Chapter Text
Percy trudged through the dark kitchen, careful to make as little noise as possible as his sneakers threatened to squeak on the cheap linoleum floor. The sun was just barely starting to rise, and even though there was a little bit of light in the apartment now, it still wasn’t enough to make him put away his flashlight. He held it between his teeth as he started to root through the kitchen cabinets, certain that he’d stashed something edible back there.
He sorted through the things that couldn’t be eaten alone: tomato paste and the enchilada sauce he and Annabeth had always kept handy in case Grover wandered into town unannounced. He moved aside a can of apple pie filling he was saving for Chase’s birthday and a tin of coconut milk he’d been planning to use to make Annabeth her favorite coconut cake as a surprise when she got back from her business trip. That was a little over a year ago now, though, and the top of the can was dusted with a layer of dust.
Sighing, he slid them all aside, nearly dropping the light when he spotted two blue-labeled shallow cans stacked on top of one another in the very back of the pantry. He reached to the back, his whole arm and shoulder in the cabinet.
“Percy?”
He startled at the voice, letting the flashlight clatter to the ground. “Crap.” He said, just hardly keeping himself from cursing. The flashlight on the ground illuminated Estelle where she stood, eight years old, and small for her age, wearing one of their moms old sweatshirts. “I write like a prose” was scrawled across her chest. “Hey bug, why are you up already?” He asked, reaching back into the cabinet and triumphantly, pulling them out, weighing the cans in his palm.
“I’m cold.” She said, scrunching her sock-clad feet on the floor. “Chase is, too.”
Percy sighed, peering into the living room where, sure enough, Chase was sitting up in bed, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Stella.” He said. “Why don’t you put on your boots. I was just about to make breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” Chase’s sleepy voice piped up from the living room.
“Oh yeah.” Percy said, trying to put an optimistic spin on what was a more than lackluster meal. “Gormet. How’s tuna sound?”
“Ew, really?” Estelle said, pulling on her winter boots while Chase approached the table, his blanket trailing behind him like a cape as he climbed onto the chair.
When he was situated, the four-year-old copied her, scrunching up his face to match. “Yuck.”
“First off,” Percy started, rifling through the drawer until he produced a can opener that he was pretty sure he’d stolen from his mom during his sophomore year of college, puncturing the top of the tin with the sharp metal teeth. “Don’t be a sourpuss, Estelle, it’s the best we got, and secondly,” he lifted the can opener and pointed it towards Chase, “You love tuna, little man, so I don’t wanna hear it.”
“No, I don’t,” Chase argued.
“Yes.” Percy reminded him, sliding the cans over. “You do. Eat up. You’re both growing.”
Chase dug right in, obviously forgetting his aversion. Estelle picked at hers, pretending to gag with each bite she took. “It’s freezing in here.” She mumbled. “And now it stinks.”
“Do you need another jacket?” Percy asked. “I think I have an extra. One of–” he cleared his throat, “One of Annabeth’s might fit you better.”
She flicked her eyes up to meet him. “I’m fine. Just complaining.”
He sighed, turning back to the counter. He didn’t blame her. He wanted to complain, too. Besides, she wasn’t wrong.
He’d done his best to make the winter more livable. At the first sign of a chill in the fall, he’d shut off all the rooms in the apartment, besides the living room and dragged their mattresses into the living room. On the coldest nights–ones where he knew they’d wake up to piles of snow outside–he wouldn’t sleep at all, awake to make sure the covers didn’t slip off of Estelle and Chase, and heat hot water bottles on the camping stove, tucking them between the comforters.
When they were finished eating, they went about their morning, making the beds to the best of their ability and gathering their dirtiest clothes into a pile. Percy was convinced that keeping some sort of routine was helping keep them alive. When they were finished with that, Percy ventured into his bedroom, which was a good ten degrees cooler than the living room, shuffling through his clothes to drag out as many extra layers as he thought they could wear.
“Alright, guys,” he said, dropping an armful of clothes onto the ground. He picked a red beanie off the top, pulling it down over Chase’s pink-tipped ears while his face scrunched up in discontentment. “I know that it's cold out, but we need to go see Dr. Brunner, alright?”
“Why?” Estelle asked, even though she’d already started to get dressed, fumbling with the zipper on her coat, “Are you sick?”
Percy stepped forward, deftly zipping the down jacket all the way up, the collar sitting just under her chin. “No. I need to buy a couple things off of him. Stuff for our trip.”
