NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

ninety seven: the leave.

BROOKLYN WOKE STARING at the shadows dancing across the hut's ceiling. She hadn't had a single dream. That was so unusual, she wasn't sure if she'd actually woke up.

As she lay there, smirking at Annabeth who had just woken up beside her, Percy snoring next to her and Small Bob purring on Annabeth's belly, Brooklyn heard Bob and Damasen deep in conversation.

"You haven't told them," Damasen said.

"No," Bob admitted. "They are already scared."

The giant grumbled. "They should be. And if you cannot guide them past Night?"

Damasen said Night like it was a proper name — an evil name.

"I have to," Bob said.

"Why?" Damasen wondered. "What have the demigods given you? They have erased your old self, everything you were. Titans and giants . . . we are meant to be the foes of the gods and their children. Are we not?"

"Then why did you heal the boy?"

Damasen exhaled. "I have been wondering that myself. Perhaps because the girls goaded me, or perhaps . . . I find these three demigods intriguing. They are resilient to have made it so far. That is admirable. Still, how can we help them any further? It is not our fate."

"Perhaps," Bob said, uncomfortably. "But . . . do you like our fate?"

"What a question. Does anyone like his fate?"

"I liked being Bob," Bob murmured. "Before I started to remember . . ."

"Huh." There was a shuffling sound, as if Damasen was stuffing a leather bag.

"Damasen," the Titan asked, "Do you remember the sun?"

The shuffling stopped. Brooklyn heard the giant exhale through his nostrils. "Yes. It was yellow. When it touched the horizon, it turned the sky beautiful colors."

"I miss the sun," Bob said. "The stars, too. I would like to say hello to the stars again."

"Stars . . ." Damasen said the word as if he'd forgotten its meaning. "Yes. They made silver patterns in the night sky." He threw something to the floor with a thump. "Bah. This is useless talk. We cannot—"

In the distance, the Maeonian drakon roared.

Percy sat bolt upright. "What? What — where — what?"

"It's okay." Brooklyn took his arm.

When he registered that they were together in a giant's bed with a skeleton cat, he looked more confused than ever. "That noise . . . where are we?"

"How much do you remember?" Annabeth asked.

Percy frowned. His eyes seemed alert. All his wounds had vanished. Except for his tattered clothes and a few layers of dirt and grime, he looked as if he'd never fallen into Tartarus.

"I — the demon grandmothers — and then . . . not much."

Damasen loomed over the bed. "There is no time, little mortals. The drakon is returning. I fear its roar will draw the others — my brethren, hunting you. They will be here within minutes."

Annabeth immediately sat up. "What will you tell them when they get here?"

Damasen's mouth twitched. "What is there to tell? Nothing of significance, as long as you are gone."

He tossed them three drakon-leather satchels. "Clothes, food, drink."

Bob was wearing a similar but larger pack. He leaned on his broom, gazing at Brooklyn as if still pondering Damasen's words: What have the demigods given you? We are meant to be the foes of the gods and their children.