Archive of Our Own ^beta

Percy was a very well-behaved child, though no one would ever say as such.

In demigod terms, he was as well-behaved as a son of the sea could be; his curious and almost wild nature often attributed to the fact that he was a child of Poseidon — the only one in recent memory.

Though he was born in the outside world, at the age of five his mother had been forced to flee from their home with nothing but a bag of their belongings and Percy in her arms. He didn’t remember most of it, only bits and pieces — traveling day and night; barely ever stopping to rest — but he did recall one thing with crystal clarity: the relief on Sally’s face when their destination came into view.

It was for that reason alone that Percy never strayed from their sanctuary.

The Land of the Gods was enclosed by a wall — not any kind of physical barrier, but rather a wall of Mist. Mere mortals could not cross it without being invited or possessing an artifact originating from the Gods.

Technically, Percy could have counted as said artifact, but Chiron insisted that Sally had been able to cross the barrier through sheer force of will alone; a fact that many still found most amusing years after.

There were many other children of the Gods living in the sanctuary; some of them with their parents, some not, for it was plenty big enough to sustain all of them. Modern technology simply ceased to function past the Wall, but Percy hadn’t spent enough time in the outside world to miss it, really.

New arrivals were much more common than people leaving the safety of the Wall, but not entirely uncommon.

Every time Sally ventured outside, Percy remembered exactly how long she said she’d be gone.

Be good, she would say, be good.

And he did his best to do as she asked, but it was difficult.

Even at a young age, he felt the weight of the other children’s gazes like a shadow dogging his every step.

There had not been a demigod child of the Three, let alone one that was acknowledged and sheltered so young, in decades upon decades.

He hadn’t been the best behaved at school in the outside world (that was putting it lightly), and now when he tried to reach out to others, he couldn’t help but feel cut off from them.

Many of the Gods visited their children — during the last month alone, Percy had seen Apollo performing with a group of golden-haired children in the amphitheater, Iris’ rainbow projection in one of the fountains listening intently as her children sat around the rim and spoke, and only yesterday the children of Hypnos had announced happily during breakfast that they had all enjoyed a visit from their father as they slept.

But from what Percy had seen, the older the God, the less likely they were to visit their children. Then again, most of the kids his own age had at least met their Godly parent.

Percy had never even spoken to Poseidon.

He’d gotten glimpses of him, once or twice, but a look? A “Hello”, a “how are you doing”? A card?

Never even once.

So Percy tried to be good for Sally’s sake, but if the occasional skirmish resulted in more trouble for his father — well, he didn’t much mind that.

When Percy was seven, his mother left for the outside world on one of her trips. Just for a week or two, she promised, he would have the company of Chiron and the satyrs, so he couldn’t be too lonely.

And because Percy loved Sally more than anything, he nodded, did his best not to cry, told her to come back safe, and hugged her as tightly as his arms would allow.

“I will,” she told him, holding him close.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

If it had come from anyone else, Percy wouldn’t have believed them.

From the house they’d been given when they first arrived, in his very own room full of blue, Percy waved goodbye to her, still staring even long after he could no longer see her or her escort.

Then he let himself flop back on his bed, but the softness of the sheets did nothing to soothe the anxiety running circles in his head.

At the same time, he had no desire to venture out to the training grounds or the school buildings. He’d just feel even more lonely there, surrounded by people who wanted nothing to do with him — or wanted everything to do with him because of his parentage, in the hopes that he would be useful to them. Percy glared at the ceiling, not even finding solace in the glow-in-the-dark shapes on his ceiling that Sally had gotten specifically for him.

Finally, he decided he would just go on a walk.

He traipsed downstairs, grabbing a coloring book and some crayons to put in his backpack, and stepped into his tennis shoes — blue, of course — before venturing outside.

It was almost summer, the chill of spring fading into warmer and warmer days. There had been a commotion some time ago, but Percy knew by now that such quick-passing excitement was the result of new arrivals; nothing more. Certainly nothing for him to worry about.

No one tried to stop him from heading down the main path and towards where the forest met the training grounds.

“Ah, Percy - there you are.”

Well, almost no one.

“Hullo Mister Chiron,” Percy sighed, doing his best to not appear bothered by being engaged in conversation and failing in the way only a child can.

Luckily, the centaur didn’t appear insulted by the obviously-prickly mood of the boy in front of him.

“Where are you off to?”

“Uh— ‘m gonna go sit under the trees and color,” Percy scuffed at the ground with one of his shoes, nervousness bleeding into his voice, “‘f that’s— okay?”

“Of course, you go right ahead — just stay on the edge of the forest, please?”

Percy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I will.”

“Good, good — off you go now.”

As the director of activities and de facto head of staff, Chiron’s life was a busy one. Percy threw some well-wishes over his shoulder as he started walking again, picking up the pace to avoid any more encounters as he headed for the forest. He smiled to himself as he went.

If Chiron had wanted to make absolutely certain Percy would do as he was told, he should have made him promise. Or he could have just not mentioned the possibility — it honestly hadn’t occurred to Percy that he could venture off before Chiron brought it up.

Instead, all he’d done was given him the perfect push to go past the treeline.

Upon reaching the edge of the forest, Percy paused and looked back to make sure no one was watching him before he began to move further in.

It was cool in the forest, under the shadow of all the trunks and leaves; it smelled of earth and almost breathed with life around him. Further and further in he walked, letting himself get lost in the feeling of being — well, lost — but somehow still at home within the borders of the Land.

He felt adrift, if he closed his eyes as he walked, and the rustling of the leaves in the early summer breeze almost made him feel like he was back at the ocean. Sally had only ever taken him to see it once before they fled to the Land of the Gods, but it was among his most treasured memories. A storm had been brewing that day, turning the sky grey, and there were no tide pools to investigate, but he’d loved it all the same. The wind in his hair, the coolness of the sea on his feet, even the sand between his toes.

He wanted to see it again, someday; properly.

Percy was so lost in thought, his eyes closed, that he was caught completely off guard when his foot snagged on a root sticking up from the ground.

He stumbled, trying to regain his balance, failed, and fell, landing awkwardly on his side. Something twisted in his ankle and he shrieked in pain, squirming and sliding down the slight incline of a hill as he tried to untangle himself from his backpack — and the vines that he’d fallen into.

It happened so fast that he was more distressed by the suddenness than the actual pain, which was quickly fading into a dull ache.

Still, the shock was enough to make tears spring to his eyes, sniffs escaping him as he brushed the greenery off of himself and grabbed for his injured ankle.

By the time his sniffles quieted, he realized the forest was now deathly quiet around him.

No birds, no rustling of underbrush, even the wind had quieted to a barely-there whisper through the leaves.

Looking up, he realized he had come to rest on a low part of the forest floor. Directly ahead of him was what looked to be a dip in the ground where something had been resting before, but was now gone, leaving behind only a trail.

Said trail consisted of a single drag mark, one that vanished behind a nearby tree.

Percy swallowed, panic nipping at him now as he tried to stand up. Failed — his knees were shaking.

“He-hello?” his voice came out in a squeak, but it was the best he could do. “Is— is someone there?”

Silence. He held his breath.

Then, a hand with tan skin emerged around the trunk of the tree, followed by part of a face. Sharp blue eyes squinted at Percy, as if trying to measure him against some sort of threat criteria.

Percy tried to move again, this time noticing he’d skinned a knee on the way down, and winced, unable to stop an “ow” from escaping as he let himself collapse back down.

“Are you hurt?” A voice asked, steady and laced with curiosity.

Percy looked up to meet the gaze of the boy who was peering around the tree now. He had an angular face and was older than Percy, his blond hair mussed but not horribly unkempt. The shirt he wore had holes in several places and was either a favorite of his or had been washed one too many times and needed to be replaced, but had not been because that sort of thing required time, money, and focus; all things difficult to come by when you were a demigod. Percy could understand that struggle.

“Um—” Percy said, wiping at his cheeks with the back of one hand. “Yeah. Twisted my ankle. But ‘s fine. Sorry if I— ‘m bothering you, I just wanted to sit and draw.”

“And you were looking for a spot with your eyes closed?” Mirth danced in the older boy’s eyes, but not the cruel, mocking kind Percy was used to seeing on the faces of the other children — and some of the adults. It was playful; welcoming even.

“I got dis-distracted!” Percy scowled, crossing his arms. “And that’s normal for demigods, so— there.”

Blue eyes flashed, more of the boy’s torso emerging from around the tree.

“You’re one too?”

Percy nodded, smiling.

“Uh-huh! Who’s your— um—”

“Hermes,” the boy said, his upper lip stiffening as though he’d tasted something bitter. “But that’s not important — I’m Luke.” He pointed to Percy. “Your turn.”

“I’m Percy! Percy Jackson. And I’m a son of Poe-si-don!” Percy recited, careful to get the name just right and proud that his practice with his mother had paid off.

“Really?” Luke asked, “I thought none of the Three had kids. Guess that makes us cousins, then.”

Something in his voice made Percy feel like there was a joke he wasn’t in on, so he looked back at Luke to ask him about it— and froze.

Luke was coming out from behind the tree now — all of him. From the waist up, he looked just as human as anyone Percy had met. But below that, his skin turned instead to smooth scales; his snake lower body curling to push him along the forest floor. Percy stared at the scales in amazement — a bronze-brown color that shimmered in the dappled sun-and-shadow of daylight in the forest as Luke moved.

“Whoa!” He shrieked again, this time in excitement, and pushed himself up to hop over to Luke, who seemed a bit confused at his fast approach. “You got a tail? All I got was um— hearing what fish say.”

The corners of Luke’s eyes pinched in what Percy thought could have been a hint of a smile.

“Don’t think that’s the only thing a son of the sea god would have gotten, but at least you didn’t sprout gills when you got here.”

Percy sat down with a huff, wincing as he tried to avoid putting weight on his throbbing ankle.

“D’you mean— you didn’t always have this?” He pointed to Luke’s tail.

“No, I didn’t. Got it the second I stepped past the Mist.” Luke’s expression soured, his eyebrows drawing together in a scowl as he indicated his scaled lower half. “They’ve got no idea why, and I didn’t want to stick around and let people stare at me like some sort of zoo animal. So—” He spread his hands, indicating the forest around them, “here’s where they put me.”

“What about any others who came with you?” Percy asked, and almost immediately he regretted it.

Luke’s eyes — his pupils were slits, like those of a real snake — turned to chips of ice.

“Fifty-fifty,” was all he bit out, and Percy had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but he didn’t really want to know. “Just our luck.”

“Um— I’m sure they’ll figure it out.” Percy looked between the human and snake part of his new acquaintance, settling back on the human half. “But— you look really cool like this.”

“Thanks.”

He wasn’t sure if Luke believed him, but his tone was accepting enough. Percy had gotten pretty good at gauging that sort of thing.

Deciding it was time to try again, Percy pushed himself to his feet. Almost instantly, pain flared up his leg from his injured ankle and he whimpered, stumbling and grabbing onto a prominent root to stabilize himself.

“You said you were a son of Poseidon, hm?” Luke half-smiled, beckoning to him. “I have an idea — this way.”

Despite how slow and faltering Percy’s pace was, the older boy never told him to hurry, waiting for him to catch up when he fell behind and never going so far ahead that there was a danger of losing him among the trees. Percy asked him several times where they were going, and each time Luke simply told him to wait or listen and try to guess.

He was good at being irritating, and Percy had a feeling he knew it too.

But he was still much easier to be around than most of the others, so Percy bit his tongue and didn’t complain.

Well, he didn’t complain as much as he wanted to.

Finally, after what felt like ages, Percy heard the sound of running water, and he rounded the next tree to see Luke waiting for him by a small-but-steady stream.

“Come here,” Luke beckoned again, sighing when Percy gave him a look, “come on, this will help. I promise.”

