I know this is a few days late, but I didn't want to leave this sitting in Doc Manager a whole year before I published it, plus the Christmas season isn't technically over yet anyway, so Merry Christmas, everyone, and Happy Holidays if you don't celebrate Christmas! I hope you all had a wonderful day filled with food and family and friends and laughter (whoops, broke the alliteration ;)), and I hope this little story will brighten your winter even further.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Percy Jackson and the Olympians.

Of Course

Percy's Sixth Christmas

"Mommy!" Percy rushes off the bus and into Sally's arms, and she frowns at the tears in her son's eyes.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Did something happen at school?"

Percy hiccups. "Tanner Michaels told me Santa wasn't real. And when I said he was wrong, he said . . ."

Sally feels her eyebrows furrow together, and the heat of protective anger begins to build in her chest, that rare emotion that Sally only ever feels when the welfare of her son is involved. "What did he say, Percy?"

Percy gulps down a fresh set of tears. "He said, 'What do you know, you dummy? You can't even read. You're . . .'" He sniffles. "'You're retarded.'"

Sally gasps. "He said that?" Percy nods, and that bubble of anger expands, filling her lungs. "Look at me, Percy—look at me. Don't you ever believe anyone who calls you that. They're all wrong, okay? Tanner Michaels, and anyone else who uses that word. You are not dumb, and you are certainly not . . . that other awful word that nobody should use. You are a strong, intelligent young man, and you know how to read—I know you do, Percy. You're just learning a little slower than anyone else. Don't you dare worry about that. Everybody learns at their own pace." She smiles at him gently. "You know, I didn't learn how to read until I was seven."

Five-year-old Percy gapes at her. "Seven?"

Sally nods. "And now I read giant books all the time, right? So you have nothing to worry about. You'll be reading at top speed in no time." Finally, she releases her son from their hug and straightens up from her crouch. "Oh, and about what Tanner said about Santa Claus?"

Percy stares up at her trustingly. "Yeah?"

"That was a big fat lie," she reassures him. "Santa's as real as you or me. How else could he have known that you didn't just want any action figure last Christmas, you wanted a deluxe adjustable Spiderman action figure that shot string webbing?"

Percy grins, his fragile childhood faith restored. "Right. Tanner Michaels is the dummy."

"Percy! Tanner Michaels shouldn't be using that word, and neither should you."

"But he said it first—"

"That doesn't make it okay. You shouldn't insult people, even if they're mean to you first. Being mean right back won't make up for it."

"Oh. Sorry, Mommy." Percy's large green eyes are hopelessly sincere.

"It's okay, Percy," Sally smiles, leaning down to ruffle his hair. "Just don't do it again. Now let's go inside and bake some Christmas cookies, okay?"

"Yay!" he announces, and Sally can see the exact instant when the word "retarded" stops looming over his head. His eyes clear, and he smiles at her. "Can we add blue sprinkles? I bet Santa really likes blue sprinkles."

"We could add blue sprinkles," Sally laughs. "Or I could use magic food coloring and make the entire cookie turn blue."

Percy's mouth hangs open. "You can do that?" he asks in awe. Sally nods. "So . . . can we make all the cookies blue? And then add blue frosting? And blue sprinkles?"

"Of course we can, Percy." Sally doesn't mention that the food coloring will make his tongue and lips and hands turn as blue as the cookies. She doesn't add that the dye could stain his white uniform shirt.

When it comes to Christmas, there isn't much Sally won't do to keep that innocent glow in Percy's eyes.

Percy's Eighth Christmas

"What are you doing?" Gabe growls when Sally leaves Percy's room at ten o'clock and immediately begins rummaging in their linen closet.

"Shh, Gabe, you'll wake Percy," she scolds, bolder than usual. "I just got him to stop trying to climb onto the fire escape. He wanted to get to the roof and wait for Santa." A smile graces her lips at the thought.

But it quickly fades when Gabe scoffs. "That kid still believes in Santa? What an idiot. Sally, you have to set him straight."

She slams the door harder than is strictly necessary—so much for not waking Percy—and whirls on Gabe, who is lounged out on their ratty old recliner with his gut sticking out of his too-small t-shirt. Sally resists the urge to gag. "Set him straight?" she hisses instead. "What, I should take away the sparkle in his eyes when he wakes up on Christmas morning to a full stocking and presents under the tree? I should stop him from beaming when he sees the crumbs of blue cookie on the plate he set up so carefully?"

