Chapter Text
There was something strange about Camp Half-Blood Percy noticed on a random morning two weeks into his life here.
Annabeth had just pulled him aside from underwater basket weaving for his daily Ancient Greek tutoring session (Percy couldn’t tell if the daughter of Athena was pleased or frustrated with how eerily fast he was picking the language up). Grover had been more than happy to stay behind to continue weaving with the pretty naiads. But as Annabeth was explaining the Ancient Greek syntax (“subject-object-verb—are you even paying attention, Seaweed Brain?”) Percy's ever-distraction-seeking-mind and eyes wandered to the cabins through the gaps of the trees.
He counted them in his head and frowned, wondering if Mrs. Dodds had been right about how hopeless he was in math. So he counted them again and no—he hadn’t counted it wrong.
There were only twelve cabins.
But that couldn’t be right, Percy thought. Not only were there many more gods and goddesses than just twelve, but at the very least there were thirteen major gods.
So who was missing?
“There’s no Hades cabin,” Annabeth answered, and Percy realized that he had spoken aloud. Thankfully she didn’t seem to hold it against him. Something about his spar with Luke and rumors surrounding what had happened with Lord Dionysus had warmed Annabeth’s attitude to Percy... Or maybe it just had to do with the new ambitious gleam in her stormy gray eyes. She did seem much more keen to talk to Percy than before.
Her answer struck him as strange.
“But he has kids,” Percy pointed out.
That strange ambitious gleam reappeared in her eyes and, in a much more serious tone than before, Annabeth began to tell Percy about the Great Prophecy.
An Oath on the River Styx. The Big Three. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades sworn from siring children with mortals.
Percy shifted uneasily in his seat then, recalling what Dionysus had said.
You definitely smell like one of Uncle Poseidon’s.
This unease was immediately set aside when Grover shuffled over to them, furry legs soaked through and dripping lake water everywhere, apparently having caught their conversation and wanted to offer his own opinion on the lack of a Hades cabin.
“You should be glad there isn’t one—it wouldn’t be pleasant is all I’ll say. I shudder even imagining it!”
All confusing thoughts of the Great Prophecy escaped Percy then. For the first time since Percy had met Grover he felt true anger at his friend. The most he’d ever felt before was maybe mild irritation (such as that one time back at Yancy Academy when Grover started chewing on Percy’s mountain dew can before he’d even had a chance to drink it).
But this feeling now, this anger and heat in his stomach (and strangely his feet), burned righteously.
Percy jumped to his feet before he could think better of it, digging his toes into the cold sand, and shot a startled Grover a glare. “That’s ridiculous! How could you possibly know that? And even if it were true, Hades’ children deserve a place to be safe too! All mortals eventually end up in the underworld anyway. How can it be so bad?”
“Woah! Percy. Relax,” Grover held up two hands in surrender, eyes wide with surprise. “I didn’t mean anything by it? It’s not like Lord Hades has any mortal children anyway.”
“Supposedly,” Annabeth muttered beneath her breath. The earth rumbled a bit at this.
But Percy didn’t feel like listening. He felt like blowing off this steam—preferably in a spar with a blade in-hand. He didn’t really understand where this frustration was coming from but he knew he needed to get away, before he said something he’d feel bad for later.
So he roughly shouldered his backpack and slipped Riptide back into his pocket and pushed away from the picnic table.
”I’ll find you guys later.”
After Percy left, leaving his friends to stare dumbfoundedly after him, Grover and Annabeth had been further surprised to find bits of melted glass in the sand where Percy had just been standing but a moment ago.
~*~
Percy couldn’t stay mad at his best friend forever.
By dinner time he had completely forgiven Grover, even before the satyr trotted over to the Hermes table and apologized (though Grover still didn’t seem to quite understand why it had been so upsetting, but that was okay because Percy didn’t know either).
Percy didn’t have time to ponder his outburst for very long when Annabeth and Clarisse (a daughter of Ares) entered the dining pavilion carrying silk banners—one of an owl and a fig tree, the other of a bloody spear and boar’s head. As they entered, the entire pavilion burst into cheers and applause and excited chatter.
They were to play Capture the Flag, ala Camp Half-Blood style (with swords and deadly weapons, naturally), Luke explained from across the picnic table.
Things between Luke and Percy were still a little bit weird following the Dionysus incident.
