Chapter Text
"I'm Poseidon's kid," Percy whispers out, surprised by just how easily the words flow. For years he'd been just Sally Jackson's son, her troublesome boy who couldn't stay in one place if his life depended on it. But even after being claimed Percy had never been allowed to just be...Poseidon's kid. Nothing as simple as that. He was a Forbidden child, firstly. Then the Prophecy child.
More commonly than those, he is Perseus Jackson, Son of The Sea god, Earth-Shaker, Storm-Bringer, and Lord of Horses.
(And that's not even mentioning the weight his name alone holds, without his father's influence attached. Percy Jackson, The savior of Olympus. (Destroyer) The Demi-god above Demi-gods. Percy Jackson, the god slayer- An odd one he'd heard once in passing.)
He shakes himself from his stupor before he gets too caught up in names and their stupid meanings. "I can't drown," he mumbles, fingers digging without purchase into grains of sand. Small ripples of water rise and splash at his heels, nipping in agreement.
Yes, Princes of the Sea, bastard or not, do not drown. (Unless father lets them, says a traitorous voice in his head. He pushes the thought away.)
"I can't drown," He repeats again. And it's true. (Unless Poseidon says it isn't) So why does he sound so unsure? And why- why does this ache in his chest feel like drowning?
Fear not, Little Lord, call the small fishes gathering around him, You are home.
How a statement can feel so false is beyond Percy. The sand burns between his fingertips, hot, hot, hot. But Percy couldn't care less. Home. Where is home? The fishes mean Atlantis, he knows. With his father, Queen Amphitrite, and Triton. (His other siblings reside elsewhere. Except Tyson, who also visits on occasion) Atlantis for Percy is not home. It can't be. A child born from land cannot reside in the sea, no matter the connection he has to it.
There's also the expectations in Atlantis that keep Percy away, but thinking about that will just lead back to the names and-
(Savior of Olympus. Prince Perseus. Son of the Sea. Destroyer, Destroyer, Destroyer-)
He gulps. Where is home? He thinks again. Is home in New York? With mom? Is home blue foods and warm affections? No. Percy's feet splash the water out of frustration. No. That home belongs to Paul and Estelle. Not that he doesn't love them. He does. Paul is a blessing, a good step-father replacing a horrible one. Percy loves Paul. He loves Estelle even more. There are many people Percy would save the world for. Strangers, friends, foes. But for Estelle, Annabeth, and Sally Jackson, Percy would destroy it. He knows that. He'd live up to his name. Shatter the earth, let the sea's rage.
Yes, he'd rather not think of Estelle hurt. He doesn't like the idea of who he'd become. For Annabeth he'd fallen into Tartarus. For Mom he'd fought the god of war. For his baby sister? He loathes to admit how far he'd go.
And that's just the problem too. The longer Percy stays, the more trouble he seems to cause. Even after being relieved from quest after quest (though, he still does those from time to time) monsters still chase. He is strong, the strongest Demi-god since the oath between the big three was formed. But even he knows monsters are too unpredictable to be leading straight to his mortal family.
The tranquility of Sunday morning breakfasts and Thursday game-nights? It belongs to Estelle. Percy belongs-
Where does Percy belong? Where is home?
You are home, insist the sea-creatures, pooling at his feet. You are home.
Is home Camp Half-Blood? Where he'd been kidnapped and had his memory-wiped? Where Luke betrayed him? Where so many friends had never returned to? Is home an empty cabin all to himself? Yes, he is more at ease there than anywhere else. But that doesn't seem like a high standard.
(At least in camp, though, Percy has some purpose of his own. He's in charge of leading classes like swordsmanship. In charge of making new campers at ease. But even then, Percy is tired of leading. He's been doing it far too long.)
Oh. Percy stills, voice going scratchy. He has no home. No place just his. Not with Annabeth away for school, and mom with her new family.
Percy stands, startling his father's domain into silence. He would feel bad, but in the turmoil of his own making he finds that he doesn't particularly care. It's not like he's hurt them. The chatter begins again, frantically. (They fear for him.) Little Lord, they chant, what ails you? Voices overlap over each other, so loud Percy's head begins to pound. He struggles to make out individual sentences until one loud one brings him to a pause. Should we get the king? A thousand little squeals resound in agreement.
"No," Percy orders, waves slamming into each other as his voice commands. Just like his father. "Quiet. Be quiet."
