an update less than a week later? who is she? (i seriously am trying to stick to my goal of actually like ,,, finishing this story, so! lez goooo)

trigger warning! heavily implied sexual and physical abuse in this chapter, slightly violent content, and some swearing. you've been warned.

•

February 10th, 1776

Percy marched to the major's tent, not even bothering to knock or announce his presence. The startled guards tried to hold him back, but he would have none of it, and they soon gave up. Yanking the flap open, he stalked up to the table where the major was outlining some maps with another general.

Major Pitcairn looked up in surprise at his sudden intrusion. "Lieutenant Jackson? What are you doing here? I thought you had started back for Boston already."

"Why did you arrest Miss Chase?" Percy demanded, blood hot in his cheeks.

The major sighed almost as if he had been expecting this and motioned with his hand for the other general to get out of the tent. He waited until the other man left before heaving another heavy sigh and folding his hands on the table, turning to Percy. "Miss Chase was found to be a traitor to the crown. You know we have to make an example of traitors."

"But—but—" Percy could barely formulate his thoughts. He blew out a long breath, trying to focus. This conversation could either save Annabeth's life, or leave her condemned. He had to do his best.

"Sir, Miss Chase has served England in so many ways since beginning her service for you. She must have just—gotten confused about her loyalties. You of all people know her passion for the king and—" a general entering the tent suddenly cut off Percy's speech.

The major sighed, nodding at the other man before turning to Percy. "We can discuss this later, Lieutenant Jackson. For now, I have important business to attend to."

Percy sighed, frustrated, but he wasn't giving up. "I'll be back later," he promised, turning on his heel. Right before he exited the tent, he turned around again. "Major?"

The major sighed again before scrubbing his face wearily and glancing up at him. "Yes?"

"Can you at least tell me who did it? Who turned her in?" Percy asked, desperate to know, anger thrumming in his veins at the thought of anyone betraying Annabeth.

The major adjusted the papers on his desk as though searching for a name in his memory. "I believe it was a… Lieutenant Castellan, if I remember right."

The world seemed to spin around him, and Percy nearly stumbled with the shock of it. He barely registered leaving the tent and stumbling into the cold, brisk air of the winter sunshine.

Castellan. Castellan. Castellan.

He'd been right.

He'd been right.

All along, his suspicions about Annabeth's best friend had been correct.

Annabeth's best friend.

How could he have done that to her? In every scenario of Luke not being as trustworthy as Annabeth thought he was, Percy had never imagined something to this extent. To go this far, to where Annabeth would be arrested, executed—

It was almost unfathomable.

His next thought was does Thalia know?

He knew how close she and Annabeth were, basically sisters. Yes, she was married to Luke, but something in his gut told Percy that she couldn't have any idea about this, and he knew he had to tell her as soon as possible.

Within a few hours, he had arrived back in Boston. Tying a panting Blackjack up to the fence outside the Castellan's small home, he pondered how exactly to break this news to her.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to think about it. Thalia came outside, a warm smile on her face and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders to ward off the chill. "Percy! What are you doing here? Annabeth was worried yesterday, since you'd been stuck at camp for the last few days and she wasn't sure when you would get back…" she trailed off at the look on his face. "What happened?"

"Thalia…" he started, not knowing how to go on.

Thalia's eyebrows furrowed. "What's the matter? Percy, tell me."

"Annabeth…" he forced out. "Annabeth was arrested. They found out everything. All the double spying, the informant to Paul Revere… the only thing they don't know is that I'm involved."

Thalia wobbled a little on her feet, and Percy reached forward to grab her in case she fell, knowing full well how the shock was hitting her. "Oh, god. I can't… Annabeth…" She wiped her forehead. "What's going to happen to her?"

Percy felt bile in his throat. "Execution. Tomorrow. In the square."

The blood drained from Thalia's face. "What?" she whispered, the rasped sound coming from her mouth like sandpaper.

Percy's stomach twisted. "That's not all." He took her arm carefully. "Let's go inside." Carefully, he helped lead her inside, focusing his attention on how she was doing and trying to ignore the pounding of anger and apprehension and absolute dread coursing through his body.

After Thalia was sitting down, she took a deep, shaking breath and turned to him. "You said that… that wasn't all."

"'Tis… 'tis the matter of who turned her in," Percy said, biting his lip.

She leaned forward. "Who? Is it someone we know? One of the other spies in the Observers?"

