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Chapter Text

Hera had only had a short glimpse of Andromeda Jackson—just enough to notice something off . The girl had come to Olympus to give back her husband's second-favourite toy, and Hera—well, she hadn't bothered entering the throne room, at the time; it was enough to know that there would be no war against the Sea. Her foster-parents were retired, but Hera still did prefer them being kept out of the line of fire of any potential conflict, even if she was not precisely invested. And besides, why should she wait on yet another bastard, have her face rubbed in the breaking of vows in her domain?

No one left Styx alone with oathbreakers, Hera didn't understand why everyone thought she was supposed to be reasonable about living reminders of vows in her domain being broken into tiny bitty pieces.

And so, she had caught nothing more than a short glimpse of the girl. A short glimpse that was significant for what it didn't do.

All those— half-blood children, they all grated against her sensibilities, except some of that Dionysus' brats with Ariadne. Some did less so: Apollo's, Hermes', Ares' and Demeter's, at least, were not in spite of her domain, but simply outside of it. Athena's were usually outside of it in a way that made them the most bearable of them all; no vows broken or pre-supposed. But Hades'? Aphrodite's? Hephaestus'? Even her darling boy's children with that love goddess who'd no doubt seduced him grated, born in spite of marriage vows as they were, nevermind those were gods and not half-gods, actual family. And her very own husband's little bastards, those grated worst of all.

It was strange and had always been a mystery to her, how most of Poseidon's children seemed to be born outside of marriage vows, not in spite of them—when his children with her foster niece were clearly born inside them. But this demigod child?

Had been born inside of marriage vows. When they didn't , like some deities from other pantheons she wouldn't name, do polygamous marriages. They were Greeks, after all. The girl was a demigod, clearly half-mortal, clearly Poseidon's daughter—and yet, she knew as well as she knew anything in her own domain, that the girl's parents were married and had been married when she was conceived.

It was enough to pique a goddess' interest—and maybe part of it was looking out for the foster niece who had been something closer to a younger sister-figure to her when she'd stayed with Oceanus and Tethys. None of the options for how this could have happened that she could imagine were good for her foster niece. So she decided to seek out whoever Andromeda Jackson's mother was.

And indeed, Hera had been correct to assume that the situation was not good for her foster niece, even if this was not remotely anything she had imagined. Because here she was, on a busy New York street corner, cars honking and lights blinking everywhere, just trying to see whether she could spot Andromeda Jackson's mother…

And there, on her way to the closest bodega, just about entering it, she was: A woman who, without a doubt, was the mother of Poseidon's youngest demigod child, and who also happened to be Salacia herself, diminished and mortal. Juno had assumed, in her bias, that Andromeda Jackson looked like her foster-niece because her kelp head of a brother had a type in women, but seeing her for herself—

Juno froze. She wondered how Pluto hadn't seen it. It might've been because he was Hades at the time, might have been because he hadn't grown up with Salacia (or rather Hera had grown up with Amphitrite), hadn't ever known her that well for they each were fairly well-tethered to their respective domains, and yet—

Juno did not know how one could overlook the spark of godhood at the core of Sally Jackson, as long as one bothered to actually pay attention. Of course, she now only had more questions…

Her gaze followed her sister-in-law, who'd only just stepped out of the bodega again. 

... and there was one person potentially very well-equipped to answer them shopping for groceries that she’d lose sight of if she didn't walk after her now.

With hurried steps, she followed Salacia Jackson, adjusting her guise as she walked: a marriage ring on her left hand, like she always wore in cultures that used them, and a dress with a blue and green pattern with large eye-spots on it, deliberately modeled after peacock feathers, a bit older than her foster niece's mortal form.

She took a pace that would have left all but the most fit of humans out of breath, but it didn't bother her: she was a goddess, after all. Still she slowed down when she came closer to her target: it wouldn't do, to appear hurried.

"Salacia." Juno lifted her head a little, walking beside her almost-sister. She didn't bother with the surname the woman had adopted, undoubtedly in reaction to mortal sensibilities.

"Lady Juno." It did not surprise her that Salacia would immediately recognise her. What did surprise her was Salacia of all people referring to her as Lady—with their similar statuses and their long history, she was one of the few deities who need not have bothered. She was family, after all.

"I was quite surprised to meet your daughter." Salacia's daughter, her niece, family by all the rules she'd carefully crafted, yet also mortal, and Salacia herself was mortal right now too, which meant she could die , which meant Hera's family was in danger . 

"She did not mention meeting you." Salacia sounded so utterly neutral, still, the way she only did if she was actually very emotional but didn't want to show it, which—they'd grown up together. Did she not trust her?

"She hardly saw me for a moment, I believe. Possibly not even long enough to recognise me at all." Which would have been quite an insult from a mortal—from a regular mortal, but Andie was family . ... mortal family. By herself , that shouldn't be possible.

