Chapter Text
Perseus Jackson is born after twenty-one hours of consecutive labor in the epicenter of a magnitude 5.1 earthquake. He draws his first breath and screams, and the doctors call him a Miracle.
"He's been blessed, Ms. Jackson," they tell her with awe-filled eyes as they check him for injuries. No infant should have survived the tremors, and yet, little Perseus had done just that. "You must be proud to have such a strong son."
Sally—Beautiful, red-faced, exhausted Sally—holds her child with trembling arms and smiles weakly at their words. All it takes is a glance at the tiny bundle, and her world shifts to accommodate its new center.
What pride she should feel is overshadowed by fear and desperation, and grief. She looks at her demigod son, clear-sighted as she is, and knows he is more god than mortal.
She's startled by the sound of a throat being cleared. The room is empty, apart from a young doctor with blond hair and golden eyes.
The fear is immediate, and she holds Percy close to her chest, hoping it'll earn him some measure of protection from the god who is almost certainly here to kill them on behalf of the Lord of the Skies.
"Peace, Sally Jackson. I'm not here to harm you," he says, looking down at Percy. "Either of you."
Sally unclenches her jaw and manages to ask, "What can I do for you, Lord Apollo?"
He smiles, softer and more realistic than any god has the right to, "I'm here to extend an offer of protection for your son."
There is a moment of silence where Sally's heartbeat is the loudest thing in the room. She holds onto her son tight, afraid he might be taken right from her hands.
"His father," she says. "Does he know about this offer?"
The smile drops off Apollo's face, and a grim look takes over, but he nods, "You're lucky he was watching over you when Perseus was born. Your son…"
He trails off and walks closer to the pair. Sally does nothing to stop him.
"I'll be blunt. Without divine protection, my father will notice him within a few hours. And it'll be far too noticeable if my Uncle is the one to bless him."
Sally can feel her heart drop into her stomach at his words. She looks down at her son. Her precious son, with his dusting of black hair and TooBrightTooOld green eyes, and the overwhelming scent of the ocean—The same air that fills her little Montauk cabin and the beach where she first met his father.
"What do you want in return, Lord Apollo? We both know there's always a price."
Apollo's golden eyes bore into hers, and she feels like her very soul is being judged. Then, after a few seconds, he shakes his head.
"My Uncle owes me a favor. Not you," Apollo says. "But I wouldn't say no to an occasional offering."
There's a rock lodged in her throat, but she speaks regardless, with a strength that only a mother can understand.
"If it keeps him safe, I'll pay any price," Sally looks up at him, and it's like staring directly into the sun, but she doesn't turn away. "I'd give my life for his if it guaranteed his safety."
Apollo cocks his head and nods. He walks to the bedside and puts a hand on Percy's head. A soft golden glow surrounds him for a moment before settling under his skin. Then, Apollo steps back and pulls a cheap, ballpoint pen out of his pocket.
"Anaklusmos. Riptide. It uncaps into a sword. A gift from his father, for when he's old enough to wield it."
He hands it to her, and before she can thank him, he's holding his palm out, in the center of which sits a golden-bronze ring—A simple band that can't be confused for anything but a mortal wedding ring.
"He…"
She's afraid to finish her sentence lest she bursts into tears right now.
"Twist it when it's around your finger, and it should turn into a xiphos. It's celestial bronze, the only thing that'll kill any monsters that come after him."
Sally shifts her son to hold him in one arm. With the other, she reaches out to take the ring. She's held it together up to this point, but it's the inscription that makes her hang her head and stifle a sob in Percy's blanket.
The outside of the ring is engraved with a pattern of rolling waves that must be enchanted with how they seem to move.
On the inside, there's a set of coordinates which she has no doubt is the very beach they met on. And in delicate script, an inscription reads:
She who stands before the raging sea, my eternal heart is yours.
"You want to live a normal life without Our interference, but how will you do that on the day when my father learns of him? You'll both be hunted to the ends of the earth; by then, nothing will save you. The enchantments on that ring are old. Older than me. It will protect you both," Apollo says. His eyes harden at Sally. "You mortals all have pathetically short lifespans, but against all logic, my Uncle went and fell in love with you."
For a moment, time stands still… until it doesn't and everything seems to hit her at once.
"But he can't," Sally whispers. She's barely twenty and still wants to build a life for herself. For Percy. Poseidon's love was never meant to last, and now her brain has stuttered to a stop, no idea what to do or say. "He… He has a wife."