"Thalia…" Percy wished he could protect her from this, but he knew it was impossible. Inevitable. "Thalia, it was Luke."

Thalia didn't move a muscle, not even blinking, or breathing. It was almost a minute before she whispered, "No."

"Thalia, it's true," Percy said, hating the words in his mouth. "I heard it from Major Pitcairn himself."

"No! It's not true." Thalia stood up to start pacing the room. "It can't be. It can't be. Luke loves Annabeth. She's like his little sister. He would never even imagine doing anything like this. There must have been a mistake."

"'Tis not a mistake, no matter how much I wish it was," he replied, tongue feeling dry in his mouth. Everything felt numb all of a sudden—like none of this was real, like none of it matter. Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth—pounding through his brain, but he couldn't comprehend it. It's not real. She's going to be fine. None of this can actually be happening.

Thalia sank back onto the horsehair sofa, hands trembling like leaves in autumn. She suddenly looked old, frail. "No," she whispered again. "No, no, no—" and then she burst into tears. Percy sat down next to her and held her close, the numbness suddenly popping like a bubble. All the emotions flooded back into his heart, and he sobbed.

His best friend was going to die.

He couldn't breathe.

Suddenly a burning question raced through his mind, and he sat up, still cradling a sobbing Thalia. "How did he even know? He wasn't a part of the Observers, he didn't know Paul Revere. I know for a fact that despite how much she trusted him, Annabeth never told him what she was doing, simply out of practicality and knowing if she got caught the fewer people who knew about what she'd been doing, the better. So—how did he know?" The inevitable answer to the question rose up in his chest even as Thalia opened her mouth.

"I told him," she sobbed out, hands covering her face. "Before we even got married, when we were still courting. I trusted him with my life, and Annabeth's life, and I didn't want there to be any secrets between us. There was never a reason I thought that I shouldn't trust my husband, a man who was like Annabeth's brother."

Anger flooded him until his hands were shaking and all he could see was red. Percy turned away, listening to Thalia sob and wanting nothing more than to choke her, to hit her and scream can you even imagine what you've done? Your trust in him signed Annabeth's death warrant. My best friend is going to die because of you, you, you—

And then he forced it down, digging his fingernails into his palm until he felt blood bubble up. This wasn't Thalia's fault. This was Luke, through and through. He couldn't get angry at other people for Luke's treachery.

She couldn't have known.

"We need to go," he said, standing up abruptly.

Thalia wiped her reddened eyes. "Why? Where?"

"We're going back to the camp. Annabeth isn't being executed until tomorrow, and you need to say goodbye. She thinks—she thinks that I did it."

"That you turned her in?" Thalia exclaimed, rising to her feet and brushing her tears away angrily. "How could she think that?"

"I'll explain on the way over. We need to go, now. It's already midafternoon, and it'll be an hour there, at least." Percy took her hand and squeezed it. "We also need to talk to Luke."

She nodded, anger replacing the sadness and shock in her eyes. "Let's go."

•

They got to the camp just in time to see Luke and Major Pitcairn enter the little shed together, backs facing them.

Thalia sobbed, falling into Percy's chest like the slightest wind could knock her over. He held her tight, knowing the realization that it was real, it was happening—it could be almost too much to bear.

Percy moved closer to follow them in, but soldiers blocked their way. "Sorry, Lieutenant Jackson," one said apologetically. "No one's allowed in there."

"I need to," Percy said, desperate. "I need to see her, please—"

"Major's orders," the soldier said, shrugging.

Blind anger overtook him, and Percy tried to shove through them. "No, I need to talk to her, to see her—"

Behind him, Thalia grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away. "Percy. You have to leave it. You'll have to wait. I know. I want to see her too, but—"

Defeated, Percy stepped back, and together he and Thalia turned away back towards Blackjack.

Helpless.

That summed up how he was feeling.

Helpless to even talk to the one he loved most in the world. Helpless to save her, helpless to take his anger out on the bastard who was the cause of it.

He was helpless, and he hated it more than anything before.

•

Annabeth looked up as the door to the rickety shed opened. She was chilled to the bone after sitting on the frozen mud all day, back against the rough slabs of board. She could feel splinters sticking to her muddy dress as she got to her feet, but the relief in her outweighed any physical discomfort. "Luke! Luke, what are you doing here, I—" she trailed off as Major Pitcairn followed the blond man into the shed.

