Work Text:
Percy Jackson had always walked with one foot firmly planted in his domain.
He could feel it the moment he met the boy five years ago, naught but twelve years old and already brimming with so much trauma he could practically taste it in the air around him. He could feel the madness thrumming just beneath his skin, a hair-trigger away from erupting on any given day.
And oh, how spectacular those eruptions were.
He would never say this aloud, far too committed to the bit of bemoaning his current station in life and being forced to work with a bunch of ungrateful demigods for the better part of the next century, but Dionysus is glad he was there for those moments.
Because who else would have handled them? Chiron? The centaur whose ideas of raising children haven’t changed in millennia? The boy’s father who seemed content to stay at the bottom of the ocean, only surfacing when it was convenient for him despite his claims of loving his ‘favorite son’?
Certainly not his mortal mother who, for all she truly loved the boy, has seemed committed to doing the exact opposite of what he needed ninety-eight percent of the time.
The first time had been shortly after the boy had returned from his quest to retrieve his father’s master bolt. When a group of harried campers had come to him, panicking about the weather and the earth trembling beneath their feet.
It’d been happening since Percy locked himself in one of the stalls in the communal bathroom, refusing to come out even for his little satyr friend. Naturally, he had to go handle it.
‘I’d rather not break the door down, but I will if I must,’ he told the boy softly, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.
It took a bit longer, but eventually he heard the boy shuffling forward. The lock on the stall door clicked and it swung open, revealing the terrified boy inside.
Percy stood huddled in the corner of the stall, eyes red rimmed as he hugged himself tightly. He let out a pathetic sounding sniffle as his gaze immediately darted to the ground.
Not for the first time, Dionysus found himself absolutely bewildered that anyone could look at this boy and honestly think he was the lightning thief. The only thing the boy was guilty of was occasionally being a little shit.
He pushed off from the wall, taking a step towards him, only to stop immediately he saw the boy flinch and curl in on himself even more, as if he expected to be hit.
“What’s going on, Percy,” he asked, keeping his voice intentionally low and soft.
“Please don’t make me go home,” the boy begged.
His brow furrowed in confusion. “It’s not even the end of the summer session. No one’s going home yet.”
But that did nothing to soothe the boy’s frayed nerves. His breathing sped up to the point where Dionysus was afraid he would begin hyperventilating.
“Please. I don’t want to go home. I can’t.”
Tears filled those big, green eyes, and dammit it if that didn’t tug at every string in his heart.
“What’s going on at home, Percy?” Dionysus pressed, though the sinking feeling in his gut told him he already knew the answer. “Why don’t you want to go home?”
Not that he would have made him in the first place. Campers had the choice to stay year-round if they wished. They aren’t required to give justification for their choice, and they aren’t required to get permission from their mortal parent either. It’s not as if any of them could drive up to the camp and demand their child be returned. They couldn’t even cross the border, and mortal police agencies would never believe them.
Percy’s lower lip quivered. “She said she had to think about it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My mom.” He sniffled again. “She said– she said she didn’t know what to do about Gabe yet and…” his breath hitched. “I don’t want to go home if he’s still there.”
The answer to that particular problem had ended up being rather simple. It turned out that letting some information slip at the council meeting that occurred shortly thereafter was more than enough to get the decision taken out of Sally Jackson’s hands.
Poseidon was nothing if not vengeful, and hearing that the mortal had dared put his hands on his youngest child? Well, let’s just say Sally Jackson never got the chance to work up the courage to turn her husband to stone. There hadn’t been much of him left when Poseidon was done.
You could have looked sooner, Dionysus had wanted to tell him after. You could have secretly checked in on him without drawing much attention well before this.
He had personally gone to pick up Castor and Pollux when their mother became unfit, his father’s paranoid interference laws be damned. He had been the one to guide Dakota towards New Rome.
If Dionysus could find it within himself to defy his father, Poseidon sure as hell could. But he didn’t. He said none of this, of course. It wouldn’t have been worth the fight it would have caused.
