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Percy stumbles onto a subway car seconds before the doors close and has just enough energy to slump into a seat, grateful that the car is nearly empty. If he has to get shredded by a monster, at least it’s late enough that nobody will be around to mug him if he passes out on the subway. Just his luck.
He wraps his jacket tighter around his body to cover the bloodstains on his shirt, biting his tongue to keep from groaning and alerting the few other passengers. It’s New York, so nobody would care if he did, but with the knowledge of at least one more monster out there looking for him and the fact that he reeks of sweat and blood, Percy would prefer to fade into the background.
Just ten more minutes until he’s at Annabeth’s dorm. He just has to stay alive for ten more minutes.
Ordinarily Percy would try to make it to his mom’s, but he can’t risk bringing monsters there if he can’t protect his family. Camp would be the ideal option, but he’s got no chance of making it that far. He couldn’t even get to his mom’s if he tried. He reckons he’s got about twenty minutes left before he passes out from pain or blood loss. Annabeth’s dorm is the only place he can get to in that time.
His subway ride goes smoothly given the circumstances, and within five minutes Percy is staggering through the streets, trying to cover his tracks as he limps through the crowd, torn between moving quickly and saving his energy.
Just when Percy decides that slowing to catch his breath is the best move, he hears clanging in the distance. His own pace increases, and the clanging follows suit, metal ringing out with every other step he takes.
Empousa. Just what he needs right now.
Riptide is safe in his jacket pocket, gripped in Percy’s hand as he ducks his head and speeds along. His heart thrums in his rib cage and he’s too caught up in his surroundings to analyze why. Too much is happening right now; he’s sure whatever reason it has is valid whether it’s fear, pain, or adrenaline.
One more block. All he has to do is walk one more block and then he’s home free.
Hopefully Annabeth is in her dorm, otherwise he’s absolutely fucked. It’s not like he can risk a phone call to check. The clanging is growing closer by the second, never reaching a run, but quick enough that Percy is ready to bolt if it gets any faster. He’s not sure he could win a race right now, but he has to try if it comes down to it. Empousai have enough of a limp that he might stand a chance.
Percy rounds the corner to Annabeth’s dorm, stopping only to grab stones to throw at her window. He throws them the second he’s within range, listening to the commotion behind him without daring to glance back.
After a couple shots hit their target, Annabeth’s window slides open and her head pokes out. “Throwing pebbles, how romanti—” her eyes fall somewhere behind him and widen with panic. She ducks into her room for a moment before throwing something down at him and running to where he can’t see. He can only assume it’s to come save him from whatever is behind him.
He picks up the object at his feet and dusts it off. Her Yankees cap. Percy shoves it over his hair and dips under a school van parked near the curb. He’s fucked if it finds his hiding spot, but he doesn’t stand a chance out in the open.
There’s nothing to do but listen to the sound of the empousa ’s slow approach and pray that Annabeth makes it past dorm reception in time. Judging by how his vision goes in and out of focus, Percy has five minutes of consciousness left at best, and experience has left him with a rather accurate judgement of things like this.
The clanging comes to a stop right where Percy put on the Yankees cap—a good twenty feet from the van he peers out from under. All Percy can make out is the distinct metal and donkey legs and the bottom half of a god-awful cheerleading outfit.
“Perseus Jackson,” a sickeningly sweet voice coos. “Why don’t you come on out of the shadows? Your girlfriend isn’t coming.”
Her charmspeak surges through his body like it’s in his bloodstream. It would be nice to get out from under here, he thinks.
He shakes his head to clear it. Annabeth is coming for him; he just has to hold on until then.
Unless this demon brought friends with her to intercept backup.
No. Don’t think like that. Her charmspeak will only affect him more if he loses hope.
The empousa’s voice grows closer along with the scraping sound of her leg against the pavement, smooth like honey in comparison. “I can smell that you’re hurt, hon. Did that mean hellhound bite you? I ought to teach that dog some manners. Come on out and I’ll make it all better.”
If she’s able to help, who is Percy to say no? She could even make the hellhound pay.
