When he was three, I was still a single mom. I had yet to meet Gabe (be that a blessing or a curse) and despite the fact he never helped me parent in the first place, taking care of Percy was incredibly hard without him. Three year olds need a lot of things. Sure, there were necessities of food, water, clothing, shelter. I had all of that more or less taken care of, despite the fact that the food was stale, the water polluted, the clothing second-hand, and the shelter run down. (Gabe lightened that load, but he sure did weigh down the emotional burden one)

Then there are the not-so-obvious things. Percy needed attention and love and encouragement, and, however regrettably, Percy needed to be potty-trained.

Let's clear things up: I'm not a boy, and do not have boy parts.

I was not versed in the way of male urination.

I scoured bookstores for potty-training manuals for single parents, but then it was still not a widely accepted practice (if one could call it that) so I was stuck with a book entitled "What to Do When They Gotta Go" which on the front had an illustrated image of a mother and a father holding their constipated-looking child between them with confounded faces. Subtract that man and that was me.

I spent the entire evening in the bathroom with Percy, trying to explain the basics to him while still trying to understand them myself. By the time we reached the actual peeing stage, I realized that the toilet was too tall for my little one and I would have to purchase one of those ones made specifically for kids. There goes thirty bucks.

The day after, I found a used one at a thrift store. It sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" every time it got wet, which at the time sounded good, but in hindsight, was a poor choice.

That night we managed to get the bathroom thing figured out, and Percy was absolutely delighted when the toilet began its tinkering rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". After, we ate frozen TV dinners on our couch while trying to say all the words we knew. He didn't know a lot. He said "blue" four times.

The next day, after I had picked him up from the neighbor's apartment and gotten started on mending one of his jumpers, he tugged on my shirt and told me he had to go "pee-pee". I escorted him into the restroom and observed quietly, only interjecting suggestions when he appeared to need it. All the while the toilet twanged away with its off tune melody.

This cycle repeated for the next few weeks, and slowly but surely, that little plucky song was beginning to drive me crazy.

One day, it didn't stop.

By that time, I felt comfortable letting Percy go to the restroom by himself. So when he came out to report that the toilet wouldn't quit singing, I felt mildly panicked. I had heard that song three times a day through the bathroom door, God forbid I hear it anymore. Sure enough, when I entered the bathroom to investigate, the music hadn't stopped. It looped over and over, its yowling tune making the hairs on my neck stand up. I washed the basin out, I dried it, I even busted out my old hairdryer, a desperate, last ditch effort. But the refrain persisted. I over turned the thing and made to tear out the battery pack, only to be obstructed by screws. I muttered a cuss, and then went to the alley window in my bedroom. I proceeded to fling it open and toss the toilet out. Percy cried and cried, but I told him we'd get another potty, and we did.

This one didn't sing.

"Where do babies come from?"

I chewed the sandwich I had prepared for myself evenly, not meeting Percy's eyes. Gabe (this was when he was still in his mildly nice stage—just after we got married) nearly spewed his beer, and looked at me with a frantic expression in his eyes. He promptly excused himself from the room.

I sighed. No matter how many times I saw it in movies, I had never really thought about the day when Percy would ask me the infamous question. I couldn't properly recall when (or if) my parents broke the news to me, much less how they did it. When I really tried to remember, I'd even dare to say I found out more from school than from them. I didn't want that for Percy though.

I considered a straight forward answer, or maybe a "when you're older" one. Maybe I could tell him about the baby store…

"Moooooommmmmmmyyyyyyy," he whined impatiently.

I crouched down on the ground next to him and tickled him to buy time while I manufactured a story in my head. He giggled and laughed for a few seconds, then regarded me with as serious a face as he could muster.

I sighed again and withdrew my hands. "Your daddy loved me so soooo much that he had this brilliant idea," I began. His eyes sparked, the way they always did when I talked about his dad. "He told me one day that he wanted to have you." I emphasized a smile and poked him again, square in the belly button. "So one night he planted a seed in my belly. And after a lot of nurturing and care, it became you. When you were tired of sitting in my belly, you came outside and that's called being born."

He nodded, seeming eager to know more. But I didn't know how to elaborate more than that without getting graphic.

"Mommy, if Daddy loved you so much that he wanted to have me, then why isn't he here?"

Ah, the million dollar question. I could answer it an infinite amount of times, and still Percy wouldn't be satisfied. "Your father was very, very important. And one day, he had to leave. He had so many responsibilities that he had to take care of… so he couldn't take care of us." I could feel the start tears shimmering in my eyes, but I blinked them back desperately. "If he had known you, trust me Percy, he would still be here. He loved you so much before he even met you. I'm just sad for him because he didn't get to love you more."

