we could walk straight through hell (with a smile)

by seaweedbraens

The titans have won the war, the child of the prophecy was killed, and what remains of the demigod alliance is hidden underground. Many believe that the great prophecy was false, and that another will be revealed in time, but the sudden introduction of a new face throws everything into question all over again. [canon divergence, canon pairings]

3. i have climbed the hills of view

a/n:

it's been a while - kind of! i actually uploaded part 1 of chapter 3 over on my ao3 account ( seaweedbraens) since ao3 has a character limit and requires the chapters to be posted in parts. i'd recommend following me on there since i'll be uploading the parts parts, rather than the bulk chapters, which i will be posting here. but to each their own!

a huge, huge thanks to all my mains - mari, shar, conner, and haz! haz helped me so much with frank's characterization, including a lot of cultural stuff! in case you wonder about the slight change in frank's chinese name that i've made in this chapter, i will have a document uploaded and pinned on my tumblr.

assuming you've been keeping up with this fic - welcome back! 3 down, 2 to go, and this chapter is a BIG one.

thank you for being here :)

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iii. i have climbed the hills of view

/

Annabeth had thought she'd known pain, but she's never quite felt anything like this before.

She's been shunned by her own father. She's never known her mother. She's lost her closest friends – one to death, and the other to the enemy. She's been through a War – and then, when they'd been defeated, she'd had to build them back up to a point where they weren't quite on the verge of extinction anymore. She's broken her ankle, her arm, several her ribs many times over.

Nothing compares to the pain of holding to the sky.

Her mouth is parched. Her limbs have lost all feeling: her arms are raised at her sides to alleviate some of the pain from her shoulders, and her legs quake beneath her. It burns like a bitch.

Annabeth spends most of her time trying to go to her happy place, which, back when she'd only just fled from home, had usually been her local library, where she would bury herself underneath a couple of blankets with a couple of great books to amuse her. These days, though, she thinks of her friends a lot. Piper, nagging at her to eat something. Jason, trying to calm Piper. Leo, inevitably setting something on fire. Beckendorf, offering to stay up with her on lonely nights just to entertain her with an interesting conversation. Silena, scrubbing shampoo into her hair with the strength of a hundred angry mothers. Malcolm, resting his head on her shoulders while discussing the Parthenon in its prime. Frank and Hazel, confiding in her their secrets and comforting her in the process. Grover, always, always there for her to lean against, the only friendship from the old days to have survived this far.

Percy.

The problem with thinking about Percy is that it makes everything ache even more – only this ache starts right from the heart. She can't quite shake the feeling of his accusing gaze boring into her back as she'd walked away from him that night, and she hates that they'd fought. She hates that she'd used the do you trust me card just to get what she wanted, knowing fully well that Percy did trust her. She hates that she'd gone to Luke, throwing aside both her wits and her instincts, disregarding all the giant red flags that popped up whenever Luke emerged in her head. Which had, admittedly, been often.

Things obviously haven't worked out she way she'd hoped, and now she's stuck here and the fault lies with her. If only she was a better leader, a better person, more skilled, then she wouldn't have put herself in this position.

Annabeth isn't sure how much time has passed. It feels like seconds. Or minutes, or days, or months, or years. Time has no meaning where she is – she isn't quite sure when one day ends and the next begins. She supposes she sleeps somehow - if, of course, one can count her squeezing her eyes shut and allowing her very soul to slip away just to the edge of no return as sleeping.

Luke shows up every few hours to give her food and water – the first few times she'd made it a point to spit it right back at his feet, because despite everything, Annabeth's still got some pride left, dammit, and she will not allow him to come that close. It's only when she hears her stomach growling even over the sound of the thunder that she allows him to feed her, albeit reluctantly, figuring that her best chance at survival also involved sustenance. She treats his casual presence with a wary acceptance - she won't be any use to Percy if he shows up to rescue her and all he finds of her is her corpse.

That's all that's keeping her going, really. The thought of Percy and Piper and Frank possibly, surely out there, gathering reinforcements to get her the fuck out of here – it keeps her going. It keeps her alive.

Another thing about being trapped is that it's given her infinite time to think, and so Annabeth spends hour after hour after hour cursing her own damn self.

She can't believe she'd been so stupid.

She'd lost her head. She'd lost her mind. She doesn't know what it is about Luke – what it is about him that makes her completely lose whatever decent sense of judgement she'd been born with. Athena – if the goddess were around – would be disappointed in her. Her siblings would probably disown her. And her friends had been right to worry about her after all. She doesn't deserve to be a leader – she's clearly got some deep, deep issues about Luke that needs resolving – issues that are interfering with the rational side of her brain.

And with him showing up to visit her every day, those issues are proving to be hard to erase.

Luke doesn't say anything to her. Despite Atlas' instructions to grill her for information, he seems to know that it'll take a lot more than the stupid sky to break her, and so he doesn't even try. He brings her water, and food in the form of dry bread with a bit of peanut butter scraped on top – and then he just sits some distance away from her so all that she sees is his slightly-drooping back if she tilts her head a little upwards.

She doesn't know what to think of him anymore. Luke, she knows now, has never been anything he said he was. He'd pretended to be on their side for months, maybe years. Him being here and baiting her to hold the sky was a cheap, underhanded tactic she hadn't believed him capable of using, mostly because she still can't quite reconcile the new Luke with the memory of him that still lingers in the dark, forgotten trenches of her brain.

The old Luke, though, had loved her. She is as sure of this as she is of the fact that the new Luke had never loved her at all. And it's a conflicting thought for sure, filling her with remorse and hatred for him – and for herself, for allowing him to manipulate her so.

Sometimes, their eyes meet. Luke's are blue and open and vulnerable, the same way they'd always been, and it fills her up to the throat with pure, unadulterated nausea. Because there is something in his gaze, something Annabeth remembers from all her years with him, and she feels disgusted at him, at herself, at all the poor souls Luke has duped through the years. Luke could always inspire loyalty. He had even won Annabeth's once – she will never make that mistake again.

She wants him here. She wants him to leave her the fuck alone.

But she can't speak. Even if she wanted to, she can't. Speaking means extra effort focused on another part of her body that isn't wholly dedicated to lifting the sky, and it seems like an awful waste of energy.

The silence is killing her, though. She has so much to say to Luke, staring with Why and ending with Why? Why is he here? Why is he with the Titans? Why did he trick her? Why is he coming to her every day?

Why is he still treating her with some kindness, even now, when she knows that she means nothing to him?

And so one day, when he's knelt at her side and breaking off pieces of bread for her, she chokes out the question.

"Why?"

Her voice comes out in a rough, dirty rasp. She hasn't used it in what feels like ages, and despite the water he's just tipped down her throat, her insides feel hot and dry. And yet Luke nods, like he'd been expecting her to ask, and sighs heavily, frowning like he's really thinking about it.

And Annabeth watches him. His skin is paler than it once had been, gaunt eyes framed below by black circles, as though he hasn't been sleeping. He's thin and bony, possibly from the strain of holding up the sky before her, and there are new scars running up and down his arms. His new sword – the one he'd held to her heart whens he'd fucking saved him – is sheathed at his side. Half-steel and half-Bronze, she notes with a mixture of interest and disgust. Of course the Titans would make weapons that could force mortals into submission, too.

"There wasn't a choice," Luke says, after a loaded moment of eye contact. He sweeps his hair out of his eyes – hair that is streaked with a misty grey color, mingling with his usual sandy strands. Annabeth knows her own hair is turning that same shade – she can see wisps of it falling over her forehead and face, and she tries to blow it away, failing until Luke takes pity on her and tucks the lock behind her ears.

The contact – the tenderness in his fingers - makes her shiver.

"There's – always…" she begins. Luke must understand what she means to say, but he only snorts.

"I took the path I thought was best for me," he says. "For us. You know I'm supposed to be out here recruiting you, right?"

She huffs in derision. Luke sighs. "That's why I'm not bothering to. But I meant what I said before, Annabeth. You need to think about which side you want to be on. And if you join me –" here he meets her eyes again, and she shrinks away, teeth bared in a snarl – "it can be us again, just like how you've always wanted. Us against the world."

Annabeth wants to sob. That is what she'd wanted, even though she'd never said it to him out loud. It's what she's always wanted, deep down inside her, for years. But –

"It was never…just us two," she says, and her eyes well up with tears. "Or…did you forget – who you killed –" She watches in satisfaction as Luke recoils, and maybe she's just a terrible person but she feels glad to see him in pain.

His eyes flash just once, harsh gold light cutting through the blue for a split second, and she squints in surprise. Maybe it was just a reflection from the lightning.

Luke stands, discarding the bread, and turns to leave.

"You killed her." The world come out between coughs, but she knows he can hear every word. "You're killing me…and…I hate you," she spits, with her last bit of strength.

She's crying. She hadn't even realized it, but there's water dripping down her chin.

"I…used to…pray," she whispers shakily. Her heart feels just about ready to implode in on itself. "That – you were…alive. Now – I think…that death…would have – been better."

He pauses, once, on the way down, but doesn't look back, not even when she bursts into boiling tears and sobs that wrack her entire body.

Annabeth had thought she'd known pain, but she's never quite felt anything like this before.

/

"Let's finish this quick," Jason says, sweeping into the room with a dramatic flair that he usually saved for Senate meetings back in New Rome. He's hoping the quicker he can finish this off, the more efficient and business-like he'll seem.

It doesn't work, not even in the slightest. Everyone else is there, lounging about the hearth and chattering, and they look up when he makes his entrance and greet him with casual heys. Even Clarisse is there, who glares at him with less venom than usual. She seems like she wants to be out of the meeting as fast as possible. It strikes Jason as odd until he remembers that she's left Chris back in Bunker Five to be here, and – Jason looks around to confirm his theory – Pollux isn't here as well, which means he must still be in Five, tending to him.

"Everyone, listen up," Jason orders, trying for a stern, Annabeth-y tone that is meant to grab the attention of the whole room, but only a select few look up. It's only when Piper hisses shhhh with a little charmspeak sprinkled in that everyone stops talking and turns their way expectantly.

Jason takes a couple of deep breaths, trying his best to structure his thoughts into something resembling coherency. His throat feels too small, now, for all the thoughts clogged in his brain, and he tries to think of what Annabeth would do.

It hadn't really ever been discussed among them about what to do, who would take over, if Annabeth ever died, but Piper and Percy had both looked to him at once to handle this meeting and Jason hadn't felt right refusing, even though he hates doing this. Annabeth's loss has left a gaping hole in his life and he knows she'd believed in him, but everything he's trying to do here feels like a shot in the dark. It's like back when they were reeling from their defeat and the shock of losing Thalia in the War. He's starting at square one all over again, only this time there's no Annabeth to pick up the slack.

"So-" he begins.

"Where's Annabeth?" Malcolm asks at once.

"Can't believe she's late when she's usually the one being all anal about punctuality," Clarisse grunts, crossing her arms.

"Shut up," Piper snaps.

"What's your problem, Barbie?" Clarisse shoots back, her nose turning upwards in distaste. "Sure, it's perfectly fine for all of you to disregard the rules when it's Little Miss Perfect breaking them, but when it's me-"

"Annabeth isn't late." Jason takes a breath. "That's what we're meeting about. She's…been taken."

His announcement is received by silence. Everyone looks around, stunned, and Jason doesn't blame them – it's how he'd reacted to the news when Piper, Percy, and Frank had come back alone, clothed in silver-lined jackets and flanked by hunting wolves. No Annabeth in sight.

He can feel the temperature in the room dip as morale changes – the enchanted fire turns a deep grey.

"Taken?" whispers Malcolm, visibly shaken; he's Annabeth's closest sibling, her favorite sibling, alike in all aspects except their mortal parentage. He'd apparently arrived in Six a year or so after Annabeth had, and she'd spent months in Six teaching him Greek and swordplay. Even after the War Malcolm makes it a point to visit Nine to celebrate Annabeth's birthday, and it occurs to Jason now that July has passed in the commotion. Annabeth is twenty now, and so is he.

One year to go for the day of reckoning. One year to go before the Prophecy is fulfilled – finally.

Everyone is silent as Piper explains the Quest - and its atrocious ending - in brief. Travis and Connor exchange dark looks when she's done speaking, just as they'd done every time Luke's name had been mentioned. They look furious, disgusted – they'd worshipped Luke as an older brother when he'd been around, Jason knows, and it reminds him that Luke hadn't just left Annabeth behind when he'd chosen Kronos over the gods. He'd left behind friends and family, too.

"Well, shit," says Clarisse after a while. "The Princess fucked up."

Malcolm bristles. "She was manipulated!"

"She allowed herself to be manipulated," Clarisse scoffs. "Who the hell would trust Luke after all he's done?"

"Same way you're trusting Chris by not chucking him out of Five," Travis spits; apparently Clarisse has struck a nerve with her comment, and for the first time Jason wonders if Annabeth hadn't been alone in hoping Luke was somehow still miraculously on their side.

The only problem is Travis seems to have triggered Clarisse right back, and as if on cue she rises from her seat, towering over the rest.

"Wanna say that again, runt?" she jeers, baring her teeth, but nothing can hide the shakiness in her voice. Travis grits his teeth and makes to stand too, but Connor yanks him back down, hissing that, "She's not worth it," something that Michael Yew agrees with vocally and loudly, causing the daughter of Area to turn on him in a flash.

"Everyone, sit down!" Piper butts in, not even bothering to hide her charmspeak this time, and both Clarisse and Michael's asses hit the floor so fast they'll have sore buttcheeks for weeks. "Luke isn't the point here – if anything, this only proves our suspicions that he's left us permanently. Our main objective now is getting Annabeth back. It's been about four days since we've left her –"

"And why'd you leave her?" Malcolm demands, rounding on Piper even as a teary Bea tries to hold him back. "You couldn't charmspeak her into staying? And what about Percy, the big strong Titan Killer son of Poseidon extraordinaire –"

"Yeah, where is Prissy?" Clarisse demands, nodding.

Jason bites his tongue, because he doesn't want to say that Percy's in mourning, which sounds stupid but happens to be – exactly what he's doing. Percy's been near-mute and furious ever since Zoe and the Hunters had deposited him back on the doorsteps of Bunker Nine after the disastrous Quest; apparently the escort back to camp had been necessary, seeing that Percy had tried to escape and go back to Othrys no less than eleven times since they'd left Annabeth. Jason knows he'd been close to her, but now he's beginning to wonder if their connection had run deeper than friendship – on Percy's part, at least. And Jason isn't one to judge. After all, isn't he preparing each day to go fight Krios just to prevent Piper from meeting that same fate – that same foe?

"Percy's back at Nine," Piper says uncomfortably after a brief pause. "And Malcolm, you know that when I'm on a Quest, I try to use my charmspeak only on monsters. And…" She gulps as though she's trying not to sob. "I tried, okay? I tried. And Annabeth resisted me, as she always does, and she got mad at me, and she wouldn't listen to us." She looks at him pleadingly. "Please, you have to believe me. You know Annabeth. We tried everything – Percy did too, he went off on everyone and attacked the Hunters just for a chance to get to Annabeth, so don't you dare go blaming him."

"But you-" Malcolm starts.

"You think I didn't try everything in my power to get her to see reason?" Piper demands, her eyes full of tears, but her voice comes out sharp as a knife. "You think you're the only one who cares about her? You think I didn't spend the entire four days' journey back just – just killing myself for not doing something more?"

Her words ring throughout the Bunker, echoing off the walls. She hasn't used a lick of charmspeak, but everyone suddenly looks very small. Lacey glares at Malcolm, who pinches his brows together and shrinks back.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, deflating. "And I know you didn't just…ditch her. It's just –"

"I know," Piper says back, wiping at her eyes. She looks up gratefully when Jason squeezes her hand. "I'd be as mad if I was in your position. But you have to know – there was no way we could've done anything. Atlas was there and –" she shudders slightly. "Look, we can't dwell on the past. Zoe's Hunters are going back to Othrys, and we'll have an update soon. And when we do, we're going to get Annabeth back."

She looks at Jason, who starts in surprise. He'd totally forgotten he was the one who was supposed to be handling the meeting.

"Um, yeah," he agrees, cringing at the slight wobble in his voice. "But I think, with her gone, we need everyone to be on high alert. There's about a year now until I turn twenty-one, so –" He winces as the entire group turns to him with sympathetic eyes. "I think we need to tell everyone about the War. That it's coming soon. And we need to be on high alert."

He takes a breath, holding up his hand to ward off any questions, and pulls a chain from his pocket – a silver one with a scythe charm on the end.

He watches their faces carefully. Everyone looks predictably and realistically confused – Silena frowns and Clarisse nods grimly, but nobody offers an opinion.

Jason and Piper had debated far too much on the matter – and he knows that Annabeth had wanted to keep a lot of this information a secret, and for good reason, too. But Jason – Jason doesn't know what to do, okay? He needs help. And he can't see any of their core group being a turncoat. These are the people who accepted him into their home and treated him with the same respect they had done Thalia. Grover had admitted, even, that they could have been followed during their Quest to find the Prophecy, and that the monsters could have discovered about Ella that way. Jason wants to believe that's the case, and even if there is a spy in the Bunker, they'll find the traitor easier with more people looking.

To be honest, he's fucking terrified. This is a call that he's been forced to take now that the Prophecy's due date is nigh and Annabeth is gone. He's so so so scared because it's one thing if he fucks up on a Quest and gets himself into trouble, but another thing entirely if their position is compromised, if someone on their side is hurt, because of his rash decisions. He's not Annabeth – he's struggling, and even though he feels Piper's comforting presence pressing into his side, he can't help but think that he doesn't deserve her unfounded confidence in him.

"This is something Annabeth took off of an enemy demigod that ambushed her and Percy in the woods a while ago," he explains. "We think all enemy demigods have one."

"Chris had one, too," Clarisse confirms, bringing an identical necklace from her backpack. "We had Maya take a look at it and got nothing - if it's a communication device, it's a shitty one."

"My theory is that we need to say a special phrase to activate it, or maybe it's been disabled since the enemy knows we have it," Jason says. "But we tested it out on a supply run. We had Nyssa not hide her scent on purpose so that she could attract monsters. And when they came, Nyssa showed them the charm - and they left her alone."

"You're kidding," Will gasps. "That's so useful."

"It is," Piper agrees. "I wore it once. A dracaena made small talk with me."

"Horrifying," says Lacey. "What'd she ask you?"

"Which shade of lipstick went best with her scales."

"And she asked you, of all people?"

"Okay," Jason interjects; Piper shoots him a sheepish look and presses her shoulder against his in a silent apology. "The point is, we've probably got to keep an eye out for these."

"Where?" Maya asks carefully. "In the Bunkers?"

The implication is obvious. Everyone stirs uneasily, looking around at each other with suddenly-fearful eyes. Jason gulps. He hopes he isn't doing the wrong thing.

"Outside – we spot one of these and we know what's up…but also in the Bunkers, too," he agrees, wincing. "I mean, the demigod Percy and Annabeth apprehended seemed to imply that Chris was attempting to get into the Bunkers based on…well, based on information he was getting from someone on the inside."

"What are you suggesting?" Clarisse says loudly, effectively allowing the sceptics to stare at her in open suspicion. Silena places her arm on her shoulder and whispers in her ear to hush her.

"I'm just saying we need to be careful," Jason says in what he hopes is a placating manner.

"Well, since Chris has gone batshit crazy and is probably losing his mind as we speak, again," says Clarisse in a voice trembling with rage, "maybe this spy just isn't doing their job right. And you said you found my compass when you found Chris, right? He was clearly using that – it was an older model, one of the first prototypes Nine put out. So maybe your information on the supposed spy is bullshit."

"That's a good point," Malcolm agrees, nodding at Clarisse as Silena hugs her, cooing quietly in her ear. "Maybe I'm being way too optimistic here, but maybe there isn't a spy. I mean, nobody's found our location yet. Maybe they stole our compasses during the War – Clarisse just assumed hers was gone in the chaos of the retreat, right? And even if they're tracking our location a different way, we've shored our defenses anyway." He looks at Maya imploringly, who nods.

"More glamour charms added to every main entrance, passwords and blood-magic-triggered spells at every side entrance. Anyone who doesn't know the password should veer further and further away to the nearest Monster Donut outlet," she says, and Jason nods, thinking.

"You could be right, Malcolm," Piper says. "And I don't want there to be a spy any more than you do. I know it's a tough pill to swallow. But we're not saying you need to start distrusting everyone," she adds. "Just that we need to be careful about what information goes to whom."

"This is a worst-case scenario," Beckendorf says, nodding, and somehow the words some so sensible coming from his mouth. "It won't hurt to be a little vigilant."

"I hope there isn't a spy, though," Silena says, looking disturbed, and Jason nods in agreement.

"So why do you want to tell everyone about the changed Prophecy?" Will asks. "Won't that just make it harder for us to figure out who the spy is? And won't they just tell the Titans? That'll just make it worse for everyone – but mostly you," he finishes, looking at Jason uncomfortably. "You've always had a target on your back, but it'll be even worse if they find out."

"We considered that." Jason and Piper exchange a glance. "But the Prophecy is going to happen whether we like it or not, and it's best if we all go in prepared. We won't tell everyone about the Prophecy itself – that stays with us. We'll say that we've gotten information that the Titans are planning to strike soon, that Kronos will be back to full power by next year. We'll begin preparations for War. And about them putting a bounty on my head – I can't avoid it. If the Titans come, let them."

His voice has grown stronger and stronger with every word, and his final dare sounds strong, even to his own ears. The other demigods clench their jaws and nod in apparent agreement; Clarisse in particular looks ready to fight. Piper raises a brow at him, impressed.

"Hear, hear," says Katie unexpectedly. "I think that's best, you guys. Everyone deserves to know what they're walking into. More lies just cause more confusion. And this way we have more time for this to…sink in."

"Some things we keep just between us, though," Piper says. "We gotta keep quiet about the Prophecy's origins - the stuff about Ella and the Sibylline books. And Percy's parentage, too – he's our trump card. He isn't the child of the Prophecy, and the longer we keep his identity a secret, the longer the Titans will be in the dark, too. I mean, it's bad enough that every Titan and their mom knows about Jason."

"Gaea?" Bea asks, flabbergasted, not catching the joke.

"Let's not jinx anything, shall we," Piper grunts. "I don't want to deal with the goddess of the goddamn earth showing up. It would be so easy to bury us all alive."

A bunch of people look up at the roof as though expecting it to collapse.

"Well, that's all from us," Jason says bracingly, "Will? Any updates on a new Oracle?"

"None," says Will dejectedly. "I mean, we're talking about one mortal in millions here. Unless someone in Nine wants to build an Oracle-o-meter…"

"I'll get right on it," Beckendorf grunts sarcastically.

"The spheres come first," Jason reminds him. "Updates on that?"

"We're working on magically fusing the parts together," Beckendorf says. "We've had Lou working on it, but Maya's coming back with us to help. Once that's done, we just need to power it up with magic and begin tests. If all goes well, we'll have our first sphere – the control sphere – and we'll work on making smaller ones for each of us here, ones that'll respond to our magical signatures and work accordingly."

"Finally some good news," Connor mutters, and Jason agrees fervently in his mind.

"When are the Hunters due back?" Malcolm asks. "It's still Zoe who's in charge, right?"

"Yeah," says Piper with a grimace.

"And then…you'll go to get Annabeth?" he asks desperately, looking at Jason, and Jason sighs and hates the world, wanting desperately, if only for a few minutes, to go back to the days when he was just the son of Jupiter and not (possibly) the child of the Prophecy, not the one people are now turning to for instructions, for hope.

It's not his thing. It's never been his thing. He hates that he's just…expected to be the leader just because he's the son of Zeus. Just because his dad is the king of the gods doesn't mean Jason is cut out for the role of king of anything. He hadn't liked it back when he was being groomed for praetor with Reyna, and he doesn't like it any better now, even though this is temporary.

But this is Annabeth they're talking about. Annabeth who stood up for them all when they desperately were looking for someone to cling to. Annabeth who's been there for him ever since the moment Thalia breathed her last. He has to bring her home, and if he has to lead the mission to do it, well…so be it.

"Of course we'll go," he assures Malcolm, who smiles a little in satisfaction. Piper squeezes the inside of his elbow and smiles up at him, proud.

"So, here's our agenda once we're out of here," she says, detaching from him and clapping her hands together. "Everyone holds a Bunker meeting as soon as we get back to tell everyone about the changed Prophecy. Maya, Beckendorf, and Leo, when he's back, will work on the spheres and send regular updates. Lacey, we're going by your info that Mitchell is close to finalizing the mixture for Greek Fire, and Grover updates us on his progress regularly through Percy. The minute the Hunters return, we'll go get Annabeth back without fail. And we keep our eyes peeled for any suspicious activity, or better yet, anyone with a scythe charm." She nods at the end of her speech, pleased. "Anything I missed?"

"You missed getting ready for the War in general," Katie says. "We're gonna need more weapons from Nine, which means more supply runs, and maybe we should do the shuffling thing we did for training last time. Have seniors from each bunker hold sparring sessions. We're in August, so it must be less than a year away, now."

"Oh, yes." It's rare to catch Piper off-guard, but she seems to be stunned. "Yeah. One year."

"One year," Jason agrees, glaring at his feet to avoid the sympathetic, pitying glances sent in his direction.

One year, and there's still Krios and Kronos and every other Titan in the world to deal with.

One year – but will he still be around then?

/

Percy doesn't mean to trip the old woman in his bid to run from the monster, but of course it happens anyway.

And then, because the world is funny that way, Frank bumps into him, leaving the two of them just – sprawled across this poor lady, and there's a brief moment of silence during which the entire store stares at them, even the staff member who is actually the monster who is supposed to be chasing them.

And then the old lady starts beating Percy with her cane.

"Fuck!" Percy screeches as she nails him in the eye. Frank scrambles out of the way of his flailing arms just in time, but he goes in the direction of the gobsmacked empousa, who finally comes to her senses, snarling. Frank trips over in his haste to turn around as Percy shields his face from the mortal woman, who is now screaming for security and calling him all kinds of offensive names, such as insolent brat and sexual-assaulting hoodlum.

"Fuck," Percy grunts, finally rolling away to safety and grabbing Frank from where he's collapsed into the cereal rack. They break through a window just as the security guards arrive on the scene: Percy withdraws his sword and swipes at the monster to the sound of more screams, and he's angry. He'd wanted to get Annabeth the drawing pencils she likes best – for when she's back, of course – and the damn empousa had ruined everything.

He's stronger than the monster and the old woman's causing a wonderful distraction. He kicks at the empousa, but before he can make the killing blow, though, Frank grabs his hand and yanks him along in his quest to get away as fast - and loudly - as possible. He's yelling to the security that they're innocent and to grab the empousa, but of course the mortals don't care. Percy swears and sheathes his sword, and then he zips his bags shut: there are a couple of bottles of disinfectant threatening to spill over and Percy isn't going to be the one to tell the Apollo kids that he's lost the medicines.

Frank doesn't let go of him until they're deep in the woods. He collapses, panting; his load is far heftier than Percy's.

"That was reckless," he admonishes. "There were too many mortals around, Percy. What were you thinking? What if they'd taken a video – we can't afford to have our names plastered on Wanted signs, we're targeted enough as it is-"

"I know," Percy says shortly, rubbing his shoe against the grass, and something in his tone makes Frank fall silent.

He must've really screwed up if even soft-tempered Frank is criticizing him, Percy thinks angrily.

And somewhere he knows that he had acted thoughtlessly in revealing his weapon: for a scary moment he'd even been tempted to use his water powers, and that would've been bad. It's just that he feels so fucking useless these days. Unhinged, in a way.

But he can't stop himself. His powers feel looser, more inclined to burst from him against his will. There's a boiling energy ever-present in him, lurking just under his skin, fucking with his head. On his last supply run with Piper, he'd even attacked an unsuspecting monster first instead of making a tactical retreat – something Piper had berated him for repeatedly for days on end, even though she'd been nice enough to keep the details of the trip secret from the rest of Nine. Even still, it had been a while before he'd been allowed to go on a supply run again, and – well, he's fucked it up again.

He just…doesn't want to lose again. He needs to do better. If he'd acted faster with Zoe back then, he might've been able to get Annabeth back.

Frank sighs, then scoots over to where Percy's glaring at a nearby rock.

"I know what it's like to feel helpless," he says quietly, and Percy flushes at how transparent he's evidently been. "When my mom left our house…to New Rome, it was the worst thing for me, y'know? All I could do was…"

"Wait," Percy agrees, sagging a little.

"Yeah," Frank says. He traces his finger in the fallen leaves circling them in a pattern Percy eyes can't trace. "It was horrible, and by then I was used to her leaving on duty, y'know?" Noticing Percy's questioning look, he explains, "She was in the Canadian army – active duty in Afghanistan. That's how she got Mars's attention."

Percy swallows thickly. "I can't imagine…she was fighting two wars at once."

"She was on a break when she got the call from New Rome," Frank tells him, blinking quickly in a manner Percy recognizes as one he uses himself to keep the tears at bay. "And…I don't know. Every time Mom left home before that, I knew she'd come back. But this time felt different – I think I must've known, even then."

"That's the worst," Percy says sincerely. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Frank stops drawing in the ground. "It's how she would've wanted to go. And I'm proud to have a mom who fought to keep both sides of her world safe."

He sighs. "My point here is that I kind of knew, while I was waiting for news of my mom, that it was a lost cause." He places a hand on Percy's shoulder. "It isn't the same for you. Annabeth is alive, and the Hunters will be back soon with news. And then you can go get her back, and everything will be back to normal."

"I know she isn't dead," Percy says, a bitter taste filling his mouth. He clenches his fists. "Luke won't let that happen. She's too valuable. This is their sick, sadistic way of trying to break her for information."

Frank purses his lips. "She won't breathe a word."

"I know. But the longer I'm stuck here, waiting…" Percy grits his teeth. The thought of Annabeth giving away their location, or other sensitive secrets, like the very existence of Percy and Hazel, has never even crossed his mind. Annabeth will hold up the sky. She's the strongest person he knows. But - "The longer we're waiting, the longer she's stuck there. With Luke."

Frank turns away from him. "Haven't you wondered about that?"

"About what?"

"How it all happened," Frank mutters uncomfortably. "Grover finds out about Luke, tells you, you tell Annabeth…"

"A set-up," Percy says, nodding. "And a pretty elaborate one, at that." Someone must've fed the information to Grover knowing it would eventually reach Annabeth, knowing she would stop at nothing to investigate the matter further. He's thought about it before, but it doesn't make sense. Even if it was a spy, nobody would really have knowledge about Annabeth's deepest feelings about Luke unless they were reading her mind, somehow. The only people who really knew are the people closest to Annabeth, closest to Percy – and that's impossible.

Maybe a child of Hypnos, he thinks, but discards the idea at once. The only child of Hypnos he's met is Clovis, who had spent most of his time during the council meet passed out. If his siblings are anything like him – well. They probably don't stay awake long enough to pass on any useful information.

It's a cause for worry, for sure, but it isn't Percy's biggest problem right now. Jason's got plans to expose the spy, or at least put them on their guard – Percy isn't sure if it'll work, but he just wants to get his ass back to California and save Annabeth.

He feels like a possessive bastard for even thinking it, but he needs to get her away from Luke as soon as humanly possible. Just the idea that Luke is probably questioning her about their camp makes Percy sick.

"I hope the Hunters come back soon," he admits quietly, even though he wants to hit Zoe in the face most of the time she's around.

"They will be," says Frank confidently, pulling himself to his feet and offering a hand to Percy. He gestures at their backpacks, which are lying on their sides, thrown away haphazardly as though not full of necessary items for the Bunker. "Let's get back before -"

There's a crashing through the trees, and the empousa from before makes a reappearance. She's discarded her disguise save for the ugly green apron. Her skin is pure white, her mouth is frothing, and her fingernails have curled into claws.

"-before the monster thinks of coming to find us," Frank finishes with a whine. He pulls out his quiver from his backpack, rolling away with it in his arms as the monster lunges at him. Percy flips himself upright and draws his sword, slashing as the empousa turns on him.

He parries her claws away, grunting in surprise at the effort it takes. In her human form the empousa had looked like a normal mortal girl, with dark skin and curly hair. She'd smiled at Percy in the store – and then tried to behead him.

He slashes again, frowning as the sword slips a little between his fingers. This is the fifth sword he's had Shane make for him, but nothing really seems to fit him. All the Hephaestus demigods clamour to make him weapons now – they've made it a competition at this point, as though Percy's just an extremely picky customer that they're trying their best to please.

The empousai dodges his blow with surprising agility and ducks quickly to avoid Frank's arrow.

"I must admit it was surprising to smell you here," she hisses, leering at Percy. "That deodorant you're using must be wearing off, little demigod."

"The fuck does that mean," Percy grumbles under his breath, adjusting his grip on his sword and rolling out of the way as she lunges again.

"It means I expected you'd still be hanging around California," she grins, and Percy stiffens.

"Don't listen to her, Perce," Frank says at once, sending two arrows in quick succession – the empousa deflects them easily and turns to Percy again, fangs bared.

"I smelled you all the way back near Othrys, little demigod," she sneers. "I've been tracking you ever since. I haven't smelled a scent like yours in a thousand years." She smiles, inhaling deeply – it's such a creepy sight that even Frank wrinkles his nose and lowers his bow a little. "Smells like –"

"Smells like nothing," Frank insists, discarding his bow and drawing his sword. He charges at the monster, who is forced to engage for a while as Percy regains his wits.

She meets his gaze, and he shudders, her eyes glinting red. "Aren't you going to ask about your puny friend? The female who got captured? All the monsters know about it." She shakes her wrist mockingly. She's wearing a bracelet and Percy barely catches a hint of it as it winks in the light, but his breath catches. A scythe charm.

Percy grits his teeth. "Shut up."

"Oh, that got a reaction." She pushes Frank aside, jumping atop his back as he stumbles, and her body twists as she leaps at Percy, claws bared and mouth wide open in a snarl. Percy catches the blow with this sword, bringing them face-to-face.

"She's all alone," the empousa croons. "I'll admit she put up a fight for a while, but Luke won her over easily enough." She cackles, a wild sound that makes Percy's knees tremble. "Oh, it will be fun when we storm your silly little camp with her at the head!"

"Annabeth would never," Percy growls back, lifting his leg to her exposed chest and kicking as hard as he can. The monster skids away from him, arms akimbo, and Frank grabs her by the neck and holds his spatha right at her throat.

"What do you know about Annabeth?" he orders, and Percy sees him concentrate as he turns his forearms into that of a bear's – thick and hairy and impossibly strong. The empousa's eyes widen as she notes the added pressure, and she squirms in his grasp, mouth still resolutely kept shut.

Percy approaches her. "Answer him."

"Or what?" she sneers.

"It would be very easy to kill you," Percy assures her, hefting his sword over his shoulder.

"Would it now," the monster grins, and with a sideways glance at Frank, her hair bursts into flame.

Frank drops her so fast even she isn't expecting it. She hits the floor with a thud and crawls to all fours, hissing in victory as she notes the fear in Frank's eyes.

At once the severity of the situation hits Percy. He's got to keep Frank safe.

He doesn't hesitate in bringing his sword down on her body, but she rolls away with shocking speed. Percy plants himself between her and Frank, but when she comes back up to her feet she's grinning like she knows what he's trying to do.

"I-" says Frank from behind him, gazing at the empousa's volcanic hair in horror.

"Don't move, Frank," Percy says.

"Yes, don't move, Frank," says the empousa in a terrible imitation of his voice, but before Percy can do anything she rushes towards him.

Percy moves to intercept her. She's fast, and Percy only just manages to get to her in time, thrusting at her torso with his sword and forcing her to switch direction to avoid him. She hisses, ducking his next strike and getting in close to him, forcing Percy to go on the defensive. He uses his free hand to throw in surprise punches, but the empousa seems adept at weaponless combat, and she grabs his hand and flips him to the ground. Percy brings his legs up to kick, and she jumps over them, landing so hard on his right hand that he screams. Her skin is boiling, and she presses, presses until the sword clatters out of his palm.

In that split second she abandons him and charges at Frank, who's only just managed to stand again. She pounces, leaping high into the air and landing behind him. She ducks his punch and twists her arm around his neck from behind, cackling. Frank whimpers at the contact. The flames lick at his hair.

Percy doesn't think. Without even bothering to grab his sword, he roars and stamps on the ground, sending tremors running up and down the area. Frank and the empousai both stumble, separating, and Percy conjures a burst of water from the air. He sends it rushing with the force of a waterfall at the empousai, and she's still too stunned from the quake to notice. The torrent sends her flying into a nearby tree, dousing her flames, and Percy commands the water to curl around her in a giant fist, slipping over her mouth and nostrils to prevent her from breathing.

Percy clenches his fist – the water responds and begins to squeeze. The empousa releases a gurgling screech, her eyes widening in realization as she looks at Percy.

He can't leave her alive.

"Now, Frank!" Percy yells.

Frank scoops up his own sword and charges towards the empousa –

A blur of silver. A knife cleaves through the empousa's neck, and Frank stops short as she turns to dust. Percy releases the water, already feeling a little embarrassed at his outburst and a little tired from the release of energy. There's a yelp as the water hits the ground.

"Oh," says Frank dumbly, as he stares at the sopping figure.

Zoe straightens and glares at Percy.

"I have a bone to pick with you, son of Poseidon," she says with disdain. "But fortunately for you, there are far more pressing matters at hand." She gestures with her hands, and two wolves come sprinting through the forest, steps light like butterfly wings and utterly soundless.

"Is it Annabeth?" Percy demands at once.

"Come," Zoe says, ignoring his plea. "Lead me to this Bunker of yours, and I will tell you."

/

Frank must be the only one in the Bunker who doesn't enjoy hanging out by the hearth.

He stands a little off to the side as the other senior campers - sans Jason - all linger by the fire as Zoe rips Percy apart with a kind of sadistic pleasure Frank wouldn't really expect to see from anyone other than Octavian.

"He was careless," Zoe tells Piper sternly, who turns slightly to glare at Percy, who throws his arms up in the air in annoyance. "It is not in our best interests to reveal his identity, I assumed you knew this."

Piper doesn't seem to be taking well to her tone. "We know, Zoe. We aren't idiots."

"Well, since he is being so brash in public, I assumed you must have given him different orders," Zoe says, with an innocent air that fools no one. "Forgive me if I'm wrong."

Piper grits her teeth. "He knows not to use his powers, but if he did, he must've thought there was no other way." She squares her jaw. "I trust Percy's judgement."

"He was protecting me from an empousa," Frank cuts in. "With flaming hair." He meets Piper's gaze for a split second and knows she understands, because the hard lines of her shoulders soften somewhat.

"And we killed her anyway," Percy grumbles, looking like a sulky teenager. "Not like the secret's out, so maybe you could calm your tits, Zoe."

"Percy, that's not the point," Piper sighs, as Zoe flares up in anger and screeches, "I will not calm my-my anything, you insect -"

"He's right - we did kill the empousa," Frank admits. "So it's no harm done in the end."

"You did not kill it," Zoe says, turning her cold, haughty gaze on him. It's a lot of effort to remain standing. "I did."

"Only because I trapped it first!" Percy explodes angrily. "Frank would've had it even if you didn't decide to stick your nose into our fight."

"You were barely trapping it," Zoe dismisses calmly, tossing her head so that her braid goes flying like a thick piece of rope. In the firelight even Frank has to admit she looks impressive. She is tall and regal, oddly like Reyna in both features and demeanour. She has hair just one shade darker than Piper's, and something about her aura and the way she carries herself has a timeless quality about it.

"Not with those weapons, anyway," Zoe says, casting an amused glance at Percy's sword, and Frank winces as everyone else flares up.

"Excuse me?" Silena trills as though she can't believe what she's just heard. "What's wrong with our weapons?"

"I suppose you think you can do better, then," Beckendorf rumbles, glaring at Zoe so hard that even Frank trembles. Beckendorf is so imposing in his air and physique – he's bigger than Frank, even – but he is a gentle soul, especially with Hazel. Frank's never once seen him mad, but he supposes insulting the Hephaestus kids' hard work must've done it. He looks terrifying and Frank wonders how Zoe isn't crumbling to pieces at the sight.

"Zoe," says Piper sharply. "You aren't allowed to just come in here and insult us. If you came here for a reason, you might as well tell us and be on your way."

Zoe scoffs, but relents. "I have news, as promised. About Annabeth."

This gets everyone's attention. Percy bounces to his feet at once. "Tell us."

"Wait," Piper calls quickly, biting her lip. "Jason and Travis aren't back yet. Could we postpone the meeting until they're back?" She gazes sorrowfully around their little circle. "I'm sorry – they should be back within the hour." She glances at Percy and something in her gaze goes stronger, like she's daring him to argue. Percy seems to be struggling to find words, but eventually gives in.

"Fine," he grumps, throwing himself onto a cushion and crossing his arms.

"I am in agreement with this as well," Zoe says. "If you will excuse me, I want to check up on Bunker Eight."

"Zoe, they'll be back within an hour," Piper reminds her.

"And so will I," says Zoe bossily. She adjusts her bow over her back, and it really a magnificent weapon, Frank thinks - despite himself - enviously. It's not a common make – it's completely silver with intricate patterns carved into the metal, wolves and deer and the moon, symbols sacred to Artemis. Frank's fingers itch for just one use.

She nods at Piper, ignores Percy's glower, and takes off towards a nearby passage without another word.

Percy heads in the direction of the showers the moment she's gone, saying something about wanting to cleanse himself of Zoe's poisonous presence – Piper gives him a look that says We'll be talking later, young man, before sighing and collapsing to the cushions. Beckendorf still looks insulted by Zoe's jibe about the workmanship of his weapons, and Silena is comforting him, rubbing his hand and kissing his cheek until he has to smile.

It makes Frank feel lonely, so he leaves too.

He finds himself on the mountaintop where he and Percy had had their first real heart-to-heart. He likes the place. It makes him feel a little reckless, if that makes any sense at all. Kind of like he's playing with death a little as he walks along the edge of the cliff. One strong gust of wind could send him off the mountain, but it won't kill him. No, what's going to kill him is his little piece of firewood – which happens to be in close proximity to Leo.

Frank can't pretend the thought doesn't scare him out of his own goddamn mind. After all, he'd nearly died a few days before, which means the firewood had been exposed to some kind of flame. Maybe it hadn't been Leo's, but Frank's got a sinking feeling that it had.

He sighs, sitting down on the rock and grabbing a sharper pebble. Slowly, painstakingly, he carves out the Chinese characters for Zhang into the stone - 张 , the way his grandmother had taught him. Then he writes his first name - 义辉, which roughly translates to righteous brightness, and then he writes down In English: Fai. It's what his mother had always called him, and it feels softer, somehow, than both his other – more official – given names. When it's quiet, like now, Frank can close his eyes and remember his mother telling him, You can be anything, Fai. You can be anything, and everything.

He wishes he could be a time traveller. He'd give anything to hear her say those words to him again. Hell, he'd give anything to hear his grandmother scream at them both right after - Have I taught you nothing – I did not raise you to use nicknames, he has a perfectly good Chinese name -

His grandmother had always been a traditional woman. She never called Frank or Emily by their Western names, always making it a point of referring to him as Yi Fai. Once, when he was six years old, he'd tried calling his grandmother Grammy like he's seen one of his classmates do and Emily had had to restrain her from giving him what she said would be a 'good beating' that would eventually 'build the boy's character.'

He had never liked his grandmother, growing up. She was strict, cold, nothing like his mother. Now -

"Oh," comes a voice from behind him, and Frank turns around to see Piper standing at the mouth of the passage, looking a little bewildered.

"I had no idea anyone was up here," she says a little sheepishly, approaching him. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," Frank says back, surprised and a little nervous. He hasn't really interacted with Piper one-on-one, even though she seems like a really nice person. And even though he's very much a one-girl-for-him-forever-thank-you-very-much kind of guy, and Hazel is very much it for him, he has to admit that Piper is beautiful, even now, when she looks slightly harried and windswept and her eyes are a little sunken from lack of sleep.

"Why'd you come up here?" he asks her.

"Ah, you know. Everyone's driving me up the wall at the moment," she says, sitting next to him. "I just wanted some time alone."

"Oh," Frank says, moving to stand. "If you want, I could leave-"

"Oh no, it's fine!" she rushes to assure him. "Stay. Please."

"Okay." Frank settles back down again, pleased. He isn't really expecting her to talk: after all, she'd come up here for some peace and quiet, but she nods at the Chinese characters he's scratched into the rocks in front of him and smiles.

"What does that say?" she asks.

"Oh. Uh, it's my name," he says. "My last name-" he points at the Zhang – "and this one is my official given name in Chinese, and this is what my mom called me."

"Fai," she says quietly.

"Means, um, bright," Frank says. "Or brightness."

"It's so cool that you know how to write in your native tongue," she says a little enviously.

"Uh, yeah," Frank stutters. "I mean…kind of. My grandmom drilled it into me, but I never took her seriously. I would shirk my lessons and stuff. I've forgotten a lot." He gazes at the characters a little sadly and remembers his grandmother's severe, wrinkled face looming above him as he painstakingly scratched the letters into his notebook. She'd always been a teacher of the tough love school – but she had loved Frank, and she had loved Emily, too, even if she wasn't programmed to show it the way Frank understood.

But he sees it now. How his grandmother would climb the stairs to his room with her weak knees to leave a meal outside his door every single day for nearly two months after his mother died. How, on his birthday, she'd never fail to make him sweet Nian gao, his favorite dish. How she'd let him watch cartoons like Avatar and American Dragon: Jake Long even though she sniffed at the Asian representation in the shows, and how, on windy winter nights, she'd make them both Zongzi and tell him stories of Emily as a child.

He misses her. He really does, even though she'd been naggy and strict and a real pain in the ass. He misses his home. He hates the way he'd left it, burning down to chars of black, under attack from a battalion of monsters that arrived in the nighttime. Frank's grandmother had forced him to flee, and he'd watched the house burn down from a safe distance.

He'd returned in the morning, disguised as an eagle, to find his childhood home collapsed into piles of wood and ash, half-melted artefacts from his grandmother's collection strewn about. He hadn't been able to find anything remotely whole to remember her by. He hadn't even been able to grab his mother's picture.

He hadn't been able to find his grandmother's body, either. He knows she was gifted with the same abilities he was, though her age prevented her from using them easily. After Frank's mother passed, his grandmother had turned into his tutor, his teacher. She told him how to visualize the beast he wanted to become, how to experience collapsing and bending all of his cells, reforming into a different shape, a different species. Emily had always told him that he could be anything, but Frank's grandmother had truly made it possible.

It had been left to her to explain the lore of their family, and so the story behind his firewood, as well. After his first mishap with the stick, she'd painstakingly wrapped it up in layers of plastic and cloth with shaking hands, and made him promise to keep it safe long before he could fully glean the full implications of the curse.

"That's cool," Piper says, jarring him out of his reverie. "I think my granddad probably knew the Native American languages, but my dad doesn't, and neither do I." She gazes a little sadly at the sky. "Must be nice to have something to hold onto from your old life. A culture and a heritage and a language you can remember your grandmom by. Something to go back to."

"Yeah," says Frank, a little choked, because she's right and it makes him feel even more regretful to have forgotten all his old lessons. In the life he's been living, it's been hard to really focus on the Chinese part of him – it's been all about the Roman. He wonders, if his grandmother were around to see him now, would she approve? Surely not.

"I kind of hate it sometimes," Piper divulges, like she's reading his mind. "How little I know about my own culture. I remember so little of the Cherokee legends my dad told me, and I bet he's forgotten them now, too. On the days I let myself think about it, it makes me…really sad. I feel like I have no roots, sometimes." She traces down her own nose with a finger. "I keep wondering about what it must be like to be a regular mortal going to college – would I still care about this stuff? Or would I be concerned with – I dunno, clothes and boys and TV shows like the rest of the world?"

"We'll never know," Frank says pensively. "I mean, sometimes I really hate how we're being forced to live – but I think that without all this madness we'd never have met…anyone. You wouldn't have met Jason. I wouldn't have met Hazel."

He flushes slightly as Piper turns her glittering eyes on him. She smiles in typical man-playing-cupid fashion. "Yeah, you and Hazel."

"Kinda." Frank can feel his cheeks heating like an oven. He hates how his face can't hide a goddamn thing. "I mean, I hope. I don't know. We never really…talked about it."

"About…what?" Piper sits up straight, eyes wide. "Wait, are you two dating?"

"I should be offended by how surprised you look," he says, snorting at the panic on her expression. "But I guess we weren't really going out of our way to show it, unlike some people." He shoots her a pointed look that makes her laugh. "I mean, so we've kissed. Once. But she got really freaked out about it afterwards, and so I told her I could wait. I mean, she blushes every time she sees the slightest bit of PDA from other couples -"

"I've noticed that," Piper grins. "Jason and I stick to hand-holding whenever she's around, now. I feel like we'll taint her if we do anything else."

"Did you really try that hard, though?" Frank laughs into his hands, a habit he might've picked up from Hazel. "Relax, I doubt she minds. Plus - she's really cute when she gets all flustered."

"Awww, look at how gone you are for her," Piper teases, patting him on the shoulder.

"I really like her," he admits, managing to keep his smile down. "But I can't even imagine the culture shock of being in this time. I get that she's been brought up conservative, and so I'll wait while she gets used to the idea of us in public. It's the least I can do, y'know?"

Piper smiles at him.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says, still smiling. "Just that that's very sweet of you. And I don't think you have anything to worry about when it comes to the bond you guys share."

"Yeah." He rubs the end of his sleeve between his fingers. "I miss her."

"She'll be back soon."

"I wish I could've been there with her," Frank admits. "Then maybe…"

"The accident wouldn't have happened," Piper guesses. "Are you worried about her being near Leo?"

"A little," he admits. "I mean, he's literally fire in a person."

There are other fears, too, that he chooses not to divulge. Leo might have flames running through his bloodstream, but even otherwise he's the opposite of Frank in every way possible. He's small, with browner skin and wild hair. He's a chef – Frank recalls, with shame, the night he'd tried to roast some chicken for Hazel to disastrous results – and he's a builder, good with his hands. Frank's got chubby, pudgy fingers that can barely fold a piece of paper properly: he'd hated the crafts classes in his school, where the teacher would teach them all to make paper boats and hats and cranes and whatnot. Frank had never understood finer arts like that. He can't make anything delicate and functional and beautiful the way Leo can.

And he's seen Hazel watching Leo. Tiny looks here and there – Leo's even caught her at it too, sometimes, which makes it worse. Frank can tell Hazel is avoiding the other boy for his sake, and he'd never wanted that, not really. But he can't ignore the stab of jealousy that pricks his chest whenever he catches Hazel studying Leo whenever she thinks he isn't looking.

He wants to hate Leo. He really, really does. But even Frank can't deny that Leo is interesting, and funny, and people are drawn to him the same way they're drawn to the hearth down in the Bunker. Leo is – lively, and warm, and vibrant, and constantly in motion. Frank isn't like that. He isn't…fun, not the way Leo is.

He's kind of terrified Hazel will return from the Quest having forgotten about Frank altogether.

But there's no way he can tell Piper all this – she's Leo's best friend. There's no way she won't take his side in this, even though Frank might well be being totally ridiculous about the whole thing.

"Well," Piper says in a measured voice, "I'm sure there's an explanation for what happened. But Leo – he's worked a lot to control the fire. I'm sure it isn't what you think."

"Maybe not," Frank allows.

"Don't judge him too harshly," she advises comfortingly. "Leo is…he's a lot. I used to think he was annoying when I first met him. He's loud and sometimes borderline crass but it's just because he uses humor like a defense, and sometimes it always doesn't come out in the nicest ways. Underneath all that, though, I think you guys might have a lot in common."

Frank nods, remembering how Leo had tried to help Hazel during that one flashback. Maybe one of the things they have in common is their feelings for her, he thinks, and frowns.

"Wanna head down?" Piper suggests after a while. "Maybe Jason and Zoe will be back, and we can finally get somewhere on the whole…Annabeth situation."

"Yeah." Frank stands and offers a hand to Piper, which she takes with a grateful little smile. "Percy's probably losing his mind."

"I mean, so am I," Piper admits, brushing the gravel from her pants. "I just hide it better."

"I hope we get her back," Frank says. "I hope she's alright." Because Annabeth had been a friend to him and offered him honest opinions that he'd needed to hear. He respects her for her intelligence – her wisdom, she'd corrected him – and her strength. And he can see just how much her absence is affecting the rest of Bunker Nine. Everyone's on edge: there's less laughter, more sobriety in the day-to-day conversations. The threat of another War seems realer than ever now that their leader has been taken.

"What's that?" Piper asks suddenly. She's paused mid-stretch, squinting at the sky as something descends upon them with frightening speed. Something winged and metallic.

"Stymphalian birds?" Frank asks, nocking an arrow at once and taking aim. Piper gasps and places her arm over his, forcing it down.

"No," she gasps, as the shape grows larger. Frank tries to make out what it could possibly be, but all he can see is the glint of Bronze from the creature's wings.

Wait, though.

There's someone on the thing, he realizes with alarm. Two figures, screaming at the top of their voices and waving at them.

"Oh my gods," he whispers.

"Shitting fuck," says Piper in disbelief, laughing like she can't stop. "He fucking did it. That asshole went and found the fucking Dragon."

/

There's quite a bit of chaos as everyone goes around moving…everything. Percy and Jason end up dragging the beds, creating a small square of them as opposed to the two long lines they'd been arranged in earlier. Everyone else is gathering their things and dumping them elsewhere, all the while gazing up at the rooftop, where the Dragon pokes its scaly head into the Bunker through the leafy ceiling, gazing around in interest.

Leo and Hazel, who had slid from the Dragon to the ground via Beckendorf's grappling hook, are now surrounded by a gaggle of Leo's siblings and Austin, who is checking them for injuries. While Austin is providing some professional fussing, though, the others are just fussing over them in general, asking about where they'd found the Dragon ("Colorado, you bastard, are you happy now?" Leo howls at a smug Percy) and whether he was naming it ("Festus," Leo responds with pride, and Festus the Dragon snorts smoke gleefully in response) and why they hell he'd bought so much bread and butter back with him ("I was thinking we could grow some garlic and mince it and mix it with the butter – and then we'd have garlic butter, and then we could toast it with the bread and have garlic bread," Leo explains enthusiastically, to a chorus of scoffs and boos.)

"Idiot," Piper grouses, heaving as she pushes the beds around all over again because apparently Percy and Jason hadn't been neat enough. "Why didn't you just raid an Olive Garden and get us garlic breadsticks?"

"But why have boring ol' readymade garlic bread when-" Leo lifts a loaf of whole wheat – "when you can turn any bread into garlic bread?"

"I hate you," Piper gasps.

"It's kind of like magic, don't you think?" Leo nods at Maya like they're sharing some kind of inside secret.

"No, it's not," says Maya.

"Boo, you whore."

"Excuse me?"

"It's a reference!" Leo yelps. "From Mean Girls! Oh my gods, y'all are fucking illiterate in pop culture. We should have a Movie Night."

"Or you could help," Jason responds.

"But then who'll make the garlic butter?" Leo asks, holding a hand to his heart, but he wanders over to them anyway and begins to haul over the pillows and blankets.

"Where's Annabeth?" he asks, and Percy stiffens unconsciously, turning away to where Hazel and Frank are speaking quietly while taking the latest supplies to the kitchen. Frank keeps one hand at the centre of her back like he needs to touch her, and she leans into his broad palms, smiling softly.

Percy doesn't know why, but his heart aches with what feels an awful lot like yearning.

Jason fills Leo in on what happened to Annabeth – Leo drops the pillows, hangs his head and doesn't move for a few long moments.

"So what now?" he asks, crossing his arms, watching as the Demeter demigods wave their arms, forcing the vines and branches that make up the roof to retreat. Festus the dragon breathes steam in pleasure and extends more of its long neck inside.

"Zoe should be back soon with an update, and we go from there," Piper answers, seemingly unable to stop herself from smiling at the cheers that ensue when Festus lifts off into the sky and begins to make preparations for landing.

"I should be up there," Leo says suddenly. "Jace, fly me to him."

Jason grumbles, but grabs Leo under the armpits like he's a child and shoots upward. Percy watches, awestruck, as he flies them up to the dragon's level and safely deposits Leo on Festus's back. He hovers around them, directing them downwards into the cleared area like a traffic policeman of the skies.

Festus just manages to fit into the space allotted, although he does have to bring his neck around a little towards his tail to make sure he doesn't block the tunnel that leads to Bunker One. He lands to great fanfare, and all the Hephaestus demigods rush towards him immediately. A thorough check-up is performed and the dragon is pronounced a fine specimen, made of high-quality and durable Bronze, even if his circuits have gone a little haywire from age.

"Easily fixed," Leo says, sliding off Festus's neck and patting his enormous snout. He's so hilariously small compared to the automaton that his entire hand is smaller than the dragon's nostril, but Festus doesn't seem to mind. He opens his mouth and makes a series of high-pitched clicking noises like he's a squirrel.

It's at this point that Zoe runs out of the tunnel that Festus is camping out in front of. She stops so shortly it's kind of funny and her expression takes on one of absolute bewilderment.

"What on earth is going here?" she demands authoritatively, leaping gracefully over Festus's tail and joining Piper and Percy. "I was barely gone for an hour."

"Leo found the Dragon," Piper says, like this should be enough of an explanation. Zoe only looks more confused at this.

"Now that you're here," Percy says quickly, before they can go even further off-track, "can you please tell us about your news? About Annabeth?"

"Very well," Zoe says, as Piper nods, hailing over Jason and Leo with a wave of her hand. Leo grabs Beckendorf, Silena, and Travis as Percy yells for Frank and Hazel. They convene in the infirmary, which is empty and mercifully quiet and far enough from the action for them to discuss the plan uninterrupted.

Everyone sits down on the beds except for Zoe, who remains standing in front of them. The silver from her clothes catches the light from the braziers and turn it a shimmering gold.

"As you all know, my Hunters and I have been scouting the area around the peak for the previous few days," Zoe begins. "As far as we can see, there are not many monsters around the route you took – you were the one to suggest this, were you not?" she says, nodding at Frank, who nods.

"There are three other alternate routes to the peak. One is climbing the cliff itself, but travelling via sea brings new horrors – and do not interrupt me, son of Poseidon –" for Percy's opened his mouth, ready to argue – "you will find that your father's domain has been taken over by Oceanus and now houses horrors you cannot even begin to dream of."

"What is the other route?" Silena asks.

Frank has to extricate his hand from Hazel's to raise it. "The only other route to Atlas's peak, as far as I know, goes far too close to Othrys. It's not worth the risk."

"The son of Mars is right," Zoe agrees, nodding in appreciation. "Which leaves us with the same path you followed last – but this will lead us close to Ladon."

"That's the dragon?" Piper asks, and Leo perks up.

"Yes," says Zoe with a hint of regret. "He is the guardian of the Tree and will not let anyone near. Not even my wolves could get close to the mountain without Ladon interfering – but he is both a curse and a blessing. My Hunters report minimal guards nearby. Since Ladon's only goal is to protect the tree, he does not distinguish between friend and foe. He will attack all who come near."

"The dragon is definitely a problem," Piper says, biting her lip. "Annabeth only managed to get by because of her cap."

"What about underground?" suggests Hazel. "I could easily find a path for us."

"They'll be expecting us through the Labyrinth, though," Leo points out. "Underground is monster territory, and who knows what they're festering under Othrys?"

"Could we take the pegasi and Tempest and drop down? We could even use the storm as a cover," Jason says hopefully, but Frank is already shaking his head.

"You must remember what it's like there," he says. "You'll be blown right out of the sky."

Beckendorf frowns. "Sounds like you don't have much of a choice here."

"Besides, getting to the mountain peak is only half the problem," Zoe says severely. "You are aware of the true nature of Atlas's curse, yes?"

When nobody answers, she exhales through her nostrils in annoyance.

"The one who carries the burden of the sky must be someone willing to take it," she says, gazing at them all in turn. "Which means we must find someone to receive the sky from Annabeth if we are to have any chance at rescuing her."

Something sour emerges in the back of Percy's throat. So Annabeth really had wanted to save Luke. She'd taken the sky out of the kindness of her own heart.

"I am assuming nobody is volunteering," Zoe says sarcastically, raising a haughty eyebrow that strikes every single one of Percy's nerves. He's opening his mouth to say something stupid like I'll do it when Piper's fingers curl into his shoulder.

She shoots him a warning look like she's seen right through him before addressing Zoe: "What if we could trick someone into taking the burden back? Like Luke? Or even a random monster?"

"Sounds good," Percy says at once. "I'm in."

"It's pretty much guaranteed that there's going to be a fight up there, right?" Piper continues, and Zoe nods. "I say we grab Luke, charmspeak him into taking back the sky, and let him finish what he started."

"That's easier said than done," Jason says.

"With all the Hunters and a couple of us, we can do it," Piper says confidently.

"Agreed," Percy seconds. "So when do we leave?"

"We?" Zoe turns to him and looks at him as though he's spoken another language. "We are not going anywhere – or perhaps I should say you will not be leaving this Bunker. I am not opposed to the daughter of Aphrodite joining me, or the son of Mars, or even the son of Jupiter." She inclines her head at Jason. "But you…no. I will not allow you on this Quest."

"What?" Percy feels as though she's stabbed him in the gut and is now twisting the knife. "Why?"

"You want a list?" Zoe scoffs like he's brain-addled and holds up a hand, counting on her fingers. "You're brash. You don't follow orders. You attacked my Hunters -"

"You were practically holding us captive!" Percy argues furiously, shooting to his feet. "And you fought right back, you hypocrite – you literally drugged me –"

"We only did so because you left us no choice," Zoe shoots back, squaring her shoulders and glaring. "And besides, you're reckless –"

"If this is about the fucking empousa-"

"Only partially – you used your powers near Othrys as well, an unnecessary and extremely dangerous risk given that you were in the literal heart of Titan territory-"

"Again, I only used the water because you attacked me!" Percy snarls. "And the empousa – I was protecting Frank! She would've died anyway, with or without you butting in - thanks for nothing, by the way – and nothing would've happened –"

"It is this careless attitude that will get us all killed," Zoe hisses at him. "How sure are you that you were not followed by another monster? That the empousa did not call for backup? As far as we know your identity and parentage is still a secret, and if you have any sense at all you will understand how imperative it is for our side to keep it so!"

"Fine," Percy relents, gritting his teeth. "I promise I won't use my fucking powers. I won't get in your way. Just let me on the Quest."

"I'm not finished," she says maddeningly, crossing her arms. "You are too close to this mission, son of Poseidon. Too emotionally invested. To save Annabeth you would give up the world, and that is very dangerous for the rest of us."

Suddenly feeling like he's been stripped bare, and with everyone gazing at him both curiously and sympathetically, Percy swallows.

"It's…not like that," he croaks.

"It is exactly as I said and you know it," Zoe says ruthlessly. "What if we reach the site and something goes wrong and we are forced to retreat to save our lives? What if we have to abandon the mission temporarily?" She gazes at him, cold and hard, like ice. "Could you comply with those orders?"

"I-" Percy says, although his resolve is melting through the floor at the thought of it. He can't leave Annabeth behind again. He can't. He won't. "It won't come to that."

"And if it does?" she shakes her head, something like pity flitting across her face. "We can never be too careful in delicate situations such as these. I like to know who I am going into battle with, Percy Jackson – and I know of you, Titan Slayer. I have quite a few young Romans in my ranks who saw the battle with their own eyes. I know you are one of the strongest warriors here. But there is no doubt in my mind that you would give up your life – and the rest of ours – just to save your friend. Loyalty is an admirable trait, to be sure, but I will not have it be our doom."

"I won't do that," Percy says weakly, but he can't even believe himself. He squeezes his fists.

"I do not trust you, son of Poseidon, and so I will not jeopardize the mission by allowing you to be a part of it." She turns away like she's done with him. "I am willing to partner with any of the rest of you, however."

It's so unfair that Percy wants to throw an honest-to-god tantrum, but Zoe will probably just make fun of him, so he takes a breath and bites his tongue. He takes a step towards her, trying for a calmer tone. "Zoe, I swear –"

"No," she snaps at him, whirling in his direction, her eyes hard and flashing. "No, Percy Jackson. And I'm not changing my mind on the matter. We will fulfil our mission without you, and you are going to have to accept that the world does not revolve around you." Her lips curve into a sardonic smile. "You might want to find a hobby while you wait."

"Zoe, that was uncalled for," Piper snaps, but Percy's already moving.

He gets right in front of Zoe – they're almost nose to nose. To her credit, she doesn't even flinch, even though the hair on his arms is standing up in response to the crackle of power that has materialized around him.

"Screw you," Percy tells her quietly. "I'm going on this Quest – and you can't stop me."

"I'd like to see you try," she growls back, but there's an edge to her voice that screams of certain victory.

It takes a lot of effort to hold his arms back from reaching out and punching her in the face, but Percy forces the surge of strength back down before he turns away from her insufferably smug expression and stalks out of the room without looking back.

/

After what feels like an eternity of silence, Luke begins to talk.

He still can barely seem to look at her, but he talks – about his day, about all his days. He speaks to her like she's the old friend she is and not the enemy he's meant to be torturing for information, and sometimes he speaks as though talking to himself. Their one-sided conversations stay light and casual as Luke recounts training sessions and his interactions with his new army. He doesn't give anything away about their plans or strategies, and he is understandably tight-lipped about the spy in the Bunkers, but it's more than she'd ever expected from him.

And then, one day, he asks, "So, how is everyone in the Bunkers doing?"

Annabeth is so shocked by this she looks up – and she finds Luke gazing at her steadily, his eyes shining with an emotion she's too exhausted to place. Whatever it is, though, it is sincere.

She doesn't answer.

Luke sighs and turns away again. "I should've expected that, huh?" He rubs a hand over his knee. "This isn't a ploy to get information, Annabeth. We already have enough – save for the location. The old compass prototypes went to shit long ago, and you've set up your defenses well – even I couldn't get in, though not for lack of trying."

The image of Luke at one of their barriers, placing a bloodied hand on the wall and trying to guess the password, makes Annabeth feel dizzy. She hangs her head, and he chuckles, but it sounds empty and sad. "I just want to know how everyone is doing. Travis, and Connor, and Cecil, Julia, Alice…" he sighs, glancing at her over his shoulder. "They were my siblings, Annabeth. You don't need to look at me like that. I'm still allowed to care."

Annabeth can barely feel her facial muscles, but she tries to channel disbelief as best as she can, because no. Luke isn't allowed to ask about the people he fucking betrayed. He isn't allowed to ask about Travis and Connor, who hero-worshipped him the same way Annabeth did.

He'd taught them to fight with a sword. He'd taught a majority of their army, really – he'd been loved as an older sibling, respected as a teacher, and renowned for his skill. Many of the younger demigods would watch Luke spar and whisper, How can anyone get better than him? The Titans don't stand a chance. His leaving had broken their morale and spirit, and here he is, acting like he still has the right to care about the people he tossed aside like they meant nothing to him?

Anger gives her a new energy. She grunts, getting a better grip on her limbs – she evens her breathing and even lifts her head high enough to catch his attention.

It's a small victory, but glaring at him with all she's worth makes her feel good. Really good.

Luke sighs at her, indulgent and perhaps even a little fond, which only enrages her further. He has no right. No right to be looking at her like he knows her at all anymore.

She's lived without him. She's done most of her growing up without him. He doesn't know her anymore. He gave up the right to know her the moment he decided to betray her. And Annabeth – Annabeth's given up so much for him. Hell, she's here, isn't she? She was the stupid one who still believed him to be good at his core – still the Luke who would save her the best parts of his dinner, still the Luke who handed her his knife and told her he would take care of her – better yet, he'd told her he would teach her to take care of herself.

Maybe she needed this, she thinks bitterly. Maybe she needed to see Luke like this – maybe she was meant to be used by Luke like this so she could finally understand that he is irretrievable. Irredeemable.

Luke turns to face her fully. His hair's a little longer than he used to keep it, and it flops into his eyes, whipping around in the wind. It makes him look older, more distinguished: Luke had always been handsome. Annabeth had spent a considerable portion of the time at the Bunkers fending off the children of Aphrodite, who would bombard her with questions about Luke's relationship status.

The scar running down his left cheek has faded into white – a scar given by the dragon still guarding the Tree at the foot of the mountain. That Quest – the Quest Luke had undertaken to get a golden apple from the garden of the Hesperides – that had been when everything had changed for him, somehow. He'd grown grim in the wake of that disaster and she and Thalia had assumed he was angry he had failed, but only now she sees his attitude for what it truly had been: a deep-rooted bitterness directed right at the gods.

It annoys her that she doesn't know what happened on that Quest to make him shift from the boy she once knew to the man he is now.

In a flash, Annabeth realizes he is studying her the same way she's scanning him now. She wonders how pathetic she must look to him – trapped under a weight she can't carry for much longer, thinner and dirtier than she's ever been. How immature she must seem to him, the puppetmaster who is still dictating her every move, who still knows her so well even as she struggles to find something left in him to hold onto.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way," he says then, and to her shock he seems truthful. He sounds genuinely distressed that they are on opposite sides, and for a split second she wonders if seeing her like this, in this circumstance, is paining him as much as it is killing her to see him on the wrong side. She pushes the thought away from her mind at once. She isn't – she isn't going to do this. She isn't going to fall into his trap and turn into some hapless captive whose judgement gets clouded under the influence of Stockholm Syndrome.

"After I left," Luke says, inching towards her slightly as though afraid of going unheard. "I thought about – bringing you with me. I thought about it I lot. I thought it could be like us before: before we found the Bunkers, before I met–" He swallows and doesn't complete the sentence. "And I still do regret that I had to leave you behind."

