(Fem.) Percy meets Spidey

37

"Are you okay?" Paul asked the moment the door shut behind us. I didn't answer; he herded me towards the bed. Cursing, he turned away. Shuffling. Drawers opening, then shutting. He ducked to look through his school bag. Finally, Paul placed a stress ball in my hand. 

"Can you take a deep breath?"

I barely heard him. I barely saw the flaking red paint or my own hand clenching the ball. I barely heard the door open. Paul blocked my view. His nails dug into his wrist. Hypocrite.

"Is she okay?" Dad asked quietly.

"I've been a teacher long enough to recognize a panic attack. I'm. .  not sure of the reasons for it, but, ah--"

"Something to do with my family's presence?" The ball bounced on the floor, forgotten, as I reached for Dad. "Sh, I'm here." He brushed past Paul and took my hand. Shaking, I opened my mouth, then closed it. 

I couldn't-- I didn't know--

"Breathe." Dad pressed his hand to my chest. A deep breath was forced into my lungs. Fuck, how bad was it if he was doing that? I clung to his arm. Muscles flexed under his skin, but he didn't pull away. Another breath. In and out. In. Out.

In.

Out. 

The safe, strong arm disappeared. Terror struck through me, unearned and irrational. But all that mattered was needing Dad, needing that comfort. No matter what I tried, I couldn't. . . I couldn't grab him. It was like trying to grasp a fistful of water.

"I think it's probably an overload," Dad said to Paul. He carded his fingers through my hair. "She acts differently with us than she does with you. Add in people who she has to act differently towards, and it's too much to parse."

"You say that like it's dissecting a sentence."

"We're a bit different in how we process things. I don't know how much that extends to her."  He took his hand away, leaning closer to Paul to hear whatever he was whispering. It was about me. I knew that, and if I were in a better mind I might've been offended. You don't talk about people like that. Not with them in the room.

"She--"

I whined, and Dad sighed, shaking his head.

"I can handle her," he said. "I'm far better equipped to do so, which I'm sure you agree with." As soon as Paul left--why wouldn't he leave? He's smart--Dad knelt in front of me. "You breathing a little bit easier? Or do you need me to help you again?"

His fingers hovered in the air in front of my chest. Power sparked around them. It would be easy. Too easy, to lean forward. I shook my head.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Don't-- Dunno."

Wrong answer. His mouth twitched, and I whimpered. Maybe I should've told him the truth, but that would've been worse; how many times could I admit to weakness before--

"Give me your hand."

Blinking, I didn't think twice. Dad's large fingers wrapped my wrist  He kissed my knuckles then placed my palm against his cheek.

"See? I'm right here. Nothing to worry about. No need to worry, my little foal. Just focus on me. I can protect you." He brushed away my tears, and I hiccuped. "You know I can protect you?"

I nodded.

"And I will," he promises. 

 * * *