Neverland
achieving elysium
written for the PJO/HoO Mini-Bang on tumblr

Dear Cho: This one's for you. I didn't know it at first, but I hope you understand that Neverland... this story's yours just as much as it's mine.

chapter one

Click. "Hey, Percy. Haven't heard from you in a few days and wanted to check in... hope you're okay. Don't worry about it. We'll make it through like we always do. Together. IM me or something, okay?"

Click. "Hey, Seaweed Brain, I haven't heard from you. Hope your head's not too full of kelp. I told you once that I'd stand with you - that hasn't changed. Anyway, I gotta go - just talk to someone, okay? Even... even if it's not me. Bye!"

Click. "I know you're not awake right now, it's three your time, but... I just... I couldn't... whatever, forget it. It's not- it's stupid. I'm stupid. I don't know. You probably don't want to hear this, sorry. Bye."

Click. "Percy-"

Click. "I'm worried about-"

Click. Click. Click.

Percy tossed his phone onto the desk, watching it skid across dark wood before groaning and falling back onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling, a frustration and anger building up inside of him like a storm. He rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow, releasing a yell of anger. A quiet rattling filled the room.

Breathe. He just had to breathe. A fist clenched blue bedsheets, ragged nails digging into flesh. Just take a deep breath.

The glass of water he'd left on his desk shattered in a mess of powdered glass and cold water, spilling and dripping slowly down to the floor. Percy sat up, trembling as he stared at the mess he'd made. It seemed like he couldn't do anything right these days.

"I should clean that up," he mumbled to himself, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to care. Mom would, though - at the thought, his stomach squeezed uncomfortably. The walls suddenly seemed to close in around him. It wasn't a small room by any means, but there was no freedom here. A few weeks ago, Percy had begun to confine himself in a prison of his own making; now, he searched frantically for a way out of it.

The only way to go was to the fire escape, long and thin and rickety, and that was the path Percy decided to take. He leaned forward, the iron railing digging into his skin through the fabric of his jacket. Around him, New York carried on as always - loud and bustling and beautiful. Here, in the city, he was nothing - a single part of a living, breathing behemoth.

He took in deep breaths, trying to calm himself. The fresh air helped, crisp as it was, though far from clean. The familiar sights and sounds did, too, grounding him.

A half-blood of the eldest gods...

He studied the buildings, windows glimmering with reflections of deep blues and purples as day gave way to night. Cars honked. People walked and talked. Together, they formed utter chaos, but home was home.

...shall reach sixteen against all odds.

Percy's fists tightened around the railing, cool metal biting into his palm. Sixteen. He had about three months - three months that would fly by with a snap of his fingers or a blink of an eye, as much as he tried to deny it. As much as anyone tried to deny it, really.

"Percy?" He almost missed his name being called, the streets too loud for him to hear anything. He turned, eyes flicking to the door where Mom was standing, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. He clambered back into the room, shutting the entrance - or the exit - to the fire escape shut.

"I'll clean up the mess, Mom-" he started, turning towards his bathroom to get a spare towel. He didn't want to meet her eyes. Didn't want to face her.

"Percy," she cut in, and he paused, sticking his hands in his pockets and scuffing at the floor with his feet. She came closer, reaching out for him but stopping herself, her hands fluttering at her side like small birds. "Percy, I'm worried about you."

Something drained out of him, his frustration at the world dying. He couldn't be mad at Mom - not ever, and she'd been nothing but good to him anyway. He was the wrong one. He turned slowly to face her. "I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

She wrung her hands, looking torn, as if she wasn't sure if she wanted to throw her arms around him or scold him. Instead, she twisted her fingers together and said: "Grover's here looking for you."

A flicker of surprise, though it soon dulled. More than once - quite often, in fact - people would swing by the Jackson-and-kind-of-Blofis apartment. It was like a meeting place, a rendezvous point, and they'd tote in ideas and battle plans and news. The living room had been completely taken over, weapons lining the shelves as opposed to the usual school books, huge Grecian tomes acting as paperweights for the maps on the coffee table, and even more maps were tacked to the wall, bright pushpins marking spots.

