#percy jackson reader insert

This is also the first time he’s slept around so many people, so he thinks he’s just on edge. It’s not like he was ever close enough with anyone to warrant a sleepover before.

He shuts his eyes, willing himself to go back to sleep.

Until he can’t.

There’s tossing and turning from across the room, and then a muffled noise.

Someone’s sleep talking.

Percy groans in frustration before realizing he’s being too loud. Thankfully, the kid next to him seems to be desensitized to random nighttime grumblings. Which is understandable, seeing as there’s an entire classroom of other children around them.

Percy takes his pillow that’s barely thicker than his forearm and clamps it firmly over his ears. He counts sheep. He imagines them jumping over fences when that doesn’t work. And then he imagines them as Chiron when that doesn’t work either.

The grumbling doesn’t stop. But as Percy peels the pillow from his ears, he realizes that the measly fabric was able to muffle something.

The crying.

Percy squints across the room, his eyes well adjusted to the darkness by now. He can see the Thrasher now, tossing in their sheets as quiet sobs leave their mouth.

Heard what happened to you on the hill. And I just…

He can make out a dark mop of hair.

Wanted to say I’m really sorry.

Tall limbs and a red cotton shirt.

I know what you’re going through, believe me. I’m—

Luke.

That’s Luke’s bed, Percy realizes. The heroic and brave and wise boy who introduced him to camp is crying thirty feet away from him, and he has no idea what to do.

A twig snaps from outside, and Percy jolts upright. Ah, of course, how could he have forgotten about the second reason he’s feeling so twitchy? Apparently all of those mythological monsters he’d learned about are real, too. Because someone out there is plotting against him.

The memory of rain soaked clothes and the feeling of a sharp horn under his hands has Percy fumbling for his pocket, sweaty fingers closing around Riptide.

Should he wake Luke? Surely he would know what to do. But the idea sounded ridiculous. The camp was safe, it had to be. Grover had said it himself. It wasn’t possible for anything to get past that old tree on the hill.

But rational thinking was beginning to look less rational since he was alone with whatever creature was outside. Something was definitely on the other side of the wooden walls, and it was just Percy and his stupid pen against whatever monster is making its way nearer.

Whatever it is is nearly silent, making its way around with soft footfalls and quiet steps. But the wood of the patio outside creaks under their weight, and Percy thumbs the cap of his pen nervously.

The doorknob twitches, and a cold chill goes down Percy’s spine when he realizes that the door isn’t locked. The door creaks open without protest.

It’s a person.

Much less scary than previously anticipated, but a potential threat nonetheless. Percy watches in awe as the hooded figure carefully steps over the floorboard that he nearly tripped over about thirty times already, dodging limbs hanging out of beds and sleeping bags. A perfectly trained ninja in the night.

Percy pushes himself up using a forearm, concealing Riptide in his sleeve.

“Who are you?” he croaks, voice choppy from disuse. “I have a weapon, so don’t try anything.”

He winces at the way it's much less intimidating than he hoped.

The figure whips around, their hood slipping down to reveal their features. Moonlight streaming in through a window illuminates your face.

Oh. It’s you.

Luke had introduced you to him earlier in the day, and he can’t remember much about you. But he remembers the easy way Luke had been around you, a closeness that Percy hadn’t seen before.

—

You were lingering around the forge, and had gotten a front row seat to Percy nearly setting someone on fire.

“Luke, why are you giving hot tools to twelve year olds?” you’d asked as Percy shed his goggles and gloves frustratedly.

The two boys turned around to find you standing right behind them.

Percy flinched away, and Luke laughed at the face he was making. “Percy, this is—”

“Luke’s best friend,” you had proclaimed, slotting yourself against his side. Percy was on the fence with what he thought about Ares kids, but the difference between you and Clarisse could not be more clear. You were all smiles as you reached down to ruffle Percy’s hair. “Don’t tell Chris, or he’ll get a little angry.”

“Sure, killer,” Luke had said, a smile lighting up his face. He turned away from Percy to face you completely, both of his hands coming to rest on your sides. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

You saluted him seriously, but the way your other hand curled around his arm was awfully casual. “Absolutely, sir.”

He squeezed you once, sending you leaning away from his grasp. Percy felt like he was intruding on something as he watched the two of you playfully fight in front of him.

With a pointed look, Percy’d said, “Uhh. Alright. Nice to meet you?”

You at least had the shame to look a little embarrassed as you released Luke from the headlock you’d put him in. “It was nice to meet you too, Percy.” You took extra care to whack the back of Luke’s head as you left. “I’ll leave you to it!”

Luke watched you leave, a fond smile on his face as he tried to straighten out his hair. “Sorry, where were we?”

—

“What are you doing up?” you ask from across the room, keeping your voice as quiet as possible. Red Converse hit the floor softly as you make yourself comfortable in a cabin that’s definitely not yours. “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

“I thought curfew was strictly enforced here.”

“It is,” you yank your tattered hoodie over your head, dropping it onto the foot of Luke’s bed. “So keep it down before you wake up Katie. She’s snitched on me twice already.”

Percy huffs. “I’m not even—”

“S-Sorry.”

You and Percy go silent.

“It won’t… I won’t—”

“Luke,” Percy thinks he hears you say. You crouch at his side, sweeping his hair away from his face. Without even a grimace, or a sign of disgust, you wipe what must be his sweat off on your flannel pajama pants. Your voice is softened with affection. “It’s just a nightmare.”

