Chapter Text
“It’s interesting how getting what you think you want can end up being the force that pushes you into a corner. There’s something terrible to being at the top of the mountain - I’m the best, I’m the king guarding it. What’s left for you when you make it to the top but lightning?”
- Rodney Mullen
“Hello and welcome back to our continuing coverage of the Men’s Street Skateboarding contest from the Ariake Urban Park in Tokyo. I’m here with my co-host, Thalia Grace, and the question on my mind - on everybody’s mind - is, can Percy Jackson pull this off? Is this the rags to riches, criminal record to world record story he’s trying to sell us, or was putting Jackson at the front of Team USA a fatal mistake for the future of Olympic skateboarding? I hate to say it, Thalia, but with the whole world watching, I have to imagine there are more appropriate choices, considering Jackson’s history and the field of younger, fresher faces coming up in the sport.”
“Well, Luke, I say this with the deepest respect for you and our many years of friendship - stop talking before you embarrass yourself. There is no Olympic Skateboarding without Percy Jackson.”
What people watching from home aren’t going to get, Percy thinks as he looks out over the sea of concrete, is that Ariake is massive.
And not just like, how many square feet - meters, his brain corrects for the millionth time - it covers, or how many ramps and rails and stairs they crammed into it. It’s more that the sheer scale of each structure, the heights and depths and pitches, blows everywhere else he’s skated right out of the water. That, more than the vastness of the space, is what just won’t translate to TV.
Then again, Percy thinks, looking out over the park from the top of the 12-stair section of the street course, it is the Olympics. Did he really expect anything less?
The park isn’t crowded, but there’s people around, trickling in for practice hours. He’d gotten there on the early side to avoid as much of it as he could, and it certainly could be worse, but he can still feel some side-eyeing happening as people give him a pretty generous berth. He can’t really blame them, what with the seemingly 24/7 news cycle saturating the world with his face and life story, but he’s glad for his headphones and pulled-low bill of his hat. He tries to smooth out whatever face he’s probably making - he knows he tends to glower at courses when he studies them, and he’d like to avoid opportunistic photos with the headline “Percy Jackson, pariah-turned-Olympian, uncertain of his place in tomorrow’s Men’s Street competition…”
Or, you know, something like that. Whatever they come up with this time.
He hasn’t seen anyone he knows at the park yet - meaning, actually knows, on a texting basis-knows, looks up when he’s in town-knows, capital K knows. Percy knows everyone, in one sense or another. He’s been around the sport too long not to.
A few too many in the biblical sense, Jackson, his brain helpfully supplies, but he squashes that thought with a grimace. It’s getting to be less of a problem, anyway. First, he’s made some changes in his life, thank-you-very-much-cable-news-media-people, and second, well, it’s not exactly the crowd he used to see everywhere, is it? Olympic skating looks so young.
Percy gets why Jason opted out. He does. He wishes Jason hadn’t opted out because if Jason hadn’t opted out then Percy wouldn’t be the oldest skater on the team, and maybe, MAYBE it would’ve diffused the headlines a bit. Not that Jason ever made good headline fodder. If that man has any real dirt, he’s killed all the witnesses, and the witnesses’ witnesses, and buried them all in cement under a half pipe somewhere, Percy thinks. He’s definitely making a face now. Stupid golden boy, had to be all noble about it too, No, street’s never been my thing, and you’ve got the right man carrying the torch there. The next generation is in good hands, let me know when the Olympics get a big air ramp, psssh whatever, Jason. Who needs him, Percy can have all the salacious headlines and speculations about his senility to himself.
That’s me, he thinks, the torchbearer. If there was a time he’d sooner commit arson with it than guide anyone’s way to a bright future of professional skateboarding, well, you’d have to ask the Olympic broadcasters about that.
He drops his board, rolls it to the edge of the drop-in with his toe. Pops the nose up and surveys some more. There’s someone down there already, mid-run. Percy watches him, figuring out where he’s headed so he doesn’t get in the guy’s way. At this distance, Percy can’t tell who it is at first. Not someone he Knows-knows, anyway. The guy is tall - well actually, maybe more that he has that stretched look, rail thin with long limbs that gives the appearance of being taller than he actually is. He’s got on a black t-shirt, black Dickies pants (what, Percy goes through like, 10 pairs of those a year, he knows what they look like ), and Chuck Taylor’s - classic look, rare in the days of Nike-brand skate shoes. Still, as he glides closer, feeling out the ramps with a few easy tricks, nothing flashy, Percy can see he’s younger than his clothing choices suggest. The long, shaggy black hair blows out of his eyes as he coasts by the drop-in, and finally a name clicks into place.
Nico di Angelo.
