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“Hey, heartbreaker,” Leo teased, throwing a wrench in Jason’s direction. It clattered to the floor, missing him by a mile.
Jason smirked, picking it up with a practiced ease. “Mm. Says the guy who can’t walk past a shiny surface without flirting with his reflection.”
“Hey, you’re the one who broke up with Piper ,” Leo shot back, leaning against the Argo II’s mast with his signature grin. “You’re statistically worse than me.”
Piper snorted as she made her entrance, delicately weaving through Leo's pile of parts, knowing better than to knock anything over. “Both of you are disasters.”
"You let the Beauty Queen herself slip through your fingers, Jace, I don't even know what to say," Leo shook his head with disappointment, teasingly gesturing towards Piper like, 'look at her!'
Jason huffed. “ Anyway, how much more of your attention are you gonna give the ship before we can get any of it, repair boy?” he pouted, though his eyes sparkled.
They'd each thought that their dynamic would be endangered by the mutual breakup, no matter how amicable it was. It was a fair question: if their memories and relationships had been built entirely by these fabrications, what happened when they took down the scaffolding? What was their freestanding dynamic like?
But moments like these seemed to prove that it actually might have been for all the better. They were all lighter. More true, more whole.
Leo squinted at a stubborn bolt, deliberately ignoring Piper's creeping up into his personal space. “You know the ship’s not gonna fix itself, right?”
Piper rolled her eyes at that and whined, "You've been at it all day. How much is the next hour really going to help?"
Jason hummed softly, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer, making himself impossible to ignore. “How about a break? A brain reset.”
Leo scoffed at that, locking eyes with him briefly. Just long enough for Jason to see the quirk in his lips and his humor behind it, too. “Breaks don’t make things fly, Grace.”
Piper pouted at that, giving Jason a conspiratorial nod, after a moment's thought of convincing Leo otherwise. Jason sighed dramatically, folding his arms and leaning over Leo’s shoulder. “You drive a hard bargain. You’ve got me. I’ll take you both on a piggyback joyride in the sky later if you hurry it up.”
Leo smirked, then, and turned back to his work. “Alright, darlin’, get that ride ready for me then. I won’t be long.”
Leo poured everything into making that ship sail for all of them. It was a love language of his own, to put that energy into something so important to the group—his relentlessness, his quick mind, his skilled hands, all of it into one goal. Which only made it so much worse, so much emptier, when he didn’t come back with them after the battle with Gaea. His sacrifice, his death, was a raw wound in their lives, a silence they didn’t know how to fill.
While they initially held out hopes in finding him again, time passed with that widening gap in their lives. Piper’s laugh disappeared for days, which turned into weeks. Jason’s smiles became thinner, more forced, each one an apology for the grief he couldn’t hide. The Argo II sat in dry dock, untouched—a monument to their loss. None of them could bear to step aboard without Leo’s quick wit and laughter echoing in its halls.
“Good aim, Beauty Queen,” Jason murmured one day, trying to make Piper laugh as they spared, training not for the sake of sharpening their skills but more so for the sake of quieting their minds. His voice wavered, like he was testing the words in a world where Leo no longer existed.
Piper flinched. “Don’t call me that.”
Jason froze. He hadn’t realized how hollow the nickname sounded without Leo’s voice behind it, the teasing lilt, the affection layered beneath the teasing. Without Leo, the words felt wrong—a shadow of something they were trying desperately to hold onto.
“I’m sorry,” Jason said quietly. And Piper knew he wasn’t apologizing for the nickname.
They knew that they couldn't afford to grow apart, not like this. And yet, Jason knew that he was just as painful a reminder to Piper as she was to him, of their missing piece.
There was one place they both went, taking turns, in an attempt to heal. Where everything was frozen in time. And though they went often, it was never together. As if not to remind themselves too much of the present day. Like the presence of the other would remind them too much of what was missing.
In Bunker Nine, Leo's workbench was cluttered, true to its owner. A half-finished design lay on the table, the blueprints smudged with grease and hurried pencil marks. It was a place where the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Leo to come back and finish what he started.
