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Percy was no stranger to demigod dreams.
To call them a nuisance would be an understatement, and Percy knew that better than anyone. In his years of experience in the godly world, beings of higher power invading his slumbering mind with visions of doom or pleas for help was an annoyance on a good day, but Percy had learned to deal with them.
What he hadn’t gotten as good of a grasp on however, was distinguishing them from normal everyday nightmares.
Percy wasn’t one to remember his dreams. More often than not he’d wake up in the morning with nothing but vague recollections that would fade as quickly as he got out of bed. It wasn’t something that bothered him in any way. He’d always preferred living in the waking world, so whatever nonsense his mind liked to cook up wasn’t anything he cared to cling to.
The same could not be said about nightmares.
When he was younger, it had been a bigger issue. Gabe, school, mom, they’d plague his head and wake him up reeling, terror filling his chest as he struggled to breathe. Boarding schools didn’t exactly have any systems in place for students waking up from nightmares, but he’d learned to handle it. After all, it wasn’t real, no matter how much he felt it was.
But the sparse nightmares he did get nowadays were more solid. More often than not, they were partially built from memories. Nico’s horse screaming, Zoë’s eyes glazing over, Luke plunging a dagger into his chest. All real memories, but with parts of them twisted, distorted in ways that made the moments feel more like the end of the world, rather than the tragedies they already were.
When waking from these dreams, he’d look to Annabeth. He wouldn’t need to say anything, just gently wake her up from where she slept soundly in the Athena cabin, where she’d look up at him with groggy eyes and without a word assess what he needed, letting him lay down, her arms around him, washing away any traces of his troubles. Her siblings were accustomed enough to not comment on it in the morning.
Tonight should have been no different.
“Percy…”
He was back at the Brooklyn Bridge, fighting raged all around him. There was an echo in his ear as he found his legs moving without his permission. He was headed towards the hoard of monsters and demigods marching across, Luke– Kronos– at their head.
“Percy…”
Annabeth had just been carried off after meeting the wrong side of Ethan’s blade, and Percy had felt pure fury coursing through his veins. Taking down monster after monster, the instability beneath his feet didn’t deter him. At least, not until he looked up.
A short statured demigod was perched on one of the bridge's suspension-cables, his scrunched up features looking even more pointed than usual. A single arrow rested in his bow's quiver and Percy could tell his assessment of the situation was dire as he looked over the crowd.
Percy felt his mouth open.
“Michael, go!”
Michael Yew looked down at him, eyes half-glazed over, and his lips pulled down in a frown. He yelled back.
“Percy, the bridge,” he called out in urgency, “It’s already weak.”
The initial confusion that followed his words quickly turned to understanding as he looked down at the paved cement beneath his feet. Cracks and fissures were present all around him and the ground seemed to be sinking into itself in the places where the Titan army’s greek fire had done the most damage.
“Break it,” Michael yelled again, “Use your power!”
As soon as the words had left his mouth, Percy immediately felt a wave of elation and dread wash over him, a feeling he remembered from the first time around when he actually lived through the memory. He geared himself at the ready, his sword turning in his hands, no idea if the crazy idea would work or not.
But it did- almost too well.
He barely had time to process the chaos that unfolded as he channeled a geyser that practically sprung up from his sword as he dove it straight into the bridge's pavement. The whole bridge shook and crumbled as he cranked up the water pressure, tearing through the road as the rocky foundation seemed to snap, severing the bridge in two as Kronos’s demigods screamed and scrambled to get back. Percy was having a hard time holding onto the pressure, as chunks the size of single-family homes were dropping into the east river.
Within a few seconds, a chasm round the size of a school bus had split open the bridge. Kronos stood on the other side, silently observing.
Despite his growing fear for Annabeth’s safety, he let a sliver of delight seep into his chest as he saw the enemy retreating, Kronos declaring that he’d see him again soon.
He’d done it. He’d successfully driven them back.
With a shaky grin on his face he looked up to Michael–
Only to be met with nothing.
Any sense of accomplishment Percy had been feeling was immediately replaced by fear at the demigod’s absence. He looked around in a frenzy, but saw no one.
Nothing but a broken Yew-wood bow laying flat on the ground.
“NO!” He screamed- Remembered screaming, remembered feeling so scared- as he ran over to where it lay next to the icy river, now filled with debris.
