this started out as an a means to poke at incidents in which percy gets really pissed off at camp because tartarus, and then it exploded into too many words for a oneshot.
Monster training is exactly the same. Percy Jackson is not.
He is older now, though, taller and broader than the twelve year old who first learned how to do all this. Riptide has never been more of an extension to his arm. He – and most of the others he's grown up with at Camp – have shifted more into helping train the younger arrivals rather than using it to build his own experience. Because when he stops to think about it, there's very little out in the real world that could match some of the things he's needed to face elsewhere.
He can still see the primordial deity of Tartarus itself raising up to challenge he and Annabeth both, and fearing more strongly in that moment than any other in his life that he was going to die. He still thinks about what - Iwho/I - it took to get them both out alive, and he still wonders if he was really worthy. Annabeth tries to reassure him that he was, and it usually works, at least for a little while.
Scorpions are the monster of choice today, and one of the newer demigods – a son of Aphrodite who looks up to Piper like she's the goddess herself – has volunteered to take the first one. He doesn't do to bad, at least until a second one gets loose and then suddenly there are two of them targeting the kid, and he barely looks a day over twelve. They move fast, too fast, and things are going to end bloody without intervention.
Piper and Percy are the ones to jump in before things get out of hand. She separates one, then calls over the new kid to help her – though it's less helping her and more up closer and personal demonstration.
Leaving Percy to take care of the second one that'd gotten free, which swings itself around a bit wildly, determined to take someone out and looking over at the audience of demigods around the scene. It sets something off in him, something he's not quite aware of, but he lunges and slashes and even kicks it once, injuring it several times without actually ending its life. The scorpion lands on its back, and Percy slams Riptide into the stomach. That's about where it would end, except he doesn't pull his sword out. He runs it jaggedly up the soft underbelly, face contorting briefly into something dangerous.
It turns into dust with Riptide still embedded, and Percy stands over the pile, breathing more harshly than would be expected and still frustrated that it got loose, that it almost killed that kid. Piper's taken care of the other by this point, and when he catches her eyes, her face is unnaturally neutral, which only kind of further pokes at the bubbling anger in his gut. He's about to lash out at her, can feel the words shooting up his throat, even if he doesn't quite know what they are –
But then a hand, on his arm. And Annabeth's face beside him, daring him to look away from her once he catches her steely eyes. His shoulders slump, the anger dissipating slowly but not entirely. She pulls Riptide from his grip and takes him by the hand, gently leading him away; Clarisse stomps in passed them, easily taking over Percy's job without a word from anyone, though the look on her face that warns against questions probably helps.
Like always, Annabeth knows exactly what he needs, and they end up at the beach. She sits on the sand, and he splashes around in the shallows for a while; the waves lap up roughly at his legs, the tide coming up extra harsh and soaking Annabeth where she's settled. The water's choppy, but only around them, in their little spot. Percy dives out a little, disappears underwater for a few minutes, where he just sort of swims around recklessly to expel the pent-up energy from his anger. When his head breaks the surface, the water's gone back to normal, and Annabeth's waiting for him at the edge where sand meets ocean, small waves breaking at her ankles.
He rushes over; the closer he gets, the wider he smiles, and by the time he has his arms around her, she's smiling, too. (He didn't miss the way she handled him, though, and he knows what that means as a reflection on him – but her smile means it's okay now, because if she can smile at him, he'll be fine.)
It's pretty much the dumbest fight in the world, with Clarisse of all people. Percy knows neither of them are at that juvenile level anymore, knows they don't pick dumb fights, especially over food, but somehow the squabble exploded, and they both ended up with food in their faces and soda in their hair. The insults they're hurling at each other start off at borderline kindergarten standards, but soon enough there are a few choice curses thrown in that have some of the elder campers covering ears of younger ones. Percy can feel the hostility rising in his tone as he chucks a burrito at her face with more intent than necessary and yells something catty with it. He's surprised no one's stepped in yet.
The turning point is when he kicks over a chair. He's still not really sure why he did it, but there was something pent up inside him that he needed to get rid of, and the target presented itself. The moment it skids roughly across the floor, Annabeth's there, her body a wall between him and Clarisse, though it's Clarisse she's got her back to; the realization startles him, because it means Annabeth sees him as more of the issue here. His shoulders slump with it, and she grabs his hand, leading him away from the dining pavilion without a fight on his end.
