a/n: Hi, jamez and to everyone else in the chat. Thanks, Unspeakable, for helping me with combing through the Iliad.

The title is from the musical.

Disclaimer: Ha, ha, no.

Title: I may fail you (but it doesn't mean that I won't try)

Word Count: 1K

Summary: Percy, Annabeth, and the variations they explore in myths. [Gender AU – F/M, F/F, M/M]

i. this wine-dark sea

Penny looked over the railings of the Queen Anne's Revenge. She could feel the thrum of power in the wood, telling her how fast they were moving in the water (ten knots!) and hearing the creaking melody of the ropes and pulleys keeping the boat in one piece. The dark waves seemed to move with them, allowing quick passage as various monsters lurked beneath the waves.

If their lives weren't in constant danger, then this would be so cool.

Atticus reappeared from belowdecks. His face, while no longer as green as monster mucus, still had the pale look of someone about to be sick. At least he no longer looked like a furry rodent.

"We're making good distance," Penny said in an attempt to break the silence. "Just two demigods following the same steps of other demigods. The family business."

"Yippee," muttered Atticus. He curled his fingers into his palms. He blinked and stared at them, maybe expecting them to turn to a guinea pig's paws, before looking back at Penny. "Back on the island... No, I'm not going to suddenly eat lettuce. Stop giving me that look. What I mean is that Circe turned arrogant men into animals. Am I really that arrogant?"

Penny thought about it and tried not to think of all the times Atticus was determined to do things his way, his dislike at following orders from someone else. She had the sudden hazy memory of the Lotus Hotel, the flashing lights around them and Atticus saying he was going to build a monument worthy of the gods.

"…you're also a great friend…"

"But arrogance is what got so many heroes killed." Atticus expression turned distant. The sea-salt breeze twisted through his blond curls, making him briefly look like something out of an Ancient Greek textbook. "Theseus, Hercules, Jason… I don't want to end up like them."

"If it helps," Penny said, and she tried not to think of Circe's words, the offer to unleash her hidden potential, the lack of famous girl demigods. Immortal sorceresses sucked. "I don't think many of those heroes had a best friend like me by their side."

"Yeah." Atticus cracked a smile. "We make a pretty great team."

ii. keep on walking and don't look back

Around nightfall, the boat stopped by a creek bed. Percy guessed even special wild blessings needed some downtime. Zoë gave instructions for everyone to make camp, but every now and then, her expression flickered, like she was just as tired as the rest of the non-immortal hunters.

By the time they all had shared a quick meal by the fire and checked the parameters one last time, Grover, Bianca, and Thalia went to go sleep. Percy found himself sitting alone with Zoë as she sharpened her hunting knives by the dying fire.

"You would truly go to the ends of the earth for her?" she asked. The firelight caught the long edge of her knife. She gave the hilt an experimental twirl between her fingers.

Startled, Percy was drawn out of the reoccurring memory he had of Annabeth tackling into Dr. Thorn's side, her blonde hair flying behind her like a comet's tail.

"Such devotion," said Zoë, "it can be a weakness." There was a weariness to her words, as if the centuries she had spent living made it almost too much to bear.

Even though Percy wasn't exactly certain, he pulled Riptide out of his pocket and presented it to her. Anaklusmos.

Zoë set her knives down and turned the pen over in her hands. Her expression was carefully blank. "I would be careful if I were you, demigod. There is no telling what you and Annabeth Chase would do for each other."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Percy tried not to sound hurt. He wanted to say a hundred things, about how brave Annabeth was in the Underworld on their first quest, that they had saved each other countless times, how he wasn't exactly a slouch in the hero department, that he and Annabeth were always their best selves when they fought side-by-side.

But Zoë looked so old at that moment.

She looked so tired.

"Personal loyalty can be a flaw." She handed back Riptide to Percy. "It gave Orpheus nothing but sorrow when he failed to retrieve Eurydice. What makes you think you won't suffer a similar fate?"

"But it's different this time," Percy said.