“I won’t fail again,” he hiccups instead.

Your shoulders sag. With practiced hands, you shift the boy over and settle onto the empty part of the mattress with him.

Percy knows he’s being nosy, but curiosity keeps his eyes glued to your movements. You seem to know exactly what to do, digging through a bag at your feet and pulling out a cool water bottle. Your hands go to Luke’s shoulders as you gently coax him upwards, placing the water in his grip.

Luke’s eyes are still shut when he says, “Hey, killer.”

“Hi, hero.”

“What’re you doin’ here?”

When you don’t answer, Luke tips his head back to drink before tossing the bottle somewhere on the floor. He shifts over, giving you more room to lay down. Percy freezes when you meet his gaze head on through the darkness.

“Go to sleep,” you whisper, and Percy knows you’re not just talking to Luke.

You disappear into the mattress as Luke pulls you into a hug. Percy hears quiet rumbling as you whisper something to him, and he can’t tell which one of you pulls his head into the crook of your neck.

Luke sleeps silently for the rest of the night.

ii. now that i thought of you (things will never be the same)

Capture the Flag scares Percy to no end.

A chill goes down his spine as the other team lets out their battle cries, and he begins to doubt what Chiron said about no maiming being allowed. Some of those kids look like they’re out for blood.

The nerves only get worse as Annabeth drags him off to someplace in the woods and promptly leaves him to his own devices. No plan, no help, no sense of direction. He’s honestly expecting a bear to come out of the woods and maul him half to death, but after what feels like an hour of silence, he lounges back on a bit of rocks and watches the clouds.

“Hey, Goldilocks.”

Fear launches Percy to his feet as he takes in his surroundings. Riptide slips out of his hands and clatters onto his shield, spinning around the curved piece of metal like a Beyblade.

It’s you. Again.

“Relax,” you say quickly, raising your hands to show him you mean no harm. Your sword is tucked away and you have a slight smile on your face. “I was just going to ask you what you’re doing all alone out here. Our flag’s in the other direction, if you didn’t know.”

“I know,” Percy huffs, picking up his own weapon. He rights his armor as he looks at you suspiciously. “This girl Annabeth dragged me out here.”

“Annabeth,” you say amusedly. You glance around the two of you like she’s going to jump out of a bush.

“She’s long gone. She dragged me out here just to ditch me,” he says bitterly. “You know her?”

You have a weird smile on your face. “She’s like my little sister.”

Luke had said the same thing to him, out by the archery fields yesterday. “So you and Luke, you’re like, siblings too, then?”

“Gods, no!” you protest, your face scrunching together in disgust. “He’s just… He’s like…”

Percy watches you fumble for your words, his brow raised. You seemed pretty disgusted at his suggestion.

“He’s just Luke,” you decide on, and Percy nods, even though he doesn’t really understand. For a brief second, you look horrified again. “Did he… Say that we’re like siblings?”

“No,” he says, and watches as you smile slowly, satisfied.

Ohh, Percy wants to say. It’s like that. But he knows that you could probably tear his head off if you wanted to, so he bites his tongue.

“How long have you guys known each other?” he asks instead.

Your smile grows fond as you think about him. “Our entire lives. We were friends before either of us even knew about all of this.” You gesture to the two of you and then to the woods around you.

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t imagine this place without him,” you say thoughtfully, your gaze growing far away. “Hermes is lucky to have a son like him. He’s great.”

You talk about him so kindly. For a second, he can see his Mom in your eyes, and the adoring way she would speak about his dad on the rare occasions she would bring him up. And Percy knows it’s not nice to assume, but… He’s assuming.

Percy doesn’t phrase it like a question when he says, “You like Luke.”

A twig snaps somewhere nearby.

You’re silent for a second. “I — What do you mean?”

Percy doubles down. “You have a crush on him.”

“Alright, Goldilocks,” you say, amused. “I don’t like Luke.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t!” you insist, looking awfully embarrassed for someone who ‘definitely doesn’t like Luke.’

You turn to face the woods, and Percy has no doubt that your face is on fire.

“I thought you guys liked each other.”

“Percy, stop talking.”

“Like when you snuck into the cabin, I thought—”

“Percy,” you snap, your voice low.

“—you were dating. Like Jim and Pam. Or like Rory and Dean.”

You whirl back around, curious. “You’ve seen Gilmore Girls?”

He realizes what he said too late. “My mom made me watch it.”

Your smile disappears under your helmet as you slip it back on. “Good for her. And I’m sorry to leave you here, but I have to go.”

He frowns. “What? Why?” Percy almost doesn’t want you to leave. You’re the first person he’s seen in an hour, and your company isn’t that bad.

“My sister is about fifty feet away, and I’m supposed to be defending my flag that’s halfway across the woods.”

Percy perks up at this. “Annabeth’s back?”

Finally. He isn’t sure what she’d wanted him to do, because he definitely hasn’t done it.

You shove his shield into his hands as you brush past him. “No. Clarisse is.”

The words take a second to register, but once they do, Percy whips around in your direction. He finds nothing but the rustle of the leaves as you make your quick exit.

“Percy Jackson!” a voice booms from the direction of the woods.

He’s screwed.

iii. i once believed love would be (burnin’ red)

Their team won Capture the Flag.

Percy hadn’t done much, other than get claimed by Poseidon and be used as Clarisse bait. Nonetheless, he was enjoying the celebration feast.

