Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson, blah blah blah. You know the drill. What I do have to accept responsibility for are any tears or wails of pain caused by this fic. I apologize in advance.
As soon as he catches sight of the alligator, his internal debate fades. Training kicks in. Instinct directs his limbs. Thrust. Zigzag. Leap. Swing. Gold dust.
It's been this way for two weeks, ever since he's come back. Since they have come back, actually, but whoever else was on board the ship wasn't really important to him. Part of him remembers they're his friends, that they should be important to him, but his heart can't seem to care.
They tried comforting him on the trip back, but all he thought was that they should have seen it was futile. There is no comfort for the pain he feels.
He hasn't even gone home yet. Part of his mind screams "What is wrong with you?" at him, but he's managed to block that part out. Somehow he's sure that going home would only be more painful for everyone involved.
By now, his gruff rebuffs have succeeded in isolating him. Even stoic Jason and caring Hazel keep their distance from him, although he can always see the pain in especially Hazel's eyes whenever they cross paths. She's in the Greek camp entirely too often for being a Roman, but then again, peace has been made, and everyone's officially trying to be friends.
Everyone but Percy.
The alligator's dead. Job's done, so Percy jogs back in the general direction of camp.
For years he's hated that he's the only child of Poseidon at camp, because even though he can decide when to call "Lights out" in his cabin, he always sits alone in the pavilion. Now he's grateful that the others stay at their tables.
Chiron glances his way once. Percy is sure that his mentor has spoken with his mom, but camp is out of bounds for her, plus Percy knows Chiron well enough by now to know that he wants to give Percy space for a while, hoping that Percy will come around and sober up on his own.
Across tables, Percy catches Malcolm's eye. Though Percy's been annoyed - to put it mildly - with everyone's attempts to comfort him, he's never shied away from staring the others down when they looked him in the eye. Malcolm is the only one who's able to hold Percy's gaze, and he might be the only one at camp whose pain begins to come close to Percy's own. Sure, Annabeth was just Malcolm's sister, but Percy knows that even if she had just been his sister, he would hardly feel better now. He and Malcolm nod imperceptibly, then turn back to their respective plates.
After lunch, they square off in the arena.
It's not a matter of Malcolm blaming Percy for anything – gods know, Percy does that enough himself already. No, Malcolm knows that Percy did everything he could, and that his eventual failure weighs heavy on him. This sparring - if you can still call it that - is the only way for the two young men to release the frustration that's continuing to build up. Frustration at the gods, at Gaea, at the fates, for being so cruel.
Nobody else dares to fight either of them, not even when they use wooden swords. When they walk into the arena, wearing no armor except a simple breastplate each, everyone clears the floor for them. Even Clarisse steps aside, her expression struggling between empathizing grief and admiration for their ferocity.
Bronze clashes against bronze, and sparks fly whenever their blades meet and glide across each other with a metallic shriek. Lunge. Parry. Step. Step. Twist. Thrust. Swipe. It's training that makes his moves almost count, but it's rage that keeps his limbs moving. Percy feels like he's been running solely on adrenaline and desperation since the fall, which has been far too long now. By all accounts, he should not even be standing anymore. But somehow he is, and so is Malcolm.
When they finally separate, all spent for the day, they walk from the arena with an arm around each other's shoulders.
"You got the alligator," Malcolm states more than he asks.
"Yeah," Percy replies. That damned thing had threatened camp for a couple of days, even killed a pegasus, and Percy had set out to hunt it down - even despite Chiron's original order that a hunting party of Ares and Apollo campers should take it down.
"Good," Malcolm says. "Let's hope it stays in that pit for a while."
Percy nods. In truth, he doesn't understand how monsters could ever escape that place.
The beasts are a hundred yards ahead of him, but he's gaining ground. They're just a mixed pack of formerly Gaea's centaurs and a couple of dracaenae, but they're getting close to the inhabited parts of Long Island.
Someone's running with him, a wiry new kid from Ares' cabin. Well, wiry is only in comparison to the generally butch children of Ares, and kid may not be quite fair either, since he's probably past sixteen, but Percy doesn't care. Another one fresh on the team, thinking that being a hero entails earning glory and a happy ending. Percy knows better.
They lost the rest of their party some mile behind.
Fifty yards.
At twenty, one of the centaurs turns around, then yells to alert the rest of his pack. Percy counts eighteen monsters in total. Piece of cake.
He stops for a second, sizing them up, gauging their week points. The kid leaps past him, brandishing spear and shield, yelling "ARES!" as he impales the first centaur cleanly through the heart. Percy shakes his head, then joins the frenzy, decapitating two dracaenae with a clean swipe.
