Work Text:
Collections/Challenges: Whumpay, Day 25
Prompt(s): Character Death
Characters: Jason, mentioned—Hazel, Frank, Nico, Annabeth, Percy, Piper, Thalia, Leo
Rating: Teen
Summary: Jason Grace is dying. He’s been stabbed twice by Caligula, left to bleed out on a ship out at sea, but all he can think about is his friends.
He doesn’t want to die.
He’s not ready.
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He felt the spear go through his back and his mind went blank. The metal tip ripped through flesh and bone, coming out the other side of his chest like some alien horror movie. His eyes went wide with pain, the sensation of something metal in his body was sudden and wrong. He’d felt it before, yes, but this was different.
As he pitched forward, wrapping his arms around Tempest, all he could think of was his friends. Piper, Apollo, Meg—they all had a chance to survive if they got out, he knew.. he knew he wasn’t making it out of here. He’d known that fact long before he was impaled.
Even though he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, even if the weight of the spear was making him nauseous, he needed to make sure they were safe. With the last of his strength, he whispered, “Get them out of here.”
Then he was falling. His body felt weightless, sliding off the ventus before he hit the floor. It sounded dull and wet but he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t feel much of anything. His fingers were tingling, spasming—his gladius fell from his hand with a clatter, landing somewhere far away from him. The spear was still nestled between his shoulders, an uncomfortable weight pushing down on his most vital organs.
He felt everything yet nothing at all. He was numb but he still hurt, he was breathing but his chest was tight and every breath felt like a loosing battle. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t—
All at once it hit him. This was it. He was going to die.
He didn’t want to die.
He had a test tomorrow. He had his chemistry midterm coming up in two weeks. He—he promised his roommate he’d be there for his art show this weekend. He had a life.
He didn’t want to die.
(He didn’t have a choice.)
His spiralling thoughts were interrupted by someone harshly ripping the spear from his back. He choked on nothing, wheezing into the wooden floor boards at the sudden movement. He felt the blood pouring out of the wound, he heard his flesh tearing, his broken ribs protesting at the sudden emptiness.
He was still reeling from it’s removal when he was stabbed again in his lower back, the spear coming out through his stomach. The pain was excruciating. He felt the flesh splitting open to make room for the intrusion, the agony coursing through his body muffling all the outside noise.
Man, if he thought Michael was bad, this was hell.
All he could see was rubble, his hearing had started to go—or maybe the ringing was actually Piper’s screaming. He hoped they got out—he couldn’t live with himself if his sacrifice was for nothing.
Once again he felt the spear in his back yanked out carelessly, shredding even more internal tissue. It was a strange feeling, painful yet numbing. It was strange, knowing that there were two gaping holes going through his torso, holes he couldn’t see—but could feel.
His head was light, his body sagging against the wooden deck. His will to live left with his blood, replaced with a quiet realization and horrified denial.
Jason had run out of hope for a miracle. He knew he was dead.
He wasn’t ready to die.
The blood was coming out fast, already pooling underneath him. It didn’t help that he already had about a dozen arrows sticking out of him like a porcupine. He felt the liquid soak up into his shirt, his pants, he could feel it spreading to his hands. He was cold, but it was warm with life. His life. Spilling onto the deck like a can of paint had tipped over.
He wanted to laugh but instead he coughed, a wet sound that hurt his throat and everything below it. He felt the blood dribble out of his mouth, staining his lips and teeth red.
He couldn’t feel the pain anymore, or maybe it was so painful that his nerves simply gave up. His head was fuzzy with blood loss, his thoughts racing and rambling, an intelligible tangled mess of memories and half assed pleas for life. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. There were so many things he wanted to do—but he couldn’t.
The realization was back, hitting him like a truck. This was it—this was the end. These breaths were going to be his last. The cold wood and sticky blood were going to be the last things he ever felt. Those words would be the last thing he ever said. The sound of Pipers screams would be the last voice he ever heard. The sensation of a spear going through his back would be his parting gift from life.
He wanted to scream. This wasn’t fair, after everything he’s done—why did he have to die? Why him?
What did he do to deserve this? Had he not done his very best to honour the gods? Devote his life to them? Worship the very ground they walked upon?
His breaths stuttered, it was getting harder to breathe with every passing second. Not to say it was easy before, but they were quickly moving past the painful and shallow wheezing into the choking, wet death rattles.
They say when you’re dying, your brain replays your best memories to comfort you. Jason Grace could confidently say that was true, though it wasn’t so much comforting as it was heartbreaking, knowing he’d never see his friends again.
