Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Monster training is exactly the same. Percy Jackson is not.

He is older now, though, taller and broader than the twelve year old who first learned how to do all this. Riptide has never been more of an extension to his arm. He – and most of the others he’s grown up with at Camp – have shifted more into helping train the younger arrivals rather than using it to build his own experience. Because when he stops to think about it, there’s very little out in the real world that could match some of the things he’s needed to face elsewhere.

He can still see the primordial deity of Tartarus itself raising up to challenge he and Annabeth both, and fearing more strongly in that moment than any other in his life that he was going to die. He still thinks about what - who - it took to get them both out alive, and he still wonders if he was really worthy. Annabeth tries to reassure him that he was, and it usually works, at least for a little while.

Scorpions are the monster of choice today, and one of the newer demigods – a son of Aphrodite who looks up to Piper like she’s the goddess herself – has volunteered to take the first one. He doesn’t do to bad, at least until a second one gets loose and then suddenly there are two of them targeting the kid, and he barely looks a day over twelve. They move fast, too fast, and things are going to end bloody without intervention.

Piper and Percy are the ones to jump in before things get out of hand. She separates one, then calls over the new kid to help her – though it’s less helping her and more up closer and personal demonstration.

Leaving Percy to take care of the second one that’d gotten free, which swings itself around a bit wildly, determined to take someone out and looking over at the audience of demigods around the scene. It sets something off in him, something he’s not quite aware of, but he lunges and slashes and even kicks it once, injuring it several times without actually ending its life. The scorpion lands on its back, and Percy slams Riptide into the stomach. That’s about where it would end, except he doesn’t pull his sword out. He runs it jaggedly up the soft underbelly, face contorting briefly into something dangerous.

It turns into dust with Riptide still embedded, and Percy stands over the pile, breathing more harshly than would be expected and still frustrated that it got loose, that it almost killed that kid. Piper’s taken care of the other by this point, and when he catches her eyes, her face is unnaturally neutral, which only kind of further pokes at the bubbling anger in his gut. He’s about to lash out at her, can feel the words shooting up his throat, even if he doesn’t quite know what they are –

But then a hand, on his arm. And Annabeth’s face beside him, daring him to look away from her once he catches her steely eyes. His shoulders slump, the anger dissipating slowly but not entirely. She pulls Riptide from his grip and takes him by the hand, gently leading him away; Clarisse stomps in passed them, easily taking over Percy’s job without a word from anyone, though the look on her face that warns against questions probably helps.

Like always, Annabeth knows exactly what he needs, and they end up at the beach. She sits on the sand, and he splashes around in the shallows for a while; the waves lap up roughly at his legs, the tide coming up extra harsh and soaking Annabeth where she’s settled. The water’s choppy, but only around them, in their little spot. Percy dives out a little, disappears underwater for a few minutes, where he just sort of swims around recklessly to expel the pent-up energy from his anger. When his head breaks the surface, the water’s gone back to normal, and Annabeth’s waiting for him at the edge where sand meets ocean, small waves breaking at her ankles.

He rushes over; the closer he gets, the wider he smiles, and by the time he has his arms around her, she’s smiling, too. (He didn’t miss the way she handled him, though, and he knows what that means as a reflection on him – but her smile means it’s okay now, because if she can smile at him, he’ll be fine.)

-

It’s pretty much the dumbest fight in the world, with Clarisse of all people. Percy knows neither of them are at that juvenile level anymore, knows they don’t pick dumb fights, especially over food, but somehow the squabble exploded, and they both ended up with food in their faces and soda in their hair. The insults they’re hurling at each other start off at borderline kindergarten standards, but soon enough there are a few choice curses thrown in that have some of the elder campers covering ears of younger ones. Percy can feel the hostility rising in his tone as he chucks a burrito at her face with more intent than necessary and yells something catty with it. He’s surprised no one’s stepped in yet.

The turning point is when he kicks over a chair. He’s still not really sure why he did it, but there was something pent up inside him that he needed to get rid of, and the target presented itself. The moment it skids roughly across the floor, Annabeth’s there, her body a wall between him and Clarisse, though it’s Clarisse she’s got her back to; the realization startles him, because it means Annabeth sees him as more of the issue here. His shoulders slump with it, and she grabs his hand, leading him away from the dining pavilion without a fight on his end.

He can feel an uncomfortable number of eyes watching them leave, but his gaze is only on Annabeth and the blonde ponytail swishing over her shoulders as she walks. There’s always been something steadying about – her. Just her.

She takes him down to the docks, and when she sits on the edge, dangles her legs in the lake, he mimics her without even thinking about it. They sit that way for a few minutes in silence, and he half expects her to lean against him. Wants her to, really.

“You need a shower,” she notes, breaking the quiet and explaining why she’s still so far away in the same sentence.

He makes a face, squinting up as he reaches his free hand up into his hair where he pulls out a chunk of hamburger and feels some ketchup slowly sliding down his forehead at the same time. “They’d probably hate me if I just jumped in the lake, huh?”

“Hate is too kind a word. I like you in one piece.”

He blows out a puff of air, feeling something like disappointment crawling up to replace his restless irritation. It’s only when more campers start exiting the pavilion to head back for their cabins that Annabeth climbs to her feet, hauling him up in almost the same motion.

“Go clean yourself up before curfew sets in.” It’s not exactly an order, but he’s not going to disobey either. He’s starting to feel really gross, and he’s pretty sure Annabeth won’t kiss him goodnight if he’s covered in food.

She walks him over to the showers, but kisses him on the cheek before he’s clean anyway. “I’ll stop by later, leave the window open,” she says, but there’s nothing in her tone that gets his pulse racing. She’s coming to check on him for other reasons entirely, but as he slips into the bathrooms and away from her, he’s actually pretty okay right now with her coming over in any capacity. Because he catches sight of Clarisse walking to her cabin, and that spark of irritation comes back. It’s only the thought of seeing Annabeth again later that quells it as he dives into the showers.

-

It’s the little things. Throwing his pillow across the room when he wakes up earlier than he wanted. Accidentally breaking the alarm clock one morning after a rough night’s sleep. Slamming the door to the Big House hard enough to nearly disattach it from the hinges (he plays an extra game of risk when he walks away without listening to whatever reprimand Mr. D has to offer). A dummy torn apart by Riptide, and he stands over it in both confusion and that same irritation that just always seems to be there lately.

What does that make him, really? Has he always been this angry? Percy knows he’s always had a temper, but he’s never really been so confronted with visible reminders of it. He’s never torn a training dummy apart with such vitriol before – but each hit, each strike, he just kept seeing monsters. Literal ones, of course, the kind that bubbled up to be born again in Tartarus, but metaphorical ones, too. Splotches that weigh on his chest, and beating the shit out of the doll in front of him seemed to extinguish them almost like Annabeth usually does.

He gets along with people, but he’s as socially awkward as most demigods. Just not usually with other demigods – he’s always found it easier to talk to them than most mortals, because they’re all kind of in the same boat. But as he picks up the pieces of the dummy (he doesn’t want to leave it there, he’s pretty sure the nymphs would consider it littering), he realizes he hasn’t had much in the way of conversation with his fellow campers. Not since the war ended.

It’s Tartarus, probably. They don’t know how to bring it up or walk around it, and he knows the scars on the sides of his chest from the first arai curse are probably uglier than most. If it’s summer and he’s shirtless, it’s not like he can hide them – and they all have scars, but unspokenly, everyone knows where those on Percy came from, even if the details are (and will always be) a mystery.

But it’s Tartarus. It has to be Tartarus, keeping people away.

-

Annabeth can hear the whispers, whether she’s invisible or not. Even before they fell into Tartarus, hers and Percy’s names were infamous in camp, for their prior quests, for the Battle of Manhattan, in just essentially being the Camp’s leaders. Surviving the pits of hell only sort of adds to that, because it’s not exactly the sort of thing anyone does, ever. No one asks them though, and she has several theories as to why. It’s entirely possible they just give off an aura now, something of keep away. Maybe Chiron looms his own warning in the distance. Maybe demigods are just more respectful than she’s given them credit for in the past (which, to be fair, they’re all terrible gossips, so it’s not an unfair assumption).

It’s the whispers she hears about Percy that stand out more. Maybe because she’s used to hearing them about herself, when her loyalty to Camp against Luke was in quietly in question, when she was seven years old and survived where Thalia presumably had not. But what gets her the most is the whispers are wondering.

There’s something different about Percy, you know?

Several variations on the same concept, and it wouldn’t bother her so much if she wasn’t aware of their exact reasons. And maybe one of her theories is that people don’t want to potentially set Percy off by asking. His temper’s on a short fuse lately – no, not lately, for months now, since escaping Tartarus especially. She was probably the first to notice.

And she’s been trying to figure out what it means, exactly. She knows Tartarus essentially stripped them down, and she can still remember the scary desperation in Percy’s need for them to survive (for her to survive). It started with Arachne’s death and seems to crystallize in the moment he tried to drown Akhlys in her own poison. She can’t stop seeing it, and it shows up at night when there’s not much else around to distract her. It’s not enough to wake her up screaming, but it is enough to linger and set her on edge.

Especially when she watches the way Percy’s been interacting with the world around him. He left most of that rawness back in hell, but Annabeth knows some of it’s followed him out (probably more than she wants to admit). And while she tries to figure out what that means, for him, for her, all she can do is just be there to calm him down.

She just worries one day it might not be enough.

-

Annabeth is pretty sure the worst conversation she has with Percy in months is via Iris-Message, when he goes home for the weekend to visit Sally and Paul.

She answers his call immediately (fortunately, she’s doing some work alone in her cabin), but she almost doesn’t hear the words of his greeting because she’s too busy staring at his red-rimmed eyes and the utterly desolate shadows in his face. “Percy?” Straight to the point, hello-how-are-yous are pointless.

“I had a fight with my mom.” His voice is hoarse, whether from yelling or crying or both, Annabeth isn’t sure. It’s quiet, too, like he can’t quite believe he’s admitting to it, that it even happened. Honestly, Annabeth’s not even positive she heard him right, because while she knows he bickers with Sally on occasion, never in her life has she ever seen Percy in such a state. Like he’s terrified he’s broken something permanently.

“Percy,” she whispers, and she’s literally about five seconds from stealing a Pegasus and flying into Manhattan.

He opens his mouth to reply, but just sort of makes a choking sound. He sniffles, rubs at his eyes, and then just collapses into his hands, clutching and hiding his face; he’s not crying, but his whole body sinks with disappointment and frustration at himself.

“Your mom could never hate you, okay? I swear to –”

“Don’t swear on them,” he interrupts, with a small flash of spite. And she feels it, because neither of them has ever really stopped blaming the gods for Tartarus.

“I swear to you,” she amends, resolute and trying desperately to catch his eyes, but he’s still buried in his hands.

“It was so dumb,” he mutters. “One minute we were disagreeing, the next I –” He stops, so curt and so suddenly that she just knows there’s no amount of time to prepare for whatever might follow. “I blamed her for Gabe. What the hell is wrong with me, Annabeth?”

She doesn’t have an answer. Except maybe hell itself. But even that’s too complicated for being anything close to comfort right now. The worst part is, Annabeth can feel a little of Sally’s pain, and there’s a small part of her that thinks about hanging up. She can’t though. Not in a million years could she do something like that.

“Apologize to her,” she says.

Percy finally looks up at his girlfriend, and for a moment, there’s a flash of irritation at her, like it’s the dumbest, most obvious suggestion, of course he did that already. It disappears though, and then he just looks dejected again. “She – she’s in her room,” he says, unsure of himself. “I don’t think she wants to see me.”

“Percy Jackson, you go apologize to your mother right now.”

The irritation sparks again, but she can tell no matter how annoyed he is, he just doesn’t have it in him to have the two most important people in his life disappointed and angry with him at the same time. “What if she doesn’t…” He can’t even finish. He can’t handle the idea that his mother won’t want to see him.

“If I know anything about your mom, it’s that she will always have time for you.” Next to Annabeth herself, Sally probably knows best her son has come back more bitter than he’s ever been, and they both know that despite whatever he thinks of himself, he’s not a terrible person. “I love you,” she says, “And she does, too. Now stop beating yourself up and go own up to it.”

Percy just sort of stares at her after that, for at least a full minute, but she holds his gaze determinedly, and even though he looks like a truck just ran him over, she can tell he’s grappling with everything she’s said. Maybe he’d called expecting something less like a lecture, but she knows she’s right, and she’s just waiting for it to sink in. He’s not going to fix this by just sobbing at her.

“We’ll talk more about it when you get back, okay? Right now it’s more important you don’t let this simmer.”

There’s another few moments before he finally speaks up again. “I don’t really blame her. You know that, right?”

Annabeth sighs. “I do.”

The anger dies, finally, and he just looks defeated. “I love you.” There’s a promise in the words, that he loves her no matter what happens. If he ever hurts her like he’s just hurt his mother.

“I love you, too.”

