Jason

Jason prided himself on being a good friend.

In fact, he used to consider it one of his better qualities. Jason was the kind of guy you could talk to whenever or wherever (in Reyna's case, on Mount Othrys during the siege). The type who always had everyone's back (even if Nico did tell him to go away most of the time.) The friend who didn't mind sticking out his neck for everyone else.

Yeah, Jason kind of messed up his "best-est friend in the whole wide world" image when he abandoned his Roman side for the Greeks, but you know, compared to all the other bad stuff he could've been doing, this wasn't, like, that bad. (At least, that's what e tried to tell himself.)

Point is, Jason was one hell of a friend.

So, when Percy walked up to him after breakfast, Riptide drawn (or uncapped?), asking Jason to spar with him, the son of Jupiter wasn't so sure if he should accept. Typically, Jason would jump at the chance to train with him.

Not to overshadow the rest of the Seven's talents, but when it came to fighting, Percy was the biggest challenge. The one who actually made Jason break a sweat. (Annabeth too, but when it came down to it, she wouldn't exactly hold back from kneeing his soft-spot. Percy, on the other hand, was a little more merciful about that sort of thing.)

They were an even match. Jason was strong and strategic while Percy was more on the agile side and had more of a knack for improvising than actual planning. Their different styles kept them on their toes. And while Jason had the upper hand because of his ability to fly, Percy was just a shade more in tune with his powers than the son of Jupiter was.

In short, Jason enjoyed sparring with Percy. He seriously did, but this time, well…

Jason knew that his cousin could hold his own. No question there. Percy'd beaten Jason more times than anyone else had and his unpredictability made him a challenge, but for the moment, Percy looked a little worse for wear. A little post-Tartaus. His hair was wilder than usual. He still had a couple pounds more to gain back, and Percy probably thought he was being subtle, but there were times when Jason caught him wincing and rubbing the sides of his ribs.

And the most unsettling change of all, ever since closing the Doors, Percy had this unhinged, beaten sort of gleam to his eyes that just wouldn't fade no matter how much ambrosia Piper and Hazel crammed down his throat.

Yeah, Jason was a little worried. Still, he thought wearily, eyeing the way Percy stood by and twirled Riptide in lazy circles, I doubt he'll take no for an answer.

Don't get him wrong, Percy—thank gods—wasn't a son of Mars, and he probably wouldn't take it too personally if Jason turned him down, just this once. But then Percy'd most likely resort to doing a one on four (not including Annabeth because once again, the whole kneeing thing…) against the rest of the crew, and Jason could think of a million ways that could—no, would go wrong.

(Leo'd wind up burning down the Argo, and if that didn't happen, Piper could end up flooding the ship with food via cornucopia. Frank would possibly shift into something over the top on accident. Hazel was in danger of getting caught in all the crossfire. And to top it all off, Coach Hedge would be furious that he wasn't a part of it.)

Jason furrowed his brow, fingering the hilt of his gladius. "You sure you want to?"

Percy shrugged. "Why not?"

Because you should actually be taking a nap, trying to recover. Because your girlfriend kind of scares me sometimes, and if I accidentally hurt you—because let's face it, you're not exactly in the best shape right now—she'll hurt me. Because, Percy, you just got out of Tartarus. Because you need to just take a break. Because there'll be plenty of other opportunities to fight.

Jason smiled a little half-heartedly and drew his sword, rising to his feet. "No reason," he lied, taking his place a few steps away from the son of Poseidon. He readied his blade and met his cousin's eyes dead-on.

Percy must've been on edge lately or at the very least, looking for some action, because he didn't even bother circling Jason this time. He just lunged for a quick swipe at the younger boy's midsection, and Jason was almost caught off guard by it. Even if Percy wasn't a huge fan of the whole "planning" thing, he always made a point of sizing up his opponent. Always.

On reflex, Jason caught the blow, but just as quickly, Percy slipped his blade underneath Jason's, forcing him into taking a step back. Percy took the opportunity to catch him off guard by going for a headshot, but Jason caught it again and used the momentum to shove the other boy away.

Jason resisted the urge to swing. Percy's guard was down on his left side, and yeah, normally Jason would just go for it, knowing full well the son of Poseidon would get out of the way in time or just parry it, but now wasn't like all the other times they'd fought. This time, he'd only be playing defense.

Jason gripped his sword a little tighter and waited. Slice after slice, lunge after lunge, stab after stab, Jason blocked, parried, and dodged most of Percy's attacks, all the while resisting the instinct to fight back.

It was harder than it sounded. To just stand there and take it while he'd been trained his entire life to conquer, to defeat. But, somehow, Jason managed. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and he was getting tired, but still he refused to fight back. He just sucked it up and ducked when Percy thrusted.

But one could only keep it up for so long. When it got to the point of exhaustion where even Julia from New Rome could disarm him, Percy stopped and, fixing Jason with a hard look, drove Riptide into the grainy floor of the Argo so that it stood up on its own.

Jason blinked in surprise and wiped the sweat off his forehead, letting his guard down. "Something wrong?" he panted.