"I see, Lady Juno." The way Salacia kept her face and bearing so polite—she hadn't done that since right after Juno married, when she'd played a prank on her and for just a moment, she'd thought their easy camaraderie, all those years spent together were lost. Salacia—she was acting like she didn't know Juno, the way a regular mortal should act in her presence, but Salacia was her dearest kin, not—

"It was quite interesting, though, to observe her. And see her—status." Surely, Salacia would react to this blatant hint that Andie was legitimate .

Her foster niece flinched. "I—I am. I do not know why we are Roman, Lady Juno. Not when—her father's Greek."

Hera barely kept herself from blinking and scowling due to the sudden sharp stab through her, distracting herself instead with the feelings emanating from local churches, where weddings were being held right now - one of those marriages already looked unhappy, and she gave just a bit more of a blessing to the wife in that one. The split... that was not what she'd referred to. And the way Salacia had phrased it, as why we are Roman, including herself and her daughter, as if she—

As if she didn't know.

As if her family didn't know who Juno was to her.

Salacia was mortal right now, had borne a demigod child from her husband. Neptune hadn't told any of the other gods about his wife's state.

Salacia did not know what was going on .

It was beginning to add up to a picture Juno did not like .

But it was also giving her ideas to fix an entirely different problem. And her niece—she wouldn't have any answers. Maybe Juno's foster parents would have them; she'd certainly prefer asking them to her brother. Even if his most recent offspring wasn't actually a bastard born from him betraying one of her favourite family members, he still had done that often enough. So, time to mentally switch tracks. "There is a Roman camp, as well. I think your daughter should see it, eventually."

Salacia bit her lip. "Will she be—safe there? Being... Greek, and. I remember something about... about children of sea deities not being welcome there. Not to question you or your—suggestion, Lady Juno."

Salacia had the right to question her suggestions, if anyone had. And the worry was... justified. Even if Andromeda was powerful, as befit her heritage as a legitimate child of Salacia and—gah, Poseidon, even thinking that name gave her a headache. Well, her champion was at her husband's camp, of course, but to ensure support, maybe someone else - one of her son's byblows seemed to have a very nice and even temperament, he might make a suitable backup for her niece, she could arrange something there... "I will ensure she has some allies."

Jason better support her.

"There is—I have started fostering one of Andie's uncle's children recently."

Another stab through Hera - her husband did not have any recent bastards, so that left - 

" Hades had another child?" And she thought he was the only one who kept his vows.

"Ah—Pluto, actually. And the situation is. He did not have her recently ."

Oh , of course it was one of Pluto's. Hera felt a bit like being torn in two and then the edges being stuffed together. And recently—surely, that was a reference to the oath. So a child of Pluto out of time. As for why her kinswoman brought her up... "She could be sent to Camp Jupiter, during the coming year. It would... ensure some additional connections are being made." And of course, that her new niece/grandniece would have a functional support system in place long before she arrived, would know about Camp Jupiter.

Salacia nodded. It was delightful as always to plot with her—even if she didn't quite know all parts of the scheme, this time around.

"That is all, then", Juno stated, inclined to now go visit her foster parents. Surely, they'd be as eager as she was to find out who'd done this to Salacia—as eager as she was for revenge on whoever had done this.

She so rarely got to be bloodthirsty, it was a treat.

"Wait—please, Lady Juno." 

She barely didn't flinch, turned back to her foster niece, who was all wide eyes, bit lips, wringing hands. Chaos before, she couldn't stand Salacia of all people Lady-Juno-ing her left and right. "Yes? And—call me Juno, please."

"Juno. You—Do you know what's... I have a feeling. If I knew what was happening to me, something would change."

Juno nodded. Her not knowing was possibly all that kept her mortal.

"I—if I knew, could I still care for my daughter?"

Andie was mortal . And mortals—could not be raised by gods. What precisely happened varied, but if they hung around too much... they couldn't be family, should not mix: whether the result was bad fortune, too much power spilling over, the beginnings of madness... none of it was good. "I fear not."

Her foster niece took a deep breath. "I see."

Juno knew what she was thinking: that she'd try to delay that as long as possible. It was what a mother should do, and Salacia had always been an exemplary mother. Even to her husband's byblows, little sense as that made to Juno. She looked at her again, deeply, through all her senses–-the divinity was already beginning to trickle forth, her foster niece going back to a goddess like she should be was inevitable, and yet would break her heart, so Juno—Juno looked more deeply still, at the connection between her and her family, using her domains to feel the threads leading to her children, and—

Right now, her connection to her youngest daughter was barely drops of divinity, inhibited by Salacia's own mortality, but the way it was interconnected—

The youngest member of her family was mortal now . But the way she was interconnected with her parents—there was a chance she wouldn’t stay so. If her body did not burn up beforehand, if her mortality burned faster than her life...  "You have—maybe a year or two, before you will remember. And—your daughter might just follow your path, in time."

"And Andie—she'll be on her own, during that time." The way Salacia cared about her daughter, about her kin—it reminded Juno of why she liked her. "Thank you—for. For telling me."

"There's nothing to thank me for." Mortals should better be grateful, but family? Family didn't have to be.

And now, it was time to visit her foster parents.

When Hera walked home after that visit, her head was swirling with information, enough to distract even her.

