#( lord of the wild | grover underwood )

[ipledgeawaymysanity]

Grover represented all us dreamers who are always zoned out but occasionally zone back in to self-deprecate and give weird expressions while our friends talk...your honor i love him

[happyk44]

Pretty and handsome, flower-crowned Grover talking business with nature deities and Percy hovering behind him cloaked in shadows and staring menacingly at everyone who breathes or even looks in Grover's direction

[mmavverickk]

theoretically, i understand the appeal of having percy, annabeth, and grover go to college. annabeth wants to be an architect, percy wants to be with annabeth, and grover's gonna need some kind of degree backing his environmental preservation efforts. but like, i just can't see it happening.

annabeth was tasked with redesigning olympus after the destruction of the second titan war. that project is her child. she eats, sleeps, and breathes her designs for the palace. as soon as she graduates high school, that is her number one priority. this is her monument that will last forever, this is what her hubris is driving her to accomplish. college and mortal qualifications can wait until she's finished, until olympus is perfect, until her designs are real and tangible and ready to last a thousand ages, until she's made her mother proud and her father regret pushing her aside. and if she's building a family on the side, one strong enough to withstand two wars, one who will never leave her, never let her fall alone? that will last, too.

percy never had a childhood. he can barely remember a life before his abusive stepfather gabe, before he had to grow up too fast to protect himself and his mom. he never got to celebrate getting rid of the bastard, because by then he'd been thrown headfirst into the mythological world, into the expectations that come with being a child of the big three. he's twelve years old and already the fate of the world is in his hands, and he won't fail. he's fourteen, and the weight of the world rests on his shoulders, turns his hair grey. he's sixteen, and he has to make a choice, to trust someone who had betrayed him time and time again, but he doesn't know if the outcome of that choice will be the end of the world or its only hope. he graduates high school, having lived longer than he'd ever dreamed, and does not immediately throw himself into college. it's time to experience the world that he's sacrificed so much for.

grover is the lord of the wild. he spent his whole life searching for the one being who could save the planet, could keep it whole and healthy and alive. he found him, found pan, and had his hopes crushed. pan was dying. he was giving up on the planet and the people who'd believed in him for millennia. pan put all of their hopes on grover's shoulders, made it his responsibility. he stepped up to the challege, used his passion for searching and made it passion for fixing. he started immediately, despite how dire the situation was, despite all the others telling him he was wrong, that pan was still out there, that he needed to believe in a dead god. yes, he needs to find a way to get the mortals to see the effect they're having on the wild, on the environment, on the planet, but first he needs to find out how bad things truly are. he's traveled north america, he's gathered nymphs and dryads and spirits for war against the titans, but north america isn't the only place in danger. the world is his domain, and grover will rise to the challenge.

[idrawbadart]

I wanna talk about Grover!!

Like this goat literally sniffed out 4/4 greek big three kids.

keep in mind there are probably hundreds if not thousands of satyrs out there looking for demigod kids and yet he found ALL 4 OF THEM!

He finds Thalia while she on the run as well, she not just in one place waiting to be found, no shes on the move.

And Nico and Bianca are pretty much fresh out the lotus casino, like some other satyr was bound to have smelt them at least but nope Grover sniffs them out,

Most of the time he acts as if it was almost accidental. No wonder this guy became lord of the wild.

[starii-void]

methinks the difference between the two main satyrs we have in the serieses (series’??) is hilarious

grover: guided two of the big 3 kids by the time he was the equivalent of a 12 year old, became the LORD OF THE WILD, famous (well deserved) searcher, extremely powerful, first satyr to find PAN, channeled him to use Panic

coach hedge: old man on a constant sugar high, loves his wife super duper much, is a father, we stan him in this household ,honorable member of the argo II

[thatrandomsarahchick]

I'm looking for fic recs, as I've read all the ones I could find easily.

I want fics where Percy, preferably grown up, but a little kid is cute too, goes out to the ocean or local waterways, and clears out pollution and debris.

Something that I've come across recently is videos that divers take while they're down there, explaining about the native species as a voice-over. Some of them are just cleaning out the pollutants, but then there are a lot who clear out invasive species like Giant Sea Urchins. I can totally imagine Percy diving down and doing that kind of thing, accidentally becoming famous.

He was blessed by Pan, and I think this and other fics where he becomes a conservationist are great ways to explore that.

[last-pages]

society if everyone acknowledged that grover underwood was ALWAYS the one who was going to manipulate the god of war himself

[everbloomingsoul]

tag dump three ft. general chara tags !!

[liesmultixxx]

"I’ll probably get the whole thing wrong”

Says

Perseus Jackson, Hero of Olympus who could’ve been immortal

Says

Annabeth Chase, Official Architect of Olympus

Says

Grover Underwood, Lord of the Wild

[cabinofimagines]

A Much Needed Declaration

Who doesn't love our goat boy! I suppose I should say spoilers for those who haven't read the books on this one- as it is based sometime after Battle of the Labyrinth :) Pairing: Grover Underwood x gn!reader Request: Hi guys! I hope you guys are doing good. Can I request a Grover x reader where reader is trying to tell him they like him, but they keep getting interrupted by people needing him for things and viceversa? And then finally getting to tell him? Just some cute fluff with a happy ending lol. M!reader or gn!reader are fine! Thanks :) Word count: 1.1k Warnings: None! -Asnyox

The first time you met Grover, the only thought you had through his stammered introduction was ‘he’s pretty cute’. It took a lot longer for you to find out that at some point ‘he’s cute’ grew into a crush on the kind satyr. But, you accepted that it was what it was, and maybe it would be something more at some point- but for now it was enough.

However, that was before he became a Lord of the Wild, which meant that he needed to do a lot more work around and outside of camp. At least you were allowed to go with him on his travels sometimes, but you spend less and less time with him. You didn’t blame him, but you missed him and felt him slipping away from you. Thus you decided you needed to tell him how you felt before it was too late.  

You had yet to anticipate how hard it would be to get a moment alone with him. The first time you stumbled upon your friend, you didn’t get past “how are you-” before he quickly told you he had to get going or he would be late. Late for what only the gods know, but he slipped away. 

The second attempt was slightly more successful- Grover was sitting at the campfire, and you sat down next to him. 

“Busy week, huh?” you asked and Grover’s head shot up.

“Ah, (Y/n), I hadn’t seen you come-” Grover bleated, “I’m sorry, it has been busy.” 

“Finally catching a break?” You asked, as you bumped into him lightly. Grover smiled and started leaning against you. 

“Sort of, I’ve missed you.” he said as he laid his head on your shoulder. His horns had started growing out more, and you could feel them poke in your neck, but you decided not to say anything, lest you scare the poor soul. 

“I’ve missed you too,” you let out a breath, “Hey, I need to tell you some-” 

“Hey, G-man, do you have a moment?” Percy spoke up from beside Grover, and you glared slightly at him as Grover sat up. 

“Of course! Whatcha need?” Grover sat, and Percy gestured away.

“Just wanted to check something, am I interrupting?” Percy asked. Grover looked at you, in turn. He clearly wanted to see if you needed him, but you shook your head. 

“No, not really. Go ahead, I will see you soon?” you asked Grover and he nodded excitedly as he stood up and followed Percy. 

Well, third time's the charm you thought as you saw your beloved goat boy stand not too far away. So, you almost sprinted towards him, smiling. 

“Hey Grover! Do you have a moment-” Grover looked at you, but you could already see Chiron approaching him from behind. 

“Of course I do, always for you.” he was adorable, but you shook your head, as you eyed Chiron getting closer. 

“I don’t think you do- you know what, never mind.” you pouted, “Wish I wouldn’t have to make a reservation for your time just to talk to you, but it is what it is.” Grover looked confused, but you continued, “Just come to me when you have five minutes? Me approaching you is clearly not working out.” Grover was worried about what you meant, but before he could even ask what was going on you turned around and walked away. And before he could even reach out, Chiron’s voice asked for his attention. 

Third time was not the charm it seemed. 

Grover hadn’t seen you since then. Apparently you truly wouldn’t come to him whenever he had a moment- which normally you really had a knack for finding him just as he had nothing to do. He really hoped you weren’t angry at him- and he felt like he was irrationally anxious about the possibility of you never wanting to talk to him again. That couldn’t be it right? 

So, a few days later when he hadn’t planned anything for at least an hour- a feat as far has his schedule went these days- he quickly ran to you, took your hand and dragged you away from your cabin, into the woods. 

“What-” you stammered, but Grover was quick to turn around and face you. 

“I have not much time but I asked the dryads to make sure no one finds us for a bit. It’s just us, no interruptions, nothing,” Grover wished he had a can to chew on and get his anxious energy out, “So, what do you need?” he asked, his voice turning soft and quiet at the last words in the sentence. Before answering you grabbed one of Grovers hands, an appreciative smile on your face.

“Grover, I need you,” you took a deep breath, “I need you too, I know you’re busy being lord of the wild and that it’s hard staying still but please, I need you to know I love you.” 

Grover bleated, as he hid his face behind the hand you weren’t holding. “Do you mean-” Grover slowly lowered his hand, and he saw you nod. “I love you, romantically, goat boy.” Your heart stammered, “and if you’re not ready- or not interested, it’s fine. I’m just glad to have told you.” 

“I’m too- uh I mean,” Grover shook his head, “I love you too,” You smiled, and you moved closer pressing a kiss on Grover’s cheek. “You’re all I need then,” you sighed, “now go, I know you promised the dryads something. See you at dinner?” 

Grover had a dazed expression, with a big grin on his face as he nodded. “See you, love you,” he turned around, hoping that he could quickly finish the requests he still had to do today, so he could spend time with you. 

And if Grover dazed off a bit more during that day, nobody asked questions. Grover realized that he needed you too, and that he perhaps needed a bit of a break. A picnic sounded nice, or going to that one secluded spot that he found while he was doing favors for a herd of sheep last week. Yeah, he was elated thinking of you smiling, surrounded by nature, and him being the reason for it. Would you enjoy berries or bread more at the picnic?

[clarisselarueapologist]

GROVER UNDERWOOD APPRECIATION POST!

I feel like Grover doesn't get enough love and recognition even though his character is SO well built and he has a super complex arc. So I'm going to list the things about Grover that are just some of my favorite things/I want more people to talk about.

1. THE WHOLE LUKE ANNABETH AND THALIA STORYLINE

2. The fact that he is a deeply emotional character that isn't afraid to show his feelings

3. HIS EMPATHY LINK WITH PERCY

3.5. THE FACT THAT THEY ARE LITERALLY SO HEAVILY CONNECTED THAT IF ONE OF THEM DIES THEY BOTH DIE!

3.75. Seriously, I could write an entire essay on how deep the aspect of an empathy link is and how it could be more explored and how I wish Rick had incorporated it more in the series.

4. THE PANIC CRY IN CHAPTER 18 OF TBOTL IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE AND IT IS NOT TALKED ABOUT ENOUGH

5. THE FACT THAT HE IS THE LORD OF THE WILD

6. His entire storyline with finding Pan and how deeply it hurt him when Pan "died"

7. How he represents friendship, spirituality, toxic masculinity, guilt, trauma, leadership, empathy, AND SO MANY OTHER THINGS!