She looks away, the dryness in her throat overwhelming. She can't tell him how many times she'd wanted to run from the Bunkers after the War. How many times she'd wanted to run from her responsibilities and-and find him so that they could roam the country together, just like the old days.

"And I still think – you and I could change the world," he says, and some light shines through his face. "Haven't you seen, Annabeth? You must have. You must know all the mistakes the gods have made. They glorify only themselves, shove aside anyone who dares threaten their rule. They're incorrigible, Annabeth. And they were never going to change."

The worst part is that he's not entirely wrong, on some level. The gods have been known to wipe out anyone who they see as even a minor threat, and Annabeth has, on occasion, thought about what the world would be like if she were in charge. Which might be selfish, but it's an indulgence she allows herself once in a while to cheer herself up. She dreams of a perfect world with beautiful buildings, a world where her father loves her again, her parents are together, Thalia is alive, and Luke is back by her side. But a perfect world where everyone is happy – that just isn't possible. It wasn't possible with the gods, and it will never, ever be possible with the Titans.

He tilts his head to stare at something in the distance – the black castle, Annabeth senses, even though she doesn't have the strength to look at it herself. "The Titans – they have promised justice for the oppressed, the overlooked. Justice and freedom for those of us who just wanted to live simply. The gods have ruined so much, Annabeth. They ruin all our lives – force us to fight for them when they offer nothing in return. They curse mortals who have done nothing to them –" At this point his gaze grows hard, and Annabeth's mind flies immediately to May Castellan – "and they show no respect for us, their children, who keep their precious Flame burning. They toss us aside, they toss the minor gods aside...there's no end to their tyranny," he spits, suddenly irate.

It isn't some kind of sick joke, Annabeth realizes then. He really thinks he can change the world with the Titans at the helm. Doesn't he know? Can't he see that his very presence is a threat to Kronos? Can't he see that he will be cast off at the first opportunity? The Titans have used him so much already – hell, they even used him as bait just to get to her! Doesn't he see? How can he not see it?

He's contradicting himself! The demigods are, for sure, what keeps the Flame alive, but that includes him, and all the other demigods he's recruited to the Titans' side! His continued existence will always, always be a threat to Kronos, because of the very fact that the blood that runs through him is that of a god, and not a Titan or monster!

And if Kronos ever succeeds in his goal to wipe out the demigods opposing him, he will surely turn on his own side. There's no question of it. The Titans will seek to wipe demigod blood off the map altogether.

How can Luke, one of the smartest people she knows, not be able to see something so obvious?

Briefly she wonders if he's been enchanted, but no – he seems to be fully present. Which means that either he's been deluded into thinking what he wants is possible, and he really, truly does believe the nonsense he's spouting.

And even though he's right about the gods being kind of crappy with respect to the minor gods, Hades, Hestia, and the demigods…any world is better than what Kronos probably has planned for his reign.

"Can't you see, Annabeth?" Luke says softly.

She doesn't see. She won't. Annabeth will never, ever throw in her lot with the Titans. She has new friends she trusts now, new people to fight for. People like Piper, and Jason, and Leo, and Frank, and Hazel, and Beckendorf, and Silena, and Malcolm. People like Percy.

She is fighting on the side of the gods – not because they are ideal rulers, but because while they may not be perfect, they are a far sight better than the Titans, who will no doubt create nothing but darkness, chaos, and bloodshed. The gods are her blood – and Luke's too, however hard he might try to deny it - and their revival means her survival. Annabeth isn't going to die at the hands of the slimy, shady, bully Titans who will surely turn the world into something corrupt and unrecognisable. No – she's going to fight with every last drop of blood left in her, and if she goes down, she's going to do it swinging.

"Join us," Luke tells her, leaning forward, so close that she can see the silent plea in his eyes. "Join us and you can make the world how you wanted it. The so-called Flame of the West…it's rotten to its core. With your intelligence, you don't deserve to be hanging onto the threads of the gods. You deserve better - you deserve to start the world anew. You could build all you want – temples and monuments to the Lord of the new Golden Age." He stares at her, gaze wide and open and hopeful and oh, so blue. "Isn't that what you want?"

With difficulty, she lifts her head again and tries to muster every bit of disdain in her.

"Go…to…Tartarus," she hisses.

His expression crumples, like a sandcastle falling apart under the onslaught of the rough ocean.

"I knew you'd say that," he says. "I knew…and yet I had to try." He stares up at the castle again. "I told them…I told them that's what you'd say."

"Traitor," she spits, tears welling up in her eyes. "Everything…you say – is a lie."

"I wasn't lying, Annabeth," he says, with something like pity. "I wasn't lying about any of it. And even though you might think I don't care about you any more…well. You're wrong about that. I really do think we'd be better together, and it sucks – it sucks so much that we have to be like this now. But you've chosen your path and I've chosen mine, and if we have to do battle, so be it."

He comes closer to her. "I'm not going to give up on my beliefs, the same way you're standing by yours. You can't hate me for fighting for what I'm choosing to stand for, Annabeth, because you're doing the same thing."

He touches her face, softly and tenderly, and suddenly she is transported back to the day they met, and she is nothing more than a child, cold and lost and lonely, wanting nothing more than someone to believe in.

"You're still family, Annabeth," Luke whispers in a broken voice. "You're still my little sister, and I probably shouldn't, but I- I still care about you."

She chokes back a sob. She wants to get away from his touch, his touch that is so soft and warm and so achingly familiar, but she can't move.

Luke shifts so he's beside her. Annabeth doesn't dare turn around to watch him, but suddenly the weight she's carrying feels a little lighter, and her legs regain some feeling. She chances a glance at him – and there he is, kneeling right beside her, gritting his teeth as he holds up the sky alongside her, as if their conversation had been moot, as though it's as he's always said it would be –

"Us against the world, right, Annabeth?"

You don't turn your back on family, Annabeth thinks, and something inside her shatters.

She doesn't say anything. Neither does he, but for a while after that, he still stays by her side, holding up all the burdens from her weary shoulders, the way he'd always promised he would do.

/

They find Percy outside demolishing a boulder.

Jason watches for a while, wondering if he should go do something, like offer himself as a sparring partner, but he can see the way Percy's eyes are glowing even though he's quite a few metres away, and Jason doesn't think he's quite in the mood to get his ass kicked.

Piper and Leo settle down in the shadow of a large tree without even bothering to call Percy over. Piper waves her hand like, let him be, and Leo just looks terrified as Percy summons a jet of water that cleaves a quarter of the rock right off.

"How was the Council meeting?" Leo asks, and Jason starts, having forgotten about it entirely. He shrugs as if to respond unruly as usual and lowers himself to the grass next to Piper, who smiles and winds her arm around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder.

Jason sighs at her touch. There's something so warm about Piper that makes him feel really soothed and safe, and even though he's only been away from her for an hour or so, his body leans into hers like they've been apart for a century, which might sound incredibly cheesy, but it's true nevertheless.

"How's Clarisse doing? After Chris," Piper clarifies, and Jason sighs a little.

"Not good," he admits, because Chris has shown no signs of improving even with Pollux and Clovis working on keeping his fits at bay almost around the clock. He wonders what it must be like for Clarisse to watch him drive himself to near-death with lunacy, and then he watches Percy release several shards of ice into a nearby tree and wonders what it must be like to lose someone he cares so much about – not to death, but to something like an incurable madness or capture.

Well, he kind of knows what it's like. There had been Thalia, but there's also Piper – only he isn't going to lose Piper, not if he can help it.

He's been so busy with the meetings and worrying about Nine and Annabeth that he's almost had no time to even dwell on the nightmares, which still feature him and Krios in the starring – and opposing – roles. Where sleep had been a rare commodity before, now he's almost bored by it because he knows what he's going to see. And sure, the sound of Krios's grating laugh still makes shivers run down his spine, but now he knows with a kind of grim clarity exactly what he's got to do.

It takes surprisingly little effort to school his mind into accepting that things might end up so well for him. His instincts have been screaming that the Prophecy doesn't refer to him, and there's only one reason that could be.

He's got to accept the fact that he could die. He's got to accept the fact that he's going to break Piper's heart, but there's no way out of the prophecy they've been given. It's him or her, and it isn't going to be her.

He'd like to handle the Krios situation as soon as possible, but with Annabeth gone he can't find it in himself to abandon Nine. And – this is Annabeth he's talking about. If she could hold on for the rest of them after the War, so can he.

Piper must sense that he doesn't feel like talking, so she just presses her lips against his chin and squeezes his hand to let him know she's there if he ever wants to vent. It makes him feel worse, because he can't tell her this. Anything but this.

"Sooo, spill the deets about Festus," Piper tells Leo, nudging him in the side. "How the hell did you find him?"

"Well, me and Hazel were camped out in the night in the forest," Leo explains, perking up. "Hazel was on watch – and then, right when I was falling asleep…y'know that moment when you feel you're going to sleep but you're not awake? Like that second riiiight before you fall into the best damn sleep of your life?"

"Um," says Jason. "Yes?"

"Well, I was right there when Hazel suddenly woke me up and told me to use my fire to see. And so I did, and then bam! There he was." Leo points dramatically at what Jason assumes must be the Dragon in his head, but really he just draws everyone's attention to Percy again, who notices them all staring and snaps, "What?"

"There he was," Leo says, his eyes going all dreamy and glazed. "He was beautiful – he started breathing fire at us and we had to fucking run for it, he burned my sleeping bag –"

"Fire?" Piper asks, sitting up. "Was that what caused-"

Leo glances at her warily.

"No," he says carefully. "That was…something else."

"Oh," says Piper.

"What?" says Jason.

"Nothing," they say simultaneously, and then shoot each other amused looks.

"Fine," says Jason a tad frustratedly, but it's hard to keep pouting when Piper leans forward to kiss him. "Keep your secrets."

"Anyway," says Leo pointedly, "So there we are, running through the forest, and it's pitch black, yeah? And then Hazel's like, let's split up, and I'm like, are you batshit crazy, woman? But Hazel figures the Dragon has some vendetta against her in particular because they're both connected by the Bronze – that's how she was tracking it in the first place, right? And she says she's gonna go underground and run ahead and try to make some kind of trap for it to fall in. So basically I was the bait."

He takes a breath and goes on: "So I didn't really say yes, but I didn't say no, either, and so she just took that as the okay, and then she opens this hole in the ground and just drops down, and I literally almost died on the spot. But she screams at me to keep running, so I do – and the Dragon's gaining on me and basically spitting sparks and lighting everything on fire, and I swear I must've been running for half an hour and at this point I'm thinking I really should've joined in on more sparring sessions, because my stamina ain't what it used to be, and I was like damn maybe I'm just getting old –"

"Leo," Piper says.

"Too off-track?" Leo notes both Jason and Piper's expression and nods. "Too off-track. Got it. So I'm running and slowly losing my will to live, and then suddenly I feel this rumble beneath me, and so my dumb ass is like hey, let's climb a tree! And I do that, and the Dragon stops right under the branch I'm on and opening his mouth to literally light my butt on fire. Which wouldn't have worked, because I'm fireproof, but you get the point." Leo grins. "Although I've been told I have a hot ass."

"Literally nobody has said that," Jason says incredulously, just as Piper scoffs, "Your ass is bony. Do some squats."

"Wow," says Leo. "You call yourselves my friends? That hurts, guys, if I'm being honest-"

"Wow," says Piper. "You call yourself an honest human being?"

"Wow," says Jason.

"Awwwwww, widdle Jason couldn't think of a comeback," Leo coos.

"Widdle Jason is cute," Piper says, kissing him.

"Do I have to remind you that I'm taller than you both?" Jason cuts in, but he holds up his hands in surrender when they both turn on him, mouths already opening to respond with insults. Height has always been a sore subject for them, especially Piper, who had mourned for a whole two weeks when Leo finally hit his (rather anticlimactic) growth spurt and finally edged her out height-wise.

"Finish the damn story, Leo," Piper grumbles, leaning against Jason again. "I swear to god, never write a book ever. Honestly, if we're ever put in the position where you have to send me a message, just don't. You'll never get to the point."

Leo glares at her. "Just for that, I will be narrating the rest of my extremely exhilarating and thrilling story to Jason, and Jason alone. You're dead to me, McLean."

"Choke," says Piper.

"Jason, did you hear something?" Leo asks, feigning ignorance even as Piper gets in his face and begins to make silly faces. "I just heard this weird farting sound – oof –" For Piper has just stuck her finger into his abdomen.

"Finish the story, your cretin," she says, grinning.

"Gremlin," says Leo.

"Goblin."

"Orc."

"Troll."

"Oh," says Leo with interest, "are we just gonna go naming all the races in Lord of the Rings now?"

"That's the one with the hobbits," Jason recognizes.

"The hobbits the hobbits the hobbits the hobbits," Piper says at once, laughing.

"To Isengard to Isengard!" Leo finishes. He and Piper high-five. "We still got it, man."

"Please just finish the story," Jason begs.

"For you, Jason, I'll do it," says Leo generously, fluttering his eyelashes at him. "Where'd I stop?"

"When'd you start?" Piper grins.

"You climbed the tree," Jason informs him.

"Yeah, so I climbed the tree," Leo says. "And the Dragon's getting ready to fry the entire forest, probably, but then all of a sudden the entire ground literally collapses beneath only the Dragon. It's the most bizarre fucking thing I've ever seen – there's just this dragon-shaped impression in the ground, and then Hazel pops up out of nowhere and summons a blanket of soil to encase the Dragon up until about the neck." Leo draws a line across his own. "And the Dragon's freaking out, head blowing fire and shit at us, but then Hazel points at it and its ruby eyes turn and go all dim, and that's pretty much how we met." Leo grins. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Moderately cool," Piper agrees. "So how'd you repaired it after?"

"Well, it was easier since it was deactivated," Leo says. "Hazel unearthed it – damn, it really was a mess. She worked on getting him all nice and clean again on the outside, and I tried whatever I could with his circuitry. We discovered he had wings and attached those correctly – and then we woke him up again." He grins. "He was in a much better mood after he realized he was partially fixed."

"Why Festus, though?" Piper wonders aloud.

"It means happy in Latin," Jason tells her. "I think it's cute."

"Well, he looked really happy when I saw that he had working wings again, and it looked like he was grinning, so I asked Hazel for a translation," says Leo, going a little pink around the neck. "And it really fit him."

"Only you'd name a dragon Happy, you doofus," Piper says, ruffling his hair fondly. "I kinda love it, though."

"Yeah," Leo says, grinning at his hands. "Me, too."

"Anything else interesting happen?" Jason asks. "Other than your sudden craving for garlic bread – man, I worry for you sometimes."

"Well," says Leo.

"I smell teaaaa," Piper yelps, sitting up straight. "Spill."

"I kinda told Hazel I like her," Leo says in a rush, and Jason starts in surprise. He'd known that Leo was crushing on the daughter of Pluto a little (well, to be honest, he'd been oblivious to it all and Piper had told him of her suspicions), but he hadn't thought his feelings were strong enough for him to actually act on them, and he hadn't expected Leo to even have the balls to act on them if that were the case.

"But she has a thing going on with Frank," Leo continues, shrugging like it's not a big deal, but Jason can see that he's hurting a little.

"I know, he just told me," Piper moans. "I mean, I was right about them not dating yet, but he said he really wanted to date her but he was being respectful and waiting for her to get used to the idea of it, it was so cute."

"What'd you tell him?" Jason asks.

"To go for it," Piper says, "although at the same time I was making a mental note to tell Leo to back off – I didn't think you'd actually take my advice this soon."

"It was good advice," Leo allows.

"It was good advice for you," Piper agrees. "But it would've been bad for Frank and Hazel if it had gone differently. Which I feel guilty about, a little. They're so sweet and I don't want to ruin what they have. But you come first." She pats Leo's arm. "You're my first best friend."

"What does that make me?" Jason asks.

"You're my first boyfriend," Piper says, kissing him quickly.

"Not even second best friend?" Jason wheedles.

Piper snorts. "No, that's Annabeth."

"Wow," says Jason. "No – just - wow."

"Please, don't even try to pull that crap with me," Piper says lightly. "Leo's your first best friend too. And Annabeth's your second. Or maybe even Percy, you two are weirdly alike."

"Annabeth's more like a sister, and I'd always thought you'd be my second best friend," Jason says, sticking his tongue out at her. "At least, you were - until this betrayal. I'm revoking your Second Best Friend card and giving it to Percy."

They watch Percy go at it for a while – he really is a sight to behold, Jason thinks offhandedly. He's sweating and his hair is flying and he spins around causing minor destruction to the plants in his path like he's a human whirlpool.

"He reminds me of Thalia a little," Piper says suddenly, her eyes tracking his movements. "She used to have these moments, too."

"Annabeth and Luke would deal with her," Leo remembers. "She'd just – suddenly get really stressed out and need a release. She'd make these storms-"

Jason remembers. His sister had been more temperamental than he and so more prone to emotional outbursts. She'd always needed some time away from everyone else to just…let go of some of her power, which she'd told him had the same effect as having a good cry.

He doesn't really remember doing that himself much, except for one time after Thalia's death, when he'd been so distressed he'd accidentally caused a small hurricane. He'd never even tried to pull stuff like that in New Rome, either, where he'd always felt like he was being watched by the older centurions and legacies, who were probably wondering if his leadership skills would match up to his prowess in combat. He'd felt like he was put under the microscope with every move he made and every decision he stood for, even as a centurion, and he'd always known he was a prime candidate for praetor alongside Reyna. But where Reyna was built for the role the same way as Annabeth, Jason wasn't comfortable taking charge. He was happy being Reyna's right-hand man, her go-to whenever she needed a second opinion. Screaming out orders? Not his thing. Being at the helm took all of his patience and energy and effort and in the end captured only a shadow of whatever he was trying to produce.

He likes it better with the Greeks in that sense, because the moment he'd told Annabeth he wanted nothing to do with leadership she'd understood his reservations and never once bugged him about it again. Leadership in the Bunkers was decided based on age and experience, but not necessarily forced on the demigods that fit the bill on paper. Malcolm, Annabeth's younger brother, had been elected unanimously by Bunker Six at the young age of fifteen when it had been decided that Annabeth would act as the overall head and operate from Nine.

Jason knows that a lot of the demigods had probably expected him to stand up and fill Thalia's shoes, but Jason hadn't wanted to. He'd just never felt comfortable assuming a position of power just because of his father.

But still, he does miss New Rome. He misses the real sense of closeness and community with respect to the entire Roman army – the Bunkers are homely, but they are spread too far apart, and plus, the demigods in each Bunker differ like night and day. Demigods in the Twelfth Legion weren't divided based on parentage, they were segregated based on the heroics they'd achieved to get to New Rome. Jason, who had been brought to New Rome at age six by Lupa, had been adopted by a legacy of the Fifth Cohort upon his arrival. He'd met a whole variety of people there – children of most all the Roman gods, and a whole host of legacies, too.

He wonders what's happened to them now. Are they still trying to stay strong as a unit, or have they divided themselves up to stay safe like the Greeks have done?

It's so weird how he feels equally a part of both camps. Everyone around him, including Piper and Leo, probably think of him as a full-fledged Greek now, and even though he's given up on trying to correct people, he still feels a little annoyed when people refer to him as the son of Zeus and not Jupiter.

He's Roman in some ways, and Greek in others – he sees and appreciates the advantages and drawbacks of both sides. He just wishes there was a way he could…be in both places at once. And he has ideas, he does, but they won't come anywhere near fruition during this War.

Maybe after. If there is an after. If he gets to the after.

He's startled out of his thoughts as Percy stumbles him way towards them and throws himself down at the ground near their feet. He rolls over onto his back, spreads his arms out on either side of him, and says passionately, "Fuck Zoe."

"I would, but she's got that celibate thing going on," Leo responds at once with a lewd grin. Piper hits him on the head.

"The Hunters hate love, right," Percy recalls. "Well, it makes sense for Zoe. Two thousand years with nobody who loves her? No wonder she's so fucking crabby."

"Harsh," Piper interjects, eyebrows raised.

"She deserves it," Percy says in a stony voice. "She's being so unfair."

Jason nods in sympathy, and Leo pats Percy's foot consolingly, but Piper disentangles herself from Jason and crawls over to Percy's prone figure so she can stare him in the face.

"Is she being unreasonable, though?" she enquires.

"Uh, yeah she is," Percy says, turning to look at Piper as though she's lost her mind. "She's clearly got some personal vendetta against boys, which is why she isn't letting me on the Quest."

"She said she'd let any of the others come, though," says Piper shrewdly; Percy, who must've forgotten that particular detail, wrinkles his nose and turns away.

"Aren't you too old to be throwing a fit about this?" Piper's voice cuts calm and clear through the stifling air. She sits down cross-legged across from him, bringing out Katoptris in one hand and a wet rag in the other, and begins to polish the blade. Jason shoots her a look like, I hope you know what you're doing, because I'm not getting involved, and Leo looks similarly worried that Percy might lose his temper and freeze them in a block of ice or something.

"I am not having a fit," Percy says into his knees. "I'm having a curl-up-in-a-tiny-ball."

"Ah, dignity, where art thou," Piper says pompously, sounding quite like Zoe as she says it, and it's enough to draw a puff of laughter out of Percy.

"Look, you know I have to go," he tells her, sitting up. "It doesn't matter if you're going too, Jason, I don't care about the stupid Big Three rule, and I'm not too emotional to think straight, I don't care what stupid Zoe Nightshade says –"

"Percy," says Piper.

"I'm the one who let this happen, I could've stopped Annabeth and I didn't – if anyone shouldn't be going, it's Zoe, she fucking got in the way of us last time, what if it happens again? What if she decides, oh, it's too risky, let's turn back, or something equally stupid – or, or cowardly? Just because she feels like it? What if-"

"Percy," says Piper sharply, looking up at him with flashing eyes. "Look, I understand you're angry. I would be, too. In fact, I kind of am. But Zoe's lived a hundred years – she's got experience, and you're not going to get on her good side by arguing with her every chance you get and badmouthing her behind her back." She twists her lips, sitting back and folding her arms. "And…maybe she's got a point about you not being…in the right state of mind, right now."

Jason and Leo flinch in tandem, and Percy glares at her, then glares harder when it doesn't seem to affect her in the slightest. His glint in his eyes is almost wolflike – he must've picked up more than just the art of battle from Lupa. "You sure you aren't a secret Huntress? You seemed to be pretty friendly with Zoe before, and now you're defending her."

"Don't act like a child, Perce," says Piper, quick as a whip, with a quick roll of her eyes. Possible she'd been expecting some kind of immature response – even Jason has to admit it's not up to Percy's usual standard. Percy's frown flickers a little as though he knows the remark had been a little uncalled for, mostly because he's aimed below the belt, which isn't like him.

"It's just so unfair," he bursts out, seemingly unable to help himself. "She's so obsessed with doing things her way – I don't even think she cares about Annabeth at all."

Piper and Leo exchange a look.

"That's not true," says Piper. "Zoe and Annabeth always kind of got along, even though Thalia hated her. And the Hunters were a great asset to us during the War."

"Zoe tried to recruit Annabeth," Leo chimes in unexpectedly, and the three of them look over at him in surprise.

"I…didn't know that," Piper says, sounding a little hurt and a little confused. She looks quickly at Jason, and he shakes his head, nonplussed.

"It was during the War," Leo says. "I overheard them talking. I doubt even Annabeth remembers. But…yeah. I guess Zoe figured we'd win the War, or something. She was talking about what an honour it would be to train under Artemis again, and Annabeth agreed. Then Zoe said she'd make a good Hunter, and asked her if she'd consider joining."

"And then what?" Percy looks as though he's been kicked in the head.

"Annabeth just laughed it off and refused," Leo shrugs. "Don't ask me why, because she didn't say. But Zoe took it well enough. She just said it was a shame, and then she told her there would always be a place for her if she ever changed her mind. But. Um. So, yeah. She doesn't hate Annabeth at all."

"Great," says Percy, smiling bitterly and ripping out a tuft of grass from the ground. "Just great."

"Percy," says Piper.

He snaps his gaze upwards to meet hers. "I know what you're going to say. And yeah, it's fine. I don't have any right to feel betrayed or anything. I mean…I only got here a couple months ago. It's okay."

"You're not okay," Piper says easily, astutely, and Jason watches her and thinks fervently that whoever painted children of Aphrodite as airheaded bimbos likely had never met one in their lives. "And it's not just because of losing Annabeth. It's something else, something deeper." She lifts an eyebrow when Percy doesn't reply.

"Look, you don't have to tell me. But it's clearly bothering you, whatever it is, so you need to get it out of your system – you need to deal with it – before you do anything else. I don't think Zoe will even consider you otherwise." She tilts her head, frowning a little as she scrapes from dried blood from her knife with the cloth. "You may think you're fine-"

"I am fine," Percy gets out through gritted teeth.

"You're not," Piper rebuts calmly. "You've been a mess. You go off alone, snap at your friends whenever they try to help you, and bringing you back from the brink each time…well, it's getting tiring, honestly." She fixes him with a cool, unnerving gaze. "Maybe all this stuff worked when you were on your own. Maybe bottling up every bit of frustration you had at yourself worked for you then. But you're part of us now and you're going to have to play by our rules once in a while, especially if you want something in return. Like being a part of this Quest."

"Look, we all know what you're capable of," she continues, and here her voice grows softer, sympathetic, and Percy bites his lip in evident frustration. "We all know you're strong and smart and reliable and you care for Annabeth. But Zoe doesn't know that, and she isn't going to listen to us. She's making her judgements based on what she sees, and do you know what she probably thinks of you?"

Jason bites his lip, and Percy doesn't answer, because he surely knows what she means. Zoe has only seen Percy angrily disembowelling the training dummies, trying to escape from her during the Quest, and being reckless. She doesn't trust men anyway, and his recent behaviour probably hasn't been doing much to improve her already dirt-poor opinions of his gender.

Percy groans. Piper grins in victory.

"Okay, so I've been an idiot," Percy allows, and Piper discards her dagger in favour of clapping loudly. "But what do I do? I have to go on this Quest, Piper, and if Zoe doesn't let me come, I'll do it myself."

"Yes, you made that pretty clear," Piper snorts. "Look, Perce, being a hero doesn't mean you have to be independent." She raises her eyebrows at him. "I believe that strength can come from others as well as ourselves – I'd like to think I'm a hero because I need everyone else here just as much as they need me."

"I get that," Percy relents. "After years and years of being alone - I like the idea, even. But this doesn't have anything to do with me trying to be a hero. I just – I have to save Annabeth."

"Yes, but why?" Piper prods, leaning forward. "Look, I'm Annabeth's best friend. I care about her just as much as you do. But you don't see me freaking out – I know she's going to hold on, I know she's going to be waiting for us, and I know we're going to get her back." She plays with the end of her shoelaces. "Look, you can trust me, you know that, right? I'll bring her back-"

"It has to be me." Percy bites it his lip, closing his eyes in frustration. "It's not because I don't trust you. It's just. I can't- I can't just..." He sighs. "It has to be me."

She frowns. "Okay. Okay. I'm not going to push you, but you've gotta get it under control, dude."

"I will," Percy says confidently. Then he bursts out – "I can't fail again."

Jason stills. "What?"

"I dunno." Percy scrubs his hand into his face, smushing his nose. His ears are crimson. "I've just…I can't afford to lose anyone else. Not because of me. Not…not this time."

Jason feels a lump in his throat because, well, can't they all relate to that? Jason's lost his mom and his sister and countless friends on both warfronts, and now the Titans are threatening to take Piper. He knows, perhaps too well, what it feels like to have everything ripped from you, and you're just…left there without being able to do anything about it.

Leo and Piper's face are contorted into similar expressions of grief and understanding. Percy sighs, slow and shuddering. Jason knows he's lost his mom – but there's something else there, too. Someone else he's lost - some deep-seated regret that he's let slip about a couple of times, but there isn't enough information to piece it all together.

Whatever it is, that's why Percy's losing his head over Annabeth. Jason's seen their friendship blossom into something new and wonderful and hopeful, and it's been clear to everyone from the get-go that the two are connected in some inexplicable way that is visible to only the two of them. Their bond is one of mutual trust and commitment that exists only between the two of them, and despite their near-constant sniping at each other they do share a natural camaraderie. Of course Percy's out of his mind with worry, they all are – but Jason suspects that Percy feels something deeper for Annabeth, possibly because of how he'd had to really earn her trust and respect before she'd opened up to him.

"Talk to Zoe," Jason finds himself saying. "Tell her what you told us."

Percy snorts sarcastically. "You heard her. She isn't changing her mind, and if I go begging she'll probably think even less of me than she already does." He glares at his shoes. "But I don't give a shit. I meant what I said. I'll do something – follow you, or take Blackjack. But I have to do this."

Jason shoots a look at Piper, who's biting her lip.

"You aren't going to back down on this, are you?" he asks Percy, who shakes his head slowly, frowning.

"After you stormed out of the meeting, the rest of us decided that Jason and I would go with Zoe to Othrys," Piper tells Percy, glancing quickly at Jason. "We figured that even if you couldn't go, we could make sure we got the job done in your stead."

"Woah," says Percy, looking between the two of them. "You guys…that's really nice of you. But-"

"Annabeth's our friend too," Piper smiles, and Jason nods, swallowing down the discomfort he feels. He has to get Annabeth back, for sure, but he's got his own motives, one that he isn't going to share.

"We leave day after tomorrow at first light," Piper tells Percy.

"Okay," Percy says, sitting up straight, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "And?"

"And…maybe you could go on a supply run somewhere close," Jason says slowly, grinning at Piper knowingly. "If we ran into you, it would be purely a coincidence. And maybe we'd attract some monsters on the way."

"And if you managed to help us get out of a sticky situation, Zoe would be in your debt," Piper adds.

"It would," Percy agrees, now grinning openly. "And if I asked you guys to marry me on the spot, what would you say?"

"No," say Jason and Piper together. Leo snorts.

"But even if we accidentally cross paths, even if I help you out a little, it still wouldn't mean Zoe would let me join you," Percy points out.

"It wouldn't," Jason agrees. "But we've got a day to think about it. Let's make a plan."

/

Frank hadn't been sure what to expect when, after their meeting with Zoe, Hazel had grabbed his hand before he could join Leo, Piper, and Jason, and led him silently back to the Bunker proper, where most of the excitement had died down.

"I…want to tell you something," she'd said. "I need to tell you something."

"Okay," Frank replied, his heart dropping right to his feet. Hazel looked agitated, jittery; she was playing with her fingers the same way Leo did.

This is it, Frank had thought. She's figured out Leo's a better match for her, and she's going to break up with me.

He looked at her beseechingly. Oh gods, he likes her so much and he doesn't want this to be the end.

And then Hazel had opened her mouth and started talking. She'd spoken of her old life, and how she'd had no friend except for this one kid Sammy, who she might have been a little in love with at some point. She'd gone on to explain that Leo and Sammy looked scarily alike, and they'd even shared the same last name, which was the real reason why she'd initially lied to everyone about her pyrophobia. She'd wanted to avoid Leo as much as possible because she was scared of what she might find out about Sammy, and she'd acted out of panic. During the Quest, though, Leo ended up figuring out that she was lying and she'd finally found out the truth about their connection.

Here she stops at looks up at Frank sorrowfully. "I'm so sorry," she says, clasping her hands together. "I know I should've told you about Sammy, but I still don't know if there's a name for what we were, and I liked you so much and I didn't want to ruin anything. And then, the more I waited, the harder it became to say something, and…" She sighs. "I don't know. I never expected things to happen like this. It feels like such a mess."

A mess? This is a mess that Frank – who had been expecting a break-up speech – would gladly lie in.

He can't stop himself from blurting out, "So you aren't leaving me for Leo?"

"Leaving you for Leo?" Hazel looks aghast. "Why would I ever do that?"

"Because…" Frank shrugs and stares at his shoes, realizing that she'd only just debunked all his theories about the two of them, and so he'd sound stupid if he said anything, but - "you seem to…like him, and I – it was never my intention to make you feel uncomfortable, or to make you hold yourself back around him. I…I don't want you to feel obligated to hate him because of me."

"Frank," Hazel says, reaching out to grasp one of his hands in both of hers; even with both hands, though, she can barely encompass Frank's huge fist, but she massages it lightly, trying to get it to open.

"I don't know," he says, feeling his whole body sag. "I don't know what I thought. I just…you don't have to hate him just because I'm not comfortable being around him because of…well, you know."

Hazel extracts the parcel from the pocket of her jeans with a grimace. "Gods, and you have every right to feel that way."

She hands him the packet. It's hastily tied with the remaining bits of plastic, but still Frank can spot the blackish parts from whatever fire had melted it. He unwraps it with trembling fingers, takes one look at the tiny nub of wood left, and wraps it up again.

He feels sick. He's clearly lucky to be alive; one second more and he could've died. He lets that sink in. He could've died.

If it hadn't been for Hazel –

"I'm so sorry," she tells him, her lower lip trembling. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Frank says, still stuck in a daze. The wood – it's smaller than his thumb now. How is Frank supposed to keep it safe when it could catch fire just being in the vicinity of the tiniest spark, the smallest of embers?

"You keep it," Hazel says. "I – I don't trust myself for the time being."

"What – no," says Frank desperately. Carrying that damned piece of wood is like holding something of immense weight. It gives him so much stress that he just doesn't want to deal with right now. And besides, he'd given it to Hazel because he trusted her. And he still does. Despite whatever had happened, she'd still saved it. She'd saved him.

But -

"Was the fire Leo's?" he asks, despite himself.

Hazel bites her lip and that's all the answer he needs. Anger rises in him, hot and fierce, and the only thing that keeps it down is Hazel's calming presence right next to him. He has to remind himself, as he takes several deep breaths, that Leo doesn't know his whole sob story. And if he'd figured out about Hazel's lie, he'd have no real reason to hold himself back.

He shouldn't blame Leo, but thing is that it's easy to. He's Frank's opposite, his antithesis, and Hazel seems to like him even though she's only been with him on that one Quest. Frank hates that he's jealous. He doesn't control her. She's free to like or dislike whoever she wants. But Leo being – Leo…it makes Frank nervous, and the nervousness makes him annoyed, because he's a goddamn son of Mars. He isn't supposed to be scared of anything. He's supposed to be brave.

He makes his decision and takes the parcel from Hazel, closing his fist around it in an effort to squeeze the fear from him. Hazel's face falls for s split second and Frank wonders if carrying his burden had meant as much to her as it had to him, but then she squares her shoulders and the look is gone.

"Don't blame Leo," she says quietly. "It was my fault. Leo was trying to keep some monsters away, and I must've dropped it without realizing."

"It's fine," he says, swallowing down the wall of envy that rises, unconsciously, in his chest. "Thank you. You got it back. You kept me alive."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want to talk about it right now," Frank says, gesturing around at the Bunker. It's too public. "But…I don't blame you."

"You should," Hazel says, bending her head and running a hand through her curls. Her fingers get stuck halfway through, caught on a twig, and she shakes her hair free in a gesture both amusing and endearing.

She gazes at the skylight. "Leo…he knows something. He suspects, at least, about you. I didn't confirm anything, but I didn't deny it, either, which could have been potentially…bad."

Frank takes a breath. "That's okay. Piper and Percy and Annabeth know, too – I had to explain. Like I said, I trust them." He trusts Leo a little less, but he doesn't want to say anything in front of Hazel.

"You were saying about Sammy," he says, in an effort to change the topic to something (comparatively) less painful.

"Yeah. Well. He and Leo are basically twins," Hazel says, with a small laugh. Frank has to stifle a groan. He's sick of hearing her laugh about Leo like they've been friends all their lives.

"But I want you to know…you being awkward around him didn't influence my own actions." She takes a breath, during which Frank curses himself for being the bigger person only several minutes ago. He'd be perfectly fine with Hazel hating Leo now. "It wasn't because of you that I was avoiding him. I did that because I was too scared to face, well…everything I've hiding from all these years," she says, with a wry little shrug. "I had so much guilt about leaving Sammy –"

"Not like you had a choice in leaving him," Frank cuts in.

"Yes, but…I don't know. I could've left him a note…something. And in the flashback I saw…he looked so stunned to see my empty house." She sighs. "I thought about him every day when I was under that damn mountain, doing the Titans' dirty work.

"Oh," says Frank numbly. Then – "If you still…feel something for Sammy, that's okay. I mean…that's history and I'd feel about messing with that, to be honest with you. And Leo –"

Hazel shakes her head, smiling fondly. "Frank. While I might have been in love with Sammy back then, he's my past. And he moved on – he had a wife and kids and grandkids and great-grandkids…" She nods at the cave entrance, from which Leo, Piper, Jason, and Percy have just emerged. Piper, Jason, and Percy have bent their heads together, clearly engaged in a serious discussion, but Leo spots them looking and grins at Hazel, pretends to shoot her with a finger gun. Hazel responds with a small smile and a wave that makes Frank's chest clench a little in jealousy.

"So," he says, partly just to get her attention back on him, "Sammy?"

"Is my past," Hazel says firmly. "And he'll always be a part of me, and I'll always miss him, but I've moved on like he did."

Frank swallows. "But Leo-"

"But Leo nothing," Hazel says firmly. "I don't like him like that, and I don't think I ever will. And he knows that, too."

"He knows that?" Frank's heart speeds up. "Did he…did you…"

"He asked me," Hazel admits, dropping her gaze. "If I felt anything for him. Not very explicitly, but…where are you going?"

"He's right there," Frank says, trying to wriggle out of her grasp. "Let me at him -"

"Frank!" She laughs. "He didn't act inappropriately at all. In fact, he's the one who told me to come and tell you everything."

Frank stops struggling. "He…what?"

"He was very encouraging," Hazel says, turning him so that they stand only about a foot apart, facing each other. Frank gulps at the proximity. "He caught me in my lie, and so I told him about Sammy. Then he asked about us – our relationship status." She blushes.

"Piper asked me, too," Frank says.

"Leo said it wasn't obvious that we were together," she tells him earnestly. "He told me to be honest with you. Which is why I was thinking…"

"Thinking what?" Frank says distractedly, watching Leo scaling the Dragon's neck and extracting a rag from his belt. He isn't sure whether to be mad that Leo had tried to make a move on Hazel, or grateful that he'd got her to open up to Frank. Plus, why would Leo do it in the first place? He'd stand a better chance if Frank were out of the picture.

Frank feels a little guilty. He's been grossly unfair, he knows. Seems like Leo's been nothing but good to Hazel – and Frank hasn't even apologized for being a dick to him when he'd found Leo trying to revive her. The sight had just – enraged him. He hadn't been himself, but that isn't an excuse to be an asshole.

"Thinking that maybe…I think I've been being a little too careful," Hazel continues, and Frank jerks back to the present. "I think I'm ready, Frank. I think we should date, for real."

All thoughts of Leo and Sammy and his goddamn deathstick fly from his mind. "What?"

"I'd love for you to be my boyfriend, Frank." She bites her lip. "If you're willing, that is."

"Willing?" Frank exclaims. "I – Yes, Hazel. Yeah. For sure. Gods, yes. I've wanted you to be my girlfriend since, well, forever."

Hazel grins, wild and free, and then she's throwing herself into his arms and he's catching her as their lips crash in what is partly a kiss but mostly a collision. And he's holding her up and she's smiling, leaning her forehead against his, and Frank thinks it's the happiest he's ever been in his life –

At least until Piper notices and begins to cheer. Jason and Percy follow suit and soon the entire Bunker is whooping and cheering and whistling at them, and oh gods Frank's face is going to explode.

He sets Hazel down, laughing a little as she covers her face with her hands and hangs her head in mortification. "Gods, this is so humiliating. This is worse than the Kiss Cam event that you told me about."

"Maybe we don't need to be that public with it yet," Frank says, putting an arm around her and grinning because he can. "We can go at…whatever pace you think is good."

She parts her fingers to look at him. "I'd like that."

"Me, too."

She removes her hands to lace her fingers through his. "I'm really happy, Frank."

"Same," he says stupidly. He can't stop smiling. He feels like he's going to burst from joy. "Wanna go to the mountaintop? I wanna hear more about your Quest."

"I would be amenable," she says, squeezing his hand and smiling. "I have so much to tell you."

"Great," says Frank.

"Like, actual important stuff, too," she admits, though she's grinning. "Don't give me that look!"

"What look?"

"Like you're not even the slightest bit interested."

He pulls her into a quick hug. "I'm very interested, I just want to be with you alone right now. We can talk about whatever you want."

"That sounds doable," she giggles.

"So let's go," he says.

They head towards the tunnel to a loud wolf-whistle from Piper; Frank flips her off when Hazel isn't looking, grinning when Piper gives him a double thumbs-up in response.

They pass Leo on their way out. He smiles at them both, looking just as pleased for them as everyone else, but when Frank turns back to look at him as they exit the Bunker, he spots a glimmer of sadness in the other boy's eyes that hadn't been there before.

/

Percy hangs out by the tomatoes. He picks one up and examines it. It's red. He puts it back down.

An old woman wrinkles her nose as she passes him, and Percy has to stifle a groan. She must be, like, the tenth person to react to the admittedly-overwhelming smell of about five different brands of deodorant that Leo had taken great delight in exhausting on his person. Aside from Leo, Frank, Hazel, Silena, Beckendorf, and Travis, who know his real motives, everyone had just assumed he was going on a monster raid and wished him good luck.

It had been Jason who had come up with the plan of 'accidentally' running into them at a nearby town. The idea was that they would oh-so-conveniently leave some select items behind, things that they'd have to pick up at their usual supply run spot. Piper said they'd lead a monster to him for him to defeat heroically, and if that failed – well, she assured him that it would be hard for Zoe to refuse Percy if he caused a scene in the supermarket, although Percy privately thought that Zoe was not above kicking him in the nuts in front of a dozen or so mortals.

He's got his own plan B, though. Zoe can reject him all he wants – he's going to Othrys with or without her help. He'll follow their tracks if he has to – hell, he'll risk taking a fucking bus if it means he gets there on time. He isn't going to let some stupid Huntress stop him.

He adjusts his sword against his belt consciously, frowning as his fingers brush the hilt. These days, increasingly, he's felt nothing but discomfort and annoyance every time he uses his sword. It doesn't fit him – nothing has ever seemed to, to his utter chagrin. Even Lupa had admitted that none of the weapons he'd used ever suited him; when he was on the run, Percy would be forced to discard a sword once every few months simply because he was never satisfied with anything.

Maybe he's just being too choosy.

He grips the hilt, twisting it in his palm, trying to get a feel for the weapon as he examines a particularly bulbous bell pepper. He wonders what the mortals see when they look at his sword – perhaps a metal ruler? Or maybe a needle. It must be something impressively inconspicuous if he isn't getting any weird looks for it.

When the next mortal passes him by – a middle-aged man who actually coughs in the presence of the cloud of deodorant – Percy quickly snaps his fingers. The man stops in his tracks, looking confused, and Percy looks around quickly to make sure he's alone. He grabs the man's phone from his back pocket to check the time – it's just past eight, which means Piper, Jason, and Zoe are probably close now. Percy had left the night before, of course, ignoring the smug look on Zoe's face as he promised to be back with more Bronze for Leo.

Well, he thinks now, smirking, she won't be laughing at him again.

He walks a few paces backward away from the man, then snaps his fingers and jogs forward. He taps the man on the shoulder and flashes his most charming smile.

"Excuse me, sir," he says cheerily. "This fell out of your pocket."

"Oh," says the man, taken aback as he checks his pockets. He smiles as he accepts the phone, nodding as he assesses Percy again as though rethinking his original opinion of him. "Thanks, kid. Good on you."

"It's no problem, I'm glad to help," Percy assures him as he walks away. "Have a good day!"

"You too," says the man with a small smile as he turns away.

Percy goes back to examining the produce.

He senses more than sees his friends (and Zoe) enter the store. Well. That's not exactly. He hears them first.

At first he doesn't know what he's hearing. It sounds like an awful lot of commotion at the front entrance, followed by a gust of wind that sends Percy staggering several steps backward. That can only be Jason, he thinks wildly – perhaps he's signalling to Percy that they're here?

At the sight of them, though, all of Percy's smart-aleck lines die in his throat. Piper's collided with the display of canned corn – that must have been the crash he'd heard upon their arrival – and both Jason and Zoe are bent over, gasping for breath. The three of them are covered in mud and leaves – Zoe's got a new cut down the side of her cheek that definitely hadn't been there before.

A staff member is helping Piper up; the poor security guard is blinking at them dumbly. He only looks half-awake. Percy sympathizes.

"What the hell happened?" he asks, crossing over to Jason and rubbing his back. "You guys look like death."

At the sound of his voice, Zoe snaps her head up in shock, and gods the look on her face is worth every second of his sleepless night yesterday spent trying not to fall out of the tree. Her expression goes from mild confusion to totally flabbergasted to horribly furious in the span of about two seconds, and before she's even straightened up she's shaking her head and saying, "No. No. No."

"What?" Percy demands, even though he's ruining the plan by giving in to the shit-eating grin that has been threatening to take over his face ever since she came in. "I'm here on a supply run, but I was followed by a monster - I was hoping to ambush him and take his weapon."

Zoe takes one look at the disapproving mortals around them and gazes at him witheringly. "How big of an idiot do you take me for? There are no other monsters here." She points accusingly at Piper, then Jason. "You planned this."

"No, we didn't," wheezes Jason, finally standing upright and rubbing his lower back.

"It's a coincidence," Percy insists. "I must admit I'm glad to see you, though."

"Of course you are, you-you sock," Zoe spits.

"Zoe!" Percy holds an offended hand to his heart. "That wounds me."

"It was meant to," she snaps. "How dare you – how dare you slither in when I explicitly withheld permission –"

"Sorry, I must've missed the memo that said you were the boss of me," Percy quips back, delighting in the rage that flits through her eyes.

Piper, who had been helping the poor sap of a store worker reconstruct the tower of tin cans, hobbles over to them. "Look, Zoe, whether this was planned or not –"

"Of course it was planned!" Zoe says hotly.

"-we need all the help we're going to get. If that thing comes after us in here…"

"We should have some time," Jason says nervously, glancing at the closed doors. "It isn't going to follow us in here. Is it?"

"What is?" Percy asks, looking at the cut on Zoe's cheek again; and for once, even she looks nervous.

"Let's not jinx it," she advises. "In my experience –"

She doesn't finish. In fact, it's probably more accurate to say that she doesn't get to finish, because halfway through her sentence something large and golden busts through the doors, swishing its enormous tail and snarling.

It stares right at Percy, and no joke – he nearly pees his pants.

"Run," he begins to say, only he turns around to find the others fucking hightailing it away from the monster, darting past screaming mortals and making for the back exit.

He runs after Jason and Piper – Zoe's bolted to a different aisle – but quickly changes directions when the monster gives chase. Luckily for him and unluckily for the other two, the beast doesn't follow Percy, instead deciding that two demigod treats are better than one. Percy is caught between terror and an awful, awful desire to laugh as Jason hurls a bunch of curse words at him as he bolts away, the last of which goes something like "Come back here and face it like a man, you slimy bastard!"

Percy collapses in the cereal aisle, where he runs into a disgruntled and highly harried Zoe, who has climbed atop the shelf and is taking aim.

"What the hell is that?" Percy screeches at her.

Zoe lets the arrow fly, but it must not hit the mark, because she hisses in annoyance and jumps down next to him, making only the smallest sound as she lands.

"Haven't you figured it out by now?" she says, glaring at him like he's the one who called it there, nocking another arrow. Close to, Percy sees the intricate carvings in the silver of her bow – leaves and vines etched into the gleaming metal. It matches well with the delicate circlet on her head, a silver tiara that looks oddly like a crown of pure silver brambles and twigs woven into her dark locks.

Percy hates to admit it, but both her weapon and her diadem lend her an immense aura – one that, coupled with her posh manners and stately posture, gives him the impression that he's in the presence of royalty. And she is striking to look at, with her alabaster skin and dark brown hair and eyes. Sometimes, if he squints, he can see what Piper had told him was the aura of the Hunters' immortality flickering around her, though it always dies quickly.

"What?" Zoe snaps, and Percy takes a step backward, realizing too late that he'd been staring at her and that her face is now purple from rage.

"Nothing," he says, and then he repeats it when she casts him a dirty look.

"Boys," she says, grabbing him by the sleeve of his shirt as though he's too dirty to make direct contact with. "Imbeciles."

"Name one imbecilic thing I've done today," Percy grunts, hurrying behind her and trying to grasp his sword properly. Up ahead, the monster's humungous tail has toppled over entire shelves of produce, trapping several hapless mortals underneath the mess. Percy and Zoe helps them out and they flee without even the smallest word of thanks.

"One imbecilic thing," Zoe snarls at him as they make their way to the battle – Percy can hear Piper yelling, but not Jason, which is only slightly worrisome. "One imbecilic thing. How about how you following us here just to be part of this Quest, even – and especially – when I forbade you from accompanying us! I would say that's pretty imbecilic, wouldn't you?" Her voice has gotten higher and higher as she's gone on, and so loud that Percy's sure the monster is going to think it's a mating call or something.

"I left the Bunker before you did," Percy points out in what must be the worst attempt at placation, though he does cower slightly at the look she gives him as he says it. "I didn't follow you – if anything, you followed me."

"How dare you," Zoe spits.

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You and your friends planned this," she hisses at him. "You planned this-this diversion to lead the Quest this way, where you could conveniently hop on board, and well, to that I say no, Percy Jackson. The world doesn't revolve around you and you aren't always going to get your way. If you think you can just waltz into my Quest that I planned –"

"Fine," Percy bites back, clenching his fist. "Fine. You get your way, okay? I won't interfere anymore. Just – let's defeat this monster and get that over with."

He glares at her and she bites her lip, clearly shocked at his change in mood. Finally, though, she nods.

"What is that thing, by the way?" he asks as they run towards the monster. Percy can just glimpse the golden crown of fur as it jumps upward, but he's seen enough to know that whatever they're dealing with here isn't your run-of-the-mill, easy-to-kill monster. This thing feels deadly.

"The Nemean Lion," Zoe says with distaste as she loses another arrow. Percy watches the Lion's golden tail swish some way in front of them. Piper's perched atop an aisle, swinging with Jason's spear, as the man himself lies on the marble, knocked out cold. There's a brick some way away from him, dislodged from a hole in the way that the Lion must've caused. It must've hit Jason on the head.

"Great," Percy says, surveying the scene.

"Nothing about this is great!" Zoe snaps.

Percy dodges another chunk of shrapnel. "I was being sarcastic!"

"This is not the time for sarcasm!" she snaps back, just as Piper screeches, "Percy, you fucking ditching son of a bitch!"

"The fuck did I do?" Percy demands, as the Lion turns on them. Zoe's arrow glances right off its hide, but she's quick enough to scale a nearby shelf just in time, whereas Percy is forced to flee.

"Fuck," he wheezes, sprinting down the aisle and making a sharp turn at the next one, where he reaches Piper in time for her to bodyslam him into the floor.

"Fuck," Percy wheezes. "Pipes, you're heavy."

"Serves you right," she grunts, clambering off of him and hauling him up. Percy winces as behind him, the Lion roars.

"We need a plan," Piper pants. "To defeat it."

"Where are we going to get one of those from?" Percy yelps back at her as he climbs the shelf. "In case you hadn't noticed, we're missing an Annabeth who would probably have about five plans on hand right about now."

"Well, make one," Piper snaps. "We all know you aren't as stupid as you look."

"He looks pretty stupid," Zoe agrees from atop an adjacent shelf.

"Fuck off." Percy gets to his feet and tries not to look down. "I'm thinking. I'm thinking."

"Make it quick," Piper says, standing up beside him and casting a worried look in the direction of Jason's prone form. "Once the Lion realizes he can't get at us, he might go after Jace."

"Why the hell am I the one who has to plan everything?" Percy yells.

"You spent so much time with Annabeth!" Piper howls back. "Some of her brains must have rubbed off on you!"

"If you all can shut up - it doesn't have any weak points." Zoe throws her hunting knife and scowls when it bounces right off the monster's hide. "Our best chance is running."

"There's no way we can outrun it," Piper says. "Unless Percy can call us the pegasi…"

"We still have to get outside for that, though," Zoe points out. "Until then, we're stuck."

No weak points, Percy thinks, and then he remembers Annabeth. He remembers them talking and crying together and thinking, as he watched her fall asleep on his shoulder, that everybody has a weak point, even cold-looking daughters of Athena who appear to know it all.

The Lion roars. Percy stares down its gullet, at the raw, pink flesh inside its jaws.

It comes to him all at once.

"Cover me!" he screeches, darting back in the direction he'd come.

"The fuck!" Piper screeches. "If you're ditching me again, Percy, I swear to all the gods -"

"I have a plan!"

"Well, what is it?" Zoe calls.

"I'm going to shove a box of muesli down it's throat!" Percy yells. He reaches the cereal aisle and jumps to the ground, landing awkwardly, but Piper and Zoe are doing a fine job of distracting the Lion – Piper's jabbing at its eyes with Ivlivs and Zoe is shooting arrow after arrow at its snout, forcing it to bat the projectiles away with its paw like some overgrown housecat.

Percy grabs everything he can, even piling it up in an overturned shopping cart just to be safe. Box after box of muesli goes into the cart, followed by boxes of the other boring cereals with no flavour and extra-extra-fibre. Then he charges forward, cart in front of him, stopping at a good pitching distance away.

"You were serious about the muesli?" Piper screams.

"What the fuck did you think?" Percy yells, arming himself with a box as the Lion turns to him.

"I thought you'd get something useful!" Piper howls back.

"This is going to work," he assures her.

"So now our fates rest in the hands of an idiot with a cereal obsession," Zoe murmurs, staring up at the ceiling as though willing it to collapse on her. "Fantastic."

"And here I was thinking you didn't get sarcasm," Percy smirks, and then he throws his sword.

It sails through the air, hitting the lion in the rear end and clattering to the floor without even making so much as a scratch. The good thing, though, is that the Lion turns and growls at him.

"Good kitty," says Percy. "Just a bit wider."

"We're going to die," Zoe says.

"Amen to that, sister," Piper agrees.

"Come on," Percy coaxes, and he's honestly terrified he's just going to get eaten. The Lion is facing him fully, now, and is close enough to pounce. "Come on, kitty. Just a little wider."

By some grace of the gods, then, it happens.

The Nemean Lion unhinges its enormous jaw and roars, and Percy lets out a highly embarrassing victory scree as he sends a whole box of cereal right down its throat. The Lion chokes, and then Percy throws another box, and then another, and then another, whooping like he's shooting hoops at a school basketball game.

"Zoe!" he yells, for the Huntress is just stood there, gobsmacked. He grins. "Some help would be great."

She unfreezes, sprinting on the shelves to him and landing at his side. She takes aim and sends three arrows into the thing's mouth in quick succession. The touch of the enchanted silver must do it and the Lion collapses, choking and gagging and crumbling into dust, until it's left behind nothing more than a square piece of golden fur the same size as the superstore's floor tiles.

Zoe glances at it with distaste.

"Take it," she says. "It is yours."

"You made the killing shot," he says, watching as Piper jumps from the shelf and makes a beeline for Jason.

"You came up with the idea." Zoe almost smiles. "And as much as I'm half in disbelief, it was a good one."

"Oh," says Percy. "Well – okay."

He picks up the pelt. It's heavier than he expected and soft to the touch, and unfolds in his hands like a cape. Experimentally, he concentrates and snaps his fingers, and it turns into a hideously garish letterman jacket.

"Seriously?" he tells Zoe. "I won't be able to walk around wearing this, every mortal I pass will get blinded. People will upload pictures of me onto the internet and I'll be ridiculed. I'll be called Bling Jackson."

"I do not want to know what that means," Zoe says.

"It means I won't be caught dead wearing this," he tells her.

"Don't be ridiculous," she replies sharply. "You saw what it could do. No weapon will be able to touch you if you wear that."

Percy tries it on. He feels ridiculous with it draped over his shoulders, and his doubts are only confirmed when Piper shows up with a bleary-eyed Jason hanging on her back, who blinks hazily at Percy and whispers, "Am I dreaming?"

Piper bites her lips. "Is that ou, Troy Bolton? Go wildcats."

"I hate you," Percy says, shrugging the damn thing off at once. "Fuck off."

"I mean, we should get going," Piper agrees. "The mortals who fled here probably called the police, and I don't wanna stick around to find out what other kinds of monsters show up."

Zoe nods. "We should get moving." She glances at him as though daring him to speak.

"Well," he says with false nonchalance, his mind already putting his plan B into action. When they leave, he'll have to follow them from a safe distance. "I guess I'll be seeing you. Good luck with your Quest."

She stops him. "Percy…you are going to follow us anyway, aren't you." She doesn't phrase it like a question.

"Probably," Percy admits.

"Gods, you're the worst," Zoe admits. "But I do owe you my life, or at least a favour. I suppose you might as well come along."

/

Not for the first time, Frank wonders what exactly possessed him to do this. This being carting Leo and Hazel across the country to get more of the godforsaken pure metal that Leo hadn't stopped going on and on about until Frank's brain nearly exploded from the information overload.

The gist is that Leo was in dire need of more pure metals for the all-important Archimedes spheres, and of course he'd needed Hazel to get them. And goddamn it if Frank was going to let the two of them go gallivanting all over the country – again.

Which brings him to the present hour. Frank's in giant eagle form, Leo and Hazel clinging onto his back and talking in quiet voices; Frank strains to hear them but can't really make much out of their conversation with the wind roaring in his ears, so he flies on, feeling like he might just be petty enough to swing Leo off of his back and attribute it to the turbulent weather.

He knows he doesn't have any reason to be jealous of Leo anymore, now that Hazel's explained everything, now that they're dating for real. Which is a whole miracle, to be honest – Frank had been prepared for things to go at whatever pace she was comfortable with, of course, but part of him had always wondered just how long he'd have to wait. What if Hazel found someone better suited to her? What if she stopped liking him?

He now knows that those fears had been unfounded. Back in the Bunker, after their extremely public kiss, Hazel had told him in private that she'd been wanting to kiss him for a while. That she liked him very, very much – and she'd been building up the courage to tell him, but the final push into his arms had been thanks to Leo, who had encouraged her to talk to Frank about their relationship. Which makes things all the more confusing, because how the hell is Frank supposed to hate Leo now?

The still-fearful part of him insists that Leo has an ulterior motive: according to Hazel, the son of Hephaestus had kind of implied that he liked her, after all. But the rest of Frank – the rational, level-headed part – is now consumed with a gut-wrenching guilt. If what Hazel says is true – and it must be, because why would she lie? – that means that despite Hazel turning him down, Leo had encouraged her to act on her feeling and be honest with Frank. Which means that Frank has a lot he owes Leo for, and a lot to apologize for, too.

Frank isn't a bad person, okay. He's just…he's never been the type to put himself out there with other people, and he doesn't know where he stands with Leo – and he's still a little jealous about his connection with Hazel, even though he trusts her and knows that her feelings for the son of Hephaestus don't go deeper than friendship. It's just. The fire, and the whole thing with Sammy, and…everything. And maybe one day he and Leo will be great friends and he'll tell his grandchildren the story of the eccentric firebender as they gather around his armchair on a cold winter night, but today Frank supposes he can give into his feelings of pettiness, if only just for a little while.

He focuses in front of him, sharpening his vision until his gaze pierces through the clouds. In giant eagle form, Frank feels ten times more powerful than he does as a human – he feels broad and strong and magnificent as he cuts through the clouds. There comes a certain elating sensation with changing into different kinds of animals – Frank had felt unnaturally terrorized the first time he'd transformed into a guinea pig – and even though the eagle had been his first true successful shapeshift, he doesn't think he'll ever grow used to the feeling that comes along with the transformation.

He can still remember his grandmother's proud – and yet fleeting – smile the first time he had turned without a hitch, and he remembers Hazel's face, too, the first time she'd seen him do it. Eyes wide with wonder, her jaw dropped and her lips tugging into a joyful laugh. He had never felt so proud of his ability before.

It's cold up in the skies and Frank is consumed with the feeling of his wings slicing through the chilly winds. He's always loved the slow transition from the sweltering summer to the icy hush of winter: it's his favorite kind of weather, the cold autumnal air permeating through the down covering his form. Frank's grandmother used to begin brewing all kinds of herbal medicines at this time, knowing fully well how cold winters in Canada would get and foreseeing clearly the inevitable spread of scratchy throats and runny noses that would grip Frank's poor immune system in a vice grip.

The weather brings back other fond memories, too – waking up in whatever forest they were camped out in with Hazel curled up beside him and snoring softly through her nostrils. Frank had made it a habit, by that point, to turn into a deer or something else innocent enough to be able to roam the area freely, sucking in the clear air in deep, refreshing breaths. In the colder months there had even been fog, retreating around the edges of the trees but never dissipating fully as though lurking in wait, and Frank had simply spent the morning hours slowly letting the dew from the undergrowth permeate into his clothes and soak him to the skin.

Frank had liked New Rome the same way he likes Bunker Nine. Being around people is always a new experience, and it always gives him this sense of purpose and importance - but sometimes (read: most of the time) he wishes he could go back to the quiet days where it was just him and Hazel trying to make sense of the world together.

After a while longer of silent flying – even Hazel and Leo have stopped their giggling – Frank feels a soft hand patting the side of his neck, and he turns his head ever so slightly to fix his gaze on Hazel, who is leaning towards him with that elated, giddy look on her fact she always gets when they're flying: Frank wants to smile, but he can't, so he lets out a high-pitched scree instead. It must surprise Leo, because Frank feels him jump a little.

Hazel grins wider. Her hair, tied back into a ponytail, puffs behind her head, giving her a very frizzy halo.

"Land in that range over there!" she yells, pointing at a jagged bit of mountain sticking out of the ground.

"Pleeeeaase let's land on flat land," Leo begs from somewhere out of Frank's sight. "I didn't come here to mountaineer."

"Mountains are the best for cover," Hazel explains. "And it's easier for Frank to land on a rock rather than having to crash through the treetops."

"If you make me rappel down a cliff-" Leo says, but his next words turn into a yelp as Frank dives downward.

"This is the best part!" Hazel shrieks, and Frank thinks vindictively, Ha.

He lands in the middle of a rock formation; Hazel clambers off quite easily and helps Leo down, and then Frank shifts back into human form, smiling at Hazel gratefully when she reaches out to grasp his arm in support; Frank's always a little unsteady on his feet after spending a lot time in a different form.

Leo potters around, humming under his breath and twirling a screwdriver between his fingers – Frank leans against a boulder and munches on an apple as Hazel kneels, placing her palm on the ground to get a good reading.

"I feel…something," she says eventually. "Downhill, that way."

"Something?" Leo asks.

"It's definitely metal." Hazel bites her lip. "But it feels like it's already near or even on the surface, which is a bit weird."

"Let's go check it out," Frank says, even as Leo splutters, "You promised no rappelling!"

"There won't be," Hazel says, rolling her eyes – which turns out to be a lie, because they soon come across a tricky bit of rock in their path. Frank turns into a mountain goat and jumps down, and Hazel leaps off right behind him, summoning a slab of stone to catch her. She lands, rolling, and bounds to her feet.

Frank turns back into human. "That was pretty cool."

"That felt pretty cool, too," Hazel gushes, her eyes sparkling. "Ever since the training, I feel like all this stuff comes more naturally to me."

And Frank feels a pang of guilt, because she's right. Hazel's so casually powerful that it had never occurred to Frank that she might need training to really hone her skills – and she really had needed Percy and Jason to help her, given that she'd never really had the chance to work and train and spar with her real equals before. She could've had the opportunity at New Rome, but Frank had instead dragged her all over the country to find Percy, the fake minor god.

It's so weird thinking of Hazel in New Rome, for some reason, but it also makes his heart squeeze a little. New Rome had once been a place where demigods and legacies could live in peace. Some even had the chance to settle down and start a family – and although his future is very much up in the air, he knows he wants to end up living a peaceful life. Maybe one day.

Talk about getting ahead of himself - Frank clears his throat, coloring spectacularly at the confused look Hazel shoots him. He shakes his head and she smiles at him. Jeeesus, he wants to spend so much time with her so, so badly.

"As much as I hate to interrupt the praise party down there," Leo interrupts dryly from above them, "Could you look away from each other long enough to toss me a rope?"

Frank and Hazel jerk away from each other at once; Hazel begins to rifle in her backpack for the rope and Frank looks away, his entire body tingling. After their first kiss – which seems so long ago, now – he'd tried so hard not to push for any kind of PDA in case he made her uncomfortable, but in the time that had passed it seems as though he'd forgotten just how pretty and full her lips were, and now he can't stop staring at them. He feels kind of guilty about it – but he's also allowed to want to kiss his girlfriend, right?

He looks up at Leo almost despite himself, but rather than appearing distressed, Leo's eyes gleam his way rather knowingly before flashing back to Hazel as she throws one end of the rope to him.

"For someone who swears he'll never go climbing around in mountains again, I sure end up jumping off of cliffs a lot," he says, tying the rope around his waist and winding the other end around a jagged stone, and Frank lets out a startled laugh that Leo responds with a pleased grin.

Once Leo gets to their level, Hazel takes pity on him and leads them down a less-steep path – it takes them a little longer to get to the edge of the woods, and it's almost nightfall when they do.

Frank's debating calling for them to set up camp for the night, but Hazel seems intent on moving forward, insisting that the gold is fairly close to the surface. It's a heartening thought, and Frank trusts her judgement – and he trusts it still when Hazel leads them partway around the mountain until the moon is high in the night sky.

Leo has no such loyalty – at one point he put his foot down and refuses to budge. "I'm butt tired," he complains. "Can't this wait for a while?"

"It's not much farther," Hazel says, only her brows are pinched together in confusion. "It's definitely Celestial Bronze, but it feels pretty much like it's on the surface, it makes no sense. And it doesn't feel like it's completely pure, either. So bizarre."

"Are you tracking another automaton?" Leo yelps.

"No!" Hazel refutes quickly. "At least, I don't think so."

"Hazel, you're tired," Frank says gently. "You're losing your concentration, see…" He points at her feet, where a few glittering gemstones have risen to the surface. Hazel scowls at them, hanging her head. She taps her foot and several of the gems sink back down.

"You've been leaving a trail of them," Leo adds helpfully.

"I have not," says Hazel at once.

"Have too," Leo says, pointing at the ground behind them, only there's nothing.

"The fuck," says Leo.

"Ha," says Hazel smugly. "Liar."

"That doesn't make sense," Leo protests. With a quick sideways glance at Frank, who understands the warning for what it is and nods, he lights a ball of flame in his palm and shines it onto the ground. "They were one hundred percent there."

"Maybe they weren't," says Hazel mutinously, "maybe your mind is playing tricks on you."

"No, they were there, I saw some, too – sorry," Frank interrupts, shrugging apologetically at the betrayed glance she gives him. "But maybe they went back under?"

"Or someone picked them up," Leo says in a very stereotypical horror-storyteller voice, and he places his blazing hand right under his chin for the full effect. He ends up looking as though he's standing in a lampshade, and Frank wants to laugh at the absurdity of his theory, only just then they hear a rustle from behind them.

They all freeze.

Leo extinguishes the fire at once. "Maybe it's the wind," he whispers, even though it's been perfectly still so far.

The rustle sounds again, this time closer and far more aggressive. Hazel slips her hand into Frank's.

"Hazel, find a path into the mountain," Frank orders.

Hazel nods. She's so close that her hair brushes against his chin. "Found one. There's a cave not too high up. I'll collapse it."

"Fuck," Leo groans quietly.

"On my count," Frank says in a low tone, "We run for it."

Hazel and Leo nod; Hazel grabs him with her free hand, and Frank would feel jealous if he weren't so bloody terrified. Plus, he knows Leo can't be using his fire now – they'll just draw more attention – and Hazel's their only navigator.

"Three…two…one," Frank whispers, and they fucking flee.

Part of him had hoped that they'd been overthinking it. Maybe they hadn't been followed. Maybe there had been a bit of wind in that particular tree. Maybe –

Of course they aren't that lucky.

The thing that's pursuing them takes off at the same time they do, crashing through the undergrowth with a deafening crash that makes him actually whimper, something he'd be embarrassed about if he hadn't seen Leo biting down on his own shirt in an effort to keep from screaming.

Hazel is panting, each of her arms grasped in Frank and Leo's – all her previous confusion has evaporated and she weaves through the trees like she was born for American Ninja Warrior – forest edition. Frank can't help feeling a burst of admiration as she says, "Jump!" and all three of them leap through the air over a fallen tree, still linked in a chain. He imagines seeing what Hazel does – endless passages and tunnels under the earth, hidden from them by a layer of soil and rock, and his head spins, the way it always does when he thinks about anything Hazel-related.

She's still leaving a trail of riches behind them – stuff the average mortal would die for. Gold and diamonds and rubies and sapphires sprout at his feet even as he runs, and Frank tries to avoid them as best he can – Leo must remember Hazel's warning, too, because he makes it a point to step around them with a great deal of meticulousness.

After a couple of minutes, Frank notices that their predator is acting strangely. The noises behind them speed up, and then pause abruptly at irregular intervals – the monster is stopping, for some reason, and it's giving them the lead they need.

He's not complaining, but he can't help but wonder at how weird it is; next to him, Leo's frowning. He must've noticed too.

Hazel removes her hand from Leo's – almost unconsciously, Frank reaches out for him, grabbing his elbow and dragging him along without missing a step. Leo wheezes out a thanks, his face pale as the sound of pursuit intensify from the path they'd just trodden on.

Hazel uses her free arm to remove a boulder from their path; she sends it flying down the road as easily as a bowling ball. The monster behind them makes a harrumphing noise, clearly not expecting this new obstacle, and Hazel uses the opportunity to clamber through the rocks, clearing up a path that moves steadily uphill towards a small opening in the base of the mountain.