Percy threaded his arms around my neck, his little fingers grasping at the knots in my hair. "I'm sad he didn't get to love you more, too."

Percy's first school was a small elementary school three blocks from our apartment. While he only stayed at it for a semester (give or take a few weeks), it was the beginning of his education and integration with other kids his age. On his first day, I made absolutely sure that he had his best clothes on, that he had brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and double knotted his shoes. I made an extra special lunch for him consisting of a peanut butter and strawberry jam Uncrustable, a bag of Goldfish, grapes, an apple juice, and a note on a blue Post-It reading "I love you, Percy! Be good to others and they will be good to you." He was obviously nervous, and between the look on his face and the way he was dwarfed by his over-stuffed backpack (full of things I would later on realize I didn't need to buy since it all went to the "class buckets"), he looked almost comical.

I took his hand and walked him down to the street, and together we were swept up in an overwhelming crowd of mothers and their children on the way to school. We moved steadily with the flow, which was a little slow paced for my liking, but matched Percy's strides to a T. When we were about a block away, I noticed the enormous throng of people on the lawn in front of the school, and tugged Percy down an alley instead for more private goodbyes.

"You have your pencils?"

"Yes."

"Your lunch?"

"Mhm."

"Who is your teacher?"

"Mrs. King."

"What's the golden rule?"

"Be good to others and they will be good to you."

"How much do I love you?"

"Mooooommmmm."

I pecked him on the cheek and mussed his hair. "More than you could ever imagine," I whispered in his ear. He looked me straight into my eyes, something that when Percy did, it felt as though my soul was being seen. The deer-in-the-headlights look disappeared from his eyes and a new determination lit them.

"I love you too, Mom," he said, his voice solid. "Have a nice day at work." And with that formal goodbye, he turned and exited the alley, swept up in the swift current of maternal adoration and filial embarrassment.

That night he would come home to cry about how his new friend stole his eraser, how the lunch line was confusing, and how humiliated he was when he couldn't read a sentence off the board and his teacher scolded him. I made him breakfast for dinner, complete with blue pancakes and bacon, and he perked up.

There would be many parent-teacher meeting at that school before a final expulsion was issued and Percy was forced to uproot and move. It broke my heart to make him do that, but with every transfer his resilience grew, his character building like skyscrapers.

Every new school had a new checklist to be examined, but all with one final question: "How much do I love you?"

The first time Percy ever displayed his godly powers was, of course, on Gabe. I'd had a particularly long day at the diner, and when I got home it only got longer. It was poker night at our place, and the party was in full swing (despite the clock reading only 6:30).

It was about that time Percy traipsed in, breathless from running and smelling of subway. He attended fifth grade at an elementary school clear across the city, and the daily commute was long and strenuous on everyone involved. He pulled off his shoes and half-heartedly shoved them under the table by the door, tossing his backpack next to them.

"Boy!" Gabe called, beckoning with one hand and supporting his cards with the other. "Tell your ma to get to those drinks."

"Tell her yourself, Smelly," Percy snapped. "Better yet, get them yourself. You're the one hosting this shin-dig, right? So be a good host."

"That's what bitches are for," one of the men laughed heartily.

Percy eyed him viciously for only a moment before joining me in the kitchen, where I had a lovely view of the entire meltdown. For a second I was paralyzed, then I was busy making drinks.

"Mom, don't," Percy said quietly, removing the scotch glasses from my hands.

"No, Percy, you don't. Really, stay out of this. It's okay, it's okay,-" he rested his eyes on me warily but I carefully kept my own on the scotch I was pouring. Then Percy went back into the dining room.

"So what are you guys playing?" Percy asked casually, walking up to the table.

"What's it to ya, kid?" one of the men grumbled.

"Yeah, scram you mutt," Gabe taunted.

Percy's fists tightened at his side.

"Did you tell your ma to hurry on those drinks? Because I'm beginning to think she needs a reminder," Gabe added.

One of the guys tilted their head to the side and back, jutting his chin out. A challenging pose. "Looks like you ain't got your bitch under control. And her kid's crazy, too."

"My mother isn't a bitch," Percy mumbled.

"What's that, mutt?" Gabe asked, not actually displaying interest, God forbid.

"My mother. Is not. A bitch. If anyone is an animal here, it's you. You're a lazy pig who lays in his own slop all day and never does anything for himself. One of these days, you're going to be slaughtered, and you'll never see it coming."

