Archive of Our Own ^beta

Percy feels it in his bones. It’s a tug in the small of his back, a twist in his gut, that tells him what is going to happen before it does. It’s a fleeting feeling, attempting to leave him undefended and alone, but he catches it before it drifts off.

He knows.

 His first instinct is to turn around, checking on the person pressed to his back. She feels him shift, and she turns her head to look at him. Even in the midst of the Battle of Manhattan, she gives him the tiniest turn of her lips, hair tangled and frizzed, breathless, and despite the setting, he thinks he’s never seen someone so beautiful.

Annabeth is his best friend. She has been for the past four years. She was the person he would trust with his life, and she’s said the same. They were a pair, two in one, some would even say a match made in heaven, and…

He loves her more than life itself.

The small of his back — his Achilles Heel — begins to tingle again, bursting into a sharp pain. He tries not to think of it.

“Slow down and you might not be getting that kiss for good luck,” she teases among everything else going on. The battlefield is littered with demigods, weapons clashing, steel against steel, and everything looks like the movies. He can see the splatter of blood on the New York sidewalks. When he sees the flash of mischief in her eyes, he is taken away from all of that.

“Better not slow down then,” he says, but the smile doesn’t match his eyes. Something is off, and it’s skyrocketing through him, from his toes to the tips of his fingers. He wouldn’t be able to tell his trembling from an earthquake, and he can’t help but think about the irony, being the son of Poseidon.

“Or I could give you that kiss now.”

Percy falters. There is panic in his eyes.

Annabeth retracts at her statement under the scathing view of his eyes. He’s brooding, his fist clenched around the hilt of his sword, and he realizes that he scared her.

“You could,” he says, but his mind is elsewhere, and he can no longer smile. The feeling inside of him intensifies, and he can’t keep up with the traded remarks. She is weary of him now, but as she asks if he’s okay, his hearing is drowned out. He can’t hear anything except the ringing in his ears.

Every demigod is born with a sort of premonition. They can usually tell when things were going to go wrong. He’s felt it before in minor doses. It had always been a twitch in his fingers or a tension settling between his shoulders.

But this.

This was different. It was taking him over until it was all he was. The ringing in his ears was reminiscent of the end of a life, when all that exists is silence. He is thrown back to when he is twelve on the school bus of Yancy Academy, watching the three old ladies snip the cord of yarn with the golden scissors. He knows what it feels like to watch a life end — he’s seen too many, been the cause of too many — and this moment feels exactly like the cut of the thread.

Annabeth squeezes his forearm and he comes to a screeching reality once again. The clashing of metal is flowing into his hears again, and her eyes are a stormy grey, questioning in silence.

“Are you okay?”

And he doesn’t know what to answer. He isn’t okay, because he knew something was coming. The fates had just ended someone’s life. He saw it. If his intuition is correct, the person’s life that had just ended was standing right before him.

“We need to get out of here,” he rushes. He drops his sword, letting those around them carry on without them, and he hovers over her, shielding her body with his. Annabeth doesn’t protest, because she knows that if he’s getting them out of there, he has a reason to do so. She follows his lead, weaving in and out of the tired demigods.

He drags her along, avoiding every aspect of danger. He stops at once, panicking as he realizes they’re surrounded. There’s no escaping this without running through battle, and he’s not willing to risk that.

He stops to analyze the situation, looking for a clearing, for an escape, for just a second.

One second.

That’s all it takes.

He whips around at her strangled, choking cry, and his heart stops.

Annabeth is held in someone’s arms, her face pale and leaking burning tears, and she’s shaking. She’s shaking so much, and he’s pained looking at her, but then his eyes travel down just a few inches, and he sees the red liquid seeping through the crack of her armor.

The blade is deep in her chest, right above her heart. He can feel his heart pounding, but he mistakes it for her own. Percy’s mouth drops the slightest bit as he feels the blood rush from his body.

No, no, no.

The fates cannot be this cruel.

(But as it turns out, they are)

“Annabeth,” he hears leave his mouth. The person standing behind her is someone he recognizes.

A voice whispers Ethan Nakamura.

Percy retreats into his headspace. He cannot feel himself moving, and it is as though he is watching through somebody else’s eyes. When he comes back, Ethan is no longer anything but a heap on the floor, Percy holding the blood on his hands.

He bears no shame as he’s dropping to the ground, unaware of the collision of his knees with the rough ground. Annabeth sways in the air, and he is there to catch her.

“Annabeth,” he whispers, frantic. His eyes are glued to the blade, entranced by the way it pulsates with every weakening beat of her heart. “Oh, Annabeth.” He doesn’t know what to say.

“Percy,” she chokes. A hint of blood appears on her lips as she attempts to take a shuddering breath. Her hand reaches up to trace at the knife, and she is surprised by its appearance. “Oh.”

“You’re okay,” he whispers into her ear. He doesn’t spare the people closing in on them a second glance. His friends and family are fighting around them, protecting them from the outside world. Percy wonders if any of this is worth it anymore. “You’re okay.”

Annabeth hesitates before retracting the blade. Percy doesn’t get the chance to stop her, and he is left to press over the open wound. Annabeth grimaces, but she makes no sound.

The blood appears through the cracks in his fingers. He presses harder.

“Why would you do that?” he whimpers. A single tear falls from his eyes.

He knew.

“It hurt.”

Percy knows it’s not the truth. She knew better. She told him a million times to never pull out a blade. It would only speed up the bleeding. She did it anyways, and he doesn’t want to think about why.

