, staring back at him, dark glassy eyes posing a question: Are you going to hurt me too?
He shouldn’t care - the serpent attacked him. Tried to kill him. But seeing that baby crying for the parent that won’t wake up… something cracks inside his chest. He killed something defending its family, without a thought. He could have swam away, he could have tried to leave and let it be. It probably would have just chased him out of its territory and left it at that.
He shouldn’t care, but he does, and it hurts. If Chiron were here, he might make some metaphor about the baby serpent representing Percy’s inner turmoil or some shit like that. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he killed an innocent creature because he could, and who was really the monster here? He once would never have dreamt of hurting any sea creature, not if he could help it, but he had invaded this one’s home and just… killed him. Without a second thought. Without hesitation.
The baby keens at him, so Percy runs.
He flees the scene. He flees past the merman staring in shock, in fear, that the son of Poseidon was so cruel (like father, like son, his mind whispers. Born of the cruel sea. He hates it. He hates that his mind is right). He flees the outskirts of Atlantis, willing the currents to swirl up and push him further, further, further. He needs to get away. He can’t trust himself. Not right now. He doesn’t care where he goes. As long as it’s anywhere but here . So he swims and he orders the sea to help him, and she does. She reaches out and carries him miles beyond his father’s palace, beyond the outer villages and even more remote lone cottages. She carries him, she whispers to him, and when he is ready, she sets him down in one of the deepest parts of her waters. He knows that. His senses will tell him where he is, if he wants to know. (He doesn’t.)
He drags seawater into his tired, aching lungs, gulping it down like it’s nectar and he’s dying. Gods, he’s a monster, isn’t he? He saw it in the merman’s face. In the baby serpent’s face. He saw their eyes, wide in horror. In fear .
He never wanted anyone to fear him.
But cold fingers wrap around his heart, because he knows what this means. He heard it in a lecture, something about the cycle of abuse, when his school had held a domestic violence awareness event. The abused can become the abuser. It's important to learn the signs. (Why had they said that to a literal audience of children again?) He has never laid a hand on anyone like that, but it's not as simple as that. He is not himself anymore. He is angrier, rasher, crueler. He feels it in his bones. He is no longer the boy who smiles easily, cracks jokes all the time. He is changed, and he is not sure if he can ever go back now. He has tried so hard to fight it, to tell himself that he’s better than Gabe ever was, but deep down, he knows the truth. It is a cycle, and he is trapped within it. (Even Annabeth knew it, when she watched him torturing a goddess. She saw the signs, surely. That was why she became distant, right? Because he enjoyed the torture.)
He’s so angry, and he’s so tired of this life. Why couldn’t he just be fucking normal? Why did his dad have to be the stupid God of the Seas? Why couldn’t he have just been a sailor? Been a normal fucking human that came home every night and read Percy stories? Protected him? Was there for him? Why couldn’t his mom have had a normal child, that wasn’t constantly disappearing on quests and causing her hair to grey prematurely? Why did he have to cause his mom – no, everyone around him – so much pain? He was always trying to fix everyone else, but who was trying to fix him? Who even could? How did one go about fixing an inherently broken hero?
Lines from one of Annabeth’s books, unbidden, crossed his mind.
“Name one hero who was happy. You can’t.”
“I can’t.”
"I know. They never let you be famous AND happy."
And gods know Percy fucking Jackson is famous.
He has never wanted to be famous, but it was like the Fates had known that and deliberately woven fame into his life. He is sure they are laughing to themselves somewhere, probably patting themselves on the back for another job well done. Another hero’s life ruined. Just because it’s funny to them.
He is so angry . He feels it, the pain clawing at him from the inside out, all the trauma and agony and darkness he has been so careful to lock away. Heroes never get to be traumatized, just brave. Well, fuck that, and fuck the gods. Fuck his life.
The water washes over him, whispering, urging, cajoling him to let it all out. The sea is part of him, and feels his pain. It reaches inside his chest where the hole is, and it latches onto his pain. Let it out.
So he does.
“ The freedom of falling,
A feeling I thought was set in stone,
It slips through my fingers,
I'm trying hard to let go.
