#demeter!percy

Sometimes it blows Percy’s mind that someone so dedicated to battle strategy is so willing to charge headfirst into fights, but that’s how Annabeth gets when her pride is on the line. And based on the fiery look in her eyes—not too far off from her dad—Clarisse has made this a matter of pride. There’s only so much Percy can do to stop it.

He drops his hands and sighs. “Where is she?”

Annabeth seems to sense victory. She brightens and takes a step closer. “The arena.”

“Perfect,” he says, not moving from his place in front of her. Annabeth tenses just a moment too late as Percy darts forward, hoisting her onto his shoulders in a fireman hold.

“Percy! Put me down or I swear to the gods—”

Percy tunes her out as she spews threats and profanity at him, Clarisse—the whole camp, really. He holds her legs and one of her arms tight enough that she probably won’t be able to escape without hurting him, and he just has to take the gamble and hope she isn’t mad enough to. Judging by the way her free arm only half-heartedly hits his back, it’s a risk worth taking.

He forgot that getting to the strawberry fields means passing within earshot of the arena.

Clarisse’s voice echoes across the campground. “Oh, so you’re going to let Flower Power sweep you off your feet instead of standing your ground? Typical Ares kid, starting a fight and running away.”

Annabeth tenses in Percy’s arms. “Let me go,” she growls. When he doesn’t respond, she swats the back of his head. “She’s talking about my dad! Let. Me. Go.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Can you stop being all noble for like, ten seconds? You know this ends in a fight sooner or later.”

“We’re gonna try it my way first.”

“And what exactly is ‘your way?’”

Before Percy can respond, Clarisse appears in his peripheral with her arms crossed and what he thinks is a smirk on her face. He picks up the pace, changing his angle in the hopes of obstructing Annabeth’s view.

He can’t do anything about her hearing though.

“I will say, when I bet on Oatmeal here sweeping you off your feet, I didn’t think this was how I’d get my money’s worth!” Clarisse’s gruff voice is accompanied by a honey-sweet feeling, and Percy has to shake his head to get the heavy feeling of charmspeak out of it.

Annabeth cranes her neck and nearly elbows Percy in an attempt to make eye contact while yelling, “Is that all you got, La Rue?”

Oh shit.

He may not risk a glance, but Percy can feel Clarisse’s footsteps pounding into the ground as she gives chase.

“Bitch!”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is butch,” Annabeth smugly corrects.

Time to improvise, Percy thinks.

He wills the grass to cling to Clarisse’s boots, weighing her down in the hopes that she’ll give up. Naturally, she doesn’t, but it does slow her down long enough for Percy to get out of earshot. When she continues forging ahead, he strings up some vines and has them block her path, only allowing her to move backward.

Annabeth laughs the whole way to the strawberry fields, her body shaking on Percy’s shoulders.

“Did you see her face? You might’ve sto—” she’s cut off as Percy slings her off and catches her around the waist as her feet hit the ground.

“We’re going to chill,” he asserts.

Annabeth laughs in his face.

“We’re going to chill in this strawberry field until you no longer want to punch Clarisse in the face,” he repeats.

“I mean, not just her face—”

“Annabeth. I swear to the gods.”

“You are infuriatingly calm.”

Percy raises an eyebrow at her. “Oh yeah? I bet you couldn’t get as calm as I am right now.” He lets the challenge seep into his voice, knowing she won’t be able to resist it when she’s this heated.

As expected, her eyes narrow at him. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Percy settles onto the ground, finally trusting that she won’t bolt, “I don’t think you’re capable.”

Annabeth huffs and plops onto the ground next to him, her face scrunched up in stony determination. Her hair splays out on the ground like a halo, and despite the fact that he just had to haul her across camp to keep her from pummeling Clarisse, Percy thinks she looks beautiful. (Maybe even because of that.)

He knows he isn’t subtle as he watches her, but he’d rather witness this and get caught than miss it altogether. Annabeth’s ability to kick ass is one of the things Percy loves most about her, but watching her go from kickass mode to relaxed mode might be his favorite thing in the world.

It’s a slow unwind that starts in her shoulders. At first they’re tense, even against the soft ground beneath her, but then the stress dissipates slowly, almost as if it’s seeping away into the earth. It’s comparable to working the kink out of a stubborn muscle.

Her face, once scrunched in anger, smooths out into simple hills and valleys of soft skin and tranquility instead of the rigid canyons of fury.

And slowly a smile spreads across her face, so achingly similar to the rising sun, her dimple that first beam of light peaking over the horizon before the grin dawns. She only has one dimple, and today Percy is laying on the right side to see it.

Percy can feel her digging her fingers in the earth, not because they’re touching, but he feels it like a tugging in his gut. It’s a comfort, he thinks, knowing that he’ll know where she is as long as she’s on the ground.

He can sense Clarisse stomping her way back to her cabin, Grover resting in the woods by Juniper’s tree, various campers bustling about outside of the haven of the strawberry field.

But before any of that is Annabeth; her back pressing into the ground, her fingers tapping in the soil. Sometimes Percy thinks about how much of a miracle it is that they’ve survived this long, and then it hits him that they’re alive. Not just surviving, they’re living and together and soaking up the lazy weekend sun without any obligations.

Well, some obligations. He should get back to help his siblings clean the cabin if he didn’t want to be stuck on dish duty (read: lava duty) for the next week, but that’s usually not life-threatening. The fate of the world doesn’t rely on whether or not Percy is there to organize his disaster of a bunk.

In that sense, they’re free, and have been for some time now. It’s mind-blowing to think that their biggest concern is finishing high school; Percy almost can’t believe his main focus is something so mundane (or anything other than not dying, really).

He’s learned to find victory in that mundanity, to cherish it. Life can be as simple as watching the love of your life smile in the sunlight if you let it. Percy intends to.

Annabeth opens her eyes to glance up at him, the summer sun lighting them on fire. The flame has simmered down from murderous to fond. Less scalding, more comfortable. Warm, like home.

“This,” she presses her thumb to the crease between his brows, “doesn’t seem very chill to me.”

A laugh bubbles in Percy’s throat at her smug smile. “Yeah, it looks like you’ve got me beat.”