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Five Months
Percy smiled—or tried to, at least—but his heart wasn’t in it. His lips twisted, not quite a grin, not quite a grimace.
“Ta-da!” Estelle’s jazz hands signaled the completion of her dance routine, following a twirl and curtsy. His little sister’s enthusiasm could usually cure anyone of their sadness or anger, or at least push it somewhere else; lately, however, Percy hadn’t found himself feeling anything but sadness. He shook his head and forced his grin wider as his mom and Paul cheered on either side of him.
Percy’s head pounded—they were too loud, clapping hands too much. His right hand clenched at his side, left palm pressed into his forehead. The music Estelle had set her routine to pulsed from a speaker on the end table next to the couch, but it didn’t sound quite right. The drums were too loud, and every hit of the cymbal felt like someone was crashing them right next to Percy’s ears.
Sally’s attention was focused on her daughter, but Paul sent Percy a concerned glance. Percy shook his head slightly, then forced himself to raise it, eyes focused on his sister. It was clear Paul didn’t buy his act, but his stepfather allowed his behavior to slide. Percy relaxed slightly. His hands were at his side, no longer tensed, but the same couldn’t be said of his mind. His mom and Estelle were talking now, something about dance lessons or perhaps the upcoming school year. Percy wasn’t listening. He was trying to listen. He tried to press his nails into his palms, an attempt to make himself lucid, but they weren’t long enough. Percy couldn’t remember when he had last bitten his nails, but he knew it wasn’t something he was supposed to be doing. Nasty-tasting clear nail polish had done the trick when he was six.
“You’ll come, right Percy?” Percy blinked, and his sister was now on his lap, her hands on his forearms, eyes sparkling. He didn’t know what she meant, but he had the feeling he should. Percy opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again before any words came out.
Noticing Percy’s hesitation, Paul picked up the girl, spinning her around. “We’ll all go,” he declared, then added—for Percy’s benefit—“Maybe they’ll have blue ice cream this time.” Percy breathed in his nose, then out his mouth, counting to four during the inhale and to eight while exhaling. The ice cream and treat shop close to the apartment, Dalia’s Delights, had once had cookie-monster ice cream: some sort of blue flavor with white chocolate chips.
“Yay!” Estelle exclaimed. Paul set her down and she grabbed Percy’s hand. “Come on!!”
If Percy gripped her hand a little bit harder than normal, Estelle didn’t notice.
As the family walked out the front door, Sally locking it behind them, Percy asked his sister, “What flavor are you going to get?”
“Chocolate!”
“Oh no…” Percy’s pretend frown came far more easily than he expected. “I heard they were all out of chocolate today,” he teased.
“Percy!” Estelle grinned up at him, squeezing his hand. They were three blocks from the ice cream shop. “They can’t be out of chocolate. That’s, like, half the world’s favorite flavor.”
“Vanilla is one-hundred percent better,” Percy told her seriously. “Only weirdos like chocolate.”
“Takes one to know one!” Estelle let go of his hand and skipped ahead, now that they could see pink and purple awning.
Percy rolled his eyes and shared a grin with his mom. “That’s your fault, you know.”
Sally looked fondly at Estelle, but her face turned something more serious as her gaze turned back to her son. Her questioning eyes asked if he was okay, but Percy grabbed the spoon-shaped handle and opened the door instead. Silver, cursive lettering said “Dalia’s Delights” on the glass followed by what looked like a hand-drawn chocolate cupcake. Inside, different aromas hit Percy, but the scent of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies was most prevalent. He followed Estelle to the ice cream counter, where they could watch high school students scoop their ice cream from metal containers.
“I would like chocolate on a cone, please,” Estelle politely told the girl at the serving counter. “Kasey,” her name tag read, and Percy was glad she had short brown hair.
Paul ordered a scoop of cookies and cream and a scoop of chocolate—Estelle must have gotten her tastes from him—and Sally ordered mint chocolate chip on a waffle cone. The three of them turned to Percy for his order. Oh, I’m okay, I’m not hungry for ice cream, was on the tip of his tongue, but a glance at Estelle made him rethink. “I’ll take a scoop of vanilla in a cup, please,” he said to Kasey. He ignored the blue-colored cotton candy flavor.
She scooped their ice cream as requested, and soon the four of them were en route back to the apartment, licking their cold treats. Or, in Percy’s and Paul’s cases, using pink plastic spoons that matched the handle on the door. Eating ice cream required neither speaking nor smiling, so Percy happily obliged, and did enjoy his vanilla.
Blue didn’t quite taste the same when there wasn’t someone saving blue skittles for you. Even when skittles were their go-to candy. It had started out as a color from his mom, but rarely does something stay the same forever. When his friend had learned that Percy picked blue food over anything else, she had begun saving her blue candy to give him. At first, as a joke, he would get a pile at the beginning of summer, because they hadn’t seen each other during the school year. Then it was something passed over during a movie, all-blue candy packs purchased from the gas station, and an attempt at homemade blue chocolate chip cookies that tasted artificial because of the excessive amount of blue food coloring in them.
