chapter thirty-two: an unstoppable force

As Percy anticipated, senior year continues to be hell. Still, there's some good things that come along with it: Piper and Jason start talking to each other again without the pressure of a romantic relationship, he gets to know his mom a little better—though he hasn't yet told any of his friends about her—and Lucy starts teaching him to drive after his shifts. She says it's the least she can do for Percy after he gave so much time to the machine shop, but he thinks it might be more than that. Sometimes, her eyes spark with protectiveness—it's possible that she's just looking out for him.

Percy's a natural driver and within a month, he gets his license. He doesn't yet have a car of his own, but he's working on fixing up a wrecked, ancient Pontiac. The owner gave up on paying its expenses and dumped it at Lucy's, clearly intending for it to be taken to the dump yard—but when Percy's done with it, hopefully it'll sail as smoothly as when it was made. It's something of a passion project; he's pouring everything he has into fixing it. Lucy says if he manages to get it in working condition, it's his.

Recently, he's been worried about Annabeth. Though she rarely shows it, it's clear that senior year is taking a toll on her. In the midst of studying and getting her photography portfolio together, she's tired and anxious all the time. Most nights, she'll stumble back to Percy's apartment after a long day just to pass out in his bed. He doesn't mind; Annabeth needs all the rest she can get. She always sleeps better at his place, anyway.

But every day in his peripheral vision, Percy can see her struggling more and more. He tries his best to give her a helping hand when she needs it and offer a shoulder for her to lean on, but he doesn't know if it's enough. Everything in her life seems to be overpowering her.

On Friday, Annabeth is anxious the entire day. Percy notices her talking to Luke for a few minutes by her locker. He lets them talk—the last thing he wants to take away from Annabeth is her autonomy. But when he asks her about it, she just shakes her head and diverts their conversation to safer territory.

Percy never works on Fridays anymore, so he usually hangs out with Annabeth and the others for the evening. But when he heads to the diner to meet Jason, Leo, Nico and Piper, she's a no-show. While Piper talks about the new song she's been writing, Percy's utterly distracted. He can't stop drumming his blunt nails on the table of their booth, glancing up at the ticking Art Deco clock hanging on the wall of The Winehouse. It's getting late. Suddenly, someone's clicking their fingers in front of his face. "Jackson. Earth to Jackson, you there?" Piper repeats.

Zoning back into reality, he blinks. "What?"

She rolls her eyes. "You've barely said a word all evening. Leo's been drinking your milkshake without you even noticing. Are you good?"

"Yeah—yeah, sorry. I'm guess I'm worried about Annabeth. She said she'd be here."

"Don't worry," Leo placates. "She's probably just caught up in whatever photography project she's working on. Why don't you text her?"

"I have," he murmurs, reaching into his pocket to check it for the thousandth time. Still no sign of her. Letting out a sigh, he switches it off again. "I'm sure she's fine." He grabs the straw of his dwindling milkshake, sorrowfully slurping up the chocolate.

Piper rolls her eyes. "Anyway, I was thinking about recording some of my older tracks. I met this girl in town the other day. We got to talking, and guess what? She writes songs, too! And she's got a ton of recording equipment in her garage."

"Cool," Jason smiles. "So, you're gonna work on some stuff together?" There's barely a trace of bitterness in his voice, and Percy has to admire the fact that he doesn't resent Piper for continuing to make music with other people after they did it together for so many years. He suspects this probably feels like closure for them both.

Piper nods, grinning. "Yep. I can't wait! I listened to some of her old tracks, and they're all fucking genius."

"What's her name?" Percy asks.

"Shel," she informs him. "She used to live on the Oklahoma reservation, but her family moved out here recently because her mom got a new job."

"Oh, cool." As she continues the conversation, Percy's gaze drifts back to the ticking clock.

Annabeth never turns up, or even responds to Percy's texts. It's around eleven when he says goodbye to the others and heads up the steps to his apartment. He rolls his shoulder in an attempt to assuage the continual ache of his joints as he fits the key in the lock, pushing the door open. He half-hopes that Annabeth will be waiting for him, but of course she's not. She's probably at the estate, hyper-focusing on her photography work.

