Chapter Text
When Percy said that he didn’t want to be a half-blood, he’s pretty sure absolutely nobody paid attention to him. Because he was here, in the middle of things. As usual.
The sharp sounds of a battle rang in his ears. Achingly familiar, no matter his distaste for it. And, well, ‘battle’ might be a bit of an exaggeration because it really was just him against oh, five or so monsters. Percy was honestly convinced that he should just never leave his apartment ever—because what the fuck. He didn’t really have any kind of supplies on him besides Riptide and his skateboard. And his skateboard was promptly shattered the very moment he was ambushed by these things.
Like they were a part of a freaking gang.
And the skateboard situation was—great. Amazing.
Percy wasn’t even sure if he had the money to replace it. Unless the skateboard shop took a collection of battered weapons as payment, it looked like he was going without a skateboard for a while.
But time to mourn his skateboard was limited (he had that skateboard since he was thirteen years old, who is he kidding).
“Didn’t anybody tell you guys that I am retired?” he huffed. The monsters looked incredibly unimpressed.
And the monsters… were monsters. Very typical monsters-hiding-under-your-bed monsters. Monsters that could’ve been extras in MonstersInc, kind of monsters. Honestly, after seven years of fighting thing after thing, he just gave up trying to identify them. Yes, he’s perfectly aware that there’s a long mythological history behind these beings and he should learn about it and blah blah blah.
He’s tired. He was supposed to be re tired. And his skateboard was ruined.
He spun Riptide around in his hands, swiping at the one that got too close. These monsters had massive horns attached to their heads, almost like bony antennas. An idea slowly formed in the back of his brain (that worked perfectly fine, thanks Annabeth) .
The horns were a bit different from the Minotaur’s, but hey, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, right?
They’ve all been ganging up on him for the past five minutes, and Percy’s patience has been thinning. And his patience was virtually nonexistent in the first place.
So, after remaining on defense and trying to figure out how to get a hit on these things without getting mauled by the others, he switched to the offensive. He lunged at the nearest one, and just as it lowered its horns, Percy jumped, using the long horns as a pole like it was a track and field event. He angled himself to land right on the monster’s shoulders. It buckled under his weight, Percy conceded that maybe this plan wouldn’t work the same as when he was twelve. Oh well.
The other monsters hesitated, uncertain if they should charge on their comrade, even if their target was sitting right there. And as amusing as their little conundrum was, Percy would like these monsters down in Tartarus ASAP.
Maybe he should add a little bow to send them back with. Courtesy of Percy Jackson.
Balancing on the monster’s shoulders, Percy used his sword to hack away at the base of the horn. Once it was free, he lept back into the air and landed on monster-free ground.
Discarding Riptide on the ground, he used the horn as a ( way too long to be feasible) spear. He took out the one who he took the horn off of first, stumbling around off balance and distracted.
It exploded into golden dust (that got in his face—these monsters really just exist to spite him).
Percy took aim at the next one closest. (They slowly formed a circle around him. He was trapped, he was going to get charged from behind—). He ran forward, ignoring the imminent feeling of death and impalement from behind.
He lodged the horn/makeshift spear into the one in front of him, just enough to keep it still but not enough to get it to explode into dust.
Percy ran to the center of the pole (the footsteps behind him increasing, large and heavy and echoing in force), his hands sliding along it to make room in the back of it. Another monster slammed into the back of it—just missing Percy by a hair.
It must’ve been a strange sight—two monsters impaled at the opposite ends of their own kind’s horn with a demigod in between them.
Almost like a science model. Percy, the neutron, being aggressively surrounded by the electrons.
(He was able to pass high school, ok? He knew some things. He has the certificate and everything to prove it!)
The two monsters exploded at the ends of the spear, and it turned heavy in his grip once more. The other two seemed hesitant to approach him now. Which— good. Maybe they should’ve thought about that before attacking him and destroying his skateboard.
Too bad for the hesitant monsters, Percy had long range and better mobility than them. And now that he got rid of their friends, their numbers were more manageable.
It was pretty easy after that.
Once the final monster poofed away, he dropped the horn like it was on fire. He didn’t want to deal with it longer than he had to, thank you.
“Aw, you’re not going to keep it? Could be a sick war prize,” a voice sounded behind him. A voice that was too familiar and oh, for fuck’s sake.
