11/29/20

Got sucked back into the pit that is video games, but I hope I've made up for the long wait with a longer chapter than normal! :)

Wordcount: 3477

Home Sweet Home

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Percy POV:

Percy drifted in and out of consciousness. His eyelids fluttered, and he was staring at an arched ceiling made of some black stone, a figure kneeling over him. The sounds of a battle reached his ears, but his consciousnesses was leaving him like air out of a leaky balloon. His eyes closed, and when he next came too, everything was quiet, save for a quiet buzzing, likely from some type of lighting. He tried to pry his eyes open, but what felt like fifty-pound weights held them closed. Questions floated around his half-conscious mind. Where was he? Where was everyone? Had they abandoned him? Was he dead?

As the rest of his senses came back to him, he began to piece together where he was. The soft silk sheets of a bed covered him, his head carefully resting on a pillow. The sensation of finally being back in a real bed was almost euphoric. For everything Tartarus held, beds were not a common inhabitant.

Something next to him shifted, the sound of creaking wood echoing around the small room. His pulse jumped, and he once again tried to pry open his eyes, but to no avail. Instead, he settled for a pathetic whimper as he tried in vain to wiggle his body away from the source of the noise.

A hand settled on his shoulder, and he involuntarily flinched. A voice spoke next to him, and it took a moment to recognize it. Poseidon. The knowledge didn't exactly calm him, but at least his father wasn't very likely to blast him to itty bitty pieces.

"Rest, child. We will be here when you wake." A pulse of godly energy ran through him, and he slowly slipped back into unconsciousness.

Poseidon POV:

As the god rested his hand on his only mortal child's shoulder, a grave sadness weighed on him. He felt better than he had been when Perseus was presumed dead, but not by much.

When he had first seen the unconscious body of his son, along with the supposedly dead former lieutenant of Artemis, he wondered what in his name had happened down there. He was skinny, not overly so, but he had lost a good twenty pounds, and he had been cold to the touch, his body temperature dangerously low. His skin had lost its Mediterranean completion, making him look more like his older brother's spawn than his own. One of his arms had just been badly broken, but it had been set properly, so all Apollo had to do was coerce it to heal with a little godly energy and it was good as new.

A darkness hung around his sleeping body, and a strange energy emitted from the boy. It was very slight, and had he not been his father, he would have been none the wiser, but it raised many questions. For a moment, he wondered if he had perhaps ran into one of the primordials of the pit. It would explain the raw power it emitted. Poseidon shook the thought out of his as soon as he thought it. The chances of the primordials rising out if their slumber to encounter his son was slim to none.

Many things about Percy's condition worried him, but the worst thing, however, were the scars. They littered his body, all shapes and sizes, barely an inch uncovered. Most were new, inflicted in the past two months it seemed, but many were far older, reaching to when Percy was just six, by Apollo's estimates. The worst was the one that went through his left eye. It was an exact mirror of the one Hermes son had after his quest. It was deep enough to destroy his eye, but strangely it seemed fine.

There were not just cut wounds, no. Burns made up a sizeable portion as well. Most were from when he detonated the mountain that Typhoon was trapped under, what had the mortals called it? Nevermind, he was getting sidetracked. The burns from the lava made large splotches across his body, but there were a few, smaller ones, the size of a cigar. He idly wondered if he asked if his brother would let him have a special time with Perseus's first stepfather.

They hadn't needed to undress him to get an idea of his injuries, Apollo could diagnose what was wrong with just a touch.

The god of the sea had long since known that the lives of mortals, demigods especially, were brutal and short, but it had never really hit him just how bad they really were. He had slightly understood when his foolish younger brother had made him mortal, but the truth struck like one of Hephaestus hammers.

His family would have many questions for him, no doubt. Questions he likely couldn't answer.

Poseidon sighed, resting his head in the palm of his hand. There was little he could do other than wait, so wait he shall.