Sea green eyes narrowed at him. "Yeah, actually," Percy said, voice stiff. "I asked for a sparring partner, not a punching bag. This whole time you've just been blocking, dodging—you haven't even attacked once."

Jason winced a little, not that he wasn't completely expecting this reaction. Pluto, if someone decided he wasn't strong enough and didn't actually make an effort to fight back, he'd be pretty ticked too. But, you see, Percy actually needed the special treatment.

He raised his hands in surrender. "Look, man, I know it sucks, but you're not—" He stopped himself before he could finish. No, that'd probably be that last thing Percy would want to hear. Especially from him.

When Percy's jaw locked, and his face became unreadable, Jason internally cringed. "Not strong enough," he finished.

Jason looked down. Gods, he should've just turned him down from the start. "No," he said carefully, backtracking, "that's—that's not what I was going to say."

The look on Percy's face told him he didn't buy his lie for a second. The son of Poseidon jerked his sword out of the wood paneling and turned away. "I don't need your pity, Jason," he said, voice oddly detached sounding. "I can handle it. Pity—" The word caught in his throat, and he swallowed. "That's the last thing I need."

Jason, sweating and still panting, watched his cousin walk away, a funny feeling settling in his gut, and he wondered—really wondered—what exactly happened in Tartarus?

(He swore he heard Percy mutter under his breath, "I got this.")

Piper

In her defense, Piper thought she was helping.

Usually, if a friend was sick or injured you generally tried to do everything in your power to make it easier on them. For a normal person in a normal situation, it'd probably go something like this: do extra chores, help carry various items, help with homework, bake cupcakes with little "GET WELL SOON" decorations, etc.

But in the life-threatening, danger ensuing rollercoaster that was now Piper's (very, very sad) life, she couldn't really do any of that. First off, the closest thing to a chore Percy had was defending the Argo II from sea monsters and unless a bunch of rogue sea nymphs just so happened to have an irrational fear of birthday cakes, Piper couldn't see her or the cornucopia helping with that any time soon. So that was kind of a bust.

Secondly, whatever Percy carried, he carried for a reason, a.k.a because no one else (save for Jason and maybe Frank) was strong enough to lift said—bulky, dangerous, sometimes pointy, possibly explosive—object. And third, Hazel already took her cupcake idea. (Dang it.)

Still, Piper tried to help him in whatever ways she could. Like letting him sleep in even though it was his turn to keep watch, holding doors open for him, making sure he didn't strain himself, always being there to lend a hand, etc. Jason and Frank thought it was nice of her, Leo teased her about it, Hazel sometimes helped her, and Annabeth—she was thoroughly amused.

In short, Piper was kind of smothering him. Don't get her wrong, she was just trying to help, she genuinely was. But then again, if she was really helping, Percy probably wouldn't have lashed out like he did.

Okay, so maybe "lashed out" is a little too strong of a phrase (maybe "got impatient" or "fed-up" would be more accurate), but at the time, that's what it felt like.

Obviously Percy was a powerhouse and pretty awesome with a sword, but honestly, after seeing him get milk mustaches and initiate a full-on prank war with Leo (worst week of Piper's life ever) and watching him trip over air, Piper kind of forgot just how dangerous the son of Poseidon actually was.

Eyes completely lacking their usual laughter, Percy's gaze bore right through her. "Stop it," he said, voice hollow and just so not Percy, Piper almost flinched.

She wrinkled her brow in confusion, hold on the door wavering. "Huh?"

"I said stop it," Percy repeated, waving his hand towards her.

A small smirk crept onto Piper's face, and she cocked her hip to the side. "What, stop holding open doors? Never knew you were so sexist, Percy," she said, nudging him with her foot playfully.

He wasn't laughing. Or, you know, looking generally amused and that struck a chord in Piper. The smile slid off her face and her shoulders dropped a little. "Per—"

"I meant," Percy stressed, green eyes serious, "stop treating me like I've got a handicap. Like I'm helpless, like—like I can't do anything for myself anymore."

Piper faltered a little before scoffing and rolling her eyes. "I'm holding open a door, Percy. It's polite. You and I are friends. Friends hold open doors for each other," she pointed out.

Percy shook his head adamantly. "Cleaning my room, taking over my watch, making sure I eat—which I don't need any reminders for by the way, doing"—he made random gestures with his hands—"things like this." His eyes met hers fully. "It was never this way before Tartarus."

Piper's gaze dropped to her feet, and she wrinkled her forehead. "I'm just trying to help you, Percy."

"I get that," Percy said, voice softening a tad before hardening again, "but I don't need it. Just because I was in Tartarus, doesn't make me dependent. Not on anyone."

Piper looked up at him through her bangs. "Not on Annabeth?" she challenged.

For a moment, Percy didn't say anything, just watched her with a look she couldn't quite place, and she realized with a start, there were just some kinds of wounds that you just couldn't see on someone. (And, a lot of times, no amount of smothering could fix them.)

Her heart dropped to feet when he finally answered, "I've got this."

(Yes, I know. The OOCness is making me cringe too.)

But as always, feel free to follow me and check out my other stories. Next up: Frank and Hazel.