chapter twenty-one: in heaven and earth

After the harvest festival, Virginia's weather worsens with each passing day as winter begins to encroach upon it. As the skies darken and the temperature drops, Annabeth becomes more and more reliant on her medication to keep her afloat. The days where Helen has the strength to even speak are few and far between.

Annabeth struggles to pick up the slack with Bobby and Matthew. She can tell they're scared of the implications of Helen's unintentional negligence; what if she never gets better? What then? The thought plagues Annabeth, but she does her best not to allow herself to dwell on it. It's only at night, when she's lying awake in bed, that her mind begins to run through every unique catastrophe that seems ever more likely to happen.

It's an aspect of her thoughts that only her medication can keep under control. Some days, when she can feel herself spiralling towards an attack, she'll take a double dose. Though she's aware taking Xanax in any way other than in the form in which it's prescribed is kind of fucking bad, it's the only thing that helps. If I can just get through the rest of this year, she tells herself, then maybe I'll try and stop.

She starts having attacks again, which—okay, she can deal with. Recently, she's learnt how to internalise the panic a little more, to minimise the racing of her heart and control her breathing. After a few minutes of not-talking, vacant eyes and clenched fists, she's usually able to come down from them. She doesn't think anyone can tell, except for maybe Percy. "Are you okay?" he'll ask quietly, holding her gaze with concern in his insufferably green eyes. He'll touch her wrist, the warmth of his fingertips a single-threaded lifeline. It helps. She'd never admit it to anyone, but it helps.

In early December, she heads out of school after-hours with her photography folder in one hand. Jason's next to her, carrying his own. They've been cramming work for their five-hour mock exam at the end of this week, which has been hell for Annabeth; lately, her creativity's been utterly absent. Most of the work she's done has been editing old photos into shape as she hasn't been able to bring herself to take many new ones—and she hasn't even been happy with those. Jason's holding his phone to his ear, brow furrowed as he talks to Piper in a low voice. "Yeah, I'll text you later," he says, then falls quiet again while she talks.

It's starting to drizzle. Annabeth sighs, glancing up to the grey skies with a silent prayer that the weather will hold out at least until she gets home. As she and Jason walk out of the school gates, she hears someone call her name. Across the road, a blond guy leans against the door of an open car. He raises two fingers to his temple in a mock-salute, and as he smiles the scar on his cheek twists out of shape. With a start, she realises it's Luke. Unsure what else to do, she offers him a wave with her free hand. Jason doesn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in his conversation with Piper.

She's spoken to Luke a couple times since Halloween. It seems like he's well-intentioned—and being a junior, he's not much older than Annabeth. Still, she's not sure what he wants with her. It's common knowledge that his friend group run in dodgy circles, and she knows she'd be stupid to get mixed up in that kind of stuff.

"Annabeth, you good?" Torn from her zoned-out headspace, she glances up to see Jason looking concernedly down at her. She didn't notice him finish his call with Piper.

Trying to shake Luke from her thoughts, she smiles and nods. "Yeah, I'm fine."

At last, winter break rolls around. It's a breath of air to have some time off school, though she hates being at home where she can't escape Helen's vacant eyes and empty voice. On the third day, though she wakes up to a banging on her door. Wondering who's at the door this early in the morning, she rubs her eyes and stumbles out of bed. Wrapping her dressing gown around herself, she hurries down the stairs as whoever it is knocks again—more frantically this time. "Who the hell?" she mutters to herself, fitting the key in the lock. When she opens the door, however, the irritation drains from her face. "Percy?"

He's standing at the door, bike leaning against the steps behind him. "Annabeth," he gasps. With a shock, she realises he's nursing his wrist. It hangs at a slightly odd angle. Pain is written all over his face, clear as day. "I'm sorry," he manages. "I didn't know where else to go."

"Oh, my god," Annabeth says, starting forward. "Your arm looks broken. Did you…did you cycle here?" Percy nods, jaw locked in a grimace. "What happened?" she asks, incredulous.

His mouth stutters for a moment, opening and closing before he speaks. "Got it from some guys in the trailer park."

"They beat you up?" Horrified, Annabeth reaches for his arm but stops short, realising anything she does to help will be futile. "We need to get you to a hospital," she decides, slipping her phone out her pocket.

Suddenly, fear lances across Percy's expression. "No, wait. Don't call an ambulance."

She stares at him, mouth agape. "Why not? Can you drive Helen's car?"