Percy stares after him as Nico does another pass on the course. He probably should’ve figured out who it was sooner - Nico’s had his fair share of news coverage. The dark horse. The former child prodigy, fully realized. The future of professional skating. Heir to the throne. Pretty nauseating stuff. To be fair, though, Percy’s never actually talked to the guy. Nico’s here for Team Italy, and doesn’t compete in a lot of U.S. events for whatever reason - Percy’s pretty sure they’ve overlapped at an X-Games at some point, but he didn’t even really see Nico skate until World’s this year, coming out of nowhere to make the finals and cause a bit of a stir. Percy dimly recalls something about him also being in school, or just finishing, from whichever NBC Olympics special coverage he managed 5 minutes of at some point. Probably because it was presented in direct contrast to, Percy Jackson, youngest member of the Half Blood Brigade at 11, kicked out of high school by 16…
For all they blathered on, the broadcasters weren’t wrong about the generational gap in the competition. A 10 year age gap might as well be 20 in the world of pro skating, with how fast the sport progresses. Hell, Nico was probably posting videos of him skating in city parks on YouTube at the same age Percy was getting thrown into the back of cop cars for it. Which as far as Percy is concerned, is fantastic. Long overdue. That’s why he came, that’s why he’s suffering through endless specials on his whole dirty history and whether someone of his ilk should be an Olympian, because he believes in the future of the sport. Still…
Wouldn’t kill them to mention I did get my GED… eventually, he thinks, feeling a bit petty, still watching Nico as the kid makes another pass. Closer up, sweat curling the hair at his temples, it looks like he’s been at this for hours, but it’s barely 9AM. He does another pass around the park, and Percy has to admit it, there is something about how he skates. This has got to be the best concrete in the world, but it’s still concrete and Percy knows you can feel every bump and groove and divot right up through your teeth when you’re flying across it on hard wheels, but watching Nico you’d think he was skating on glass. It’s kind of mesmerizing, even when he isn’t doing shit besides curving around for another run, face blank, completely relaxed. Percy sighs, envious of how peaceful Nico looks out there when his own heart is in his throat every time he picks up his skateboard in this place. Then he realizes he’s probably been staring for a borderline creepy amount of time at this point, which is of course the moment Nico looks right back at him.
Percy feels a spike of… something in his chest, in that second of eye contact. Competition? Curiosity? Fear? Except, Percy doesn’t do fear. Doesn’t get scared, or nervous. Never backs down from anything, never quits, even midway through a trick he knows he’s not going to land. It’s the one thing they get right about him on the news: Percy Jackson does not bail.
So he swallows it, and drops in.
“Okay, what?” Annabeth asks after Percy’s fifth beleaguered sigh in as many minutes.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit, what? Are you watching that NBC segment again?”
“No.”
“Okay so the Minneapolis X-Games clip they showed in the NBC segment then?”
Percy just “hmphs” and drags the progress bar back to the beginning.
"Percy, why do you do this?”
“Do what?”
“You know what,” she sighs, climbing out of her bed and into his, leaning against the headboard next to him.
It’s 3 days until the men’s street competition, but since Percy is now a “real athlete” and therefore “has to be in bed by 9PM every night until then” under threat of violent dismemberment by “Coach” Hedge - more of a glorified chaperon really, Percy’s never had a fucking coach in his life - and/or Annabeth, he kind of wishes it was sooner. He draws the line at actually trying to sleep, though.
“You’re supposed to be here, Percy.”
He’s glad Annabeth is his roommate. All the skating team demographics were chaos for the normal Olympic Village protocols - too many different age groups, far more men than women. Eventually the committee threw up their hands and paired people by request rather than gender, which would’ve been stupid anyway. Percy likes Will and Connor just fine, but he’s definitely more comfortable with Annabeth.
“Yeah, this is some real Olympian-level behavior they’ve clipped here,” he shoots back, pressing play again so she can watch him in 2017, slamming his board over a rail until it snaps, inches from a photographer’s head, everyone ducking out of the way of the splinters and bearings flying towards their eyes. All because he came in 3rd.
Well, all because of a lot of things. None of which are any excuse.
Annabeth takes his phone and sets it aside.
“That was a long time ago.”
“Back when I could actually land a trick, you mean?”
“Ugh,” Annabeth exclaims, thunking her head back against the wall and groaning. Percy winces. The water polo guys from Santa Barbara in the next room are going to think he and Annabeth are fucking now, like Annabeth would be caught dead slumming it with him these days.
“There’s really no talking to you when you’re like this. I’m sorry, was there some other scoring system you were using at World’s where you didn’t win?”
"Because of one trick! I ate shit 3 times in a row and managed to pull one out at the last minute. Solace landed all 5, why isn’t his face plastered all over the -”
“Because Will played it safe as shit and you know it. Look, I like the guy, but the only person that’s mad you came out on top of that one is you, Percy.”
Percy crosses his arms. He knows he’s being an ass about this, he does. He thinks he does.
“Plus, a caballerial backside lipslide is by definition not ‘one’ trick, when Caballero combined the fakie with a backside-”
“Alright, alright, supernerd. You win. I’m the greatest to have ever lived and NBC’s Luke Castellan can sit on his microphone for all I care.”
“That’s the spirit,” she says, smug because she always wins, but leans her head on his shoulder anyway. Percy kisses the top of her head out of habit.
“How’d it look at the park today?”
Percy shrugs with one shoulder, trying not to jostle her.
