CHAPTER 8

Percy had exactly one good blanket in his apartment.

He'd found it at a thrift store just outside of the city—the kind where its just bins as far as the eye can see, and you pay for clothes by the pound? That kind. The kind that suddenly refreshed Percy's t-shirt collection from the dwindling, ripped, bloodied bag that he'd been keeping them in to a gently used collection of all dark shirts. For ease of laundry. And less likely to see blood on them.

Which shouldn't have been as much of a constant issue as it was.

The blanket was mixed in with the clothes, was the color of traffic cones, and as soon as Percy touched it he was swimming in old memories of warmth and comfort of his mom's arms. The clerk didn't bother to tell him it was sorted wrong. She just weighed the lump of cloth, checked him out, and Percy bundled it under his arm to take it home.

He couldn't help himself on the long train ride home. He got it out, rubbed his face into its fabric. It was gentle on his bruises. He successfully ignored his fellow train passengers' stares.

Because it might just about be the best thing he's ever found on his own.

Percy dreamt of it now, the orange frayed corners, the warm folds, the quiet that enveloped him when he pulled it over him as he hid from the world—close to the feeling of invisibility he'd have hidden under a blanket when Smelly Gabe was home—even closer to the feeling of being under water in a cool, calm lake.

But for now, he was focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Just fifteen more minutes, and he'd be home. Be underneath his blanket.

Percy caught a glance of himself in the reflective glass of an office building: hair a more rumpled mess than usual, eyes squinting against the brightness, moving like going too fast would cause his head to shear off his shoulders.

Gods, he hated migraines.

He'd just skipped out on too much sleep. He'd fallen asleep at his day job twice this week since his night job's mysterious benefactor kept sliding him tips at all hours of the night. Sleep deficit too many days in a row, food deficit too many meals in a row, and suddenly he ends up with a migraine the size of Manhattan.

If Annabeth were here, gods he'd be in so much trouble.

But she wasn't here.

And since thinking about that made his head throb worse, he went back to thinking about the blanket.

And warm white rice. Just plain. And really warm.

The cars honking and screeching, the hustle of foot traffic, even his own feet pounding against the pavement was making everything worse. When he walked past the café he now associated with Duri, he didn't even slow down to check if he was there.

Brain's on fire, Percy thought on repeat. Brain's on fire, brain's on fire.

He plodded into the apartment lobby looking rough. He briefly wondered if he even had any painkillers in his bathroom. With the way he'd been neglecting grocery shopping, he doubted he did.

He stumbled past a young mom with her two boys, picking up a package from the front desk, apologized over his shoulder as he cursed at the amount of stairs he was facing ahead of him to get to his apartment. He didn't like swearing in front of kiddos.

Brain's on fire, brain's on fire—

The mom hoisted one kid onto her hip, grabbed the other one's hand, and still tried to balance the package. Percy's eyes softened, even as his brain kept screaming.

"Can I help with that?" Percy said. His voice came out hoarse and uncertain.

"Oh, I'll—if you're heading up anyway?" she fumbled. "It's a little heavy for my son to carry on his own."

"You look pretty strong to me," Percy said, clearing his throat again. He looked at the older boy, who was frowning at him, suspicious. "I'll help just in case. You can get the next package."

That must have sounded just agreeable enough to tolerate, because the boy stopped glaring, and the mom handed over the package. Percy tucked it under his arm, gripped the stair railing with white knuckles, and began the trek.

He could do this. He wasn't being asked to slay some beast. It was carrying a box up a couple flights of stairs.

The mom was chatting—Percy thought maybe it was small talk?—but with the brain on fire chant louder than ever he couldn't really hear her. He tried closing his eyes, but found that made the nausea worse. The stairs creaking was too much. The flickering lights attempting to illuminate the stairs was like knifes jabbing through his eyeballs and into his brain.

"Are you okay?"

It was the boy.

Percy swallowed hard.

"No," Percy said, heavy and too honest but the filter in his brain had evaporated. "Brain's on fire."

The mom made a noise. "Migraine? Okay, let's fix that. What floor are you on?"

"Seventh."

"Okay." The mom was relentless. The boy on her hip repeated the word after her. Okay, okay! "That's only three more flights away. We can do it."

"We can do it!" the kid in her arms trumpeted.

His legs felt unsteady, knees tender. The kids had more stamina than he did—he was practically hauling himself up by the railing. Once, he heard it crack under his weight.

They kept moving.

The stairs flattened out into carpet. Seventh floor sign hung above his head.

So close to the blanket, darkness, quiet.

He fumbled for his key, had to put the package down to find it, and nearly puked from the vertigo that simple motion caused. His apartment door swung in on no power of his own. If everything would just stop spinning.

He was moving too fast. But he still managed to get out a thank you to the mom—he thought he did, at least—and apologized for not being able to take the package any further.

Then a small, soft hand slid into his, guiding him to his couch he'd moved in from the antique shop two weeks before. The kiddo didn't leave his side until he was safely seated.

