Hey, friends!

So... it's Percy's birthday. And I was thinking about updating my other stories, but then... this came to me will I was sitting upside-down on the sofa and I just had to write it.

Please excuse Percy's OOCness in the first bit. I needed you guys to know why what happened happened, if that makes any sense. Also, the writing style changes as the story goes along, because it gets funnier and I couldn't write that 1800's style. Sorry. I KNOW IT'S WEIRD. NO FLAMING! Although, I really won't care if you flame because I find flamers hysterically funny because none of them seem to know what they are actually talking about!

So... sit back, relax and enjoy... A Birthday Ballad.

Disclaimer: (To the Tune of Happy Birthday)

I don't own PJO

I don't own PJO

Rick Riordan is the master

So I don't own PJO

Or a Christmas Caroooooollll!

I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.

-Charles Dickens, December 1843

Demigods were dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatsoever about that. The shrouds had been laid upon the fire, the smoke risen in the air, and the tears had fallen from the eyes of the mourners who were in a fit enough state to shed them. There were witnesses, and the witnesses names were good until death for anything they chose to swear upon. Yes, the dead were dead as a door-nail.

Now, I don't mean to say that I know what is particularly dead about a door-nail. Zeus knows they were never alive in the first place. Perhaps a door-nail was simply the deadest thing our deceased ancestors could come up with, at the time. And I, being the one to tell you this story, being the one with the only first-hand account of it, am not one to argue with the dead. You will therefore allow me to repeat, emphatically, that the dead were dead as a doornail.

The mention of the funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that the demigods in question were dead. This must be fervently understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to tell to you today. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's father died before the play began, there would be nothing remarkable about his taking a stroll than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman fancying a walk about his yard.

But this story is not entirely about the dead. No, the dead play only a small part, a very small part. But I will say again: the dead were dead as a door-nail. You must remember this, for in time all your wits and your knowledge of the world shall be questioned. The dead were dead as a door-nail.

And now I should introduce you to the protagonist of this story: a demigod. Not one of the dead demigods, mind, but a very living one, physically and in spirit. A boy. The type of boy who can't, or won't, take life seriously. You know the type. The one thing that was different about this boy, besides the fact that he was the son of a dusty Greek god, was that he wouldn't take life seriously because he knew how short life could be, how the Fates could snip the thread in an instant.

This boy was, in fact, sixteen. And this is where our story starts, with this sixteen-year-old-boy, standing near a funeral pyre, watching as the smoke of the dead rose into the sky and his eyes shone with tears that he would not let fall, so that he would not lose another part of himself and feel that pain that he felt as each one of the shrouds were lit and realized that those that he knew, those that he had fought beside, those that were his friends, were gone forever.

Because the dead were as dead as a door-nail.

Perseus Jackson was sixteen years old, three hundred and sixty four days, eighteen hours, and forty-nine minutes old as he stood, watching the smoke, although it seemed a much shorter time period, him having been asleep for almost half of it. Sleep is a contributing factor in this story, one that you must not underestimate, for when we sleep we entire a world that is entirely our own, a world full of wonder and strange things, beauty and, at times, monsters. And no one knew this like Perseus Jackson.

Now, you must understand, that Perseus Jackson was not a bad person. But, assuming that you, dear readers, have never felt grief and rage and pain so much in your life as he, you might be under the impression that he was, in fact, a monster himself. However, this is not the case.

The night that Percy Jackson stood watching the flames ignite the cloth that covered those that had died in recent battle, something inside of him simply broke. That is all. Just snapped in two, like a twig that was put under too much pressure on either end. The crumbling fortifications that were blocking out the worst of him came collapsing in on themselves and those feelings of grief and rage and pain came flooding through his heart and into his veins, crashing through him like a tempest, like an orchestra made up of only symbol players, sending his mind reeling and making him feel as if he were alone in the world, alone in a gaping schism of all that was bad in the world, alone in the darkness, groping for a match but coming up empty-handed, entrenched in his own misery.

