Chapter Text
I'm waking up at the start of the end of the world,
But its feeling just like every other morning before,
Now I wonder what my life is going to mean if it's gone,
The cars are moving like a half a mile an hour
And I started staring at the passengers who're waving goodbye
Can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time?
Percy Jackson is pretty sure part of him died down in Tartarus.
He physically survived, somehow. He’s sure of that. Even now, as he stands guard on the deck of the Argo II, he can feel his body beneath him. He can feel solid wood beneath his feet, his ratty t-shirt against his chest, and the ocean breeze on his face.
But something inside of him died down there in the darkness.
When he and Annabeth walked across the body of Tartarus, he had never had a solid grasp on his body. The longer they stayed there the harder it was to remember what sunshine felt like on his skin. He’d lost the memory of water beneath his fingers, and sand under his feet. He’d lost it all to the smoky haze of Tartarus.
But then they made it out. They closed the Doors of Death with the help of Hazel, Bob, and Damasen. They made it out.
Percy clenches his eyes shut and tries to shut out the memories of Bob’s eyes, filled with tears as the giant realized he was once again going to be left alone in Tartarus. Percy sees the titan in his dreams every night.
When he opens his eyes again, Percy is greeted by the sight of swirling waters and an empty night sky. His patrol has been fairly calm so far tonight; he only had to shoo away one sea serpent and one rogue pegasus.
The peace does nothing for the racing of his heart, though. His hands shake at his sides as he withdraws Riptide from his pocket. The pen is cold and light in his hand, but Percy has always felt and understood the weight of his legendary weapon.
He hasn’t thought of Zoe Nightshade in a long, long time, but as he stares at the stars in the night sky — the stars Bob will never see again — he thinks of his fallen friend.
“Zoe,” Percy whispers to the empty sky. “My friend Bob loves the stars. He’s never seen your constellation. I wish… I wish I’d been able to—”
Percy cuts himself off, feeling stupid. Zoe can’t hear him, and neither can Bob. He failed both of them, in the end.
Across the deck of the massive warship, Piper McLean calls for him. Her brown hair is tied back into a ponytail, a fresh scratch adorning her tanned skin. Perch cocks an eyebrow as he approaches the other demigod on patrol tonight.
“I’ll go wake Jason and Hazel for their shift,” she murmurs softly. “Get some rest.”
Percy doesn’t have any words to offer in reply, so he mutters a ‘thanks’ and retreats belowdecks to his room. Leo Valdez, who built and designed the ship, did a remarkable job on their individual rooms. Percy’s is designed to resemble the interior of Cabin 3 at Camp Half-Blood.
He desperately wishes Leo hadn’t made that design choice. Percy hasn’t stepped foot in his cabin, or seen his camp friends, in nearly ten months. The room on the Argo II is like a continuous slap in the face; a reminder that Percy had so much stolen from him. So much time, and so many opportunities, gone.
He flops onto the bed, which is soft and comforting. The mattress feels luxurious after so many nights of sleeping on the ground of Tartartus.
Percy’s eyes are barely closed before the first dream takes him.
He’s standing before the Mansion of Night, and Akhlys is torturing Annabeth. His girlfriend is weeping and bleeding, kneeling before the goddess of misery. The wrinkled old hag laughs as she continues to wreak havoc on Annabeth.
Percy attacks before he can think of a better plan. The poison once again bends to his will; but this time, he can sense another element willing to be controlled. It’s heavier, darker, scarier. He’s not sure what it is, but he latches onto it as Annabeth screams again.
There’s a yank in his gut, and then Akhlys is screaming as her very own blood combusts in her veins. Percy can only stare, in shock and horror, as he controls the blood within Akhlys’ body. Before he knows it, the goddess of misery is lying dead on the ground before him.
Annabeth's screams turn from pain to fear .
He wakes covered in sweat and tears. Percy thrashes in his bed for a few moments before his hand closes around Riptide. He takes a few deep breaths, focusing on his surroundings, his room. This is real. He made it out of Tartarus. This is real .
But the truth does nothing to chase away the memories of that dream. Percy shoves himself out of the plush bed and yanks his door open. He knows he won’t be able to rest without seeing her. He needs to know that she’s still breathing, that she made it out, that she’s here with him—
He opens her bedroom door, and there she is. Annabeth is still awake, sitting on her bed with her legs tucked up against her chest. Her beautiful blonde hair is a rat’s nest on top of her head. Her grey eyes are ringed with bags. Percy forces himself not to think about the time she’d gone temporarily blind in Tartarus.
He reaches for her silently, sinking onto the bed next to her and wrapping his bare arms around her. She melts into his touch. He takes a deep breath, and for the first time tonight, his heart rate slows. He breathes in the smell of her hair. He wraps a strand of it around his finger, just to make sure he can feel it.
“Can’t sleep either?” she asks him, her head still tucked under his chin.
“I tried,” he admits. “Bad dreams.”
They’ve never needed many words to understand one another. When they were kids they fought and argued endlessly, but the years turned that irritation to love. They finally began to understand one another the summer they traveled to the Sea of Monsters. They’ve always had each other’s back.
Annabeth pulls out of his arms and places a soft kiss on his lips. When he meets her gaze, lips still tingling from her touch, she says, “I can’t close my eyes without seeing them.”
He’s not sure if she’s talking about the monsters they faced in Tartarus, the Doors, or Bob and Damasen.
“Me neither,” he admits, because no matter what she’s talking about, he understands.
They hold each other for a little longer, silent save for the lapping of waves against the hull of the ship. Annabeth’s room, similar to the Athena cabin back at camp, is filled with diagrams, sketches, schematics, and loose sheets of paper. All of the clutter has been shoved onto a desk, where it is now collecting dust.
“Can I stay with you?” he whispers. Can I hold you in my arms and pray the dreams leave me alone? Can I stay with you now, and tomorrow, and forever? Can we never again be separated?
“Always, Seaweed Brain.”
So they slowly and carefully slip under the covers of Annabeth’s twin-sized bed. Percy wraps Annabeth in his arms, kisses her forehead, and closes his eyes.
He dozes throughout the night, never fully awake or asleep. His one comfort is the feeling of Annabeth in his arms, both of them as safe as they can be.