Chapter Text
Aphrodite stood across from me, one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other cradling a kid—small, probably five at most—like she’d done it her whole immortal life.
“Ares, this is Percy Jackson,” she said.
The kid blinked up at me, sea-green eyes too damn big for his face, round and curious in a way that made my skin crawl. One of his tiny hands was jammed halfway into his mouth, the other was buried in Aphrodite’s curls, like petting her hair was the only thing keeping him grounded.
I stared, trying to figure out what the hell was happening here. I hadn’t come to this meeting expecting—whatever the fuck this was. A goddess showing up with a child on her hip? That wasn’t part of the deal. My hard-on from earlier shriveled to dust. I couldn't even remember why I’d been horny in the first place—something about the way she walked in, probably. All of that died the second I saw her like this. Motherly. Talk about a turn off.
What the actual fuck.
The boy’s black hair hung in front of his face, wild and unbrushed, sticking to the tears still drying on his cheeks. His little blue T-shirt was wrinkled, clinging to him like he’d been crying for hours, and he clung to her like she was the last goddamn raft in the ocean. Why was he wearing pajamas?
I took a step back, arms crossed, jaw tight. My voice came out low, biting. “I wasn’t aware you were fuckin’ babysitting”
Aphrodite didn’t flinch.
I sneered. “What, one of your mortal flings die off and now you’re stuck dragging his brat around?”
Even as I said it, she looked disgustingly good. Hair all messed up from his fingers, eyes too calm. She had the audacity to look divine with a kid clinging to her—like some tragic painting you couldn’t stop staring at, even if it pissed you off.
“Why the fuck do I care about your lover’s kid?” I snapped, louder now. “Why bring him to me?”
And then she said it.
“He’s our son.”
Her voice didn’t waver. No playful lilt, no flirtation, just cold, solid truth.
My blood went still.
“He’s a demigod,” I growled, gesturing at the kid like I was pointing out a loaded weapon.
“So?” Aphrodite said, calm as anything, her hand stroking Percy’s hair.
“So how the fuck is he mine?!” I snapped, my voice echoing off the stone walls. Rage—my oldest, most trusted instinct—rose like a blade behind my ribs. The boy—Percy, apparently—flinched so hard he buried his whole face in her chest, like hiding from me might make me disappear.
I didn’t miss it. And yeah, now that I was really looking… he did sorta resemble me. If I squinted. Black hair. Strong brows. The eyes didn’t match—sea green, bright like open water—but Aphrodite took different forms depending on her mood. Maybe they came from one of her mortal skins. Who the fuck knew.
She stepped forward and cupped my cheek with maddening tenderness. Her touch was warm. Familiar. Dangerous.
“These things happen, my love,” she said sweetly. “Now be a dear and take care of our son.”
“Ours?!” I echoed, like I’d just been gut-punched.
“Yes, ours,” she said, all syrup and steel. “And make sure you care for him. Don’t drop him off with just anyone.”
Her voice dropped, sharp as broken glass, and her eyes flashed in a way that reminded me she could be terrifying when she wanted to. I’d seen empires fall with less drama than what she was pulling now.
And then—like she was handing me a bundle of flowers instead of a squirming five-year-old—she passed the kid into my arms.
I didn’t even react. Couldn’t. I just stood there like a statue while the boy was shoved into my chest. He didn’t cry, didn’t scream—just went quiet, too scared to do anything but hold on. His fingers twisted in my jacket like maybe if he held tight enough, he wouldn’t fall. Poor bastard.
“He’s a demigod,” I muttered again, like saying it would make this whole thing make sense.
But Aphrodite just smiled, turning on her heel with that inhuman grace. “Exactly,” she sang, laughing now as she sauntered away, one hand pressed playfully to her lips.
Probably off to screw another mortal, I thought bitterly. Meanwhile, I stood frozen in the middle of the room holding a child. A child. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?
I was the God of War. Not a fucking babysitter.
Not a father.
Not anyone’s goddamn soft place to land.
All the while, I had a damn kid nestled in my arms. Warm, small, and breathing slow against my chest like he belonged there. He looked up at me with this flat, dead-eyed stare—like life had already kicked him too many times, and he’d just accepted it.
My brain was spinning.
