Chapter Text
There is a pair of strings that do not belong.
Later, they will. Much further down the tapestry, in their era of origin. These two strings, among others, will gleam as that section’s centerpiece.
There is no reason for the strings to be in this stretch of tapestry. They were not spun for this era, nor its fibers. These threads are not where they need to be.
Fortunately for these threads, stitch work is a specialty among them.
While the intended design was nice, they can see how these two threads improve it. They can see how stunningly beautiful these threads are, how the technique used to spin them is much more refined than their current work.
They would be pleased to take an empty spool, and coil these pretty strings around it. Storing them; separate from the tapestry, to be used when it’s more prepared. When a space in the pattern is available for embroidery. There is much to be learned from these strings, and they delight in the new experience of teaching.
All the lessons wound into these chords. So much to be taught, to mortal born men, and ichor blooded divine.
Already, they have developed an entirely new understanding! Perhaps there is much yet to be addressed. To be examined, and mimicked. For these strings have stitch-markers still clinging to them, ready to be moved at a moment’s notice.
And they would be incredibly foolish to rebuke a boon from themselves.
~~
Percy awoke, once again, in an unfamiliar space. He blinked his eyes open, wishing they were playing tricks on him. “Twice in one month? That's a record, even for me…” At least there weren't any of the divine assholes around to forcefully draft him into a war, this time.
“Son.” Or not. Poseidon was closing his hands around Percy’s biceps and tugging him up. Off of… the floor? That may or may not have actually been a floor?
It looked more like a neverending expanse of electric blue fabric. Weird, weird, this is so weird-
“Do you have the slightest clue where we are, Uncle?” Ohh, amazing, Athena was here too.
“No,” His dad answered, “though it is… very strange.”
Strange. Hah. Strange was a way to describe the environment. It was all made of thread!
Tall, utterly glowing threads twisted together around them. They extended up, almost vertically, before coiling together in a dome. Percy was reminded of a birdcage. Or would it be a fishcage, with him and his father? Did the distinction matter? It did to him, he decided.
“Uh.. you can let go of me.” He offered to his dad, shimming his arms. Poseidon’s hands didn't move. If anything, they firmed. His dad just stared at him, sea colored eyes churning. Percy narrowed his own eyes. Were those highlights moving like sea foam…?
“My lady!” Almost every set of eyes in the room snapped to the new speaker, including Percy’s. The new guy was definitely an Ancient Greek. He was also trapped within a tangle of red string. “Odysseus.” Athena greeted.
“What is happening?” The man questioned his patron, eyes flashing with calculative curiosity. And mild distress, still encaptured within his prison of yarn. War generals. Annabeth does the same thing.
Annabeth.
Percy twitched, full bodied, raking over the space in search of her. His eyes darted, wild, around the threads. Combing them with his mind, searching for the shape of her. Examining every knotted chord for the slope of her shoulder, or the slope of an ankle.
He does not see her immediately. He sees hundreds of miniscule, intangible fibers glittering with hundreds of colors twist together into thread, and then that thread winds itself around into the form of his girlfriend. He sees that thread shudder into loops, and tighten, into an arm. A leg. In seconds, she’s there.
And in seconds, her mother is looming around Annabeth, practically examining her. Speaking in low, diligent tones Percy has never heard come from a god, let alone that one.
Annabeth catches his eyes over her mother’s shoulder, voice emerging from her mouth with a clarity that’s better than any crystal. “What is happening?”
The Greek man, Odysseus, answers with an, “I asked the same thing.”
Poseidon still hasn't looked away from Percy’s face, nor released his arms.
~~~
In total, four more joined them. Ares and Apollo both simply come into existence between one blink and the next, and Hector and Achilles are pulled from the same tangle of red string Odysseus had to be cut free from.
The only ones, with an arrival of note, are Annabeth and Percy. According to their parents, they’d been brought to this strange space in an identical way. Shuddering light, winding thread, and poof, teenagers.
His dad still had yet to release him.