They obey. Briefly Percy wonders if he'd forced them into obedience. If that's a thing he can do. (He whips up tsunami's like it's no big deal, forcibly hushing an entire school of fish doesn't seem so odd.) The thought makes him a little queasy so he squats down, reaching out a hand for them. "I'm sorry." He apologizes. "I didn't mean to-"
A small voice pipes up from the now terrified group. A baby fish, a young fry. "We're Sorry," she says, boldly speaking on her families behalf. And boy does Percy relate to that. "We didn't mean to make you mad."
"Yes," An older fish agrees, swimming so he's an inch or two away from Percy's fingertips. "We pushed too far. Our Prince," he turns to his peers, as if he were making an appeal on Percy's behalf, "Is not easily angered. He is just."
Percy would argue that he is as short-tempered as they come, but he doubt's that'll help anybody here. He watches the fishes relax, swimming back towards him. "I'm sorry," he apologizes once more. They seem forgiving enough.
"Is there a reason you don't want the king?" The fry asks. Percy is mildly impressed by her confidence. Obviously he doesn't rule the way Triton, per say, would. Percy doesn't rule anything at all. But they don't really know that. They don't know that his anger won't end with death. They don't know he won't be as easily offended as his family.
"Daughter," scolds another, "Be silent."
Percy waves the fish's concern away. "It's not that- Well I mean, it is. But it's only because my dad cares." Percy defends, mostly because he doesn't want anybody to think he's scared of Poseidon. Compared to most, Poseidon's version of parenting makes him a saint. "I just.. Sometimes I just need to think. If my dad shows up he'll lecture me and make me stay in Atlantis."
"You don't like Atlantis?"
Backtrack, Backtrack. Don't insult their home. They live in Atlantis. "I do!" Percy argues, "Atlantis is great-"
The fry's parent speaks up on Percy's behalf, explaining what Percy is failing to articulate. "The Prince was not born in Atlantis," he says to his (fish) child. "Would you be at home on the land?"
"But he is of the Sea!" The rest protest, sounding scandalized. Percy sighs, rising to his feet. "I'm gonna- I'm gonna go now."
The arguing proceeds, even as Percy sneaks away. He's infinitely grateful when it becomes distant noise the further he treks. He'll be sorry for his rudeness tomorrow, he's sure. When he's got more sense. Today, he just wants his brain to rest.
The cabin at Montauk is quiet when Percy slams it's door. Sally doesn't come here much anymore, and neither does Poseidon himself. This was theirs. And now times have changed. With Paul and Estelle in the picture, Percy is the only person to roam the area. (He's only brought Annabeth two times apart from the chaos of a quest.)
Without thinking, he wipes dusty counter tops with the palm of his hand. Where does Percy belong if he's not saving the world? What could he possibly do aside from defeating monsters, titans, or holding up the sky?
(Or Surviving Tartarus-)
Why is the after so hard?
Perseus, the original Perseus, had his happy ending. So where is Percy's? What is he meant to be doing? His hands feel empty without Riptide in his grasp. His feet are unsure, without a fighting stance to fall into. Power swirls, waiting for his call. But there is no need.
Triton is a messenger of the sea, aside from being the heir. He is the bridge between Atlantis and Olympus. Kymopoleia is the goddess of Violent storms, wreaking havoc upon those in the north. Rhodes governs the island of Rhodos with Helios, her husband, at her side. Benethesikyme controls the waves, specifically Ethiopian waves. Tyson is always finding something to build, to create. Amphitrite steadies his father, keeping him on track like no other. And Poseidon himself? Storm-bringer, Earth-shaker, ruler of the sea's-
Percy is only a warrior. A good one, sure, but what use is he without wars to win? He thinks back to Ares and the way he's always looking for a fight, and thinks maybe he gets it. They're different still. After all, Percy would never insight a war just for the sake of having use. But at least he can understand the sentiment.
The wind howls outside. Percy groans, trying to control his spasming emotions before Poseidon gets wind of his favorite son causing storms on the surface. Montauk has never felt so lonely as it does today, (Except for when his mother was in the underworld, maybe) but he does not want his father. Or gods forbid, Triton. (His older brother is somehow always worse than Poseidon himself.)
