Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aphrodite stood across from me, one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other cradling a kid—small, probably five at most—like she’d done it her whole immortal life.

“Ares, this is Percy Jackson,” she said.

The kid blinked up at me, sea-green eyes too damn big for his face, round and curious in a way that made my skin crawl. One of his tiny hands was jammed halfway into his mouth, the other was buried in Aphrodite’s curls, like petting her hair was the only thing keeping him grounded.

I stared, trying to figure out what the hell was happening here. I hadn’t come to this meeting expecting—whatever the fuck this was. A goddess showing up with a child on her hip? That wasn’t part of the deal. My hard-on from earlier shriveled to dust. I couldn't even remember why I’d been horny in the first place—something about the way she walked in, probably. All of that died the second I saw her like this. Motherly. Talk about a turn off.

What the actual fuck.

The boy’s black hair hung in front of his face, wild and unbrushed, sticking to the tears still drying on his cheeks. His little blue T-shirt was wrinkled, clinging to him like he’d been crying for hours, and he clung to her like she was the last goddamn raft in the ocean. Why was he wearing pajamas?

I took a step back, arms crossed, jaw tight. My voice came out low, biting. “I wasn’t aware you were fuckin’ babysitting”

Aphrodite didn’t flinch.

I sneered. “What, one of your mortal flings die off and now you’re stuck dragging his brat around?”

Even as I said it, she looked disgustingly good. Hair all messed up from his fingers, eyes too calm. She had the audacity to look divine with a kid clinging to her—like some tragic painting you couldn’t stop staring at, even if it pissed you off.

“Why the fuck do I care about your lover’s kid?” I snapped, louder now. “Why bring him to me?”

And then she said it.

“He’s our son.”

Her voice didn’t waver. No playful lilt, no flirtation, just cold, solid truth.

My blood went still.

“He’s a demigod,” I growled, gesturing at the kid like I was pointing out a loaded weapon.

“So?” Aphrodite said, calm as anything, her hand stroking Percy’s hair.

“So how the fuck is he mine?!” I snapped, my voice echoing off the stone walls. Rage—my oldest, most trusted instinct—rose like a blade behind my ribs. The boy—Percy, apparently—flinched so hard he buried his whole face in her chest, like hiding from me might make me disappear.

I didn’t miss it. And yeah, now that I was really looking… he did sorta resemble me. If I squinted. Black hair. Strong brows. The eyes didn’t match—sea green, bright like open water—but Aphrodite took different forms depending on her mood. Maybe they came from one of her mortal skins. Who the fuck knew.

She stepped forward and cupped my cheek with maddening tenderness. Her touch was warm. Familiar. Dangerous.

“These things happen, my love,” she said sweetly. “Now be a dear and take care of our son.”

“Ours?!” I echoed, like I’d just been gut-punched.

“Yes, ours,” she said, all syrup and steel. “And make sure you care for him. Don’t drop him off with just anyone.”

Her voice dropped, sharp as broken glass, and her eyes flashed in a way that reminded me she could be terrifying when she wanted to. I’d seen empires fall with less drama than what she was pulling now.

And then—like she was handing me a bundle of flowers instead of a squirming five-year-old—she passed the kid into my arms.

I didn’t even react. Couldn’t. I just stood there like a statue while the boy was shoved into my chest. He didn’t cry, didn’t scream—just went quiet, too scared to do anything but hold on. His fingers twisted in my jacket like maybe if he held tight enough, he wouldn’t fall. Poor bastard.

“He’s a demigod,” I muttered again, like saying it would make this whole thing make sense.

But Aphrodite just smiled, turning on her heel with that inhuman grace. “Exactly,” she sang, laughing now as she sauntered away, one hand pressed playfully to her lips.

Probably off to screw another mortal, I thought bitterly. Meanwhile, I stood frozen in the middle of the room holding a child. A child. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?

I was the God of War. Not a fucking babysitter.

Not a father.

Not anyone’s goddamn soft place to land.

All the while, I had a damn kid nestled in my arms. Warm, small, and breathing slow against my chest like he belonged there. He looked up at me with this flat, dead-eyed stare—like life had already kicked him too many times, and he’d just accepted it.

My brain was spinning.

A kid. Sure. I had plenty of demigod brats out there. Even a couple full-blooded ones. None of them stuck. I never stuck. That was the rule. Make the kid, drop a blessing, vanish into myth. I didn’t raise them.

I didn’t do this.

Fuck.

I could just leave him at Camp Half-Blood. Be a mercy, really. Someone else could play daddy—Chiron, maybe. That centaur loved strays. But Aphrodite had warned me. And if I dumped the kid like trash, she’d rain hell on me. Might even drag Olympus into it just for drama.

I was still thinking it through when I felt a tug on my jacket. I looked down.

Percy was staring up at me, his fingers curled around the hem of my leather.

