Percy sips the nectar offered by a worried Grover, the warmth of the drink and echo of his mother's cookies doing a positively divine job at combating the chill from the snow below.
"Thank you, Grover."
The words come with a cloud of condensation.
His skin knits itself on his side, the blood staying inside his body where it belongs yet leaving the damning evidence of damage with the splotch of red snow on his side.
The air is frigid and if there is a goddess of snow out there in the world...
Well, the nice thing about the mythological world is that you know there is someone you can blame for your problems, irrefutable proof more often than not.
Grover moves to help him up, but he waves off his best friend. He needs to get up by himself.
He tries to center himself now. He can feel the bark of the tree and the chips on its side with his hands, and he refrains from ripping at them out of respect for Grover and the dryad who belongs to the tree. He hears the crunch of the snow underneath him and the occasional chirp of some type of bird around him. He hears his labored breath and the subsiding ringing in his ears. Tasting blood on his mouth is never going to be his favorite flavor, and the metallic sting is a healthy reminder of why. Finally, he sees Grover hovering just out of reach in case Percy needs him, always a protector.
Okay. Good. Deep breath, in and out. Three times, two times, now one massive gulp.
Okay.
The world stops spinning.
"Talk about narrowly escaping the jaws of death, huh?"
Grover punches him, hard.
It was a hellhound, the kind of monster he could handle, but the encounter reminded Percy of many hard truths.
He, even here, is a demigod. He is always being hunted, always being stalked, always on the mind of some monster as a particularly succulent meal.
He's been slacking in his training. During the school year, he keeps up a regimen, sure, but...
The memory of his blood and golden dust in the stark white snow flashes behind his eyes.
But clearly, he needs to work harder.
Luke is out in the world, older and stronger with years of experience to back him up. And while he's at school, worrying about grades and dances, Luke is out there probably training every day and plotting his downfall, even praying for it to some Titan King.
Percy brings a hand to his face, his stomach feeling hot and small.
Except that's a mistake because the hand has the last gift ever given to him by Luke, the scar of a Pit Scorpion and near death.
Percy leaps out of bed.
"What's up with Percy?"
Nico's question hangs between Bianca and Grover.
It is a question Bianca herself has been asking.
Grover swallows his enchilada with an audible gulp.
Currently, Percy is in line for food and Bianca is thankful that Nico has enough grace in social cues to know not to ask it while Percy is nearby.
"Percy's just stressed Nico, don't worry so much over it."
Bianca thinks of the response as an understatement, but also not completely true. She has seen Percy stressed about a lot of things; she knows his stressed face. The tightness in his face over grades, the tapping of his fingers when he's nervous, the furrow in his brow over his mother.
Bianca always had the impression that Percy was carrying this significant weight on his shoulders. Very rarely does Percy look as if he were free from that gigantic pressure. For someone with such a free smile, for someone who Bianca can imagine walking along a beach peacefully...
Sometimes he looks so free, sometimes he looks so unburdened that Bianca wonders why he stays.
Bianca also understands what stress can do to a person. With Nico in her care, for as long as she can remember, of course, she can understand being stressed out, and suffocated by responsibility, real or imagined. She spends a lot of energy trying to figure out what is best for Nico, trying to get them through the days until they reach adulthood and, ostensibly, independence. Her little brother is in her care, everyone else is gone.
So while yes, she firmly believes Percy is stressed, she also believes it's more than just sleepless nights.
Nico looks downright confused, "What could Percy be stressed about?"
"He's okay Annabeth, just going through some stuff is all."
"Then why hasn't he answered my IMs?"
Grover doesn't actually have an answer for that one. Percy, for as long as Grover has known his, has never turned Annabeth away. The two are thick as thieves. If Grover were a lesser satyr, he'd be worried about not being Percy's best friend anymore.
Grover scratches his horn, "He has been kicking up his training recently, but I'll make him call you back, no worries."
Annabeth's face swishes from upset, to confused, and finally settles on concern.
"Why has he been training so hard recently?"
