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“I tried to talk sense into Zeus,” Jason says, as if he isn’t sending Apollo’s entire world off its axis. “I told him he was wrong to punish you. He wouldn’t listen.”
Apollo can only stare blankly. He’s never —and he means never —had someone go toe to toe with Zeus for him.
He wants to ask Jason if he’s insane, but more appropriate words leave his mouth instead. “Thank you.”
Jason takes him by the shoulders, with familiarity, as a brother. “Promise me one thing. Whatever happens, when you get back to Olympus, when you’re a God again, remember. Remember what it’s like to be human.”
Weeks ago, Apollo would have scoffed. Why would he want to remember a single moment of this? But that’s not what Jason means, staring at him with eyes identical to his.
Apollo swallows against the lump in his throat. “I promise.”
—
Apollo is not having a funky fresh time, but they’re sitting in the boat wearing stolen protective gear and it’s too late to turn back now.
Jason strikes quite the figure, Meg looks ridiculous, and Apollo knows he doesn’t look much better. The Kevlar chafes around his middle, and he’s cursing his mortal love handles as much as he’s grateful for the helmet for covering his acne.
They throw the guns overboard. The tension rises as Jason slows the boat down as they approach the yachts.
Apollo does not scream when Percy shoots up over the side of the boat. He wars with relief and anger, but relief wins out. He still doesn’t know how to feel about Percy’s departure in Indiana. He left with a kiss, but how does he know it wasn’t supposed to be a good-bye?
Even unsure, Apollo jumps forward so fast that if Percy wasn't here to balance the boat, he'd be worried he would have toppled them over. But Percy is here, so despite his helmet getting in the way, Apollo presses as close as he can. He chooses to ignore Meg’s exasperated sigh.
Percy’s here, just like he promised, just like Apollo thought impossible.
"Sorry it took so long," Percy says. "Had to wait until you guys were by water."
Jason clears his throat. "Why?"
"Dad," Percy says. Apollo feels him lift an arm, probably gesturing toward the water around them. "Said he owed Apollo a favor, and it's really not his fault if he forgot where Camp Jupiter is if he's in his Greek form."
Apollo peels himself away. "I thought you weren't coming," he says. "You have no idea what I've had to deal with."
"I have no idea what a life changing quest could bring," Percy repeats, deadpan.
Apollo feels his cheeks heat. "That's not—"
"I know," Percy says. "And I'm sorry it took so long. But between school and not having a way to contact you, I really couldn't get here until you guys were on water."
Piper rolls her eyes. "I didn't know we were expecting you," she says. "A warning might have been nice."
"Sorry." Percy shrugs. "So what disaster are we about to walk into now?"
Jason's brows furrow together as he looks toward the yacht. "Nothing good," he says. "Are you armed?"
Percy pulls Riptide out of his pocket. “Always.”
The yacht towers over them.
“Julia Drusilla the Twenty-Sixth,” Piper reads off the side. “Was she an Empress?”
“No,” Apollo says, still pressed against Percy’s chest. It doesn’t feel real that Percy’s here, and he can’t tell if Percy is giving little reaction because of the riot gear and company or some other, more nefarious reason. They’re still facing something impossible, but it’s feels less impossible now. “The Emperor’s favorite sister, possibly the only person he ever cared about.”
“So, I’m out of the loop,” Percy says. “What Emperor?”
“Caligula,” Meg answers. “The crazy one.”
Percy tenses. “Right,” he mutters. “Cool. Love Emperors. So what are we doing?”
“Looking for his shoes,” Jason says. “We need them to find the Oracle in the Labyrinth.”
“The Labyrinth?” Percy asks. “I’m never getting away from that, am I?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Meg says.
Jason scans the side of the hull, looking for a way to get on the boat. There’s no ladder or hatch or anything else they can use to get on. With the amount of people Caligula’s employed, Apollo knows they don’t have time. He squeezes Percy’s arm, maybe because he doesn’t have a stress ball or maybe to reassure himself again that Percy found him like he promised.