Jason stepped into the bunker quietly, in a rehearsed movement, never to interrupt the stillness. His eyes immediately found the familiar, cluttered desk—his eyes tracing over the tools, the scattered notes, everything Leo had left behind. It was like stepping into a memory, one that was unfinished, that ached for release from containment. He exhaled slowly, letting his fingers hover just above the blueprints without ever touching them.
Leo’s memory was something holy. Jason would absorb his handwriting into his skin, if he could. And he thought, once, about getting these same notes tattooed next to his symbol of Jupiter, as if some sort of “fuck-you-for-taking-him” to the gods. He’d quickly decided it would feel too real, too final, if he did. So, for now, he wouldn't let himself touch any of it, in an attempt to preserve it that way. He moved as he always did when he visited the bunker, in a dance somewhere between a place that felt like being alone with Leo’s spirit, and a place of delusion, a desperate attempt to trick himself into thinking he’d be back, any minute.
He didn’t expect to find Piper instead.
She was silent and still in a corner opposite to Leo’s desk, her figure masked in the darkness. Her face was set in a quiet, distant expression, as if the world outside this room didn’t matter anymore. Her eyes were tired but as beautiful as ever, a dim glimmer behind them, like how they used to sparkle when surrounded by her best friends. It wasn't present anywhere else. Jason didn’t say anything at first—he just watched her as she thumbed one of Leo’s wood carvings, lost in thought, no doubt. She didn’t seem to notice him standing there, not until he shifted his weight.
She startled, spinning around with wide eyes at the sound, as if expecting to be encountered by a ghost.
"Jason," she said, her voice almost too soft, like she hadn’t expected anyone to find her here, to know of this secret, sacred space. "I didn’t think—"
"I didn’t mean to interrupt," Jason replied, his voice tight, though he wasn’t sure why.
Piper looked away quickly, swallowing, then gave a small, forced, self deprecating laugh. "It’s just... it’s hard to stay away, you know?" Her fingers twitched against the figurine. "I thought maybe if I came here long enough, I’d be able to feel... something. Like if I stayed still long enough, maybe he’d walk back in and pick up where he left off. Dumb, right?"
Jason’s chest tightened. "No, me too." It felt like all words would come short to this.
There was a beat of silence, and then, as if to take their attention off of each other’s presence and the missing piece in the gap between them, he turned back towards the workbench. His fingers hovered over a screwdriver, but he didn’t pick it up. It all felt too fragile, too delicate. "He always said he’d teach me how to use half of this stuff," Jason muttered, almost absentmindedly.
Piper nodded, her eyes locked on him now, on his every movement. "He used to say he could fix anything. I believed him."
Jason’s heart clenched at the words. His gaze dropped to the cluttered table, unable to meet her eyes. "Maybe we should finish some of this for him," he suggested, his voice wavering more than he intended.
But Piper shook her head, her voice firm, almost protective. "No. It’s his. It feels wrong to touch it."
Jason looked at her, feeling the weight of her words settle over him. He nodded, then sighed. "I just hate that it’s all just... sitting here. Like he’s going to walk back in any second and finish it." He paused, his breath shaky, “I hate knowing that he’s not.” His fingers twitched toward the tools again, but he pulled his hand back quickly.
And then, as if the room itself had been holding its breath and finally couldn’t anymore, there was a loud crash. A stack of metal parts on the other side of the room tipped over, clattering to the floor.
Jason jumped, his heart racing as he turned to see what had happened. He had brushed against a pile of spare parts while walking too close to the shelves. It was enough to teeter the delicate balance that Leo had once left behind. The mess scattered everywhere, pieces spilling across the floor. Stray nuts rolled in circles before finally coming to rest. All of a sudden, a new stillness occupied the space.
His stomach dropped. "Gods, no," he muttered, crouching down to start picking everything up, but as he reached for the pieces, he paused with a realization. Nothing was going to be returned the way it was.
Piper was motionless beside him, her breath catching. "We... we can’t fix it."
Jason stared at the disarray, the pieces scattered like a puzzle with no picture to guide it. His chest tightened as the thought struck him: everything they had left of Leo, everything that still felt like it was his, had been undone. These weren’t just spare parts anymore—they were fragments of something bigger, something they couldn’t rebuild.
The realization settled heavy in the room, like a weight neither of them could lift. Jason swallowed hard. "Nothing’s ever going to be the same again."