Everything inside her is screaming. She knows the love of a god is fleeting; The few who are something more to them never get a happy ending.
Apollo, god of Prophecy, sits before her and offers his platitudes as though he thinks it'll end well. As though he doesn't have a literal garden of lovers that doubles as a graveyard.
Poseiden's graveyard is the ocean. More vast and treacherous and filled to the depths with virtues and hearts of so many who had not wished to give it. She knows this, and yet when he offered to build her a palace under the sea, she wanted so badly to walk into the depths with him.
Sally Jackson knows her myths. She knows about Medusa and Demeter and the countless others Poseidon forced himself on. She knows his history, but she can't find it in herself to conflate that Poseidon to the one she was with.
He never forced her. Never harmed her. Never laid a hand on her in a way she didn't want.
The first time they met, Sally tried to steal his trident, thinking he was using it to kill a seal stuck in a fishing net. Any other god would have instantly struck her down for her impudence, but for some reason, he didn't. He bought her a drink and waved away the attendant asking for an ID. And then they simply talked. For hours.
Poseidon took her to mortal diners and ordered milkshakes and pies and shitty burgers. She dragged him camping and laughed when he couldn't pitch a tent. Sally has many memories of him, but her favorite is on the sands of a long abandoned beach, after he had thrown the tent poles to the ground and, in a moment of frustration, accidentally summoned a hurricane. She laughed till her belly hurt and only stopped when she caught a glimpse of him watching her.
Sally knows what hunger and lust look like, and his eyes, while stormy and dark, weren't that. He looked at her like he was seeing something new for the first time in millennia, and gods, he looked beautiful. The sea raged behind him, and he looked like a divine contradiction in his colorful, mortal clothing while his skin sparked with power.
She remembers the look in his eyes as he made his way to her across the sand. She remembers him lifting and spinning her around, kissing her senseless in the wind and rain while she laughed against his lips.
He took her on the beach in the middle of that hurricane and told her he loved her for the first time. Poseidon's eyes had been filled with a reverence she didn't know the gods were capable of. He made her feel cherished and loved. And though in all their time together, she never repeated his words back to him, the look in his eyes never waned.
For all her bravery and strength, Sally knew saying it aloud would give it a sort of permanence she wasn't prepared to lose when whatever they were eventually ended. At least it could save her a little heartbreak, and Poseidon seemed to understand that.
She wasn't foolish enough to think she had changed him. He was a god, and she, a mortal. The Fates never liked those bonds to last. Perhaps he was shielding her from the truth of his nature—Afraid it would scare her off.
There was only ever one time where she truly saw him in his most ancient, divine rage—Upon discovering his brother had broken the same vow that she now held, bundled in her arms—and still, he never raised a hand to her.
That night was the first and only time she saw him as Poseidon, God of the Seas, Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Monsters.
Poseidon wore a shimmering chiton that seemed to be made of seafoam. He looked otherworldly, with flames of green burning in his eyes and divinity radiating from him so strongly, she could taste it. She'd known him long enough to sense something was different this time.
He'd let his aura out around her before, just enough to let her feel it without pain. This felt similar, but different at the same time. Before, he was so clearly of the ocean. She could taste the salt on her tongue and feel the wind in her hair. Not that she still couldn't, but this? Poseidon felt grounded in a way that he hadn't before. Now, the earth didn't ripple as he walked.
It shook.
The door to her cabin slammed shut behind him. Iridescent blue and green scales glimmered in the candlelight as he walked towards her. The lack of light shadowed his features, but she could see how they were more angular. Severe.
The hand around his Trident was tipped with sharp, black nails, and when he opened his mouth to speak, he had far too many teeth to pass as human. And the voice he spoke with would be enough to give any mortal nightmares. He barely said three words, but it was enough to make Sally clap her hands over her ears to try and drown out the sound of the very earth moving.
He wasn't so far gone as not to notice, and while he didn't speak English, what came out of his mouth was a much smoother language. It was in stark contrast with the first, seeming to glide off his tongue like silk. He'd spoken this Old language to her before, if briefly. She may not have been able to understand it, but she was good enough at reading him to know he needed a distraction from whatever was causing the devastating storm outside.
Sally spoke no words as she led him to her bed by his free hand. She didn't react when his nails drew blood from her palm or when his nose flared at the metallic smell, or when a forked tongue passed his lips to lick the beads of crimson away. Poseidon lay with her that night as though she was little more than a stranger, but despite his emotional distance, he never once caused her undue harm.
