Work Text:
Jason saw it almost in slow-mo.
He felt the gust of wind before anything, too quick to be a thrown spear but too thin to be a dagger, too light to be a sword but too heavy to be a pocket knife. He could feel it in his bones, wading through the air as quickly as siren's song.
Then came the scream.
Jason was too slow, his sword clashing against a monster's attacks before he could even catch a glimpse of who had been hit. His feet scraped camp Half-Blood's soft grass, his arms aching with strain and his blood pumping with adrenaline, stabbing his sword down into the monster's heart, purple blood gurgling from the beast’s chest and spraying over Jason's face. He didn't even blink. He didn't even waver when it looked at him with fear in its eyes, he only pushed the blade deeper, feeling its ribs crunch beneath it. He twisted with great effort, and it went limp.
Only then was when he saw it.
Percy crawled away, dragging himself as further away as his arms let him, golden tip of an arrow buried deep on the back of his thigh. His eyes were wide with fear, breath coming in short gasps as he looked frantically between the safe shadow of Thalia's old tree and the archer.
He was by his side in a second, the air around them sizzling with energy. Jason wasn't usually the type to use lightning, but he was blinded by anger, a seething rage that felt more divine than mortal, his fingers tingling and the hairs on the back of his neck raising with goosebumps.
“No!” Percy grabbed him by the front of his shirt, forcing his gaze away from the archer that had shot him. “She's too young, you– we don't kill the young.”
He looked back at her, and behind the bow and the arrow, he saw what was beneath the archer he had seen before. A girl younger than he had been when he became praetor, with baby fat on her cheeks, a missing tooth peeking between parted lips he had a feeling wasn't from battle, and two braids decorated with hair ties with pompoms. Eleven at most. Her eyes were watery, wide and terrified, a permanent frown decorating her features.
The eyes of a soldier. A child soldier.
Even from the distance, he could feel the quick breaths leaving her lips, too quick to be from extortion. She was scared. Terrified. Like he had once been too, with a helmet far too big on his head and too many lines in his tattoo for someone so young. Jason had sworn loyalty to Roma, to its empire and its doctrine, made an oath to only let the strongest survive and show no mercy. Identity slipped between his fingers like sand through an hourglass as he watched her go, knowing that just by leaving this soldier– no, this child alive, he had betrayed his people.
Had Juno known that by changing the course of his life she had, by choice or by destiny, changed his person too?
He looked down at Percy again, sea green eyes, dilated pupils, breath coming in pants, and did the unthinkable. A year ago, Jason wouldn't have even blinked at the thought of leaving one of his own behind, knowing that if he had been the one injured in battle and could risk slowing everyone down, he would've understood their decision and driven his dagger through his own heart without giving it a thought; now, he murmured a soft its okay, you're okay to Percy, gently brushing his thumb over his nose bridge in that same way the older soldiers and camp Jupiter used to do when he had a nightmare as a child. He hooked his arms beneath Percy's arms and legs, struggling a bit with the weight of someone taller and heavier than him, even if only for an inch and a few pounds, and encountered a dilemma.
Fly, or run.
If he flew, he would definitely get there faster, avoid land monsters, and be able to dodge most demigod attacks, but he would become an easy target for flying beasts and archers, and so easily spotted Reyna would probably kill him afterwards if he made it through. If he went by foot, he risked tripping over himself and dropping Percy, but it would be easier to mingle with the rest and he probably would find it easier to navigate to the infirmary.
Choose Jason, you have to choose. Octavian's voice rang in his ears. If you're such a great praetor, a simple decision shouldn't be that hard, should it?
Jason shifted Percy's weight in his arms without even thinking about it, and the son of Poseidon dug his fingers hard enough on his shoulder that it brought him back to earth. There was sweat building between his eyebrows, his lips cracking like he was dehydrated, and–
Oh Gods.
Jason's arms were soaked with Percy's blood, erupting from the wound and staining his hands, his pants, his legs, his shoes. He didn't have time for deliberation. He took a shaky breath, trying to drown the wave of panic that overcame him, and pushed himself off the ground.
“Take me– fuck, the bathrooms.” Percy gritted out, his eyes falling close every few seconds. If he passed out, Jason didn't know if he would be able to hold his dead weight for as long as he needed. “You have to pull it out.”
“I– What? No, we have to go to the infirmary, they–”
“You have to, or– Jesus fucking Christ.”
If Jason knew how to do something, it was obey. He had done it his whole life, even when he was meant to be the one people obeyed. He obeyed his superiors, he obeyed the elders. Then he became the superior, the elder, he obeyed Roma's customs and laws. Never questioned. If you're injured, you try to get to the infirmary, if you can't get to the infirmary, kill yourself before the enemy does. That was it. As easy as it sounds. You don't do things yourself, much less ask someone else to do them.
So when he landed in the camp bathroom, he didn't know what had taken him there.
Percy leaned against the basin heavily when Jason set him down, breathing in and out through his nose and screwing his eyes shut so hard he was sure he was going to pop a vein. Jason closed the door behind him and started shrugging off his things, pointedly trying to ignore the river of blood sprouting from Percy's thigh, just above the back of his knee, piercing his pants.