Piper let out a shaky breath, her voice barely a whisper. "No, it won’t. But we knew that. He’s not coming back."
Jason didn’t respond right away. The truth of it hung between them, sharp and unrelenting. It wasn’t just the broken pieces in front of him; it was the brokenness of everything. Nothing they did could rewind the clock, and nothing could bring Leo back. It felt like losing him all over again—like the world had shifted into something unrecognizable, and they were left behind, stuck in the ruins. The world would keep moving forward, indifferent to their grief, but they couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
These moments, the long silences in the bunker where the air still felt like Leo’s, were all they had left of him. It wasn’t enough, and it never would be. It was a hollow kind of comfort, a reminder of everything they’d lost. And it hurt.
Jason sank to his knees and stared at the floor. He didn’t bother picking anything else up—it felt pointless, like trying to gather water in his palms. "I miss him," he choked out, his voice raw. He didn’t look at Piper. He couldn’t. "I miss us. I thought we were finally figuring out how and who to be—without all the made-up memories, without the prophecy hanging over our heads, without all the quests. I thought we’d get to start to live, after all of it. And now..." His voice broke. "Now, I don’t know how to ever be again."
Piper’s breath hitched, and she turned towards the wall, away from him, and away from the mess, gripping the wood carving so hard her knuckles went white. "Me neither," she whispered. "It feels like every time I think I’ve got my feet under me, I remember that he’s not here, and it all falls apart again." Her voice was shaking, trying and failing to hold back a sob that threatened to rip through her.
Jason looked up at her finally, his blue eyes glistening. "Pipes," he said softly, but she shook her head, her jaw tight.
"I can’t even say his name without wanting to scream," she admitted, her voice trembling. "It’s like this weight that I can’t carry but can’t put down either. And when I look at you, all I see is the missing—the piece that should be here with us. I can’t do this without him, Jason. I thought we could, but I can’t."
Jason’s chest tightened painfully, and he stood, stepping closer to her, though he kept his hands at his sides. He let her wipe her eyes, taking their time with the emotion of it all. "I don’t know how to do it either," he said, his voice low, shaky. "But I do know one thing. I can’t lose you, too."
Piper stiffened at his words, her eyes closing as she let out a shuddering breath. For a moment, she didn’t respond, and Jason’s heart sank, fearing he’d said too much or too little or the wrong thing altogether.
Finally, she turned to him, her expression softer but still cracked with grief. "You won’t," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But you have to promise me the same. Because I don’t know if I could survive it if I lost you both."
Jason nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He didn’t know if they could ever truly be whole again, but as Piper rested her forehead against his shoulder, both of them standing in the dim light of Leo’s bunker, he realized that maybe they didn’t have to be. Maybe surviving wasn’t about fixing what was broken, but learning to carry the pieces together.
And for now, that was enough.
He took her hand, still clutched around Leo’s figurine, in his, and Jason kissed her knuckles. Piper let out a wet sigh, and let him hold her.
For weeks, Jason and Piper drifted in this fragile, shared orbit. It wasn’t something they talked about; it wasn’t anything as defined as a relationship, not the kind they’d once been thrown into by a goddess. This was raw and tentative, the kind of bond that was less about romance and more about survival. But it was more real than anything else they’d ever shared with anyone else, short of Leo. They held onto each other because no one else could bear the weight of their shared grief.
Percy and Annabeth tried. They checked in when they could, but the air felt stifled whenever they were around—Percy’s humor too brittle, Annabeth’s sharp eyes too perceptive. Jason knew the way the veteran demigods blamed themselves. He couldn’t bear it, not when he knew it should have been himself. To storm or fire.
Reyna visited once, strong and steady as always, but even she couldn’t reach them. She didn’t understand the quiet spaces Jason and Piper inhabited, the way they could sit in silence for hours and still feel the same unspoken ache between them. Mending and breaking all at once.
So it was just the two of them, bruised and broken, but tied together by the hope that someday, the world might hurt a little less.
It started small. Piper would show up at Bunker Nine with sandwiches from the camp kitchens, when dining with the others felt like too much. Jason would wordlessly hand her a wrench as they tinkered with the remains of Leo’s projects, in that pile they’d watched topple. They built from the remains. They weren’t trying to fix anything, not really—they were just trying to be there, to keep moving forward in the only way they knew how.