“Do you have any food?” he asked softly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

“She didn’t feed you?” I snapped, more to myself than him.

He shook his head. Not like it hurt his feelings. Not like anything did.

I grunted. “What do you want?”

“Blue pancakes?”

I rolled my eyes. “Scrap the blue. Fine. Pancakes.”

With a blink, we were gone, air ripping around us as I teleported us straight to a greasy diner I liked—one of those chains that never closed and always smelled like syrup and burnt coffee. The kind of place that didn’t ask questions when a guy in combat boots and a leather jacket showed up with a kid.

I walked ahead without looking back. He was five, not fragile. Let him keep up.

The bell over the door jingled as I shoved it open. I made for the booth in the back—away from windows, away from noise. I didn’t bother checking if he was still following. If he got lost, I’d find him again. Probably.

But the soft thump of tiny shoes behind me said he was still there. Still trying.

I slid into the booth.

Percy stood there, eyeing the seat like it was a mountain. He reached up, hands grabbing the edge. Tried to hoist himself up. Slipped. Tried again. Kicked his legs like a pissed-off rabbit. Still didn’t make it. But he didn’t whine. Didn’t ask for help. It seemed even gravity was out for him

Stubborn little shit.

Gods help me—I was almost impressed.

I grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him up like luggage, setting him down in the booth with zero ceremony. He barely weighed anything. Percy mumbled a soft “Thank you” as he straightened himself out, brushing invisible dirt off his wrinkled shirt.

I barely heard him. My mind was still caught on what Aphrodite had said earlier.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with him?” I’d asked, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

“Raise him,” she’d answered without blinking. “And don’t hand him over to just anyone.”

She hadn’t flirted. Hadn’t teased. It was a command. And that— that —wasn’t like her. Aphrodite didn’t order me around. She batted her lashes and left the rest to suggestion. But this… this kid? She’d been serious.

Which made me wonder—why him?

She’d had other kids. I’d had other kids. None of them got this kind of attention.

This one was small. Too soft. If he was really a demigod, then he was breakable. Mortal breakable. Could bleed. Could die.

I watched him look down at the menu like it was written in another language. Hell, maybe it was to him. I wasn’t even sure if the brat could read.

A waitress strolled up, gum smacking lazily between her teeth.

“You ready to order?”

She didn’t ask questions. Places like this never did. Kid still in pajamas, standing on the booth seat, hair a mess, shoes untied—no one batted an eye.

“Pancakes. Bacon. Whatever meat you’ve got that isn’t dust,” I said, not looking up from the menu.

She smiled. “And your son?”

I nearly choked.

My eye twitched. “He’s not—” I stopped. What was the point?

Next to me, Percy was staring at the laminated menu like it held the secrets of the universe. He lifted a finger and pointed carefully.

“Pancakes for him,” I muttered. “And whatever kiddy juice you’ve got—something orange. Or blue. I don’t care.”

The waitress nodded and walked off, no doubt thinking I was some overworked single dad who didn’t know how to comb his kid’s hair. Disgusting.

I leaned back in the booth, arms crossed, glaring at the ceiling like it owed me something. Across from me, the kid was quiet, hands folded in his lap, his feet not even touching the edge of the seat.

We didn’t mesh well.

A biker and a five-year-old in pajamas. It looked more like a kidnapping than a family breakfast. People glanced our way, but no one said anything. This was the kind of place where minding your own business came with the coffee.

I heard a rustle under the table.

Then a small head popped up beside me in the booth, hair sticking up at wild angles.

“She… she told me you’re my dad,” Percy said, voice unsure but steady.

I narrowed my eyes. “Go sit on your own side, kid.”

He didn’t move.

“You don’t smell,” he added.

I blinked. “Hahhh?” I tilted my head, offended. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “Just… you don’t smell bad. I thought dads smelled bad. Like Gabe.”

“I’m not afraid to hurt a kid,” I muttered under my breath, voice dark.

“Guess you are my dad, then,” he said, completely unfazed. “And my name is Percy. Percy Jackson. Did you forget?”

This sassy-ass child.

I stared down at him, my jaw ticking. He was this close to being left on the side of the road. Or better yet, handed off to chiron and let him sort this shit out.

But before I could reply with something mean enough to make him cry, the food arrived.

He shut up instantly.

Kid had my appetite, at least. He tore into the pancakes like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Syrup dripped down his chin, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, and he licked the plate clean when he was done. Actually licked it.

Greedy little brat.

It was… kind of cute.

I hated that word.

But there was something familiar in the way he devoured sweets with no shame. That was Aphrodite’s side of him, no doubt. She loved sugar—sweet drinks, candied fruits, honey off her fingers.

I rubbed the back of my neck, staring at the syrup-sticky child beside me.

Gods help me, was he really was mine.

“ Hephaestus would be mad if I brought him home,” I’d heard her say, voice echoing in my skull like a curse.

