Archive of Our Own

i. 

Percy doesn’t know what started it all, but in hindsight maybe he should have seen it coming. He doesn’t quite know when the girl who kissed him before he risked his life became the girl he can barely recognize, but it changes something. He should have realized it when she turned away from him at the start of camp, but most people had figured she was wrapping her head around the fact that he’d spent so much time with Rachel. He should have realized it when he mentioned a scythe pendant and her hand went to her pocket. He should have realized it when she kept disappearing during the battle, hiding away for hours as other campers risked their lives against monsters. He should have realized it when she gave empty battle plans, versus her usual planned strategies.

He doesn’t, though, because it’s Annabeth Chase, and how could Annabeth Chase ever betray him? She does, though, and he lets her angrily battle him as campers fall wounded around them. He doesn’t tell her then that when he bathed in the River Styx he pictured her, doesn’t tell her how all summer he was waiting to see her again. But not like this, he thinks, blocking another one of her dagger strikes. Not with her eyes blazing with anger, her hits directed at him, instead of the monsters that attacked the campers surrounding them. Not with Luke standing behind her, watching her risk herself for him when Percy knows he would disregard her in hours. 

“Annabeth, please.” He pleads, using the hilt of Riptide’s blade to knock the dagger out of her hand, “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

He knows he looks weak right now, practically admitting defeat against his best friend. She locks eyes with him, and for a moment he thinks he sees signs of regret flashing in the gray irises. He doesn’t have time to dissect it, though, because she pulls out a sword from her belt in her waist and strikes once again. 

“It does, though, Percy.” She responds, kicking his feet out from underneath him. He doesn’t plead any further, instead letting her continue fighting the pointless battle.

And when Percy finally manages to deliver the killing blow into Luke’s arm, he sees Annabeth yell and curse his name. He sees her drop her dagger and attack him with her fists, banging messily on his chest as she cries. He doesn’t stop her. Instead, he drops Riptide onto the floor of Olympus’s throne room and lets her punch him with all she’s got, even though he knows it’s probably causing her more harm than it is to him. 

“I will never, ever trust you again, Percy Jackson.” She spits the words as if their poison, and he can barely even stand himself as she speaks. He swallows back the tears, the retorts, the sobs sitting in the back of his throat. 

“I know.” Is all he can say in response, and when he watches her pick up her dagger and run, he doesn’t follow. He doesn’t tell her that he stabbed Luke because he’d whispered how he never truly cared for Annabeth, doesn’t tell her that she looks beautiful in battle, doesn’t tell her that their kiss has replayed in his mind one too many times for their relationship to ever go back to the way it was.

It doesn’t matter because he doesn’t see her again. He hears that she fled camp, taking nothing but Daedelus’s laptop, her dagger and Yankee’s cap, and a few articles of clothing with her. All the tears he wanted to spill out to her come out to his mother—a flurry of sobbing and yelling and pain that he hid for months. He doesn’t quite know what he’s crying about in the first place. Maybe it’s because he had to kill someone he looked up to. Maybe it’s because he watched friends like Beckendorf and Silena risk their lives for him. Maybe it’s because his heart feels like it’s cracking in his chest and despite the fact that he has the Achilles curse and shouldn’t feel pain, this hurts more than anything else in the world. 

Two weeks after the war, he asks his mom to help him dye the gray streak in his hair to match the rest of his head. He cleans his email inbox out, deleting the messages from Annabeth that he had favorited throughout the years that he would reread when he was sad. He throws away the photo he taped inside his binder. He tells himself that maybe if he can get rid of the physical memories of her, he can help the pain stop. 

It never does, though. Not even when he wakes up four months later alone and with zero memories of anything except his name and Annabeth Chase. 

ii.

When Annabeth fled from Camp Half-Blood months ago, she figured that was the end of it. After all, how could she ever go back there? Back to the place that she betrayed, even though it was her home? She’s a coward, she’s well aware of it. She ran away instead of facing the people she thought were her home, ran away from a safe haven, ran away from the boy with green eyes who made her heart jump far too often for them to be just friends.

When Luke asked her to join him all those months ago, she thought she could help. She wanted, desperately, to just help him. She figured if she joined him, she could change his mind—Could stop Kronos from rising and prevent the Great Prophecy from ever needing to happen. It was all wishful thinking, though, because he still sacrificed himself for Kronos and she watched him kill her fellow demigods without trying to stop it. 

So, she decides, she’ll isolate herself. She packs the bare minimum and runs, refusing to let herself look back. Somehow, after all these years, this seems like second nature to her. She tried not to dwell too much on that. What she doesn’t expect, four months into her run away, is for Grover and Clarisse to seek her out.

She’s in an abandoned cabin somewhere in upstate New York, using Daedelus’s laptop as a source of light as she aimlessly sketches out designs on a spare notebook she found laying around. They find her there, and Annabeth ignores the way her heart swelled for a moment when she saw them.

“What are you doing here?” She practically spits, masking her inner thoughts and squaring her shoulders. 

Clarisse sits down opposite her, placing a takeout box on the table. “Got you some food.”

“Not hungry.”

“That’s bullshit, but then again so is your entire act.” Clarisse responds coolly, matching Annabeth’s venom with her own. 

Annabeth sits up, “I asked what you were doing here.”

“Percy’s gone.” Grover blurts, and when Annabeth looks at him he’s anxiously pacing, his fingers playing with a small pendant in his hands. 

She feels her body go cold. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“He means Percy came back to camp for a week and when we went to bed and woke up the next morning he was gone. Can you grasp that, or do I need to speak even simpler?” Clarisse barely could mask the irritation in her voice, and while Annabeth should be angry at the way she’s talking to her, her brain is reeling. 

“But- How?” 

“Gods, you think we know? All we know is that a day ago, Percy went missing. We thought, well, Grover thought, maybe he was with you. Guess we were wrong.”

Annabeth couldn’t breath. She’s choking, she realizes, and there’s a rock in her chest she can’t seem to rip out. When she looks down at her hands, they’re shaking-- trembling little balled-up fists atop a sketch book. She smudged her sketch, but she can barely focus on that right now. Her brain, which was filled with designs and equations mere minutes ago, has a single thought running through it: Percy. 

Percy and the way he would scrunch up his face whenever Annabeth explained something. Percy and the way he looked awestruck and confused after she kissed him. Percy and the pain in his eyes when she told him she would never trust him again. Percy and his hugs and how his arms felt like home to her, even though she never told him that. Percy and the fact that even though she ran away from him, she can’t stop thinking about him no matter how hard she tries. 

“Where else are you gonna look for him?” She finally manages to speak, her voice coming out weaker than she wanted it to be. She doesn’t have it in her to care about her pride right now. 

Grover shrugs, his eyes still focused on the thing in his hands, “We don’t know. I got a few satyrs looking all over the states, but I just…I don’t know, Annabeth.”

His voice cracks near the end of it, and Annabeth swallows back the way tears are burning in the back of her eyes. She takes in a breath, “Are there any hints? Anything to find him?”

“Nothing.” Clarisse says the word so coldly, toying with a pocket knife in her hands. 

There’s silence, then Annabeth watches Clarisse sit up, “I know you ran away, and I won’t dig into that right now, but the camp needs you, Annabeth. You—you’re our best bet at finding him and right now. We need him.”

We need you, we want you back, her words conveyed. Annabeth’s heart constricted in her chest at the thought of returning to the place, to the people, that might not see her as the hero, the counselor, the leader, the sister that she was, but rather a treacherous traitor. Someone who chose Luke over the camp. She didn’t do what she did for Luke, though. Maybe partially. But she did what she did for the sake of the people she loved, for the sake of her friends, of her siblings, of Percy. If going with Luke was her only chance of changing him and stopping the war that would destroy lives, wouldn’t she have been a fool to pass that up?

“The camp doesn’t need me, I can guarantee that.” She doesn’t answer the fact that she could find Percy. That, she decides, is something for her. 

Grover settles down onto a chair beside Clarisse, “No, Annabeth, they do need you.”

He glances at Clarisse, then back to Annabeth, then focuses on Clarisse, “We need to tell her.”

“We don’t, actually.” Clarisse challenges, which leads to a stare down between the two of them. 

Annabeth desperately wants to cry, “Tell me what?”

“There was another prophecy,” Grover begins, ignoring the warning glare from Clarisse, “and we think maybe this is the start of it.”

Annabeth swallows. Not again. She barely wrapped her head around how Percy was the child of one prophecy, and now there’s the risk that he’s part of a second one. “What…” She breathes the word out, testing her voice. She’s afraid it’ll fail her, “What was the prophecy?”

She listens to Grover and Clarisse recite the prophecy, listens to them describe how Rachel Elizabeth Dare became the oracle, how the Gods have been silent for a while now. She can barely absorb what they say though, and bites back all her comments. When Annabeth’s caught up to speed with all that she’s missed out on, Clarisse stands, “Are you ready now?”

“For what?” She knows it’s a stupid question, but there’s a billion things Clarisse could mean. 

“Come back to camp, Chase.” 

“I—I can’t.” It’s a cowardly answer, she knows, but she can’t deal with that right now. They don’t argue either, though, but when Clarisse walks out, Grover stays behind for a minute.

“He—he never gave up on you, Annabeth.” He says the words in a whisper, so low Annabeth could have missed it if not for the silence in the empty cabin. He places the pendant he was playing with on the table, right in Annabeth’s line of vision. “That was for you.”

He takes a step back, “I missed you, Annabeth.”

She waits until the door closes behind him to cry, for her fingers to grab the small red piece Grover placed in front of her. It’s a small piece of coral, no bigger than the tip of her finger, but she hugs it to her chest like it’s a comfort pillow. She doesn’t mask her loud sobs, her practical screams that are coming out of her. She thinks then that maybe if she cries loud enough, Percy Jackson will be exorcised from her being, but she knows that’s mindless thinking. He’s engraved far too deep into her, and she messily packs up her belongings. 

This, she thinks, is the start of something she’s not prepared for. 

She returns to Camp that night. No one questions her disappearance, no one asks for details on the war. She doesn’t deserve this, she thinks, passing another camper who gives her a quick grin. She deserves their anger, the rage and the anger because she fought against them. It never comes, though. 

Instead, she joins into camp events reluctantly. She helps newer campers, cleans the Athena cabin with Malcolm, joins into dinner events with the rest of the campers. She settles in as Grover gives her updates on his search for Percy. It hurts, and she doesn’t think the hurt will ever go away. She packs a bag once again, but this time she doesn’t run. 

She searches for Percy instead, aimlessly. She cries, yells, loses herself in trying to find the boy who broke her and who she left broken. It starts with days that blend into weeks, and suddenly she finds herself three months later returning to Camp after three days of searching. 

She lets Grover weakly pep-talk her, lets Clarisse give her a barely-there smile. She allows herself to accept the pity-filled smiles and stares, her entire body drained. She lets Piper, who she’d let herself get close to after pushing away all the old campers, hug her, and she loses herself in the embrace.

“It’s my fault.” Annabeth mutters, and Piper locks eyes with her. “How is any of this your fault?”

Piper is blissfully unaware of Annabeth’s past. She’s a friend, and Annabeth figures if she finds out her past she will be left once again, so she just shakes her head. She can’t open up that can of worms right now—not while she already feels like she’s falling apart. She can’t explain that maybe if Annabeth stayed she could have stopped him from being taken away.

So, instead, while most campers are busy with daily activities, she makes her way to cabin 3. There’s a layer of dust over everything, and Annabeth realizes the cabin is completely untouched. She stares emptily at his bunk, unmade and messy blue sheets and a hoodie half off the bed. There’s a backpack on the floor, open wide with sweatpants half spilling out of them. She grabs the hoodie without thinking, tears stinging her eyes.

Another wave of pain that hits her, stronger than anything else she’s felt before. She hugs the fabric to her chest, burying her face into it. She swallows, inhales, takes it in. It still smells like him, she thinks, holding it so tight her knuckles turn white. She’s shaking, a flurry of emotions that she’s bottled for far too long. 

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until the fabric underneath her fingers feels damp. She knows it’s almost dinner and maybe people will be looking for her, but she makes no move to leave the cabin. Instead, she tugs the article of clothing on, ignoring the wet spot on the hem from her tears, and curls into the unmade bed.

It’s missing him that hurts the most. When she had ran away, there was always the thought that he was there for when she would inevitably come back. Now, though, he’s not here to fall back on, and that thought feels like a dagger through her gut. Her own dagger—she brought this upon herself, didn’t she? She wraps her arms around herself, pulling one of the spare pillows to her chest, and closes her eyes. With her eyes closed and the smell of him around her, maybe she can pretend he’s still there. She can act like she didn’t leave him, act like the sight of the tears in his eyes as she punched his chest doesn’t still haunt her nightmares. Maybe, just maybe, she can pretend Percy Jackson doesn’t hate her for her betrayal. 

When they’re finally ready for the New Rome trip, she’s shaking and his hoodie is hidden in her small room on the Argo II. If anyone notices her nerves, no one says a word. After all, none of them know. They’re unaware of how Annabeth can barely breathe, how the thought of Percy makes her heart lurch in her chest, how she broke someone with the curse of Achilles, who’s supposed to be invincible, impenetrable, who can’t even be damaged in the first place. She was the one thing that could hurt him. And she did. She swallows it all back, even as Leo announces they’re minutes away from New Rome.

iii.

When Percy sees the ship, Argo II, he faintly remembers it being called, it’s like his body freezes. 

Six months ago, Annabeth Chase told him she’d never trust him ever again. Six months ago, he attempted to make his peace with her leaving him. But now, as he watches a ship carrying her lower itself into New Rome, he feels the wound in his chest reopen—a freshly stitched injury ripping open. He’s barely aware he’s trembling, barely hearing the way Hazel and Reyna are discussing the ship heatedly with Octavian.

When he first arrived in New Rome, Reyna and Hazel questioned him to no extent. He could barely give answers, instead choosing to square his shoulders and go cold. After all, it’s not like his memories would do them any good. How would the memory of Annabeth’s tear-filled eyes and absolute disgust at the fact that he killed Luke do anything to help them? 

He swallows the memory back, time and time again, and forces himself to stand taller. Despite the fact that it was his one memory of her, he misses her. He knows she hates him, well known knowledge from that night after the war, with Luke’s lifeless body inches away from them. He knows she betrayed him, but he can’t bring himself to hate her. He should, yet he can’t. Something about her, and her smile that lives in his memory and the fact that she smells like lemons and the way she called him ‘Seaweed Brain’ keeps his heart pounding in his chest the same way it did when she kissed him on Mount St. Helens.

He watches, alongside Reyna, Hazel, and Frank, as three figures jump down from the ship. He’s staring, the same way the Romans around him are, but while they’re fixated on the others, his gaze is frozen on the curly blonde hair with a single gray streak. Almost instinctively, his fingers touch front strands of his hair, the same shade of gray as her own. Months ago, he had dyed it black to rid himself of the memory of her. When the gray grew back in, he kept it—this time as a way to ensure he had a physical memory of her. That she wasn’t just in his head. 