Frank pants as he vaults past Hazel; he turns into a bear and pushes a couple of boulders that block the entrance to the cave. Leo curses as he stumbles, but he waits at the entrance of the cave for Hazel to pass through first. She slips through with a grateful glance at Frank and Leo follows her. Frank turns back into human form and goes last, his throat going dry at the sound of the approaching sound. He doesn't dare look behind him.

"Quick, Hazel," Leo gasps, and Hazel brings her arms toward her abdomen as though yanking on an invisible pulley. Rocks fall from above, blocking the cave opening just as a bit of the monster's long snout rounds a column of stone and turns in their direction. Frank stumbles as the ceiling shakes and watches as the outside world slowly vanishes from view, shrouding them in a thick, oppressive darkness.

/

Every day, for hours on end, Luke holds up the sky with her – and Annabeth doesn't know what to make of it.

For the first few days she's convinced it's a tactic to manipulate her into thinking that she owes him – Luke knows how seriously she takes her debts. But as before, he doesn't attempt to wrangle information from her rusty brain. He just shows up with a bottle of water and some food and feeds her the way one would do a small child, and when he's done he just sighs like he's bracing himself and then slips underneath the sky to help her with the load, if only just for a portion of the day.

Half of her wants to scream herself hoarse at him until he never shows himself again. The other half of her – well, it is immensely grateful, and the former half hates the latter for this weakness. Because Luke's got to be up to something. Surely he's expecting something in return for this kindness – because there's no way that this gesture is not double-edged.

She refuses to consider the alternative – that he is doing this for her of his own volition. It's impossible. Only a fool would do it.

And yet she finds herself wondering, hoping, despite herself, that maybe the choice really is his. That he maybe isn't as deep into Kronos' twisted ideals as he appears.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye through a haze of red. He's panting as he lifts his head to survey the clouds – Annabeth isn't sure how he does it, or if there's some secret Titan message etched into the sky that she can't read, but Luke groans a little, glancing her way and meeting her gaze in a gesture of what Annabeth has come to understand means I'll see you tomorrow.

Same time, same place, she thinks bitterly, like they're two lovestruck teenagers slipping around their parents. I'll be here, waiting.

Luke gives her a nod, crouching lower and lower until his shoulders are free from the burden. Annabeth grunts as the full weight is transferred to her once more. At first she'd assumed Luke might have been putting on a show to gain her trust, nut no – Luke's face is greasy from sweat and the weight feels heavier than before.

He picks up the empty water bottle at her feet, looking up into her eyes for a split second, and something flashes behind his expression, something that is there and then gone in the space of about a second.

It's pain, Annabeth realized, and again it occurs to her that maybe Luke doesn't enjoy seeing her in this position as much as she dislikes actually being in it.

And before she can stop herself, she croaks out, "Why?"

Luke stops and turns back to her, the wind whipping his hair into a frenzy. Lightning flashes and turn his eyes pure white.

"Why what?" he asks carefully. "Why I'm doing this? I told you, Annabeth. Even if you clearly don't believe me – you're still family to me…" He trails off when he sees her shaking her head. "Then what?"

Annabeth gulps a mouthful of air before speaking. "Why…are you…on his side."

Luke is silent; so is she, but that is not her choice. Even the smallest of movements feel taxing, and she isn't going to waste her words when she's finally, finally got him stupefied.

He sighs, and she can see in his stiff posture that his next words are laced with frustration. "It's complicated, Annabeth. You won't understand."

He turns to leave. Annabeth panics. Every step away means she's losing what could be her only chance to understand what went wrong all those years ago, and she can't let it slip from her grasp, not now –

"Met May," she gasps out, and the effort makes her double over.

It must take her a couple of minutes, at least, for her to regain whatever control over her nerves she has left, but when she manages to look up, Luke is still standing there, his mouth curled into a snarl. The plastic bottle has been crushed in his fist.

Annabeth would be terrified if she hadn't known that she can't possibly feel any more pain that what she's going through right now. She's only seen him like this once before – that one time when they were still living on the streets, when they'd been forced to go to May's to get Thalia some medicine. Thalia and Annabeth had been sat at the very dining table where May had spouted the True Prophecy only a few months prior – gosh. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Luke had gone further into the house – there had been screaming, Annabeth remembers, hating the fuzzy quality of her memories. And then Luke had emerged from the room with a face like thunder – he'd dragged Thalia and Annabeth from the house, cursing all the while, and vowed never to return to the cursed place.

He'd broken that vow, Annabeth knows. And he'd met his father that night, too – he just hadn't told them.

"Why did you go there?" Luke asks her tightly, coming closer. His face is white, and with a start Annabeth realizes what this means – he doesn't know about the Prophecy. He doesn't know about the Prophecy, even though he knows about Percy, which means that their spy isn't in the know – and here she feels her heart lift for the first time in so, so long – and it means that the spy isn't in their core group. Hope blossoms in her chest like a sprout breaking through snow after a long, cold winter.

"Why…did you?" Annabeth counters, and Luke scoffs, shaking his head and staring upwards.

"Should've known she'd blab," he says, sneering. "Senile old woman. Should've just killed her when I had the chance."

And Annabeth knows he means it – she's seen May in full cursed-Oracle mode. She can't imagine what it must have been like for Luke, growing up alone with a mentally unstable mother who was probably predicting his future a couple of times a day. He'd probably had to cook and clean and educate himself the same way Annabeth had. And May's prophecies hadn't been even remotely pleasant to listen to – no wonder Luke had run away, but – but.

But May. May. Poor, sweet May, who had been cursed against her will – she hadn't had any control over her actions. And she loved Luke, she loved him enough to see him even in Percy, who looks like Luke the same way a piece of paper looks like a lion. Which is, to say, not at all.

The thought of Luke running a sword through his own mother sends a chill through her – and there is nothing but rage and hate etched across his expression, nothing to suggest that he hadn't meant what he said. Whatever bit of faith she'd had in his moral compass sinks through the rocks beneath her feet. If Luke is so full of hate that he would've killed his own mother – and if this is something he's been carrying with him for so long, then perhaps Annabeth had never known him at all.

"What did she tell you?" Luke demands, and Annabeth doesn't answer. She lifts her head long enough to shoot him a scathing look, and then drops it again.

Footsteps come closer and closer until he's right in front of her, and then he lowers himself into a cross-legged seating position, bending his head to look at her.

"You don't know what it was like," he says angrily. "You were too young to understand."

Too young? Oh, how dare he. Annabeth let's out a tiny snort of derision; she might not understand what it had been like to live in the same house as someone predicting her horrible, horrible future, but she does know what it is like to feel alone in a world where nothing makes sense. The monsters had come for her time and time again and her father had turned his back on her. For the longest time she had felt pathetic and weak and unloved, and she'd…she'd taken all that love and glued it to Luke and Thalia, and he knows this. He knows that she must understand.

"You don't," Luke says roughly, like he's reading her mind. "You never…you don't know what it was like. Her just…telling me all the time how I was going to die. My blood on white and gold tiles – yeah, you heard that right," he adds in response to her tiny gasp of shock. "White and gold. Very godly, don't you think?"

"Not…" she begins, but he cuts her off.

"Not true? Can't be real?" He laughs hollowly. "Well, it is. Hermes told me himself – that night we went to get Thalia her medicine." His voice cracks on her name, but he recovers quickly. "I'm sure my mother told you. Well, I went into her room to get some painkillers when, well, look who had come to visit!" He sounds like he's gritting his teeth. "Dear old Dad! Who had never shown his face while I was losing my mind in that house, who hadn't given me one sign that he even existed. And he expected me to just…hug it out?" He snorts. "Fat fucking chance. I told him to get the fuck away from me. To which he responded, and I quote, that he stayed away from me because he didn't want to mess with my destiny. That it was hard for him to use his mortal form, but he risked it once in a while to check up on us. On her." His lip curls in derision.

Annabeth looks up. Luke is staring right at her with a gaze so steady she gulps.

"What destiny?" Luke continues bitterly. "The one where I die on Olympus by a god's hand?" He shakes his head. "That's when I decided that I wasn't going to sit around and wait for my inevitable death. I wasn't going to stand by and watch the gods turn their backs on innocent kids – because I was a kid, Annabeth! I was six years old when my own mother told me I was going to die and she told me every day since!" His voice rises until he's yelling, yelling at the sky as though daring Zeus to appear. "My mother was sick – she was cursed, and I was alone, and what did the almighty gods do? Nothing!" he roars, and Annabeth chokes, feeling her chest clench painfully. "Do you know how many lives the gods have ruined? Do you know how much carnage they've caused?" He points at the black castle in a fury. "Every single demigod in there is one who hasn't been claimed by the gods. By their so-called parents – and we don't even want love! We just want to be acknowledged! The gods – they expect us to just believe in them, because our faith makes them stronger, but they don't give a shit about us beyond that! They just – use us, like we're nothing more than pawns on their goddamn chessboard, and when they do decide to show up it's always for their own personal gain.

"Fuck the gods," he growls. "And fuck Hermes – do you know that he had the gall to say he loved me? That he was doing everything for my own good? He didn't give a shit that I was going to die, he just wanted me to love him, because all he needed from me was something to satisfy his god-sized ego!"

He's breathing heavily, chest moving up and down, exhaling raggedly as though he's run a mile. Annabeth can't bear to look at him. As much as it hurts to hear, she can tell by the strain in his voice that he feels every word he's saying right down to his core. This is – it's the most genuine she's ever heard him speak, she thinks, and this very fact lends itself to the idea that he'd been putting up a farce the entire time she'd known him. And if he'd lied about this, the very driving force that had kept him going all the years in the Bunkers, what else had he lied about? Had he even cared for Thalia at all? Had he ever cared for her?

At this point Luke lets out a loose laugh and buries his head in his hands. "You've always had a knack for making me say things I never wanted to," he says derisively. "Even though I'm pretty sure you might've put it together already. Especially since you've visited my mother…"

He sighs, and Annabeth swallows thickly. The weight on her shoulders now feels infinitely lighter than the heavy, heavy stone that seems to have settles right over her heart. Between the two she can't breathe and she feels as though her ribs are going to crack open, and she wishes she was incapable of feeling at all. She can sense that Luke is getting ready to speak and she doesn't want to know anything, but at the same time she does, and really, she probably can't afford for her mind to be at war with itself, not right now as her heart is cracking into tiny little pieces.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," Luke says, in a tone both amused and bitter. "Gods."

Don't tell me, then, she wants to spit out, but she can't seem to find the words, and Luke must take her silence for consent, because then he says, "Do you remember when you and Grover and Thalia went on the quest for the Bolt?"

Don't say it, Annabeth thinks desperately, her eyes blossoming with tears, don't. She's been thinking about it ever since May's, and Luke is right, she does know what happened, even if she might not want to admit it to anyone, least of all herself.

"I was on a scouting mission," Luke says quietly. "Grover mentioned during his last mission that he'd felt the presence of a demigod who would grow up to be strong - I was supposed to bring that demigod back from New York."

Annabeth remembers. She'd told Percy this, too - Grover had mentioned it in passing ages and ages and ages ago; Annabeth couldn't have been more than eight years old, and later she'd just…forgotten. But she does recall Luke leaving on that mission, and her heart stutters. Luke had left the Bunker refusing help from the satyrs. He'd gone all alone – he'd gone on foot. He'd attributed his delay in returning to the dangers along the way, but clearly that wasn't true.

"I can see you fitting the pieces together," Luke says, and it makes her sick at how knowing he sounds. "You know what happened. I didn't go to New York – not immediately, at least. I went home first. I marked it."

With his blood, he doesn't say, but Annabeth has to choke back a mouthful of vomit. Of course. That had been why his house had still carried traces of magic. Luke had turned it into a magical hotspot by leaving his blood behind, blood that carried magic that would be enough for any monster – or Titan – to pick out even in a large city.

"I meant to leave immediately, but I picked the wrong day – my father was there, visiting again." Luke's voice is a bitter sneer. "He acted happy to see me – said he was sorry, tried to buy my allegiance with more useless gifts." Here he stares at her. "Winged Converse. Do you remember?"

Annabeth's stomach plummets.

"You do," says Luke. He almost sounds regretful when he adds, "That was one of the harder things I've had to do."

"Liar," Annabeth chokes in a dry sob. "Liar."

"Please, Annabeth. Give me some credit. I never said I was proud of everything I did." He quells her rising protest with a single look. "But it was necessary."

Necessary? Annabeth wonders, so in shock she's numb from it. Necessary, was it, to have those cursed shoes planted in Thalia's pack, knowing she would be the only one able to use them? And Thalia had been so happy, so proud. All three of them, in fact, had considered it a stroke of unusually good luck, a blessing from Zeus.

And then those shoes had nearly dragged Thalia into Tartarus – just as Luke had wanted, apparently, and Annabeth shudders just to think about it. They might've lost both the Bolt and Thalia to the Underworld that day.

But that means –

"You," she says in a ragged voice. "You…stole the Bolt."

"I did," he says coldly, not even bothering to deny it. "That's the real reason I had to go to New York, after all."

Of course. Annabeth's gut twists like someone's stabbed her. Of course he hadn't gone to bring a demigod. If anything. He'd probably recruited the poor kid –

"But…like Grover said, there was a demigod, though," Luke says, as though he can see right into her mind's eye. "And a powerful one, too. He must've been on a field trip or something – I saw him at the Empire State Building." He sighs at her with something like pity. "Haven't you ever wondered who called the monsters to the son of Poseidon's house? He'd been living peacefully with his mom for years without being detected. His mom was smart, using her own mortal scent to hide his demigod one. How do you think the monsters found him? Haven't you ever wondered? Hasn't he?"

At this point Annabeth chokes and shakes her head as though trying to rid herself of what Luke's just said.

Percy, she thinks. Gods. Percy. Percy, whose entire demigod journey had started the minute his mother died. He…he could've had some more time with her. He could've had that one last weekend with her if it hadn't been for…

She can't look at Luke without rage coursing through her every vein: she's suddenly filled with a rage so great she's sure that if she had been free, she would have a knife at his throat. She wants to scream and cry and hurt him. She wants to throw him into fire and watch him burn the same way he's watching her go to pieces right now. Her throat is itchy and her hands are raw from chipping at the skies and she can't take any more. She wants to hurt him the same way he's hurt her, the same way he's hurt all her friends – in Percy's case, without him even knowing just how deep the deception has run.

"I bet you were wondering about how we knew about him in the first place, when we told you about him the night you were taken," Luke continues, and something in his voice suggests he's smug. "But the truth is, I've known about him for a long time – I just assumed he was a son of Zeus, not Poseidon. The Minotaur reported that the family had been killed since he knew he'd be sent right back to Tartarus if he told the truth – that the demigod was missing. And, to give credit where credit is due – your friend did a sublime job of laying low in the years afterward. My suspicions about his being alive were confirmed only when he reached the Bunkers –" He nods at Annabeth as though thanking her, and she grits her teeth – "although we should have realized sooner that no normal demigod could've thwarted Iapetus."

"Well, back to New York - Zeus was so weak he didn't even sense me taking the Bolt." Luke lets out a puff of air that might be a laugh. "He'd kept it on display, even. The arrogance."

"Well. You know what happened after that." Luke glances at her quickly. "You, Thalia and Grover assumed Hades stole the Bolt. Prometheus made sure your bags were switched when you went to the Lotus Hotel, and I followed you to the Underworld. I stole the Helm of Darkness –" Annabeth lets out a low groan. So that had what the mystery helmet had been, the shiny one May had seen pass to Prometheus's hands. "-And planted the shoes in Thalia's bag. Kronos cursed them to be drawn to him; he was hoping to use Thalia to awaken – he was angry at us for failing, but giving him the Bolt was a victory."

He exhales, slow and deep. "I gave the Helm to Prometheus. He transported me back to the Bunker – and I was back far before you had even emerged from the Underworld."

He is silent for a while, gazing pensively at the distant castle. Annabeth wants to cry. Her entire body is shaking like it's on the verge of implosion.

"Why…are you telling me this," she sobs.

"I don't know," Luke admits. "Maybe because…this way I can finally let go. Some part of me has always hated how I left you. I know how you like your debts paid, Annabeth. You don't care for gold – you like information, because the more you have, the easier you can figure out weak links. Maybe telling you this will come back to bite me in the ass one day. But this way, I don't owe you anything."

She snarls. He smiles, amused.

"But maybe you owe me now," he says, tilting his head noncommittally. "What do you think, Annabeth? Is me baring my soul good enough to convince you to join us?"

"Not – a…chance in…hell," she bites out, but Luke only smirks lightly like he'd been expecting it.

"Well, at least this way we're both free of debt," he says calmly. "But I want you to think about whose side you want to really be on, Annabeth. Deep down, you know I'm right about the gods – and my methods were merely a means to a better end. And when your friends come –" He shoots her a loaded look. "And when they come and get you, you have my permission to tell them everything I've told you." He smiles. "We could use the support."

"Choke," Annabeth snaps, feeling almost like her old self as the anger lifts her shoulders high. "Thalia…would hate you."

This makes him freeze, but when she looks up, Luke's carefully-constructed mask has fallen back into place; it is the same expression he'd shown at the Bunker for years.

"If Thalia were alive, she'd be on my side," he says lightly. "You don't know her half as well as you thought you did, the same as me."

The words hit home. Annabeth ducks her head down to hide the tears. She might be good at putting up a front, but Luke has always, always known her weak points.

She fucking hates it.

Luke examines her with something like pity.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Annabeth," he says, and begins his descent down the mountain.

/

Finding out he'd been knocked out by a brick and not the Lion itself had been a little humiliating, to the say the least.

It's not even like the others care about it, because they very obviously don't. Percy had made a couple of brick puns after Jason had come to, but he'd gotten bored quickly; Piper had simply cooed over and pressed swift kisses to the bump jutting embarrassingly from his forehead, and Zoe hadn't given a single shit.

Still, Jason feels…shaken by the encounter, and not just because of how scary the monster had been. Him getting hit in the head by a goddamn brick – it's a wake-up call, reminds him just how insanely mortal he is. And if he couldn't beat the Lion, how the fuck is he supposed to stand a chance against Krios?

He feels weak, inadequate. In the five or so years that have passed since his last encounter with the Titan, Jason does feel like he's grown stronger. Still, he could be better. He could've gotten over his lighting block a while ago, he could've saved time. He should've been training every single damn day, and now he curses at himself for his laxness.

Across from him, Piper is unfurling their sleeping bags, laying them in a triangle around the makeshift fireplace, with Jason and hers side-by-side. Percy and Zoe aren't back yet; Percy from collecting firewood and Zoe from…wherever. She'd just announced that she was going to hunt and darted off into the trees – hunt for what exactly Jason has no clue about, especially since they'd stolen several packs of Doritos from the supermarket for dinner.

Piper wipes her forehead; Jason rises to help her, but his head spins as soon as he tries to stand. She waves him away good-naturedly; she's nearly done, he sees, and feels a little better when she lights up the pile of twigs and settles down by his side.

"I always feel like I'm betraying Leo every time I use a lighter," she jokes, pocketing it. "It just feels wrong, somehow."

Jason nods and smiles. It feels like he's seen Leo set just about everything on fire all their lives – trees, clothes, parchment, and even, on one memorable occasion, Drew's hair. Jason's grown so used to sitting with Piper and Leo every evening as they debrief their day's work that even though he's glad to have some time alone with Piper, he misses the son of Hephaestus a lot. He doesn't know how much time he'll allow himself with them before he has to face his fight, but he's at the point where he wants to spend every waking moment with the people he loves. Before –

He sighs, leaning back against his arms and staring up at whatever slivers of dark blue he can catch through the trees. It's a cloudy, moonless night. Jason tracks the movement of a looming grey cloud as it passes northwards. As a child, Jason had discovered his flying abilities simply because he'd tried to get a piece of a cloud to prove Reyna wrong: she had sat her science lessons in the legacies' school in New Rome before him and had been preaching to him about how clouds were water, Jason, not cotton candy.

And, well, even though he'd discovered later that Reyna was right, Jason had always wondered if the clouds would respond to his powers and solidify if he tried to sit on them and float away. It's a secret wish he'd harbored long ago, back when he had been assumed to be the child of the Prophecy, and it's a thought that still pops up in his mind once in a while. He might have done it, too, when they lost the War and the going got tough, but…Piper.

It's always, always down to Piper, isn't it? Even for an orphan demigod, Jason can confidently say he loves a lot of people. He loves Leo, his first friend who seemed to understand what it was like for him to hold so much destructive power in the palm of his hand. Leo never, ever treated him like he was anything special, which was a stark contrast to the near-reverence with which the demigods of New Rome regarded him. There, Jason had been expected to lead armies and win battles. He hadn't been given a choice: it had been his duty because of his parentage, his birthright – but in the Bunkers, Leo had just given him one unimpressed look and asked him to put out the fire Leo had caused in the kitchen. When Jason had complied, Leo had clapped him on the shoulder and said that it was nice to have a personal fan around. Then he'd laughed, a cackling sound that suggested that Jason was going to be in for a lot of similar bad jokes, but, surprisingly, he'd found he was okay with that.

Jason loves Annabeth. Annabeth, who had been family to him since the moment Thalia died – she's lent him a shoulder to cry on or grasp for support on so many occasions that Jason knows for certain that he wouldn't have survived without her. In looks alone, Annabeth looks more like a sister to him than Thalia ever had…and it fills Jason with guilt even to think it, but it's beginning to feel that way, too. Annabeth is…she's not perfect. She and Jason had been in a silent feud for years. But he knows her now and he can see in her eyes, on occasion, how much she cares for him, and he gets a rush of warmth in his belly, because he knows that these days, Annabeth doesn't truly give herself to a lot of people. She's got friends, of course, and has earned everyone's respect, but there are only a handful of people who can really say they know her, and Jason is one of them. It makes him happy and it makes him proud to know that Annabeth trusts him enough to hold a part of her, the part of her that, like him, still holds a candle for the sister they had both lost.

Jason had loved Thalia. His memories of her from their childhood are vague, blurry: he sees a flash of her blue eyes as she hugged him in the walls of their whitewashed apartment and he remembers being hoisted up into her arms, rocked to sleep as their mother laughed with her friends as they drank in the hallway. Thalia confessed, later, that she even fed him his little kiddie meals and changed his diapers – often having to sacrifice school on the days Jason was inclined to throw a tantrum. She was more of a mother to him than Beryl Grace ever was.

He remembers the night they ran. There was lightning and thunder and a terrible, terrible storm. Jason remembers Thalia crying over their mother's broken body and then grabbing his hand. "We have to run, Jace," she'd said, and Jason had taken one look into her tear-stained face and nodded, not fully understanding what was going on.

And so they'd run, out of the apartment and out of the city and into the woods. The storm raged on – Jason remembers flinching at the claps of thunder that seemed to echo loudly in his skull, and Thalia swallowing as the winds threatened to lift her off her feet. Funny how, even then, Jason hadn't much been bothered by the winds, while Thalia didn't even so much as glance sideways at the lightning tearing up the sky.

And then, the rains. Rains and a gale so strong it had thrown them both off their feet. Jason remembers gasping, longing for air even in the midst of a windstorm, and knowing only one thing: that letting go of his sister's hand would mean the end for them both.

It had been the first awakening of his powers – in the center of the thunderstorm, with the winds whipping his hair into a frenzy, Jason had suddenly been able to see. The winds responded to his breathing, going calmer and slower when they reached him, and Jason had stood up, trembling, bare-footed and crying. He'd taken one step, and then another, running and running through the darkness as the winds bent around him, taking a detour to avoid his body before continuing to rage behind him. He'd collapsed hours later and woken up to Lupa licking his wounds and Thalia's purple zip-up jacket clutched in one hand. They'd been separated sometime during the storm – Jason had believed her dead until they ran into each other on a Quest, eight years later.

Jason had been fourteen. Thalia had been fifteen. They'd quite literally run into each other en route to Mount Othrys – Thalia had been on a Quest to retrieve a golden apple from the garden of the Hesperides and Jason had been on a scouting mission. They'd knocked each other to the ground, then vaulted to their feet and brandished their weapons. Jason had raked his eyes across her face, taking in her narrowed eyes and raven hair, and thought – wait.

Realization hit Thalia first. She'd dropped her weapon and staggered forward – cupping his face in her hands and tracing a finger over the scar on his upper lip.

"You're alive," she'd breathed. "Jason-" and then they'd cried in each others' arms for hours.

The Quest was forgotten. So was the scouting mission. Jason regaled Thalia with stories of Lupa bringing him to New Rome – which Thalia had been unaware even existed, and Thalia had told him the tales of her times with Annabeth and Luke, and then the Bunkers. It hadn't hit Jason until Reyna and Gwen pointed it out in New Rome that Thalia's being alive meant that Jason was off the hook. He wasn't the Child of the Prophecy, but he didn't even care. He would suffer a hundred prophecy scares if it meant he could be with Thalia again.

Leaving New Rome was, in the end, a no-brainer. Jason loved Thalia with all his heart and he'd been ecstatic to have her back in his life again. She was exactly as he'd remembered, headstrong, brave, and powerful. Thalia barrelled headfirst into situations where Jason would ordinarily hang back, but she'd drag him along for the ride anyway. She'd made her home his. She'd taught him to be free and loud and unapologetically himself again. She'd made him feel like home.

Losing her had been like a kick in his heart. Jason aches for her every day, when he uses Ivlivs, when he catches the fond, sisterly look Annabeth gets sometimes when he collapses next to her post-training and whines for someone to bring him water. It sucks how little time he got with Thalia, how much more he could've said and done if only they'd had longer, but he loves her still, remembers her sacrifice with every breath he takes and smiles a little every time he uses her lightning techniques in battle.

Jason had once loved Reyna. If Leo had been his first true friend in the Bunkers, Reyna had been his first friend, period. She'd helped him navigate through New Rome, find his footing (and sometimes make him lose it when they were sparring). She'd been his equal both intellectually and physically, showing no restraint on either front. While many at Camp Jupiter grew afraid of facing him in a fight as Jason's powers blossomed, Reyna showed no hesitation in whacking him into submission, and often disarmed him in the most humiliating of manners with great glee.

She'd believed in him when he hadn't believed in himself, and her faith in him was so strong and unshakeable that it terrified him sometimes, because Jason wasn't that guy. He could never be that guy who could stand next to her as praetor and lead New Rome without crumbling into himself under the weight of the crippling doubt of his own skills and abilities and decisions. Which sucked, because that was the very job he was being trained for and everyone knew it. Jason's ideas during War Games – even the bad ones – were treated as law by most of the Cohort when he was barely thirteen. And even though Reyna – his best friend – never showed any restraint in terms of criticizing him when he chose the wrong strategy, Jason found in his deepest crevices a growing resentment for everyone in New Rome, simply because all of them, even Reyna, expected so bloody much of him, and he hated it. And he hated the bitterness he felt towards them, and he felt guilty, too, because how could he be so selfish? These were the people who had taken him in as a child, trained him and clothed him and fed him and loved him. All they asked in return was his service. That he protect them and lead them so that they might survive another day, the same as they had done for him. So why – why did Jason spend most of his nights convincing himself not to run away?

He'd only voiced the thought out loud once, after a meeting where Martin, the praetor then, had announced he would be standing down. Jason had been two years shy of sixteen, which meant that the Prophecy hadn't come true yet, and he'd definitely been too young to be praetor, but his name had been thrown into the list of the nominations anyway. He had been petrified. He was still so young – younger than most of the legacies and about half of the demigod population. So why? Why was he being considered for the role, and what if he won the election?

"You need to trust yourself more," Reyna had said placatingly as he threw himself next to her and buried his head in his hands. She'd been polishing a dagger. "Your name wouldn't be brought up if you weren't capable."

"It's not even about that," Jason had snapped. "What if I don't want to be a fuckin' praetor? What if I don't want to lead? They know I'm the child of the Prophecy, which they won't shut up about, by the way - but oh, let's add more pressure onto Jason's shoulders, he can take it! That way, when he's off fighting Kronos or whichever Titan of the day that might kill him, he can at least die, maybe, leaving a whole army in disarray because everyone glorified him so much, so hard, and placed him on a pedestal he can't live up to, just because he's Jupiter's kid!" Jason grabbed a rock and chucks it into a tree with a groan of frustration. From the heavens, a single clap of thunder sounded. "Everyone's making me out to be someone I'm not, someone I never can be! They want me to be this – this golden leader boy who does no wrong and never loses, but I can!" He pointed at a stunned, wide-eyed Reyna. "You beat me every day! And everyone expects me to hold my own against a Titan – how the fuck? How the fuck am I supposed to do that? And on top of me having to worry every day that I'm going to die in two years, I'm expected to lead the Roman army! I can't do that, I know fuckall about being a leader, and more than anything I don't want to do it! I'm fine just. Here. Now! I'm fine being the way I am in my role without hundreds and hundreds of lives depending on the moves I choose to make! I don't want to be praetor, Reyna, but nobody gives a shit about that, nobody gives a shit about whether I live or die, they just want the son of Jupiter leading them because it looks cool and sounds cool, nobody cares about me, what I think, and I know that because nobody's even fucking asked me about it!"

He'd sunk to his knees, breathing hard. The rant had felt good, like releasing steam from a pressure cooker, and now he felt sated, calm. Then he'd looked up to meet Reyna's eyes and seen a conglomeration of emotions pass across her tight expression, and he'd realized that even though he'd been feeling these things for a while, he'd never, not even once, hinted at having them.

The dagger Reyna had been cleaning had fallen into her lap. He saw he swallow and she tried to wrestle with her emotions – she did a fairly good job of keeping most of them in check, but one swam to the surface as she looked at him. Disappointment.

Guilt and shame welled up in his throat. "I'm sorry," he'd told her. "I'm just stressed…and I'm not having a good day. Ignore what I said."

"Jason…" Reyna had said, reaching out. "Do you…do you really feel this way?"

"No," Jason had lied. Which maybe he shouldn't have done, but he couldn't stand to see Reyna sad because of him, not when she'd told him multiple times that they were a great team, and so they'd make a great team as praetors, too. "No. Like I said…stress."

"Okay," Reyna had said quietly, and she'd dropped the subject. They'd never talked about it again, not even when Jason's name mysteriously vanished from the ballot – something he's sure she had a hand in. Jason learned to hold his tongue, and he never threw a fit like that again, but more often than not he would catch Reyna's eyes on him during a senate meeting and they both knew that neither of them had forgotten Jason's words.

That had probably been why Reyna had never once questioned him about why he was abandoning them in the whirlwind days of Jason leaving New Rome with Thalia. The entire senate had tried to convince him to stay, and had only allowed him to leave grudgingly when Jason had promised to return.

"Why?" people had asked him. "Why are you so insistent about it?" and Jason had given them the easy excuse – he'd said that he couldn't leave his sister, not now when he'd just gotten her back and he could lose her all over again. And his comrades' eyes had softened, understanding. Family was something everyone understood. And real family, the blood kind, was hard to come by. At the end of the day, everyone might have resented him for leaving, but they understood, at least, which was all he could ever hope for.

Reyna had never pestered him once or begged him to stay, and he was secretly glad she didn't, because Jason never wanted to lie to her. She would see through it in two seconds flat and it would be disrespecting her intelligence to even attempt to fool her like that. She had just helped him pack in silence and hugged him goodbye and said, quietly, but not hopefully, that she would wait for his return – because of course she'd discerned - correctly - that he would not be coming back.

It had broken his heart to leave her behind, but she wouldn't have come with him anyway, and he hadn't asked. They both knew that Reyna would choose New Rome, her people, over Jason, and he suspected that she didn't want to say it aloud just as much as he didn't want to hear it. It would make the separation, the difference, the chasm between them all the more potent. But Reyna's dedication, her love for the Romans is what would make her such a wonderful leader. And it's the exact quality Jason didn't possess. He loved New Rome, but he could never make the tough decision to put the city over someone he loved, and that would've been all their downfalls one day. He hoped she could see that.

He misses her, sometimes, with an ache deep in his ribs. He misses what they had once been, even though he could never love her the way he suspected she loved him.

The same way he loves Piper – which is different, so glaringly different, in every way possible.

Piper is – she's everything to him. Jason isn't good with words the way she is, and often times he can't really tell her out loud what he's feeling inside, even though he's been trying and he is getting better and Piper's eyes light up every time Jason says or does something that betrays the fact that he loves her so, so, so much.

Because he does. And it scares him, the intensity of his feelings for her, because there are times he looks at Piper and feels an enormous swelling warmth in his chest that makes him want to grin unabashedly all day for no reason at all. And it had started as a crush, of course, because literally everyone, at some point, has had a crush on Piper, who is beautiful and kind and smart and she truly, genuinely cares for everyone in a sisterly kind of way than makes you feel loved. And Jason had been scared at first, because he was crushing hard and what if she didn't like him like that? What if she was like this with everyone and he was totally misunderstanding things between them?

Because they had been friends. Good friends. Piper had become a comrade he trusted second only to Leo, and she always had a way of soothing his nerves, assuring him that whatever he was feeling was valid. But, unlike his friendship with Leo, there had been these…moments. Lingering touches he couldn't bring himself to pull away from, stolen glances charged with this undeniable, electric energy, long hugs he never wanted to pull away from, and smiles that made his heart burst into song.

When she'd kissed him, he'd felt like he was flying. Then she'd huffed a laugh against his lips and he'd realized they really were flying, Jason's powers lifting them up a couple of feet off the mountaintop, and he should've been scared, but he'd been so happy he'd only grinned and kissed her again. And again, and again, and again. He never wanted to stop.

These past years with her have been…the best. For the first time Jason really feels like he's loved and wanted and he feels like he belongs, which – he hadn't really felt like he didn't fit in with the Romans, but the Bunkers feel like home just because he knows Piper's there.

He's learned to read her. During the first few months of their relationship Piper had – consciously or unconsciously – acted different around him. Act perfect, as thought that was what he'd wanted in a partner. But now he's used to her wiping the sweat from her forehead onto his t-shirt like she thinks she's being discreet. Now he's used to her sneezing in the middle of the night and waking them both up. Now he's used to her getting jealous when he talks about Reyna, and he's used to them arguing about stupid shit and then making up in a couple of hours. And he loves her, and he loves her with every part of his being and sometimes he looks at her and thinks that he'll never be able to love another human as much as he loves Piper.

She leans against him lightly, watching the fire. Jason watches the tips of her hair turn golden in the light, watches the way her eyes turn from chestnut brown to a glittering amber. He twines an arm around her waist, unable to really speak, but Piper presses the top of her head against his chin lightly, like she understands.

After a beat of silence, she says, "I know what you're worried about."

Caught off-guard, Jason starts. "What?"

"Oh, come on." Piper twists herself in his arms so she's looking up at him. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

He hadn't. He hadn't, oh shit – has she figured out about his dreams? That he's been studying the route to the Titans' land like some kind of obsessive cartographer? That he's got some chalk in his bag, that he'd intended on marking the path to Othrys since he'd undoubtedly have to tread it again? He'd totally forgotten that while he knows Piper as well as he knows himself, she knows him in the exact same way.

Jason coughs. His heart's racing, something she can no doubt feel for herself since she's pressed into his chest. She raises an eyebrow, and abysmally Jason wonders just how much she knows, and why the hell she's being so chill about it if she truly has guessed what he knows and what he plans about it.

"It's the Prophecy," she says sympathetically, "isn't it."

Jason give it about a second before he starts nodding frantically, he's so relieved she's guessed wrong. Because in truth, Jason hasn't thought about the goddamn Prophecy in ages. It can't be meant for him. There's no way, not when Percy's the one who got the ball rolling about the entire new Prophecy in the first place. May had confirmed the Prophecy upon Percy's command, and based on what Annabeth had told them about the Quest, Ella had begun to recite the Prophecy at once after laying eyes on Percy.

All Jason had gotten was the warning he's been hearing in his dreams, the ominous it's you or her, the mirror of what May had told Piper. Jason suspects there's a real prophecy relating to it, too, one that he isn't keen on listening to. He doesn't really care how he makes the journey to Krios, so long as he gets there in the end; that's why he'd cut off Ella when she'd begun to announce the lines to everyone. He doesn't want to know the details of what's gonna happen. He already knows how it's going to end.

Child of lightning, she'd begun. Very obviously not "A half-blood of the eldest gods," and well. If that hadn't been proof enough for Jason, there's got to be a reason for anyone with even the slightest prophetic tendencies spouting the Great Prophecy whenever Percy wanders into the vicinity, and that can only mean one thing.

Jason isn't the Hero of the Prophecy. It's Percy, and it's so fucking obvious that he's surprised nobody else has seen it yet.

Percy is about a month younger than him. For him to be the Hero of the Prophecy, that would mean Jason has to be…out of the picture. Which means that when Jason goes to fight Krios, he goes to his death – he's just got to make sure he takes Krios down with him.

It's perfect. It fits. It really must have been meant to happen this way, he thinks bitterly.

What's really depressing about the whole thing is - of course Jason's prophecy is linked with Piper's, like everything else about his life is. He knows what he has to do, and he knows how it's probably going to end up. He's made his peace with that, but Piper's going to hate him forever for it.

He hates not telling Piper. He's so used to telling her – well, everything, that keeping his mouth shut is a real task. There are times he just wants to sit her down in front of him and spill the beans – but she'll stop him. She'll charmspeak him into staying at the Bunker – she isn't above using her voice when the situation calls for it – and he'll be forced to wait as she goes to her death for him, and he can't do that. He won't.

Because the alternative to Jason dying is Piper dying, and he will never allow that.

"Oh, Jason," she says now, voice rich with affection as she caresses his face. "I know. It sucks. I mean, I keep having these nightmares of Krios…" She shudders, which is when Jason remembers that oh. Piper's been having the same dreams as him – but she still thinks that the prophecy about Krios is for her, not Jason.

"But anyway." She turns a little to kiss him lightly. "I know what's coming for us is – more than a little terrifying. But I guess…" She moistens her lips. "This is our destiny, right? As much as I hate to, I have to leave your Prophecy up to the Fates, and you'll have to the same for me."

Jason feels like all the air in the area has caught in him at once, leaning his head against her shoulders and feeling acutely that she's much too good for him. He exhales shakily, both relieved and sorrowful, tickling the exposed skin at the back of her neck and making her squirm a little. Piper is soft and warm and smells a little like smoke, and it makes the insides of his nose tickle but he inhales deeply anyway.

"I can't stop thinking about the whole Krios thing," he says, which isn't entirely a lie at all. "The first time we faced off…"

"Jace," she whispers, running a hand through his hair and sighing. "Me neither. I know how worried you must be – I mean, if you were the one to face him again, I'd be shitting bricks. I…I can't watch you get hurt like last time."

"But…" her voice grows stronger. "I'm going to defeat him. And you're going to defeat Kronos. These are things we have to do to get to the end of this together." She pulls back from him and lifts his chin. "I don't know about you, Jason, but I've got plans. I don't give a fuck if we're too young. After this is all done, you're going to have to put up with me for a long time." She kisses him lightly on the lips before retreating, giggling a little when Jason chases her lips again with his own.

A future, he thinks, and he wonders what having one must feel like.

It can't hurt to dream, right?

"Remember what I told you before?" he begins tentatively, huffing with laughter when Piper sits up straight like a diligent student as she tries to remember.

Jason's aware of what people think of him. He knows he's inherently Roman, and some things about him will never change. His fighting style is different and his posture is different and his way of thinking and strategizing is different. For a long time he'd been reluctant to grow his hair out because it felt like the last thing Roman about him, and he knows that he gives off this vibe of – sturdiness and cleanliness and discipline. Which isn't a bad thing, but he knows that he might've been viewed as someone too perfect to be true. He knows for a fact that Leo had thought of him that way once, and so had Annabeth, but when he'd brought it up to Piper, she'd only shrugged and said, "Well, you're Roman, aren't you? That stuff makes you…you." She'd glanced at him. "I don't really care. I mean, to be honest, I like you more because of it." Then she'd kissed him and told him his strong, Roman arms were sexy.

Piper's the first person he'd confessed to about not feeling rooted to either camp. Because the thing is…Jason feels like he belongs to either and neither at once. Sometimes he feels Greek and sometimes Roman, and it switches irregularly, but often. He's been raised Roman but he feels Greek, and isn't that something?

It makes him feel guilty and out of place. Like an outcast on both sides. And it sucks because Percy, even though he'd been found by Lupa the same way Jason had, is so clearly Greek that it kind of makes Jason bitter. A lot of the campers back at the Bunker had assumed Percy would be flighty, that he'd leave in a month, but he hadn't - because he was Greek, and he'd finally come home.

Sometimes Jason thinks of Annabeth, who is wholly, in-your-face Greek, and Reyna, who is Roman in the same way. They know who they are, they will probably wave away his identity crisis as a phase, not because they're being rude or anything, but just because they'll never understand.

Piper gets it. He knows about her childhood and he knows how much she understands not feeling at home in a place meant to be your haven. And even though she might not understand him being torn between his Roman and Greek selves, she's supportive about it.

"There are good thing about the Greeks and good thing about the Romans," she'd said. "And I'm sure there's so much we can learn from each other. Maybe…maybe you're meant for something greater than both camps individually."

It had got him thinking, despite everything. He'd taken to hanging around the Dream Wall where Annabeth put up her stuff, gazing at all the little structures she'd drawn.

"About…New Rome, and the Bunkers, and me," he tells Piper, who nods eagerly, remembering, and leaning forward. "I've just…it might be a stupid idea, but you know the stuff Annabeth draws?"

"The temples," she replies, nodding. She grabs Percy's backpack from behind her – it's really Annabeth's, the one she'd left behind before going to Luke – and peers inside, taking out items and setting them into a pile that quickly turns into a mishmash of both Percy and Annabeth's stuff.

"Aha," she says, grabbing Annabeth's little sketchbook and placing it in Jason's lap.

"Yeah." Jason opens up the first page and stares at the drawing, and suddenly he feels so overwhelmed by the presence of Annabeth in every single line that his throat closes up.

Piper seems similarly affected, staring at the paper with wide eyes. She reaches out to trace the shrine wall with a finger.

"I…don't know why it's only hitting me now," she murmurs. "But maybe it's because she's not here to yell at us for being nosy little shits…but I miss her so much."

Jason nods. He's seen Annabeth's work, of course – it's all over the Dream Wall, but going through her personal sketchbook seems a little like they're invading her privacy. He hesitates, rubbing the page between his thumb and forefinger. The papers are still fairly crisp and white – this must be one of the new books Percy had got for her.

He stares at the drawing, at the faded lines of pencil turning this way and that, giving way to pillars and arches and walls. A temple to Athena, her mother – of course Annabeth would christen a new book by starting off with something for the goddess of wisdom.

"I want to…do this stuff," Jason says in a whisper; it's a wish he's kept secret and hidden in the depths of his own mind, knowing very well it may never come to fruition. "Build temples to the gods, Greek and Roman both. When the War is done…" Jason bites his lip. "I'm sure both sides will settle into new camps above the surface. Like how New Rome was before the War…only New Rome never had many temples to the gods, y'know? And I want Greek temples there, too. And the other way around. And I'm sure Annabeth would love to design stuff for New Rome, too. The Senate Hall. The Forum. The bath house." He lets out a breath. "I wanna be a…a bridge, between the two camps, y'know? Maybe it's like you said and I was meant to belong to both camps, instead of me just overthinking it and feeling like I belong to neither."

He stares at her. "Does that make sense?"

Piper's still for a couple of long moments, but then she makes a tiny noise of happiness and suddenly Jason's mouth his full of her hair as she flingers herself into his arms.

He spits out a clump. "Pipes?"

"I'm so proud of you," she whispers into his shoulder. "So, so proud. I think it's a great idea, Jace."

"Really?"

"Really." She places her palms on either side of his cheeks and kisses him, a kiss Jason prolongs for no reason other than the fact that they're alone and he loves her. Finally she pulls away with her lower lip redder than usual and her cheeks a little flushed. "And hey – you know what? Maybe I can come with you."

"You'll what?" Piper's never really voiced it aloud, but he knows she feels a little awkward, a little left-out, when he talks about New Rome. It's the same way Jason feels when she and Leo begin reminiscing about their school days. It's nothing serious, really, just a twinge in his chest at not being a part of her life, which, now, is unthinkable.

"I wanna come with you." Piper chews on her lower lip and stares at him thoughtfully. "Maybe not all the time, but…yeah. I wanna travel with you, Jason. I wanna take you around L.A, and I wanna show you my granddad's old house…I have plans of my own, too. But mostly I just want to be with you."

And Jason kisses her then, because he can't not at this point. Piper hums, pleased, and tilts her head a little bit into the kiss and turning it from something soft and sweet into something with a little more heat, and oh no they have other people with them on this Quest, but he can't stop.

Then there's a crash through the trees; Piper springs away from him, even though her arms still circle his shoulders. Percy appears, panting, carrying what looks like several trees worth of wood, and he dumps the load unceremoniously onto the ground and groans.

"I'm gonna knock my own damn self out," he starts, but then he looks up and only then seems to notice the way Piper and Jason are tangled together. Jason realizes as his cheeks heat that Piper's in his lap, straddling him, and Jason's hands are gripping her waist. The dazed, tired expression on Percy's face turns into something positively evil.

"Oh, sorry," he purrs, "was I interrupting something?"

"No," says Jason.

"Yes," snaps Piper, waving her arms at Percy in a shooing motion. "Get away, Jackson. I'm having some me time, didn't you notice?"

"Looked like you were having some we time," Percy amends, but he clambers to his feet and grabs his water bottle from his pack. "But fine. Only because I feel bad for you guys. Half an hour."

"One hour," Piper says. "And – find Zoe, keep her away, too."

"Oh yes, Your Highness, of course, it's not like we're on an important Quest. Not like we're on a deadline here, take your time," Percy grumbles, and Piper must shoot him a rude gesture because he laughs, but Jason barely hears it because she's turned around to kiss him again. The War and his destiny and the fate of their world on his shoulders and all his many, many enemies all fade to the background as her arms circle his shoulders and her hands press into his skin with the warmest pressure and he feels the ghost of her breath over his lips. And he's pretty much the meme Leo'd quoted for a couple of months, isn't he? Head empty, no thoughts – just Piper.

And – he's good. He's good like this. He's good to stay here forever. If only Kronos were on their side, so he could trap them both in this little bubble of time forever.

/

Percy wouldn't have come on this Quest if he'd known that Piper and Jason would be sucking each other's faces off every time they were left alone together.

He supposes it's cute. Certainly he'd feel considerably less bitter about their being so in love and adorable if he were less lonely.

It's something he'd thought he'd rid himself of a while ago, but apparently not – and he knows he might be being irrational about this. His friends have been making a real effort to keep his mind occupied, and even on this Quest Piper and Jason have been doing whatever they can to keep Percy's mind off Annabeth, which Percy honestly feels a little guilty for. Jason is quite visibly dealing with his own problems; he'd been thrashing about in his sleep – the stress he's taking on as a result of the Prophecy must really be taking its toll, even though he's trying really not to show it. And as a result, Piper's losing her mind with worry for him on top of all the anxiety she must be feeling for Annabeth. They really shouldn't have to deal with Percy, too.

Still, though…Percy feels alone. Like there's a bit of him missing, a bit of him that's gone dull without Annabeth around to light him up. He hadn't realized before just how much he'd relied on her company, and it's just. Ugh. Gods.

He really, really misses her.

He wonders if she's holding on, still. If she's thinking of him, too. He knows that she won't give in to Luke…but then again, he'd never thought she'd hold up the sky for him, either.

Which is the thing – as much as he's worried, he's also kind of pissed at how she'd just…brushed him off like he hadn't mattered to her. In fact, in that moment, it had seemed like nobody mattered to her as much as Luke, and it stings.

Is Luke with her now? Is he talking to her, trying to convince her to join him? Is she listening?

Does she still love him, after all he's done?

It's a question he needs to ask her, he thinks, when they get her back.

Because he can't just leave her there. He won't. It's probably a side effect from losing his mom, and Bianca, and Nico – but he cannot leave Annabeth behind, not again. He can't just keep doing this – he can't keep making all these promises and then just break them. Percy is – for all he's tried to guard himself, he forms bonds easily. He already feels a sense of kinship with everyone in Bunker Nine, and he'd known, of course, that his connection to Annabeth was strong, even in the start when she'd basically ignored him. But he hadn't really known just how deeply he felt for her until he saw Luke hold his sword to her exposed throat.

He needs to save her. He's going to save her.

Percy swears under his breath as he stumbles over a log, which is just – that's it, isn't it. Trying to keep his sanity about him, trying not to think about Annabeth being dead or worse – it's like attempting to search for Zoe in this goddamn forest. Meaning he's stumbling around in the dark and trying his hardest to keep his shit together.

"Zoe," he hisses into the trees. "Zoe."

Truth be told, Percy doesn't really want to find her. Zoe's been nothing but vile to him ever since they first laid eyes on each other, she'd actively tried to prevent him from being on the Quest – it's like she has some kind of personal vendetta against him, and he doesn't understand it, nor does he want to. If she wants to be a bitch – fine. Percy isn't going to go out of his way to be nice to her when she isn't going to reciprocate, which is something he might've done had Lupa not drilled it into him that some people just aren't worth it.

Idly hoping that Zoe walks in on Jason and Piper doing something sexual and nasty, Percy makes his way towards the gurgling sound of a stream. He feels better and better the closer he gets to the water, and when he finally reaches it he sighs, peeling off his shoes and socks and stepping into the brook barefooted.

The cool rush of water curling around his feet makes Percy feel impossibly lighter, and he heaves a heavy sigh, sitting down right there in the middle of the steam and watching as the water slows his flow to meet him, pooling into his lap and bubbling happily, all the while still leaving his clothes dry.

And he feels a little happier, knowing that there is some magic that even the Titans can't wipe away.

He cups his hands and dunks them into the stream to wash his face and arms. No more dirt coating his skin means his scent will be more potent, but Percy feels near-invincible right now surrounded by the water. Plus, it feels great to be clean, if only for a while.

There's a splash from behind him and Percy doesn't even think. A wall of water surrounds him even as he turns around and stands, his hands gripping the hilt of his sword, but it's only Zoe, bathed in a thin stream of moonlight and raising a disapproving eyebrow.

Percy waves a hand and the water falls. "Don't give me that look. If you had been a monster, I'd have killed you by now."

"I didn't say anything." Zoe hops from stone to stone, careful not to breach the water's surface, and settles down on a rock not far from Percy. She takes a sip of from her thermos and, when she shows no signs of getting up, Percy sits back down as well and lets the water collect in the space between his legs.

He wonders what to do next. Being alone with Zoe makes him feel a bit awkward, but it's not as suffocating as he'd expected. Zoe seems to be in a rare good mood tonight, humming absently under her breath as her fingers skim the running water. She cranes her neck to glance at the moon and lets out a tiny, relieved sigh.

He observes her out of the corner of his eye, hoping that his gaze isn't coming off as leery, because Zoe really is quite striking, if not in-your-face beautiful like Silena. She has sharp features, pointy ears, and graceful hands. A firm jaw, not too dissimilar from Annabeth's, if he's being honest – they really are alike in some ways: no wonder Zoe tried to recruit her. It's weird, he thinks, how she gives off an aura of someone so old even though she doesn't look older than eighteen.

"Good thing you ran into me," he says after a while. "We've been ordered to stay away for a while. Piper and Jason are…busy."

He'd expected her to scoff, maybe even show disgust, but she only shakes her head with something resembling amusement flickering across her face.

"I was going to stay away anyway," she tells him. "On the way from Nine, before you joined up with us – well, they were acting quite similarly. Very…touchy."

"They're like that," Percy says. There's a tiny fish struggling against the current to reach him, so he pushes it into the mini-pond of semi-stagnant water in his lap. The fish goes nuts with pride and swims in circles so fast it might create a whirlpool. Percy smiles at it and looks back at Zoe. "It doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it bother me?" She frowns, defensive, but then considers. "Well, I must admit the public displays of affection don't make me feel comfortable, exactly, but…they are in love. I have nothing against them for that."

Percy stares at her. "But you're a Huntress."

"So?"

"So?" Percy boggles. "You're…aren't you all anti-love, anti-men? Isn't that your whole –" He gestures towards her, drawing a circle in the air to encompass her entirely– "thing?"

Zoe snorts. "We don't hate love. We've just…given up on it." Oddly, her voice turns soft, edged with a slight wistfulness, and Percy wonders. "As for men – well. Depends on the man, really."

"Ah." He watches the fish poke at his knee. "It's just me you hate, then?"

"Just you," she agrees, but there's sarcasm in her voice and Percy glances up to see her rolling her eyes.

He flicks a drop of water at her. She huffs.

"I don't hate you," she admits grudgingly.

"You've been hiding it well."

"Shut up," she says. "I have no reason to hate you."

Percy gestures at himself from head to toe and glances down quickly at his crotch. "Um…I'm a boy."

"A boy?" Zoe asks, raising her eyebrows, and Percy is reminded, oddly, of Lupa's stare. Always expecting more from him, always.

He flushes and corrects, sounding stupid, "A man."

"So you are," she says, with the air of a patient preschool teacher. "What is your point?"

"You're a Hunter," Percy says again. "Aren't you, like, programmed to hate all men or something?"

"Gods, is that what everyone thinks of the Hunters these days?" Zoe rolls her eyes, but they stay fixed upon the rustling leaves. "Boys."

"See, you do hate me," says Percy pettily, staring at his shoes.

"You're just…you're very reckless, you don't listen to anyone, and you have too much power. You are too powerful, to be honest, and too loyal. That's not a good combination." Zoe lets out an exhale through her nostrils. "But that is what I feel about you as a person – it has nothing to do with your gender."

"I'm not reckless," Percy tries uselessly, but she levels him with a single stare.

"You allowed yourself to be baited by me, back then," Zoe says. It's the first they've talked about their battle at the base of the mountain and Percy's humiliating defeat. "I knew you were a child of one of the Three. I knew you had lost your friend. If you'd reigned in your anger, I might've considered a different plan of action than the one we took that day. But you lost your head in the face of emotions. For someone like you, that can be dangerous."

Percy glares at her. "Some might call it a strength."

"I'm not saying it's not." Zoe sighs and clasps her hands together. "You will do anything to protect the ones you love. But you will destroy yourself in the process, and you will not see reason even if that is the case, as it had been back then. I had to stop you. We would have gained nothing if you had died there, that day."

"I know, okay?" Percy runs a hand through his hair. "I know. It sucks to admit that you were right, but – I dunno. I hated to leave. I thought I was done with leaving people behind."

Zoe's eyebrows lift, but she doesn't push further, for which Percy is immeasurably grateful.

Finally he asks, "You knew I was a son of Poseidon?"

"I suspected Zeus at first, but you disproved that soon enough. And besides, you reek of the ocean." Zoe chuckles lowly at the expression on his face. "Do not worry, I'm just exaggerating. Your scent is faint – very faint, but still present, and impossible to ignore if you can pick it out. I have not been alive for the past two hundred years for nothing. I would not have been able to be the Lieutenant of the Hunters if I were not, at the very least, a decent tracker."

"Lieutenant." He eyes the silver circlet atop her head. "Fancy."

"It is quite simple compared to the richness of Olympus in its prime," she says, touching the tiara with a sad kind of respect. "But it means everything to me. Artemis gifted it to me herself."

"Artemis." Percy straightens. "You-you've met her? You've seen her?"

"We ran together." Zoe's eyes go glassy, like she's lost in an old, sad memory. "The Lady would often descend to be with us, her Hunters. She took the form of a young girl to live as we lived. And in the days that followed after World War Two, when her power was waning and she could keep with us no longer…she sat with us. She taught us – she taught me to reads the winds, and the trees, and the water, and the earth, and the stars." Zoe tilts her head upward, exposing the pale column of her neck, to look at the winking stars only just visible past the foliage. She points. "Little Bear. Orion. Every star has a story, she would say. She would tell us the most wonderful, heartbreaking stories."

Percy studies her. Here in the woods, surrounded by nature, the Huntress seems at home and at ease. She breathes in deeply and her hands are constantly in motion – caressing a rock, tracing a leaf, digging into the cool, moist soil. Her love and respect for nature is so potent that it reminds Percy of Grover, but thinking of the satyr once more makes Percy feel empty, makes him long for a friend.

Motion from Zoe draws his attention; she inches towards the water and stares at her distorted reflection. She reaches out with a hand and touches it.

Something about her, then, seems hauntingly familiar. Something about her then – the reverence with which she touches the stream, her olive skin, her dark, flowing hair, and the dim silver aura surrounding her…it all lends to an image of a being both soft and powerful, a being capable of being both lively and terrifying, much like water itself.

"You look like-" Percy bursts out, unable to stop himself, but of course, it can't be possible.

"I look like what?" Zoe asks, frowning.

"A naiad," Percy says, sighing as he remembers their soft words of healing and long flowing hair. "But – they all disappeared after the War."

Zoe nods, her eyes cloudy. She picks up some water in her cupped palm and watches the droplets slip back down into the torrent. "I'm not a naiad. But you are quite close."

"A…Nereid, then," Percy guesses.

"Not quite." Zoe spreads her fingers and the last of the water falls down. "It was my mother who was a naiad."

"Oh," Percy says. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"You said was. Past tense."

"Oh." Zoe places her damp hands on her knees, and the position makes her look small, innocent, like a child who has just had a nightmare. "I…I suppose she is truly no more, given the circumstances of our world in its current state. But I speak of…well. You see, I have not talked to her in many years." She sighs. "Or she would not talk to me."

"Oh," says Percy.

"Indeed," she replies. "Families hold on to grudges, and immortal families even more so, it seems."

"Why, Zoe," Percy says, lifting a hand to his heart. "Were you a rebellious child?"

"The worst kind," she says, and even though she sounds a little bitter and a lot sad, she manages to scoff at him. "Problem child of Ancient Greece, that was I."

"I must say," he tells her, "I'm impressed."

"Nothing impressive about running away from home."

"I mean," he says, pointing at himself, "don't we all do it?"

"Oh, these days it is all the rage with demigods, I hear."

"Yeah, and you've got your own self to thank for that. You started the trend," Percy grins, and Zoe purses her lips like she's trying to hide a smile.

"I brought dishonour upon my family," she tells him sombrely. "It is not a trend I would have liked to have started."

"Huh." Percy stares at her in a new light, and sees that beneath all her posh exterior, Zoe Nightshade is no different than anyone who's had to fight all their life. There's something undeniably tough etched into her limbs and even though she seems poised and perfect, there's a weariness in her aura and a heaviness in her eyes.

"Why did you run?" Percy asks bluntly, watching as a ray of moonlight glints off an ornate silver hairclip. She notices his eyes and touches it briefly, and then she quickly lowers her gaze to hide the flash of pain that passes across her face – but she's too late. Percy sees.

It is quiet for a while – a time long enough for Percy to begin to frame an apology in his head. He doesn't expect an answer, but finally she says in a voice that's barely heard over the gurgling of the stream, "A hero."

"A…"

"You asked why us Hunters hated men, Percy Jackson," she says gravely, turning to stare at him full in the face, and there's such a deep, potent sadness written into her features that Percy actually shivers. "The truth is, we do not hate men themselves. Many men may prove to be strong, capable, and loyal to the end. But each of us – each of my sisters has been wronged by one in some way or form, and so we renounce them, but in all honesty it is not men we renounce. It is love."

"But –" Percy's got about a million things to say, most of them in question format, but things like But love is important and Everyone needs love sound too juvenile and cheesy. "But…I mean, heartbreak sucks, yeah, but…is that reason enough to give up altogether?"

"Reason enough for us," Zoe says. "Many of my sisters thought they had found love, only to be cast aside by a lover. Some were even abused…as a woman, we had no voice. The pain – the humiliation some of us have suffered…" She swallows. "Sometimes it is impossible to pick yourself back up again. Especially in my day. The world has changed now, in many ways for the better. Married couples can get divorced and start anew. Couples can break up and get back together. There are organizations, a police force, laws that protect a woman's wellbeing. It was not so then. Marriages were arranged according to birth, caste…and looking for love…it was frowned upon. Looked down upon. And your friends and family will shun you if you go against the rules, slaves to society's norms as they are." She shakes her head bitterly. "If the goddess had not found me…"

Stunned into silence, Percy finds his voice. "Who was he?"

"Who was who?" Zoe turns to him, guarded once again, her fingers flying to touch the hairclip. It's a beautiful thing, Percy can see, something he can imagine a rich old lady passing down to her daughter. Pure silver in the moonlight and achingly delicate.

He gestures to it. "The one who gave you that." He watches as her eyes go round and stricken, and her breathing shallows. "The one who broke your heart."

She shakes her head in a jerky movement. "I – I can't. I swore I would never speak his name."

It's quiet for a while.

"I'm sorry," he says before the silence gets too stifling, "for prying."

"It's only natural." She gazes forlornly at her feet. "Although you will certainly know his name. He grew to be a great hero, with my help, though you will never see that written in any of the ancient texts." She snorts, but it is a bitter sound. "The great hero being helped by a female? No, of course he could never tell anyone the truth."

"He sounds like an asshole," Percy says.

"An asshole," Zoe says in surprise, as though she's never heard the word. "Yes. He was."

"I'm sorry he broke your heart."

"He did not just break my heart," she says viciously, and Percy sees her eyes gleam with anger even though her head is turned away from him. "He ripped it out of my chest – he promised me the world, promised me his heart, only to toss me aside and leave me to rot, knowing fully well I would never be accepted by my family for my betrayal. He left me as though I was nothing more than…nothing more than a spare piece of equipment, and he filled my head with his pretty words, his falsities and his useless promises. He assured me he would return. He told me he loved me. He said he would bring me to his home. He said we would be wed. He made many oaths…" She touches her lips. "But he never came back."

And suddenly anger courses through him at the sight of her sunken face and teary eyes. He stands. "That's just shit. We – we have to do something."

"Do what?" The look she sends him is one of amused exhaustion. "He is dead. And I am alive. I have tried – well. I tried to tell people about him, but even by then he was a renowned warrior. Nobody believed me. I'm sure that if I told you his name, you would have trouble believing it as well." Zoe removes her bow slung across her shoulder and traces over a pattern. "Only the goddess heard my words and heeded them. She took me in, accepted me into the Hunt. And oh – that was the first time I had felt real happiness in an age."

"What was it like back then?" he asks, hushed. "What are the gods like?"

"Otherworldly," Zoe replies, and when she turns to face him her eyes are shining. "Oh, Percy, you have no idea. Artemis was wonderful. Eyes like starlight and hair the colour of fresh wood. And so strong and fast and powerful, she could outrun any of us at our fastest, outrun even a cheetah in its prime. She could track even the stealthiest enemy under the haziest conditions, and above all else she loved us. Her Hunters. She was our friend and sister and mother to us, all at once. She kept us close. She kept us safe."

It's so unlike anything Percy's ever thought about the gods, and something lonely fills up in his chest. He misses his mother and even though he'd never met him, he misses his father, too. He wonders what it might have been like to be able to see Poseidon, visit him in his palace, train with him. Be clapped on the back and referred to as son.

"Have you met the other gods?" he asks, trying not to sound too eager, but he must not succeed because Zoe gives him a look of pity.

"Apollo the most," she says, tilting her head back in thought. "He was insufferable, if I am allowed to say so." She glances quickly at the sky as though expecting a response. "And the rest of the gods…I have seen them during their annual meetings on Olympus during the Winter Solstice."

He leans forward. "Poseidon?"

"Yes." She smiles a little. "He looked…not unlike you, to be fair. Same hair." She glances at him quickly. "And eyes."

"I…" Percy had always wondered where he'd gotten the green eyes from – his mother's had been brown, and the sudden realization that he does carry a piece of his father around with him has turned his throat dry. "I'm almost a little jealous. Nobody's seen the gods in forever – and Artemis, well…she sounds a lot different than what most demigods are used to. You're lucky."

"I know." Zoe fingers a pebble. "But the past century has been challenging, and now the Huntresses are left alone, same as the rest of you, and I am no match for the Lady Artemis in terms of…anything." She takes off the circlet and places it in her lap. "As Lieutenant, I know I am meant to lead. I am confident in my skills as a Hunter. But sometimes…it is hard."

"Hard to know where you're going when there's nothing to guide you," Percy says, and she looks at him gratefully.

"That is exactly it."

"It's turned a lot of us bitter," he admits, lifting his hand and watching as a small line of water follows, folding into a sphere. "I mean, I never knew it, but…a lot of demigods are on Kronos' side, now."

"I've seen it myself," Zoe says, in a tone both angry and dejected. "Too many have gone to the dark. And I cannot blame them, even though it is easy to. How can we expect children to fight for the same parents who have ignored them all their lives?"

"Makes you wonder," Percy says. "Makes me wonder, sometimes…if we're fighting for the right side."

"We are," she tells him with no hesitation, and Percy blinks at the speed of it.

"You sound certain."

"Percy, you do not know," she says, and for the first time since he's known her she actually sounds scared. "You do not know how cruel, now vile, how evil the Titans are."

"The gods haven't been great either," Percy points out. "Maybe if they hadn't been neglecting so many of us, they'd still be around right now."

She shakes her head. "Of course they're not perfect. And they need to be confronted on this matter. But the Titans are a different breed entirely. They use, Percy. And they will resort to extreme violence should their demands not be met. Nobody will be allowed to stand in their way and live – not even those who consider them allies. A world ruled by them…a world where no demigods are left to threaten their reign…" Zoe waves a hand at their little glade. "You can see evidence of it already, can you not? The nature spirits have faded into nothingness, leaving a dull, lifeless land. If they eliminate the rest of us…" She doesn't finish, only shakes her head. "We must not let it be so."

"We're hanging on, though," Percy says. "By a thread, but we're doing it."

"Your greatest advantage has been your location thus far," Zoe tells him. "The Bunkers are designed to be safe places for all those who are friends to the gods, and I must say that Annabeth knows what she is doing. Even for the Hunters it would be difficult to find the place without one of your magic compasses, layered as it is with protective wards and spells."

"She's been careful," Percy says, trying and failing to ignore the glow that spread through him at Zoe's praise for Annabeth. "Although we suspect…"

"Spies," Zoe completes, and he nods. "I would not be surprised. But if there was really a spy, you would all be dead."

"None of it makes sense," Percy agrees. "Why would a spy be leaking information selectively?"

"All I know is that with your leader caught, your safety is in great danger," Zoe says darkly. "Atlas…he is ruthless."

Fear spikes right through his spine. "Annabeth…"

"They will definitely be trying their hardest to pry whatever information they can out of her," she says.

"She won't break," says Percy confidently.

"I hope she does not," Zoe says, but she sounds doubtful. "The daughter of Athena is strong, no doubt, but Atlas is cruel. I hope she is not lost."

Percy swallows. "They won't kill her." He hates to admit it, but – "Luke won't let her die."

"The son of Hermes," Zoe recalls, and the expression on her face turns ugly. "Another traitor. I warned Annabeth, even back then, to not follow him."

"Let me guess," Percy says, and he has to swallow the sourness in his throat before he continues. "She didn't listen."

"She and the daughter of Zeus were always quite defensive of him," Zoe informs him. "But…I am not sure what it was. Something about him was quite off-putting, although I never shared my doubts with Annabeth. I did tell Thalia, though, and she…well. She screamed at me quite passionately."

Percy bites his lip to stop a smile; Zoe still looks disgruntled at the thought of it.

"Jason is Thalia's sister," he offers.

"I know," Zoe hmphs. "And two siblings so different in temperament I never did see. It's a relief, though. If he had been as hot-tempered as her, I would have not allowed him to come on the Quest." She looks him a stern look as she says it. "She was reckless, much like someone else I know."

Percy allows himself to shrink a little, but she just sighs. "You and Thalia are much alike."

"How?" He's heard it before; Annabeth had mentioned it to him once, an offhanded comment that had piqued his curiosity, but hadn't lingered in his mind for long. "Is it the hair?" He touches his own self-consciously.

She shakes her head. "No, although you are closer to her in looks than Jason is. But I speak of your demeanour…Thalia was always quick to anger. You are not quite so volatile, yet…I'm not sure what it is. There is a lot that is similar. If she had been alive, you might have gotten along well. Or killed each other."

Percy snorts.

"In fact, I'm sure that if I had banned Thalia from the Quest, she would have snuck along as well." Zoe rolls her eyes with a kind of fond sadness. "I can't say I didn't see this coming, if I am being honest with myself."

"I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused." He rubs at his wrist. "I just…I had to be here."

"To save your friend."

"Yes." His throat feels dry. "I…"

"I know," she interrupts. "I was not wrong, before. When I said you would go to any length to see her safe."

Dimly, he nods: He'd give anything to have Annabeth back, he thinks. He hates the thought of her in pain while Luke cackles wildly, evilly, from the turrets of the black castle. She hadn't deserved to be betrayed like that. Again.

Part of him is angry at her for falling into Luke's trap. That part of him is furious at her, in fact. She'd chosen Luke over Percy – she hadn't listened to any of their warnings. And for what? Percy scowls. For love?

Love is – pesky, Percy decides fervently. Love just fucks shit up – his mother had died because of love, and so had Bianca, and now Annabeth's trapped under the sky in enemy territory because of it. Percy can almost understand Zoe not wanting to have anything to do with it.

"I'm scared," he confesses desperately. "What if this is all for nothing, what if we get there and-and-"

"She knows you are coming." Zoe reaches out to touch his shoulder for a fleeting second, her expression open and honest, and Percy can't help but think that he's misjudged her. "I know Annabeth. She is strong in both mind and body. It's why I tried to recruit her, and when the enemy sees it, they will know that there is no point in trying to break her."

But Luke, Percy thinks, and even though he knows she will never defect, he can't help the doubts. Because if anyone could break Annabeth, it would be Luke.

