this is technically the last chapter and after this is the epilogue. also, Percy does die in this story, and it's mentioned towards the end. when it goes into Arthur talking about his 'typical nine-to-five day', i'd say that's when you should stop and just skip the epilogue if you're not into that.

The Mother Who Cried Werewolf

Chapter Nineteen

The Day Of

"They probably don't hate you," Oliver said.

Percy was leaning against the counter at Oliver's job, which he was doing a shite job of. He was working for a bookstore, and all he had to do was sweep the place and ensure that the books were correctly arranged. They were not organised by any system that Percy recognised. Instead of polishing the shop, Oliver was reading his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages and making Quidditch plays on a piece of parchment paper. How many plays could there be? was what Percy wanted to know, but if he asked Oliver that, they'd be talking forever.

"They hate me," Percy said. He'd not seen Audrey in ages, but he'd been sending her letters semi-regularly. Somehow, not seeing her all the time didn't make him paranoid that she'd fallen in love with someone that wasn't dying. It felt natural. Then…well…

"Did you talk about the elephant in the room?"

"Me dying?"

Oliver winced at Percy's tone. It was like he was bringing up the weather. Yes, the weather forecast: impending doom.

"You being abducted by your mum and having a stroke," Oliver said. "Couldn't you have a normal reason for not replying to my letters for a couple of weeks, mate? Could you just have been too busy having fun?"

Percy rolled his eyes. His stroke felt like it didn't even happen, which terrified him. How could a horrible event that marred people's lives be something that hadn't even registered to his family? If Percy didn't walk weird, they wouldn't even know. He was mostly confined to his wheelchair and seldom walked. When he did walk from his wheelchair, people around him stared at him like he was faking needing a wheelchair. It was as if they couldn't see his massive bloody legs and how he dragged one over the other.

"How would I be having fun?" Percy asked, deadpanned.

Oliver started laughing, but suddenly, his laughter did. All excitement from his face disappeared, and he was biting down his lower lip. "You… you can't draw after your stroke, can you?"

"I think I can now, but I've…I've not," Percy said. He was terrified that he still couldn't, so it was better just to wait it out. He'd gone back to reading, though, and he'd bought a new book recently that he enjoyed reading. He'd missed so many book club meetings that he felt like he might as well just not go anymore. It wasn't like he'd made any mates there. What was he going to tell them? He had a stroke at fifteen years old, but he was back for now. And this would be a new group of people that would be used to seeing him—and then suddenly he'd die, and maybe one of them would hear about it. Not pleasant.

"I've not tried that is," he clarified.

Then he admitted to something he didn't imagine saying out loud. "I broke up with Audrey over a letter," he said. "She hasn't written me back." Percy didn't even know if that meant that she was no longer his girlfriend, or if she was hurt, or if she just hadn't gotten round to reading his letter.

Oliver whistled. "Maybe because that's the prattiest thing you've done to date."

"I'm dying," Percy reminded him, as he often did. As he had a few minutes ago.

"Not every relationship needs to lead to marriage," Oliver said, crossing his arms over his desk. "And look, mate, I think you've got it in your head that you're supposed to be isolating yourself before you've gone instead of doing the opposite." That was precisely what Percy had in his mind. "I think I've got what you're doing, but you're coming off as an arsehole. If Ron or Gin or any of the twins were ill and dying, would you want them to push me away?"

"It's not the same," Percy said. They didn't have the history that he did. He closed his eyes, and Oliver flipped the sign in front of him that said they would be back in an hour.

"Let's head out," Oliver said. "Have a coffee. Maybe a pastry."

At the café, Percy stared at the pastries long enough that he became nauseated at the thought of the butter inside of them and ordered a coffee that he knew was an awful idea the second he smelled it. He took a few sips to be polite, but his stomach turned at the smell. Despite his protests, Oliver bought Percy a muffin he ate all the time, which was sticky in Percy's hands. Percy felt disgusted just looking at it.

"Have you eaten anything today, or do you just look at the food now?" Oliver asked. "What kind of diet is this?"

"I'm not on a diet," Percy said. He had read in his brochures about heart failure that one of the symptoms was a loss of appetite. He never thought it would happen to him. If it weren't for his physical discomfort, he would be eating loads regardless of what people said about him. "I'm eating this now," he said and stuffed half of the muffin down his throat so he wouldn't have to taste it.