Percy's vision cleared enough for him to see the mom balancing a towel and an instant ice pack. By the time she's crossed the small apartment space, Percy's huddled himself into the corner of the couch, legs pulled into his chest, eyes firmly closed.

The couch dipped as she sat at his side. Her voice is low. "C'mon, lie down. You'll feel better."

"Gonna throw up if I move too fast."

"We'll help then," the mom said. "Take it slow."

It was a testament to how awful he felt that Percy didn't argue about her and the boy carefully shifting him until he was flat on his back, head cushioned on one arm of the couch. She placed the ice pack over his forehead.

He felt his shoulders untense, his neck started to relax. He unclenched his teeth. When did he start to trust strangers like this?

"That… feels amazing," Percy croaked. "Sorry, this is so humiliating."

"There's nothing humiliating about needing help once in a while. Try and get some sleep? I can bring over some melatonin if you think it will help. I might only have the chewable kind. For the kids."

"You're too big for the couch," the boy added. "Your legs hang off the end."

"I know," Percy said to him, then to the mom. "Don't worry about me. I'm sorry about all this. It's—I mean, you didn't have to, and—"

"Talking isn't sleeping," the boy pointed out.

"True." Percy smiled, then winced. He fought valiantly against the shivers that wanted to coarse through his body. He took the melatonin offer. "Thank you, um."

"Call me Keisha. The boys are Kobe and Dulé. We live a few doors down. Are you here all on your own?"

"I'll be all right. Thanks, you know? For looking out for me. You didn't have to."

"Smells funny," little Dulé mumbled.

The ice pack was making the last part of his low-functioning brain short circuit as it provided that small bit of relief.

The pain finally was dialing down.

Small footsteps echoed through his apartment. He waited for the door to close behind them.

But instead, the familiar weighted fabric of the old blanket draped across his toes, then was pulled up toward his chin.

"Gotta cover your big feet," Kobe whispered. "Or the monsters might grab them and eat them."

Percy peeled the icepack off for a second, opening his bleary eyes to look at the kid.

"If you see a monster, you'll let me know, okay? I fight those guys every day."

His eyes widened. His mom called him from the doorway. "Aren't you scared of them?" he asked, voice so low Percy strained to hear.

"Monsters? I guess so. But I gotta help people. It's what I do."

"I help people too."

"You helped me big time," Percy said, raising his fist weakly for a knuckle. The kid pounded his fist, smiling. "And besides, monsters don't eat feet that smell as bad as mine."

The kid giggled, adjusted the blanket a bit, and ran to his mom.

Percy breathed in, feeling sleep pull at him.

He curled his toes under his blanket, and drifted into the darkness.

"Well, shit, Jackson," the security guard of the apartment complex said, her tired eyes looking him up and down. Despite his migraine fading, he was rumpled and shaken. The icepack had melted and drenched his shirt and hair. He was still wearing the blanket around his shoulders.

It was, like, four in the morning.

"You know why you're here?" the guard said, spinning in her chair to hit the play button on her computer screen. It was of his hallway. She turned the volume up with a couple of slow poke poke pokes at her keyboard. "If New York wasn't already the city that never sleeps, then it is now."

She shook her head slowly.

Then in the security footage, the screaming started.

His screaming.

Percy flinched, not nearly awake and alive enough to relive his nightmares from the outside perspective.

"Get away from us!" the monitor speakers screamed. "Stop! Stop hurting her!"

Percy shut his eyes. Opened them up again real slow.

He forced himself to watch as the doors down the hall shot open, people yelling out that someone needs to knock it off, shut up, it's three in the 'effing morning. Keisha's door opened. She ran over to his door. Knocked and knocked.

The security guard stopped the footage, but Percy didn't need it to know what happened next.

He had woken up, completely unaware of where he was, sobbing. He had kicked his blanket across the room. He had stumbled to the door, where Keisha was standing. He apologized over and over to her, called into the hallway too but they had already shut their doors. Keisha's hands fluttered around him, ghosting across his face—which was bruised—and his chest—which was probably also bruised?—but never touching him.

"I thought—are you safe? Was there someone in there? Are you hurt? Who—no, don't tell me. Do I need to call the police?" Her questions had tumbled over each other, overwhelming is nightmare-riddled brain.

"I-I'm so sorry," was all he could manage. "I'm really sorry."

Then building security had ushered her to the side, and taken one stern look at Percy and marched into his room. Turned the place upside down. Messed with his blanket—he just thought, c'mon, don't touch a man's blanket, you know?

Percy's face burned even now, an hour later, but still in such deep shit he wasn't sure he was going to keep his apartment after this one.

"So are we gonna talk about the fact that your nightmare woke up three floors?" the security guard asked, tapping her pen impatiently as Percy tried to bring himself back to the present. "Or are we just gonna stand here and neither of us get any sleep?"

