Chapter Text
“I’m sorry, Mr Jackson,” The Headmaster spoke calmly. “You just do not have enough credits to graduate this year.”
The words shot through Percy’s heart. In his head, his dreams of going to college at Camp Jupiter with Annabeth were shrinking rapidly.
“But-” Percy started, his voice cracking. “I’ve done every assignment and test this year.”
The headmaster sighed. “We let you graduate into your senior year despite your extenuating circumstances,” As if going missing for seven or eight months was some minor inconvenience. “However, your grades are simply not high enough to get the credits required to graduate.”
“I’m on the swim team,” Percy protested weakly, his shoulders hunching in further.
“You are a joy to have on the team,” The headmaster complimented, leaning forward to make eye contact with the panicking Percy.
“But?” The teen questioned, avoiding the pale blue eyes of the one headmaster who believed in him.
“You still need high enough grades for a sports scholarship.” The words were spoken gently but they still felt like a dagger to the heart.
“Is there anything I can do?” Percy didn’t want to beg, he didn’t want to plead just to finish high school. Even so, he couldn’t not try to go to college with his Wise Girl.
The headmaster looked at him, his eyes piercing into Percy’s soul.
“I suppose there is one thing.”
“Anything.”
The man chuckled lightly, a small smile flickering at the edge of his lips. “It’s a good thing we have had this meeting so early into the term.”
Percy remained quiet, his thoughts were too much of a jumbled mess for him to even begin to decipher the headmaster’s words. His leg started to twitch, a faint beat forming where he couldn’t stop his heel from tapping.
The headmaster raised his eyebrow when he heard the noises causing Percy to blush, his hand firmly holding his leg down.
“You can hold a rhythm.” The headmaster noted. “But can you sing?”
“What?” Percy was confused. He thought he was going to get shouted at to sit still, not asked random questions out of the blue.
“The drama and music departments join forces to create a musical every year, mainly involving the juniors and seniors. You would qualify.”
Percy froze. Musical? Him? He wasn’t a child of Apollo and, whilst his mum could hold a tune well enough, there was nothing to say that he could do the same.
“I’ve never sung before,” He mentioned cautiously. If the headmaster said this was the one thing to get Percy to graduation day and he fumbled it simply because he couldn’t sing? Screw monsters, Percy wouldn’t need help to die.
Thankfully the headmaster waved his concern off. “The auditions have not happened just yet, I am sure getting a small part would be enough to get the credits. If not, perhaps you have a talent for set decoration or instrument playing.”
Memories of harp strings twanging horribly, flutes screeching and lyre strings snapping echoed through Percy’s head. His face must’ve gone a horrible shade of grey as the headmaster was quick to ask what the problem was.
“I don’t think the orchestra is for me,” Percy declared weakly. Whatever minor hope he had of passing his final year that had risen at the original suggestion, swiftly fell back to the earth. He would almost hear the sound of it smashing through the concrete outside, going so far down that Percy could hear it visiting his uncle Hades.
“No worries, Mr Jackson.” The headmaster said, quick to reassure Percy once more. “I’ll have a word with our department heads and they will let you know when the auditions take place.”
“What is the musical even about?” Percy questioned, trying to get his mind off the thought of hundreds of people judging his singing.
“What do you know about Greek Mythology?”
“I can’t do this,” declared Percy adamantly, as he attempted to escape the audition room not even a week later.
“Oh yes, you can,” Percy’s stepdad Paul grabbed Percy by his school bag, dragging him back into the room. Paul Blofis was not part of the drama or music departments, however, he was a huge history nerd and the only English teacher to have actually read the original myth that they were going to be performing. He also knew that if Percy really hadn’t wanted to be there, Paul would have had zero hopes in hell of moving the teen.
“You don’t even know if I can sing. What if I sound like a murdered cat? Or worse, like Chiron’s music?” Percy hissed, trying to wack Paul’s hand off his bag even as the teacher continued to force him into the room of horror.
“Your mother and I fully believe in you.” It was a low blow to bring Sally Jackson, now Sally Blofis into the argument, Percy thought. If Percy was facing Paul, he would’ve scowled, perhaps even used his wolf stare. Alas, he was still moving backwards, much to the joy of the other students present.
“We got a runaway, Mr Blofis?” At that voice, Percy spun around, dislodging Paul’s hand from his bag.
“Rachel?” Percy asked in shock. She didn’t even go here. After the Battle of Manhattan, Rachel’s dad had stood firm on his decision to send her to an all-girls finishing school. She shouldn’t have been standing in the Goode High School auditorium, especially not covered in paint with a paintbrush tucked into her red hair which she had piled onto her head in a large knot (Percy was later reliably informed that it was supposed to be a bun, not a snarling tangled mess like he originally thought).