And the boy’s woes hadn’t stopped there.
The sleepless nights, the outbursts, the paranoia as the quests increased in frequency and the war drew closer, the way he avoided the dining pavilion like the fucking plague some weeks. All the days Dionysus spent mitigating the effects of poor decisions made during bouts of hypomania, culminating in a month-long battle against full mania that dipped into psychosis a few times more than he would have liked.
It hadn’t been his parents or Chiron or the boy’s poor excuses for friends holding him through the worst of it. It had been Dionysus.
Because someone had to do it.
Someone had to actually make an effort to keep this child together.
Which is why, when the war with Gaia was over and camp was half rebuilt and Percy was preparing to go back home to begin his senior year, Dionysus was reluctant to let him go. After everything he’s been through, after walking through fucking Tartarus, he wasn’t ready to release him into the wild just for something else to fuck with the kid’s head where he couldn’t intervene.
But Perseus Jackson was stubborn. Once he set his mind to something, he was going to do it whether you liked it or not. And he had decided to go home and try to exist as a normal teenager for once.
Or maybe it had been that Athena girl whispering in his ear about the plans she made for the two of them and telling him exactly what he needed to do and when. It was honestly hard to tell some days, and is definitely something that needed unpacking in the near future.
“You sure you’re ready to go home?” Dionysus asked him casually.
Percy shrugged. “Can’t hide out here forever. Senior year and all that.”
You could, he wanted to say. I would let you.
“I’ll be fine,” the boy tried to reassure him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Dionysus sighed. “And you’ll let someone know if that changes?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re taking your medication?”
“Also yes,” he said with a noticeable grimace. Dionysus could understand why. Percy had proved difficult to medicate. It had taken literal divine intervention to find a combination that helped, which included a liquid concoction crafted by Asclepius that Percy absolutely detested. But it worked, and that was the important thing.
So he had let him go home without too much more fuss, trusting that the demigod would keep his world and reach out.
At first he heard from him rather frequently. Usually in the form of memes, tiny life updates, and weird 3am thoughts texted to his personal number that he only rarely regrets giving him when he sends videos of that gods forsaken Marcus the Worm character.
But then the messages became less frequent.
He stopped dropping by on random evenings and weekends to laze about the Big House and cuddle with Seymour, Dionysus’ leopard who loved the boy more than he did his master.
He had tried to convince himself that maybe Percy was just busy. The boy did have a severe case of ADHD unrelated to his demigod battle instincts and was prone to forgetting things such as responding to messages.
But he should have known better.
He should have known things were rapidly going to shit based on the gossip that trickled in from Olympus and other demigods.
In the wake of Jason Grace’s death, absurd quest requirements for consideration at New Rome University, an explosive breakup with his girlfriend (good for him, if he’s being honest), and the ever growing tension in his household, Dionysus should have known the boy would be anything but fine.
And he’d never stop kicking himself for not checking in sooner.
________________________
“Dionysus Mantzoukas?”
Dionysus squinted at the phone. “Who is this? How did you get this number?”
And what the fuck was with that ridiculous last name? He’d never used that alias a day in his mortal or immortal life.
The woman on the other end was definitely not a god, and not another approved non-godly contact who had received his number. She shouldn’t have been able to find this number, let alone make a proper call to it with a mortal phone.
“Is this Dionysus Mantzoukas?” she asked in a short, clipped tone.
“Can I help you?” he asked impatiently, wanting nothing more than to flop back over and continue to ignore his responsibilities for a few more hours. “What do you want? Can you not see what time it is–”
“My name is Jodie Perry. I'm calling from New York-Presbyterian emergency room,” the woman interrupted him. “I need to speak with Dionysus Mantzoukas–”
“Listen, Jane, it’s two in the morning. There better be a good reason–”
“ -in regard to your ward, Perseus Jackson. He was brought in a few hours ago, but getting any family information out of him proved…difficult.”
Dionysus’ blood ran cold.
And suddenly he was far more awake than he had been moments ago.
“What happened?” he demanded, bolting upright.