As they neared home, Percy finished his ice cream. He held the cup tightly and rattled the spoon against his teeth.
Estelle made claims about how she was, in fact, not tired, but she didn’t complain when Sally shepherded her to bed, saying she needed a good night’s sleep. On the couch again, Percy watched Sally gently close Estelle’s door.
Paul sat down next to him, drawing Percy’s attention away from his mom and sister. “Hey, Percy, are you okay?”
Surely he knew he wasn’t.
“You seemed a little off today, a little in your head.”
I’m in my head all of the damned time.
“It’s just been a long day,” Percy told Paul. Percy was fond of his stepfather, truly, he was. But Percy knew he should be okay by now, and it didn’t seem right to worry Paul.
Sally came back to the living room, having tucked Estelle in, and sat on the couch folding Percy into her arms. “I love you,” she murmured, kissing the top of his head. Once, Percy would have pushed away, mumbling something about how he wasn’t a child, but now Percy just melted against his mom, leaning on her, taking all of her strength that he could. Paul got up to wash the dinner dishes and his mom looked at him with serious eyes and concerned eyebrows. “How are you doing, kiddo?”
“It’s just been a hard day…”
Sally hugged him harder. “I think you need to go to bed early, too.”
“Mom?” She tilted her head. “Why does it still hurt?”
“It’s not going to stop hurting, darling. But that’s okay.” She put her hand on Percy’s chest, over his heart. “It means you care. It means you still love her.”
~
Three Weeks
Percy sat numbly on the ground, back against a tree. He was in Central Park, and there were plenty of people around, but he felt utterly alone. He rubbed his eyes and rested his head on his knees.
Sometime later—Percy wasn’t sure how much later—a voice brought him out of his stupor. No, not a voice. A cough. Percy looked up, and in front of him stood a short teen with dark, shaggy hair not unlike his own. Percy couldn’t remember the last time he’d washed his hair, much less gotten it trimmed. Nico di Angelo sat down to Percy’s left, back also against the trunk of the large oak tree. Percy watched Nico drum his fingers on his knee. Leaning his head back against the tree, Nico closed his eyes and was still. Percy no longer felt alone; instead, he felt incredibly uncomfortable. He, too, closed his eyes—for about ten seconds before they flashed open. Percy saw too much in that dark space behind his eyelids. It could have been five minutes or an hour before Nico spoke.
“Your mom told me you were back in New York.”
Percy didn’t say anything.
“I know it hurts. And I know I can’t do anything.”
He stayed silent.
“Sometimes it helps to talk about it. Even if it hurts.”
Percy turned his head to look at Nico. A retort formed in the back of his mind. You don’t understand. You can’t understand. Your sister…your sister was…nothing like her. But Percy was too tired for anger. He was too sad for rage. Nothing came out of his mouth.
Nico went silent for a moment before taking something out of his pocket—a figurine, one that Percy recognized. The statue was of Hades, meant for Mythomagic, a game Nico had played when he was much younger. Percy hadn’t realized that Nico had the statue; Nico hadn’t taken it when Percy had tried to give it to him all those years ago. Years? It had never quite dawned on Percy that Nico wasn’t a little kid anymore. Although he had fought with them against Gaea, and gone on his own quests, Nico had never stopped being the boy Percy had failed. Failed…because… It hurt to think of death.
Rubbing his finger along the bottom of the statue, Nico turned to face Percy. Legs criss-crossed, he ran his hand through his hair, brushing some of the longer pieces out of his face. Percy didn’t remember the last time he had seen the son of Hades, but he did remember the sadness in Nico’s dark eyes. The eyes that faced him now looked different. Not exactly joyful, but not melancholy either. It seemed things were reversed now. Percy’s own sea-green eyes weren’t sea green these days. They were dark teal, or stormy blue, but always sad. Some might have called the look in Percy’s eyes hopeless. Percy watched that little sparkle in Nico’s eyes as he talked. “When Bianca died, I was angry. Angry at you, because you had said you would protect her. But mostly I was angry at her, because he had left me. I know it’s different for me than it is for you… The way you loved Annabeth and the way she loved you… I don’t think any love could ever, or will ever match that.” Percy flinched at Annabeth’s name, and Nico paused. “You don’t seem angry. I guess, I thought you would be.”
“Me, too.” The roughness in Percy’s voice surprised him. He supposed it had been a while since he’d spoken. Percy had grieved before, of course. For Luke, for the demigods who had been lost fighting Kronos, the Titans, the Giants. He had been angry then, and he had had someone to blame. He didn’t have anyone to blame this time. Just a stupid telkhine.
