A/N: PERCABETH. BREAKS. MY. FEELINGS. I swear, if Uncle Rick doesn't give us a happy ending, I will be a sobbing mess.
This is a kind-of sequel to my previous fic, Mare Nostrum. You don't have to read it to get this, but I highly reccomend it.
Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Percy Jackson or any of its characters, including Percy and Annabeth. If I did, THEY WOULDN'T BE IN FREAKING TARTARUS. Also, the cover belongs to Viria off deviantART.
Enjoy! xx
He didn't know how long he and Annabeth and the rest of the Seven and Nico had stood there, arms clasped, tears falling from their eyes and onto the scraped, battered floor. All he could hear was the silence, that echoing ringing silence that mixed with the sounds of quiets sobs and choked peals of giggles.
Relief. The emotion filled Percy up like a hot air balloon floating high up in the clouds. It bounced about the walls of the god of death's shrine, not spoken, not said; it was just there, making the sunset outside seem to shine brighter— so bright it almost blinded him— and the colors more vibrant than any rainbow could ever even try to be. Maybe it was a hallucination, maybe even a vision brought on by this mental prison or dehydration, but Percy thought he saw the shape of a blue trident flicker briefly in the myriad of colors staining the horizon.
We're safe, he thought, the relief he felt almost swallowing him up whole and turning his waterfall of tears into a torrent. It's over. It's finally over. He smiled through the tears and suddenly let out a kind of choked gasp, repeating that strange, alienated noise that was somehow also as familiar as Annabeth's lemon scent and climbing rock/lava walls at camp until he finally realized that that noise was called laughter.
Sob-Laugh-Sob-Laugh-Sob-Laugh. And repeat.
Laughter came to Percy Jackson like his memory did: short bits that came in quick starbursts of familiarity and flashbacks. Laughter. He remembers that emotion now, how his mom would laugh at him when he was five when the smell of freshly baked blue chocolate-chip cookies would waft from the kitchen and into his room, and he'd come tearing into the kitchen to eat them. He remembered when he and Annabeth were kissing on his bed, a few weeks before he was taken and when she was supposed to be helping him study for a Calculus test, but somehow they ended up kissing and then suddenly they were on the floor of his bedroom and just couldn't stop laughing laughing laughing.
Annabeth. She's still beside him, her arms curling around his shoulder and her calloused hands resting on the small of back with a type of feverous desperation that he didn't know was possible to feel before. Her body is slumped into a curve against his, her head buried in his chest. He holds her with one arm curled around the bony curve of her waist, pulling her as close to him as humanly possible, and the other cradling her head.
Annabeth. She's still so beautiful, lying bloodied and dirty and about fifteen pounds underweight. If anything, he thinks, she's gotten even more absolutely, incredibly, breathtakingly beautiful than before. If that's even possible. He tilts his head to the side a bit— just a fraction, but enough— to study her. She's got a nasty gash across her forehead, still crusted with dried blood, and another shallower cut on her left cheek that's partially hidden by his t-shirt. Her blonde hair was matted with blood and dirt and grime and probably a lot of other things that he really didn't want to know about, and was too messy and untamed to even be considered held back in a ponytail. He could still see the thin scabs on her arm from when Arachne got her, but she was still Annabeth, his beautifulfunnywittygorgeousi ntelligentamazingstunningsmart Annabeth with those golden princess curls and striking grey eyes that could take on look at you and break apart your soul, and she was still the single most breathtaking thing he'd ever seen.
Percy could feel Hazel and Frank and Leo and Piper and Jason and Nico's arms around him and Annabeth, patting and hugging crying and laughing and clapping hands onto their backs, whispering things like we did it. It's over. It's finished. We did it, Percy. We're safe. She's gone.
And then Nico bent close to his ear with that paradox smile of his, the one that was half-sad and half-happy at the same time, and whispered, "You're safe, Percy. You're out, Annabeth's out. She's safe, you're safe, and Gaea is gone."
Somehow the younger boy knew just what to say, Percy thought with a dry smile, and managed to cough out a dry "thank you."
Percy Jackson did not know how long the eightsome stood there in one mass of sweating, crying, and laughing demigods. It could have been a few seconds, or maybe even a few minutes, or possibly even a few glorious hours. But as Coach Hedge stormed into the pavilion commando-style, swinging his trusty baseball bat like a six-year old ADHD kid who'd overdosed on Snickers bars while shouting, "DEATH TO MONSTERS! KILL THE MONSTERS! DIE, EARTH LADY!" Causing the demigods to break apart and break into raucous bursts of laughter that left them rolling around on the monster smile-coated ground in hysterics.
It's finally over, he thought, a lazy kind of smile blossoming onto his face and stretching his face so far he felt like his skin would burst as he scooted over to Annabeth and kissed her on the lips as tenderly as he could. It's finally over.
La Fin!
Also, I'll probably be doing a Sally-centric recovery fic about how Percy (and Annabeth) got better. So feel free to add me to Author Alert if you want ;)
-Alex aka dontforget2live :) xx