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ameagrice · 5 months

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chapter twenty-eight | wide awake

percy jackson x fem! reader

Finney’s screaming echoes up the stairs and through the walls.

Rachel’s yelling doesn’t cease.

Your father’s crass words do not stop, weighing in on your heart at an astonishing amount of kilos.

The Caesars’ Jerk It Out plays so loud you know for sure that either your dad or Rachel will come up the stairs and throw open your door and demand you turn it off, that it’s making Finney upset. You won’t tell them, either of them, that your music is the least of baby Finney’s worries; his screaming parents are the ones hurting his ears.

Usually, you would rush to Finney’s side and pick him up where he’d be crying in his bassinet, desperate to make him stop in his distress. But lately, there is much less a longing to comfort him and more a longing for all of them to shut the hell up. It isn’t fair on Finney, leaving him in tears. But you’re tired of playing parent. You’re tired of playing mom.

The end of the song comes around too quickly, and you pause, waiting for the sound of footsteps. Drawers slamming echo from the kitchen below your bedroom, telling you they aren’t finished with their argument. Neither one will win—they will go to bed in silence, and wake up the next morning as new people; no apologies; no talking. They will just go. Go on.

It all started over a piece of pizza.

“Anyone else want the last piece?” You’d asked, reaching across the glass table for the last slice.

“No thanks, babe,” Rachel dismissed. The food aeroplane flew to Finney, and he giggled, chubby legs kicking in his high chair. One slipper lay abandoned on the cold tile floor, the other barely hanging in there on his chubby foot.

The night before the Big Move. Pennsylvania to New York City. Everything was packed up in boxes and cushioned with styrofoam and bubble wrap, ready to be transported across the country. New York, your father said, would be a good move for business and the family. The Upper East Side would be like your dream come true, he’d convinced you. You’d love it.

New York, he promised,

would

change

your

life.

In the later years to come, he had been right, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. In many ways, you were very, very grateful for your father’s selfish move. The idea of New York, at the time, was loud and scary, but it brought you to the next chapter of your life, filled in gaps you didn’t know existed yet, and bridged the way to new friends and family. You would forever be grateful to New York for all that it gave you and all that it stood for.

You fell asleep to the sound of a vase smashing, peaceful with violence.

—

Two years later, a summer in Australia once would have seemed like a dream. After a good few weeks at Camp Half-Blood, having made new friends and uncovered the side to you that always felt missing, a summer relaxing in Sydney felt right. Of course, the occasional monster popped up here and there as Travis had warned you they would; when you became aware of who you really were, the monsters became more aware of you, as well.

It was nothing you couldn’t handle, though: small creatures with gills and sharp teeth swimming in your toilet water, and a strange creature digging it’s way up from a beach’s sand to bite you. When they had been eradicated and sent back down to Tartarus, you could enjoy the rest of your days in confidence and peace.

“You should come up some time,” you lay on the floor of your room, on the phone to Travis. “It’s really nice here. My dad’s in a better mood, too these days. Rachel’s kinda moody but—Rachel? My stepmom. And Finney’s just—Finney? He’s my brother…”

At first, it was calm. Your dad seemed in better spirits, and Rachel liked her job. Finney’s first birthday had passed by without you, an occasion you thought would have affected you more than it did.

Your first night home, you slept soundly. Rachel woke you with your favourite pancakes and toppings. You flicked through the tv in your new bedroom and basked in the bright sunshine streaming through your open window. Australian heat was a different kind of heat, but one that was very much welcome, and your days became heaven on earth. Bright blue waters and sunny skies, and white sand so hot it almost burned your skin.

Only one thing spoiled your summer vacation—the moods you had forgotten all about, and ones you’d grown less accustomed to. Your father’s sudden snapping, and razor-sharp tone; his demands and never-ending list of chores.

“Why don’t you ever do the dishes?” You sighed one evening, as the sun began to set. “Or, like, look after Finney?”

“That’s a woman’s job, really,” he’d answered briefly, texting on his phone at the dinner table—something only he was allowed to do. “And the women take care of children. It isn’t much of a man’s job. Haven’t you noticed, yet, hon?”

The more the weeks rolled over, and September was drawing to a close. And things only grew more tense. After a whole day of watching Finney from dusk until dawn, your father also in the house, your striking point came at the sight of dirty dishes piled up in the sink, only straight after you had washed and put away the last ones.