Gabe prudently laid his cards down on the table. "Is that a threat, mutt?"

"Yeah, it is," Percy said. His voice was the sound of thunder on the edge of the storm. Tantalizingly close to being dangerous.

Gabe launched himself up from his chair with speed that was astounding for a man of his size. He wrapped his sausage fingers around Percy's neck and pegged him up against the wall in four seconds flat, and was muttering fowl things to him with breath that reeked of booze. Percy jerked violently, small fists pounding away at Gabe's stomach, searching futilely for a weak point.

I had to intercept.

I moved to get out of the kitchen and into the dining room when a rumble was heard. Everyone held still, and what should have been only one moment stretched on for what felt like eternity. Then that moment was broken, and time rolled on, fast as ever. A stream of water broke out from the wall behind Percy, narrowly missing the side of his head but spewing directly into Gabe's eyes.

Gabe hollered and released Percy, who dropped to the ground, gasping. I hurried in and grabbed him by the wrist, then pulled him out the door and out of the apartment building. Away from the poker party. Away from Gabe. Away from the monster that was protecting us from monsters.

I had taken Percy to Montauk every summer since his birth. The cabin we had at the beach was a gift from his father, maintained by nereids that stayed there in the fall, winter and spring, then migrated south to spend the summer in the Florida Keys. They kept the place relatively tidy; only once or twice had I found their beer stash.

My favorite summer there had been one after Percy had realized his powers.

I hadn't know if he was going to have them. I knew that most—if not all—demigods had powers, but I had always harbored the hope that Percy would end up just a normal, plain boy, unburdened by the oden placed upon him by his parents.

When he blew up the pipe in Gabe's face, it became sort of obvious that I wouldn't be so lucky.

Or so I thought.

That summer at Montauk, he showed me everything.

"Mom, watch this!" he said as though he were any other kid showing him mom some dopey trick. He stood on the edge of the beach, the waves licking his heels then retreating. He swung his arms back and then pushed them forward.

The water came rushing at me where I was sitting in a little lawn chair a few yards up. Instinctively I threw my arms over my face to defend myself from the oncoming wave. But right when I expected it to hit, it didn't. I looked up carefully to see the wave, suspended in mid-air.

I stood and reached my hand out, touching the little individual droplets of water that preceded the wave. They popped in my hand, like crystal pomegranate seeds. I continued to walk through the wave, following a little hollow tunnel, careful not to touch the edges.

At the end I found Percy, sitting on the sand, smiling. "It's like a water igloo," he said.

I grinned at him. "How did you find out you could do this?"

"Camp," he replied.

I looked up at the dome of water above us. It cast the most beautiful light I had ever seen. It was like the light on the bottom of a pool, only frozen and amplified. I sat next to Percy and we just stared together.

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"I met my dad."

This was knowledge I had not been privy to, or prepared for.

"What do you think?" I queried, for lack of better words.

Percy looked down at his hands, squeezing them into fists.

"I don't know. He said some things that weren't too… I don't know. Nice. And he's very blunt."

I laughed mirthlessly. Blunt; yes, that was what Poseidon was.

"What did he say?"

"Well at first he called me a wrongdoing, and he told me I was a mistake."

My stomach went cold. I knew Poseidon was direct, but to say that… it wasn't in his nature.

"But then he told me he was proud of me."

"How does that make you feel?" I said, smiling slightly.

"I don't know, mostly because I don't know him. But there's… something to it, I guess. Having a god say he's proud of you."

"I'm proud of you too, Percy," I said, wrapping my arm around him. "You are growing quite a prince."

"That's funny," he said, smiling at me.

"Why?"

"Because he called you a 'Queen among women'."

I felt my cheeks flush. I stayed quiet.

"I agree with him."

I've been scared for my son's life several times since he started going to camp. Mostly while he was away on quests, or just away in general. Only once have I been terrified of him dying right there in my arms.

It was during his fifth summer of camp. Night had fallen, and Paul and I had retired to the bedroom. He was fast asleep, yet for some reason, I was still awake. An uneasiness had settled in my stomach, and I simply could not sleep until it was gone.

Some time passed and the night deepened as I attempted to derive the origin of the butterflies in my stomach. I still hadn't come to a conclusion when—to my horror—I heard someone struggling with the front door. Then I heard keys slide in the lock and the door eased open. I noticed a large gap between when the door open to when it closed.

"Paul," I whispered, patting him frantically while pulling myself into a sitting position.

"What?" he mumbled sleepily, rolling over to face me.

