Chapter Text
“Mom.”
“Mom!”
“Moooooom. ”
Sally is pulled away from her blissful nap and back to the world. She pushes her face deeper into her pillow, maybe he’ll stop and she can drift back to sleep. Five more minutes. Or ten. Or as many as it takes for her to feel rested.
“Mom.” There’s a poke on her cheek this time.
“Percy.” Sally doesn’t want to open her eyes.
“Mom, you gotta get up.”
There’s an intensity in his voice and the exhaustion from before washes away. She opens her eyes, her maternal extinct taking over and she sits up, ignoring the headache that instantly tries reminding her why she laid down in the first place.
Percy’s standing over her, looking confused and stressed. If this were a normal moment, Sally would even find the irony that for once, Percy is the awake one and she’s the one begging for more sleep despite her brain waking up quickly. She sits up, grabbing her son and begins looking for injuries.
“Are you okay?” She asks, examining his arms. There’s no blood? No tears in the fabric of his shirt. Sleepily, she reflects over how sad it is that this is her first reaction.
“I’m fine, Mom.” Percy doesn’t pull away from the touch though and Sally still looks him over. “It’s… there’s something else.”
“Gods?” Sally would rather the apartment be burning down than the gods getting involved with Percy. If her son hadn’t told Apollo to leave months ago, she would have gladly told the immortal turned mortal where he could stick it.
Percy’s worried expression deepens and he looks far too stressed for someone his age. Sally feels her own stress match her son, but she hides it the best she can. This isn’t about her, it’s about Percy and she refuses to add more to his plate. She’s his mother, she’s meant to help him out in any way possible, not add more. It no longer matters that she laid down because of a headache, trusting Percy to watch over Estelle as the baby napped. Now, her main focuses are: Is Percy okay? Is Estelle okay? How is this going to affect them this time?
“What is it, baby?” Sally asks softly, no longer searching for any type of injury.
“That’s the thing,” He practically whispers, as if he’s worried about being overheard. “There’s a baby.”
Sally blinks, “what?”
Percy points to the door. “In the living room.”
“Percy,” Sally is not in the mood for jokes. “This isn’t–”
Percy shakes his head. “No, mom. I’m serious. There’s a baby and it’s asleep on this, like weird, colorful mat thing and I don’t know how it got here.”
Sally holds her breath. He doesn’t sound like he’s joking.
“Isn’t this how Athena gives birth or something? How am I going to tell Annabeth that I just had a baby with her mom!?” Percy’s panicking now.
If there were a way to stop time, Sally is certain she would have found it by now. She just needs five minutes.
“Okay, is there one baby or two babies?” She asks cautiously, listening for any crying from the living room.
Percy’s hands are pulling at his hair, making the locks stand up in every direction. She reaches forward, pulling his hands into her own. He fights her–he always does. Even when he was young. His larger than life emotions are from her and if the gods say otherwise, well, let them believe what they want to believe. Her son is still half of her and she knows the reflection of her own emotions when they swim through his eyes.
“Deep breath.”
“I can’t be a dad–I can’t–”
Sally hums softly, letting go of his hands and bringing Percy’s forehead to hers and she rests them against each other gently. “Breathe.”
And finally, there’s a trembling breath.
“Again.”
And another.
“Percy,” Sally starts.
“Momma.” And doesn’t that just melt her heart while stabbing it at the same time.
She opens her eyes, pulling away slightly so she can focus on him. He looks back, eyes still wide and terrified. “How many babies?”
“One.”
“Is it Estelle?”
Sally has never been prepared for any of this. She was never prepared when she became an orphan. She was never prepared for meeting someone on the beach. She was never prepared to be pregnant. She was even less prepared when she learned she slept with a god. She was never prepared to love her son as fiercely as she does, despite all the struggles it has been keeping him alive.
She is, ironically, prepared for this.
“Who is Estelle?”
