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CALM - Breach the Golden Skin Excerpt

This story is an excerpt from my time travel fanfic where Percy goes back in time. This is from the otherside of things, where Annabeth is dealing with the aftermath. Well, part of it. There will be an official chapter of the other side of things and this might make it in, but not sure. As of right now, this isn't part of the official fic. Could change tho!

Read the fic here for context but you don't need to!!

Characters: Annabeth Chase, Poseidon Matthew, Bobby, Frederick Chase + Step-mother Chase (called her Pamela)

Summary: Annabeth is visiting her father and family while she searches for Percy and where he disappeared of to. She had been prepared to confront Sally about his disappearence, even if she hadn't said the words to his mother herself. She hadn't expected to have to confront his father.

from ‘Breach the Golden Skin’

SAN FRANCISCO 2013

THEN

][][][

Annabeth existed like a ghost.

She had stopped by her father and step-mothers home after her fifth excursion to the Santa Maria Valley to search for the cave through which Percy had disappeared. Now, on this visit, she had decided to stop up at San Francisco before she and Black Jack headed back to Camp Half-Blood.

Her brothers had clearly been told not to bother her during the week, but Annabeth almost wanted the distraction. She had exhausted herself in the past month. Matthew and Bobby’s school was mundane and welcome. She couldn’t relate to them - not really - but she was willing to listen.

Either way, it didn’t matter. They stayed away.

She sat like a waif in the living room. Painfully American and uninspired, the monotony felt good. She hadn’t brought her bone sword or any of her other weapons with her. She stared at the white-grey carpet, unable to pull her gaze away. Percy was missing.

Last time, she’d been proactive.

She had been this time, too.

But when she’d had to confront Paul, and not Percy’s mother, Sally, about the missing demigod, she needed this moment. A moment to sit. And stare at a carpet.

She picked at a thread on the sofa.

Footsteps appeared from the archway from the dining room and the front parlor room where Annabeth sat. Her step-mother, Pamela, poked a head out from the archway. Painted fingernails curved around the frame.

“Annabeth, are you joining us for dinner tonight?”

She hadn’t the past four nights. She’d eaten the plate left for her on the counter. Her father had moved again in the past three years. The house was much nicer than the Boston apartment she’d spent her early years in. And the house in Virginia had been old and smaller, but just as nice. The counters in this home were made from marble.

A stone she personally thought had greater purposes than a kitchen counter.

“Sure,” she replied, looking up and meeting her step-mother’s eyes. “Do you need any help?”

Pamela never asked Annabeth for any help around the house like she did from Matthew and Bobby. Annabeth still did not like Pamela, and for good reason. For a while, she’d felt it was her responsibility to reach out. And her father had swooped in all those years ago for the fight on Mount Othyrus.

They had a tentative truce. Mostly built from guilt. Annabeth had decided she was willing to try. But it still hurt that guilt was the motivator in their affection. Or attention. But it had been better in recent years.

“Oh no,” Pamela said, smiling weakly. “No, don’t bother. I’ll ask the boys.”

Annabeth hefted herself off the sofa. “I can set the table.”

“If you’re sure…,” Pamela said as Annabeth brushed past her into the kitchen hall.

“I am,” she said, confident. She knew where the cutlery was and where the plates sat. She gathered five plates and set them out. Neither of them spoke. Pamela tossed the pasta with her lips pressed in a thin line.

Footsteps down the stairs and suddenly Matthew stood in the archway, watching Annabeth with dark brown eyes.

They didn’t look like siblings. Her father had once told her a story about Bobby, where he’d come back sobbing from school. He’d shown his friends a picture of Annabeth and said she was his sister, and no one had believed him. He’d been distraught, her father had said.

“You alright?” she asked.

Pamela turned, a relieved smile on her face. “Oh, Matty, good. Help Annabeth with the glasses.”

“It’s alright, really-.”

“It’s fine!” he exclaimed, sliding in his socks down the long kitchen.