He waves through the message after that and doesn’t call back.

She doesn’t sleep very well that night.

-

The thing about Annabeth and Tartarus is that it doesn’t manifest in the same outward way as Percy. She throws herself into distractions almost one hundred percent, throws herself into making sure Percy’s temper doesn’t fly off the handle.

She sees it, though, more often than she admits and lets on. She’s gotten too used to the circles under her eyes that she forgets they’re there until Piper asks about them. “It’s fine,” is her only consolation, though the look on her friend’s face is entirely disbelieving.

“Look, I know –” And Piper pauses, because she weaves words like magic, enough to make even Athena proud, but she doesn’t really know how to address what she wants to. Which is fine, because Annabeth knows what she’s trying to get at. Percy. Percy and his temper and Piper isn’t blind to the way Annabeth is his anchor.

“We’ll be okay,” she says. It’s their mantra, since they got out, because the worst is over, and they’re alive. They can handle what comes next. She can handle it.

Piper squeezes her hand. “I know. But take care of yourself, too, okay?”

Annabeth’s face twists with confusion, because of course she is.

It’s only when she wakes up later that night, with a sharp cry that echoes around her cabin, that she wonders about Piper’s concern with more than just brush-offs. Before any of her bleary-eyed siblings can ask if she’s all right, Annabeth’s out the door and crossing the grass for the Poseidon cabin, unconsciously grabbing her knife along the way; Percy’s awake the moment she opens the door, Riptide in hand, but it clatters to the floor as he rushes forward to sweep her in his arms.

She breathes him in. This is part of taking care of herself, just letting him hold her and sinking against him. Percy Jackson will always be there for her. He’s the steady support network she’d wanted for years.

But there’s a flipside. He followed her into hell, and if that doesn’t qualify as being there for her, she doesn’t know what does – but she can still remember trying to shove off the guilt in knowing that if he died, it was her fault. The fall was her fault to begin with, and she hasn’t been able to let go of that.

She’s starting to wonder what that might mean for them now, as she watches him lash out unnecessarily. What else could potentially be her fault.

It gets shoved aside when he drags her over to his bed and more or less tucks her in before climbing in beside her. Rules be damned. Right now, she just wants to get back to sleep.

-

Capture the flag is never synonymous with safe, but it does fall under fun alongside training, or nobody would get excited. Today’s captains are Clarisse and Annabeth, and Percy’s aligned with the latter, if only because more of the cabins have sided with Ares (to be fair, Athena’s cabin is current holder of the flag, and the majority want to steal it for themselves).

He grins at her goofily when she adjusts his armor, even though he knows how to do it himself. But he feels light today, and maybe it’s just how pumped everyone is for the game. He kisses Annabeth on the cheek, and she rolls her eyes, but it doesn’t stop him from hovering behind her as she explains the plan to the whole team.

It goes well. It goes pretty much exactly as Annabeth planned for, down to some of the new campers getting their first taste of the game without being in the most dangerous line of fire. He’s doing as she ordered, even if he’d rather be at her side, but she’d wanted to be invisible for most of this.

It’s only when he finds himself in the vicinity of the aforementioned preteen team members that things stop going quite so well. Because they’re combating some people from the other team, and though the skirmish in itself is par for the course – there’s something about the way that daughter of Hecate is moving that sets Percy on edge.

Her name is Dipti, he remembers. Then she casts her spell, and – he thinks that’s a son of Hermes as her target, but none of that seems to matter as the kid’s eyes go wide and his mouth opens in shock.

“What – what did you do? What happened? I can’t see!”

And then suddenly he doesn’t see the forest at all. Percy just sees Annabeth, eyes white and reaching out for him, crying the same words. She’s too far away, and she’s blind, and it’s Tartarus and the next thing he knows, he’s letting out some kind of guttural sound, torn between visions of Annabeth in hell and the extremely alarmed demigods right in front of him.

“Percy?” someone asks, confused but concerned. He can’t tell who it was.

The son of Hermes is on his knees, clutching at the sides of his face in a panic. His weapon is discarded, and one of his allies kneels beside him in her own freak out.

“Relax,” Dipti says, though there’s a trace of nervousness in her tone, at the way the events are unfolding. “It’s just a spell. It’s temporary.”

Percy whirls on her. “You blinded him?” It’s incredulous. It’s furious. It makes Dipti take a step back and hold her weapon up defensively in the same movement.

“I just said it’s only temporary!”

It doesn’t matter. Because the idea of anyone purposely blinding someone else – in the middle of a game nonetheless – sends a hot spike of rage through his chest. He can’t stop seeing Annabeth, and he can’t stop hearing her, and it just won’t go away. He remembers what curse upon her follows, how he still blames himself. Part of him is afraid the skies are going to change color and the creak nearby will turn into fire. Riptide feels unusually heavy in his grasp.

He’s done so much.

Dipti looks terrified. It’s the one clear thought Percy gets from looking at her. It might have been enough once to calm him down, but right now he just feels like he’s about to explode.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he growls. There’s no urge to – to attack her or anything, but he doesn’t know what to do with himself either. The creak’s roaring behind him, and he kind of just wants to pull the water out and douse the area around him. He can feel it rippling, reflecting on his state.

The Hermes kid makes a choking sort of noise, blinking rapidly. He’s still blind.

Now you will not see your enemies!

The bushes rustle behind him, and Percy spins around, Riptide out; the forest is gone again, and he’s expecting an arai, but what he finds instead is Annabeth. And his heart sinks.

“What’s going on?” she demands, taking the scene in around her. Despite looking everywhere, her focus is still clearly on him.

“Annabeth,” Percy says, her name like a lifeline on his tongue. He’s looking at her desperately, as if hoping she’ll be able to look back.

“I can’t see!” the kid cries out again, but it pierces into Annabeth, too. And then she doesn’t need any further explanation.

She rushes forward, dropping her knife to the ground, and immediately grabs his face. His hands go to her waist, but he grunts out in frustration when he only meets armor, because it’s one too many barriers. Not close enough.

“We’re at Camp, Percy,” she says, quietly but with reassurance, keenly aware of the audience even if Percy’s officially tuned out everyone else. “I can see you.”

He presses his forehead to hers and just sort of wants to collapse against her. In fact, he pretty much does – he can feel himself sinking, but he wraps his arms around her and tugs her down with, until he hits the ground on his knees and she’s got him cradled under her chin.

Despite being at the center of it, Dipti tugs the blind boy to his feet and silently beckons for the others to follow; Percy’s only dimly aware of them leaving. His attention narrows down entirely to Annabeth and her arms encircling him, and that awful rage inside him slowly starts to abate. “She blinded him,” he mutters, with a hint of it still.

She presses a kiss to the top of his head, and he’s suddenly aware of her body shaking. He looks up at her immediately, completely consumed by the possibility that she’s hurt or bothered or – or something. His own issues don’t seem as pressing. “Annabeth?”

She leans in and kisses him properly, a little harder than he’d been anticipating, but it grounds him even more (even if he registers it as avoiding his question, too). And then they’re just sort of a tangle in the middle of the forest, but he’s too afraid to move and break the calm they’ve achieved. We’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.

Because she’s with him right now and she’s fine, but he can still see her blinded.

-

“In the forest, yeah! Dipti used that blinding spell, and Percy just lost it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him explode like that.”

“You didn’t even see anything!”

“No, but I heard it.”

This is what Annabeth hears. The story spreads like wildfire, and even Chrion comes to ask her if everything’s all right. She assures him it is, and he lets it be, though she knows he doesn’t really believe her. But – what if.

What if she hadn’t been there?

What if it wasn’t all right?

What if, what if, what if, what if?

What if she hadn’t taunted Arachne and caused the fall in the first place?

-

It’s the middle of the night, and Poseidon’s cabin is comfortably lit with a dim blue glow. Percy can feel and hear Annabeth breathing softly against him, her arm stretched over his chest. She’s awake, though, the same as he is.

He fidgets for a moment, before breaking the quiet. “Do you blame me?”

“What?” She sounds confused.

He can’t look at her, and his question hangs in the air.

Not for too long, though, before she answers, and she tilts her head to look up at him sternly. “Don’t be stupid. No.”

His arm tightens a little around her. He believes her, and sometimes it’s enough.

But sometimes it’s not, and that’s the part that worries him. He doesn’t want to be that person, a ticking time bomb with only Annabeth as the disabler. It’s not fair to her, and it’s not really fair to anyone else.

He’s still angry, though. He just keeps holding on to the fact that she doesn’t blame him for it.

-

The truth of the matter is that she’s starting to blame herself.

Chapter Text

Percy Jackson is different, and Annabeth is, too, but he moves around the camp and opens up a path for himself on certain days, open berths around him he’s not even aware of. She doesn’t know how to fix it, and neither does he. Because how do you fix something like that? When the tiniest things can set him off and he can’t seem to stop himself? It’s not even like it’s a secret. Hazel Iris-Messages them both with updates from New Rome, but the way she casually asks how things are for them hints her own concern, from across the country. She wonders what Piper, or Leo, or Jason, might have shared.

Or maybe she doesn’t want to know. It’s not surprising, though. The seven of them were thrown together quickly and dangerously, but the bond between them all is strong because of it. The idea of everyone being worried over her, and over Percy, is as nice as it is kinda frustrating.

Because they don’t know what it’s like. Nobody knows, except the two of them. Even Nico, having been there himself, had a different experience, and it’s not like he’s knocking at either of their doors every night over it. There’s only so much they can do for each other, and Nico’s turned into an even bigger symbol of avoidance. (Which frustrates Percy, too, because he came out more determined than ever not to let people down, but there’s little to improve on when Nico’s around even less.)

It’s a little sad, the impressions people get of Percy when fresh-faced and new to Camp; they don’t know what he was like before, and he leaves an imprint of anger and partial hostility on them now. She’s not surprised when she overhears some twelve year olds muttering in wonder what makes Percy the leader everyone implied, with the anger, the anti-socialness. They get their answer soon enough – he fell into Tartarus – but that only keeps them away even more, because what does it take of a demigod to survive hell?

A lot. Annabeth’s realizing that more and more after the fact. It took a lot to get them both out, pieces of themselves and sacrifices they refuse to forget, no matter how painful. They couldn’t have made it alone, and she knows that implicitly – but that only reminds her of why they fell in the first place. Her fall, that Percy wouldn’t let her do alone. Her fall and her fault. If he hadn’t gone after her (she’d be dead), he wouldn’t be a wreck right now.

And maybe she’s not exactly okay either, but it’s easier to just focus on him. Unfortunately, focusing on him just keeps up the increasing repetition of blame, because the consequences of falling into Tartarus smack her in the face with everything he does.

Fortunately, it’s pretty easy to hide.

-

Tyson flops down beside Percy, and the whole bench shakes under them, but instead of getting grumpy over it, Percy actually breaks into a small grin. The Cyclops is up and visiting Camp for a few days, but his arrival was met with lots of cheering and excitement (and some skepticism from newbies, because seriously, a Cyclops? But plenty of people are happy to explain why his presence isn’t a threat in the slightest, and it doesn’t take anyone that long to warm up to him anymore.) Tyson’s as much of a staple at Camp Half-Blood as any of the other big name campers at this point. He’s come a long way, and Percy’s proud.

It does mean that he hasn’t had much alone time with his brother, though, but such is the fate of popularity. “Hey Big Guy,” he says, cheerfully.

“I have missed you, brother,” Tyson says, and then he’s grabbing Percy without warning for a bear hug.

Percy laughs, and his chest feels light with it as he reciprocates the hug easily. Well, maybe not as tightly, but there’s still a lot of feeling in it. Tyson has always (or at least, almost always) been a point of peace, and he gets that from him now. It’s kind of strange, but only in the sense that he doesn’t often feel this at ease anymore, and it’s a stark realization. And maybe it makes him a little afraid, too, because what if he loses that with Tyson, like he seems to be pushing everyone else away? “I’ve missed you, too, man. Though apparently I’m not the only one,” he adds, with a nudge.

Tyson blushes, fidgets with his hands. “I am just happy to be welcome.”

“More than welcomed, I’m surprised they haven’t thrown you a party yet.” When Tyson blushes harder, Percy laughs again, but it’s a sound of delight and never ever belittlement. They play some catch up after that, chatting away and it’s honestly one of the most effortless conversations he’s had in weeks. There’s nothing about Tyson or talking with Tyson that sets Percy on edge, that reminds him of anything terrible.

So it’s not really surprising that he gravitates towards his brother, every single day he remains at Camp – not that he wouldn’t want to spend time with Tyson anyway, but the extent to which is unconscious effort.

Tyson notices, too.

Which is why on the fourth day he’s there, and they’re sort of playing around on the beach, when they sit down in the sand, Tyson holds himself with a sort of purpose. For the first time, Percy feels a little awkward. Not quite uncertain, but not sure he wants to hear whatever his brother is going to say to him.

“Are you okay, brother?”

He almost sputters. “What?”