It comes and goes in waves.”
He’s not sure where he’s come to stand, except that it’s a cliffside that gives way to a dark chasm on the seafloor. He can reach out, sense the miles and miles and miles it travels down, and he hovers just over it. He gathers every ounce of pain nestled where his heart is, every drop of guilt and ache of loss, every single bitter moment he’s cursed at the gods or Gabe or monsters, and he lets it out in one piercing scream. He puts every bit of his emotion into that scream, letting them wash over him. All the anger and grief and confusion he’s ever felt is poured into his scream, the scream that is shaking the seafloor and forcing the chasm beneath him wider.
He screams louder, and if he wasn’t underwater, he knows he would be sobbing, tears running down his cheeks again. He gives the sea what she wants: his trauma. You want to know all of me? You want to feel what I’ve felt? Well, here it fucking is! Take it! Take it away from me!
The chasm widens further, and the sea is whipping into a frenzy around him, swirling and darkening and ripping up plants from the floor. The sea is drinking his pain, taking it from him as best she can. Somewhere in the distance, he feels his father’s palace shake from the tremors he is causing. Good.
He doesn’t know when his voice has given out, and gods, he thought he was tired before, but the exhaustion pulling at him now is so much worse. His limbs feel like lead, and even Riptide, returned to his pocket, feels like a million pounds weighing him down. It is a symbol of all he has come to despair, and he hates it too. Is it so bad to give up?
He shouldn’t. He’s a fighter, but he… just can’t. There is no more fight left in him after his raging. He’s just tired now, and he just wants to sleep. It doesn’t help that he notices only now the gash on his side from the serpent, one even the sea seems to struggle healing. It slowly closes, far slower than it should, and he realizes it’s burning. His body burns.
He should be alarmed, but he stares at the wound. Maybe this is a sign from the Fates. If the sea cannot fully heal him, maybe it is his time.
Sea-green eyes are clouding over from the poison. The sea still cradles him like a mother would her child. He is safe in her arms (but safety is relative and he has never been safe. Not truly.)
So Percy lets go.
Now he’s sinking down and down and down and down. His throat burns from the seawater aggravating the soreness of it. The water carries him down, or maybe that’s him. He doesn’t know. He lets the sea take him. Maybe she’ll give him the peace he’s never truly had. Maybe she’ll let him rest for once. So he drifts, throat choking and burning with tears, eyes focused on the dimming light above him. Maybe this was his fate all along - to be swept away by the sea to a place even his father can’t find him. And maybe, he’s okay with that. Maybe he can sleep now.
It’s not like his dad cares, not really. You only show up when you need me , he thinks, and he can’t help the bitterness coloring his words. His dad deserves it. All the gods do (but not Hestia, his mind whispers. She holds hope for you.)
She’ll just have to be disappointed in me too, he tells that little voice. Everyone is. What’s one more god?
The light is a pinpoint now, and he feels tired. That’s all he feels now, as the water cradles him like a child. He’s still hurting, but he’s grown numb to it now. Now that he’s let his rage out. He’s just so fucking tired. No one will find him here, he thinks vaguely. One day, maybe, when he is nothing but bones and long-faded memories. When everyone he knows has faded. He’s still drifting, falling, and he doesn’t fight. He can’t. He has no more will to fight. Let other heroes help the gods. I have given what I can . And it has broken him. But no one really cares, because that’s what’s expected of him.
Down here, there are no expectations. No rules, no demands, no quests. No Annabeth . But he can’t help it. She’ll find someone new. Someone better than he could ever be. He saw the pain in her eyes in Tartarus, saw the fear of him . She’ll find someone who doesn’t scare her like he did. She’ll be okay.
His mom will be okay too. I’m sorry I failed you too. I’m sorry I wasn’t an easy son . But they have Estelle now. Estelle will give them, her and Paul, everything they didn’t have with him: a safe, normal life. No new schools every year, no monsters constantly hunting her, no godly family drama. No, they’ll be at peace, and they’ll forget him soon enough. They might remember him, sometimes, in the middle of August or over Christmas break (but he was always gone anyway. Home wasn’t quite home anymore, because his mom had a new life, and she deserved better than this ). This way, they’ll be free of him. (He wonders if they’ll still make blue food, or if it will even hold any meaning anymore.)
