Percy Jackson Oneshots

Why is it Always School? (Percabeth)

Percy bolts down row after row of lockers, bleeding, sweating, and out of breath. The waistline of his pants is drenched in blood from a deep cut in his lower abdomen. Lightheaded and in excruciating pain, he stumbles into his second-period classroom over twenty minutes late. He slams the door behind him, caps Riptide, and, weak and exhausted, drops to his knees. A tear slips down his cheek; he hasn't been in this much pain since Tartarus. He unzips his jacket, peels the blood soaked fabric of his shirt off his body, and starts examining his wound.

Everyone is staring. Who wouldn't stare? A demigod sprints into class a half hour late, profusely bleeding, soaking wet, and covered head to toe in glittering golden dust. Percy can only imagine what their mortal eyes are seeing. But he really doesn't care. Right now he's focusing on stopping the bleeding and trying not to pass out. Percy coughs—a painful, hacking cough that leaves blood dribbling down his chin. He closes his eyes against the pain and rests his head against the wall behind him. Between the bleeding and the coughing, soon there's a puddle of red around him—each second expanding more and more, filling with the blood of the son of Poseidon.

Percy wishes this were a class he and Annabeth share. She'd be able to help. Instead, he's surrounded by clueless mortals who have no idea why he's dying. For Hades' sake, they might not even know he is dying; the Mist has some pretty powerful effects on mortal minds. At least if Annabeth were here, she'd know what to do. Annabeth. He smiles, however weakly, at the thought of the daughter of Athena.

Percy doesn't remember resigning himself to the alluring bliss of a coma, but he wakes up and realises he's slipping in and out of consciousness. Now his teacher, Mr Smith, is kneeling beside him. Mr Smith starts putting pressure on his wound using the boy's discarded, tattered shirt. He goes back to his desk and tosses a barely conscious Percy a Ziplock bag of ambrosia.

Percy pushes all thought from his mind as he stuffs a square, two squares, three squares of the healing substance into his mouth. Then he gently puts the bag down; he doesn't dare to eat any more. For one terrifying second, he starts to black out again, and thinks it won't work, or that he's eaten too much. But as soon as the ambrosia takes effect, he instantly feels stronger and flooded with energy in seconds.

Then the thought occurs to him: Why did my teacher have ambrosia? "What—how do you have this?" Slowly, cautiously, he gets to his feet, using the wall for support and balance.

Mr Smith replies, "You're not the only one of your kind, you know. Which monster was it?"

"Like a billion empusae," Percy says, exaggerating the number for emphasis.

"Holy Hera! By yourself?" Mr Smith exclaims. "No wonder..." He shakes his head. "Claire," he calls. A girl stands up from her desk. "I have to take Percy to the nurse's office. Keep the class under control."

"Yes, sir," she says indifferently.

Mr Smith wraps an arm around the boy's shoulders and helps him limp out of the room.

"I-I...what cabin?" is Percy's brilliant question once the door closes behind them.

"Six. You?" Mr Smith answers.

"Three."

"Son of Poseidon," the teacher murmurs, clearly impressed.

"Can we make a quick stop on the way to the nurse? I need to pick up my girlfriend, your half sister," Percy says.

Mr Smith smiles slightly. "Sure."

They arrive at Annabeth's math class and Mr Smith knocks on the open door, making sure to keep the strengthened but still very wounded Percy out of view of the class. "Excuse me, Mrs Potter?" Mr Smith says. "I'm afraid I need to borrow Miss Chase for the rest of the class period. Is that okay?" Annabeth's teacher apparently gives her consent, though Percy can't hear it over the sound of his own pulse in his ears.