Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Legacy, if you will. Actions of bravery and sacrifice strong enough to leave a lasting impact on the people and beings in the world. If gods and immortals can fade from a lack of believers then heroes and legends will never die for the same reason. For Percy Jackson, it started with whispers amongst campers as he dragged himself and Grover across the wards into camp. The minotaur horn was clenched in his hands, the sign of prowess conflicting with the image the small twelve-year old made physically.

The new camper defeated the minotaur on his own, they whispered amongst themselves.

Could he be the prophecy hero? Chiron thought. Before Perseus Jackson had even been introduced to the world of Greek gods and heroes, the first shimmers of gold were already entered into his thread by the Fates.

The whispers never really stopped, and Jackson did nothing to hinder them either, not that he noticed them. He received a quest within less than a month of being at camp. Before any of the campers really knew him, he was already considered worthy of a quest, something the rest of the campers knew were only granted to the most worthy of heroes. Even more, he succeeded in his quest where even Luke Castellan, older and stronger as he was, had failed.

And just as the rumors and whispers had started dying down, the boy decided to head off again. To the sea of monsters, this time to save a satyr he considered his friend. It was a selfless thing to do, the heroic thing to do and it only added fuel to the rumors and made his thread just a little brighter in the fates weave.

The stories about Perseus Jackson never ebbed away, instead the embers grew into flames around the campfire from the moment he stepped inside the border. Returning the lightning bolt, or the golden fleece or holding the sky to free Artemis all of them built the foundation of the Legend that would become Percy Jackson.

By the time the battle of the labyrinth rolled around, there was no camper that didn’t respect Percy Jackson as one of the unofficial leaders of Camp Half-blood. His experience and his inescapable connection to the great prophecy (no matter that none of the campers save Annabeth knew what it said) shaped the power, authority and the role Percy had at camp.

The secret to legacy lies in the stories people tell about you. They shape who you are and wherever Percy went, he made an impression. Not just anyone can beat the God of War in a mele at twelve years old (first fight to first blood or not) but already the myth and the whispers surrounding the son of Poseidon bolstered the lack of experience and shaped the outcome in Percy’s favour. He walked out from that duel victorious but changed.

To best a god in their own domain invites chaos, and for Percy that meant an inevitable web of strings tying him to war. His fate was sealed and it would not be a peaceful one.

Gossip from the campers was one thing, but Percy’s infamy reached to the heavens and into the minds of the Gods themselves. Everywhere Percy went he drew strong reactions from every deity he ever met. Hades and Artemis respected him against their own nature. Zeus despised how strong the child of the sea was. Ares disliked him but couldn’t help but respect him in battle. Athena disapproved of him.

And Dionysus.

He saw the way Perseus was shackled by fate the moment he laid eyes on him and knew his fate would be a tragic one, maybe even for eternity. He never spoke his name. Except for once. Because even he couldn’t help but acknowledge that only Percy Jackson would have the power, the authority and the heart to keep his remaining son away from battle.

Hermes does the same. Against his better judgement. But at that point Percy’s reputation reached far beyond what any normal demigods did. So Hermes begged Percy to try and save Luke. Pleaded with him, a half-blood as if he would have the power to save someone even if the gods and fates had decided irredeemable. Gods may ask demigods to go on quest for them at any moment, but that’s mostly to keep the peace between deities and domains to avoid outright war. Sometimes even to evade their boredom, or watch the demigods beg for their own lives and pray to their mothers and fathers for salvation in their last moments.

It’s different when a God begs.

When Gods beg for help because they think only one half-blood can make a difference, Fate takes notice.

By the time Percy Jackson stood before the Gods on Olympus after Kronos second defeat, his legend was strong enough for him to become a minor god. That’s why Zeus offered it to him in the first place. The blood flowing through his veins was bound to burn into ichor and Zeus needed it to be on his terms.

Percy Jackson was never one to make anything easy for anyone in his life. He walked out of the throne room with red blood in his veins and a myth large enough to rival any of the heroes of old.