Some nights, when the pain grew too heavy, Piper would find herself in Cabin One, and she’d lean her head on Jason’s shoulder, her breath shallow and uneven as she tried to hold back tears. Jason never said anything, but his hand would find hers, their fingers lacing together like a lifeline.
They didn’t talk about the way their touches lingered or how their eyes sometimes met with something deeper, more desperate, than simple friendship. They weren’t ready to put words to it yet.
But they were inseparable, bound by their grief and their hope.
Until the day the impossible happened.
The sound hit first—a high-pitched screech of metal on metal, followed by a loud clang that reverberated throughout the camp. They were alone in Cabin One when it happened; for once, they shared each other’s company without thinking of the weight of it, sucked into some book that Jason was sharing with Piper. And even then, they dared not hope that the sound and roar of a familiar dragon meant anything that they’d been dreaming of for months now. Both of them shot to their feet, exchanging wide-eyed looks before racing for the door.
When they reached the clearing outside, the sight that greeted them was impossible, chaotic, and undeniably Leo.
Festus stood there, steam pouring from his joints and his wings folded awkwardly, like he’d landed too hard. And stumbling out from behind him, coughing and waving away the smoke, was none other than Leo Valdez.
“Okay, Festus, note to self—work on that landing gear,” he muttered, slapping the dragon’s side. Then his eyes darted around, through the forming crowd, frantic. “Where are they? Did I miss them? Are they—”
The camp seemed to part, knowing exactly who he was looking for, and his gaze landed on Jason and Piper. They stood unmoving across the field, their expressions caught between shock and disbelief.
“Holy Hephaestus, there you are!” Leo yelled, running after them with his hands thrown in the air, like they were the ones who’d been missing. “I’ve been looking all over for you guys!”
Jason’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Piper took one shaky step forward, her face crumpling.
“ Leo ,” she managed, her voice thick. “You’re alive.”
Leo blinked, his grin faltering as he took in the raw emotion on her face. “Uh, yeah,” he said cautiously. “Last time I checked.”
Piper surged forward and punched him—hard—on the shoulder. “You jerk!” she shouted, tears spilling over. “We thought you were gone forever! We thought—”
Her words broke off into a sob, and suddenly she was hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe. Jason joined her a moment later, his hands gripping Leo’s arms like he was afraid he’d disappear again.
He couldn't find the words for this wave of emotions, only borrowing from Piper's. In the back of his mind, he realized, this is how Annabeth felt. Leo is their Percy.
"You," Jason choked out, his voice trembling. "You’re alive."
Leo let out an awkward chuckle, overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment. As if he wasn’t letting himself process, either. "So I've heard, uh… surprise?"
The next thing he knew, Piper’s fists were pounding weakly against his chest, her tears spilling freely. " Valdez ," she sobbed. "We thought you were gone. We thought—"
Jason caught her shoulders, pulling her back just enough for Leo to speak. "Hey, I know, I know," Leo said, his voice quieter now. "I didn’t mean to stay gone this long, I swear. Things got… complicated. It’s a long story."
Jason stared at him, his blue eyes glassy with unshed tears. "You died," he whispered. "We saw you die."
Leo scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Yeah, about that… I always meant to come back… I just wasn’t sure if it would work but turns out I, well, I got a dragon, some godly help, and, uh, sheer dumb luck on my side. I’m sorry it took so long."
Piper and Jason exchanged a look, their expressions caught between mournful anger, relief, and disbelief.
"Leo," Piper said softly, her voice breaking. "Do you know what we’ve been through?"
"I can guess," Leo said, his sheepish smile falling as he took them in—the dark circles under their eyes, the weight they carried even now. "And I’m so, so sorry."
He stood there, stunned, and his heart racing. He wasn’t used to this—the tears, the desperation. The way they held him in a way that nobody else had before. It was loving–it was overwhelming.
Piper stepped back just enough to look him in the eyes, her hands gripping his shirt. “Our repair boy is back,” she whispered to Jason, her voice shaking but filled with so much tenderness it made Leo’s chest ache.
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. He just nodded, a fluttering warmth spreading through him. Ours.
