Chapter Text
“You saw it,” Percy says hoarsely. His throat burns with disappointment-tinged anger. His head feels light. “They were going to kill them.”
No one answers. Someone takes a step back.
“There wasn’t time,” he insists, voice rising despite his attempts to remain calm. “If I’d hesitated for even a second—”
“You didn’t have to do that,” a camper whispers but it carries in the silence. There are no voices of assent but Percy glimpses slow nods in the crowd.
That does it.
A FEW WEEKS BEFORE…
~AUTOE~
In. out.
Percy breathes in the fresh air of camp as he slowly makes his way to the arena. The sun is shining brightly, its warmth heats his skin, wrapping around him like a hug. The salty tang of the air draws his eyes to the lake. The sun’s rays reflecting off of it give it a picturesque quality, the water is calm only forming slight ripples as naiads dance lightly over its surface, their giggles caressing his ear. Everything seems peaceful.
Refocusing on his path, Percy readjusts his slightly damp hair where it has attempted to plaster itself over his eyes in response to the slight breeze that rushes through the camp at intervals. His hair is still damp from his shower, but he loves the feeling of soft, damp hair too much to will it dry even though it keeps attacking his eyes.
He quickens his pace slightly over the rough dirt path as he spies the younger demigods already congregating there. He is leading a short sword fighting class today and it wouldn’t do to be late. Who knows what those kids will get up to in his absence. Weapons and demigod powers plus kids is a recipe for disaster when left to their own devices.
He quickly skids into the arena, and just in time as a mischievous-looking demigod had just begun reaching for a bow—something that was definitely not on the approved weapons list for the day.
“Okayyy let’s slowly put that down,” Percy says firmly but with a teasing lilt in his voice, his finger wagging comically. “I am not responsible for whatever happens when bows are involved.” The younger kids laugh boisterously; all having heard the infamous story of the Sea child’s first archery lesson and the arrow that somehow landed in Chiron’s tail. Thankfully, the distraction works as the children quickly leave whatever they were doing and gather around Percy, excitedly shouting out questions about what they will be doing that lesson.
Percy simply smiles indulgently, chuckling slightly as he tries to answer all their questions, his sea green eyes alight with mirth. He loves kids. One would think that their innocence would irritate him as it highlights the differences between his childhood and theirs but it’s the opposite. Kids are like a breath of fresh air for Percy. With others there are always expectations, worries, fears. When he’s surrounded by other war-torn, battle-hardened veterans it’s hard to forget what they have been through, harder to ignore the shadows in their eyes. But when surrounded by eyes as clear as the kids’ he feels his own become just a bit lighter.
“Okay, okay, slow down,” He says with laughter in his voice. “If you guys don’t stop asking questions we’ll never start.” At the confirmation that they were about to start the kids excitedly make their way to the back of the arena and arrange themselves near the walls so they can all see him. Sophie—the tiny Apollo camper with sun-bright curls—darts forward to give him a hug before bouncing back into place and his attempt at a stern face fails immediately as his expression melts into a soft, indulgent smile. He quickly scans the arena.
It’s a large, circular area with an open top. The surrounding walls of the area are wooden planks decorated with images of war patrons such as Ares and Athena. These planks extend upwards and then flat backwards to form a platform where people can stand and watch which is facilitated by the balcony-like railing surrounding that upper area. Below that, the floor of the arena is bare with a smattering of sand to increase the fighters’ grip. While most weapons are stored in the Hephaestus cabin where the inhabitants can tinker with them to their heart’s content some are hung up in a back room in the arena specifically for this purpose, its entrance being the one area of wall that is open to allow passage.
The kids are all holding swords already and so, after a quick lecture on the importance of having the right grip and the right weapon, Percy makes his rounds asking each kid to hold their swords so he can adjust their grip and stance to his expert satisfaction. As he moves from child to child, he valiantly attempts to keep himself from blushing self-consciously every time he is faced with their adoring gazes. Kids have always looked up to Percy. Being the two-time savior of Olympus, the powerful son of Poseidon as well as a sweet, caring older camper who loves to help out the younger ones, it’s no surprise that they all want to be him when they grow older.