Luke sneered a little at her. "A little disillusioned, aren't we, 'beth?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, looking up at the man who'd been like a brother to her all growing up. "Luke, what do you mean?" She'd never seen him like this—a spark of anger, maybe even hate in his eyes as he looked at her. A cruel, twisted sneer on his face. His hands clenched by his side, and…

"Why are you wearing a British uniform?" she asked, voice trembling a little.

"Lieutenant Castellan was the one who gave us the information about you, Miss Chase," Major Pitcairn said, raising his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, do the two of you have a personal connection? You didn't mention that earlier, Lieutenant."

Annabeth wobbled a bit, stepping back. "You—you—"

Luke gestured to the major. "Could we have a moment alone, please?"

He nodded, turning to Annabeth before leaving. "I am sorry, my dear. For all of this. I truly am."

The door closed behind him, and Annabeth gazed up at Luke with tears clouding her vision. "Luke? How could you have—"

"How could I have done this?" Luke finished the sentence for her, almost mockingly. "I'm loyal to the Crown, Annabeth. When people are rebelling from it, even those closest to me, I will turn them in."

"How did you even know?" Annabeth spat out.

"That you were a spy? Thalia told me. Stupid trusting bitch, she truly thought I would never do anything with the information. She told me how you were doing some work for the Patriots while also pretending to work for Major Pitcairn, and I figured out the rest. You really weren't that subtle with your double agent activities, 'beth—once I knew, it was simple to track you and figure out the rest."

"Track me?"

He reached into a sidebag that Annabeth hadn't noticed he was carrying until that moment and pulled out something, a piece of soft fabric. It took her a second to realize it was one of her old robes.

In fact, it was the robe that…

"That's the robe I had in Williamsburg, the one I accidentally left the night of the gunpowder incident," she breathed. "You were there?"

"Your spying activities really screwed up our plans that night, but luckily you left some evidence behind," Luke answered, rubbing the soft fabric between his fingers. "Does it make you feel a little stupid now, Annabeth? That you thought you were being so subtle, so discreet, and really you had me on your tail ever since—well, close to the beginning."

And the thing was—he was right.

Annabeth felt wave after wave of emotion pass over her—anger at Luke for betraying her, anger at herself for not even realizing, anger at herself for blaming Percy—

Percy.

Oh, god.

She had blamed him for something he knew nothing about, that he wasn't involved in. After all they'd been through, after everything he'd done for her and for them—

Was there even a them anymore, though? After everything she'd put Percy through, after blaming him and shouting at him and telling him she never wanted to see him again. But if she was about to die…

She wouldn't really have a choice, anyway. He probably had no idea that Luke was the one who betrayed her, who turned her in. And therefore why would he even come to see her again? When she had treated him like dirt, when he loved her so much and she had literally trampled on that, not even giving him the benefit of the doubt.

She didn't even deserve to see him again before her execution, to hear his voice or feel his arms around her, comforting her. All she wanted was to be able to apologize, but it seemed like that luxury would be denied her as well.

All of these thoughts flashed through her head as she stood, gazing up at Luke with the shock and anger and hurt still burning in her eyes.

She reared back and spat in his face. "You are despicable."

Luke, annoyed, wiped the saliva from his cheek and glared. "You should have just helped your country, 'beth. Your true country, not this little band of colonies that are and will always be under the reign of the crown."

"They are my country," Annabeth said, tossing her hair back. "The colonies will take their freedom. It's already begun, Luke—a great rising tide of people wanting freedom, wanting say. The Crown has no idea what they're up against, and I know, deep down—the colonies? These little groups of people you think are so measly, so stupid for standing up for themselves? They're going to win. I know it. I know it."

Luke paused for a second, a look flashing over his face that Annabeth had never seen before. But before she could register it, the look was gone, and the sneer from before was back.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, turning abruptly. "We're done here. I'm sorry, Annabeth."

"No, you're not," Annabeth spat. "If you were, you wouldn't have let the power, the allure of the money, make you betray the girl you've grown up with. Your best friend. Your little sister. We both know this wasn't for the Crown, Luke—this was for you."

His shoulders, back turned to her, shook a little, but he didn't respond. The door slammed, showing the creeping darkness of early evening in the winter sky, and Annabeth slid down the wall to the ground. The tears finally came, and she sobbed, letting her head fall into her lap.

But then the door burst open again, and a few soldiers came in. They were loud and laughing, obviously a little drunk—not the young, polite ones from before, but older, hardened, their eyes sweeping up and down her body and making Annabeth shudder.