“People told me you’d burn the world to save her,” Nico continued. “That you’d tear down Olympus with your bare hands before you’d see her hurt. People at camp speculated that Hera’s plan never would have worked if she had taken Annabeth instead. They said you would have stormed Olympus and wrung Hera’s neck before Annabeth had been asleep a week.”
That’s probably true.
But Percy wasn’t that person anymore. He wasn’t sure he was capable of anger now. It was almost as if his anger existed only to care for Annabeth, and only for the people he might lose. Once he lost them, well, it was gone too.
Nico held out his palm in front of him, lighting tracing his fingers over the creases. “I’m scared, Percy.” He paused, curling each finger, one at a time. “For you. For your mom. For your sister. For all the demigods, those who have made their way to camp and those who haven’t. Those who couldn’t. Those who won’t be able to. I’m scared for the world.”
Nico looked up, and Percy met his gaze. Nico said, “I didn’t used to be scared. I used to believe that everything would be okay because you made it okay. That was naive of me, I guess, but I believed you could do anything. I know, now, that you won’t always make everything okay, but I do still believe you can do anything. You walked through hell, Percy, you can do anything.”
“I walked through hell…”
Percy blinked hard, forcing his tears to stop. Something in him wouldn’t let himself cry in front of the younger teen. “You’re missing one important part… I didn’t do it alone…. I wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for her.” Percy rubbed his chest. His ribs hurt. His heart hurt. It all hurt. Gods, will it ever stop?
Nico’s voice was so quiet Percy had to strain to hear it. “You would have. I know you would have. You are the strongest person I have ever met.”
Those were the most genuine words Percy had ever heard from the son of Hades, and he knew they weren’t ones to be taken lightly. Percy knew that Nico lived with loss, experienced loss every day, felt death; it didn’t always seem that way, though. Nico was incredible at hiding it. Or maybe it was what he didn’t say that made it obvious. Nico’s hurt made him mute. As Percy’s was doing now.
“Why me?”
Sure, Percy had been the “chosen one.” The “Savior of Olympus.” The one who gave up immortality for the people he loved. Loves. Everyone else might have, but Percy never saw himself as an idol.
Nico’s laugh was rough. “Dude, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re Percy Jackson.”
“What if I don’t want to be Percy Jackson?” A whisper.
What if I don’t want to be the person who can do it all and handle it all? What if I don’t want to save the world? What if I wouldn’t give up the immortality anymore? What if I couldn’t?
“Too bad,” Nico said soberly. “You are. Maybe it doesn’t always feel like it, and maybe some days it hurts to be Percy Jackson. Maybe it’s hard to be Percy because it was never just Percy.” Nico smiled slightly. “It was always, always, Percy and Annabeth. And it’s hard for you now, because it’s not anymore.”
Percy rubbed his chest again.
“But what do I do? I don’t know how to be just Percy.”
The irony hit hard. Percy was asking the kid for advice. Well, no longer a child, but still one in Percy’s eyes. Nico had looked up to Percy; now it was the other way around.
“You will figure it out—and you don’t have to do it alone. You are never alone. There are so many people who love and want to help you, Percy. But you have to let them. You need to talk to your mom, and talk to Chiron, and talk to me. We may not have the exact same pain, but it doesn’t mean they don’t mirror each other.”
Slowly, hesitantly, Nico wrapped his arms around the older demigod. Percy let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding and sunk into the embrace. Lately, Percy had discovered, a hug could make you feel better.
“I love you, Percy Jackson, and so does everyone else.” Then, quietly, under his breath: “Even though you're not my type.”
Percy hugged Nico harder.
~
One Day
“Walk with me, Percy.”
Thalia’s outstretched hand latched onto his and held it tightly. “Come on.”
He didn’t know how she had found him, but one minute he had been slicing through air? with Riptide, and the next, a hand had clamped his forearm, forcing him to lower the sword. Percy didn’t think he could walk.
“Walk with me, Percy.”
They weren’t going fast. His feet moved of their own accord, perhaps because some part of him knew something bad would happen if he didn’t listen to Thalia. The girl was something fearsome. It didn’t register in the moment, but Percy must have thought it strange later that she wasn’t with the other Hunters. Thalia was a Hunter of Artemis—their lieutenant, in fact—and was rarely without the other girls.
“Walk with me, Percy. Don’t go back there.”
Back where?
“Stay here, Percy. Look at me.” He tried to—he really tried to. Thalia had black hair, not blonde, and she didn’t have gray eyes. He still couldn’t look at her.
“Seaweed Brain.” Thaila should have known better. The moment the words left her mouth, Percy stiffened. She realized her mistake, but by that time, Percy was gone. Gone gone gone. He wasn’t walking anymore. Standing still, perhaps, Thalia’s hand still clutching his, but Percy didn’t feel it. Percy was somewhere else, he thought. Thought? Percy wasn’t thinking. Percy was feeling. No, he wasn’t feeling. He was…gone.