"Someone is here."

He joined me sitting upright.

We listened as the intruder staggered through the kitchen and living room, then into the bathroom. The shower started running.

My mind, which had previously been addled by the onset of sleep, was now working logically. Any regular burglar didn't have the key to our apartment. And why would they go straight for the bathroom?

Then it clicked.

"Percy," I whispered, and then I was up out of bed and in the bathroom, Paul stumbling behind me.

I found Percy sitting in the shower, water running over his mutilated chest. Three gashes cut clear across his abdomen, watered-down blood coursing from them. His chest was heaving, and he nearly jumped when he saw me.

"Oh Percy, what happened?" I asked frantically as I climbed in the shower next to him, examining the wounds. Blood and water swirled down the drain.

"I don't remem—" he hissed in pain, his face contorting, the picture of agony. "Turn the water off," he gasped. "Turn it off, turn it off—"

I reached across him and turned the handle to the off position. "Why? Percy what's going on?" I wasn't entirely oblivious to Percy's powers; I knew his wounds should be healing in the water, but to me, it looked like they were growing more irritated.

"I don't know, I-I just…" he trailed off for a moment, too consumed in pain to continue. "I remember—I don't know… n-nothing."

He wasn't making sense. This was bad. Very bad.

"Is the water making you hurt?" I asked, almost as if he was a child again.

He nodded weakly. The way he was gasping for breath scared me shitless.

"Paul, you gotta help me. We need to get him to his room." Paul nodded dutifully and whisked Percy up, bridal style.

Percy leaned heavily into Paul's chest. "I'm cold," he mumbled.

"Percy, do you have any drachmas?" I asked.

"P-pocket."

I reached into his pocket and withdrew two drachmas. While Paul moved Percy, I turned the shower back on and switched the spray nozzle to "Mist", then proceeded to toss one in. "Oh, Iris, goddess of the rainbow, please accept my offering," I mumbled.

A distinctly familiar face appeared in the mist; a woman with olive toned skin and warm brown eyes. Iris.

"Iris messaging is not to be used by mortals, even if it is you, Sally Jackson," she said to me, not unkindly, but not exactly friendlily either.

"Please, Iris," I pleaded. "I have no time for formalities. Percy would be making this call if he was able, but he just arrived at my apartment and he is seriously injured. I need to speak with his father."

Iris considered this for a minute. "Fine," she said, smiling sneakily. "But you can't tell anyone! This is only because I like that boy of yours so much. And," she paused, considering what she was about to say, "I think you're my favorite demigod mother."

She smiled in a way that reminded me of my own mother, then her face disappeared from the mist and was replaced by an intense rainbow. Only a moment passed, then a room lined with coral reef bookshelves and a desk made with what was probably wood from a sunken ship was displayed. Sitting at that desk was Poseidon.

He was yelling at someone in words I couldn't understand from this far away. Then a woman with gorgeous black hair waltzed into the room, and said something coldly, and exited. Amphitrite, I was sure.

Poseidon turned his attention to me. "Uh, Sally, what exactly are you doing on an Iris Message?" he asked, sounding more puzzled than concerned.

"Percy is injured, and I don't know what to do," I told him hurriedly. "I mean, we tried water and that didn't work, and I guess he doesn't have any ambrosia, so—"

"Slow down, dear," Poseidon said. "You know what?" He turned and glanced over his shoulder at the door where the steaming queen of the sea had been moments before. "I'll be right there."

The IM disappeared. I turned the shower off and hurried into Percy's room.

Paul had sat Percy down on his bed, back propped so Paul had enough room to wrap his chest with bandages that we kept in the house for precisely this reason. While Paul didn't look up from what he was doing, Percy glanced up at me with half-lidded eyes. "Mom—" he groaned, and Paul muttered an apology.

"Poseidon is on the way," I said as I climbed onto the bed next to Percy, taking his hand. "Percy, honey, I need you to walk me through what happened."

He shut his eyes and let his head roll limply towards me. "I… there was a demigod in the city… we—" he stopped, his face warping with pain, before continuing weakly. "We went to get him… a satyr sent a d-distress signal. It w-was a trap though… the enemy d-demigods trapped us, and they had a hellhound, like they c-captured it, and it got me, it had like poison on its—" his eyes suddenly went wide. "The others," he said frantically. "I left the others there! Oh, gods, they could be d-dead—"

"Worry not, Percy," a familiar voice said. I didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. Hell, I didn't even have to hear his voice. His presence was enough to send chills up my spine. My once lover, Poseidon.