“ He’s your son—don’t pass him off,” she’d added, all sweet and smug and serious at once.

It was fucking annoying how her voice stuck like that. Like she’d left perfume behind on my skin and I couldn’t scrub it off.

I snapped back to the present when Percy, still sticky from syrup and way too chipper for someone in my custody, grinned up at me.

“Thanks. You’re better than my last dad,” he said, all cheery and bright like he wasn’t insulting me.

I paused. Just for a second.

What the hell kind of bastard was I being compared to?

And why the fuck was this kid smiling at me?

I left money on the table, stomping away as Percy followed me. Percy yawned, big and loud, then reached up with one hand—expectant. Waiting for me to take it.

I rolled my eyes and kept walking.

He stayed frozen by the diner door for a moment, then huffed and came running to catch up, bare feet slapping the pavement.

“You’re supposed to hold my hand,” he said behind me.

“Why the hell would I do that?” I muttered, already unlocking my bike. The leather seat was hot from the sun, and I cursed under my breath. Could I even put a kid on this?

He crossed his arms. “Because I might get hit by a car!”

“That’d solve a lot of problems.”

He kicked me.

Didn’t hurt. Not even close. Kid had the strength of wet paper. But it was the look he gave me—sharp, narrowed, all righteous fury in a five-year-old body—that got under my skin. He was dumb enough to kick me… definitely mine. 

He stood there, glaring, one hand still out. Stubborn little shit. Just like his mother.

I grabbed his outstretched hand and lifted him onto the bike like a sack of flour. He was light—barely anything. I could probably bench-press three of him and still have a hand free for my sword.

“You’re gonna make me upset, kid,” I warned, tightening the strap of my jacket around his waist so he didn’t go flying off.

“Wow, is this yours?” he asked, eyes going wide as he ran his fingers over the handlebars. “It’s so cool!”

He completely ignored the threat.

I resisted the urge to strangle him on the spot. Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Don’t murder the five-year-old. He was mine, apparently. Somehow. He was as a Demi god, I can still be fucking skeptical. Was Aphrodite bullshiting for giggles?

Still trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with him, I asked, “You said you had another dad. Where the hell is he?”

He blinked.

“The nice lady,” Percy said softly. Aphrodite “When my mom and Gabe died… she came and got me. She said she’d try to find someone to take care of me.”

His voice cracked.

I froze, half-mounted on the bike.

He looked down at his knees, small hands fisting in the worn leather of my seat. “The nice lady said she was my mom too… but she left me behind… too”

That hit different.

Not because I gave a shit about some random mortal lady and her dead hit husband. Who took care of Percy before. But the way his voice went all quiet—like he was trying not to cry and failing—that stuck in my ears like a blade twisting slow.

His bottom lip trembled. Then he wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked away, like crying was something to be ashamed of.

I grunted and looked anywhere but at him. “Tch. You done?” I muttered.

He sniffled but nodded, still not looking at me.

Gods, this was the worst.

I was the god of war. I handled battlefields. Screaming men. Blood. Steel. Not this.

Not crying kids and dead moms and weird maternal matchmaking.

And now I had a sniffling, syrup-stained demigod on my bike, arms wrapped around my middle like I was some kind of hero.

I hit the throttle.

Percy was quieter after that.

Didn’t say a word as I rode, arms looped tight around my waist. Somewhere between the winding highway and the dead silence of the open road, he fell asleep against my back. I could feel the weight of his head slumped between my shoulder blades, his breath going all uneven. Couple sniffs. A whimper.

Then quiet again.

He even cried in his sleep—pressed up against me like I was safe. I didn’t like that. Not one fucking bit.

But at least it was better than him bawling his eyes out while I was driving.

Couple hours later, he stirred, yawning loud enough for me to hear over the engine.

“Do you have any food?” he mumbled groggily, voice raspy from sleep and tears.

Right. Mortals needed to eat like five times a damn day. Annoying habit.

I pulled off the road and into a half-empty gas station. Gravel crunched under the tires as I parked.

“Stay here,” I ordered, cutting the engine. I didn’t look at him. Didn’t want to see that dumb sleepy face, or his hands reaching up for mine. I just needed five fucking minutes where I didn’t have to hold something.

I stalked into the station, shoulders squared, jacket flapping behind me. Grabbed a cold sandwich from the fridge, a bag of chips, and a soda. Kids liked sugar. It’d shut him up for a while. Paid in cash. Fast.

I was just stepping back out—

And froze.

Two cops.

Standing way too close to my motorcycle. One was crouched slightly, hands on his knees, smiling like a damn preschool teacher. The other had his hand on his radio. And Percy—tiny, barefoot, messy-haired, dried syrup still on his chin, shirt rumpled from sleep and his fucking pajamas still on—stood stiffly beside the bike, looking like a lost puppy someone dumped on the sidewalk.