His room didn't look much better. He'd asked for help from the Hephaestus and the scattered Hecate kids (as Hecate was firmly on the other side), and now a Celestial Bronze framed mirror hung on his wall. Paul had given him a funny look when he'd hefted it through the front door; to him, it was nothing but a normal - albeit large and rather intricate-looking - mirror. But Percy wasn't a regular mortal, and so in the mirror, he watched Camp Half-Blood prepare for battle or monsters as they attacked. It was also a two-way mirror, with the second one in the council room in the Big House.

Percy spent a lot of time preparing. He hated it - no, he didn't hate working to protect the people he loved, the family he'd found after so many years. But he hated the way Mom would look at him, something terribly sad in her eyes when she caught him at his desk, pouring over more reports with an open textbook nearby, trying desperately to balance his two lives. He hated the way Paul would glance curiously, his eyes brightening in curiosity but darkening when neither Percy nor Mom would answer his questions.

He hated inching closer and closer to war. To battle. To destruction.

To death.

And see the world in endless sleep.

Grover was waiting for him near the big window that stretched from the beginning of the living room (first room in the apartment) and into the dining room. He was staring out at the New York skyline, much like Percy had only moments ago. He was pacing almost nervously, a (paper and therefore edible) cup of water in his hand. He didn't turn, but Percy knew he heard Percy's footsteps, quiet against the floor.

"Hey," he said, coming to stand by his best friend. Grover had grown in the months that he'd gone, doing duties as the Lord of the Wild. He was taller, a little bit more reserved - in a good way, his stance more confident. His hair had grown out, and his horns had grown with it. Now they spiraled up and out of his hair. Percy spotted his Rasta cap sticking out of his jean pocket, partly hidden by the green jacket that sagged over Grover's lanky frame.

"Hey, Percy," Grover bleated. He hadn't taken a bite out of his cup yet, so Percy took that as a good sign.

"I'm surprised you're here," he finally admitted, smiling. "Thought you would be off doing great and awesome things as the new Lord of the Wild." Grover rolled his eyes, but he, too, smiled.

"Yeah," he agreed. "but I figured you might want a friend around." He tapped a finger against his head, and Percy realized with a horrible flash of guilt as he realized that every emotion he'd had over the past two weeks had also been felt by Grover.

"Don't be sorry," Grover said, but he couldn't help the feeling.

"I know," Percy replied, lips pressing together. "You shouldn't have come," he said sharply, though his words weren't unkind.

"Did you think I wouldn't?" Grover asked. He rounded on Percy, dark eyes serious. "Percy, you're my best friend. I don't care what's going on, if you need me, I'll be here. No matter what."

"The world is about to end," Percy hissed, glancing at Mom and Paul, who were working in the kitchen and were trying very hard not to eavesdrop. "Don't worry about me." Grover gripped his shoulders so hard it hurt, eyes searching his.

"You don't get it, do you?" he asked, letting out a warm breath. "If the world is ending, then I sure as hell better be at your side as it does." Percy felt his shoulders slump. He looked away, back out towards New York. His city, his home, one that would eventually become a war zone.

"Get me out of here," he pleaded, looking at his best friend. "I don't care where. I don't know what I'm doing and this is the most stupid thing I've ever done, but I need to get out. Somewhere. I think.. I think I'll ask if I can take Paul's Prius." Here, he glanced over at his soon-to-be stepdad, wondering what he would say.

"You want me to go with you," Grover guessed correctly, and Percy sighed again.

"You don't have to go," he told him. "but if you would..."

"Of course I would, Perce. I didn't come all this way and just lecture you about our friendship for nothing, you know." The two exchanged weak grins, and despite himself, Percy felt a cool, welcome relief settle into his bones.

"I better start packing, then," he said faintly, the implications of what he was about to do settling in. It was no doubt one of the craziest things he'd ever done. A road trip with no destination right before the start of a war? Probably not the best idea he'd ever had, but still... there were so many things he'd never done or seen, so many things he still wanted to do - and this was his chance.

He'd be a fool not to take it.

"Boys?" Mom called, and the two of them turned. "If you're done, dinner is almost ready." It did smell good - spaghetti, it seemed. Percy hadn't even realized how hungry he was until he caught sight of the thin noodles drenched in red sauce, how much he'd longed for comfort. Grover trailed behind him, looking awkward.