No. Annabeth. Annabeth is coming to help him. Percy has to hold on to that thought to force out the lyrical voice dancing around his skull, making it fuzzier than it was when he got under this damn van.
Dam. Annabeth loves the Hoover Dam. And architecture. And her very stupid boyfriend who is currently hiding and waiting for her to save his ass from monsters.
“Perseus, you’re being awfully rude!”
She’s been at camp for a decade. Her eyes light up when she talks about something she loves, and Percy doesn’t tune out so much as he gets distracted by how radiant she is. Life in California gave her sunspots and freckles, but you can only make them out if you’re close to her face. She wears flavored chapstick that tastes amazing because she sticks her tongue out a little when she’s thinking hard and she’s always thinking hard. Her dream is to build something permanent and Percy really wants to be that for her but it isn’t going to work out if he’s eaten alive by this monster.
Percy snaps out of it long enough to register two important facts.
- The empousa said she could smell that he’s hurt.
- It’s silent.
Just as these thoughts cross his mind, the van shudders and flips across the street, tumbling into a streetlight in its path. The force of it knocks the hat off Percy’s head.
Above Percy stands the empousa, flaming hair and all. He gags on the scent of fur and avoids eye contact, knowing that she could paralyze him with a look. (Not that he can see much, anyway. The world gets blurrier by the second.)
He uncaps Riptide, determined not to go down without a fight.
She just laughs in response and leans over Percy, stepping on his wrist with enough force that Riptide clatters out of his hand. There’s nowhere for him to go; she’s already too close. He can only keep her talking and hope for the best.
“Sorry you came all this way, but I’m taken,” he manages.
“Oh, that’s cute, hon.” She leans closer. Is she swaying, or is it his head? His time is up either way. “You think some girl is going to stop me?”
“I do,” Percy asserts as firmly as he can. As soon as she gets past the front desk.
“That’s ridic—”
Percy looks up to find the hilt of Annabeth’s dagger protruding from the empousa’s chest. Annabeth comes running into view as the monster disintegrates above him, coating him with dust. Percy doesn’t have it in him to care.
“Percy?! Percy, can you hear me?” Annabeth’s panicked voice breaks through his apathy as she kneels beside him, pulling a plastic baggie from her back pocket. She keeps asking him questions about what happened, but all he’s able to focus on is how pretty she looks when she fusses. Her eyes glisten and she gets these adorable wrinkles on her forehead as she looks at him with concern.
“Yeah, I hear you,” he says far too late.
He hears her try for optimism. “Good, that’s good. I grabbed some ambrosia on my way, you’ll be fine in no time.”
“I love you.”
Annabeth squeezes her eyes shut and inhales shakily before taking out the ambrosia. “Tell me that when you’re all fixed up, okay? I love you too.” She puts a whole square of ambrosia in his mouth. It tastes like the cupcake she and Tyson gave him on his sixteenth birthday.
Heat rushes through Percy’s body as the ambrosia takes effect. His vision clears enough for him to make out the concern written in the lines of Annabeth’s face, and now he has the strength to reach up and touch her face. Her hand closes over his as she leans into the touch.
“Better?” she asks, hope and fear equally present in her voice.
“Good enough,” he responds.
She grabs her hat from where it fell behind him. “Good enough to make it up to my room?”
“Gotta try.”
Together they get him upright and to the front entrance of her dorm lobby. Annabeth slips out from under his arm and puts the hat back on his head.
“Stay behind me. You can hold onto my shoulder if you need to, this woman already thinks I’m weird. A limp isn’t the weirdest thing she’s seen. You ready?”
He nods, then realizes that she can’t see him. “Yeah, ready.”
The walk from the lobby to Annabeth’s dorm is a haze. Percy vaguely registers her panic when he stumbles in the hallway to the elevator, but her recovery doesn’t register at all in his mind. His world reduces to the singularity of his grip on her shoulder.
Now and then they encounter someone Annabeth knows, but she blows past them with a curt greeting and forges on ahead. After a few interactions, her face sets in determination as they march down the hallway. Nobody so much as looks at her after that.