When she turns, their eyes lock. There’s a chasm between the two of them, and the slight roar of the crowd falls silent as Percy takes the slightest step forward. He doesn’t fail to notice she matches the step, but still leaves the gap between the two of them. 

“Annabeth.” He breathes her name out, barely audible among the masses around them, but it’s loud enough for something to shift in her eyes. 

He feels so much he could combust: As if if he takes any steps forwards it could lead to a cataclysmic explosion inside of him. He knew when he crossed the Tiber he would lose the curse of Achilles, and he knew that it would make him feel pain again, but he hadn’t expected something like this—the gut-wrenching, burning feeling in his chest. Maybe he had always been able to feel this kind of pain. He’s just never felt it before.

He sees her weakly wave, sees her turn her face and wipe at her cheek. It hurts, he thinks, to think that underneath the chatter, if you listen closely, you can hear the sounds of heartbreak.

He wants to talk to her. There’s a gap between the two of them, and even as Percy listens to Jason, who he’d just barely met, explain their experiences and compare them to Percy’s, he’s only half-there. The other half of him is fixated on the girl sitting at the head of the dining table, her gaze looking at the Camp Half-Blood feed wall. It’s stupid, he thinks, to miss someone whose two seats away from him, yet he does. 

An ache in his chest. He has to count his breathing. More than once does Hazel have to lightly touch his arm, double-checking if he’s listening. He nods, flashes a weak smile, says he is when he knows he’s not. Annabeth watches him, he knows. He tries to ignore it, but he knows that’s impossible. He hears them set course for Kentucky, or Kansas—he barely grasped it. 

When he’s allowed to leave the table, he all but jumps away. He needs to breathe, and with her as close as she is, he can’t. It’s choking him, he realizes, the unspoken feelings and unsaid words lingering in the air between them. If anyone else on the ship notices, no one says a word. How could they, after all, when Percy told Frank and Hazel the bare minimum about her and he’s certain that she’s said about the same to Jason, Piper, and Leo?

It’s too much, he realizes, with her here. On a ship together but not actually together, with tension so thick he wants to slash the air aimlessly with Riptide. He doesn’t, though, and instead he wanders the ship and

settles into a corner at the helm. He practices his breathing, calms his shaking hands, lets Piper ask if he’s okay. He lies, the words, ‘I’m okay’ and ‘It’s just that we’re in the air’ slipping out so casually that he almost believes them. Then he sees the flash of blonde and gray and he feels like he’s fighting a losing battle.

He forces himself up, claims he needs rest. He gives an empty smile and offers to be night watch, if needed. Hazel gives his arm a squeeze and it helps the rock in his chest lighten. He climbs into his bunk, makes himself fall asleep. At least he’s breathing.

He wakes up hours later and it’s dark out, but he gets up anyway. When it’s day, the ship feels too heavy, but now, with darkness and emptiness, he can wander. He can let his thoughts suffocate him, because at least now no one can see his tears. No one can see the fact that he’s collapsing. Most importantly, no one can see how his heart is breaking every time he sees gray eyes and her set jaw and the way her voice is once again calculating and calm, the same way it was when she met him for the first time at 12 years old. 

He ventures to the lower deck, following aimless walls and thinking maybe he’s gonna get lost tonight. He doesn’t care though, and instead follows the faint scent of hay. It reminds him of Camp, and for the first time in a while, he feels comfort. He walks towards it, and finds himself in an empty stables room, except he’s not alone.

Annabeth sits in the center, curled up on a small blanket. There’s a sketchbook and pencil in her hands, and even in the dimly lit room, he can see charcoal smudged on her hands. He figures he could maybe leave without her noticing, but the plan fails when he accidentally bangs his arm against the side wall.

He curses as Annabeth’s gaze snaps up, her hands freezing against the paper. She stares at him for a moment, and the silence is making it harder for him to think, then: “Percy.”

He’s heard her speak before, both when they were in New Rome and then at the dining table, when they discussed plans for their travel. He heard her recall a prophecy about Athena, one that he chose to selectively hear. But now, the way she whispered his name, that sent a rod straight through his chest.

“I can go, I just—I was exploring.” He says the words nervously, hating the way his voice shakes. She sits up, practically jumping when the words leave him, “No—Don’t.”

He wants to ask why, but he doesn’t. Instead, he grabs another blanket from the small pile and sets it down across from her, leaving enough distance that he thinks he can breathe, and sits down. He’s almost afraid to speak as he does so, even though mere hours ago he was desperate to talk to her.

“You came back to camp.” He finally says, not quite looking at her. His gaze is instead fixated on a corner of the blanket she’s sitting on, where there’s a loose, fraying strand of yarn that his fingers are itching to pull at. 

“Yeah, I did.” It’s an easy response, but Percy doesn’t want the conversation to stop that easily. “When?”

“When what?” 

“When did you come back? How did you come back?”

He finally looks at her, and she’s focused her attention on the sketch book in her hands. One hand is twisting the pencil in her fingers, the other is covering whatever it is she was working on before he walked in. For a second, his mind flashes back to when they were 13 years old and emailing each other daily and how whenever Annabeth drew something she was particularly proud of, she always made sure Percy saw it. 

The memory is gone before he gives himself time to dissect it. Annabeth, he suddenly realizes, is trembling. If this were months ago, maybe he would hug her. Now, though, all he can do is watch.

“Grover and Clarisse, they—they found me. I don’t know how, probably some satyr or tree nymph tipping them off. I wasn’t even that far in the first place, so I guess that helped. It was right when you went missing and I…” She trails off, taking in a breath, “I felt like I needed to help. I mean, the campers hate me and don’t trust me, but I wanted to be there.”

She tugs at a strand of yarn on the blanket, letting the pencil fall beside her. Her voice drops, “At least to make up for the war.”

“Annabeth.” He slides slightly closer to her, foregoing his plan of remaining cold. For once, proximity doesn’t make it harder for him to breath. Instead, it speeds up his heartbeat and he has to force himself to ignore it. 

“You never did anything wrong.” He says the words quietly, softly. She laughs, but it doesn’t quite sound cheerful and Percy’s known her long enough to know it’s ingenuine. 

“I watched campers die and did nothing to stop it. I—I convinced myself that joining Luke meant I could fix everything, but I still let the world burn and I stood by his side.” Her voice shakes, and when she finally looks up, Percy sees tears shining in her eyes, “I hurt everyone, Percy.”

He realizes then that there’s a hidden ‘I hurt you’ in there, and the words make a jolt run through him. He’s finding it hard to breath again, but he can’t walk away now. 

“It wasn't your fault.” He slides one more inch closer, and now he can almost brush his knee to hers. “You wanted to help.”

“I wanted to save him.” She says it was as much certainty as she can, despite the fact that she has tears rolling down her cheeks silently, “I just—I thought I could do both. Save Luke and Olympus.”

“Fatal flaw.” Percy whispers, and Annabeth gives him a barely-there smile, “You remembered.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t mention how he never forgot her, not even for a second. He hopes he gave her a smile, but knowing him it probably came out as a grimace. He lets out a breath, “No one could have done it all, but even when—Even when everyone gave up on Luke, you didn’t. That’s worth something.”

“He still died.”

“Yeah, well, I killed him. So, it’s my fault.” He speaks without thinking, and once the words are out there he mentally curses. He opens his mouth to speak, to attempt a defense to himself, but it falls flat once she speaks again. She’s closed herself up again, her expression once again guarded. He barely had seconds with her being open, and now he’s lost her. 

“You’re right, you did.” She pushes herself away, closing the sketchpad back up. “I think I needed that reminder.”

“Annabeth, wait–” He stands up, almost slipping on the blanket in an attempt to catch her before she walks out. She pauses, turning to lock eyes with him. Mere seconds ago she was crying, but now her expression was steely, cold, and nothing like he recognized. It was the face she reserved for enemies, he realizes, and that’s when he comes to the conclusion that for as much as he wishes he could fix everything, Annabeth Chase will forever view him as her opponent.

“I meant it.” She tightens her arms around herself, her expression hard. Maybe he imagines it, but he sees her falter for a second. It’s gone before he can think too much into it. “I will never trust you.”

“I know.” He repeats the response like it’s second nature, the wave of déjà vu hitting him as he watches her turn and walk out of the stables. In the darkness, in the absolute silence of the empty ship, he hears stitches he’d weakly sewn in his chest tear, the all to familiar wounds reopening after he’d worked so hard to seal them up again.

He wonders how many more times he will allow her to rip at the same injury. (He decides he’ll let her break him as many times as she wants, because she’s the only one that can, after all.)

iv. 

Annabeth is exhausted. Everything hurts, she thinks, as she hands Piper another canteen of nectar to feed to Percy and Jason. She can barely meet Percy’s eyes as he recalls the events that went down between Bacchus, focusing on everything else in the room except him. She can’t look at him—Something about the way he looks when he’s injured sends a jolt straight through her chest, making the already there pain increase tenfold.

She listens to them set plans for South Carolina and barely acknowledges the rest of the discussion. She’s swallowing back her fears, the fact that she’s having terrifying dreams and the idea that she knows that there’s a quest coming that she has to go alone. 

It’s what she deserves, she thinks, a quest that will most likely end terribly. After all, she’s hurt too many people to get away from this scratch-free. Maybe a sacrifice will make them forgive her. Or at least it would save her from having to look at the faces of those she betrayed again.

Once they split up, Annabeth offers to man the ship while Leo rests. It’s not like there’s much to do, but at least she can avoid Percy. She pulls out Daedelus’ laptop, settling into a corner and studying plans mindlessly. She knows she should focus on more things, maybe look into the Mark of Athena and the conversation she had with her mother, but she can’t bring herself to.

“Can we talk?” She barely hears the sound of Percy entering the room, her fingers freezing over keyboard buttons as she looks up to see him. He looks like hell, with his hair a mess, the swelling from where Blackjack hit him still showing, and his eyes slightly bloodshot. He’s gorgeous anyway, she thinks, ignoring the way her heart’s pounding in her chest, whether from anxiety or longing, she doesn’t know.

She nods, mostly because she’s afraid her voice will fail her, and watches him settle down beside her. There’s enough distance between them for one more person, enough distance that she knows he can’t hear her heartbeat. Maybe that’s better, though.

“I—I don’t know how to start this.” Percy sighs, his voice faltering for a moment. Annabeth doesn’t look at him, instead opting to focus on closing the laptop in her hands. She hopes he can’t tell she’s shaking, “Just say it, Percy.”

“I don’t know how to act around you.” He blurts, and the words force Annabeth to look at him. His hands are clasped together in his lap, knuckles white from strain. Looking at them, she realizes he’s trying to hide the same thing she is: the trembling fear. He presses on without waiting for a response. 

“We were best friends ‘Beth, and I know I—I fucked up, okay? I didn’t…I never wanted to hurt you, but he would have killed you, he would have won, okay? You…You still matter to me, and I don’t blame you for trying to save him. All I wanted was to protect Olympus, to protect you, and you don’t have to trust me again, because Gods know I don’t deserve it, but I need to be able to breathe around you.”

“I can’t breathe around you.” He says the last sentence in a whisper, just barely audible in the wind, and as Annabeth opens her mouth to speak he interrupts once again, “And if you want me to shut up and walk away right now I will, but I know you, probably more than anyone else on this ship, and you’re hiding something. You don’t have to tell me, but we’re all in this.”

She didn’t know what she expected when Percy asked them to talk, but it definitely wasn’t this. She looks away from his face, avoiding his eyes. She can’t look at him, especially not with his eyes boring into hers. 

Finally, she speaks. “Why aren’t you mad at me?”

“Huh?”

“Get mad at me, Percy!” Her voice rises an octave, throwing her hands dramatically into the air, “I—I betrayed you, I sold you and the Camp out to Luke, I ran away from you, I—I hurt everyone, and yet you’re not mad. Why aren’t you mad?”

When she peeks at Percy, vision slightly blurred with tears, he has a weak smile on his lips, one that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I don’t think I could ever be mad at you.”

“I don’t deserve that.” She whispers, her voice cracking, and she feels Percy inch toward her. There’s still a gap between them, but that small movement gives her more comfort than she’d expected. 

“You had good intentions. You don’t—You shouldn’t lock yourself away because of your bottled up guilt. This quest, this journey, it’s already hard enough. Don’t try to play lone hero right now to compensate for the past.”

Those words break something inside her, and suddenly she’s crying and pouring everything out to Percy. The sun’s setting in the sky, shining a golden light on the two of them that makes Percy look particularly beautiful. She can’t even tell when her heart stopped pounding from anxiety and started pounding from the gentle looks he’s giving her and the hand that he’s rested on her knee, but she welcomes the faster pace. 

By the end of it, she feels lighter, freer. Percy stares at her with slightly furrowed brows and pursed lips, and she knows his brain is in overdrive right now. 

“So, Mark of Athena?” He finally asks, and Annabeth nods, “I have to follow it, but I just—I don’t know how.”

“I can help, I could—” She cuts him off before he even finishes, “I have to do this alone. Wisdom’s daughter walks alone, remember?”

“We’ve never been ones to properly follow rules, though.” He argues, and if circumstances were different, she would have given him a playful shove, laughed. Maybe she would have kissed him. Instead, she manages a weak smile, “I don’t think we can risk it this time.”

He doesn’t argue, instead nodding. It’s silent for a second, but Percy was never one for comfortable

silences. 

“We’ll be okay, though, right?”

She doesn’t believe it when she nods.

Annabeth didn’t hate the goddess of love. Out of the rest of the Olympians, she’d say Aphrodite ranked pretty high in her personal ranking. Especially now that Aphrodite gave her at least some answers to the hundreds of questions whirring in her head, she was grateful for her.

What she wasn’t grateful for, however, for the way Aphrodite’s eyes shone once they moved from the seriousness of that conversation and instead onto the idea of romance. She hates the Aphrodite locks eyes with her, looking at her as if she knows her, understands her. 

“—I once promised to make her love life interesting. And didn’t I?” The goddess throws the words out as if they’re the most casual thing in the world, and Annabeth chooses to ignore the way Hazel and Piper are staring at her. 

She forces back the insults, instead gripping the handle of her teacup so tightly her knuckles turn white and she’s certain the handle might snap off. 

“Interesting,” She says, keeping her voice level, “is a mild way of putting it.”

She doesn’t want to talk about love right now, especially not with the goddess herself. Aphrodite, however, doesn’t let the conversation go that easily. There’s a glint in her eyes, one that Annabeth wishes would go away.

“A daughter of Athena admitting to love, how interesting.” She leans forward, and Annabeth feels something in her chest shift. “I’m not admitting to anything.”

“Percy Jackson said something similar when I met him years ago,” She says the worst almost wistfully, a sigh leaving her lips, “Back when you were kidnapped. Claimed he didn’t know he liked you. Denial, of course.”

“You know nothing.” Annabeth’s words come out like venom and she knows it’s pointless to argue with the goddess, but something in her keeps her fighting back. “Percy—It’s not like that.”

