A/N: I'd like to thank my betas: AlEmily360, SapphireTrafficker, tigerlilycorinne, AshenMoon42, Lesbian101, Shiuanc2, and LadyHW.
TW for discussion of attempted suicide. See end of chapter for chapter summary.
Leo was lying on the hospital bed looking tired and weak. A thin, delicate smile stretched across his face while his fingers fiddled absentmindedly with a fray on the hospital blanket that was strewn over his legs. But Annebeth noticed something else that she hadn't before. Dark circles sat worryingly under his eyes, and his face was concerningly gaunt. His hair was flat and messy, and he was thinner than she had expected. There was a tired crease between his eyebrows that looked to be a permanent fixture of his face now.
She realized that Leo looked the same as he had looked for a while, but that was the most concerning part. She hadn't noticed the pain and exhaustion that had spread like fracture lines across his features—if she had, she wouldn't have felt so surprised when he finally broke.
Annabeth sat on the end of his bed. "Hey, Leo," she said, feeling out of place. She focused on his hands, which were now taking apart the remote for the small TV that was mounted at the opposite corner of the room. Leo didn't seem to notice.
"I'm glad you're here," Leo said, reassuringly. He seemed somewhat sheepish. "I'm sorry that you had to come all the way down here."
Annabeth had to take a second to process the fact that he was apologising to her. "Leo no, you don't have to—please don't apologise." She reached to grab his hand, but hesitated and patted his leg, awkwardly. "I know we're not the closest, but I still—I still care about you."
Annabeth wanted to ask why he had done it. There were so many people there for him, who cared about him. And life was so short, so, so unfairly short—why would anyone want to throw it away? Not everybody was lucky enough to have all of that time.
She stamped down a flare of irrational anger. It embarrassed her to think like that—it wasn't about fairness and she couldn't be mad at Leo for being depressed. From what she knew of his life, he had every reason to be.
Staring at the silent television in the corner, Leo spoke without looking back at her. "I just got so... tired of pretending I was okay."
Annabeth stayed silent, staring at the woman on the news channel chat with her co-anchor and waiting for Leo to continue.
"I feel so… exhausted all of the time. And it's so much. I feel like I can't breathe. I can't do anything. And I feel completely alone." His voice was shaky as he continued. "Calypso," he hiccuped. "My mom, Charlie. I know some of my friends will soon…" He clutched the blanket, pulling it up over his chest, and sniffled. He composed his face into a well-practiced neutral expression. "Everyone eventually leaves."
Annabeth tried to think of what to say, but she had always had trouble with comforting others. And this was beyond comforting , she thought. Clumsily, she settled on "I don't think Calypso would have—"
Leo cut her off. "Calypso is dead." His tone was apathetic, but his eyes betrayed how much it hurt to remember. "Calypso is dead, my mother is dead. You never knew either of them, so how would you know what they would want?"
Annabeth studied his face, but it was carefully devoid of telling emotions. She had a feeling she was making things worse rather than better. "Um—"
"It doesn't matter," Leo interrupted. He laughed in a way that stabbed at Annabeth's insides. Sharp and hard. She moved out of the way as he readjusted himself in order to lean over and show her his wrist. His timer blinked up at her, glowing faintly blue in the half-lit room, a long string of numbers slowly counting down. "I don't have a choice."
Annabeth didn't understand. Before she could stop herself, she blurted "Then why…?" She felt like smacking herself, but Leo didn't seem to react negatively. Instead, he smiled lightly, self-deprecating.
"I don't know. I wasn't thinking, I just wanted it to stop." She looked up at his pause from where she had been looking at her hand splayed on the sterile white hospital bed sheets. When her eyes met his, he leveled her with a look that split her wide open. She felt bare under his gaze. "Aren't you tired?" he asked.
And she felt it. She was tired. Her whole life felt like a fight, and what a waste that was. Her time was so short as it was, and it had been stolen from her by all the awful shit that had happened. Luke, her dad, Amy, her mum. And herself. All the time she spent making mistake after mistake—her life felt like a culmination of all of her mistakes, one after the other. And she was tired.
