Hey guys! Sorry for the very long time in between updates (spoiler alert: I'm not dead.) I was planning to get this chapter out a long time ago, but then the holidays hit me like a brick, and in between music performances, semester exams, and everything else that comes with this time of year, my past month or so has been extremely hectic. I also wrote almost 50k words over the course of December, working on stories for my baes Helena (GollyGeeWhiz) and Mia (herecomesthepun). The stories I wrote for them are on my page if any of you guys would like to check them out (it would mean the world to me!) :)

Song rec for this chapter: Soldier, by Fleurie. Honestly, you guys HAVE to listen to this song while reading this, bc I listened to it on repeat while writing it (especially the first half), so. Listen to it. xD

Anyway, here's the chapter! It's not as long as I would like, but I just wanted to get it out for all of you guys who have been waiting. Hope you enjoy, and please leave a review!

•

June 17th, 1775

When he looked back on that moment, Percy remembered the drums.

Everything else was fuzzy with fear and uncertainty; his thoughts were hazy with exhaustion and worry. Percy glanced around, his eyes skimming over the hordes of soldiers with red coats and shiny bayonets, many of them his age or younger.

He trudged on, feet marching in time with the other thousands of boots hitting the road, head bowed.

He knew many of them would not be marching back.

Blackjack was noticeably absent; Percy wished he had his horse, but they had decided the more foot soldiers, the better. Horses, especially one with the temper of Blackjack, could be a liability in battle – or at least, that's what Percy had told Major Pitcairn.

It also might have had something to do with the fact that Blackjack was secure and happy in the Chase's stables.

Don't think about Annabeth, he told himself. Just keep on marching.

He concentrated on the dust that rose in the early morning light, on the drummer boys pounding out a rhythm that echoed as the birds began singing, as the sun rose over the hills.

It felt like they had been marching for hours when another officer stepped next to him. "Officer Jackson."

Percy glanced up. Travis Stoll, a young officer only a few years older than himself, was walking alongside him, his tall, lanky form blocking the early morning sunrays. "Officer Stoll," he greeted the other man, nodding.

Travis kept his eyes trained forward, face solemn, stern; Percy was used to seeing him in the tavern, with a loud laugh and a wide mischievous grin. He had never seen Travis so serious, his brow so furrowed. Although he didn't know the other man that well, he knew that Travis had a younger brother back in England whom he loved deeply.

"What do you think will happen if you die?" the other man spoke softly, staring straight ahead.

Percy smiled tightly. "To be completely honest, I'm more worried about the people I'll be leaving behind."

"This is a fool's errand," Travis muttered. "When I signed up for the army – I thought I would be aiding my king, aiding in keeping these new colonies in check. From what I have seen in my time here…" he trailed off.

Percy nodded, catching the other man's eye. "I understand what you mean."

There was a pause, before – "I have a girl. Back in England," Travis divulged suddenly, eyes back on the road as they marched.

Percy looked up, letting a small smile curve on his lips. "What's her name?"

"Katherine. Katherine Gardner," he answered, his stern features softening. "We planned to get married before I was sent to the colonies. She vowed to wait for me until I got back." He paused for a minute, then continued. "She…she also promised to look after my mother for me. Mother's an invalid, and my father died years ago. Katie, my mother, and my brother are all I have left." He scuffed the toe of his boot into the dust. "What will happen to them if I die?"

"I am sure that your brother will do his best to care for your mother and Katherine," Percy said, not knowing what else to say. He wasn't friends with Travis – had never met him before they were sent to the colonies and worked together a bit. Somehow, the gravity of where they were going, of what could happen that day, had brought them together.

Travis turned suddenly to him. "If – if I don't come back today, can you – write them a letter and tell them what happened?" he asked, his eyes burning with a hope Percy couldn't bear to crush.

"I will," he said, nodding.

Travis fished something out of his coat pocket. "'Tis Katie," he said, a small smile appearing on his face as he flipped open the bronze, oval locket to show a miniature painting of a smiling, brunette young woman. "With the letter, can you send this back to her? And… and tell her I loved her. Until the end."

Percy closed Travis's fingers back over the locket. "You can tell her yourself," he said, softly, fiercely.

Travis bit his lip. "But – if I don't…"

Reluctantly, Percy nodded. "I will. I promise."

Travis looked satisfied, tucking the locket back into his pocket.

On impulse, Percy asked, "And if I don't come back – there is a family. The people I'm staying with. The Chases?"