Sally takes a breath. This is the one thing that she never wanted to be prepared for. She’s been waiting for it to happen though; there was no doubt in her mind that it would. First, it happened with Annabeth, then with Paul, and then Grover. She’s the caretaker of Percy and so they all came to her to report that something was wrong. Although, Annabeth was the one who told her about Grover’s situation. When Percy had come home that weekend, he had just hugged Sally a bit tighter than normal and that was the unspoken language between them. Something happened and I don’t want to talk about it, but I’m okay.. Of course, Sally talked to Annabeth about it instead, just to make sure there wasn’t another prophecy looming on the horizon.
Not another prophecy. Thank god. Not the gods. The only thing she’ll ever thank the gods for is Percy himself. After that, she waited. She’s always waiting, isn’t she? Waiting for Percy to be born. Waiting for him to get expelled. Waiting for him to come of age. Waiting for him to come home safe from the summers. Waiting for him to return home from wherever the hell he disappeared to. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
“Mom…” Percy touches her face, his sword callused hands scratching the soft skin. He traces her wrinkles and then takes his way to her hair. “When did you cut your hair?”
Amnesia.
Percy has come back from so many things. Half the time, he bounces back like a ball. When he was younger, if he ever got sick–a rarity with demigods–the virus would usually last half the day before he was back to darting around the house with far too much energy in his small body. He’s fought gods, Titans, and so many other things that Sally isn’t privy to and, yet, he bounces back.
He’s not bouncing back from amnesia despite trying to convince everyone that he is. How could he? It wasn’t caused normally. His memory loss was inflicted by a god herself–the goddess who drove Heracles to insanity. Protectiveness surges through Sally’s veins–no doubt the same protectiveness that runs through Percy’s. If she ever sees that woman, she will be having some words. Sally doesn’t need a sword to cut through people or gods. She has her clever talent of words and she will use them against the goddess, she doesn’t care what the result will be.
All because Hera wanted Percy to be a bridge between the Greek and the Roman camps. Why couldn’t Hera just simply ask him? Sally asked that to Chiron and the response was simple; there was a prophecy. That happened to be Chiron’s answer for a lot of things.
Sally had called him after listening to her son scream himself awake night after night. When she tried to ask Percy about it, he would shrug it off and give her a terribly watered down version of the events of months since his disappearance. He woke up with wolves. He found Camp Jupiter. He had to go to Alaska. He was on a flying boat. He would always pause at the next bit before stuttering over how they were in Tartarus before they defeated Gaia. Sally was sick of not getting answers and so she called the only one who she knew would at least be the more honest.
She doesn’t like talking to Chiron; she never has and never will. He speaks in circles, avoiding the obvious answers. She’s experienced with men like this; let them talk and feel important. Smile and nod, never forgetting your manners. She can attract more information with honey than vinegar. However, this phone call was probably the most frustrating yet and when it even seemed the centaur wouldn’t give her answers no matter how kind she was, Sally came unglued. She threatened him. A mortal threatening an immortal–she should get a medal. She can’t even remember all what was said, but she’s fairly certain she promised to make everyone on Mount Olympus’ lives a living hell by convincing the whole world that Percy was actually the Messiah returned instead of a son of Poseidon.
Chiron told her everything after that, it came out like water gushing from a broken dam. He retold her the adventures that she heard from Percy, but more in depth now; the protective filter gone. She can say whatever she wants to about Chiron, but it’s clear that he cares about her son and wants the best for him too. The centaur even admits that he had no clue how to help these children turned soldiers; heroes rarely lived long enough to need help. It was a horrific phone call, far worse than the one she received letting her know that her son was missing. Paul sat beside her the whole time, holding her hand and letting her squeeze his.
Tartarus.
A place where the worst monsters are sent.
And of course, her loyal son went willingly into it all for Annabeth. Sally would be lying if there wasn’t a pang of annoyance she felt upon hearing that which she’ll forever feel guilty for. She knows she would sacrifice herself if she was in the same position too. From what Chiron gleaned from Nico–that small, pale boy that used to sit in Sally’s kitchen occasionally–Percy was trying to pull Annabeth up and then they fell together. There’s not a definite answer of just how long they spent down there. Percy made it sound like less than a day, but the way that Chiron speaks of it, it had to be at least three days or maybe more. Statistically, the teens should be dead. There’s some monsters that can’t even survive down there. Yet, her son and his girlfriend are alive despite being haunted with every step. They escaped, but at what cost? What did they leave down there in the process?