It was dawn when finally he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. The oppressive aura, along with most of his unearthly features, seemed to recede. For the first time that visit, he spoke English, and she heard the truth of his brother's actions. Of him siring a child against the oath of the Styx.
Now, Poseidon himself broke the very same oath. And Sally? Sally looks down at the child in her arms and smiles, knowing Percy is worth any punishment that might come down on her or his father.
Her musings of the past are interrupted by the god in front of her, and she turns her attention back to Apollo, her tears slowly abating.
"Darling, he's a god. He doesn't know the meaning of monogamy," Apollo laughs brightly at her comment on Poseidon's marriage. "They both take lovers as they wish."
Poseidon has always said the sea is ever-changing—That it doesn't like to be restrained. She's under no illusions that this will last, but she makes her decision. Her tears dry and her eyes harden, and she slips on the ring with a silent threat prayer to its maker.
Thank you. I love you. But hear me now: If it ever comes to a choice, I will choose him every time, Poseidon. I love our son more than I will ever love you.
"Quite… bold for a mortal," Apollo says slowly, looking at her as if she's a puzzle he needs to solve. He pauses for a moment with a bemused expression on his face before continuing. "Though, that's why he loves you, isn't it?"
The window is closed, but a breeze of sea salt brushes against her hair all the same. Apollo's head is cocked, and he watches her with an appraising eye as the wind rustles Percy's blanket.
Sally Jackson would raze the world for her son; if this is how he can be kept safe, she'll accept the risks and dangers for herself. When the time comes, she will shoulder the wrath of the gods and keep her head high doing it because she knows that at the end of it all, Percy will still be protected. And to her, that is all that matters.
- - -
Percy is seven when he meets his brother for the first time. His mom is in the cabin unpacking while he swims in the shallows of the beach. He's learned to stay in her sight for the sake of her own worries if nothing else.
Their isolated little cabin in Montauk is the only place Percy is free to be himself. Here, on the sandy beaches, he can smile and laugh and grin because there is no one but his mother to see his TooManyTooSharp teeth. Here, he doesn't have to suffer through the dry and tasteless meat most mortals seem to like. His mother can enjoy her vegetables, and Percy will eat his steaks with blood dripping down his chin.
Here, he can swim to his heart's content. He can stay underwater for hours and talk to the fish without being called a freak. He can open his maw mouth without hearing anxious gasps of whatever image makes it through the Mist when he eats.
His mom will give him an exasperated look and wipe the blood from his face with a napkin. She'll chide him for making a mess, and Percy will grin sheepishly in return. There is no fear in her eyes—only love and adoration.
Even when her scent sours—when Percy's done something drawing the wrong kind of attention—she's only ever afraid for him. Not of him.
Never of him.
Percy waits for her now. She doesn't like when he swims off without telling her. So he listens. He sits in the shallows and chats with the manta rays and sand sharks that swim up to him, fearless enough to talk to a human.
Percy can taste it when the air shifts to something darker. Older. A metallic scent permeates the air, and he can feel waves of curiosity and fascination and protectprotectprotect hitting him like a tsunami. It is an array of contradictions smelling of god and monster and danger—and family.
An enormous horse stands before him, hooves planted firmly on the water's surface. Percy has always loved horses. Always felt more at home around them than at school with children his age. They are more his kin than any mortal child.
The horse in front of him is something different. Something ancient and more divine than he's ever been in the presence of. He studies Percy, who stands slowly, not taking his eyes off the GodBloodBrotherKinFamily horse. Black eyes, knowing and intelligent, stare back at him. After a moment, he shakes his mane and huffs, giving Percy a glimpse of the three rows of razor-sharp teeth lining his mouth, not unlike his own.
Percy laughs (his voice is the grinding of the deep earth as its core shifts) and grins back, unhinging his jaw to show off his own single row of very sharp teeth. His chest puffs out with pride when his brother nickers his (amused) approval.
Percy is ancient in a myriad of ways, older than any demigod of this age should be, but he is still a child, and his brother's approval fills him with a sort of feral glee that makes his bones vibrate.
ArionBrotherFamily nips at his shoulder. The skin splits like a hot knife through butter, and in the few seconds before the water sews his skin together, his blood seems to glimmer under the morning sun. Percy, in return, buries his face in Arion's flank. His teeth aren't strong enough to nip back, nor is he tall enough to reach, but he rubs his cheek against his brother and bites down on air twice, the resounding clack sounding more like planks ripped from a ship's hull as it's torn apart by a raging storm.