Once he feels that all the half-bloods have reached an acceptable level of competency, Percy proposes the next segment of the lesson: “Okay guys who’s ready for sparring?” He’s noticed the growing restlessness in some of the more mischievous kids, specifically those descended from Hermes and he wanted to nip any future mischief in the bud. Gesturing for the kids to all gather around him once more, the Son of Poseidon demonstrates the first disarming manoeuvre he was ever taught. It is bittersweet and nostalgic. This is the exact move Luke taught him and he briefly wonders whether he looked just as adoring and inspired as the campers surrounding him do now. He doesn’t doubt he did and for a second he prays with all his might that he won’t do anything to shatter the belief they have in him the same way Luke did to him. The idea of him setting a pit scorpion on one of these rosy-faced kids who are barely scraping double digits is absurd. But Luke’s actions were too.
Shaking himself out of his dismal thoughts, Percy randomly selects one of the older kids—a son of Ares—to come forward and demonstrate what he just taught. Slipping comfortably into the battle stance he has favoured for nearly a decade Percy adjusts his grip on riptide for the umpteenth time, wondering suddenly why it has felt so unbalanced in his grip recently before his thoughts are quickly halted by the sight of a blade rushing towards him. Effortlessly deflecting the shot, Percy allows the fight to go on for a bit longer before preparing to disarm the Ares camper. However, suddenly Riptide feels heavier in his arms, the sudden imbalance causing his shot to swerve wide. Spotting his opportunity, the Son of Ares, in a move parallel to Percy’s own first sword fighting class, twists his arm and though it’s a bit awkward, manages to send Percy’s sword clattering to the ground.
Percy is horrified, not because of the loss but because of how suddenly Riptide’s balance changed and threw him off-kilter. In a real fight situation, he would be dead. He stares shocked down at his sword and hand for only a split-second before he pushes away his discomfort to be mulled over another time, slapping a lopsided grin on his face and congratulating the Ares kid. “Looks like we have a new best sword fighter in a century,” Percy says good-naturedly, clapping the camper on the back amidst the cheers of the other younger demigods and enjoying their deep blush of embarrassment just as much as their small smile of pride.
~AUTOE~
“To the gods,” Percy murmurs listlessly as he scrapes part of his food into the fire. There is no god he feels particularly indebted or thankful to at the moment, but he also didn’t fancy Zeus pulling a temper tantrum because he didn’t get his daily bread roll or something.
Despondently, the demigod trudges to the Poseidon table sitting at a chair in the very centre. He normally does this because it places him closest to the centre of activity at neighbouring tables giving the illusion of him having people around him. But today, it didn’t work. The noise all around the Pavilion serving only to highlight the stark silence around Percy himself. Desperately, he searches around the space, praying that his friends had not yet entered the pavilion and thus there was still hope for him not sitting by himself but it is not to be. With only a quick perusal of the room Percy spots all of the seven at different tables around the Pavilion. Jason with Piper on the Aphrodite table, Frank and Hazel on the Ares table and the rest with their half-siblings.
He entertains the idea of standing up to sit with one of their groups but he’s tried that before and doesn’t plan on repeating the experience of being ignored after the first few pleasantries. While the others may not have acknowledged it, Percy sees how they treat him. They may not do it on purpose, but since Percy first came to camp there has always been one issue or the other that needed to be discussed with him at the forefront, especially with the seven. Now that they are in a time of peace, they seem to feel more comfortable ignoring him in a discussion than engaging him. It may be because they have subconsciously associated him with war in their minds which is understandable, but it doesn’t change the fact that he now feels like a sword among dinner utensils –completely out of place.