Blood was pounding it's way through his head, letting him know that he at least was still alive, but covering up all sounds, all rationality. He could feel people talking to him, trying to move him from where he stood at the pyre unsuccessfully attempting to stop the rain that was flooding his face and control his gasping breath, saying words of comfort that he could not hear and did not care about.

It took him some time to realize there was an arm around his shoulder and when he did, he angrily shoved it off, not bothering to notice the person who the arm belonged to, thoughts tumbling through his head, a tumult of hate. Why should he deserve comfort when there were other that were gone, never to return, down to a dark, cold place where they couldn't see the sky? Why shouldn't he, who could look at the sky constantly and never really appreciate it's beauty, be down there with them? Why did they, people who had been alive and breathing and wonderful only a while ago, have to be gone?

Why couldn't he be with them?

His feet carried him from where they had stood, cramping and stiff, for so long, moving mostly on their own accord. He kept his head down, ashamed of the tears he had spilled, his fists clenched in rage, and his teeth biting hard into his tongue so that he tasted blood and more tears sprang into his eyes, but what was his pain compared to the others who, perhaps blissfully, couldn't feel pain anymore, couldn't feel what kept them alive. His heart beat too loud, a constant reminder that he could still feel the pain.

He ended up in his own cabin, the one place which he could really call his home, for that was where his heart lead him, every time. And the heart must be connected to the feet, for if it wasn't, how would anyone find where they belonged?

He collapsed onto the mattress and frame that served as his bed, the covers dusty and lonely for a body, which he hadn't been able to provide for months. Plumes of dirt rose up as he curled in onto himself, closing his eyes tightly, trying to make the pain go away. But his heart just kept on beating, an endless drumming that, although usually serving comfort, was just reminding him of what they had lost and would never find again, not until their own drumbeats had ceased.

There came a knocking at the door, three taps. Surely someone cared enough about him to come and find him. But at this point, he didn't mind anything. He ignored the knocking, and after a while, the knocker went away, five minutes later followed by another and another and another and another, all trying in their own way to break through the door and in turn, Percy's walls, so that they might extend the hand of friendship and caring and comfort him, for they were grieving exactly as he was. But he ignored, wanting to be left alone in his misery and yet feeling as if no one cared when, if fact, the ones who did were standing right outside.

And it came to his attention that, in exactly six hours, three minutes and seventeen seconds, he would cease being sixteen years old. Because it was, at that time, the eve of his birthday, the evening of August seventeenth.

But what was a birthday? Just another landmark in the rocks of the soul, only serving as a reminder that he had survived yet another year, while others hadn't. His mind was becoming foggy now, as clouds of sleep pressed in on him, his eyelids fluttering as his grasp slipped on reality, as he thought of his birthday and tried to fathom how many more he might go through and how many others might not. Birthdays were supposed to be happy, hence the song, but how could he feel happy when he was pushing away all those who loved him and who he loved back? How could he feel happy that he had survived another year when he knew that there were some who hadn't and never would again?

And so, as the darkness closed in and he knew no more, Perseus Jackson thought, Whatever.

The clock turned, flashing from the numbers 11:59 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. The start of a brand new day, but no one felt the time turn except for one demigod son of Poseidon, who's eyes slid open, greeting nothing but the empty stillness of the room he was in.

The bright green orbs that shone out of Percy Jackson's face were clouded with the muddy thoughts he had just before entering sleep as he took in the room that surrounded him. And as he did so, it came to his awareness that he was not alone. For he could sense, rather than see, a presence, not so much physical. He had felt this presence before, or rather a like one, as he could tell by the shiver that graced his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up.

And then there came a ghostly light from the corner of the room, starting dimly at first but gradually growing brighter and brighter. Percy sat up in bed, on his guard from the unknown. And as he squinted, the light started to take shape, a shape that made him gasp and stand upright onto the floor, ignoring it's cold penetrating the warmth of his skin.

A figure was standing in Percy's room. Tall and strongly built, with skin the color of warm cocoa and hands the size of catchers mitts. Chains were draped over the figures shoulders and down it's body, looking very heavy and cumbersome. And as the figure solidified, Percy realized who it was: Charles Beckendorf, son of Hephaestus.

"Sup, Percy?"