Aloud, he says, "I wish I could help. But – we're so far. I know I can't. But. I wish I could do something. Anything."

Zoe surveys him with unblinking eyes. "There is something you could do."

"What?" he asks, sitting up. "What?"

"Pray to Athena."

He deflates. "That's stupid. Athena's gone."

"The gods cannot regain their physical forms," Zoe corrects. "But their essence lives on – in everything and everything. Pray to Athena. Ask her for strength. Annabeth has been blessed by her mother with a magical item. Not many are as lucky. For her chosen daughter, the goddess will surely respond."

"Lupa taught me," Percy says, "that nothing comes without a price."

Her lips quirk. "Lupa taught you well. Yes, Percy. To ask for help from the gods, you will need a sacrifice."

His blood runs cold. "Me?"

She looks at him like he's crazy. "Are you thick-headed? No, just an offering. Like your sword." She glances at it critically. "It is not suited for you."

"Nothing works for me," Percy says moodily, unsheathing his sword and wanting nothing more than to chuck it away like a javelin.

"I wonder," says Zoe thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" Percy asks.

"Never mind," she says briskly. "Any idea for a sacrifice?"

/

The cave feels stifling. Frank sits by the entrance and watches the fire flickering some distance away.

Being so close to an open flame in a space like this makes him nervous, but they had all agreed it was for the best. Without the fire, they would be blind in case their pursuers used another tunnel to come after them, and miraculously there seemed to be holes in the ceiling that lead to the outside, because none of the smoke seemed to linger. Leo had lit the smallest fire possible for Frank not to be freaked out by, while at the same time providing enough light for him to see. Which is good, because Frank's on first watch.

He sighs, leaning his head back against the rock and watching the embers burn. They're burning a mixture of scrap wood Hazel had found in a deeper tunnel and a few of Leo's greasy cloths that he usually employs for cleaning. They're covered in oil and make a good fire.

Hazel and Leo are asleep against the adjacent wall of the cave, lying on their sides with a Frank-sized gap between them. Hazel had nearly passed out, the entire day's journey finally taking its toll on her, but Leo shifts around once in a while, making tiny gasping noises like he's having a nightmare.

That's one of the reasons Frank had volunteered to take first watch. In the cool, dark cave, with the fire burning only a few feet away – he knows what he's going to dream of, and he doesn't want to relive the experience again.

He reaches into his pack and withdraws a small tubular object – Chinese handcuffs, which he'd stolen from a convenience store in a true fit of madness. His grandmother had hated the use of the term handcuffs – they were a finger trap, a puzzle, trust Americans to dumb everything down, she'd huffed when Frank had dared to mention them in her presence.

He places both fingers into either side of the tube, then struggles to get them out. He admires the workmanship for a second - so simple yet so effective. It had taken him a long time to figure out the secret to release the trap: the first time he'd shapeshifted into an iguana to get out of it in a fit of total desperation. It had been his first perfect transformation, even if he hadn't meant to do it, and even his grandmother had found it hard to stay angry at him, even though he'd been so stunned at the sudden shift that he'd been stuck as an iguana for several hours after.

He squeezes the handcuffs inward and frees his fingers, then sighs. Oh, what he wouldn't give to have his grandmother yell at him to stop playing stupid games, get back to your studies –

"Chinese finger trap, right?" comes a voice, and Frank startles.

He looks up to see that Leo has sat up, blanket pooled around his waist. He's rubbing at his eyes, but he nods at the little device on Frank's lap.

Frank picks it up again and twists it around in his fingers as Leo crawls closer, sitting against the wall close enough for Frank to smell the smoke and oil on him. He reaches out to take the Chinese handcuffs when Frank offers it.

Leo goes through the same motions Frank had. "Where'd you get it?"

"Stole it," Frank says, abashed, but Leo only nods in understanding.

"The best traps are simple," Leo says thoughtfully. "I mean, speaking as a builder – nothing works better than something that's simple in principle and execution, y'know?"

"Yeah," Frank agrees a tad awkwardly, unsure of what to say. He doesn't know much about building things, because by nature Frank's just…big-boned and capable of about as much delicacy as an elephant. He can't create anything, he hasn't got the mind for it. He isn't like Leo, who can look at a bunch of metal scraps and make them into anything. He can't do that.

The silence that follows is oppressive and so, so weird. Frank's never seen Leo silent like this, which is a real pity, because he'd been expecting Leo to be the bigger person, to be the one to start and continue with conversation. But the other boy seems unusually pensive as he stares at the fire, drumming his fingertips at the edge of his thigh in – what is that?

Tap, tap, tap, Leo's fingers go. Tap, tap, tap – there's a pause, and then he goes on tapping.

I love you, Frank's mind translates automatically, and it makes him gulp. I love you – I miss you – I love you – I miss you, again and again and again until Frank's throat is choking up.

"Morse Code," he blurts, and the words cut through the quiet like a bullet. Leo stops tapping and looks at him, confused. Frank's never noticed just how expressive he is – but everything Leo feels is etched clearly in all his expressions.

Frank points at Leo's now still hands and gulps when Leo's face closes off. "You were – that was Morse Code, right?" He ploughs on, stricken at how guarded he now appears. "I-I didn't mean to translate, but I guess my mind recognized it. It just –"

"Happened," Leo finishes for him, and Frank is gratified to see that he's smiling a little. "It's cool, I get it. I'm the same. I was just shocked. I haven't met anyone who knows Morse Code – I've been teaching Harley and a couple of my other siblings, but…" He trails off. "They didn't really take to it the way I was hoping. I've never met anyone who knows Morse Code."

Frank stares at his own hands and taps out his own message, an I love you to his mother. Leo's eyes soften. "My mom taught me."

"Mine taught me, too!" he grins openly, and it's a bit like staring into the sun. It's the first time he's smiled at Frank like this, and Frank blinks in response, partly in surprise and partly because he's reeling from the wattage of it. "We used to use it to communicate for fun when she was buried in an engine or something – she was a mechanic," Leo explains, noticing the confusion in Frank's expression. "Took me a while to pick it up, but when you get it, you get it, y'know?"

"I do," Frank agrees, because it's true. "My mom used to teach me when she was on break."

"Break?"

"She was in the military," Frank tells him. "That's how she knew Morse Code – it's still taught in the forces to intercept radio."

"She was in the military?" Leo's eyebrows have climbed to his hairline. "The mortal military? But I thought –"

Frank swallows. "She was a legacy. Of Poseidon. She and my grandmother lived in New Rome for a while, but they moved to Canada when my grandmother got sick and demanded a change of scenery – my mom joined the armed forces there a while after. It's where she met my dad." He pauses. "But…she was called to New Rome. During the War. And I guess…she had to go."

"I'm sorry," Leo says, and usually Frank hates that phrase. It just sounds fake and cheesy coming from most people, because he knows it's just a thing people say to other people who have lost someone. I'm sorry comes out like clockwork and Frank knows it's supposed to convey feelings of comfort and I sympathize, but he hates it. He hates it.

But Leo's eyes are wide and sad and when he breathes out, "That really sucks," Frank believes him, and he nods, because it does suck. It does suck very very much.

"Percy…he mentioned your mom was the commander of the Roman side during the War," Leo says hesitantly. "She sounds…sounded like she was really brave."

"Yeah." And surely Leo will understand what he says next. "But I-I wish that she'd been a coward, sometimes. That she'd refused to go. And I just. I get so angry, y'know? She could've stayed home. With us." His throat closes up entirely, so he just inhales through his nose and reaches for a bottle of water.

"I know," Leo says heavily. "I know."

Frank glances at him quickly. "I-I heard your mom died, too."

"Yeah." Leo picks at the tear in his jeans. He moves his hands around a lot like he's not sure how to make them go still. "I don't know. There was this freak storm – and there was a fire. I don't know. I couldn't control it." He blinks rapidly, and Frank looks away, feeling his own mouth go dry.

He knows the feeling of trying to hold back tears. He's done it enough times, and the least he can do is give Leo some privacy.

He keeps his eyes on his hands as Leo sniffles a little and wipes at his face.

"It sucks," he says finally.

"Yeah," Frank says. And, since he's feeling particularly sentimental, he adds, "My grandmom…she died in a fire, too. My whole house burned down."

Too late he realizes his vision's gone blurry from all the unshed tears, and he swipes the back of his hand across his face. His face feels wet and sticky and gross and shame creeps up the back of his neck, colouring the tips of his ears a flaring crimson. He's never really been this vulnerable with many other people, and his stomach churns with a tumult of emotion – he avoids looking at Leo as he tries to regain his composure.

"Ah, shit." Leo presses he heels of his palms into his eyes. His voice is throaty and thick, like a similar grief is suffocating him. "Is – is that why –"

"Why I'm scared of fire?" Frank completes, and Leo shrugs a little guiltily. "Yeah, I mean - that's part of it."

"Hazel didn't tell me," Leo says at once. "You have to know – she didn't tell me…about any of it. I figured it out myself." He sighs. "And I – I wish I hadn't. I mean, I never meant to pry."

"She told me that you guessed," Frank says.

"She told me she told you that I guessed," Leo says, cracking a smile.

"I can't be mad that you guessed," Frank admits. "Besides – when it happened, um. Everyone pretty much knows now. At least, Piper and Percy and Annabeth do. And I guess there's nothing I can do about that."

"About that," Leo says.

"Hazel told me." Frank scratches his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault."

Leo stares at him. "It was my fire."

"But you didn't know."

"I started it."

"Trying to defend Hazel." Frank looks at Hazel, purses his lips as he watches the slow rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps. "I can't blame you for something that was out of your control."

Leo doesn't say anything for a while, but then – "If I'd known, I would have been careful." He flexes his fingers. They're long and deft, if a bit thin. "I've learned to be careful. Since the accident."

The look on his face is clouded. Frank takes a stab in the dark. "Were you…were you scared at one point?" He nods at the tiny flame crackling away. "Of fire. It's just – I recognize that look on your face, to an extent."

"Can I?" Leo gestures with his chin at his own hands. Frank nods hesitantly.

Leo snaps his fingers – and there it is, the tiniest sliver of flames suddenly dancing at his fingertip. It lights Leo's face up, chasing the shadows away, and despite the apprehension that's built in his stomach at the proximity, Frank feels – safe. Warm. Nice.

Leo's smiling.

"That whole –" Frank snaps his fingers in imitation. "That was all for show, right?"

"Maybe, maybe not." Leo says it mysteriously as he extinguishes the flame. "But to answer your question – maybe I was scared, a bit. Of my own powers. Who wouldn't be? I thought I killed my own mom." He sighs. "But fire is…it's not all bad." He glances at Frank, lips curled into a reluctant smile. "Maybe I'll show you one day."

The thought of it makes Frank gulp. "I-I'm not…"

"Relax, I'm not going to stick you on a stick like a marshmallow and roast you over an open flame," Leo laughs. "I'm not that bad. I'd just like to help you get over your fear, maybe. When you're ready."

"Okay." He relaxes. "Okay. That sounds…okay."

"One more and I'll believe you."

He huffs out a laugh. "I mean it. I've spent a long time cowering at the sight of fire. I'd like to practice with you."

"Anytime, man," Leo says easily, fiddling with a piece of wire. "And even if you decide against it – well. I totally get it. I'll back off."

"No, I want to try." Frank's surprised by the insistence in his own voice.

"Okay, then." Leo sounds pleased. "When we get back to the Bunker, maybe." Frank nods.

The stretch of silence isn't as choking, this time. Frank moves a little closer to Hazel – Leo, in turn, scoots away like he's giving them space, which isn't necessary, but Frank appreciates it. He watches Leo bend the wire into a variety of different shapes – an apple, a crude bird, a horrendous four-limbed creature he swears is a cow with one slightly amputated leg – and suddenly feels a surge of remorse.

"Hey," he says. "I owe you an apology."

Leo, looking up, frowns. "Uh – why."

"For being kind of a dick to you when we first met." Frank takes a breath. "I – I was really rude."

"I mean, yeah." Leo's blunt reply makes Frank wince. "But I get it now, y'know? I'm literally a walking sparkler. You had your deathstick to worry about. Of course you hated me." He turns to look at Hazel's prone form. "Also, you said dick with Hazel in the vicinity. 10 dollars in the swear jar."

"I'm broke."

"10 drachmas, then."

"I've never even seen a drachma," Frank protests. "Where would we even get some?"

"We found some on a monster raid once," Leo recounts. "They were pretty big. Like big-cookie size."

"What'd you do with them?" Frank asks, curious.

"Melted them, duh," he shrugs. "We need all the spare metal we can get."

"How much metal can one coin give –" Frank begins, but then he shakes his head. "Wait – stop distracting me! I was trying to apologize."

"You did! And I accepted." Leo's ears are scarlet. "That's that."

"I had like a whole apology speech prepared."

"Noooo," Leo groans. "Please don't, I never know how to act when people pour their heart out."

Frank reads from an imaginary scroll. "Dear Leo Valdez-"

"Stop, stop, we're cool! Totally cool. You were a dick, I was an angel, you don't deserve me-"

Frank scans his non-existent script. "There's nothing in here about that."

Leo snorts. "Stop. Besides, I should be apologizing to you too! For kindasorta hitting on your girlfriend." He considers. "Even though you weren't really an official thing back then. But I kinda crossed a line." He tilts his head. "So. Sorry."

"I mean," Frank says uncomfortably. "Like you said, it's not like we were dating."

"I like Hazel," Leo says quietly, watching her sleep. Frank isn't sure in which way he means it – Leo doesn't look like he knows, himself, but he doesn't sound bitter, or even longing. Just – normal.

Frank freezes for a moment, but then raises his hand and touches the tips of his fingers to Hazel's hair. It's thicker and coarser than his own, and he gently presses his hand forward, threading his fingers through the strands. Hazel lets out a tiny, fluttering sigh and turns her face slightly into his palm.

"I know," Frank says finally, meeting Leo's eyes. "And I trust you. Which is why I'm not mad about the fire incident. I trust you to keep her safe."

"That's a good point," Leo agrees easily. "I'm touched."

Frank picks at his nails. "That was another reason I was being – shitty to you. Hazel clearly had a connection to you. And I didn't know anything about it, or where we stood…I took out a lot of my frustration on you."

"But." Leo points at himself. "But."

"I can't tell if you're fishing for a compliment," Frank says wryly, "but you're not that horrendous-looking."

"Oh, stoooop," Leo says in a high-pitched voice, batting his eyelids at him. "But seriously! You had nothing to worry about. Hazel's clearly gone on you."

"You think?"

"Yeah, for sure, man." He leans back to rest against his hands. "Again, I wasn't really hitting on her, okay, so please remember that, but I kinda wanted to know if there could ever be the possibility of something. She just me down flat. If I hadn't been kinda expecting it, I'd be crying in a corner right now."

"Oh." Frank feels all fuzzy inside. Leo snorts.

"Are we talking about me turning Leo down?" comes Hazel's sleepy voice, and Frank and Leo both turn to see her sitting up and rubbing at her eyes.

"No," says Leo.

"Yes," says Frank.

"Nice," Hazel says. "I like this story. Leo, would you like to do a re-enactment?"

"I did not get you two together for you to gang up on me like this," Leo protests as Hazel laughs. She crawls her way to Frank, who makes space for her, but she surprises him by tucking her head into his neck.

Sleepy Hazel is cuddly. Okay, noted.

Leo makes a sound. "You guys are disgusting. Hazel, wake me up when it's my shift." He gets up and walks back to the pile of blankets, throwing himself down onto them with no preamble.

Hazel shifts a little, slipping her hand into his. Frank looks at their fingers pensively.

"Did you hear any of that?" he asks her lowly.

"Only the last bit," she murmurs back. In the firelight, her eyes turn luminescent, like a pool of solid gold. "I'm glad you guys are getting along."

"He's not too bad."

"I told you." She sounds smug. "He's a good person, even if he's a bit more wild than what you're used to."

"You can't call other people wild when I can turn into any wild animal you can think of," Frank says, but he squeezes her hand. "But – yeah. I can see why you like him."

"I do. Like him." She tilts her head upwards towards him – she's beautiful, she's beautiful. Frank's so fucking whipped. "But I like you better."

"Oh." Frank says stupidly, wondering how the hell Hazel got so smooth. She's really, close, too, and he knows that they're dating now, but he should ask for consent, right? Before he kisses her? He really wants to kiss her.

Slowly he reaches out to touch her face, and she leans into his palm, lips curving, pleased. Frank feels more confident, now, in gently repositioning her face, his fingers featherlight against her jaw.

"Well?" she asks, and Frank blinks slowly, too distracted by the feeling if her fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I like you better, too," he says, and he tilts his head in a silent question. Hazel nods, a slight movement that she doesn't quite get to finish before he leans in– their lips meet for a long, beautiful moment before separating; they lean their foreheads against each other. Hazel isn't meeting his eyes, but she's smiling hard; Frank feels the upward pull of his own lips as he beams at her, too stupidly happy to kiss properly.

"Okay, I'm literally right here, and I take rejection well, but you guys have got to stop being so nauseating when I can hear everything," Leo whines from underneath the sheets, and Frank can't help grinning.

Hazel doesn't say anything, though. But it's okay. He can feel her own smile against his lips.

/

Even as he carves into the tree carefully with his sword, Jason wonders how he hasn't been noticed.

He's been really cautious about not being seen, to be fair. He's been marking his path – a slash on a tree trunk occasionally as they walk, and arrows whenever he can manage it. Like now. He's supposed to be collecting firewood.

He finishes etching the arrow and steps back. It's no work of art, but it gets the meaning across. He sighs, then cuts off a couple branches and lugs them back to camp.

Piper's fast asleep, curled up close to Percy, who's leaning against a tree. At the sight of Jason, he makes to stand, but Jason waves him back. He sets up a little bonfire and lights it, sagging at the relief the warmth brings. Percy wriggles a little closer, stretching his arms out.

"Zoe?" Jason asks.

Percy shrugs. "Said she had to scout." He rolls his eyes. "Hunters."

"Uh-huh," he responds, even though he can tell Percy isn't really being mean. For some reason, he and Zoe had come back to camp the other day in fairly good spirits and actually appearing to get along. These days at least Zoe doesn't make passive-aggressive comments about the Quest having some extra weight, and Percy doesn't make the rocks she climbs on extra-slippery. It's a better energy, for sure.

"Any ideas for a sacrifice?" Percy asks, out of the blue, and Jason recoils.

"What?"

Percy recounts his conversation with Zoe. "She said that for safe passage and a successful mission we should pray to Athena. But a prayer like that needs a sacrifice, apparently. Only I can't think of one."

"Have you asked Grover?" he suggests. "He probably knows more than we do."

"I did," Percy replies glumly, tapping the side of his head. "He's got nothing – he just said it had to be an equivalent exchange. But anyway, if Zoe can't think of anything when she's been around for literally hundreds of years, there's no way I can think of a worthy sacrifice."

"How much more should we sacrifice for the gods?" Jason asks, which comes out sounding a lot darker and depressing than he'd intended. Percy snorts, tracing in the soil with a twig.

"I know," he says. "It's bad enough that we're all basically sacrificing ourselves in the hope that this Prophecy will finally come true this time –" Their eyes meet over the fire, and Jason wonders if Percy, too, can feel the truth, but the son of Poseidon just shakes his head, exhausted.

"It's funny," he muses. "That this Prophecy was made hundreds of thousands of years ago. That Big Three made their pact to prevent it happening – only to break it. You think the Fates predicted it?"

"All meant to happen in one way or another," Jason says, staring into the core of the fire. "The Oracle must've known the gods would break their promise."

"The Oracle knew the gods would come bang our moms," says Percy. Jason throws a twig at him, laughing. Percy dodges, grinning – "It's true!"

They both sober down as Piper squirms, evidently in the middle of a nightmare. Jason's further from her and jerks in her direction on instinct, but Percy motions for him to sit back down. He places his hand on Piper's forehead and murmurs a silent prayer; she sighs and rolls over.

"That the lullaby Lupa uses?" Jason asks. Percy nods.

"Those wolves really knew how to put me to sleep," he says. "But they also knew how to wake me up. Lupa dumped me in a pond once. It's a good thing I can't drown."

"Lupa wasn't too hard on me." Jason scratches at the skin exposed by one of the hold in his jeans. "She just taught me the basics of combat, gods and monsters, that stuff."

"I mean, yeah, same," says Percy. "But also she kicked my ass every day. I was only twelve!"

"I was eight."

"Well, goddamn," he snarks, "it's not a competition."

"Loser," Jason smirks. The scoff Percy releases in response is reminiscent of a college life Jason has never had, a friend/rival he would probably get into silly competitions with. Like who could down the more beers in a minute. Stupid things like that.

It's weird. Jason thinks a lot about being fully mortal – it's something he can't help. It's like these weird scenarios he thinks of where, in another life, he could've met his friends and family. He could've met Leo in preschool – Leo would be a terror of a toddler. He'd set everything on fire and nobody would know how. And Piper could be a high school sweetheart. They'd stay together through college, settle down far too young, and just be super domestic and romantic.

If only.

"What do you think the gods would be like if they were still around?" Percy directs a thousand-year-old stare at his shoes. "Like – Lupa wouldn't have had to save us. We could've been found by a satyr, led to…well, wherever demigods set up base before the Bunkers."

"Camps of a sort, I think." Jason tries to imagine New Rome without the obsessive patrolling. Tries to imagine the Bunkers aboveground. All he can conjure is just – empty land, rolling hills. Fields dotted with strawberries. He shrugs.

"Field trips to Olympus." He runs a hand through his raven hair. "You ever been?"

"Not to Olympus itself. Just around the periphery of the building, trying to hold the monsters off until Thalia got back – or didn't." Jason scratches at his ankle absently. "It was just Annabeth and Thalia up there, fighting Kronos."

"You've never even been inside the building?"

Jason's mouth goes dry. "Just to the elevators," he says, looking down at his hands. Hands that had been punching at the elevator button as he sobbed in the aftermath of the explosion that had stunning the monster and demigod army alike. He'd watched, trembling in fear and apprehension, while watching the neon numbers on the tiny display screen count down from 600 at a breakneck speed. The door had opened to Annabeth's bloody figure, all alone. She'd grabbed his arm, crying, and sprinted back outside. She'd called for retreat, leading the demigods back to the entrance of the Labyrinth. Clenched in her fist was a scrap of cloth – a ragged piece of leather that had been Thalia's leather jacket. She didn't have to say anything about what had happened. The evidence spoke for itself.

"Sorry," says Percy, out of the blue, pulling Jason out of the memory.

"What," he asks, bewildered. "Why?"

"You looked – all pained." He fingers the hem of his shirt. "Were you thinking about the War?"

"Yeah," Jason admits. "Mostly Thalia stuff."

"Oh." Percy looks abashed. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay." Jason stretches. "I wasn't really with her for very long, y'know? Just a year after we reunited. Everything from before is kind of a blur."

"Just because you feel like you didn't get enough time with her doesn't mean you can't be hurt by it, though," Percy points out. "She was all the family you had. I get that."

"Yeah." Jason leans backward, swallows back the lump in his throat, and changes the topic. "Hey, you've been to Olympus, right? The Empire State Building, at least."

Percy accepts the change in subject without question, and massages his temples in frustration. "Yeah - I told you I went there when I was a kid, right? Told you the first day I got to the Bunker."

"Yeah." Jason pushes thoughts of his sister out of his mind. "What about it?"

"I remember someone from there." He frowns. "Just – blue eyes. Not really too dissimilar from yours, actually. But I remember feeling danger, even though there were tons of mortals around there."

"It definitely wasn't me," Jason responds, confused. "Maybe Zeus? Would explain the hatred. Maybe he recognized your scent." He pauses. "But that can't be it. In the late days, he couldn't even leave Olympus, or his throne. It was the source of his power."

"Annabeth said Thalia went to Olympus once," Percy says. "But that was around the time I was fleeing New York, so the timeline doesn't add up." He shakes his head like he's clearing his thoughts. "Never mind. Doesn't matter, but it bugs me every time I think about it."

"It's so weird," Jason agrees. "Maybe it was a monster. I remember getting a lot of weird vibes from people, even as a kid, but looking back on it – they were definitely monsters."

"Yeah." Percy pinches the bridge of his nose and slides his fingers down to cover his nostrils. His voice comes out a little nasally when he says, "I wonder what Olympus is like."

"In its prime, probably nothing we can imagine," Jason says. The closest he's been to true luxury is when he and Thalia peered into a fancy hotel as kids back home. Security had chased them off the premises not five minutes later. "Now, though – who knows? Maybe the Titans trashed the place."

Percy cracks a crooked smile. "TP-ed the whole building."

"Graffiti on the walls."

"They probably pushed over all the thrones," he laughs. "Or melted them down to nothing."

"What a waste of metal."

"Somewhere in the distance Leo is sobbing."

Their eyes meet; they chuckle, and Jason finds himself thinking, Okay. Maybe this is why Percy's the saviour of their world. Because he has this ability to make people just feel light and at ease and safe, even in the middle of nowhere at ass o' clock at night.

It's…hard, sometimes. To not feel bitter. To just have to accept that he knows he has to die for everyone else to be safe. Some part of him, still a little foolish and naïve, is hoping that maybe he is the Chosen One after all. But it doesn't fit. It just doesn't.

In their lives, there are no coincidences. Things happen because they are meant to happen. And so is this, apparently.

In the flickering light, Jason examines Percy's arms, draped loosely over his own knees as he leans backward, balancing on his butt, tilting his head back to catch a glimpse of a star. He nearly falls onto his back in his endeavour, but catches himself at the last minute, leans forward to counter the inertia, and nearly pitches himself into the fire.

On second thought, leaving everything to him is terrifying.

Against his will, Jason has to try not to smile at the jab. It's kind of funny knowing something that nobody else does, to have access to a piece of information that would solve the puzzle of everyone knew. Knowledge is power, right? Is this how Annabeth and other children of Athena feel all the time?

And he has to admit it. He has to. It's a huge goddamn relief not having the burden of being Olympus's saviour cast atop his shoulders. He's not cut out for a big kind of role like that – it had been much more suited to Thalia, and he has to admit that there's something almost poetic about Percy, who had hidden his identity for most of his life, being the dark horse in this scenario.

Jason has an old score to settle: if there's one thing he knows it's that if he's going down, he's gonna go down fuckin' swinging, taking out whoever he can with him. Fuck the Great Prophecy – he's got his own, and if it's between him and Piper – well, Jason doesn't have to think about it.

She has to live. That's all there is to it.

Percy clears his throat; Jason startles, realizing he'd been staring at Piper's sleeping silhouette intensely for – probably far too long, judging by the slightly concerned look Percy is directing his way.

"Hey," he says hesitantly. "Can I ask you something?" There's something somber in his expression.

"Sure," Jason says, even though his heart is racing. "Shoot."

Quickly glancing at Piper, he shifts closer to the fire – closer to Jason. His voice is low. "Remember before? In the Bunker, on the roof…when we were talking about the Prophecy?"

"Yeah." There's no way he's figured it out. No way.

"You told me to take care of- " his eyes slide to Piper – "if anything happened to you. Why-why'd you say that? Do you really think we won't win this time? I mean - the Prophecy finally makes sense now."

It does, Jason thinks. just not how you're expecting it to.

Aloud he says, "I dunno – moment of weakness, I guess." He sighs. "Also a necessary precaution, to some extent? Who knows how everyone is gonna end up, right? I just wanted to know that the people I love are safe." He eyes Percy. "Not that I'm asking you to throw yourself into harm's way just to keep your promise."

"That last bit was never part of the deal," Percy says with a breathy laugh. "But yeah. I get you. I just got a little nervous. Promises are scary."

"How?"

He shrugs, eyes sad. "Not always. Just when you can't keep 'em."

There's a lot more to his words than meets the eye. For sure. But Percy hadn't pried into Jason's whole Thalia memory, and now he's going to choose to return the favour.

"Don't think of it as something you have to do for me," he says. "Just – keep an eye out for her. She's an adult, and I trust her to handle herself. It's not like my ghost will haunt you for eternity if she gets, like, a papercut. It's just nice to know that she'll have a support system w-if things go south."

Percy's eyes narrow at the slip-up, but Jason gazes at him unblinkingly and he soon sags in defeat.

"I can't say I don't appreciate the thought," he says quietly. "You really love her, huh?"

"I mean," Jason fumbles, feeling his cheeks heat up, "yeah. 'Course."

"Aw," Percy grins. "You two are – sweet. I guess. Kind of. Sometimes, at least, when you're not being disgusting."

"When are we disgusting?" Jason demands.

"More than half the time – I'm being nice!" he smirks, holding up his hands. "Anyone else would've said one hundred percent of the time."

"Leo says it was worse watching us pine for each other," Jason admits, and Percy laughs.

"Oh, I can totally imagine it."

"She took that step, in the end." He looks at Piper fondly. "It was so scary for me, y'know? I'd just lost Thalia. I didn't think I could ever feel an emotion that strong again. A positive emotion, at least. But Piper's been there – through everything. The highest highs and the lowest lows." He gulps, suddenly overcome. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

He feels oddly close to tears. He feels like he misses Piper already, even though she's five feet away and snoring lightly. It just sucks because he tells her everything and he can't tell her he's going to sacrifice himself for her and he wants to, sometimes, because it's what they do. Tell each other things, and talk it out, and solve the problem together. He wants to be together. All the fucking time.

He brushes a hand over his eyes, looking up to find Percy looking at his own shoes, lost.

"Scary, huh," he whispers.

"Yeah," Jason replies. "But I guess you have to take the leap. To find out."

"Yeah. No. I don't know." He exhales heavily through his nose. "Feelings are a mess. But I get what you said – when you talked about how you never thought you'd be happy again? I feel that, man. Down to my bones. I like – I didn't have time to feel anything close to love for so long and then I got to the Bunkers. And I met everyone." His expression softens, though his shoulders are still tense. "I forgot what it was like to feel safe, to feel like someone had my back. Like someone trusted me like I trusted them. And I just don't know if I'm feeling things because I just haven't felt them in so long…or because…because I feel them." He frowns. "And now…" He trails off, but Jason fills in the blank anyway – but now Annabeth's gone.

"And now I don't know anything anymore," he completes, closing his eyes.

Jason thinks about it, thinks about the confusing period of him and Piper just dancing around each other, and sympathizes, because Percy's kind of in that situation, with the added variable of Luke and the fact that Annabeth's trapped under the damn sky for him.

But also – anyone looking at Percy and Annabeth would just know they belonged together. And Annabeth, despite being stubborn as all hell, softens up around Percy, going from steel to sponge the moment she lays eyes on him.

He can't tell Percy that, though. There's a good chance he won't believe it, and hell, he's got to figure out his feelings for himself. If there's one thing he's learned from Piper, it's that if love it strong enough, it'll find a way.

"Nobody's asking you to make a decision now," he says. "Take your time with it. Think about it."

"Yeah." Percy's body slumps. "Yeah, I know." He smiles at Jason. "Thanks. Dating Piper's made you a good love guru."

"It's what I plan to do after the War," Jason snorts. "Play Cupid for some gullible mortals."

"Fun." He scratches his chin. "But really. Thank you. It was a good talk. Two bros, chillin' in a campsite talking about feelings, five feet apart 'cause we're not gay."

"That's a video!" Jason recognizes the tune. "Leo showed me."

"It's literally a vine."

"Wine?"

"Vine. Capital V. Gods, Leo said he educated you." He throws a few more twigs into the fire. "Tell me you know what memes are."

Jason's about to respond with a Duh, I know what memes are, there was a dog one, but awakened by the crackle of the sticks in the flame, Piper stirs next to Percy, who watches amusedly as she squirms in her sleeping bag, trying to sleep for longer even though she's very clearly awake.

Finally, she cracks one eye open. "Ugh."

"Morning, sunshine," Percy coos.

"Not the face I wanted to wake up to," she grunts, sitting up and stretching.

Percy wiggles his fingers at Jason, who remembers Leo calling the gesture jazz hands. "In that case, may I present you – and there he is, boys and girls! Jason Grace himself, in all his blonde, grimy glory! Make some noooooooooooooooise."

"Please don't make noise," Piper admonishes, shoving Percy so hard he rolls to the side; he comes up grinning, a twist to his lips that matches hers. You probably wouldn't think it, but the two of them are actually eerily similar in some ways, and admittedly they do get along really well. "If a monster comes after us now, I swear to god I'll just hand it my weapon."

"Grimy?" Jason looks down at his shirt. "Am I grimy?"

"Just a bit." Piper circles the fire to wipe at some dirt on his cheek. "Don't worry, I still think you're sexy."

Behind her, Percy mimes gagging. Piper doesn't even turn around, flipping him off and pressing a quick kiss to Jason's lips.

"Hey," she says. "You good?"

"Yeah." He circles an arm around her waist, tugging her down next to him, and she comes easily. "How much of our conversation did you hear?"

"I vaguely heard Percy quoting a Vine," Piper says. "The two bros one. Do I have some competition?"

"Yep, that Vine, with a capital V," Jason says, burying his nose in her hair, feeling drained all of a sudden.

"Good job,' Piper giggles. "Kudos to Leo."

"I taught him that," Percy interjects, rolling his eyes.

"Hm," Piper says. "Could've done better."

"Bitch."

"Freak."

"Idiot."

"Moron."

"Sock," Percy babbles, and Piper laughs.

"You totally stole that from Zoe, but I'll allow it," she says. "Get me a bag of chips from my pack? I'm hungry."

"Get it yourself," Percy says, but he's already turning around to reach for it, and while he's not looking Piper quickly moves toward Jason and plants a solid smack right on his mouth. It doesn't last long, but it warms Jason right down to the tips of his toes. He grins dopily.

His body feels sweltering hot, but when she presses herself closer to him, he relents and wraps his arms around her even tighter. A cool breeze emerges from the woods behind him and tickles the back of his neck, and he shivers.

She breaks away from his mouth. "I love you."

"I love you too," Jason replies, and she's wearing a smile as bright as starlight, but that's okay because he is, too.

"Oh my gods you're disgusting," Percy announces, completely ruining the moment by throwing a bag of chips at Jason's feet.

He colors, but Piper only sticks her tongue out and quips, "You're just jealous, Perce."

"Yeah, I'm so jealous," Percy says with false cheer. "I don't know how I can go another minute without exchanging moony looks with the love of my life and trading nose kisses."

Piper kisses Jason on the nose, probably just to be annoying, but Jason smiles anyway. Percy makes an ugh sound.

There's a rustle of leaves – Percy jumps to his feet, hand on his sword, but it's just Zoe, who emerges from the shadows carrying more wood and wearing a skeptical expression.

Percy throws both his weapon and himself back to the ground dramatically. "Thank god you're here. Maybe you can tell these two to stop the PDA."

Zoe glances at Jason and Piper – Jason tries to remove his arms from around Piper's waist, but she clamps a hand down on top of his, keeping it there. He squeaks. She sniffs, glancing decisively at Zoe.

Zoe looks like she couldn't give less of a shit. She looks at Percy. "It is not my business."

"Et tu, Brutus?"

"You are such a drama queen," she informs him, so deadpan that Piper snorts. "Don't you have bigger things to worry about?"

"But I can't think of a sacrifice!"

"Then I cannot help you."

"Sacrifice?" Piper questions, leaning forward in interest. "What sacrifice?"

"I prayed to Athena," Percy says. "For us to get to Annabeth safe, and for us to get her back safe. But Zoe –" He pauses to give her the stink eye, and goes completely unnoticed – "says I need to make a sacrifice for that kind of wish."

"She's right," Piper agrees.

"Any ideas?"

"A magical weapon would work," she suggests.

"But I don't have one-" Percy whines, before cutting himself off. He smiles, slowly and seductively, and his eyes begin to glitter.

"Katopris," He says seriously to Piper.

"Are you serious."

He beams at Jason. "Ivlivs."

"Not a chance," Jason says.

Finally, Percy turns to Zoe. 'That bow of yours-"

"Why are you asking me questions to which you already know the answer?"

Percy slumps. "I give up. I'd sacrifice my own sword, but it'll probably only grant us safe passage for the next five minutes, max."

Piper snorts. "Well, unless you have anything else godly lying around-"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Percy snaps back with mock brightness. "Lemme just check my backpack." His face goes slack. "Oh my god." He scrambles to it. "Oh my gods. I'm an idiot."

"What?" Piper asks, curious, getting up to join him – Jason follows. Zoe nibbles on an Oreo, but even she can't hide her curiosity.

Percy pulls a varsity jacket from the bag. "Aha! I knew this thing would'nt be useless!"

"The hell is that?" Jason asks.

"High School Musical," Piper moans.

Percy snaps his fingers, and the Mist fades, leaving a thick golden fur in his arms.

"You could be a socialite in that," Jason says. "Like all those women who wear way too much makeup and way too much fur."

"Freak," Percy says, his eyes lit with excitement.

"It is the Nemean Lion's pelt," Zoe offers, staring at Percy with furrowed brows. "And it is not useless. It will protect you even from bullets."

"Badass High School Musical!" Piper crows. "Percy, you can't give that up!"

"Watch me." Percy considers the fur for a minute, then shrugs and throws it into the fire.

"What's wrong with you?" Piper howls. "No, Wildcats!"

Zoe watches the gold shimmer with a critical eye. "Why the fire?"

"We dedicate burnt offerings of food to the gods back at Eleven," Percy says, eyes on the flames. "Figured it was worth a shot."

"Yeah," Jason says. "But don't you have to pray?"

"Fuck, I forgot," Percy yelps, but he stands ramrod straight and clasps his hands together.

Piper glances at Jason, who shrugs. They follow suit. Zoe murmurs a small prayer.

When Jason opens his eyes again, Percy's kneeling at the fire, poking it with a branch. The Lion's fur is gone.

Percy turns to face them with a megawatt smile. "That's good, right? That means it worked, right? Does that mean Athena doesn't hate me?"

"Congrats," Piper mutters under her breath. "You've won over the mother-in-law."

"I think it worked," Jason says.

Percy breathes in deeply, stretching. "I feel different. Do you feel different?"

"No," says Zoe.

"Do you really feel different?" Piper questions.

"Not really," he admits. "But I feel better, at least. Something good's coming. I feel it."

"You sound a bit nuts," Jason admits. Piper nods. Zoe hides a laugh behind her palms.

"No negativity in this house," Percy says, flipping them all off. "Do you smell that?"

"Your bullshit?"

"No, hope," he snaps, picking up his backpack and pointing to the right. "And it's coming from that way. Let's go."

/

Annabeth dreams of Thalia.

Black hair, blue eyes. Dangerous smile always accompanied by the crackle of lightning. Thalia had been an angry person for most of her life, always ready to jump into a fight. It had been her biggest flaw - the confidence, the belief that she could handle everything herself. And she loved it. Anyone could tell. She loved winning, she loved being the victor. In a sick sense, the Great Prophecy suited her, because it was all for her. She was at the centre of it and she handled the pressure so well. She knew she was destined for great things. She should have been.

And yet. And yet Thalia had been warm, and caring in a rough, big sister kind of way. She wasn't touchy-feely, she didn't give out compliments very easily, and she didn't say anything like I love you. But she would train with you if you asked, teaching moves in detail until you got it. She would ruffle your hair if you said something silly, and call you idiot in the fondest way. Annabeth, as a kid, would delight in making Thalia laugh, because she had a great laugh, loud and hearty and unabashed and free. Luke used to beg her to shut up, terrified that monsters would follow the noise.

The thought of Thalia makes her ache, somewhere deep inside her, hidden somewhere in her chest. There is nothing Annabeth wouldn't give to see her again. Talk to her. Say something uncharacteristically dim-witted, just to hear her laugh again.

She had been a beautiful fighter. Beautiful in an entirely different way from Jason and Percy and Hazel, her fellow freaks of nature. Hazel is steady and light on her feet. Jason is sharp and solid. Percy is fluid, a jet of water curling in space, twisting as it falls, glinting like liquid diamonds in the sun.

If Hazel is earth, Percy is water, and Jason is air, Thalia was a bolt of pure power, a shock of electricity strong enough to leave you numb, glued to your shoes. She was bold, brash movements, strong kicks and punches. She used to fucking pole vault with her spear like some kind of demon. Her polearm and her shield Aegis were a lethal combo together – it was paralysis one way or another – and she rarely lost a fight, unless you counted the odd sparring matches against Luke. She was strong and quick-witted and fast, and Annabeth had never wanted to ever see her lose.

The day before the final fight, Thalia had been teaching Annabeth a complicated move with her dagger. The idea was to catch a strike from the enemy using the knife's hilt, then kick them in the chest to get some distance and stun them, or in the legs to topple them.

"You've got to be quick," Thalia had said, demonstrating the move in slow motion. Her black hair shone in the light of the setting sun. "And use it only as a last resort, you hear me? It's pretty hard. But effective in changing the flow of the battle, bringing things to a stalemate. Only the quickest knife fighters can use it."

"Guess I'm not one of them," Annabeth had said moodily, gazing up at the Empire State Building. "I can't even get this right."

"You're such a drama queen," Thalia said, reaching out to punch lightly at her shoulder. "You're the best we've got and you know it. Nobody else even uses knives – you know that, right? They're too hard to master, and you're pretty much there. Don't freak out because you can't get this one teeny move right off the bat. It'll come with practice."

Annabeth swallowed. "You'll practice it with me, right?" She pauses and adds, "Tomorrow?"

It was six in the evening. The battles would begin again in an hour. Midnight meant it would be December twenty-first, and Thalia's sixteenth birthday. Tomorrow could be anything. It could be the best day of their lives, a day to celebrate the end of the War. Tomorrow could also mean retreat, or worse – death. Who knew what could happen?

Thalia stopped short, forcing Annabeth to turn back and look at her. Her mouth was pressed in a thin, firm line. Her shoulders were squared in defiance. Her hands were balled into fists. When she met Annabeth's eyes, they were blazing, and full of tears.

"Tomorrow," she said.

Thalia was never supposed to lose.

They'd fought Kronos together – and fun fact, Annabeth wasn't supposed to be there. As the monsters were closing in, the weakened gods taking on Typhon, Thalia had sprinted for the Empire State Building, screaming for Luke, but he hadn't showed. On instinct Annabeth had abandoned her position, asking for Malcolm to cover her, and joined the daughter of Zeus. Thalia had just nodded at her grimly, a gesture that meant you and me, to the end, that dripped of sickening finality.

The battle had been bloody. Kronos had been standing alone in the Throne room as though waiting for them, swinging his scythe like it weighed nothing. Even though it was two on one, it wasn't a fair fight because they were horribly outmatched. Even though he wasn't truly at full power, Kronos was immensely commanding. He towered over them and wore thick armour that was penetrated only by blows of great force. He was fast, too, and one quick slash of his weapon almost always drew blood.

They worked in tandem – Thalia brandishing Aegis, Annabeth following up invisibly with a slash to the side, and Thalia would take advantage with her spear. They did a good job of keeping Kronos busy, but it wasn't enough – it wasn't even close. He was only growing irritated, at which point he probably thought it was time to off Annabeth.

He kicked Thalia away, so strongly that she flew into the wall and collapsed, groaning. Annabeth was invisible, creeping off to Kronos's left. To this day she doesn't know what gave her away, maybe she stepped on some gravel, or maybe she was breathing too loud, but Kronos heard her. He swiped with his scythe – Annabeth ducked, but he knocked her cap off of her head and bore down upon her, golden eyes glowing like the sun. He swung down.

"NO!" Thalia yelled – but Annabeth caught Kronos's blade using the very move Thalia had taught her a few hours before. She staggered – she wouldn't be able to hold out long, but Kronos hadn't expected that. His eyes widened in shock and anger, but he pressed down with more force, snarling.

The same second Annabeth's arm gave out, Thalia used a bolt of lightning to launch Kronos into the air. She looked murderous, blue eyes turning neon. There was a hole in her stomach that was dripping blood, but she moved faster than before, swinging her spear in great crackling arcs, jumping and twirling with finesse. Her entire aura flicked with white.

Kronos, pushed into being defensive, growled, "The blessing of Zeus. How touching." He batted the incoming spear away carelessly. "He must be fighting a losing battle if he's directing some of his own power into you."

With a stab of horror, Annabeth realized he was right. She staggered to the nearest balcony – she could hear the sounds of both armies clashing from way, way down below – but in the distance she could see Typhon, towering over New York's skyline, barely heeding the gods circling him midair.

And the gods were losing. One bolt of lightning was barely deterring the giant, and when the monster used his giant palm to knock one chariot from the sky, it did not rise again.

Bile rose in her throat; she ran back to the Throne Room, where Thalia's energy reserve was clearly depleting. Her movements were slowing down and she was sweating.

They had a moment of eye contact. Annabeth nodded. They couldn't go on like this much longer.

Thalia screamed, summoning another bolt of lightning. It nailed Kronos in the shoulder, burning away his armour, and knocked him off balance.

Annabeth grabbed her cap from the floor and slapped it onto her head. She swiped at Kronos's right side and he used his elbow to knock the knife from her hands. It clattered to the floor at her feet as Thalia made to jab with her spear; undeterred, Annabeth ducked under his outstretched arm and kicked him as hard as she could from behind even as she made to reach for her weapon. Kronos fell forward, looking as though he would fall right into Thalia's spear.

This was it, Annabeth remembers thinking. This could be the moment that changed history, that could drag them out of this nightmare and into the light.

Kronos's eyes glowed like fire. He snapped his fingers -

-and time screeched to a halt. Annabeth could see Thalia's eyes widen in slow motion as she took in what had happened; her face looked on the verge of crumbling. Kronos laughed, standing upright. He was taking his time, wiping the blood off of his weapon and jeering at Thalia. He glanced over his shoulder – an offhand motion, but Annabeth realized something important.

He didn't know where she was. He assumed she'd attacked and retreated. He had no idea she was right behind him, ducked down, hand inches from her dagger.

They could do this. They could. Time had slowed, not stopped, leaving them still moving in the direction they'd been going in.

It meant Annabeth could get to her dagger. It meant the top of Thalia's weapon was still heading towards Kronos, even though now that he'd shifted it was pointed more to his left armpit rather than his heart.

Annabeth was…so close. Her fingers were itching for her knife. They grazed the handle.

"This has been fun," Kronos rumbled, "but I'm afraid I've lost the patience to play this little game." He ran a finger down his scythe and grinned toothily at Thalia.

Annabeth curled her fingers around her dagger.

"You put up a valiant fight, Daughter of Zeus," he said. "I always did think you would thrive on our side. We tried, many times."

Annabeth switched direction, stabbing her dagger in the direction of Kronos' foot. In their new positions, his right calf was close, and it wasn't armoured.

"A true pity," Kronos said. "But this is the end." He lifted his scythe.

Many things happened at once.

Using all her willpower, Annabeth pushed. Her dagger made contact with Kronos' calf. He shouted in pain –

His hold on time was released. Annabeth stumbled from the potential energy and pushed her dagger in further, grunting. Ichor dripped around the wound. Kronos kicked out at her with a pained grunt and she ducked, but at this moment Thalia came to life. He swung back to meet her, bringing his scythe in a long diagonal tear from top right to bottom left. Annabeth screamed, twisting her dagger out of Kronos' leg and scrambling forward to help, but at that instant Thalia's spear made contact with Kronos' shoulder.

The ensuing howl was terrifying. A clap of force sent Annabeth flying backward, and blood – red blood, from Thalia – splattered the polished white marble. She flew into a dilapidated throne and dropped to her knees – Annabeth, sobbing, rushed to her. Kronos staggered back, panting and screaming in pain. His fingers came up to touch his wound and he withdrew them covered in ichor.

"Thalia," Annabeth whispered. She tried to staunch the flow of blood, but it was coming from everywhere. The cut in her chest started at her left shoulder and went all the way down to her right hip. Deep down inside, she knew it was over, but she couldn't accept it. She couldn't.

It was like living in a dream. Annabeth can't remember feeling anything other than white noise as she pressed her hands, elbow to finger tips, trying to close the wound. Thalia's breaths had turned shallow. She was coughing.

Off to the side, Kronos was cursing even as he began to glow. Even though she wasn't sure what was going on, it triggered Annabeth's flight response. She cried and cried and cried as she tried to pick Thalia up from under the armpits. Her friend's head was lolling. She was shutting down.

The glow from Kronos was hard to look at. Annabeth's fingers kept slipping, slick with blood. At this point she was covered in it – it was falling down her pants, making her t-shirt dark and damp.

"Go," Thalia said. "He's…going to kill you."

"He's going to kill us," Annabeth panted. "But we'll get away. We won't let him."

"Leave me," Thalia said, and when she lifted her hand to touch Annabeth's, her eyes were sad and full of tears. "Save…yourself. Tell everyone –" she heaved a sob. "Tell everyone I'm…sorry."

"No!" Annabeth screamed, tears mingling with blood and sweat and dust. "No! I'm not leaving you!" Because the thought was unthinkable. Thalia was supposed to be unbeatable. She wasn't supposed to lose. She was never supposed to die.

"You have to."

"I won't!"

She released one arm to shield her eyes from the light; Thalia slipped from her grasp and slid to the floor, grunting from the pain. Annabeth's heart was racing. She knew what was about to happen. Kronos was getting ready to go supernova. He was going to release all his godly power at once and would wipe out everyone in the process.

Her heart sank.

Thalia smiled. Blood trickled from the side of her mouth.

"Go," she said.

Annabeth buried her head in Thalia's neck and heaved a single sob. "I don't want to. I love you."

"I love you," Thalia whispered. "So much. You and…Jason. Are my family. Keep him – safe."

"I promise," Annabeth sobbed. "I promise – " The glow grew brighter until all she could see of the daughter of Zeus was her blue eyes, glowing like the clearest of skies in the center of the light. They were glassy, full of love and pride and deep, incurable sadness.

And then she ran.

She remembers the rest in flashes. Sprinting to the elevator, watching Kronos roar just as the doors closed. Thalia's prone body on the ground, surrounded by a pool of growing crimson. Feeling the tremor of the ensuing blast and sobbing into her own hands as the elevator shook. She doesn't remember taking out a chunk of Thalia's jacket until much later, after she'd grabbed Jason, the rest of their people, and fucking made a beeline for the Labyrinth entrance from which they'd emerged. She'd yelled for Luke, yelled and yelled and yelled and almost gone out to look for him before being charmspoken into the tunnel by Piper. Luke he hadn't come.

The entire time back to the Bunkers she replayed the fight in her head. If she'd been better, could they have won?

If she'd been better, would Luke still be on their side, a reformed traitor forced to swallow his bitterness? Or would he have left them anyway?

The sound of soft breaths pull Annabeth back to the real world. She isn't quite sure when he'd joined her, but even though her eyes are shut she can sense his presence.

She must be crying, because there's a bit of dampness clinging to her eyelashes. She waits for Luke to speak, but he doesn't, so she says first, in a raspy voice, "How could you do it?"

"Do what?" he asks. His voice is soft. She grits her teeth.

"Kill Thalia," she says, because he may not have swung the sword, but he might as well have.

Luke just sighs, tapping his fingers on the hilt of his sword.

"There's a lot you don't know," he says. "Did you know, for instance, that Thalia hated the gods too? We'd sit up late talking about it. You were young. You never knew. I thought you would now, but I guess you've chosen your side."

"Thalia…chose the gods," Annabeth gets out through gnashed teeth, "in the end."

"And I didn't." There's something dark in Luke's face as he kneels to face her right in the face. "Tell me, Annabeth. If I gave you the chance to come with me now. Run away with me. Just us, like old times. Would you take it?"

She stares at him.

And the thing is, if Luke had asked her this a year or so after the War, Annabeth would've said yes. No question. She would've taken his hand and run away into the woods with him – of course she would've. She loved him like he was her blood. He had been all she'd had for so, so long.

And now…that's not the case anymore.

Annabeth has…so many people at her back. Her siblings, her fellow Bunk mates. Silena, Beckendorf, Frank and Hazel. Piper and Jason, and Percy.

She isn't going to abandon them, not again. She won't. She isn't fighting for the gods, she's fighting for a world where the people she loves can be safe. And if Luke's standing in the way of that, then – well. Then he doesn't deserve to be anything to her anymore.

She spits on the ground, close to his feet, and says hoarsely, "Never."

Luke only sighs. "I had to try, I guess. One last time."

"But that's my point," he continues. "That hatred that you feel for me? I feel it to every time I think of the gods. Our so-called parents." He scoffs. "I'm sure you'd do anything right now to make sure I lose, Annabeth. I know that stubborn look on your face. But that's how I feel. I didn't want Thalia to die. I loved you both and you know it." He pauses. Annabeth can't meet his eyes. There are suddenly tears of pure fury threatening to fall. "But she had to die for justice to win."

The words hit like a blow to the fucking gut. Annabeth wants to puke. It feels like her whole childhood spent with the two people she cared about most is burning to ashes.

It was all a lie, she thinks, dazed. All a lie. Luke's used them all.

Luke swallows thickly. The worst part is he looks regretful, the bastard.

She's going to kill him herself.

"I'm going to be going away for a while," he says quietly, and there's a tremor to his voice that interests her at once, because she's never heard him scared before. "But I will return, and I'm not sure if you'll be here then." He reaches forward as though aiming to touch her face, but she turns her head, even though it kills her to move. He sighs, touching the tip of a dirty blonde curl, and retracts his hand again.

"My source has informed me that a Quest has been deployed to rescue you," he murmurs, and her head snaps up. For the first time in so, so long it feels like there might be an end to it all. "Some of your friends. I don't know if I'll be back by then."

He stands. "I know you aren't going to join my side. I know that the next time I see you, it won't be the same." He gulps audibly. "But mark my words, Annabeth. Remember you had a choice, and that you chose wrong. Remember this. Because if – when I return, nothing is going to be the same."

He stills, waiting for her response. Annabeth tries to make sense of his words. There's so much to unpack in them. He's betraying none of his plans, so why does it feel like he's warning her of something?

She listens to the wailing of the winds all around her.

"I had a choice," she says finally, and her voice, for the first time in god knows how long, comes out strong and steady. "I had a choice…and I'll die defending it."

Luke is silent, but his hands fall down, limp, at his sides.

"Goodbye, Annabeth," he says after a long, tense moment, and then he turns around and walks down the mountain, blonde hair swishing in the gale.

He doesn't even cast her a parting glance, but then again, neither does she.

/

"It must be morning," Hazel says at last. "At least, it feels like morning. Don't you think we should go out now?"

"I'm in," says Leo at once. "I'm starving. Also, I miss the sun."

The two of them turn their pleading eyes to Frank, who sighs. He's a bit more sceptical about this. "What if that monster's waiting for us outside?"

Hazel perks up. "I'll find a new path for us to the surface – I can sense if there's anything there."

"I'll come with you," Frank says at once.

Leo plops back down to the ground, crossing his arms and legs. "I don't mind waiting as long as you guys don't forget about me."

Hazel rolls her eyes at him, but shakes her head at Frank. "I'll go alone."

"No," he says.

"Yes," she responds.

"Seems we've reached a stalemate," Leo drawls. "Let's just flip a coin for it."

"Don't be an idiot," Hazel says, wrinkling her nose at him. To Frank she explains, "Look, I'll just scout for a path! I won't be long, and plus –" I'm kinda scared Leo will burn all our stuff if we leave him here alone."

"Your lack of faith in me," Leo calls out, "is disturbing."

"I dunno…" Frank hesitates. Hazel squeezes his arm.

"I'll be back soon," she says quietly, flushing slightly before kissing him on the cheek and quickly disappearing down the pathway.

Frank touches the spot, feeling his ears go up in flames. Leo makes a pshaw noise, but thankfully must take pity on Frank, because he doesn't comment, just raises an amused brow at him as Frank slides down the cave wall.

"How long do we wait before we go after her?" he asks.

"Oh, ye of little faith," Leo yawns. "She'll be back soon – wake me up when she is, will you?"

"Aren't you tired?"

"I am." Leo lies down and crosses his eyes over his chest. "Hence why I'm gonna take a little nap."

"I meant aren't you tired of sleeping?" Frank asks. "You slept the longest."

He shoots back up into a sitting position. "Are you saying I'm lazy?"

"No," says Frank unconvincingly.

"Fine, then, I'll stay awake-"

"No, you can sleep-"

"Nope." He pops the 'p'. "I'm wide awake now." He rubs his eyes. "Sooooooooooo, what's up with you?"

Frank glares at him. "I'm stuck in a cave. With you. You know this."

"Yeah, but gimme the deets, man." Leo waggles his eyebrows; Frank's noticed he does that a lot. "You and Hazel were up all night-"

"Talking!" Frank yelps. "Just talking!"

"Mmhmm," says Leo, and Frank can tell he doesn't believe him. "I do remember when I woke up in the middle of the night to drink some water, and you guys looked hella cozied up together."

"There's really no gossip," Frank insists, because it's true. They'd just talked a little ad kissed a little and cuddled a little and it had been really, really nice. He feels himself blushing just from thinking about it, though, which isn't helping his case. Leo snickers, but holds up his hands.

"I'll drop it," he allows. "I can get a little annoying about this stuff-"

"Wow, what gave you that idea?"

"Hey, blame it on Piper!" Leo laughs, and it should be an annoying sound, his goofy half-titter, but Frank can't find it in himself to be annoyed by it. He's got thick skin, Frank has to admit, feeling a rush of relief at the other boy's easy smile. It's always hard for Frank to figure out boundaries – he's never had friends he could call close before, and he's never been on the level where he could joke about them freely and be playfully roasted in turn. This – this playful banter with Leo – is completely new to him, and he's overthinking it a lot. What if he says something that hurts Leo for real?

"She's the gossipy one," Leo's continuing, oblivious to Frank's inner turmoil. "It's the Aphrodite blood in her, I swear. It must've rubbed off on me at some point."

Frank blinks dumbly. "I like Piper."

Leo snorts. "I mean, so do I, but she can be a nosy ass bitch sometimes – I say this with all the love, of course," he adds. "But I speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth when I say she loves a good gossip session. It's kind of how we became friends, actually! We bonded in detention bitching about this one girl Tammi who figured out it was me setting off the fire alarms and named Piper as my accomplice for literally no reason." He smiles fondly at his shoelaces (they're untied and Frank kind of wants to point it out). "Feels like ages ago, man."

"How long have you known Piper?" Frank asks, genuinely curious, because while Leo and Jason seem tight and Piper and Jason are literally dating and the three of them form a neat little trio, Piper and Leo in particular have a really interesting sibling-esque relationship that Frank's always suspected is a lot deeper than it seems. He's thought it ever since his little talk with Piper on the top of the Bunker's mountain, when she'd defended Leo and basically asked Frank to give him a chance. He hadn't known what to think back then, of course, but he'd respected her attempt to smooth things over, as well as her loyalty to Leo. Which is why it had been a bit of a shock to see them interact afterward: they'd been making fun of each other constantly, barely batting an eyelid at what sounded like actual hurtful insults. Frank just didn't get it.

The thing is, he's a bit jealous of Leo.

Frank's never – been like that. He'd just been branded the silent Asian kid in his school, grouped with all the other Asians, but Frank didn't get particularly good grades or play an instrument like them, so he kind of felt out of place there, too. His grandmom had wanted him to play the flute, but Frank hadn't and his mom had been clear – let him live his life how he wanted to. And so he had, but he'd just never known how to fit in. He wasn't the sportiest, or the smartest, or the strongest, or the tallest, or even the nicest. He froze up around girls – gods, that had been embarrassing – and just kind of kept to himself. He just kind of – coasted. And he didn't want to. He'd gaze enviously at a couple of the kids in class, the ones who could pull a silly face and make everyone laugh, and wish that he could do that. Because Frank wasn't a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't funny.

Leo gives off class clown vibes like he's been born for the role. Frank has no doubt that Leo had been that kid in class, that kid who could ask a funny question and get a laugh out of everyone, even the teacher. That kid who wasn't the sportiest or the smartest or the strongest or the tallest or the nicest, just like Frank, but the one with all the charisma and all the friends. Frank had wanted to be that kid, man. He'd wanted to be that kid so, so bad.

Too late, he realizes Leo's actually talking and quickly zones back into the conversation. Leo finishes off with "Gosh, I drove her nuts. I'm surprised we're still friends."

And Frank can't help it – he says bitterly, "I bet you had lots of friends."

Leo stops jiggling his leg in favour of casting Frank a look of such comic disbelief that he has to swallow down a laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," Frank mutters, a little defensive. "I mean-" He gestures at Leo. "You're all…you."

"Dude," Leo says, "you're making no sense."

"I mean you're all funny and social and stuff," Frank explains, heat pooling in his face. "I dunno – everyone likes you." Leo is loud and melodramatic and has a sense of humor that never made it out of the fifth grade, but for some reason, he brings an undeniable warmth and energy to a room. He quotes memes and other references like they're going out of style and he's emotional and excitable and at first glance he just seems like kind of an idiot, but every time Frank thinks he has Leo figured out, he finds that there's more to him than meets the eye, and it's equally amusing and unnerving.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Leo says, laughing in disbelief. "I'm funny because I had to crack jokes to not get beat up. I'm not social, I just don't know when to shut up, man. And I know for a fact that plenty of people find me annoying." He shrugs. "I've tried toning it down, but I guess it's just…hard for me."

He quirks a sardonic little smile, the way he does when he's about to tell everyone the punchline of whatever joke he's been narrating. And Frank doesn't always understand it, but he can tell when it's coming based on the quirk of Lance's brows and the way his lips starts to curl, a little premature, at the edges of his mouth.

When did he learn Leo so well?

"You're the cool one," Leo's saying. "You're all strong and dependable. With me it's like – I dunno. Nobody would trust me to not fuck up if they gave me a job to do, y'know? With you I wouldn't think twice. You give off leader vibes."

"Leader vibes?" Frank's never felt so confused in his life. "I could…I can't be a leader."

He shrugs. "Calling it like I see it, man. I just feel like you'd be good at leading an army."

Frank shakes his head. "Nah."

"Just a feeling."

Frank nods, distracted, and looks at his own arms. Is it because his mom had been a general that Leo thinks Frank could be one, too? Is it because of his dad? Because as he is now, Frank feels so, so far from being worthy of any position even closely resembling one of a praetor. He's…not good at that kind of thing. He's shy and awkward and inexperienced. He knows how to fight but that's only on an individual level. He doesn't know shit about battle plans or how to lead an army.

And yet something in his chest stirs at the thought of himself at the head of an army, holding aloft a banner and calling the shots. In the vision he's standing strong and tall and his shoulders are broad and sure. He's grinning, and his whole body flickers with a faint red light.

Is this how Leo sees him, too?

"I appreciate it," he says finally. "I'm far from it, though."

"Who knows what could happen in the future?" Leo stretches, yawning. "I mean, like you said, since I'm super funny, I could become a whole comedian."

"You're not that funny," Frank protests. "I just said you were good with people."

Leo shakes his head and saying, "Nah, man. I'd take machines over people any day – but I mean, I made 'em laugh, I'll give you that. Mostly for them to stop beating me up, though." He shakes his head in disgust. "Sucks, but you gotta learn how to survive somehow. I just figured it out real quick when I was moving from Home to Home. Make them laugh and they're less willing to punch you in the face."

"That's…horrible," Frank admits. "I never thought about it like that."

"They kept me around, yeah." Leo scratches the tip of his nose. "But I'd never call any of them a friend. Not one. And it's so weird how deep I got into the act – like I was saying a lot of actual rude, insensitive shit, trying to be funny. Piper finally called me out on my shit after a while – good thing she did."

Frank stares at his shoes.

"You talk a lot of shit," he decides after a moment, thinking back to the Bunker, and Leo splutters out a laugh. "But it's not mean."

"I try, you know? I try not to be." He stops, rubbing his arm thoughtfully. "But it took me a while to un-learn my habits, to stop actively looking for a joke to crack, someone to make fun of. I mean, I know I can be super annoying sometimes."

"Sometimes," Frank mimics. Leo elbows him lightly.

"I'm working on dialing it back," he grins sheepishly. "Which – you have friendship privileges too, by the way. If I get loud and pissing off, you can tell me to my face. I won't take offence."

"Friendship?" He doesn't mean for it to come out so surprised, but Leo rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, we had a whole bonding session about our tragic pasts last night, man, in case you've forgotten," he says dryly. "Dunno about you, I think that makes us friends. We even have a secret friendship language." He types in Morse code on his knee, Don't we?

We do, Frank responds, and Leo beams, "Well, there you go."

Frank sits back, a little overwhelmed and a lot pleased. He shouldn't feel so giddy, he thinks, just because someone called him a friend. He's such a damn sap.

"Well, friend," Leo says, stretching his legs and breaking his thoughts, "I'm kinda bored. And I dunno about you, but I'm sick of this cave. Wanna go after Hazel?"

"She told us to wait," Frank says disapprovingly, but just at the sound of her name his body is responding, standing up on its own and grabbing his supplies. Leo shoots him an amused look that reads, Convincing.

"Did you know you get all mushy the moment her name is mentioned?" he says conversationally. "Your eyes get all soft every time you so much as think of her."

"I-" Frank says, trying to process it. His mind feels slow from the lack of sleep.

"How will be find out which path she took?" Leo asks, grabbing his pack as well. "And also, I should warn you-" He holds up his finger like it's a candlestick, and it might as well be, the way the tip of his nail is smothered in flame. "We're gonna need this."

"Oh." Frank swallows, trying not to take a step back as he surveys the little flame, and he feels a little stupid because it's tiny. He can handle that. They need fire, for the light. "That's okay."

Leo's already extinguishing the glow. "We can totally wait, dude."

"No." He shakes his head. "No, I'm good. Let's go."

He can handle this. He can handle this.

He can handle this.

He can totally handle this, he thinks as he walks behind Leo, trying to follow his footsteps through the narrow passageway that Hazel must've carved out herself, because it's so thin and so narrow and just her height. Which means Frank's crouching as he walks and it's hurting his neck, and he isn't claustrophobic but that might be a phobia that he has to revisit, now. Because there's nothing in here but clammy air and Frank and Leo and the fire. The fire, and it's so close to him, even though Leo's angling it away from him. It's so close, and Frank's got his firewood in his pocket, buried under a layer of plastic, but fire burns. It can burn through the plastic, through wood and stone, turning his house into piles and piles of ashes –

"Frank?" Leo's turned around, concern in his eyes flickering in the light. "Dude? You – you wanna take a break?"

"I-" And it's only then that Frank realizes he's hyperventilating, breaths coming out irregular and shaking. He looks up into Leo's face and he must understand something, because he puts out the fire, shrouding them into darkness, and wow Frank is a special kind of freak if he isn't afraid of the dark and is instead fearful of the very thing that takes the night away.

"I'm so sorry," Leo says quietly, and with that it's like every emotion Frank's been avoiding and pushing aside painstakingly – pushed aside in favour of trying to appear strong when all he's ever wanted to do is give in – rises up his throat. Every doubt he's suffered, every moment he's spent reliving the night his entire life crumbled to ash – every bit of control he's ever had breaks spectacularly.

He leans heavily against the cave wall, unaware that he's heaving until Leo makes a tiny noise: he must reach out, because Frank feels a light touch on his shoulder.

"Don't," Frank snaps, and the hand withdraws at once. He feels shit about it immediately.

"I'm sorry," he says around a sigh. "I-it's okay."

"Okay," Leo says quietly.

He places a palm on his shoulder, and just the thought of those hands and all the fire they can conjure nearly makes Frank jerk away, but Leo maintains his grip, his touch soft, and eventually he relaxes. His hand is warm. Frank's back feels a little lighter. Is heat therapy a thing? Is Leo doing it on purpose?

"Match my breathing," Leo says, breathing in and out slowly and audibly, and Frank does his best to follow. It helps, and soon they're inhaling and exhaling in tandem like weirdo twins, but there's no clenching pain in his chest and he isn't afraid anymore.

"Let's sit down," Leo says, guiding Frank as they both slide down the cave wall. Frank is handed a cookie that Leo must've hoarded from dinner and a bottle of water, both of which he accepts gratefully. He hands the bottle back.

"Sorry for snapping at you," he mutters, because now that he's feeling better he just feels stupid and ashamed for his overthinking brain. He's got to get over this fear.

"What? Don't be," Leo says, sounding almost stern. "You had a whole ass panic attack, man. You're allowed to not be okay."

"You really helped," Frank mumbles, and mortification isn't a strong enough word for his he feels right now. "Thank you."

"I have experience," Leo says easily, and Frank thinks of a tiny Leo, perhaps in a foster home, balled up in his bed, as guilt suffocated him, cloying and dark.

He hears Leo unzipping his backpack, but he isn't sure what for until Leo hands him a bottle of water and a soft cloth. He settles down in front of him, not touching him but still close enough for Frank to know he's there. His head pounding from his emotional outburst, Frank feels a sharp sting of affection and gratitude.

"We can take a break," Leo suggests after a few silent minutes.

"No. No, I'm fine," Frank says, standing, partly because he wants to see Hazel again but mostly because he can't stay put in this place any longer. "The sooner we get out of here, the better."

"Okay," Leo says, doubt lacing his tone, and Frank hears him struggling to his feet. "If you're sure."

"Can I lead this time?" Frank asks, but he soon discovers that navigating the path in the dark is easier said than done. They need the fire.

"You can go ahead," he murmurs, pausing and making way to Leo to push forward. "You can use the fire, too. Sorry about that – just freaked out."

"Man, you've got to stop apologizing for shit that's out of your control," Leo chides gently. "But – yeah. Can't see shit, so I'm gonna light the fire now, okay? I'll make it small."

"Okay," Frank whispers.

Instantly the tunnel brightens. Leo's holding up the thinnest line of flame – one that barely moves in the stillness. Frank stares at it, trying to understand. This little ember that Leo's holding looks harmless. It's almost cute. How can it turn into something so fearsome, so destructive? How can it destroy so easily and take away homes, lives?

