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1.
Annabeth’s laughter floated in through the hallway before the door even shut behind them. Percy’s arm was slung lazily over her shoulder, and there was a fresh scrape on his elbow — and a tiny rip in his jeans that definitely hadn’t been there when he’d left.
“You’re so stupid,” Annabeth was saying, her voice half-exasperated, half-affectionate. She swatted at his chest with the back of her hand hard enough that he rubbed the spot.
Sally’s smile faltered as she peeked out from the kitchen, dish towel still in her hands. She’d been about to call out a greeting, a “ How was your evening? Want some cookies? ” but the words caught somewhere in her throat.
She watched as her boy ducked his head, cheeks flushing pink under the hallway light. “I’ve done worse, ‘Beth.” He mumbled, voice sheepish, like he’d done something wrong.
Annabeth huffed out another laugh, sounding more sharp and dismissive. “And whose fault is it? Honestly, Seaweed Brain. You’d think after all these years you’d learn to look where you’re going.” She shoved his shoulder again– playful, maybe, but Percy winced like it hurt, and gave her a pressed smile.
Sally forced her smile back into place as they stepped into the kitchen. “Hey, you two. Everything okay?”
Percy perked up immediately, slipping past Annabeth to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “Hey, Mom. Yeah, just a scratch.” He lifted his arm to show her the raw skin just a little beneath his SPQR brand (something Sally was not very happy to see– he gets kidnaped and comes back witha damn brand, but he told her the story about it and he liked what it mean), trying to laugh it off. “Just making sure gravity still works. It does. If you were wondering.”
Annabeth rolled her eyes and snorted. “He’s lucky he didn’t break his neck, honestly. He’d probably manage that, knowing him.”
Sally’s fingers tightened around the dish towel. Percy just laughed again– smaller this time, and ducked his head like he always did when he was embarrassed. Like he always did when someone made him feel small. When he was younger, he used to do that at school, when a teacher got too sharp with him, when kids whispered street trash behind his back. She’d thought he’d grown out of that. She’d hoped he had. Gods, she hated that look. She hadn’t seen it in so long, he’d grown so strong, so confident, so kind. She’d thought he’d left that look in middle school, along with the bullies and the teachers who thought he’d never make it past sophomore year.
Her boy had always had such a big heart. She still remembered the way he’d come home in fifth grade, eyes puffy from crying because the kids on the playground were picking on the only girl in his class who had his same brown skin. He’d been so angry – so small and so angry that someone else had to feel what he felt. He’d begged her to fix it. And she’d tried. Gods, she’d tried. That was his first taste of how mean kids could be.
She’d seen that same heart when he was thirteen and terrified because a boy in his class had scribbled dark things in the margins of his math book, things that made Percy lie awake at night and chew his pencil erasers to stubs. He didn’t know how to help, didn’t know what to say, but he’d tried. Always trying to make the world a little softer, a little safer, even when it scraped him raw.
And here he was now. Grown. A hero. Her baby, who’d fought monsters bigger than her nightmares, who’d bled for strangers, and he was ducking his head again like a scolded child because his girlfriend called him stupid for a scraped elbow.
Had she always done that? Sally wondered. Had she always laughed a little too sharp, a little too mean? Had she always brushed off Percy’s big heart with an eye roll and a shove?
She’d thought it was just banter. Gods, wasn’t that what all young couples did? Teased and poked and prodded? She’d told herself that when she heard them bickering through the phone when Percy called her to check in. Annabeth was brilliant, driven, loyal — she’d saved Percy’s life more than once, Sally knew that. But standing here now, dish towel twisting in her hands, Sally wondered if maybe she’d wanted to believe the best so badly she hadn’t really looked .
Annabeth’s teasing had always seemed harmless– a quirk of their banter. But standing here now. Percy’s scraped elbow, his pink cheeks, Annabeth’s sharp tone, and that little wince when she hit him again. Sally wondered if maybe she’d been looking away on purpose.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, stepping forward to brush his hair off his forehead, ignoring Annabeth’s smirk. His hair was a little longer than he usually kept it. He told her once, when he was in 7th grade, the kids at school told him that only kids with both parents got their hair cut. Oh, was she mad. She wanted to go straight to the principal about it. Because what the hell were those parents teaching their kids? “I was wondering, thank you.” She gave him a little wink.
Percy grinned at her, bright, grateful, the way he always did.
But when Annabeth muttered “It’s a good thing you're pretty…” under her breath, Sally frowned at her, something cold and unfamiliar settling in her chest. That girl better just be having a bad day.
