Chapter Text
If there was one thing that Percy would never be able to forgive himself for, it was that he had almost saved her. He had almost reached her, he had his hand outstretched, he had his mouth open and her name on his lips -- Annabeth --
If there was one thing that he will never forgive himself for, it is that she had died. She had died, and he hadn’t been able to do anything.
He was supposed to be the hero. The hero of a million prophecies and quests and daring deeds, he should have been able to get to her in time. But even with all the training and the fighting and the endless hordes of monsters, even with everything they had survived together it - it hadn’t been enough. He was supposed to be a hero. He was supposed to be infallible.
But he was just a fucking human.
So he collapsed into that humanness, every piece of him caving into a broken hopelessness. He stopped talking to people, stopped trying to reach out to this broken world. He wanted to sleep, but he didn’t want to wake up screaming her name, still as bitter as the blood on his chewed up lips. He didn’t want to wake up with Tartarus behind his eyes and he didn’t want to wake up to see a world that Annabeth wasn’t in. He didn’t want to wake up at all.
When Percy stumbled out of the elevator, the music still ringing in his ears, he had been broken. There were scars on his arms that all the ambrosia in the world wouldn’t be able to cover up, and his twisted ankle had healed wrong somewhere along the way. He collapsed to his knees, and maybe something else broke, or maybe that was Riptide falling to the ground, or maybe it was Annabeth’s skull cracking on a rock again and again and again. Maybe that awful sound was just the creaking of an earth that never stood still.
He let the fight go on without him. He could see Hazel, in some kind of mist-ridden fog. There was Leo, burning, and he could hear the shouts of the others. The cacophony of sound was a chorus of ghosts in his mind–– an orchestra of yelling and fighting and dying. There was so much dying. These damned humans never stopped dying.
“I will kill Gaia,” he whispered to the raging battle. “I will tear her apart with my bare hands, or I will die trying.”
Except he had already tried, he had already fought her sons and he had already walked through hell to stop her, and it hadn’t been enough. He had closed the Doors of Death, but it wasn’t a loss to her, not when she had all her children ready to fight. He had already tried fighting, and maybe – he couldn’t bring himself to think it, but the thought was settling into his brain and sticking there like a shadow -- he had tried fighting, and maybe it was time to give up, to die trying.
He closed his eyes, letting himself fall. His palms caught on the rocky floor and the calloused skin split, but he barely felt it. There were worse pains in the world. He knew that all too well. If he were to die now, having just made it out of Tartarus, he wouldn’t care. He would just be dead. That would be better than this.
The giant melted away along with the mist and the fog and the adrenaline. Piper ran to his side, stopping just short of him with a hand over her mouth.
“Annabeth,” she whispered.
Percy focused on breathing. In and out and in and out. Long, deep breaths. They still tasted like fire. His lips were chapped, the skin having been burnt away by the River Phlegethon, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed her.
“Come on,” Hazel murmured, her voice soft in his ear. She must have been tired, but she pulled Percy up, a steady hand on his arm. She wrapped it around her shoulders, supporting his weight. “Stand up, Percy.”
He let her drag him upright, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet any of their eyes. He could feel the weight of their gazes on him, on the newly earned scars, on the gaunt tinge to his skin. He didn’t say a word as Hazel and Nico brought them to the light.
It was the first sunlight he had felt in centuries, the first light that actually met his cheeks, and he could feel tears melting down his skin. He swallowed down the choked up feeling in his throat, gripping tight to Hazel’s wrist as he turned his face up to the sun. The warmth laid on him gently, soft in comparison to the humid sweat of Tartarus.
He opened his eyes, turning to say, “We made it, we made it, we survived, Annabeth -- ”
There was no one beside him, just an achingly picturesque hill and an altar. His breath caught in his throat, and he spun around, spotting a brush of blonde hair in the corner of his eye, ready to call out.
Jason smiled at him, showing the faint scar on his lip, his eyes as blue as the sky. “Hey, man.”
Percy just nodded at him. There was nothing more to say. There were only a few words on his lips, and they were all apologies to a ghost.
The seven (six) had to sail on. That’s what they were supposed to do, that was their quest -- go to Greece, face a thousand more monsters than they had already fought, and save the world again (and again and again and again).
