23. Reopened wounds

Percy couldn't sleep. He lay on his back, Annabeth's weight a comfortable warmth at his right side as his girlfriend peacefully slept (and, not that Percy would ever admit to deriving comfort from the son of Jupiter's presence, but Jason was a warm weight on his left side, Piper's arm missing her boyfriend to lodge itself somewhere in Percy's ribs). His left thigh twinged, the skin hot and itchy. They had narrowly survived an attack from an escaped Keres earlier that morning. Percy had taken a talon strike to his upper thigh. Annabeth spent all evening fretting over him but they all knew only an immortal power could heal such a wound. Keres were creatures of disease and pestilence. The infection would grow and their nectar and ambrosia could do little against it.

Once we get to camp, Mr. D will help us, Annabeth had declared but she hadn't looked happy about it.

While the wound bled no longer, Styx did it hurt. Demigods weren't entirely used to long-lasting wounds. Ambrosia and nectar cleaned them up real quick—and most demigods were not as fortunate as Percy to survive a wound inflicted by a Keres.

The pain radiated through Percy's bones and he decided that he couldn't just lay there any longer. He gently detangled himself from the pile of demigods, trying his best not to bend his left leg too much. He awkwardly managed it. He breathed in the clean night air, staring down at his friends. Annabeth's brow furrowed at his loss, hand splayed out in the grass he once occupied. Even Jason seemed unconsciously displeased. Maybe his face always looked like that. Percy shook his head, half-smiling despite himself.

Ridiculous.

His leg ached, reminding him why he couldn't join his friends in their slumber. Percy gently pulled at the hem of his jeans, peaking at the bandaged skin underneath. The visible patches of his thigh were red and swollen from the injury. Percy blew out a soft breath, wishing for some kind of relief for the ache. As if sensing his thoughts, the wind picked up. The breeze ruffled his hair, bringing with it the barest scent of . . . water.

Water, Percy thought. A river to be exact. A nice cool river that, while it couldn't heal him completely, might bring some relief to his predicament. Glancing at his companions, Percy made up his mind. Fingers curling around Riptide in his pocket, Percy headed off towards the alluring scent.

The river was not far. Percy nearly jumped for joy at the sight of it, stripping off his pants and wading into the water until he was waist deep at the deepest part of the river. The water splashed against his skin, refreshingly cool and soothing, and Percy sighed in relief. He stood there for a moment, watching the water churn and rush about his legs. It felt so refreshing and Percy wondered, chewing on his lip, if it would be even better if he undid some of the wrappings.

It probably would, he decided.

With that thought in mind, Percy leaned down and began undoing Annabeth's careful bandage. He unwound the outer layers in slow and careful motions, pausing when he finally reached the end. Gently, oh so gently, he began to pull back the last of the bandage.

He knew at once it was the wrong thing to do.

"Styx," he cursed as fresh blood, hypnotically red in the moonlight, gushed out of the reopened wound and stained the water an eerie black.

"Styx," he cursed again, trying to redo the wrapping as it became apparent that the water had absolutely no effect on the gushing wound.

Percy tried to rewrap the wound but a) he wasn't flexible enough for this endeavor and b) the bleeding wound had slicked the bandage, rendering the material impossible to stick. Styx, Percy thought, near panic as he pressed the bandage vainly against the bloody torrent.

He didn't have enough time to even register the severity of his situation when—two calloused hands suddenly surrounded his own, pressing over his bleeding wound. Percy's head jerked up, nearly toppling himself into the river, only avoiding such a fate when the water fortified itself around his knees, and . . . and found himself staring into the face of his father.

Poseidon tightened his grip as Percy tethered, giving the demigod a severe look.

"Stop moving," his father commanded.

Percy immediately compiled, too overwhelmingly shocked to do anything but. He had the weirdest sensation, feeling like a normal teenager being berated by his irritated father because he'd gone and injured himself doing something he'd been explicitly told not to do – like sneak out of the house or something equally mundane.

Poseidon grunted, returning his attention to Percy's leg. Percy blinked, not daring to so much as look down at his leg even though a warm sensation spread out from his thigh—which . . . which was starting to hurt less and less. Poseiodn's face barely changed, the god not so much as blinking as he gave Percy's leg his undivided attention.

Percy felt his father moved his hands, thumbs gently testing the skin.

His father's face was so close to his. Percy could have counted the hairs in his beard if he wanted. The near hysterical thought occurred to him that this was the closest his father had ever been to him. Well . . . maybe not the closest. He had hugged Percy that one time. But this was definitely the longest Poseidon had ever been so close to him and only like the third time he'd ever actually touched Percy. The entire situation felt surreal and Percy half expected to wake up beside his girlfriend back at their makeshift camp. But he remained waist deep in the river, Poseidon half bent over him, doing something to his (maybe?) injured leg. Percy's mind was utterly blank save from the overpowering feeling of disbelief so he couldn't even appreciate the rare (fatherly?) moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Poseidon released his leg, pulling away enough to stand straight and frown down at his son. Or . . . more like across at his son, and wow when did Percy get so tall? Or had Poseidon simply appeared shorter, he could control that after all—

"Perseus," Poseidon disapproved, breaking Percy's half-hysterical internal babble. "What were you thinking?"