"Yeah, but—"

"With a broken arm?" At that, he's silent. "Didn't think so."

He looks pained, even more than before. "Please. I can't go to the hospital," he says. "I don't have health insurance. It'll cost so much more than I have."

She pushes down the frustration that threatens to well up into tears, willing herself to remain strong. "I'll call a cab, then."

"But—"

"Percy," she says quietly. Slowly, so as not to get overwhelmed. "I can't fix a broken bone. What I can do is pay for your medical bills."

He's already shaking his head, stepping back like he wants to run. "No."

Annabeth isn't having it. Steeling herself, she says, "This is non-negotiable. You're hurt. This one time, this one fucking time, can you please just let go of your pride?"

He searches her pleading face for a moment. Whatever he finds, it must be enough to convince him. With a sharp, ragged exhalation, he closes his eyes. "Okay." Knowing there isn't a second to waste, Annabeth opens her phone and calls a cab.

When they reach the hospital, it's a long and nail-biting process to get Percy through A&E. As it's so early, there luckily aren't too many people waiting; Percy's called in after half an hour. They initially tell Annabeth to wait outside while Percy is assessed, but he grabs her arm with his good hand and asks if she can stay with a shaky voice. Reluctantly, they allow it.

The doctors have all kinds of questions for Percy. Where are your parents? Do you want us to contact them? How were you injured? He answers them calmly, with an empty kind of look on his face. My stepdad's at work. No, he can't get off his shift. I crashed my bike. It's unnerving to Annabeth, that he can lie so easily about that last one. Still, she understands why he doesn't want to mention that he got in a fight.

After a few X-rays, the doctors decide that Percy won't need surgery as it's a fairly simple fracture. They administer a local anaesthetic to numb his wrist while they re-set it, which takes longer than Annabeth anticipated. Once his wrist's been set, they wrap his arm in a plaster cast that extends all the way up to his elbow. "We'll be able to shorten the cast in a week or so," the doctor explains. "This is only to prevent you from moving it in the initial stages of healing."

"Will I be able to work?" Percy asks.

She fixes him with a look, clearly catching on. "Absolutely not. I would advise against working for at least the first few weeks. No physical strain, please." Percy nods in admission, but Annabeth knows there's no way he'll wait that long.

Once the whole process is done with, the nurse pulls Percy aside. Annabeth watches from the doorway, wondering what they're saying. The nurse looks worried, while Percy's expression remains perfectly blank. Talking animatedly, she offers him a yellow leaflet. Annabeth cranes to see what it says, but she's too far away. Percy seems to refuse it at first, but at the nurse's insistence Percy stuffs it into his pocket before turning around and heading for the door. "Thanks," he calls over his shoulder, voice hoarse.

"What was that she gave you?" Annabeth asks curiously as the elevator takes them down to the hospital's ground floor.

Evasively, he says, "Oh, it was nothing."

Deciding not to push, she nudges Percy. "So. You gonna let me draw on your cast?"

He looks down, as though he almost forgot it was broken. "Sure," he smiles. "Nothing rude, okay?"

She grins. "I wouldn't dream of it."

The elevator beeps, and the doors slide open with a metallic screech. He shakes his head, retorting, "You'd definitely be the one to draw, like, a dick or something."

"Come off it! Don't you remember that time Leo drew a moustache on your face with Sharpie while you were asleep?"

He rolls his eyes. "Annabeth, I know that was you."

"Slander. Lies and slander," she mutters. Percy laughs, and suddenly the light's in his eyes again.

Percy goes back to work at Lucy's auto shop within a week, despite Annabeth's protests. "It's fine," he tells her. "My wrist's healing fast. And I can do the easy jobs with one hand, anyway." Annabeth's not happy about it, but there's nothing she can do to stop him. Work means everything to Percy—it'd be cruel of her to push any further.

It's a few days until Christmas, and Annabeth's sitting with him during a shift. She's trying to get her holiday work done, but for some reason she's struggling with the extract of Hamlet she's analysing that lies open on her lap more that she thought she would. She's leaning against the side of the car Percy's working on, legs crossed beneath her. He's got the hood propped up to fix something wrong with the engine, and a smear of grease streaks his cheek. Everything seems to be taking him far longer with only one working wrist, but she hasn't heard him complain about it once. "Annabeth?" he asks. "Could you pass me the wrench in that toolbox next to you?"

She puts her pen down and reaches into the toolbox, then holds it out for Percy. "Here."