A kid. Sure. I had plenty of demigod brats out there. Even a couple full-blooded ones. None of them stuck. I never stuck. That was the rule. Make the kid, drop a blessing, vanish into myth. I didn’t raise them.
I didn’t do this.
Fuck.
I could just leave him at Camp Half-Blood. Be a mercy, really. Someone else could play daddy—Chiron, maybe. That centaur loved strays. But Aphrodite had warned me. And if I dumped the kid like trash, she’d rain hell on me. Might even drag Olympus into it just for drama.
I was still thinking it through when I felt a tug on my jacket. I looked down.
Percy was staring up at me, his fingers curled around the hem of my leather.
“Do you have any food?” he asked softly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.
“She didn’t feed you?” I snapped, more to myself than him.
He shook his head. Not like it hurt his feelings. Not like anything did.
I grunted. “What do you want?”
“Blue pancakes?”
I rolled my eyes. “Scrap the blue. Fine. Pancakes.”
With a blink, we were gone, air ripping around us as I teleported us straight to a greasy diner I liked—one of those chains that never closed and always smelled like syrup and burnt coffee. The kind of place that didn’t ask questions when a guy in combat boots and a leather jacket showed up with a kid.
I walked ahead without looking back. He was five, not fragile. Let him keep up.
The bell over the door jingled as I shoved it open. I made for the booth in the back—away from windows, away from noise. I didn’t bother checking if he was still following. If he got lost, I’d find him again. Probably.
But the soft thump of tiny shoes behind me said he was still there. Still trying.
I slid into the booth.
Percy stood there, eyeing the seat like it was a mountain. He reached up, hands grabbing the edge. Tried to hoist himself up. Slipped. Tried again. Kicked his legs like a pissed-off rabbit. Still didn’t make it. But he didn’t whine. Didn’t ask for help. It seemed even gravity was out for him
Stubborn little shit.
Gods help me—I was almost impressed.
I grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him up like luggage, setting him down in the booth with zero ceremony. He barely weighed anything. Percy mumbled a soft “Thank you” as he straightened himself out, brushing invisible dirt off his wrinkled shirt.
I barely heard him. My mind was still caught on what Aphrodite had said earlier.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with him?” I’d asked, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
“Raise him,” she’d answered without blinking. “And don’t hand him over to just anyone.”
She hadn’t flirted. Hadn’t teased. It was a command. And that— that —wasn’t like her. Aphrodite didn’t order me around. She batted her lashes and left the rest to suggestion. But this… this kid? She’d been serious.
Which made me wonder—why him?
She’d had other kids. I’d had other kids. None of them got this kind of attention.
This one was small. Too soft. If he was really a demigod, then he was breakable. Mortal breakable. Could bleed. Could die.
I watched him look down at the menu like it was written in another language. Hell, maybe it was to him. I wasn’t even sure if the brat could read.
A waitress strolled up, gum smacking lazily between her teeth.
“You ready to order?”
She didn’t ask questions. Places like this never did. Kid still in pajamas, standing on the booth seat, hair a mess, shoes untied—no one batted an eye.
“Pancakes. Bacon. Whatever meat you’ve got that isn’t dust,” I said, not looking up from the menu.
She smiled. “And your son?”
I nearly choked.
My eye twitched. “He’s not—” I stopped. What was the point?
Next to me, Percy was staring at the laminated menu like it held the secrets of the universe. He lifted a finger and pointed carefully.
“Pancakes for him,” I muttered. “And whatever kiddy juice you’ve got—something orange. Or blue. I don’t care.”
The waitress nodded and walked off, no doubt thinking I was some overworked single dad who didn’t know how to comb his kid’s hair. Disgusting.
I leaned back in the booth, arms crossed, glaring at the ceiling like it owed me something. Across from me, the kid was quiet, hands folded in his lap, his feet not even touching the edge of the seat.
We didn’t mesh well.
A biker and a five-year-old in pajamas. It looked more like a kidnapping than a family breakfast. People glanced our way, but no one said anything. This was the kind of place where minding your own business came with the coffee.
I heard a rustle under the table.
Then a small head popped up beside me in the booth, hair sticking up at wild angles.
“She… she told me you’re my dad,” Percy said, voice unsure but steady.
I narrowed my eyes. “Go sit on your own side, kid.”
He didn’t move.
“You don’t smell,” he added.