In her bones, in the way she breathed—laboriously drawing in air and forcing it out. It suddenly weighed on her and she thought about what Leo had said before, about the people he had lost. Annabeth wasn't alone—she knew that. But maybe she should be. If losing his mom and losing Calypso had had such an effect on Leo that he hadn't wanted to live anymore—she couldn't do that to anyone.
"It gets better," she mumbled, stupidly. Her palms were sweaty and suddenly the hospital room felt too small, the walls closing in and suffocating her.
"Does it?" Leo asked, eyes turned downwards.
Annabeth felt like curling into herself, but she swallowed the bile that threatened to come up her throat. "It does," she said, attempting to put more strength into her voice. Personal crisis aside, she was here to help her friend. "You don't have to pretend around us, Leo. How we feel for you—our love for you is not conditional. We love you when you are happy, when you're sad, when you are destroying us at mini-golf, or when you can't get out of bed. I know we can't change everything—I don't even know if what I'm saying is helping—but we're here when you need us and when you want us. You're not—you're not alone."
Leo sighed and relaxed into the bed. He reached for Annabeth's sweaty palm; his hand was shockingly cold. "Thank you."
Annabeth understood it to be a dismissal as Leo's eyes drifted closed. The sky outside the window was black, but she closed the blinds anyway to create a barrier between the quiet room and the city lights. At the door, she paused and looked back to the bed, intending to say a parting word, but Leo was already asleep.
She closed the door behind her.
When she entered the waiting room, she was surprised to see more familiar faces than when she had left it. Percy immediately got up from his chair and went to meet her. She hesitated before letting him envelop her in his arms. He didn't seem to notice.
"Is he okay?" he murmured, his warm arms around her. Annabeth's eyes prickled as she remembered her conversation from minutes before. She instinctively nodded, but upon second thought, she shook her head. Percy seemed to understand as he stepped away from her, his warm hand never leaving her arm.
"Do you think we could…?" Jason stood up from where he was seated next to Piper. Tear tracks were evident on his face, and his red-rimmed eyes gave away that he must have been crying just moments before. Piper stood up after him, holding his hand.
Annabeth shook her head again. "He fell asleep right before I left," she said.
Jason looked distraught. "I swear if I had known—I was at work and my phone—"
Piper tugged him close to her, whispering, "Hey, it's okay."
Annabeth turned away as Jason broke into a sob. "Can we go?" she whispered to Percy. He nodded, his face lined with stress.
Annabeth reached for Piper's hand, squeezing when they met in lieu of goodbye. Piper nodded, rubbing Jason's back.
Percy placed his hand on Jason's shoulder, his grip tight. "We can come tomorrow," he said and released his grip.
Annabeth led Percy out of the hospital, relieved to be outside. She tilted her head up and breathed in the freezing night air.
"What time is it?" she asked. She could hear the city slowly waking up, and more cars turned onto the street next to the hospital as they walked to Percy's car in the hospital parking lot. In the distance, she could see the sky turning a light pink at the horizon.
When no response came, Annabeth turned to look at Percy. "Percy?" she said softly, squeezing his hand to draw his attention. He startled, and looked at her in a daze.
"I'm sorry, what?" he asked. His features were pinched in worry, but she couldn't blame him. Leo was more his friend than hers, so he must have been beyond concerned. She remembered when it was Thalia… Annabeth's heart clenched as she pushed the thought away.
"It's okay," Annabeth said, shrugging it off. Percy sighed.
"I'm sorry, I'm just…" Percy stopped, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
"It's okay," Annabeth said again. What else could she say? She never seemed to be able to find the right words.
They stopped by the car, but instead of unlocking it, Percy just leaned against it. "I just keep thinking about how lonely he must have felt," he said. A tear fell from his left eye, seemingly unnoticed. Annabeth wanted to reach over and wipe it away, but she was on the other side of the car.
"To do that…" Percy continued, voice breaking. "He must have felt so alone. And so...hopeless. I can't—I don't think I've ever felt like that. And I've never thought about it like this, but I guess that makes me pretty lucky."
Annabeth silently agreed.
"I don't know what I would do if he had been successful. If he was actually gone. I've had a lot of shitty things happen to me in my life, but I've never lost someone like that." Percy bit his lip and roughly rubbed his face. He took a deep breath and slapped the hood of the car before unlocking it. "Let's uh, let's go home."