From here, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I didn’t need to. They thought he was a runaway.

Or worse.

Fuck.

My jaw clenched, hard enough to crack.

But wasn’t this a good thing?

The thought cut through the rising heat behind my eyes like a blade. This was my out. I could walk away. Let them take him. Let the system chew him up like it always did. He wasn’t my problem anymore.

I could wipe the blood off my hands—of Percy Jackson . Pretend he never landed in my lap. Aphrodite had clearly dumped him on mortals before. Why couldn’t it happen again?

Let some well-meaning couple feed him applesauce and read bedtime stories. Give him a nice little mortal life. It’d be better for him. Safer. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing—I was the God of War , not some sentimental suburban dad.

I didn’t want to lug a brat around for years waiting for him to be old enough to walk away.

I didn’t want to—

“Kid, please come with us.”

One of the cops had his hand on Percy’s shoulder now, guiding him toward the cruiser like it was already decided.

And then—

Then Percy screamed.

Loud.

Raw.

Like something inside him ripped in half.

“ Dad! Dad! ” Percy screamed, voice cracking, kicking his legs as the officers dragged him toward their cruiser.

Problem solved, I thought.

But did they really have to manhandle him like that?

Percy thrashed against their grip, teeth bared. “ Get off me! Dad! ”

One of the cops leaned in, trying to calm him. “Kid, hey, calm down—we’ll help find your—”

Percy bit him.

“ Fucking— !”

Oh hell no.

I was already moving, boots slamming against the pavement as I stalked across the lot. I whistled, sharp and commanding, like I would for a war dog.

Percy’s head jerked toward the sound.

His eyes lit up.

And just like that, he broke free. The cops reached for him again, but he was already sprinting toward me, tears streaming down his sticky face.He barreled into my leg and latched on like a damn koala.

“ Dad, ” he gasped, breath hitching.

One of the cops jogged after him, frowning. “Is this child yours?”

I didn’t bother hiding my glare. “He’s mine.”

Percy looked up at me and scowled . “Where the fuck were you?!”

I clenched my jaw. “Watch your mouth.”

But he didn’t let go. Just kept hugging my leg like I’d hung the stars.

The cop cleared his throat. “Sir, you really need to keep a better eye on your kid—”

I turned my glare on him. The words died in his throat.

“Right. Uh. Glad you found your son. Have a good day.”

He backed off fast. I looked down at the brat still wrapped around my leg, sniffling and breathing too hard. This day was getting worse by the minute. And somehow… I knew I wasn’t leaving this kid behind.

The cops scrambled like roaches, stumbling over themselves to get the hell away. Good.

Percy looked up at me, cheeks red, eyes fierce. Those determined sea green eyes—too big for his face, too full of feeling.

“Where were you!” he shouted, voice cracking. “Thought you left. Thought you were gone like—”

He cut himself off.

Didn’t need to say the rest. He just stuck out his hand, small and serious. “ This is why you hold hands.”

I stared at him.Then I grabbed the brat by the collar and yanked him straight into my arms.

“How’s this?” I muttered, holding him tight to my chest like I was about to launch him over a battlefield.

“Horrible,” he grunted. “I can smell your breath. Do you even brush your teeth?”

This child .

I growled and hoisted him up over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“ Hey! ” he screeched, giggling now, kicking his legs like he thought this was a game.

Gods. He was laughing. Laughing —in the arms of the God of War. His fists thumped playfully against my back.

“I’m glad you came back, Dad,” he mumbled, quieter this time. Soft. Honest. Fuck he was already calling me dad. Like I didn’t have enough brats. They weren’t Aphrodite’s. Percy was sweeter then them. A hellion who still managed to be cute while swearing.

So was I.

++++

Percy burst through the door of my place like a wild animal set loose.

I didn’t think much of it at first. He was a kid—figured he’d tire himself out.

I didn’t think about the fact that my place wasn’t exactly childproof. Swords on the walls. Daggers stuck into the doorframes. A pair of bloodstained gauntlets on the counter from the last time I’d lost my temper. And a spiked mace just sitting out because I liked the way it looked in the light.

Whatever. Most of it was too high up for a brat his size to reach.

Probably.

He was running from room to room now, bouncing off the couch, opening cabinets like it was some kind of treasure hunt. The soda had clearly kicked in. So much for silence. I wanted silence. I earned it.

“Where do you sleep? What’s this room? Why is there a sword in the sink? Do you sleep? Why is this fork bent like that? Is this real blood on the—”

“ Enough, ” I growled.

He stopped.

For two seconds.

Then started again. Clearly not afraid of me anymore.

I headed to the freezer. Only one thing I knew of that could shut up a sugar-hyped demigod.

Ice cream.

I pulled out the tub and slapped three massive scoops into a bowl. It should have been four, but I wasn’t about to spoil him right out the gate.

I handed him the bowl without a word.

He took it like he’d just been handed the key to Olympus.