Grover audibly groans. He shouldn't be the one to tell Annabeth this, that is a Percy job.
"We recently had a monster attack, but he's fine!" He hastily adds to the end, Annabeth's growing gray eyes being more than he can handle. One stressed-out best friend is enough.
"He's fine Annabeth, some nectar and he was good to go, I think it just shook him up is all. The whole year has been peaceful so far, with no attacks. The hellhound just caught us by surprise is all."
"A hellhound? When?"
"About a week ago, he's been morose ever since."
"Nice vocab word, but not the point."
"Right."
"Has he said anything?"
"No, but through our link I have a pretty good handle on his feelings. He's stressed and worried, mostly, but also a little mad. That's what's got me concerned."
"Any clue as to what he's mad about? Is he mad at himself for being attacked? He shouldn't blame himself for that."
"You're right, he shouldn't. It would help if you told him that when we all talk, he needs to slow down. He thinks I don't know but sometimes he'll leave in the middle of curfew to train in the woods. He shows up to class exhausted, and cranky. His grades are slipping. Nico and Bianca are really worried about him."
"Well right now I'm really worried for him, we'll talk with him tonight. No getting out of it."
Percy has been spending less and less time with them.
Nico doesn't like it one bit.
They haven't played Mythomagic in weeks!
Even when they do hang out, he always seems distracted. Whenever the time comes to call it a night, he's so quick to leave when before Percy would linger with him and Bianca.
Grover has been no help, only saying that Percy is 'thinking a lot.'
If this depressing version of Percy is who he becomes when he thinks, Nico would rather he didn't. Nico knows Percy is more a man of action, and he likes Percy that way.
He's twirling his pen in his hand, a party trick Percy taught him, and trying to decide how to approach the issue.
There is a very fine line between helping and hurting someone who clearly does not know they need help. Sometimes, Bianca gets sad and frustrated and Nico has learned when it is best to intervene or when it is best to stay out of her way and behave himself.
Right now, Nico feels like Percy could use some intervention.
Grover and Bianca seem to disagree, but sometimes Bianca needs to be distracted and she feels better after, surely the same can happen with Percy.
Bianca cannot help but notice how Percy's eyes lack their usual brightness.
He's all over the place. He's barely eating and barely spending time with anyone. He hasn't missed any of their study sessions, thankfully, but sometimes Bianca doubts it would matter with how little he says during their meetings.
Bianca doesn't know what to do, but she wants to help him.
Bianca knocks on his door.
No answer.
Bianca knocks one more time, harder this time, and waits.
Still nothing.
She wrings her hands and notes the sweat on her palms, wiping it away on her jeans.
Where could he be?
She, against her better judgment, decides to turn the knob of the door.
It opens, and Bianca enters.
It's dark and smells faintly like a boy's room.
She's been in his room before, Percy's side noticeably less tidy than Grover's half. She notes the bag of blue candy on Percy's desk and the sight comforts her for some reason.
There, underneath his blue sheets, lies the current object of her concern.
She finds herself walking forward, lightly, towards Percy.
This is when she hears his whimpering, his breathing is labored and uneven. The bed creaks underneath his weight, sharp noise against the silence of the room. Grunts escape his lips, and Percy is violently twisting in his bed.
She knows this event. She knows what this means for Percy.
Percy is having a nightmare.
Her body twitches, and her first instinct is to rush forward, but, then, what?
There are many things Bianca wants to do. She wants to comfort Percy, take his nightmares away, wake him up, and make him laugh. She wants to hold his hand and tell him everything will be okay and that they can talk about anything and everything underneath a shady tree and a helping of gelato.
He turns to face her, his face scrunched up and unhappy, yet also fierce.
Why fierce? What could Percy be picturing that marred his face in such a manner?
She doesn't like it, nor how it fits his face.
She touches his arm.
Percy rolls across the snow, leaping at the end of the movement and springing himself to his feet, Riptide out in a flash of bronze light and deadly force. Percy swings at imaginary enemies, cutting down foes like a reaper at harvest. He likes to imagine the flurries of white snow as the golden dust of beasts.