“Sir, I need to verify you as his legal guardian–”
The thing about being a god is that he doesn’t need to be in the same space as a mortal for his divinity to have an effect. He felt it curl around the woman, stealing her words from her before she could finish her sentence. Overwhelming her until she got the message.
“I said,” he began slowly, patience thin, “what happened?” It was an order, not a question. And if the woman knew what was good for her, she would follow it.
The line was quiet for a long moment, and Dionysus heard the woman audibly gulp. When she spoke again, there was a noticeable tremble to her voice. “He was brought in after an apparent overdose. We performed a gastric lavage, stomach pumping, and he seems to be doing a bit better. But given the situation–”
Dionysus hung up the phone before she could finish her sentence, body already moving before his mind could begin to process what he was doing. He slammed the door to his room open, stomping down the stairs and past a very confused Chiron who had been awoken by his loud movements.
An apparent overdose.
The centaur called after him but he ignored him completely, throwing the door open and stepping out into the cool, night air.
He seems to be doing a bit better. But given the situation…
He breathed in, and then out, repeating the actions a few more times until vines had stopped exploding from the ground around him, choking out the other plant life.
He fished in his pocket and his keys magically materialized in his hand.
Dionysus really didn’t need the keys.
He’s a god
He could be at the hospital in mere seconds with nothing but a snap of his fingers, if he wanted to. Yet he found himself sliding in the driver’s seat of his car anyway. He slammed the door shut with far more force than necessary.
He pushed the start button aggressively, muttering under his breath.
Of course the kid would pull something like this in the middle of the night.
He threw the car in reverse, backing out the long, winding driveway faster than he ought to. Not that it meant much. A car crash couldn’t kill him, it would hardly leave a scratch on him. Not the way an overdose could easily cause irreparable internal damage to a foolish demigod, and possibly even lead to their death.
Not in the way a stab wound and horrific head injury would kill a demigod. Or the way an attack from an undead creature would kill a demigod.
He clenched his jaw, peeling off down the dirt road.
As he gripped the steering wheel, guiding the car down the dark road, he noticed for the first time that his hands were shaking.
________________________
He’s never liked his drunkard form. Truthfully, he only wore it to spite his father who he knew hated it just as much as he did. If Dionysus was going to suffer through an unfair punishment, then he was going to make it everybody’s problem.
But it’s not the grouchy, plump, red faced camp director that burst through the sliding glass doors of the emergency room with enough force to knock them off their hinges. It’s his true physical appearance that greets the busy waiting room.
Youthful, lithe, and with curly hair that nearly touched his shoulders held back in a haphazard ponytail.
The form that Percy Jackson did not flinch away from.
Despite his much easier to look at appearance, he must have been exuding one hell of a disgruntled aura judging by how everyone in the waiting room fell silent upon his arrival, nervously avoiding his gaze.
He stormed up to the desk, and a man who had been about to approach said desk jumped out of his way. Even the security guard didn’t seem particularly interested in intervening, his mouth snapping shut immediately as Dionysus fixed him with a glare.
“Perseus Jackson,” he snapped, leaning impatiently on the counter. The drive in had done little to settle his nerves. It just gave him more time to think.
The receptionist, an older woman with poorly dyed hair and makeup applied even more poorly, looked up at him with a bored expression. “Pardon?” she asked, obnoxiously popping her gum.
Dionysus grit his teeth, taking a few deep breaths as he reminded himself that smiting the mortal in your way is not always the answer.
“I received a call about Perseus Jackson. He was brought in a few hours ago. Where is he?”
The woman– Angelica, her name tag read– typed on her computer, staring at the screen until something popped up. “Room Twelve," she told him not bothering to look up again as she reached over and hit the button hidden behind the desk. Not even bothering to confirm that he was the correct emergency contact for the boy.
He didn’t wait for the doors to fully open, just speed on through and into the bustling emergency department.
