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There was a snowstorm brewing that day, the weather so unbearable that the usually busy streets are barren. For most, staying bundled up in the warmth inside their homes was much preferred compared to freezing to death outside. Not Percy Jackson, apparently. He is having a very different day. His rapid footsteps crush through the snow underneath his feet as he speeds pass buildings, one hand covering his stomach.
He screeches to a halt when he finally arrives at his destination, hunched over in exhaustion and pain. Percy’s journey was not yet over, though. He tilts his head upwards, eyes locking to the window of Annabeth’s dormitory. He focuses all the remaining energy left in him to climb up the fire escape, beads of sweat littering across his forehead. Typically, this process would be light work for him, not only because he’s done far more physically gruesome things in his brief yet hectic demigod life, but also because he makes this trip so often that it was basically routine for him. This journey would also be one he enjoys on a regular day. Today, that is not the case.
He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ear and each breath he takes becomes more of a struggle the higher he climbs. His vision was gradually becoming vignetted by black spots, and his grasp on the metal banister keeps slipping from how disoriented he was. He shakes his head, trying to stay awake. He refuses to pass out, not before he reaches her. Percy Jackson’s stubbornness is not bound by anything, not by gods, not even by his failing bodily functions, especially where Annabeth is involved.
A sharp pain pierces through him which left him no choice but to pause his movements. He glances down at his stomach, wincing when he sees a section on his navy-blue sweatshirt is now a shade darker. The color of the liquid drenching it is not immediately noticeable, so Percy could just pretend he spilled soda on himself if he wanted to. Logically, that would have been dried up already—perks of being the son of Poseidon—he’s not sure if that power applies when it’s his own blood soaking the fabric of his shirt. Anyway, what was he doing? Oh. Right. Annabeth. That would be the blood loss. Or maybe it’s just the ADHD. He braces himself for another bout of agony, continuing his climbing.
It feels like it takes forever, but he successfully manages to stay alive long enough to reach Annabeth’s window, his shoulder landing to the wall next to it with a soft thud. His eyes squeeze shut as if that could reduce the strain he had put himself through in this past half an hour. He stares daggers at the innocent latch on the window, cursing it for adding another course of movements he needs to spend his draining energy on.
Before he even lifts his arm to reach out to the offending latch, the window magically opens. Only it’s not anything mystical at all, because Annabeth’s head then pops out, her pretty face instantly turning towards him like she had sensed his presence. She looks ethereal in that moment, with her glasses on, snowflakes dusting her braids. Maybe a little bit of magic, then, Percy thinks drowsily.
“Percy!” she exclaims in pleased surprise, and he wishes he could always keep that expression on her face. He loves that she was excited to see him even though they just saw each other yesterday. But just like how quickly she sensed his arrival, she also immediately notices the fact that he’s hurt, not that he could have managed to hide it anyway in his current condition. The halfway twitch of her lips that began when she first saw him never ends up forming a full smile, instead, her face drops. And with it goes Percy’s heart.
“Hi, n’beth,” Percy says hoarsely. He would prefer to say the breathlessness was his natural reaction to Annabeth, because that’s romantic—he thinks. But it was more likely due to the effort it took just to slip those few audible syllables pass his lips.
A flash of emotions crosses Annabeth’s face, changing so rapidly it would not have been decipherable to anyone but Percy. There are people who wear their hearts on their sleeves, leaving themselves vulnerable to be inspected by anyone who chooses to. That’s not who Annabeth is. She feels so much with an intensity that can be dizzying, but it is only preserved for those who worked hard enough to see through the external structure that she’s carefully constructed over the years. Any cracks that she may have were well-hidden behind her dark brown eyes. and no one has spent as much time lost in them as Percy has.
In that split second, Percy sees worry overtake her stature, a crease forming in her brows that Percy would have teased her for if he had the coherence to. They’ve been in this situation a myriad of times, sometimes with their roles reversed. It still doesn’t reduce the anxiousness that this might be the last time fate is in their favour. The fear of losing one another is just as visceral now as it was when Percy faced his first prophecy.
He is considered one of the strongest of their kind, but no amount of power in the world will be enough to protect Annabeth from having to grieve him. No matter how many times she is faced with the prospect that he might die before her, he knows in his heart that she will never grow accustomed to it—his death is the one circumstance she cannot bear to strategize around.
Only then does Percy feel his gut twist, with guilt now rather than pain. Never mind that he’s been gushing out blood this entire time. He was sick of being the cause of her suffering. He tries to say something—to reassure her, but he only manages a croaking noise.
