The Hybrid

2. Demeter

Percy stood in front of the shop, his suitcases resting by his feet. For a moment, he just stared at the door, the faded sign above it swaying slightly in the breeze. He hadn't seen Uncle Wesley in years, and even then, their encounters had been brief and awkward. Wes was more like a ghost in his life—appearing now and then but never lingering long enough for Percy to feel anything solid.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open, the small bell above it jingling. The shop smelled of grease and metal, with shelves stacked high with old tools, spare parts, and half-repaired machines. The clutter was almost overwhelming, a sharp contrast to the sterile, empty hospital room that still lingered in Percy's mind. He dropped his bags by the door and looked around. The sound of clanking metal came from the back of the shop, followed by a muttered curse. A moment later, Uncle Wes appeared, wiping his hands on a rag. He was about the same height as Percy, with messy brown hair and familiar brown eyes—the same eyes Percy saw every time he looked in the mirror.

"Percy!" Wes said, his face lighting up with a broad, sheepish grin. "I lost track of time. Sorry about that. I've been working on a repair job in the West Village, and you know how that goes. One thing leads to another, and... well, here we are."

Percy forced a smile. 

"It's fine," he said.

The knot in his stomach told him otherwise. He didn't feel fine. He felt like a stranger, and the shop—despite its mess—didn't feel like any place he belonged. There was a weird tension in the air, like they were both trying too hard to be comfortable with each other.

Uncle Wes wiped his brow and stepped forward, his expression softening as he looked Percy over. "You've grown," he said, almost as if it surprised him. "Last time I saw you... well, it's been a while."

Percy didn't respond, his mind drifting back to what made him come to live with this man in the first place. It was only a few weeks ago, in the cold, sterile hospital room, where the air smelled like antiseptic and despair.

Flashback

Percy sat slouched in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his back aching from hours of sitting in the same position. His mother lay in the hospital bed, her once lively face now pale and drawn, her body fragile beneath the thin blanket. Machines beeped softly in the background, a constant reminder that time was slipping away.

He leaned forward, his hands gripping hers tightly, as if holding on to her could keep her from leaving. The doctors had already told him—she didn't have more than a few days left. He was running out of time, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Percy," she whispered, her voice barely audible. He leaned closer, his heart pounding. Her breaths were shallow, and every word seemed to cost her more strength than she had left.

"Mom," he whispered back, his throat tightening.

Sally Jackson gave him a weak smile, her eyes heavy with both love and sorrow. "Family... it's important," she said, her voice faint. "I know... I raised you alone. Just me and you, kid. But when I'm gone... I want you to have people. I don't want you to be alone."

Percy's chest ached, the words cutting deeper than he expected. He didn't want to think about her being gone—about being left in a world where she wasn't there. But she continued, her voice even weaker now.

"Even though I never wanted you... to go back to Angel Falls," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "I want you to... be close to your family. It's important. Promise me... you'll try."

Percy clenched his jaw, his breath catching in his throat. He didn't want to make promises. He didn't want to say goodbye. But he nodded, his voice thick as he whispered, "I'll try."