His dad will be fine too. He remembers Luke, remembers his warning that the gods don’t truly feel emotion. Poseidon might rage for a day or two, but he will settle down and he will move on. Soon, Percy Jackson will just be another name to him, with no real meaning at all. Your family will be happy , he thinks distantly, letting the bitterness eat at his numbness. They didn’t like me anyway . Cookies and guest rooms didn’t mean love. Not truly.
So he lets himself fall and he prays to whatever god of forgetfulness there is to wash away his memory. Ease his loved ones’ memories, so his face is nothing but a blur and his name sounds foreign on their lips. Let the world be freed of his pain. It is better that way. It always was. He will find eternal sleep, when he eventually passes down here, and maybe his uncle will be nice enough to fast track him into the afterlife. But not Elysium. He doesn’t deserve Elysium. He can hope, but that hope is brittle and cracking and nearly burnt out. He doesn’t put much stock in it anymore. Not like he used to. The best he can wish for is the Fields of Asphodel, but as long as he doesn’t have to remember his life, he is content with that. He just hopes ( there’s that word again) Nico doesn’t try to find him too.
The sea gently lowers him to the floor, sand billowing up around him. She curls around him, whispering that he will be okay, if he just lets go. He can still see that tiny spot of light above him. He wonders who will find him - Triton? Some merman? Fish? Will they find him in a few years, or a few thousand? Will they even recognize him? It doesn’t really matter, but he wonders anyway, because that’s all that’s left to do. Wonder. Think.
He’s so tired… He wishes the sea didn’t heal him. But alas, no matter what he did, she always washed his blood away, leaving nothing in its place. Not even the marks he deliberately inflicts remain under her care. He sighs softly, watching the meager light filtering through the currents and trying to reach him. He feels movement nearby, and watches through half-lidded eyes as animals come out of hiding to peer at him. One nips at him, and he doesn’t push it away. They don’t speak, but he knows. The sea is saying goodbye to him.
He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve anything good, really.
That’s alright, though, because he’ll repent through his death. That’s a comforting thought. He’ll pay for all the awful stuff he’s done. All the awful things he’s said. More importantly, he’ll repent for being a burden to everyone around them by removing himself from the picture. They’ll all be so much happier, and his memory will fade, too. It will be like he never existed. Just like his dad said he shouldn’t.
Something is moving above him, and he squints. A green light is moving towards him. He hopes it will leave him alone, he’s so tired, and sleep is right around the corner. It’s covering him, and he just wants to sink into that darkness. But the light is moving faster, and there’s a voice calling out, and he must be imagining it, because that sounds like his dad. But his dad wouldn’t come to save him. Not like this.
He doesn’t move, still in a haze, as arms slip under him. Cradle him. He feels himself being moved, being taken upwards, and the light grows stronger. He blinks, slowly, hearing that voice again but he can’t understand the words. He doesn’t want to hold on. Why can’t they understand that? His dad’s face swims in his vision, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say his dad looks concerned. But that can’t be right, because his dad doesn’t care that much. Why would he? He has much better children.
Poseidon says something to him, and he still doesn’t hear, but he sees his mouth move and it looks like his dad is saying Hold on, my boy .
That can’t be right. Poseidon doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care anymore.
He’s cared enough.
“I watched my wild youth
Disappear in front of my eyes
Moments of magic and wonder
It seems so hard to find
Is it ever coming back again?
Take me back to the feeling when
Everything was left to find”
He wakes up in a soft bed. His vision being clear is the first thing he notices. He blinks, tired and confused. His mind struggles to understand what has happened. But he doesn’t have much time to try, because sea animals swim around him, chattering excitedly. The Son of Poseidon is awake! He groans at it. He hates that title.
But then he’s startled when he hears a new noise. He looks over. Poseidon stares back at him, expression unreadable. His father looks decades older than he did earlier, and Percy wonders why. His appearance matches the state of the palace, so why does he look… old?
“Dad–”
“How long have you been feeling like this?”