They make it to her floor without too much commotion, but Percy is fading fast. His grip on Annabeth is iron because it has to be. The whole front of his shirt is wet with blood, and there are black spots in his vision. Ambrosia gave him the energy to make it here, but it hasn’t healed him enough to keep active. All this increased blood flow from walking only makes the bleeding worse.
Unable to hold himself up any longer, Percy slumps against her door once they reach it.
Annabeth hears him hit the wood and grabs around for him. “Shit. Come on, Perce, we gotta get inside. Five more feet and we’re good.”
“Or here. Here is good too,” he mumbles.
Annabeth sighs and takes one last glance around the hallway to see if anyone is out. As usual, everyone stays shut away in their rooms and will be unless there’s a commotion. Like, for instance, Percy bleeding out on the carpet.
When Annabeth deems it clear, she squats where Percy has fallen and takes the Yankees hat off, only fumbling a little in the process. Before he asks what she’s doing, her arms reach under him, gathering him toward her chest.
“Percy,” she says carefully, “I’m going to pick you up, but you have to stay quiet, okay? Do you need something to bite?”
He clenches his jaw. “No, just do it.”
“Okay, one… two… three.” Annabeth has a hold of him bridal style, keeping the wounds on his chest from touching anything else, but also moving his torso enough that they scream out in agony. Percy, however, stays quiet by some miracle, focusing his pain into heavy breathing as Annabeth maneuvers him through her door.
She brings him to the bed with little trouble and closes the door behind her while Percy lays back, unable to keep himself upright.
After a quick examination of the claw marks, Annabeth grimaces and leaves to scan through her dresser for her first aid kit. “Babe, I’m going to have to take your clothes off. That okay?”
“Annabeth, there’s never gonna be a situation where that isn’t okay.”
A small smile graces Annabeth’s lips at the joke, and he knows he’s calmed her down some by being present enough to make it. Percy lets her gingerly lay his arms above his head, wincing when she moves the injured one.
Removing his jacket is easy enough, but Annabeth curses when she sees the mess that his shirt has become. She grabs scissors from her desk and cuts it straight down the front.
“That was one of my favorite shirts,” he complains.
She rolls her eyes, still focusing. “Oh, because I ruined it, not the monsters.”
“Exactly. I’m glad you accept the responsibility.” His joke falls flat this time as she gets a good view of his chest.
Annabeth swallows the lump in her throat. “I’m gonna take it nice and slow. Tell me if you need me to stop.”
With that, her gentle fingers slide beneath his shirt, working it off his torso without forcing him to move. She takes it off his uninjured side and halfway up his back with no pain, but falters when she reaches his wounds, where dried blood sticks the shirt to his skin.
Annabeth searches his face. “Slow or all at once?”
“I won’t be able to stay quiet if you rip it off,” he warns.
After nodding a confirmation, Annabeth sets to work at the slow removal of Percy’s shirt, one hand holding his skin below the shirt while the other peels back the fabric. Pain shoots through his chest as the shirt pulls at his wounds despite Annabeth’s careful hand.
“Fuck,” he pants.
“Halfway there. I’ll give you more ambrosia as soon as it’s off, I just have to clean it first. Just stay awake for me.” The pain fades as she stills her hands to survey his face.
He’s gotta look like shit. Sweat drips down his face and he knows that it’s making a streak in the dirt and dust caked onto him from the way it stings his skin.
“Percy, please say something.”
“I’m here,” he rests his hand over hers and squeezes. “Not going anywhere.”
“Okay, this next part is going to be the worst.” She takes up position and raises an eyebrow at him. Before he can respond, Annabeth peels his shirt back again. His body erupts in pain that is only worsened by the heaving of his chest. The ceiling of the small dorm room spins every time Percy opens his eyes, so he screws them shut. Before things go too far, Annabeth pulls back.
“Sorry,” Percy apologizes immediately. “Keep going, I’ll just hold my breath.”
“You’re going to pass out if you do that.” She takes his palm and places it on her sternum. “Breathe with me, okay?”