Annabeth got in the car after him, letting herself be enveloped in the comforting scent of chlorine and gasoline. Let's go home, he had said, and he was right. Percy was as much a home to Annabeth as anywhere else—more so than her half-empty dorm room. But that wasn't okay. Hearing Percy talk, she knew what she had known for a while. She was setting Percy up for heartbreak, and she had to end this before it went too far.
Percy had yet to start the car; instead, he stared through the windshield into space, his hands on the wheel.
"Actually," she said, voice downcast. "Could you take me back to my place?"
Percy looked surprised before nodding mutely. He turned on the car, the roar of the engine turning into a stuttering hum before he pulled out of his spot and out of the garage altogether.
Annabeth wanted nothing more than to follow Percy back to his home, fall into bed and bury herself in the comfort of his arms. She could almost feel it, and the anticipation of its absence made her chest ache.
Percy rested his hand, facing upward, on the center console—an obvious invitation. But Annabeth just looked out the window at the rising sun behind the passing buildings.
:::
It was exhausting times like this that made her wish her timer would just call it already.
No. That wasn't true. Annabeth sighed. Bad joke.
She sat in an uncomfortable seat in the library, partitioned off from the people next to her, back bent horribly over the guestlist for her funeral. Her mother had sent it to her weeks ago, along with many of the other plans, but Annabeth had been putting it off. She'd been putting everything off. With the way her life was going, it was difficult to plan ahead for her death. But she was on a deadline, no pun intended.
But would it be wrong, she thought, to invite Percy to my funeral after I break his heart? Break his heart was a bit strong. She had a plan, and if it went right, hopefully, his heart would only be bruised. She'd seen his face when they'd left the hospital…
Annabeth shook her head. She had a plan. She always had a plan. She just had to distance herself a little bit. From him, from Hazel, Frank, Leo, Thalia, and Piper. From her dad. All the people that cared for her—she had to fade into the background, slowly pull herself away from their memories.
She tapped her pencil against the table, drumming out an indiscernible pattern. Her leg shook under her, and she hoped the person on the other side of the partition wasn't doing anything important. She was already a distraction to herself.
Piper McLean
Pencil to paper, Annabeth wrote down Piper's name. She was her best friend, it wasn't like she could not go to her funeral. Then, guiltily, she wrote:
Thalia Grace
Her other best friend. Probably. She actually didn't know. She'd been ignoring some of her texts, or just replying with single word responses. Distancing herself before it became intentional. All those years of waiting for Thalia to wake up, Annabeth had never imagined that she would barely be able to bring herself to talk to her when she finally did. It was just another thing for Annabeth to feel guilty about. She could already tell that she was going to die with a lot of regrets.
The person beside Annabeth was packing their bag and leaving their cubicle. Annabeth stilled her leg and sighed. She took her long hair out of her bun, running her fingers through the roots and massaging her scalp. She pulled a strand in front of her face and twisted it in her fingers. Curly, and the natural blond that she was born with, she wrapped it around her finger idly.
She'd never done anything to her hair—she regretted that now. At one point she had wanted to dye it brown. So many people had assumed she was stupid—another Dumb Blonde joke waiting to happen. It had frustrated her so much. She was twelve dollars and a walk to the drugstore counter from buying a medium brown box dye before realizing that she'd rather prove herself than change herself.
But still… she'd never even cut it, not beside a few trims now and then.
Rustling from the just vacated spot next to her brought her out of her daze. Another foolish person had decided to sit there. She put her hair back into a bun. Just another thing she'd regret that she didn't need to be distracted by.
Then she wrote:
Leo Valdez
Hazel Levesque
Frank Zhang
Frederick Chase
Amy Chase
Bobby Chase
Matthew Chase
Percy Jackson
Then, before she could change her mind or overthink herself, she packed her papers into her bag and tucked the pencil into her pocket. She stood up, swinging her bag over her shoulder. She was sure another enterprising student was scoping her out, waiting for a newly vacated seat in the overcrowded library. She was about to give it to them, but instead, she sat back down and pulled out her paper.
Pencil to paper, she made a correction.
Percy Jackson (?)
There was always time for overthinking.