Estelle frowned, tapping the toe of her snow boot against the worn carpet floor. Percy knew what she was thinking. He was thinking about it too. It was all he thought about, going back and forth over what to do. He knew that they had to go, though. They’d already spent a year waiting. “Hey, it’s alright.” He tried for a smile. “We’ll come back here, just as soon as we find her. I’m sure she wants to come back home, too.”
Estelle lifted her eyes from the floor. “Promise?”
“Yeah,” he said sincerely, “Of course, bug. New York is our home; that won’t change. Never.”
She nodded, albeit reluctantly, and Percy took that as close to a win as he could get, slinging his backpack over one shoulder and snatching up the rifle that he now kept by the door. His apartment elevator was long out of service–since before the end of the world–and so the long journey down five flights of stairs wasn’t new to him.
“Alright, behind, behind,” he said, rallying the kids as they reached the bottom step, ready to push out into the cool streets of fallen New York. They had a system for outings like these. It was dangerous to go anywhere, even if his section of the city wasn’t as dangerous as some other areas he’d heard of. Most of the infected weren’t dangerous at all. The majority of them contracted the illness and had dropped dead by the end of the week. Maybe one in five had to live with the way the sickness contorted the mind. He wouldn’t call them zombies, per se. Really, he thought he’d prefer the classic mindless undead, as opposed to whatever happened to these people. They weren’t slow or brainless–the opposite, in fact. It was like the sickness switched off whatever self-preserving mechanism lived in the minds of healthy people. They were stronger, and faster, and fully unafraid. It was scary, Percy soon realized, what people could do when they were completely uninhibited. Really, he was equally as terrified of the uninfected. After a total societal collapse, people had started to show their true colors, most of them horrific and violent. Healthy people were able to work together better than the infected. There was nothing more fear-inducing than the strength that came in numbers, especially when Percy didn’t have them on his side. It was no secret that he was at a major disadvantage, carrying alone two kids who couldn’t hold their own.
He’d been asked before why he brought them out with him at all. It had been by a woman who’d owned a corner store that lasted a long time. She had long grey hair, and an accent he could never quite place. She’d looked at him through heavy-lidded eyelids, sliding her gaze to Chase on his hip, then to Estelle clutching nervously to his hand.
“Why bring them?” She asked, nails tapping against the counter. He was sure that once, it had been clean, but now, bits of dirt were crusted to the top. The type of grime that would take lots of patience to pick at and scrape away. “Dangerous, no?”
“Yes.” He’d said, looking out the window. He didn’t like to be in one place for too long. There were few people that he trusted now, and this woman wasn’t one of them. He wouldn’t have gone into her store at all if he hadn’t been desperate, but he’d seen the propane canister and hadn’t been able to resist.
“Stupid boy.” She’d said. “You cannot protect them. Leave at home.”
“Thanks for the suggestion,” He’d muttered, holding Estelle’s hand tighter.
The woman had leaned forward, hand extended for payment. Reluctantly, he set Chase down, digging through his pocket, pulling out the silver chain he’d bartered with her over using as payment. He was pretty sure it had come from Paul's side of the family–something from his mother, maybe. It hadn’t been important to make note of while he’d been alive, so Percy didn’t feel much about parting with it. He went to drop it into her palm, silver thread dangling down, but she’d caught his hand with viperlike speed and strength. Shocked, he’d gone to reach for his gun with his other hand, but Estelle still hadn’t let him go. “Listen, listen!” The woman had hissed, leaning forward until her face was close enough to him that he could smell her.
“Let me go–”
“Listen,” She’d muttered it gently, then, like the voice of a younger woman had inhibited her. The voice was soothing. For too long, Percy had heard his own voice, or the husky voices of other survivors. It had been half a year since he’d heard anything so sweet. “Babies stay home. Too dangerous. Too many dead. Too young, yes?”
They’d practically run out of the store, her warning sharp in his mind, even though he disagreed with her. He wouldn’t leave them at home. The outside world was dangerous, but at least when they were with him, he had some sort of control over what happened. He had no qualms putting the bullet in the head of some crazy bastard who tried something with either one of them. He’d walked past one too many homes of people whose windows had been smashed in to ever trust the kids home alone. They were safest with him. He was sure of it.
