originally published 08/18/24
It starts in the parking lot.
Honestly, Percy has enough beef with parking lots. He failed his first driver's test solely due to his parking skills – or lack thereof. There aren't railings or lines to guide him, not to mention they're cramped and full of entitled jerks who don't pay attention. It's like being on the street, but claustrophobic. And don't get him started on parallel parking. Or parking garages. Ugh, he doesn't even want to think about it.
Unfortunately, they're unavoidable, which means suffering through the grueling process whenever he goes out. Percy tries parking in spaces without cars on either side, but that isn't always an option, especially in New York.
Mom sent him to get milk while she stayed home and entertained Estelle with Paul. He got his license about a month ago and, being the sole person in the house who could drive and doesn't have a job (yet), he often ran errands for her and Paul. He doesn't mind, since he's more than happy to help out as much as he can. Mom can always use it, and Percy knows his presence tends to do the opposite. If he could make it up to her with a thousand little things, he would at least try. Especially lately, what with the chaos of Estelle, their jobs, and Percy's sudden re-arrival… He'd been adrift so long, it was nice getting back into the routine of things, if a little overwhelming. After weeks of being as lost in his empty memories as he was in the pits of Hell, with only Annabeth at his side, he'd forgotten what being home felt like. He'd missed it.
Plus, besides that, he almost likes driving when he's alone. He can always use extra practice, and he automatically gets the aux. It's nice to be in control of something, and it gives him time to himself, which he doesn't get as often as he would've liked.
The errand would've been fairly easy if he didn't cause trouble everywhere he went. The older he got, the worse it got – he thought at some point, surely, the monsters would finally fuck off, but apparently they never learn. Trying to keep up with them is exhausting.
Thankfully, he got lucky today. Since it's only ten o'clock on a Tuesday, he scores a spot in the corner of the Walmart parking lot before he successfully find the last ingredient for Estelle's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle mac and cheese.
It's good since it means he's alone when the monsters show up, but it's bad since it means he's alone when the monsters show up.
He's loading the only grocery bag he has into the backseat, plastic clinging to the condensation the way the sticky heat pressed against his back like a second skin, when they appear out of nowhere. One second he's setting it down, the next he's turning around to find three Empousa surrounding him, looking to the world like they can't wait to eat him for dinner. Er, lunch. Which is why he's out here in the first place, but now he's gonna be late and Estelle's gonna be hungry, and there's gonna be tears. They could've waited until he made it home. But when have monsters ever considered anyone other than themselves?
They're kind of rude that way. Like half-bloods just try to survive with enough to worry about like double prophecies and amnesia and losing the Curse of Achilles. Or maybe that's just Percy. Regardless. He normally has a pretty big appetite, but he isn't about to chow down on a poor monster's teenage son. They could find food elsewhere. Would they be more inclined to eat Mac n Cheese shaped like demigods?
Oh, Percy doesn't like that. That's probably not a good idea now that he thinks about it.
The point is that they should be more considerate. At least the Gods don't try to kill him. …Well, unsolicited. …Well, that often. He's mostly okay as long as they keep it a democracy up in Olympus. Maybe he needed to sit down and have a chat with them. If Percy could talk to them the way he'd talk to the Gods, he's sure he could get through to them. You know, since it worked so well the first time.
Focusing on the immediate issue at hand – or through sword, hopefully soon – Percy sighs resignedly at his fate. More annoyed than anything, but a little nervous at the numbers.
"What is this, an intervention?" he asks, scanning his surroundings.
There are no mortals around, which makes his job easier. They were good at staying in the clear, but if his demigod scent stuck around it might cause trouble. Although admittedly, he isn't sure how that worked. How strong is it anyway? He knows it's more… aromatic than others, for lack of a better word, but how much? Is there like a set number of feet it drifted to? As much as demigods pretended to know the motives and minds of monsters, when it came down to it most of it it speculation, and each monster is different. There isn't a guarantee of safety for anyone.
His enemies don't bother justifying him with a response, they just get straight to the fighting, which Percy can appreciate. The one closest to him offers him a snarl, hands curled with highly unmanicured claws at the ready.