He looked over in growing horror, finding nothing below. The chasm in his chest grew and his hands shook. Michel was gone. Michael was gone and it was his fault–
“Percy!”
Everything went dark.
“Wha-”
All his surroundings had faded away in an instant, like monsters when they met the bad side of his sword, but no dust remained. Only black emptiness and the sound of his feet as he took a step back.
The memory was over. He was in control of his own body again.
An echo of a voice rang throughout the dark space.
“Look at me.”
Percy felt his whole body tense up and a shiver run down his spine. All at once, he realized just how cold the room felt. He knew that voice.
He turned slowly, eyes blown wide, being met with exactly who he expected and feared.
Michael Yew stood before him, barely reaching his chin, and yet there was an aura to him that chilled Percy to his core. He was wet, his black hair stuck to his skin, parted just enough so that his brown, scathing eyes could look up at him. The right side of his face looked to be draped in shadow, though Percy quickly realized that wasn’t the case. Instead, it was a dark purple, like a bruise had enveloped half his whole skin. In fact- his skin looked paler than it ever had. Michael had never been very dark, barely managing a tan in the summers, but now he looked almost stark white, contrasting with the purple. One of his eyes looked red, almost as if it had been forcibly yanked to the side with ferocity, while the other was normal, blown wide in an expression Percy had never seen on him before.
Blood leaked slowly from his right eye. It echoed as it dripped down his chin and hit the ground.
“Why did you do it?”
The usual ferociousness that accompanied the smaller boy was gone, replaced with an eerily calm, low voice.
“You– You told me to.” Percy replied, unsure whether or not to leap forward and help stop the bleeding, or take a step back, as surely this couldn’t be Michael. There was something clearly off.
“I did.” Michael’s voice didn’t waver, “And you listened.”
They were both silent for a moment.
“Why did you listen?”
“What?” Percy uttered, not having expected the question even for one moment, ”What do you mean?”
Michael simply echoed his earlier words, “Why did you listen?”
Percy didn’t know what to do. He wanted so badly to stand firm in his position to break the bridge. It had been the right thing to do, he had no doubts about that. He’d bought them valuable time that without, they might have lost the war.
But he couldn’t in good conscience do that as the victim of his choice to listen stood before him.
But he had to try.
“I listened because I trusted you.” Percy replied in sincerity, “I didn’t even know if the idea would work– it was a shot in the dark, really. If I knew that it’d kill you, I would have…”
He trailed off, his words only fully processing after he said it and the dread building up in his stomach grew, as something else– something even more heavy– joined it.
Michael eyed him curiously, the words almost seeming to not have reached him. For the first time, he moved, tilting his head to the side.
“And then why did you leave?”
Percy opened his mouth to respond but found himself unable to speak. Michael wasn’t done.
“You could have looked for me. What if I was still alive? What if I had just been unconscious in the water? You could have pulled me out.”
“I did look–”
“Did you?”
Percy shut his mouth.
He hadn’t. Not even a minute after he noticed Michael’s absence had he gotten the call about Annabeth's condition and had rushed to grab Will Solace and a bike to make sure she was okay. He’d had to forcibly push Michael Yew out of his mind as he rode down the streets of Manhattan and when he finally reached Annabeth, he hadn’t even needed to force it.
“I instructed your siblings to keep looking!” He pleaded, “I never wanted this to happen, but we were in a war! I never wanted to–”
“Kill me?”
The cold in the room turned freezing all at once. Michael’s gaze darkened, the blood pooling from his eye seemed to quicken its pace, hitting the ground as the echo grew louder.
“You just didn’t want to be burdened with the responsibility,” Micheal said, a low, familiar, growl in his voice, “You just didn’t want to face what you did to me.”
Percy took a step back.
“I’m sorry–” he tried to plead, but was quickly shut up as Michael laughed.
“Sorry?” He asked mockingly, “You could have looked up. You could have stuck around. You could have saved me! So why then?!”
Micheal’s face contorted in agony, as he met Percy’s eyes once more, the blood having seemingly been fully drained from his eye, leaving behind an all too human iris looking back at him.
“Why can’t you even face it!” He cried out, “Why can’t you even face that you KILLED ME–”
Percy’s eyes shot open.
His breathing was quick and heavy as his eyes were glued to the empty bunk above him. His hand rested atop his chest where he could feel his heartbeat going wild.
