Chapter Text
Annabeth regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth. “I- I mean-” She can feel her face turning red. Gods damn it, why can’t she get a hold on her tongue? “I’m- uh, I’m Annabeth. Hi.”
Percy flushes too, reaching for his chin to rub at whatever drool might have been there. His eyes fly to Grover, who’s very obviously holding in a laugh. “Um, ye- sorr- uh…” He tries to shift, planting an arm beneath himself, but it shakes violently and he relaxes back into Grover’s arm. “I’m Percy.”
Grover bleats, covering up a guffaw. “Oh, she knows,” he says. “Perce, you made an impression, man! I haven’t seen her this interested in a camper-” Annabeth sends a glare his way that kills his momentum immediately. “I mean, she’s been helping take care of you. Here, you need to drink more nectar.” He nudges the straw back into Percy’s mouth.
Annabeth watches the contents of the glass slowly disappear as Percy drinks, his eyes darting around the room. “So where are we?” he mumbles around the straw.
“Camp Half-Blood,” Annabeth says. “The…” She hesitates. “The only safe place for people like us.” She knows that isn’t remotely true, but the Annabeth of this time wouldn’t. Besides, Percy needs to be eased into the world of mythology. If she drops Camp Half-Blood, Camp Jupiter, the Hunters, and the Amazons on him, she’d probably give both him and Grover a heart attack.
“People like us?” Percy repeats.
“I’ll explain in a minute, man.” Grover removes the now-empty cup and places it gingerly on the table, as if it’s dynamite. “How do you feel?”
The color has returned to Percy’s cheeks. He swings his legs over the edge of the cot. “Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards.”
Annabeth snickers. She’s heard stories of the sixth-grade bully from both Percy and Grover, but the image of the ketchup-sandwich-eating girl soaring through the air as Percy pulls a Miss Trunchbull is a new one. Grover’s mouth only contorts into a half-smile, half-grimace.
“That’s good,” he says. “That’s good. I don’t think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff.”
“What do you mean?” asks Percy.
“Well, that drink is called nectar,” Annabeth says. “It’s the drink of the gods, and too much can literally incinerate you.”
Percy’s eyes widen comically. “W-what?”
“Okay, Percy, this is a lot to take in, but I’m going to try to explain as much as possible,” Grover interrupts. Annabeth stares at him, astonished.
“Did you not tell him anything?” she asks. “I thought you’d filled him in at least a little!” She’d been operating under the assumption that Grover had only given Percy the very basics, and that last time she had simply acted as though he should be perfectly versed in the mythological world.
Grover shifts uncomfortably. “There wasn’t any time. The Bull had almost caught up with them when I got there. We only got here because Ms. Jackson started driving us as soon as she figured out how serious the situation was.”
Annabeth huffs, vaguely aware of Percy looking frantically between the two of them in confusion. She’s not really annoyed, but it means that she’ll have to take this conversation even more slowly than she had planned. “Well, Percy, there’s no easy way to say this. You know all the myths about Greek gods and heroes?”
“Yeah?” Percy says uncertainly. Annabeth spreads her arms.
“All real.”
Percy gapes at her, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “I- what?”
“Yup.” Annabeth drags her chair over from the Bananagrams table, spins it around, and plunks into it. She’s gotten more used to her twelve-year-old proportions since waking up, but the movement still requires a small, albeit frustrating, amount of concentration. “And we -” She makes an expansive gesture with her arms, as if encompassing all of Camp Half-Blood - “Are living proof. Everyone at Camp is somehow affiliated with the gods. Most of us are children of some god or another, and Camp trains us to become heroes while keeping us safe from the outside world.”
“Wh- Gods?” Percy’s voice cracks slightly with incredulity, and he tries to subtly clear his throat before continuing. “I- No. No, this is a joke, right?” He looks at Grover. “Right?”