“What are you doing here?”
“Some of us are still friends with their previous schools,” She teased, moving to sit in one of the long rows of chairs in front of the stage.
“Low blow,” Percy pressed his hands to his heart, acting as if he had been stabbed, staggering back dramatically.
“Acting before the auditions even start, my you are an eager one.” Mrs Gomez was the most terrifying person in Percy’s whole life at that moment in time. Screw Minotaurs, the multitude of murderous siblings his father graced him with, or even his grandfather that tried to destroy the world. Hell, even his great-grandmother was not as scary as the little Spanish drama teacher standing in front of him right now. She didn’t even reach his shoulder, in fact, even Hazel was taller!
“Mrs Gomez-” Percy started, an uneasy smile gracing his face.
She held up her thin hand sharply. “Save it for the audition, young man.”
He let out a tense breath, desperately trying to relax his shoulders from where they had begun to creep up around his ears.
“Let us begin, shall we?” Mrs Gomez called sternly, her voice cutting through the chatter as Riptide cut through monsters.
“Please talk to Mr Blofis if you wish to help with the stage decorations or costumes.” It was only as she gestured to his stepdad that Percy noticed Paul had abandoned him to his fate. His expression must have been fraught or perhaps even shocked as both Paul and Rachel burst into laughter at the sight of him.
Screw this, he decided, as he began to join the small crowd approaching Paul on the left side of the hall. Surely I’ll get enough credits for painting backgrounds and not embarrassing myself.
“Not so fast, Mr Jackson,” He froze - a rookie error that allowed Mrs Gomez to reach him and manhandle him back to the centre of the room.
“The headmaster has already spoken to me. You discussed auditioning first and then decorating as a last resort, correct?” Her eyes bore through him, daring him to deny her statement.
“Yes, Mrs Gomez.” He said sheepishly, the moment the Drama Tyrant (as she shall now be known) turned away from him, he made sure to glare at his still-laughing ex-friend. The poor junior standing next to her paled to a ghostly white, yet she still cackled on like an evil witch.
When we’re back at camp, you’re dead meat, his eyes said, pointedly ignoring the now flinching junior who Percy had never met before.
You’ll have to survive this first, was her response. He hoped she burst her gut laughing so hard.
“Those who wish to join the orchestra, please head over to Miss Bennett in the corner there,” Mrs Gomez continued commanding her troops, pointing her soldiers towards the teacher that Percy had previously suspected as being a child of Apollo. The sun-bleached blonde hair and sky-blue eyes tied together with the freckles that seemed to coat every inch of her body suddenly gave presidence what with the look of the others in Cabin 7. Chiron had yet to confirm or deny, Apollo had also kept quiet when Percy asked.
“And finally,” Percy snapped out of his staring match with the still chuckling Rachel, realising he had missed an entire group of instrument-carrying people amble away from him. Some were even carrying French horns and trombones.
“Those in the middle, I am assuming you are here to act and sing?” The Drama Tyrant raised a bone-cuttingly sharp brow, goading them into changing their minds. A couple more nervous-looking juniors glanced towards the exit in the hope of saving yet they were stuck in the same boat as the rest.
“Good.” Mrs Gomez nodded when nobody took the opportunity to flee.
“A bit disproportionate this play. Very male-dominated but I suppose that is life, unfortunately.”
The Drama Tyrant’s venom could’ve given Polybotes’ poison a run for its money. Percy thought that if she hadn’t been married and had numerous children, Mrs Gomez would have been a perfect Hunter of Artemis. Perhaps he should get her in contact with the Amazons, Percy pondered.
A printed-out script slamming into his stomach knocked his thoughts free from the spiral they had dove into.
“We’ll audition the girls first, boys take a seat. Those already in the orchestra, play the music for Saga 1, Song 5 - titled Warrior of the Mind. We shall be auditioning for Athena first.”
Percy blanked out after that, trudging towards the seat just behind the evil little Spanish lady who was set on controlling his life for his last few months of high school.
He attempted to read the script or - as he struggled through the floating words - the lyrics. Everything is sung? He despaired quietly, his thoughts only interrupted by Mrs Gomez’s harsh criticisms and demands for “Next!”.
