Age 12

Twelve was innocence.

Which sort of sounds funny considering how by then most kids had gotten "the talk" and were probably just starting to realize that, yep, the world is totally unfair and that classmate they'd been staring at for the past twenty minutes? Please. She cared less about them than her neighbors' dead cat, but for Percy's "special" situation, he was as tame and as dangerous as a blind, three-legged cat.

Mean? Yeah, but true? Undoubtedly so.

To start, his stupid questions and clueless face made Annabeth feel like she was dealing with one of the dumbest people on the planet. Seriously, if it took him this long to figure out that, "yes, Percy, what you killed was the Minotaur, who did you think it was? Grover's cousin?" then he was screwed.

If he was a valedictorian in the mortal world (which Annabeth highly doubted), it didn't matter anymore. Not as long as he was a demigod. Even Annabeth would be willing to admit that all the classes from whatever fancy prep school would be worthless if you didn't know who Metis and Charybdis were.

As far as Camp Half-Blood was concerned, it didn't matter if you knew how to ditch bullies during recess. That wasn't nearly going to be enough to save you from getting your face eaten off by an empousa. And as for being "averagely" fit, please, that wasn't even close to cutting it; it just meant that, after the monsters picked the flesh off of his and everyone else's bones, they'd get a complimentary toothpick. (Great, Percy. Utterly helpful.)

Percy was as prepared for Camp as much as Bilbo was suited to the dwarves' lifestyle. And within four minutes of knowing the guy, Annabeth had already come up with six brilliant, essay-worthy reasons as to why he wasn't cut out for it.

1. The only callouses on his hands were from holding a pencil and not, in fact, from intense sparring, one on five.

2. The only language he could speak was English.

3. The only "strategizing" he ever did was figuring out how to prank the Stolls.

4. The most intelligent thing he'd ever said to her was "you're right."

5. So far, the only thing he was talented at was canoeing.

6. His eyes were too open, his expressions so unguarded, he was just too trusting—and Hades. This boy was going to get killed.

When he was twelve, Annabeth saw a lost, little boy far away from home.

Age 13

Thirteen was rebellious.

Gods, Annabeth truly felt for his mom. How that poor woman ever managed Percy was way beyond her. Maybe she bribed him with food (Hades, Percy's stomach was a black hole) or maybe she was just the goddess of patience in disguise—either way, Sally Jackson had officially earned Annabeth's respect.

Seriously, she knew that some boys had a weird (and extremely annoying) habit of bringing home animals that they found on the street and poked with a stick and simultaneously fell in love with, and most of the time mom's gave in and viola,new pet. But bringing home that—that thing? This was too much. Even for Percy.

As soon as Annabeth saw it, her gut instinct screamed at her to kill it, every survival training kicked in, and she practically needed to kill it. Slice and dice, no mercy—just like Camp taught her, but whether he knew it or not, Percy stopped her each time. Gods, she couldn't even get away with her usual little digs. Percy was always telling her to lay off and give "Tyson" a chance—Hades, whenever she insulted Tyson, she might as well have been insulting Percy, and yeah, needless to say, it was really ticking her off.

His—"half-brother" wasn't worth all the flack he was getting. Annabeth knew first-hand how easy it was to tear down Percy's flimsy, pathetic, little block of confidence. Camp hero or not, Percy was a pretty sensitive guy, no matter how much of a face he put on.

But he took on all the insults like a champ. All the looks, all the gossip, the way everyone else suddenly avoided him like he was a walking petri dish—everything. At least on the surface.

Percy clearly wasn't enjoying the new limelight or his new one-eyed, 6'3" cabinmate or being the pariah, but he still stood up for Tyson. And that just made it all the more confusing.

Percy Jackson was protecting a Cyclops from demigods, and Annabeth didn't know what to do with this situation. As her role of a friend, she was kind of supposed to knock some sense into his head (no matter how empty it might be), but whatever she tried only seemed to reinforced his resolve.

So, Annabeth settled with taking a step back. If Percy wanted to be a Seaweed Brain and play the hero, then fine. Whatever. When Tyson turned into a raging, rabid monster the size of a barn and tried to eat Percy, Annabeth would be there to save his sorry little butt (again) and tell him "I told you so."

(And gods, did she love saying those four little words.)

Only, Tyson never once in their entire quest attack Percy, or Annabeth for that matter, and once again, she didn't know what to do about the situation other than writing it off as being lucky. Great, in a hundreds of cyclopses, there was one "good" one. So what? Were they supposed to wave a white flag to every monster they meet and do a personality assessment? Yeah, that'd totally go down great.

