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Chapter Text

An awful crack in Percy’s ankles drag his face across the ground.

 “Grover!” Percy screams, “Annabeth!”

Hands and hooves grapple after him.

A cascade of scratches flash upon his face. 

Oh, Percy.

It stings. It burns. A thousand pricking needles laced with itching salt. He tries to cry, but a mouthful of dust comes up dry on his tongue. Tears well up in his eyes, but it may just be to clear away the ash. He is marred. He is wounded. There is an aching in his stomach,  and he can’t quite seem to breathe. It hurts. It hurts and he can’t get it to stop. He’s clawing at the ground. He’s choking on dust. He can’t get a hold of anything. For all he paws for, his fists come up empty. Sharp gravel remains stitched in his nails. It hurts. Mama it hurts.

“Percy!”

It hurts. It hurts. He can feel the flesh of his skin being flayed as he is dragged across rocks. He can feel his bones pulling apart with the tug of gilded shoes. All Percy can do is close his mouth not to scream.

“Percy! Kick off your shoes!” Annabeth shouts desperately.

She already knows it’s too late.

“I-I can’t control them!”

That is painstakingly obvious.

In a last attempt, Percy’s hands cling to the ledge of the pit. He wants to pull himself up— Percy doesn’t want to die. He wants to pull himself up.

Percy doesn’t want to die.

They say your best moments pass before you die. 

“Grover! Go! Go get help! Percy I’ll get you out—” Annabeth’s voice is laced with strained panic.

It aches, it aches. His arms tell him quietly that there is the brave option to just give out. To let go. Percy is hungry. Oh, he’s starving. And it hurts. It hurts so badly. And something down there promises to soothe his itching soul. 

Annabeth is crying.

Grover is too.

Percy might be crying.

Percy really wants his mom right now. He can smell the cookies coming from the oven. Annabeth’s never tried his mom’s cookies, has she? She’ll have to try them sometime. Luke too. Percy will ask his mom if they can invite them all for lunch one day, Grover can lead them.

They’ll all have lunch together.

“Annabeth..”

They’ll do it, one day.

“No! You are not dying on me, Seaweed-brain! Grover over there—”.

“It’ll be okay, wise-girl. .. will….promise me you’ll get my mom out.”

“What? Percy I’m not- ”

“get my mom out. Protect Grover. Live—”

Annabeth ignores him, “Shut up kelphead! I’m going to get you out!” 

“promise.”

“yes! I promise! I’ll do-“

It hurts.

So with that last thought, Percy lets go.

Chapter Text

Pride. 

Pride was Annabeth’s fatal flaw

Ever since Annabeth was seven years old, her life sucked. Monsters haunting her mortal family, her mortal family haunting her, the typical demigod stuff. Obviously not wanted around, she ran away from home. She was then left cold, sopping wet, and utterly alone. Then, things started to change. When she met Thalia, a daughter of Zeus and Luke, a cunning son of Hermes, she suddenly had a family again. She had a brother and sister who were now there to watch her back. Life was great. Just a family on the run. Two girls and boy having fun. Then Thalia turned into a tree.

Luke and Annabeth made it to Camp Half-Blood- a safe demigod haven. Annabeth trained there for the next five years. She honed her skills and was claimed as a daughter of Athena. She found friends there, and her family grew. A close friend, a Satyr. And a great, stupid Seaweed Brained, forbidden child of Poseidon won her heart at twelve years old. Prideful and confident, she, Grover, and the boy went on a quest to save the world. They were idiotically high on their giddiness and on their pride. 

The boy didn’t make it back.

And her brother betrayed her.

The world went on a rollercoaster of high and low from there. Two more forbidden children appeared in her life. One was her sister, who she now got back but then lost again to the hunters and Artemis. The other was a vengeful son of Hades, one who she’d failed her promise with. The son of Hades was named Nico Di Angelo. And Annabeth had allowed the death of his sister to happen. 

More kids died, trauma ensued, a new oracle happened, Annabeth’s best friends, Clarisse and Chris, had their girlfriend killed by a drakon, more death, mortal death, demigod death, oh and the The Titan of Time (Kronos) was finally defeated because Annabeth’s brother killed himself, fulfilling the Great Prophecy.

Somehow, despite The Great Prophecy requiring a forbidden child of sixteen to preserve or raze Olympus, fourteen year old Nico Di Angelo managed to fulfill the stupid prophecy. Everyone assumed the prophecy got screwed up or something because of Nico’s  time in the Lotus Casino. It was a lousy explanation, but it was all they had. Clarisse, pissed at her girlfriend’s death, Will Solace, pissed at his family’s death, Thalia, pissed at her sisters’ death, Annabeth, pissed for everyone, and Nico who was gods know how angry at everyone and anything, were just about ready to destroy Olympus themselves. They demanded presence with the gods.

Essentially what happened then was they demanded the Gods paid child support. It kinda sucked. But if one thing came out of it was Nico. 

Forcefully. He was kinda outed actually. By the gods.

But also now the Gods also kinda hated Nico now and called him a sinner. 

Screw the Gods. Live laugh, love Di Angelo.

Things were supposed to settle after that. Nico started spending more time at camp and Will Solace, the camp medic, obviously wanted to take care of the son of death. Clarisse and Chris moved on and went to college. Thalia went back to leading the hunters. Everything was good. Annabeth was left alone once again, but not a fragmented, scared kind of alone. It was calm, ‘I can help lead camp Half-Blood and create a better future’ kind of alone. And then it all went to hell just as Annabeth was going now.

Annabeth’s memory was stolen by Hera and she was thrown into a foreign camp, Camp Jupiter. It was confusing and terrifying, a feeling she didn’t like to feel. It was supposed to unite the camps but if anything the exchange between her and Jason Grace just caused more issues. Screw you Hera. Once again though, if anything good came out of this ordeal was Annabeth. Like come on, Reyna Ramírez-Arellano was quite attractive. They might’ve kissed a few times. But still, Reyna was not the one for Annabeth. For some reason, even with her memory wiped, the face of a sea green eyed boy rang in her mind. She couldn’t remember his name. Just his laugh and his smile and his god so stupid laugh again. It was stupid.

A boy named Leo Valdez accidentally declared war on the Romans, which did not please Annabeth. She left Reyna behind and boarded the Argo II with her siblings in arms, Frank Zhang and Hazel Levesque. As the eldest of them, she felt a responsibility to take care of her new little brother and sister.

Annabeth regained her memories throughout the journey, unlike Jason Grace who was still a powerful amnesiac- that was kinda sad. But hey, Annabeth wasn’t complaining. The newest Great Prophecy required seven half-bloods to answer the call, yet there were only six of them, Jason, Annabeth, Piper, Leo, Frank, and Hazel. When they gained information about a certain Nico Di Angelo stuck in a bronze jar, they immediately rushed over to save him. Apparently Nico knew about the Romans and Greeks before anyone else did. Least to say is that it made everyone a little pissed. 

They rescued death boy from the bronze jar. It was still the same Nico, just a little…traumatized. Nico and Annabeth hugged while he gave Hazel a kiss on the cheek. Apparently his time in Tartarus was not fun. His voice seemed to die with his spirit. Nico, the poor fourteen year old boy, barely ate, only slept, and liked the sun and its warmth. This was an alarming difference from the edgy vengeful son of death that Annabeth was used to. She wondered what the sickly boy had endured. He used to be the happiest little kid, and then he grew so cold. Annabeth had failed Nico by killing his sister and inner child.

