Chapter Text
Grover had been right. The sunrise over Maine’s coastline was breathtaking.
The satyr sat cross-legged on a large rock on the shore, his eyes closed as he puffed into his panpipes. Some slow Hozier song floated over the water, meshing with the echo of the waves. Percy mirrored his position, sitting neck deep in the water, watching the sky turn black to blue, blue to purple, purple to pink. The clouds glowed peach and orange and the whole peaceful, scenic picture was only partially ruined by the small well of emptiness that always made its presence known when night was over.
Percy could feel that, now. But Grover couldn’t, so he jumped happily from note to note of the ballad he was piping.
Percy ducked backwards under a wave. The tide washed over him—back, and forth; back, and forth—and Percy closed his eyes and let himself feel the cold. Icy water burned going down his throat, rushing into his lungs, shocking him awake. His skin tingled with cold, pins and needles all over his body.
The cold burned. The heat froze.
Was it cold? Was it hot?
Percy pressed his eyes closed tighter, blocking the light of the lava (sun?) that still stained the backs of his eyelids red. Everything burned, from his toes to his fingers to his lungs. The scar on his side, running from his hip to his neck, was scalding as it was cut open, scorching with poison and magma and pain and healing and—Percy surged upward, hand flying to his pocket.
Polybotes and his minions were going to suffer for trying to turn his domain against him.
But when Percy opened his eyes, it was to the clear, blue skies of a brisk Maine morning. Grover’s song stuttered to a halt.
“All good, Perce?” He called.
Percy shoved his disappointment down, and turned toward his protector. “Yeah.” He nodded, sending freezing droplets of seawater down his neck. “Just—yeah.”
Grover frowned as Percy trudged over to him. “Add it to the list?”
The list. The list of things Percy “wasn’t ready” to talk about. The list of things that Percy was keeping from his best friend, because when the old goat learned the truth, he might leave Percy forever. While Poseidon had declared himself firmly on Percy’s side of things, he was a god; his grasp on morality was looser than most. Every demigod who had heard what Percy had done distanced themselves from him.
Leo didn’t crack jokes to him anymore. Jason only glared in his direction. Frank’s smiles were smaller and weaker. Hazel looked at him as if he was still covered in blood and poison on the battlefield. He and Annabeth danced around each other like there was a physical wall preventing them from interacting. Clarisse and Malcolm watched him, waiting for him to prove that he was a monster.
Nico hadn’t heard the story. Percy was putting off telling him, too.
Grover had welcomed Percy back from his quest, his abduction, with open arms and a smile. He hadn’t demanded an explanation, hadn’t demanded any information beyond how Percy was doing. He wasn’t scared of sharing Percy’s space, didn’t treat him like he might snap at any moment. It was refreshing.
But the list couldn’t keep growing forever.
Percy nodded. “Add it to the list.” Grover sighed, frustrated, but acquiesced.
“May as well head out, since we aren’t relaxing anymore. I’ve got a gathering with a bunch of naiads at noon.” He pulled a well-worn map from the back pocket of his jeans as they walked back to the car. “We’re four-ish hours away? Gives us about an hour of wiggle room to get there.”
Percy set his hand on the door handle. “Anywhere to get breakfast?”
“Depends. Are you going to eat out an entire diner again?”
Percy groaned as he opened the door. “One time. That was one time—“
Grover clicked his seat belt and Percy switched gears. “You spent all of our money—“
“—had just gotten back from a run, I was really hungry—“
“—had to trick Hermes into gambling with us again to get more—“
“—got more money anyway, I don’t see the problem—“
“—almost lost my flutes in that pinochle game—“
They bickered mildly, sniping back and forth as they headed west. It wasn’t until Percy mentioned that he still hoarded food like he may never see it again that it began to seem like a real fight. “I don’t have a problem with your secret food stashes, Percy, even if they get crumbs everywhere, I just—“ Grover cut himself off and gripped his horns in his hands.
“Something tells me,” Percy mused, before Grover could start stress eating his tin cans, “we’re not actually all that mad about the crumbs. It’s something else, isn’t it?” The road around them was empty, so Percy risked a glance over at his passenger.
Grover was watching him with sad eyes. His hands had fallen to his lap; he was playing with the loose flute on the end of his pipes. He was worrying his lip, and his pupils were a bit misshapen, their typical circle melting into something more rectangular—all telltale signs that he was nervous. Percy pulled over and put the car in park.
“Grover?”
Grover sighed. “I just…I don’t know what’s going on with you anymore, Percy.”
Percy’s heart sunk. “Is it…is it that big a deal?”
Grover didn’t reply right away, but the atmosphere remained tense. “It wouldn’t be,” he eventually said, “if you weren’t hurting. But you are, and you’re trying to hide it from everyone, even yourself.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to hide—“
“But you are hiding something. And what you’re hiding is hurting you.” This time it was Percy who stayed silent.