He doesn't have time to shut the car door, at which a pang of apprehension shoots through him, before the first one advances. He barely uncaps Riptide, feeling the familiar weight, before flaming red hair and goat-like legs gleam wickedly in the sunlight.
He readies his sword and lets instincts take over, ignoring the part of him that resists. Lately, everytime he handles his sword, it's only a reminder of the ways he's failed to wield it effectively. What if he falters, like he with Chrysaor? What if Ares's curse gets in his head again? How can he trust himself when even his basic instincts fail him? He's tried to push it out of his mind, but swordfighting is the thing he's supposed to be good at, the one thing that came naturally to him. Hell, he taught the class. How much could they rely on him? He'd learned everything from Luke, but he'd never been better than him. And if Luke hadn't even done that for him, what was the point of any of it?
He promises himself to strengthen his sword fighting when he gets back to camp. No amount of training can make you as good as you need to be, a voice in his head whispers, but he's gotten good at blocking it out these past few months. Besides, questioning himself would only make it worse. Experience proved that.
Percy swings Riptide in a wide arc, swiping it across Empousa #1's abdomen. A good thing about monsters: one good hit and they were down. He watches as she disappears into dust with a quiet hiss, fading to ash that grinds into the pavement and leaving behind a faint, sulfuric odor. The gold glints prettily in the sunlight, but before he can admire it for too long, the second Empousa comes out of nowhere and lunges at him with a snarl. She gives him a glare so nasty, if looks could kill he'd be dead. Fortunately, they don't, so he has no hesitation in returning the favor.
Percy runs forward to meet her with his sword, driving Riptide forward with renewed energy at the first kill. Smarter than the last one, she ducks and dodges, so he sidesteps, narrowly avoiding her ambush. She doesn't have much defense, other than those claws, which means her hits have to be up close. If he can keep enough distance to stab her, without her being able to attack, that would be ideal. His sword is a blur as he aims for her midsection, trying to keep his distance and anticipate her moves. He's still aware of the third one in his periphery, leaving him to be the monkey in the middle. Great, cause that's what he needs.
As much as he's complaining, Empousa are fairly easy to kill. A lot of monsters did the same thing over again. They don't really think for themselves. They have the same basic coding: hunt, kill, eat. Even during the war, Percy doubts they had any real motivation. They just hate the Gods, which Percy understands. They're good at creating things and discarding them as waste when they don't fit their perfect image. Hence why he's here. Earth is a giant mixing pot for the too ugly of Olympus and the too pretty of the Underworld.
Although, the Underworld could stand to gain from some of the prettiness. Hades' castle is long overdue for color. His uncle might even appreciate it, he's a lot softer than he pretends to be. Maybe Percy should send him flowers.
"Perseusss Jackssonn," Miss Ugly hisses, and Percy suppresses a groan.
Seriously, do all monsters know him? How inconvenient. They find him no matter where he goes. Is this what it's like to be famous? He hates it. He can't even go to the grocery store without being bombarded.
Percy curses under his breath and adjusts his stance, trying to stay agile despite the sweat trickling down his back. He pulls Riptide towards him, grasps it with the other hand, and lifts it above his head. He pivots, brings it back down again and the blade catches on the Empousa's claws as she hisses and shoves back against it.
But then, a searing pain shoots through him as three claws dig into his back and tear. His back explodes into a cacophony of pain, white hot flaring across his back. Percy let out a strangled noise, feeling the warm trickle of blood seeping through his shirt. He grits his teeth, forcing himself to stay upright despite the wave of dizziness and the sharp sting. He bites back a curse when he feels slick sliding down his skin, soaking through his shirt.
Anytime he sustains a back injury, he hates Hera a little more, which is honestly a feat in itself. The curse of Achilles sucked and though Percy would never accept it again if offered, being invulnerable had been kind of nice and super convenient. He wouldn't be here, bleeding in a Walmart parking lot while a posse of cheerleaders surrounded him.
His legs threaten to give out, but he grits his teeth. He's been through worse. He can't let it stop him, despite his body's screaming protests. Stay alive now, worry about permanent damage later. Story of his life.