The only words Nico had uttered before going silent was a prophecy. One the, now seven of them, dubbed as the Pit Prophecy.

It wasn’t a fun prophecy. Especially since they were now dealing with the second Great Prophecy, the Mark of Athena Prophecy, and as well as the Pit Prophecy. This odyssey was simply...delightful.

Annabeth had done her part, per her mother’s request and the MOA prophecy. She thought she had defeated the ugly spider lady. She had outsmarted Arachne. She did it! She had won! She shone with pride. She had done it and proved herself worthy to her Athena.. 

Then the web caught around her leg. 

Fighting the urge to throw up, as she was yanked backwards into the abyss, her hand caught onto a rock. She heard a horrible crack in her arm. Her voice carried as 

Annabeth yelled one last thing to whoever was watching above.

“Go! Go get to the Doors of Death! I’ll do it from down here, I promise!”

“ANNABETH!” Hazel screamed, Piper rushing to her side

Piper’s voice commanded with charmspeak, “We’re going to get you out!”

 You will get you out. Annie..” her words were an oath.

“I know.” 

***

Annabeth fell for what seemed like an eternity. This was essentially ADD hell. What would Tartarus be like? Who-what would she see? What would she endure? Annabeth didn’t even know how she was gonna survive the fall. How could she promise to open the Doors of Death and save the world? So far, Annabeth has had nearly every oath made in her life broken. It would take a miracle and a God to save Annabeth.  

As sulfuric air grew near and she started to see the ground. It seemed to be…water approaching her? Maybe that would soften her landing. Okay probably not. She sent a prayer and curse to Poseidon.

Then a miracle happened.

The river water reached toward her as a hand, snatching her out of the air. Simply a bird catching its prey.

  Well, that can’t be good.

But it was good for now. Because that meant Annabeth would possibly live another day.

Her vision tunneled as a scoff and a laugh bellowed in her ears.

Chapter Text

Nico slept in the stables of the Argo II. 

He could’ve slept in the empty room saved for the seventh member of the prophecy, or Annabeth’s now abandoned room, or even his sweet sisterly Hazel would’ve let him sleep on the floor.

But Nico much rather be alone.

Everytime he looked at Hazel he saw a dead girl. When he stepped into Annabeth’s room he felt like he was disrespecting her. And when he stared at the empty room it simply felt wrong, like the room was made for another. Like, Nico didn’t belong. Because Nico didn’t belong.

He closed his eyes, laying on the hay of the stables. It was warm there. He didn’t want to leave, now. 

“Nico?” Hazel called.

He looked up, blinking slowly. He opened his mouth to speak but no noise came out. His voice refused to obey him. He couldn't speak. He couldn’t yell. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t even thank his little sister for bringing him a cup of water.

“Do..you still want this?” She pointed to the uneaten food from days ago. Nico’s head shook ever so slightly.

“Okay…I’ll..be around, I guess. The Argo II could really use some help, Nico. But..take your time. I love you.”

He squeezed her hand to let her know he did too. At least that was the message he attempted to communicate. Moments after the simple, sweet gesture, Hazel left the room. And Nico went back to his freeing sleep. 

***

Acid burned through the half-blood’s skin. Glass stabbed through his feet. All he could hear were his own desperate screams as sulfur filled his nose.

Nico was in hell.

And a boy looked at him curiously.

***

Nico laid awake in the hay. Breathing slowly, in it and out. Reminding himself he was no longer having molten gold shoved down his throat or diamonds lodged in his skin. He was here. At this moment. He was alive. 

***

“They tell you to swallow tapeworms. Swallow up your sin.” The boy’s voice was raspy, but a smirk was wide on his face. He rambled about nonsense, as if this was the last conversation he was going to have. He skipped around the shards of glass on the ground, spinning Nico around. He had a heavy accent, one Nico couldn’t quite place. “They’re happy when you shut your mouth. When you have nothing to say.”

“My body feels like hell.” Nico managed.

***

The Son of Death tried to stand up, his vision tunneled as he did so. Falling back onto the hay, he closed his eyes once again.

***

“Nico. I do not care if you like men. Sixteen years of shitty luck teaches you to not give a fuck. Kiss my dad for all I care. I don’t care. Fuck my dad by the way. My dad sucks.”

“What are you-“

“Quiet.”

The boy whose voice had always sounded like he swallowed coals went silent. He had always spoken in short, incomplete sentences. It was like he was dancing around what he had to say. Or more than that, he forgot how to speak normally. It was like he needed to make sure whatever he said was clear before his voice box would be stolen.

Suddenly, the boy pulled at a toxic green vial, the same chemical waste green as his eyes. Greek fire, Nico realized. And, the boy threw it at the approaching empoupsai.

***

The cup of water shook in Nico’s hands as he swallowed. It nearly immediately came back up. He was left panting and watching the days pass by as he tried again and again. Over and over. 

What was he trying for again?

***

“You’re insane!” Nico screamed at the boy 

“It worked. Did it not? It did.” The green eyed boy shrugged, rummaging through his mangy hair.

“you left me to die. You threw me into the monster’s crumbling cave without a word.”

Suddenly, in Nico’s hands was a figurine. 

A Hades figurine,

“I knew you would get out. You’re Bianca’s brother. For you.” He said Bianca’s name slowly, as if it was burning on his tongue. 

“You..knew Bia?” Nico shook his head, “You knew? You knew her and didn’t tell me! Do you even feel? Do you understand how…how scared I was alone in that cave? I was in there for what, hours?” 

“Days. Actually.”

“I..I hate you!”

***

The stars shone on the horizon, reminding him of his sister. How Bianca swore her loyalty to Artemis. His hands flexed, as he sat on the deck. Everyone was asleep, no one was aware of the Son of Hades’ appearance outside the stables.

His sister would’ve loved watching the stars with Hazel. Hazel loved the night sky. Hazel would’ve loved Nico’s sister, Bianca. Hazel was his sister too

Hazel was Nico’s sister too.

The stars were really pretty tonight.

It was the first thing Nico had seen since the hay on the ground. 

***

Silence. It was all the black haired boy could offer. It was strange.

Nico watched as the boy fiddled with his sword. It looked Greek. He’s a demigod, obviously. But Nico hadn’t the slightest idea on how he got here, or even what his name was. Nico surely would’ve died if this boy hadn’t found him. He certainly knew his way around Tartarus. But..he seemed younger than Nico. He looked barely twelve.

“Boy..?” Nico asked, not having any other name for him, “Why don’t you..talk?”

“..habit.”

Nico looked uncertain, the silence was deafening. He hadn’t heard any remotely human voice since he got down to Tartarus.

“Do you want me too?” The boy looked at Nico

“I-I guess?”

“Alright fuck yeah! Let’s go! C’mon,  let’s go hunt some monsters!”

***

Hazel left another plate for Nico. As she left, he hesitantly reached out for it, and took a bite. Then, he drank a cup of water. He owed the green eyed boy this much. So he drank some more, and brushed his mangy hair. Then, he went back to sleep.

***

Nico’s mind was a mess. He couldn’t place the chronological order or time or place when an event or memory happened. His head spun as he drank more fire water. 

The boy had told Nico nothing, not his name, where he was from, who he was a child to. In one moment he was chirpy and loud, then angry, then silent. The boy was unpredictable, dangerous, yet Nico trusted him with his life. He awoke in the middle of what he assumed was night to hear two voices. 

“Do you like your birthday present, love?”