So they sailed to Greece. Leo asked if they could sail on water, now that Percy was back. Percy just shrugged. He didn’t care if the boat sank. The giants could walk the earth. Gaea could rule. The gods could fall. None of it mattered.
He remembered Alaska, and the calm kind of wilderness that was a godless world. The hyperborean giants wandering the mountains, the gryphons resting in the evergreen trees. The endless expanse of land, none of it tackled into submission by gods who wanted more temples and statues. It hadn’t been that bad, Percy thought privately, and some secret part of him ached for that peace.
But the others kept going. They still had a kind of loyalty left in them, a motivation that drove them to defend Olympus. Percy studied them, watching as they trained and smiled nervously in preparation for the final battle. He watched them fight off harpies and dwarves and other things he didn’t care to name. He tried to imitate their energy, but there was a vital part of his brain missing, left behind in hell.
“When all of this is over,” Piper commented one day, “I’m going to need some serious therapy.”
Leo snorted, a smiled edging at his lips. He was fiddling with some copper wire, twisting and untwisting it over and over again. He never stopped moving, Percy had noticed, but it had been getting worse lately. There were always new additions to the ship appearing out of seemingly nowhere, and always new bags under his eyes.
“There’s gotta be a demigod therapist somewhere,” Frank said, sighing. He had managed to make himself as small as possible in a seat at the dining table, his legs pulled tight against his chest. He was exhausted, having spent the afternoon fighting off the dart-feathered birds of Ares, which he said was incredibly unfair as the son of Mars. But maybe that was just another reincarnation of the stupid battle between Mars and Ares.
Jason stabbed at a sausage on his plate, not meeting any of their gazes. Ever since the Necromanteion, there was something unsettled in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t happy with having chosen his Greek side. Maybe he just couldn’t look Percy in the eyes without hating him for leaving Annabeth behind.
“There’s one in New Rome, she’s very nice. Legacy of Apollo, I think,” he said.
Piper smiled at him. “I’d like to have a long talk with her.”
“That’s if the two camps don’t destroy each other,” Percy said, voice dry. “Can’t forget about that.”
“Right,” Piper said, biting her lip.
It was a sobering thought, one that all of them had been avoiding since Nico, Reyna, and Coach Hedge had left with the Athena Parthenos. They could stop the giants, stop Gaea from waking, but even then, it might be useless. The eons of hate between Greeks and Romans weren’t just going to fade away with a snap of their fingers or with the death of Gaea.
“If anyone can get them to stop fighting, it’s Nico and Reyna,” Jason reminded them. “They’re stronger than you think.”
Percy leaned back in his chair, lifting it onto two legs. “Sure. But maybe no one can get them to stop.”
“Well someone’s optimistic today,” Leo muttered.
“It’s a side effect of walking through hell.”
“Let’s have a little faith in them,” Piper said, tapping the table with a finger. Her nails were bitten short from worry. “They’re strong.”
“Don’t use charmspeak on me,” Percy spat.
Frank moved a hand closer to Percy’s, as if he wanted to send a calming touch, but he was too afraid to startle him. “She’s not charmspeaking, Percy.”
Percy’s shoulders sagged under Frank’s words. “I’m sorry, Piper. I’m just tense right now.”
“Don’t worry about it, we’ve all been a bit on edge lately,” Piper assured him, smiling. “I think it’s my turn on guard duty, I’m gonna go tap Hazel out.”
Jason squeezed her hand as she stood, his eyes going soft when he looked at her. “Good luck, Pipes.”
“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” She shot him a quick smile before exiting the room.
Her endless positivity was grating, too loud and bright for all the hurt behind her eyes. She fought bravely, never hesitating to defend her teammates. Percy sometimes wished she would stop, just stop fighting for one second. Just long enough to let a monster strike him. Just long enough for Percy to have the opportunity to give in.
She never did. She was too good for that. Percy could see why Jason loved her.
The two of them made him ache for a girl he would never touch again. They made something twist and burn inside his lungs every time they smiled at each other and every time they kissed. They had all the love in the world right next to them, all the reasons to fight for the gods. Percy had none of that. There was nothing left for him aboveground.
The Argo II crew let him mourn alone. They let him scream himself awake and throw up after every meal and sleep with Riptide uncapped in his fist. He supposed that they were mourning in their own ways, somewhere far away from him. Piper and Annabeth had been close, Percy knew, and the others had always looked to her for guidance.