He had too much power underneath his skin - not that he would know, used to incredible feats of power as he was - and everyone knew that the moment he forsake mortality his ascension would begin.

The campers didn’t really think anything of it - gossiping about Percy’s insane powers and stories was just part of daily life - until Percy was lost and in return they received Jason Grace, son of Jupiter. Perhaps it was the fact that they all had met Thalia Grace, lieutenant of Artemis hunters. Perhaps it was because he was Roman and thus not as inherently wild. He's a son of Jupiter they'd whisper. But he's not Percy Jackson.

The myth surrounding Percy Jackson had only grown during his disappearance where not even a son of Jupiter with the power of flight could hold a candle to that. Jason was everything one would expect of a hero but he carried nothing of the same mystique as Percy did, despite being powerful, experienced and competent. Camp half-blood missed their hero and they never let Jason forget it.

Even the Romans noticed. Hunted by gorgons, carrying a goddess and controlling the Little Tiber like it was nothing, no wonder Hazel mistook him for a god when he arrived at Camp Jupiter.

Percy, ever the child soldier, fought in the war games like he had been born with a sword in hard. His defiance of authority and careless nature around the gods stunned them. Camp Jupiter had seen nothing of the sort ever before. Fighting in war games like he’d been born and raised into one (it was the truth - not that he remembered it at the time) and defying gods as if he were their equal.

What little resistance they had at first (Son of Neptune of all things, and he’s greek!) quickly dispersed once he returned from his quest, bringing with him the golden eagle and a huge supply of weapons from imperial gold, riding a hellhound and shouting orders like it was natural for him. Like it was his birthright to do so.

No one resisted his orders, and they could only watch as Percy battled Polybotes all on his own. Everyone watched, mortal and immortal alike. Poseidon screamed at Jupiter for not letting him help his son when Jupiter had done so for Jason.

Imagine everyone’s surprise, when Percy defeated his father’s greatest opponent all on his own, with a last minute introduction to the head of Terminus' broken statue. The Romans raised him as praetor on a shield, one week after they first laid eyes on him and every single one had the same thought - that this Greek, this Perseus Jackson, must be a god.

Jason had served the legion for twelve years before making it to praetor, and Reyna four. But in seven days, Percy brought the presence of two gods to camp Jupiter, brought back the Imperial eagle, and battled a giant all on his own. How could they do anything other than to raise him on their shields?

The first one was taking on Achilles' curse at the river Styx. Locking all of your mortality to just one spot, centering everything that set him apart from the Gods, made so room for his divine powers to grow. Where Percy a year prior almost died from blowing up Mt St Helens, he now wielded hurricanes during the battle of New York like it was nothing. He felt no physical strain save for his need to sleep to replenish his power reserves.

The fact that the Little Tiber washed away the protective layer of the curse meant nothing. What was a bleak copy of the once great river Tiber to the eternal river Styx of the underworld? Still, Styx allowed it to happen because even she felt it, Perseus' powers had grown ever since he’d picked up the curse. Soon, she mused, soon you won't need my curse any more.

The second happened in Tartarus. It had started earlier, when Percy controlled the Lethe to defeat Iapetus the titan, and now he’d managed to tame even the Cocytus and drank from the Pyriphlegeton to heal. Controlling rivers of the Underworld should not have been within his domains, yet no-one would even be surprised anymore when they heard tales of his feat.

The entire Pit observed him, either up close in combat or from a distance. Watching, waiting, betting on his death or ascension. He shouldn’t have made it out without reaching either.

He should have ascended when he almost killed Ahkyls. He should have killed Ahklys. He felt what he later would understand to be his mortality crack as he forced the poison to bend to his will right from under Misery’s nose. It shattered when he mustered up the hate and will to see Misery be tortured under her own domains. How much misery can misery take? As he watched her tears forming, her screams ringing, he was the one in control, but he didn’t want to stop. What right did she have, to trick him and Annabeth, to extort her power over them simply because she wanted to? Who did she think she was? He would show her Misery. As Percy’s conscious slowly reached the pride and anger worthy of a god, the Fates readied themselves at their loom with a golden inlay when -

He stopped.

