Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Percy wakes up with a sun in his chest.

A familiar feeling. Something a bit too warm, something that leaves his skin glowing. Something that is a promise and an omen.

So it's today, he thinks.

~

When Percy reaches the library, the sun goes out.

It leaves behind a lead hammer, racing blood, an urge to run away but a pull to get closer. It leads him to the second level. He goes around a corner, passes full shelves, and stops at a circle of books. Some are open, others still closed, most are covered in notes and sketches. In the middle, a woman.

Percy stares. Percy all but cries. And then Percy shifts and trips over a book and her head snaps up.

Some would call it fate, the way they meet; the way their eyes lock and cause electricity to arch through their nerves.

Percy knows better.

Still, he can't stop the soft smile that splits his lips. "Sorry for disturbing you."

Grey eyes look at him, blazing in the sun trickling through the window. They're as calculating as always, but Percy knows. He knows that shining gentleness, that small sparkle of amusement. Half her mouth twitches upwards and Percy knows. 

She tucks a blonde curl behind her ear and Percy feels his heart clench. 

"No, I'm sorry," she says, and her voice is everything. "I shouldn't have made such a mess."

Percy's heart stutters. It's like the beginning of a dance. One he's done many times, but one he's never quite prepared for. 

Take a deep breath. Hold it. The first beat of music, the first step. "You call it a mess but it seems pretty organized."

Pink crawls across her cheeks. "Oh, uh, I guess. To me, at least."

Release the breath. Get lost in the music. Keep moving. "My mind kind of works that way too." He offers a shrug.

She looks at Percy, opens her mouth, closes it, glances away. A hand reaches up to play with her necklace and Percy almost trips again. 

"I'm Annabeth."

Yes, Percy thinks, you are. 

"Percy."

He crouches down and offers her a hand. She takes it. A star is created and destroyed in their palms. Neither of them let go.

She smiles, and it causes her eyes to melt. "Nice to meet you."

It's not a lead hammer anymore. It's a firework, bursting in his chest, threatening to blow his ribs apart.

"Likewise."

The music stops. Act one creeps towards the end.

If Percy could have it his way, act two would never begin.

*

"Hello?"

"I met her, Rachel."

"Oh, my day is also going swell, thanks for asking."

"Rachel, please."

A static filled sigh, a sound not much different from Percy's nerves. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say. You interrupted my daily meditation."

Percy scoffs. "You don't meditate."

"Sure I do."

"Is that what you call cursing the gods and your gift of foresight?"

"Yes."

Snorting, Percy falls back onto his bed. "Okay, I can't say I blame you." A pause. "Did you know?"

"Of course I did. I also know that you didn't just meet her today. You've been watching over her for years."

"How did you know that?"

"Please, I know everything."

"I hate you." And then he takes a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me?"

A single, humorless laugh. "We both know it wouldn't have made a difference."

Percy lays a hand over his eyes. Rachel is right, as always. Frustrating. This story is one that has been rewritten over and over and over. The ending never changes. At least, not enough.

"I don't think I can go through it again."

Rachel doesn't say anything for a moment and Percy can barely hear her breathe over the phone. "But you're going to see her again, aren't you?"

In his ear, Percy's phone dings. A text from Annabeth, he knows. "Gods, how could I not?" A beat, hesitation. "We have a date tomorrow."

"Of course you do." Her voice isn't accusatory. It isn't even angry, it's just a mix of heavy hope and deep sadness. Rachel takes a shaky breath, seems to debate before speaking her next words. "Regarding your emotions…."

A cold hand grips Percy's heart. "Rachel, don't—"  

"How are you feeling?"

A bitter laugh crawls out of his lips, stinging tears slipping from his eyes. The question is more complicated than it has any right to be. Percy can feel the missing pieces, the phantom feelings pulling and aching and begging.

But Percy cannot figure what they want to connect to. 

"Please don't ask me that."

*

A text conversation, sometime when the darkness of night is deep:

"you should sleep"

"says you"

"but i don't want to"

"why not"

"bc i'm talking to this pretty girl i met today"

"ha

pretty shameless aren't you"

"what of it"

"you're ridiculous

you'll see me tomorrow"

"you're right

why are you awake then"

"cause some dork i met today won't shut up.

my phone keeps buzzing"

"do i need to beat someone up for you"

"ha

you hardly know me

go to sleep"

"only if you do"

"fine"

"fine

.

sweet dreams"

*

Percy looks up when the door dings and feels the flicker of a flame try to catch. 

Golden curls are half pinned back, half falling around her shoulders. Light makeup dusts and circles her grey eyes, sparkling as they take in the cafe. A simple sundress, full of lace and swirling patterns, hugs her, flows around her knees.

A princess, Percy thinks. Annabeth looks like a princess, just like when they first met, just like—  

"Hey," Annabeth says, the word almost uncertain. She approaches the counter, looking around before finally settling on his gaze. A small smile sits on her lips. 

The flame comes alive, just barely.

"You said to meet here, but….is this where you work?"

Percy grins and leans forward on the counter. He wants nothing more than to grab a curl between his fingers, to press a kiss to her mouth full of years of love and wanting.

But none of it would make sense to her, so instead, Percy curls his fingers into a fist.  

"Actually, this is where I live."

A brow raises.

Chuckling, Percy slips his apron off and walks around. "I own this place. Pretty sure I'm here more than home."

"You...own this place? But you're….so young."

"Looks can be deceiving." He winks at her, ignoring the bitter taste in his mouth, and turns to yell into the kitchen. "Hey, I'm going out! Remember to lock up!"

"What?" An incredulous voice answers. " You're leaving early?" Leo steps out, a smirk growing as soon as his eyes land on Annabeth. "Oh, ho ho, I see."

"Shut up and get back to work."

"I didn't say anything!"

"Yet."

Leo laughs, his eyes twinkling. "Yet."

Annabeth smiles at him. "Don't worry, sir, I'll have him back home by midnight."

"Ah, yes, thank you. If he does something stupid, make sure to record it, will you?"

Scowling at Leo, Percy walks to the other side of the counter, steering Annabeth away by her shoulders. "Don't burn the place down."

"No promises!"

They step out into the hot afternoon. Annabeth laughs into her hand. "He seems nice."

Percy grunts. "More like a pain in my ass."

Smothering a giggle, Annabeth turns to him. Her eyes are almost golden in the sun, and Percy finds himself in a different place, a different time.

("We will be killed, at best. Exiled, at worst." "Worse still would be to not do it, to not be with you." "Perseus." "Annabeth. Our love could burn down the world and the gods and us with it and I would not care.")

"Percy?"

The name is garbled, somewhere far above the waves that pull him under. Over and over again. His control over water have no power here, not against the waters of the past.

"Percy!"

Snapping back to reality, Percy shakes his head. In front of him, Annabeth is reaching a hand forward, an inch away from his face, eyebrows drawn and teeth digging into her bottom lip.

"Sorry, what?"

Her hand falls. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm—I just spaced out, is all. Sorry." He offers a grin and his arm. "Shall we?"

Annabeth seems uncertain, a million questions dancing in her eyes, but she loops her arm through his and lets him lead them through crowded streets. 

To distract himself, Percy asks her about school. The way her eyes light up and her nerves seem to fade into tooth filled smiles put Percy at ease. The fire burns less, expands in his chest gently, like a campfire and singing. 

“I’m studying architecture,” she tells him, and Percy feels so familiar here. “I’ve visited most of the landmarks here in the states, but my list is never ending. I’d love to see—”

“The Parthenon?” 

Annabeth blinks at him, eyes wide. “How did you know that?” 

“Lucky guess.” There’s something both light and heavy nestled in Percy’s chest. 

Curling her fingers tighter around his arm, Annabeth awards him with a dazzling grin. The sun behind her dims in comparison. “Well, you’re right. I want to see it, and all the others, and then I want to create something too. Something permanent and lasting.” 

“That’s an admirable goal.” 

Annabeth’s cheeks turn pink. “You don’t think it’s egotistical?” 

Percy wants to laugh, all too aware of her fatal flaw, but also of her abilities. “Maybe a little. But confidence looks good on you.” 

Annabeth reddens and Percy lets out a chuckle. Soon, they arrive at Ess-a-Bagel. Annabeth delights over the iced tea selection, but struggles reading the food menu. It’s so endearing that Percy is almost reluctant to offer suggestions to her, to place the order and walk out. 

But he knows their destination is worth it. 

“We’re not eating here?” 

Percy just offers a crooked grin and grabs her hand, leading her. It doesn’t take long to get there, and when they do, Percy stops, allowing Annabeth to get a look first. It’s worth it. It’s all worth it, even if he knows how this story ends, even if Percy knows what will happen just before curtain call. It’s worth seeing her almost drop her tea, lips parted, eyes wide and searching and shining as she takes it in. Annabeth is glowing in wonder and amazement and the soft glow of fading daylight. He doesn’t blame her. Way back, when Percy first saw the finished project of Greenacre Park, he probably looked much the same.

Though, that time, he had his arm wrapped around her waist as she cut the ribbon, and—  

“How have I never noticed this before?” 

“True beauty doesn’t seek attention.” 

Annabeth looks at him, searches him. She must find something there, because she looks away and fiddles with her necklace. “This is gorgeous.” 

“I prepared us the best seat in the house.” He guides her to a table set, near the waterfall. The sun is beginning to dip towards the horizon, casting the sky orange and pink. The single rose on their table is lit aflame in the dying light, much like Percy’s heart. 

They sit and eat with idle conversation. Annabeth admires the waterfall and the slight structure around it. She takes notes, makes some small sketches, and Percy just watches with a grin. 

“Sorry,” she says. 

“Don’t ever apologize to me.” 

She blinks at him and Percy watches the walls rise up in her eyes again. “Are you real?” 

A hollow laugh escapes his chest, the fire dimming. “Unbearably so.” 

Her eyebrows furrow. “Sometimes you talk like an old fashioned woman in love.” 

Percy laughs, a full, warm laugh. It’s been so long since he’s felt like this. So long since he’s felt. "You're the one asking people if they're real."

Annabeth puffs out her cheeks and looks away. She looks about to say something, but that's when it happens.

The beginning of Act Two.

An empousa leaps into the park, snarling. Annabeth curses under her breath, grabbing for a dagger hidden against her thigh. Percy shouldn't, but he grins at the sight. Always resourceful and always unfairly attractive while settling into battle mode.

"Perseus," the empousa sneers, "I've been looking for you."

Sighing, Percy stands up. He is very aware of the way Annabeth looks between him and the monster, worried, confused, uncertain of her standing. 

"You have? How flattering." 

"I'll rip you apart."

"Skipping the flirting this time, are we?"

The empousa snarls.

"You know this monster?" Annabeth finally finds her voice, fingers curled around her dagger, the bronze glinting in the final sunlight.

"You could say that."

The empousa darts her eyes over to Annabeth, straightening with a grin of venom. "Annabeth," it hisses, "I see. So you've been reunited."

"Reunited? What do you mean?"

