I'm Coming Home
a.n. It's been nearly a year, but Percy's finally home. Inspired by the lyrics of the song 'Coming Home'.
—I'm coming home, I'm coming home
tell the world, I'm coming home
let the rain wash away
all the pain of yesterday—
Manhattan, NYC
The apartment building seemed to tower over him, and he suddenly felt so small in a city so large. The typically busy pedestrians bustled around him, but he drowned it all out along with the honking cars and the rest of the city noise.
It was August, and for the first time in a long while, Percy was home. He was home and nothing else was important enough to catch his attention. He was home and the Argo II was hovering above Central Park to wait for him because they all insisted he see his family. He was home so why couldn't he move?
He seemed rooted to the spot, torn between running upstairs and into his mother's arms, and leaving because gods why is this so hard? He should be thrilled—he was, right? If he was thrilled to be home, why was he still just standing there like an idiot?
He was an idiot. He took a breath and forced himself to walk through the doors into his apartment building.
The elevator ride brought back horrifying memories, but he pushed them aside, refusing to freak out over a simple elevator. He wasn't going to break down—not yet, when he was so close to finally being home.
The doors slid open, and he could feel his breath catch in his throat at the sight of the familiar hallway. A second passed, then another, before he finally stepped off the elevator and onto the worn carpet. He didn't look back at the sound of the doors closing behind him, but allowed his legs to carry him towards the end of the hall.
One door . . . Two . . . Three . . .
The fourth door on the left; he froze in place, staring at the familiar wood, once again unable to move.
He could feel his hands shaking as he raised one up to the door, rapping his knuckles against it three times. The sound echoed through the apartment and his breath hitched. Murmurs from behind the door were heard and his hands shook even more. The lock on the door clicked and his knees grew weak.
The door opened and Percy nearly broke down in sobs.
His mother had a few more gray hairs and a few more wrinkles but she never looked more beautiful to Percy. He stood there, rooted to the spot for the third time that day, as her eyes widened and watered, a shaky hand covering her mouth.
He gave her a grin just as shaky. "I'm home, Mom."
She sobbed and the tears spilled over as she lurched forward, throwing her arms desperately around her son and hugging him close. He couldn't blame her, for he was doing the same thing. He buried his head against her shoulder as the sobs hit him, feeling her hand against the back of his head. She was murmuring his name over and over again as she held him.
Neither seemed willing to let go.
"My baby," she was muttering, chanting, sobbing. "My baby, oh, my poor baby." Her hand slipped from his head to his back, joining her other one as she hugged him tighter.
She squeezed him so hard he could hardly breathe but gods, he didn't care. He was home. He was home and he never wanted to leave again.
It seemed as though years passed as mother and son stood in the doorway, but only three minutes had gone by before she pulled away. Her hands found his face, and she gently stroked a tear away with her thumb as she seemed to drink in everything about his appearance. She looked as if she could hardly believe he was there, that he was standing right in front of her.
He didn't blame her for that either. He could hardly believe it himself.
"Percy . . ." She finally spoke, letting out an incredulous and overly relieved laugh. "Gods, Percy, you're okay."
"I'm so sorry, Mom," he choked out. Her hands were still cupping his face, and he reached up to grip her wrist comfortingly. "I'm okay," he promised. So maybe it wasn't the complete truth. He had too many scars to count—and not all of them were physical—but at that moment, standing in front of his apartment—in front of his mom—for the first time in too many months, he was okay.
He was home, and everything was finally okay. He was home and they still had a war to stop but he was home and everything else could wait.
Tears were still streaming down her face, but she was smiling; she was laughing. She pulled him in for another hug, squeezing him even tighter than before as if terrified of losing him again once she let go.
"Paul!" She called as she pulled away once more—though her hands remained on his biceps as she held him at arm's length, her eyes never leaving him. "Paul!" Her voice was cracking with emotion, and she couldn't stifle the smile that broke out on her face—one that never left.
"Sally?" Paul's voice alone was enough for Percy to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears from falling once more. Everything that struck him as familiar, as home—it all threatened to break him down. He's had to act strong throughout most of the quest, but now that he was home . . .
"Sally, what is it?" Paul asked, his voice closer as he approached the door. His wife didn't bother answering him, only smiling wider as she sensed him beside her.
"Percy," he gasped, stumbling forward to envelop the step-son he'd grown to love as a son in a hug that rivaled Sally's. She had stepped back, still refusing to let go of her son as she gripped his hand.
Percy hugged his step-father with his free hand, burying his head into Paul's shoulder, once more finding comfort in something that should've looked and seemed weak. It looked and seemed weak but he didn't care anymore. He had to look strong in front of his friends and fellow campers, but these were his parents.
Besides—after everything he'd been through, he could afford to look weak every once and a while.
"I'm sorry," he choked out again, his voice muffled in Paul's shirt. "I'm so, so sorry."