Painfully reinvigorated, he spins around keeping Riptide out and level with his hip. He stumbles a little but doesn't fall. The blade swipes in nearly a line, passing through Empousa #2's wait. There's an awful noise like a balloon deflating and a wail that tapers off at the end, and then she joins Empousa #1. Easy peasy. Two down, one to go.
Sword already up, breath coming in labored gasps, Percy turns to face his last enemy. Taking a note from her recently deceased sister, Empousa #3 doesn't bother with pleasantries as she jumps him.
Panting, – talk about out of shape – Percy uses the leverage from the clean slice to spin him around. His back feels like it's ripping open, but he can't worry about it as he comes face-to-face with an unpleasant view. The Empousa is closer than he anticipated and he can feel the hot flames licking off her hair, yellowed teeth pulled back in growl.
"Wow," he says, wincing at how ragged his voice sounds, "You're a lot uglier up close,"
The Empousa screeches, entirely too teenage girl cheerleader for his liking. She swipes at him but mostly misses, grazing his arm enough to bleed. He gets her back by stabbing her in the arm. Her wail of terror is cut off, saving him from permanent ear damage. She makes a choked-off noise and gurgles, which Percy grimaces at as he stabs her again for good measure. With a final burst of energy, he thrusts Riptide through her, and she poofs out of anything substantial, leaving Percy alone in the deserted parking lot.
Gods, finally. It was almost too easy.
Percy stumbles to rest against the car, eyeing the empty lot and the scattered remnants of the battle. His back throbs with each movement as he tries to catch his breath, directing his leftover irritation at his lungs. By now, Riptide's cap has reappeared in his pocket, so he presses it against the tip and slides it back in, hands tapping against his thigh. The adrenaline leaves him feeling exhausted and paranoid, and his back hurts more than ever, pounding in beat with his head.
The Prius is waiting for him, a relieving sight for sore eyes and practically begging to go home. Glancing around, Percy takes stock of the car and slides into the front seat when it looks clear. He makes sure the adjustments are right. He looks in the rearview and the side mirrors to confirm nobody's around. Nothing is out of place or missing. He's fine. He's just buzzing from the fight.
He reaches over and props open the glove box, disappointed (but thankful) when he comes up with a baggy of ambrosia. Surprised at the lack of one, he makes a note to talk to Mom about putting in a first aid kit. He eats half a square, decides his back hurts enough to eat the rest, and closes it. He feels the warmth spread through his body, the injury slowly beginning to stitch back together, but instead of relaxing, the unease lingers. He rubs in hand sanitizer and makes sure he doesn't look too rough in the review.
He sits there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He takes a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. His back still hurts to all hell, but there's nothing he can do until he gets home. Careful not to lean back against the seat, he turns the car on.
He puts it in reverse and eases out of the parking lot. He starts the route back home, muscle memory at this point. He doesn't trust himself enough to focus with music on, so he keeps the radio off. He doesn't know why he's so on edge. Despite the relatively short distance, the streets and intersections stretch out longer than usual. Percy's hyper-aware of the cars around him, the pedestrians crossing the road, the occasional dog barking from a yard. He can't shake the feeling that someone's out there, watching him. Something is definitely off.
Percy shakes his head, trying to clear the lingering tension. He slows to a stop at a red light.
He's stopped at a four-way intersection, busy considering the time. There's nothing on either side of the road, except for a Chick-fil-A to the left and a gas station about fifty feet ahead. He tries to forget about the fact that he's actively bleeding out, and waiting in traffic like a dumbass. He'd stop at said gas station, but he'd have to go out of his way, and at this point, it wasn't worth it. He wanted to get home. He knows Mom is already worrying, and showing up at the door with a blood-soaked shirt isn't gonna reassure her. He feels a little bad, but it's not like he asked the Empousa to attack.
The light is still red. He frowns. He might be impatient, but it's taking a while. Percy drums his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to ignore the gnawing pain. He glances in his rearview mirror; there are a couple of cars lined up behind him. Frustration mounted. Why is it taking so long?