The sound seems to sober Annabeth up from her reverie. Like a trained soldier, she snaps into action. Her shoulders straighten into a determined line, body going on autopilot as she holds her arms out so Percy could collapse against her. He does, because there is nowhere else he would rather be. If he had to choose a favourite place in the world, this would be it—cradled within the circle of her arms, her warmth engulfing him whole. All his life, noise and chaos were the norm, but within Annabeth’s embrace, he’s learned peace and the sound of her rhythmic heartbeat instead. He knows which one he prefers.
She hoists him against her side and helps him through the window. The jostling causes him to hiss in pain, to which she whispers a soft apology. She directs them towards her bathroom, carrying his solid weight with an arm around him. “You have survived worse, Percy. Once more, for me,” she says, her firm command laced with emotions Percy was too familiar with.
He manages a small hum to assure her he was still here with her, that he isn’t planning to go anywhere, not yet, not without her. Boulders weigh down on his eyelids, and it would be much easier to let his consciousness fall by the wayside. But if he dies from this, Annabeth will bring him back to life just to kill him again, and she would probably do it a dozen more times too, so he stays conscious.
Annabeth maneuvers him to lean his back against the bathtub. He squints at the ceiling light, the sudden brightness harsh on the eyes. It must take him a while for his eyes to adjust, because when he looks at Annabeth again, she’s already finished cutting his sweatshirt open to inspect the damage. Her fingers gently peel away any remaining fabric that was stuck to the dried blood. He only grimaces a little, too used to being tended to by now to feel anything more than a dull sting.
Annabeth purses her lips, her eyes scanning the damage before glancing at his face.
“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, thankfully. A little stitching and ambrosia will fix it. We’re lucky you got here as quick as you did,” she says curtly. He doesn’t point out that she addressed their fortune as theirs instead of his own, it’s no surprise at this point that anything one of them feels, the other feels tenfold. Her panic mode seems to have resided considerably after she was ensured that he wasn’t on the brink of death. She was still upset though, understandably so. Percy only nods, letting her fuss over him.
Annabeth begins earnestly treating his wound without another word, no hesitation in her movements. She’s had a lot of practice after all.
“I liked this shirt.” Percy breaks the silence only after Annabeth’s given him the ambrosia to swallow. She doesn’t give a response at first, preoccupied with stitching him back up.
He regains enough energy to tuck a loose strand of her braid behind her ear so it doesn’t obscure her vision. She doesn’t flinch away, but she doesn’t lean into the touch either, a clear indication of her mood. She keeps her focus on his injury as his hand falls back into place.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to buy a new one you can also ruin,” she finally responds to his earlier quip, dry but also a little too sharp to chalk it up to their regular banter.
Although her reaction does throw him off kilter, he doesn’t get defensive. Instead, he gives her room and time to sort out her thoughts. Percy has spent years trying to get a read on Annabeth—has even gotten quite decent at it. That said, one of the many things he adores about his girlfriend’s brilliance is that there are no limits to the new things he can discover about her. There are walls she has had up for as long as she can remember which he cannot expect to force through with brute force.
He trusts her with his life, the grandest declaration of devotion a person can make. He also trusts her to let him love her in the way she deserves, and that faith—while quieter in nature, does not signify less profoundness. It means he knows she is as capable at yielding her heart the way she is with her knife. In the meantime, he will greedily hoard any piece of her she tentatively grants him, until he has all of her.
Annabeth takes a deep breath, ready to speak. “You can’t keep putting me through this, Percy. You scared me.”
For a brief moment, Percy is confused. This has been their dynamic for years. They were basically a magnetic force field, attracting life-threatening situations on the daily. It isn’t within his control that odds seem to enjoy piling up against him, mocking his desire to live a normal life.
The confusion is replaced with understanding when he takes one look at her expression, and sees that the frustration she feels towards herself is palpable. She knows what she feels isn’t entirely founded by facts and is chastising herself for it. He shifts to sit up so he could be at eye level with her.
She doesn’t resist her desire for closeness, moving to his uninjured side to lean her back against the bathtub, too. He could feel the gentle pressure of their shoulders pressed together. The physical contact acts as proof—of her presence and his survival. It makes them both breathe easier.
He remedies in the comfort she offers before responding. “It was a monster. I was busy fighting one and hadn’t realised there was another lurking. It took me by surprise. I didn’t mean to scare you, Annabeth. I’m sorry. This wouldn’t have happened if I had been quicker,” he says quietly, the words as delicate as the air around them, meant to soften her edges. He watches her calculative gaze, envisioning her cataloguing the new information in her busy mind. The tension in her shoulders release slightly. He recognizes the feel of her deliberately pressing herself even closer to him, like any space unoccupied was space wasted.
