This is it, guys. The last chapter. And before you read it, I have a few things to say, and I'd appreciate it if you read them-some of them are relevant, and some of them are probably not. But I'd appreciate it all the same.
Today is December 18. A year ago today, I posted the first chapter of this fanfiction. I though it was only right that today was the day I ended it. (I just really like parallels)
First of all, a thank you-to my first ever reviewer, Mathsucks, who is the only reason I posted any chapters after the first and why this story went anywhere.
Another big thank you to amazinggirl96, without whom it would have been impossible to finish this fanfiction by today.
Lots of other people have made this possible, so many that it'd take about a hundred pages to name them all, so, to everyone-THANK YOU. I love you guys with all my heart.
You're all the reason I managed to finish this chapter in a mad computer rush where I typed for five hours straight to get it done, because I didn't want to disappoint, even though this week has been crazy.
Yeah. Insane. Monday, I was home with a 103.3 degree fever that lasted until midmorning on Tuesday, and then I spent five hours at the hospital from five to ten p.m. getting IV fluids on my doctor's orders because I was severely dehydrated.
Fun. My arm still aches. Tomorrow, I have a Precalculus final, two essays due, a book project due, and then I have three more finals to take on Friday. Busy, busy week, especially after being out sick for two days.
Funny, sometimes, how my fictional worlds can so easily become priority over reality. I think it's just easier that way.
Also, this has to be said-well, addressed.
Review Section (young eyes, you don't have to read this): What the hell? I mean, no offense, I'm not trying to be mean or anything, but what the hell? And-I appreciate the FSSFC thing and all, but I think it's gone a bit far.
I'm working on setting up a forum where you guys can chat and talk, and I'll tell you when that's up, but from now on, I think it'd be better if we kept the review section for reviewing. I know I've said differently from before, and I do like hearing about what's going on with everyone-but that's gone a few steps in the wrong direction to becoming a chatroom. That's not what I intended it to be. So, until that forum is up, try to keep topics relevant to the review section, okay?
Now, for this (FOR HATERS ONLY, YOUNG EYES DON'T READ): *ahem* Sticks and stones might break my bones but words with never hurt me. Listen here, you great band of bumbling idiots: I don't tolerate haters that mess with my reviewers. Say whatever you want to me-hey, I don't mind. Seriously, you can call me whatever the fucking hell you want, I don't give a shit. But posting the crap you have been where freaking eleven year olds and younger can see it-who the hell do you think you are? Shove off, you little punks, and get out of my review section. And, in case I'm not being clear enough-FUCK OFF, ASSHOLES. You have no reason and no right to say and do those things. Don't impersonate my guest reviewers, don't post nasty things they don't need to see, DO NOT ask me to write fucking sex scenes-seriously, tired of that shit; again, I'm a virgin, and I have no intention to write smut-and if you can't follow the rules, go away and stay away.
*HATERS SECTION DONE*
I'll be posting an author's note of sort on this soon, as well, detailing other fanfictions I may write in the future and answering that question WILL THERE BE A SEQUEL?
But for now-thank you, and enjoy.
Chapter CIX
Percy
Everything hurts. It feels like splinters of acid are bursting through his veins; splitting them open from the inside. Like an iron wedge has been driven into his skull, trying to tear his memories from him.
But he holds on to them, despite the painful stillness of his heart, because they're all he has left. He snatches them away from the darkness that circles around him, wrapping them up and tucking them next to his frozen heart, curling himself around them.
His chest aches, with a throbbing pain that gets louder and louder in his head every time it reoccurs. The pain of an un-beating heart. He tries to will it to move, to right itself, to stop the horrible hurting, but it won't go away.
Where am I? He thinks, hanging in the midst of it all. How did I get here?
He can remember Annabeth, and Hazel, and all of his friends-no, his family-because he keeps them locked away deep inside of him. But he can't recall what he did to deserve this. Where he is, how he came to be here, what happened to the others...
Tartarus. A deep, echoing voice resounds all around him-in him, through his very being.
And Percy remembers. It all rushes over him...until that last glimpse of the sky, through clouds the gray of Annabeth's eyes.
You promised. The words are whispered in the back of his mind, in Annabeth's voice.
Don't you dare leave her. Piper, grief-stricken.
This can't be happening. Leo, horrified, with a slight hint of the madness Percy helped beat back earlier in the day.
Not this, not him, not again. Not because of me. Hazel, weak, barely there.
Not him. Frank, too full of emotion for words.
You took my brother, don't take my best friend, too. Thalia, pleading.
You promised. Annabeth, again.
You promised.
Everything stills. The universe hangs in time, and all is suddenly quiet.
That last moment starts to play in his head, and his pain seems to fade to background noise as the scene unfolds around him...
He watches that supernatural storm build around him until both he and Gaea are hidden from view, except for occasional glimpses through the hurricane that howls around them. Annabeth is with the others, fighting the remaining giants and holding them back, but she keeps turning and trying to come to him, taking a step forward through the wind before another enemy blocks her way. There are tears in her eyes, with the anger, and Percy knows that she somehow knew what was going to happen, as he did. Although maybe not as much as he knew about it, because then she never would have agreed to leave him.
He sees the moment when he stabs Gaea's heart-the light that grows around him like when a god reveals their true form kind of gives him away. Blue-green wavering rays of light, shot through with shadows...
His vision suddenly dips, and he views everything differently, as if from another level, another layer of the universe, where everything is peeled away. Black-green mist showers upwards from where Gaea stood, swirling in the winds, and as the winds die down, some smaller piece of him detaches itself from the rest being shredded to nothingness-and Annabeth catches it.
She doesn't reach up as if she can see it and snatch it from the air, but she tries to get to him again, starts running forward even with her bad ankle-she trips, and falls, but as she hits the ground, she looks up and screams his name, her face twisted in grief. The sound is snatched away by the wind, pulled from her as if she never said it, but that little piece of him collides with her chest, just over her heart, and flares once before disappearing-disappearing as if she'd pocketed a piece of broken china.
You just couldn't let me go. He thinks sadly, his unbeating heart aching with the misery of being apart from her. He closes his eyes, and the pain comes rushing back, magnified tenfold.
Then his whole world turns upside down and he sits bolt upright, choking and gasping and coughing as if he just came back from drowning. He braces himself against the ground, and the palms of his hands touch smooth, cold, marble.
He flinches, and looks around, still breathing heavily.
He's at Camp Half-Blood, in the dining pavilion. The columns stretch high above his head, up to a cloudless night sky that gives him a perfect view of Zoe's constellation. A few inches from his fingers, the crack Nico made years ago marks a shadowy path across the white marble.
The woods are marked by a darker, thicker darkness a few hundred yards from the pavilions.
They're silent. No breeze through the leaves, no distant howls of monsters. A stillness made all the more evident by the fact that there's no blood rushing through his veins; no beat of his heart to break the quiet.
Just silence.
Percy, I love you. Annabeth's voice says, and he flinches, because it sounds like she's right there. Like she's whispering in his ear, and he starts to reach for her before remembering that he'll never be able to touch her again.
Percy, don't leave me. Don't leave me.
"Where am I?" Percy murmurs, trying to shut out her voice and the pain it causes.
Somewhere in between. An unfamiliar, resonatingly powerful voice whispers around him. A place between two places, two times-on the edges of a place where two worlds in time meet.
Misty shapes start to form around him-down by the cabins, next to him in the pavilion, over on the hill. Voices that start as whispers become clearer with every passing second, until suddenly he's surrounded by people.
The bonfire burns low and black, despite the fact that their war seems to be won. Several shroud-wrapped bodies are lined neatly on the ground, with straggling groups of demigods, both Roman and Greek, gathered around them, their faces gaunt and pale.
The infirmary and Apollo cabin are full to the point of overflowing, with healers from both camps hustling in and out. Percy recognizes Gwen standing near the infirmary, giving orders to a small group of Romans that he knows from his time with the Fifth Cohort.
Everyone looks exhausted, like they could drop at any moment.
Percy doesn't know who to focus on, though, because there are ghosts walking among them, some laughing, some smiling, but all brushing reassuring hands against their living friends and siblings.
He can see Lee Fletcher, and Michael Yew-Castor, Beckendorf, Silena; everyone the camp has lost.
Luke.