The monster laughs, dark and rattling and straight from Tartarus itself. "I see. I see. You don't remember." Pointing at Percy, the monster cackles again. "She doesn't know anything, does she? The cycle has begun again."

Percy clicks his teeth together. "Shut the hell up."

"I'm so glad! I get to see it again, the depths of your pain and despair. How delicious."

Annabeth creeps forward, stance ready to jump, dagger ready to defend or attack. "What are you talking about?"

The flames of the empousa's hair brightens, swallows any of the remaining fire within Percy. All that remains is a cold rage. "So you were looking for me," he says, voice steely. "Was it just to taunt me, or did you need something?"

"Well, I wanted to kill you, of course." A pause. The monster traces a finger down Annabeth's cheek, across her jaw. "But this torture will be even better."

Annabeth is frozen, a rare sight. "Torture?" Her voice is small. "The cycle? What—"

Percy rips the pen from his pocket, tears the cap off, and slices the monster into dust before Annabeth can even blink again.

"I warned you."

Annabeth watches the dust fade, pale face sickly in the moonlight, her hair more silver than blonde. She won't meet Percy's eye. Her hands shake.

"Annabeth?" The anger is gone from his voice, but not from his veins. Never from his roaring blood. He caps Riptide and reaches out. "Are you okay?"

She shakes her head, drops her dagger, shakes her head harder. "My brain... it's like it's trying to reach for something...but it doesn't know what."

Percy could cry, but instead he grabs Annabeth's shoulders and forces her to look at him. Her eyes are two ghosts, haunted and far, far away.

"Don't dwell on it. Just come back to me."

Her face twists. "Back to you? I don't even know you."

"I am painfully aware of that."

"What?"

Percy closes his eyes, puts his forehead against hers. "Just trust me, okay?"

Grey eyes harden. A wall, building itself back up, willing the fog away. "Why should I?"

It's like a knife to his lung. A slow, puncturing hole that leaks out over time, prolonging the pain. "Please."

She hears the desperation in his voice, but clearly does not understand it. Annabeth bends down, out of his grasp, and reclaims her weapon. "We should go to camp."

The last thing Percy wants to do. "You're right."

"You know camp."

It's not a question, so Percy does not answer. 

*

A conversation, sometime when the silence in the car becomes too heavy:

"You're hiding something."

"Aren't we all?"

"Percy."

"Look, if there is ever something I don't tell you, it is for your safety."

"And why should I believe that?"

"You're just going to have to."

"That's illogical."

*

"Annabeth!"

Chiron's face is pulled into a grin, galloping over. "How nice for you to drop by."

"Hey, Chiron. Sorry for not calling."

"No matter, my dear. But why—" His eyes look past her, and his face falls. Something somber settles into the brown orbs, old and weary. "Percy, my boy…."

Percy doesn't look at his gaze. The last thing he wants at the moment is pity. "Been awhile, Chiron."

"Oh, so you two also know each other." 

Percy sighs. "Annabeth, it's not like I could just tell you I was a demigod any more than you could've told me."

"But I've never seen you here."

"Ah," Chiron interjects, "Percy spends most of his time helping out his father."

Something dark and heavy hits Percy in his ribcage and he can't breathe.

"Really? Because he told me he spends most of his time at his cafe."

"Well, if he's doing both, it's no wonder he isn't here, hm?"

Percy wants to be thankful to Chiron, should be singing his praises, but instead he feels weighed down. Too many times has Chiron said these exact words. Too many times have they thrown around excuses.

Too many times has Percy's father been a false alibi that Percy would rather cut down.

Annabeth looks at him. Her chin is jutted out and up, jaw set, eyes cold and calculating and solid metal. Percy feels the fire in his chest ignite, pitter out, ignite again, burning ashes.

"Who is your father, anyway?"

It's the same level of haughtiness as when Percy first met her, lifetimes and lifetimes ago. It's the same tone of voice that made him smirk at her. It's the same look of defiance and trembling pride that made Percy ever reach out to her in the first place.

Now, Percy looks at her and has to fight away a smile. A grimace. A groan. Now, Percy has to resist the urge to grab her hand and run runrun away. There must be somewhere safe. He just hasn't found it yet. There must be a haven for them. 

"You won't like my answer," he says.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, Wise Girl, your mom is Athena, right?"

Her eyes narrow into slits. "Another lucky guess?"

As if Percy ever has to guess with her anymore. He smirks. "The hair and the eyes give it away. That and the owl tattoo on your wrist, love of architecture, specifically the Parthenon, and your wit. Not really a guess."

Annabeth's eyes roll this time, but Percy catches the stiffening of her shoulders. "Fine." There's a flash across her face. Being outsmarted is one of her least favorite things. "Now, who is your father?"

Percy's tongue coats itself with poison, burning at even the thought of saying the name. He turns to Chiron. "Care to do the honors?"

Sadness clings to the centaur, his eyes filled with bittersweet longing as he watches them.

Percy looks away.

"Annabeth," Chiron says, "this is Perseus, son of the stormbringer, earthshaker, god of the sea, Poseidon."

Sighing, Annabeth lets her head fall back, staring at the sky. "Wonderful."

"Annabeth," Percy tries to keep the desperation out of his voice, but he's sure he fails. There is no shame in it, though, not for him. After everything, he can't stand Annabeth being mad at him. It is the one thing he will not allow. "Please don't be mad at me. For all I knew, you were mortal."

Annabeth looks at him and she knows he's lying. Still, her muscles relax and Annabeth offers a grin. "I thought you were mortal, too." A teasing lilt creeps into the base of her voice, and Percy remembers Annabeth's smiles and laughs and words from earlier. He remembers sitting at the park with her as if nothing else mattered (nothing does). She's still searching, but maybe for more than Percy realizes.

"Care for a do over?"

"And risk pissing off my mother?" Stormy eyes search him, a teasing light all but buried within, then close in a genuine smile. "Sure."

*

"Do you know how to break curses, Chiron?"

"If I did, do you truly think I would have just stood by this long?"

"I find it unlikely you'd defy the gods."

"Maybe not before, but…."

"But?"

"Percy, I have seen many tragedies in my years, but never have I seen the same one repeat itself endlessly."

"And?"

"And the gods need to learn to put limits on their cruelties."

*

Percy dreams of the past and future both that night.

They are fragments. Tartarus towering over them; Percy pushing Annabeth into an elevator, alone; Percy taking a knife for Annabeth only for her to show him her weak spot later; a princess; blurred faces of those he has failed. Bits and pieces of years close and years far, colliding into one crystal clear moment:

Annabeth, grinning with crimson at the corner of her mouth, a finger tracing his jawline.

"Don't cry. We'll meet again."

And then Percy is lurching forward and stumbling into something he has never seen before. 

A crumbling building, a rumbling voice splitting the earth, a crying scream in the distance. Faces he hasn't seen before. Rachel with glowing green eyes, and Annabeth….

Annabeth running fingers through his hair, whispering in his ear, falling to the ground, crying, something hitting Percy in the back and—  

Percy lands on the floor of cabin 3 with a strangled cry, shaking, alone.

~

Despite everything, the ocean remains Percy's place of reprieve. 

He sits under the waves, lets the currents pass over him, move him, calm the raging storm in his mind. Creatures approach him, speak to him. Percy smiles and indulges them in conversation. Most of what they say doesn't mean much to him, but it clears his thoughts. Usually, his father lets him be here. It's the least he can do.

Hours later, probably some time after breakfast, Percy walks back onto shore.

And that's when he sees Piper McLean and realizes he has made a mistake. She's grown since he last saw her; more confident in muddy boots and ripped jeans and paint covered T-shirt than the tattered school uniform he first saw her in. Her dark skin is covered in new scratches and scars. A dagger hangs at her hip.

Percy is both happy to see her doing so well and dreading the fact that she's here.

Piper's brown eyes widen immediately, jaw dropping, and all she can manage is to point at him. There's a weird sound coming from her mouth, something that might be an attempt at a word. 

"Well," Percy mutters, as Annabeth follows her friend's gaze, "shit."

He jogs over to them, trying to shake his head and use his eyes to tell Piper to keep her mouth shut.

She doesn't get the message. Instead, she points a finger at him and gapes. "Aren't you—"

"Good morning, Annabeth," Percy forces in, nodding and directing a hard gaze at Piper, "Annabeth's friend."

"Good morning," Annabeth says as if the words are stuck. "Do you two know each other?"

"Not really," Percy says, too quick. Piper's head whips to him. He scratches the back of his neck. "Annabeth, could you do me favor and grab me some food? Seems I missed breakfast."

Eyes narrow, look at Percy, flick to Piper, and then stare at him some more. A storm rages, swirling with confusion and disbelief and a hint of jealousy. She juts out her chin, pointing it high.

Percy ignores how familiar the pose is, how it makes him feel.  

"Yeah." Her voice is tight and her gaze lingers until she is fully turned away. "Sure."

When she's out of sight, Piper turns on him so fast, Percy can't even blink. A finger jabs his chest. Hard. "Okay, what the hell is going on?"

Sighing, Percy runs a hand through his hair. "Piper, please."

Piper frowns and crosses her arms. "Please what? Aren't you Percy? The one who brought me to camp?"

"Yes."

"But that was over ten years ago."

"Yes."

"You look exactly the same."

Percy looks away, grimacing. "I know."

"What the fuck?"

"Listen, Piper, you can't tell her—"

"I won't lie to my best friend." The charmspeak washes over Percy. "You have to tell me what's going on. And Annabeth."

The words slam into Percy full force, but he clenches his jaw and fists until they ache. "I can't. You have to trust me."

 "Why?"

He looks at her, now. Her stance is set, guarded, purposefully not facing Percy head on. A breeze passes, catching her black hair and sending it whipping his way, as if in warning. 

"It's for her own good," Percy's voice breaks. He wonders what expression he must wear, because Piper's arms fall to her sides and her face softens. "Please, Piper."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I love her."

Piper blinks, takes a step back, studies him. As a daughter of Aphrodite, Percy is sure she'd be able to tell if he lied about this.

Not that he would. Not that he could . Not ever.

"Here's your stupid bagel," Annabeth says, startling them both.

The huffy attitude causes Percy to give her a crooked grin. "It's rude to call food stupid."

Annabeth rolls her eyes and looks at Piper. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Piper is still looking at Percy. Uncertain. Shaken. Suspicious, but also tender. Smiling, she turns to Annabeth. "Yeah, he just looks like someone I used to know. My mistake."

If Annabeth buys it, Percy is sure it's only because of the magic Piper laces into the words. That thought alone makes a heavy sense of guilt settle on his shoulders. Much like holding up the sky. He would know.

Annabeth would know, too, if she remembered.

Percy reaches for Annabeth, fingers brushing Piper's arm in a silent apology and thanks. "Come on, Wise Girl," he slings an arm around her shoulder, grinning wide when she doesn't pull away, "we've got a full day ahead of us."

~

Teaching sword fighting is refreshing. 