“I…do. I’ve really enjoyed it. But this demigod-“

“Good, good. You must know your time like this is coming to an end, my child. Mortals are quite frail. I am completely sure you know that.”

“Trust me, I do! It’s just..”

“you’ve grown quite talkative.”

“….”

“don’t get used to it.”

“I know.”

Nico felt too drowsy to implore.

***

Slowly, day by day, night by night, Nico began to finish his meals

***

Nico, kill him” The boy said proudly, his voice sweet like wine, 

***

Nico slept, not to escape, but to recover.

***

The days when they first met, it was dead silent. Something Nico heard a while ago, silence is safety and being alone ensures that. Except they weren’t alone, they had each other, which made the exchanges between the two pretty uncanny. Nico supposed a demigod alone in Tartarus for however long he was in there had gotten used to silence. That was okay. Nico liked the quiet too.

The boy spoke everyday, now.

***

Nico brushed his hair, washed his face, and drank a cup of water.

***

Everytime the boy now spoke, his voice seemed to be laced with poison, not one to kill rats, more like one that was slow to affect and was made of alcohol. 

***

Nico cleaned up his bed of hay, brushing it off him.

***

Quiet as a mouse, without exchanging words, they watched out for each other.

***

Nico stood up from the hay. It was early morning and the sunlight barely filtered through.

***

Words were only needed when trust was lost. When you felt you couldn’t understand each other by breathing. When you were required to speak what was needed.

*** 

Nico watched the clouds as they took different shapes and forms.

***

As the green eyed boy, barely twelve years old, rearranged the monster's organs as it writhed in pain, it spoke.

*** 

Nico breathed in the salty summer air.

***

“This monster is no better than me, demigod? Why do you trust him? You’ve journeyed with him long enough. You’ve seen how he speaks, how he only mimics what you want to hear. He is a servant to the Night. He has loyalty to no one but his own. Run while you can, mortal.” 

“Shut up!” The boy screamed. The monster turned to dust

***

Nico hummed the tune his mother used to sing, the song Bianca used to screech.

***

The boy looked to Nico with hope and rage.

“You didn’t listen to him, right?”

Silence was all Nico could offer.

“Right?” Nico started to run

His body and blood fought against him, but he was a son of death. This was his domain.

***

“Nico?”

***

“Please! Don’t leave me! I can make you stay!”

The child begged for Nico. The twelve year old boy looked hopeful.

“Leave. Me. Alone!” Nico screamed as he felt himself being tugged back.

Silence was now the least the boy could offer him.

In an instant, the boy was no longer a boy and his skin was covered in scars. His eyes were filled with…what? Pity?

A shadow loomed over him. Nico didn’t stay to watch more. 

“I told you so.” A voice chanted. 

Nico’s body was not meant for the boy’s grave. He refused it. Through his running and panic, Nico was knocked unconscious. 

***

“Morning, Hazel.”

The girl sobbed into her big brother’s shoulder. She wouldn’t have to play the older sibling anymore. She wouldn’t have to be Bianca, anymore.

“I gave you quite the scare, didn’t I?”

‘The scare’ was an understatement. Nico came back from Tartarus and his kidnapping by his torture and the stupid bronze jar and- God’s know and Hazel don’t know what-sickly and pale.  

“Fuck you.” She mumbled. She was spending too much time around Leo.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t there for you. But I’m here now.”

“Fuck you.” She said a little louder.

“I love you, Hazel.”

“Fuck you!” She laughed, giggling and giddy, “Fuck you, Nico Di Angelo!”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Leo,” he sighed.

“I agree.”

Chapter Text

Annabeth woke up cold.

She felt like she was burning up inside but she shivered from the freezing air. She rolled over only to feel glass in her side.

Taking a breath and felt needles come down her throat, she tried to scream but nothing came out except acidic bile.

Annabeth was in hell.

She stood up and tried to walk. She felt like doubling over. She felt like sitting in that same spot for eternity. Maybe it’d hurt less, then. 

A growl brought Annabeth to her senses.

***

Tartarus was…something else. Fire water was drinkable here and you breathe in acid. Monsters that turn to dust reform nearly immediately.

Noise was the worst here. Everything was always stirring. A growl, a yelp, a scream of a tortured soul. If Annabeth made a single peep, flocks of monsters scurried to her side.

For the majority of the time Annabeth stayed by the River Phlegethon. It healed here and, well, made sure she didn’t die. The single time Annabeth strayed away to find food was the (hopefully only) time she lost a leg. Thankfully Tartarus rivers do wonders for your health.

She suppressed her moans and groans of protest from her body. She liked it silent. It was strange, previously Annabeth actually liked background noise. She liked multitasking. It was fun for her. Now, though, noise meant nothing good. Noise meant a monster was coming. A noise meant you were unsafe. A noise meant death.

Silence is when she felt the safest. Which…still wasn’t very safe.

She always felt like she was being watched.

It was strange really, how the most comfort Annabeth could gain here was her uneasy quiet. It was strange how daggers in her throat and moist skin were pretty much normal now. It was strange how her being watched, with the monsters and demons and threats of death, being watched was the most unsettling thing there.

After nearly being gutted, Annabeth learned to pick up on everything. Every noise, every twitch, nothing got past the daughter of Athena. 

Her skill improved greatly in nearly all aspects.

Her mental health also greatly declined.

One night, she strayed too far away from the River Phlengton. A strange hissing sound awoke her senses. She held up her makeshift bone-dagger, ready to strike. A weird rat creature scuttled across her path. Annabeth released a sigh of relief. 

And then a big-ass tiger cat thing and swallowed the rat whole.

Annabeth watched as the kitty slowly turned its sickening head to her, and she began to run.

It smelled as if rotting flesh and its face was worse. Annabeth made it to the River, but not without a gash in her back. The cat tore into Annabeth’s flesh and it sizzled as if struck with burning poison. That’s gonna leave a scar Annabeth thought haphazardly.

As she sat in the fire water she laughed at her pettinesses, at her vanity. Was she…actually sad she had a scar now? Not that she was injured, or that she was in Tartarus for the Gods sake, no she was sad because her appearance had been marred. Shut up, she told herself. No one was gonna see her back anyway, and why would Annabeth of all people even care about her appearance?

But it was not her appearance, Annabeth was sad about. She was angry. Angry at herself and the Gods for sending her to this hell. Maybe after all this was over and if she lived, she could ignore all that happened and pretend it was all a bad dream. 

But the scars would disprove this.

So Annabeth held her breath, refusing to cry, refusing to show weakness, and started thinking of all the things she might demand of the gods.

That was a nice dream.

***

Even the River of Healing wasn’t quite safe. For example, piranha demons love eating feet.

Annabeth was so tired. She was hungry and dehydrated. Sleeping on the rocks was not an option so she opted for drifting along the fire water. Sure her back burned and boiled, but what was new in Tartarus?

Piranha demons were new. Pirannah demons were brand frickin new.

Annabeth felt that her time down here had rotted her brain. Why didn’t she think of the fish devils in the water? There’s always something in the water.

She awoke from her restless sleep to something nibbling at her toes. She saw fish. Not ‘oh cute fish!’ that Annabeth had always loved, no it was more like ‘what the hell?’ kind of fish. 

Annabeth tried to scramble away but the leech-like things clung to her body. They tore her to the bone and a surprising scream escaped her. 

She rolled out of the water into the glass like rocks and stabs went up and down her spine. Fortunately, that seemed to scare the fishes away.