Once the table was set, Annabeth was reminded why she didn’t tend to come down for dinner. She lingered awkwardly over the table, gripping her chair and leaning her weight on it. Waiting. The food was almost done, and it smelled good, but as Matthew turned toward his mother and began to ramble about his day, Annabeth was regretting saying yes to dinner.

“Annabeth?”

She snapped out of her thoughts. “Hm?”

“How is Camp?”

Tired of this shit, she nearly said. “Alright. Holding up.”

“Any luck?” Matthew asked, sliding into his unassigned-assigned seat at the dining table.

“No,” she grumbled. “But I’m headed back with Black Jack soon. We’ll see if there’s any news when I get back. I haven’t gotten an IM, though.”

Pamela nodded absently from her place by the stove while Matthew leaned forward. Her brothers had grown more and more interested once they’d gotten older. It had partially been from the beach trip they’d taken with her and Percy two years ago, where they’d seen proper “godliness” from her boyfriend.

“I can’t believe you have a Pegasus,” Matthew said, eyes narrowed past Annabeth as he peered into the backyard.

“He isn’t mine,” she corrected. “He’s Percy’s. I’m just borrowing him.”

“Can he really talk to horses?”

“Yeah,” Annabeth said, softness slipping into her voice. “And fish. And sharks. And I think a zebra once.”

“Whoa,” Matthew muttered.

“Dinner’s ready!” Pamela announced.

Her father and Bobby stamped down the stairs and showed up.

Frederick Chase’s eyes lit up when he saw her. “Annabeth! Are you join us for dinner?”

“She is,” Pamela interrupted, “so don’t chase her away.”

“Ha! Chase.”

“That was terrible, Robert,” Matthew said.

Annabeth looked up at her father. “Yeah, just for tonight. I’m going back to camp tomorrow.”

Her father’s shoulders dropped. But Annabeth didn’t feel so bad. He didn’t get to be upset about the lack of time they spent together. He’d set the standard for their relationship. He could live with it.

Pamela switched the conversation to her plans for the back garden, but it sounded more desperate than a genuine attempt to change the subject. Annabeth set her plate down with the pasta and slid into her seat. It was awkward, with four people in the family normally. She was shoved slightly to the side, sitting next to Bobby.

The conversation died.

Annabeth felt a little guilty.

“So, Anna,” Bobby said, turning his dark eyes on his sister, calling her by her first name, “how did it go?”

Pamela dropped her fork on her plate. The metal clattered against the porcelain. But Annabeth had lived her formative years eating in a camp’s dining pavilion. It was easy to ignore.

“What did what go?”

“Like, telling Percy’s mom. How did she take it?”

“Robert!” Pamela hissed.

Her father rolled his shoulders back, brows furrowed, opening his mouth to admonish his son.

“I didn’t tell her,” Annabeth said, setting her fork and spoon down. She turned to look at Bobby. “I told Paul, Percy’s step-dad. He’ll tell her.”

That part had sucked, because Annabeth had desperately been wanting to see Sally again. But Paul and her were close enough, family, and he’d taken it well. There hadn’t been any tears from either of them. There would have been with Sally.

“Oh,” Bobby said, “Does Percy’s dad-dad know?”

Admonishing long forgotten, the rest of the table turned to look at Annabeth expectantly. She grimaced.

“No…,” she said slowly. “No, I have no idea. I didn’t… pray, or anything.”

“Why?” Matthew asked, clearly baffled.

She looked desperately at her father for support, but he was looking at her as if he were waiting for the answer as well. She glanced at Bobby and his imploring eyes.

She stared down into her pasta.

How did she explain how terrified she was of Percy’s father? The big three were all immensely powerful. But Poseidon sometimes existed on another level to the others, in her mind. Perhaps it was because she was so intimately close with Percy and his own abilities, that she understood what untrapped divinity would look like.

Poseidon terrified her. Now more than ever.

Percy had grown closer to his father in the past several years. She’d met him twice in that time, both times at the beach. He’d not been unkind to her then. In fact, his eyes had crinkled in a smile and he’d told them both a joke.