Guilt.
It was so heavy Percy felt it was about to crush him.
Micheal’s last words had sounded so much like his real voice that even though the long beach summer heat filled up his cabin, his veins still felt full of ice.
He’d killed him.
Percy had never… thought of it like that.
The war had been insanity incarnate. He hadn’t had a second to breathe between the carnage and death going on all around him. He’d killed many monsters. So many they all felt like a blur in his head. And the images of Luke and Silena and so many more of his friends and acquaintances taking their final breaths were seared into his memory.
But Michael Yew had been different.
Not only had he not seen it, he’d had no time to even think about what might have happened or how exactly Michael had died before he’d turned his attention to the next big thing, instructing the remaining Apollo campers to search for their brother– or what remained of him.
Of what he’d left of him.
“Percy?”
Percy shot up in his bed to face the person who’d helped themselves into Poseidon's cabin.
It was Annabeth, which made sense, as no other camper dared enter the cabin without so much as knocking, but Annabeth knew she was welcome anytime.
“Are you okay?”
It was only then that Percy was made aware of the tears streaming down his cheeks. He quickly brought up the back of his hands to rub them away, but the wetness stubbornly clung on, despite his effort. Annabeth closed the door,
“Demigod dream or nightmare?” She asked, straight to the point, sitting on the other end of Percy’s bed, where the morning sunlight had cast some of their rays.
“How did you know?” Percy asked wetly, trying a smile, before the memory of Michael's desperate face squashed all attempts at it.
Annabeth raised an eyebrow, but her eyes remained sympathetic.
“Not much else that’s usually plaguing you this early in the morning.” She pointed out, “We have time if you want to talk about it. I’m sure Chiron will save us some breakfast.”
Percy couldn’t help but snort at that. They’d both mused over Chiron’s newfound attention on them. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been attentive before, but after the war, he wasn’t half as subtle.
Once again, Michael’s face and the bridge came into view and the guilt punched at him again. Here he was, musing over fond memories while Michael would never have the opportunity to do so again.
And maybe he could have. Had Percy tried searching the water for just a second. Or even looked up at his location as he’d summoned the geyser. For Hades’s sake, he was the son of Poseidon. He could have redirected a part of its water that had been shooting up into the sky to get Michael safely off the suspension-cable.
Annabeth’s eyes narrowed, and she moved a hand to take Percy’s.
“Is it Luke again?”
Percy shook his head.
“Not this time.”
“Then, what is it?”
He turned his gaze down to his lap, eyebrows furrowed. Annabeth didn’t know how it had happened. It wasn’t something he’d told her about in full. Yes, she knew he blew up the bridge, and even that it had been Michael’s idea, but she didn’t know that it was Percy who had killed him. All she knew is that he died on that bridge, possibly falling into the water, contributing to his missing body, but not that it had been Percy’s actions specifically that had led to his demise.
“Michael…” he managed, and Annabeth’s face grew more somber. She squeezed his hand, gently letting him continue at his own pace.
“I don’t know if it was a demigod dream or a nightmare,” Percy confessed, “It felt so real but-”
He didn’t want to believe that had actually been Michael.
“I was more aware, I think, than usual dreams. I was back at the Brooklyn bridge, reliving-”
He looked up at where Annabeth had been stabbed and could feel her wince slightly at the reminder. He’d dreamt of that before, but this time it had barely played a part.
“Reliving when I blew it up.”
Her face contorted in confusion for a moment before she spoke.
“That was after I was gone.”
Percy nodded. The pit in his stomach seemed to grow larger with every word. Logically, he knew Annabeth wouldn’t blame him. They’d been together through too much for her to do so and he knew he’d never judge her if she’d been in his situation.
But that didn’t change the sliver of doubt Michael’s ghostly image had left him with. The fear that he’d done something truly bad out of sheer recklessness, his ADHD being unable to focus on two things at once in a moment that had turned out to be life or death.
One that ended with him, the one living, and Michael dead.
He thought of the Apollo cabin, having lost many of its members during the war, and Percy couldn’t help but feel his guilt growing at the fact he couldn’t even remember half of their names, let alone faces. It wasn’t as if he’d been close with everyone at camp, and most he’d only had passing conversations with.
