Archive of Our Own ^beta

one

It was humorous and humorless and just overall very Percy.

Annabeth thought it was a witty response, all things considered. All things meaning: about to die from a god's messed up test.

She'd said, "You think you had to ask?"

He'd said, "Just making sure."

Annabeth figured he'd thought she would leave, bring the shield to Ares and get the job done. Maybe find a way to get the god of war to free him. Maybe just finish the quest in record time and come back for him.

Goes to show he didn't know her all that well.

Yet.

When she finished freeing him, he'd know.

He'd know she believed in finishing business.

She also believed in not leaving anyone behind.

And never, never abandoning a friend.

Never again.

(His impertinence had rubbed off on her—or maybe it was his faith. Faith in people, faith in loyalty, faith in whatever it was his mom taught him about life and family and everything in between.

Whatever it was, with him standing right beside her again—breathing, weak, and dripping wet—Annabeth was sure.

Whatever it was, she wanted to believe in it, too.)

two

Annabeth never thought he would bring it up again, and that was her first mistake.

Her second was letting it become a habit.

She found Percy with Tyson, hiding (badly) by one of the trees before the hill crested upwards—before whomever was doing rounds around Thalia's pine would be able to see them.

"Boo," she said, flicking her head up to shrug off her cap. She had her hands preemptively clamped over both their mouths, and her little reveal was well-planned…on the verbal side.

The rest was a 50/50 toss-up:

Tyson almost swung at her, but paused immediately. Percy almost jumped, but slipped instead.

Right into her, and them onto the ground—side-by-side and staring at the stars instead of seeing them.

"…Sorry," he mumbled. He'd managed to throw his arm out to keep her head from hitting the ground, but as nice as it was to not get squished and not bang her head on a boulder, the thought of a witness to what could be misconstrued as a cuddly stargazing situation and said witness being a cyclops, was, well, annoying.

(Or, something more strongly worded. Not that her mother would approve.)

Augh. "…Good to know your Slenderman arms are good for something."

That got a smile. "You remembered!"

And that got a smile back. "Kind of my whole thing. Like how I remember the harpies are going to kill all of us if we don't get back to our cabins in the next minute."

"We were having such a good moment, Annabeth."

She raised a brow. "Ready for it to be better? I have a plan on getting out of here."

"Annabeth is going to help us?" Tyson asked, perking up. She tried not to look at his eye.

"Yeah, big man," Percy grinned. "Camp's best strategist is gonna help us get Grover back!"

"You need to shut up," Annabeth said, face growing hot. "Lee's on watch tonight."

"So?" Percy said, ignoring her advice. He had that twinkle in his eyes again—the look that challenged her to say something good, something better, something best. "What's the plan, Wise Girl?"

Somewhere in the distance, yelling started up. One camper. Four.

Ten.

A very distinct pop-pop-pop of fireworks followed right after.

"That," Annabeth said, jutting a thumb behind her. She heard the bellowing warhorns, sure now that if they ever wanted to return to camp, they'd have to make sure Grover and the Fleece were with them. She booked it, nudging Percy's arm as she went. "Run!"

They saw Lee and the other Apollo kids abandon post in favor of the commotion and were over and out past the main road before Percy could huff down onto the roadside brush. Tyson was past them; he said he'd caught a whiff of something, or heard weird wind—can't you hear it? and went ahead to scout.

Much as Percy didn't like to see him go off on his own, he was wiped, and as much as Annabeth would tease him about the contrary concerning getting important tasks done, he really wasn't much of a runner. She let him play drama queen on the native flora, guilty but grateful to be out of Tyson's presence for a few moments.

"Annabeth?" Percy asked between heavy breaths, his brows scrunched up and lips in a frown. "I—" Huff! "—need you to promise me—" Heave! "—something."

"I'll bring an inhaler next time."

"Funny."

"You're welcome."

"I was gonna say," he said, plopping on his back. "When we find Grover, do you think you could do more of the boo, and less of the boom?"

Annabeth could cackle. "C'mon, Seaweed Brain," she said, plopping down right next to him. She started to think that stargazing when you're not being accidentally tackled is nice. Probably made better by the company, she thought. Her cheek rose with her one-sided smile. "You think you had to ask?"

His frown got caught up with his laugh. "Ha. Just making sure."

(Unfortunately for Percy, with Clarisse around, plans tended to change.

