Chapter Text
For so-called retirement, this is a lot of fucking work.
Percy hefts the 40 pound, 16 foot rod upright, working against the roll of the ship and whip of the wind. He tucks the end into its lashing plate and lets it hang before lining up the next one. He works methodically, heart pumping a steady rhythm, eyes in front, all thoughts on the arduous task at hand. There’s only a million of these left, and another ship to get ready in three hours.
His radio crackles as various status reports come in, the most important of which is periodically counting down the time he has left to complete this section of complicated tie-downs. He feels the familiar urge to reply with something snarky, but that would cost him precious minutes he doesn’t have. He’s experienced, sure, but that doesn’t mean the clock isn’t against him. He keeps his retorts under his breath as he works, gone to the wind, a crooked smile playing on his lips.
After what seems like forever, Percy broadens his senses and deems this section seaworthy before he makes his way off the massive cargo ship. A supernatural second-look that has saved his ass more than once, and kept his record sparkling clean. The grated metal clangs loudly against his boots and he feels the ship shudder proudly, ready for the next leg of its never ending adventure back and forth across the Pacific. He smiles to himself as he hops off the gangplank, nodding to the linesmen as they ready the megastructure for departure.
There’s a certain kind of camaraderie working the docks of Seattle. Something Percy falls into easily. It’s nice. Doing physical labor for 10 hours a day, joking and laughing with the other cogs in this massive machine of logistics and labor. In the infinite scheme of things, this isn’t much different than the Legion or Camp. He’s older, and there’s more mortals, sure, but the same thirst for danger and burden of purpose exists here. It’s comfortable in a way Percy never thought adult life would be.
He starts his long trek to the next landing site on his list, the little paper with stock numbers and locations in his pocket directing his path. The smell of sea spray and machine oil permeates the air as huge containers move above and around him, cranes and cars and the ocean filling the dock with an industrial cacophony that even the best ear protection can’t completely drown out.
It’s chaos, but it’s home.
“Yo, Carl.” Percy comes up behind a huge guy in bright high-vis coveralls, loitering by the next site. There are precious few places to rest between jobs and not be hit by callous freight drivers. This is one of Percy’s favorites, and where he plans on killing the next half hour.
“Percy!” The guy shifts against his perch, hard face broadening into an easy smile. He makes room and Percy tucks in.
Percy’s not a small man by any means, but a lot of the dudes tower over him here. He’s a demigod, forged by the blade. Strong, sure, but lithe in build, agile, a swimmer. Carl is built like a freighter, three hundred pounds of raw beef that even the ocean has a hard time knocking around.
“How’s your girl? Still getting along?” Carl laughs. Annabeth is in her fancy office somewhere, doing calculations and building models, pitching clients and making her mark on the world, as she did with Olympus in her youth. They’re both as predictable as ever, and he hopes the Percy and Annabeth of the past are proud of their futures.
“As well as we can be” Percy replies easily. “How are the kids?”
“Little fuckers are eating up my entire paycheck, but what can you do?” Carl’s kids are young, not quite old enough to be in school, and childcare out here is ridiculous. Percy is jealous, but not about that particular aspect. “Glad the days of being shit on are over though.” Carl adds, clear nostalgia in his voice.
“As long as you’re keeping them alive.” Percy smiles. “Where you off to next?”
Carl nods to the giant ship off to their left. “Got 1200 cars to strap down. Audis and Mercedes mostly. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
Percy shakes his head in fond agreement.
They continue the friendly smalltalk until their next assignment, both making way to their section of responsibility.
And so the day goes.
Get on site. Check in with the gang lead. Fall into his place with the team of Lashers. Get the cargo sea-worthy and go. Every day he thanks the gods that he could find work like this. Physical, methodical, with clear responsibilities and nothing to take home besides sore muscles and the next shift’s task sheet. Desk jobs sure aren’t for everyone.
He laughs at a crass joke and says bye to the station guard as he punches out and starts his odyssey home.
----
It’s winter and the night is wet and soggy, throwing light around in pebbled reflections and multicolored halos of mist under the winding ropes of overpass. The atmosphere is in a near-constant state of petrichor, asphalt and rain, dirt and detritus, blanketing his senses and soaking his bones pleasantly.
The industrial district is a rough wander, and he really wouldn’t recommend it, but there’s nothing out here that he’s scared of, really. The Amazons take care of the monster population for the most part, and he’s not even a blip on their radar at this point. Hasn’t been for a while. He continues on, navigating around the strange intersections and secret back-alley short-cuts that he’s carved out for himself through the years. The walk gives him space to be alone with his thoughts before he has to be anything to anybody again.