The ship was quiet all the time, just the soft creaking of Festus and the other machines Leo tinkered at all the time. They seemed to live in silence, functioning only in a lack of something. But maybe that was just a silence that Percy carried around on his shoulders, something he brought into every room he entered. They were hesitant around him, not sure who he was now that the better part of him was gone.
Jason tried to act like everything was normal, tried to hold the team together. But there was something irreparable about them now. Annabeth had been the heart and soul of the group and now -- now there was nothing in her place. Percy longed for her, longed to have her laugh in his ears, her eyes flitting from plan to plan as she reasoned out the end of the world.
Sometimes he caught a glimpse of her in her cabin, or of her hair disappearing just around a corner. He would chase after the shadow in the corner of his eye, but he could never quite reach her.
He and Jason met his half-sister somewhere over the Aegean Sea. Kymopoleia and Polybotes wrapped Percy in poison, let him thrash in the ocean (Poseidon was supposed to keep him safe here, but the god didn’t even notice).
After the poison had dissipated, Percy inhaled the salt water, closing his eyes.
“Can we -- just for a minute. Before we go up.”
Jason nodded, running a hand through his hair. Every fight seemed to take a little more out of Percy, seemed to carve out a little more emptiness in the hole that had been there since Tartarus.
Percy glanced up at him, something unreadable in his eyes. “As I was choking just now, I kept thinking: this is payback for Akhlys. The Fates are letting me die the same way I tried to kill that goddess.” He hesitated, and Jason tilted his head, trying to show that he was listening.
Percy continued. His words were slow, as if he was unsure that he should be being this authentic. “Honestly, a part of me felt I deserved it. That’s why I didn’t try to control the giant’s poison and move it away from me. That probably sounds crazy.”
“No,” Jason said slowly. “I think I get it.”
Percy studied him, waiting for something more, some kind of comfort or - or anything. Anything that would make Percy feel less broken. The words never came, and Percy figured that they never would. For all the bravado Jason put on, the two of them would never truly understand each other. Jason was too good and pure for that.
And Percy -- Percy could feel the poison filtering through his veins. It wasn’t Polybotes’ poison anymore, no, it was the kind of poison that had been there since Tartarus. Since he realized that the gods would never come to save him. Since he realized he and Annabeth were alone. (And she wasn’t here, so was there anyone left in the world for him?)
“I’m ready,” he said softly, standing up. His shoes slipped slightly in the sand, but he didn't fall, and that was progress. “Let’s go check out the damage.”
He didn't know what he expected. Jason was a good guy, but he couldn’t understand. He could try, but there weren’t rivers of fire behind his closed eyelids and there wasn’t a ghost haunting him. They rose to the surface, and that was the end of that conversation. Percy didn’t try to talk about it again.
There were thoughts that were just for him alone. There were memories and passing ideations that belonged to him, and didn’t need to be shared with anyone else. He would keep them safe behind sealed lips. No one asked him about it, so he figured no one cared about them. They noted the silence between his words, but that was all. There was never an inkling that there could be more in the silence.
The ship kept sailing, cutting through the water like a knife, the waves parting without protest. Percy stood at the helm of the ship, listening to Festus creak in his own language. He watched dolphins and hippocampi dart through the waves alongside the ship, as if they were an entourage keeping them safe. But he knew better -- they would scatter at danger. Percy couldn’t rely on anyone but himself.
Except it felt like he couldn’t rely on himself anymore.
He had dropped his sword, facing Tartarus. Riptide had fallen from his hand, and the primordial god had tossed Annabeth away like she was a fly on the wall. He had faltered, when he had stumbled out of the elevator, and he had let the others fight while he just tried to breathe through the sobs.
He had faltered again, just while sparring with Frank. Frank had swung his sword and it flashed in the light at just the right angle and Percy couldn’t breathe. He fell backwards, and sweat coated his palms, every flight instinct in his bones telling him he was back in that pit, back at the vacant mercy of a million immortal monsters.
He had slashed out at Frank when he tried to come closer, tried to help him. There was a long cut across his cheek, and even after the ambrosia had healed it, Percy could still see the shadow of it on his pale skin.
He distanced himself from the others. He didn’t want to hurt them.