"You're choking on this now, you mean," Oliver said.

"Oh, piss off."

"Rude."

Percy rolled his eyes at him. "Do you think Audrey would talk to me again?"

"Considering you broke up with her through a letter after you've been missing in action for two weeks, I think that she's probably never going to talk to you again," Oliver said, placing his hands into his pockets.

"Oh," Percy said, feeling the corners of his mouth tug a little. "I've—I've not behaved properly."

"You never behave properly."

Percy couldn't imagine that he'd be standing there with Oliver Wood as his mate. He'd been returning to Hogwarts soon after his mother's…his mother had passed away. Percy tried not to think about it too much because he was a self-centred arsehole in his own opinion. Oliver didn't want to talk about it, so it worked out for them.

"Does she talk to you?" Percy asked. "Audrey?"

"Yeah, she told me she's never going to talk to you again hence why I've said that she's probably never going to talk to you again."

"How touching, Oliver."

As Percy finished the other half of the muffin without tasting it, he peered into the streets of Diagon Alley. He had the coffee in his hand, which looked more appetising now that he had something lining his stomach. The muffin was like lead in his body. He saw Ginny and Ron fighting with each other, each jabbing their finger in the opposite direction.

Percy placed his coffee in the cup holder attached to his wheelchair. He wheeled himself over to them with a haughty expression on his face. He had his chin high and sighed dramatically when he reached them.

"What are you doing now?" Percy said.

"Where've you been?" Ron answered Percy's question with another question, rolling his eyes. "Can't you stay around Diagon Alley with us for longer than three minutes without getting distracted by shiny bookstores?" he snorted, then tossed a look back at Ginny. "We're looking for Ollivander's."

Percy nodded towards another direction entirely to the ones they'd been pointing at. "That way, you mean."

"Yeah, right," Ron turned around and saw that Ollivander's was across from them. "Good guess."

"I thought I was the one that could barely see," Percy said, fixing his glasses just as he said. He could see the twins standing outside, talking to each other and waving their hands in animation. Arthur was standing in front of the store, his hands in his pocket and looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Percy had only been gone for an hour, but his family acted like he'd been gone all day. Ginny had gotten herself a second-hand trunk, some new undergarments, socks and pyjamas that weren't falling apart at the seams. When Percy had been wheeled over to Ollivander's, Arthur turned around and gave Percy a smile that he only registered as awkward. His hands were sweaty as he fixed where Percy was positioned.

"Come on then," Arthur said. "It's time for Ginny to get her wand and for us to go home."

Ginny was beaming. She didn't have any lines to go through, and Ollivander looked like he was having a relaxing day. It wasn't like people came into his shop at all times. Within seconds, he'd found her wand as if it had come to him in a fevered dream. Percy sometimes wondered if Ollivander was on some sort of illegal potion with how flighty he was regarding wands. Yew wood, fourteen inches, twisted and sleek and looked like it was bigger than she was.

"A rare wand," Ollivander told Ginny, "But it never chooses a mediocre owner." He'd said some more things, but Percy had zoned out. He did not want to hear Ollivander tell Ginny all about her unique wand. He'd run through the same thing with the twins and Ron a few years back. He was probably stuck in the same wheelchair as well.

"It's perfect!" Ginny said. "My wand is rare," she told Ron, who stared at his wand as if he'd found it off the ground.

"Bigger than Ron's," Fred said, sneering at his younger brother.

"Bigger than yours, too," Ron said, earning a snort from George, who had a bigger wand than Fred's and Ron's.

Percy smiled as she showed him her wand in excitement. "Look, Percy! I got my wand!" Ginny said. As if she didn't realise that he did not have a wand. "What do you think? Do you think that it's a cracking wand?"

"Let's hope it can keep up with you," Percy said to which Ginny burst into laughter.

"Yes, that's all and well," Arthur said. He placed a hand on Percy's shoulder and then looked up at Ollivander. "What about him?" he asked, gesturing towards Percy, who thought he'd misheard his father. Percy looked up at Arthur, who seemed unwavering in what he said.

Ollivander did his cursory glance at Percy. As if he could see much more than the fact that he was trapped in that bloody wheelchair. When Ollivander had chosen, Percy was excited until he saw what he got. He felt like everything about the wand selected for him was a slap in the face. He didn't like to be vulgar, but he was sure that his knob was longer than his wand. But really, the funny thing was that his wand was made from pine wood with a dragon heartstring. Heart. String. Wonderful. And pinewood! Pinewood!