Tyson scoops up a handful of damp sand and molds it into a perfect sphere. Percy’s drawn to his hands working it over, but his brother doesn’t answer him until he’s satisfied with the shape. “I hear things. And I see things,” he confesses, turning the sand over between his fingers shyly.

Percy grits his teeth, though the gesture is due to thinking about Camp, where he’s pretty sure he knows what his brother is talking about. The way people look at him, talk about him – he’s not blind or deaf to it. He never has been, at public schools and all. He’s not sure he wants where this conversation might be headed.

“I am worried, brother,” he says, his voice low but full of so much concern it almost hurts Percy to hear it. “And do not tell me I have nothing to be worried for.”

Percy opens his mouth to object anyway, but finds that he can’t. He wants to deny it, but lying to Tyson isn’t something he ever wants to do – and with that, he realizes maybe there actually is something to be worried over, to a greater extent than he’s handling it. He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Things are just a little rough, you know? We’re dealing with it.” It doesn’t even occur to him to not include Annabeth in it.

Tyson tosses the sandball up in the air and catches it – or at least, he tries to. It falls apart in his grasp when it lands, and he frowns as the sand sprinkles back to the ground. “Can I help?”

There’s a small part of Percy that flares up at the question, because no, no one can help, that’s part of the problem. This is for him and Annabeth to handle, even if there were more choices or options. But it’s also Tyson he’s talking to right now, so for the first time after someone has asked, Percy doesn’t lash out defensively. He just sort of slumps in the sand and avoids looking at his brother. “I don’t think anyone can,” he admits.

Tyson doesn’t respond right away, but that’s – okay. Because it means he’s not going to shove some kinda positivity bullshit at him.

“Then you must help yourself,” he says finally, though there’s a hint of sadness in his voice, like it bothers him that he can’t do anything.

Percy doesn’t reply, though. Because there’s truth in Tyson’s words, but he doesn’t know how to do that.

-

“Annabeth.”

She jumps, the deep rumbling voice of Tyson startling her unexpectedly, for all she recognizes it. But she turns to look at him with a smile. “Hey, Tyson.”

He beams at her, and she thinks she’s about to get tackled into a hug, but there’s something about the Cyclops’s body language that’s unusually subdued. He’s never been one for formalities, though, and he jumps right into what he wants to say.

“Percy is not okay,” he says, his face falling with it. Before she can respond, he continues. “And I do not think you are either.”

There’s a moment of silence, then she just sort of laughs dryly. “There’s no hiding anything from you, huh?”

He blinks at her. “Were you trying to hide it?”

Maybe a little, she wants to say, but Tyson’s always been able to see things more simply, especially when it comes to his brother. “I think we’re passed the point of hiding it.”

“There are people who do not seem to like Percy. That is not fair. I like him, and he is a good brother. And a good friend.”

“I know that,” she says, because despite everything else, Annabeth refuses to think any less of Percy Jackson as a person. It doesn’t matter what he tells her or how he acts – he’s still Percy, and she’ll make sure of it. She can. She has to. “It’s just hard, Tyson,” she admits quietly, kind of surprised at herself when she does. “We’ve dealt with a lot of things before, but…”

“Tartarus.”

She flinches, and Tyson instantly sinks into himself apologetically. But he’s not wrong. “It’s not really a physical enemy anymore,” she mutters.

Percy keeps turning everything else into physical enemies instead.

“Annabeth is strong,” he starts, and her eyes flicker up at his. He nods, resolutely. “Percy says I cannot help, but I can listen. Or talk. Or build things. But Annabeth is strong and clever and you can help Percy.”

She smiles at him, but it’s a little weak. “I hope so.”

He claps her on the shoulder, and she buckles under it, but then he’s pulling her in closer for a hug. She braces herself for the wind knocked out from her lungs, but instead Tyson’s hold is gentle. “And he can help you, if you cannot help yourself either. But I know you can do that, too.”

Well, there’s one person who wasn’t fooled by her pretending. But there’s something relieving about letting herself feel even a little bit vulnerable for once. In front of a Cyclops, even. Who’d have thought?

Tyson pulls away, but he’s still holding her shoulders and holding her gaze. “Camp will see him like I do again. I know it.”

It’s also pretty nice to have belief like that again, since her own had been starting to waver. It isn’t like Percy’s been getting violently worse, but there hasn’t been much improvement either. It weighs on her more and more and more, keeps her up later at night and wakes her up more often. (She’s taken to trying concealer to hide the darkening circles under her eyes, but it doesn’t help much when sweat or general exertion wears it away by the end of the day.)

Tyson pats her head, and she breaks into a small grin. “Promise me you will take care of yourself too?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but pauses for a moment. Taking care of Percy is taking care of herself. “I promise,” she says, only idly wondering just how much of it isn’t the kind of promise Tyson wanted.

-

It’s the conversation Percy has with Tyson that makes him try harder to get a handle on himself. If something stupid happens, instead of letting the irritation overcome him, he bites on his tongue, thinks about Annabeth – usually tries to go and find Annabeth. Of course, when he does find her (it’s never really an if, because they’ve gotten too good at figuring out when each other’s company was needed lately) he’s bristling. He doesn’t always want to explain what’s gotten him so worked up, because – because what if it’s stupid? Isn’t he trying to stop doing that?

Annabeth is having none of that though, and she won’t leave it be. The first couple times, he gives in easily. But once – he refuses. It was just some dumb confrontation with Leo of all people, and even though he’s clinging to her hand tightly as a defense mechanism, he’s getting so annoyed that she won’t stop pestering him.

“It was stupid, okay? Let’s just drop it.”

“No! Because you’re going to sit on it all day.”

“I’m not going to sit on it all day, I don’t want to let it get to me!”

“That’s exactly what’s going to happen if you pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Will you just lay off?” he snaps. Almost immediately he regrets it, because he can see a flash of hurt in her eyes and can feel the way her fingers twitch in his, like she wants to pull away. He hesitates before apologizing, even though the words are there and trying to push their way out.

He catches something else in her face, though, something that takes him completely off guard that he second guesses seeing it – because why would Annabeth have anything remotely like guilt in her eyes, ever? Especially over this?

She tugs her hand out of his and crosses her arms. A sign of disappointment, and it hits him harder than he anticipated. He reaches out for her on instinct, but she jerks her shoulder back, and his anger flares up again.

She’s irritated now herself, though. “No. No, I’m not going to lay off, because I’m not going to let you take it out on me either!”

Percy makes a noise of frustration at her, and she glares at him for it. “It was just dumb, okay? I don’t even remember.” And surprisingly, he doesn’t. Because he’s too concerned over Annabeth now, and what she thinks, and the way she pulled back, and wondering why she’s making him kind of testy now. That’s never really happened before, not in this way. It worries him enough to cool some of that anger.

He thinks she might be able to tell, because the glare in her face lessens a little. “Sorry,” he mutters, his tone actually apologetic because as mad as he still is, he doesn’t like the idea of her being upset with him. The dread of her storming off because of it is worse than anything else he’s feeling right now, and he shifts awkwardly, like he wants to reach out for her but is too afraid of overstepping – something. Since when has there been something to overstep?

Annabeth sighs, and the glare disappears completely. “Just don’t try to ignore it, okay?”

She doesn’t offer another solution, or what else he can do besides that, but she does reach out for his hand again, and when his fingers slide through hers, he only feels relief. If there’s one thing Tartarus has taught him that he’s kind of okay with, it’s that he can’t and won’t lose Annabeth.

The cost of that doesn’t really concern him (but it concerns her).

-

Percy’s known what his fatal flaw is since her mother told him, and Annabeth’s known just as long. She usually doesn’t like to think about how it’s wrapped up in her, though. It’s a bit harder to ignore than it used to be, and there’s a small voice that sounds like Athena whispering she was right, that getting so close to Percy was potentially dangerous.

And it’s not even their fall itself that weighs the most. Fatal flaws aren’t only threatening when prophecies get involved, but the entire point has always been wrapped up in individual downfall. Your flaw will most likely cause your demise – this is something Annabeth has known since she entered the godly world.

Everyone (her mother, mostly) was concerned Percy’s would make him sacrifice the world. In ways, that’s pretty much what part of following after her into hell was, throwing the quest behind him in hopes of saving her. But no one else saw the other side of it, the side that pushed him into a willingness to torture a goddess on her own poisons. His absolute need to protect her, and she hasn’t forgotten that it was only her voice that stopped him from finishing the task.

Annabeth, his priority. Romcoms and stereotypes and even life itself praise loyalty and fidelity, and apparently it’s uncommon enough in the real world to warrant the commendation. How could it possibly be a terrible thing?

Except it can be, and Annabeth is starting to really see how. Because there were things she was sure Percy would never do that seem more likely now, things he could be pushed to if he felt it necessary – not even for his own sake, but for hers, and she’s trying to grapple with the implications of that all over. Does it make her an accomplice? She could walk away, would that dampen it?

She doesn’t want to, though. She doesn’t want to lose Percy anymore than he wants to lose her, but she’s got a better handle on rationality over it. Them. She can stop him, but she compels him towards it at the same time, just by existing beside him.

It’s going to destroy him left unchecked. That’s how flaws work. And she doesn’t want to be the person that makes it worse, that drives it into him, but the alternative seems even worse. She realized it herself – Percy was a part of her now, in any capacity, and far too important. Their lives had been interwoven since they were twelve years old and hunting down a bolt of lightning. She’s not going to abandon him now, as much as the thought occurs to her.

It doesn’t really help her feel any better, though, as she watches his anger boiling under the surface, watches him snap at everyone and anyone. It slams home more feelings of guilt (because he followed her, because Tartarus did this to him, and he wouldn’t be falling to pieces if not for her), but it makes her more determined, too. She can fix it. She can help him, she can. She hasn’t found a way, not exactly, but there isn’t exactly a precedent for surviving Tartarus to follow either.

Annabeth just needs to find it, before it really all does come crashing down. She can’t stand the idea of being responsible for his downfall.

Chapter Text

When Annabeth forgets her knife in her cabin for the first time, it’s for a variety of reasons – already being ten minutes late to a sword-training lesson for one and sleeping in an extra hour, having missed out on several the night before. She realizes she doesn’t have it just before a demonstration, has to bite down a wave of panic over the idea of being weaponless, but Travis Stoll tosses (yes, tosses, and rather carelessly to boot) her a dagger a few moments later, and when her fingers close around the handle, she feels at ease.

The second time she feels stupid, because it’s just going to dinner – but when she sits down at the Athena table and reaches for it at her side, she blanches when it’s not there. Malcolm catches her eyes, and gives her a look (at first it’s confused, then it’s concerned). She scrambles out of her seat too fast and too loud, ignoring him when he calls after her, then runs from the pavilion because she – she needs it. She rarely goes anywhere without one by choice. Annabeth storms through her cabin until she finds her knife abandoned on the bed, practically diving for it to have it in her hands. It’s not even the knife, just a replacement, because the drakon bone sword is too big for casual carrying. But she takes it back to dinner, making a pitstop to kiss Percy on the cheek (she’s kind of surprised he didn’t follow after her, with the way she bolted), before settling back in with her siblings to eat.

She nearly bites off someone’s head when they move her sword without warning. It was for cabin inspection, and she was out during the clean up (she was with Percy at the ocean, he needed a moment). She doesn’t apologize to the new girl after the fact, though she’s grumpy in feeling like she overreacted. When she leaves, she overhears Malcolm quietly explaining that Annabeth just doesn’t like people touching her things. He neglects to mention she doesn’t like not being able to find her weapons, a new point of her persona that she knows her brother must have noticed, that she tries to pretend isn’t actually there. Because it’s a little more than just disliking, though that realization has been slow coming.

Especially because she sleeps with her knife (she has for a while). Under her pillow, on the nightstand. Anywhere close enough to grab. Percy keeps Riptide with him at all times, too, but it’s a lot smaller than blades that can’t turn into a pen.

Annabeth is in the Poseidon cabin when she nearly stabs through Percy with it. She jerks awake with a harsh and anguished gasp, wildly reaching for the knife as she flails around. Percy is awake seconds later, and it comes far closer to his skin than she’s comfortable with. It’s only the look in his eyes that gets her to drop it on the nightstand, and she just burrows into him without a word or explanation. But he doesn’t need one.

Part of her wants him to ask, though. Not just that night, but in other moments, too. He wraps his arms around her and it’s usually enough. And the other part of her doesn’t want to deal with whatever can of worms his asking might bring, because she has too many other things to deal with already.

There’s a meeting one day between all the head counselors, something idle mostly, about construction work – easy and over quickly, and Annabeth’s out the door moments after it’s declared done. Ideas fly though her head, images and pictures for the town they’re planning, and she needs to get to her cabin, needs to jot them down. Percy sweeps out after her, but he heads for the stables to check on Blackjack, promising to swing by in about an hour.

She’s nearing the climbing wall when something occurs to her; she reaches for her knife, only to discover she doesn’t have it. There’s a wave of panic, exacerbated by the background noise of people climbing and failing once the lava starts to fall. But she knows she didn’t forget it, because she double-checked, remembers having it on her person throughout the meeting.

