Chapter Text
He couldn’t explain why the scene felt so familiar to him. Maybe because of the Grover had been sucked toward the pit in their first quest, nearly slipping into Tartarus. Or maybe it was because of the way Percy had pulled Annabeth back onto Olympus before she could fall off the mountain during the Battle of Manhattan.
None of this felt right, though. The feeling of utter fear and desperation he was feeling was far more prominent than that. Perhaps because this time it was his girlfriend hanging over the ledge, about to fall into Tartarus because of the stupid web wrapped around her broken ankle. But that didn’t feel right either. What he felt was almost older, ancient. Something engrained deep in his bones.
Whatever the reason was, Percy was fighting his panic in the face of this catastrophe they were facing.
Everyone was gone to secure the Athena Parthenon and try and help Annabeth. Nico was the only one there, reaching out from outside, stretching his hand as far as it would go to try and grasp Percy’s hand, no matter how far out of reach it was. And Percy was holding the ledge with one hand, straining and struggling and afraid to let go. And in his other hand was Annabeth, still getting pulled down. She was dangling over the wide pit, terror in her eyes as she held onto Percy like her life depended on it.
It was.
“Percy, let me go,” she said. “You can’t pull me up.”
As if from far away, a faint memory he couldn’t place popped up in his head.
I can sing us home again.
No, you can’t.
His chest constricted painfully. He knew it was hopeless. He knew she was right. He could barely hold himself in place—he couldn’t get Annabeth out of there. She wasn’t going to make it. No matter what he did, she would fall into Tartarus. A part of him wanted to add the word ‘again’, but he wasn’t sure why.
Nothing changes, his brain chanted hopelessly.
Anger and indignation filled him at once. Even if he wasn’t sure why this felt so familiar, the idea that he was being told nothing could change once more bothered him. It irked him. He wanted to find the stupid Fates and make them knit their yarn differently. Maybe he should learn to knit so he could do their job for them. Because he hated it—hated finding himself in these situations again and again, being repeatedly told that they would always come back and the result will always be the same.
Annabeth would slip from his grip. She would end up way back down. And he wouldn’t be able to pull her up because he never could.
Shaking from the strain and the rage swirling inside him, Percy said, “Never.”
And then the world around him flashed and his anger simmered down, replaced by sheer confusion.
✧ ✧ ✧
He found himself in the throne room of Olympus. The gods were there—several of them, at least. Not all of the gods. Hestia was tending to the fire in the hearth, bafflement marring her features as she looked around at everyone in the room. Unlike some of the gods, she didn’t appear to be annoyed or upset, only caught off guard.
Looking around, Percy immediately zeroed in on Annabeth. Her hand was still clasped in his as she stood beside him on a shaky leg, the other one bent a little. Her skin was pale, her eyes blown wide-open. She was trembling from head to toe, eyeing everyone around them before focusing on Percy. Her expression mirrored the shock he himself felt, but they both seemed to relax at the sight of each other.
As he helped her sit down so her injured leg wouldn’t strain, he finally checked to see who else was there. Other than the Olympians, he found his friends standing around, just as confused. The seven questers, Nico, Grover and Thalia were there. His jaw dropped at the sight of Grover and Thalia because he hadn’t seen them in such a long way and he hadn’t expected them to suddenly be in the same room with him.
“Wha—what’s happening?” demanded Thalia.
“Perrr-cy!” cried Grover as he bounded over.
“Kelp head?” she gawped. Then schooled her expression and pointed a warning finger right in his face. “Never disappear like that again, you idiot! We looked for you everywhere.”
Percy couldn’t reply, the air having been knocked right out of his lungs thanks to the tight hug Grover was crushing him with. He wasn’t about to complain, though. Instead he hugged his best friend right back while making sure they weren’t accidentally hurting Annabeth’s leg. He smiled over Grover’s shoulder at Thalia and shrugged helplessly, as if to say he wasn’t going to promise anything.