:::
Back home, Annabeth stood in the dorm bathroom with a pair of scissors and determination set on her face. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked the same as she always had—a bit older, a lot more tired. Under the flickering fluorescents and surrounded by chipped tile and faded linoleum, she began to make quick and messy—but confident—cuts. She hacked away at large chunks at a time, pulling long pieces of hair down onto the sink surface. She felt a bit manic; she could recognize that her logic wasn't all there. It wasn't like her to do something so impulsive. But as she watched her changing appearance in the mirror, she couldn't bring herself to regret it.
:::
"It's so short," Piper said, leaning over their table to pet Annabeth's hair. Annabeth felt herself blush.
"It's only past my chin," she said, self consciously tugging the strands down. "It's not like I shaved it all off."
"I know, but still. I think it's very exciting," Piper said. To Annabeth's relief, she settled back into her chair. They were getting brunch, something made special by the fact that Annabeth did it so rarely. Piper had claimed that they needed to "treat themselves" after the stress they'd been under. Annabeth couldn't find it in herself to disagree. Piper fingered her own choppy, black hair. "You know I'm a big supporter of impulsive hair cutting."
Annabeth shrugged and cut into her Belgian waffle. She should have gotten pancakes like Piper was having. Her waffle was too sweet for the morning, covered in whipped cream and dark chocolate syrup. She picked up a strawberry off the side of her plate and ate that instead. "I don't think it's that big of a deal," she insisted.
"Maybe I should do something with my hair," Piper pondered, pulling it forward to inspect it. "Do you think I'd look good with purple?"
Annabeth rolled her eyes, attempting to steal a piece of Piper's pancake instead of responding.
Annabeth had tried to say no to brunch. She hadn't seen Piper the past few days, trying to avoid her without it seeming like she was avoiding her. Ducking around columns, hiding behind trees. The problem with Piper was that she knew Annabeth too well. If Annabeth was too obvious, Piper would come rearing in, best friend powers on full blast. Annabeth didn't think she could survive the force of her concern.
Plus, Annabeth felt guilty. She knew Piper was struggling; she visited Leo every chance she got, even after he left the hospital. Through his door was a constant rotation of friends and loved ones, everyone except for Annabeth.
Piper was squinting suspiciously at Annabeth. Annabeth pretended not to notice, taking a sip of her tea. Matcha, because she was "treating herself."
"You're being kind of quiet," Piper said, taking a bite from her pancake with fake nonchalance.
"I've got a lot on my mind," Annabeth said around her mug, before she could think better of it.
"Oh yeah?"
Annabeth recovered from her misstep quickly, setting her mug down. "Yeah, um, just classes. I picked up an extra elective. Gen ed."
That wasn't actually a lie. Annabeth was lucky her school's class add/drop period was so long. She made it just in time to add another class to her already busy schedule. It was the perfect excuse—she was just too busy to see anyone. Plus, the school was more likely to give her an honorary diploma if they could see that she was an especially driven student. It was a win-win.
"What is it?" Piper asked. "Is that why I never see you anymore?"
"You saw me… four days ago," Annabeth had to pause to remember. "And it's political theory. With Lotz."
Piper wrinkled her nose. "Uhg, poli sci gen ed. I still need to fulfill mine. Will you tell me if Lotz is easy? I might take that next year."
Annabeth felt a stab of envy at Piper's future planning, but pushed it aside. "Sure." She smiled. "Anyways, how are you?"
Piper seemed to deflate, her previous energy vanishing. "I'd really rather not talk about it," she said. "Do you mind?"
Annabeth felt a brief, irrational stab of annoyance. She shook her head anyway. "Not at all," she said. She watched Piper cut bits of her pancakes and push them around her plate. Even though Annabeth was the one with the bathroom haircut and the busy schedule, Piper seemed to be doing worse. Her normally glossy hair hung limp around her face and she had foregone the beaded jewelry she had taken to wearing.
Annabeth was about to push the subject more, despite her agreement not to, when Piper spoke.
"I'm just… I feel… useless." Her voice was small and frail and Annabeth had to lean forward to hear her.
"Useless?" she asked.
Piper sighed and looked around the small bistro. People chattered at the tables around them and Edison bulbs swung lightly in the draft above their heads. She leaned in, voice so low to be nearly inaudible. "I don't want to… burden you."