"Alright. Man, that place is massive. If I didn’t feel like I was going to vomit every time I went in there, I’d be stoked to tear it up.”
“See anyone interesting?”
Percy thinks back to the endless parade of literal children he’d met that afternoon. Some of them had wanted autographs on the same boards they’d be using to try to humiliate him tomorrow. Talk about surreal.
“Well, actually - that kid from Italy was there. di Angelo, right?”
“Oh, really?” Annabeth asks, interest peaked, “You know there’s a lot of buzz building about him since Worlds. How’d he look?”
Percy replays it in his head, Nico gliding around the park, the effortlessness of it. No strain, no nerves, just gliding through the concrete behemoth like it was nothing.
“Oi. Jackson. Earth to Jackson.”
Percy flinches and shoots a quick look at Annabeth, and yep, she’s got that sharp, piercing expression on her face that he’s always found deeply unsettling.
“Sorry yeah, no he’s good. I mean I only saw him for a minute, he wasn’t doing much but… yeah.”
Annabeth raises her eyebrows.
“He’s ‘good’? Way to get the deep intel on your competition, seaweed brain.”
“Okay okay fine, yeesh you’re a menace,” Percy replies, throwing up his hands, “He’s scary, honestly. I really didn’t see him put up anything major but it was like - like you know how when you see a bat flying, you can tell it’s a bat from a mile away?”
“What would you know about bats, city boy?”
“We have bats in New York! But whatever, it’s like that - like it looks quiet when he skates, you know? Like, you know it should be making noise because he’s moving, but somehow it doesn’t? Almost like he was skating underwater. Totally silent. It was kind of freaky.”
Annabeth peers at him and Percy feels the heat rise on his face.
“So, your insight, after being a professional skateboarder for 16 years is that Nico di Angelo skates like.. an underwater bat?” she asks slowly, clearly trying not to laugh. Percy rolls his eyes and flops his head back onto his pillows.
“Fuck off, you go watch him then and tell me I’m wrong.”
Percy’s not really supposed to be in the “athlete’s only” area right now, since he’s not actually competing until tomorrow, but Annabeth pulls him along with her anyway. All she got were a few raised eyebrows - unsurprising, since she’s Annabeth Chase. When she was 15, she was the youngest female skater ever to get signed to a team. By the time she was 20, she was the most decorated female skater of all time. At 27, she’s basically the high queen of the sport, and no one is stupid enough to tell Annabeth Chase what she can and cannot do.
Percy at least had guys to look up to when he was whisked across the world in the HBB, even if “looking up” meant they were like 18 when he was 11, and even if Luke Castellan turned out to be a conniving, two-faced, clickbait headline pandering douche, but skateboarding is sexist as fuck and Annabeth had been on her own. If Percy has occasionally deigned to grumble about how it’s not her they’re calling “a veteran” and “outdated” in the press, well, he is actually smart enough to keep those thoughts to himself.
Reyna scowls at him when she sees him, which is basically Reyna for “delighted to see you, Percy”, and starts working with Annabeth to warm up her quads and hash out their super-nerd strategy. Percy tries to stay out of her direct field of vision as he watches Ariake fill in for the women’s street competition. He can see behind the big ramp where he’s probably supposed to be standing, where the other guys who have turned out for the women’s event have lined up to watch. He’s making a mental note of the guys he doesn’t see, to throw them under the fucking bus for not supporting equality in the sport later, when he hears the first reporter of the day calling his name from behind him.
“Jackson! Percy Jackson - a couple of questions for you from ESPN!”
He heaves a sigh and turns around, fixing a polite (enough) smile to his face. It’s probably fine, the guys ESPN usually sends are alright, but Percy does have a reputation for being a bit of a dick. Wouldn’t want to ruin the brand.
“Yeah, sure Jeff, what’s up?”
“Good to see you here, Percy. Excited for the women’s event today?”
“Of course - honestly, any guy that doesn’t come today shouldn’t bother showing his face tomorrow,” Percy says casually, internally delighting at the blood vessel that’s going to burst on Coach’s forehead when this airs, “The world’s been sleeping on skateboarding, and skateboarding’s been sleeping on some of its best athletes. Can’t expect anyone to show up for us if we don’t show up for each other.”
“Well said, well said. Still, you must have a favorite to take home the gold today?”
“Obviously, I’m gonna say Team USA, but you know. Skating has been a small sport for so long. Some of us, we’ve been here since the beginning, or just about. So yeah of course I want one for the home team, but I’m really rooting for all of us.”
Jeff pauses to take notes, and so obviously Percy has to add,
“But let’s be clear - when Chase asks, I said her, and only her, to win it all, and I hope everyone else breaks a femur.”
Jeff laughs, and Annabeth, from 2 feet away, snorts so loud it’s probably going to be in the recording.
“I’ll make note of that. Now, onto something less diplomatic - how’re you feeling about tomorrow?”
Percy shrugs, “Oh you know, the usual, bursting with rage and arthritis.”
Annabeth reaches past where Reyna’s covering her in tape and punches Percy hard in the arm.
