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2023-12-04
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2025-06-11
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bloodtide

Summary:

There are no water gods in New Rome.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

There are no water gods in New Rome.

 

X

 

It takes about an hour to find Neptune’s shrine. Percy spends another thirty minutes just staring at it.

His father – Percy doesn’t remember ever meeting the man, the god, but this is –

The rage is something new, but it feels right.

His father’s shrine is a shack, ramshackle and decaying. When he finally shoves the door open, latch stuck and hinges screeching, he nearly chokes on the dust and rot inside.

He’s pretty sure the altar is made of plywood. The altar cloth is moth-eaten, and stained, and the candles have all burned down to stubs that have dripped onto the floor or puddled on the altar itself. The only offerings are desiccated and ancient, most merely tossed on the floor rather than put on the altar, and of those – they are generic offerings, likely from festivals and holidays, not anything offered by an individual or for any reason beyond duty.

Dust and dead bugs blanket the whole interior, and there’s hardly enough room for Percy to stand with his elbows outstretched and not smack a wall – and doing so makes the whole structure shake concerningly.

“What the fuck.” He hisses.

There’s a broom tucked into a cobwebby corner he manages to free, but he has to take it outside and bash it around in the grass to get it even marginally free of gunk. Then he has to start batting around the rafters and at the window, because there’s no point it cleaning the floor if he’s about to dump more gross on it, and –

By the time he calls it quits he’s sweaty and filthy and has inhaled his own body weight in dust and bug corpses, and he can feel the tension of the earth beneath Camp Jupiter in his teeth.

Earthshaker, they call his father, and it feels alien, that same title rattling about in his own bones, but his rage softens it into something almost familiar.

This cannot be Octavian’s doing. The other boy’s a fucking moron, but – this shed is too old and the disdain too well entrenched in every groove and splinter of the building. This disrespect is something Roman, which is at such odds with the near-fanatic devotion the demigods and legacies have for their customs and rules that Percy cannot make the two truths mesh.

He turns to leave, motion sharp and jerky, set on finding the closest Roman he trusts to tell the truth –

And finds a man standing behind him.

“Dad.”

Percy barely remembers his own name, but he knows this man is his father immediately, tall and craggy like sea cliffs, worn like a sea captain straight out of the stories. Neptune’s eyes are hard, dark things gleaming out from beneath thick, bristly eyebrows all the shades of seafoam. His nose is prominent, his lips thin and pressed about a pipe carved of whalebone, beard as full and dramatic as his brows. He wears a long coat the same shade of navy as the darkest depths of the ocean, with brass buttons glittering like blades all down the front and at his wrists.

He looks like he should be stooped, bent with age and gravitas, but his posture is that of a man alert – a soldier, on notice, unsafe.

Neptune spares a sneer for his shrine, and jerks his head, motions out of it, and Percy follows without a thought, pulled towards his father with a kind of irresistible gravity wholly alien to him.

“The shrine ain’t nothing, boy. Let it rot. I don’t want their prayers.” His father’s voice is a sharp, bladed thing, but his pace matches Percy’s. He smells of freshwater and wind, his pipe smoke of petrichor and lightning, and Percy tastes salt on his tongue.

“They’re – too stuffy here to allow that kind of disrespect to a god.”

“Aye, if they hadn’t declared war on him, if they didn’t fear bringing my attention back to them.” Neptune says easily. It is only by the grace of his father that Percy’s feet don’t stutter to a halt beneath him; his father’s arm is a heavy, solid weight over his shoulders.

A hill lays between the temples and Camp Jupiter proper. It’s a small thing, but barren, with no paths worn into groves over its surface. Paved roads run far from it, and from the field stretching out around it. Percy has not pegged it as suspicious, but his father is leading him straight to that hill.

“What did they do?” He asks, softly. They come to a halt at the foot of the hill, toes barely brushing the earth’s sudden ascent upwards. His father removes the pipe from his mouth, and the arm around Percy’s shoulder moves, until a calloused hand, as cold and clammy as a drowned man’s, is holding his chin.

“You had siblings, once.”

 

X

 

Earthshaker, they call him.

And so when an earthquake struck – they blamed his child.

“Your brother fought the accusation, o’ course. Weren’t him. But they grew to fear us anyway.” Neptune tells him, thumb tracing an arc along Percy’s jaw, and he is – riveted. Cannot look away from his father’s eyes, gone black like the depths and bruised like a cataclysmic storm, sick green and yellow, as he speaks.