“You want me to… pull it out.” Jason mused, more to himself than to Percy, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do.
“I'll explain when you yank it out, just– do it,” Percy breathed out, hands shaking and face pale.
Jason took a few deep breaths, settling himself behind Percy, with both legs at either side of the boy's uninjured knee. He grazed his fingers over the arrow, and Percy let out a choked scream of pain that turned into a groan in his attempt of keeping quiet. If they were heard, the odds wouldn't be in their favour.
Decide, Jason. Decide. Put what you were taught aside for a second and decide.
“Bite my hand,” Jason spit out without thinking, putting his hand in front of Percy's mouth.
Percy looked back at him with a confused expression, the sweat dripping down his forehead and the frown of pain in his face giving away to disbelief. “What?” He asked.
Jason let go of him for a second, he stumbled a bit and let out a yell when he moved his bad leg. He thought about ripping the sleeve off his jacket (in another lifetime, he might have admitted it was his favorite one. In this one, Romans didn't have time to be sentimental about possessions), wrapping it around his palm and calling it a day, but when he looked for it, it was gone.
He could do it bare handed, could he not?
“We'll get found if you scream, come on,” Jason said, going up to Percy again and running his other hand down his spine as he settled in his previous position, the son of Poseidon shivering beneath his touch. He barely thought it through, it was a comforting gesture, maybe, he didn't know many of those. Did he make Percy uncomfortable?
Percy didn't comment, so he put his hand in front of his mouth and spoke, “Bite.”
“Fuck, Jase, are you sure?” When Jason nodded, Percy only swallowed thickly. “...okay.”
His teeth scraped against his skin, gentle and hesitant. If he could share his pain, then let it be theirs, let all the pains this war brought be not only his, but theirs.
Jason wrapped his hand around the arrow and yanked with all the force he could muster.
Percy let out a muffled choice of what Jason assumed were insults to the Gods, teeth digging into the soft flesh of Jason's palm, every muscle tensing, hands gripping the basin hard enough for his knuckles to go white. Jason didn't even register the burst pipe until the water was pooling at his feet, mingling with Percy's blood and the golden arrow.
“You're okay, you're okay,” Jason murmured, looking at Percy for any sign of dizziness, fainting, or nausea. He looked a bit sick, but nothing they couldn’t handle. He ran his hand under the running water, hissing at the sting but keeping one steady hand on Percy's mid section, helping him up to sit on the counter and put his leg under the water too.
The sound of clashing swords became background noise as they sat there, in silence, watching Percy's skin re-stitch itself.
A beat.
“Thank you,” Percy said, moving a bit to face Jason. At least he didn't wince this time. “I really appreciate it man, I thought I was going to die for a second there.”
“Glad you didn't, then.” Jason smiled, tracing the bite mark on his hand. It was definitely going to bruise, blood seeping through the marks, but nothing that could bother him too much. He briefly thought about what it would be like to keep the scar. To run his fingers over it when he felt lonely. A physical reminder that he had broken Roma's doctrine and done something good with it.
Was he even a Roman anymore?
a beat.
"My blood coagulates quicker," Percy explained, gesturing to his leg. "If you had left it there, I would've probably bled out. Without anything blocking it, it actually scabs pretty quickly, and with water it can heal almost completely."
"I see." Jason looked back at Percy, their eyes meeting for a couple agonizing seconds. How could a pair of eyes be so compelling? He felt like he could drown in them. Live in them until the earth burn to the ground, stare into them as the end of the world stepped on their toes, place a kiss on the nape of his neck and relish the shiver that would run down his spine. He wouldn't need food, he wouldn't need sleep, all he would need was Percy's eyes on his, what else if not? What use did anything else serve if he couldn't drink Percy's laugh like water? What use did his hands serve if they weren't to linger a second longer than necessary during a spar? What use did his mind serve if not to imagine a future where all he had to do was turn around in bed, and be able to trace with his index every feature of his face? What use did--?
The sound of clashing swords and raging beasts brought him back to reality.
They were at war.
Percy was injured.
Jason was not.
Protect your people, praetor. Even if it's the last thing you do.
“Stay here,” Jason said, and before Percy could protest –or Jason could think it through– he grabbed him by the face and spoke with clear determination, a softness seeping through the words he hated with a burning passion. “You're injured, you can't fight. Stay here, let that finish healing, recover, and I will be back for you once it is all over. Are we clear?”
Percy didn't speak for a few seconds, just staring at him with slightly wide eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed, and Jason's eyes followed the movement before he could think otherwise. “Aye, aye, captain.” He croaked out, a bit breathless. Percy really needed the rest. He was so tired even words failed him.
Jason let go, grabbing his coin and leaving the rest of his things with Percy. He went for the door, with his hand about to twist the doorknob, Percy took a weirdly sharp breath. He turned to see if something had happened and–
“I– I love you. Don't get killed.” Percy said, then quickly added, "Man."
What?
