(Fem.) Percy meets Spidey

13

"Percy," Dad's voice was soft. Still, I groaned and rolled over, only to be shaken again. "It's time to get up, child mine."

"No, it's not." The blankets moved with a soft rustle. Cold water hit my skin. I curled into a ball, but one of Dad's warm hands dragged me up. It slipped to my shoulder to keep me from collapsing back into the mattress. "Dad."

"You can go back to sleep in a little bit. We...have some things we need to talk about, remember?"

Reluctantly, I peeled my eyes open. Before they could focus, Dad shoved a plate of food onto my lap---apple slices, blueberries, and a plain pancake. No silverware. It was a healthier version of the breakfasts I'd eaten more and more often. Ones that were light and easy on the stomach. Which in reality meant I'd only eat a pancake or two. I tried not to think what Dad knowing this meant, much less what him accounting for it did.

"I figured you might want some food."

"Thanks." I popped an apple slice into my mouth. His eyes were on me, fixated and judgemental. My stomach rolled and twisted. How could I eat when he was watching me like that? "Can...can you not look at me like that?" I asked, staring at my plate.

The mattress dipped. As I picked at the meal, sometimes Dad would snag a berry or two and pop them into his mouth. Or he'd smooth his hand over my back in silent urging when I seemed hesitant to touch the rest of the food. It was only when I'd cleared the plate that he took it away. It vanished between one blink and the next.

"What was bothering you last night?"

I winced. Really leaping right into it, wasn't he? Swallowing, I kicked my legs. "Nothing." The material of my pants wasn't loose enough to tangle my fingers in. I settled for tracing the thin silvery scars that cross over my hands. "I-It's nothing important."

"You aren't wearing the bracelet?" More of a statement than a question his words made my mouth go dry. I tried to stammer out a response. Why was it important? How much trouble was I in? Was I supposed to be wearing it? Triton said something about it, but I couldn't remember because my stupid brain wouldn't just---

"Breathe," Dad said; I sucked in a breath. "I'm not upset. It's just an early birthday present, but if you don't like it, I can get you something else." His soft expression flattened. A crease formed between his eyebrows. "If you're panicking over things, it's important."

"No. It's not."

"And I'm sure you'll say that you having PTSD isn't a big deal and that's why you haven't told your mother."

"I already told you why I haven't. Just leave it alone," I snapped.

He narrowed his eyes. "You are my child, Perseus. Either you cooperate with me and tell me what's wrong, or I'm going to have to tell her. One of us needs to know."

A whine slipped out of my throat. I bit my lip, trying to keep any more from escaping, and stared directly at the wall. Dad stayed in my peripheral vision, immobile and persistent. The longer we sat in silence, the more his gaze seemed to crash over me, beating me down with the relentless persistence of waves against a cliff.

"Do- Do I have to tell you?"

"No." He hummed. "But the alternative is telling your mother. I'll even allow Paul, but I doubt he'll want to keep it a secret from her." Paul wouldn't.

"You know how I fell into the Pit, right?"

"What does that have to do with---" He cut off when I rested my head against him. Anger tried to stir. In what world wouldn't that cause issues? But every time it came close to bubbling up, it vanished. This was about last night. Last night when I froze up and freaked out when he was carrying me. When I had to curl against him just to fall asleep. It wasn't about what caused the PTSD. Apollo and Ares had done a good enough job on that.