That did make Percy consider him, staring for several seconds before hobbling over.

“Hold on to me and touch the water.”

“You want me to swim?” Percy looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Not swim, just touch it. It might make you feel better.” Luke tapped a finger to his head. “You’re a son of the sea god, right? Water’s your friend.”

Percy glanced down at the stream. Well, it wasn’t running too fast. And Sally had made sure he took swimming lessons, so he would be fine. Probably.

The moment he put his palm into the cool water, he felt— different. Good, even. The water flowed up his arm like a second skin, smoothing itself along scrapes and bruises. To his surprise, the pain of them began to fade, and in his excitement he completely skipped removing his shoes and simply plunged his injured ankle into the water, shoe and all.

He heard Luke snort next to him and could feel the weight of those blue eyes, but it was a nice feeling. Not like being stared at whenever he went into the dining hall, or the training grounds, or anywhere else for that matter. Together, they watched as the water wound up around Percy’s leg to enclose his skinned knee and stayed there for several long moments before dripping away, leaving his foot completely dry.

“Whoa,” Percy breathed, “it doesn’t— doesn’t hurt!”

He put his full weight on both legs to test it, and when no pain or other discomfort followed, he let out a whoop and bounded over to Luke, grabbing at the air as if to hug him before withdrawing his hands before he could actually make contact.

“Um— thank you,” he managed.

A hand came down in his hair, mussing the dark locks.

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

“‘m not a kid!” Percy huffed, immediately undercutting the statement by stomping his foot and crossing his arms.

“Sure, Percy.” Luke’s face twitched as he fought to hold back a smile, starting back into the trees. “Come on — let’s grab your stuff and get you back before dark, or Chiron will have my head.”

Despite Percy’s best efforts, dragging his heels and asking as many questions as he could come up with, Luke did eventually convince him that it was best if he went back before dinner; but not before Percy had made him promise that they’d see one-another again.

Percy left the forest with his backpack intact and not even the slightest limp, the only sign that he’d run into a bit of trouble being a couple dirt stains and a leaf or bit of twig in his hair.

But he was in such a good mood at dinner, even greeting Chiron before the centaur had noticed he was there, that no one brought up the state of his clothes.

As he got into bed that night and stared up at the glowing sea creatures on his ceiling, Percy was already planning his next trip into the forest.

The thought of returning was enough to keep Percy’s spirits high until Sally returned. He even did his best to clean his room, drawing her a welcome home picture on the back of his spelling bee paper: the two of them on the beach, smiling under the sun.

“We’ll have to go again,” Sally said, putting the piece up on their fridge using blue heart magnets. “And stay longer so we can swim.”

Percy whooped and hugged her, laughing as she blew a raspberry on his cheek.

As he grew, Percy had to admit — he had memory problems. His mother and Chiron said it was a symptom of his AD-something, and that it was good actually; that it would help him in training and keep him alive in situations where mortals wouldn’t be able to adapt.

But Percy kind of hated it.

He forgot to study, to do his chores; he would write down reminders or get a notepad to keep track of things to do and then he would forget he had that, or just miss writing stuff down entirely.

He struggled to pay attention in class — it wasn’t that the work was hard, but rather that it bored him. Training would have been better, but the other children had a habit of ganging up on the “two-bit son of the sea”, and he was always picked last; always the outlier or the uninvited.

Even now at ten years old, he was still the odd one out.

He tried not to let it bother him.

It wasn’t as if he was totally without friends — there was Grover, a satyr who’d befriended him one day when he was hiding from the other kids among the growing crops. There was Annabeth, a daughter of Athena who he tentatively got along with, the two of them bonding over both being exiles of a sort; though hers was mostly self-imposed, with the blonde spending much of her free time sitting by a pine tree that Percy assumed was her favorite place for some reason he couldn’t fathom. She even talked to it sometimes, but Percy decided he wouldn’t ask her about that.

There was also Tyson, a Cyclops who was working in the forge as an intern of sorts. Because he was a son of Poseidon as well, Percy felt more relaxed around him than he did most other demigods, although he did his best not to talk about him around Annabeth. He’d only made that mistake once, and her mood had soured so quickly that Percy decided then and there to never bring up any cyclops ever again.

He’d visited Luke as often as he could over the past three years; usually whenever Sally was on one of her trips to the outside world. They lasted for at least two weeks at a time now, and Percy had developed his own system. He kept a water bottle and something to occupy his brain on his bedside table at all times, along with a fresh set of clothes and a note explaining he had gone to stargaze or map the woods in case someone came looking for him while he was gone.

It was strange to say that someone with the lower half of a snake was his closest friend these days, but with everything else that had happened, Percy figured that his life could be much stranger.

Exactly how, he didn’t like to think about; it would be inviting the universe to throw something even more ridiculous at him.

So when Sally said she would have to leave before he’d gone to sleep one evening as they ate dinner, Percy agreed to help her clean up so she could pack for her trip.

A mix of nervousness at her looming departure and excitement at being left to his own devices swirled in Percy’s stomach along with the pizza and blue soda they’d had for dinner (along with steamed veggies, which Percy had forced himself to swallow specifically because he knew it would make Sally happy). He washed their plates, silverware, and glasses as his mother moved around upstairs, gathering the things she’d need for her trip.

“Now be good,” she said to him on her way out, “and don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t!” Percy waved to her from the porch, watching as she vanished into the night.

He didn’t linger as much as he used to, instead turning and hurrying back into the house once she was out of sight. He grabbed a pack of jerky and a bag of blue chocolate chip cookies for snacks, filling his water bottle before running upstairs and putting the last few things he wanted to take in his backpack.

It was a bit heavy when he shouldered it, but he had the advantage of excitement to override the extra weight.

He turned off all the lights and double-checked he had everything before climbing out one of the back windows.

In the dim evening light, he made his way to the edge of the forest, breaking into a half-run as he passed into the trees. His walk over had been accompanied by lightning bugs in the fields around him, but once he’d entered the treeline, he was alone.

Percy used the moonlight to guide him, but didn’t rely wholly on it, trusting his feet instead to carry him along the path he knew by now with near-certainty.

He stopped once or twice to catch his breath, wheezing a bit and taking a drink from his water bottle before pressing on. The journey wasn’t hard, it was just that the anticipation-excitement in his veins was making him more short of breath than normal.

“Luke!” He whispered into the night, hopping over a gnarled root and looking around the low point in the trees. “Luuuuke!”

“What are you doing here? It’s late,” came Luke’s voice, Percy whirling to face the direction it had come from. There was a flash in the dusk, low light reflecting off Luke’s eyes as he slid over to Percy. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“I don’t have a bedtime,” Percy huffed, “Besides, I wanted to come see you — we made cookies, and they’re best when they’re fresh.”

“I already ate.” Luke did sound a bit apologetic, to his credit. “We can have them for breakfast, yeah? Come on — you better have brought your pillow, or else you’re gonna be crabby in the morning.”

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” Percy extended his hand, feeling Luke take it in one of his own. He was warm, and his nails — which had grown into sharp points — were carefully angled away from Percy’s skin.

He let the other demigod lead him along the forest floor, lifting his feet higher or ducking when Luke warned him.

“Root. Another root. Branch— don’t duck that low! Be careful.”

“I am!” Percy hissed back, grateful it was dark and Luke was looking elsewhere so he wouldn’t see how his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “How much further?”

“Not much.”

Percy nodded — more for himself than for Luke — and was extra-careful the rest of the way.

They approached a dip in the earth, and Percy knew what it looked like from his memories of previous visits. Though it was hidden by the night, if he had snake eyes of his own he would see a hollowed out entrance to a burrow, its walls stabilized by the roots of nearby trees. The dim light of a lit candle placed on a ledge let him see Luke and the inside of his abode better, the older boy slithering past him and over to a makeshift fire pit.

The floor was even, the room surprisingly spacious. There were several higher, level points that acted as places to put things — pitchers of fresh water, a basket of what appeared to be fruits gathered during the most recent harvest, and even a stack of books from the library.

Percy put his backpack next to Luke’s things and found he liked the sight of it there, the thought barely lingering before he was turning to watch as his cousin took the candle and used it to light a fire, warming the side of the room that had their makeshift beds. Luke’s bed was a mixture of leaves and some worn blankets that reminded Percy of the state of Luke’s old clothes — they must have been important to him, for him to keep them this long. Percy’s was much the same, though it had less leaves and the blankets were much newer and nicer than those Luke was sleeping in.

Percy pulled a pillow from his backpack — one of his smaller ones, but comfortable nonetheless — and added it to his bed before he moved to sit across the fire from Luke.

For a moment, he stared at the older boy, taking in the places where his face was becoming more angular as he got older. He had several years on Percy, but never treated him like he was lesser because of his lack of experience, or a weirdo because of who his Godly parent was. He never said he was disappointed in him, or told him he “expected great things of him” like so many others did.

He felt like family to Percy — safe, kind of like Sally.

Percy trusted him with his life; fangs and all.

He even— well, he thought he might just—

With a start, he realized that Luke was staring back at him, one eyebrow raised and the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“Something on your mind?”

“Um,” Percy squeaked, hunching forward and ducking his head to hide the way his ears burned, “Just— school stuff. Life stuff.”

Luke hummed, adding a log to the fire.

“Other kids still giving you a hard time?”

Percy nodded, mouth pursed as he glared at the fire.

“If I just— had better control of my powers, I could do something— make them respect me. Or stay away from me, at the very least.” He grabbed a stray leaf out of his hair and began to shred it between his fingers. “If I knew— anything about what I am. Who I am, I could— be something. Show them.”

“Hey— Percy, look at me.”

And even though he didn’t want to, with his eyes threatening to fill with tears, Percy did.

“They’re not better than you are, okay?” Luke’s gaze held his own, trapping him. Faintly, Percy thought the blue of Luke’s eyes was like his hope for the ideal color of the ocean when he finally saw it again. “You’re worth ten of them — they don’t get to lord their relationship with their Godly parent over your head. You’re not less because your father doesn’t want to know you. Hell, I’m glad I know you. He’s missing out.”

“You—” Percy sniffed against his will, blinking to clear his vision. “You really think that?”

“Scout’s honor.” Luke put a hand over his heart and gave him a smile that made Percy feel like his veins were full of warm hot cocoa. “Now repeat after me — you’re the best.”

“I’m— I’m the best?”

“Again, like you mean it Percy, c’mon!”

“I’m the best!”

“That’s right!” Luke whooped, reaching over to slap Percy’s shoulder. “And don’t let anyone tell you different. Okay?”

“Okay!” Percy couldn’t stop smiling, even when he yawned and Luke ushered him into his bed, telling him to sleep well.

He hadn’t felt so happy since his last proper birthday party — before he’d come to live in the Land of the Gods.

Percy woke to the smell of coffee, and for a moment he thought Sally had come back early. He felt at home, a smile forming on his face.

But then he opened his eyes and was met with the light of sunrise draped across the burrow, haloing Luke as he sat (or rather, coiled) at the entrance and drank from a cup.

“Morning,” Luke said, his gaze still fixed on the trees outside.

“Morning!” Percy yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he sat up and grabbed his pack, bringing it along with him when he went over to sit beside Luke. “Here — breakfast.”

A strange expression flashed across Luke’s face when he realized what kind of cookie Percy was offering him. For a moment, he seemed pained, almost wounded, but then Percy blinked and Luke simply looked amused.

“Blue cookies now, huh?” He took one from the bag and bit into it, humming in appreciation. “‘S good — compliments to the chefs.”

“Thanks.” Percy grinned, eating his own cookie. “And yeah — blue’s my favorite color.”

He stared at Luke’s eyes as he said it, something in his gut twisting and untwisting with the words. Percy frowned to himself, focusing intently on the cookie in his hand now.

That was… weird.

“Good choice — mine’s green. Spent a lot of time in forests before I got here, so I’m more comfortable here than I’d be in a house.”