It came in flashes.
“Don’t die, Seaweed Brain,” she had told him when they were in the labyrinth, near the volcano where the telkhines were forging weapons for Kronos. That was ages ago, yet it felt recent.
“You came back, Seaweed Brain.” She was crying, or had been, but was sniffling now, trying to control the tears. It was funny, in a way. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her cry.
“Of course, I did, darling. You’re going to have to try harder than that to get rid of me. I’m like a plague.” Percy wrinkled his forehead. “But definitely not like one of Apollo’s plague arrows. Those things don’t need to exist.”
She hugged him, hard. She’d never done that before. “Don’t you ever leave me. Don’t you ever scare me like that, ever again.”
“Ditto, Wise Girl. Don’t you ever leave me, either.”
Oh no.
Percy and Annabeth stood back to back, Riptide out in his hand and Annabeth’s dagger in hers. They were surrounded by a pack of telkhines, about five miles from the border of New Rome. Some suburb near San Francisco, but it’s not like Percy knew the name. All he knew was that there were monsters and he couldn’t see that big bridge.
They killed one after another, turning them to golden dust. Sending them back to Tartarus. Years removed now, Percy could finally say the word—or think it—without shuddering and shrouding himself in memories of that hell.
“Percy!” Annabeth had lost her dagger. She was bleeding.
She was bleeding?
“Percy. Percy. Percy.” A hand squeezed his.
Percy screamed—loud enough to shake trees and level mountains. He had enough power to empty the oceans themselves if he tried. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. They were unstoppable, together. Nothing could break them apart and nothing could take them from one another.
Riptide flashed quickly through the air; a blur, not a sword, to any passerby demigod. It was funny to think it. There weren’t any, of course. Before he knew it, Percy was breathing hard. They were all gone, he thought.
They were.
And they weren’t the only ones.
No. No no no no no no.
No one simply died from a dog-like monster. Not after everything they had been through.
“Percy!” Percy’s eyes were closed and he was unconsciously rocking back and forth on his heels.
“It’s my fault it’s my fault it’s my fault. It doesn’t make sense she couldn’t just die that’s not how it works youdon’tunderstanditsmyfaultitsmyfaulticould’ntsave her not after she savedmesomanyt imes.”
“Percy.” Normally, Thalia would have sworn at him by now. She didn’t, though, perhaps because she knew it would only hurt more. There was nothing he could do to help now.
“Go away. Leave me alone.”
Thalia almost snorted. “To do what, genius?” If I leave you’re going to stand here, on this hill in this random park, forever.”
(She was right.)
Percy felt like he no longer existed. He was no longer whole. It was as if half of him—more than half—had simply been chopped off with a knife, disintegrated into the wind.
“No one’s invincible, Percy. Even those we most think are. Even those who have survived everything.”
I could have been.
But even half there, even half dead, some part of Percy knew he was wrong. He couldn’t think that, because then he wouldn’t have had a life with her. And she was everything. Percy closed his eyes again and disappeared.
“Wake up, Wise Girl.” Percy searched frantically through his pockets for the ambrosia he knew wasn’t there. They had gone out to dinner. They weren’t supposed to fight anything. They were supposed to be okay. They were supposed to be normal. He laughed hysterically. “Don’t die on me.” Some part of him knew these motions were useless, but he searched anyway.
Focused on himself, Percy didn’t notice when Annabeth’s body disappeared—into smoke, almost like a vaporized monster. A gift, Athena called it later, though whether it was a gift for Percy or herself, Percy wasn’t sure. Athena didn’t care about Percy. As hospitable as she might have once been to him, she was still a goddess. Callous as all the rest. The gods had power unimaginable, and Percy knew one of them could have saved her. But they “couldn’t interfere” with the affairs of mortals.
It was irrational to think this way, he knew. He didn’t care.
“Percy.” A different voice this time. Weird. Curly hair fuzzed in front of him, but it was difficult to focus. “Percy.” Arms enveloped him. “I”m so, so sorry.”
Huh?
“Thalia brought you here.”
Here?
“I don’t think…she knew what to do.”
Thalia always knew what to do.
“Look at me. You’re home. You’re with me. You are going to be okay, kiddo. I’m here.”
Percy looked up. He cried. He sobbed.
“Mom.”
~
Nine Months
They were at Camp Half-Blood, for a short visit. Occasionally, on the good days, Percy would give swordfighting lessons. For an hour or two, until it hurt to see them having a good time. Percy didn’t blame them, though. And more often than not, he didn’t blame himself, either. It still hurt. It would always hurt. But he was getting better.
He watched the young campers laughing and cheering.
“I miss her smile.” Percy took a deep breath. Thalia held his right hand and Nico held his left. “I miss Annabeth’s smile.”