"Percy," Dad's voice was soft. Still, I groaned and rolled over, only to be shaken again. "It's time to get up, child mine."
"No, it's not." The blankets moved with a soft rustle. Cold water hit my skin. I curled into a ball, but one of Dad's warm hands dragged me up. It slipped to my shoulder to keep me from collapsing back into the mattress. "Dad."
"You can go back to sleep in a little bit. We...have some things we need to talk about, remember?"
Reluctantly, I peeled my eyes open. Before they could focus, Dad shoved a plate of food onto my lap---apple slices, blueberries, and a plain pancake. No silverware. It was a healthier version of the breakfasts I'd eaten more and more often. Ones that were light and easy on the stomach. Which in reality meant I'd only eat a pancake or two. I tried not to think what Dad knowing this meant, much less what him accounting for it did.
"I figured you might want some food."
"Thanks." I popped an apple slice into my mouth. His eyes were on me, fixated and judgemental. My stomach rolled and twisted. How could I eat when he was watching me like that? "Can...can you not look at me like that?" I asked, staring at my plate.
The mattress dipped. As I picked at the meal, sometimes Dad would snag a berry or two and pop them into his mouth. Or he'd smooth his hand over my back in silent urging when I seemed hesitant to touch the rest of the food. It was only when I'd cleared the plate that he took it away. It vanished between one blink and the next.
"What was bothering you last night?"
I winced. Really leaping right into it, wasn't he? Swallowing, I kicked my legs. "Nothing." The material of my pants wasn't loose enough to tangle my fingers in. I settled for tracing the thin silvery scars that cross over my hands. "I-It's nothing important."
"You aren't wearing the bracelet?" More of a statement than a question his words made my mouth go dry. I tried to stammer out a response. Why was it important? How much trouble was I in? Was I supposed to be wearing it? Triton said something about it, but I couldn't remember because my stupid brain wouldn't just---
"Breathe," Dad said; I sucked in a breath. "I'm not upset. It's just an early birthday present, but if you don't like it, I can get you something else." His soft expression flattened. A crease formed between his eyebrows. "If you're panicking over things, it's important."
"No. It's not."
"And I'm sure you'll say that you having PTSD isn't a big deal and that's why you haven't told your mother."
"I already told you why I haven't. Just leave it alone," I snapped.
He narrowed his eyes. "You are my child, Perseus. Either you cooperate with me and tell me what's wrong, or I'm going to have to tell her. One of us needs to know."
A whine slipped out of my throat. I bit my lip, trying to keep any more from escaping, and stared directly at the wall. Dad stayed in my peripheral vision, immobile and persistent. The longer we sat in silence, the more his gaze seemed to crash over me, beating me down with the relentless persistence of waves against a cliff.
"Do- Do I have to tell you?"
"No." He hummed. "But the alternative is telling your mother. I'll even allow Paul, but I doubt he'll want to keep it a secret from her." Paul wouldn't.
"You know how I fell into the Pit, right?"
"What does that have to do with---" He cut off when I rested my head against him. Anger tried to stir. In what world wouldn't that cause issues? But every time it came close to bubbling up, it vanished. This was about last night. Last night when I froze up and freaked out when he was carrying me. When I had to curl against him just to fall asleep. It wasn't about what caused the PTSD. Apollo and Ares had done a good enough job on that.
Dad was just worried about me.
"I don't like it when I get too cold. Or when"--I stuttered, and Dad squeezed my hand-- "I feel weightless. Because I keep feeling like I'm going to hit the river or that I'm in the river and all I can hear are those voices telling me I should just die."
Wordlessly, he gathered me into his arms and held me close. Warmth radiated from him. I almost laughed. He was trying. Dad pressed his head against mine.
I swallowed. "I..."
"Hm?"
"I'm safe with you, right?"
His hands tightened. They pressed hard against me before slipping away, and Dad pulled away and looked at me with a frown. "I'm your father."
"You're a god."