Percy let out a strangled sort of scream and staggered backwards, realizing that he was seeing the dead. And although that was not an entirely new experience, it was the first time he was seeing a ghost in his bedroom.

Beckendorf was still standing patiently waiting for an answer. Percy gulped and found his voice at last.

"You... you... y-you're s-supposed t-to be d-dead."

Beckendorf laughed. "I know. I supposed I should be, but it really doesn't feel like it, now that I am. It's quite nice down in Elysium."

Percy, having listened to Annabeth blabbing his fair share of Greek mythology and literature, stared at the chains in horror. From what he knew, chains were never good. They tended to hold you in place. And then you usually got killed.

"W-why are you wearing chains?" Percy asked, fearful of the answer.

Beckendorf looked down. "These? Oh, just because they look cool." He grinned. "Boo."

Percy jumped backwards, not sure why. Probably because seeing dead people wrapped in chains was never good. I mean, look at that kid who kept saying, "I see dead people." Seeing ghosts was not usually a great sign, anywhere.

"W... why are you here?" Percy asked in the bravest voice he could muster.

"Because Silena needed more mascara." When Beckendorf saw Percy's look, he started over. "Oh, no, that's not why I'm in your cabin. Why would you have mascara in your cabin." He scoffed. "No, I was going to the store to buy mascara-mortals are so ignorant, they don't even notice when a male ghost with heavy bling on comes into a drugstore to buy mascara- when I got this text to come here. I have to give you a message... hold on..." Beckendorf suddenly rose into the air and spread his arms. In a booming voice he said, "TONIGHT YOU SHALL BE VISITED BY THREE SPIRITS! EXPECT THE FIRST GHOST WHEN THE BELL TOLLS ONE!"

Percy screamed as creepy music filled the air and ghostly light blasted throughout the room. Suddenly, the light went out and Beckendorf dropped back to the floor.

"Sorry, that's my cell," he said, taking a phone out of his pocket and pressing some buttons. The creepy music stopped. "Oh my gods, Silena, stop texting me!"

Another ghost appeared in the room, this one a girl with flawless skin and glossy hair. "Did you get my text?"

"Yes," Beckendorf muttered.

"Well, you didn't text me back!"

"That's because you are an obsessive makeup control freak!" Beckendorf mumbled. Silena didn't hear him. The ghosts started to fade. "Remember Percy... EXPECT THE FIRST GHOST WHEN THE BELL TOLLS ONE!"

And the pair disappeared.

Percy stood in the middle of his floor, drenched in a cold sweat. He shivered, recalling the ghost's warning. A quick glance at the clock told him it was still exactly midnight. How could the ghost's visit not have taken until at least five past? Percy mulled over these things and, putting them down to a hallucination caused by the stressful events of the day, climbed back into his bed and slid back into a weary sleep.

BONG!

A single bell toll rang throughout the night. Percy's eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright in bed. The ghost's warning rang through his head: Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls one!

Suddenly, a face appeared at the window. Percy jumped into the air. Instinctively, Riptide was in his hand.

A person stuck his head inside Percy's cabin window. "Sorry, Perce," a son of Apollo said. "We're having emergency bell choir practice. Did we wake you?"

Percy waved him off, distinctly relieved that seeing Beckendorf had all been a dream and there would be no ghosts. He snuggled down under his covers, pulling the pillow over his head so he wouldn't be disturbed by the bell choir again.

Just as he was falling asleep, a brilliant white light filled the room. Grumbling, Percy sat up again and squinted. The light was soon dying away, leaving a figure floating in midair.

It's... not possible! Percy thought, eyes wide as he stared at the ghost. It was young looking, and looked like a boy, although Percy couldn't be sure as he was still blinking away the spots the spirits entrance had left in his vision. The boy looked distinctly familiar, though Percy knew he hadn't seen this particular boy in a long, long time...

"Hello," the shade said. "I am the Ghost of Birthdays Past."

"No you're not," Percy said. "Nico, what are you doing in my room?"

The ghost of Nico di Angelo sighed. "Percy, I am not Nico. Not anymore, at least. I am the fun-loving, Mythomagic-obsessed child that Nico once was, the one who would wish for a birthday every year. My older self does not do that... or won't admit it. I am the Ghost of Birthdays Past."

