Hey guys! Sorry for the late update. I'm so bad at schedules that it's really just pathetic. XD Thanks to my bae Helena, who edited this for me! Hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)

May 1st, 1775

It was on her way home from Williamsburg when Annabeth heard the news.

She was in one of her grandparent's carriages; one of their servants was the coachman, and would be going back as soon as he dropped her off in Boston. They were at a small town in Delaware, stopping for supper at a tavern, and all around them people were buzzing.

Annabeth's brow furrowed and she set down her fork, getting out of her seat to approach a young couple at a nearby table. "What did you say just now?" she demanded, her fingernails digging into the soft skin of her palms.

The young man looked frightened; Annabeth supposed her glare could have that effect. "Haven't y-you heard?" he stuttered. "The British attacked Lexington and Concord. The war has begun."

Annabeth felt the blood drain from her face, and she was forced to steady herself on the table. The young man's companion looked concerned. "Are you alright?" she asked hesitantly.

Annabeth nodded, biting her lip so hard that she tasted blood. "I'm – fine," she gritted, tilting her chin up and quickly walking back to her table. She grabbed a piece of bread from her uneaten plate of supper and motioned to the servant. "William, we have to go. Immediately."

The old man looked surprised and disgruntled at having to leave his half-eaten meal, but he stood up and followed her outside, muttering to himself about "youngins and their insufferable impatience."

Annabeth was absorbed in her thoughts; she could hear her heart pounding with fear and apprehension. The war has begun. The young man's words rang in her ears over and over and over.

The war has begun.

She quickened her pace, stepping into the carriage and slamming the door. "I have to get to Boston, William," she called, staring at the crescent-shaped marks her fingernails left in her palms. She bit her lip. "As soon as I possibly can."

•

Less than a week later, Annabeth jerked awake from where she had been nodding to sleep for the hundredth time that day. They hadn't stopped at any inns once Annabeth had heard the news, and she and William had slept under the stars, only pausing for the horse to regain its strength each night.

She looked a mess and she knew it. Her hair was in tangled matts, and she had finally tied it back in a bun to get it out of her face. Dark circles made an appearance underneath her eyes, and she felt dirty and dusty, after being on the road for a week and a half without washing.

But they were on the outskirts of the Neck; William was talking to the red-coated guards now, gesturing towards her. She breathed a sigh of relief. They were almost home.

She had just begun to nod off again, the exhausting hours of being on the road finally catching up to her, when a familiar voice reached her ears.

Her eyes jerked open.

Percy, sitting atop Blackjack, was talking to William. Annabeth didn't miss the way his eyes strayed to the carriage, although she knew he couldn't see her. The reluctant guards that William had been arguing with grudgingly nodded to Percy, though Annabeth couldn't hear what they were saying.

Then William was getting back atop the carriage, and Percy was reigning in Blackjack next to the window, and – dammit. Annabeth wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready at all.

They needed to talk, she knew that. She had sworn to herself that she would apologize, even if he didn't accept it, and finally do her best to fix their friendship.

But not now. Not when she was such a disaster – exhausted, and worried about the war, about what the king would do next, worried about her family, worried about him –

And suddenly he was there, opening the carriage door, his forehead creased with worry lines and green eyes looking at her like she was the sun and she couldn't breathe.

His thick hair was sticking up, like he had been running his hand through it the way he did when he was nervous. "Annabeth."

Annabeth wiped her sweaty hands on her filthy dress. "Percy."

"You look terrible," he offered, and even though technically they were still fighting, Annabeth couldn't help but snort.

"Thank you, I hadn't noticed." For an instant, a flash of their old banter came back, but then awkwardness settled in the air, and Annabeth again was reminded that their old friendship had been gone for over three months.

But – they were going to be alright. It was one of the last things she had to hold onto, and she needed him.

"We need to talk –"

"I need to tell you –" Percy began at the same time.