“Ow, jesus woman, are you sure you’re not here for ju jitsu?”
“Percy stop fucking around.”
“And I’m the one with a history of violence, I swear to god - okay okay stop, fine. Well Jeff, I feel good but I’m also making jokes so you know tomorrow morning I’ll probably be puking my guts out right up until my first run starts.”
“Well, I can’t say I blame you - there has been a bit of hype around you at the Olympics.”
“Yeah, ‘hype’ is a word for it. Anyway, I’m trying to tune all that out. It’s so crazy that we’re here, right? For me and Annabeth, that’s what we try to focus on. How far we’ve come, how far skateboarding can still go. But I’ve seen the competition, I’ve seen the next generation. It’s in good hands, and I’m just trying to enjoy the moment.”
“But about that competition, Jackson - who do you have your eye on? There’s been a lot of speculation about Ethan Nakamura of Japan - he gave you a hard time at Worlds this winter, and you two do have a bit of a history.”
Percy rolls his eyes and pauses before answering. Yeah, it’s an open secret that he and Ethan can’t stand each other and the thought of beating that vindictive piece of shit occasionally is what gets Percy out of bed in the morning. It’s a very closed secret that they used to… well, not date exactly. Whatever the version of dating is where you’re just fucking and then he leaks your nudes online because you put down what you know is his best trick in the prelims at the X-Games. Whatever that’s called. Given that Percy wouldn’t piss on Ethan if he was on fire, he doesn’t really feel like giving the guy any more free press. Then Percy’s eyes catch something back up on the big ramp - it’s filled in a bit, a small crowd now, but something about the kid must just stand out, even off his board, leaning his forearms on the barrier as he looks out over the park, watching.
“Yeah, I mean, me and Ethan are what we are, but I was at the preview on Thursday and - you know, Italy only sent one skater to Tokyo, but I think it might end up being all they need.”
“That’s interesting - Nico di Angelo’s got you nervous, eh? He’s certainly on the rise, but it’s a big stage for an underdog. You don’t think his experience, or lack of, is going to be a factor here?”
The thing is, still looking at that inkblot of a person up by the fence, Percy doesn’t totally understand why he said di Angelo. He’s seen a lot more of Nakamura, of most of the guys here, than he has of the one Italian skateboarder to make it to Tokyo. He knows di Angelo’s supposed to be some kind of prodigy - after seeing him at practice Percy’d dug up some of the old videos of a 12 year old pulling off crazy shit on drops taller than he was in a closed park in Vegas. Between then and now, though, he hasn’t really kept up, and until Worlds, Percy hadn’t given di Angelo a lot of thought. But after watching him drift around Ariake like a shadow on a board, well. Percy’s thinking about him now.
Percy shakes his head, pulling his eyes back to the reporter.
“This isn’t about experience. We’re at the fucking - sorry, but we’re at the Olympics, none of us have experience. Street skateboarding is about guts, and style. It’s not enough to just do the trick, you have to own it, make it yours, make it impossible for anyone else to do it without your name in their mouth. That’s what street skating’s about, that’s how you get it, and I don’t know. I think di Angelo’s got it.”
For decades, scientists have wondered how many pro skaters you could fit at one standard sized dining hall table all the way in the back of a cavernous cafeteria.
Turns out, if it’s the night after the first ever Olympic women’s street final? All of them.
The whole table is buzzing with pent up energy, which makes Percy feel a little better about how he can’t stop drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Somehow without anyone specifically mentioning it, it’d been decided that no one really celebrates until they all celebrate, so instead of tearing their wing of the dorms to pieces right now, spectacularly drunk, they’ve swarmed the back corner of the Olympic Dining Hall like a plague of locusts.
They’ve cleaned the kitchens out of everything from gyoza and maki to french fries and chicken tenders, which is honestly probably almost better than getting shitfaced. Almost. Probably. At least for the guys that have to skate tomorrow, anyway.
Percy knows he’s about to get punched, but he can’t help it - he’s so fucking stoked for Annabeth, he just needs to spontaneously hug her at least once a minute. Because he’s known her a long time, and that means that even when she really hides it, even when her face is the most schooled and her words are the most careful, Percy can tell when Annabeth really wants something, and she really fucking wanted this.
“Okay can I take it off yet?”
“Absolutely not. You aren’t allowed to take off that medal until it’s so filthy we have to use some kind of solvent.”
Annabeth makes a disgusted noise, but she keeps eating her fries and doesn’t take off the big, shiny new gold medal around her neck. Percy beams down at her when she’s pretending not to notice. Annabeth Chase, Olympic gold medalist.
It was a great day. After a pretty standard prelim and the finalists making it through their individual runs with some solid scores, Percy was almost wondering if everyone was too nervous about eating shit on the world stage to throw down their best stuff. Then, in the best trick portion, the competition just came to life.
Hazel Levesque is a once in a life-time skater, he thinks, looking down at the bright-eyed 15-year-old under an absolute mane of curly brown hair a few seats down. He still remembers seeing the early videos, just a little girl in New Orleans doing heel flips off the back of a Piggly Wiggly loading dock in a princess tutu and checkered vans. She’s still tiny, but she’s got a nasty backside smith grind and there’s no telling her she’s too small for the big rail. She’d crushed that and a heelflip front board to sit on top until the 4th round.