“Uh… I. Uhm. I love you too.” Jason replied, a bit confused. He felt warm, was he getting a fever? Maybe it was because the vents of the bathroom were closed and it was August. Yeah. It was bound to get hot without ventilation. “Man.”
Jason stepped outside, closed the door behind him, and barely had time to think about it before a monster was lounging at him.
He flipped the coin, spear.
His eyes found the small bee symbol embedded on the hilt of the spear, finger tracing over it for only a second before he went back into action.
By the time he was done, blood clouding his glasses and watching the dust fly away with the wind, the sigil was gone.
Jason couldn’t close his eyes, he felt like if he blinked he would be there again, Leo’s form burning in the sky, Nico’s incoherent sobbing beside him, staring stone faced at the blaze. It burnt his eyes, but he felt like he deserved to burn only a fraction of what his friend had burnt, share the pain. Make the pain not his, but theirs.
But he hadn’t died, he had held him in his arms and he hadn’t died.
But he wasn’t there anymore, he was walking to the bathrooms, where he had last left Percy, and praying to whatever was left listening he was okay, that he hadn’t moved, and that nobody had found him. He creaked the door open, and inside stood Percy, Anaklusmos in his right hand, pointed at him with his back flush against the wall furthest away from the door.
Jason’s eyebrows furrowed when he noticed his leg. The wound was scabbed over, he had seen it heal in front of his eyes, and yet Percy was limping. He couldn’t maintain his weight properly. Jason didn’t even blink at the sword, only a twitch of his eyebrows.
“Jesus, it’s you,” Percy said, moving to walk over to Jason. He winced with every step, but caught him midway, hooking his arm over his shoulder to help him walk. “I almost shit my pants there for a second.”
A beat.
“... did something happen?”
Jason fixed his hold on Percy, then shook his head with a small smile, meeting his sea-green eyes with as much lightness as he could. Leo’s burning image made its way between thoughts, clouding his vision more than any blood could.
He smiled a bit wider, more convincing. “No."
Percy’s head spasmed the moment Will began pouring the antiseptic on his wound, muttering an onslaught of apologies. He had been injured before, by a similar weapon, in much more critical places, and he had never felt this kind of pain. He had always prided on his high pain tolerance, it was rare the occasion he cried during treatment, and even then it was just watery eyes he screwed shut to avoid being noticed.
But this pain was agonizing. He could feel his heart pounding in every part of his body, the blood rushing through his ears so quickly he could barely hear Will’s pleadings for him to stay still. He sobbed unashamedly, unable to even begin to breathe between cries, the bottles of alcohol bursting so violently the plastic cut like glass, flying about the infirmary.
Jason. Where was Jason? Had he left him alone? He needed Jason.
Kayla and Austin had been injured during battle, which meant Will was probably on his own in this side of the infirmary. There weren’t nearly enough beds in what had been designated the urgent treatment wing, so Percy was stuck in the medium injury side of it. A thousand eyes witnessing the saviour of Olympus wail, emptying his stomach on a trashcan Will had found around the first time he puked. Ambrosia wasn’t an option, anything that went in would go out, they had ran out of anesthesia hours ago, and nectar was only for those who were at the verge of death. They were low on everything. Percy would be a waste of resources, they had to use it on someone who truly deserved it.
The conversations became indistinct, a blur of sounds and colours in the face of this pain. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. He wanted to die just for it to end. He wanted to crawl on his mother’s arms and be soothed out of existence.
He felt himself slipping away, his eyes growing heavy as he stared at the floor, the wooden planks turning into a bright room, plastic chairs, hot enough to burn by the sheer amount of people in it. Maybe he could watch MTV for a while if he just fell asleep…
“Don’t die on me, don’t die on me, don’t die on me– Again!” The tingling moved through his whole body, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, trickling down his body like a river falling down a rocky mountain.
He gasped.
Jason.
“You with us, Jackson?” Someone distant asked, but all he could see was Jason hovering in front of him, hands still shooting sparks, eyes wide with both horror and relief, wide enough to hurt anyone that hadn’t seen half of what they had seen today.
A light in his eyes, a pillow added behind his head, trembling body, useless body. Something cold seeping through his body.
If he just closed his eyes…
By the time he woke up, early evening had given into late afternoon, the sun almost gone from the sky.
The war.
“I hav’ to go ‘ack.” He said, words coming out slurred. At least the pain was gone. But he had to go back on the field, what if they killed Annabeth? Or Jason? Or Piper? They were capable of doing so themselves but– he just wanted to be there. Just in case. Just in case something happened.
“It’s over.” A warmth enveloped his hand, a soft touch over his nose, barely brushing over it. It was nice, he almost wanted to close his eyes. He hadn’t been touched this gently in a while– his mother gave reassuring hugs and comforting smiles, but she had never been the gentle kind. Neither had been Annabeth, with long strategies for his dumb ideas and supportive squeezes. This was foreign. Not odd, but foreign. “The battle is over.”
“ Di’ we win?”
A beat.
“Yeah, we won.”
“ ‘at’s great, man.”
A small huff, maybe akin to a laugh. “Yeah, it is.”
