Chapter Text
“What do you mean stop him?” Annabeth demands from Hazel as the ground shakes. “What’s going on? Where are these earthquakes coming from?”
“Is it Gaea?” Piper asks.
“I don’t think so,” Hazel says. “I’m pretty sure Percy’s causing them.”
Just then, the ground tremors again, nearly unbalancing them all.
“How could he possibly be doing this?” Piper asks. “Earthquakes have nothing to do with the sea?”
“… Earthshaker,” Annabeth mumbles, then says it again, louder at the realization. “Poseidon is also known as the Earthshaker.”
Piper and Hazel exchange glances as Annabeth looks in the direction of those heartbreaking howls with a furrowed frown.
Is that why Gaea wants him so badly? Because he can influence her realm?
She needs to find him.
“Where is he?”
They all climb to their feet and run back towards the ridge that once overlooked the ruins of Ancient Sparta. As they reach the top, Annabeth pauses as she takes in the sight, so changed from how it had looked less than an hour ago.
The once-peaceful plain of ruins and olive trees now appears to have been sucked into the collapsing caves as branches and limestone blocks peek out from where they are now half buried in churned up dirt.
But she has no time to mourn the last vestiges of that once-great city as another howl rings out over the field.
In the distance, near where the entrance to the caves once were, kneels Percy, who raises his fists and slams them into the ground as he screams.
As he does, the ground heaves, rippling outwards as it groans under them as if trying to overturn itself. Or perhaps it’s more like something giant under the surface is trying to unearth itself. Either way, dirt sprays into the air as it bubbles up while a nearby part of the slope collapses into the ground, a small earthslide following it down.
It hits her suddenly, as she looks at him, exactly what’s happened now that Mimas and Phobos aren’t clouding her mind.
‘Fear turns to anger,’ he’d said, and even she had felt how using anger in the caves had sliced through her fear and panic to allow her to act.
Maybe, just like he can’t detect the Mist, he can’t feel fear properly anymore either. If that’s true, perhaps anger has taken over his response to fear so he can only snap and snarl and try to defend himself when he’s in danger.
Even against her.
And even when that fear is losing her.
No wonder he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was affecting them all, if his perception of fear is completely warped. He could only tell something was wrong, but couldn’t sense Fear itself because it eludes him. Plus, with Panic ramping up all their emotions to a hundred, it’s no wonder his reaction is so extreme.
After all, like Piper said, every emotion exists for a reason. To erase the existence of one creates an imbalance that must be compensated for in other ways, but that doesn’t mean the result is good or healthy. Still, the explanation for his behaviour doesn’t excuse his actions, even if it does settle her confusion and hurt.
But he also has no hope of improving without any support and right now, she’s all he has.
And from what Hazel said, at this moment, he may believe he doesn’t even have that.
She feels herself moving towards him before she fully decides to do so.
“Percy!” she calls, but as he howls again, he doesn’t seem to hear her.
She runs towards him, but with each step, the air almost seems to get heavier, until she’s leaning forward with her hand outstretched to push through it. The pressure roars past her, grazing her skin as the air seems to swirl in an intangible, chaotic rage, not trying to dig into her on purpose, but pressing against her nonetheless as it tugs at the edges of her, nearly washing her away in its current.
She takes a deep breath and reaches internally, trying to feel the core of her own power and keep it strong against the storm, forcing the waves of power to part around her like a rock in a stream before she continues forging ahead.
“Percy!” she calls again, trying to reach him, but her voice feels muffled even to her own ears, lost in the screaming power.
It pulses with a surge, and the ground shudders in its biggest quake yet that forces her to catch herself on the ground. She thinks she might hear someone call her name behind her, but it’s nearly drowned out by a distant baying chorus of hunting hounds that suddenly weaves into the undercurrent of the wave like a riptide.
Still, she has almost reached him, so while she knows that currents hidden under the surface of the sea are the most dangerous, she presses on.
Just a little further, she thinks and crawls forward, before throwing herself at him through the last wall between them to lay her hand on his back.