“That’s what you believe.” She takes a sip of her tea, and before Annabeth can respond, Piper switches the topic. Annabeth hadn’t touched any of the cookies or tea, but her stomach churns regardless and she wants to throw up. 

She couldn’t let herself love Percy. More importantly, she couldn’t let Percy love her. She knows him, knows the way he loved—fearlessly, relentlessly, and willing to risk the entire word to protect them. She doesn’t deserve that care, deserve that kind of love from someone who she betrayed. Percy, she knows, has already forgiven her for what she’s done. 

If she lets herself get any closer, she’ll fall again. She knows she’s already in deep, with the way her heart pounds when he gives her a smile or the way her breath hitches when he’s close enough for them to touch, but she can at least keep some distance. Distance has to keep her from falling, will keep her from having the urge to kiss him. 

She knows Percy, and she knows that the closer she gets, the more he will ignore her betrayal. He already has, she thinks, but she doesn’t deserve that. He’s too good to her, too quick to forgive and forget and Annabeth doesn’t deserve to get off that easily, and she knows in due time he will realize that as well.

She zones back into the conversation just as the Romans arrive, and the three demigods barely have time to run back to the dock before being approached by Octavian. “Surrender to Rome!”

She curses under her breath, watching him raise his sword. She could easily take him in combat, she knows that much, but he has two more Romans with him and she doesn’t like their chances against them. 

“Throw down your weapons.” He demands, and Annabeth’s eyes wander to the ship. Coach Hedge is

nowhere to be found, Jason and the group with him are still on their task, and Percy was underwater, oblivious to whatever was going on on land. 

Then, a thought occurs to her. It’s a longshot, truly, but she silently prays that Percy knows her better than she thinks he does. She watches Octavian’s two soldiers raise their swords, and just as they do, Annabeth carefully draws her dagger. Rather than dropping it, she tosses it into the water beside them. “Oops.”

Octavian lets out a whine, complaining about how the dagger was meant to be a spoil of war, but before he can further his threats, the harbor explodes. The Romans are engulfed in a wall of seawater, and once it subsides, they’re in the water and struggling to stay afloat.

Percy’s standing on the dock, Annabeth’s dagger dangling in one hand. He’s a few steps away from her, completely dry despite just being in the water, and she’s never been more grateful for him. 

“You dropped this.” His tone comes out so casual as he holds the weapon out to her, and without thinking, Annabeth tosses her arms around him in a hug. 

“Thank you.” The words come out muffled against his chest, and she doesn’t feel Percy reciprocate the touch. She doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because Hazel and Piper are already calling for them to jump onto the ship. 

She releases him and the two of them make a run for it, Percy reaching out a hand to help her onto the ship before rushing to the helm. She yells out instructions for the three of them before getting to work on pulling the ship out of the dock, far from the Romans around them. 

Once they’re far from Charleston Harbour, though, and Annabeth is stuck staring emptily at a disk of bronze that supposedly holds whatever she needs to find the Mark of Athena, she lets her mind dwell back on the way she hugged Percy. Even in the darkness of her small room, her face feels hot and she’s burning. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, the areas that had been pressed against him heating up as if he was still right there against her. Hugging Percy always felt familiar, the way he smelled and the way he fit against her felt like home before, but now? Now it’s like they’re twelve years old again and still trying to get through the awkward friendship phase. She’s taken back to the moment on Circe’s island when she flung his arms around him as if it were her natural instinct. I’m glad you’re not a guinea pig, she had said. I’m glad I didn’t lose you, too, she had meant.

It’s a pang in her chest as she lays back against her mattress, hugging a spare pillow to her chest. The thought that Percy’s touch is now alien to her hurts, far more than she’d like to admit. The thought that when she hugged him he froze up, rather than returning it and holding her equally as close, is another dagger through her chest. It’s good, though, she thinks, because at least it ensures that she can keep him away.

Maybe if she keeps him away she can force the feelings down. Maybe it will make him realize she’s truly a monster, and he’ll let her go for good. Maybe that thought will hurt less when she’s swallowed the way he keeps the butterflies in her chest. And maybe, she thinks wistfully, in the privacy of her own mind, keeping him away will make him want her again—Maybe she’ll get him to look at her the same way he had after she kissed him on Mount St. Helens.

But that, she thinks, turning on her side to stare at the wall, are thoughts she keeps repressed. The ones that are for her, and her alone. 

v.

The last thing Percy wants after being separated from Annabeth for so long is to see her go on a quest alone. To make matters worse, it’s a quest no one has survived before. He can’t tell her anything, though, because he knows Annabeth Chase and the set of her jaw when she’s made up her mind. He can’t tell her how he’s terrified of losing her again, how he doesn’t want to let her go without at least airing out their unsaid feelings, how he’s half tempted to break the rules of the quest and follow her, just like how he followed the Hunters back when they went to save Artemis and Annabeth.

He says none of that, though, and instead attempts to keep a gap between them as they travel to Rome. It’s futile, he knows, trying to keep it distanced. How can he, when the way she hugged him has consumed his mind endlessly since she did it? He was so easily enraptured by her, it was almost pathetic—but how could it be any different? He was Percy and she was Annabeth. He hates the fact that he stood frozen, that he hadn’t reacted quick enough to her—to the way she still smells like lemons, the way her hair tickled his skin, the way her embracing him felt like a wave of comfort he’s only ever felt with his mom. 

He can’t tell her, so instead he settles for sitting two seats away from her during meals, choosing opposite shifts when it comes to taking watch. He was avoiding her, chickening out because he doesn’t want to face the way she makes him feel and the fact that she can’t stand him. It’s a losing battle, he realizes, trying to fight the fact that he’s still in love with her even after all that happened between them. 

He shouldn’t love her, he knows that much. He knows she’s closed off that side of herself, that she could never want him the way that he wanted her. She can’t even trust him, she never will, so how could he expect her to love him? So instead, he keeps that stupid gap between them, one that feels like it only grows with every passing day they’re on the ship. 

It’s suffocating, it keeps him wishing he could run. Maybe running would hurt less than the feeling in his chest—The painful stabbing that reminds him he will forever want the one person he cannot have, the reminder that Annabeth Chase will never want him for as much as he tries.

He watches her and Jason explain their plans in New Rome, watches her nervously twist the bronze disk that supposedly holds the map to the Athena Parthenos in her hands. She’s avoiding meeting everyone’s eyes, but he knows what’s spinning through her head: The thought that she has to do this, regardless of how scared she may be, of how scared Percy may be.

“I have to succeed.” She says the words with as much confidence as someone who’s about to go on a deadly quest can have, “The risk is worth it.”

It’s another lighter argument about how it shouldn’t be something she does alone, but Piper kills the conversation before it can turn into a fight. He’s certain she’s laced charmspeak into her words, but as long as it keeps them quiet he won’t complain.

“Yeah. I learned a long time ago: Never bet against Annabeth.” He says the words quietly, not loud enough for them to sound like a huge declaration and mostly to back up Piper’s support for Annabeth. He doesn’t ignore the way her eyes soften for a second, the way she stares at him once the words are out there even as Leo begins giving out instructions for ship repairs. 

Once the group has parted ways, Percy begins his task, which was mostly repairs on the deck. He doesn’t mind the repairs, instead grateful for the momentary distraction he gets from the thoughts invading his head. 

“Hey.” It’s so low Percy thinks he imagined it, but then he turns from repairing a broken railing and Annabeth’s standing there, a broom dangling between her hands. 

“Hi.” He straightens, “What’s up?”

“I just—I just wanted to say thank you. You know, for vouching for me and this quest. I know that, um, no one quite has that much faith in me but when you said it, I think it changed this a bit.” She rambles, tossing the broom back and forth between her hands. 

“I didn’t say it just to give them faith.” He stands up properly, but leaves a gap between them—leaves that stupid chasm he can’t seem to get rid of regardless of how hard he tries. “I said it because it’s true.”

Something shifts in her eyes, and she shakes her head, “Don’t say that.”

“Why can’t I? You—You’re one of the best demigods I know. You’re the strongest demigod I know.” He matches her quietness, and when she blinks, he sees a tear in the corner of her eye. 

“I don’t deserve this, Percy.” Her voice comes out a low whisper, and she’s shaking her head slightly, “You know I don’t deserve this.”

“I know that you’re Annabeth Chase,” He argues, green eyes boring into gray, “And that once upon a time, you were my best friend. And I know that somehow, I’ll make you my best friend again, because I don’t see a world where you’re not by my side.”

He’s bullshitting, pouring out whatever crosses his mind because he’s tired of tiptoeing around each other. She shakes her head once again, “You’ve always been too good, especially to me.”

He gives her a sad smile, tilting his head to the side, “Fatal flaw.”

“It shouldn’t apply to me.” 

“I don’t care if that’s what you think.” 

“Gods, Percy!” She drops the broom, the handle landing onto the ground in a clatter, “Please be angry at me!”

“I don’t know why you want that so badly!” He laughs, exasperated and tired, so, so tired. She lets out a noise of frustration, one Percy remembers hearing back when they’d be on quests together and a particular problem angered her. 

“I need you to get angry, I need you to hate me. I deserve you hating me. I deserve you yelling and you hating my every being because of what I did to you, don’t you get it?” 

“You’re impossible.” He states, simply, “You’re—You’re infuriating, Annabeth.”

“And so are you.” She bites back, eyes narrowed and staring into his. They’re shining and dark in a familiar way—He realizes then that she has the same expression she has when she’s in battle, and that’s when it hits him that this is a battle to her. She’s still beautiful, he thinks. 

“I won’t—I can’t hate you, Annabeth.” He laughs once again, but it’s cold and ingenuine and it makes something in her face shift, “I’ve tried, okay? I—I fucking tried to despise you, to forget you and move on from everything, but I can’t. Nothing in me, not a single part of me, can hate Annabeth Chase. I know you made mistakes, we both did, and I just…I can’t hold them against you. Same way you can’t hold what I did to Luke against me.”

She’s fallen silent, staring at him with an unreadable and closed off expression. Percy hates the fact that despite how long he’s known her, he still can’t fully read her. He takes in a breath, “You can hate me, Annabeth. I know I hurt you. But just know that I can’t—I can’t return that.”

“I don’t hate you.” She says softly, still giving him the unidentifiable expression, and Percy gives her a barely there smile, “You should.”

“You know I can’t.” 

“Then you should know I can’t hate you, either.” He counters, and the two of them stare at each other for a moment. For a second, Percy thinks maybe the chasm between them has grown smaller. It’s a breakthrough, he believes, between the two of them. 

“I still think you should hate me.” 

"And I think Leo should have been more careful with the Greek fires, but I guess our opinions don’t matter much, do they?”

Despite her irritation, she smiles slightly. She picks up the broom, and uses the tip of the handle to reach between the gap between them and poke Percy in his chest. “Go back to fixing the railing.”

“You interrupted me! That’s exactly what I was doing!” He defends, but there’s a small smile tugging on his lips that only makes hers widen. It’s bright, seeing her smile. She rolls her eyes, “Just do your chores.”

“Says the girl who dropped her broom and left her post to talk to me.” He can’t help but dig, and there’s a surge of satisfaction that runs through him as she shakes her head, the smile not leaving her lips as she turns, “Bye, Percy.”

As she returns back to where Leo had assigned her to clean, all he can think is how beautiful her smile is, and how badly he’s missed seeing it on her lips. 

He doesn’t want her to go. They’d fought so much just to get to Rome and now all he wants is to find a way to keep her safe. 

When they’d first landed in Rome, the plans were divided amongst the seven of them. Annabeth, of course, had to start her quest. Tiber River, she’d said, would be the start. Percy had been so consumed by his anxiety he almost didn’t hear Annabeth’s request for him to accompany her that far, but he’d instantly agreed the second it left her lips. 

At least a few minutes longer, he thought, at least he’ll have her for that much longer. And under any other circumstances, Percy would have loved travelling Rome with Annabeth. The way she pointed out architecture and little facts lightened the mood, and for a moment Percy let himself forget that she was about to go on a quest all alone.

When they finally settle down, they sit at a small cafe on the bank of the Tiber, and Annabeth watches in amusement as the waiter gives Percy an odd look when he orders pizza and a Coke. 

“You know pizza is only on the menu for tourists, right?” She asks, once the waiter is out of earshot, and Percy shrugs, “It’s the best Italian food.”

“Mhm, don’t let the locals hear that.” She teases, but the smile falls off her lips as quickly as it was there. The two of them fall silent, and Percy can’t help but stare at her. The noon sun is hitting her perfectly, and she’s staring off to the side so he can fully admire her. He loves the way the sun brings out the blonde of her hair, almost as if they’re shining strings of gold, and her eyes are practically glowing in the light.

He has half a mind to tell her about his dreams with Gaea, to rant to her about the mess in his mind, but decides against it. She has too much on her plate right now to worry about his dreams or any other parts of the quest, so he also swallows back the fact that he can’t stop thinking about how useless he feels.

“I’m gonna be okay, Percy.” She says the words quietly, almost as if Percy voiced his thoughts out loud. He tilts his head to the side, “How did you know what I was thinking?”

She gives him the smallest smile, not quite meeting her eyes, “I know you.”

Then why are you still willing to stay close to me? He bites the thought back just as the waiter returns with their food, and Percy opts to play with his straw than speak. 

“You can’t shoulder this quest alone, you know that, right?” She asks, picking up her sandwich. He doesn’t have much of an appetite right now, but he still takes a bite of his pizza. It’s mostly to stall his answers, but it tastes like cardboard with marinara sauce and he regrets it.

“Percy,” She reaches across the table and gives his arm a butterfly of a touch, “This isn’t like the old prophecy. This isn't just you, okay? That’s why there’s seven of us, that’s why I have to do this alone.” 

“I don’t want you to go alone.” He admits in a low voice, not quite meeting her eyes. “I just—We just managed to find a middle ground, and I don’t want to lose that, lose you, again.” 

He finally looks at her eyes, and he can see a flurry of emotions in them. She swallows, “You have to trust me. You have to believe I’ll come back.”

“I do.” He picks at his pizza slice, “Trust you, I mean. I believe in you, too, but there are just so many questions and I don’t—”

He doesn’t get to finish that question, because two gods disguised as American actors pull up on a Vespa and suddenly Annabeth is a mix of awe and nerves. Percy desperately wants more time, wants some sort of diversion to keep Annabeth by him a little longer, but the god speaks before Percy can do anything rational.

“You have to hurry.” He states, and Annabeth and he stand. “But—”

“Percy, it’s all right.” She cuts him off, moving to stand beside him, “I have to do this.”

He wants to argue, wants to pull her into him and not let her go. When their eyes lock, however, he realizes that he’s not the only person thinking that way. For as much confidence as Annabeth may be mustering, when he looks into her eyes, he sees it: she’s scared. She’s terrified, yet she doesn’t want to let it show. She’s holding it all back, but he’s not sure whether she’s doing it for herself or for him. Worse than that, the look in her eyes tells Percy that if he argues further, he’s certain she’ll listen to him and ditch the quest. That, he thinks, seems like a great idea, but he knows it’s wishful thinking. 

