Annabeth Chase is twenty four when the world stops.

"Fix this!" she screams to the heavens, hands clutching at her boyfriend's limp shoulders, palms slipping on the blood that's pouring from the open wound on the left side of his chest. If she looked, she'd probably be able to see his heart in there.

But she doesn't look down - doesn't look at his broken body, or his vacant stare, or his pale lips. She just cradles his head in her lap and looks straight up, and she screams and screams until her throat is raw.

"Fix this! Fix this, you cowards, you useless, pathetic cowards, help him! You owe him, you owe us, you have to fix him, you have to save him!" She can taste the salt from her tears, can hear how ragged and desperate and crazed she sounds, but she doesn't care. "Please, save him, I'll do anything, please, please, just save him -"

She feels like ripping her own heart from her chest and offering it to the gods instead. Even if they didn't take it, at least they'd match. At least she wouldn't be the one left to mourn.

Someone puts a hand on her shoulder, says something that she can't hear over her own screaming, and starts to pull her back. She violently wrenches out of their grasp, curls herself over Percy and holds him tight, her entire body shaking with the force of her grief.

"No! I'm not leaving him, I'm not going anywhere, you can't make me!"

She can't leave him here, lying unprotected on the side of the road, surrounded by the dust of their enemies. He needs her, they need to stay together.

Strong arms curl around her waist and lift her off the ground, but she refuses to let Percy go. She clutches at his bloodied shirt, fingers grasping the edge of the tear above his heart and wrenching the flimsy material up with her as she's hoisted into the air.

"No, put me down, let me go, let me go!" She kicks and writhes and fights, hurls insults and curses into the air, pleads and prays and begs, "Don't take him away from me, please, please, don't take him away from me."

"It's not safe," the person says - Jason, maybe, she can't tell, she doesn't care - and they don't let her go. They don't understand.

Someone in the distance is crying, loud, gut wrenching sobs. Someone else is saying, no, no, no, over and over and over, and at that moment Annabeth hates them all.

"No, let me go!" The shirt slips from her fingers and she starts punching the arms of her captor. She knows the hits are landing but she can't feel them at all. She can't feel anything except for raw panic. "We can't leave him here, I'm not leaving him, we're staying together!"

The sky cracks open. There's a flash of light, bright enough to obscure Percy from Annabeth's view, and for a moment she worries that they've taken him. But then the light fades, and Hestia is standing before them.

"You have to decide quickly," she says.

Annabeth stops punching. "Decide what?"

"If we save him -"

The person holding her lets her go. Annabeth falls to the ground, crumples to her knees. Her voice is so much quieter now. "You can save him?"

Hestia glances up as lightning sparks across the sky. "Yes, but -"

"Do it."

"Annabeth -"

"I don't care what the consequences are, I'll do anything. Just save him." She swallows, glances at the storm clouds gathering in the distance. "Please."

There's a clap of thunder. It starts to rain. Hestia looks concerned.

Annabeth's patience evaporates. "Do it!"

Hestia turns around and steps over to Percy. He's lying on his back, staring straight up at the sky, Riptide lying beside his limp right hand. Both are covered in blood. The goddess bows over him, murmurs something, wipes her hand over his heart and places something on his tongue. She glances back at Annabeth, and she's obviously not happy about what she's doing, but Annabeth doesn't care. If it can bring Percy back it has to be done. There's no other way.

Hestia turns back to Percy and gently closes his mouth and his eyes. She speaks some more, and then she slowly stands.

It's raining harder now, enough to soak through Annabeth's shirt in seconds. That's a good thing, though. Percy can heal better in the rain. Annabeth can't tear her eyes off him, waiting for a sign that this has worked, until Hestia blocks her view.

"Annabeth," she says softly, crouching down in front of her. "He's not going to be the same."

"But he's going to be okay?" she asks, craning her neck to look around the goddess's shoulder.

Hestia sighs. "He'll be okay."

Annabeth sobs. "Thank you."

Hestia stands. "Don't thank me yet." And then she's gone.

Percy's fingers twitch.

Annabeth's body suddenly regains feeling. She crawls forward, scrabbling over the rocks and dirt on her hands and knees until she's at his side, until she can grab his hand. She stretches her fingers across his palm, searches for the pulse point in his wrist, and when she feels it beat she cries out.

"Percy," she says, glancing from his still-closed eyes to his tattered shirt to the blood dripping out the side of their palms, pressed so tightly together she can feel her cuts and scrapes stinging from the contact. "Percy, you've gotta wake up. Come on, Seaweed Brain, open your eyes. We've gotta get to your mom's, she's got - you know she's got this big dinner planned for your birthday. Grover's going to meet us there, and Frank and Hazel, and your sister's waiting to see you. You've gotta wake up, Percy, come on."

His chest shudders as he inhales.

Annabeth sobs again. Someone behind her screams, unintelligible.

"Wake up, Percy."

His fingers twitch beneath hers. She holds her breath.

And then he grips her hand, holding it as if it's a life line, like she's the only thing tethering him to the rest of the world.

And he opens his eyes.

"Percy…" She can't move. He blinks up at her, obviously confused, and then slowly lets go of her hand.

"What -" He goes to prop himself up on his elbows, winces and falls back down. "What happened?"

Annabeth leans over him, hands hovering above his shoulders. "You're okay, you're okay," she repeats, because that's the only thing that matters.

He turns his head to the sides, taking in the scene, and she sees the realisation dawn on his face. A tear slips from the corner of his eye and falls to the dirt. "Annabeth, what did you do?"

She shakes her head. "I had to, Percy, I had to -"

He brings a hand up to cup her cheek, comforting and familiar, and she leans into the touch, relishes the feel of his calloused fingers on her temple, his warm palm against her jaw, the support of having him there.

She smiles, and Percy starts to smile back.

But then he shifts his hand, and his eyes go wide. His hand falls away and his jaw drops in horror.

"What? What is it?" Annabeth raises a hand to wipe the blood from her cheek, figuring there's more of it than he'd been expecting.

Except it isn't blood that stains her skin. The liquid is viscous and golden, unable to be washed away in the rain, and the two of them stare at it as dread pools in Annabeth's stomach.

"Ichor," she says quietly.

Percy grabs her hand, covers the golden stain with his palm, and forces her gaze back to his. His voice is hoarse but firm as he says, "The important thing is that we're together."

Annabeth nods. She made the right choice. She will not regret this decision.

Percy Jackson is twenty four when his mortal life ends.