Arion pulls back and opens his mouth to sing a song of high-pitched whistles and clicks—A forgotten language known only to the ancient water deities and their kin. It's a language meant for the divine and the Old, yet Percy understands with a deep-rooted clarity.
It's not like English or Greek, with its long words and complicated grammar. There's no direct translation, but he can tell Arion is laughing as he says, BROTHER HUNT PREY. GROW BIG. MORE TEETH. STRONG.
Percy huffs and responds with hisses and clicks of his own.
WANT MORE TEETH. STRONG NOW.
Arion's shrill, bell-like laugh cuts through the air, and it's at this point that Sally Jackson steps out of the cabin and is treated to the most horrifying sight imaginable: This monstrous horse, who Percy's head barely reaches the flank of, has its jaw open, multiple rows of teeth glinting in the sunlight.
Fear grips her heart, but she still calls out for her son, who, unlike her, isn't paralyzed by fear. No, he's not afraid at all. Her seven-year-old son is bouncing out of his skin with excitement.
She hears him make a noise akin to laughter (a sound plucked straight from her nightmares—All crashing waves and screaming sailors). His lack of fear, though, relaxes her somewhat. If the monster meant Percy harm, he'd already be dead. And that's a thought that strikes a chord of terror in her she hasn't felt since he was born.
Sally, with all the ferocity and protective instincts of a mother lioness, buries her fear deep down and walks right over to her son and the monster before him. Percy meets her halfway. Barrels straight into her, his face lit up with an innocent joy she's never seen on him before. He beams at her and clicks a few times before remembering to switch to English.
He never fails to surprise her because the last thing she expects to hear from his mouth is, "Mama, this is Arion, and he's my brother."
Arion. Her son's brother.
She knows the myths—was raised on them by her Uncle—and she never gave Percy's potential siblings much of a thought, always warier of the Lords of the Sky or Underworld. But here he stands, Percy's brother, towering over her by more than a foot, his gaze digging into her very soul.
There's an intelligence in his eyes that she's not used to seeing in animals. But then again, this is no animal before her. This is the child of two Olympian gods. An immortal being who's been alive for millennia. He is monstrous and awesome and terrifying, and he is Percy's family.
Sally has always loved more fiercely than she fears, so it's with a smile on her face and a hand on her son's shoulder that she says, "If you eat mortal food, you're welcome to join us for a meal. I have plenty of meat for Percy, and I'm sure he won't mind sharing."
The astonished grin on her son's face is worth every drop of fear she's ever felt. This is what she loves most in the world—Seeing her son happy. She will do everything in her power to keep that smile on his face.
Percy is young still, but Sally knows his fate. She knows vaguely of the prophecy and the deadline of sixteen. She knows that one day, he'll be discovered, and his whole life will be uprooted. He'll have to leave her and stay at that camp that does not permit entry to mortals. It's inevitable, and she hates it.
He knows of his family in vague terms. The more awareness a demigod has, the more noticeable they are to gods and monsters, so she only tells him what he needs to know. He knows that there are many things he needs to keep secret from mortals and that sometimes, the fish in the New York Aquarium call him "My Prince." He knows his father is a god and loves him even though he can't visit. He knows he's safest near the sea and under the sun.
He has a cousin named Fred, who visits a few times a year. Fred, who smells of Bay Laurels and sunshine, makes sure he's safe and helps him with homework, and sings him to sleep. He doesn't eat, but he likes the smell of burnt honey cake. Fred, who isn't really Fred, but Percy knows asking questions is dangerous, so he's content to sit by his cousin and let him braid wildflowers and buttercups and hyacinths into wild, black curls reaching just above Percy's mid-back.
Percy knows many things and doesn't know many more. But for now, Percy is seven. He is a child, and she'll be damned if she doesn't give him the best childhood she can. For the sake of her son, Sally will swallow her fear when his brother tears into a seal he's caught and offers him meat because when Percy accepts, his smile is radiant. When he's sixteen and has the weight of the world on his shoulders, she wants him to look back and remember it wasn't all bad.
Arion might scare her, but he's Percy's brother, and that's all that matters.
- - -
Halfway through May of 2006, a freak lightning storm descends upon the upper East side of Manhattan. It lasts two long minutes and is immediately followed by the most devastating earthquake anywhere in the United States has experienced in recent history.
Less than an hour later, a Hurricane begins to form and, over the next few weeks, proceeds to ravage the entire Eastern Seaboard. Only a small section of Long Island remains untouched.
They name it Hurricane Sally.