Percy POV:

Percy's eyes opened, and he took a moment to recognize his surroundings. White privacy curtains surrounded a handful of hospital beds. Two of the curtains had been drawn closed, seemingly occupied. He was in the Argo II infirmity.

His body felt like it was filled with helium, and when he looked at his hands, he could see straight through them. Well, either he was dreaming, or he was dead. Hopefully just dreaming.

He walked, or floated, he guessed, to the nearest occupied bed, which was to the right of the entrance. He passed straight through the privacy curtains and paused when he saw who was on the bed. It was, well, him.

He made his way to the bedside and examined himself. He was still wearing his black clothes Nyx had gave him, which were dirty and lightly dusted with monster dust. He felt his own wrist and was calmed by the fact he could feel a pulse, while simultaneously put off by how cold he felt. His skin, while not cold, was definitely not regular temperature.

He looked up from himself and nearly jumped out of his skin. Standing on the other side of the bed were three old ladies. The one on the far left held two balls of yarn, one sea green and the other a silver with specks of black. The one in the middle held a large pair of golden shears he had seen once before when he was twelve, and the one on the right held a sweater for a cyclops.

They spoke without moving their mouths, their voices bouncing around his head, "Perseus Jackson," they rasped, "The threads of fate have been changed." The lady on the left unrolled a section of the silver yarn and held it out in front of her.

The silver yarn had clearly been cut, a clean sever between the two halves. Yet, the yarn had been repaired, thin black and green cords wrapping around each end, holding it together.

"One has risen from the dead, with your help," They sneered, "Your patron may protect you now, but your friends share no such protection." In eerie unison, all three fates grinned at him, and his vision slowly faded to black.

His eyes snapped open and he lurched upright in the bed. The covers flew off and he instinctually put his hand into his pocket, reaching for Riptide, but he had given it to Zoe.

His pulse slowly dropped back to normal as he took in his surroundings. They were the same as they had been in his dream. The privacy curtains obscured his view of the room, but from what he remembered from his dream, only one other bed was occupied, the one directly opposite his, most likely Zoe's.

He slid his legs off the bed and tried to stand. The moment he was on his own two feet, his knees buckled had he collapsed on the cold wood floor. His legs, still worn out from trudging through the entirety of Tartarus couldn't hold up his weight just yet.

Thankfully, next to the bed was a wooden chair, which he hauled himself onto. His boots were sitting next to a small bedside table, and a glass of water was perched atop it, which he gratefully chugged down.

He sat there for several minutes, gently massaging his thighs and calves, trying to get them to function again. The tattoo on his upper arm grew colder and colder until it felt like it was burning him. He glanced at it, and while it was covered by his T-shirt, he could see wisps of black smoke leaking from under the cloth. It reminded him of this stuff he had seen once during science class, dry ice.

When he figured his legs had been sufficiently cared for, he tried to stand once again. Despite being a little wobbly, his legs held his weight. The cold sensation on his arm tapered off until it felt warm again.

The privacy curtains silently slid open as Percy stepped out. The room was exactly the same as it had been in his dream, not a single thing out of place. Strange. He glanced over to the other occupied bed. While he couldn't see her, he knew Zoe would be in there, and while he desperately wanted to make sure she was ok, he should probably take a shower first. A long shower, he amended, looking down at himself.

On weak and shaky legs, he stumbled into the hallway. It felt like it had been forever since he had last been here. Was his room on the left or the right? Thankfully, the rooms had enchanted nameplates, and he quickly found his place.

Pushing the door open, the familiar scent of the sea washed over, soaking into his still sore muscles. Stepping inside, it was nearly the same as he remembered it, only several of Annabeth's things were littered around his bed. The smile that had crept onto his face fell off. Gods, Annabeth was probably furious with him, but he still couldn't to see her again.

He stepped into the connected bathroom, silently thanking Leo for giving every bedroom its own full bathroom. Turning the shower on, he wasted no time stripping down and leaping inside, not even waiting for the water to heat up. As a son of Poseidon, cold water hardly bothered him, but personally, he enjoyed a hot shower.