Percy spots his former enemy sitting on the mess hall steps above Travis and Connor-who are holding on to each other and crying silent tears. Connor's arm is in a sling, and Travis's shirt is in tatters, with slight lines of red flashing beneath that hint at several cuts and scratches across his ribs and chest. Luke has his elbows braced on his knees, his forehead braced on folded hands, and Percy can see tears falling slowly from his eyes as well.
Who did they lose? Percy asks himself, grief churning in his stomach at the sight of the Stolls crying. In all his time at camp, he's never seen them shed a single tear. Not where people could see them-and now, here they are, in full sight of everyone, broken and bruised and grieving.
As he watches, Luke raises his hands, his head still bowed, and rests them lightly on the Stolls' shoulders. It might be his imagination, but it seems to comfort them a little.
Percy finds himself walking, wandering among his friends-his family-without ever thinking about taking a step. He finds himself heading closer to the bonfire, towards the shrouds, stumbling as he tries to get a better look at who else this war has taken.
There are at least three bodies that Percy assumes are Romans, since Romans are mostly the ones who are gathered around them. There's a fourth shroud, made of shimmering yellow fabric that looks like sunlight along a forest floor, with a lyre embroidered in the center.
Romans and several Greeks are gathered around that one, and Dakota is kneeling next to it with his hand laying respectfully on the body's chest.
After a quick look around, Percy realizes that he hasn't seen Octavian anywhere.
But why would he be hailed as a hero? He wonders. He decides not to think to hard about it, and bows his head once in the direction of the legacy of Apollo.
The fifth body is from Camp Half-Blood-wrapped in a chain mail shroud that's so familiar it sends a familiar punch of grief to Percy's chest so painful he has to squeeze his eyes shut for several moments. When he opens them again, and looks at the rest of the Hephaestus cabin gathered around, his resolve wavers.
Nyssa. He recognizes, and swallows past a lump in his throat, feeling tears sting his eyes.
But he takes a deep breath and moves on to the others.
A child of Demeter-a son, Percy thinks, remembering one who isn't there. He can't remember his name, and it bothers him.
A daughter of Morpheus.
And then-in the middle of all of them, with equal numbers Greeks and Romans alike gathered around-the two last shrouds.
Percy recognizes both of the shrouds immediately. One is an unmistakeable, shimmeringly pink fabric that he knows from Silena in the Second Titan War. The other is the shroud of the true hero from that same war.
Aphrodite. And Hermes.
Clarisse is kneeling at the feet of the Hermes' shroud, her head buried in her lap, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Two of her brothers are sitting awkwardly beside her, their hands on her shoulders, staring in disbelieving shock at the shroud that could only belong to Chris.
Not after all they've been through. Percy thinks desperately. Not after she'd finally found someone.
But he can't change it, and suddenly Travis and Connor's broken expressions make complete sense.
"It isn't fair." Clarisse says, her voice tight with anger and muffled by her hands. "He didn't deserve to die."
Her brothers exchange a glance over her head and move closer to her, trying to wrap her in a comforting hug. She lets them, surprisingly-honestly, Percy's not sure which is more suprising. The fact that her brothers are trying to comfort her-and doing a good job of it-or that she isn't pushing them away.
"He died a hero, Clarisse." One of them tells her gently.
"He shouldn't have died at all." She mutters in a small voice. "And what he did-all of it, it was all pointless in the end. He couldn't save her. If I'd just listened to him, if I hadn't waited to go after him and help-"
"Don't think like that." Her other brother says, his voice stern and harsh. "Chris wouldn't want you to blame yourself. He made his own choice."
"Neither of them should have died. Lacy shouldn't have even been out there!" Clarisse shouts, her voice strangled and a little hysterical.
Lacy. Percy remembers her-she was so young. Clarisse was right; she never should have been out in the battle.
"I promised Silena I'd protect her sisters a long time ago. She never thought she was capable of it-but she turned out to be a lot better at it then I am." Clarisse says bitterly.
"Don't blame yourself." A whispery voice pleads, and when Percy looks up, he sees Chris standing at the other end of his body, a tortured expression on his face as he watches Clarisse. He's holding Lacy's hand, and she's standing just slightly behind him, leaning against him for reassurance as she looks down at her own body. "It wasn't your fault, Clarisse."
Clarisse can't hear him, though, and she continues to stare at his body with a dull, vacant gaze.
Chris steps forward, with Lacy a step behind him, and kneels in front of Clarisse, looking directly into her eyes. He lets go of Lacy's hand, and she sets her small hand on his shoulder instead as he cups Clarisse's face in his hands.
Her eyes focus, just briefly, and they're so full of sadness and grief that Percy almost has to turn away. He's never seen her like this.
"I'm going to miss you." Chris whispers, and strokes her cheek with his thumb before kissing her forehead one last time and straightening up.
Clarisse hugs herself as he steps away, almost as if she could feel him leaving, and then he and Lacy both walk away.
Percy wanders away, not sure where he's going, but knowing he needs to get away from there.
No one can see him. He's alone, wherever he is. However this is possible. Why am I here? He wonders. What purpose does this serve? I shouldn't even exist anymore.
You promised. He hears again, and shakes his head to clear it. Stumbling aimlessly through the camp, unable even to feel the solid ground beneath his feet, he can feel-something-pulling at him, whispering in his head and tugging at his memories, making them slippery and hard to grab onto.
You shouldn't exist. The darkness tells him, in a cruel, harsh voice.
I know. Percy tells it.
You're still needed. That powerful, unfamiliar voice speaks around him again. He seems to be the only one who can hear it, although he notices a few of the ghosts around him frown up at the sky, as if they can feel a disturbance of some sort.
But I shouldn't be here. It's impossible. Percy replies, arguing with it, his feelings twisting into a tortured knot.
The power you wielded was impossible as well. The voice responds. Not even a Primordial such as Tartarus has that much strength-and yes, you may argue you pulled the strength from him. But it was your own. You defeated Gaea, in the end. Tartarus came to have nothing to do with it.
This place is impossible. No such in-between world should exist either, and yet here you are-a being who shouldn't exist, in a place that shouldn't exist. You've bent the rules of the universe, Perseus Jackson.
Percy flinches at the sound of his name.
Strange boy, aren't you, to bring the entire universe off of its axis? If you can bend rules even the gods cannot touch, what does that make you? The voice muses.
Percy shakes his head. "I don't understand." He says out loud.
No. Is his answer. You won't, not for a long time. But you aren't finished yet.
"What, do you mean I'm still alive? Because that is impossible. I felt myself die. My heart isn't beating." Percy argues.
You are dead. You heart stopped beating several minutes ago. Your friends are grieving over your body. In front of him, his view of camp starts to blur, and then, suddenly, he's on Mount Olympus again, standing behind Frank, Hazel, Piper, and Leo as they hold each other up, kneeling beside his body. Annabeth is collapsed across his chest, sobbing.
Seeing himself dead makes his stomach churn, and he turns away.
You must go back. The voice tells him, growing fainter. You are needed.
No, I'm not. Percy thinks. I've done my part.
You have maybe a minute before the universe tries to correct the damage you did-before it does everything it can to make you cease to exist.
Fine, Percy tells himself. Just fine.
But when he thinks about his friends, about leaving them behind, he can't stand it.
Annabeth, he thinks to her. I miss you. I promised I wouldn't leave you.
You promised. Her voice speaks back, a mere whisper compared to the clarity it had only minutes ago.
The darkness howls around Percy, through his head, pain sparking through his body in waves of agony. It feels like his bones are trying to twist into a new shape, like they're breaking themselves in an attempt to fix him.
I promised Piper I'd get Jason back.
I promised Leo I'd help him find Calypso again.
I told Hazel no one else would have to die.
I told Frank everything would turn out okay.
I told Jason-I told Jason we'd win this.
It isn't winning if all we do is lose the ones we love. Piper's voice whispers, and Percy closes his eyes, squeezing his head between his heads, gritting his teeth against the pain.
The winds start to steal pieces of him, start to batter him and tear him away from himself.
As-as long as we're together. He thinks desperately.
It isn't long, though, before even that is taken from him, and he can only remember faces, names, little snippets of memories. Laughter. Leo's lopsided grin. Annabeth's fingers in his hair.
I am Percy Jackson. He thinks. I'm in love with Annabeth Chase. I am 16 years old. I defeated the goddess Gaea, and now I shouldn't exist. I'm in love with Annabeth Chase.