At least they managed not to set anything at camp on fire for real, though.

Being welcomed home with all the fanfare directed at Clarisse and none at themselves was the best outcome, and winning the chariot race was the best reply. Annabeth didn't even think kissing Percy's cheek was a big deal—friends and family could do that, and they were both—what was, to anyone who knew her well enough, to anyone who knew about that house and the ones trapped in it…was her beginning to love Tyson as much as Percy did.

Grover would take some more time—and for good reason—but it was always a little easier for Annabeth when it came to loving what Percy loved.

…Not that she knew why.)

three

Receiving a compliment from a goddess, getting saved by your dad piloting a vintage warplane, and riding like a princess with her roguish hero on a pegasus after carrying the world on your shoulders for almost a week were not on Annabeth's Bingo card for multiple reasons—primarily, that she didn't play Bingo—but here they were, anyway.

She was still weak and still dazed and still aching, but seeing her dad to her rescue made her feel a little warmer on the inside.

It had absolutely nothing to do with Percy using his whole torso like a living seatbelt to make sure she didn't fall off while riding Blackjack. Or their (matching!) grey streaks of hair from their time under the sky. Or how he was definitely freezing ever since he'd given her his jacket to wear on the flight back to Olympus.

There was something important distracting her, though.

"You didn't think I was dead?" Annabeth asked, barely loud enough over the currents of air passing them.

Percy's head was by her shoulder, hovering too far and too close. "Never."

"Why?"

She felt him seize for a moment, as if he'd never even considered the reason. "I…" His gulp cut through the sound of her heartbeat blaring in her ears. "I just did."

"Oh."

Blackjack whizzed through the sky—to their left, Thalia was still snoozing on Porkpie, as if she didn't just have the worst day of her life.

Or, because she did.

Annabeth slumped. She knew Percy wouldn't want to hear it. She was going to sound insane, and desperate, and like she couldn't let go—and he wouldn't be wrong about it, but it…

It was Percy.

It would hurt.

But he deserved to know.

"Percy?" she started, her throat going dry. She blamed it on the altitude.

"Annabeth?" he replied, the sound of a smile on his voice. He leaned a bit closer, covering the space she'd made when her shoulders sagged down. "Careful."

"Luke isn't dead."

Sigh. He moved back. "It was a really bad fall. I don't think anyone—"

"The same way you knew about me," Annabeth said, clenching her jaw. She had to keep it together. At least until Olympus. "That's how I know."

She didn't have to look behind her to know he was pouting.

"Percy."

"…"

She reached for his hands on the reins—freezing and pale and familiar. She kept her palms on his knuckles, warming them up. "Thanks, Seaweed Brain. For coming. For finding me."

"…You would do the same for me," he mumbled, and she smiled to herself, suddenly feeling healthier than a huntress.

He was absolutely right.

She could not let him know that.

Annabeth tilted her head, acting not quite coy, but very close to it. "Hmm. Would I?"

"You would."

"Very presumptuous."

"Are you sure, Wise Girl?" Percy asked, his face suddenly dangerously close to her own. "You're telling me, that if a monster grabbed me and fell off a cliff, that you wouldn't chase it down to find me?"

She gawked, faux-insulted, just to show off. "It's possible, Percy."

"You lied about leaving me in Hephaestus' trap to finish our quest. You un-guinea pigged an entire cage of pirates on the off-chance that one of them was me. Not to mention all the unnecessary capture the flag rescues." He frowned at her, but she heard the hidden smile in his voice. "It's completely impossible."

"Like I couldn't be different for onc—"

"Promise me something?" he said suddenly. He moved his torso to the side, and she felt his eyes on her.

"I'll find you if you ever go missing," she said, rolling her eyes. "Can't imagine you'd be hard to find with how much trouble you attract, though. Just look for the guy threatening the gods, unprompte—"

He sounded a little hoarse. "I was going to say, just, not to go missing again. Please."

Laugh. "You think you had to ask?" Annabeth shifted, just enough to look up at him. "Like, did you think that was my pla…" Anything else she had to follow up died in her throat.

He looked…

He looked twelve.

Looked like he was about to sit on a golden throne.

Looked like he was about to leave her in the Fields of Asphodel.

Looked like he was about to force his way into Olympus.

"Just making sure," Percy whispered, on autopilot. He rested his forehead on her shoulder. "Seriously. I was losing it."