He stares at her for a moment, disbelieving. A slow smile stretches across his face. "What do you think that tool is?"

Annabeth looks down at the tool in her hand. "A wrench. Like you asked."

"You're holding a screwdriver, Annabeth," he says, stifling a laugh. Gesturing, he adds, "That one's the wrench."

Embarrassed, she feels heat surge to her face. "Oh. Sorry." She passes him the correct tool, mumbling, "Well, now I feel stupid."

"Hey. Don't feel stupid," he tells her, serious. "You're the genius here, not me." She hears something clank.

Letting out a sigh, she looks back down at her copy of Hamlet and gets back to reading. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. She stares at the line for a moment longer. Unsure what to think of it, her thoughts begin to wander into distraction. She's feeling feverish today; she ran out of Xanax a couple days ago due to taking too many double doses, and now she's just trying to stick it out until her prescription allows her to top up again. She knows it's bad, knows that being off her medication shouldn't be making her sweat. It was dumb of her to become so careless with it in the first place.

Annabeth just wishes she could talk about it with Helen. She misses the days of being able to go to her stepmother about anything, back when they were close. Back when they never felt the need to hide anything from each other. Of course, their situation isn't really a matter of hiding things—it's more like there's an opaque veil hanging between Helen and reality that even Annabeth can't breach.

She closes Hamlet, leaning her head back against the metal of the car. There's no use dwelling on things that can't be changed.

"I think I'm done," Percy decides. Annabeth stands up as he closes the hood of the car, checking his watch. "Only went ten minutes overtime, too. Wait here," he tells her, grabbing his jacket. "I'll let Lucy know I'm signing off."

Five minutes later, they're walking out the gates. Percy hums along to the echoes of a song that was playing on the auto shop's radio, holding his cast against his sternum. "Wanna hang out in town for a while?" he asks. "I don't have to go home yet."

"Sure. We could share a coffee?" she offers. It's a trick she often uses—Percy never buys anything for himself but will give in if he's splitting the cost with someone else.

They find a brick wall to sit on, passing the coffee cup back and forth. Ahead, the sun hangs low in the sky. Its light reflects off the still-damp sidewalk, pale and glittering. It's getting colder as the evening wears on, and Annabeth's breath soon becomes stagnant and white with each exhalation. Percy takes a sip of the coffee, hands locked around the cup for warmth. "Mm," he hums. "I didn't realise how much I needed some caffeine."

Annabeth watches him for a moment. There's a yellowing bruise on his jaw: one of a few others she's noticed over the past month. She suspects he's been getting into fights again, but he clams up whenever she asks about it.

He passes her the coffee. She takes it, enjoying the warmth of its rising steam on her face. "I was meaning to ask—how's Helen been lately?" Percy says suddenly. "I know she's…" He trails off, as though he isn't sure how to phrase it.

Annabeth shakes her head. "She's not getting better. She's been seeing a therapist, but it doesn't seem to be working. They're calling her selectively mute, dissociative, all these fancy terms that are just a fucking cover-up for the fact that they have no idea how to help her."

Percy's expression looks conflicted. "What about you and your brothers? I know you've been doing your best to look after them, but you shouldn't have to do it alone."

Annabeth's shoulders curl in on themselves slightly. "I think we're just trying to hold on as long as we can. We haven't got any close relatives to stay with, and I don't want to leave Virginia."

"It won't come to that," Percy assures her, determined. "Helen will recover soon—we have to believe that she will." We. Though it's not obvious from the outside, Annabeth knows that Percy's also been grieving Helen's presence. She always treated him like a child of her own, was always just as affectionate with him as she was with Annabeth.

"I'm trying to believe it," Annabeth murmurs, "but it's been so long. I just—"

"Hey, no." He turns to her, fervent. "You shouldn't talk like that. Everything's gonna work out, I promise."

She breathes out a quiet, "Okay." Wordlessly, Percy slips an arm around Annabeth and lets her rest her head on his shoulder. There's a comfortable kind of ease in the simple action, and all at once Annabeth is warmer. "Can I see you on Christmas?" she asks.

"I don't think so," he apologises. "I'm working. Lucy's given me a bonus for the longer hours."

She looks up at him, hopeful. "The day after, then?"

He smiles quietly. "I'll try."

thanks for reading, let me know what you thought! I know this chapter's pretty sad, but everything's gonna be fine (eventually!)

the next chapter will be up on wednesday as usual. you can come talk to me about this fic on my tumblr, stolen-arts :D