"Uh, Mrs. Jackson," he began, and Percy stomped on his foot. He let out a squeak - rules were, if you called Mom Mrs. Jackson, you were already getting off to a bad start. "Er, Sally," Grover corrected, flushing red. He slapped his Rasta cap against his thigh almost nervously.

"Mhmm?" Mom hummed as she and Paul set down four plates on the table.

"I should be going soon, I'm not-" Percy stepped on Grover's foot again and shot him a glare that said: don't even try to refuse. Grover sighed. "But-"

Percy threw an arm around his friend's shoulder and led him to the table. "It's better if you just eat with us, Grover," he told him, grinning. "Mom's never gonna let you leave, man, I thought you'd know that by now."

Mom clicked her tongue as Percy dragged his chair back, making a loud scraping noise against the floor. "If you're done trying to leave, Grover, would you rather I get you a paper plate so you can eat that as well?"

Paul almost dropped the plate he was holding, but no one else batted an eye. He stared incredulously at them - he was still getting used to the whole demigod thing. Percy stifled a laugh, and Grover only quietly sighed and pulled up a chair.

"Yeah, thanks," he muttered, and the two of them really did laugh when Mom had to gently remove the plate from Paul's hands and get a paper one.

Forks scraped across plates. Sauce was poured, red-dotted lips wiped, and light chatter said. Percy stayed silent for the most part, performing his long-perfected art of nodding and "yes/no"-ing in all the right places. Grover kept sending him looks throughout dinner. Percy knew he was picking up on the uneasy, out-of-control feelings that were rolling around in him.

"So, um," Percy started, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Grover's eyes dart towards them then towards the two adults, who have paused to listen. "I- er, I kind of need to borrow your Prius for a few weeks if you'll let me, Paul?" It came out even worse than what he'd been rehearsing in his head.

Mom had that look on her face - the look she got when she knew something was up. He swallowed. "It's not... it's not a quest," he added hastily. "Not like that, I just..."

This was going terribly, terribly wrong. He let out a deep breath and set down his fork, realizing he'd been clenching his fist around it much too tightly.

"Where are you going?" It was Paul who spoke up, and Grover scratched his neck and exchanged a heavy, loaded look with Percy.

"Anywhere," the satyr answered, his tone light. He betrayed his feelings by starting to chew on his plate rather loudly though, a sign that always meant he was nervous.

"Anywhere?" Mom echoed softly, her face tightening. "Percy, Grover, I trust you two, but are you sure this is the right time for this?" She wrung her hands together and pursed her lips.

The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap.

"Please," he begged, his fingers tapping against the edge of his chair. His leg bounced; he couldn't seem to get it to stop. He ran a hand through his hair. "I need to get out of here, Mom," he pleaded.

Mom's brow crinkled, but her brown eyes, so clear, were filled with understanding. She reached out across the table and tugged at his arms until he let her take his hands, squeezing.

"Percy," Paul said, wavering. Percy didn't blame his (almost) stepdad at all. It was his car after all, and entrusting it to a trouble-attracting fifteen year-old demigod with a permit was probably not the best idea.

"Please," he tried again. "I know I haven't..." His throat closed up, and he suddenly found it hard to choke out the words. He swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, a flash of self-hate running through him. "I- I haven't been the best son lately, but-"

"It's not safe out there, Percy!" Paul argued, his voice rising. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking frustrated.

It's not safe anywhere, Percy wanted to say, but he stopped himself when Grover shot him a warning look. Instead, he said: "I can't stay here right now. I have to get out, go somewhere... anywhere but here." He stood up, ready to leave, and Grover mirrored the action.

Mom finally broke her silence, and she rose, flying across the short distance between them and throwing her arms around him. He hadn't realized he was taller than her until now, her arms snaking around his waist. He pressed his chin to her shoulder and breather in, the smell of baked goods and something that just screamed home. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. The warmth of her arms. The solidity in it, the strength. Familiarity. The feeling that he belonged here, with her - home.

"Let me go," he said quietly, unsure of who he was talking to. His eyes flicked up to meet Grover's, then to Paul's, the sea green of his father meeting the dark brown of his stepfather.

"Oh, Percy," Mom whispered. "I just want you to be happy." Her voice broke a little, and his heart cracked with it.

