Howdy y'all! It is I, JAF, returnin' with another Percy Jackson/Spider-Man one-shot! Yes. This is indeed a one-shot. Probably. There might be more, I don't know yet.

I'm about 49% sure I have the settin' correct, but I could be wrong. Also, this was goin' to be part of the Heart-to-Heart 'verse, but it kind of spiraled from what I was originally goin' for into what it is now. Which I then decided to shove into the Heart-to-Heart 'verse anyway? Which means the original Heart-to-Heart one-shot is really off course with what the verse is about, but it was never goin' to be cannon for that 'verse anyway, so no harm done. The 'verse if only really related by name (named after that first fic) and basic gist.

Which I have pretty much thrown out the window with this fic, but I like where this is goin' more, so win-win for me! Trust me, this is better (I think).

ANYWAY! Enough of that! Let's move on to the summary!

Summary: Percy's on a quest to free Death, but he can barely remember anything from his past. One phone-call to his mother might prove to be too much for him – but that's okay because even if Percy can't really remember him, he knows there's one person who will always be there to pick him back up: Peter Parker.

Okay, so Peter's last name isn't actually ever said in this story, but that's a minor detail we'll ignore because it's in the summary! On to more pressin' questions: is Percy goin' to be okay? Is he able to call his mom? How will he get in touch with Peter? Will he remember anything?

Read and find out!

WARNING: This story includes slightly graphic desriptions of a PANIC ATTACK. PLEASE, do what you must to keep yourself safe. Thank you.

This story contains the possibility of same-gender romantic relations. Mainly boyxboy, any and all homophobic comments will not be tolerated in any way, shape, or form. Commenters using such language will be banned with extreme prejudice with a slightly sadistic smile and sword of justice.

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or Spider-Man. All rights go to their respective owners I merely own my own thoughts and imagination. Thank you for understanding.

Percy hesitated, his hand hovering over the battered payphone. He had just hung up after calling his mother and only getting her voicemail. Understandable, considering he was calling from a payphone in Alaska and it was probably two in the morning back in New York. Time difference was a thing after all.

He stared at the phone for a moment, thoughts whirling in his head, all clamoring for attention. Why had he called? He missed her. Missed her voice, which he could barely remember hearing it on voicemail. Missed coming home and seeing her placing a tray of blue cookies on the counter, as though she instinctively knew he'd had a bad day.

He missed his mother. Sally Jackson-Blofis.

She'll wake up in a few hours, he thought idly. She'll wake up and she'll find a missed call from her son who's been missing for months (have I really been gone that long?) – a son who's on a quest to find and free Death – and she's going to feel terrible. Terrible for missing my call and wonder what's happening and how I am and – and oh gods, why did I call her? She's just going to worry more, why why did I call her? I can barely remember my own mother – WHY DID I CALL HER?

Percy's thoughts began to spiral, his chest growing tight and breath quickening as panic began to set it. No, no! He couldn't panic! Not now! Not when they were so close! Not with Hazel and Frank counting on him – the only one of them with any experience questing, no matter how little he actually remembered.

I need to calm down and breathe, Percy thought, shutting his eyes and trying to get his breathing under control. In for three, hold, out for five. So lost in panic, he didn't question how he knew this technique. In for three, hold, out for five. In for...

It wasn't working. Why wasn't it working? It always worked when Peter–

Percy sucked in a quick breath, completely screwing up what little rhythm he managed to get going. He was only faintly aware of his ragged breathing and tight chest, his thoughts focusing on one word.

Peter. The one thing – the one person – that he had always remembered, even when he couldn't recall anything else. The only thing he truly remembered since waking up in the Wolf House over a month ago.

Peter knows what to do, Percy thought, a bit frantic. He always knows what to do. He barely registered his hands moving, picking up the phone and dialing a number his brain was scrambling to remember.

Riing. Riing. Riing.

The phone rang three times, each seeming longer than the last. Percy's breath was getting faster and his chest was getting tighter and little spots were flickering in his vision and it was getting harder to breathe! Peter, IneedPeter. Peter. Peter–

"Hello?" a muggy voice answered on the fourth ring, thick with sleep and achingly familiar in a way Percy needed. It managed to push through Percy's panic just enough for him to respond.