"Burden me?"
Piper pressed her lips together. "It's not really anything," she said. She huffed out a breath. "I'm alright."
Annabeth frowned. "Piper, you could never be a burden."
Piper shook her head self-deprecatingly. "No, I just mean… you and Leo and Jason and—and Hazel all have real problems. I'm just—it doesn't matter."
Annabeth's frown deepened. "Did I make you feel that way?"
"No! No, Annabeth, not at all." For a second, Piper looked sorry, which was almost worse than how she had looked before. "Please, just forget I said anything."
"But," Annabeth said, studying the stiff set to Piper's shoulders and the stressed bags beneath her eyes, "I don't want to forget. I mean—I shouldn't. It matters, Piper. How you feel matters. And I want to know."
Piper shook her head again. She gave Annabeth a joyless smile. "I just want to give you a nice ending."
"A nice—what? Piper, you're my friend. I don't want to see you miserable. I want you to tell me things. You don't—you don't need to give me anything. Anything but the truth."
Piper was chewing on her lip. "The truth isn't very pretty though," she said.
"I don't want pretty."
"I'm going to miss you," Piper said. Annabeth flinched at the strength of her voice just as much at what was said. Piper smiled grimly. "See?"
Annabeth shook her head. "It's okay. I want to hear it."
"You haven't before."
"I want to now." Annabeth hoped Piper could read the resigned determination in her voice. She'd never liked the in-person eulogies that people always wanted to give her, and Piper had mostly held back over the years. But Annabeth knew she couldn't hide from it anymore, not with July just around the corner.
"I don't know who I'm going to be after you," Piper said. She poked one of her fingers through the holes on the wire table, watching that instead of Annabeth. "Sometimes I'm worried I give parts of myself to the wrong people."
It stung and Annabeth bit the inside of her cheek to keep it from showing on her face.
But Piper continued. "I love you Annabeth, and sometimes I wish I didn't. But I don't regret it. You're one of my favorite people I've ever met and I wouldn't trade our time together for anything.
"It's just—with what almost happened to Leo… it's almost like I'm practicing. Practicing being in mourning." She let out a wet laugh. "I didn't realize how exhausting it would be."
Annabeth brushed her cheek, surprised to find it wet. Seeing her friend like this only cemented what Annabeth knew to be true—she had to do whatever she could to make this as painless as possible. Even if it hurt to do so.
"Of course I'm so worried about Leo and I feel like I—I failed him or something." Piper wiped her own face with the sleeve of her hoodie. "Which feels just—because I don't know what else to give him. I don't have anything that could possibly be enough."
"You don't have to give anything, Piper. I don't know why you… we love you because you're you."
Piper hiccuped. "I just don't feel like that's enough."
Annabeth held out her hand for Piper's. Piper locked their fingers together, hers chapped and dry from the cold and from lack of care. Annabeth rubbed her thumb on the back of Piper's hand in small circles. "You've always been enough."
Piper choked out a laugh. "Fuck," she said. "I'm really going to miss you."
And Annabeth smiled because she knew that wherever she'd be, she'd be missing Piper too.
Chapter Summary: Annabeth speaks with Leo directly after the events of the last chapter. Leo explains his reasons, how tired he feels, and how he feels completely alone because everyone leaves him. Annabeth relates to his feelings of exhaustion but tells him that it will get better, even if she isn't completely sure it's true. Percy and Jason arrive at the hospital. Jason comforts Piper and Percy takes Annabeth home. He tells her that he can't imagine what he would do if he lost someone and Annabeth decides that she needs to distance herself from the people she loves in order to spare them the pain of losing her. Later, Annabeth goes over her plans from her death folder, specifically her funeral guest list. She has trouble deciding whether or not to invite Percy. She thinks about how little she has done in her life and, in a fit of impulsivity, cuts her hair off. She later meets with Piper, but their conversation stays mainly surface level as Annabeth tells Piper that she hasn't been around because of how busy she is with school. Piper confesses to feeling useless as a friend and as a person after what happened to Leo, as well as feeling like a burden on her friends with 'real problems.' She tells Annabeth how much she will miss her after she is gone.