I blinked. “Hahhh?” I tilted my head, offended. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “Just… you don’t smell bad. I thought dads smelled bad. Like Gabe.”
“I’m not afraid to hurt a kid,” I muttered under my breath, voice dark.
“Guess you are my dad, then,” he said, completely unfazed. “And my name is Percy. Percy Jackson. Did you forget?”
This sassy-ass child.
I stared down at him, my jaw ticking. He was this close to being left on the side of the road. Or better yet, handed off to chiron and let him sort this shit out.
But before I could reply with something mean enough to make him cry, the food arrived.
He shut up instantly.
Kid had my appetite, at least. He tore into the pancakes like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Syrup dripped down his chin, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, and he licked the plate clean when he was done. Actually licked it.
Greedy little brat.
It was… kind of cute.
I hated that word.
But there was something familiar in the way he devoured sweets with no shame. That was Aphrodite’s side of him, no doubt. She loved sugar—sweet drinks, candied fruits, honey off her fingers.
I rubbed the back of my neck, staring at the syrup-sticky child beside me.
Gods help me, was he really was mine.
“ Hephaestus would be mad if I brought him home,” I’d heard her say, voice echoing in my skull like a curse.
“ He’s your son—don’t pass him off,” she’d added, all sweet and smug and serious at once.
It was fucking annoying how her voice stuck like that. Like she’d left perfume behind on my skin and I couldn’t scrub it off.
I snapped back to the present when Percy, still sticky from syrup and way too chipper for someone in my custody, grinned up at me.
“Thanks. You’re better than my last dad,” he said, all cheery and bright like he wasn’t insulting me.
I paused. Just for a second.
What the hell kind of bastard was I being compared to?
And why the fuck was this kid smiling at me?
I left money on the table, stomping away as Percy followed me. Percy yawned, big and loud, then reached up with one hand—expectant. Waiting for me to take it.
I rolled my eyes and kept walking.
He stayed frozen by the diner door for a moment, then huffed and came running to catch up, bare feet slapping the pavement.
“You’re supposed to hold my hand,” he said behind me.
“Why the hell would I do that?” I muttered, already unlocking my bike. The leather seat was hot from the sun, and I cursed under my breath. Could I even put a kid on this?
He crossed his arms. “Because I might get hit by a car!”
“That’d solve a lot of problems.”
He kicked me.
Didn’t hurt. Not even close. Kid had the strength of wet paper. But it was the look he gave me—sharp, narrowed, all righteous fury in a five-year-old body—that got under my skin. He was dumb enough to kick me… definitely mine.
He stood there, glaring, one hand still out. Stubborn little shit. Just like his mother.
I grabbed his outstretched hand and lifted him onto the bike like a sack of flour. He was light—barely anything. I could probably bench-press three of him and still have a hand free for my sword.
“You’re gonna make me upset, kid,” I warned, tightening the strap of my jacket around his waist so he didn’t go flying off.
“Wow, is this yours?” he asked, eyes going wide as he ran his fingers over the handlebars. “It’s so cool!”
He completely ignored the threat.
I resisted the urge to strangle him on the spot. Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Don’t murder the five-year-old. He was mine, apparently. Somehow. He was as a Demi god, I can still be fucking skeptical. Was Aphrodite bullshiting for giggles?
Still trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with him, I asked, “You said you had another dad. Where the hell is he?”
He blinked.
“The nice lady,” Percy said softly. Aphrodite “When my mom and Gabe died… she came and got me. She said she’d try to find someone to take care of me.”
His voice cracked.
I froze, half-mounted on the bike.
He looked down at his knees, small hands fisting in the worn leather of my seat. “The nice lady said she was my mom too… but she left me behind… too”
That hit different.
Not because I gave a shit about some random mortal lady and her dead hit husband. Who took care of Percy before. But the way his voice went all quiet—like he was trying not to cry and failing—that stuck in my ears like a blade twisting slow.
His bottom lip trembled. Then he wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked away, like crying was something to be ashamed of.
I grunted and looked anywhere but at him. “Tch. You done?” I muttered.
He sniffled but nodded, still not looking at me.
Gods, this was the worst.
I was the god of war. I handled battlefields. Screaming men. Blood. Steel. Not this.
Not crying kids and dead moms and weird maternal matchmaking.
And now I had a sniffling, syrup-stained demigod on my bike, arms wrapped around my middle like I was some kind of hero.