And then Annabeth beat her.
The thing about watching Annabeth hardflip some stairs is, Percy’s seen it before. He’s seen it maybe a hundred times, in a hundred places, in a thousand attempts. Those steps coming off the back of Brooklyn Latin, where he used to smoke stolen cigarettes before he got kicked out? The stairs at Brower Park where you have to immediately ollie or get your teeth knocked in by the ledges? Flying over the flight at Borough Hall because the new guard wants to prove he’s a real cop by beating up some kids? All these places, these memories, they’re etched into Percy like the tattoos on his skin and Annabeth is in every single one of them. But to hardflip a 12-stair, at the Olympics, on the biggest stage in the biggest moment of her or anyone else’s career? Fucking insane.
Jesus, he needs to get a grip or he’s going to cry right here in the cafeteria.
“You in there, seaweed brain?” she’s asking his vacant expression, so Percy just hugs her again, kisses the top of her head, and damn it’s going to be a nice fist-shaped bruise on his arm for all the photos tomorrow.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Good, because you aren’t done yet,” she says, smiling. It’s the same thing she said to him 8 years ago when she dumped him because he was such a fucking wreck, drinking and fucking and fighting himself into a short life and an even shorter career. You aren’t done yet, but I can’t let myself drown with you while you figure that out. Fair enough. He gives her a wry smile back, and because he’s still Percy Jackson, says,
“I know I’m not,” he says, though he’s not as sure as he sounds. Maybe it’s the 24-hour news cycle on how he’s a has-been.
“And tomorrow we’ll turn this place into the 2018 X-Games after party, deal?”
“Deal, though we’re gonna have to lean heavily on your memories of that evening for the reenactment.”
Annabeth starts regaling him with the high points (and low points), but movement at the other end of the table catches Percy’s ADHD-rattled eye. Nico di Angelo finally showed, or more appeared out of nowhere, sitting next to Hazel with his legs straddling the bench. They’re talking quietly about something, too far away for Percy to hear, but he can see Hazel laughing even if Nico’s face is as expressionless as usual. Or at least, it is until Nico looks up and they make eye contact.
Percy is no stranger to people being pissed at him. Hell, by the time he was 20 crowds were booing him for winning. Everyone hates the guy at the top, and anyway he knows what he’s like. On his best days he can still be pretty obnoxious. He’ll even concede that he’s probably deserved more than half of the fists he’s taken to the face. So he doesn’t know why the look on Nico’s face makes the bottom drop out of his stomach, makes him turn quickly back to Annabeth’s fond lecturing like he can hide in it. Percy rakes back over everything he’s done, said, or thought today that might’ve got him on the wrong side of the kid, but nothing comes to mind that explains the absolutely murderous expression on Nico’s face, or, as the sudden pit in his stomach suggests, why Percy cares about it.
“Coach” Hedge feigns ignorance on his whereabouts until 9PM, when he bursts into the cafeteria and shouts Percy right out of his seat like he’s a child out past his bedtime and not a grown man. Percy rolls his eyes as he extricates himself from the table, giving Annabeth one last hug and slipping away before she can punch him. His eyes quickly scan the table as he leaves, and he wants to pretend he wasn’t looking for anyone in particular, but di Angelo is nowhere to be seen anyway, gone like Percy only imagined him to begin with. Sighing, Percy turns and walks out towards the Team USA dorms, with Coach glowering at his back but at least doing him the service of not following all the way to Percy’s bedroom to make sure he goes beddy-bye. Which Percy actually has every intention of doing. Outside the bubble of elation for Annabeth, he’s tired all the way down to his bones.
Except, when he’s walking down the hall to his room, Percy barely has time to register the dark figure standing by the vending machines before it’s shoving Percy into the wall.
“Hey, what the fuck- di Angelo?!”
“What are you fucking playing at?” Nico di Angelo hisses into his face, fists still clenched in Percy’s jacket.
“What? I have no idea what- hey, how did you even get in here?” Percy asks, his brain still trying to catch up. Maybe he hit his head on the wall or something, because all he’s getting is that di Angelo’s actually a little shorter than him and speaks English without any detectable accent, and that the hands holding Percy are shaking slightly.
“Are you trying to get in my head? Because that’s fucking low, Jackson, though I don’t know why I’m always so surprised that you’re -”
“Am I trying to- what? Are you on drugs?” Percy spits back, heart rate spiking because he never did have a very good handle on his temper and he was just trying to go to bed, dammit. He grabs di Angelo’s wrists to break his grip, and wow if this does come to a fight it’s going to be laughably one-sided because there is nothing to this kid.
And then the elevator at the other end of the floor dings and right, Percy has a rap sheet for a reputation that he’s still trying to shake and the goddamn hallway of the US Olympic Team dorms is probably not the most private place to hash this out.
