Percabeth Dirty One Shots and Drabbles

Percy's Goddess

Okay I hate the title and so much more but I digress (still fun) 😭
By Lukemyboy on ao3

While they were enjoying their time at college in New Rome, Annabeth and Percy still thought of Camp Half-Blood as their home. And so, they would spend their winter breaks at the camp helping out when need be. And of course, when the monster Cetus was spotted in the Atlantic approaching New York, Percy helped out by defeating it single-handedly, long before it could reach the camp.

The son of Poseidon rode his own waves to shore with his trademark smirk on his face. The smirk faltered just a bit when he reached the land as he stumbled for a moment on the sand. It quickly returned to his face, however.
Annabeth, however, could tell it was a facade. Out of the water, his eyes lost their vibrancy. He was tired; she knew that. Not that he could let anybody in on that, of course. There were quite high expectations when you were the son of Poseidon, one of the big three. Not to mention that the original Perseus had already defeated this monster.

Not only was he tired, but he was injured. Even after he caught himself from stumbling too much, he was walking with a slight limp. More prominent, however, was the gash running down his chest, tattering his shirt. The monster had gotten a good swipe at him at least once.

A crowd awaited before him, in theory to provide an extra line of defense, but most didn't even bother to arm themselves. It was apparent they had assumed Percy would handle it. And handle it he did. The group started to disperse and head toward the dining area for the customary post-battle feast.

Someone from the Ares cabin shouted at him as they turned back. "Took ya long enough Perseus." Clarisse then elbowed their head from above. "Ow! Well, it did!"

A few of the Apollo cabin members, however, ran to Percy to treat him. He dismissed them, saying he was fine, but let them guide him onto the ground so they could look at his ankle. Meanwhile, one of them cut off his shirt so they could begin treating the nasty cut going down his torso.

Annabeth stood over the scene, arms crossed, wearing a pair of black cotton shorts and the standard orange Camp Half-Blood crewneck sweatshirt. While part of her couldn't help but take in his lean exposed chest and abs, most of her mental energy focused on how he would end up with yet another scar on that chest. She kept track of all his scars; this would be his 27th.

Still insisting he was fine, Percy managed to stand up after they treated his cut, with gauze now vertically wrapped along his torso like a sash. Annabeth walked over to let him lean on her, but she knew it was pointless; he waved her off.

"Percy."

He gave her a pitiful attempt at a smile and mumbled, "I'm fine."

Knowing that as a symbol of power for the camp, he needed to look strong, she begrudgingly let him walk on his own power. They walked slowly together in silence. Part of Annabeth wanted to grill him about his tactics, about how he could let the monster get such a significant blow in, but she had long since realized the last thing Percy wanted to do after fighting was talk about it.

At dinner, they lined up to give their offerings to the gods. Many enthusiastically paid tribute to Poseidon for giving them such a powerful son.

Percy went through the motions, mumbling thanks to some nameless god when he walked by. It didn't seem fair that they got more gratitude for his actions than he did.

After the tributes, Chiron said a few words of praise for Percy. It was a nice gesture, if somewhat hollow. Chiron cared for him, but still, he expected great things from Percy. A person joked about how convenient it was that they had a son of Poseidon. That was typical, not even referred to by his name, just by his birthright, as if him defending the camp didn't take any effort at all. Even for a son of Poseidon, it did. Not many would bother to consider that, however.