Percy is surprised again. He’s surprised that he can even feel surprise. It’s a weird sort of warmth. “What?” He hopes he can play it off. He doesn’t know how his dad will react to the truth. He moves to sit up, the fish swimming away, and he finds no more pain in his side. It is covered with seaweed bandages. Huh. It must have been worse than he thought. His head does pound a little.
“Don’t play with me. I felt it , Percy. I felt…” His voice shakes ever so slightly. He’s leaning on his trident, looking angry and tired and relieved and hurt. Above all, he looks hurt. Of course, Percy disappointed him again. “You are my child, I will always have some sense of your wellbeing. I may not be able to read your mind, but I felt you, when you fled. You…” His hands tighten on the trident. His voice grows softer. “You were ready to die. You knew you were injured and you were going to let it kill you.”
“I was tired from the poison-”
“No. Enough of the lies. Enough of the hiding and pretending you’re fine. My boy… please. Tell me.” The god’s voice cracks. Percy looks away, knowing his eyes are probably turning red from tears. “How long have you felt like this? How long have you felt so hopeless? Does it… Does it have anything to do with me? I know I have not been the best father to you, and if my absence caused even a fraction of your pain…”
“Yeah,” Percy grits out. Poseidon wants to hear the truth? He gets to hear it, in all of its razor-sharp brutality. He is too tired to keep pretending. “You weren’t around, Dad. Is that what you want to hear? You were never around, and that meant my mom and I had to put up with a lot of shit. Do I even need to get into the whole ‘let’s send a fucking twelve-year-old on a quest’?! The ‘hey, glad to see you, but also, you were a mistake’? All the times you ignored me with that bullshit about godly rules?! If you wanted to be around, you would have been. Why do Tyson and Triton get so much of your attention? Why do they get their dad being active in their lives, and I have to be grateful you visit on my birthdays?! Why is it okay that I’ve seen dozens of my friends die before I was even an adult? Why did I have to fight a war I had nothing to do with? Not just one! Two! None of this is fair and I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with that. I’m tired of acting like everything’s just fine, so yes, I wanted to die, Dad, because that’s the one fucking chance I get at any sort of peace. Because…” He bit down on his tongue, tasting blood. “Because…”
Poseidon waits. He watches his son through darkened green eyes. He seems to age further as he waits, and finally, dares to whisper, “Because?”
“ Because ,” Percy choked out, “all I’ve done is disappoint and let down and fail everyone around me. I hurt Annabeth, I’m not your best son, I make my mom’s life so much harder. Is that what you want to hear?” He glared at his father now, teeth bared and sharp, ready to lash out. The god notes the unusually sharp teeth and the way his son’s pupils narrow to slits with no small sense of sadness. “Your ‘favorite son’ isn’t the brave hero you wanted, Dad . I’m a fucking disappointment. No need to pretend we don’t both think that. So do you still want me, huh? Or will you just send me away and try to pretend I don’t exist?”
For a moment, he is sure he’s pissed his dad off, because the god’s face is stormy. The currents outside rush through plants and people, knocking them over and slamming against the walls of the palace, carrying both father and son’s pain. “...I have failed you.” His voice is barely a whisper. “How could I miss your pain? Perseus-”
“Don’t call me that. I hate that name. He got to be happy, I don’t.”
“Percy,” the god amends. “My boy.” He closes his eyes. “I do not blame you for hating me. I have not been good to you. But hating yourself is undeserved, and if there is anything I say you will remember, remember this.” He sends his trident away, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed.
He fixes Percy with a fiercely protective gaze. “You are my favorite son, and I have never been disappointed in you. You are my pride, my joy, the best of all I have to offer. You are, like the sea, kind and nurturing. You are the part of the sea that pushes ships to the safety of shore, the sea that nurtures coastlines. You are protective, too, and you get that from me. You would do anything for those you loved, and even when I did not deserve to ask anything of you, you still stepped up and did what needed to be done. But know that, even without any quests or any favors or anything heroic done in my name, you would still be my pride and joy. I would still celebrate you as a Prince of the Sea. As my child. My brave, beautiful, precious son.”
