Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The mortal world feels unfamiliar now. Like someone had gone into his room and “cleaned up.” Everything is back on its shelves and now he can’t find anything anymore. The most immediate change is that Gabe is gone. No more shitheads harassing his mom. Mom is happier too. She smiles more now. She hums while she cleans, something Gabe would have yelled at her for.

The biggest change is how different New York looks now. Percy discovered that harpies run that weird donut shop on 5 th Avenue. He’s passed by moving golden statues near Broadway, and nymphs in the park. There’s another layer of reality stacked on top of the world he knows, and he’s fascinated by it.

It's why he walks by the East River after class. The nereids of the East River love to hold swimming contests and play beach volleyball—or maybe river volleyball? Seeing them after class reminds him that Camp Half Blood wasn’t a dream he made up because he has no friends.

Well. That’s not exactly true. He has Tyson. But Tyson refuses to go to the East River Greenway with him, so Percy is alone in his endeavor.

Today, the nymphs are nowhere to be seen. Percy guesses even nymphs have rest days. He’s just about to leave when water splashes onto the hem of his pants.

“Hey! Handsome! Mister Blue Shirt!”

Percy pulls out Riptide from his pocket and peers down. There’s a nereid staring at him. Her skin is translucent and ripples slightly when she moves.

Percy points to himself. “Uh, me?”

“Yeah! You’re the one who watches us, right?”

Percy’s ears turn red. They noticed him? He wants to die right now. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he explains. “I just pass this way before going home, I can stop—”

“No, don’t.” The nereid clutches the rails blocking off the river. “Personally, I don’t mind. I’m too pretty to not have admirers. This isn’t about that though. Can I ask for a favor?”

“Um…” Percy’s had enough of quests, but the nereid looks so hopeful. He hopes this doesn’t take him too long. “What do you need?”

“Can I borrow five drachmas, please?”

Percy blinks. “What?”

“Five drachmas,” Euphemia repeats. “I’ll pay you back within the week.”

“You’re asking me for money? I don’t even know your name!”

The nereid flips her hair. “Hello person-whose-name-I-also-don’t-know. I’m Euphemia. Can I borrow five drachmas, please?”

Percy kneels so he’s closer to her level. Is this a scam? Did the Greeks have ancient MLMs too? “Uh, what for?”

“My sisters and I subscribed to Olympus Weekly, but apparently,” she says, scornfully, “they ‘don’t deliver to bodies of water’ and now we’re trying to get a separate delivery via Hermes Express.”

“Won’t the magazines get wet?” he asks.

Euphemia huffs. “We pay extra for waterproofing.” She looks at him desperately. “We're five drachmas short. Can I please borrow some from you?”

“Um,” he says. Percy shouldn’t be this surprised. If Medusa could sell statues, why couldn’t nereids subscribe to Olympus Weekly? “Let me check.”

His pockets are empty of drachmas, and there aren’t any in his bag or wallet either. Percy shrugs. “Sorry. Haven't gotten any.”

Euphemia sighs. “That’s alright. Thanks anyway.”

Percy feels sorry for her. Impulsively, he says, “if you like, I can pick it up for you.”

She looks at him in shock. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure.” Well, now that he made the offer, there was no way he was taking it back. That would be so embarrassing. “Olympus Weekly, right? I can give it to you on Mondays, after classes.”

“Would you? Thanks a lot, person-whose-name-I-still-don’t-know.”

Percy laughs. “It’s Percy. Percy Jackson.”

“Well, Percy Jackson, here’s what you need to do.”

Apparently there’s a bookstore in Herald Square, for those who can’t go to Olympus. The books are in Ancient Greek, the patrons are nymphs, satyrs, and harpies. Percy loves it. There’s mythical in the mundane and mundane in the mythical, and it makes him feel less homesick.

Percy returns that Monday with a box of magazines, as promised. The nereids meet him at the same spot. It’s hard not to see them, with Euphemia waving her arms like a mad man.

“Percy!” she calls. “Over here!”

Before Percy can second-guess his actions, he leaps over the railings and jumps into the river. The nereids scream in shock. Percy smiles and presents the magazines to them. “Delivery?”

The nereids stare at him. “You’re actually dry!” 