“I’ll fly you guys up,” Jason decides. “One at a time.”
“Me first,” Piper says. “In case anyone needs charming.”
It hurts to watch Jason fly so easily, knowing he would be able to do the same thing as a God. But he’s okay not going first because it means he has a few more moments with Percy.
If Meg wasn’t here, Apollo’d be taking his helmet off with little care for the danger they’re in and showing his appreciation for Percy’s presence in a way that's much more fun for the both of them. But Meg is here, so Apollo just takes comfort where he can while they wait, even while his mind races with the possibilities that the comfort is nothing but an illusion.
—
Now, Apollo might be wondering why Percy’s been so uncharacteristically silent and well-behaved, fighting only when needed and stepping back otherwise, if it wasn’t for the occasional glare Percy shoots him. He’s not sure why he’s on the receiving end of it, or why Percy looks so confused by the entire thing, and he doesn't want to, not when he has more important things to be worrying about. Like surviving and keeping a prophecy secret from Piper.
So Apollo knows he can’t protest too much when they split up. Meg and Jason leave with one last worried look and the final words of, “you three be careful.”
One thing’s for sure, and it’s that he’s grateful for Percy, no matter the tension. To this point, Meg and Jason have been their fighters, and he grimaces in Piper’s direction when the sound of gunfire erupts on the foredeck.
“Why’d we let them go together?” he whines.
Behind him, Percy snorts.
“Don’t underestimate my fighting skill,” Piper says. “And don’t forget about your boyfriend who’s practically a one-man army.”
—
Of the many benefits of having a badass who can talk to horses watching your back, the lack of surprise at a horse talking isn’t one Apollo had considered.
It seems that even Incitatus recognizes the Son of Poseidon, because his cold eyes narrow when Percy steps in front of Piper with Riptide raised.
“If that girl charmspeaks it’ll be your head,” Incitatus declares, voice ringing with authority. “But for now…climb on, my boy is waiting.”
Pandai step forward in a threatening manner and that, combined with Percy, is enough to have Apollo getting over his initial hesitance. The one positive of the situation is that being on horseback gives him an excuse to press up against Percy’s back, even if the Pandai insist on tying his wrists together.
PIper’s in front of Percy, and the hilt of Katoptris is just in reach. If he or Percy could get Katoptris and Riptide, untie themselves and stab the horse, they might have a chance.
“Don’t even think about it,” Incitatus says, snorting, before Apollo can whisper anything in Percy’s ear.
He stiffens. “What?”
“Use the knife or the sword,” Incitatus says. “That’d be a bad move.”
“Are you a mind reader?”
“No,” The horse scoffs. “I don’t need to be. You know how much you can tell from somebody’s body language when they’re riding your back?”
“I—I can’t say I’ve had that experience,” Apollo says. He’s had other, more enjoyable things ridden though.
“Well, I could tell what you were planning, so don’t do it,” Incitatus says. “I’d have to kill you and that’d annoy Big C. He wants you to die in a very particular way."
Apollo swallows. “So when you said Caligula would eat me for breakfast—”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that literally,” the horse interrupts. “I meant that the sorceress Medea will put you in chains and flay your human form to extract whatever remains of your Godly essence. Then Caligula will consume your essence—yours and Helios’ both—and make himself the new God of the Sun.”
“Oh.” He feels faint. The thought of losing whatever Godly essence he still has is enough to have him wondering if Percy will forgive him if he throws up over his back
“You know,” Percy says, apparently as put off by the idea of Apollo dying as he is. “You seem like a reasonable kinda horse. What’s up with you and Caligula? He’s a bit of a dick, isn’t he?”
Incitatus whinnies. “Dick, shmick,” he says. “The boy listens to me. I can keep him under control and use him to push through my agenda. I’m backing the right horse.”