Percy nods and braces himself for her to start again, screwing his eyes closed and focusing on his palm on Annabeth’s chest. His chest rises and falls with hers, her heartbeat familiar against his palm. He feels her voice resonate as she whispers soothing words down to him. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it’s a welcome distraction.
Both of them sigh in relief when the shirt tugs free. Before either of them lose their courage, he nods, and she eases the shirt off.
Her nose wrinkles as she balls the shirt up and takes it to her trash can. “God, Perce. What happened?”
“Hellhound caught me on the way home, got a swipe in before I could even take out Riptide,” he groans as she returns with wound cleaning supplies. One stern glare kills his complaints in his throat, so he continues on with the story. “I heard yelling for the hellhound before I took it down, so I figured there were more out there. Didn’t want to give Mom a heart attack, so I came here.” He sits as upright as possible. “Fuck, I told her I’d be back by eleven.”
Annabeth gently pushes him down. “Easy, Seaweed Brain. I’ll Iris Message her once you’re set.”
Percy fumbles in his pocket for a drachma. “Please,” he presses it into her hand. “I don’t want her to worry.” Ever since he went missing, his mom has been on high alert when he’s not where he’s supposed to be. He can tell that she tries to hold back for his sake, but he can’t hurt her like that.
Thankfully, Annabeth seems to get his meaning, and the pain of old wounds reopens. “Okay,” she answers.
While she rushes around the room looking for her prism, Percy stares at the ceiling and focuses on staying conscious. He makes constellations out of the dots of the ugly popcorn design in an effort to stay present. He cannot pass out while IMing his mom.
A welcome distraction comes in the form of Annabeth’s voice, and he grounds himself to that while she sets up the message. Despite her hushed tones, it lilts in his ears like a siren song luring him into the present.
After Annabeth flips the coin in, Percy’s mom appears in the mist in front of them, panic written all over her face despite her efforts to disguise it. “Annabeth, have you seen Percy?”
“Hey, Mom.” Percy waves from the bed and gives her a weary smile.
She cranes around to get a good view of her son, her jaw dropping when her eyes find his chest. Her face hardens. “I’m coming there.”
“No, you’re not.” The firmness of Percy’s voice surprises even him. “There are more monsters out there, Mom. Don’t sprint across town when I’m already safe.”
“Percy, baby, look at yourself. You look awful.”
“I know. We called you before cleaning up. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Do I look like I’m not worried?!”
Annabeth steps into view. “Sally, I don’t think it’s smart for any of us to go anywhere tonight. You smell like Percy, and I’m sure whatever is out there would make that connection pretty easily. Right now we’re safe at my dorm, and I’ve got supplies to fix him up. I’ve got him as long as it’s okay with you.”
Percy’s mom sighs and wrings her hands. “I know, it’s just… seeing that—let me know if anything changes, okay? I trust you both.”
“Of course,” Annabeth assures her.
“We will,” Percy promises.
“I love you both.” His mom takes a deep breath and steps back as Percy and Annabeth return the ‘I love you’s and swipe through the image.
“So much for not worrying her,” Annabeth cringes.
“At least she knows I’m safe. Thanks for that, by the way.” Percy puts his hand on her leg as she sits beside him.
She takes out the wound care and smiles at him. “Any time.”
Percy can’t stop the way he reaches up for her face, cupping her cheeks despite the pain shooting through the right side of his body. He leads her down to him and she follows, their lips pressing against each other delicately at first, but growing fervent as time passes.
Annabeth breaks the kiss before they get too caught up in it. “Let’s get you in the shower. Shower, ambrosia, bandage, sleep. Sound good?”
“Or we can skip straight to sleep.”
“You are not sleeping in my bed smelling like you do right now.”
“That’s fair.”
Annabeth assesses the rest of him for damage and sighs in relief upon finding only minor cuts and bruises. Taking off his jeans isn’t half as painstaking or agonizing as his shirt was, so they find the floor in a matter of a minute. Then Percy is in his boxers with Annabeth easing him up.
“Can you stand?” she asks once he’s sitting upright.
“Yeah, I got it.”
