a/n: so i realize this chapter revolves around leo's supposed death a lot, which i literally didn't acknowledge in ch. 1 (oops?), but that's mainly because i feel like there's no way piper and jason weren't heavily, heavily impacted by leo's disappearance, and i would imagine it really impacted their relationship with each other, too. anyway, yeah. just wanted to explain that because that's literally what this whole thing is about lol, happy reading!

"do you hear me, love?

we will always rebuild."

– jeanette leblanc

they had thought leo was dead.

they had thought, for days, that their best friend, the third of their trio, an irreplaceable part of their hearts, was gone, just like that, disappeared without a trace or goodbye in the act of some self-loathing-fueled self-sacrifice.

he'd showed up, of course, back at camp with festus and calypso and a stupid grin on his face (like always) even as they all cried their hearts out unashamedly and then they healed, together.

but that was later.

at first, they were torn apart.

when they returned to camp, piper had been dazed. everything happened around her with a sluggish, hazy quality – as if she was sitting inside a fishbowl and the outside world was just moving on around her, without her; life, nothing more than blurred images cycling past her vision, overlapping voices muffled by thick, bulletproof glass. the glass wasn't thick enough to keep out the pain, though, however much she tried.

piper is not involved in the funeral preparations. there's plenty to be done for the camp, and for the other campers – shrouds to be chosen, medical supplies to be gathered, wounded to be treated – but piper couldn't find it in her to do much of anything. she just…exists.

she sits on her bunk in the aphrodite cabin; or on the grassy hill at the edge of camp; sometimes, if she was feeling up to the walk, she'd make her way to the big house and recline on the worn, comfy couch in the main room and let herself forget everything but the feel of the scratchy fabric and the faint voices of campers echoing around her.

it is on one of those days that chiron finally approaches her. he enters the room and she is aware, alert, nearly breathless with the intense focus that war has left her with. but she doesn't move.

my child, chiron says, in that way of his. when piper looks up at him his face is sad but smiling, and there's an emotion there that she can't read for some reason. the others are looking for you. there are preparations, for leo.

piper lets her head fall back against the couch. no, she says. not now, not yet.

the ceiling is wooden and dark, and slants of light filter through open windows. it flickers golden along the wood and once in a while a particular beam sparkles especially bright, illuminating a thin column of the room. the dust floats.

she doesn't hear chiron leave, the way she expects, because surely he – like the others, like everyone else – must be saying and hearing and repeating the same mantra: space. she just need some space, or she just needs some time, or she just needs – needs needs needs –

needs what?

instead, when she looks back he's still standing in the same place. there's that same expression. she can identify the emotion now – and thank the gods it's not pity –

it's guilt.

he sighs, and then speaks: leo was brave, piper. he was worthy. and like i have done so often in my long, long life – i failed him, because we lost him. but he was brave and worthy and powerful, but, my child – you must understand that he is gone.

piper blinks. and then blinks again, and again. when she reaches her fingers to her face she realizes she's crying. chiron just looks at her sadly, and then he walks away.

at first, he and piper don't talk much. sure, they stay together, and the seven – sorry, six – of them sort of wander around in a haze, but they don't talk.

he tries to keep himself steady, and clear-headed, because as strong as they are percy and annabeth are weak and tired and rightfully so, and hazel and frank are busy with the romans and reyna, and nico is frantically trying to control the greek campers and someone needs to be the rational, stable leader, which is not an unfamiliar title for jason.

piper is grieving, he knows. he can't scarcely believe it himself and maybe that's part of the problem, but his best friend is dead and so are so many others and so jason makes lists and weighs pros and cons and organizes and arranges and solves because that's who he is and that's what he does.

jeez, lighten up, sparky!

he hears the voice out of nowhere and sits up abruptly in his bunk in the zeus cabin, spinning around wildly and stumbling to the ground. when he gets his bearings he sees leo standing against a cold, white column and grinning. he gapes.

all work and no play makes jason a dull boy, you know. or something like that. leo laughs and jason splutters, and for a moment he really could believe that leo is right there in front of him – but then his expression darkens and the smile disappears. he steps forward.