"They made it back to camp alright," Poseidon said, moving to the side of the bed. He knelt beside Percy and looked him in the eyes, tugging the lids up. "Apollo!" he called, glaring at the sky. Then he returned his attention back to us. "They are actually more worried about you. Nasty wound you got there," he uttered, eyeing the bandages.

Percy shrugged weakly, his head rolling towards me. I smoothed the hair out of his eyes and took hold of his hand.

There was another resonate pop! and Apollo was there. "Sally!" he said, smiling. "Long time, no see."

Percy cried out in pain, squeezing my hand forcefully. Apollo, shaken out of his revelry, went to work.

He did a lot of strange things that, had he not been the god of medicine, I would have questioned. At one point he was rubbing his armpit on Percy's shoulder, which I'm not sure if it did much, but it made us all chuckle a little. Percy was in and out of consciousness, occasionally hissing in pain, always clutching my hand. Paul joined me on the side of the bed and put his arm thoughtfully around my shoulder. Poseidon looked on indifferently.

By the time Apollo finally finished his strange healing rituals, Percy was fast asleep. The wounds were still open, but were cleaner and smaller. He wrapped them neatly with strips of cotton and left a baggie of ambrosia on the bedside table.

"Only twice a day," he prescribed. "Too much and—" he mimed an explosion with his hands. I nodded solemnly, and Apollo saluted then disappeared with a crack.

Poseidon looked at me meaningfully.

"Paul, will you please just—?" I began awkwardly, maintaining eye contact with Poseidon.

Paul squeezed my shoulders and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

I turned my head to look at Percy. He looked so much younger in his sleep. His forehead was damp with sweat from fever, a product of magical healing that would clear away in a few days' time. His dark eyelashes fluttered.

"Sally, you know you can always contact me if you need something."

This statement was typically taken with a grain of salt, but when coming from a god, well, it was really… tempting. I resisted, though. "Poseidon, Paul and I are fine. We make enough money to keep the apartment and cable and what have you. We are well-to-do people. I don't need your help." The last sentence felt like a lie.

His eyes roiled with pained waves. He nodded solemnly, and if I looked closely I could see his image flickering between middle-aged-tourist-beach-bum and millennia-old-god-of-the-seas. "You know I don't mean it like that. I…" his eyes wandered over to Percy. "I try to keep an eye on him as best I can. But you know I can't protect him from much."

My lips pressed into a line. He thought I blamed him. Figures, I thought. Percy had to get that trait from somewhere, after all. "It's not your fault. A few days of recuperation and he'll be fine."

Poseidon looked at me, all the wisdom of the ever-changing world suddenly becoming evident in the creases of his face, the hunch of his shoulders. He seemed very old and very tired. But his lips curled up in a smile at me, and his eyes glinted like sunlight on water. "You are the strangest woman I've ever met, Sally."

"How so?"

"For one, I, an all-powerful god, am more fearful for our son's life than you are, a mere mortal—and, uh, I mean that in the nicest way."

I snickered. "I never said I wasn't afraid for Percy. Every day, Poseidon, I wonder if he's going to be okay. But I have faith that you will take care of him in every way you can."

He sighed and suddenly the old man was back, decrepit and tired. "I don't have very many ways."

I placed a hand on his still well-toned bicep. "I trust you."

He met my eyes with exhaustion and affection. He moved a strand of hair from my face that I didn't even know was there.

"Thank you," he whispered, and then he was gone, in a spray of ocean and sand.

Waking up in a car on the side of the road is a pretty weird feeling.

Waking up in a car on the side of the road in the middle of a demigod war? Terrifying.

It took forever to rouse Paul, but when he finally woke, he was alert as ever.

"What's going on?"

I surveyed our surroundings. Several confused civilians climbed out of their cars, looking up as if the answer would lie in the sky. They didn't even notice the frozen over chariot, the dozens of dead and wounded demigods laying around, the piles and piles of dust, which covered everything like a layer of ash from a volcano. I pulled myself out of the car and turned around to see a throng of dead Confederate soldiers, a huge black dog and—

Percy.

He was restraining Annabeth, looking fiercely at some boy—no, some god, some titan—Kronos. Oh. The whole waking up in the car thing was beginning to make sense. Annabeth was crying and screaming, cradling her arm. Percy was saying something to her when he saw me.

His face dropped with what was most likely horror, and for a moment he just stared, fixated. I decided what I had to do.

"Paul, let's go."

"Where?"

"Paul, now."

And we took off to the Empire State Building.

"Why are all these dead pigeons lying around?" Paul asked me.