For Annabeth. Annabeth. His mortal anchor. Oh how Styx laughed at that. I told that little upstart river I was stronger! His mortal anchor, the one he forged in my river, is the only thing holding him back now!

Annabeth was terrified and made him promise not to use it, some things are not meant to be controlled, Percy! And he promised. But it was an empty promise. What did it matter if he didn’t use that power when his mental state rapidly approached the level required for the apotheosis to be finalized? What did it matter if he stopped, when he’d battled a goddess for her domains and won?

What did it matter if he used his control over poisons in battle, when he could feel poison in everything around him, plants, chemicals, animals and monsters? He never told Annabeth because she already feared him. Any more proof that he had a new domain - one not attributed to his father - would break what little trust she had left in his humanity.

It was hardly a surprise that Gaea wanted his blood specifically to rise. She would have preferred him sacrificed on an altar for sure, or else she wouldn’t have chosen him over Phineas in the bet over the gorgon blood. But even a drop would suffice, a drop from the strongest hero in a millenia and a half - more, really - was enough for Gaea to start rising. She could probably have gotten someone else's blood and much more of it, but even a drop of Perseus blood, the one with prophesied power to end Olympus was preferred and she would not have it any other way.

The third time was when Percy and Annabeth broke up. None of them wanted to admit it, but it soon became clear that it was inevitable. From the moment he’d embraced the darkness inside him down in the Pit, it was only a matter of time. It began like this:

Everyone else had moved on, but Percy still felt restless and wound up, expecting a fight or a new monster to battle wherever he went. Violence had become the undercurrent of his life. Jason began to build temples and dedicated his life to his promise. Piper enjoyed life at camp, and tried to figure out her relationship with Jason in a peaceful era. Frank and Hazel were busy with the legion as Praetors, determined to rebuild it to full strength. Annabeth set her sights on attending University and rebuilding the rest of Olympus as the appointed architect. But where did Percy fit into all of this?

He was never studious like Annabeth and his records as a troublemaker ruined his chances at pretty much any school other than in New Rome. He gave it one semester but eventually dropped out. Annabeth dealt with the trauma of the Pit by throwing herself into studies and college life in New Rome but Percy hated it. School had never been for him, his ADHD and dyslexia still hindered him and he found himself bored to death studying marine biology - a subject he’d only chosen because he was desperate to try living a normal life with Annabeth and she had suggested the major after enough of his complaining.

He’d joined Frank and Hazel from time to time to train the legion, but hated the formalities and dealing with the Senate. He joined and planned some war games from time to time to challenge the legion and their battle strategies, but even that felt strange. Why was it that children had to be the ones to fight when their parents were alive and well within the walls of New Rome? Annabeth confronted him on why he’d even convinced her to come with him to New Rome in the first place. If he wasn’t going to study there and didn’t want to become involved with the legion either, he had no reason to stay. She had no reason to stay. Any attempts Percy made to explain himself fell short and that was the end. Not a week later, Annabeth announced she would transfer to Berkeley.

He hugged her goodbye without any tears, just a bone deep tiredness while she was stiff and serious. They didn’t say anything about what would happen with them.

With nothing holding him in New Rome, he returned to Camp Half-blood and threw himself into helping out with swordsfighting and other lessons for the new campers. Camp always felt far more like home than New Rome ever did, but the repetitiveness of camp made him want to climb the walls and he became more and more irritable. He drove Annabeth crazy because she had mountains of schoolwork since she’d transferred in the middle of the year and all iris-messages they tried to send always ended in an argument. Annabeth couldn’t devote any time to Percy, focusing on catching up on her prerequisite classes for her new university. Every iris-message between the two always ended in an argument with one or the other angrily swiping the message away.