"You said…you were scared of fire, too," he says haltingly. "How'd you get over it? Because – because I want to. I want nothing more…than to not be scared anymore. But I look at that –" he gestures at it – "and I see all these terrible things. Like my house burning down with my grandmom in it. I see my deathstick leech away at my life. And I wanna throw up." He gulps, hanging his head. "I hate being so weak about this."

"It's not weakness." Leo keeps his eyes trained ahead. "There's nothing to be ashamed of – I mean, I had the same fear as you, and you know why."

Frank nods. "What changed?"

Leo turns back to him, cracking a tiny smile. "Promise not to laugh, or call me insane, or think I'm a glory hog?"

"Yeah," he says at once, curious.

"Piper and I got to Bunker Six before we got to Nine," he explains. "That's where we first met Annabeth. I didn't wanna tell anyone about my powers, but I got claimed pretty quick, and I got really freaked out and started throwing fireballs at my dad's symbol." Frank snorts aloud and Leo laughs brightly. "I was really freaked out, okay?"

"What was it like?" Frank asks, curious. "Nobody was really claimed in the Roman Camp. Octavian just took one look at us and knew."

"I mean, my claiming – and later Piper's – were some of the last we ever got," Leo says thoughtfully. "But it was some dramatic shit, for sure. These big floaty symbols above our heads that followed us everywhere. It was like having a neon sign attached. I hated it." He takes a breath. "So anyway, word got out that I was a fire user. I got to Nine and all my siblings were like acting like I was a celebrity or something, and I'm not gonna lie – it felt kind of good."

He sighs, making the little flame shake. "The night I got to Nine, I had a dream. And it felt firey – but not the bad kind. It felt warm and soft and…inviting, and then I heard this voice. It told me that my fire was given to me for a reason, and that I should learn to use it." He frowns. "And I've never told anyone this. Not even Piper. Because I'm not really sure myself, to be honest – but I think it was my dad."

"That's…incredible," Frank says, hushed. "Barely any of the gods made contact with their kids in the years before the War, right? That's what Reyna told me."

"Exactly," Leo agrees, "which is why I'm like – so confused about it. Why would he reach out to me and tell me that? And back then I was determined to go against his wishes. I was like nope, bitch. I'll manage fine without it."

"But like, all my siblings were so excited for me. To see me use fire," he continues, voice turning fond. "And I dunno, I kind of melted. I showed them something simple, like this." He holds up his hand. "And man, they all just – lit up. They looked so happy. My brother Jake told me it was a blessing." He shakes his head. "And I didn't want to believe him. But their faces – I can't even describe it right. It was the first time I thought since my mom died that my powers could be used for something good. Something that could make people feel happy and warm and safe, y'know?" He pauses. "Like home."

Home, Frank thinks wistfully as he stares ahead. And – Leo has a point. Warmth comes from fire, and warmth means his house and his grandmom and his old room and his blankets. It means his mom, beckoning him over just to give him a hug for no real reason other than to make sure he knew how much she loved him.

He sniffles a little. "Y'know what this feels like?"

"Yeah?"

"Zuko and Aang, in that one episode where they meet the Sun Warrors and Aang's too scared to firebend, but then they see-"

"The dragons," Leo completes, smiling. "I forgot you're a man of culture. But I gotta admit, you're right. I'm totally Zuko. Fire powers, check, pet dragon, check, ragged good looks, check-"

"You might be going a bit too far with that one," Frank mutters.

Leo barks out a laugh, and even though it sounds a little forced, it shifts the mood into something more manageable for the both of them. "But that's the thing – that episode got it exactly right. Fire can be so dangerous and so scary and so painful. But it's also…so much more? It's light. It's good. It's the sun and the stars and the core of the earth. It's – it's the feeling that keeps us going and the warmth that makes us stay. And it took me so long to learn, and even longer to control. The nightmares didn't stop, and I spent so long being scared that I would hurt someone again. And I almost did, so many times, and I would keep almost-throwing in the towel. But everyone around me got me back at it again." He slides his eyes over to Frank. "I wish I could offer a better explanation that what I feel, so you can tell me if I sound shalllow."

"Not at all," Frank says readily, surprising the both of them. "I mean, it's a tough pill to swallow – but you do have a gift. It must be for a reason."

"Mmm," Leo hums. "I thought so, too. Like maybe I was meant to use fire because I understand more than most people how much it can take away from you. And like – the thing is, my mom was always so proud of me for it." His lower lips wobbles a bit. "Always calling me her firecracker. And I started to think, hey. Maybe fire isn't so bad. And y'know how the gods chose America, right? The Flame of the West. The Flame." Leo shrugs. "On Olympus, Thalia said there was a hearth. And the fire was tiny, but it was still there and that was what was keeping the gods going. The hearth, Hestia, and her fire." He laughs a little. "I mean, maybe I thought up all that shit to convince myself I wasn't like Satan's minion or something. But it worked for me."

"I hope…" Frank moistens his lips. "I hope it can work for me one day, too."

"Look, dude," Leo says. "You aren't expected to like, magically get over your fear. Just…I'm trying to tell you that you have me to help you. Anytime you want it."

Frank nods, at a loss. There's no real adequate response, nothing he can say to convey just how much he really needed to hear what Leo's just told him. "Yeah. Yeah…I guess you have been a really big help."

"Oh, he guesses," Leo announces in a teasing voice. "He guesses! Well, I guess I'll stop trying to help you, then. And I guess we don't need to find Hazel, either."

"Guess not," Frank says, laughing a little at the affronted expression Leo adopts.

He slides his eyes in Frank's direction. "What do you think, though? Did I get all the pros of fire from Avatar listed? Do they beat all your cons?"

Frank bites down a smile. "You forgot to say fire is beautiful."

"Right, my bad," Leo jokes, extinguishing the flame, and Frank's actually kind of sorry to see it hiss into nothingness.

"Hey," he complains. "Why'd you do that? I was admiring the beauty of it."

"Well, I guess you were admiring so hard that you missed that." Leo points ahead, to where there's an actual hole in the tunnel and sunlight streaming through. Frank hadn't even realized they were still walking. "Man, and I was spouting some real good shit, too."

"I really do appreciate it, though," he admits. "Food for thought. Thank you, Leo."

"That would be a lot more convincing if you weren't literally running away from me."

"I'm not running," Frank insists, sprinting as hard as he can for the light. He doesn't even know if Leo can hear him.

He bursts out into the open, breathing in the fresh air deeply and stretching. Oh, it feels good to feel the sunlight and the wind and smell the scent of the trees –

"Watch out!" comes a voice. Frank turns around and barely registers the hooves before they descend onto his head and he drops to the ground.

/

"Wow," Piper says. "Really feeling the good luck vibes, Perce. This is – so cool. Thank you, Athena. And thank you, Percy."

Why is this his life.

"Hoover Dam," Percy scowls. "Don't tell Annabeth I said this, but it's kinda ugly. And it's kinda in our way."

And it's true – but like. Annabeth would love to be here, he thinks. She'd be spouting facts and she'd get that one specific gleam in her eyes, the kind she always got when she talked about architecture.

Fuck, man. What he wouldn't give to have her back.

"Damn," Jason whistles, gazing upward. "It's huge."

"Dam," Piper corrects, chortling – and Percy can't help it. He laughs, too. Jason shakes his head and Piper elbows Percy, still grinning.

Zoe, who had been frozen in place in the face of the gigantic Hoover Dam, suddenly comes to life.

"This is our chance to restock on supplies," she says. She points at the parking lot. "There's our way out – and there is a building there." She gestures at the building further to the side. "Do you think there is a dam snack bar?"

Piper sniggers again. Percy bites down on a laugh.

"I want a dam t-shirt," he says.

"I've been craving some dam fries," Piper giggles.

Zoe blinks. "I don't get it."

Jason makes an aha noise. "I do." He nods sagely. "That's a dam good joke."

Piper laughs out loud.

Zoe ignores her, making her way up the side of the dam. "Stop wasting time. We have to get moving."

It's a dam trek up to the main road, at the end of which they're all gasping and panting.

"Shit, Perce," Piper says, pointing to the far end of the dam. "Look at that."

Percy looks. "That looks like-"

"Celestial Bronze," Zoe confirms. "I'm surprised they're still here. Maybe the Titans did not think anyone would find these. Or maybe they just forgot. In any case, they're a good omen for us." She nods at Percy. "They were a gift to Zeus from Athena."

"You're shitting me," Piper says at once.

"Ha!" Percy crows. "My sacrifice worked!"

"You asked Athena to guide you," Jason points out. "Those statues aren't guiding us."

"Yet," Percy says irritably. "Maybe they haven't sensed me yet."

"What are you expecting?" Piper grins. "For them to come to life and fly us to San Francisco on those wings?"

"That would be idea, not gonna lie," he says.

"I could do that myself," Jason boasts.

"Ooh, catch me, Superman," Percy coos, pretending to swoon. Piper shoves him aside.

"Enough!" Zoe snaps. "We came here for a reason. Let us get our supplies and get out."

"Um," Percy says doubtfully, "are you sure this is safe?"

Zoe shoots him a dirty look. "It's just a dam visiting center, Percy. It's a relatively small shopping complex. It is the middle of the day. It is also a Wednesday, which means we won't have to deal with any pesky teenagers."

"You sound like a Scooby Doo villain," Piper remarks. Then she turns her voice deeper and scolds, "And I would've gotten away with it too if it weren't for you pesky teenagers and your damn dog." She stops and snorts. "Dam dog."

"We'll split up and meet up at the fire exit on the first floor," Zoe continues, as though she hadn't been interrupted, even though Percy's snickering pretty loudly. "I will get drinks and medicines. Piper and Jason, you're on snack duty. And Percy – clothes. Hoodies in dark colours, maybe some blankets if you can manage it."

"Roger that," says Piper.

"Who is Roger?"

"It's a thing people say –" Percy decides against the explanation. "What if I need help with the sheets?"

"I don't give a sheet," says Piper. Jason cracks a smile, but Zoe looks unamused.

"Just go," she says tiredly, and so Percy does.

The store inside is actually a pretty big one. Percy bypasses the rows and rows of Hoover Dam merch and heads over to the clothing section, waving his hand good-naturedly at a red-haired attendant who heads his way.

"Just looking," he says. The girl nods, gazing at him way too intensely for just a regular mortal. Then she glances down, right at his sword – which shouldn't be possible. Percy'd used the Mist on himself and nobody in the store – not even the security – had given him a second glance.

This girl looks at the sword like she can see it. Percy's steps quicken.

He browses through the winterwear quickly, and, finding the material too bulky for his tastes, makes a detour for the Men's area. He chances a quick glance behind him – the redhead is still tailing him, and she isn't even being discreet about it. A monster? Maybe a young one – one who doesn't know how to hunt well enough by herself. Does that mean there are more? He grips the hilt of his weapon and walks faster.

By the time he spots a rack of some fairly wearable hoodies, the girl's been detained by another customer. Percy peeks over the hangers – she looks desperate to get away. He grabs a couple of hoodies – dark blue for himself and Jason, olive green for Piper, a black one for Zoe - and begins to stalk away, trying for a pace that's brisk but doesn't really suggest he's fleeing from the law.

Rapid footsteps behind him – Percy doesn't turn back. Hoodies in his arms, he takes a quick look around him. Not too many people. If he can get away with drawing his sword, he'll do it. He can tip over that rack of jeans as a distraction – he can play it of like he's the one being harassed.

"Hey," a voice calls out breathlessly; Percy doesn't stop. The girl curses: he can hear her jogging up behind him.

"You there! Black hair! Guy with the hoodies!" she yells. Percy's got an arm on a nearby stand. One swift movement and it'll all be on the floor.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder. Percy jerks so hard he ends up tipping the clothes all over the both of them: faces pop up around the store, peering from behind shelves and between hangers, in response to the noise.

"Jesus," says the redhead. Percy jerks again. She casts him a dirty look, then waves her fellow employee away with a quick "I've got this."

Percy stares at her. She glares right back, but she just looks annoyed. Plain ol' annoyed, not downright murderous.

Huh.

"I'm sorry," he says slowly, bending down to help. "Just had a nervous reaction."

"A nervous reaction," she says. "Riiiiiiiiiiight."

She hangs the clothes back up again, frowning. A curl of deep orange falls in between her eyes. She pouts and blows it away, still fiddling with a hanger.

It's now or never.

In a split second Percy draws his sword – a sharp shing resonates in the air and the girl looks up. Her eyes widen and she squawks, "Wait, it is a –"

He slashes. The sword passes right through her.

Their eyes meet. She clenches her jaw and steps forward – for a wild moment, Percy braces himself, expecting to be slapped in the face, but she just grabs him by the shirt collar and drags him over to the changing rooms.

They're all empty. The girl shoves him into a booth, steps in behind him, and locks the door all in one smooth movement.

She turns to face him, looking equal parts horrified and infuriated.

"'Sup," Percy says uncomfortably.

"Don't 'sup me!" The girl hisses at once, glaring at him and crossing her arms. "What the fuck was that? You – you just – with the sword an-and nobody even saw! How'd you get past security? Am I fucking tripping? Did my mom slip some of her pills into my coffee?"

Ordinarily, Percy would've scarpered, but something about this girl's flustered manner is kind of endearing. Besides – she's a mortal. What can she really do, anyways?

He straightens – she cuts herself off at once and balls her hands into fists like she's getting ready to fight.

"What do you want?" she asks.

"Nothing!" he says incredulously. "You were the one who dragged me in here!"

She narrows her eyes at him. "You're gonna pretend that nothing happened out there?"

"I have no clue what you're talking about."

"So you don't mind if I ask you a few questions?" She lifts a brow.

"I'm an open book," says Percy.

"You're interesting," She grins. "It's kinda cute how panicked you look right now. You really can't lie to save your life, can you?"

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Percy says loftily.

"I thought you were an open book." She fixes him with a deadpan stare. "You literally just said you were an open book."

"There are some…secret pages."

"So you wouldn't mind me taking a peek?" She smirks.

"A peek? At what?"

"Your book."

"I don't have any."

"Books?"

"Secrets."

She huffs. "Stop trying to talk me around in circles! I know what I saw. You have ten seconds to start explaining – or I'll call security."

"Jeez, that's a bit drastic, don't you think?" Percy says. "And besides, the footage will show you shoving me in here, by the way."

"Ten," the girl says maddeningly. 'Nine-"

"Okay! Wait!" Percy concentrates hard, then snaps in her face – she goes cross-eyed trying to focus on his hand.

"What the fuck-" she begins, but then he unsheathes his sword. She squeaks.

"Can you still see this?" he asks.

"Yeah, dumbass," she snaps. "You tried to kill me with it! And like – another thing! Why am I not dead from that?" She runs a hand through her curly hair. In the stark neon light, it looks shockingly orange. "Or maybe I am. Maybe I'm dreaming." She pinches herself in the arm and blinks rapidly. "Fuck."

"You're not dreaming," Percy says, sheathing his sword. "You can see through the Mist, even though you're a mortal. That's pretty rare."

"Mist?" The girl huffs. "And why does mortal sound like an insult coming from you?"

"Have you seen anything weird like this before?" he cuts in, and she falters. Her green eyes go a little dim.

"No other sword-wielding hooligans like you," she replies grudgingly, "but…"

"But?"

"Weird people," she gets out in a rush, scrunching her brows together. "People who don't look like people – they have like. One eye, like a cyclops, sometimes. Or tails and claws and fangs. I-" She bites her lip. "I thought I was going nuts. I told my parents about it and they didn't believe me. But I – I knew I wasn't imagining it." She looks at Percy imploringly, taking a step closer. "I'm not, right? You believe me, right? You see them too?"

"You're not crazy," Percy assures her in a low voice, and suddenly she's throwing her arms around him and stifling a sob into his shoulder.

Unsure of what to do, he pats her on the back a couple of times until she withdraws quickly, her face pink and her eyes watery.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "Sorry – it's just…you have no idea what it's like, to be thought of as a freak by everyone, your classmates and friends and teachers, your therapists, your parents. I – gosh." She rubs at her eyes and sniffs. "I mean, I thought I was a freak for a long-ass time. But I just couldn't stop seeing those-those creatures, even though I tried." She huffs out a sigh. "You have no idea how good it feels. To know."

"I get you," he says. "I do."

"And I have all these dreams," she says, and then she covers her mouth like she means to stop, but Percy nods for her to continue and she goes on speaking, words tumbling out, not angrily or anything, but rather like she'd been holding back for too long and now it all just had to emerge. "I know it sounds weird, but I feel like I've seen you before, in one of my dreams. That's why I was trying to talk to you before. And all day today I felt jittery, like I knew something was gonna happen. Like – like meeting you." She gestures at him. "Do you have that, too?"

"Um," says Percy.

"Oh," she says, deflating.

"No! No, I mean, I don't get prophetic dreams a lot, but I do get some weird ones with deep meanings that I understand much, much later, usually after a very important event has occurred," he tells her, and she purses her lips.

"My dreams are…very specific," she says. "I feel like I've seen you a couple of times, even though I can't remember much about the circumstances. But I know they mean something, but I'm not sure what. I-I never talked to anyone about it, so I dunno."

Percy asks to see the time, so she takes out her phone and shows him the clock. He thinks about it for a second before sighing.

"I have about five minutes before my friends get worried and come looking for me," he says. "So go ahead."

She perks up. "I can ask you things? Anything?"

"Shoot."

"You won't lie?"

"You're wasting questions."

"Okay, okay!" She holds up her hands. "What are the things I see?"

"Monsters," Percy says. "The cyclopes? The dracaenae? You're seeing them for real. It's everyone else who's not seeing."

"You mentioned the Mist," she says. "What's that?"

"It's a veil, kinda." Percy struggles with it. "A layer of magic that prevents mortals from seeing what's really out there."

"Why can I see it?"

"Dunno," he replies honestly. "A small percentage of mortals are born that way." He points at himself. "My mom was like that, too."

"You keep saying mortal like you're not one," she fires back. "What are you? You don't look all grotesque and shit…like the monsters."

"Thanks," he returns, quirking a brow, and she flushes. "But…yeah. I'm not full mortal. I'm a demigod."

"Half mortal," she says quietly, "and half god. Wha- which…"

"Greek," he says in a low voice.

"Greek," she repeats, sounding oddly strangled. "Like. History class."

"Zues, Poseidon, Hades, you name it," Percy says. "They're kind of a thing, still. Well – not really, not anymore. It's complicated."

He waits for the next question, but it doesn't come. She's just standing there, mouth agape and eyes wide, barely breathing.

"Are you done?" he asks.

"No," she snaps. "Just give a girl a minute to let it all sink in! This is a lot to take, dude!"

"Take it in faster," he says. She frowns at him.

"I'm having a crisis here!"

"Okay, then keep having one, but I really have to go," he says, edging towards the door. "Look – if I'm right about you, we're gonna need you. Chances are you're the one mortal we've all been looking for. You work here?"

"Uh, kinda," she says, stricken. "My dad brought us here because he's got a project nearby, and I was bored and wanted to do something useful – wait, why am I telling you all this? What do you mean people have been looking for me? Are you going to kidnap me?" She crosses her arms. "I mean, yeah, my family has money, but I doubt my dad will waste any on a ransom."

"No, look, I dunno what the hell you're talking about," he says, shaking his head. "Just – stay put. We'll get people to come get you."

"Get me?" she shrieks. He shushes her.

"They're all like me," he assures her. "They're good, they'll explain. Just – how long will you be here?"

"Two more weeks."

"Good," he says. "Okay, I can work with that. What's your name, by the way?"

"Rachel Dare," she says. Then – "Fuck, I should've given you a fake one-"

He snorts. "Nice to meet you. Now, I really have to-"

"Wait, what about you?" she asks frantically, grabbing his arm. Her phone clatters to the floor and he bends to pick it up.

"Percy-" he begins, but then he catches sight of the time – "Gotta go, shit, sorry-" And he bursts from the cubicle and sprints towards the exit, lugging all the clothes in his arms.

He snaps his fingers at the cashiers and security guards before following the little signboards to the nearest fire escape, where Jason, Piper, and Zoe are all waiting.

"Finally," Zoe snaps, though she looks relieved to see him. "What took you so long?"

"Clearsighted mortal," Percy answers, throwing Jason and Piper some clothes and shoving the rest unceremoniously into his own backpack. "Saw my sword. Held me up."

"Percy!" Piper says urgently. "She could be-"

"The Oracle, yes I know," Percy responds, agitatedly. "She said she's been having dreams, said she was gonna be here for the next two weeks, though – fuck, we need tell someone at the Bunkers."

"Leave that to me," Zoe says crisply. "I'll send word with one of my wolves and have them find a satyr."

"That's…actually a good idea," Percy admits.

She bristles like an angry hedgehog. "And why, pray, do you sound surprised?"

"We can argue later," Jason interrupts. He nods at the door. "We have to get out of here. Fire exit's blocked from the outside."

"What the fuck is the point of having one, then?" Percy whispers heatedly.

"And Piper spotted a monster in the snack bar, and where there's one monster, there's always more." Jason rubs his forehead with his thumbs. "It looked at us really suspiciously when we left, too. We need to get moving."

"Does this mean you didn't get anything to eat?" Percy asks dejectedly.

"You're missing the point here," Zoe grouses. "We cannot be seen, we cannot get trapped here! The longer we say, the riskier it gets for us."

Percy runs a hand through his hair. "Any ideas?"

She exhales forcefully through her nose. "I'm going to go outside and take a look. Wait here." And she's gone before Percy can argue.

"Jeez," Piper says, leaning heavily against Jason, who wraps an arm around her waist and presses his nose into her hair. "Who knew we'd run into a monster in this godforsaken place?"

"Who knew we'd run into the Oracle in this godforsaken place?" Percy responds, stretching his arm and thinking back to Rachel and her electric eyes. He'd been too short with her, he knows, and he feels bad for it – it really is a lot to take in at first glance. Maybe if he sees her again, he'll give her the whole story, but even if she makes it to the Bunkers, he doubts they'll cross paths anytime soon.

The thought makes him frown a little.

"Guys." Zoe slips back through the door. "We've got a problem. There's a monster at the main entrance, pretending to chat to the security guard. It didn't see me, but it's definitely there for a reason."

"To keep us from leaving," Piper groans, and Zoe nods.

"We need to find a way out," Jason says.

Percy chews on his lower lip, trying to think – and then it hits him. "Rachel – that mortal girl – she works in the mart," he says. "Maybe there's an employee exit, or something –"

"Better than nothing," Zoe decides, nodding, and so Percy leads them to the store.

"Rachel?" he calls out, spying the familiar shock of red hair poking out from the side of a shelf, and Rachel peeps from above it, standing upright when she sees him.

"Percy Gottago," she says in surprise. She eyes their party a little sceptically. "Are these the friends who are gonna kidnap me? You work fast."

"No, that's for later," Percy dismisses, ignoring Piper's giggling from behind him. "This is – um, Zoe, Jason, and Piper. Guys – this is Rachel."

"Hello," says Piper pleasantly. "I love your hair."

"I love yours," Rachel responds excitedly. Did you cut it yourself?"

"Hell yeah," Piper responds, grinning. "Did you draw on your jeans?"

"I'm a serial doodler," Rachel says confidentially, poking at her pants – which are dotted from the ankle up with all kinds of little drawings. There are flowers and hearts and stars and clouds, but also a random collection of Greek letters, which strikes him as super weird.

"But dude, the rips in your jeans are kinda cool, too," she continues. "I mean, they look so authentic-"

"Oh, man, you wouldn't believe how authentic they are," Piper snorts.

"What the hell is happening?" Zoe murmurs. "It's like they're speaking a different language."

"We're bonding," Piper says gleefully.

"Well, save it for later." Zoe stares at Rachel severely, who shrinks back a little. "Young woman, we need your help."

"Young woman?" Rachel bleats. "You're, like, way younger than me!"

"She really isn't," Percy says quickly. "But – please, we'll explain later. We need your help. Have you noticed any of the monsters we talked about hanging around here?"

"Some," Rachel says worriedly. "But they never seemed to care about me. Oh no – did I get you in trouble?"

"Nope, this is all us," Jason says, glancing behind them. "But we could get into a mess and we don't wanna blow up the building."

"Blow up the-"

"Do you know a way out of here?" Percy implores. "An alternate exit or something?"

"No," Rachel squeaks. "But – but there's maybe something that you can use. I think. I hope. Follow me."

She leads them to the back room – it looks like a typical storage room, nothing special, at least until Rachel removes a box from a corner and shows them the bit of wall it had been covering with a flourish.

"Ta-da," she says. "I noticed this my first day here, but I could never figure out what it was for. But look at the symbol-"

"The Delta," Piper says, pushing forward. She gazes back at them with shining eyes. "Guys, this is our way out – it's the Labyrinth!"

"Fuckin' bless," Percy says loudly.

"Fuck, we might still need you, though," Piper says. She grabs Rachel's hands and says a little forcefully, "Can you take a break now? For lunch? We need you to lead us to the first exit – none of us know where the tunnels will lead, but you'll be able to see the way."

"Okay," says Rachel agreeably. "Lemme ask my boss-" And she goes scampering back outside.

Percy watches the bounce of her curls. "You charmspoke her?"

"Just a little," Piper shrugs. "We really do need her."

"I think she'd have come even without your persuasion."

Piper raises a brow. "I couldn't afford to take that risk, though." Her eyes say, Besides, why do you care? And Percy turns away. He doesn't know why he feels protective over Rachel, kind of similar to how he used to feel about Nico and Bianca, but those are feelings to be examined at a later date, and so he shoves them aside.

Rachel walks back in, rubbing her hands together and grinning. "Leggo!"

"Leggo," Piper murmurs back, pricking her finger with the point of her dagger and touching the Delta on the wall – they all step back as it glows a dim blue, and then the panel slides open soundlessly, just tall enough for a grown man to squeeze through.

"How'd you do that?" Rachel asks in wonder. "I tried everything."

"It needs the touch of a demigod," Piper says, gesturing for Zoe to pass. "You knew there was something behind it?"

"Not knew, exactly," Rachel answers, abashed. She scratches a cheek that is dotted with freckles, and now that Percy's seen them he wonders how he'd missed them before – there are hundreds of them, spread across her face and arms and shoulders. "I just felt like it was important. That's why –" she tugs on her jeans – "I drew it so often."

Piper nods slowly. "Interesting." She glances at Percy. "You could be right."

"About what?" Rachel asks curiously.

"Later," says Percy, pushing Rachel lightly towards the tunnel. "Let's go."

Inside the passage it's narrow and musty, kind of like how old libraries get when nobody's been in for a while. Percy coughs as Zoe and Jason both switch on their flashlights and shine them in a circle around them.

The door shuts itself behind them, and Rachel startles. She shifts a bit closer to Percy and glances up at him. "How will I get back?"

"I'll give you my blood for the return journey," Piper says easily, like she's talking about a simple set of keys. Rachel makes a small whimpering noise. "You'll be fine."

Zoe clears her throat. "This portion of the Labyrinth seems like it has been unused for many years now." She shines her torch up at the ceiling, from which dust rains down steadily. "But as long as it leads us away from here, we should be fine. Rachel, do you feel anything?"

"I can't really feel anything other than extreme terror, but I can see - that," Rachel says in a shaky voice, pointing at the floor. "It's like – this golden shimmer. You guys don't?"

They all shake their heads.

"Oh," Rachel mutters. "Cool. No pressure."

"Hey." Percy places a hand on her shoulder. "Like I said, I get that it's a lot, but we need you right now. Do you think you can take us to an exit?"

"Yeah," Rachel says quietly, glancing quickly at his hand. "Yeah, for sure. I-I feel like there's one not too far away."

"Great," Percy says gratefully. "Lead the way."

"O-okay," she says, but she doesn't move. It's only when she looks at Percy fearfully that he gets it.

He unsheathes his sword and heads further inside; the rest catch on quick and draw their own weapons. Jason hands Percy his flashlight, and he shines it into the murky corridor, squinting.

"Looks clear," he says. "I'll take the lead, then Rachel, then Piper, then Jase, then Zoe. Cool?"

"Cool," Piper says, and she's biting down a smile as she says it. Percy considers Piper a really good friend, now, and they're usually on the same wavelength. He usually gets what she's trying to say, even if she's not explicitly saying it, but for the life of him he can't figure out what that smug little grin means.

He frowns at her and begins to walk.

The path proves to be a complicated one – they come to a crossroads quite a few times, and Percy knows for sure that if he'd been alone he would have gotten lost in a heartbeat, wandering round and round in circles till he lost his mind. But with Rachel behind him, pointing out swiftly where to go, he feels infinitely better.

Finally Rachel whispers, "We're close," as she directs him left, and lo and behold, a few minutes later they get to a dead end, with another faint delta etched into the concrete.

Percy draws blood from his own sword so he can touches the symbol, shooting the others a thumbs-up when the doorway shifts into the wall, leading to the outside.

He steps through – they're in some kind of basement. A parking lot, actually – Percy tries to read the sign, but it's too far.

"Hoover Dam museum," Rachel says quietly, stepping out from behind him and looking around in a daze. "It's in the city, how the hell did we get here?"

"Magic," Piper says, wriggling her fingers.

"I – I can see that," Rachel replies weakly. "I have so many questions-"

"For later, I promise," Percy says.

"Why not now?" Rachel demands mutinously. "Why can't I come with you – I can help!"

"Look-" Percy looks at the rest of his friends for assistance, but when nobody seems particularly forthcoming, he sighs in frustration. "It's not that you're not a help. I mean, you pretty much saved all our asses right now, and we all owe you for that. But – we're gonna be in a lot of danger now. There's gonna be fighting and we can't just drag you into that."

"Your sword didn't even touch me!"

"Yeah, but the people we're fighting won't care about hurting a mortal," Percy explains, patting his own sword. "And – you can't just go running with us across the country, your parents will worry about you, right?"

"Please." She scoffs bitterly, crossing her arms and glaring at the floor. "They don't care. They want to raise a good little girl and they got stuck with me. I'm sure they'd throw a party if I ran away."

"I-" Percy falters, because he recognizes her tone all too well, he's thought along similar lines about the gods so many times he can't even count. "But-"

"Look, Rachel, I'm gonna be frank with you here," Piper says, placing both hands on her hips. "We're on a kind of mission right now to get back one of our friends who's been taken. It's gonna get dark and scary and I genuinely don't know if we're all going to make it out alive. But everyone here –" She throws her hand in a casual circle – "has been trained for this. You haven't been, and it would be irresponsible of us to throw you into that kind of danger when you've only just begun to understand our world."

Rachel is silent for a while. She gulps. "I'd…be a burden, huh."

"I wouldn't be that harsh," Piper says. "Because like Percy said, you did save us now. But if you got into trouble, if you got hurt and we couldn't save you? We'd never forgive ourselves for putting you in the position to be harmed."

"I get it," Rachel says, her tone bitter. "I hate it, but I get it."

"And we'll get you in touch with our friends," Jason adds.

"Yeah," Percy says eagerly, "we'll get a satyr to come get you-"

"A satyr?" Rachel demands. "A what? Did you say satyr? Like in Narnia?"

"Nope." Percy grins when she socks him in the arm. "But just hang tight for a little while, okay?"

"Okay," she says uneasily. "Okay. But – what if I have to go home? What if my dad wraps up early? What if the-the satyr doesn't find me?"

"Uh…" says Percy, unsure, glancing at Piper, who frowns and shrugs. "Uh…in that case-"

"Ugh, here," Rachel says, whipping out a marker from her pocket. She nods at Percy. "Arm, please."

"What?"

"Arm," Rachel says, extending her own, and when Percy copies the motion, she quickly jots down a series of digits across his forearm, adding her name in capital letters at the bottom.

"If I'm not at this Camp place," she says, flushing crimson and pointing her permanent marker right between his eyes – "you have to come get me somehow. I don't care about the details. I-I finally found out that the world I'm living in has been a lie, but also not a lie, and even though it's fucking insane I feel like I belong here, if that makes sense. And so I'm not letting this go." She sniffs haughtily at him. "Deal?"

"Deal," says Percy almost automatically, a little stunned, and she beams.

"Then I release you," she says, bowing magnanimously. "Go continue your super secret mission."

"Cool," says Piper, grinning. "I'll see you soon, I guess?"

"Hopefully," says Rachel, shaking her hand. "It was nice meeting you guys. All of you."

"Oh, wait." Piper quickly slits her finger with Katoptris and rubs the blood on Rachel's thumb.

"This feels like some kind of cult ritual," Rachel remarks.

"Try opening the door?"

Rachel presses the delta, and it obliges. She beams. "I could get used to this."

"Get back safe," Percy blurts out, and Rachel grins at him.

"Yeah, don't worry about lil' ol' mortal me," she teases. "I can see the way home. You focus on staying alive and getting your friend back."

"Yeah, Percy, focus," Piper mumbles pointedly from behind him. He steps on her foot and she squeals, hopping around and cursing him.

Rachel steps halfway into the tunnel. She turns around and waves at them.

Her eyes – they're really green. Her smile is kinda infectious, too. It's like someone else is controlling his body, but he waves back.

"See you, Percy Gottago," Rachel calls, turning away. "Don't forget my number!"

The door slides shut behind her before he can say anything back. He glances at his arm and rubs at a 9. It doesn't budge. He feels like he's been dunked into a tub of ice-cold water. Why does it feel like he's moving so slowly?

"Nice tattoo," Piper drawls, draping an arm over his shoulder. "It's kinda cute. Suits you."

"What?" he asks, turning to face her – and he wishes he hadn't, because her grin is so catlike and so knowing that it makes his stomach squeeze. Behind her, Jason's shaking his head, amused, and Zoe just looks utterly done with them all.

"What?' he asks again.

"Nothing," Piper says innocently. "Just – remember what she said and don't forget her number."

"Fuck off," he says in response, hefting his backpack over his shoulder and rolling his neck. "You remember what she said and try not to die."

"Yeah, yeah," she grins, and Percy rolls his eyes, already making his way to the exit.

"My memory is shit, anyway," Percy says to no one in particular. "I wouldn't even remember the number if she wrote it on my inner eyelids."

But he is already repeating the digits inside his head, again and again and again and again, and the sequence is already beginning to sound familiar. Chances are he's definitely not going to forget Rachel – or her number - anytime soon.

/

Annabeth is fairly sure she isn't going to survive long.

The good thing about being aware of this fact is that she now feels entitled to as much self-delusion as she can manage, and therefore spends a lot of her time just – thinking useless things. She counts all the prime numbers before 500. She goes through a list of her favorite monuments. She spends her days building castles in the sky, daydreaming about happier days and inventing new worlds entirely, worlds coated in warmth and sunshine, worlds where her parents are together, where Luke hasn't turned, where Thalia survives, where the Titans don't exist. Worlds where Annabeth is the architect of a New Age of art, and science, and culture, and equality, and progress –

The worst part is opening her eyes to find herself still stuck on the godforsaken mountain with the sky breaking her back. There is no happy place in the real world.

Sometimes she wonders if it were better if she just – no. She can't wish for death, even though she's losing her will fast. She can't take the easy way out.

Having all this time to think has also forced her to face some important truths about herself. She now knows, for example, that even though she prides herself on her logician's mind and swift ability to make decisions, she can be prone to tempers, and that she has the tendency to act rashly. She finds it hard to take feedback when she'd emotionally charged, too – and that's been proven in this very situation.

She also knows that she spends far too much time thinking of Percy.

If she's being brutally, brutally honest with herself, she knows that this new disturbing tendency isn't really new at all – Percy Jackson's occupying her thoughts had started practically from the moment they'd clapped eyes on each other.

There's something about him. Something odd and weird and magnetic – a pull she knows Percy feels, too - even though he's rather a mess. A mess with a crooked smile and untameable hair and green eyes that make her want to spill all her secrets to him. Which she's pretty much already done, to be honest. Annabeth doesn't open up easy, but something about Percy has gotten her to drop her guard – and something needs to be done about that. Their bond has far surpassed that of normal friends, and either she needs to sort herself out and purge this bizarre, overwhelming attraction she feels for him, or she needs to confront it head-on, but with her luck, pursuing anything could turn out to be a complete disaster.

It's not really the kind of dilemma one would expect her to be pondering over whilst being stranded in the heart of enemy territory. It's a good thing that she doesn't have the energy to be quite that honest with herself just yet.

The fact that Kronos knows of his existence terrifies her more than she'll ever admit. This confirms more than ever before the presence of a mole in the Bunker Nine, where Annabeth had always felt safest.

That's a problem for when she gets out of here, she convinces herself. For when she can go to Nine and investigate herself.

She also spends a lot of her time thinking of alternatives.

What if Grover hadn't told Percy about Luke? What if she'd left the Quest to someone else? What if she'd chosen not to go to him on Othrys?

All had been possibilities. All had been impossible.

Annabeth's never been one for self-loathing or anything of the sort. Her first days in Bunker Six she'd been conflicted about everything – her parentage, her place in this new life, and what everything was meant for. And then Olivia, her late half-sibling who'd been at Six at the time, having been scouted shortly before her, nodded at her sagely and told her something that would stick with her forever.

"It's a lot to take in," she'd said. "I get that. But here's how I see it. When I'm in a crisis, I need something to believe in to keep me grounded, keep me sane. I can either choose to believe in the gods to help me out in times of trouble, or I can choose to believe in myself." She laughed. "And I sure as fuck don't believe in myself."

Annabeth has always felt differently. She's always been confident in her own self – in her smarts and her actions and her decision-making skills. In a pinch she doesn't pray to Athena or any of the other gods. She takes a breath and thinks, How can I get myself out of this?

This whole situation is really making her own herself in a way she probably never has before. She feels stripped down to the bone, exposed to the world. Bleeding raw with nobody to help patch up the wound.

Because she'd fucked up. She had and she knows it and now it's like all the simple facts that had once made up her entire world are slowly falling apart. Annabeth is the smart one. Annabeth thinks before she acts. Annabeth is a survivor. Annabeth is a child of Athena. Annabeth has a family in Thalia and Luke. Annabeth believes in herself before any god -

-But should she?

She chokes on a broken sob, feeling, for the first time, her arms really begin to shake violently and her thighs threaten to give. She'd been holding up the sky with nothing more than her own mental strength, she realizes with a pang – and now that's finally beginning to crumble as well.

What happens if she drops the burden? What if she gives up? Will the sky push her body into the mountain and batter her into nothing? Will she cease to exist entirely?

Maybe, she thinks hopelessly, squeezing her eyes shut, maybe then she'll finally be free.

She is drowning. She's surrounded by thick, inky water that surrounds her limbs and curls around her throat. Annabeth tries to breathe, to gasp into the gloom, but chokes. Her legs kick uselessly. Her hands scratch upwards, towards a streams of light that just penetrates the surface but cannot seem to reach her.

As she sinks, she thinks that she had quite a good life, even if it did end up being up overall meaningless. She did her duties to the best of her ability. She remained a loyal friend to the end. And she did make the most wonderful friends.

Bubbles erupt around her. She opens her eyes to find that she's gliding towards the light, a flurry of glistening bubbles surrounding her, lifting her up and up and up until her head breaks through the surface and she gasps, taking in a deep lungful of air that has her eyes tearing up unconsciously. She's so happy to be alive.

"Jeez," comes a voice, and Annabeth paddles around in a frantic circle, stopping clumsily when she sees Percy lounged lazily on a pier no more than a few feet away.

He looks so good. So good and so healthy and so fresh and so bright. This is Percy, for sure, but it is maybe how Percy ought to be in another life – he looks different, so visibly happy, rather unlike the slightly thinner, more harrowed version of him she knows to be real. This Percy must be a figment of her own imagination, but her eyes smart as she takes in the sight of him with a kind of ravenous greed one would expect to see in a starving man.

His hair is gleaming. His eyes sparkle. His arms are brown and strong. He wears an orange t shirt that actually looks stretched across the shoudlers, like he's been eating and working out regularly. He looks so beautiful and brilliant that Annabeth barely has time to make sense of their surroundings – a ring of trees, a worn path leading to the pier Percy's on, and the faint scent of strawberries in the air. Annabeth watches as he raises a casual eyebrow at her and rolls into a kneeling position, leaning forward towards her.

"You okay?" he asks. "Didja tangle your legs in the weeds again? You were down there a while."

She can't move. She can't speak. She wants to reach out and grab him and bury herself right in the middle of his chest and just be. She wants to breathe in his scent, which she hadn't realized she'd even really registered but here she is, just itching to be close to him so she can smell the ocean wind on his skin.

The smile on his face fades from playful to something so fond and intimate that it makes her entire chest throb with the weirdest kind of nostalgia.

"You okay?" he asks, and then he's extending his hand out towards her. It's broad and scarred and rough-looking. Annabeth wants to hold it more than anything else in the world.

"Come on," he smiles. "I'll help you up."

On instinct she reaches out for him, even though her body had been rebelling against her will all this time. But she splashes towards him desperately, gasping a little, reaching her own arms out. One touch, she thinks. One touch and she'll be okay. She'll be safe.

Their fingers touch. Percy's not-quite smile radiates warmth.

"Up we go," he says, and Annabeth's eyes fly open.

The illusion trickles away into nothing, dazzling green trees and blue skies fading back to the grey landscape of her reality. Annabeth sniffs for the strawberries again but smells only the rain hitting the ground and the crackle of ozone in the air.

It's odd how she wants to cry., but it's not from sadness, not exactly. She just feels overwhelmed, all her emotions spilling out of her at long last.

Her fingertips tingle as though still reeling from the shock of Percy's touch. As though he'd been real.

She ought to feel worse than ever. And yet against all odds she feels rejuvenated. The memory of Percy's smile seeps into her entire body from the roots of her hair all the way down to her trembling toes. Had it been a vision of the future? A desperate illusion her own mind had conjured to bring her back from the brink? Whatever the case, it had worked. Annabeth feels better, filled with a new determination.

This isn't the end of the world. This isn't the end of her fight. She isn't drowning. Her feet are just caught in some weeds, that's all, and all she has to do is kick herself to the surface.

She has to believe in something, something to keep herself grounded. She does not, will not, and cannot believe in the gods when they barely exist anymore. She doesn't really believe in herself, either. She doesn't deserve to trust herself after everything.

But she can believe in – Percy. She can believe in the bonds that she's forged with so many of her Bunkermates. She can believe that they will come for her. She can believe that she is not alone.

And, days later, when Luke returns, she doesn't flinch away from his delicate touch as he reaches out for her face and pushes a greying curl behind her ears. She looks at him steadily, and something in his eyes flickers. He steps back, assessing.

He looks different. He feels different. Thinner, with a few more scars, wearing a dark jacket with the hood up. But there's some aura about him that hadn't been there before. It reeks of danger and she lets the information simmer, trying hard to think and not question him blindly. Reckless actions lead to nothing but regret.

He doesn't say anything, just hovers around her softly in a move that's oddly domestic and heartbreaking, as though he wants to behave the way he once had done with her. Comfortable and casual. The tension in his shoulders slowly bleeds away, leaving him looking tired, but still lethal and regal in the dying light. She watches him openly, not bothering to conceal her curiosity, and when he finally kneels in front of her so that they are eye level, she meets his gaze with what she hopes is a resolute one of her own.

She does not speak as Luke brings her some water, and she studies the scars littered across his skin. He notices her looking and pulls down the sleeve, hiding them with the thin layer of cloth.

Finally, he speaks.

"The daughter of Aphrodite," he says haltingly. "The son of Jupiter. The son of Poseidon."

Their eyes meet.

"They're coming," he whispers. "For you."

And Annabeth –

Annabeth is not alone.

She smiles.

"I know," she says.

/

Jason wakes up to sweat running down the side of his face. Krios's words still ring in his head: you or her. You or her. You or her.

He lies where he is for a while, just heaving silently. Piper's snuggled up by his side, lying almost wholly on his outstretched arm, which has lost all sensation. Her head is tipped back, her mouth slightly open, and with each exhale a tiny snore escapes her lips.

Despite the uncomfortable lack of feeling in his arm, he smiles. Sometimes he's so caught up, he thinks, in all the perfect moments they've shared together, all the wonderful scenarios, that it's easy to forget that the less-than-ideal ones make what they have feel all the more real.

He shifts a little, wincing as his hand regains a bit of feeling. Piper doesn't seem to notice that her arm-shaped pillow is being moved; she just turns over and sniffs. Jason moves down so that they're face to face, and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. When she responds only with a tiny snuffle, he repeats the motion on her shoulder. He swallows, relieved and overcome, a quick thank you for being alive.

It must've been Percy's watch, because he's sat against a tree, arms crossed, but his eyes are closed. Jason can see Rachel's number branded into his skin, just above his SPQR tattoo. His brows are furrowed, like he's having a bad dream, too.

Zoe is nowhere to be seen. Jason sits up, crawls over to Percy, and shakes him lightly by the shoulder – Percy awakens with a gasp, eyes flying open and hands moving to his empty belt, but he relaxes when he sees it's just Jason. He gestures to the empty space beside Piper, and Percy shoots him a grateful smile and a murmured thanks as he shuffles to her side and lies down, snuggling into the blankets Jason had left behind and making sure to throw the extra part of it over Piper, too.

Jason's heart warms at the sight. He's glad he has them, and he's glad they'll have each other when he's gone.

He yawns behind his hands, standing up and rubbing them together to warm them up. The fire's going out, so he pushes some new twigs into the hearth and circles the trees around their camp, looking for more fodder. He picks up a handful, places it by the fire, and wonders what to do next.

Zoe emerges from the trees directly in front of him, a beautiful grey wolf at her heels. She frowns at Jason in surprise before leaning down and fishing a bit of burger they'd stolen the day before from her pack. She feeds it to the wolf, strokes its fur lightly, and they both watch as it darts away, running past Jason without even a sideways glance.

"I am sending him to Bunker Seven. Will Solace will know what to do with respect to Rachel," Zoe explains in a whisper. "I hope someone finds her soon."

"Me, too." Jason watches the fire crackling and is reminded of a simpler time before the War – he and Thalia had been sitting by the campfire, all alone, sharing whatever dim recollections they had left from their home. It had been mostly Thalia talking and Jason laughing as they tried to roast expired marshmallows over the fire.

When she described Jason trying to eat the stapler, he'd promptly proceeded to choke on his marshmallow and she'd had been forced to intervene with her version of the Heimlich manoeuvre, which, though successful, had left Jason with sore ribs for nearly a week afterwards.

It's a good memory.

"You knew my sister, didn't you?" he asks Zoe abruptly, who jerks slightly at the sound of his voice. She softens quickly, though, and nods.

"I did," she answers. "To some extent." She examines Jason critically from head to toe. "I thought you would be more like her, if I'm being honest."

"I think everyone thought that would be the case," Jason responds, smiling a little. "Thalia was a lot more…yeah. She was just a lot more."

"She was a pain in the ass," Zoe says bluntly, which startles a surprised laugh out of him. "In many ways, you both are as different as a pair of siblings can be. Your sister and I butted heads constantly. She was…a high-strung, high-maintenance, world-wrecking whirlwind of a girl. She would get her way and damn the consequences, even if her way was wrong, because she cared more about the outcome than anything else." She snorts. "I think I learned, in my few interactions with her, that I'd have to run if I didn't want to be run over."

Jason, who knows all this to be true, still feels the need to defend his sister. "She was headstrong. So what?"

"So nothing," Zoe says, letting out a rare laugh and crossing her arms. "Just because we gave each other a hard time doesn't mean I respected her any less. She was a fearsome warrior and had a charisma and self-drive the likes of which I have not seen in decades. Losing her was…a blow."

He nods, picking up on a pensive, almost regretful edge to her words. He kicks at the ground listlessly.

"I heard you tried to recruit Annabeth," he says conversationally, remembering Leo's words, and Zoe's lips quirk upwards.

"I didn't know that was common knowledge," she replies. "I got the impression that she didn't want people to know."

"That's probably true," he allows. "It was a sensitive time. I think people would've lost heart without her there."

"A fact that I am sure influenced her decision to stay," Zoe says. "I understand – but it was a pity. She would have been a great asset to the Hunt. But her heart, like your sister's, was always with you demigods." She shrugs. "To each their own, I suppose."

"What's Thalia got to do with it?"

Zoe blinks at him. "Oh, but maybe you don't know," she says, almost to herself. To Jason, she adds, "We tried to recruit her ages ago, when she was still on the road with Annabeth and the boy." Her nose scrunches up in distaste, and with a stab of revulsion, Jason thinks, Luke.

"She declined?"

"Immediately." Zoe shrugs with a frown. "She didn't want to leave Annabeth and Luke behind – we could not have recruited Annabeth back then, of course – she was too young. And Luke – out of the question."

"Oh," Jason murmurs. "She…never told me."

Zoe shifts uneasily. "Perhaps it was not important to her. Even I do not like to remember that day – I am not proud of how I acted." She glances at him and lets out a shuddering sigh. "We fought that day, your sister and I. It got quite ugly. My emotions, my own desperation to keep the Hunt alive, got the best of me."

"You fought?" Jason's seen Thalia angry, really angry, and wonders how Zoe is alive. "What about?" Because she rejected you?"

"Partly." Zoe rubs her arm. "Times were grim and my sisters were growing restless. I was – I am lieutenant, but…to tell you the truth…" Here she pauses. "I do not want you to take this in the wrong way."

"Why would I?" At her severe look, he sighs. "I won't."

"I feel as though I am living on borrowed time," Zoe says bluntly, and the lack of any real emotion or self-pity in her voice makes Jason stand up straight in surprise. She rubs her arm. "I do not want you to hear this and assume I am giving up, because I am not." Her eyes flash – "I would give my life in a heartbeat if it meant ridding the world of the Titans. But the fact remains that if this were a perfect world, where there was no threat to us, I would give up my life – willingly – anyway."

"Why?" Jason asks hoarsely; she shoots him a look and he clears his throat. "Um. Why?"

She bites her lip. Slowly, methodically, she begins to pull on each of the fingers on her right hand with her left.

"We Hunters," she begins, "are immortal – but it is not true immortality. The goddess Artemis gifts us eternal life when we join the Hunt, but if we fall in battle, we will die."

She looks upward, the air still from a truth so heavy. "The day I was chosen to be Lieutenant was the best day of my life, behind the day the goddess found me. I love my fellow Hunters like they are my own sisters. They will not have a bad word to say of me, nor I of them. But…I cannot shake this feeling. This sense that I have been alive for – much too long, and my knowledge has not improved. I feel – stagnant, in a way."

He remains silent, because he really does get it, even without the surety behind her words. He understands what it's like to feel out of his depth in a role he's unfit to play. Even from their fight before against the lion – he'd felt so guilty. He'd gotten wiped out early and had missed the skirmish entirely, and then as he'd slowly begun to regain his senses, he'd felt like a burden. He'd felt stupid and useless even though he knew that these things are inevitable. The number of times he'd found himself knocked unconscious in his young life, he'd thought to himself, vigorously trying to rub the muzziness out of his face, he probably would wind up struck blind one day.

His short while filling in Annabeth's shoes had left him exhausted. Jason can do the job just fine, he thinks, but running an army in wartime, when there are real lives in the balance, is a whole other matter. It reminded him of back in New Rome when he'd felt as though the weight of what felt like the whole world was resting on his shoulders far before he was ever ready to accept it.

He wonders how Zoe managed to stay strong in her centuries as lieutenant, how she deals with having to bend to the world, bend her body into shapes that don't even make sense anymore. Is she, too, filled with the pressure to be stronger, to be better, until the sensation burns so hard it is though her lungs are on fire?

She glances at Jason, shamefaced, misunderstanding the reason for his silence. "I know what you must think of me. Trying to recruit your sister – and Annabeth as well? You must think I was poaching them. But…" Here she stops. Her shoulders slump and her lips part on a sigh. "My real motive was to raise them to be the next Lieutenant."

"Oh." It's a lot to take in. Jason swallows, because he can kind of see her line of thinking. Both Annabeth and Thalia are strong-willed. Annabeth's more of a natural tactician – she tends to inspire with her calm confidence and cleverly laid-out strategies, whereas Thalia always motivated through her actions. That's why they made such a good team.

For a second, he's struck by the image of his sister in Zoe's place, wearing black and silver, the circlet resting on her head.

It would have suited her, he thinks.

"For what it's worth," he says hesitantly, because although they've all become closer on this Quest – even Percy has been treating Zoe with a grudging respect – he isn't quite sure how to talk to her. He isn't sure what it is. Maybe it's because the strength in her jawline, her regal bearing, and the way she makes judgments reminds him of Reyna. Maybe it's because her quick temper, accompanied by the occasional softness in her eyes and hands as she hands Piper a bottle of water, reminds him of Thalia.

"I think you're the best Lieutenant the Hunters could have hoped for," he continues. "And if Artemis chose you…she must've had a reason."

"True," Zoe says, eyes clouded. "True."

"Can I ask…why you're telling me all this?" he asks, scratching the back of his neck for want of something to do. "I mean – not that I don't appreciate it, but-"

She shrugs. "I'm not sure. This is the first time I've admitted it out loud – god knows I cannot tell the others. But I just…I felt like you would understand."

Her gazes pierces right through him. Jason feels a drop of sweat travel down his neck. Maintaining eye contact with her in that moment is the hardest thing he's ever done in his life.

What the fuck does that mean? Does she know what he's upto?

After what feels like an age, she turns away, exhaling into her open palms.

"I'm going to go back," she says. "Are you coming?"

"Uh, no," Jason stutters. "No – um, I uh. Need to, uh, pee?" He winces.

Zoe evidently doesn't believe him, but she just shrugs and walks away. Jason watches her until he's sure she's gone.

He sinks to his knees, breathing heavily, and clutches at his chest. His heart is thrumming. He takes a breath and tries to calm himself. There's no way she knows, there's no way. There's no way.

Hearing Zoe talk about her own acceptance of…death, it's hit him like a fucking truck. Because – he'd thought he'd known what he was getting into. But death is permanent. He isn't going to be magically resurrected like Hazel. When he dies, his blood will stop flowing and his skin will grow cold and his eyes will stop seeing. He will just – cease, and that's fucking scary.

He doesn't want to die, is the thing. All he's ever, ever wanted is to be with his family. It's dictated all his choices thus far. He chose to follow Thalia when she decided to run away. He chose to leave New Rome to be with her. And he's choosing death now for the rest of his new family to live.

It's the only way, he tells himself. It's the only way – but that doesn't make it any less scary.

The thought of not waking up one day overwhelms him, because it defines everything he's ever known about life. You wake up, and you do whatever, and you sleep, but you always wake up the next day. What's gonna happen when he doesn't?

Piper's going to hate him. Leo's going to hate him. Annabeth's going to hate him. Will they care that he's doing this for them? Or will they just be angry that he never gave them the choice to find another way?

He runs a hand through his hair, gulps loudly. He checks again to ensure he's alone, buries his head in his arms, and allows himself a few seconds to cry.

He doesn't really make any noise, but his body wracks from the force of the sobs and he feels the tears wetting his hoodie. He breathes deeply through his mouth, a low, pitiful-sounding gasp that just makes him feel worse. When his chest stops heaving, he wipes at his eyes and sniffs.

Then he takes the chalk from his pocket, marks the lowest branches of the nearest trees around him, and makes his way back to the campsite.

/

Frank wakes up to brown eyes about an inch from his own.

He screams – because of course he screams. Leo, who evidently hadn't been expecting him to wake up so suddenly, scrambles away just as Frank does and ends up taking half-leaps away, rolling into the underbush and out of his range. Frank backs away, spooked, and realizes too late that there's a tree headed his way – he barely has time to think Oh fuck, that's a fucking tree, and I'm going to ram into it and hit my head before he rams into it, hitting his head, and falls to the ground, groaning.

Oops.

Trees, he thinks groggily, really aren't as soft as they ought to be. He coughs, staring up at the sky through the leafless branches and thinking about it. Like, grass is soft, and leaves are soft, and actually most plants are quite soft, really, except, like, cacti, but are those plants? And even they're not…hard. They're more of the sting-y, prickly variety.

Trees, though. They're definitely hard. Yep.

It's then that Frank realizes that his head hurts like a bitch. He groans and touches it.

He tries to stand and finds that his legs are a mess of bruised muscles and scratches. His pants have been torn up to the knee and he stares at his mauled calves, overcome, becoming more and more aware that something bad had happened to him, only he can't recall a damn thing since leaving the cave. He doesn't even remember crying out or anything - his voice had been choked with pain as he passed out into darkness. What the hell?

He swallows thickly and looks at his hands. They swim before his eyes. Did he always have twenty fingers?

Leo emerges from the bush with leaves in his hair. He grumbles as he pats away the dirt from his butt and looks sideways at Frank before making his wat over to him and standing almost directly over his face. Frank feels woozy. He peers up at Leo's face that's suddenly where the sky had been a minute ago. Is it really Leo? Hi, Leo.

"Hi, Leo," he says. He flails a hand up to the still semi-undefined image of the familiar face above him, smacking him in the process.

"Ow!" Leo hisses, exasperated, bringing up his hands to examine the offended feature. "Dude!"

"I'm sorry!" Frank moans, staring in astonishment at his own hands. They go in and out of focus and Frank trembles. Had he been hit too hard in the head? Has his vision been damaged? The sudden adrenaline shoots him bolt upright, but the intensity of the pain in his head brings him back down again, groaning, with his face in his hands. He fights down a wave of nausea.

"Calm down, man," Leo says. "You just woke up, you're probably still concussed. We'll bring you back to camp and you'll be fine in no time."

"Oh," says Frank. "Right, of course." He coughed, embarrassed.

Leo snorts. "Do you need help?" he asks, which is when Frank remembers why he hit the tree in the first place.

"You surprised me," he says.

"In my defense, I thought you were still knocked out." Leo watches as Frank struggles to stand, leaning heavily against a rock and trying to use only his arms to haul his entire body up. "Um, yeah, that's not working. You really need some help, dude."

"No," he says, and right on cue his legs give out beneath him. He slumps back to the ground. "Just a little bruised."

"You Ares kids and your pride," Leo grumbles, and suddenly Frank's left arm is lifted and Leo is underneath it, his other arm wrapped around Frank's waist. Frank's so shocked at Leo's willingness to help that he forgets to protest that he doesn't need it, but it's easier to stand, now, and so he does and limps forward until he gets to the nearest tree.

"Is it really you?" he wonders aloud. "Or are you a monster?"

"I'm not a monster," Leo proclaims. "I'm your fairy godmother." He lets go of Frank and spreads his arms out akin to a particularly benevolent mother. His eyes flutter shut and he smiles angelically. "And I am here to tell you to stop being such a fucking train wreck."

"Ugh," Frank groans, trying to kick Leo away, but his legs scream with the movement and he hisses. Leo makes a soft sound which is almost completely drowned out by a shout of "Leo! I gave you one job!" and all of a sudden all Frank's brain can comprehend is Hazel, Hazel, Hazel.

She emerges from the trail looking like some lost woodland goddess, hair bouncing and puffing in the soft breeze, soft nose wrinkling as she smiles at them, lifting the sweet curve of her cheekbones and the chiselling line of her jaw. Her lips look soft and her eyes are exactly what you read about in a storybook: unreal and magical and bewitching. And then the sun falls over her as she runs toward him and turns her eyes and the surface of her skin and the tips of her hair to molten bronze. Frank audibly catches his breath, ignoring the coughed-out "Simp," that Leo grunts under his breath.

And then she smushes his face with both her hands and quite forcibly turns his head to the right, then the left. Frank tries to speak, but she shushes him. Leo snickers off to the side, and she shushes him too.

Frank isn't sure what she's looking for until her fingers graze the side of his head and he winces.

"The bleeding's stopped," she murmurs, "but we shouldn't risk anything." She releases Frank and turns to glare at Leo. "You were just supposed to clean his leg wounds, not remove his bandages!"

"I was going to wash it!" Leo protests, and now Frank notices he's clutching a clothes stained with red between his fingertips. "He just woke up and started running."

"I didn't run," Frank says. "I can't run."

Hazel sighs and places both arms on her waist. "Ugh, whatever, it's fine. Leo, your arms are okay, right?"

Leo glances down at his arms, which have been wrapped completely with a thin, cream-coloured cloth. He gasps dramatically, and says in a surprisingly-passable Irish accent, "Good golly, I'm white!"

Hazel takes one large step forward and whacks Leo on the head. "You idiot! You're supposed to be resting too, don't think I haven't forgotten – none of this would have happened if you just didn't touch shady plants-"

"The berries looked hella edible," Leo says petulantly. "Arion ate them just fine."

"Arion's a horse!" Hazel looks to be at her wits' end. "And he saved you when you ran into those-those acid spitting snake monster things-"

"A horse did not save me," Leo says, brows furrowed. "I saved me."

"You ran in there with no plan whatsoever! Those monsters had acidic venom, thank god they were just babies! It burned through your clothes! Your arms looked like rancid meat!"

Leo blinks at her. "But did they look like sexy rancid meat?"

"I hate you," says Hazel scathingly. "Just – go back to camp and try not to die on the way there."

Frank looks at his own arms. "Do I look like rancid meat, too?"

She huffs, but he can tell she's trying hard not to smile. "No, but if you did, you'd be the sexy rancid meat –"

"First of all," Leo interjects loudly, "that's plagiarism. And also, again – I love that you're together and I fully support you, but that doesn't mean I actually want to see it."

"Leo, go away," Hazel orders, whipping her head round to glare at him; Leo opens his mouth to speak, but her expression must turn into something thunderous because he purses his lips and mimes zipping them up before backing away without complaint, even though he mouths a Good luck at Frank before jogging away between the trees.

Hazel turns to him again, and she sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes shining with a relief so acute it looks almost like pain. Her frame softens as she takes him in, and without speaking a word she allows him to collapse against her, cooing softly when he groans in pain.

"I wish you hadn't taken off your bandages," she says quietly, "but I'm so, so glad you're awake." She looks up at him, blinking slowly. "You missed a lot."

"Yeah, sounds like it," he murmurs. "How long was I out?"

"Couple of days." She brushes a bit of his hair back from his forehead. "It's grown so much now. Remember how short it was when we first met?"

"It was basically a buzz cut." Frank reaches up and pulls at a long lock of hair between two fingers. She's right; it's grown quite a bit – he can see it even when he pulls it down his forehead.

"I can cut it," she offers. "When we get back to camp. If you'll let me."

"Better than letting Leo burn it off," Frank agrees. Then – "Camp?"

"You'll see." Hazel threads their fingers together and looks at their hands, at the alternating colours of their skin. "It's…a lot."

"Must be a lot if there's a horse involved," he says, eyebrows raised. Hazel laughs a tad sheepishly. "I'm assuming that's what knocked me out?"

"Yes," she admits grudgingly, "but only because you startled him! I told you and Leo to wait –"

"You're defending a horse-"

"He's really cute! His name is Arion."

"-over me."

"I'm not choosing him over you!" she laughs, giggling as Frank pointedly averts his gaze. "Oh gosh, stop it, you big drama queen."

"If you want to break up with me you can just say it," Frank says, sighing dramatically, but he can't help but crack a smile when she pokes him in the stomach and forces him to look at her.

"I don't want that," she says earnestly. "At all."

Her blunt honesty makes his entire body glow; he cannot seem to look away from her, mostly because of the way she beams at him. The dappled light makes her shimmer, curls falling right between her eyes, and he tries to resist the urge to brush it away, before realizing that he's her boyfriend and he can do shit like this now, so he does. She grins shyly and he hopes she doesn't notice his blush.

"Uh, yeah, me too," he manages to get out, realizing that he's gone too long just staring at her. All these days of not speaking has left a sense of urgency scratching in his chest. Even though his arms hurt when he left them he runs a hand down her back, marvelling silently at how strong she is. It's easy to underestimate Hazel because of her size – she's built small, body slim and regular until you check out her biceps and calves and see the indentation of muscles.

"You tired?" she whispers, tip-toeing so she can hook her chin around his shoulder. "I'll take you to camp. It's nice and warm and dry and we have food."

"Leo cooked?"

"He made some weird salad and sprinkled the leftover nachos we bought in it," she confirms, just as Frank's stomach lets out an embarrassing growl. She giggles. "Okay, someone's hungry."

"It's been days," he reminds her. "Of course I'm hungry."

"I know," she soothes, turning in place so he's leaning against her. The stupid, insecure part of Frank is instantly mindful of the difference in their sizes, but he's too weak to hold himself back and she manages to hold him up without any visible difficulty.

Slowly, they make their way through the woods. He looks around curiously, hoping to catch a glimpse of the camp, but spots nothing more than a few squirrels in their path that dart up the trees in response to their increasing proximity.

"I should tell you," he says, "that…back in the cave…I kinda freaked out."

She doesn't look surprised – Leo must've told her, then – and instead hums a bit sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Frank."

"It was my own fault," he grunts, "for being impatient. For not waiting for you. But –" And here he bites his lower lip in frustration. "But I'd had…a good talk with Leo the night before. I thought I'd conquered my fear." He snorts derisively. "Guess I was wrong."

"Fears don't vanish in a night," Hazel responds gently, casting him a warm look. "It's a long, slow, excruciating process. But don't discount the steps you've made – I mean, a month ago, would you have ever thought Leo would be your friend?"

Of course not. Frank from a month ago had been going out of his way to make sure he and Leo never even crossed paths. He remembers Leo saying you have friendship privileges too and feels his spirits lift a little.

"What do you fear?" he asks her, mostly out of curiosity, but her face falls and Frank wants to kick himself.

"You don't need to answer," he says, but she shakes her head.

"It's…a bit of an ironic fear," she says, smiling a bit sourly. "I'm scared of…death. Of the Underworld." She shakes her head. "Weird, right? Considering who my father is."

"Not at all," Frank says immediately, glancing down at his pocket, where his little deathstick seems to triple in weight. "I mean, you're talking to me. I've spent so much of my life just…trying to preserve whatever bit of my life I have left. Of course I fear death."

She purses her lips. "I just feel so ashamed of it, sometimes. Even though I know I shouldn't."

"You, more than anyone, has every right to fear death," he replies, trying to sound strong, yet not preachy. "I mean…you've-"

"Gone through it before," she sighs. "Yeah. I don't know. It's just that I remember Nico – he tried to take me with him when he shadowtravelled and I just…lost it. It brought back…" She swallows. "A lot."

She looks so tortured that Frank's own heart throbs in sympathy.

He reaches up and squeezes her hand with his free one. "Baby steps, remember?"

"Baby steps," she agrees, and it must work, because her smile is genuine, even though it fades quickly, replaced by a look of pensiveness.

"In the interest of total honesty," she says, "I had a flashback last night."

"What?" Frank squawks; a bird screes and takes flight from the tree just up ahead and they both jump.

"What?" he screeches again, this time in a whisper. "Hazel, that's not good…how long did it last? How long has it been since your last one?"

"It wasn't more than a couple of minutes, I think, Leo accidentally stepped on my hand as he was going to, um, the bathroom, and I woke up." She winces. "And…my last one was in the cave."

"The cave?" Frank curses himself for not noticing.

"Yeah," she murmurs. "That one was pretty long, I woke up when you touched me."

He remembers. He recalls with distinct clarity how he'd been petting her hair, how her expression had relaxed at the contact, how she'd shifted into him. He frowns.

"Twice in a week," he says.

"Hopefully it's nothing worrisome," she says bracingly.

"Hazel-"

"We'll talk about it," she says, "after you're all healed."

"Don't think I'll forget," he says severely.

She presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "I don't expect you to."

They walk on in a pleasant silence. Frank watches the tips of her frizzy curls bounce right beneath his nose and wonders about – everything. His own fear of dying, and hers, and what it means for them to have found each other.

"We're here," her soft voice alerts him. Frank looks up to find them in front of a curtain of vines; Hazel's hand pushes them aside to reveal a narrow tunnel – it looks just as dismal as the one he and Leo had travelled through, but Frank hears voices coming from within, and spots the familiar flicker of a fire.

Most of all –

"I can smell the food all the way from here." He'd been aiming for a tone of disapproval, but it comes out plaintive. "What if something comes for us?"

"Arion can fight it off," Hazel says confidently as they enter the passage. "I mean, he took care of you pretty well, right?"

"Low blow," he exclaims, delighting in the laugh it draws from her. "I didn't even know he was there."

"Excuses, excuses," Hazel mutters. Then she calls out – "Leo!"

"Oh, you guys made it," comes Leo's voice in response. He sounds relieved. "I was about to send a search party – Arion, jesus, can't you wait-"

The clip-clop of hooves approach them; it's a good thing Hazel had warned him about there being a horse here, because he definitely would've freaked out otherwise.

Backlit by Leo's fire – the son of Hephaestus looks slightly disgruntled to have to light the way – the animal looks majestic. It looks like – like Shadowfax, from Lord of the Rings, only its coat is a warm brown colour.

"You've got competition, Frank," Leo jokes, grinning.

"What do you mean-" Frank begins, only then noticing that the horse is leaning forward – he squeezes his eyes shut but it quickly becomes clear that it has zero interest in him. Instead it's directed all attention to Hazel, who's giggling as the horse nuzzles her, exhaling hot air through its nostrils and directly in her face, only she doesn't seem to mind.

"Ahahha – Frank, this is Arion," Hazel wheezes, pushing the horse's face away at last. "And he's a good boy! Aren't you?" Arion whinnies.

"Dude," Frank says. "Leo-"

"It's Rapunzel and Maximus from Tangled," Leo says. "I know. I know."

"Exactly."

Hazel spares another moment to pat Arion on the nose before venturing deeper into the cave; Leo stays a respectful distance away, which Frank appreciates, since he's still holding a ball of fire in his hand. Arion trots behind them, occasionally nosing at Hazel's hair and making her splutter in amusement.

