Climb (Percy Jackson x Reader)

fifteen

✺ A CRUEL REALIZATION ✺

A pouch skids along the long dining table, coming to a stop in front of a certain son of Poseidon. Percy looks away from Grover with intrigue, fighting his urge to do a double-take when he sees (Y/N).

She stands with a new sort of certainty, her figure a touch more tense than it used to be, though she attracts even more attention than before with such a shift in her posture. Rather than a welcoming gaze, her apathetic eyes hold a sharp glint within them, keeping her focus on the verge of a glare. More than that, her very body seems to radiate with power, the space around her almost undulating with the energy of heat waves while the ground ripples with vibrations under its surface. However, it is not this change in the way she commands herself that catches Percy off-guard.

What surprises him are the sunken spaces under her eyes, the barest swelling of her eyelids, the slight pallor of her skin, the faint pink veins that color the whites of her eyes. What surprises him is the fact that she carries the same face right now as he had just a few hours before.

She'd been crying. The signs are noticeable enough because they were practically impossible to see on her. Always, she'd keep her composure, zip up her emotions, and put on a presentable face. And perhaps this one was presentable enough. No one else seems to realize.

But Percy does.

His throat closes with guilt, and he swallows it down.
Maybe he feels guilt, but he also feels empathy. She was hurting. So was he.

His mind reminds him of his reasons for leaving her, the pain that he felt and the flaws she acknowledged—but his heart longs to hold her, to comfort her, to let her melt into his arms as he reassures her that everything would be okay. Whether she feels the same sort of conflict within, he cannot know. Her emotions are laid more bare than they have been around others, yet she guards them so well that the eyes he meets are undecipherable.

His brow furrows when (Y/N) inclines her head to gesture at the pouch, nods at Grover and Tyson, glances at him again, and walks away. Intrigued, the Cyclops and satyr lean forward, peering inside as Percy pulls the drawstrings open.

Ten drachmae glint up at him in greeting.

— x —

"You ready?" Annabeth asks, spinning her sword in preparation. Thalia grins, holding hers out and nodding.

(Y/N) steps into the field, weaving around training campers and calling out brief critiques to those who need improvement. She waves off their thanks, focused on reaching the sidelines of her friends' practice and watching their duel with consideration.

Thalia groans when Annabeth disarms her, looking glumly at the triumphant daughter of Athena. "What are you really expecting of me?" she asks, picking up her sword from the ground.

Annabeth shrugs, brushing some flyaways off of her temple. "I'm not expecting you to win, if that's what you're wondering," she says, chuckling at Thalia's eye roll. "At least, not just now. It's been a while for you. I want to gauge your muscle memory before we work on actual technique and training."

(Y/N) steps forward, prompting the girls' heads to turn to her. "You may have been Hunter of Artemis quality back when we were eleven, but you've also had a seven-year break since then," she reminds, sticking her hands in her jacket pockets. "Even if it may not feel like it's been that long, your body knows it has. That's not even mentioning the extra seven years of practice that Annabeth has built up." At the words, the daughter of Athena grins, waving at Thalia playfully. "We need to get your technique—and your body—back up to combat standard, but until then you should be fine relying on instinct. You've got an advantage as a Big Three kid; your impulses kick in quicker and help push you along until you know what you're doing for certain."