Percy was best described as a mysterious enigma that haunted Paul like a gaunt ghost. The boy certainly existed. Pictures of the black-haired kid with a goofy, wide grin littered Sally's tiny apartment. Paul had briefly caught a glimpse of the teen's room – walls painted a pale blue, photos of friends limply hanging, unprofessionally nailed into the drywall with tacks, an untouched stack of schoolbooks on the windowsill. Percy's sheets were all tucked in nicely, Sally's doing for sure, and a pile of neatly folded clothes sat next to his pillow.

Paul felt like he basically knew the boy, even though the two of them had never officially met. But Paul had been a high school teacher for quite a few years, so he was a good judge of characters, and he knew Percy's type. He was the misbehaved kid at school who interrupted class, the kid who pulled pranks on the teacher like some 80s sitcom, and the kid who got away with it all because his mother unconditionally loved him.

And Paul saw it. He'd met some of Sally friends, and one of her old co-workers from a small candy shop called Sweet on America. Most of them brought up the mysterious enigma of Percy – "How is he? Still getting in loads of trouble as usual?" – and each time Sally would give a little laugh and look at Paul and tell him that Percy wasn't a troubled kid. And once Paul swore he saw an article online, about a kid with the same name jumping off the St. Louis Gateway Arch, but Sally just fumbled over her words before telling Paul, "That's ridiculous. My little boy could never jump off the Arch." But for some reason, deep down inside, Paul saw the way her eyes glanced around in erratic nature, the quiver of her voice. She might have been in denial, or hiding something, but there was no denying that boy who jumped off the Arch was Percy Jackson himself. Paul just knew it.

(One day, Paul gained the guts to ask her. "Is there a reason why you're always making weird excuses about his behavior, or pretending it doesn't exist. I'm not… I'm not trying to make you mad. But I see kids like this at school, who get away with next to everything because their parents don't do anything." Sally told him that wasn't the case, and didn't talk to him until he apologized.)

Paul thought he finally had it figured out. Percy probably grew up having some weird equivalent of some absentee father complex (or as the kids at school derogatorily phrased it, "daddy issues") and felt lost all of his childhood. Not wanting to see her son in pain, Sally tried her best to provide him with everything she could – including spoiling him – but also cherished and overprotected her son. When he wanted to go off to boarding school to get more freedom, she made ends meet so she could grant his wish like some messed-up fairy godmother. When Percy caused trouble, Sally would think of the sad little boy, and use that as justification and an excuse for all of the terrible things Percy would do. That seemed like a fairly good and valid explanation of the underworking fundamentals of the Jackson household. Paul nearly wanted to beam with pride – he had simplified all their problems into a quick explanation.

Sally seemed to be getting dark circles under her eyes. "Percy's still gone. He's out west, with some friends." She explained. Paul, naturally, was left with more questions than answers. Where was west? What friends? But Sally refused to give any answers. (Sally briefly mentioned she had driven Percy and a couple of his friends to a boarding school in Maine – Paul wondered about that).

Paul began to question his theory. Percy didn't seem like a spoiled brat. He seemed like a little boy who was unaware of the feelings of those around him. Percy was the kid who disappeared from home and drove his mother insane. Paul began to construct a new theory: Percy wasn't spoiled. Percy was a psychopath.

Everything changed when Paul actually met the kid.

It was three in the morning, and Paul was observing Sally's sleeping figure. The way her chest slowly moved up and down with each breath she took, the soft sound of the constant New York traffic humming in the distance. Sally didn't live too far from a 24/7 bar – there were always drunk college kids out during the most ungodly hours of the night. Paul could sometimes hear kids walking home from the bar, laughing and slurring words. (Paul once suggested that maybe Sally should move because of the bar. "Paul, you can't hear them from here. The walls are thick. Plus, is there any apartment in Manhattan that isn't within a one-mile radius of a bar?")

There was a knock on the door. The knock sounded soft and faint, almost the embodiment of hesitation. Paul decided it wasn't worth waking up Sally. It was probably a drunken college kid who wanted to use their phone, or a neighbor with a broken bathroom.

