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Manhattan is awful like this, the lack of car horns and people paired with the darkening sky unsettles him. End times. It feels like it, his heart beats so hard against his chest he can physically feel it and he is so full of adrenaline he can’t even think about anything but Annabeth.
Annabeth. Annabeth. Annabeth.
It repeats over and over, has his brain ever said anything else? It feels like his entire life is clouded by her, his mortal life, his demigod life… everything. Will Solace trails behind him, Percy’s grip on his wrist is probably too tight, he can apologise later. The lobby is full of demigods, hunters and everything under the sun pretty much but he doesn’t care, instead he beelines for the elevator and hits the button over and over until he gives up and hauls the Apollo boy up the stairs behind him.
He doesn’t know if he even got told where she was, he just assumes - follows his intuition and takes the door that leads to the fourth floor, and one of the first doors. The whole floor is flooded with demigods, most seeming to be injured, the Aphrodite and some Apollo kids do what they can. He weaves between them, beelines for the balcony. How does he knows she’s there? He’s not sure.
Annabeth Chase lies there, covered in a thin veil of sweat, Silena wipes her forehead with a damp cloth and Percy all but throws Will in the direction of Annabeth’s shoulder; he gets to work immediately. Percy almost falls to his knees in front of her, and her eyes find his immediately. They’re droopy in a way that reminds her she’s not well, but Will sighs and draws Percy’s attention
“Oh it’s not so bad Annabeth.” And if a son of Apollo can say that then Percy assumes she’ll be okay. Will starts to work on her shoulder and she automatically reaches for Percy, their hands finding each other. Her hands squeezes the life out of his when Will gets to a particularly painful part and she cries out.
“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Is all Percy can say in comfort.
But it’s over as soon as it begins, Will stumbles back, exhausted. Silena catches him as best as she can.
“Feel okay?” Percy asks, holding a tiny square of ambrosia to her lips. She turns her head away.
“I’m gonna be sick if I-” She starts
“I know but just try, okay? You need it.” He tells her, and she lets him feed it to her. He doesn’t listen as Will tells the Stolls what medical supplies are needed – not just for Annabeth but for everyone too. And before he knows it, the Stolls are off and so is Will and it’s just Silena, Annabeth and him.
He almost forgets that Silena is there, his focus solely on Annabeth. She looks better already, her skin looks less ghostly and her temperature has gone slightly down, mostly she looks more alive. Silena moves into his line of sight, near Annabeth’s head and rests her hand on Annabeth’s head.
“It’s my fault.” She mumbles, Percy tears his eyes of Annabeth, she does the same and the both look at the other girl. Silena looks run down, has been since Charlie died but Percy swallows that down. If he blames himself for Charlies death right now, it’s not good for anyone.
“What do you mean?” Annabeth asks, words stumbling.
“I’m not good at camp like you and Percy, I’ve never been any good.”
Percy looks to Annabeth, watches to see if she can identify what Silena is talking about. She doesn’t either.
“Silena that’s not true, you’re great with the pegasus.” he tells her, she bites her lip as if it will stop her crying. She presses a kiss to Annabeth’s head “I’m sorry, you deserved better.” she whispers before explaining she knows what to do, how to get Clarisse to help.
Percy watches her go and Annabeth does too, when he looks back to Annabeth she’s watching the other girl with a confused look on her face. He assumes she has no idea what that was about either.
“Hey.” He squeezes her hand, her eyes find his own and relax a little at the contact.
“Feeling better?” he asks, she nods. He holds onto her hand, traces the lines on her palm, the curve of her hands and then interlaces their fingers. He expects her to let go, yet she doesn’t, her grip is there but not as strong as usual. It doesn’t matter though, she’s stronger than she was ten minutes ago and she’s still here.
The sky is darkening by the second, the sun is somewhere hidden behind the clouds as it has been since Manhattan fell asleep. He doesn’t have a clue what time it is, maybe seven? Maybe eight? But night is approaching, a temporary break he’s grateful for.
It weighs him down, almost as much as his curse does.
“Why did you take that knife?”
“You would’ve done the same for me.” Is all she answers and he knows she’s right, he would and he will. Personal loyalty is his fatal flaw, Athena had said it to his face. He doubts there’s anyone in the world he’s more loyal to than the girl in front of him, it was probably woven by the fates long before they were born. But her answer isn’t enough it’s not-
“How did you know? My achilles heel, if you hadn’t taken that knife-” He doesn’t finish, her eyes grown wide, the realisation dawning on her.