Percy burst into laughter when he saw his wand. He'd read so many wand magazines that he knew immediately what his wand meant without Ollivander telling him. Pine, the wood wand reserved for curious, introverted wizards with long lives.

"What's so funny?" Arthur asked. Percy couldn't stop smiling. "Your wand isn't that small."

"It's a wand destined for wizards that have long lives," Percy said. Arthur went white.

And yes, it was that small.

After the initial shock at the irony, Percy had been staring at his wand for ages. He'd run his hand alongside every groove and twist, trying to memorise it. He'd made swoops and motions without casting any spells. It was just a novelty, not anything he'd ever have to use. Even though it looked pathetic, he didn't think he wanted to change anything about it. Because it was so short, it was easy to conceal just about anywhere. And ironically enough, it fit perfectly into one of the pouches he had in his wheelchair.

"Dinner," Ron said, poking his head into Percy's room. Percy was sitting at the edge of his bed, his wheelchair in front of him. He groaned at the idea of trying to get there. The effort was tremendous, and he felt like he was starting to decompress from a long day in Diagon Alley.

"Can you help me?" Percy asked.

Ron stared at him and then glanced back at the wheelchair. "You can walk," he said. "Why can't you just walk downstairs?" Percy could imagine how that would go. He, with his funny leg dragging him down, as he tried to make his way down the stairs. He could imagine he'd slip and fall and end up in A&E before they took the bread rolls out of the basket. "Honestly, I don't understand why you need the wheelchair so badly. It's not like you're paralysed or anything."

Percy smiled at his brother, but Ron continued, "Mum made you think you can't walk anymore."

"And my stroke has nothing to do with it."

"You couldn't have had a real stroke. I mean…you're fine now."

Percy found Ron's logic laughable, so he just smiled. Ron did eventually help him in the wheelchair. Downstairs, they all came around the table for their dinner. Percy did think back to Audrey. He did muck up by breaking up with her through a letter, but at the same time, it felt so far removed from his mind when he sat at the table. He didn't feel too well as he stared at his loaded plate of ham, roast potatoes and green beans. Another takeaway. The glug of oil that came with every spoonful he had made him stop eating within the first few minutes of his meal.

After they ate, Ron helped him back up, complaining throughout the journey to his room.

"Can you help me get into my pyjamas?" Percy asked Ron, who stared at him like Percy had asked him for a blowjob.

"I'm not seeing you naked," Ron said. "That's disgusting."

"Alright," Percy said. He didn't even feel embarrassed like usual. He was just tired.

Ron opened Percy's closet and threw a couple of pyjamas over to him. He left after, leaving Percy to huff and puff his way through his pyjamas. It took him longer than last time, and he was shattered afterwards. He lay backwards on the bed, his body aching. Just as he tried to nod off to sleep, he heard his father's voice.

"Percy, you can't ask Ron to help you put your clothes on," Arthur said. "He's eleven. I'd help you do it if you want."

Percy nodded his head at his father. He had never asked Ron to help him, but he felt so bad today. Even lying down, he felt like he was in pain. "Okay," he said. He wasn't even listening to what Arthur had to say. "Can you make me a hot chocolate?" he asked. All he could think about was how much he wanted something warm and sweet before sleeping.

Arthur sighed, his shoulders stiffening. "I have work tomorrow," he said. "Percy, I'd hate to say this, but you can't keep asking me to do whatever you want whenever you want either. Do you understand?"

He nodded his head for the third time but wasn't listening. "Okay," he said.

He tried to go back to sleep but felt nauseous and sickly. He felt like all the acid in his stomach was coming back up his throat, and he felt discomfort around his chest. He tried to find a comfortable way to sit, but he couldn't. An hour later, Percy wore his slippers and made the harrowing journey to the twins' rooms. He could hear them laughing. When he opened the door, he found them on the floor with what looked like nose-biting teacups. Had they made them, or had they bought them?

"Can I stay here?" Percy asked, his shoulders drooping down. He didn't want to be alone. He was scared. He felt like he was dying when he lay down on his bed. He was already sweating through his hairline.

"In our room? Are you mental?"

"Did you smack your head against the wall?"

"Are you suffering from a nervous breakdown?"

