Dream State Divine
"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment." — Buddha
Chapter I:
He found his position odd, but not unordinary. Heroes either die or live long enough to become the villain. Percy Jackson was never one to follow the rules though. His entire life was a conundrum, even by demigod standards.
So, maybe it was not that surprising for him to be in Oklahoma. For him to be standing on the front steps of a modest house in the woods, staring into the eyes of Piper McLean. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was at peace. For the first time since the world fell, he felt alive.
There were multiple reasons why he was not supposed to make it to this point. Which is maybe why it felt so right.
Her lips remained closed, curling at the corners as she showed him through the door.
Without sound, it closed behind them.
-Ω-
Percy never wanted fame. The moment it came to him, he hated it. Despised it. Loathed it. Being a son of the Big Three did not come with the perks of mortal notoriety. He could count on one hand the times it did him any good.
He was never going to stick around after the wars. There was no chance he was going to join the Senate in New Rome or run Camp Half-Blood. Politics were not his thing, and he could never be Chiron. They were two different people. Two different men.
He was done making decisions that impacted the many. Having eyes glued to him, watching his every move, waiting for him to make a mistake. He no longer had the patience for it, either.
It had been okay then only because of the people around him. Grover and Thalia and Annabeth.
Annabeth.
They stood facing each other for an eternity, before realizing that there was no longer that invisible string tying them together. It was a relationship formed under duress. Couple that with teenage hormones and a burning desire to have somebody, and you got what they had.
Licking their wounds during the aftermath, he found himself growing apart from her. His love for her stronger than it had ever been, just in a different way. In the end, the fables of heroes returning from war to find their partners waiting for them, were just that.
Annabeth seemed to realize it too. Maybe even before he had, knowing her. And after a hug, kiss, and one last exchange of words, she let go.
And he did too.
It was the way the water flowed that led him from New Rome to Oklahoma.
-Ω-
After war, there is always reconstruction.
Riptide was of no use to help Tristan McLean rebuild his house. There were sections of walls cleaved out by monsters, floors unevened by an angry earth, and cracks in the ceiling widened by time.
The sword meant fighting, bloodshed, death. The glint of the Celestial Bronze stood for never-ending battles and endless prophecies. None of that would do him any good now.
Percy knew that there was no need to feel guilty about it. It was not like he was given a choice. People always did rotten, ugly things during wars. But that did little to hide the scars that persisted. Inside and out.
After a life controlled by the gods, he found it grounding to work with the tools of a mortal. The gods were unreliable, sooner or later they would fail you. Many times, when they were needed the most. But a hammer could not grow legs and walk away.
Tristan managed to impart pearls of wisdom onto Percy, teaching him like a father would a son. And Percy welcomed the opportunity with open arms. The work meant that he was doing something. It meant that he was still here. It meant patching walls, planting a garden, and trimming trees.
Like with everything, their job started with the foundations. There was learning to do before they could begin. Neither him, nor Piper, nor Tristan had ever worked a house before. Meaning that on every available surface, there were papers strewn. Instructions, diagrams, and whatnots that had no business being as complicated as they were.
Lying down on the floor, Percy did mental gymnastics trying to make sense of the gibberish. All the while Piper sat next to him, legs crossed, with a faint smile on her lips. The light streaming from the windows refracted off her eyes, as her hands moved paintbrush across canvas.
Whenever they needed something, they went into town, the New York boy and Hollywood girl sticking out like sore thumbs. As Piper often put it, the two of them were both fashionable and unfashionable at the same time. Percy did not begin to try and discern what she meant by that.
Together, they would spend hours going wherever the wind carried them. There was no place, big or small, that could hide from their curious eyes. Not even the library.
The old man with the ice cream stand knew their faces by heart.
On the way back home, Piper always grabbed Percy's hand, and he never let go.
-Ω-
It was a bright and sunny day when they finally learned how to cook proper meals.
Grand ambitions very quickly became humble goals. Gods, Percy would never understand why so many ingredients were needed to make a cake. His grilled cheeses and barbeque sandwiches were so much easier. And of course, leave it to Piper to spend the better half of an hour decorating a salad.
Tristan was often seen through the kitchen window, mumbling to himself, walking around the lawn with both hands behind his back. One time, Percy asked Piper if she would rather her dad have kept his memories. She answered with a wistful smile, and he left it at that.
-Ω-
They started fixing the floors first. The foundation of the space they lived in.
It came as a surprise to Percy how adept Tristan was with using his hands. The Cherokee had the dexterity of a child of Hephaestus, which was ironic given the mother of his daughter. Piper herself assumed the role of project overseer. She kept them organized, helping when needed, and she was damn good at it. Nothing about her surprised Percy anymore. He always knew that she was capable of anything she set her mind to.
When placing the final floorboard, he looked up, observing the McLean's who were bent over on the other side. It was then that he realized that none of them really spoke. They all knew each other's needs without having to ask.
