Rated: T, for pretty obvious reasons.
Trigger Warnings (TW): Mentions of medication, swearing, disturbing thoughts, Percy being just too adorable for words, blood (but not necessarily gore), possibly panic attacks, and the usual innuendos that come with Poseidon being a total asshat with a thing for vagina among other sexual organs.
Pairings: Canon Olympian pairings, ones that go along with the original mythology—such as Hera/Zeus. There'll be some implied stuff, of course, like past Poseidon/Sally, past Athena/Poseidon, but it's mainly focused on Poseidon and Percy's father-son relationship. We'll see where it goes from there.
Spoilers: None, as far as I know.
Beta: Daughter of Apollo 14
Disclaimer: Don't own jack, man. But Riordan definitely owns my soul.
Chapter Four: Dryad
For the rest of dinner things were quiet besides the occasional squeak of feet scuffing against the floor. Their plates had already been put into the sink: a place they would rest until Poseidon decided he wasn't too occupied to put them into the dishwasher. Which would be a long while away from now if he had any say on the matter.
But that meant that there was nothing to do.
Occasionally, Poseidon would strive to begin some sort of meaningless small talk with the child across from him, but it died off quick as a whip. They were left in an excruciating silence that was only interrupted by awkward, nearly noiseless shifts and sighs. Percy fidgeted in his seat; Poseidon's knuckles rapped against the table. Neither of them tried to meet the others' gaze. Poseidon looked at the tabletop, but Percy preferred to eye the kitchen utensils hanging above the stove. The whole thing was edgy and uncomfortable, and he could tell Percy hated it just as must as he did.
Because while it was true that he was a business man—and a good one when it came down to it—patience had never been his strong point, and he found himself wanting to open his mouth and say something, anything at all. Even if it was a pointless comment on Percy's revoltingly bright red shoes or, God forbid, the weather. Poseidon could feel himself reaching a new low. His eyes darted up.
Percy looked like he was heading somewhere even lower. Desperate was a mild word when used to describe the expression on the child's face.
So he knew the kid couldn't help it when he blurted out, "That was your brother?" Sea green eyes then enlarged several sizes—if that was even possible. They looked like they were trying to swallow Percy's face. The child began to stumble over his own words, grasping for halfhearted apologies as embarrassment colored his cheeks. In any other situation, he would have laughed at the reaction.
This wasn't any other situation.
Poseidon prided himself in self-control: he had not even flinched at the question, even as his eyes dropped down from their spot. However, he had a feeling that not reacting only made it worse. He forced himself to look up from where he had been tracing invisible patterns in the wood, hopefully appearing as serene as he was going for. He forced his mouth into a patient line. Poseidon even held his tongue until he was positive he would not blow up at Percy—who he couldn't blame for being curious about the brother he had been wanting to punch in the schnoz for years.
"Yep," he began slowly. Confidently, he prayed, as well. "Zeus. Or Christopher." Percy cocked his head at him, but all Poseidon did was quirk his lips up into a grin. "You actually thought we were named after the Greek gods?"
"Well, obviously." The same scowl he had seen not long ago when they had first met was back full force.
He snorted. "No, they're just our nicknames. Started with our father's father's father. Sort of got passed down through the company, and my siblings took theirs with them when they branched off from the family buis." He ticked off three fingers as he counted them off aloud, wiggling them around, "Hestia, Hades, Zeus... Elizabeth, Benedict, Christopher. Our mother named us after saints." He rolled his eyes. "Look how that turned out." It was painfully ironic and downright distasteful.
"What's your real name, then?" Poseidon fake-hesitated before shooting Percy a look of carefully devised apprehension.
"I don't know, Percy... Can you keep it a secret? It's very hush-hush." Percy could only nod, obviously hating the suspense. He leaned closer to him, using his hand to hide his mouth from the sight of the door. Percy started to inch towards him, leaning out of his seat. Poseidon smirked. "It's Nicholas."
Percy blinked once, then twice.
"Oh, come on!" Percy exclaimed. The look of pure boredom on the child's face made him stifle a chuckle. "That's it?" Percy whined obnoxiously, bewilderment crawling up his features and taking them over like a disease. His eyebrows were raised nearly to his hairline.
The offended front Poseidon put up in response was rock solid, but all he really felt was a twinge of past fondness. Sally had asked him basically the same thing years ago. Really, that's all? You're no fun, Nicholas. No tragic back-story forcing you to find your true name from prying eyes? The writer in me is crying! Back before her uncle had been so severely sick, she had been a lot less withdrawn. Happy and light and naive. He forced those thoughts out of his head, though, along with the image of her teasing smile.