Percy wanted to say “wow, that’s sad”, but he knew that was probably a bad idea. So he leaned back against the wall and chewed, letting himself think.

“I’m— I used to think I wouldn’t know what to do, if I ever lost my mom.” He spoke quietly, words fragile and delicate as a butterfly’s wings. “And now I think— I think one day, she might not come back from the outside.” His now-empty hand clenched, dull nails digging into his palm. “But— what scares me even more is— I think I would— be okay. She’s just— gone so much now, I’m— used to it.” He hunched forward, bag of cookies forgotten at his side. “Is that… how you felt? About your…”

“Not in so many words,” Luke said back, hand coming to rest on Percy’s shoulder. “But I know how you feel. All part of growing up — it sucks, huh?”

“Yeah.” Percy tipped his head back, looking up; at the morning sun, at the green of the trees, and at Luke. What would he do if he lost him? “Thanks— for not making fun of me.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Percy,” Luke’s tone was soft and fond, his nails gentle as he ruffled Percy’s sleep-mussed hair. “You’re gonna be a great guy, I can tell.”

Ba-dump went Percy’s heart, loud in his ears as his cheeks and the tips of his ears heated.

“Right.”

Life went on.

By the time he was eleven, Percy swallowed his pride and asked Annabeth if she would tutor him, ignoring the jeers the others threw his way when they found out.

Sometimes when he was returning from one of his visits to Luke, he would spot her lingering by the house where she and a couple other demigods with no mortal parents in the Lands lived, watching him with an unreadable emotion in her gray eyes. There were days when she would pause during a session and open her mouth, half-starts to sentences and topic changes sticking in her teeth before she gave up and told him to never mind.

Grover was always good to talk to, but he left more often than even most mortals due to his position as a Guide; something he took a great deal of pride in, and Percy couldn’t begrudge him that. He just asked the satyr to bring him the occasional gift from the outside world.

Tyson made a sword for Percy, presenting it to him on his twelfth birthday. Riptide, Percy called it, and every time he held it he was reminded that he would see the ocean again, one day. And not just that; he’d see the whole outside world.

And so would Luke.

Maybe they could even go together.

Percy baked green chocolate chip cookies for Luke, presenting them to him on his latest visit that very night.

“These are great, Percy,” Luke had said, digging into them with gusto, “You’re a good cook.”

Percy kept that memory close, holding it in his chest and revisiting it whenever he had a particularly bad day.

Sally came and went, her visits growing ever-more sparse. It almost felt like she was visiting him and living in the outside world.

She missed his twelfth birthday. And his thirteenth. And his fourteenth.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love him, Percy knew that. She always made sure a gift, card, and a piece of blue cake found its way to him.

But it still hurt.

By the time his fifteenth birthday rolled around, Percy spent most of his free time training.

He couldn’t stand to be in their empty house any more than he absolutely had to, and most of his nights he would bunk with one of his friends; usually Grover or Luke.

Mostly Grover, even when he wasn’t home. Percy couldn’t handle being around Luke for too long these days, it made him feel… strange.

Like his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest and into Luke’s hands, almost. Like he would do anything to hear Luke compliment him, anything. Percy had already accepted years ago that he would do anything to give Luke his legs back, but now even that felt… different.

And it wasn’t just that— sometimes, Percy would have dreams; dreams of Luke’s tan skin, the lines of muscle on his arms and the grace with which he moved, the uptick of his mouth; that left Percy sweating when he woke. He wasn’t sure if it was worse when he woke sated and sticky, or aching and pining for a touch that wasn’t his own; wasn’t his to want by any means.

Percy was scared to open his mouth around Luke, scared that he would blurt out something without warning.

Before the feeling had become too much to bear, the two of them had been working to figure out more of Percy’s powers.

That was all his head was filled with most days, as he worked on his balance, parrying, and reaction time. He spent most of his training lost in thought, like he was now.

When he’d gone to visit Luke one day, he’d found him with a bandage covering a large portion of his face; almost half, but not quite; most of his right cheek and even his right eye.

Percy had tried to help, was going to offer his healing powers without a second thought, had said “Oh, Luke— Luke, what happened— who—”, had reached for Luke— and Luke had snapped at him.

“I don’t WANT YOUR HELP!” He’d snarled, tail lashing and eyes flashing, sharp teeth bared. “What I WANT is for you to LEAVE me ALONE!”

Percy hadn’t been afraid of him — never would be — but the words stung like acid had been flung on him, and he’d flinched back, shocked tears filling his eyes as he’d turned and run, legs carrying him away as fast as he could manage.

He hadn’t stopped running until he’d passed the treeline, everything around him blurring as he kept running, running, running, until he’d reached the edge of the lake. But he hadn’t stopped there, something in him telling him to go, go, keep going, and so he’d kept up the breakneck speed all the way to the docks, running down the nearest one and jumping into the water.

He sank like a rock, the lake welcoming him like a cool embrace, and Percy didn’t even stop to realize he could breathe before he was screaming into its depths, tears leaving his face and merging with the water around him as he sobbed.

The naiads had found him at the bottom, staring at his shoes in the dim light as he nursed the fresh ache in his chest.

Some of them had been very understanding, ignoring the hesitant whispers of their sisters and encouraging him to come out of his shell. He spoke to them for hours before finally allowing them to usher him back to the surface, though he didn’t remember most of their conversation. Maybe that was for the best.

Percy had been significantly more moody since then, his sarcastic streak taking on a hard edge that even he didn’t really like. But it reminded him so of Luke — who he hadn’t been back to see since then — that he couldn’t bring himself to stop, only to reel it in.

To his friend’s credit, they had never asked for the reason behind his sudden dedication to training.

Even Percy wasn’t sure he knew what was motivating him.

It wouldn’t bring Sally back. Wouldn’t make Luke trust him again.

He didn’t really care about getting Poseidon’s attention any longer. What good would it do him now?

But maybe — just maybe, he could get strong enough to knock him down a peg.

Percy could never hope to truly beat a God, he knew that, but he would like to make one in particular a little nervous.

Then, maybe he would feel better.

He would be sixteen this year.

Grover and Tyson seemed much more excited by the prospect than Percy himself. Annabeth had wished him an early happy birthday, congratulating him on surviving another year despite his status as a child of one of the Three.

Still, he let Grover infect him with his enthusiasm, indulging his friend and admitting that yes, he did still want his cake to have something blue on it.

“You got it,” Grover said as he helped Percy into his lightweight armor in preparation for the capture-the-flag event that the camp had been preparing for all year. “But don’t tell anyone I asked — when you see it, just act like you had no idea and we figured it out all on our own.”

“Riiight,” Percy shook his head, brushing his hair out of his eyes and considering whether or not he should bother with a haircut. Sally usually helped him with it, since he was bad at it according to, well, everyone else. “I’ll do my best.”

“Oh,” Grover paused in the doorway, grabbing an envelope off the pile of mail that had been delivered that morning, “Here — this is for you from your mom. I forgot to give it to you earlier.”

“Thanks. See you before the game?”

Grover shrugged. “Probably. You won’t see me in it.”

As the sound of his hooves against the floorboards retreated, Percy opened the envelope. There were two cards inside — one for his birthday, and one announcement card. Percy read the announcement first.

It was probably the wrong decision.

He spent the hours before the game began in a daze.

Married.

His mom was getting married.

She’d been seeing someone in the outside world, and he had no idea - when was there time for her to tell him, really?

What would he have done?

He knew she’d been trying to get Chiron and the others to agree to allow Percy to go with her on several of her trips past the Wall of Mist.

He knew she’d been rejected every time.

And now he knew why she refused to give up, and why tensions seemed high between her and the mythical beings who lived in the Land.

It wasn’t his fault, he knew that, but part of Percy was still convinced that if he’d somehow been better behaved, he wouldn’t have missed such a big development in his mother’s life.

I want you to come to our wedding — you just have to, or else I’ll bring it to you, she’d written on the note enclosed with the announcement. You’re the best thing I’ve ever done, and I think you’d like Paul. We have a room all ready for you, out here.

He knew she meant her words to be comforting.

But reading the note only made the hurt in his chest that he’d been carrying worse.

He moved through the morning meal mechanically, shoveling eggs and blueberry-jam toast into his mouth with no regard for how they actually tasted.

What right did the Gods have to keep him locked up here, while the world outside marched steadily on?

No, what right did they have to keep all of them prisoner within the Wall of Mist?

He wanted to see Luke, so badly that it felt like he was bleeding, to ask him if this was why he’d always spoken about the Gods with such a bitter tone and such a deep scowl.

If so, he’d been right.

Percy knew that had to be it, but even still, he wanted— he just— he missed—

No, he shook his head, sighing and splashing some water onto his face, looking at his own tired face in the bathroom mirror before he grabbed his helmet, putting it on as he walked out and headed for the arena.

Tyson was there along with several others, passing out each demigod’s weapon of choice. He perked up like a sunflower in light when he spotted Percy, waving him over with a shout and eagerly giving him his sword.

“Here! Made sure it was extra-sharp and clean.”

“Thanks, Tyson.” Percy smiled, strapping the sword to his hip. “See you after the game?”

Tyson nodded, clapping Percy so hard on the back that he almost fell over, and gave him two thumbs-up.

“You can win, brother!”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do my best.”

Feeling marginally better, Percy waited in silence with the rest of the demigods as Chiron approached. He gave a speech covering the rules and something about team spirit, but Percy was hardly listening, adrenaline filling his ears with white noise.

He was just conscious enough to follow directions, his expression hidden behind his helmet as he went to his post — by the stream, of course.

But he was used to being stuck out of the way by now. Out of sight, out of mind.

If the other team tried to use this way as a shortcut, they would either be very stupid or very reckless. Then again, what did Percy know?

Annabeth was the tactics expert, not him.

It was a nice day, at the very least. There was a light breeze, making everything green sway as far as the eye could see. He could smell flowers, somewhere close, and the occasional hum of a bumblebee or chirp of a bird.

So he stood, and then sat, and listened, and waited — all for nothing.

Or rather, Percy expected nothing.

He should have known by now that simply thinking he would be left alone was enough to make the otherwise uncaring universe deal him a bad hand.

The blow to his back he didn’t see coming, and it sent him stumbling from where he’d been standing, his hand flying to point Riptide at his attacker.

The offending demigod grinned at him, and he took note of their smirk and the way they carried their weapon: a shortsword at their waist and a ball-and-chain in their hands.

“Of course,” Percy muttered, slipping into his offensive stance without thinking about it. “You couldn’t find, oh I don’t know, someone your own size to bug?”

Two more children of Ares emerged from the treeline, one of whom he recognized almost immediately.

“Clarisse.”

“Jackson.” Though she was sneering, he couldn’t find any actual venom in her voice. Maybe she was as tired of playing this out as he was — but he imagined the others wouldn’t let her just quit, even now that the animosity between them had fizzled out long ago, when they were both vying to be sent on a Quest outside the Land.

Neither of them had been chosen.

No one had been chosen.

In the end, all contestants were told their assistance in the outside world was no longer required.

Percy was pretty sure that had been the beginning of the end for whatever genuine feelings of dislike he’d had for her.

Because at the end of the day, she just wanted to leave. They all did.

“Don’t suppose I could convince you to turn around?”

“Nah,” she shook her head, readying her ax. “You’re the quickest way to the flag.”

“Of course I am,” Percy muttered, glancing between the three of them.

Well, last resort or not, he wasn’t about to make it easy.

To be perfectly honest, Percy didn’t remember most of the fight. He had gotten quite good at turning off his brain and letting his body move on instinct. Which was good for fighting children of Ares, since they didn’t tend to think either when it came to their own battle strategies.

Even though they outnumbered him, they were easy to needle and rile up with a few choice jabs at their Godly parent — who was not the most involved of fathers, to absolutely no one’s surprise.