Gabe snorts. "The kid's stupid enough as it is. Don't make him look dumber by keeping up this ridiculous fantasy. Besides, he's too old for this nonsense."

Sally bristles. "He's seven, Gabe. He's still in elementary school. He's not too old for Santa Claus."

Anger flashes through Gabe's eyes, but for once, Sally doesn't back down. She won't ruin Christmas for Percy just because Gabe is a jerk. "Look, Gabe, I've never asked you for help buying Percy's presents or setting up the tree or decorating the apartment or anything having to do with Christmas, and I'm not about to start now," she snaps. "You can stay sprawled out on that chair, or you can help yourself to some of Percy's blue cookies, or you can go to bed, or you can do whatever the heck else you want tonight, and I'll guarantee that there will be three extra-large bags of Cool Ranch Doritos, plus a dish of my seven-layer dip, wrapped and waiting for you under the tree tomorrow." She starts shaking. "But if you make one more comment about how Percy shouldn't believe in Santa tonight—or, gods forbid, that you tell him Santa isn't real—you can bet your job at the Electronics Mega-Mart that you won't be getting that food. I'll . . . I'll run down the street and give it all to that crazy homeless guy on the corner."

Gabe raises his eyebrows and considers her threat. "Whatever, Sally. Use your own salary money to buy me a six-pack of decent beer as an added Christmas present, and I won't breathe a word to that delinquent child of yours."

On any other night, Sally would have refused to fuel his alcohol addiction. But tonight, when Percy's innocence is at stake . . . "Fine," she spits out, wondering which of her own presents she'll have to return to make up for this splurge. "Fine. But if you say anything to Percy—"

"My lips are sealed," Gabe smirks, settling farther into his recliner and belching contentedly. "Run along, Sally dear. Go get me that beer. But," he adds, and suddenly his voice is softer and more deadly, and Sally resists the urge to flinch, "don't you ever use that tone of voice when you're talking to me again. I'm in charge of this apartment, not you." He crosses his arms. "You'll regret talking back to me, Sally Jackson."

Two nights later, Gabe gets his revenge. Sally uses up half of her bottle of concealer during the next week to hide the bruises. Going to work and walking in heels with a busted-up knee is no picnic either. But in the end, Gabe is so wrong. Sally doesn't regret what she said to him, not at all. Not when it kept Percy believing in Santa Claus for another year.

Percy's Ninth Christmas

"Mom, I swear that guy walking past us only had one eye," Percy insists, grabbing her arm. "Come on, Mom, look at him. He only has one eye."

Sally tenses and prays that the Cyclops doesn't hear what Percy's saying. "Don't be rude, Percy," she manages through clenched teeth. "Just because he's missing an eye doesn't give you the right to point and stare. He's probably very sensitive about it."

"No, he's not missing an eye, Mom," Percy corrects her. "He just only has one. It's right in the middle of his face. Come on, Mom, look—"

"Percy, don't be silly," Sally says, reaching out and turning his head away from the monster in question. "People don't have eyes in the middle of their faces."

Percy frowns. "But I'm sure—"

"You must be mistaken," she interrupts, practically yanking Percy down the street and away from the Cyclops. "Maybe his eyes are just close-set, and you didn't notice the second one."

Percy hesitates. "Maybe . . ."

"Definitely," Sally says. "Now come on, you're the one who said you wanted to get new Christmas ornaments this year. Help me pick them out."

It's destroying Sally to keep lying to her son like this. But what choice does she have? Her only other option is to tell Percy the truth and send him off to Camp Half-Blood—and she knows full well that while that camp can build Percy into a hero, it will also almost certainly get him killed. So she keeps squashing his beliefs in any sort of mythological creature, especially the Greek ones. And she resolves that as long as she's lying to him, she may as well keep one of his beliefs alive.

"By the way, Percy, it's December 5th. You really need to get around to writing your letter to Santa, or he might not get it in time."