So Paul silently slipped out of bed and gracefully tiptoed his way to the door. When he opened the door, he was greeted by a young, lanky looking teen. He had inky black hair that seemed to fit with the gaunt and grey undertones of the boy's face. Vibrant, young green eyes that looked old from the violet eye bags and stress on the eyelids. A dark, tan complexion of someone from the Mediterranean region, but littered with an ugly assortment of bruises in a plethora of colors – vivid purples, dusty blues, and ghostly greens stretched out on the beautiful, youthful skin of the boy.

(At some point, every English teacher dreams of writing their own novel. Paul always dreamed of writing an autobiography of some sort, perhaps a memoir. If he actually had the time or motivation to write his life into a novel, perhaps it would begin with the broken looking boy standing in the doorway of Sally's apartment.)

The kid standing at the front door lazily made a forward gesture with his arm. Paul wasn't sure exactly what the gesture was trying to implicate, but the boy seemed to be telling him to move out of the doorway.

Paul tiredly raised an eyebrow. "Who are you?"

The teen raised an eyebrow before raising his index finger and pointing past Paul's shoulder. "My picture is right there," the teen moved his hand, "and right there. And there. You get it." The boy paused for a second, looking at the dawning realization on Paul's face. "So you must be Paul."

Paul recognized the boy – it was Sally's son. It was the boy from the photos, but his chubby face had been stretched out, narrow like the start of a handsome man. The spots on his skin, the darkness and oldness of his eyes didn't mirror the vivacious youth caught in the pictures.

"Listen, I get it. I'm not the kid you expected. I get it. But I haven't slept in a long time, and I've had a rough couple of days. Can I please come in and go to sleep?"

Paul let the strange boy into the humble apartment, still in awe. Paul pulled a hair off his left arm – just to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

(Great, Paul thought, this is going to be hard.)

Paul didn't see Percy the next morning. Paul had a million questions to ask the kid, but Sally insisted on letting Percy sleep in. Paul had to go off and have a meeting wih some of the other English teachers. The school newspaper had published an article about the subjective grading of English papers, which caused a lot of complaints among the students, like, "How do we know you're not just grading our papers based on how much you like us?" So, the English teachers had to have a meeting about consistent and fluid grading.

Paul didn't see Percy again for several weeks. Goode happened to have a day off – a pipe had burst in one of the classrooms. Paul was over at Sally's apartment, and the two of them were sitting at her small kitchen table, as she animatedly talked about her book.

The front door opened, and was loudly shut. A few seconds later, Paul saw Percy, a backpack slung around his shoulder as he made an upset face.

"Not a good day," Percy stated simply, before heading to his room.

Once Percy was out of immediate earshot, Paul turned around to Sally. "Is the eighth grade really that rough?"

Sally took a deep breath. "It's not that. He's just had a rough time. The past few weeks for him have been… eventful, to say the least."

Paul began working on a new theory: Percy wasn't spoiled. He wasn't psychotic. He simply did not care about anyone around him, and lived in his own tiny world of fabricated pity.

That theory made so much sense to Paul. It explained why Percy went off on his own stupid adventures without caring about his mother's feelings, why he was always in such a gloomy mood. He probably had those bruises and discolorations because he'd said something angering and gotten in a fight with some gang members.

(Paul often liked to make things up to explain the mysteries of life, the things he couldn't comprehend. He became an English teacher so he could find explanations, so he could look at the smallest of implications. Because he liked to create and fabricate things to make his world make sense.)

Sally was off at a writing conference for the weekend, and asked Paul to stay at her apartment and keep an eye on Percy. Paul really didn't get it – the kid could go across America without parental supervision but needed a babysitter for the weekend?

Paul came to Sally's apartment with a sports backpack stuffed with clothes and some papers he had to grade. Percy was in his room. He was hoping to catch Sally before she left for the conference, but when he arrived, she was already gone, and Percy was lazily sprawled across the couch.

"She just left."

"Thanks." Paul bared a grin. "How are you?"

"Fine."

Paul wondered what made the boy so antisocial.

"I know that look – I'm not the devil." Percy said.

"What?"

"I know that pointed look. Where you tilt the head a little bit, eyes going a little glazed as you try to analyze me. I get it from a girl – her name is Annabeth. She looks at me like I'm one of her Algebra problems. Like she looks at me, hoping that one day I'll just… make sense to her. One day she'll be looking at me and just solve the problem."

"You're not a problem." Paul insisted. But Paul wasn't sure if he was lying. Percy was a problem. He was the roadblock between him and Sally. He was the irrational little elf that stood between Paul and the woman of his dreams.