Hermes was behind him, sitting leisurely in a yard chair out and sunglasses perched right upon his godly nose (that Percy would love to punch right now, consequences be damned). Very obviously just watching. Like he was entertainment.
Percy fought back a wave of anger. “Before you say a word, I’m retired. Also no one’s said ‘sick’ in like ten years.”
Hermes looked mildly upset by the news—“mortals change their slang so quickly nowadays,” he whined. “And that was some good fighting for a guy who was ‘retired’.” He even had the audacity to put finger quotes up.
Percy sighed, all anger quickly draining in favor of exhaustion. “What do you want?”
“The gods need you for a mission.”
“When do they not?” He complained before setting off in the complete opposite of the god in beach attire (he’s not even a god remotely related to the beach, what—) . He could hear the quick and light footsteps and the faint begging behind him.
He scoffed. Gods don’t beg. They whine and bitch until they decide enough is enough and start ordering him around.
“Perseus—“ Percy made a faint displeased sound at the back of his throat. “… Percy. The Doors of Death made a mess of the Underworld. Souls escape, Hades claiming property damage, on and on and on. You know how it is.”
“The Giant War has been over for two years now.”
“And we’re still tracking down souls. Obviously we’ve been sending demigods around to track them down, usually the older and more powerful souls that Thanatos couldn’t get by himself.”
“Obviously,” Percy said disdainfully, not liking where this conversation was going.
“Perseus, we discovered that Luke Castellan’s soul is missing from the Underworld.”
Percy stopped in his tracks. Because—
“I better have heard that wrong.”
“And now that’s the voice your father uses when he’s really mad. You two both kind of embody the whole ‘calm before the storm’…” Hermes chattered on, and Percy had to recognize the fact that the god was distracting himself. Distracting himself from that fact his son, who almost conquered the gods, has been brought back to life. For two years and they haven’t noticed.
“Hermes.”
“Right, right. So we managed to track the soul down, kind of, but there was a small problem.”
Percy was getting really annoyed here. “Stop beating around the bush—what’s going on?” He practically seethed. He tried to focus on his anger to ignore the way his heart sped up in fear.
Luke is back—Luke is still alive— what will happen—will he try to hurt people again—would I stop him—oh gods, Annabeth— would he be justified this time around—
“He’s in another universe,” Hermes admitted. And for someone who apparently needed his help, getting information was way harder than it should be. Percy sighed. Aggressively. His annoyance of this task masked the way his fear lowered a bit. Luke posed no immediate danger in another universe after all.
“So you guys want me to go retrieve him in another universe?” Percy asked incredulously. “There’s plenty of active and powerful demigods to go get him—Nico di Angelo? Hazel Levesque? Frank Zhang?” Percy felt the barest hint of guilt at offering up other demigods for what seemed to be shaping up like a suicide mission. But again, he was retired. What did retirement mean? That he was done. No more of the quests, no more of the near death experiences. He just wanted to stress that came from college exams, not the kill-or-be-killed kind.
Hermes, as if reading his mind, smirked. “Not very heroic to serve the gods other demigods like they’re lambs to the slaughter.” He put a wierd emphasis on the word heroic, like it was supposed to mean two different things. Hermes was the trickster god, so he didn’t pay any attention to his little jokes.
“Hardly lambs,” Percy scowled, “two of them are praetors of New Rome and one is still running high risk quests for Camp Half-Blood. They’d be perfect for this mission.”
“Well, they weren’t in the throne room on your sixteenth birthday, were they?”
Percy didn’t even look at him. Couldn’t give him the satisfaction. “If you’re looking for the person who defeated Luke Castellan in the war, you’re looking in the wrong place. He killed himself and defeated Kronos himself—you of all people should know that.” The accusation made Hermes wince, dragging up thinly buried pains.
Prepare a shroud for a son of Hermes.
“Ah,” Hermes said with a grimace. “That’s… not what we mean by that. You—and that Athena girl and the Lord of the Wild,” he said Athena girl like it was some sort of curse, “all had the most contact with him during the war. You know him best… the way he plans, the way he fights.”
“Why would we even need to get him? He’s in another universe—we don’t need to worry about him anymore.” He can’t hurt us anymore.