Percy's Tenth Christmas

The next year, Gabe blows all their grocery money on poker games and cheap beer, and Sally finds herself dishing out her Christmas present money just to keep food on the table. But when she explains that money's a little tight right now, so there won't be as many gifts as usual, Percy isn't fazed.

"That's okay, Mom," he says, smiling at her reassuringly. "Don't worry about buying me anything, then. I'll still have my presents from Santa."

Sally freezes. "Right," she finds herself saying, offering up a smile of her own. "Of course you'll still have those presents."

Even now, she can't bring herself to snap Percy's thin tether to innocence. Instead, that night, she goes into the living room and takes down a conch shell that Poseidon gave her in Montauk over ten years ago. "I know I said I didn't want any help from you in raising Percy, that we agreed it was too dangerous and would increase his scent," she mutters into the shell, feeling like a fool. "But you also said that if I ever did need something, all I had to do was use this conch shell. So . . . here I am, using it." She laughs awkwardly, not sure how to talk to a man that vanished from her life a decade ago. "There's nothing I need—not really—but I had to call about Percy. You see, he still believes in Santa, and with all the Styx that he's going to face in a couple years, I figured that it's the least I can do to keep that innocence alive as long as possible. But the only problem is, I don't exactly have enough money to buy him gifts this year. So I was hoping . . ." Her voice cracks. "Oh, never mind. You're probably busy with—with your godly duties anyway." Without another word, she returns the shell to the bookshelf.

For the next few weeks, no shopping bags magically appear on Sally's doorstep. No one conveniently drops a fifty-dollar bill on the street and then insists that she keep it. Sally loses sleep every night, worrying that Percy will wake up on Christmas morning to nothing, and his whole world will come crashing down around him. She swears this fear is giving her more gray hair every day.

And then, three days before Christmas, Sally opens the pantry to pull out a box of pasta, and four neatly wrapped gifts are sitting on the shelf with the cereal. Three of them are labelled, Percy, in round but erratic handwriting, and the fourth—Sally nearly drops her box of pasta when she reads it. The fourth says, Sally, and it contains a Christmas ham. They haven't had enough money to afford a Christmas ham in years.

Apparently, Poseidon did listen to her embarrassing conch shell call after all. That doesn't mean that Sally is anxious to ask for his assistance again. She isn't some helpless dependent maiden that needs a god to solve all her problems. As difficult as this life is, it's a life that she's worked hard to maintain, and that means something. So no, she isn't in a rush to take that conch shell down again. This was a one-time thing. She was desperate.

After all, Christmas was at stake.

Percy's Thirteenth Christmas

But eventually, no amount of carefully-fabricated explanations, magically-appearing Christmas hams, or blue cookies can stop Percy's suspicions from transforming into full-blown disbelief. It breaks Sally's heart when he tells her, a little sadly, that he's not going to be writing a letter to Santa this year. Not when he knows she'll just be reading it over his shoulder so she can take notes later. He'll save her the trouble and make her a list this year.

Percy's mature about the whole thing. He grins and thanks Sally for the awesome years of trying (and failing) to stay up to wait for Santa Claus and commends her multiple times for keeping his belief alive for so long. But it still breaks Sally's heart.

Of course, that's nothing to the pain Sally feels as she loads Percy and Grover into the back of Gabe's Camaro and drives furiously towards Long Island Sound the next summer. Having Percy gain belief in Greek mythology is much scarier than watching him lose his belief in Santa Claus.

The next two years are hard. Every day that Percy goes to school with knowledge of the world of monsters planted firmly in his mind terrifies Sally, since it means he could be attacked at any time. She can't lie and say that watching his growing self-confidence doesn't fill her with pride, or that it's not a relief to go to work without worrying about Gabe Ugliano when she returns. But the next two years are still hard. Percy stops getting hopelessly excited at the first mention of Christmas. Instead, he tells Sally with a too-experienced smile that all he really needs is a break from monsters. Sally can see Percy growing up at hyperspeed, and it makes her wonder if he even wants to celebrate Christmas this year, with a suspicious prophecy and the ongoing betrayal of Luke Castellan hanging over his head.

And then Percy comes home after a mysterious mid-winter quest, and something is different.