And instead of shutting up, he kept talking—just with spoonfuls of vanilla wedged between every other sentence.

“This is good,” chomp. “But I think chocolate’s better.” chew. “Do you have a bed or just weapons?” slurp. “Did you kill a monster with this spoon? It’s bent. That’s so cool.”

I stared at him, dead-eyed, arms crossed.

The kid was a menace .

And now he was sugared up twice over.

I was going to regret this.

Eventually, the sugar crash hit him.

Percy slowed down, eyes drooping between bites, his spoon dragging through half-melted ice cream like he forgot what he was doing. He yawned—big, messy, loud—and blinked up at me from the table like I was supposed to do something.

I didn’t say a word. Just grunted, walked over, and picked him up.

Not gently. Not cradling like one of those sweet-mortal-parent commercials. Just lifted him under the arms, hoisted him like a sack of potatoes, and slung him over my shoulder.

“Hey!” he muttered, barely putting up a fight this time. “You’re bad at carrying.”

“Not my job to be good at it,” I muttered, already walking down the hall.

I kicked open the door to the spare room and dropped him onto the bed. Literally dropped . His small body bounced once, limbs sprawling.

He rolled over slowly, blinking at me through half-lidded eyes.

“…You’re not leaving, right?”

I paused. One hand still on the doorframe.

“What?”

“You’ll stay?” he asked, voice small, almost slurred with sleep. “Just… for a little. Until I fall asleep.”

I scratched the back of my neck. Everything in me screamed to walk out. Right then. Shut the door. Let the kid cry himself to sleep. That was life. That was war.

But he looked at me like I was the last person left in the world.

“Sure,” I muttered. “Five minutes.”

“Promise?”

I didn’t answer. Just sat on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh, arms crossed, staring at the floor. Percy curled up beside me, hand fisting into the blanket like he was anchoring himself to it.

Within minutes, he was out cold. Snoring softly. Breathing even.

I sat there a little longer than five minutes.

Then I stood up.

Walked out.

Shut the door behind me.

Chapter Text

Finally,

Fucking finally —I had some time to myself.

The kid was passed out, starfished across the spare bed like he owned the place, still sticky with syrup and ice cream. Drool on the pillow. Snoring like a broken flute. Gods willing, he’d stay that way for hours .

I stepped outside onto the deck balcony, lit a cigarette with a snap of my fingers, and took a long drag. Smoke curled around my face, hot and familiar. I leaned against the stone railing, cracked open a bottle of something strong, and let the burn hit the back of my throat.

This was my kind of silence.

No dumb questions.

No crying.

No brat asking if I brushed my teeth.

I exhaled slow. Watched the smoke disappear into the stars.

I had shit to do. Real war god shit. Mortals were killing each other at a steady pace and I was supposed to be somewhere about it. But here I was, ignoring all of Olympus, avoiding messages, and babysitting a half-pint in pajamas who thought food fixed everything.

I rubbed my temples, groaning.

What the fuck was I supposed to do with him?

He was loud. Messy. Always asking questions. He hugged too much. Talked too much. Looked at me like I was something safe. Like I hadn’t split kingdoms in half with my bare hands.

I didn’t want to care.

But here I was… thinking about what he might want for dinner. What did kids eat? Something fried? Pasta? Did he even like vegetables? Was he allergic to shit? Was I supposed to know that? I took another swig, annoyed.

This wasn’t sustainable.

I needed a solution. A better one.

And then it hit me.

My sons.

My godly brats. Old enough to fight, old enough to stab, definitely old enough to babysit.

Why the hell hadn’t I thought of them before?

I grinned to myself, teeth bared.

Let them deal with Percy. Let them play big brother, show him the ropes, whatever. They could burn off his energy, answer his dumb questions, make sure he didn’t impale himself on a decorative spear. Perfect.

I took another drag from the cigarette, blowing the smoke at the sky.

Yeah.

Let them handle it.

Deimos and Phobos.

Gods of fear and panic. My sons. My war-bred twins.

They used to ride beside me into battle without question. Armor bloodstained, blades sharp, eyes full of the kind of madness that made mortals break before the fight even started. They were terror incarnate.

Then the modern world happened.

And now they were just a pair of disrespectful little bastards with too much attitude and not enough sense.

Deimos showed up first, swaggering in like he owned the place. Red hair cropped messy, like he cut it with a knife and didn’t bother checking the mirror. Gold eyes, sharp and narrow, full of judgment and bone-deep anger. His face was a map of scars—one across the bridge of his nose, a couple old ones slicing through his jaw, fresher ones down his neck and arms. His leather jacket was torn at the seams, black gloves tight over his knuckles like he’d just come from cracking a skull.

He looked like a slightly smaller version of me.

Minus the drive. 