“Yeah, I’m waterproof.”

That answer horrified the nereids for some reason, except for Euphemia, who smiled coyly at his direction. “You don’t seem like a nymph,” she says.

“I’m not,” Percy replied. He holds up the magazines. “I have your deliveries?”

Apparently, Euphemia’s sisters had no idea she had roped him into delivering their magazines. All she said was that she found someone who could “take care of it,” which makes him sound like a mobster. It’s a huge surprise for them when they find out how he got roped into helping them, and try to find shells or something to repay him. 

Percy declines. It's his mom’s birthday and Percy wants to make her dinner before she returns home.  The nereids look nervous. One glares at Euphemia, and asks him to return soon. Percy doesn’t understand why they—he’s going to bring them next week’s copy as well. Still, he promises. 

He saves a couple of slices of his mom’s birthday cake for them. He has to guard his bag from Matt Sloan, but he gives a slice to Tyson. Tyson eats the cake like a starving man. Apparently, he’s never eaten cake before. Percy offers to bring him some more in the future.

The nereids have never eaten cake either. Their eyes light up when they see the plastic container.

“You’ve never had cake?” Percy blurts out. He hands one of Euphemia’s sisters—Myrrhine maybe?—a paper plate.

Myrrhine sighs. “It’s not like we need to eat, or can bake cakes in rivers,” she says. “And I wouldn’t eat cake if they threw it in the river. That’s incredibly degrading.” Her sisters agree with her. She takes a bite and her face lights up. “This is fantastic!”

“Thanks,” Percy replies. “The frosting was a mess to make.”

Euphemia gasps. “You made this for us? Really?”

Myrrhine shoots her a look. “Do not ask him to make us more cake. He’s already bringing us our magazines.” 

“I wasn’t going to!”

Myrrhine turns back to him. “We’re very thankful, my Lord, and would be happy to repay you. What would you like in return?”

“What?”

“The deliveries. The cakes. What do you want in return for those?”

“Nothing?”

Myrrhine looks apprehensive. “Nothing? You truly want nothing or no one in return? No errant promises my foolish sister made to you?”

Percy frowns. Was this a trick question? “I’m doing all this because I want to,” he says slowly. “Not because I want something.”

Myrrhine looks at him, pensively. Percy wonders if he’s committed some Greek faux pas, but the nereid slowly shakes her head.

“That is a relief to hear, my Lord.” Beside her, her sisters look at him with a new expression in their eyes. Tension seems to sweep off their shoulders. “Please forgive me for asking, but…are you a god?”

“What?” Percy stares at her. “No. Why’d you think that?”

“We…” Myrrhine blushed blue. “We noticed you watching us and assumed you were a nymph, but Rhoxane said you looked like Lord Poseidon, and you smelled so strongly of the sea so we…assumed you were him.”

“You thought I was my dad?”

“Your father?” Recognition bleeds into Myrrhine’s face. “You are the demigod who returned the Master Bolt.”

“That’s me.” Percy looks at the nereids in surprise. “You all thought I was my dad? But I’m thirteen?”

The nereids looked embarrassed. “Age doesn’t mean anything when you can shapeshift,” one answers.

Percy turns to Euphemia. “I told you my name was Percy Jackson?”

Euphemia shrugged. “Fake name.”

Which, okay. Fair. “Hang on. You thought I was my dad, and you tried to borrow five drachmas from me?”

Myrrhine looks horrified. “You what?”

Euphemia huffs. “I wanted to make an impression. Get your attention a bit. How was I supposed to know you weren’t Lord Poseidon?”

“That is not how you approach gods, sister,” Myrrhine snaps.

“Yeah, what the fuck Pheemy?” another nereid asks.

The nereids descend into argument, as if Percy isn’t having a mild crisis. They invite him to return, and Percy does the next week, then a few days later, until he’s visiting the East River two or three times a week. 

They’re a lot more open with him once they realize he isn’t his father. The nereids let him hang out with them after class. Some days it’s volleyball or water polo, other days the sisters show him around the riverbed. On Mondays, they go over Olympus Weekly together. Percy learns more about the inner workings of the Greek world from listening to their gossip than he did at camp.