“Oh, come on!” You exclaimed. “Dad, seriously?” You worded your next sentence carefully. “Could you wash up your stuff, please? I’ve got things to do. You’d be helping me out a deal, really.”

Only silence met you in response. From the kitchen table, in the open-plan area, Rachel raised her eyes from the baby to you, a warning.

“Rachel can finish the rest, then.”

Something struck your heart hard, and strangely, anger accompanied the feeling. “Why? They’re your dishes. We’ve finished.”

And, long story short, as per usual, an argument occurred. But this time, it involved smashed porcelain, and cuts across your bare feet.

The next morning, her car was missing.

“What’s going on with Rachel’s car?” You asked, standing at the dining table, plucking blueberries from the plastic bowl. Oddly quite was the house, much too early for Finney to be awake, and Rachel who slept beside him every night.

Dad flicked the page of his newspaper. “Head gasket’s gone. The garage said to just scrap the car.”

You nodded along, and walked away, as quietly as possible on the tiles. You couldn’t miss the uneasy feeling in your stomach, though, that something was horribly wrong.

The next weekend, you proposed an idea.

“There’s this thing in town I saw earlier,” you said, hanging around the end of the kitchen counter.

“Oh yeah?” Your dad looked your way, smiling briefly. He flipped over the bacon in the pan, sizzling away.

“Yeah, some pizza place. I thought we could all go out tonight, maybe? It’d be nice to get out for a while.” You watched his face for any changes. There weren’t any. Because he hadn’t been listening.

“Hm?”

You blanched. “What do you mean, huh?” You laughed it off, trying to make light of it. “I just told you!”

“Yeah…go grab the plates for this, will you?”

It didn’t come as a surprise to you when only weeks later, heading into late October, things went too far, and you called Travis Stoll for a bit of advice involving credit cards, plane tickets, and the act of stealing.

Days later, his birthday arrived. Around other family members, he was a changed man. You tried explaining to the one person you felt might believe you.

“He loves you,” your grandma squeezed you. “He’s your dad. All parents love their children.”

Into her shoulder, you mumbled, “‘Has a funny way of showing it.”

“That’s just your dad. He’s such a kind man. Of course he loves you. Don’t doubt it.”

You thought of the smashed window in your bedroom, and the dirty dishes in the sink; your plate of cooked food taken from your hands just because he wanted it—he’d take from his children first. Your thoughts turned to Rachel and her roses trampled into a mashed up mess in her bedroom, and Finney in tears.

“He doesn’t love me,” you shook your head. “That’s not love.”

—

The man in the leopard-print shirt sipping a can of coke looked up, unbothered.

Eyes wide with annoyance, you waved your hands about. “Where’s Chiron?!”

“Hello to you, too,” Mr. D. drawled. He flipped over a couple of cards on the table. Behind you, chaos roared. “How rude. Is that how you say hello to somebody?”

“Hello! We’re going to die! Where’s Chiron?”

Mr. D. considered it, tilting his head side to side. You wanted to scream at him, but that for sure wouldn’t get you anywhere. Dr. Thorn’s monsters were onto you, and you were outnumbered.

“About to die,” he mused. “How exciting. I’m afraid Chiron isn’t here. Would you like me to take a message?”

You looked away, unable to believe it. “We’re done for.”

Thalia, gripping her spear, shook her head. She looked more determined now than she had done the whole journey. “Then we’ll die fighting!”

“How noble,” said Mr. D, stifling a yawn. “So what is the problem, exactly?”

“The problem is that you’re an a—!”

“There’s this thing, the Ophiotaurus,” Percy cut in, literally barging into you to get into the god’s sight. “We think it’s…”

He went on to explain Bessie and his powers, and how you thought he was the creature which needed hunting down and killing, all this time.

You observed Mr. D. observing the cards in his hands. “Hmm. Is that it?”

“You don’t even care!” You screamed. Zoe hushed you. “You’d rather watch us be shot to death!”

“Let’s see; I think I’m in the mood for pizza tonight.”

You’d become so angry you practically buzzed on the spot. Percy pulled you to the side so quickly you almost got whiplash.

You considered channeling your inner-Ares and letting your anger go on the pudgy, old god, but before you could, Percy gasped, pulling you tight to him, back-to-back. You were surrounded by Thorn’s monsters, decreasing the space between them and your friends much too quickly for your liking. The manticore threw off his coat and transformed into his real self, chuckling in such an animal way that it sent chills down your spine.