If he doesn’t let Annabeth go on this quest, she’ll spend her whole life dealing with the ‘what if’ of it all, thinking about what could have been if she succeeded on the quest. More importantly, if anything were to go wrong against Gaea, Percy knows she’ll spend her life beating herself up over it, telling herself that maybe she could have prevented it if she actually went.

So, instead, Percy plasters a fake smile on his lips and turns to her. “Good luck—get back alive.”

When she smiles, she’s got a far away look in her eyes, almost as if she’s already on the quest. She looks like she’s about to hop on the Vespa, but seconds after she turns, she spins back around and her arms are around Percy. This time, however, he doesn’t hesitate the same way he did at the harbour.

His arms snake around her waist and tug her close, taking in the smell of lemons and how much smaller she is compared to him, head bending so it can bury in her shoulder. He doesn’t want to let her go, he thinks, as he tugs her just a bit closer, arms tightening. 

They part slightly, just enough to meet each others’ eyes, and he can feel her breath fan his skin as her gray eyes bore into his. Up close, he sees all of her: the freckles that litter her cheeks, the small scars from sword fighting practices when her helmet would fall off, the way her gray streak stands out so strongly against the rest of the blonde in her hair. Up close, she’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

For a second, he lets his eyes wander to her lips. The same lips he kissed years ago, back when he thought he was about to die on Mount St. Helens. It was a spur of the moment kiss: Chaste, messy, and quick enough that he had never been able to fully process it. Now, however, he lets his mind dwell on it. He lets himself think about how if he hadn’t been in impending doom, he would have tugged her closer and kissed her time and time again. He would have never let her go, regardless of how much she would have fought. 

She seems to have the same thought, because he sees her eyes flicker to his lips as well. It’s getting harder to breathe, he realizes, with the way they’re so close to each other and the complete intimacy of the situation. He wants to kiss her, he knows this much, more than he wants to properly breathe.

It’s funny, he thinks, to yearn for someone who’s barely centimeters away from you. Without realizing, he leans forward. He feels her press her forehead to his, her breathing ragged against his skin and her skin hot, almost as if she’s just run a marathon or kissed him. Either way, it sends his heart into overdrive. It’s too much to want someone this close yet being unable to breathe because all he wants to do is take her in. 

Their lips brush, and it’s a split second of skin against each other before the god interrupts them once again, reminding them that they’re on a schedule. Pulling away from her, that he decides is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He watches her climb onto the scooter, watches her drive away with the gods. 

It hurts to feel a part of your heart being ripped away and taken away from you. He realizes right then and there that this is the hardest thing he’s had to—watching someone he loves beyond words walk away from his grasp into what could be the end. He would have rather fought a hundred different monsters, rather rebattled Ares in a bare fisted battle, than watch Annabeth drive away. Yet he does, and the pain never subsides. He doesn’t think it will, not until she’s in his arms again and he can exhale again. 

vi.

Annabeth wants to go home. It’s not even like she has a home right now per say, but she’d decided long ago that home wasn’t a place—it was a person. And her person, she’d concluded on many years ago, came in the form of dark hair and green eyes and a stupid, stupid smile that gave her butterflies even when she didn’t want to feel them. 

And she treks through an abandoned, pitch-black tunnel, she wishes more than anything that she was home. She should have kissed him, she thinks, and she hates the fact that she let herself get pulled away from him without a proper one. She knows full well that she doesn’t deserve how well Percy treats her, doesn’t deserve how willing he is to put the past aside and forgive her, but she still craves the way he takes care of her and the looks he gives her when the two of them are alone.

A part of her knew that for as much as she pushed the thoughts aside, for as much as she suppressed the feelings, they wouldn’t go away. Part of the reason she ran away was because of the way Percy made her feel, and now, while she’s facing her impending doom after almost kissing him, she knows that feeling never go away. No matter how much she ignored it, she was in love with Percy Jackson.

Percy, and the way he was so quick to accept her anger after the Titan’s war. Percy, and the way he smiles and it lights up an entire room. Percy, and the fact that he was ready to risk himself and go on this quest with her. Percy, and the way he forgave her after the war despite what she did to him. Percy, and the way he smells like an ocean breeze and the way his arms make her feel safer than any other place in the world. Percy, and the way he looked at her before he almost kissed her hours ago. 

Back when they first kissed on Mount St. Helens, Annabeth was a flurried rush of emotions and fear. She did what she thinks any other fifteen year old with a massive crush who would about to die would do and kissed him—rushed, barely more than a peck, and highly inexperienced. It was her first kiss after all, and despite how messy it was, she wouldn’t ever  exchange the memory for anything else in the world. 

After they kissed, when she donned the Yankees cap and disappeared, she’d looked at Percy’s face. The two of them didn’t have much time, honestly, but he stared at the spot where she had been crouched for minutes, a dopey expression on his face and his entire body frozen, despite what was going on around him. When she turned around and ran, she’d made it a goal of hers to make sure she’d see that face again. Then she betrayed him, and bottled the hurt that came with the thought of that chapter closing.

But now, months later and with the prospect of the chapter reopening, all she wants is to see that expression again: The softness in his eyes, the way his pupils widened, the blush on his cheeks. She always knew Percy was beautiful, but Percy after that kiss was ethereal. When she, Piper, and Hazel first had a moment to talk, Hazel admitted she thought Percy looked like a Roman god—dark hair, broad shoulders, bright, bright green eyes. She had agreed, almost reluctantly, that she knew Hazel was right. What she didn’t admit, however, was that for as stunning as he was, no sight of him would ever compare to the way he would look at her with expressions she never could connect. 

Silena had told her once that when a boy likes you, they’ll look at you differently. She’d explained how she’ll know a boy likes her, because in the usual instances where others would zone out or get distracted, they’d soften. How they’d stare at you without you noticing, or make jabs at you just to see how you’d laugh. She’d brushed off all of it, fully believing that she’d never actually have the time for romance, or to find someone who liked her.

That changed when she met Percy. That changed when she started to notice little things, like how he’d say certain things just to get her to laugh, how he’d sometimes stare at her and think she wasn’t noticing, but she always was, how when she’d go on architecture or factual tangents everyone’s attention would go somewhere else, except for him. How whenever anyone else was bored of her, he was always right there beside her to listen. She’d finally understood what Silena was talking about. Granted, she didn’t know if Percy actually liked her, but the sentiment was all the same. 

And then she kissed him, and she felt him kiss back, and suddenly any thoughts she had about whether he didn’t like her left her brain because his lips were soft and gentle and despite the fact that she knew he was as inexperienced as she was she could kiss him forever and never complain. Then she foolishly betrayed him and came to accept the idea of never kissing him again, but then he had to stupidly forgive her and she stupidly had to go on this quest with him and now she can’t stop thinking about his lips and she realizes she misses Percy Jackson more than anything in the world. 

She almost wants to laugh, despite the fear bubbling in her chest as she faces Arachne, at the fact that even when she knows she’s minutes away from possible death, Percy is on her mind. Had he ever left it? Her foot aches, her chest hurts, and all she wants is to cry, but at least she isn’t completely about to die.

Granted, she almost got crushed by a car, but none of that matters anymore. The second she hears Percy’s voice, it all disappears. She could care less about the pain in her leg as she feels him around her, holding her to his chest. 

The minute she’s resting against him, the tears come. She’s not even quite sure why she’s crying; She knows there’s a multitude of probable reasons: Her injury, the absolute fear still looming in her chest, the thought that she could have died moments ago, the fact that she’s with him again. His arms tighten, and she can feel him speak against her hair. “It’s okay. We’re together.”

The words only make her cry harder, because even after months of not speaking and strain between each other, he still knows exactly what to say to make her feel safe. She always knew Percy was something special to Camp Half-Blood—he was their hero, showing up every summer and saving the day and giving them hope. What she’d never expected, though, was for that same feeling they had for him to engrave so deep into her. For every summer she saw him, every quest he came back from alive and well, it felt like he was a security blanket wrapping around her; a reminder that they were okay, he was still here, they still had each other. And now, even with a throbbing ankle, missing laptop and dagger, and tears rolling down her cheek, she feels at home. 

He never lets her hand go, not as they recall their quests and secure the statue onto Argo II, and it helps. It gets her through, and as they finally move to reboard the ship, she realizes she was never truly in the clear.

She feels a tug at her ankle, and then she’s falling—forced out of Percy’s grip and instead pulled towards the massive dark pit behind them. She’s faintly aware of the hold he has on her wrist, the way he collapsed after her, the way Piper and Hazel are yelling to cut her ankle. All she can feel is searing pain running through her and the fact that she’s falling. 

Once she recovers, she’s dangling into the chasm, held up by Percy’s hand on her wrist. She’s half in the pit, and she knows that if he lets her go, she’s done for. She can see the way his grip on the cliff ledge is turning his knuckles white with strain, but she knows it’s futile. 

“Percy, let me go.” She pleads, her voice raspy and low from both the way she’s been crying and the hopelessness of her situation. 

“Never.” He swallows, and the two of them lock eyes. His entire face is pale, all his strength focused on holding the two of them up, “Do you trust me?”

“What?” She’s seeing red, the pain in her ankle unbearable to the point where she’s half blacked-out. He tugs her a bit tighter, jolting her attention back onto him, “Do you trust me?”

I will never, ever trust you again, Percy Jackson. The words run through her mind for a second, but as soon as they cross her brain, she blinks them back—They were a lie, they’ve always been a lie. She looks at him, focusing her attention on the fierceness and determination shining in his eyes, “Yes.”

A ghost of a smile appears on his lips for a fleeting second, then he’s calling for Nico—Asking him to lead them to the doors, telling him that they’ll meet on the other side. Then he’s looking at Annabeth again, “I’m not losing you, never again—We’re staying together.”

He’s littered with scratches, hair unkept and messy, and there’s dry blood on his skin, but he’s beautiful. He’s always beautiful, she thinks. She knows she doesn’t deserve this, that he’s risking death over separating from her, but she can’t bring herself to fight it. Instead, she nods once, “As long as we’re together.”

She’s only half-aware of the way Percy lets go of the ledge, of the way the two of them fall into the pitch black, never-ending darkness. 

vii.

It hurts. 

He wasn’t sure how long he and Annabeth were falling, but it felt like it wouldn't ever end. All he knows is somewhere between their falling, they wrapped themselves around each other and Percy somehow controlled a river to cushion their fall.

When they’re in the water, however, it’s almost as if the pain he’d had in his chest finally caught up to him physically. He feels his head go fuzzy, his entire body strains, and he’s drowning. The thought almost makes him laugh—a son of the sea god dying by drowning in Tartarus. Then he hears Annabeth in his ears, “It’s the Cocytus—the River of Lamentation. It’s made of pure misery. You have to fight it.”

“Misery.” He muses, almost letting her go, but her arms tighten, “Percy—Fight it!”

He feels her kick against him, and then her hands are cupping his jaw. “Percy, Percy—Remember our first quest?”

“First quest?” His voice sounds muddled, so unlike him and tired, but Annabeth nods anyway, “Yeah, when we were stuck in that truck with those zoo animals, remember? You asked me—What did you ask me?”

Even with his brain as muddy as it is, he manages a weak smile. He doesn’t need to think twice about his answer, “I asked… I asked if you would take your mom’s side. Against me.”

“Yeah, you did.” She responds, and he feels something in him kick in, and suddenly he’s helping Annabeth to the shore. “What did I answer?”

“You—You said you’d fight beside me.” 

“Why?”

“‘Because you’re my friend, Seaweed Brain.’” He recites the words as if they’re second nature, and he hears her laugh in his ear—bright, full of life, and enough to give him the energy to propel the two of them forward. It’s a funny thought, laughing in the middle of Tartarus, in a river built on misery, but it fuels him. He gives her a small grin, “How could I forget?”

They hit the shore, and the two of them collapse beside each other. The ground hurts, and when he looks at his hand, he realizes why—What he thought was sand was tiny, black shards of glass. Even breathing hurts, but that’s a no brainer to him. They’re in Tartarus, after all—a place meant for death, for no survival. 

Still, the two of them stand. Percy coughs, “This place smells like my ex-stepfather.”

When he looks over at her, she has a weak smile, and despite the fact that they’re in the darkest pit of hell and are both covered in injuries and dust, she’s beautiful. There’s never been a moment where he didn’t think that, though. 

Their arms wrap around each other, and Annabeth says something about a river of fire that Percy barely grasps, but nods along anyway. He’s learned long ago that he should go along with whatever she says. He lets her take the lead, even though the two of them barely know what they’re doing—all they know is they can’t die.

They’d been through so much at this point that dying in Tartarus felt like somewhat of a joke. Getting over Annabeth was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but now that he had her back, he refused to let Tartarus be their end. They deserved a good ending—or at least something better than this damned pit. 

Once they’d forced down literal flames and he could properly think, that’s when the real struggle hit. He’d told Nico that they’d meet them at the doors, but Tartarus had no direction. It’s not like Percy could pull a map out of thin air, but he watches Annabeth’s eyes scan over the area, watches her mentally calculate and plan.

She almost misses the way Arachne creeps up behind her, but before she can attack, Percy’s slashing Riptide and the massive spider is reduced to yellow dust around them. 

“You were saying?” His eyes are everywhere but her, skimming their surroundings for anything else. They’re in a monster domain now, and he should expect more, but nothing else comes. 

“You—she would have killed me.” He finally looks at her, and her eyes are wide, staring fixedly into his. He shrugs once, and he clenches his jaw. He knows if he speaks that it will end poorly, but he still does anyway.

“Yeah, well, she got the easy way out.” He doesn’t even recognize the bitterness in his own voice, so unlike him and dark that he doesn’t expect. That was the price of loving someone so fiercely, he thinks. You would resort to anything in their name. 

“She deserved worse, considering what she did to you.”

Annabeth stares at him for a moment, but before she can speak, he squares his shoulders and changes the subject. “Anyway, we should keep moving—downstream, like you said. We have each others’ backs, right?”

She nods, but her expression isn’t quite with him. Regardless, they begin the trek downstream, sticking close to the Phlegethon. It’s silent between the two of them, but Percy’s mind is reeling despite it. His mind is still stuck on the sharpness in his voice, the way he hadn’t hesitated for a second to slash Arachne. 

He always knew he would risk it all for Annabeth—That was a consistent no brainer in his mind. Even after all that she’d done during the Titan war, even though she’d betrayed the camp and himself, he knew he would never hesitate to protect Annabeth Chase. She was engraved too deep, buried too into his every being that he couldn’t get her out despite how hard he had tried all those months ago. 

Almost a year ago, he bathed in the River Styx for immortality. Nico had instructed him that he needed an anchor—something to link him to his mortality. He never thought too hard about it, but even all those years ago, Annabeth was the one thought he had. She didn’t know that; He’d never admitted it aloud to anyone, nor did he even admit it to himself. He lost his memory for six months, but even despite that, Annabeth stuck with him. For all that he wanted to fight, he never could fight the feeling he had for Annabeth.