“They came for his head, and your brother fled. Thought they’d end it with him. But the rest of your siblings – your cousins, the children of other sea gods, storm gods, water gods – they were still here. Still are.”

And the Earthshaker motions to the hill with his pipe, and Percy turns his head. He knows what he will see, but the first skull, broken and crumbled, to peer out at him from the chasm –

There’d been adults, sure. But there’d been children. Infants. New Rome and Camp Jupiter are safe for the young, for families, for legacies. Or – had been.

“Why is New Rome still standing?” Percy asks, voice like gravel. He tastes blood in his throat. Hears the ocean roaring its fury in his ears.

Neptune’s smile is a wild, fierce thing. A shock of lightning in the midst of a hurricane.

“Your aunt bought my mercy for them. An’ the Wolf too. Wouldn’t have meant much, but I’d already crushed those who held the blades and your uncle was making ‘em pay down below.”

“That’s not enough.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Neptune agrees, and releases him. Turns his head, and Percy looks away from his dead siblings and his father to find what looks like half of Camp Jupiter arrayed out behind them. Armed. Nervous.

Afraid.

Octavian is at the lead of the heart of the group, all of them in mismatched, hurriedly donned armor – they’d come with a haste Percy has not seen in the Romans before. But there are other groups, clustered together – those who has been walking by, perhaps, to the Temples or Camp proper.

“My mercy does not extend past what was paid for.” Neptune’s voice rumbles out, though he doesn’t raise his voice. Percy’s sure the Romans all hear it, if the paling and the flinching is any indication, but there are – some, perhaps new recruits, that do not look as terrified as they should and Percy’s eyes catch on them.

So do his father’s.

“Nephew.” Neptune calls.

The boy’s thin. Dressed in black denim and leather, iron and silver. He looks deeply out of place with the Romans and all their uniforms and regulation weapons – the sword at his hip is black, not gold. And he looks surprised, but not alarmed, and he steps forward immediately.

“Uncle.” The boy says. Familiarly – as familiar as Percy has been with his father this whole time, familiar in a way that has the Romans gasping and drawing back and staring incredulously at the boy.

Neptune puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder, the one with his pipe, still smoking. The boy doesn’t seem to mind, isn’t concerned. Percy has the absurd image of the smoke turning to bubbles, and if the horrors in front of him weren’t so visceral he’d have laughed about it, but –

As it stands, he’s at the foot of a mass grave for his dead siblings. Sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews and cousins – all murdered by the last bastion of Rome and denied dignity even in death.

“Your Romans denied my children and the children of my kin a proper burial as befitting blood of the water. My son may be great but his reach does not extend to the dead. The Ghost King, however…”

There’s something good natured about the scowl on Neptune’s face. The boy’s tilted his head back to look up at him, expression grave, solemn.

“Where do you want the bones?”

Neptune pulls Percy a half-step closer, and he goes willingly.

“There have been graves prepared for them in Atlantis since their murders. You will see, one day.” The last is said softer, gentler, a brush like death against Percy’s cheek, and his eyes burn with unshed tears.

“Thank you.” He says, not to his father but to this boy, his cousin. Dark eyes study him, sad and knowing.

“The oceans owe you a debt, Nico di Angelo.” Neptune says. The words lance through Percy to his marrow; this is a command, a promise, an acknowledgement beyond mere words.

And the boy, Nico, shakes his head.

“You owe me nothing, uncle. They’re – family. You’re family.” Nico says, eyes meeting Percy’s steadily.

This boy knows him, he realizes.

Neptune holds the both of them when Nico raises a hand half-heartedly towards the hill in front of them; the gesture for the benefit of those watching them, not necessary for his task, and Percy does not think to question it when the Romans already fear his own power so deeply, not when Pluto remains such a fearful figure without the promise of war looming over his shrine. Percy feels his father’s power shake the earth apart, and skeletons pull themselves out delicately, reach back into the churning dirt and stone and pull free those too small to move on their own.

Shattered ribs dance towards broken spinal cords. Percy watches his siblings’ bones reunite with each other, and he doesn’t know if they were all tortured to death – it seems unlikely that they were all crushed to death in some manner – or if the mutilations came post-mortem, but he does not care. No matter the answer it points towards a brutality he has never seen – doesn’t remember ever seeing – and has no idea how to fathom. Not against fellow demigods, kin.