Poseidon had slunk an arm around Percy’s shoulder, dragging them both to a tangle of thread that looked vaguely like a couch, of some kind. Touching it had the threads tightening together into… something more solid, at least. Some kind of seating, he guessed. It, apparently, didn't bother Poseidon. He just settled them both into the threads, and observed.
Percy busied himself by wriggling and squirming, trying to escape his father’s hold. He spotted Annabeth doing the same, with her mother.
Apollo had separated himself from the crowd of baffled mortals and non-mortals to go about examining the strings. The many, many strings.
He seemed to become bored of this rather quickly, and set about examining Percy. (He imagined it would be Percy and Annabeth, if her mother didn't have a fluffy owl wing wrapped around her shoulders. This was incredibly strange for two reasons- one, when did Athena have wings? And two, why was she using them to clutch Annabeth like a childhood plush?) Apollo seemed to have a particular thing he was searching for. He kept pulling Percy’s fingers into strange positions.
Odd. This is all so, so, incredibly odd-
A thrum echoed through the space. Like an incredibly loud, incredibly bass heavy harp pluck.
Every single string vibrated with the resonance.
Something loosened in Percy’s spine- right where his neck became his back. He raised a hand, (After yanking it free from his cousin’s grip) to hold the affected spot. There was a hole.
There was a hole in his neck, what the fuck-
Something between a shriek and a yelp escaped his mouth. “Oh, what the fu-”
Annabeth, at his distress, squirmed free from her mother to rush to him. Athena jerked her arms around the space Annabeth had occupied only moments before. It was a rather undignified flail.
Percy finally, finally managed to escape his father’s arm and past his cousin. Hugging Annabeth was like part of his skull slotting into place. Like coming home. Like his soul reconnected with his body.
“Seaweed brains,” she greeted, into his shoulder.
“Wise girl,” he returned, into her hair.
Annabeth’s hand felt around the back of his neck, like his hand before, searching. She found the gap, and gasped quietly. In some kind of surprise or shock.
“Why is there a hole in your neck?” Her voice sounded strange. Rasped and strained.
“I have no clue.” He replied, equally as baffled,
Distantly, he processed his father, seizing his shoulders, behind him. He watched Athena close her hands around Annabeth’s, and their parents pulled.
They didn't move an inch.
~~~
Percy’s neck hole, they discovered, was actually just a portion of his thread unwinding. Unwinding away from him, and into a book. A book sitting, (sarcastically. Percy wasn't sure how a book could be sarcastic, but this one did-) on the floor fabric.
“We should read it.” Ares offered, from his own thread-tangle-seat. “Might offer a clue as to where we are, and how we got here.”
“I doubt there would be much to gain from it.” Athena rebutted, sparing a disinterested if mildly disapproving look at Percy, currently wrapped around her daughter. Not for lack of trying, on their parents' end.
“You haven't even opened it!” Ares shot back, always combative.
“It won’t open-”
“Perhpas,” Apollo interrupted, “our cousin must be the one to open it?”
The mortals had gathered together, the three of them, trying to open the book. The cover remained firmly closed, no matter how Achilles pulled. Hector and Odysseus were holding one side, while he pulled the other. One man lost his grip, and all three were sent sprawling across the floor.
The book remained shut. In fact, with how they dropped it and the pages fluttered, Percy would be willing to bet it was laughing at them. He certainly was. So was Annabeth, actually.
The book gave a little shudder, before the fabric flooring rolled, like a wave, and the book surfed over to his feet. Percy picked it up, colors blooming across the cover at his touch. Settling, decisively, on a gold lightning bolt.
“This is entirely too strange.” Annabeth muttered.
“I’m thinking this is one of those shared hallucinations.” He replied.
“Maybe a divine fever dream.” She counter offered.
“Or a-”
“Just open the book!” Achilles spit from his crumpled position on the ground.
Poseidon leveled him with a truly malicious stare. He opened his mouth to speak, but Percy rushed to beat him to it. Greek heroes in the Trojan war and their incessant need to piss off Dad, he thought with a light shake of his head, bad decision bingo.
He whipped open the cover, reading the inscription printed on the inside cover. He could read it, easily, despite the dyslexia. “The Lightning Thief."