“You know,” Percy said conversationally, parrying the shortest one’s swipes as though it were nothing, “Call me crazy, but I don’t think winning a game of capture the flag will make your dad tell you he loves you.”

That one proved enough to make the shorter of the three lunge for him. In seconds, he’d disarmed them, kicking their shortsword away with one foot before spinning to avoid a stab from the other child of Ares whose name escaped him, this one wielding a spear. A very low quality spear, if Percy’s eyes weren’t deceiving him.

“Now where did you find that, the stables?”

The other demigod started to spit names at him, distracted enough for Percy to dart forward. Riptide sank into the barrel of the spear as though it were butter, cleaving the weapon in two.

Not wasting a second, Percy grabbed for the sharp end of the spear and wheeled around to throw it at Clarisse. He was nowhere near as good at dagger throwing as other demigods his age, but it was enough to catch her off-guard and distract her.

He slammed the end of his sword’s handle into her helmet, unable to stop the burst of satisfaction as she cursed and dropped her weapon.

His elation was short-lived when he felt the ball and chain he saw earlier slam into his back — an armored section, thankfully. The demigod whose spear Percy had maimed now wielded the shortsword originally belonging to the one who’d just hit Percy.

Ball-and-chain shouted something almost certainly grandstand-y, but Percy wasn’t paying attention to his opponents’ posturing. He went after Shortsword first.

Riptide wasn’t exactly long, but it gave him enough of an advantage to get his bearings and pick out the holes in the Ares demigod’s defense. One, overcompensating — not used to lighter or shorter weapons. Two, grip off and breaths short — less stamina and probably more inexperienced in combat than the other two. Which meant Percy would be able to fool them.

Lunging forward, he feinted to the left, and when they tried to stab for the opening in his armor, he clamped his arm down over theirs and twisted until they shrieked and dropped their sword. One opponent dealt with, he spun and lashed out, letting the chain wielded by the other demigod wind around Riptide before yanking forward and jabbing his foot into one of their knees, pulling the offending weapon entirely from their grasp as they and the now-former Shortsword wheezed in pain.

“GRAB HIM!” He heard Clarisse roar, and despite their injuries, her two underlings sprang into action.

Percy did his best to resist, but he’d spent much of his energy on the battle already, and quickly found himself immobilized.

“Cheater,” he tried to force more venom into his voice, but the feeling just wasn’t there. Still, he did not like being held so tightly.

“Easy, Jackson.” Clarisse had picked up his sword, testing its balance and nodding in appreciation. “Once this is over, you can go back to… whatever it is you spend all your alone time doing.”

And then she tossed Riptide into the stream, and Percy felt the dull annoyance in his veins sharpen into actual anger.

He could hear the flow of the water, not just around them, but in him — and he needed it now.

“You shouldn’t,” he began, gathering the threads of his connection to the sea, “have done that.”

“Done what?”

“That sword was a gift from my brother.” Percy pictured himself grabbing onto the interwoven rope of his powers. “It’s mine.”

Something in his gut tugged, and the stream exploded over its banks.

The hands holding him back vanished almost immediately, letting him look around as the water smoothed over his body like a gentle wave, its false roar quieting now that it had done its job.

Percy hadn’t intended to scare the others, but maybe the wave had been a bit much. All he’d wanted was his sword back — and sure enough, as he turned a flash of sunlight off metal caught his eye. There it was.

“Thank you,” he said, hoping the naiad of the stream heard him.

“You’re such a—” one of the children of Ares coughed.

“You’re sitting in two inches of water,” Percy shot back, “I’d quit while I was ahead if I were you.”

He knelt down and grabbed Riptide, angling the blade this way and that. Tyson had just given it to him, he would hate to have to return it for repairs so soon.

“Hey, idiot—”

“Clarisse,” Percy said, sheathing his sword. “Don’t.”

“Jackson, behind you!”

The genuine hint of fear in the daughter of Ares’ voice was enough to send Percy back into a heightened, battle-ready state, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword as he turned around to face the woods.

Clarisse and the other two demigods were also facing the woods, apprehension and nervousness warring on their features as a low growl filled the air.

The shadows cast by the trees seemed to darken, and for a moment Percy allowed himself to hope that maybe it was just a trick of the light, or someone’s particularly unruly pet, or even one of the Ares demigods’ empty stomach.

It was not any of those things.

What it was, was a towering inky-black hellhound, its eyes glowing like hot coals as it stepped out of the treeline. Its fangs glinted in the afternoon sunlight as it bared its teeth.

Percy had only ever heard descriptions and seen one or two drawings of monsters from the Underworld, so he was admittedly a bit distracted by the notable difference of seeing the creature in real life as opposed to on a page — or from the mouth of an older demigod trying their hardest to scare the younger kids.

The hellhound’s haunches tensed, and Percy had a split-second to regret the fact that he’d disarmed Clarisse and her cronies so effectively before the monster sprang at them.

To their credit, the others did try to put up a fight. But with a twisted wrist, sprained knee, and head injury, the hellhound swatted them aside with barely an afterthought.

Luckily for Percy, that had provided him enough of an opening to ready himself for combat.

He was at a disadvantage, he knew that, but he was used to it. To him, being saddled with multiple stumbling blocks was more normal than sharing equal ground with others his own age.

Not that the hellhound cared what he’d been through; he barely managed to avoid a swipe of its claws as he danced away from the others.

“Come on, bad-breath! This way,” he taunted, forcing as much bravado into his voice as he could muster.

The monster snarled, eyes white-hot with rage, and lunged.

Percy did his best to lose himself in the fight, trying to fool his brain into thinking that it was just another training exercise, or even someone’s idea of a prank. Yeah, that was all this was: a prank! A big, smelly, drooling, terrifying prank.

It worked well enough that he fell into a rhythm. Parry, dodge, parry, duck, dodge, dodge, and so on. Not that his form was perfect by any means. As the seconds passed, Percy could feel himself tiring, limbs getting heavier, sword weighing down his arm even though he knew it was perfectly balanced.

He got sloppier, his dodges not enough to avoid the hellhound’s claws. As he felt the faint sting of a blow to his side, Percy was grateful he had armor — without it, he would be dead already.

Then pain exploded across his skull, his helmet knocked askew as he fell to the ground. If his thoughts hadn’t also been scrambled along with the hit to his head, Percy would have swore.

He scrambled backwards along the wet grass, Riptide still firmly in his grasp. Despite the tremble in his hand, he managed to level the sword at the approaching monster as it snarled, ignoring the pit of fear opening in his gut.

Was he going to die?

Just as the hellhound’s haunches tensed and it prepared to spring, he was faintly aware of someone screaming; but the wetness on his temple and the blurriness of one corner of his vision made it clear that he was not about to decipher what it was they were saying.

Dazed, he watched as the monster’s neck suddenly seemed to sprout a collar of feathers— no, not feathers. The tails of arrows.

Good, he thought faintly, barely aware of the hellhound collapsing. His ears were ringing.

Wet, the side of his face was wet. And warm.

He blinked, looking up as he felt more than saw someone approach — Chiron, bow still in his hand.

“Percy?” His lips formed the words, and Percy bobbed his head in a single, poor approximation of a nod. Let his sword fall to the ground.

Pain, fiery and red-hot, exploded across his side, and he fell back, writhing.

It burned, stung like nothing he’d felt before, as if his wounds had been dipped in Greek fire.

He couldn’t think— couldn’t breathe—

Before he fell into the inky black of unconsciousness, he had a split-second of clarity.

Someone was yelling for a field medic.

Percy slept — blissfully, without dreams to torment him for once — but otherwise, it was the type of sleep that only seemed to leave him feeling more tired each time he woke.

As he passed in and out of sleep, he had visitors; Grover, Annabeth, Chiron, and even Clarisse once; though all she did was shove an ambrosia-laced mug of tea at him and sneer that it was a pity he wouldn’t have any scars, forever the softie son of Poseidon.

But despite all that, the two people Percy so desperately wished to see never appeared. He’d mistaken Chiron’s silhouette for his mother once, for an instant, and the resulting pain in his chest when he realized his error had been enough to make him roll over so his teacher wouldn’t see the tears welling in his eyes.

And Luke?

He couldn’t even think about Luke without feeling like his chest had been filled with icy cold water, straight out of the creek in the forest.

Even after the better part of a week that it took to get him back on his feet, Percy spent much of his time moping, his mood firmly six feet in the earth and not budging.

Until, that was, Annabeth burst into his room one evening.

“I can’t believe you!” was all she said, catching him offguard.

“What?” He tried to say, but found that difficult due to the fact that his mouth was full — dinner had been hand-delivered by Tyson earlier.

She just glared at him, steely gray eyes flashing as if she knew exactly what he’d horribly mangled and was not at all impressed.

“You’re the least grateful guy in this entire valley, seaweed brain,” she continued, not even giving him a moment to defend himself. “I mean— really? I’ve known him for years— YEARS, mind you; we came here together— and you just pop in and out of his life like that, almost die, and now you’re going to sit around on your butt feeling sorry for yourself?”

Chewing his rice and beans — he wasn’t going to spit it out — Percy swallowed as fast as he dared and opened his mouth to interrupt her, mind racing at a mile a minute as he tried to piece together just what in the world she was talking about.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Annabeth demanded, “It’s always Oh hi Annabeth! How have you been? Good? Great! How’s Percy? or Morning Annabeth, say, what’s Percy been up to? and I can barely get a word in edgewise! It’s easier to talk to Thalia, God’s sakes, and I—”

“Whoa!” Percy held up his hands, having set his bowl aside, “Hold on, hold on— are you uh— okay?”

He had been about to demand answers, or at the very least clarification, but the sight of Annabeth’s eyes filling with unshed tears was enough to give him pause. She glared at him, the fiery annoyance in her gaze significantly dimmed, and he offered her his half-eaten dinner.

“Right. Sorry, stupid question.”

She nodded in agreement, sniffing and drying her eyes on the fabric of her t-shirt before taking the bowl from him, pushing away his spoon in favor of an unused fork.

“You’re an idiot,” was all she said after a pause during which she polished off the rest of his meal. “You— and Luke. Both just— stupid.”

“Uh huh.” Part of Percy did feel offended at that claim (more for Luke’s sake than his own) but he managed to tamp down his annoyance. “He uh— mentioned he came here with others. Would that be you and, uh—”

“Thalia,” Annabeth bit out between mouthfuls. Part of Percy wondered if she’d been forgetting to finish her food, based on the gusto with which she was eating. “She, Luke, and I — we were traveling together when Grover found us. Guided us here. Everything was going just fine, until we crossed the Wall of Mist.” She gripped the fork so hard her knuckles turned white. “We all thought— we were safe. And then Luke— started complaining that his legs hurt, and Thalia— Thalia— said she felt itchy, like a bunch of needles were— under her skin…”

With a start, Percy recalled Annabeth’s favorite place: the lone, towering pine tree that seemed a constant, no matter where the Land appeared.

“And they— no one’s fixed it?” Percy managed, indignant rage boiling in his gut. “All this time and they’re just— stuck like that?”

Annabeth nodded, taking several deep breaths to calm herself.

“It’s just been— look, I don’t know what happened with you and Luke, but I would just like to be able to hold a conversation with him for five minutes without him asking about you.”

“I mean— nothing happened,” Percy started, cheeks heating. “What uh— what gave you that idea?”

The look Annabeth gave him was enough to make him feel suitably chastised for trying to weasel out of whatever it was she wanted him to do.

“Just— talk to him, yeah?” She sighed. “You’re not exactly the king of acting either, I can tell something’s been off for awhile with you. And I really don’t want to have to involve Chiron or your mom to force you two to fix it, but I will if I have to.”

Percy knew from experience that Annabeth would absolutely do it, and he swallowed, hastily nodding.