"You don't even like our room."

"Besides, what's wrong with yours?"

Percy couldn't tell which one of the twins was talking. "Can you…" he didn't even know what he wanted anymore.

"What are you doing here?" he could hear his father's voice from behind him. Percy listened to the sound of his heart hammering into his chest. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"He wants to sleep in our bed."

"Why?" Arthur said. He looked confused. "What's wrong with your bed?"

"That's what we asked him," Fred said.

"Thought it'll be a nice change, is all," Percy lied.

Percy retreated to his room and climbed onto his bed. He felt warm, so he took off all his bed covers.

"Here," Arthur said, appearing by the doorway with a cup of hot chocolate. Percy sat up, smiling at him. "Do you need a Sleeping Potion?"

"I think I'm alright," Percy said. Why was he lying so much? He didn't feel alright. He would love a Sleeping Potion.

He stayed there for an hour trying to sleep, but all the positions he tried were uncomfortable. He got up from his bed, sat by his desk, and tried to draw, but his hands were shaky. He couldn't do a circle without trembling. He turned to the side of the parchment paper and stared at it. He wanted to write something, but nothing was coming to his mind. It was like he was in a fog.

He walked out of his room again and walked to Ginny's room. When he opened the door, he found her splayed out across her bed, dressed in a massive nightgown. Her hair was everywhere, and she was snoring.

Percy sat at the edge of her bed, shaking her awake. She yawned and rubbed one of her eyes.

"Can I see your wand again?" he asked.

She didn't even look at him like he'd lost all his gobstones. She just reached over her desk and smacked his shoulder with her wand. "Hey!" Percy said, but really, he deserved it. She then gave it to him. He held it in her hand, her massive fourteen-inch wand with that beautiful yew wood.

"Percy, can we deal with your insecurity about not going to Hogwarts tomorrow?" she asked, groaning into her pillow. "It's like…I don't know. What is it? Two? Three am?"

"One," Percy said. It felt like it was much later in the night. I'm scared; he wanted to say, but he didn't.

He was scared about going to sleep. He didn't think that he would ever wake up. Nobody would know everything that had happened between him and his mum if he died.

"It's better like this without our mother," Percy said. His opening statement.

"Percy, go to sleep."

He smiled. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but that could easily be explained to others by his perpetual exhaustion. He leaned down and pressed his lips against Ginny's forehead, who just wiped it away, "Gross!"

He walked out of Ginny's room, feeling the pounding in his heart become louder with every step he took. He barely reached his room and collapsed onto the closest thing to him—his wheelchair. He gasped, his cheeks going pink. He coughed, spitting out pink, thick froth everywhere that tasted like blood. After he felt himself go back to his baseline, he made his way to his bed. His pyjama bottom slid down, but he couldn't bear himself to have the energy to pull it back up.

Percy could wake his father up and tell him about his palpitations and how sick he felt. He would probably end up in the hospital, probably another admission, and probably be sent back home to repeat the cycle until their luck ran out one day.

He couldn't fall asleep no matter how hard he tried. He felt awful and clung to his bedsheets, sweating and whimpering. At some point, his funny heart rhythms became so painful and so irregular and pounding that he started to cry. He felt himself grow breathless, so much so that he focused on deepening his shallow breaths as if he was deprived of oxygen. He tried to get out of his bed just to get away from how sticky it was after he'd broken into a sweat, but just placing his feet on the ground was painful from how swollen his feet were. He tried to drag himself to the wheelchair, but the second he fell backwards onto his wheelchair, it broke.

He fell to the ground, his cheeks reddening. He was so embarrassed. He had no dignity left. He asked his eleven-year-old brother if he could help him get dressed, and he'd managed to break his wheelchair in one night.

Percy thought his heart might stop when he caught sight of his new wand on the ground, snapped in half.

He heard his door open. Percy looked up to see his father standing there. He saw the wheelchair and broken wand, and Percy looked away from him, his cheeks colouring in. He noticed his father's eyebrows furrowing and his lips pursed tightly together as if he was trying not to say anything. Percy stared at him. He was wondering what he'd do next. He'd get a proper scolding, he'd imagine. But instead, Arthur leaned against the door. He was probably supposed to be in his work robes by now, but he was still clad in his pyjamas. His eyes were bloodshot.

"It's alright," Arthur said. "Percy, are you alright?"

