::For Haley (bordeaux cookies)::
::Thanks for the beautiful story you wrote for me. Thanks for being a beautiful friend::
::I hope this doesn't disappoint you::
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My shadow's the only one that walks beside me. My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating. Sometimes I wish someone out there would find me. Until then I walk alone.
—Green Day—
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In a hundred years, long after they were dead, most of the names that fought that day would only be remembered in texts.
Silena Beauregard (18), deceased.
Charles Beckendorf (18), deceased.
Michael Yew (16), deceased.
Bianca di Angelo (12), deceased.
Few would bother to read those texts, and those who did wouldn't realize that each name listed on each page actually had a face, a story, and a life to go along with it. They'd lived and loved like any other person, but had met their fates untimely.
Some that died would be remembered better, their names a little easier to place. Like Luke Castellan and Percy Jackson. The future demigods would be able to state at least a few facts about them, recognize their faces in photographs.
Some wouldn't have names at all.
They'd be John Doe or Jane Doe. They'd be unidentifiable. They'd be the unknown soldiers.
But when it all happened, when they all fought together, their names were known, their stories practically engraved in the scars on their bodies. They all had some sort of place in the world. They had some sort of purpose. It was the Battle of Manhattan, after all. Every person who fought was needed.
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Annabeth Chase was one of the leaders, but she was completely outshone by Percy Jackson, the main leader, the one she had a crush on. Everyone at camp knew who she was. She'd been there the longest. She was sixteen years old, hated spiders, and loved to read despite being dyslexic. Everyone knew that the Titan army had killed her dad and step family, leaving her alone.
But that's the thing; she wasn't alone, not completely. Percy was always there for her.
She liked to think that she was always there for him too.
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Nico di Angelo was one of the more resented people. He had a rocky relationship with the campers and got along better with the dead than with the living. But the campers knew that he wore dark clothing that was always too big for him and ate very little, and that he was from Italy and spoke Italian fluently. They knew that his sister had been killed when he was ten, and so had his mother, over fifty years prior.
But few knew who he was. He'd been at camp for only a short time. Only a few could place him.
The thing with him was that he had always felt alone, like no one was there for him, which really wasn't the case.
Better to not make friends though, he always thought. That way, when they go, they won't have any meaning to you.
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On the last day of the Battle of Manhattan, the casualties were worse than ever.
Annabeth knew that the moment she woke up to the sound of screams in the hotel lobby. She didn't even bother to change from the blood and sweat covered clothing that she had worn the day before. She didn't acknowledge that her shoulder was infected, because it wasn't like there were any Apollo kids to help her. She just grabbed her knife and ran.
Percy met her on the stairs, looking like he had barely slept. "This doesn't sound good," he muttered.
"Way to be the optimist," she grunted. They didn't speak after that. The only sound in the stairwell was their running, which she didn't find encouraging.
The screams had been loud. Other demigods should've heard them too, and they should've been running down the stairs as well. But Percy and Annabeth were the only ones.
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They were wrong with that though. Someone else had heard and responded. Nico had just shadow traveled to the lobby. It was a lot faster, after all.
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Outside, the people guarding the building were all dead. There blood ran in rivers on the ground and into the sewage grates. The coppery smell hit Annabeth like a bullet, and she stumbled on her way out, eventually coming to a standstill.
Monsters were everywhere, and all of the other demigods had already gone down to try and help. Annabeth, even before the fight had really started, could see that it was futile. She gulped in toxic air and tried to assess the situation. They were completely surrounded. She didn't see Luke anywhere though. No doubt he was observing the situation from afar.
If Percy saw how terminal everything was, he didn't let on. "We can do this," he said, his voice full of unwavering confidence. Annabeth was pretty sure that she loved him for it.
His green eyes were shining down at her, and before they started to fight, he gave her the slightest of smiles. She wanted to return it. Hell, she wanted to whisk him away so that they could live the rest of their lives together, away from the wrath of the gods and titans.
But things just weren't that simple. She didn't smile back at Percy. She didn't kiss him like she had, back on Mount St. Helens. She just gave him a quick nod.
As they had many times before, they went back to back, their weapons drawn.
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Nico snooped around the corners, running through the alleyways, trying to find a weak spot in the line of monsters. Fangs were dripping with venom, battle cries were being yelled, and Nico had absolutely no idea what he was going to do.
He kept his eyes open for Percy and Annabeth, looking around. He doubted that they'd be dead yet. He hadn't sensed either of them dying. And gods. . . if Percy died. . .