And even now, with the two of them walking through Tartarus with little to no plans, no tools or backup equipment, and with their only source of surviving being a river of fire, she still consumed him. He knows a part of her still hates him. She could deny it or fight it, but he knows it's true—he’d done far too much to expect her to overlook it. After all, he was the reason Luke died. He was the reason she lost the only person he knew she considered family, and that wasn’t something you could forget. 

But still, Annabeth Chase burned in his chest. She was a star, an absolute enigma that wrecked his very brain. Even after years of knowing her, he never could quite read her mind. He knew her expressions, knew the way she fought and the way her eyes would narrow when she was planning something, but her thoughts? Her emotions? Those were her own—something he could never figure out despite how hard he tried. And he wanted to spend the rest of his life cataloguing her every mood, expression, emotion—unraveling everything that she was for only him to see and to love.

He knows his own emotions well enough, especially the ones towards her, but those…those are something he can never say aloud. If he does, he knows it won’t end right, so he settles for what he has: half-there smiles, bright eyes, and her by his side.

You take what you can get when you’re in love, he thinks, whatever they offer—even if you want so, so much more. 

Percy thought he’d experienced enough in his life for nothing to shock him, but the idea of a Titan falling from the sky and killing empousai with a broom had never crossed his mind. Well, at least he could check it off his bucket list. He let the Titan heal Annabeth, agreed to follow behind him. 

He knows what he’s doing is wrong—tricking a monster he had ruined to do his bidding, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Somewhere inside Percy, it felt good to have that control. To know that despite how stupid helpless their situation was, he still had that going for him. 

When they finally had a chance to rest, Percy let Annabeth sleep. He knew maybe he should rest too, but something keeps him awake. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re in the deepest pit of Hell and he’s too afraid to close his eyes, or the way his eyes and throat are burning, or the fact that despite everything, he needs to make sure he’s watching Annabeth. 

It’s tiring, being in Tartarus. The idea of laying and dying seems so easy, the concept of giving up just a fingertip away, but he refuses to. Instead, he lets Bob the Titan guide them through Tartarus, to the doors, just as he promised Nico. 

“Think the rest of the seven are doing okay?” Annabeth nudges him, their arms brushing together for a second and sending a shiver through Percy, despite the way his entire body feels like it’s on fire. He shrugs, his eyes glazing over the view before them. 

“I don’t even know—I know they have it in them, but I have no clue how they’re doing. Or what day it is, honestly.” 

Bob had told them time was confusing in Tartarus. That, combined with the fact that their fall took seven days, didn’t quite help. A thought suddenly crossed his mind, and despite the fact that they were suffering, he managed a smile. 

“Hey, Annabeth.” He nudges her, returning the small poke of the elbow. Her hair is tied back into a messy ponytail using a piece of denim she’d ripped off her shorts, and her face has streaks of ash across it, but when she looks up at him, he still thinks she’s stunning. 

“What?”

“Happy late birthday.”

“Huh?” 

He laughs—something that he expected no one had ever done before in Tartarus. It’s stupid, he thinks, for him to be able to laugh or smile given their circumstances, but he still does. “Your birthday passed, so, you know… Happy birthday, Wise Girl.”

The nickname slips out without him intending it, and when the word comes out, something crosses Annabeth’s face. He can’t decipher it, though, because it’s gone before he has the chance to. 

“Oh, right—thank you.” Even in the darkness, he sees the faint blush that crosses her cheeks, and it makes his smile only grow. “I’d say I have a present but I’m lying.”

“Given our situation, I think I’ll give you a pass.” She responds, bumping his shoulder once again, then she gives him a small smile, “I’m older than you.”

“Shut up.” 

“That’s not a nice way to talk to your elders.” 

“Gods, you’re the worst.” He gives her a proper push, and he hears her laugh as she stumbles, grabbing onto his bicep to keep herself from falling. It burns him, sends a fire through him that hits him stronger than the firewater from the Phlegethon did. 

“I can only hold that against you for a month, be nice!” She reminds him, and he rolls his eyes, but the smile doesn’t leave his lips. He’s silent, opting not to say anything in response. The thought that they’re in Tartarus together had already been weird to wrap his head around, but now they were joking around as if everything was normal again—As if she didn’t leave him months ago. 

He almost lets himself forget they’re in Tartarus, but then Annabeth slips out of his grasp and screams, and the thought’s gone before he can enjoy it. When she stands, he looks down and realizes what they’re walking through. 

He always knew Tartarus was a being, that they were walking through the body of the Giant, but he hadn’t ever questioned how old monsters regenerate. Now, underneath them, he sees blister-like bubbles littered on the ground. When he looks closer, he sees regenerating bodies inside them. 

“I’m gonna be sick.” He hears her mutter, then she straightens, staring at the blister she’d tripped over. 

Percy lines his vision with hers, and he’s suddenly all too familiar with the body inside the bubble. “Hyperion.”

“Do we—” She stops speaking, but Percy already knows what she’s asking. He looks at Bob, who’s staring curiously into the blister. “He looks like me.”

Percy mentally curses. The last thing he can handle is Bob remembering the evil side to himself—Remembering who he was before Percy wiped his memory. 

“Bob. Hey, buddy, over here.” Percy forces the Titan to focus his attention on him, ignoring the stare Annabeth was giving him. Right now, she just had to trust him. He didn’t know if she even did, though. 

“Am I your friend?” 

“Yes.” Bob’s voice comes out laced with confusion, and Percy knows he has to pull out as much improvisation as he can. “You know some monsters are good, and some are bad.” 

Bob doesn’t answer, but the uncertain look and his face remains unwavering. Percy takes the opportunity to continue, still keeping their eyes on each other, rather than the massive blister between them. “Some mortals are good and some are bad, too, right? Well, the same thing is true for Titans.”

“Titans…” His voice comes out as a boom, and Percy instinctively raises his arm out to cover Annabeth. Bob’s eyes are dark, yet glowing, and for a moment the memory of battling him flashes behind Percy’s eyes. He won’t settle for that, though.

“Yeah, that’s what you are. You’re Bob the Titan, but—But you’re good. You’re awesome. Not Hyperion. Hyperion tried to kill a bunch of people.”

The darkness fades slightly out of Bob’s eyes. “But… he looks…”

“He looks like you, but he’s not like you. You’re both titans, but you’re good. You’re not like him.” Percy’s voice doesn’t waver, nor does his gaze on Bob. 

“Bob is good.” Percy sees his hand tighten on his broomstick, sees his eyes look over the blister where Hyperion is regenerating again. 

In a flash, the blister popped. They’re standing with golden mud at their feet, a crater where the bubble had been. Bob wipes at the end of his broomstick, “Hyperion is a bad Titan. Now he can’t hurt my friends. He will have to reform somewhere else in Tartarus. Hopefully it will take a long time.”

Bob’s eyes are shining, looking as if he’s seconds away from crying. Percy chooses to ignore it, “Thank you, Bob.”

He finally looks at Annabeth, and she’s staring at him with an unreadable expression. Usually, he can understand how she’s looking at him—Knows what’s crossing her mind. Now, though, she’s giving him a look he can’t decipher. He straightens, turning back to Bob. “We’d better keep moving.”

Inside him, he knows what he’s doing is wrong—Same way he knew it was wrong to convince Bob to guide them through Tartarus in the first place, but he’s doing it anyway. But even as he follows behind Bob, with the golden mud specks glowing on the janitor’s uniform he’s wearing, he can’t bring himself to feel the guilt that he’s expected to. 

He doesn’t think he ever will. 

He doesn’t think he wants to. 

viii.

Annabeth can’t quite comprehend her thoughts. She wants to blame it on Tartarus, on the fall and the way everything seems to be crumbling around them, but she knows it’s not it. When she glances at Percy, she feels her body run cold. 

When he’d spoken to Bob moments ago, she had an all too familiar thought cross her mind—a vision of blonde hair and blue eyes and clinging to control. She desperately wanted to push it back and swallow it, but with them being in Tartarus, it seems that negative thoughts refuse to clear. 

He was protecting her, like he’s always done. The entire reason he’s here is because of her, because of his adamacy to keep them together, and now she’s upset at his attempts to keep her safe? It wasn’t solid logic, but it’s what ran through her head anyway. 

If he dies, her brain reminds her, it will be your fault. His blood on your hands. Let him get aggressive. She swallows the thoughts, pushing them to the back of mind. She knows they’re true, but she’s also afraid, far too afraid of Percy following the route Luke did. 

“You okay?” Percy’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts, and when she looks at him, he’s staring at her with furrowed brows, “You’re staring aggressively.”

“It’s nothing.” She waves him off, picking up the small calico cat, Small Bob, as Bob named him, and holding it in her arms. “Just…this place messes with your head.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not really meant to survive, so….” He trails off, and Annabeth heaves a sigh. “I know, I didn’t expect it to be like this, though.”

For once, Annabeth has no expectations for a place or for a quest. She’s read hundreds of stories from Greek myths about various quests and how the heroes in them could have survived, but Tartarus never was described. If any previous heroes have ever ventured through Tartarus, they’ve died trying to make it back. Those odds, combined with the burning in her stomach, only made her more uneasy. 

“Well, you know, at least—”

“Stop.” She cuts Percy off, despite the fact that she wants to hear the end of that sentence, and the three of them pause. She can hear creaking, her heart rate slowly picking up as she bends down to pick up a jagged piece of obsidian that would work as a decent weapon. Gods, does she miss her dagger. 

“What do you hear?” Percy whispers, and Annabeth shakes her head, “I think—there’s something here.”

Before she can elaborate further, she hears hissing, then the arai strike. She wants to cry, but she knows she has to be stronger than that. Tricky thing, though, because she can’t quite attack them without being cursed.

When Percy slashes at one with Riptide, he starts bleeding. Heavily. And Annabeth hates that all she can do is stare. 

“Geryon…this is how I killed him.” He’s keeled over, but in seconds he’s standing up once again. “I don’t understand.” 

“If you kill one, it gives you a curse.” She’d almost forgotten Bob was there, but his voice speaks and reminds her that he’s here—he could help. One arai launches itself at Annabeth, and she strikes with the jagged rock out before she can think much of it. 

Her vision goes black. “Percy, I can’t—I can’t see!”

She hears Percy shift till he’s next to her, hears the arai laughing. They remind her of something she’d forgotten about—How she’d tricked Polyphemus years ago in the Sea of Monsters, how she convinced him she was Nobody. Now, they cursed her with the inability to see.

“I’ve got you.” She hears his words in her ear, feels his arm wrap around her shoulder. She hates being so helpless, but she also can’t help but lean into him. Right now, she’s okay with him playing hero. She needs it. 

She hears the slash of an item through the air, followed by Percy exhaling a sharp breath, “Bob, you okay? No curses.”

“No curses for Bob!”

Then the arai speak again, reminding them that Bob’s already cursed—That Percy destroyed his memory. She feels her body freeze, and Percy beside her goes rigid as well.

“Bob, don’t listen to them.” She speaks gently, willing her voice not to shake, “They’re evil, right? You—You’re not.”

“My memory…it was you?”

She ignores the voices of the arai asking the Titan to curse Percy, instead reaching out to grab Percy’s arm. She feels him straighten, “Bob, it’s a long story. I wanted to make you my friend, not my enemy. The arai—the arai want you to be angry. That’s what they do, they spawn from bitter thoughts and they make you angry. Don’t do what they want. We are your friends.”

The same thought she’d had when she first heard Percy speak to Bob cross her mind again, but she swallows it back. In the back of her brain, she always knew Percy was capable of something like this, but she never thought she’d see it happen. 

She hears the arai and Bob exchange words, then she hears Bob explain how Nico visited—how he was the reason Bob helped Percy. She wants to do anything to help Percy, maybe attempt to convince Bob that they care, but then she feels the arai strike and knows there’s nothing she can do.

It all happens far too fast. She allows Percy to grip her arm, guiding her through the mass of arai that were bent on attacking them. Her body burns, and she hates the feeling of helplessness settling in her chest, but she refuses to dwell on it. Not while Percy’s slicing through monsters and taking on curses for the both of them.

She hears what sounds like a tree toppling, then realizes that’s what they’re running through: A forest. Percy’s cutting down trees to crush the arai, setting himself up to kill many at once. She doesn’t quite know the rules about how curses work in that case, but she hopes for his sake that it means he won’t get cursed. 

He suddenly stops running, forcing Annabeth to a pause as well. “Cliff—we’re at a cliff.” 

They have to follow along an edge, but before they can, Annabeth senses the arai circling them. Before she can speak, she feels one pounce onto her. Annabeth lets out a shout as she blindly attacks, grabbing the arm of it and flipping it underneath her. She goes solely based on touch as she presses her knee to what she hopes is the neck of the monster, crushing it. 

She feels the arai dissolve underneath her, and for a moment she feels no different. Then, her body runs cold, and she feels herself being shifted away. “Percy?”

“I’m right here.” His voice sounds so far away, and she can feel the fear and dread settle in her chest, “Where did you go?”

“I’m right here!” He repeats the words with more anger, his voice even further away. “What did you do?”

The thought hits her before the arai even need to elaborate on it: Calypso, and the way Percy had left her years ago. How she had given him a chance to live free of the prophecy and with her, but how he turned it down. A part of her was too afraid to voice the thoughts, but the arai already said it and based on the way Percy’s voice came out, he hadn’t expected it either. 

She hears him let out a yell—guttural, painful, and loud, despite how distant she felt from him, and all she can do is stand helplessly as she hears him slash at the monsters. She knows what he’s doing is idiotic, taking on this many monsters and curses without thinking twice, but she also knows Percy and knows he’s doing this, despite everything, to protect her.

She doesn’t know how long the battle is, but she can faintly hear Percy mutter an apology. “I’m sorry, Bob. I should’ve been honest with you. Please—please forgive me. I—protect Annabeth.”

Something in her swells at his words, then she’s feeling heavy footsteps and the arai aren’t making sounds anymore. She feels herself being picked up, and she kicks before she can grasp who it is, “Let me go!” 

Then she’s on the ground and her forehead is touched. When she blinks, her vision slowly comes back and her eyes can focus around her. She turns to Percy, and she feels everything in her chest break. 

“Gods, what did you do?” She hates the way tears spring into her eyes, but they do without her being able to stop them. His clothes, which had already been tattered messes, were now covered in blood. His eyes were bloodshot and his face looked scraped up, and his arms were covered in small cuts that didn’t seem to stop bleeding. He looked sick, and when Annabeth settled onto the ground next to him, he fell limp into her lap. 

Her hands held his shoulders, and she knows she’s crying into his hair, but that was the last of her worries right now, “What happened?”

Percy opens his mouth, but the words die out as his eyes flutter shut for a moment. Annabeth cups his face, wiping messily at the blood smears and dust that littered his skin, “You’ll be okay, okay?” 

