Perseus Jackson, Demigod Hero and sometime walking disaster, opened his eyes to stare at a plastic ceiling, vaguely familiar in the way of forgotten memories that sometimes resurfaced.
He remembered staring out at the sea after driving there from his mom's house, bitter after breaking up with Annabeth (finally). His mum just had to bake blue cookies and invited him to stay the night. But no one would have been there - mum and Paul had wanted to go on a short trip while Stella was at her ‚bestest friend evereverever's' family - and the house made him uncomfortable. It didn't feel quite like home, and so he'd sat at the table while mum fussed over him and baked and packed overnight bags until Paul came home. Then he'd gotten into his car, kissed his mother goodbye and driven nonstop until he could park the car at the beach.
He had sat in the sand for ages, waves lapping at his feet and trying to make sense of everything. He had wished he could redo everything. He had wished he could have known what was coming. He had wished he had thought more about his actions during his quests. He had wished he could have told Luke.
He was pretty sure he'd fallen asleep at the beach.
At that, Percy sat up, eyes darting around and taking in the tiny room - the tiny dorm he was in. This was Yancy.
A shiver ran down his spine.
This was Yancy.
He wanted to be shocked, really, he was, but more than that he was exasperated. Shit always did happen to him, didn't it? What had Nico called it once when they had had one of their reunion parties? The Fates' favourite punching bag?
And here he had thought he was done with these big, life-changing experiences.
The sigh pretty much forced itself out of him. Wonderful. If this was a vision or one of those ‚you've got a job'-dreams he didn't even want to know why his old school played a part. Had it been a god's home once? Was there some sort of prison underneath? Or maybe Aphrodite was miffed at him for breaking it up with Annabeth? Was this a warning? Or maybe a… Percy didn't have a clue.
Agitatedly, he scrubbed a hand over his face and looked around the room.
His at that point brand-new, if cheap, suitcase was on the floor, opened, as if he hadn't had the energy to sort the stuff into his closet yet. And there was a plastic folder on the tiny desk. He didn't remember that, did he? Percy swung his legs out of the bed, only to pause at his blue-pyjama clad legs. Stick-like. Thin.
Short.
Usually, he was his normal self in visions and all that. But this didn't feel like a vision. Not even close. Fuck. Something was going spectacularly wrong, even for him.
For some reason, that made Percy laugh. Yeah, no. If he really was back in time, that was exactly the kind of situation he got himself into on a weekly basis. His typical luck, really.
He walked over to the desk, almost stumbling over his own legs. (Gods, they were short. And uncoordinated) The folder was the 'welcome folder' of Yancy Academy, proudly proclaiming its use on the front page. It was the folder he had lost (read: let fall into the loo) on his first day at Yancy's after helping Grover out of a situation involving that Nancy what's-her-face. Right, he had really wanted to forget that situation.
Percy stopped short at that, his hand sliding through his (not long enough, Annabeth had convinced him to try and grow it out) hair.
Grover.
This was the first day. He'd definitely meet Grover.
And Percy was tiny, eleven years old and he was not supposed to know anything about … anything.
The fates had to really hate him.