As If By Fate, a PJO fanfic
Rating: K
Words: 817
Characters/Pairing: Percy/Annabeth, mentions of other characters in fanverse
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort/Angst
Spoilers: Loads, kids. Don't read if you haven't picked up TLT, SOM, TTC, BOTL, TLO, and TLH. /Nods seriously after listing all books
Timeframe: After TLH
Summary: He comes one step closer to the truth when he sees the sky blue paint job.
Notes: Anggggggst T_T I personally believe that Percy still has his memory ('cause DIZ IZ RICK RIORDAN WE TALKIN' ABOUT) but I couldn't resist writing some good ol' depressing fic, which is a sort of b-side to the song "Hazy" by Rosi Golan and William Fitzsimmons. Load it and listen to it as you read, or I will somehow not allow your mouse to click the cut. /glares All said and done, please enjoy ♥
--
No matter what the circumstances, he always came back to the big, sky blue house in the middle of the strawberry fields. Everything and everyone came back to the big, blue house, be it literally or figuratively. Four years ago he had thrown his heavy burden of an unconscious friend on its porch; sprawled himself out sobbing and watching the moths dance and buzz around the electric light overhead before passing out. He had woken up in its infirmary to her golden hair and stormy grey eyes, her spoon scraping the ambrosia drips off his chin. He had climbed through its attic trapdoor which shut on its own as the green mist of the Oracle snaked around him. He’d looked out from its balcony, and as his hand ached and his limbs shook from the aftershock of poison, he made a decision he would follow for many years.
The big, sky blue house saw summers after that which filled its rooms with the wounded; its rec room was occupied by the strong, the immortal, and the wise, carrying on their war councils unceasingly. Many had stood between its walls, and on its floor - many had done that which they would never live to do again. And still the house stood tall in spite of its memories. But as for those who survived - a small band the gods pleased to bestow favour upon - they passed through its doors and walked along its corridors, their gait less and less of children and more and more of grown men and women.
And so it was with he who had come four years ago; the big, sky blue house was many things both terrible and wonderful to him. Fond memories had he of friends, wise mentor, and grey eyed princess who never left his side when he was bedded within the walls of the infirmary, but his blood ran icy at the thought of sunset through the attic window and shadows across a gruesome face. More often than not, however, he connected the house with old Owl Head (or Wise Girl, if he wished to be endearing). The house was a house of healing, quest assignment, prophecy, and wisdom. She had met him in the infirmary and waited upon him several times, quested with him on nearly all of his adventures, and bantered playfully with him during war councils. He had asked for a prophecy to help him save her once; she received a prophecy she hoped greatly would not concern him, for his own safety. Everywhere the boy looked, he was reminded of her. The house was the crux of many things, and so was she. One could see it as a package, so to speak. Then he left... left, left home, and in doing so, left her...
And once more it was at sunset, not four years ago but four years later, that he climbed the steps to the porch, exhausted in body and soul, leaning almost entirely against her and breathing heavily.
“Annabelle... what is this place?” His voice cracked with emotion.
She let her tears flow freely as her fingers grasped his wrist, helping him up the last step.
“My name is Annabeth... please remember. This is the Big House. This is where Chiron and Mr. D hang out and play cards, and where sick campers rest in the infirmary. Don’t you remember the Oracle in the attic? The strawberry preserves in the cellar? Hot chocolate by the fireplace at winter? Can’t you remember that where you’re standing right now is where you collapsed after fighting the Minotaur and dragging Grover over the property line? Don’t you remember that this was where I stood over you with Chiron... and called you the one?”
Her weary pleading whisper gave way to silent sobbing, and her shoulders shook as he took in the sight of the wooden beams beneath what was left of his sneakers.
He said, his own voice cracking and barely heard, “Well, I guess that if this is home... and it’s where I was happy... I’m glad to be back.”
History repeated itself, and like so many other times in his life, he approached the house. The bronze eagle weathervane creaked on the roof, sunset clothed the house in a dark orange light, and the wind brought the scent of strawberries to him. For the first time, he actually felt a connection to his past life. It wasn’t like when others tried to convince him of who he was, what he did, where he lived, and which camp he belonged to - the sky blue house, darkened in the light of the setting sun, nestled comfortably between the strawberry fields, seemed to smile at him and welcome him home - the welcoming home of a hero well known, well loved. And somehow - somehow - he knew this was where he belonged.