"I'm sorry," he tried, repeating the words. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

A muscle was jumping in Paul's jaw; he didn't seem to understand what Percy was talking about. But Mom finally stepped back, her eyes a little red-rimmed yet a small smile playing on her lips. She understood.

Paul sighed, suddenly looking a million years older. "I don't want you making the wrong decision, Percy," he finally said, voice heavy. "And I don't want you to run away either, not from... whatever's making you lock yourself up. Whatever's… scaring you."

Percy shuddered violently at the thought. Fifteen. He was fifteen. It only felt like yesterday when he'd been twelve years old, a troubled kid at Yancy's with an awkward best friend and the best Latin teacher he'd ever had. Now he was fifteen, the demigod son of Poseidon with the best friend he could ask for, a centaur for a mentor, alongside other weird things. A blink of an eye and he'd ended up here.

"I'm not- I'm not running away." Percy found his voice was hoarse, throat tight. Grover's eyes flashed in his direction, and the gaze was enough for Percy to know that his best friend wasn't about to let this go. He swallowed. "I'm going either way."

Grover caught Percy's eyes for what felt like the millionth time, and he jerked his head towards the door. Percy shook his head in a no. The two had long perfected wordless communication ever since they'd become friends in Mrs. Dodd's class and she'd separated them for being too loud.

His best friend shifted and flicked his fingers towards the door, and Percy held his hand up as if to say stop. He didn't want Grover to leave, not yet. The other teen relented, his shoulders slumping a little, but he stayed quiet, most likely not wanting to intrude on the "family moment," though it didn't seem much like one.

Paul and Mom looked at each other, and his stepdad relented. "To the car, then?" he suggested.

"Oh," Mom started, looking worried. "but what about-"

Paul put an arm around Mom's shoulder as he and Grover groaned in unison, the latter a bit quieter. "We'll figure it out along the way, Mrs. Jackson," Grover said.

Who planned road trips, anyway? They'd just pack some stuff and go for it, though if Annabeth were here, she'd immediately start budgeting and calculating and mapping - no, stuff like that made Percy's head spin. He didn't like order much, or rules, especially when it came to following them.

Mom sighed and began bustling around the apartment, searching for things. She'd probably end up stuffing half the car with things they wouldn't need if they weren't careful. The three men were left standing awkwardly, Paul running a hand through his hair again. He looked at Percy and Grover.

"You're sure about this?"

Percy didn't trust himself to speak, so Grover gave a sharp nod. "We're sure." He sounded sure - much more than Percy was, anyway. Paul nodded slowly, and as he left to join Mom, Percy wondered if Paul understood - if he really understood this life that they had. Constantly looking over shoulders, hands searching for weapons, children training for war.

A single choice shall end his days. He knew the answer. It'd be a no - but maybe Paul understood something, some part of him knowing how deep the situation was. How desperate Percy was.

He turned away, feeling like his insides were churning like the waves on a bad day. Grover fell into step behind him as they reached Percy's room, powdered glass sparkling on the ground. Percy waved a hand, a familiar tug in his gut as the water disappeared.

Olympus to preserve or raze. The last two lines of the prophecy repeated themselves over and over again in his head, even as he crossed the room to pull out his drawers and toss what he wanted to bring onto the bed. Grover dragged a few duffel bags from where they'd been sitting in the corner, each one already packed with basic provisions and a few sets of clothes. A precaution.

"It'll be alright," his best friend said, beginning to help Percy get his stuff together. It wouldn't take long, and he wasn't planning on bringing too much either. He found some of Grover's clothes in the bottom drawer and tossed them in the direction of his friend, losing himself in the work. "We'll be okay, the three of us. We always are."

The three of us, Grover had said - not two. As if Annabeth, too, was here; he could almost imagine it. She'd sit on the bed and talk excitedly about the monuments they had to visit, and the routes they could take to get there the fastest. They were never really apart, the three of them, not really. The friendship they had held them together, their bond tight like string stretched across miles and miles. He let that sink in for a while. Friendship, one of the good things in the world.

The one thing he'd never regret. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. No, now was the time to live, to feel alive - though Percy had the feeling he'd be back to moping within the hour. For now, though...

He glanced over and grinned at his best friend, who stopped in his work to look at Percy. "Yeah," he agreed. "We'll be okay."