Travis nodded, his smooth brow furrowing. "I know them. They have a daughter, do they not? And two young sons. Dr. Chase runs the apothecary and a mercantile on the wharf front."

Percy bit his lip, tripping over his next words. "The daughter. Annabeth. Tell her – tell her that I'm sorry. That I didn't come back."

Travis looked at him knowingly. "This Annabeth – do you…?" he left the question unspoken.

Do you love her?

Percy knew what Travis was asking. He felt a lump rise in his throat and swallowed as he nodded. "I do."

Travis closed his eyes. "This war has hardly begun, and already it has taken so much from this world," he said softly.

Percy thought of the young men he had seen killed the day the war began; the blood, the deathly-pale skin, the scent of death and sweat hanging in the air. The wailing mothers, broken fathers, weeping women, sobbing children.

This is the reality of war.

He lifted his chin as a picture of Annabeth laughing flashed in his mind. "Then let us make sure it ends quickly," he said quietly.

"To stop this bloodshed," Travis answered, nodding. It was an unspoken promise.

To come home.

The drums pounded, and Percy closed his eyes.

•

By the time they reached Breed's Hill, Percy was already exhausted, emotion wearing on the little amount of sleep he got the night before. The soldiers lined up, bayonets flashing in the sunlight; Percy saw the rebel's defense at the top of the hill, a flimsy, makeshift type of fortress that looked like the slightest wind could knock it down – but it did the job.

He knew the rebels were short on gunpowder; just a few days before, Paul Revere had taken him aside, asked if there was any way to get them more. Percy had given all he could without causing any suspicion, but it was precious little compared to what they needed.

And suddenly, the shots began, and the world was filled with smoke and screams.

He still hadn't fired a shot when the redcoats went charging up the hill, those that fell being trampled by others. Everything was hazy with shouting and blood and death and Percy realized – not for the first time, but the reality of it just hit him, all of a sudden – that he probably would not walk out of this.

It was as though his eyes were suddenly opened. What had before simply been a blur of smoke and bodies now was cannon and musket fire, every bullet flying from separate sides finding its mark in living, breathing flesh; now was friends and comrades – on both sides – falling to the ground, blood in the dust, dying.

And then suddenly, he tripped over a red-clad body lying on the grass, and Travis's pale face, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, looked up at him and no, Percy couldn't do this. It couldn't be happening, because Travis was healthy and well and alive just a few hours ago, had a girl waiting for him and a younger brother who adored him and a mother struggling to survive without her son. He had people who needed him, and now he was the one lying on the grass, blood dampening the grass beneath him and staining his coat a darker red.

Percy couldn't see from the tears in his eyes, and suddenly the screams and shouts and musket fire were a blur; the battle was just a haze, just a dream and all that he could see was Travis. All he could see was this man – this boy – who had so much ahead of him, so much waiting for him.

And now he was reaching up, choking on his own blood, and Percy set down his musket and knelt to hear his comrade's last words, turning his face so the other man couldn't see his tears.

"The letter," Travis rasped, a little grin on his face smearing the blood that still dripped from his mouth as he quoted Percy's words from their earlier conversation. "Since… since I cannot do it myself."

Percy nodded, trying to smile, but his voice broke. "Of course."

Travis reached fumblingly into his coat pocket and pulled out the locket. "For – for Katie," he whispered, and Percy lost whatever composure he had left, feeling tears drip down his face and falling onto Travis's forehead as Percy cradled the dying man's head in his arms.

"I will," he said, and it was an unspoken promise. A promise to live, and find Travis's family, and tell his story.

Travis took one last shuddering breath, blood dribbling from his mouth, and then stared unseeing at the smoky sky. Percy closed the other man's eyes, feeling the weight of it in his fingertips, running throughout his whole body because this – this was war. War was closing a friend's eyelids when he could not do so anymore, war was saying goodbye and not knowing if you would return, war was wishing for second chances and receiving none.

(War was marching on, and leaving your humanity in the dust.)

•

"Quickly! Get behind the barrier!" Percy heard one of the commanding officers shout. Travis's death hung weightily in his mind, but he ran numbly up the hill, his legs pounding in time to the drums with exhaustion.

The fighting had lasted for hours, and Percy knew that even if they took the hill, the British had sustained hundreds more losses than the Patriots. Injured and dead bodies in red coats sprinkled the hillside, many left in gruesome final positions, limps bent in strange ways, eyes staring unseeing at the sky.

As Percy ran behind the barrier, he expected to find hundreds of Patriot soldiers. Instead, there was simply the dead and dying, the other soldiers having retreated back.