Grover sighs and shakes his head. “No, Perce, she’s right. The myths are real.” He kicks off his fake foot, revealing the hoof beneath. “I’m actually a satyr. You might remember that. Annabeth is a demigod - half god, half mortal.”
Annabeth recognizes the befuddled expression on Percy’s face. His mind is recalibrating, recalling incidents that he hadn’t fully understood and slotting them into this new worldview. She’d missed the days when he made that face all the time, but now she aches to see the semi-confident look he grew into.
“So, if this isn’t the weirdest dream I’ve ever had,” he says, “does that mean-” His voice breaks. “My mom?”
Grover’s eyes seek the floor.
Annabeth purses her lips. “Percy, your mom… she’s mortal,” she says, as gently as possible. “Monsters don’t typically go after mortals, but when they do… well, demigods have a tough enough time, and we’re born to fight them.”
Percy struggles out of the cot. Grover wedges an arm beneath Percy’s and helps him, and Annabeth opens the door. The sunlight makes her squint for a second, but the second Percy gets through the doorway, he lets go of Grover and stumbles to the rail. He stares out at the strawberry fields behind the Big House, taking in the vibrant green, blue, and orange, the demigods going about their days smiling and laughing.
Annabeth carefully joins him at the rail. “She was really brave, Percy,” she says. “To distract a monster for you, especially the Minotaur-” Grover makes a squeaking noise, but Annabeth ignores him. “She has to have loved you an unbelievable amount.”
Percy’s eyes are dull. He doesn’t say anything, but his jaw is clenched. It’s an effort to appear calm and composed, but Annabeth knows too many of his tells. She sends an intentionally helpless glance at Grover. As much as it hurts, Percy doesn’t know her yet. Any comfort from her is going to feel more hollow than if it comes from someone he knows.
Grover gets the hint. He leaves his awkward spot in the doorway and walks over to put an arm around Percy’s shoulders, kicking off his other fake foot in the process. “Hey, man, you with me?”
“Mm-hm.” Percy nods a little. Annabeth backs up, recognizing that Percy is more likely to be weak around Grover if she isn’t there.
She used to be that person for him.
He used to be that person for her-
She shakes herself out of the well of self pity before she falls in. She doesn’t have the time for this. Events are now on a timer, and Annabeth needs to make sure everything goes according to plan.
Grover’s shoe still lies on the porch where he discarded it. She picks it up and retreats into the Big House, leaving Percy and Grover to talk in low murmurs. She barely makes it back to the table before the pain in her chest and throat returns with a vengeance, and she sits heavily on the cot, fighting back tears.
She hadn’t expected to be hit so hard by her relationship with Percy reverting to ‘barely acquaintances’. After all, years of friendship with Grover, Clarisse, Beckendorf, Selina - her heart sinks - her father , everything she had grown used to has been erased. Hades, she hasn’t even met any of the Seven yet besides Percy.
But deep down, she realizes that none of them are the same. Percy is different. He’s more than a friend, more than a partner, he’s just… Percy. He’s Annabeth’s other half, and having their relationship reduced to nothing hurts more than losing anybody else. Vaguely, she wonders if this is how she would have felt if Percy hadn’t regained his memories before the Argo II arrived at Camp Jupiter.
She sniffs, wiping at her eyes, and forcibly composes herself. Get a grip, Chase. Percy has Grover right now, and she doesn’t have anyone. That’s just the way it has to be right now. She has to keep things on schedule, and lamenting the past isn’t going to help anyone.
She sets Grover’s shoe on the floor and drags his other shoe over with her foot. They look relatively organized, sitting nearly parallel at the side of the cot. She decides they’re good enough and stands.
Annabeth’s abandoned Bananagrams stare at her accusingly. She barely spares them a glance, instead leaning across the table and picking up a shoebox. She and Grover had both forgotten about it, but now that she’s here, there’s no reason for Percy not to have it. She tucks it under her arm and turns to leave, but something makes her hesitate for a second.