They both stopped, sheepish smiles on their faces. "But not now," Annabeth finished. "I need – I need to get home."

"But – we will? Talk, I mean," Percy asked cautiously.

Annabeth twisted her hands in her lap. "Yes. Yes, we will," she answered firmly. Percy squinted, searching her eyes. He must have found what he wanted, because relief coated his features as he leaned back.

"I suppose – I'll be going now," he said awkwardly, and Annabeth nodded.

"I – I'll see you at home, Percy," she said, and his whole face brightened.

"I'll see you at home, Annabeth."

•

A few hours later, Annabeth was feeling much more like herself. She had taken a bath and had a servant wash her hair. She put on a comfortable, simple dress and went downstairs to eat a late supper.

"How was your trip, darling?" her stepmother asked as she filled Annabeth's bowl with stew.

"It was – interesting," Annabeth replied vaguely, grinning inwardly as she remembered her trip to Williamsburg.

Her stepmother nodded with a soft smile. "Good. Did you hear about…?" she trailed off.

Annabeth sighed as she began to eat. "The war truly beginning?"

Her father entered the dining room and sat down, answering, "Yes."

"On the way back," Annabeth admitted. "What can you tell me about it, Father?"

Frederick Chase sighed heavily. "About a week and a half ago, over 700 British troops marched to the Lexington Green. Those stubborn, stupid rebels foolishly refused to lay down their arms, even though Major Pitcairn offered to let them simply leave if they did."

Annabeth nodded, picturing the kindly Major whom she answered to.

Dr. Chase continued. "From what I have heard, someone fired a shot just as the rebels finally decided to leave – no one knows which side – and the fighting began."

Annabeth's heart sank. "How many were killed?" she asked, without really wanting to know the answer.

Her father sighed heavily. "In the first battle, eight of the rebels were killed, and nine were wounded, at least as far as I know. Only one of the King's soldiers was killed, though." He frowned. "But then thousands of minutemen gathered at the Concord Bridge, after the Royal Army had gone through the town searching for weapons to burn, and over two hundred and fifty British soldiers were killed."

Annabeth felt sick to her stomach. She may not sympathize with the British cause, but many of these soldiers were only a few years older than her. Children, really.

"I do not know many of the details – we just got word of the battle of a few days ago," her father continued. "But I do know that Percy was there."

Annabeth's head whipped up, and a picture of Percy lying dead or wounded flashed through her head. "He was? But I saw him at the Neck on the way home this morning!"

Dr. Chase shook his head. "Just because the war's begun doesn't mean the Neck shouldn't be guarded."

Her stepmother entered the conversation again. "Supplies for the store are running low," she confided. "We have no sugar, no tea, no new cloth –"

Her father sighed heavily as he folded his newspaper and got up from the table. "We are living in difficult times," he said as he left the room, Mrs. Chase following after him worriedly.

Annabeth finished her stew in silence. They were living in difficult times, indeed.

•

That night, Annabeth had tossed and turned in her bed for what felt like hours before finally giving up on falling asleep. She quietly pulled on a dressing robe over her shift and went outside to the garden, shutting the front door as quietly as she could.

Outside, she took a deep breath. Now that spring had truly arrived in Boston, the warm night air felt dewy and sweet. The stars twinkled in the inky sky, and a crescent moon shone just enough light so Annabeth could barely see once her eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

She carefully followed the dirt path to the large garden behind her family's home, the grass soft and wet underneath her bare feet. After taking a seat on an old, musty-smelling wooden bench, she leaned back, drawing the robe a little tighter around her shoulders, and closed her eyes, taking another deep breath.

Annabeth let all the worries and stress that had piled up on her shoulders the past month go, even if just for a few minutes. Somehow, under the stars and away from her life, everything seemed smaller, more insignificant.

She was drifting off, the cool night air and soft nighttime sounds lulling her to sleep, when a rough voice broke into her thoughts. "May I join you?"