Percy choked in the smoky air as he surveyed the wounded and dead bodies. Some were in blue coats, trademark of the colonial army; others – most, in fact – were in simply farmer's clothes, the muskets they were using heavy hunting rifles, sweat and grime on their faces.

He closed his eyes, wishing he could unsee the destruction. All these lives dead – and for what? A hill, one simple battle?

A familiar face caught his eyes as he opened them again. Dr. Warren, a friend of Paul Revere's whom he had met and worked with many times, lay on the grass near the barrier.

Percy ran to him, uncaring of who saw him, though not many British soldiers had reached the top of the hill yet. "Dr. Warren?" he asked, trying to ignore the large red spot staining the other man's torso.

He winced. "Perseus Jackson?"

Percy nodded, trying to smile. "Yes sir. 'Tis me."

Dr. Warren coughed, and Percy knew he was dying. "Keep… keep on fighting," the doctor said weakly. "For freedom."

Percy pursed his lips. "For freedom."

The man's head lolled in his arms, and Percy set him down gently. Another man dying in his arms; another man's life gone long before its time.

How many more?

His time was interrupted as a flood of Patriot soldiers descended upon them. Percy readied his musket, though he knew he wouldn't shoot. These men were on the same side, though most of them didn't know he was anything besides a British officer.

The air had begun to clear, but suddenly it was filled again with smoke and cries and cracks of muskets. Percy coughed, trying to clear his throat from the smoke.

Then something hit him, and Percy felt a ripping pain tear through his body. His musket fell to the ground as he looked down and touched his abdomen.

His fingers came away red with blood, and Percy dropped to his knees.

He felt his head hit the ground, vision going fuzzy. In his hazy sight, he saw a young, slim soldier in a red coat run towards him and drop to his knees next to him.

"You'll be alright. I promise, Percy. Just stay awake," the young man said, and his voice was high and fierce and strangely familiar. Percy tried to search his mind, but between the pain roaring in his body and his hazy eyesight, he couldn't place it.

His vision going darker, the last thing he saw was the soldier taking off their hat and long blond curls falling out.

Annabeth's voice echoed in his mind.

I promise, Percy.

•

June 20th, 1775

The next thing he knew, the world was a fog of hazy sunlight and blond hair. He concentrated all his energy on keeping his eyes open, on making the fuzzy images clearer.

He blinked a few times, and his vision cleared, and Annabeth was sitting next to him, dozing in a wooden chair. Percy took in his surroundings; he was at the Chase's house, in his bed.

The sun was shining in through the curtains, glaring brightly off the white coverlet. Percy glanced down at himself; he wasn't wearing a shirt, and his abdomen was bandaged tightly.

Before he could orient himself to what had happened and why he was back at the Chase's house, Annabeth's golden head made an appearance in his vision, her curls disheveled and dark circles under her eyes.

"Percy!" she cried, standing up. "You're awake." She hugged him, and Percy winced a little.

"Annabeth. Wounded," he reminded her gently, but hugged her back anyway because she was here and real and safe, and then he remembered—

"You were at the battle," he said slowly as she pulled back. "Annabeth—"

Annabeth stopped him, her lips pursing. "Before you get started, I would like to point out that you would be dead if I hadn't been there."

Percy sighed raggedly. "Dammit, Annabeth! You could have been killed!"

"So could you! And like I just mentioned, you would have been killed if not—"

"If you hadn't directly broken your promise to me?" he challenged. "A promise that you swore to abide by, to not go near the battle—"

She looked a little chastened, but her head was still high and the glint in her eyes was defiant. "I don't regret what I did—"

"Well, you should—"

"I did what I had to do to keep you safe," Annabeth argued stubbornly, crossing her arms. "I'm sorry that I broke my promise, but I will not apologize for saving your life, you idiot—" And then she was hugging him again, tears hot against his skin. "You would have died, Percy," she sobbed. "I'm not about to let you get away from me that easily."

Percy sagged against her embrace, knowing he had lost. "I'm sorry, 'beth," he said quietly. It was hard to even think; between the flaring pain in his side to the smell of roses in Annabeth's hair, to the way her chest was pressed against his bare skin—

Too many distractions. He closed his eyes, concentrating on her voice as she continued. "I saw you, though. Right before you got hit. You were just standing there, not even looking around for any random Patriots who were still shooting."

"I know," Percy admitted. "I know. I was being stupid, and reckless, but it just hit me, Annabeth. Everything about the battle caught up to me in one moment, and I couldn't move."

