um, this is it. the last chapter (excluding an epilogue that will be up in june/july). honestly this has been a wild ride and we wanted to thank you for all of your love and support over the past three years and honestly if it wasn't for you guys we probably would have abandoned this at the beginning of 2020.

Life carried on in its new rhythm for a few months. Both Annabeth and I were working really hard (she'd got herself a job in DC at the State Department that had the craziest hours and an NDA involved, so I assumed that it was code for CIA), so the fact that we only saw each other when I could wrangle a day's leave off Fury (like dragging a stick away from a Rottweiler, jeez) wasn't that big of a deal.

Nevertheless, I still felt that I wasn't doing a particularly good job of being a good boyfriend, not least because 90% of the times that I was allowed to go see her were because I was on injury leave anyway. She complained that she had no good pictures of me to show off to her workmates, because I almost always had a black eye or a split lip when I saw her.

Such is life, I guess.

Early April, and Delta were prepping for a fairly big op involving toppling the leaders of a major drug-running syndicate down in Colombia. Stereotype, sure, but nobody was denying that there were drugs there.

Even Coulson had been called in, which was a little bit concerning until he informed us that the op would be used to train up his new strategic protégé, from which I inferred that he didn't expect it to go too badly wrong.

Yeah, right, since when has any 'cake walk' op actually been easy for us? Hell, my first ever mission ended with me being shot in the sternum and being unable to walk for like a month.

The first sign of any hiccup was when we were finally introduced to the deck jockey who was going to be hiding in the safe house shouting instructions at us while we did all the dangerous stuff.

This, for context, occurred when we were boarding the jet to leave for Colombia.

Coulson actually disembarked when he saw us arrive in the hangar, which told me that there was something off, even as he gave a sort of half-wave and polite nod (which for Coulson is the equivalent of waving frantically whilst jumping up and down and yelling your name) to try and tell us not to read too much into it.

"Just before we board," he began, waving away Clint's inquisitive looks, "I want to say that this was not my idea."

I hefted my bag, a little apprehensive. "So…?"

He sighed almost imperceptibly and turned around to get back onto the jet. "I think we'd better get this over with."

We followed him on board. I swung my bag off my shoulder to stow it when I caught sight of somebody awfully familiar sitting on the only occupied seat, legs strewn over the arm rests.

Come to think of it, I wasn't sure why I hadn't twigged it before.

Annabeth waved and shot a lazy grin at me. "Surprised, Seaweed Brain?"

"Uh, yeah?" I replied. "A little?"

Natasha scoffed at me. "How'd you not work it out, dumbass?" She plonked herself down in the seat next to Annabeth. "I worked it out months ago. All the clues were there."

Were they? Were they really all there? (They were.) In my defence, Clint also looked completely dumbstruck. As in, dodo-materialised-in-bolt-of-lightning-three-feet-away dumbstruck. That helped to reassure me somewhat.

I finished stowing my bag without making an idiot of myself and took the seat on the other side of Annabeth. There was the beginnings of a stupid grin on my face, I could tell.

"Wow, we're quite the pair," I managed, without stuttering or anything.

She smiled. "I knew that your real life was here, not with the snot-nosed brats over at Camp." She grinned at me. "But I also knew that you felt guilty about not spending enough time with me and-" she cut me off as I went to protest "- we both knew that your two lives weren't compatible timewise. So I worked the problem. I've had quite a lot of tactical experience over the years; I figured Coulson could find a position for me somewhere."

"Plus, you're good at it," Coulson called from the back of the plane. "Which, believe me, is more than can be said for some holding tactical positions."

I couldn't hold in the question that had been really bugging me. "And the whole secret thing?"

She laughed and it was one of the sweetest sounds I'd heard in months. "You did it to me."

I ducked, slightly chastened. "That's fair."

"Plus," she continued, drawing out the vowel, "I really just wanted to see the look on your face."

Hey!

I wrinkled my nose at her. "That's just cruel," I bantered back, ignoring Clint pretending to puke on the edge of my vision.

She shrugged. "Funny, though."

Well, she's not wrong.

o0O0o

"What the fuck, Jackson?" Annabeth yelled on the other end of the comms. "How do you fuck up a basic op this badly?"

I grinned, even though I knew she couldn't see it. Plus the bit where I was running for my life. Did I forget to mention that bit? "Welcome to the Jackson Experience! Where everything goes to shit at the weirdest possible times."

