The days and nights were all the same here. A few extra rays of light, heavily filtered from behind the thick black clouds, was hardly enough to brighten up the place. Devyn had been spoiled on Earth, and the past few weeks–had it been weeks? It had been more than days. Less than months? He wasn’t very good at keeping time. It was easier when the sun rose and set.

He had no functioning internal clock. He slept in short intervals, irregularly and always on edge.

It stormed a few times while he was there, but it was never as bad as the first storm. It had gone on for what he assumed was a few days. When it cleared up, it gave him the time he needed to collect some supplies.

Sailor Alastor only ever left the Hall of the Ancients in very rare circumstances–sometimes to forage, sometimes to collect resources, sometimes to look for others.

The signs of age were obvious, now that he was looking for them. The pathways he used to know so well were overgrown with weeds, and if his feet hadn’t known the way he might have gotten lost.

Michael’s flashlight had been a life saver; he’d never seen shadows scatter so fast.

The flood was worse than he expected, and the ground was soggy with mud. A few trees had fallen over in the storm, but the river bank had held. Through the first storm, the second, the third.

By the time he felt the fourth storm coming, he already knew that he was going to be heading out soon. His supplies were running low but he hadn’t gone back to a diet of grass and bark and withered mushrooms, so he was still doing pretty good for himself. He’d stretched it out for longer than he thought he would–

Or, maybe it just felt like it had been a while. He felt homesick for a world he’d spent a few days on. He was lonely, and now he was aware of it.

He had a plan and he needed to act on it.

He just needed to make sure his world would survive while he was gone again. A few times, he’d been weak. He’d held the phone in his hand and imagined just pressing the button. He told himself he could visit Earth, for just a few hours, and then get back here, back to work.

Except, he didn’t want just a few hours. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to eat. He wanted to see Michael and thank him. Or just sit in a quiet room with him, where he could have all the peace and company he’d been craving.

Alastor had held out for as long as he needed to.

The Hall was safe. The Core of his world was safe. Fortified against the shadows and the upcoming storm. He’d fixed the roof, he’d reinforced the doors, he’d sealed the wall.

He’d done everything except visit Percy.

It felt wrong to think of it like that, but he’d spent this time reminding himself. Unpleasantly.

Alastor could think about the plan all he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that there was a grave with Percy’s name carved in it a few hundred yards away. He’d avoided looking at it as much as he’d avoided looking at the great oak tree that had grown over it, but he couldn’t run from it forever.

His bag was packed, this time for a long trip. He didn’t know how long it was going to take him to find Sessrumnir. He hoped it went as fast as all these years leading up to now.

The air was heavy; he didn’t have to hear the thunder to know the storm was coming. His chest ached, so he absentmindedly rubbed at it as he crossed the distance from the door to the–

Tree.

No, grave.

His stomach was in knots, and not just because he’d been thinning out his meals to make them last longer. The bag hadn’t felt heavy when he picked it up, but now it felt like it was cutting off circulation to his arm.

Every step felt like his foot was sinking into the ground, like his world was trying to stop him from reaching his destination.

He didn’t know why. He’d already come to terms with the fact that Percy wasn’t here. Even if the thought made his heart skip a beat and he could taste bile in his mouth, and it felt like the pit of his stomach was exploding in on itself.

For a moment, he stood before it. Then, he sat down.

The grass almost seemed healthy around the tree. He ran his fingers through it and admired how soft it was, so unlike the brittle grass that seemed to grow everywhere else–if it grew at all. It gave him a moment to look at the tree. The base was thick, more than a few feet wide. He thought he could see flecks of gold in the bark, but everything looked so dark. There were no leaves, either because the tree was sick or the wind always blew them off. He couldn’t be sure but he’d have thought it was dead if it didn’t feel like there was energy coming from it.

He had to crane his neck from where he sat to see the top of it from here. The branches disappeared against the dark sky, and it was only when the lightning flashed from far off that he again thought he might have seen a bit of gold.

It wasn’t safe to stay by this tree in a storm, not when the lightning always seemed to seek it out.

He had time for something a little more than a quick goodbye, but maybe it was the motivation he needed to just go.

He had a thousand things to say, a million. He couldn’t pick one. He started with the easiest.

“I’m sorry, Perce.”

He’d set his bag on the ground next to him and scooted a little closer to the headstone. His lips pursed tightly but there were no eyes to look into when he said it. He could imagine it easily, though.

In all this time, he could see his face clearly, sitting across from him. Like any other picnic they might have had on the hill.

He could see Percy’s smile, the way it reached his eyes. Could hear his laugh.

Those things never left. The good things never left.

He held onto them.

The cold slab could never imitate Percy, and maybe that was part of why it was so hard to be down here. But, he didn’t really have anyone else to talk to. Not about this. Everyone else–everyone–was gone.

There was a greater implication to it being just Percy, but he hadn’t been willing to touch on that much either. He didn’t have the emotional fortitude to carry that line of thought for very long.

Maybe it would be easier when he could find Sessrumnir.

It probably wouldn’t be. He was growing more aware of all of the little lies he told himself.

But, he was tired. And the storm was getting closer.

He reached out to touch the headstone and for the briefest of seconds he thought he felt warmth. He could imagine the soft fabric Percy might have worn. Could imagine him in his favorite green tunic. There was no shoulder to squeeze reassuringly, though. Just stone.

Nice stone, but it would never have been nice enough. He hadn’t put this one here. He’d planted the tree that grew over it, and if he’d had to say, that was the greater monument here.

Not that he was criticizing Marius’ headstone making abilities. Percy deserved a statue. Not that anyone could have properly captured his form, but.

He couldn’t bring himself to smile, but he ran his thumb across the stone. It was smooth, and in good condition–especially good condition, considering how old it was.

It wasn’t Percy.

Alastor was still alone here.

In the time before he’d known how to tell Percy everything he wanted to say, he’d had to rely on a kiss to get the message across. Even when he could speak freely, he could always rely on a kiss to say that and more.

So, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss onto the cold stone.

It wasn’t Percy’s lips, but in that split second he felt them. Their soft reassurance. The curl of a smile beneath it.

He stayed there for a few seconds, or a minute–he didn’t know. The thunder was getting louder.

Alastor had to draw away. “I’ll be back,” he promised. To Percy, to his world.

“I can’t fix this alone.”

He couldn’t bring Percy back. Maybe he could bring his world back, but he had to accept that Percy was–

Somewhere else, maybe. Someone else.

He could hope that he was out there, in some capacity. That the universe had been kinder to him in this life.

“I just need a little time. I’ll figure this out.” The words were like gravel in his throat and he had to force them out. His throat felt raw again and he ran his thumb across the smooth stone once more. “But I’m sorry. And I love you. And I will make this up to you in any way I can.”

In this life, or the next, or every life after it.

He’d made a promise to find him before–before all of this had gone wrong–and he was going to keep it.

He’d promised to find him in any life. He just hadn’t expected to still be living this one for so long.

The storm was rolling closer. He knew he was stalling.

He didn’t want to say goodbye, so he didn’t.

He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the bag he’d dropped. The first few drops had started to fall. He withdrew the phone Soleiyu had given him, and this time he was confident when he let his thumb hover over the button.

“I’ll be back soon, Perce. I’ll fix this.”

Whatever was left to fix, at least.