He can feel an uncomfortable number of eyes watching them leave, but his gaze is only on Annabeth and the blonde ponytail swishing over her shoulders as she walks. There's always been something steadying about – her. Just her.
She takes him down to the docks, and when she sits on the edge, dangles her legs in the lake, he mimics her without even thinking about it. They sit that way for a few minutes in silence, and he half expects her to lean against him. Wants her to, really.
"You need a shower," she notes, breaking the quiet and explaining why she's still so far away in the same sentence.
He makes a face, squinting up as he reaches his free hand up into his hair where he pulls out a chunk of hamburger and feels some ketchup slowly sliding down his forehead at the same time. "They'd probably hate me if I just jumped in the lake, huh?"
"Hate is too kind a word. I like you in one piece."
He blows out a puff of air, feeling something like disappointment crawling up to replace his restless irritation. It's only when more campers start exiting the pavilion to head back for their cabins that Annabeth climbs to her feet, hauling him up in almost the same motion.
"Go clean yourself up before curfew sets in." It's not exactly an order, but he's not going to disobey either. He's starting to feel really gross, and he's pretty sure Annabeth won't kiss him goodnight if he's covered in food.
She walks him over to the showers, but kisses him on the cheek before he's clean anyway. "I'll stop by later, leave the window open," she says, but there's nothing in her tone that gets his pulse racing. She's coming to check on him for other reasons entirely, but as he slips into the bathrooms and away from her, he's actually pretty okay right now with her coming over in any capacity. Because he catches sight of Clarisse walking to her cabin, and that spark of irritation comes back. It's only the thought of seeing Annabeth again later that quells it as he dives into the showers.
It's the little things. Throwing his pillow across the room when he wakes up earlier than he wanted. Accidentally breaking the alarm clock one morning after a rough night's sleep. Slamming the door to the Big House hard enough to nearly disattach it from the hinges (he plays an extra game of risk when he walks away without listening to whatever reprimand Mr. D has to offer). A dummy torn apart by Riptide, and he stands over it in both confusion and that same irritation that just always seems to be there lately.
What does that make him, really? Has he always been this angry? Percy knows he's always had a temper, but he's never really been so confronted with visible reminders of it. He's never torn a training dummy apart with such vitriol before – but each hit, each strike, he just kept seeing monsters. Literal ones, of course, the kind that bubbled up to be born again in Tartarus, but metaphorical ones, too. Splotches that weigh on his chest, and beating the shit out of the doll in front of him seemed to extinguish them almost like Annabeth usually does.
He gets along with people, but he's as socially awkward as most demigods. Just not usually with other demigods – he's always found it easier to talk to them than most mortals, because they're all kind of in the same boat. But as he picks up the pieces of the dummy (he doesn't want to leave it there, he's pretty sure the nymphs would consider it littering), he realizes he hasn't had much in the way of conversation with his fellow campers. Not since the war ended.
It's Tartarus, probably. They don't know how to bring it up or walk around it, and he knows the scars on the sides of his chest from the first arai curse are probably uglier than most. If it's summer and he's shirtless, it's not like he can hide them – and they all have scars, but unspokenly, everyone knows where those on Percy came from, even if the details are (and will always be) a mystery.
But it's Tartarus. It has to be Tartarus, keeping people away.
Annabeth can hear the whispers, whether she's invisible or not. Even before they fell into Tartarus, hers and Percy's names were infamous in camp, for their prior quests, for the Battle of Manhattan, in just essentially being the Camp's leaders. Surviving the pits of hell only sort of adds to that, because it's not exactly the sort of thing anyone does, ever. No one asks them though, and she has several theories as to why. It's entirely possible they just give off an aura now, something of keep away. Maybe Chiron looms his own warning in the distance. Maybe demigods are just more respectful than she's given them credit for in the past (which, to be fair, they're all terrible gossips, so it's not an unfair assumption).
It's the whispers she hears about Percy that stand out more. Maybe because she's used to hearing them about herself, when her loyalty to Camp against Luke was in quietly in question, when she was seven years old and survived where Thalia presumably had not. But what gets her the most is the whispers are wondering.
There's something different about Percy, you know?