“No! No reason to do that. I’ll go see him. Uh, soon—”

“Tonight.”

“Yeah, tonight, sure.”

“Good.” Annabeth smiled, and Percy had the distinct feeling that she’d walked into the room expecting this exact outcome, and he’d played right into her hands.

Instead of thinking about that, he scrambled to pack his things and scurry out of the house, heading for the treeline without looking back.

To his credit, Percy made it about halfway through the trek into the woods before he had to admit it: he was well and truly lost. He’d figured; how hard could it be to retrace his steps from those years of visits?

Harder than it had any right to be, as it turned out.

He spent roughly half an hour wandering aimlessly before finally deciding he had nothing left to lose.

“Um, Luke?” He said, raising his voice somewhat. No response. So he tried again, cupping his hands around his mouth this time. “LUKE!”

Silence again, with only the sound of his own occasional breaths. Percy sighed, turned to try to retrace his steps, and froze.

From far away, he heard a voice.

“—ercy!”

He wheeled around, scrambling over roots and ducking under branches.

“Luke!” He called again.

“Percy!”

Percy ran as fast as he could make his legs go, backpack bouncing, and he didn’t even care when he tripped and half-tumbled down an incline, barely pausing when he felt the sting of a scrape on his cheek from a stray branch. He burst into a clearing and saw the leaves rustling on the other side, his heart leaping in his chest when a human-ish shape emerged.

“Percy?” Luke asked, but Percy was already racing towards him, throwing his arms around his cousin with a half-choked laugh.

It felt like coming home.

Luke was only tense for the briefest of moments before he relaxed into the hug and returned it, head moving to rest on Percy’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Luke breathed, and Percy reluctantly pulled away from him after a few more long seconds. “How’ve you been?”

“Great— good,” Percy said, more out of habit than anything. “Well, uh— not really good. More terrible than good. But everything was really great before it got terrible.”

The words flowed out of him without stopping, even as he grew increasingly more astonished at how stupid he sounded. Why couldn’t he just respond normally?

“But that’s— usual stuff, you know?” He stepped back, forcing himself to let go of Luke, nervously running a hand through his hair as his eyes drank in the sight of the other demigod. “How’re you? You look gr-good!”

Good was an understatement.

Great was also an understatement.

Luke’s shirt looked like he’d torn the sleeves off of it himself (or done a hack job with some old scissors), his skin was tanned, and the scar on his face somehow only made his angular features more handsome — a feat Percy wouldn’t have thought possible.

It did not help matters that Luke was looking at him with a blinding smile on his face, blue eyes lingering on Percy like Luke was afraid he’d vanish if he didn’t watch him constantly.

“Oh you know me, same old same old.” Luke reached forward and ruffled Percy’s hair, raising a brow at the shaggy mass hanging down past his ears. “Who’s been cutting your hair?”

“Uh—” Percy’s brain short-circuited, because gloves, Luke was wearing a pair of black leather gloves and that had no right to be as attractive to Percy as it was— “Uuuhhh— no one? I kind of… forgot?”

“Forgot?” Luke’s brow pinched as he frowned. “Your mom didn’t say anything?”

If it were anyone else, Percy would have bristled at the comment. But it felt silly to get mad at Luke for knowing him so well.

“No, uh— she’s. Gone.” He looked away, scuffing at the ground with his shoe and adjusting his pack. “Not all the time, just— A lot. Outside world.”

“Hey,” Luke patted his shoulder, “It’ll be fine. C’mon, you can tell me all about it. I have enough food for both of us.”

Percy let himself be pulled along, falling into step beside Luke in the evening-lit forest just like old times, and something deep in his chest realigned.

They spent most of the night just talking, catching one-another up on everything they’d missed. Luke told Percy about a few monster encounters he’d had in the forest, and how Chiron and a few other members of staff had helped when it came to his combat training, since he was what the centaur had called a “special case”.

Percy in turn told Luke about the friends he’d made, his training with Annabeth and his trial-by-fire style of combat training specifically. He might have exaggerated his encounter with the hellhound a little bit, and when Luke moved to check him over for any lingering injuries Percy thought he might combust. By the time dawn broke, Luke had managed to wrangle an agreement from Percy: he’d let him help out with his hand-to-hand training since that was one area he hadn’t been keeping up on with the passing years. And he’d let Luke cut his hair. And he’d visit him on his birthday.

As he fell asleep in the same carved-out cavern from all those years ago — in a wider spot now, Percy had never felt so at peace.

If he weren’t so certain that the Gods didn’t really care about most of their children, Percy would have thought that his reconciliation with Luke was specifically engineered by them in order to torture him.

Why else put the one thing he wanted so badly in front of him, if not to constantly remind him that he couldn’t have it— him.

Percy wanted to meet whoever it was that had given Luke those leather gloves and shake their hand before demanding they tell him why. Why would they do that to him when he’d never done anything to deserve this kind of torture?

The dreams were back with a vengeance, now that he had more recent memories of Luke. His traitorous brain made plenty of use of it, though thankfully thus far it only seemed to happen when he wasn’t sharing sleeping quarters with the object of his affections.

He hadn’t even realized just how many different tones Luke used when he said his name — relief, joy, fond exasperation, a note of concern whenever he hurt himself. Percy couldn’t fathom why his cousin seemed almost guilty every time a mention of the hellhound incident came up. Maybe he wished he could have been there to help?

Not that Percy was complaining. Part of him liked it when Luke fussed over him, almost as much as he liked it when the blond praised him.

Luke was an excellent teacher, Percy had to hand it to him. He was patient, never talked down to him, and gave just enough feedback mixed with compliments that Percy always felt he was improving in some way with every lesson, no matter how small.

When it came to swordplay, his parrying and dodges had gotten better. He was more than passable at strategy, though he knew he’d never surpass a child of Athena when it came to foresight. He even managed to get back in the swing of things as far as practicing with his powers was concerned. It was almost like exercising a muscle; the more he used them, the more adept and easier at it he became.

The only area he was still having a bit of trouble in was hand-to-hand.

In his younger days, Percy had gotten in his fair share of altercations. He knew how to fight, but his idea of fighting was scrapping with his opponent until he managed to beat them down before they could do the same to him, with little regard for real strategy or thought apart from kicking his opponent’s butt as fast as possible.

And while Luke found his stories of fights he’d gotten into amusing, he didn’t hesitate to remind Percy that it was important to be prepared to defend himself no matter what; especially if he lost his weapon. He needed to be more versatile and quick–to-act.

Percy couldn’t think of a good excuse in response to that — and was too busy staring at the muscles in Luke’s arms to think of one anyway — so he found himself stuck in a situation that was simultaneously his worst nightmare and right out of his best wet dreams.

Which was how he ended up with semi-regular sparring sessions, and even Percy had to admit that it was getting harder and harder (pun not intended) to hide his attraction to his cousin. And the physical manifestation of said attraction combined with the closeness caused by sparring.

Fighting Luke wasn’t like facing off against a fully human opponent. Sure, Luke was an exemplary swordsman, but he didn’t move like anyone Percy was used to on account of his lower half being, well, a snake. There was a sort of lithe, almost hypnotic grace, unassuming but most certainly powerful, in the way he maneuvered using his tail.

Percy had voiced a complaint about the disparity in their strength, hoping it would be enough to ward off today’s spar, but Luke had insisted.

“Today, we’ll be working on how to escape from a larger opponent,” Luke said, hands resting where his hips would have been and his usual confident smile on his face. “I’ll be trying to pin you, you’ll be doing your best to avoid being pinned or escape if I grab ya. Let’s say… fifteen minutes, starting now. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” was all Percy managed, distracted by the small points of Luke’s fangs as he grinned, and then he was scrambling to avoid Luke as he darted forward with more speed than Percy would have thought possible given his tail.

Neither of them were wearing armor today, which was a bonus for Percy. He hoped it would give him enough of an advantage to avoid being caught altogether.

“Good!” Luke called when Percy hopped over his scaled lower half and danced away from his grasp. “Now let’s see if you can stay away.”

Ignoring the corny part of his brain that responded he obviously couldn’t, Percy shot back a “Catch me if you can!” as he dipped between two branches, found himself caught as Luke’s gloved hands caught one of his arms, and headbutted his cousin as hard as he dared to get him to let go.

“Sorry!” He called, scrambling away as fast as he dared. He could have sworn he felt air at his back as Luke grabbed for his shirt and narrowly missed.

For the briefest of moments, Percy was sure he’d be able to make it. Then, just like always, his luck turned.

Luke surrounded him and grabbed one of his arms again. When Percy tried to hop over his lower half and put space between them, all Luke had to do to stop him was raise his tail a bit. Not having accounted for needing a higher jump this time, Percy tripped with a yelp, his free arm flailing back and immediately getting grabbed by Luke’s other hand. Finally, his cousin wound the very end of his tail around his shoes and twisted his arms at the same time, effectively trapping him.

“Looks like I can,” Luke said smugly in his ear, and Percy shuddered, trying to wriggle free; something that only seemed to amuse the blond more. He waited for a few more long seconds as Percy struggled uselessly against his grasp, holding tighter when he tried to kick his shoes off or dislodge the scaly appendage around his ankles.

“Ah-ah-ah!” He tutted, close enough that Percy could have sworn he felt Luke’s breath ruffling his hair. “Well, looks like I win this round, cuz. But I have to give you credit—”

In all honesty, Percy wasn’t really paying very close attention to Luke’s words. He panted, still tense in Luke’s hold as he tried to calm the heat simmering in his gut. He usually didn’t get worked up during training, but Luke was just— frustratingly good at drawing reactions like that out of Percy, even in the most inconvenient of times. He wished he’d worn one of his baggier pairs of pants, instead of an old pair of jeans that had been cut into shorts when the lower legs had been slashed-and-repaired one too many times. He could feel the warmth radiating off of Luke’s body, the scent of him everywhere.

Well, at least Luke wasn’t facing him directly, so odds were that as long as he could get away soon enough, Percy would be able to put some distance between them before Luke noticed his problem.

“—even Annabeth has only ever been able to last for five minutes in a fight against me,” Luke was saying, “but you were going on almost nine there. Good thinking with using the environment and our differences to your advantage, just keep in mind that any smart opponent is going to be able to adapt to having faults in their guard used against them like that.”

“Right.” Percy swallowed, mouth dry. “Well uh— good one, thanks for the advice, I’ll do my best to keep that in mind for next time! Soooo we’re done?”

“Huh?” Luke’s grip on his arms lessened a bit, no longer twisting them behind Percy’s back, and finally dropped his grasp. “I mean, I guess— sure you don’t want any more tips?”

“No, I uh— I do!” Percy rubbed his wrists, waiting as Luke’s tail relaxed its grip before he tried to step forward. “I just— need to get a drink, heh, feeling a little—”

His toe caught on the scaly appendage in front of him and he tumbled to the ground in a heap. Because the universe thought he needed something else to be embarrassed over, apparently.

“You okay?” Luke asked in his fond-but-concerned tone, and Percy didn’t have it in him to feel mad.

“‘M fine.” He sighed, rolling over. “Just thirsty.”

Silence.

Weird, Luke usually offered him a drink of water as soon as he mentioned he wanted one. Why was he taking so long now?

After sitting up, he could see Luke was staring at him, but his eyes weren’t on his face. Percy frowned, following his cousin’s gaze right to his lap, where there was still a noticeable tent in the front of his shorts.

“Um,” Percy said very eloquently, then decided there was no way he’d be able to talk himself out of this.

Instead, he scrambled to his feet and made a break for it. He didn’t make it far.

A hand latched onto the back of his shirt to slow him, followed by shining scales coiling around his legs, stopping him in his tracks.

“Percy! Percy, hey, it’s alright—”

“‘S not!” Percy snapped back, mortification flooding his veins and making his face hot.

