Together (Percabeth! Secret Santa for PinkiePie!)

[hugmebrotha]

Happy Holidays, PinkiePie! I hope you enjoy this Percy Jackson fanfic! I tried to keep it in character as best as I could, forgive me, but I haven't read the series in a while. This story takes place during the *very* beginning of The Last Olympian, (directly after Charlie's death), featuring Percabeth! AU, of course! I had a lot of fun writing this; I haven't read/written Percy Jackson fanfiction in a VERY long time, so this made me giddy. 

(Also, a HUGE thank you to Pollen Girl, I couldn't have written this story without her. I had difficulty writing out some of your certain likes, I will admit, so Pollen Girl was a great help. Thank you again dude!)

Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1609

---

“Where’s Charlie?”

 

The explosion of the Princess Andromeda cruise was branded into his muddled mind. The demigod son of Poseidon, Percy, descended into his grave illness once he returned to Camp Half-Blood, following the tragic death of his fellow camper, Charles Beckendorf.

 

His forehead, glistening with sweat due to his searing heat, was gingerly shielded with a cold cloth. His irritated, swollen, sea-green eyes peered into the stormy, albeit compassionate, gray eyes of Annabeth Chase, the daunting daughter of Athena.

His heart swelled.

“Seaweed Brain,” she wiped a tear from her cheek. “Percy…”

“The Prophecy,” Percy croaked. He took in a sharp gasp; Annabeth’s eyes widened, only for her to realize that Percy hadn’t gasped in fear or pain. Her curly blonde hair, ruffling in the gusts of wind, temporarily shrouded her face. The breeze greeted the ill Percy rather harshly; in fact, his breathing continued to hitch involuntarily. “It’s time…” his harsh, grating voice made Annabeth flinch. “It’s…hhh...ihhKSHUH...sorrheey...hih…”. Percy’s head tilted back, his eyes stuck at half-mast. “Hihhh...ET’SHhuh...ugh.”  He sniffled unproductively and opened his mouth to finish his thought.  “We must be ready for Kronos’s next assault…”

She shushed him.

 

“Percy, you must not speak,” her voice was firm and resolute—although even the ailing Percy could detect the slight tremble in her voice. “The explosives…” she swallowed, “I’m not completely sure if my theory is plausible, we are half-bloods, after all, however…” she stared. She gently removed the cloth from Percy’s forehead, wringing out the warm water before setting it into the cool basin. Annabeth returned the cloth onto his forehead.

 

"Percy, I think—no, I believe—I believe the radiation from Beckendorf’s explosives may have interfered with your health.”

 

“What?” he attempted to lean forward; Annabeth grasped onto his sore shoulders and gently pushed him back down onto the mattress. A grimace tightened his unusually pale face as his stinging eyes began to water. His breath began to hitch, and he raised a shaky hand to his nose. How in the Hades…?

 

“No,” Percy gasped, flat out ignoring Annabeth’s request, “I was—huhh...I was in my father’s palace, I was w-with Tyson—” Oh, dear Gods, I sound totally crazy, don’t I?

 

His nostrils flared as he stammered, “How—How could I not be h-healed?” He turned his head into the crook of his elbow, “hhh...Hah...HKSHue...uhh.”  Sniffling again, Percy winced; he could feel the convulsion in his entire torso that time. “I felt perfectly fine…”

 

“You fainted,” Annabeth murmured, before taking a seat onto Percy’s mattress. “Nearly three hours after you received the Great Prophecy from the Oracle. Do you remember that?”

 

“The Oracle…” Percy’s voice quivered as the image of the mummified maiden appeared in his mind. His hand trembled as he fished Riptide out of his pocket. Oh, he certainly didn’t remember trivial memories, such as what he had for breakfast that morning, but he could clearly remember the ominous lines of the prophecy and his inevitable death.

 

No one should want to be a demigod.

 

“Do you think…” he began to slur, “This is the cursed blade…?”

 

“What?” she peered at the shimmering bronze sword. “Riptide?” Annabeth hesitated, “Of course not,” she waved her hand, “Prophecies have double meanings, perhaps it is Kronos’s scythe. You need to focus on rest, Seaweed Brain.”

 

“Rest?” he scowled. “Sure, I’ll rest, after learning—” he heaved, “after learning I might, possibly be suffering from radiation exposure during a war!”

 

She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

 

“Beckendorf…” he groaned. Suddenly, his recent outburst brought an onset of severe fatigue. “Oh, Gods, Silena…” his tears began to pool onto his Camp Half-Blood t-shirt as he envisioned the tear-streaked face of Beckendorf’s girlfriend. “I let it—” he hitched, “I let it happen, didn’t I? That spy’s in our camp, Annabeth…” he continued to mumble into his delirium.