Deciding he won't be able to sleep, he grabs the unfinished equations sheet that's due on Monday and sits at his desk, chewing on his pencil's eraser. This topic isn't too difficult, and he slips into the questions with mindless efficiency. His apartment window is half-open, and the low thrum of passing cars outside devolves into static background noise. Time slips away from Percy and by the time he's done with the last question on the sheet, it's turned midnight. Checking his phone one last time for any texts from Annabeth, he stands up and stretches, feeling the stiff muscles in his shoulders crack with the movement. He's got an early shift in the morning. If there aren't too many jobs, maybe he can get some work done on the Pontiac.

After brushing his teeth and changing into a comfortable T-shirt and boxers, he tunes out his worries about Annabeth and slips into bed. He falls asleep quickly, too exhausted to fear the nightmares before they inevitably come.

Percy calls Annabeth on the way to his early shift, cycling along with his earphones in. She picks up on the fifth ring. "Hey," he greets her, speaking into the dangling mic as he cuts across an intersection.

"Hi, Percy." She sounds woozy, as though she just woke up. "Why'd you call?"

"Just checking up on you. You didn't show at the diner yesterday."

"God, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot," she groans. "I got so sucked into editing photos—"

"No, hey. It's fine. I'm glad you got some work done. Did you get much sleep last night?"

"A little," she says. Percy can hear tiredness seeping into her tone. "Are you heading to your shift?"

"Yeah."

She pauses. "Call me after?"

"Sure," he responds, slowing down as he bumps up onto the sidewalk by the machine shop. "I gotta go. Bye."

"Bye. I love you."

"Love you too," he smiles. The call cuts off as he heads into the machine shop, rolling up his sleeves. Lucy's standing in the yard with her arms folded, surveying his half-deconstructed Pontiac. "Hi," he calls.

"Percy!" She turns around, jabbing a thumb back at the car. "You're doing a great job on this old thing, I'll say. I figured it was a lost cause."

"Thanks," he grins. "But don't get your hopes up. There are still a million things wrong with the engine. Plus, I've got no idea how she'll run when I take her on the road."

Lucy shrugs, a teasing spark in her eye. "Have some faith, Percy. You better work on it in your own time, though—I'm gonna need you to do some oil changes and then assess that Honda, okay? I know Jim was working on it, but he's not here today."

"Sure thing, boss." Heading into the shop to grab his tools, he settles in for a long day.

Over the week that follows, Annabeth seems even more off than usual. She speaks less than usual, and seems unable to hold anyone's gaze for too long. Percy tries asking her what's wrong, but she shrugs him off all too easily. Usually, he's the one who closes up like this, and it's strange to be on the opposite end of it. He has no idea how to reach her, or even how to let her know that she can talk to him about whatever's bothering her. Over the weekend, she was uncharacteristically absent—she didn't even stay over at Percy's apartment for the weekend like she usually does. Though he tries not to worry about her too much, thoughts of Annabeth occupy too much of his headspace to ever push her completely out of mind.

He uses the broken Pontiac as a welcome distraction. After his shifts at the machine shop, he'll pour an extra hour or two into working on it, puzzling out its issues with a scouring eye and fixing its old parts. On Wednesday evening, he makes a breakthrough. Sliding into the driver's seat, he warily turns on the ignition. A heartbeat later, the engine rumbles to life beneath him. "Yes!" he shouts, pumping his fist with elation. Some things will need testing before it's road-safe, but a working engine is a damn good sign.

"You gonna give it a trial run?" Lucy asks, popping her head through the car's open window.

"Fuck yeah!" he grins. "Can I drive it around the courtyard?"

"Sure, Percy. Just—please try not to knock anything over."