The water rained down on his body, washing away hundreds of fights worth of grime, soot, dust, and blood. By the time the water fell off his body, it was a brownish-red, swirling around the drain. Grabbing a bar of soap, he began to thoroughly scrub himself.

Time flew by, and by the time he stepped out of the shower, almost two hours had passed. He had taken a long time, making damn sure every speck of grime was gone. He had washed his hair no less than three separate times. He dried himself with a thought and threw open his dresser to try and find something to wear. He fished out an orange Camp Half-Blood shirt and some jeans, quickly throwing them on. They didn't quite fit, the shirt was a little large and he had to find a belt to stop his jeans from slipping down, but they were more than fine.

Slipping back on his black boots, he found himself back into the hallway. Strangely enough, he hadn't seen anyone else on the ship yet, but he could hear faint cutlery noises and muffled voices coming from the dining room, and from what his internal clock told him (as well as Vengeance, which was sitting on his wrist as a watch) it was around breakfast time.

The infirmary door creaked open as Percy peered inside. Nobody was inside, so he slipped in. He made his way over to the other occupied bed, not trying to be noisy, but he wasn't exactly trying to be quiet either.

He lightly knocked on one of the poles holding the privacy curtains up, "Zoe? You up?" He questioned quietly. After a minute of silence, he ducked under the curtain and walked to her bedside.

Thankfully, she seemed ok. Her body was no longer see-through, and after holding his palm on her forehead, she was warm. He frowned, she felt a little too warm. Maybe she had a fever? He shrugged. She had come back from the dead after all, it would be silly to think she would get out without a little sickness.

His mind at ease, he turned around stepped out of the curtain. He made his way to the doors, and while reaching for the handle, it swung open, thankfully missing him by a few inches. He looked up and met the eyes of his father, the god of the sea himself.

It had been a while since he had seen Poseidon, but he remembered the encounter vividly. It was right before he was kidnaped by queen cow, maybe a few days before? Poseidon had invited him to Atlantis for a proper tour, and he jumped at the offer, for various reasons, mainly to spend time with his father and to see the city without it being a war-torn ruin, but also to intero- ahem, ask why Zeus had closed Olympus.

His father had dodged around the questions, but he could see a tinge of guilt in the gods' eyes. The rest of the visit had been much the same, Percy asking questions and the sea god avoiding them. When he was almost ready to leave, Poseidon had clasped him on the shoulder and told him they may not see each other for a while, but to remember that he was his favorite child. He must have known about Hera's plan, but couldn't, or wouldn't stop it.

He stared into his father's eyes, watching emotions roll around in them like a ship in a storm. Happyness, concern, relief, and others he couldn't make out danced in his eyes.

The god of the sea surged forward, and Percy immediately back-pedaled, calling on Vengeance to appear in his hand, but it stubbornly remained as a watch. Thankfully too, he didn't want to give himself away just yet.

Poseidon was fast, and caught him, wrapping his arms around Percy and pulling him close. It took a moment for Percy to realize what he was doing. A hug. Poseidon was hugging him. Gods, how long was he down there? It felt like several months, but it couldn't be, right? Unless the gods had already won the war, but the doors of death would have been closed if they did.

Later, he thought, He could deal with that later. Right now, he leaned into the hug, wrapping his own arms around his father.

"We thought you were dead," his father whispered, clutching him tightly. Percy chuckled, no humor in his voice, "I almost was." His father just held him tighter. After a moment, the two separated, stepping apart from each other.

"Come," Poseidon spoke, "Your friends will want to know you are awake." Percy glanced back to Zoe, not wanting to leave her alone, Hades could drop by and take her soul back to the underground any minute. His father followed his gaze, "Ah, Miss Nightshade. She will be fine without your presence. Artemis will be in to keep an eye on her soon."

Percy nodded, Zoe would no doubt want to see her patron after so long. He let Poseidon steer him out of the room and towards the dining room, where he could still hear voices. He paused in front of the door, unsure. What I'd they were mad at him? What if Annabeth was mad at him? She hadn't been at his bedside after all. Maybe she broke up with him?