After an incident with Matt Sloan, Percy learns that Rhoxane is studying underwater healing, and he becomes her favorite test subject, ahem, “patient”. Euphemia enjoys roping him in her schemes, and it's driving Myrrhine to a stress ulcer. Corinna is trying to convince him to bring her a cow she can keep as a pet. As embarrassing and nosy as his sisters can be at times, Percy loves their company. He wonders if this is what having cabinmates is like. 

Some days, Percy feels like he’s taking advantage of their kindness, so he tries to help however he can. He redirects currents to bring trash into the large trash bags he brings. Being able to manipulate water is handy, he thinks to himself. He’s able to collect more trash in an afternoon than some volunteer groups do in a day.

The biggest problem, he finds out, isn’t so much the plastic, but the chemicals in the water. Plastic can be picked up and thrown out. The toxic waste seeps into the water and turns the nereids green and gray. Sometimes they have coughing fits and vomit out black sludge. On those days, he sits by their side and makes sure they’re alright the best he can. 

It’s not until Euphemia collapses one day that Percy decides to do something about it. If he can sense it, then he can control it, right? He ignores the sisters’ calls, and swims away from Rhoxane’s makeshift clinic to the most polluted part of the river. The toxic waste feels different from the water. It’s more slimy and viscous. Control doesn’t come instinctively and Percy loses his grip the first few times.

Percy snarls. He latches onto as much waste as he can, and pulls . A few gallons of chemicals separate from the water. They converge into their own gross little pile, and Percy wills them to disappear.

Percy wonders how the gods make it look easy. His head feels like it’s been hit by a sledgehammer. But a portion of the river is clean now. If he keeps working, he thinks, then maybe the river will be clean by the time Euphemia wakes up. He grabs another segment of sewage, then another, until his body feels like it's a welcome mat for monster trucks. On his fifth round, his body gives out. He sinks to the bottom, unconscious.

He wakes up to a wolfish face staring at him. The being in front of him is huge. Percy bet he would only reach his thigh if he stood up. It looks like a wolf if wolves could get scurvy. He has flippers for his hands and feet, which remind Percy of a seal. What was it with the Greeks and weird animal combinations? Did the gods have nothing better to do than play monster mashup?

Percy reaches for his pen, but that only makes the being in front of him huff. “No need, little godling,” he says. “I mean you no harm.”

Percy looks around. He’s laying on a large flat rock, like the ones Rhoxane uses in her makeshift clinic. He can sense they’re still in the East River, but in an area he’s never been to before. There’s no fish, no nymphs, just him and this being. The wolf-seal-spirit is scrutinizing him.

“Hello?” Percy asks.

“You look like your father,” says the wolf-seal-spirit. “You feel like him too. Not exactly like him, but you’ve got that spark.”

Percy doesn’t know what to say to that. “Spark?” Was his dad the god of firecrackers too?

The wolf-seal-spirit makes a weird howling noise, like he’s laughing. “Not firecrackers, boy.” Gods, did he say that out loud? “Divinity. It’s within you.”

“Uhh, thanks?” Percy says. “I mean, I’m a halfblood so that’s like half god, right?”

The wolf-seal-spirit snorts. “Alright. You can say that.” He hands Percy a small square of ambrosia. “I was worried about you at first. I mean, a young man with my daughters? You must understand our suspicion, especially since we thought you were your father.”

“You’re the East River,” Percy realizes.

The East River gives him a wolfish grin. “You see any other gods hanging around these parts? Not including us, of course.” Percy tries to protest, but the god raises his hand. “Yes, yes, not a god. Sure kid, whatever. The point is I wasn’t gung-ho about you, but your little display today changed my mind.”

“Display?” Percy remembers the poisoned waters. “Euphemia? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” the East River says. He looks appraisingly at Percy. “Her sisters took care of her. They said you stormed off in a hurry. Half an hour later, they find you collapsed at the bottom of the river.”

Percy winces. “I didn’t mean to worry them. I just…” Gods, that was really thoughtless of him. He should have been there for Euphemia.

“You just cleaned up four thousand gallons of toxic sludge because my daughter collapsed from poisoning?”

Percy’s eyes widen. “Four thousand?” No way.