Percy chances a glance at Annabeth, trying to convey his loneliness with just his eyes and tight smile but she only gives him a distracted smile, her eyes quickly returning to whatever discussion they’re having on the Athena table. This is practically the first time Percy has seen her this week and while he understands that she is busy (they both are) he has expressed his wish for them to spend more time together. But even with her assurances that she understands he seems to see her less and less. He has tried spending time with her on the Athena table, waiting for when she comes for meals to see her, but she only seems to get irritated when he tries to draw her away from the table discussions or even join in. Sighing he observes the other couples in the seven who sit together for every meal and go on sunset walks every other day. Their relationships seem to only be getting stronger while he and Annabeth are only drifting further apart despite his efforts.
Poking at his food miserably, Percy almost panics when he notices that the fish on his plate looks a lot like Oscar –his friend from the camp lake. Turning it over though, he notices a marking on the fish that isn’t on Oscar, which was a relief, but he still decisively pushes the fish away, his stomach rolling nauseatingly, and focuses on his bread rolls. He quickly shovels his food into his mouth, wanting to escape the dining pavilion and its loneliness as quickly as possible. He has a camp counsellors’ meeting in about half an hour anyways so if he leaves now, he could even check to ensure that Oscar isn’t on someone else’s plate.
Right before he walks out of the Pavilion, he looks around hoping to catch someone’s eye, to know that at least one person sees him enough to notice his departure. But it’s all for naught, for as he looks around everyone is engrossed in their conversations, uncaring of the life of a now invalidated weapon.
~AUTOE~
Kicking pebbles and dust out of his way, Percy jogs lightly to the lake. It’s lightly drizzling but that serves only to energize him rather than slow him down even as the water slides off before touching his clothes, unable to make him wet as if a barrier exists around him resisting its efforts. Aware that it is simply another perk of being a child of Poseidon, the half-blood pays this no mind as he dives headfirst into the lake. As soon as his head breaks the surface of the water, Percy inhales as if he has been starved of oxygen. He feels his entire body become more agile, his limbs becoming more limber as they propel him through the water at speeds no mortal swimmer could hope to achieve. His vision sharpens as well, the contents of the lake clear to him despite the murky depths where sunlight barely penetrates and the seaweed that often waves in front of his eyes.
Unlike other humans and even demigods, Percy is able to easily distinguish between all the fish and other aquatic species in the lake and search for his friend.
“Oscar!” Percy reaches out the moment he spots a familiar shimmer beneath the water’s surface, a sigh of relief escaping him through bubbles of air. “Oh thank the gods, I thought someone turned you into a fillet.”
“A fillet?” Oscar swirls around dramatically. “Please. Do I look like someone who gets caught? I’ve got better evasive manoeuvres than a demigod in a dodgeball game.”
Percy grins. “Yeah, yeah. Just… you had a doppelgänger on my plate. It freaked me out.”
“Aw, you care” Oscar says, fluttering dramatically through a patch of seaweed as he makes his way closer to Percy. “Were you gonna cry if I showed up with lemon and dill?”
“Don’t tease me.” Percy whines petulantly, though his mouth twitching makes it clear that he’s joking. “I almost did when I saw your identical twin on my plate. I poked it like five times to make sure it wasn’t you,” he jokes, a smile reappearing on his face.
“You poked a dead fish five times?” the aquatic menace gasps jokingly, his tail flicks showcasing his amusement. At Percy’s embarrassed nod Oscar continues, “Percy. Buddy. That’s not a normal coping strategy.”
“Neither is talking to fish, but here we are.” While Percy attempted to interject humour into his voice it isn’t enough to mask his lingering sadness.
Oscar circles him thoughtfully. “You’ve been off lately. You good? Or do I need to start emotionally supporting you more aggressively?”
Percy sighs, finally allowing his misery to show more obviously. “I’m fine. Just… lonely, I guess.”
“Do you need me to fight someone? I’m not above flinging lake mud at your enemies.”
Percy chuckles softly. “Tempting. Maybe just stick around, though. It helps.” Percy smiles softly at one of his only friends and enjoys simply floating next to him for a while.