8. The fact that he eats man-made things, like napkins, tin cans, ect. And how that represents pollution and the theme that all things made from the earth return to the earth.

9. He is intact with his emotions

10. He is actually a very well built, mature, deep character that is overlooked and underestimated.

11. HIS HORNS GETTING BIGGER AS HE GROWS/DEVELOPS AS A CHARACTER

Please please please add more Grover aspects that are overlooked if you think of any! 🙏🙏 He is my favorite character and he is so overlooked 😭

[fictional-musician-competition]

the moment you've been waiting for has arrived...

We have a bracket!!

Yeah. It's a 64-person bracket, the font is small, all that. You can try to zoom in, or there will be a list of matchups below the cut.

All but the first matchup have been randomly generated, please don't complain about the seeding or having to choose between characters. It just worked out that way ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (ig you can complain about the first one)

Polls will be released Monday afternoon. The first round will once again be a week long, but after that we'll go to 24-hour polls until the final matchup.

May the best musician win!

Side A

Orpheus (Ulysses Dies at Dawn by The Mechanisms) on mandolin vs The Toy Soldier (The Mechanisms) on mandolin, glockenspiel and others

Theodore (Alvin and the Chipmunks) on drums vs Wylan Van Eck (Six of Crows) on flute vs Squidward (SpongeBob SquarePants) on clarinet*

Hitori "Bocchi" Gotoh (Bocchi the Rock) on guitar vs Vice Principal Nero (A Series of Unfortunate Events) on violin

Murdoc Niccals (Gorillaz) on bass vs Tsukasa Tenma (Project Sekai) on piano

Ibuki Mioda (Danganronpa) on bass guitar vs Jasiker (The Witcher) on lute

Grover Underwood (Riordanverse) on reed pipes vs Marceline "The Vampire Queen" Abadeer (Adventure Time) on bass guitar

Wei Wuxian (The Untamed) on dizi vs Rodrick Heffley (Diary of a Wimpy Kid) on drums

Toki Wartooth (Metalocolypse) on guitar vs Eddie (The Rocky Horror Picture Show) on saxophone

Chai (Hi-Fi Rush) on guitar vs Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock Holmes) on violin

Wirt (Over the Garden Wall) on clarinet and bassoon vs Alec Hardison (Leverage) on violin

Raine Whispers (The Owl House) on violin vs Scanlan Shorthalt (Critical Role, The Legend of Vox Machina) on lute and flute

Raiko Horikawa (Touhou Project) on drums vs Undyne (Undertale) on piano

Riebeck (Outer Wilds) on banjo vs Candace Flynn (Phineas and Ferb) on a variety of instruments that begin with the letter "B"

Lisa Simpson (The Simpsons) on baritone sax vs DJ Octavio (Splatoon) on turntables

Ronan Lynch (The Raven Cycle) on uilleann pipes vs Venti (Genshin Impact) on lyre and flute

Rocky Rickaby (Lackadaisy) on fiddle vs Hoid (The Cosmere) on flute

Side B

Sonic (Sonic Underground) on electric guitar vs Sal "Sally Face" Fisher (Sally Face) on Guitar

Demyx (Kingdom Hearts) on sitar vs Achilles (The Iliad) on lyre

Jade Harley (Homestuck) on bass guitar vs Ryan Akagi (Infinity Train) on guitar

Wednesday Addams (Wednesday) on cello vs Maki Nishikino (Love Live! School Idol Project) on piano

Sally Thorn" McKnight (Scooby-Doo) on guitar vs Hunter Sylvester (Metal Lords) on electric guitar

K.K. Slider (Animal Crossing) on guitar vs Will Treaty (Ranger's Apprentice) on mandola

Edward Cullen (Twilight) on piano vs Miguel Rivera (Coco) on guitar

William the Gonagle (Discworld) on mousepipes vs Marzipan (Homestar Runner) on guitar

The Phantom of the Opera (The Phantom of the Opera) on organ vs Dr. Teeth (The Muppets) on piano

Kris (Deltarune) on piano vs "Soul King" Brook (One Piece) on piano and guitar

Manolo Sanchez (The Book of Life) on guitar vs Greg Universe (Steven Universe) on electric guitar

Ebony Dark'Ness Dementia Raven Way (My Immortal) on guitar vs Figueroth "Fig" Faeth (Dimension 20's Fantasy High) on bass guitar

Link (Legend of Zelda) on ocarina and panflute vs Max Rebo (Star Wars) on organ

Klavier Gavin (Ace Attorney) on guitar vs Luka Couffaine (Miraculous Ladybug) on guitar

Melody (Crypt of the NecroDancer) on lute vs Musa (Winx Club) on all the instruments

Marcy Wu (Amphibia) on drums vs Victor Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy) on violin

*due to an unfortunate counting error, a 3rd person has been added to this matchup.

[happyk44]

Percy: If Juniper wasn't your one and only, would you marry me?

Grover: Absolutely.

Percy: That's awesome, man. I love you.

Grover: I love you too!

Annabeth:

Annabeth: Percy, what the hell - you haven't even asked me if I want to get married to you.

Percy: It's been only been a couple years, Wise Girl. Chill out, we'll get there.

Grover: Yeah, Annabeth, don't rush him. Or propose first. This is a modern age, you know.

Annabeth: That wasn't the point!

[littleblueberryartist]

Some future Percy Jackson headcanons :D

- He never grows facial hair. Yes this is partially because I don't like drawing facial hair but also I feel like Percy would just take one look at the mirror, realise that he looks like a splitting image of his dad and then shave the whole thing off

- Percy is the malewife trophy husband in this relationship. Yes I HC him with a job (I will get to that later) but it's about the vibes

Like he literally says this in Greek heroes!

He is the trophy husband to Annabeth's successful girlboss wife and he knows it! He does the cooking and cleaning!! (His mother is THE Sally Jackson so you better bet he cooks dam well too)

And I refuse to believe that he and Sally aren't like super tidy people after living with Gabe. Like ADHD disorganization real and true just like me fr but Percy would not let there be trash or bad smells /anywhere/

- Related to the above Percy does not drink

- Percy took a GAP year actually

- Like yes he does actually try and jump back into school like he does in ToA because he is tired of godly bullshit and craves normalcy. But my guy. That is a semester of content you missed along with current school AND you're still prepping for college AND you're still recovering from the war. Something something he does this as a distraction from everything but also because he genuinely wants to have normalcy but after burning out somewhere through the year he is convinced to take a damn break!!!!

- I think the road trip at the end of ToA can still happen but like, just them relaxing and exploring during the GAP year (also redesigning Olympus is Annabeth's BABY man she's putting that over school + she has worse school records than Percy because she's been year round at camp since she was 7 I don't think school convention matters that much to her actually)

- Anyway they take a well deserved break!! (And get therapy hopefully) So by the time they get to college they are in a much better place mentally <3

- With the accomodations from NRU for his learning disabilities Percy actually ends up doing really well and gets better grades than Annabeth! I am a believer of "Percy is smart it's just that he wasn't properly accommodated and also lacked interest in certain subjects" and "Annabeth is naturally gifted and never learnt to study because she coasts through school and wings her tests" (they're both just like me fr)

- Percy ends up picking Marine Biology as a major because he's not actually sure what he wants to study (he's never gotten the chance to think about what he wanted for his future because of the great prophecy) and thinks that "hey even if it's cliche it'll be easier for me"

Cuz like I understand the excitement of finally going to a school that accomodates you and having hope that you'll get an actual chance to succeed. But also school is still hard and Percy probably just wants to get through it too sjsjsjdj. So he doesn't think too hard on it and goes with the perceived most obvious and easiest option. (Also an option he's most likely to show interest in)

Okay! Rubs hands. From here I start talking about my marine rehabilitation center Percy hcs :) (this hc is heavily inspired by this post! I really looked at it a few years ago and never stopped thinking about it lmao)

- Something something Percy is canonically the kid who used to sneak out at night to help free sea creatures in fishing nets and is best friends with Grover "lord of the wild" Underwood and Rachel "activist" Dare. That boy is an environmentalist.

- He ends up finding genuine passion in ocean conservation and gets a degree in environmental conservation along with marine biology

- A while after graduating, he sets up a marine rehabilitation/conservation center of sorts

- Annabeth, who probably makes it big as an architect pretty soon (at least in the half-blood community) designed the building, Rachel helps to fund the whole thing. Grover, who goes around doing conservation work and setting up sanctuaries to help preserve the wild helps a ton with setting up too

- The center helps out both mythical and regular sea creatures. It also acts as a demigod safe house (something something Hazel + the Hecate kids help to set up wards to keep monsters out and also to shroud the mythical aspects of the place with the Mist)

- I dunno if the staff will be only consisting of people in the know or if there are mortals too but I feel like even though the wards at the center aren't as strong as those at the camps, the prospect of a safe working environment would be pretty enticing to demigods so a bunch of them end up interning there for a bit

- speaking of safe environment I feel like while Percabeth study in New Rome they wouldn't live there. Instead Annabeth ends up building something similar to it at CHB. But rather than a whole city, it's more of just apartments close to camp with various safe houses all over the country because I feel like they'd end up vibing in the mortal world more. (Much like this post!)

- The center holds educational field trips to encourage more people to care about the oceans. (I've been on a field trip to a marine rehabilitation center before, I think it'd be something like that but with a bigger, more advanced facility)

- I actually like the hc of Percy becoming an educator to help kids like him and also go full circle with the whole "why would anyone want to be a teacher for all time" thing with Chiron in TLT. But rather than become a teacher he ends up being an educator and advocator for environmental conservation. Might be invited to be a guest speaker at schools from time to time.

- Oh also he's still a teacher in that Percy teaches swordfighting and canoeing at camp send tweet

[pjohoo-reclists]

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson Fic Recs

A list of fics where Percy and Sally's relationship is centric in the story. Enjoy!

Words of Affirmation by punkfistfights

G | 900 words | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson & Grover Underwood, Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase

Past/Implied Child Abuse, Fluff, Words of Affirmation

“Actions don’t always speak louder than words.” How the three people closest to Percy made sure he knew they loved him.

A Mother's Hope by IzzyMRDB 

T | 1.2k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson

AU - Canon Divergence, BAMF Sally Jackson, Fix-it of Sorts

Sally Jackson doesn't pray that her plan works, no, that'll catch Their attention, but she does hope. Hope that her son is safe. After all, she is doing all of this for her son. For Percy.

Home for the Holidays by hopecanbeyoursword

G | 1.2k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis

Christmas Fluff, Family Feels, Future Fic, Sally Jackson is a Good Parent

It's been ten years since Percy was thrown into the demigod world, and he's content in spending it with his family, thankful he's going to have a happy ending.

Home, alive -That's all matters. by TheSkyAtMidnight

T | 1.3k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson & Paul Blofis

Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Sally and Paul are good parents

A 'Percy comes home to Sally after the Giant War' fic.