It was definitely a Saturday night in New York City. The back was ten times more chaotic than the waiting room. A cacophony of groans of pain and frantic doctors and nurses trying to keep up with the steady influx of new patients, interspersed with the occasional crying child and the shouts of belligerent individuals high or drunk out of their minds.
He weaved his way around the mess of people, through short hallways that smelled like bleach and piss.
Room twelve. Room twelve.
Either he had suddenly lost the ability to count, or the numbering system in this department was messed up. Or maybe it was just the internal panic he was trying desperately to ignore messing with his ability to function. But where in the absolute fuck was room twelve?
Just before he could lose it in the middle of a mortal emergency room, he saw a pair of nurses huddled together at a small desk in front of one of the rooms, heads bent over a chart. And near them, the sign for room twelve.
He sped in that direction, hands clenched at his sides.
“Excuse me, sir–” the nurse who was sitting down tried to interrupt, but he brushed past her, coming to a stop in the doorway.
There, pale and gaunt, looking so young in his hospital bed, was Percy. Dionysus released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
He was alive.
He definitely looked worse for wear, shivering beneath a pile of hospital blankets, still hooked up to an IV. His hair was a mess and his wide red rimmed eyes were fixed on the hallway, darting from face to face as people walked by until his gaze finally settled on him.
For a brief moment the boy’s expression remained the same, fearful and unsure. But then when he finally registered who was standing before him, his entire body sagged in relief. He pushed himself up on shaky arms.
“Dionysus?” he asked, voice sounding so, so small.
“Hey, kid,” he replied just as softly. He plastered a calm, carefully neutral expression on his face. “I hear you’re not feeling too great. At least that’s what the woman who woke me up said.”
That initial fearful look came back with a vengeance. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have– I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’m sorry,” he stuttered out, looking seconds away from bursting into tears. “It’s fine, I’m sorry.”
He felt his heart clench in his chest as he watched the way Percy curled in on himself, the way he always did when he thought someone was mad at him and he was about to be yelled at or punished.
Dionysus strode across the room, forgoing the visitor’s chair altogether and sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him.
“Hey now, none of that,” he hushed him, gently prying his hands away from his arms before his nails could dig into his skin. Another nervous habit of his. Dionysus doesn’t want to give the hospital staff more things to observe. “Just breathe,” he told him. “Relax. I’m not mad, Percy.”
He carefully pushed the boy back until he was reclining against the pillows once more. “Breathe,” he repeated once more when the boy still looked to be teetering on the edge of panic. He reaches out and gently smooths Percy’s hair back. “You’re okay.”
It took a good ten minutes of light coaching to keep the anxiety from tipping over the edge into a full blown panic attack. It was made worse by the nurse on guard forcing her way into the room and trying to intervene, threatening to call for backup if he couldn’t calm down.
“Do you mind?” he glared at her, blocking her path to Percy each time.
Objectively he understood that she was just trying to do her job, but that didn’t matter when all her presence was doing was making his kid– Percy, more upset.
She looked up at him with wide eyes. “Sir, I have to stay and watch the patient. There’s protocols for these situations. Especially when they start to get–”
“Out,” he barked, not interested in hearing anything else from her.
Immediately she jerked to attention, turning and leaving the room without much more protest. At a different time or place, Percy might have glared at him and told him to stop controlling mortals like that. This time though, he just seemed happy to finally have her away from him.
“She’s been mean the whole time,” he whispered, leaning into Dionysus’ touch. His voice is still hoarse and scratchy. “‘Specially when they made me puke.”
Hm.
Maybe smiting mortals was the answer.
“Well she’s gone now, and won’t be coming back.” Or he’d curse her entire bloodline.
They sat quietly together for a moment, Dionysus continuing the calming motions
“I wasn’t sure you were going to show up,” Percy admitted.
“Of course I was,” he said immediately, mildly offended at the idea that he would ignore a call like this about one of his campers. He’d had to play a version of the “legal guardian” role more than once for quite a few demigods during his tenure at Camp Half-Blood. He was sure this time wouldn’t be the last.
And he would certainly never ignore a call when it was about one of his own children, his mind whispered, but he shoved that thought down quickly.