Phobos trailed in behind him, wide-eyed and twitchy. Same gold eyes, but lighter red hair—almost pink in the right light, like the color had been washed out from too much worry. His jacket was too big, sleeves half covering his hands. His posture screamed don’t notice me , and yet, every time he flinched or bit his lip, it was all anyone could do.

Phobos was the older twin. You wouldn’t know it by the way he hovered behind Deimos like a shadow trying to disappear.

Both of them looked like eighteen-year-old punks pulled off the back of a motorcycle gang. All teenage wrath and misplaced godhood.

Deimos threw himself onto my couch, legs spread, boots tossed up on my fucking coffee table like he paid rent here. Phobos stood awkwardly at the edge of the room, hands twisting in his sleeves, casting quick, nervous glances at me like I was going to smite him—which, to be fair, was always a possibility.

I stared at them both.

Then, without ceremony, slapped them each upside the head.

Whack.

“Stop shaking like a bitch,” I barked at Phobos.

“And you—feet off my fucking table.”

Deimos growled at me, low in his throat, like a wolf with a sore tooth.

Phobos nodded furiously, still trembling. Ex- Gods of war. Pathetic. I cracked my neck.

“What do you want, old man?” Deimos asked, voice dripping with bored disdain as he sprawled deeper into the couch cushions.

I shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. “Shut up. Keep quiet.”

They clearly didn’t know how long it took to get a mortal kid to sleep. It was a war of attrition. A slow, dragging death. I’d finally gotten him to knock out and the peace had lasted, what, ten minutes ?

“Dad!”

Ah, fuck.

I didn’t even get the chance to turn around before Percy came sprinting down the hall like a possessed gremlin, pajamas flapping and hair wild. He crashed into me like a missile, eyes wide with betrayal.

“You said you’d stay! You lied again! ” he shouted, stabbing a tiny finger into my side like he was calling down divine judgment. I put a hand on his forehead and shoved him back a step.

“Go back to your room, Percy. I’ll be there in a second.”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Okay… Can I jump on the bed?”

“Whatever. Go.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He grinned and bolted, feet thudding down the hallway. I exhaled through my nose, slow and murderous.

Behind me, Deimos snorted. “Is that… a mortal kid? In your house? ”

Phobos, eyes wide and panicked, whispered, “Was that your mortal kid?”

I turned toward them with a dead-eyed glare.

“Congratulations,” I said. “You two are brothers.”

They both groaned at the same time.

“Who was that?” Deimos asked, leaning over the back of the couch to watch Percy disappear down the hall.

I turned toward them, arms crossed, voice smug. “He’s your brother. And now it’s your job— both of you—to take care of him.”

The satisfaction in my tone was undeniable. Finally. A solution. Both twins turned to look at me, horrified. Phobos opened his mouth—ready to nod, agree, probably start stammering something useless and overly polite—but Deimos slapped a gloved hand over his brother’s mouth.

“What?” Deimos snarled. “ He’s your son! We’re not fucking babysitters.”

Phobos made a muffled noise behind the leather, wide eyes darting between me and the hallway like he was trying to process whether this was real or just another Ares-induced fever dream. I sighed. Of course it couldn’t have been the panic twin I pulled in alone. He’d be too scared to fight me. Too eager to obey. Would’ve folded like a paper offering if I told him it was his sacred duty.

But no.

I had to summon both . And Deimos, the mouthier one, the one who liked a fight just for the fun of it, had to butt in.

Now I had arguments.

I rubbed my temples.

“Think of it as training,” I said. “Fear and panic, handling one sugar-high mortal. If you survive it, I’ll actually be impressed. Now, take care of the kid until he’s I don’t know 16?”

Deimos scowled. Phobos slowly lowered Deimos’ hand from his face.

“Wait… he’s really our brother?”

I shrugged. “Aphrodite said he is. Close enough.”

The twins looked at each other again, eyes narrowed.

“Then why are you taking care of him?” Deimos asked, arms crossed, brow arched.

I exhaled hard through my nose. “He’s mine. Aphrodite’s too. Go ask your mother why he’s a half-blood instead of God born.”

That shut them up for half a second.

Then—

“ Dad! ” Percy’s voice called out from the hallway. “It’s been way more than one second!”

Before I could respond, he came barreling in, barefoot again, hair sticking up in ten directions. He ran right to me, wrapping his arms around my leg like it was the safest place in the world. I was still sitting, so he had his face buried in my thigh before I could even blink.

I grunted. “You’re clingy.”

He looked up, little fists gripping my jacket. His face twisted slightly, nose scrunching.

“You smell again. Don’t like this one.”

Of course he didn’t. I’d been outside. War and cigarettes and sweat—what, he wanted roses?

I grabbed under his arms and pulled him up, letting him sit sideways across my lap.

“Percy,” I said, jerking my chin toward the couch, “meet Deimos and Phobos. Your brothers. And your new babysitters.”

Percy blinked at them.

