Percy's bed was hard and grainy, and birds were chirping in his ear. A warm breeze ruffled his hair. When a small bird landed on his chest, he opened his eyes.

He wasn't in a bed at all, but was lying on warm sand and green leaves. Pale blue sky filled his vision. When the bird flew away, he turned his head and followed it, and saw that he was on a very small beach. A gentle, lazy sea lapped at the sand nearby, creating a safe, familiar sound of rhythms and comfort.

He also saw that he was not alone.

A suntanned, dark-bearded man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts rested on the shore, a fishing line cast out into the depths, looking for all the world as if he was just enjoying the sun on a lazy weekend.

Percy blinked and sat up, running his hands through his hair to discard the sand, and a tiny hermit crab that went scuttling toward the sea.

"A deep sleeper," Poseidon commented, checking his fishing rod, the handle of which was buried deep in the sand.

Percy rubbed his eyes. "Not usually," he heard himself say.

Indeed, he felt as though he were emerging from a deep haven of calm, warmth, and safety. Somehow, even upon waking to this strange place, the feelings lingered.

He glanced around, but there was only the blue of the sky, the glittering of the sea, the green leaves and warm sand. It seemed to be a small island, of sorts. Something in its feel reminded him of another island he'd once visited; a place that had been a retreat, a reprieve. A place to rest.

"Where…where are we?" He asked, momentarily distracted by the hermit crabs journey over the sand.

Poseidon considered this a moment, then took a long drink from a can marked 'Nectar.'

"Does it matter?" He asked thoughtfully, settling the can into the sand.

Percy thought about this, and found that it did not, particularly.

"I hope you feel rested," Poseidon said. "It takes a lot of strength to tear down Olympus, brick by brick." Percy didn't know if he imagined it, but he thought he saw the shadow of a wink on the sea god's face.

"I wasn't…" Percy mumbled, trailing off. He didn't have an explanation; what had he planned to do?

Nothing, because he'd had no plan. He never planned anything.

"Look, I…"

"How's your mother?" Poseidon asked abruptly, surprising him.

Percy thought about his mother. He thought about the last time he'd seen her, and what he had said. About how he had behaved for the last handful of months. Shame flooded in, and he folded his hands behind his neck, looking down and kicking at the sand.

He drew a breath. "I…" He squinted in the sunlight. He didn't owe an explanation to his father; he knew that. Poseidon, of all people, did not deserve any justification about how families worked. He didn't need to answer a thing.

"I messed up." Percy blurted. "I've been treating her like—well…like garbage, I guess."

His face felt hot as he remembered what he'd said to Paul, too. His eyes flickered over the man before him, relaxed and watching his fishing line bob in the water. Wasn't Paul more of a dad to him than this man? Paul, who helped with homework, and made dinner, who always welcomed Percy's friends, and was there, every single day, for his mother.

And yet—this was the man, here in front of him, who Percy had longed for—had needed—his entire life.

"That makes more than one of us, then." Poseidon remarked, glancing at Percy. "Who have regrets when it comes to your mother, that is."

Percy didn't know what to say to that. The two of them were quiet for a minute.

Poseidon reeled in his line, checked it, then cast it out to sea again.

"Perseus." He ran a hand over his beard. "My boy. My son." He shook his head, seemingly to himself, as if marveling over something. Then he gave a deep sigh, and turned to face Percy. His twinkling green eyes were ancient.

"If you will remember, my son, you were once offered a way out."

For a moment, Percy didn't know what to say. He remembered the throne room, the question, and Annabeth looking like she might pass out. He remembered the decision. It had all seemed so clear, then.

"Would that really have been…" He scratched his head, thinking. "I mean, I would still have to live with my past, right?"

Poseidon considered. "Yes…and no. Things are…different, for the immortal. Time is a slippery thing. Sometimes morals are, as well. At least, after the first few thousand years." He sighed. "Humanity and its quarrels and qualms are put into a new perspective. And sometimes…" He thought for a moment. "Sometimes everything has a way of just…going by. And what used to matter ceases to matter at all."

Percy looked at him. "And that's what it's like for you? Time goes by and nothing matters?"

"For some centuries of my existence, yes. That is very much what it can be like." His father considered the tide. Then he turned and looked directly at Percy. "But every now and then—rarely—something comes along that causes the world to slow. And to matter, again."

Percy broke from his gaze, and considered the sand at his feet.

