𝙄𝙉𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙈𝙀𝘿; heroes of olympus

dreams and ghosts

JASON GRACE
JASON WAS MISERABLE.

He'd barely been sleeping. He could hardly focus on strategy. And he hadn't eaten, not until Piper barged into his cabin one day, pushed him onto his bed, and shoved a plate of food into his lap. "Eat," she'd snapped.

Jason could tell she wasn't charmspeaking him, because if she was, he would've eaten right then and there. Charmspeak worked especially well if you were attracted to the person, and he was dumb in love with her.

She wasn't charmspeaking him, but she should've, because Jason could tell she had very little energy to be taking care of others right now. Her multicolored eyes were dull and underlined with bags. Her hair, which she always made an effort to do, was a mess. She was wearing one of Erith's hoodies and a pair of sweatpants, which was bittersweet in the worst way possible.

He had no appetite, but he didn't want to make her spend more energy, and he knew she wouldn't take no for an answer. She'd stand over him demanding he ate until she collapsed. So he scooted over and patted his bed. "Only if you eat with me."

She crossed her arms. "I'm not hungry."

He raised his eyebrows. "Okay, neither am I. So it's only fair."

She sighed but slumped next to him, grabbing a piece of toast and taking a small bite, then chewing gingerly, as if she'd forgotten how to eat. Jason gently took the toast from her frozen fingers and took a bite, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her.

She sighed out a shuddery breath. "I promised myself I wouldn't cry," she murmured, her voice choked with tears.

Jason buried his face in her hair. "It's okay if you do, you know."

They cried together that night. It had been cleansing and it had felt good for the moment, but deep down there was a hole in both of their hearts that wouldn't be soothed until Erith came back―for better or worse.

The worst part was not knowing, Jason thought. She could be dying right this second and he'd have no idea, and that was what killed him deep down inside, the helplessness. 

He ran equations through his head: if only he had been faster, if only he had focused on his other friends instead of just grabbing Piper. He knew he could've carried Erith. Why didn't he?

But his brain argued. He had seen in her eyes that she wouldn't be going with him, and he knew not to argue with her. He trusted her like he trusted his own hands. Leo would describe it like a machine, like two parts of the same whole.

And now that half of that machine was gone, Jason hardly even knew how to breathe anymore.

He wondered if that was how Annabeth felt, too. He hadn't much talked to the daughter of Athena, but she looked wrecked, even more wrecked than when he had first arrived at camp and Percy was missing. At least then, she had had a goal. Now she just seemed lost and confused, as if she didn't understand where she was.

It was an odd look for a child of Athena, and Jason wished she could be happy again. But he knew that the happiness he was wishing for all of them was currently in the spirit of two demigods in the depths of Tartarus.

He stayed awake for thirty consecutive hours at a time, then collapsed for five, because the crew would always wake him up for something. He was their storm guy now that Percy was gone, so he understood, and he knew they hated doing it. Still, even though they encouraged him to go back to sleep once the problem was solved, he couldn't. Paranoia ate away at him, a constant pounding in his eardrums.

So this time when he fell asleep, he crashed. He always did. He was surprised and a bit confused on how the crew even managed to wake him after he collapsed, but he wasn't complaining, not really. He was glad they could still turn to him even though he seemed a little crazy lately.