Work Text:
The sky belched flurries at midnight after the winter solstice. Nothing stuck because it was not quite cold enough for winter to act like winter. But New York was like that. There was hardly any transition at all between the seasons. Once fall was over, the storms came, the clouds darkened, and the sky stayed blacker after 4 p.m. than the asphalt on Sixth Avenue that would inevitably turn a chalky gray once the city sanitation department came in to salt the streets.
Somehow, Percy found himself outside even though it was late. On the corner of East 104th Street and First Avenue where their apartment was, cars still trickled by. Beyond that and the senior center, he could see the flashing lights along FDR Drive. The taxis there never stopped, and the rushing traffic certainly never did either.
Holiday decorations were interspersed through the streets and crisscrossed from building to building, hanging over the streets below. As soon as Halloween was over and November hit, the city wasted no time in stringing lights across.
Next to the grocery store on East 101st, he liked to watch the super enthusiastic guy selling Christmas trees when he walked home from school after getting off at the 103rd Street subway stop. The guy hopped around so much that he would not be surprised if he was a satyr in disguise. It did not help that the needles on the trees looked greener every day. He was sure that he hid a pan flute somewhere in his shaggy Santa costume.
Percy shoved his hands into the pockets of his parka, the navy blue one that his mom had gotten for him brand new from Lot Less because despite what he thought, she claimed that he had grown “far too spindly” for his previous one. Not that he noticed. Annabeth was taller than him after all (even if by now they were nearly the same height), he thought with a grimace. Among other things, he had made outgrowing Annabeth a life goal. She was better than him at most things, a fact that he did not begrudge her, but he wanted this one thing because at least it was attainable.
He watched as his breath turned funny circles in the night air in shapes that Tyson would only describe as dancing ponies. He walked uptown two blocks in the direction of the East River Playground, and he turned right at East 106th Street. The playground was closed, but it was nothing for him to jump the fence unnoticed.
He plopped down on the sad plastic gray slide that had seen better days and frowned at the headless Barbie that some poor soul had left behind next to it. The doll was locked in a perpetual split that looked rather painful, and he did not want to meet the Nancy Bobofit-lookalike that had most likely done it.
FDR Drive was not nearly as wide as it had appeared when he was younger, and his mom took him to the playground to blow off some pent-up steam. The cars that whizzed by were not enough to obscure the view of the meeting point of the Harlem and East Rivers. He kind of wondered how those river spirits got along, what with being so close to each other and the polluted Hudson. But instead of thinking too much about it, he stared at the intersection where the waters met just at the shoreline where Randall’s Island started.
It was stupid, he knew, going out in the middle of the night like this when he had just completed a hair-raising quest not too long ago. If his mom was awake and had any say in it, she would surely send the whole building and then some to search for him.
But he thought as the waters of the river in front of him glistened with the silver from the moon, he just could not sleep. Not yet. Not today. Not when all he could think about was the fact that of all the stupid things he had done in his short life, he had claimed the Great Prophecy for himself.
"I don’t need forever. Just two years. Until I’m sixteen.”
He groaned. He landed his face in his hands.
“No, I choose the prophecy. It will be about me.”
There was nothing he could say that would allow him to take back his words, and frankly, he never would. But the weight of what he wanted was heavier than the sky itself, and he knew what that felt like. Not good, if anyone was wondering.
“Drachma for your thoughts?” a deep voice interrupted him in his spiraling moment. He had had too many of those in recent years, thank you very much.
Percy glanced up, startled. A man in a Hawaiian button-up shirt and a gray unzipped puffer jacket draped over his shoulders crouched next to him, looking out of place and way larger than the rest of the kiddie-sized equipment of the playground. It made him feel even smaller.
Percy cleared his throat, sitting up straight. The cold plastic slide under his jeans suddenly felt more welcoming than before. “Dad?” he sputtered. “What are you doing here?”
Poseidon stood straight now after a moment of just looking at him. He still wore a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts which had to be uncomfortably cold in this weather, but instead of sandals, he wore a pair of green Nike sneakers and crew socks with narwhal patterns all over them. The baseball cap he wore that said Neptune’s Lucky Fishing Hat had shifted into a dark blue beanie with the same message.