Paul hugged him tighter. "Gods, Percy, don't even try apologizing," his voice was heavy with a tone of relief. "You're home, now. That's all that matters."
Paul reached out to pull Sally into the embrace, and the three stood in the hallway as three more years seemed to pass. They're son was home, and nothing could possibly ruin the happiness they felt.
He was home.
a.n. if you want to finish this one-shot with closure, stop reading here. if not, don't mind me :)
—Still far away,
from where I belong
but it's always darkest
before the dawn—
The Argo II
Percy woke to a calming silence and the peaceful rocking of the trireme. As he lay on his side, he was suddenly flooded with the memories of his recent dream. Only then did he notice he was shaking, his breathing coming in short gasps as he tried to get his emotions under control.
A hand rested on his arm, and he would have jumped from the shock of realizing someone else was in his room—in his bed—had the hand not been so familiar and comforting.
"Percy?" Annabeth said, her tone worried. "Percy, are you okay?"
His back was to her, but he didn't roll over. He shook his head—both to assure Annabeth that he was fine and to shake off the memories. "Fine," he breathed out, his voice breathless as if he'd just run a marathon.
The hand on his arm tightened its grip, squeezing his bicep comfortingly. "No, you're not. Do you want to talk about it?"
It suddenly struck him that he wasn't sure when she'd come into his room that night, but he didn't even think about questioning it. After Tartarus, they needed each other more than ever to keep the nightmares at bay.
He had gotten his breathing somewhat under control, but with that came the growing lump in his throat at the thought of his dream. Gods, it had seemed so real.
He shook his head—a gesture he knew was pointless. Annabeth could read him like a book; she knew when something was bothering him, and something was clearly bothering him.
"Was it another nightmare?" She asked. She kept her voice steady, and Percy anchored onto that, trying to focus on what was real and not the dream he so wished was real.
It didn't work; focusing was never an easy task—especially with his ADHD. Now, though, he could only think about the dream: the familiar apartment, his mother's relieved smile and comforting hug, Paul's kind words that only made him want to keep apologizing for leaving them and worrying them half to Hades—.
His shaking worsened and he couldn't stifle the sob as he dug his head into his pillow, trying desperately to block out all the things he knew he couldn't have yet. The irony of the situation was only beginning to sink in.
All those nightmares—all those torturous replays of the horrible things Percy had been through; all his fears becoming reality before his very eyes—he'd survived every one without losing it, without breaking down. But one dream, one that should have been comforting and a welcome change, was enough.
The dream of the family he still couldn't go home to hit him hard—way harder than a nightmare ever would.
Behind him, he heard a soft, empathetic sigh. Annabeth's hand moved to his shoulder. His face was still buried in his pillow, but she tugged on his shoulder, pulling him gently backward until he turned to lay on his left side, facing her.
She enveloped him in a hug as he buried his face in her hair, his forehead resting against the crook of her neck. His arms tightened their hold around her as the sobs shook him.
"It's okay, Percy," she soothed, one hand wrapped around him in a hug while the other one rubbed his back consolingly. "It's okay. You're okay. It was just a nightmare."
Once more, Percy found himself thinking: this is weak; he shouldn't be this weak; it was just a dream. But this was Annabeth, and he never felt weak around Annabeth, and it wasn't just a dream. It was so much more; it meant so much more.
Listening to his girlfriend's steady breathing calmed him down somewhat, and he managed to mutter, "It wasn't a nightmare."
The hand rubbing his back paused for a few seconds before continuing again. "What do you mean? What was it?"
He let out another sob, his grip around her tightening as he shuddered. "Annabeth, I was home. I was home, and—and I saw my mom and Paul and—" he broke off, his voice cracking slightly. "Gods, Annabeth it felt so real."
Annabeth hugged him tighter, the hand rubbing his back stopping to grip a chunk of his t-shirt in a silent message of I'm here. "You'll see them again, Percy," she promised, and her voice held such confidence, such assuredness, he found himself believing her. "You'll be home soon."
"I know," he choked out. "I just—it felt so real, Wise Girl." His voice lowered, turning into little more than a whisper. "I wanted it to be real."
"I know, Seaweed Brain," she soothed. "I know."
They stayed like that until dawn—arms wrapped around each other as they talked and cried and comforted. By the time the sun rose over the horizon, Percy had made a promise—both to himself and to his mom.
I'm coming home soon, Mom. I swear, I'm coming home.
a.n. so here's a little birthday and anniversary tribute to my favorite fictional character and couple, respectively. it seems as though my preferred genre of writing is hardwired to the 'angst' setting . . . oh well. sorry for turning a happy reunion into a sad hurt/comfort fic. couldn't help myself :).
also, this by no means follows the storyline during and after The Blood of Olympus. just an idea that came to me. hope you enjoyed (despite the sadness).
-eira-