It took Percy well over an hour to slog his way through the mess of dialogue. Perhaps he could bribe Rachel or Paul into translating the script into Ancient Greek if he ended up with a part, although the thought of owing the red-headed devil anything made his insides shrivel with dread. Who knew what convoluted plans she had concocted in that evil mind of hers? A dinner with her father? Or Hades forbid, a dinner party with all of her father’s associates. Percy felt sick just at the thought.
“Right,” A loud clap echoed through the already quiet room, dislodging Percy from his thoughts.
“You shall be Athena,” Mrs Gomez pointed to one of the girls in Percy’s math class. She was one of the drama students anyway so there was no major surprise there.
“You shall play the part of Aeolus - a wind god - and be one of the sirens.” The girl chosen was one of the younger-looking students. If Percy hadn’t known that this musical was restricted to juniors and seniors, he would have thought she was a freshman. Her rounded cherub-like face and doe eyes meant that she was perfect for the role of the playful wind god, even if Aeolus was supposed to be a boy.
“Circe,”
“Anticlea - Odysseus’ mother,”
“Sirens one, two and three,”
“Scylla,”
“Calypso,”
“Hera,”
“Aphrodite,”
“And you,” Mrs Gomez said finally, after winding her way through all the girls. “Shall play the parts of Penelope and the main Siren.”
Percy looked at the chosen Penelope. He knew her - Anna was in his homeroom and had been for the last two years now. She was a tall brunette with hazel eyes, perhaps not as beautiful as Annabeth or even the girls set to play Hera and Aphrodite, but then, she didn’t need to be. Penelope was the cousin of Helen of Sparta; she was never the most gorgeous lady in the room - she was the smartest. That was what drew Odysseus’ attention to her. To him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, no matter what she looked like. She was kind yet cunning. She had to be, she managed to keep the suitors at bay for nearly 20 years.
“Boys, line up.” The Drama Tyrant once again brought Percy back to the present as he forced his legs to move one foot in front of the other until he had reached the stage.
“Orchestra, we shall be doing Saga 1, Song 2. It’s titled ‘Just A Man’ and it features Odysseus battling with his guilt as he has to kill Prince Hector’s young son.”
Scamandrius, named after the River Scamander near Troy, Percy thought, his reading of The Iliad and The Odyssey finally paying off. He was renamed Astyanax by the people of Troy. Doomed to be thrown off the Trojan Walls by Odysseus.
Percy’s stomach churned. How was he supposed to find empathy for Odysseus’ actions, how was he meant to find the guilt? The resignation? He understood what it was like to fight a war, he had commanded one just like Odysseus no more than a year ago. Yet, Percy had never had to end a bloodline and had never been forced to kill someone guilty merely by association. How was he going to manage this? He could barely read the words, let alone the emotion behind it.
“Mr Jackson, it is your turn.” Miss Bennett spoke quietly, appearing at his elbow like a phantom. He couldn’t help it, he flinched. Her silent approach spooked him, where were his battle reflexes? What if she had been a monster set on killing him and he hadn’t noticed simply because he couldn’t stop spiralling?
“I have dyslexia,” He stammered as he floundered his way to the centre of the stage. “I might have misread a word or two.”
“I want you to sing the first few lines. Pretend you are holding Hector’s son. I want emotion in every syllable.” Commanded the Tyrant. “Miss Bennett read them out to him.”
Percy listened intently as Miss Bennett kindly spoke the first verse. She even repeated it to him again after she heard him murmur it beneath his breath.
“Orchestra begin. Mr Jackson, I will signal your cue.” Miss Bennett quickly retreated back to her place beside the Tyrant, who could’ve given Mrs Dodds a run for her money with how cutting her gaze was. All she needed was a leather jacket and a Southern accent.
For a few seconds, what Percy assumed was either a harp or a guitar played the intro. It was soft, setting the scene for the heartbreaking moment when Odysseus battled with his indecisiveness. Percy pretended to cradle a babe, using the positions his mum had carefully taught him before handing over his baby sister. There was nothing in his hands and yet he could picture the young prince clearly, barely awake and so trusting of the hands that held him, unknowing of his fate already ordained by the gods.
Percy sang tenderly, pouring his heart into the lyrics, the line breaks causing his voice to either pause or draw out long sorrowful words. He no longer focused on the Drama Tyrant, or even Rachel and Paul. His entire body and soul were absorbed into the performance, imagining a sweet child resting in his arms.
It was less than 30 seconds but Percy felt like it had lasted longer, he wanted to keep going but the words had run out, released into the auditorium like water trickling out of a brook.
“Well,” Mrs Gomez said, for once a soft smile gracing her face. “I see we’ve found our Odysseus.”
Shit.