He thought of Hazel. Her kind smile, her laughter that lit up any room she was in, her giving heart. The only other person who felt outdated, who didn’t understand any of the references their friends made.
He thought of her helping hands and the day she took him to a pottery class. She’d teased him the whole time about his awful pottery skills, but at the end of it all he went home with a semi-decent mug.
That day was the most human he’d felt in a while.
(He still had the mug, tucked away in his dorm cupboards. He hoped it would find its way back to her.)
He thought of Frank. His shy nature, his silent yet knowing expressions. He was just so… easy to talk too. Non judgmental. Jason had found himself ranting on more than one occasion without realizing, that’s how easy it was.
He remembered the day Frank and Nico taught him how to play mythomagic. They’d spent over an hour explaining all the stats and power moves, who did what damage, the healing factors. Who had what abilities, how strong their weapons were, what their weaknesses happened to be. He found himself liking it a lot more than he expected, even if he lost horribly. He’d told them they had to have a rematch and he’d kick their butts.
They’d have to put that on hold, he supposed.
He thought of Annabeth. Her stormy eyes, the mom stance she’d somehow perfected. She was the only one he could talk to about architecture, the only one who understood his obsession with lost temples and statues. They geeked out over it, talking for hours about what structures they wanted to visit, the things they wanted to see, the logistics on how everything was built.
She’d been so excited to help him with the temples and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the help. Jason hoped she would take on the project in his absence, Annabeth was the only person he trusted to do it right.
He thought of Piper. Her contagious smile, her kaleidoscope eyes, the heartbreak in her face when she’d broken up with him.
“It’s not you—I just need to figure out who I am outside of us. Maybe.. maybe we can try this again, I just don’t think false memories are a good start to any relationship.”
He remembered how it felt, like a dagger had been shoved through his chest and left to rot. He was heartbroken for weeks, he didn’t tell anyone for another month.
He thought of her scream but he didn’t feel bad. Part of him still loved her. Part of him always would. He was content with knowing she’d get to live her life. She deserved it. She deserved someone amazing, someone she could trust, someone that would treat her right. Even if that someone wasn’t him.
He thought of Percy. The mischievous sparkle he got in his eye when he was telling a story, his smug grin, his infectious laughter. He thought of their sparring sessions, the banter, the insults thrown with such care they’d never have to wonder if they were true. Every congratulatory high five. Every sassy comment.
He thought about how protective that boy had become after his near death experience. He was always checking up on him, asking him how his day was, trying to hang out whenever Jason was visiting. They’d become close within the last year—incredibly so.
He thought about how excited Percy had been to get into college at New Rome. The plans they’d made, the things they wanted to do. Jason wanted to show him his favourite restaurants, Percy was going to teach him how to skateboard.
..Maybe he could teach him later. (Did they have skateboards in the underworld?)
He thought of his sister. Her fierce blue eyes, her sideways smirk, her spikey black hair. He’d only just reunited with her two years ago and they hadn’t spent nearly enough time together. The last memory he had was sitting by the camp fire, leaning his head on her shoulder while she wrapped her arm around his. They made s’mores that went uneaten, both of them were too busy trying to shove them into each others mouths. There was a lot of laughter that night—Jason had chocolate all over his face and marshmallow fluff stuck in his hair for days.
He wondered how she’d react to finding out her baby brother was dead. Taken from her a second time.
Finally, he thought of Leo. His best friend. The bad boy supreme himself. Part of him was happy with dying—he’d finally get to see him again. Even if it was new, he wouldn’t be alone in the underworld because Leo would be there. Leo with his magical tool belt, his mischievous grin, his tofu burgers made from scratch.
Jason closed his eyes, his breathing shifting from the quiet, weak coughing he’d been experiencing to the harsh, desperate gasps of agonal breathing. A last ditch attempt to keep him alive—trying to get oxygen into his body when he had none.
With every rattle of his chest, every pulse of black in his vision, he knew his time was growing near. Funnily enough… he was okay with it. This had been a long time coming. He’d survived far more than most demigods his age. A fatal stabbing, a shattered knee paired with severe brain damage, too many concussions to count.
He didn’t want to die, but he accepted it. He was going to see Leo and he would see the rest of his friends again, someday. He’d just have to wait—and that was okay.
He was okay with waiting.
As the last breath left his lungs, his blue eyes glazing over to a dull grey, his lips twitched into a small smile. He was at peace. Everything would be okay.
See you soon, Leo.