"P-Peter," he gasped, barely audible. But this was Peter he was calling. Peter who was probably half asleep and answered anyway (probably without looking at the ID again, he needed to break that habit, Percy thought, a bit hysteric), who was freaking Spider-Man with crazy enhanced hearing. He picked up the breathless word, heard the voice attached – and he knew.

"Percy? Oh, gods – Percy is that you? What's going on, where are you? Where have you been?" Peter was definitely awake now. His voice crackled slightly from static, but it was so familiar and Percy had been so alone–

The last string holding Percy together snapped. Tears fell down his face as he leaned against the payphone, chest feeling like it was going to implode and gasping for breath.

"Percy? Percy!" Peter's voice filtered through the sounds of Percy's gasping and sobbing. His voice was taking on a tinge of his own panic, which wasn't really helping Percy at all.

"I can't– I can't breathe!" Percy choked, spots dancing in his eyes.

"Okay, its okay. Its– you're okay," Peter – bless his soul – didn't need Percy to say anymore and didn't ask any more questions. His voice switched from worried and panicked to calm and soothing in a second. "You're okay Percy. Breathe with me, yeah? Imagine I'm right there in front of you, and we're breathing together, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"Y-yeah."

"That's good! That's really good, Perce," Peter's voice soothed. "Breathe with me, okay? In for three, hold, out for five. In for three, hold, out for five. In for three..."

Percy shut his eyes, unsure of when he opened them and tried to follow Peter's instructions. He managed the breathing but panicked again when he realized he couldn't picture what Peter looked like.

"I can't– I don't know what you look like," Percy broke out, shame crawling up this throat.

"Hey, no, it's okay. It's okay, don't worry about that," Peter told him gently, taking his confession in stride. He didn't stop or stutter once (later, when Percy was waiting for Frank and Hazel to wake up, he'd think of strong Peter had to be. To push past his own emotions for Percy's sake). "I'm not much to look at anyway. Stay with me, Perce. You can do this. You're doing really good."

Percy wanted to argue – what, he wasn't sure – but he didn't. He continued to follow Peter's instructions until he managed to stave off his panic and get his breathing under control.

"Just like that. There you are. Are you feeling any better? Need a minute?" Peter asked, soft and gentle as always.

"I'm good now," Percy croaked out, reaching up to brush the last of his tears away. "Thanks, Pete."

A warm chuckle was his response, and Percy couldn't help but think about how much he missed Peter's laugh. There was a lot about Peter he missed, partially because of his lost memories, partially because he honestly missed his best friend.

His best friend.

Percy sucked in another breath, his hand gripping on the phone a little tighter than before.

Peter was his best friend. He hadn't remembered that before. Not entirely at least. There had always been a mystery around Peter and why Percy could remember his name and nothing else upon waking up. He'd lost sleep over the question of who Peter was, and why he felt such a strong pull towards him.

"Percy? Are you still with me?" Peter asked, concern leaking through the call.

"I'm here," Percy assured. "I just remembered something, that's all."

"Does this have to do with the fact that you called me at... two-thirty in the morning on a Saturday while having a panic attack? Or not remember what I look like? Not gonna lie – I'd probably forget what I looked like too if I didn't have to see myself in the mirror every day," Peter joked trying to break some of the tension.

"I called Mom," Percy told him. Which really didn't explain a whole heck of a lot until he added: " I'm on a quest right now."

Peter sucked in a breath of his own. Even through a phone and separated by thousands of miles and amnesia, Percy could tell Peter was worried.

"Tell me everything – or as much as you can at least."

"It's a long story."

"Always is."

"But we're on our way to free Death. Me, Frank and Hazel I mean. They're demigods – Roman demigods," Percy wasn't sure why he had felt the need to specify this, but he did. "He's being held in Alaska – that's where we are right now – because its the 'Land Beyond the Gods' or something like that. We're camping on a picnic table right now, and I called Mom. I wanted to tell her I was okay, you know? I got her voicemail, and that's not surprising, really. But I panicked after I called her and..."

"And you called me," Peter finished. "That explains a bit. Not everything, but a bit."