I am Percy Jackson, and I'm in love with Annabeth Chase.
My best friends, my family, are Frank Zhang, Hazel Levesque, Piper Mclean, Leo Valdez, Jason Grace, and Annabeth Chase.
Jason is dead.
I am Percy Jackson.
My best friend since I was twelve years old is Grover Underwood.
Thalia Grace is Jason's sister. I've known her for longer.
My dad is Poseidon.
Percy falls to a crumpled heap on his knees, his eyes still squeezed shut and hands still pressed painfully to his head.
I am Percy Jackson. He tells himself, and his voice is faint.
I'm in love with Annabeth Chase.
He can't remember how they met-he can't remember when they started dating. Just flashes of her smile, her curly blonde hair.
Does she love me back? He wonders. He thinks so, but he doesn't know anymore.
The world starts to dim. Any remaining memories are barely there anymore. He can't feel the breeze, or hear the voices of his friends anymore.
I miss you. He thinks to his friends, the words slow and sluggish, as if his brain were full of tree sap or thick honey.
I miss you.
He reaches for them, trying to remember.
I am Percy Jackson.
The most fleeting glimpse of stormy gray eyes.
Annabeth.
He pulls harder, trying to find his way back to her. His heart isn't beating, he realizes. He knows he's dead, but he doesn't even remember why. He just knows he had to do it, to save his friends.
And he reaches for them, desperately, so, so, tired.
His thoughts start to go dark. Everything is fading.
And then-a hint of light.
He snatches at it, dives for it, feels something strengthen inside him.
I am Percy Jackson. He tells himself, fiercely.
His heart beats once, and everything is agony. But the pain doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter.
Percy doesn't know where he is anymore. But it's dark, and muffled, and filled with murky shadows whispering secrets in his ears. The air is heavy, and his chest is painfully tight. He struggles to breathe, feeling suffocated, like he's drowning. He tries to move, to take a step, to open his eyes, anything, fighting to get back-back to-to-
Annabeth! He thinks, and suddenly there's air in his lungs and the heaviness is gone, but now there's pain, everywhere, setting his blood on fire. But it's worth it, because he can feel her, hovering over him, and then it's her whispering in his ear...
"You're not getting away from me that easily, Seaweed Brain." She murmurs, her voice crackling and raw with sadness.
He can't move, but if he could, he'd smile, the grin he'd always reserved solely for her.
Right back at you, Wise Girl. He thinks, and then drifts away back into the darkness, knowing what awaits him won't be as bad as long as he remembers his Annabeth...and he would never forget her.
I miss you, he thinks, and falls quietly back into himself.
Annabeth
The explosion resonates through Annabeth's bones, and knocks her off her feet, but as soon as the ground is steady enough beneath her to let her stand, she's back on them, running, running, running, trying to get to him.
Her eyes are locked on the crumpled figure just visible on the ridge, and the tears that sting her eyes aren't enough to block her view of it. Her ankle throbs, and she trips, falling to her knees and scraping the palms of her hands. But she scrambles up again, determined to get to him, her grief threatening to overwhelm her at any moment.
I should never have left him. Is all she can think. This is my fault. Aphrodite told me he would die without me, and I left him. This is my fault.
She falls again, once, twice. Three times. Her ankle sends wave after wave of sharp, stabbing pain shooting up her leg, but she ignores it each time and climbs back to her feet, running as fast as she can, not even caring enough about the pain to limp.
She uses her fingernails to pull herself up the ridge, not bothering to follow proper safety protocol for climbing and find proper handholds and footholds. Her determination fuels her strength, and even when her fingertips start bleeding, she doesn't bother to stop. She pulls herself over the edge and is back on her feet, stumbling unsteadily for the briefest of moments before she's back to running to get to him-to that crumpled figure that gets closer with every passing step.
Her fear grows with her progress, with the swelling grief and panic in her chest, and a sob threatens to burst from her throat, but she swallows it down, shaking her head and doing her best to blink back the continuous tears escaping from her eyes.
Percy. His name loops on repeat through her head. Percy, Percy, Percy, Percy. You can't be dead, you can't be dead-you can't leave me, Percy, you promised.
You promised.
She falls again, only a few feet away from him, and crawls the rest of the way on her hands and knees, ignoring the sharp rocks and debris cutting into her palms.
He's so still.
So utterly silent.
Everything seems to stop for a second. The ash-that black, unpure snow-hangs in the air. She can't hear anything, even the sound of her own muffled sobs. It's all a thousand ages away.
Her shaking hand reaches out and strokes his cheek, infinitely gentle, and when she flattens her palm against his face, it matches up perfectly with the remains of that bloody handprint that was the last mark she left on him.
A thin, slow line of blood runs from his nose. A matching line marks the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin. Black soot is smeared across his cheek and forehead, along the side of his nose.
Her thumb finds his mouth-runs along his soft, full lips. Lips she knows everything about. How they taste. How they feel. The trails of warmth they left down her jaw and neck late at night when he'd cuddle her close and they'd get lost together instead of apart and alone.
His eyes are closed, but she could never forget them. That sparkling sea green-the twinkle of mischief he nearly always had, before that slightly shattered shadow Tartarus left behind in them.
"Percy," she whispers, and her voice seems to echo in the muffled silence. Her left hand, the one not trailing across his face, memorizing his features, fumbles for his wrist.
But her fingers find a stillness that makes the ache in her chest bloom into a fiery mess of agony.
A ravaged sob breaks from her chest; a shuddering cry that breaks the spell of quiet timelessness and suddenly it's all too much.
Her hand wraps tightly around his limp one, and she begs with her thoughts for him to hold her back. But he doesn't, and she collapses across him, resting her forehead on the sticky, bloody mess of his chest.
Her right hand falls from his lips and clutches his shoulder.
Someone places a warm hand on her back, and she knows it's Piper without looking up, and the daughter of Aphrodite wraps her arm around Annabeth. Her other hand finds Annabeth's hand, still holding Percy's, and holds them both.
"Ave, Percy Jackson," Piper whispers in her ear, and her voice cracks on Percy's name and makes Annabeth start crying harder.
Come back to me. She pleads.
You promised, Percy. You promised.
Nico
Nico stumbles as he feels Percy's death-he wasn't aware, before, what a powerful presence Percy had, how much he always shone, but when his soul suddenly slips out of existence, it's like a fire has been extinguished. Before, there was infinite brightness, and now, mere candles compared to what was before.
A Cyclops levels its club to crush him, but he notices it as if from far away. Everything has gone hazy and dull.
In the split second before it would kill him, in the millisecond before the explosion ripples outward from what's left of Gaea, Reyna leaps in front of him and takes the blow-right on the back of her head.
She falls to the ground like deadweight. Nico's only reassurance is that he can still feel her spirit, burning against the darkness-her pulse, thready, but there. And then the blast catches him in the chest, and for what seems like hours, he can't feel anything.
When he sits up, his head spinning, ash is falling like black snow all around him, mixed with the occasional sparkle from a speck of golden dust. Not a single monster is left on the battlefield.
Reyna is lying next to him, a small, sticky patch of blood spreading through her hair.
The world starts to spin again around her-the earth orbiting with her as its axis-and Nico staggers back a step before stumbling to her side and collapsing onto his knees by her side, wrapping his fingers around her limp wrist, searching, everything else forgotten for the moment. All he knows is that he can't lose her too, and since there's no one else to do the job, he has to be there to take care of her.
He's just holding his flask of nectar to her lips, carefully tilting it back, when an agonized scream from behind him causes him to fumble and nearly drop the bottle.
He twists his head to see Annabeth scrambling up to her feet, even onto her broken ankle, her gaze locked on a crumpled figure at the center of the explosion zone.
Percy. Nico has time to think, before watching, paralyzed, as Annabeth starts to run, tripping and falling several times with whimpers of pain when her ankle gives out. But each time, she gets back to her feet, moving on her hands and knees for even feet at a time, determined to get to him, calling his name over and over. "Percy!" She screams, crying, but he doesn't answer. Or move. Or do anything at all.
Nico turns back to Reyna, blinking away stubborn tears, and sets the flask of nectar to her lips again, despite his shaking hands.
Almost as soon as he does, a hand reaches out and covers his own, gently pulling the bottle from his fingers and handling it expertly. Nico looks up-and meets familiar electric blue eyes.