"The lieutenant just gave us orders to see if you had any more information, little lady," one sneered. Annabeth pressed her back into the wall, trying to get away from them, but there was nowhere else for her to run. Nowhere for her to go.

She was trapped.

One of the soldiers grabbed her arms and forced them behind her back. Annabeth tried to scream, to yank away, but the man's grip was brawny and strong. The other one, who had spoken first, leaned in. She could smell the fish on his breath, see the bloodshot of his eyes even in the dim lighting. "He told us," the man said in a raspy whisper, "that we could do whatever we wanted to get this information."

Annabeth's heart sped up in terror. She couldn't even croak out a word, the only thought in her head being help, help, help.

Someone help me. Someone save me, please—

She felt a hand roughly grab her skirt, forcing it up. The other soldier's hand around her neck grew tighter, choking her so she could barely breathe, and then there were hands on her chest and her thighs and turning her around, forcing her against the wall. She felt the cold air hit her legs and cause goosebumps as her skirts were pulled up farther. Kicking weakly as her limited airflow allowed, she tried to fight, tried to get away, but the hands were rough and strong, and she was trapped.

Sagging in the arms of the soldier holding her, she nearly passed out as terror and dread overtook her entire being before adrenaline hit her with full force, and she landed a few good kicks behind her if the curses and harsh shouts were anything to go by.

Everything became a blur as she kicked and raspy screams exited her lungs until another hand clamped over her mouth. "Looks like we have a feisty one here, boys," the man behind her said, laughing roughly.

One of the other soldiers chimed in, drunken laughter in his voice. "Guess we'll find out if she's this feisty in—" his words were cut off with the sound of a punch straight to the face, bones cracking audibly.

Annabeth tried to turn around and see what was happening, but the arms of her captor tightened as he swore under his breath. "What the—"

Another voice cut him off. "Touch her for one more second, and you're dead."

A sob rose in her throat.

Percy.

Suddenly everything was chaos. The soldier holding her let go as Percy started in on the next man, hitting him cleanly and almost methodically, a strange light of fury burning in his eyes. Annabeth flung herself against a wall, pulling her skirts back down and watching what was happening. She had never seen Percy like this, except for maybe once—that night at the inn in New York, when the men had talked about coming into her room. But this—this was beyond even that anger in him.

It was like the sea itself was roaring through him; pure, unadulterated rage in every punch he threw. His aim and form was perfect, and every time a man came at him swinging, he was down within a few hits.

It seemed like both forever and no time at all before every soldier that had been in the shed was on the ground, unconscious or maybe worse, she didn't know. But Annabeth barely had time to register that before she was in his arms, being held tighter than she had ever felt before.

"Fuck, Annabeth, fuck," he repeated, over and over, cradling her body in his arms as they sank to the floor, holding her head against his chest.

The adrenaline left her all in a rush to where she didn't even know if she could hold her head up. Sobs wracked her body as she realized just what had happened, what more could have happened if Percy hadn't come right when he did. Although trembling like a leaf, she could still feel him shaking worse than her, the unbridled rage and terrifying power still radiating through his skin.

"I wanted to kill them, 'beth. I still do. I—god, coming in, and seeing you like that, with them surrounding you—"

Annabeth felt her throat close up again, to where she couldn't breathe. She groped for his hand, and he held it tightly, pressing her even harder against his chest like he was making sure she was real, she was safe, she was here.

"Breathe," he said against her hair, murmuring softly. "Breathe, my love. Breathe. 'Tis alright. You're mine. You're mine, and no one will ever touch you again. Breathe, just like that—"

It took several minutes for her to calm, the tears still wet on her face, but finally her breathing steadied and her fingers no longer a death grip on his hand.

He kept stroking her hair, long sighs coming from his mouth like he was suddenly too exhausted to move. Annabeth knew the feeling, still shaking, but feeling like every bone in her body was liquid.

"I'm so sorry—" she began, her voice a hoarse whisper. Her throat was sore to the touch from the rough chokehold, and she could barely breathe, but she still wanted him—needed him—to know what she felt. "I blamed you, and—"

"Be quiet," he commanded, pressing a trembling finger to her lips and another kiss to her hair. "I know. Annabeth, I know. You have nothing to apologize for."

She did, they both knew that, but. She was going to die in the morning. Words didn't seem able to sum up what she needed to say, what she wanted him to know.

He knew anyway.