Half-Blood of the Eldest Gods by wearethewitches

T | 1.7k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Sally Jackson/Poseidon, Sally Jackson/Hades, Sally Jackson/Zeus

Crack treated seriously, Parent-Child Relationship, Sally Jackson is a Good Parent

A Mamma Mia! AU, where Sally got busy back in the era of her son's conception. aka, the how (they're gods), who (the gods) and why (heartbreak) Percy Jackson has three fathers.

Imprisonment by DancingInTheSliverGlow 

T | 1.9k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson & Poseidon, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson

Domestic Fluff, Post Tartarus, Angst with a Happy Ending

After the Giant War, Percy's life is looking up. His relationship with Annabeth is strong as ever. Poseidon regularly invites him down to Atlantis to spend time with him and Tyson. The greek and roman have resolved most of their issues. Grover is starting his life's calling as Lord of the Wild. Paul helps Percy get his drivers license, and Percy helps his mom paint a room for his soon to be little sister. Everything is perfect. That is, until someone abducts Percy.

(i) missed call by achievingelysium

T | 2.5k | Complete

Sally Jackson & Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis

Canon Compliant, Post The Heroes of Olympus, Hurt/Comfort, Family

From a dead letter lost in the mail, addressed to PERCY JACKSON, sent by SALLY JACKSON: Dear Percy, Please come home— After Sally Jackson’s son disappears, messages begin to appear.

Baby Blofis College Fund by zipadeea

T | 2.9k | Complete

Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Sally Jackson & Poseidon

Fluff and Humor, Family Feels, Pregnancy

Valerie calls her an hour later. “Sally, what the hell?” “That bad, huh?” “Bad? Sally, it’s gold. I went from squirming in my seat to crying genuine tears. And that twist, making him a Greek god, it’s exactly what we’re looking for right now. How soon can you get me the next chapter?” *** In which Sally Jackson realizes by the time the new baby is eighteen, a semester of college will cost an arm and a leg. And those Fifty Shades of Grey books sure did make a lot of money.

agape by livingonthestars

T | 3.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson

Child Percy Jackson, Sally Jackson is a Good Parent, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

Percy nods amiably, then he takes another bite of the sandwich, and while he munches he says, “Oh, and I also met some weird guy back at the park. He was alright I guess, but he kept calling me Poseidon as if that was my name.” Sally chokes on absolutely nothing immediately, because what?

this home is home, and all that i need by rabbit_soup

G | 3.2k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson & Paul Blofis

Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending

The only real difference in this hallway, in this building, is Percy. He’s taller than the door’s peephole now, when he used to have to jump up on his toes to see through it. It’s small. It’s so small. It’s such a pointless detail, but Percy knows he doesn’t belong anymore. ___ AKA: Percy goes home.

Some Parts of Life by orphan account

T | 3.2k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Sally Jackson & Poseidon, Sally Jackson & Paul Blofis

Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Sally Jackson is a Good Parent, Poseidon is a Good Parent, Post-Tartarus

Percy's finally returned home to Sally but the ghosts and memories of Tartarus and the war still haunt him.

Achilles Come Down by joverton707

T | 3.5k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Percy Jackson Needs a Hug, Sally Jackson is a Good Parent, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

After Percy’s mental breakdown that leads to him having a cry for help, Percy and Sally have a much needed talk about their past trauma with Gabe and how secrets they kept from each other has lead them with a crack in their relationship.

a word that sometimes you cannot say by Lleavingwonderland 

T | 4.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Fix it

"He wants to have words that make this all ok. He wants to be able to tell her with a clear conscience that he was saving the world, out on hero business. That somehow it was worth it. But it wasn’t. He had been carrying the burden of the world since he was twelve years old. He was tired. And he was hurt. It’s not ok. “Mom…” He runs a calloused hand over the tears on his cheek, and into his unruly hair. “Can you come get me? I want…I’m ready to come home.”" or the Percy & Sally reunion that we were so cruelly denied at the end of HoO Part 1 of a word that sometimes you cannot say

my love isn't lost; it's all i got by Lleavingwonderland

T | 4.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Sally Jackson & Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson

Sally's POV, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort

""And so Sally’s heart, already wrung out with ache for Percy, made more room to ache for Annabeth. She was also acutely aware that Annabeth didn’t have a mother to ache for her and smooth her hair while she rode out a panic attack. “Annabeth,” Sally said, extending her arms for Annabeth to walk into, which she did. Sally pulled her close, cradling her shoulder and her head and said to her quietly, “Thank you for bringing him home.” “I said I would,” Annabeth whispered back."" or Sally reflects on Annabeth and Percy now that they're both home safe. Part 3 of a word that sometimes you cannot say

A Good Run Of Bad Luck by furnaceglow

G | 4.7k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Sally Jackson & Apollo

baby Jackson, Sally and Apollo: the brotp you didn't know you needed

Contrary to popular belief: the gods have been immeasurably kind to Sally Jackson.

Que Sera, Sera by lesbabeths (nixy_stix)

G | 5.3k | Complete

Sally Jackson & Percy Jackson

mentions of abuse, parenting, childhood, reunion, motherhood

He's a foot taller than her now, but he'll always be her baby.

Awake, Awake, You Children Bold by mrthology

T | 10k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson

Family Feels, Mother-Son Relationship, Single Parents, Hurt Percy Jackson

Sally smiled up at Poseidon, meeting his eyes, sea-green shot through with gold. She wondered if their son would inherit the same otherworldly gaze. "If my life is going to mean anything, I have to live it myself," she insisted. "Trust me." "I do," he whispered. Then, "I must leave you," he continued, putting one hand on her stomach. "Take care." Sally closed her eyes, unwilling to watch her lover disappear for what she knew would be the last time. "You and me, kid," she murmured. "We can do this." — Or, Sally and Percy throughout the years, for better or for worse.

Percy Jackson, son of Sally Jackson by IzzyMRDB 

T | 19k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson

BAMF Sally Jackson, AU - Canon Divergence, Book 4: The Battle of the Labyrinth

But we needed the help of a clear-sighted mortal to lead us through the Labyrinth and there’s nobody else we knew of that would agree to. Other than my mom - Sally Jackson.

Green Stick by tooyoungtobesostressed

T | 30k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson

Child Abuse, Sally Jackson is a Good Parent, Protective Sally Jackson

Sally Jackson learned how to do makeup to protect her son. Little does she know, he is learning to do the same thing for her.

Rhyme, Don't Repeat by InquiringMinds

G | 52k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson & Medusa, Sally Jackson & Medusa

Parental Bonding, Time Travel, Sibling Bonding

Percy is suddenly 12 again, and with all of the lessons learned in the years he's suddenly lost he decides to make a better world, earlier and hopefully with fewer challenges and immortal demands. Featuring parental bonding, actual childhoods instead of training for your life, and monsters that really aren't that bad, just misunderstood. Also a cross country road trip!

Just Add Water by seasunwrites

T | 58k+ | Ongoing as of 11/9/21

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Sally Jackson/Poseidon, Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Camp Half Blood, AU - Canon Divergence, Powerful Percy Jackson

“Don’t you feel it, Sal?” he said, pulling her closer. She looked up at him and met his eyes. “What?” “The sea,” Poseidon explained. “It rises with the moon. Over and over. One of the only sureties in this world. Over and over, the tide will rise.” Sally gave him a funny look. “Well, of course I know about the tides and that it’s a full moon—” “Yes, but do you feel it?” . It's strange, how you add a bit of water and suddenly...Percy isn't human anymore.

The Blue Food Project by liketolaugh

T | 83k+ | Ongoing as of 21/8/23

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Sally Jackson/Froggy Nelson (Daredevil TV), Percy Jackson & Foggy Nelson, Avengers Team & Percy Jackson

Percy Jackson Needs a Hug, Abused Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson is a Mama's boy, Second Titan War

Foggy meets Sally in a grocery store, sees the three bottles of food coloring in her cart, and listens to her talk about how much her son loves it for about ten minutes before he decides he's in love. About four months later, Natasha drops by the Jacksons' apartment to take her first close look at the child that heralds the realization of the Great Prophecy. He looks small, for the end of the world.

[aknosde]

to preserve the heart

// Grover Underwood & Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase // Grover Underwood & Sally Jackson // Grief and Mourning // Implied/Referenced Character Death (but as we all know he wasn’t dead) // The Hobbit References // Hurt/Comfort // happy ending i promise! // 12.5k

ao3

—————

November.

The late-autumn sun has long since set and the birds have long since fled back to their nests when the green analog clock of the microwave flashes bright throughout the kitchen, releasing a canned and screechy beep.

It’s far too old, like much of the “modern” technology of the Big House, probably edging up on thirty years old. Grover manages to get to it before it can let out another ungodly squeak and wake up Chiron, who would undoubtedly have questions as to why Grover is reheating Sally Jackson’s vegetarian enchiladas at two in the morning. Considering he’s Lord of the Wild, he wouldn’t be under any obligation to tell Chiron, but ten years of working for the man has made Grover susceptible to things like his no-bullshit stare and crossed arms.

Grover quickly transports the glass tupperware from the microwave to the polished concrete surface of the kitchen island, grabbing a fork and sitting down.

The Big House is silent around him; Chiron, Argus, and Dionysus are fast asleep at the dead of night, and the guest rooms and house infirmary lie empty. He can hear occasional wing beats from the Harpies, easing through their nightly patrols, and out the kitchen window the strawberry fields stretch out into the night. The only light comes from the moon and the occasional torches placed along the pathways, the bright yellow-white glow of the kitchen lights an outlier. For once in his life Grover’s glad to be awake at this hour; no battle or injury or nightmare to shock him into his body, just the dark peace that comes after war and the landscape extending far beyond him.

He takes a bite of the enchiladas—the Jackson family recipe, passed down generation after generation, which Grover swears one day he will get his hands on—and picks up his pen, staring at the blank sheet of his notebook in front of him.

His mind slips.

He can feel it. Water and oil, his thoughts and emotions bead against each other as if they are some child’s homemade lava lamp, shaken, taking over his vision. They dance, they swing, swirl and swish. And then they separate.

It’s painful.  

Grover grapples at the kitchen counter, like he could recongeal his brain if he could just hold it hard enough, and then it’s all falling out of his grasp—water and oil are natural repellents, he knows—and away. Grover is left gasping for breath, Sally’s enchiladas on the floor, broken glass scattered on the island, and his hand bleeding.

A minute later, clutching his bleeding hand under the faucet of the kitchen sink, Grover realizes that the presence in the back of his mind that had been sleeping calmly has disappeared. He paws at it, mentally; gropes for the impression of the calmness and warmth of sleep and something that has always felt in his brain like the smell of freshly ground cinnamon mingling with petrichor—but there is only something blank, something white, something missing.

Percy.  

He can’t feel Percy.

He sinks to the kitchen floor.

December.

The end of December comes more swiftly and painfully than anyone could have imagined, with great sheets of wind and biting skies of snow.

The lashing cold turns Grover’s face numb as he stands outside of JFK arrivals, eager to return to the protection of the camp van. He rubs warmth into his hands before adjusting the cowboy hat concealing his horns. Juniper has admitted to finding this disguise both endearing and amusing, but remembering how Percy had broken into laughter upon seeing it for the first time sets something bittersweet on Grover’s tongue. He shoves his hands in his armpits while he waits.