The words a desperate sob, moreso her convincing herself of it than an actual statement that she knows will be true. He manages a nod, which is enough for Annabeth to look up at Bob, “Please fix him, tell me you can fix him.”

Bob says nothing, and that only makes Annabeth’s eyes water even more. “Please, Bob—”

“Iapetus. That was my name, before Bob.” His voice is low, and Annabeth feels her body freeze. He remembers now, and the hope that he could help them out dissolves from her body. 

“I like Bob better.” She manages, trying her best to bring the Titan back to their side, “Which do you like?”

“I do not know.” He says this as he crouches down, staring at Percy in Annabeth’s arms. Up close, she can see the scars littering the Titan’s face, and forces herself to look away.

“I promised Nico, and I don’t think Bob or Iapetus breaks promises.” He says this mostly to Annabeth, then touches Percy’s forehead. Even after that, he still looks weak, and it doesn’t do much to mend the way Annabeth’s heart is falling apart. 

“Bob cannot cure this. Too many curses piled up.”

“Is there water anywhere? Water might—”

“No water in Tartarus.”

“Something has to heal him!” She doesn’t intend for her voice to come out as harsh as it does, but she practically spits the words out to Bob. She’s desperate and angry and hurt and needs Percy to be okay. 

She listens to Bob explain how there’s a giant who could help. Despite the fact that Annabeth’s uneasy about the whole idea, she lets Bob guide them anyway. She’s practically dragging Percy along with her, but that’s all that she can manage. 

Physically, her body feels broken—like she only has half function of everything inside her. She doesn’t even know how she’s managing to carry Percy along, but she does so anyway—Mostly because she has to, but also because the entire reason Percy is in this situation is because of her and because this pit and the voices around them are making sure she can’t forget that. Emotionally, she’s ten times worse. Her chest won’t stop squeezing, her eyes are permanently bloodshot and she keeps forcing herself to blink back tears, and worst of all, her heart hurts. 

Even after spending all those months swallowing back everything she feels for Percy, he still gives her the same stupid butterflies he’s been giving her since they were twelve years old. She wants to fight them, desperately and horribly wants to get rid of them and the way they make her resolve to have him hate her shrink into nothing, but she can’t. And now, with him alongside her struggling to remain upright because he took on an army of curse monsters for her, she knows it's hopeless to feel anything else for Percy Jackson. 

It’s not like she ever doubted that statement in the first place, anyway. Percy, she knows, had placed himself in her heart since their first mission back when they were just kids and has refused to budge ever since. She knew it was stupid to think she could ever get over him, but now, with the way that he protects her and the fact that he still would risk the world for her, the way her heart pounds only grows stronger. She swallows back the thought, tightens her arms around Percy, and continues walking behind Bob.

She forces down her pounding chest. Pushes back the thought of Percy’s smile that’s running through her head. Swallows the words lingering on the tip of her tongue. You don’t deserve him, her brain reminds her, you’ve never deserved him, so stop convincing yourself you do.

Well, she thinks, at least Tartarus got that point right. 

When Bob said he’d known someone who could help Percy, she didn’t know what to expect. She’d followed behind him without uttering a word, letting him take Percy and drape him over his shoulder. She hadn’t thought she’d find cosiness and refuge in a Giant’s hut, yet she did. 

She stares at Damasen as he stirs a hanging pot over the fire, and even though it’d only been minutes, the suspense was killing her.

“Look, my—my friend is dying. Can you heal him or not?” She hesitates on the word friend, meeting Damasen’s practically glowing eyes. She didn’t know quite what Percy was to her. 

He was so easy to get caught in, so easy to let herself forget what he and she had both done to each other. The way he had killed Luke, the fact that she betrayed him because she believed she could save everyone, the way she’d battled him during the war instead of focusing on their common enemy. When the quest had first started, she told herself don’t get attached. Told herself to not fall back into old habits, but Percy—Percy was more than an old habit. 

She knew long ago that he would always be something else to her. Years ago, she thought she had a crush on Luke. He was the camp’s idol, was everyone’s hero, and she was a child who wanted his attention as well. Then she met Percy, and she realized that whatever she felt for Luke wasn’t love. It wasn’t even close.

Percy had lingered constantly on her mind, even when he wasn’t there with her. He’d give her bright smiles and lock eyes and she could feel herself lift, even when she felt at her lowest. When she fought with him, she was never afraid, because Percy always had her back—even when she didn’t want him to. And his eyes. Annabeth had never quite realized it before, but green, a very particular shade of sea-green that haunted her thoughts for months, had become her favorite color.

She swallows, fixing her gaze on the bed behind them where Percy laid. The word ‘friend’ would have to do for now, even though she knew it was so, so much more. He was engraved so deeply into her that she knew if she ever tried to get him out, she’d only kill a part of herself in the process. Months ago, she had tried to. Now she can’t even remember why. 

She watches Damasen feed Percy a cup of broth, watches him whisper words to him as he props him up. When he falls back onto the bed and lets out a snore, Annabeth practically cries. 

“A few hours of sleep. He’ll be good as new.” Damasen states, moving to sit back at the fire pit.

Annabeth lets out a shaky sigh, “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. You’re still doomed. And I require payment for my services.”

“Payment?” She repeats the words back, watching him nod in response. She feels her body go cold, “What kind of payment?”

“A story. You can tell me while we eat.” 

So she does. She knows better than to question the Giant, especially considering he’s keeping her fed and healed Percy, and he doesn’t make any move to attack. It’s kind of weird to tell your life story to a Giant, but he listens anyway, his focus only on her and the words she says. 

She even manages to tell him about their current quest and everything going on on the Argo II, and when she explains what they need to do, he almost laughs. 

She knew there was a hopelessness to their quest—that there was a high probability she and Percy would die in Tartarus, but to hear it from Damasen does something else to her chest. It chokes her, but she forces herself to swallow and gently puts her plate down. Suddenly she doesn’t have the appetite for the stew anymore. 

He sits back, “Rest now. I will prepare supplies for your journey, but that’s all I can do.”

She doesn’t argue when she’s lifted and placed beside Percy. 

When she wakes up, she realizes two things: One, she had no dreams, nor nightmares, and feels much more alive than she has in a while, and two, the bed is empty beside her. She lifts her head, sitting up and spotting Percy in front of the fire. He, alongside Bob and Damasen, are deep in a conversation. She catches snippets of it, mostly them discussing Tartarus, as she hops off the bed. 

Her feet hit the ground and Percy turns, and when Annabeth studies his face, he looks as though he’d never even fallen into Tartarus, save for his tattered clothes. 

“You’re awake.” He shoots her a grin, and she nods once, “So are you.” 

“Yeah—I feel great. Whatever Damasen gave me worked.” She knows she should feel relieved, happy, even, but for some reason, she can’t bring herself to smile. Percy’s smile falters, and he gives Annabeth another quick glance before asking both Bob and Damasen if the two of them could have a moment alone.

It’s a quick exchange, really, and the Titan and Giant must sense whatever’s running through Annabeth’s head because they comply, stating they’ll be outside. 

Once they’re gone, Percy stands up, remaining inches away from Annabeth, “What’s wrong? Did you have a—?”

“Are you fucking insane?” She doesn’t mean for her tone to come off so loud from the start, but her anger rises before she can stop it. His brows furrow, “What are you talking about?”

“You took on every single arai, took on enough curses to have yourself killed, for what?” She’s seething, her words coming out as low shout she can’t swallow. He stares at her for a moment, “You can’t be serious.”

“Believe me, I am.”

“For what?” He repeats, giving her an incredulous expression, then laughs. “Gods, why do you think? I wanted to protect you, Annabeth!”

“I don’t need you to protect me!” She snaps back, taking a step forward, “You don’t fight my battles for me, Percy!”

“I know you don’t!” He shouts back, losing all of his calm demeanor. His eyes are bright, so, so bright and Annabeth wants to stare into them. 

“Then stop trying to! Stop—stop playing the hero, okay? You didn’t need to fall into this mess with me, you didn't need to take on those monsters for me, you don’t need to fight for me!”

She stops, exhales a breath, and her voice drops an octave, “You shouldn’t fight for me, you know I don’t deserve it.”

“Here we fucking go.” He mutters, low enough that he thought Annabeth might have missed it, but her eyes narrow, “Excuse me?” 

“I’m so, so tired of this stupid fucking pity party you throw Annabeth. I know you think you don’t deserve care, that you deserve to be damned and how I should hate you, but I’m never going to hate you—You’ve convinced yourself that you don’t deserve anything, but you’re wrong, okay? I will always, always protect you.”

“You shouldn’t though!” She repeats, ignoring the way there are tears bubbling in her eyes and a sob stuck in the back of her throat, “I—I hurt you, okay? I betrayed you, the same way Luke did. I don’t deserve good, I’m just as much a traitor as he is and if you realized that, you’d let me have the same fate—”

“Stop!” Percy snaps, cutting her off. She feels him take steps towards her, and when they lock eyes, his are dark—A deep green, almost black, and the rims are bloodshot. He’s breathing heavy, and Annabeth can see the way his chest is rising and falling. 

“You are not Luke.” He breathes out, practically snarling. She’s frozen, staring at him and ignoring the way his proximity is making her heart pound. 

“You—You’re good. You don’t see it, you refuse to, but you are. For all of your questionable actions, you have never had a hidden agenda, just good intentions. You joined Luke, yes, but you did it because you believed you could change the prophecy and save him. That wasn’t evil, that was you wanting to see the best in people. You trick monsters, yes, but you do it for the greater good and to survive.” His voice comes out low, so much calmer than it had been minutes ago, and Annabeth doesn’t realize she’s crying until she tastes salt water on her lips.

“Why do you do that?” She whispers, and Percy’s brows furrow slightly, “Do what?”

“See the good in me. See—see me despite what I did to you, despite all that I’ve done.” She murmurs, her breaths coming out in low pants. 

Percy stares at her for a moment, but it’s different than all the other ones. It’s not him just staring at her, it’s like he’s staring into her—looking past just her physical appearance, past all her actions, and at her, her soul, her being, everything about her. He’s studying her, then, gently, his hand reaches out and curls a strand of her hair around her finger. 

She doesn’t realize her breath is caught in her throat, the way the small action sends her heart pounding. 

“When you love someone,” He finally says, in a low, quiet voice, “You see past their mistakes. Every time.”

Before she can respond, he pulls away from her and straightens, “We should get moving again.”

She isn’t given the chance to bring it up again, but the words linger on the tip of her tongue regardless. 

ix. 

Percy hates the fact that he left the words hanging in the air, but he couldn’t bother with filtering his words while they were in Tartarus. He pushes the thought back before he can dwell too hard on it, squares his shoulders, and follows Bob toward Akhlys.

He believed she could help, and at this point, Annabeth and Percy believed anything he said. But when they finally arrived at the goddess, he thought maybe this was a set up. What would a weak, crying goddess have to offer them?

Annabeth challenges her with a glare and a raised Drakon bone sword, and Percy thinks he’s never seen her as beautiful as she is at that moment. 

Finally, Akhlys agrees to show them the way. The two barely have time to question it, instead following behind obediently—reluctantly leaving Bob behind. 

“Come, little fools. Come experience the Death Mist.” She states, guiding them through the dark garden, and he feels Annabeth grab onto his arm. “Think this is it for us?”

He laughs, despite the way his lungs are burning, “Maybe. But if not, though, I want cheeseburgers from that diner we went to with Thalia once this is over.”

“Oh, deal.” She responds easily, and when he looks over, there’s a small smile on her lips, “We can split a milkshake, too.”

“Please don’t make me think about a milkshake right now.” He states, but it only makes Annabeth’s smile grow. After another walk through the thick fog, they stop at an edge, Akhlys turning to face them. “Here we are.”

Percy feels his life leaving his body with every passing minute. When he looks down, it looks as though he’s dissolving. The Death Mist, he realizes, is covering them—Making them look dead. When he looks over at Annabeth, he feels like he’s been punched in the gut. 

She looks like a walking corpse, pale, lifeless, her hair hanging like tangled ropes covered in cobwebs. It hurts him, the thought of Annabeth dying. It always has—like a constant rock on his chest that refuses to go away. And now, as he stares at the illusion of her dead body, the thought only gets reinforced in his mind: He never wants to see the day where Annabeth Chase dies. As long as he alive, he would do his damn best to make sure that day never came.

“We can get to the Doors of Death now, right?” He finally speaks, turning his attention back to Akhlys. She bares her teeth in a lopsided grin, flashing what look like yellow fangs.

“You could,” She states, “If you live that long, which you won’t.”

“Oh, Gods.” Annabeth grabs onto his arm once again, her voice trembling slightly, “It’s a trap.”

Akhlys laughs, her fingertips turning into sharp talons, “Did you expect me not to betray you?”

Then she pounces, and Percy hates the way his body feels so sluggish. Moving seems ten times harder with the Death Mist covering him, but Annabeth doesn’t seem to have that problem. She raises the Drakon sword Damasen gifted her and slashes at the goddess, striking at her with everything she got.

For a moment, all Percy can do is stare. His entire body still feels weak, but eventually, Annabeth stumbles and he has to react. He raises Riptide, forces the goddess away from Annabeth. He’d protect her, he always does. He’s angered her, he knows this, and watches as poisonous plants grow all around her. 

He’s had enough poison to last him a lifetime, yet now he was being cornered by it. It was surrounding him, giving him no other options. He’s desperate, he needs to figure out a way to get Akhlys away from the both of them. 

The thought hits him just as the poison is about to touch his skin. He focuses on the stream surrounding him, forces himself to channel his powers the same way he would if he were trying to control a body of water. He can feel his body getting warmer, feels a surge of power go through him as the poison stream inches closer towards the goddess.

“What is this?” She yells, and Percy cocks his head to the side, jaw clenched as he bites back the satisfaction running through his body. “Poison. That’s your specialty, right?”

He can finally stand, and as he does, he forces the poison closer. He can picture it filling her nose and throat, forcing her to choke on it all—forcing her own attack on herself. 

He watches her fall backwards, and he’s ready to send the hot liquid running into her mouth, but before he can, Annabeth snaps his attention to her.

“Percy—Percy, stop!” Her voice comes out a hoarse plead, and when he looks at her, there’s a horrified look on her expression. He wants to think it’s from Akhlys, but her eyes are focused on him and the way his arms are raised, and he realizes that her fear is from him, not the goddess.

He lowers his arms, locks eyes with Akhlys again, “Leave!” He orders, and she doesn’t hesitate to run off, the poison puddles disappearing in her wake.

Once she’s gone, Percy and Annabeth fall into each other. Even though they’re still covered by the Death Mist, he can still feel her: Solid, warm, and shaking against him. When she meets his eyes, despite the lifelessness of her face, they’re shining with unshed tears. 

“Y-You can’t—don’t—” She stammers, then she clears her throat, shakes her head, “Don’t ever do that again.”

