Despite Piper's reassurances, the day of the dance does not begin on an auspicious note.
Percy can tell the night before as soon as they go to bed that it's going to be a bad night. Worse than usual, that is.
They lie in bed in silence for the first hour, as it usually goes. Trying to fall asleep. They've given themselves the limit of an hour before they're allowed to start talking. But Annabeth remains stiff beside him, never softening the way she does when she's asleep. And his own mind wanders – flicking through all the old standbys: Bob, Damasen, Leo, the House of Night –
He tightens with guilt when he remembers the arai and everything they said about what a horrible person he was, what a horrible friend. And he goes through the usual rationalizations – he didn't mean to, he was trying his best – and as usual, they don't work.
Because he should have done more! He should have tried harder – there's no excuse for being a bad person, there's no excuse for deserting people he had obligations to. He told the gods to free Calypso – he should have made sure they followed up on their promise. Then she would have been okay, Annabeth wouldn't have been hurt – and he should have checked up on Bob; he should have realized that Hades wouldn't be treating him well in the palace. He should have, he should have, he should have . . .
As though she can read his mind – which, who knows, she probably can – Annabeth snakes an arm around him and pulls him close. But then she stiffens, and he knows she's remembering something herself – and minute by agonizing minute, the hour passes and they give up on sleep and just talk for a while.
"I wish . . ." she murmurs, but her voice trails off before she finishes her sentence.
"You wish what?"
"A lot of things." She sighs. "But none of them are likely to come true, in any case."
It's funny, because the first war didn't have this effect on them – the nightmares worse than usual, the chronic insomnia. But now Percy is struck by flashbacks of that war as well as the most recent one, and he doesn't know why.
"Maybe . . ." Annabeth hesitates when he tells her, and then she plunges forward. "Maybe it's because we understand a little better why it got started."
She doesn't say anything beyond that, because he knows that it still hurts her to think about him. Luke.
It hurts Percy, too, because more than ever before he's starting to understand the guy. He feels hints of that same darkness and capacity for cruelty in himself, and it terrifies him.
They wind tighter together in the bed, and hold on.
When they finally give up on sleep, it's about six in the morning and they've accumulated maybe an hour or two between them. Percy's not sure why some nights are worse than others, but it's not even a scale of good to bad – only bad and worse.
Annabeth moans, rolling onto her back and throwing an arm backward. Her wrist bangs against the wall, but she doesn't even flinch – and after the initial noise, nor does Percy. He's much more concerned with the tears beading in her eyes.
"Hey." He rolls over, so that he's propped on his elbows and leaning over her. "You okay?"
"No," she responds. "And that's why I'm so – so" – She brushes angrily at her eyes, and he can tell that those are tears of frustration. "Just – why can't it be better? When is it going to be better? Are we just going to be like this forever now?"
Percy slumps down next to her, jamming his face into the pillow. He almost wants to suffocate himself – except for the fact that the whole thought of suffocation brings to mind Akhlys all over again, and his breath starts coming fast and he has to yank his head away before he actually inhales pillow and suffocates for real –
"I just want to sleep," mumbles Annabeth, and he can hear a choked sob in her voice. "Why is that – so – difficult?"
And then a thought hits Percy, and he curses hard – in English and Greek. "Annabeth, today is Homecoming."
The noise that she makes would be considered a full-blown wail if it were just a bit louder.
"We could skip." Percy doesn't want to admit how tempting that idea sounds to him, but it's not like he's capable of lying to Annabeth after all this time.
She moans again, and finally rolls over. "No, you told Jason. We have to meet his group. Also I think Piper will kill me if she doesn't get to help me get ready. She's had, like, training with her siblings for this."
Percy's not sure whether he wants to laugh or to swear again, so he does an odd mixture of both.
Annabeth tucks her head into the crook of his neck. "Besides, it's not like going to the dance would take away from our much-needed sleep."
When they finally get up, Annabeth claims the bathroom first, so Percy stumbles into the kitchen, slides into a chair, and slumps his head into his arms. He's so frustrated and tired and sad, and he doesn't have the energy to do anything but let it seethe inside him.
"Percy?" It's his mom's voice.
"Mmmrpgh," he replies.
He feels a cool hand on the back of his neck, fingers probing and massaging, softening spots that Percy didn't even realize were tense. "Bad night?" she asks.
Percy keeps his head down. "You could say that."
"Did you sleep at all?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe a little."
Behind him he hears the bathroom door open, and he twists his head to the side to see Annabeth emerge, curls slightly tamer but generally looking as awful as he feels. Her face is pale, her eyes bloodshot, and she also slouches down the hall and falls into a chair, mimicking his position at the table.
"Isn't there anything you could do?" asks Percy's mom. "Something at camp" –
"The Hypnos cabin," says Annabeth woodenly. "They have potions. But Clovis asks a lot in exchange, and . . . well . . ."
They don't like being trapped in sleep; that's the problem. If they take the Hypnos cabin's potions, they'll be stuck in nightmares that they can't leave.
"I understand," says Percy's mom. "But if this goes on for long enough . . ."
"I know," says Percy tightly. She's right – but it's not like they can really do anything about it.