Chapter Text
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The Lighthouse Keeper
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.Prologue.
Wherein Percy Travels Back In Time And Retires Early
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Percy woke up and immediately wished he hadn’t. This, funnily enough, wasn’t exactly a new situation. The not wanting to wake, that is. Not… This. Not opening his eyes and finding himself in the tiny, dingy bedroom he’d spent the earliest parts of his childhood in. Staring blankly at the dark stain on his ceiling, the one shaped kind of like a dolphin with horse legs, Percy let out a slow, controlled breath.
Then, with the same grim determination that had seen him through the second Demigod VS God War, he got out of bed, stumbling on too-small-too-weak legs, and, grimacing, slipped out of his room and into the tiny closet of a bathroom to peer into the mirror above the sink. His own face, round and puffy with the fat of prepubescence, stared back at him, and he winced as he spotted his own, very-much-adult Eyes staring back from that face. It was very Uncanny Valley, and made him think of those Russian Mermaids he met once, with the pretty faces that were just Off Enough to set off his instincts. This was no different, except in all the ways it was, because it was his own face... And yet...
When he’d closed his eyes, he’d been closer to forty than he thought he’d ever be, and now… Squinting at the mirror, he clocked the cracked upper corner from the time when he was seven and his Mom had thrown a book at a spider that… probably hadn’t been a normal spider, all things considered. Pausing only a moment to think on that, Percy refocused on the mirror, and the wall around it.
There was the plastered hole in the drywall from when Gabe had slammed his fist through it in a drunken rage when he thought Percy had stolen some of his money, when Percy was eight. And there, to the left of the sink, was the stain where a single drop of blood had slipped when Percy was nine and trying to clean the blood of a broken nose off before his Mom got home…
But it wasn’t quite a stain, yet.
Staring at the dark reddish-brown mark, Percy considered his options. He could tell, thanks to an unfortunate amount of experience, that the blood was less than a day old. This meant that his Mom had already been and gone again, back to work at her second or third job so that she could afford the bills and empty-hole that was Gabe Ugliano in their finances. This meant that Percy had about ten-to-fifteen hours before she came home.
So, now, he had choices to make.
He did not want to redo everything. He didn’t give a single fuck about the Prophesies. Let Kronos or Gaia or the Demigods or Titans or whatever win this time around, he didn’t care. He was tired. He’d already been close to Ascension, when he’d closed his eyes, too many Godly Deeds and Heroic Quests done in too short a time by him alone. Hell, he’d started glowing in the dark halfway through Tartarus last time around—yet another thing he had no interest in repeating, thank you very much.
So, the best and easiest way to avoid all that… Was to disappear.
And he had the perfect excuse, snoring obnoxiously in the living room, passed out in his chair.
…………………………
Killing Gabe himself this time around was somewhat cathartic, Percy mused as he stared down at his stepfather’s corpse. It was also incredibly… Disappointing. For all that his memories had made the man into a monster, the fact was, Gabe was so utterly Mortal that it took very little to kill him at all. A flex of his powers on the movement of blood in his veins and bam. One dead Gabe, ready to use as a scapegoat. Honestly, Percy, had he actually been nine, would probably feel horrified and would have no doubt fled from home to begin with if this had happened in the Before. As it was, Percy had very clear, very traumatic memories of putting his sword through actual children in the last War. The relatively peaceful and painless death of an abusive piece of shit Mortal… Didn’t even register, if he was honest.
Hence the Disappointment.
Letting out a low sigh, Percy turned and started arranging his scene, using a flex of power to toss beer bottles against the wall with more force than necessary. He used a piece of the glass to cut himself, grimacing at the almost orange look to his blood even as he let some drip and spatter in different ways, making it clear that some awful fight went on between adult and child. Then, with a lot more focus than should have been needed, he pulled the Ichor from the blood spatters, leaving behind only the oh-so-Mortal red, tinged just enough with the Godly Gold that it glittered faintly without the Mist.
Then he took the dark blue-and-green rug that had been a gift to his Mom, dusty and damaged by cigarette butts and spilled beer as it was, and rolled it up. It would be very obvious that it was gone, but that didn’t matter when he was setting up his own murder scene, really. Then, he carried it down and shoved it into the back of the Camaro, grimacing as beer cans and cigarette boxes fell out, but he left them on the ground where they fell. Let it add to the scene.
Once that was done, he went back upstairs and eyed the Corpse for a few moments, considering the best way to do this. He’d already used more Godly Power than he should have been able to, in this form, but then again, he could already feel the burn of his Mortality dissolving. At this rate, he’d be Ascended once more in a few weeks… With drastically different Domain’s, he’d wager.