Percy's Fifteenth Christmas

Sally doesn't know how long she holds Percy while he allows himself to cry over his friends for the first time. She's not sure how long it takes for his tears to run dry and his sniffling to stop. But she doesn't care. After losing two friends and nearly losing his best friend on top of it all, Percy deserves to let all his sadness and heartbreak pour out of him. When he does stop crying, however, Sally's surprised by the first words that come out of his mouth. "I want to go buy presents."

She blinks. "Presents? But Percy, it's just the two of us, we can't go Christmas shopping together—"

"No, not for us," Percy interrupts. He bites his lip. "I mean, I'm going to go out and buy you presents later, Mom. That's a given. But for right now . . ." He hunches his shoulders and looks down awkwardly. "There's a group home or a homeless shelter around here somewhere, isn't there?"

Sally frowns. "Yes? There are probably several; why do you ask?"

"Can we . . . I don't know, could we maybe go out and buy some presents and hand them out to kids in one of those places? I just . . ." Percy winces. "I want to see someone smiling and happy for once."

Sally inhales and feels something sharp stab her chest—pain, regret, sorrow . . . it doesn't matter. "Of course, Percy," she says immediately, reaching out and hugging him again. "Of course we can."

Within the next half hour, Sally finds herself standing at the entrance to a group home with Percy at her side. Before she can walk forward, though, Percy takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. A middle-aged woman with wrinkles around her eyes and a messy bun at the nape of her neck opens it a few moments later. In spite of the bags under her eyes, she's wearing a smile. "Hey, kids, back already? What did you ask Santa for . . . ?" Her voice dies out. "Oh. You're not the kids. Sorry."

Sally steps up and smiles right back at her. "No need to apologize. I'm glad you're so enthusiastic with them." She sets her bag down and sticks out her hand. "Hi, I'm Sally Jackson, and this is my son, Percy." The woman shakes it hesitantly, her forehead creasing.

"I'm Marda. I . . . I'm sorry, are you here looking to adopt?"

Guilt seizes Sally at the hopeful look in Marda's eyes, and she barely stops herself from saying yes. "One troublemaker is all I can handle at the moment, I'm afraid," she says lightly, offering up a guilty smile as she ruffles Percy's hair.

"Mom!" he protests, even though they both know that in the most literal sense of the word, Percy does manage to cause trouble almost everywhere he goes.

"But I would really like to meet the children that are staying here," Sally finishes. "I understand that this group home is for kids ages 3-8? Are any of them home?"

Marda is still looking at them in confusion, but she shakes her head. "No, Gemma—she's the other woman working here today—took them to see Santa at Macy's. Although," she sighs, "Lord knows how we're going to afford the presents they ask him for. The guy who works there is great, you know—somehow manages to keep a running total of all their requests in the back of his mind and lets Patty know at the end after they all go—but it doesn't help if we don't have the money for the gifts. Sorry," she says again, laughing awkwardly. "I'm sure you didn't come here to listen to me gripe about things I can't change."

Sally smiles at her again. "No need to apologize, Marda," she promises. "Percy and I are really impressed by the work you do here. And actually, we came because . . . well, we hoped we might be able to help out with your Christmas present problem."

Marda's eyebrows crease. "What do you mean?"

Sally tilts her head. "How many kids are staying here?"

"Six," she answers immediately. "We're at full capacity."

Sally nods, calculating. "Well, then I think we can buy a full set of hat, gloves, scarf, and socks for each child," she says. "Along with some small toys. I'm sure you know all their sizes?"

Marda was already gaping at the word "buy", but she manages to exhale an, "Of course."

"Perfect," Percy says, cutting in. "And once the kids come back, we'll find out what they wanted and buy those things as well."

Marda's gasp is audible. "You'll . . . what?"

"It's no trouble at all," Sally promises. "Percy doesn't want anything but socks this year anyway."

"Mom!" But he doesn't really seem mad.

Meanwhile, Marda's still looking between them like she isn't sure that they're real. "You . . . you're going to buy all the kids presents?"

"Of course!" Percy says. "We couldn't exactly leave one out. Besides, we have to make sure they get the presents they asked Santa for. It would be immoral to crush their Christmas spirit. After all, believing in Santa Claus was the best part of my childhood Christmases." The smile he gives Marda looks altogether too nostalgic and depressed for Sally's liking, but she doesn't say anything. At least he's smiling at all. After the quest he'd suffered through over the last week, Sally isn't sure that she'd be that strong.

