I just had this in my head for the longest time. Ever since my boyfriend, the sweetest Hufflepuff there is, turned feral when some people mugged his house and held his family hostage. (everyone's fine.) I wondered what Percy would do.

I hope it makes sense? I wrote it in, like, four hours.

Paul was eighty percent sure he didn't want to look at a pasta dish for at least the rest of the month. Italian food was delicious, sure, but it was also heavy as hell. The restaurant on the 2nd avenue, almost on 77th street, had been a recommendation of Goode's history teacher, Mrs. Leigh, and they'd thought they'd check it out.

He could tell Sally was just as full as him on the chair beside him, but Percy was gulping down another breadstick as if he hadn't just finished a sogliola al burro di porcini five minutes before, after having eaten more than half of the bruschette they'd ordered.

"We should come here more often," Percy commented while taking another bite. "They're open 'til 2 am."

His mother's eyes reprimanded his manners. "And let you eat their entire kitchen?"

Percy pouted and looked at Paul, searching for assistance. The teacher merely shrugged as he signed the bill. "Sally, it's not his fault swimming demands an enormous amount of energy. He practices three times a week, after all."

Sally rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course, it's such a struggle for him."

They left the restaurant as Percy argued with his mom about how hard it was to remember to be wet in the school's pool, and she retorted claiming he ate just as much even before the swimming lessons.

"I'm still growing, mom, I need my nutrients."

Sally looked him up, slowly, emphasizing every inch of his 6 feet of height. "You're grown enough."

"Jason's taller than me."

They laughed at his poor me face, which only made him pout harder. Paul hadn't met Jason, but he had heard a lot about the son of Jupiter. Annabeth had spoken about him in the months Percy had been missing, explaining how the both of them had been switched.

It still gave Paul a slight headache to think there was now – or there had always been – a Roman set of demigods. How they put absolute children in charge of a whole legion of children warriors and expected them to turn up alright. Both Percy and Annabeth spoke highly of Thalia's brother (he hadn't met her properly either, only a glimpse in the war, but Sally said she was an interesting and strong girl), of his abilities and bravery and leadership.

The thing he knew the most about Jason, though, was that one inch he had on Percy – a totally unfair inch, because he's younger than me, mom, that's not how it works.

That wasn't true. Paul also knew about how great they'd be at killing each other.

"And the time I almost killed my bro Jason."

Annabeth smacked him in the head. "Yes, thank you, Seaweed Brain. The time your own horse had to knock you unconscious in the middle of Kansas. A great story."

"You wouldn't know. You weren't there."

"Piper told me enough."

Paul kept smiling after the laughter died. He was glad Percy had found a counterpart who could keep up with him. Of course, he had Annabeth, who complemented him nicely, but this was another relationship entirely. From the way his eyes sparkled with excitement when he talked about their few sparring days at camp, Paul could tell they were both competitive enough to push each other to their very best and, at the same time, work together wonderfully.

In the streetlamp's light, Percy looked his age for once. Paul and Sally caught themselves looking at him more often now that he was back after months, trying to compute how much he'd grown physically and emotionally. However, tonight he was just a regular teenager, laughing at his mom's jokes at his own expense.

They were three blocks away from their apartment building when things went wrong.

Paul commented on his wife's dress – a new, floral one she'd bought a few days before and was wearing for the first time for their dinner. Her belly was just starting to show and her clothes were getting a bit tighter, so she was happy with her new acquisition. Percy said she should twirl to show it off, and twirl she did.

But her twirling got her a bit ahead of them on the sidewalk, right next to an alley, and suddenly a hand grabbed her arm and a raspy voice followed, "Hey, sugar, how much for a simple he–"

Now, Paul had always been taught not to react to muggers, especially if they had your pregnant wife in their grip. Percy didn't have the same idea.

Before Paul could even properly process the situation, Sally was thrown into his arms and a huge thud echoed down the street as the man was forced against the alley's wall. He wasn't small, by any standards; he was tall and burly, with a few scrapes and scars that suggested he'd been in his fair share of street fights. But he couldn't even move under the grip Percy had on him.

"What did you say to my mother?" the demigod demanded, the anger in his voice rooting Paul to the ground.