Chiron asked him to teach as a guest, just for today. At first, Percy was hesitant. It’s a dangerous gamble, in more ways than one, but Percy can hardly say no to Chiron. Not after everything the centaur has done for him.

It’s a lot nicer than he expects. Breaking down the steps and twists and turns to swordplay. There is no need for him to focus on restraining his power, as there is no need to exert it. He simply gets to laugh and coach and watch kids learn and grow. 

Percy isn't sure when he last enjoyed the feel of Riptide in his hand so much. It makes him think of a time years and years ago. Too many years to count. It makes him think of dark skin against a burning sun, teasing words, unwavering support, and a sacrifice. Even clearer, Percy sees blue eyes and mismanaged anger and a scar and betrayal. 

An older camper lunges, hoping to catch Percy off guard while he's lost in his thoughts. It doesn't work against Percy's instincts. He parries, sword tip at the campers throat, and grins. 

"Nice try."

“You’re amazing!” A starry eyed child of Ares runs over. “How did you get so good? How long have you been fighting?” 

And that’s when reality crashes back. Percy isn’t just teaching these kids to play, isn’t teaching them something so innocent as cooking. Percy is teaching them to fight for their lives. 

He tries not to dwell on their chances of survival. 

“Too long,” he says, and every erased scar on his body aches. 

~

During a short break, they play basketball.

Annabeth's curls are thrown into an already falling bun and her gaze is steady. She moves with purpose, as if it's all planned out, like a chess match. Too bad for her Percy has always been unpredictable. Too bad the salt water in his veins leaves him a force of destruction and uneven movements.

Too bad for Annabeth that she should know all of this and plan around it, but does not.

The trash talk is endless, the laughter is echoing, and the lingering touches are anything but accidental.

For a second, as Percy looks at her surrounded by golden sunlight, smiling and dazzling, Percy wishes this were a photograph. He wishes this were a segment of frozen time and they could stay in it forever.

He wishes forever would end already, her by his side.

~

Percy should have known.

A full day of camp comes to an end. Dinner and the campfire are about to begin, so he and Annabeth plan to leave. Percy has a plan and he has Annabeth next to him. She wears dark jeans and a flowing grey top that makes her eyes brighter, her hair is in a complicated updo that Piper likely did. Even Percy has thrown an emerald green tie messily over a black button up. A real date, with the almost certainty of more. All Percy wants is this one real chance; he wants to believe they're still in Act One, just for a little longer.

But experience should have prepared him.

Just as they're turning away from the Main House, Percy spots Rachel in the distance. She approaches them slowly. Percy even sees her stop at one point, only to stumble forward again.

"No," Percy murmurs.

Annabeth frowns. "Is that Rachel? You know her, too?"

The fire in Percy's chest is now nothing but cold ash. "Rachel," he says once she's closer, "please don't."

There are tears tracking her cheeks, eyes glowing green, mist flowing around her. "Percy, I'm so sorry. I—" Rachel freezes and she locks her gaze on the two of them. When she speaks again, the voice is not hers:

"When the cursed pair

Become again aware

The one with endless life

Will face their greatest strife

And a new story to be spun

By the forgetful one

When the sun rises

Claim either losses or prizes

And see the end

Of something even time cannot mend."

Rachel tumbles forward and Annabeth catches her. Eyebrows are pulled together, lips in a thin line. The fading sun surrounds her in an aura. Like fire.

It reminds Percy of all she has been and all she is and all she will be.

"Cursed pair," Annabeth mutters. "I wonder who that could be."

Percy wants to scream. He wants to rip his hair out and fall to his knees and scream and cry. He wants to drag the gods to this very spot and destroy their very essences with his bare hands. 

Instead, he lets out a string of curses in Ancient Greek and kicks at the ground. A stinging pain settles behind his eyes and he has to force himself to breathe.

Annabeth is looking at him in concern. "Can you help me get her inside? We should talk to Chiron."

It won't do them any good, Percy thinks. But he doesn't say it. He doesn't trust himself to say anything right now, so he doesn't.

Annabeth notices and keeps her eye on him the whole way in.

~

Chiron looks at Percy and Percy has to look away.

The brown eyes are too much like earth, like the dirt beneath the grass. Deep and full of layers and years. Nurturing but filled with so much pain. Willing to be stepped on over and over and over again if it means providing a space for others to live and grow.

"I see," is all Chiron says.

*

"It's just weird," Annabeth says, pointing at nothing with a fry. "Chiron hardly reacted at all."

Percy sighs. It's been two days since Rachel spoke the prophecy ("Percy I am so sorry I didn't know it was going to happen I don't know what it means I—"), and Annabeth has talked about it nonstop. Percy doesn't blame her, it's been keeping him up at night too, but he doesn't know how to answer her questions. He can't answer them. Not without putting her in danger again. Again and again and again and again . 

"He's probably used to it by now."

Frowning, Annabeth chews slowly. The diner is quiet around them, not the spot to be on a Monday night, apparently. Percy can't help but focus on the way Annabeth's fingers pick up the fries and then rub together to get rid of the salt. He can't help but focus on the swirling storm clouds trapped in her eyes. He can't help but focus on the twitches of her lips and how they smile when she laughs at a stupid joke.

"Even if he is, it still means something. And I think he knows what." She pauses, looks down at the plate. Quieter, she says, "and I think you do, too."

Something catches in his throat and Percy clears it, drinks some water. Annabeth raises her head to watch him. Eventually, Percy knows he has to speak. He chooses his words carefully. "Even if I did, it wouldn't do us any good."

"Why not?"

A tight smile pulls at his mouth, cracking his lip in the middle. "That's not how prophecies work."

*

"Remind me why I agreed to help you bake at 3am."

Percy looks over at Annabeth and has to purse his lips to hold in a laugh. There are dark circles under her eyes, stare blank, hair in a clearly unbrushed bun and bandana, and a slouch to her shoulders. A pout rests on her lips.

"I bribed you."

What Percy doesn't say is that an early morning spent doing something that requires movement and measuring and following directions was the only thing he could think of to distract Annabeth from the prophecy. It's the only thing he could think of to give them a reprieve, to maybe put a pause on the inevitable.

"Mmm, you better deliver." Sighing, Annabeth takes a black apron from the wall and ties it around herself.

"Don't worry. By the time Leo gets here, the scones should be ready for your consumption."

"Only if you stop staring and actually show me how to make them."

"Not so fond of mornings, are we, Wise Girl?"

Annabeth wrinkles her nose at the nickname. "What does that make you? An insufferable Seaweed Brain?"

It's familiar here and it tastes like nostalgia. Like a berry picked right before ripening. Percy just rolls his eyes and grabs the eggs and milk from the fridge. "Whatever. Just grab the flour, will you?"

It doesn't take long for Percy to come to the conclusion that Annabeth cannot cook. It doesn't surprise him. It does make him laugh at her, throwing teasing remarks and an almost too late no, not that!

It's also is why he ends up covered in flour with a glob of dough on his nose.

"You're so wasteful," he says, even as the smile fights its way up his face. "I do have customers to serve, you know."

Annabeth giggles, actually giggles, with a hand over her mouth. Flour is stuck in her hair, a dash of milk on her cheek, and buttery dough all over her fingers.

"You promised to serve me first, and yet…."

"Oh, don't even. This is all your fault."

"Is not."

"You set the mixer way too high."

"You weren't specific enough."

"You threw ingredients at me."

Annabeth straightens, tries to cool her expression into something unamused. She fails. "You deserved it."

"That's rude to say to someone who offered you food."

The back and forth doesn't stop, not even when food is finally in the oven and lunch items are being prepared. It only stops when Leo walks in, crosses his arms at them, and says, "who said you could turn my kitchen into a messy flirt den?"

To which Annabeth blushes and tries to clean up, while Percy indulges in a whole new argument of this is my kitchen. 

*

"What about your family?"

Annabeth looks over at him and Percy steels himself for the hard gaze. A sensitive subject, he knows. In all lifetimes.

Sighing, she turns on the couch to face him fully. The tv plays some sitcom they've been talking over quietly, the colors flashing across Annabeth's face. They blur her features. Percy drums his fingers along his thigh.

"My dad is an archeologist," she says the words slowly, chewing on each one before spitting them out. "A lucky one, actually part of travels and excavations. I spent most of my time at home alone." Annabeth pauses, playing with her necklace, staring at Percy's tapping fingers. "He tried to take me with him, once."

After a moment, Percy realizes she isn't going to finish the thought. He presses, "Didn't go well?"

She looks at him again, the blur of the screen softening her face in such a way that her expression almost melts. Somber. Lips pulled into a tight line. "Never does for a demigod, does it?"

Percy looks at her, looks and looks and looks. A million examples flash through his mind. Tearing flesh and pouring crimson and distant explosions and sacrifices and betrayals and blonde curls turned to ash.

He lets out a humorless laugh. "The most painful of truths."

Her head cocks to the side, but the question burning in her eyes is replaced with acceptance. "And there's my mom, but, you know…."

"Athena." The name burns his tongue and Percy wishes he didn't understand the full scope of what it means. Wishes he didn't understand even better than Annabeth what it means to have a god as a parent. To have that god as a parent.

Offering a shrug, Annabeth reaches out, taking Percy's hand in hers. She plays with his fingers. "What about you?"

There's a hollow ache in his ribs. There's a gaping hole that Percy uses baked goods and distant friendships and dying, decaying hope to fill. Right now, it expands. It swallows up his lungs and his heart and leaves him with nothing.

Nothing, but the constant rage.

"I don't really remember my mom," Percy finally says. He reaches for threads of truths, small pieces of the story, and weaves them into an ugly tapestry. "She died a long time ago. I can hardly picture her face anymore."

And it's true, it's all true, and Percy's unoccupied hand shakes. It's all true but it isn't the truth and he wishes he could rid himself of this role. Percy wishes he could end the play, once and for all. Percy wishes he could take his own thread from the Fates and sever it himself.

But he cannot. The Fates will hold it and keep it in place and there's nothing he can do. He looks at Annabeth and he thinks of the scars his body should have. Percy thinks of all the ways he has seen Annabeth leave him. And he's just so tired of this.

No, Percy thinks, he is just so angry.

Annabeth reaches up and cups his cheek. She doesn't say anything, just looks at him with melted silver eyes and blue washed skin. Her lips are pursed, pulled down at the corners. She is the image of beauty, Percy thinks, but also of sadness. A sadness so deeply rooted that Annabeth cannot possibly understand it in her current state. But Percy does.

Wordlessly, Percy pulls Annabeth into his chest and lets her silent tears drip into his shirt.

Somehow, it makes his anger pitter out, but flare up at the same time.

*

"Do you think memories live up there?"

Percy tears his gaze away from Annabeth's face to look up. They're laying in the grass, the cool air clinging to them, as they stare up at the clear, star filled sky.

Yes, Percy wants to say, memories of us looking at these same constellations, memories of heroes who have sacrificed their lives, memories of when the sky was even more brilliant, and memories of lost pasts.