Marda exhales slowly. "You're serious," she says in wonder. "You're really going to do this for the children. Where did you angels come from?"

"An apartment in Queens," Percy tells her truthfully, offering up another slight smile. "Now, could we possibly find out their sizes? We'll leave the specialty presents to Santa to deliver, but I'd . . . um, I'd kind of like to pass out the other gifts myself, if that's okay."

The blinding smile Marda delivers almost makes up for the pain still lodged in Percy's eyes. "Of course you can!" she exclaims, finally ushering them inside. "I want the kids to know the names and faces of the angels who are bringing them Christmas!"

Three hours, two department stores, ten shopping bags, and six rolls of wrapping paper later, Sally finds herself standing in front of the group home yet again. Both she and Percy have black garbage bags slung over their shoulders. This time, Sally doesn't hesitate to march up to the door and knock. When Marda opens the door again and sees the bags, her eyes light up brighter than the wreath on the front door. "The children are back," she confides, letting them in. "Oh, they will be so happy to see you!"

They step inside.

Almost immediately, a little girl with swinging blond braids flings herself onto Sally, wrapping her arms around her legs. "Hi, I'm Ally and Christmas is my most favoritest time of the year because everyone is always so happy. Are you happy? I'm happy! Auntie Marda says you're bringing everyone presents. That's really nice of you. I didn't get presents last year because Mommy spent all her money on white powder—and the white powder wasn't even snow, so I don't know why Mommy wanted to buy it. I don't live with Mommy anymore—she got taken away. But it's okay because now I live with Auntie Marda and Auntie Gemma and Uncle Tommy and all my friends. And it's doubly okay because you're here and bringing everyone presents and lots of my friends here haven't had presents in a really long time and I'm really happy you're going to make them all happy. Thank you thank you thank you for coming!"

Sally is speechless. Luckily, "Auntie" Marda steps in. "Come on, Ally, don't overwhelm her," she says kindly. "Why don't we join the other kids, and you guys can tell me all about your visit to Santa!"

Ally's eyes light up. "Okay!" She grabs onto Marda's hand and starts dragging her into the next room. "The mall was so pretty, Auntie Marda, because it was all lighted up and there was a ginormous Christmas tree inside. Ginormous! And it was covered with gold lights and sparkly ornaments and . . ."

Marda glances over her shoulder. "Take your time organizing the presents and . . . and whatever else you need to do. Come in when you're ready." With one last grateful smile, she allows Ally to drag her away.

As soon as they vanish, Percy exhales slowly. "Ally. She just . . ."

"Percy, you know all these kids ended up in a group home for a reason," Sally says gently. "If you want, I could go in and deliver the presents for you—"

"No!" he yelps. "I mean . . . no, Mom, I can handle it." He shrugs halfheartedly. "Stories like hers . . . well, it's nothing I haven't heard from kids at camp." He offers up a wide grin that holds too much sadness for his fourteen years. "Let's do this, Mom."

And with that, he shoulders his bag and follows Marda and Ally into the next room.

If Ally launching herself at Sally took her by surprise, Sally is completely unprepared for the mayhem that unfolds as soon as they step through the doorway. Kids attach themselves to her legs or her arms. A boy with a shock of black hair grabs her hand and refuses to let go (reminding Sally of—oh, gods—a younger, more innocent Percy). When she glances over at said demigod, Sally is pleased to see that two kids are just as glued to him—Ally has somehow managed to cling onto Percy from behind, piggyback-ride-style, and a blond toddler boy with too-long hair is tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Hey, guys," Percy chuckles. "How am I supposed to give you your presents if you won't get off me?"

"It's all right," Marda grins. "These kids don't get many visitors. Although," she says, suddenly worried, "I can make them let go if they're making you uncomfortable."

"Of course not," Sally says immediately, and she again has to resist the urge to offer to adopt every single child. Marda and Gemma are obviously doing their best, but when there are six kids, each of them is bound to get overlooked every once in a while. If she wasn't barely managing to maintain a comfortable lifestyle with Percy, she would have taken them all in. But she can't accept responsibility for these kids if she doesn't think she'll be able to handle it . . . even if leaving them behind in a few hours will break her heart.