When it was revealed to Sally that she was to give birth to a demigod, she spiraled. She read the myths, the poems, anything that she could get her hands on. She was young and thought that if she could prepare enough, then she would be the best mother possible. With each tale finished, her heart grew heavier with the weight of the world she feared her baby would have to hold. Demigods, she learned, never seemed to have a happy ending and she would be damned if her child would follow that same path. She would protect her child at all costs, even if it meant hurting herself in the process.
And she did. It’s why she kept Gabe around for as long as she could. She could ignore his taunts, his comments, his hands in the dark. As long as Percy was safe from the monsters out to get him, then it was worth it. As long as there was a promise of a good life for him. All he had to do was make it to Camp Half-Blood and then all their problems would be solved. She had assumed it would be better. It wasn’t her first mistake as a mother and it won’t be her last. If she had a chance, she likes to think that she would do it all differently. She would raise her son with the knowledge of who he was and then she would never let him set foot in that camp that saw a prophecy more important than a child.
All because of a prophecy, Chiron said. He made it sound so clinical. As if the prophecy was already a myth before it even unfolded. There was no true fear because the heroes would be fine–they’ll be legends with fame and glory. The heroes aren’t fine though. Percy and Annabeth came back refusing to sleep–Sally’s not even sure how the other remaining five are fairing. She can only worry about those children that she’s never had a chance to meet.
It’s taken long months, but Sally can see some color returning to Annabeth. Sally has had the privilege of watching the girl grow up into a young woman. She’s seen the skinny frame, the lifeless hair, the dulled eyes that returned from the latest battle. Now, there’s a promise of a tan returning. There’s a smile starting to reach her Annabeth’s again. The terrible darkness that reflected underneath her eyes is starting to disappear. She’s doing better. Percy, however, is far from fine.
Sally knew from the moment he showed up at the apartment that her boy wasn’t fine. He looked haggard, ran ragged from all the expectations of him. She should have said something then, but she didn’t want to push it. Then, she noticed he wasn’t sleeping. He would refuse and she thought that maybe he feared the shadows that could be lurking in the dark, so she installed nightlights in every room of the house. It must have worked somewhat, because the screaming minimized but now she lays awake hoping that he’s actually sleeping instead of just staring into the night. The dark circles under his eyes haven’t gone away, but they also haven’t deepened; he’s remaining stagnate. He’s not getting worse, but he’s also not recovering.
Sally’s worried for him. She’s tried to express this multiple times, only to get shot down with the I’m fine phrase or, lately, a look that says it all. He’s pushing himself for other people, not taking a moment to understand himself. She can’t force him to realize just how bad he’s spiraling. He’s too stubborn for his own good. She’s thought about bringing it up to Poseidon multiple times, but it’s her own stubbornness that stops her. There’s a selfish part of her that wants to help her son instead of giving yet another moment away to the gods that nearly didn’t want him. She wants to keep some parts of him as human as possible.
“Mom?”
Sally gives him a smile. It’s tight lipped and she feels the way it pulls at her skin. “Let’s go check on this baby, yeah?” She stands.
Percy hovers beside her. He’s taller than her now. “You called her Estelle?”
She nods, taking his hand in hers and walking him out of the bedroom. He follows her. It’s rare these days that he lets her lead; he tends to take command, using his body like a shield in order to protect his loved ones. This is Sally’s job. She’s the mother. She protects him. She looks behind her to watch him looking around the apartment, his free hand clenching at his pocket where she knows that pen resides.
“This isn’t…” He looks around in confusion as she leads him out of the small hallway and into the living area. “I thought we were home.”
“We are.” Sally says as gently as she can, letting go of his hand to go check on Estelle.
Her second baby is still asleep where Sally left her in the pack-n-play in the living room. Some days, it’s much easier to place her down here for naps instead of her crib in Sally and Paul’s bedroom. It’s easier to cook a meal or sit down and write a lesson plan when the baby is closer to monitor. Sure, they could get the electronic baby monitors, but Sally finds the idea of that pretty pointless considering the size of their apartment. She likes her baby in arms reach–a product left behind after Percy went missing.
