#jerseydevious

They get called for a quest. The requirement to go to the Oracle to leave camp was thrown out the window a while ago, but so far most of the missions have been large groups or solo. But this information about river spirits came from Daedalus’s laptop, meaning it’s indisputably a Percy and Annabeth job. Chiron is reluctant to send them both, claiming it’s something Percy can do alone, but Annabeth fixes him with a champion glare and he caves.

Somehow they make it out in one piece with minimal offense to the river spirits, who promise to be allies should Kronos’s army march on camp again, which is all Percy is comfortable asking of them. Sounding the alarm is one thing, but it’s entirely too much to ask a nature spirit to waste their life force fighting back. 

The following happens too quickly for Percy to process. Something erupts from the trees as they leave the riverbank. Annabeth shoves him down and raises her dagger to shield him. The river spirit handles the creature. Annabeth stumbles and swears in pain. 

The impact with the forest floor steals Percy’s breath, leaving him in a daze while Annabeth disappears behind him. The creature bellows and explodes into dust before Percy ever makes out what it is. 

“You have to leave,” the river spirit calls. “They know you’re here. Take your friend and go!” 

Percy puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles while rising from the dirt. Annabeth is leaning against a tree a few feet away, breathing heavily and holding her arm funny. 

“What happened? Are you hurt?” He wants to run to her, to touch her. He doesn’t.

Her head falls back against the bark of the tree, where the light filtering through the leaves illuminates the sweat on her forehead. “I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.” 

Percy doesn’t buy it, but she has that stormy look in her eyes that tells him she isn’t budging. “Blackjack is on his way.” 

A heavy sigh escapes her as she nods, still clutching her left arm. Percy retrieves her dagger from the ground and offers it to her, but her eyes are screwed shut. It’s not like her to show pain like this. 

He looks at the holster on her leg. “I’m just gonna... uh...” He slides it into its sheath, taking every precaution not to touch her thigh and half expecting to get stabbed for it. 

Great gusts of wind batter the fragile limbs of the trees as Blackjack sails down to them, his wide wings beating rhythmically. His hooves strike the earth and he trots over to Percy. Where to, boss? 

“We gotta get back to camp,” Percy says, frowning at Annabeth. 

Lady boss ain’t looking too hot. 

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” he mumbles. 

Annabeth quirks an eyebrow at the two of them and rolls her eyes, walking to Blackjack with her nose in the air. She may not know what Blackjack said, but apparently that means it’s Percy’s fault. Everything seems to be Percy’s fault, these days. 

She attempts to haul herself up, but her arm gives out and she ends up crying in pain. Percy catches her despite knowing she’d rather fall than accept help from him. 

“I can do it myself,” she snaps, shouldering him away. 

“You don’t have to though.” Percy throws his hands in the air. “Plus, you’re injured.” 

Annabeth’s grip on her arm tightens. “This isn’t from today.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

She glares at him. “It’s from a quest from a few weeks ago. It didn’t heal right, but the infirmary is full. I’ll get it checked out later.” 

“What quest?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“What quest did you get hurt on?” Anger rises in Percy’s chest, both at the thought of Annabeth getting injured and her keeping him in the dark about it. 

She attempts to shrug, then winces. “Does it matter? It’s over.” Her shot at a casual tone misses by miles. 

Percy tries to swallow the anger, he really does. “You’re hurt. That matters.” 

For a moment, she almost softens. The cold mask she’s plastered on cracks at the edges, revealing raw hurt. 

Uh, guys. Hate to break up this lovely argument, really, but we’ve got company. 

Blackjack is right. Pounding steps thunder along the opposite riverbank, rattling the leaves like a warning. Percy grabs Annabeth’s leg and hauls her onto the pegasus, trusting that she’ll do the rest herself. Usually he’d hop up first and ride in front, but he doesn’t trust her ability to hold on with that arm. 

Percy’s heartbeat doesn’t slow, not even once they’re in the sky with the riverbank far behind them. He’s almost certain Annabeth can feel it pressed against her. She leans back into Percy a bit heavier than necessary, occasionally jolting against his arms, which are around her to grip Blackjack’s mane. To say he’s freaking out would be an understatement. 

