Chapter Text
Percy had thought he could handle it.
Honestly, he figured he had everything under control—or at least he thought he did.
See, Percy was used to being thrown into situations with zero explanations and expected to just roll with it. Like the time he was supposed to know what the Feast for Tuna was (spoiler: it had nothing to do with fish). Or when he was expected to know where the land without gods was. Or, you know, this whole demigod business! Yeah, Percy could say he had an A+ in dealing with unknowns.
So, Percy learned how to adapt, how to fake it until he made it. He’d gotten pretty good at it too—Annabeth didn’t even call him an idiot that often anymore. Percy had learned how to make it look like he had everything under control, or at least enough that no one else noticed the cracks.
He showed up to every training session with the Romans in his cohort, ate at every meal, and did what was asked of him (with his usual dose of sass, of course). So why was it that a single stupid comment from the dumb teddy bear worshipper had sent him into the mess he was in now? Sitting in a small park close enough to Camp Jupiter, a drop of blood running down his palms, Percy hardly registered the pain as he dug his nails in harder, trying to keep himself grounded, trying to keep himself from spiraling down to that dark place where he’d be no help to anyone.
He was all too familiar with that place. It was a dark room, where he couldn’t see the walls, or a door, or even his own hand. It reminded him of the cell Hades had once thrown him into, the god of the underworld so eager for Nico to be the prophecy child. So eager for Nico to be the prophecy child who was destined to die. Weird, right?
But even that cell wasn’t as dark as this room. The floor was stone—at least he assumed it was stone—covered in spikes, like something out of a twisted kids’ book, his very own Chokey Gabe had ‘lovingly’ DIY-ed for him. That had kept him locked up for his punishments for about five years before he adapted. He’d learned how to remove the spikes, albeit with a few cuts here and there, so that he could sit down without getting impaled by a 10-inch blade.
But now, the room filled with water, thick, cold water. No big deal for him, right?
Wrong.
He couldn’t breathe in the water.
It wasn’t the kind of water that obeyed him. It wasn’t normal water. He couldn’t just sit in it and wait it out—it would suffocate him, slowly, painfully.
So he tried to stay out of that dark room as much as possible, doing anything he could to keep himself from getting sucked into that space. Like now, drawing blood just to stay present.
It had all started with a stupid comment made by one of the Mars kids in First Cohort about how he was scared to have a brother who could turn into a monster. Percy hadn’t planned on stepping in—he was used to his friends either fighting back or ignoring idiots. He hadn’t defended anyone since Yancy, back when Grover was too busy not blowing his cover to do anything himself.
But Frank was different from Annabeth or Thalia. He was too soft, too impressionable. He wouldn’t last five minutes on the streets of New York—the gangs would have him roughed up and tossed in an alley within minutes. Percy had been like that at first. Frank was great—sweet, kind, and actually starting to grow a backbone lately. But that look he had given when he heard his sibling, like a puppy that had been kicked and left on the side of the road, hurt Percy more than he wanted to admit.
So Percy did something he knew he would regret. He’d barely been Praetor for an hour. And if it was anything like being a prefect, he’d be out of the job by the end of the day. Because Percy had immediately rushed to Frank’s defense, and the guy who made the comment had ended up with a nice cut across his arm from Riptide. He deserved it. But of course, it had to be the augur who had made the snide comment.
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"It's not that one you have to worry about, James. It's the son of Neptune here—you know, the real monster."
Percy was used to Octavian’s holier-than-thou attitude. Not just Octavian’s, but all those snobby rich kids who acted like they were gods’ gift to the world just because their dads had enough money to dodge taxes. Percy had dealt with their kind at every boarding school he’d ever attended.
So, he really should have brushed it off like Frank was trying to get him to do. Should have walked away and saved the payback for later. But he couldn’t. After spending a long day in battle with Octavian, Percy was getting more than a little irritated.
So, he did a very Percy thing.