It changes.
He very nearly slams on the gas, lurching forward and climbing to thirty faster than the Prius should handle. He forces himself to relax. He'll get home and he'll make the Mac n Cheese, although Mom might've already made something else by now, and it'll be fine –
"Boo,"
Suddenly there's an unfamiliar, distinctly feminine voice in his ear that sends a jolt of panic through him. Reactively, Percy jerks the wheel to the side, and the car swerves to the left before his reflexes manage to kick in and they straighten out again.
"What the fuck –,"
Percy whips around, his head making contact with somebody else's. Whoever he hits isn't soft and he lets out another curse at the half-second of dizziness that follows. She digs her nails – claws, ridiculously sharp claws – into his shoulders, and he barely recognizes it as an Empousa. Almost human, but the shade of sickly blue skin accompanying the freakishly long nails makes her easy to identify.
She's in the backseat, unbuckled and leaning against the back of his chair. He doesn't know how he didn't notice her earlier unless she was lying down. As many weird encounters Percy's had, an Empousa hiding in his backseat is definitely a new one. It's not like they were smart enough to hijack the car. He hopes. Oh Gods, that's a whole other problem he doesn't want to consider right now. How did she even get in here?
Oh. Oh. Damnit.
She must've snuck on during the surprise attack from earlier. Did monsters infiltrate enemy bases like that? They were usually smarter than given credit for, but even this was… a little surprising. Another thing to add to his increasingly bad day.
She cackles, so close it hurts. That shrill, piercing one-in-a-kind voice. It's a good thing monsters don't have to go undercover.
At least it's not Kelli.
" PAY ATTENTION!" she screeches.
We are in this situation because of you! Percy wants to snap, but his jaw clamps as his heart jumps in his wrists against the steering wheel.
The car (and Percy) is recovering from the sudden yank to the left, and a car blares past as he slows down significantly. Whoever is behind him has gone around which is good. He presses on the gas again, bursting through the right lane. Another honker, but Percy honestly deserves it. Percy winces as he hears the Empousa slam around the back, only a little sympathetic. He feels like a livewire is running through his bones, electricity pulsing into the air. Ignoring the Empousa's nail raking against the seat as she sits up, and his body urging him to go faster, to run, to push down, he manages to ease up on the gas and, slightly, push on the brake.
It's fine, it's fine, it's fine. He still has control of the car, he just has to make it… Percy glances around and decides the Chick-fil-A parking lot is his best bet. She might smell the chicken and get distracted. He doubts he'll get that lucky, but getting home will be a lot easier without an Empousa backseat driving.
Before he can decide, the monster decides for him. She presses her nails against his throat. It doesn't draw blood, but the threat is clear.
There's a silence that draws out between the two of them, and if they weren't on such a public road, he would've slammed the brakes by now. He's barely able to keep it going straight, what with the shaking of his hands.
"If you want to survive, you have to let me stop the car," he croaks, trying to keep his voice steady.
She lets out a snarl before he can finish his sentence, digs the nail in deep enough for crimson to stain, and lurches forward with surprising veracity. He lets out a surprised half-shout and throws his arms out in a weak attempt to stop her. Her left hand wraps around the wheel right as he grabs her bicep and the entire car swerves to the left. His throat burns, but he twists so she swipes across his neck until it slides off. He grabs at her again when she yanks them into the turning lane. His back slams against the vinyl seating and pain explodes across it, but he ignores it in favor of elbowing her in the face.
Her head snapped to the side, giving him a moment to twist her wrist and force her to release the wheel. He takes advantage of the brief respite to straighten the car and aim for the Chick-fil-A parking lot. As he makes the turn, he realizes too late he doesn't use his turn signal, but at this point, it's the least of his worries. He yanks the wheel hard, the Prius skidding into the lot. He barely regains full control over the car when the Empousa recovers from the unexpected hit. She tries a last desperate attempt at – what, exactly, Percy isn't sure – and grabs the wheel jerkily. Percy tries to hit the brake, but it's too late.
