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Annabeth was eight weeks into her stay at Camp Half-Blood when she gave in and finally learned the rules to pinochle.
Her vendetta against pinochle wasn’t personal — not to the game itself at least. It was something of a stand against Chiron; she would beg to use the lava wall and when she climbed it anyway, scraping her knee and recovering by the big house, he would offer to play with her.
She would say no so he would smile at her and pad off to play with Dionysus instead as she watched the other kids pick strawberries or cheer each other on from the arena. It felt like a slight: insult to the fact she was too young to do anything and so had to be babysat while the others had fun.
But upon being banned from arts and crafts with her siblings and officially having nothing else to do, Annabeth gave in, died on her hill and was raised days later a pinochle player.
It wasn’t particularly difficult, nor very entertaining, but it was the only thing she was allowed to do. It would suffice until she broke into the archery range again.
The deck is new and Annabeth feels the pressure of it with every card she holds. She focuses on not pinching their edges to ignore her unease.
Silence finds them, though not for lack of trying: Chiron keeps chirping tentatively at her, but it’s all boring drivel about other card games she enjoys and whether or not she knew about the life cycle of a strawberry.
(She didn’t care to.)
And so Annabeth sits and bounces her leg and wishes she was with Silena or Lee or any of her siblings, until a certain question leads to a breakthrough.
“So…” Chiron begins, eyes locked onto his cards, “what do you think of the Athena cabin?”
Annabeth hums, stares steadfastly at her cards as though disinterested, though she already has much to say. “I dunno, it’s kind of boring,” she decides in the end.
Chiron chuckles. “And how is that?”
Annabeth grins, ready to jump at the invitation. Turns out Pinochle wasn’t that bad.
—
“But what if,” Annabeth leverages, fingers rubbing and twirling her card, “I was specifically called for by the Oracle?”
Chiron sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “ If that were to happen, then I would indeed have no choice but to send you.”
Annabeth’s eyes light up, her grin growing bigger. “And so if that were the case, if it happened tomorrow, you would send me anyway?”
Chiron knows where she is going with this, and silently asks Athena to just reach out to her. Why must she be so intent on killing herself for a mother who could so easily just send her a sign?
“Child, you must understand that those are specific circumstances. Nobody, not even Zeus himself could do anything about it. Only the great prophecy details anything even close to that specific.”
“But—“
“No, Annabeth. You’re too young.”
Annabeth slams her hands on the table as she stands, face flushed red and cards spilling over the table. “I’ve had real world experience — more than almost anybody! I can do this, Chiron, everything will be fine!”
And for a second Chiron sees every other bright eyed young demigod lost to words he can do nothing to stop.
But he can’t — won’t lose Annabeth. Not yet.
Chiron has lived and died with the hundreds of children he cares for. He has lived for so many years because he keeps moving. He keeps his head high enough that he can ignore the too-small corpses that litter the path. Looking down is akin to falling.
The life of a demigod, the life of their carer. He resigned himself to these words long ago, and yet his chest feels hollow when he sees Annabeth, so bright and loving, burned with a shroud that could never match her light.
He swallows his grief and turns, stepping away into the big house,
'You don't know what you're talking about.’
He turns from the tears he knows are trickling from untainted eyes.
—
The card creasing under her fingers is a comforting motion as Annabeth explains her recent quest. She details the Gateway Arch but skims over Waterland, ends up faltering at the end; the weight of Luke’s betrayal leaves her tired.
Chiron stays quiet through it all.
His poker face makes it that much harder to figure out his feelings. He’s listening, she’s sure, he cares, and he will fix all this. Just as he does her scraped knees and the spider infestations and the cabin in-fights.
He has to.
Annabeth doesn’t quite know what to do if he doesn’t.
And when she finishes her story, Chiron simply looks sad, nods at her, and plays his turn.
It stings, that no words of comfort are offered, but Chiron has always been a realist, and if he cannot figure it out now then…
Annabeth sits with bated breath and waits for a response.