His resolve only hardened when three months afterwards, their apartment had been broken into. It had just been one guy. Looking back, Percy wasn’t sure if he’d meant to do it. Percy didn’t think he was infected. He might’ve been drunk, or drugged up–people tended to handle the end of the world differently. He hadn’t taken time to be sympathetic then, though.
He still thought Estelle looked at him differently now, months later. He didn’t feel bad about it, though. He couldn’t, even when he tried. He was protecting his family. Besides, he tried to reason with his inhumanity by reminding himself that Estelle and Chase would need to grow up differently than he had. As much as he tried to preserve crumbs of the childhood they were missing out on, they’d need to be tough. He couldn’t shelter them from seeing cruelty. He could only hope that they would learn to defend themselves without being callous in return.
So, back to their system.
Percy was in the front. Always. Chase and Estelle would walk behind him. They were strictly forbidden from talking, unless someone was hurt or they saw something that could be dangerous. If they were to be approached, they didn’t speak. Percy did the talking.
And, most importantly: his word was god.
If he said to run, they were to run. If he told them to hide, or stay put, or leave him behind, they would. It was a rule he’d told them over and over and over again. Chase was easier to convince. He’d been freshly three years old when the world ended, still chubby-cheeked and stumbling over his words. Percy doubted that he could even remember much about the world before the end, even if it broke his heart to consider. Chase had spent a quarter of his life starving and afraid, learning rules for survival instead of the rules of a preschool classroom. He was quieter than Percy remembered him a year ago, often awoken by night terrors that Percy wished desperately Annabeth was there to help him manage. At least, as a result of all the bad, Chase had learned to develop a trust in his father that was abnormal, even for young children. The importance of that kind of trust couldn’t be understated with how terrifying the world had become.
Estelle, on the other hand, had the disadvantage of remembering a before . A before when Percy was little more than a goofy big brother no one took seriously. Before the heat was cut off and Paul dropped her off at Percy’s doorstep, the corner of his mouth flecked with blood while he coughed into his palm and demanded that Percy not come by the house.
Percy kept his gun at the ready, as they continued down the road, his finger resting against the trigger. Unplowed snow on the ground made the whole world look brighter. Every so often, he’d glance behind him to make sure the kids were still keeping up. They knew better than to fall behind.
A quick look down an alley showed an old man bent over coughing into his hand. His entire body shook so violently he looked like he would collapse at any moment. Percy doubted he was any threat, but he’d learned not to take anyone at face value. “Get on my left.” He instructed the kids, who quickly obeyed, shuffling to his side until they passed by.
They only saw a few more people on their walk. One woman lying on her side, half dead. A man who seemed healthy enough, steadying himself against an alley wall, a bottle of booze loose between his fingers. The only real threat was a young man, probably younger than Percy–either in his late teens or fresh twenties. There were dark half-moon circles under his eyes, and he wasn’t dressed for the weather, instead in a pair of stained khakis and a t-shirt that was probably once white. He shook his head violently, like he was trying to knock something loose, and mumbled to himself, flexing and unflexing his fists by his sides. Percy knew the signs. He’d seen enough people fall to the illness–whether to their deaths or to this- to be sure that in a few days, that man would be incredibly dangerous.
He thought about killing him. Wondered if it would be a mercy. He decided against it, though. He’d be gone by the time this man fully succumbed. It wouldn’t be his issue anymore. Still, he kept his gun trained as they shuffled by, certain that if the infected took even one step towards him or the kids, he’d shoot him dead.
Eventually, after a few more uneventful minutes of walking, he came to the door he’d been looking for. He gestured the kids in front of him, and stepped up into the door stoop. “Hey, doc!” He called, glancing behind himself while rapping on the door with the back of his hand. “Doc!”
“Who is it?” Dr. Brunner's gruff voice shouted from the other side.
“Percy and the kids. Unlock the door, will you?”
A second later, the heavy door came unlocked with a thud. Percy pushed it open, revealing the old man on the other side, dressed in work clothes despite the end of the world, perched in his wheelchair. “Oh, it's freezing out there,” he said, wrinkling his nose, although Percy doubted the inside of his home office was much better. “Come in, come in before you catch something.”
Percy didn’t have to be told twice. He loved Dr. Brunner's office. It was a familiar comfort. He’d been going there for a long time. He’d been Percy's doctor, then Estelle’s, then Chase’s. Now, he was a friend, too. He’d mentored Annabeth all through school, and even when she decided to go into architecture instead of medicine, their relationship hadn’t faltered.