“No one’s entirely sure if he’ll build up forces and a plan to retake Olympus and New York City if he finds a way to get back into this universe” Hermes rebuffed. “It’s a security thing. Wouldn’t you feel better that he's as good as dead in the Fields of Apsophel?”
“So he made it into the Fields then?” Percy mused. “Not eternal punishment?”
Hermes cut him a side glare. “And weren’t you the one talking about his redemption the most?”
Percy shrugged, unapologetic. Percy wasn’t sure when his opinions changed—maybe it was when he got a little older. He had to live through rebuilding the camp, had to see how much Luke became the subject of Annabeth’s nightmares.
Or maybe it was when his thoughts started to stray to something more… radical. And he violently struck down those thoughts, having to remind himself of the damage and the heartbreak Luke Castellan wrought to get back at the gods.
“I’m surprised you want to see your son dead, Hermes,” Percy said instead. “Is this really you talking?”
Hermes sighed, his mortal form aging years and years before his eyes. Percy always wondered if he cared for all of his children this much or if Luke was just a tragic case he had to bear witness too.
(Percy bets the latter.)
“I thought that if we let him stay in that universe alone, it’d be a win-win. He gets to stay alive, and he doesn’t harm any of us here. I was out voted.” Hermes looked withered and defeated, unfit for an Olympian—and yet, and yet, Luke always managed to put him in this state.
(If he went rogue, would Poseidon look like this? Act like this at the very mention of his name?)
Percy hummed contemplatively. It was unsurprising, and honestly, Percy wasn’t sure what he would vote for in this situation. Sometimes he wonders if he took the offer made by the gods three years ago. Would he have a voice in these decisions? Or would he be locked out, shunned as a god that has little mythology and born of the 20th century? The silence of Percy’s non-answer rang uncomfortably, making the absence of the god’s snakes painfully obvious. It made the situation seem that much more dire without the wise cracks the two gave. Percy kind of missed them ( kind of— ok, maybe he just wanted someone to pop up and say ‘sike!’).
Hermes cleared his throat when it became clear that Percy wasn’t going to say anything. “The three of you have three days to prepare, meet me at Olympus to cross to the other dimension.” Three three three. Three people, three days. What’s next? Percy hysterically thought to himself. Three years?
Percy couldn’t even attempt to argue or maybe just restate that there are others. Powerful and able, even if a little unwilling—an unbiased source honestly might be the best way to go about this. Hermes disappeared without any more instruction besides prepare.
Percy wanted to laugh—maybe a little hysterically but. How do you even prepare to go into another dimension? He had a feeling that the standard (hell, even the deluxe) questing pack that Camp Half-Blood started to provide wouldn’t cover this.
But maybe another pressing question was: how the Hades was he supposed to tell Annabeth and Grover?
Hey, remember the guy who destroyed our entire childhood? Yeah, he’s back to life and we have to get him. But—reunion quest! Woohoo!
So maybe he did exactly that. Maybe.
The three of them sat together at a small table shoved into a corner in one of New York’s many Starbucks. Annabeth and Grover were looking at him with a mixture of horror, disbelief, and anger. Not the greatest combination.
“So,” Annabeth began, lacing her fingers together—oh, Percy hated when she did that. It promised nothing good. “You’re telling me that Luke Castellan is now alive, due to the Doors of Death, I assume, he’s in another universe, and we have to go get him for ‘security reasons’?”
Percy cringed in on himself. Annabeth’s dark eyes stared him down, and gods, they looked even more piercing than usual. Due to her ire at him or if it was just the lighting, who knows.
(Percy’s a liar. He knows she’s livid. )
Grover let out a nervous bleat which kind of showed how screwed they were because he hasn’t done that in a while. Maybe becoming the Lord of the Wild and having to shoulder the responsibly of the natural world solved confidence problems until you’re face to face with an impossible quest.
(Percy is, again, a liar. He knows Grover’s never been more nervous and terrified in his entire life since taking the role. Through their empathy link, he could feel the chill of terror shoot through his stomach.)