I hit the throttle.
Percy was quieter after that.
Didn’t say a word as I rode, arms looped tight around my waist. Somewhere between the winding highway and the dead silence of the open road, he fell asleep against my back. I could feel the weight of his head slumped between my shoulder blades, his breath going all uneven. Couple sniffs. A whimper.
Then quiet again.
He even cried in his sleep—pressed up against me like I was safe. I didn’t like that. Not one fucking bit.
But at least it was better than him bawling his eyes out while I was driving.
Couple hours later, he stirred, yawning loud enough for me to hear over the engine.
“Do you have any food?” he mumbled groggily, voice raspy from sleep and tears.
Right. Mortals needed to eat like five times a damn day. Annoying habit.
I pulled off the road and into a half-empty gas station. Gravel crunched under the tires as I parked.
“Stay here,” I ordered, cutting the engine. I didn’t look at him. Didn’t want to see that dumb sleepy face, or his hands reaching up for mine. I just needed five fucking minutes where I didn’t have to hold something.
I stalked into the station, shoulders squared, jacket flapping behind me. Grabbed a cold sandwich from the fridge, a bag of chips, and a soda. Kids liked sugar. It’d shut him up for a while. Paid in cash. Fast.
I was just stepping back out—
And froze.
Two cops.
Standing way too close to my motorcycle. One was crouched slightly, hands on his knees, smiling like a damn preschool teacher. The other had his hand on his radio. And Percy—tiny, barefoot, messy-haired, dried syrup still on his chin, shirt rumpled from sleep and his fucking pajamas still on—stood stiffly beside the bike, looking like a lost puppy someone dumped on the sidewalk.
From here, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I didn’t need to. They thought he was a runaway.
Or worse.
Fuck.
My jaw clenched, hard enough to crack.
But wasn’t this a good thing?
The thought cut through the rising heat behind my eyes like a blade. This was my out. I could walk away. Let them take him. Let the system chew him up like it always did. He wasn’t my problem anymore.
I could wipe the blood off my hands—of Percy Jackson . Pretend he never landed in my lap. Aphrodite had clearly dumped him on mortals before. Why couldn’t it happen again?
Let some well-meaning couple feed him applesauce and read bedtime stories. Give him a nice little mortal life. It’d be better for him. Safer. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing—I was the God of War , not some sentimental suburban dad.
I didn’t want to lug a brat around for years waiting for him to be old enough to walk away.
I didn’t want to—
“Kid, please come with us.”
One of the cops had his hand on Percy’s shoulder now, guiding him toward the cruiser like it was already decided.
And then—
Then Percy screamed.
Loud.
Raw.
Like something inside him ripped in half.
“ Dad! Dad! ” Percy screamed, voice cracking, kicking his legs as the officers dragged him toward their cruiser.
Problem solved, I thought.
But did they really have to manhandle him like that?
Percy thrashed against their grip, teeth bared. “ Get off me! Dad! ”
One of the cops leaned in, trying to calm him. “Kid, hey, calm down—we’ll help find your—”
Percy bit him.
“ Fucking— !”
Oh hell no.
I was already moving, boots slamming against the pavement as I stalked across the lot. I whistled, sharp and commanding, like I would for a war dog.
Percy’s head jerked toward the sound.
His eyes lit up.
And just like that, he broke free. The cops reached for him again, but he was already sprinting toward me, tears streaming down his sticky face.He barreled into my leg and latched on like a damn koala.
“ Dad, ” he gasped, breath hitching.
One of the cops jogged after him, frowning. “Is this child yours?”
I didn’t bother hiding my glare. “He’s mine.”
Percy looked up at me and scowled . “Where the fuck were you?!”
I clenched my jaw. “Watch your mouth.”
But he didn’t let go. Just kept hugging my leg like I’d hung the stars.
The cop cleared his throat. “Sir, you really need to keep a better eye on your kid—”
I turned my glare on him. The words died in his throat.
“Right. Uh. Glad you found your son. Have a good day.”
He backed off fast. I looked down at the brat still wrapped around my leg, sniffling and breathing too hard. This day was getting worse by the minute. And somehow… I knew I wasn’t leaving this kid behind.
The cops scrambled like roaches, stumbling over themselves to get the hell away. Good.