I took a flying leap off the edge of a building, catching the lip of a dilapidated roof with one hand, which was promptly torn open by the jagged metal, gripping through the pain until my knuckles went white whilst I turned around to fire off half a dozen rounds at the one of the many (seven) angry dudes shooting at me.

Fortunately, I was a better shot than he was, so I was left remarkably intact as the body tumbled three stories to land with a splat on the pavement below.

I gritted my teeth and swung myself up onto the roof with a few muttered curses in Ancient Greek (much to my girlfriend's disapproval; I wasn't used to people being able to understand when I swore like that), before resuming my madcap dash across the rooftops, now leaving a handy (haha) splattering of blood behind me so that any Evil Guy could follow my trail without much difficulty. I wiped said hand against my (white) shirt as I ran, trying to get the worst of the grit and gods know what other shit out of it. Look, nobody wants tetanus.

My dress shoes skidded on an oily tile and I nearly ended up three stories down on top of the moped which was also in pursuit.

I should probably explain how I ended up in that situation.

It all started with a subtle business meeting; a gathering, you might say. The brief was simple; locate and take out the target. Cause a minor ruckus to draw attention away from the main act, which involved rather a lot of plastic explosive and a warehouse full to bursting with illegal drugs.

Anyway. I was on the ground at the gathering, because apparently I specialise in messy hand-to-hand fights in case shit hit the fan. My job was to quietly murder some mafia boss or something (I read/listened to his laundry list of crimes, but name and occupation? Not so much), and then break up the gathering with a few gunshots and brains on the carpet. Just preferably not mine (my brains, I mean. Hopefully my gunshots).

All of this was a distraction whilst Clint used his epic sniper skills to clear a path for Nat into this heavily guarded warehouse/base/whatever and rigged it to explode in a large and epic fireball. Once they were clear, they would blow the warehouse and in theory that would stop any attempt to locate the assassin at their party because they'd be too busy watching their next year's business going up in smoke.

That was the plan, at least.

Okay, before you go getting any ideas about the extent of my incompetence, I killed the right guy. Honest.

The only hitch was that there was literally no way to do this quietly or subtly. Dude was the life of the party, never out of the sight of more than two or three guests at once. Now, had it just been him and his bodyguards, and I'd have been able to sort the whole lot out, but even a superspy can't kill fifty people at once without the help of something quite explodey.

Unfortunately all of the explodey stuff was with Nat and there was none left for me.

I digress. The only way that I could kill the right guy and buy enough time for the setup to work was through a nice little chat, shaking hands and all, and then, as soon as the bodyguards relaxed even a teensy tiny bit, stabbing the dude with the knife hidden in my left sleeve.

Look, sometimes the classics are classic because they work.

Anyway, this left me in a little bit of a pickle. By little bit, I mean twelve burly guys who are heavily armed and quite literally paid to murder any threats to their boss (he had six personal bodyguards, but there were an additional six patrolling the event. I'd hoped to divide and conquer and therefore not have to face them all at once).

I'd made quite a threat, and the added bit where they were going to have to find a new job really drove them into a rage.

I did the only thing any sensible guy would do, and got myself out of there as fast as I possibly could. A surprise attack from behind a dumpster (I have no shame, honestly) culled their numbers by three and caused them to split up a little, some grabbing mopeds and others continuing the chase on foot.

I shot one whilst running (pretty proud of that, I'll be honest), and managed to drive one of the mopeds into a flaming collision with a fuel truck (there was a brief part of this chase where I too stole a moped. Did I mention that?).

That left seven, and, in the interests of keeping away from the guys with mopeds (plus that one dude in the car), I took to the roofs, and that just about brings you up to speed.

So yeah, six down, six to go.

As far as diversions go, I didn't think I was doing too badly, and, since 'diversion' was a large part of my brief, I didn't really think that my performance quite deserved the bashing that it was receiving from Annabeth, who was all cosy in the safe house while I busted my ass trying not to get killed.

It was a surprisingly difficult job, okay?

"Jackson, if you manage to turn right at some point that would be great for us; we have an extraction point set up just over a mile away." Her voice was so vaguely disinterested that I had a feeling that, if Annabeth could, she would be eating popcorn in that moment and attempting to throw one into her mouth right about now.

