Chapter Text
Percy came to slowly, the steady back-and-forth rocking of the sea lulling him in and out of consciousness. His body floated weightless in the warm water, the sea whispering against his skin as though it were trying to coax him back to sleep. It was almost enough to pull him back under, to slip back into that haze where pain and thoughts were a distant thing. But even as he floated limply in the tide, something nagged at the edges of his awareness, something wasn’t right. Something was very broken.
It was with that thought that the pain came rushing back to him.
It wasn’t the sharp immediate kind of pain that indicated he had been stabbed or torn open. No, this was a deeper, pervasive ache that seemed to seep into every fiber of his being, like he had been through hours of battle and had only just begun to heal. His body felt battered, bruised, and sore in a way that reminded him of the aftermath of too many mortal wounds. He grunted softly, his muscles screaming in protest as he tried to move. But every twitch sent another wave of agony through him; his ribs, his back, everything felt like it had been broken and put back together wrong.
Percy groaned under his breath, his eyes fluttering open. His surroundings were a blur, the world around him spinning and he felt nauseous. He blinked a few more and realized someone’s hazy face was hovering over him.
Percy’s heart skipped a beat and he sucked in a sharp breath. The pain flared in his chest again, stealing the water from his lungs.
“Wha-?” He tried to speak, but the words barely escaped his throat, head spinning. He flinched away from the figure, his body jerking instinctively to put distance between himself and a potential threat. He grabbed the water around him, using the current to push away. As his body shifted, the pain spiked again, piercing through his ribs and flaring along his spine. It burned like fire under his skin, and for a moment Percy was certain he was back in Tartarus.
Percy yelped, the sound strangled and weak, and he curled instinctively into himself, hands clutching at his side. He could feel the ache deep in his bones, the way his back refused to straighten, and his vision wavered in and out of focus. The sea pulled him gently forward despite his attempts to retreat. He hissed through clenched teeth, his breathing shallow and pained, as the water pushed him closer to the figure.
“Whoa, calm, child. You’re okay.” The voice was deep and familiar, but it didn’t sound quite right. He blinked, vision swimming as he tried to focus on the shape above him. Slowly the blur began to clear, and Percy’s relaxed as he recognized the figure towering over him.
His father, Poseidon.
But something was wrong. His father’s face was different, in a way that his fog-filled brain couldn’t place. Braids? Did his father always have braids?
Percy’s brow furrowed in confusion, and the dull ache in his body flared as he tried to shift, but the pain was sharp. He whimpered, trying keep his breath steady. He felt so heavy, so tired and his mind was struggling to connect the dots.
The pain, the confusion, it all made him want to shut his eyes again and fade away.
But then Poseidon’s current began to pull him, and Percy let himself be swept closer to his father. He didn't have the energy to resist or the will to argue. The pull was warm and comforting, familiar in a way while everything else felt strange. The soothing tide took him closer until he found himself curling into the figure that had always protected him.
Percy’s arms trembled as they wrapped around Poseidon. Something in the god’s stance felt. . . different. Poseidon’s hands hovered near his back, never quite landing, as though unsure of how to hold him. Percy blinked, something tugging at the back of his mind, but it didn’t come into focus. He just knew it wasn’t right. Poseidon was always so open to his affection, always eager for the shoulder bumps, the spontaneous hugs, the ruffling of Percy’s hair. But now, that hesitation. . .
Percy’s own exhaustion and confusion must have shown because, after a moment Poseidon’s posture softened. The god’s hands finally came down, one arm wrapping securely around Percy’s back, the other reaching up to gently pet his hair as though offering comfort.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Poseidon murmured softly, the sound a balm to Percy’s frayed nerves. His father’s grip tightened around him, pulling him closer.
It took Percy a moment to realize that his father wasn’t speaking English, but Ancient Greek, the words flowing effortlessly between them. It was a language so fluent to demigods that most spoke a mixture of Ancient Greek and English, slipping between the two tongues without thought. The sound of it hit Percy like a wave, grounding him in the moment, even as his mind struggled to hold onto consciousness.
He tried to straighten and pull away from the comfort of Poseidon’s chest, but the movement triggered a sharp, searing pain in his back. His whole body screamed in protest, every muscle, every joint aching as if it had been twisted out of place.