"Oh, I guess I should warn you," Hazel says with a little start, just as the cave proper comes into view. It's kind of cute, reminds him a bit of Bunker Nine with how warm and home-y it feels. It's even got a skylight of sorts, allowing for the free passage of air.

He glances at the fireplace and balks.

"We made a friend," Hazel says, in a Surprise! kind of voice.

"With a homeless dude?" Frank hisses into her hair. The dude's asleep in front of the fire, legs covered by what might've once been a blanket but now looks to be little more than an oversized rag. His hair is way past his shoulders, reaching close to his waist. His features – though…something about them seem familiar. His ears are slightly pointed. Is he a nymph? But everyone said the Titans wiped them out-

He frowns, staring at the dude. Long, graceful fingers. What parts of his arms he can see are littered with long-faded scars. He is an older man, with no distinguishing characteristics except his extraordinary normalcy. He looks – thin. Weak. Super homeless.

"Um, not exactly," Hazel says, watching as Leo crosses over to him, putting out his little fire in favour of shaking the man's shoulder lightly. The man's eyes flash open, fixing at first on Leo, who mutters something Frank can't catch, before settling on him.

Frank at once is arrested by the age in his gaze. The quick once-over the man gives him is enough for Frank to feel as though all his flaws have been exposed. His eyes are sharp, intelligent – it's akin to being surveyed by Annabeth.

"Welcome, demigod," Mystery Man says, in a deep, soothing tone, sitting up straight. His legs don't move, but something about his posture suggests that he's a warrior.

Oh, Frank thinks. Not a homeless guy.

"Who are you?" Frank blurts out.

Hazel elbows him. Leo nods sagely. Frank feels stupid, like he should know who this is, but he can't put his finger on it.

The man only laughs.

"That," he says, "is a good question." He places a hand on his chest and inclines his head slightly, a gesture both polite and flattering.

"It has been many years since I met so many heroes," he says warmly, and there's a deep nostalgia laced in his words. "It's a delight to make your acquaintance, son of Mars. I am the son of Philyra."

Frank's mind begins to scan through the list of myths he knows. Given his own connection to a legend of old, he's read a lot, but he can't quite place the name.

"Philyra," he murmurs.

"Oooh, he's getting there, he's getting there," Leo says excitedly, like he's watching a quiz show.

"Dude, why are you acting like you got it on the first try," Hazel – who isn't even trying to help him, the traitor – admonishes. "We literally had to spell it out for you."

"Like you got it immediately."

"As a matter of fact, I did," Hazel says smugly. Leo's disbelieving scoff is drowned out by the man taking pity on Frank and offering in a kind voice, "Many know me instead as an exception to my kind. I was once favoured by the gods – I spent my time training young heroes, such as yourself." He smiles. "Just the Greek ones, though."

"But that doesn't make sense," Frank whispers. "I – if that's true, which it can't be, because that would be insane, everyone thinks you're dead."

"Oh, come on!" Leo crows, slapping a hand on his thigh. "Should we really be surprised by this shit anymore? Our world is fuckin' crazy, man. Nobody's really dead."

"Well," the man says thoughtfully, "I am immortal." Frank chokes.

"Say it," Hazel prompts in a whisper. "You can say his name, it's not a dream, I promise." She's smiling. She knows. She knows just how much Frank's wanted this.

The man – not a man? – smiles. "You know who I am, yes?"

Frank swallows, trembling all over and unable to speak, praying that this-this illusion, for it surely has to be a hallucination, will not be tarnished by him speaking his name out loud.

This is – this is someone he's idolized for a long time. A person he'd only dreamed of ever being tutored by. He's had fantasies of being taught archery by this man – a desperate vision soon dashed once Reyna told him of the reality of what had happened to the world of the gods since World War II.

Of course Frank knows who this is.

"I do," he says. "Chiron."

/

The terrain seems to be getting familiar, now.

He could be imagining things, of course. But Percy comes across a little clearing that he thinks might have been where he and Annabeth had that late-night talk where she told him she wouldn't be reckless, only to later on completely discard that oath entirely.

This thicket is where Percy and Piper made their own agreement to make sure they'd keep Annabeth out of trouble – and they'd both failed spectacularly. The thought makes him angry, and it must show in his face, because Piper takes one look at him and makes a small knowing noise. Percy likes that about her – she knows what he feels, but she isn't going make him say it.

In fact, the closer they get to their destination, the more on-edge Percy gets. It's not just that he's itching to save Annabeth – which he is, of course, but it feels bigger than that, somehow. He feels genuine anger boiling in his gut almost constantly these days. He wants to burn Othrys to the ground. He wants to get Annabeth away from there. And more than anything he wants to watch Luke die for all the pain he's caused to everyone.

It could be that his mood is affecting everyone else, but the air surrounding their little group seems to have darkened as well. Jason's grown moody, taking his anger out on trees when he thinks nobody else is looking – Zoe's grown grim and quiet, and even Piper's occasional attempt at conversation fall flat after the first few tries. Percy spends a lot of nights dreaming of running his sword through a faceless man's chest and then watching as Othrys crumbles around them. Dark thoughts, but strangely therapeutic.

The phone number Rachel had scrawled across his hand is beginning to fade, but Percy now knows the number by-heart, a fact he will never admit to Piper, who'd smirked at him when she'd caught him staring at the digits. And it's…something, all right. It's certainly something when he can't seem to forget the strange twinkle in her eyes as she'd grinned at him, wolfish, and waved goodbye. Like she'd known something he didn't.

One thing he's sure of is that some way or another, their paths will cross again. He doesn't know where or when or how, but it's just that weird kind of demigod intuition, he guesses. He just knows that while some things are not meant to be, this is. Rachel is important somehow.

The problem with thinking about Rachel is that the more he thinks of her, the more he inadvertently thinks of Annabeth. It's not like he's comparing the two – but maybe he is, kind of? He definitely doesn't mean to do it, but he keeps thinking of - like. Like what if Annabeth had been with them when they'd run into Rachel? Would the two of them have gotten along? And why the hell does it matter to Percy?

Gosh – it's like the nearer they get to Annabeth, the further away Percy feels from her. He'd spent all this time just focusing on saving her and getting her from Luke's clutches and now all he can think about is how she'd gone into them willingly. He'd spent so much time with her, talking to her and understanding her, but in the end…had he really? He'd definitely underestimated her love for Luke, at any rate. And it leaves him thinking – what if she doesn't want to be saved?

A hand lands on his shoulder and he starts, turning to find Piper standing close to her, her eyes clouded.

"I felt like I'd find you near the water," she says quietly. "Feels like the last time, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Percy agrees. "This even feels like the same stream." He touches it lightly with the flat of his palm.

Piper doesn't sit down, just crosses her arms and heaves a sigh. "And so can I assume you're thinking of how bad we fucked up when we were on the last Quest?"

"I can't stop thinking about it," he replies at once. "We told each other we'd protect her, and we just let her walk away."

Piper swallows. Her nostrils are flared like she's trying to cry. "I can't shake the image of her on Othrys, just –"

"Rushing to help Luke," Percy completes. His mouth feels dry and bitter, like he's just eaten a lemon. "Not even thinking about the consequences. You know when your body just moves-"

"Mm," Piper nods. "Without thinking. To protect. To attack." She touches her own lips briefly. "It happened to me once. During the War. When Jason was fighting Krios – I couldn't see him in pain anymore. I yelled out for everyone to stop without thinking of the consequences."

"I remember," Percy says.

"I got Jason stabbed," she whispers, and something tortured and broken in her eyes prompts Percy to stand and pull her to him. She winds her arms around his waist and trembles.

"That really affected you, huh," he says.

She scoffs. "Wouldn't it affect you? To use your power and have it affect everyone. Enemies and allies alike. Percy, I…" She shivers. "I haven't really told this to anyone. But the power I felt that day was…nothing like I'd ever managed before, maybe because it was driven by my desperation. But it was scary. And what did it amount to? Jason getting hurt. Because her heard me." There's a damp spot on his shoulder.

"I told myself – I wouldn't charmspeak my friends anymore, intentionally or not. I'd be careful," she says. "But I keep thinking – what if I'd just charmspoken Annabeth into staying? She'd still be here with us. She would have hated me, but she'd still be here."

"Look," he says, releasing her and holding her at arms' length so he can look her in the eye. "You said yourself that you guys have practiced so much that she can resist charmspeak now."

"But – if I'd done it seriously, like I did during the War –" She bites her lip, and Percy wonders at the kind of power of persuasion Piper's voice must really have if she can even stop a Titan in his tracks.

"You would've never done it."

She laughs shortly. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"The thing is." Percy swallows. "I don't think there's anything we could've done, in a sense. Annabeth had had her mind made up the moment I told her Grover's news about Luke – and I think that whether we'd tried to speak to her or not, the outcome would've been the same." He glares at the sky. "I hate to admit it. I hate to admit that we were just powerless in that situation. But – yeah."

She leans against a tree. "She really loves Luke, huh."

"Yeah." He spits it out more than says it, and Piper raises a brow but doesn't comment. It feels stupid that Percy should hate someone he's never even met before with such blinding intensity, but it's so fucking real. He legitimately feels his blood boil and his gut erupt with fury every time he thinks of Luke. He can't think of anyone so-so heartless, so absolutely devoid of any form of love or empathy or soul. He can't think of anyone more undeserving of Annabeth's love.

"I know," Piper says. "That we said we'd protect her last time. I know we fucked that up real bad. But – I think we can do it this time. Get her back." She meets his gaze. "What do you think?"

"I think we can," he agrees. "We will get her back. We have to get her back."

"Yeah." Piper claps him on the shoulder as they make their way back to the little campsite. "We'll do it right this time."

Zoe sits up as they approach and frowns at Piper. "That took a while."

"Got a bit distracted," Piper says, throwing herself down at Jason's side, who hmphs at the intrusion before giving up the act and throwing his blanket around her. She winks at Percy. "I totally forgot. Zoe sent me to get you so we could discuss the game plan."

"Sounds serious," Percy comments as he sits down on her right. He sticks his hands as close to the fledgling fire as he can get and sighs. Jason blows the flames towards him.

"First things first," Zoe says, motioning for them all to huddle closer. "We're close. It shouldn't take us longer than three days, now, if we keep up the current pace."

Percy nods. His shoulders feel tense. He'd known they were nearby, of course, but the tone of her voice makes everything so much more real, somehow.

"I've been communicating our wolves and eagles," she continues, motioning to a nearby tree. Upon a branch sits a regal hawk that fixes them with a stern stare. "My sisters are all converging on Othrys, near the woods where you were last time." The slightest of pauses - "Phoebe, who has kept watch since nearly the beginning, has reported that Annabeth remains a captive. She has a frequent visitor – Luke –" she nods at Percy, who is already beginning to feel himself scowl – "however, he seems not to have gone to her for the past ten days or so. Phoebe assumes he's been summoned by the Titans elsewhere, to serve god knows what purpose."

"Good," Percy bites out. "If I see him…"

"He is not our priority," Zoe says. "Annabeth is. It is a blessing that Luke is not present, but we must remain vigilant. We must assume the Titans know we are on the way, given that they knew of your previous Quest and aimed to trap Annabeth. Perhaps they are keeping Luke away on purpose, knowing that we will strike."

"What do you mean?" Jason furrows his brows. "Are you saying we should wait?"

"Of course not," Zoe scoffs. "Like I said, Luke not being there is an opening we can't afford to not exploit."

Percy stares at her. "Does him being there or not matter so much?"

Piper takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her teeth. "Perce…I'm with Zoe on this. Luke is really skilled."

"He was a real asset to have on our side during the War," Jason admits. "I never really knew him, but he was a great fighter."

"Agreed," murmurs Zoe grudgingly. "His being there could turn the tide of battle, but even if he is not we must prepare for the worst." She taps on the ground with a stick. "Atlas."

"Atlas?" Piper yelps, aghast. "You think he'll be there?"

"I hope for our sakes he is not." Zoe swallows. "But he was there the night Annabeth was captured, so I think we can assume he'll be there now."

"It's another trap, isn't it," Percy says quietly. "The first time they used Luke as bait to get Annabeth. Now they're using Annabeth as bait to get…" He stares at Jason. "Probably you? I doubt they know about me, so it must be you."

Jason purses his lips. His knuckles are white. "But they don't know about the new – revised – Prophecy, do they?"

"They seem to know an awful lot as it is," Piper says bitterly. "Their informant's doing their job. We have to assume they know everything." She nods at Percy. "Even when it comes to you."

She sighs, taking Jason's hand. "You're the child of the Prophecy, Jase. If they get you, it's all over."

Jason seems to be struggling with something internally, but finally he murmurs, "Yeah. Makes sense."

Percy grits his teeth. "If they know everything anyway, what's the point of being cautious? What's stopping us from storming the place, all guns blazing?"

"Our only advantage is the element of surprise," Zoe answers, her dark eyes sober. "Our point of attack is not the best – to really catch them off-guard would be to use the Labyrinth, but it will surely be heavily guarded. But we have all the Hunters with us." Her posture seems to grow, and the faint silver aura around her flickers a bit brighter than usual. "We are highly trained individuals skilled in all forms of combat. We strike at Ladon's tree." Here she stops and closes her eyes. "There are never many monsters there – the dragon does not discriminate between friend and foe. His only objective is to protect the tree."

"So we'll outnumber the guards," Piper says, nodding. "For a while, at least."

"We have to use the dragon to our advantage," Zoe replies. "Drive the battle closer until he has no choice but to intervene."

Jason frowns. "But aren't we forgetting the most important thing here? Annabeth? We can't just get her out from under the sky – we have to get a replacement." He stares around at them. "You know, someone who has to be willing to take the burden."

Zoe gestures to Piper. "That's where your charmspeak comes in. I saw you during the War. You can easily bend a monster to your will."

Piper looks uncomfortable, but nods. "Easy."

"Then that's what we have to do. Charmspeak a monster into taking Annabeth's place, and then make sure we get Annabeth before the enemy does." Zoe shrugs. "It's not the most flawless plan, but if we work fast enough, it should work."

"And what about Atlas?" Percy questions. "You said he might be there."

"About that." Zoe moistens her lips. "I have a favour to ask of you all."

"Yeah?" Piper asks, leaning forward.

"My Hunters will never let me do it. But I've been avoiding him for centuries, and he will be out for my blood," Zoe says, and only the slightest of tremors in her voice betrays her fear. "So for that reason, I think we would be better off using me as a distraction for him."

"Zoe," Jason says, his brows furrowed, "what are you saying?"

"I'm saying leave Atlas to me," she responds, her jaw fixed and determined. "He'll be distracted fighting me, at least for a while. In the meantime, you all have to carry out the rest of the plan." She pauses. "It's our best bet."

"Zoe," Jason says, aghast. "If this is about what you said before…" He glances at Piper and Percy uneasily. "About, um-"

"I meant what I said." Zoe grits her teeth. "This is not me giving up." They seem to have a silent argument that consists only of heated eye contact; Zoe must win, because Jason exhales, frustrated, and looks away.

"Zoe," Percy retorts tightly, "he's the Titan of War."

"It's suicide," Piper snaps, leaning forward to grasp her shoulder over the dying embers. "Zoe, are you nuts?"

"It will work," Zoe says stubbornly. "And we have to save Annabeth."

"You're taking a stupid risk," Percy says suddenly, and he's surprised at himself, but finds it's true. For all their butting heads in the past, Zoe is now a comrade, and someone he doesn't want to see fall. She's a pain in the ass, stubborn as all hell, and convinced that she's always in the right, but she's not a bad person. She's loyal and determined and despite everything, she's become someone Percy respects. The thought of losing her hurts much more than he'd like to admit.

"I know," she snaps. "But the thing is…I know him. I know how he fights. I know all his tricks." She runs a finger down the string of her bow, twangs it so it echoes sadly in the stillness. "He taught me himself."

"Zoe," Percy whispers.

"Oh my gods," Piper says. Her eyes are wide. "You're…you used to be one of the Hesperides?"

Slowly, Zoe nods. Suddenly she looks about a thousand years old, the flickering sparks casting an eerie shadow across her face. Her hands wrap around her own knees to hide the shaking. Percy thinks back to their first real talk, when she'd opened up to him about helping a hero and betraying her family, and his throat goes completely dry.

"Yes," she says. "And Atlas is my father."

/

What do you say to a literal legend?

Frank wants to say that he's been studying Chiron for years. That his mother and grandmother would tell him stories about him (well, his mother would tell him stories. His grandmother would scoff, "You are so thick-headed even Chiron could not teach you."). Frank wants to tell Chiron that he'd persevered long and hard with the bow and arrow and had worked and worked and worked on his skills as a fighter because he'd been raised hearing that Chiron trained only the best of heroes, Fai, don't you want to be one of them?

What comes out, in a pitiful blubber, is "I'm a huge fan."

Leo snorts behind his fist and Hazel bites her lip to keep from laughing, but Chiron only smiles, in a soft, indulgent kind of way that has Frank burning with embarrassment. He feels like he should backtrack if he doesn't want to be outed as a total fanboy but – yeah, that's what he is, so he doesn't say anything else.

"Thank you, that's very nice of you," Chiron says, smiling, gesturing for Frank and Hazel to take a seat by him. Frank's still kind of in shock so his limbs aren't really moving right and Hazel has to lead him to the fire, where they both sit down – he has to keep his leg outstretched because it still hurts to bend. His position mirrors Chiron's in a way, who also has his legs stretched out in front of him, still covered by the tattered blanket.

It's quiet for a while; Frank's mind is still swirling so violently that he even forgets to be wary of the fire, which Leo seems to be keeping low but still splutters occasionally. He can't even look at Chiron, who shines so bright in his eyes even though he looks like a hobo. Hazel nudges his shoulder with hers and he shoots her a quick smile.

"So, I guess we don't need introductions," Leo says brightly, and Frank glares at him even though he's thankful for the distraction.

"Um," he tells Chiron anyway, "I'm Frank. I don't know if Hazel told you-"

"Oh, she did," Chiron smiles, amused, shooting a sideways glance at Hazel, who ducks her head down so her hair falls all over her face. "She and Leo described your Quest in great detail to me."

"Oh," says Frank, as Leo shoots him a significant look from over the embers that Frank takes to mean that Chiron doesn't know about his deathstick, his fear of fire, and his subsequent breakdown. He relaxes a little. "Yeah, the horse -"

"Arion," Hazel says at once, and Arion harrumphs.

"-Arion scared us into a mountain tunnel," Frank amends. "And now – uh, here we are."

"Here you are," Chiron agrees, his eyes dancing in the light. He looks at each of them in turn – Frank can't help but flush under the weight of his gaze – and smiles. "Greeks and Romans together – seems like I've missed quite a lot in the decades I've been here."

"Decades," Frank says aloud, as Leo says, "It's a long story."

"Decades," Chiron confirms, in a voice that is sad and ancient. He threads his fingers together and places them carefully on his lap. His hands are wrinkled and scarred – Frank recognizes the lines on his palms that come from years and year of tying and tightening a bowstring. He looks around the little enclosure, spying an empty quiver leaned against the cave wall in a dark corner, but nothing else.

"Now you can tell us the story," Leo says expectantly. He nods to Frank. "We figured to wait for the backstory until you woke up."

"Thanks," says Frank, oddly touched.

"Only if you're all right with telling us, of course," Hazel hurries to tell Chiron, but he waves her concerns away with a casual motion of his hand.

"It is no trouble at all, daughter of Pluto," he says kindly. "I would be honoured to tell you the tale. Perhaps it will fill in the gaps of your own story."

The scene is very reminiscent of something out of a movie. It's the stillness of the air and the sound of night falling and Arion's soft snorts and the way Hazel rests her head on her hand and how even Leo's usually-hyperactive ass is not moving, instead settling down in anticipation of the tale.

"I have trained heroes for many, many years," Chiron murmurs under his breath, his eyes trained at the core of the fire. "I have moved with the Flame, with the gods – and they brought me, along with a new generation of heroes, to America.

"And – well. I am sure you know about the tension between the Greeks and the Romans, that all came to a head during the Civil War." He frowns. "I was on the side of the Greeks, of course, with Lupa advising the Romans – this was, of course, when the Bunkers were set up. The Civil War ended with heavy losses on both sides and a promise to keep the peace between us. Extra precautions were taken to keep both camps hidden from the other, and all was well until World War I, which is when we saw the first signs of Titan activity."

Frank leans forward. "That early?"

"That early," Chiron says sadly. "Monsters seemed to be getting more aggressive, and they attacked smarter. They hunted in packs and seemed to be reporting to a higher power. We communicated with the Romans, who informed us about increasing signs of monster activity at Mount Tamalpais.

"But then came World War II – and this is when our nightmares became reality. Monsters began respawning in great numbers, attacking both camps while the mortal world collapsed. The situation was growing dire – until one day the attacks on our borders grew fewer. Something seemed to have given way."

Halfway through, Hazel had rested her hand atop Frank's, and he had turned his over to thread their fingers together. He had felt her trembling at Chiron's words.

"That was me," she blurts out now, before covering her mouth in horror. At Chiron's questioning look, she babbles, "Ah, um – your timeline seems to line up with my life. I-I'm not supposed to be alive, you see." Chiron only nods, looking as though everything makes sense now. "My mother was manipulated by Prometheus, who had me summon something from underground. I didn't know it then, but he had me reach into Tartarus and pull up K-Kronos, bit by bit by bit…" She swallows. Leo's jaw has dropped.

"That's why I died," she says thickly, and Frank touches her arm in a silent show of support. "I didn't know what I was doing, but I knew that whatever was being brought back was evil, and so I gave my life – and my mother's – to bury us all. That's what changed."

"Hazel," Leo whispers, hushed, his eyes wide. Frank wraps an arm around her, pulls her into his side. He can tell by the way she's digging her own nails into her palms that she's fighting a flashback, and he squeezes her shoulder to help. She looks up at him gratefully.

"I see," Chiron says eventually, after studying her closely for several long moments. "I sensed when we met that you were rather like me in a way – but I did not guess this. I am sorry it brought up bad memories for you, Hazel."

"It's fine." She shakes her head, brushing away a curl behind her ear. "I just- I don't like to think about it."

"With good reason," Chiron responds. "But for what it's worth – you were extremely brave, Hazel. Your actions and your sacrifice prevented what could have been the death of us all."

She swallows. "I don't know about that."

"Trust me," Chiron says. "You saved so many lives."

"That's…incredibly brave," Leo adds softly, looking at her as though he's never seen her before. "If it came down to that…I would be terrified to do it."

Hazel just nods.

Chiron, mercifully, leaves her alone and continues. "Post the second World War, the gods were weakened. Ares, Athena, Zeus, Poseidon, and Demeter were particularly affected. The Cold War took more out of Athena still – and even though Kronos had not risen, his brothers were regaining full power. The Big Three began to panic, fearing the time of the Prophecy had come. They began to sire children, evidently with the goal of bringing about the Prophecy by force, but Fate does not work that way. All of their children were killed before they could even step foot into either Camp."

Hazel squeezes Frank's hand, looking at him with a silent question in her eyes. She cuddles up to him, even closer than before so that his entire body tingles at the proximity, and under the guise of nuzzling his cheek she whispers, "He doesn't know about Nico." Frank nods.

"The Titans used mortal indecision to gain power," Chiron says. "They began to recruit mercenaries to their cause; they set up great undercover groups in the cities closest to both Camps until we could barely leave our borders. All young demigods and satyrs aiming to escort them back to us were killed. The Titans cursed the Oracle, and we lost our only means of attempting to read fate. Then they captured Iris, which effectively cut us off from the Romans, our only allies."

"What were the gods doing?" Leo asks in horror. "Couldn't they have done anything to help?"

"Each god was fighting their own battle," Chiron defends, and for the first time Frank sees a flash of frustration cross his eyes. "Hades was preoccupied with all the dead from World War II clogging the Underworld, and on top of that the Titans were making attempts to lure Thanatos to their side. The gods of War – Athena and Ares – were greatly weakened, and Poseidon retreated to his domain under the ocean shortly after the Cold War, presumably to stop Oceanus from encroaching upon his territory." He closes his eyes. "It is no wonder they did nothing when the monsters came for us."

He stops, here, and suddenly his face looks old and incomparably sad. If there had been any doubt in his mind about Chiron being an impostor, it would have all vanished at the sight of him wearing this expression, which speaks of a great, terrible loss.

"We call it the Purge." Leo winces like he hadn't meant to say that.

"A fitting name," Chiron says, and Frank can tell that even though he's trying to smile, it isn't working. "They purged us indeed. They attacked us at night, through the Labyrinth. We're lucky they set off the warning traps we had placed around the entrance, or they might have just murdered us in our own beds." He draws a Delta in the ground and as he speaks it sounds like the words are catching magic, and Frank feels the memories hang in the air, tugging at his heart and vibrating down to his fingertips. Chiron traces the rune wistfully as though imagining that from his fingertips trail a line of shimmering blue.

Hazel hisses under her breath. Leo bites his lip.

"We were…greatly outnumbered," Chiron goes on. "I ordered a retreat, but ordinarily we would have headed to the Bunkers through the maze…and that wasn't an option. Our best bet was to abandon our camp and head for the nearest entrance to the Labyrinth, the one that leads to-"

"Bunker One," Leo whispers.

Chiron nods. "We got the kids out – and then it was up to me and a few older demigods to make our final stand." He swallows. "These students were…my pride and joy. I had trained them myself since they were teenagers. They were extremely skilled warriors, good enough to be teachers themselves." His voice breaks a little. "Nothing…hurts more than watching your own students fall."

It is quiet for a long, long moment.

Frank tries to imagine what it must be like to watch so many people die. He looks at Leo, who's faced a lost similar to Frank's own, and at Hazel, who had sacrificed herself to keep hope alive. It's not like they don't know what it's like to have seen and experienced death. But Frank tries to put himself in Chiron's shoes – to imagine what it must be like to watch generation after generation of demigods die, and he feels the unexpected prickle of tears as they well up in his eyes.

"I know why they kept me alive," Chiron says bitterly. "They did it because he was my father and I knew they would lock me up in Othrys, torture me for information and for sport until I broke. I tried to escape. And then…they broke my legs."

With a trembling hand he reaches for the blanket covering his lower half and he lifts it, revealing his legs – he's clothed in dirty, too-large pants but his legs are twisted in an angle that should not be possible, and the bit of skin that Frank can see around his knees is a grotesque, sickly green.

Hazel covers her mouth with her hands. Leo turns away and Frank takes a long breath. He feels like he's seen something awful and personal and private, and he wants to say something comforting but he doesn't know how.

"Can't…" Leo swallows. "Was that poison? I'm sure one of our healers can…"

"Nothing can help me, young demigod," Chiron says sadly, pulling the cloth back over his legs again. "With my legs as they are, I cannot move without feeling unbearable agony, and I was cursed by a Titan – I cannot transform into a centaur. Only the Fleece can help me now." Leo swears in response.

"So how'd you escape?" Frank asks, regaining his wits at last. "How did you get here?"

Finally, Chiron smiles. He reaches behind him with an arm and Arion leans into his touch, nosing at his palm.

"Arion saved me," Chiron says. "Brought me here – he tried, for many years, to help me outside, but I cannot mount him, the pain is too great." He sighs. "He brings me food, keeps monsters away. I am sure he's tried to bring demigods back here, but perhaps his approach is too aggressive." He casts the horse a look that speaks of both exasperation and fondness, and Arion neighs in indignation. "Hazel, you are the first one he has managed to bring back here."

"Oh," Hazel says in wonderment. "I mean…it's true that he did scare us at first, but once I saw that he was trying to lead me somewhere, I couldn't not follow." She smiles. "And Arion's a cutie! He seemed really glad when I went with him."

Arion snorts as though agreeing; Leo and Frank lock eyes in disbelief. Frank would hardly call a beast that knocked him out cute, but Hazel looks so happy that he decides not to say anything.

"Which brings us to the present day," Chiron says with a sad little smile. "I spent all these years wasting away here, wondering if there were any demigods left at all. I cannot describe my joy and pride to have met you all." This time, his lips lift into a quick, disbelieving grin that feels more genuine, and Frank's whole body swells with pride. Getting a compliment from Chiron is like being praised by your favorite teacher – even if they teach a super boring subject, you just don't wanna disappoint them.

"There are…a bunch of us left," Leo says, "all thanks to you, really. The Greeks are in the Bunkers…" He quickly describes how the Greeks have been managing since the Purge, and then quickly transitions into the story of Thalia and the failed Prophecy. Frank explains the Romans' loss, too, adding how he bumped into Hazel after the War and decided to travel with her.

Chiron hangs his head. "So the Prophecy failed…was it all for naught in the end?"

"Not exactly," Leo hesitates. "A demigod son of Poseidon –" Chiron raises an intrigued brow – "heard a different version from an extremely well-read harpy who somehow got her claws on some pages from the real Sibylline books."

"The hell?" Frank demands. "You never mentioned that! The entirely of New Rome would sell their souls if they knew -"

"It slipped my mind, we had a lot going on!" Leo protests, before turning back to Chiron. "We also double-checked with a woman born with the ability to see through the Mist-"

"A possible Oracle?" Chiron asks.

"Possibly, but she's been cursed. She's…really mentally unstable," Leo says uncomfortably. "But anyway, the evidence all points to the Prophecy having been mistranslated. We think that the original texts roughly mean come of age and not reach sixteen, which means that-"

"There's hope," Chiron says, his eyes wide. He swallows, passing a hand over his eyelids, closing them and opening them like he cannot believe what he's seeing. "The Prophecy is still yet to be fulfilled, after all?"

"My friend Jason…" Leo swallows. "He's a son of Zeus. He turns twenty-one next July. That's when we think our day of reckoning will be here, for real this time."

Chiron's hands are shaking. "I…forgive me. I am quite overcome. I had feared the worst."

"You trained our siblings well," Leo says. "Because we're still here. We're still fighting."

"So you are," he replies heavily. "So you are."

The following silence is broken by Hazel muffling her yawn into Frank's shoulder; Chiron looks abashed.

"My old rambles have kept you up much too late," he says. "Rest now; Arion can help you find your Bronze in the morning."

Frank wants to protest, but beside him both Hazel and Leo are nodding and he remembers that while he'd been knocked out, they'd been tending to him and are probably in need of a full night's sleep.

He helps them both lay out their sleeping bags and lies down next to Hazel until she falls asleep; when her breathing goes even and he's sure she hasn't slipped into a flashback, he picks himself up and scoots over to where Chiron is still sitting by the fire, gazing into the dying coals with a tired, melancholy expression.

"Chiron," he says. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course, son," he says, gesturing at the ground next to him. "Anything."

Frank clears his throat, unsure of where to start, but he explains everything about his own life, his deathstick, and all his close calls. Chiron listens attentively, his face grim in the flickering light, and when Frank finishes he only nods, pensive.

"What do you think I should do?" Frank asks desperately. "I-I'm kind of lost. I hate that I'm so afraid of dying. I mean – look at my chances. One wrong move and…" He can't finish.

Chiron hums. "I cannot advise you about what to do," he says, "but I can tell you this: and it is to live as though your firewood – the deathstick, you called it? – does not exist."

"Easier said than done," Frank grouses at once.

"I am sure," Chiron smiles. "And I am not telling you to go crazy and be reckless. But I am sure that in some moments in the future you will find yourself wondering about what to do. There may be times when you might have to walk into the line of fire, so to speak. When that time comes, ask yourself, Would I do this if my life was not tied to this block of wood?"

"And act accordingly?"

"And act accordingly." Chiron reaches out and grips Frank's hand, and Frank feels his entire face go up in flames. "I have seen so many die because they were being too careful. Do not allow limitations placed upon you by higher powers be your undoing. The firewood being tied to your life force is not something you could have controlled, but your life, and how you live it, is. Do not let something so small, so insignificant, hold you back."

Frank fishes into his pocket and closes his fist around the plastic bundle. It really is small.

"I may be rusty," Chiron smiles. "It has been an age since I have met a new face. But I can tell you are destined for great things, son of Mars. Great things that you may not believe if I tell you now. But you can do anything if you free yourself from this burden. And it is, in some sense, a burden you placed upon yourself. And if you managed to do that, well, don't you think you can free yourself from it as well?"

He's smiling. It's that Teacher Smile. Gods, Frank wants to make him proud.

"I'll…I'll try," he allows. "I'll really try. I swear."

"That is all I ask of any of my students," Chiron chuckles, and Frank feels himself beam.

"I…practice archery too," he says. "Do you think I can show you tomorrow? You can give me some pointers."

"I would be honoured to," Chiron responds warmly. Frank grins.

"I'm glad I got knocked out by Arion," he says quietly, sleepily. "I never ever thought I'd get to meet you."

"I cannot even describe my happiness to have met you all," Chiron says. "I have lived so long without any faith at all. It is heartening to have something to hold onto again."

"Annabeth would say this was meant to happen," Frank murmurs, trying valiantly to keep his eyes open. "She'd say we ran into you for a reason."

"This Annabeth sounds wise," Chiron smiles, and Frank, remembering his conversation with her during their last Quest, stores up this bit of information to tell her later. "It is so easy to lose one's way when they have no hope. I am happy to have found mine after all these years."

"Feels like a coincidence, but it's not," Frank says. "It's a real miracle."

"It is indeed," Chiron replies, his voice soothing as he helps Frank lay down next to him. "Miracles are funny things. Many believe they do not exist as a concept – and I admit that I, too, lost faith after so many decades alone. But today has been a miracle. It has taught me to hope again." He pauses, and Frank slides his eyes shut, so his next words sound fuzzy to his ears. "If there is one thing I've learned about miracles, Frank, it is to believe in them. I think if you believe hard enough, you will be touched by one, and however short or fleeting it may be, if will change your life forever."

"Yeah," Frank whispers. "I'd like to believe that…at the end of this, I'll live. It'll be a miracle if I do."

Chiron laughs quietly. "Just believe in one, Frank. I have been touched by a miracle tonight, and I am changed. I think that now, no matter the level of my despair I feel, I will never doubt in miracles again."

"Okay," Frank responds, finally giving into the weariness overtaking his every limb. "I'll try not to, then, too."

He watches the fire for a few minutes, his eyes flickering open and closed.

"Hey, Chiron," he whispers. "The Camp you ran. For the demigods. What was it like?"

His eyes go wide, then horribly sad.

"It was beautiful," he says quietly. "Beautiful and lively. We had large cabins for each god. An arena for swordfighting and archery, a lake for canoe races. We would hold competitions, in chariot racing and sparring and even capture the flag." His voices shakes. "It was beautiful. A valley, ringed by woods, surrounded by rolling fields full of strawberries."

"I would have liked to see that," Frank thinks aloud.

"Maybe, if the Fates are kind to us," he replies, "you will be able to see it, one day."

"Maybe." Frank thinks for a while. "What was it called?"

For a long while, Chiron is silent. Frank struggles to keep his eyes open; just as he's falling into slumber he hears the whispered response –

"Camp Half-Blood."

/

The night before Thalia died felt like they were in the endgame.

Even if they hadn't known her birthday was the next day, Annabeth feels like the battle would have come to a close that night anyway. There had been heavy losses on both sides and the Titans were now showing up to the battlefield in person. The demigod camps were full of the dead and the injured and a heavy cloud of suspicion hung over them all as they tried to figure out why the Titans seemed to know exactly where their weaknesses were. The air was thick and reeked of finality.

Annabeth feels blood in her throat and thinks that she's nearly at the end, now. The air feels the same as it did back then. Soon, she'll be out of here – or dead.

It keeps her alert and it keeps her going; her eyes keep flitting to the edge of the forest, hoping beyond hope for signs of activity, even though it's not like she expects Percy to come charging out of the trees and making a beeline for her.

She'd like that, though. She would. That would be a real sight to see.

Once, though, she thinks she sees someone – there's a shadow standing still at the edge of the forest, a shadow of a human, but she blinks the yellow spots from her eyes and it's gone and she's left wondering if she's imagined it.

How will they rescue her? Will they fly in from above on Frank? Pop out from the ground courtesy of Hazel? Sail in from the seas behind her with Percy?

There are massive holes in each theory. Frank, even as a giant eagle, will probably find it hard to fly in, given the dangers the winds and the lightning could bring. The monsters are surely guarding the Labyrinth under her. And the waters are now surely monitored closely by Oceanus, who definitely won't let a boat full of the enemy sail into Titan territory.

Still, she dreams up scenarios, elaborate fantasies of her friends showing up to save her, conjuring up tearful reunions and warm, long hugs. The thought of finally being free keeps her teeth gritted, keeps her alive. Annabeth wants to go home to Nine. To Six, just so she can give Malcolm and Bea and her other siblings an embrace and the reassurance that she's okay, still.

She wants to sleep in her own bed, even though her blanket does little to prevent the cold from the chilly winter air and her pillows are practically flat. She wants to hang out at the Map Wall and doodle nonsensical structures that she still dreams will become actual buildings once they get out of this mess. She wants to watch Harley stand on his toes as he tries to peer over Nyssa's workbench. She wants to hear Connor guffawing at whatever prank he's pulled on some poor sap. She wants to test out new weaponry with Beckendorf, she wants to be nagged by Silena. She wants to nibble on Leo's tacos as she shuts down his poor attempts at flirting. She wants to water the crops with Grover and listen as he attempts a new pop song on his pipes. She wants to sit by the fire with Piper and Jason, her head on Piper's shoulder, as they all talk about their day, even though it probably is the same as yesterday. She wants to watch Hazel and Frank come into their own powers little by little and marvel at the strength they didn't even know they had.

She wants to sit at the mountaintop with Percy and laugh with him about everything and anything. She wants to watch his hands as he talks, because his hands are beautiful and deft and so expressive, just as expressive as his face when he tells a story. She wants to see his eyes light up in glee and in challenge whenever she says something teasing. She wants to spar with him and watch him turn water vapour into water into ice and all the way back again. She wants to be next to him, she thinks, for as long as their fates allow them.

She wants to forget Othrys and Luke and everything that's happened here. Already she's dreading the inevitable conversation with Percy – because not telling him is not an option - where she's going to have to tell him that it was Luke who brought about the death of his mother, Luke who sent the monsters after him and his family, Luke who set his life spinning into the madness that it is today. Annabeth knows that Percy had always disliked Luke – she knows that his dislike and distrust has probably manifested into a stronger hatred since her capture, but once she tells him this it's going to get well and truly personal. And it's justified, is the thing. Percy deserves to loathe Luke with every fibre of his being for the rest of his life – but it scares her, too. She's caught glimpses of the dark, powerful, vengeful Percy before, and she it reminds her too much of Luke's terrible sadness as he described his father and mother. Annabeth doesn't want Percy to give in to the hate. She doesn't want another person she cares about to be lost in getting revenge. At least, that's what she tells herself. Maybe the truth is that some tiny part of her still can't stand the thought of him killing Luke. Even though she knows he's going to die for the gods to prevail.

Annabeth thinks about the vision she'd had, her drowning in the murky waters and struggling to breathe – at least until she heard Percy's voice. She wonders if that had been just a dream or some kind of weird premonition, but even though she's running on sheer rage and adrenaline right now, she knows that the apparition is important, and she knows that all she wanted then and all she's wanted since is to take Percy's hand. Which means Annabeth needs to figure out what it is about Percy that makes her push every trained instinct in her aside.

If only he hadn't been found that day, she thinks irritably, fondly. He's brought nothing but insanity since stepping foot into Bunker Nine. But she's glad for it. For him. She can barely even remember a life before him.

There's the sound of metals clashing in the distance and Annabeth looks up, wondering if Luke is coming, but there is no sign of him and so she relaxes. She doesn't think she can stand the sight of him anymore. He looks the same, yet so different since she'd last seen him years ago. His boyish face is gone, replaced with stronger, more defined features that make him seem older than he really is. His hair is the same, as are his sky blue eyes, but they're more…hateful. She doesn't like it. She doesn't like his stupid stubble either.

Luke hasn't been to visit her since his return from who-the-fuck-knows and it's saved her a lot of anxiety about how to be around him, because being around him sure is confusing as hell. She doesn't want to hear any more of his "Together we can rule this land and the world will kneel at your feet, don't you want the world to appreciate your greatness" drivel. She does not want to hear his voice again, and certainly not that close. He'd sounded harsh, his words echoing in the emptiness, promising destruction, soft and deadly, like a snake.

And the worst part? Is that when he'd first asked her, coaxing her like the damn devil, and waited for her to answer, she hadn't wanted to disappoint him. Which is just rich, isn't it? The world had held its breath, waiting for her answer, and even though he'd ripped her life apart with his bare hands and left her to pick up the pieces, she still couldn't stand to see him disappointed in her. She had hated him, she thinks, in that moment, hated him with a vengeance as his face had dropped at her rejection. Who the fuck was he to act as though his grief would alter reality?

Luke's the only person who has ever been able to take her apart with a single sentence, laying out every moment of indecision bare for the world to see. She used to know him, really know him, and if someone has suggested to her that he would turn sides, she would have laughed in their face. He wouldn't ever turn evil. She knew that like she knew her own name, like she knew the sky was blue, the same colour as his eyes.

She loathes what he's turned into - part of her wants to smack him across the head and stop being an idiot. Part of her wants to plead with him to see reason. All of her is just confused and stunned that the man she once knew has turned into someone so unrecognizable.

He really thinks he's doing the right thing, which is the sad part. And he still cares about her, which is somehow even worse. She wonders what Luke means to the Titans. What his position he will stand at when they face each other on the battlefield. She would like to think that he's one of the nameless, faceless soldiers in the ranks of their troops, like the demigod she'd killed in the last War, but the sensible half of her chides herself for being so naïve. Luke's been feeding information to Prometheus since she was twelve at least. No – he isn't just a soldier to the Titans. In War, he will be by the General's side.

Perhaps he's now acting as some kind of assassin for them. Maybe he's been tasked with collecting items of godly strength, something that could help them during the War. That would make his seemingly-random journey make sense. But Luke had returned a changed man. He probably wasn't supposed to have unfathomable scars or wounds that go up and down his spine. He probably wasn't supposed to look so broken, so small and hurt and vulnerable, in front of her. He probably wasn't supposed to tell her that her friends were on the way, either.

She misses him. The old him. Only upon seeing him does she realize how long it had been since he'd left. Time had seemed to merge together in his absence, turning from summer to fall to winter to spring and back again without a warning. She can hardly believe there used to be a time when they would sit together, sometimes with Thalia, and just talk, studying the landscapes in the distance.

She still has so many thinks she wants to say to him, so much to ask, but she hesitates, now, when years before she would have jumped at the opportunity to pepper him with a million questions, knowing that he would be honest with her. Now, though – she wouldn't trust a thing that came out of his mouth.

She hates it all. People talk about dealing with the loss of a romantic partner over and over, in a million books and movies and TV shows, but nobody ever says anything about someone who used to be your only confidante, the one person you would trust to have your back.

It doesn't surprise her to know that most of what they'd found out about Luke in the past few months had been true, but it does sadden her that he'd managed to lie to her to easily. It makes her feel incredibly stupid to think that she hadn't questioned any of it, even though he'd definitely done some question-worthy things. Luke had always been the kind of person to go after his objective ruthlessly.

If she's being honest with herself – which is something she usually avoids doing – there had always been a part of her that hadn't wanted to look for Luke after he left. There had been a part of her that had registered his change in attitude and had labelled it as suspicious, but she'd been so blindsided by her love for him that she'd chosen, against her better nature, to ignore it, and that had been the first of many mistakes on her part.

Selfishness is something she understands. More often than not, Annabeth does feel that some of the decision she takes, some of the actions she takes, are selfish. Running the Bunkers has been a humbling experience, and she's learned to put others' needs above her own, but deep down inside, where she hides her most precious secrets, Annabeth resents the situation they're in. She'd made plans before the War, grand plans, when she'd assumed their victory was absolute. Plans along the lines of getting her parents back together, and designing Olympus anew, and living the rest of her life in peace with Thalia and Luke.

In the grand scheme of things, those are pretty selfish dreams.

Annabeth is smart, and more importantly, she knows she's smart. When she comes up with a plan, they rarely fail, and after the War, after she'd lost Thalia, she'd been overcome with guilt. Perhaps, she'd thought once, during a particularly low moment, perhaps if she'd made better plans for herself – better plans for them all, they might have come to fruition.

She'd sworn to take Thalia's words seriously, and so when Jason turned to her with a bleeding hole in his heart, she had offered all she had left - cold rage and fierce loyalty, and the promise to live for everyone else. She'd built the Bunkers up from nothing after the War, and in the process she'd stopped dreaming for herself. Almost unconsciously, she'd started constructing enough castles in the sky for everyone else to live in, too.

She doesn't think she's selfish anymore, even though she does have an enormous amount of pride. Hell, she'd been so certain of herself, so certain that Luke would not harm her, that she'd denied Percy's help – and look at where that's gotten her. She is prideful, yes, and she understand where Luke is coming from, but she doesn't know how Luke found it inside him to betray both his best friends, getting one killed in the process.

She doesn't understand how she ever could have ever loved someone selfish enough to use her for his own gain.

She gets that he's broken. But aren't they all? He's got daddy issues a mile wide, which – join the club, pal. You aren't anything special.

How can he hate the gods, she thinks ruefully, when their ink wrote his story?

And ordinarily Annabeth would care, but now – now she doesn't know. She just knows that she can't let herself fall form the same trap again.

A flash of movement in the periphery of her vision catches her attention, and Annabeth cranes her neck to watch as a small battalion of monsters makes their way up the path from Othrys. A few of them look in her direction as they pass, but they continue on their way towards the dragon, who hisses menacingly as they approach. She wonders if they've been ordered to their own deaths, but the party splits up quickly, each taking position in the shadow of the trees closest to her. Annabeth's heart begins to race.

She is old enough, now, to think through a plan before acting. It had been something that came naturally to her – she has had to work past the occasional mistake, but she likes to think she's cultivated this particular skill.

Now, every bone in her body is screaming at her to hang on. To hang on with every last bit of energy she has left, because this can only mean one thing.

Her friends are coming for her.

/

Frank dreams of home.

It's his home, for sure, but it's also…not? Because it looks uninhabited, bare of furniture. Gone is the rug that he and his mother attempted to patch together before his grandmother called the both of them incompetent and lazy before picking up her own needle and putting them in their place. Gone are all the pictures frames lining the walls. There's no furniture, just polished floors and barren rooms.

He wanders the halls alone. The living room is empty, and so is the kitchen. He passes his grandmother's room, and his mom's, too, on his quest to find his own, but when he opens the door he finds them already waiting for him.

His mother and grandmother turn around as he steps over the threshold. His throat feels dry.

"Mom," he whispers. "What…what are you guys doing here?"

They both stare at him, unsmiling. Frank takes a step back as their eyes glow, almost all pupils, and they speak as one:

"You must raise the Fifth from the depths where they are waiting, from the cocoon of their shelter." Their words echo, bouncing from floor to ceiling, ricocheting off the window frame. "It is your duty. It is your destiny."

"What does that mean?" Frank whispers, trembling – he recognizes the words as Ella's, but he hadn't really given them much thought since. In a fit of madness he digs around in his pockets for the little piece of wood but comes up empty-handed. "What's going on? Where is it?"

His mother steps forward, now. Frank backs into a wall, but she only reaches out a hand and touches his cheek. Her eyes aren't quite neon anymore, but her face is still cold and smooth and completely expressionless. Her hand feels cold.

"I cannot advise you about what to do," she says, only the voice he hears is Chiron's. "But I can tell you this: and it is to live as though your firewood does not exist."

"Mom?" he asks, but then she hugs him.

Frank's not gonna lie, here – he tears up a little. He hasn't been hugged by his mother in years, not since she left him to go fight in the War. And even though this version of her is unseeing and unfeeling and pale and cold, everything his mother wasn't, the feeling of her arms around him awakens something deeply melancholic inside him.

He chokes and grips her back. "I missed you."

She doesn't respond, which is to be expected, but then she begins to shake, which is…weird. Frank tries to pull away, but he's trapped and it takes a good amount of force to wrench himself free. When he's able to look her in the face she's crying, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Mom?" he asks, grasping her shoulders. It's weird. He's almost her height and she looks so small in front of him. "Mom, what's wrong?"

She gasps for breath.

He realizes, with a start, that the air has turned to smoke, so thick and so black he cannot even see his grandmother again. He looks down at his feet and chokes – fire is devouring the ground he stands on, turning the floor to heat and flickering orange as it creeps towards him.

The flames feel like they are forming a line down his throat. Every breath he takes is a billow that flares in his chest, but even above the sickening crackling from the wood of his home as it bends to the fire, he can hear his mother's voice. He hears it, he hears it above the din and he goes into full panic mode, because saving her is more important than saving himself, he will do anything, anything to reduce his pain of losing her again. Even if his actions fill but a mere spoonful in the hole of his guilt, his loss, he will save her.

He bites back a cry, moving forward towards the fire. A shadow moves above him, scaly and winged, with a long tail. Frank breathes in pure heat that bursts into sparks inside his lungs and gives him the feeling that he's expanding, expanding –

For a moment, there is nothing but sweat in his palms and the strange feeling of turning hard, cool, fireproof. But then his shoulders jerk from the tension, dragging him downwards against the shattered wood. It feels as though there is a huge weight tipping him down.

Hitting the ground comes as a relief, almost. He lets go of the strain inside of him and lets the pain take over. Lets the fire fill his dazed mind as he curls in on himself.

"Mom," he says. "Mom."

He chokes on air, his eyes flying open. His hands have lifted up from his sides, forming the shape of his mother's frame, even though there's only air there at the moment.

He blinks the remainder of the tears away, letting his arms drop again. It's a quiet night. Arion's curled cup at the edge of the wall, and Chiron's back is turned to him where he lies a few paces away. Frank raises himself on his elbows, glancing across the dying embers to where Hazel and Leo lie. Leo's chest moves slowly, deeply, in a periodic rhythm, but Hazel – Hazel's shaking.

It's a peculiar quickening up and down his spine. His eyes zero in on her out of their own accord, and he's up in a flash.

Flashback, he thinks groggily, stumbling his way to her side. He knows the signs well enough by now. He remembers the first time, bolting upright in the night, remembers talking her back into the present. He's wondered, sometimes, if he might have changed something if he had done that more back then. If he had seen how many times she'd slipped into an episode in her sleep, back in the days when she was more guarded from her time in the Underworld and still learning to trust him, and he was afraid of overstepping his boundaries and even more afraid of showing care.

She's having a flashback, and it hasn't even been long since the last one, she'd said –

"Hazel," he whispers, shaking her shoulder. "Hazel!"

She doesn't respond to him; her head lolls when he raises her into his lap. Panicked, he glances around, looking for something, anything.

Leo is curled up by the fire some distance away, twisting restlessly in his sleep. Frank crosses over to him in a single stride, seizing his forearm at the inside of his elbow. Leo lets loose an alarmed grunt and his hand locks around Frank's arm immediately in a clasp as harmful as a handshake, only his fingers are trembling. His eyes are half-open, panicked, clouded in a way that makes Frank wonder if he's still in some nightmare. His fingers flex around Leo's bony arm, hoping that the touch will wake him.

Leo comes to life with a gasp; his hands close around Frank's and grow hot, hot, hot, before Frank yanks it back, hissing. Leo is on his feet, heaving, his eyes crazy, before he seems to take in the scene in front of him.

"Shit," he breathes, flicking a single, tiny spark atop his finger. And somehow the sight of it, even thought it's positively tiny, triggers some deep-seated fear in Frank. Somehow it brings back the memory of his dream, the memory of him and his mother and his grandmother and their whole house turning to dust. His fright manifests as I'm going to burn, and Hazel is dying, and he flinches back. He's shaking. He knows subconsciously that something had awakened inside of him during that dream, something that stirs deep inside him, now, but he's too scared to reach for it. And so he just – sits there. It takes a lot of effort not to run in the opposite direction.

Leo doesn't come closer. He doesn't even speak a word. He is motionless as Frank closes his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself and convince his overcome brain that nothing bad is going to happen.

When he opens his eyes, he looks back at Hazel. Leo must take his silence for as much permission as he's going to get. He holds out both hands in front of him, slowly conjuring a minute lick of flame, and holds it up like a peace offering. Frank knows it is meant for him even when the other crosses the floor to light the fire again, and he nods at Leo when he rejoins him. The fire lends them light, like Leo had told him before. Light and life, even though it is still very small now, small and delicate.

Frank cups Hazel's cheek as the fire fizzles back into being. The sound makes Chiron stir and Arion snort, but Frank doesn't wait to see if they wake, choosing instead to focus back on Hazel.

"Is that another flashback?" Leo steps closer to her, watching as shadows pass in her eyes and tension flows through her body. She still seems affected by whatever she's seeing, and she seems scared, and maybe a little wary, even whilst in her own head. He stops a little ways from her and slowly lowers himself into a crouch. "What do we do? She had another one when you were still knocked out, but I stepped on her hand accidentally, please don't kill me for that by the way, and she woke up, said it didn't last long." He bites his lip. "Is there any way we can help?"

"I don't know," Frank says, trying and failing to keep the panic out of his voice. "I- usually when I squeeze her hand strong enough, she snaps out of it naturally. It needs to be something that brings her back to the present." He tries it again, but Hazel's eyes don't open.

"She-she needs to be coaxed out of a flashback," he explains, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. "It's just…my theory, but it always takes a while for her to slip into one when she's been brought out of her last one gently. I think, maybe, when you stepped on her hand and woke her up-"

"You think it's a continuation?" Leo asks, horrified. "That I interrupted some-some important memory, and so it's resurfaced now?"

"I guess," Frank says back tightly, suddenly annoyed, a feeling that's magnified when Leo reaches out to touch her shoulder.

"Leave her alone - you've done enough," he snaps, as much as he can, anyway. The fire's spitting out sparks and his voice is reedy from all the resulting smoke.

Before him, Leo trembles a bit, looking hurt and exhausted. He bows his head in thought, but when he catches sight of Frank still looking at him, he stops and hesitates, his eyes flitting towards the tunnel, clearly deciding if he can get away with dodging into the passageway without it looking like an escape.

Frank feels guilty at once – Leo is just trying to help, and he's helped Frank many times over the past couple of days. And here Frank is, yelling at him for it. He tries to steel his resolve but, as always, it crumbles in the face of anyone actually being afraid of him.

He tries to draw himself down, somehow make himself less formidable, but it only serves to make Leo shrink back further, looking stung.

"I know you've got your gripes with me, man," Leo says bluntly, quietly. "I know you're afraid of fire, and I know you're mad I liked Hazel, but you've got to let it go, dude. At least for now. I'm just trying to help, see?" He places a hand on Frank's. It's…warm.

"I thought it could help bring her back," Leo says, a slight edge to her voice. "Touch, but also heat. If you'd let me try-"

"Yeah," he croaks. "Yeah. Go ahead. I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Leo places his palms on Hazel's shoulder and closes his eyes. "You just need to trust me a little."

Frank watches as heat grows from the point of contact, turning the air in the room from balmy summer to scorching volcano. Chiron gets up, putting a hand on Arion, who's already whinnying in worry, and just when Frank's about to suggest another method Hazel gasps, sitting up in his arms, her eyes flitting open. Leo steps back at once.

"Oh," she says. "Oh."

"Oh, thank fuck," Frank whispers, bending down and crushing her close, his hand gliding over her exposed side. Up, down. Up, down.

He runs his fingers up the side of her face until they thread into dark hair, cups his other hand around her jaw. His little finger splays against the span of her neck, and his thumb rubs at the corner of her mouth.

Hazel gulps thickly, still reeling from whatever she'd seen, but her entire frame sags when she sees Frank.

"I…" she says, voice croaky from sleep.

Frank shakes his head. His eyes fall to the bedsheets beneath them, the way her shirt has ridden up a little. The indecency of their positions halts and then passes by, and the silence is broken only when Leo clears his throat, looking faintly awkward.

He jerks his head back like her clothes are on fire. Leo's actually are, since he's migrated closer to the campfire, but he puts it out with ease. Hazel steadies herself quickly, her face smoothening into the smile she always reserves for him. Frank smiles back. Leo, unsurprisingly, is less graceful, but he manages to trip over himself only once as he approaches them.

"You scared me," Frank breathes, as understanding fills him with a weird, reluctant joy. His hand seems to have attached itself to her hip as though stuck there with superglue.

She touches her lips, then lets out a shuddering sigh. "Another flashback."

"Yeah," Frank says. "You…it was harder to snap you out of it this time."

"He lost his shit," Leo provides helpfully, giving Chiron a silent thumbs-up to indicate that it's all okay.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Hazel whispers, on the brink of tears. "I wish I could stop it, Frank. I hate to make you worry."

"I wish that I didn't have to," Frank says, biting his lip when she frowns at him, endearing and expectant. He's feeling kind of horrified at himself. He just always kind of loses his mind, gives into worry and fear and panic at the slightest thought of losing her. He needs to work on it. "But I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm alright now," she mumbles, her face lighting up in a genuine smile, and his breath catches momentarily at the warmth of it. "We'll talk tomorrow. I'm sorry for making you worry."

"Okay," Frank agrees, swallowing, looking gratefully at Leo when he hands him a bottle of water. "You feeling okay?"

"Just tired," Hazel says.

He helps her lie down again, watches until her eyes shut, before handing Leo's flask back to him.

"Thanks," he says. "And…sorry. Again."

"It's fine," Leo says shortly, shoving the bottle into his bag and zipping it up. "No hard feelings."

"I need to work on my response to…any kind of freaky situation."

Leo exhales a laugh. "I told you, it's fine. You're not going to suddenly…not be scared of me in a few days. And it's normal to get a little freaked out when the person they love is hurt." He shrugs. "I getcha."

Love? That's a whole new box of anxiety Frank's been avoiding for a while, but Leo's waiting, so he settles for nodding.

"Has anyone told you you're too forgiving?" he asks, and Leo snorts in response.

"I mean, isn't life too short to hold grudges against good people?" he smirks, and Frank's cheeks burn. "Like I said, I get it. Don't beat yourself up over it. Especially since you apologized."

"Okay." Frank rubs his nose. "If you're sure."

"I am. So let's go back to sleep," Leo suggests. "We've got a busy day tomorrow."

"I thought it was just getting the metal and going back home?"

"Yeah, but I wanna build some cool tech for Chiron, too." He yawns. "And we need to figure out how to take him back with us, too."

"Sounds like a busy day to me." Frank lies back down, this time wrapping an arm around Hazel's torso. He'd meant to be gentler, but his tiredness has made him heavy-handed – but it's okay. She shifts into his touch anyway, squinting up at him.

"Hey," she whispers.

"Hey."

"I'm kind of scared to sleep, now," she confides. "Even though I'm…so tired."

"I'm kind of afraid of falling asleep, too," Frank whispers to her, interrupted only by Leo's quiet breathing. "What if Leo wakes up earlier than me and draws on my face?"

Hazel giggles quietly and pats his hand, and his stomach swoops.

"Don't worry," she says. "I'll protect you from Big Bad Leo."

Leo gives up the fake snoring thing at this and turns around so fast he shoves his nose into the dirt and almost chokes on his own spit. By the time he's done coughing and spluttering, everyone in the cave, including the judgemental horse, is staring at him.

"Don't stop now," Frank says. His breath disturbs several strands of her hair. "I think there are a few monsters several hundred miles away who didn't hear you."

Leo ignores this. "Big Bad Leo? You make me sound like I'm from a children's book."

"If you're worried he'll draw something silly on you, don't be," Hazel continues. "It's me you should be worried about. I wake up the earliest and there's a ton of coal at the fire."

"Hazel Levesque," Leo grins, "you evil genius. I'm so proud right now."

"What will you draw on me?" Frank asks.

"Could be anything," she teases, her voice soft from exhaustion. "Panda eyes. A moustache. An eggplant on your forehead."

"I'd pay good money to see that last one," Leo adds sleepily, and Frank laughs.

The lull that follows makes him realize just how tired he is. He's dead on his feet. Hazel's already nodded off and Leo takes an audible breath that suggests he's going to pass out, too, and it's now or never.

"Hey," he says quietly, lifting his head a bit. "You awake?"

Leo turns. "Yeah."

"For the record." Frank pauses. "I…do. Trust you, I mean. I'm sorry if I suggested otherwise."

"Not suggested so much as implied it heavily several times," Leo says. "But thank you. It means a lot."

"What about you?" Frank asks.

"What?"

He feels oddly shy. "Do you trust me?"

Leo turns over fully. The last lights from the dying fire dance in his eyes. He looks like he's thinking hard.

"Of course I don't," he says finally. Frank reaches over Hazel to flick him in the forehead, quickly lying down flat before Leo can retaliate. Leo flips him off, grinning, and Frank falls asleep to the sound of his silent laughter and a weird, fluffy kind of happiness spreading throughout his chest.

/

The eve of the battle, Jason thinks, is worse than the battle itself.

They're at the base of the mountain and the air feels thick. Zoe's gone to look for the Hunters, leaving Percy, Piper, and Jason to their own devices. Percy lingers at the edge of the tree line, gazing up at the peak of the hill and clenching his jaw as though lost in painful memories. His eyes are fixed on Annabeth's tiny figure at the top of the mountain and Jason can tell the dude wants to abandon the plan entirely and run to her, but he doesn't move.

Piper's pulled on the hoodie they'd stolen from Hoover Dam.

"Well?" she asks, twirling for him and dropping into a curtsey. "What do you think?"

"It's nice," Jason ventures.

Piper raises an eyebrow.

"You are a vision," Jason corrects. "Nobody else in the whole world will be able to pull off a hoodie like you do."

"Thank you," she coos, kissing him. Percy's looking over at them with an expression of the utmost disgust. He makes pointed eye contact with Jason and coughs into his fist, but it sounds suspiciously like he's saying, "Whipped."

Piper crosses her arms and leans against a nearby tree, eyes flickering every few minutes to the Titans' black fortress. Jason approaches her and rests at her side, their shoulders brushing gently against each other.

Zoe had informed them that it was early evening, but Jason honestly can't tell the difference. The sky here is caught in a never-ending storm, clouds swirling and lightning flashing every few minutes. He looks at Annabeth and wills her to hang on.

He nudges Piper in the side. "You're quiet."

"Just thinking," she murmurs. "Zoe said Atlas would show up to face her – but what if Krios shows up, too?" She bites her lip. "I know the prophecy said – but I'm not ready for him. Not even close."

Jason stares at his shoes and thinks of what to say for what feels like ages before finally settling on, "He won't."

"But what if-"

"Then we'll handle it together." He's the world's biggest fucking hypocrite. There's a special place in the Fields of Punishment for him, isn't there. He's going to go to hell for lying so blatantly to the person he loves the most. And the worst part is, he's getting good at it.

She squeezes his hand without looking at him. "Yeah."

"Don't think about it," he suggests. "Think of a happy, imaginary post-War world."

She breathes out a tiny laugh, but seems to consider it anyway.

"Maybe we could retire after this is all done," she says quietly after a moment. "Somewhere far, far away." Her eyes search the sky, mirthful. "Not LA – my dad will probably hire a private investigator to keep an eye on me. If it weren't for the satyrs manipulating the Mist, he'd have probably reported me missing to the police. "

"Boston," Jason says, the first city he can think of.

"Annabeth's extended family is from there, she'll never visit," she hums. "That rules out San Francisco, too, then."

"Somwhere suburb-y," Jason agrees, a twinge in his heart. "Far from the action."

"Sounds good," she smiles, pressing her face into his neck and sighing. "Screw waiting till we're old and boring. Screw the sprawling metropolises. All I want is to live somewhere quiet. Somewhere with limited entertainment options and sheep in the vicinity."

"Sheep?"

"I'm going to make my own wool sweaters."

"Start a small business?"

"One-of-a-kind woollen underwear."

"You could make special penis sleeves. Keep your dick warm in the winter," he jokes, and she laughs. Jason watches her eyes crinkle and feels his own lips tugging upward. Piper's real laugh isn't particularly pretty – it very nearly sounds like a cackle – and while it it's not her polite chuckle or her amused snort or her condescending smirk or even her fake titter, it's her real laugh with her head thrown back and her smile wide and unfettered, the way she laughs when Jason does something particularly ridiculous. And it's worth it to make a fool or himself because he likes bringing out that laugh from her.

He isn't quite sure when exactly her presence in his life had become so essential, but that's exactly what's happened and it's a bit disconcerting that it's so natural.

Piper's laugh grows softer and then she's smiling at him and it's so sad and wistful and beautiful and Jason's filled with this urge that fills him right up to the top of his skull, this urge to take her hand and just run. Run and run until they can't breathe any more, and when they catch their breaths they'll just start running all over again. They'd be happy together, he thinks. Lost from the rest of the world and very, very far away from everything they've ever known, but it wouldn't matter because they'd be together.

Jason curls his hands into the sides of her tshirt and looks down at them and thinks about how empty they look without Piper's brown fingers fitting neatly into them. And then he thinks about how painful and scary his longing for this kind of life with Piper has become.

"Hey," he says, and it comes out a bit louder than he'd wanted it to, loud enough for Percy to turn back questioningly. Jason waves him away and he goes back to studying Annabeth.

Piper turns to face him properly, one eyebrow lifted. Unbidden, Jason thinks that if he really cared about her, he would back away, give Piper time and space and let her find the friends she's going to need once he's gone. He would pull back and let her really live, because what he's going to have to do – leave her high and dry without even the smallest of hints –is even worse. But the thing is that Jason's so fucking selfish, man. He's head over heels and he wants her too much. He knows Piper, he does, but he wants to know her down to her bones. He wants to know the inner, intimate workings of her and he wants to be on the receiving end of her friendship and her affection and her love and her passion. He wants her in ways that are so staggeringly desperate sometimes that it's worrisome. He wants to lock them both up in a bubble of time and not come out for years. And he really shouldn't be this selfish. He really shouldn't press her. But he gulps and tells her shoes "I love you," anyway.

Piper's lips crease with her smile and her eyes take on a dazzling twinkle, the heavy shadow in them lifting, defeated by the starburst of pure joy.

"I love you," she says. Then, playfully, she adds, "but do you really mean it?"

"Uh, yeah I do," he retaliates at once. "What do you want, proof?"

"That would be nice."

"Okay," he says stupidly. "I, uh, love you. Very much. So much."

"So much, huh?" Her tease makes the strings in his chest tighten when he sees her skin darken – proof that she's just as affected by his word - it all seems so easy then, and even more so when she leans close enough for him to feel the words when she breathes, "So then kiss me, lover."

He can feel her laughing even when he captures her lips with his and it's the best feeling in the world, kissing Piper and swallowing up her little giggles and trying to pretend they're just two people in their apartment, laughing about a silly joke and getting ready for another day together. Her hand tracks over his arm, up to his shoulder and back down, sliding towards his chest. She goes utterly still when his hand touches the nape of her neck, and then she is all movement, lifting herself up to meet his lips once more, pressing into him, back arched and mouth warm.

They kiss until Piper pulls back for air, but she doesn't go far, just far enough for him to look her in the face without having to go all cross-eyed. Jason pushes her bangs back, unable to stop himself touching her.

"You were like this the first time we kissed, too," she murmurs. "Well, not this clingy, since we weren't technically dating."

"You think I'm clingy?" he asks.

"You're being the clingiest Klingon." Piper laughs at her own joke. Jason doesn't, even though he recognizes the reference. "But I think it's cute."

"You're cute," he says stupidly.

"Well," she says. "Of course I am. My mom's the goddess of beauty and my dad's a bigshot actor. Cuteness runs in the family."

"Do you think I take after Zeus, then?"

"Well, he must've had something going for him if so many people fell for him and offered up their wombs to store his children, yknow? But infidelity better not be a family trait." She levels him with a look. "Seriously."

"Your elbow is digging into my ribs," Jason complains. "It hurts."

"Kiss me again," Piper orders, and he is happy to comply.

They both fall back, his hand sinking into her hair, which feels rough from all their weeks of travel. Her arms wind around his neck and they kiss and kiss until they're breathless again. Jason pulls back to get a look at her face, her cheeks flushed with colour and the brilliant sparkle in her eyes. He removes a hand from her hair to stroke lightly across her cheekbone, sliding a finger down the side of her jaw, running his thumb across her bottom lip.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispers, an ache growing inside his chest at the sight of her soft smile, as if his emotions were too big, too powerful to fit inside the confines of his mortal human body.

Her brows furrow in confusion, because it's uncharacteristic of him to be this sappy this vocally, but she must decide to roll with it because she just smiles and presses her lips to his again.

"Same," she whispers, and Jason would be content to just – stay here in this moment for a while, feeling her heartbeat against his chest, but like all things in their lives the intimacy of this brief little pocket of time is shattered by the raging bull that is reality, which shows up this time in the form of Zoe and one of her Hunters bursting onto the scene, accompanied by several hunting wolves.

"Ever heard of ruining the moment?" Piper asks grumpily, sliding out of Jason's arms.

"Oh, I'm sorry you didn't get to snog your boyfriend for the gazillionth time," Zoe responds irritably. "I'd tell you both to get a room, but I'm afraid you'll never leave it and abandon our mission entirely."

Percy jogs up to meet them. "Well? What's the verdict?"

"My other Hunters have been detained by a small army of monsters at the other side of the woods, they sent Phoebe to tell me," Zoe snaps. "No doubt our arrival was expected."

"So – what?" Percy demands, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles turn entirely white. "Are we ditching the plan?"

"Yes and no." Zoe and her fellow Hunter share a grim look. "Phoebe says they should be here soon. We did a quick survey of the area and we should be able to pull it off."

"You're sure?" Piper asks. "I mean, if we wait –"

"We can't risk them calling more guards," Phoebe says, speaking for the first time. She sounds a bit miffed as she nods at Zoe, and Jason wonders if they'd fought about something. "Zoe thinks we can take them out quickly and start on the charmspeaking by the time our backup arrives."