"I'm sorry," he said. He wasn't sure what else to say. "I-I won't let it happen again. I had a migraine, took some melatonin—which I don't ever take, but I did just because I was miserable—and I woke up screaming. I won't let it happen again."

Shit, he sounded so stupid.

The security guard heaved out a sigh, took her pen and wrote something in his file. "You're on thin ice, here, Mr. Jackson. You've got complaints stacked against you. You've got your age stacked against you. Hell, you even look like trouble. The movie kind. Just add a leather jacket instead of whatever that rag is you've got on."

Percy tried for a smile. He didn't think it worked.

"Listen, just stay in line for a while, okay? I'm not gonna tell you this is your last warning."

"It won't happen again."

The security guard waved him out. Percy began the trek up the seven flights of stairs back to his apartment, clutching the blanket around his shoulders tighter.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He hadn't had nightmares like those in years. He wanted to call his mom, wanted to call Annabeth, wanted to sleep for three straight years and yet didn't want to do any of those things at the same time. He felt sick to his stomach—not the same nausea that he migraine pain caused, but the sludgy shame he thought for sure he had beaten. Or at the very least, he'd locked up.

The security'd left his door open. Percy marched inside the dark, cramped space and scrubbed furiously at the angry tears burning his eyes.

A quiet knock. Percy didn't want company. And yet he didn't want to be alone.

He opened the door. "Hey."

"Hey," Keisha said. Kobe and Dulé were there too. She had a teapot.

Percy took a couple steps back, rubbed at the back of his neck. Motioned for them to come inside.

Keisha placed the tea on Percy's stove, and the kids ran through the kitchen—which was drenched in water, since the nightmare had helped Percy blow his piping under the sink—to the couch. Kobe was whispering to Dulé, who was taking the orders very solemnly.

"Can I pour you some?" Keisha asked, waving at the pot. Percy blinked a few times, then stumbled over a yes and thank you.

Percy glanced over at the boys, who were peering under the couch and behind the cushions. Kobe eyed the blood stain suspiciously.

Keisha handed him a bowl full of tea. "Sorry, you don't have any mugs."

"Thank you. I don't usually drink tea," Percy said. He hated how hoarse his voice was. "I'm really sorry for waking you up. I know, my mom always talks about how hard it is to get kids to sleep, and it's so early, and—"

"I'm not leaving until I know you're okay. Okay?"

Percy exhaled, feeling… something. "Okay."

They moved back to the couch, and Percy sat carefully over top of the blood stains. He didn't have a television to turn on for white noise. Instead, it was just them sipping tea, and the sound of his sink leaking.

"Did… anyone ever tell you that you don't have to pretend everything's fine when you feel like someone's kicked you in the gut?" Keisha said tentatively. She wasn't looking up from her tea. Percy stopped to really look at her now: dark circles under her eyes, single strands of gray hair smattered through her frizzy brown hair pulled back into a puff at the back of her head. She was wearing an old t-shirt, some sweatpants, and two pairs of socks. She looked cold. And… like maybe she really, really knew what she was talking about with pretending to be fine.

Just a single mom, two kids, in an apartment next to a screaming lunatic.

Percy finally found some semblance of a sad smile to wear. "Yeah."

"Look, you don't need to tell me details. I'm just some strange lady next door. You can just say what you need to—I won't judge. Sometimes, life is just really shit, and it feels nice to say that to another living soul."

Percy laughed for real at that. "This week's been shit, then."

"And don't we know it." She looked around for her boys, and saw their little heads between Percy's makeshift clothing rack. "What are you two doing? Raiding our poor neighbor?"

"Looking for monsters," Kobe said seriously.

"Monsters?" Keisha said, eyebrow raised.

Percy's shoulders drooped, and he worked his jaw for a second. The kids definitely heard him screaming. Probably thought…

"I'm okay, Kobe. I am. It was-I just had a bad dream."

Kobe pulled his little brother out of the clothes by his shirt. "A bad dream about a monster?"

Percy thought of Smelly Gabe.

"Yeah. One of the worst ones I ever faced."

He pulled the blanket up and waved them over to the couch. They climbed under it. It was almost magic, the way the blanket just made room for them all underneath it.

"We're safe under here," Percy said.

And after half a year of feeling constantly on the edge of dying of exhaustion, of a monster, of an angry god, of food poisoning, or of loneliness—he really did feel safe.

"Can I call my mom with you two here? I think she'd like to see I'm not alone."

Keisha ducked out of the blanket to grab his phone off the kitchen counter before he could, and as he was protesting, Kobe bumped up against him.

Percy's tea went sailing into the air.

Before it could land and scald the kid, Percy's hand whipped out, stopped the water in its tracks and caught the bowl.

Then his eyes went as wide as Kobe's as he realized what he'd done.

He guided the tea into the bowl again and placed it on the floor.

Keisha returned with the phone. "What are you two staring at each other like that for?"

"Nothing," Kobe said.

"Nothing," Percy said.

They smiled at each other.