“I think I can feel what goes on in my own waters, boy,” the East River says. “I was quite surprised too. Toxic waste isn’t exactly your father’s domain, but you’ve managed to make it your own. Plus you’ve been collecting trash. You have my thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Percy protests. “I couldn’t just do nothing after Pheemy collapsed.”

The East River snorts. “Humble too. How did we ever mistake you for your father?” He shakes his head. “Nevertheless, I would be remiss in my duties as god and host if I didn’t reward you.” His palm glows with a green light before dying down, revealing his backpack. “Here. It got wet when you fainted.”

Percy takes his bag. It’s completely dry. “Thank you, sir.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want that happening again.” The East River points somewhere vaguely west. “Swim that way and my daughters will meet you at the boat.” 

“Boat?”

The East River nods. “It’s yours now. You can use it as a storage locker or however else you choose.” 

“Wait, you’re giving me a boat?”

“And my blessing.” The East River looks at him intently. There is a crackle of divinity around him. He speaks solemnly, and the waters bend at the sincerity of his words. “The East River shall always welcome you. You may continue as you wish, you may hold your gatherings here, but do not forget us.” 

Percy blinks and the god is gone. He looks around, confused. The waters are dark. It must be evening then. He grabs his back and swims in the direction the god pointed at. If he’s fast enough, he can check on his sisters before heading back home.

Gods, Mom was going to kill him.

Euphemia is fine, to Percy’s relief. She looks haggard but that doesn’t stop her from strutting on the deck like she owns it. “Nice boat, Perce!” she greets. “Makes me wish Father got me one too!” 

The rest of the nereids' worry disappear when they see him. Myrrhine looks too relieved to succumb to her daily stress ulcer. “Percy! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine! Your dad healed me!” Percy climbs on board and hugs each of them. The nereids tell him what happened while he was gone. Apparently, they tried to follow him but lost his trail. They felt the shift in the river’s pollution a few minutes later, just before Euphemia woke up. Soon after, their father appeared, Percy cradled in his hands. 

Percy tells them about his conversation with their father. They look excited at the fact that Percy now has blanket permission to visit them. Percy puts the East River’s more cryptic words out of his mind.

He decides to inspect the boat. It’s a monohull sailboat. Percy can feel his control over the ship. The sails move at his command, the boat stops when he tells it too. He wonders if this is a son-of-Poseidon thing or an added feature from the East River.

The next week, Percy meets the nereids at his boat. He has his box full of Olympus Weekly magazines. The teaser on the cover says that Hera might have a new baby bump, which is apparently noteworthy, but he knows it's the type of thing his sisters will eat up.

They aren’t alone when he reaches the boat. There’s a dolphin, frantically chattering to the nereids. Percy can hear it begging to see him.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

The dolphin turns to him. “My Lord!” it says. “Please, I beg for your assistance! My calf is stuck in a fishing net downstream.”

Percy helps her, of course. The nereids help him. The net isn’t too hard to detangle and soon enough, the two dolphins reunite with their pod. 

After that, word spread across the life that Percy took requests. Some come to him asking for help. Beached whales, porpoises caught in fishing nets, even mermaids with hangnails. 

Others just like to visit. Percy tries to make his boat a welcoming space. The nereids teach him how to harvest algae and catch worms, snails, and insects to feed his guests. He has jars of creepy crawlies on the boats. It’s a bit disgusting, but his sisters teach him to enjoy it. He’ll never admit though he was the one who pushed Rhoxanne’s face into the mud that one time. Nope.

When Annabeth brings him and Tyson to camp that year, Percy calls a few fish at the beach and asks them to pass a message to the river. He hopes his sisters understand his abrupt leave. He doesn’t want them to worry.

“I’ll be back after the summer,” he says. “Tell my sisters not to worry.” Percy can feel the power in his promise. Even miles away at camp, he can feel his boat. It thrums against his skin, reassuring him that everything is fine. The fish turns to deliver his message and Percy relaxes. He remembers the East River’s words all those months ago. 

Do not forget us.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t.”

Chapter Text

Kronos’ forces are about to attack Manhattan. There’s a Staten Island Ferry full of monsters crossing Ellis Island. Speedboats full of enemy demigods at Long Island Sound. Percy’s heart is pounding as he thinks of all of Kronos’ forces entering Manhattan.