"They're not pigeons," I responded.

"You mean this is… this is Mist?"

"Yeah. These are demigods. And you see that up there?" I pointed to the intersection just in front of the Empire State building, where Hades was charging Kronos on a chariot of flames and screaming "Death!"

"What, that traffic pile up?"

I rolled my eyes. "That's where we're going."

"Sally," Paul called, stopping.

"What?"

"I can't see anything like you can. You see demigods, I see pigeons. You see whatever the hell that really is, I see traffic pile up."

"Look, you have to concentrate. Really hard. Like, imagine wiping frost off of a window. Sometimes you have to leave your hand on the window so the frost will melt away. But then everything becomes clearer. Just concentrate."

He stared hard at one of the demigods, a boy probably Percy's age, who was lying unconscious on his stomach, arm extended, clutching a sword like a security blanket.

"Oh," Paul said suddenly.

"I take it you can see now?"

"It's foggy, but…" He leaned down and slid the sword from the demigod's hand, then holding it out to test the balance. He smiled. "I honestly can't tell if this is a feather or a sword. Whatever it is, it feels good."

I smiled pedantically at him. "Come on, let's go kick some immortal ass."

Paul managed to kill a few monsters with his commandeered sword, while I defended the building with a Remington 870. I was really feeling pretty good about our situation—fewer and fewer monsters were attacking—when suddenly, lightning struck down from the clouds where I knew Mount Olympus was situated. A mighty rumble could be heard for miles.

Percy had just gone up. My stomach swayed. I kept looking at the pinnacle of the building, waiting, just waiting, for it to turn blue. Waiting to know he was okay.

Another flash of light, this one ten times brighter. It was like a sun exploding. I covered my eyes and ran over to Paul, taking his hand. As soon as the light died down, all of the monsters that were left disintegrated. He looked around, confused, trying to focus his eyes on what was really happening.

I glanced back up at the building's lightning rod. Nothing.

"Paul," I said warily.

"What is it?"

"Did you see the really bright light?"

"I saw lightning."

"There was an explosion just now."

"Oh."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"Paul, Percy was up there."

"…"

"He said he'd light the Empire State building up blue if he was okay."

"Maybe he just hasn't gotten around to it yet."

"Paul, that was an explosion."

"I'm sure he's fine Sally. It helps no one to jump to conclusions."

"Oh, gods, what if he's really hurt? I need to get up there. Now." My feet moved involuntarily. Everything was functioning on its own accord. I swiped a token from the concierge desk. I got in the elevator and inserted it to the slot. I pressed the 600th floor button. Nothing happened. I was aware suddenly of Paul next to me.

"You have to get out of the elevator, Paul."

"Sally, I'm not letting you go up there by yourself." He stood rooted in his spot.

"Paul, I love you, but please get out."

"No, I'm going up with you."

"We can't go up if you're in here! You're a mortal!"

"You are too!"

I felt like he just slapped me. I squeezed my eyes shut and jabbed the 600th floor button again.

"Come on, please."

Again.

"Please, gods, please."

Panic was rising in my throat, filling my lungs. Gods, what if he was lying up there, dying, all alone?

What if my son was dying alone?

What if my son was dead?

"Dammit!" I punched the wall of the elevator. "Let me go!"

"Come on, let's go check the tower one more time."

A surge of frustration and impatience found its way to my mouth. "Paul, you don't understand! He could be dead! He was fighting a Titan for gods' sake!"

Paul squared his jaw and looked at me in a way I'd never seen of him. "Dammit Sally, I love that boy as much as I love you." I could hear the sudden anger in his voice. "I know you're worried, because I am too. But there's no reason to lash out at each other. I need you right now, and you need me. So let's go check the god damned tower because we're not going to be able to go up to Olympus."

And as we walked out onto the street in front of the Empire State Building, a beautiful thing happened.

The steeple lit up blue.

Annabeth had looked like hell the day she came to me with news that Percy was missing.

"I went to his cabin and everything was like it should have been, only—only—" she couldn't continue as her eyes began to water.

I, myself, had started crying, falling onto one of the barstools in the kitchen. Panic was sweeping through my body, my mind. I couldn't control anything at all, and I found myself mumbling, "What do we do? What do we do?"

Annabeth pulled me into a hug, pressing her head into my hair as she cried too. We held that for a good minute, both sobbing, until Paul came into the apartment, tossing his keys on the counter with a flourish and an exuberant, "I'm home!"

Annabeth pulled away from me, startled. "Uh, Mr. Blofis—"

His eyes landed on me and he came rushing to my side. "What's wrong, Sally?"