Everyone was in high spirits — especially Chris, who had helped lead the team to victory while Percy was being pummeled by three angry Ares kids.

(Yeah, he was trying to not be too bitter about that.)

A group of campers were cheering on Annabeth for her plan that lead them to the big win. (Definitely not still bitter.) The comradery amongst their team was high, and even those that lost didn’t seem too angry about it.

Except for Clarisse and her cronies, of course. They were sitting in a corner, sending him furious looks every once in a while.

Percy made a mental note to ask someone about putting a deadbolt on his cabin door.

The other Ares kids didn’t seem to mind though, wearing any new battle wounds with pride. Percy could see you across the dining pavilion, talking with one of the boys from another cabin.

Luke did not look too happy about that.

Percy had thought he would be soaking up every glorious moment of the dinner, as he was the one who secured the flag for their team. But he had done nothing much other than sulk and push his food around with his fork.

“Who’s that?” Percy asks, once he notices where his angry glare is directed.

Luke is distracted when he responds. “Oh, uh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “That’s Max. Cabin 9. Hephaestus kid.”

Chris laughs as he takes his seat next to Luke, finally hungry after all of his celebrating. “He’s been trying to ask her out for a while now.”

“And he needs to take a hint.” Luke scoffs. “She clearly doesn’t like him.”

The two of you are sharing an orange. Max breaks off pieces for you to have, and Percy watches as you laugh at something he says, covering your smile with the palm of your hand.

The three of them are silent.

Percy’s head tilts. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Luke says, his tone steely. “She’s my… She’s my best friend. If she liked Max, she would’ve told me.”

The three of them watch as the boy stands up and you follow suit. Max tosses the rest of the orange into the fire as an offering, and the two of you head away from the celebration.

Percy gives Luke a side glance. If he had eaten anything, it probably would’ve been emptied up onto the table right now.

Luke shakes the table with the force he uses to stand up. “I’ll be back.”

His plate is left abandoned, and Chris snorts at his speedy departure. Luke’s practically jogging across the pavilion to reach you before you get too far. That old goofy cartoon running sound effect plays in Percy’s head as he does.

The boy closes the distance in record timing, stopping you and Max before you can make your way up a small hill just outside of the pavilion.

Luke must be a great liar, or just really convincing, because after a few words from him and an extended hand, you’re back at his side. You say a few parting words to Max before the two of you turn your backs on him and head back in the direction of the feast.

Unfortunately, it seems like Max is significantly unhappy with that.

He looks a little more than angry when he says something that has you and Luke whipping your heads around.

Whatever he said must not have been nice, because the next second, Luke is advancing in his direction, and the other boy is meeting him in the middle.

The small argument is beginning to attract the attention of the campers on the outskirts of the feast, with a few mixed reactions. Some look like they’re ready to jump into a brawl if need be, and others watch the argument play out, unashamed.

Percy grimaces. “Are they… okay?”

Chris gets up wordlessly to head in the direction of his friend, and Percy trails after him with not much else to do. Other campers join them, forming a bit of a crowd around the three of you.

Your voice sounds biting as you say something to the both of them, and while it seems like Max isn’t angry at you, it looks like he still spits out a snarky comment directed at Luke, if the smirk on his face says anything.

And that’s all it takes. Luke rears his arm back and strikes Max right across the face.

Something that sounds like a mix between a gasp and an “Ooh!” ripples through the crowd as he stumbles back.

That’s gotta sting, Percy thinks as Max steadies himself on shaky legs. The boy looks completely dazed from the single blow. If that’s what Luke can do with a single punch… Percy hopes he never gets on his bad side.

You shove Luke’s shoulder and say something to him, starting another disagreement between the two of you. But now steady on his feet, Max seemingly takes advantage of him being distracted and takes his own shot at Luke’s face. Percy sucks in air through his teeth as he rubs his jaw.

Luke’s on him in a second, wrestling him to the ground as he moves to probably hit him again. But you and one of the older campers rush forward to drag him off of Max just as Chiron’s booming voice sounds from the other end of the clearing.

The crowd scatters like a flock of birds. Chris drags Percy by the back of his shirt collar away from the scene, leaving you, Luke, and Max alone.

Everyone disperses back to their cabins, whispering about the events all the way up until the lights go out.

Alone in the Poseidon cabin, Percy doesn’t see the way Luke enters his own a few hours later, his knuckles sore but his heart aching.

iv. but its golden

You don’t look in Luke’s direction during Percy’s selection ceremony.

Once he’s selected Annabeth and Grover, you give him a genuine smile and squeeze his shoulder before walking away as fast as you can.

Luke calls after you, but you ignore him. The other twenty demigods at the ceremony look away in what’s probably second hand embarrassment.

Percy doesn’t see you again until much later. After knocking on his cabin door, you put a wad of cash into his hands.

“What’s this for?”

“Emergency cash,” you explain as he rifles through it. The stack is heavy. “I know Chiron gave you two hundred, but you never know. Use it only for emergencies, alright?”

“This is nearly two hundred dollars,” Percy says, shocked. “Where’d you get this from?”

“Summer job.”

“I can’t—”

“Annabeth already refused to take it from me,” you protest. “I thought you were my best bet.”

“This is a lot of money.” Percy doesn’t think he’s even held this much cash before.

“I know,” you say, before closing his fist around the money again. “But I know I could’ve really used this money on my first quest. So I’m giving it to you for yours.”