Annabeth coughed and sputtered. The water’s residue broiled in her eyes. She looked to her body, where blood was oozing out of every opening.

She reached for the River of Healing but immediately a hellish creature bit and scraped the skin of her hand. Annabeth stared at it in horror, as she looked at the bloody bone connected to her.

Annabeth felt herself grow cold and warm and felt her insides be looped out. She groaned. Tartarus seemed like a test to her intelligence, a wound on her pride. Why didn’t Annabeth think of this? Why didn’t Annabeth plan that? Everything Annabeth seemed to think of crumbled awake with another unknown variable.

Maybe Minerva was right. 

Annabeth curled up, head held in her hands, she started to mumble some half hearted comfort and prayer.

***

Arai sucked ass. Most creatures in Tartarus did, actually.

Annabeth rested her head against a stone. She thought she was safe, as safe as you could be in the pit, when a voice cooed behind the rock she was sheltered by.

“no..”

“yes. The Lady of The Earth will reward us greatly.”

Lady of the Earth? Gaia? Her mind raced for answers to the comments the voice made.

“And Mother Night will punish us harshly!”

Nyx?

“More than that her little servant will break us before we even have the chance to-“

“Her little servant is our…. “

“brother?”

Brother?

“we will not call him our brother.”

“- and she is our mom. We will not attempt to harm him nor will we our mother.”

Mother..

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“You act as if we could in the first place. We’d get obliterated by either of them the moment they suspect anything amiss.”

“Yet, the Lady of The Earth’s reward…”

“No!”

“Now, now, Curses, can’t we do both? Please Night and gain Earth’s rewards? A little hellhound told me theres another demigod down here.” The voice cackled

Annabeth stopped breathing. 

“Hm. I thought that odor was simply Lady Night’s Servant’s stink.”

“If it was, it surely would’ve faded by now.”

As one approached the rock that sheltered Annabeth she decided to not take the chance. She pulled it down by its bird-like leg and stabbed it in the chest with the dagger she loved so much. Annabeth was quick, the creature hadn’t even made a noise. 

Unfortunately, since shit didn’t make sense in Tartarus, Annabeth’s hair was pulled back and she was left sprawled on the floor.

“Now.. what do we have here?” One creature snarled 

Suddenly, claws and teeth were after her. 

She slit a creature’s whispy throat and suddenly Annabeth needed to scream. She stabbed another in the eye and suddenly she was blind.

“Don’t you get it, daughter of Athena?” One cackled, “We are Arai! Children of the Night! Souls of the Damned.”

Annabeth blindly slashed at another when she realized who she was fighting. Arai. The curses. For every one you kill, you receive a curse from someone else.

For all she could do at this point was stumble and flee, that is what she did. She heard Arai hissing after her.

How many angry monsters had she killed? How many pissed off demigods laid petty curses on her?

Somewhere along the way she fell and the curses were all over again.

Slash

Her throat felt raw

Stab

Spider bites were dotted all over her body

Grab

Suddenly she was seven years old again screaming for her sister

Tear

Her brother was dead. Suicide by her blade.

Over. And over. Annabeth had lost and endured. What else could she do, as a demigod? That was all her life was. If she died in this hole, who would remember her name? Sure she was a popular camp counselor, but demigods died. Sure she redesigned Olympus, but would the gods bother recalling who built them palaces?

Charlie. Silena. Micheal. Lee. Clarisse. Chris. All the little kids dead.

If Luke was right…maybe the wisest thing is to lie.

She slashed more and more Arai. Perhaps losing limbs and turning gray in the process. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She would just be another failure in the prophecy of the Mark of Athena. So kill, after kill, curse after curse, she endured. 

After minutes, seconds, days, decades, months, the hissing seemed to cease. At least she thought it did. Her hearing had seemed to fade.

A last voice rose, “Annabeth Chase… don’t you see how futile this all is?” 

“I do.” Is what she meant to say but it came out as a soft mumble.

“And you are the wisest of the Greeks?”

Certainly not, is what she wanted to reply. She wasn’t an Odysseus. 

Odysseus made it home.

With a raise of her blade in her bloodied hands the last Arai died. Or was it truly death if you were in Tartarus? It didn’t matter. The adrenaline ebbed and her head started to tilt downwards. Her eyes started to close. Or did they? She didn’t know. She was blind as Polymphepus. 

Her mind seemed to run in circles. It tried recalling all its favorite stories and myths. All its favorite memories and days.

She had wished to find a love as pure as Patroclus and Achilles.

She wanted to throw Silena and Clarisse into a lake when they kissed. Finally! She and the other year-round campers had chanted.

She wanted to be on the run again. Not still and stuck in the hell-hole.

She wanted to be carried by Luke. Bothered by Thalia. Laughed at by Grover.

She wanted to be Odysseus. Coming home to his Kingdom. Only.. Annabeth didn’t have Penelope to see. No Telemachus to make it worth it.

She wanted so much more but she couldn’t remember the rest.

Curse you Hera. Fuck you gods.

Annabeth started to weep. Crying out all the tears she had not in the previous incidents. But there were no tears to cry. Not enough water in her body.

She couldn’t dream of a better life. She had no energy to do so.

She had no comforts or prayers to tell herself. What would she say?

“Athena…” she tried to croak out to her mother, “mama, gods. I…” 

It was stupid. They wouldn’t even hear her and she had nothing left to ask of them. 

She scoffed.

“Fuck you all.”

She almost smiled at herself. Almost. But it was much like a grimace. Annabeth thinks she learned that spite from somewhere- someone. Maybe Clarisse. Maybe Luke. She’ll never remember and she’ll never know.

Her thoughts lost their sharpness. They came slower and slower. Her life didn’t flash through her eyes, not really. Maybe her brain was too tired to do so.

So as her world became dark. She felt something grab at her legs.

Chapter Text

“Destroyer, you do know who this is?”

…

Annabeth’s mind fluttered in and out of consciousness. Her world was still dark.

“Ah. Of course you do…”

…

She could feel her hands. She was warm. At least she thought she was.

“I can’t do that!”

….

She was alive. She was alive. She didn’t die from the stupid curses. Had the Gods saved her?

“I see.”

….

She bolted upright the moment she could.

“Where am I?” She hissed. 

A bowl of water spilled below her.

“You snore in your sleep.”

Her head fell back once again.

Chapter Text

“LEO!” Hazel shrieked, “Leo it’s not worth it! LET IT GO!!”

“I..UHH….” Leo fell from the ship, “I’ll be back!!” He blew a kiss as he fell to the sea.

“Piper cast down the rope!” Ice blue eyes squinted at his lover

“I-fuck!” The ice goddess soon had a blade run through the girl

…..

 Jason really wished he had been left to the wolves right about now.

***

“AND THAT FUCKING STUPID FUCKER JUMPED OUT OF THE SHIP THATS A THIRTY STREET LENGTHS INTO THE AIR OVER THE DEAD GREEK GUY ARCHIMDES’S 3D CIRCLE AND WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU GREEKS? I MEAN THE ROMANS AREN’T MUCH BETTER BUT AGH!!”

“… and I thought my mouth needed to be washed out with soap,” the dark haired boy sighed. He twisted a silver ring around his finger.

“It’s Frank!“ Piper shouted, “I-AGH oh shit my shirt!” Rips were made into Hello Kitty’s face.

The golden eyed girl’s face turned sour, “I.. sorry, Nico.” Hazel had gotten carried away from her little rant about how silver gold was pointless.

“Hazel, incoming!”

