Hello! Wow, it's been a really long time since I have posted anything. I just finished rereading the Heroes of Olympus series, and I decided that I didn't like how the end of Blood of Olympus seemed to gloss over everything that happened to everyone emotionally, so I wrote in my own extra scene that includes more of the emotional angst. Because who doesn't like a little Percy/Paul bonding and hurt/comfort? I only skim edited this, so if there are any grammar/spelling errors, let me know.

It was almost 3:00 AM before Paul heard the door creak quietly open. He must have fallen asleep on the couch sometime after midnight, when his strict vigil had begun, as his neck was beginning to cramp and any small movement was causing his back to spasm. He rolled his head around with a sigh, attempting to stretch out his discomforts with little success.

"You're getting sloppy," Paul accused, looking up to the half open door. A figure stood there, frozen, before emitting several soft curses. "I thought you were entering through the fire escape."

The figure stepped slowly forward into the dim light of the lamp, revealing a tall teen with shaggy black hair in dire need of a cut. He looked up at Paul, his striking sea-green eyes made even more so by the contrast of the red bloodshot veins that streaked his whites. They seemed dull and lifeless, sunken back into the skull atop skin so dark from exhaustion it seemed bruised. His pale lips turned up into a wry smile. "So, you're the one who nailed my window shut. I was wondering," he said, his voice strained and hoarse.

Paul regarded his stepson carefully, neither confirming nor denying this accusation. "You look like shit, Percy," Paul sighed, glancing at him. For a second, Percy stared him down, a defiant light glimmering in his eyes like a challenge before it faded, leaving his expression as still and dead as it was before. Percy looked down.

"You nailed my window shut," he mumbled. "Who the fuck does that, Paul?"

"Who leaves their house for hours every night two weeks straight?" Paul countered, ignoring Percy's course language. "Sit," he commanded, patting the space on the couch next to him. Grumbling, Percy did so, throwing himself down with a thud. The pillows seemed to consume his slight frame, his sickly white skin blending into the crème of the upholstery, and Paul was struck with how skinny his stepson really was.

Paul remembered the first terrifying night after the war when Percy had been brought home, unconscious, on a stretcher, his own blood dripping down and staining the floor. They had told him that Percy should be fine if he survived the night, so for the first time he had gotten down on the floor with Sally and prayed to gods who weren't listening, who didn't care, and whose fault it was that Percy was hurt in the first place. He prayed, and when Percy had gotten up the next morning, battered and bruised but alive, thank gods he was alive, Paul had naively thought that everything was better again, that his family was whole once more. That was three weeks ago, but for the life of him, Paul couldn't see any difference between the near corpse that had been brought to him on a stretcher and the shell of a boy in front of him.

"Where do you go at night?" Paul queried softly. "Where were you?"

"What do you want from me?" Percy snarled. "Why should you care?" His eyes flashed ferally. "I have nothing left to give anyone!"

Paul's heart broke at his step-son's words. "Percy," he whispered. "Percy, I care about where you're going because I care about you. I love you, Percy. You're my son. It hurts me to know that you are hurting."

Percy's face crumpled. "I- I don't... I," he gasped, unable to breathe. "I'm sorry, I didn't, I didn't mean..." he wheezed hysterically, every emotion washing over him like a tsunami. Paul leaned over, arms extended, and gathered his stepson into an embrace. Percy's face burrowed into his neck, muffling each of the ugly sobs that wracked his body. They stayed like that until Paul's sleeve had been soaked through with tears and snot, and the cries of the broken demigod had subsided into soft hiccups before disappearing completely.

"I can't sleep," Percy proffered, his voice thick and muted by Paul's shirt.

"Hmm?" Paul hummed, stroking Percy's matted hair absentmindedly.

"I can't sleep. Like, at all," he repeated. "So I walk. That's where I'm going at night. After a while, staring at the same crack in your ceiling gets boring, so I walk the city. I just left and returned through the fire escape, so that I wouldn't wake you up. That is, until you nailed my window shut," he said with a choked chuckle.

Paul thought about this for a minute. Most normal parents would be appalled by the apparent dangers of walking around alone in a huge city like New York. But Paul knew that Percy wasn't a normal child; no, he felt sorry for the mugger who attempted to steal his son's wallet. And even in his current weakened state, Percy would probably be able to handle a jumping of the demigod variety as well. The more worrying part of Percy's confession was his lack of sleep. Paul knew that this was dangerous for a demigod as strong as Percy, who had to be on alert against monster attacks 24/7.

"Why can't you sleep?" Paul asked, his thumbs now tracing circles on the half-blood's back. Percy chuckled humorlessly.

"I can't-" he stuttered. "I see them all, when I'm dreaming. Bianca, Castor, Charles, Michael, Silena, Leo... so many deaths, so many gone..." Percy trailed off, his voice cracking.

"Percy, that's- that's not your fault. You did your best to save them all. They all died heroes," Paul consoled. Percy grunted, unconvinced. "Is that- I mean, is that it? That's why you can't sleep?"

Percy looked up, pulling slightly out of the embrace to glance at Paul. He worried his lip between his teeth, as if debating what he should say. "This last quest-" he started. "It was hard. I saw a lot of stuff that... Well, I wish I could just forget it all. But demigod dreams, they're- everything I don't want to remember haunts every moment that I'm asleep. I'd rather die than relive being in-... well," Percy cut off suddenly.

Paul didn't know all of the gory details of Percy's involvement in the war against Gaea. He knew of the amnesia, the switch with Jason, and how Gaea and her giants were trying to take over the earth. Percy was always loathe to share the worse aspects of his quests, but he had been particularly tight-lipped about the last one, as had Annabeth. Everything he knew about his stepson's past eight months came from fragmented tales from Annabeth and Nico, who were as intentionally vague as ever. And after seeing how emotionally drained Percy was on his return, Paul and Sally had decided not to push him about it.

"Do you..." Paul cleared his throat. "Do you need to talk about anything? Maybe that would help you sleep."

Percy snorted. "Yeah, perfect idea, just get me a shrink," he deadpanned. "I can just tell them how mad I am that ancient gods keep screwing with my life, and how I battle monsters every day. Maybe I can talk about how Hera, the queen of the gods, kidnapped me and took my memories before I went on a quest to free death. That's one sure way to get me put in the loony bin."

Paul chuckled. "You know that's not what I meant," he assured. "I just thought- well, we're on the couch already. Maybe you could talk to me?"

Percy looked up at him questioningly. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I mean, I already worried you enough with sneaking out the past week. I don't have to add all of my demigod baggage on top of that."

Paul nodded. "I'm sure. I'll listen to whatever you need. Besides, knowing that you have someone to talk to will keep me from worrying, not make it worse."

"Ok," Percy acquiesced, still unsure of himself. Paul could almost feel how much trust Percy was giving him at the moment, and it warmed his heart. No matter how much Paul loved his step-son, their relationship had always been strained. He had tried, for Sally's sake, to get to know the kid, but it was hard to connect with an enigma such as Percy. After being entrusted with Percy's biggest secret he had felt like a part of the family, and after seeing his stepson's heroics in the battle for New York, Paul had felt proud that he could call Percy his son. But he never would have called the connection they had close. That relationship was reserved for Sally, who Percy adored, and the other demigods at camp who understood what being a half-blood was like and were more of his family than Paul was. Now, however, for the first time, Percy was opening up to him.

Percy shifted until he was laying out flat on the couch, his head pillowed on Paul's lap. "Might as well make this seem authentic," he joked, before becoming serious once again. "It all started with the snake-headed ladies. They should have died three days before..."

Please review! I run off of reviews and caffeine ;)