"I'm okay," Percy said.

What was he supposed to say to that?

"Let me help you change, alright?" Arthur said. He gestured towards Percy's pyjama bottoms. At first, he didn't understand, but when Percy looked down, he realised he'd torn his pyjama bottoms. They were split in half at his crotch. "What pyjamas do you want?"

Percy didn't think he could lose any more of his dignity, but it turned out that he could. He used to like the red ones the most.

"Nothing fits me," Percy said.

Arthur frowned as he took in Percy's body. He was disappearing underneath the water his body kept on retaining. "I'll get you something new," he said, even though they didn't have any money. Not really. There was no money for a new wand that Percy didn't need or for new pyjamas that he would probably outgrow.

A typical nine-to-five day went by. Arthur did not take a lunch break. He fell asleep by his desk and had to be roused by Perkins, who looked at him with pity that Arthur felt like smacking his old friend. After a long day at work, Arthur went to the local chippy and bought fish and chips for everyone at the house. He had counted the meals a bunch of times to ensure that he wasn't excluding anyone. By six in the evening, he walked into his house and was enveloped by its warmth. The containers of fish and chips were heavy and still hot in his hands. The living room was empty but peering into the kitchen, he found Ginny, Ron and the twins sitting in front of a mixing bowl of cake ingredients. They were eating raw cake batter they made straight from the bowl, their faces covered in a chocolaty paste. All of them were using their hands. Arthur felt his heart warm at the sight as he placed the plastic bags of takeaway containers on the counter.

When the hot smell of fried foods hit them, Ginny and Ron perked up, but Fred and George groaned. At least Arthur knew which one of his kids would do well in a food-eating contest.

"Call your brother down for dinner," Arthur said. He didn't even think about it. He said it like he'd said it every other day of the week. He was famished and wanted to get stuck in as soon as possible.

Ginny was the first to go to the sink and wash all the chocolate bits off her face and hands. She sprinted upstairs as Arthur sat down and took a deep breath. He was exhausted. His mind was swirling with images of his bed. He would eat, ensure his kids were doing all right, and give the house a quick clean because it had been a few days. As soon as Arthur relaxed on that chair, Ginny returned.

"Dad, I think there's something wrong with Percy," she said.

Percy, his heart hammered into his chest. He was thinking of the worst. Percy was dying. Percy was dead. Percy was dying. Percy was dead. Arthur barely registered his daughter's voice. She was no longer skipping her way upstairs but tentatively followed Arthur as he walked up the stairs. His mind was blank, not thinking of anything as he stormed past, all the aches in his body had ebbed away. Ron and the twins were downstairs, the twins probably nursing their stomach aches when Ron finished the bowl.

There was something funny in the air when Arthur opened the door, something off-putting and wrong. Percy's wheelchair was left precisely where it had been last night, his wand in two pieces on the ground. Arthur flickered his eyes to the bed. There was sleeping, and there was what Percy was doing. Percy was not sleeping. His eyes were half-open, his lips slightly parted. Arthur had never seen him have that colour before. He had an almost blue-like tinge to his skin. His lips were white. His hair had gotten wet somehow, but now, it was drying.

"Percy," Arthur shook him. His son barely moved. He was solid and cold, but he wasn't there.

"Dad, is he…?"

Arthur's eyes moved to Percy's chest, moving. He could feel Percy's shallow breath on the back of his knuckles. He wasn't, but he would be soon if he didn't do anything. He looked back at the wheelchair. He Reparo-ed it but shivered at the idea of trying to place his son in it. Levitating Percy carefully and putting him in the wheelchair took him some time. He could feel the wheelchair quaking underneath Percy's weight. His clothes still had that new clothes smell. He had been chuffed with himself when he'd gone in that morning before work and got Percy a new pair of pyjamas. He'd thought that he'd been doing too much, as usual, but he couldn't bear to go to work knowing that he wasn't comfortable.

Percy reached out to the ground, and Arthur looked back. He pointed at a thin blanket that had fallen when Arthur shifted him to the wheelchair. His hand was unsteady and had barely moved. He noticed Percy staring at the small dresser beside his bed. Arthur picked up the water bottle, seeing how cracked and dry Percy's lips were and devoid of colour.

He didn't throw up the water when Arthur tried to give it to him. It spilt out from the corner of his mouth.