For a minute or two, it's the same as always. Duck. Slash. Stab. Then something catches his side, drives into his hip under the plate, and he cries out. Instinct makes his arm lash out, his sword describing a wide arc, and somewhere along it, the blade connects with flesh and bone. A second later, the familiar rushing tells him that the monster has been reduced to dust.
His vision clears, and he realizes that there's no monster left standing. Then he looks around again, and realizes that there's no one left standing. Except for him.
Percy finds the kid lying in the grass, on his back, covered by a centaur-shaped blanket of gold dust. His spear is broken, lying somewhere by his feet, and his sword's hilt is buried in his stomach, the blade sticking straight up in an almost obscene way.
He's not moving anymore, his eyes already glazing over.
Percy keeps standing like this, staring at the kid, Riptide clasped loosely in his hand, dangling, pointing at the ground. He's still standing like this when footfalls approach, then gather around him. Someone shouts for a medic. A girl, he realizes. Ann- He cuts his own thought off, knowing it's Clarisse, but it's too late already. A fresh wave of hurt washes over him, and with all the monsters slain, the only thing he can do is scream.
The sound he makes is wordless, but it's enough to make even is own blood freeze.
When his eyes comply and open again, he finds Will standing before him, shaking his shoulders. Will is shouting Percy's name.
Percy doesn't respond. He raises his arms and pushes Will away, not even realizing that he's still holding Riptide. The blade scrapes across Will's armor, leaving a scratch in the bronze.
Next thing he knows, a fist connects with his jaw and sends him to the ground. A knee settles on his chest, and hands seize his wrists. They leave the sword in his hand, content to just pin it down.
"Jackson," Clarisse growls, waiting until he's managed to focus on her. "I've always known you're nuts."
"Get off me," Percy replies, his voice reflecting the deadly calm that is seizing him. "Or you'll be sorry."
"I'm sorry I can't get your head on a spike," she replies, her face twisting. "Marvin is dead because you spurred him on."
"I didn't ask for him to come," Percy says. "It's his own fault. His naivety got him killed."
"BULLSHIT!" Another punch, to the other side of his jaw. "He would've stayed in rank if you had. Or if you hadn't been there at all. But he thought that fighting beside the Great Percy Jackson, vanquisher of Titans and Giants, was like taking candy from a baby!"
"Have you ever seriously tried-"
"Shut up, Jackson! Don't you get what you're doing? Frankly, I don't care if you get yourself killed because you're too fucking afraid to deal with Annabeth's death -" Percy thrashes at the mention of her name, but Clarisse ignores him, only drives her knee further down his chest - "but now you're starting to infect other people with your recklessness. You're starting to get people killed with your cowardice, Percy. And I can't not care about that. Especially when they're my people."
"Let-"
"You're done, Jackson. If I have to stick a spear through your guts and hang you with your own intestines, I don't care. But this. Has. To. Stop!"
Panting with rage, she glares into his eyes for a minute, then gets off of him. Whoever held his hands let go too, and he scrambles to his feet. Strangely, he feels no urge to run Clarisse through, even though she issued a very frank death threat toward him - and he knows she meant every word. Instead, he takes a breath, and walks up next to her, staring once again down at the body of the kid.
"His… his name was Marvin?" he asks quietly.
"Marvin Bellman," Clarisse replies. "Came to us only a couple of weeks ago. He never even got to meet… Annabeth."
Percy sucks in a breath, but stands still. "It should've been me," he whispers at length.
"Shut up," Clarisse says. "Shouldn't have been either of you."
"But… you're right," Percy says. "I… I thought if I…"
"If you got killed fighting some monsters, you'd go straight to Elysium and see Annabeth again?"
Percy nods, tears filling his eyes.
"That might even work," Clarisse says, "but it sure as Hades is pretty permanent. Do you really want to throw your life away?"
"It's not much of a life without… Annabeth," Percy replies. Saying her name almost burns his tongue, now that she's not there to hear it anymore.
Clarisse punches his shoulder, but only lightly. "I think there are a number of people who disagree with you on that issue." More softly, she adds, "You've got to let your friends help you, Percy. And your mother."
"My…" The first tears fall as his chest constricts. The rage is gone, and now the voice that was formerly drowned out by it screams all the louder. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WIT H YOU?
"Mom…" Percy moans. He drops to his knees. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?" he screams.
Clarisse puts a hand on his shoulder. "The first lesson that every soldier needs to learn when he goes to war is how to grieve," she says. "Looks like it's time you learned it, too."
