Chapter Text
The air at Camp Half-Blood was thick with dust and uncertainty, the familiar campgrounds eerily silent as the aftermath of the Giant War lingered like a heavy fog.
The trees stood as a quiet reminder of the battles fought, their once vibrant green leaves now stained with the memory of fire and blood.
The usual laughter of campers had been replaced with hushed whispers, and the normally vibrant energy of the camp felt muted, restrained.
Percy Jackson, daughter of Poseidon, stood near the edge of the lake, her eyes scanning the horizon as the sun began its slow descent into the ocean, casting a fiery orange glow across the water.
She should have been grateful. Grateful for the victories won. Grateful for the destruction of the giants, the defeat of Gaea herself. Grateful for the restoration of peace between the two camps, something that had seemed impossible not too long ago.
And yet, she couldn’t find the satisfaction.
The memories of the war and Tartarus clung to her like the salt of the sea, and every step she took, every breath she drew, was a reminder of everything she had lost—of everything she had to sacrifice.
It wasn’t just the bodies of friends lost in battle. It wasn’t just the nightmares that haunted her every night, replaying moments of violence, fear, blood and death. It was the weight of responsibility—the fact that, somehow, she had become the symbol of hope and survival for so many.
She was the daughter of Poseidon, the hero who had saved the world so many times before, but now she felt… broken. Worn down by the expectations, by the grief that followed her every step.
It had been months since the Giant War ended, months since the dust settled and the gods finally made their appearances—or, more accurately, reappeared. Camp Half-Blood was slowly rebuilding, but it was clear that both camps, Half-Blood and Jupiter, were scarred. The walls were rebuilt, the cabins were repaired, but the heart of the camp felt a little emptier. No one had fully recovered from the battle, from the losses.
Percy hadn’t fully recovered.
Jason’s death still lingered in the back of her mind, but it wasn’t just his loss that haunted her. It was the weight of the battle itself, the constant responsibility, the lives at stake.
She’d been in Tartarus, had faced things no one should ever face, and while that had shaped her, it was the aftermath—the guilt, the tension between the camps—that left the deepest marks. They were allies now, but trust didn’t come easy. Not after everything. Not when it felt like they were barely hanging on. She didn’t feel like she had any more emotional energy to spare, especially when it came to the gods.
She exhaled slowly, letting the cool air brush past her. She had a lot to think about, but it was always hard to focus when the memories of the war were so fresh.
Footsteps. The unmistakable echo of someone walking with purpose.
“Percy,” Apollo’s voice called out, soft but unmistakable. He didn’t need to announce himself, not really. His aura was a constant reminder of his presence, a golden warmth that cut through the night like the sun peeking over the horizon. Percy didn’t turn to face him at first. The last time they’d spoken, she’d gotten a little too snappy. She was still figuring out how she felt about Apollo now, after everything that had happened.
He wasn’t the same Apollo she remembered from before, but that was kind of the problem.
“Percy,” Apollo said again, his voice filled with a mixture of warmth and relied as he approached her on the edge of the training arena. “It’s been a while.”
Her fingers gripped the railing tighter, the wood creaking beneath her. She couldn’t stop the sarcastic edge that laced her words. “Apollo. I see you’re back to basking in your glory. How’s it feel to be untouchable again?”
He simply sighed, a mixture of exasperation and something close to fond. “None of us have seen you since this morning so I’ve come to check on you. Turns out this whole time, you’ve been brooding—”
“I was not brooding—”
“But to answer your question..,” Apollo trailed off. His smile faltered and what replaced it was a look Percy couldn’t name but was painfully familiar with. It was like grief, happines and anger all mixed up.
Damn. She's relating to a God now? Ugh.
“It feels… strange,” he paused. “I’m not exactly who I used to be. I think it’s a good thing though.”
Percy raised an eyebrow. “Really? You mean you don’t plan on making it rain golden cows, or whatever it is you do?” Her voice had a bite to it, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care for much these days.
“Heh,” Apollo snickered. “Thanks for the idea.”
“Shut up,” Percy muttered. “Y’know what? You’re not very good at this ‘humble mortal’ act.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “I’ve been through a lot. I’m learning, okay?”