But Annabeth, when she saw them together, could see the unbridled power bubbling under the skin of the god. Under the skin of her boyfriend.

How could she turn to him and admit that she’d lost his most beloved son?

She looked at Matthew. “Poseidon… he.” She paused. “He’s quick to anger, in our myths. I’m… afraid.”

“Well, now, that isn’t fair. Is it, Miss Chase?”

Annabeth spun in her chair, eyes wide when she realized just who stood behind her.

Poseidon smiled, but there was no kindness in it. He looked weary. Tired. Grey streaked his long hair, tied up with a leather band. Gone was the Hawaiian shirt and bermuda shorts. Poseidon wore an elaborate blue chiton with embroidery that moved along the hems. A golden cloak with red ivy was thrown over his shoulders. Armor sat over his chest, forearms, and shins. Gleaming bronze, chiseled and decorated. His trident was gripped loosely in his hand. A laurel weather gleamed on his head.

She could feel his divinity thrumming beneath the veneer of human skin. He nearly shone, like caught in a sunset. The world outside was grey.

“Lord Poseidon,” she breathed.

Pamela whimpered from Annabeth’s right.

“Come,” he said, “we must speak.”

Her hands began to shake. She gulped and squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart was a harsh drum in her chest. “I… yes, of course.”

“Let us go for a walk,” he said. His green eyes, so much like Percy's, roamed around the room. It grew colder. The grey clouds outside swelled with darkness.

Bobby shivered next to her. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered beneath his breath.

Annabeth’s grey eyes shot open and snapped to her brother. She twisted suddenly, reaching out a hand to his shoulder. Her father’s own arm shot across the table and to her younger brother’s hand, his eyes wide. Bobby stared at the table in sudden, wracking, fear.

Poseidon only turned his gaze toward her. “I have little time and little patience, Miss Chase. A walk.”

“Of course, yes my Lord,” she said. He turned and stalked from the room, trident clinking against the hardwood of the fancy San Francisco home.

She turned back around in her chair and met the terrified eyes of her family.

“Annabeth…,” her father whispered.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. She flexed her hands and then gripped them into two tight fists. Her whole body shook with fear. This was it. The why she’d been afraid was here for her. Poseidon, the wrathful god of the seas. His favored and beloved son was missing and it was Annabeth’s fault. She’d let him drop down that crevice in the Santa Maria Valley.

Poseidon who’d made Pasiphae fuck a cow.

Poseidon, the destroyer of things.

What would be her punishment?

Would she deserve it?

“What’s going to happen?” Bobby asked her, his voice small.

Annabeth shot him a shaky smile and, with only a lasting glance at her father, picked herself up from the dining chair. She slid it in, slowly. Buying time, perhaps. But Poseidon didn’t beckon her further. A blessing.

She walked down the hallway to the arch leading into the living room.

There stood the god, waiting. Perhaps he’d grown too impatient for a walk. He turned his gaze on her. The brunt of his divinity sat in it and she averted her eyes. All of his gaze felt like all the pressure of the ocean on her spine. She’d held the sky.

This felt almost worse.

The angry and mournful eyes of a parent.

“Kneel.”

She winced.

His voice. It did not sound like the Poseidon in council meetings. Even the one she’d met, telling her a joke when they’d stood off the coast. It sounded like the dying voices of thousands of sailors, drowning, all taking their last breath.

She was sure her family had heard it in the kitchen. The whole house creaked in response, as if it too wanted to fall and kneel.

Annabeth dropped to her knees.

“You were afraid to tell me?” he asked, still in that awful voice of dying men. “You could not bear to tell Sally Jackson. You cowered and told her husband.”

“Please forgive me, my lord,” she whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut and brought her hands up, clasped together in front of her. Begging.

“You cannot do the graciousness of telling a parent their child is missing?”

She’d already done it once before, couldn’t he understand that? But this anger was not fury. Not yet. She wondered when it would be let loose. She prayed to her mother, for her family, sitting in just the other room. She hoped someone would recognize her hardships and all the good deeds she’d done and save them.