“Get in here, Beauty Queen,” he smiled warmly and gestured Jason back towards him, too. “Superman. I’m here to stay, okay?”
And when Piper threw her arms around him and clung to him like she never wanted to let go, something inside him shifted. He felt it in the way Jason joined them, one strong hand gripping his shoulder like a lifeline, his blue eyes shining with tears that finally escaped him in their embrace.
Ours.
The word settled into Leo’s chest, unfamiliar but warm, like it belonged there. He was theirs. He had always been theirs
“I’m back,” he said, his voice soft. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Jason exhaled sharply, his grip on Leo tightening. “You better not,” he said, his voice low and trembling. “I can’t lose you again, Leo.”
“You won’t,” he promised. “Not ever again.”
And as Festus let out a triumphant puff of steam behind them, Leo realized he wasn’t just back. He was home.
Later, in Bunker Nine, the space was quiet, the only sound the occasional clink of tools as Leo moved around the workshop. Piper sat cross-legged on his desk, fiddling with a piece of bronze wire, while Jason leaned against the wall, watching Leo like he still couldn’t believe he was real.
“You really kept all of this the same,” Leo said, glancing around at the untouched tools and half-finished projects. His voice was quiet, a little awed.
Piper nodded, twisting the wire in her hands. “We couldn’t… change it. It felt wrong.”
“Like we were erasing you,” Jason added, his gaze steady.
Leo swallowed, his chest tightening. He looked down at the workbench, at the smudged blueprints and the screwdriver he’d abandoned what felt like a lifetime ago. “I didn’t think anyone would care,” he admitted softly. “I mean, I figured you guys would miss me, but… not like this.”
“Leo,” Jason started, his voice firm but kind. He crossed the room, taking Leo's warm hands in his own. “You’re not just some guy we went on a few quests with. You’re...” he choked on his words, about to say family. That didn't begin to encompass it. “You're everything, Leo.”
Leo stared at him, his throat tightening again. “You mean that?”
“Of course we mean it,” Piper chimed in. “Family, yeah?” she scooted over, interlocking their pinkies when Jason freed one of his hands.
For a moment, the three of them stood there, close enough to feel each other’s warmth. Leo cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice light. “Well, now I’m all emotional and stuff. Thanks a lot, guys.”
Piper rolled her eyes, but there was a soft smile on her face. “Shut up, repair boy.”
Jason chuckled, the sound low and warm. “She’s right. Shut up and let us have this moment.”
Leo grinned, the flutter in his chest stronger now, steadier. A part of him felt lighter, too. Maybe he did have a place to belong, and he didn't have to travel so far to look for it. He was theirs, and they were his. He then glanced at their pile in the middle of the floor, where they had been at work over the last few months. Their distraction and excuse to remain here instead of moving on.
“Hey, you didn’t leave all of it, though. What have you two been working on?” And like that, their rhythm was restored.
They sat together at the end of every dinner, with the fire crackling and the night stretching out before them. It had been a week since Leo’s return, and each campfire felt like the first moment in ages that was just theirs—no expectations, no heavy losses, just the quiet hum of being together. It felt right. And for the first time in a long while, Piper was letting herself believe it was going to be okay.
But now, with the camp settling into quiet darkness, Piper couldn’t seem to quiet her mind. Leo had been sharing his adventures with Calypso throughout the camp—mindful, of course, to make it clear to one quietly jealous Jason and one less-quietly possessive Piper that it had meant nothing to him but an honorable deed. And it felt, in the moment, like those months could be finally spoken of without these emotions bubbling up. Yet here she was.
She found herself staring into the fire, trying to ground herself, but the weight of everything—the loss, the return, the overwhelm of it all—was creeping up on her. She blinked quickly, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. She didn’t want to cry, not now.
Jason was the first to notice, as always. His sharp eyes caught the way Piper’s smile had faltered, her fingers fidgeting with the rim of her cup. He shot a glance at Leo, who was tending to the flames before them.
“What’s going on, Pipes?” Jason asked, his voice softer than usual, though there was a hint of a teasing edge, the one that calmed them both whenever they were simply thinking too much. “You’ve been staring into that fire for a while now. Are you plotting something? Should we be worried?”
Piper smiled faintly, but the tears were still there, threatening to spill over. “No plotting, Jace. Just... thinking.”