But he’d known Michael. They’d both been Camp Counselors, attended meetings together and Percy had often laughed at the short statured boy’s antics, especially when he butted heads with Clarisse. Granted, in the days leading up to the battle of Manhattan, the two's arguments had moved from amusing to dangerous, leading to the Ares cabin's late arrival to the battle.
He wondered how Clarisse felt? He wasn’t sure if it was his place to ask.
He suddenly felt a thumb brush away tears he hadn’t realized were streaming from his eyes yet again. He felt frustration build up at not being able to control himself better. Annabeth didn’t seem all that bothered however.
“Please talk to me,” She said, a little forcefully, “We both went though this war, and we’ll go though the aftermath together, okay?”
Percy opened his mouth and with only a moment's hesitation, he managed to say it,
“I killed him.”
That got Annabeth frowning, and her hand froze.
“What do you mean?”
“He– I think he fell–” Percy choked out, “When I summoned that geyser and it split the bridge in half, he was standing on one of the suspension cables. When the bridge snapped in two he– he wasn’t there.”
Annabeth was quick to put the pieces together.
“He fell because of the geyser?” Her expression seemed to struggle to portray her emotions for a moment before settling between cross and sympathy, “Percy, you know he must have known it could have killed him. You told me that was his idea. Michael wasn’t stupid, he was a damn good tactician, but he always had a habit of putting his own life on the line for the sake of the goal.”
When Percy didn’t respond, instead, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, Annabeth continued.
“I remember a while ago– before you came to camp for the first time, we were put on the same team on capture the flag. I’d been all geared up to show that my strategy could work, since I was so ready to prove myself, but things had gone wrong. The Hermes cabin had surrounded my small group, and it seemed like we were all about to get captured, but then Michael– he was a part of a backup team that was supposed to act if ours got captured– got out of his hiding spot and made a beeline for the enemy flag. Even though there was no way he’d make it without getting captured, both the Ares and Hermes cabin had no choice but to stop him, since time was running out. It gave us just enough of an opening to get away. His insane stunt granted us victory because even though he was practically swarmed, he’d managed to pass off the flag to someone on our team. Got knocked out cold by a blunt sword handle during it though.” Her eyes grew solemn, “I guess he never grew out of it.”
Annabeth’s story, though old, gave Percy a moment of perspective. It wasn’t a side to Michael he’d often witnessed, but then again, though they’d been friends they hadn’t exactly hung around in the same circles a whole lot.
“But I could have done something!” Percy argued, desperate for some leeway from the shame and frustration he was feeling. He gripped Annabeth's hand like a lifeline, "Instead, I just told his siblings to do the work and–”
He couldn’t finish that sentence properly, because saying he ran off didn’t feel right. He’d had to get to Annabeth. There was no question about where his loyalties lay and that was above all to her. Above anyone else at that moment.
He didn’t want to have to defend that decision.
Annabeth studied him for a moment before speaking, “What exactly did you dream of? Because I can tell it wasn’t just the memory.”
Looking away, Percy nodded.
”After the memory, I spoke with him–” He stopped himself, “Or, not-him. I don’t know, whatever he was, it didn’t talk like him. He was just sort of mumbling or yelling. He looked dead.”
“Dead how?”
“Like a dead person? Y’know, pale, purple, bloody.”
Annabeth nodded thoughtfully, “That sounds like a dead person alright. And what did he say?”
“Pretty much everything I’ve been telling you.” Percy admitted, “About how I left him, how I killed him.”
“You didn’t kill him, Percy.” Annabeth was quick to insist, “There was nothing you could have done.”
“But there was!” He let go of Annabeth's hand to bury his face in his own, pulling his knees further towards his chest, “I understand that it was an impossible situation, and of course I was distracted, we were in the middle of battle for Hades’s sake, but what about after? I could have stayed for just a minute longer and parted the river to find him, he could have been alive and waltzing around camp right this very minute!”
There was silence in the moment for a long while as Annabeth seemed to consider his words.
“And what then?” She said, point blank.
“Huh?”
“What would have happened if you had parted the river to look for him? Wouldn’t that have defeated the entire purpose of blowing up the bridge? The monsters could have found an easy opening wherever you searched, and if Michael had already been dead by that point, wouldn’t that have done absolutely nothing but make his sacrifice null and void? He died because he knew that if he tried to save his own life, you would have run out of time to blow the bridge, and he was willing to make the hard choice that many would not have in that situation to lay his life down for the rest of our safety.”