“So? How did it go?” His mum questioned gently, his baby sister already deposited into Paul’s arms as Sally led Percy further into the living room.
“It was really good,” Paul said, rocking a babbling Estelle back and forth. “We’ve got the complete cast, the orchestra is meeting with Miss Bennett tomorrow to confirm all the music is the final drafts and I will be sorting out the costumes and weapons whilst Rachel and her team will be designing the sets.
“Percy?” Sally questioned, raising a hand to his face, cradling his cheek delicately.
“I got a part,” He said hoarsely, still shocked hours later.
His mum smiled at him, one of the ones that blossomed on her face and could make everything bad look okay. It was one of those smiles he used to bend over backwards for when he was a kid, one of the main reasons he even attempted to put up with Smelly Gabe.
“What part?”
Percy couldn’t resist his mum, not when she asked him something so simple, so sweetly. He could understand completely why his father wanted to build her a palace in Atlantis, why he still thought of her as a goddess among women even 18 years after they first met.
“Odysseus,” He muttered. After his performance, his chance to get a minor role and fade into obscurity was firmly shattered by the iron fist of Mrs Gomez, may the Drama Tyrant reign. No amount of begging, or the other boys singing, could deter her from her course. Percy was to be the lead. He bet if he died before opening night, Mrs Gomez would march down to the underworld, meet up with her cousin, Mrs Dodds, and get him on stage before his body even had the chance to cool.
“That’s amazing,” His mother gushed, kissing him on the forehead once, twice and then once more for luck. “They obviously saw how talented you were, just like I did.”
“You’re my mum, you have to believe in me.”
“Oh Percy,” Sally started. “I wish you could see just how incredible you are.”
“I have to sing and pretend to be a dead guy for hours just so I can graduate. What is impressive about that?” Percy pulled at his hair, the grey strands intermingling with his natural black.
“You have a talent for singing, genuine empathy and understanding of the old Greek heroes that not many can have nowadays, and you are my amazing boy. You don’t have to put yourself through this, you are doing so because you want to go to college which is a first for anyone in our family.”
Percy’s hands moved down from his hair to rub over his eyes, the brief sting of tears being fought valiantly.
“I don’t think the Drama Tyrant would let me back out now,”
Paul barked out a surprised laugh, Estelle giggling with him obliviously.
“Once Mrs Gomez has you in her grasp and she sees talent, she’ll never let you go. Take it as a compliment. If she thought you were awful, you’d be playing the part of a tree in no time.”
“Why don’t you IM Annabeth and tell her the good news?” Sally looked them all over fondly. It was incredible to see the difference in their family. Six years ago, this carefree laughter didn’t exist, their apartment was small and stank of old beer. There was no feeling of warmth or home, not unless Percy and his mum went to Montauk.
“She probably already knows, Rachel was there,” And wasn’t Percy thankful that whatever weirdness they had when they first met had disappeared. Maybe girls couldn’t bond until one saved the other from death? Worked for Clarisse and Annabeth. Not to mention Thalia and Zoë.
“You should still tell her.” His mum countered. “Why don’t you go to camp this weekend and spend some time together, you can take Paul’s car.”
The idea certainly cheered Percy up. Two whole days of seeing Annabeth, playing Capture the Flag, flying with Blackjack and overall just relaxing in his cabin. The border would even protect him from Mrs Gomez, either as a monster or a mortal.
“Sounds like a great idea, mum.” A warm hug later and Percy was ensconced in his room, planning his weekend with his Wise Girl, all thoughts of singing firmly out of his head.
Annabeth was supportive when Percy told her the news, which was great. What was not great was her immediate offer to go watch him “for support” and then leaving him to find Rachel to see where she could buy tickets. He still put most if not all the blame on Annabeth and Rachel, especially once all the other campers got curious and found out what was going on. However, Percy chasing after them didn’t help.
“What next, Prissy? You gonna wear a tutu and dance as well as sing?” Clarisse sneered, her laughter finally spluttering out after numerous renewals.
Percy couldn’t exactly respond that the Drama Tyrant would never let anything so historically inaccurate ruin her musical. So, instead, he leapt for Clarisse, wrestling with her as the other campers cheered their support for either side.
“Percy, the worst archer in camp,” Travis cackled, “Gets the role of one of the most famous Greek Archers.”
If Percy’s face wasn’t smashed against the floor by Clarisse, he would’ve let out a loud groan. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Percy couldn’t shoot for shit. Hell, he was still apologising to Chiron for shooting him in the tail when he was standing behind Percy.
“That is enough,” Chiron’s stern voice broke through the crowd, causing Percy and Clarisse to scramble to get off of each other.