(Sally had once told him, "We're a package, Percy and I. You're not getting him without me.")

"Sure I'm not."

"I don't know you that well, honestly. But you're nice. Your mom always gushes about you."

Percy scrunched up his nose. "That's because she's required to. She's my mom."

"Well, I've met a lot of moms in my life, and I'll tell you that your mom loves you a lot."

A soft silence lapsed between the two of them. Paul looked Percy – who was fidgeting with a pen. Paul got out some papers and graded his sophomores' Frankenstein essays.

The two of them had frozen pizza for dinner. The moment Percy took a sip of water and had a bite of food, the boy began to brighten up.

"So what are you learning about in history class?"

"We're talking about Romantic art, and I don't really find it interesting, but I like how it's neoclassical." Percy went on to talk about his somewhat random love for neoclassical art and its roots in Greek art.

Perhaps Percy wasn't a selfish brat.

(The two of them stayed up late watching reruns of Jeopardy! Paul got most of the history questions correct, and Percy seemed to nail every biology question.)

At Percy's fifteenth birthday party, Paul is introduced to a plethora of new figures.

Percy's biological father, who calls him, "Blowfish," much to Paul's disliking, the goth looking teen who smelled like a graveyard, and an enthusiastic, chubby boy with a stutter ("Percy's brother," Sally explained, "Not mine.")

Paul quickly learns that Percy's father is a strange man. It doesn't make sense to Paul. Poseidon, as the man introduced himself, climbed in through the fire escape. He had two illegitimate children that Paul knew of, and laughed along with Percy like he was a child and not a parent. Poseidon seemed so irrational, erratic and driven by emotion. Paul could see it in the way Poseidon moved with well-covered unease, in the way he talked to his son looking for validation, and in the old, old look of Poseidon's eyes. This man was emotional.

Paul liked to think of himself as rational. That's why he became a teacher. He liked teaching and logic and learning rational things in an organized way. Paul had a binder of his student's work neatly color-coded by priority and each pencil on his desk was carefully placed. He was one of the fastest graders in school and was known for being efficient.

So Paul had to wonder: why did Sally like two drastically different men?

Actually, did Sally ever love Poseidon? She never talked about him. Were they drunk and had a one-night fling? Did they date? – Hell, Paul didn't even know. Sally never told him. Just like the entire Percy mystery. What if Sally didn't like Poseidon? Was Poseidon abusive?

(A million assumptions for a question with a simple, but unexpected, answer.)

After the party is over, and him and Sally are cleaning up the paper plates and plastic cups sparsely scattered around the apartment, he ventures into the question.

"So, what is Poseidon?"

Sally gives a laugh and replies, "If I told you he was human, I'd be lying."

(Paul realizes her laugh has very little humor. Is she implying Poseidon's a monster; that he abused her? Or is he a magical pony? – Her ambiguous answer only raises a million more questions.)

Percy sat at the living room table, his hands clenching his hair in frustration. "Dumb project. Stupid family."

"What's wrong?" Paul took a seat at the table.

"We're looking at biblical stories about familial relationships or whatever, and Ms. Baker wants us to define a family for homework."

"That's not so bad," Paul commented. "A family is parents and children."

Percy gave Paul an odd glance. "What about siblings that are orphaned? They're still a family."

"I guess, but that's an exception."

"What about me and my dad? He left, but I think his family is mine."

"I… guess." Paul was left at loss for words.

"I mean, he's my dad. He'll always be family."

"Actually, can I ask you something, Percy?"

Percy gave Paul an odd glance, before hesitantly saying, "Sure."

"I want to marry your mom. I'm really serious about it. But I don't want to intrude on the close dynamic between the two of you. I… are you going to be okay?"

Silence.

"Yeah, whatever makes her happiest, I guess."

"Maybe we could be a family." Paul gave a hopeful smile.

Percy didn't respond. That hurt Paul a little bit.

(Percy's not heartless, or psychotic. He has insensitive tendencies.)

When Paul learns that mythology is real, he feels really… hollow. Paul's not upset or disappointed. He's not excited, either. But there's an empty feeling. Everything he was conditioned to believe is false. All of the people who sit in Church pews on Sundays are wrong, all of the people who dedicate themselves to religion are living a lie.

When Paul goes out into crowds, he wonders about the people around him. What do they believe? How can so many people be living a lie?