“I can’t visit my son whenever I want?” he asked, a lilting tone coloring the way he spoke. He tilted his head and shoved one hand in his pocket, mirroring Percy. The other held onto his fishing rod which he knew was just his trident in disguise.
Percy shifted. “Well…not really?”
Poseidon laughed, a short but full laugh. The waters of the river slapped happily onto the shore in response. When he finished, he looked at Percy with a strange twinkle in his eyes. Something fond, if he thought too hard about it, but he could not be too sure.
“Rivers are still my domain, even if the sea is where my power is the strongest,” offered Poseidon. He glanced over at Percy. “How could I ignore my son when he his brooding at my doorstep?”
Percy wanted to say that he had before. He had been ignored before, even so close to his father’s domain. But then he remembered that his father had looked out for him in his own way, even when he thought he did not need it, and especially when he asked with enough fervor. He thought of his friends, the family he had made. He deflated.
At first, he did not know what to say. The city lights he could see across the river coming from Queens skimmed the waterline and all he could do was wonder what it would be like to be a byproduct of someone’s streetlamp rather than the byproduct of a broken oath. He would be noticed, of course, but only at night and only when someone was looking close enough.
He exhaled. "I'm dangerous, aren't I?” he started. His hands in his pockets clenched into fists. “Thalia and I…we can do things other demigods can’t. She’s a Huntress now but…if I get to sixteen, something could happen, and it will be my fault whatever it is. We only delayed the prophecy. What if...what if I'm like Luke?"
He thought of Backbiter. No matter what, he could not become that. He could not become the weapon he feared.
Poseidon hummed. “When you reach sixteen,” he said.
Percy looked up with eyes wide. He did not expect that answer, nor the insistence he heard there.
His father grasped onto his shoulder, leaned the fishing rod against his chest, and snapped his fingers.
In the moments that came, everything felt like he was squished through a kaleidoscope and squeezed out the butt end of it. Rainbows flitted by him like racing motorcycle headlights. He heard snippets of voices, and languages he could not understand, and in a confusing tube of color, he was spat out on the other side.
When he realigned his body with the rest of the planet, he was hot. Like, really hot. Everything was bright, and his eyes had to readjust. He slipped out of his parka, and it dropped onto the sand below his sneakers.
He looked and Poseidon now wore what he normally did minus the puffer jacket. His cap morphed back, and his sandals reappeared on his feet.
Percy shook his head. “What…where…?”
Poseidon let go of his shoulder and turned to him. “I suppose it would be disorienting when you find yourself on the other side of the world,” he said. He nodded as if to himself. “The time difference works in our favor here. You could do with a bit of sun. Never tell Apollo that though.”
Percy blinked, dumbfounded.
When his father settled into a form he was more comfortable with this time, it looked as if he was settling on what to see in Percy too. The sea green of his eyes churned and then softened.
“Take a look around you,” said Poseidon. “What do you see?”
He looked after he was asked.
They were on an island of some sort, large enough that a few people could be living on it if they wanted to, but not big enough for a village. There was some vegetation, a mini forest of tropical trees and palms, sand whiter than he had ever seen before, and a calm ocean that surrounded them that was clear and turquoise. In the distance, he spotted an outrigger boat with a string of different colored triangle-shaped flags flapping in the wind above it, and balancers made of bamboo.
Percy told him what he saw.
Poseidon grinned. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Nowhere else in the world do the seas look like this,” he said. “The South Seas. I must admit, I have always had a soft spot for them. The seafood here is fresher—not that I’d mention that to the folks up in the North Seas—and waves are not as brash.”
“But…don’t you control that?” asked Percy.
“Sure, I do,” replied his father. “But you and I both know that I—and therefore the ocean—have many facets. The South Sea represents the best parts of who I am in many ways, despite the typhoon season.” He coughed into his hand. “Even so, I wanted you to see it.”