So instead of shoving di Angelo backwards off of him, Percy takes a deep breath and pulls the kid along as he turns towards his dorm. Nico tries to twist out of Percy’s hold and if realizing that he can’t break the grip makes him rethink whatever the fuck he’s doing, good.
“Let me go, you piece of - ”
“Shut up,” Percy says as they get to the door, pulling the kid’s wrist to jerk him forward into whisper-distance, “You’ve got something you want to discuss, fine, but I’ve had just about enough trouble with the press without a video of me getting into a fight at the fucking Olympics showing up on the fucking internet, so. We’re not doing this here.”
He lets go of di Angelo’s wrist to tap his keycard, half expecting the kid to take a swing at him, but he just stands there, wild-eyed while Percy opens the door. When he doesn’t immediately move, Percy’s patience gives out.
“Come on,” he snaps, scruffing him by the jacket and marching him through the door, slamming it a little more than he meant to behind him. Percy winces at the sound, but at least there’s a door and some plausible deniability between him and over 600 gossipy athletes.
The entry hallway to his room is narrow and dark, just the orange dusk from the streetlights outside and their close proximity letting Percy see Nico di Angelo’s face. He looks a little less furious and a little more shell-shocked now, though when he realizes Percy is looking at him he clearly schools his face back into rage. Percy rolls his eyes, which probably isn’t helping but christ he is so tired.
“Now, back to where you decided to cause a little international incident - is there something I can help you with?”
“Fuck you,” di Angelo bites back, “I don’t know what your deal is, patronizing me on fucking ESPN, but if you’re trying to throw me off tomorrow - ”
“Wait a minute,” Percy interrupts, unable to keep the dry laugh of disbelief out of his voice, “Is that what this is about? Some bullshit I said to Jeff Daly? Is this a joke?”
“Oh yeah of course it is, just like everything’s a big joke to you isn’t it? The most famous skater in the world, mocking some nobody on live TV, hilarious.”
“I wasn’t mocking you!” Percy insists, exasperated, “Jesus, the one time I try to be nice - ”
“I don’t need your back-handed charity, Jackson, so you can cut the fake-nice bullshit.”
“It wasn’t fake! I was paying you a compliment, you psycho, this isn’t some elaborate scheme or whatever else you think I’m up to,” Percy replies, irritation in his voice giving way to something else. He’s starting to see where the kid’s coming from, just a little. How this could read as Percy trying to fuck with his head, the day before the biggest competition of his life, in a sport that’s incredibly mental once you get to the top. That just maybe, if someone had a massive chip on their shoulder, they could twist just about any praise into scorn. Stack being like 18 on all that and you’ve got yourself a recipe for a fight. Not that Percy would know anything about that, himself.
Empathy. Doesn’t make it any less irritating.
Nico is fuming silently at the ground, maybe planning his next series of insults, so Percy jumps in while he has the chance.
“Look, di Angelo- Nico,” he says quietly, though Nico’s eyes still shoot back up to his, “I can kind of, I mean, I get it, alright? I do. But I really wasn’t trying to get in your head, okay? I mean obviously I fucked up there, which is typical, but I really meant to - okay, a little bit to fuck with Nakamura because I can’t help it and it’ll drive him fucking nuts - but I also meant it. I said your stuff is sick because it is and I’ve got eyes, man.”
Nico looks taken aback for a moment before frowning at Percy in clear suspicion.
“You’ve barely seen me skate - Minneapolis was years ago and it’s not like you were paying attention to some scrawny kid who barely made the finals,” he counters, crossing his arms defensively.
“No I wasn’t, and that’s a shame though you probably dodged a bullet there,” Percy admits, sighing, “but I am now, and anyway it didn’t take much, dude it’s obvious you’re going to be a fucking problem tomorrow.”
Nico’s eyes widen and Percy wants to kick himself for his inability to just like, give a normal compliment, but then he can almost see some color on Nico’s pale face, barely visible through the orange light. Nico shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down at the floor again.
“Yeah, but you’re Percy Jackson.”
Percy scoffs a laugh even as his face feels hot in the hotel-cold room.
“Yeah, I don’t know what that means anymore.”
He doesn’t know why he said it. It just slipped out, the thing that’s been rattling around in his head since he got here. He hasn’t even talked to Annabeth about it, though he can picture the look on her face if she’d heard him baring his fucking soul to the competition the night before the event.
“Anyway,” he clears his throat, desperate to not let his vulnerability hang in the air between them any longer, “You’re giving me too much credit. There’s no big plot to psych you out, I’m just dumb enough to say whatever shit I’m thinking. There’s lots of video evidence unfortunately, if you want proof. It’s a problem.”
Nico’s still staring at him with this piercing expression, though the suspicion has faded. From this close, Percy can see the intensity in his eyes, a wildness that he wasn’t expecting. It makes him wonder if the fight would’ve been quite as one-sided as he’d thought, and for a real masochistic moment the curiosity overshadows the relief that it didn’t come to that. Still, it’s almost comforting to know what kind of crazy lurks under Nico’s calm exterior in the park. Like the whole hallway incident didn’t give that away.