“Percy, man, I just—I just thought you wanted to have a little get together. Hang out like old times. Not—not this,” desperation leaked through his best friend’s tone. And Percy hated the gods. He hated them for putting his friends through this. Putting him through this. Even more than that, guilt crept into his gut. It really has been a long time since the three of them had just hung out. If he got to see Grover at all it was at council meetings or congregations at New Rome. Because apparently old Praetors have to sit in Senate meetings, even though they let Reyna leave with the Hunters of Artemis—no strings attached. Besides, Percy had been Praetor for a day.
Anyways—Percy didn’t get to see Grover casually. And now he had to play messenger for the messenger god to tell him that they had three days until they were dragged into another universe.
He let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. It’s not—it’s not great—“
“I’d say a lot more than ‘it’s not great’,” Annabeth sniped. Percy sent her a look.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, ok? I wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear about it either.” Percy ignored how Annabeth tapped her foot a billion miles an hour and how Grover grabbed his too-expensive coffee to hide how his hands were shaking. Percy was a liar. And Percy lied to himself that they would be fine.
(Of course they wouldn’t. This quest could take years—and finding one person in a whole new world with no resources—impossible, impossible, task.)
“Ok,” Annabeth exhaled, her dark braids swished as she tucked her hair behind her ears (Percy knew it was a nervous habit, something she did when the information was too much and she was overwhelmed by it all). “What would you need when traveling into a different dimension?”
“Money,” Grover instantly supplied, “clothing. Our—our belongings, since it…”
Since it looked like they were in this for the long haul.
Something in the back of Percy’s mind whispered that this would take years. They needed to prepare for the possibility that they would have to immerse themselves into this world—Luke was smart, he’d find allies and hide himself. He’d made their job that much more difficult for them.
“Gods,” Percy groaned, “why can’t we track down some out of touch Ro—“ The joke died on his tongue. Roman emperors. Jason had died for that. Annabeth and Grover stare at him with wide eyes. (Jason Jason Jason.) His death gave them all a wake up call; no matter what wars you win, no matter how powerful or accomplished you are, there’s always another threat ready to rise up and strike you down. How could he have forgotten? Percy’s resolve hardened quickly. (The whispers of names of dead friends—demigods— people turned into haunted screams in his head). He wouldn’t let that future threat be Luke—he won’t let Luke harm his family or his home ever again. “Alright… we need to be able to get an apartment, maybe a hotel. We can’t exactly go homeless.”
“Wouldn’t be very productive,” Annabeth agreed. She had brought out a notebook, one of the those little pocket ones that she kept on her for some reason. It took a second to decipher with Percy’s dyslexia, but she had written 1) money (will it even be usuable there?) 2) clothing (how much should we bring?) 3) weapons (that can harm mortals) .
He ignored all of the pressing questions that he’s sure will answer themselves in three days, forcing the trio on their back foot and making them underprepared. Instead, he focused on weapons (that can harm mortals). “Annabeth—“
She sighed as if she already knew what he was going to say. “We need weapons—“
Percy’s vision was flooded with gold and silver. He knew the name of that sword, it was practically engraved into his soul. It had become a line in the sand between Percy and Luke. Luke didn’t care who he hurt, if they were involved or not—Percy protected them. He let the people who were uninvolved stay uninvolved, giving tnem a luxury he never had. Backbiter Backbiter Backbiter.
“We need to be better than him ,” he ended up saying. His voice tired and sad and desperate. (Unift for a hero , Luke had mocked.) “ He had a sword that could harm both gods and mortals.”
“ I have a sword that can harm both,” Annabeth said simply. Percy’s vision flashed to a bone sword that Annabeth had gripped like a lifeline in the darkest parts of hell. The Drakon bone sword that was a gift from Damian and Bob and—Percy’s hands curled into shaking fists. It was all too much. Grover had grabbed the notebook at some point, the pen tapping on the table as he struggled to come up with things to put on the list. He wasn’t disagreeing with her. “All weapons are just tools. They will be evil if the person wielding them is evil—and be good if the person wielding it is good.” Percy knew that. He had to know that. Why wasn’t his brain making this connection? “Do you think I’m evil, Percy, for wielding that sword?”