They make their way to the horrible throne room Caligula has fashioned for himself. Caligula’s dais sits at the thinnest part of the boat, and Caligula wears a getup befitting a boat captain with two towers of swirling wind at his sides.
As they approach, Caligula rubs his hands together like a feast has just been served, which does not quell Apollo’s fears of being turned into breakfast. “Perfect timing,” Caligula says. “I’ve been having the most fascinating conversation with your friends.”
Percy gets it before he does, going by the sudden tension in his back. Jason and Meg are inside the columns of wind, screaming and struggling to fight against the shrapnel swirling in their tornado prisons.
Caligula’s eyes land on Percy as he rises from his throne. “I was told you’d be pathetic,” he says. “Though I guess this is a new look for you.”
“That’s not him,” Incitatus says. “Apollo is indeed pathetic. Might I present the shriveling mess hiding behind the taller, more impressive one, as the pathetic excuse for a God, Apollo, also known as Lester Papadopoulos.”
With that lovely introduction, Incitatus dumps them to the floor.
Caligula approaches them and stops in front of Piper. “This must be the lovely Piper McLean.”
Piper stands up and takes one look between Caligula and Jason, struggling to speak over the sound of his own personal tornado, and reaches for her knife. “I’ll kill you.”
Caligula chuckles. “That’d be amusing, my love,” he says, sleaziness dripping from every word. “But let’s not kill each other quite yet, eh? Tonight I have other priorities.”
Apollo does the smart thing and hides behind Percy.
“And you,” Caligula purrs, looking Percy up and down with a look in his eye that Apollo knows very well, because he’s usually the one giving it. “I wasn’t expecting you, Percy Jackson. I’m honored.”
Apollo makes a horrified, choking noise when Caligula brings his finger to Percy’s chest and strokes downward. “Dude,” Percy says. “I’ve had it with you guys hitting on me. Stop it.”
Then, because Percy can be just as mean as him when he wants to be, Percy looks back at Apollo. “Did you fuck this one too?”
“No!” Apollo sputters. Well, at least Percy’s silent treatment is starting to make sense, even if it’s neither the right time nor place for this. “Look at him!”
Caligula doesn’t even have the decency to be offended. He drops his hand from Percy’s chest and steps around Percy to stand beside Apollo.
“Oh, Lester. What a gift Jupiter has given me!” Caligula says walking around him in a circle, dragging his fingers across his shoulders with much less admiration than he’d given Percy’s chest a moment ago. Apollo looks to Percy, hoping to communicate his desire to attack, but Percy and Piper seem concerned with Jason and Meg.
“Not much left of your godliness, is there?” Caligula asks. “Don’t worry. Medea will coax it out of you. Then I’ll take revenge on Zeus for you. Have some comfort in that.”
Apollo swallows and shoots another glance toward Percy. He’s not supposed to be relied on here, and yet…
“I—I don’t want revenge,” he whispers.
“Of course you do!” Caligula exclaims. “It will be wonderful, just wait and see…Well, actually, you’ll be dead, but you’ll have to trust me. I’ll make you proud.”
“Caesar,” Medea calls over from her spot by the dais. “Perhaps we could begin soon.”
Her voice is straining. Not only was she keeping Meg and Jason in the tornadoes, but she was now holding off Piper and Percy. Either alone would be enough to drain or distract any sorceress worth their salt, but both?
Already, the tornadoes are beginning to calm enough he could make out Jason and Meg’s faces better
Caligula’s eyes flare with annoyance. “Yes, yes, Medea. In a moment—”
“Caesar,” Medea interrupted, something which has Caligula’s face turning to rage. “I don’t have a moment.”
“Big C,” Incitatus chimes in, just as Percy manages to get a blow in against Medea, causing the tornadoes to stop and Meg and Jason to fall to the ground. “But shouldn’t we kill these ones so Medea can focus on flaying Lester alive? I really want to see that.”