"I won't," he reassures her. Turning the key, he coaxes the engine to life. Pressing down the clutch, he moves into first gear and eases a foot onto the accelerator. When the Pontiac smoothly responds, he whoops and puts on a little speed. Lucy watches with a smile on her face as he drives in circles around the machine shop's courtyard. The Pontiac's wheel fits under his palms like something borne of second nature, and hope burns in his fingertips as he parks it again. Stumbling out, he shakes his head. "I can't believe it actually drives."

"You'll have to take it for a road-safety inspection before you can take it on the road. Once you've done that, it's yours," she says. "Don't crash it, hmm?"

"You don't need to worry about that," he laughs. "Thanks, Lucy."

The next day after school, he takes the Pontiac for an inspection. When it comes up clear, he feels victorious. It feels like this is the first thing that he's really, truly owned, and that simple fact gives him a heady sense of confirmation. The insurance will cost him, but he's saved up enough to keep it for a few years at least. He can't wait to show Annabeth the car; he hasn't yet mentioned it to her, worried that voicing its existence might somehow doom the project. But now that it's fixed, now that he can finally drive it…She'll love it as much as he does. He knows she will.

Annabeth's busy on Friday, so he uses his free afternoon to hang out at the skate park with Leo, Jason and Nico. They spend hours on the ramps. The wind is intense and blustering, chapping their skin; the last dredges of a minor storm is blowing over. When he heads back to his apartment in the dwindling daylight, there's been a power cut throughout the building. He curses, rummaging in the cupboards for the candles his landlord left him in case this exact situation. It's dark outside his window by the time he's laid the candles out and lit each wick with a match, casting an eerie glow into the crevices of his room.

He's woken up in the middle of the night by someone knocking incessantly on his door. He's gripped by fear for several interminable seconds, wrenched from a bad dream. But then he notices that his phone screen is lit up with notifications where it lays on his bedside table—all of them from Annabeth. He scrambles out of bed and walks barefoot to the door, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Opening the door, he asks, "Annabeth?"

She's standing outside his door, drenched with rainwater and shivering. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." With a shock, he realises that she's not just shivering—her hands are shaking, and her pupils are blown wide.

"God," he mutters, tugging her forward to wrap his arms around her. "You look freezing. Are you okay?"

She buries her head in his shoulder. "No. Jesus, I hate this. I hate this so much."

"It's okay. It's okay." He closes the door and sits her down on his bed, grabbing a clean towel so she can dry off. She's clearly still under the influence of whatever she's taken, but at least she seems to be coming down from it. "What happened? It's been months since you—I thought…" His voice trembles.

Annabeth covers her face with her hands. "I don't know. But it hasn't been months. Last Friday, when I didn't show up to the diner—" She cuts herself off, either unable to speak or simply too afraid. "I fucked up. I was getting better. Now I've thrown all that effort into the goddamn trash." Her hands fall away from her face. "I should never have let Luke get a word in edgeways."

Percy feels shaken, but he forces himself not to fall apart. "You haven't thrown anything into the trash, alright. You fucked up? Whatever. It doesn't matter."

"You don't mean that," she shoots back. The towel's slipping down her shoulders, so he reaches up and wraps it more tightly around the damp fabric of her shirt. She mumbles, "You probably hate me for this."

"Well, I don't! How could you even think that?" Her pupils are still blown, but her jaw's stopped shuddering. She's coming down. "I don't hate you," he continues. "And you shouldn't hate yourself, okay? You've been anxious for weeks. I should've done something. I should've—"

"Stop."

"No. This was my fault."

"Stop," she breathes. He does. "It's not your fault. Don't say that."

"Okay. I won't."

"I'm sorry. To you. To myself." Then, quieter: "Hold me?"

In response, he slips his arms around her and rests his head on her shoulder, not even minding the dampness of her soaked hair. He can hear the rain outside, drumming on the roof and windowpane. The storm hasn't yet passed, it seems. "You're okay," he whispers. "You're okay."