She turns back to the table, grabs her final tile, and rearranges ‘inositol’ into ‘isolation’. Oddly fitting. She doesn’t appreciate the coincidence. It doesn’t matter how alone she feels as long as she doesn’t mess this up.
“Take two,” she mutters, turning and leaving the room.
— — —
Percy barely reacts when Annabeth presents him with the shoebox. He just numbly pries the lid from the box, looks in with tired eyes, and lets the hand holding the lid fall to his side. Annabeth offers to hold the box for him, or take it away, but he shakes his head and takes it from her gingerly, carefully closing the lid and tucking it under his arm.
The three of them are halfway around the Big House’s porch when Percy finally speaks. Annabeth doesn’t catch more than the low mumble of his voice at first. She looks at him. “Sorry?” she asks apologetically.
Percy’s eyes stay on the wooden boards beneath his feet. “It’s real,” he repeats. “My mom…” He swallows uncertainly. “Sh- she’s really gone.”
Annabeth’s mind races to find a reassuring response that doesn’t sound either condescending or omniscient. “I’m sorry,” she offers. “I know how little that means, but… it’s unusual for a monster to just… y’know… a mortal, even if they’re making a nuisance of themself.” It’ll have to do. Get the thought that his mother wasn’t supposed to die in his head, so that she can more easily suggest the possibility of her being alive later. Until then, Percy will just have to take her statement as uncomfortable condolences.
Percy nods. The floorboards creak beneath their feet as they turn the second corner, coming to the front of the Big House. At a table strewn with playing cards, Mr. D and Chiron overlook the camp. Chiron is in his wheelchair, much to Annabeth’s combined exasperation and delight - exasperation because Percy’s mind already has to adjust to so much and a magic wheelchair is just another thing to explain, and delight because, as she’s only just realizing, she hadn’t actually seen Percy’s initial reaction to Chiron’s horse half in the first timeline. She’d run down the hill, flustered by her own ‘ You drool when you sleep ’ comment.
Their footsteps finally get the centaur’s attention as they get within a few yards of the table, and Chiron glances over his shoulder. When he sees them, his eyes glint, and he sets his carefully organized hand of cards on the table. “Ah, Annabeth, Grover!” he exclaims, turning his wheelchair around. Annabeth hears a gasp next to her, and Chiron’s smile widens kindly. “And Percy. It is good to see you, my boy.”
When Annabeth looks, Percy’s eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs slightly open. “Mr. Brunner?” he says. His voice rises comically in pitch. “What are you doing here?”
“Playing pinochle,” Mr. D grumps. “Or we were, until you showed up.” He reaches across the table to pull Chiron’s cards into his hand and begins shuffling. “At least now we have four for the game. Gerald, go tell Mr. Cast-Iron he’ll probably have another for his cabin before the day is out.” He deals the cards into four piles, and after none of them have moved for a few seconds, he glances up irritably. “Well, Annie Bell? Peter? Sit down.”
Percy squints in confusion. “Okay, first of all, my name is Percy,” he says. “And, uh, I don’t really know how to play pinochle, so if Grover can just stick around to help…?” He lets the question trail off. Mr. D glares at him.
“More and more bratty with every arrival,” he mutters, going back to the cards. “Fine, Garfield can stay. Just take a seat.”
Annabeth silently lets out the breath she was holding. She’s gotten good at talking down gods, but something about Percy is that when he wants to be aggravating, there is little that can mitigate his effect. He’d been at odds with Mr. D countless times in her previous life, and while they never ended badly, they always had the potential to do so. She takes the seat with its back to Camp. Percy sits across from her gingerly. Grover pulls up a chair next to him.
“So, um, you work here, Mr. Brunner?” Percy asks Chiron. The centaur shifts in his wheelchair.
“Not Mr. Brunner,” Chiron corrects him gently. “I’m afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron.”