She thought he sounded like her back then, when she'd tied her necklace around his neck for luck.

Like it was something just for them.

"Okay," Annabeth said. "I promise."

She didn't know why she said it.

She just figured it had something to do with the gymnastics routine going on in her stomach.

(There was a moment of recognition—or, perhaps, of remembrance—when Thalia's name was called to lead Artemis' troupe.

Percy had been jittery and pale in the moments just before—worse by far than when he was freshly freed from holding the sky—and suddenly, when the announcement was made, all color had returned to his face. Annabeth clicked together the near-gibberish he was trying to tell her, and promised herself one other thing as they slow-danced in a quiet, Olympic garden:

She was burning the recruitment pamphlets the second she got home.)

two

This cursed quest.

They'd lost Grover and Tyson to the Labyrinth, and now this:

Surrounded by hound-like sea monsters in Hephaestus' forge, no way out, no options left.

And Percy was trying to get her to run. Again.

(Why was it always something to do with Hephaestus?

Why was it always Percy who she had to leave behind?)

The worst part was it made sense—she knew how to get back to camp. She could get help faster than anyone else. Percy was insanely strong, even if he couldn't see it. He could hold out if he was careful enough.

It was a good strategy.

Her mother would be proud.

…But what if he couldn't?

What if this was it?

She remembered the Big House. That shaky walk back down the stairs. The way she took so long that by the time she'd made it to the last few steps, Percy had already stormed in to find her.

The lie she gave him and Chiron and everyone else who was within hearing distance.

It was something like that. I don't remember.

She'd felt the pang of betrayal that Percy's face had conveyed, but now the prophecy bit back at her, as if daring her to ignore it again.

"Annabeth, I'll be fine," Percy repeated, for who knows how many times now. He held her by her shoulders, squeezing gently as if the pressure would make the words more solid, more possible.

He was a lousy liar.

She had to tell him.

The words were stuck in her throat, and she felt like if she said them, her lunch would come with.

But she had to.

"Percy, the last line of the prophecy—"

"You can tell me at camp," he said with a shake of his head. He held her hands now, and she realized she was pushing herself closer to him.

"Percy, please," she pleaded, her eyes darting from his left to his right and back again. Her head was pounding—is this what he felt in the cab, the bus, the woods, the emporium? The weight of fate on his shoulders at twelve, even when he didn't understand it, even when he didn't want to believe it?

Is this what he felt when he didn't know who it would be, to fulfill his prophecy?

She could see the oracle in her memories, and the words in hazy green smoke made her want to bargain to hold up the sky all over again.

Anything. Everything. Anything but that.

Anything but this.

"Annabeth," he said, eyes locked on her as he shook his head once. "I need to buy you time."

Time, time, time.

It was always against them.

That blue thread and that green smoke.

She stared at the grey in his hair, the beads on his neck, the blue of his eyes. This could not be how it went.

Could it?

"…Promise me something," she managed with a dry gulp and a squeeze on his hands. It wasn't a question, not like before.

It was an order.

He still looked at her like he was trying to take note of everything about her.

Just in case.

"I'll be back at camp," he promised.

The tiniest smile crept up on her lips while the largest tear tore down her cheek. "I was gonna say…come back to me."

He smiled, wiping the tear and its trail off her face. "You think you had to ask?"

He said it so gently, like he knew what he was doing and was going to do.

She almost believed him.

"Just…" Annabeth tried to memorize every part of his face. Every line, every crease, every curl. "…just making sure."

"Go," Percy whispered, eyes locked on hers. She knew this much—he wouldn't look away until he figured she was safe, invisible or not.

Until it was just him and the telekhines and the burning lava.

A final stand for camp.

For her.

The thought made her as brave as he was.

She memorized chapped lips and saltwater, too.

(Perhaps the worst part of it all was that she didn't realize sooner what a loved one could be—what are prophecies but poems, and what are poems but a presentation of wordplay? Her closest relationships were being torn asunder and it's ridiculous, really, that nothing can last as well as marble and stone. That even those needed constant repair and protection if you wanted them to last millennia.

Grover was the only one allowed to see her cry at night, and she hoped to all the gods that Percy doesn't dream of it because of their connection—not now, when he already felt leagues away.

She'd lost her brother.

She didn't want to know what it was like to lose her love, too.)

one

Annabeth wasn't sure how to feel, but the cupcakes helped.

Baking helped.