“Why do you think I wouldn’t have come?” he pressed.
Percy shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe you had better things to do than deal with me all the time. Most people do.”
And fuck if that wasn’t the saddest thing he’d heard in a while.
In addition to the nurse, he will soon have a cultivated list of other people in Percy Jackson’s life that deserved to be smote on sight.
“Nope. You’re stuck with me and my worrying, I’m afraid.”
Percy took a deep, shuddering breath. “They want to keep me for three days and then send me to another hospital. They wouldn’t let me go home.”
Dionysus winced. “Yeah that’s usually what happens in situations like this, kid.”
“But I’m fine now.”
The little liar.
“Percy…” he sighed, preparing himself to launch into a detailed explanation of just how not fine he was.
“It was just a stupid mistake. I had a headache and the people I was with overreacted. Please, I’m fine.”
Dionysus snorted. “Must have been one hell of a headache.”
He could feel the boy’s panic dredging back up as Percy stared at him desperately, practically on the verge of tears at the thought of being sent away. Dionysus carefully took the hand without the IV into his own, giving it a light squeeze. “You were supposed to reach out if things started getting this bad again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Tell me about this headache of yours.”
Percy clammed up immediately, refusing to even look at him now.
He reached out, gently turning Percy’s face back toward him. “Come on, kid. You have to give me something. We didn’t end up here for no reason.”
But his only answer was silence and an increasingly guilty expression on the boy’s face.
He sighed again, knowing that he wasn’t going to get much out of the kid right now. Not when everything was so fresh, and not when he probably still felt shitty after having a tube forced down his throat so he’d violently throw up everything he took.
He also knew that forcing the kid into a facility full of strangers with no way to escape was bound to end in disaster. More so for the staff than for Percy, if he was being honest. It’s hard to contain someone who could cause natural disasters or rip the blood from your veins with hardly a thought if they really didn’t want to be somewhere.
Not even the hospital in New Rome would be a good option, as equipped as they are to deal with demigods and their eccentricities. He’d give them a whole new reason to fear Neptune and his children.
Dionysus took another look into those big, sad eyes and knew there was only one option.
“Here’s the deal; I’m gonna break you out of this place. I’ll cause a bit of confusion so no one questions the decision to let you go, and you won’t get shipped off to a mortal mental hospital. But–”
Percy’s eyes lit up at the mention of freedom and he finally opened his mouth to speak, but Dionysus held up a finger to shush him.
“But,” he continued, “there will be rules. You will be coming back to camp for the foreseeable future. You will not leave camp without permission. All your medication, and I mean all of it, is going to be monitored for a little while. You get an actual headache? You gotta go through me or the infirmary to get a single Tylenol. And for fuck’s sake, you have to actually talk to me about what’s going on up there.” He poked the kid’s forehead. “Got it?”
Percy worried his lower lip, mulling over Dionysus’ offer.
For a moment he was nervous the boy wouldn’t agree to it willingly and he would have to play the ‘bad guy’ in place of the hospital staff. Because one way or another, something had to happen. They couldn’t just brush past this like it never happened and pretend like he was stable enough to go out on his own.
But to his relief, Percy nodded his assent.
“Good,” he breathed.
“It’s just–” Percy trailed off with a slight grimace, nervously plucking at the hospital blanket. “Well…”
“Just..?” he encouraged.
“My parents.”
Ah, shit. That’s right. Barnacle Beard and his current favorite mortal. Neither of them were going to take this well. He could feel it.
He exhales slowly. “What about them?”
“Do we have to tell them?” Percy asked, lower lip quivering. He stared at Dionysus with worry clouding his features. “What if they get mad at me?”
He shook his head. Dionysus knew for certain that neither Poseidon nor Sally Jackson would be angry with Percy. Frustrated that he didn’t tell them anything, maybe. But there wouldn’t be any yelling or screaming or punishments directed his way.
