Chapter Text
The gods were cruel, distant, and profoundly inhuman.
Expected as it may be, neither mortals nor their children had any true understanding of such indifference. Least of all the demigods, caught between two worlds.
It struck him suddenly as Percy stood before his brother's court, a pinched brow and defiant twist of his mouth that only had his brother all the more vengeful for retribution his child had not deserved.
This was an injustice.
Percy, who had had his mother ripped from his arms in a game played by beings he could never reason with, stood accused before them. Gods wholly unconcerned with the tiny life they disrupted.
He was a small boy, caught somewhere between child and adult, though it barely mattered. His youngest divine child was older than entire mortal civilizations. Through that lens, Percy was little more than a babe. If what ran through him was pure ichor, he would not even know the world outside of Poseidon's den. His wife was painted as the child-rearer, but it had always been the two of them.
He frowned at the thought. How long had it been since they had been blessed with such an opportunity?
He shook his head. Percy was not a god; he was barely a child.
Still, his eyes never left him as their conversation finished and those black curls drew farther away.
Zeus returned then, startled by Poseidon's continued presence.
“What do you want? I didn't kill your brat. The war has been avoided. We are done,” Zeus spat, and he rolled his eyes at the dramatics.
“He merely earns survival for your mistake? I thought you better than that, Zeus,” he chided, taking pleasure in the thunderous expression of the other.
“A right that should never have been his,” his brother argued, and it was his turn to show his displeasure. Even miles away, the sound of the lashing ocean was present.
“Come now. The oath was not built to last, and you'd broken it as much as I,” Poseidon said firmly, thinking of the proud tree that sat just outside of Camp Half-Blood. “Can't you offer him something?”
Zeus sighed then, heavy with a weight only a god could carry. “I assure you, my momentary sparing of the boy was kindness enough. Time allowed is a worthy reward.”
His chest felt oddly tight at the mention of how momentary, how fleeting, his son's life would be.
Zeus looked at him once more. “Why do you care? He's brought you glory. He's played the hero demigods are trained to be. His purpose is fulfilled, and let us not see if he fulfills his prophesied second.”
“I...” He thought of his family, nary reliant, nary close. “I find myself feeling unreasonably paternal,” he confessed, and his brother laughed.
Zeus looked at him somewhat softer in his mirth.
“That always was your weakness,” Zeus mused. “Alas, an awful time to hold fondness for your demigod spawn.”
He hated the truth in those words.
Zeus sat heavily on his throne, a questioning gaze shot his way, “Why not grace the sea with a godly son, one borne from your queen? You seem to forget yourself,”
Treacherously, hope began to build at the thought. Not of a new child, no, but of his demigod son.
If Percy ascended, the prophecy became meaningless.
The ache in his chest eased all at once.
Zeus's expression shifted before he had even spoken.
"No," his brother said.
Poseidon smiled.
"I know what reward you will grant my son."
—————
The scorpion. Luke. A scream.
He expected the infirmary, like that first horrible night at camp. He expected ambrosia that tasted of blue chocolate chip cookies and a teasing jab about him drooling in his sleep, a grey-eyed girl calling him Seaweed Brain with too much fondness for it to truly be an insult.
But there was none of that.
His eyes fluttered open, and his body protested as he struggled upright. It was not the sting in his hand he had thought it would be, but rather his entire body. It ached through every cell.
He reached for balance as the surface beneath him shifted unexpectedly. It was cloth, lots of it, winding together in a giant expanse that seemed almost endless. As he moved his arms forward to explore further, bubbles drifted from the movement.
Percy froze.
He was underwater.
Before he could spiral, movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He craned his neck to fully take in the figure, letting out a surprised gasp as his eyes met his father's.
Poseidon’s skin glowed in the low light, as if his divinity had no choice but to seep through.
This was not the nearly human man he'd met on Olympus.
This was a god, undeniably so.
Poseidon stepped forward easily, as though the water knew better than to get in his way. He held a tray in one hand, raised far too high for Percy to see its contents.
“My son," Poseidon said fondly.
Percy curled up uncomfortably at the familiarity that felt anything but, yelping as his father's huge frame joined him on the bed. He bounced upward in the weightless sway of the water before drifting back down moments later.
His father laughed at the sight. The way his mom would laugh when she claimed Jackson clumsiness had struck again. His heart ached at the thought. He’d yet to see her.
His father’s rumbling laugh only made his face twist unhappily.
"Why am I here?" he rasped, each breath quickening. He would not play into his father's amusement, not when he'd just escaped death once more, not when he had no memory of getting here.
Poseidon's mirth fizzled into something stern.
"Calm yourself, child. You were poisoned, almost gone from this world. It won't serve you well to work yourself up," his father chided.
Poseidon placed the tray on the bed, and Percy peered over to inspect its contents. It was not carefully portioned ambrosia or medicine, as he'd expected, but an infant's bottle. His face turned red with indignation.
"You're home, Percy," his father continued, softer now, as though Percy's anger were unease, as though this invasion were a simple hurt to soothe away.
"No... no, my home is with Sally Jackson," he said firmly, refusing to meet that tender gaze Poseidon had no right directing his way. "My home is with the woman who raised me by herself," he added pointedly.
Poseidon looked equal parts annoyed and guilty at Percy's words. "I understand that my absence has taken its toll on you, my son, but I am here to remedy that now. Your raising is far from complete."
"Especially now."
His brows furrowed at that.
"Sally Jackson has done well by you," Poseidon admitted reluctantly. "Better than most mortals would have."
Before Percy could respond, impossibly large hands closed around him.
The bottle was pulled closer. It was large, larger than a bottle ought to be, but everything was in this strange place. It was the size of Percy's forearm and filled to the brim with a sparkling substance. As it drew closer, he knew it was ambrosia.
His heart thudded rapidly. This was not the carefully dosed portion he'd receive at camp. This was a lethal amount his father seemed intent on feeding him. He struggled valiantly in his father's arms now.
"But I am your father, Perseus Jackson, and you will come to understand that," Poseidon continued, a complicated look on his face, pushing the bottle into Percy's mouth as he kicked out in alarm.
"Calm down, sweet one. You are ill and surely hungry," Poseidon whispered, then, uncharacteristically soft for the horrible act he was committing. Ambrosia flooded his mouth, and he felt tears run down his cheeks at the taste of blue cookies and home.
His tears came faster with every swallow. His father did not seem to care, showing no reaction to the fate that drew ever closer.
As the bottle emptied and finally pulled free, he waited.
Five seconds.
Then ten.
As a minute passed, he stared.
"I’m not… I’m not dead," he rasped in disbelief.
His blood ran cold at his father's puzzled response.
"Ambrosia doesn't kill gods, my son."