Chapter Text
"Dude, you should go to therapy."
He chuckled lightly. Even so, it was a serious suggestion. He could tell by the tone of Percy's voice.
"I'm serious. This might be weird, coming from me, but if you really felt like that, even if you don't anymore, you should probably see someone." He took a breath and then continued. "I, uh," -he whispered the next bit of his sentence- "I actually have one. Being a demigod hero or whatever really got to me. She's a legacy or something, she never elaborated, but she can see through the mist fine and most of her family lives at Camp Jupiter." He smiled to himself, as though remembering an inside joke that no one else knew.
"Her name is Dr. Jill. She'll be able to help, maybe. Just think about it."
Apollo wasn't even taken aback at receiving advice like this from a mortal. He hadn't really cared about the birth status of people interacting with him for some time now. Since his, ah, unfortunate encounter with being human, he had learned a few things. And he did, admittedly, appreciate the offer. Even if it made him feel a bit pathetic, it did help to think that someone cared about his mental health. Although he'd never admit it.
"My mom has her number written down somewhere."
Annabeth, who up until that point was engrossed in one of her textbooks, looked up. "You really should. I don't know you that well, but it's clear you've got some shit going on. And it really worked for Percy and I. Couples therapy, best thing to do on a Friday night." She said jokingly, linking her pinky with Percy's.
It was an odd friendship, the one he had formed with the members of the Jackson residence, but upon finding out about Sally's new knack for poetry, he decided he should show how grateful he was for everything they had done for him, and what better way to give her pointers! He'd even babysat Estelle once, the small girl drew him a picture of him and his ukelele. Another thing he'd never admit is that he'd showed Hermes, who convinced him to frame the damn thing.
He enjoyed hanging around the apartment, usually in the slightly altered form of Lester Papadopoulos. (Now that he could choose what he looked like, he would not be seen with acne or flab, no matter how much his personality had changed for the better.) It felt weirdly comfortable.
And Sally Jackson could make some bomb blue-chocolate-chip cookies.
Percy's mom did indeed have 'Dr. Jill's' number. She copied it down on a sticky note, and gave it to him, wishing him luck. He left soon after.