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When Percy had bathed in the River Styx, he had assumed he would die one way or another pretty soon. There was only so much fighting you could do against a prophecy, after all.
But against all odds, he was still alive to see another day. To hold Annabeth’s hand at the canoe lake, to muck out the pegasi stables, to participate in capture the flag. To go home for the school year, to help his mom chop vegetables for dinner, to watch old movies with his parents and girlfriend. And to do it all invulnerable.
Swords bounced off his skin like it was made of metal. Arrows didn’t so much as nick him. Kitchen knives slid off his fingers when he carelessly cut them. Without targeting his mortal point, there was nothing any monster or mortal could do to draw his blood ever again.
“It feels weird,” he confided in Annabeth. They were on the couch in Percy’s apartment, and he spoke with his voice low enough that his parents couldn’t hear it from their room. Their feet were propped up on the ottoman, and Annabeth was nestled into his side with her eyes closed, her arms around his torso and her cheek squished up on his shoulder. She looked adorable, and his heart did a triple somersault looking at her.
“Mm. Weird for me too,” she said. “You act a little different.”
“Yeah?” Percy frowned. He didn’t know how to feel about that.
“Not bad different. Just, your fighting style has changed. You don’t have to avoid hits the same way.” She grimaced. “Makes me a little nervous to watch. But I know it’s because you can’t get hit, so that’s reassuring.”
“So it was worth the risk?” he asked, smiling. “You were kinda mad when you figured it out.”
“I don’t think you should do it again ,” she said. “But I’m glad it worked out. Obviously.”
“It only did because of you,” he said even more softly into her hair. He had told her a few weeks ago about seeing her on the bank of the river, smiling at him from under her Yankees cap, giving him a hand up back into the mortal world.
She blushed. “Whatever. As long as you’re safe.” She nestled closer to him and he closed his eyes. They fell into a comfortable silence.
It was late and quiet enough to hear the second hand on the clock in the kitchen and the clicks and creaks of the radiator. Annabeth’s slow breathing was just irregular enough that Percy knew she wasn’t asleep. Her arms, circling his waist, covered a spot on his lower back with would-be casualness. He kissed her forehead and left his lips pressed there, his heart rate picking up when he heard her soft, contented sigh. Her breath tickled the skin of his neck, and he felt the furthest thing from invulnerable.