The skeletons stride towards the Little Tiber only once they have stopped emerging from the earth, a long line of aged yellow and worn ivory. Neptune waits until the last of them has begun moving before following, and both Nico and Percy stay in step with the god.

“You have questions for me.” Neptune says, quiet – quiet, so as not to be overheard by the Romans mustering at their backs.

“I don’t know what to ask anymore.” Percy says truthfully. His father hums consideringly.

“Then I will tell you this – I never intended for you to come here. After what the Romans have done to us – I would never have put you at risk, son. But your aunt’s scheme is necessary, and I agreed to it without considering it could be one of my own sent here. I will tell you that you would have agreed to it if she had asked this of you. And I will tell you that all she has taken will be returned to you – that it is truly necessary you do not remember just yet. Not for your sake. But for the sake of those waiting for you.”

Percy swallows, hard, because as unsatisfactory as those answers might’ve been mere hours ago –

His father is not lying to him.

“No matter how we agree with her, boy – if these Romans draw blades on you – you will drown them.” This, too, is a command – echoes like the crash of a tsunami and the apex of a storm. Percy stares up at his father, great and terrible in his fury, so willing to throw aside a plot he has already given so much for all for Percy’s safety –

He nods. Neptune turns his gaze to Nico.

“And you, nephew – you will show no mercy. No peace.”

Nico’s expression does not change, as grave as ever – but he nods, too, and Neptune lets out a pleased little hum, releases them. Shoves his pipe back in his mouth.

“You will come visit soon, boy. Your stepmother demands it.”

“Yes, Dad.” Percy’s response is automatic, instinctive at the thread of hard iron in his father’s voice, and Neptune’s eyes crinkle into something like a smile before he steps after the corpses of his children and vanishes.

Percy tilts his head to consider his cousin closer. Nico di Angelo is already looking at him.

“No.” The boy says, flat, immediate.

“But you know?”

“About your siblings? No. About what is going on? Yes. I can’t speak of it.”

He already knows Percy will needle him, Percy realizes.

“How bad is it?” He asks, instead of pressing, and Nico blinks at him, and then throws his head back and barks out a sharp, violent laugh. It is a brilliant thing, an ugly thing.

“This is for the good ending, Jackson. It’s a gamble – but if it pays off, it will be worth it.”

Percy looks to the Tiber, to the surface rippling back into some semblance of calm.

This is for the good ending, and Neptune is willing to sacrifice it if Percy is so much as threatened by the Romans.

“What do I need to do?”

Nico shrugs, lazy, something like a smirk on his lips.

“Lead.”

Chapter 2

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

              They send him on a quest.

Percy tilts his head back, regarding the whole of the Senate, and hums. The sound carries. The room is silent, tense.

Afraid.

His wrath is a sticky thing, black and bubbling like tar in the pit of his stomach. The inside of his mouth tastes like copper and sea salt. The Roman elite are impassive, bravado thinly veiling their fear, identical down to the last – except…except for two.

Hazel Levesque stands up, expression serene, a faint smile on her face, and steps down. Eyes follow her, rapt, as she slips past the barrier between the Senate floor and audience, and takes her place at his side. She takes Percy’s hand in her own and squeezes, gently. Her touch is cold, but her hands are calloused like rough-hewn stone.

Daughter of Pluto. She alone had not been surprised at what her brother and Percy’s father had unearthed; she alone had not raised her voice in protest when Nico di Angelo had promptly vanished rather than return with Percy to Camp Jupiter.

“Your actions then and your decisions now shame all of Rome.” She tells the Senate. Her voice is clear like crystal, and it draws words from Percy’s mouth before he even realizes he intends to speak.

“You are unworthy of my father’s mercy – of my mercy. I will heed my aunt’s requests – but if this Senate for one second ever dishonors or insults me or mine again, I will obliterate you.”

“How dare you – “ Octavian’s voice cracks around a wince; he turns furious eyes on Reyna, but her face is hard as she forcibly throws him back into his seat. Unforgiving.

The leniency with which Octavian is treated baffles Percy – baffled him even before this revelation. This is a move Reyna will pay for, later, no matter that Percy had spoken a promise, not a threat, and she alone just saved all of New Rome from paying for Octavian’s pride.