And then something drips from Annabeth’s bent elbow onto his arm. Percy balks when he sees it’s blood. 

“Fuck, Annabeth. You’re bleeding.” No response. “Annabeth??” 

Her head rolls on Percy’s shoulder. 

“Blackjack, hurry.” 

Blackjack doesn’t ask questions, just tucks his wings and dashes to camp. Percy can’t get his ambrosia without letting go of Annabeth, which simply isn’t in the cards. He wraps around her until his chest is sticky with their sweat. Sweat washes out. Losing Annabeth is a stain Percy could never scrub himself clean of. 

He doesn’t know what he says to her as they fly—probably some half-baked combination of you’re going to be okay, and we’re almost there, and if you survive this I swear I will kill you myself. 

Percy’s feet hit the ground a second after Blackjack’s hooves. They’re parked right on the porch of the Big House, interrupting a heated conversation between Chiron and Clarisse, who startle at the sight of Percy. Clarisse is the first to gather her wits. She moves to take Annabeth off Blackjack, which she is certainly the most qualified to do, but Percy beats her to it. 

“Jackson, you’re hurt,” she grunts, gesturing to his chest. “Let me.” 

“Not hurt,” Percy says. “Taking her to Michael.” 

Chiron’s tail swishes nervously. “Percy—”

“The river spirits are on our side,” he interrupts. “Now will one of you open the damn door?” 

Clarisse assists him through the doorways while Chiron goes to fetch Michael Yew from archery practice. If it weren’t Annabeth’s life on the line, Percy would feel bad for the guy. He hasn’t slept since Lee died last summer, especially not with the way the infirmary is looking. 

Chiron and Clarisse hover alongside Percy while Michael works his magic, sending up a healing hymn to his father after dressing the wound. He scolds Annabeth the moment she wakes, chastising her for not telling him sooner. After a glance at Chiron, he orders her bed rest for a week. 

“No. I have another mission in three days.” She looks at Clarisse. “You can’t do it without me.” 

Clarisse almost smiles at Annabeth’s petulance. “I’ll take Malcolm. Or maybe even Pipsqueak here.” She claps Percy on the back.

Annabeth’s tone turns pleading. “Chiron...” 

She finds the same unbending will. “No, child. This has gone too far. You’re to stay here until Michael releases you.” 

Michael looks less than thrilled to be subjected to Annabeth’s wrath for the next week. “Okay, Percy. Your turn.” 

“I’m not hurt.” 

Everyone’s eyes flash to Percy’s chest in doubt. He tears his gaze away from Annabeth to look.

Blood—Annabeth’s blood—runs down his shirt from the ride over. From an outside perspective, it looks like Percy’s very heart is bleeding out of his chest. 

She won’t look at him when he raises his gaze, so he supposes it is. 

“Blood’s not mine,” he mumbles. 

The room clears shortly after. 

Percy, however, is rooted to the floor beside Annabeth’s bed. She looks exhausted, though he can tell she’s trying to hide it while he’s still here. He should leave. So she can sleep. 

He can’t. 

“I would have been there for you,” he says, “if you told me.”

She almost laughs. What escapes is a bitter sound that’s foreign in her mouth. “Yeah, well. You’ve changed.” 

It’s a defensive lie, and they both know it. Percy has changed, but not to that degree. He will stop at nothing to pull his friends out of the water, even if it means drowning himself. Such is the way of a loyal creature. 

His voice is low in his chest, hurt resonating in his heart. “You know that’s not true.” 

Annabeth raises her chin. “Do I?” When have you been around to prove it? 

Michael pokes his head in the room, looking very much like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Percy, Chiron wants to talk to you about the river spirits.” 

The silence is saturated, filled with blood just like the cotton of Percy’s shirt. “Sure. I’ll be out in a second.” 

Michael shifts his weight, creaking the floorboards. “I’m afraid it can’t wait.”