It turned out that Oceanus and Tethys weren't as eager to have revenge as she had been, after all.

She couldn't decide what was worse: That they'd hurt Amphy—with good intentions, but still—that she couldn't bring it up to her husband,  because he'd forbidden all mention of their father, but if Oceanus and Tethys were siding with him, that was already worse than last time, or—

They'd bargained for their family's safety, they'd said.

For that of Amphitrite—which, hiding her as a mortal, what had they been thinking ? Amphy could have died —and of the other Nereids. For Amphitrite's children, and those of other Nereids.

They had not bargained for Hera’s.

The woman who'd been her mother when Mother wasn't, Mother who had saved Zeus and let the rest of them be eaten, Mother who'd sent her away to be fostered elsewhere when the war was done, and the man who had no actual competition for the title of father of her heart—

They'd bargained for their family's safety, and not for hers.

She'd always known she wasn't their favourite, wasn't Mother's, wasn't Amphitrite's, wasn't Zeus’, wasn't Ares’, wasn't Hephaestus', wasn't any of her family's when she all loved them so much—

It just hurt, being no one's favourite.

Chapter Text

In theory, Sally was supposed to listen to her daughter right now, but even weeks later, Sally could not put into words what her talk with Lady Juno meant (Lady Juno, she had to keep calling her Lady, it wasn't Sally who'd ever called her by her name alone—)

A confirmation, of a sort, perhaps, of things she only half-remembered and shouldn't, of images she'd almost dreamt, trapped by Pluto as she had been. (And she'd always liked her brother-in-law, why had he—)

A whisper at the edge of her consciousness, and one she—she couldn't confront what it meant, it could not mean what her mind was insisting it did, she had to skirt around the headaches it caused. She was Sally Jackson, mortal, mother of Andromeda Jackson.

I fear not, Juno had answered her question. Deities couldn't raise their mortal children.

There were good reasons for that law: that a force of nature caring for a mortal, fragile child could and would easily go wrong being the least of them. But no, that wasn't where it stopped: their divinity... it pulled on the children's, with unpredictable results: some ascended to godhood, their mortality burnt away—but that was the best case scenario, and in the process of getting there... well, there was a reason Bacchus was a god of madness. For others it burnt faster at their selves or minds or bodies: slowly destroying parts of themselves, magnifying their traits, their flaws. Even just decreasing the ability to control one's own ego, to control one's own flaws... it had doomed demigods, often partially by their own actions. Actions they might not have taken, were it not for the divine pulling at them.

Oh, they could seal their divinity (Amphy—ouch—had always suspected Dionysus' had stalked that nymph not to harass her, but for the punishment promised by Zeus, to get to raise his children , but it hurt, cut them off from their very essence, and if too many of them did, or the wrong combination, they'd all start fading.

When the gods had realised, had exhausted other options... it had hurt them, pulling away, but it had worked: demi-gods... they'd started being slightly less larger than life. And those lives were often longer, happier as a result: just ever so slightly less likely to be cut short. 

Oh, there were fewer great ones amongst them, fewer whose divinity burned like that of the ancient heroes of legend... but then, they weren't burned down by it, either, and so, so many of the less powerful ones saw their tenth birthday. Of course, monsters had taken advantage of that, and when their divinity started to wake up, when they grew older... more of these children died. But if the gods stayed closer, they would not survive that, either. 

Staying away—it had never been a gentle choice, nor a good one, only the one that meant their children might have the most time alive. And it was so hard to judge where the line was that would keep them alive for as long as possible, so hard to care for children who would not last out the century that you had to cut yourself off from—

And Sally had to remember it wasn't her who was affected by this, she couldn't be—Andie needed her, Hazel needed her, and it was as simple as that. She'd make it as simple as that.

Currently, Andie and Hazel had just started school, and it was—Andie was doing her best to keep her chin up, and Hazel, too, but it was hard on both of them in different ways, Sally felt. For Andie, it was yet another school, yet another place where her daughter was a square peg in a decidedly too small, very round hole, while Hazel—Sally couldn't help but feel a kinship with Hazel, sharing a look with her niece while Andie tried to explain... something or other about texting etiquette and why people used so many abbreviations. 

It did not, in fact, make any more sense the fifth time. Why did being slightly faster and paying some cents less mean it was acceptable for your message to be incomprehensible? You wouldn't actually communicate faster and cheaper if you then had to exchange clarifying questions about what every single word meant!

She mouthed "Do you get it?" at her niece, and was delighted to see the girl shrug, then both of them threw apologetic grins at her daughter.

Who just sighed. "You're both teaming up on me. Tech dinosaurs, both of you!"

Sally barely managed not to giggle; her niece, however, did not manage to control her laughter.

"How did we get on this topic anyways—right, Tyson doesn't have a phone, that's what I wanted to talk about."

"Your new friend Tyson?"

"Yep. Apparently, Meriwether allows him to attend as a good deed because he's homeless?"

Wait, what?

Sally ran through some calculations—their food and clothing budgets were more than sufficient, even with three of them; even if Tyson ate as much as all three of them put together and was shooting up like a weed, it should work out. There'd be enough money left offer for toys, small luxuries, office supplies, all the things children needed.