Percy could not help himself. He was beyond confused. Sweat was now collecting in his armpits, and he could feel a lake forming at the base of his neck. In the middle of winter, he was no longer used to blazing heat and soupy humidity.
“Dad, no offense, but I have no idea why you’d bring me here,” he said with pursed lips. If Annabeth heard his answer, she was sure to remind him that dad or not, Poseidon could easily decide to smite him out of existence.
As if what he said could not have been funnier, Poseidon laughed again. “Fair question, fair question,” he quipped with a chuckle.
Whatever good mood his father was in, Percy found it strange. But he would take what he could get. He would rather not be a pile of steaming fish guts as a result of his impertinence if he could help it.
"My brother in the Underworld may also be the god of riches, but he does not have this," Poseidon said as he dipped one of his hands into the water.
A few seconds ticked by and then a huge oyster appeared in his palm. It was so large in fact, that Poseidon had to hold it in both his hands to pry it open. He reached inside, gently, and carefully, and tugged on something inside. When he was finished, the oyster disappeared on a waft of sea breeze. He held up his prize.
"A pearl," Percy observed. And not just any pearl either. It was as round and as big as a nickel, and a deep gold close to that of a drachma, but purer somehow.
Poseidon nodded. "You can tell a pearl's worth by its size, luster, shape, and rarity of color. This color is the most sought-after, of course. Anyone wanting a South Sea Pearl wants to find one of these,” he said. “But no matter how round and flawless one appears, there is no perfect pearl."
Percy scratched the back of his head. The words felt like something out of a textbook and not something he quite understood.
“After World War II, the people here started pearl farming as a front for treasure hunting from sunken enemy ships,” continued his father. “Even after all that destruction, even after my brothers and I took the oath, humans still found opportunity and beauty in what was destroyed.” He had a kind of wistful look on his face that Percy could not place as he took a moment to look out onto the horizon where the cloudless sky met the sea.
His father held the pearl toward him. "Percy,” Poseidon started after a pause, “what makes a pearl so different from a diamond is its imperfection. They can be scuffed, and bumpy, and often what an oyster produces is unpredictable. That will always make every one of them unique."
“I don’t understand,” Percy murmured. He observed the pearl anyway and watched as the rays caught the luster on its golden skin.
"Take it," Poseidon insisted. He cupped Percy's hands and rolled the pearl from his hands to Percy's.
"What will it do?" Percy asked because he knew that a god's gift was always special. A gift also came with a price.
Poseidon smiled. "It is a memory. To remind you of who you are."
Percy opened his mouth, unsure what to say. He felt like a fish out of water. He was a fish out of water. If he was a parrotfish chomping at the bit on coral, he would be right where he belonged.
"Son, sometimes the biggest price you have to pay is to be yourself," explained his father. His hands still cupped Percy’s. He closed them over his, and the pearl bumped the inside of his palm. “If you dwell too long on what you could be, you will forget who you are. Sometimes what we leave up to the Fates has just as much sway as what we leave up to ourselves.”
“Dad…”
“The gods are not kind,” said Poseidon, “and I have many children and many parts of me that will always contradict. But you, Percy? You held up the sky because you wanted to save your friend from a terrible fate. You will always represent the part of me that resides in the South Sea, and that is why I know that whatever you fear now is something you will face.
“Then when you reach sixteen, the choice you will make will be because you know it is the right thing, not because you were told it was.”
His father dropped his hands. Percy smiled. “Well,” he said, feeling a little abashed. “I guess I did need some sun.”
“And the beach,” added Poseidon with a firm nod.
They spent a minute just looking out onto the water. The ocean lapped onto the shore, and Percy agreed. If just for that moment, he had gotten what he needed. Even if he was not sure what that was.
When he blinked once again, Percy found himself away from the clear waters and the white sands. He stood alone in his bedroom, his parka now hanging off the back of his creaky swivel chair next to his desk stacked with unfinished homework and number 2 pencils.
Outside his window, he saw that the flurries were still drifting down, and the sky remained dark.
He opened his hand and let out a shuddering breath. Despite everything, Percy held onto the pearl.