Deimos gave him a look —skeptical, sharp, almost amused. “That’s the kid?”

Phobos, on the other hand, was already halfway entranced, eyes wide, head tilted. “Wait… Mom’s actual kid?”

The two of them leaned forward, inspecting Percy like a rare relic.

“He does have the eyes,” Phobos said, nodding like he’d just solved a prophecy.

“And Mom had this exact hair color once. Remember that century? Pitch black like the night.” Deimos squinted. “Same straight, too.”

“How did we not see it?” they said in unison.

Percy frowned and leaned into me a little harder.

“…They’re weird,” he whispered.

“Get used to it.”

“Alright, enough of that,” I muttered, shifting Percy off my lap and setting him on the floor. “You’ve got babysitters now.”

Percy blinked up at me. “What?”

“Go with your brothers,” I said, nodding toward Deimos and Phobos. “They’re in charge.”

His face scrunched, confused. “But… you said…”

“They’ll teach you stuff,” I cut in, sharper now. “God stuff. War stuff. Whatever. You’ll like it.”

“I don’t want them!” Percy shouted, suddenly loud. “I want you! ”

I groaned, already reaching for a cigarette I couldn’t light in the house. “Kid, I’m not gonna sit around holding your hand all day. Go. Play sword-fighting with the idiots.”

“I’m not going!” Percy sobbed, grabbing onto my leg again, tighter this time—desperate. His voice cracked. “Don’t send me away, Dad! Please—please don’t send me away again!”

I froze.

And fuck.

That hit something I didn’t have a name for.

His fingers dug into my pants, his forehead pressed to my knee, hot tears soaking through the fabric. He was crying like I’d just told him he didn’t matter. Like he’d been sent away before—and believed it would happen again.

My jaw tightened.

Deimos stood up fast. “What the fuck, Dad?”

Phobos looked horrified . “You made him cry! That’s just cruel! ”

“I wasn’t trying to—” Why did I have to defend myself 

“Then what were you trying to do?” Deimos snapped. “Shove your kid onto us like he’s a problem? That’s just shitty parenting!”

“You think I don’t know that?” I growled, holding Percy awkwardly now as he clung tighter, crying harder into my chest. His little body shook with each breath, like he couldn’t stop even if he tried.

My head throbbed.

Gods, my head fucking throbbed.

Phobos crouched nearby, hands hovering like he wanted to help but didn’t know how. “He’s not a soldier, Dad. He’s five. ”

I sighed, deep and angry and exhausted, and shifted Percy to sit fully in my lap again. He buried his face against my shoulder like I was the only safe thing left in the world.

The kid wouldn’t let go.

Not even a little.

He’d gone limp in my lap, like if he didn’t move, I wouldn’t notice him—like I wouldn’t get the idea to push him away again. His fists were curled in my jacket, face buried against my chest, and every shaky breath was hot and wet through the fabric.

I looked down at him. Opened my mouth.

But nothing came out.

I didn’t even know what the fuck I was supposed to say. What could I say? Sorry I almost handed you off to two war gods in the middle of a sugar crash?

I’d never wanted him. That was the truth. Still didn’t.

Aphrodite dumped him on me with that smile— “These things happen, my love.” She didn’t give me a choice. Just a warm body and a warning not to fuck it up. And now here he was. Crying into my armor like I was his goddamn savior. My hands twitched where they hovered around him.

I felt a little bad.

Not a lot.

Just enough to make me angry at myself.

Any child of mine —a true Ares-born—should have the weakness beaten out of them by now. I never raised Phobos or Deimos to cry. They looked to much like me.  I raised them to hurt . That was war. That was survival. And if they hated me for it, well, that was war too.

But Percy…

He wasn’t just mine.

He was hers.

That softness. That fucking sweetness in his voice when he said Dad like it meant something. That part wasn’t me.

That part was Aphrodite.

And damn her, damn her twice , I’d always been weak where she was concerned.

This kid—he had her eyes when he begged. Her mouth when he trembled. The same way she used to break me without lifting a finger.

No wonder I couldn’t just throw him out. It was easier with Phobos and Deimos. They looked like me. Acted like me. I could scream, slap, shove—and they’d bounce back swinging. Toughen up. That was how you made sons. But Percy wasn’t made for that. And maybe that pissed me off more than anything else.

Because now I was stuck .

With this sobbing, sniffling, shaking little thing I didn’t ask for—but somehow couldn’t throw away either.

“Dad,” Percy mumbled, voice so small I barely heard it. “Please don’t leave again.”

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Phobos, of all people, stepped closer and whispered, “You’re kind of a dick, you know that?”

Deimos nodded slowly, crossing his arms. “Can’t believe you made mom’s kid cry.” He was mine too!!! I wanted to yell.

I sighed and leaned back, dragging a hand down my face, still holding Percy against me.

“Shut the fuck up,” I muttered.

But I didn’t push Percy away.