The only issue would be rooms, they'd just moved, she'd just called in contractors to install some protections—

Her contractors. Right, anything would have to wait until protections were installed, and of course, until she'd talked things over with both Hazel and Andie and met (and convinced?) Tyson. It wouldn't do for Circe to encounter a mortal boy on the premises, that was just asking for things to go wrong, even with Juno herself having ordered the protections put in. And paying for them. It was very generous for her, but then, Juno’d always been generous to the people she cared about.

"You should invite him over for dinner, sometimes,” Sally answered, seemingly a non-sequitur, and from the way Andie looked at her in reply, she had the feeling her daughter had more than just an inkling of what she was planning—and fully approved. Hazel, meanwhile, looked between them, seemingly picking up on how they'd communicated something, but not quite certain what it was.

Tyson, it was agreed upon, would be invited over for dinner that Friday, and Sally was pretty sure that Andie would be talking to Hazel about the possibility of getting a new foster brother soonish. Sally'd probably wait to bring it up until she'd sounded him out, a bit.

She wouldn't be able to stick around forever, maybe not even all that long, and—she was going to have to talk about it, with her kids, make sure that if Andie was still too young when—it happened, that Andie would have some place to get back to, some sort of security.

Just not quite today.

That Friday, Sally saw Tyson for the first time, and she was not prepared for it when greeting him at the door to their apartment.

She'd expected a tall human boy from Andie's and Hazel's descriptions, earnest and childish and a bit of a crybaby, and to be fair, she'd learn through the course of the evening that her daughters daughter and niece had gotten his personality spot on.

But she knew that face: that was Thoosa's face. All three of them had been so furious when their boy had been blinded by that—that archer , and it'd taken them so long to see what kind of person Poly'd grown up to be. She wasn't sure her husb—he'd ever acknowledged that, but it'd broken her and Thoosa's hearts. And the other boys…

They'd spoilt them, so much, too much.

Thoosa had distanced herself from them, after that realization, and—only recently started drifting closer to them, again, only occasionally sharing their bed, but she'd had no more children for a very long time. Sally would have been willing to try, but Thoosa... she hadn't trusted herself with how her children would turn out. She'd started talking about maybe having a child again, recently, before—

Tyson looked so much like Poly, when he was still a child and not a monster.

Only, then he looked at her, uncertain, and it was an expression Polyphemus had never sported. "Hello, Ms. Jackson."

"Call me—" Mom, in another life I would have been your second mother—"Sally."

She took a deep breath, and tried to shake off memories that weren't hers, Sally Jackson didn't know a Thoosa. And Sally Jackson was needed to raise Andie, and Hazel, for as long as possible.

"Yes, Ms. Sally."

She swallowed. Poly'd never been that polite. "Just Sally, my dear." 

He gave her a bright smile, with yellowing, crooked teeth, and for a moment, Sally could see many talks about dental hygiene in her future. His one eye closed slightly, crinkling his forehead.

"Anyways, Andie, Hazel, why didn't you tell me your new friend was a cyclops?" From the startled look on both her girls' faces, there also would be many talks about paying attention to the mist and situational awareness in Sally's future. Hmm, maybe she could get the sorceress to talk to them, some?

"I see you didn't know. Anyways, welcome to our home, Tyson. Come in, come in!"

... after she talked with them about how to deal with the rooming situation. Although, there was no way she'd let Thoosa's boy sleep on the streets. She’d been prepared to make sure a mortal boy she didn’t know she could help was, she’d help one of hers, too. 

But first, she needed to get dinner into him: he was, what? Close to Andie's age, definitely—and her husband hadn't been able to invite her to the fun, a pity—and tiny for a cyclops! He definitely needed more food. Had Thoosa really gone the complete opposite way, trying not to create another Polyphemus?

"I've prepared food—pizza with home-made crust. I hope you'll like it."

From the way the boy lit up at the word food, she probably could've microwaved the cheapest available frozen pizza and he'd have been delighted, anyways. She mentally went through the food budget again—

Well, it should accommodate a teenage cyclops.

Chapter Text

Reyna had never expected, as a spa attendant, that she'd get chosen for a mission to actually leave the island, and she couldn't quite contain her excitement. She was getting to go see the outside! 

Apparently, Lady Circe had been contracted to improve someone's security, and gossip had been running hot about who it could be: a goddess, some had said, a famous heroine, some others. Whether it was Lady Juno herself, Reyna's own mother Bellona or a somehow revived Ada Lovelace changed from telling to telling, and their lady had just smiled at each theory.

Breathing in the very car-heavy smell of New York, Reyna stood as part of the attendants that had followed Lady Circe here. She was the only one here not specialised in manipulating the Mist, and the youngest one, as well: not quite certain why she was here at all, in fact, but - she wouldn't have wanted to miss this, she thought, walking up to an unassuming apartment complex with the others. Probably not a goddess, then, but you never knew.