“What’s going on?” someone asked.
“Wait, is this Olympus?” another gasped.
“Oh, schist! Are those the gods?” a third squeaked.
And the gods, for their part, were just as vocal in their confusion.
“What’s happening? Why are we here?”
“I was busy!”
“Doing what? Having a personality disorder?”
Looking proud and immensely relieved, Athena pressed a hand to her chest and said, “Someone must have brought us here. Before my daughter could… fall.”
Grover pulled away and turned to Annabeth. “Fall where?”
Still pale, face screwed from the pain, Annabeth shuddered and squeezed Percy’s hand impossibly tight.
He bent down on the floor next to her, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure what was going on or why they were suddenly with the gods. He had no idea why someone powerful enough would intervene all of a sudden, but he was grateful, nonetheless. He had no idea whether what was happening was good or bad, but Annabeth wasn’t about to fall into the pit and that was already better than anything else the Fates had planned for them.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay. We’re together.”
She buried her face in the crook of his neck. He could feel her stuttered breaths as she tried to calm down from the horror they’d been pulled from. Percy was pretty sure it was going to take a while before either one of them could fully breathe freely again after that scare.
“How is my headache gone?” said Percy’s dad, his hand pressed to his head as he rubbed it. “This is a group of Greek and Roman demigods. We should be torn between both aspects, no?”
Athena held her head up high. “The question is who is the one intervening.”
Poseidon scoffed at the look he got from her. “Not me. Although I cannot say I’m not relieved. I do have to wonder why not all of us were brought here. Not that I’m about to complain Zeus isn’t present…”
“And Hera,” said Hermes. “Those two have been at each other’s throats for so long. I’d rather not deal with them. Father would have been furious to see the children here when Olympus is supposed to be on lockdown.”
Percy pressed his lips together at the reminder but didn’t say anything. Instead, he accepted the ambrosia Thalia pulled out for Annabeth once she noticed her leg. His girlfriend munched on it gratefully, some color returning to her face with each bite. He noticed the way she seemed to purposefully avoid her mother’s gaze, a look of irritation crossing her face every time the goddess talked.
He couldn’t blame her. This whole thing could have been avoided had Athena just not sent Annabeth on this deadly quest in the first place. And all by herself, too. Percy wasn’t even allowed to join her. And look where that led them—to Tartarus, hanging over the pit and trying to cling to the surface while holding onto each other. Seriously, Percy himself was more than a little upset with Athena.
His eyes drifted over to the quiet gods in the corner. Hades and Persephone were sitting on thrones next to each other, appearing to be surprised like everyone else but less vocal. Persephone looked lively now, seeing as it was summertime. Her face was full of color and her aura bright. There were flowers woven in her hair and a rather peaceful expression on her face. Which stood in complete contrast with Hades’s severe, unbothered demeanor, crude and black.
“You don’t think Gaea did this, do you?” said Frank anxiously.
“Why would she save Annabeth and Percy?” said Nico.
The boy shrugged helplessly.
And then, in the middle of the room, three old ladies appeared. Percy’s breath caught in his throat when he laid his eyes on them. He thought he wouldn’t see those three again. Not since the defeat of Kronos. They’d let him know for sure that the thread they’d cut had been Luke’s, and then… he figured that was it. Yet he knew who they were on the spot—the Fates.
And, for gods’ sake, they were looking straight at him once again. This time they weren’t holding any thread, though. No giant socks and no basket of yarn. They were standing empty-handed, just looking at him with their old eyes and wrinkly faces. Looking at him like he was an old friend, an old foe, and old something.
“It’s an old tale,” one of them told him.
“You’ve walked down this road before,” another said.
The third one tonelessly asked, “You really think this time it will turn out well?”
Tugging at his hand, Annabeth mumbled, “Percy? What are they talking about?”
He shook his head cluelessly. But despite not understanding, something about their words scratched his brain insistently. Like he should have known, should have understood. They were referring to something he was supposed to remember but couldn’t.