Several variations on the same concept, and it wouldn't bother her so much if she wasn't aware of their exact reasons. And maybe one of her theories is that people don't want to potentially set Percy off by asking. His temper's on a short fuse lately – no, not lately, for months now, since escaping Tartarus especially. She was probably the first to notice.
And she's been trying to figure out what it means, exactly. She knows Tartarus essentially stripped them down, and she can still remember the scary desperation in Percy's need for them to survive (for her to survive). It started with Arachne's death and seems to crystallize in the moment he tried to drown Akhlys in her own poison. She can't stop seeing it, and it shows up at night when there's not much else around to distract her. It's not enough to wake her up screaming, but it is enough to linger and set her on edge.
Especially when she watches the way Percy's been interacting with the world around him. He left most of that rawness back in hell, but Annabeth knows some of it's followed him out (probably more than she wants to admit). And while she tries to figure out what that means, for him, for her, all she can do is just be there to calm him down.
She just worries one day it might not be enough.
Annabeth is pretty sure the worst conversation she has with Percy in months is via Iris-Message, when he goes home for the weekend to visit Sally and Paul.
She answers his call immediately (fortunately, she's doing some work alone in her cabin), but she almost doesn't hear the words of his greeting because she's too busy staring at his red-rimmed eyes and the utterly desolate shadows in his face. "Percy?" Straight to the point, hello-how-are-yous are pointless.
"I had a fight with my mom." His voice is hoarse, whether from yelling or crying or both, Annabeth isn't sure. It's quiet, too, like he can't quite believe he's admitting to it, that it even happened. Honestly, Annabeth's not even positive she heard him right, because while she knows he bickers with Sally on occasion, never in her life has she ever seen Percy in such a state. Like he's terrified he's broken something permanently.
"Percy," she whispers, and she's literally about five seconds from stealing a Pegasus and flying into Manhattan.
He opens his mouth to reply, but just sort of makes a choking sound. He sniffles, rubs at his eyes, and then just collapses into his hands, clutching and hiding his face; he's not crying, but his whole body sinks with disappointment and frustration at himself.
"Your mom could never hate you, okay? I swear to –"
"Don't swear on them," he interrupts, with a small flash of spite. And she feels it, because neither of them has ever really stopped blaming the gods for Tartarus.
"I swear to you," she amends, resolute and trying desperately to catch his eyes, but he's still buried in his hands.
"It was so dumb," he mutters. "One minute we were disagreeing, the next I –" He stops, so curt and so suddenly that she just knows there's no amount of time to prepare for whatever might follow. "I blamed her for Gabe. What the hell is wrong with me, Annabeth?"
She doesn't have an answer. Except maybe hell itself. But even that's too complicated for being anything close to comfort right now. The worst part is, Annabeth can feel a little of Sally's pain, and there's a small part of her that thinks about hanging up. She can't though. Not in a million years could she do something like that.
"Apologize to her," she says.
Percy finally looks up at his girlfriend, and for a moment, there's a flash of irritation at her, like it's the dumbest, most obvious suggestion, of course he did that already. It disappears though, and then he just looks dejected again. "She – she's in her room," he says, unsure of himself. "I don't think she wants to see me."
"Percy Jackson, you go apologize to your mother right now."
The irritation sparks again, but she can tell no matter how annoyed he is, he just doesn't have it in him to have the two most important people in his life disappointed and angry with him at the same time. "What if she doesn't…" He can't even finish. He can't handle the idea that his mother won't want to see him.
"If I know anything about your mom, it's that she will always have time for you." Next to Annabeth herself, Sally probably knows best her son has come back more bitter than he's ever been, and they both know that despite whatever he thinks of himself, he's not a terrible person. "I love you," she says, "And she does, too. Now stop beating yourself up and go own up to it."
Percy just sort of stares at her after that, for at least a full minute, but she holds his gaze determinedly, and even though he looks like a truck just ran him over, she can tell he's grappling with everything she's said. Maybe he'd called expecting something less like a lecture, but she knows she's right, and she's just waiting for it to sink in. He's not going to fix this by just sobbing at her.
"We'll talk more about it when you get back, okay? Right now it's more important you don't let this simmer."
There's another few moments before he finally speaks up again. "I don't really blame her. You know that, right?"
Annabeth sighs. "I do."
The anger dies, finally, and he just looks defeated. "I love you." There's a promise in the words, that he loves her no matter what happens. If he ever hurts her like he's just hurt his mother.