He thinks back to the Styx, how he was disappearing and how she was there pulling him back. Just like always, she always reigns him in. When she had taken the knife, he had felt it; felt it before it even happened as if time had stopped and every millisecond was slowed, how he had felt a shiver up his spine right before she had cried out.
“Percy I don’t, I just felt like you were in danger.” She tells him, whispers to him.
She removes her hand from his, he mourns the contact but she reaches around “where is it? Here?” Her hand touches his back, just above where his heel is. He moves her hand slightly, feels the volts run up his spine as he falls forward slightly as if-
She chuckles a bit, brings her hand away but he keeps holding her hand and brings it close to his chest as if he can protect her from any harm.
“Percy there’s something I need to tell you.” She starts, breaking the silence.
He waits, lets her speak.
“What Hermes said earlier, about it being my fault-”
“No, it’s not. He had no right to say that”
“Percy, wait there’s something I haven’t told you.” She is tiring herself out, she’s still healing, he remembers.
“Annabeth, you don’t have to tell me, if it’s going to upset you. I trust you, okay?”
She tears up at that, has he ever explicitly told her that? Has anyone? He knows she thrives on verbal appraisal, relies on words of affirmation and physical touch. She should know that he trusts her. How could she not?
Annabeth waits a minute, has that look on her face where she’s trying to stay somewhat composed. He squeezes her hand, as if to give her strength and it must
“Come here?” She asks quietly, as if embarrassed.
“Of course.” he croaks out before “wait let me get you a blanket.” he’s up and into the adjoining suite in seconds, most of the demigods have cleared out save for two or three Aphrodite girls who are curled up on the main bed. It’s so sweet, it makes him almost mourn the fact he doesn’t have siblings but reminds him why they’re in this war.
The main suite has a smaller room off to the side, two smaller double beds occupy the room and it takes him two seconds to rip off one of the blankets and haul it back to his girl. He tucks the blanket around her, makes sure it’s tight around her side (making sure to avoid her shoulder of course) and scoots onto her other side, pulling the blanket over and around him. The loveseat is big enough for the two of them - the hotel they’re all in isn’t a cheap one, moreso one Percy would’ve never been able to afford to stay in, but even with the size they’re still pressed close.
It’s awkward, of course it is. They haven’t ever really shared a bed before, never really been tucked under a blanket together and sure they’ve slept in the same space. They’ve fallen asleep in the car when his mom drives them to camp, heads falling on to each other. Despite it, he won’t move, he needs to be near here and all he can do is hope that she wishes the same.
“You warm enough?” He asks, adjusting the blanket around her.
She huffs, “yes Perce I am.” He settles back down, turns to his side so he’s facing her. She does the same, wincing in the process and he goes to ask if she’s okay but she cuts him off with a look.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” He tells her, and it doesn’t feel like enough. There’s so much he wants to say, needs to say but he’s wasted so much time. But she reaches for his hand, and interlaces their fingers.
“I don’t want it to be you.” She whispers, avoiding his eyes. A confession, a shot in the dark.
“I’m sorry.”
“I wish it wasn’t you. I prayed about it.”
She prayed about him, Percy wonders what she said, what she asked; who she asked. It’s a confession she wouldn’t admit under normal circumstances but he figures that he probably wouldn’t be cuddled into a bed with her under normal circumstances.
Her lashes are long and are clumped together, probably from tears and he reaches out and traces his finger along her brow. She’s always had dark brows, they’re dark where her hair is light. She closes her eyes at the touch, sighing softly.
“I wanted it to be different.” He admits, tracing her features. She’s so beautiful, always has been. She hums in question.
“I wanted it to be different. I wish it was different, wish I was different and not so stupid and wasted so much time-” it feels weird, venting about it to her. Venting to her about how he wishes he wasn’t so stupid about what was going on between them.
“Perce what?” She sounds so tired, probably because her body is healing, but still concerned.
He pulls their intertwined hands to his chest again, as if it would allow her to feel it. How much he loves her, and he hates himself for not being able to convey it - to tell her to her face.
“You called me a coward the other day, you weren’t talking about the prophecy were you?”