"Nico, what happened to you? I liked your younger self. You were cute," Percy said, startled by this turn of events.

"I died," the younger Nico said simply. "Now come, Percy Jackson, the night grows short and there is much to see."

"Where are we going?" Percy asked as Nico beckoned him out of bed.

"To see your past, of course," Nico answered. "To see all of your past birthdays. Come."

The ghost made as if to touch Percy's shoulder. Percy felt like he was being squeezed to death and twisted into a pretzel at the same time, before everything exploded into a bright white light.

Percy felt his feet touch the ground. He blinked, and found he was standing in his kitchen.

"Nico, what are we doing here?" Percy asked, a little annoyed at having been dragged out of bed at this ungodly hour.

"Watch, Percy Jackson," the ghost replied.

Suddenly, Percy's mother was walking into the room, carrying a squirming bundle wrapped in a blanket. She was singing, "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday my darling Percy, happy birthday to you!" The baby Percy in her arms squealed.

Percy reached out, as if to touch his mother and younger self. His arm, though completely solid to him, passed right through them. His mother didn't even seem to notice, nor did the child in her arms.

"They don't know you're here, Percy," Nico said. He passed his arm through Percy's chest. "We are all from different fabrics of reality. That's why I pass through you and you pass through them. We can't all be in the same place at the same time. I'm sitting in a different reality than you are and you are the same with them."

"What do you see, then?" Percy asked Nico.

"I'll show you," the spirit answered. A wisp evaporated from the shades body and flew through Percy. Suddenly, he saw himself and his mother both separate, grow old, and die in the blink of an eye. Ghost were all milling around him, in different styles of clothing, probably people who had lived her long ago. A few prehistoric creatures even wandered about.

The wisp of smoke reattached itself to Nico's body. "That is what I experience all the time, Percy Jackson. Now come. There is still much to see."

Percy started. His mother and past self sped around the kitchen, much to fast to be normal. He watched the sun rise and set and rise and set again, like everything was on fast forwards. He saw himself grow up and, slowly but surely, his first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth and all the way up to his sixteenth birthday flashed before his eyes, the location they were in changing as Percy grew up. He relived the happiest and most terrifying moments of his life, the ghost stopping briefly on each of his birthdays, showing him exactly how wonderful they really were.

Finally, Percy saw himself down in the lake, kissing Annabeth, leaving him with a happy warm feeling spreading through his body.

"That was wonderful, Nico!" he exclaimed, feeling as though he could run around the world and back.

The ghost nodded, suddenly looking weary. "My time is up, Percy Jackson. The bell will soon toll and I will leave you with the ghost of Birthdays Present."

Percy suddenly felt very upset. "No, Nico!" he called as the ghost slowly started to fade. "I don't want you to go! I had so much fun! Can we go back and do it again?"

"The past is the past, there's no changing that," the ghost of the young Nico di Angelo called back to him. "Good-bye, Percy. Expect the second ghost when the bell tolls twooooooooooo..." The ghosts voice faded into a moan as he disappeared.

"No, Nico, come back!" Percy screamed. "Don't leave me alone!" He fell to his knees as the scene melted around him.

He was back in his own bed.

Percy slowly looked around, trying to see the ghost that Nico had forewarned him about. His eyes caught on a ghostly light flickering near the wall. Percy gulped and got out of bed, preparing for the next spirit.

It was just the television. A late-night movie was on, showing a gorgeous blonde lady dressed in a very period dress with a Southern accent holding a water glass, about to make a speech. She tapped the glass twice with a fork, calling people's attention.

"Hey, Percy, could you move?" a voice asked. "I can't see the television."

Percy jumped and whirled around. A La-Z-Boy recliner had suddenly appeared in his cabin. Lounging in it and drinking a Coke while holding a remote was none other than Luke Castellan.

"Thanks!" Luke gulped the last of his soda and waved his hand. The cup disappeared in a wisp of smoke. He burped once and heaved himself off the recliner. "So... I'm the Ghost of Birthday Presents. How's it going?"