The car is moving too fast, and Percy feels the impact as the Prius crashes into a pole.
They're not going fast enough for airbags to disband, but Percy feels it in every one of his bones on impact. It's positioned in front of a parking spot, blocked off by striped yellow lines painted on the road. Percy's leg crushes against the front, and his head slams against the window as the Empousa lets out a hiss when something happens. She disappears once more from behind him, but he can't appreciate the reprieve between the newfound pounding in his head and the way his body is shock-frozen.
Uh-oh.
No, no.
No, no, no, no no –
This can't be happening, this cannot be –
There's a deep, unsettling howl that shakes Percy from his daze, and he pushes away his panic long enough for it to relight his anger.
He has to deal with the Empousa.
He does a cursory glance out the window, half-expecting to see a witness hiding behind a lamppost or police cars pulled over because that would've fit perfectly in the middle of this disaster, but the street is quiet.
He hits the unlock button and braces himself against the car door, slamming his shoulder against it as it flings open with a groan. The Empousa's swings where his head had been moments before, but Percy's ready. He ducks and rolls messily out, the concrete rubbing against his legs, but road rash is nothing. He manages to get back on his feet and yank open the seat in the back. He gives her enough time to scream before he brings Riptide down, drawing first blood – or dust? – the blade slicing through the air and cutting off her head.
He'd feel more bad, but he knows that as often as he's killed them, they respawn a hundred times over. Unlike him. It's a little more personal than he would normally go for, but he's still pissed about…
The Prius.
Fuck.
Paul is going to kill him. Actually, no, he won't. Paul is the sort of person who would probably look at Percy with an understanding smile and say, "It's alright, kid. We all make mistakes." But this isn't a mistake. It was a monumentally monetary-compensating colossal mistake that would take more than a kind smile to fix. It's a 'How did you manage to drive my car into a pole?' kind of mistake.
He glances at his reflection in the cracked side mirror, noting the wound visible over his shoulder. He turns fully to get a better look at it. It's not bleeding but throbs viciously under his skin. The fact that he probably stained Paul's upholstery with blood doesn't make him feel any better. Percy rolls a bead from his necklace between his fingers, trying to decide what to do.
Now out of the car, out of the firing zone, he can assess the damages better. He walks around to the front and swallows down a heavy mix of part panic, part shock, part self-loathing. Unwillingly tears sting in the back of his eyes, throat threatening to close, but he shoves them back – he is not about to cry over this.
The hood of the Prius is crushed, pulling towards the center, and the blue paint job is far past ruined. The passenger side door is busted with a huge dent and a thousand tiny scratches. It resembled more a crushed soda can than a vehicle at this point. Looking at it makes his heartbeat spike. He tries opening it, with surprising success. At least it opened? Honestly, it's not in that bad of shape. But it's Paul's car. What if he doesn't forgive Percy? What if there's irreparable damage he isn't seeing? What if it's ruined? What if, what if, what if.
He's supposed to have the emergency flip phone Mom bought him a while ago, but he's not the best at keeping track of it. He wants to call Mom, or Paul, preferably before he drives again, doesn't want to make worse what is already pretty bad, but of course, he doesn't have it on him.
He groans, loudly, and pointedly, and resists the urge to throw Riptide against the ground. He pushes it deep into his pocket as if hiding it removes the weight against his leg. Then he digs around to see if he has any drachmas.
He's not sure an Iris Message will work. Fleecy personally gave him the Godly Stamp of Approval, but he doesn't know how long that offer extended. And to be honest, he hasn't exactly been a "good sport" lately. He's been kind of ghosting the Gods. Not that they were on speaking terms before, but a younger, more naive Percy might've tried reaching out to Poseidon by now. Three months after the war and he'd only heard radio silence. There was nothing through the end of the world, except for when he needed him to do something for him, like usual.
But Percy's not bitter about it. Or he's trying not to be. He has his Mom, and Paul, and Estelle, and Annabeth… the list went on. He didn't need a God's careless scraps of attention. And he didn't want it either, no matter how much a part of him felt cheated.