Dirtying her hands with something that would bring joy after days of being forced to see blood and dust and poison on every surface she'd laid her eyes on…it helped.

It helped to remember why she fought.

For their future.

For the world.

For this dummy of a sixteen-year-old boy who made her do stupid, stupid things, just by flashing a smile at her.

She might not have known what love was before, but she knew that if it wasn't the feeling being around Percy gave her—that Styx-level invincibility, that Olympian-level importance—she didn't want it.

"Hey," Annabeth said, plopping down beside him at the end of the dock, her package strategically hidden from Percy's peripheral.

Her legs were crossed—they wouldn't reach the water, anyway, but moreso to match Percy and to have an excuse to be bumping into him with every little movement. The view from down on the slatted planks wasn't as vast as the one up at the Plaza, but it was more familiar.

More like home.

More like something she could be around forever.

"Hey," Percy said, smiling. He leaned back on his hands like he always did, just enough to be closer to her eye level. "Long day."

She laughed. Long day was a severe understatement, not least because it was actually a long several days, and with cleanup still ongoing…it didn't really show any signs of stopping.

Only pauses, like for this. Like for now.

He grinned so wide at her laugh that she thought maybe he was about to remind her to just be a kid, and the thought made her laugh some more—light and airy, bright and free.

"What is it?" he asked, brows scrunching together in joyous confusion. He'd stretched his legs and scooted closer. His hand nudged closer to hers; she didn't flinch when his pinky rested on top of her own. "What's so funny?" he insisted, face following hers as the giggles died down.

"It's nothing," she said, aware of the somethings flying around in her gut, uproarious like the victory party on Olympus. And Percy being…very close to her face.

Two inches, max.

Maybe two-and-a-half.

"…Forget it," Annabeth whispered, eyes glancing down to his lips and reliving a memory from a distant, dark cavern. When she found his eyes again, she'd caught him at the tail-end of mirroring her.

He swallowed slowly, like the New York summer humidity was drowning him. Or, y'know, something equally devastating for a son of Poseidon.

Ahem. "So, Tyson helped me with something," Annabeth said.

"Hmm?" Percy said. He'd switched to hyperfocusing on her eyes, but the mention of his half-brother knocked him back to the present. "Oh." Blink. "With what?"

She held the little cupcake box out to him: Tyson's doing, with little doodles from him, Grover, Juniper, and herself all around it. It was blue and silver and white, with a swirl-and-wave pattern covering the entire box—a little version of the Queen Anne's Revenge, Blackjack's worst ever portrait, stick-naiads and -nereids, and a pair of tangled Camp Half-blood necklaces floated along the waters.

She knew her smile was something special by the way she felt the crinkle on the sides of her eyes. "Happy birthday, Seaweed Brain."

His eyes were puffy. "It's…"

"August 18th."

There was another lump in his throat. "Oh."

"The prophecy came true."

"The prophecy came true." Percy smiled softly at her, like he considered her more important than saving the world. "Thank you, Wise Girl."

Annabeth could swear she once knew how not to smile. "Don't forget the others."

"Eh, they're not here. They don't need to know."

"That you're thankful?"

"That you're my favorite."

Oh. "Oh." She faked a cough, but her cheeks were starting to hurt. "I could get used to hearing that."

"…Can I open it?"

"Only if you share."

"Okay, like I'd risk you kicking my butt."

"You've risked it before."

"Mm-mm," Percy hummed, picking up the lopsided mega-cupcake, "bad strategy. Athena would kill me."

"She almost did," Annabeth said, bumping into him.

"This could count as a weapon, though," he said, light laughter on his lips as he struggled to carefully split the dessert. Blue icing stuck all over his hands, and crumbs bounced down into the lake as he passed her half of the masterpiece. "…Oops. I can fix that."

"Grover's gonna kill you," Annabeth said, tsk-tsk-tsking. She watched as some of the crumbs and larger bits were carried off by gentle waves. "Ohhh, you're dead dead, Percy."

He bit into his half. "I can't die, actually."

She bit into hers. "Yes, you can, actually."

"Righ', bu'—" Swallow. "—only if you snitch."

Her manners kicked in; she swallowed before answering, "You think I wouldn't snitch?" Her brow shot up. "To Grover?"

"Is Grover your favorite?"

"Eh. Solid second."

"Aww!"

"First is Thalia."