But even if Dionysus didn’t tell them anything, they would find out eventually. If he spirited Percy away from the hospital and his mother didn’t hear from him soon, she would eventually go running to Chiron, fearful that her son had been kidnapped again. Or worse, she would go directly to Poseidon. And then he’d have to deal with daddy dearest storming into his camp and causing a scene.
He may be the actual god of theater, but in Dionysus’ professional opinion, both his father and his uncle would be just as suited for the job.
“They won’t be mad at you. Upset at the situation? Sure. But I don’t think they’re going to be angry,” he tried to reassure him.
Percy sniffled, wide baby seal eyes still staring up at him in distress. “But what if they are?”
Then Dionysus was going to be the one to cause a scene and tell them just how fucking ridiculous they were being. Publicly. And in great detail.
He gave his hand another squeeze. “Then I’ll talk to them and we’ll figure it out.”
“Promise?”
“I swear. If your parents decide to be dicks, I’ll take care of it.”
Publicly.
Percy still looked incredibly unsure, but eventually he gave in. “Okay. I guess. I don’t really think I have much of a choice about you telling them anyway.” His tone was only slightly bitter.
Oh, you definitely don’t have many choices right now, is what Dionysus didn’t say, not wanting to upset him further. But he’d do his best to make sure the ones he had to make on Percy’s behalf were the least awful ones.
Dionysus rose to his feet. “How about we bust you out of here and get going then, hm? You get dressed and I’ll track down someone to get your discharge papers.”
“They took all my stuff when I got here.”
He snapped his fingers and the bag of Percy’s belongings appeared on the bed next to him. “There we go. I’ll be right back. Get dressed.”
A hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve tightly before he could walk away. Percy stared up at him. “You’re really coming back?”
Dionysus’ expression softened. “I promise, kid. I’ll be right back.”
________________________
Percy was silent on the ride back to camp, opening his mouth only when asked a direct question, and even then his answers were short and to the point. He’s curled in the passenger seat, using his hoodie as a makeshift pillow. An extra blanket that lived in his car was draped over him, but Dionysus cranked up the heat anyway.
The boy had always run cold.
And he’d run even colder since his unfortunate trip to The Pit a few months back.
Low, instrumental music played on the radio, and Percy’s eyes drooped even lower. He’d been quietly humming to himself since they left his parent’s apartment, a self-soothing habit Dionysus had noticed was a thing early on. But even that was coming to a stop as the boy rapidly lost his battle against Hypnos’ realm.
The talk with Sally Jackson when they made a pitstop to gather his belongings had gone about as well as he had expected. True to his word, she hadn’t been angry at Percy. But she had been rather angry with Dionysus towards the end.
It started with her being grateful that he had brought her son home. She’d been going out of her mind with worry after Percy hadn’t answered her calls.
Then it had quickly turned to horror about what had occurred without her knowledge.
And then finally suspicion and anger. Because why would Dionysus be there and why would Percy call him of all people if he was in trouble and not her? And what gives him the right to decide to take her son out of school and back to camp?
Contrary to popular belief, Dionysus can be kind when he wants to be. So he didn’t bring up all the times she had proved herself unreliable as a support system through his childhood, or how she overlooked her ex-husband’s abusive tendencies out of a selfish desire to keep her son closer to her.
He didn’t even call her out for how dismissive of her son’s feelings she could be, or how since she got remarried and had a new baby, she’d been gradually pulling herself away from her demigod child in favor of the regular, normal life she had managed to build after all these years.
But he certainly did tell her just how out of her depth she was and how she’s been willfully ignorant of his deteriorating mental health because it wasn’t convenient for her to deal with.
Paul Blofis, bless him, had stepped up as the voice of reason once their argument began to broach dangerous territory. Skillfully placing himself between the two of them until they were calm enough to be reasonable individuals once more. Though Dionysus was smart enough to know that even without the shouting match, Sally’s opinion was not going to change.
Percy Jackson didn’t inherit his stubbornness solely from his father.
So when Paul ushered his wife into the kitchen to continue calming her down, Dionysus took it upon himself to pop into Percy’s bedroom, packing some basic things, and then expeditiously retreating with said boy back to the car before they could be bothered again.