“Don’t blame yourself.” She winces right after she says it, noting how she had technically contradicted herself. Percy lets out a small laugh.
He runs his fingers down her wrist, feeling the goosebumps arising on her skin in its wake. His hand meets hers which was limply laying on her lap, softly contrasting each other. Their fingers naturally gravitate together, loosely intertwining like puzzle pieces slotting together. “I don’t want to see you in pain,” he whispers.
Annabeth makes a sound of indignation, momentarily perplexed by his statement. “That’s rich coming from you. I wasn’t the one who got slashed.” Her eyes flicker down to his stomach—now beginning to mend itself, the ambrosia taking effect.
He turns his head to look at her, temple pressed against the brim of the bathtub. He gives her a knowing look. “You know what I mean.”
She mirrors his gesture, their noses almost touching. “It’s irrational. It isn’t like you’re purposely being reckless with your life. But even knowing that, I still hate the way my stomach sinks every time I think you’re going to get taken away from me. I get angry at you for putting me through this again, even though it isn’t your fault. Is it selfish of me to think that?”
Percy feels the words and the tremor in her voice like a physical blow, devastation rattling through his bones. “Oh, Annabeth—“ He instinctively moves to place a kiss to her forehead, a gesture usually done with tenderness now turning into one of desperation. He can faintly hear the slight hitch in her breath reverberating in his ear. He lets go of her hand so he can turn his body to fully face her. Like handling porcelain glass, his hand delicately cups her cheek, bringing her forehead to his. She reacts by grasping his arm, a little overwhelmed by the sudden shift in energy, though never denying him. He doesn’t know what to say, even if he had managed to string an adequate response, he was too choked up to say anything.
Her thumb brushes his skin back and forth, trying to bring reprieve to his distress while he collects himself. Her concerned gaze could be felt even with his eyes downcast.
“I can take your anger, Annabeth. If that’s what you need, then be angry at me.”
Annabeth blinks in surprise, she had probably been expecting him to argue with her. He loves their back and forth and banter—it was part of them. But this is something he was willing to concede without a fight.
“I don’t want to be angry at you. What would that change? It’s counterproductive.”
Percy almost smiles at that. Annabeth and unpredictability had never meshed well together. She likes her actions to have an intricate explanation, and she would only provide solutions built on facts and logic.
“I know it isn’t me you’re actually mad at.” He pulls away to get a proper look at her, hands dropping to her shoulders. “There is always so much happening in our life already. As if that wasn’t enough, we’re expected to just take all that we’ve been through and move forward. I don’t want my tendency to draw the worst luck in the world to be just another thing that hurts you. I can’t do anything about that other than be more careful. But if it can reduce your pain even a little, direct your frustrations at me. You don’t have to hold yourself back with me.” His voice breaks, desperate to share the weight Annabeth so often carries alone.
He had barely finished his sentence before Annabeth lunges forward to kiss him, communicating all the overwhelming affection and gratitude she feels for him in that one act. Percy catches her easily, reciprocating her enthusiasm with his own.
“You really do have a brain full of seaweed,” she says in between kisses, not bothering to pull away.
He laughs, the sound making Annabeth’s lips twitch as well. “I’m sure you’re right but why now specifically?”
Her hand cups his cheek, resting her forehead against his. Naturally, he turns his face to press his lips to her palm. The charged moment slows down into one of tranquil.
“I don’t want to use you as some sort of emotional punching bag, Percy. It’s sweet of you to offer, but being angry at you when you don’t deserve it won’t make things better for me. I’ll just be guilty on top of everything else.”
Percy purses his lips, feeling incompetent in the face of her turmoil. “I don’t know how else to help, Beth.”
“You’re already doing so much by just being here, idiot. Is it so hard to believe I don’t need anything else but you?” Her hand slides down to his neck before she gives him a firm shake to emphasise her point.
Percy lets her jerk him around before lifting his shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. He knows his self-sacrificial act drives Annabeth crazy, but he really does have trouble believing his impact on Annabeth’s life was that significant. Annabeth narrows her eyes at his non-answer.
“Don’t even start. I know you will always fight come hell and high water to come back to me. That’s a fact I can count on. That means something to me.”
She says it with so much conviction in him that he couldn’t do anything other than believe her—at least in that moment. Annabeth tends to have that effect in people.
“You were angry at me earlier.”
Annabeth sighs, looking down at the hit he took in his stomach, the catalyst behind this conversation. “That wasn’t fair to you. I was overwhelmed and the moments I almost lost you came rushing back into my memory at once. It’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
Percy sputters, her apologizing for her emotions was the opposite of what he wanted for her. She gives him a sharp look when he opens his mouth to interrupt.