“Bian-ZEL GET DOWN!”

“CAW CA CAUGHH AGH-“ A mass of feathers, fur, and skin heaved onto the floorboards of the Argo II

“Frank BREATHE. What happened?”  The magical words from Piper calmed the lump of fur ever so slightly.

Frank replied in, “I-I-auhgnmmmm….”

Hazel shook, “no.. oh no, no,  no. Nico I can’t-“

Jason simply snapped, “Piper, Hazel, take Frank to the medical wing. Nico make yourself useful and set the wing up.”

“We need to-“

“Just go!” Jason snapped.

Holy fuck.

***

Three days. Jason Grace had been awake for three days making sure the Argo II didn’t crash and burn. No mechanics on board meant Jason had to control the winds. Three days since his ‘best friend’ fell off the ship into who knows where. Three days since Frank, the shape-shifting  child of Mars, crash landed. 

The child of Mars had looked to Jason for help, he and everyone else. It was odd, Jason almost felt.. comfortable bossing them around. It was his nature, he supposed, as a child of Jupiter. Yet it scared him so horribly trying to lead when he couldn’t even recall why he wanted to lead.

He grimaced, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the sand. He could hear the sounds of laughter and shouts from the other demigods, their camaraderie a sharp contrast to the bittersweet memories swirling in his mind. These laughs weren’t real. Or were they?

He couldn’t remember.

It had been years since he’d been in the place.

Images flooded his mind, like a venti spinning back into a bag to the highlights of his life. He saw himself as a boy, lost and confused in the halls of Camp Jupiter.

Gods be damned. Octavian and him didn’t have a great first introduction. How was Jason to know he wasn’t supposed to bite people? He was raised by Lady Lupa after all. He was scared and alone in those marble halls.

The first time he had felt the rush of wind beneath his feet as he took to the skies, a thrill that had become a part of his identity. Flying had always felt like home, a reminder of the legacy he carried as a son of Jupiter. Yet. It didn’t. That’s what the praetors told him it was supposed to feel like. Instead it felt like he was being thrown away.

He liked his feet on the ground. Where he could smell the moss and sink his teeth into something. Like Octavian’s hands. Octavian had liked that Jason played dirty. It had amused him how brutal the Son of Jupiter was.

But with those exhilarating moments came shadows. Not memories of betrayal and loss intertwined with the thrill of adventure-though, those certainly were there-it was the absence of memory that haunted him. 

He woke up alone on a bus. He wasn’t alone but he was. He couldn’t fight, he couldn’t think. He somehow gained a much better vocabulary. His hair was caught short and his sharp nails had been trimmed down. He was the ideal Roman, or Greek, hero.

Jason’s thoughts drifted to Piper, her warm smile cutting through the haze of uncertainty. She had been a beacon in those dark times, always reminding him of the strength that lay within. Together, they had faced the challenges that would have crushed lesser souls. He remembered the way her voice would steady him. The bond they shared had forged him into a better leader, one who could face the tempest head-on.

Yes. That was what she was supposed to be. That is what Juno stated Piper was supposed to be. The yin to his yang. The miscreant to his rule-following soul.

Of course.

Yet, in the quiet moments, he could still feel his past—his time in the Roman camp, the struggles of identity and loyalty, the fear of not being enough.

He was enough, right? 

Surely. 

He had been torn between two worlds, trying to reconcile the memories of a life that felt distant and the reality he was building. With each battle fought alongside his friends, he wished he could belong to both legacies, that he didn’t have to choose.

He thought of Leo, the brilliant inventor whose laughter often masked his own shadows. Every time he looked up at the ground (although he had not seen it in a long time), he recalled Leo’s eyes. An earthy brown, flecks of darker muddy colors in it.

Jason wished he was here. Leo had reassured him so often. Taught him lessons of confidence. The memories with him were fond.

.….Memories.

 Definitely. He recalled those memories. That definitely happened. Leo was somebody that calmed and brought ease to Jason. Leo was his best friend.

Definitely.

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, Jason felt a renewed sense of purpose. His past shaped him, but it did not define him. He would continue to honor those memories, carry their lessons forward, and fight for the future he believed in. He was ready to embrace whatever challenges lay ahead. Each battle was not just a fight; it was an opportunity to honor the past and forge a legacy worthy of the sky. Yes. This is what Jason should think. Everything is a holy opportunity.

An opportunity.

A fucking opportunity.

***

“Jayce! Love, calm the fuck down! The boat is shaking!” Piper yelled.

Jason eased the winds, causing the boat to become unbelievably stable despite his shaking hands.

Who was he?

Chapter Text

Guard raised and weapons drawn.

“Little demigod, you will die down here. You will die with your stupid little blade and stupid morals. I’m tired. Now, do you wanna live?” An eight foot tall figure ran back and forth, holding a long blade the size of two demigods.

“Questionably so.” The singed ends of her curly hair crackled.

“You remind me of someone. Shall I kill you myself?”

A mantra. A duty to fulfill. “I must make it to the Doors of Death. I must live.”

“Then fight.”

***

Damasen. The Anti- Ares. The kind giant cursed to live in the Pit and repeatedly slay the Drakon.

Iapetus. The cruel Titan who stuck around, encouraging Damasen to teach Annabeth how to fight.

Like Annabeth didn’t already know how to fight. She had spent the past seventeen years doing so. When has she not fought?

Annabeth didn’t understand why she was a prisoner of these unlikely allies. More or less, though. It was useful. She crafted a spear made of bone, she learned to preserve her energy, and she learned to ‘not die’ as Damasen would say.

She could see again. She could run, she could move. She was miraculously healed by these creatures. The least she could do was follow their instructions.

She could do everything but remember.

***

Her father’s name. Her absent, lonely, stupid father’s name. What was it?

A green eyed boy.

The sound of Grover’s laugh.

The side of her brother’s scar.

Thalia’s favorite band.

Luke’s eyes.

What color were Luke’s eyes?

She couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t she remember? It couldn’t be Hera’s fault. Not anymore. What was it? Who did this?

Who would she be?

***

“Damasen.”

“Demigod?”

“How long have you been here?”

“Halfblood, a very.. long time.”

Annabeth pondered, “There are monsters in Tartarus. You aren’t one of them. Are there others like you down here?”

He scoffed. A scoff similar to one Annabeth had heard before. Where had she heard it?

“What, do you mean weak?” Damasen shook his head.

“No. Kind. Sassy. Full of personality and not trying to eat me.”

“Are you describing someone?”

“No?” It was a question 

“Hm. There are not many the same as me. There is one who is much worse. Most are just plain horrible and hateful.“ The Giant shrugged, “but it is alright. The truly evil ones do not bother me. Living here is not bad.“

”Is that a joke?” Demigods had often made jokes about how ‘living was not bad.’ No, it was bad. They were just all in denial. 

Annabeth made a face, “That life… doesn’t seem like a very hopeful existence. It isn’t living. Not when you don’t have a home or hearth to come back to. That’s simply not dying.”

“I’m tired, girl. It’s hard to enjoy jokes down here when life feels like one. Simply not dying is the best most of us can do down here. Brace yourself to understand that.”

***

Fuck.

***

Iapetus came and went. He was cruel. Calling Damasen weak and Annabeth a lost cause. His hair was silver and he was eight feet tall. His claws were.. how would you describe claws? He was a titan. A cruel one at that.

“Fight! Die! Kill! Quick!”

“Which of those do you want me to do?” Annabeth would snap.

