A Percy Jackson and the Olympians Short (very very very short) Story

By Fluffy Bunnies Are So Cute

It was time.

It was the moment he had been waiting for, ever since he stepped foot onto the military base in Afghanistan. Ever since he had said goodbye to his lover, his life as a normal working American.

His fiancée, his life—it all was coming back to him.

He was coming back to stay.

He would come home, gather his very own Aphrodite in his arms, and kiss her, tell her he loves and missed her so much. If it was in his power, she would never leave his sight again.

But above all, he would love her. He would make up for all the loving he missed over the past three years, and he would continue to love her for the next infinite amount. She was it for life, she was his life, and he'd be sure to make that known to her.

His heart races in his chest and the anticipation nearly kills him, but he pushes on. He must persevere, he must see her again. His—no, her—heart in his chest cannot fail him. He has lived through a war; surely he can live through this.

When he arrives home, when the cab drops him off at the home he had left her in, he can't help but run to the door and knock.

It swings open before he can even knock twice, revealing the gorgeous blond beauty he had come to love with every part of his mind, body, and soul. She stands behind the inner screen door, and he has never hated anything more than that mesh, keeping him from her, but he has never seen anyone more beautiful.

The inner door opens, and his grip on his bags falter, and then they simply fall out of his hands, hitting the wooden floor of the porch.

He pushes forward and holds her to him tightly, his grip strong. She won't ever fall away from him like his bags had just done.

He presses his nose into her hair, inhaling her feminine scent, all natural, all delightful, all her. From the way he holds her, he wants her to know that he's back; he's home; and he's here to stay.

Her hand, thin, tan, and healthy, comes up to caress his fact, and she strokes his battle scars tenderly. "You're here," she breathes into him, as her lips chastely peck his own.

"Forever," he replies, pulling her to him as closely as possible.

Finally, they break away, their hands still interlocked, and he curses himself for ever leaving her in the first place. How had he lived for three years away from his life source? More importantly, how had he let her live on her own for those equally long three years?

She leads him into the house, and he barely has time to grab a bag and kick the other inside the doors. As they walk through the house, he faintly remembers the interior, and he is amazed on how much hasn't changed.

They enter the bedroom, and she lets go of his hand to press her lips to his once more. After a moment, she pulls back to press her cheek to his chest, right on top of his thundering heart. Her arms come up and wrap around his muscular torso, and he rests his head on hers, kissing her honey hair and hugging her slender waist. "I missed you," she whispers ever so lightly.

He blinks back tears when she says that, and he realizes just how much he missed her. She is the reason he is still alive. She is the one who helped him to stay strong when his friends died around him. She is the reason he came home. He can do nothing but simply nod.

"I know. You have no idea," he murmurs.

Her head tilts up to face him, and he stares into her gray eyes, realizing she's crying. "I didn't know if you… if you would make it home safely… I-I just had to wonder, and hope, and pray to whoever's up there, that you would return."

She chokes back a sob of relief, and finally, lets her tears come, soaking his shirt.

Carefully, he gathers her into his arms, and lays her onto the bed, climbing in after her. When they're both under the covers, he creates a cocoon with his arms and holds her. "I'm here now," he says quietly, sniffling. "Don't cry anymore."

She nods, curling into his body, shutting her eyes tightly, until all her tears dry, and she is asleep.

As she sleeps in his arms, he stares up at the ceiling, wondering how many times he had caused her to fall asleep with tears in her eyes. How many times had she cried herself to sleep, worried sick about him?

He clenches his eyes shut, not wanting to think about all the pain he had inflicted on her and attempts to fall asleep himself.

But under his closed eyelids, vivid images flash from the war.

"No! Beckendorf! You can't, it's too risky!" he screams and shouts over gunshots and explosions.

A blackened silhouette shakes their head sadly, and he's frantic, knowing what his friend is about to do, about to sacrifice.

"STOP! Beckendorf! We have to get out of here, now! Come on, do it for Silena, we have to go!" He is yelling with all his might, in sorrowful hopes that it would snap his friend's head on straight.

The silhouette shakes their head once more, and tears are streaming down his cheeks—he knows it is a failed attempt to convince his friend. "I have to try to save those kids! They have a whole life ahead of them! I'm sorry… tell Silena I love her… Charlie loves her…"

And with those words, the silhouette runs back into the burning building, and he runs as far from the building as possible. He's not even twenty paces away, when there's a loud explosion, the force from the bomb propelling him backwards.

He doesn't look back, through all the rubble and tears, and he knows his friend didn't survive that explosion.

But that doesn't keep him from letting out a strangled cry.


He's sweating, and being under the blankets is much too hot, although his body is shivering cold. He's shuddering, remembering, and he's barely keeping himself from hyperventilating.

She shifts beside him, running a smooth, cold hand across his forehead. He can see the light glint off the ring that sits on her fourth finger, and when she runs her fingers through his hair, his mind immediately clears.

She cradles his head to her chest, kissing his cheeks and forehead, telling him to breathe.

He suppresses a choked cry and buries his face into her neck, pressing her cool palm of her hand to his cheek.

"It's okay, Percy," Annabeth whispers, her voice heavy with tears of her own. "You're here, you're safe, you're with me. I love you."

Percy takes a deep, shuddering breath and nods into her hand, grasping it tightly. "I love you."


June is the PTSD awareness month in the United States