Percy’s lips twitched despite herself. Apollo had always been a bit of a drama king, but now that he’d spent some time as a mortal, he wasn’t as unbearable. Still, the gods weren’t exactly on her favorite list. Even if Apollo had changed, even if he wasn’t as… Apollo-ish as before, she wasn’t sure how much she could trust him. She wasn’t sure she could trust anyone who could snap their fingers and wipe out cities if they felt like it.
“I suppose it’s good you’re learning something,” Percy drawled, her tone dry but genuine. Ehh sort of. “Gods usually just do whatever they want. But you… you actually seem to be trying.”
Apollo leaned against the rail next to her, giving her a rueful grin. “Well, being a mortal wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, Percy. If you’ve ever spent an hour without powers and the ability to fix things with the flick of your wrist, you’d understand.”
“I’ve spent years without powers, thanks. Not to mention trying to figure out how to fix things with nothing but my brain and a pointy object.”
“Pointy object?” Apollo laughed. “Is that your way of referring to your sword?”
Percy shot him a sideways glance. “Why, you got a problem with my trusty pointy object?”
“No, I’m just wondering why you’re trying to make me picture you with a sword. I wonder... Are you threatening me, Miss Jackson?" he smirked, eyes glinting with mischief.
Percy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Let me give you a mental picture of me slashing through a battalion of monsters while dealing with demigod angst. It’s not pretty.”
“Eh, I think it’s adorable,” Apollo grinned, leaning in a little closer. “You always manage to make the impossible seem… normal.”
She huffed, her eyes narrowing slightly, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips. “If only my life was that cute. No, I’ve spent way too much time trying to keep everyone and everything from being completely and utterly obliterated by either monsters or other demigods.”
At that, Apollo grew quiet, watching her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. He had this way of looking at people, like he could see through all their defenses and straight into the parts they were trying to hide. Percy didn’t like it, but she didn’t have it in her to shut him out either.
Silence settled between them as they both stared at the view.
Eventually, Percy turned to look at Apollo. “Do you ever feel like we’re just… spinning our wheels?” she whispered, her voice low. “Like we’re doing all this rebuilding, trying to make everything right, but somehow we’re still missing something important?”
Apollo didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment, Percy felt a little too exposed, standing there beside him. But then he sighed, and when he spoke, his voice wasn’t light or teasing anymore. It was… tired.
“I do,” he admitted. “The war is over, but the scars still linger. Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter… we’ve never really worked together. Sure, we’ve been allies, but trust is a different thing. The gods may have patched things up, but it’s not that simple for the kids they left behind.”
Percy glanced at him, surprised by the depth of his words. Apollo didn’t exactly do deep, at least not in the way she was used to. “Yeah, well… it’s not just the gods, is it? Both camps are so caught up in rebuilding that they forget it’s the people who need the most mending.”
“Exactly,” Apollo murmured, his tone grim. “No one really talks about how hard it is to just go back to normal after all of this. After everything we’ve been through. It’s not like we can just slap on a fresh coat of paint and call it a day.”
Percy’s heart tightened at his words. “Yeah,” she muttered, staring at the lake again. “No one’s asking the kids what they need, what they really need. It’s just… ‘Here’s your cabin, here’s your weapon, go out and fight’.”
She turned to face Apollo, only to find him already staring at her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. She fought to push down the wave of heat and unease that suddenly rushed through her. “They’re just kids. But they don’t get to be,” she whispered. “And when the fighting’s over, they act like it’s supposed to be fine. But it’s not. It’s never that simple.”
“And you’re supposed to make it work,” Apollo said quietly, looking at her with a kind of understanding she wasn’t sure she was ready to accept. “You’re supposed to be the one who holds it all together. You, who’s been through more than anyone should have to.”
Percy wanted to snap, wanted to tell him she was fine, but the words stuck in her throat. “We can’t fix everything,” she said instead, her voice more tired than she meant it to be. “Not everyone has the answers, Apollo.”
He nodded, a flicker of something in his blue eyes. “I know. But sometimes… sometimes we just need to stop pretending we have to do it alone.”
Percy didn’t know how to respond to that. She’d never been good at asking for help. It felt like a weakness, even though she knew better. It was just… easier to keep everything bottled up, easier to deal with it alone.
“Is that your way of asking for help?” she teased, trying to deflect. “Because I’m not exactly known for being the ‘moral support’ type.”