"Go." Thalia insists, her own tears threatening to spill over. "I'll make sure the Hunters get her into the infirmary."
Nico opens his mouth to protest, looking down achingly at Reyna's still form, but then he closes it and nods. He climbs to his feet and turns to make his own way to that fallen figure, but Thalia's hand catches his shoulder before he can take the first step.
"Nico," She starts, hesitating, her voice cracking with emotion. "Is he really...?"
He nods, stopping her question, and then speaks, feeling that a nod isn't a sufficient answer. "Yes." He tells her, and his own voice cracks on the word. "I felt it, there in those last few seconds."
She closes her eyes, bracing herself, her skin pale with shock. A single tear traces its way down her cheek, and then she shakes her head and draws a shuddering breath. "Go, now. They'll need you. Annabeth needs you."
He turns around again without another word.
Only to be confronted by the familiar figure of his father.
The rage that fills him at the sight of Hades' face is stronger than almost every other emotion he's ever felt. It must show on his face, too, because Hades quickly takes a step back, putting out a hand in a calming gesture.
"I'm sorry-" He starts to say, but Nico cuts him off.
"You're sorry?" He spits. "The one person that knew my secret, that I'd started to trust enough to confide in, is dead, and you come here and try to tell me you're sorry? A boy I used to be in love with-he's dead too, and you try to apologize? You don't have the right."
"Nico-" Hades tries to explain, a pitying, helpless expression on his face.
"No, dad, you don't get to talk." Nico interrupts, taking a step forward, clutching the hilt of his sword so hard his knuckles turn paper-white. "Thalia lost her only brother today. Annabeth lost her soulmate. I lost two friends. To you. And you don't get to be sorry."
"Nico, it's not my-"
"Don't you dare say it's 'not your fault.' It is too your fault, and you damn well know it. Everything is your fault-not even just this. All the time I've spent wandering, trying to find a place that I didn't think existed-that's your fault. Hazel, my sister, your daughter, is wounded and hurt and will probably never be the same, and where were you? Where were you when either of us needed you? Where were you when Bianca died, Dad? Where were you?!" Nico is screaming now, and others are starting to look, but he doesn't care.
"You know the gods aren't allowed to interfere-"
"Damn that rule! Screw that rule, to Tartarus and back again! It didn't stop Poseidon from helping Percy through the years, did it? Even Zeus has helped Jason and Thalia on occasion. No one follows that rule except for you, and you just use it as an excuse."
"You were always welcome in my palace." Hades says quietly, and Nico laughs.
"Always? No, Dad, I was never welcome. Never. You might not have objected to my staying there, but never did you welcome me. The most affection you've ever shown was when you looked the other way while I led Hazel out, and in the end, that was for your own gain too." Nico takes another step forward, his blood pulsing in his veins. "Where were you when I was pulled into Tartarus? Where were you when I was captured and tortured by Gaea's armies? Where were you when Hazel's mother was possessed by Gaea and she ended up sacrificing her life to make things right the first time around? Where. Were. You?!"
Hades doesn't answer, and the anger slowly drains away, leaving Nico nothing but exhausted.
"Just-go. You're the one who doesn't belong here." He says quietly, and after one long, lingering look that somehow conveys a world of regret, Hades dissolves into shadow.
Nico closes his eyes to brace himself, and a tear traces its way down his cheek before dripping off his chin.
When he looks again, he takes a step forward, and then another, knowing he has to to get to Percy.
He has to know if it's true.
Piper
Piper hears the others come up behind them, and she doesn't bother to look or tell them because she knows that they know. One look at the broken line of Annabeth's bowed back and a whisper of the sound of her aching sobs, and there's no way they couldn't realize.
Leo's footsteps-set apart from Frank and Hazel's because of Frank's new but distinctive limp-are less than stable, and Piper knows he can't be doing good right now. She wants to wrap her arms around him and cradle him to her chest like a baby bird, but right now, Annabeth needs her more.
Suddenly, Annabeth gives a little gasp and sits bolt upright, gaping in shock at Percy's chest.
"Annabeth?" Piper asks, confused. "What's wrong?"
She doesn't reply, though, instead carefully nestling her head back against his chest. Her shoulders slump for a few seconds in dejected disappointment, and then she flinches and the line of her back becomes rigid and bristles with hope.
Her tears seem to come harder to Piper, though, and she wonders if maybe Annabeth hears something in her head. Correspondence with a god, maybe, or just promising herself that she'll find a way to get him back. But then she lifts her head again and there's such a fragile hope in her eyes that Piper wonders if shattering it would hurt something in her permanently.
"He's not dead." She whispers, her eyes spilling with hopeful tears, and Piper feels something in her give way. She glances at Percy's bruised and bloodied face, at the shredded mess of his chest-his right arm, twisted unnaturally; the bulge in his leg where a broken bone threatens to break through his skin.
"Annabeth-" She starts, but Annabeth shakes her head adamantly, her hopeful gaze turning dangerously unstable and more than a little desperate.
"He's not dead, Piper; I heard his heart beating." She insists, her voice raw and hoarse from crying.
Silence, and then Hazel steps unsteadily up from behind them and rests her shaking, infinitely gentle hand on Annabeth's shoulder, kneeling carefully on the girl's other side.
"I heard his heart." Annabeth repeats, like a lost child, and Piper sees enough sadness in Hazel's eyes to last a thousand years. She can feel her heart breaking as she opens her mouth to gently tell Annabeth that her claim is impossible-that denial doesn't help.
"She's right." A voice says behind them, and Piper turns fractionally to see Nico pushing his way between Leo and Frank. "He isn't dead; check his pulse."
Piper exchanges a bewildered and slightly depressed glance with Hazel before reaching for Percy's wrist and setting her fingers against the artery there. For several seconds, there's nothing, and Piper is about to pull away and tell Nico that he's wrong before she feels it.
The merest hint of movement.
She presses her fingers harder against his wrist, concentrating, wondering if it was just her imagination.
But there it is again, and suddenly a cry of joy is tearing itself from Piper's throat, and she presses her fingers to her lips as tears escape her eyes.
There's a wavering smile on Annabeth's face, and the fact that her mouth can even form it is a miracle in itself after all she's been through. There are still tears in her eyes, and dripping down her cheeks, and after a few seconds, the smile drops and she rests her head back on Percy's chest, closing her eyes to listen to his hearbeat.
Piper realizes that she knows what Piper's first worry had been feeling Percy's pulse-he might be alive now, his heart might yet be beating, but his injuries are bad enough that he might not even make it through the next few hours.
But she shakes that out of her head and twists her fingers through the fabric of the back of Annabeth's shirt, smiling and nodding and crying even though that heartbeat, that pulse, should be completely impossible.
She tries not the think of that. Instead, she focuses on that pulse, grateful Percy is alive for now.
Frank
"This is going to drive me insane." Frank mutters under his breath, raking his fingers through his hair-it really is getting too long for him.
"I think it might already be too late for that." Nico replies, a hint of sarcastic humor flashing beneath his weary, worried expression. He's leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. His skin is nearly gray with exhaustion-and no wonder, after all he's gone through in the past two months. He keeps shifting restlessly-crossing his feet, then uncrossing them, crossing them the opposite way, rubbing at his hair with his hand, scrubbing at his face.
At Frank's look, he flashes a wavery half-smile-an offer of friendship, Frank thinks. He returns it with a quick smile of his own, but then he's back and pacing again.
"Someone should have said something by now!" He exclaims, throwing up his hands in an exasperated gesture.
Nico raises an eyebrow. "Not necessarily. They have a lot of wounded to tend to." But Frank can tell he's just as impatient for news as he is.
Just then, the door opens, and they both scramble to turn towards it, hoping for news. Frank's hand goes reflexively to the dagger belted at his waist, and Nico takes his hands out of his pockets in hopeful anticipation.
A Huntress Frank doesn't know by name steps out and shuts the door carefully behind her. She takes a step forward and then stops, raising her eyes to glance between Frank and Nico.
"We need more towels." She says shortly, fierce blue eyes glowering at them. Beneath her temper, though, Frank sees the tiniest bit of sympathy, and a second later, her shoulders relax and the glare disappears. "None of them have woken up yet. But they're all swallowing nectar fine, so I'm sure they just need a bit more rest."
