Chapter Text
May 15th, Manhattan, New York, 10 Months After Tartarus
Percy watches his mother settle Estelle into her wooden high chair across the kitchen table before taking her own seat between her one year old and Paul. She takes his hand in acknowledgement before smiling from the other side of the table at Percy.
His chest aches something horrible, because this picture is still wrong.
“I’m so proud of you, Percy,” Sally says in a strong, unwavering voice, staring him down with conviction.
Percy tries to offer a smile back because hey, he’s proud of him, too. He can finally add a GED to his list of accomplishments. He really hopes to continue filling it with normal things like graduating and not saving the world for a third time, or surviving against all odds again.
But the corners of his mouth are weighed down by anchors, and the pathetic attempt refuses to crinkle his eyes.
“Thanks, Mom,” He says instead, giving up on the gesture and moving onto verbal acceptance. “Me too.”
His mother and Paul, they watch him with sad eyes filled with remorse and sympathy. Not pity, thank the Gods; he’d probably figure out how to shadow travel like Nico to escape them. But the fact that they know- they see the metric ton of misery that’s locked his heart in a cage and buried it inside of his intestines, they see his searching eyes, his wanting hands- is bad enough. Percy looks down at the table and wishes someone would reach out under it and tangle her fingers with his, wishes he could turn his head and meet a harsh gray gaze gone soft because she’s so sweet on him, even now, especially now.
He turns his head and stares uncomprehendingly at the empty chair beside him. He can’t help it. He can’t help it.
“Oh, Honey,” Sally whispers, and there’s a catch in her voice telling Percy to pay attention , because it means she’s gonna cry, but out of the corner of his eye he can see Paul’s already got her, and Percy-
Reaches out a hand, and tangles his fingers in nothing. He touches nothing, because Annabeth is still gone.
June 13th, Manhattan, New York, 11 Months After
He dreams about her sometimes. Past the nightmares and awful memories, sometimes he imagines lying next to her on a big blue comforter on Long Island’s beach, a couple miles down from camp borders, he imagines. The sky is always a neutral pink-blue-gray, and there are never stars or a sun or a moon. Percy never can tell what time it is. The weather changes in them a lot, and it always depends on Annabeth. Mostly, like now, it’s slightly overcast, and a sourceless light reflects pleasantly off of the clouds, which drift aimlessly overhead.
Annabeth is always wearing his hoodie, an old one from camp before the second war, the printed lettering so chipped that all it really says is C MP L OOD. The pegasus looks more like an actual bird than a horse. It’s a light gray and it pulls the graphite right out of her eyes, making them look even more dangerous, even more beautiful. She’s always got his pajama pants on, too- green plaid, the ones with pockets that she’d always steal from his room at Mom’s apartment.
The way her hair is done changes, though. And the look in her eye. And she always has something new to say.
It feels, in these dreams, like he’s really there. Like maybe he died back in the pit right next to her, and he managed to sneak into Elysium to be by her side. It’s peaceful. She listens to his anecdotes about his real life and he listens to her tell him things about people that don’t really exist anymore to anyone but him and some kids that he hasn’t spoken to in a very long time.
It’s a gentle reprieve from most of his other nights and the fog that clings to him during the day. He wakes up to those crying, but in a good way. Those days are a little clearer. He wears his gray camp hoodie and goes to work at his part-time construction gig in the city, and he seems to attract less hostile attention those days.
He mentions this to Grover over Iris message when he calls to check on him.
“ I’m glad you’re feeling a little better today, Perce ,” He says softly, instead of something funny like Gee, maybe the monsters are just matching your freak . Percy should’ve called Nico.
“Yeah,” Percy replies, because what else is he supposed to say? Grover pulls the tab off the can in his hand and pops it in his mouth. Percy can’t really tell where he is based on the background- it’s got a lot of green, as usual. Probably a national park somewhere. “Where’d you get the soda?”
“ Um, right. I’m back at camp right now, with Juniper. They’re setting up for capture the flag right now, so- ”
“Ah.” His stomach plunges to his toes, and he goes hot and then immediately cold. Capture the flag. Grover looks up at his tone and frowns deeper. Percy knows he looks awful already, and he can’t imagine what his face just did.
He can hear her voice.
Where the heck did you learn to fight like that?
You set me up. He’d been so mad, he remembers. He didn’t know then what he knew now, that Annabeth could and should always be trusted, because she’s always right.
Was. Was always right. Percy feels himself pale.
“ Percy ?”
“Hey, yeah, sorry. Grover, I’ll- call you back.” And he sweeps a hand through the mirage before him, dispelling the mist and destroying the image of Grover’s worried face.