“But–” Percy tried to protest, not even sure how, but Annabeth was quick to shut him up.
“No.” Her voice was stern and there was a pointed expression on her face, before it melted into something more soft. “We all did things we aren’t proud of out there, but we survived.” She said, each word carrying weight, “And we won’t be able to honor those who died for us if we spend all our time wallowing over how their deaths played out. I don’t doubt you are right. There is more you could have done, but this is how it played out, and no matter what your mind may say, from all I’ve heard I’m sure Micheal was content with that. Heck, knowing him I’m sure he’d be hitting you over the head and telling you to stop wallowing over him. He wasn’t someone who’d want to be wallowed over.”
She reached out her hand again, and Percy took it without hesitation.
He wasn’t sure how deeply her words had reached him, that gnawing guilt still making itself known, but she’d at the very least calmed him down enough so that standing up didn’t seem to be as much of a chore anymore.
“I know you're right.” He muttered, “You always are.”
“Oh, I know that already.”
Standing up, she dragged Percy along with her, his feet only slightly unsteady before they found their footing.
“C’mon, I’m sure we can still make it to the end of breakfast if you get dressed now.” She pointed out, and Percy heard a low rumble from her stomach, feeling a bit embarrassed about how long he’d kept her there.
“If you really need it I can let you eat off my plate.” He offered. She rolled her eyes, a smile pulling at her lips.
“Thanks Seaweed brain,” She said fondly, “Just hurry up.”
***
Standing in the doorway of the Apollo cabin was no easy feat. Looking in at the many empty bunks left him feeling awful, but that didn’t stop his conviction.
Will Solace, one of the cabin’s three survivors, sat in the corner, seemingly packing up some fresh medical supplies for the day. His young eyes carried visible bags and the soft smile on his face didn’t quite reach them. It took him a second to notice Percy.
“Oh, hello,” he said, clearly surprised at his presence, “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Uh, not really,” Percy admitted, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head, “I guess I just sort of wanted to… check up on you?”
Will’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but entertained Percy by finishing up his packing, standing up and facing him, “I’m fine. Just restocking some things for the medical tent before capture the flag. Kayla and Austin are waiting for me.”
Percy eyed the thirteen year old for a moment before letting out a shaky breath.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About Michael. I could have done more to help him and I didn’t. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make up for that.”
Will's stance turned from hesitant to tense in a moment before deflating into something more complicated. He rubbed the back of his hand, his lips pressed together, the topic clearly still a fresh wound, one he wouldn’t be able to patch up with some bandage wrap.
“Uh, thank you.” He replied, “None of us blame you though. We all did our best out there. I–” He seemed to take a second to decide whether he wanted to say his next thoughts outloud, “I sometimes hope he’s alive, somehow. We never found the body, but maybe he could…”
Will trailed off and suddenly Percy couldn’t help but feel immensely foolish at his earlier emotions. Crying in bed wasn’t very like him anyway.
It was clear that if he wanted to proceed in the reality that he was presently living in, no good would come of dwelling on what could have been when there were living people Michael left behind.
People like Will Solace, who at the mention of his half-brother, looked even smaller than he usually did.
Percy shook his head softly.
“You know better than anyone that he couldn’t have survived that.”
“But what if–” And Percy felt his own words echo in his head as Will spoke.
What if, what if what if. Everyone left alive had asked those questions. It was clear in the little things. From Clarisse refusing to take off Silena’s friendship bracelet to Annabeth, still training with her dagger, despite Luke’s blood having stained it just a few weeks ago. They were each clinging to what could have been done differently.
An idea that was ultimately fantasy.
It seemed that Will couldn’t bear to finish his thought, because he knew Percy was right. He remembered the younger demigod trailing after his brother in the medical tent. From what he’d been taught by him, Will knew that Michael was gone.
Before he could break on his own, Percy stepped forward and his hands wrapped around the boy. It took him a second, but the emotions he’d clearly been bottling up broke through the cracks as wet sobs were pressed into Percy’s shirt. Percy held him close as the smaller the boy cried his eyes out, holding on tighter with each sniffle.
Percy was sure the guilt would never truly go away, would never leave him with any sort of true closure or stop the wandering thoughts of what could have been, but he could push through it. There were people right here right now that needed someone.
To honor Michael’s sacrifice, Percy would try his best to be there for them.