Sally reaches into the pack-n-play, moving Estelle’s blanket down from where it’s started to creep up to cover her nose. Her headache is creeping back and she simply just does not have the time to handle it. Earlier, Percy had offered to watch his sister. He said that it looked like Sally needed a nap and, well, how could she argue with that? An hour and a half–that’s all Sally was going to take. She looks at the clock now and sees that she maybe got thirty minutes.
“I woke up on the couch and she was just here.” Percy points to the couch as if he needs to show proof.
Sally looks at him as she straightens up. Estelle is okay. Percy is not. “You were asleep?”
“I…” He’s looking at the couch. “Yeah. Yeah, I was. I think I was having a dream and then I woke up and–” He looks towards Estelle. “So, Athena didn’t give me a baby?”
Sally shakes her head, “sit down, baby.”
Percy, surprisingly, does what he’s told. Sally joins him on the couch. When this happened to Paul, he told her that he just waited for it to run its course. She’s not that kind of person though. She’s waited her life for things to run their course, she’s tired of it. She’s had to learn how to take a bull by it’s horn–literally even take the horn sometimes.
“You’re not a dad.” She says and Percy lets out a deep sigh of relief. “That’s your sister, Estelle.”
The fear in his eyes is no longer palpable, but now there’s shock being electrocuted in the shades of green. “Sister? “You and Gabe–”
“No.” She says far more intense than she wants. “No. He’s… no longer around. Her dad is Paul.”
There’s absolutely no recognition in Percy’s features. “Paul?”
“Paul,” she nods, twisting her wedding band. “My husband.”
Percy looks down instantly to her finger. “When did that happen?”
“You’re having some memory problems.” There. She’s not going to dance around the problem anymore. She’ll shine a spotlight on it instead of using a nightlight.
He takes a moment to process that, looking in the direction of his sleeping sister. “But I remember you?”
Sally hums an affirmative. There’s a relief in her chest at being remembered; Paul and Annabeth weren’t so lucky for they went through this.
“And Annabeth,” Percy looks around immediately as if looking for her. “She’s–we–the–” he winces, grabbing at his head. Sally can relate. “Shit. Where is she?” He goes to stand.
She reaches forward and grabs his hands again, keeping him grounded physically and literally. “She’s visiting her dad this weekend.”
He shakes his head, “no. No, that’s not right. She doesn’t get along with him. He…” He pauses, looking skeptical of Sally.
“They worked things out. You helped with that.” Sally explains quickly. She assumed that the missing memories would at least be centered around the same time, it seems as though the lost ones are chosen at random. “We can call her later if you want, okay?”
Percy relaxes at that. “She’s okay?”
Sally nods, “she’s not in any danger. Both of you are safe.” They’re safe. Her kids are safe.
He sits there for a moment. There’s an odd blankness to his expression as he attempts to sort through things. “I don’t like her dad.”
“I don’t either.” Sally really doesn’t care for the man who made a child run away from him.
“I don’t think she likes my dad.”
“Do you remember your dad?”
He looks at her. “Poseidon.”
“Good,” Sally praises. “That would be hard to explain otherwise.”
Percy makes an odd snorting sound. “Your dad is the Greek god of the sea therefore you can control water.”
Sally chuckles, “well, that’s better than how it actually happened.”
Percy’s smile fades and there’s that odd emptiness where recollection should be, “I don’t remember how it happened?”
“Can you try for me?”
He pulls a face and then shakes his head.
“Why not?”
He looks down at their hands tangled together. A silence stretches between them and Sally lets it sit over them. It's calm before a storm, she can recognize the signs.
“I don’t think it’s a good memory.” Percy finally whispers.
Sally wants to cry, but she can’t. She needs to be strong for her boy. “And why do you say that?”
He shakes his head. “It’s just a feeling.”
She takes a deep breath. “It was raining.”
“No, wait–” He looks back up at her.
Sally gives him what she hopes is a supportive smile. “And I was driving with you and Grover.”
“I don’t want this.”