"I like to think so," is what he settles on. "The stars have and will continue to always be there, afterall."

Annabeth hums. "Until they go supernova."

"Wow, okay, way to make it morbid."

Laughing, Annabeth turns her head at the same moment Percy does, locking eyes. She reaches and laces their fingers together. "Not morbid. An ending is always a new beginning, isn't it?"

Something sparks in Percy's chest, right between two of his ribs, and he sucks in a breath. Even without knowing, Annabeth always knows. 

Percy swallows thickly, inches a little closer. Annabeth's eyes are wide, searching, her entire being bathed in moonlight and Percy will never tire of seeing Annabeth like this: so very alive. 

"I'd say that's an understatement."

Annabeth's lips twitch. "You know how I said you sometimes speak like an old person in love?"

A laugh bursts out of his lips. "That isn't what you said."

"It definitely is. Anyways, it's more like you're a heartbroken poet who never leaves his house."

"You're really good at giving compliments, you know that?"

"It's my special talent." She's closer now, her breath fanning over his face. Her eyes melt. The next words are a ghost across his skin, "it's weird."

Percy reaches a hand out and traces her cheek. She doesn't stop him. He rolls onto his side. "What is?"

Annabeth rolls onto her side, too, and they're close and Percy feels a flame. "I'm not into cliches, okay?"

Percy smiles. "Sure."

"But it's like…." Biting her lip, Annabeth brings a hand to meet Percy's, plays with his fingers in thought. "It's like I know we just met but it feels like I've always known you."

The flame turns into a roaring fire and Percy curls his fingers around hers, around her jaw, and grins away the tears in his eyes. "Maybe our souls were once connected, once lost, and now together again."

She's smiling and it's so pure and genuine that it hurts Percy to look at. But he doesn't look away. 

"Hermit poet."

"Mood ruiner."

Annabeth's hand finds the base of his neck, fingers brushing at the hair there. "Shut up."

He's breathless. "Make me."

Annabeth looks at him for a moment and Percy can see her looking for a confirmation, looking for anything that might shatter this dream.

But this is reality and so she presses her lips to his and Percy could happily let himself drown in this moment.

*

"I had a weird dream last night."

Percy stills. They're sitting in a park, right out in the open. He wanted to stay inside, hidden. Maybe they can wait it all out, escape prophecies and fate and tragedy.

Wishful thinking, he knows, but he has to try. 

Annabeth insisted they go out, enjoy the sunshine, breathe in the fresh air, have space in case of an attack.

"What kind of dream?" He asks, not looking at her. 

Annabeth is a demigod, he reminds himself. She probably gets nightmares and prophetic and odd dreams all the time. It probably means nothing.

But Annabeth always gets weird dreams when Act Three draws near.

Percy can all but hear the dissonant chords beginning.

Next to him, Annabeth muses. She draws away, just a bit, just enough so their arms no longer touch.

It's cold, Percy decides, despite the sun.

"You were there," she says slowly, as if picking the words with the care of a florist arranging a bouquet. "We were in a dark place. I'm not sure where. It was hard to see and breathe and the clouds were red."

Percy can't breathe. The air here is suddenly acid, suddenly scorching and designed to kill. His throat is coated by the river of fire and Annabeth looks like a corpse.

He's back there.

"You were practically carrying me," Annabeth continues. "I think my ankle was broken, but you really weren't much better off. It blurred a lot but there was a giant and someone named Bob and you pushing me into an elevator all alone as the most terrifying thing I've ever seen reached for you."

Annabeth is looking at Percy and he knows his breathing must be labored. He knows that he should do as he always does and smile it away, fill the space between them with some flimsy reassurance.

But he can't. Not with this. Not when Annabeth is seeing that memory.

She grabs his hands and looks him straight in the eyes. The grey are dark dark dark and Percy wishes he didn't see a hint of red reflected in them, wishes he could unsee the fear in there, not unlike when they met Akhlys. Her fingers dig into his skin, shaking.

"Percy," a whisper, hoarse and filled with unshed tears. "What was that? You know, right?"

Percy is shaking his head, trying to shy away from her but she grabs his jaw. He can only imagine the wild look in his own eyes.

"Percy."

"I—" Percy chokes on air, looks at her, tangles fingers in her curls. "Annabeth, I can't tell you."

"You've been hiding something from me this whole time." She doesn't back down, doesn't let Percy look away. She is as fierce as ever. Her voice wavers. "If we really want to have a relationship, you can't just…. You have to be honest with me."

"I am being honest."

"You have to tell me things, Percy. You know something. Something important."

He thinks he might be crying now. "I know that you're important and that is why I cannot tell you."

Annabeth studies him for a moment, loosens her grip on his face. "Is it related to that prophecy?"

Now, Percy squeezes his eyes shut. "Yes."

"Can you at least tell me where we were? In that dream?"

Percy wets his lips, stares at the darkness behind his eyelids. Sees the quest in his mind. When he speaks, his voice is a ghost: "Tartarus."

He feels Annabeth jerk away from him before he even cracks his eyes open. Her hands are still in the air, still in the shape of cupping his face, but they're frozen. Her face is ashen, mouth agape, and eyes as big as the moon.

"Was it real?" It doesn't sound like Annabeth. It sounds like a pebble at the bottom of a river. Percy doesn't answer. She locks eyes with him again, brimming with quiet terror that Percy wishes he didn't recognize. "Are we the cursed pair?"

Percy doesn't say anything. Turns out, he doesn't have to. That's the moment the gods decide to intervene.  

There's a bright light, a searing heat, and Percy turns away just in time. He doesn't turn back. He watches Annabeth open her eyes, look, and tighten her jaw. 

"Mom?"

Ah, yes, of course, Percy thinks. This seems parr for the course.

"Annabeth." The voice is pure ice, shaped into a bullet, straight through the air. It shatters any moment that might have existed.

"What are you doing here?"

"Try not to sound too excited."

"Oh, so you finally learned sarcasm?" Percy regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. He hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"Perseus." It's a snarl this time. A whip covered in icicles.

Lingering his gaze on Annabeth, Percy slowly turns to look at Athena. Tall, too tall. A forced height, with the chin raised much like her daughter. Jeans and white blouse, black hair in an elaborate braid. Almost mortal looking, if not for the eyes of pure silver, angry and determined.

It's worse than looking into Medusa's eyes.

Percy knows what's coming. Still, he sits up, pulls a tight smile to his lips. "Athena. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Don't play coy with me."

"Perseus?" Annabeth asks, and she sounds dazed. An electric hand grips Percy's heart. " But—that—what?"

Athena looks at her daughter, and her face somehow hardens. "I see it is almost time."

Percy can't bring himself to look at Annabeth. He licks his lips. "Isn't that why you're here?"   

Deciding to say nothing, Athena steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder. Frigid, almost burning in its coldness. Percy tries not to flinch.

"Wow, going right for it this time, are we? No 'gods are not allowed to interfere' bullshit?"

"I tire of listening to you."

"Then let me die."

"Percy! Mother!" Annabeth cries. Her face is wide open and vulnerable, pale against the dying light of day. "Stop it! What's going on?"

If Percy didn't know better, he'd think Athena's eyes soften when they look at her daughter.

"Take this," is all she says to Annabeth, handing her a shield with a flickering screen on it.

"What?"

"Watch it."

"But—"

Percy feels it first. The shift in the wind, the salty smell to the air. Resigned, he sighs, and looks at Annabeth. She is confused and dazed and her eyebrows furrow. Even though her body is tense and fear clouds her eyes, she is alive. Annabeth is alive and looking at him and every bit as beautiful as ever. Percy feels the flame flicker in his chest, before a cold hand snuffs it out.

"I'll be back, Annabeth. That's a promise."

"What? Percy—"

"I'll always come back to you."

And then he hears his name ripped from her lips as everything goes black.

*

Percy wakes up in his father's palace.

"Yep," he says, pushing himself up. "This seems right."

"Does it?" A voice asks.

A pained smile finds its way to Percy's lips. He looks over. A long, scaled tail flicks, leading to a torso and eyes that look identical to Percy's own. Long, braided black hair. A frown.

"Triton."

"Perseus."

A moment passes. "Should we get it over with then?"

One of Triton's eyes twitches. "You are aware she is watching, right?"

"Yes. Quite horrifying, isn't it? What our father and her mother will make us do."

"Indeed." 

Triton studies Percy. Their relationship has never been brotherly. A long time ago, they had a mutual dislike for each other, solely from trying to gain their father's attention and affection. But, as time has shown, a bastard half-mortal son like Percy never stood a chance. Once, this left him bitter. Now, it leaves him indifferent. 

Honestly, Percy thinks, taking in Triton's tightly closed mouth, soft eyes darkened by duty, and outdated trident, he actually feels sorry for Triton.

"He can't force you to do this."

Something flashes across Triton's face and he grips the trident tighter. He comes closer. "He cannot. But the Fates can." Triton pauses, gesturing to Riptide on the wall. "Just as they can force you to fight back."

Anger rolls through Percy again. A familiar feeling. Too familiar. He grabs Riptide.

"I mean no disrespect, brother," Percy says, his first swing blocked easily, "and I hold no disdain towards you."

"The feeling is mutual."

Their fight doesn't last long. Even with the Fates and anger pushing Percy, his will to fight pitters out. It doesn't matter, anyway, he knows. The end has already been written.

Ichor pours from Percy's arm and his breathing labors. Distantly, a faded memory, he hears Annabeth's what are you, a god? from a lifetime before. The gold turns orange and then bright, damning red. Not quite , he replied, ignoring her confused cry.

Above the brothers, waves pound into land. Floods and storms and earthquakes are reported in multiple areas. Percy knows that their father does nothing to try and dampen the destruction. If anything, he probably encourages it.

Gods love nothing if not entertainment at others expense.

The crack in the bench Annabeth sits on is almost mirrored in the blood running down Percy's face. Triton stands over him, trident raised. 

"I'm sorry it has to be this way."

Percy coughs a weak laugh. "Always a pleasure, Triton."

And then a searing, unforgettable pain pain pain as his heart spasms and lets go. And then it's cold, so very cold and—

And then. 

Nothing.

*

Exactly seven days later Percy wakes up. 

"Hey stranger," a voice says above him, full of a heavy fondness. 

Peeling his eyes open, Percy sees Nico above him, dark eyes softening at the edges, pale fingers brushing bangs from Percy's face. 

"How are you feeling?" 

Percy's throat is dry as sandpaper, his lips are cracked, and there's a sharp pain in his head as Percy remembersremembers remembers . Annabeth's face appears in the back of his mind, but his chest remains cold and empty. Something between his ribs is trying desperately to beat, to reach, to spark. Percy swallows thickly averts his gaze.

"I'm not."

*

(the curtain falls on Act Two)

Chapter Text

Thanatos watches Percy leave with a hardened expression.

Over the years, the two have talked a handful of times. Usually, Percy asks for his death and Thanatos just waxes some tragic poetry. Percy doesn't really listen once it begins.