Frank huffs out a relieved sigh, rocking back and interlacing his fingers over his head. He closes his eyes and smiles, feeling as if an enormous weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and hoping that he'll be able to see Hazel soon.
"Towels?" The Huntress reminds him, and he opens his eyes to point down the hallways, lightly resting a hand on her shoulder as he gives her directions to the supply closet.
She flinches at his touch, but surprisingly, she doesn't shrug him away. She just flashes him a grateful smile and heads on her way.
"The Hunters seem to like you." Nico points out, back to leaning against the wall-but his expression is a great deal lighter.
"I'm not sure why, to be honest." Frank replies, his cheeks flushing red at the observation. He'd noticed it too, but he thought maybe it was just his imagination.
"They probably admire your archery skills. They value that sort of thing, you know-and you dropped more monsters than maybe any of them. And all that after losing a leg?" Nico smirks, shaking his head. "I'm surprised they haven't asked you to join them. Made some sort of special exception to the 'girls only' rule."
Frank's entire face warms with embarassment, but he just smiles good-naturedly, happily surprised that Nico is actually participating in a conversation of sorts.
Thalia sticks her head out the door then, looking up and down the hallway with a puzzled expression on her face. "Where'd Anya go?"
"To get more towels from the supply closet." Frank answers, waving a hand in the direction she went.
Thalia glances at him, a bored expression on her face.
Her electric blue eyes send a wave of grief through Frank's chest, and his throat tightens. He'd forgotten how similar her eyes were to Jason's.
How can she be so calm? Frank wonders. How can she pretend that nothing happened so easily?
But then he realizes-of course she'd have to look that way. If she let herself break down, the Hunters wouldn't have anyone left to follow. She lost her brother today-no doubt, she feels that loss as a much sharper pain than Frank, and he counts Jason as family. She's just better at hiding it.
Something in her expression changes-to something like alarm, as she glances down, and then suddenly she's out in the hall and glaring murder at Frank-all 5 feet and 3 inches of her.
"What do you think you're doing?!" She yells, her voice forceful enough to stop an army in their tracks.
"Um..." Frank mumbles, unsure why she's so angry all of a sudden. "Waiting...?"
"Why in freaking Tartarus would you be up and pacing when you lost a leg not even a few hours ago?!" Thalia demands, gesturing to the crude replacement Leo made him.
"It's-fine." Frank stutters. "What's wrong?"
"Your leg is bleeding, you idiot." Thalia growls, grabbing his arm and jerking him down the hallway. Frank's forehead furrows in confusion, and he meets Nico's eyes with a helpless gaze while the son of Hades hides a grin behind his hand.
"As if I don't have enough wounded to take care of." Thalia rants, muttering fiercly just loud enough so Frank can hear her. "As if I don't have enough to worry about without some idiot wandering around on a newly amputated leg without even so much as a cane."
She pulls him through the doorway of his own bedroom and jerks him to a stop behind her, so suddenly that he stumbles and nearly falls. She turns to steady him, scowling, and then points at the bed. "Sit." She orders, and he obeys, still confused. All he knows is that he doesn't want to risk her getting even more mad at him-she's already terrifying enough when she's in a good mood.
"I'm going to go get bandages for your bleeding leg." She explains, in an angry, mock-sweet tone. "If you're not still sitting down when I get back, I'll shoot you so full of sedatives that you won't wake up until next week. Got it?"
Frank nods hurriedly, opening his mouth to say yes, he understands very clearly. But she's gone before he can say the words, and he slumps in relief.
Pluto's underpants, Jason's sister is scary. He thinks, and then scrubs his face with his hands, trying to force the sadness back down.
Now that he's sitting down, with the tension of waiting for news slowly draining away, his leg starts to throb. Looking at it, he can see that the makeshift bandage Leo made out of strips of his t-shirt before attaching his temporary leg is nearly soaked through with blood.
He looks up as Thalia re-enters the room, her arms laden with bandages and other demigod medical necessities.
Hazel
Hazel startles awake from a black sleep in which she was falling endlessly through darkness-shuddering, she wonders if that was what it was like for Percy and Annabeth, falling into Tartarus.
She opens her eyes, blinking away the bleariness of sleep, and finds that she's in the infirmary, on one of the many cots. Looking around, she spots Piper sleeping on one, with a bandage across half of her face, and Leo sitting on another, wearing an eyepatch while a Huntress tries to clean the scrapes and cuts around the hidden eye. She keeps having to smack him and shout at him to hold still. Kind of funny, really.
Nico's here, too, arguing with one of the Hunters and gesturing a lot-towards Reyna, mostly. The daughter of Bellona is unconscious on another one of the cots, and Nico seems to be trying to get permission to take her to the spare room-Coach Hedge's, originally.
The Huntress hesitates, glancing around at the overcrowded room. They have a few injured Hunters lying on makeshift pallets on the floor to deal with overflow-and she seems to realize that it'd be best to try and get some of the less critically wounded people out to make room. Peering tentatively over at where Thalia is tending another Huntress, she nods to Nico and helps him rouse Reyna enough so that he can guide her out the door.
Hazel can't see Percy anywhere, and she feels a painful stab of worry-what if he didn't make it? What if he's already gone? But then she tries to reassure herself that of course, he'd be in his room, with Annabeth, so that others can't gawk at him.
It's a feeble attempt to make herself worry less, and it doesn't work. Pain prickles through her chest as her breathing starts to get uneven and ragged again, a result of her quickening heartbeat.
Thalia notices her distress and makes her way over to Hazel's bedside.
"Good, you're awake." She says curtly. Looking at Hazel's distressed expression, she guesses immediately what's wrong. "Percy's fine. For now. Annabeth is with him in his room, trying to clean him up a bit and find what needs the most attention." Her own eyes fill with a far-off, pained concern for her best friend. "He's beat up pretty bad, though, Hazel."
Hazel's eyes mist, but she blinks away the tears, determined not to let herself despair until she knows things for sure. "Why is it...still so hard...for me to breathe?"
"Well, first of all, you're having a mild panic attack." Thalia points out, and Hazel flushes with embarassment. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, after what you just went through, but you need to calm down."
Hazel nods, trying to slow her heartrate, slow her breathing, with limited success.
"Good." Thalia comments. "Your ribs were crushed to pieces, Hazel. And like I told you, since you ran back into battle right away, your collapsed lung didn't reinflate properly. With time, and rest, and lots of ambrosia and nectar, you should be able to breathe a bit better."
"A bit?" Hazel ventures warily.
Thalia looks at her pityingly-Hazel doesn't want her pity, but she knows it's inevitable, in her state. "You're never going to be able to breathe like you did before. It'll be difficult for a long time, and painful, sometimes, and deep breaths or holding your breath for any decent length of time is probably going to be impossible. The lessened oxygen is going to make it harder for you to stand or walk for long without getting dizzy or even passing out-you're going to be spending a lot of time in a wheelchair, Hazel."
Hazel sucks in a sharp intake of breath-one that immediately sets her coughing, which makes pain radiate throughout her torso. Thalia rubs her back through it, and when it's finally over, shoves a glass of iced nectar into her hands and places the straw to her lips.
The nectar tastes like her mom's apple pie, and a wistful nostalgia fills her for the seconds that she drinks it. But it isn't long before she drains the glass, and then she just stares into it, wishing things were different.
"It'll be okay, Hazel." Thalia says quietly. "Things are never as bad as they seem." With that, she takes Hazel's glass and heads off to help care for the others.
Hazel lays back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. There's no way she can sleep, not after that, and she wishes she could just go back to her room.
Cue Frank suddenly appearing by her bed.
"Oh, hey, you're awake." He huffs, out of breath, and she jumps, a yelp starting to form-Frank claps a hand over her mouth, laughing a bit. "No, no, don't-I'm not supposed to be walking, strictly speaking. Thalia will kill me if she sees me."
Hazel's racing heart calms at the sight of his gentle brown eyes, and she smiles around his hand, waiting for him to withdraw it. He does, and then holds it out to her for her to take, and she sits up.
"What are you doing here?" She whispers, and he grins.
"Kidnapping you." He answers. He glances up to make sure no one's looking their way, and then swiftly picks her up and places her on her feet.
"Oh." She says in surprise, her breath suddenly stolen from her in a fit of dizziness.
Frank opens his mouth to ask what's wrong, then stops himself, shakes his head, and swings her up into his arms bridal-style instead.
