Chapter Text
It was supposed to be over. The battle had been won, Percy was supposed to be free- he was supposed to be with them, his parents.
Four months.
They got four months with Percy, four months of near normalcy- no dangerous missions or sneaking off for an adventure, Percy went to school and they hoped this one would stick, that monsters would finally give him a break- their peace had been short, but felt like this could be their happy ending. And now their child was missing.
Months passed since, and still nothing but silence. Silent, suffocating silence.
Hope was all they had left, and even that was slowly dwindling- slipping through their fingers like grains of sand.
Annabeth was gaunt with worry, fussing over her at least gave them something to focus on that wasn’t the empty bedroom across the hall. She was as bad as them, hardly able to so much as look at Percy’s spot at the dining table without tearing up.
Despite all her turmoil, Annabeth had done her best to assure Paul and Sally that Camp was doing everything to find Percy- even the goddess Artemis and her hunters had defied Zeus in order to search for their boy.
The news had warmed them at the time, knowledge of the many lives Percy had touched- how many people held him sacred in their hearts and cared for him at the expense of their own safety, but that comfort became hollow as the seasons changed, and still there was no knock at the door.
If so many people were searching for Percy, then why hadn’t he been found yet? Where was he, that even a goddess couldn’t find him?
But worse, were the questions they had dared not ask. The fear that came for them in the night, hissing in their ears, haunting Percy’s bedroom and pleading with them through the eyes of old memories,
What happened to Percy?
They took turns with insomnia. Nights filled with sleepless worry- even in dreams, there was no respite. Old nightmares had shifted into a crueller beast, filled with the possible perils Percy could be facing, myths of old that could be preying upon their son- or worse still, the possibility Percy had already died, and nobody knew about it. That he’s fallen, unseen and unheard, with nobody there for him in his final moments- their child, torn from them before they’d even gotten a chance to keep him.
(He hadn’t, Annabeth would always insist with a broken fervour, even though Paul and Sally never dared ask the question. Nico would know, he would have felt it. She’d repeat it in a broken mantra, the same kind that suggested she was haunted by the same silent question.)
Nothing stopped the worst of their worry from haunting them, chasing them into the waking hours, haunting their everyday life. Paul’s students had picked up on it, the erratic worry of their English teacher, his sudden aversion to teaching anything to do with Greek Mythology, even though in the previous term he’d found the subject entirely thrilling. Sally’s writing had suffered for her worry, pages of text nothing short of depressing and unfocused, on the days when the words came.
The ceaseless unknowing felt like a steadily crumbling cliffside, as they clung to the ledge. Pervading what-ifs threatened to drag them down, if they let their guard slip too much.
The floor felt cold under Paul’s bare feet, the chill of the apartment in the early hours had long since become something he was used to. So too, did this route. He’d walked it countless times before, but now the journey always felt hopeless- knowing the reward at the end would never be there for him to see. Yet still, he hoped.
The door stood ajar, open to the apartment in ways it never was during the day.
Paul stepped into Percy’s bedroom, eyes determinedly not brushing over the pinned photos on the wall, or the folded laundry that had never been put away- attention only on the other occupant in the room.
On the bed, still adorned in her pyjamas, eyes red-rimmed and staring up at the ceiling, lay Sally. She didn’t even startle as the bed shifted beside her, Paul fitting in easily beside her, the both of them staring up at the ceiling, lost in memories.
His bed was always the worst, still holding onto the faint sea smell that was so distinctly Percy, on the floor they knew homework lay scattered, unfinished, the deadline long-since passed.
Someone reaches out first, it’s hard to say who, as Paul and Sally shuffle closer together and close their eyes- sleep won’t find either of them here, but sleep isn’t what they need.
They hold on to one another with a tight grip, lying in their son’s room, surrounded by the echoes of him and everything he’d left behind. Neither had the heart to try and clean up, to erase any whispers Percy had left behind- the stories they clung to on odd nights when a new detail struck- like the Goode Swim Team leaflet on Percy’s desk- Sally had been talking him into trying a sports team in the new year, and Percy had been willing to try, willing to set down some roots.
Whispers of Percy’s last stay speak to them in the night, and both parents try desperately to convince themselves this isn’t Percy’s lasting impression. He’ll be back, he’ll be safe.
The homework can be finished, the swim team can be joined, and Christmas can still come.
But it’s January now, and Percy is still missing.
Things around the apartment changed- it was subtle, but palpable for anyone who was familiar with the Jackson-Blofis residence, the loud buoyancy that filled each room, how full the space always felt even though it only held three people.
Now, it felt like even the walls were holding their breath.
