It’s been almost a decade since he’s seen that look on Percy Jackson’s face. A montage of a collapsing bridge, a motorcycle ride, and a raging war around them seems to pass through Will’s mind.
Will was young and scared back then, not as experienced as now, but he did it. He fulfilled Percy’s request, no questions asked.
“B-but Percy—”
Now, in his own peaceful clinic, he hesitates. Unlike back then, this has a consequence.
“You said it will heal him, right?”
“It’s the fastest and the safest,” the son of Apollo affirms. “but there might be other ways to do this, Perce. Just give me time to research…”
“No!” Percy pauses and takes a deep breath. “Please Will, just… I don’t want to lose him.”
Percy would lose him.
ꨄ︎
“P-Percy?”
The son of Poseidon is awakened by his husband’s soft voice. It’s a bit raspy from weeks of misuse.
“Hey.” He smiles and takes Nico’s hand. He’s missed this, missed holding his cool hand, while looking at those dark brown eyes—
“What—What are you doing?”
—dark brown eyes that are filled with confusion and worry.
Nico takes advantage of Percy’s speechlessness to take his hand back, like Percy’s touch is unwelcome. “I’m sorry, what happened, Percy?” There’s no fondness; he’s only being polite, Percy realizes. “Where’s Will?”
Percy's throat feels like closing up. He knew this would happen, yet… “H-He, um…”
…yet he still hoped.
“Perce, I brought you food. Here’s some cof—” Will was cut off when he gauges the scenario before him. Percy meets his eyes and shakes his head, a silent conversation between them.
“Will!” the son of Hades easily and unknowingly breaks the quiet tension—breaks Percy’s heart. Nico gestures to the son of Apollo to come to him.
When Will obliges, Nico hugs him, ignoring Percy, as Nico used to two or three years ago. Will could only let out a quiet, “Oh.”
“Well,” Percy stands. “I’ll leave you two to it.” He tries to force a smile. “Ba—Nico. Solace.” He walks to the door, clenching his fist so hard.
To ground himself.
To break free from the routine of leaving a soft kiss on his husband’s cheek, of fussing over him.
To stop himself from staying by Nico's side.
As the door closes, a metaphorical one opens within him. A door that lets him cry the tears he’s been holding back, the guilt that has been eating away at him.
As promised a dramatic drabble based on this premise.
“You’re here.”
Amused emerald eyes shine with something close to fondness. “Of course I am.”
Nico’s heart aches. He clenches his fists and resists reaching out for the older boy’s face.
Instead, the son of Hades asks, “Why are you doing this, Percy?”
There it is again. Amusement. Fondness.
—gone within a few seconds, before Percy’s face takes a more neutral expression. “Does it really matter?”
It’s not an answer. No, not really. But the bitterness, the hurt, the brokenness in Percy’s voice counts for more than a response.
“This is not you,” is the first thing that comes to Nico’s mind. The first thing he says.
Percy lets out a pained chuckle, slightly shaking his head. “How much do you know about me, Nico?”
Enough, he wants to say.
Just enough, Percy. Just enough.
“This is dangerous. If Olympus gets you, they wouldn’t—”
“You’ve always saved me you know.” Nico’s breath stutters at that. “What, you thought I never notice?” The son of Poseidon shoves his hands inside his pockets and avoids Nico’s gaze, his voice seems distant when he says, “I’m afraid you can’t save me from this one. I have to try. Or die trying.”
He might've as well stabbed Nico right then and there. This is Percy fucking Jackson—someone whom he's sacrificed himself over and over again. While kids Nico's age were figuring out things, buying new toys, or whining about homework, Nico had spent his childhood keeping Percy alive. His lips quiver at the thought, but he keeps his voice steady. “And if you fail?”
“You’ll be there.” Percy looks at him again, this time, a hardened expression on his features. “To kill me.”
He opens his mouth to respond, to say how ridiculous all this is, to tell Percy that maybe…
Maybe Nico can come with him.
That he loves him and he'll have him if only Percy lets him...
Nico wakes up, his lips tingling, his heart managing to pound against his chest while breaking into pieces.
“Promise me one thing, Nico di Angelo… Promise me, that I won’t die by anyone else’s hand, but yours.”
What Alabaster means is he’s using magic to help Percy meet someone in his sleep.
He hadn’t considered dream-walking before until Percy casually asked about it.