The silence was refreshing. No questions and no answers. No expectations.
They simply existed.
-Ω-
One evening, Tristan was no where to be found, leaving Percy and Piper to their own devices.
Becoming the norm now, they walked into town, no longer sticking out like sore thumbs. To the town, they were now pretty flowers in a flower bed. Everywhere they went, smiles followed.
They visited many places; all of their favorites. The library first, then the hardware store, a late-night farmer's market, and finally, the thrift store. Piper entered first, dragging him by his wrist, his legs and feet dutifully following through the doorway.
An elderly couple, also there, chuckled at their behavior. Percy sighed as a complaint, Piper pinching his cheek in response. Percy sighed again.
Perusing the shelves, a rusty box eventually caught his eye.
The radio's best days were well behind it now, its antenna with more bends than straight ends. Looking inside, the wirings had lost the battle against time. There was not even a battery there to power it. The metal casing felt fragile to the touch. It was, by every definition of the word, broken.
But Piper fell in love with it, so he had to get it.
On the way back home, she took the radio from him, holding it with both hands. With grace, she held it up to her lips, and whispered something intelligible into its speaker. And wondrously, it began working.
The power of charmspeak never ceased to amaze him.
Side by side, they laid down in the grass outside their home. The soft blades nestled inside the crooks of their necks, the quieting hums of nature massaging their temples.
From the world's edge, the moon made its appearance, giving the darkening sky something worth looking at.
A song neither of them had heard before played through the radio, but Piper still tried to sing along.
Her voice was light and free and ethereal.
It was the most beautiful thing he ever heard.
She swore that she was not using charmspeak on him then. But he knew better. Nothing could convince him otherwise.
Sometime later, they made their way inside, collapsing on their shared mattress on the kitchen floor. The stars shone through the cracks above them, accompanying the moon.
Not-so-sneakily, Piper found her way inside Percy's arms.
-Ω-
Quicker than expected, the house was almost finished. The ranch-style home had been restored to its former glory. The floor felt like a floor, the walls working like walls should, with only the ceiling left to patch.
Everything was where it should be, with everyone where they should be.
Together, along with her dad, they partied like they never had before. That night, the living room became a grand ballroom, the kitchen their bountiful dining hall.
He felt free.
He almost was.
With a drachma, Percy called to check-in on home. Answering was the comforting smile of his mom, Paul and Estelle giggling in the background. She did not say anything about the way he looked, his hair a mess and his clothes worn like rags. The only thing she asked was if he was coming to visit anytime soon.
It pained him to say that it was not yet the right time, but she understood. New York was too filled with memories. It would be a while before they cleared.
Waving his hand through the stream, Percy brought his attention back to father and daughter, who were trying but failing to clean up a spill.
He smiled.
-Ω-
The first time Percy kissed Piper was the Fourth of July.
Again, they were lying in the grass, their body's spent from putting the finishing touches on the house. The sounds of fireworks bursting made him turn to her side. There, he saw Piper, her eyes like shattered glass, her earthy-brown hair glinting like stardust.
It was all too much for him. He leaned over and kissed her.
It was not like kissing Annabeth.
Kissing Piper McLean was silky and sweet. The manifestation of sunshine and rainbows after a rainy day.
For that moment, the blood in his veins was replaced with nectar.
It was everything he imagined it would be, and more.
Lips closing gently, he returned his back to the grass. Though it was not long until he felt a pressure against his shoulder, the scent of lavender kissing him back.
Percy Jackson was almost there.
-Ω-
Piper woke him up one night, dragging him again by the wrist, this time out of the house. He followed without a word, curious, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand.
Tumbling through the trees, they soon reached the edge of a nearby lake, where with a flourish, Piper twirled away from him.
She held out her hand, and he laughed, wrapping her roughened palm inside his.
They fell into each other in what very few would call dancing. Nobody was there to judge them though.
There was only the moon and the stars as their witnesses.
-Ω-
With her mother's touch, she decorated the kitchen with paintings, trinkets and whatnots. It felt cozy, lived-in, and distinctly Piper. There was no single way to describe it all, to describe her. All Percy could do was admire it, admire her.
Wiping her hands clean, she went to stand where he was watching, off to the side. Percy smiled, allowing her to lean into him, wrapping one arm around her waist.
From another room, Tristan warned them that the job was not done yet. There was furniture to be bought, and parts of the house that still required repairs. Probably many other odds and ends as well. The rebuilding would seemingly never end. But Percy was fine with that.
There was not much that bothered him anymore.
Author's Note:
This will be a post-war AU of interconnected one-shots/moments. I'll be trying different things in these, like in this one, where I didn't use dialogue at all. This one in particular was inspired by the quote above, and an old story written by miss izzy92.
Feedback would be appreciated. Hope you enjoyed :)