"I love you, too."
He waves through the message after that and doesn't call back.
She doesn't sleep very well that night.
The thing about Annabeth and Tartarus is that it doesn't manifest in the same outward way as Percy. She throws herself into distractions almost one hundred percent, throws herself into making sure Percy's temper doesn't fly off the handle.
She sees it, though, more often than she admits and lets on. She's gotten too used to the circles under her eyes that she forgets they're there until Piper asks about them. "It's fine," is her only consolation, though the look on her friend's face is entirely disbelieving.
"Look, I know –" And Piper pauses, because she weaves words like magic, enough to make even Athena proud, but she doesn't really know how to address what she wants to. Which is fine, because Annabeth knows what she's trying to get at. Percy. Percy and his temper and Piper isn't blind to the way Annabeth is his anchor.
"We'll be okay," she says. It's their mantra, since they got out, because the worst is over, and they're alive. They can handle what comes next. She can handle it.
Piper squeezes her hand. "I know. But take care of yourself, too, okay?"
Annabeth's face twists with confusion, because of course she is.
It's only when she wakes up later that night, with a sharp cry that echoes around her cabin, that she wonders about Piper's concern with more than just brush-offs. Before any of her bleary-eyed siblings can ask if she's all right, Annabeth's out the door and crossing the grass for the Poseidon cabin, unconsciously grabbing her knife along the way; Percy's awake the moment she opens the door, Riptide in hand, but it clatters to the floor as he rushes forward to sweep her in his arms.
She breathes him in. This is part of taking care of herself, just letting him hold her and sinking against him. Percy Jackson will always be there for her. He's the steady support network she'd wanted for years.
But there's a flipside. He followed her into hell, and if that doesn't qualify as being there for her, she doesn't know what does – but she can still remember trying to shove off the guilt in knowing that if he died, it was her fault. The fall was her fault to begin with, and she hasn't been able to let go of that.
She's starting to wonder what that might mean for them now, as she watches him lash out unnecessarily. What else could potentially be her fault.
It gets shoved aside when he drags her over to his bed and more or less tucks her in before climbing in beside her. Rules be damned. Right now, she just wants to get back to sleep.
Capture the flag is never synonymous with safe, but it does fall under fun alongside training, or nobody would get excited. Today's captains are Clarisse and Annabeth, and Percy's aligned with the latter, if only because more of the cabins have sided with Ares (to be fair, Athena's cabin is current holder of the flag, and the majority want to steal it for themselves).
He grins at her goofily when she adjusts his armor, even though he knows how to do it himself. But he feels light today, and maybe it's just how pumped everyone is for the game. He kisses Annabeth on the cheek, and she rolls her eyes, but it doesn't stop him from hovering behind her as she explains the plan to the whole team.
It goes well. It goes pretty much exactly as Annabeth planned for, down to some of the new campers getting their first taste of the game without being in the most dangerous line of fire. He's doing as she ordered, even if he'd rather be at her side, but she'd wanted to be invisible for most of this.
It's only when he finds himself in the vicinity of the aforementioned preteen team members that things stop going quite so well. Because they're combating some people from the other team, and though the skirmish in itself is par for the course – there's something about the way that daughter of Hecate is moving that sets Percy on edge.
Her name is Dipti, he remembers. Then she casts her spell, and – he thinks that's a son of Hermes as her target, but none of that seems to matter as the kid's eyes go wide and his mouth opens in shock.
"What – what did you do? What happened? I can't see!"
And then suddenly he doesn't see the forest at all. Percy just sees Annabeth, eyes white and reaching out for him, crying the same words. She's too far away, and she's blind, and it's Tartarus and the next thing he knows, he's letting out some kind of guttural sound, torn between visions of Annabeth in hell and the extremely alarmed demigods right in front of him.
"Percy?" someone asks, confused but concerned. He can't tell who it was.
The son of Hermes is on his knees, clutching at the sides of his face in a panic. His weapon is discarded, and one of his allies kneels beside him in her own freak out.
"Relax," Dipti says, though there's a trace of nervousness in her tone, at the way the events are unfolding. "It's just a spell. It's temporary."
Percy whirls on her. "You blinded him?" It's incredulous. It's furious. It makes Dipti take a step back and hold her weapon up defensively in the same movement.