It truly is deathly out. Hurricanes and earthquakes have been skirting the East Coast for the past month, but now they are growing closer inland. Grover has half a mind to whistle a tune, something to make the wind let up around him at least, but mere seconds after giving in it turns the snow into a wintery mix of hail and rain that ripples out around him, remarked on by the sighs of everyone else waiting outside of baggage claim. Grover is just lowering the brim of his hat—a mite sheepishly, not that anyone would be able to identify him as the cause of the weather change—when Annabeth passes through the sliding doors, duffle bag slung over her shoulder.

She looks as poorly as he suspects he does, despite the fact he’s stood out in the terrible weather for the past ten minutes and she hasn’t. Her hair is limp in its ponytail, just visible under the beanie she is wearing so low that Grover wouldn’t be surprised if someone suspected her for attempted shoplifting the moment she stepped into a bodega. There’s a sag to her mouth and bags under her eyes; he wonders for a moment if she told her family what’s going on, if they would treat her better or worse because of it.

It only takes a second for her to spot him and walk over, and he untucks his hands from the warmth of his armpits and hugs her. The water resistant material of her puffer coat crinkles as he pulls her off her feet, if only for a moment, and he’s rewarded by her exhale of a laugh as he sets her back on the ground. She holds onto him so tightly that he feels his back crack in two places.

“Oh my gods, that felt amazing,” he tells her as they release, stretching his arms over his head to loosen the rest of his back.

Everything feels normal for a moment; Annabeth smiles, says, “Just doing my job as your chiropractor,” and adjusts her bag on her shoulder. The rain doesn’t seem to be bothering her, collecting like mist on her face and eyelashes, but then a message comes in on her watch and she looks at her wrist, her face falling.

“Something going on at home?” he ventures, maybe a little desperate; she hasn’t mentioned even her father in weeks. It’s to no avail. Annabeth shakes her head at her watch and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Grover nods, more to himself than her, and nudges her shoulder with his own.

“Let’s get outta here.”

—————

The drive is slow—the traffic in and out of JFK is always congested, but everything is worse in the holiday rush—and quiet. He’s cold in his sweatpants and fake sneakers. The van, like his windbreaker, may keep the elements at bay, but neither does much to ward off the chill in the air. Annabeth falls asleep in her puffy orange coat—it’s an old one of his; she must have stolen it ages ago and waited until she thought he’d forgotten about it. One of her hands secures her bag on her lap and the other holds her phone face down on top of it.

At the red lights he examines her profile. The crease in her brow has disappeared in her sleep. The shadows under her eyes are less apparent in the lighting of the car, faint enough to make him think they were dramatized under the fluorescents of the arrivals overhang. They are such small victories Grover thinks that together they barely count as one, but he holds onto them anyway.

Once they make their way past the clog of cabs headed towards Times Square, the drive to East Harlem returns to a level of traffic that, for New York, might even be considered light. Tourists are congregating in Midtown and most locals have already departed for their parties or shut themselves inside with their families. Grover parks, wheels surely half buried in slush, and leans back in his seat, wanting to let Annabeth sleep for a bit longer. Gods know they all needed the rest.

Last year around this time had been terrible too.

Percy’s always miserable around Hanukkah for reasons he’s never decided to share, but last year he had been withdrawn since the end of Annabeth’s quest, and it had only gotten worse around December. He always seemed to be sleeping when Grover called, holed up in his room and under the covers, or getting ready to head out on a mission with a steel in his eyes that Grover had never thought he’d see—never wanted to see. Speaking with Annabeth during those months was equally troubling. She’s always been a hardass—and it’s not like that has to be a bad thing, but she was so desperate to pretend she was fine living with her dad and that the distance between her and Percy wasn’t bothering her that she made everyone else’s business her own.

Now, with Percy gone and Annabeth hanging on by a thread, he’d rather it be last year.

Grover checks the dashboard clock—it’s just after eight, but the sun sets so early in the winter it could be anywhere from six to ten and he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference—and kills the engine.

He tugs on her bag lightly until she stirs instinctively, tightening her grip on her bag, and then says, “C’mon, A,” until she gets the idea and gets out of the car, following him sleepily into the Jackson’s building. It’s a tall apartment complex—though maybe not that tall for New York standards—with a perpetually broken elevator and low pile carpet down the hallways that doesn’t look like it’s been cleaned since it was installed. According to Percy, it’s the nicest place he’s ever lived. According to Grover, Percy needs to live someplace else. He doesn’t dwell on the places Percy might have lived before this.

Paul opens the door, looking, as always, more like a college professor than a high school English teacher, and is almost immediately run over by Miss Jackson who exclaims, “Annabeth!” and wraps the girl in question in a large hug. Grover, who received this treatment when he stopped by before picking up Annabeth, sets their bags down by the door and lets Paul pull him into small talk about the traffic.  

The apartment has managed to transform in the two hours it’s taken him to pick up Annabeth. All of the throw blankets and pillows on the couch have been folded and fluffed, the dining room table has been cleared of work materials, the overhead has been dimmed, and best of all, the lid of the pot that has been bubbling on the stove all day has been removed. Grover knows he won’t be able to eat it, Sally had apologized for the meat, but the aroma of the spices is nearly intoxicating, spilling out of the open kitchen. There’s simmering dried New Mexican chiles and bay leaves and orégano cimarrón and the whole space smells wonderful. He stands over the pot, next to Sally, in the kitchen, hoping for it to become embedded in his clothing.

All in all, it’s a nice night. He and Annabeth set the table, and although the job is a lot quieter without Percy they manage to get a few jokes out of each other. Paul brings plates and the handmade tortillas from Mrs. Cardenas that Percy raves about out of the kitchen. He asks Annabeth about her classes, and soon enough they fall down a rabbit hole of classic literature and English essays and symbolism that Grover hasn’t had to deal with in years. When Sally sits down they eat, and she asks about working as Lord of the Wild. None of them talk about Percy.

A part of Grover wonders, as he washes the dishes in silence with Annabeth, if the rest of his life will be like this. If he and Annabeth will trek to Manhattan a few holidays every year and sit at the Jackson’s table, if they’ll eat food and talk about their lives and pretend that the person who brought them together never existed at all. That’s not what they’re doing, he tells himself, but it feels like it.

Annabeth is optimistic, or at least pretending to be. She pushes on and on: flies from California to New York and back again, coordinates search parties and interrogates campers. Nowadays—and he hates that, hates that enough time has passed for him to even think it—it looks a lot like she’s running in place. It’s not that Grover isn’t sympathetic to her cause. It’s not even that he has no hope. It’s just that Grover knows how things like these go. There is a reason the first 24 hours are most integral in a missing persons’ case: that’s when three-fourths of people are found. Percy has been missing for a month, today. Grover may have full confidence in his abilities, but the world is a cruel place, especially to a demigod child of the Big Three.

It’s defeatist of him, he knows, but after a month he feels ready to say, emphatically, screw everyone else. Grover wakes up everyday, and not only does he know that his best friend is missing, but he feels it. He feels Percy’s absence in the back of his mind. Like a part of himself is missing, like Percy took some of his brain with him, like he’s been left unable to complete neurological functions because his best friend is gone and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Hey,” Annabeth says sternly.

She points to the planter box sitting on the windowsill above the dishrack, where Sally’s basil is thrashing from side to side like it wants to uproot itself. He tries humming a tune to get the plants to settle, but nature magic is as perceptive as it is temperamental; it knows when he’s lying. Grover steps back and grips the edge of the counter, takes deep breaths as he watches his knuckles white out, and tries with all his might to calm down.

“You got it,” Annabeth says after a minute.

When he looks back up the basil has stilled, but it’s begun to wilt too. He fills a glass, blesses it, and waters the box, watching the plants straighten—the only work around his emotions he knows.

“I’mma use the bathroom,” he tells Annabeth, and then he hightails it out of the kitchen.

The Jackson-Blofis bathroom is small, just a shower, toilet, and sink crammed into nine square feet, but at the very least it shocks Grover back to his senses and secures him some privacy. It smells like Percy in here—his shampoo and conditioner and curl cream; Grover swears he could map out his wash day by smell alone. He’s bought identical neon blue toothbrushes since they were twelve and even now one stands in the cup on the counter. Grover stares at it and it stares back at him, saying, pull yourself together, dude. Percy would never say something like that to Grover—not at a time like this—but what does Percy know, he’s not here. Grover has to go out to the living room in the next thirty seconds so no one thinks he’s taking a massive shit and spend another twelve hours in the Jackson-Blofis apartment without unintentionally killing every plant in the place.

Grover takes a deep breath, resists breaking the mirror with his fist—he’s not one for senseless acts of violence, not to mention he doesn’t know how to throw a punch—, and opens the door.

—————

The Jacksons have two couches: one that Sally’s had as long as Grover’s known her, and another from Paul. Sally’s is small, more of a loveseat, and sits near directly across from the bathroom. Annabeth is staring at him when he exits, sitting on it in Percy’s normal spot. Grover sits down next to her, almost awkwardly perpendicular to Sally and Paul on the larger couch, and Annabeth doesn’t say a thing—as is the theme of the evening

He leans back and imagines Percy is sitting on his other side. The three of them always sit here when they’re over. It’s never much of a conscious decision. Watching TV or playing video games or listening to music without anyone else home, or at least in the living room, they tend to spread across all available surfaces. Annabeth takes the loveseat and Percy takes the couch and Grover takes the rug and they shift within and between their domains for hours, taking turns bullying each other into getting snacks or drinks or the remote to adjust the volume. When Sally and Paul come home, though, and sit on the couch as they are now, the three of them cram into the loveseat. Annabeth takes the right and Percy takes the left and Grover sits in the middle. Seated there, between his two best friends, is perhaps the safest Grover ever feels.

Now, with Annabeth on his left instead of Percy and no one to his right, he feels laid bare.

Grover moves himself to the right arm, just for the feeling of something against his side, and stretches his legs out to meet Annabeth’s near the middle. Filling up space—that’s all any of them have been trying to do all night. Even Percy’s bedroom door, known for always being open two inches, whether per Miss Jackson’s teasing insinuations regarding Percy and Annabeth or because Percy likes light slitting through the crack and into his room while he sleeps, is closed tight. Like the apartment will feel complete if they cannot see the gaps left by Percy.

The gaps are still there, they’re still apparent, Grover wants to scream; he wants to fill this terrible silence left in Percy’s place, the way Sally and Paul speak to each other in whispers and the way Annabeth says hardly anything at all.

He gets up, jerkily, and feeling Annabeth’s eyes on him he picks the first record within reach and turns on the record player before he can think about it too much.

It begins with background chatter, men talking, greeting each other, and they sound so close, both in proximity to Grover and in relation to each other, that Grover instantly feels like one of the holes in the room has been filled with warmth. There’s a saxophone a second later, a winding string of notes like a river of sunlight, and he stops, hands hovering over the record player in reverence, the name of the song on the tip of his tongue. It’s so familiar.