Percy was getting the impression that you weren’t going to leave his cabin with this money in your hand.

“Thanks,” he acquiesces with a smile. “Only for emergencies.”

“Only for emergencies,” you confirm, squeezing his shoulder.

“Were you nervous for your first quest?” he asks, tucking the cash into the inner pocket of his jacket.

You shake your head without an ounce of hesitation. “No. But it’s normal to be nervous, if you are.”

Percy thinks about his Mom, all alone in the Underworld. He was doing all of this for her. He was a little more than nervous.

“How were you not worried? Like at all?”

You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your hoodie. “I was with Luke. I didn’t really have anything to be worried about.”

Percy thinks about Annabeth and Grover. Could he rely on them? The Oracle’s words weigh heavy on his shoulders. Percy wished that he had someone he could count on like the way you relied on Luke.

“Are you mad at him?”

“Who said I’m mad at Luke?” You tilt your head in question.

“You ignored him in front of everyone earlier. It was kinda hard to watch.”

You look away, smiling. “Well, he was kind of being stupid last night. I’m not mad, I just needed to cool down.”

There’s shuffling in the doorway, and you don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” you mumble under your breath. Luke’s holding an old box in his hands, staring straight at the back of your head.

You give Percy one last reassuring smile. “Good luck, Percy. And I know you and Annabeth aren’t all that close, but she’s a good kid. You can count on her.”

“She’s a good kid.” Luke repeats from behind you.

You turn to face him, your gaze assessing, and Luke’s eyes widen in what Percy thinks is slight fear. But it’s like his entire body relaxes when you move forward to flick his shoulder.

“Thank you for your great input, Luke Castellan,” you tease, leaving a quick kiss on the bruise on his lower jaw.

His eyes blow wide with surprise. “Yeah,” he stammers. “Yeah.”

“See you later, hero.”

The door swings shut behind you.

Luke stares blankly for a good ten seconds before Percy speaks.

“So…” he starts. “What’s in the box?”

“Yeah, uh,” Luke repeats, dazed. “It’s a, uh. A gift.”

Percy presses his lips together, slightly miffed.

It’s obvious to him how the two of you feel about each other. He just wonders if either of you will ever figure that out yourselves.

series masterlist

You really should have known better than to host a party.

Not because you weren’t good at it.

No—if anything, that was the problem.

You were too good at it.

The music pulsed through the cabin, laughter spilling over itself, voices overlapping in that warm, messy way that meant everyone was having just a little too much fun. Lights flickered low and golden, shadows soft, everything blurred just enough to feel unreal.

And you—

You were past tipsy.

Not gone.

Not out of control.

Just… loose.

Floaty.

Bold in the way alcohol made you—like consequences were something that happened to other people.

“Okay,” you said, pointing at absolutely no one in particular, “I am completely fine.”

A Hermes kid snorted into his drink.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s always when it’s bad.”

You turned slowly.

Squinted at him.

“I am offended,” you informed him.

“You should be,” he replied easily.

You waved him off, already distracted—because something had shifted.

That feeling.

That pull.

And when you looked up—

Oh.

There he was.

Percy Jackson.

Standing near the edge of the room like he didn’t quite belong in it. Like he’d wandered into chaos and hadn’t decided yet if he should stay or leave.

And he was looking at you.

Not casually.

Not politely.

Looking.

You smiled.

Slow.

Sharp.

“Well,” you murmured to yourself. “That’s interesting.”

Percy knew, immediately, that this was a mistake.

Not the party.

Not even staying.

No—the mistake was looking at you.

Because now he couldn’t stop.

You looked like something out of a dream—or maybe a bad decision he was absolutely going to make. The red shimmer of your skirt caught the light every time you moved, your boots loud and confident against the floor, your makeup just slightly smudged like the night had already gotten its hands on you.

You looked—

Happy.

Alive.

Dangerous.

“…you’re staring again,” Grover muttered beside him.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Percy dragged a hand down his face.

“I’m leaving,” he said.

He did not move.

Because—

“Jackson.”

He froze.

You were right in front of him.

Too close.

Too bright.

Too aware.

“Hi,” you said, tilting your head, eyes just a little unfocused but very, very sharp underneath it. “You came.”

“I—yeah,” he said. “You… invited everyone.”

“And you came,” you repeated, like that part mattered more.

Percy swallowed.

“…yeah.”

You studied him.

Then stepped closer.

He didn’t move back.

That was his second mistake.

“You’re staring,” you said quietly.

“You noticed.”

“I always notice.”

Your hand came up—light, deliberate—fingertips brushing his shirt, then flattening against his chest like you were testing something.

Percy went very still.

“You look nervous,” you added.

“I’m not nervous.”

“You are.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” you repeated, softer now, leaning in just slightly. “You’re doing that thing where you pretend you’re not, but you are.”

“…what thing?”

“That thing,” you said, tapping his chest once, “where you want something and you’re trying very hard to be good instead.”

Percy blinked.

“…I don’t—”

“You do,” you said, smiling faintly. “You’re very obvious, Percy Jackson.”

That did something to him.

Something quiet.

Something real.

His hand lifted—hesitated—then settled lightly at your waist.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, “you’re just easy to look at.”

Your breath hitched.

Just slightly.

Good.

“You’re still staring,” you whispered.

“You’re still standing too close.”

“Maybe I like standing too close.”

“…that sounds like a bad idea.”