They were afraid of him too-- what had he done, in order to survive Tartarus? What horrors had he committed?
They met the giants in Athens. The snake-people led them there. They fought.
Percy felt like a demon.
He killed without mercy. His sword was just an extension of his fingers, slick with the dust of every monster he killed. He slashed and jabbed and cut with a vengeance, an anger that he had never felt before. He screamed and it ripped through his throat like a knife against sandpaper. The monsters scattered before him -- they all knew his name. Perseus Jackson, the one who survived Tartarus.
There would be no mercy from him. There would be no requiem or elegy, there would just be a celestial bronze sword and the flash of sea green eyes. All the monsters could rot in hell for all he cared. They could rot where her body was, resting with the last bit of his humanity.
The gods showed up, the same way that they always did: at the last minute, ready to claim the victory. Frank and Mars were basking in a flickering red aura, the monsters soaked in fear when they came too close. Jason and Jupiter fought as a team, lightning just another weapon in a war against the earth. Hazel and Pluto slipped in and out of shadows and mist, alien ghosts who didn’t quite fit into the scene, but didn’t quite belong anywhere else. Piper fought with a knife that flashed like her kaleidoscope eyes, and Aphrodite whispered sweet murder into the ears of giants who didn’t know the difference between her songs and Gaea’s voice.
Poseidon fought next to Percy, his trident twice as tall as Percy was. He was an ocean, begging to be set free, crashing against a shore that wasn’t ready to be beaten into submission (oh, but it would be).
They fought as a team, Percy stabbing and slashing as Poseidon flew in circles around the giants, his chariot pulled by sea green horses. He was more powerful than he had ever been, with his father standing beside him. The giants faltered under their grasp, stumbling over Riptide -- the current that swept you off your feet before you even knew it was there. There was nothing that could stand against the eternal strength of the sea.
Poseidon wanted to say something, after. He tried to talk to Percy, give him some kind of comfort in the aftermath. Maybe he would give a word of encouragement, or a godly blessing while the last of the monsters disintegrated. He reached out a hand to touch Percy’s shoulder.
“Percy,” he started, his voice as gentle as the waves lapping against a jagged cliff’s edge. “You’ve done well, my son. I - I’m proud of you.”
Percy just stared at him. Once, he might’ve blushed under the praise, might have embraced it with welcome arms. But the words sounded hollow coming from a god who hadn’t even tried to save his son.
Percy couldn’t see himself in his eyes anymore (or maybe he could now more than ever, and that was just as terrifying). Poseidon opened his mouth again, ready to speak courage into existence, ready to promise that everything would be alright, it was over, this was it, this was the final threat, and the gods had won once again.
Percy walked away.
He was beginning to understand Luke. The bitterness that had been in Luke’s eyes was beginning to be reflected in Percy’s eyes. His anger festered in his fingers the same way, itching to be let loose on the world. His sword fighting style had shifted, all his defense becoming pure offense. He wasn’t fighting to stay alive, he was fighting for revenge. He wanted to kill and he wanted to hurt and he wanted every last monster to pay for what they had done.
Luke had hated the gods, hated their ignorance and obliviousness. He had hated that they didn’t care. He had wanted a real family, not a dysfunctional mess of immortals. He had wanted a father that could protect him from a mother with visions of golden-eyed titans. He had wanted a heaven that wasn’t down below.
Percy was pretty sure that he would join Luke, if he asked now. The gods didn’t care about this world or its people. They didn’t deserve to live forever.
“Do you fight for the gods because they’re good, or because they’re your family?”
He stayed loyal because he had no choice. Because the gods made him. Because he’d seen what they did to revolutions, he’d seen what he himself would do to a revolution.
On the logical side, the Titan War hadn’t just been a revolution. It had been more than that, it had been a destruction. It had been taking the Western world and undoing it. It had been killing without a second thought and with all the leisure in the world. The Titans and giants weren’t good, but -- the gods weren’t either. Why did this cursed world have to settle for the lesser of three evils?
Sometimes a world needed to be destroyed in order to rebuild it. In order to make it better, all the roots of evil needed to be discarded, needed to be pulled up and broken. Maybe Luke had been right, and the gods were like weeds growing in the garden of humanity, choking all the beautiful things.
He was beginning to wonder how long that anger had been inside of him, burning just underneath his skin, waiting to be let out.