Annabeth helps him up and keeps her arm around him anyway, and as soon as the fluorescent lights of her bathroom hit his eyes, he’s grateful for her steadiness; he would’ve fallen in seconds without it.
“Easy,” she murmurs as she positions him on the edge of the tub. He nearly falls backwards twice.
He’s about to second-guess his spot on the tub when Annabeth slides her kit to the floor near him and puts one foot in the tub, straddling the edge to face him. Her leg and right arm press behind him and his world steadies, rooted into place by Annabeth and her warm embrace.
She awkwardly bends to grab the supplies with her opposite arm while holding Percy up with the other, and Percy gets overwhelmed by a surge of love for this girl. Her eyes flicker up to Percy and she bites her lip as she holds up a pair of tweezers. “I gotta get the big stuff out before you get in any water. Can’t risk it healing over and getting infected underneath.”
“I trust you,” he reassures her, resting his hand on her thigh and squeezing.
“This is gonna hurt,” she warns. “Please don’t hate me for it.”
“I could never hate you.”
Except when she pulls a chunk of bloody fabric out of his skin, Percy kinda hates her. Not maliciously, and he doesn’t blame her for any of this, but Annabeth is so set in her task that she’s a bit militant about getting it done, which doesn’t make the pain any better.
“Babe, you gotta let me breathe,” he manages as she finishes cleaning out the longest scratch. “I know it’s faster, but I’m gonna pass out.”
Annabeth kisses her apology into his shoulder, giving him a moment to catch his breath before continuing, this time punctuating each bout of pain with a kiss. The process goes slower, but it’s bearable now.
Once his wounds are dirt and debris free, Annabeth moves to dispose of them, dropping a kiss to Percy’s hair before she goes. Without her there to support him, Percy teeters on the edge, his head spinning and sight blurring.
“Percy! ” Annabeth races to him just as his stomach lurches and his weight tips backward. Instead of the floor, he crashes into her; thankfully she catches him.
“So strong,” he mumbles. “I have a kickass girlfriend.”
“You do,” she laughs, unease still not entirely shaken from her voice. In the back of his mind, Percy hears the faucet running, but the idea doesn’t process until it laps at his toes. Between the cool water at his feet and the warm press of Annabeth at his back, the static in Percy’s head finally starts to clear.
He isn’t ready to run a marathon by any means, but his energy rises with the level of the water. As Annabeth dabs at his chest with a wet rag, that feeling only multiplies.
His head falls against her chest. “Gods, I love you.”
This time Annabeth’s smile is genuine. “I love you too, Seaweed Brain.” She presses a kiss to his forehead and he smiles up at her dopily.
Water can’t heal him completely, but his wounds go from gaping to gashes, and he’s no longer a fall risk as Annabeth helps him out of the shower and into fresh clothes. He isn’t sure when he left some of his favorite sweats there, but when Annabeth gives him a glare and tells him she expects them back, he realizes she stole them.
The sweet taste of ambrosia almost cancels out the sting of medicine and bandages. Annabeth is less militant about the application this time and is especially gentle when easing the sweatshirt over his head.
Percy sits down to slide under the covers when he pulls her forward by the hips, lifting his chin and asking for a kiss. After a moment of fake contemplation, Annabeth grants him one, allowing them to get lost in it after the stress of the night subsides. He’s here, she’s here , and they’re both alive for another day. She saved his life today, and though that’s nothing new, he can’t help the rush of gratitude and love at the thought. They’re a team; easy as that.
Annabeth pulls away for a moment and pushes him back softly. He follows the momentum and lays down, leaving space for her to slide in next to him.
Before he can ask how she wants to sleep, Annabeth motions for him to roll onto his good shoulder (though the other is feeling better by the minute) and scoots into bed behind him. Soon her warmth presses along his back, her knees tucked into his, her arm around his waist, and her body protecting his old Achilles spot.
In the soft haze of drowsiness, that thought solidifies at the front of his mind. “Always got my back,” he breathes, about to succumb to sleep.
Just before he does, her lips press to the base of his neck and she whispers. “Always.”