“She deserved to choke.” He responds, the anger not leaving his voice. He knows full well that the goddess got away easily. She deserved so much worse, but Annabeth shakes her head once again, “Don’t say that, please—you can’t think like that.”

“Annabeth, I—”

“I mean it!” She yells, desperately, and he sees a tear roll down her cheek despite the fog around her body. “I can’t—you can’t become like him, okay? Some things—some things aren’t meant to be controlled.”

For a moment he doesn’t quite understand what she’s saying, but once the words wash over him, the anger in him cracks. It falls apart, almost as if glass shattered in his chest. It’s replaced with a rush of emotions: Guilt, remorse, and a pang of pain. He manages to squeeze Annabeth’s arms, nodding once. 

“I—I won’t, okay? I’m not—I won’t be like him. I promise.” He reassures her, and she nods once. 

“We need to get out of here.” She changes the subject after a moment, and the two of them rise to their feet. “I don’t know what Akhlys had in mind, but—”

They’re cut off by the sounds of screeching, and when they turn, they’re faced with the goddess of night, Nyx, and Percy feels his body go cold. The dark never scared him, but now, with this goddess glaring down at them, he understands why people have the fear. 

He knew they had to get out of there, but out of all the things he expected to be their way out, tricking the goddess by claiming they were on a tourist trip was not one of them. They still manage, though, and Percy has never been more grateful for Annabeth’s quick thinking.

“We have to jump.” She says in a low voice, grabbing his hand. They’re standing on a ledge, a dark abyss before them. Percy stares at her for a moment, “What?”

“Just trust me.” She meets his eyes, and, ignoring the shouts behind him from Nyx, gives a single nod of his head. “I always do.”

Then they’re falling, and as soon as they hit ground they run. They’re still stuck in the Mansion of Night, but they need distance between them and Nyx. As long as they can make it away from her, maybe they’ll be okay. 

He almost misses Annabeth falling down another ledge. 

“Wait!” He grabs her arm, pulling her back into his chest. She’s shaking—he can feel it through the fabric of her flimsy, tattered shirt and even though the Death Mist is still covering them, she feels solid. 

She turns, and even though they both know maybe they should be running, she buries herself into his chest. They’re in Tartarus, running for their lives, yet right now, he feels safe. He knows they don’t have time for the luxury of holding onto each other the way they are, but he lets her stay that way. 

Eventually, she pulls herself out, but just barely enough to lift her head, “Thank you…do you—do you know what’s in front of us?”

“I know there’s water, but I’m still not looking. It’s cutting us off, though. The other side is twenty feet away.” He responds, his arms loosening around her. 

“Is there a bridge anywhere?”

“Probably not, and I don’t—I don’t think this is normal. Listen.” The two of them pause, and that’s when the sounds that he’d been hearing are loudest.

Behind the sound of crashing water, he can hear screams—cries of pain and suffering underneath the flow.

“The River Acheron, it’s the River of Pain—fifth river of the Underworld.” Annabeth mutters, “It’s the punishment for the horrible—murderers, mostly.”

Murderers, just like you! The river hisses, and Percy’s mind flashes to every monster he’s ever killed. Annabeth must have had a similar image, because she straightens, “That’s not murder, that’s self defense.”

As soon as those words leave her lips, the image in his head shifts. He sees Zoë Nightshade, sees Charles Beckendorf, Silena Beauregard, Bianca Di Angelo, Michael Yew, and finally, Luke Castellan. 

You could have prevented all of them, the river reminds him, a thought that had already lingered in his head that is now only emphasized, their blood is on your hands!

Percy shakes his head, and turns to look at Annabeth. He knows what the water is trying to do to him, and he refuses to give it the satisfaction. Those thoughts, those are the ones he keeps to himself. He can’t dwell on them now. The river now shifted to speak to her, reminding her of Luke’s death. You should have saved him, you failed and his death is on you.

“Annabeth, don’t listen.” His arms re-tighten around her, trying to force her attention to focus back on him. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” 

“Because you know it’s not true.” He responds, “They’re saying the same thing to me, they’re getting in our heads. You’re good, remember?”

“I’m finding it hard to believe that.” She finally meets his eyes, and tears are brimming in hers. He shakes his head, “I promise you—you are. This is just Nyx’s territory. We have to get across, we just have to jump—we’ll be okay.”

“Percy, you said it was twenty feet.”

“I need you to trust me.” He focuses his eyes on her, keeping her on him, “Please trust me.”

She hesitates for a moment, but then she hears the sound of Nyx and her children and nods her head.

“Put your arms around my neck and hold on.” He instructs, and as soon as Annabeth complies, he takes a running start and jumps. When he told Annabeth he could get them across, he was lying through his teeth, just looking for a way to get the two of them out of there. Now, though, with them in the air and focused solely on keeping them out of the body of water below them, he manages to keep them from hitting it. 

He always knew he could control water, but he didn’t expect that he could control keeping himself out of it. He hits the ground on the other side and Annabeth rolls off his back. He stares at the view around them, “You can look now.”

She had kept her eyes screwed shut for the majority of their trip across the River, but as soon as those words leave Percy, she reopens her eyes and sits up. They’re in a massive valley, but it doesn’t look the way a valley should. It’s a dark purple, with red and blue lines running through it.

“It’s a heart.” Annabeth whispers, rising to her feet, and Percy nods once, “The heart of Tartarus.”

From where they stood, Percy could see a mass of black bodies gathered in the center. It doesn’t take Annabeth explaining it for him to know what’s there—The Doors of Death.

Annabeth looks at Percy for a moment and opens her mouth, but closes it as soon as she hears movement beside them. Percy pulls out Riptide, then freezes once he sees Bob emerge from behind the rocks. 

“Bob!” Annabeth cries, and Bob gives the two of them a beaming grin, “Friends! I found you!”

Small Bob, the kitten resting on the Titan’s shoulder, meows, and the sight of the two of them makes Percy smile, despite everything. “You made it.”

“I did, yes. We stay together now?” Bob responds, and Annabeth nods, “Yes. Time to see if the Death Mist works.”

He almost argues against the idea of it not working, but he meets Annabeth's eye and swallows the thought, grabbing her hand instead. 

“So, cheeseburgers after this?” He says instead, and despite everything, she laughs and it’s the best sound in the world. 

“Don’t forget the milkshake.” She reminds him, and the two of them follow behind Bob towards the army of monsters. 

x.

There was something jarring about the Doors of Death. Not only were they surrounded by hordes of monsters, controlled by Hyperion, and omitting thunder everytime they’re closed, but they looked identical to the ones on Mount Olympus. Annabeth felt homesick. 

“Why are there chains?” She stares at the iron cords on either side of the doors, and Bob shakes his head, ignoring the shouts the Titans guarding the doors are saying.

“Each time the doors open, they try to teleport to a new location.” He speaks to the small cat in his hands, mostly to ensure that Annabeth and Percy remain unsuspected. “Thanatos made them that way so only he could find them, but now they’re chained. They cannot relocate.”

“Then we cut the chains.” She whispers, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Percy looks between the door and Annabeth, then finally settles his gaze on Bob. 

“Will the Death Mist disappear if we try to do something like cutting the chains?”

“I don’t know.” Bob answers honestly, and Annabeth straightens her shoulders, “Percy and I can sneak up behind the Titans and cut the chains.”

“There’s still another problem: Once you’re inside the doors, someone has to hold the button for twelve minutes or else you don’t make it out.” 

Annabeth turns back to the door, and she sees Krios’s finger pressing into the ‘UP’ button. Suddenly her chest feels much heavier.

“Okay, say we do cut the chains and push the button. Does the Door move?” Percy asks, regaining Annabeth’s attention. 

“It should, yes. Thanatos can reclaim it.” Bob responds, then he stares at the cat for a moment, “I will stay behind—I will push the button.”

An argument immediately bubbles in Annabeth’s throat, and she watches Percy argue the matter with Bob for a few minutes. Then, he falls silent, an expression passing over his face that she doesn’t particularly like.

“Percy?” She tugs his hand, but he refuses to meet her eyes. Instead, his gaze remains on the door. “Let’s cut those chains.”

The plan fails, obviously. The two of them fall backwards just as the voice of Tartarus rings throughout the expansive valley. She’s shaking, the realization that she would be dying hitting her as she stands beside Percy. 

When she looks at him, she realizes that he’s just as scared as she is—the Death Mist was gone, but he was still as pale as a corpse. Riptide is just barely dangling in his grip, and Annabeth reaches out to grab his hand. “We’ll make it, yeah?”

At those words, something shifts, and suddenly they’re running through a mob of monsters. Annabeth manages to cut at the chains of the Door as Percy stabs at the monsters around them, a shout leaving him. She dives for the doors, forcing them open with her foot as she fights at the monsters around her.

She yells for Percy, then he’s beside her, covered in grime and blood and a layer of sweat dripping down his face. The sight makes her chest clench, “You okay?”

“Yeah, just—some arai. I’ll be fine.” He cuts at another monster, “Get in the elevator, I’ll hold the button.”

A wave of anger passes through her, and she takes it out on a monster that was pouncing on Percy. “You said we’re not getting separated again, didn’t you? That was your promise!”

“You have to go!” As he speaks, a Cyclopes charges at the two of them. He raises Riptide, and Annabeth lets out a mix between a yell and a sob, “No!”

“Annabeth!” He turns to her as the Cyclopes falls, and their eyes lock. She hates the fact that she’s crying, that tears are blurring her vision. 

“You asked me if I trusted you.” She cries, “Don’t break the promise.”

She knows that reminding him of that statement, the same one she’d made months ago after he killed Luke, is a low blow, but she needs it to wake something up in him—the reminder that she’s let go of what he’s done, and that she needs him beside her. Something shifts in his eyes, and then he gives a barely there nod. They turn back to the hoard of monsters, but inside of her, Annabeth knows it’s pointless. 

She opens her mouth, ready to tell Percy that maybe this battle isn’t one they can make it out of, but the sound of a Drakon cry breaks her thought. 

“Damasen!” She practically sobs, the Giant meeting her eyes. He looks between her and Percy, then charges at Tartarus. As he does so, Bob beelines towards the two of them. “Go, now.”

“Bob, no—” Percy begins to argue, but the Titan shakes his head, “No. I will be okay. You two need to go.”

He gives the two of them a gentle push backwards, “Tell the sun and stars hello for me. Remember to hold the doors shut on your side.”

She hates the fact that she cries the entire time she’s forcing the doors shut, the fact that Percy’s expression kills her on the inside. Mostly, she hates that even though the two of them made it out alive it feels like a bigger part of each of them died in there.

She and Percy don’t speak until hours later, when they’re back on the Argo II and Nico, Reyna, and Coach Hedge are long gone with the Athena Parthenon and they’ve had enough ambrosia and nectar that it doesn’t hurt physically anymore. It’s late, and everyone else on the ship has already said good night, but she can’t sleep and something in her tells her maybe Percy can’t either.

She finds him on the deck, back against the railing as he stares up at the sky. It’s bright out, the moon and stars shining and making her chest feel heavy. Carefully, slowly, she sits down beside him.

“Hey.” It’s a whisper, but he still turns to her. 

“It’s not fair.” He doesn’t even need to elaborate further for her to grasp what he’s talking about. She hugs her knees to her chest, “I know.”

She turns her attention back to the sky, letting her head fall back against the railing. She exhales a breath, “They sacrificed themselves for us. We don’t—I don’t know when they’re gonna come back, or if they’ll even remember us the same way as we remember them, but I think their stories deserved to be told. The good story—not the Greek myth version of them.”

“We will.” Percy promises, his voice coming out raspy. She hears him take in a sharp breath, “We survived.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“Fuck.” He curses, and Annabeth finally turns her attention back to him. He’s still facing forward, but she can see the tears swelling in his eyes. 

“Percy…” She shifts, reaching out a hand and placing it atop his, “We’re okay.”

“We’re really not.” He states the words so easily, his jaw clenching, “I can’t stop fucking thinking about the pit, the rivers, all of it—”

He stops, takes in another breath, “Annabeth, I scared you, didn’t I?”

She wants to say no. She wants to swallow the words, tell him good night, bury the conversation just like she has every time they’ve had something difficult come up. Instead, though, she finds herself nodding. 

He curses again, and his head hits the rails hard enough that Annabeth hears it. He lifts his hand, tugging it through his already messy hair. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.” She responds, and he shakes his head, “No, I do.”

He turns and they lock eyes, and when she looks into his, they’re rimmed with red, bloodshot, and still filled with tears. He exhales a breath, “You—you went through so much with Luke. We don’t talk about it, we don’t have to, but I need you to know I don’t—I don’t think you did anything wrong when you defended him, or when you joined his side because you thought he could be saved. You wanted to help him, and I saw you look at him with fear in your eyes back when we were fourteen. I don’t—I never want you to look at me that way, but you did.”

“Percy…” She whispers his name just as a tear rolls down his cheek, and she’s quick to wipe it away. She swallows, forcing down the sob that’s choking her in her throat.

“You are not Luke, same way I’m not him either. You—” She stops, a small mix between a sob and a laugh leaving her, “You did that to protect me! Everything you did, everything you do, it was for me. How can I get mad at you for that?”

She brushes her thumb across his cheek, holding his jaw with her hand. From this close, she can see how red his eyes are, how he has small cuts still littering his face, the dried blood he must have missed when he showered after they made it back onto the boat, the indent of his dimple and the freckles across his skin. He’s beautiful, and it makes her breath hitch in her throat. 

“You’re not evil.” She whispers, “And you’re not—you’re not aggressive, or too angry, or any of the things that Tartarus may have convinced you that you are. You, Percy, you’re good—too good, especially to me.” 

They’re both crying as Percy lets his head fall onto her shoulder, and all she can do is hold him tighter. She buries herself into his chest and his arms close around her, pulling her into him. They’re falling apart, but falling together. Something about not being alone in it comforts her, and when Percy’s grip tightens, the idea that Percy’s with her helps the rock in her chest crumble.

“We’re okay.” She manages, after a moment, and Percy nods once, pulling himself away from her shoulder. 

He rests his jaw on the top of her head, and something about the way she can feel his heartbeat against her cheek makes her breath easier. “We’re okay.”

And in that moment, she believes it. 

xi.

From surviving Tartarus to going through multiple journeys to retrieve ingredients for the physician’s cure, Percy has had it with this war. 

When they finally make it to Athens, Piper, Percy, and Annabeth make their way through the aqueducts of the Acropolis, promising to meet the other four on the battlefield. There was something terrifying about the promise, but they had to do it—they had to convince the army of giants to stop attacking. 

They wandered through the tunnels behind  Kekrops, the only source of light coming from the glow of their weapons and a staff the giant was carrying. When they made it through a curtain of what felt like mucus, they found themselves in what looked like a cave. There was a rectangular opening above their heads, giving them a clear view of the sky above them.

Percy watches Annabeth bend down, her fingers running across jagged marks on the ground—3 scratches along the floor. 

“Percy,” She whispers, “This is the place—these are Poseidon’s trident marks.”