Hermes blanched. “No.”
“What’s going on?” said Poseidon. “What do you want from my son? He has done enough already.”
“An old tale?” echoed Athena thoughtfully. She glanced at Percy for a moment, then her gaze drifted over to Hades. Her eyes narrowed and gleamed. “The boy’s soul, you mean? It’s a reincarnation, a rebirth.”
“No,” repeated Hermes, despair tinting his voice. “Leave him alone. Not again.”
Percy’s mind was swimming. He expected the Fates or Hades to dismiss Athena’s guess that he was a reincarnation of someone else who’d lived in the past. But when no denial came, he felt like the breath was knocked out of his lungs. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Who did he used to be, then? Why did it matter? A lot of souls chose rebirth to try for the Isle of the Blest. It couldn’t be that uncommon.
“The tale was written long ago,” said one of the Fates.
“And it shall be told again and again,” the second one added.
“Nothing changes,” the three said together.
He didn’t need to ask what they were talking about. He had no idea what had happened to him in a past life, but he could almost sense the meaning of their words. They weren’t talking about the quest or the fight against Gaea. They were talking about Annabeth nearly falling to Tartarus. They were talking about how she was inevitably going to end up down there and they were telling him he couldn’t stop it.
“It isn’t true,” he argued.
Hermes looked pained, and Percy wasn’t sure why. Out of everyone in the room, he seemed to understand the most what the Fates were trying to say. Although Hades and Persephone were close seconds, their eyes widening a little with recognition the longer people talked around them. They glanced over at Percy, their eyes shining in a way he wasn’t sure how to decipher. It didn’t feel malicious; maybe curious.
“What’s going on?” someone asked.
“Percy?” another probed.
One of the Fates straightened up. “To break the cycle, you must first learn what it is.”
“Watch the past,” the second one said, gesturing sideways. A screen appeared there, blank and lifeless. “Learn from it about your souls.”
Percy and Annabeth tensed when they pointed not only at him, but also at her. They exchanged a wary look, both equally as lost and confused. Did that mean that Percy’s soul wasn’t the only one reincarnated? Was Annabeth’s soul reborn as well? Did they know each other before?
“It hasn’t worked before,” the third one said. “But maybe this time it’ll turn out.”
“No,” Hermes said once more.
The Fates were gone in a flash, leaving silence in their wake.
Percy’s heart was drumming in his chest as he turned to his dad and said, “Dad, what are they talking about? Watch the past?”
But his father looked just as clueless as almost everyone else.
Surprisingly, Hades was the one to chime in then. “Your souls—the two of them—chose rebirth together. I watched them pass through the Lethe. They wanted another chance to find each other and change their story.”
“Wait, Lord Hades, you mean… Percy and Annabeth?” said Grover.
Persephone smiled softly. “I remember that. It happened a long time ago. I never knew where their souls ended up. It was such a sad story. Aphrodite was absolutely ecstatic.”
“What story?” asked Jason. “Why was it sad?”
“Do you guys remember any of it?” asked Hazel curiously, golden eyes set on Percy and Annabeth.
“No,” they replied faintly.
Athena hummed. “The Fates wanted us to watch something. What had happened in the past. If it has anything to do with my daughter nearly falling into Tartarus, we must do it. If it will help in some way…”
Persephone and Hades exchanged a profound look Percy couldn’t decipher. Hermes looked so crushed, his shoulders slumping down and his eyes sad and anguished. Still, he got up with a sigh and, with one glance back toward Percy and Annabeth, he pressed his fingers to the screen the Fates had summoned.
“You’re not going to like this,” he warned the couple. “But if my memories of it will help… I'll tell you the story.”
As he turned back to his throne, an image formed on the screen, displaying an old bar, a railroad line visible through its frosted and dingy window. People were sitting at the tables, talking quietly or munching on meager food. And standing on a small, wooden stage, was Hermes with a microphone in his hand…