Argo II: After Tartarus

Percy XVI

Helllooooo - this is the final chapter. I am so done with this fic lmao.

I've finally finished it after basically 3 years of writing it. I've finished my MOCK exams for school and so I just decided to finish this now. I want to go back and revise the earlier chapters but don't worry, I won't be changing any narrative beats or anything significant. I'll just try to make it less cringe.

Soooo...thank you for all your support throughout the months and I hope this ending is acceptable haha

Percy POV:

Percy woke up to the smell of lemons and fresh laundry.

Honestly, he would take anything over the smell of blood or, gods forbid, the smell of nothing at all. At least he knew he was alive that way.

Percy was wrapped in a blanket on his bed back in the Argo II; how he got there, it was still....unclear. He gave himself a moment to bask in his half-conscious state as none of them had been able to really let themselves rest all this time. Another few moments passed before he began to shake the sleep from his system, the aches from the past few days becoming more and more apparent. Honestly, Percy felt like he had been hit by a bus. His head was pounding like he drank an entire liquor store, which is frankly ridiculous to compare his migraine to considering he's never drank before. His arms felt like they were attached to his body by merely a thread as they rested on top of his blue blanket on his bed.

"Good. You're awake." A voice called from the side of the room.

"Annabeth...hi." Percy grimaced before reaching for a cup of water that was lying on his bedside table. Gods, his throat hurt. "You–I–er—what happened?"

Percy's room was pathetically bare. There was a bed (which Percy was passively placed), a near vacant wardrobe with collectively four shirts inside and an empty desk with two pictures: one of him, Annabeth and Grover, one of him and his mom. On his desk a small candle was lit, seeming to sway side to side with the Argo II's gentle rocking. Just as well Percy could dose any unruly flames should the candle fall over at any point. Percy turned his attention back to Annabeth who was stiffly standing a metre away.

Annabeth, who had been standing in the corner of the room where a small window was facing the ocean, turned around to face him. Her face was sallow and eyes slightly sunken. Still, Percy thought, she's looked worse in... Percy abruptly ended that thought.

She sighed before treading over to sit at the foot of his bed, her shoulders slumping as if she aged a decade in the few strides it took to get closer.

"You attacked Epiales, fainted, then I carried you back here."

"Ah." The silence was stilted. "And the others?"

She turned her gaze back to the window. "All asleep by now, I'd imagine."

Percy stretched an arm behind his head, resting on the pillow, faking a facade of calmness. In reality, his heart was beating out of his chest.

"So why aren't you?"

"Percy, we need to talk."

Ohshitohshitohshitohshit

Percy abruptly sat up, his head killing him in the process as it carved a hole in his skull. The beginnings of dread started to creep up his spine, compressing his lungs in an almost sinister hug. Percy clenched his fists into the mattress beside him. His knuckles began to turn white with the force.

"Yeah, I guess we should."

More silence. Percy forgot what it was like to not be able to talk to Annabeth freely. It's only been these past few weeks (and the whole summer before his sixteenth birthday, he guessed) when they've had this much tension between them. Not that he blames her. He deserves this.