"Birthday... presents?" Percy said, puzzled. "The last ghost said it was of Birthdays Present."

"NICO YOU LITTLE DWEEB!" Luke yelled. "No, the Ghost of Birthdays Present is some lame old dude who is currently showing some other old guy named Ebenezer about Christmas in the past. We change around, you know."

"Oh." Percy said. He turned back to look at the T.V. "What about the bell tolling two."

"Oh, that," Luke waved a hand at the television set. "Didn't you hear it? Southern belle, clinked the water glass twice? I was summoned!" He sighed. "I love hot girls."

"Uh huh," Percy said. "But why you?"

"Um... because I'm hot too?" Luke ventured. "Oh, you mean why am I the Ghost of Birthdays Present? Well, I couldn't get a job in spying in the Underworld and this was the only position they had left. I gotta pay for my Coke addiction somehow, you know." He paused. "Gods, I sound like Dionysus." He sighed. "Well, come on. I'm supposed to show you something... but I forget what it was..." The specter trailed off, lost in thought.

"Um... perhaps my birthday present?" Percy asked.

"Oh, yeah!" Luke said. He waved his hand and a box appeared out of thin air.

Percy eagerly took it down, while Luke examined his fingernails. Percy tore of the wrapping paper and opened the lid, revealing... an empty box.

"Where is my present?" Percy said, disappointed.

"Um... I didn't do anything with it," Luke told him. "There's some life lesson you should learn from this... oh yeah! Because you locked yourself in your cabin for all of your birthday, no one gave you anything! Guess that's what you get for being emo."

"I'm not emo," Percy said, studying the box. "But why would no one care about my birthday... birthdays are good!"

"It could be because you wouldn't answer the door tonight, making them think you didn't want anything..." Luke said, innocently staring at the ceiling.

"No!" Percy said desperately. "I didn't mean it! Tell me, Luke, is there some way of going back and changing the past? Please!"

"The past is the past, there's no changing that," Luke said, echoing the Ghost of Nico's words. "But-" He was cut off as the sound of "I'm Sexy and I Know It" filled the room. Luke pulled an iPhone from his pocket and tapped it a few times. "Oh my gods, Silena, stop texting me!" Luke shook his head and stuck his phone back in his pocket. "Sorry Percy, but I've got to-"

Luke was interrupted again as the ghost of Silena appeared in the room. "Did you get my text?"

"Yes."

"Well you didn't text me back!"

Luke rolled his eyes. "Anyway, Percy, expect the third ghost-" The two suddenly faded away, leaving Luke's voice hanging in the air.

Percy stood, bathed in the flickering light of the T.V. He switched it off, and started to climb back into bed, when suddenly, a phone rang. Percy looked around, and a cell phone appeared out of nowhere, flying into his hand.

1 New Message

Percy clicked View and opened up the message.

It was a text. From Silena.

Percy, Expect the Third Ghost when the bell tolls three! XXX Silena

Percy flipped the phone closed. As he did, it rang three times and disappeared again.

Percy gulped and turned towards the door as it slowly creaked open...

And Grover stepped into the room, covered in flour.

"Percy..." he groaned. "Percy... I am the Ghost of Birthdays Future... come with me, so you can see what must beeeee..."

"I thought you weren't supposed to talk," Percy said. "And why are you here anyway?"

"The other ghost got a bad case of laryngitis," Grover explained. "As Lord of the Wild, I volunteered."

"Oh," Percy said.

"Now..." Grover started, lowering his voice to sound spooky and mysterious, "We shall go into your future..." Suddenly, "Muskrat Love" rang out through the night. Grover yanked a BlackBerry out of nowhere. Percy really did not want to know where he was keeping that. "What the Hades?"

"What is it?" Percy asked, a little fearful.

"It's a BBM from Silena! Are you with Percy, did he get my text?" Grover glared at Percy. "Now you drag me into this!

"You volunteered."

Grover rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I wish I hadn't. PERCY JACKSON! GRAB MY ENCHILADA!"

"What?"

"Just do it."

"Okay..." Percy grabbed the offered enchilada.