The crying slowed.

Percy hiccuped once, then went quiet—still clinging, still pressed into me like I was something solid in a world full of falling things. His breath was warm against my chest. Damp. Small.

I stared past him. Past the twins, past the bloodstained walls, the rusted weapons, the cracked floor. The home of a war god.

And fuck —this wasn’t a place for a kid.

This wasn’t a place for him .

But here he was.

And I couldn’t leave.

I’d tried to hand him off. I tried to scare him off. I’d been cruel, impatient, ready to dump him on my sons like a sack of burdens I didn’t want to carry.

But he’d still come to me. He still called me Dad. He trusted me to come back.

And now?

Now I knew the worst thing I could do to him was leave. I closed my eyes.

Fucking Aphrodite.

This was her fault. Every part of it. That kid’s eyes. His voice. His hope. She knew I wouldn’t be able to walk away from something that looked so much like her—and gods damn her, she’d been right.

I looked down at him. His lashes were sticky with tears. His cheeks red. His grip on my jacket slackening as sleep finally started to pull him under again.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath. “I’m really doing this.”

Phobos and Deimos both looked at me.

“You’re keeping him?” They asked in quiet unison.

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t need to. I already knew the truth. I was going to raise him.

Not because I wanted to.

Not because I was good at it.

But because I couldn’t fucking not .

“One day you’ll understand what it cost me not to walk away,” I muttered. “So you’d better make it fucking worth it, Percy Jackson.”

++++

The funeral was small. Modest. But filled with so much grief the air itself felt like it was made of saltwater.

The child sat near the front. Alone. Crying prettily, like something out of a tragic painting. His little hands were folded tightly in his lap, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, but still glowing like sea glass caught in the sun.

Poseidon’s son. No doubt about it.

And one day, he would be strong. Unshakably so. I recognized that soft scent of the sea, that made it possible he could even be mine. Which is why I stepped forward, heels silent in the grass.

“Hello,” I began gently.

Percy looked up at me, lip trembling. “Hi. Were you a friend of my mom too?”

His voice cracked on the word mom. My heart didn’t break—but it tilted. I kneeled slowly in front of him, adjusting my coat around me like the wind had a right to touch me.

“Yes,” I said softly, brushing a bit of hair from his damp forehead. “You see… Sally adopted you when you were just a baby. From me.” I lied to the sweet boy. His brows pulled together, confused, uncertain.

“I’m sort of your mom too,” I added with a wistful smile. “But only in spirit.” I paused. Let that settle. I had no intention of dishonoring the woman he’d lost. “Sally Jackson was your real mother. She chose you. Raised you. And even in her final moments, she prayed for you.”

I looked past him, toward the headstone adorned in sea-colored flowers.

“And such a beautiful prayer,” I whispered. “Even I heard it.”

His little shoulders trembled.

“She loved you more than the world, Percy.”

He nodded quickly, like agreeing would keep the tears from coming again. It didn’t. I reached out, gently brushing away one that had started to fall. And as I looked at him—his grief, his strength, the waves coiled beneath his blood—I began to think. Maybe there was still a way to place him where he needed to be.

Not with Poseidon.

Not in the sea.

But in war.

With someone who could forge him into something dangerous. I smiled again, this time with a different kind of softness.

“Would you like to come with me?” I asked. “Just for a little while.”

He nodded.

And the first step of the plan unfolded.

Percy cried in my arms as the last prayer of his mother still echoed in the corners of the world. I held him close, his small body shivering like something half-drowned. He didn’t understand what he’d lost—not fully. But he felt it. That kind of pain lingers even in children. Especially in children.

And so I did what I could.

I cupped his tear-streaked cheek, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and whispered a blessing into his skin. It wasn’t much. Nothing to curse him. Nothing to change him completely.

Just enough.

Enough to make him look a little like me.

Softness in the curve of his mouth. A shimmer in the green of his eyes. A glow to his skin, like the sun always wanted to touch him. It didn’t overwrite what he was. Just enhanced it—like framing a masterpiece instead of repainting it. He was already beautiful, even like this. Even broken.

But now… now he would carry a piece of me wherever he went.

It would be his strength.

And his weakness.

And Ares’, too.

Because anything that reminded him of me always made him lose control. It made him care. Even when he didn’t want to. Especially when he didn’t want to. I stroked Percy’s hair as his sobs quieted, as sleep began to take him.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “I’m only giving you what might save you.”

He needed strength. Ares could give him that. I could not. But I could give him the threads to pull Ares close.

Ares, my brute. My fire. My terrible, violent love.

He could raise the child strong. He could raise the child to live.

And he…

He might even grow to be fond of him.

I laid Percy gently on the small bed I’d conjured from nothing, wrapping him in a blanket made of mist and rose-colored warmth.

Tomorrow, I would hand him off.

And Ares, whether he knew it or not, would never be the same again.