Everything felt sad without it. Especially with her own kid in the room, motherless and very much alone.
"Yeah, that's it, kiddo. Sorry to be a disappointment to you."
"Poseidon sounds cooler," the child blurted. Poseidon could tell he meant it, if only by the thoughtless way it was spoken—the kid was saying stuff before thinking. Again. "It makes you sound like you're gonna go 'round saving the world," Percy babbled on. "Or maybe destroying it. Earthshaker and all."
He felt a surge of surprise. It wasn't until he was twelve when he received his nickname, and the only reason he had ever even heard of the Greeks was because of his father. Kronos was strict when it came to the one good tradition they held.
He shook his head to clear away the thought. Better not think of Kronos at all. "You know a lot about the Greeks?"
"My mommy... My mom used to tell me about the gods all the time." Percy looked bashful, as though his tough guy act was going to split straight down the middle if he wasn't more careful. It was hilarious and even cute.
"She liked Poseidon the most. Said he was the coolest, and that he was kind and perfect and wonderful and strong." Oh, dear Lord. He thanked whoever made kids so goddamn clueless, because if Percy would've recognized the brief expression of longing that had no-doubt crossed his face... Poseidon would've been a goner.
"Oh," he coughed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. "That's...flattering." And nerve-wracking. Not to mention heartbreaking. Swallowing, he asked a simple question, "Which is your favorite?"
In the fashion of a true eight year-old, Percy looked up at him shyly. His cheeks were colored pink. For a moment, Poseidon simply just ogled the boy, befuddled by such a reaction towards something as trivial as that. But then it hit him like a Frisbee to the face: hard.
You've got to be kidding me. "Poseidon too, huh?"
The child nodded, but seemed extremely vexed at the idea of liking anything about him. "He was awesome... In the legends, I mean. Not you." Percy's nose scrunched up. "Definitely not you." Poseidon couldn't find it in himself to be affronted in any way.
"I don't know, Percy. I'm pretty awesome too," he teased.
"The only thing awesome about you is your cooking!" His cheeks puffed out in annoyance, but all Poseidon could do was laugh.
"Well, it's a start." And it was, sort of.
-P-J-O-
It was around seven when Percy started to yawn. His eyelids drooped as if they were growing too heavy to completely keep open. Green glazed over. It wasn't hard to tell that the seven year-old was trying to stay up as late as possible, much like he had attempted all those years ago when he was Percy's age. Hell, even more recently in his senior year, when he had all but forced himself to pull all-nighters for the last minute studying he had been so well-known for. Unlike Poseidon, however, Percy only lasted until around eight thirty before collapsing on the couch in a mess of limbs and as limp as a rag doll. Still clad in jeans and a grey t-shirt, all Poseidon did was tug off the boy's worn shoes and spread out a blanket over his shifting form. If the child woke up he'd assure him that his backpack was safely upstairs in the guest room, right with his jacket. He didn't think he would.
And now as he sat in his favorite recliner with the television set on mute, he found himself noticing how much Percy truly resembled his mother. It hurt to look, really: it was that obvious.
Right now with his hair away from his eyes and their unsettling, familiar green shut away from the world, Poseidon could clearly see something purely Sally in the boy. The furrow of his brow, the crazy thick eyelashes that were just plain girly, higher cheekbones, the splash of freckles, and hell, even the restless sleeping pattern pointed straight to her. The thoughtful frown on the boy's sleeping features was the same one Sally had always fallen asleep wearing. It was astounding, and it made his chest pang with a sort of longing ache.
Which was strange, because he had barely even thought of Sally until Percy was staring him straight in the face. She had been a distant, sweet memory—back when things had been simpler and he and Zeus had still been thick as thieves. Back when Hades was still joyful enough to wage wars with the both of them, even though he was two years Zeus's senior and nine years his. When they had been a team, even though none of them were in the same school, or even in school at all.
Now Zeus had a biological girl and a boy among a dozen adopted children, and hated him royally right along with his wife, Celine or Hera. Hades had a five year-old son; he was still dealing with the deaths of his daughter (a sweet, silent little girl who would never turn eight) and former wife. Not to mention his far more recent bride's mother and step-child. The days where they had talked to him and he had actually wanted to respond back were left in the past with a box of dusty old photos. And Hestia... Well, Hestia never changed, and for that he was thankful. She was home, simply, unlike the rest of his family. However, not even Hestia's warmest smile could clean up the mess the Olympia family had forcibly piled on themselves.
And none of her hugs could make him forget that Sally Jackson was dead, either. Dead with a son that mightprobablynotmaybe be his. A son with his coloring but her smile. A son who was named after a son of Zeus, and wow, she must have done that just to spite him, the little minx.