He didn’t think he could bear to hear the usual it happens to everyone at your age speech from Luke. In fact, he’d rather die right here and now rather than be forced to sit through it.

“‘Sides, it’s— not that,” the words continued to flow out of Percy, as though they would be enough to explain himself and his condition away. “Or it’s— not just that. It’s not me, it’s you.” He winced. That made it sound even worse. “NO, that’s— I don’t mean it’s bad— well, it sort of is. For me. Makes being around you hard— no, that’s not what I meant either!”

He groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

There was a brief beat of silence, but long enough that Percy started to move to peer over his shoulder at Luke. Before he could get a glimpse of him, he found himself engulfed in a familiar warm embrace.

“It’s okay — I mean it,” Luke murmured, and that just about stunned Percy enough to make him forget about struggling.

“You’re not mad?”

Luke huffed a laugh against his shoulder.

“Mad? No, this is— Percy, you’re amazing. Why would I be mad?” Luke muttered something to himself as he pulled back, Percy only caught bits of his words; something about losing him, the hellhound, and being worried out of his mind, but it was enough to make the last of Percy’s reservations melt.

He didn’t really have a plan, he just wanted more contact with his cousin. Percy put a hand on his face, right over his cheek with the scar, which seemed to stun him a bit.

Percy thought about telling him how cute (or how handsome) he looked, but instead found himself leaning forward and giving Luke a somewhat clumsy kiss.

“Sorry,” he blurted, jerking back after a few seconds. “I, uh— haven’t—”

Luke cut him off with a proper kiss, giving him a grin when they separated.

“Percy?”

“Yeah?” He was having a hard time thinking straight with Luke’s hand on his waist, combined with the heat in his cousin’s eyes as he tugged him closer.

“Stop apologizing.”

Then Luke was kissing him again, and Percy forgot if he’d been planning to say something else. It probably wasn’t important. Luke maneuvered them to mirror their sparring position from earlier, with Luke’s back to the grass and Percy half-laying over him.

The good news was that Percy’s face no longer felt like it was burning. Instead, a familiar heat had begun gathering in his gut. Luke’s tail was still loosely wound around one of his legs, but the other was free. Without really thinking about it, Percy braced a hand on Luke’s shoulder and ground his hips down against him.

Luke made a choked noise into Percy’s mouth, and Percy felt a slight scrape against his lower lip as Luke pulled back — one of his fangs.

“You,” he gasped, fondness coloring his words, “gotta be careful, Percy. Don’t wanna hurt ya.”

His lips were pink, fangs catching the sunlight and his gloved hands warm and firm on Percy’s waist and in his hair.

“You won’t,” Percy shot back. His own mouth felt a little swollen.

“Hah,” Luke exhaled a laugh, licking his lips as he stared up at him, the hand on Percy’s hip doing nothing to stop him from continuing to grind irregularly against him, “shouldn’t say that— don’t know how good you look right now.”

“Gu— good?” Percy’s insides felt like they were made of molten fire now, hunching forward and breaking eye contact as he stifled a groan— he felt so good. Luke had pulled his own shirt up and the friction his coppery-brown scales provided was just right, even through his shorts.

“Enough to eat,” came Luke’s voice, honeyed and a little rougher. A hand cupped his cheek, tracing down his face and pausing at his mouth. “You’re just so—”

His voice caught as Percy turned his head, lips wrapping around Luke’s thumb. Even if it had tasted bad (thankfully it didn’t), the minor embarrassment Percy felt at doing such a thing was quickly overshadowed by satisfaction as Luke let out a low moan. He didn’t even mind that he was making a mess of his clothes, closing his eyes and moaning as well, hips working more frantically against Luke’s front.

Just when he felt himself nearing the edge, Luke’s hold on his hip tightened to stop him, his cousin pulling his hand away from Percy’s mouth at the same time.

“Luke,” Percy whined, glaring halfheartedly even as Luke grinned up at him.

“Sorry, sorry! I can’t help it ‘f you’re adorable.”

Percy was about to protest when Luke’s free hand slipped under his shirt, moving up his bare chest.

“Percy, can I touch you more?”

Please, Percy wanted to beg, but he managed to restrain himself and just nod instead.

“Here?” Luke asked, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and making a sound stick in Percy’s throat as the heat in his gut flared.

But he nodded again, a single jerky motion.

“Here?” Luke pinched the other, and Percy wasn’t able to stop himself from whimpering.

Another nod.

Luke’s hand slipped from his shirt, and Percy almost missed the warmth of his skin so close to his, his thoughts quickly screeching to a halt as Luke’s gloved fingers settled at the top of his shorts.

“What about here?” Luke murmured, and it was only when Percy nodded again that he cupped him through his pants, grinning as Percy tried to thrust into the contact and groaned when Luke let go. “Looks uncomfortable — let me help?”

Percy swallowed, his mouth going dry.

“Percy?” Luke hadn’t moved. “Still okay?”

“Yeah— yes!” Percy couldn’t keep the enthusiasm out of his voice or the rapid nods he gave in response, which made Luke snort.

“Cute,” he murmured to himself, undoing the button on the front of Percy’s shorts with one hand, and that was somehow attractive enough to make Percy forget about protesting that he wasn’t cute.

The sound of his zipper being undone and the rustle of his clothes seemed unnaturally loud in his ears, warmth gathering on his cheeks and even spreading to the tips of his ears as Luke freed his erection from its confines.

Feeling too self-conscious to look down, Percy instead raised his gaze and found himself pinned in place by Luke’s gaze. The heat in his blue eyes reminded him of the summer sun on the ocean, and the expression on his face was hungry, like he wanted to devour Percy.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” his cousin said, voice husky, and then Percy felt his fingers wrap around him, the leather warm from being in contact with Percy’s skin earlier.

“Still okay?” Luke asked, holding Percy steady with his other hand as he stroked him.

“Yuh,” Percy managed, breaths escaping him in almost-pants. He found he could roll his hips forward again, rutting into Luke’s hand.

Okay? he thought hazily, because this felt more than okay, choked gasps and bitten-off whines slipping out despite the fact that he was biting his own lip.

“Look at you,” Luke breathed, dragging the pad of his thumb across the head of Percy’s dick, “Close?”

To be perfectly honest, Percy wasn’t sure. He shook his head.

Luke’s hand sped up on his dick, the wet sound of it enough to wrench a moan from Percy as he pitched forward, barely catching himself with one arm. Luke took advantage of the closeness and caught Percy’s mouth with his own in a languid kiss. He tasted faintly of the chocolate chip cookies Percy had brought him earlier.

So much, it was all so much. The material of Luke’s glove was different from skin- so different from his own hand.

It was perfect.

Luke seemed determined to unravel him completely. As soon as they separated, he was kissing down the side of Percy’s face to his neck, biting at his skin. He was marking him, Percy realized with a bolt of delight.

Not knowing that it would be his own undoing, he glanced down between them.

The sight of Luke’s hand jerking him off, his black glove shiny, and knowing he’d done that, was enough to send Percy over the edge. He rutted forward several more times, a garbled version of Luke’s name escaping him as he came.

Luke’s strokes slowed, but he didn’t stop until Percy whined and attempted to squirm away from the overstimulation. Spent for the moment, Percy collapsed against him, not even caring that he’d made a mess of both of their clothes.

His whole body felt fuzzy and warm with relief, his eyes closed as he let himself drift for a moment.

There was the sound of something landing in the grass nearby, and then Luke’s hands were on him — his bare hands; Percy could feel the tips of his claws on his skin and against his scalp as Luke ran his fingers through his hair.

“Was that okay?” Luke asked quietly, his breath moving Percy’s hair as they lay together.

“Mhm,” Percy hummed, pushing his face into Luke’s neck. In retaliation for the bruises he could feel forming on his own neck, he sank his dull teeth into Luke’s skin. Luke hummed, a slight shiver running through him, and he tugged lightly on Percy’s hair in a light, teasing reprimand.

“‘S been on my mind too. You. Us. This,” Luke continued.

Once he was sure a good mark would form where he’d been biting, Percy drew back, daring to press a kiss to the spot as he did.

“What about you?” he asked after a moment of silence had passed.

“What about me?”

“Well, you, um—” Percy half-sat up. “You uh— helped me.” He worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. “That was—”

“Good?” Luke sounded so smug, Percy almost wanted to tell him off, but decided not to. Just this once.

“Better than that,” Percy corrected, now brave enough to meet Luke’s gaze despite the blush returning to his fact. “I want to do that to you too.”

Luke shifted a bit beneath him, biting the inside of his cheek, and even though Percy could see the way his eyes darkened and the same hungry look from before reared its head, he was apprehensive. Almost nervous.

“I’d love that, but—” Luke sighed. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“You won’t,” Percy said.

“Percy,” Luke gave him a pointed look. “I’ve got— this stupid snake tail. I’m not— well, I don’t look like you. I’m not normal. You might not like it.”

“Huh?” The mere suggestion was almost laughable to Percy, enough to loosen his tongue. “But I like everything about you!”

Luke looked at him with such overwhelming fondness, Percy thought he might spontaneously combust. He held his cousin’s gaze.

“Just… let me?” When Luke still said nothing, Percy leaned down and pressed a clumsy, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I mean it. What I said. You can’t scare me, or make me think you’re gross or weird.”

“Hmm.” He could see cracks forming in Luke’s resistance. “Promise?”

Percy beamed at him. “Promise.”

Upon sitting up, Percy looked down between them, and immediately felt his face flush at the wet spot on both of their shirts. Ugh, part of him wanted to say, but the word stuck in his throat.

Luke didn’t seem disgusted by the mess; in fact, he just grinned and wiggled a brow at Percy before reaching for his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it off to the side with ease. Percy swallowed, distracted for a moment by the sight of Luke’s bare chest before he realized he’d been staring with his mouth half-open and quickly moved to tug off his own shirt. After a brief moment of consideration, he reluctantly pulled his leg free of Luke’s coils and divested his lower half of clothes as well, avoiding looking anywhere but down at himself.

The air was warm enough that, combined with the low level of lingering arousal in his gut, Percy didn’t feel cold — just a bit silly at being, well, naked.

Pushing past his embarrassment, he straddled Luke’s middle; just below where his skin melted smoothly into scales. Looking at Luke helped him feel better, but the simmering fire in his cousin’s half-lidded eyes as his narrow pupils followed Percy’s movements like he couldn’t get enough of him did make the heat in his face worse.

“Um,” Percy began, looking down between them at Luke’s coppery scales and pointedly not at himself. “Where do you uh—”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Luke dropped a clawed hand from where it had been stroking through Percy’s hair. “Gimmie your hand?”

Percy did as he asked, letting Luke guide his hand down his torso. Just below his hips and into the scales that made up his lower half, Percy could see a patch of scales that seemed smoother than the others. Luke pressed Percy’s hand above the group of scales and then let go, a flush coloring the blond’s cheeks as he nodded in go-ahead.

Hesitantly, Percy rubbed the pads of his fingers across the patch of scales, feeling the slightest change in texture as he did. After a few moments of this and a slight grunt from Luke, Percy’s fingers caught on the edge of something — almost like the skin under the scales was loosening. He leaned closer, and to his surprise he found that a slit was forming among the scales, rimmed pink around the edges. Curious, Percy pressed a fingertip to the top and dragged it down the length of the slit. Luke grunted again above him, but didn’t sound like he was in pain, so Percy continued.

The more he touched it, the more noticeable and open the slit became, the edges of it turning the same shade of pink as Luke’s flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Its inner edges also started to shine and Percy felt his own breath catch as he slipped the tip of one finger into it.

Luke’s back arched off the ground, a groan ripping from his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut. The warm, wet heat around his finger coupled with the noises Luke was making were enough to bring Percy’s interest into full force once more, but he resisted the urge to rut against the scales in front of him. This was about Luke, not him.