"FUTURE!" Grover yelled as the sped away into the sky on a rainbow, which was kind of strange for a nighttime exhibition.

Percy landed just outside of his cabin, flat on his stomach. As he got up and brushed himself off, he grumbled, "Was that really necessary."

Grover was munching on the enchilada. "No, not really. It was just for show. The real Ghost has some cool effects with fog machines and time vortexes and stuff, but this was all I could come up with on short notice."

"Ah." Percy said. "Why am I here?"

Grover's mouth was full of enchilada, so he just pointed to the inside of the cabin. Percy shrugged and walked inside.

He glanced around the room. All of the curtains were drawn, giving it a dark, depressing feel. He could hear muffled sobs and looked around for the source.

And he saw himself, a slightly older version of himself, sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. He was wearing black and looked rather like a green-eyed Nico, which was a truly depressing thought.

Suddenly, an older Jason walked into the room. "Hey, Percy, cheer up. It's your birthday."

The older Percy lifted his head, tears trailing down his face. "I can't."

Jason sighed and sat down on the bed. "Hey, I know you miss her-"

"Miss her?" Percy glared at Jason. "That doesn't even come close to describing how I feel!" He choked down a sob. "I can't tell her that I love her. Today was also our anniversary..."

"I know, but she wouldn't want you to be sitting in here feeling sorry for yourself. She'd want you to live your life. So go out there and do it! For Annabeth."

Current Percy felt like he was falling. In his future, Annabeth was... dead? No! It couldn't be!

"No!" Percy cried. At the same time, the older Percy shook his head, burying it back into his hands.

Jason frowned, patted his cousin on the shoulder and left the room. Current Percy hurried out.

Grover was licking the enchilada crumbs off of his fingers. "Well?"

"Grover! Are these things that will be... or just may be?" Percy fell to his knees, begging. He grabbed Grover's flour covered t-shirt. "Tell me! Is there anyway to fix this! Tell me! Please! Please!"

Grover shrugged. "I don't know. That you'll have to figure out for yourself, Percy."

"Tell me! Help me Grover! Help me!"

Grover merely shook his head. He patted Percy on the shoulder and walked away.

"No! No! Come back! Don't leave me Grover! Please!"

Please...

Percy's eyes flew open. Sunlight was streaming into the room, casting a warm glow onto Percy's face. He jumped out of bed and ran to the door, flinging it wide.

Percy's eyes caught on a young demigod, walking to breakfast. "Tell me, child! What day is it today?"

"Today?" the demigod asked. "Why, today is August eighteenth!"

"It's August eighteenth?" Percy grinned wider than he had for a long time. "It's still my birthday! They did it all in one night! Spirits can do anything, you know!"

The kid looked at him like he was crazy. "Um... sure. Are you okay?"

"Okay? I'm better than okay! I'm fantastic!" Percy sprinted out the door.

The kid still looked unconvinced. "Okay... happy birthday?" Shaking his head at the older demigods antics, he continued to breakfast.

Percy flew through the camp, looking around wildly for Annabeth. He got many strange looks, but he was too intent on his mission to care.

And then-there she was, looking gorgeous as usual. Percy ran up to her and threw his arms around her waist, capturing her in a hug. She stiffened, then slowly hugged him back.

"Happy birthday, Percy..." she said.

"Happy anniversary, Annabeth!" Percy exclaimed, hugging her tighter. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"Percy, are you okay?" Annabeth asked, a distinct note of concern in her voice.

"I'm fantastic!" Percy said warmly, letting her go to stare into her face, drinking in every beautiful detail.

Annabeth smiled at him. "Good. I'm glad."

"Me too."

She took his hand. "Well, what are we waiting for? It's your birthday, what do you want to do?"

Keep looking at you, Percy wanted to say, but instead he said, "I don't know. You pick."

"Well, we're demigods. So many have died lately, why don't we just celebrate the fact that we're still here?"

Percy smiled and brought his face closer to hers. "I can't think of anything better to do than that."

THE END

Well... that was fun.

Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

PLEASE REVIEW!

AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PERCY!

I'm watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for the fifth time since the beginning of the month... om nom nom, David Tennant just came back on... X3