And worse yet, Poseidon could never call her out on it.
How sad was that? Terribly, and he wanted stomp his feet and huff and scream that it just wasn't fair.
Poseidon let his eyes sweep back over the boy's resting form, desperately needing to feel angry. He hadn't thought about any of this before Percy. None of it. It had all been locked away inside his head, key thrown far, far away. Percy had smashed open the lock with a sledgehammer. It was all the child's fault.
Yet, Poseidon felt nothing like that. Not a single whisper of irrational rage, or the ever-so familiar sting of irritation he always felt these days. Nothing. A certain sense of pity, maybe, but even that seemed oddly ill-fitting. It was like this kid had made him physically unable to feel any hateful emotion towards him. Strange, definitely. Surprising... No, not really.
Looking at Percy's peaceful face, he knew exactly why he couldn't. I mean, come on! Who could hate a kid who looked so... helpless? Only a monster, surely. Could anyone even remotely human feel any sort of rage towards someone who showed similarities to a half-drowned puppy, of all things? No one with a heart.
Contrary to popular belief, Poseidon happened to have one of those. One that still chose to beat like everyone else's.
However, he would still deny his slight fondness of Percy Jackson. It would be considered odd for him to suddenly become protective of someone after a single day.
Even if it was true.
Running a hand through his wild hair, Poseidon told himself it was time to go to bed, even if it was only eight forty-five. Thinking was exhausting.
Monsters of a Different Mold
Percy was embarrassed, but also very scared. He had woken up feeling this way: frightened and sick to his stomach, though he didn't know why. A bad dream, maybe. He had those sometimes. Occasionally, he would remember them after waking—swirling and dark and blood soaking through carpet and scary faces and monsters under his bed. Other times, perhaps this time, he didn't. Only the echo of anxiousness and the low thrum of uncertainty that came with all of his nightmares. This time there even seemed to be the comprehension of something. What, he wasn't sure. A strange part of him felt like a failure. As if he'd screwed up; should've known; should've done something.
He wondered what he'd done to cause such guilt, but he couldn't recall a single detail. Everything was so blurry.
All he knew for sure was that he was on someone's couch and his toes were really cold. Like ten tiny ice cubes.
His feet forced him up the steps: one half-asleep and buzzing, the other hesitant. The boards let out a groan from underneath him. He flinched in guilt. Poseidon was probably asleep. A questioning, backwards glance towards the clock told him it was two AM. Yes, the older man most likely was.
Once he reached the top step, he halted, peering around nervously. If he was lucky he would only have to walk to one door, instead of checking all three and risking Poseidon waking up from the noise. The last thing he wanted to do was irritate him, especially since he would be sleeping in the man's guestroom completely defenseless. Percy's mind could only imagine the worst possible things Poseidon Olympia could do to him. He was usually a light sleeper, but after bad dreams he tended to either not sleep at all or completely crash. With his luck, he wouldn't even wake up when Poseidon poisoned him or began to cut out his eyes. Shuddering at the thought, his eyes caught a piece of paper taped on the nearest door to the left. Letters sharp and precise like a sword saved his butt from Poseidon's possible wrath. The sign looked more like alphabet soup to his foggy brain, but he managed to make it out after a few seconds of focused squinting.
Guestroom. Your stuff is in here. I'm next door.
Percy rubbed at the grit in his eyes. Huh. His stuff? He had completely forgotten about it! Sneaking to the door, he opened it as slowly as possible, hoping it wouldn't squeak if he was extra careful. The results he got weren't perfect but certainly satisfactory. It only made a few creaks and groans. Definitely nothing loud enough to wake someone in a different room.
He slipped through the large crack of open space and shut the door behind him.
The first thing he noticed: it was dark. Now, he wouldn't say he's afraid of the dark. He was too old for that. But, without his meds, his overactive imagination tended to jump back and forth between wicked things that could be hidden in the darkness. Even more so than it usually did. Part of him regretted telling Mr. D he wouldn't need a new bottle of Ritalin until he got back. It was too late now.
He blindly searched for the light switch, nearly sighing in relief when he found it. It didn't take long until he saw his backpack propped up against the side of the bed. His hoodie was resting against the cream-colored comforter. His shoes were probably still downstairs. That was okay: he wouldn't need them.
The carpet muffled his movements, so he didn't have to tiptoe in fear of waking up Poseidon from the room across of his. Snatching up his bag, Percy opened it in search for his pajamas. After tossing his bagged toiletries to the side, he managed to find them. His favorite extra-large shirt and his Finding Nemo pajama bottoms. They were very fuzzy and warm, and when he stripped from his clothes he was quick to put them on. Next was his shirt, its long sleeves going past his hands. It slipped off one bony shoulder, and he had to pull it up to its proper place.