The sofa had become their more depended-upon piece of furniture, the far left spot was forever occupied- even during meals, which were seldom taken at the dining table any more. This way, the phone was forever in their reach.
Volume was constantly monitored, music and television shows never too loud, never a risk of drowning out the possible sound of a knock at the door, or crashing on the fire-escape. If a neighbour so much as stumbled in the hallways, Sally and Paul would hear it.
The cupboards stocked with flour and sugar, eggs never allowed to run out. Everything they’d need for a batch of chocolate chip cookies, always in stock- even though the apartment hasn’t smelt of fresh bakes for months.
Routines that had once been old and familiar threatened to fade into obsoletion, no matter how determined they had been to retain their hold on hope and normalcy. It had been too much, to look up from the marking of his students’ homework across the table, and be reminded that there was nobody there working with him, fidgeting in his seat or groaning about one of Paul’s teaching colleagues. Paul had stopped working at the dining table within a matter of weeks.
An outsider might point out they looked like a pair of grieving parents, living with the ghost of their child. But that outsider would be wrong.
They were waiting, that was all.
“Paul? Paul, wake up.”
A gentle voice roused Paul from his sleep, accompanied by a gentle touch on his shoulder, shaking him awake. Eyes opening blearily, the image of Sally greets him, she waits patiently as her husband finds his bearings, taking a small step back. As he waits, eyes catch on the side table by Paul’s head, something in her expression slips.
His neck cried out, his back ached- sensations of age that had become a lot worse recently. Something he knows is less to do with age, and more to do with the new sleeping habit. The sofa was comfortable enough, but it was no place to sleep on.
The clock stared back at him from its place by the phone, 2am.
Paul pushed himself to sit upright, wincing. “Sorry Sal, didn’t realise- I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“I know.” She smiles back at him, sad and understanding. It wasn’t the first time either of them had fallen asleep in this exact position, she doubted it would be the last.
Old habits had been traded for new ones, without ever meaning to.
“Come on, the bed is waiting.”
At the offer, Paul couldn’t help but let his expression slip slightly, hesitation curling up inside him. The silence stretches on, Paul doesn’t move and nor does Sally. Without intent, his gaze fell to the left, on the telephone that sat inches from where his head had been resting on the arm of the sofa. Sally’s gaze follows his own.
“It’s rather silly of us, isn’t it? When was the last time we ever got a phone call...”
“It’s not silly.” The denial is quiet, and contrasts the small quirk of Sally’s lips, until it falls into something more contemplative. Hands rise to pull at nail beds as she speaks again, just as quiet as before, “Maybe we get a second landline, for the bedroom? Never know if….when, someone might call.”
Paul turns back to look at her, offering a reassuring smile of his own, “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Pulling himself to his feet, Paul steps to Sally’s side, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, “We’ll order one first thing tomorrow morning.”
It was silly of them, incredibly so. Demigods couldn’t even use cell phones, an iris message would be far more likely- but it didn’t matter to Paul or Sally. Did nothing to soothe the rampant whispers in their mind, because there was still a chance, the sliver of possibility, that someone would call them on their dusty old landline that not even doctors offices contacted them on.
But Percy might, and that was all that mattered.
They couldn’t miss it if he did.
When Annabeth had delivered the news a few days after Percy had gone missing, that Olympus was closed, something in her eyes shone with determination- like a puzzle she was particularly eager to solve, the same glint she’d eyed a jigsaw with on their last game night with Percy.
At the time, her words had a shared spark of hope, a fraction of relief amid the toiling worry that had plagued Paul and Sally for days. It had sounded like too great a coincidence, that Percy would go missing and then Olympus would close shortly after- they’d all agreed, the Gods had to be involved somehow, so perhaps Percy stood a chance after all.
It was a clue they’d clung to on the worse nights, a reminder that there was a chance this wasn’t the work of some vengeful titan or awful monster, but instead something else at work. Possibly, something that didn’t threaten Percy’s safety. The Gods were not the benevolent sort, but they were selfish of their things, they valued their Hero- if this was the work of the Gods, then Percy would be safe. If this was the work of the Gods, then their son would return to them safely.
Yet faith is a fickle thing, and cowers in the face of fear.
Time pressed on, and questions became changed by the silence in their home. In the beginning, they had wondered for Percy and what awaited him, then desperation whispered that it didn’t matter, not as long as Percy was safe- anything else they could work with, but now? Now their questions were replaced by anger. Burning, all-consuming resentment. Only one whisper remained,
How dare they?
After everything their son had done for the Gods, how much he sacrificed for them, this was the thanks he got? Stolen from his own bed in the night, with no effort made to protect him from whatever malevolent force had come for him as he rested under the roof of his Cabin- the Cabin of his father.
