II.
Phoenix is a terrible name. It's the kind of name only cool people can pull off, charisma and charm needed in spades. It can't be shortened, there are no nicknames, no ways to make it a little less showy. If his parents had decided to give him Phoenix as a middle name, maybe that would have been more acceptable.
It's also a horrid thing to spell at nearly four years old with the P and the H making a weird 'ffff' sound and the O and the E joining forces to make life hard enough that a big boy might cry. So little Phoenix, at three (nearly four) years old, demands his Papa and Daddy change his name to Percy.
So much easier.
And a little more bearable.
The irony of his original name doesn't escape Percy, he adamantly calls himself despite his dads rolling eyes and huffs of laughter, and whilst his parents tell him he was a fresh start for them, it only acts as a reminder of how he died.
And then woke up.
In this life (World? Universe? Reality? Existence?), his name is Phoenix Mikhel López, son of Adrian, his new Papa, and David, his new Daddy, through surrogacy and three years old. His skin is dark like his Papa's and his hair a lighter shade and straighter than his Papa's cropped close afro but his eyes are the same blue of his Daddy's, and his ears the same shape. He has his Papa's stubbornness and temperance, they tell him, but his Daddy's appetite and penchant for mischief.
But his brain – the one which sparks loud, scary arguments between Papa and Daddy about IQs and testing and MENSA, even at three years old – Phoenix knows he got from Percy.
Percy Jackson, who, in another existence-reality-world, hated his first name too but grew into it. Percy who hadn't been brought up in the little happy flat above Papa's garage but a dingy apartment with damp mould and leaky ceilings, who had never really known the feeling of being protected because he was the man of the house and he had to protect his Mom from his greasy, quick-tempered stepfather. Percy who had been a scared little boy, that had somehow through luck, blood, tears emerged a hero - despite never really wanting to be. Percy, who had found his father in the oceans and died a little every time they parted. Percy, who had married a beautiful girl who could multitask like magic and had hair like Cinderella and had three beautiful children.
His dads are a little bewildered by where he got the name Percy. None of their friends, or storybook characters, or telly favourites are called Percy, but they humour him, assuming he'll forget about it in a couple of days.
By the time he's five, he's enrolled in Primary One as Percy and his dads are forced to exchange hopeless but bemused expressions when the receptionist at the front desk wrinkles her brow and hesitantly asks if he is "Phoenix López" and he interrupts her before she can finish by emphatically going:
"Percy," He says imperiously, button nose scrunching in distaste, "It's Percy."
The lady bids them follow the signs to classroom 1A and then turns to the next parent and child in the queue behind them.
Tucked between Papa and Daddy, holding his hands and swinging him gently between them and his new lime green penguin backpack thumping reassuring against his spine, a little too big on his narrow shoulders. Their hands are warm and large around his, Daddy's fingertips rough from working at the garden centre and Papa's palms rife with little nicks and burns from working at the garage. Even though money is tight, today Percy wears his private school uniform, heavy black blazer, crisp white shirt, blue tie, grey shorts and blue socks and his new black school shoes shine as they squeak across the floor. Even his dads have splurged, wearing dress shirts and jackets that he has never seen before, Daddy's coat collar folded up a little to hide the black skull inked into the skin above his collarbone, beneath his ear.
He is joining the Primary One class at Harkness Hall so perhaps the pretence is not unneeded. It's got a reputation, his parents whisper when they think he can't hear, for educating old money type kids, heirs and heiresses with dollhouses the size of five cars, and pushing its students to their limits. He feels Papa's hand tighten over his the further they walk, past huge floor to ceiling windows showing well-groomed gardens, a wooden adventure course that looks like it will be the most exciting thing in the playground and travel further through spotless halls with gold leaf trimming the ceilings and the accolades of past alumni displayed on the walls in silver frames.
By the time they reach his classroom, his dads have exchanged worried glances at least five times, Daddy bites his lip and Papa is scowling already and Percy knows they're worried. He knows he was when his dropped off each of his children for their first days at school, in his other life as Jackson. As a López however, he's mostly excited about meeting other children and making friends and exploring Harkness' Library for more books.
Daddy kneels in front of him to dust down his blazer and straighten his tie. "Now you be a good boy, love, alright?" He runs his left hand through his blond hair, his gold ring shiny and pretty, glinting merrily under the sunlight streaming from a skylight. "Be good, work hard and make lots of friends, yeah?"
He pulls Percy into a hug, holds him just a little bit tighter even as the little boy murmurs his reply, "Course I will," He beams as his Daddy lets him go, hands still holding his shoulders, "I'm gonna show them Dippy and then they'll have to be my friend!"
His Daddy grins, "And what about working hard and being good?"
"That sounds awful hard," Percy tries to pout but spoils it by giggling.
Papa stands behind them, expression soft as he tugs at his ear piercing absentmindedly, looking fond but a little lost. So Percy ducks out of his Daddy's clutches and runs straight at his Papa's long legs until he collides with an oof! And then he hugs Papa's knees until Papa's trembling hand is carding through Percy's soft curls, ruffling them slightly and ruining Daddy's preening.
"Be good, Phoenix," His voice deep and smooth but his shaking hand still atop the five-year-old's head.
The boy scowls, "Percy."
Papa and Daddy both laugh and Percy leaves them behind a little lighter, and darts through the door into the classroom.
A/N: ngl, though if anyone's name is Phoenix I mean no offence, but the thought of Percy's new dad giving him such a hippie name has me giggling all over again! XD