“What’s the tears for, Beauty Queen?” Leo asked, nudging her shoulder gently, his voice lighter than before but still carrying that familiar concern. He leaned in closer, flicking a small piece of dirt off her jacket for effect, an attempt to add his usual lightness to their dynamic. "Did the sight of my genius make you emotional? Was my heroism too much?"
Piper just chuckled softly, shaking her head. “No, dork, and it’s not that simple.” She met his gaze, the pain of the past few months lingering, but the brightness in her eyes was starting to return. “I didn’t know how much I missed this—you—until I had to go without it.” Then, with a small sniff, she added, “I’m allowed to cry about this, right? I mean, you were dead, and now you're not—and you weren’t, for a whole lot of the time that I was trying to be okay with the fact that you were dead—and, and that’s a lot to process.”
Leo let out a soft breath, wrapping his arm around her in a protective, familiar way. “Of course, you’re allowed to cry. I know it’s all… crazy,” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, the gesture tender despite himself.
Jason reached over, brushing a hand against her shoulder in that comforting way that was so much more than his words alone. “It’s okay, Pipes. We’ve all been in pieces. But we’re putting them back together. All three of us. We couldn’t have dreamed of that before, yeah?”
Piper sniffed, still holding back the tears, but she nodded. Her lips curled into a small, teasing smile. “I hate you both for making me cry,” she muttered, but it was said with affection. “You’re both here and it’s still making me emotional. You guys suck.”
Leo grinned, a mischievous glint back in his eyes. “Oh, we’re just that good at it.” He ran his hand through her hair in a way that felt like it had always been their unspoken language. I would break my back to make you break a smile.
Jason shot Leo a look, shaking his head. “Don’t do it on purpose, Leo, or we’ll both take back all the ‘we’ve missed you’s’.”
“I’m just reminding her that she’s stuck with us now,” Leo said with a shrug, unbothered and grinning.
Piper couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, her tears finally drying as she shook her head at both of them. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, but her eyes were softer, the laughter filling the spaces where the grief had been.
Leo met her gaze, his eyes sincere but still mischievous. “You know you love us,” he said, his voice dropping into that soft, teasing tone he reserved only for them.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes but squeezing his hand tighter. “You’re a pain in the ass, but you're also mine. And I wouldn't have it any other way.”
Leo then felt a flutter again in his chest. It was so familiar, in a way that he’d almost forgotten over the last months. They were his, in ways that couldn’t be explained.
Jason pulled her closer, leaning his head against hers for a moment. “We’ve got you, Pipes,” he said quietly, a tenderness returning to his voice. “You’re ours.”
It started small, so small they might not have noticed if they hadn’t been looking so hard at each other, fixed on proving to themselves that this was real.
At first, it was the way Jason seemed to relax just a little whenever Leo walked into the room, his shoulders easing, his breaths steadying like Leo’s presence was an anchor. It was the way Piper would reach for Leo’s arm during breakfast, not to pull him into conversation but just to make sure he was still there. It was how Leo, with all his jokes and bravado, had stopped keeping a physical distance. He leaned into Jason when they were sitting on a couch, bumped shoulders with Piper when they passed in the halls, let himself be folded into their orbit without hesitation.
And then there were the moments they couldn’t ignore.
The three of them started spending more time together, without meaning to. Mornings stretched into afternoons spent in Bunker Nine, Leo tinkering while Piper read the news they’d all missed from the mortal world, and Jason began sifting through paperwork that Annabeth and Reyna had been leaving him about continued development in New Rome and a potential New Athens. All of a sudden, their intimidating and unthinkable future began looking like one that they could build for themselves.
Evenings turned into late-night walks around camp, Piper weaving wildflower crowns, Jason laughing when Leo insisted on wearing one, crooked and ridiculous, but somehow perfect.
It wasn’t just friendship, not anymore. It was the way Piper’s hand lingered on Leo’s shoulder when she passed him, the way Jason’s gaze softened when Leo smiled, the way Leo made it his mission to get both of them to laugh whenever the shadows of the past crept too close.
One late afternoon, while contemplating on their decision to stay at camp for now, they sat out by the edge of the lake, watching the fog take over the stretching landscape.