When the singing begins, less than a moment later, Grover still wracking his brain for the song, the artist, he notices that behind him Sally and Paul have gone silent. He wonders if it’s the opening line: mother, mother. He turns around to… he doesn’t know what exactly, but he finds Sally with tears in her eyes.

“I can turn it off,” he says, lightning quick, already twisting around to lift the needle.

But Sally chokes out, “No,” before he gets the chance to. “This is— He got it for me on vinyl last year.

“I raised him off this album, it’s a… shared favorite,” she adds softly, says, “Marvin Gaye,” like the man can return Percy to her kitchen, dancing with her in the galleyway while they make dinner together. Grover can see the memory in her eyes as well as his own, imagines pots bubbling on the stove and spices filling the air and Sally and Percy dancing between the sink and the small breakfast bar with Grover sitting on its other side, head propped on his hands, wondering if he and his mother would have ever danced like that, like no one was watching.

He smiles at her, and it feels real, if weak. Grover lets himself find the beat of the music—they must be at least half way through the song by now, but it’s slow and relaxing and comforting and the rhythm is easy to find, first with his head and then with his feet. He must look odd, dancing by himself in the Jackson living room with Annabeth, Sally and Paul all watching him, but he lets himself relax into it. The next song starts, but the instrumentals are similar. He sways and spins, once, twice, and at the end of the third twirl he offers his hand out to Sally.

She only pauses a moment before letting him tug her to her feet.

“I’m just getting back, but you knew I would,” he sings along, and she laughs to herself before joining in.

He remembers this album now. He remembers What’s Going On playing at Sally and Paul’s wedding, he remembers this record sounding through Percy’s last apartment when he would come over, he remembers Marvin Gaye’s voice filtering through his own uncle’s ancient radio in their little house when Grover was small.

By the next song Paul and Annabeth have begun to dance, too; something slow and waltz-inspired. Grover guides Sally into a leisurely spin—he’s taller than her now, by a few inches, and she passes beneath his arm easily—and then lets her trade off with Annabeth and join her husband.

He and Annabeth fall into step with each other easily. There was a ballroom dancing class at Camp when they were younger, he recalls, and apparently they both remember the steps. Today, when all he’s thought back to are the things that are gone and the things that have changed and the things that may never return, it is a sweet memory. Annabeth leads him around Paul and Sally in the center of the room.

“I love you, Grover,” she says when they circle back around to the record player.

“I love you too, A,” he says.

—————

During the next song, Sally begins to cry. Grover doesn’t look, only listens to her small gasps and feels Annabeth’s arms tighten on him, letting him take the lead.

“I miss him,” Annabeth says, for the first time.

So, for the first time, he says, “I miss him, too.”

April.

The text comes in on a Wednesday, right in the middle of a meeting of the Council of Cloven Elders.

Grover shifts in his seat, feeling the small bulk of his phone in his pocket brush against the twisted branches of his chair. Against the hard wood, the vibration is audible, and Leneus shoots him a dirty look, daring him to pull his phone out during council. Grover doesn’t, of course, he’s more polite than Leneus has ever been, but he does anxiously twirl his finger in his fur until the meeting is over. As soon as Maron bangs his gavel and closes the session Grover jumps out of his seat and takes off through the forest.

Grover’s phone is a green flip phone, a burner that Percy had scrounged up the cash to buy and gift to Grover after Grover’s disappearance preceding the Battle of Manhattan. At nine months old, it’s bangged up around the edges from a skateboarding accident, covered in stickers, and has his initials carved in the back courtesy of a bored Annabeth and a key.

He pulls it out of one of the several pockets of his utility vest, walnuts falling out with it, and rubs the cactus sticker subconsciously. Phones make him… anxious. It’s not so much the monster-tracking ability, because ultimately there is little risk for him in that respect, especially since Leo has taken it upon himself to disprove the theory, but he was very explicitly given the phone in case of future emergencies. Perhaps that’s why Percy took the time to cover it in stickers and send goodmorning texts and call him once a week, but all of that does nothing to distract from the fact that it hasn’t given him a modicum of good news in the past five months.

The message is from Sally, and it simply says: I’m going to start packing on Saturday.

The pixelated type swims, though he isn’t crying, and after seconds-minutes-hours looking at it he snaps his phone shut so hard it pinches his fingers. He picks up his dropped walnuts, shoves them all in his mouth, and goes to find Annabeth; they need to talk before he decides anything.  

—————

She’s sitting with Conner at the top of a hill.

Their belongings are spread out in the tall grass, a towel that neither of them are sitting on and packages of junk food and Annabeth’s dagger and phone, face down. Annabeth isn’t smiling, knees curled beneath her chin and hair falling out of its bun, but Connor is, throwing gummies in the air and catching them in his mouth, and in the same way Grover isn’t happy much anymore but loves watching his friends have fun, he knows that Connor smiling is enough for now.

“Hey, man,” Connor says as Grover hikes up the side of the hill. He’s just begun to work up a sweat after running through the woods, but the cool and sunny late April air feels good against his fur and skin, especially up here where it’s undisturbed.

Annabeth twists around and says, “Oh, hi.”

“Hi.”

They all go quiet for a minute—Grover doesn’t want to sit down, and he’s waiting for Annabeth to get the message and stand up, but both she and Connor seem to be waiting for him to take a seat. It’s awkward.

“A, can I talk to you a minute,” he says, shifting from hoof to hoof.

Annabeth gives him a look, equal parts aren’t we doing that right now and fine, sure, sit down, so he adds, “In private,” sparing an apologetic glance at Connor.

“I’m happy to get out of your hair if you need,” Connor says, raising his hands, “But I already know about Ms. Jackson’s text.”

“You do?” Grover asks, and shamefully it comes out half way between surprised and defensive.

Grover likes Connor. He’s always liked Connor. But he is Percy’s best friend, before nearly everything else, and although Percy and Connor are friends—in the way people are friends when there aren’t a lot of people you know and even less close to your age, in the way people are friends when half of the people you know have died—their friendship has always been complex. Strained. It’s never fully recovered from the way the Hermes cabin had shunned Percy after he was claimed. Not to mention that two years ago Grover had caught Annabeth and Connor making out in the supply closet of the arts and crafts cabin.

“He was with me when it came through,” Annabeth says softly, turning away from Grover and resting her chin on her knees.

“This was my distraction,” Connor says, spreading his arms out to gesture to the bags of junk food and card decks and other small toys. Grover spots a yoyo lying in the grass. “But if you need to talk I can pack up.”

“No, no,” Grover says after a moment, not wanting to take away whatever reprieve Annabeth has found in Connor’s company. He sits down between the two of them, forming a small isosceles triangle, and feels the air around them relax a bit. It doesn’t stay that way.

“So–” he starts, looking toward Annabeth.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snaps.

“Yeah,” Grover says, pausing. She never wants to talk about anything related to Percy except her efforts to find him; the four months since New Year’s hasn’t changed that. This is something they need to talk about, though. If they don’t, if she doesn’t come to terms with the fact that Percy’s things are going to be packed up, whether she wants to be a part of that or not, she will regret not addressing it.

“Too bad,” he says. Annabeth looks up at him, shocked.

Her gaze hardens a moment later. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Standing up for himself still feels new, even now, but it also makes him feel strong. He understands how tired and angry and sad Annabeth is, but he’s not going to be her pushover. He’s feeling all of that too. They’re both grieving.

“Leave me alone, Grover.”

“No. I appreciate the fact that you don’t want to talk about it. I appreciate the fact that you don’t want to think about it. I appreciate the fact that you would rather sit out here and distract yourself. You don’t deserve to have to always live in your sadness, I want you to be happy, but ignoring this isn’t going to make you happy.”

“She shouldn’t be getting rid of him!” Annabeth shouts, unbidden.

Grover doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s not getting rid of Percy! You know she’d never want to get ‘rid of’ her son! We’ve known from the day he went missing that he might never be coming back. We’ve known. And we’ve known that at some point we’d have to do something about it. Sally’s taking a step, Annabeth. A single step. It’s been five months! We’ve been working off of a stranger’s feeling for four and a half!”

“Percy’s alive!”

“He might be,” Grover says. “But he also might be… he might be dead.”

The silence that overtakes the hilltop is jarring, all consuming. Grover cannot hear the wind through the grass, the birds chirping in the trees, the sound of his own breathing. Just blood rushing in his ears; grief and terror.

“Fuck you,” Annabeth spits, tears brimming along her waterline. Still, Grover doesn’t regret saying it.

“His room’s being packed up Saturday,” Grover says with a calmness that he’s too numb to feel. “I’m not making you go. If you don’t, though, it has to be your choice. You can’t force it out of your mind until it’s too late.”

Grover stands up, brushes dirt and grass off his fur, and grabs a bag of mini oreos. “Do you mind if I–?”

“Knock yourself out, man,” Connor says. He’s leaning back on one hand, shuffling a deck of cards with his other. Grover appreciates that he sat back through his and Annabeth’s spat.

“Thanks.”

“I’m not going,” Annabeth says, voice still sharp in a way that seems to fit right between Grover’s ribs. She never used to cut him this deeply; it’s a change that stings.

“Fine,” Grover shoots back. “I’m not saving anything for you.”

May.

The echo of packing tape being pulled off of its roll once again breaches the idle conversation he and Sally have been maintaining for the past few hours.

It was nothing important and mostly stilted; partial references to Thalia or Nico or Annabeth, small anecdotes about their jobs, mentions of grocery shopping—but Grover still mourns it. He hates the silence that comes each time a box is sealed, the minutes that tick away as a new one is unfolded.

Grover tears the tape with his teeth, leaving a sliver of it on his tongue that no amount of spitting or scraping of his teeth dislodges. He takes the strip of tape, closes the box, and picks the sliver off with his fingers. Adhesive tastes disgusting, not to mention it’s made out of hooves. That has to be some type of cannibalism, right?

Pale sunlight filters through Percy’s open window, now bare of its blinds. The breeze makes appearances every now and then, brushing against his back and ruffling the neck of his shirt. The first time it happened he had spun around and stuck his foot out to trip Percy. The second time it happened it felt like a ghost.

“Thanks for doing this,” Sally says after he’s broken out a new box, like she’s said after every new box.

He moves over to Percy’s bookcase. It’s a small thing, barely three feet tall and only slightly wider. The scuffs and stains along the wood suggest both that he’s had it for ages and that he’d gotten it at least second hand. It’s surprisingly packed.

“It’s no problem, really,” he says after far too long, and then he takes a seat and begins.

The first shelf is a smattering of titles, more than half unrecognizable to Grover. Some are hardcover and some are paperback, but all are well worn and well used. He skims his fingers back and forth down the line of spines like roulette, stops on one whose title has been completely worn off, and pulls it off the shelf.

The Hobbit. A copy not much larger than his hand, despite its thickness, with its spine almost completely worn away. Grover turns it around slowly, discovering that nearly a third of the pages have been dogeared; it sparks such a curiosity that he can feel it like a physical pain in his chest, one that cracks open and spills out as he opens the book to find leagues of notes. Spanish, Latin, English, Greek. Percy has filled the margins with pencil and ballpoint and gel pen, crammed symbols between paragraphs, gone over words in bleeding highlighter.

