After the Battle

Jason slept on his side, clutching the fluffy blanket in his hand like it might lift him up and take him somewhere far.
He never used to sleep on his side. Camp Jupiter and his time with the wolf taught him enough—the side was vulnerable. It’s difficult to sit up and reach for a weapon, and the squishiest and easiest path to your heart is on display for the heavens. Sleep on your back, with a weapon in reaching distance, preferably with some kind of armor on, and someone keeping watch.
Still, Jason slept on his side.
His cabin felt eerily empty; a shell with the oyster scooped out, discarded and left to rot. He could hear everything, every little gust of wind a patter of raindrops on the windows and the grand, swooping roof. His sister, Thalia (still weird to think about), was on her way with her pack of Merry Huntresses. She had been pretty close to Percy, and he’d help save Artemis once. They were all coming to pay their deepest respects.
Jason didn’t know if he’d be able to look them in the eyes.
He could barely stomach climbing to his feet, looking in the mirror, or drinking water without it sliding like hot magma down his gullet.
It was his fault Percy was dead. There was no getting around that.
He hadn’t stopped him, not when he charged into battle, not when he gave his last encouraging speech, and especially not when the brave bastard seemed to dissolve into smoke, going to sacrifice himself. He’d held Annabeth down, just to make sure she didn’t stop Percy. He hadn’t talked about it with her, hadn’t even been ready to look her in the face, but he knew she remembered. However illogical, there was a part of her that hated Jason. And who could blame her? He hated himself, too.
He heard the thunderous (suppose that was on purpose) boom of the door to his cabin cracking open, then the heavy bang as it closed once again. His blood froze beneath his skin and he prepared himself for Thalia, for her questions and opinions and hugs and tears.
It wasn’t Thalia. Quite the opposite, actually. “Annabeth’s back,” said Piper, her light gold slippers squeaking on the marble floor.
“I know,” replied Jason, not rolling over. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his face stretching over bone tighter that they had in a while. “She came back last night, remember?”
“Of course,” she said, “but I didn’t know if you did. Why don’t you come have dinner? Everyone’s asking about you.”
He almost said yes. He missed the food, the crackling fire, the people. But then he thought of looking at Annabeth, at all the down-trodden faces and tear-soaked eyes and he just . . . couldn’t.
“I can’t,” is all he answered.
Piper huffed, probably blowing her brown bangs out of her eyes. “This is silly, Jason. I miss you.”
It’s not like she didn’t see him. She came in his cabin at least once per day, usually a lot more, talking and trying to coax him out. It hadn’t worked; he missed her too, he really did, so much.
But he didn’t deserve her missing him.
“Sorry,” he said, meaning it, but not sounding so at all, “I can’t. I’m sick. Why don’t you just . . . why don’t you leave me alone, Piper? Why don’t you just go away?”
He heard the rain drip from the cracked sky, heard a satyr playing a sad tune from somewhere outside—and he could practically hear Piper’s hurt in her sharp intake of breath. She didn’t say a word as she left.
Piper didn’t think he was responsible for Percy’s death, he knew that. Neither did Grover, Tyson, Hazel, Frank . . . none of them blamed him. Even Nico, who seemed to be drowning when he heard, had thanked Jason for telling him, and disappeared.
They didn’t think it was his fault.
But they didn’t know.
They didn’t have the whole story, not the way they think they did.
Because he watched Percy train with a sword, place shaky kisses on Annabeth’s forehead, and Jason made sure to look away as he whispered in her ear that, “everything will be okay”—even as he roughed up Frank’s hair with his largely clasped hands and told him that it would be “a battle for the ages,” and Jason pretended not to notice that his smile was made of glass as he swore to the heavens he wasn’t worried. They had barged into battle side-by-side, even when Percy looked dead in Jason’s eyes and told him, “I’m glad to be fighting with you.”
And those were the reasons, tied together and bundled into a hefty pile, that Jason hated himself now.
Because through all that time, every second and bleeding heartbeat, Jason had known.
He knew what would happen. He’d had a dream a couple of nights before, a hollow echo of a voice hissing gravelly, “As the moon sets on the battle/ for the bravest and the strongest, this one will be final. / His blood will flow like poison/ and the Mother of the World will fall/ fire will blaze across the horizon / and the young warriors will reign victorious / but, be warned, the victory will be a bitter one, I will not lie / for if you wish to defeat the oldest mother / then Percy Jackson must die.”
More words, garbled and sounding as if they were being shouted through a tank of water, followed; Jason didn’t make out a single one. He woke in a cold sweat, his hearting beating at such a rapid pace he felt as if his whole body were melting. He tried convincing himself it was fake, that none of it meant anything, it was just a dream; but, somewhere not too far from the surface, he knew the truth.
And as he watched Percy laugh, faux-fight, joke, and whisper kind and comforting words, he had said absolutely nothing.
Jason rolled over with a small grunt, and wished that he wasn’t too tired to fall asleep.

Notes

Sorry I haven't updated in so long (my computer broke). I don't know when I'll have time to update again, but hopefully soon! Please keep rating and commenting, I love reading them, it makes my day!