This time, arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised, Thanatos stops Percy at the last second. The god stares right into his eyes and something glints there. Percy doesn't understand it. At this moment, he doesn't really care.

At this moment, all Percy can really care for is the rage rushing through his veins.

"You approach your final end."

Percy waits. Thanatos says nothing else. Nico pulls on Percy's arm.

"Will there be peace?" He asks.

Thanatos looks away. "It is hard to say what the sunset will bring. I suppose it depends how you spend the daylight while it lasts."

There's something in Percy's chest that is calling to him. Something that is trying to stir and to catch. It flutters there, but Percy can't grasp it. It pitters out as he turns away.

"I know what I have to do," Percy says, "and it means I won't see you again."

Just as Percy crosses the threshold, just as the living world embraces him again, he hears a whisper, "you have chosen wrong."
~
(He passes Hades, too, and the look Hades gives him is much too soft and somber for the stories woven of the god.

Percy can't muster a reaction.

He walks away.)

*

Percy and Nico climb Half-Blood Hill, not prepared for the group that greets them.

Nearest the tree is Rachel, her expression hardened, but a small grin on her lips. Clearly, she knew he was coming back today. She doesn't seem thrilled, not that Percy is, either. Chiron is in his human disguise. He doesn't say anything. His face doesn't change. He just studies Percy. It makes Percy stare….stare...starelookaway. Something in his ribs moves.

"What the fuck?" Piper's jaw hangs open, one arm on Rachel's shoulder.

Percy just gives her a short nod, only concerned about one person, only seeking one pair of eyes. And when he finds them, grey tinged red and wide and puffy, Percy feels a flicker in his chest. He feels something reaching, but it falls short. Alwaysalwaysalways falls short.

"You're alive." It isn't a question.

"As are you."

Annabeth wrinkles her nose. Her jaw is lifted, but she still looks so small, with her arms crossed and spine rigid. She's lost weight. In only seven days, Annabeth has lost weight and sleep and probably something she doesn't understand.

At least, Percy hopes she hasn't gained the knowledge to understand.

"But you—" her voice cracks. She looks away. "You died. I saw it."

"I'm sorry they made you watch. The gods are beyond cruel."

"You died. But you're here."

"I am."

"But why?"

"Hades didn't want to keep me around."

A lie, Percy thinks. Hades would love nothing more than to keep Percy on the Isles. Hades would love nothing more than to never dip Annabeth in the Lethe again. For years and years and years, Hades has been waiting to guide them to rest. To peace.

Next to Percy, Nico scoffs. Annabeth ignores him. Her feet shift, eyes flickering to Percy's face, arms falling. Hesitant. "I missed you."

Some of the cold in Percy begins to melt. Something gentle attempts to settle. "I always miss you."

Arms fling around his waist and Annabeth buries her face into his chest. This. This is something Percy knows. This is something Percy will always know, never forget, never take for granted. This feeling of her wrapped in his arms. For a moment, he feels like the man who fell in love for the first time. For a moment, Percy feels like someone not burdened by a hundred lifetimes.

"Hermit poet," she mutters.

Percy lets out a short laugh. “Moment ruiner.”

“Gods, you’re disgusting,” Nico says.

“You just miss Will.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Percy pulls away from Annabeth, placing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll always come back to you.”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Annabeth glances up. Her eyes are liquid silver, soft and vulnerable and on the edge of spilling. Open and raw. Something rare enough that Percy tucks the image into his ribcage for later.

“I still don’t understand.” Her voice is on the verge of breaking.

Percy catches Rachel’s gaze, searching. Rachel shakes her head once, but there’s a pinch between her eyebrows, a severe tightness to her lips.

Soon.

“Seriously, what the fuck is going on?” Piper asks. She storms over, pushes a finger into Percy’s chest. Her eyes are bloodshot.

Before Percy can even open his mouth, there's a ground shaking growl. It trembles through the earth, shuddering up Percy's spine. It doesn't surprise him and make him turn with wide eyes like everyone else. Instead, it makes him angry.

Percy curses low in Greek.

"They really don't give a fuck about the rules anymore, huh?" Nico mutters.

Annabeth takes one step back, reaching for the dagger strapped to her arm. "How did it get through?"

"Better question is," Percy growls, uncapping Riptide. "How does it plan to get through me?"

Then Percy takes a running start and leaps. He soars, ignoring the cries of his name, and lands right on the back of the monster. It thrashes side to side, runs in a tight circle, and generally attempts to make Percy's life difficult. Unfortunately for the beast, the gods have done that enough. So much so, that Percy can hold on and suffer a little whiplash.

Percy releases the hellhound's neck and rolls, waiting for it to finish the circle, slashing at a leg. The beast howls. It glares right at Percy with glowing red eyes, shakes its head, and jumps at him.

It's too easy, really. It should take more than a criss cross of slashes to fell the beast.

And yet.

Percy's friends stare in awe as he climbs back up the hill, covered in dust, whiteknuckled grip on his hilt.

"I don't understand," he hears Annabeth say.

"It's simple, really," Rachel says, but her voice is calculated in its calmness.

"Everytime Percy dies," Nico continues, staring Percy down as he approaches, "he's brought back with more power."

Annabeth is studying Percy. "And?"

"And," it's Chiron this time, and Percy stops five yards away from them, looking over towards the ocean, trying to drown out the words. "Every time Percy is brought back, more of his emotions are taken from him."

*

Later, before sleep is attempted and failed, Annabeth strokes Percy's cheek, searches his eyes, and kisses him sweet and slow.

Annabeth says nothing. Percy says nothing.

Annabeth turns to walk away, but Percy's grip lingers.

Annabeth ends up slipping into his cabin and they lay together, staring at artificial stars on his ceiling, lacing and unlacing their fingers together.

*

A conversation, when the sky is inky blue, when nightmares are too close to reality:

"I'm scared, Annabeth."

"Of what?"

"Of me. Of this anger. When I look at your face, I feel…. A vague sense of something. But I don't know what."

"What does that mean?"

"Annabeth, I— you're everything. You are the only joy I've ever known. But I don't know what that is anymore."

"..... How many times have you died?"

"Enough."

*

It's simple, the shattering.

The day begins as normal as it can. Nico joins Percy and Annabeth and Rachel and Piper at the beach. It's a strange group, made stranger by the playful shoves and giggles from Piper. Directed at Rachel.

A teasing remark rests on the tip of Percy's tongue, but it's swallowed down before he can give it words.

They opted for a makeshift picnic on the beach, old and brightly colored towels dotting the sand. Percy doesn't quite understand it. The cold waves of loneliness don't reach him anymore. Nothing does. Not even the warmth of Annabeth pressed into his side.

Nico is finishing a sardonic story when it happens. A shift in the wind, a tumbling tide, and then a pause in time. A single, bright red piece of coral washes up on shore, stilling near Annabeth's foot. She stares at it, stares, stares….and then she cries and Percy knows.

When Annabeth turns her gaze to him, nothing and no one else exists except for them. Nothing else exists outside of this moment and her tears and her crystal clear, sterling eyes.

"Perseus."

The world shakes and crashes and breaks and then zips back together again in an instant. Percy is gasping for air, but it's like he has been sucked into the earth. His lungs are caged. All he can do is look at her and relive every version of this exact moment until she cracks.

"Annabeth?" Rachel's voice breaks through and time lurches forward again. "Are you okay?"

Annabeth's fingers ghost over Percy's cheeks, but she looks over and offers a grin. "Dare, I—" Her hand falls, eyes fluttering closed, and then Annabeth slumps against Percy.

"Annabeth!" Piper leaps up, checking for a pulse. "What the fuck? Is she okay? What—"

Nico has gone pale, head tilted to the side. "She's alive, but…"

Percy licks his lips, takes his shaking hands and wraps them around Annabeth. "Only for three more days."

"What?" Piper is screaming. Soon, other campers will come to check out the commotion.

"Yes," Nico says, perplexed. "Death is near. But why?"

Rachel shakes her head, eyes brimming with tears. "Percy, you have to tell them."

"I know," his voice is quiet, much like the building anger in his gut. Soon, it will explode. "I will tell you both, and no one else. Only so you won't feel betrayed by what I must do."

"Is she cursed, too?" Nico asks.

"Yes."

"Cursed?" Piper lets out a hysterical laugh. "With what? For how long?"

"I don't know the exact amount of years, but I can tell you that I have watched Annabeth die ninety-nine times now."

Piper's mouth is hanging open like a fish. She blinks hard, but Piper can't keep herself from crying, gripping Annabeth's hand and pressing it to her own forehead. "But why?"

"Because we dared to fall in love."

;;;

(Roughly 2,5000 years ago)

Perseus has heard many rumors about the princess.

She was born female and out of wedlock , but her godly blood allows her to be heir. She is rude and will tear you apart if you breathe wrong in her direction. She is smart and sharp and can trick you into ripping your own heart out.

Perseus has heard these rumors, and many more, and he has believed every single one.

And then Perseus sees her.

Princess Annabeth has curled hair, shining like drachmas in the sun, her face set into a scowl as she pulls a dagger out of a practice dummy. Shining armor glints over her chiton.

A goddess, Perseus thinks.

Which, of course, makes him lose his footing and tumble off the half wall.

A blade is pressed to his throat before Perseus can even reopen his eyes and gain his bearings. Lifting his hands up, Perseus peels his eyes open and nearly chokes on his own breath. Up close, eyes burning and jaw set, the sun glinting off a loose curl, Princess Annabeth is even more beautiful.

"Who are you?" She hisses. "What are you doing here?"

Perseus clears his throat. The truth will get him killed. Being discovered at all like this will likely get him killed.

He licks his lips, trying for a smirk. "Do you not recognize me?"

Her eyes narrow. "Should I?"

Yes, he thinks, but ignorance on her part would do him many favors. Perseus chuckles. "I suppose someone of your stature would not know someone as lowly as myself."

Half truths. Weaving half truths together into something slightly cohesive has always been a strong point of Perseus'.

Frowning, Annabeth presses a little harder. "Why are you here?"

"I had heard of your beauty and decided to catch a glimpse of it myself."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"I have no desire to be anywhere else."

Annabeth scoffs. "Continue to avoid my questions and you shall never move again."

A lump settles in Perseus' throat. The plan, the entire plan, is about to be completely derailed by his inability to stop staring at her. At the enemy. All his life, those around him had called Perseus easily distracted and foolish and unfocused and many other insults. He was able to brush them off, to prove them wrong with his sword. But now, every single one of those voices is yelling at him because they are all true.

"Okay, okay," he says. "Can I at least sit up?"

"Try anything and—"

"Your dagger will end my days, yes, I am aware."

Annabeth tightens her grip on her hilt, a war raging in her eyes. And then she moves back, even offering him a hand.

"Oh, thank—oof." She pulls him up, immediately twisting his arm behind his back and gripping it like iron.

"Now, you will talk."

