Prophesied Powder, PJO

2.7

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Chapter 18
Annabeth Tries to Kill Us

Volume 2: The Sea of Monsters

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Percy was a natural. He knew which ropes to hoist, which sails to raise, and which direction to steer. As the Queen Anne's Revenge responded to his commands, they plowed through the waves faster than any old sailing ship should have been allowed to go. Able to go.

But whenever they were out of danger, they had time. The ship was going well, but the people on it were tense; they worried about Grover, mourned Tyson, and Pallas had abandoned Pat and Annabeth to stare into the ocean with exhaustion.

Turning into a rodent was as terrifying as it was embarrassing. Pallas still felt jumpy, yet what upset him the most was how familiar it felt. He had grown so good at burying his emotions, but he had felt an ache in his chest since his mother had died. In the week before Hermes found him, he had embodied that jumpiness, moving from place to place, running as fast as he could to escape himself. That ache had returned full force. It made him sick to his stomach.

They sailed through the night. Pat was the first to leave, green in the face, and Annabeth had taken him below deck to one of the hammocks. At first, Annabeth had tried to help them keep lookout, but the seasickness took her too, and she went to rest.

Percy watched the horizon. He didn't even need to focus on the ship. Pallas thought he was brilliant. If not that, then powerful.

"Percy," He said at some point when the sun had set and the moon had appeared, unforgiving. "I am sorry."

Percy looked confused. He moved closer, leaning on the side of the deck with Pallas, but while Pallas looked at the water, Percy looked at him. "What are you talking about? If it's about Circe, we both got tricked, okay?"

"It is not about her," Pallas shook his head, "Maybe it is." He sighed, "In her curtain, I saw myself in a way that I do not believe is possible. I was like you, and Pat. Even how Luke used to be."

Percy obviously did not know what Pallas was talking about. He looked more worried than confused now. Pallas groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"Hey, man," Percy said, "I don't know what's got you acting like this, but..." he trailed off, cringing at his own awkwardness. He had no idea what to say, clearly.

Pallas shook off his tense shoulders and looked away from the water to study Percy's face. He was beautiful in the same way as Pat, with tanned skin and messy hair. He had watercolor eyes, green but blue and wavy. He looked like a hero. It irked Pallas. Ancient dreams should have died years ago, he thought, but he shoved the idea down his throat again.

"I..." He sighed again, looking off to the horizon, "I have never been good with people. Even before I came to camp...when my mom was alive," He furrowed his brows, thinking back on childhood days of sun and painting on the balcony, "I did not have friends. I was weird." He quoted.

"I had a dream about you," Percy told him. More accurately, he blurted it out, possibly worried Pallas might speak over him, "About how your mother died. I saw it."

Pallas went quiet and still for a moment. He nearly got mad—that was personal to him, how dare Percy see it—but demigods did not control their prophetic dreams. After a beat, he said, "I did not. Was it painful?"