“Excellent,” he said, eyeing the Iris Message. “Alone. Without any real help.”

“You could ask for help,” Mr. D. mumbled down your ear. Glaring at him from the side, you tried harder than you ever had to contain your anger. “You could say please.”

“The day I say please to you will be the day I’m on my deathbed!” You hissed. You felt Percy turn his head, ruffling the back of your hair. “There is absolutely no way in hell I will ever say please to you! Ares would have a better chance of being on the receiving end of my begging!”

Zoe readied her arrows; Thalia raised her spear, and Grover prepared his reed pipes. Percy’s elbow dug uncomfortably into your rib, and you knew then that Percy would not let any of you go down without a fight, without trying to protect you.

Though where the thought and the confidence in your best friend had come from, you could not tell.

Fury burned in your bones, and you were about to wave your hand through the misty air beside you, when you caught sight of Thalia, crying. And it suddenly occurred to you that this had happened before, to her. She had been cornered in life, and driven to her death by ignorance.

And if you were to let it happen again, if you were to let your anger and stubbornness get in the way, you too would die. There would be no saving Annabeth, no making it right with Rachel, and no last look at the best friend who you stood with back-to-back, trusting wholly in one another.

So you inhaled and exhaled quickly, and looked to Mr. D.

“Please,” you ground out, sure that every emotion showed in your eyes. “Please, help us.”

Of course nothing happened.

Your organs plummeted to your feet, and Thorn grinned.

“Seize Zeus’s girl. She will join us soon enough. Kill the rest.”

The men raised their guns, and something strange twisted the air. It was as if the pressure plummeted. Everything tinged purple—the sunlight, the ground, your skin, and everything smelled of expensive wine.

SNAP!

It was the sound of minds breaking at the same time. One of the skeleton men placed his gun between his teeth and ran away on all-fours. Another suddenly dropped to his feet as his bony body fell apart. The others followed suit.

“No!” The manticore roared. “I’ll handle you all myself.”

His tail bristled, but before he could make a move, the wooden planks beneath his paws erupted into grass and grapevines, wrapping around the monster’s body, growing and growing and wrapping until he was completely covered in vines and bright green leaves. The manticore was covered, and suddenly, all noise and movement stopped. And you knew for certain that somewhere in the vines and leaves and mess, the manticore was no more.

In silence, you all turned to Mr. D, rifling through his refrigerator.

“Well, that was fun.”

An eerie feeling had settled pretty quickly in your body. “How—why—how—”

“Such gratitude,” he rolled his eyes. “The mortals will come out of it. Too much explaining to do if I made their condition permanent. I hate writing reports to Father.” His attention turned on Thalia, hardening. “I hope you learned your lesson, girl. It isn’t easy to resist power, is it?”

Thalia blushed as if she were ashamed.

“Mr. D!” Grover was in awe. “You saved us!”

“Mmm. Don’t make me regret it, Satyr! Now get going, Percy Jackson. I’ve bought you a few hours, at least.”

“The Ophiotaurus,” Percy asked desperately. “Can you get it back to camp?”

Everyone waited for Mr. D’s reply, watching for an answer. He rolled his eyes.

“I do not transport livestock. That’s your problem.”

“But…where do we go?” You asked.

He looked at Zoe. “Oh, I think the huntress knows. You must enter at sunset today, you know, or all will be lost. Now goodbye! My pizza is waiting.”

Just as your small gang began to get itself together and get going, Percy spoke one last time.

“Mr. D?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“You called me by my actual name. You called me Percy Jackson.”

“I most certainly did not, Peter Johnson! Now, off with you!”

He waved his hand, and his image disappeared.

All around you, the manticore’s men were still acting insane, and you figured you only had a while before they were after you again.

“What did he mean, ‘you know where to go’?”

Zoe’s face was the colour of fog. She pointed across the bay, past the Golden Gate. In the distance, a single mountain rose up above the cloud layer.

“The garden of my sisters,” she said. “I must go home.”

——

Sorry this one took so long, guys! What do you think of y/n and her dad’s relationship so far? I rewrote that part so many times. I’m interested in how you guys are going to perceive it. There is of course more to come for y/n and her family, and more to show for before her days at camp. There’s also more Percy scenes, more Travis scenes to come, and a whole lot of the sense of feeling like she belongs.

Thanks for reading ! :)

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