Hazel laughs breathlessly. "You're such a goof." She tells him, her voice hushed.
"No, I just go crazy after missing my girlfriend for so long." He replies, and she smiles at him, resting her head against his chest as he limps to the door as fast as he can with her in his arms.
They duck through the doorway just as Thalia starts to turn, and Hazel could swear the girl's eyes catch hers just for a second, but no one comes after them, so she assumes it's just her imagination.
Frank carries her to her room, which she's grateful for, and then trips on the way in, dumping them both unceremoniously on the bed. They both just laugh, although Frank's face burns bright red with embarassment. But Hazel truly doesn't mind his clumsiness. She's just happy to have him with her.
She sits up against the headboard, and he sprawls across the end of her bed, looking up at the ceiling while she tucks her knees under her chin and just drinks him in.
"We made it." She whispers, and he looks over at her, his grin fading to a small smile.
"Yeah," He agrees. "We did."
Hazel tries to smile, but Thalia's words run through her head on a loop, and she can't quite bring herself to do it. Frank notices, and props himself up on one elbow, reaching out and twining his fingers with hers.
"What's wrong, Hazel?" He asks quietly.
"Thalia says that I'm not going to be able to breathe normally again. Ever." She explains, unable to look at him and instead staring at the comforter on her bed. "She said that I'll probably spend a lot of my life in a wheelchair."
Frank is quiet for a long time, and she finally looks up to see what his reaction is. When she does, she's surprised to see him smiling.
"Well," He tells her, "I'll be the one pushing."
She laughs, a loud burst of merriment that comes from her surprise at his easy acceptance. Shaking her head, she grins and pulls him up to lay next to her.
They find themselves laying on their backs, staring up together at the ceiling, with his fingers playing relaxingly with her hair and her free hand resting on his stomach while the other holds on tightly to his.
"What a pair we make, Hazel Levesque." He whispers.
"A bit of a broken one, I'm afraid." She murmurs back, and he shakes his head with a faint smile.
"Maybe, but between us we are more than enough." He tells her.
"One and a half sets of working lungs." She comments.
"Three legs." He adds.
"One to ride in the wheelchair." She says, smiling sadly.
"And one to push it." He finishes. Then he pulls her in for a kiss, and she lets herself dissolve into the gentle, wonderful happiness that comes from still being together, even if there's a bit less of them this time.
Piper
Piper wakes up with an echoing emptiness in her heart and a feeling of loss in the pit of her stomach. for one near-blissful moment, she can't remember the reason for her grief-but then the memories hit her harder than a punch to the gut.
Jason. The merest breath of a word in the back of her mind, and the fragile pieces of stability she'd reconstructed and clung to for Annabeth's sake, for the others, fall back to shattered dust.
She can hear the soft sounds of sleep as the others around her try to rest, and the quiet footsteps of a Hunter or two as they move to check on the injured. She swallows the tortured sob building in her throat, despite the burning pain it traps in her chest, and hot tears spill silently from her tightly closed eyes.
They burn painful tracks down the left side of her face, and she flinches at the sting, remembering her new scars.
I wasn't left untouched either. She thinks, reaching up and touching the rough, raw skin that now makes up the left side of her face.
A few feet away from her, someone stirs, and she stills, not wanting anyone to realize she's awake and see her tears.
"Kynna, I'm going to check on the others and try to find a more secluded place to sleep. Think you'll be okay here on your own?" A familiar voice, rough with exhaustion, asks.
Thalia, Piper recognizes.
"Everyone here is stable and doing good. I think I'll be all right. Plus, you deserve a bit of sleep. I can't remember the last time you closed your eyes for more than a few minutes." Kynna replies.
"Thanks." Thalia tells her gratefully. "If you need me, feel free to come get me."
Piper cracks her eyes open just in time to see Kynna nod in response and watch Thalia thread her way through the maze of cots and pallets to the door.
When the door shuts behind her, Kynna gives a small side and one last lingering, sad look after her before continuing her path among the wounded, glancing over at them here and there and occasionally stopping to check pulses, breathing, or bandages.
Piper has the feeling Thalia wasn't exactly being truthful when she told Kynna where she was going-and that Kynna knows it, too. And she also has a hunch where she might actually be going, and she shouldn't be there alone.
She glances over at Kynna, watching until her back is turned, and slips out of bed. Her bare feet barely make a sound on the cold wooden floorboards-but even so, she has to duck behind her bed as Kenna whirls around, her hand reflexively going to the knife at her belt, and wait until the girl relaxes. Must be her Hunter senses-any normal demigod wouldn't have been able to hear that.
As soon as Kynna turns again, Piper straightens and glides silently across the room on silent feet-she glances one last time at the sleeping forms of the injured, with Kynna's watchful silhouette standing at the back of the room, and slips out the door.
Out in the hallway, Thalia is just slipping out of Hazel's room-so she really is checking on the others, at least-and Piper has to flatten herself in the nearest doorway to avoid being seen. She hears another door open, then a few murmured words-Annabeth's voice, answering Thalia's questions.
"No, he's still not awake. All he does is breath-but at least his heart is beating." She says, and Piper's heart clenches to hear that razor edge of brokenness in her best friend's voice. But she can't console her friend, because she's just as broken, if not more so.
"He'll be okay, Annabeth." Thalia murmurs reassuringly, and a few seconds later, Piper hears Percy's door shut.
She waits another minute before cautiously peeking out from her hiding place, just in time to see Thalia disappear down the stairs. She follows, going slowly to stay quiet, and carefully feels for each step in the dark before going down.
The engine room is dark except for the soft orange and red glows from the tangle that is the engine itself, although Piper can see Leo at his desk, his head braced against his hands, staring hard at one of the papers scattered scattered under his elbows.
Piper doesn't sneak closer. He doesn't need her bothering him.
There's a slightly brighter, wavery light coming from the stables, and Piper heads there, knowing it must be where Thalia disappeared to. She pauses just before the doorway, brushing her hand against the wall where the light twists like an aurora borealis of colorless shadows. Then she turns and steps into the stables, her hands clenching tightly and itching for a weapon-because even though this situation couldn't be more safe, she's absolutely terrified. Everything is open, everything is raw-she feels desperately as though she needs her sword there to defend herself.
Phoebe is wrapped in a silver shroud, as befitting her status as a Hunter of Artemis, and Piper pauses momentarily, watching Thalia pay her respects, bowing her head to her sister Huntress and then moving on.
There are four other silver shrouds. One is bunched up and wrapped several times-the shrouds are all the same size, and the Huntress wrapped in that particular one was only twelve.
Twelve. Her name was Riley, and she was even small for her age. Thalia told them she'd been a Hunter for almost a year, and would be thirteen by now if she hadn't been immortal. And dead.
The last shroud is sky blue silk that shimmers to create a mirage of lightning and clouds across it. A golden eagle perches in the center of it, clutching a peacock feather-Hera, claiming Jason as her hero even as Zeus claims him as his son.
When Thalia turns to that shroud, Piper can see her significantly weaken. Her shoulders slump and start to shake, and her fingers reach up and tangle in her hair, tugging on it hard enough that it has to hurt. When she lets go, her hand lowers just enough to shakily brush tears from her eyes, and then Thalia sinks to her hands and knees and crouches over the body of her brother, quiet, choking sobs wrenching from her chest.
Piper closes her eyes, trying to brace herself against the wave of grief, her hand grasping at her belt for the knife that isn't there-but weapons can't win the battle she's fighting now anyway. She tries not to go back to pieces-after all, it's a thousand times harder to put yourself back together than it is to fall apart-but she can't help it.
The grief wins. It always wins.
Tears blur her vision, too, and she takes an unsteady step forward.
"Thalia..." She says, and the girl's head whips up, her hand furiously trying to wipe away her tears, to conceal her hurt. There's surprise in her eyes when she recognizes Piper, but she doesn't stop building up her wall.
"You shouldn't be up." She says, her voice strained and unsteady.
"You told Kynna you were going to sleep." Piper counters, and then sighs, closing her eyes again. When she opens them again, her gaze rests on Jason's shroud, and she can't wrench it back away. "You'd just gotten him back."
"Yeah." Thalia says, and her voice cracks.
"I'd just fallen in love with him." Piper adds, her tone neutral, numb, emotionless.
Thalia stays silent.