Perseus shudders at her breath on his ear, groaning still at the pain. "Should your guards not be the ones restraining me?"

"I do not need them." And there, finally, a small crack. Her voice shakes just slightly, nails digging into his skin. "I can handle myself against a scrawny thing like you."

"Bold words." She twists again and he curses. "Perseus."

"What?"

"You asked who I am. Perseus. A mercenary. I happened to be strolling that broken wall there, scouting, if you will, when I saw you and lost all sense of self."

"I have told you that false flattery will get you nowhere, and yet you continue to force it upon me."

"Is it false flattery if it is the truth?"

Huffing, Annabeth uses her free hand to pull his sword out, raising the tip under his chin. "And for what reason were you scouting?"

Perseus tries his best to ignore the pure audacity of her actions. And how unfair they are, in more ways than one. "I was searching for someone. Thought they might be in the area."

"And?"

"And I daresay I found something worth even more."

Pushing him away, Annabeth points his sword at his chest, a dagger in her other hand again. "Do you realize who you speak to?"

"Of course, Princess."

She frowns, sword lowering the slightest amount. Her eyes fully meet his for the first time, locked in. Blazing grey against glinting green. And that's when she curses and advances on him again. "I am a fool. Perseus," she spits, "a spawn of Poseidon." The sword digs into his skin, and Annabeth grins at his wince. "Of course. The leader of the rebels. I should have known. You've a smooth tongue."

"I will have you know that I told no lies," Perseus grabs the blade with his hand, ignoring the slicing of his palm and fingers. "I will also have you know that you cannot and will not capture me, Daughter of Athena."

Perseus yanks the sword forward, catching Annabeth off guard enough for her to stumble. He slides his hand up the blade, grabbing the hilt. "I do apologise, Highness, for in another life, I think we could stand side by side."

Annabeth pushes herself up, but it is a moment too late. Perseus smacks the hilt into her head, watches her crumble to the ground.

He crouches, lifting a curl to his face. "The gods make us enemies, but I wonder what we could make ourselves into."
~
"You've been bewitched."

Perseus swings his sword harder, grunting when Beckendorf parries him. Again. By now, Perseus would usually be on either his third win, or first loss of three. Instead, Perseus remains locked in an endless first match.

"Will you not just put me out of my misery?"

"Winning against an opponent so cursed would leave a bitter taste on my tongue."

Perseus huffs, looking up at the sky. "I despise you."

A chuckle. "You could never."

Lowering his gaze, Perseus settles Beckendorf with a glare. "Try me."

Sighing, Beckendorf tosses his blade on the ground, crossing his arms over his chest. "Perseus. I have not seen you this distracted in training since your moth—since long ago. What is it that ails you, friend?"

Perseus studies him. The dying daylight is a sharp contrast against Beckendorf's skin, his eyes dark with concealed worry. He towers over Perseus, an eyebrow cocked. A statue, a soldier. Unwilling to stand down.

Releasing out a long, heavy breath, Perseus stands closer, eyes scanning the area. "It is not something I can so openly say."

"Why? Would it be considered treason?" Beckendorf laughs. Perseus does not. Beckendorf lowers his chin to level him with a cautious look. "You must answer before I leap to worse conclusions."

"It's…" Perseus licks his lips, dry and cracked. "I may have been dishonest about the scouting mission."

A beat. "So you did lay eyes on the Princess?"

"Yes. Perhaps more than that, too."

"Perseus."

"I can explain." Shifting his weight, Perseus looks anywhere but his friend's face. His heart hammering in his chest, threatening to crack his ribs. "Princess Annabeth is beautiful. And I do not simply mean her face."

Working his jaw, Beckendorf lowers his arms, looks away, looks back at Perseus. Something in his eyes soften. "Do explain."

And he does.

And the next day, when another mission is planned, Beckendorf makes sure to team with Perseus.
~
A moon later, Perseus sees her, the corners of Annabeth’s eyes sparkling like diamonds in the sun.

She’s hacking away at a practice dummy. Harsh slashes, grunting, imprecise. Curses spill from her lips. It is a beautiful sight, in its own way.

“Glad that is not me.”

Without missing a beat or looking over, Annabeth retorts, “It could be if you stay.”

“Pity I do not feel like leaving then.”

This time, she looks over at him, just barely, just briefly. Her eyes are puffy, red. “Why must you be so impertinent?”

“I would never.”

Annabeth scoffs, whipping around and throwing her dagger into the head of another dummy. Perseus grins wider. “Practicing for a big event?”

“Hardly.” She sniffles.

“What is it that troubles you?”

“You, mostly.”

“Never have I been so insulted.” Perseus chuckles, but then he moves closer. Two encounters ago and Annabeth would have ripped his throat out. Five ago and she would not have let him speak beyond the second sentence. Now, she just grimaces. “Honestly, Princess, speaking of your pain can help ease it.”

“Sounds like an excuse for the weak.”

Perseus muses. “Shall I tell you of my mother, then? Of her tragically short life and baked goods and warm hands? Shall I tell you about her husband and your mother causing her death and my father doing nothing?”

Annabeth stills. “My mother?”

“The grey eyed goddess. Yes.”

Swallowing hard, Annabeth looks at him. Her eyes are guarded. She says nothing.

“The feud between our godly parents is never ending. They go too far.”

“Is that why you are part of the rebellion?”

“No.” Perseus flexes his jaw, looks up at the sun. His eyes sting and he blames it on the piercing light. “My mother always wished to change this nation. She thought my father could help. Ha. As if the gods would ever do anything in the favor of mortals. She taught me everything I know about life and love and baking and strength. She left and I fell. Burned and rose from the ashes. Now I am here. My heart is heavy, but,” he looks at her, dares the next words from his mouth, “there are some things that help.”

Looking away, Annabeth’s cheeks flush. A moment of silence stretches stretches stretches. Perseus refuses to break it.

Finally, “I only have any claim to power because of my mother. I am still a woman, afterall. A tragedy in the making, I am told.” She pauses. “My father’s wife and children care nothing for me. They all eat together, plan together, rule together. They call me the heir, but they do not treat me as such. If they are not treating me as a target, they treat me as a ghost.”

Fire boils in his veins. “A target?”

A small, sad smile forms on her lips. Annabeth turns towards him fully, soft and open and vulnerable. Perseus cannot help but reach out.

“They are fools. Everything they search for in this land pales in comparison to you, and yet—”

“Perseus, please.” Something in her voice breaks. “It is a delicate situation, but it is not abnormal. You… You are abnormal.”

“Royalty or freedom, Princess.”

“What?”

Perseus grabs her hand, raises her knuckles to his lips. “Which will you choose?”

She stares at him, shaking. “I do not get a choice.”

“And there lies your single fault, Annabeth.” He pulls away, hand lingering, before he turns and begins walking home. “You see a stone and assume it has been written on. You do not consider that you yourself could write, or that you could destroy.”

He flashes a grin over his shoulder. “Gods may have The Fates, but we will always have our own Destinies.”
~
"I can see you."

The voice is exasperated.

Perseus chuckles, stepping out of the shadows. Behind Annabeth, steel dagger eyes glaring at him, stood a man. Older than them, maybe by a handful of years. His face is angular, stubbled, a scar running down the side and jarring an otherwise handsome appearance. His eyes so blue, Perseus can see the sky trapped in them. Blue sky versus Annabeth's stormy clouds.

"Who says I was trying to hide?" he finally says, only steps away.

Annabeth crosses her arms. The man behind her stands straighter, but otherwise remains still.

"My head still throbs because of you."

"You have already used that excuse. Roughly forty sunsets ago."

Annabeth's eyes narrow into slits. "Hiding would be smart."

"I never once claimed to be smart."

Annabeth grimaces, pulling a dagger out. "Explain to me why I should not just kill you now."

"We have bonded over fights and sad stories." Annabeth says nothing. Perseus chuckles, "I offer a proposition."

Annabeth arches an eyebrow. Her body is tense, ready, eyes blazing. Strong and terrifying. But Perseus has always been defiant.

“Well?”

“I did not think I would get this far, if I am honest.”

Grey eyes roll, but the corner of her mouth twitches. "Riding on false confidence, then."

"Always." The healing cut on his neck itches, and it takes all his willpower not to touch it. A reminder of the last time Perseus dared provoke Annabeth. Many scars line his body, stories of forced courage and misplaced pride and stumbling plans. The best ones by far have been written by Annabeth herself.

"Annabeth," the man says from behind her, eyes glaring daggers into Perseus's skin.

A frown settles onto her lips, but Annabeth's attention stays on Perseus. "Time is not on your side. Speak."

"Okay, okay." Perseus glances at the man, then directly into Annabeth's eyes. He cocks a brow.

"The offer you propose must bear a witness, no?" Annabeth grins, all teeth, sharp and winning. Perseus hates that he loves it. "Luke is charged with my personal safety. He stays."

The man, Luke, holds up his hand and waggles his fingers in a childish wave, almost mocking. The blue of his eyes turns mischievous, lips stretching and pulling at his scar. Perseus has heard rumors about him, too.

"Pleasure to meet you, bastard of Poseidon."

Something rears up inside Perseus' chest, hot and indignant. "Is that the game you wish to play, failed thief?"

"Boys," Annabeth says, placing a hand on Luke's chest as he starts forward. "There are many games to be had, but we can compare devastating family affairs at a later date." Grey eyes lock onto Persues, defensive but amused. "For now, the offer, please."

“‘Devastating family affairs’, you truly have a way with words, Princess.” Slowly, Perseus reaches out and grabs Annabeth’s fingers. He does not dare look at her face. The anger radiating his way from Luke is palpable, but Annabeth doesn’t pull away. Her fingers twitch against his skin, cold and calloused, but she doesn’t remove them. Perseus grins. “I was thinking, maybe, you would enjoy watching the stars with me tonight?”

Silence. Perseus can feel the pressure, the static building, just like a storm. It’s a risky gamble, suggesting a getaway with her. But he’s been thinking of their last couple meetings, of the stifled laughs and wandering gazes and threats melting into bickering. The memories leave a flicker of something Perseus hasn’t felt since before losing his mother.

After an eternity, Annabeth takes in a breath. It stutters slightly, and Perseus flickers his eyes upwards. Pink is sprinkled across her cheeks. She clears her throat. “And what—uh—what makes you think I would enjoy such a thing?”

Perseus’ grin turns lopsided. Despite his shaking hands, he grips Annabeth’s fingers tighter and looks her in the eye. Her guard is all but torn down, something soft nestled into the grey. Perseus feels a tug, feels an irresistible urge to reach out to her, to pull her closer. But there is blue in the corner of his vision. A stark reminder. Reaching up, Perseus tucks a curl behind Annabeth’s ear, leaning close enough to whisper below the sound of a passing breeze. “You look like you could use a wish.”

Pulling away, Perseus watches Annabeth’s jaw fall, watches her hand reach up and brush against the piece of parchment he slipped in her hair. Her eyes are far, far away. Mystified.

“What can we make ourselves into, Princess?”