I shook my head and hugged him, feeling wails pour out of me against my will. "Percy's gone," Annabeth said softly behind me.

Paul's arms became tense around my waist, and I pulled away. He looked like someone had just punched him in the jaw.

"When—wha—"

"Yesterday. I went into his cabin and…" Annabeth shook her head, biting her lip.

Paul digested this for a moment, staring down at his loafers. Finally he looked up and said, "We need to start looking."

Annabeth's news had shocked me, but the determination in Paul's voice surprised me even more.

"Where would we start?" he urged on.

"Well—" Annabeth began, then she unzipped her messenger bag and pulled out a laptop. "This is Daedalus' laptop. Daedalus was a genius—he created the Labyrinth—and his laptop is incredibly advanced. I tried to use it to trace Percy by DNA, by facial recognition by tapping into the government's cameras—"

"Wait what?"

"—I have even checked international sources. There's absolutely nothing about him here." Annabeth's voice had been growing steadier as she discussed the facts, but the moment she arrived at the final diagnosis, she seemed to lose it again. "Maybe if I could just—I mean there must be some program, there are so many possibilities—if I was just a little better at this thing—" she pressed her face into her palms, frustrated.

"Annabeth, sweetie, you've done so much already."

"And there's more I could do, I'm sure of it! I'm a child of Athena for gods' sakes!" Her voice was watery. "I just have to work harder, that's all."

I took her hand in mine. "Why don't you stay for dinner?"

The dinner was more awkward than I could have ever predicted. Sure, Annabeth had been around before. In fact, she had practically lived with us the previous winter. But Percy had always been around to spur on the conversation, and now where he should have been was a gaping black hole that sucked in all my words. I didn't eat much, my stomach uneasy with worry. Annabeth ate—to be polite, primarily—and Paul had his usual serving, but he didn't seem nearly as enthusiastic about it as usual. He only told me it was really good once.

I didn't feel right asking about how camp was going—duh, it was awful—and I didn't want to bring up Percy. If I said his name, I'd start crying again. If I even thought about him being gone, gone for good—

Stop.

But suddenly an idea struck me.

"Could it be a quest? Maybe he had to leave with no one else knowing."

"Quests come from the Oracle. Surely Rachel would remember administering a quest, especially to Percy." Her voice was more or less sour. I couldn't tell if it was just from the nature of the conversation or from the mention of the Oracle.

"But a god could have gone to him, right? That's happened before."

Annabeth's expression grew troubled. "I haven't heard from the gods in a few weeks. Dionysus left camp for a meeting on Olympus and he hasn't been back since. I haven't been having any dreams, my offerings don't even burn the same. I think there's something going on up there," she finished, then hastily added, "and I hate not knowing what."

My stomach rolled. Where was Poseidon when you needed him? "And Percy's dad—?"

Annabeth nodded glumly.

Dinner was finished.

I walked Annabeth to the door, where she told me of her plans to canvas the surrounding states' monster dens, demigod safe houses and Camp Half-Blood allies. If she heard anything, I'd be the first to know.

"Thanks, Ms. Jackson," she said cordially.

I smiled sardonically. "Call me Sally."

"I know," she replied. And with that, she left.

I'd like to say that Percy and Annabeth got married. I'd like to say the lived a long and happy life, that they had five kids and named them all cliché Grecian names and that they were witty and exuberant and called me Grammy or Gigi or Mimi. I wish I could say that I saw the cemetery from underground years and years before either of them ever did. I want to say that my son got a semi-normal life after all.

But I can't.

Because in reality, Percy died.

I can't recall the last things I said to him, but I remember what he said to me:

"Mom, hey, I'm alive…Hera put me to sleep for a while, and then she took my memory, and… Anyway, I'm okay. I'm sorry. I'm on a quest— I'll make it home. I promise. Love you."

The voicemail he left me. I had replayed it hundreds of times after I first heard it, listening to his voice, to the background noise, all of the details and the words and the pauses and how he said everything. Over and over and over. His voice was my sanity, my joy, my hope—his voice was my everything. Numerous times Paul would come home to find me sitting by the phone, entranced in the sound of Percy.

I would later learn that after that call, he freed the god of death, brought honor back to an entire Roman legion, sailed half-way across the earth, encountered a watery doom, saved the life of an ally, battled twin giants, and trekked all the way through Tartarus.

And he still died in the end.