“Hurts,” Percy whimpered, his voice small and fragile, a barely audible sound against the rush of his heartbeat in his ears. He shook involuntarily, his limbs trembling from the effort and he instinctively curled tighter into his father’s embrace, seeking refuge from the pain.
“I know,” Poseidon’s voice was soft, filled with a quiet reassurance. The hand on Percy’s back shifted slightly, giving him the support he needed and letting him sink into the warmth of his father’s hold.
“Here,” Poseidon said after a moment, his voice gentle but firm. “Eat this.”
Percy didn’t have the energy to protest, to question what his father was offering. His body was already starting to drift, the edges of the world beginning to blur again as unconsciousness crept back over him.
But when Poseidon placed something cool and sweet below his nose, Percy opened his mouth without hesitation, trusting his father would help even as his mind slipped further away. The candy melted almost instantly, a burst of healing power flooding through him. The familiar sweet taste of ambrosia soothed the ache in his chest and sent warmth through his veins.
“Th’nks, Dad,” Percy murmured, the words slurring just slightly as the heaviness of sleep took hold. His voice was weak, strained.
And with a final, shaky breath, the world slipped away from him. The pain, the confusion, the fear all faded into nothing as the darkness embraced him once more, and Percy finally allowed himself to rest in his father’s arms.
Poseidon glanced down at the small figure cradled in his arms, his gaze softening as he studied the child’s delicate features. The kids head rested against his chest, his breathing shallow but steady, the faintest tremor still running through his body despite the warmth of Poseidon’s embrace. The weight of the boy in his arms was so light and fragile that Poseidon felt an overwhelming instinct to hold him even closer, but refrained, afraid that the smallest shift might wake him from his exhausted sleep.
This wasn’t how Poseidon had imagined the day would unfold.
He had been circling Calypso’s island, the gentle rocking of the ocean beneath him matching the rhythm of his own thoughts. He’d been waiting for Odysseus to finally find his way to freedom, to make the choice that would lead him back to Ithaca, when his focus had been interrupted.
Out of nowhere, Poseidon had felt the pull of a new connection, one that was so raw and sudden, that it nearly took him off guard. He’d had no idea what it was at first, just the strange feeling of a new thread in the tapestry of the world that he’d had no explanation for. He’d reached out immediately, his thoughts scrambled and confused.
It had not been what he expected.
He wasn’t expecting a new child. His mind had raced, trying to make sense of the sensation. His wife had not been carrying, and he certainly hadn’t been with any lovers recently. At least, none who were female. So where had this child come from?
The more he’d tried to think about it, the more confused he’d became. He had been certain of one thing, there was no logical explanation for this new arrival. Poseidon had reached out to the connection, trying to make sense of it, to find some clarity. The ocean around him had swirled in response to his own confusion, currents shifting restlessly beneath the surface.
Poseidon had focused intently on the connection, allowing the pull to guide him, trying to make sense of the strange, sudden bond that had formed between him and the child. As he’d reached out further, he’d felt it, a presence that was unmistakably a demigod, male. But it wasn’t just the child’s identity that had struck him; it was the fear. It hadn’t been the confusion of a newborn, the anxious stirring of a child unfamiliar with the world. No, this had been something different.
It was terror, raw, unfiltered, and desperate.
It was the kind of fear a seasoned warrior might feel when they knew death was upon them, the instinctual realization that the end was near and there was nothing they could do to stop it. The intensity of it had made Poseidon’s heart tighten with a gnawing sense of urgency. He’d felt the child’s panic, the tension in every fiber of his being as he’d tumbled through the air, lost and helpless.
Poseidon’s divine senses had surged in a moment of sheer panic, realizing his son was falling from some great height.
His body had moved on nothing but instinct, teleporting hm through the currents, desperately racing toward the spot where the child would land. Poseidon had felt the shock of the ocean as his son’s body had collided with the waves, no soft landing, no gentle embrace. The impact had been brutal. He’d heard it, felt it, and it had sent a ripple of dread through his very soul.
Poseidon had reached the site just as the boy’s body sank beneath the surface, the water around him swirling violently with the force of the fall. There, in the depths, he saw him, a young demigod, no older than seventeen or eighteen, still so young. His body had been limp and battered by the collision, blood seeping from his nose, mouth, and ears. Poseidon had moved like a current, his form cutting through the water with the speed and strength of the sea itself, reaching his child’s side.