Light danced over her lids. She knows he is barely keeping his divinity in check. His voice sounds under water, almost. The sailor has drowned.

“You cannot do me the graciousness of telling me my son is missing?”

“Forgive me,” she repeated.

“Look at me!” he roared.

She’d nearly been knocked over by the intensity. The air smelled not only of sea salt and brine but ozone and something rotten. No. Not rotten. Something rotting.

Annabeth opened her eyes and lifted her gaze from the white-grey carpet to the twisted face of the sea god. For the first time, she truly believed those stories.

His eyes glowed unnaturally. His skin gleamed with an unseen sunset that existed only for him. His black hair, streak with grey, is blown back from a wind that only he could feel.

He is furious.

“I was ashamed, my lord,” she whispered, staring as best she could into his eyes. She couldn’t think of any other way to convince him. She had to beg. She had to implore. She had to convince. “I’m looking for him, I promise you. Nico says he isn’t dead-.”

“The son of Hades’s feelings are promising,” the sea god raged, slamming the butt of his trident onto the floor and cracking the hardwood of Annabeth’s parents living room. His other hand was almost claw-like. “But I am not here to discuss Nico di Angelo. I am not here to discuss anything but your shame, Annabeth Chase.”

She stuttered. “I- I know, my lord.” Tears pricked at her eyes.

“I am his father,” Poseidon said. His voice was low. He stepped toward her. The warmth of his divine essence felt like a burning sun. “I deserved to know. From you, who he cares so deeply for.”

She’d miscalculated.

She nodded where she kneeled. The carpet scratched her knees.

“I am his father,” he repeated, much quieter. The warmth drew back from her. “I deserved to know.”

“Please forgive me,” she whispered, bringing her eyes back up to his. “You did, my lord.”

“Yes,” he said gruffly. “My son loves you. So you live, Annabeth Chase. And as I am feeling gracious, I give you my blessing while you search for him. The sea will not be your enemy. But I come bearing a warning.”

“Yes, anything.”

He leaned forward, gripping his trident. His green eyes, glowing and ethereal, became brighter. Golden ichor swirled under his false skin. For a moment, Annabeth wondered what the god truly looked like. What form had trapped itself in the body of a mortal, her boyfriend?

Poseidon’s voice, that awful sound of thousands of breaths sucking in air for the last time, spoke. “I am fury. I am anger. I am mourning. You, alone, bear this warning. I will tear this wretched earth apart looking for my son. I will alter the coast. I will rip apart the tide. I will look for him until I have the assurance of his soul.”

She fell forward, gasping. “My lord, please, I only ask-.”

“You desire favors, Daughter of Athena?!”

“The camp!” she nearly shrieked, desperate. “The camp! Please, my lord, don’t destroy the camp. Percy. He needs. I need him to. He needs it to come back to. Please. Please my lord, I’m begging.”

The god stared at her. Annabeth winced. Tears fell down her face, making it nearly impossible to see. It hurt, to bear the brunt of it. But she needed to.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Give Sally my warning,” Poseidon hissed. “She alone deserves safety.” He paused. “The camp will be untouched.”

Annabeth felt her heart swell and relief grip her. “Thank you!” she sobbed. “Thank you, my lord!”

Poseidon turned away from her, his gaze turned out the front window. It overlooked the quiet street. She wondered if any of their neighbors had heard anything. She’d felt his voice in her very bones.

“Ela,” he said in Greek. “Find my son, Annabeth Chase.”

He began to glow and Annabeth quickly averted her eyes, covering them with her hands.

When the heat of divinity had subsided, she was left alone kneeling on the floor. After a few moments, her fathers footsteps echoed up the hallway.

His terrified, quiet voice broke the silence. “Annabeth?”

She tried to hold back her sob. It didn’t work. She hiccuped and began to cry. Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision and her father’s arms appeared around her. He didn’t even bother picking her up off the floor. They sat there together, hugging, as Annabeth cried desperate tears into his shoulder.

She would need all the wisdom she could get.

#sad annabeth and sad poseidon?#not me being sadder than them

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