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    Summary

    "Thank you."

    For what, she doesn't know anymore. For existing. For being there. For walking through the Underworld with her. For being Grover's best friend. For listening to her. For advising her to reconcile with her dad. For arguing with her. For surviving. For being himself. For telling her that his bleeding hand isn't her fault. He doesn't ask which one it is. She's grateful.

    He rests his head on her shoulder, then, and his breathing slows gradually. Annabeth feels something loose inside of her chest settle. She pulls him closer, slipping an arm around his shoulders, and hugs him; hugs her eldritch horror and her very best friend and gets even with the fact that they're the same being eating away at this so very mortal boy.

    Percy is a bit warmer now, she thinks. She lets go of his hand to press both her flat palms onto his cold skin. She holds him, and for the first time since she arrived at Camp Half-Blood, she prays to his father.

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