Dr. Brunner led them through the halls, lined with bookshelves so heavy with books that the wood bent and warped under the weight to what used to be his sitting room, complete with big, overstuffed leather couches, and reading lamps that had started to collect dust, the wiring no doubt corroding with lack of use.
“Well, if this isn’t a very pleasant surprise.” Dr. Brunner smiled as Percy shrugged off his backpack and sat down, pulling Chase onto his lap, rubbing his hands up and down his son’s arms to hopefully help him warm up. “What brings you out in the cold?”
“I need a few things,” Percy said, deciding that if Dr. Brunner was excused to skip pleasantries, then he was too. “We’re leaving, hopefully tomorrow if the snow melts a bit. I got the car back up and running, and most of our stuff packed. You can have whatever we aren’t taking with us. Paul had some old winter clothes you might want, and I have a couple jugs of water and a container of propane that we can’t fit in the car.”
Dr. Brunner sighed, sitting back in his chair. “Kids, I just dug out some old drawing paper and crayons from my old storage bin. Would you like to color?”
Both of the kids' eyes lit up at the idea. “Daddy?” Chase turned and looked at him with wide eyes. “Can we color?”
“Of course. What do you say to Dr. Brunner?”
Chase turned to the old man, “Can we color, please?”
“Mm, such good manners. Of course. Estelle, do you remember where my coat closet is? They’re in a big box in the bottom of it”
“Yeah,” She nodded.
“Wonderful. Why don’t you and Chase go ahead and pick out what you want. You can take them with you, if you’d like.”
Estelle's eyes glittered. It was easy to forget that she was so young. She’d been quite the little artist before all of this. Annabeth used to keep a folder under their bed of all the pictures she’d drawn for them. “Really?”
“Of course. Run along now.”
Bouncing with excitement, Percy watched as Estelle and Chase bounded down the hall, Chase nearly tripping over a shoelace Percy would need to re-tie before they left. Dr. Brunner watched with a smile on his face until their chattering turned into whispered mumbles behind his office door.
“So,” Dr. Brunner started when they were well and truly gone, drumming his fingers against the handrails of his chair. “You’re really going?”
“I am.” Percy nodded.
“And you’re taking the kids?”
He huffed a laugh, “Not sure what else I’d do with them.”
Dr. Brunner frowned. “You could leave them here, you know they’re always welcome.”
“That’s–” Percy rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, that’s just not an option.”
The old man sighed, “Perseus, I’m worried that you’re going to be disappointed. California’s a long way away, and you aren’t even sure if she stayed there, if she even–”
“Don’t say that.” Percy snapped. “Annabeth’s smart, and she’s healthy. She always was.”
“Perseus, may I be frank with you?”
Percy rubbed his hands together. They were so cold that he felt like they might never be warm again. “Do I have a choice?”
“I guess not.” Dr. Brunner chuckled darkly, his eyebrows furrowing back into a measure of concern. “Son, I don’t think this is a good idea. I know that things in the city aren’t pleasant. I understand that you miss Annabeth. I do too. She was a remarkable young woman, but we don’t know what things are like outside of the city. Don’t you think…” he trailed off, removing his glasses to run a hand down his face, “I don’t want to upset you, Perseus.”
“Just say it.”
The old man sighed, “Don’t you think that if all was well, she would’ve been back by now?”
Anger pulsed in his chest, hot and eager to be let out. He always seemed angry now, letting his emotions simmer just under the surface, threatening to bubble over and be let out. “Are you serious right now?” He snapped. “Do you even give a shit about her?”
“Of course I do.” Dr. Brunner snapped back, angry in his own right. “I’m only saying this because I do care about her, and I know how much she cared about you and those kids. I don’t want to see you go on a suicide mission to bring back someone who might not even be alive.”
Percy tried counting to ten, shaking his head, “That’s horrible. I don’t understand how you can say something like that.”
Dr. Brunner's expression softened. “Perseus, I understand how important it is for you to hold onto hope, especially with how much you’ve been through this past year. Annabeth was a strong, wise young woman, but you don’t know–” He stopped himself, like he was about to share a secret too big to take back.
“What do you mean?” He asked, hands starting to ache with how tightly they were crossed in his lap. “What aren’t you telling me?”
A flash of guilt crossed over Dr. Brunner's face. “Perseus, some things are better left unsaid.”