“Okay.” Percy glances at Grover in total confusion, then looks at Mr. D. “And Mr. D… does that stand for something?”
Annabeth does an excellent job at maintaining a poker face, focusing on the table as Mr. D pauses in his shuffling. He looks up at Percy as if he had convinced Pollux to declare that Vanilla Coke was better than Diet Coke in the middle of the dining pavilion. “Young man, names are powerful things. You don’t just go around using them for no reason.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.”
“I must say, Percy,” Chiron interjects, “I’m glad to see you alive. It’s been a long time since I’ve made a house call to a potential camper, and I’d hate to think I’ve wasted my time.”
Annabeth suppresses a frown. Even for Chiron, who regularly fumbles his words when he has no direct wisdom to share, that seems to be in bad taste. “It’s true,” she chimes in. “Chiron mostly stays here at Camp, overseeing the training and activities. When he goes out himself, it’s normally important.”
“Yes, Grover alerted me as soon as he met you,” adds Chiron. “We have satyrs at a great many schools, but in cases such as yours, it’s better to be safe than sorry. I convinced the other Latin teacher to… take a leave of absence.”
Percy’s eyebrows furrow. “You came to Yancy just to teach me?”
Chiron nods. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure at first, but we contacted your mother and let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. You still had so much to learn. Nonetheless, you made it here alive, and that’s always the first hurdle to overcome.”
“Alive?” Percy questions. “Mom and Grover were acting like what was happening was really rare and dangerous. Is that what it’s like for everyone?”
“For my father’s sake, Perry,” Mr. D groans, “blather all you’d like, but at least make a bid.”
“A bid?”
Mr. D throws his hands in the air. “What has civilization come to?” He glares at Percy. “Tell me you at least know how to play Pac-Man.”
“Of course I know how to play Pac-Man,” Percy says, sounding equally confused and offended. “What does that-”
Grover leans over Percy’s shoulder and hurriedly whispers in his ear, pointing at his cards. Percy bids.
“To answer your question, Percy,” Annabeth says as Chiron makes a bid of his own, “most campers arrive relatively quietly. Being chased to Camp like you were isn’t necessarily rare, but the danger posed to you was. You were targeted by a Kindly One and Pasiphae’s son. Something like that hasn’t happened for years.” She glances at her cards, not too invested in the game, and bids.
“Yes,” Chiron muses. “There’s so much to explain, I’m not sure if the normal orientation film will suffice.”
“Well, how is he going to learn anything if he doesn’t see it?” Annabeth asks. “I mean, Grover and I already told him that the gods are real, but there’s so much basic information that he needs to know.”
“That’s true,” acknowledges Chiron. He strokes his beard thoughtfully. “I suppose… yes. The film will be adequate, but if you have any questions, Percy, please ask.”
“Okay…” Percy trails off. Annabeth promises herself that if Chiron decides not to answer, as he does annoyingly often, she’ll simply tell Percy. The old centaur may think he’s protecting Percy, but as much as he had tried to hide it the first time, Annabeth’s Percy had struggled with the lack of information.
“Well, to get you started, the gods exist,” Annabeth prompts.
“Right…” Percy chews on his lip. “So, like, capital ‘G’ God? Or just the Olympians, like Annabeth said? And what about what science says - like weather and stuff?”
“Well, now,” Chiron muses. “The Abrahamic concept of a God, to use your example, is a different matter altogether. We shan’t deal with the metaphysical.”
Annabeth frowns. “Metaphysical? That’s not a no, Chiron.”
Chiron raises an eyebrow at her. “No, it isn’t, but what we’re discussing are gods in terms of the great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors, these being the immortal gods of Olympus. They’re a much smaller matter.”
“Smaller?” stammers Percy. “Zeus, Athena, Apollo - they’re the small stuff?”
The sky rumbles threateningly. Annabeth has to keep herself from rolling her eyes.