“We are well aware that we have no more chances, Perseus Jackson.” It is the closest he has heard to an actual acknowledgement of their wrongdoings yet. Her brethren are already tallying her punishment for it, if the sharp looks cut in her direction are anything to judge by.

“No, you aren’t. You lost your chances the moment you bashed the first baby’s skull in and called it justice.” He says, but this is not a fight he is interested in having. He turns to face his cousin, and finds Hazel already looking at him.

“Only a fool quests alone, Jackson.” She says sweetly, but there’s something wild scraping at the darks of her eyes, savage in the flash of teeth her smile brings.

He squeezes her hand back, just as gently.

 

X

 

There is a ceremony to these things, in Camp Jupiter. Prayers to send, words to exchange, supplies to be given, torches to pass, titles to be bequeathed.

Percy throws what few belongings he has in a backpack, and raids the storeroom while Hazel vanishes to raid the armory. They do not ask permission. They do not wait for an escort. They do not return, not properly, to their cohorts.

Experience guides his hands where knowledge cannot; he’s done this before, he notes, as he packs bandages and nectar and food and money and spare clothing away. As he layers a long-sleeve shirt beneath his Camp Jupiter T-shirt, and a fleece atop that, and a lightweight rain jacket atop that, as he exchanges his sneakers for a pair of study hiking boots and crams extra socks where he can fit them.

When they pass each other, trading off their targets, Percy sees the bow on her back, but it does not click until they are stepping out of Camp proper and he finds a figure there waiting for them that Hazel had been carrying gear enough for two.

He recognizes the boy before him, but Percy still finds himself stepping forward, body moving without his conscious input, brother falling past his lips like a prayer.

Frank Zhang hugs him just as desperately back; Percy is not alone in his tremors, nor in blinking back tears as furiously and subtly as possible.

Camp is oppressive in a way he only registers now that they have left; he had not even felt the difference when he’d arrived.

This, Frank explains haltingly while Hazel watches serenely to their right, is Lupa’s doing.

There are some, Frank tells him, that share the same keen sense of smell that monsters use to hunt them down. Water gods and their kin have a distinct scent. They are not alone in this, but given that scent had been used to drag out and cull those who had survived the initial purges –

Lupa had brought her own wrath down on New Rome for it, one of the many ways she had sought Neptune’s appeasement where her children were too stupid to bother. Senses are dulled within New Rome’s borders, smothered beneath the divine might of Lupa’s do not still cracking the foundations of the Senate proper.

“Until you leave.” Percy says. Frank nods. It’s a jerky thing, a sharp thing.

Every quest, every mission – a risk. A death sentence. How many traitors have been cast out of New Rome, Percy wonders, merely for not disclosing what flowed in their veins? How many called traitor did not deserve the title?

He’s a son of Mars, Frank is – but his mother was the blood of Neptune himself, he tells Percy quietly. She hadn’t been alive to warn him, but his grandmother had in her place; he’d come to Camp Jupiter to lure the monsters away from his family, those whose blood ran too red to draw much notice. He had not come for Rome or out of loyalty to the Camp itself.

He’d hoped to make amends for ancestor’s flight –

“Shut up.”

“I – sorry.”

“No – Frank, he was not wrong to run. He had no way of knowing the Romans would – break faith like that. At least he made it out alive.”

At least someone lived. Every soul not murdered is a blessing. Percy’s not sure how to communicate that, not properly. How to make Frank understand.

How to make Percy’s long-dead brother understand.

He wonders how many others there are, hiding in plain sight. If they even know, if they came for training or for no other choice, if they have planned for what to do when they are discovered – what New Rome will do to them, if they are discovered.

He wonders where the rest are.

“Do you intend to go back?”

“I intend to go where I can best help you.” Frank says. His gaze is nervous, glued somewhere below Percy’s collarbone, but his voice is firm. His spine straight.

“I won’t tell.” Percy murmurs. Smiles, crookedly. Frank’s answering smile is a small thing, a soft thing.

“Thank you.” He tells Hazel. She beams at the both of them, and bounces on her toes.

“I’m not supposed to be plotting, Nico said to leave that to you, but if New Rome is so afraid of a little earthquake that they resort to mass murder a second time, I have no qualms about showing them a real one.”