Maybe you know how to knit. If you do, do you know that one sweater or scarf or hat that you value above all else? The one thing that's your pride and joy? Think of someone cutting the final stitch and yanking on the string. Imagine watching all that hard work and time you've committed come unraveling, unfurling, untangling, all of it into a giant heap of yarn on the floor. And then they poured kerosene on that remaining thread and lit a match, watched it burn. Maybe that's not the right analogy.

Maybe you have a pet. If you do, do you like to show it off? Don't you want everyone to see how cute it is? You would probably go to the ends of the earth for that pet, right? You've done everything right, after all: you feed it, you walk it, you play with it. That pet is your pride and joy. Imagine someone chopping it into pieces, tossing it to the wind. All that effort, lost in the wind. But that's not right either.

Maybe you have a child. If you do, isn't he the light of your life? Doesn't the very smell of him make you smile? You're thinking of him, aren't you. You're thinking of the way he giggles, or the way he used to, back when he was a baby. You're thinking about the way he calls you mama when he's feeling extra affectionate, or the way he calls you Mother with a capitol M when he's agitated. You're thinking about how every parent should get to have a child as splendid as yours, right? Don't you love the way he hugs you?

Maybe you haven't seen your child grow older. But if you have, remember that one time when you looked into his eyes and realized he was your equal? When you realized he's seen as much as you, if not more? That moment when it occurred to you that you could no longer tease him about where babies come from, or hide him from monsters, or make him breakfast for dinner to make everything better? Remember when you looked into his eyes and wanted to cry because this world had ruined his pure soul, stomped on his hopes and dreams? Remember how he still smiled?

Maybe you haven't seen your child die. If you have though, remember how you couldn't breathe when they told you he was gone? Remember the terror in your chest, the feeling of nothing in your bones, the melting melting melting? Remember falling to the ground, remember sobbing? Do you remember feeling that tidy string which bound him inside of you unraveling? Remember all those years of surviving come tumbling out, remember how everything you ever were for him stopped mattering? Remember breaking?

I do.

Annabeth had been the one to tell me. It was winter by the time they got back from Greece. She had on a coat. I was in a robe and silk pajamas.

She came in, and told me to sit down. I didn't like the way the conversation was going, but I sat down anyway. We sat across from each other at the dining room table.

"Ms. Jackson—"

"Sally," I interjected.

"We went to Rome."

"So that's where you've been."

"Yes."

"…"

"…"

"Continue?"

"Percy and I were dragged down into Tartarus."

"So you've been there as well?"

"Yes ma'am."

"What else?"

"We had to unlock the Gates of Death. And we did."

"Well I assume so, as the world hasn't come tumbling down yet."

"Are you okay?"

"Are you?"

Annabeth looked somewhere to the right of my head. "We came out in Greece," she said, her voice thick and low.

"And?"

"There was an ambush."

"…"

"Percy was injured."

"Well is he okay? Annabeth, for gods' sakes, what happened?"

"Percy died."

At first I felt a wave of calm sweep over me, an unnatural, unwanted sensation.

"Okay."

"Ms. Jackson?"

"Sally," I reminded her, half-heartedly.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you?"

The answer was a whisper: "No."

I stood up and so did she. She rushed into my arms and I held her against my chest like we did so many times over a year ago, only this time it was no mystery where Percy was. The moment I felt her hot tears in my hair I lost it.

Crying about death feels like this: a huge balloon in your chest forms, and someone is blowing it up. It expands in your lungs, your chest, then your mouth, your eyes, and if you don't keep your mouth shut it comes out as a wail. I kept my teeth clamped shut because I didn't want to scare Annabeth, but I could feel my body spasming with every held back moan. Tears came like a torrent, flooding my cheeks and running over my sealed lips. I clutched to the tangles in Annabeth's hair. I couldn't breathe.

And that's when Paul walked in.

This time, there was no confusion. He looked me in the eyes and suddenly he was hugging us too, his chest shaking.

We stood there, an entanglement of arms and legs, for a few minutes. At one point I stopped holding back my sobs and they came out so loud that it scared me. But apparently Annabeth had been holding back too, because now she was crying as hard as me.

I didn't ask if she wanted to stay for dinner.

I knew she did.

Rather than eat, we went to Montauk.

AN: Hey guys, sorry for the ridiculously long wait for this chapter. I'm just busy and lazy. This is also the longest thing I've ever written.

This is for EmMarie96. Sorry it's a day late! Hope you did well on your SAT!

Oh, and I still ship SallyxPoseidon. I swear guys, it's my OTP.

Anyway, thanks for favoriting or reviewing or following if you decide to do any of that :)