One of the other attendants pressed the bell, and they were let in with barely a second thought; a few stairs later, and there was an open door: an open door with a girl Reyna's age standing inside it.

She was wiry, tall for a girl, with tan skin and jet-black hair that looked like wind had just swept through it and tousled it, and incredibly green eyes.

"You must be the contractor Mom's hired", she stated, in lieu of a greeting.

"That's Lady Circe , not just—some contractor!" Reyna was indignant, how could she—

The girl blinked, then gave a shallow bow to Lady Circe. Not deep enough, in Reyna's opinion, but—the girl wasn't one of the lady's attendants. "I apologise, Mom—didn't tell me what company we'd have."

"Ah, no worries—your statement was not incorrect, after all." There was a deliberate magnanimity in Lady Circe's tone, but also just a hint of amusement. 

"I'm Andie, by the way, Andie Jackson", the girl introduced herself belatedly.

Lady Circe smiled. "I did hear about you, Andromeda. And your duel."

Andie—and that was short for Andromeda? Really?—swallowed. "I wouldn't have won if Lord Ares had been anywhere in control of his own thoughts." Lord Ares? Did she—Mars. That was the Greek name for Mars, and duel? Won?!

"And that you're intelligent enough to be humble." There was definite amusement in Lady Circe's voice now, and Andie Jackson was seemingly saved from coming up with any sort of reply to that when behind her, a woman and another girl appeared.

The woman was obviously Ms Jackson, even if she seemed to be a bit young for it: her hair was a full brown to her daughter's jet-black, without a single streak of grey, but she had the same eye shape as a daughter, and Andie had inherited a lot of her beauty.

The other girl... well, Reyna had no idea how she fit in the family, an adoptee, maybe? Her skin was a bit darker than Reyna's, with curly cinnamon brown hair and golden eyes: at first glance, she looked nothing like either Andie or her mother.

Circe stood straighter to greet her, and—there was something important about Ms Jackson.  "Ah, Lady—"

Ms Jackson cut Circe off. "Sally Jackson. I'm Andie's mother, and this is my niece, Hazel." She put her hand on the girl's shoulder.

Circe—stood there, just for a moment, and blinked. She was a sorceress, a minor goddess, and this—mortal woman?—had just cut her off. "I am pleased to meet you then, Sally Jackson." Then, Circe turned around. "Reyna, would you keep Andie and Hazel company? Everyone else, with me, we're going to—"

Reyna stopped listening there, and panicked instead. Apparently, her entire job here was keeping the other kids her age company, and she'd already corrected one of them! She'd already messed things up, the first time in ages she got to see anything of the outside world again!

She tuned into the conversation again just to hear Hazel ask: "Can I—can I watch as you put up protections? I want to learn."

"Of course, dear. It's always good for young women to take an interest in their safety."

The other girl gave a smile at that, while Andie looked at Reyna.

With a sinking feeling, she realised that this meant she'd be left alone with the girl she felt she'd gotten off with on the wrong foot.

Very awkwardly, Reyna followed Andie down the stairs again and to a nearby park, where the other girl promptly plopped down on a bench, patting it to indicate Reyna should sit beside her. Meanwhile, Reyna desperately tried to figure out some way to start a conversation while she seated herself.

Maybe... "You fought a duel against Lord Mars?"

"To first ichor or blood, while Kr—something was messing with him. In part with the goal of proving something was messing with him, because, well—" Andie gestured at herself. "I'd very much not have had a chance otherwise."

"Someone messed with Lord Mars?"

"It was—How do I put this? I've been told, officially, that it cannot have been Grandfather Time."

Grandfather Ti—

Saturn .

"Grandfather?"

"I'm a daughter of,” and here Andie paused, and Reyna couldn't help but wonder why. "Neptune. And you're..."

"Reyna, daughter of Bellona, and—one of Lady Circe's attendants."

"Huh. How's working for Lady Circe?"

Reyna felt her shoulders relax. Apparently, she hadn't messed up her one job here too badly after all. "Let me think a bit, I don't think I've ever put it into words before?" 

Andie made a vague affirmative sound, and Reyna took the time to think. What was her life like?

And slowly, but faster and faster, like a wave sweeping away everything in its path, the words came tumbling out of her mouth: How Lady Circe protected them and kept them safe, how nice it was to be somewhere where there were no men, no one to threaten them, how the spa felt like home, but also how much Reyna missed the outside world sometimes, how curious she was, how she wanted to get to see the world, make her mark on it, that this was the first time she'd left in ages and it made her feel ungrateful, sometimes.

And Andie—listened, while it all spilled out of Reyna.

Then, slowly, she started asking questions: mostly, about what her life was like, what she did, what she enjoyed; what Circe was like, too. And then, from there, they started talking about Andie, too—although she seemed to try and steer around her experiences at camp as much as possible. Well, except for a girl named Annabeth, about whom she talked a lot.

Reyna didn't know how much time passed that they just spent... talking.

Until a boy burst into their area of the park, exclaiming: "Andie!"

Reyna looked at him, and her heart stopped: there, its face in a fearsome mien, was a cyclops, much shorter than average, true, but—

She got to her feet, tried to get between it and Andie. "Stay back!"