She’s sweet, where her brother had been jagged – but her bones are the same as his. Ghost King, Neptune had called Pluto’s son.

Percy wonders what he calls his daughter.

 

X

 

There is a spearpoint held flush against his throat when a boy steps out of the shadow of the girl threatening him, and Jason cannot help but focus on him – thin, pale, dark-eyed and dark-haired and smirking and…familiar…

Without lowering her weapon, the girl snaps an arm out and drags the boy into a choke-hold. The spear does not so much as waiver.

She is, nominally, in charge. Has been since Annabeth and Butch had brought them to camp and stepped back to allow her to interrogate them, accuse them. She might respect the centaur, Chiron, but it is Clarisse who the other campers look to first and even the immortal warrior with divine ordinance backing his authority does not challenge her.

The shouting – the chaos of the rest of the camp, near-deafening and overwhelming in its intensity – falls silent. All eyes are on the boy.

“I started a tally board for Dad.” The girl says. Her tone is no kinder than it had been when threatening to disembowel Jason. The boy caged against her side sighs loudly and goes limp; his sudden weight does not seem to phase her at all.

“Please don’t.”

“I will have him ground you so fucking hard Hades himself has to pry you out of the goddam ceiling of his palace.”

“Clarisse – “

“I will give you to your stepmother as fertilizer.”

“Clarisse.”

“I will throw your ass in the fucking late and tell Tyson to take you to his fucking father – “

What follows is a series of increasingly mad-sounding threats recited in a perfectly level tone by a girl three times Jason’s size who does not blink once, and no one – no one – dares interrupt her, not even the centaur –

And she –

He realizes she scares him, genuinely, because there is something wrong in the way she so casually references the gods, as if they would answer a call from her to punish a wayward child and could be trusted to not merely smite him from existence and Jason cannot –

He hadn’t doubted, not really. As fantastical and mad as the story he has been told – demigods and amnesia and curses and wars and gods – had sounded, it hadn’t rung falsely to his ears. Not – not entirely, anyway; off, like a funhouse mirror, but not lies.

Clarisse’s disrespect, too, is something dangerous. And for her to speak sacrilege so easily, for those around them to not bat an eye…

“I have news.” The boy finally groans. Clarisse stops her threats, but does not otherwise move.

“They’re not a threat.” The boy adds, and is promptly dropped right into the dirt as Clarisse lets go of him and steps back, spear pulling away from Jason and settling in the crook of her arm easily. Jason takes the chance to back up, and look for his friends.

Piper looks furious and absolutely baffled; Leo’s got one hand gripping her arm so tightly he’s likely leaving bruises, eyes darting calculatingly around the circle of children and creatures hemming them in. Neither of them are hurt. Both of them are on-edge and ready for a fight. He appreciates that they stood with him – they didn’t have to, even if they thought he was a friend or lover or something more – they knew by now he was a stranger.

“How do you know that?” Clarisse, surprisingly, isn’t the one to speak. Annabeth is, her jaw clenched so hard Jason winces on instinct. The boy rolls onto his back and turns his head far enough to glare at her, but doesn’t bother sitting up or getting off the ground. No one seems to think this is a particularly odd turn of events.

“Aunt Hera’s doing her best, but somebody keeps fucking with her shit. I had to swear on the Styx not to talk about most of what’s going on without her permission, and she can’t give me that permission right now.”

“Oh thank the gods.” Someone promptly bursts out, and the murmuring of dozens of prayers of relief immediately fill the air. The centaur looks just as relieved as his students, which –

Hera – Juno, Queen of the Gods, and that boy just called her Aunt?

The rage that flashes through him to hear it leaves Jason shocked and breathless. He doesn’t know why, hardly understands it, but –

“Jackson’s fine – call off the searches. He’ll be bringing in reinforcements.”

“There’s another war coming.” Annabeth says lifelessly. Half of the kids around them flinch. Two very young children scramble for the centaur, who puts a comforting hand on their shoulder and lets them huddle close to his forelegs.

“There is another war coming.” The boy confirms.

“What does that mean?” Jason interjects. It’s harder than it should be; all of those eyes, so hostile upon his entrance, glaring at him once again. The boy tilts his neck awkwardly to look up at Jason, but doesn’t answer.