"I can't remember what you look like."

"So you've mentioned. Not surprising, I'm very boring."

"No, Peter, I don't remember what you look like because I can barely remember anything."

"...I think you should start at the beginning. But give me the Cliff Notes version, I don't like how long you've been on the phone."

So Percy told him – the Cliff Notes version. How he woke up in the Wolf House with no memory, being trained by wolves, then sent to find Camp Jupiter. About the quest and joining the Legion. Peter didn't interrupt once but made the appropriate noises as needed. Whether that was a thoughtful hum or upset keen that he'd forever deny.

"So you don't remember anything? Full-blown amnesia?"

"Well," Percy hesitated. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling that remembering Peter's name held some sort of significance. A meaning he wasn't sure he was ready to face.

But this was Peter. The one he remembered, if not fully. He had called Peter during his panic attack, knowing and trusting that Peter could – and would – help him. Even without all his memories of the other teenager, Percy knew that Peter was the one person he could always count on, no matter what, to have his back. To pick him up when he was down and who wasn't afraid to knock him down a peg if needed. Percy held onto that feeling, and he took a leap of faith.

"I remembered you," Percy whispered. His voice lowered on its own with no input from him. The air changed, charged with a new kind of tension that felt new but familiar. This was important, very important. Something settled in Percy's gut, and he made no attempt to raise his voice from a soft whisper. "I remembered your name."

"Percy...?" Peter's breath caught on the other end of the line.

"You're my best friend, Pete. It makes sense that I would remember you. But I didn't know that – not entirely – until I called you and you helped me calm down. I knew you were important to me. So important that I could still remember your name when I couldn't remember anyone else's – not even my Mom.

"But... but I didn't know why and the more I thought about it, the more frustrated I became. Because nothing seemed to fit!" Percy's tone rose on the last sentence, before dropping back down to a whisper, voice close to breaking. "You're so important to me I can still remember your name. And as time passes, I can recall that you're a superhero and you hate peppermint and the cold. That your favorite movies are those ones where everyone just walks everywhere–"

"The Lord of the Rings," Peter supplied his own voice breaking. "You always hated all the walking they did in those movies."

Percy laughed brokenly. "I can remember all that. That you are the single most important person in my life – but I can't even remember what color your eyes are." Percy rested his arm on top of the payphone before leaning his head forward to rest against the slightly warmer fabric.

There was nothing but the sound of their own breathing over the line to fill the silence that followed. Just a few heart-pounding (why is my heart-pounding?) moments of nothing.

"Brown."

Percy's head snapped up despite knowing Peter was miles away in New York and couldn't see him. Did he...?

"My eyes are brown – though you keep insisting that they change shades of brown with my emotions, though it's probably just the light if at all. I have pale skin, the only thing leftover from my time before the bite really.

"My hair is shorter and neater then yours is. Unless you got a haircut while gallivanting with the wolves. If you did, my hair kind of falls around my ears, just barely curling at the earlobe. It's also fawn-colored, and part of the reason you compare me to a doe. Kind of rude if you ask me, but oh well. And the reason you call me Bambi. You're lucky I like that movie so much, or I'd tell you to stop calling me that."

"Not a chance, Bambi," Percy said a grin brightening his face as Peter gave an exaggerated groan on his end of the line.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Shark Boy," Peter huffed playfully.

"If I'm Shark Boy, does that make you Lava Girl?" Percy teased.

"Oh no, nuh-uh. I'm not Lava Girl! She's too uptight to be me! Besides, Bambi's not nearly as bad as what you used to call me. Not that you'd remember, and I'm pretty sure even not-suffering-from-amnesia-you has forgotten about it," Peter commented offhandedly.

For some reason that sparked something inside Percy, a flicker of a memory. A name on the tip of his tongue, gone before he could even begin to grasp it. He got the feeling that even non-amnesia him hadn't actually forgotten whatever this other nickname was, but he couldn't be sure.