As her fingertips graze the small of his back, she feels power explode outwards around her, ruffling the hairs on her skin, and she closes her eyes instinctively as she would at a god showing their true form.
But the power parts around the pressure of her reaching hand, her silver core effectively cleaving through it while it instinctually jerks away in its haste not to touch her any further. Instead, it sprays past her in a cone, just barely keeping from ripping her apart at the last instant.
The gushing onslaught slows to a trickle after a moment, the spout slowly closing as the pressure abates at last.
Before he can say a thing, she throws her arms around his neck and pulls him tight to her.
He stands frozen in her arms, a minute tremble under her arms as she listens to his ragged breaths.
“It’s okay. I came back.”
“A-Annabeth?” his shaky voice comes out a little croaky, his throat sounding raw.
She opens her eyes and sees the ravaged grass and churned up dirt where a peaceful plain one lay undisturbed.
The last vestiges of ancient Sparta have been buried at long last, destroyed not by time, but by a single man.
His hands slowly come up and flex on the open air, hesitating. They’re covered in dirt, black caked beneath his nails as if he had been frantically ripping at the ground with his hands.
“It’s alright. I’m here. I’m okay.”
Still, those hands are unsure as they grip on her, tentative and loose like he’s not sure he’s still allowed to touch her but can’t help himself.
“You can check for yourself, if you need,” she reassures him.
With that, he spins in her arms and those hands suddenly turn desperate, running all over her sides and back and neck, grasping and gripping and smoothing in turn in ways that she can finally admit makes her gut and heart do funny flip flops. Her hair stands on end as his breath ghosts over her skin while his nose nudges into the crook of her neck, breathing her in.
She can’t help but recall how he had clutched at his hellhound after they were reunited after his experience with the River Acheron, grounding himself through touch as if to confirm she was real.
“You- You’re okay. I thought- I mean, suddenly you disappeared. You just vanished and I couldn’t feel you anymore and at first I thought you might’ve… That you left me,” his voice cracks. “But when I tried to see if you left anything behind something was blocking me and- and I couldn’t get through it; it wouldn’t let me past; it was keeping you from me,” he gasps as his words stumble over themselves. “And I couldn’t tell if you were okay, or if you were in trouble, or where you were-“
As she thought, he likely couldn’t perceive fear, and Annabeth had been completely submerged in its presence.
“It’s okay,” she promises.
Tentatively, she pulls one arm away from his neck to thread her fingers in his hair and scratch in that way she knows he likes.
He shudders in her arms. Finally, he slackens, his hands coming to rest on her hips, holding her close as he just breathes her in.
“You’re covered in dirt,” he says softly, voice clearly apprehensive.
“So are you,” she tries to avoid, wanting to protect him.
“Not the same,” he bites out.
She sighs. “The tunnels were collapsing,” she explains.
He tenses again, no doubt expecting the answer, yet dreading it. “I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I never should’ve- I don’t know why-“
“Shh,” she tries to soothe him, because she knows it’s not his fault. “It’s alright now.”
He shakes his head. “I was just trying to find you. I didn’t realize I was… That I could’ve…”
“I know. You should’ve trusted me. I promised to make it back, didn’t I?”
“I’m sorry. I just, I couldn’t lose you too. But I just always seem to make things worse… No matter what I do, I only ever…”
The self-deprecation in his tone is so heavy that she can’t bear to listen to it.
“It’s okay, I understand,” she cuts him off. She takes a deep breath, letting her tension release so that he may too. “I forgive you.”
He gasps into her neck, like he’s been holding his breath since their argument.
One day, if they still have a future past this week, she knows they’ll have to address this further, but for now, she just holds him. She’s no longer mad about their argument; she knows that the Temple of Fear’s presence had ramped up both of their emotions to unmanageable levels.
However, while it may have been useful for him to have lived without fear in Tartarus, he’ll never be able to properly live in society if he can only ever lash out. One day, he will have to learn to feel it again.