The older camper had found Percy alone in the training yard after Dionysus had vanished. He’d approached apologetically, explaining that he’d completely overlooked Percy in the mayhem of getting everyone to safety. The explanation did not satisfy, but Percy accepted it gratefully anyway, feeling the tight knot in his stomach relax though it did not fully unravel. He could still picture the icy cold glare on Luke’s face, the scar down his right cheek casting a shadow that turned his face severe and sinister. Percy kept his mouth shut about his worries. For all he knew the look had been for Lord Dionysus behind Percy, for putting everyone in danger, and not aimed at Percy.
Because why would it? It made no sense.
The explanation sat uncomfortably, like a puzzle piece that looked correct but didn’t fit quite right. Percy clung to it anyway. There was no hint of coldness now, and Luke’s face was as open and friendly as ever as he suited Percy up for the games ahead. This was preferable to speculating and letting the anxieties eat up his insides. Percy shouldn’t doubt his friends.
”You haven’t used that other sword of yours since our spar,” Luke observed as Percy gave Riptide a practice swing, just to test the balance--as perfect as ever. When Luke said this though, a strange light shone from his bright blue eyes that made Percy feel off-balanced.
“Maybe next game,” Percy offered lamely.
Luke only laughed good naturedly in response.
Annabeth had a plan. A plan that involved Percy and bait and Percy playing the role of that bait.
“Heard a rumor you beat Luke in some spars,” Clarisse sneered. “Wanted to test you myself, punk. But the rumors must be exaggerated ‘cause by the looks of your scrawny butt this’ll be a quick beatdown.”
Percy eyed the handful of Ares kids that had him surrounded, a few he recognized as campers who’d shot him suspicious and unfriendly glares around camp. This was definitely personal for some of them. Grover’s warning about campers being wary of his relationship with Asterius and monsters rang in his ears.
Clarisse at least seemed genuinely here for a good fight.
Percy may not be able to change how people felt about him, but he could give Clarisse a good fight.
Percy grinned back at her. “Why don’t you come and find out, punk?”
Her eyes widened as her own words were thrown back at her. And then Clarisse grinned in return, raised her crackling spear, and charged.
Shields were meant to… well, shield. And, to be fair, Percy didn’t… Not use it that way. He did raise the shield to block and parry blows that came his way, as one normally would.
It’s just that his opponents probably didn’t expect him to throw it like a frisbee at their faces either.
“What the heck!” One of the Ares campers cried out, leaping out of the way just as the shield Luke suited Percy with whizzed by her head a hair too close for comfort. It hit the trunk of the tree behind her at just the right angle and went bouncing off again, slamming another camper in the back. He did not manage to dodge in time like his sister and went down like a sack of potatoes. The girl stared at him in disbelief. “Who do you think you are, Captain America?!”
Percy only grinned and ducked beneath a jab of Clarisse’s spear, the air above his head alive and crackling with electricity. He stuck a foot out and swept her legs but she jumped away deftly. Percy used the opportunity to duck down and dart forward, catching his still spinning and flying shield with ease.
The shield held up surprisingly well for how Percy was misusing it. But it didn’t bounce quite as many times as he would’ve liked. Hm… Maybe if he spoke to the Hephaestus cabin, they could tinker with it? Then he could really be Captain America. He still remembered the Cap costume Mom made for him when he was eight for Halloween. He didn’t take that thing off for a whole week.
He missed her so much.
“Don’t get distracted, punk!”
The electrified spear stung as is whooshed only inches from his ear. Percy tilted his head to the side to narrowly avoid being speared into the world’s crispiest head-kabob. Despite the blood singing in his ears, his senses felt heightened and he swore he could hear the beating of Clarisse’s heart past the gurgle of the creek and the roaring in his ears…
… Loud enough that he instinctively jerked his sword arm up and jabbed her hand, where it wrapped around the grip of her spear, with the butt-end of Riptide when he heard it pass by his ear. She let out a yowl of pain and let go of the weapon. It barely hit the forest ground when Percy had already kicked it out of reach.
And then Riptide was pointed at a disarmed Clarisse and the fight was over.
“Good fight,” Percy offered, genuinely meaning it. Aside from Luke, few campers had been able to give him that battle-rush he craved.