He and Annabeth make it to Seaport before their bike breaks down. Percy curses. “No fuel,” he says.

Annabeth frowns. “We’ll need to get another bike quickly.”

He doesn’t see any bikes nearby and the streets are wedged with bumper-to-bumper traffic. “I think there might be one a block ahead—”

“Percy! Blondie! Over here!”

He and Annabeth turn to the voice. There, on the East River, is his sailboat and his sisters dressed for war. Euphemia’s waving at him from the mast; Myrrhine, Rhoxane, and Corinna at the deck. Manning the helm is the East River himself.

Percy gapes. “Guys? What are you doing here?”

“We thought you needed help!” Euphemia yells back. She raises her javelin. “Get in, losers!”

Percy summons a wave to deposit him and Annabeth onto the deck. She looks confused at this turn of events, but unwilling to question it. Percy looks at them in amazement.

“You guys are fighting?”

Myrrhine snorts. “Of course we are! Did you think we were going to hide like the others?”

Percy almost says yes. They evacuated their usual sea-life visitors a few weeks ago, advising them to stay away until the fighting was over. Percy thought his sisters would be hiding with the marine life, not on the front lines.

Annabeth looks at him apprehensively. “Are these the nereids you told me about?”

“He’s mentioned us?”

“Pheemy, not now.”

“We’ll be creating floods,” East River interrupts. “Drowning Kronos’ ships and spearing the ones who survive.” He nods fondly. “It’s good to see you, boy. I hope you don’t die before you properly rise.”

Percy looks at them gratefully. “Thank you,” he says. “Any chance you can get the Hudson to help too?”

The East River laughs his weird howling laugh. “That old hack would never listen to me,” he says. “Perhaps you would have a better chance of convincing him.”

East River drives them by Battery Park, where his waters meet with the Hudson’s. He pats Percy’s shoulder. “I’ll drop your girl off outside Battery Park.”

“Thanks, East,” Percy says.

Annabeth tugs his arm. "Be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you.” She purses her lips. “I mean, because we need you for the battle." 

Percy grins. "Back in a flash." He dives into the Hudson River and sinks to the bottom.

“Hey!” he yells. “Hudson! East told me you're so polluted you're embarrassed to show your face. Is that true?"

The waters ripple. Percy can feel a presence watching him. He cups his hands around his mouth.

“He said you smelled real bad! Said if we mix you with rat piss, we still wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. I guess he’d know, since he lives right beside you.”

A vortex of silt appears right in front of Percy. The waters churned, solidifying into a scowling giant. The Hudson River, Percy thought. The Hudson was dressed in rags and seaweed, an armor made of discarded plastics. His face was blotchy with algae. He looked sickly, like the East River the first time Percy met him.

“Well, if it isn’t East’s brat,” Hudson snarled. “Do you have a death wish?”

“No, I really like living,” Percy says. “And Kronos' army is invading Manhattan. Please stop them. Drown them, sink their boats. Just don’t give them passage to Manhattan."

“Why should I?” Hudson snarls. “Why not ask East to do it? You spend all your time cleaning his waters, yet in your hour of need, you turn to me?”

Percy tries not to wince. He knows the Hudson River is far from his usual route, yet he can’t believe he’s treating Hudson like gods treat demigods. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “And if we win, I promise to come and clean your waters. But I won’t be able to do that if Kronos takes over.”

He takes out the sand dollar his father had given him for his birthday. “Here. Take this as a down payment.” 

Hudson River’s eyes widen. 

“Well I can’t say no to such a generous offer. GIve it here, kid.”

Percy tosses him the sand dollar. Hudson absorbs it, and the waters ripple. He can feel gallons of pollution dissolve in an instant.

Hudson takes a deep breath. "Oh, man," he whimpers. "It's been so long since I was clean."

Percy clears his throat. "Um, the invaders?"

Hudson snaps his fingers. "Bunch of hellhounds just took a dive."

"Thank you," Percy says. "Stay clean." 

As Percy rises to the surface, Hudson calls out, “Don’t forget your promise, kid! I’m a big fan of your domain. Or I would be if you bothered to visit my waters.”

“I will,” Percy yells back. “I’ll be back after the war.”

Hudson snorts. “You’d better.”