The Big House, it must still be there. She turns to head back, only to find herself staring at an arrow zipping through the air to land barely a foot from her feet. It’s metallic and shiny, and it crashes with a loud thunk in the dirt. There’s a set of wings attached, too, like someone tried to turn it into a bird. Instinctively, she jumps a few steps back, because – because someone just shot an arrow, and her combat brain kicks in (it kicks in a lot faster than it used to), fight or flight, and she will do whatever she needs to –

A bird. It’s a bird. Her stomach drops. She reaches for a weapon that’s still not there, just as a tinny voice starts echoing from the arrow. And then it doesn’t really matter what it’s actually saying, because all Annabeth can hear is the scratchy voices of the arai.

She closes her eyes and opens them again, just to make sure she can still see. The bird-arrow’s still talking (Now you will not see your attackers!), and she stares at it, hard and wild because it’s just an arrow. That’s all, that’s all it is. The arai aren’t here (they’re just in her nightmares).

There’s a gurgling sound behind her, and she whirls towards the lava wall, but all that’s there is the phlegathon instead. She reaches up, clutching the sides of her face, and she wants to close her eyes to get rid of the sight so badly, but what if there’s nothing there when she opens them again?

Camp Half-Blood, she’s there, she’s safe – the arrow says something again, but this time it’s another curse, and the sensation of pure and utter isolation dares to poke at her. All of her deepest fears come to life, and she’ll never really forget that feeling. She lets out a strangled noise, and tries to focus on the shape of the arrow instead of the voice.

She swings her foot with a sharp cry, viciously kicking at said arrow, but the tip is forced in deep enough that it doesn’t quite fall over. Her hands are twitching in their emptiness, because she doesn’t have a weapon, and she refuses to feel so helpless ever again. The greenery of Camp keeps changing to the blood red of Tartarus, and she’s aware enough, at the moment, that one is real and one is not. “Stop it, stop it,” she hisses to herself, kicking at the arrow again, but its angle to the ground only becomes smaller instead of paralleling.

Someone falls from the wall, but halfway down they turn into an empousa, and they might be calling out for someone to help them, but Annabeth just scrambles to grab at the grass like it’s something else entirely (dirt, glass, because that’s what she sees), and where is her fucking knife. (Gone, that’s the answer, it’s gone and she’s useless in hell.)

And then it’s all she can see. Tartarus. Just Tartarus everywhere, and she’s alone and weaponless, and the arai are whispering their curses over and over – and more curses, more that she should have gotten in Percy’s stead. It’s her fault he was down there in the first place, her fault he took so many on and nearly got himself killed. Her hubris is going to get them both killed.

It didn’t though, because of Damasen. Because of Bob.

Except isn’t that her fault, too? She knows now decisions need to be made, sacrifices are necessary, but she’s still the one who convinced Damasen to help. He’s stuck there, he’s probably dead, also because of her. She can see him, charging at Tartarus himself just as the elevator doors close and cut off the sight of it.

“Annabeth?”

She snaps to attention, staring wide-eyed and dangerously at the face of Connor Stoll, and he sort of takes a few steps back, because it looks like she’s about to launch herself at him with only her hands to kill, and there’s a part of body screaming that she could actually do it. He looks a little afraid, but there’s worry there, too.

It abruptly registers that she’s crying, the water pooling in her eyes, and her chest heaves with adrenaline. And then her eyes catch a glimpse of something shiny in Connor’s hands – her knife. He has it.

She lunges, quicker than he’s anticipating to snatch it from him, and there’s a certain level of calm that settles over her once she’s holding it. But not completely. She’s still way too on edge, and judging from the way Connor’s holding himself, he can tell. “Why did you have this?” she snaps.

“I took it at the meeting,” he admits with an apology in his tone. “We were going to give it back, I swear.”

We. Plural. Implying Travis alongside him at the very least, which means the arrow is probably some dumb prank attempt, but she can’t even bring herself to look at it again, because she doesn’t want to see the arai again. How could something so stupid do this?

Percy, where is Percy?

“I’m sorry, Annabeth,” Connor adds, but she’s miles away, because – because it’s all still there. All those feelings and all that fear, that panic and everything else in between. The lava starts falling again, and that’s the last thing – she bolts without another word.

She runs for the stables first, but Percy’s not there. Neither is Blackjack, so they’re probably flying around. Immediately she looks to the sky, but it’s empty except the occasional cloud. Her feet start moving again before she even realizes, because she can’t stay still. Her throat feels like it’s going to close up, and she’s near hyperventilation, Tartarus clawing after her no matter where she ends up.

She can’t find Percy, but she finds herself at the beach, and she doesn’t even hesitate in rushing into the waves. Not far, only to her ankles – but she drops to her knees and the ocean splashes up at her, drenching her clothes; when she presses her hands into the sand, there’s something about the tide and the coolness of being buried that calms her. She watches it lap up around her shaking arms, focusing on the sounds of the sea instead of the sounds of hell.

She’s not exactly sure how long she stays like that (minutes? a half hour?), but she doesn’t miss the splashing of someone else coming into the water. Her head darts up anxiously, just as Percy desperately calls out her name. Then he’s there, dropping beside her and pulling her into his chest.

Annabeth just starts crying all over again, silent sobs wracking her frame as she clings to him. The ocean crashes around and into them, but she’s only barely aware of it as she cries herself raw. And it’s in this moment where she can’t seem to shove it all away that she realizes maybe trying to pretend she could was – wrong. Wasn’t working. Was just building up into something even more terrible than the little moments she ignored.

Percy kisses her forehead, and she lets herself close her eyes, for the first time since the arrow landed without fear that she’ll be blind when she opens them. “We’re okay,” he says, their mantra. “We’re alive.”

They’re definitely alive, but Annabeth is starting to wonder if being okay is a lie they’ve been telling themselves to feel better that’s increasingly starting to fail.

But she stays there with him anyway, sitting with the waves lapping and soaking her through, just letting herself have this moment until Camp Half-Blood returns to being all that’s in front of her.

She should bring it up, talk to him about what happened, but she’s not ready for that yet.

Plus, she doesn’t want Percy to get angry with the Stolls. She knows he would. And she doesn’t want to deal with that right now either.

-

If anything, the dumb incident with the arrow gets Annabeth thinking more about herself, more about what Tyson said to her. The promise she made. Because even if Percy does end up being okay, her complete meltdown makes her pretty sure that’s not going to help her much.

And it feels like every time she gets close, every time she decides Today is the day, she’ll tell Percy about what’s been bugging her out – he explodes again. And then it’s the ever-there cycle of bringing him back down and she forgets to think about herself until rolling over in bed, trying to sleep.

-

The knock at his cabin door is surprising. Percy doesn’t get many visitors lately, and the usual suspects (Annabeth, who doesn’t knock, Tyson, who also doesn’t knock) aren’t around. He opens the door with mild trepidation, but his face brightens considerably when his gaze lands on Grover standing there.

“G-man!” he says, and before the satyr can reply, Percy’s throwing his arms around him in a hug.

Grover bleats out a laugh, but he returns the hug. After another moment, they hustle inside, flopping on a bed. Percy raises an eyebrow at him. “Someone’s been busy out there, huh?” Which is true – being Lord of the Wild has its duties – but Percy’s missed his best friend a lot more than he realized until he was staring at him again.

“You have no idea,” Grover sighs, and Percy waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. And then he feels awkward, because his gut is telling him the satyr is here for reasons beyond just playing catch up. It makes him tense up, and of course Grover notices. It’s then that Percy abruptly remembers they’ve still got the empathy link, and his feelings of dread multiply.

“Percy,” he says, like he knows exactly what’s happening – which, he does. “It’s all right, man.”

“No,” he snaps, and they both flinch. “It’s not, but you’ve probably already figured that out.”

Grover sighs, but it’s with concern and something sympathetic. “Yeah. Yeah, I can tell. It’s a little harder the further apart we are, but.”

But I can feel how angry you are hangs in the air. Percy knows it, and Grover can feel it. He doesn’t know what to think about that, though, because he doesn’t like the way that anger makes him feel, how constantly it churns, and the idea of Grover knowing makes him a little uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because living with it alone is hard enough. He doesn’t – he doesn’t want Grover to experience what he is. He doesn’t want anyone to. It’s bad enough making Annabeth deal with it and him, but Grover actually feeling it for himself makes Percy… sad.

Which, considering he’s mostly angry lately, he’ll take the sad.

His shoulders sink, and he runs a hand through his hair. It’s a look of defeat, not one he’s inclined to wear often around people who aren’t Annabeth. A month ago, he might have just gotten snippy if someone tried to talk to him like this, but he doesn’t want to be that person. Especially with Grover.

“It’s just – like something gets to me, you know? And I don’t want to stop it. I just kind of let it go, because it feels better than holding it back. Why shouldn’t I be angry?”

Grover knows he’s got a point, and that flashes in his face. “No one’s saying not to be angry, Percy. I think you and Annabeth of all people have reasons to be.”

Percy looks up, because this might be the first time someone other than Annabeth has actually told him that. That he has a right to be angry. And it just kind of makes him feel a little relieved. Not that he doubts his girlfriend either, but the three of them started off together, and maybe Tartarus created something Grover can’t quite understand, but – he still gets them both. Everyone else kind of looks at them like they’re broken, keeps their distance. Even without the empathy link, Percy’s pretty sure Grover would never have fallen into that category.

He laughs, and Grover’s face twists with confusion. “Sorry man,” he says, his voice a little weak. “Seriously, are you sure you can’t handle any nature business from Camp more often?”

Grover grins weakly in return. “You’d think right? I mean, I’m basically my own boss.” He falls quiet for a bit, as if waiting to see if Percy will speak up again, and when he doesn’t, he reaches out and rests his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You can be angry. But I think part of that is knowing how to avoid letting it take over you.”

Percy stares at him for a second, and before he knows it, his question admits a long-standing worry. “How do I do that?”

“I can feel it,” he says, vocalizing what they’re aware of already out loud. “And it’s ugly. I mean, you know that, obviously. But if I know anything about you, Percy, it’s that you always bounce back, and you always prove people wrong.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to fix it either. It’s scary enough as an outsider, and all I want is for you to be okay.”

He opens his mouth to protest that he is actually okay, but Grover cuts him off. “Don’t even try it with me.”

Percy can’t help laughing again, though it’s pretty self-deprecating.

“I’m gonna be around more, at least for a little while. There’s a couple of dryads in Providence that have been sending up signals for weeks now.” A beat. “And you – you’re gonna work on this, because I know that you can. And hey, if anyone’s qualified to make that call, it’s gotta be me, right?”

If anyone could make that call, it’s Grover and Annabeth combined, his oldest friends, who’ve seen him at his worst long before Tartarus created a new worst. Alongside Annabeth and Tyson and his mother, Grover is someone else he desperately doesn’t want to let down.

“Thanks, man,” he says, quietly but earnestly. Then Grover’s just hugging him again, and a few years ago it might have been totally embarrassing, but he doesn’t really care now if the satyr can feel how much he appreciates the gesture.

-

Annabeth opens the door to her cabin, and it nearly smacks into Rachel Elizabeth Dare. She swears loudly in Greek, and the Oracle makes a face.

“You know, I’m really disappointed in myself that I haven’t picked up on nearly as much of this language as I’d like.”

“When’d you get in?” Annabeth asks, because Rachel hasn’t been around all that much – parental callings, vacations, academics.

“This morning,” she replies breezily, ducking around her friend to slip inside the Athena cabin. Annabeth sighs, with no choice but to follow as Rachel flops down on her bed and stretches across it like it’s her own. “But I’m going to sleep like a log tonight.”

Annabeth makes a bit of a face. She wishes she could sleep like a log sometime. If she was hoping Rachel would miss that, though, she was terribly wrong, and her friend immediately shifts into a seated position, turning her focus with a subtle intention on Annabeth herself.

“You certainly look worse for wear. Waaay worse than me,” she says, with the ever familiar Dare lack of tact.

Annabeth sits down grumpily on the edge of the bed, crossing her arms. “Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.”

Instead of another sarcastic response, Rachel goes a little quiet, just watching her for a few moments. “Seriously, Annabeth,” she starts, her expression shifting away from casual amusement. “You look like shit. And no, you really don’t need to explain why.”

Everyone knows why. Most people just aren’t allowed to poke at it.

“So what do you want?”

There’s a pause. Rachel locks her eyes onto hers and refuses to look away. “I want to know how you’re doing. I mean, I know it’s not great, I don’t even need to talk to you to figure that out.” She blows out a puff of air, wrinkles her nose, like she’s trying to figure out what to say next. Annabeth gives her the time, because she has no desire to reply yet. “Percy’s avoiding the crap out of me,” she sighs, and she tries to sound flippant, but there’s an underlay of hurt in her tone. “But from what I can gather, he seems to be playing the game of avoidance with most people.”