"Andie?" the monster asked, shying back, trying its best to look innocent, almost like it would start spilling crocodile tears any second.

Only to immediately feel a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. "Reyna, wait—that's Tyson."

"That's a cyclops!" Didn't Andie see they were in danger?

"That's my little brother. And classmate. He's a sweetheart, really." Little brother—

Oh, child of Neptune . But... classmate? Reyna couldn't quite wrap her thoughts around a monster that just... went to school.

Reyna looked at him again, teary-eyed, his bloody shoulders drawn in-

Bloody?

Andie seemed to register it just a bit before her, because she'd already stepped closer to the cy— to her brother . "Tyson, what happened?"

The— yson gave a watery sniff. "Bad Kitty lady. It—Andie, it hurts." Bad Kitty lady?

"Sphinx?", Andie asked, apparently just... used to how Tyson worked.

He nodded.

"C'mon, we'll get you upstairs and patch you up." Very carefully, slowly, Andie took his elbow and started leading him back towards the apartment complex. "Reyna, uhm—Lady Circe is. Could you run ahead when we're inside and tell Mum Tyson needs patching up? And maybe figure out whether anyone needs a warning that I'm coming upstairs with Tyson?"

Reyna was reasonably sure everyone would need a moment to brace themselves for Tyson, although whether it was because he was a male, cyclops or both might differ. 

She studied him, crying on his older sister, and decided it would probably only help if she emphasised how much of a kid he was. And if she got to—was it Lady Jackson or Ms Jackson?— first. 

Andie opened the building door for them, and then Reyna shot up the stairs, taking them two at a time, to warn everyone else there'd be a friendly cyclops—friendly cyclops, by the gods—coming through. 

The door was open, thankfully, and—there was Lady/Ms. Jackson. 

"Andiewantedmetotellyou—"

"Catch your breath first, okay?" Ms. Jackson interrupted her, and Reyna glared at her, indignantly. She had important news to report! 

She took a couple of deep breaths, anyways, then started again: "Andie wanted me to tell you that she's taking Tyson upstairs, he ran into a Sphinx and needs patching up."

Lady/Ms Jackson immediately stood straighter. "How injured was he?"

"Bloody? But he can still move."

"I'll prepare disinfectant and bandages, then—ah, I should inform Lady Circe and the others about my guest, first."

Oh, of course she'd inform Lady Circe. And she knew Tyson would know what to say. Just... what was Reyna supposed to do now?

"Can you get back to him and Andie so he knows everything's being prepared for him and he will get help?"

"Will do, ma'am!"

And so, she ran back to Andie and Tyson, already halfway up the stairs, while her—their?—mom prepared everyone and everything for his arrival. Tyson was hanging onto Andie, tears spilling from his eye, his shoulders hunched in, still, and was not dangerous at all, needed help even.

It was weird, this was the first time she'd had this much interaction with a male in years, and he was a monster, too, but—he wasn't really scary, or dangerous, not after she'd gotten a proper look at him at least. Wasn’t a monster at all, in the way her dad had been.

Chapter Text

So far, staying with her family had actually been going fairly well, to Annabeth's surprise.

The twins were still annoying, sure, but they were a lot less annoying now that they were less likely to grab at her hair and pull it. Or, well, now if they did that, no one told her she shouldn't be mad at babies and they got in trouble, instead.

Helen had actually apologised to her about not believing her about the spiders.

Dad was... well, he still tended to get buried in work, but he lost track of what was going on with her and the twins about equally, and he tried.

Besides, right now?

Right now, they were on vacation during spring break. In Washington, DC. Which meant Annabeth got to see the Lincoln Memorial. In person! With her Dad, on her own, because Helen and the twins had gone to do something they'd enjoy more, so she'd get time just her and her Dad! 

Sure, it wasn't the parthenon—it only had been inspired by it, but! It was such an interesting variation on the basic design! Annabeth especially liked the idea to just ever so slightly tilt the columns, exterior walls and facades inwards to make sure it didn't look like it was bulging outwards, a common issue with ancient temples—there was some level of perspective distortion that resulted in that look if one just made everything absolutely straight. It was such a simple and elegant update to an ancient design.

Fluted Doric columns, of course, were a classic, one most modern buildings could use more of—columns just looked good and also! Allowed for roofed outside areas, especially ones that allowed people to be outside and dry(ish) regardless of weather! It looked good, it had a practical, public use, for everyone's good, she didn't know why it wasn't more common these days.

Things she was telling her Dad, for—she wasn't quite sure how often she'd told him, today, but she didn't quite know how to stop, and he was listening to her, with a fond smile on his face.

And of course, she had to show Andie she'd been there, if she was going to write about it in an email to her later. 

She looked at her Dad and the camera around his neck. "Dad, can you take—"

"One picture, coming right up!" He held up the camera. "In front of the memorial, sweetie?"

"Yep!"

She stood in front of it, and couldn't quite help but smile, entirely too pleased with herself and the world: she got to have her Dad all to herself, and one day, she'd design something as good, as important, as lasting, as meaningful as Henry Bacon had.