“Small stuff,” Mr. D grumbles. “How demeaning. Boy, we are still immortal, powerful beings that could incinerate mortals like you on a whim. You’d do well not to throw names around like that.”
Grover gulps. “P-please, sir, he’s just lost his mother, and he’s very new to this. He doesn’t mean any offense.”
“Just as well,” Mr. D huffs. “Bad enough I’m confined to this miserable post, stuck with children who, despite their remarkable adjustment to the reality that their precious science has not told them the whole story, are unable to show proper respect. Oh, the wondrous minds of today’s mortals.”
Percy’s eyes narrow, and Annabeth can practically hear the thought of “And what if I did mean offense?” flash through his mind, but as Mr. D waves his hand, a wineglass constructs itself from thin air and fills with a deep red liquid. Percy’s jaw drops.
Chiron sighs. “Mr. D? Your restrictions.”
Mr. D looks at the cup and badly feigns surprise. “Dear me.” He waves a hand up at the sky. “Old habits! Sorry!”
The sky rumbles again as the goblet melts and bends into a can of Diet Coke. Mr. D picks up the goblet-become-soda and takes a sip with a slight grimace.
Chiron turns to Percy. “Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off limits.”
“A wood nymph,” Percy repeats, still staring at the can with a dumbstruck expression that reminds Annabeth of the way he looked when he saw her on Circe’s island. That reminds her of Circe herself, which reminds her that she’ll have to figure out how to deal with or avoid the sorceress in a little more than a year, and she loses herself in thought for a moment until she catches herself and returns to the conversation, just in time to play a card.
“You’re Dionysus,” Percy says. “The god of wine.”
Annabeth has to resist the urge to drag her hand down her face, because of course Percy has the guts to name Mr. D to his face after being explicitly told to mind his tongue when it comes to names. Mr. D tilts his head at Percy.
“Indeed, Perseus Jackson,” he says. Percy flinches at his full name. “What gave it away?”
“You’re a god,” Percy says, incredulity seeping into his voice.
“Yes, child.”
“A god. You.”
Mr. D pauses, then shifts in his seat to fully face Percy. The two of them lock eyes for a moment, and Percy’s take on a barely noticeable tinge of purple. Annabeth tenses in her seat, beginning to formulate plans to distract Mr. D if necessary.
“Would you like to test me, child?” Mr. D asks, his tone terribly calm.
“No,” Percy murmurs. “No, sir.”
Mr. D leans back, breaking eye contact with Percy, and Annabeth relaxes. He looks back to the game of pinochle. “I believe I win.”
“Not quite, Mr. D,” Chiron says. He sets down a straight and tallies up the points. “It appears the game goes to me.”
Mr. D sighs through his nose.
“Mr. Underwood, would you show Percy to the film room?” Chiron asks. “We can address any remaining questions once that has finished.”
Grover nods quickly and stands, taking Percy’s arm. “C’mon, Perce.” He makes a half-bow to Mr. D and trots off, dragging Percy along with him.
“We’ll have to talk, again, Grover, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment!” Mr. D calls after the retreating satyr. He stands with a groan. “I feel as though I’ll have to take a nap before tonight’s sing-along-” his voice drips with disdain- “So until further notice, I will be indoors.” He drains the rest of his Diet Coke, sets the can down in front of Grover’s seat, and sweeps inside the Big House.
Annabeth fidgets, watching as Chiron sweeps the cards up. She should technically be with her cabin, leading activities, and she knows that Chiron has been keeping tabs on her. “Should I make sure he has a spot in the Hermes cabin?” she asks.
Chiron looks at her strangely, but nods. “I suppose,” he says, then, as Annabeth stands and begins to leave, adds, “However, I would like to speak with you afterward.”
Annabeth forces her face to remain neutral and open. As far as Chiron knows, she has nothing to hide. “Okay, Chiron,” she says brightly, then turns and sprints off toward the cabins.