“And it–”
Percy rips his hands away from Sally’s and bends over, resting his elbows on his knees and shoving his face in his hands. “It hurts my head.”
It hurts her too. She doesn’t want to see him like this, but she’s refusing to let it go any further. She rubs his back. “I know it does.”
He’s quiet, pressing his face into his hands and breathing roughly as if he’s holding back his own tears. Even when he fully doesn’t understand what’s going on, he’s still trying to be strong. Did he learn that from her or from his time at Camp? Everyone looks up to him from the Greeks and now the Romans, he’s not even allowed to feel his own emotions.
She keeps rubbing his back, watching him. Over the past few months, she’s cataloged the new scars on his arms and she can only imagine that there’s more hiding under his clothes. For all the trouble it caused, she’s somewhat mournful for the Curse of Achilles. At least then she didn’t worry so much. Now, she has a panic every time he has a skinned elbow from a fall on his skateboard. A hero of the world twice over and yet she still wants to cover him in bubble wrap.
Percy winces, gasping slightly and driving the palms of his hands into his eyes. “Make it stop.”
“If you fight it, it’s just going to hurt more.” Sally murmurs. If she could, she would take it from him. In a heartbeat.
“There’s so much, Mom.” He whispers.
“Then we start small and–”
“And remember my worst memories!?” His head shoots up and he glares at her, his eyes slightly red. “Starting with the day you fucking died!?”
Sally glances towards Estelle who is magically still asleep despite her brother’s raising volume. “Language, Percy.” She takes a breath, looking back at her son. “You’re right, maybe it’s not the best place to start.”
Percy looks upset and he takes a breath, taking his own turn to look at Estelle. He’s hunched over himself, holding at his arms, his fingers subconsciously tracing the scars that Sally hates to see on her little boy. He looks so small and impossibly young despite the stress wrinkles already forming on his forehead and mouth.
“She loves you.”
“Huh?”
“You were worried she wasn’t going to like you.” Sally explains, watching him carefully. “And now you’re her favorite person.”
Percy stares at the baby. He makes a loud sniff, a telltale sign that his nose is going to start running. He might be able to fight back tears for now, but his body won’t let him for long. “What kind of brother doesn’t remember his sister?”
“No.” Sally shakes her head. “No, we’re not doing that, Percy.”
“Am I wrong?” Percy argues.
“You wanted good memories and that’s what I’m trying to give you.” Sally wishes he would look at her. “You’re not allowed to take them and twist them to hurt you more.”
He holds himself tighter. “Sorry,” he says automatically.
Sally sighs, “look at me?”
He continues to look at Estelle.
“Please?”
He shakes his head. She looks up to the ceiling, trying to build her strength and force the tears to go back down.
“I…” Percy starts and then stops. “It’s like soup.”
She looks back down, trying to catch his eye. “What is?”
He motions to his head, still refusing to look at her. “This. I keep getting flashes. Pieces. It’s like I’m watching some show or movie through a fog or mist. It’s clear and hazy and… it’s just soupy.”
“Soupy.” Sally repeats, trying to understand. She imagines a literal bowl of soup. “Give me an example so I can help.”
“Like,” he sits up straighter. “I remember a party. It must have been important, I don’t remember why. Everyone was there. Annabeth. Grover. You. Dad. Paul–hey, I think I remember Paul.” There’s a slight pause as Percy stares at the wall now. “It’s, like, everything is spinning and I can’t grab it. When I do, something else gets in the way.”
There’s only been one birthday party like that. Sally remembers baking the blue cake and wondering if that would be the last time they’d celebrate Percy’s birthday with him alive. He was fifteen. Was that really only two years ago? She never thought she’d miss those days, but here she is. Even her own memories feel, for a lack of better word, soupy. She can remember bits and pieces of things said, of gifts handed, but everything has faded in the lieu of the events that followed. She can’t imagine how confusing it must be to Percy.
“It’s a lot coming on at once, no wonder it’s hurting your head.” Sally sympathizes.
“I want to focus on something, but my brain isn’t letting me focus. And so I’m telling myself not to focus but that’s like telling yourself not to breathe.” He shakes his head, “you know how sometimes I lose something and while I’m telling you about it, I remember where it’s at?”