Piper leaned back against a tree trunk, her fingers absentmindedly braiding strands of her hair. “You know,” she said, her voice contemplative, “I used to think we were all just holding each other together out of necessity. Like, without all the quests and prophecies, we’d eventually fall apart.”
Jason, sitting across from her, glanced at Leo, who was playing with the long grass at their feet. “And now?”
Piper smiled faintly, her gaze soft as it drifted to Leo, too. “Now I think we’re still here because we want to be. Because we’re better together.”
Leo looked up at the both of them, silently soaking in their tender gazes. He opened his mouth and then closed it, as if afraid to break the moment or spoil it. Afraid to even believe everything they’d become.
Jason’s voice cut through the quiet, steady and sure. “Yeah. We’ve been through too much to pretend otherwise.” He hesitated, his gaze locking with Leo’s. “I don’t think I could do this without either of you.”
She reached out, gently squeezing his hand. And the gesture was so different than it had been, four weeks ago. Three months ago. A year ago. It was so real, so whole, now. “Break my heart a thousand times, Jason Grace. It’s yours.”
The words hung in the air, soft and certain, before Jason closed the distance between them. His lips were warm, his kiss hesitant at first, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed. It was sweet, anchoring, and when they pulled away, they lingered for a moment before both gazing back at Leo.
“Both of yours,” Piper clarified, and Leo let a bubble of laughter escape him as he was met with a peck on both cheeks each.
There were darker days, of course. Days where Piper or Leo would sneak into Jason's cabin just to be in each other's warmth. Days where Jason would get wolfish, quiet, moody. Days where Jason sat too still, his eyes far away, as though bracing for another battle that would never come. Days where Piper or Leo would sneak into Jason’s cabin just to remind him they were still there.
Tonight was one of those nights. Jason sat on the floor with his back against the bed frame, his knees drawn up and his head tipped back against the wood. He didn’t look at Leo when he slipped inside, though he shifted with faint acknowledgment.
“Door was unlocked,” Leo said, shutting it quietly behind him.
“Not an invitation,” Jason replied, though there was no real bite in his voice.
Leo smirked and crossed the room anyway, leaning against the wall beside Jason’s bed. “Too bad,” he said lightly, studying Jason’s eyes in the dim lighting, gentle to not push too much. “I’m here now.”
Jason let out a soft sigh, and for a second Leo thought he might get waved off, but then Jason gestured to the empty space beside him. “If you’re staying, you might as well sit.”
Leo didn’t need to be told twice. He easily scooted in, his shoulder brushing Jason’s. He kept his voice low, gentle, and wrapped an arm around Jason’s side. “You’re doing that thing again, y’know. The broody storm god act. Very dramatic.”
He earned a huff of a chuckle, and he took it as a victory. For a while, neither of them said anything. The quiet stretched, not uncomfortable but heavy, until Jason finally spoke, his voice low. “You ever feel like you’re just pretending? Like… Do you ever think… maybe none of this is real?”
Leo frowned. “What do you mean?”
“This,” Jason gestured vaguely, his hand falling back into his lap. “Us. All of it. Like maybe you’re still on that ship. Or maybe I’m still back at Camp Jupiter, being told what my destiny’s supposed to be. And… maybe none of this is actually mine.”
“Jase…” Leo breathed out, eyes wide as he squeezed Jason closer with his one arm, the other falling to his knee.
Jason shook his head, his voice rough and trembling now. “I look at you and Piper, and it’s like—I love you. Both of you. So much it hurts. But I keep wondering if I’m just… pretending I deserve any of it. That I deserve you.”
Leo inhaled sharply, his heart clenching. “Hey,” he said, his hand squeezing Jason’s knee reflexively. “Don’t do that.”
Jason didn’t move, his gaze still downcast. “I let you go,” he said quietly. “I let you jump. I should’ve stopped you.” Leo's last words to him then were 'I love you guys.' He wished he had at least said it back, before.
“You couldn’t have stopped me,” Leo said firmly.
“I should’ve tried,” Jason shot back, his voice breaking. “And then you were gone. And now you’re here, and I don’t know how to—how to fix this. Me. How could I ever actually deserve you?”