He'd caught the boy in the palm of his hand, pulling him close. The child had barely been breathing, skin pale as blood swirled around him, eyes closed in unconsciousness. But Poseidon had felt the heartbeat, the pulse of life still there, faint but steady. He was alive, but only just.
The connection between them, the one that had pulled him here in the first place, had already started to fade. Poseidon’s brow had furrowed with worry as he’d looked down at the fragile, broken figure in his hands. The child’s injuries were vast, overwhelming.
Even as the sea had surged to heal him, Poseidon had felt the damage was deep and extensive. The fall had done its damage, but the boy had somehow survived. Poseidon had felt the ocean swirling around them, but even the waters could not undo the toll of the fall entirely.
Poseidon had shrunk down to mortal size, his divine form dimming as he’d wrapped his arms around his son, holding the boy carefully in his arms. He’d moved the currents to support the child, holding him steady. As Poseidon cradled the boy’s fragile body, he’d began to assess the damage with a trained eye. The injuries had been far worse than he’d hoped. Along with multiple rib fractures, the kid’s back had been broken in two places, the bones had splintered and misaligned. One of the broken ribs had punctured his left lung, the organ struggling for breath through the blood. His spleen had ruptured, leaking vital fluids into his body, and his skull had cracked, deep, jagged fractures running through the bone. Both of his arms had been broken, limbs bent in unnatural angles, and his legs a mess shattered fragments, the damage catastrophic.
Poseidon’s gaze had lingered on the child in his arms, the weight of the realization sinking into him with the force of a tide. The boy must have hit the water feet first; the only reason he hadn’t been instantly claimed by death. But even as the god had acknowledged the boy’s luck, a deeper understanding had unfurled within him. There was more to this, something that spoke to an inherent power.
It had hit him with a sense of awe. The child had likely pulled the ocean to him in his fall. A primal instinct had guided the boy to reach out, connecting with the water, guiding it to cushion him. The impact had still been catastrophic, but it was clear now, the boy had saved himself.
Poseidon’s chest had tightened at the thought, his heart swelling with awe and pride. This boy, his son, was not ordinary, even for a demigod. The power that shone from him was unusual.
But then, there was no time for further reflection. Poseidon had to act. Without hesitation, Poseidon had gently pried open the child’s mouth, careful not to aggravate the boy’s injuries. His heart had ached as he’d seen how pale the child had become, his breaths shallow and irregular. Poseidon had placed a cube of ambrosia on the boy’s tongue, coaxing him to swallow, even though the kid’s condition had made it difficult to respond. The healing properties of the ambrosia kicked in almost immediately, but it seemed so slow.
But even so, the injuries had been more than any mortal could withstand, and the damage had not been easily repaired. He should be dead, but he wasn’t.
The enormity of that truth had settled on Poseidon like an anchor. The undeniable surge of divinity running through the boy’s veins, pulsing with the rhythm of the sea. It wasn’t just a connection to his father’s domain; it was something far greater. This child was a force of nature in his own right, a living embodiment of power. The healing alone was proof of the potential within him, healing that should have taken far longer had it been anyone else. Anyone else, demigod or not, would not have survived the landing. But this child was different, he was already drawing on his divine essence, his connection to the ocean, and the healing was accelerating because of it.
The boy’s power wasn’t just rare, it was unprecedented. Poseidon had seen the threads of divinity that surged through him, weaving through his very being. It was as if the child had been born to rise above, to be something far greater than anyone could have imagined.
Whoever this child was, he would be the strongest demigod of the time. Maybe the strongest ever. Poseidon was certain of it. In that moment, he’d seen it, this son, whoever he was, was on the cusp of something extraordinary. Not just the potential for greatness, but greatness itself, within his grasp.
The thought had echoed in Poseidon’s mind like a relentless wave. The boy’s strength, already so pronounced in his raw, unconscious state, would only grow. And Poseidon had felt the weight of that potential pressing against him, like the ocean pressing against the shore, steady and inevitable.
A flash of memory had crossed his mind, Dionysus. The last demigod who had ascended beyond mortality. Not just to ascend, but to self-ascend. Only Dio had done that before. To self-ascend, to rise into godhood without any aid, was something only the most powerful had ever achieved. The idea that this child might one day have that choice had been staggering. Poseidon didn’t know where this child had come from, how the bond to him was brand new yet the kid obviously had years of training under his belt, but Poseidon would protect him with everything he had. This child was his.
