Weekend, Gone
Percy was sick. On a Friday night. Crap, crap, crap. He was supposed to be hanging out with Annabeth, Thalia, and Grover tonight. But when he came to camp vomiting, coughing, sneezing, and running a fever, that had kind of gone out the window. So, he was stuck in his cabin. Which really, really sucked.
"They act like this is quarantine." He muttered in a scratchy voice. His throat was killing him. He could barely make a sound. If he did, it hurt like hell. And he knew. He'd been there.
"Nope. They just don't like you anymore." A voice said. It was Nico di Angelo. He stepped into the cabin, out of the shadows. Poseidon, damn those shadows. He hated them, especially when they were hiding a person, or hellhound, for that matter.
"Hey, Perce. Feelin' any better?"
Percy could only shake his head weakly. He then proceeded to flop back onto his pillows. Gods damn this illness. Why must he be sick? Why not Clarisse, or someone like that. Sherman? Mark? A certain dude named Nico?
"Throat hurt?" Nico asked with concern.
Percy gave him a look that meant no shit. Then he groaned. The fever. It was back. He could feel warmth flaring in his cheeks as the abnormal temperature factor returned. He sighed in exasperation and exhaustion, and threw his covers off. It was still so freaking hot!
Nico approached slowly, carefully. He felt Percy's forehead. It instantly flared red from the heat. But, on the other hand, Percy was now shivering. Fevers were so flipping confusing. One second hot, the other hot. What the heck? Why couldn't anything for a demigod be simple?
"Hades, Percy. You're burning worse than… well, Hades." He shrugged.
"Thanks," Percy said in a very quiet scratchy voice. Yet he managed to put careful sarcasm into his statement.
"I'm just saying," Nico defended. "Anyway, any clue why you're so sick?"
Percy shook his head.
"You poor thing," Nico sympathized. It wasn't fun to be sick. Especially not in the 1940's. He couldn't imagine it was any better now. Especially for a half-blood. Half-bloods get everything worse than regular, plain old mortals. Still, being sick sucked. The last time it happened was 1940, and he still shuddered at the thought of being sick again.
"Your aura's green," Nico continued. "That's how sick you are, boy. You need to get better. The aura should be golden, like everybody else's in the universe."
He had never had him this worried, not even after being poisoned by a daimon trying to find his father's sword, which, by the way, was against the law. (I know it's a run on sentence. I don't give a crap.) He seriously didn't want Percy hurt, or even sick for that matter.
"Well, Percy," Nico said. "Rest up. You need sleep."
Percy nodded. He watched Nico leave, then his eyes closed against his pillow. He drifted into a dreamless sleep, knowing his friends would always be there for him.