“It means we start fortifying. You said it was coming – coming here?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Then we’ve chosen the field. Time to use that to our advantage. Last time we didn’t have the chance and we still fucked up the Titans. Whatever’s coming this time doesn’t stand a fucking chance.” Clarisse bites out, sharp and brutal, the thump of her spear butt on the earth beneath her accentuating each sentence.

“Does this mean bombs are back on the table?” Someone asks.

“Everything goes.” The boy on the ground says gravely. As one, all eyes swing to the centaur, who merely nods.

He’s met with cheers.

“What the fuck just happened.” Leo hisses furiously.

Jason can only shrug helplessly in answer.

Notes:

This chapter fucking killed me my god

We will not be spending a lot of time with Jason, Clarisse + Nico were just being shits and their POVs kept not working out but I did want to start establishing the absolute Fuckery going on in Camp Half-Blood. And that Nico might have come off extra cool in chp 1 but nope (same w/Percy but it’ll take longer) I am stretching the timeline out but unless I say otherwise assume things are going generally like they do in canon. Except for Drew being a Generic Evil Bitch but if we don’t cover that ‘in real time’ we’ll cover it later.

Frank was claimed in person by his dad, but the prophecy/quest was not directed at any demigod in particular. Octavian was the one to go oh good throw the fishspawn at it then and he will have to live with the consequences of that.

Juno will have a litttttle bit of a different relationship w/everybody here. This is mostly Percy + Nico’s fault. Jason gets to reap the benefits even if he wants to kill them for calling his patron goddess auntie. This is ironically the catalyst for that different relationship lol

Chapter 3

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

                Percy takes a breath of salt-sea air and goes boneless with relief. He sags into Frank’s side, and his nephew catches him with an arm around the waist, smiling that same baffled, pleased smile he has every other time Percy has initiated any sort of contact with him. Hazel coos at the two of them, her own eyes dancing with mirth.

“That strong, huh?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been inland that long before.” He answers truthfully. And – freshwater’s different. Not bad. But – different.

“Go flop.” Frank says fondly, which is ridiculous, because they’re standing on a fucking public street and there’s like a bar or some shit to their right but –

Percy goes and flops in the waves, Hazel’s peals of laughter chasing him all the way. Frank doesn’t join him in his flopping, but his nephew does come wade out to his calves and observe which is pretty much the same thing just dignified.

Percy allows this for about twenty minutes before he decides he needs to do something about it, and tackles his nephew into the surf.

When he comes up, Hazel’s laughter is accompanied by another’s. Percy is keenly aware that he should feel – some sort of urgency, surprise, alarm, but – the sound is low and deep and does little but put him at ease, like the low rush of deep waves and dark seas.

“I fear it is only just, for Mars to have so stolen a son of the sea, for the sea to steal back a son of war.”

He forces himself to look away from Frank, scowling at him from beneath the water still, and to the speaker. It’s – unsettling, the complete and total lack of urgency he feels at the intrusion.

She’s kind of unsettling to look at, too. She’s got the build of a warrior, but lacks the muscle to really fill out her bones fully, muscles and skin pulled taunt between ribs and against knuckles. Her skin is the same dark-navy green of depths untold, faintly translucent and shimmering with glow, and she’s garbed in a loose green himation that bears one of her breasts, which Percy only realizes when he’s started scowling at her.

“Your tit’s out.”

“I know.” She says smugly.

“That’s her party tit.” Hazel advises sagely, and Percy shoots her an incredulous look. Frank takes advantage of his distraction to lurch upright, throwing him off, and Percy has to splutter his way back out of the water on his own as a result.

By the time he rejoins Hazel and Frank – the traitor – and the newcomer, she’s wearing Hazel’s windbreaker and holding her arms out as she examines the vibrant purple fabric.

“You Romans are certainly more stylish than I would have expected. It’s still garish, of course, but I do so prefer purple to orange.”

“When I have my memories back, I’m going to be so offended about this conversation.” Percy says, squinting at her, because the truth of what he says is resonating in his bones and he’s not best pleased by it.

“I hope so. Neptune asked me not to start a fight until this is all over, but I do expect you to give it your all.”

“You want to fight Percy?”

“It isn’t like any of our other siblings want to.” She says with a scowl, and – oh.

Oh.

He has a sister.

The knowledge dawns slow and heady, and before it can settle into him fully – she’s hugging him.