"They're probably going to take Percy to the hospital again," he heard Fred say as his younger children came downstairs. Arthur looked back at Ginny, who matched Percy in terms of how pale she was. Wolf, wolf, wolf. Another hospital visit, another regular day. Not.

The urgency at the hospital made him realise what kind of a monster he was for being at work when his child was losing his life. He had been fine today morning; he wanted to tell them. He had forced Percy to eat a slice of toast and had given him a Sleeping Potion despite his protests. Was this because he'd given him that Sleeping Draught? When it was what his healers had prescribed him. The second the nurses looked at him, he was back in the resuscitation room. Arthur could remember that corner he stood in like it was yesterday. He'd heard a healer wondering how he was still alive. Blood pressure readings that Arthur didn't even know were compatible with life itself. They put a tube through his tracheostomy after they'd suctioned out what looked like blood from his tracheostomy. A lot of blood. They put that line through his neck and were pumping potions in him like they were giving Percy a bloodline he could cling onto.

Ginny, the twins and Ron were with him, because he had to bring them. He couldn't just leave them in the house. He couldn't believe he'd just left for work like it was a regular day. He remembered that Xenophilius did his usual check, that he'd thought that it was okay to leave the twins in charge. Percy usually was the one in charge, but he'd looked tired. Make sure your brother is alright, he'd instructed Fred and George. Make sure he eats something, takes his potions, and have something to do besides sleep. They were thirteen-year-old boys. If they didn't take on their role as Percy's temporary caretaker, it was hardly their fault now, was it?

Why hadn't he insisted that Bill and Charlie come home? Tell them that he didn't care about their bloody jobs abroad and this was a family crisis? They were losing their brother and weren't even there to see it happen.

He'd been fine that morning, Arthur tried to remember. Just before he left, he stuck his head into Percy's room. He told him about the emergency wand (how stupid was he, anyway? Percy could barely get out of the bed as it was without assistance) and that if he needed any help, he could tell the twins. He should've known something was wrong when Percy kept walking into everyone else's room, asking them for things like hot chocolate and if he could sleep in someone else's room that night. Maybe he'd known yesterday that he was legitimately dying. And how come Arthur couldn't pick it up?

Just because your son had dodged death more than once or twice didn't mean he was immune to dying… and he'd never seen Percy in that colour before.

"Was he alright when you went in to see him?" Arthur asked the twins.

"We...um..."

They didn't.

"Oh," Arthur said.

"He's always okay," George said. "He's going to be okay this time too."

"He's white," Ginny said. "Like a ghost."

Arthur berated himself for how numb he felt when the healers took him aside and told him that Percy would not make it through. Poor prognosis, he'd heard them say amongst themselves. He was told that his son would die, but some part of him didn't believe it. He felt like no matter what, Percy would push through because he'd pushed through everything so far. Even his poor young children didn't take the news badly. They were waiting for Percy to make a miraculous overturn as he had a million years before. His son had a stroke a month back and recovered without even trying.

He would be fine this time too. Right?

They tapped his stomach, and Arthur couldn't hide his surprise with the litres of water they pulled out. Litres of water were compressing against his organs. At the end of it, he could hear Percy produce a sound that registered Arthur as a near sigh of relief. They spent the next two days taking water out of him, and his son was shrivelled up so much he barely looked like a human being at the end of it. His skin was translucent from how pale he was. Even with them tapping litres of water out of him, his stomach still felt like it had more. It was strange seeing Percy with his stomach and legs so bloated that they felt like they belonged to a twenty-stone man, but his ribs and collarbones jutted out like a starved animal. His arms were still swollen and oedematous, water seeping out of them.

"Is he really going to die this time?" Ron asked in a small voice.

When he saw him like that, when he looked at him, Arthur knew that Percy would die. That day, that week. Soon. His son was taking his last breaths.

"Yes," he said, but even as he did, there was still that little kernel of denial (hope?) inside of him that things would be just fine.

That night, they spent twenty minutes on his son's CPR.

Arthur noticed they didn't compress Percy's chest all the way and didn't give him the same amount of attention they did the first time. Everyone knew that he was a lost cause. He wished he'd held him for longer, hugged him more, kissed his head. Talked to him. Talked to him. Arthur thought there would be daysweeksmonthsyears for that. He was drowning in regrets. Suffocating.

When they told Arthur that his son was dead, he fainted.