2.
It was Percy’s turn to pick what they watched. He’d been so quick to pass the remote last time, let Annabeth choose something loud and slow-paced, made to make them think– it had him half-dozing off twenty minutes in. But tonight, he’d scrolled through the options for a long moment, thumb hovering, before finally settling on a deep blue thumbnail with whales on the cover.
The gentle hum of ocean currents and the low, soothing narrator’s voice filled the living room. Sally settled into her armchair with a laundry basket half-folded on her lap. She liked having these nights — quiet, everyone under the same roof, nothing creeping in from the dark corners of the world for once.
About fifteen minutes in, Annabeth shifted where she was tucked against Percy’s side on the couch. Her sigh was obvious, sharp enough to break through the calm hum of whalesong.
“Why do you like these so much, Percy?” Annabeth asked, her tone more bewildered than curious. “They’re so boring.” She didn’t even bother to lower her voice, just leaned back against the cushions like she’d done him a favor by sitting through it this long.
Percy glanced over at her, startled, thumb tapping the seam of the blanket draped over Estelle in his lab. The three-month-old fell asleep in his lap minutes into the movie, she had her shark stuffy squeezed in her tiny hands. He looked at her like maybe he’d missed a joke. Then, at her, like maybe she’d explain what he’d done wrong this time.
“Do you wanna watch something else?” he asked immediately, voice soft. Ready to give up his pick without a second thought. Ready to bend for her. Sally’s chest ached at that– that quick, knee-jerk reaction– he used to the same with Gabe, to keep the peace. He’d done that since he was small, when Gabe would slam a cupboard door too hard and Percy would do his best to be invisible.
He had been like this since she married Gabe. So good at giving himself up for someone else’s comfort. She’d learned to read Gabe’s moods before he learned to read a book. He’d tiptoe around corners and keep his voice as low as a whisper. (She was so happy to get rid of that man.)
It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have to do it now. Not with his girlfriend. Not here, in his living room, with chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table.
But Percy, sweet Percy, just smiled– big and bright, like maybe if he was sunny enough, nobody would notice the way he flinched when people called him stupid and were uninterested in his hobbies.
Sally pauses on the towel she was folding and leans over the couch. She presses a kiss to Percy's head. “He likes them because he likes fish, Annabeth.” She gave the girl a sharp look, her words barely hiding the threat. Sally didn’t want to be the mom who meddled in her kids' relationship, but–
“They like to gossip,” he said, leaning his head back to grin at her, his eyes big and green. He looked at Sally when he said it, not Annabeth– like he knew she’d understand. “It’s how I get my underwater news.”
Sally laughed and patted his cheek softly.
Annabeth rolled her eyes — a tiny, impatient huff — and flopped her head back against the couch. “Gods, you’re such a dork,” she muttered, but she didn’t say anything else. Didn’t ask him to change it, but she didn’t smile, either.
Sally looked at her son– her big-hearted, gentle boy, who could face down monsters and gods and still get smaller under the weight of one pointed sigh. He deserved someone who loved all his softness. Someone who’d sit through hours of whalesong just because it made him happy.
She folded another tiny sock and wondered– quietly, secretly — if maybe Annabeth wasn’t that person. And if she wasn’t… well. Sally could live with a lot of things, but she wouldn’t live with that.
3.
Percy and Estelle were both laying on their bellies in the living room for her tummy time, facing each other on the blanket Percy had spread out so carefully — blue with tiny whales on it, because of course it was. Percy had one elbow propped under him, head tilted so he could grin at his baby sister, who kicked her little legs and squealed every time he puffed his cheeks out at her. He was facing her between talking to the two girls in the room and Paul.
“Yo ‘Rach,” Percy paused his faces and blew on Estelle to tickle her tiny curls. “Are you going to let me help with your painting project?”
“As a last resort, maybe.” She laughed, “as much as I love how you want to help, last time you got close to a ladder, you fell off it three times.”
Percy had a face full of false outrage that cracked as Estelle laughed with delight. “Discrimination!” he yelped, playfully raising his hand and wagging a finger. “I was pushed.”
Rachel burst out laughing, nearly snorting tea up her nose. Paul chuckled from where he sat with his book. The house felt warm and full like the best parts of family. For a moment, Sally could almost forget Annabeth perched on the arm of the couch, arms crossed, eyes pinned on Percy like he was doing something wrong by breathing too loud.