The battle rages on around them. Michael Yew leads the Apollo cabin, firing arrow after arrow at enemy lines. Monsters and demigods alike retreat. 

Percy and Annabeth fight as a unit. Back to back, sword and knife in hand. Kronos has hundreds of men attacking Williamsburg Bridge, all no match for the two demigods.

They’ve driven the army halfway across the bridge when Percy feels it—a familiar tug in his gut, a chill down his spine. Behind him, Annabeth screams.

“Annabeth!”

Percy turns around to see Annabeth fall. A demigod with a bloody knife stands over her.

He understands immediately. The enemy had tried to stab him. Annabeth had intercepted. The poison acts quickly—too quickly. Ever since the Styx, Percy has been able to hear Annabeth’s heart beat.

It is no longer beating.

The cord connecting him to Annabeth snaps. There is no more tether connecting him to his mortal anchor. Something inside him shattered. Glass is a fragile thing—once cracked, it can never be made whole again. 

Mortality is the same.

Blood rushes to his head, and he’s suddenly everywhere. In every drop of polluted water underneath the bridge they’re standing on. In every drop of sweat and blood shed on the battlefield. He is all of that. Percy drips with anger and divinity.

The poison on the enemy’s blade,

drips.

He feels that very same poison rushing through Annabeth’s bloodstream and he holds out his palm. He carefully traces its pathway back the way it came. Years of experience of cleaning the East River has prepared him for this moment.

The poison escapes Annabeth, floating in the air as a toxic bubble. It must be a magical poison, because Annabeth’s heart starts beating again as soon as it leaves her body.

Percy turns to the assailant. He’s looking at Percy with fear in his one good eye. 

“Ethan Nakamura.” His voice rumbles through the battlefield. It’s no longer the product of a mortal’s vocal cords. It’s a part of the universe speaking to something so fragile.

“You should not have hurt her,” Percy growls. “Never her.”

He lets the poison bubble splash to the ground. Ethan breathes a sigh of relief. His relief doesn’t last very long.

Poison is in more places than we expect. The bacteria on our skin produces toxins which can kill us with one wrong move. Group A streptococci typically live on our skin with no repercussions. One wrong cut, however, and it seeps into the tissues under your skin. Necrotizing fasciitis, also known as the flesh-eating disease, spreads quickly and kills so, so easily.

A mortal high school student would have no reason to know this. A god of poisons and toxins, whose consciousness lies within every little thing that can kill you, knows this by heart. The disease normally takes days to go into effect. Percy makes it happen in seconds. Soon, Ethan is nothing more than a rotting corpse on the floor.

Percy turns to the rest of the army, who has been watching in horror. “Nobody touches her,” he says.

Kronos studies Percy with fascination. "Interesting," he says. “I wonder how the Olympians kept you a secret. No matter. Perhaps you cannot die, but that only means you cannot escape.”

He calls Blackjack to take Annabeth away. The army is too big, and he lets the rest of the Apollo cabin make their escape. Michael is the last to leave, but eventually Percy is the only one left facing the army.

The army rushes to attack him, and Percy lets loose. 

Tremors split the bridge open. More than a few monsters fall through the chasm. Underneath, Percy sees his sisters spear the unlucky bastards. Water shoots up like geysers, with a pressure rivaling fire hydrants. Percy laughs maniacally as enemies go flying into the sky. Acid rain drips from the sky, and Kronos’ men run for cover.

The Titan lord looks at all the destruction. He studies Percy like he wants to dissect him. "Until this evening, Jackson," he says mockingly.

Later, Percy kneels next to Annabeth as she lays recovering. Annabeth looks up to him, worry and fear in her eyes.

“Percy? What was that?”

It’s Percy’s heart that stops this time. “What do you mean?”

Annabeth has a faraway look in her eyes. Percy checks her pulse. Her heart is beating. It comforts him.

“The-the thing with the guy who stabbed me. He was rotting in front of us. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Percy nods.

“How?”

Percy looks around. The infirmary is empty. He can’t sense anyone nearby, not even waiting outside the doors. He leans in closer.  "How did you know?" he whispered.

Annabeth looked confused. “Know what?”

Percy’s voice drops even lower. “That knife…it would have hit my Achilles spot. If you didn’t take it, I would have died.”