She stands back up, meeting his eye, “This is where he struck the Earth, where he made a salt water spring appear when he had the contest with my mom.”

“So this is where the rivalry started.” He responds in a low voice, his gaze flicking from the floor back to her. 

“Yeah.” She murmurs, and Percy takes a step forward. “I’m tired of it, aren’t you?”

He’s painfully aware of how close she is to him, how if he reaches out his hand he can wrap himself around her. Her eyes are locked on his, a familiar silver-y gray that he can’t seem to stop staring at. 

“Let’s end the rivalry, Wise Girl.” He says it low enough just for her, grateful that Piper had decided to make herself busy with wandering the rest of the empty cave.

Annabeth opens her mouth, but then Percy touches her waist—a butterfly, barely there touch, but a bold move nonetheless. It’s enough for her to cut herself off. Instead, she nods. 

He’s frozen, his eyes fixed on hers and the way her lips are parted and the fact that he’s barely inches away from her. She raises one hand, moves it to rest on his chest, and he knows she can feel just how quickly his heart is pounding. He hopes she knows it’s for her.

His eyes flicker to her lips, and all he knows is that he wants to kiss her. It’s treacherous territory and he knows he’s walking a very, very thin line, but when their eyes relock, he knows she’s thinking the same thing. 

“Percy…” She breathes out his name, and it’s enough of a sign for him to dip his head, to rest his forehead against hers. He feels her breath hitch, a shaky exhale against his own skin and he knows if he nudges himself a bit further, their lips would meet. He brushes his nose against hers, and he feels her lift herself, pulling herself closer to him and he realizes he’s not the only one desperate for a kiss right now. 

“Guys, Frank is—Oh.” Piper stops mid sentence, reentering the small cave. Percy and Annabeth jolt apart, and for as much as he loves the daughter of Aphrodite, he wants to choke her in that moment. 

She gives them a sheepish smile, her cheeks flushed a bright red, “I can, um, I can come back.” 

Annabeth, whose cheeks are burning and refuses to meet his eye, shakes her head, “No, it’s fine—We, um, we have to focus. Giants to fight and all that.”

Percy clears his throat, “Yeah, let’s go.”

They bury the conversation and the almost kiss before Percy’s brain can linger too much on it. 

When Percy and Annabeth get caught by the giants, it shouldn’t shock him. They’d always known that the giants wanted their blood—That Gaea had wanted Percy and Annabeth to lead to her awakening. 

He can’t do anything as he watches the giant Peribodia hold Annabeth by the neck. “Silence!”

Percy struggles against the hold Enceladus has on him as the king draws a knife, fully prepared to end Annabeth. He can’t do anything. 

He wants to yell, wants to desperately cut at all the giants around them and save Annabeth—everything in him is terrified, yet he can’t even move. The other giant the king called for, Thoon, steps forward, fixing his stare on Annabeth. 

Percy yells—loud enough to capture everyone’s attention, loud enough to attempt to exorcise his frustrations and anger and everything in him that hurts. A hundred meters away, he sees a geyser explode. He wishes he could channel it closer.

He watches King Porphyrion laugh, watches him state that the two of them are absolutely helpless. He locks eyes with Annabeth, and everything in him collapses. Behind her gray eyes, behind the steeliness she’s forcing as she stares the giants down, he sees her—sees the flicker of fear and the helplessness she’s also feeling. 

Just as Thoon raises his weapon, he sees Piper, Mist disguise burning away, slashing at the monsters. She’s an idiot, he thinks, but he’s also grateful for her diversion. He lets out another shout as Peribodia lifts her sword again, but before she can properly strike Piper lets out a yell and the giant misses, slashing her own skin instead and dropping Annabeth to the ground. 

The sight of her blood seeping into the floor doesn’t go unnoticed, nor does the grimace on her lips as she collapses onto the ground. Percy kicks himself out of Enceladus’s grip, landing on the ground beside Annabeth. He can’t find Riptide—somewhere in their capturing the sword goes missing and he can only pray it’ll come back to his pocket in due time. He zeroes in on Annabeth, grabbing hold of her and wrapping his arms around her. She’s picked up Peribodia’s knife, and holds it out to Percy. 

“Hey, we’re okay.” He manages to whisper into her ear, and he registers the way she’s shaking against him as she grips onto his hand. He spins the knife in his hand, his eyes burning. Right now, he didn’t care about anything else—just keeping her safe. 

Then Percy’s struck by King Porphyrion, and he drops Annabeth as he strikes the wall in a heap. He barely registers Annabeth’s cry, the way the rest of the seven demigods somehow made their way onto the battlefield. 

If you asked Percy how he expected Gaea to rise, him getting a nosebleed would not have been on his personal list of theories. He also doesn’t anticipate the idea of battle giants alongside the Gods, but by the time the battle is over he doesn’t have it in him to complain. 

When Zeus launches them to Camp Half-Blood, he barely has time to grasp any of the events that had occurred. All he can do is battle as many monsters as he can and pray Piper, Jason, and Leo knew what they were doing. Once Piper sets Gaea back to sleep, he knows they’ve won—but at what cost? 

Leo was gone, a thought Percy still couldn’t wrap his head around, but despite it all, he can’t help but feel relieved. They all knew Leo would be okay, that he’d find his way back to them. After all, he had the physician’s cure. He’d be okay. 

When he spots Annabeth with Reyna, the two of them sharing nectar and laughing, it’s like a weight is lifted off his chest—she’s alive, she’s okay, and he hopes she’s not leaving him anytime soon. She meets his eye, and he watches her exchange a word with Reyna before making her way to him.

“We did it.” She says, in lieu of a greeting, and Percy can’t help the smile that forms on his lips. “We did, yeah.”

“Camp’s a mess.” 

“Yeah.” Percy’s eyes gaze over the hill, staring at the mess of campers, both Roman and Greek, and the various damaged buildings and weapons around them.

He meets her eye once again, “Are you gonna help with repairs?”

Are you staying? He meets her eye, and he sees her face falter for a moment. The action is so small, yet it’s enough for his stomach to plummet. Then, she straightens slightly, “I am, yeah.”

“So, Cabin 6 has a head counselor again?” He asks, and he knows he’s digging, but part of him needs to be sure. She gazes over to a group of campers—Athena kids, he realizes, and shrugs, “Maybe just co-head. I think—”

She pauses, suddenly nervous, and focuses her attention on the ground. It’s killing Percy, but he lets her take her time, “I’m gonna talk to my dad about boarding school in the city again. Finish out senior year and all that.”

“And Reyna and Frank said Greek demigods were allowed at New Rome University.” He tests, and when Annabeth meets his eye, hers are shining. He’s holding back the bubble in his chest, swallowing back the excitement that Annabeth is staying close to him. 

“And that.” She agrees, and silence falls between them. Percy studies her face, and suddenly their almost kiss that they shared hours ago is hanging in the air. He wants to kiss her. He knows it's foolish, that the Fates have shown time and time again that maybe it’s not meant to work out, but then her tongue darts out to lick her lips and all he can think is how much he wishes he could close the distance between them. 

His gaze flickers to her lips for a second, but then Annabeth clears her throat, takes a step back. It was a barely there step back, small enough that it shouldn’t have even felt like anything, but Percy suddenly feels like they’re seeing each other for the first time since the Battle of New York—As if the chasm that had broken while they were on Argo II is back again and he doesn’t know what to do anymore. 

“I should, um—I should go check on Chiron. See what I can do to help.” She keeps her voice as level as possible, and Percy swallows, nodding. He knows Annabeth can read his expressions, but he tries his best to push his emotions down his throat. “Yeah, um, me too—I’ll check on Jason and stuff.”

She nods. “Right.”

“Yeah.”

And then she’s gone, and Percy realizes that Annabeth has closed back up again—that everything they went through on Argo II is history now. He hates the fact that he couldn’t even get the words to come out of his throat—hates the fact that he feels like they’re back at square one again. 

xii.

Hours later, after many Iris Messages that ensured both camps were alive and well and that Leo somehow survived the explosion, Annabeth lays on her bed in Cabin 6. She knows she should feel comforted, feel like she’s back at home, even, but she can’t. She can’t sleep, which is a big given considering the mess they went through hours ago. Between thinking her childhood home was falling apart and believing Leo was dead for a couple of hours, it was a tiring time. 

Finally, she forces herself up. Her eyes wander around the cabin filled with her sleeping siblings, and her gaze fixes on the backpack she’d filled with her belongings from the Argo II. She grabs it, deciding to dump the content out and sort through it in the messiness. It’s mostly clothes, but it keeps her hands busy. 

As she’s sorting through the pile of clothes, her fingers enclose on a thicker piece of fabric—Percy’s hoodie. It’s the one she had taken from Cabin 3, the same one she wore constantly for months. 

Now that the war has settled, there’s nothing stopping her anymore. Before, she had excuses to stay away—she told herself that she couldn’t risk the two of them dying on each other, that there was too much that could go wrong and maybe they shouldn’t test the fates, but now…now there wasn’t anything that kept her away from him. 

She knows he wanted to kiss her hours ago, back when she told him she had plans to stay in New York. It had been a throwaway comment, just her trying to see how he’d react, and it fed into her thoughts on wanting him. She desperately does—she craves him, the way he looks at her and his butterfly touches and the way his smile makes her feel like she’s flying. She saw the look in his eye when she took a step back, the disappointment and the hurt and the fact that he probably thinks she’s letting him go again. 

She doesn’t quite realize what’s doing, nor does she have any form of plans, but that thought gives her enough of a push that she clutches the hoodie tighter between her fingertips and makes her way out of the cabin.

She doesn’t even realize her feet are taking her to Cabin 3 until she’s standing outside the door, her knuckle lifting to knock quietly on the wood before she can think it through. She has half a mind to run instead, to crawl back into her bed and hide, but when Percy calls that the door is open, she makes her way in anyway. 

He’s laying on his bunk when she comes in, dressed in a plain white shirt and flannel pajama pants. When he notices it's her, he sits up slightly, giving her a quick once-over. “Hey.”

She gives him a small wave, suddenly all too aware of the fact that she’s in loose running shorts and a camp shirt that’s two sizes too big. “Hi.”

Her fingers tighten around the fabric in her hands, and Percy glances between the item in her hands back to her face, “Do you want to sit, or…?”

He trails off, shifting on the bed, and Annabeth takes the opportunity to sit down next to him. It’s silent for a moment, and Annabeth can feel her heartbeat quickening in her chest, then she finally speaks, blurting out words to fill the silence in the room, “This is yours.”

“Huh?” Percy’s word comes out laced with confusion, and when Annabeth looks at him, his brows are furrowed and he’s staring at her with a questioning expression.

She places the hoodie between the two of them, “The hoodie—it’s yours. I was cleaning out my stuff from Argo II and I found it, so I um, I figured I’d give it back.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” He responds, brows still furrowed, and Annabeth nods once, “Yeah.”

“So…is that everything?” He asks, placing the hoodie on his pillow, and Annabeth falters for a second, then decides against it. She can’t say it. “Yeah. Um, good night, Percy.”

She stands, fully ready to jolt out of his room, but then Percy snaps her back in. “Annabeth, why did you have my hoodie?”

She looks back at him, and he’s slowly standing up off his bed. She shrugs, “I don’t know—it turned out with my stuff.”

“If it turned out with your stuff, that means you had before I showed up. Before you guys came to New Rome.” He takes another step towards her, and Annabeth’s desperate to keep distance between them—Too afraid that if they’re too close the sound of her heart will give her away. She takes a step back, “We wanted to grab you some stuff for the trip. You know, since coming from Camp Jupiter you had no personal belongings.”

“Uh huh.” He doesn’t sound convinced, and when Annabeth looks at his eyes, they’re shining with something else, “So, you just…grabbed a single hoodie.”

“Yup.”

“And kept it in your room this entire time.”

“Yeah.”

“And…didn’t give it back till now.”

“Mhm.”

“Annabeth.” The way he says her name makes her stop, her eyes locking on his. He takes another step towards her, but this time she doesn’t make a move away. She lets him stand inches away from her, close enough that she knows they’re no longer in friends territory. 

“Listen, I—”

“I love you.” She cuts him off, cheeks flaring up and the words coming out in a quick ramble she thinks he might not even understand. He stares at her dumbfounded for a moment, but once the words register in his head and his mouth snaps shut. She takes that as an opportunity to plough through, ignoring the shakiness in her voice.

“I tried for so long to deny that, to bury it or bottle it away but I can’t, okay? I—I’ve loved you since we were twelve and despite the fact that you’ve done bad things and the fact that I still believe I’m undeserving of all the good you give me, I want you and I love you and if what you said in Tartarus was just spur of the moment or a heat induced dream then we can forget this ever happened but—”

She stumbles back as Percy cuts her off, his lips against hers and a hand grabbing onto her waist. She feels her back hit the wall and she ignores the pain that jolts through her spine because Percy is here and he’s kissing her and Gods, she never wants it to stop. She feels him raise a hand and place it on the wall beside her head as she wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him even closer.

Her lungs feel like they're about to explode as Percy pulls away, but only enough for the two of them to catch their breaths. She waits till he’s inhaled a breath to kiss him again, her fingers tugging at the hairs at the nape of his neck. He lets out a noise from the back of his throat as he returns the kiss, and Annabeth wants to melt into him completely. Kissing him, she decides, is the best feeling in the world—it’s an unsaid I love you, it’s their promise to one another that they’d never let each other go, it’s them accepting their pasts but looking past them because they’re it for each other, regardless of what they’ve done.

This time they properly pull away, and Annabeth can feel her heart pounding so heavily in her chest that she knows he can feel it. He’s staring at her, with pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, and puffy lips, and Annabeth thinks he’s never looked better. 

He presses a kiss to her jaw, “Do you know how long I’ve waited to do that?” 

She can’t answer, too focused on the kisses he’s trailing down her skin. She knows if she opens her mouth right now, no coherent words or sentences will come out, so she stays silent. Her head lulls back, and he takes that as an opportunity to move down her neck. She’s in bliss.

“Since we were fourteen, Annabeth.” A kiss. “I wanted to kiss you for almost three years now.” Another kiss. “And I’ve wanted to hear you say you love me for two.” Another.

“Gods, I fucking love you—I’ve always loved you.” Then he’s properly kissing her, his lips on hers and she tightens her arms around him. The words send a rush through her, stronger and more intense than anything she’s ever felt before. When he’d said something similar in Tartarus, she’d forced herself to think that it was a fever-induced thought or him saying it to distract her, but now—now it was real. It wasn’t all in her head, he wasn’t going anywhere, he was real and holding her and he loved her, and she knew that wasn’t going to end anytime soon. 

She’d always believed Percy’s hugs felt like home, and now, the two of them kissing as if they’ve got all the time in the world and aren’t breaking every camp rule by being together right now, she decides his lips and kisses are what love feels like.

She’s never felt love like this before, in fact, she’s ever rarely felt proper love, but she knows that for every time Percy has taken care of or protected her, that was love. And she never wants to let it go.