The daughter of Ares looked furious for a moment, like she was going to spit in his face or something. But the moment passed and she grinned an ugly grin up at him that somehow suited her face perfectly. “Yeah yeah, Prissy. Good fight. But don’t get cocky. You’re dead meat next time.”
Percy could only grin back. “Looking forward to it.”
Cheers suddenly went up around the forest as Luke came bounding through the trees, a silver banner lifted high and triumphant above his head for all to see. The Hermes cabin claimed victory, all thanks to Percy distracting the Ares cabin’s best fighters. Some campers looked genuinely surprised to see him still in one piece. Annabeth appeared beside him literally out of thin-air and clapped him congratulating on the shoulder.
“Not bad, Seaweed Brain.”
Their revelry was not kindled for long though when Chiron burst into the clearing unexpectedly.
“Stand alert!”
The next thing Percy knew, there was a hellhound upon him, his treacherous heart causing him to hesitate a second too long even as he knew the image before him was all wrong. The right knife-like fangs but red eyes instead of green, black fur instead of ruby, and far too few heads. But it was enough to distract him long enough for razor-sharp claws to rake down his back and left arm, fiery hot pain blooming instantly as blood exploded on his tongue.
Percy fell back into the creek as the hellhound met its end on the bladed arc of a giant scythe that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, the monster’s body exploding into dust above him. It was only then that Percy saw his savior.
A boy loomed above him, expression much too stern to belong to someone who looked no older than Percy. His skin was ashen and dark and his blonde hair was so pale it nearly appeared silver. He wore black jeans and a black hoodie with a skull design at the center with the hood pulled over his head.
Percy’s heart picked up pace in his chest, that quivering more eager than ever before as he looked up into the face of his savior. The stranger’s eyes were gold and glimmered with warmth and kindness despite the cold indifference on his face.
As always, Percy knew this person.
“Are you…?” He began, but the boy shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter.” His voice was monotone but there was an undercurrent of deep emotion there hidden beneath. “It’s Percy, right? You seem to be the type to get into a lot of trouble.” He held out a hand for Percy which he had donned with fingerless black gloves. He was definitely way too cool to be a regular twelve-year-old.
Percy took the offered hand and allowed the mysterious boy to pull him to his feet.
“You can call me Morty,” said Morty.
The corners of Percy’s mouth quirked up as if Morty had just told a funny joke, though Percy couldn’t quite put a finger on why. He was entranced by this newcomer (there’s no way Morty was a camper--Percy was sure he’d never miss a guy like that walking around), he didn’t even notice that his grievous wounds no longer hurt. His whole world narrowed down to the boy before him. He wanted to ask Morty so many questions but couldn’t figure out what those questions were. Percy opened his mouth anyway, too impatient to wait for his brain to catch-up with his heart.
But he was cut off by the rounds of gasps that went up among the campers gathered by the creek. They all stared above his head in shock. Annabeth looked stricken and she shot Percy an uncharacteristically pitying look that churned his stomach. Only Morty appeared unsurprised as he stared up at the thing behind Percy.
Percy finally forced himself to look up, the signs already fading, but he could just make out the opaque glittering holograms.
The first was a trident, green and gleaming in the dying light of dusk, that filled Percy’s ears with the crash and roar of the ocean—a thrumming deep and powerful in his soul. This already was a trumpet of doom knowing what he knew now of the Great Prophecy. Just his usual rotten luck.
But it was not alone in sounding that horn.
Next to the trident was another hologram.
A golden skull hung in the air, a red and a green jewel glittering out from each socket as it grinned down at the gathering of children, and Percy knew in his heart exactly what it symbolized.
“How is this possible…?” Annabeth murmured to herself.
“See? Proof! He must’ve summoned the monster!” One of the Ares kids that Percy had destroyed in the skirmish cried out, only quieting down when Clarisse cuffed him on the head. But murmurs of distress and suspicion and confusion were already going up around the crowd.
Chiron stomped his front hoof into the ground to re-establish order and everyone grew hushed. He walked over to Percy and shot him a similarly pitying look as Annabeth had.
“My Father…” Percy began, then swallowed and corrected himself. “My… Fathers.”
“It is determined,” Chiron announced. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses.” He paused and continued. “King of the Underworld, Lord of the Dead, of Blood and Shadows.” A shudder went through the crowd. A thrill went through Percy. “Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of Poseidon, Son of Hades.”