“Yeah,” you said. “It does.”

Neither of you moved.

The space between you felt—

Charged.

Not loud.

Not chaotic.

Just… there.

Real.

And then you swayed.

Just a little.

Percy’s hand tightened instantly.

“Okay,” he said. “How much have you had?”

You blinked at him.

“…enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m fine,” you said, nodding once like that settled it.

You took a step.

Then another.

Then leaned—entirely—into him.

Percy caught you before you even realized you were falling.

“Yeah,” he said. “No, you are not fine.”

“I am so fine,” you insisted, gripping his shirt for balance. “You’re just—moving.”

“I’m not moving.”

“You are. Everything is.”

“…that’s worse.”

You smiled up at him.

Soft.

Unbothered.

“Walk me back,” you said.

Percy didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

The walk back was slow.

Not because Percy wanted it to be.

But because you kept—

Stopping.

Laughing.

Pointing at things that did not matter.

Leaning into him like he was the only thing keeping the world steady.

“I can walk,” you insisted.

“You are currently not walking.”

“I am walking,” you argued, immediately tripping over nothing.

Percy caught you again.

“Okay,” he said. “New plan. You’re not in charge of walking anymore.”

You huffed.

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

You looked up at him.

Really looked this time.

Your expression softened.

“You’re pretty,” you said.

Percy nearly dropped you.

“I—what?”

“You are,” you said, very serious. “Your face. It’s nice.”

“…thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

You leaned your head briefly against his shoulder as you kept walking.

“…you stayed,” you added.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t like parties.”

“I like… making sure people get home okay.”

You hummed.

“…that’s very hero of you.”

Percy shook his head slightly.

“…not everything is about being a hero.”

“Mm,” you murmured. “No. Sometimes it’s about staying.”

He didn’t answer that.

But his grip on you tightened just slightly.

Your cabin was quiet when you got back.

Percy guided you inside, helping you sit on the edge of your bed.

“Okay,” he said. “Stay there.”

“I am staying,” you said.

“You are barely sitting.”

“Details.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, kneeling in front of you.

“Boots,” he said.

“Oh,” you said, lifting your leg dramatically. “Take them off, my knight.”

“…you are unbelievable.”

“Correct.”

But he did it anyway.

Careful.

Gentle.

Setting them aside before looking up at you again.

Your makeup was smudged.

Glitter still clung stubbornly to your skin.

You looked—

Messy.

Soft.

Beautiful.

Percy reached for a cloth.

“Hold still.”

You didn’t.

But you tried.

His fingers were careful as he wiped under your eyes, brushing glitter away, thumb grazing your cheek for just a second too long.

You watched him.

Quiet now.

Focused.

“…you’re staring again,” he murmured.

“You’re close,” you replied.

“…that’s not helping.”

You leaned forward.

He froze.

Your lips brushed his.

Soft.

Quick.

Gone.

You blinked.

Then leaned back.

“…oh,” you said.

Percy stared at you.

“…yeah.”

You frowned slightly.

“That was—”

“A bad idea,” he said.

You nodded.

“…yeah.”

A pause.

Then Percy said—

“…we’re doing that again.”

You laughed softly.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

And this time—

You kissed him properly.

Slow.

Warm.

A little unsteady.

But real.

So real it made your chest ache.

When you pulled back, your fingers caught in his shirt.

“…don’t go.”

Percy didn’t hesitate.

“I’m not.”

You fell asleep fast.

Still holding onto him.

Still tangled in his shirt like if you let go he might disappear.

Percy stayed.

Sat beside your bed.

Letting you keep hold of him.

At some point, his head tipped back against the chair.

Eyes closing.

Still there.

Still holding your hand.

Morning came gently.

Too bright.

Too quiet.

You groaned, rolling slightly—

—and paused.

Warmth.

Close.

You blinked your eyes open.

Percy Jackson was asleep in the chair next to your bed.

Still sitting upright.

Head tilted.

Hand still in yours.

Something in your chest twisted.

“…you idiot,” you whispered.

He’d stayed.

All night.

Like that.

You pushed yourself up slowly, careful not to wake him.

Studied him for a second.

Then—

Made a decision.

You stood.

Still a little unsteady.

And stepped closer.

“…Percy,” you murmured.

No response.

Still asleep.

“…Percy,” you tried again, softer this time.

Nothing.

You sighed.

“Okay. Fine. We’re doing this the hard way.”

You took his hand.

Pulled.

He did not move.

You frowned.

“…you are heavier than you look.”

You tugged harder.

Percy stirred slightly, brow furrowing—but didn’t wake.

You braced yourself.

Then—

Pulled him up.

He stumbled.

Half-awake.

“…what—?”

“Bed,” you said. “Move.”

“I’m—awake—”

“You are not awake.”

“I am—”

“You are talking nonsense. Get in the bed.”

Percy blinked at you.

Then at the bed.

Then back at you.

“…okay.”

He let you guide him.

Which was honestly a mistake on his part.

Because the second he hit the mattress—

You climbed in too.

Curled up beside him.

And grabbed his shirt again.

“…there,” you murmured, satisfied.

Percy blinked.

“…what just happened?”

“You stayed,” you said, voice soft. “So now you get to be comfortable.”

A pause.

“…you dragged me into your bed.”

“Yes.”

“…okay.”

Another pause.

“…we kissed,” you added.

Percy exhaled slowly.

“…yeah.”