"Fighting words…you're lucky I'm done for the day." He took another bite of blue. "I'e fough' duh go' o' wuh won', eh wo'. Eh-wuh-uy."

Unintelligible—one of her favorite states of him, no joke. It's like he did it just to see if she could solve the puzzle, and she loved him for that. She got it as fast as he spoke it:

I've fought the god of war once, and won. F-Y-I.

Annabeth smiled to herself, training her eyes on the horizon. The sun was starting to sink.

There was a moment today—or maybe it was yesterday?—when she didn't think she'd have another sunset to enjoy. She didn't think about dying, or almost dying. She didn't think about the world ending, or the titans winning.

But she did think of no longer having Percy beside her while she watched the sun go down. No longer sharing some ridiculous food and some laughter.

No longer being extremely aware of how close they were to each other without even looking.

The sound of him washing off his hands in the water reminded her what life was about: Little moments on the wings of big changes.

The secret comforts of home.

The hearth.

She heard crickets starting early, starting up an orchestra worthy of Apollo.

It was beautiful.

"Rachel's the Oracle now," Annabeth said, almost monotone.

"Yeah," Percy said, almost like a throwaway.

"You don't sound disappointed."

"Neither do you."

"Why would I be disappointed? I am a girl's girl." She raised the last bite of her cupcake, like a toast. "More power to no dating, I say!"

Percy fell back, cackling. "Liar!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Is that a challenge, Percy Jackson?"

"All I'm saying, Annabeth Chase," he said, leaning forward, "is I bet you're glad I didn't accept the gift of godhood."

"Exceptionally full of yourself, I'll give you that," she said, not-so-secretly smiling. She uncrossed her legs, keeping one knee up just so she could hug and hide her face behind it.

Percy looked at her like she was moonlight in essence and sunlight in grandeur. "I am, too, by the way."

"Full of yourself? Yes. We've established that."

"No. Glad I didn't accept immortality."

He said it in a whisper.

She heard it in a promise.

"…When I was at the River Styx," he started, a little stronger, "Nico said—well, he said I could burn up into nothing, and we could all lose, and a bunch of other really depressing stuff—but he said, um, that I had to have a tether. An…an anchor. Something to hold me to 'my mortal life'—" (She heard the air quotes.) "—something, or someone, who was really important. Is really important."

She looked down at the water. "So you wouldn't die in the River Styx."

Burning in the salve.

Zero interest in finding out what that felt like.

"Right." He let the crickets play their tune, swaying enough to find her shoulder, her arm, her leg. "I almost…I almost drowned."

Annabeth stilled, waiting.

"I didn't, but—almost."

Her throat was dry. "Glad you didn't."

His seemed worse. "Glad you pulled me out."

It was whiplash, the way she spun around. "What—"

"—You know, interrupting someone with ADHD is like, evil." He was pouting. "Super evil. Makes it hard for them to finish their thought."

She couldn't help it: "You have thoughts?"

"So many thoughts. Too many thoughts."

"Of?"

"So many things, Annabeth. Millions. Multitudes."

"Wow, that's news."

"…Please stop bullying me."

"I'm not!"

"You're making my life so much harder to live, and I, again, cannot die."

"You were just talking about needing an anchor to mortality. That literally means you can die."

"Uh-huh."

"Sooo? Was it anyone I know?"

"Alright, you know what?" Percy teased back, squinting and leaning right into her personal space. "Guess."

Annabeth grinned, lifting a hand to his chin. His skin was warm and his cheeks were red and his curls were puffed-up humid, but she thought that this was him at, undeniably, his most handsome.

So there was only one logical thing to say:

"Promise me something?"

"I'll pretend you don't drive me crazy."

"I was gonna say," she said, moving in in slow-mo, "stop talking."

Half-lidded eyes glanced down. "…You think you had to ask?"

"Just…" she murmured as the distance faded, a smile to top all smiles perfectly set on her lips, "…making sure…"

(Clarisse probably thought she was doing something, setting that unhinged, serotonin-starved mob on them. They'd kept Percy and Annabeth close enough to hold hands, but what did the group think would happen once they hit the water? To a son of Poseidon?

But Ares wasn't known for details, or detours.

Much like her father, her little trick got turned into something wonderfully permanent, and if you asked them about it, the answer would never change:

Percy would tell you his favorite part was kissing underwater.

Annabeth would tell you her favorite part was never letting go.)