He could already feel the oncoming Jackson-Blofis induced headache coming for pulling this one.
“So,” he began, “I forgot to mention that part of the deal is you sleeping in the Big House for a while.”
“Hm?” Percy mumbled sleepily, picking his head up.
“You. Sleeping in the Big House for a while. Got it?”
He expected Percy to protest, to try and argue once more that he was fine and had already agreed not to leave camp and every other rule so there was no reason to include new sleeping arrangements as part of his house arrest.
Instead, Percy just blinked owlishly at him before settling back down. “Do I get Seymour?”
Dionysus scoffed. “Quit trying to steal my leopard.” There was no real heat behind his words.
Of course the kid could bunk with Seymour, as if the leopard could be prevented from curling up with his favorite camper. Even when Percy wasn’t in the Big House, the overgrown housecat would stalk over to cabin three at night and sit outside the door, letting out downright mournful noises until the boy got up to let him inside.
It was absolutely pathetic.
It was also one of the few things that seemed to ground him on particularly bad days, so he supposed he could deal with his leopard being stolen if that means less spontaneous rain storms and minor earthquakes during panic attacks.
“Fine, you can have Seymour, I suppose," Dionysus huffed. His feigned annoyance is worth the small upturn of the boy’s lips.
“Okay.”
There was a pause and Percy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Dionysus?” he spoke again.
“What is it, kid?”
Percy hesitated, unable to meet his gaze. “I really am sorry. For everything.”
Dionysus breathed out slowly, a familiar ache building in his chest. Five years of this, and he still hasn’t found a way to make Percy understand that he doesn’t need to apologize for having a hard time. For existing. Not for the first time, he wished he could spirit the kid away somewhere much further than camp where none of the nonsense of their world could follow.
“I know. It's okay.”
He doesn’t want to accept the kid’s unnecessary apology, but he knew it made Percy feel better when he did.
“...okay.”
Silence filled the car once more. Dionysus took the long way back to camp, giving them both a little more time to breathe before having to deal with anyone else.
________________________
When they finally arrived back at camp, Dionysus was momentarily convinced he might have to carry him inside. Percy was worn out, fighting a losing battle with complete exhaustion and the lingering pain of having his stomach pumped. Nevertheless he managed to climb out of the car, clutching the blanket around him as he stumbled after Dionysus into the Big House.
Chiron was awake and waiting for him.
Of course.
The centaur’s eyes widened in horror the second his gaze fell on Percy. Understandable. The boy looked as bad as he no doubt felt.
“Bed,” Dionysus said softly, shooing him towards the stairs before Chiron tried to make him answer any questions. “Second room on the right. I’ll be up in a minute.”
The room next to his in case anything went wrong.
He watched as Percy slowly climbed the stairs, blanket clutched tightly around him. Seymour, who had promptly lost his mind the second he realized who Dionysus brought home, happily trotted up the stairs behind him, glad to have his favorite boy back at camp. Dionysus waited until he heard the soft click of the bedroom door before turning to face Chiron.
“Go on, ask your questions. Make it quick.”
“Why did I get a call from the boy’s mother complaining that you stole her son?” The disapproval in Chiron’s tone was heavy.
Dionysus rolled his eyes. “She called to complain already? I thought I at least had the night before the drama started.”
Chiron shot him a reproachful look. “She is his mother. I think she has the right to ‘complain’, as you say, when you announce that you’re taking her child and limiting her visits for the time being. What were you thinking, Dionysus?”
He’s thinking that he might finally haul off and smite the old centaur if he kept mouthing off to him like that.
He shrugged. “I was thinking that he clearly needed more help than those mortals could give him. So I brought him back here. Definitely have better amenities here than whatever hospital he was going to get shoved in eventually.”
Chiron’s shoulders sagged. “So it’s true then?”
It’s been true for years, in some way, shape or form. This was just the first time anyone besides himself had decided to truly look. To see just how awful things really were and how quickly things could go very, very wrong.