Percy just needs a nap, he decides. A nice nap that'll stop his mind from wandering. A dreamless, nightmare free, nap. Percy nods to himself, heading to his room down the hall. Usually, he would be comforted by his belongs, housed here since childhood. His plushies, his blankets, the posters on the walls. A mess of interests he's had over the years. Instead, Percy plops down on the bed without care for any of it.
A nap. He just needs a nap. He's done with contemplating. Done with fighting. (Wars. Himself.)
The wind settles and rough currents Percy is unaware of calm as he lay. If not for Poseidon's blessing over the cabin, he doubts this twin bed would be comfortable. But as it is, it feels like actual heaven. The Demi-god laughs to himself. He's supposed to be dead. Demi-gods with his history, never make it this far.
But here he is.
He would be grateful if he weren't smart enough to recognize this as calm before a storm- as the moment right before his father snaps his fingers and sends a hurricane swirling to someplace like Florida.
Even if no more wars are to be won for Olympus, Percy gets the feeling naps will remain scarce. His laughter breaks off into a harsh sound lodged into the back of his throat. He turns, face smushed into his cotton pillow. Dreamless sleep. He thinks. Please.
Just a nap. Give him this one thing, fates. A nice, peaceful nap-
"He is here. Bow. Or have you forgotten what happened to Akhlys?"
Percy turns, eyes blinking trying to make out who speaks through darkness.
"No use, brother. He cannot see us."
No. Percy cannot. He steps forward, the task surprisingly hard as his feet seem to sink into the...the ground? Is this ground? It doesn't feel like ground. Percy imagines this is what quick-sand would feel like. "Who are you?" Percy calls. His voice echoes. It sounds daunting even to his own ears. Harsher than he intended.
"Bow. Now. Or he will smite us."
"But-"
"Who are you talking about?" Percy interrupts, annoyed by their bickering. Of course even despite his pleas he'd be given the Demi-god special: Restless sleep. Percy clenches his jaw. Fates, just how entertaining do you find this?
As Percy steps forward, he finds that the darkness eases. He takes another step, and then another after it. Two shadowy figures appear in Percy's peripheral vision. He turns his body toward them and is surprised to see them on their knees, heads bowed low. If he could, he'd bow himself. It feels like the right thing to do, with being a Demi-god and all that.
"My lord," One says. "Is there something you need?"
Percy frowns. "What are...what are you talking about?" The shadow, the one who hadn't spoken, lifts his head, but is stopped as his brother (they had called themselves that, right?) extends an arm and pulls it back down. "Who are you- Wait. Are you bowing to me?"
"Yes. You are our ruler."
Scowling Percy reaches for his pocket, satisfied when he feels Riptide inside of it. He is not anyone's ruler. He does not rule Camp, nor does he hold any real jurisdiction in Atlantis. "Where am I?" Percy asks. "Stop bowing. It's weird."
The shadows stand in tandem, but do not lift their heads. The darkness that shrouded Percy when he arrived returns again, swirling at their feet. But it does not cover them completely. They're in charge of it, he presumes.
The one who speaks lifts an arm to his face, shielding his eyes as he finally does glance upward. As if he were scared of eye contact with Percy Jackson of all people. "You are-" He begins, but not before Percy's entire world shifts, dizzying him.
The scene falls away so quickly Percy is left nauseous. What- What is happening?
When he reemerges he's on a beach. One he's never seen. He turns, looking for the shadow's who'd knelt before him minutes ago. (Who had mistaken him for their lord. Whoever that was.)"Where am I?" he asks aloud again.
Percy turns his back to the shore so he can examine the terrain. The terrain that seemingly consists of nothing but sand for miles and miles. Waves splash behind him, but Percy keeps his back faced away, squinting in case he missed something.
"Son of the sea. We were expecting you, Perseus."
A sharp spin towards the sound of the voice leaves him staring at a huge rogue wave. Headed straight for him.
In theory, Percy knows he could probably control it. And in hindsight, he'll be disappointed he hadn't tried. But while he may be a son of Poseidon, he is also the son of a mortal woman. It's his humanity that has him scrambling backward onto thick sand, stumbling (albeit gracefully) to get away.
In the end, the sea is far too quick to outrun.
The wave crashes over him and Percy's world goes black. But not before he hears the same voice- the one unlike the shadows- speak to him one last time.
"Oh, Destroyer," It says. Almost gently, like a mother comforting a child. "Come Destroy."