I narrowed my eyes at the next building to my right, which looked like it was about five feet away. Yeah, I could definitely jump across that.

I could not jump across that. It was not five feet.

I caught the building's gutter with my non-injured hand and hoisted myself up onto the roof, letting myself just lay there, starfished, with my face up to the sky and chest heaving, for a little bit until I caught my breath. I always missed active field duty when I was injured, but boy, oh boy, I could not wait to go on injury leave again after this.

I was jolted back to the present as I heard (and vaguely saw) a bullet whistle over my head. Fuck.

I rolled over onto my stomach and spared a glance at my pursuers, who were definitely closer than they had been a minute ago.

I rolled over another couple of times (looking like a badass was wayyy down on my list at this particular moment) until I reached the lip of the roof, flipping neatly over the side and hanging on for dear life with my mostly-intact right hand, scoping out the path down, which appeared to be 'shin down a gutter which is four metres to your left'.

Man, monkey-bar swinging on the edge of a half-rotted gutter isn't fun on the best of days, but take it from me that it's absolute hell when the rough edge really digs into a fresh slash every time you grab on with your left hand, sending a nice little shower of blood onto your face as you do so.

I slid down the gutter without an awful lot of control, landing as softly as my speed would allow and running to the house on my left, keeping under the eaves as best I could in the vague hope that it would make me harder to spot from the roof I'd just vacated.

I took a brief second to wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. It was red. I swore and prayed that it was just from my left hand rather than anywhere else and I ducked into the house, crashing around and not really seeing where I was going, just focusing on away.

My comms crackled to life as Nat came back online. "Warehouse is rigged," she snapped. "Fetching Barton and we'll get to a safe distance."

"You took your time!" Annabeth retorted. I was glad to see that everybody was getting dragged on this fine morning. "We need the distraction on our end, so do us all a favour and hurry the fuck up, okay?"

"How far am I from you?" I panted, zigzagging across the street and narrowly avoiding getting run over by a Vespa (not one that was pursuing me, either). "Because unless this extraction point is manned, there's no fucking way that I'll hold them off with a pistol and three knives against six automatic rifles."

Annabeth bit off an ugly curse. "You're almost three miles northeast of the safe house, and there's no convenient shortcuts. Hang a left at the end of the block."

I narrowly avoided getting embarrassingly tangled in a load of washing as I shot into another property, this time climbing to the first floor, and just in time, as two mopeds sped past and tore the ground floor to shreds with their Very Large Guns. "So, keep going the way I was going before you started yelling directions?"

"I was strategically diverting you," Annabeth retorted. "Shut up and do as you're told."

"Yes ma'am," I muttered, diving headfirst out of a window to land and roll on the road below, before jumping back to my feet and keeping on running.

Now I like to think I'm reasonably fit, but I was starting to get the impression that three more miles of sprinting like this might literally kill me.

Gunfire strafed the windows of a shop as I ran past, and I ducked, cursing as a stray bullet grazed my calf, drawing a line of white-hot pain. On the plus side, it really focused my attention, I'll give you that.

I was going to have to stand and fight somehow.

I spied a moped heading for me, its rider aiming a machine gun in my general direction. I swore (again), drew my own pistol and fired off a couple of rounds, ducking into a building as the returning fire chewed up the asphalt I'd been running over. One more well-placed shot as it raced past, and the guy dropped his weapon, struggling to right his bike in time to avoid crashing and dying.

I mean, small victories, right? I wasn't entirely sure it was worth the hollow click as I ran out of bullets, though. I hastily reloaded (last clip) and got running again, listening to Annabeth's incessant micromanagement (and mostly ignoring it when it wasn't useful), and Nat's periodic curt updates. Clint came back online after another couple of minutes, and before I'd run my first mile, they were clear and blowing the warehouse.

I ducked under a hail of gunfire and turned to see that two of the mopeds had stopped, scrabbling for phones as they presumably all went off at once.

Maybe that would help me out a little bit. One against four wasn't terrible odds.

After a frantic few minutes in which I very nearly had a building dropped on my head, I managed to fell two more of my opponents. Annabeth barked instructions in my ear, and I followed them as best I could, keeping on running as I weaved through the streets, adding to the distance I had to run but hopefully also decreasing my likelihood of dying.