Words: 817
Characters/Pairing: Percy/Annabeth, mentions of other characters in fanverse
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort/Angst
Spoilers: Loads, kids. Don't read if you haven't picked up TLT, SOM, TTC, BOTL, TLO, and TLH. /Nods seriously after listing all books
Timeframe: After TLH
Summary: He comes one step closer to the truth when he sees the sky blue paint job.
Notes: Anggggggst T_T I personally believe that Percy still has his memory ('cause DIZ IZ RICK RIORDAN WE TALKIN' ABOUT) but I couldn't resist writing some good ol' depressing fic, which is a sort of b-side to the song "Hazy" by Rosi Golan and William Fitzsimmons. Load it and listen to it as you read, or I will somehow not allow your mouse to click the cut. /glares All said and done, please enjoy ♥
--
No matter what the circumstances, he always came back to the big, sky blue house in the middle of the strawberry fields. Everything and everyone came back to the big, blue house, be it literally or figuratively. Four years ago he had thrown his heavy burden of an unconscious friend on its porch; sprawled himself out sobbing and watching the moths dance and buzz around the electric light overhead before passing out. He had woken up in its infirmary to her golden hair and stormy grey eyes, her spoon scraping the ambrosia drips off his chin. He had climbed through its attic trapdoor which shut on its own as the green mist of the Oracle snaked around him. He’d looked out from its balcony, and as his hand ached and his limbs shook from the aftershock of poison, he made a decision he would follow for many years.
The big, sky blue house saw summers after that which filled its rooms with the wounded; its rec room was occupied by the strong, the immortal, and the wise, carrying on their war councils unceasingly. Many had stood between its walls, and on its floor - many had done that which they would never live to do again. And still the house stood tall in spite of its memories. But as for those who survived - a small band the gods pleased to bestow favour upon - they passed through its doors and walked along its corridors, their gait less and less of children and more and more of grown men and women.
And so it was with he who had come four years ago; the big, sky blue house was many things both terrible and wonderful to him. Fond memories had he of friends, wise mentor, and grey eyed princess who never left his side when he was bedded within the walls of the infirmary, but his blood ran icy at the thought of sunset through the attic window and shadows across a gruesome face. More often than not, however, he connected the house with old Owl Head (or Wise Girl, if he wished to be endearing). The house was a house of healing, quest assignment, prophecy, and wisdom. She had met him in the infirmary and waited upon him several times, quested with him on nearly all of his adventures, and bantered playfully with him during war councils. He had asked for a prophecy to help him save her once; she received a prophecy she hoped greatly would not concern him, for his own safety. Everywhere the boy looked, he was reminded of her. The house was the crux of many things, and so was she. One could see it as a package, so to speak. Then he left... left, left home, and in doing so, left her...
And once more it was at sunset, not four years ago but four years later, that he climbed the steps to the porch, exhausted in body and soul, leaning almost entirely against her and breathing heavily.
“Annabelle... what is this place?” His voice cracked with emotion.
She let her tears flow freely as her fingers grasped his wrist, helping him up the last step.
“My name is Annabeth... please remember. This is the Big House. This is where Chiron and Mr. D hang out and play cards, and where sick campers rest in the infirmary. Don’t you remember the Oracle in the attic? The strawberry preserves in the cellar? Hot chocolate by the fireplace at winter? Can’t you remember that where you’re standing right now is where you collapsed after fighting the Minotaur and dragging Grover over the property line? Don’t you remember that this was where I stood over you with Chiron... and called you the one?”
Her weary pleading whisper gave way to silent sobbing, and her shoulders shook as he took in the sight of the wooden beams beneath what was left of his sneakers.
He said, his own voice cracking and barely heard, “Well, I guess that if this is home... and it’s where I was happy... I’m glad to be back.”
History repeated itself, and like so many other times in his life, he approached the house. The bronze eagle weathervane creaked on the roof, sunset clothed the house in a dark orange light, and the wind brought the scent of strawberries to him. For the first time, he actually felt a connection to his past life. It wasn’t like when others tried to convince him of who he was, what he did, where he lived, and which camp he belonged to - the sky blue house, darkened in the light of the setting sun, nestled comfortably between the strawberry fields, seemed to smile at him and welcome him home - the welcoming home of a hero well known, well loved. And somehow - somehow - he knew this was where he belonged.