Licking his lips, Percy pressed a second finger into the slit alongside the first, curling both of them and smiling to himself when Luke let out a sharp cry of “Per-cy!” as the end of his tail writhed on the grass.

“Good?” Percy asked, more cheeky than anything else, and when Luke half-glared down at him, he leaned forward and lapped at the slit with his tongue, satisfied pride inflating in his chest like a balloon as Luke moaned, one hand settling on top of Percy’s head and gripping his hair lightly.

The wetness, now leaking from Luke’s slit, tasted strange — slightly salty, but not in a bad way. Feeling bolder, Percy spread his fingers and managed to wiggle his tongue in beside them. Luke’s answering gasp of “R-i-ight there—!” was enough to make a whine escape Percy’s own throat, his now-recovered erection just barely brushing against the scales beneath Luke’s hip.

A shift happened beneath Percy’s fingers, and a brief moment passed before he realized something had begun extending up from Luke’s slit and into his mouth. It surprised him enough that he pulled back, watching in fascination as not one, but two appendages emerged from the slit, pink and glistening with the same slick that was now on Percy’s fingers and chin.

Even fully hard, Percy’s erection was at least a couple inches shorter than both of Luke’s, and the heads were a bit more pointed than his own, but that didn’t dampen the heat rolling through his groin in the slightest.

He could feel Luke watching him, apprehension making his gaze heavy, and Percy opened his mouth to reassure him, but what came out instead was more of a demand.

“In me.”

Luke turned an even brighter red.

“Huh? Percy, no, I—”

“Not both,” Percy blurted, “I don’t wanna die, but… one.”

“Percy, no, that’s— we can’t.” Luke shook his head, even as a pearlescent drop of liquid bubbled from one of the tips of his dicks, both of them twitching as if to contradict his staunch refusal. “You don’t know what you’re saying—”

“Yeah I do!” And so what if Percy sounded like a whining kid? He wasn’t stupid, and he definitely wasn’t some innocent spring flower. He’d borrowed books from the Aphrodite cabin’s section of the library — more than just the usual health-related educational materials. His favorite had been a well-worn novel titled “The Romance of Achilles and Patroclus”, which he’d read so frequently that he ended up having to re-tape the binding so the book would stay together.

“Percy,” Luke sighed, “you’ve never done anything like this before, and we don’t have anything anyway.”

Percy scowled at him before leaning over and grabbing Luke’s gloves.

“Here— put these back on ‘s you don’t um. Your claws…” he trailed off, rubbing at his face and blushing before he scrambled off of Luke’s tail and walked on unsteady legs to his pack, pulling out a vial of oil.

Luke’s gaze turned molten as Percy returned to him, straddling him once more. “Why do you have that?”

“Shut up,” Percy snapped, shoving the tiny bottle into Luke’s gloved-again hands. “Got it ‘cause you’re distracting. ‘S for later. For me.”

Luke’s slitted pupils dilated, and Percy felt like he was being pulled into them.

“You,” he started, voice husky, and then paused to clear his throat, visibly wrestling himself back under control. “You’re sure?”

Percy nodded firmly.

Luke nodded, more to himself than to Percy, before lifting his gaze and beckoning with one hand.

“C’mere.”

Percy’s heart beat rapidly in his chest, a heady cocktail of excitement, nervousness, and arousal making his breath quicken as he let Luke guide him. He was straddling his cousin once again, legs on either side of his scales as Luke wrapped his arms around him.

“Let me know if you want to stop,” Luke said in his ear, one hand spreading Percy even further as the other popped the top off of the oil.

“Yeah,” Percy muttered, mouth dry at the sound.

Luke’s fingers, though slippery from the oil, were a little chilly, and Percy couldn’t help but shiver when he felt the slick leather rub across his entrance. He hadn’t actually experimented all that much yet with this sort of thing — it was only after several read-throughs of the Achilles-Patroclus story and a few mortifying wet dreams that he’d decided to give it a go — and despite the fact that he really did want this, he was undeniably tense.

But Luke wasn’t trying to put anything in him, just spreading the oil all along his underside, lingering on the skin just around his opening.

“Just relax,” he murmured, breath hot against Percy’s skin. “Here—”

He used one of his arms to nudge Percy forward, the younger biting down on his lower lip once more as his erection brushed against the scales near Luke’s still-dripping dicks.

Percy swallowed, face heating as he realized he’d left behind a smear of wetness on Luke’s bronze scales. He started to reach between them, then glanced up, checking to make sure he had the right idea.

“Go on,” Luke coaxed, “I’ve got you.”

Percy nodded.

Tentative at first, he pulled himself forward a small bit, carefully positioning himself so he was just above the V formed by Luke’s two erections, both still glistening wetly. He hesitated for the briefest of seconds, then moved forward to fit his own between them, muffling a whimper behind one of his hands.

He rutted forward a few times, his movements uncoordinated and sloppy as half of his brain turned to mush. Finally, he got frustrated by the inconsistent pleasure and used both of his hands to guide Luke’s erections closer, forming a shallow channel he could rut himself between.

The slickness Luke was producing combined with the wet-hot-velvety feeling of his erections against Percy’s own were enough to make him relax, forgetting about anything else as he stroked them loosely together.

“That’s it,” Luke’s voice was rough, strained as he did his best to hold them steady. “Don’t— not too fast, unless you’re planning to— oh— finish like this.”

“Then hurry up,” Percy moaned, spots of sun warm against his back as he hunched forward.

It felt like Luke was taking forever, the texture of his gloves new and enough to make Percy give an aborted squirm as his cousin worked the first half of one finger inside him.

“Can’t.” Luke shook his head. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You won’t, Percy tried to say, but found himself only capable of rolling his eyes as Luke curled his finger against a spot inside him, and oh that felt good, was it supposed to feel this good?

“It should, yes.” Luke grinned up at him, and Percy realized he’d said those thoughts aloud. “It’ll feel even better soon.”

Percy didn’t bother responding properly, moaning and losing himself in the moist heat of Luke’s groin as he let himself be worked open. It was messier than how stories he’d read made it seem, but it was also more raw somehow, like there were live wires in him flaring in time with each brush of his erection against Luke’s, each press of his cousin’s fingers inside him.

Percy could feel a second release threatening, and despite how much he wanted it, he held himself back, slowing his movements each time he neared the edge. Luke seemed to find it just as torturous, his movements growing more hurried and his voice joining Percy’s as he let out his own groans interwoven with encouragement and praise.

There was also a mess forming between their lower halves, and had Percy’s brain been functioning properly he might have been embarrassed by just how much he’d leaked all over Luke’s abdomen, their intermittent rutting slicked by both of them. But all that was in his mind was how good everything felt, even the fingers inside him, so much so that he’d begun to rock back against them.

“Feel like you’re ready?” Luke asked after Percy’s voice broke on a moan, amusement coloring his words.

“Mugh,” Percy hadn’t even been intending to say anything, he just made a garbled noise and hoped his pleading tone got through to his cousin.

“Alright.” And then the fingers inside him withdrew, Luke’s body sliding away from his, the absence enough to make Percy protest with a call of Luke’s name. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m gonna move so this’ll be easier. I’m not going anywhere.”

As if to reassure him, Luke moved to catch Percy’s half-open mouth with his own, making a pleased noise into the kiss before pulling back.

Percy watched as he grabbed their dirtied clothing off the ground, turning the shirts over so the cleaner side was facing up before putting them down to form a makeshift blanket. Luke then tossed his gloves aside, gaze molten as he reached for Percy.

“C’mere.”

Arousal still thrumming low in his gut, Percy let himself be positioned on his hands and knees with the shirts to brace himself against so he wasn’t on grass and leaves.

“But—” he began to protest, because he wanted to see Luke, when he felt Luke’s smooth scales and warm skin on his bare back.

“I’ve got you,” Luke murmured, fingers tracing lightly across Percy’s hips as he nuzzled the back of his neck. “Promise.”

That word alone was enough to make Percy relax, nodding with a hum and arching back into Luke’s touch. Though he couldn’t see him, Percy did feel his weight shift a bit — he wasn’t leaning fully onto Percy, but rather seemed to be in what would have been a kneel had he been wholly human. He heard Luke take a shaky breath, one of his hands curling around Percy’s side.

“Ready?”

“Yeah—” Percy began, the word dying on his tongue as he felt a single point of heat pressing into him, a second line of that same heat on his back.

Luke slid into him torturously slowly, making bitten-off hisses and curses under his breath as he did, his other hand resting on Percy’s hip to brace himself. He continued to press forward until he was fully inside of him, lips brushing the shell of Percy’s ear when he spoke.

“Still okay?” His voice was rough enough to make Percy shudder, an unintelligible but very enthusiastic noise forcing itself from his raw lips. “Good. Percy— you feel so—”

Luke cut himself off with a snarl, his coils rustling the grass beneath him as he pulled out and slid back in.

Percy was only half-present. He felt full, every inch of Luke’s length inside him pressing against spots he’d never even been aware of before, his other dick joining Percy’s and it was hot and wet in the best way, so much so that he couldn’t do much else except try to roll himself back against Luke’s thrusts.

Luke meanwhile, seemed to be getting closer and closer to losing his own control, swearing and letting out whispers of Percy’s name as he rutted into him, his claws skirting across Percy’s skin while he held him.

“Wanted this for awhile, huh?” Luke bit Percy’s ear lightly. “Me too. Perfect, you’re— mine!”

Percy whined as the heat in his gut coiled, molten and dizzying.

“Like that?” Luke was biting down the back of his neck now, smiling against his skin as he pressed more marks into his flesh. “You’re all— mine— gonna— fill you up, make sure no one else touches you—”

He sounded every inch like a monster, his voice more a raspy growl than the one Percy liked so much, but he still wasn’t afraid. He was so hard it bordered on painful, but when he tried to reach between his legs to help the both of them out he almost fell flat on his face.

“Luke—” Percy started, then squeaked as Luke wound a strong arm around his middle and pulled him upright without even pausing, and oh all of a sudden he was hitting that spot up inside him that made his brain feel like it was melting out of his ears.

At the same time, Luke wrapped a hand around both of their lengths and began to stroke, and if Percy had been worried about making noise before he absolutely didn’t care how loud he was being now.

“Come on, Percy,” Luke coaxed, chest warm against his back. “Let go— let me see you—”

That was enough for Percy. He tensed, his entire body going stock-still as his second release rolled through him like a tsunami.

He heard Luke murmuring in his ear, things he couldn’t decipher in the midst of everything, but the sheer affection in his tone made his heart seize in his chest.

“Good?” Luke asked, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

He started to pull back, and Percy abruptly realized that Luke was still very hard.

“Wait!” He grabbed for something, anything, and steadied himself on Luke’s arm. “Don’t— what about you?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine—”

“No!” Percy arched, turning to glare at his cousin over his own shoulder. His mind worked overtime, trying to figure out what he could say. “Were you lying? You don’t think I can handle it? You don’t want me?”

Even from his poor angle, Percy could tell Luke was floundering.

“I— that’s— that’s not it, Percy—”

“You said I was yours.” Percy grabbed for Luke’s free hand, pressing it to his stomach, as if to feel the presence of his own length inside him. “That means you’re mine — so finish what you started.”

Luke snarled, control visibly snapping as his blue eyes flashed, and practically threw him back onto the shirt-covered ground. The action dislodged him from Percy entirely, but he remedied that very quickly. His larger form settled over him as he slid back inside him with a bitten-off moan and set a near-bruising pace.

The overstimulation resulted in a near-painful dry orgasm for Percy, but he didn’t mind it so much when Luke was draped over him, half-feral and growling about filling him up, praising him for being so good, for feeling so good, and a few garbled words in Ancient Greek that Percy would only recognize years later as being terms of endearment.