Grover reads one of the quotes Percy has picked out, near the end—

There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.

—skips back to the margins for Percy’s thoughts, a sentence done in mixed Greek and English.

He shuts the book before Sally can catch him pouring over it and throws it down next to the box, not in it. Just this one, one last thing to keep private; to tuck away without anyone knowing; something for just him and Percy.  

The rest of the shelf hasn’t received quite the same attention from Percy, though Grover does find a few more books with dog-eared pages and the odd underlined quote. Many of them are more classic literature, the types of books Percy always complained about reading in school; there’s The Great Gatsby, and Fahrenheit 451, and The Outsiders. He sees Sherlock Holmes, and The Secret Garden, and A Wrinkle in Time. It’s more than a little surreal to see just how much Percy read; all of the books he forced his way through because despite his hatred of reading he loved the story. Grover writes a few of the titles down on his arms as he makes his way through the first shelf.

The second clearly hadn't received as much love. The books are old, second hand, but their pages are stiff like they weren’t opened often. A second copy of The Hobbit shows up, a hardcover with a gilded title, and he sets that to the side too, not quite sure what to do with it.

The bottom shelf is composed of peeling paperbacks with other people’s names on the inside covers. Nearly all of them have stickers on the back labeling them as being markdowns or on sale, and quite a few bear stickers from school libraries that Grover can just barely recall Percy mentioning. The last book left in the case is shoved to the back corner, and Grover can’t tell if it’s on purpose or if it was pushed back by the crowd. He crouches down, snatching the cover that almost melts into the wood, and then, by chance, flips it over.

On the back, in sharpie, Percy has written, The Fucking End.

Grover hurriedly flips to the last line of the last page, exacerbating a tear it seems Percy had deliberately started on the back cover, and starts laughing to himself.

Percy isn’t one for sad endings. Grover can recall tirades on assigned novels for English, lectures on short stories, even rants on movies stretching from The Little Mermaid to Parasite. And then, like a switch, Grover’s stomach falls. Percy wasn’t one for sad endings.

There’s that keyword, that turn of phrase.

He tosses the book in the box and seals it.

“Thanks for doing this, again,” Sally says, and they start all over.

Grover used to cry a lot, as a kid. He cried when his mom left, and when his dad died, and years later when his uncle followed suit. To be a Satyr was to live with death, Leneus said in those early days after his father died, before his uncle took him in. The greatest honor was to be sent to find Pan, and the knowledge of the one hundred percent mortality rate was something they grew up with. It was something he was supposed to get over.  

But for all that he didn’t know his dad, he never got over it. And for all that he did know his uncle, he never got over it. And even when he was out there, a vest and backpack and him against the world, he didn’t get over it. The pain and loneliness, the trail of grief that stayed in his wake all these years, followed him just as much as his passion did. Every night he curled up and cried, alone in the woods, yearning for safety and home and comfort, ready to return to Camp and see Percy and Annabeth, he replayed one of the last conversations he and Percy had before leaving.

They’d been sitting on top of one of the hills within Camp’s borders, the one closest to the beach, scattered with tall grasses and overlooking the ocean. It’s a picture perfect scene in Grover’s memory, a cohesive color palette of pale blue and sage green and smudgy tan. He and Percy are framed, dark silhouettes against the clouded sky.

“I’m gonna miss you, man,” Percy said. Grover can’t remember the precursor to the comment; whether they had been talking before or if Percy said it unbidden, but even living the moment Percy seemed painfully genuine.  

“I’mma miss you, too,” Grover said as Percy pulled him into a hug he didn’t pull out of. It really was the last piece of comfort Grover remembers from before leaving for his search, and even two years later he can remember the feeling resting his chin on the shoulder of Percy’s pilling fleece jacket.

How long they stayed that way, he doesn’t know; he just knows he pulled away when he started to cry, wiping fiercely at his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but Percy had none of it.

“It’s alright. Don’t apologize.” And then a tacked on, “You don’t have to stop, either.”

“Wh–What?”

“You don’t gotta stop.”

“No, I know. Why? People hate watching other people cry. I hate watching other people cry.”

Percy hummed in thought, tapping his fingers on his thigh, and pulled one of Grover’s hands off of his face.

“I’ve always really admired you for crying,” he said eventually. Grover’s fidgeting stilled. “I– I can figure out what to say to people, but it doesn’t really mean I’m being open, or honest, you know? You’re a kind and genuine person, Grover, even when it doesn’t work to your advantage. I think that’s really brave.” He’d bumped Grover’s shoulder with his own, then. “If you cry it shows others you’re brave.

He hasn’t cried yet. It’s Grover’s most terrible secret, this buzz in the back of his mind that seems to be locking every opportunity for emotional catharsis away, that he can’t cry for Percy. His best friend is dead and he can’t cry, hasn’t cried. He can feel loneliness, pain, regret, anger, guilt, even nothing at all, but he can’t cry—all of the piercing sadness that has hit him with every other death, friends and family alike, will not come for his best friend. It’s absence is excruciating.

And worst of all— Worst of all, he doesn’t want it.

Grover doesn’t want the dull blade of sadness that overtook him after the deaths of his father, uncle, and the mass of campers after the Battles of Manhattan and the Labyrinth. He doesn’t want to sob uncontrollably at random intervals because the knife of Percy’s death in his gut could be pushed in further, twisted at any moment. At Percy’s disappearance he was forced on his knees into a guillotine, the blade his grief for this boy he was supposed to protect—the one kid he had succeeded with, the one kid he kept alive—capable of falling at any moment it pleases. Over and over again.

As he looks for the next thing to pack up he tells himself that he leaves the clothes for Sally, for Annabeth, because they are the ones that deserve the privilege, not him. But he’s only being selfish. Nothing big, he decides. He won’t pack away anything important, anything meaningful. Not Percy’s clothes or photos or skateboard. Nothing that can push Grover over the edge. Just this once, he thinks, I’ll be selfish.  

—————

The receipt is innocuous.

Grover's moved to the floor outside of Percy’s closet, putting shoes he’s not looking too carefully at into yet another box, and when he settles back on his heels something paper crinkles beneath him.

After Percy’s first day of sophomore year Grover had treated Percy to lunch at Shake Shack. Percy rarely went out to eat—his idea of splurging was renting a movie and getting microwave popcorn; the electric piano Sally had given him after his sixteenth birthday had nearly driven him to tears—but it was a half day, summer still strong in the city, and Percy had been glowing with the experience of returning to a school for a second year.

They skateboarded through two red lights and Percy almost got clipped by a truck. They swapped desserts and shared fries and Percy had made fun of Grover’s mushroom burger. Grover lectured Percy about how much water was spent making his singular hot dog and Percy had stuck his tongue out in rebuttal. It was fantastic.

Now, Grover traces one of the drawings Percy had scratched into the receipt.

This isn’t something that’s supposed to make him cry. Percy’s basketball sweatshirts or the ratty old earbuds Grover drew on years ago are supposed to make him cry, that’s why he’s steering clear of them. He should be sniffling over a track ribbon like Sally is. He’s here for Sally, gods dammit. He shouldn’t be crying at all, but tears stream silently down his cheeks like the release of blood from a wound and he fights to keep from sniffing his rapidly congesting nose lest Sally hear.

She looks up as he covertly tries to wipe the corners of his eyes, and something in her face changes the same instant he freezes like a deer in headlights. Goat in headlights. Whatever.

Sally doesn’t look like Percy, or at least not at first. Her skin is a tint lighter. Her hair is brown instead of black, and curlier. Her jaw is sharper. Her eyes are darker. But there’s something in her that is so distinctly Percy; the bags under her eyes like the ones Percy had when he was fifteen and counting down the days until he died; how she wipes under her nose when she’s upset; the way one side of her mouth pulls in when she’s crying.

She looks relieved that he is too.

Maybe Grover got it wrong. Maybe she needs someone to cry with her, talk with her (not about search efforts or the idea of Percy not being dead, because if they had good reason to believe in the search, believe in his life, then they wouldn’t be here right now).

Grover waves the receipt after a second, as an explanation, and makes several aborted attempts at speech before he finds something to say.

“I used to– Out of the three of us, Percy was our heart. Is our heart, I don’t know.”

He takes a breath, looking back down at the scrap of paper. Has it been sitting on Percy’s floor the whole time? Had it been crumpled and lost in a pant’s pocket? Did Percy tuck it away on his corkboard or leave it on his bookcase, only for it to fall off?

“Percy and Annabeth, they always said I was the heart. And they’re the smartest people I know, but– It’s like, there was me, and there was Annabeth, and we were friendly, you know? We had a history, at least. But then Percy came, and that? That was it.”

The receipt crinkles in his fingers, but he holds Sally’s eyes; after all this time putting his feelings aside for what he thought was the good of others, he owes someone something, and who better a person to give that to than Sally?

“He was like some special ingredient, a bonding agent. With him, everything just slotted into place. He was our soul. He took me, and Annabeth, and suddenly I was set for life.

“The three of us,” he whispers to himself, looking down at the receipt. He folds it carefully, wrinkles be damned, and tucks it into his pocket.

—————

When he’s set to leave, all of Percy’s belongings packed carefully into boxes and Grover’s key ring—including the key to the van Grover’s decided is his now, he’s working on a spell to make his own, environmentally friendly fuel—in his hand, Sally pulls him into one last hug.

“Thank you,” she says before pulling away. She keeps her hands on his shoulders, though, looking him in the eye for a moment before she drops them.

“I know Percy’s… I know he’s gone, and I know he’s the one that brought us all together, but if you want, you're welcome here anytime. Not just for Purim, okay? Whenever you like. I’ve got—” Sally fumbles in her pockets for a second, before pulling out a key. Grover’s struck speechless. “There’s one waiting for Annabeth, if she likes, but this one is for you.”

She presses the key into his palm, and Grover believes her with all of his heart.

“I know, baby,” she says, patting the side of his head, which is how he realizes he’s crying again. It should feel better, he thinks; crying should be relieving, but all it seems to do is grow the pressure on his chest until he can hardly breathe. “It’s hard, but we’ll be alright?”

He nods, tears still streaming down his cheeks, and gives Sally the brightest smile he can muster.

June.

The creek is audible through the woods as Grover leads the party through, humming a tune to ensure no roots or vines will trip them. They’re deep in capture the flag territory at this point, almost outside of it, in fact, and the sun is getting high in the sky. The moment he steps out of the tree cover it feels as if the temperature raises ten degrees.

At the base of Zeus’ Fist he finally pauses, grabbing his water bottle to take a sip for his drying throat, and Annabeth comes up to stand beside him, arms resting on the straps of her backpack. Her jaw is tight as she glances over to the Fist—Grover hasn’t been out here since Nico ran away from Camp, he bets it’s been just as long for her—and her gaze doesn’t soften as she meets Grover’s eyes.

The two of them haven’t made up since their fight—haven’t really recovered either. He came back to Camp with a sweatshirt of Percy’s, carefully folded and placed on the foot of her bed, because even though he said he wouldn’t save anything for her he couldn’t not, and the next day she sat with him at lunch. Everything seemed alright for a while, but after a week the tension between them became apparent. Not that either of them has done anything about it.