What had once been desperate attempts to plead for the Gods’ help, for even the smallest scrap of information or answers, became poisoned with ire. Prayers were snuffed to silence, fires to sacrifice food were put out- for there was no point, they knew. They were alone in this. Worse, Percy was alone in this.
Abandoned and forgotten by the Gods, they were unworthy of his choice to defend their divine home, undeserving of his loyalty to a divine family who couldn’t even allow him to spend the rest of his life safe and in peace.
Percy should have let Olympus burn. If he had done that, allowed Kronos to win, perhaps he would still be with them, still safe and sheltered from whatever cruel monster had stolen him from them.
And no God, not even Zeus- who closed Olympus without warning, nor Dionysus- who should have known there was an intruder within the Camp, did Paul and Sally blame more than Poseidon.
If the shattering of glass wasn’t enough to pull Paul to his feet, then the accompanying yell certainly would have been. Loud and anguished; it echoes through their apartment in the peace of the evening.
Paul moves faster than he’d thought possible, heart hammering in his chest as he chases the sound, mind racing-
Not Sally, not her too.
He comes to a sharp stop by Percy’s bedroom, door left ajar just enough to allow him to see inside. The scene that greets him is enough to settle the adrenaline in his veins, replaced by a gutting stab of pain.
Sally’s back was turned to him, hunched over as she sat on her knees before a basin of water, an instalment in Percy’s room that was neither his nor Sally’s choice- but instead, an apparent gift from Poseidon. For a moment, it looked as though she was in prayer- but neither of them had attempted to contact the Gods this way before, in a way that was so personal to Percy’s heritage, and the vibrating rage echoing from his wife suggested anything other than peaceful faith.
“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” Her sobs were enough to shatter the ceiling, Paul had never heard Sally so angry before, her voice bled with hate- so unlike the patient, ever-understanding woman he’d come to know. But this wasn’t the Sally Jackson of those years ago, with hope in her chest for a better future, a son to come home to and love freely. This was a mother, whose baby had been stolen from her, “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HIM!”
The strangled yell breaks off in her throat, a grasping breath the last thing that comes before her anger is broken by sobbing, raw and cruel, forcing her to hunch further in, eyes away from the basin of ripple-less seawater before her.
Paul can’t stand to afford her this privacy any more, the door swings open under his touch as he gets closer, kneeling carefully beside Sally.
Carefully, because he’s realised what the shattering glass from earlier was- a vase, which had been holding some seashells from Percy’s trips to the ocean floor, lay in pieces against the wall, some landing in the basin. The glass was streaked with blues and greens, a decoration to accompany his father’s gift.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened here.
The pieces lay broken all around them. Wordlessly, Paul’s fingertips brushed Sally’s shoulder, where it shook with the weight of her sobs, yet still she didn’t recoil from his touch. His hand rests there, thumb rubbing circles into her back, patient.
When Sally speaks next, the words are not for Paul, they’ve long-since passed the need to communicate aloud, not when there’s nothing that needs to be said.
So when her voice comes out a broken whisper, hissing with venom, Paul allows Sally to speak for the pair of them, knowing exactly to whom those words are directed,
“He deserves better than you.”
Blasphemous words, but fear doesn’t come for them, there’s no regret to the risk they just took- caring would be too much to ask of them now, when they had both already lost so much.
Yet, no punishment comes for her. No smiting or immediate curse hits upon their home, not like you should expect from the ever-tempramental Greek Gods. Poseidon doesn't appear in their home, tempests in his eyes and power dripping from his form. Sally’s words fall without consequence, the mercy doesn’t feel like enough.
Paul stays with Sally through her tears, and when it’s over he’ll silently offer to clean up the shattered glass.
The night wears on, sleep evades them both once again- but it’s not the racing thoughts that stand in their way, but the howling of wind against window panes, the slashings of rain crying down on New York.
An unprecedented hurricane along the entire East Coast, the news will report. Devastating,
Neither Paul nor Sally comment on the sudden turn of weather.
Paul finds he doesn’t care whether or not the Sea God heard Sally’s words- Poseidon deserved to feel this upset, to understand just a fraction of what Sally and Paul were going through.
Their pain would have destroyed cities, levelled forests, he was certain.
Whatever Poseidon felt, it was nothing compared to them. He could never understand this loss, the torture of not knowing, of helplessness and endless questions. Nights spent screaming, days spent hoping, the gradual wear of it on the soul. The pain of a parent.
If he was being unfair to God, Paul did not care to think- a parent would never have allowed this to happen, if there was something they could have done about it.