You looked up at him.

Eyes clearer now.

Less haze.

More real.

“That was a bad idea,” you said.

Percy nodded.

“…terrible.”

Silence.

Then—

“…do you want to do it again?” he asked.

You smiled.

Soft.

Certain.

“…yeah.”

And this time—

(Y/n)'s POV

It doesn't take me long to pack. I decide to leave the Minotaur horn in the cabin, which leaves me only an extra change of clothes and a toothbrush to stuff in a backpack Grover had found for me.

The camp store loans me one hundred dollars in mortal money and twenty golden drachmas. The coins are as big as Girl Scout cookies and have images of various Greek Gods stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. The ancient mortal drachmas had been silver, Chiron had told us, but Olympins never used less than pure gold. Chiron said the coins might come in for non-mortal transactions - whatever that might mean. He gives Annabeth, Percy, and me canteens of nectar and Ziploc bags full of ambrosia squares, to be used only in emergencies, if we were seriously hurt. It is god food, Chiron reminds us. It would cure us of almost any injury, but it is lethal to mortals. Too much of it would make a half-blood very, very feverish. An overdose would burn us up, literally, Fun.

Annabeth is bringing her magic Yankees cap, which she tells me had been a twelfth-birthday present from her mom. She is also bringing a book on famous classical architecture, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she gets bored, and a long bronze knife, hidden in her shirt sleeve. I'm sure the knife is going to get us busted the first time we go through a metal detector.

Grover is wearing his fake feet and his pants to pass as a human. He wears a green rasta-style cap, because when it rains his curly hair flattened and you can just see the tips of his horns. Grover's bright orange backpack is full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket is a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him, even though he only knows two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto Number 12 and Hilary Duff's 'So Yesterday,' both of which sound pretty bad on reed pipes.

We wave good-bye to the other campers, take one last look at eh strawberry fields, the ocean, and the Big House, then hike up the Half-Blood Hill to the tall pine tree that used to be Thalia, the Daughter of Zeus.

Chiron is waiting for us in his wheelchair. Next to him stands the surfer dude I'd seen when I was recovering in the sick room. According to Grover, the guy is the camp's head of security. He supposedly had eyes all over his body so he could never be surprised. Today, though, he's wearing a chauffeur's uniform, so I can only see the extra eyes on his hands, face, and neck.

"This is Argus," Chiron tells me. "He'll drive you into the city, and, er, well, keep an eye on things."

I hear footsteps behind us.

Luke comes running up the hill, carrying a pair of basketball shoes. "Hey!" he pants. "Glad I caught you."

Annabeth blushes, the way she always does when Luke is around.

"Just wanted to say good luck," Luke tells us. "And I thought . . . um, maybe you could use these."

He hands Percy a pair of sneakers, which look pretty normal.

Then, Luke says, "Maia!"

White bird's wings sprouted out of the heels. The shoes flap around on the ground until the wings fold up and disappear.

"Awesome!" Grover exclaims.

Luke smiles. "Those served me well when I was on my quest. Gift from Dad. Of course, I don't use them much these days...." His expression turns sad.

Annabeth stomps down the other side of the hill, after arguing with Percy, where a white SUV waits on the shoulder of the road. Argus follows, jingling his car kees.

Percy picks up the flying shoes and then looks up at Chiron. "I won't be able to use these, will I?"

Chiron shakes his head. "Luke meant well, Percy. But taking to the air...that would not be wise for you."

I nod, getting an idea, "Hey, Grover. You want a magic item?"

His eyes light up. "Me?"

Pretty soon, we'd laced the sneakers over his fake feet, and the world's first flying goat boy is ready for launch.

"Maia!" Grover shouts. He gets off the ground, okay, but then falls over sideways so his backpack drags through the grass. The winged shoes keep bucking up and down like tiny broncos.

"Practice," Chiron calls after him. "You just need practice."

"Aaaaa!" Grover goes flying sideways down the hill like a possessed lawnmower, heading towards the can.

But before I can follow, Chiron catches my arm. "I should have trained you two better, Percy, (Y/n)," he says. "If only I had more time. Hercules, Jason - they all got more training."

"That's okay. I just -" I stop myself.

"What am I thinking?" Chiron cries. "I can't let the two of you get away without these." He pulls two pens out of his coat pocket and hands one to me and one to Percy.

Looking down at it, I see a teal-colored gel pen. Maybe cost thirty cents.

"Gee," Percy says. "Thanks."

"Percy, those are gifts from your father. I've been keeping them for years, not knowing you two were the ones I was waiting for. But the prophecy is clear to me now. You two are the ones."

Instinctively I take off the cap, and the pen grows longer and heavier in my hand. In half a second, I am holding a shimmering bronze sword with a double-edged blade, a teal and silver leather-wrapped grip. This is the first weapon that feels balanced in my hand.

"That sword has a long and tragic history that we need not go into," Chiron tells Percy. "Its name is Anaklusmos."

"Riptide," Percy translates.

"I have never seen anyone use that sword that I'm aware of," Chiron says, turning to me. "Yours is named Τυφώνας."

"Hurricane," I translate, surprised that the Ancient Greek came so easily to me.

"Use them only for emergencies," Chiron says, "and only against monsters. No hero should harm mortals unless absolutely necessary, of course, but neither sword would hurt them in any case."

I look down at the wickedly sharp blade. "What do you mean it wouldn't harm mortals? How could it not?"