He felt better and walked over to turn off the light. With the room thrown into darkness, it was slightly difficult to make it back to the bed. Thankfully, he didn't trip over his bag. Percy peeled back the covers and slipped beneath them. The comforter was a bit chilled but not unpleasant. One could even call it nice.
But Percy couldn't get comfortable.
It was so dark. The closet was menacing. The only source of light was the cracks in the door. Wind was whipping restlessly outside, and it whirled sharply by the window. Whoosh! Whip! Percy jumped and slammed his eyes shut. Something rapped against the window. It's just a tree branch, he tried to reassure himself. Only a tree branch...
Whip! Whoosh!
Percy bolted out the door, items left behind. His thoughts were blurred by irrational fear, and the tiny part of him that wasn't petrified thought he was being silly. Honestly, he was almost eight! It was embarrassing to be this jumpy.
But it didn't matter now. What did was right in front of him. Poseidon's door. Poseidon was a strong looking guy, and he rationalized that he could most likely protect him if a monster decided to come out of the closet. Part of him wanted to knock and beg to be let in, please. Downstairs was dark, and the guestroom was plain scary. The other part wanted to suck it up and be a man. Poseidon was not Chiron. He hadn't even known the man for more than a day. It would be stupid to ask him if he could sleep with him. Poseidon would probably screech at him for waking him, or even kick him out. He wasn't in the mood for that sort of embarrassment.
Yet his hand still knocked against the door two times. One soft, the other insistent.
He was such a—he sounded out the word in his head—mass-uh-kist. Masochist.
The sound of moody grumbling came from inside the door. Two feet thumped audibly against the floor, sheets rustling, and padded up to the bedroom's entrance. Percy took a step back as soon as the heavy wood began to crack open. He debated the pros and cons of running, but it was too late for that. Green eyes peered blearily down at him. It was hard, but he managed to meet them for a moment before switching his gaze to the floor. Poseidon cleared his throat loudly.
"Yes?" The man's voice was hoarse—Percy had obviously woken him up from a deep sleep.
With a tinge of regret, he opened his mouth to speak. "I..." Oh man, this was stupid. He should leave. Maybe the twenty something year-old was tired enough that he wouldn't notice if Percy tried to make a run for it. Taking a quick peak at Poseidon's face, all he saw was slowly dawning realization. He looked incredibly and unfortunately aware.
"Did you have a bad dream?" There wasn't any anger in his voice, and Percy couldn't hide his cringe of surprise. Poseidon sounded almost... sympathetic? It was strange. And unexpected. Totally unexpected. Percy nodded slowly, not knowing what he should say. Chiron never forced him to talk when this happened, only let him snuggle into his side until he fell asleep.
Poseidon huffed a soft (but thankfully not annoyed) breath. "Come in, then. There's a couch in here you can sleep on." The man didn't bother asking what it was about or shout at him for interrupting his sleep. Percy appreciated it. All Poseidon did was open the door entirely to let him in. Percy watched him walk to his king-sized bed and grab one of the blankets. Without a glance his way, he tossed it over to him. Eyes widening, Percy stumbled to catch it. His fingers snatched it. But only just.
"Thanks," he said.
"You're welcome."
Poseidon slipped back into his bed, and Percy was left standing in the dark. His eyes darted around, carefully taking in his dimly lit surroundings—just in case he woke up again. One black dresser, two nightstands, one flat-screen in the far corner, one bed, and a single recliner. A very cushy-looking couch was a foot or two away from it, its color a deep royal blue with very uncomfortable looking throw pillows. Still, it was better than the monster-infested, lonely guest bedroom. With feet sinking into the shaggy carpet with every step, he reached the sofa and slumped ungracefully into it. He threw the blanket over his body, then turned his head once, then twice before attempting to fluff the seriously useless throw pillow with his hands. He was partly successful, and let his body go lax.
Then, Poseidon's voice cut through the darkness. "...Wake me up if you have another nightmare, okay, kid?"
He hesitated, considering. "Yeah, okay." He wouldn't.
"Goodnight, Percy."
"Goodnight."
A/N: Hey, guys! Guess who got a beta? I'm sure you can tell—this chapter is a lot cleaner than the others. Their pen name is Daughter of Apollo 14, and they're great! Make sure to give them a big thank you!
Also, I've started school again, and I'm drowning in all of my AP work. Prepare for the worst. I'm releasing this chapter earlier than expected; hopefully this update can offer you some company during the wait for Chapter 5. This next one is gonna be really late.
Enjoy and review! (Got any suggestions for this story? I'd loved to hear them!)