Luke’s own release crashed over the both of them with the force of a hurricane. His cousin jerked, arching briefly, and then bowed over Percy, two pinpricks of pressure erupting in his shoulder as he bit down hard, muffling his roar into Percy’s skin as his free erection spilled over Percy’s stomach.

Percy in turn squirmed, the sensation of liquid heat filling his insides foreign and yet welcome; something he knew he could grow used to, and even hunger for in the future.

But Luke didn’t pull out, nor move away from him, the end of his tail lashing in the grass, and Percy froze as he felt movement inside him.

Luke made a keening noise into his shoulder, his grip iron as he rutted shallowly into him, and the things Percy could feel slipping out of his cousin’s length and into him were definitely not normal. A garbled cry escaped him and he wriggled, not so much trying to escape as he was reacting to the continued overstimulation.

“Mine,” Luke rasped once his daze had passed, tongue trailing over the punctures in Percy’s neck, which did sting a bit, but Percy found he really didn’t mind.

Seeing that Percy was still beyond words, the blond let out a pleased hum and moved away from him reluctantly. He all-but scooped Percy into his arms, spooning around him to shelter him from an afternoon breeze as it moved through the forest.

As the two lay together, Percy turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to the side of Luke’s face, a confession of affection on the tip of his tongue.

“I can’t walk,” he said instead.

Now, Grover wasn’t the most observant of Satyrs, but he could tell something was different with Percy.

His friend had gone missing over the weekend — which alright, wasn’t that unusual — and then reappeared one morning coming out of his own house. It just struck Grover as odd, because Percy had told him before that he couldn’t stand being in the empty place when his mom wasn’t there. He did seem to be in an oddly good mood, but to Grover that also wasn’t unusual; Percy’s spirits usually lifted after a visit to Luke.

The thing was— this good mood, it didn’t seem like a brief improvement. It stuck through.

And then there was the smell.

While Grover’s nose was good at sniffing out monsters, that wasn’t the only thing he could smell with it.

And Percy definitely smelled different — he just wasn’t sure how or why. For a bit, Grover had been worried that someone had put an enchantment on his friend, so he’d asked Percy if he’d recently eaten anything or gotten a gift from anyone who didn’t usually do that sort of thing for him.

The green-eyed demigod gave him a look like he’d sprouted a second head.

“No— just uh. Well, just something from Luke.”

Grover hummed, squinting as he caught sight of a slight flush on Percy’s cheeks as he ducked his head, holding up his wrist to show off a handmade bracelet with seashells and a single snake scale.

“That looks very nice!” Grover said, “Early birthday present?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Percy beamed.

Grover stared, eyes narrow.

There was a beat of silence. Then, Grover gasped.

“You!” He jabbed a finger at Percy. “You’re— that’s why you smell funny!”

“Smell funny?” And Percy was absolutely blushing now. “What, why would I—”

“You’re in love!” Grover proclaimed. “I knew it, I knew there was something— wait. You and Luke?”

“SHHH!” Percy hissed, because even though they were alone, they both knew full well that the trees had ears, along with the bushes and running waters. He looked like he was on the verge of combusting, and Grover had to swallow down a laugh. “You can’t tell anyone, okay?”

Grover raised an eyebrow.

“Not even Luke?”

“No!” Percy hissed, bright red. “You can’t— he’ll think I’m weird.”

“Weird…” Grover trailed off. “Well, I don’t know about that. I think you should tell him.”

Percy blinked at him, like he couldn’t believe what Grover had just said.

“You— you would?”

“I mean,” Grover put his hands in his pockets, one hoof scuffing at the ground. “If I loved somebody, I’d tell ‘em; I would want them to know. And I’m just a Satyr, you guys have to deal with those lower-than-average demigod lifespans.”

That did seem to give his friend pause, enough that the color in his cheeks faded.

“Right…” He tugged at a lock of his hair — shorter now, Luke must have helped him with a trim over the weekend.

“It’s a pretty bracelet. Seems like something made with love.”

Percy sighed, and he sure was lucky Grover had been the one to confront him about this and not Annabeth. Grover envied him the depth of his affections — Annabeth would have made fun of him for it, though it would have been good-natured.

“So you’ll tell him?” Grover asked finally.

Percy glanced up at him.

“Yeah— I’ll tell him. Tomorrow.”

“Good.” Grover smiled. “If you don’t, I’m telling Annabeth. And Tyson.”

“Grover—!”

Percy spent the rest of the day in a sort of daze, hardly even tasting his dinner as he ate it alone at the table. His conversation with Grover from earlier circled his mind like a particularly persistent vulture. Part of him was curious what his friend had meant with his comment about how Percy smelled, but given the physical element to his and Luke’s relationship, he had assumed the worst and been utterly mortified by it.

Thankfully, he hadn’t blurted out anything about just why he might have smelled different — ‘How to Talk to Your Best Friend About Your New Knowledge Concerning the Egg Laying Habits of Snakes’ sounded like the title of a paper designed to mock one of Annabeth’s scientific journals (which she was now having translated into Ancient Greek). But apart from that, the other thing Grover had said was lingering in his thoughts.

Love — he’d been coming more to terms with that word over the past few weeks.

Everything Luke did, even when he was just complaining about how his scales were itching or drying out and then telling Percy that he had to kiss it better, somehow made him more endearing to Percy. He didn't mind spending time alone anymore, especially when he knew he could go to Luke or the others if he needed company.

But he’d been thinking— really thinking lately. His mom’s wedding was soon. She’d been in contact almost the whole year, hounding everyone (but especially Chiron) in the Land of the Gods who might be able to figure out a way for Percy to attend the event safely.

She’d been denied on all fronts thus far, but still hadn’t given up yet.

Percy admired her for that persistence; he just needed a bit of it for himself in this case.

He moved about the kitchen, putting together a batch of tie-dye chocolate chip cookies — named so for being blue-and-green after Luke had suggested it. As he did, he thought about his predicament: how exactly he was going to tell Luke.

He briefly entertained asking one of the children of Aphrodite for advice, but quickly shut that thought down. No, he didn’t need help, he wanted this to be something that came from him.

“Could just come out and say it— what, in the middle of a conversation?” He berated himself as he rolled the dough into balls. “No.”

One sheet.

Two.

“Could write it down— no, child of Apollo thing.” He scowled, putting both sheets in the oven to bake and setting out the cooling rack.

“Could say it after we— no, I always fall asleep, ugh!” The timer went off.

For the entire afternoon, past sunset and into the evening, he baked and mentally went through every scenario he could think of. Each one was worse and less realistic than the last.

In the end, the universe made his decision for him. He’d just finished putting out the last of the cookies to cool and was eyeing a couple for an evening snack when he heard a knock at the back door.

Weird. Maybe Annabeth had decided to visit?

Percy was trying to think how to let whoever it was down gently (he really wasn't in the mood for company) when he opened the door and came face-to-face with the one person he’d absolutely not been expecting.

“Percy,” Luke greeted, breathing hard like he’d run all the way there, and— wait.

“Luke, you’ve got—” Percy couldn’t help staring, because Luke had legs, normal as could be.

Sure, the shorts he was wearing definitely looked a size or two too small, and he didn’t have shoes or anything, but he was— just there, in the doorway, casual as could be.

“How?” Was all Percy could manage before he was swept into a crushing hug, and Luke was still taller than him, that was so unfair.

“No idea,” Luke said back, burying his face in Percy’s shoulder and humming as he breathed him in. “You smell nice — been baking?”

It didn’t exactly take a genius to figure that out, but Percy still rewarded him with a brief kiss.

“Want some?” He offered when they separated, drinking the sight of Luke in now that they were closer — no hint of fangs past his lips, and his now-human eyes filled with the same warm affection as always. “You can tell me exactly what happened, Mister ‘no idea’.”

Together they went through about a third of the cookies Percy had baked, with Luke filling him in on the details of how he’d lost his scaly lower half.

“I shed it,” he said, which prompted Percy to frown and say “But I’ve seen you shed— that’s not how it works,” because he was no son of Athena, but he was pretty sure of that. Four more cookies later, and Percy had admitted defeat in the face of Luke’s endless insistence that maybe that was just how it worked for cursed demigods.

“I hate you,” Percy sighed into his cup of cold milk.

“Nah.” Luke grinned, biting into his fifth cookie. “You love me.”

“Yeah,” it slipped out easier than Percy had even thought it would. “I do.”

Luke paused mid-chew to stare at him, pink rising to his cheeks, and Percy gave him his own shaky grin.

And then Luke was sweeping him off his feet and kissing him, and he tasted like cookies and everything Percy cared about most in the world.

“Oh,” Percy said several hours later, lifting his head from Luke’s chest. “Right— I wanted to talk to you about something before you distracted me.”

“Which time?” Even in the dark, Percy could hear the smug smile in his cousin’s voice.

He wasn’t wrong to point that out. After Percy’s spur-of-the-moment confession, the two of them had proceeded to stumble their way upstairs, climbing into the shower together where Percy had repeated his earlier declaration with Luke on his knees in front of him. Once they were clean (and had used up the nightly allotment for hot water), Percy had found a pair of pajama bottoms and a baggy shirt in his closet that were closer to Luke’s size.

Luke had thanked him for that by tackling him onto his bed, stripping Percy out of his own PJs and wrapping a hand around both of them. That time, when Percy murmured a soft ‘love you’ as he came between them, Luke echoed him in his own sigh, peppering kisses across his cheek as he grabbed a tissue and cleaned them both up.

Percy felt himself flush at the memory, fresh in his mind, and halfheartedly elbowed Luke.

“Shut up.”

Luke just snorted, claw-free fingers buried in Percy’s hair.

“What did you want to say?”

Percy licked his lips, mouth dry.

“I’m gonna leave— and I want you to come with me.”

There was a beat of silence, Luke’s other hand tracing nonsense patterns into Percy’s skin.

“Perseus Jackson, are you asking me to run away with you?” came Luke’s response. “When do we leave?”

“Um.” He hadn’t thought that far. “Tomorrow? I mean— I don’t have money or a map, and you need new clothes, so that could be a problem.”

“Percy, I’m a son of Hermes.” He could hear the smile in Luke’s voice. “I can get those for us no problem.”

Even though it was about as unassuming as a wall of fog, Percy had to admit that the Wall of Mist was still intimidating. Maybe it was the magic lingering in the air, making the hairs on his arm stand up as he stared up at it. Maybe it was because he’d seen firsthand the things it could do to people.

He was waiting for Luke, who’d directed him to this exact spot and told him to kill time while he went and got their supplies. Part of him had been curious about how exactly Luke would be able to acquire everything they needed so easily, but decided that was a question for the road.

In all honesty, Percy wasn’t sure how far they’d have to travel in order to be on time for his mom’s wedding, and even then he didn’t know if he would be happy to stay in one place once it was over. But they’d both be free, they’d be out, and that was something he knew he’d never regret.

He also didn’t know how well his mom would take meeting Luke, or how much he should tell her about the two of them, or if they’d get far from the Land of the Gods before anyone realized they were both missing—

His increasingly-disastrous train of thought was derailed by the sound of approaching footsteps. Luke had arrived, one backpack slung over his shoulder and the other swinging at his side.

“One pack of supplies each, as requested,” he said once he reached Percy, offering it and waiting until Percy had put it on. “Last chance to back out.”

“Having second thoughts?” Percy shot back.

“Nah. You?”

“No,” Percy said honestly “I just don’t want to— what if we cross and it happens again? You. The tail.”

Luke shrugged. “Guess you introduce me to your mom as your scaly friend then. Besides, you can just figure out how to break the curse again.”

“I will, huh?” Percy hummed.

“You did promise.”

“I did.” Percy adjusted the strap on his shoulder, glancing up at the Wall of Mist one last time. “Uh, would you—?”

Luke’s fingers wove through his.

“Together?” he asked.

“Together.” Percy nodded.

They stepped into the Mist.