Something about wandering the streets of Seattle always has a way of making Percy feel nostalgic for New York.
He’s been here with Annabeth in their retirement for over a decade now, and he likes it fine, but Seattle will never be his city the way New York is, despite knowing them both inside and out. New York is tall, where Seattle is low and tucked in. Loud where Seattle is quiet. This city feels small, despite being the largest in the Pacific Northwest. Like a suburb, or a pretty little toy-town. He thinks of the monorail and the space needle. A fake little city for fake little people. Power buzzes beneath his rain-soaked skin.
He fits right in.
He doesn’t run into many people on his way home, and if the water around him is acting strange, there’s no one around to notice. There’s the occasional tent, some night-time dog walkers, a rare smoke break. Not a single person makes eye-contact.
So Percy walks, or sometimes skates, weather depending, the four or five miles home every day, just to spite the complimentary Orca card burning a hole in his company’s wallet. Demigod stamina has got to be worth something, and knowing Seattle he probably beats the bus home anyway.
After successfully clearing his head of work, he hops up the steps to the little two-story single-family that he and Annabeth own on the shore of Lake Washington. The thing is a compromise and a half, but it’s theirs, through and through. Having an architect as a wife helps as much as it hinders.
Annabeth wanted something modern and imposing, Percy wanted Montauk.
For the building itself, they settled somewhere in between. From the outside, a well-kept craftsman with industrial fixings and curated landscaping, a deep teal-blue with cream trim that tucks itself nicely into the dense trees during the day. The front windows are panelled and geometric, obscuring what’s inside from the street and casting warm, refracted light onto the dark porch.
He turns the key and wills himself dry before shutting the door behind him. If there was one power he would never give up, it’d be this. At work, soggy clothes are never a problem. Long walks in the rain have no ramifications, and one time it even saved their foundation from the consequences of a burst pipe. (Please ignore the cause and focus on the solution. Let no one say that Percy Jackson doesn’t clean up his messes.)
It’s almost worth all of the quests and heartbreak. Even if he only skims the pond of his powers these days, at least he walked away with something. His life notwithstanding.
Loud, upbeat music is echoing from the very… modern… kitchen. Not what he would pick, but it’s nice and it works. He gets out of his coat and takes off his boots in the entryway before following his ears, and eventually, his nose.
Annabeth looks completely at home in cozy athletic loungewear and an apron, weaving her way around the white granite island and stainless steel appliances with grace. Her golden curls, streaked with gray, are tied up into a messy bun-ponytail-thing that’s never really made any sense to him. It’s hot. Whatever it is. Annabeth dances along to her song of choice as she bustles around the kitchen, pulling something wrapped in tin-foil and pyrex out of the two-tier oven.
She looks comfortable.
Happy.
Home.
Gods he loves this woman. Even if she designed the ceilings too high and complains incessantly about the recessed lighting. He leans against the entryway, content to watch his wife work and wait until she notices him. How times have changed, that she feels safe enough in her own home not to notice when someone sneaks—
His thoughts screech to a halt as their paring knife blooms out of the wall, not two inches from his face, with a solid thud.
“Well hello to you too.” He crinkles his eyes in a fond smile before pulling the utensil out of the wall and handing it to Annabeth, flipping it handle first. “What’s for dinner?”
“Percy! You scared the shit out of me! What were you doing slinking around like that?” She bends around to look at the damage. “The poor drywall. Tsk.” Dropping the knife into its block after a wipe, she spins around to land in his waiting arms. She leans up and pecks a kiss. He returns it, hands resting lightly on her hips, before peeking around to the dish she’d just uncovered. Steelhead. Fuck Yes.
“By the look of things, you know exactly what I’m doing slinking around here.” A shrill beep of another timer only served to prove his point. “To the minute, apparently.”
She ruffles his hair and escapes the cage of his arms to pull what looks like a vegetable stir fry off of the heat of the range. Gas. Six burners. They’d really made it. Or, she had, at least. His salary was not the reason they had a view.
“Yeah yeah, you live to see another day, Jackson.” She gives the dish a final stir before gathering things together for plating.
“I’ll count my blessings, then.”
“Set the table before you hurt yourself.” She goes back to singing along to some recent pop song as he shakes his head and does what he’s told.
---
Dinner is a quiet affair, but it’s warm and comfortable. They’ve spent so much time together that silence and conversation are equals. He enjoys the food and thinks about what he wants to cook tomorrow. It’s an off-day and therefore his turn to homemake. Whatever it is, it’s gonna be good. He’s nothing if not competitive and this shit slaps.
