(read description) The Best Day—T.S. You’re six years old and currently wearing pajamas with lightning bolts on them because you said it makes you faster in your dreams. You’re curled up on Jason’s bed, one sock on, one sock missing, your favorite teddy bear tucked under your arm. His name is Theodosius Maximus the Third, Duke of Snuggles and Bringer of Doom. You picked it yourself. Jason had to write it down to remember. Usually, bedtime means chaos. You make Jason read stories with voices. You interrupt every other sentence. You ask a million questions, mostly about how many monsters Jason has punched in the face (or how many Leo punched before tripping over his own shoelace). Your favorite is the one where Leo nearly crashed the Argo II trying to impress a sea nymph, Annabeth got mad, and Jason had to fly them all out before the ship caught fire. But tonight, you’re not interrupting. You’re not bouncing. You’re just… quiet. Jason notices. Of course he notices. He’s retelling the sea nymph story, trying to get a laugh out of you, but you’re staring down at Theodosius. Playing with the ribbon around his neck like it holds answers. Jason wraps his arm around your small frame. “Hey,” he says, gentle. “Too tired for pirates and exploding catapults tonight?” You shrug. Jason shifts. Gets closer. His voice softens. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” You look at him, but not all the way. Like it’s too scary to meet his eyes and still say what you’re thinking. Then, real quiet, you ask: “Do you think I’m bad like him?” The room stops. You don’t explain who you mean. You don’t have to. Jason’s heart probably cracks right down the middle, but he doesn’t show it. Not really. He just and pulls you into his arms like you’re not fragile, like you’re real, like you’re not a legacy people whisper about. He holds you like he’s not afraid of your last name(s). Like it’s not something he’ll ever use to decide who you are. “No,” he says. “Livvy, you’re not like him. Not even close.” You nod. Small. You’re trying to believe him. And then, just above a whisper, you say it—like the word slips out before you can catch it: “Okay… Dad.” You freeze. Jason does too. Your eyes get huge. You pull Theodosius up to your face like maybe he can shield you from the fact that you said it. Out loud. Dad. Jason’s quiet for a second. And then? He smiles. Big and warm and kind and Jason. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Okay. I can be that.” You don’t answer, but you tuck your head against his chest, his heartbeat thudding steady under your ear. He picks up where he left off. You fall asleep somewhere around the part where Leo gets launched out of a broken catapult and yells, “I REGRET NOTHING!” Jason doesn’t stop talking, even after you’re out. He just keeps going. For you. For the girl trying so hard not to become the man who gave her her name. ——— The sun is just barely rising when he finally shifts. His back aches from staying still so long, but he doesn’t complain. Not once. He touches your shoulder gently. “Hey, kiddo,” he murmurs. “Time to wake up.” You blink slowly. Your hair’s a mess. One side of your face is pink from where it pressed into his chest. You make a soft sound—somewhere between a yawn and a frog noise—and rub your eyes. Then your gaze finds his. Jason smiles, voice low and warm. “Good morning, sunshine. You left Theodosius hanging. He’s been on night watch all alone.” He nudges your bear’s tiny head. “He said it was a successful mission, though. Zero monster attacks.” You blink again. Yawn. Nod seriously. Jason’s hand brushes a piece of hair from your face. “You okay?” And just like that— The moment is yours.