The rumble of engines over the comms told me that Nat and Clint had made it to their getaway vehicles and were safely on their way back. If this carried on for much longer, I could count on their help within ten minutes or so.

A fucking enormous explosion not very far behind me knocked me flat on my face, searing heat rippling through the air like a living thing and the pieces of asphalt clinging to my skin. I stumbled upright again and lurched into a small shop across the road, placing a finger to my lips upon seeing the terrified faces of the occupants even as I pressed myself against the base of the window frame, hoping and praying that I hadn't been spotted.

Obviously my prayers went unanswered. Thanks, Dad.

Naturally because my luck is shitty, footsteps sounded outside on the loose paving stones, and I tensed, waiting just a couple of heartbeats until the door was smashed off its hinges as one guy stormed inside, gun held ready to shoot anything that moved.

I leaped at him, cutting off his cry of surprise with a knife to the throat (inventory: one pistol with seven bullets remaining; two knives) and sprinting back out of the shop again, my entire body complaining by this point. But I ignored my burning lungs and aching feet, and I ignored the throb of pain from my bloodied left hand, because my life depended on keeping on running and sometimes it really is just a case of mind over matter.

You know, for three of them, these guys were doing a very good job of preventing me from going the way I wanted to, managing to cut off any escape routes that took me towards the safe house and keeping me running in fucking circles like some kind of circus attraction.

All this ganging up on me really wasn't fair, you know.

I decided to take to the roofs again because street level was getting me exactly nowhere, and maybe it would force the one guy left in his car to finally start chasing me on foot again.

I know what you're thinking. Percy, that's a terrible idea; you're exhausted and can barely walk straight!

Yeah, well, no one ever said I was intelligent. And nobody asked you, either.

Anyway, parkour when you're so tired that you can barely see straight isn't always the best idea. My jumps got sloppy, and I nearly made mistakes that would have killed me (or, you know, injured me badly enough for my pursuers to catch up and finish the job) on more than one occasion before accepting that I was going to have to change it up again.

So I shinned down a gutter and landed in an alley with a low wall at its far end, which I decided to jump over because apparently I'm a drama queen.

Bear in mind that I had now been running for my life for the best part of half an hour, most of which was spent bleeding, and I was still over a mile from the safe house because of the round-the-houses bullshit these guys had me on. Good decisions? Not so much.

Anyway, I landed in another alley and kept on running, crossing a smallish road and entering a much darker and more ominous-looking alley, narrow and surrounded on both sides by dilapidated two-storey buildings. Remember the number of stories; there might be a quiz later.

Yeah, this was not a route I would ever had taken if Ye Olde Brain had been firing on all cylinders, because I'd have considered it too likely to be home to a trap.

Boy, oh boy, would that judgement have been helpful in that moment.

I skidded to a halt in front of a featureless concrete wall that stretched almost all the way up to the roofs of the buildings on either side.

No way out.

I spun around to put my back to the wall, the world seeming to slow down as I focused what was left of my attention on details, counting the bricks in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

I drew my pistol, exhaling to still the tremor in my right hand, and pointed it towards the mouth of the alley. Three against one was still a fight that I could win.

I should really stop making statements like that. That's always when things go wrong.

The three guys rounded the corner, and I let off the first of what would have been three shots when the alley exploded with activity.

I was heartened to see the guy I'd aimed at fall, but somewhat more disheartened to see what had to be fifteen black-clad goons jump into the alley from roofs or first-floor windows.

You see, twenty against one makes the odds a teensy bit worse. Just about the only thing in my favour was that these additional guys seemed to be somewhat ill-prepared, armed with fists and the element of surprise instead of, you know, guns or something.

It was a little bit rude of these guys to think that I could be so easily beaten by a gang of street thugs.

Anyway. I emptied my gun, which reduced the number of guys I was facing by six, before drawing one of my two remaining knives and throwing myself into the fray.

Bad idea? Maybe. One of my worst? Also maybe.

In my defence, my choices in the situation were extremely limited.

Also, my original assessment of the backup as common street thugs was proving not to be entirely correct. These guys had some serious hand-to-hand training, and it was a matter of seconds rather than minutes before both of my knives were removed from my possession and I was left with nothing but my fists, my intellect and my dashing good looks.

Okay, scrap the last part. I was left with nothing but my fists and whatever was left of my exhausted and rather sluggish brain.