His Mom finds him later, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, still as The Poker Player .
“Percy?” She whispers. It’s dark outside the window. It hadn’t been when Percy got home and called Grover. Hours must have passed from when he assumed this position. Despite his window being open, there is a sort of warm breeze filtering in. Summer. Percy feels sick. His Mom sits next to him and puts a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little, before wrapping it all the way around him and pulling him into her. Despite being almost a foot taller than her- he’d hit another growth spurt, after the second war, bringing him to a whopping 6’2- he sinks into her willingly, crumpling like aluminum and folding himself small to fit in her embrace.
“Mom.” It tears out of his throat in barely a whisper, more of a breath. It’s imploring, it’s ragged. “I can’t.” His chest tightens, his throat constricting.
“Can’t what, Baby?” She asks softly, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.
“I can’t . I can’t, I, I can’t-!” His chest is heaving now. He presses the crown of his head into his Mom’s chest as she holds him, rocking him back and forth. “She’s gone, she’s gone, and-!” He claws at his shirt, like he can pull the dark evil creature crouching on his chest off of him. Like he can be free of loss.
“I know,” Sally whispers, one hand cradling his head, the other holding him tight as he sobs. “I know.”
June 15th, Long Island, New York, 11 Months A.T.
Percy doesn’t go back to either camp, very much. He went to New Rome to finish his GED, and he knows there’s a college there. He knows that Camp Half Blood got some funding and they’re building more permanent residency and expanding and he knows he could be helping. He knows he could take the offered sword fighting instructor position and he knows he could… Help. Hypothetically.
He also knows that if he gets to the Camp and they ask him to help he’ll just get in the way, useless in the way a limpet is, his strings cut. Riptide burns a hole in his pocket when he doesn’t have it in his hands but he doesn’t think he could swing it at another human(ish) being without feeling like he’s back in the thick of it. He’ll disappoint kids that think he’s some kind of hero. No matter what he does, he’s letting his friends down.
But it hurts. Seeing that orange, the hill with the pine tree on its crest, Golden Fleece glittering above a sleeping Drakon. Seeing the Big House and talking to Chiron when there’s someone who should be there with him, dragging him into her cabin, following him into his, chasing him around the wrap-around porch when he accidentally tears the corner of her sketchbook.
It hurts.
Nonetheless, he stands in front of the taxi that dropped him off, looking up at the towering hill. He ignores it as the cab peels off and begins climbing.
Halfway there, there’s a deep gouge in the earth, a scar left over from the war. He keeps walking.
At the top of the hill, he looks over the valley of cabins, steeling himself.
Be brave, Seaweed Brain.
His Mom convinced him that he needs to get out of New York and away from it all for a while. He’s at Camp for two things: the demigod-safe communication device Leo’s been working on, and a possible destination from Chiron. Out of anyone, he would know the best place for a demigod to go off grid, Percy assumes. The safest place.
He proceeds down the hill. He goes unnoticed for approximately two minutes. Then,
“Holy shit, is that-”
“No way, that’s-”
“Hey-”
“Percy!” Someone approaches him rapidly from the left through the gathering masses just behind him, and he reacts before he can think, redirecting their momentum and throwing them over his shoulder.
Leo springs back up, dusting himself off.
“Should’ve expected that, my bad,” He says, breezing past what could’ve been a very, very awkward apology. He loops his arm around Percy’s and begins to drag him in the direction he was already walking, towards the Big House. “What’re you doing here, man? It’s so good to see you!”
Percy, despite himself, grins a little. Leo and him didn’t get along well at first. At all. Between blowing up Camp Jupiter, and then the whole thing with Calypso- it was rough. He’s glad they’re cool now. He knows Leo looked up to Annabeth a lot. They have that in common.
“Gotta get away from home,” Percy says, tucking his free hand into his pocket to fiddle with Riptide. “Also, need a favor from you.”
“O-ho-ho, the great Percy Jackson is asking for help!” In contrast to his words, Leo’s face seems to pinch up a little in concern. “Are you okay?”
“Ha ha,” Percy deadpans, tugging his arm away. “I need a demigod-safe communication device.”
“Percy, you’re young enough to call it a phone.” Leo whips out what looks like a smartphone but way clunkier. “Check it out, brother! Been working on this for a couple months. I mean, I haven’t decided what to call it yet, but I have a couple prototypes lying around, if you’re interested.” He tosses it to Percy, who turns it over in his hand before pressing the home button. The phone lights up to a complicated interface, all in Ancient Greek. Percy whistles as he taps at it, swiping around before giving it back.