She stares at him. “I-I don’t know. I just had a feeling you were in danger.” Her expression twists into something he can’t decipher. “What does that have to do with the rotting?”

Percy sighs. “Back when I swam in the River Styx,” he says, “I needed a mortal anchor. Not just a physical spot, but something to tie me down to mortality.” He stares her in the eyes. “I tied my soul to you.”

Annabeth looks at him in shock. Her cheeks go red. “Me?”

“Yep.” He remembers Annabeth calling to him in the river. “I think I would have died if it weren’t for you.”

Annabeth gave a weak smile. “So I saved your butt again. What’s new?”

Percy gives a small laugh. “When Ethan stabbed you…you died for a moment.” 

Annabeth’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Your heart stopped beating.” He takes her hand for comfort. “I- I think you would have stayed dead if I didn’t remove the poison.”

She squeezes his hand. “I’m alive now, Seaweed Brain.”

“Yeah, but you died. And my anchor…I felt it snap.”

“But that means…” She looks at him with concern. “Percy, are you immortal now?”

Percy shrugs. “I think so. All I knew was when you died, I wasn’t just a person anymore. I was in every drop of poison in the world. Every toxin, every pollutant. I’m in power plants and laboratories. I was in Ethan’s body. And I took over him.”

“But you’re talking to me right now.”

“I’m pretty sure this body is just a mouthpiece. It’s be weird if you had the sewage talking to you.”

Annabeth suddenly looks very small. “Are you still like that?”

Percy nods. Impulsively, he grabs Riptide from his pocket and makes a small cut on his arm. They both watch as ichor drips from the wound.

“Oh.” 

Percy looks at her. His gut is churning. “I’m sorry,” he says. “This isn’t how I imagined things going.”

There’s an unspoken grief that hangs in the air. Gods aren’t allowed to interfere with mortal affairs. Percy will never be able to hang out with Annabeth as he does now. He’ll never be able to grow up with her. If she gets attacked by a monster, he won’t be able to interfere. He’ll have to watch her die. 

“Don’t be,” Annabeth replies. “I-I’m glad you’re not dead.” 

He wishes he was. Percy tries to pull away his hand, but Annabeth doesn’t let him. “What are your domains?”

Percy closes his eyes and feels every aspect of himself. “Pollution. Poisons. Toxins. And getting rid of them.”

Annabeth giggles. “You’re the god of taking a crap.”

Percy laughs. “Yep, that’s me. The Supreme Lord of the Bathroom.”

“I bet you’ll make a shitty god.”

Their giggles make way for outright guffaws. Percy’s pretty sure they could be heard from the next room. 

Annabeth squeezes his hand. “Hey. Don’t think this changes anything, alright?”

He looks at her, tired. “I’m pretty sure this changes everything.”

“Not anything that matters.” She looks at him and smiles softly. “You’ll always be my Seaweed Brain.”

Percy returns her smile. “Back at you, Wise Girl.”

The fear in his heart makes way for relief. He may not be tied to mortality anymore, but he had given a part of his soul to Annabeth. He didn’t know what he would do if she rejected him.

The two watch the sun come up over the city. They need to stop an entire army from invading Olympus, defeat Kronos, and stay alive for the next day. The road in front of them is paved with blood and pain. But right now, it’s just the two of them, and that’s the only thing that matters.

Chapter Text

Percy’s first temple has always been the boat the East River gave him. It puts a lot of things into perspective. Apparently, being the location of a god’s first temple is a Big Deal. East had sensed the divinity within him and claimed him for his own. 

That doesn’t stop Annabeth from criticizing it. She can’t say much about the boat itself—boats are more of Percy’s thing—but she does have several complaints about the furnishing.

“You need an altar,” she says. 

Percy points to the table where he puts his visitors’ gifts (or were they offerings?) “That one’s perfectly fine.”

Annabeth’s nose wrinkles. “It’s a folding table. What kind of altar is that?”

“Hey!” he complains. “Do you know how hard it was to get that table?” He will never admit to stealing it from Meriwether College Prep. Annabeth will never let him live it down.

From the sidelines, his sisters giggle. They’ve been watching him argue with Annabeth all morning. Percy’s pretty sure they’re on her side, the traitors.