Her skin is pleasantly cool and clammy to the touch. There’s little in her to remind him of people, but strands of her hair spark and tingle like jellyfish tentacles against his temple and her flesh lights up where his own touches her in pale blues and greens and pinks.

“I don’t know your name.” He whispers apologetically into her shoulder.

“You will call me Kym.” She whispers back.

 

X

 

“This is a shit boat.”

“You will use mine.” Kym says immediately, and flicks a hand at the hunk of shit in the berth before them. The boat promptly disintegrates into the water, planks and metal tumbling into the ocean in a cascade. Percy has no idea how she did that; he’s kind of impressed.

“You have a boat?” Frank asks skeptically.

“Despoina does.” Kym answers, and Percy swallows hard – another name, another sister.

“Is she not using it right now?”

“She’s staying with Charybdis right now.” Kym answers as if that is any sort of answer at all, and the water boils and writhes until a sleek trireme emerges.

It’s monochrome, greys and blacks and silvers.

And glittery.

“What in the actual shit – “

“Des does not take kindly to insults to her style.”

“That wasn’t a bad ‘what-in-the-actual-shit’, excuse you, don’t put meaning in my mouth. It’s wood, how’s it glittering?”

The boat welcomes him with the same sort of mature, condescending amusement this other sister would have, he thinks; tolerant and indulgent in the same manner an adult is to a toddler.

“I have never gotten a straight answer from her either.” Kym confides.

“I think it’s pretty.” Hazel sniffs, and delicately picks her way aboard. Frank just jumps after her, and the boat does not so much as tremble when he lands.

Percy hesitates, when it is his turn to follow. Kym’s fingers are cool and electric where they curl around his wrist. She smiles sweetly, wickedly, when he looks at her.

“Enjoy this time. Do as you see fit – as you feel best. Your only goal, Perseus, is to return with laurels they cannot even think to tarnish.”

He blinks at her. Understanding dawns slow and syrupy, thick and heavy.

“You don’t want me to convince them of anything.”

“Not politely, no. You and I, we are our father’s children. We are built for shock and awe.”

“Does that go for us too? Or will that defeat the purpose?” Hazel calls, politely curious, even if her eyes are flat, unblinking discs when Percy glances at her.

“Darling cousin, so long as you back my little brother, I don’t care what you do.”

 

X

 

Kym sends them off with kisses and the raw power of a storm fit to drown the coast at their backs.

Notes:

Kym is well aware that her manner of dress is not acceptable in polite company but also Triton squeals and runs whenever he is confronted with his sister’s boob and she prefers not to deal with him. Percy is firmly on team ‘sisters have cooties’ tho so Triton’s not alone.

I don’t know if it came across clearly enough or not but Percy formed an immediate soft spot for Kym solely because she’s the first sister of his he’s met. She’s his ride-or-die sib and this is why Poseidon didn’t want them meeting lol next time he starts arguing with Kym Percy’s gonna get pissed at him for ‘bullying her’ and he’s gonna have to grovel for forgiveness while his daughter smirks evilly over his baby boy’s shoulder. She’ll drown a whole island and Percy will be there going “god forbid women do ANYTHING in this house – “

Why yes Neptune has unofficially adopted Kym. She gets along splendidly with him. About 30% of the greek father-daughter drama stems entirely from that.

We will be skipping around from here on out I am not rewriting the whole damn book. We have Fun Shit ™ to focus on.

<3

Notes:

got into a pjo kick a while back and was like man clarisse needs more love and that devolved into this bc I kept coming up with OH BUT WHAT IF shit. This is an AU, obviously, wherein the Ares and Aphrodite kids had a much larger role to play in Percy's time at Camp HB, Annabeth and Percy are just sort of friends, and Nico never ran. Juno/Hera did not realize (or care) that Poseidon has been holding back his divine family like a cartoon kid holds a closet full of shit shut and Neptune is yanking the door open and throwing Percy in headfirst. TFW you're in a competition for your son's affections with yourself smh

I'm not gonna tag this as Roman bashing or whatever y'all's equivalent is, but this fic will be fairly Camp HB-focused/Greek centric. I cannot in fact get over the Whole Ass Actual Adult Romans being chill w/their army of child soldiers and the missed opportunity to really dig into that still irks me so <3

i genuinely need to stop pulling titles for shit from the same goddamn kiki rockwell song but tbh she shouldn't make her shit so fucking good then it aint my fault.