Apollo grinned, his usual mischievous glint returning with a hint of softness. “Who said I was asking for help? I just thought you might want someone to help carry the weight, you know? You’re not the only one carrying all of this.”
Percy met his gaze, studying him for a moment. “You’re right,” she said quietly, her smile a little softer this time. “Maybe we should all stop pretending we’ve got it together. Just a little.”
For a brief moment, there was a silence between them, the kind that felt comfortable, like the world had slowed down for just a second. Percy didn’t know if she would ever fully trust Apollo, or the gods in general. But maybe… just maybe, things didn’t have to be perfect to work.
“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice betraying the vulnerability she didn’t usually show. “For being here. For, you know… not acting like everything’s fine when it’s not.”
Apollo’s smile softened, his gaze warm like the sun. “That’s what I’m here for, Percy. The gods may be messed up, but that doesn’t mean I have to be.”
Percy chuckled, the tension easing a little. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind.*
The night grew quieter as Percy made her way back to her cabin, Apollo’s words lingering in her mind. They weren’t anything new, not really. She’d heard it all before—“you’re not alone,” “we’re all in this together.” But something about the way he’d said it, the way he had looked at her when he spoke, made her wonder if there was more to it. She wasn’t used to that kind of vulnerability, especially not from a god, even one who had been a mortal.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in her chest. Maybe it was the weight of responsibility, the pressure to fix everything, or maybe it was the fear that she wasn’t strong enough. The war, the deaths, the loss… it was too much to process sometimes. And she had spent so long pretending it didn’t affect her, pretending she was fine, that now, in the quiet after everything, it was hard to keep it all at bay.
When she finally reached her cabin, she tried to push the thoughts away. She stripped out of her camp clothes and crawled into bed, the comfort of the blankets doing little to ease the tension in her shoulders.
It had been months since the battle, but sometimes it felt like the world was still on the edge of crumbling, like everything was just waiting to shatter again. Tartarus was still there, just beneath the surface of her thoughts, always lurking. It was in the quiet moments, when she was supposed to be resting, that it rose up to claim her. The pit, the dark, the suffocating weight of it. Her skin still remembered the heat of the flames, the crushing pressure of the void, and the way she could never fully escape the feeling that she had almost lost herself in the dark.
She tossed and turned in her bed, trying to find a way to get comfortable. But sleep? It wasn’t coming. Nope. Not tonight.
Her thoughts wandered back to the conversation with Apollo earlier. He had meant well, but it was hard to trust someone who had the power to bring down entire cities with a flick of their fingers. A mortal, sure, but a god nonetheless. No matter how much he tried to prove he was different, Percy had spent too many years being burned by the gods to let her guard down now. Even if Apollo had changed, the whole concept of gods still felt like a raw wound
But… but he’s different, she thought to herself.
But just as the thought crossed her mind, the room around her started to shift. The edges of her vision blurred, and the familiar chill of Tartarus crept in.
She was back.
The ground was hot beneath her feet, the air thick with smoke. She could feel it—that suffocating, oppressive darkness that stretched on forever. The scent of sulfur was sharp, burning in her nostrils. Percy’s breath quickened as the cold sweat trickled down her neck.
“Not again,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Please, not again.”
But the nightmares had no mercy.
She was standing at the edge of the pit, peering down into the abyss. The faces of her friends flickered in the flames—Jason, Grover, Annabeth. They were fading, vanishing into the darkness as if they’d never existed at all. Percy could feel the ground beneath her shifting, moving like quicksand, pulling her closer to the edge.
Then the whispers came.
You're a monster. This is where you belong.
The words hissed from the depths of the void, like a thousand voices all speaking at once. The darkness stretched farther than she could see, each whisper a reminder that she was lost, that she would never escape. The weight of it pressed in on her chest, suffocating her, dragging her down toward the center where the flames licked at the edges of the abyss.
“NO!” Percy screamed, her voice raw with fear, but it felt like nothing could stop it. She was falling, falling into the endless dark.
And then—
Percy jolted awake with a scream, the sound ripping through her throat before she could stop it. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her breath coming in panicked gasps as she looked around the room in confusion. The cabin was dark, quiet, still. The shadows were just shadows again, and there was no flame, no bottomless pit, no darkness.