Oh. The hurricane in his head quieted, and he stared at his girlfriend. Her dark skin crinkled in a gentle smile she sent his way, he focused on it. Because Annabeth Chase was good. He knew that to his core, just as he knew his name was Percy Jackson. “No… no, of course, you’re not.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, we need something to use against beings in that world,” Annabeth logically continued, “Luke had hired mortals to interfere in a godly war, no matter if they got struck down. Luke doesn’t care. He’ll throw whatever he can to make sure we don’t bring him back to this universe.” Which… made sense. How were they thinking through this so calmly? Percy couldn’t navigate through the panic consuming his brain, like a flood or a fire. There was a natural disaster consuming his brain, and his best friend and girlfriend were his ownly anchors.
“You’re right. Obviously,” Percy laughed a little weakly, “you’re right, Wise Girl.” Annabeth sent him a small, reassuring smile that said I know. She knew what was going on in his brain and she didn’t judge him for it. It wasn’t the stares at Camp when it all got to be too much, it was Annabeth.
“We’re going to need Daedalus’s laptop,” Grover said, focusing on their miniscule list. “You still have it, right?”
Annabeth nodded. “Don’t leave home without it.”
“Grab the laptop!” Annabeth had screamed at Hazel. “Protect it!”
“Do you think it could access things in another dimension?”
“It should be able to,” she mused. She pulled it out of the laptop bag that she’s taken to carrying around. “Daedalus had a few theories on dimension travel, so if we managed to hook it up to some kind of computer there, I could get access to everything. Theroretically.”
“Theroretically,” Percy repeated doubtfully. He didn’t trust Daedalus as far he could as far as he could throw him. Annabeth smirked at him.
“Technically, everything’s theoretical right now.” Percy stuck his tongue out at her. Just to be the mature one at the table. Grocer laughed and made sure to scribble down the laptop in the list of supplies.
“We need ambrosia and nectar,” Percy added in (he could be helpful sometimes, alright?). “As much as we can bring.” Grover hummed in conversation.
“I don’t know how much money an apartment would cost, and if we’re there for a long time, we might need to find some jobs,” Annabeth thought out loud. “We’ll just bring enough for a month’s worth of rent—I’ll estimate around the average for New York City. And then a bit more for food.”
“What’s the average rent for here?” Grover asked, drawing a line from 1) money (will it even be usable here?) to add a new section exact amounts.
“$4,050,” she grimaced. “I’ll have to ask my dad for help with money.” Percy and Grover winced in unison. They still weren’t the biggest fans of Mr. (Dr.?) Chase, but it was certainly better than nothing. After all, two of them were broke college students and the other spent all of his money on flights to run across the country as all-important Lord of the Wild.
“We can always ask Rachel for help,” Percy offered. Sometimes, Percy forgot that Rachel’s dad was some kind of million/billionaire and that this much money is probably nothing but pocket change.
“True,” Annabeth conceded. Grover wrote the ideas down accordingly.
“Now, on the to the most important question,” Percy rubbed his hands together, “how much are we putting down for food?”
Grover tapped the pen to his chin. “Maybe like three hundred? That should be enough for a few months.”
Annabeth crunched her eyebrows. “That seems like a lot of money though,” she said doubtfully.
“We don’t know how long we’ll be there or how quickly we’ll be able to find a job there,” Grover argued. She considered this and nodded definitively. “Ok, cool.” He wrote it down.
“We should probably put down other money in case we need to get supplies there,” Percy added. He was still incredibly skeptical about what this new dimension entails, and he knew how quests went. Boom— there goes your supplies! Boom— there goes your transportation!
“Good idea,” Grover idely commented, “maybe two hundred?”
“Sounds like a solid amount. Let’s leave the money for now,” Annabeth concluded. “Percy can ask Rachel and I can ask my dad.” The three of them nodded to themselves, glad to be making progress. The fog that had been controlling Percy’s mind slowly cleared, allowing him to think more clearly. “Now, on to what clothes we need to pack—“
Percy groaned. This was going to take hours.
You’d think, after seven years as a demigod, that Percy would get used to having to tell his mom that he was going on a quest. But he hadn’t. And honestly, he doesn’t want to. Percy forced himself to open the door leading to his mom’s (and Paul and Estelle’s) apartment, trying to force down the rising bile in his throat.
This quest… was worse than any other quest. It was entirely different because if Alaska was the land beyond gods, what was the land that was beyond that? Percy didn’t nearly have enough imagination to conjur up what kind of world they could be dropped in, and when he left, he knew his mom would be thinking of the worst possible cases.