Piper rushes to Jason and Meg’s sides, but Percy stands over Medea, holding Riptide to her throat. Apollo wants to yell at him to just do it, and he doesn’t know why but he can’t.
“Yes, please,” Medea grits out.
Piper looks up from Jason and Meg. “No!” she shouts. “Caligula, let us go.”
Caligula chuckles. “My love, I’ve been trained to resist charmspeak by Medea herself. You’ll have to do better than that if—”
“Incitatus,” Piper calls, voice stronger. “Kick Medea in the head.”
The horse flares his nostrils. “I think I will kick Medea in the head.”
“No, you will not!” Medea shrieks, trying to counter with her own charmspeak. “Caligula—”
Percy cuts her off, pressing Riptide down hard enough to draw blood. And even though there’s something—everything— about Caligula that has Apollo frozen in fear, he has to swallow at the sight. Because that? That’s art.
Which is why he misses Caligula walking over to Piper.
“Sorry, love,” he says, before backhanding her hard enough she spins in a circle and falls to the floor.
And just like that, anger unlike anything Apollo’s felt before rushes through him. He decides that Piper will not be dying tonight. He charges Caligula, intent on wrapping his hand around the Emperor’s neck.
Caligula shoves him down with barely a glance.
“Please, Lester,” he says. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Apollo looks around. Piper’s still on the floor. Percy is holding Medea down, and Meg and Jason are lying on the ground, whatever energy Medea still has seemingly going to keeping them unconscious and staying alert under Percy’s hold. Which, considering everything, is a sound strategy.
“It’s unfortunate,” Caligula says, looking Apollo up and down. “You don’t have what it takes to be mortal. Medea will have to prolong your death to make it entertaining. I don’t think you have the stamina otherwise.”
He turns on his heel, pulling a dagger out of nowhere, and turns to Medea. “Very well, sorceress!” he says. “I’ll take care of this pretty little problem of yours so you can kill your prisoners, and then we shall deal with Apollo.”
Even with blood dripping down her throat—and why is Percy hesitating now of all times—Medea grins. “Gladly.”
Percy can’t turn away from Medea, and Apollo can’t get a good look at Percy’s face but he hopes with everything he has that Percy’s aware of Caligula’s approach and that he’s flicking through scenarios in his head to pull off one of his characteristic miracles.
But he won’t turn from Medea if he thinks doing so means Medea will take the opportunity to kill Jason and Meg before he can blink. Apollo wants to scream. The self-sacrificing idiot.
Oh.
“Wait!” he screams, pulling an arrow from his quiver before he can think about it.
Caligula freezes, steps away from Percy, and turns to look at him.
Apollo doesn’t reach for his bow. He doesn’t try to run forward and attack Caligula. Instead, he turns the arrow inward and presses the point against his chest.
Caligula’s smile disappears and Percy looks over with wide eyes.
“And what,” Caligula asks. “Do you think you’re doing?”
“Let my friends go,” he says. “All of them. Then you can have me.”
The Emperor’s eyes gleam like a strix’s. “And if I don’t?”
Apollo summons the courage he’s not sure he has and issues a threat he’s never once imagined in his four thousand years of life. “I’ll kill myself.”
“You would never,” Caligula says, eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a self-sacrificing instinct in your body!”
“Let them go!” Apollo presses the arrow against his skin, hard enough to draw blood. “Or you’ll never be the Sun God.”
“Oh, Medea,” Caligula calls over his shoulder. “If he kills himself like this, can you still do your magic?”
It’s a small source of comfort to know that Percy’s so caught up concern over him that he completely forgot about Medea, but that doesn’t last when Medea complains, “you know I can’t. It’s a complicated ritual! We can’t have him murdering himself in some sloppy way before I’m prepared.”
Caligula hums and looks back at him. “Look, Apollo, you can’t expect that this will have a happy ending. Be a nice boy and let Medea kill you the correct way. Then I’ll give these others a painless death. That’s my best offer.”