“Perce that wasn’t right of me, I was just upset I shouldn-”
He interrupts, “No you were right, and you have every right to be upset. I should’ve said something, I shouldn’t have pretended it didn’t exist because it did, it does.”
He imagines if the tables were reversed, if she was running off with a boy constantly all summer while Percy was sitting around already mourning her. He doubts he would’ve been composed half as much as she was, he knows he has a jealousy problem and it’s shown consistently whenever Luke is bought up. But it’s never been fair to get mad about Luke, Thalia had pulled him up on it the last time. Had told him it’s not the same as him hanging around Rachel you don’t have a power imbalance, she isn’t seven years your senior while being the only one who looked out for you. It was a lot to unpack, but Thalia had dumbed it down to shut up and sit on it. Whatever had happened between Annabeth and Luke from when they met until now - is not Percy’s place to comment on, Annabeth will come to him when she’s ready and he knows now it’s not comparable in the slightest and while it doesn’t make him jealous anymore, it makes him angry. So fucking angry.
Her brows furrow, probably mirroring his own and he moves to brush some of her hair out of her eyes.
“Percy-” she starts, but he stops her and pushes into her space. Pushes his forehead against her own, as if they could disappear into each other. Their noses bump and it feels like he could kiss her and she must feel the same because she leans in slightly-
A brief brush of lips, before he pulls back. She looks hurt, a flash of almost agony crosses her features.
“Not now. Not while you’re like this okay?” he tells her, leaning up to push a kiss to her forehead, her cheek. It’s probably the only sensible thing he’s done in regards to her, hoping he has more opportunities. He places his forehead back against hers, and wraps his arm over her.
“Go to sleep Beth.” He tells her, but she’s stubborn and has to get the last word in.
“It was never anyone but you, it was always you.” she tells him, he knows she’s not talking about the prophecy this time.
“It’s always you too.” He tells her, she nods and he watches as she closes her eyes and he waits until he’s sure she's asleep before he even considers sleeping.
When Luke is dying, he reaches out to Annabeth asks if she ever loved him and Percy wants to kill him again. She tells him no, you were like a brother to me and in Luke’s last seconds on earth, she watches Percy, not Luke. It means enough.
Annabeth is battered and bruised and her arm is definitely broken, and the second the war is over she all but collapses - her adrenaline wearing out. Percy catches her, under the arms and slides to the ground with her. He knows she’s not dying this time, knows she’s just unconscious from the pain and when Apollo appears and puts a hand over Annabeth’s forehead while chanting something Greek, Percy thanks him.
Grover and him sit with Annabeth unconscious in Percy’s arms while the Olympians are off deciding what to do with Luke and his dead body. Percy could care less.
Grover speaks for him.
“I didn’t know about it being like that.”
Percy must look confused so Grover clarifies “Luke and Annabeth.”
Percy looks down, she looks peaceful. Her face is caked in dirt and grime but she’s okay, he brushes a hand over her forehead as if it’s turning into a habit.
“I didn’t until Thalia told me-” he admits, he looks to Grover we don’t know, we don’t bring it up. He tells Grover nonverbally. The satyr reaches his own hand out to Annabeth’s forehead.
She’s okay and five minutes later she stirs, groaning slightly before opening her eyes slowly a look of confusion on her face.
“We’re okay.” He tells her, watches her take a deep breath and reach her hand up for his hand, reaches her other hand out to Grover. It feels insanely domestic, her head in his lap and holding his hand, he can’t pull his eyes away. Their moment is interrupted by Athena, who stands, arms crossed and a look on her face that Percy cannot place.
“They await you, collect yourselves.” She tells them, looks to Annabeth and then glances back to Percy before making her way to the throne room.
“Can you stand?” He asks Annabeth, helps her sit up and he stands and reaches his hands down to her and helps her to her feet. She’s unsteady but he’s got her.
The offer of immortality would feel like a slap in the face, sure it would be a dream for some people but he knows how hard it is for gods to love. His dad had once told him that there’s a force stronger than the force of the gods - love. Percy is so full of love that immortality would never be compatible with him, he knows he was born out of love and that’s why he is the way he is. A fatal flaw of personal loyalty, he was raised by Sally Jackson and survived the Styx with the mere thought of Annabeth Chase. Two years ago he watched as he thought Annabeth was going to get offered immortality, the way his chest had heaved and how he couldn’t even tell Annabeth not to. He hadn’t known why at the time, he knows now and he refuses.