Each word was short and clipped. Dark blood splashed all the way up to the god's elbows. Percy's blood. Gods, this was weird. Percy opened his mouth to make some answer when thunder boomed overhead, the sound deafening in the relative silence of the river. Percy couldn't help but flinch, instinctively falling into a battle stance as his eyes flickered up.

"Um, should you be—?"

"I asked you a question, Perseus," Poseidon snapped, reaching out with a bloodied hand to drag Percy's chin down, forcing the demigod's attention back on him.

"Um—"

"You should never have stopped to rest." Poseidon's voice filled the air, swirling around Percy like the wind on a stormy ocean. "Such a wound is too dangerous to tempt Fate. You should have left at once for camp. But why—why—would you think it a good idea to unwrap the poisoned wound?"

When he put it like that . . . Percy felt his cheeks darken at his own stupidity. He faltered, mouth opening and closing (it hurt felt way too childish to say out loud to a god). He was saved from answering because, a second later, a brilliant flash of lightning struck a tree near the bank. The boom from the strike shook the ground, Percy's teeth clanging unpleasantly together. Poseidon frowned and steadied Percy with a hand to the shoulder, still looking disapproving, and utterly unconcerned at the flaming tree not three feet from them.

"What?" he demanded irritably instead, briefly casting his eyes to the stormy sky. "Did you expect me to let him bleed to death in my domain from a wound only the few of us can heal?"

The sky crackled.

"Oh don't give me that, you thrice-damned hypocrite," Poseidon scoffed, "after what you've done for your own children."

Lightning flashed, angry zigzagging lines darting across the sky.

"It's hardly my fault you were too slow and the girl died—she's back anyway, so your interference did save her life."

The flaming tree snapped, careening into the river. Poseidon mostly ignored it, pulling Percy a few inches closer as the water sizzled.

"Quit your whining, brother mine, its childishness leaves much to be desired. Leave me be but for a moment longer and I shall depart." Thunder. "Well, you can't change that now." Poseidon frowned. "You won't change that now, Zeus. Do not touch my son."

Percy, unnerved by the entire exchange, really didn't like that warning shot. It at least felt like a warning shot because Poseidon was looking down at him again and the sky, rumbling not unlike an angry child storming away after having lost an argument, eventually grew silent.

Poseidon stared intently at Percy, all of his attention refocused on the boy and it was nearly overwhelming, the sheer force of all that was the god of the sea bearing down upon him.

Maybe Poseidon realized he was being too intense because his father sighed, aura dialing back to a less terrifying level as his shoulders visibly deflated.

"Why, my son, must you constantly worry me," Poseidon lamented.

Percy was pretty sure that was rhetorical but an awkward "sorry" slipped past his lips regardless.

Poseidon sighed again.

"Thanks?" Percy tried, not sure what he could say that would make Poseidon look less . . . like that.

It had the opposite effect as desired. Poseidon sighed a third time, eyes briefly flickering down to Percy's healed leg (Percy didn't even have to look down to know the wound was gone).

"You needn't thank me, Perseus." Poseidon's thumb absently moved across the back of Percy's neck from its resting place on his shoulder. "You nearly died."

"I nearly die on a weekly basis," Percy pointed out without thought.

Poseidon frowned at him. "Hm."

Percy wasn't sure what he was supposed to say after that. Poseidon continued to stare at him, looking deep in thought. The tree had sunk into the soft mud of the riverbank, water angrily diverting around it. His father's hand was a warm weight on Percy's shoulder.

"I'm okay, Dad," Percy said, his voice quiet in the relative noise of the river.

Poseidon heard him regardless. His father gave an acknowledging grunt, fingers digging into Percy's skin as if to assure him that Percy was, in fact, there and warm and alive. Percy wondered how close to death he had actually been. Must have been a lot. He found it hard to care though, not now with Poseidon's hand still on his shoulder.

"Don't do that again," Poseidon commanded.

"I'll remember that."

"My brother will likely not permit such blatant disobedience of his laws in the future."

As if on cue, the sky gave a thundering warning.

"I must go," Poseidon said.

"I know."

Percy half expected Poseidon to disappear dramatically right then but . . . no. Instead, Poseidon pulled Percy closer one more time, dragging the demigod nearer and nearer until he could rest his forehead against Percy's in such a tender gesture that Percy's breath caught in his throat.

"Stay safe," Poseidon instructed.

"Thank you," Percy said instead of promising. Because he knew better than to promise. Because this stolen moment was more than he ever expected to receive and, while never enough, it was enough for now. And enough for the future to remember by whenever he doubted that his father cared.

Percy closed his own eyes so he didn't have to watch Poseidon disappear in a warm rush of an ocean breeze.

A/n I am sorry for the long delay, been a bit under the weather. Yes, this ficlet is clearly inspired by The Sword of Hades but I'm allowed to recycle monsters haha. Apologies for any mistakes, I am still a bit sick and this is unbetaed. Anyway, I'm feeling super indulgent so here is some super fluff. Hope you enjoyed!

Up next: Grief