“You can’t possibly have missed all the stories,” Annabeth says dryly, knowing what she does as to what her fellow campers have been saying about Percy Jackson. But it’s also subtle avoidance on Rachel’s inquiry of her own state.

“Oh, I hear them all and then some,” Rachel responds grumpily, biting the side of her cheek. “But how am I supposed to punch him for being a total jackass if he doesn’t come talk to me enough to do it?”

There’s a part of Annabeth going, Ah, that’s what it is. Because Rachel would have gone to Percy, first – it doesn’t bother her, it’s just the way it is, because Rachel was Percy’s friend long before Annabeth opened up to the idea. She came to Annabeth because trying Percy didn’t work out. And Annabeth’s not the one avoiding people so viciously lately; she’s always given off a more standoffish air than Percy, and that keeps people away, but Rachel’s never been one to be intimidated by it. So here she is.

“I could punch him for you,” she offers finally.

“Would you mind terribly?” Rachel sighs with mock relief. “Your fist’s always packed more of a wallop than mine anyway.”

It actually gets a small laugh out of Annabeth, and then she just sort of finds herself surprised by the sound. Which apparently shows on her face.

“Tell me that’s not the first time you’ve laughed since the war ended, or we’re going to have a serious heart-to-heart.”

She’s joking, but Annabeth can hear the seriousness in it, too; she makes a face, literally waving it off. “Of course I’ve laughed, don’t be stupid.”

“Good,” Rachel says firmly, like she’d accept nothing less. And then her face softens a bit; it looks like the heart-to-heart’s about to start anyway. “I’m serious, though. Obviously I can’t even begin to imagine what you two are going through, and I don’t expect to. But I can be a pest. At least you’re not ignoring me.”

Annabeth gets it (she remembers what it was like to be avoided by him), but she feels the need to defend Percy anyway. “It’s a lot to deal with.” Even beyond just the experience itself, there’s a lot they learned about themselves down there, and Percy’s having a harder time grappling with it. “Don’t – don’t give up, though,” she adds, though Rachel coming to her could maybe be a sign of uncertainty.

Rachel makes a face that’s almost offended. “Why would I give up? Neither of you can escape me, sorry to say,” she says huffily. “I’m pretty much going to get in a conversation with him today whether he likes it or not.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

Rachel pauses, and then frowns. “Annabeth, I didn’t come here to ask you about Percy. I saw what happened to him under the last great prophecy, and I can see what’s happening now. Maybe it’ll take a while, but as long as he has people like you, he’s going to get through it.” She pauses again. “I’m here because I’m worried about you.”

And it surprises her, even though it probably shouldn’t.

“I mean, I know Percy’s a handful and you’ve got your hands full making sure he doesn’t blow up the Big House,” she starts, a little rambly, like she’s worried her words are going to have a bad reaction but she needs to say them anyway. “But you’ve got a nasty habit of throwing yourself into other things when you’re trying to avoid a personal problem.”

“It’s not a personal problem!” she snaps, realizing only after the words are out that she’s admitted it’s some kind of problem, and something she’s not dealing with appropriately.

Rachel is not deterred. “It’s easier to focus on Percy, because he’s so loud. And I’m not just talking about everyone else focusing on him. I get that you need to do this together, but you have to realize that means together, and not just fixating on Percy’s issues.”

It frustrates her, both the accusations and the vocalization of ‘Percy’s issues.’ It’s doubly frustrating because there’s a part of her that knows Rachel has a point. Hadn’t she been trying to get herself to talk to Percy about all that’s been bothering her? The reasons her nightmares have been at a consistent terrible for a while now? She huffs up and slumps over at the same time, crossing her arms and staring out across the cabin. “You haven’t even been around.”

“Eyes and ears all over camp,” she replies idly, and then she sighs. “And I just know you two too well by this point. Just like I’m worried about both of you. Please don’t run yourself dry running around after him. We all know how exhausting that is even when he’s not a walking ball of irritation.”

Annabeth doesn’t want to reply, because the words kind of hit her right in the chest. She tugs her knees up, wraps her arms around them. “We just have to –” She cuts off. She’s had answers for that before, but it abruptly registers that she doesn’t really know what they have to do anymore. She’s starting to realize there’s only so many times you can collapse in a pile of limbs and expect to get better.

Because they’re not going to. Not at this rate. Annabeth has a hard time thinking about that, because she doesn’t like the idea of not only possibly failing Percy, but failing herself.

She expects Rachel to speak up again, but instead the Oracle’s arms are suddenly just there, wrapping around her and tugging her in for a hug. There’s a moment where Annabeth just stiffens, but then she relaxes in Rachel’s hold, even slips her own arms around to return it, gently.

“You might have to do a lot of this alone,” Rachel starts, and her voice is soft, “But that doesn’t mean nobody else is here.”

Annabeth laughs, but it’s weak, humorless. It’s not an inaccurate statement, but how can she explain what she blames herself for without having to explain it all? She could probably start by just – just actually acknowledging her own difficulties, but that doesn’t quite occur to her yet. If she just looks ahead, looks at Percy, keeps control of herself, she can handle it.

Instead of opening up, like Rachel’s probably hoping, Annabeth just lets herself be hugged, and whispers a quiet ‘thank you’ when she finally pulls away. She doesn’t know what it is exactly that she’s taken away from this conversation with Rachel, but Annabeth knows it’s something, and whatever it was, that she needed it.

-

Rachel doesn’t, however, get her conversation with Percy that day. She never stops trying, though, and eventually she starts getting brief snippets. She’s practicing her punch to make sure she lands a good one when the opportunity strikes.

Percy doesn’t really want to avoid her, but he’s not sure he can handle whatever she’s going to say either, because he knows she won’t hold back. He could probably use it, but it doesn’t mean he wants it. She stubbornly comes after him anyway, and he stubbornly keeps running away.

Chapter Text

In between his avoidance of most other people, with as much attention as he’s been paying to Annabeth, Percy hasn’t been oblivious to the way Tartarus affects her, too.

She crawls into his cabin to curl up beside him more often than not; sometimes she falls asleep right away and sometimes she just lays there, but she always, always comes with her knife, leaving it on his nightstand for easy access (she carries it around with her everywhere, but he never says anything about it – he knows why). He hates the way her eyes sag in the daylight hours, but there’s not much he can do to fix it. They both get nightmares, but she wakes up more often, and he wants to ask her so badly what happened, what’s wrong, because he wants to be able to prove to her that everything’s fine.

Except he doesn’t really know if they’re okay, and she doesn’t seem to want to talk about it. And he flips flops, trying to figure out if it’s better to push her or let her be – not even for his own sake, but hers, what’s the better choice for her? He doesn’t know.

He’s not stupid, and he knows he needs Annabeth for his own issues, for the way a small touch can settle most of his anger (most, but not all lately; and he’s been taking it out on her a lot more often, too). She comes to him, though, when she needs to be around him, even if it’s not nearly as overt as the other way around. He’s not blind to the way she trembles so minutely every now and then, even if no one else sees it like they notice him. Like she does for him, he takes her by the hand, kisses her on the forehead, pulls her away into a quiet space until she’s smiling at him again. If he can keep making her smile, he knows it’s not hopeless.

He just wants them to be okay. More than himself, he wants her to be okay.

-

It starts when Jason casually walks up, like he’s going to hit the showers, which in all fairness, he probably is. But Percy’s flopped over in the grass looking kind of sulky, and Jason isn’t the kind of person to ignore that, even if he’s not the best of friends with the son of Poseidon, though they started getting along much better at the end of the war.

But Percy had a rough day, and he doesn’t feel the need to carry on any kind of conversation with the son of Jupiter. Especially when he hovers over him with that glint of concern in his eyes.

“Dude, just go shower. It’s actually empty right now, you should take advantage of that.”

Jason frowns. “I’m going to. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Percy gets that question from the other seven more than anyone else, and sometimes he laughs up an answer, sometimes he brushes it off, sometimes he goes with the easy enough ‘we’re doing fine,’ even when they’re not. But there’s already been what feels like a string of headbutts and confrontations today, a string of mishaps that just poked and prodded, and Percy’s done his best from letting it get out of control to a pretty good extent thus far. Jason’s question is innocent, but it’s like one last pin determined to deflate him.

He scowls. “Peachy,” he says, tone curt.

Jason’s frown deepens. “We don’t have to talk about it, but you don’t have to lie to me either.”

Percy sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. “What if I ate some peaches?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Did you?”

“No.”

“Then you’re not peachy.”

“No offense man, but I’m pretty sure you’re definitely not qualified to speak on my moods.”

“I never claimed I was. I just said there’s no need to lie to me.”

“Everything sucks and I’m allergic to peaches.”

“Stop trying to be a jerk and tell me to shove off if that’s what you want.”

It is what Percy wants. But because Jason told him to, now he feels like he can’t, as that’d be giving in. Or something. He doesn’t really know, because all the anger welling up inside him is churning a lot more forcefully than it has all day, and in about five seconds, Jason’s going to be the target.

So instead of telling him to shove off, he just keeps picking a fight. The exchange gets more and more heated, and Percy can’t really remember how it goes from point A to point B. The next thing he knows, Jason’s hovering in the air, the sky darkening around him as he crackles, and Percy reaches for the pull of the ocean – from the pipes, from the actual sea nearby, it doesn’t matter, but he can feel it rushing towards him under his command, and a geyser of water flushes out from the bathrooms. The doors get ripped off their hinges, and one lands loudly on the grass outside.

He sends up a wave at Jason, even though he really shouldn’t, not with the way he’s sparking with literal electricity. But Jason just flies up to avoid it, and though it looks like he wants to shoot something back down, he doesn’t. The lack of retaliation only riles Percy up even more, and he starts churning the air and winds around him, making a conscious effort to turn himself into a hurricane.

The windows rattle on the bathrooms, and the clouds from both of them converge on the scene faster than before. The trees around them sway dangerously. He can feel it building inside him, an enormous eruption of his power, and he wants nothing more than to just – unleash it.

“Stop this right now!”

The voice is piercing, and it cuts through him with a solid command he finds himself obeying instantly. He can feel the fight draining out of him, just as he catches sight of Jason following the same order, lowering himself to the ground.

And there’s Piper, glowering at them, looking taller and stronger than them both, demanding their attention is hers. She’s both furious and determined, and Percy almost cowers under it, remembering the sound of her voice issuing the command. Charmspeak. Of course. He has to fight back another wave of anger over it, because – because how dare she intervene, but the effect still lingers and he can’t bring himself to start fighting again.

“What the hell are you both doing?” Piper snaps. “Do you even see the bathrooms?”

Percy looks over – honestly it’s not the worst state they’ve been in, but he’s definitely damaged them pretty badly. All the doors have been removed, some of the windows broken, and he’s like ninety percent sure that’s a crack in one of the walls. He flinches at the sight, and he’s about to whirl on Piper, start snapping at her, but then Annabeth is there. She’s probably been there the whole time (and it says a lot about how wrapped up he is in confronting Jason that he hadn’t noticed her at first), but it’s only now that she lets herself come forward towards him. His body gravitates in her direction, even though he hasn’t quite moved from where he stands – but there’s a pull between them.

Jason looks awkward; he knows the answer, but it doesn’t look like he wants to explain it either. Percy can’t figure out if that irritates him or placates him. He tries to go for the latter, especially when Annabeth takes his hand. Except there’s something in her face that freaks him out a bit – she looks irritated herself, but that flash of guilt is there again, too. He’s seen it a handful of times now, and each time it bothers him more and more.

And he wants to ask her about it, but they’re starting to get a growing audience.

Jason makes his way closer to Piper, but she just stands there with her hands on her hips, frowning at them still. “Don’t go far. You know Chiron’s not going to be happy about this.”

Her words ring true, and Percy’s stomach drops. He doesn’t even know if he’s going to have time to wind down with Annabeth, not at the rate Chiron’s probably already heard what happened.

-

Chiron summons them both. It’s not exactly like they can ignore it, and silently, they’re pretty aware of what he’s probably going to want. You don’t almost destroy the bathrooms and showers and expect to get off scot-free. Piper stays behind to deal with the damages, quietly pushing people into ignoring their curiosities and leaving the bathrooms alone for now; there are a lot of questions, but she doesn’t give them answers, and no one can persuade her otherwise. Annabeth follows Percy by her own volition, which is okay, because he probably would have asked her to come along anyway. She waits on the porch though, giving his hand one last squeeze before he trails after Jason inside the Big House.

It makes Percy nervous, because Chiron is someone he’s always respected, someone who has always believed in him, and he doesn’t really want to explain to him why he and Jason nearly destroyed the bathrooms.

They shuffle into the rec room, where Chiron’s waiting sans wheelchair, and the site of the centaur whole makes Percy feel even more nervous. Especially because he doesn’t look happy.

“I don’t suppose either of you can explain what happened?”