Annabeth didn't know how long they sat there in the dark, the unconscious bodies around them and the ground cold under them. She knew the nightmares from tonight's events would come later, but at least—at least she'd be gone soon and wouldn't have to think about them.

Maybe dying was better than living with the memories of life, sometimes.

As if sensing her thoughts, Percy pulled back a little. "I'm going to save you," he whispered. The moon outside shone through the tiny, dirty glass window and reflected on the blood on his cheek from the fight earlier.

"You're bleeding," Annabeth murmured, fingers reaching up to brush against his skin.

The tiniest of smiles flitted across his mouth as he pushed back her hair, thumb grazing a cut on her forehead that she must have received in the struggle. "So're you."

She bit her lip, looking down. "Percy… you can't save me."

"I have to," he said, eyebrows furrowing in the adorable way she loved. "Annabeth, I'm not going to let you die. I won't."

She felt her heart break as she ran her fingers over his cheekbones, drawing a line down to his jaw. "You have always saved me in the past. You're going to have to come to terms with the fact that this time, you can't."

Annabeth knew, in her heart, that he understood she was right. He shook his head, but his face contorted and a sob ripped from his throat like his entire would was being ripped apart.

Maybe because it was.

"I know—I know it'll be hard for you," she said carefully. "But can you… can you please be there? Tomorrow?"

He nodded brokenly, voice choked. "Of course. Whatever you want, 'beth."

"As long as we're together," she whispered, kissing his fingers interlaced with hers.

He nodded again, pausing a second before his voice darkened. "Luke—"

She put a finger to his lips, feeling the soreness in her throat and shoulders from the rough handling. Pushing those memories down, knowing she would have to deal with them later, she focused on him and only him. "Let's not talk about Luke right now."

Percy bit his lip, shaking his head in acquiesce. "Alright."

"Just—hold me?"

So he did. Arms tightening around her, she burrowed in his embrace, knowing it would be their last.

The door burst open again, and Major Pitcairn strode in with a lantern. "What is the meaning of this?"

Percy stood up, helping Annabeth up with him. "These soldiers were assaulting her, under the orders of Lieutenant Castellan," he spat, gesturing around him at the unconscious bodies. "They were about to do the unspeakable when I came in."

Horror rose on the old major's face. "I can assure you, the lieutenant shall be properly dealt with and these men—" he glanced around. "will never see the light of day again. Nothing, and I repeat—nothing like that will ever happen on my watch to a woman."

Percy nodded, looking thankful, and Annabeth understood. At least maybe now Luke would get a portion of what he deserved.

"I will get people to deal with these soldiers and take Miss Chase to another tent until tomorrow, but Lieutenant Jackson—I am sorry, but you will have to leave."

Annabeth had known it was coming, but she still felt terror rise in her at having to be without him.

"Can I have a moment before I leave, Major?" Percy asked, voice shaking.

The kindly major sighed. "'Tis late, lieutenant, and she will be taken to the square early tomorrow morning, but—yes. Go ahead." He left the shed, and they heard his booming voice awaking soldiers outside.

His forehead pressed against hers, eyes closed, Percy said with all the firmness his voice could muster, "I love you, Annabeth Chase."

She was crying, shaking in his arms. "I love you too. God, Percy, I—you have to go on. You know that, right? You have to go on without me." She looked up at him, his features still barely highlighted in the weak moonlight, tears shining on both their faces. "I want you to live a long life, a happy life. Go home to England. See your mother. Marry a girl, have children, grow old."

"Annabeth—I wanted to do that with you," he said, and now he was crying openly. "I wanted to bring you home to meet her, I wanted to marry you and have children with you and grow old with you, you, you—"

She pressed a finger to his lips again. "It is what it is. All I ask is that—" and her voice shook. "That you don't forget about me."

He laughed a little through his tears. "As if I could."

"As long as we're together," she whispered, leaning her forehead against his again, trying to ignore the currents of pain rushing through her.

The door opened again and soldiers came inside, some beginning to pick up the unconscious bodies strewn about, and others grabbing Percy's arms. "Come on, Lieutenant Jackson, you can't be in here, you have to leave—"

"As long as we're together," Percy whispered before they dragged him away.

The last thing she was his face before she sank to the ground for her final night alive.

•

very close to the end now, yikes. please leave a review with thoughts/yelling at me/appreciation/being mad/honestly idc i'm just a slut for reviews

bye for now xx

wm