Disclamier: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Chapter 4

Unrecognizable

The person looking back at you is unrecognizable.

The hair is long, much longer than it should be, and as raven as ever. It's slightly matted in parts. Someone trying to comb it, but not wanting to hurt you, left the worst bits to be untangled later.

Your face is sallow and sunken. Your cheeks are hollow, and your eyes look too big for your head.

Your eyes. Dark purple shadows hammock beneath them, and they're normal, natural green. But the look in them has changed so drastically you almost don't recognize them. They're almost…hungry. Dark and sorrowful, they're the ocean at it's worst, when storms race across the top, and tsunamis crush houses and anything in their path. When the very sea is at odds. When your father is angry.

You're so thin. You've lost almost all your muscle mass, gained from years of fighting. You stare at yourself, not wanting to believe that it's you. It can't be. Percy Jackson doesn't look like this. He can't look weak. He must always be strong, always have a plan, always know what to do. He's got people relying on him. This is not a leader looking back at you. This is a victim.

You watch as the alien in the mirror's eyes become wet. Tears trickle down their face. You raise your hand to your cheeks and find tear tracks.

This must be a cruel joke. An Olympian must be playing with you. Ares, maybe. He's always hated you. Hera, for saving Annabeth?

Your body shakes with the strain of sitting, but you remain upright. You must. You must prove that this didn't happen, that this ISN'T you. That someone else has your skin, your identity, who you are, and is just waiting for the right moment to give it back. You must not be this, this weakling, barely able to sit upright, let alone defeat Kronos. You don't realize the sound you're making until it's too late. The whimper that escaped your lips has awoken Annabeth from her deep slumber.

She sits up, drawing her knife in a single movement.

"Who's there?" she asks, whipping her head from side to side to see an invisible opponent.

Then she sees you, huddled at the end of the bed, in front of the mirror. Her voice becomes impossibly soft.

"Percy…" She sits next to you, looking at the alien in the mirror.

Her eyes spill over.

She wipes away your tears with her thumb. You realize, with a start, that she's never seen you cry.

You're struck with a sudden impulse to hide from her. She shouldn't see this part of you, the soft part. She'll just use it against you, hurt you with it. Then you realize how stupid that idea sounds. This is Annabeth, for the god's sakes. She kept your Achilles heel a secret. If you can't trust her, you can't trust anybody.

But it's still a struggle to force yourself to let the tears fall.

She wraps her arms around you, and you stiffen involuntarily. She releases you gently, and you relax guiltily. You reach out to her again, slowly, deliberately, to let her know you didn't mean it.

She gratefully wraps her arms around you again, leading you back down the bed, pulling you into a horizontal position, laying down next to you, pulling the covers back up over the both of you.

Her small hands caress your hair, your face, your neck, your chest.

And you let her, because there's something soothing in it. It reminds you of better times, times when you weren't…like this.

Your hands, without you even being aware of it, have found something to do. They stroke her hair, fingers getting caught in the tangles she hasn't bothered to do anything about. Worry knots.

It feels so nice, so warm, so comfortable, so natural, you almost drift off. But the darkness gnaws at your very soul, rendering you prisoner.

You can't stop remembering how your face looked in the mirror, how it looked exactly how you are not supposed to look. Weak, vulnerable, fragile. Like a victim ore than a leader. Leaders are supposed to be strong, brave, commanding. They must always know the answer.

Right now, you know nothing. You know absolutely nothing. You're like a ship without an anchor. There is nothing to keep you tied to reality. Nothing. Everything you've built has come crashing down. Nothing remains but a few crumbling foundations. You can't build them up again. You don't have the strength.

You're broken.

You don't realize your chest has started to heave, or the sounds you're making. Sobs. Heartbroken sobs.

Annabeth grips your hand tightly and whispers in your ear, "It's OK to cry, Percy. It's OK. I know it's hard right now. But together, you and me, we'll get through it. We'll figure something out. You got me, Percy? We'll figure something out. You're not alone, Percy, however much you think you are. We're all here for you. All of us. Your mom, Paul, Poseidon, me, Chiron, Frank, Hazel, Leo, Piper, Jason, Rachel, Thalia, Nico. You'll never, ever be alone."

The words comfort you, though you're not sure you believe them. You roll them around in your mind.

The wind gusts through the window and you jump.

A drop of seawater lands gently on your skin. A gift from your father. A gift from home.

You shudder with you're not sure what. Annabeth pulls you in close for a kiss. Her lips taste sweet. You haven't kissed her in a long time.

The image of you in the mirror keeps coming back to your mind's eye. You won't be able to sleep tonight.

You lie there in bed with Annabeth until the clock reads 7 a.m.

The sun comes up, red, pinks, yellows, and oranges. You haven't see the sunrise in a long time either. You haven't done anything in a long time.

Annabeth slowly gets up.

You can tell she doesn't want to break the brief spell of happiness you're in, but you know she doesn't have a choice.

"Thalia and Piper, I think, are coming today," she says. I'll be in from time to time, but I've got Ancient Greek and Sword Fighting to teach today. I'll come here every spare moment that I have."

Sword Fighting? Since when does she have sword fighting?

"I'm teaching it until you're ready to take it back over," she says too brightly. "I'm sure it won't be too long now."

She gathers up her things and prepares to go.

After she leaves, you painfully recall when you could do those things. When you were actually a working member of camp. When people dreamed of being you.

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