why did you let me die, jason?

jason awakens with a gasp. the question echoes in his head like a cliched nightmare, and the cabin is empty.

that day jason catches piper in a storeroom near the infirmary, a box of fresh bandages in her hands.

he calls out to her and she turns, looks at him with dull, tired eyes and it hurts him to see her like this. he walks up to her and they just look at each other until she finally says, hi.

hi, he says back. i haven't seen you in a couple days.

she nods, shrugs, and: i've been busy, helping will.

there's silence.

and so have you, she continues, and her tone is laced with a twinge of anger. running camp. leading. you're busy.

jason doesn't know what she wants him to say, or if there is anything he could ever say. but piper presses forward and it's like she doesn't even see him anymore and her voice is sharp and painful and brutally honest.

our best friend is dead, jason. he's dead and he's not coming back and after everything, after all of this we're still not fixed – and you're – you're too busy. her voice has risen to a tight strain and even through the anger jason hears her breath catch on the edge of a sob. he blinks back his own tears and just says, miserably:

i don't know what to do, pipes. jason breathes, and then he curses when he feels a tear slip from the corner of his eye. he rubs it away furiously. just tell me what i'm supposed to do.

the box of bandages falls to the floor. piper steps forward and wraps her arms around jason's neck and when his hands come up tentatively to the back of her head she lets her own tears fall. they fall apart together inside a storeroom among broomsticks and nectar jars.

piper walks along the beach and watches the tide sweep up and wash over her feet, leaving behind tiny pebbles and thin seaweed and odds and ends surfacing from some great depths below. when she looks up she sees a figure sitting on the sand and a flash of blonde curls fluttering in the wind. it's annabeth, and she's alone, which is a rare sight these days.

piper isn't sure either of them want company at the moment (since they are both at the furthest, most isolated end of the beach) but annabeth calls her name and waves.

piper makes her way over and sees two pairs of converse near annabeth's bare feet.

percy's swimming, annabeth explains. it's like she's reading piper's mind, although that wouldn't be much of a surprise to her.

piper sits next to her and they're quiet. she doesn't want to talk but she does, and she doesn't know what to say because here is someone who has loved and lost, here is someone who has lived through not one, but two wars and countless other battles and tragedies and pain and what is one lost friend compared to that?

listen, annabeth says. piper looks at her in the eyes and the stormy gray seems to peer right through her.

i am logical and reasonable and intelligent – and i know, i know that war is war. but, annabeth says, fiercely. every time feels like fresh pain all over again and you shouldn't feel guilty or recovered or anything, the gods know i'm not one to be giving speeches, but – but you are allowed this, alright?

she wraps her hand around piper's in the sand and looks at her again and whispers: do you understand?

after a beat, piper nods, slowly. she turns away and the two girls look out at the ocean. blue-green water fades into a cloudy horizon and nothing punctures their quiet little bubble. she breaks it:

i've come to the conclusion that you're a mind reader, piper says. she turns to grin at annabeth and the older girl grins back.

the tide rushes forward and leaves behind a tiny broken seashell above piper's left toe.

the funeral proceeds, and the campers mourn. jason stands first, and he's been asked to speak, and every roman fiber in his body is screaming at him to pull it together but he can't.

he turns to face the crowd of campers and he sees piper's tearstained face to his right, and the small but reassuring smile she gives him is enough to nearly bring him over the edge.

he starts: leo was my best friend.

then he looks down at the ground, and his hands shake. when he looks back up the world looks wrong, somehow, as if everything is backwards or shifted or upside down or some kind of slightly warped vision like in a dream, and jason realizes that it is wrong, because his best friend is dead.

jason swallows, but the words are still stuck in his throat and they feel heavy, like a weight of bricks is collapsing inside of him and all he can do is fight against the falling pieces.

he feels a hand on his shoulder and it's percy – percy, who looks him in the eyes and nods.

jason turns back around and says, again: leo was my best friend.

it's the start of a messy, incoherent speech that ends up meaning nothing, but it's important just the same.