"And the stupid bastard had to get himself killed." She finishes in a whisper. "Because he was so insistenly determined to protect everyone-to protect me." Under her breath, staring at that shroud, the grief rising up like a tsunami after an earthquake, she murmurs in Latin, "Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa." My fault, my own most grievious fault.
My fault.
"It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault." Thalia tells her. "He would've done what he did even if all of you were safely out of harm's way, because that's who he is. He knew what he was doing, he knew the risks. The heroes of Greeks and Romans almost never get happy endings. His was better than most."
"That doesn't make the pain go away." Piper whispers.
"I know." Thalia replies, her voice thick. "I know."
"I don't think I can go back to sleep." Piper says. "I don't think I can leave him."
"I don't think I can either." Thalia admits, and Piper takes a few steps forward to join Thalia and sit on the floor next to Jason.
All Piper can do is stare vacantly at that beautiful sky blue shroud, watching as lightning sparks across it with the wavery light cast up from the water below the glass bay doors.
I miss you.
Why did you have to leave me?
I love you.
You have to come back to me, Jason Grace. But I'll help you from the Underworld if I have to kidnap Thanatos himself and get us into another mess.
"Leo and Percy swore on the Styx that they'd get him back." Piper says, her voice numb again, slow.
"I know." Thalia replies. "They're both idiots. But I hope they can do it, all the same."
"Do you think he'll still want me, with half of my face covered in permanent scars?" Piper asks. Her voice wavers as she speaks the question out loud, and everything in her threatens to crash waiting for Thalia's answer.
She's never cared much for her looks. She always tried to downplay any sort of beauty, because she wanted to be liked for herself. She didn't want to just be another pretty face. But now, ever since she first caught a glimpse of her reflection in Katoptris, she wonders if anyone would want her with such horrible scars.
"Are you kidding? You're kidding, right?" Thalia asks incredulously. "Jason doesn't love you for flawless skin, or perfect beauty-and even if he did, the scars only make you that much prettier. They show that you're a fighter. But that doesn't matter, because he loves you for you -he'd do anything for you, scars or no scars, and if he so much as said one stupid thing about them, I'd punch his lights out, so you shouldn't worry."
Piper kind of wants to laugh-she's not sure why. It's just there, and it passes with the seconds as time ticks by.
That vacant, numb stare again-but before long, she rocks forward onto her hands and crawls up along the length of his body so that she's next to his head, and gently begins to unwrap the shroud.
She hears a quiet, strangled gasp behind her as Thalia realizes what she's doing, but the Hunter doesn't try to stop her.
Someone wiped most of the blood from his hair-probably to it wouldn't leak through the fabric of the shroud. There are still smudges of ash on his cheek and temple, and a bit of crusted blood along his collarbone under a rip in his t-shirt. That little cut across his cheekbone. His soft, full lips, stiff and closed in death.
His skin looks like waxed marble. Smooth, cold, and pale.
Piper's hand reaches down, letting the shroud fall further away from him, and entwines with his cold, stiff fingers. She stretches out along his length, curling against him, and lays her head over his chest, letting that silence soak in and her tears drip down to take the place of his heartbeat.
After a few minutes, fabric rustles as Thalia shifts, and then the daughter of Zeus sighs softly and crawls up to join Piper. She rests her head against the curve of Piper's neck, and her knees curl up against Jason's shoulder and neck. Her hand rests lightly on his hair.
Piper feels her tears, too; feels her shoulders shake as she cries.
They stay that way, and Piper doesn't know how long it is, but she suddenly finds herself exhausted, and in that moment of gray before falling into sleep, the hazy dream world she rarely experiences in any positive way, she could almost pretend that Jason was there with her, alive and with his heart beating strong beneath her ear.
Leo
Leo stares at his sketch of Calypso, pinned to his desk beneath his elbows. He doesn't know how long he's been looking at it, or what time it is now-he just knows that it's dark outside, the ship is quiet, and he's alone.
There's a monstrous sort of madness hanging at the edge of his thoughts, in the shadows, in the dark, that waits to overwhelm him the moment he wavers. But right in this moment, his thoughts are irrevocably fixed on one point-Calypso.
"I promised I'd come back for you." He murmurs to her picture. "I meant it."
She gazes up at him from the paper, that irritated smile-like I hate you for making me laugh-a masterpiece in black and white. The drawing is breathtaking, and yet not for one second does it do her proper justice.
Leo sighs and picks up his astrolabe. The crystal is in place in the center; the hands are all rocking slowly in the direction that would lead him to the girl he loves. Frustration builds in his chest, and the madness-that shadowy monster growling in his peripheral vision-howls in anticipation.
He drops the astrolabe in his drawer and slams it shut, locking the madness back out of his head.
The ship rocks gently on calm waves, but he can't smile at steady seas when they're headed home-back to Camp Half-Blood, and in the opposite direction of the way his astrolabe is telling him he needs to go to find Ogygia again. He can't smile when he's headed far, far away from Calypso.
His fingers tangle painfully in his hair, and he presses his head between his forearms, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, trying not to think about it. Trying to think about anything else.
"You did well today." A gruff voice says behind him, and he whirls to see Hephaestus standing among his various projects, stooping to avoid hitting his heads on the tubes and wires running from the engine along the ceiling.
"Dad." Leo says, and the word still feels foreign in his mouth.
"I'm-proud." Hephaestus tells him, and there's a strange look in his eyes that gives Leo the feeling he doesn't say those words often-and that he's surprised he did now.
"Um...thanks?" Leo replies, unsure how he's supposed to react. "Isn't it kind of, you know, not allowed, for you to be here?"
"Zeus is losing control over the gods. Hera has been giving him grief ever since our split personalities merged-that alone is distraction enough for some of us to get away with visiting you in your dreams." Hephaestus explains.
Leo looks around, startled. "I'm dreaming?" But even as he says it, he realizes he must have fallen asleep at his desk.
"The war would not have been won without you-you saved Jason, and Jason defeated Porphyrion, allowing Gaea to be more easily conquered by Percy, who you gave the courage to make that last sacrifice that decided triumph when you fought past your despair. His conversation with you then-convincing you that you still had a reason-through that, he convinced himself as well, just when he'd been beginning to doubt. You were a key cause of the victory we have had." Hephaestus says, his voice growing louder as he speaks, full of pride.
Leo doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything. He looks away instead, knowing he doesn't deserve any kind of praise. He didn't do any of what he did for any sort of noble reason-his best moment of the day was when he ran to protect Jason and Piper, and even that was because of his own selfishness. Because he couldn't stand to lose them. And yet he still managed to lose Jason-his best friend through all of it.
"Calypso will wait." Hephaestus says, and Leo glances up at him, startled. "She knows what you did today. She saw much of it in the shield seeing device she's created-it's been cutting in and out between communication and just letting her watch, but she hasn't given up on it yet. Besides that, though-I spoke with her not too long ago. I told her of your oath-she said she had a feeling you made one, despite her words of warning. But she's willing to wait for you-rather reluctantly, though, I might add. She did, however say-how did she word it-'I won't wait for years-I've been here long enough. He can have till the winter solstice, but then, I'm going to bust myself out and go pick him up.'"
"The winter solstice?" Leo questions, wanting confirmation.
Hephaestus nods. "Maybe a bit of a difficult deadline, but she's impatient and stubborn."
"I've noticed." Leo mutters.
"You'll do good." Hephaestus reassures him. "I know you will." And with one last gentle smile, he and the dream dissipate, and Leo wakes up with his cheek against his desk, right on top of the drawing of Calypso.
He lifts his head up and looks at it, brushing his fingers against it, just barely smudging the graphite.
"Winter solstice." He murmurs to himself, and smiles.
I can do that.
Reyna
Reyna wakes up the way she always does-slowly, leisurely, and then in an instant.
She props herself up on her elbows, wincing and holding a hand to her head as her skull throbs with pain. Well-more like as everywhere throbs with pain. She feels like her whole body is bruised black and blue.
Looking up, she catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her left eye, and turns to look.
Nico is sprawled out in a chair by the bed-head lolled back, one hand resting limply on the hilt of his sword, even as he sleeps. He's still fully dressed; he even still has his boots on, and her guess is that he didn't mean to fall asleep. Most likely, he was waiting for her to wake up and all the exhaustion of using his powers during the past few days finally caught up with him.