Silence. Percy awkwardly crosses his arms in a slump and stares off at the wall, while Jason holds himself ramrod straight. He waits for Jason to speak up and set the blame, but he other boy only seems to be waiting for Percy to go first. He should, because he can feel Chiron’s eyes boring into him, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that it’s basically his own fault. And he knows it.

“It was just a dumb fight,” Jason says, finally breaking the awkward quiet. Percy’s expression twitches in recognition of the lie. He’s pretty sure Chiron’s does, too.

“I might remind you to be aware of what exactly that sort of fight can do, given both of your parentages. You’re lucky Miss McLean was there.”

There’s a spiteful part of Percy thinking maybe ‘lucky’ wasn’t the word he’d use.

Jason nods, though. “We got carried away. She intervened.”

Percy glances at him. There isn’t really a ‘we’ here, because he knows it’s mostly his own fault. He got angry, again. He can’t even remember most of the words exchanged.

“You’ll both be involved with the repairs,” Chiron says. He’s looking at them skeptically though, like he knows this isn’t the entire truth at all. “And expect to pick up some extra duties.”

Jason nods, but Percy keeps still, his arms stay crossed.

Chiron’s tail swishes once. “Jason, I’d like a word with Percy, please,” he says, and Percy’s dread becomes almost too much. “And send Annabeth in,” he adds, because of course he knows she’s out there waiting, and he wants to speak with them both.

Jason leaves without another word, and the air practically swims with awkward tension, though Percy’s pretty sure it’s mostly on his end. He counts off the seconds waiting for Annabeth, and even though it’s not that long in actuality, he’s practically vibrating with anxiousness. When she finally slips inside, his attention turns to her, and he reaches for her hand immediately. The lines on her face are drawn up into something guarded, but she meets Chiron’s gaze steadily. Like she knows exactly what he’s going to say and she’s preparing herself for it.

“What do you need, Chiron?” she asks. Knowing or otherwise, she’ll still divert while she has the chance. It’s a slim window, though.

“I suppose I should apologize that this conversation has taken so long to begin.” He looks them both in the eyes, but only Annabeth keeps holding the stare; Percy’s eyes flicker to the side. He suddenly wants to be just about anywhere else than in this room, but Annabeth’s hand around his is steadying, and it keeps him there.

Chiron gives them a few moments, waiting to see if either of them want to respond, but they’re pretty tight lipped. Something almost sorrowful flashes in his face, but it disappears and is replaced by concern. Percy can feel his guard and hackles rising, but only seconds later, Annabeth’s fingers tighten around his, and that’s all that happens.

So the centaur continues. “I’m not going to ask how you’re both doing. I don’t want to be lied to, and I can see the answer for myself.”

Percy opens his mouth to reply hotly, but Annabeth silences him with another handsqueeze and her own words. “We’re not going to lie to you, Chiron,” she says, and it’s honest enough, if only because it is Chiron, and he’s not someone either of them can really lie to; they haven’t spoken to him at length since the war ended for that exact reason, because they know he wouldn’t let them be, and it’s hard enough to deal with between just the two of them. But he would want to do his best for them, which is why it really is a surprise he hasn’t come to them over it before now, however much they were avoiding it.

He sighs, his shoulders heaving with it. “That’s good to know,” he says. “I want us to be even with each other, and I don’t want to lie to either of you myself.”

“Chiron –” Percy starts, finally willing himself to speak, but the centaur cuts him off at the pleading sound in his voice.

“You’ll forgive me, Percy, if I don’t delay this for any longer. I can’t see how that will help anyone here, especially yourselves. I’ve already failed you by waiting this long.”

“You haven’t failed us –” Annabeth starts to reply, something in her tone cracking, but Chiron silences her, too, this time by holding up one hand gently.

“I have, child,” he says wearily. “But never has there been a situation quite like this one before.” Never has a demigod survived Tartarus before hangs in the air. “I’m afraid it doesn’t fall quite as neatly into my area of expertise as most other half-blood training.”

“Because it’s not training,” Percy says, the words falling out of him impulsively. His hand tightens around Annabeth’s to the point where it starts hurting, but she doesn’t react. “Chiron, you don’t understand, it’s just – there’s so much happening, and we’re trying to deal with it all without any kind of manual! It’s not like we can climb up the lava wall and bam, suddenly everything’s going to be back to normal!”

Annabeth closes her eyes partway through it all, but it’s not like she can refute it. Percy’s trying to decide if he regrets saying that much, but there’s something a little relieving in admitting it out loud. He knows Chiron will never think less of him for it.

“I know,” Chiron says carefully, after a few moments. “I hope you don’t think that’s what I expect.”

Percy looks up, loosens his grip on Annabeth’s hand when realizes how hard he’s holding her. “I don’t even know what I expect anymore.”

Something in Annabeth sinks, hard, and Percy can feel it in her beside him, even if her shoulders hadn’t caved in the slightest bit. He looks over at her instead of Chiron to find her eyes watering as she stares at a spot on the wall. Anything else Chiron might want to say becomes unimportant right now, because if it’s hurting Annabeth, Percy doesn’t want to deal with it. He wants to take her into a bubble under the ocean and create a moment of peace.

It strikes him just then that the peace would be temporary, too temporary. And he’s tired of it being temporary, because more than anything else, Percy just wants a long, happy life with her, something not pockmarked by these consistent dark patches. It’s what got him through hell, and even though it hasn’t changed as a core part of his motivation, it’s starting to feel like it might be more of a challenge, and that doesn’t even make any sense. They’re in far less danger than when they were fighting for their lives.

“The worst is over, Chiron,” Annabeth says, almost dully. But it echoes Percy’s thought process, and he’s glad they seem to be on the same wavelength.

There’s a beat, before he responds, with centuries behind him of seeing heroes hurt slipping out in his voice. “I’m not so sure it is.”

“We’re alive,” Percy mutters, more quietly than he meant to. Because they’re alive, they’re alive, and – and is it really enough?

“I want you both to be all right, and I don’t want anyone else at this camp to feel unsafe.” It’s simultaneously comforting and a punch to the gut.

“Do people feel unsafe?” Percy asks, though the energy is draining out of him. If he’s done that – if he’s had a part of that, made demigods feel in danger around him – they all have a hard enough time feeling safe from monsters. He doesn’t want to add to that, and the idea that he might have almost makes him fall over.

Annabeth, though, Annabeth leans into him, and he slumps against her instead.

“I’ve had no formal complaints,” he says, still treading carefully. “But to say I haven’t noticed incidents – this afternoon’s bathroom battle included – would be misleading.”

Percy’s face both crumples and scowls. Chiron’s right, of course, obviously his actions wouldn’t have gone unnoticed, but being confronted with it is uncomfortable. Maybe even a little more uncomfortable than the actual feelings.

“I don’t want to tell you to simply, ah, what do they say? ‘Get over it?’ Please don’t think that is my intention,” he says, continuing when they keep silent. But his face is etched with worry lines and regret. It’s not hard to tell he wants to help them so desperately, but there’s only so much he can say or do, and he already feels guilty for waiting this long to speak with them. “But I do think you need to take some time for yourselves. Away from camp, away from any sort of reminder.”

Annabeth frowns. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Percy looks over at her, because honestly it does kind of sound like a good idea. There’s always so much happening at camp, and though it’s obviously not the same as looking over your shoulder constantly, it’s still entrenched in what it means to be a half-blood, something Percy has increasingly been thinking he could use a break from.

“Annabeth, my dear, with all due respect,” Chiron starts, with all the patience of someone who has dealt with Annabeth Chase for over ten years, “I do believe it is necessary, whether you seem to realize it or not.”

She practically flares up, huffing angrily through her nose, but Chiron has learned the when and when nots as to sugarcoating conversations with her. Very few people do. Which is maybe part of her problem – she’s been handling Percy these last few weeks this way, but she’s had no one to do the same for her. Percy just – he means well, and he’s all she can ask for when it comes to support, but his concern lately has been making sure she’s not falling apart, not calling her out when it’s necessary. Which is why she can’t seem to counter what Chiron says, as much as she wants to.

“Annabeth,” Percy says, his tone taking on the tiniest pleading edge, and she knows it’s only a matter of time until she gives in. But isn’t that part of the problem? The way she keeps dealing with Percy’s issues instead of her own. “We could go to Montauk or something.”

She doesn’t want to. There’s nothing at Montauk except the ocean, except Percy, and there’s nothing else for her to focus on. But between the two of them standing before her, the different ways they stare at her intently, Annabeth is pretty sure they’re already going.

“Take a week,” Chiron urges gently but sternly. He’s still in charge of camp, and even though there aren’t many people who can still order around the two of them at this point, Chiron is someone they still respect enough to listen to. “You need it. You deserve it.”

And that’s the part that gets her. Because they do deserve it. They deserve some time, just for themselves away from everything and everyone else. It’s not like being at Camp is at all an escape, and there’s always so much to do. Maybe it really won’t be so bad.

“I just ask one thing,” Chiron says, as Percy fidgets with sudden impatience to be at Montauk right now. But they both meet his eyes. “Use this time to really sit and think upon yourselves. And I mean yourselves.” The inflection is aimed at Annabeth, but neither of them really seem to notice; she partially ignores it.

“Can we go tomorrow?” Percy asks, and it’s clear all his focus has shifted to this venture.

“My boy, you can leave whenever you like. But you’re still expected to help with the bathroom repairs, so I might suggest after you get a chunk of that out of the way.”

Percy nods, accepting it as still a punishment of sorts, but he’s aware of why more than ever now. And he has every intention of using Montauk not only for an escape but maybe to really just – try and figure this out. Away from the reminders, like Chiron said. He squeezes Annabeth’s hand, and she offers him a wry smile; his eyebrows crinkle, because even though she agreed, there’s still some resistance, like she doesn’t really want to do this, and it bothers him that he can’t figure out why. It’s not like he wants to ask in front of Chiron though. But he knows, he has to believe, that this will be good for them, because he needs it to be.

Chapter Text

It takes three days to finish fixing the bathrooms, and Annabeth doesn’t start packing till the last door is screwed back on. Percy thinks it’s a little unlike her, because when is she ever not prepared right on time? But then they’re off, Argus playing taxi driver, and she leans her head against his shoulder the whole van ride, so he ignores his questions in light of being so close to her.

If she’s surprised or annoyed by the way Percy immediately starts making himself at home in the cabin, throwing his things in every direction, flopping over on the bed and messing up the blankets, it doesn’t show on her face; if anything, she seems amused, the corners of her lips curling upward in the way that always makes Percy’s heart flutter to a stop, reminds him of how much in love he is with this girl. He reaches for her hand and tugs her down beside him, kissing her softly at first; but she responds in kind, eventually hauling herself on top of him with delicious intent, and then they just end up spending their first evening at Montauk between the sheets.

It’s probably not what Chiron had in mind at all, but when Percy wakes up in the morning with Annabeth curled up beside him, he’s pretty sure it doesn’t matter what Chiron’s intention was, because she’s here with him anyway and she’s perfect. They have an entire week to themselves, away from camp, away from everything, and Percy can’t really remember the last time he felt so good about anything. Because Annabeth.

But even as he settles in the kitchen to make them breakfast, there’s something taut in the way Annabeth is carrying herself, something a little on edge. He kisses her cheek, takes her by the hand, does just about everything he can and more to try and pull it out of her, but she’s holding something back. He can’t figure out why, because this is Annabeth, and the two of them have long since given up keeping secrets from each other. It carries on throughout the first day, the second, even as they dive into the ocean, and though there are moments where her smile is so utterly genuine she can’t be anything else but happy, there’s still an uncertainty that flashes in her eyes every now and then that worries him.

“We didn’t have to come,” he says on the third evening, as they dig out paper plates for the pizza they ordered.

“What?”

Percy fidgets, setting one out in front of her. “Here.”

“Chiron practically ordered it,” she says, brushing it off.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, because he’s not going to let it go. “We can – I dunno. Go someplace else. Maybe go see your dad?”

Annabeth looks at him with confusion. “What?”

“I know Montauk’s not really – you know, I know it’s more my thing than yours, but it’s pretty isolated, and I guess I just kind of jumped at it – ”

She cuts him off with a hand on his arm, shaking her head. “Percy, I like Montauk. It’s fine.”

He studies her face. She’s not lying, not exactly, but she’s still leaving something out, and it goes beyond just bothering him into kind of hurting him. That she won’t tell him what it is.

She can tell. Her expression falls, and she slides her hand down to weave her fingers through his, and he responds with a squeeze instantly. “I’m sorry, I swear I’m not having a terrible time. We needed this.”

“It’s not that. There’s just something bugging you,” he says, running his thumb along the back of her hand.

“It’s nothing.”

A familiar coil of anger spikes in his chest, but he keeps it there. “It’s not nothing, Annabeth, stop playing dumb.” Well, mostly keeps it there, but there’s a flash of it in his tone.

“I’m not playing dumb!” she snaps, like she’s insulted by the implication, or maybe even just the word choice.