—
Chiron has never felt more hopeless in his life.
He watches Annabeth dog-ear the corner of her card, straighten it out, then bend it again.
He would usually chastise her for it. She looks tired.
The question has been on his mind ever since she came back. With recently scabbed cuts and a tight grin and a streak of silver running through her hair.
It sits on the tip of his tongue, acrid and burning. Annabeth looks tired but he cannot help it from slipping out.
“Do you ever regret asking for a quest?”
Annabeth’s head snaps up, her brow knitted and jaw set. She purses her lips to speak, sighs instead and drops back down.
“I haven’t even gotten one yet,” she says, folds the corner over itself.
The conversation ends there before it even really starts.
—
Everything has been and gone and it leaves Annabeth feeling hollow. The only sense of normalcy Annabeth ever had was stripped from her. The wind tussles her hair and brushes her lips and she will never know that love again.
It doesn’t stop Chiron from trying anyway.
He clears his throat “So…” he begins, “do you have any ideas in mind for Olympus?”
Annabeth’s chest feels tight at the question. All she’s been thinking about has been Luke, prophesies, lost friends. She swallows it down, shrugs, plays her turn.
Chiron tries again.
“Ah. Well, you can ask if you need inspiration.”
Annabeth wants to scream. The card beneath her fingers starts to bend.
“See, I once knew this boy, who—“
Annabeth grits her teeth and crumples the card again. How can he keep on like this? How can he continue to avoid the present? How can he pretend that none of his students, that Luke wasn’t dead?
“—and, oh. Is everything alright Anna—“
She slams her hands onto the table, the pile of cards spilling into each other. “What the fuck are you doing?” Annabeth swallows but the tears still come. “ How can you pretend everything’s okay?!”
She stares and Chiron looks at her, vaguely sad but patient, as if waiting for a child to finish their tantrum. A beat passes.
“My dear I’m not—“
“Just.” She takes a shuddering breath. “How the fuck are you not, I don’t know, mourning? How the fuck can you just stand there like that? How could you let this happen — how could you do this to me?” And maybe that’s what she wanted to know the whole time.
The realisation is heavy and Chiron’s face falls, no longer patient, grief stricken. “Annabeth, I—“
But what could he say? How can the man who fed her ambrosia and indulged in her info dumps and played pinochle with her let any of this happen?
She feels small, a child crying out for a parent, and how could he claim to be one when he didn’t fight for her? Chiron resigned himself to fate and left himself a fool, malleable to their will.
The fates can’t be fought with, but why couldn’t he try ? Why couldn’t he at least say something ?
Annabeth storms off, sobs openly and shoves the damaged card into her jeans.
—
Sally kisses her head and brushes away her tears with gentle fingers.
The nightmares have only lessened slightly, but she fears them less knowing Sally is on the other side.
Percy still sleeps, but no doubt he’ll be awake and join them soon. Annabeth will relieve her exhaustion into his touch and feel herself born again in the morning.
It remains difficult, prying herself from his arms and buttering her toast and staring herself down in the mirror. But Percy is content to hold her anyway and Paul will bring her breakfast and Sally will squeeze her hand and guide her along.
Thalia visits often and remembering Luke helps. It remains difficult to affirm that he is gone, but each time she swallows that pill a little easier.
After, when they go to a cafe for lunch and laugh too loudly in a public setting, Annabeth remembers what it’s like to long for something.
Most days Annabeth wakes up and thinks about how dreadful it is to be alive. Nico comes over and they play Mythomagic. She’s glad she is anyway.
—
It is a cold and dreary Monday afternoon when a knock resounds at the door. Unusual for the Jackson household, though not for lack of visitors.
Annabeth brushes off her hands and sets down her pencil, signals to Sally that she is happy to answer.
She opens the door to an outstretched hand, a deck of cards, untouched.
“Care for a game?”