“Sorry Chiron,” They both murmured, even as Clarrise pointed to the arena, smashing a fist into her palm as if she was scarier than Mrs Gomez. Percy snorted at the thought of the little Spanish lady going up against the Daughter of War, Clarisse’s face darkening at his apparent nonchalance.
“Walk with me, Percy,” Percy wasn’t ashamed to admit that he stuck his middle finger up at Clarisse as he followed behind Chiron to the Big House.
“That was not very polite,” Chiron chided, his face serious even as his eyes seemed to twinkle.
“Yeah well, Clarisse isn’t very polite,” Percy argued back half-heartedly.
“I do not believe you are that concerned with Clarisse’s manners. What is the matter, Percy?”
So, Percy explained. Again. He even described Mrs Gomez in intricate detail, with the comparison to Mrs Dodds as Chiron was one of the few who could understand.
“Are you afraid others will judge you because you can sing?”
“Of course not,” Percy scoffed. There was an entire cabin that regularly sang as they worked, that was never the problem.
“Is it because you struggle to read the script?”
“Just how am I meant to learn all those songs? All the actions? How am I meant to act as if nothing is personal as if I haven’t fought Polyphemus or met Circe myself?” His worries exploded from him. They had piled up from the moment he got the part.
“And for Hades’ sake, I can barely hold a bow without harming someone!” Percy exclaimed, his hands gesturing in the direction of the archery range as if Chiron could ever forget that first devastating archery lesson.
Chiron chuckled, his eyes shutting as he turned his head towards the sun, letting its rays warm his face.
“I doubt your teacher will want you to actually shoot somebody.” Chiron began. Percy scoffed quietly, Mrs Gomez wanted 120% from the entire cast - if she wanted an authentic fight involving a bow, how was Percy to stop her? She was the only thing standing in his way of graduating.
“And if she did, the school would never be allowed to use anything more than a foam arrow.” Chiron seemed set on ignoring Percy’s disbelief.
“If you bring the script to us, I am sure I can translate it to Ancient Greek for you. You know I would not let anyone steal it from me,” It was as he said it that Percy realised one of his main issues with the script. It wasn’t that the solution hadn’t already occurred to him, it was the fact that any one of the campers could easily have taken the script and spread it everywhere. Or worse, learn the lyrics themselves and then interrupt the performances. Percy didn’t think he would survive Mrs Gomez’s wrath.
“That still doesn’t solve the fact that I have to pretend I’m not emotionally attached to his actions. I’ve read the Odyssey. I’ve eaten lotus fruit from the Lotus-eaters, and fought Polyphemus. I’ve been transformed into an animal by Circe, and even travelled to the underworld like he has!”
“Perseus Jackson,” Chiron said solemnly. “I never met Odysseus for all that I knew of his reputation. However, this play is not meant for you to be disconnected from his pain and grief. You know it so well, so intimately, that you will be emotionally attached, that is what good acting is.”
He placed a tanned and calloused hand on Percy’s shoulder - an archer’s hand, just like Odysseus’. “That does not mean that you will become consumed by his actions and emotions. You are not Odysseus of Ithaca, Grandson to Hermes. You are Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, and though you will play his character, you will not become him.”
“But how can I act as someone whose actions I don’t agree with?”
Chiron raised an eyebrow. “Which actions?”
“Astyanax.” Percy started. “Blinding Polyphemus and not finishing him.” There were probably more but those were the sticking points. How could a man who was supposedly ‘good’ throw a child off a wall?
Chiron sighed deeply. “Leaving Polyphemus alive was a show of mercy, an action that had grave consequences as you know. It was not meant to be cruel.”
“And how was throwing a baby to his death an act of mercy?” Percy spat.
“The impact from hitting the ground would have killed him instantly,” Chiron looked old as he explained. “Far kinder than a knife to the throat or even a pillow on his face.”
“He didn’t have to kill him,” Percy choked out.
“The gods desired his death. If he lived, thousands more would have died in revenge for his dead family.”
Percy could say nothing. What the gods wanted, they got. They weren’t benevolent and kind beings - they were as humanity made them; flawed, cruel and selfish. The best and worst of people. If a god wanted a child dead, a normal mortal child with no godly protection, what hope did that child have?
“Why don’t you spend some time with Will? He may be able to teach you how to pretend to shoot a bow.”
It was a wise suggestion but there was one more thought nagging at Percy like Cerebereus and his little red ball.
“If the gods find out I am doing this play, will they get offended?”
Chiron paused, looking at Percy carefully.
“When have you ever cared about that?”