Leo reached for his hand then, pulling it into his lap. “You don’t have to fix it, lightning bug. Listen,” he whispered softly, “you know that I get it.” And he didn’t say it to make him feel guilty, or sorry, but he said it from a place of sincerity. “I spent most of my life thinking I didn’t deserve anything. But then you came along.” He hesitated, his voice softening. “You and Piper… you made me feel like I mattered. Like I had a home, not just a place to land. Don’t you know that that’s true for you, too?”
Jason let out a shallow, shaky breath in response, and Leo gently leaned in to give his knuckles a grounding kiss. “You don’t have to fix anything. I’m here because I want to be. Because I love you. Because you’re my home. Because, if you’ll let me, I want to be home for you, too.”
Jason’s breath hitched, his glassy eyes finally meeting Leo’s. “You mean that?”
“Yeah,” Leo said, his voice wavering with the emotion of the confession, of the moment, but certain nonetheless. “I love you. And Piper loves you. And you’re allowed to let us, you know. You don’t have to be perfect to deserve it. You deserve it by being.”
Jason didn’t respond—not with words. He tilted his head, his lips brushing Leo’s tentatively, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. But Leo met him halfway, kissing him softly, slowly, and with everything he’s felt for him since the beginning.
When they broke apart, Jason exhaled shakily, his hand still squeezed tight around Leo’s, and he looked at him with a soft expression before nodding. “Okay,” he said quietly, and in that word, Leo heard the permission he needed to stay, to love him in all the ways he was allowed.
As the days turned into weeks and months, it felt like they were reborn, and the shift was unspoken in many ways, but undeniable in others.
When Piper pressed a kiss to Leo’s temple while delivering him breakfast after he accidentally stayed up all night making her a toolbelt, it felt natural, like this had always been meant to happen. When Jason reached for Leo’s hand during a thunderstorm, grounding himself with Leo’s warmth, neither of them pulled away. When Piper rested her head on Jason’s shoulder while they sat together on the porch of the Big House, watching Leo fix the rickety steps, or the door handle, or the wind chimes, Jason wrapped an arm around her without a second thought.
It wasn’t just grief that bound them anymore. It was love—deep, complicated, and still evolving. They weren’t sure what it would look like in the end, but they knew they couldn’t face the world without each other.
They didn’t have to say it. It was there in the way Piper’s laughter filled the spaces that had once been silent, in the way Jason’s smiles grew warmer, more genuine, in the way Leo’s hands steadied every time he reached for one of them.
Whatever they were becoming, it felt like hope. Like maybe, just maybe, they were figuring out how to be whole again. Together.
Over time, the nicknames returned, but they were never quite the same.
“Beauty Queen,” Jason and Leo murmured in unison, watching Piper glide effortlessly through a diplomatic argument with her siblings, in awe of her strength and grace, and the way she was made ever more beautiful by her love for others, and her stubbornness to never leave anyone behind.
“Repair boy,” Jason chuckled fondly as Leo sat cross-legged on the floor, tinkering with a new project. The nickname wasn’t ironic anymore. It was a promise: Leo could fix anything—including their fractured hearts, just by being there. Piper would punctuate each such endearment with a peck on each of their cheeks, and a plate of fruit to tide them through a long afternoon of working.
“Don’t leave us here, heartbreaker,” Piper breathed into Jason's neck, a prayer made before a solo trip to Camp Jupiter, as if begging the gods to prevent another goodbye. Leo's “see you later” kisses were always the most searing, and Jason always made right on his vows to return.
And the world didn’t stop threatening to fall apart. But now, together, they found strength in their quiet understanding of each other. Piper's fond “Repair Boy” came with a voice so soft and steady, Leo felt anchored into the present each time. Jason still smiled when Leo’s “Superman” came with a teasing edge, a playful nudge that managed to remind him of how love could be both gentle and grounding—how even someone who carried the weight of the world needed to laugh at themselves now and then. And Piper wouldn't admit it, but she loved being called “Beauty Queen,” by her two boys who would walk through fire for her. Who saw her in her wholeness, for all she ever was, and is, and could be. And that was exactly it: they saw each other.
When they curled together in the quiet moments—after training, before missions, or just under the stars—they spoke their names like something secret, sacred—like untouchable promises. A way to say, I see you. I know you. You are mine. I love you.