Fall (Percy Jackson x Reader)

thirty-one

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(Y/N).

Pain.

(Y/N).

Weak.

(Y/N).

'Shut up,' her mind grumbles, too many things happening at once for her to deal with the random voice of insanity in her head.

There we go. Hello, darling.

(Y/N) grunts as her veins stipple with heat, and despite the thin air that passes through her lungs, she forces herself to keep from hyperventilating. 'I said shut up,' she sends back to the voice, doing anything she can to steady her uneven heartbeat.

If her blood began pumping too quickly, sending the poison deeper and faster through her system, she would be as good as dead.

That's no way to address your mother. The voice is offended, but behind the tone lies concern and fear.

'I don't care.' (Y/N)'s muscles loosen against their will, her head swimming and fuzzy. Her breaths come in pants, sweat trickling down her temples.

I want to help you.

'Oh, yeah?' Even her thoughts are slurred, her brain's tongue seemingly weighed down with poison. 'That's a first.'

The banter isn't helping you, (Y/N).

'Uh-huh. And you will?'

Neither is the sarcasm.

Her connection to the voice weakens, light shooting behind her eyelids and searing into her skull. (Y/N) screws her eyes shut tighter as she groans in pain, the sound trailing off into a quiet whimper.

I need you to hold on, all right?

'What the fuck do you think I've been doing?'

(Y/N).

'Don't expect an apology.'

If Persephone could sigh into her daughter's mind, she would have.

Listen, we don't have much time.

And if (Y/N) could roll her eyes at the moment, she would have done that, too.

The poison is taking over, and you don't have the defense you did last time.

She can't even feel the shock of confusion, but its presence is clear enough. 'Defense?' she asks, trying to simultaneously focus on her mother while keeping her heart rate steady. 'What do you mean? What last time—what defense?'

You would have died because of the Basilisk, but you had something else to give. The venom didn't kill you because you made it kill something else. It took the gift that Hades gave and left you your life. The goddess' voice becomes panicked as she concludes, You don't have that luxury now.

'Luxury?' The word drips with venom, her blood rushing—benefitting from (Y/N)'s incredulity, the poison shoots through her veins with new strength. She couldn't care less; if Persephone physically stood in front of her, (Y/N) would have made sure to shake the Earth with her anger. 'You think that was a luxury? You think the hours of weakness and vomit and sickness each day were a luxury?'