“You were almost passed out when you arrived. You used everything in you to come here.” She shakes her head, trying to dispel the tears that had started to glisten in her eyes. Percy sucks in a breath, feeling a piece of him crack in his chest.
He reaches out to tuck her face in his neck. She folds into him easily, defenses crumbling as a soft sob escapes her. This close, he catches whiff of the lemon scent that always seemed to linger on her. He lowers his voice into a fragile whisper. “Of course I did. If….one day, my luck runs out—“ His eyes screw shut at Annabeth’s immediate whimper. He didn’t want to further worsen her fears of losing him but he needed her to hear this. “—you’ll know that it wasn’t my choice. I don’t want you to doubt that I did everything I could to be by your side. That’s what you deserve, Annabeth. When things are hopeless, you’re my reason.”
Her tears gradually start to soak the juncture between his neck and shoulder, where Annabeth has safely cocooned herself. Most times, Percy takes pride in being the person who knows and has witnessed all the sides Annabeth has to offer. With that in mind, he wishes he wasn’t so familiar with the quiver of her shoulders when she cries. Percy had told her countless times that she doesn’t need to stifle her sobs with him. It was less of her refusing to listen to him due to her stubbornness, and more of a habit she can’t get rid of—like she had convinced herself her vulnerability was a nuisance she needed to quickly overcome. His hand runs up and down her back in an attempt to soothe her. Occasionally, he whispers a soft “We’re okay.” and “I’m here.” to which she manages an imperceptible nod to.
He tightens his embrace when he feels her inch herself closer into his chest. Every part of them was touching in some way. They had always been a clingy pair—had been relentlessly teased for it by their friends. In moments like these particularly, it wouldn’t be far-fetched for him to say she would crawl in between the gaps in his ribs if she could, and he would let her.
He doesn’t know how much time had passed, it felt like him being slashed by that monster was a lifetime or two ago. His legs were starting to feel sore from being in one position for so long, when Annabeth abruptly pulls away from his neck, though she doesn’t go very far. He senses she still craves closeness and physical contact since she was very much still in his personal space. He accommodates her, shifting to fold his knees so she was sitting between his legs. He tugs her closer, caging her in with a palm cupping the back of her neck, her braids grazing his knuckles.
“It’s strange to be so certain of someone’s love for me. The version of love that I was taught before I met you was always conditional. It had to be earned,” she says, a wistful look in her eyes. If Percy knew her as well as he thinks he does, she must’ve been thinking of her mortal family, Athena, Luke, Thalia, even Chiron—every unconventional love she’s received that has surmounted into her being so protective of her heart. Percy tries his best not to react visibly, but he has to admit, every time Annabeth references her difficult past, he becomes extremely cognizant of the violence he was capable of if he chose to pursue that path.
Instead of acting on those impulses, he says, “I don’t think you realise how easy it is to love you, Annabeth.” He imagines he had been looking at her with something akin to reverence whilst saying that, because he feels the skin of her neck heat up underneath his fingers. He gives her a cheeky grin when she narrows her damp eyes at him, daring him to bring it up. “I mean, yeah, we’ve had some angsty periods—“ a wet giggle bursts out of her at his comment, making his grin widen. “—but that was just me being scared of how strongly I felt for you and how little time it took for me to get to that point. The falling for you part? That was as natural as breathing.”
Annabeth scrunches her nose, leaning forward and pecking his lips. “That’s cute. Cheesy. But cute.”
His thumb swipes across her cheek, wiping the remnants of dried tears on her warm brown skin. “Thank you, m’lady. It’s what I do best.” He does an exaggerated bow of his head to hear her giggle again.
“Also, please don’t just let me unreasonably lash out at you. Even if you think it’s what I need. Because, one; who are you to dictate what’s best for me—” She jabs a finger at his chest, though there was a lilt in her voice that Percy recognizes as affection. He lifts his hands up in surrender, chuckling softly. “—And two; I wouldn’t like it if you did that to me, so call me out if I do it again, okay?” she reprimands. She tries to pass it off as a joke but part of her sounds genuinely disappointed in herself. That makes Percy soften. He loves her so much.
He decides they’ve had enough emotional turbulence for one day. He tips her chin up with his index finger, his ocean blue meeting her doe brown eyes. He tilts his head in amusement. “Annabeth Chase, are you giving me free reign to lecture you?”
“Don’t push it, Jackson,” she says, shoving him with a laugh.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Percy was glad he dragged himself half-conscious through a snowstorm for this—being with Annabeth and hearing her laugh on her cold bathroom floor. This was his bliss.
He could do with less bleeding out next time, though.