Far too often that happens. It happened more when he was younger and they were both struggling with understanding his ADHD. So many television remotes were lost to the abyss. Spoons practically were an urban legend once they went into his room. His backpacks were always left on buses. He’d be explaining it to her, asking for her help in finding it, and it’s as if he just needed to talk it out to remember. She wishes it were that easy now; that he would let her help him.
He winces, his eyebrows coming forward and his jaw clenching. He looks at his hands, tracing a jagged scar that tears on the palm of his left hand where his thumb ends and to where his wrist begins. It’s pink and raised still, in terms of the rest of his scars, it's relatively new. He flexes his hand and then clenches it tight, watching the scar disappear.
“The shore was full glass.” He says to himself, his voice distant as he remembers something.
Sally feels alarmed. “Where was that?”
He tenses, shaking his head. Sadly, she recognizes this reaction. She lets out a slow breath, surprised by the fact it’s not as shaky as she feels. She can’t keep walking on eggshells around her own son, obviously it’s not helping anything. She thought maybe he just needed time. He would adjust to being home and safe and, slowly, he would come back to her. There’s a divide between them though and she’s worried she’s the one who put it there by not talking to him sooner. This ends now.
“In Tartarus?”
Percy’s body is like a string pulled taunt. One moment, he’s slouched over himself and the next he’s sitting straight up and looking at her. There’s fear, shock, confusion all flitting through his expression. “I didn’t tell you about that. I would remember telling you about that… right? I didn’t tell you, right?” He’s almost begging.
Sally’s heart aches. It doesn’t have the capacity to break anymore, it’s torn too much in the past five years alone to truly crack again, but it can still hurt. It hurts for her boy who doesn’t deserve any of this pain.
“You didn’t tell me.” She watches his body sag. “Chiron told me some. And… I’ve guessed some others based on your screaming during the night.”
“He had no right.” Percy says angrily. Far angrier than she’s ever heard him sound before. “That’s none of his business. He–”
“I had to ask him, Percy. You weren’t going to tell me and I needed to know what was going on with you. How am I supposed to help you if you don’t talk to me?”
Percy’s jaw clenches and unclenches. “I’m handling it.”
“Are you?” Sally asks flatly. “Percy, I love you, but you’re not handling it.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
Sally can feel her own tempter rising. “Obviously not if you’re still having problems with your memories.”
“It’s–”
“Perseus Jackson, I did not fucking raise you to be a liar.”
Percy startles, his mouth open to no doubt argue but he’s now stuck staring.
“You are not fine. You’re not remembering things, you’re not talking to people, you’re not sleeping.” Sally lists on her fingers. “You’re not taking care of yourself.”
He closes his mouth and then opens it again, trying to find the words. There’s tears now in his eyes. His nose and cheeks are turning red and he does nothing to stop the first tears from falling down. He just sits there, sniffling.
Sally lowers her hands, “hey. Hey, I’m not mad at you. Come here.”
She opens her arms and Percy doesn’t hesitate, he dives in at the open invitation. A sob pulls from his throat and he’s curving into her, practically laying down on the couch as his face is shoved into her stomach. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him close, cradling him as she shushes and hums.
“I just want to know what’s going on with you.” She says softer now, her voice cracking as she fails to hide her own tears.
His chest heaves and another sob releases from him. She hums again, brushing her fingers through his hair. It’s getting long, she thinks offhandedly. She needs to cut it soon or make an appointment with a barber.
“I don’t know.” Percy finally admits, muffled against her between the wracking sobs. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”
Sally closes her eyes, feeling the tears drip down her own cheeks. They say childbirth is one of the hardest things a mother can do and Sally disagrees. The hardest thing for a mother is holding her child while they break down. When Estelle cries, it’s easy to figure out why; she’s hungry, she’s tired, or she needs to be changed. There’s nothing complicated about it. With Percy, he has those big emotions that feel larger than life and it should be easier because he can use the words to describe them, but if he doesn’t talk, then they’re both left in the dark.
“You have to talk to me, Percy.” Sally whispers, working through the knots in his hair.