Poseidon broke him from his thoughts, "Here is where we part ways, but I will see you again soon."

"Are you not going in with me?"

Poseidon pursed his lips, "The gods and the crew have… not gotten off on the best foot. Besides, it would be rude to intrude. I will see you soon, my son." And with a burst of sea mist, his father disappeared.

Percy put his father's words into the back of his head, steeled his nerves, and pushed open the door.

Several things happened very quickly, firstly, everyone in the room went silent. Hazel, Frank, Jason, Piper, and Leo were all stood around the table, seemingly having just finished eating. For a moment, everyone silently stared at him, the room so quiet he could hear his heartbeat. Then, with a shout of, "Percy!" The crew threw themselves at him, Hazel and Frank the first to move.

Within moments, he was at the bottom of a human dogpile, having been tackled by almost half a dozen people, and it certainly didn't feel great.

"Good to see you too," Percy groaned, their combined weight slowly crushing him. The crew slowly clambered off him, grinning ear to ear. Percy slowly stood, a lopsided grin plastered on his face as well.

Leo clapped him on the shoulder, an impish grin on his face, "Only you could walk through hell and come out with a girl! Who's the Mamacita? Is she single?" Percy snorted, and Piper slapped Leo in the arm, "Leo!" She chastised, "He's up not even a minute and you're flirting with his friend!"

"I'm afraid she's not single, being sworn to maidenhood for eternity and all." Leo pouted and pretended to sulk until Piper whacked him again.

The crew hadn't changed in his time gone, it seemed, which caused a laugh to bubble out of his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed, probably before he fell? Zeus knows.

He scanned the crew, taking a mental headcount. There were five others, not including him, and a second count confirmed who was missing.

"Where's Annabeth?"

The easygoing smiles faded off the crew's faces as they grew silent. Panic began to build in his chest as he asked again, "Where's Annabeth?"

Jason answered quietly, "A goddess, Khione attacked us. Froze all the crew except Leo and took Annabeth before we could react. I'm sorry man, but she's gone."

No. No no no nonononono this can't be happening. They're just playing some sick joke, right? Annabeth is going to pop out any second now and say gotcha! This couldn't be happening. This can't be happening.

But as he looked at the rest of the faces of the seven, his stomach fell. She was gone, he could tell. He could feel the sorrow radiating from them.

"The gods," he croaked, voice thick with emotion, "Where were they?"

Frank answered this time, head hung low, "They hadn't arrived yet."

He stumbled back into the wall and slid down it, clutching his head. A voice in his head whispered to get angry, to get furious. These people let Annabeth get taken, why should he care about their apologies? But he knew they weren't at fault, it was the gods, for causing this whole damn mess by shutting down Olympus.

He pulled himself up. He needed to be alone. He rushed out of the room, pushing past Hazel and Frank, and dashed towards the stairs to the deck. He furiously blinked as tears obscured his vision, blurring objects together like an unfocused camera.

The moment he burst out into the deck, he slammed a hand over his eyes. While Tartarus had been quite dark, he hadn't realized how dark it was compared to the surface, and his eyes paid the price. He severely doubted a blessing from the goddess of Night helped the matter as well.

After a moment to let his eyes adjust, he could see without feeling like a monkey was trying to pull out his eyes with a pair of pliers. They were still in the Mediterranean, not too far from where the mortal side of the doors had been. It was 8:26 AM, July 19th. Wait, where had that come from? And July 19th? That would mean it had only been 18 days since he fell, but it must've been at least double that, right? Right?

He took a deep breath, and the air burned his throat and lungs. He was so used to the acidic air of Tartarus that just breathing hurt. Hopefully, that would go away soon.

There was one thing he knew for certain, that he needed to think things out. Alone. He glanced overboard to the clear, Mediterranean water and made up his mind. With a small hop, he cleared the safety railing and let the warm ocean water catch his fall.