Eventually, the kids tear themselves away and start to poke at the black garbage bags, sneaking hopeful glances at Sally and Percy. "Yes, you can get your presents now," Sally answers their unspoken questions with a laugh.

"But you can only open one of them today," Percy says sternly. "You have to save the rest of them for Christmas. Otherwise, that's cheating, and Santa won't like that. Got it?" The kids nod solemnly, their eyes wide, and Percy starts grinning. "Believe me, I know," he tells them. "One time, I opened one of my presents early without permission, and Santa only gave me half of what I asked for." They gasp.

"Poor Percy," Ally says, a frown twisting her expression for the first time.

"But he deserved it! You shouldn't have opened your presents without permission!" The girl speaking has freckles, dark hair, and a green knit cap shoved onto her head. She was the only child not to run to them immediately. When Percy sees her, he blanches. For a moment, Sally isn't sure why . . . and then she remembers Percy's broken description of Bianca. She had . . . brown hair . . . and she always wore this ridiculous green hat that was way too big for her . . . and she had a ton of freckles . . . Oh, gods.

Sally's heart starts racing. What if Percy breaks down, right now, and she has to lead him out of the room and promise all the kids that he's fine, really, and this mini-Bianca is going to wonder what she said wrong—

"You're right." The smile that Percy pastes on his face almost seems genuine—but Sally has known her baby boy all his life, and she recognizes the effort it takes for him to keep it going. "But that's all right because he gave me the best half of what I asked for. Santa is generous like that." His eyes gleam. "And you bet I learned my lesson after that. I never opened my presents early again."

"Oh." The Bianca look-alike considers this. "I guess that's okay, then."

"Yup." Percy turns to everyone else. "But you guys had better learn from mini-me's mistakes. You're allowed to open one present now, but you've got to wait to see all the rest, all right?" A chorus of "okays" bounces around the room.

"Good. Now that that's settled, do you want your presents, or what?" The "okays" turn into a round of cheers, and slowly, the grin on Percy's face looks a little more natural.

He turns to the Bianca look-alike. "What's your name, kiddo?"

"Emilia."

"Well, Emilia, would you like to get your presents now?" Her beaming smile contrasts sharply with her serious, dark eyes.

It takes almost a whole hour, but they sort out the various gifts and watch as smiles as bright as Emilia's grow on each child's face. With each new discovery, Sally sees a little of Percy's sorrow lift away. His shoulders stop sagging, and his stance straightens. He laughs and jokes with the kids as if he hadn't lost two friends within the last week, and that brings Sally immense relief.

Sally has always done whatever she could to retain Percy's innocence, especially when it came to Christmas. She's been worried that exposure to the harsh dangers of Percy's demigod life would sap away the pure joy he always found in the simplest of things. But now Sally realizes that she may not have to worry about that anymore.

Because even though the harsh reality of Percy's world has begun digging its teeth into his innocence, he's still managed to discover something magical about Christmas.

"Mom?" Percy snaps her out of her thoughts as they're walking back to their apartment, empty garbage bags stuffed into Sally's purse in preparation for their next present run. (Gemma made sure to give Sally the list of the gifts the kids wanted from Santa before they left.)

"Yes, Percy?"

"Do you think . . . ?" He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "I mean, I told the kids to only open one present because I think it's fun to be able to tear open your own personal mountain of wrapping paper on Christmas."

Sally laughs. "That's true. I think you had more fun playing in your wrapping paper piles as a kid than you did using your actual presents."

"That's probably true," he admits. "But . . . well, because I said that, we only got to see them open one of their presents. And I'd like to see their expressions when they get everything else. And we have to deliver the presents from 'Santa' anyway. So I was wondering . . ."

"Of course, Percy," Sally laughs, understanding. "If that's what you want, of course we can come back on Christmas and spend the day with those kids."

"Oh, great! Thanks, Mom."

"Of course," Sally says again, smiling. "It's no problem." And it really isn't. Because she'll do whatever it takes to keep Christmas magical for her son.

Sally Jackson is a fantastic mother who made sure Percy had the greatest Christmases ever, and no one can convince me otherwise. :)

I hope you enjoyed the story! Tell me what you thought!