Annabeth whipped her gaze up, jumping in surprise when she saw Percy standing in front of the bench. "Certainly," she said, a bit awkwardly.

He sat, and Annabeth noticed that the lavender circles under his eyes matched her own. "Couldn't sleep?" she asked, immediately feeling foolish. Of course he wasn't able to sleep, otherwise he would in bed.

He answered with a small smile, and Annabeth tried not to not. "No, I couldn't."

They sat in vaguely awkward silence before Annabeth spoke softly. "I heard – my father told me you were at the battle."

His shoulders sagged, and he looked away. "I was."

Annabeth tried again. "Do you… do you want to talk about it?"

Percy glanced back at her. "I… I can't even begin to find words," he began softly. "I've been training as a soldier, an officer, for years, and yet to actually see such carnage – it was unfathomable."

On impulse, she reached out to touch his arm comfortingly before retracting quickly her hand. They weren't even really friends anymore, and the gesture, so insignificant only a few months before, now seemed like it was crossing a line.

But just as she was about to apologize, Percy reached out and grabbed her hand. "Don't," he said. "Don't – don't let go, Annabeth."

Numbly, she took his hand, and a tiny piece of her clicked back into place.

"I saw men – only boys, really – that I knew back in London, whom I played with growing up, get shot, Annabeth. Right in front of me. And I could do nothing to stop it." He shook his head, chuckling bitterly. "I was with one of my friends as he died, choking on his own blood. He had been just in front of me, had taken the bullet probably meant for me."

Percy wouldn't look at her as he continued. "I can still see him. Every time I close my eyes, I see him coughing up blood, a bullet in his gut and blood on his lips and suddenly he's just – he's just gone, Annabeth, and I can't –" he choked. "I can't watch it happen again. I never want to see it again, but if the war continues, then there's no question that I shall. Whether fighting for the Patriots or the British. There's no escaping the death that war brings."

Annabeth chewed at her bottom lip, looking away. "It – the war always seemed so far away," she admitted softly. "All these months, we've been spying and gathering information and doing what we could to help – but it still always seemed almost like a game. Do you know what I mean?"

Percy nodded. "I don't want war, Annabeth," he said quietly. "But now that it's begun – there's no way to stop it. Not anymore."

Annabeth knew what he was trying to say. "The only option now is to win it as soon as possible," she agreed numbly.

The unspoken question hung in the air: How many more must die before the war ends? How many lives will it cost?

"I hate it, Annabeth!" Percy burst out suddenly, startling her. He turned away. "I hate everything about it. I hate that I have to worry about my friends being killed every day, hate how I don't know who to trust anymore, hate that I have nightmares –" he drew in a staggered breath. "That I have nightmares – every damn night – about you dying," he admitted, his voice low. "I hate how you're the person I care about most and I can't even talk to you because of this stupid fight, because of this stupid war and the stupid decisions I've made –"

"I'm sorry," Annabeth suddenly said, unable to hear him tear himself apart because of her. He glanced at her in surprise, but she wasn't finished. "I'm sorry I ignored you and broke your trust and said I would spy alone because I don't work well alone. I work best with you. Percy, I need you, and you're my best friend, and I love you." She paused and looked away, her hands shaking. What if he didn't accept her apology? What if it really was too late for them, like she had told him coldly before leaving for Williamsburg?

And suddenly his arms were around her, holding her so tightly she couldn't breathe. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Percy chanted in her ear, and she thought she felt tears on her neck. She had never seen Percy cry, but –

"You don't have to worry about losing me, Percy," she said firmly. "You don't. We're going to survive this war. We're going to do whatever we can to help win it, help win freedom for the colonies."

He pulled back, and his eyes looked like fragile, broken glass in the moonlight, his long, dark lashes wet. "I know it might take some time," he admitted, and he seemed to be telling himself as much as her. "We – we've made some bad decisions, and fought over stupid things, and I've said terrible things and done terrible things to you, Annabeth, and –"

"It – it was mutually done," Annabeth admitted, and suddenly she was crying too, because this was her best friend, and she had no idea how she'd managed without him this long. "But I'm sorry. For everything, Percy, and this time, I mean it. Will – will you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive," he murmured, squeezing her hand.