"How many are there?" he asks.

"A guard not too far from where we were last time, the closest path up the mountain," Zoe reports. "Well, guards."

"As in, more than one?" Percy crosses his arms. "I thought there wouldn't be many, since the dragon does most of the guarding."

"How many guards, then?" Piper asks. "Two?"

Phoebe making a small huffing noise. Zoe doesn't say anything. She glances sideways at Phoebe, looking vaguely sheepish.

"Three," Jason guesses.

"Can't be more than three," Percy says, grinding the palm of his hands into his eyes. "Can it?"

Zoe still doesn't answer. Jason begins to get a very bad feeling. "Four? Really?."

"Five?" Piper asks. "That's so weird. There was nobody here last time. Did they really know we were coming?"

"Six guards? Seven. Seven guards," Percy guesses decisively. "We can deal with seven guards before they call for backup. We can do that."

"No," Zoe answers finally. "Not seven."

"Eight?" Piper asks, blinking heavily.

"Fifteen, actually," Zoe says.

Percy makes a noise like an offended donkey. "Zoe, there are five of us. You want us to fight fifteen monsters. You want us to fight fifteen monsters and take them out fast enough for none of them to be in any state to alert the rest of their army, which is stationed less than a mile away. And you want me to do this without using my powers."

Zoe closes her eyes and waits for exactly ten counts before opening them and fixing him with a flat stare. "Yes."

"I did suggest we wait for the rest," Phoebe grunts, though she sounds doubtful. "But a few days ago there was a man at the top of the mountain. He appeared to be talking to Annabeth. I do not know if it was Luke – he was hiding his face, and he has not visited since. But either way, we cannot afford to waste any time. We cannot delay the inevitable."

Jason chances a glance at Percy, who'd gone wholly rigid at the sound of Luke's name. His expression screams murder.

"No," says Zoe sharply. "Even if it was not Luke, we cannot afford to be lax. If we wait we will truly be tempting Fate, which I would suggest we avoid doing. Even if Luke is not here at this moment, we must treat every second he's away as a second wasted. He could be on his way back right now even as we sit here deliberating our next move. We cannot afford to wait for my sisters, watch as more and more guards are posted here, get into the thick of battle, and have him – or worse, a Titan – arrive. We must strike now – and fast." She runs a finger along the blade of her knife. "This is a mission with the sole purpose of retrieval, not reconnaissance, and least of all we do not want to start a fight we cannot finish. Once we get the monsters far from the dragon, Phoebe and I can use our poison arrows to stun the rest. But I will first go with Piper around there –" She points towards the way they'd come. "To Ladon. We have to charmspeak him to sleep before making our move."

"If the dragon wakes up it's all over," Percy agrees.

"The moment Ladon is asleep I will signal Phoebe," Zoe continues doggedly. "Our goal here is not to bring a fight into the open, but rather to draw the monsters here, under the cover of the trees. We have to subdue them as quietly and swiftly as we can – kill all but one. Piper will then charmspeak the remaining monster into taking the sky – one of us will lead him to Annabeth." She eyes Percy severely. "I'd prefer if it wasn't you, but I have an inkling you're going to ignore me."

"Well," Percy replies, "I'd hate to disappoint."

She scoffs. "The rest of us will divide into two groups. Jason and I will cover Percy while Phoebe and Piper keep our exit path clear." She pauses. "If all goes well, we should be out of here before the rest of the Hunters even arrive."

Jason senses the but at the end of the sentence, so he sighs and asks it. "But?"

"But…we have to be careful," Zoe admits. "The Hunters being detained – the increase in guards around this area…they're expecting some kind of rescue attempt, even if they don't know when we'll strike. Which is why staying cautious is imperative. If we make even the smallest error, we'll be outnumbered and grossly outmatched." She moistens her lips. "I'd prefer for all of us to make it out of here alive."

"Aw, Zoe," Percy says. "You do care."

"Of course I do," she snaps. "I did not deal with you for so long to watch you die here."

"That," Percy responds, "is the most backhanded compliment I've ever received."

Zoe ignores him entirely. "Do you all understand the plan?"

Jason's heart thrums like a hummingbird's wings in his chest. It's going so fast it can't be healthy. It shouldn't even be possible, probably. Scientists should use him in their medical trials.

Zoe and Phoebe share a kind of weird handshake-y ritual as they part, which must be some kind of exclusive Hunters-only thing. Zoe presses her thumb against Phoebe's forehead and murmurs a prayer in Ancient Greek.

"Please be careful," Phoebe murmurs. "If Atlas comes-"

"We will be on our way back before he even knows what has happened," Zoe assures her. She hefts her bow securely over her shoulder and nods at them. "Remember the plan, Percy, Jason. Wait for my signal." She directs a smug smirk at Percy. "And no powers."

"Zoe, I've come to respect you," Percy responds, teasing, "but you gotta work with me here."

"No," Zoe says, tossing her head. She is so brazenly honest sometimes that it is refreshing. "Now shut up and follow my plan."

"Yowch." Percy holds up his hands. "When have I ever deviated from one of your plans?"

"You really want me to make a list?"

Piper's got Katoptris in her hand. She throws her arms around Percy, cutting off his spluttering, and kisses Jason quickly on the cheek.

"Stay safe, guys," she says. "Let's get Annabeth back."

"Let's," Percy says fervently.

"She's done her waiting," Piper says seriously. "Twelve years of it."

"In Azkaban," Percy completes, just as straight-faced.

Jason frowns. "Isn't that some kind of prison-"

"Yessss," Piper says, clapping.

"-near San Francisco?" Jason completes. He went there, once, with Reyna. For some kind of Quest.

"Noooo," Piper says.

"Jason, that's Alcatraz," Percy says.

"Let's please not get sidetracked," Zoe hisses, sounding at once both amused and disconcerted. "Let's stick to our strategy. Are you ready?"

Everyone nods, looking grim.

"Then," she says. "Let us go. Remember the plan. Remember your roles. If all goes well, we should have Annabeth back with us in less than an hour." She nods at them. "Goodbye, and good luck. I hope for all our sakes that we make it through this alive."

/

Frank wakes up to cacophony. Which he'd been lowkey dealing with all morning – Leo and Hazel had risen early, and the soft hum of voices, horse hooves, and shuffling had sifted into Frank's half-asleep awareness with the morning sunlight, but it hadn't awakened him fully. He'd sniffled a little at the clang of Leo's hammer that invaded his wandering thoughts and wondered how someone so slight could move with such a heavy tread. He had opened his eyes briefly to see the light from the top of the cave, dim and grey, mirroring a winter morning. And then Hazel had appeared in his vision like an angel, limned in the light from Leo's fire, and soothed him to sleep once more.

This, though – this is unacceptable.

He groans. "Leo, the fuck."

"Sorry!" Leo yells, which only adds to the din. "I didn't think the drill would be this loud."

"It's a drill!" Frank snarls, pushing aside a flimsy sheet that Hazel must've placed on him after he slept. "What did you expect?"

He growls at Leo, who only shoots him a cheeky grin. Frank's head feels like an elephant is dancing on it. He squeezes his eyes shut, holding his breath.

"Can we all chill with the italics?" Hazel says, appearing from the tunnel with Arion, carrying a large chunk of a dim, iron-coloured rock. "Good morning, Frank."

"Morning," Frank says, disarmed by the glowing smile on her face. "Did you sleep well? After, um, after?"

"I did." Hazel drops the boulder at Leo's side, then joins Frank, hauling him up with a single hand, which is actually super hot and makes Frank's gut churn. "C'mon, I'll take you to the stream, you can wash up and stuff. And..talk, maybe?"

"Okay," says Frank dumbly, obeying her without question, waving a hello to Chiron as he's dragged away.

Hazel leads him outside, where Frank finds that the forest is actually gorgeous and cool even though it looks to be close to midday. They take the same path from the day before, only this time Frank feels way better and instead of having to support him him, Hazel just holds his hand shyly as they weave through the trees.

The stream is a small one; Frank washing his arms and face before thinking fuck it and ripping off his shirt so he can scrub at his chest, too (Hazel very pointedly looks away when he does this). It sucks that being clean also means that his scent will be more potent, but Hazel gets out a can of some vile-smelling deodorant from her bag and sprays him with it front head to toe, which Frank likes much better than having to roll around in mud.

"So," he says, when she settles next to him on a broad rock, dangling her bare feet into the brook. He watches as the streaks of dirt are washed away by the cool, bubbling water, and asks, "What happened last night?"

"I don't know," she admits immediately, dragging a hand over her face. "I thought they were getting better, back at Nine, but now it's like the opposite. I can stop the flashbacks when I'm awake, but not when I'm sleeping." She looks apologetic. "I don't know what to do."

"Do you think they're triggered by something?" he suggests, unable to prevent the gnawing fear from seeping into his voice. "You talked a bit about your past yesterday. Maybe that's what caused it."

"Maybe," she says tiredly. Then she looks at him thoughtfully. In the sunlight her skin shines healthily. Her curls flutter around her face. Next to her, Frank feels big and dumb and bumbling. He doesn't know what he ever did to be blessed like this.

"What?" he asks, as she studies him. He pats his hair flat against his skull. "Is there something on me?"

She bites back a smile. "You're an idiot," she says fervently, fondly. "Thank you for worrying about me."

She inches closer. Frank, afraid of reacting stupidly, just…stops moving altogether. Thoughts are whirling in his brain so quickly he can't even focus on one of them. His heart is doing a whole tap routine inside him, pumping his blood double-time, and he feels warm all over, giddy at the closeness and drunk on the enormous, unstoppable rush of affection he feels for her.

"You nearly gave me a cardiac arrest last night," he tells her seriously.

"Speak for yourself," she giggles, and then there is no more talk.

He freezes, mostly because he's trying to process the fact that Hazel is kissing him for no apparent reason other than because she clearly wants to – and she's kissing him here, out in the open, in the middle of a forest as the sunlight dances onto their skin.

When she's pulling back, probably wondering why the hell Frank isn't kissing back, her sleeved hand sliding down his side – that's when Frank snaps to attention. He lets out the air he hadn't been aware of holding back, and then chases after her, driving her back towards him in a kiss that is not like what her sky peck had been.

She gasps into his mouth, overwhelmed, but Frank pulls back at the sound, not wanting her to make her feel uncomfortable. He settles for hugging her instead, twisting around so that his forehead rests lightly against her shoulder. He drops his arms to cradle her small frame as she seems to burrow more intently into his chest. He pauses, not knowing exactly will cross her lines, not knowing how much she wants to be touched, but after a few moments he risks running a hand down her curls. She doesn't pull away, so he counts it as a win, and so, tangling his fingers in the warm strands of her unruly hair, he allows himself to take a breath.

Her arms come up to his upper back. He can feel her breath tickling the hair at the back of his neck, and he's usually kinda ticklish there, but now he just feels…happy, to be sharing this soft, intimate moment with her.

He exhales slowly, leaning forward to tuck his nose in alongside hers, which might be unusually forward of him, but he can't stand not being close to her for long. It reminds him that he's still learning, too, in this relationship, about how to be around her.

"It terrifies me to see you like that," he admits, quietly.

She laughs sharply, his breath warm on his cheek. "We just need to deal with it, I think. I know you're scared, and I am too, but you can hardly order me to stay locked away in the off chance that it'll be safer. I should know - because I often wish I could ask the same of you." She shifts and gazes at him through half lidded eyes.

"It's just weird," he explains. "Like – what if you get stuck in a flashback? I don't know. I keep getting reminded of how you could – just die. So easily, and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it."

"There's a saying about a pot and a kettle," she returns, and Frank concedes the point with silence.

"But I get it," she says. "I don't ever want you to worry about me, too."

"I don't want either of us to be worrying this much about each other," he mumbles back. "But that's easier said than done."

"Comes with the territory," she says, unable to fight an exasperated smile. "I suppose this is what you get when you put a should-be-dead girl and a piece-of-wood-away-from-death boy together."

'We're quite the pair, right?"

"Yeah, we are." He can feel her as her lips curve in a relic of a smile. "The stuff of legends."

"Well," he says, lifting his head to meet her eyes at last, "for what it's worth, I'm glad you're alive, should-be-dead girl."

She laughs, running her fingers down the side of his face. "I'm glad you're alive too, piece-of-wood-away-from-death boy."

"They're really crappy superhero names," he points out.

"Leo can make us something better," she suggests, leaning against him. "He seems like the kind of guy who'd be good at that."

He hums in agreement. "Hey, Hazel?"

"Yeah?"

"How long do we have before someone comes looking for us?"

"I mean, we're going to have to leave soon," Hazel cautions him, getting to her feet and holding out her hand for him to grasp. "I can summon the gold from the cave, and Leo needs to get back as soon as he can."

"Okay," he says, disappointed, but he knows just how much completing the spheres would mean for Leo. It would mean – so much, bringing back a form of weaponry that hadn't seen the light of day in millennia, possibly. And even though whenever someone asks how close they are to completion Leo always answers with 69% before cracking up at his own damn self, he and Beckendorf have given up night after night of sleep, giving themselves over to crunching numbers, filling parchment after parchment with calculations. The spheres have been Leo's pet project, his baby, and he's lost weight, his delicate frame turned to gauntness. Beckendorf, too, looks leaner where before he had been brawny. They've both done so much, surviving on Red Bull and adrenaline, both driven by the desperate urge to prove themselves, to give their side a fighting chance. Frank's stupid, selfish desire to be in a peaceful place with Hazel cannot hold a candle to all that.

She laughs a little and nuzzles snugly into his side as they begin the walk back. He snags her hand and she swings it back and forth, a little smile on her face.

"What about Chiron?" he asks abruptly, stopping in his tracks. "Will he come back with us?"

"He said no; Leo tried to convince him, but Chiron said he has something he needs to do first." She purses her lips. "He sounded serious. I didn't wanna butt in."

"That sucks," Frank says. "I wanted him to teach me."

"Maybe he still can." She nudges him. "We'll see him again."

"Well - what else did I miss while I was asleep?" he asks, turning his mind to something lighter and stretching his limbs to test them out as best he can. Hazel glances quickly at him before turning away quickly and fanning her face, something she always does when she gets flustered. Frank, who's growing used to her reactions with respect to his body, grins and kisses her on the side of her head quickly, laughing when she squeaks in response.

"Well, we figured out that Arion actually eats the metals I summon." She clears her throat, brings up a chunk of what looks like gold before pushing it back beneath the soil. "So that's how he found us that first day."

"Explains a lot," Frank agrees. "But – is it okay? You mentioned that your powers felt weird since you were brought back, right?"

She bites her lip. "I don't know. I still think that whatever I summon feels weird and dark, somehow, but Leo and Beckendorf have been using the pure Bronze I summoned for a while now and they seem okay. I'm beginning to wonder if it's all in my head."

"We'll just have to be careful," he offers. "Also, is it normal for horses to eat metal?"

"I don't know, but he's magical," Hazel shrugs. "He can go really fast, too. I've been taking him out on errands all morning. Leo's making all kinds of gadgets for Chiron – cool crutches and a wheelchair and stuff, so I've been getting him supplies."

"That's a good idea," Frank admits. "Good on Leo."

She nudges him. "Good on you, too. Don't think I haven't noticed that you two are actually friends, now. After how much you hated him when we all first met, too!"

"I feel mean about that," he says, scratching his nose. "Leo's not a bad guy at all."

"Not a bad guy at all," Hazel mimicks. "You guys and your emotional constipation. Why is it so hard for you to admit you like someone?"

"Hey," he protests half-heartedly. "It's not hard for me. I like you plenty."

"Do you," she says, turning to face him fully. They're at the entrance to their little cave, now, and Frank finds himself wishing they could be alone for just a little longer.

"Do I," he murmurs, looking into her eyes and marvelling at how they crinkle up cutely when she smiles, and he's about to say he likes her a lot when suddenly the words I love you rise up in his throat and make it all the way to the tip of his tongue until he literally bites them back.

The passage they're in suddenly seems cavernous. They aren't even a couple of feet from Leo and Chiron but Frank feels miles and miles away. He's just…confused, maybe? He doesn't know where the thought had come from, and now he's questioning everything. Because – is it love? He's never, like, felt romantic love before.

Maybe it's not love. Maybe it's just an extreme case of – affection. Because Hazel is the kind of person who is easy to have affection for. She's the kind of person who causes virulent outbreaks of fond smiling and reciprocal acts of kindness nearly everywhere she goes. Half of Bunker Nine has basically adopted her, and her not-siblings love her, because even though she's faking her parentage and gets so many things wrong when they attempt to bring her into a conversation about her not-Demeter powers, she always gets the important things right. Which is being friendly, being kind, and being, in general, so fucking loveable that it's hard not to fall, just a little.

Like! Even now! Hazel is smiling at him, pleased and a little confused, no doubt at whatever expression he's making, and he can't breathe. His heart feels four times its normal size just from being under her gaze, which turns from amused to a little curious.

He can tell that she's embarrassed at the scrutiny. That, despite all she adapting she's been doing in leaps and bounds, she squirms a little and fidgets a bit at first, swinging her hands in front of her shyly. But then she must see that whatever is in his face isn't, like, bad, it just must portray that he's affected by something, and that seems to spur a bit of bravery in her. She steps forward, just one step, and takes his hand.

What he feels for her – it's not extreme affection. Well, scratch that – it's not just extreme affection. It's that, but it's also love.

He wishes he were confident. He wishes he could tell her how much he loves her, how hard and fast he's been falling since the minute they met. But he's…scared. They've known each other for a few years, now, but their relationship is new, fragile. He wants to protect it, keep it safe, give it room to flourish and grow. He doesn't want to give it up.

Is it too soon to call it love? Is it even fair to voice these kinds of thoughts when his life hangs in limbo, tethered to the world of the living by the narrowest of threads?

It really is kind of soon, he tells himself. They've been in an official relationship for, like, two weeks, and Hazel is from a whole different time period, and she's only just growing comfortable with the kind of PDA that's normal today. He doesn't want to freak her out or scare her off. He likes how they are now.

But also…he loves her. He loved her the very first time they shook hands, he thinks, the first time they made a deal to travel together and have each other's backs for as long as time allowed it. He loved her the first time he introduced her to churros and her eyes lit up at the very first bite. He loved her when she saved him from those stupid demonic karpoi and had pressed the very first kiss to his lips in sheer relief, and he loves her now as she tilts her head at him questioningly, her curls bouncing a little and her eyes crinkling. A familiar warmth blooms under his skin at the memory, recalling the way she's looked at him, resplendent and beautiful, with a tiny smile and eyes that sparkled with something that felt a lot like love.

Could she grow to love him too? There's a thickness between them these days that promises so much more if only they reach for it. Frank looks at her in the eye, gorgeous and honest Hazel, and tries to convey with as much blatant honestly as he can muster in his gaze, that he loves her and he wants this and he isn't going to go anywhere.

He isn't brave enough to tell her he loves her right now – but he can show it. At least, he can try.

"Frank?" she asks, her voice low. "What-"

Her face is so soft and open. Frank fights the urge to kiss her, if only for a moment, to taste what that tender look on her face is like, but then she leans forward. Her eyes are alight, and he briefly wonders if this is what it's like to be close to the sun, and then he thinks fuck it and catches her wrist, pulling her close, their lips connecting without any hesitance at all. He's happy. He's so happy, and he reflects that, like everything else with Hazel, this – them talking about the hard things, like his insecurities and her past - might get easier with repetition. It may never become truly simple, but it might stop being quite so difficult.

He gives in, gathers her in his arms, touching her, memorizing her, and she's giggling, sliding her hands into his hair and kissing him and all Frank can think through the zing of pleasure is yes, yes, yes –

An infuriated neigh separates them, and Frank leaps back in shock with a yelp. Hazel laughs behind her hands and goes to pacify Arion, who is glaring at Frank for – what? What the fuck? Is he seriously being cockblocked by a horse?

"What the hell," he says out loud, and his voice echoes up and down the passage, loud enough for Leo to hear, probably, but Frank doesn't care.

"Aw, look, he probably missed us!" Hazel coos, going to Arion. She glances at Frank, probably sensing his complete and utter chagrin, and smiles, making her eyes go all wide.

"Please try to get along with him," she says, and too late Frank realizes that this is a very clever trap – she has her favour face on and he can't say no to her favor face. Then she follows it up with a smile so charming he feels himself physically ache, and Frank is fucked.

Leo's hooting with laughter when they troop back into the cave, and it only gets louder when he spies the disgruntled look on Frank's face. "Bet I don't look so bad now, huh?" he says, and then peels off into another round of cackling laughter.

"What are you talking about?" Hazel asks, confused, still stroking Arion's mane, and Frank could be imagining it but the horse looks smug. Frank's about to say something extremely petty and rude, but then Arion whinnies, drawing Hazel's attention back to him, leaving Frank standing and seething, trying to control the flush that is attempting to take over his face and ears.

"Dude, tell me you're not jealous of a horse," Leo whispers, as Frank frowns at his shoes, placing a hand over his eyes to block the sight of Leo looking smug and well-rested and teasing. Frank kind of wants to snap back that so what if he is, Hazel's his girlfriend and now even random annoying horses seem determined to leech away at her time with him. He wants to snap back that um, Leo was the one trying to steal Hazel from him not too long ago, but that's unfair.

It isn't that he resents Leo for being smart and funny and weirdly…well, not entirely unattractive. Most of the time the latter barely registers and the former just serves as incentive for putting up with all the things about Leo that are truly, spectacularly, annoying, like his bizarre obsession with mechanics and his kind of endearing lack of social skills. Which – honestly, isn't annoying anymore at all.

He looks at Leo, who is smirking, but it looks more friendly and inviting rather than mean, and Frank's suddenly glad he didn't respond rudely. He has to remind himself that Leo is like this and antagonizing people is probably how most of his friendships function. And he and Leo are…friends now. They're good, and the son of Hephaestus has legitimately been making an effort to make him feel comfortable these past few weeks. Frank hadn't lied the night before when he said he trusted him, and he has to admit that they've got far more in common than he had initially wanted to admit.

If Leo isn't teasing him about something or the other, then Frank wouldn't trust that it is Leo at all. Their talk from before – about their lives, about their mothers - had shifted something, and Frank's glad he hadn't closed himself off like he'd been wanting to do. Talking to Leo, really talking to him, had been the right thing. It had been an olive brank in a war that was almost entirely in his own head, an unspoken apology for all the rude, unkind thoughts Frank had been having about Leo. And Leo hadn't deserved the misplaced antagonism of someone still struggling with a fear of fire and the deep, dark insecurity of his maybe-girlfriend leaving him. Back then Frank had seen Leo as this-this stranger who had come in like a thief in the night and had stolen Hazel from him and then disappeared, paying no regard to how lonely Frank had been without her. Which is – so wrong. Leo isn't like that at all, and more importantly, as she'd said before, Hazel isn't his to have or own or keep. It's just that all he wants is to spend time with her, and nobody's. Fucking. Letting him.

Frank gazes at Hazel, her profile now limned by the light from Leo's fire. Arion whinnies at him, like Ha, and Frank glares at him so intensely his eyes begin to itch.

"I'm not jealous of a horse," Frank tells Leo.

"Sure, Jan."

"I hate you," Frank says, throwing himself down next to him unceremoniously and watches as Hazel feeds Arion a chunk of gold. She looks so cute that he can even forget that she's enabling the stupid animal.

He sighs and turns to Leo. "Need any help?"

"No, but you can help Chiron test the wheelchair," Leo says, pointing to it. Frank has no idea how he built it, but it looks cool, if a bit rusty. He sits in it himself and makes a clumsy circle around the fire. Definitely functional, though Chiron looks apprehensive.

Frank beckons Hazel over, who joins him at once, to Arion's great dismay. Together they lift Chiron as gently as they can into the wheelchair, and though Chiron lets out a tiny hiss of pain as he's lowered into the seat, he seems comfortable enough in it.

"Okay," he says, wheeling himself forward, then back. "This has…exceeded my expectations."

"I would've made you one with a cool remote and stuff if I had the time," Leo groans, looking up from where he's attempting to welded two pipes together to form some makeshift crutches. "But we can't stay very long, we've got to get the metal for the spheres and scoot."

Frank turns to Chiron. "Are you sure you don't want to join us and come back to Nine?"

"Everyone would go ballistic," Leo gushes, with a friendly slap of his hand against Frank's shoulder. "You have so much to teach us! You'll love everyone."

"In time," Chiron says. "But first…I need to find my kin, if they are still alive. I am no use to you in this condition, son of Hephaestus."

Leo frowns. "Your kin?"

"Centaurs," Hazel says. "You think…they're still around?"

"All the nymphs disappeared after the War," Leo informs Chiron. "We haven't seen any centaurs anywhere, but if satyrs are still around, maybe your family is still alive."

"I must find them if they are," Chiron says. "They will be valuable allies for the War."

"We need those," Frank replies, nodding.

"But we can't just-" Leo sighs in frustration. "Chiron, if Annabeth finds I've let you go, she'll kick my ass."

"I understand, but I must do something to help," he responds. "I have been confined here for too long."

Leo huffs. "Okay, then…if you don't find the centaurs, can you look for someone else? His name is Grover, he's a satyr. He's got an empathy link with Percy, so you can get in contact with us through him!"

Chiron nods. "I understand. I'll do my best. And worst case, I can find a Bunker entrance – I remember where they are."

"Okay," Leo says. "Now try to use these."

He shoves the crutches at the back of the wheelchair; they stick out awkwardly, but that must be the point, because Chiron reaches behind him easily, grabs them, and uses another hand to press at a button underneath he armrest. The chair rises higher until Chiron's feet dangle in the air, and with a grunt of pain he shoves the crutches into the ground and lifts himself up between them. He hangs there for a minute before pitching forward, right into Arion, who has dashed in front of him with impossible speed.

Chiron huffs and pets him. "Thank you." Arion snorts.

"You'll need practice," Leo says severely. "But this way I think you can get out of here; if you lift the chair high enough you can even get on Arion if he sits down."

"Understood." Chiron collapses back into the wheelchair. "Thank you, Leo."

"I'm still mad you don't wanna come with us," Leo grumps.

"I'll see you soon," Chiron reassures them. "I owe this to you all. To actually add to your efforts."

"Just…we'd appreciate you at the Bunkers, too, as soon as you can," Frank interjects before Leo can whine some more. "Like, really. I'm sure everyone would love to train with you."

"Duly noted – and that reminds me," Chiron adds, wheeling himself over to the empty quiver Frank had noticed the night before. "Frank – I'm sorry I could not give you some pointers in archery, but I hope this will make up for it." His gaze is shrewd when he says cryptically, "I think this will suit you."

"Um," says Frank, and he takes the quiver, slinging it across his back. It feels…normal, he guesses, even as his heart sinks, because he's kind of been expecting something cool and special.

He glances behind him, where Hazel and Leo are wearing identical expressions of polite interest. Leo's fiddling with the edge of his shirt, not really paying attention. He's schooled his face to look as though he's present, but it's the same expression Frank used to catch on Dakota's face during boring senate meetings or discussions with Octavian. Neither of them know jackshit about archery.

"Looks cool," Hazel says.

"Nice," Leo says.

"Liars," Frank shoots back.

"I thought it'd be magic," Leo grumbles.

"Me, too," Hazel whispers back. She's grown pretty good at talking out of the side of her mouth.

"Reach for an arrow," Chiron prompts, and so Frank does automatically, expecting nothing, but Leo and Hazel gasp behind him and he nearly jumps right out of his skin when his fingers brush something that feels an awful like the end of an arrow.

He pulls it out and nocks it. "What the hell."

"Good form," Chiron praises. He nods proudly. "This quiver will serve you well, son of Mars."

"It's a magical item!" Leo enthuses. "It's producing arrows for you, kinda like my tool belt! That's so cool."

"It was gifted to me by the god Apollo after I completed my training under him," Chiron divulges. "It will summon for you any arrow you wish."

"Bu-" Frank stutters, "there are – so many – like so many other people more, um, good. More better. More worthy? Of this? Chiron, I can't just – what if you need it?"

"I fear my fighting days are long behind me," Chiron says dismissively. "If need be, I can always fashion arrows myself. But you know how magical items work – they choose their owners, and this one has evidently chosen you."

Frank swallows. "I can't even begin to thank you."

"Just remember what we talked about last night," Chiron says, "and you'll be just fine."

Frank feels Hazel and Leo looking at him curiously, but he just nods. There's a big lump in his throat.

"Alright," Chiron says bracingly. "You should get going."

They all walk outside. Hazel picks a spot not far away to summon the metal – Chiron watches with interest as her eyes glow and the ground rumbles.

"What comes from the earth will always return to it," Frank recalls. Hazel turns around at him, stricken, her concentration broken.

"That's what Ella said, right?" Leo remembers, placing his hands on his hips. "I wonder what it means."

Hazel bites her lip like she's thinking about something, but she just shakes her head. "It's something I've always known. Remember how I told you before, that everything I summon requires an exchange?" Leo nods, and she continues, "That's pretty much it. It's why I told you guys that taking the gems I summon wouldn't be worth it in the long run. If you took one with a selfish agenda, it would bite you in the back eventually. All things from the earth find their way back eventually."

Leo hums. "Ella told me, to rout the storm the fire must fall. I have no clue what it could mean – and I kinda don't wanna find out. Storm sounds like Jason. And fire falling? Yikes."

Frank recalls his own prophecy, the words that had been echoed to him by the ghost of his mother just a few hours ago. "Prophecies suck."

"Amen, son."

Hazel turns back to her task; Leo summons some kind of complicated harness that he fidgets into, and then he gets out a coil of rope from his pack and holds them out to Frank with a toothy grin.

"Stop fidgeting," Frank grumbles as he tries to weave the rope between the straps on Leo's back. Leo twits, trying to reach it himself, and Frank steps back, crossing his arms and glowering.

"How old are you?" he sneers. "Four?"

"I'll be twenty in, like, a month," says Leo mulishly, as though Frank had really wanted an answer to that question.

With a start, he realizes that he must have turned twenty, too. Back at home his grandmother would have made him his favorite dish and exempted him from training for the day. Here, now, he is glad to be alive.

He turns back to Leo. "This would be a lot easier if you stopped resisting."

"I'm not resisting," says Leo, standing still under Frank's stare for a single moment before he begins resisting again. "This harness is too big for me."

"You can't summon one in your own size?"

"Evidently my good ol' belt doesn't know how…stringy beany I am," Leo says, flicking the thought away with a casual wave of his arm and succeeding in removing the rope entirely.

"String beany?" Frank snorts. "That's not even a real description."

"Is too!"

Frank grabs the rope again, grasping Leo by the shoulders and threading the rope in between the harness. "Do you think we should check the area for monsters?" he asks, rolling the tension out of his neck. "The Bronze will probably attract them here."

Chiron shakes his head. "It's alright."

The forest is quiet as Hazel bends, tearing into the ground as though it's clay and pulling out a chunk of Bronze. Leo scurries to her side, wrapping the ropes around it and securing them to himself, and together they lift it into their arms.

Frank transforms into a giant eagle. Maybe it's his injuries from before, but shifting at will this time around comes with a bit of a struggle, and he has to dig deep, searching in his mind, before he feels the familiar yet disorienting way his bones shift and strain under his skin as he makes the change.

In eagle form, everything is vivid around him, almost too much so. The sounds of the woods are louder than before and he shakes his head to clear the strange haze away.

"If you need help-" Chiron says worriedly, reaching out, but Leo waves a hand as best he can.

"We need it as pure as possible," he explains. "Only me, Hazel, and Beckendorf are allowed to touch it so far. Oh, and Jason." Chiron must understand, because he nods, looking impressed.

Leo and Hazel carefully load themselves onto his back, making sure to not even brush the metal against his feathers. Frank squawks a little at the weight, but he gets used to it soon enough. The Bronze looks dense, but it's surprisingly light for its size. Leo and Hazel shift around uncomfortably before deciding to sit face-to-face, the Bronze laid across their thighs.

"Last chance to come with us," Leo grunts at Chiron, as Frank spreads his wings, testing them out with an experimental flap or two. "Plenty...of room."

Chiron laughs. "I'm sure."

"We'll meet again," says Hazel easily. "Cheer up, Leo. We can stop for some ice cream on the way back."

"How old do you think I am?" Leo grouses. "Six?" Then he pauses. "What kind of ice cream?"

"Goodbye," Chiron waves. "Thank you for everything, I'll see you soon – I will do my best to find your satyr friend, and if you ever need to call Arion, speak his name - and he will come!"

"Got it!" Hazel calls. "Bye, Chiron! Bye, Arion!"

"See you, Chiron!" Leo yells. "Bye, demon horse!"

"Leo!" Frank hears Hazel slap him. "Don't be mean!"

"What the hell," Leo snaps. "That thing cockblocked Frank, I'm just looking out for him!"

"He did…what?"

"Frank, back me up here!" Leo yells, and Frank screes in agreement.

"Oh my god," Hazel says, as the sound of Leo's laughter follows them as they glide up into the clouds.

/

Jason hasn't been this close to Othrys in years.

He used to volunteer for scouting trips pretty often, he remembers, usually with Reyna, before she began taking more of an interest in the senate and its happenings. After that he'd come with Dakota to report on the status of the fort, which, at the time, had been about half the way to completion. Now, though, the black castle looms over the entire valet like an enormous thundercloud, dark and menacing.

He wonders if Krios is inside its walls right now. He wonders if the Titan knows he's here.

His hands, clenched around Ivlivs in coin form, are trembling – but only just barely. It's no different from the nervousness he felt before the last War. Is this what facing your death is meant to feel like? Like it's just another day in the office?

When he flips Ivlivs, will it turn into a sword or a spear? Which weapon will he die fighting with? He's always felt more comfortable with his gladius, but he feels closer to his sister when using the spear.

Thalia. Did she feel this, too? Did she know she was going to die, going into that final fight?

But she had believed she was the Child of the Prophecy, he remembers. That's the prime difference between them – Thalia had believed she was the Hero of the Prophecy and so she must have given her all to win. Jason knows he isn't the Hero. He just knows he needs to go down swinging.

He flips Ivlivs. Midair, it transforms into a gladius, which he catches gratefully with a single hand. The weight of it feels welcoming and comforting in his palm, and he feels some of the tension bleed from his shoulders.

It's just another day at the office, after all.

Beside him, Percy draws his own sword, looking at Ivlivs' golden blade with poorly-concealed envy. This must be the twentieth sword the demigods at Nine have given him, but judging by the way Percy grips it, this one isn't a match, either. Percy grimaces, noticing where Jason is looking, and shrugs as though to say, Well, what can you do?

Phoebe leading the way, they make their way to the edge of the forest furthest from Ladon; she tells them they'll pick off each monster and work their way back to the dragon, where they can meet up with Zoe and Piper. She points at the location of the furthest monsters.

"We'll each take four," she says. "The last three are quite close to Ladon, and we'll have to slay two and capture the last simultaneously. Do you think you can handle it?"

"Yeah, of course," Percy replies at once, sounding almost offended, and Jason nods in agreement.

"Alright," Phoebe says. "Make your kills and make your back to Ladon. We won't have much time before the three monsters left notice their kin are missing. We must move at great speed."

"Roger," whispers Percy.

Phoebe blinks. "Who?"

"Never mind."

"Very well then," she says, nodding gravely at them both. "Make your move when you hear the cry of a hawk. That is the signal our sisters use on a hunt." She pauses. "Good luck."

Without waiting for a reply, she darts away and up a nearby tree, where Jason sees her nock an arrow.

He and Percy share a glance; Percy bites his lip and stretches his arm out as if to clap to clap him on the shoulder, but at the last minute he seems change his mind and instead gives him a hug. He squeezes briefly for a second, and it feels a bit like sadness, like letting go.

"Good luck, man," he says.

"You, too." Jason pats him on the back; then Percy steps back and jogs away to where the first few monsters are stationed.

Jason makes his way to his position; he can see the monster he needs to kill a couple of trees in front of him. The next monster, he knows, is about a hundred or so feet to his left. He's got to be fast. Fast and quiet.

The first monster is a Cyclops, a young one judging on its size. It looks a bit like Tyson, he thinks, and pang of regret shoot through him as he remembers that monsters, too, are just pawns in this game, just following orders. But it doesn't matter right now. The monster won't hesitate to kill him, and so Jason will return the favour in kind.

The waiting is agony, mostly because his mind flashes through every worst-case scenario there is. Why are Piper and Zoe taking so long? Are they all right? Piper's charmspoken humans and monsters and demigods often enough, but what if it doesn't work on the dragon? What if Zoe's hunting hawk has already sounded the signal, only Jason's been too wrapped up in his head to notice? What does a hawk's call even sound like, again?

Luckily for him, though, he has to wait for only a few minutes before he hears the undeniable screech of a bird from some distance away; it sounds again just over his head and Jason looks up, watches as the hawk zooms past him and screes once more, probably close to where Percy is.

He takes a deep breath and runs.

Jason isn't really built for stealth, but in his dark clothes he knows he'll be hard to spot. He creeps up behind the monster, his subconscious brain reverting back to the age of four, back to when he had played hide-and-seek with his sister in their tiny little room, where he would squeeze into the cupboard and hope that if he held still enough, he wouldn't be discovered.

He grabs a rock, and throws it at a bush nearby. The rustle produced on impact is loud enough for the Cylops to turn. It lumbers close by to investigate, and that's when Jason strikes.

He aims a kick at its head, which isn't enough to knock it out, but he follows it up with another kick to the chest, sending it into a tree. Jason slams into the Cyclops' chest with a gust of air, and just as it's opening its mouth to bellow, he stabs it right in the throat.

He leaves the weapon where it is as the monster gurgles and claws at him uselessly. It's already turning to dust.

Jason feels Ivlivs back in his pocket just as he reaches the second monster; it comes up as a spear this time and Jason follows the same strategy as before, only this time he paralyzes the empousa before she even notices him. He stabs her in the chest as she's writhing on the ground and makes his way to the next one.

Two more Cyclops later and Jason is brushing the monster dust from his shirt when Percy joins him, holding his hands up in surrender when Jason whirls around, brandishing his weapon.

"How do I know it's you?" he asks doubtfully, to which Percy responds with a quick roll of his eyes as he conjures up a glob of water from the air the size of a marble. He lets it splash in Jason's face.

Together they sprint back to Ladon, where Phoebe's waiting for them. She nods tersely at them, pointing out at the monsters Percy and Jason are supposed to kill.

"I've got a poisoned arrow that stuns but will not kill," she says, drawing it. The tip of the arrow is a sickly dark green. "Wait for my mark, then meet me back here."

"Got it," Jason says. He takes his position, spying Percy hidden in the shadow of a tree not too far to his right. He can see Phoebe take aim; she meets his eyes and nods.

He moves; Percy, who must've been watching him, vanishes from sight as well. Jason doesn't bother with the rock-throwing plan this time; instead he sends an electric current up the dracaena's scaly leg and slices across her throat before she can react. He drags her body away even as she disintegrates.

Percy jogs past him, sending him a quick thumbs-up as Jason falls into step behind him. They run in silence, and Jason makes sure to keep Percy in his line of sight the entire time as his feet dig into the muddy soil. He ducks away from branches, trying to keep his senses sharp. He looks around for anything that feels out of place, anything that could have gone wrong, somehow, but all he can sense is Percy ahead of him, the sound of his feet against the ground and the way he's exhaling in short breaths.

They pass the same spot in the clearing where they'd left, and Jason can see their footprints leading to different directions, and he wonders where the others are and if he'd be anle to hear Piper if she needed help. He feels a little anxious, but at the same time he has to trust that Zoe's plan will work.

They speed up, darting in and out of the trees silently to where Phoebe's dragging the final monster behind a tree. Jason notices Zoe and Piper flanking her, and his heart skips a little, doing this weird backflippy thing of out relief at the sight of Piper.

Zoe nods approvingly as they join the party. "Good work."

"Thanks," Percy says, nodding at the dracaena, who's foaming at the mouth and struggling weakly against Phoebe's iron grip. "You guys got through okay?"

"Just fine," Zoe says. She glances at Piper with a hint of appreciation in her eyes. "Piper did wonderfully."

"Oh, please," Piper says, smiling. "It was nothing. Honestly."

Phoebe makes quick work of the monster's armour; Zoe stashes it behind a tree.

"For after the mission?" Piper smirks.

Zoe smiles, even if it's a bit tremulous. "Yes. For after."

Phoebe is searching the monster's armour, frowning as she stands up again. "No scythe charm, or any kind of communication device."

Percy frowns. "I checked the one I just killed, too. No scythe charm. That's weird."

"I'd have thought the Titans would want some kind of communication device on their border patrol," Jason adds doubtfully. "Maybe they didn't count on us putting Ladon to sleep?"

Zoe shakes her head. "No. Something is fishy about this."

"But we don't have time to question it," Piper interjects. "We need to go get Annabeth. Guys, can you hold her down?"

They comply at once, each one of them pinning a limb. The monster writhes frantically, making soft choking noises, as Piper kneels by her chest and grabs her face with both hands.

"Listen," she says, and each syllable comes out laced with pure power. It's taking all of Jason's energy to not drop everything and listen to Piper, listen to exactly what she says, even if it's at the cost of this mission – who cares about the mission, he's got to listen to Piper.

Zoe reaches across and pinches him in the leg. She shoots him a severe look before doing the same to Percy, who hisses and glares, but the pain's brought Jason back to earth.

Piper's whispering now. "You are going to go up Mount Othrys. You are going to take the sky from Annabeth. You are going to take the sky…you want to take the sky." It sounds like hypnosis, almost. Jason bites his tongue to stay sane.

The monster's still struggling, but her eyes are glazing over slowly. Piper's repeating her instructions again; the monster must finally understand what's happening, because she begins to redouble her efforts to escape.

Her tail, which had been motionless under the dracaena's body, suddenly comes to life. It swipes at Zoe, who ducks underneath with a curse, and then jabs at Percy and Phoebe, who are restraining her arms. Percy braves a scaly slash to the shoulder, but Phoebe's less lucky. The tail nabs her in the middle of her chest, and to her credit she doesn't even flinch – but she must lose her grip a little, because the dracaena rips her arm free.

It's like watching a train wreck in real-time. Phoebe grabs the flailing arm back, but in the ensuing scuffle they manage to jostle Piper, who comes out of her trance with a tiny yelp. Zoe's hissing out instructions and Piper's attempting to regain control, but the poison must be wearing off too, now, because the monster is now beginning to kick with a renewed strength.

"Put her to sleep!" Percy begs.

"If we do that we don't have anyone to take the sky," Piper says, struggling to keep the monster's eyes on her. "And then we're fucked – oh no –" For the dracaena has torn her arm free from Phoebe again and used her claws to swipe at Percy, who kicks out awkwardly and nearly loses his grip too. Jason throws himself across her body, hoping his height and weight will keep her down, but the dracaena rakes her free hand in his direction and he's distracted.

"Stop!" Piper yells, and for a split second they all halt in their tracks, before realizing what's just happened.

The monster moves first. She digs her nails into her own thigh, letting out a gargled moan even as Phoebe snatches her arm away, but it's too late. Something bloodied and silver falls into the grass.

A scythe charm.

"Shiting fuck," Percy says, as horns sound in the distance. "Shitting fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"

The dracaena is grinning; she lets out a single cackle before Zoe kicks her in the head in disgust. "We don't have much time," she says furiously. "Grab her."

"Zoe," Phoebe says mournfully.

"This – it's my-" Piper whispers, her hands over her own mouth, her eyes shining with tears and disgust and horror.

"It's nobody's fault," Zoe snaps at once, as Jason goes to her and presses a quick kiss to her hair. "To think that they'd carry the charms inside them –"

"We don't have time to lose," says Percy tightly, hauling the dracaena up – she comes without a struggle this time, Jason notes with dread, because she's done her job. "Piper, we need you."

"You can do it," Jason whispers to Piper. "Come on."

"O-okay," Piper says, and she quickly repeats the instructions. The dracaena's eyes look dead inside, and she nods when Piper asks, "Do you want to take the sky?"

Zoe swears almost ceaselessly as they hurry to the edge of the forest. "Okay, Let's go. Jason and Piper, you have to cover Percy-"

"Got it," Jason says, and Piper nods, seemingly unwilling to speak again. Jason knows why she's so guilty, he knows she's thinking of the last time this happened, and he wants nothing more than to take her in his arms and soothe her, but there's no time.

They burst out of the forest; Ladon the dragon is still, mercifully, asleep, but the stillness of Othrys has been broken, and he can hear the sound of war chants rising from the black stones, louder and louder and louder. It'll be minutes before they're overwhelmed.

Then Jason looks up at the mountain and feels his breath catch in his throat.

He can see Annabeth – a tiny figure hunched over at the peak, doubled over from the weight of the sky on her shoulders. Above her the clouds swirl in a never-ending tornado, a deadly wind that he can feel even all the way down here. If they wanted to go get her, they could. She's right in front of them…but the path is blocked.

Two Titans stand in their way, halfway up the mountain. They're both huge, about double Jason's height, decked in golden armour. One carries a spear. The other carries a sword – his helmet has horns on them. Ram's horns. And he's looking right at Jason.

Krios.

Piper gasps as Jason's breath catches in his throat.

"Zoe," Phoebe says in a tearful whisper. "Please. Our sisters-"

Jason doesn't hear Zoe's response. His eyes are trained on the Titan. He flips Ivlivs, comes up with the spear, and shoves it into the ground in a show of strength he doesn't feel he has at the moment, but he can't let himself give in to fear. He can't.

Krios lifts his chin up at him. From this angle, Jason can see the disdain, the pity in his eyes and his terror gives way for rage.

The wind shifts around him, lifting his hair and shirt and curling around his arms. Jason feels a surge of gratitude for the air, which seems to be telling him quietly, I am here. I am ready to serve. This whole battlefield is spectacularly to his tastes, in fact. The lightning at the top of the mountain can be easily redirected at an enemy if he so wishes. This might be the Titan stronghold, yes, but elementally this is Jason's turf. This is his home ground, and he's going to fuck some shit up.

Come at me, he thinks, if you dare.

The Titan looks at his fellow – this must be Atlas – before casting Jason another look. His eyes seem to say, Sorry to disappoint you, which Jason doesn't understand at all, but then he vanishes in a flash of golden light and Piper gasps, squeezing Jason's forearm so hard her nails leave marks on his skin.

Ringing in Jason's skull is the voice of his dreams.

I await you, Krios warns, and Jason shivers.

"What on earth," Piper says, in confusion and relief, but he gulps, because he understands what has just happened.

He will not die today. His fight against the Titan of the South will be on another day, which – fine. He can deal with that later, because –

Because this means there's only one Titan standing in their way, now, and Jason likes those odds a whole lot better.

"Father," Zoe breathes, as Atlas saunters down the mountain, swinging his spear casually over his shoulder.

"Daughter," says Atlas with equal awe. He's on the same level as them, now, and although his posture seems loose Jason can see that it is carefully casual.

"He's wasting time until the army gets here," Percy says under his breath. "What do we do, Zoe?"

"Of course I'm wasting time!" Atlas agrees, somehow having heard him from a good distance away. He laughs. "I could easily kill you all here myself, son of Poseidon, but I do like to put on a good show." He raises his arms wide. "And a good show needs an audience, don't you think?"

Percy's been stunned into silence, and Jason doesn't register why until he replays Atlas' statement again, fixating on son of Poseidon in a loop because they know. They know about Percy. They must then know about everything. The Quest and the Prophecy and – and –

"Oh yes, we've known about you for a while," Atlas says into the silence, correctly surmising the reason for their speechlessness. "Your friend gave you up quick enough."

At this, Percy snarls. He points his sword at Atlas, ignoring Zoe's low groan, and summons a jet of water from nowhere that curls around his blade like a beautiful, glassy snake, ready to strike.

"You lie," he growls lowly. "She would never do it."

"Oho," Atlas laughs, clapping mockingly. "Given up the pretence at last, I see!"

"Zoe, let me at him," Percy says with venom, his green eyes alight and glittering with hate. "Give me the go and I'll cut his head off."

"Father," Zoe calls. "I know your business is, first and foremost, with me."

Atlas leers. "As a father, shouldn't I welcome my daughter's friends first? This is the first time you've brought friends over." And then it's like something comes over him. His muscles go completely rigid and his eyes get brighter and brighter with power, so bright he's hard to look at head-on.

"Oh, no," he says, almost regretfully, "It isn't the first time, is it?"

Zoe draws her hunting knife; Phoebe and Piper follow at once. Jason takes a deep breath, settling the air currents around them, and gets ready.

"It isn't," Zoe whispers, and a single tears drips down her cheek, "but I daresay it might be the last, Father."

She nods, just once, her eyes still trained ahead. The moment is just seconds away, Jason can feel it. He brings the air currents closer, closer -

Zoe charges, and all hell breaks loose.

/

The first of many things to go wrong is Percy assuming Jason would be kinder to him. Of course not.

He'd sensed Jason pulling in the air around them, creating a funnel of air that would suck in anyone in its radius. They'd practiced this technique back at the Bunkers – for fun. For fun! Percy had been joking! He'd thought of a "surprise aerial attack" and made Jason launch him upwards with a burst of air, only it had led to Percy crashing into trees more often than not.

This time, there are no trees to crash into. There is just one extra-armoured Titan.

He slams into Atlas with all the force he can muster, quickly bringing the water downward and hardening it into a deadly icicle that could impale even stone, but Atlas pushes him away with an enormous hand, sending him skidding into the dirt. Percy flips to his feet at once, looking to attack again, but then Zoe intervenes with a snarl, using the nearby rocks to jump higher than him. She twirls her body like a gymnast and then lashes out with her sword; Atlas parries easily.

Percy attempts to charge again but he's distracted by Piper, who points at Annabeth frantically with Katoptris.

This is their best chance at getting her, with Atlas occupied by Zoe.

He begins to clamber up the mountain, but Atlas yells, "Where do you think you're going?" with all the glee of that one kid from Finding Nemo who was obsessed with the fish but ended up killing them. Atlas grabs Percy by the foot and flings him back; Percy yells as he loses his grip on his sword – he tucks himself into a roll midair and comes up standing behind Phoebe, who's sending arrow after arrow right at Atlas' skull.

With a grunt of pain, Percy makes to charge again, but he's stopped in his tracks by an invisible force that sends him flying backwards. He groans. He'd forgotten Titans could do that.

In the time it takes for them all to stand again, Atlas is flanked by the beginnings of what looks to be the Titan's army, and Percy's heart sinks. He glances at Jason and Piper, who look similarly frustrated, and then Phoebe, whose eyes are full of tears.

"Can you all manage the army?" Zoe asks. Her hair's partially fallen out of her braid. There's a small cut on her forearm, ripping through her clothes. "I'll handle Father."

"Zoe, I'll help," Percy tries, but she shakes her head.

"I know how he fights," she says. "I can try to do some damage before…"

"Before what?" Phoebe snaps, the words ending in a sob. "Zoe, we all told you. I knew…"

"Hush," Zoe says quietly. "I am sorry, Phoebe."

Phoebe only aims another arrow.

"You'd better kill him," she says, and Zoe's lip quirk up in a sad little smile.

"Go, Zoe," Jason says. "We'll handle the army."

"I'll help," Percy says, "till the Hunters come. Then I'll go get Annabeth."

"Sounds like a plan, yes?" Zoe says, and it's at this point that Atlas orders his army to charge.

It's a melee the likes of which Percy hasn't experienced since the War. There are monsters everywhere, and no matter how many of them they kill, more reinforcements seem to take their place.

Piper's voice rings above the din, ordering legions of monsters to stab themselves, stab their fellow soldiers – Jason's adopted their pull-and-push launching strategy to send several monsters flying at once, making their airborne bodies easy targets for Phoebe's arrows. Percy creates a swirl of water around him, using it to send chunks of ice flying into exposed parts in between armour.

His mind feels alert but his body keeps running out of energy: Percy has to keep splashing his face with water to keep himself on the move. He takes a step and stumbles, and that's when he hears it.

It's the distinct cry of an eagle, just like the one from their stealth mission from before, and then a flash of silver streaks past Percy from the forest – followed by another, and another, and another.

The Hunters flood the field, wielding weapons of pure silver. They engage the monsters now flooding in from Othrys, about thirty additional silver-clothed warriors darting into the fray with cold steel in their eyes. They all glow with a faint silver light and come armed to the teeth with snarling wolves at their heels, and even though they pretty much ignore him and he remembers he beat up quite a few of them the last time they were here he's never been this glad to see the Hunters in his life.

Piper spits out a clump of hair that's fallen into her face. She meets Percy's eyes and yells, "Go!"

Percy doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs a fallen shield and uses it to block all the attacks that come his way as he makes his way closer and closer to the foot of the mountain, where Atlas and Zoe are crossing blades.

Zoe's a force of nature, constantly moving, giving her father no time to recoup. She leaps forward with all the grace of a deer and the deadly speed of a leopard on the prowl, withdrawing two long knives strapped to her legs and slashing at Atlas with lethal accuracy.

Where she is grace, though, he is brutal strength. He doesn't often manage to land a hit on Zoe – she's too fast for that – but whenever he does manage to get in a strike she's thrown back as though she weighs nothing more than a rag doll. She snarls every time it happens and at one point even screams something obscene in Ancient Greek, but Atlas does not yell, he just glares at her for a moment, taking in her silver circlet and weapons and the blood glistening on them, before charging once more, hands curled to fit around a neck.

He's got to get to Annabeth, Percy thinks in a frenzy, while Atlas is distracted, and he chances a glance at the trees, is wondering if he can take the harder route through the forest and up the other side of the mountain, when he hears a cry.

He turns around. Zoe's staring in bewilderment at her own abdomen, which is dripping blood.

Atlas is bearing down on her from above, his spear dripping with a dark liquid that sizzles when it hits the ground, and Percy immediately knows something is wrong.

She staggers.

Percy doesn't recall moving, but he's there to catch her. His entire mind is so full of panic, panic, panic so potent that he can barely feel anything else.

Zoe coughs blood. She looks up at him like she hadn't expected anyone to be there, and this makes Percy saddest most of all because this is what she'd intended, hadn't she? All along she'd come on this Quest knowing she would have to abandon her Hunters and her position and her own life at the hands of her own father, and she'd intended to do it all alone.

"Percy," she whispers, as he lays her down against a boulder.

"I'll take it from here," he says, and his voice is trembling. "You just rest up, okay?"

She looks like she's about to protest, but something in his eyes must quell her, because she just nods. Presses her hands uselessly against the gaping hole in her stomach. "Okay."

Percy stands and faces Atlas, who is standing a couple of feet away, weapon lowered, and gazing upon them with a look of utmost sorrow.

"It is a pity," he says, and Percy loses his temper.

He's lifting his sword but Atlas's eyes turn into something manic as he knocks it from his hand with a swift swipe of his spear. Disarmed, desperate, Percy crouches to the ground and calls for the earth to push him. He leaps through the air, twisting his body and extending his leg in a devastating turning kick, but the Titan jabs with his weapon, and Percy is forced to bring a shield of water around himself to defend.

Atlas is relentless in his attacks and solid in his defense. Every move the Titan makes is precise and calculated and speaks of his abnormal skill. Fighting him is nothing like fighting Iapetus had been – Percy had ultimately bested Iapetus through sheer grit, using his surroundings to his advantage. There is no water here, save for the moistness in the air, and none of his usual tactics seem to be working. Atlas is unfazed by the jets of steaming water that burst from the ground wherever he steps, and he bats away the spikes of ice Percy sends his way comfortably.

From a distance away, Phoebe is helping. She is shooting arrows at Atlas – some of them lodge into his arms and legs, but Atlas just grits his teeth and keeps going. Phoebe, though, demonstrating an admirable fearlessness, is relentless. She begins to target his sword arm, littering arrows up and down his exposed limb. Landing a well-aimed knife at his fingers, Atlas drops his weapon, grunting in rage, and Percy takes his chance.

He kicks Atlas' spear away and spins into a roundhouse kick that gets him in the jaw, and then follows up with a punch that the Titan easily deflects.

From there on it's hand-to-hand, punches and kicks thrown in quick succession from both sides. The rest of the battlefield fades away and Percy focuses every last drop of energy into besting Atlas, who he really does have to admit has earned his place as the Titan general. He is larger than he is, a towering figure made of brute strength and not much else, and he's had millennia to hone his techniques in combat, while Percy is more at home with a sword in his hand. He's mostly practiced hand-to-hand with Annabeth, and it's a real task to try and remember what she'd used against him while simultaneously trying to dodge Atlas' well-timed blows.

Percy flips forward, sending a tremor through the ground when he lands. Atlas stumbles, and Percy pushes a wall of water right into his chest. It takes him a second to catch his breath – creating the smallest of earthquakes drains him – and somersaults away as Atlas roars, lashing out with a kick that certainly had enough power behind it to crack his skull.

Phoebe sprints closer, sending another knife at Atlas' neck, but he bats it away midair, sending her a murderous look that would've made even the brightest blossom wither and die. Percy sends two needles of ice at him while he's distracted, aiming for his eyes, but Atlas reaches out with his palms and crushes them like they're nothing more than paper.

Percy's strength is waning fast, and a quick glance towards Annabeth on top of the hill confirms she isn't doing well – she's slumped over, her shoulders shaking violently.

He needs to end this fast.

Atlas, though, as though reading his mind, stops in his tracks and surveys him like he's got all the time in the world.

"You remind me," he says, in a low, gravelly voice, "of the last hero she allowed to tread upon these sacred lands. It is curious."

Percy raises his sword arm even though his body is screaming with pain. "Don't act like you care about her."

Atlas scoffs. "She is my daughter. She might have betrayed me and my entire family, but she is my daughter. And I want nothing more than for her to join me. But she has chosen the gods, and so she has chosen death." He gazes beyond the battlefield at the stirring dragon. "It is my duty as a father to release her from this life."

"Nice way of saying you're trying to murder her in cold blood," Percy says. He sounds far calmer than he feels. He's so angry he feels his blood in his mouth and he really should stop provoking Atlas, because there's a cut on his chin, now, and ichor is dripping down his chin. There's a tiny coil of fear in Percy's stomach and if he gives it a moment's thought, it'll unravel and he'll start to panic. His blood is thundering under his skin like a heartbeat, and the awful feeling he'd felt when he'd first seen Iapetus is back in full force. Every hair on the back of his neck is standing up.

Atlas grits his teeth, but his voice is deceptively soft when he says, "I would not expect you to understand."

And that, somehow, is the last straw, the one that breaks through the crippling fear, because Percy damn well understands.

He can feel the power leaking from him in his anger, feels it sliding into the soil and the rocks and the air itself, making it heavy and moist, making it charged and crackle like lightning is coming. He clamps his teeth together, hard, trying to keep the power there.

Atlas takes a step back, his eyes flicking with interest at him. Unbidden a geyser comes to life somewhere between them, and Percy raises a hand, shutting it off. The water cools, taking some of Percy's blinding rage with it, although he still trembles with potential energy. He feels – loose, somehow, though he doesn't dare move yet.

Before the War, before fighting Iapetus, he hadn't felt this much power and now that he's come into it, stretched his wings and learned how to wield it all with wrath he can muster —well, now, in this moment, it is as though his powers don't know what to do with itself.

Coming into his skills hadn't been dramatic or really anything he had expected, considering the only evidence of such a phenomenon is probably written only in stories of the old gods. It had been just after his first solo battle – he'd happened upon a Cyclops when he was separated from Lupa and her pack. He'd been wandering the woods when he'd been ambushed and then suddenly – he'd known what to do. He'd felt the water around him, in the grass and the trees and the air, and it had responded to him. The pain afterwards had been overwhelming, twisting up from his gut and bubbling beneath his skin like it was burning to get out.

Now – it isn't hurting now. It's raging inside him, a storm ready to break, a tsunami on the precipice of exploding into being.

As if to make up for his retreat, the Titan takes two steps forward. His eyes are bright, colour high on his face.

"Some parents," Percy gets out, suddenly able to speak, able to say everything that's been buried in him for years and years, "die for their children!" And he summons a jet of water right from the ground behind him, spreading it out into a tidal wave of pure force and redirecting it at Atlas, who shoves his javelin into the ground to keep his footing as the wave crashes over him.

He gets to his feet, soaked to the bone.

"My brothers," he says, almost laughing, "they are scared of you, the puny half-blood who killed Iapetus. I told them there was nothing to worry, and I was right!"

Percy feels the ground beneath his feet tremble in time with his own rage.

"I'll show you what they're scared of," he says, and then he slams his foot into the stones.

/

Jason stumbles. He wonders if he'd imagined it, but then it happens again, and the Cyclops he's fighting actually tumbles to the ground.

Jason rights himself quickly and jabs the Cyclops in the chest, using a blast of electricity that sends the monster flying back into several other of its fellows.

"What the fuck was that?" he yells at Piper, who is closest, and she just shrugs, mystified, but only for a brief second because she's quickly detained by another monster.

Jason summons a wind current to lift him up into the sky, where he spots the source immediately. Percy's summoning tremors with every step he takes and although it's making Atlas trip up occasionally, it's not doing much else other than drain Percy of his strength.

Jason flies himself a little closer and plunges down into a circle of monsters, impaling the one he lands on and electrocuting the rest. The ones that survive are quickly picked off by the surrounding Hunters.

He looks at the closest one. "Get word to Piper. Lead as many monsters as you can towards Ladon, he'll incinerate them if they get too close."

The Hunter looks annoyed to be taking commands from a boy, but she nods and runs back to where Piper is.

Jason blasts a few monsters out of the way with walls of air before being in range to electrocute Atlas. He aims a thunderbolt at him, and Percy notices, following it up with a stream of water. Atlas launches himself upward to dodge and lands right where Percy had been about half a second ago – he's rolled away just in time.

"Well, well," Atlas crows. "Two against one – and sons of Zeus and Poseidon, no less. I am quite touched."

Jason glances at Percy, who wrinkles his nose.

"I think it's fair enough," Percy says blithely, swinging his sword through the air. Jason watches as water particles solidify around it in a ring.

Atlas' laughter echoes all the way up and down the mountain. "We shall see, demigod," he says, and strikes.

It's the most aware Jason's ever been in a battle. His senses have opened up, seem to be on high alert. He and Percy circle the Titan like predators on the hunt, using each other's attacks to strengthen their own. They take turns, almost like they're performing some bizarre dance – Percy attacks from below, Jason uses the opportunity to attack from above. Phoebe has perched herself on a secluded boulder and is aiming arrow after arrow right at Atlas's exposes spots and they don't pierce hard enough, but they're doing wonders to annoy the crap out of him.

Jason swirls the air around him, using the force to lift himself up, neatly dodging Atlas' next strike, and then plunges down his back, bringing his speak ripping through his armour. He summons a bolt of lightning at Atlas's chest and though he manages to parry, Percy quickly sends five spears of ice cutting through the air, nailing him in the shoulder and chest and drawing ichor.

Percy meets his gaze. They can't let up now.

With a swing of his sword Percy creates an arc of water that he sends swishing at Atlas' torso. Jason darts forward and with an almighty thrust of his spear sends a blast of wind into the Titan's face and renders him useless for a split second. Percy uses this precise moment to summon a scorching geyser from just below Atlas' feet, sending him sprawling into the dirt, and Phoebe lets loose an arrow that impales itself right in the side of his neck.

Jason uses an air current to send Percy flying; he twists in the air and crashes into Atlas, managing to go right through Atlas' thigh with his sword. Jason hits Atlas with a thunderbolt and for a second he thinks that maybe, just maybe, they can win this fight.

With a roar of pure outrage the Titan kicks out at the leg Percy's sword is attacked to, sending him flying right into Jason, who has to drop his weapon to avoid impaling the son of Poseidon right in the chest. They both slam into the ground, groaning in pain, but Jason tries to stand finds he can't. His limbs seem pinned to the ground by the weight of the world and he can feel his strength beginning to drain. It's like his body has been running on pure adrenaline and now that he's essentially lying down his brain is just…ready to rest.

Percy's struggling right next to him. The crazy light in his eyes has died. His sword is several feet away.

They can't move. He can't move. Atlas steps towards them, Jason hears his footsteps. He moves slowly, weaving around the rocks, each crunch of his feet on gravel and sparse grass ringing like sandpaper over skin. And then he appears in the line of Jason's fuzzy vision. His teeth are bared in a growl. His legs are dripping with ichor. His eyes – his eyes look like little suns, full of fury.

Jason can't die here. He's supposed to fight Krios.

He clings to this in his mind, though he knows it is nothing but a tool to steel is rapidly-dwindling confidence. Truly problematic is that now he is completely incapacitated and there is a Titan looming over him and Percy with a spear pointed right at his chest.

With a growl of fury Percy bangs his fist into the rocks, creating another mild tremor, but in a flash Atlas regains his footing and steps down hard, right onto Percy's right shoulder, eliciting a pained sob from him that makes Jason's face pinch in sympathy.

"You have lasted longer that I wished," Atlas booms, lifting his spear.

Jason's entire life flashes before his eyes. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. Was the Prophecy wrong? Where is Piper? Did he tell her he loved her? When is the last time he told her he loved her?

Percy's gone completely still next to him. With a great effort, Jason turns his head and watches hopelessly as Percy closes his eyes.

"No!" comes a shrill voice, and in an astonishing display of spur-of-the-moment stupidity, Zoe darts in front of Atlas, arms outstretched, holding her hunting knife aloft. Atlas stills, his eyes blown wide, before they harden once more.

He drops his spear –

He lifts his hands –

For an odd moment, Jason wonders if they're hugging. Percy's come back to life though, writhing and wriggling for all he's worth, yelling, "No, Zoe! No!"

Atlas isn't hugging Zoe, Jason realizes with a pang of pure, cold dread. He's squeezing her, the veins in his arms bulging. Zoe, who had dropped her knife in favour of clawing desperately at her father's gigantic, unyielding hands, goes limp. She isn't fighting anymore. She doesn't even sound like she's breathing as her father chokes her to death, probably – there's blood dripping onto Jason's legs.

And he is taken back, back to when he and Zoe had spoken about death. How she had said, eyes filled with a deep, dark grief, about how she would have given her life to end the Titans. And he wonders, now, if she'd known that this would happen all along.

"My daughter," says Atlas, and Jason is sickened at the way his fingers go rigid around Zoe's broken body, at the way his voice, low and raspy, almost sounds mournful.

He cradles Zoe closer, closes his eyes, and then expels a force so great that it creates a minor crevice in the stones beneath them, sending Percy and Jason sliding over the gravelled ground into a rock that Jason's pretty sure gives him a concussion upon impact, a force so great it nearly cleaves Zoe Nightshade in two and sends her flying, flying up and away from them, into the sky and over their heads until she crashes into the trees and vanishes from sight.

/

Percy's so dazed that he's barely noticed that whatever invisible binds had been tying him down have vanished. He looks at the area where Zoe had landed. He thinks – he swallows a wave of nausea and grief. He thinks he can see her body.

Atop her sniper's rock Phoebe's completely collapsed, dropping her bow and sobbing into her hands. Atlas, too, is staring at the sky, eyes closed.

Jason stirs next to him.

"Wha…" he whispers. "Zoe…"

Percy makes a swift decision. "I…I'm going to go find her. She deserves…she deserves…" Deserves what? She deserves better than this. She deserves to live. And gods she might hate him for annoying her during her final moments but he suddenly feels like he has so much to say to her. So much to apologize for. So much to learn.

He stumbles to his feet. Jason nods, like Go, And so Percy does, as fast as he can. He stumbles over the boulders – he passes the one behind which Zoe had been bleeding out silently, and he curses himself and everyone and wonders how she had the strength to even move, and he wonders why she moved at all. Why she moved to save him.

A few monsters have the misfortune to get in his way, but Percy makes quick work of them, almost without even thinking about it. Maybe later he'll wonder when he became such a cold-blooded killing machine, but that is a problem for him to deal with in the future.

The forest is cool and airy and shows no sign of being affected by the battle that still rages on at its outskirts. Percy blinks the spots out of his eyes, walking as though drunk before abandoning all sense of self-preservation and yelling Zoe's name.

He's not sure, in the end, if he happens upon her by chance or if he'd somehow heard her whispering answers to his pleading calls, but he finds her in a thicket of several trees pressed close together, and when he first sees her he stops, horrified at the scene because if she had been healthy, if she had been whole, if the ground beneath her wasn't stained red, it would have been beautiful.

Moonlight is streaming onto her and maybe it's his imagination or maybe it's really Artemis mourning her greatest follower, because the light seems to shimmer upon touching her face, and she looks serene and calm and beautiful, like some kind of ethereal forest nymph, if only it weren't for the scars littered up and down her face and arms. If only it weren't for the wound in her abdomen, still spilling blood.

She turns to look at him, and the illusion shatters. She is in pain, he remembers, and Percy calls for a thin film of water that wraps itself around his hands and he presses it gently onto Zoe's arms and legs, wincing when she shudders, coughing blood.

"We have to move you," Percy decides, because he's an idiot and he doesn't want her to die. Zoe heaves, her wound leaking, coating his hands in scarlet liquid, and the air around them tastes sharp from the blood.

"I want to see the stars," she murmurs, and he tries to raise her but it makes her cry out quietly in pain. He hates that he has to move her; she probably doesn't want to be lugged around like a sack of potatoes, especially not against the roughness of the ground, but he's not sure what else to do, and so he ends up lifting her head so that it rests against his crossed legs and not the thorny brambles scattered beneath them. Maybe it's the fact that nobody, nobody deserves to die at their parent's hands. Maybe it's the fact that he's grown to like Zoe over the course of this Quest. Maybe it's the fact that Zoe, who'd stood in his face when they were both angry and stubbornly refused to give in to him, should never be allowed to look and sound so weak.