They’re his first followers-maybe-priests, but it’s hard for him to imagine them in any kind of subordinate role. He still brings them Olympus Weekly every Monday. It's a lot easier now he can teleport.

Annabeth glares at the table. “It’s not proper.”

“The sea creatures don’t care,” he insists.

She rolls her eyes. “Seaweed Brain, you cannot have a crappy folding table as your altar. You’re going to have more worshipers than the local marine life. What will they think?”

Said worshipers enter the deck with Tupperwares full of blue cookies. His mom looks proud of him, while Paul looks around the boat in amazement. 

“Oh Percy, I can’t believe it!” Sally says. She gives him a bear hug, before grabbing his shoulders. “Look at this! An actual temple! And here I thought you were part of the local ecology club.”

“I mean, I kinda was,” Percy shrugs. “The temple gig happened by accident.”

“Accident?” Paul asks. He looks fascinated by the mast and ropes. “How do you get a temple by accident?”

“I helped a dolphin from a net once, and it escalated from there.”

The explanation only confuses Paul more. He mouths ‘dolphin’ incredulously. Sally is chatting with the nereids. She’s always wanted daughters. Her eyes gleamed the minute Percy called them his honorary big sisters. It scares him. He hopes she never shows them his baby pictures.

An egret flies down to the boat. It drops a few shells on his altar, before deciding to use his shoulder as a perch. It lands on him and screeches.

Myrrhine sighs. “Oh. He wants a snack.”

Percy waves away the looks he’s getting. “I’ll get it.”

The marine wildlife don't act differently. They’ve been around him enough times to sense his blossoming divinity. After the initial awkwardness, they’re back to asking for help and dropping by for food. It’s nice to know godhood won’t change how demanding some of these creatures are. Percy thinks he’d go insane otherwise.

The campers are a bit slower to come around. They’re still hesitant around him. Percy doesn’t know if it’s his domains or just the fact that he’s a god. He tries to connect with them, show them he’s still the same Percy they know. 

The Stolls are a huge help in this aspect. They’ve been “spreading his gospel” and declaring how they should have known he was a god in disguise when he made Clarisse gargle toilet water. It works, with the minor side effect of a murderous Clarisse.

Eh. They'll live.

He feeds the egret some grasshoppers and returns to his family. Annabeth walks to him, sketchbook in tow.

“Hey, you still need a symbol of power,” she says.

Percy blinks. “Uhhh, is that due today?” He’s never been good with deadlines. Or homework, for that matter.

Annabeth laughs. “No, but it would be nice if you got one soon. I want to build you your second temple, and a cabin at camp. I can’t do that without a symbol.”

“Oh. Give me a moment.” Percy closes his eyes and concentrates. Poison, toxins, pollution, and the removal thereof. What would be a good symbol for that? A plague doctor’s mask? Nope. A hazard waste symbol seems redundant. A trash can?

In the end, Percy cups his hands. He feels a pull in every part of him, every drop of poison and pollution in the world. Power pools into his palms. When the warmth dies down, Percy opens his eyes. 

“Oh.” He looks back at Annabeth. “I pick the sand dollar.”

Annabeth’s eyebrows rise. “A sand dollar?”

“A sand dollar,” he agrees. “It’s good for water pollution.”

“Alright then,” she says slowly. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Annabeth makes a few sketches, and Percy stares at the sand dollar in his hands. He can feel his power seeping into every sand dollar  as he claims them for himself. They begin spawning underneath his boat like barnacles and on the floor of the East River. He creates some in the Hudson River too. Hudson would love that.

Percy was gifted this boat after he removed four thousand gallons of pollution from the East River’s waters. He did it out of fury, but it’s a fury born from love.

The god of poison is one forged from love. Powers honed from a love of his sisters, reborn as the divine due to love for his mortal anchor.  If he is to be a god, he won’t be one who poisons people for his own amusement and power. He wants to help others. He wants to honor Luke’s sacrifices, and maybe Ethan’s too. He’ll always hate him for stabbing Annabeth, but he can admit the guy had a point about the Olympians.

The sand dollars are a promise of his love. What else would he have as his symbol?

He hands the sand dollar he created to Annabeth.

“Here. Want one?”