She looks back at him, speechless. Luke looks ready to skewer him. Perseus waves, turns away, and walks towards the sinking sun.

“If we left the gods behind, what could we be?”
~
“Do you think memories live up there?”

The ocean laps at their feet, ice cold turned numb now. Annabeth sits, arms wrapped around her knees. Her hood slips off in the wind, releasing golden curls into the inky night. Perseus wants to catch them. He sinks his head further into the palms of his hands, burying them deeper into the sand, in order to resist.

The night is quiet, calm. The same cannot be said for Perseus’ heart. It’s the first time the two of them have been truly alone, and it creates a sort of tension. Like something they’ve been holding between them carefully might finally snap.

“No Luke?” He had asked when she first arrived.

“I told him that Athena had blessed me.”

“And he believed that?”

“Hard to argue against the goddess of wisdom and war’s power, is it not?”

Perseus had laughed, feeling warm despite the cool sand.

It had taken Perseus a while to coax Annabeth into sitting, and even now, her posture is a little too rigid, too ready to jump up and run at a moment’s notice. She turns her neck to look at him. “Do you?”

Musing, Perseus looks back at the stars. Brilliant and sparkling on such a clear night. Illuminating the cobalt sky, dancing around the moon. “I like to think so. The stars have and will continue to always be there, afterall.”

“They must see everything. Feel everything. Lock up all the memories and hold them close.” A pause. “Much like the gods.”

Perseus scoffs. “I find it hard to believe the gods hold anything close.”

“You should watch what you say.”

Shrugging, Perseus props himself up on his elbows, scoots close enough to Annabeth to feel the tension build, but not close enough. “I’ve all but been forsaken already. Besides,” he licks his lips, watches her out of the corner of his eye, “if I truly want to chase what I desire, they will strike me down.”

Annabeth whips her head away from him. Silences hangs over them, nothing but the melody of waves crashing. There’s a song in there, Perseus thinks, and he wonders if Annabeth can hear it, too. Something hopeful, something sad, something he can’t quite understand.

Eventually, Annabeth lays back, reaching a hand up towards the sky. When she speaks, her voice is soft, betraying a touch of hope and fear. “What is it you truly desire?”

Perseus scoots closer, feels the tension reach its limit, struggling to keep hold. He raises a hand up. In the small distance between his pinky and hers, a single star shines.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“No.” Immediate, and then, “but that is only due to fear. You said I look like I need a wish. Must I wait for a shooting star to breathe it into existence, or can I speak it to you?” She rolls her head, locks eyes with him, hand swaying and brushing his skin. “Or can it be granted before the words are even formed?”

Perseus takes in the sight of Annabeth like this. Open, gentle. Glowing there in the sand, one hand reaching towards impossibility, the other at her side, ready to steady her escape. There are no defenses in her eyes right now and Perseus can see so many stories within them. Stories he wants to hear and become a part of.

Briefly, he can even see a future.

“What need have we of words when we have actions?"

A giggle bursts through her lips. “What a poet.”

Rolling his eyes, Perseus grabs her hand from the sky, drags it back to earth, and cradles it between them. The tension snaps, and Perseus feels like they’re in a world of their own. That the thing they once held between them was a barrier, something meant to be breached, meant to be broken. He grins, places his lips to her knuckles. “Way to ruin the moment.”

She’s breathless, red in the face, dotted with stars. “Shut up,” she breathes.

He smiles, wide and lopsided. “Make me.”

When Annabeth kisses him, Perseus forgets his name.
~
Just before parting, Perseus asks Annabeth to wait.

He dives into the waves, feeling at once like he is home. They wrap around him, propel him, guide him.

The palace is easy to get to. At least, for him. The sea creatures do not pester, do not attempt to stop him. They bow - Perseus thinks that is what they are doing, at least - and allow him passage.

Lord Poseidon is not here. Shall we send for him?

No, I will be but a moment.

Out of spite, out of love, out of different colliding feelings, Perseus takes a piece of red coral from the foundation.

When he comes back on land, he smiles at a shivering Annabeth. Even cold, with no reason to trust Perseus, she waited.

“A gift,” he says, “so that even when we cannot be together, you will have a piece of me.”
~
A dream, maybe, when comfort is finally settling in:

“Perseus, you must stop seeing her.”

“I don’t think that I will.”

“Bad things come from Athena and her children.”

“At last, something the two of you have in common.”

“Perseus, I am your father—”

“Only when it is convenient for you, sir.”

“Your mother, Athena—”

“Do not speak of my mother. I know full well what Athena did. And I know, too, what you failed to do. Now leave.”

“I am a god. You cannot make commands of me. You cannot defy me.”

“Watch me.”
~
For a while, everything is great.

Perseus and Annabeth meet up when they can, often with Beckendorf or Luke keeping guard. Sometimes even both, which amuses Perseus. Few things are more awkward than right hand men from differing sides working together to protect something forbidden. Though, Luke doesn't hide how he feels about it at all. Scathing remarks and ice cold glares are tossed Perseus' way.

But then Annabeth smiles at him and it's the most beautiful sight and Perseus finds he can ignore Luke.

Mostly.

"Are you sure he will not turn on us?" Perseus asks one day, tucked in a hidden corner of the rebels base. The only other person who knows this location is Beckendorf, and only because he followed Perseus one day. Almost lost his life because of it, too.

Annabeth straightens, face setting into stone. She plays with his fingers and won't look at him. "I could ask the same about Beckendorf."

"His loyalty is to me, and only me. He would never."

"Luke is the same way."

"Technically, he serves your father."

"He would do anything I asked."

"How can you be sure?"

Dropping his hands, Annabeth looks away. Her face is tinged red. "We have known each other my whole life. We have been—"

She cuts off abruptly and Perseus feels something swarm in his gut.

"No, please, finish that thought."

Annabeth purses her lips. A torchlight twenty feet away is the only thing that illuminates her face at this angle, and it makes her look harsh. Much like a warrior. Just as Perseus knows she is in her heart of hearts.

"It does not matter," she decides. "Please, just trust him." A pause. Annabeth finally looks back at him, face softening. "Trust me."

"I do," he answers without hesitation, grabbing a stray curl. "You know that I do."

"And I trust him."

"Okay," Perseus leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers. Her breath fans over his face, warm, and he can't help the grin that tugs at his lips.
~
A conversation, stolen away just before separation:

“We should tell everybody, grant ourselves the freedom to be together.”

“Ha. We would be killed, at best. Exiled or left to the gods, at worst.”

“Worse still would to not be with you.”

“Perseus.”

“Annabeth. Our love could burn down the world and the gods and us with it, and I would not care.”

“That seems a bit much.”

“Tell me, then. Are you unwilling to fight for our love?”

“Of course not. I would die a thousand deaths to remain by your side.”
~
The morning after, Perseus wakes to a pounding on his door.

Startling, he falls from his bed, sheets tangled around his body. He kicks and squirms, trying to break free. The pounding increases in intensity.

Huffing, Perseus says, "yes, yes, come on in."

He's still fighting the sheets when the door flies open. Perseus looks up, ready to remark on his poor state and the early hour, but the sight in front of him has the words swept away in the wind. Beckendorf, eyes wild, blood trickling from a cut on his cheek, storming towards him.

“It’s the King,” Beckendorf says, helping Perseus up. “He has declared war.”

“What? Now?” Perseus scrambles for his armor, his sword.

“Yes, but that is not the worst of it.” He places a solid hand on Perseus’ shoulder, effectively halting all movement. “Perseus. He has Athena with him.”

Eyes widening in shock, Perseus feels an ice cold lump drop to the pit of his stomach. “No. But the gods—”

“Yes, and when have the gods listened to their own rules?”

Scoffing, Perseus looks away, grips the hilt of Riptide. He closes his eyes, takes a big breath, and then looks back at Beckendorf. “Where is Annabeth?”

Beckendorf shifts his weight and won’t meet Perseus’ gaze. “I have not seen her. Perseus, you need to consider—”

“Never.” His voice is steel, cold and absolute. Even the slight insinuation that she might have something to do with this has his blood rolling with rage. “She would never. Not for him. Certainly not for the gods.”

“How can you be sure?”

“If this was Silena, would you doubt her for even a moment?”

Beckendorf goes stock still, shoulders high and stiff. It is eerily quiet, the noises of outside battle muted by the walls. Perseus maneuvers to look at Beckendorf’s face, twisted with anger and grief.

“Did something happen?”

“Silena, she—” A tremor runs through his body. “She was working with Luke.”

“Luke?” Perseus breathes the name. A small hiccup of a laugh bursts from his lungs. “How did they even know each other?”

“Silena’s dad used to work for the court. But she always said— She promised me that—” Beckendorf closes his eyes and forces his muscles to relax. “She asked me to run away with her this morning, just before the fighting broke out. But how could I just— It does not matter anymore. Her loyalties lie elsewhere. When we meet again, it will be as enemies.”

The feeling in Perseus’ chest is both hot and cold. Betrayal tastes a lot like smoke, he realizes, and feels a lot like dying embers. Without another word, Perseus guides Beckendorf out by his shoulder, ready to unleash these feelings on the world.

Or, better, ready to find Annabeth and leave all else behind.
~
When Perseus runs into Luke, it is a clashing of raw rage.

Having just slain a chimera, Perseus had been sprinting. Whispers reached his ears about where Annabeth may be, and why, and nothing else mattered to him anymore. Loyal to a fault, his mother always said, ready to abandon anything for those he loves.

Perseus is not ashamed of it. Has never once been ashamed of it, even when he threw away his entire life to join a losing battle with the rebels after she passed. Has never once been ashamed of it, even as his hands become drenched in blood.

He runs straight into Luke, bouncing off his chest, and barely manages to remain standing. The man scowls at him, scar red as if just aggravated. He looks a little worse for the wear, but much better than Perseus would have hoped.

“Perseus,” he spits, “how nice of you to present yourself to me.”

“Ah, yes, I have brought myself here to lodge my sword through your heart.”

Luke laughs. Humorless and cold. Detached. Something about him is different than before. More ragged, more wane. His eyes are empty. “Pity. We could have been so strong together.”

“That was never an option.” Perseus points his sword under Luke’s chin, who just raises a brow in return. “What have you done with Annabeth?”

“What have I done? You mock me.” He pushes the sword away with his palm, not even flinching as a line of crimson forms there. “You corrupted her. Annabeth was a loyal princess. She was strong, yes, loud about her ambitions and ideas. Too much so, for a woman. But in hesitance lies weakness, and I could instill hestiance better than even her mother.”

Perseus can feel the tug of the ocean, the urgency to call upon it and drown Luke’s words in an instant. But he holds back. “You knew of her misery, pretended to lend comfort and family, and then capitalized on it?”

Something flickers across Luke’s face but he looks away before it can be read. “I have plans, Perseus. I needed her to be Queen, and she needed me by her side.” A long pause and Persues only grows more angry at the implications. “And then you came along and filled her head with false futures and hope. You fed her lies of freedom.”