"And what do you mean by that, Octavian? Last I checked, Frank, Hazel, and I brought the golden eagle back to camp. Hazel convinced the Amazons to help, Frank freed Thanatos. Funny, I don’t see Octavian, Teddy Bear Killer anywhere on that list."
"You dare..." Octavian’s face turned slightly pink as he looked around, clearly expecting backup.
"Yes, I do dare. Don’t you know me by now? When have you ever seen me sit back and watch while you try to impress everyone with your one-sentence vocabulary?"
Octavian was speechless, and so was Frank. Percy had just cussed out one of the most respected figures in the entire camp. The guy who literally decided whether or not you were allowed into camp. But Percy had stopped caring about that five years ago.
Octavian glared at Percy, his face turning an unhealthy shade of pink, cheeks sucked in like he’d just swallowed a rotten lemon. "I was simply pointing out," he said, finally recovering his smugness after a few seconds of fish-like gaping, "that we go out every day to kill the sons of the father of monsters. And I seem to be forgetting the family tree..." He looked around, pretending to struggle with his memory.
Oh, Percy would give him memory loss.
"Oh yes, isn’t our dear Praetor here one of those sons?" Octavian stood there, smirking as the other kids laughed, looking all too pleased with himself.
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“You leave him alone, Octavian!” Frank blurted out, his voice trembling a bit more than he wanted. He was fed up with Octavian’s snide remarks, especially when it came to Percy. The guy had actual powers, powers Octavian could only dream of, and it wasn’t fair for him to get picked on just because he was different. Frank felt his heart thud in his chest as he noticed how quiet Percy had gotten. That wasn’t like him at all. Percy Jackson wasn’t the type to just take insults lying down—everyone knew that.
When Percy first showed up at camp, Frank had been kind of terrified of him. The guy had stood up to his own father, Mars, with a kind of confidence that left the whole camp in stunned silence. Frank had never seen anything like it before in New Rome—who refused to kneel before a god? From that day on, Frank couldn’t help but tread carefully around him, half-convinced Percy was more than just a demigod, like Hazel had suggested.
Hazel had whispered to Frank once that she thought Percy might actually be Neptune in disguise, testing them before unleashing some divine wrath. It sounded crazy at first, but Percy was the most powerful demigod Frank had ever seen. During War Games, Frank could practically feel the power radiating off him. It was like standing next to a volcano. Anyone would be nervous around someone like that.
But then Frank got to know Percy and realized he was just... well, Percy. He was a goofball who liked to eat blue food—who does that? What kind of maniac villain would eat blue jelly beans while plotting world domination? It didn’t make sense. Percy was more likely to trip over his own feet than hatch some evil scheme.
Once you got past the whole “most powerful demigod ever” thing, Percy was actually pretty easy to be around. He was funny, kind, and rarely held a grudge. You had to work really hard to get on his bad side, and even then, he’d probably just prank you instead of seeking revenge. Frank found it hard to believe that the guy who once refused to kneel for Mars was the same one who cracked jokes and made everyone feel like they belonged.
So yeah, Frank was a little freaked out when Percy didn’t come back at Octavian with some snappy retort. It was weird, and Frank couldn’t help but do a double take when he realized Percy was actually considering what Octavian had said. That was not good.
“Hey, man, don’t listen to him,” Frank said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s just Octavian being... well, Octavian. You’re awesome, okay? You’ve taken down more monsters than anyone I know—not that it’s a competition! I just mean... you’ve had a lot of practice, and the Cohort is lucky to have you. But, you know, not just as an asset or anything! We really like having you around. You’re a great guy!” Frank felt his face heat up, and he knew he probably looked like a blushing tomato by the end of his awkward ramble.
Percy finally looked up, a grin spreading across his face. “I’m good!” he said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. “Trust me, I don’t take anything that guy says to heart. He’s an absolute monster, and he doesn’t know when to shut up. I was just thinking about how to mess with him, maybe make his precious auguries show his hair falling out or something!” Percy finished with a nod, clearly pleased with his plan.