“Yeah, Seaweed Brain, always someone else’s fault, huh?” Annabeth drawled, just loud enough to cut through Rachel’s laughter and Estelle’s squeals. Percy’s smile flickered at the edges, but he kept his eyes on his baby sister. “Honestly, you’d think you’d have grown out of being a walking accident by now.”
Rachel’s laughter stopped interullly and she side-eyed Annabeth, but Percy only ducked his head a little, mouth twisting, “yeah.” He agreed, “you’re always saving me.”
Sally frowned. Annabeth was upset because Percy made people laugh. She wanted him to feel bad. For making them laugh. Sally’s jaw tensed.
Annabeth didn’t stop. She leaned forward, voice sweet and sharp as a pin. “Remember when you had a crush on Rachel?”
The air in the room shifted. Sally felt it in her spine. Percy froze, eyes darting to Sally like he was asking why was she bringing that up? Did I do something? Like he was a kid again.
Sally remembered. Her boy was so excited to tell her about his friend, one who was clear-sighted with bright red hair, curlier than his. Who helped him survive orientation, how they first met at the hover dam, and she helped then too, without knowing him, just because she saw what was chasing him.
Percy looked at Sally like he was asking why Annabeth would just say that.
Sally gave him a little shug, trying to conva I don’t know, baby, you didn’t do anything.
Percy’s fingers flexed where they hovered over Estelle’s back. “Anybody would be lucky to have Rachel.” Percy braced like he thought he would get hit, but pushed on, unable to let anyone– even his girlfriend, walk over his friend. “She’s great.”
Rachel grinned. “Thanks, Blue.”
“Anytime, Red.” He ducked his head again, pressing his nose into Estelle’s hair, like the baby could hide him if he made himself small enough.
Annabeth scoffed, rolling her eyes like the idea made her sick. “Seaweed Brain and his stray puppies. Honestly—”
“Annabeth,” Sally finally snapped, her voice flat. Percy’s head snapped up. So did Rachel’s.
Sally set her mug down on the coffee table. The thunk of ceramic on wood was louder than it should have been.
“You knock it off,” she said, her voice shaking just enough to carry an edge. “Or you get the fuck out of my house. I do not want to hear you talking like that about or to my son.” Sally didn’t swear often; she didn't like it, but oh boy, she was done.
The silence that followed cracked something open inside her. Percy’s mouth parted like he might protest — Mom, he’d say, It’s fine. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t fine. And she wasn't going to pretend it was.
For the first time, Annabeth looked chaste and backed off. Annabeth’s lips pressed together, something like shame flickering across her face for the first time Sally had ever seen.
She shifted off the arm of the couch like it had turned too sharp to perch on.
4.
For a while, Annabeth didn’t say anything. After the last incident, she had calmed down significantly, like that was the first time she’d gotten scolded before.
So when Percy, sweet as ever, had asked if Annabeth could come over while he babysat– so Sally and Paul could have a dinner out for the first time in weeks, Sally had said yes. Because she wanted to believe Annabeth was trying. Because Percy wanted her to. And because Sally still wanted to believe there was something good there, waiting for Annabeth to grow into it.
But it seems she was wrong.
She barrely put her keys down before she heard it:
“It's a good thing you asked me to come help you babysit Percy, you never would have been able to do this by yourself.”
Percy laughed — that same too-soft, too-small laugh she hated — rubbing Estelle’s back as she snuggled into his chest with her stuffed shark clutched in one tiny fist. “Yeah, she was a real handful,” he said, voice self-deprecating, eyes dropping to the floor. “Just giggled and played with her shark all night.”
The words made Sally’s teeth ache. Made something deep in her chest coil tight, tighter. She slipped her keys into the bowl by the door and forced her shoulders to stay loose, her smile to stay easy — at least on the surface.
“Sounds like he would have been able to babysit his baby sister just fine,” Sally replies with the most tolerant smile she can manage. “He's a great big brother. Has been for years.”
Annabeth shifted, a flicker of something crossing her face before she smoothed it over with a little laugh. “Of course he is. He just… You know Percy. Head in the clouds. He’s a Seaweed Brain.”
Percy’s shoulders twitched under Estelle’s tiny weight. He pressed a kiss to her curls, eyes flicking up to Sally’s for half a second. She hated it. Hated it every time she saw it, hated that it still lived in the bones of the boy she’d fought so hard to keep soft and kind and safe.
Sally’s smile didn’t slip. It sharpened instead, polite, bright, and edged like a fillet knife. She let her eyes drift back to Annabeth, pinning her there like a butterfly under glass.