"Those swords are celestial bronze. Forged by the Cyclopes, tempered in the heart of Mount Etna, cooled in the River Lethe. It's deadly to monsters, to any creature from the Underworld, provided they don't kill you first. But the blades will pass through morals like an illusion. They simply are not important for the blade to kill. And I should warn you two: as demigods, you can be killed by either celestial or normal weapons. You are twice as vulnerable."

"Good to know," Percy says.

"Now recap the pens," Chiron says.

Percy and I touch the pen cap to the sword tips and instantly Riptide and Hurricane shrink to ballpoint pens again. I tuck it in my pocket, a little nervous because it's pretty easy to lose a pen.

"You can't," Chiron says.

"Can't what?" I ask, slightly confused.

"Lose the pens," he says. "They're enchanted. They'll always reappear in your pockets. Try it."

Warily, I throw the pen as far as I can down the hill and watch it disappear in the grass.

"It may take a few moments," Chiron tells us. "Now check your pocket."

Sure enough, the pen is there.

"Okay, that is extremely cool," I admit.

"But what if a mortal sees one of us pulling out a sword?" Percy asks.

Chiron smiles. "Mist is a powerful thing, Percy."

"Mist?" I ask.

"Yes. Read The Iliad. It's full of references to the stuff. Whatever divine or monstrous elements mix with the mortal world, they generate Mist, which obscures the vision of humans. You will see things just as they are, being a half-blood, but humans will interpret things quite differently. Remarkable, really, the lengths to which humans will go fit things into their version of reality.

I put Hurricane back into my pocket.

For the first time, the quest feels real. I'm leaving Half-Blood Hill. I'm heading west with no adult supervision, no backup plan, not even a cell phone - Chiron said cell phones were traceable by monsters; if we used one, it would be no worse than sending up a flare. I have no weapon stronger than a sword to fight off monsters and reach the Land of the Dead.

"Chiron . . ." Percy says. "When you say the gods are immortal . . . I mean, there was a time before them, right?"

"Four ages before them, actually. The Time of the Titans was the Fourth Age, sometimes called the Golden Age, which is definitely a misnomer. This, the time of Western civilization and the rule of Zeus, is the Fifth Age."

"So what was it like...before the gods?"

Chiron purses his lips. "Even I am not old enough to remember that, child, but I know it was a time of darkness and savagery for mortals. Kronos, the lord of the Titans, called his reign the Golden Age because men lived innocent and free of all knowledge. But that was mere propaganda. The Titan king cared nothing for your kind except as appetizers or a source of cheap entertainment. It was only in the early reign of Lord Zeus, when Prometheus the good Titan brought fire to mankind, that your species began to progress, and even then Prometheus was branded a radical thinker. Zeus punished him severely, as you may recall. Of course, eventually, the gods warmed to humans, and Western civilization was born."

"But the gods can't die now, right? I mean, as long as Western civilization is alive, they're alive. So...even if I failed, nothing could happen so bad it would mess up everything, right?" I ask, feeling rather uncertain.

Chiron gives me a melancholy smile. "No one knows how long the Age of the West will last, (Y/n). The gods are immortal, yes. But then, so were the Titans. They still exist, locked away in their various prisons, forced to endure endless pain and punishment, reduced in power, but still very much alive. May the Fates forbid that the gods should ever suffer such a doom, or that we should ever return to the darkness and chaos of the past. All we can do, child, is follow our destiny."

"Our destiny...assuming we know what that is," I say grimly.

"Relax," Chiron tells me. "Keep a clear head. And remember, the two of you may be about to prevent the biggest war in human history."

"Relax," I say. "I'm very relaxed."

When Percy and I get to the bottom of the hill, I look back. Under the pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus, Chiron is now standing in full horse-man form, holding his bow high in salute. Just your typical summer-camp send-off by your typical centaur."

Argus drives us out of the countryside and into western Long Island, It feels weird to be on a highway again, Annabeth and Grover sitting next to me, Percy on the other side of Grover, as if we were normal carpoolers. After two weeks at Half-Blood Hill, the real world seems like a fantasy. I find myself staring at every McDonald's, every kid in the back of his parent's car, every billboard and shopping mall.

"So far so good," Percy tells Annabeth. "Ten miles and not a single monster."

She gives Percy an irritated loo. "It's bad luck to talk that way."

"Remind me again - why do you hate us so much?" Percy asks.

"I don't hate you two."

"Could've fooled me."

Annabeth folds her cap of invisibility. "Look...we're just not supposed to get along, okay? Our parents are rivals."

"Why?" Percy asks.

Annabeth sighs. "How many reasons do you want? One time my mom caught Poseidon with his girlfriend in Athena's temple, which is hugely disrespectful. Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to be the patron god for the city of Athens. Your dad created some stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her."

"They must really like olives," Percy comments, and I stifle a snort of laughter.

"Oh, forget it," Annabeth grumbles.

"Now, if she invented pizza - that I could understand," I add, in a slightly teasing tone.

"I said, forget it!" Annabeth says, hitting me lightly on the arm.

In the front seat, Argus smiles. He doesn't say anything, but one blue eye on the back of his neck winks at me.

Traffic slows down in Queens. By the time we get into Manhattan, it is sunset and starting to rain.

Argus drops us at the greyhound Station on the Upper East Side, not far from my mom and Gabe's apartment. Taped to a mailbox is a soggy flyer with mine and Percy's picture on it: Have you seen these children?