Something has to be on their side, despite the blood staining his shirt, because Jason and Meg blink open their eyes. He looks over to find Percy with his hands wrapped around Medea’s throat, having gotten over whatever was holding him back before. And yeah, okay, worst things to be a final sight.
Before Apollo can take the final plunge, a voice calls out from behind him, “My Lord!’
Caligula looks over. “What is it, Flange? I’m a little busy here.”
“N-news, my Lord.”
Caligula frowns. “Later.”
“Sire,” the guard says. “It’s about the northern attack.”
Apollo feels a surge of hope. The assault on New Rome is happening tonight. He may not have the good hearing of a Pandos, but the urgency in Flange’s voice means that he’s not bringing good news.
Whatever the Pandos whispers into Caligula’s ear when he’s given permission to come forward has Caligula sneering and tossing Meg’s rings to the side.
“How disappointing,” he says. “Your sword, Flange.”
Flange fumbles with his serrated blade, but hands it over to Caligula with admirably little hesitance.
Caligula plunges it into the Pandos’ gut without a flinch, giving no reaction when Flange howls before turning to dust.
The Emperor tosses the sword to the side. “Now,” he says. “Where were we?”
“Your northern attack,” Apollo says. “Didn’t go so well?”
It’s foolish to goad Caligula, but he can’t help it. He wasn’t being any more rational than a furious Meg McCaffrey—he wants to hurt Caligula, to smash everything he owns to dust.
Caligula waves his hand. “Some jobs I have to do myself. That’s fine. You’d think a Roman demigod camp would obey orders from a Roman emperor, but alas.”
“The Twelfth Legion has a long history of supporting good emperors,” he says. “And of deposing bad ones. We both know which one you are.”
“Hm,” Caligula hums. “No matter. We have more important things to deal with right now. And Lester, please, we both know you’re not going to—”
Caligula lunges forward, trying to grab the arrow out of Apollo’s hand. But, Apollo was anticipating that. Before Caligula can stop him, he plunges the arrow into his chest. It feels like victory, teaching Caligula to know better than to underestimate him.
Then it feels like pain.
Caligula rushes forward and grabs the shaft of the arrow, but before he can pull it out of Apollo’s chest, Percy tackles him to the floor.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Percy growls.
“It’d only speed it up. There’s no winning here, dear. Apollo’s already dead, it’s just a matter of how long he’ll take to die.” Caligula spits, grinning. He looks entirely too pleased by the situation, though considering that Percy is straddling his torso, Apollo can’t blame him. There are worse places to be. Like struck still by pain due to an inconveniently located arrow.
“If you want him to live,” Caligula continues, dropping his hands to Percy’s thighs and ignoring the blade pressed to his throat. “You need the sorceress. You didn’t kill her, did you?"
“No,” Percy bites out. “But maybe I’ll kill you instead.”
It’s easy to forget how powerful Percy is sometimes, with how closely he keeps it under his skin. He doesn’t even look away from Caligula when a wave bursts through one of the portholes onto Medea.
“Heal him,” Percy orders as soon as Medea sputters awake. “Now.”
“Who are you to give me orders, boy?” she asks, spitting up water. “I’ll—”
“Heal Lester,” Caligula says, repeating Percy’s order. “You need him alive.”
They can all tell she doesn’t want to, but Medea stands up and pulls vials out of her purse. For all that Apollo finds her methods distasteful, her effectiveness is near that of Asclepius.
Whatever seal that Medea forms does its job. The arrow is out of his chest and he can breathe again, even though it still hurts worse than anything he’s imagined for himself.
And, sometime between Medea passing out and healing him, she lost whatever focus she still had on Meg and Jason and they’d had enough time to recover their wits.
Apollo’s not sure what exact silent communication passes between Jason and Percy, but it’s something significant. Jason stands up and Percy, still with Riptide pressed to Caligula’s throat, closes his eyes and breathes in deep. When he opens again, they’re practically glowing and Apollo finds himself in the eye of a literal hurricane.