“I didn’t mean dumb, I just meant like – we’re supposed to be working on this, you know? I don’t want to be here if you don’t.”

“I never said I didn’t want to be here.”

“But you didn’t want to come here at first.” He hasn’t forgotten that.

“Yeah, at first.”

“Why?”

She doesn’t even open her mouth to respond. She just draws her lips into a thin line and tugs her hand out of his so she can walk across the kitchen for the fridge. He watches her, wants to follow after her and recreate the contact between them, but she opens the door huffily and grabs a water bottle. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!”

“Just drop it!”

“No!”

She slams the fridge shut and makes her way into the sitting room for the front door. “Just let me know when the pizza gets here.”

“Annabeth – ” Percy starts, pleading, but she’s already stomped outside. She didn’t even manage to close the screen all the way, and it bounces open again in her wake. Something stops him from immediately following after her, the notion that she needs a brief reprieve and her own space.

She gets prickly without it, and they have spent the last three days together.

-

Annabeth hasn’t actually been sitting in the sand very long, her legs crossed as she stares out over the ocean, but it feels long, because she really shouldn’t have stormed off like she did. Not just because it was stupid and she doesn’t want to treat Percy that way, but now it’ll just raise even more suspicions and red flags. And Percy has never been very good at ignoring red flags; if anything, he just charges at them head on.

She is glad they came. She needed the break from camp just as much as Percy did, but there’s precious else except him to use as a distraction. And she doesn’t want him to be a distraction that way.

At least he seems to be in a better mood and place. Being here can help in that regard.

She hears the door open, tentatively, and listens carefully as Percy makes his way down the sand. He flops down next to her, his entire body twitching like he wants to wrap an arm around her shoulders, but he resists. After a moment, he breaks the silence in a flat tone. “The pizza’s here.”

Annabeth hates the sound. She slumps against him almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, slips her hand through his, and he immediately tugs her closer. She doesn’t exactly apologize, because she doesn’t really want to deal with where that might lead yet, but she needs him to know she’s not actually angry with him. “Extra olives?”

“Of course,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

And then she just feels like an idiot, because he’s obviously been hurt and bothered by the way she’s been acting, least of all the dumb blow up, but he’s still here and still wants nothing more than for her to be okay.

Except he’s not okay. And that hurts her. “Let’s go eat,” she says a little too quickly, her heart thumping hard against her ribs, and he can probably feel it, but he doesn’t push like he had before. He stands up anyway, offering out his hand, and she takes it to pull herself up, keeping their fingers interlocked as they walk back up the beach for the cabin.

Dinner’s awkward at first, but Percy has a way of wiggling around that, and by the time he’s on his third slice of pizza, she’s laughing at him, and the look on his face tells her that’s just about all he needs.

Only it’s not, and she hasn’t figured out what else there is to do yet.

-

She’s supposed to be able to sleep better, but even with Percy’s arms draped over her, Annabeth stares at the digital clock blinking 2:00AM, trying to figure out if she’s fallen asleep at all or just continued rolling around in that halfway phase.

Percy’s sleeping. Snored a couple times, to her amusement. She rolls over to look at his face instead of the clock, studying his face in the dim blue nightlight. (He sleeps with one now, every night; he never really brought it up once it started, and neither did she, but she can’t say it bothers her all that much either when she’s crashing with him – she kind of misses it when she’s in her own cabin.) He looks peaceful. Well, as peaceful as he can be, and she’s pretty sure most of that has to do with the fact that she’s laying beside him. He always sleeps better with her near.

Without thinking, she reaches up to brush some of the hair from his forehead, but that simple contact has his eyes open immediately, green locking onto grey; for a moment he looks startled, confused, but then his gaze softens. “Hey,” he says, like he could never get tired of just saying hello to her like this.

“Hey yourself,” she says, cracking the smallest of grins.

He leans forward, steals a kiss, and then she just pushes herself closer, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He responds immediately with mimicry, holding her close. For a while they just stay there like that, tangled together in a contentment not often reached lately.

And then he asks the one thing she doesn’t really want to hear. “You okay?”

Annabeth instantly freezes a little, impossible to miss given their proximity. He pulls back when she does, to get a slightly better look at her face. She just tries to bury her own against him instead. “Don’t ask me that now.”

And she realizes she basically answered him in the negative. He frowns, tries to tug her face up. “Annabeth, don’t do that,” he says, and he sounds mildly chastising.

“I’m too tired,” she grunts. Always making excuses. Even that one sounds stupid to her, despite hearing the exhaustion in her voice.

“Please stop avoiding it.”

He busted out a ‘please.’ At least she knows he hasn’t forgotten about anything, wishful thinking aside. She lifts her head, and her expression falls as she sighs with actual tiredness. “Percy, I just want to sleep,” she says, which is as honest as it is still an excuse.

He can tell. He combs his fingers through her curls, catching her eyes with both concern and mild grumpiness. “I want you to sleep, too. More often, more regularly. Tonight included.”

Of course he noticed. She doesn’t know why she tried to pretend he hadn’t (maybe because she was pretending it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, that it was something they could both get over). Then Annabeth just feels like she’s going to start crying, and that falls under the ‘things she has no desire to do right now’ category. Her eyes start watering anyway, because Percy Jackson is dumb, but he cares so much (maybe too much), and he kind of starts panicking a little when he notices the sudden potential for tears.

“Crap, I’m sorry, Annabeth I didn’t –”

“No,” she cuts him off, and then she laughs, which just confuses him even more. “No, you didn’t – I love you.”

“I love you, too?” He’s still baffled by this turn of events.

She tucks her head in against his shoulder and clings to his shirt, and at least for a few moments, he holds her and lets her stay there. She’s crying a little bit, and even though it’s silent, his shirt is getting wet enough that he’s got to be aware.

“Annabeth,” he says after a while, his voice ripe with concern and worry and maybe even a little warning to please don’t ignore him this time.

She doesn’t want to, but she doesn’t want to do this at stupid o’clock in the morning either. She looks up at him, and his eyes express the same as his tone. “Tomorrow,” she offers, though she’s not quite sure if she’ll follow up on that.

She’s pretty sure he can tell, but he kisses her on the forehead and allows her the reprieve for now. “Okay,” he says, and she burrows in against him once more. She finally falls asleep a few minutes later and actually stays asleep for the rest of the night.

-

Percy’s awake for a while after that, though. Mostly because he refused to fall asleep before she did, wanted to make sure she felt safe enough curled up against him. Then his brain starts in on overdrive and he feels a little like his girlfriend in that regard, but he can’t stop thinking about her and the way she’s been the whole trip.

More than that, really. If he really stops and thinks about it, she’s been holding something back for a while, and the extent to which only really hits him right now. Annabeth’s always been more for secrets than him, and he practically wears his heart, and lately his anger, on his sleeve. But he knows Tartarus is haunting her, too, or she’d be sleeping better, she wouldn’t be having nightmares, she wouldn’t be so desperate to keep a weapon on her at all times; tiny things he’s noticed that she never brings up, but he’s always there for her anyway. There’s something else there though, but he can’t figure it out, and it hurts him, but it’s obviously hurting her a lot more. She keeps pushing it off, even with the promise of tomorrow, but suddenly he’s more determined than ever to not let her.

-

She sleeps in later than Percy for once, and he’s hesitant to disentangle. But he also really wants to make her breakfast in bed, since it’s a rare opportunity. So he takes up the mission of slipping out without disturbing her, which is a lot harder than he’s anticipating simply because he likes being wrapped up in her arms. It’s a success, though, even if it takes him a half an hour, but he totally counts a victory when she just hugs the pillow and keeps sleeping.

He tries for French toast today (tries to dye the bread blue, but it only tints), and some scrambled eggs, setting it up on a plate and tray with a glass of juice. With perfect timing, too, because when he slips back into the bedroom, the smell of food must have been enough to rouse her; she’s making tiny grumbly noises that he recognizes instantly as the Annabeth Chase Wake Up Process.

Percy sits at the edge of the bed, holding out the tray, and she blinks blearily at him while he waits for her to realize what he’s done. And then she’s beaming at him, shifting herself so she’s sitting up. “You’re an idiot,” she says, but the look on her face is absolutely worth it.

“I’m your favorite idiot.”

“I thought that was obvious,” she replies, but she takes the tray from him and pats the mattress beside her. It doesn’t take much more convincing than that for him to wriggle next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist to and planting a kiss on her cheek.

She eats quietly, occasionally sharing some of it with him, and Percy relishes the moment, because he knows it’s probably not going to last all day.

-

He was right. Not that Annabeth knows what he was thinking at the time.

They go for a walk on the beach, running into the occasional mortal, and Annabeth wonders what the mist is disguising her knife as (it’s tucked at her hip, even if she’s walking around in a sundress with a swimsuit underneath). Percy’s hand is warm in hers, and the sun is warm on her skin. She can tell he’s itching to run through the shallows, but he stays beside her, swinging their arms as the tide flicks against their bare feet.

She can tell he’s itching to talk to her too, and she’s simultaneously trying to ignore that fact and trying to build herself up for it. By the time they walk back and their cabin is in sight again, the tip of her nose is a little burnt, but only enough that it’ll be tanned deeper by the morning. He’s found a near perfect seashell that he’s pretty pleased with, turning it over at a near constant in his free hand, though she has her suspicions it’s going to be a gift for her in the end.

“I can’t even remember the very first time I was here, you know,” Percy says, still swinging her hand as they slowly start up the sand towards the cabin. “But the first time I do remember, I think I was like, four. Maybe five. I found a starfish.”

She starts smiling over the mental image. “You totally put it on your head, didn’t you.” It’s not even a question.

Percy grins at her goofily. “Only after I tried to stick it to the middle of my chest. I wanted to be a superhero.”

Annabeth’s smile falters the tiniest bit, if only because of what kind of connotations ‘hero’ brings up beyond just the glory now. Pretending to be a superhero would be a lot easier than trying to be an actual hero. He notices. There’s a fraction of a second where she hopes and thinks he might ignore it, but he doesn’t.

He squeezes her hand. She has to fight against the urge to jerk away. “Poor word choice, sorry,” he says, because it’s something they’ve both been struggling with.

“It’s fine,” she replies, barely a second after he finishes speaking.

“Annabeth.” Only Percy Jackson could say her name so simply and so pointedly.

She doesn’t respond to him at first, and he can feel a flare up in his chest. He doesn’t want to get angry with her, not now, not here, but she just keeps shoving him off, and it’s not going to help either of them. And he’s tired of that. He’s tired of waiting for the next fuse to blow and the next nightmare and the next round of awfulness. He doesn’t want it to get worse.

“You need to stop doing this,” he says, some of that irritation filtering out.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Exactly! That’s exactly my point!” He can tell there’s a part of her that wants to pull back, but he keeps his fingers wound tight around hers.

“What is exactly your point? What am I supposed to be doing?”

He fumbles over a handful of words, not sure where he wants to start. There isn’t an easy answer. “Not ignoring – things? We’re here for a reason. I don’t want this to keep happening. I want to get back to normal.”

“Says the guy who keeps exploding at people.” Almost immediately after she says it, she regrets it. Even if that shows in her face, she can see it in his that it stung.

It does more than sting, though, because it’s Percy who pulls his hand away this time. His voice is curt. “Yeah, I’m pretty aware of that, thanks for the reminder.”

“Percy –”

He cuts her off, even though her expression is starting to crumble. “I’m not trying to pick fights here, Annabeth. I don’t know what I’m doing any more than you do, and I wish you’d stop freaking pretending I’m the only one who’s been messed up like this!”

She shakes her head. No, no, that’s wrong, she’s not pretending, she just – “I’m not –”

“You are!” he interrupts, again, not really caring about pushing boundaries right now. The waves start coming in a little choppy, a little roughly, but he’s not aware of it reacting to him. “You won’t talk to me, and then we just keep yelling at each other instead!”

Annabeth’s hands ball into fists, and she looks like a cross between a burst of fury and about to burst into tears. “I’m just trying to figure it out!”

“You don’t have to do that by excluding me!”

“I’m not!” Except even as she says it, she knows it’s not true. It might not be exclusion exactly, but she knows there are things she’s kept from him. Mostly because she’s scared of admitting it out loud. She already blames herself; she’s terrified that he might start to do the same, might realize the extent to which she’s the root of his issues, and maybe the only thing they really can do is just – stop. Stop being together. She doesn’t want it in a million years, but no other solution has floated in her mind thus far, and she can’t stand the idea of it.

“You are!” It sounds like a childish exchange (am not, are too), but it’s so much more than that. It’s angry and upset, maybe even a little afraid. “It was literally hell, Annabeth. We did it together, and we need to do this together too!”

She starts crying, though it’s the silent angry kind rather than messy sobbing. “I’m trying, okay? But it’s not like I want to wake up in the middle of the night and talk about what it was that did the waking up! I don’t need to tell you about every time I saw you dead or dying!”