“You’ve said everything else you’re thinking.” Percy bit. “What now? What do you know?”
Dr. Brunner seemed to age a hundred years in front of his eyes. “I’m only going to upset you–”
“I’m already upset.”
Dr. Brunner finally looked like his resolve was going to crumble when the kids came scurrying back, Chase running to Percy full throttle, unaware of the tension in the room. “Daddy, look!” He screeched, waving around a dragon-themed coloring book, letting the pages flutter. “Estelle said I can have this one instead of the plain one!”
He swallowed down his frustration, flicking his eyes up to Dr. Brunner, whose face was again set in a neutral line. “Wow, buddy.” He choked out, taking the coloring book and flipping through the pages. “This is super cool. What do you say?”
“Thank you, Dr. Brunner!” Chase chirped, reaching to take back the coloring book.
“You’re welcome, young man. Your Father was just going to tell me what supplies he needs.”
Reluctantly, Percy dropped the conversation, deciding to be the bigger man and save the kids from whatever adult talk he could, fishing the crumpled list out of his pocket, struggling to read his own handwriting, deciding just to pass it over to Dr. Brunner. It wasn’t long. Just some essentials. Tylenol and antibiotics and extra inhaler cartridges for Estelle. Dr. Brunner looked down at the list, disappointment in his face, like he was contemplating if Percy would choose not to go if he denied him.
“Please, Doc.” Percy tried.
Dr. Brunner sighed in defeat, placing his hands on the cool rims of his wheelchair as he started making good on the list.
***
Later that evening, Percy took his time packing up the car. Estelle and Chase were still upstairs gathering their things. He knew it was hard for them to leave. It was hard for him, too, but they had to go. If he sat in the apartment for one more day, pretending like waiting was the most noble thing he could do, he was going to go crazy.
Eventually, footsteps sounded behind him, and he whipped around, relieved to see that it was just Estelle. “Hey, bug,” he greeted, motioning for her to hand him her worn backpack so he could load it into the small trunk. “Where’s Chase?”
“He’s coloring upstairs.”
“Cool. Why aren’t you breaking out the new notepad? I thought you’d be all over that.”
Estelle shrugged. “I don’t really feel like it.”
“Really?” He asked. “You’ve never avoided the chance to show off your art skills before.” Again, she shrugged. He sighed, stepping forward. “Are you still upset about leaving?”She sniffed and nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve. The motion was so innocent and childlike that Percy thought he might cry, too. “Talk to me, bug. It’s okay to be sad.”
“I’m sorry. I know we need to go look for Annabeth. I want to find her too, but I don’t want to leave mom and dad.”
His heart sank further than he thought possible, and he crouched in front of her. “Listen, Stell, I get that. I promise you I do. Mom and Paul were everything to me. That’s why we’re going to come right back. We’re gonna go get Annabeth, and then all of us can go to the cabin, just like Mom would’ve wanted, okay? Besides,” He continued, “I think mom would’ve wanted all of us to be together, don’t you? Even if it meant we had to leave her for a little while.”
“Yeah,” Estelle whispered.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have to be sad, though. You’re allowed to be sad, or mad at me, or whatever you like. I can handle it, I promise.”
“I don’t want to be mad,” Estelle said. “I want to be happy, I just–I can’t.”
“And that’s okay. A lot of sad things are happening right now.” He considered his next words carefully. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Estelle nodded eagerly.
“I’m sad, too. I miss Mom, Paul, and Annabeth a lot. But, guess what?”
“What?”
“Soon, very, very soon, things are going to get better. It’ll be warm, and we’ll be back together with Annabeth, and I’ll take you to Montauk and we’ll swim, and get tan, and we won’t have to worry about watching our backs like we have to do here. We’ll pick flowers and float them in the ocean for mom and Paul, and she’ll know that we’re all back to see her.”
“That does sound good.” Estelle said with a watery smile. “What do you think Annabeth’s going to say when we find her?”
“Hm,” he hummed, pretending to think about that moment like it wasn’t all that had been on his mind as they prepared to leave. “I think she’ll cry.”
“No.” Estelle argued, shaking her hand and wiping her tears away, a familiar glint in her eye. “You probably will, though.”
“No way.” He laughed.
“Yes way.”
“No way.”
“Okay, fine.” He conceded, figuring his sister knew him better than she was letting on. “Maybe a little.”