And here’s the thing: these might be the most extravagant, top of line boats, but even the most-well built sea vessel struggles in a hurricane. But one from inside? The boat has no chance.
He guesses that the look Percy and Jason shared had something to do with wind, because Apollo finds himself oddly unaffected, even as more water rises up from the sea to join the mix as the walls tear away.
Jason emerges from the storm, golden gladius in hand.
At some point, Percy had moved off of Caligula, likely to make sure Piper and Meg are safe. Caligula turns to Jason and snarls, “you’re one of those Camp Jupiter brats, aren’t you?”
“I’m Jason Grace,” he says. “Former praetor of the Twelfth Legion. Son of Jupiter. Child of Rome. But I belong to both camps.”
“Good enough,” Caligula says. “I’ll hold you responsible for Camp Jupiter’s treason tonight. Incitatus!”
Caligula snatches a golden spear out of the storm around them and jumps onto the horses’ back. Where they’re going in these conditions, Apollo doesn’t know, but somehow Incitatus holds strong enough in the face of the growing storm. Above all, Apollo prays that it’s still Percy in control of it and that he has Meg.
Out of nowhere, there’s a howl of anger from Apollo’s left and Piper emerges, face swollen, and catches Medea’s jaw with her fist, sending her flying back into the storm.
On his other side, Jason and Caligula are caught up in their own battle.
“Get out of here,” Jason calls out, parrying Caligula’s spear with his sword.
Caligula draws back but manages to get Jason in the thigh in the next moment. Jason has to be exhausted from working against Percy as the hurricane around them continues to grow.
Right before Caligula can get him again, Piper yells out in warning and Jason propels himself upwards with the wind. It’s more even now, Jason riding the wind to match Caligula on Incitatus, but where Incitatus is independent of the Emperor, every second Jason spends aloft is more energy drained.
“I told you this isn’t a game!” Caligula yells. “You don’t walk away from me alive!”
The storm is still growing, and more of the room they’re in falls away, Medea with it. Piper falls forward and tugs at his arm. She points at Jason, saying something but Apollo can’t hear a single thing.
He’s of absolutely no use right now. Even if they wanted to, there’s no way for them to leave. He and Piper watch the fight between Jason and Caligula with horror.
Caligula charges past Jason in another attempt that Jason parries, and Apollo’s eyes lock with Jason’s. And all of a sudden, Jason’s plan is all too clear. Much like Apollo, Jason had decided that Piper McLean is not dying tonight.
Apollo nods.
“GO!” Jason yells. “And remember!”
Jason doesn’t look away until he’s sure that the reminder of the promise he wrangled out of Apollo in that Pasadena dorm room sinks in, and that’s his final mistake.
Apollo watches with horror as Caligula’s golden spear sinks into Jason’s back.
Piper screams, and Jason slumps forward with wide blue eyes.
Jason falls to the floor, and before Apollo can pray that someone gets Jason carried away to safety, Incitatus trots forward and Caligula plunges his spear into Jason’s back a second time, eliminating any hope of Jason’s survival.
—
They’re on some tiny strip of a beach. Piper wails and collapses to the ground. “He’s not dead,” she says. “He’s not dead, he’s not dead, he’s not dead.”
A horrified expression crosses Percy’s beautiful face.
“Maybe,” Meg says. She falls down to Piper’s side, golden rings glinting on her fingers as she feeds Piper a piece of ambrosia. “We’ll find out. You need to rest and heal.”
Percy stands up, already walking back into the ocean. “I’ll find him.”
And then he’s gone, and Apollo’s left to stare out at the horizon while pain still blooms from the wound on his chest and Meg comforts Piper while Piper repeats “he’s not dead” to herself like a mantra.
Meg, for her part, stays silent, rubbing Piper’s back in a soothing motion.
“He’s gone through too much to die now,” Piper cries. “Not like that.”