“He’s always taking care of people,” Sally said, her voice soft and fond. She reached out to brush a stray curl off Percy’s forehead, her fingers gentle where Annabeth’s words never were. “Even with people who don’t deserve it.”
Annabeth’s mouth opened. Closed. For a breath, the only sound in the room was Estelle’s soft little snuffle against her brother’s chest.
Paul cleared his throat, stepping in with a careful smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Why don’t we get you two some tea? You did a wonderful job tonight, Percy. Thank you for watching your sister. And you, Annabeth… thanks for keeping him company.”
+1
“Why would you do that?” Annabeth grumbled, arms crossed so tight they looked ready to snap.
What was supposed to be a simple errand run– pick up some groceries for Sally had turned into another fight the second they stepped back inside. It always seemed to happen that way lately. Sally didn’t even have to hear the whole thing– she caught the edge of it from the hallway, the way Annabeth’s voice cut through the low murmur of Percy’s.
“She was scared, Annabeth,” Percy said, exasperation creeping into his voice even though he was trying so hard to keep it level. “What did you want me to do, huh? Pretend I didn’t see it?”
“Not act like you were her boyfriend,” Annabeth snapped. “You’re mine. ”
Sally flinched at the claim in it– mine , like a collar. Like a chain. She hovered by the kitchen doorway, one hand braced on the frame. She could see Percy’s shoulders from here, broad and sloped and so unfairly tense for someone so young and soft-hearted.
He scrubbed a hand over his face — his tell, the thing he did when he was pushing his anger down under all that water inside him. He let out a breath that sounded like he’d bitten down on a thousand words just to keep them gentle. “Annabeth,” he said, slower this time, like maybe if he stretched the word out she would hear him better. “I’m well aware I’m a big guy. People – especially scared girls — feel safer when I stand between them and someone who wants to hurt them. I try really hard to come across that way on purpose.”
He wasn’t bragging. He never bragged about it. He was just telling her the simple truth– the same truth Sally had known about him since he was ten years old and dragged a stray dog home in his backpack because it was cold and alone under a bridge.
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Annabeth shot back, her tone dripping with something bitter.
Percy’s jaw ticked, but his shoulders didn’t rise to meet it. He just breathed out through his nose, steady and soft, the same way he did when he was trying not to let his temper show. “I can see that, Annabeth. But Mia knows me. We went to school together. She knows I can handle her ex if he shows up again.” He paused, flicked his eyes toward the kitchen where Estelle was sleeping on Paul’s sholder, then back to Annabeth’s glare. “I broke his nose last time he put his hands on her. If she needs help, she knows I can and will.”
Annabeth raised her hands, exasperated, her mouth twisted in that tight, cutting shape she always wore when she was losing. She took a step forward — sharp, sudden — and Percy flinched .
That tiny recoil hit Sally’s heart like a hammer.
That was it.
“ Out. ” The word left Sally’s mouth like an iron spike.
Annabeth froze, mid-sputter. Percy turned halfway toward her, eyes wide. He looked like he might say Mom, I’m fine — like he always did. But Sally was done pretending it was fine. It wasn’t fine. It hadn’t been fine for months, maybe years. Her son will never be around someone who makes him react like that in her house. Never again.
“What?” Annabeth’s eyes darted to Percy like he might save her. But Percy’s mouth stayed parted and silent.
Sally stepped forward, the kitchen knife still clutched in her hand, half a carrot clinging to the blade. She didn’t even care. She pointed it at the girl she’d once let call her Miss Jackson like family. Not anymore.
“ Get out, ” Sally said, her voice steady enough to shake the walls. “You are no longer welcome in my house. Or around my family.”
Annabeth’s mouth opened again, but nothing came out. She knew there was nothing she could say.
Behind her, Percy’s shoulders dropped. He pressed a hand to the back of his neck, staring at the floor like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard, or maybe like he’d needed to hear it for so long he didn’t know what to do with it now. She was a terrible mother she should’ve put an end to this months ago.
“Go home, Annabeth,” Sally said, quieter now, but harder somehow. “And don’t come back.”
She didn’t raise her voice again. She didn’t have to.
Annabeth stared at her with her mouth trembling. Finally she huffed and stormed out.
Percy just stood there for a minute. Then a quiet noise came out of his mouth and Sally moved to him faster than she ever had before. “It’s ok baby.” she whispered, pulling him in, feeling his arms come up around her shoulders like he was five again. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay. You did the right thing.”