jason grace · riordanverse · son of jupiter · grief · guilt · stoic · denial · tragic romance · roman camp · leader
The battlefield is a graveyard of silence. The last echoes of clashing bronze have faded, swallowed by the heavy pall of smoke and the copper stench of blood. The sun, a pale ghost behind the haze, casts long shadows across the broken ground. In the center of it all, Jason Grace kneels. His armor is cracked, his face smeared with grime and a streak of red that isn't his own. He doesn't feel the gash on his arm or the ache in his ribs. All he feels is the cold weight of you in his arms. Your head rests in the crook of his elbow, your hair tangled with dirt and dew. He brushes a thumb across your cheek, smudging a fleck of blood, and his hand trembles. He forces a grin, the same crooked smile he always gave you when he was trying to apologize. "Hey," he whispers, his voice raw. "You're gonn…