Percy grits his teeth again, especially when Poseidon takes his hand. He wants to slap that hand away, wants to keep yelling and screaming at Poseidon, even if he is a god. Since when do gods care this much? It must be an act, right? And what right does this god have to call Percy his son? (He ignores the small warmth in his chest when his father speaks of him so proudly.) But when he tries to react, his hands shake and his voice gives out again.
“You have been brave for too long, Percy. And I am sorry none of us saw that before. That you were driven to this point and it took me almost losing you to see your pain.” He draws in a breath. “You will always have a home here, whenever you need to escape. I promise. I cannot protect you from every little thing in the world, as much as I wish I could, but I can offer you a safe space. When you want, you can come here, and there will be no quests or favors or demands of you. Not even royal duties, unless you ask for them.” The god reaches out, brushes some hair back from his son’s forehead. “You can be a normal teenager.”
His lower lip trembles despite him mentally yelling at it to stop. He can’t stop his hands shaking; whether that’s from grief or relief, he doesn’t know. He looks down at his dad’s hands covering his own, and then he looks back up, vivid sea-green eyes meeting their match there. He has to take a moment to study his father but there is no sign of deception or manipulation (and he knows how to look for those).
“...I can?”
“Of course you can. Atlantis will be your safe haven, and no harm will ever befall you. Not here. You can have your friends visit too, if you wish. Annabeth and Grover and Jason and Piper and even Nico. Just say the word and I will send for them. But, Percy,” he adds, gently squeezing the boy’s hands, “do not bottle these feelings up anymore. I thought I had lost you. When you caused that earthquake, I thought you were being attacked. I was ready to tear the sea apart to find you.” He reaches a hand out again, and touches his son’s cheek. “I suppose you were, though. Attacked. By your own mind.” He smiles sadly, full of regret. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
He huffs quietly. “If you’re talking about therapy or something, I don’t–”
“No, not this… therapy… you speak of. I’m not quite sure what that is. What I mean, is that I want you to talk to me. Let me be here for you when you need me. I will not judge you or look at you differently, I will just comfort you. No questions asked. Whenever you are ready to talk about what is plaguing you, I will be here.”
He swallows again, but he does not drop his eyes this time. His father looks as sincere as the demigod has ever seen him, and suddenly, that weird warmth is back. It settles in the spot where his heart is, softening the edges of his grief and agony, easing the burning of his bitterness. Perhaps he was wrong, after all. Perhaps his dad does care. He didn’t have to save Percy. He did it because… he was worried.
Percy isn’t sure he will ever be ready to talk about all that he’s been through, because gods know it is enough for multiple lifetimes. But he has always been brutally honest with himself and he knows he has a decision. Hope lies at his fingertips. There is a path to healing. Maybe he just needed his father showing he cared to truly see that. He needed to know that his father would look out for him, that his father is in his corner (Paul is a wonderful stepdad, but Poseidon is Percy’s dad and always will be).
So maybe, just maybe, he might be okay, someday.
He nods quietly, settling on his choice, and letting his emotions recede again, like a wave. They come and go, but the waves are softer now. More manageable. “If you really mean it, I do… have one request.”
“Anything. If I have the power to grant it, it will be yours,” the god promises immediately.
“Nothing like that. Can I just, um…” He finds the words he wants, familiarizing himself with them before he speaks again. He has a feeling he might be asking this more often now. “Can I have a hug?”
Poseidon smiles warmly at his son – his precious, beautiful, perfect son – and opens his arms. “As the mortals say, I thought you would never ask.”
Percy snorts at that, and reaches out for his dad. Poseidon’s arms envelop him, and it’s almost enough to make him break down again, because gods, this feels safe. For the first time, that he can remember, Percy thinks he feels safe. He curls up against his dad, laying his head on his shoulder, and some of the tension eases from his body. He doesn't realize that it felt like a part of him was missing until his dad is hugging him and kissing his head, and then it hits him.
He feels like he’s finally come home.
“But there is a light
In the dark, and I feel its warmth
In my hands and my heart
Why can't I hold on?
It comes and goes in waves,
it always does.”