𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍° ! percy jackson

𝐢𝐢.𝐱𝐢𝐢 - 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 (𝐚 + 𝐩)

Aurora didn't want to wake up.

She could feel the sunlight under her eyelids, she could feel the warm humidity that came with being on the sea, she could hear the slowed, terrified breathing of Percy next to her, but she didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want to face the reality of life. Of her wretched, goddamn life.

"Rory?" Annabeth whispered. Aurora could feel the daughter of Athena's soft hand brush against her forehead, tucking a stray piece of strawberry blonde hair from her closed gaze. "Rory, I know you're awake."

"How?" Aurora groaned, her eyelashes fluttering as she pried her eyes open begrudgingly with regret. She tried to sit up and immediately lay back down, feeling like someone split her skull open. She didn't account for what—or who—she was laying on until Percy's breath hitched and his hands hovered hesitantly around her face.

"Are you okay?" Percy asked cautiously. It was evident that he too had just gained back consciousness, because when Aurora opened her eyes again and saw his face, his cheeks were dirty and his hair was messier than usual.

Aurora didn't respond. "How did I..." She couldn't finish the sentence. She couldn't bear to see the face of her friends when they heard her own disappointment spoken into the world, so she smothered it.

Percy's voice was quiet when he answered. "My dad, I think."

"Oh." Aurora didn't know what to say. She certainly didn't want to thank him—it would've just been easier if she hadn't been saved by the ocean—but she did owe him her life.

"Rest, both of you." Annabeth instructed, tacking into the wind. "You're going to need it."

"Tyson?" Percy asked hopefully. His anticipation was like a blow to the stomach, a naive ray of sunshine in the dark storm.

Annabeth couldn't meet his eye, and instead trained her heavy gray stare on the makeshift sail stitched of gray uniform fabric. "I'm really sorry."

They sat in silence while the waves tossed them up and down.

"He may have survived," she offered halfheartedly. "I mean, fire can't kill him."

Percy nodded with dejection, but he clearly didn't believe her. Aurora couldn't either. The explosion had ripped through solid iron. As strong as Tyson was, if he had been down in the boiler room, there was no way he could've lived.

He'd given his life for them. He was a hero, and Aurora did nothing to save him. She didn't even try.

Waves lapped at the boat. Annabeth started to talk—showing a still Percy some things she'd salvaged from the wreckage—but Aurora tuned her out, instead focusing on the never-ending horizon in front of them.

The ocean was a murky green, dark with uncertainty and deep with doubt. It looked so evil now that they were in the Sea of Monsters, so vile and full of unpredictable possibilities and wavering violence. It glittered like Hydra acid, and Aurora was terrified to touch it as they continued to sail. For hours. The wind whipped her hair, the air smelling saltier than the previous cleanliness it had brought.

Percy, with his 'nautical senses,' was able to direct Annabeth, and he thoroughly impressed her by spouting nonsense about how they were "exactly one hundred thirteen nautical miles west by northwest of our destination."

"Shut up," Aurora said, her first words in the entire time they'd been on the sea. "Literally no one asked you."

Percy simply smiled and pulled a wave of hair out of the sloppy ponytail she had hastily put up, in hopes of keeping it somewhat tame and knotless while the wind tangled it. She smacked his hand, shooting him a dirty glare as she reverted her eyes onto the sky. It was clear, oddly enough. Bright blue, cloudless, the sun high and beating down on their necks. It was the perfect, picturesque day with flawless weather, as if nothing had happened. As if no one had died.