Chapter Text
Part 1: You don’t have to think right now, Wise Girl
The Athena cabin was still alive long after the rest of camp had gone quiet. Blueprints, patrol schedules, and repair lists were scattered across Annabeth’s desk in organized chaos. Lantern light flickered against the paper, throwing long shadows across her tired face.
Annabeth sat cross-legged on the bench, pencil clenched between her teeth, her braid half-undone, wild curls slipping loose around her shoulders.
If the Hephaestus cabin works with the Demeter kids, then Hermes can—no, Travis can’t be trusted with border patrol—
she muttered, scribbling fast, flipping the page without even glancing at it.
She didn’t hear the door creak. Not until a voice cut through the scratch of her pencil.
Wise Girl.
Her pencil stilled. Not now, Percy,
she said without looking up.
Annabeth.
There was something in the way he said her name—soft, but firm, the kind of tone that made you listen.
Her pencil slowed, then stopped completely. Annabeth glanced up, annoyance sharp on her tongue, only to find Percy leaning casually against the doorframe, sea-green eyes fixed on her with that maddening, quiet patience.
What?
she asked, sharper than intended.
Come with me,
he said.
I don’t have time for—
Now.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. It wasn’t a request, and the simplicity of it—Percy Jackson, who never ordered anyone around unless it mattered—made her blink.
Excuse me?
Percy pushed off the doorframe, crossing the room in two strides. Before she could react, he plucked the pencil cleanly from her hand and set it down, far enough that she couldn’t immediately grab it back.
Hey!
You’ve been at this since dinner,
Percy said. There was no teasing, no smirk—just steady, unwavering concern. You didn’t even stop when the Apollo kids started butchering that campfire song outside. You’re running yourself into the ground.
I’m fine,
Annabeth shot back automatically, reaching for the pencil again.
Percy caught her wrist gently, his fingers warm, thumb brushing once over her pulse. You’re not fine.
His eyes didn’t waver. You’ve been at this for three days straight. You’re chewing your lip so hard it’s gonna bleed, and you’re writing like you’ve got six hands instead of two.
Annabeth opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught. Gods, he wasn’t wrong, and they both knew it.
This is important,
she tried again, quieter, almost pleading.
You’re more important,
Percy replied instantly, like it wasn’t even something he had to think about.
That stopped her cold.
Her breath caught. Percy…
He crouched in front of her, lowering himself but somehow making her feel smaller anyway. His sea-green eyes caught in the lantern light, softer than his words, but just as unshakable.
You don’t have to think right now, Wise Girl,
he murmured, voice dropping low enough that she felt it in her chest. Not with me. Just… let me take care of you for once.
Her heart stuttered. Percy wasn’t teasing, wasn’t joking. There was weight in his words, a quiet, certain confidence that felt new—and gods, it made something in her tighten and loosen all at once.
Annabeth hated how much she wanted to listen.
…Five minutes,
she said finally, her voice softer than she wanted, her shoulders sagging just slightly.
Percy’s grin broke across his face, softer than usual, almost relieved, like he’d been holding his breath waiting for her to give in. Five minutes,
he agreed, standing and tugging her gently to her feet.
Percy, I still need to—
Uh-uh.
His hand slid to the small of her back, firm but careful as he steered her away from the desk. You already said five minutes. No takesies-backsies.
Annabeth rolled her eyes, but the fight in her chest was slipping, replaced by something she didn’t want to name yet.
Percy guided her toward the bed tucked in the corner, his hand lingering at her waist like he wanted her to feel every step of the choice she’d made. She let him press her gently down to sit, his touch steady, protective.
You don’t have to do everything alone, Wise Girl,
Percy said, quiet but certain. Not anymore.
Annabeth wanted to argue. She always argued. But gods, there was nothing left in her to fight with.
So she let him sit beside her, his arm brushing hers, close and grounding. He didn’t move to leave, didn’t push her to talk. He just stayed.
For a long moment, she studied him through the haze of her exhaustion—the soft determination in his face, the way he looked at her like she was something worth protecting.
And for the first time in days, she wasn’t thinking about walls or patrols or schedules.
