Chapter Text
Apollo didn’t know what made him agree to attend the Winter Solstice that year, but alas it was far too late for him to simply ditch the whole ordeal. As unruly as he was, he simply didn’t have the energy nor the strength to face his father’s wrath no matter how much it had lessened in the past few months. Sighing, he flashed himself to his throne on Olympus.
Apollo didn’t know what he was expecting once he did. Maybe Zeus trying to get a rise out of Poseidon, Athena yelling at the Sea God to stop the havoc he was causing in the mortal world, or even an unexpectedly cute spat between Hades and his father where they argued over what to do to make their brother smile.
But it certainly wasn’t screams and wails of terror and confusion echoing from outside into the throne room while an angry Zeus shouted orders to check what was going on. He tried to make sense of the situation as he watched the gods clad themselves in traditional chiton instead of their modern day dressings.
Then, everything halted to a stop as the sound of metal and marble sliding against each other crackled through the room. It felt like an eternity as everyone held their breath, most definitely feeling the powerful aura wafting around from just beyond, until the gilded doors flew open. Right at the centre of the entry stood a small figure radiating a muted yet still strong energy.
The figure was covered in gore and grim, limbs torn and butchered in a sickening way that nearly had him heaving out the non existing content of his stomach. The sight was so disturbing and disgustingly enthralling that he almost didn’t sneak a glance at the should-be-dead victim’s face.
Apollo didn’t know if he wished he hadn’t. Right in front of the king of the gods, grinning like the fool he definitely was and infinitely was not, was Percy Jackson. Looking every bit of insanity woven and stitched together, he lifted his head high as his blood soaked the ground at an impossible speed and stared Zeus dead in the eyes. His voice jumped around, rendering all speechless.
“Missed me?”
If Apollo felt a tremor in his heart, he ignored it and jumped to reach the Son of Posidon as his body went slack and hit the ground with an audible thud. He ignored his uncle’s shouts to do something as he gathered the smaller boy, if he could even be called that, in his arms and flashed himself to his personal room in the Sun Palace.
—
Apollo gently dropped Percy on the white bedsheets that were too quickly turning to a shade of red too dark to be healthy. He willed his hands to stop shaking as he blindly ordered the servants to bring him warm towels; nectar and ambrosia; sea water; warm blankets; and seal the palace. No one was allowed entry. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.
He let the room’s temperature drop to slow down the bleeding and let his God of Healing side take over as he covered Percy’s eyes to bathe him in blinding, golden light. Apollo poured and poured in as much of his healing magic as he could, letting out a small breath as he watched colour slowly returning to the boy’s handsome face. But alas, his healing could only go on so far and too soon he had to stop to depend on the more mortal methods.
He ripped any already battered fabric that got in his way and started carefully stitching the nearly closed wounds of his chest while trying not to stop with every low cry that left the Hero of Olympus. He tried not to vomit at the sight of flesh so damaged that his healing had failed to even cause a bit of a difference.
With his chest done, he flipped Percy onto his stomach trying not to pop any stitches and nearly screamed. Right at the middle of his back was a weeping wound that sizzled with black acid that had melted– was still melting– flesh and bones. At this rate the poison would burn his heart away.
Apollo was definitely crying now. A whimper tore itself from his throat as his hands fumbled and shook. Gods…what had they done to him? Thank the Fates and all the things holy the poison would in fact not burn his heart as it was by some unnatural luck busy leaking out of Percy’s body.
He let his instincts take over and after hours of resetting bones, moving around damaged– slowly healing– organs and practically rearranging his patient’s whole body, Percy finally looked like he wasn’t going for a permanent trip to the afterlife. Apollo was about to reflip him to pump a little more healing energy through his heart (most effective place) when saw a black bump that stretched the skin on each shoulder blade.
They faded so fast, the bumps gone, that he dismissed it as his imagination. The black…things weren’t even there when he first took a look at Percy’s back, the side effects of using too much healing magic, extreme mortal exhaustion, must be why he began hallucinating. He shook his head and only after feeding the Son of the Sea some nectar and ambrosia, soaking him in the sea water of his fountain, and checking that all his vitals were stable did he finally let himself slump on his chair, pillowing his head with his arms right beside Percy’s scarred hand.
He had to be with him if he needed anything. He wouldn’t be another Hyacinthus he had failed to heal no matter how different they were.