“Let’s cross the creek.”

But then again, maybe it’s not them today, maybe it’s what they’re doing.

“Alright.”

—————

Nico is the first one to step foot in the water—“crossing streams symbolizes crossing over into death, without Percy here it’s best for me to go first,”—and the current is obviously strong. The naiads have been pissy ever since Percy disappeared, and not only the ones around Camp. Any body of water connected to the ocean has been left to run rampant. Grover grabs Nico’s hand before he can be pulled away, reaching behind him so somebody can spare him the same fate. He expects Annabeth to take his hand, but it’s Clarisse who latches on.

The rest of the group locks hands eventually—Clarisse to Annabeth to Connor to Rachel to Drew—and they make their way across the stream slowly, Nico warding off any connotations of death at the front and Grover behind him, employing his handful of water magic. It’s a weak area for him: he’s definitely more of a mountain goat, and even as Lord of the Wild he’s used to spending a fair amount of time with Percy.

Half way across, when Grover’s got a hang of the whole walking thing again, he’s struck with the memory of Percy crossing this creek backwards, grinning like an idiot while Annabeth gaped and slapped Grover’s arm like a broken record—the first time they had seen Percy walk on water. When Percy reached the other side he had let himself sink and held up his hands, clearing a path in the water for Annabeth and Grover. The stones underhoof are probably even smoother now, he thinks. He doesn’t realize he’s reached the other side until Nico pulls him onto the bank.

The crossing of the creek has brought a shift in the energy of the group; already quiet, they’ve now become subdued. Connor drains water out of his hiking boot, Rachel fixes the straps of her top, Drew tightens her ponytail, and Annabeth checks her compass. Clarisse takes the sopping jacket that Nico peels off himself, wrings it out, and then drapes it over her own pack so it can dry. As they continue their trek the only sound accompanying them is the squelch of their shoes.

—————

Clarisse is the one who finds the tree.

She doesn’t announce it, simply waits for the others to notice her absence and trail back to her. She’s looking up at it, almost reverently, when Grover enters the clearing.

It’s a great thing, unmistakably old and so large that he doubts his arm span could encompass even half of its diameter. Its root system is so expansive and complex that it’s cleared at least five feet all around itself, only grasses and smaller plants popping up here and there. It’s the first spot since the creek that Grover’s been able to see the sky. Expanding his senses, following the roots down into the deep, he can feel a stream running beneath, and just like that he knows this is the place.

“Yes,” Annabeth says, as if she can sense it too.

Then the real work begins.

It’s meditative.

They might have been quiet, subdued, but an anxious sort of grief has been running through them all like electricity, feeding off itself. Now with a task at hand, it turns peaceful.

It begins with the sound of wood shavings; Annabeth and Clarise climb up the root structure to a portion of the tree’s face and begin scraping the bark off slowly, forming the shape of a heart. The breaking of sticks, the sound of a lighter catching, the crackle of flame is added as Nico starts a fire. There’s the sound of metal being unsheathed; Drew removes the iron poker Clarisse has carried from Camp from her pack and sets it in what will become embers, fiddling with the cool end. Glass clinks and wrappers crinkle as Connor and Rachel unpack food and blankets from their backpacks, setting up a picnic for their lunch with deft and mindful hands.

Grover waits a moment, lets everyone get settled, and then he fills the space with music. He begins with humming, then whistling, as not to startle anyone out of their work, but transfers to his pan pipes eventually, urging seeds to sprout and flowers to grow.

Drew nears him after a few minutes, not with a smile but with a look of understanding, and she kneels in the dirt, her white skirt and pink sweater be damned, and begins carefully picking flowers and weaving their stems in her hand. Mud starts to seep into the soles of her sneakers, sure to stain, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

Grover doesn’t know her very well, doesn’t recall speaking with her on more than a few occasions, but she had walked up to the Poseidon table at lunch a few days ago, unceremoniously dropping her tray as a way of announcing her presence to the rest of them, and said bluntly, “You’re going to bury Percy. I’m coming with you.”

Annabeth had been furious, but Nico had tilted his head, sharp but measured in the way Percy always did, and asked “Why?” It was the only question that mattered, Grover supposed. It’s what Percy would have asked.

Annabeth is still mad about it. She hasn’t spoken a word to Drew since she made her case—which Annabeth had scoffed through—and there is no doubt in Grover’s mind that if Drew hadn’t been waiting outside the Athena cabin bright and early this morning that Annabeth would have left her behind. Drew’s here now, though, and there’s nothing any of them can do about it. Grover was skeptical, but after watching Drew sit next to Nico without a hint of fear he’s beginning to think that there’s more to her than the rumors around camp.

Grover wanders away from the small patch of flowers he’s nurtured, resting at the edge of the clearing where he can see everyone else. He watches Clarisse take a step back from the tree, inspecting her work, bending back to make an adjustment, tucking a stray hair into her bandana. When she’s satisfied she descends the roots and takes a position next to Grover, arms crossed. It’s odd how much of a comfort Clarisse has become over the years. He’ll miss her when she leaves for college.

They stand in silence for a moment, watching as Rachel joins Annabeth on the roots, carving flowers around the heart with a white-knuckle grip on her knife, and then Clarisse leans over a bit and says, “She’s angry today,” like she’s sharing a secret. It’s not a secret.

“It’s a hard day.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Clarisse says, breaking the tension into something balanced. “But that’s not what I meant.” Her eyes focus on Annabeth and the way she’s frowning talking to Rachel, then to Drew, who’s glaring at the flower arrangement she’s begun. “She needs to get over herself.”

“You sound like Annabeth,” he says.

“No, not Drew. Annabeth has to get over herself.”

Grover pulls back to get a better look at Clarisse. “What?”

She sighs and crosses her arms, but it appears more out of resignation than stubborn anger, so he knows that she’s serious.

“Annabeth’s being an asshole, acting like she has more claim over Percy than the rest of us.”

“She was his girlfriend, his best friend,” Grover says without really thinking. The only person he can think of to have more claim over Percy is Sally.

“You were his best friend too,” Clarisse snaps. “Nico was practically his little brother, the way Percy’d go on about him. Drew might seem like a bitch and a rumor mill rolled in one, but I’ve spent enough time around her to know when she’s honest.

“Also,” she continues hotly, tightening her arms and glaring at Grover, “you weren’t here last year. Annabeth shut Percy down and shut Percy out, as soon as you disappeared. And you know what a shitty place he was in. She doesn’t get to bitch about the friends he made when she left him. It’s not fair, to him or Drew or herself.”

Grover… really isn’t sure how to respond to that. He missed a lot under Morpheus’ spell last year, but by the time he woke up everything seemed to have been sorted out. He hadn’t considered that things may have gotten worse before they got better. It was so antithetical to Annabeth’s nature; she loves attacking problems head on, before they have time to fester. Percy, too. Grover’s never met anyone so attuned to the people around them, willing to support their friends even in the smallest ways.

He wonders for the first time how much it hurt, the space between Annabeth and Percy last year. Living it, ferrying passive messages between the two of them like a harried messenger pigeon, he had many times thought to himself that they couldn’t stick their heads any further up their own asses. How dense do you have to be to abandon each other in what is most likely the last year you’ll both be alive? He’d cried over it. But now he wonders if Annabeth thought she could amputate Percy that year, leave no wound to rot. If Percy thought that letting her do so would be better, help her from beyond the grave.

When he looks at Annabeth now, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes, standing small in front of this giant tree, what he sees etched into the lines of her body is self-loathing. Annabeth is smart. She knows exactly how much she lost, down to the second, and hates herself for it.

“You’re right,” he tells Clarisse. There’s nothing more he can say.

—————

The sun is not about to set. He feels like it should be.

In movies it’s always raining during funerals. Here, within the wide but protected borders of Camp, it doesn’t. The breeze rustles through the leaves, birds chirp in their trees, and the sun remains high overhead like Apollo wants to be here for this, too.

Annabeth reaches her hand out as he comes up behind her, slotting their fingers together. The others gather one by one; Rachel and Nico from the fire, Connor and Clarisse from the edge of the clearing, Drew from the patch of flowers. She leaves an intricately woven wreath at the base of the trunk and falls into line at the edge of the root system. The smell of burnt wood hangs heavy around the tree, the iron poker cooling against a rock. Burned into the tree: Percy Jackson, 18 August 2004 - 30 November 2020. There’s no trident, no waves like those that shimmer in the silk shroud tucked away in a shoebox in the closet of Percy’s cabin. Just his name in a heart, surrounded by hundreds of engraved flowers and vines.

Grover squeezes Annabeth’s hand once before stepping forward. Somebody should speak, he feels, but more importantly he has something to leave with Percy.

“I went to Sally’s a few weeks ago; she needed help packing up his stuff,” Grover says, crouching down to pull the hardcover copy of The Hobbit out of his bag. “Did you know his bookshelf was packed? One of the strangest things I’ve ever seen. He hated reading.” The gold lettering shines in the sun that filters through the trees, but the green cover practically melts into the moss beneath his feet. He takes a step up the roots.

“This one,” he says, picturing the title page in his mind, “is from Paul. A signed copy, but he wrote his own inscription in it, on a post-it.

“I’ve never read The Hobbit, but Paul says ‘When you find something you love, once and one is never enough, so here’s a second.’” Grover’s memorized the inscription. Stared at it long enough to.

“Percy once told me–” Tears itch at his eyes, but he doesn’t blink them back or wipe his face. “I was his first friend. It’s sappy, but I know he loved me because he found all of you, cared enough to try and try again.”

—————

That night, he sits in the amphitheatre long after campfire is over. The flames are crackling low and he’s sitting close, trying to stay warm. Connor left them all with travel sized bottles of tequila and Grover’s a little tipsy, has felt the press of grief against the back of his neck for the past half hour or so, like he’s about to cry. The same bottle of tequila, albeit full sized, sits in Sally’s liquor cabinet. It’s the only one Grover’s ever seen Percy touch. He never drank from it, though.

He’s twisting his bottle back and forth, watching the fire light through it, when Annabeth sits beside him.

“Hey.”

“Oh,” he says. “Hi.”

“Connor really got the good shit, right?”

Grover huffs a laugh, places the bottle on the scuffed marble stone with a clink. “Yeah.” There’s a pause.

“That’s not really what I wanted to talk with you about.”

“Mmh?”

“Yeah, um.” Annabeth smooths down the sleeves of her sweatshirt nervously and begins tapping out a pattern on the hem of her shorts. “I actually––uh. I wanted to apologize.”

Grover raises his eyebrows, quickly shuffling through his head for whatever she might be apologizing for. Nothing specific turns up but Annabeth, shifting her weight from side to side, eyes flitting around, forcing out each word with painful effort, obviously thinks otherwise.

“I’ve kind of been an asshole to everyone lately, and I just wanted to let you know that I know that I’ve been a real bitch. It’s not an excuse, but since he”—her breath hitches—“disappeared. I’ve just been really angry that I spent all that time, well, being angry at him, last year. I was so dumb,” she sighs and rubs one of her eyes wearily.