Reyna smirks fondly. Idiot. She thinks, watching him drool.
She's never noticed it before, but then again, she's never seen him sleep in such an awkward position before either. Apparently it's kind of hard not to drool when your head is tilted back over a chair so that you can't sleep in any way except with your mouth wide open.
His unkempt black hair falls right across his closed eyes, and she desperately wants to brush it away. The only reason she doesn't is because she doesn't want to wake him up.
He shifts a little in his sleep, and slumps down further in the chair, rocking his head forward so that it's pillowed by the back of the chair instead of leaning over it, and his mouth closes.
Again, Reyna finds her reflecting on how much like an angle he looks when he sleeps. His skin gets a much more healthy, olive tone flushed through it, the bruises under his eyes disappear, and his lips aren't set in a permanent frown.
More of his hair falls over his eyes, and this time, Reyna leans forward and brushes it gently away, ignoring the slight ache in her ribs as she does.
"Mmmm." He groans softly, and pulls away, mumbling something she can't make out.
"Wake up, sleepyhead." She whispers to him, a smile in her voice. She kisses him softly on the mouth, on his nose, twines her fingers with his, and his eyes flutter open.
He smiles sleepily when he sees her there. "Morning." He murmurs, and kisses her back.
"It's dark outside, actually." Reyna whispers against his mouth, smiling. "Night time. Everyone else is asleep, I'd bet."
"Why aren't we, then?" He asks, a little half-smile twisting his lips up to one side.
"Don't you know? All the good stuff happens at night." Reyna tells him mischeviously, and he grins, straightening up and leaning forward.
"I would have thought you'd prefer to rest, after your irritating heroics today." He says, and his breath warms her cheeks, he's so close.
"Irritating, are they? If I remember, they saved your life." She teases, and he inches even closer, so that she can't help but stare at his lips, just slightly parted and swollen, so tantalizingly close to hers.
"Maybe. But are you sure you're up for all that 'good stuff' you mentioned? Aren't you a bit sore?" He murmurs.
"Bruised from head to toe." She replies, and he smiles, kissing her forehead.
"Here?" He asks.
Her lips turn up into a smile; her eyes close. "Ow." She whispers, and he moves on to her nose.
"And here?"
"Ow..." Her voice is barely a breath, and when he kisses her again, his irresistable lips soft on hers, she melts into him.
"What about here?" He says, and she smiles against his kiss.
"...ow..." She murmurs, and he pulls back, far enough that she opens her eyes and frowns at him.
"If you're hurting that much, maybe I should just let you rest." Nico says, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and she feels the merest hint of happiness at this gentle, slow thing between them in the back of her mind, forcing the earlier events of the day far away.
"Or maybe you should get into this bed with me and find a way to make me feel better." Reyna replies, grinning wickedly at the blush across his cheeks. Then she grabs his hand and pulls him down on top of her, and they fall into a messy tangle on the sheets.
Annabeth
"You haven't eaten anything in days, Annabeth. Starving yourself won't do Percy any good, you realize that, right?" Piper argues, but Annabeth shakes her head for the fifth time since the argument first began.
"I am aggressively unhungry, Piper." She says. "And it hasn't been days. I ate breakfast with you just yesterday."
Piper throws up her hands in exasperation. "Fine! But I swear if you don't eat something soon, I'm going to drag you to the mess hall be your hair and tie you to a chair until you've had an entire meal."
"I'll eat something soon." Annabeth promises vaguely, and Piper falls quiet.
"He'll be okay, you know." She finally says.
We don't know that. Annabeth thinks.
"I know." She says. "But I can't leave him. What if he wakes up and I'm not here? I don't want him to be alone."
"Okay, Annabeth." Piper replies gently. "Just don't forget to take care of yourself, too." She touches Annabeth's shoulder reassuringly before turning and walking quietly out the door, shutting it behind her, leaving Annabeth alone with Percy's yet unconscious form.
It's been three days since the Feast of Spes. Today is August 4. And Percy hasn't shown a single sign that he'll be okay.
They cleaned the blood off of him and put clean clothes on him-Leo actually helped with that-and splinted his leg and arm. He has several different sets of stitches and his chest is still a torn up mess-lots of stitches, lots of bandages, and lots of nectar.
The godly drink doesn't seem to be helping much, but every little bit counts when it's a matter of life and death. Annabeth just wishes he'd wake up.
It's driving her mad, to sit here and wait for him to wake up. For him to move. To show some sign that he'll make it through. It hurts, to see him lying there, so still, as if dead.
Her hand clenches around his fingers, and then, all at once, she lets go, and finds herself stumbling over to a corner opposite his bed, because she can't stand to look at him like that anymore. Can't stand to think she still might lose him.
Tears are falling from her eyes, and she feels guilty because she can't even look at him anymore, no matter how much she loves him-it's too painful, but leaving him completely would be worse, and so she finds herself curled up with her arms wrapped around her legs and her forehead resting on her knees and rocking slowly back and forth as silent sobs shake from her chest.
I miss you. She thinks, over and over again. Those three words have been repeated so many times in the past three days, out loud and in her head, and she wishes there was another way to say them, because they don't even begin to explain what she's feeling inside.
It feels like her heart has been rended in two-that now it's ripped wide open and blood and emotions are pouring from it along with memories and everything she's ever held close and soon enough there isn't going to be anything left.
I miss you.
Her shoulders shudder with another sob. She doesn't know what she'll do if he doesn't make it.
I won't do anything. She suddenly thinks, and realizes it's true, in the most literal sense. Without him, she won't be able to function-and gods, that makes her sound like some cliche movie where the girl is nothing without a guy, but it's not even that. Percy is so much more to her than a boyfriend, or anything like that-he's her best friend, her other half. He completes her, and without him, half of her world is torn away. And it might as well be all of it, because he's all she's been living for since they fell into Tartarus. For the hope of a future together, with him; for the hope that the nightmares won't always be so bad; always for him. Without him, she's empty, she's broken.
At least, if he dies, I'll be able to see him soon after. She thinks, and somehow, that bittersweet sad thought reassures her a bit. Even if it means she won't be able to be a famous architect, or finish high school and go to college, or get married and have kids with him-none of that matters when faced with the fact that he might not be there, because she can't imagine doing any of those things without him.
He is all she's ever needed. If she has him, everything else is okay.
But seeing him like this, so broken, so bruised and battered and still-it hurts more than if a hundred razors were slowly cutting her heart out of her chest piece by piece.
She aches to have him next to her, to feel him hold her in his arms and grip her hand tightly in his and give her that wonderful grin he always saved just for her, to wake her up and comfort her and look at her with such serious, genuine concern when she has a nightmare. She aches for him, she bleeds for him.
I miss you.
Love doesn't even begin to grasp the concept of what she feels for him anymore, but oh, she loves him. So, so much. Enough that every moment without him, every second spent waiting for him to wake up, waiting for a moment that might never come, is agony.
Say something, Percy, she urges. Move. Even if you just barely twitch your finger, or shift your foot, or flutter your eyelids-something, please.
Percy, I would follow you anywhere. You're a part of me I will never let go of-a part I refuse to let go of. Without you, I'm falling. I'm lost, I'm stumbling, I'm blind.
Please, Percy. Please.
But he isn't waking up and he hasn't for three days, and he might not ever wake up and Annabeth is standing at the edge of the cliff and she is about to fall endlessly through empty space and darkness and madness and shadows, because her heart is breaking and she is so close to giving up-
And then,
"Wise Girl?" A weak, whisper of a voice asks from the bed, so achingly familiar that it means more to her than any other sound.
A little gasp escapes her lips, and she lifts her head from her knees to look up and follow that sound.
Without any warning, her eyes meet his, and she freezes.
His eyes are so incredibly green-so wonderfully vibrant and familiar to her that she doesn't know how she could ever possibly forget that color.
"Annabeth? What's wrong?" He asks, concerned, and she unfreezes at that-him, lying close to death for three days and worried about her. She stands shakily, and takes a step toward the bed, reaching out a hand to grab his as soon as she can possibly reach.
"Seaweed Brain..." She murmurs, and everything is right.
Endings are great, aren't they? *bats eyelashes and smirks* See you guys again soon! Happy Hannukah to some, and to others, Merry Christmas!
I love you, don't get sick, fight a hydra (the smart way-with a cannon), and good luck on finals week!