Her good mood lasted just about until she saw the picture her dad had taken, and started inspecting it for flaws. Was she smiling too much? Too smug? Too—

She bit her lip. "Do I... do I look good? I don't want to look stupid in a picture I send to Andie."

"Of course you look good,” her dad said, but she was pretty sure he only did that because, well, she was his daughter, wasn't she?

"I - can we take another? To be sure?"

"I - you do look good in this one, but - of course we can."

And so, her dad took another picture.

And then another.

And then another.

And then—

Well, ten pictures later, all inspected with a critical eye, she stared at the latest picture, where her smile definitely looked forced. "I look ridiculously unhappy in that one."

"The first one was probably the best one. You—well, you did look genuinely happy."

"Are - are you sure? I don't look, I don't know..." She trailed off.

"I think Andie'll just be happy to see you happy, from what you've told me."

"I just... I want her to think I look good."

Some expression Annabeth couldn't place swept over her dad's face for just a moment before it disappeared. "I'm sure she will, Annie."

She scrutinised his expression, but—he did seem earnest. Although he was her dad, he had to think like that, basically. 

... he wasn't incorrect the first photo was probably the best one, though.

She took a deep breath. "Did you know Henry Bacon's partner—for his architecture firm— broke with him because he thought Bacon was spending too much time designing the Lincoln Memorial?"

For just a moment, her dad looked like a young boy who'd gotten caught with his hand right in the cookie jar. "No, no I did not."

"See, Bacon was asked years before there was even funding for the memorial..."

A few days later, she came home, happy she'd gotten to spend time seeing the Lincoln memorial, and there'd been some unexpectedly nice things, too: playing catch at a park with the twins, while her father and step-mother watched had been fun, and being dragged shopping by Helen hadn't been entirely awful—the last stop, after all, had been a book shop. And they'd had an audiobook selection!

(She was smart, she liked books, it was just that letters on a page didn't much like her.)

She booted up her computer, eager to tell Andie everything about her vacation and send her the photo from the Lincoln Memorial, so of course she immediately began reading her latest email.

It talked a bit about Tyson, a classmate of Andie's her mother had apparently taken in; Andie'd described him as—well, tall, strong, and about as threatening as a sack of newborn kittens. Less threatening, probably, kittens had claws.

And then: "By the way, I don't know if I told you yet: Tyson's my little brother. He's a Cyclops, not a demi-god, so Dad didn't break the Ancient Laws twice. Anyways, ..." 

Cyclops.

Little brother.

Tyson, who apparently had cried - a lot - when the Jacksons had put on Lilo & Stitch.

For a moment, Annabeth just sat there, staring unblinkingly at the screen while "Tyson's my little brother. He's a Cyclops" burnt itself into her retinas.

Cyclopes lied. 

Was Andie in danger? What was—what was the monster going to do to her? And Andie and Ms Jackson and Hazel were alone with it, while they slept and it could be doing anything—

Annabeth had to get herself to New York, she had to make a plan, what had Andie been thinking or—no, what had Ms Jackson been thinking, she was clear-sighted wasn't she, she had to know?!

Annabeth could hear the memory of her father's voice, Now, Annabeth, don't you worry. I love you. You can stay here with me. You can stay forever echoing from the mouth of a monster that wanted to eat Annabeth, murder her friends, could hear it over her own breathing, loud and irregular, and—she'd gotten to her feet, was standing, her knife in her hand, when had she gotten up?

"Annabeth? Annabeth, what's wrong?" 

For just a moment, she wasn't sure whether it was her father or the memory of his voice coming out of the cyclops speaking. When had he come into her room? Had he asked her anything?

"Cyclops,” she got out, and she could already anticipate what her father would ask: where and how and what, all the necessary tactical information. "In New York."

"Andie met one?"

She nodded.

"And—I assume you've run into Cyclopses before?" Her dad's voice was soft, calm, and she desperately hoped he wouldn't tell her he loved her. Not with that memory still ringing in her ears.

"Cyclopes. The plural, I mean, it's - it's Cyclopes, not Cyclopses." Grammar was something good to focus on. Calming. She could do grammar.

Her dad waited, sitting down on her bed, and belatedly, she'd remembered what his question had been in the first place. "And—I have. But, Dad—Tyson is a cyclops."

For a moment, her dad just blinked, probably desperately trying to place the name, and—he never listened, did he? But then: "Andie's new foster brother, Tyson?"

"Yes. She mentioned he's her biological little brother. On her father’s side."

Her dad's lips formed a small 'o'. "But you're still worried."

"Of course I'm worried! It's a Cyclops! They—they can imitate voices and they lie and they lead you into traps and they eat people and— !" She took a deep breath. "It's around her— them, Andie and her family, I mean—while they're sleeping. And I can't do anything, not from here."

"Tyson's been living with them for a while now, hasn't he?" her father asked, and she knew what he was hinting at, that he thought she was being stupid and irrational.

"Several months. But - Cyclopes are... they're..." She didn't know how to put it into words. 