It's a moot point regardless because his questions are left unanswered when he finds he has no coins on him. He's supposed to carry them, too, but he might've used the last one to bribe Connor into getting him a Coke. Totally worth it.
He turns back to the Prius. His fingers trace over the crumpled metal, and he can almost picture the mounting bills and insurance paperwork that'll follow.
Money doesn't grow on trees, punk.
Ugh.
It seems driveable. As in, when Percy pushes past the panic, and he sits in the front seat, leaning over, and he turns it on and presses on the gas the alignment is fine and there are no beeping or blinking lights. As in, when Percy eases the car into drive, nothing feels weird and he's pretty sure it's going to be okay (except for the huge dent and the way the metal is sticking out and was it always rutted slightly or is he imagining it). If Percy knew anything about cars, or if he had anyone with any level of brains with him, he might have a better perspective. As it is, he rakes a hand through his hair and tries not to think about the anxiety building in his bones. Then, he puts it back on the wheel because he's too nervous to drive with only one.
He's sure he can make it the rest of the way to Mom's.
(He was sure last time too.)
(It's fine.)
It doesn't ease the tightness in his chest. The less distance he put between him and the apartment, the more his anxiety crawled under his skin. This is a mess only he could've created. Because, of course, after the life-threatening obstacles leading up to this, here he is: screwing up in the mortal world, failing to amount to anything in the only way that mattered. Paul is one of the nicest guys Percy's met – maybe the nicest guy, he's so entirely Canadian. He never complained about Percy's crazy life, always willing to lend a hand, and what did he get in return? A car that looked like it had been through an Empousa's driving skills. (Ha.) Knowing Paul, he'd probably take it in stride, though Percy isn't sure if that would make him feel better or worse. Probably worse. At least if Paul got mad, Percy could feel like he deserved it.
He gets home before he realizes he's turning down the street. He pulls into the driveway, puts the car in park, and takes the key out of the ignition. Grabs the milk from the backseat, and locks the car doors behind him. At least he didn't forget anything this time.
The digital watch he wears because Annabeth gave it to him – "to help with his time blindness" – says it's fifteen till eleven. He's been out for nearly forty-five minutes. Yikes. He clenches his fist and shakes it out at his side. When he opens the door, jerking his arm causes fresh pain on his back.
He walks through the door, greeted by Estelle's giggle over a kid's TV show quietly playing. It smells like chicken, like delicious and way more complicated than Mac n Cheese, and he feels a little guilty. He walks down the hall and lingers by the living room, stopping for a second at the baby gate keeping him out.
Estelle is sitting criss-cross applesauce on the carpeted floor, clapping her hands together at uneven intervals. Paul sits on the couch in front of her, leaning over elbows on his knees as he holds out a little ladybug. It sings the ABCs and flashes green and purple and it's one of her milder toys. He assumes Mom is in the kitchen, based off the way the smell is wafting from there and the pans clatter around. He feels bad for interrupting like this, especially considering, but it's too late to pretend nothing's wrong.
His little sister spots him first and announces his arrival with a squeal of delight. She bounces out of happiness, shaking a stuffed elephant in one hand and her pacifier in the other. Seeing her automatically makes him feel better; Percy's convinced she has Mom's magic, the ability to lighten a room simply by being there. Her excitement gets Paul's attention, and he looks over his shoulder at Percy with a grin.
"We debated sending a search party out for you," he half-jokes, but his jaw is a little tense and Percy feels bad thinking about the last time he left and disappeared for months. He's not sure what Paul sees in his expression, but his grin drops a second later, and frowns, "Are you alright?"
Paul sounds as if he knows what's wrong. Is that all Percy talks to him for, was when he messed up? He doesn't know anymore. Percy lost track of the people in his life sometimes.
He opens his mouth, not quite sure what he'll say yet, probably put his foot in it like he's so good at doing, but Paul interrupts with an alarmed noise and sets the toy in his hand down.
"Percy, you're bleeding,"
Oh, yeah. Somehow, in all of this, he managed to block out the sharp smell of copper, the stained shirt stuck to his skin. He's mostly used to it, to the point where he forgot about it because now it's little more than a nuisance, but remembering it's there jars the little bit of pain forth again.