"It never is."

iii. someone will remember us / I say / even in another time

Penny found Annabeth by the sword arena, angrily slashing at straw dummies with her dagger.

The air still smelled like smoke, and Penny shuddered, hints of the sea from her death shroud. Well, it was an unused death shroud. She hoped that wasn't going to be an omen or anything.

Careful not to get into Annabeth's stabbing space, Penny waited at the edge until Annabeth's breath turned ragged and that the movements became sloppy with exhaustion. Straw littered the ground Most the dummies now lacked arms and heads, but that hadn't stopped her from stabbing them repeatedly in the chest. Ouch. Penny winced empathetically as one head rolled to her feet.

"Two weeks, Seaweed Brain." Annabeth's voice lacked the steadiness it had in the Big House. "And you turn up at your own funeral."

She finally sheathed her dagger.

Annabeth turned to face Penny. Sweat dripped down her forehead. Her gray eyes were as dangerous as storm clouds, but all Penny could stupidly think about in that moment in the forge when Annabeth had kissed her. It was funny how that was the last thing Penny had thought about before making Mount St. Helens explode.

"I got lost," Penny said. "But I found my way back."

Annabeth's hands were shaking. "I swear to the gods I was going to drag your soul out of Hades, but Chiron said—that it wouldn't—" And she threw her arms around Penny and hugged her tight. "I'm so glad you're not dead."

Penny buried her face in Annabeth's curls. This was Annabeth. She was camp and home and safety. Penny then tried not to cry. They both failed.

After several minutes of all-out crying, Annabeth had composed herself and untangled herself from Penny. She wiped at the corners of her eyes as Penny tried to wipe her runny nose. Some brave heroes they were at the moment.

"What was that thing you said my funeral?" Penny recalled some of the Ancient Greek Annabeth had recited before burning the shroud. They were almost familiar, like something she had heard before in their lessons on important classics.

Annabeth's face turned pink. "It was nothing. Just some poet."

iv. a man, a mere mortal, his doom sealed long ago

"The Curse of Achilles, huh?" Atticus asked. Percy tried to look at him without the image of his best friend falling to the ground in a puddle of his own blood.

It kept repeating in Percy's head like an old movie stuck on repeat: the cold feeling he had as someone had walked over his grave. Atticus' sharp cry of pain. Was this also what Achilles' ghost had meant about it being a curse, to watch all of the people he cared for die as he stood nearly invincible?

Of course, nothing was fair. They were just repeating the same myths other demigods had before them, the same struggles and monsters and curses.

"Yeah, I guess it works." Percy sat at the edge of the lounge chair "Does it still hurt?"

That was a stupid question. Atticus struggled to move, pushing the blankets to the side as he carefully sat up. Even that looked like it took too much effort. His face became paler and he clenched his teeth in obvious pain.

"This better not make me the Patroclus to your Achilles," he muttered. His gray eyes looked almost feverish in the growing dawn. "I don't know how…it was like a gut feeling… I saw the knife and I knew what to do."

"Do you want me to get stabbed so we're even?"

Atticus made a face. "Ugh, after all of that work I put in to make sure you're alive?"

Percy looked around. He saw people moving behind the terrace doors, heard the quiet murmur of the city, but that didn't stop the feeling of his heart being beaten by a celestial bronze hammer. He leaned in close: "Do you want to know where it is?"

"Percy…"

"I mean it," he said in a whisper. Percy could feel the water of the River Styx rising over his head, the debris of broken dreams in the current. Atticus standing on the pier with his hands outstretched. Percy could hear Achilles' warning faint in his ears. Even the greatest warrior of all time couldn't survive with this curse.

Atticus licked his lips. He nodded.

Without needing to speak, Percy directed Atticus' hand to the small of his back, the spot that tethered him to his mortality. His skin tingled at the touch, but the trust that passed between them was unspoken.

Atticus removed his hand, but not knowing what to do now, Percy held onto it. It was reassurance. It was proof they could get through this together.

Maybe Atticus wasn't wrong about them being like Achilles and Patroclus.