Plan for the unexpected is what Percy knows—plan for the unthinkable is something else entirely.
“Percy!” Estelle shrieked and slammed into his legs. He forced a laugh.
“Estelle!” He picked her up to sling her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He playfully ignored her telling him to put her down and the little firsts hitting his back. “Mom, I captured a little monster for you,” he announced when he walked into his mom’s home office. He placed the toddler right on the desk she was working on because she deserved to be saved from work.
Estelle stuck her tongue out at him as if revoking any favor he had in her mind. “I’m no monster!”
“I’m not a monster,” his mom calmly corrected her grammar. “And Percy,” she leveled a playful stare at him, “don’t call your sister a monster.”
“But I have to warn you about danger!” He reached toward Estelle to tickle her stomach. “And protect you!“ The toddler screamed with laughter and faux anger, red painting her cheeks.
Sally ruffled Estelle’s hair with a smile. “I think I can protect myself from this monster myself, thanks.” Estelle yelled in objection that she’s not a monster but a monster-slayer. An impressive claim for a two year old, Percy had taught her well.
(He had wondered if she will end up having as clear of sight of their mother and still wonders about the dangers she could face.)
His mom caught his eye, and through her all seeing intuition, realized something was wrong. Percy cringed, the last thing he wanted was to give her more stress and grief, but she just sighed and ushered his sister out the door. Estelle threw a “I’m not a monster!” behind her to get the last word before Sally shut the door behind her. Percy desperately wished that he could just play pretend with his family instead of giving them this kind of news.
Annabeth would kick his ass if she heard him saying that. He had attempted to hide in the mortal world before, playing pretend and forcing her to carry the burden of war without him. He wouldn’t— couldn’t do that this time. So he took a deep breath and prepared himself for this conversation.
“Percy?” His mom turned from where she was at the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been issued a quest.”
His mom was frighteningly still. “Ah.”
That brief moment that he gave to prepare himself was all for naught because he felt himself breaking under his mother’s mournful stare. He could feel her thoughts—what if this was the quest to end it all? What if he comes back changed, unrecognizable to her? What if he misses Estelle’s childhood? It burns . Burns hotter than the lava of Mount St. Helens and the fires of Tartarus. Percy Jackson felt tears drip down his face. Excruciatingly slow first but becoming a torrent as his mom wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He held at her like a lifeline, gasping for air as he sobbed.
“Mom,“ he hiccuped. “I promise— I promise that I argued against it. I didn’t ask for this!“ And isn’t it a funny thing, the way that he can crumble this easily? Oh, if only the rest of the demigod world could see him now. He sees the way that they look at him. Like he’s untouchable—like he’s a god. He still sees it in Nico’s eyes sometimes. Expectant and hopeful that he can perform miracles even as disillusioned as he’s become. He sees it in Hazel’s eyes, in Piper’s, in Will’s. In new campers who have only heard stories of the wars and quests and trials.
But here he was. Crying on his mother’s shoulder about another impossible quest that he has been ordered to fulfill.
“I know, baby,” she soothes, clutching the back of his head with equal fervor. She doesn’t want him to go— she never does and yet he always leaves. “What is it this time?”
Percy pondered lying to her, telling her that he doesn’t know to spare her the pain of knowing this. But he can’t. He can’t because he doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone for and he can’t leave her waiting in the dark. “Luke Castellan’s soul escaped the Underworld and entered a different dimension. I’ve got to go get him.” Her hand digs further into his hair as if to reassure herself that he exists.
“Is anyone else coming with you?” Her voice shook, barely, with a mother’s fear for her child.
“Grover and Annabeth, so at least—at least we’ll be together.”
“At least you’ll be together,” she repeated in reassurance. His tears were drying, leaving an obnoxiously large wet spot on her shoulder. “Will you be leaving today?”
He shook his head and he could see the relief on her face. Another day with her son, he knows she’s thinking, is a miracle. “Three days to prepare.”
“Then join us for dinner,” Sally insisted, “and sleep in your own bed until you leave.” Percy offered a wet laugh and a nod in agreement. “I love you, Percy.”
“I love you too.”
No other words were said about the quest until he was about to leave. The two of them were always the best at playing pretend after all.