AN: Ha, I'm on winter break. Now I shall rejoice as I write drabbles. The title and inspiration came from the song Little Talks, by Monster and Men.
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Disclaimer: Last time I checked I am a female brunette. Nice try, but I know that I'm not Rick Riordan.
Title: The Screams All Sound the Same.
Word Count: 663
Summary: Her bright grey eyes were void of their spark. "Would you like to help me draw?" He was watching her disappear and there was nothing he could do.
Percy rapped his knuckles on the door, poking his head inside. He braced himself to see Annabeth hunched over a small table, a box of crayola crayons were spilled over the table. She raised her head when she heard him and turned around to see him. Her bright grey eyes were void of their spark. They were blank. An imposter stared through them.
"Hey." He choked back a wave of raw emotions. He rested his entire weight against the frame of the door as he continued speaking in a muted fear. "Annabeth, hi. I came to visit."
"I see," she murmured. She tilted her head to the side and her eyelashes fluttered as her gaze shrunk away, trying to place a name for his face. "Would you like to help me draw?"
Percy nodded wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak. He walked over and knelt down, feeling the pops in his back. He picked up a blue crayon that was broken in half and stared at her drawing. Annabeth was no artist, to be truthful. Se could design marvelous buildings for the gods, but anything besides that reminded him the drawings that their children would once make for them.
His heart clenched at seeing the childish caricatures that came from the fraying memories of her mind: There was a tilted tower with swirling lighting surrounding it, a lopsided spider with heavy lines crossed over it, lots of orange stick-figures, and even a few Greek letters in the margins. The crayon in his hand suddenly felt too heavy to move, but his wife's blank eyes brought out the most pain. "What do you want me to draw?"
She pointed next to what was the Empire State Building, her white curls tumbled over her shoulder and Percy fought the urge to push it behind her ear. "Here," she said. "I want a flying horse."
Percy nodded again. His hand shook as he scribbled the form of a horse and drew heavy wings sticking out of the back. His eyes and throat burned with pain, but he diligently fought against it like he always did on these visits. "Do you know the story behind that building?" he asked in a low, scratchy voice.
Annabeth shook her head of white thin curls. She covered his hand over his, the blank look was fading away as her voice gained strength. "Is that why you're sad?"
There was a voice in his head that was holding him back from screaming the truth. Yes! Percy wanted to shout. The words ringed around the inside of his throat, wanting to spill everything: Their happy marriage together, their children and grandchildren, and how he later had no choice what to do since her Alzheimer's became too serious for him to help. It was complete agony knowing that they had faced so much, and this was taking it all away from them. He squeezed her hand and focused intently on the wall behind her. Looking at her face while telling the story might be too much.
"There was once a boy," he struggled at first. "He was a sad boy with a missing dad and and a just as sad mom, and he later met an incredible girl with wise eyes and boy who wanted to find someone. And together the three of them saved the world."
Life flickered in Annabeth's eyes. "Tell me more."