It all just seemed so pointless to Percy. What did it matter if more demigods were claimed, when the amounts of new demigods showing up just proved how little gods cared for their human connections? Jason invited him to come along on his temple-building undertaking but Percy only found himself wondering why the gods deserved it in the first place. He’d had enough of serving the gods (unwillingly to boot) for his lifetime.

Mr D observed him with amusement, looking at him like they both shared a secret, a secret Percy didn’t know yet and it unnerved him.

Slowly, the irritation, the lack of trust and the long distance carved away at his last remains of connection to his mortality. When summer came, he hadn’t seen Annabeth in six months, and it’d been more than two since their last Iris message.

“I’m not going back to camp for the summer.” She’d said. Some summer courses had come up and she was busy working on designing Olympus, apparently.

“What about us?” He’d asked, tired but fidgeting with Riptide - always so tired, yet always too much energy.

“What do you mean “what about us”?” She’d retorted like it wasn’t a valid question. Like falling into Tartarus meant they didn’t need to see or speak to each other ever, in order to keep their relationship alive. If you could call it that.

With a small and annoyed huff, he spoke the sentence which would seal his fate forever.

“I think we should break up, Annabeth.”

He’d emerged from his cabin the morning after just as the sun rose, nothing in his outward appearance betraying what had just happened, but feeling ten tons lighter, and like he could finally breathe again. Mr D sat on the veranda, Diet Coke in hand, following him with knowing eyes, and Percy stopped and glared back. Dionysus offered a small nasty grin but procured another Diet Coke which he plonked down on the table and gestured vaguely for Percy to take a seat in a chair opposite him. He sat down.

“Tell me how long I have left.”

Mr D snorted meanly. “Look who’s finally realizing what’s going on around them!”

Percy sneered in response. “I don’t want this, you know. I said no.”

Mr D rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, you’re just so selfless, aren’t you Johnson? Well guess what, I don’t care. And neither does the fates, apparently. It’s only a matter of time.”

***

Percy had always wielded power with an oblivious ease, be it hurricanes or earthquakes. He wielded his new divinity very much the same.

He’d always addressed gods with a lack of respect and demanded theirs in return but after the giant war, it didn’t escape anyone’s notice of just how comfortable Percy seemed around gods.

When Annabeth spit rude opinions with a personal distaste at Gods, Percy challenged them. Where Annabeth received the icy politnes in return with glares if she was lucky, or curses like the one Hera placed on her if she was unlucky, Percy earned respect and ire in equal amounts.

Where Jason spoke strictly business with the gods in preparations for their future temples, Percy regularly hung out with Hermes, or took a lift with Apollo in the sun chariot on his way between the camps. Mars and Ares liked to show up whenever Percy held war games or sword lessons, but everyone except Percy noticed how Mars only looked at Percy, and how Ares always asked him to spar despite having a full cabin of kids who would have been ready to kill for the chance.

At the winter solstice, Percy stood out amongst his peers, a faint golden sheen underneath his skin just waiting to burn through the mortal shell and the gods exchanged looks amongst themselves when they thought no one was looking.

At the party afterwards, Katie found herself looking for Percy, and almost didn’t see him, because he looked so natural standing next to Aphrodite, who tried to convince him to go on a blind date she’d set up.

Will did a double take at what he first thought was Poseidon laughing and playing nectar-pong with Dionysos - but it turned out to be Percy. How much has he had? Or is he just that good that he would beat a god at beer-pong with nectar? Will found himself wondering.

When Apollo, stuck in the mortal body of Lester, meets Percy Jackson, he thinks to himself that this must be what it feels like for mortals to meet a god, the overwhelming presence of power personified. How come no one is noticing? Apollo wonders. Even in Lester's ugly, weak and pathetic body, can he can feel the pulse of ichor drown out everything else whenever Percy is around. In those moments just one thought fills his head, Percy might reach godhood before I do.