He could see the man trying to gulp with Percy's forearm against his throat. His right hand was trapped by Percy's left one. His left hand was free, trying to reach his neck. He kept his smug expression, though. "She your mother? Shit, must've had you pretty young, huh, the little whore–"

His voice cut off when Percy forced his throat closed. A pipe running up the building on the opposite wall burst open, spraying water everywhere. Paul felt Sally tensing up in his arms.

"What did you call her?" Percy growled in a low voice, still not letting go. The other man was gasping, struggling to breathe. His free hand clawed at Percy's forearm, trying to pull it away, but he might as well have been trying to move a car.

"Percy," Sally hissed.

"No!" he shouted, sending another burst of water up the broken pipe, the pressure high enough to reach the third floor. "He disrespected you."

The man's eyes travelled to the side until they met Sally's face. There was a twist and he cried in pain. Paul quickly looked down and noticed his right arm was at an odd angle, forced on the wall and downwards.

"Percy!"

"You little piece of shit," the man spat, his throat now partially released. "Just wait until I get my boys –"

"I'd be delighted to meet them," Percy spat right back.

"You are so dead, you little punk –"

"I'd love to see you try." After that last word, Percy hooked his forearm under the man's chin and, in a quick move, banged the back of his head against the wall, strong enough for Paul to hear it crack. Then he took a step back and let him drop to the ground. "And don't come near my mother again. I won't be so forgiving."

Without a second glance to him, Percy jumped on a dumpster as easily as if he was going up a step and pulled the crooked pipe into place in a single motion. He then came back to the ground and walked towards them.

Paul was too stunned to do anything other than let himself be directed away by his stepson's firm hand on his shoulder. He still had an arm around Sally, protectively, but he suddenly realized how he hadn't done anything much useful until now. So, with a deep breath, he tightened his grip on her and gently touched Percy's elbow, silently telling him it was okay, he could take it from here.

Percy wouldn't have any of it, though. Even in the dark, his green eyes sparkled with an anger Paul had never seen in anyone, ever. Gone was the face of the carefree seventeen-year-old who had begged his mom for dessert less than twenty minutes before. His body shook as he looked behind them, and Paul was afraid another pipe would explode if he didn't settle down.

Luckily, they weren't far from their apartment, and soon they were standing in front of their door, Sally's shaky hands attempting to unlock it.

Once they were inside, Paul took Sally to the couch and sat down with her. He glanced at the empty glass he'd left on the side table earlier, wishing it was filled. Percy noticed his gaze and grabbed it. With a thrusted out hand, he knelt in front of his mother as water made its way from the kitchen to the cup. He handed it to her.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Percy asked worriedly, his eyes raking over her arm, as if trying to see through the thin windbreaker she had on.

"I-I…" Sally blinked, taking the glass of water. "It's fine, it wasn't –"

"He yanked you out of the sidewalk –"

"I'm o– Percy…" she sighed when he reached for her arm, rolling up her sleeve. There was a faint bruise, red against her white skin.

"He hurt you," he stated, his voice firm.

"It's nothing, honey."

"And the baby? Is she okay? I swear to all the gods, if he did anything to her –"

Paul put a hand on his shoulder, because the kid was hyperventilating. "Hey, buddy. Breathe. We'll check on her." But Percy jumped out of his grip and started pacing. "We should take you to the hospital. Where's Dr. Edwards's number? You put it in the fridge, right?"

"Percy…"

"I can't believe he hurt you."

"Percy."

"He simply grabbed you, like – And then called you a –"

"Percy!" Sally exclaimed, halting her son's frantic paces. She gave him a look. "Sit down."

He didn't seem too happy about it, but even Paul could hear the edge in her voice, so he slumped down on an armchair.

Paul figured he would be freaking out as well, if there weren't already a freaked out teenager in front of him. He had never been mugged, thankfully, and he could feel his heart still in his throat. For that split second before Percy had sprung into action, a strange man had had his pregnant wife in his grip, in a dark alley, and was saying all sorts of inappropriate things about her. He didn't know what he would have done, but the rage and fear he'd felt were real. He understood what Percy was feeling.

Unfortunately, Sally wasn't the type of woman who particularly liked being saved. She had made do on her own for too many years, had probably dealt with her share of catcallers (she was quite beautiful, after all), and, most importantly, hadn't raised her son to break arms for her.

"He disrespected you," Percy repeated, staring at the coffee table, as a way of justifying his actions.