He would retort in a scarily godlike voice, “Dasamen teach your demigod better!“

“I’m tired.” Damasen would sigh.

Yikes. 

Annabeth was a good kid. She did everything she was asked. She fought, she trained, she was a good kid.  “Find the Lightning Thief, Annabeth.” What? Sure. “Find your best friend, Annabeth.” Of course. “Understand the Labyrinth, Annabeth.” Nope! Didn’t happen. But she did make friends with the world’s greatest inventor. And then he died. Again. “Protect Nico’s sister, Annabeth.” She tried and fucking failed.  “Save Olympus Annabeth.” And then all the people she grew up with were gone. But Annabeth and some others did end up saving Olympus! Oh how glorious it is to save Gods who think you are worth nothing. 

Honestly, Annabeth didn’t care anymore. She didn’t care who she raised her voice at. She was gonna prove these fuckers wrong.

And so came another fucker to prove wrong.

A figure. Almost human walked by Iaptetus thisnext a time he visited. Iapetus was not barking the usual orders. In fact, the figure didn’t seem to walk by Iapetus.. more like it led Iapetus.

Iapetus walked to Damasen. The giant and titan hesitated before arguing. How atypical. Usually Iapetus immediately led with a criticism and Damasen silently, and angrily endured. Instead a bickering debate-turned-yelling ensued. Annabeth couldn’t understand a word they said, but her attention was drawn back to the human-like figure. 

The figure was tall. Not too much taller than she, but Annabeth was pretty tall 

compared to?. It wore rags over it’s body.. something almost resembling a toga. The toga like thing lay draped over something almost like a t-shirt. It was salmon pink. The figure wore… cargo pants? No, not cargo.  Just extremely tattered jeans.

The figure who wore musty togas and salmon pink clothes wore jeans. That.. wasn’t a monster trait. 

Huh.

Chills went up her spine as the figure approached her. Suddenly, her blade was out and her hands were reaching for the bone spear slung across her back. Surely she would not have to use the weapon she crafted with Damasen so soon? What did this stranger want? Her fingers itched to grab hold of something. Her legs begged to lunge or flee.

She couldn’t die so soon. She couldn’t kill again. But would it be so bad to die? It would if she died like this. If she were to die-

“Your eyes.”

What?

A boy. His voice was dry- like he hadn’t swallowed anything in years. His hair messily covered his face and his body seemed to twitch-it was like.. he seemed to continually move in a blur. Unable to get a good look at him, she lowered her blade; 

“My..eyes?”

“They’re gray. Not blu- gold. They’re pretty.”

“Why would they be-“

“They’re like your blade. Not like your blade. They aren’t bronze.”

No shit her eyes weren’t bronze. This boy.. a twinge of smile threatened to rip through the grimace she’d held throughouther entire time in? Tartarus?.

“Well, dam. I’m Annabeth.” She introduced herself. She moved her hand. Why was she introducing herself to this stranger? “Why are you- boy- at this shitshow?”

“Mh.” Was his only reply. His voice suddenly became clearer, the rasp less noticeable. His arm stretched. “I’m here to see you. You aren’t a child of Hermes, who runs this shitshow?”

“Athena. Why the fuck are you here to see me?” She felt drunk, why was she asking such fruitless questions? 

“Time. Do you realize time is running out, Annabeth?” He said her name delicately.

The boy pronounced his vowels weirdly, they were too soft in some areas. His Rs were pronounced more like rahn than ruh.  His S’s were too sharp, did he have a lisp? His t’s weren’t there they sounded almost like dere

She slowly lifted her dagger made of bronze. This boy….

“What are you?”

He played with something in his hand. It looked small. “Why are you here?” 

“Dumbass prophecy. Demigod, y’know? Your titan and giant friends must’ve filled you in.” She shifted.

He titled his head, “Shit sounds right. Monsters tend to hear about this. Damasen and Iapetus watch you.”

”DEMIGOD!” A voice cut through Annabeth’s pondering.

“.. Damasen?” 

“Destroyer, why have you not taken her yet?”

The boy’s voice returned to its previous rasp. A harsh edge laced his tone, “Absent need. Stay in place, Giant.”

Damasen froze, “I am aware of your needs. The Maeonian is coming. I advise you to leave with the girl if you wish so to live as a mortal.”

“Damasen?” Annabeth repeated. “What’s happening?”

“Maeonian Drakon? Really Wisdom’s child. Aren’t you supposed to know better? It comes periodically every day.” The Giant replied.

“…day?”

“And she is the wisest.”  The boy mused. She couldn’t tell if it was a statement or question. He grabbed her arm, grime getting onto her skin- although it was not much of a change from before. They both recoiled from the contact. “Follow.” He said flatly. “Follow?”

Annabeth tripped after him. The Drakon? As in the breed that killed Clarisse? Drew? Silena?Silena. Silena? Yes. That was Damasen’s curse. But.. why-where was this boy taking her?   He kept walking, ignoring when she stopped and lagged behind.

“I will leave you.”

She meant to reply when she turned and saw Damasen dropping his blade. The Drakon opened it’s horrid mouth. What would Damasen always say? I’m tired. 

The beast looked ready to strike. Acid pooled beneath it’s lips.

“Damasen!” She didn’t know what he was doing. She only acted.

She chased after the Giant- yelling some nonsense about not losing hope. A cut into the Drakon’s claw. The dagger she owned thrown into it’s eye. It was a stupid action.

A slash against it’s rough skin. A jab into it’s side. It was a hopeful movement.

The creature roared, opening its jaws to swallow Annabeth whole. She didn’t care.

She was tired too.

“Fool!” A voice screamed

In a blinding moment. The Drakon was down.

What had happened?

“Stupid girl. Unwise.” She wasn’t sure who said it.

“You can find a solution, Damasen.” Annabeth rubbed her eyes. “Don’t give up.”

“I am tired of fighting. Stupid. Stupid girl.”

“Then do something different! Fight it! Make friends! Flee. Anything but-“

“Girl.” a voice snarled- it wasn’t Damasen. “The Drakon is down. Let us go.”

For a moment, Annabeth froze. She didn’t do it. Damasen surely hadn’t. Who had fallen the Drakon? That was a stupid question. She turned and the Boy paused, his shallow breath hitching. Staring to her. His hair was cleared from his face, his expression clear enough. It wasn’t anger. More…;

Pity.

How odd.

“Never seen a girl fight?” She remarked- knowing dam well it wasn’t her who had killed the animal.

A.. rough noise came out of the boy. He grimaced- or grinned. One of the two. He grinned as toxic green eyes dialated. 

“Iapetus.” The silvery figure materialized from seemingly nowhere. “Annabeth.”

Damasen lowered his head, stepping out of the boy’s way. He oaused.

“Damasen, join us when you wish.”

***

Annabeth followed behind the boy and the Titan. Nails dug into her skin.

They trotted in silence, far, far way from Damasen and his hut. 

What the fuck just happened.

Chapter Text

“Momma! Momma! I’m fish Jesus!”

Percy grinned, his almost sharp, shark-like teeth showing. Standing in front of the glass, dozens of fish circularly crowded. The plaque read Reef Exhibit.

“I-“ An expression of disdain flickered. Unfortunately, Sally couldn’t keep it. “Yes you are, you little shark prince!” She ran to him, spinning him around.

The crummy paper crown that had said four years old today! fell to the ground.

——

Sally knew he was dead.

She knew it before anyone told her. Though, no one ever did.