 

Despite his blurred vision—Gods, Clarisse would surely enjoy to see me crying like a baby, wouldn’t she?—Percy could decipher Annabeth’s trembling hands caressing his unruly black hair. He reached his bandaged, bruised arm forward, placing his cool hand delicately onto hers.

 

She stilled.

 

“I’m sorry,” Percy whispered. “I’m a stubborn idiot, aren’t I? You’re tryin’ to help me.”

 

“Seaweed Brain…” she grumbled, an evident frown upon her face. His face—his horribly pale face—was riddled with guilt. The arrogant demigod usually didn’t express his insecurities and vulnerabilities (Gods, don’t even get Annabeth started on their first quests as twelve year olds, featuring the bratty Percy Jackson). However, it wasn't until a few years later of getting to know him until she figured out one of his greatest vulnerabilities.

 

It occurred following the destruction of the Labyrinth. They were nearby the Zephyros Creek for a game of Capture the Flag. She remembered how the whites in his eyes took on a pink tinge from irritation. Although he rarely mentioned it, he did have allergies. Usually, he took mortal medicine for them, but those tablets generally aren't readily available at Camp Half-Blood; nectar and ambrosia were the only medicines supplied for demigods, to treat external injuries, certainly not allergies. In fact, it's ridiculously rare for a demigod to have allergies in the first place. As the half-blooded daughter of Athena, she theorized probable psychological and “Big Three” explanations behind Percy’s allergy (she did have spare time), however, she would probably never reach a formal conclusion.

 

He was far too embarrassed to mention it. Only when he had a particularly bad day was he forced to admit to it.

 

“Percy, are you feeling well?”  Annabeth asked, her pointed expression present (yet again).  

 

One of Percy’s infamous smirks made an appearance, though the flaring of his nostrils didn't do much to aid his rebellious persona. “Yeah, I'm fine. Can we just...hhh...get this over…” He paused as he took a sharp intake of breath, only to be disappointed by a false start. “Over with. It's fine...I just—hhh…sneeze a lot in...gener—ahhh...Heh’ITSCHhue!”

 

It was then that something clicked.

 

“Do you have allergies?”  It was almost a stupid question, but she couldn't think of a more plausible reason for Percy’s incessant outbursts.

 

“What…no...”  Even a child wouldn't be convinced.

 

She had yelled at him. She barely even remembered what she had said. It was so careless of him to speak with Chiron or even the senior counselors of the Apollo cabin. Eventually she halted when she realized he had been stuck mid-sneeze for quite some time.

 

“You’re so infuriating!” she shouted. Annabeth stormed through the grass, plucking ox-eye daisies.

 

“Me?” Percy answered, bewildered. “I h-have a simple cold! Would you stop being such a—”

 

He was unable to finish his sentence—since the heartless demigod suddenly thrust the bouquet of flowers in front of his face.

 

The look of sheer terror etched across Percy’s face was enough to confirm her suspicions.

 

“What are you—” Percy swore under his breath as the sensation in his nose intensified. “Hhh...hihhh...Annahhbeth!” He snapped away from her. “Hhh…H’IITSHue!  AHTshhoo!  Huh...ITSHHoo!  Why would...y-you—ihhh...H’KSHh’uh.”  

 

Annabeth almost felt bad for the idiot then, as she rolled her eyes and found him a handkerchief.

 

“...You’re delirious,” Annabeth grumbled, ignoring her growing blush as Percy’s fingers intertwined with hers. “Insanely delirious.”

 

“Annabeth...” he mumbled, leaning forward in his bed. A lopsided grin appeared on his face, and Gods, Annabeth missed his smile terribly. “M-May I have some ambrosia?”

 

“Of course not,” she scowled, ignoring his quivering lip. She removed the cloth from his forehead and rested her palm. “I will not feed you the food of the Gods which makes demigods feverish!” she protested, eliciting weak laughter from Percy—but it felt good to hear him laugh.

 

Despite the tragedy which had recently occurred.

 

“Wise Girl,” Percy croaked; Annabeth’s heart fluttered. “I’ll...I’ll be okay, won’t I?”

 

“Yes, stupid,” she smirked—their fingers remained intertwined—”you’ll be okay. I’ll make sure you will, because I’m not kicking Kronos’s butt alone.”

 

She stared at his bruises and burns.

 

“You’ll avenge his death, Percy,” she whispered closely into his ear. “I know you will.”

 

Oh, Gods, Percy thought. The tears, again? He furiously rubbed his eyes.

 

He could hear Silena’s cries in his ears—Where’s Charlie?—and knew it had to be put to rest.

 

He had to lead.

 

“You’ll be by my side,” he croaked. “Together,” he tightened his grip onto her hand, “we’ll save Olympus.”

 

She pressed a soft kiss onto his lips.

“Together.”

---

 

[Serendipity]

Thank you so much!! I love it so so so so much, it's better than I could imagine! Happy Holidays and thank you again!!!! <3