Why is Everything so Loud?! (Fem. Percy)

Cause the drugs (never) work

Golden dust swirled through the water, caught in a current. It glimmered it the soft light cast by Riptide, even as the sword rested on my shoulder. The sand under my feet crunched as I rocked my weight back. I sighed. Another tally on the list, another monster that would look for revenge. Returning Riptide to pen form and slipping it into my pocket, I pressed my fingers to the scratches. Dark, thick blood welled out of them. I didn't dare let my touch wander up to the deep punctures on my shoulder. They still ached. As long as I didn't move my arm too much, it was just that. An ache, not burning shooting pain that made me sick. 

If I touched it, the bite would be all the more real, and there was no use in making it more likely to get infected. Not that there was a reason to do anything to prevent it.

If it got infected, well, it got infected. Sure, it'd bring pain, suffering, but that's what I needed, what I deserved. The added excuse I would get was a bonus. It would be one of the few times I wasn't expected to be useful. Of course, I pressed my lips together, Dad could be completely different than Chiron. Chiron's dealt with demigods for years, Dad hasn't, not really. 

 I stared down at my hand. Blood and dust covered my fingers, the golden flecks giving the illusion that I was something more than a demigod. Clicking my tongue, I turned around. Couldn't let Dad think his oh so precious weapon got taken again. He wouldn't like that. I knew that, of course I did, and I'd made sure to keep track of the way back to the palace. 

So I swam back. I was upset, having to cut my time short but it wasn't anything I really wanted to do. Couldn't do much that I wanted. Even this wasn't technically allowed. The edge of the window scraped against my legs. I released a breath. Safe.

Provided Dad didn't decide to grab an office chair and a floor lamp somewhere. 

Gritting my teeth, I wrapped a bandage around my shoulder, let the scratches heal with the barest touch of water. I cleaned up, changed, and slipped into bed. There was no sign of Dad. 

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out. 

Two days. 

Two days and that was all it took. 

Two days for Dad to notice I hadn't left my room except to eat. Two days for him to give me that look. And of course he'd want to talk. Of course, of course, of course. Today of all days. 

I groaned and pulled my covers tighter around me. I was pretty sure I'd pulled off the fitted sheet and had it tangled around my legs. Why am I so cold? A shiver ran through my body. 

"Percy?" called Dad. I nestled deeper into my blankets, and I debated the benefits of smothering myself under my pillow. The door cracked open. Heavy footsteps. My breath caught. The mattress dipped as Dad sat. Without thinking, I curled towards him. He's usually warm. Maybe he'll hold me if I- no. Can't. I can't ask that.  Nausea washed over me. I groaned again. My teeth dug into the skin of my hand. 

Dad drew my hand away. The rough cloth of his shirt scratched against it, wiping away saliva. "Don't do that."

"Don't feel good," I slurred. After allowing my eyes to fall closed for a second, and forcing them back open, I risked a glance up. A frown marred Dad's face. He reached a hand towards me. I flinched, breath catching in my throat. All he did, all he did was rest his palm on my forehead. 

"You have a fever," mumbled Dad, a crease between his brows. 

"No I don't."

The hand slid away. He kissed my forehead. For a moment, I was home and he was Mom. "You're burning up." Dad slowly guided me up to a sitting position, which quickly turned into a leaning position. My shoulder hurt, ached, burned. "You haven't been around anyone who could've gotten you...Have you taken anything?"