Maybe it's the fact that maybe, if he hadn't forced his way onto this Quest, this might not have happened at all.

So deep in the forest, Percy can almost imagine there to be no fight at all. It feels like the last time they'd talked, really talked, by the stream, and he forces himself to block out the far-off sounds of the battle and replaces them with the chirping of crickets and the soft breath of the wind as it circles them, lifting the edges of Zoe's hair and making her sigh.

"Shit," Percy murmurs, as Zoe coughs again, a rattling sound that cannot mean anything good. Percy rips off his pants at the knees and tries to stop the blood flowing, and she blinks, slowly, like everything is welling up and paralyzing her, and then she takes a breath and looks up at him.

"Do not bother with saving me, son of Poseidon," Zoe interrupts feebly, and her voice cracks on the last word. "There was…a fast-spreading poison in the spear when he first…struck me. He - meant it for me, he meant it to - kill me, and it will kill me faster than the fall. I-I will not last long."

Percy's knees give. "Let me get your Hunters."

"There is no time." Zoe's hands struggle to rise, and she touches the moon-shaped clip still miraculously pinned to her hair. Percy rushes to help her unclasp it, and he places it gingerly in her lap.

She takes it in her fingers, turns it around, once, twice. Her fingers are stained with blood and little drops of red spill onto the clip, turning it from a pristine artefact to a spoil of war. Even so close to death, she is dripping with dignity - she lets out a slow, shaking breath, and then fixes her eyes on Percy, who suddenly finds himself unable to move.

"This is yours now," she tells him seriously, her brown eyes glinting even though her hands shake uncontrollably. "Use it…well."

"Uh, okay," Percy says, slightly baffled, but he accepts the gift anyway, holding out his arms to take the clip from her.

The moment the hairclip touches his fingers, it transforms, turning brighter and longer. Zoe lets out an aah of relief, bringing her hands to cover her mouth, and Percy drops it in his shock, staring at it where it lies in the grass.

Percy knows swords. He's grown up with them since the age of twelve, using first the wooden sword Lupa had fashioned for him from a dead tree, and later the short gladius he'd taken from a cyclops, his first kill. Since then he's been using several swords a year – he's grown notorious for losing them in a fight: he has this habit of chucking them like javelins and then making a run for it – but none of those weapons had felt right, anyway. The balance was off, it was either too long or too short or too broad or too heavy or too light –

None of them had been old enough.

Lupa had taught him that back in the days of Greek kings and queens and gods and heroes, swords had been sharp bits of metal with a hilt and a guard and not much else. She hadn't told him just how beautiful they could be – and Percy's seen a lot of swords. He's seen enough to know that the sword in his hands is one-of-a-kind, with the Celestial Bronze chasing, a fancy Greek runic inscription, bits of gold studs embedded into the hilt, and a leather hilt that curves slightly upwards, practically preening for his touch.

There's a fire in the cool Bronze that shines like a still pond in the sunlight, and Percy knows deep within him that this weapon was made for war – this sword both promises battle and lusts for it. It gleams like it's just been forged, but its power feels old, older than the trees, older than the ground he's kneeling on.

As soon as Zoe's clip had transformed into the weapon something had curled around his heart and refused to budge, and as he raises the weapon into the air he knows for certain that no other sword had ever been good enough, and no other sword will ever be good enough. The weapon is obviously magical, and Percy feels connected to it – the blade seems to sing under his touch, and he somehow can sense that unless he relinquishes it of his own free will, it will remain loyal to him forever.

Percy can do anything with this sword.

"Its name is Anaklusmos," Zoe gets out, and there are tears in her eyes. "The tide that will always take one by surprise."

"Riptide," Percy whispers, gripping the hilt and revelling in the warmth that seeps into his fingers. He takes a practice swing and the sword cleaves through the air with a sharp metallic shing sound that makes every hair on his body stand up on end. It's perfectly balanced, and feels almost like an extension of his own arm.

"It suits you." Zoe sighs, the last bit of tension leaving her body, and Percy drops back down to his knees by her side. "It is a magical item – it will return to you should you lose it."

"Zoe, I can't take this from you," Percy says quietly, dropping Riptide to touch her arm lightly, and if this had occurred in any other circumstance she would have swatted him away, but now she doesn't seem to mind.

"You can - and you will," she says with every bit of the haughtiness she'd had when he'd first met her. "I know…you know about who this sword was meant for. But…he never deserved it. You do."

"Zoe…"

"Take it…Percy. And - do not worry about…paying me back. You can avenge me by putting my father back in his rightful place," she whispers, nodding weakly in the general direction of the fight. Where Jason has no doubt engaged Atlas once again. Where Annabeth still bears the burden of the sky, looking thin like a skeleton.

"I will, Zoe," he says, and there's water dripping onto her arms, and she looks surprised that he's crying, but then her face melts into something like grudging fondness.

"I knew…I would die," she tells him. "Do not…blame yourself. To win this War, we need…good people. Like you. And Annabeth. So get her back safely…Percy."

"I will." He wipes his eyes. "If it's the last thing I do. I promise."

They both look up as Phoebe comes crashing through the trees; she lets out a single, broken sob when she spots Zoe and collapses at her other side. Zoe lifts an arm and pets her hair.

"Pheoebe," she says. "I'm…so glad you came."

"How could I not?" Phoebe wails, clasping Zoe's hand and leaning into her chest. "How could I not? You are my friend, my comrade, my sister…I love you. I could not let you go alone."

With trembling arms, Zoe removes her Lieutenant's circlet and places it in her palms. "Take this," she sighs. "I did not want you…to have to take this. You are too good…for the burden it brings. But…Phoebe. You are worthy. You are – capable. Lead them as I could…never have. You are…strong. Young. Bright. You…will make a fine lieutenant."

"I can't take this," Phoebe sobs, and the force of them shakes her whole body. "Please, Zoe. Do not make me do this."

"I am sorry to cause you pain," Zoe whispers quietly, and finally the serene calm over her shatters, and her face crumples as tears stream down her cheeks. "I wish…I could have been a better leader."

"You could not have been a better sister to us when we had lost everything," Phoebe insists, cradling the diadem in her hands carefully. "You led the Hunters for generations – we would've died off a long time ago if not for you." She squeezes her hand. "You led them with honor. Nobody else could've done it."

She smiles a little sadly, whispers, "Thank you." And she turns to Percy again. Her eyes soften – "I was wrong about you, son of Poseidon. And – I am very glad…that I was. I hope you win this War."

"I hope so, too," Percy says quietly. "I won't let you down."

Phoebe dabs at her eyes. "Is there anything you want, Zoe? Anything you need from us?"

"I have a favour," Zoe instructs, the alabaster mask her face had hardened into cracking a little around the edges. "I want to see the sky."

And so Percy and Phoebe lift her as gently as they can and carry her a few feet away to where the trees are sparse, allowing them all a clear view of the night sky.

Percy looks up at the inky, cloudless sky, and bites his tongue to stop himself crying. It's a beautiful night, one of the prettiest he's seen, and yet he can't look at it. He wants to stop time right here, so that the night can remain and the sun does not retake its place in the sky and so that nobody can die. He can't look at Zoe. He can't remember the last time he felt so useless.

Phoebe kneels by Zoe's side. "Look," she says softly. "It's the stars. Just like you wanted."

"Stars," Zoe agrees, pleased. "I can see the stars again."

I'm sorry, he thinks, and he whispers it to Zoe, to her hands, tangled in Phoebe's. This close he notices that she has freckles across her nose, constellations of her very own. Phoebe brushes the blood dropping from her forehead with gentle fingertips. Zoe's lips move, forming silent words. Her lips are chapped. Her eyes are shining with something that feels like magic, shining so bright they look as though they hold the galaxies themselves.

And the arm which had almost unconsciously lifted itself upwards as though reaching to the heavens drops down to her side – Zoe's final breath plumes in a small white cloud that dispels quickly in its ascent upwards, and then there is silence.

/

Percy walks back alone.

He had left Phoebe crying over Zoe's motionless body; feeling that the least he could do was allow them some privacy in death, he had left the scene, feeling numb.

He still feels…nothing. It's odd. He should be feeling grief and he supposes he does but it's manifested into nothing and he isn't sure, now, what he should be feeling anymore.

It was like this after his mother's death but almost worse, somehow, because he'd had to run for his life for days afterward, allowing himself no time at all to come to terms with all that had happened and how things would change going forward.

He's struggling to understand why Zoe's death has hit so hard – they had, after all, spent a lot of time being absolutely horrible to each other – when it hits him that it's…been a while. Years. It's been years since he's seen someone he actually cared about just – die.

His mother. Bianca. Zoe. All deaths he could have – and should have – prevented. When will Percy's reign as a sinner end?

And he'd made a promise, too, to Zoe. Another fucking promise – he's got to stop handing those out like party favours – but this is a promise he can fulfil. He can get Annabeth back.

The thought of her spurs him forward, quicks his steps, until he's almost at the edge of the woods and it's then that he spots the man.

Cloaked in shadow, he stands upright, a hand placed delicately against the tree he is closest to. From here Percy can see Jason and Piper engaging Atlas, Piper using her charmspeak carefully, stopping the Titan in his tracks occasionally, long enough for Jason to get a good hit in. It's an engaging sight but the man isn't looking at them. He's not making any attempt to participate in the battle, not moving towards either side. He's staring mournfully at Annabeth – at least until he senses Percy watching him, and he turns. His eyes widen in surprise, before quickly narrowing.

He steps a little into a thin stream of light that's made its way through the foliage, illuminating his features.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, a scar down his cheek. Percy knows who he is at once, and even though he knows he's probably never seen him before, the sight of his clear blue eyes and the jagged scar running down the side of his face stirs something inside his brain. Recognition – this man's been living, dormant, in long-buried memories for years, although Percy can't yet place where he's seen him before.

Luke.

He's the one who betrayed his friends. The one who lured Annabeth in to help him, and then captured her.

Percy doesn't think he's loathed anyone so much before. The numbness from earlier is fading rapidly, and the rage and disgust building in his gut right now pales in comparison to the hatred he feels for the Minotaur, even – Luke is an abhorrent, despicable human being, and Percy will make him pay.

For a moment that stretches painfully into something resembling eternity, neither of them move. Percy feels the weight of Riptide's passive form in his pocket – he wonders offhandedly what it'll manifest as. Surely not a hairclip, he thinks idly as he rakes his eyes over Luke, memorizing every detail. He's definitely a warrior. He holds himself like one. All firm lines of muscle and slightly-defensive posture. His eyes shine with intelligence. He looks strong, if a bit thin and scarred.

With a start Percy realizes that he's being sized up in turn. Luke's eyes travel up and down, zeroing in on random spots on his arms and legs and head as though sizing up all his weaknesses - and it feels painfully familiar. Did Annabeth glean this particular skill from Luke? Or did he get it from her?

It irks him, but it doesn't matter. Percy's going to kill him, anyway.

With a grunt of fury, Percy brings his foot down on the ground with so much force that everyone on the battlefield loses balance. Even Atlas teeters where he stands, though he quickly regains his footing in time to block Piper's quick slash with her knife.

Jason and Piper hold onto each other, and use the chaos to quickly wipe out the monsters that had been ringed around them. Jason sends a clap of air towards Atlas, so strong that it sends him sliding away, and Piper pursues him, twirling through the air and striking downwards.

In the distance, Annabeth is shaking. Her lips seem to be forming one word again and again and again like a prayer, and Percy thinks it's his name.

Luke stumbles, grabbing onto a tree, but he makes no move to grab his own weapon – a long sword strapped at his hip. He only looks at Percy, mute, and this only enrages him further.

He conjures up a ring of water around him, uses the force as it circles around him to shoot several ice dagger at Luke. One, two, three, four, five. He dodges them all with remarkable ease.

On a whim Percy reaches into his pocket and brings out Riptide – it's a pen, he sees. A regular old ballpoint pen – Luke's brows lift in disbelief, but his expression tightens as Percy uncaps the pen and watches the point grow into the sword.

Just – aah. Riptide feels like a dream in his hand, not too heavy, but not light enough for Percy to feel insecure about it. He brandishes it front of him and it sings in the air, and unprompted a sliver of water vapour hardens to mimic the motion. Luke nods slightly, impressed.

He draws his own sword now, a long, thinner variety that's half Bronze and half steel, which fills Percy with disdain. This is the sword he'd drawn on Annabeth when she'd gone to help him, he remembers, and it's that same image that jerks him into action once more.

He sprints for Luke, bringing his sword from the right in a sweeping motion that has Luke darting back immediately. With every swing of Riptide, water solidifies from the air in the same trajectory, allowing him, essentially, two strikes for one swing. It's incredible. He doesn't even have to think about it. It's the sword reading him, adapting to him, doing it all by itself.

Percy knows he's fast but the earthquake he'd used just a few minutes prior has taken more out of him than he'd like. Even though with Riptide in his hand he's gained a newfound strength, Luke is still swift enough to parry every strike Percy manages to direct his way, and it annoys the crap out of him. Luke isn't giving it his all, he's playing this defensively, like Percy isn't good enough for him. Asshole.

He watches Luke move. He's loath to admit it, but Luke is good, leaving no openings, cleverly twisting Percy's blade in ways that don't allow him to be easily disarmed. Percy brings up his left arm, hoping to summon a stream of water, but quick as lightning Luke kicks out at it, stunning and angering Percy in equal measure.

With a groan of exertion, he brings Riptide down from above, forcing Luke to lean back in order to parry. The move leaves them both in a stalemate, glaring at each other as they both try to gain the upper hand, and then as one they both lash out at each other's legs with their own. Both swords separate with a clang and Percy rolls out of range, frustrated. Riptide is too far for him to reach without Luke making a move – and he's already retrieved his abomination of a weapon.

Desperately, Percy looks around for something, any kind of weapon, before zeroing in on a knife lodged into a nearby tree. He grabs it. He's practiced knife throwing with Annabeth for fun a million times back in Nine. They used to hold contests.

He has to get to her, he thinks wildly, but he's got to take care of Luke first, this is his chance to rid them all of this-this evil – he whirls around, grabbing the dagger. Luke is already turning to go, unstable on the uneven ground, and Percy takes aim.

The knife pierces through the air, right on target. Percy's aim has never been too great, and he's useless with a bow and arrow, but he'd played pitcher for his school's baseball team as a kid and his throwing arm is usually fast and true. He watches with bated breath as the knife soars towards Luke, who isn't even attempting to dodge it. Perhaps he's accepted his death, Percy thinks viciously – it's what he deserves.

The dagger hits Luke square in the chest and then shatters, breaking into several pieces and falling to the ground, where they lie uselessly. Percy's so shocked he can't even move; he just watches as Luke fixes him with an almost disappointed look, making a move like he's about to walk away, and – no. He can't let Luke go, he can't he can't he can't he can't –

Behind him, Piper screeches in pain, and Percy turns just in time to see her drop to her knees, clutching her shoulder. Atlas laughs above her, his hands curled around his spear, and Percy swallows. He has to get to Piper, he has to get to Annabeth, he has to stop Atlas, but it seems his body is finally giving up on him, the adrenaline from seeing Luke wearing away quickly. He takes a step, but drops almost at once, his vision swimming.

Luke looks between him and the battlefield. He shoots Percy a very particular look – one that Percy isn't quite sure what to make of - and then disappears into the shadows of the woodlands, and he's gone, gone, and Percy's failed. Again.

He wants to cry. He wants to give up and retire in some tire old-person town where everyone knows everyone. He just wants to quit, man, but he doesn't have the time.

He gets to his feet and makes his way over to where Piper's tending to her own shoulder; she hisses in pain when he joins her, pulling a tendril of water to clean the wound. Jason's occupying Atlas' attention all alone. His strikes have grown slower. Percy needs to help.

"Thank the gods you're here," she says. Then – "Zoe?"

He shakes his head. She swears.

"I know – I know she told us about Atlas," she says quietly, her eyes trained on where Jason's still fighting Atlas – Percy doesn't know how he's still standing. "But I never thought…"

"I know," Percy says. "Same."

They both drop their heads in silent prayer. Piper winces, bringing up her arm to touch her injury.

"Feels like it's gone all the way to my bone," she says lightly, and he hisses, but then she adds, batting her eyelids at him so he knows it's a joke, "please, mister son of Poseidon, can't you help me?"

He rolls his eyes, taking her teasing for what it is – a chance to lift his spirits, if only just a little. "It's a flesh wound, Piper. You're fine. Stop whining."

"Excuse you, it would have been a very deep gut wound, and the only reason I'm not dead right now is because I charmspoke him before he could hit me," she shoots back. Percy's eyebrows rise to hide his alarm. She seems more or less fine now: he lets his eyes drift down, over her torso and stomach, to survey what damage there might have been. He can't see any, but he keeps looking.

"You might want to charmspeak him some more, then," he replies.

She sighs. "I hate that we don't have the time to process anything right now – but listen. You remember our promise?"

"We can't fail this time," he remembers.

"I have a plan. We can't go on much longer. We've got to get Annabeth and get out of here before we're completely overwhelmed." Her eyes dart back to the castle. "I don't know what made Krios leave, but if we comes back, we'll be well and truly done for."

"Yeah," he says. "No shit. Everyone looks dead on their feet, and we can't keep herding the monsters at Ladon for too long before the dragon turns on us."

"Yeah," Piper agrees. "So here's what I've got."

/

Annabeth watches the battle with heavy eyelids.

Everything fucking burns. She doesn't know how long she can hold out, especially since she can see that help is here, but the fighting is just going on and on and on and on – she needs it to stop. She needs someone to come get her.

Vaguely she sees Zoe fighting Atlas. Then Percy fighting Atlas. Then Percy and Jason fighting Atlas, and then Percy vanishing for what feels like a solid two years, before he's back, and – what the hell, is she hallucinating him or is he getting closer?

"Percy," she mumbles, delirious. "Percy?"

He can't be real. He can't be. But then who could that be climbing up the rocks to her without stopping? He's actually running. He's actually running up the mountain to get to her.

She would cry if she had the strength. Instead she just watches as the Percy-shaped figure gets closer, and closer, and closer, until it turns into him, and her world feels shaken, dislodged from its axis. Because he's…here. He's here and she still can't comprehend him standing mere inches from her after all this time.

He's clambering to his feet, breathing heavily, only to collapse to his knees right in front of her – and he's crying. Why's he crying?

She doesn't know, exactly, how long she's been here. How long it's been since he's seen her in the flesh. Percy is looking at her, his clothes soaking from sweat and blood, his hair a chaos of spikes and curls that lift from the gust. Lightning flashes wrathfully above them, the sky perhaps irate at a son of Poseidon daring to come so close, and maybe Annabeth's really gone crazy at this point, but the flash of light shines down on Percy in a single beam, diffracted a million times over from the teeny tiny raindrops hanging in the air. He looks loose and limber and beautiful the way he is, and the sight of Percy like that traps Annabeth's breath in her chest, her heart burning.

He looks…good. She shouldn't be thinking about that, but she can't seem to tear her eyes away from him.

Her gaze is glued to him, glued to him like her eyes don't want to look at anything else. She can't believe it. She can't believe he's here, so close that she could reach her hand out and touch him if she wasn't still imprisoned under the sky. He's so close that if she leaned forward she could brush against him and convince herself that this moment is real.

Is she dreaming him up? She must be dreaming. She knows she's dreaming – it wouldn't be the first time she conjured up a Percy so realistic it had taken her focusing on the pain to snap her out of it. They'll be at Nine, moving inventory, and Annabeth's shoulder will bump accidentally-on-purpose into his, trying to get him to drop whatever he's holding.

Ha, he will say, righting himself, and she spend just a little too long following his moments with his eyes. She will smirk when he tries to sabotage her back, and they'll both trade insults until Percy says something frustratingly funny.

You're hilarious, Annabeth will say sarcastically when she finishes laughing, and Percy with scoff in response. They'll walk to wherever they have to go, and when they're done he will smile at her and Annabeth will spend the next hour unable to breathe.

She squeezes her eyes shut. Tries desperately to erase the false Percy from her mind. She needs to – just wipe him clean. Forget the small snorting sound he makes at the end of a particularly enthusiastic laugh, a sound she listens for her whenever she says something funny. She's come to expect the sound like it's a kind of punctuation. She's got to erase that. She's got to erase everything about him, his sparkly eyes and the way he breathes and moves and emotes, even she thinks she might know them better than she knows herself.

She focuses on the pain. It spreads through her, down from her back, travelling up and down every limb, every bone, every muscle and ligament and vein and artery and blood cell. She finds a weird sense of comfort in it. The pain means she's still stuck. It's the only thing she knows, the only certainty in her life at the moment.

Only, when she opens her eyes again, he's still standing there.

She chokes back a sob, feels like the air has been knocked out of her, because after all their time apart this is it, this is the moment.

"Gods," he says, taking her in with eyes full of terrible, desperate sorrow, and he brushes some of the grime from the tip of her nose, his fingers so soft and delicate that it breaks her heart.

She feels self-conscious, and then she feels stupid for feeling self-conscious. Of course she probably looks like a damn nightmare, but she doesn't want to make Percy cry because of it.

He seems to be wrestling with sadness, and a terrible, overflowing kind of anger as he looks at her. He clenches his fists and his jaw goes tight in the way that means he's trying very hard not to say something that will only hurt later. He shakes his head as though clearing it, eyes unseeing. He tenses up as though about to burst with something, and the air crackles for a moment in anticipation, but the sensation passes as soon as it had come, and instead he just turns his head away from her, pressing his face into his hands for a moment so he doesn't have to share his tears.

He takes a couple of deep breaths, but his face is still contorted into something distant and unpleasant.

And then his shoulders droop. All the fight seems to drain out of him.

"Annabeth," he says, in the tiniest tenderest voice, sadder than she has ever heard it. He's reaching out to touch her face, and even though he's bloodied and muddy and like – just overall not looking the greatest, he's the best, most beautiful being Annabeth's ever seen. He looks like the Percy from her vision, smiling and happy and healthy, and she just wants to leave this stupid prison so she can hug him. She's not even, like, a touchy person, but all she wants to do is hug him tight.

And gods. Gods, this is it, isn't it. He's here, he's here for real, he's here to take her home, and all the dreams she's had over all these months are finally coming true.

Something in her just breaks, then, because she's so close and so far and she wants it all to stop, and she feels it break down inside her, and it must show on her face even though she doesn't think she has the energy to speak, because Percy's lower lip quivers like he's trying hard not to lose it.

"Hey," he says, and he cups her cheek. "It's okay, we're together."

She feels all the breath leave her as her brain works diligently to comprehend his words, dissect its meaning, read between the lines for the catch, because there has to be a catch. What he's saying can't be true. It would be too good, too unbelievable.

His hands slip to her shoulders. He clenches his jaw, and she nods. They're together. He's here. She's going to be alright, soon.

"Piper has a plan," he's saying. "Just – I know I'm asking a lot, I'm asking so much of you, but hang on for a few seconds longer, okay, Annabeth?" And she nods, or at least she tries, but he seems to get it anyway, and Annabeth wants to cry because it feels like the world might be ending but all she wants is for Percy to say her name one more time.

"Okay," Percy says, like he's deciding something, and suddenly he's crawling beside her and stretching his spine and – no.

He groans as he takes half the weight, and Annabeth gasps from the relief of losing it. She watches out of the corner of her eyes as Percy heaves under the pressure; she wants to say something but she can't, and then he looks her way, his eyes glimmering with determination.

"Let go," he says, and immediately she shakes her head no.

"Please," he huffs. "For…the plan. They're…almost done."

Annabeth fixes her gaze downward, watching in disbelief as Piper takes on Atlas solo; she must she charmspeaking because Atlas keeps faltering unexpectedly. Behind them, Jason is summoning a tornado around himself, pulling smaller shrubs and even some monsters into the storm.

Maybe she's just rusty, but she isn't sure what they're trying to accomplish, and she turns to Percy to tell him so, only to find him already looking at her with this stupid fond expression on his face.

"You see?" he says. "Trust me. Let go."

And – well. If she trusts one thing right now, it's Percy.

Annabeth lets go.

Percy groans as the full weight of the sky falls to his shoulders, but she barely registers it. She's free. She's free.

She rolls back, stopping when her back is flat against the ground. She lets the coolness of the winds sink into her, and breathes, and breathes, and nearly laughs, because she can finally breathe again.

She could lie here forever, but she has to move.

Her neck snaps when she looks around, trying to get a sense of her bearings, and the startling pain of it knocks her back to reality. She lifts her head, blinking furiously against the spots threatening to take over her vision, and takes in the chaos around her.

The battle below is still raging on. Piper's weaving spells into the air, Annabeth can see the words forming around her lips as she cries out. Her instructions are short, two-word shocks that are making the monsters around them stick their knives through their own armour. Phoebe's appeared from nowhere and she faces Atlas alone, the two colliding in a swirl of metal.

Annabeth feels weird, is the first thing she thinks of. It feels so weird – her back is still curved and she wouldn't be surprised if she's become a permanent goddamn hunchback now. But – there's no pain anymore. No awful burning sensation invading her limbs. She stretches out her legs and find that they still move, even if they do look skeletal. Her fingers work, too, which is a miracle.

"Annabeth," Percy wheezes, his head bowed over. The muscles in his back are tense. "Hold on…to me."

She does, wrapping her arms around his torso from behind and hooking her chin over his shoulder. Her front grazes over the small of his back and she feels an alien warmth that makes her entire body tickle.

Jason's tornado is now massive – and she gets it now, she gets what they're trying to do. The wind grows massive and the nearby trees begin to bend and groan and break as the storm grows. All the nearby Hunters are holding onto trees and rocks for dear life. Piper's taken cover behind a boulder, digging her feet into the ground as the wind pulls her in; she snatches a Hunter's arm before they stumble into the cyclone that has already picked up all the swords of the fallen.

Monsters are scrambling away, shrieking as they're blasted to dust. And Atlas, however hard he tries, is slowly being sucked into the gale.

"Any…minute now," Percy says, and like clockwork it happens. Atlas loses his footing entirely and is yanked into the hurricane; Jason speeds it up. It goes faster and faster and Annabeth clasps both her hands around Percy's waist and breathes in deeply, and she just manages to catch the scent of the sea as Jason turns right towards them and throws his arms out, releasing the winds at long last with a scream of fury.

Atlas comes flying towards them at breakneck speed – Annabeth braces for impact, squeezing her eyes shut as Atlas slams into them, and Percy legs go, giving into the momentum at just the right moment. For an awful second they're freefalling, and Annabeth's thinking is this it? Is this how I die?

And then Percy – whoops.

It's a good sound. A careless laugh that should belong to any old teenager, not people like them.

But it's a good sound. Annabeth would even call it the best sound.

It makes her open her eyes, and she does to find the grey-watered ocean coming closer and closer and closer, only there's a hand poking out of it, a giant watery hand that's actually waving at her.

It's so…him. It's so endearingly Percy that it makes her heart swell up – with…just. So many emotions. More than she ever believed herself capable of.

She manages a laugh that makes his eyes light up – right before they plunge into the water.

She waits for them to surface. Her eyes are still squeezed tight; she opens them only when Percy's hand grasps her shoulder.

They're…in a bubble.

It's big. Vaguely transparent. She can't see much outside it, even though there are a few fish that hover around them curiously.

Then she looks at Percy. He doesn't look like the Percy from the vision anymore. His hair's all flowy and swishy from the water. His shirt's too big on him. There are dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn't been sleeping well. Maybe it's because they're underwater, but he looks really pale, too.

He's the best thing she's ever seen.

She's thought of a million things to say to him. None of them seem right. She wants to say thank you. She has to say thank you. He just saved her life. But she somehow feels like if she says anything, she'll ruin this moment.

She wants to tell him how happy she is that he came for her. How grateful she is. How sorry she is. For so many things. For believing in Luke and then breaking her oath to Percy. She wants to tell him about all the thinking she's been doing, and about the weirdo vision she had, because what was that? And she wants more than ever to say that she never wants to leave him again. That she'll never doubt him again. That she doesn't deserve him.

She chokes on the words, gasps on them, stretching her hands out to him, to touch the new scar she can see on his temple, the little smile growing on his lips, but it's his eyes, wide and so full of emotion, that draw her closer and closer, until he grasps her outstretched hand and pulls her near.

And then she bursts into tears.

Percy's there at once, wrapping his arms around her as she cries into his shoulder, and he doesn't do anything but rock her back and forth and make soft comforting noises. He even presses a kiss to the crown of her head at one point, which feels super nice, but she still can't stop crying.

"You're okay now," he keeps saying, when her tears finally subside, but she still hangs onto him because she's not quite ready to let go just yet. "You're okay. We're together."

Finally, she moves back. Percy wipes her tears, then his, before he realizes they're underwater and it doesn't really matter.

"Ready to go?" he asks, and she nods.

He lifts them up to the surface and allows the waves push them gently to the rocky shore. Annabeth leans heavily against him when they reach dry land; Percy waves at several small figures in the distance – Piper and Jason, flying down the mountain - but Annabeth's officially lost all the fight she had left in her.

Percy lays her down – basically so that her torso over his chest, her head resting against his collarbone, which she knows she should probably be embarrassed by, but fuck it, honestly. He wraps an arm around her so that his fingers barely graze the base of her spine. She feels herself shiver, then relax, feeling his chest expand as he chuckles softly, relieved.

Hesitantly, she turns into him, running her own palm up his side. She can scarcely believe her own hands but the close contact, the feeling of being safe, is intoxicating. It feels heavenly, and she breathes into his shirt, unable to move away, unwilling to move away lest this overpowering feeling slip away.

All the while, Percy runs his hands through her hair, tugging at the ends and holding there for a moment, before letting go and repeating the process again. It feels kind of perfect. It feels so good and soothing she can barely describe it, and her whole body tingles in reaction to it.

"You should sleep," he says, smiling down at her. She allows herself to be coaxed into his lap so that she's lying down, looking up at him, and he sends her a smile that's so devastating, so warm and joyous and free, that she feels doomed somehow. And he leans down, so close. He's so close. So close that if she raised her head just a liiiittle bit and he ducked down just a teeeeeny bit their lips would brush, and ordinarily the thought would freak her out but she's just – so happy. So content.

"You can rest, now," he tells her lowly, and maybe their lips do brush? She can't tell. But the proximity feels makes her feel warm and happy and sated and safe. She nods.

"You won't leave?" she asks, right before her eyes close. Her voice comes out sounding like it's been through a woodchipper, and she recoils at it, but Percy only brushes the damp hair from her face and nods, so sure, like a promise. Her stomach ties itself into knots.

"Never," he says quietly, and maybe? He kisses her forehead? Again? But then sleep threatens to take her under and she closes her eyes, and she trusts Percy to bring her home.

/

Jason's limbs hurt for nearly two weeks afterwards.

He still doesn't know he had it in him to launch a Titan, which is what he says time and time again when people come to him begging for a retelling. The first night back Percy, Piper, and Jason are marched to the fire pit where the entire Bunker gathers around, listening with rapt attention as they take turns narrating the fight. There are legitimate gasps when Percy describes running into Luke and using his new sword for the first time (although a bunch of the Hephaestus kids admitted they're still salty about that) and when Jason relays how he blasted Atlas back to the sky and saw Percy and Annabeth fall back, free, everyone breaks out into cheers.

Leo makes unlimited tacos for everyone, someone breaks out the s'mores, Connor makes a very touching toast, ending it with "And here's to Jason for yeeting Atlas!" and they all spend the night going over every detail of the Quest and revelling in the fact that they've got Annabeth back at last. It's a good night and a great homecoming. They haven't had much to celebrate, recently.

And – Jason isn't gonna lie. It feels good to be congratulated. It feels like he's really accomplished something, and the pride burns like a candle inside him, even though to everyone else he just waves it off, as though he feels marginally embarrassed that he can open the heavens.

The hero's welcome lasts a whole week, and half of Bunker Six shows up to check on Annabeth the day after; they stay over for the first couple of days, leaving only when she's thoroughly examined by Will and promises to come visit them for a while soon.

Annabeth – she recovers. It's a slow process: at first he can barely manage to look at her because she's so thin, and Will says her bones are so weak she won't be able to walk for a while. Her hair is now streaked with silver all round, and even Silena can't seem to turn it back right. The first meal she eats is thrown up almost immediately and she spends most of her day in a disturbed sleep – when she wakes there's always this frightened, haunted look in her eyes, like she's expecting to be back at Othrys, and it breaks his heart.

Piper and Percy and Silena spend a lot of time tending to her after Malcolm leaves, and between the three of them they seem to make some real progress. Silena scrubs at Annabeth's skin still she comes away looking like a newborn, Piper feeds her all her meals, and Percy just – talks to her. Jokes around with her until she can't help but crack a smile and tease him, and maybe it's the sight of her smiling, but soon everyone wants in. It becomes habit for a couple of demigods to gather in the infirmary in the evenings, just to talk about their days and try to get Annabeth to laugh again.

He's glad to have her back. Nine hadn't felt the same without her, and even though she isn't back at what she used to be and he secretly doubts she ever will, he feels better knowing she's there. He feels better knowing that they've all got their leader again.

They burn Zoe's shroud at the shrine at Bunker Eight. All the Hunters are crying and Phoebe, who wears Zoe's circlet, gives a beautiful, touching speech. Even Percy steps up and talks about her final moments, thanks her for everything, and apologizes for misjudging her.

Overall, it kinds sucks. Jason had forgotten how depressing it had been, burning all the shrouds after the War.

Thalia's had been an electric blue. He wonders what his will be.

Nine seems to slowly be going back to normal – Leo is back to crafting the spheres, and these days, more often than not, he's got Frank and Hazel peering around his shoulder to give him company. Percy alternates between training with Jason and talking to Annabeth in the infirmary. Piper helps Jason in managing the general affairs of the Bunker. Annabeth still wakes up at night most days, her time at Othrys still hanging over her, but she seems to be gaining some weight back, even if she still hesitates when some of the other demigods go to her for a leader's opinion.

This leaves Jason with so much time spent with Piper, who seems to be reluctant to let him out of her sight ever since the whole Krios incident. Which – well, he isn't averse to all the attention. But it does make it harder to leave.

He's got a backpack of stuff stowed away in a tree outside Nine's entrance. He's got the perfect patrol slot, too. All he has to do is take the step.

He's had opportunities. He's had so many. But he's loathe to leave Nine with Annabeth still incapacitated, and more than that he doesn't want to leave Piper. Some evenings she gives him a kiss as he leaves for patrol and he watches her walk away and thinks, Not today.

But he doesn't have much time left. The longer he delays this, the longer everyone will be in the dark about the reality of the Prophecy. He can't let them lose another War. He can't. He won't.

And so, one night, when it's time for his night shift and Piper and Percy are heading over to check on Annabeth, Jason makes up his mind.

He grabs Piper, drags her into an empty tunnel, kisses her, and, well, if it lasts a little bit longer than usual, she doesn't complain. In fact, she comes away from it looking a little bit confused but mostly happy, the giddy kind of happy where her eyes get all crescent-shaped. He loves it. He loves her.

"Thanks for that," she says, smiling. "Do I have to ask what brought it on?"

He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again. There's nothing he can say to justify himself without spilling the entire truth, and the only thing he can use to deflect is just – how much he loves her.

He just. He wants to sit with her by the fireplace and recount the story of how they got together all over again. They've done it so many times, alone and in front of people and sometimes just to piss Leo off. But Jason realizes that he isn't tired of it. He wants to hear the story again, a hundred, no, a thousand times over. He wants to memorize the way she says it, so that he knows exactly which word will follow the previous. He wants to wake up to the smell of her, wants to hold her in his arms every night, wants to have silly domestic fights that they'll get over after a while of stubborn silence. He wants to make new memories with her and forget half of them because they're just normal, in the end.

The thing is – she's not perfect. She has her diva moments and Jason knows he isn't the best communicator. But somehow they're perfect together. He can't explain it. No amount of fancy words would be enough.

He wants her to live. He wants her to be happy.

It's been too long a silence, and she's looking at him a bit worriedly, now, and he knows, he knows, he knows that he will never love again. Not like this.

It feels too much for him, in this moment.

"I want to spend forever with you," he says in a rush, and then his entire body goes hot because he can't believe he actually said that.

She stares at him for a moment, and then the stupidest smile takes over her face. Her eyes glaze over a little. Jason finds that he can't quite look her head-on, so he studies the cracks in the wall behind her.

"We have forever," she promises. "Or at least we will, soon, when we defeat Kronos."

She leans into him again, soft and slow and lingering. Jason slows down the kiss just to feel that thrill again, chasing it up the side of her neck with a gentle swipe of his fingers. He presses his mouth to the delicate web of veins at her nape, and the effect is near-immediate. Piper stills, her hand twisted in his hair, and gazes up at him with eyes dark and hot. Jason lets his thumb sweep across her cheek.

"You asshole," she says, pecking him lightly on the nose, "keep it cute. Don't get me like this. Not now."

He doesn't want to stop. A spark of pleasure fizzes up his spine and he barely recognizes the sound of his own laughter because of how free it sounds. Piper quickly wipes the smile from it with a kiss that is nothing like the quick one she'd just given his nose.

They kiss for a while, turning it languid just to stay connected. Jason's skin tingles wherever she touches him and he gives into the boil of want and the near-drunk feeling of being this close to her.

Finally, she pulls away with evident reluctance. "Okay, I'm late now. But – um. Yeah. Maybe we'll go up to the roof tonight. Don't – um, forget? This?" She kisses him again. "I'll see you in a while, okay?"

"Bye," he replies, and it sucks how he's become better at dishonesty than he used to be, because she doesn't notice the slip-up. He stills, carefully cataloguing her reaction. They're not touching, but the warmth emanating from her feels nice, a solid heat licking up his front. He's woken up like this countless times before, with Piper's soft presence in his bed and the Bunker stirring to life around them.

Piper huffs, and the air travels up his neck and slips around his ears. "Okay," she says, "I really have to go now."

"Okay," he says.

"I mean it." She laughs, that beautiful little laugh with the smile that shows all her teeth and bunches her cheeks, and he feels he can face the lonely days to come with a light heart.

He bends slightly, emboldened by her smile, and swoops down and kisses her cheek before stepping away, his nose now filled with lavender.

"See ya," she says, and she smiles at him and turns around.

"Bye," he says again, voice scratchy. For a second he is filled with a pang of bittersweet regret as he watches her leave him, her step a little bouncier than it had been before.

For a minute or two, he stands in the darkness as the night creeps on, and he watches the shadows climb up the walls, too shaken to think properly but and unable to focus. The enormity of it all is beginning to sink in for him.

He'd said bye. Not see you, because he doubts he'll see her again. His ribcage feels like it's cracking.

When he's sure she's gone, he leaves the note under her pillow. He shoves another under Leo's. Then he walks to the Bunker gate, waving absentmindedly at Nyssa and Beckendorf at the forges. He's alone – this is exactly how he'd planned it. Being interim leader does have its perks.

He makes his way to the cave entrance, where he pricks his finger and watches as the rocks slide open for him. He retrieves the backpack from the tree.

He kind of wants to cry, a bit. Bunker Nine has been his home for years. Everything he knows and everyone he loves – they are all shielded by its walls. Nine's been a home to him, a sanctuary and a refuge, and he doesn't want to leave.

He knows he needs to go back to Othrys. With Atlas now back under the sky and Kronos missing in action, Krios and Hyperion are the only Titans left. Hyperion hasn't been seen since the last War, and Krios – well. Krios had given him a look that clearly mean I'll be waiting.

He's got the path marked out for him. He knows the way he has to go.

It's hard to fight the urge to run and leave it all. He wants to grab the Fates, if they're still around, and shake them by the shoulders. He wants to yell in their face, "Find me another destiny!"

He leans heavily against a tree. Some of the indignation seeps out of him.

All he's ever done, he thinks, is to not let people down. It's all he's ever wanted. He'd put up with the Romans telling him, for years, that he would be their perfect leader. And he's never wanted that. He's never wanted any of this Prophecy shit, either. He can't deal with people look at him like they're seeing something he can't. He wants to be what they see. He does. But he doesn't know what it is.

Their faith in him, their regard, is frightening. In a way, it is worse than living up to the expectations of the senate. In New Rome, Jason's fellow cohort-mates had been his companions, but they had never been his confidantes, and he wonders sometimes if had been the senate's way of preparing him for praetorship, if that had been their concept of leaderly training. Or, maybe, Jason had chosen that degree of distance deliberately. He had hunted with them and trained with them and even, on one memorable occasion, drank with them, and he had gone to battle with them, but there had always been that distance that he kept like a shield between them, invisible and unmistakable. They let him keep it, too, their leader, their future praetor, and they gave him their trust and respect, eager to touch the surface but content to come no closer.

It's been different here. He can safely consider everyone a friend, a comrade-in-arms. And it hurts worse to leave them, because he knows that by leaving, he will be breaking a lot more than just their belief in him. But there's no other way to make them see.

He does feel kind of horrible for having to do this. For having to go. Especially since Percy isn't at all prepared to have to deal with the pressure of being the new Hero of the Prophecy. Jason can tell how relieved he is to not be at the center of things – he's lax, carefree, in his role at Nine. He'll miss him, the way he goes with the flow, even the way he dashes up behind Jason for a sneak attack, of all things, and punches him in the stomach, leaving the both of them laughing and wrestling like they're kids, without the fate of the gods resting on their shoulders.

Maybe the reason Percy is such a good hero is because he doesn't believe himself to be the Hero of the Prophecy – and so he's not holding back when it comes to anything. He pushes himself beyond his limits at every encounter and he grows a little each time. But little does he know that the universe is bending to his every move, watching with interest as he grows older and older. Sometimes Jason thinks the world is holding its breath, watching Percy skim close to death, and then exhaling with relief when he survives. And he will. Percy's got a certain way about him that makes you…believe. And Jason does. He believes they will win the War to come. They just have to do it without him.

He's scared. He's so scared for this new journey, this path that will certainly mean his death. A large part of him wants to run back inside, but it's the thought of Piper that makes him grit his teeth.

Piper will live, he reminds himself. Piper will live if he dies, which is all that matters.

He's been happy, he thinks, with her. Happier than he'd been in years, happier than he ever remembers being in New Rome. He wants to keep the sadness from her eyes. He wants to make her laugh, hold her close, allow her touch to melt into his skin. He wants to fight for her.

Jason – he loves a lot of people. Friends, and family, and sometimes he thinks he's in love with tiny little things, like the feeling of flying, the sound of a carefree laugh, and the edge of a smile. The way the children of Demeter can coax even the oldest of seeds to bloom. The sound of metal bashing metal at the forges. The way Leo looks when he's holding a flame. The way Annabeth nobbles at the edge of her pencil as she sketches a building. The way Percy laughs, throwing an arm around Jason, coaxing him into one more sparring match, Jace, just one more.

He's fallen in love with Piper the most, he thinks. He's fallen in love with all their moments together, tangled in between seconds and minutes and hours and days and weeks. He's fallen in love with the fierceness in her manner and the softness of her touch and the way a single word from her can encourage him, can lift him up, can settle atop his shoulders and hold him up even when the world is crumbling to dust around him. He's fallen in love with the uneven, jagged locks of her hair, he's fallen in love with the way she somehow always smells like some weird tropical flower medley from all the different shampoos she insists on sampling, he's fallen in love with the eyes that always look to him, crinkling and winking and wide-eyed and full of mirth and full of life, so full of life that it feels enchanted. He's fallen in love with the firmness in her shoulders, the way her lean frame belies her strength. He's fallen in love with the way she keeps going. Keeps trying, even if she's been knocked over. He's fallen in love with her blinding smile and her cackle of a laugh, the one that seeps into his bones and remind him, oddly, of the home they could have had.

He's fallen in love with her kindness. Her honesty. Her boldness. The way she gets invested in people. He's in love with her even when she's being petty and jealous and absolutely insufferable. He's in love with the way she'd accepted him and made him feel like he could be worth something, after all.

He's doing this for her. She will hate him for it, but this is the only way for them to win the War to come.

He used to believe that being deliriously in love was some kind of scam. Now he knows it's real.

He places a hand on the closed Bunker doors, whispers a silent prayer. He hefts his pack over a shoulder and squeezes Ivlivs, finding small comfort in the familiar grooves and ridges of the coin.

Then he turns around, brushing away the stray tears that have escaped, and walks away into the night.

/

Percy and Piper arrive at the infirmary to the sound of a minor screaming match, and so they decide to hover in the doorway.

Will and a couple of others from Seven had just finished giving Annabeth another healing session, after which she seems to be a lot better, at least on the outside, because she seems to have to strength, now, to throw her usual tantrum when Silena appears at her bedside holding aloft several bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, three different-coloured loofas handing from her elbow.

"I've been planning this," Silena says blithely, with a maniacal kind of grin, cracking her knuckles, "for a long, long time."

Annabeth edges away, glancing quickly at the door like she's planning to make a run for it.

"Why don't we talk about this?" she suggests weakly. "We're all reasonable, civilized people here, aren't we?"

"Of course," Silena says soothingly. "And reasonable, civilized people take baths."

"I took one!" Annabeth protests. "I let you use your vile, stupidly-expensive shampoo on me, even. So it's all good now – Silena!" she protests, for the other girl's attempting to lift her in her arms.

"This is hilarious," Piper says from beside Percy. "I think this is Silena's dream come true."

Annabeth shies away; her foot gets tangled around her blanket and she tips, tumbling to the floor. Percy and Piper run forward to help, but she falls surprisingly lightly and doesn't even bang anything at a painful angle. She only huffs and gazes up at Piper and Percy beseechingly.

"Please get her away from me," Annabeth begs Piper, scrabbling hopelessly to no avail as Silena picks her up bridal-style – it's a reminder for them all that she might have gotten better in the weeks since her return, but she's nowhere close to her former health. "Tell her I took a bath today. Twice. Please."

"You look filthy," Silena comments, which makes Percy grin and Annabeth squawk.

"I will not tolerate all this bath-related abuse," she says indignantly. "Also let me go! I'm delicate!"

"Look at your hair!" Silena exclaims, and although they all know that being an aggressive mom is the way she shows she cares, it sounds a little bit patronizing and Annabeth bristles.

"I've seen it," Annabeth manages sarcastically. "It's its own bio-culture. We have a symbiotic relationship and have stuck a deal to sleep in separate rooms."

Piper snorts. "Silena, she actually did take two baths today. I think you'll have to postpone Spa Session Number Three to tomorrow."

Silena pouts. "But she's so roughed up, still."

"It's part of my charm," Annabeth tries.

"I'll help you cut her hair," Piper offers, and Annabeth yelps out, "Et tu, Brutus? "

"A haircut?" she demands, after a couple moments of stunned silence. "I look fine!" She twists around to Percy. "Percy, I look fine, right?"

"Um," says Percy.

"I look alright! Right? What do you think?"

"I think," Piper says smoothly, "that you're still too skinny. Did you eat all your lunch today?"

"Yes, oh my god-"

"And I think," Silena adds, sneering – as much as someone that nice can sneer, at least, "that you really do need a haircut. Your hair is really damaged, and I've seen finer haircuts that one time Leo singed off all of Nyssa's curls when he was practicing making a fireball." She glances at Piper. "You've got a deal."

"Cool," says Piper. Annabeth throws up her arms and collapses in defeat.

Silena pauses, considering, and then lays Annabeth back onto the bed gently. She wags a finger in her face. "No running tomorrow."

"Fine," Annabeth grouses, closing her eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest to convey her displeasure, but soon enough her breathing slows. How quickly she falls asleep is a mark of just how weak she's become, even though she doesn't want to admit it. She's already grown restless of being confined to the bed, claiming she doesn't care about the days of the week anymore and referring to them only by the number left before she can get back to her feet again. The immobility now must be driving her mad, especially since she'd been kept immobile for so long, holding Atlas' burden, and she's been caught multiple times trying to get up to get a book, just to have something to study in the lulls.

It's hard not to imagine early mornings from before her capture when she's like this, stretched out on a bed, her face so smooth and relaxed. Percy remembers waking her up some days, her body warm from sleep, her eyes fluttering open with a lazy, content smile.

It's been a long time since he's seen her sleep. She'd been forbidden from joining him on the night watch, even though they'd both asked Will about it, and he misses the nights they'd sit together, just – talking. Just being together. They don't get a lot of time alone these days, what with the constant visits from pretty much every demigod in Nine. The constant in-and-outs have turned the infirmary into something of a beehive.

He looks at her. Her lips have parted. Her breaths have deepened. Her stillness gives him the chance to drink in his fill of her, to let his eyes linger on the gentle curve of her spine, all the new scars she's gotten, which she hadn't let him examine when she was awake and aware.

Piper lights a brazier near the door, turning the light all intimate, making everything seem blurry and soft around the edges. She fishes a clean cloth from her bag, wets it, and wipes at the grime on Annabeth's brow. Percy watches the straight lines of her shoulder blades tense with every swipe of Piper's washcloth and tries not to feel jealous. The day they'd gotten her back he hadn't let her go, but now, somehow, he's hesitant to touch. She just seems so…frail. Like a glass sculpture. Like she could fall over at the touch of the slightest breeze, shattering into a million pieces.

"I hate seeing her like this," Piper says quietly, sitting down on the chair next to the bed. "But we have to talk to her soon. There's…a lot to unpack from the battle." She meets Percy's eyes. "Starting from why the hell – and how the hell – Atlas knew about you."

Percy nods wordlessly; he doesn't want to wake Annabeth. She tosses in his bed, rolls over onto his side so he faces them. Her eyes are still closed, lashes dark against the pallor of her cheeks. Her chapped lips are parted, just the tiniest bit. The motion makes the blankets fall down; with an exasperated snort Piper leans over to pull them back up to her chin.

"Let's not think about all the bad stuff right now," Silena says quietly, taking a step to place a comforting hand on Piper's shoulder. "Let's let Annabeth heal before we make any big decisions."

Piper looks like she's struggling, but in the end she sighs. "I know. I know. You're right. I'm just…I dunno. Atlas knowing really caught me off-guard."

"Yeah," Percy agrees angrily. "If I'd known they knew I could have been using my powers all this time instead of holding back."

"Not my point, Perce."

Silena sighs, brushing away a tangled curl behind Annabeth's ear. Percy still isn't used to her hair like this, a darker, dirtier blonde and streaked with grey, even though, after all of Silena's ministrations, it has, once again, regained the faint smell of lemons. Annabeth hadn't noticed the grey hair until being shown a mirror and had had a minor freakout, apparently, before deciding that it was a mark of the burden she had carried and so she didn't care.

Percy has one now, too. It's just a single lock of hair that's gone grey, given that he held up the sky for only a few minutes, but he's kind of fond of it. He and Annabeth match, now.

"I'm so glad she's okay, now," Silena says in a whisper, almost to herself. "I don't know what I would've done if-"

"Good thing she's back, then," Percy says. She nods mutely, seemingly snapping herself out of a haze, and nods.

"I'll see you guys for dinner," she says, sweeping out of the room, leaving Piper and Percy to take their usual seats at Annabeth's bedside.

"Is it weird that we're watching her sleep?" Piper asks, her eyes fixed on Annabeth.

"No," Percy decides after a long moment.

"You sure?"

"No."

"Yeah. It feels very Twilight." Piper gnaws at her lower lip. "We're Edward, Perce. This is a low point."

"Annabeth is Annabella," Percy snorts.

"Holy shit, maybe this is all fake. Maybe we're in a Breaking Dawn."

"Part One or Two?"

"Neither. Read the books, you freak." She stretches. "Would you be a vampire or a werewolf?"

"Does being a werewolf mean I have to roam around shirtless?"

"'Tis the Law of Taylor Lautner."

"Shirtless," he chuckles in disbelief. "Even in winter?"

"Especially in winter." Piper yawns.

"Is this all you did while I was away?" Annabeth asks, amused; she must've woken up sometime during their conversation.

"Yep," Piper responds. "We didn't talk about you at all. Just Twilight."

"I feel special," Annabeth smiles. Percy smiles back.

It's been just over a week since they'd rescued her and – she's been through so much. But this is how she refers to her capture now. As being away. Like she'd taken a vacation or something.

He wants to give her all the time she needs, but he also wants to talk to her about…everything. About how he'd come face-to-face with Luke, of all people. How he'd gotten Riptide. And he wants to hear about how she managed, too, but he doesn't wanna push her, either.

Piper briefs Annabeth about the goings-on at Nine; Annabeth nods distractedly, the way she always does when anyone says something even vaguely businesslike these days. She always gets this look – a polite yet uncomfortable smile, the muscles in her face barely moving so she looks like a wax statue. She looks like she wants to be anywhere but here, and Percy doubts the others can see it, but Piper definitely does, so she cuts herself short and waves her hand with a casual "I'll tell you later."

It could be the fatigue of it all, Percy figures. After all, Annabeth's been calling the shots around here, carrying all this responsibility, for a long, long time. He kind of hopes it's that, but he suspects that the reasons for her sudden aversion towards reclaiming her role runs far deeper than that.

Before her capture, he would have just come out and asked her. Now – he doesn't know.

"I'm beat," Piper yawns.

"I told you that you can stop checking on me now," Annabeth says. "Go to sleep, dude. I'll still be here in the morning."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Piper says, but she rises and gives Annabeth a quick hug. "Love you. Night." She ruffles Percy's hair on the way out, leaving him alone with Annabeth.

He's not sure if he's imagining it, but there's a weird kind of tension in the air these days whenever he's alone with her. It feels like she's holding something back from him, and it's probably something about Luke, which honestly makes him want to kick something, but – ugh. It's just weird in a way that is not normal for them.

"Oh," he says. "Douglas and a couple more Demeter kids grew some fresh fruit for you today." He reaches into his bag and tosses her an apple; she fumbles it and it lands on her lap. She glares at her own hands.

"Tell them thank you," she says, as Percy gingerly places a couple strawberries in her palms, too scared to throw them. "That's sweet of them."

"Yeah." He watches her nibble on a strawberry before nodding awkwardly at the candle by her bedside. "Need me to light that?"

"Maybe before you leave," she shrugs, using the back of her hand to swipe at her mouth. Her lips are stained a little pinker than normal and it's a real goddamn effort to look away.

"Nightmares?" he asks.

"Every time I sleep," she confirms. She eases herself up onto one elbow, so he can look her in the face. Her lips twist into an ironic, teasing smile. That smile, not quite the same but close enough to the one with which she used to greet him, sends another wave of heat through him. "Nice of you to get me that horrible sleeping potion, though."

"Grover suggested it." He'd actually directed Percy through the wholeass recipe, but he isn't going to say that. "Is it not helping? I can ask him for another."

"No, it does the job, it just tastes horrendous." She makes a face. "I can use the sleep. I mean – I…it's been a while. But it'd be better if I could sleep with my knife, though." Will has banned her from sparring for eight weeks, and Piper had taken her dagger away.

Percy nods, trying to ignore the stab of bitterness that pricks between his ribs. Her knife is Luke's knife, and she still owns it and still wants it, and what does that mean? If it were Percy, he would have chucked that shit into the forges – no. He would have chucked it into the sea. Something as evil and –and cursed as that blade had no business being anywhere near him.

But that's just him. Annabeth clearly has no such reservations.

Does you still care about Luke? Percy wants to yell in her face, wants to shake her shoulders until she finally looks at him and listens. Do you still love him, after all he's done?

It's gone silent between them again. He struggles to find something to say that won't trigger some kind of awful memory, but the topics available at his disposal are few and far between, and part of him is kind of mad that he has to censor himself at all. Now that she's back and healing and safe, all Percy's pent-up anger from before is beginning to bubble to the surface again. Because the fact still remains that she'd chosen Luke. She'd chosen Luke over the people who love her and – yeah. He's mad about it. He thinks he's allowed to be.

Maybe it's because he was, like, this close to kissing her when they'd gotten out of the ocean. Which – okay, so maybe he doean't have any real defense for that. He'd just. He'd been so relieved, okay? And so glad to have her back. And he'd just wanted to be close to her and he hadn't even realized he'd leaned that close until their breaths were mingling. There had been a moment, a perilous moment, where she'd been smiling at her through all her exhaustion, and she'd asked him to stay. Percy had had to think of horrible things, like the Minotaur in white underwear, and the cruel gleam of Atlas' eyes, to stop himself from reaching across the narrow space that separated them to trace the pale skin beneath her jaw, darkened by the shadows of the spiralling clouds. The sounds of the monsters clamouring seemed to drop in volume, turning it into a background hum drowned out entirely by the quickened thud-thud-thud of his pulse.

It had taken every bit of willpower in him to pull away, because consent is a thing, and even still he's pretty sure their lips touched, even though it lasted, like, a millisecond.

Maybe she is uncomfortable being around him after that – and he can't even blame her for it. But she also seems to enjoy the little catch-ups they have every day and she had wanted to know all about their Quest, and she'd also asked him about a million questions about Rachel when he told her that they'd found a new potential Oracle. But when Maron, the satyr who'd gone to look for her afterward, had come back Rachel-less, and when Percy had responded that he knew her number, Annabeth had only raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, someone's popular." And then, in a spectacularly stupid move, Percy had decided to say something along the lines of "I hope Luke hasn't gotten to her first," and Annabeth's expression had shut down and now it's all weird, being around her.

And yet – and yet.

He feels as though something has built between them, now. Something that's still building, and if he's being honest with himself, it had been growing, this something, ever since the very first time they'd clapped eyes on each other. There's a gravity between them that is hard to resist, and Percy doesn't want to fight it anymore.

Annabeth seems lost in thought tonight and he wonders what she's thinking. He wonders if she's thinking about Luke and then she wonders if he should tell her about their chance meeting. He wonders if he ought to tell her that when he's struck out at Luke, he'd struck to kill. He wonders how she'll take the news.

"Annabeth," he says quietly, and she startles, fixing her dull grey gaze on him, looking guilty. "You know…you know you can tell me anything, right?"

He doesn't know how he knows but as soon as the words leave he mouth he winces. It had been the wrong thing to say, and although her expression doesn't change, she clutches at her blanket a little harder, so hard and tight that her knuckles grow white.

"Of course," she responds, perfectly controlled, after a second of painful hesitation, but she can't meet his eyes and his heart sinks, just a little.

But then she bites her lip.

"I just…I hate feeling so useless," she says.

He listens to the sound of her shuffling a bit nearer, the rustle of her clothing as she shifts to face him properly.

"I know," he says, because he does. He'd felt similarly watching her walk away from him. "But it's only for a short while. It's important that you let your body heal."

"I know."

"Do you?" he asks, trying not to smile. "Because it seems as if you keep forgetting."

She meets his eyes. "Good thing I have you to remind me."

"Good thing." He reaches out to her, and, unsure of where to touch, ends up grasping her blanketed calves awkwardly. He wants to scream at himself, but he looks up to find her smiling at him softly.

The expression makes him ache.

Despite his differences with Zoe, her death had hit him like a blow to the gut. It had reminded him that the War was going to be real very soon and that there would be more casualties, deaths that will be out of his control. Her death reminds him, oddly, of Bianca's, only this time there had been no Nico to break the news to after. Percy remembers him, now, remembers seeing his eyes grow wide and his lower lip begin to quiver. With a pang of sadness, he wonders where Nico is now. He knows that now, Nico would be no longer the innocent kid with the Mythomagic obsession, who enjoyed his little mischiefs and games. His eyes would be ringed with the sadness of his sister's demise.

Guilt, always present, wraps around his ribs.

It seems as though everyone he cares about is gone – his mother passed, Lupa out of reach, Bianca buried, Nico lost, Grover roaming the wilderness.

And Annabeth – well. Annabeth is still here, striking and quiet and distant.

Sometimes, it's all he can do to not clutch at her and demand that she stay in his sight and within an arm's length at all times. He would never voice it aloud, of course. She'd get angry and accuse him of looking down on her. Which he's not. Of course he's not. But sometimes he looks at her, at how small she looks, how brittle – this is the kind of weight loss that comes with years of not eating enough – and it reawakens the urge in him to open the entire earth before them and swallow Othrys whole.

He feels as if his breath is being stolen from his chest. He reached a hand toward her face. "Annabeth, I-"

Her face grows panicked, then closes off entirely. She leans back a little abruptly, out of his reach, and then closes her eyes, turning away from Percy, whose hand has dropped helplessly back to his side.

The implication that he might not be worthy of her trust is crystal fucking clear, and the brief flash of fear that had appeared in her eyes sting that much more when he realizes that Luke is probably the reason for her hesitance. He can't find anything to say, just tries to keep his nails from breaking through the skin in his palms, even though the pain is blissfully grounding and distracts from the ache in his ribs.

Percy remembers the way they used to be around each other. The way his skin would prickle all over in a full body shiver every time any part of him so much as accidentally brushed up against her, be it his arm or his hand or a single finger. Touch-wise they'd been comfortable with each other, playful, teasing. They'd touched a lot. A brush of hands, a nudge of their elbows, a shove to his back. In battle, they didn't even have to speak. Communication had been effortless.

He remembers the way they would roam around Nine for ages, chatting aimlessly with each other and whoever else they happened across. Their patrols would extend far too long for no discernible reason, going way over the allotted time. On one memorable occasion they'd taken three extra patrol shifts, waving away whoever came to relieve them. She'd been comfortable with him, he knows for a damn fact. Comfortable enough to share stories of her past with him, to talk about Luke with him. He had worked hard to gain her trust, torn down years and years' worth of emotional and emotional blocks, and this feels like it had back when he'd first arrived at Nine, only worse. Maybe that's why it hurts, it hurts like a knife to the chest, that she seems afraid to touch now.

He breathes deeply, through his nose, replaying her flinch again and again, and thinks that he needs to stop his heart from leaking into his head. Sadly, he wonders if he will ever get her back, for real.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"No, I am," she whispers, tortured, panicked. "I don't know – it's just…back then, Luke - I…I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me…"

"It's okay," he says, even though he wants to yell and throw something at the mere mention of Luke's name. Annabeth's been carefully tight-lipped about him, which makes him burn with curiosity, but he figures – hopes – that she'll come to him eventually of her own accord. So he keeps his face carefully neutral as he watches several emotions dance across hers. Annabeth's got a great poker face, but he's noticed that if you watch her closely enough she's actually pretty open with her feelings – although it's hard to miss if you don't care enough to notice. He can pinpoint the exact moments she traverses from confusion to shock to disbelief to realization, and then to heartrending shame and guilt.

His chest constricts. Part of him is already bracing himself for impact, is already healing from the realization that Annabeth probably still loves Luke, even after everything. That her feelings for him run deeper than he'd thought. That she'd been avoiding it in the years since the War, but had been unable to turn away from her heart when faced with him in person. That maybe he'd always been there in the back of her mind and the corner of her heart. That they have a bond stronger, deeper, than the one Percy shares with her. But the hurt remains, even if he tries to snuff it out, and he's not quite sure if it is a blow more to his ego than his heart, or maybe even both.

But if space and time are what she needs to heal – then it's fine. He should let her back away, give her time, give her space, to allow her to heal in whatever way she thinks is best, even if he hates the delicacy of it all and hates to tiptoe around her. He should be the friend she needs and let their friendship pick up and develop on the basis of that. But he also wants – he just wants, okay? He wants to know what she's thinking, how she's feeling, if she's okay. He wants for them to be able to sit up on late nights and talk and talk and talk and talk and not come up for air for days. He wants her lips to crease when she smiles and for her eyes to twinkle when she talks about a feat of moden architecture. He wants the heavy shadow hanging over her to lift. He wants to be there for her in any silly little way he can be and he wants to be with her in ways that prove just how staggeringly needy he's become.

Perhaps what he's feeling isn't wholly healthy. He's been alone for…so long, after all. But more than ever as of late he's found himself feeling a pit in the depths of his stomach that makes him long for someone to linger. Watching Jason and Piper, watching Zoe die, has made him realize he years for someone to lay by his side in bed, smile as he tells them a story. He wants to wake up to someone next to him, content after a dreamless sleep together. That's the kind of companionship he wants, like – like friendship, or family, but deeper. Softer. He can't describe it. Words have never been his thing.

But he knows one thing. If he had to imagine anyone in that role, it would be Annabeth. And maybe they don't have time for these revelations – they're in a war, after all, and their lives don't allow for any guarantee of permanence. But losing her had made him realize that he just didn't want her to fight by his side – he wanted her to stay there.

He doesn't know when this started. He doesn't know when it got this bad. And he wants to tell her everything – he does. But right now, he just wants her to be okay.

But even though he shouldn't be selfish and she shouldn't press her, he needs to try to be honest with her.

"Hey," he says, at the same time Annabeth blurts out: "I have to tell you something," and for a moment the thickness around them softens as she laughs softly, hiding the sound in her wrist and curling in on herself a little. The sound travels crystal clear, and Percy feels as though there are hornets in his stomach, eating away at his insides.

She angles her body to lean against the headboard. Percy eyes her shoulders and can't help but think of how slight they are, yet how strong, to have carried so many burdens.

"You first," he says.

"No, you."

"No you."

She huffs. "Okay, I'll go." She sighs. Oddly, while she looks slightly relieved at their usual banter, her shoulders are still high and braced, like she's tensing for a blow. Her hands snap apart, and she looks uncomfortable, as if she'd been caught doing something shameful.

The reason comes to Percy in a flash, the memory of her night confession suddenly coming to the fore in his mind. The answer worms under the barrier of incomprehension in his mind, dark and ugly. Something bitter and ugly creeps up his throat. His gaze drifts to the entrance and he can see the braziers from outside flickering. Shadows pour into the room like ink on wet paper, bleeding unevenly and purple at the edges. Betrayal burns in his chest, thrums hot in his muscles as his hands clench into fists.

She's going to tell Percy that she still loves Luke.

"I…It's…a lot," she says. Thin-lipped and wide-eyed, she goes uncharacteristically quiet, bititng her lip and dropping her gaze. She's clearly wrestling with a lot of emotions, and Percy steps forward, unable to help himself. She snaps upright at his movement and the abject terror in her eyes take him aback.

Then, as though coming back to herself, she lifts her chin and looks up at Percy and there's a hint of defiance underneath all that fear and sorrow, like she's made up her mind. Something painful and wonderful lances through his heart at the sight of it.

"Annabeth," he hurries to say, feeling this weird compulsion to reassure her, keep her safe from hard, his need to protect immediately overriding the anger and betrayal and sadness he'd been feeling.

"Hey," he says again, when the first effort doesn't garner him a response. "It's okay. You don't need to force yourself."

"No, I have to," she says. "It-it involves you, and you're going to be hurt by it, and so angry, but I have to tell you. I'll never forgive myself if I don't."

What? He thinks. "But-"

"Percy? Annabeth?" Silena's head pokes round the entrance. Percy scowls at her – he'd been so close -but she just shakes her head, eyes wide. Something about her posture makes him shoot to his feet. "Guys? Can you, um…get here? Something's happened."

"Something bad?" Percy asks as he helps Annabeth into her wheelchair. She hates the thing, but Leo had made her one after Will deemed her to be unfit to walk for at least three weeks – Leo said he'd made a similar one for Chiron, of all people. There are so many new stories to share. So much to talk about – including how quickly Percy's grown attached to Riptide, and how the hell the Titans now know about his existence. Gods. Well, at least he doesn't have to hide anymore.

As they leave the infirmary, Percy notices immediately that something's wrong. People are huddled around a couple of beds, whispering furiously. Some are shaking their heads in despair.

"What's going on?" Annabeth murmurs as they make their way to the beds. The silver strands in her hair make her look so pale, almost luminescent, in the fading streaks of twilight filtering through the roof.

Percy shrugs, perplexed.

As they push through the crowd, though, he can't help but notice that most of the stares are directed right at him. Percy meets their wide eyes with his own, but nobody offers an explanation.

Annabeth swivels, glances up at him, frowning. He shakes his head, but keeps an eye on the other demigods who are now whispering quietly as they pass.

They push their way to the centre of the circle – Percy stops in his tracks when he sees Piper, of all people, in the middle of it. Hazel's sat next to her, rubbing her back in soothing circles, and Frank, who stands behind them, looking lost, looking up at Percy, shaken, as they approach.

There's a torn piece of paper in Piper's lap and she looks like she's been crying. Leo's standing next to her, his expression angry and pinched. He's also clutching a piece of paper in his fist.

"I don't get it," he bites out. Percy's never seen Leo angry before and it's weird to see him like this now.

"Piper?" Percy asks, horrified, as she looks up. She's playing with the piece of parchment, still – folding it and refolding it and smoothing out the edges with her fingers.

"Are you okay?" Annabeth asks, making to stand up. "What's happened?"

Piper holds up the paper. Percy takes it.

I'm sorry, the note says, in a faded print. Don't try to find me. I love you.

"What the fuck," Percy says, passing the note to Annabeth. Piper's dropped her head down, resting her elbows on her knees and letting her hands hang, her fingers twitching as though trying to grasp something that isn't there. He watches her, unable to move, wanting to do something against the defeated slump of her shoulders, but in the end he can't comprehend anything, and he stands, motionless, held back by the privacy of her grief.

And suddenly his mind takes him back to one of the first conversations he'd ever had with Jason.

"I have to say it," he had said, looking awfully nervous. "And I'm not saying something will happen – but if something does happen to me, will you…will you take care of Piper?"

It's all making sense now. Terrible, horrible sense.

Because –

"He's left," Piper whispers. "he's gone."

---

a/n:

if you're still here, thank you for reading! i'm sorry if your eyes are hurting.

as always, comments/feedback are greatly appreciated! i may not have the time to reply to them all but i hope you know that i see and love every single one of you.

if you want to talk to me, feel free to hit me up on my tumblr ( seaweedbraens) or my twitter ( vaniisamess). i'm fairly responsive on both of those.

for anyone interested, i will be posting separate documents explaining my choices in characterization for each character as well as a spolier-free timeline up until this chapter. it will be linked in the pinned post on my tumblr.

until next time!