Apollo wants to believe her. But he’s seen too many mortal deaths. Few ever had any meaning. People who deserve to die take forever to do so, and those who deserve to live always go too soon.
—
A foreboding smell of ozone reaches them before Percy does, a blank expression on his face and Jason’s body limp in his arms. Piper shouts and runs to his side, Meg following. The most horrible thing is the momentary look of relief on their faces before it’s crushed.
Jason’s skin is the color of blank parchment and covered in filth. The water washed away most of the blood, but the white school shirt he’s still wearing is stained as purple as his old Praetor cloak. His right hand is fixed in a pointing gesture as if still telling them to go. He looks at peace, and if this was a simple sleep, Apollo wouldn’t want to wake him.
With care, Percy lays Jason down on the sand.
PIper falls to his need and shakes him, sobbing. “JASON!”
Meg kneels back and glares up at Apollo. “Fix him.”
And for all that he knows it’s impossible, an order from his master is still an order. He joins them at Jason’s side and places his hand on Jason’s forehead.
“Meg,” he chokes. “I cannot fix death. I wish I could.’
Gods above, does he wish he could, just as he’s wished countless times before.
“There’s always a way,” Piper insists. “The physicians’ cure! Leo took it!”
Apollo shakes his head. “Leo had the cure ready at the moment he died,” he says, keeping his tone gentle. “He went through many hardships in advance to get the ingredients. Even then, he needed Asclepius to make it. That wouldn’t work here, not for Jason. I’m so sorry, Piper. It’s too late.”
“No,” she insists, tears streaming down her face. “No, the Cherokee always taught…” She takes in a shaky breath, as if steeling herself for the pain of speaking so many words. “One of the most important stories. Back when man first started destroying nature, the animals decided he was a threat. They all vowed to fight back. Each animal had a different way to kill humans. But the plants…they were kind and compassionate. They vowed the opposite —that they’d each find their own way to protect people. So, there’s a plant cure for everything, whatever disease or poison or wound. Some plant has the cure. You just have to know which one!”
He grimaces. “Piper, that story holds a great deal of wisdom. But even if I were still a God I couldn’t offer you a remedy to bring back the dead. If such a thing existed, Hades would never allow its use.”
“The Doors of Death, then!” she says. “ Medea came back that way! Why not Jason? There’s always a way to cheat the system. Help me!”
Her charmspeak washes over him, as powerful as Meg’s order. I look down at Jason’s peaceful expression.
Before he can say anything, Percy speaks up. “We closed the Doors of Death, Piper,” he pleads. “You helped us fight to do so. You know the dead must stay dead, and so did Jason. He wouldn’t want you to do this.”
“Neither of you care!” Piper cries, eyes flashing angrily. She turns to Apollo. “You don’t care because you’re a God! You’ll go back to Olympus after you free the Oracles, so what does it matter? You’re using us to get what you want, like all the other Gods.”
“Hey,” Percy says, keeping his voice soft and drawing Piper’s attention to himself. “That’s not—”
“And you ,” Piper says. “You’re not any better than him! And why should I expect you to be? You’re closer to Godhood than the rest of us, including Apollo! Of course you don’t understand!”
Percy rears back, hurt.
Piper presses a hand to Jason’s chest. “What’d he die for, anyway? A pair of shoes ?”
Apollo jumps in panic and reaches for his quiver, turning it over and almost crying out in relief when the rolled up sandals fall out onto the sand.
He picks them up. “At least we have them.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s great,” Piper sobs, running her hand through Jason’s hair. “You can go see your Oracle now. The Oracle that got him KILLED!”
—
As the sun begins to set, Apollo finds himself sitting on that same beach with Percy a couple feet away, mirroring his position. Neither of them make any move to close the distance and that’s the final nail in the coffin of the day’s emotional turmoil.
Apollo brings his knees up to his chest, ignoring the twinge of pain as he does so he can rest his chin on his knees.