"I just said it's only temporary!"
It doesn't matter. Because the idea of anyone purposely blinding someone else – in the middle of a game nonetheless – sends a hot spike of rage through his chest. He can't stop seeing Annabeth, and he can't stop hearing her, and it just won't go away. He remembers what curse upon her follows, how he still blames himself. Part of him is afraid the skies are going to change color and the creak nearby will turn into fire. Riptide feels unusually heavy in his grasp.
He's done so much.
Dipti looks terrified. It's the one clear thought Percy gets from looking at her. It might have been enough once to calm him down, but right now he just feels like he's about to explode.
"Don't ever do that again," he growls. There's no urge to – to attack her or anything, but he doesn't know what to do with himself either. The creak's roaring behind him, and he kind of just wants to pull the water out and douse the area around him. He can feel it rippling, reflecting on his state.
The Hermes kid makes a choking sort of noise, blinking rapidly. He's still blind.
Now you will not see your enemies!
The bushes rustle behind him, and Percy spins around, Riptide out; the forest is gone again, and he's expecting an arai, but what he finds instead is Annabeth. And his heart sinks.
"What's going on?" she demands, taking the scene in around her. Despite looking everywhere, her focus is still clearly on him.
"Annabeth," Percy says, her name like a lifeline on his tongue. He's looking at her desperately, as if hoping she'll be able to look back.
"I can't see!" the kid cries out again, but it pierces into Annabeth, too. And then she doesn't need any further explanation.
She rushes forward, dropping her knife to the ground, and immediately grabs his face. His hands go to her waist, but he grunts out in frustration when he only meets armor, because it's one too many barriers. Not close enough.
"We're at Camp, Percy," she says, quietly but with reassurance, keenly aware of the audience even if Percy's officially tuned out everyone else. "I can see you."
He presses his forehead to hers and just sort of wants to collapse against her. In fact, he pretty much does – he can feel himself sinking, but he wraps his arms around her and tugs her down with, until he hits the ground on his knees and she's got him cradled under her chin.
Despite being at the center of it, Dipti tugs the blind boy to his feet and silently beckons for the others to follow; Percy's only dimly aware of them leaving. His attention narrows down entirely to Annabeth and her arms encircling him, and that awful rage inside him slowly starts to abate. "She blinded him," he mutters, with a hint of it still.
She presses a kiss to the top of his head, and he's suddenly aware of her body shaking. He looks up at her immediately, completely consumed by the possibility that she's hurt or bothered or – or something. His own issues don't seem as pressing. "Annabeth?"
She leans in and kisses him properly, a little harder than he'd been anticipating, but it grounds him even more (even if he registers it as avoiding his question, too). And then they're just sort of a tangle in the middle of the forest, but he's too afraid to move and break the calm they've achieved. We'll be okay, we'll be okay.
Because she's with him right now and she's fine, but he can still see her blinded.
"In the forest, yeah! Dipti used that blinding spell, and Percy just lost it."
"I don't think I've ever seen him explode like that."
"You didn't even see anything!"
"No, but I heard it."
This is what Annabeth hears. The story spreads like wildfire, and even Chrion comes to ask her if everything's all right. She assures him it is, and he lets it be, though she knows he doesn't really believe her. But – what if.
What if she hadn't been there?
What if it wasn't all right?
What if, what if, what if, what if?
What if she hadn't taunted Arachne and caused the fall in the first place?
It's the middle of the night, and Poseidon's cabin is comfortably lit with a dim blue glow. Percy can feel and hear Annabeth breathing softly against him, her arm stretched over his chest. She's awake, though, the same as he is.
He fidgets for a moment, before breaking the quiet. "Do you blame me?"
"What?" She sounds confused.
He can't look at her, and his question hangs in the air.
Not for too long, though, before she answers, and she tilts her head to look up at him sternly. "Don't be stupid. No."
His arm tightens a little around her. He believes her, and sometimes it's enough.
But sometimes it's not, and that's the part that worries him. He doesn't want to be that person, a ticking time bomb with only Annabeth as the disabler. It's not fair to her, and it's not really fair to anyone else.
He's still angry, though. He just keeps holding on to the fact that she doesn't blame him for it.
The truth of the matter is that she's starting to blame herself.
originally on ao3; will post the next chapters asap