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Grover tentatively reaches out to the figure on the bed, concave and shivering underneath a mass of blankets. All the lights are turned on, and Percy’s eyes remain open but glazed and unseeing, staring emptily at the bleak wall in front of him.
“Hey.” Grover whispers as quietly as possible as not to startle him, ignoring the way Percy flinches regardless—his shoulders bunch up tensely and his head snaps in his direction, wide before relaxing.
“Hey, Grover.” Percy mumbles, his voice raspy as he forces his dry, cracked lips up into a smile. It doesn’t reach his sea green eyes, though he lifts the corners of the blankets up so Grover can crawl in next to him, remaining mindful of his hooves so he doesn’t kick him.
“You… You should probably get out of bed soon. Goat’s orders.” Grover attempts, failing in hiding the heaviness behind his tone. He moves so that he’s on the pillow opposing Percy’s. He can feel body heat radiate off of him—what if he’s getting sick again?—and Percy pulls a sour face before wrapping an arm around Grover’s waist to pull him closer, their chests brushing now.
“You can touch me, you know.” Percy reminds him, his hand curling into a fist around the back of his shirt. His tone is almost accusatory, bordering bitter.
Despite his encouragement, Grover remains tentative as he lifts his hand to brush Percy’s windswept hair out of his eyes, now nothing more than a bed head. He places it on his boyfriend’s hip afterwards, nodding to show he heard him, carefully shifting so that their foreheads are inches from each other.
“How’re you feeling?” Grover finds himself asking, and Percy nearly pouts. It’s enough to make Grover nearly bleat out a pathetic laugh, but Percy’s gaze is stormy.
“I’m fine. You don’t need to keep asking me that.” He says defensively, and Grover glances away. Both seem to shrink back, and Grover’s throat constricts. Tartarus is a subject he attempts to avoid for most costs, though he’s undeniably curious. Percy and Annabeth don’t speak a word, and the rest of the demigods from the journey seem to know nothing anyways.
The sound of a door clicking open and then drafting shut plays faintly in his ears, and Percy takes that as an excuse to retract his arm from Grover, sitting up a bit. “Annabeth?” He calls, his voice far from timid, though it seems a little paranoid.
“Yes, it’s me.” Annabeth calls, her voice already ten times more exhausted than Grover ever recalls having felt. She shifts around the living room as Percy rests his head back on the pillow, burrowing underneath the sheets like a hermit crab.
Annabeth shuffles into the room a couple minutes later, shedding her jacket on a coat hanger carefully before striding over to the bed. Her posture is a little more slumped than usual, her blonde hair harried and gray eyes bright compared to the looming bags underneath her eyes. “Scoot.” She tells Grover, who obediently does so.
“What’d you do today?” Grover asks wearily, knowing his girlfriend has overworked herself for a distraction yet again.
“I…” Annabeth trails off, her expression puzzled momentarily before she sighs and shakes her head solemnly. “I did a lot of things. I met with Nico, too.”
Grover nods, and it’s evident Annabeth hasn’t remembered most of the day.
Percy reaches out to take Annabeth’s hand before Grover can say anything else, and she intertwines her fingers with his easily, squeezing carefully before he brings her hand up to his lips. He takes time kissing over her knuckles and a couple of scars on the back of her palm, the tenderness of his actions so loving it feels as if Grover is intruding.
Annabeth’s gray eyes soften, and she lets their hands rest on Grover’s hip. He suddenly feels more like an empty spot on the bed—the only thing separating Percy and Annabeth from their long awaited contact.
Grover closes his eyes tightly, turning to nuzzle against the pillow, successfully nuzzling against it.
“Grover?” Annabeth asks softly almost immediately, and the satyr whimpers once, unable to choke out words.
He feels a warm chest pressed up against his, then the indent of the bed behind him. It’s only a divot, a space that Percy occupies as he freezes up, though he doesn’t remove his hand from Annabeth’s.
“Is something—“
Grover cuts Annabeth’s inquiry off with a sob, his hands clenching pathetically at his sides as he turns to shoulder his girlfriend, childishly attempting not to be seen between his partners.
Annabeth repeats his name softly, forlornly and places a hand on the middle of his back comfortingly, tucking her chin over his shoulder. His body shivers—he should be comforting both of them, shouldn’t he? He’s not the one who was trapped in Tartarus.
It occurs to him that not knowing where Percy or Annabeth were, or how they were doing, was a whole different hell in itself.
Annabeth secures an arm around Grover’s waist, ducking her head to kiss his cheek occasionally. She whispers comfort that doesn’t register completely, though he allows her voice to provide a warm presence above him no blanket ever could.
He sniffles quietly, turning his face a bit to peek through one tear-filled eye, his horns scraping against the headboard slightly. Percy stares back, shells-shocked and unmoving, and it’s enough to send another wave of guilt through Grover again.
Percy reaches out, and for one terrible moment, Grover thinks he’s about to be shunned. Instead, Percy shakily wipes his tears away with the palm of his hand, nearly brushing against his iris clumsily. “You didn’t tell us…” He starts, shaking his head and then cocking it to the side confusedly.
“You don’t tell me anything, either.” Grover mumbles, his voice wavering dangerously, his tone not as accusatory as desperate. “I just want to understand; I can’t help you guys if I don’t know what’s going on.”
Percy gapes helplessly at Grover, who perseveres regardless. “What have I done for you two, really? Nothing. I can’t help…” He trails off, pathetically clapping a hand over his face as if it could contain his tears.
Annabeth touches Grover’s arm again, shaking lightly until she regains his attention, seeming nonplussed by his sobs. Her expression is stern, and he’s starting to feel like Chiron’s scolding him again.
“You know there’s no logical reason to beat yourself up over this, right?” She reminds him, her words leaving no room for negotiation as she lifts her hand to swipe it cleanly underneath his eye where more tears have been collected. “You weren’t there, and this isn’t your fault. Plus, you haven’t left us yet, so I’d say that’s more than enough.”
Grover feels as if he should argue, but he instead resigns and hangs his head. “Yeah, I know.” He whispers hoarsely, feeling a pair of lips pressed against his creased forehead.
“I think we could all use some rest.” Annabeth says, as optimistically and orderly as her voice will allow her, and Grover finds himself nodding. His chest feels sunken and hollow, his eyelids drooping in protest.
“Percy?” Annabeth asks, her voice gentler than used with Grover, and he’s too exhausted to dwell on it. He cranes his neck in his boyfriend’s direction, thankful that he no longer looks like a deer caught in headlights.
He locks eyes with Grover, leaning in a moment later to press a kiss to his cheek where his tear tracks lay drying, impossibly heartfelt as his shoulders sag. It’s an unspoken apology, as Percy remains a loss for words, and Grover nods once to convey his understanding.
That night, once he feigns sleep, Percy and Annabeth continue to talk. Their voices are so hushed it’s almost intelligible, even with Grover pressing his ear against a pillow.
They share a kiss above him—only a peck, and he’s reminded of how much he truly will never know.
...
For once, it is Grover that awakes first because of a nightmare, desperately scrabbling to hold onto Percy’s limbs and press against Annabeth’s inviting arms. Neither complain, as Grover gasps for breath, both clinging onto him and digging their nails into his skin.
He is encompassed on both sides, shrouding him from the now dimly lit room.
They are sanctuaries from Hell.