But having a starting direction to help him actually settles her a little. She knows something like that will take a lot of time and mistakes to work through, but she can at last see the steps forming. She has something real. Something actionable. Even if she can’t help him herself, she can help him find resources who can.
She feels ridiculous for their argument now. Sometimes she hates her fatal flaw being pride. Percy had only wanted her to be safe, and she just blindly took it as him questioning her abilities, even though he had never done so before. And then his heightened emotions made him desperate enough to invoke her promise to him, and keeping his word clearly means a lot to him.
So maybe… maybe if he promised her something permanent… she could believe- she could trust-
She’s being ridiculous. He’s made her no such promises.
“You’re going to have to work on getting better, though. Your anger is dangerous, Percy.”
“I know. I’m trying- it’s just so hard. I try to control it, but it just- I still need it. Damasen tried to help teach me to focus it, but I could never truly… And without… without her, it won’t ever settle fully.” His voice breaks and under her hands, something surges, trying to break free but is barely restrained.
“I- I miss her, Annabeth, and I won’t betray her. Not… not even for you,” he whispers at last. “Don’t- don’t ask me to. I won’t. I can’t.”
Annabeth can’t help but feel her heart sink, an ugly jealousy arising at the thought of someone else having the devotion she craves from this loyal boy.
She can admit finally that she wants that.
“I’m not asking you to discard your anger completely. Piper told me that all emotions exist for a reason. You need to let others take some space and carry their own weight. You can’t let anger be the only thing that can fill you, even if that means you have to feel fear again. I know it will take some work, and you’ll need some help and it won’t be easy. But when this is all over, you have to promise me that you’ll try.”
“Okay,” Percy breathes. “I- I’ll try. But-” he hesitates.
Her gaze narrows. “But, what, Percy?”
“You- You can’t… Please don’t do that again,” he begs. “If I get like that, you have to stay away from me. You don’t understand how dangerous that was. I could’ve… If I wasn’t focused downwards and searching for you…” he trails off.
“You could’ve what, Percy?”
He tenses before very carefully loosening his grip again as he rests his head on her shoulder. “Just, please, Annabeth. Don’t do that again. I promise to try, but if I fail, you have to promise me not to put yourself at risk like that again.”
He dodges her question but still, as she looks at the devastation around them, she can guess what he’s not saying.
“I couldn’t bear it if I hurt you. Please, Annabeth.”
Underneath her hands, she can almost feel something still roiling under his skin, refusing to settle completely even as he attempts to restrain himself and despite how much power he discharged earlier.
She doesn’t want to agree, but she can feel that he needs her reassurance.
Before she can come up with an answer that isn’t a promise she’s going to break, suddenly the ground trembles again.
“What?” She pulls away from him to look around. “Percy-”
“That’s not me.” He pulls out of her arms and pushes her behind him as he turns to face the ruined city again as the ground begins to shake again.
“Guys!” Hazel suddenly calls from behind them, voice frantic. “Get out of there!”
A ghost-like hand suddenly bursts from the ground beside them, spraying dirt. It pulls itself up, unburying itself until half a disgruntled Spartiate is poking out of the ground, as if waking up from a long nap.
“Who dares desecrate our city and disturb our slumber?”
Across the ruins, more and more emerging hands and bodies crawl out of the ground, dressed in full armour.
Annabeth suddenly recalls that Spartans were typically buried within the city limits to become accustomed to and normalize death. Who knows how many graves Percy just disturbed.
“Go, go, go,” Percy says urgently and pushes Annabeth, and he doesn’t have to tell her twice.
She grabs his hand, turns, and runs up the slope.
“There!” She hears called out behind them. “The ones who disturbed our sacred city!”
A thunderous battle cry suddenly rings out from behind them, and she hears the clanging of spears against shields before the thuds of footsteps chasing after them.
“Run!” she calls to Hazel and Piper, both of their shocked and terrified faces telling her everything she needs to know about just how many ghosts are after them, and they both turn and start high tailing it towards the modern city and the distant Argo II.
At the top of the crest, Annabeth risks a look behind them.