“I don’t know how to use that,” He admits, staring at the phone in Leo’s hand. “Do you have anything less… uh, smart-phony?”
Leo tsks . “Ugh. Maybe you are old. I’ll see what I can find while you’re catching up with Big C.” He salutes with two fingers and splits away from Percy, jogging off towards the Hephaestus cabin.
“Big C,” Percy mutters, climbing the stairs and walking through the screen door.
Chiron is in his chair in the living room of the big house, poking at the fire, miffed. When Percy intentionally steps on one of the creakier floorboards, he looks up sharply. Then he smiles.
“Percy, my boy!” Chiron wheels his chair closer, clapping a hand on Percy’s bicep before folding it in his lap. “I was under the impression we would not be seeing you for a while.” Chiron turns back around, intent on returning to his task.
“...Right. That’s kind of why I’m here,” He admits, following Chiron deeper into the living room and sitting down on one of the fat old couches. “I wanted to get away, for a while, still in the States, maybe close by. Any suggestions?”
Chiron hums, messing with the fire a little more before sighing contentedly, turning back to Percy.
“Well, there’s Pennsylvania-” He begins, and Percy’s face sours so fast that he laughs. “Or not.”
“Any cities?”
“Ah.” Chiron nods. “Gotham.”
Percy’s jaw drops. “ Gotham!? Gotham, New Jersey? You want to move me to New Jersey? ”
Chiron offers him a smile. “I know that as a New Yorker, it sounds rather… unfortunate, but due to the- how should I put this…” His eyes go unfocused before finding Percy’s again. “Due to, ah, unfortunate crime statistics and general mortal activity, it seems to have a much lower monster attack rate.” He frowns. “Although that could be because the regular mortals get to each other first.” He waves his hand in the air. “At any rate, I think that it’d be perfect for you.”
Percy sighs. “You think some fucked up crime city in New Jersey is the perfect place for me to lay low and stay out of trouble?”
“Divine trouble? Greek trouble?” Chiron nods, stroking his chin gravely. Percy’s pretty sure he’s only doing it for dramatic affect. “Oh yes, Percy. Mortal trouble? You are unfortunately on your own for that, I’m afraid. As long as you avoid the Batman, you should be fine.”
Percy stares at him.
“The Batman is real?” He asks finally, afraid of the answer. Chiron just turns back to the fire again, though Percy definitely saw a twinkle in his eye. Stupid old horse.
Leo chooses then to burst in, nearly slamming into Percy (again) in his haste.
“Hello, my liege,” He starts, ignoring Percy groaning and putting his head in his hands. “I have brought to you an old people sliding flip phone, made by yours truly. You’re welcome, please hold your applause.” Percy catches it as Leo sends it flying towards him. “Oh! I added a way to contact us, as in us-with-phones, and I’ll send you everyone else’s number when I give ‘em theirs.” Percy flips the phone up and scrolls through the contacts. Camp Half Blood and Camp Jupiter (Under C.HB and C.J), Leo, his Mom ’s number somehow, Piper, Reyna, Frank. It’s missing a lot of people- a couple very specific ones- but he’s happy with it.
“Mr. Valdez, would you wait outside for a moment?” Chiron asks Leo suddenly, to which he bows and flourishes his hands and generally jingles like a fool exiting stage right. When he’s gone, Percy looks over at Chiron.
“You look tired, Percy.” He adjusts the blanket on his lap. “I feel tired. I feel more old than I ever have. And I’ve lived for a long time.” He runs a hand over his face, and meets Percy’s eyes. “In the past decade, we've lost many. And they were heroes, yes,” Chiron looks at Percy calmy, his eyes catching the firelight. “But they were also children.” He looks down and away, exhaling. “I tell myself what I always have. That they’re all at peace. That they died for a cause.”
Percy swallows, looking down at his hands. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to hear this. But who better understands Chiron’s grief and loss as a leader, a teacher, and a friend, than him?
He says nothing.
“I miss her everyday,” Chiron admits wearily, his voice haggard in the way it was on funeral pyre days. Percy’s lungs freeze up. “I know it’s been… hard, for you in particular. I’m sorry, Percy.”
Percy stands up.
“Bye, Mr. Brunner,” He chokes out, and then walks out, down the steps and over the hill and he walks and walks and walks until he remembers to whistle.
There’s a bark from the growing shadows lining the underbrush along the road, and Mrs. O’Leary comes bounding out, covering him with black fur and soon after, a lot of saliva.
“Hey, girl,” He says roughly. “Let’s go to Gotham.”