"Wait, we're getting off track. Where was I? Oh, right, I remember now. Bambi, hair, not Lava Girl," Percy snorted at Peter's rambling way of continuing the previous conversation. "I'm a little short, compared to you at least. You fricking giant. Wait, you might have had a growth spurt. Did you have a growth spurt? I swear if you had another freaking growth spurt – never mind, you never noticed before. Aunt Sally or I had to mention it before you noticed. I'm about five-foot-eight and – Percy. Percy stop laughing. Percy! I can still hear you when you pull the phone away! It's not that short! Percy!"

Percy was indeed laughing. Though it was more at Peter's increasing insistence that he wasn't short, Percy was just ridiculously tall!

"Whatever, jerk," Peter huffed, no real heat in his words. "Anyway, that's about it. There's nothing else to me other than I normally wear long-sleeved shirts and jeans. And tennis shoes. Obviously."

"Obviously," Percy repeated fondly. He closed his eyes, wanting to pull up a mental picture of his dearest friend.

Fawn hair, brown eyes, pale skin, freckles, long-sleeved shirt, jeans – wait.

Freckles? Peter hadn't mentioned any freckles, but when Percy pictured him...

"You forgot the freckles on your nose and the beauty mark under your left eye," Percy said frowning as his mental picture adjusted to the image of Peter he was sure was correct. There was a pause from Peter's side.

"Well, dam," Peter blew out some air that crackled down the line. "I was hoping that you wouldn't remember that. I always hated my freckles, and I never got why they call it a beauty mark, it's just an ugly dot–"

"Stop," the command was quiet but forceful. Peter went quiet, though it was probably more from surprise than anything. Percy ignored that though, his mental image of Peter was complete, and when he pictured himself next to the shorter teen–

"You're beautiful," Percy whispered. He could imagine the obviously shorter boy standing next to him clearly now. He pictured Peter looking up at his, the moon turning his eyes to a stunning bronze that put Riptide to shame and a warm smile. He imagined the beauty mark under his left eye and freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose. Fawn hair curled around his ears, and a pale, slim hand – smaller than Percy's own – reached up to brush the hair out of those eyes that caught and held Percy in their gaze.

"I'm really not," Peter insisted, breaking the spell. The image faded, but Percy wasn't afraid. He knew that he would remember it. "Clearly losing your memory has made you delusional. Everyone agrees – well, Aunt May and Sally don't count – but I'm not beautiful. Just a wallflower, barely even there."

"You are beautiful," it was Percy's turn to insist. He couldn't believe Peter didn't know. Didn't see. "I've always loved your freckles – and your beauty mark. I love how your hair curls around your ears and falls in your eyes. I always want to reach up and brush my fingers through it. I love how – despite everything – your skin's still soft and smooth to touch.

"I love how your eyes change color with your emotions, even if you don't believe that. I love how your not afraid to laugh when you're happy or cry when you're sad. How you manage to come up with crazy, but brilliant ideas that I can't even wrap my head around. I love your laugh and your smile and–" the realization hit, and Percy's breath caught. "– gods, Bambi, why didn't I figure this out sooner? Why did it take me losing my memories to realize?"

"A pause, then: "Realize what?" there was a catch in Peter's voice – a sort of frailness that made Percy want to reach out and hold him and never let go. To tell him everything and promise to stay with him forever. To promise that this was real.

He couldn't though, because Peter was thousands of miles and a whole quest away. Back in New York, where he fought crime and crazies in animal costumes, not Alaska with Percy, and he should have realized this sooner then he did. Gods, he was so stupid sometimes!

"I love you."

BOOM! CLIFFHANGER!

Yeah, I did that. I feel great remorse.

Guys, I feel you. My heartstrings were pulled as I wrote this, I know. That being said, I still don't know if there will be a follow-up. I have an idea about if being after the War, and from Peter's POV, but no real plot.

Well, whatever the case, what did you think? Like it? Hate it? Want to randomly scream LOLLIPOPS? Go right on ahead!

To the questions!

Percy has come to a (not so surprising) realization: he's in love with his best friend! But what does Peter think of Percy's confession? Does he feel the same? Or does he not? Why did he sound so frail at the end? Could he also love Percy? Or is it too late for these two? And what about Annabeth, Percy's girlfriend? Will Percy, Frank and Hazel free Death?

Find out next time (if there is a next time)!

Until next time my fine, furry friends! ~JAF logging out!