Yeah, that sounds a lot worse.

Annabeth began to yell at me though the comms, which really wasn't very helpful. Presumably she was listening to the scuffling (i.e. the absolute thrashing I was receiving) over the comms, but if I'm perfectly honest, I was tuning her out so I couldn't tell you if her advice was good or not.

I'm pleased to say that, after about two minutes of getting the shit kicked out of me, the fight began to turn in my favour. A couple of guys stumbled and made some careless errors, and that was all I needed to gain a foothold and start to give some beatings instead of just receiving them.

The guys who'd been chasing me had just been loitering in the mouth of the alley, content to let their reinforcements do the dirty work, and while I'd been otherwise occupied trying not to get murdered, they'd vanished.

I hoped that they weren't going for more backup, because if they were then I was so screwed it's not even funny.

Anyway. The fight. For a couple of tense but glorious minutes, it seemed like I was winning. Bodies began to drop around me, and the playing field was levelled somewhat. Now I won't pretend that this was a feat that I would be able to keep up for much longer; these guys hadn't been running around forever and could probably keep fighting for longer than I could on account of that, but things were definitely looking up.

It was down to me against four when things went a tad pear-shaped.

(When I say a tad pear-shaped, I mean that everything, everything, went to utter shit.)

I was grappling with one dude, whilst trying desperately to evade the crushing grasp of another, when the beefy guy to my right who I was sort of watching out of the corner of my eye lunged right at me.

Reflex made me spin to face him, which with hindsight was a terrible idea, because it made me a bigger target than if I was sideways on.

Also, he had a knife. Did I mention that part?

He very kindly gave me said knife. Between my ribs, that is, anyway.

Yeah.

The pain was so blinding that I didn't realise I'd lost all sense of vision until the colours and shapes of the landscape around me finally rushed back.

Come to think of it, the loss of vision probably had something to do with the guy behind me who thumped me over the head rather hard as well.

And yeah, by the time I came back to myself, I was on the floor and they were kicking at me with their hobnailed boots.

Nice guys, I'll give 'em that.

I am not ashamed to say that I grabbed the next foot that came at me and used it to yank the owner off balance, which changed the tone of the fight again. Clearly they had expected that at some stage along this line, I would simply give up and die. It was definitely the easiest option.

Unfortunately for them, I've always been a stubborn bastard.

The fight didn't last that much longer. Once I managed to get my feet underneath me (not as easy as you might think, given the situation), it was over pretty fast with a few well-placed blows from elbows and knees. They had dropped their guard, expecting slow and clumsy blows from me, and that's what had ended up being their downfall.

I collapsed against the wall of the alley, shivering slightly despite the mid-morning heat. The knife's owner had taken it back at some point between sticking me with it and dying, so blood was now flowing freely from the neat wound. I pressed a hand against it and tried to ignore the universe doing an excellent impression of a kaleidoscope.

At some stage in this process I must have made some kind of noise, because there was quite a lot of shouting in my ear. When I didn't respond to Annabeth, Coulson's voice cut in over the line, as clear and relaxed as ever.

"Agent Jackson, I need a sitrep and I need it yesterday. Agent Barton is inbound; he's coming to collect you. ETA about thirty seconds, but I need you to respond before I commit him to that stupid alleyway you've crawled down."

I coughed out a wheeze and Coulson took that as an affirmative. I heard him mutter something down the line, whilst I attempted another intake of air.

"Sir," I slurred, the word rolling strangely around in my mouth. I shook my head slightly to try and clear it, but all that did was cause black spots to dance before my eyes and left me concentrating very hard not to be sick.

Yeah, I definitely wasn't getting enough oxygen. I tried to suck in a huge breath, which sent me into a racking fit of coughs. I spat up a dark glob of blood and began to feel vaguely concerned. Blood was neither meant to be that dark or that viscous.

I took another couple of steadying breaths before attempting to speak again, this time with a little more success. "I'll meet him at the end of the alley."

Yeah, maybe that was a little bit ambitious, but I've always liked a challenge. I stumbled towards the mouth of the alley, one hand pressed against its grimy wall for support and the other wrapped tightly around my midriff. My breathing got more laboured, every inhale rattling and wheezing in the sort of way that breath really shouldn't.

I collapsed onto my stomach again and decided that Clint could probably manage the few extra paces, as was proven by the cacophony of combat boots hitting asphalt.