“Very true. Now are we done here? I have other things to attend to–”
“Are you sure this was the wisest course of action? If the boy truly needs…extra support, given everything he’s been through, perhaps being somewhere else might benefit him.”
For the second time in five minutes, Dionysus considered smiting the immortal trainer of heroes. But then thought better of it when he realized he didn’t want to be the one responsible for cleaning up the mess.
“And what is the alternative, exactly? Send him home to his mother who can’t handle him? Send him to a regular mortal hospital? Let him have a bad encounter with a particularly nasty staff member when he’s already terrified and boil them from the inside? Sounds like an excellent plan,” he snarked.
Chiron’s face paled. “Percy would never do such a thing!”
“Sure, when he’s in his right mind. When he’s in the trenches of a meltdown and can’t recognize the person trying to help him? Well…” Dionysus trailed off, letting the words sink in.
And maybe he was exaggerating, just a bit. Just enough to make a point. It hadn’t happened before, not even before the Titan war when stress had triggered mania and psychosis for the first time. Percy Jackson had been and always would be more of a threat to himself in those situations than anyone else.
Though after Tartarus, after Akhlys, maybe it wasn’t such an unfounded concern. But they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. Right now, though, all he really wanted was the centaur to shut up and leave him alone so he could go upstairs and check on his kid.
“Exactly,” he said when Chiron didn't respond.
He turned and walked to the kitchen, obtaining a glass of water for Percy. He also stopped and opened one of the many first aid kids they kept on hand, pouring a small amount of nectar into a medicine cup, before making his way to the stairs.
“There’s still much to discuss about this, Dionysus,” Chiron called as Dionysus breezed past him again.
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand dismissively, already halfway up the steps.
By the time he entered the spare bedroom, Percy was already halfway to sleep once more. Seymour curled behind him, affectionately grooming him.
He set the glass of water down on the nightstand. “How are you feeling?”
“My stomach hurts,” he mumbled, voice bordering on whiny as he buried his face in the pillow.
Dionysus tsked. “I would imagine so. It should start feeling better by tomorrow. Tell me if it’s not, or if it gets worse. Now sit up for me, I got you a shot of nectar. Should speed things along a bit.”
“Mmkay.”
Once he got some nectar and water in him, he made sure Percy was laying back down comfortably, an extra layer of blankets tucked around him. He sat on the edge of the bed, fingers combing through messy black curls as he watched Percy’s breathing slowly start to even out, the tension in his body relaxing for the first time that night.
“Stay?” Percy mumbled just when he thought he had finally fallen asleep.
“I’ll stay right here,” he assured him. “Seymour too.”
Seymour let out a quiet huff in response, pressing closer to Percy and laying his head down on top of him.
“Okay.”
When Percy finally fell into a deep sleep, Dionysus lingered on the edge of the bed for a moment before reluctantly standing and stretching. He adjusts the bedside lamp, dimming it but not turning it off completely. Percy hated the dark. With a snap of his fingers the accent chair from across the room appears silently next to the bed.
He lowered himself into the chair with a tired sigh, knowing he was going to be there for a while.
“We’re gonna have to keep an eye on him,” he murmured to his leopard, giving the creature a gentle scratch.
Seymour blinked slowly at him, letting out another huff as if to say “what do you think I’m doing here?”, before closing his eyes.
Dionysus remained in his spot long after the sun began to rise and the noise of camp started drifting in through the cracked window, content to let Percy get as much rest as he needed. He watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, assuring himself that the boy– his boy, was still very much alive and wouldn’t be joining Castor and Dakota in the Underworld anytime soon. Not if he could help it.
A few hours from now, there would be a million things he had no desire to deal with. A full interrogation from Chiron for one, and a likely visit from Poseidon when Sally Jackson no doubt complains to her ex-lover about what transpired. It would also come with many difficult conversations, and a Percy who would probably be a lot less agreeable to his terms than he was the previous night.
But for now, Percy was alive and safe.
And he could work with that.