"I do know something of life, Percy," Poseidon continued. "Of quests, and of heroism. And one of those things is this: It is not always during the adventure of the moment that things are hardest. That's when one is too distracted by glory, or survival, or saving friends." He sighed. "No. It is after, when the exaltation and the blood has faded, that, at times, the real storm can begin."

Poseidon shook his head sadly. "That is, in part, why I wanted to offer you immortality. An exit out of that suffering, I suppose. A respite. And then, of course, I knew that only more quests—more war—was ahead, if you stayed mortal." He looked at his fishing pole. "It was the best I could offer, after everything."

Percy stared out at the ocean. His eyes, so exposed in all that searing sunlight, were not dry. He swallowed hard, and said nothing.

Poseidon was quiet, too. For a while, there was only the gentle sound of the waves.

And then Percy thought again of what this tiny island—or whatever it was—had first reminded him of. Another place he'd been unexpectedly blasted, and then cared for, and then offered an—what had Poseidon called it?—an exit. An escape from the suffering, and the reality. From life.

It had been tempting, in its own way. But that had never been who he was. From the beginning, he was somebody who always ended up in the thick of it—the biggest parts. The bad and good. I would've missed so much.

He ran a hand through his hair, and looked at his father, who was also looking at him.

"I'm not here to tell you how to live, Percy," Poseidon said. "I am a god; I don't have that wisdom. But I do want to remind you of the people in your life. If you are going to walk this path of mortality, you are not meant to do it alone. There are ways to make it easier. To open up your suffering. And to accept help. That is one thing I have observed over all this time."

Percy drew a deep breath. Before he knew it, he nodded.

"You were not born with an easy destiny, Percy. I know you have resentments, and I won't argue with your right to them. But it is time I mentioned that—" He stopped, and cleared his throat. "The fact is, I was more present than you ever knew. I was behind the scenes your whole life, making things easier in ways you could not see." Poseidon ran a hand down his beard again. "Of course, the real credit goes to your mother for the way that you turned out. I had to stick to my own territory. And so once more, she will be the one to see you through this mortal terrain."

A shadow passed by overhead. Glancing up, Percy saw a cloud covering the sun. The leaves around him started to blow in a sudden, cooler breeze. The waves came slightly harder over the sand. The mood was changing as the air started to fade, and feel just slightly distant.

Percy thought about what he'd just heard. It was hard to entirely process. He would need to think about it, for a while. He was unsure of what exactly he felt.

Poseidon was reeling in his line, again. This time, the pole bent under an invisible weight, and then a fish emerged on the end of the line. "Aha," Poseidon declared with satisfaction. "Got one. Hello, you beauty."

The fish was indeed beautiful: huge and silver, but shining with a changing rainbow of colors, depending on which direction it thrashed. Percy's surroundings continued to feel farther away, like the fade out at the end of a movie, or waking from a dream.

"Hey, dad?"

The word still felt strange on his tongue. Poseidon lowered his arm and looked over at him.

A thing that had been weighing on Percy for a long time suddenly found its way up, and out of his mouth as a question. "How come—how come you never had any more kids, after me? I mean, y'know, demigod kids?"

He swallowed the rest of the question. Was it because I was such a disaster? Because I came along and ruined everything?"

"I mean," he added quickly. "I know there was the oath, and all that. But—it just seems like no one else ever took it that seriously. And the others all had, like, more than one kid, so…" He trailed off, already wishing he could take it back.

Poseidon's face was contemplative as he studied his fish. His eyes were twinkling in a way that seemed slightly sad, but also deep with something that was not sad at all. He unhooked the fish, still wriggling, and all in a practiced arc, tossed it back out to sea. Then he leaned on his fishing pole, and regarded Percy.

"And the answer to that, my boy, is easy. I never went looking for anything in the mortal world after you came into it. You were, quite simply, everything I had ever waited for."

…

The first light of day made Thalia's pine tree glow pink and gold in the fading gray. Percy gave it a pat as he passed by, nodding to the dragon coiled at its base. He paused a moment, taking in the golden rays over his camp.

He had woken again nearly a mile from Half-Blood Hill. Thanks for the walk, dad, he'd thought as he dusted himself off and started the trek. But he hadn't really minded.

Now, he hesitated just outside cabin six, before easing open the door and stealing in. He ducked low through the slumbering bunks, his finger going to his lips when one small, curly-headed camper peeked out around her pillow. She watched him wide-eyed, eyes flicking to the head counselor's bunk, then giggled and theatrically closed her eyes again.

He grabbed Annabeth's wrist gently, then put a finger over her lips when her eyes flew open. His mouth went to her ear. "Watch the sunrise with me."