He channels his focus away from his swordsmanship, lifting water from a water bottle he forces it to move up and up, separating it into 3 spears of liquid death as they barrel themselves downwards.
He concentrates, thinking of the placement of water, how it will fall, and moves.
One, two, three slashes of Riptide bisect flying targets into six puddles around Percy, nary a drop on him even if he allowed it.
He doesn't stop. He charges forward, imagining Luke, imagining the 'greatest swordsman in 100 years' as his opponent. He thinks to Backbiter, that abomination of a sword meant only to harm, meant for everyone powerful and powerless. Luke stabs at him, but Percy barely deflects the trajectory of death. Luke stepped back to give himself room and to force Percy to get closer with his shorter sword. Percy minds his footwork, careful to remain balanced and he swings an arc that doesn't reach Luke's head. He hops backward, giving himself a second to gasp for breath as Luke descends upon him once more. The power behind the downward arc makes Percy's hand ache, and he frantically brings his hand up to the flat of his blade to make up for the disadvantage. Luke kicks at his stomach, and Percy rolls with it backwards only to find himself with the tip of a blade entering his chest.
Dead.
Game Over.
Kronos wins.
Annabeth and Grover want to talk to him, probably tell him he should rest and relax while his enemies only grow stronger. He doesn't want to talk to them, or anyone, about anything. He just needs to train more, get better faster, become stronger.
Percy huffs and begins again. He swings and slashes at the air, Riptide cutting so finely and sharply that Percy can hear the thrum in the air where he cuts.
Percy remembers how sharp Luke's practice sword would run when training with him back at camp—the high-pitched whish a stark contrast to Percy's more dull sound effects.
It frustrates him and he doubles his efforts.
A hellhound beat.
A harpy's wings trimmed.
Empousai screams are cut short.
He moves forward, intent on defeating every imaginary foe before him until exhaustion hits him or he has exhausted Luke's entire army into nothing.
He collapses on the snow.
After a minute he picks himself up and caps Riptide. He's sweating all over and his arms feel heavy with lead.
Chiron's fatherly tone enters his mind, sage hero's advice whispered into his ears.
"They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it."
These are the privileges of a hero. He can do it all, he just needs to be strong enough to do it.
He uncaps his sword and goes again.
Eventually, after tireless efforts, even he must wane.
Slinking off to bed, Percy worried about the nightmares that would awake him.
ThumpThumpThump
He is no stranger to nightmares, even those apart from demigod business. As a child, he was afraid of Gabe, of his mom leaving him, of exams that took forever.
THUMPTHUMPTHUMP
As a demigod, he is afraid of Kronos, Camp Half-Blood burnt to the ground and bodies scattered around, the world on his shoulders, and making the wrong choices.
THUMP!THUMP!THUMP!
What awakes him today is not his heart beating from fear, but the gentle yet firm grip of his friend Bianca.
Thump Thump Thump
Brown eyes hold him gently, concern is etched into every line of her face. Her hand is warm on him, and he suddenly wishes that he had cleaned his room that day.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"You were having a nightmare, Percy. Do you want to talk about it?"
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
Her words are kind, her face is sincere. Everything about her in this moment is open and painfully unguarded.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
Her glossy hair splays across her shoulders and a bit over her face, Percy resists the urge to remove it from her eyes.
BA-DUMP BA-DUMP BA-DUMP
She says nothing as he studies her, and even maintains eye contact with him throughout.
Her lips are slightly parted, as if she wants to say something, yet doesn't.
Instead, she decides to smile patiently, and for the life of him, Percy cannot comprehend what it is.
BA-DUMPBA-DUMPBA-DUMPBA
He's distracted by her.
"Is something bothering you?"
Yes.
"Yes."
He didn't mean to say that out loud.
She rubs his arm, his stomach flips, he blanks, and now Bianca is sitting next to him in the dark room.
"Talk to me."
He talks to her.