Grover sighed and got out of the car. Percy watched warily as he made his way to the driver’s side. He opened the door, crouched down, and grabbed Percy’s hand. “I am here for you,” he stressed, “when you are ready to talk. But don’t hide things that hurt you. Seeing you hurt hurts me, too.”
And Percy hadn’t thought he could feel worse about it. He was hurting Grover, too. Which was better? Keeping him in the dark, worried and hurting for Percy? Or telling him everything, and burdening him with even more hurtful information?
Ultimately, it wasn’t his decision to make.
“If I tell you…” Percy couldn’t meet Grover’s eyes, “it could make everything worse.”
Grover shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything worse than knowing I can’t help you.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“You had to handle Tartarus, Percy. What kind of brother would I be if I couldn’t handle helping you with the aftermath?”
“The truth will hurt,” Percy argued.
“It already hurts, Percy.” Grover shook his head. “It does; it hurts! It kills me to have my best friend, my little brother, right in front of me but still a million miles away, and hurting himself, and knowing that I can’t do anything about it.” Maybe there were tears prickling in the corners of Percy’s eyes. Maybe he was just feeling the tears in Grover’s eyes. Maybe tears were necessary to heal.
“I was going to stay,” Percy whispered. Grover’s breath hitched in a sob. “I was gonna stay, and close the Doors, and die down there.” And there were the tears, falling down Grover’s cheeks. Percy kept going, “And then Annabeth left, and took the Doors with her, and I had no reason to make that sacrifice anymore. I was just trapped.”
“It must be such a twisted place,” Grover breathed, “if it took your smile and made Annabeth leave you.”
He was right. Tartarus was twisted, and vile, and Percy must be too, now, because while he was there it had started to feel like home. It hadn’t taken his smile, it had given it different tastes. His smiles were twisted, too; showing up when he fought, when he killed, when he made his enemies suffer.
Grover was right. Partially. “It wasn’t Tartarus that made Annabeth leave.” Percy squeezed his eyes shut. “It was me.”
“Percy—“
“The goddess of Misery tried to kill us,” he interrupted. If he lost his nerve now, he would never regain it. Percy shoved forward. “She wanted us to die miserable, painful deaths. Akhlys started to fill her cave with poison.” He could almost hear it rushing in his ears again. He could almost taste the sickly sweet scent of it. He could almost feel it bending to his will and rushing to his defense.
“I took it from her, the poison. I took it, and turned it back on her. I stood back as Akhlys disintegrated, as my poison bored holes in her skin before melting it off, as it made her cry and I made her choke on her tears. I drew it out. I made it hurt. I didn’t let her die until she’d had more than her fill of Misery and even after she was gone I wanted to torment her more.
“I scared Annabeth away by torturing a goddess to death, and I don’t regret it for a second. I’d do it again in a heartbeat; in fact, I did do it again. I killed Gaea the same way, and when I was done, I wanted to keep going. The Olympians were right there and to this day I can’t figure out where the self-control to leave them alive came from.”
“Oh, Percy…”
“You know, I didn’t achieve immortality on my own? Gaea did this to me. I’m not allowed to die until I kill the gods. I can’t rest until I’ve toppled Olympus. The peace I’ve been fighting for is out of my reach until I end them, and I want to, so badly.” Percy finally opened his eyes. “My days as a hero are over. Doing the right thing is behind me. Now, I’m just coping with how badly I want to do the wrong thing.”
Grover reached up and wiped Percy’s few stray tears away with his thumb. He didn’t even know when he’d started crying. “I don’t need you to be a hero. I just need you to be Percy.”
Percy began crying in earnest, now. “After everything I did—“
“The gods themselves have done so much worse, Percy. There is nothing you could say that would make me stop loving you.”
“I could turn your blood against you.”
“That’s…” Grover scrunched his nose, “terrifying, actually, but then, I could play a jaunty little tune that would liquefy your intestines, so I think I win this one.” Percy let out a watery laugh.
“You don’t want me to leave?”
“Are you kidding? Who would drive me around Maine if you left? Those pedals aren’t hoof-friendly, you know.” Grover leaned in close for a hug. Percy gripped his brother tight, burrowing into his arms. “But for real? No, Percy, I don’t want you to leave. I want you here, with me, getting in trouble all around New England just because we can, just like old times.”
“Thank you.”
“I love you, Perce.”
“I love you too, G-Man.” Percy pushed the gas a bit to rev the engine. “Now let’s go restore the hell out of the wild.”
“My man.” Grover’s grin as he fist-bumped Percy and hurried to the passenger’s seat was blinding, and Percy finally started to feel like maybe things could turn out okay.