“Being around everyone else now just makes me pissed, because like, it’s all a reminder of the time I–” She pauses, searching for a word, and then gesticulates madly. “–Fucking wasted.

“Drew and Rachel, Clarisse and Nico even, remind me that they got him and I didn’t; Sally reminds me that she was there, watching him in what we knew was going to be his last year; and you remind me–” Annabeth’s voice cracks. She wipes fiercely at an eye that hadn’t been watering a blink ago. “You didn’t get a choice missing all of that. Who am I, doing that on purpose? Why am I such a fucking idi–”

Grover stops her with a hug. She presses her face into his shoulder, tears and snot quickly collecting on his jacket. It doesn’t matter. Shakily, Annabeth brings her arms up around his back and squeezes him tight. He feels a vertebra in between his shoulder blades pop.

“You aren’t.”

“What?” she asks, wobbly, pulling away to look at him.

“You aren’t an idiot; not then and not now.”

Annabeth laughs wetly. “Thank you, Grover, but we both know you’re wrong”

“No,” he says, thinking about all of the school yards he’s been pushed around, all of the rooms he’s had to claw his way into, all of the people who have dismissed him out of hand. Most of all he thinks about Percy on that beach, about you’re a kind and genuine person, even when it doesn’t work to your advantage, and that’s really brave. The words settle on his shoulders in something like confidence, something like strength. “I’m not wrong,” he says with conviction.

“How you treated Percy last year was an objectively bad decision. But it wasn’t irrevocable. You made up, you more than made up.” He looks at her pointedly and she giggles then, like the sixteen year old she is—a brief moment of reprieve in a year of pain, like the first ray of sun through a storm.

“Hell yeah we did,” she says. “We made out. ”

“Gross,” Grover says, before picking up his train of thought. “You did what you did then because you loved him, right?” Annabeth hesitates at the L-word, features drawing serious and giving Grover her full and rapt attention, but acquiesces with a nod. “Then it wasn't dumb.”

Annabeth takes this, chews on it with one leg drawn up beneath her, and then says all in a rush, “But I did it again! I’m pushing you away, and I barely visit Sally, and I’m being so mean to everyone . I didn’t learn!”

“You’ve learned it now,” he tells her.

When she blinks at him blankly he takes her by her biceps, strong warm muscle beneath her crewneck, sturdy like the monuments she wants to leave behind and sunny like her love, he pulls her into another hug to emphasize the point. “You came to me, Annabeth.”

It takes her a moment to process—everything he’s said, everything she’s done—but when she does she returns the hug. It’s a burning and bruising thing on the edge of the campfire that makes him realize just how long it’s been since they last hugged, and he begins to cry at that, hot tears collecting on his face and breath hitching. She rubs her hands along the corduroy fabric of his jacket and rests them at the base of his neck, fingers sneaking to his pulsepoint, and he holds her tight by her waist, clutching jersey in his fists like this moment can replace months of distance. It can’t, he knows. It will hurt for a long time—him and her, Percy and Sally. But her hand brushing against his hairline, letting him soak her sweatshirt with tears and snot, seems to finally remove the knife of Percy’s death in him, press against the gaping wound as insurance: you won’t bleed out, you will heal. For the first time, he feels the catharsis of crying.

And the thing is, during it all, Annabeth doesn’t whisper affirmations or wipe his tears away or shush him like she used to. She rubs circles into the small of his back and keeps her chin hooked over his shoulder. It’s a change, Grover thinks, but not a bad one.

“Thank you, Grover,” Annabeth says, when they’ve both finished crying.

His cheeks have been dried cold in the night air, but he’s warm sitting pressed against her side, backs to the fire. In fact, it’s the most comfortable Grover’s been in months. The stars shine above, Artemis hanging over, and he is next to his best friend. As the world exists now, there couldn’t be a better moment.

“I’m really glad you were Percy’s first friend.”

August.

The Jackson-Blofis apartment has no air conditioning.

This is not a surprise to Grover, who sat on Percy’s bedroom floor as he moved in nearly two years ago, but an inconvenience. He’s spent all the time Percy’s been in the shower pulling their small, dingey portable fans out of each room—all empty of people, he wouldn’t leave Sally to suffer in the heat and humidity—to collect them in a ring around the big couch so no matter how he sprawls across it there is always a breeze.

The shower handle wrenches shut, loud and probably rusty, right as the doorbell goes off. Grover pulls away from the record player—not like he wants to stay there anyway, none of the fans reach it—and goes to answer the door.

It’s a late and sweltering August, packed with humidity and work. Grover’s spent the past two weeks in Florida of all places, tending to a kelp species along the gulf, and Percy’s been bouncing between basketball training camp and his job working at a bodega on the other side of the neighborhood. Right back in the thick of it. Percy doesn’t take breaks in his mortal life. Hence the Thai takeout.

Grover pays the delivery man, tips generously with the cash he’s made his habit to periodically remove from Chiron’s wallet, and goes to lay out the spread on the coffee table. Percy steps out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry, before Grover gets the chance to finish.

“You never told me you could cook,” he says, grinning like he’s a comedic genius and then dipping behind Grover to stick his finger in a container of curry.

Grover swats his hand away—“Get outta here!”—and Percy falls dramatically back into the couch, letting his legs flail about. Grover responds by sitting on top of one of them. “You’re so mean.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Me?” Percy says, mock aghast with a poorly concealed smile. He holds a hand to his heart. “Never.”

“Yeah, yeah. Move your freakishly long legs.”

Percy lifts the one behind Grover and leans forward, as if examining it—Grover takes the opportunity to lean against the couch back. “Freakishly? I don’t think so,” Percy says, and then he drops his leg, this time on Grover’s lap, heavy and dense like the bar of a roller coaster. He’s regaining muscle. Grover pokes his calf and the fresh line of scarring along it experimentally.

Percy glares and twitches his leg away. The scar ripples. “I’m not some autopsy specimen.”

“Did that hurt?”

“No,” Percy says forcefully. A little like he might be lying. He’s always been a good liar.

Grover grabs Percy’s ankle and shifts his leg back, rubs his thumbs firmly on and around the scar like he’s seen Sally do to break down the tissue and help it heal smoothly. It’s a clean line under Grover’s fingers, almost unassuming. He doubts anyone at basketball practice asked about it; it’s a scar he could imagine on a mortal.

When he looks back up Percy’s gone dead-faced.

“Are you—?”

“I’m fine, Grover,” Percy cuts in. “It doesn’t hurt .”

“All right, all right,” Grover says, raising his hands in surrender. “I hear you.”

After a moment Percy pulls his legs away from Grover and curls up on his side of the long couch, fills his plate and distractedly eats while he types away on his phone—texting Clarisse, probably; he’s been worried about her move to Massachusetts. Two can play at that game, Grover decides. If Percy’s not going to apologize for snapping then he’s not going to apologize for pushing. He grabs his own plate, pours the spiciest curry and chili flakes on his rice even though it’s so hot it makes him feel like he’s going to die, and pulls his book out from where it’s fallen between the cushion he’s sitting on and the arm of the couch.

He’d had to stop in the middle of a scene when his train pulled into Penn station, and he’s been itching to get back to it since. He’s immersed in the world quickly and deeply, he tells himself. That’s why he startles when Percy finally speaks. Not because he forgets Percy’s home sometimes; on the other side of their bond, on the other side of his phone, on the other side of the couch.

“I didn’t know you read Lord of the Rings,” Percy says, conversationally.

It’s an olive branch; not an apology but an acknowledgement. Grover bookmarks his page with his thumb and turns it over to look at the title as if he forgot what he was reading, accepting it.

“I didn’t,” he says absently, one of those benign corrections he’s picked up from Annabeth. He closes the book and fits it between his thighs, balances his plate on his knee so he can look at Percy. “I actually, uh, started reading it because of you.”

“Because of me?” Percy asks, frowning.

“Yeah,” Grover nods. “I found a copy of The Hobbit a while back, when I went through your bookshelf.” Something cracks over Percy’s face, deeper than recognition or realization, but he seals it up quickly, keeps looking at Grover blank faced but attentive, listening. “It looked like you liked it so I took it and read it,” Grover says, fighting the urge to squirm, feeling nervous all of a sudden, hot in the circle of fans, like he’s crossed a boundary he hadn’t realized was there.

“I actually have it with me right now if you want it back,” he rushes to say after another second under Percy’s eye. He rifles through his bag quickly, locating the waterproof pouch he’s taken to sealing his books in and pulling it out to practically shove it into Percy’s hands.

It takes Percy a moment to realize what’s happened, but once he has he handles the book almost reverently, rubbing his palms along the crumbling covers and his thumb along the cracking spine. Not for the first time, Grover wonders how long Percy’s owned it. He knows what the pages smell like, aging paper and glue, their rough feel under his hands unlike that of most modern books. Percy flips through the pages like a deck of cards, back and forth, mesmerized by the race of words and the small puffs of air that come up and shift his drying hair.

“I’m glad,” he says at last.

Grover quirks an eyebrow, and then upon realizing Percy hasn’t seen it, hums questioningly. Percy looks up, locks eyes with him so deeply and for such a long time that Grover feels as if Percy can go further than his emotions, straight to his thoughts themselves.

“Grover,” he says, softly but seriously, a tone Grover hasn’t heard since Percy’s first day back. “If you were dead, there’s no line I wouldn’t cross. I don’t care that you took my favorite book, or stole my sweatpants, or held a funeral.” His brows furrow in thought, one thumb tapping quickly against the other, and then he says: “I’m sorry for being harsh with you, you’re just trying to look out for me.”

Tears well in Grover’s eyes. Praise the fates, praise the gods themselves for giving him Percy Jackson, with his deep heart and perceptive head, and bringing him back to Grover again and again.

“I’m sorry for prodding you,” Grover says, swallowing thickly.

Percy waves him off, looking down at his calf and pressing the healing cut with his thumb like Grover did earlier. “Nah, you were right,” he says, hissing as he lifts his thumb. “It’s sore. I’m just– I’m tired of healing.”

Grover nods, thinking about these past months. The frustration that built between him and Annabeth, the pain of breaking down on Percy’s bedroom floor, the exhaustion of holding out hope and putting it away. There is a part of him that will always be grieving Percy—for every presumed death and every person he could have been if the world had been a kinder one—but after all this time Grover knows that grieving is healing, even if it never quite stops. It’s a hell of a lot better with Percy here in front of him, too.

“Let’s get you some ice,” Grover says, heaving himself over the back of the couch.

“I think they’re playing The Princess Diaries on Disney right now,” Percy tells him.

Grover crows from the freezer. “What are you waiting for, then? Turn the TV on!”

—————

Later, after Mia’s makeover has come to an end and Percy’s knocked back a few ibuprofen, the two of them slurping up off-brand popsicles from the Jackson-Blofis freezer, Percy passes the book back to Grover.

“Keep it,” he says. “And let me know what you think of The Lord of the Rings when you’re done?”

Grover takes it, leans over Percy’s legs thrown across his lap to put it in his bag, and settles back in his place by Percy’s side.

“Absolutely.”