"Bleeding?"
Mom is suddenly standing in the doorway, scrutinizing him for a second before she spots the crimson stains. He's not sure how she heard Paul in the kitchen, over the TV, but she has a sixth sense about these things. She looks like she's about to drag him into the kitchen to start stitching up healed wounds, so he shakes his head.
"I'm not! Bleeding, I mean. Anymore. I ate some ambrosia, I'm mostly fine now,"
Mom narrows her eyes, "Mostly?"
He shrugs, "I could use a new shirt. Also…," he winces and trails off, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, "I, uh, kind of had a little accident with the – the Prius. Maybe more than… a little. I might've crashed it," he trails off, suddenly feeling small as Paul stares at him in silence.
Percy has a hard time reading Paul's blank expression, and he can imagine Paul building up a temper, the subsequent not a scratch, brainboy that Percy's head fills the silence with. He doesn't know whether he should try to explain himself or keep his peace, because Paul's never really been angry before, but the longer the silence stretches, the queasier he gets. Paul speaks again before he says anything.
"How did you crash it?"
"Technically it wasn't me. Technically it was the Empousa,"
Percy flushes, withering a bit under Sally's flat look. Paul looks startled. They speak simultaneously;
"Did you let a monster drive my car?"
"' Technically'. Care to explain?"
Honestly, it's a testament to how well his mother knows him that she first questions him. Paul looks like he can't tell whether he should be delighted or offended. It eases something in him. It's easier to joke about it. He's glad they picked up on the uptake.
Percy recounts what happened, omitting such details as speeding home and driving while distracted (aka bleeding out). They both seem to have trouble processing the whole "Empousa drove the car" thing, but Percy doesn't blame them – he's still trying to process it himself. Other than that, neither of them look even mildly upset. If Percy didn't know any better, he'd scold himself for not realizing they wouldn't have, but this whole situation is strange.
"Alright, Percy. I'm sure it's fine. You drove here, right?
Percy nods, a little haltingly, "Yeah, I wasn't going to, but I forgot my phone – sorry – and I didn't have any drachmas to Iris Message,"
Sally gives him a look, but Paul beats her to it, "Hopefully that means the damage isn't too bad. Just make sure you have those on you in the future, you could've been hurt a lot worse,"
Percy nods but represses a frown. He thought Paul would be way more upset about this, but he's worried about Percy? Percy's fine, it's the car he should be asking about. Still, he watches as Paul heads over, groaning about his old knees as they popped when he stood. He steps past Percy (who does not flinch), and heads to the end of the hall to get his shoes from the rack.
He glances back at Mom while Paul's busy, and she pitches her eyebrow a little, asking if he's okay. He presses his lips together, unsure and she smiles sympathetically. The warmth in her eyes tells him it's okay, but it still feels like he's trying to breathe through a whistle. His eyes flick to the door and back to hers in a silent question, and she gestures to the kitchen and Estelle.
She isn't gonna go with them to look at the wreckage, because Estelle and lunch and this is a conservation she would've given them space for anyway. Which is fine because Paul is a great dude, and they don't have to worry about being alone with him. Paul's been great for two years, this little thing isn't gonna change that now. He doesn't necessarily want to be alone with him, but he'll follow him outside to check out the Prius because he did this and there's nothing to worry about and he's just being dramatic and he likes Paul.
Percy meets her eyes and glances away, taking a breath and heading towards Paul, who's by the front door wearing an old pair of loafers and a concerned look. They leave and walk down the steps with Percy keeping pace behind him. When they get out of the old peeling brick awning of the building, the sun hits Percy in the eye, causing temporary blindness. They make it to the bottom, and head to where Percy is parked before he feels the need to speak.
"Hey… I'm sorry about this. I really didn't mean to,"
Paul glances at Percy, then back at the Prius, which is now visible. He takes a deep breath, softening. "Percy, I know. It's okay. It happens to the best of us. Let's take a look and see what we're dealing with,"
They approach the car, the glow of the evening casting long shadows over the crumpled front end. He sees the tremor of the crash in his bones, the adrenaline leaving him taut, the Empousa's laugh. Paul's demeanor is composed, his expression calm as he takes in the destruction, but Percy can see the worry in his eyes.
