‘You’re Safe, I Checked’
Thalia Grace x Fem!Reader
Thalia makes sure you’re safe every night. She never planned on being caught.
You don’t find out the way people usually do.
There’s no confession. No big reveal. No dramatic storm cracking the sky in half.
You find out because you can’t sleep.
The night is too still. Camp is quiet in that way that feels fake, like it’s holding its breath. You sit up, listening to the dark, counting sounds that don’t come.
That’s when you see her.
Thalia stands just past the edge of your cabin, half-shadowed by the trees. Hood up. Hands in her pockets. Not pacing. Not restless.
Watching.
Your stomach twists.
You push the door open before you can overthink it.
The hinges creak. Loud. She turns immediately.
“Oh,” she says.
Not startled. Just caught.
“Thalia,” you say, voice low. “What are you doing?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes flick to the tree line, then back to you, like she’s mentally checking something off a list.
“You’re up,” she says instead.
“So are you.”
A beat.
“…Yeah.”
You step onto the porch. The night air is cool, sharp. “Why are you standing out here?”
She shifts her weight. You recognize the tell. She’s deciding whether to lie.
She doesn’t.
“Just making sure everything’s clear.”
Your chest tightens. “Clear?”
“No movement,” she says. “No monsters. No weird sounds. Nothing…off.”
It clicks slowly. Horribly.
“You do this,” you say.
She exhales through her nose. “Sometimes.”
“How often is sometimes?”
Her jaw tightens. “Most nights.”
The silence that follows is heavy, almost painful.
“You check my cabin,” you say carefully.
She looks at you then. Really looks. Like she’s bracing for anger. For being told she crossed a line.
“I don’t go inside,” she says quickly. “I don’t touch anything. I just walk the perimeter. Once around. Twice if something feels wrong.”
Your throat burns. “Why?”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Runs a hand through her hair, frustrated.
“Because,” she says finally, “I care about you…and you sleep like someone who trusts the dark and…”
You stare at her.
“And people like that,” she continues, voice quieter now, “get hurt first.”
Something breaks your chest.
“Thalia,” you whisper, “you can’t do that.”
Her expression flickers. Hurt. Defensive. Afraid.
“I’m not asking anything from you,” she says. “You don’t even have to know about it. I just-” She stops herself, jaw flexing. “I just need to know you’re safe.”
“You don’t sleep,” you realize. “Do you?”
She shrugs. “I sleep enough.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
She doesn’t argue.
You step closer, barefoot. “You don’t have to carry everything.”
“I know,” she says. Then, honest and brutal, “But I don’t know how not to.”
Your voice shakes despite yourself. “You could’ve told me.”
Her eyes soften. “I didn’t want it to feel like a burden.”
“It feels like love,” you say, before you can stop yourself.
She freezes.
The word hangs there.
“…Yeah,” she admits quietly. “That’s kind of the problem.”
You reach out, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted to.
She doesn’t.
Your fingers curl around her wrist.
“You don’t have to stand watch alone,” you say. “If you’re worried, wake me up. Sit with me. Let me be part of it.”
She swallows hard. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Her breath stutters. Just once.
“Okay,” she says, barely audible. “Okay.”
She stays that night.
Not outside. Not…guarding the dark.
Just sitting on the steps beside you, shoulder to shoulder, watching the stars fade into morning.
And for the first time in a long time, Thalia lets herself rest without checking over her shoulder.