The son of Hecate tears his eyes away from Percy’s sleeping form. The peacefulness and softness in the other man’s features are so different from that day he first met his arch-enemy.
Al tries to shake off that image, the manic glint in Percy’s eyes, something dark and sinister behind them.
Though he’d rehearsed every scenario there was in meeting the son of Poseidon—with the sole goal of killing him—nothing had prepared the former Titan Army member for the insane turn of events on that equally insane day.
He’d heard of Percy as the celebrated hero, and somehow Al imagined to see well… heroism.
Percy didn’t act very heroic at all. He fought dirty, which Al thought, should be his own part in the equation. That would make sense, wouldn’t it?
But no, Percy Jackson seemed more like a villain as Al felt something wrong with the air—actually no, it was something in his lungs, in his blood.
“I’m sorry,” Percy taunted, sounding very far from being sorry, obviously pleased with himself. “You have your reasons, you all do,” he smirked, “but I’ll only let one person kill me. Don’t feel too bad it isn’t you.”
Percy shifts on the chair he’s propped up on. It’s Al’s cue to stop his magic and wordlessly go out of the room. He needs to rest as providing the ability to dream-walk is much more tiring than dream-walking himself.
The son of Poseidon would tell him how it went tomorrow, along with the others—that is, if that even was useful information.
As he lies down in one of the tiny rooms in their makeshift headquarters, Alabaster closes his eyes, mainly to keep unshed tears from falling.
It’s another day to remind himself. They’re not family here. They’re mere… allies. Individuals on the same side. With the same enemy: Olympus.
The people who recently joined them might be caring for Percy as his friends, but it’s not the same for Al.
These aren’t his friends. These aren’t his brothers and sisters.
PART 4 (ft. reyna and alabaster) of percico war au.
PART 1 (ft. percy and nico) | PART 2 (ft. alabaster and percy) | PART 3 (ft. nico and annabeth)
“Can you talk to him?”
Reyna follows Thalia’s line of sight. The son of Hecate—Alabaster—is alone in the balcony, playing mindlessly with his cards, letting them float on the air.
Why me, Reyna’s eyes are asking a silent question.
Diplomacy or whatever, the daughter of Zeus responds with her gaze.
Reyna just shakes her head fondly at Thalia’s raised eyebrow. Years of leading the Hunters, yet Thalia Grace still hasn’t quite acquired enough patience to handle situations like this.
“Hey…” the daughter of Bellona approaches Al. “Why don’t you get some sleep? Apollo might have done most of the work to heal Percy, but you’ve pretty much exerted yourself back there, too.”
They had a rough encounter with the Lamia. Something about personal vendetta towards Al.
“You should’ve just left me there.” There’s a certain tightness to Alabaster’s voice that Reyna can’t place. Was it guilt? Humiliation? “You shouldn’t—Percy shouldn’t have come to save me.” Pain.
She doesn’t know what the other demigod has experienced in the past for him to regret being saved. She saw Percy’s mauled form after his attempt to save Al. Had not Apollo intervened, things would’ve been really ugly.
“I don’t know what you expected him to do, Torrington.” Somehow, there’s a tinge of annoyance in Reyna’s tone. She can’t help it. the Roman in her retaliates at the mere question of loyalty within this small group. “But you should already know by now, Percy never leaves anyone behind. And we’ll do the same.”
“You’re exactly like them,” Alabaster murmurs with intense… with something intense. Anger? Bitterness? Frustration?
She doesn’t want to sound stupid, but she has no idea what the son of Hecate is talking about. “Come again?”
“It’s the same, okay?” Al snaps. “They all cared. They fucking cared! And now, you’re all doing it again, just like them!” He turns his back, but by the movement of his hands and the slight tremble of his shoulders, she knows he’s wiping angry tears.
Reyna will never know what exactly Al means, but she recognizes the guilt—the torment of having your hands stained by the blood of people you’ve failed to save. She knows firsthand that saying “sorry for your loss” or “it’s not your fault” just adds insult to injury.
“Is it so wrong for them to care?” Is what she finally says.
Alabaster faces her, brows furrowed. “No,” he breathes out after what seemed hours of deafening silence between them. “I suppose it isn’t. I… would have done the same after all.”
“They sound like good people,” she mutters, with genuine admiration.
“They were.” Al gazes up the sky. “They really were.”
Reyna can’t bring herself to disagree. not with the way Alabaster Torrington’s eyes seem to shine just at the mere thought of “them”.