Monsters were monsters. They were dangerous, they were bloodthirsty, they were deceitful, and if Percy was going to live to be sixteen, he was going to have to realize that.

But then, thirteen was, in fact, rebellious.

That same year, Percy stood up for the Ophiotaurus. For his new pet he named "Bessie." You know, the super dangerous one that could very easily destroy Olympus and topple the gods, yeah, no biggie.

It was stupid, going up against twelve all-powerful beings like that, especially when they were right and the safest thing to do was kill it, but Percy did it anyway. Feet set, jaw stubbornly jutted forward, and sea green eyes glinting in a way that said, There is no way in Hades I'm taking "no" for an answer, Percy stared down the Olympians.

All for a monster he deemed innocent.

In one year, Percy defended a monster twice, he ran away from Camp twice, and broke every rule imaginable, but—surprisingly, they were still alive and kicking. Still saving the world, still in one piece, and you know what? If they stayed this lucky then maybe, just maybe, Kronos was going to have a real problem on his hands.

When he was thirteen, Annabeth saw a radical.

(And, oddly enough, she didn't think it was a bad thing.)

Age 14

Fourteen was a thief.

Stupid? Yeah, kind of. Percy had roughly as much stealth as a drakon and blended in about as well as Coach Hedge in a church sermon, so logically speaking, he should never had gotten away with stealing something she kept guarded under lock and key and a buttload of Greek fire….

But he did.

Somewhere along the way of leading her into near-death situations and turning into a guinea pig and actually somehow holding up the sky—Percy, cliché as it sounded, managed to snatch Annabeth's heart right from under her nose.

Turns out Zeus wasn't too far off the mark when he accused Percy of thievery, and if it were any other time, Annabeth would applaud the king of gods for his good judgment (because let's face it, the guy didn't always make the best choices), but she didn't. Nope. Frankly, she was too busy trying to get the idiot's sea green eyes and smile out of her head.

She tried to brush it off and remind herself that this was just a phase, and gave it her very best shot, because you know, logically speaking, it was a stupid thing to get attached to Percy of all people because he was just too unpredictable, too dangerous, too loyal, he was going to die in a year if not now, and just—gods, how can someone be so monumentally stupid? (And yeah, that's a rhetorical question because honestly, there really is no answer to that question.)

But you know what? All of those—she'll admit it—excuses, logical and reasonable as they were, didn't change a thing.

Annabeth had officially fallen for her best friend, and well, even if she wanted to (and secretly, she most definitely didn't), it was a little difficult to steal something back from a master thief.

A serial thief.

In the Labyrinth, Annabeth realized she wasn't the only he'd stolen from. A redhead with stunning green eyes and a perfect smile, a cursed goddess with beauty that could rival Aphrodite's, and…and even…well, Annabeth decided not to dwell on that particular victim (young and impressionable anyways).

Percy had entranced, stolen, and imprinted each and every one of their hearts, and for once, Annabeth wasn't too pleased with the competition. Gods, Annabeth swore on the Styx that if anyone else decided to jump onto Cupid's arrow and fall head over heels for the son of Poseidon, there would be blood and tears and not necessarily hers.

When he was fourteen, Annabeth saw a heartbreaker.

Age 15

Fifteen was a leader.

Granted, it took a while to realize it, after all, a leader doesn't usually brutally rip out his allies' and friends' hearts and be too chicken to apologize for it or, you know, maybe talk about his feelings before he leads them off to what could possibly be the end of the world, but whatever. Annabeth didn't care, nope. Not one bit. Not even an itty—

Okay, so maybe she was just a little tempted to rip out Rachel Elizabeth Dare's hair, but who really cares, right? Ha, ha, ha…she totally didn't. After all, they have bigger things to worry about than—than feelings.

Like Kronos, Olympus, or Typhon, (take your pick) and she definitely didn't need any distractions.

So Annabeth did what she deemed necessary. In one go, she successfully called him a coward and pushed him away, swallowing it all down as best she could, which to be honest, was pretty pitiful 'cause she came pretty close to spilling out all her emotions when she saw Percy again. But A for effort, right?

It was somewhere around preparing for battle when Annabeth realized something had changed. Watching Percy stand above everyone else, hand out orders and posts, she knew in her gut something had shifted. Evolved.

His days of innocence were long gone, and while his rebelliousness and thievery still remained intact (such was the pitiful unfortune that was in fact Annabeth's life), something was different.