Seconds later, they'd stolen soundlessly out of the cabin and were out in the early, golden air, heading toward the lake.

Annabeth had a blanket wrapped around her, sleepy, yawning, and beautiful. "Should I ask how it is you're here at this hour?" She asked him, holding back a smile and pushing his hands away from her blanket. She seemed happy to see him.

"Nah." He ruffled his hair, looking out at the lake, which was lit up in a rainbow of sunrise. "Just wanted to see this. With you."

They sat on a log, and he twined his fingers through hers. "By the way, Maddie totally saw me just now. Have fun dealing with that, later."

She leaned her head against him, turning her smile into his shoulder. "I've dealt with worse."

He kissed her hair. "True. Very true."

"Speaking of…" She played with his fingers. "Do I dare show my face around your mom, after the other day?"

His arm went around her. "When are you going to realize my mom thinks you hung the freaking moon?"

She snuggled into his side, lowering the blanket from around her chin. "Okay, but…"

Whatever she was going to say ended there, when she saw how Percy was staring at her. "What…?"

Then her hand went to her hair, at the same time his hand did.

He kept staring. "When…when did this happen?"

Her long, tangled blond hair had been chopped short, above her shoulders, just below her chin. It's natural waviness gave it a slightly messy, confident, carefree look. She looked even older. She looked…

She swallowed, touching it. "I just…I needed the change. I didn't think much about it. I did it in the bathroom the other day, actually."

She looked uncertain. "Do you…do you hate it?"

Percy gathered her curls in his hand, running the soft, golden strands between his fingers, savoring the unfamiliar feel of the ends. He pulled her closer to him, brushing her hair back. "Hate it? No—no! You look hot." He kissed her temple, her ear. "You look beautiful."

She tucked her face into his neck, and gave a small smile. "Okay," she whispered.

He rested his chin on top of her head, and looked out at the sunrise. "Okay," he repeated.

The lake was smooth and peaceful. The entire camp was quiet, filling gently with light. If I'd never come to this place, I'd be dead, Percy thought. He breathed in slowly, smelling the familiar clean scent of nature, of early morning, and Annabeth's hair.

It was mostly good times, too. It was the best. The braided contrast of it ached in his chest. He breathed in again, closing his eyes, and let himself feel it.

After a while, he found it wasn't so bad as before. The feelings didn't kill him. At least, not here. Not now. He could let it ache. He could bear it.

The lemony scent of Annabeth's hair distracted him. He buried his face in it, kissing the top of her head. One day, this could be what you wake up to every morning. The smell of her hair.

The thought bloomed unexpectedly in his mind. It filled his chest with a wave of something else; something warm and wild and filled with light.

He lifted his head, and sat up straighter. His fingers tightened through hers, his thumb rubbing over the reassuringly alive pulse in her wrist.

"Do you…" He looked out over the lake, and took a deep breath. "Do you ever think about…finding the bronze dragon in the woods?"

Annabeth tipped her head up and smiled at him. "And the cave, and the ants?"

He nodded. "And all that treasure."

"And us totally demolishing you at Capture the Flag?"

He snorted. "By cheating."

"Having a brilliant strategy is not—"

"Okay, okay, okay," he conceded, kissing her ear. "You won fair and square." He looked back out over the water. "That was the best."

Her voice went quiet, thoughtful. "Yeah," she agreed. "It was."

Then, "Do you ever think about them?" He traced her palm, looking at it. "Beckendorf and Selena?"

Because of course, they both knew that was what they were really talking about.

He saw her swallow. "Yeah," she admitted. "I think about them a lot."

"Me too."

They were quiet a minute.

Then Annabeth slowly smiled. "Do you remember that time…"

He let her tell him. He did remember the time, and the next one that came after. And he wanted to talk about it. To keep their friends alive, not as ghosts, but as people. To stop pretending things were normal, when really, they were hard.

The sun rose, and the camp woke up around them, turning slowly toward morning, and the movements of life.

…

The apartment was quiet when Percy got home.

The lights were off. Sun filtered in through the windows, making soft rectangles on the floor. Percy stood at the kitchen sink a minute, and his eyes landed on something silvery and delicate in the flower box outside. Moonlace. A reminder of where he'd once been, and the choice he'd made.

And, he supposed, of the cheesy thing his mom had once said: what could unexpectedly persist, even in uncommon circumstances.

He sighed, looking around. Where were his parents? And what in Hades name was he going to say to them, after the things he'd said the night before? Cruel, unintended things, which made him feel sick shame just remembering. Things that weren't like him—ones that had the potential for real damage.