Hundreds of fully geared Spartiates are chasing after them in a tide. Far more than even the gathering in Odysseus’ palace, and no doubt more well-trained.
She faces forward again, charging after the other two.
She and Percy quickly gain on them, catching up, and Percy glances over his shoulder.
His grimace tells her everything she needs to know about how fast the army is catching up to them.
“Go!” Percy yells as he drops back. “Tell Leo to start flying!”
Annabeth slows herself, turning.
Instantly, she sees the problem.
While they may not manage to catch them in time, they will absolutely be in spear range. Still, she’s had enough of leaving people behind to make their stand alone.
She will not lose him like she once lost Thalia.
“Not without you!”
“Just trust me!”
Their eyes meet, and she searches his gaze.
She grits her teeth, turns, and continues running.
Don’t make me regret this, she begs him in her mind.
But she can make herself turn and run because of how surprisingly clear his eyes were. The fire in his eyes seemed banked behind a self assuredness that settles her, tempered and controlled as Damasen must have taught him despite the army bearing down on them.
She can’t help but wonder if she still doesn’t understand the true triggers that cause his loss of control.
But if Lyssa is the source of his madness and is serving to help hold him together because of the damage caused by his fatal flaw being struck, perhaps the piece of information she’s missing that holds the key to all her questions is what his fatal flaw actually is.
Still, she has no time to reflect on it as she reaches the ship and starts climbing up the ladder.
“Start moving!” She calls up to above her, where she can see the worried faces of the rest of the crew peeking over the deck.
“What about Percy?” Jason asks.
“He’ll be fine!” she yells back and prays that she isn’t lying.
As the ship starts to lift, she looks over her shoulder as she climbs up the ladder to the deck just in time to watch him plunge his sword into the ground.
From it, suddenly an expanding circle of death rips across the grass as it suddenly dries and withers into sharp stalks.
Suddenly, she recalls a nightmare from the Pit she had half forgotten: the sight of Camp Half-blood being taken over by withered, dried-up grass as blood encroaches from the sea while her mother’s warning echoes in her ears.
But she shakes it away, remembering her own words.
He does make her feel safe, and she doesn’t need to control him. She doesn’t regret her decision to bring him away from that awful place.
He slices his sword upward from the ground, and spears of water suddenly rip through the air and into the spirits.
She blinks.
Right, he had mentioned he couldn’t conjure water, only able to make use of what he could find around him. Naturally, plants would be one possible source of that.
That’s actually… pretty resourceful.
And as the spears grow further as they pass through the air, she wonders if he’s ripping the moisture from the muggy air to swell his weapons further.
His volley hits the first line, and the Spartiates shields come up, blocking it.
But that’s the thing about water – it’s fluid.
It splashes and drips down their shields into their formation.
Annabeth doesn’t quite see what happens next, but suddenly there’s a disturbance in the tight formation, the first couple lines of soldiers seeming to slip and fall into each other, their densely packed formation suddenly a hinderance.
Percy doesn’t wait to watch though, turning and running after the ship.
Despite the crumbled front line, the formation keeps moving forward, stomping over their fallen brethren to continue their march.
He practically flies across the ground, his feet barely skimming the dirt, his face filled with determination as the ghosts chase after him with even more furious cries.
He leaps onto a low wall, then to the Statue of Leonidas’ head. He plants his foot on top of that proud warrior’s metal plume and uses it as a springboard, leaping for the lifting rope ladder.
Annabeth’s breath catches, but he catches onto the bottom rung, hauling himself up while it swings from his weight and the enraged army behind him start tossing their spears for him.
“Go, go, go,” she yells at Leo, who pulls his joystick up, and the sound of the boat’s aerial motors whirr into overdrive as it lifts.
He latches his foot onto the bottom step and leaps up three rungs of the ladder, causing the spears to pass under him and catches himself with one hand.
His other reaches to hip and rips out his sword to deflect one away from him as he dangles in the air.
In seconds, the ship is out of range, Sparta becoming a distant dot behind them.
Good riddance, is all Annabeth can think in relief.