She wasn’t thinking at all.
Not when Percy was right there, keeping watch like he always did.
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Part 2: “Five More Minutes”
The Athena cabin was quiet again, but not like the last time. The lantern burned lower tonight, dimmer, throwing soft, sleepy shadows across the room.
Annabeth sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, hair damp from the late-night shower Percy had practically bullied her into taking. (“You can’t rebuild half the camp and smell like sawdust forever, Wise Girl.”) Her hoodie hung unzipped, revealing the loose tank top she’d tugged on in a rush. She held a pencil, tapping it against her scribbled notes for supply allocations, pretending to focus even as her mind felt slower than usual.
The door creaked open, and she didn’t need to look to know who it was.
You’re still working?
Percy’s voice was warm, curious — but with an edge of disbelief.
Annabeth didn’t glance up. This isn’t working. It’s called thinking.
Percy snorted softly. You’re bad at lying, you know that?
I don’t lie.
Then you’re bad at denial.
His footsteps padded closer before she could retort. Percy sat down beside her, his weight sinking the mattress, his presence filling the space instantly. He didn’t bother to glance at the notes. Just reached over, plucked the pencil cleanly from her hand, and set it firmly on the nightstand.
Percy,
she started, annoyed out of habit — but the sharpness faltered when he shifted closer, his knee brushing hers.
Nope,
he said, his tone stubbornly soft. Not tonight. You’re not going anywhere.
Her head snapped up at that, gray eyes narrowing. I wasn’t going anywhere—
You were,
Percy cut in, voice steady, his gaze locking on hers with a quiet certainty that startled her. In your head. Somewhere with lists and schedules and blueprints. You’re not allowed to go there right now.
The words hung in the quiet, heavier than they should’ve been. Percy’s hand settled on her knee, warm and unmoving, like an anchor. And gods, it worked — her chest tightened, her thoughts slowing despite herself.
You can’t just tell me not to think,
she muttered finally, her voice weaker now, almost defensive.
Percy’s lips tugged into that infuriating almost-smile, the one that was soft around the edges but carried something deeper. You trust me, right?
Annabeth blinked, startled by the sudden question. Obviously,
she said too quickly, frowning.
Then trust me to know when you need to stop.
His thumb brushed slowly over her knee — absent-minded, maybe, but deliberate enough that she felt it like a pulse in her chest. You don’t have to run yourself into the ground to save the camp. You’ve already done that. Now you get to let someone else take care of you.
Her breath caught. Percy wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t even trying to be comforting. He was just sure, and that confidence sent an unfamiliar heat curling low in her stomach.
Percy,
she said again, softer this time, like she wanted to argue but couldn’t quite form the words.
He shifted closer, his thigh pressing fully against hers, his hand sliding just slightly higher on her leg. It wasn’t inappropriate — not yet — but it was deliberate. Controlled.
Then his voice dropped, lower now, quieter, and it sent a strange shiver down her spine. Lie down.
Annabeth stared at him, blinking. I’m not—
Wise Girl.
His tone cut her off, low and firm, slipping under her skin before she realized it. You’re tired. Lie down. Just for a bit.
Her first instinct was to snap back — to argue, to tell him she was fine — but his hand was still warm against her leg, steady and grounding. And maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was him, or maybe it was the way his eyes didn’t leave hers, calm but expectant…
Slowly, she lay back against the pillow.
Percy’s lips twitched, like he wanted to say something — good girl lingered on the edge of his grin, unspoken but there, and Annabeth felt her face heat before she could stop it.
Percy stretched out beside her, close enough that their sides touched, one arm sliding under her shoulders to pull her just slightly closer. Not forceful. Just sure.
You’re impossible,
she muttered, but her head tilted against his chest anyway, her breath brushing the soft cotton of his shirt.
Percy chuckled quietly, his fingers tracing lazy lines along her arm. And you love me for it.
Annabeth didn’t answer, but she didn’t move away either. Her heart beat steady against his, her mind quieting one thought at a time.
And for the second time that week, she let herself stop thinking — because Percy was right there, and for once, she didn’t have to.