I rolled over and tried to sit up, flailing slightly as I attempted and wasn't terribly successful.

"Woah, woah," Clint called, skidding to a halt beside me and slinging my arm over his shoulders so that he could lever me to my feet. I let out a pained cry (involuntarily, mind you) as he dragged us upright, pressing my hand against my side more tightly and taking most of my weight as the pair of us stumbled to the alley entrance like a couple of drunks.

There was a motorbike parked a few feet from the entrance, engine idling, and Clint helped me onto it, before taking a seat behind me and reaching around for the handlebars.

"Hang, on, alright?" he ordered, revving the engine. "It's not too far from here. And please, for the love of God, don't pass out."

I nodded slightly, regretting it as the world spun sickeningly, but he took it as confirmation enough, and we sped off in a cloud of dust for the safehouse.

Have you ever been on a motorbike whilst feeling queasy? If so, you might understand when I say that the journey, however short, comprised some of the worst few minutes of my life. Fortunately, Clint's pretty competent (and was definitely breaking the speed limit), so it really wasn't long before he was dragging me off the bike like a large and bleeding sack of potatoes, and helping me up the stairs to the safehouse.

The door opened and Nat ran out, taking some of my weight from Clint by supporting me on my other side. She muttered a few choice Russian curses that let me know that yes, this really was as bad as it looked.

I did try to help myself a little bit as we made our way up the stairs, but I will admit that all I really achieved was to scrabble my feet around somewhat and the others really did all the work.

After a small eternity, we made it up all of the stairs and into the flat itself. Annabeth and Coulson had cleared a patch of floor around the corner from the door. With their help, Nat and Clint lowered me to the floor over there, propping my back against the wall and supporting me with the 'softness' of a couple of kit bags.

Clint got on with the first aid kit, and Nat took up a defensive position, aiming her gun at the door. I gritted my teeth and pushed my head backwards against the wall as he stuffed a wad of bandages into my side, pressing really quite hard.

"Hey," came a voice, as Annabeth crouched down next to me and took my hand in hers. She gently pushed some of my hair out of my eyes. "You listen to me, okay?"

I tilted my head to look at her, hair pulled back into a ponytail and grey eyes all serious. It might have been the blood loss talking, but she was backlit by the sunlight streaming in through the tiny window and I swear to all of the gods that she'd never looked so beautiful.

"You'll be okay, yeah?" she said. "You'll be fine. Just keep fighting, okay? Keep fighting."

I squeezed her hand back, and coughed again. More blood.

She shushed me gently, and stroked my hair again.

I swallowed convulsively, trying to form words. She kept shushing, saying that I should save my breath, that it was all okay, that everything was going to be just fine.

I coughed a little bit more, and then I found my voice. "Marry me?" I whispered, still holding her hand, still telling her I was there and fighting.

Funny, isn't it, how sometimes you have to go to the very brink of death before realising how and with whom you want to spend your life.

She exhaled shakily, maybe huffing a laugh and maybe hiccuping a sob. There were tears in her eyes.

"Survive, and we'll see," she replied, voice shaking slightly but a tiny, incredulous smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Challenge accepted.

There was a crash as the door was kicked in, and the increasingly distant chatter of gunfire as Nat returned fire, trying desperately to battle back the tide of those damned reinforcements that my pursuers must have gone for. I kept my eyes on Annabeth, trying to keep myself tethered even as it grew ever harder, and I got colder and colder. I clung to her as a drowning man to driftwood, because she was my everything; my anchor in the storm, the first ray of sunlight after a long, dark night, the redemption and the life that I had never ever earned in all of my blood-soaked years.

I clung to her, but the tide was just too strong, bearing me relentlessly away into the cold embrace of a dark and lonely ocean. I heard a gunshot, crisp and clear, before I and my vision were swept away, but I knew everything would be okay.

After all, I had all of the people I loved right by my side.

once again, from the bottom of our hearts, thank you for reading! this fic has been a constant in our lives for so long and it feels appropriate for this to be finishing as we finish school. once again, there will be an epilogue coming out in june or july, but for the bulk of the story? that's it. the end.

leave a comment and favourite if you've enjoyed it and thank you once again for coming on this journey with us, and watching percy, clint and ultimately our writing grow up together!

(that feels very sappy, but oh well!)