She looked away, not wanting to continue, but knowing she had to. "I'm – I'm sorry for being a complete arsehole to Rachel," Annabeth said quietly. "And I know – I know you two are courting, and I'll stay out of your way, I promise, and –" She was interrupted by Percy shaking, and for a minute she thought he was crying, but then realized –

He was laughing, and Annabeth couldn't comprehend why.

"What?" she demanded. "Dammit, Percy, why are you laughing?"

"We – we aren't courting," Percy wheezed. "We talking about it, but we realized we are much better off as friends."

Annabeth tried to ignore the fluttering of joy in her heart and focused instead on smacking him. "Why didn't you tell me that?" she demanded.

"I – well, I thought you knew," he said, having finally stopped laughing.

Annabeth shook her head slightly. "I didn't," she answered loftily. "Besides, Percy, you kissed her. What was I supposed to think?"

"She kissed me," Percy corrected her, a somber expression crossing his face. "And then – I kissed her back. Both of us later admitted we'd made a mistake."

Annabeth felt the wall of jealousy that she'd been building, brick by brick for months, completely fall apart. "Well… still," she said, trying to move forward. "She's your friend. And I acted rudely."

"I'm certain that if you two were to become friends, you would enjoy each other's company," Percy answered, grinning a little. "You are more alike than you realize."

"Yes, well, we'll see," Annabeth said, letting a small smile slip onto her face.

Her best friend was back, and even with the war looming, even with everything they'd worked for looming over their heads, she couldn't have been happier in that moment.

She glanced at him with his big, sloppy grin, the stubble on his face, his bright green eyes and the way his messy black waves fell over his forehead, and lord, she wanted to kiss him.

The thought surprised her so much that she froze. Where had that come from? Wanting to kiss Percy?

She knew it was out of the question. They had just begun rebuilding their friendship… not to mention the trauma from the recent battle still lingering in his mind.

No, she couldn't kiss him. Not now, maybe – probably – not ever.

"We should probably get to bed," Percy said, unaware of her thoughts. Hopefully he couldn't see her flushed cheeks. "I'll walk you to your room?"

She nodded, and they sneaked back into the house, muffling laughter when Annabeth stepped a stair that creaked, or when Percy ran into a door in the dark. She hadn't felt this happy in months.

When they finally had navigated the dark halls to Annabeth's room, Percy drew her close, and Annabeth embraced him back.

"Goodnight, 'beth," he murmured, kissing her hair.

She could feel his heart beating against her ear, warm and loud and strong. "Goodnight, Percy," she whispered.

Annabeth watched him head down the stairs to his room with a small smile on her face. She knew, while long overdue, their talk wouldn't change things immediately. They had been fighting for almost three months; one night would not magically return everything to normal.

But talking – apologizing, finally – had knocked down the wall of bitterness and anger they had been building for months. It would take work to rebuild their friendship, but they had been through a lot together; they could get through this.

There would be fights ahead, and arguments, and maybe it would take a while before they got back to where they were before, but for now…

She had her best friend back.

(And that was all she really needed.)

YASSS PERCABETH IS FINALLY BEING GROWN UP AND WORKING OUT THEIR DIFFERENCES INSTEAD OF IGNORING EACH OTHER LIKE FIVE YEAR OLDS *cough cough* Anyway, thanks again to Helena for editing. I love you, darling. :D Also I wrote a little HP one-shot the other day and it would make me so happy if you guys would check it out :)

Shoutout to TigerCat25 for their sweet reviews on the last chapter! Seriously, I was really unmotivated on this story and you guys probably wouldn't have an update if I hadn't been inspired by their reviews, so yeah. Reviews are awesome and I love reading what you have to say! :)

WM