Ugh, he was going to have to relearn how to use his new powers all over again, damn it all.
Grumbling to himself, Percy narrowed his eyes at the Corpse and flexed his Powers, hooking them into the still-there liquids within the veins. With careful movements, he pulled a Puppeteer, making the body move to his will. Snagging the keys from the shelf by the door, Percy made his Corpse-Puppet exit the building, making sure to smear a bit of his blood on the doorknob and have Puppet-Gave leave a smudged fingerprint in it, to add to his scene. Then he got the Puppet into the Drivers seat, started the car, and carefully made it start to drive.
Gods, faking his death was exhausting… Absently, as he curled up on the passenger seat, out of view from Mortal and Camera alike so he could guide the Corpse-Puppet, Percy wondered if his Mom would still get together with Paul this time around. He adored Estelle, and definitely wouldn’t mind if she came to be again, but if he got a different sibling this time around, he wouldn’t be upset. As long as his Mom was happy and safe, free to pick a man who wasn't an absolute dick or a God (not that those were necessarily separate things), he'd be happy for her.
Humming lowly to himself, he left himself drift into the vague focus of controlling the Corpse-Puppet as they drove. He considered heading over to LA, to let the Mist there cover him further, since it was hiding the Romans and all, in order to further hide, but the fact was he didn’t want anything to do with them either. He’d honestly rather flood the whole place and murder all the adults, the Senate, and fucking Octavian too, but, no. He was tired, damn it, and he wanted his fucking vacation.
No fucking wonder Nereus was the way he was. Percy was this close to becoming a Hermit and just—Wait.
That was perfect.
Almost giddy with his new plan, Percy made his Corpse-Puppet change directions, no longer aimlessly driving but now purposeful. Let the Mortal authorities believe he was trying to throw off the scent, let them form conclusions and make grim connections to dots with facts they believed they had. Percy knew his destination now.
After all, Florida was a beautiful place filled with weirdoes of all kinds. No one would questions one more, especially one that only wished to be left alone.
…………………………
Back in the time Before, early on in his Demigod Days, maybe before he handed Luke the blade or maybe after, he couldn’t remember, Percy had been told his Fatal Flaw was Loyalty. And, maybe, in a way, it still was. At the time, he had worn that Flaw with pride, had gone into battle for his loved ones and the Gods and held his head high in every situation because they had no right to judge him, he was loyal, so much so he would rather die than betray those he held close.
What no one ever tells you is that Fatal Flaws can change. Maybe not inherently, maybe more of a twisted reflection of what once was, much like Percy was now. Twisted and changed and shoved into a too-small mold that was far from an ideal shape, but somehow managing to continue on as if all was well.
You see, Percy has always been Loyal. Has always stood up for those he called friend, even for those he called foe. But, the one thing everyone seems to forget is that not only is Loyalty a two-way street (something he grew used to seeing forgotten, ignored, abused in the Before), but that it didn’t necessitate another person.
Loyalty to self. To values and morals and beliefs. THAT was where his Fatal Flaw laid in truth, especially here and now, in his familiar-different-body with its too-old-too-damaged-soul. Percy had sacrificed and Sacrificed for others, but only of Himself. He had killed and died and suffered for others, because that was what he knew to be the only option.
But, once something was Sacrificed, you couldn’t bring it back. So, what did you get, when you lost pieces of yourself for others? What filled the Void left in your Soul when you clawed out bloody, burning pieces and offered them up to those who greedily took and took and took?
Percy had turned down Godhood three times, in the Before. Once out of Anger, once out of Love, and once out of Grief. He had Sacrificed Blood, Sweat, Tears, Joy, Pain, and his very Life for others, to the Beliefs and Morals and Values upon which his Loyalty was forged, stronger than anything even Hephaestus could make. That has a Power of its own, and the Rule of Three was a powerful thing by itself.
What was left, what Became, was the Percy of Before becoming the Percy of Now. And it was just as twisted a reflection of Before as his Fatal Flaw had become.
Anger taken by Morals.
Love given to Beliefs.
Grief comforted by Values.
Three denials of Godhood, three aspects adhered to, three Wars fought and won.
Three and three and three.
As Percy sets his course to the warm waters of Florida, the burning of his dying Mortality continues, far faster than it should have in any other case, and, in doing so, shields him better than any layer of Mist or Blessing could hope. A String within the Morai’s hold shimmers to gold as Godhood settles in its infancy upon the Forbidden Child. Not even they could See where he was or what he would do… Or what he would Become.
Just as the sea cannot be Tamed, Percy Jackson cannot be Caged. Even by Fate Itself.