Maybe she knew the moment it started storming. Maybe it was the box delivered to her doorstep that said because of the debt I owe. written in fluid, wave-like, handwriting.

Maybe it was Grover, the sweet little goat boy, watching her from the window. He had thought she didn’t notice.

She did.

Maybe it was the mindless tasks of making cookies and sandwiches. She made far too many for herself to eat. Gabriel slobbered the plates, making everything she cleaned smell of alcohol.

Sally hated that. The blue crumbs on his mouth. The cruelty that escaped his lips.

Maybe it was that Sally saw no reason anymore to keep him around.

Sally had a box. And then she had a statue. And then she had money.

Maybe it was the flat in New York, where she painted and wrote until her husband came home.

Maybe it was when she said her vows to the blue-eyed pepper-haired man.

Maybe it was when she opened her bakery, and the customers would shout “thanks Sarah!” and “Great catching up, Sally!”

Maybe it was when she would read books to the children in the library and the children would wait in anticipation, greeting her “Mrs. Blofis! Mrs. Blowfish! Mrs. Fish!”

Stories of the Greeks, of the heroes, of stories of old. She told the story of Odysseus and Penelope and Perseus and Persephone. Animated in her voice, narrating legends, myths of the past, they all sat waiting for the story to continue. She told the stories to those who couldn’t read and who couldn’t stay still and to those who could. 

“Mrs. Blofis! Mrs. Blofis! Are they real?” The children would ask. “The heroes! The heroes! The legends! The great!”

“No silly, maybe once, but not now.” She would laugh. “Even if they were, you don’t wanna be the one with a sword. Maybe pick up a pen instead, Tommy.”

Maybe it was the sky in her eyes, the black hair on her head, the freckled grin she didn’t shy. She had the stars and the wisest in her name, Estelle Penelope Blofis. Maybe it was her. It was her. Always her. She came first.

It was her laugh. Her giggle. Her tiny hands and her first words. 

It was always her.

“Happy birthday, Penny!” Paul held up the child. “My beautiful, little star,” he would chuckle to himself, “although the beauty only came from you, dear.”

Sally smiled, “Of course it did. Now get Star to hold still!” 

Still the child stood, posing within the trio, holding a home-baked cookie in hand.

Brown crumbles and chocolate were littered around her lips.

Chapter Text

“ If this body were not my own, I would find it beautiful.”

Somewhere on a telephone wire, sparrows take flight. Their feathers are soft as he is dreaming. Their songs are sweet, every chirp holding no bite. He is the stranger who stands under the trickling rain, wingless and wanting all that he cannot have, as they disappear into the clouds like porous-boned angels.

Heavy wind, cold rain, & yes the stars, and yes these hands of his. A dream in his chest is molting. His dreams shed its muddy, thunder-stained and asks for a heart of peony fields this time.

The nights get heavy as they always do. He is older which means when he thinks of forests, he gets stuck not on the robin eggs, but on the snarling fox teeth. In his head he is hunting for himself, but over, and over, and over once more, he comes empty again. The night grows so wide it could be a cavern. Stalagmites, stalactites, formations that he cannot spell. Somewhere underneath it, inside it, lost, he is lost. 

Oh, but he watches. And, travelers always leave lanterns behind. Hands against the walls, bearing blood and sensing ichor, he feels for the candle, in which there arrives a memory of bronze-colored light.

——

Do you know what it is like to be hungry?

Do you know what it’s like to have that slow, gnawing, tearing feeling of not quite pain?

That itching, oozing, bubbling and blossoming instinct.

It hurts.

It hurts and you are so very afraid.

Who are you to judge the predator?

Do you know what it’s like to have your skin flayed off your flesh?

——

There are demons condemned to the worst parts of Tartarus. No, they are not of fantastical or mythological origin. Yes, they can be killed like anything else. 

Percy learns this quick.

Such demons are made of meat and bones and can soothe a crawling soul, 

    or stomach.

All is made of liquid, and all is under a domain of Percy’s parentage. He can’t quite recall this parentage. All he knows of is patron. And oh, his patron welcomes him into the dark. She is a mother, the sound of her voice serene as the one Perseus once had. She monikers him, keeping him on a leash.

Percy.

Destroyer.

The term of endearment fits him well.

He was scared once, long ago. But Misery knows his name, and he is perfect to her. She adores him. She loves him—as a sister of sorts, although neither truly knows what such a word means. 

Percy once fell.

And he fell into the belonging grip of shadow.

She cradles his face, holding him close. 

They made a mockery of him, once. Look at the walking tragedy. Look at him cower beneath monster and man. Now they whisper when he passes - he's a demon, with a crown of blood. (Does it look like he's still under your control?)

A cynical mind & an obsessive soul; two halves of one whole. They tire of a home in the light, perceiving, petrifying. Judgement snarls at him.

He slays anyone who dare stare too long.

A taste of power, a glimpse of what it would mean to conquer - it feels like honey on his tongue. The lies he spins are sickly sweet from it.

Kneel, or he will hollow your bones out & build kingdoms upon kingdoms. Thrones upon thrones.

Perhaps Destroyer was condemned here too.

The same as every monster of Tartarus. 

——

Destroyer once had a name.

He once had a face, a friend, a family —

friends.

It is difficult to dream in the dark.

Yet a new moniker comes to mind when he looks at the girl by his side.

Seaweed Brain.

  Not Destroyer,

Not Percy.

Not the Child who Slayed the Minotaur. 

Something truly childish and sweet.

Destroyer is beginning to crave sweetness again, fantasizing of it being baked in something loving, and in something familiarly blue.

So he dreams, and dreams. One word in his mouth crystallizes like sugar; 

hope.

He recalls.

He remembers.

Was this girl truly the wisest of them all?

——

Silly,

childish,

as all lighthouses are in the vast of the sea. 

A boat on the other side cannot be saved.

He wants to play songs that don't end with his trembling hands. He wants his existence to be more than trembling.

Trembling mistaken for growls.

He quivers as he bites.

There will be no salve for the itching soul.

Chapter Text

“He wasn’t always like this.”

Rapid breaths. Shallow, rapid breaths. Footsteps thudding on cracked pavement, the whispers of the moon as it follows you down the street.

The moon is not alone. It is not the only thing following you.

Your grief is bigger than any moon.

You underestimate the way it haunts you, the way it follows you down abandoned streets until you’re all the way home.

And then it follows you into your house, into your room, into your bed, into the crevices of your mind. 

The cracks get bigger the more you try to sleep.

There will be no sleep for the terrified souls.

—— 

Annabeth can’t quite recall a time where she wasn’t afraid.

Albeit, she doesn’t remember much these days.

That fact scares her even more.

Whether it be spiders, or be it guilt, or anything real to psychological, something was always gnawing. 

Under the eyes of Tartarus, that gnawing was now both metaphorical and literal. Creatures thrived on her skin, even more on her fear. The ails that had anchored her had seemed outlandish as she lived. But now, they were very much tangible. There was some comfort in that. 

Iapetus was crude, biting in every word.

He belittled every mistake as she got injured.

Yet, the boy was much worse. He barely even scoffed at her achievements, much less her failures. Cruel in his silence, ignorance is the opposite of comfort, it wears you down in the knowledge you are not even worth being hated.

Annabeth hates being ignored.

Call it pride, but Annabeth deserves recognition. She got in a fight and didn’t die. She got in a fight and thrived. Annabeth was successful as a demigod. She was witty, and quick, and was a savior of Olympus—

Although perhaps if she was so clever, she wouldn’t have fallen into Tartarus.