He cast his mind back over it, and found he couldn't quite remember their faces. There was something hazy, blue, and disjointed about the memory. Even now, the pieces felt fragmented in his mind, fuzzy and hard to remember. It—it had happened, hadn't it? He had had a dream, woken up, said unforgivable things, and—and what? Stormed across New York City at three in the morning?

He looked down at his hands, which he seemed to remember had become bloody at some point, but now felt and appeared perfectly fine. He turned to the sink, ran the tap, and intuitively prodded at the stream of water, feeling a light hum of energy sing in his bloodstream, as familiar as his own name.

The water responded, droplets lifting into the air to hover in place, before gently pattering down into the sink.

A long breath left Percy that he didn't know he'd been holding.

Suddenly parched, he opened the cupboard for a glass. Did it really matter what was real and not real? But no, it did. It did when it affected the people in your life. The people who cared.

There was a small paper bag in the cupboard, looking hastily stowed, which he knocked aside for a glass. The bag tipped over, something falling and rolling at his feet. Cursing impatiently, Percy bent to grab it.

And froze.

It was a small plastic bottle of vitamins, with big letters across the front.

Letters that made Percy's head swim, but that even his dyslexic eyes could read.

Prenatal.

The seal was broken on the bottle, as if it had been opened. Which meant it had been used. With numb fingers, he stared at it, and then dropped it back in the bag. Then took it out, again.

Prenatal. As in pregnant. As in…

His mother was pregnant. His mother was going to have a baby. Right? There was no other explanation. There was no question in it, no what if. She was taking vitamins that people took when they were going to have a baby. Sally Jackson. His mother.

And now…somebody else's mother, too. At least, eventually. And then…forever.

Percy continued to stare at the bottle. He thought of his mom. His mother, who had always just been…his. And who had been the best. She had sacrificed so much. Had given him so much. He thought of sitting with Annabeth on the lakeshore, the smell of her hair, and realizing he could have a future where he woke up to her every single day. He thought of his childhood. It's nearly over, he realized. There's other stuff ahead. Stuff that's hard, but maybe even—maybe some of it's better.

He thought, suddenly, of a giggling baby crawling up to tug at his legs, or laughing in a bubble bath, and his head spun.

When his parents came home half an hour later, he was sitting at the table, flicking his pen between his fingers. His mom came in first. She wearing the blue sweater that she usually wore when she was happy, and the long earrings that Paul had given her for their anniversary.

She set down a bag of library books, looking breathless and slightly caught.

"Oh hello, honey! You're already back from camp!" She smiled at him. "I was just out running some errands. The library, after, um, an appointment—"

She froze. Her eyes had landed on the plastic bottle he'd left out on the counter, right in the bright glow of the sun.

Her hands went to her mouth, then she picked up the bottle, staring at it, then at him. "Oh…Percy, I—"

But before she could say anything more, he had scraped back his chair, shoved his pen back in his pocket, walked over, and hugged her.

…

They ordered takeout that night, and Paul put on a Frank Sinatra record, which Sally changed to the Beatles, which Percy changed to the White Stripes.

The bottle of vitamins sat in the middle of the table, a centerpiece to the night's discussions.

"We won't change a thing about your room," Paul insisted. "The baby's crib will go in with us. You might find some spare diapers under your bed, but besides that, it'll be just as you left it."

"For all of your breaks, and when you come home for the summer," Sally added. "And any time college gets tough, and you need a place to land, for a while."

Percy cracked open his fortune cookie. "You can fill it with more than diapers. As long as the kid has good taste and leaves up the Led Zeppelin posters, we're all good."

Sally leaned forward and smoothed down the unruly part of his hair. "You've always been a generous kid."

He shrugged, a corner of his mouth lifting. "Well, I'm hardly gonna be here, right?"

And he realized it was true, and that it felt good. After so many months of stagnancy and avoidance, it felt good to be talking about the future. To realize there were things ahead, ones that he could feel in the air, and the feel was light, tangible, even hopeful.

He unfolded his fortune. Instead of words, there was a small symbol, simple and blue: a trident.

Percy looked at it for a moment, words coming back to him. I was more present than you ever knew.

He swallowed, and glanced back up at his parents. Paul was getting up to get more sparkling water from the kitchen. On the way, he paused and kissed Sally's hair. Sally was smiling, her feet resting on the coffee table. The b-side of the record was playing now; not as good as the first, but there were a couple tracks Percy had always thought deserved more air time.