But her skin was still clammy with the sweat of the nightmare, and the breath she drew in felt shallow and shaky.
“Percy?” a familiar voice called from the doorway, sharp with concern. “Are you alright?”
Percy blinked, her heart still racing, as she turned toward the voice. Annabeth stood there, silhouetted in the doorway, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight coming through the window. She was already in her camp clothes, like she’d been up for a while, waiting to check in on Percy.
It wasn’t until Annabeth was there, fully present, that Percy realized just how much she’d needed someone.
“Annabeth,” Percy gasped, voice raw from the scream. “I—” She swallowed hard, trying to calm herself, but her words faltered. “I… I don’t know what happened. It was like—Tartarus. I was back there, in the pit. And, and then—”
Annabeth moved swiftly to her side, sitting down on the edge of the bed, her hand gently resting on Percy’s arm. The gesture was warm, familiar, and instantly grounding.
“It’s okay, Percy,” Annabeth murmured. “It was just a nightmare. You’re not there. You’re in your cabin.”
But Percy couldn’t shake the tremor in her voice as she spoke. “It didn’t feel like just a nightmare. It felt too real.”
“I know,” Annabeth whispered softly. “It’s going to take time. You don’t have to talk about it now, but if you want to, I’m here.”
Percy let out a long breath, looking down at her hands as if they might provide some kind of answer. Why was she so damn selfish? She knew Annabeth also struggles with her own nightmares about Tartarus and yet she didn’t break. Not like Percy did. She could feel the pressure building behind her eyes, the familiar sting of tears she refused to shed.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing anymore,” Percy admitted quietly, the words tasting foreign on her tongue. “All this… responsibility—it’s like I can’t breathe. The war’s over, but nothing feels fixed. I can’t stop thinking that everything we’re doing is just… a distraction.”
Annabeth’s eyes softened as she reached out, brushing a curl of black hair from Percy’s forehead. “It’s not a distraction, Percy. We’re all healing, all of us. It’s going to take time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. You’ve done more than enough, more than anyone could ask for.”
“So have you,” she shot back. Percy shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t feel like it’s enough. I should be doing more, helping more, leading better. The camps are still broken. Half-Blood and Jupiter? We’re just putting patches on a cracked wall, hoping it’ll hold up. And I’m… I’m still terrified, Annabeth. I don’t want to fall back into the darkness. Not again.”
Annabeth didn’t flinch. She just looked at Percy with that steady, unshakable determination that had always been her anchor. “You’re not going to fall back. Not as long as you don’t let yourself. We’re all here to catch you when you stumble. You don’t have to carry it all alone.”
Percy swallowed, trying to fight the lump that had formed in her throat. She hadn’t expected Annabeth’s words to be so comforting, so simple. But there was power in simplicity, in being here. With someone who understood.
“And… and Apollo?” Percy asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Annabeth raised an eyebrow at that. “Apollo?”
“Yeah,” Percy muttered, her fingers fidgeting with the blankets. “He’s different now, isn’t he? Not the same god he was before. But… he’s still a god, Annabeth. I don’t know how to handle that.”
Annabeth’s gaze softened, and she let out a quiet laugh. “Percy, you don’t have to handle him. You’re allowed to be confused. You’re allowed to not have all the answers. Apollo… he’s trying, but he’s still a God. We should still be wary of him.”
Percy sighed, letting the weight of her exhaustion settle into her bones. “Yeah… Maybe.”
Annabeth’s eyes never wavered, the steady presence of her calm and care anchoring Percy in the storm that raged in her mind. “We’re not in Tartarus anymore, Percy. And I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this, together. Like we always do. One day at a time.”
Percy smiled softly, the words settling in her chest. For the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe, just maybe, the storm inside her would calm. Slowly. But it would calm.
“Thanks, Annabeth,” Percy whispered, finally letting the exhaustion take over. “You always know just what to say.”
Annabeth smiled. “I’ve learned a thing or two about you over the years.”
Percy chuckled weakly, letting her eyes drift shut. The nightmares of Tartarus were still there, still lurking just beneath the surface, but she didn’t have to face them alone anymore. For the first time in a while, the weight of it all didn’t feel so unbearable.
Maybe that was enough for now.