He flinches, but his anger is already swirling, and it beats back the usual instinct to take her in his arms. “That’s not what I meant,” he means to snap the words out, but it falls a little aggressively flat. The waves crawl up closer, lap at their feet with a tiny shove, and Annabeth has to move her foot to keep her balance. “Because if you don’t think I see the same thing, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

“And that’s not what I meant,” Annabeth snaps, though she chokes a little on it. She knows he sees her in Tartarus, just like she does him; it’s the reason they have to repeat the fact that they’re alive and okay as often as they do. “I – I know that. Don’t be stupid.”

“Stupid, right,” he says brusquely.

“Stop it, you’re not stupid,” she grunts, almost pleadingly.

“Stupid enough that you don’t think I can help.”

“Percy.” She’s crying harder now. “That’s not it, that’s not –”

“I know I haven’t been the easiest to deal with lately, and – and I’m sorry for that,” he mutters. He almost looks like he’s about to start crying himself, and the waves retreat. “I don’t want to put any of this on you, okay? I just – I don’t know what else to do. But it doesn’t mean I want to be an angry useless lump who can’t even help his own girlfriend.”

Annabeth shakes her head. “You’re not useless.” It’s practically an order. “And I don’t care, I want to help, I need to –”

“Annabeth, I don’t want you to feel like you need to! That’s part of it! I hate putting you in this position, because it’s not fair!”

It probably is fair, she thinks, considering she dragged him down to hell in the first place. But instead: “Will you stop interrupting me! You keep telling me to talk to you and then cutting me off every other sentence!”

He opens his mouth to yell something, but bites on his tongue to hold it back. It takes a lot of effort, to just sit on it, to give her time, to not say anything hot and spiteful. He doesn’t want to take out his anger on her, he never does even when he can’t stop it; but she’s standing in front of him just as mad, and he has no idea where this is going at all. But he doesn’t want it to go in a bad way. “Then talk to me, Annabeth.”

And he gives her the time, which means forming the words once again becomes a challenge on her end. Her shoulders are shaking a little, and she’s still crying. But she looks determined now, more than before. “I – I have been focusing on you, I guess,” she admits, her voice strained. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He can do this, he can keep his trap shut. She presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose, breathes in a little shakily. “But I swear to you, you’re not a burden, Percy. I have to, and I won’t let it get to you.”

But that’s – part of it. She’s been so determined, but they haven’t made any progress, and she’s probably known longer than she cares to admit that she can’t hold him up if she’s falling down.

And she can’t drag him down anymore. The weight of Rome crushes her more every day. Watching what following after her has done and is doing to him on top of hell itself.

“Annabeth,” he starts, and he doesn’t continue until she looks up at him. “You’re still here, with me. And that’s all I need, okay?”

It’s not. She’s not enough and she can’t let him get out of control but she’s at such utter loss as to what she can do. Her self-confidence has ruined things again. For both of them. It’s her fault. Her fatal flaw. Her hubris.

She starts crying more over it, and Percy’s face flashes with panic. “I’m not,” she says quietly, before he can offer any comfort. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Percy.”

He shakes his head. He still can’t understand what it is, what’s bothering her, beyond just Tartarus. “I don’t – I don’t care, you just –”

She interrupts him this time. “No.” Her shoulders are heavy. Her vision blurs as they start to shake, too, but she can’t keep it inside anymore. She’s terrified, ready to collapse into the sand, but the status quo has been broken for a long time, and she can at least make an attempt to better it, even if it breaks them a little more too. “What I need to do is stop failing at this!”

It takes him a second, but his only response is still just: “What?”

She waves her hand, a gesture at him, her, their lives both. “You. This. It’s –” there’s a scratchy choking sound in her throat – “it’s my fault.”

The look on Percy’s face is utterly dumbfounded.

“Tartarus,” she says, the word like a gateway opened. There’s a lot she’s kept to herself. “You followed me. I fell because I taunted Arachne, and you followed me. And I can’t stop seeing it, and seeing you now – everything that happened, to you, to me, to us because of Tartarus, both down there and ever since –” She has to pause, draw in a sharp shaky breath, because her words are getting more jumbled with the need to just say it all.

He stares at her, processing. Or at least trying to, because none of it makes any sense to him.

But the silence unnerves her, makes her fear the worst. She chokes, because it’s all the guilt she’s tried to hide pouring out and she feels far too vulnerable. “It’s my fault. And I’m – I’m sorry, Percy. I’m so sorry.”

It’s kind of like he’s forgotten what an apology is, because there isn’t a single context related at hand where Percy feels Annabeth owes him anything of the sort. If anything, a million reasons why he should be throwing himself at her feet swim around in his head, but he seems to have lost the ability to vocalize anything, completely blindsided by her admissions. He’s always maintained that the people to blame for Tartarus weren’t people at all, deities wrapped up selfishly on Olympus.

He’s quiet too long though, because her frame starts to shake anew. “I thought I could fix it. You. Me. Everything.” She’s supposed to be able to do that. She should have figured out how to get them back to normal. “But I can’t, and I can’t keep watching you do this.”

She doesn’t know what hurts more: the idea that it’s her doing in the first place, or the idea that she can’t think of a solution. Both of them can be blamed on her hubris, but that was only ever supposed to take her down. Not him, too.

“Annabeth –”

“I’m sorry,” she says again, and by now his outline is blurred and wobbly. “I shouldn’t have ignored it, but I had to help you, you were just – you’re so angry Percy, and I couldn’t let that consume you. I won’t let you go down that path. Not when it was my fault in the first place.”

He doesn’t even think about what to do next, just lets himself go with it. Percy surges forward, closing the gap between them. “Listen to me. Annabeth, look at me, listen to me.” He says it desperately, taking her face in his hands. She meets his eyes and looks lost, a kind of lost he doesn’t think he’s seen since they were in hell. He refuses to believe anything she says, because the idea of it all being Annabeth’s fault is just ludicrous to him. “None of this - none of this - is your fault. Not what happened, not me. Okay?”

She starts crying harder, makes to shake her head, but he’s cupping her cheeks tight enough to keep her still. She grabs onto his wrists, not to pull away so much as to simply hold him.

“The gods tore us halfway across the world, and we fell because of them,” he says, the sternness in his tone taking him by surprise, even as he can feel himself edging on his own tears. This hurts more right now, watching her face and the guilt he finally understands but refuses to accept.

Annabeth doesn’t believe him. Not entirely. Her hubris made her fall, and Percy’s loyalty ensured he’d follow. And now after the fact, it’s picking them undone, creeping up behind them as if they’d never left. It’s been consuming her so much, she can’t let go of it like the drop of a hat just because he tells her no, even if she latches on to the fact that he hasn’t agreed with her yet.

But her confession, the idea that she blames herself so harshly, settles into Percy deeply. He realizes his own part in it, in exacerbating it, and almost like watching a movie, he can see flashes of his temper getting away from him, wondering if he really did need to put a halt to it as he exploded. Hadn’t he been through enough?

When he looks at his girlfriend though, takes in the shattered look on her face, he realizes that she’s been through enough too – and not just quests and gods, the things they were both so tired of when the war ended. She’s been through too much that it’s not right for him to make her deal with him this way either. Not when it’s dragging her down. He’s made it worse for her because he couldn’t get a handle on his own anger.

And that more than anything else of the last few days makes him realize he needs to. It doesn’t matter if he’s allowed to be angry – and he knows he is – but the kind of anger that turns Annabeth into this isn’t something he wants any part of.

She still hasn’t said anything else, and he knows that means she’s probably overthinking it, or thinking the worst, though considering the topic at hand, he can’t even blame her. But it’s not her fault, and he refuses to let her hold on to that.

“Annabeth,” he starts, still holding her face, though his grip turns gentler. “We’re gonna do this, okay? We’re gonna get better. I’m going to.”

It’s not a ‘we’re okay,’ or a ‘we’re alive,’ because that’s not enough. It probably hasn’t been enough for a while, but they were too afraid of not being all right that pretending otherwise took over. But it’s hard to improve when you think you’ve already done so. So it’s a new promise, and even if he doesn’t exactly have any ideas on how yet, it sparks a new, firmer hope in him. That they can work through it, and properly now.

He’s definitely started crying too, though. “What’s happening to me - it’s not your fault. It’s not. It’s mine, and I need to stop letting myself go.”

He doesn’t blame her. Annabeth doesn’t know whether to be relieved or panic more, but with his hands so warmly holding her face, she lets herself go with the relief. Part of the reason she’d been holding back so long was the fear that admitting it would start the end, of them. She wasn’t sure she could handle that, blaming herself for a fall out on top of everything else, even when it felt like the only probable outcome for a while. “It’s not yours either,” she says, finally speaking. “You have a right –”

Percy cuts her off again, but this time it’s with resolution. “I have a right to be angry, yeah.” His thumb slides gently over her cheek. “But I don’t – and no one else does either – has a right to make it feel like everything is your fault, Annabeth. You taunted Arachne after a suicidal solo quest after she’s killed hundreds of your siblings. But I’m pretty sure even if you didn’t, we would’ve fallen anyway.” That’s how it works when you’re working for the gods. He can remember the warning from Mr D. – well, Bacchus, that his journey would be harder than he thought. Tartarus isn’t over, it’s just evolved, and they need to adapt to that. “You can’t fix this alone.”

Annabeth breathes in a little sharply. He’s right, and for the first time, that really settles inside her, chips away at something tight in her chest. Her hands move, copying his to cup his face. She has her own demands. “You can’t – you can’t throw away everything because of me. You can’t look at me and decide everything else is unimportant. I won’t let you ruin yourself.” That was part of it. The way he jumped after her without thought. The way he killed Arachne. The way he took all the arai curses. The way he tried to kill a goddess. All of it was for her sake alone, and the weight of that is as heavy to deal with as Tartarus itself, and she’s tired of collapsing under it. If it’s really not her fault, she needs to stop feeling like it is.

He’s quiet for a moment. The only noise between them is the wisp of the ocean. And then: “Not even a little bit?”

It’s such a stupid thing to say, but she laughs – or at least, she thinks it’s a laugh, a scratchy ugly sound that mixes in with the way she’s still crying, her body shaking. The next thing she knows, Percy’s kissing her, soft and reassuring and every possible variation of I love you in the way his lips move over hers, and she can taste his tears alongside it.

When he pulls back, they just sort of stay there for a few moments, close and intimate and holding on with something other than desperation, for once.

If anything, now Annabeth just feels ridiculous, holding back as much as she had. But she refuses to get caught up on that, not with what they’ve just managed to say and realize. For all people had tried to help them, this was a place they really had to find together on their own. And she thinks they finally have.

“No more secrets,” he says quietly. “If we’re going to do this, and really do this, no more of this keeping it to yourself.”

“I won’t,” she replies, her tone both apologetic for doing it already and entirely promising. She won’t. She refuses. No matter how tempting it might be, it’s not going to help in the end. And it’s not just him – she wants to be able to help herself, and she needs to stop neglecting herself to do that. It was slow to sink in, but admitting the whys out loud pushed for it at last.

Percy leans in, kisses her again. “I love you.” He says it out loud, like it needs to be voiced, and maybe it’s still nice to just hear it. “I love you more than anything, Annabeth.

It’s true, and that’s terrifying. But she thinks she can start dealing with it in a better capacity. “You’re still not allowed to run away and lose yourself in that.”

He offers her a smile both weak and genuine. “And you’re still not allowed to keep blaming yourself.”

Annabeth starts smiling, and it matches his. She moves her hands from his face, sliding them to his and pulling them off her own face, if only so she can weave her fingers through his as she drops their arms down. They’re still close though, foreheads brushing together, and the wind pushes her dress into his legs. Her eyes kind of hurt from crying, and maybe she still is a little bit, but she feels better than she has in weeks. Like the worst is finally behind them, and they can only go up from here. “We can work with that.”

“Not just we can,” Percy starts, and he disentangles one hand, reaching up to push some of her hair behind her ear. His hand stays there, despite the fact that she just moved it away, but he can’t seem to bring himself to stop holding her face. He wants her to be there with him always, but he wants her to be there and be – be okay. He won’t keep adding to her guilt, he just wants to take it away. His thumb moves over her cheek, gently. “We will.”

Something in her expression melts, and then she’s closing that last bit of distance between them and wrapping her arms around him. He responds before even realizing what he’s doing, pulling her close as she buries her face in his shoulder. They stay like that for a while, Percy’s not really sure how long, but he finds it doesn’t really matter.

Because Annabeth is in his arms, and she’s breathing easily again. It’s not perfect. It’s never going to be. They’re never going to get back to ‘before Tartarus,’ but that doesn’t mean they have to lose themselves in the experience either. And maybe that was part of it – the two of them just hoping to return to something impossible.

“I love you,” she mumbles, and he moves to cradle the back of her head, whispering it back.

It is impossible. But she still loves him, and he’s pretty sure he’s never going to stop loving her, no matter how angry he gets. That’s something Tartarus couldn’t take away. And instead of going back, that’s the base where they can finally start trying to rebuild.