He thinks back to his chat with Carl earlier that day, thinks about the prospect of kids again. They’d add life to this house, he considers, and it’s been long enough that they’re settled now. He debates bringing it up. They're in their mid-thirties and he doesn't want to end up some old, out of touch dad. No, he wants to be the cool dad.
Family was something that they had both discussed and decided not to rush into. They’d needed to heal from their own childhoods and settle into adulthood first. Free themselves from crushing responsibility of their pasts before taking on more, and for the first time in his life, he thinks that maybe he’s succeeded. He feels kind of normal, even. Like the fates have finally woven him into the fabric of space time and he’s just a thread in something whole rather than the one being pulled, tugged and spun, destroying the tapestry in the process.
Annabeth’s gray eyes sparkle as he meets them in the low light of the dining room.
“What are you thinking about, Seaweed Brain?” she asks, honestly.
“Us.” He replies.
“Dork.” She snorts.
They laugh and everything is perfect.
--
The next morning Percy stumbles his way to the bathroom. He’s up early and takes a too-hot and too-long shower, savoring the fact that he’s got jack shit to do today.
He hears Annabeth shuffle around in their room as she gets out of bed. He shuts the water off and grabs his little bag of toiletries from under the sink, toothbrush shoved in his mouth.
Leaning down, he is suddenly very aware that something is wrong. He can’t put a finger on it. He feels weird. He stands and sets the bag down slowly, flexing his hands. It’s not right. He keeps the panic at bay. He spits out whatever toothpaste is in his mouth and takes a slow and shaky breath.
He washes his toothbrush with equally shaky hands. Puts it down too. Gently.
One thing at a time.
He rolls his shoulders experimentally, hoping that this is all in his head.
Steam clouds the mirror in front of him, but he needs to know. He reaches a hand out, and tumultuous feelings stir in his gut, too complex to parse. A thread of fear slips itself into the mix, stalling him before he can touch the glass. He clamps down on the urge to use his powers. They are very unneeded at the moment.
Fuck it. He wipes the mirror, meets his own eyes, and is shocked at what stares back.
The steam quickly clouds the mirror again, as if mocking him.
This can’t be happening.
He wipes the mirror more thoroughly this time, unconsciously starting to suck the moisture out of the air as he does.
Oh.
Oh. That’s…not good.
“ANNABETH!!” He shrieks with growing horror.
“What is it?” She shouts back, unbothered. He needs a sense of urgency immediately. He has no idea how to describe what he’s looking at. He wants to yell something to get her in here with him, but is only able to make short, aborted noises. He can’t think.
White noise rattles around in his brain as he stares at his reflection.
He hears the knob turn and Annabeth finally opens the door as the room finishes its journey from humid to bone dry. The mirrors clear the rest of the way and the air thins like a wave being sucked to sea.
She stops dead in her tracks when she finally sees him.
He turns to meet her eyes, desperate. They’re a familiar stormy gray, shocked, and forever calculating.
She stares at him.
He stares back.
Everything is silent for a beat.
“H-Help?” Percy squeaks, a deep blush quickly spreading across his body. There’s a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else to shield them from the very obvious problem at hand.
The pressure in the pipes is too much and all at once the room explodes around them. He’s not quite sure that this particular incident is limited to the bathroom. Or even this block. Neither of them move as they’re both soaked through.
He has stunned even Annabeth to silence. There’s no hope for him.
The rational Percy in the back of his brain is shouting at him about water damage and the price of plumbers and city infrastructure, telling him he needs to get his feelings under control right this second. The irrational Percy is beating the rational one with a tire-iron and screaming.
Annabeth steps toward him, he steps back, automatic.
He looks to his right, into the mirror once more.
Holy shit.
He’s a teenager again.
He’d know this reflection anywhere, but can’t help to think it looks like a stranger. He’d left this self behind, as all humans do. Slowly, over time. He’s only supposed to look this way in photographs.
But he stares and knows it's not an illusion. It’s not a trick. He feels it in the tautness of his muscles, the weight of his bones, it’s 13 going on 30 up in here and he’s not even begun to truly flip his shit. Water continues to pour down. Two decades of experience worn into his body have disappeared overnight. Gone without a trace. His scars, his crows-feet and smile lines. Gray hairs. His fucking stubble. All of it washed away without a passing thought for all of the hard work and time he’d spent growing into himself. He feels unsteady. He thinks he’s going to puke.
He looks back to his wife, his partner of twenty three years, and knows.
He sees it. Annabeth sees it. It’s real. He knows it in his bones. It’s real and he’s….
He’s.
A motherfucking.
Teenager.
Again.
Great.