"Did…" Percy swallows a few tears. "Marvin…?"
"Orphan. He was an orphan," Clarisse answers. "We'll take care of him."
When they get back to camp, Percy is afraid of facing those he pushed away all this time, so the first person he dares to look at is Malcolm. Annabeth's brother looks back and forth between Percy and Marvin's body, then wordlessly hugs Percy. "Go talk to them," Malcolm whispers. "I know they're waiting for you."
And so he does. Although he doesn't say a word at first, the second he drops his sword to the ground three feet away from them, Hazel leaps forward and into his arms. She squeezes him tightly through the plate, and Percy's heart feels like it's about to stop from emotional overload. Then the spell is broken, and the others fall in. They're a tangle of sixteen arms, with everyone somehow touching a part of Percy.
When he looks up from Hazel's curls, green eyes meet green eyes. Rachel's hand wanders from Percy's shoulder to his face, gently stroking his cheek. She mouths "I'm sorry." Percy blinks once in reply, leaning a little into her touch before she pulls her hand away again.
Sobered now, Percy stands with the children of Ares as they burn Marvin's shroud. He and Clarisse share a look as the smoke rises into the night sky.
The next morning, Argus takes Percy into the city. Piper has opted to go with him, and he hasn't had the heart to object. He knows she means well, and that she'll give him space with his mom. Piper has her own demons to fight, and honestly, he's even kind of grateful for her presence in the van.
At one point, Percy even tries to start a conversation. "So… has Jason decided yet?"
Going by Piper's expression, that was the worst question to ask.
"Yes," she replies after a while. "He's going back to Camp 't risk Octavian becoming praetor again, he says."
"I think Frank would make a good praetor," Percy says, at a loss of what she's getting at.
"Frank is too soft for the job," Piper replies.
"So? New Rome is nice," Percy continues. "I'm sure you'll like living there."
Piper looks out of the window for a couple of minutes. Percy is sure that the conversation is finished when she quietly says, "I'm not going."
His head snaps around, finding her eyes in the reflection. "Why not?"
"He and Reyna… they're already getting closer now, and when they're back there, they'll be constantly around each other."
"But you can trust Jason," Percy says. "He won't cheat on you."
"That's not what I'm afraid of, Percy," Piper replies. "I'm a child of the love goddess. I have a sixth sense when it comes to love… and I don't want to stand in his way." She turns away from the window and looks into Percy's eyes. "He would always be torn between being faithful to me and intrigued by Reyna. I don't want that."
Not knowing what else to do, Percy lays a hand on top of hers. "It's your choice, I guess," he tells her. They look at each other in silence for a while before he adds, "And honestly? I'm kind of glad you're staying." His lips quirk into the first semblance of a smile since he hugged Annabeth on the broken floor of Arachne's chamber. "I wouldn't want Drew to become counselor of your cabin again."
Piper laughs at that. "Yeah, we really wouldn't want that."
His mom is strangely composed when she meets him on the street, quickly hugging first him, then Piper, before she leads the way inside.
She knows, he realizes. Chiron must have told her everything.
A bottle of blue Gatorade is waiting on the kitchen table, and a batch of blue cookies and muffins is stacked on a plate in the middle. Piper makes a comment on it, but Percy doesn't hear it because suddenly he's all wrapped up in a strong hug.
"Dear gods," Paul exclaims. "You're alright."
"You knew he was," Sally says quietly. But even after not having seen her for almost a year, Percy immediately catches on to the undertone in his mom's voice.
He slowly extricates himself from Paul's arms and moves in front of Sally. He barely realizes that he's well looking down on her now, but her eyes are really all he sees. It takes him three tries and a heavy amount of swallowing to whisper the four words he's rehearsed for half of the car ride. "I'm sorry, Mom."
And then she really hugs him, in the same oh-gods-I'm-glad-you're-alive-let-me-squeeze-you-to-death way that Annabeth had used when he'd returned from Calypso's island, or when they'd reunited in the Roman forum.
At night, Percy sits out on the fire escape. Piper sat with him for a while, just being silent company, but now she's asleep on the living room couch.
Looking up to the moon, Percy's eyes glide across the stars until he finds the hunter. Hey, Zo, he thinks. Been a while, hasn't it?
He sighs. He's got to ask Nico for a favor, but he's sure his friend won't hesitate.
He knows Annabeth shouldn't be able to hear him, but he can still hope she does, right?
"I'm coming," he whispers. "Someday, okay? I promise. I'll be coming for you, Wise Girl. Just not today."