Nico wished someone was there to slap him. Now wasn't the time to think about his old crush. He couldn't worry about the son of Poseidon. He had to assume that Percy was going to be alright.
Then he saw it; the chink in the enemy's armor. Two ogre like creatures that were gazing at the battle dumbly. Nico melted back into the shadows for only a second, knowing that if he wanted to leave this place forever, and maybe survive for a long time, all he had to do was go.
But these people—they needed reinforcements. So Nico didn't run away.
He charged.
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Annabeth was getting winded. It seemed as though she had Percy had been fighting for hours. Her limbs felt as if they were made of wet clay. She'd been struck so many times that she was surprised that she could still move.
Someone, a demigod on the other side, hacked down with his sword. She parried the blow, twisted her dagger so deflect the other blade, and somersaulted past him. She struck the guy in his shoulder. Deep, but not fatal. He'd live.
But what she hadn't realized was that she'd left Percy's back defenseless. She'd rolled away from him, and now, the gap between them was being filled by even more monsters.
She hacked blindly and was met with a cloud of sulfuric powder. Something struck her already injured shoulder. She heard a battle cry in an ancient language she couldn't understand—something that seemed to predate ancient Greek.
Her blade was knocked out of her hand, and she couldn't see where it went. She used her fists to defend herself, kicking at anyone who came close.
Percy. Where was Percy?
Then she saw him, fighting like a whirlwind, his movements so fast that she couldn't keep up. She almost grinned. She kept making her way towards him, as quickly as she could, until she noticed something that made her heart stop beating.
A person—a demigod, so it seemed. He was creeping towards Percy, ever so slowly, aiming his dagger up with the small of Percy's back, ready to strike.
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Nico saw the demigod too, as he ran through the army, waving his sword around and hoping that it hit something, anything. And he finally had his sights set on Percy. Maybe Percy could help him, give him an order on what to do. Maybe they should just evacuate. Nico could help with that.
And then he saw the demigod with the blade, shining with something that he was sure was poison. He'd seen things like this too many times on his own. And this demigod was going for Percy, and seemed to be aiming at the small of his back.
His Achilles heel.
Every cell in Nico's body seemed to die. He had been the one to tell Percy to take a dip in the Styx, and now, Percy would pay the price.
Percy had protected Nico one too many times. And now he had to reciprocate.
It wasn't that Percy Jackson couldn't die. It was that he wouldn't die.
Nico picked up speed. He didn't really think about what he was doing. All he thought about was Percy Jackson, standing on that cliff in Maine, trying to protect him and his sister, and how even after Nico had tried to kill Percy, the son of Poseidon had still tried to help Nico. He thought about how he almost kind of loved Percy, but how he would never, ever admit it.
In fact, he wouldn't even admit it as he saved Percy.
He jumped then, body outstretched, and it was all over.
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Annabeth screamed. Percy turned in time to see what happened.
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Nico di Angelo was given the name John Doe. No one would bother to remember that he'd given his life for Percy Jackson.
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Annabeth was still in shock at what had happened to Nico di Angelo. So in shock that she didn't notice a whole new line of monsters approaching. One giant humanoid creature carried an axe dripping with acid, while another was using a boa constrictor as some kind of whip.
Nico. He'd taken the blade for Percy. But why? Nico had tried to kill Percy not too long ago.
She was confused, but it felt like something inside of her had died at the same time, seeing this kid take a knife for Percy.
Percy's face, which was deathly pale, searched her own. He grabbed her hand a squeezed it once. And in that moment, Annabeth could see the look of desperation in his eyes, which was marred by the tears he shed. She had no weapon. And his had disappeared in the fight. It would take a few minutes for it to reappear.
She glanced at the monsters, then Percy. She cupped his cheeks with her dirty blood covered hands. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw the monsters raise his axe high up in the air.
"Stay strong," she whispered. Percy was shaking beneath her touch.
She didn't kiss him. She didn't hug him. She didn't say anything else. Not "run" or "I love you".
She turned on her heel and faced the monster just as the axe came down. She caught movement—maybe Percy was trying to lunge for her, or the blade—but it was too late. The blade struck her across the face, peeling off layers of skin, cartilage, and bone, making her unrecognizable. Perhaps Percy had screamed. Perhaps. . .
She didn't feel the pain of it. She was already too far gone.
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Annabeth Chase took on a new identity in the text books that people would read.
Jane Doe.
She'd be one of eleven other girls to have the same generic name.