"That doesn't change anything." It did. "Do you really believe that I wouldn't keep you safe? That I wouldn't protect you?"
My silence felt like sludge.
"Answer me."
It felt like it was seeping into my pores, filling my lungs. There was no way it was real, but why did it feel like if I opened my mouth it would pour out like vomit?
"Well," Dad said, leaning back, "if you're not going to answer, I guess I have no choice but to come up with embarrassing nicknames for you, little foal." My breathing hitched. "Sweetheart, you know I won't hurt you, right?" When I didn't respond, he moved closer until I could feel the heat radiating from him. "Seahorse, sea star, guppy, I just want to---"
I giggled. My hands flew to my mouth.
"Which one?" He was smiling. The type of smile that made me feel safe and warm and loved. "Hm? Which one did you like? I'm particularly fond of guppy."
"That one's stupid."
"There's plenty more I can try."
"Daaaad." Once my laughter died down, I tugged at his shirt and looked up at him. "Are you really going to start using one of those?" As much as I wanted to pretend it annoyed me, I liked it. The thought of my dad calling me something other than my name, something that he decided to call me, made me feel small. Not helpless, just tiny. Minuscule. But that feeling, it wasn't a bad one.
It was the same as when Chiron gave me a pat on the shoulder.
"If you want me to. Which one do you like?"
It's hard to keep my expression neutral. Me picking what it is would destroy the entire point. "Whatever you want to call me." I should've said "I'll like whatever you pick" but that seemed to childish. Teenagers are supposed to break away from their parents, not cling to them like a five year old like I want to.
How much of that is due to the PTSD and how much is because of everything else?
"I'll have to think it over." He pulled me against his side. One arm rested over my shoulder while his other one came across my front---Oh. A hug. I closed my eyes and relaxed. "I want to make sure I pick out a good one."
It was a long while before he spoke again, long after I'd given into the embrace and long after I stopped caring if I fell asleep on him. His words rumbled through his chest at first. I didn't hear them. A firm finger caught under my chin and tilted my head back. His eyes--stern eyes, green eyes, worried eyes, warm eyes, sharp eyes--- met my half-lidded ones.
"Why do you think I won't protect you?"
"You're a god," I whisper.
He's a god and yet he was allowing me to drool on his shirt. I frowned and wiped at the offending spot. Useless, it had already soaked in. Dad laughed. He guided my hand away, saying it was fine, that he could deal with a little drool, and that it was easier to get out than blood or wine.
Most importantly and more tenderly: "I'm your father before I'm a god."
I couldn't help the small smile on my lips. Before I knew what I was doing, I threw my arms around him. "Love you." Dad almost seemed to purr with how happy that made him. Encouraged, I kissed his cheek.
As long as I kept seeming like a good kid, he'd keep me around. He'd let me be normal. My head rested against his shoulder. Normal. A weird thing to be with my godly parent; somehow, that was the dream.
"Don't you have stuff to do?" I asked. He shook his head and smoothed his hand over my back. It was a lie, obviously. He's a god. There were thousands of other things he needed to do---argue with the other gods, control weather, control tides---I was only a grain of sand in the pile. And not even a piece that was supposed to be there.
"I want to make up for lost time," he said.
"I'll probably be dead before you make it all up."
"Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true." I sighed. "My luck's going to run out eventually." I broke a mirror. Was that going to be the first domino?
"How about you get changed?" He pushed me up, avoiding the subject. "And then we can go for a swim?"
"Or I can lie on the couch and bug Triton."
"Don't upset him. He's already doesn't like you staying here on weekends. I don't need my children killing each other over the remote." He stood and kissed my forehead. "I'll be in the throne room if you need me." He headed out the door."
"I thought you didn't have anything to do?"
He laughed. "I can always skip."
Hello. This chapter has been updated as of 3/19/23
If you haven't checked out Under the Water (also by me) please do! Because I'm actually updating that one on a schedule (for once since high school. shocking)
See yah