In all the times whispered between them, asking if it was better off to not exist at all than to lead a life of uncertainty, he always questioned what she really thought. He supposes he knows her answer now.

“I’m bleeding,” she cries out quietly. It feels like a knife to his own heart.

Percy lets out a sob.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

He knows she’s not, and he tells her that.

“I will be soon,” she says, and it’s not what he wanted to hear.

“Don’t say that.” But he knows it’s true.

“Talk to me,” she pleads. “Please.”

Percy shakes his head, moving a hand to brush her hair out of her face. A streak of her blood appears.

“Percy,” she tries again, taking a moment to cough some more. More blood is leaking from her lips, and her breathing is raspy. “Talk to me.”

“We can talk once you’re safe,” he declares, but his voice is shaky and they both know how this is going to end. He already knew before it happened, and there isn’t a doubt in his mind that she must have known too. She was prepared for this — he sees it in her eyes.

“You need to do it now,” she says softly. Her head is in his lap, and she’s staring up at him. Her eyes blur in and out, and the tears start falling from his eyes faster, pattering onto the ground. “Please? Don’t make me do this alone.”

He breaks.

“I love you,” he sobs, hovering over his dying best friend. “I love you, and I need you here to keep me out of trouble. You’re my best friend, and you’re so much more, and —” His voice cracks. “Please. I need you here.”

A slight smile graces her lips. “You’ll be okay. I couldn’t let him do it.”

Percy inhales sharply. Annabeth was smart enough to know her surroundings. She knows how to get out of the line of impact.

She did it for him. It hurts so much more.

“Annabeth.”

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

“I love you too,” she says. “You deserve to live. You deserve so much out of life, and I couldn’t let it happen to you.”

“No.”

“So live,” she continues. Another ragged inhale and spitting up of blood. “Live for me. Find someone who will love you the way you deserve to be loved. Get married. Have some kids. Be happy. You are the most selfless person I’ve ever met, and you deserve this.”

Why was this happening now? If he hadn’t been such a coward, maybe all of this could’ve been prevented.

The what if’s flow through his head.

“I don’t want to do it if it’s not with you.”

Annabeth swallows hard. “You don’t have a choice anymore.”

“I don’t want to live if it’s not with you.”

“Do you love me?”

“So much.”

“Then do this for me.” Annabeth closes her eyes before blinking them open lazily. “Live for me.”

“Why would you do this?” he asks. He can barely see through the heavy flow of tears.

“Because I love you.”

He should’ve admitted his feelings. Now it was too late.

“Kiss me,” she says, a nearly silent whisper. “Please?”

Percy swallows and purses his lips, holding back the gasp for air. He removes his hand from over the wound, knowing he has lost this battle. He caresses her hair and cheek, smiling sadly. A second later, he presses his lips to hers, and it is a reminder of everything they could’ve had.

If he had just been a little faster, or more aware of his surroundings, or—

It doesn’t matter. There was no going back in time. He was the one to drag her away from the battle. Her death falls on him, and now he has to live with it.

In his mind, an entire future passes through. He sees Annabeth in a bubble under the lake, her wrapped in his arms, smiling and breathless. He sees a blue cupcake, and himself kissing it off her lips. He sees a wedding on the beach, and her holding a baby, looking up at him like he was the only thing in the world.

And he lost it all in the blink of an eye.

“Hold on,” he pleads against her, but he tastes a hint of copper, and he knows it’s pointless. She’s too far gone. “You’re going to be okay.”

“I won’t,” she says. “I’ll see you again someday. You’re a hero, Percy, and you’re going to make it to Isles of the Blest. I’ll be there waiting.”

“Don’t,” he warns.

“You’re going to lead an amazing life. You’re going to accomplish such great things, so just know that I am always going to be by your side, even if you can’t see me. You’re my Seaweed Brain.”

“Annabeth—”

“Hold me.”

He doesn’t want to, but he has seen enough people die to know what came next.

So he does. They stay silent, staring into each other’s eyes, Percy soothing over her cheek with his thumb. He will not let go until the very end.

The spot on the small of his back tingles once again, and he suddenly knows why.

His Achilles Heel.

Annabeth was his tie to the mortal world. She was the person he saw, bright and alive, when he was under. She was the one to drag him out. She was the sole reason he made it through, and now she was the only reason he was alive once again. The only difference was she wasn’t here with him.

Annabeth takes one last shuddering breath, and he knows this is it. He holds her gaze no matter how badly he wants to look away, and he sees the life fade from her eyes.

She’s gone.

Percy collapses over her body, pressing his lips against her forehead. They had a whole life ahead of them, and it was gone.

It was his fault. It was his fault.

He dragged her away. She was protecting him. He knew what was going to happen, and he should’ve prevented it. He shouldn’t have let her into battle or let her out of his sight. Everything came back to him, and he done anything. One action could’ve made everything different.

Slowly, Percy feels pain begin to take over. His Achilles Heel has been hit. His tie to the mortal world is gone, and it takes with it his numbness, leaving nothing but a raging storm in its wake.

Percy imagines the fates smiling, and he swears that he is going to find them and make them pay. The fates were never fair, taking people before their time. Annabeth was sixteen. She was still just starting her life. She didn’t deserve to die.

Percy’s vision tunnels, and he is back to being twelve years old, sitting on the bus with Grover.

The blue yarn is threaded, held beneath the fingers of the three old ladies. Percy wishes he could scream to them, but it is already done. Right before his eyes, the thread is pulled taught. A gleam catches his eye, and when the object is pulled out, it settles over the thread.

The golden scissors.

The fates pull the blades down, and all he feels is agony.