He’s unsure how everyone gets back to camp, Sally refuses to let him and Annabeth go straight back. She’d wrapped them both in a hug for ages before telling them it was too late and they can go back to camp tomorrow.
Sally is something Percy is so thankful for, the way she supports him even if she doesn’t understand. How she can read between the lines, and know he needs Annabeth there with him. Although he does have a suspicion that his mom favors Annabeth over him sometimes, who can blame her?
It’s strange to walk into the apartment, mere hours ago he had been fighting everything within his sight and now here he was. His mom ushering him and Annabeth to the dining table, while she and Paul fuss in the kitchen.
Annabeth sits next to him at the table and lightly kicks him, he knows they’re both exhausted, it's late and they probably need sleep. Real sleep without any injuries or the threat of an evil titan occupying a weirdos body hanging over them. But he will give his mom this, and he laughs as she brings out a blue cake, her and Paul singing happy birthday. Annabeth joins and Percy isn’t embarrassed to wipe a tear away, and doesn't comment when the others do too.
Sally makes them shower, Annabeth first and she offers up some of her own clothes for the girl, Percy offers up his own.
The shower clears up the aches that occupy his body, while the curse of Achilles makes him immune to cuts and bruises he still feels the exhaustion. When he catches his reflection in the mirror he’s surprised he still looks the same, he feels different.
The apartment is quiet, Percy assumes Annabeth is with his mom. He’s right, they’re in the kitchen, Annabeth perched on one of the stools and his mom leaning against the counter with a cup of tea in her hands.
“Annabeth you take Percy’s bed okay?” she tells the girl, getting up to give her a hug. He watches as his mom rocks Annabeth a little, like she does with him. Annabeth mutters a quiet goodnight before disappearing down the hall, Percy watches her go.
“Hey.” His mom catches his attention, she looks smug.
“Anything to report to your mother?”
He just reaches out, and she hugs him too and rocks him the way he knew she would. He knows he’s sixteen now, knows he’s probably too old to seek out his mom when he’s sad but she would never push him away and he needs it.
“I love you. My Perseus, happy birthday.” she tells him. He’s lucky for this.
“I love you too. Thank you.” His mom brushes back some of his curls, studies his face.
“Sixteen. Wow.”
The thing is Percy can look at his mom and never find any of his own features, he doesn’t have her eyes, hair, nose or mouth in that regard he’s all Posideon. But he knows that he is more his mothers son then he will ever be his dads, the way he laughs, the way he hugs, and cares and loves.
“Look, you can share your bed. I know how I raised you, okay? I’ll see you in the morning. I love you.” She kisses his forehead and disappears down the hall.
His room is how he remembers leaving it, slightly messy but he doesn’t care. One of the lamps on his desk is on and Annabeth stands, looking at the pictures at his desk. Most of them and Grover, some of just them. Some are just her.
“I didn’t know you kept these.” She whispers, finger tracing the photo she emailed when they were younger. Her out the front of some monument.
“Of course.”
Her curls fall into either ringlets or frizz, she has on one of his band shirts that is way too big for her and it makes his chest all fuzzy. She must sense him spiraling, walks towards him.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“We’re alive and you’re sixteen.”
He looks down, reaches for her hands. It feels like all he does is reach for her lately.
Sixteen. He thinks. Remembers being little and thinking that sixteen was so grown, that he’d have it all together and it would be better.
“When they offered it to you, was there a part of you that-”
He cuts her off “No. I told you it was you.” as if thats answer enough. She nods, her eyes glassy.
“Yeah.”
“It’s you.” He drops her hands and cradles her face, and kisses her, long and probably too deep but she doesn’t stop him, just sighs into the kiss.
When he pulls away, he leans his forehead against hers. Is that enough?
“I like you. A lot. I know I probably just made that clear but I know you need it vocalised too, I like you and not like a friend. When I was in the styx, you were there.” He confesses, watches as she tears up and nods.
“Percy-”
“Okay?”
“Yes, seaweed brain, kiss me?” She’s giddy as she pushes her lips to his this time.
That night they curl up, facing each other. He’s not sure when the last time he got a good night's sleep was but when he wakes, Annabeth is drooling on his shoulder and the sun shines through his closed curtains he groans. But he is happy and they’re okay.