Sally sighed. "I know, honey. And I'm glad for your… quick-thinking, but…" She gripped Paul's hand. "Don't you think it was a bit… much?"

Percy shrugged. "I fixed the pipe."

"And his arm?" she raised her eyebrows. "And all that… that choking, Percy, honestly, was that really necessary? You could have –"

"I know!" he interrupted, closing his eyes and pressing his fists against the armrests. "But he was taunting you –"

"I can handle a few taunts. You didn't have to bang his head on the wall like that!"

Looking down, Paul noticed the water on his wife's glass turning and twisting. Her hands were barely shaking anymore, so it seemed weird for the liquid to be moving so much. Gently, he pried it off her fingers and got up, holding it in front of Percy. He opened his eyes and frowned at him before noticing the water's behavior. Then he turned away, and the cup stopped shaking.

"Take it," Paul insisted.

Reluctantly, Percy grabbed it and downed half of it in one gulp. He threw the rest in his own face, and the water seemed to enter his skin. Paul took back the glass from him before he held it too tightly and broke it.

It was weird, being so careful around his own stepson. Paul had occasionally seen Percy coming home disheveled, throwing the door closed with too much force after an encounter with a monster, or seen him break many pencils – and pens – in half when he was frustrated with his homework. He'd seen him lift Annabeth as if she weighted nothing, as if she wasn't an athletic seventeen-year-old almost as tall as him. He'd seen him move a heavy bookcase from the bottom floor to the nursery as if he was carrying a baby, not even breaking a sweat.

Somehow, it hadn't hit him until now, when he'd seen Percy break a man's arm so easily, that he was half a god, with half a god's strength. Ever since learning Percy was a son of Poseidon – Percy, who was kind and friendly and helpful –, Paul had mostly thought of the god's good nature: salty breezes, gentle waves, a lazy day at the beach. He had neglected to remember Poseidon was also the god of earthquakes and that the sea wasn't always forgiving.

"It doesn't like to be restrained," Sally giggled as they watched Percy throw Annabeth against a wave. It was a warm day in Montauk, and the blonde's shrieks filled the afternoon.

"Is that why he hates being in class?" Paul asked, amused.

Sally hadn't answered him directly that day, and her smile had held millions of meanings. He thought he understood now the sentiment she'd wanted to get across. He understood further why she let him have his freedom to roam the city, why she let him have spontaneous plans and getaways – if she locked him away like she wanted to, hiding him from the world, he would eventually explode.

Paul had never before seen him explode. Tonight, though, he figured he had finally witnessed it. He had witnessed part of what had Annabeth so nervous talking about how Percy killed Arachne and saved her. He thought he'd buy her that set of professional pencils he'd seen on display, after all. She deserved it.

Carefully, he set the glass on the coffee table and took his seat next to Sally again.

"Honey," she spoke, and Percy raised his eyes to her. "Thank you for jumping in. I know you wanted to protect me. And you did. But you have to…"

"Control myself better?" he finished with grimace. "Yeah, I know that."

"You're stronger than him."

"I know."

"You don't have to use all your strength."

"I wasn't."

With one last sigh, Sally got up and sat back down on the armchair's armrest, pulling Percy to her chest. He sagged against her, the tension leaving his shoulders at last. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, "but only partially."

"It's okay."

It wasn't exactly okay, and they all knew it. Paul suspected Percy had been struggling with his own strength for a while and, now that he thought back on it, with his temper too. A mere glance of that man toward his mom for half a second had set him off.

But it wasn't hopeless. He knew Percy was a good person still. He wasn't afraid of him, only worried he would do something he'd regret one day and that he would never forgive himself for it.

In an attempt to bring back the boy he'd taken to dinner – and instead had brought home a war-scarred man –, Paul grabbed blueberry ice-cream from the kitchen and waved it in front of Percy, who still hugged his mom. The spark of anger had died, and a new spark took its place as he reached for the spoon.

It was nearing midnight (they'd gone to eat that late), but the three of them stayed in the living room, passing ice-cream from one hand to another, even though two of them couldn't even think about food after that dinner. Slowly, Percy's hands unclenched and he stopped bending the spoon. It wouldn't be the end of it, Paul was sure, but they were taking steps to recovery and, some day, his stepson might look his own age again.