“I guess I’ll have to look into that,” Nico says with the faintest of smiles, but it still makes Percy grin back at him. It’s as much of an apology as he’s going to get, which suits him just fine. Without saying anything else, Nico turns and opens the door, slipping out as Percy stares after him. As much of a goodbye, too.
Except apparently it isn’t, because just before he leaves, Nico turns to look at Percy over his shoulder with that same burning expression.
“Just so you know, being Percy Jackson? It means a lot.”
Then he’s gone, leaving Percy still staring at the door. He’d probably have stayed there all night if 2 minutes later Annabeth hadn’t burst through it.
“Did I just see Nico di Angelo come out of this room?”
It takes a lifetime to get to your gold medal shot. It’s years of broken ankles and concussions and casts covered in names. It’s countless arrests you didn’t deserve, and a couple that you really did. You have to go through lows that feel like rock bottom until you find an even rockier one, and then what feels like starting over from scratch. Missed birthdays and lost relationships on the road, going through radio waves that turn into CDs, MP3s, and AUX cables before turning back into radio waves. It takes a hell of a lot of skin and more tears than you’ll ever admit to. It takes everything you have, to get to this moment.
It only takes a few seconds to lose it.
Percy’s in 1st at the beginning of round 4, and 3rd by the end of it. Absolutely stomping the landing of his caballerial backside lipslide in the 1st had him shouting in relief, sending a clear challenge to the rest of the top 8. You see this? it said, The trick that won me gold at World’s? That’s my safety net. It showed the competition, the whole fucking world that Percy Jackson came to the Olympics the same way he came to every other competition since he was 16 - to win, or nothing.
But after 2 rounds of falls, Percy can’t add to his lead and guys are coming up on him. Someone is going to pass him if he doesn’t pull something off in the 4th, and he doesn’t and they do.
Frank Zhang is skating for Canada, which caused quite the stir since he was born in China and they really wanted him, but technically there was no reason he couldn’t do it so it’s happening. Percy suspects no one tried that hard because everyone’s scared of him. At 6’3” and 230lbs, Frank looks like he’s about to steal your lunch money and your girlfriend, not bust out a vicious frontside boardslide fakie, so no one seems to know he’s just about the sweetest guy in skateboarding. That said, he’s the only guy Percy’s seen who can generate enough power to nosegrind up the hubba, so probably best to just let Frank skate where he wants.
So when he absolutely murders a half-cab feeble bigspin out to knock Percy into 2nd, Percy can’t even be pissed at him. It was the gnarliest shit Percy’s seen all day, and it isn’t Frank’s fault Percy wasn’t even close to rolling away from his last 2 trick attempts.
Leo Valdez of Mexico is up next. Valdez is young, but he’s an old school skater with a soft spot for flat ground tricks, and while his style will probably never put up the points to medal in a competition like this, it’s a fucking joy to watch him. Plus, Percy’s caught him several times making up fake and invariably inappropriate trick names when he talks to the press, so obviously Leo’s alright in his book. His nollie hardflip out on the low rail isn’t going to rack up enough points to get on the podium, but he looks so cool doing it that Percy kind of thinks they should give him his own medal anyway. Like a Miss Congeniality or something.
Then it’s Will, who’s been doing the usual Will Solace brand of reliable but ultimately uninteresting skating. He’s not a bad guy, and maybe it’s his background in gymnastics that makes him the most strategic skater Percy knows. Will is never going to put down anything he lands less than 75% of the time in a major competition, and Percy kind of hates him for it.
That or it’s been standing behind him and Nico all day, watching them chat and laugh while Nico pretends Percy doesn’t exist. Or it’s both. It could always be both.
So he’s feeling maybe just a little agitated when Solace takes off to do his thoroughly vanilla shit Percy doesn’t even have to look away from Nico to know is a fakie ollie something, and maybe that’s why he says it.
“Didn’t realize you guys were so friendly,” is out of his mouth before he can stop it.
Nico raises his eyebrows, looking sideways at Percy.
“Yeah? What’s it to you?” he says quietly. There are mics fucking everywhere, Percy should 100% not be doing this. Then again, he probably shouldn’t be here at all so what the hell.
“Nothing. You want to play it safe, go right ahead.”
“I’m not playing it safe!”
“You are.”
“Fuck you,” Nico says in a harsh whisper, “I’m barely hanging onto 4th. I fuck up now, I definitely won’t make the podium.”
“Oh so you’re shooting for third place? You’re better than that.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
Will’s cleared out of the way and everything’s reset. It’s Nico’s turn.
“I know you were skating circles around all of us until the finals and now you look like you’re afraid you might bruise. Get a grip.”
Nico only has a second to look absolutely murderous at Percy before he has to wipe his face clean and take his place at the top of the ramp. He stands there for a long moment, at the top of Ariake. Today the park is less like a little kid’s dream of what a skatepark should be and more like a sprawling concrete monster, an ancient kaiju waiting to eat anyone that falls onto its punishing surface.
Which Nico does, hard on his shoulder, barely missing the stairs, and it’s the sickest thing Percy’s seen all goddamn day. He feels Thalia’s excitement right along with her as she calls the trick.