“They were not lies. I would never lie to her.”

“Perhaps not on purpose. But tell me, Perseus, bastard son of the sea, where has it led you, hm? Is this the future you envisioned? Is this the freedom you planned to gift her?”

The words slam into Perseus like a lightning bolt. He staggers backwards and Luke takes the moment to move.

And then Selina is there and crimson spills all around them and onto Perseus’ face and there is only a ringing silence as he watches his friend fall.

“Tell me, Perseus,” Luke says again, victory alighting those dead, dead eyes. “If the hope was not false, then what is it you are witnessing? What is it you desired?”

Trembling, Perseus reaches towards Silena. “But… why?”

“Sorry.” Swatting the air for his hand, she coughs blood. “Annabeth waits for you… In the tower.”

In the tower. Which means she has been locked away, like some princess in need of saving. Like a prisoner of war.

“Silena." He grips her fingers, places them on his lips. "Why are you here?”

“Wanted to see… Charlie.”

The softness of her voice, the name rolling off her tongue, squeezes at Perseus’ heart. She was always the only person allowed to call Beckendorf that.

“Sorry. Please, Annabeth, she—”

“Enough.” Luke slams the butt of his sword into Silena’s gut. Unnecessary, brutal, inhumane. “You clearly do not know your place.”

Silena lurches forward, gasps, slumps back down. A growl builds in Perseus’ throat, but before he can stand, a figure appears and knocks Luke back. Dark skin against a bright sky and reddened sand, glistening with sweat and blood. A voice rocketing through the area, drowning out anything else, “Do not touch her. I will stand here and rip you apart, limb by limb, until you are begging for Hades to take you already.”

“Charlie.” Her voice is choked, ghostly.

“Rest, my love.” His hand strokes her cheek, once, before he is forced to lock swords with Luke. “We will meet again.”

“I’ll wait….for you.”

And then she’s gone.

Perseus stares. Numbness creeps into his veins, only overshadowed by the rage of the seven seas, of the destructive tides of all five oceans. The ground beneath him begins to move.

“Perseus, go.” Beckendorf says, fighting for his life. Losing. Losing for his life. His lover. His death. “Go to Annabeth.”

“I cannot leave you.”

“You must.” There are tears streaming down his face, lips tight as he parries Luke. “Let there be only one tragic love story today.”

“But—”

“Perseus, I swore my life to you. Let me give it.”

There is no room for argument in his voice; there is no way for Perseus to push him without endangering his life further. Still, Perseus pauses. He waits. Waits until Luke sneers at him, gets ready to slash, and then he unleashes a cry that shakes the earth.

The ground caves in but Perseus runs runs runs.

He never sees Beckendorf again.
~
The tower is behind the castle, rarely maintained, one step away from crumbling.

It seems fitting, then, that that is where it happens.

Perseus has a sinking feeling in his gut. Monsters jump at him, warriors strike out, but if there is one benefit to his parentage, it is the more than human strength. His sword makes arcs, he rolls, he slashes and hacks and does not stop. There is not much water around, but he uses any he can. Despite these accomplishments, Perseus can not help but feel that something is very wrong. Not just the war, not just Annabeth being locked away. Something bigger is at play, but he has no idea what.

Not that it matters, really. All that matters is finding Annabeth. Bone deep exhaustion creeps in on him, but still, Perseus runs.

When he reaches the tower, Perseus sways. He catches himself on the stone wall, feeling a chunk of it slide off as he does so. If he were Annabeth, maybe he would have seen the sign there; maybe he would have seen how the tower was a symbol for what was to come. But Perseus is not Annabeth, and so he takes a deep breath, and then he charges in and straight to the top.

Straight into a trap.

Annabeth is there, which fills him with relief for about five seconds. It takes five seconds to see the panic in her eyes, the warning of LEAVE, and to notice two other figures in the room.

The two gods.

Annabeth runs over, trips over her own feet, catches herself in Perseus’ arms. There is one scratch on her shoulder, bruises around her wrists. Nothing too bad, nothing compared to Perseus’ body, but it fills him with a white hot rage. His ears ring as he takes in her shaking. He grips her arms, steadies her, and glares at the gods.

“What have you done?”

Athena’s eyes are full of flames. “What have we done? The blame rests on you. You are the one—”

“You sound like Luke,” he seethes. “I am uninterested in your victim blaming and sad excuses. You hurt her.”

“I tried to warn you, son.”

“Do not call me that,” Perseus howls.

The god shakes his head, a mix of anger and sadness on his face. Perseus wants to spit there. Perseus wants to throw a fist there, slash his sword there. Perseus wants to destroy them.

“You have pushed your luck too far,” Athena says. “You two would destroy the foundation I have laid here. You two would try and unite two opposing sides but would instead cause them both to fall to ruin. Your punishment shall be severe.”

“No,” Annabeth murmurs. She rips herself out of Perseus’ grasp, turning to her mother. “Stop this. You cannot team up with him only to bring suffering. Let us leave, just you and me. I will do anything you want. Please.”

Perseus lurches forward. “Annabeth—”

“It is too late.”

“But you can’t…”

“Not without the help of Hecate and the Fates, maybe. But with them, we can.”

“Mother, please.”

Perseus does not know what they are talking about, but he has never seen Annabeth so afraid. He has never seen her skin look as ghostly, has never seen her tremble so hard, she falls to her knees. Perseus hates this. Something hot and tearing is in his chest, threatening to burst. He lifts his sword and charges.

Perseus hears Annabeth scream his name, hears fast spoken Greek, and then the sensation of falling and being crushed takes over all his senses.
~
Perseus wakes up and Annabeth is next to him.

She does not breathe.
~
The war concludes.

The King and Athena win. Poseidon disappears without a trace, as if nothing happened. Perseus, too, is long gone. Confused, angry, and cold. Cold to his core, empty, and alone.

Alone.
~
About fifty years pass.

Perseus has wandered about, fought with his father and brother a couple times, joined a couple causes and then left in the wake of victory. He isn’t sure where he is going, or why. All he knows is that he mostly bleeds ichor now and the saltwater in his veins keeps monsters at bay.

And then, under the silver of moonlight, he sees her.

“Annabeth?” His feet run on their own accord, carrying him to a river. “Annabeth! What are you doing here?”

She immediately jumps him, danger in her wild eyes, knees to his chest, knife at his throat. “Who are you?”

Perseus can’t breathe. “It’s me.”

“I do not know you.”

Over time, he convinces her he means no harm. He says she looks like a lost sister. Annabeth seems skeptical, but something has her offering him a seat at the campfire. Eventually, days weeks months years later, they find a piece of corral on the ground. Red, just like from before, and Annabeth faints.

When she comes to, she cries. She tells Perseus the missing truth.

“We have been cursed,” she whispers, grabbing his hand so tight his fingers turn blue. “I am to die time and time again and always forget. If I remember our past, I die in three days' time.”

“No.” Perseus leans his forehead on hers. “No, no, no. That cannot be.”

“And you—” her breath smells like grapes. “You are to live on, always remembering, always searching and fighting. If you do die, they bring you back at the cost of your emotions. But you will never forget.”

“There must be a way to stop it.”

There isn’t.
~
An argument, when grief is once again raw:

“Perseus, my son.”

“I told you never to call me that again. What are you doing here? Why have you done this?”

“It can be stopped.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You are still my son.”

“No.”

“The ocean is too much a part of you to deny it.”

“Shut up.”

“Perseus, please, listen. If you become a god by my side, it will all stop.”

“Never.”

"You were meant to be my champion."

"I was meant to be with Annabeth."

“You were not, you were simply corrupted. My offer will always stand.”
~
It continues this way, endlessly.

Ninety-eight more times Perseus found Annabeth and watched her leave him. He is unsure how many times he has died. He does not care as much as he should.

Once, Annabeth even made it to old age, never remembered anything. It was a peaceful life, a peaceful departing. Once, she did not even make it to teenhood. Once, Perseus even moved himself far, far away, but it was pointless.

Once they meet, they have to be together. And once she remembers, she is taken.

Over and over and over again like a sick nightmare that Perseus cannot wake from.

“Don’t cry”, Annabeth says in one life, struck down by Kronos himself. (even after Perseus took a knife for her even after she bathed in the Styx even after Perseus refused to leave her side even after—) “We’ll see each other again.”

Perseus hadn’t even known she’d realized that time until it was far too late.

;;;

In wake of the silence after the story, Percy rambles.

“We met Rachel a couple hundred years ago. The spirit of the oracle keeps her immortal, somehow. Probably just to be a pain in my ass. Nico has brought me back from Hades too many times. Will, too, when they have those weird family dinners. And—"

“What the fuck?” Piper yells. Tears are streaming down her face. “What kind of messed up shit is this?”

Percy laughs without humor. “I believe your mother likes to refer to it as ‘a beautiful, tragic love story of the ages’.” He pauses. "She's actually pretty nice to me, though. Usually."

Piper puts a hand up in front of his face. Her lips are pursed, eyes staring at a pointed spot on the sand. Silence bears down on them. Heavy. Cold.

Lonely.

Hands stilling in Annabeth’s hair, Percy takes a shuddering breath. Resignation settles into his chest like concrete. It builds and builds and builds, hardening into something unmoving. It weighs him down. Constricts his breathing.

Hundreds of years ago, Percy would have been able to name this feeling. Now, he just presses his lips to Annabeth’s cheek before speaking softly, “I have to go.”

“Go where?” Nico asks at the same moment Rachel straightens her spine and says, “Percy, no.”

“I have to. I can’t watch her die again. Never again.”

“So you’re going to leave her?” It’s Piper now, quiet, fierce. Her eyes snap up and bore into Percy’s. “Just like everyone else?”

Something dull prods at Percy’s heart. A feeling, maybe, fleeting and overtaken by anger. He sets Annabeth’s head down onto the sand gently before standing. “And what do you know of the suffering she has been through? That we have been through?” He runs his hands over his face. “I’m sorry, Piper. I can’t play this part anymore.”

Rachel shoots up, grabs Percy’s arm and pulls him back. “You can’t go.”

“I can’t be a pawn anymore.”

“And if you go, what, you won’t be? Giving into the gods after all these years is not playing into their hands?”

Percy rips his arm away. “You don’t understand!”

“Fight, Percy. Don’t give in. Please.”

“I have been fighting, Rachel. No more.”

“Nico, Piper, we have to stop him.”

Nico scoffs. “Stop Percy? Are you insane?”

Piper just glares. “Where are you going?”

“To my father’s.”

"Annabeth won’t forgive you.”

“Again, Piper, you understand nothing.”

Percy turns away from them and steps towards the ocean. Turns away from Rachel and her pleading yet defiant eyes. Turns away from Nico and his radiating sadness. Turns away from Piper and her fierce disappointment.

Turns away from Annabeth and the way she calls his name just before his head dips under the waves.

*

Triton greets him, warns him, pleads with him to turn back.

Percy brushes straight past him.

You have chosen wrong.

*