It takes an hour for Annabeth to sober up. As she changes into dry, comfortable clothes, she explains what happened in more detail. After weeks of feeling run down and without escape, she felt like turning back to her old, shitty coping mechanisms was the only escape. "I didn't want to say anything to you," she murmurs. "You thought I was better, and to admit to you that I wasn't…" She trails off. They're lying atop the covers on Percy's bed, watching rain trickle down the window outside. Her hair's dried into soft, fluffy curls and Percy can't stop playing with the stray ringlet resting on her brow. "I couldn't do it. They're not even…"

"What?" he asks, brow furrowing. "Not even what?"

Throwing her arm over her face, she sighs. "Don't worry. It's stupid."

He takes her wrist and gently guides it down, meeting her eyes. Candlelight ripples over her features, casting ripples of fire across her warm skin. "It's not stupid. Tell me, please?"

She heaves a sigh. "Most of the drugs I used to do—the MD, the ket—weren't even physically addictive. Apart from my anxiety meds, I guess."

"So?"

"So, it's all in my head, okay? Even though my body doesn't need the drugs, some part of me thinks I can't cope without them. It's unstoppable."

"Annabeth," he says softly. "Just because it's in your head doesn't mean it can't affect you. It's psychological—addiction can be psychological. You're doing so well, alright? You're doing so fucking well." He kisses her gently on the brow. "Wanna try and sleep? It's nearly three in the morning."

"I don't think I'll be able to," she admits. "My brain's completely wired—I'm on a comedown."

"Okay." He pauses, a slow smile tugging at his mouth. Glancing outside, he notices that the ceaseless rain has lessened, turning into drizzle. "I've got a surprise. You wanna see it?"

"A surprise?" she wonders. Standing up, he pulls his shoes on and starts doing up the laces. "We're going outside? You're kidding."

Ignoring her, he asks, "Can you grab my jacket?" His car key is in its pocket, but she doesn't need to know that yet.

Rolling her eyes, she grabs his leather jacket from where it's been discarded on his desk and throws it to him. After stepping into her shoes, she pulls on one of Percy's hoodies. The pleased sigh she lets out when she pulls it on doesn't escape his notice, and it's enough to bring a flush to his cheeks. "Let's see this surprise, then," she says, business-like.

The rain has stopped by the time they step outside into the night, but the air is cold enough to raise goosebumps on Percy's skin. "I've been working on something," he tells her. "For the past few weeks." The Pontiac is parked in the residential space, and he pulls its key out of his pocket as they approach. Annabeth's gaze locks onto the key, and it dawns on her. He continues, "I got my driver's license, remember?"

Her eyes widen as she briefly stares at the Pontiac, then at him. "Oh, my God. You fixed up a car? That's incredible." Grinning, she hugs him. "Sometimes I forget how smart you are."

He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. "Yeah, well. I thought we could take it for a spin."

Excitement is evident on Annabeth's face as climbs into the shotgun seat. "Wow," she breathes. Percy closes the door on the driver's side, fitting the key into the ignition. Running her fingers over the ancient radio, she exhales. "This is such a beautiful car."

He smile. "It's really old. I like it. Feels mysterious, or something." As he turns the key, the engine rumbles to life below them. "So. Where do you wanna go?"

She smiles, clicking her seatbelt into place. "Anywhere."

They drive aimlessly for an hour or so, talking and laughing and singing along to the radio. Car headlights and traffic lights reflect off Annabeth's smiling face in hues of red, amber and blazing green. Percy thinks he's been waiting his whole life to drive a car of his own, and it's somehow even better with her beside him.

Tired of driving, he eventually pulls over onto the side of the road. Annabeth slings a leg over his lap, grinning as she cradles his jaw and kisses him thoroughly. "I liked watching you drive," she tells him. In response, Percy tilts his head up and kisses her a little harder. They stay that way for a while, committing to memory the feel of cold hands roaming warm skin. As the night wanes on, he thinks Annabeth might have forgotten the pain she was in—if only for a short time.

thanks for reading! this chapter was a lot of fun to write, so let me know what you thought! I'll finally be back to responding to reviews this chapter—life's been hectic recently but things are slowing down now :)

if you like, you can shoot me an ask about this fic on my tumblr, stolen-arts.