Percy takes a shuddering breath, “it hasn’t stopped.”
“What hasn’t stopped?”
He’s quiet again and she’s nervous he’s shutting down again like so many times before. “When we… Annabeth and I… we were falling. We were falling and…” He makes a choked noise. “I’m trying to remember. I’m trying.”
“Deep breath.” Sally instructs.
Percy takes a breath and his chest shakes with the effort. “We fell. Into… into Tartarus. And we were going to hit the ground if I didn’t do something. I had to do something. I had to save her. There was a river and I didn’t even think. I reached for it and when we crashed into the water…” He trails off, shivering. “I thought we were going to die in it. It was terrible, like all these thoughts were coming from nowhere and they were so… heavy. I felt heavy. I felt… I’ve never felt so helpless.”
Sally knows her history. She read so much on Greek mythology and lore while pregnant that she’s fairly certain she could write a book over it. Of course, she knows what river it was. The River of Lamentation. “Cocytus.”
“Annabeth had to pull me out.” Percy cries. “And you think it would have stopped. It should have stopped.”
Sally pulls her son even closer as if she can erase the experience. She can squeeze it out of him, hold him until he’s warm again. The tears are falling down her face steadily now. They’re silent tears and her throat burns as she fights off her own urge to cry out.
“And with the amnesia repeating…” Percy trails off. “Am I broken?”
Sally was wrong, her heart breaks again. “No, baby. No.” She croaks.
“I can’t even sleep right, Momma.” His arms move and wrap around her waist, locking himself to her. He curls tightly against her, trying to fight in her lap and she holds him the best she can. “I can’t remember things. I’m sad and I shouldn’t be because I’m alive. I’m alive against so many odds. Why can’t I be happy? Why can’t I be okay?”
“Because you’re recovering, Percy.” Sally says, trusting herself to find the right words without thinking too hard about it. “You haven’t had a chance to really process anything in the past year until now. It takes time.”
“But Annabeth and Grover–”
“Are their own people.” Sally interrupts. “They haven’t gone through what you have gone through. Sure, they were beside you, but it wasn’t exactly the same, was it?”
“... No.”
“Then you can’t compare yourself to them.” She says simply, as if it’s as easy as that. She knows it’s not. She’s constantly comparing herself to other writers. Other wives. Other mothers.
“Everyone is getting better,” Percy chokes. “And I’m stuck.”
Sally wants to hold on to him and never let go. “They’ve asked for help, Percy.” He stills against her, even holding his breath. “They’ve allowed people to help them.”
He lets out his breath, sinking against her like a stone. “How can I get help if I keep forgetting? What if I forget who is helping me and I hurt them and–”
“Percy.” She takes a breath of her own. “Do you want to know what I think?”
He nods.
“I think you’re overthinking things.” She says honestly. “You’re stressing yourself out with all these things that could happen and you’re ignoring what is happening. You need to take a step back and take a break. You need to focus on yourself.”
“Grover said the same thing.”
Sally smiles slightly. “Grover knows what he’s talking about.” She pauses. “I think you need to take a break and actually confront what happened. We can find someone you can talk to about all this if we need. The longer you hold it in, the more it’s going to hurt you and your brain is going to try everything it can to protect you. That means cause your memories to falter and hurt when you try remembering what was panicking you in the first place.”
Percy pulls his face away from her shirt and she can feel the fabric trying to stick to his tear stained cheeks. He takes a breath of fresh air, looking up at her. “I don’t know how to take a break.”
She reaches down, wiping away a tear on his face with her thumb. He leans into her hand. “Then ask for help.”
“How?” He asks.
“Repeat after me, okay?”
He nods.
“Mom.”
He takes a breath. “Momma.”
The vision of him wavers from her own tears threatening to drop on his face. “May you please help me?”
He looks up at her, his green eyes wide. The same eyes that she would stare into when he was a baby. She would marvel at how everything was reflected and how he regarded the world as new. She was able to see who she was reflected back at her through the eyes of her baby and now, she sees it again. He looks impossibly human right now, the tales of demigods only just a myth at the moment.
“May you please help me?”
She leans forehead, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Of course I will.”