Percy rips it down before Annabeth and Grover can notice.

Argus unloads our bags, makes sure we get our bus tickets, then drives away, the eye on the back of his hand opening to watch us as he pulls out of the parking lot.

I think about how close I am to the apartment. On a normal day, Mom would be home from the candy store by now. Smelly Gabe is probably up there right now, playing poker, not even missing her.

Grover shoulders his backpack. He gazes down the street in the direction I am looking. "You want to know why she married him, (Y/n)?"

I stare at him. "Were you reading my mind?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Just your emotions," Grover shrugs. "You were thinking about your mom and your stepdad, right?"

I nod.

"Your mom married Gabe for you and Percy," Grover tells me. "You call him 'Smelly,' but you've got no idea. This guy has this aura . . . Yuck. I can smell him from here. I can smell traces of him o you, and you haven't been near him in a week."

"Thanks," Percy grimaces from Grover's other side. "Where's the nearest shower?"

"You should be grateful, Percy. Your stepfather smells so repulsively human he could mask the presence of any demigod. As soon as I took a whiff inside his Camaro, I knew: Gabe has been covering your scent for years. If you hadn't lived with him every summer, you probably would've been found by monsters a long time ago. Your mom stayed with him to protect you. She was a smart lady. She must've loved you a lot to put up with that guy—if that makes you feel any better."

I soften, looking down a the ground. I'll see her again, I think. She isn't gone.

You will be betrayed by one who calls you a friend, the Oracle whispers in my mind. You will fail to save what matters most in the end.

The rain keeps coming down.

We get restless waiting for the bus and decide to play some Hacky Sack with one of Groer's apples. Annabeth was unbelievable at it. She could bounce the apple off her knee, her elbow, her shoulder, whatever. Percy wasn't too bad either, but I found that I wasn't that great at it.

The game ends when I toss the apple towards Grover and it gets too close to his mouth. In one mega goat bite, our Hacky Sack disappears - core, stem, and all.

Grover blushes. He tries to apologize, but Annabeth, Percy, and I are too busy cracking up.

Finally, the bus comes.

I am relieved when we finally get on board and find seats together in the back of the bus, Me and Annabeth in one row, and Percy and Grover across from us. The four of us stow our backpacks.

I glance over at Annabeth beside me, who keeps slapping her Yankees cap nervously against her thigh.

As the last passengers get on, Annabeth claps her hand onto my knee. "Look!"

An old lady had just boarded the bus. She is wearing a crumpled velvet dress, lace gloves, and a shapeless orange-knit hat that shadows her face and she is carrying a big paisley purse. When she tilts her head up, her black eyes glitter.

I see Percy slump down in his seat.

Behind her comes two more old ladies: one in a green hat, one in a purple hat. Otherwise, they look exactly like Mrs. Dodds - same gnarled hands, paisley handbags, wrinkled velvet dress. Triple demon grandmothers.

They sit in the front row, right behind the driver. The two on the aisle cross their legs over the walkway, making an X. It is casual enough, but it sends a clear message: Nobody leaves.

The bus pulls out of the station, and we head through the slick streets of Manhattan.

"She didn't stay dead long," Percy says, his voice quavering a little. "I thought you said they could be dispelled for a lifetime."

"I said if you're lucky," Annabeth murmurs. "You're obviously not."

"All three of them," Grover whimpers. "Di immortales!"

"It's okay," Annabeth says, obviously thinking hard. "The Furies. The worst monsters from the Underworld. No problem. No problem. We'll just slip out the windows."

"They don't open," Grover moans.

"A back exit?" she suggests.

There isn't one. Even if there had been, it wouldn't have helped. By that time, we are on Ninth Avenue heading for the Lincoln Tunnel.

"They won't attack us with witnesses around," I say. "Will they?"

"Mortals don't have good eyes," Annabeth reminds me. "Their brains can only process what they see through the Mist."

"They'll see three old ladies killing us, won't they?" Percy asks.

She thinks about it. "Hard to say. But we can't count on mortals for help. Maybe an emergency exit in the roof . . . ?"

We hit the Lincoln Tunnel, and the bus goes dark except for the running lights down teh aisle. It is eerily quiet without the sound of the rain.

"I need to use the rest-room."

"So do I."

"So do I."

All three demons start coming down the aisle.

"I've got it," Annabeth says. "Percy, take my hat."

"What?" he says with disbelief.

"You're the one they want. You killed one of them. Turn invisible and go up the aisle. Let them pass you. Maybe you can get to the front and get away."

"But you guys -"

"There's an outside chance they might not notice us," Annabeth says as she glances over at me. "You're a son of the Big Three. Your smell might be overpowering."

"I can't just leave you," Percy says, looking desperately at me.

"Go," I say, frowning and Annabeth hands him the cap.

The old ladies are not old ladies anymore. Their faces are still the same - I guessed they couldn't get any uglier - but their bodies had shriveled into leathery brown hag bodies with bat's wings and hands and feet like gargoyle claws; their handbags had turned into fiery whips.

The Furies surround me, Grover, and Annabeth, lashing their whips, hissing: "Where is it? Where?"

The other people on the bus are screaming, cowering in their seats. They see something, all right.

"He's not here!" Annabeth yells. "He's gone!"

The Furies raise their whips.

Annabeth draws her bronze knife. Grover grabs a tin can from his snack bag and prepares to throw it.