Frank let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Percy was still Percy, and everything was going to be okay.
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Percy honestly thought that Octavian’s comment would be forgotten within minutes, like most things that slipped out of his goldfish brain. But it didn’t. It stuck with him like an annoyingly stubborn sticker that wouldn’t come off the wall, no matter how hard you peeled.
The thing was, Octavian wasn’t exactly wrong, was he? Percy’s dad was the father of monsters, and Percy was his kid. He’d killed Antaeus in the Labyrinth, but he remembered looking at the guy and realizing they weren’t all that different. He’d taken down Polyphemus in the Sea of Monsters, but really, what was the difference between Percy and the Cyclops? Apart from the hideous caveman look and a dire need for dental hygiene, Polyphemus was his brother—a half-brother, sure, but still family. And Percy had been okay with killing him.
But how different was he, really? He’d killed demigods in the Titan War, destroyed cities, and accidentally blew up a volcano. Should someone like him really be allowed to just roam around? Someone who could so easily be a monster?
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And that’s how he found himself in the park, too scared to go back and be around people he could potentially hurt, so he hurt himself instead.
Percy could handle pain. He’d taken much worse—belts and fists hurt more than nails. And honestly, Percy figured he deserved it more than any of the kids back at camp.
He was just too different.
Stupidly enough, when he first found out he was a half-blood, he was kinda excited. Well, as excited as a kid could be after losing his mom. He’d always been different, the odd one out among his classmates. Labeled as a delinquent, someone wrong and different, someone who needed to be kept close to the teacher’s desk. He’d thought joining the "Super Secret Club" would make him normal. That he could finally be considered regular.
Yet he even messed that up.
He had a couple of days before he got claimed and was marked as abnormal again. A couple of days before he was avoided like the plague and received death notes. Just a couple of days.
He swung his legs on the swing, wishing for some clarity, some explanation for why he was so different from the other demigods, why he had to be like this.
It hurt.
Percy had to admit that it stung. No matter where he went, he was considered a forbidden child. A mistake. Even by his own father.
Yeah, Percy had spent a tiny bit more time with his father now, and he knew Poseidon hadn’t meant it like that. But it still stung to be called a mistake the first time you saw your father in 12 years.
As the air brushed past him, caressing his hair like his mom used to do, he wondered if he deserved it. Because what had he done growing up that had been any help to anyone? He let his mom get beaten up by Smelly Gabe for years before he stepped in, and even then it wasn’t enough. He failed. He failed such a simple task that he wondered if he had ever actually tried much at all. If he had tried harder, maybe Gabe would have left earlier.
No, no, he couldn’t think like that. He had protected her for years from the worst of Gabe, and at the end of the day, he had only been a kid...
But was being a kid an excuse?
Percy had never really felt like a kid, had he? From a young age, he had a monster in his home (maybe two... no! Shut up), and he had to deal with the ones outside, too. From 12, he had been forced to take on a prophecy that could cause the world to collapse. While other kids were just starting puberty, he was battling Ares and confronting Hades.
So no, he never really was a kid, not really.
Glancing up at the sky, he saw it was now dark. Artemis’s chariot must have flown by at some point while he was lost in thought. The clouds covered the moon with a thick haze, giving off an eerie feeling. Percy shivered, the biting wind that had felt so comforting earlier suddenly turning into sharp cuts against his arms as he realized he’d forgotten to bring a jumper.
He subconsciously clenched his hand around Riptide in his jeans as he stood up, sore from where he’d been sitting.
Maybe Octavian was up for a couple of rounds of sparring?
Percy had only taken three steps toward the edge of the park when his sixth sense—the one that always kicked in when monsters were near—flared up. He turned on his heel, scanning the empty park intensely, looking for a hellhound or harpy. When he found nothing, he was just about to turn away when something from a bush to his left caught his eye. He stared.
A pair of yellow eyes stared back.