It was like a curtain had been pulled away, as if a door no one knew was there had been opened, and Annabeth realized just how far he'd come. Like a pearl from the deepest parts of the sea, Percy Jackson shone for all to see. From wooden swords to battle armor, the childish rebel grew up into a man of good intentions.

(And while he never gave Annabeth her heart back, at least he gave her his.)

When he was fifteen, Annabeth saw a king.

Age 16

Sixteen was a MYSTERY.

Namely because, oh you know, a certain goddess of cows decided to wipe his memories and dump him in a Camp all the way across the country so yeah. (Talk about a long distance relationship.) Eight long months, absolutely wasted and all to save a closed-off Olympus. If it was supposed to be some sort of joke, Annabeth wasn't amused whatsoever.

During her time as Camp leader, she may or may have not snapped at everyone in Cabin Eleven, unintentionally brought Drew to tears, scared away even Clarisse La Rue, and made newcomers feel completely unwelcome and uncomfortable (like that one Morpheus kid who wet his pants when she said "hello"). In short, Annabeth wasn't doing so hot.

The slow progress for the Argo II was seriously beginning to tick her off. And if Leo told her one more time that there was some "complication," someone (preferably Hera) was going to pay, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

(When something went wrong with the ship's rudder, Annabeth tried throwing poison ivy on the alter as tribute for the queen of the gods. Granted, all it did was make a whole ton of smoke and stink up the pavilion, but it was worth a shot.)

Annabeth missed Percy. Now don't get her wrong, she wasn't a pathetic little puddle of girly emotions; she'd die before she'd deteriorate to that. Annabeth could still very easily take that rogue tree nymph down with both eyes closed, and as for Capture the Flag, she could still kick Clarisse's team into next Friday, but still…it wasn't the same. And she was royally ticked.

And yeah, someone did pay, but not Hera (pity).

Maybe judo flipping her boyfriend was a little overkill, maybe kissing him in front of the Roman camp was little rash, but well, who ever said she was good at showing affection? Besides, he walked away from it (even if it was a not-so-slight limp, but seriously, all things considered, she was letting him off easy).

Percy was okay. He was safe, he was stronger than ever, better than ever, and surprisingly—or perhaps unsurprisingly—he was elected as Praetor. Funny how that worked out.

At any rate, Annabeth didn't pay too much attention to the little things. Maybe it was the way his ocean-esque overwhelmed her or how his new tattoos stood out against his tanned skin (still wasn't sure how to feel about that by the way), but she dismissed it. Annabeth Chase dismissed the way his sea green eyes glittered with something foreign. Something…odd.

You'd think she'd know better by now, but gods, she was just so happy. Suddenly the Mark of Athena didn't seem so bad. Suddenly the Prophecy of the Seven wasn't so imposing, and suddenly, things were honestly looking up for all of them.

(The Fates probably cackled at that, probably said, Ha! Stupid little demigod!) All things considered, they probably should have been watching their step instead because, just as suddenly, Percy and Annabeth were falling into Tartarus. (In every sense of the word "into.")

You'd think a smart girl like her would've clicked it together when Percy wished Arachne a more painful, a bloody death. You'd think she'd catch it when he started closing himself off even to her, and you'd definitely think she'd have recognized that charm. That way he spoke to Bob. But she didn't.

Annabeth was too caught up with firewater and brainwashed Titans and how those steps were starting to look more like teeth than anything else, that it took a run-in with Akhlys to finally see what was dangling right in front of her the entire time. And it felt like she was watching a recap of the greatest horror movie ever made.

Slowly, agonizingly familiar, his eyes clouded into a murky green, and Annabeth could visibly see something break inside him. Face pale like a ghoul's, Percy stood tall and stared right at the goddess of misery, no longer afraid. (No longer truly human.) With a grace of a dancer and deadliness of a drakon, Percy stretched out his hand as Annabeth looked on numbly, a cold feeling settling in her stomach as the poison tides stopped.

The fumes rolled away from him—back toward Akhlys. The lake of poison crept toward her in little waves and rivulets, and Percy's chapped, colorless lips opened. "Poison," he murmured, voice dangerously low. His eyes flashed again. "That's your specialty, right?"

At that moment, Annabeth would've walked a thousand more miles for the lost, little boy far away from home. She would've broken every rule in the book for the radical, would've stolen from Hermes himself for the heartbreaker, and would've killed for the king.

What Annabeth beheld was easily the most terrifying thing in all of Tartarus.

When Percy Jackson was sixteen, Annabeth saw LUKE CASTELLAN.

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P.S. Inspired by mcfuz's "Checkmate." If you haven't read it, I suggest you do.