“What the shi- that, was he going for a nollie backside 270?! And he almost fu-freaking got it, just caught a little too much truck on the rail. Wow, after his first few runs I did not expect to see something like that from di Angelo, incredible. Okay Nico di Angelo holds at 4th place, but I wonder if we’ll see him try again in the 5th?”
“Well I know one person who’s hoping he does - here we go again with Percy Jackson of Team USA. Strong start for the winningest skater in history, but troubles with his switch heelflip that have been plaguing him since Worlds and he’s clinging to 2nd place. Think we see him cut his losses here?”
“Luke, is that even a real question?”
Percy doesn’t cut his losses. He hits the cement hard, barely keeping his chin from cracking off the ground. At this point, he wishes this park would swallow him whole. At least then he’d miss Ethan bumping him into 3rd with a caballerial 270 that feels fucking personal.
When he gets back to the athlete’s box, Annabeth is there. She smiles but the knit in her eyebrows gives her away.
“Percy - ”
“Don’t,” he cuts her off, submitting his elbow to Coach Hedge for a bandage. Wouldn’t do to bleed on his Olympic uniform.
“I just think, with how the judges are scoring today - you don’t need the switch heelflip. Luke’s right - ”
“I don’t give a shit about Luke,” Percy snaps, which probably makes it sound like he does.
“Luke’s right,” she insists, glaring at him, “It’s been giving you trouble since World’s, and you’ve got so many other options that’ll put you back in 1st! Maybe it’s time to try something else?”
“There’s nothing else that gets me to 1st,” he replies, and just hearing it out loud, real, it’s like he can’t breathe. The ringing in his ears, building since his 2nd one way trip to the cement, now a high pitched roar, fully drowning out the crowd cheering for Leo’s last trick.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. It isn’t going to happen.”
“Ugh,” Annabeth throws up her hands, “Why are you so difficult - okay fine, at least you’ll stay on the podium. There’s shit Ethan wouldn’t dream of touching that you can do in your sleep, if you’d just listen to me for once in your life.”
Percy sighs, trying to dislodge the rock that seems to be lodged in his chest.
“Annabeth, look, this- you know this is how it is for me. It’s all or nothing. You know that.”
“Yes I know that,” she says shakily, “I know this is how it is, that you have to land the switch heel and you have to win and beat everyone else by 10 points or it’s all worthless. What about what comes after, Percy? What about when we’re back home and you fall apart again and it’s just me to keep you from driving off a fucking- ”
She stops short, maybe remembering where they are, maybe just unable to say it. Percy eyes the scoreboard. Frank’s score remains the same, so he either bailed or knew he’d already done his best trick and would just have to wait and see from here.
“It won’t be like that,” Percy says quietly. He can’t look at her. He can barely hear her. He needs to get back to the top of the park. It’s the last round.
“Promise me,” she insists, like she already knows it won’t matter, “Because I can’t do it again, Percy, I can’t.”
“I promise, okay?” Percy says, trying to believe it. He hugs her quickly and heads to the ramp before she has time to hug him back.
Nico doesn’t look at him when he gets in line, though he’s not talking to Will either. Percy can see an odd shine to the kid’s eyes, a wavering gleam that’s more shattered than anything Percy had seen last night. He’s frowning down at his board, sliding it back and forth with his foot, arms crossed.
“Try it again,” Percy says. This gets him a sharp glance.
“What?”
“The 270. Try it again.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“You just over-rotated and caught your truck on the rail. Use your arms to get more drag and slow your spin. You almost had it.”
“Yeah and I almost ate those stairs.”
Percy just shrugs. Will actually tries to mix it up on his last attempt and throws in a flip trick, but it’s too little too late and he comes down back-footed on the landing, so it’s every US skater out of medal contention except Percy.
“Percy,” Nico whispers, and he’s finally turned to face Percy now. His hair is curling at the temples and across his forehead with sweat, and he’s absolutely drowning in today’s black t-shirt. He looks oddly fragile, and suddenly Percy’s heart is in his throat.
“Percy,” Nico tries again, “Even if I did- even if, and I don’t crack my skull open in front of the whole fucking world - you’d be off the podium.”
“I know,” Percy says. Neither of them speculate that he’s going to land the heelflip. Percy turns away and looks back out at the park.
“Try it again."
Nico sighs, drops his board, and skates off without another word. Percy watches as he barely pauses before bombing the ramp, crouched low before absolutely ascending into the 270, arms wide like wings as he pushes his body and his board to rotate blindly into the rail. Then, willing the board back to his feet, Nico lands almost weightless into the tailslide and rolls away like it was nothing. The stadium explodes, Thalia and Luke are both shouting gleeful obscenities into the loudspeakers, and Nico releases a pained, guttural roar at the sky that sounds a little like joy and a lot like something else that Percy doesn’t understand. It’s far off, but Percy still thinks he can see that shine in Nico’s eyes from here - the one from last night, the wildness breaking through like a fire.
There’s no need to discuss anything that happens after that.