He couldn't help but wonder if certain stark realities had been smoothed over for them, as well; a gift from a god who could help in singular ways.

Whatever the case, he folded the fortune again and tucked it in his pocket, beside riptide. He thought of his father. And then he stood, grabbing an empty carton, and went into the kitchen to find Paul.

…

Later that evening, after they'd eaten personal pints of ice cream and googled different oceanic career paths, after Percy and Paul had done the dishes together, and Sally had brought out some of Percy's old baby clothes in a fit of nostalgia, and finally Paul had insisted he really did have to go to bed, Sally stopped Percy in the kitchen, and asked him to sit down.

She slid a scrap of paper in front of him. "It's the name of a therapist," she said quietly. "I asked Chiron about it. She's a demigod; the daughter of Apollo, it turns out. And she lives outside the city. She knows about your world, sweetheart. I think she might understand."

Percy stared at the paper. A name was scrawled there, a number, an address, some other notes.

"She's been traveling recently," Sally went on. "So it's taken some time. But she's open to seeing new clients starting next week. I can drive you. That is—if you're ready. I know this needs to happen in your own time. But honey, I really think…"

Percy looked at the words on the paper, which signified something he hadn't known existed. It made his stomach squirm, and his hands feel cold, to think of what that might mean. Talking to someone—not just Annabeth—and telling the truth. Someone who would want to know things.

And then he thought of what Poseidon had said. About what he had observed of humanity over all his ancient centuries. There are ways to make it easier.

Swallowing hard, Percy looked up from the paper. He looked at his mother.

"Yeah." He released a breath. "Okay, mom. I'll go."

…

A few months later

…

His room looked empty without the usual mess.

His bags were packed, microwave ordered, dorm room assigned. The trunk of the car was stuffed with new things like organization tubs and a wastepaper basket, things he'd never needed before. At least, not all to himself.

Things for a new place, and a new kind of life.

He had left some of his things behind, including the posters on the walls. "We have to start the kid out young," he'd maintained. "It's never too early for decent music education." Otherwise his sibling would be left to their parents' ancient, snore-inducing archive. Even if he wasn't always around, he had to give the kid a chance in life.

The plan was to iris message weekly with his therapist, at least for the start. It was still early, and he sometimes dreaded the weekly appointments, but he tended to leave feeling lighter, and there was a reason he kept going back. And once he got settled in, there would be more options; as it turned out, New Rome had plenty of their own mental health counselors.

He had brought up the subject a few times with Annabeth. She was guarded and at times dismissive, but he had time.

"Hey, d'you want these textbooks?"

Grover stood in the doorway, flipping through a precarious stack of school texts. "This one could be really useful actually, there's a bunch of history on Rome—"

"Definitely not." Percy zipped up a duffel bag, shoving down the skateboard on top to force it closed.

"Your mom said—"

"There's no more room. Shove them under the bed."

Grover considered a second, shrugged, and did so. He glanced around the room. "Well, you'll be back for Thanksgiving…"

"Christmas, probably."

Grover grinned. "There'll be a crib and changing table in here by then."

Percy tried to wrap his mind around that. "Yeah. Maybe so."

His friend punched his arm. "Change is good."

"Yeah," Percy said quietly, looking at all his packed up things. "It is."

Grover went to the door. "Well, I'm gonna head to the kitchen and finish assembling our road trip snacks. Paul had some inspired last minute additions—"

"Hey, Grover."

The satyr turned. "Yeah?"

Percy fiddled with riptide for a second, then put it away, and looked at his best friend. "I'm really glad you were the satyr assigned to Yancy Academy six years ago."

Grover looked back at him. "Me too, Percy. Me too."

There was nothing more that needed to be said. Grover left to collect the snacks and check on Sally and Paul, who were outside playing Tetris with all the things that needed to fit in the car.

Percy swung his duffel onto his shoulder, grabbed a backpack and a plastic tub, and walked out of his childhood bedroom, leaving the door open behind him.

.

.

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Thank you for reading! This is almost certainly the end, and possibly the end for my PJO writing in general. It's been absolutely wonderful, but I can feel myself moving on. Thank you so, so much for all of the support and comments, both on this story and all of them. I would love to hear what you think. (Unless you hate it, in which case, I don't need to hear it ;)

The last thing I want to say is this: If there is a story or scene you wish I had written, or want someone else to write, please try your hand at writing it yourself. We need more writers, you will improve as you go, and it is more fun than you think! Xoxo. Thank you again.