"They're good at pretending."

Her dad looked at her, waiting for her to continue, and she didn't know how to make him see she wasn't being irrational.

"I—I saw it, Dad, and—it. He. He had my friends. Thalia, and—Luke. I was trying to sneak up on him, drew my knife, but he heard me. And he turned around, and he used your voice. He sounded like you. Told me—" She swallowed. "'Now, Annabeth, don't you worry. I love you. You can stay with me. You can stay forever.' And I." She looked down, away from her Dad. She couldn't look at him for this. "I wanted it to be you."

She heard a sharp intake of breath, the confession hanging in the air between them. "God, you—you must've been seven, right?"

"Yeah." 

"What did you do?"

She shrugged, still not looking at her dad. "Stabbed him in the foot."

"I—c'mere?" He sounded like he was pleading with her, and she couldn't help but look at him, his arms stretched out, and—

He wasn't much of a hugger, normally, but right now, if he needed a hug—

She plopped down onto his lap, and sank into her father's arms.

"My girl,” he said, gripping onto her for dear life. "My brave, brave girl."

"We got out. Luke, and—and Thalia, and I." A droplet of salty water landed at the edge of her mouth, and - when had she started crying?

"You got them out."

"Thalia—she. We lost too much time, because of the Cyclops. She didn't make it." Her dad gripped her even tighter, and she let him, and felt young and small and—

Not safe, not with the memories pouring through her right now, but protected. Which was ridiculous: her dad was a mortal, he couldn't protect her. She still burrowed herself into the crook of his neck. "She sacrificed herself, for me and—Luke." For Luke, who'd almost—he'd almost killed Andie. She’d looked up to him and she'd loved him and he'd probably used her gift from her mum to start a war and he’d almost killed Andie.

Her dad gave her another squeeze.

"It's—it's that Cyclops’ fault Thalia died. He didn't kill her, but it's still his fault, and—and mine." She hadn't meant to say that last part.

"Was it?"

"I—if we hadn't gotten separated, if they hadn't had to look after a stupid kid—"

"You saved your friends. And—Thalia, your friend. She wanted you to live, enough to die for it. And none of you chose to be hunted by monsters. Y'know, you sound—well, like some of my students, when they come back from war." She looked up at him, and for a few moments, he looked very, very old.

"I'm not a soldier."

"I didn't say you were. I said you sounded like them, after they lost people. Most blame themselves. It's—normal." He took a breath there, and gave her a sad smile. "It's also not true. And in this case—all these mythical beings were the ones who decided to hunt you."

She swallowed. "I still—I made them slower."

"And all of them might've died to a cyclops without you."

"I—I guess so."

He let her sit there, holding onto her, for what felt like a small eternity, just being there with her while wobbly, indistinct thoughts chased each other through her head. And then, he spoke up again. "So—how does that tie into Tyson?"

She swallowed down her first reply, He's a Cyclops. Her dad knew he was a cyclops. "He's living with Andie."

"She's talked about him, doesn't he? He's..." Her dad paused there, seemingly searching his memory for the description she'd given him.

"A crybaby?" she finished his sentence for him. There'd been so many stories involving Tyson crying. "And wouldn't hurt a fly? According to Andie." Andie, who'd seemingly not found it relevant to tell her her new foster brother was a Cyclops! For weeks!

"What are the legends about Cyclopes?" her dad asked, she assumed the way he would in class, already knowing the answer and trying to lead a student towards a specific conclusion. She even knew what that conclusion had to be.

"Some of them—Polyphemus comes to mind—are vicious man-eaters. And some—they build and create. Like Zeus' lightning bolt, or several city walls."

"They're not all the same, are they?"

She breathed in and out, glaring at him. She knew what he was trying to pull. And then, slowly, deliberately, she shook her head.

"He's your age, isn't he?"

"Younger, apparently. Just—cyclopes are tall, and mortals can't see what he is." Well, except for clear-sighted ones.

Her dad waited, some more, and she didn't want to do what he was waiting for.

She did it anyway. "He's—probably not like that other Cyclops. And Andie's the one who actually knows him."

Her dad smiled at her, softly. "That was obviously really difficult for you to say. I'm proud of you."

"I'm—I'll still look through her emails really carefully. And check whether he's actually different."

"That does sound like an eminently sensible thing to do. Just—he's Andie's little brother, right?"

Annabeth heroically resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I won't be obvious about it."

Her dad raised an eyebrow at her, and her heroic restraint evaporated: she let herself roll her eyes.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

He gave her another squeeze. "Annabeth?"

"Yeah?"

"You know—you can talk to me about this—any of your adventures, your quests, what you lived through—any time, you know? I—well, teaching soldiers isn't quite the same, but. I might understand things better than you might assume, for a—mortal." 

He did teach soldiers.

"I—thanks dad." She burrowed her head into his neck again.

Later, maybe tomorrow, she'd want to write her email to Andie, tell her all about her trip to Washington, just gush to her best friend, and then try and figure out how to ask more questions about Tyson. But for now—she was fairly happy to just be held by her dad, for once.