(One day, Paul realizes, all of the people around him will inevitably die and go to the Underworld. Then they'll know the truth.)

And Paul really begins to understand Percy.

After that, the tensions between the two really ease. Paul begins to understand the basis of Percy's erratic nature.

He understands why Percy tenses up when he hears a sudden sound, why the boy has adopted such a pessimistic attitude, why he struggles so much with his schoolwork. He's not lazy, he's not negative, and he's not the terrible archetype that Paul once assumed. He was a little boy who felt like he didn't have a father, who was thrown into an unimaginable word, who was given a lifespan of just 16, who watched his friends died. A young boy who had to live with the guilt of death and horror. A young boy who was willing to die to save the world. A young boy who thought he would die.

Yet, everyday, he sits at his desk at Goode. No one in the school building knows the tremendous struggle this boy has gone through, except for Paul.

Percy is just a young boy trying his best to keep his life together. He's the same age as Paul's other students, except he's been through so much.

Paul has to repeat that to himself everyday, because even the grown man can't comprehend the teenager's life.

(What do you do when your stepson is one of the most powerful figures in the world, but no one even knows? It's not like there's an instruction manual for that.)

But the two of them get used to each other. Percy does the dishes every night as Paul wraps the dinner leftovers in Saran wrap. Though you can't even sit in the driver's seat in New York until you're sixteen, Paul takes him out anyway. The boy might die. He might not even be able to see sixteen.

Percy makes Paul – Paul, a true-blooded mortal – realize the fragility of life.

It scares Paul.

Some people would consider themselves lucky if they won the lottery, or inherited a million dollars, or got to meet their favorite celebrity.

Usually, our loved ones leave the house and we expect them to come back. That's simply the only logical expectation.

Paul doesn't live like that – he can't. Each time Percy goes out, Paul can't safety assume he'll come back alive.

After the Battle of Manhattan, the Empire State Building lights up a strange blue hue.

Paul feels the tug in his gut, and knows it. Percy Jackson is alive.

(We don't think of ourselves as lucky because our loved ones live. Paul does.)

At one point, Paul is talking to one of his old friends from high school, Ryan McCartney, who grew up to be a successful lawyer. Ryan says that if Sally died, Paul wouldn't be considered the legal guardian of Percy. Percy would go to Sally's nearest relative, but they're all dead. The boy would be left up to the foster system.

Paul can't imagine Percy – the Percy Jackson who has been through so much – handling that.

The next day, Paul is looking up New York state's terms of adoption, and he's about to propose the question, but…

Percy goes missing for months. And it hurts. It hurts both Sally and Paul right to the very core of existence.

Sally begins staying up late at night – complaining about nausea, cramps, and headaches. At first, Paul thinks she's stressed from Percy's disappearance. A trip to the doctor proves otherwise; Sally is pregnant.

The news shocks Paul more than it should. He's having a kid? A real, live kid. And this kid is going to be an actual human and grow into an actual person. Oh, god, will he be a good parent? Paul begins staying up late at night, thinking about that.

And sometimes, during those late nights, Paul lets his mind wander to the despairing topic of Percy. Is he okay? Is he safe? Will he ever come back?

(Paul and Sally choose a name for the baby – Estelle.)

One day, Paul is sitting at the kitchen table, and he hears the chatter of college kids, coming back from a drunken night at the bar. They're telling each other stories.

What if Percy doesn't come back? What if Estelle never meets her brother? Never knows who Percy is? What if Estelle never gets to learn his story?

With a vivid rush of unjaded passion, Paul grabs the nearest paper – it's the adoption papers that have been left laying around – and pen and begins writing in a rushed cursive, about a strange boy who arrived on his doorstep at three in the morning.

But Paul realizes that's where his own story begins. Percy Jackson – on the rare occasion Paul got to hear his stories – would always start at the tender age of twelve, at Yancy Academy.

So Paul starts there, with a young twelve year old who doesn't want to be a half-blood.

(Percy Jackson was once a threatening enigma.)

Paul finally understands.

(And he'll wait for the day Percy Jackson comes home, and the papers can be finalized.)

I never read anything past the Heroes of Olympus series, so Sally's pregnancy might be inaccurate. Anyway. I might edit this story, add a second chapter, or write a different piece in the same style. If you liked this, I have another story that is /somewhat\\ similar.

Until next time.