Her tear-streaked face softened as she pulled back. "I understand, I do, Percy, but you can't—" Her voice cracked. "You can't let your guard down like that. It was a sniper, and the bullet passed through on your right side. Some other officers helped me get you to my father, and we stayed up all night. There were… there were even times where we thought we had lost you, but…" she trailed off.

Percy tried to smile. "But I'm all right, 'beth. I promise."

"You've been asleep for three days," she said quietly. "I've been in here almost the entire time; every time your breathing got to faint to hear, or I couldn't see your chest rising and falling, I just felt this—this cold fear that turned my heart to ice in my chest, because I thought he's dead. My best friend is dead."

He squeezed her hand, and his heart hurt for putting her through that. "I'm alive," he promised her.

Annabeth sat down on the bed, thumb still caressing his hand almost absent-mindedly. "I know," she said, and it sounded a little like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. "I know."

They sat in silence for a little bit before Percy asked, "What were the results of the battle?"

"Oh!" she said, looking a little surprised. "Yes. The battle."

Percy raised his eyebrows. "It sounds rather like you're avoiding the question, 'beth."

Annabeth glanced down, playing with the edge of the quilt. She was biting her lip, and Percy tried not to stare. "The battle," she repeated, a shadow coming over her face. "Percy, it was a nightmare."

Percy winced, the memories of what he experienced flooding back to him. He knew they would probably be haunting his nightmares for weeks in the future, and from the troubled look on Annabeth's face, he guessed that she was remembering as well. Yet another reason he hadn't wanted her to go anywhere near the carnage of the battle.

"Percy, the British took the hill, but they lost over a thousand men," she began softly, and Percy stared.

"A thousand?" he asked, throat closing up, because while he was fighting for the Patriot's cause, while he hated the idea of a king of the ocean who knew nothing of the colonies' affairs and yet tried to rule it – he hated the idea of so many precious lives being lost even more. "A thousand," he repeated to himself, a little shell-shocked. Annabeth squeezed his hand, and he squeezed it back almost unconsciously.

"The Patriots, though they lost the hill, only lost about four hundred men, but—" she cut off. Percy understood—while it was better, less than half of what the British had lost, that was still four hundred lives lost. Hundreds of wives and families waiting at home for a father or a husband, a brother or a son, who would never come home.

They lost their lives, and for what? A new country? A right for freedom? Percy yearned for a right to be free, a right to live without every move he made governed by a faceless authority who didn't know, didn't care about the struggles he experienced, but. At what cost would it come?

"How many wounded?" he asked quietly.

"No one knows for sure yet," she replied. "Hundreds, at least. The town is full of both sides, and my father hasn't slept in days."

Percy felt a wave of guilt. Only a few days ago both she and her father had stayed up the entire night saving his life. Just one life—how many more could they have been helping? He wasn't worth their devotion. He wasn't worth Annabeth or her family's love.

As if reading his thoughts, Annabeth squeezed his hand, a little fiercely. "Don't start," she said, gritting her teeth. "I know you think you aren't worth being saved, being able to live, when so many others died, but you are, Percy. You are."

Her words hit him like a brick, because she knew him better than anyone else on earth, and suddenly he remembered confessing his love to her at Christmas and her telling him it would never work.

She didn't even remember that night, but it didn't change the fact that she would never think of him the same way. It was never going to work, and he knew that.

Annabeth looked at him, still fierce, still waiting for him to answer, and he smiled at her. "I know, Annabeth." The war, the aftermath of the battle, everything in his life could wait for a little bit, if he got to stay here for a while with her. "I know."

•

And that's that! I made a resolution to finish this story by the time I get out of school in May (we have about 10 or so chapters left, I think?) and then I'll start editing. It's insane how much my writing style has changed since I began this thing, so I will be doing a TON of editing, especially the early chapters.

Shoutout to AverageCanadian, who mentioned this story in an AN for their fantastic story Useless Wings a while back! I'm never on fanfic anymore except to post things so I didn't see it, but Mia mentioned it and then Helena sent me a picture of the AN so I could see it, so I just wanted to say thank you and you are honestly the sweetest thing. This update's for you. :)

As always, everlasting thanks to Helena (GollyGeeWhiz), who edited this chapter for me. You're seriously the bestest, babe. ;)

Hopefully I'll be getting back onto a semi-regular schedule with this thing, but no promises bc ski season is starting up and I don't know how much time I'll have to write. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! :)

WM

PS. Sorry about the confusion earlier! There was trouble with the chapter publishing but it's all fixed now! ;)