NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

twelve: the wound.

BROOKLYN'S CONSCIOUSNESS WENT in and out, but she slightly registered being taken off of Blackjack, getting on a lounge chair, and getting bandages wrapped around her shoulder.

When she found herself fully awake, she was covered in blankets, but she was sweating so much. But she felt freezing at the same time. She couldn't move her arm. Her vision kept swimming, and she felt as if she was in an inbetween of the two realms she could see; she could see all of the mortality ties, hers starting to turn gray and decay, but she could see the real world.

Silena Beauregard was wiping her forehead with a cool cloth. Below that, her top was stained with blood.

"Ugh, I'd liked this shirt, too," Brooklyn wanted to rub her eyes, but she couldn't move one arm, and the other arm refused to move. "D'you think someone could steal me a new shirt? One that contrasts with, you know, this wound."

"You are not joking about this," Silena scolded.

"What else can I do?" Brooklyn asked, her body flaring with pain, and she winced. She'd faintly heard the word poison when referring to her injury, which did not sound good. "It's not like I can, you know, stand up. Do a cartwheel."

Silena huffed just as Brooklyn saw Percy, Annabeth, and Will Solace open the door and rush to Brooklyn's lounge chair. Will unwrapped her bandages to examine the wound, and she nearly threw up. The bleeding had stopped but the gash looked deep. The skin around the cut was a horrible shade of green. So the voices hadn't been lying to her, good to know.

"Brooks . . ." Percy choked up.

"The Hayward luck had to run out one day," she nearly tried to shrug, but she stopped herself at the last second. "It just had to be today, I guess."

Will exhaled with relief. "It's not so bad, Brooks. A few more minutes and we would've been in trouble, but the venom hasn't gotten past the shoulder yet. Just lie still. Somebody hand me some nectar."

Percy grabbed a canteen. Will cleaned out the wound with the godly drink while Percy let Brooklyn grip his hand.

She hated showing pain, but she violently cursed and squeezed Percy's hand tightly, which probably made him regret asking her to fake date him, but at least she stayed still, like Will asked. Silena muttered words of encouragement. Will put some silver paste over the wound and hummed words in Ancient Greek — a hymn to Apollo. Then he applied fresh bandages and stood up shakily.

The healing must've taken a lot of his energy. He looked pale, probably like how Brooklyn probably was.

"That should do it," he said. "But we're going to need some mortal supplies."

He grabbed a piece of hotel stationery, jotted down some notes, and handed it to Travis. "There's a Duane Reade on Fifth. Normally I would never steal—"

"I would," he said.

Will glared at him. "Leave cash or drachmas to pay, whatever you've got, but this is an emergency. I've got a feeling we're going to have a lot more people to treat."

Nobody disagreed. There was hardly a single demigod who hadn't already been wounded . . . except Percy.

"Come on, guys," Travis said. "Let's give Brooks some space. We've got a drugstore to raid . . . I mean, visit."

"Get me a new shirt while you're at it," Brooklyn muttered, her vision going completely black and gray for a moment before it came back, everyone else gone except for her, Percy, Annabeth, and Silena.

Silena pressed the cool cloth to Brooklyn's forehead again. "This is all my fault."

"No," Annabeth said firmly. "Silena, how is it your fault?"