She had fashioned a haphazard weapon out of bone. She had killed a serpent when it tried to strike. The venom had left her feverish, sluggish, embarrassingly dim.

She had saved Iapetus, she had saved the boy. Neither of them would thank her. She knew that. But the boy has a gash on his shoulder. The titan has a cut on his leg. If nothing else, she had deserved an ounce of respect. Though, she doubted she would be getting that, either.

Iapetus takes her kill, as she limps to a rock wall. He presumably will cook the creature over a fire, but Annabeth doesn’t have the capacity to make that presumption at the moment. Her hand touches something for support, and slowly, it recoils, bleeding.

She wants so awfully to make a whined noise.

But this place has seen her panic, and bleed, and tremble in fear,

it will not see her cry, too.

Annabeth slowly crumbles down. The jagged wall doesn’t quite cut her back, at least it doesn’t feel that way, not anymore. Nothing really feels. But despite lacking pain, there is no shortage of discomfort. It feels sandpapery, itchy, and it grates her skin as she grits her teeth.

  The Phelengton is far away. Annabeth knows she will be stuck with this wound for a very long while. She doesn’t expect anything different. 

  Yet she feels something touch her face,

it feels almost soothing.

 “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.”

For the first time, in a very long time, Annabeth is touched.

And looked at.

By him. 

She feels utter distaste.

The boy places a hand against Annabeth’s jaw, and he frowns as she says those words.

Annabeth doesn’t do so much as flinch. She will not give him that liberty. She will not let him know that she is so desperately afraid.

He is still, not removing his hand.

He seems to search her face for permission. 

“What do you want?” Here of all places, annoyance begins to creep into Annabeth’s tone. It’s odd feeling such a petty enotiom. 

He blinks.

She stares, unamused.

The boy cradles her skin, angling her face as he needs it.

Slowly, from a canteen, salve is drabbled down her chin.

All of her body is marred. The most of which, being her shoulders. Bandages begin to be wrapped, his face is grossly near.  

When the last has been bandaged, she expects him to pass the salve to her and let her handle the bits on her arms and legs herself.

Without a word, he pulls out a new square of gauze, and gently takes her wrist. Moving her arm to rest on top of his knee, he turns it to show where it is hurt. He rubs salve softly, he is precise in his work.

 “ I don’t know your name.”

Was this kindness?

Pity?

Annabeth didn’t need it.

He is slow in his action. Annabeth didn’t quite expect an answer.

“Destroyer.”

He meets her eyes only for a moment.

They’re intoxicatingly green.

“ A little edgy, isn’t it?”

She didn’t need pity.

Oh,

that was a lie, 

Annabeth needed all the help she could get. Making an ally out of the ‘destroyer,’.. didn’t seem like a bad deal.

He makes what almost sounds like a laugh. 

The noise that comes out of his throat is rough, he speaks English like a second language, accented, and wrong.

Annabeth studies him. He seems to only be taller than her by a margin. His build is lean, but strong. Scars dot his face, one long one running down his eye. And there’s an awful tear in his right arm. It bleeds through the fabric of his sleeves, and he bleeds red.

He doesn’t act cruel, not now. Slowly, she hovers a hand around his arm. A finger absentmindedly drifts to his hair, overgrown and thick. He watches her, not quite mean. She is inconsiderate with her words.

“—What are you?”

His plain expression shifts into a snarl. He makes what is definitely a jackal’s laugh, and moves away jaggedly.

Iapetus nearly immediately takes place where the boy once was, holding out a piece of flesh on a stick.

They’re both.., oddly ginger.

Was this appreciation?

Gods, Annabeth. For once don’t be so prideful, for once don’t be so selfish. 

“He wasn’t always like this.”

Annabeth looks up at the titan.

Iaptus hesitates, as if he wants to say something more. His eyes for a moment, just a moment, look soft.

Then he too walks away,

and Annabeth is left alone.

——

The serpent tastes sweet,

it’s odd for the fact that it is a demonic snake.

The sound of Destroyer's voice repeats in her mind.

The jackal laugh, the way he rolls his r’s.

She begins to think he sounds heavily New Yorker.

A demigod.

Chapter Text

Music is inescapable. Whether it be through Apollo's lyre, or the muse’s melodic, haunting voice.

The hymn is soft and sweet and you are so very afraid. 

Helios’ chariot was stretched across the sick pale sky. Nymphai danced among the clouds. Neither of you were yet ugly.
Young nymph of dawn, brave dragon friend, your granddaughter was so quietly lovely.

As a child, relatives wouldn't hold her. Peers wouldn’t play their games. She had been born splintered of wood and sea water. They scoffed at her name — said she reminded them all too much of war. All too loving, all too fierce, every aspect of tragedy to come.

Just outside her domain, one quiet dusk, you taught her how to tie her hair like rope and smoke. You both sang a simple tune, the fields of grass stark and soft. The constellations shone bright, Orion having just joined them. You knew Orion, once. He once knew you. Time is a river, and that was long ago.

She pointed to the stars, violet shaded petals braided in her hair.

She giggled, and grinned, and waved to them, telling you that she wanted them to wave back. As she smiled, childlike wonder was laced in every word.

She was naively yours. And oh, you’d bend the heavens for her if you could, you’d make every star laugh like the spark in her eyes. 

The very world would bow to you both.

You were her grandfather.

Why did you not warn her, hold her like a rotting boat— tell her that men would not love her if she was covered in continents, if her teeth were small colonies, if her stomach was an island, if her legs were borders?

Why did you not warn her, cradle her face, tell her that she was a world to explore, her mind only a speck, that the world was cruel, and lovely, and would exploit resource without command?

Your granddaughter's face was a small riot, her hands were a civil war, a refugee camp behind each ear, a body littered with ugly things

but Chaos, doesn't she wear the world well?

—

Iapetus faces a boy. He is scared, and shaking, and small, and his eyes are a shifty sea green. As Iapetus watches, the boy hums quietly to himself. Perhaps it is a tune Iapetus recognizes, perhaps not. Somehow, in the dark of the endless Pit, the boy still smiles. Iapetus can’t quite place when he stopped smiling.

“Perseus, will you tell the sun and the stars ‘hello’ for me?”

So readily to agree, the boy opens his mouth. In barely a moment, the bright green falls to a dead brown. The smile falls to a scowl.

“Who’s Perseus?”

The scowling boy is even smaller now. His hair is much shorter. 

Oh,

Iapetus thinks numbly.

This is not Perseus. Just as Perseus is not Zoë. 

It’s a different scowling boy, now. Perseus is positioned up ahead. Iapetus opens his mouth to make apology,

My mistake, Nico. But please do not disregard my message. Will you tell the sun and the stars hello for me? Tell them Iapetus says ‘hello’. Will you? 

He wishes to shout. To beg.

But the scowling boy sits in front of him no longer.

“Do you have anything to say to me?” Zoë stares.

But it is not Zoë. She scowls all the same.

“Apologies, Annabeth.”

Annabeth stares at him. Her eyes are just as sharp as his Sun. Her scoff is just as cold as Nico’s. Iapetus hopes that she will never become like Perseus, yet she wields her blade like any killer

“Will you tell the sun and the stars hello for me?”

Annabeth tilts her head, “Tell them.. hello?”

“Yes. If you make it out.”

Before Iapetus can even begin to elaborate, the girl slashes through a lunging beast. In barely a breath, she is gone. 

Just as anybody Iapetus has ever begun to care for,

they go.