Wanting to shove his face in Percy’s neck and forget the rest of the world is not a new feeling, in fact it’s probably been his best companion during his punishment. But never before has it carried this much desperation and felt so impossible. Percy said he was here as a favor from Poseidon. Percy’s barely looked at him all day.
“You knew,” Percy says, after what feels like an eternity. “You knew that Jason would die.”
Apollo tenses. “How can—”
“You weren’t surprised,” Percy says, still staring straight ahead. “You’re the furthest you’ve ever been from Prophecy and you’re as dramatic as ever. You knew.”
It’s moments like these that Apollo realizes Percy’s somehow managed to do the impossible and gotten to know him despite how little time it feels they’ve spent together. But that’s always been an oft ignored trait of Percy’s, his ability to see right through people to the heart of them.
“Yeah,” Apollo chokes out. “With as much certainty as a prophecy can give, at least. Jason met Herophile. Three letters, starts with D.”
Percy, despite himself, snorts. Apollo sniffles.
More moments of silence pass, and the sun dips further into the sky. He wants to take it as a good sign, the poetry of the sky meeting the sea but it has nothing to do with them, just another sign that the world goes on without him.
“You didn’t know how the whole night would go,” Percy says, and this time there’s a hesitance to his tone that has Apollo’s breath catching in his chest. It reminds him of the plug still holding himself together. “I don’t know if you were more surprised or scared when you stabbed yourself.”
“I—
“I was terrified ,” Percy interrupts. “Of every single mistake I made when I decided to involve myself with you—”
Apollo winces.
“Of every fear I had of being abandoned and tossed to the side the moment someone else came along, every night I sat up at night wanting to know if I could trust that I meant anything to you. I took comfort in one thing,” Percy says. “A singular thing.”
He knows what Percy’s about to say as well as he knows the curve of Percy’s lips.
“One thing, Apollo,” Percy says. And finally , Percy turns to look at him, and maybe he shouldn’t have because he looks wrecked in a way that has Apollo’s heart shattering in his already broken chest. “You’re a God. I don’t care about that, not really. But you were the one thing in my life I didn’t have to worry about dying. Leaving? Yes. Dying? No.”
Just because Apollo knew it was coming doesn’t mean it hurts any less to hear.
He doesn’t know if it’ll be welcome, but he reaches a hand out anyway to tangle his fingers with Percy’s. To his relief, Percy melts at the touch and a little bit of the tension in Apollo’s chest unfurls.
“I’m not a God right now,” he whispers, looking Percy in the eyes as much as it hurts to see the brilliant green made murky with tears. “I’m sorry.”
Whatever’s between right now feels as fragile as this very mortal body, but Percy’s a man of action more than he is of words and salty lips on his feel like coming home and somehow Apollo knows that whatever ties them together is okay.
“I can’t stay,” Percy says as soon as he pulls away, his hands clutching the sides of Apollo’s face like it’s a lifeline. “I have to go tonight.”
It’s never enough time. They’ve never had enough time. Up until recently the only thing he’s had too much of is time and now he’s nothing more than a pauper. How is he supposed to forget mortality when the mortal hourglass is so very small?
Apollo’s ugly and it hurts to breathe, but he tilts his chin up to capture Percy’s lips in another kiss, deepening it until he’s able to lick into Percy’s mouth and taste chocolate and relief.
Percy’s gentle, and Apollo feels a bit like a doll, but Percy’s settles between his legs and it’s all to easy to remember what he was dreaming of when this all began. Despite how much he drools over memories of Percy beneath him, this right now is healing something Apollo won’t name.
Jason’s death has torn him open but Percy is here, bringing him back together again.
Apollo knows that as soon as he lets go, Percy will crawl away and slip back into the depths of the sea. But for now, he has Percy and he tangles his fingers in Percy’s curls and moans into Percy’s mouth and focuses on Percy.
The events of the day will continue to process, but for now he shoves it away and opens up and gives himself to Percy in a way he hasn’t to anyone in centuries.