It had been in that moment that his son had woken, scared, confused, and in agony. Poseidon had felt the fear radiating from him, a raw, unfiltered panic that rippled through the water like a storm. The child’s breaths were shallow, his chest heaving with the weight of his pain and confusion. It took a moment, but Poseidon’s voice had calmed the boy. The tension in the child’s body had eased, and to Poseidon’s surprise, he’d offered no resistance when the god gently drew him closer. In fact, the boy had curled into him, seeking the comfort of Poseidon’s embrace, clinging to him with an urgency that had sent sense of panic down Poseidon’s spine.
No mortal child of his had ever acted so. . . no mortal child of his had ever trusted him like that. He was possessive of his children, and he loved them all, but his mortal ones always saw him as a god before they saw him as a father. This one seemed to see him as a father first and as a god second. There was something different about this boy, something that went beyond just the power he’d felt surging within him. The boy’s instinct was to seek him out, to trust him, without hesitation.
And then came the familiarity in the way the child had spoken to him, the way he’d relaxed so effortlessly in Poseidon’s arms. It was a strange thing, almost unnerving in its intensity. There was a recognition there, a bond that shouldn’t have existed. Poseidon had raised an eyebrow, wondering how it was possible that this child, this stranger, could speak to him with such familiarity, as though they had known each other for lifetimes. But before Poseidon had been able to probe the feeling any further, the boy had passed back into unconsciousness, a quite whispered “Th’nks, Dad,” as his body succumbed to the healing sleep that ambrosia often induced.
This left him standing there, cradling his newest child in his arms, his mind swirling with confusion so deep it was almost suffocating. He couldn’t make sense of it, it wasn’t just the words the kid said, it was the trust the boy had shown. Without a single question, without a shred of doubt, the child had allowed Poseidon to feed him ambrosia, no resistance or hesitation. He had swallowed it without even confirming what it was, letting Poseidon take care of him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The act built a certainty in Poseidon, a certainty that though he had never met this child before, this child had met him. Poseidon could feel the faintest marks on his son’s soul, like a scar carved into the very fabric of his being. His connection to the child felt like the last missing piece of something much bigger, as if this bond had always been part of a larger plan, stretching across time.
Poseidon’s brow furrowed as he felt that connection deepen, a terrifying truth coming to him like a dark tide. There were faint lines etched into the boy’s soul, lines that shouldn’t have been there. As the god’s divine senses reached deeper, he realized with horror that this child had survived Tartarus. The very essence of him had been marked by the dark pit of the Underworld. Poseidon could feel the lingering scar, deep and undeniable, scored into the boy’s very being. That fact alone was enough to make Poseidon’s heart weep for his baby. No mortal survived Tartarus without immense power, or immense luck, nor did they make it out unscathed.
But there was more. Below that scar left behind by the horrors of Tartarus, Poseidon felt another, much smaller mark. It was a faint imprint, a whisper from the Fates themselves. The sensation was subtle but unmistakable, an undeniable sign that this child wasn’t from here. From now.
It was then that Poseidon understood the magnitude of what he was feeling. This boy had not been born in this time. He was a child of another time, and the Fates, in their infinite and often cruel wisdom, had cast him here.
Poseidon’s heart clenched as he realized the terrible truth; this child had no way of going back. The Fates had torn him from his home, from his own time, and sent him back to Poseidon with golden scars woven into his soul. There was no way for him to return, any attempt to do so would tear him apart; physically, mentally, soulfully. The only way home would be the long way there. The golden lines etched into his soul were a cruel mark of fate, a reminder that this child was trapped.
This child, his son, had been ripped from his place in the world and thrown here, into Poseidon’s arms, with no chance of ever returning home. The thought was terrifying, and it made Poseidon’s chest tighten with a mixture of sadness and fury. The Fates had dealt him this child, with all his potential and his agony, and now it was Poseidon’s duty to protect him. But even that was not without its price.
The god held the child closer, feeling the heat of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath. "I’ll keep you safe," Poseidon whispered softly.
The boy stirred slightly, his small body pressing further into Poseidon’s. But for now, he was safe, and for now, that would be enough. Whatever came next, whatever the Fates had planned for them, Poseidon could not yet see, but he would be ready.