Percy looked up at me, cheeks red, eyes fierce. Those determined sea green eyes—too big for his face, too full of feeling.
“Where were you!” he shouted, voice cracking. “Thought you left. Thought you were gone like—”
He cut himself off.
Didn’t need to say the rest. He just stuck out his hand, small and serious. “ This is why you hold hands.”
I stared at him.Then I grabbed the brat by the collar and yanked him straight into my arms.
“How’s this?” I muttered, holding him tight to my chest like I was about to launch him over a battlefield.
“Horrible,” he grunted. “I can smell your breath. Do you even brush your teeth?”
This child .
I growled and hoisted him up over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“ Hey! ” he screeched, giggling now, kicking his legs like he thought this was a game.
Gods. He was laughing. Laughing —in the arms of the God of War. His fists thumped playfully against my back.
“I’m glad you came back, Dad,” he mumbled, quieter this time. Soft. Honest. Fuck he was already calling me dad. Like I didn’t have enough brats. They weren’t Aphrodite’s. Percy was sweeter then them. A hellion who still managed to be cute while swearing.
So was I.
++++
Percy burst through the door of my place like a wild animal set loose.
I didn’t think much of it at first. He was a kid—figured he’d tire himself out.
I didn’t think about the fact that my place wasn’t exactly childproof. Swords on the walls. Daggers stuck into the doorframes. A pair of bloodstained gauntlets on the counter from the last time I’d lost my temper. And a spiked mace just sitting out because I liked the way it looked in the light.
Whatever. Most of it was too high up for a brat his size to reach.
Probably.
He was running from room to room now, bouncing off the couch, opening cabinets like it was some kind of treasure hunt. The soda had clearly kicked in. So much for silence. I wanted silence. I earned it.
“Where do you sleep? What’s this room? Why is there a sword in the sink? Do you sleep? Why is this fork bent like that? Is this real blood on the—”
“ Enough, ” I growled.
He stopped.
For two seconds.
Then started again. Clearly not afraid of me anymore.
I headed to the freezer. Only one thing I knew of that could shut up a sugar-hyped demigod.
Ice cream.
I pulled out the tub and slapped three massive scoops into a bowl. It should have been four, but I wasn’t about to spoil him right out the gate.
I handed him the bowl without a word.
He took it like he’d just been handed the key to Olympus.
And instead of shutting up, he kept talking—just with spoonfuls of vanilla wedged between every other sentence.
“This is good,” chomp. “But I think chocolate’s better.” chew. “Do you have a bed or just weapons?” slurp. “Did you kill a monster with this spoon? It’s bent. That’s so cool.”
I stared at him, dead-eyed, arms crossed.
The kid was a menace .
And now he was sugared up twice over.
I was going to regret this.
Eventually, the sugar crash hit him.
Percy slowed down, eyes drooping between bites, his spoon dragging through half-melted ice cream like he forgot what he was doing. He yawned—big, messy, loud—and blinked up at me from the table like I was supposed to do something.
I didn’t say a word. Just grunted, walked over, and picked him up.
Not gently. Not cradling like one of those sweet-mortal-parent commercials. Just lifted him under the arms, hoisted him like a sack of potatoes, and slung him over my shoulder.
“Hey!” he muttered, barely putting up a fight this time. “You’re bad at carrying.”
“Not my job to be good at it,” I muttered, already walking down the hall.
I kicked open the door to the spare room and dropped him onto the bed. Literally dropped . His small body bounced once, limbs sprawling.
He rolled over slowly, blinking at me through half-lidded eyes.
“…You’re not leaving, right?”
I paused. One hand still on the doorframe.
“What?”
“You’ll stay?” he asked, voice small, almost slurred with sleep. “Just… for a little. Until I fall asleep.”
I scratched the back of my neck. Everything in me screamed to walk out. Right then. Shut the door. Let the kid cry himself to sleep. That was life. That was war.
But he looked at me like I was the last person left in the world.
“Sure,” I muttered. “Five minutes.”
“Promise?”
I didn’t answer. Just sat on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh, arms crossed, staring at the floor. Percy curled up beside me, hand fisting into the blanket like he was anchoring himself to it.
Within minutes, he was out cold. Snoring softly. Breathing even.
I sat there a little longer than five minutes.
Then I stood up.
Walked out.
Shut the door behind me.