They stand side by side, examining the Prius. He's not sure how much Paul is trying to remain neutral about this, but he sucks in a deep breath like he can't help it at the sight of the car. The front end is a mess: hood crumpled, headlight cracked, bumper dented badly. Paul walks around it and Percy lets him, not wanting to see the rest of what he'd done again. He feels a lump grow in his throat, his stomach knotting up. Paul's face is pinched, and Percy watches his expression. Notes how it doesn't change, not so much as a twitch. Waits for him to snap. Expects worse with Mom inside. After a second, though he relaxes again and does an aborted half-shrug.
"Well, I've seen worse," he said as Percy stared at him bug-eyed. He glances at Percy and sighs, shaking his head slightly. "I can see it's pretty beat up, but it's not the end of the world. Hell, it's not even as bad as I thought it'd be. Honestly, I'm just glad you're okay, looking at the damage,"
Percy's gaze drops to the ground. "I didn't know she was in the car until it was too late. I tried to control it, but –,"
Paul raises a hand, cutting him off. He hesitates, and then places the hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Percy, you did what you could. Monsters don't exactly follow traffic laws, do they? The fact that it's in one piece is honestly impressive,"
Percy blinks, taken aback, "You're not... mad? Or anything?"
Paul shakes his head. "I might be a little frustrated, but less at you and more at the situation. We all make mistakes, it happens. Cars can be fixed; things are replaceable. You –" He pauses, a seriousness creeping into his tone. "People, on the other hand, not so much. And you're one of the good ones, Percy,"
Percy flushes, feeling a little silly for worrying in the first place. He shoots Paul a small, grateful smile, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his body. "Thanks. I know it's just a car, but –," He stops himself, unsure. He knows it is, but he doesn't know how to explain that this is one more thing on top of a pile of other bad shit. It feels like an Empousa has been controlling the wheels of his life for months now, and it's been accident after accident. He doesn't want Paul to take this and base his entire opinion of Percy on it. So many people already thought Percy wasn't anything more than a delinquent – he doesn't want Paul to be added to that list.
Mercifully, Paul seems to catch on because he gives him a reassuring smile, "It's not just a car to you, I get that. But, it's okay. We'll talk about it. I'm not gonna hold it against you, don't worry about it,"
"I'll make it up to you, I promise. Whatever you guys need –,"
Paul waves it off. "We'll sort it out. First things first, let's get you cleaned up. You've had a rough night."
City ambiance echoes horns in the distance, pedestrians talking on phones, cars on the street. It quiets when they step under the shelter the apartment provides and walk up the steps, back into the building. With each step he felt himself raise a little higher; this is gonna get fixed, and they would be okay. He wants to make a joke or fill the air with anything but silence, but at least it's not awkward. It's actually kind of comfortable. Nice. Being with Paul is nice.
He walks back in and it's like he never left. He can hear the grating sound of Cocomelon following the clatter of silverware. If Estelle was excited before, she's ecstatic now at the sight of the two of them in the doorway. She makes a movement as if she's gonna run forward, but her little legs don't know how to do that properly yet, and she lands on her knees with a soft omf. Percy wonders if she'll cry, but she lets out a peal of giggles instead, and Percy laughs softly.
"Oh, good timing," Mom says from the kitchen, "Lunch is ready!"
Estelle sticks her arms out and garbles expectantly, and he's physically unable to say no to her, so he scoops her up and carries her into the kitchen with him. Mom and Paul are at the table, and he puts Estelle in her baby chair, and he gets a plate of the chicken delicious goodness, which he finds out is chicken parmesan. Mom doesn't ask about the car, because Mom always knows (knows what exactly, he's not sure, but she knows it doesn't matter anymore, and she knows Percy was worried about it, and she knows they're okay enough to keep going, because they always would be, and she never lost sight of that for a second) and it's nice. Like it always is. He missed this.