SUMMARY: Just when everything was going right, with both wars far from Percy's mind and an ideal life with Annabeth ahead, Percy Jackson dies. Painfully. Percy didn't ask for death, and he certainly didn't ask for thirty reincarnations, where the only common denominator is a familiar name at the tip of his tongue. Who exactly is this "Annabeth" person anyway? And why are there thirty blondes running around rampant in his lives? Percabeth Reincarnation AU

A/N: I have another fanfiction running in the wild, which I'm working on, but I can't get this idea out of my head. This is equal parts Percabeth romcom, angsty drama, slight rendition of the Disney movie Soul with reincarnation, and adventure.

You might ask how I died, and if I were bored enough, I could probably tell you. You'd probably nod your head a little bit, eyes empathetic and curious, as I rant about how it started one Saturday morning fourteen months after the war with Gaea. It'd go something like this: I wake up, toss on a pair of rough navy-blue jeans and a neat black button-up, and go to work. I could tell you all about how I had hopes and dreams, but those memories are slightly blurred now, so all I can say is that it was a nice day.

The sun was shining, the chirpy bluebirds were singing, and everything was right in the world.

I hummed a mellow, jazzy song, as I walked to this bakery I worked at. I was in that phase between high-school and college, so I was trying to whip as much money as I could before joining Annabeth in New Rome. I threw my arms out at the warm sun above me, savoring the taste of freedom.

Then just as I was crossing a dirty crosswalk in New York City, a car came from nowhere and slammed me. I could go in detail with the feeling of death through all sorts of poetic machinations, but hell, that's boring. Let's just say, dear reader, that it hurts. It really fucking hurt. But the thing I'm most proud of is, just before fainting (and dying), I stuck my tongue out and leveled the bird at the driver's window.

I died in a pretty freaking badass way, no?

So there's your thirty-second interview. I finished the war with Gaea with a healthy dose of trauma, had my life together for the first time in years, resisted the urge to dye everything in the bakery I worked blue (successfully, I'll have you know!), maintained a well-kept long-distance-relationship with my girlfriend, and fucking died, just after my eighteenth birthday. Any questions with that?

Oh. You have a question.

How…I'm…still…talking?

It's a long story, possibly longer than the whole "this-is-how-I-died" story, and it's going to take a lot of my energy. I'm going to crack my knuckles and try explaining it to you, piece by confusing piece. This isn't a tragic story, despite the whole death thing, so take out your popcorn, flick open a soda, and get ready for possibly the most confusing, stupid love story of all time: the likes that would make even Aphrodite cringe.

My name is Percy Jackson. This is how I died and learned to live with it.

I was on a boat, the taste of singed ash on my tongue and pain in my legs and chest, and I turned to the figure on the boat, squinting at the dark-skinned figure of Charon rowing a simplistic dark row-boat across a river of pale, glowing waves. I looked at the boat, merrily settling on the misty waves, and I realized they were souls. I flipped my head back up at a whistling Charon.

"What?" I asked, stupidly blinking.

Charon continued to whistle some more, and…was that seriously Justin Bieber? I groaned, as the off-pitch sound of "Baby, Baby, Baby, oh!" started to fill the boat. My face must've reflected my horrified mind, and Charon stopped his whistling, those sounds from hell disappearing. Charon's mouth curled.

"What, what, boy?" asked Charon with a confused tone. He dipped the paddle back into the rolling river of death, coating it in trapped souls and garbage that'd make a lost-and-found stall shudder. I stared despite myself. "You've been here before. Remember the whole bathtub debacle?"

Vaguely, I remembered when Annabeth, Grover, and I had blatantly lied our way into the Underworld with the excuse of drowning in a very big bathtub that'd fit two demigods and a satyr. It all felt really far away now, back when I was twelve: job-less, mom-less, girlfriend-less, and just scratching the edge of the Greek world. I kind of wished I could go back in time and sit that kid down for a conversation. Tell him something like "You've got this!" or "It's all gonna be alright!" But then I remembered I was dead, and that thought fled my mind.

"I'm not dead," I told Charon, though my voice did tremble a bit. He raised a single, bleached brow, and I swallowed my anxiety and panic.

I thought back to the surprisingly simplistic last memory: a car crash, probably from a drunk driver who hadn't seen the overworked young adult, walking when it was his right of way. I cringed because it'd had all of the signs of death: pain, blood, and losing consciousness and appearing in hell.

Charon snorted, as my mind went down a very grim road of depression and what-the-fuck. "You're dead, all right, kid?"

"Yes! That! That's right!" I shouted happily. "I'm a kid," I said, even though I knew full well I was an adult. Technically. "I can't die. I'm way too young."

Immediately, it sounded inanely stupid. I thought of all the early deaths from demigods younger than me, who'd died as young teens. I sounded really fucking ungrateful because I survived to the age of eighteen, and the golden years of my childhood had been lived; then I remembered this was my life I was talking about. I was going to visit my mom. I was going to marry my childhood sweetheart (sort of? It was a loose term), Annabeth Chase. I was going to live my life for the first time in...a long time.

And then I died.

When everything had started to go my way, when the gods had finally decided I'd fought enough wars, when I was going to be happy...

I died.

What a fucking joke.

The ferryman sniffed at me, then said, "Chin up, yeah? You're a hero, and chances are you'll head to Elysium."

But to me, going to Greek heaven was about as helpful as getting a high-five while drowning. My stomach roiled uncomfortably, and I felt peeved, unassured, and a bit pissed honestly.

"We're almost there," Charon continued, wading through the water. He offered me a crooked smile that made his dark eyes glow. "From what I've heard, you've lived a good life."

A life of eighteen years, I thought, my mind completely blank with that one thought. The range and scope of the words ate at me. A life that'd been filled with quests and taking out giant and Titan trash. A childhood of Smelly Gabe, my mom suffering in silence, and a severe lack of friends. Just then, I think I could've drowned in my own thoughts, until Charon's boat made a creaking noise, suddenly appearing on a shore.

The dim shadows of the Underworld greeted me, and I blinked, wide-eyed.

"I can't die," I said to the ferryman, still settled in his small boat.

He shrugged. "You can, and you have," he told me unapologetically. He held out his Versace bag in my direction, gesturing me to put something in. I remembered last time, when I'd bribed Charon with drachma and flattery, and I knew he expected something from me. But I didn't exactly carry Greek currency while I headed to my very normal, non-Greek bakery. Maybe I'd carry one if I wanted to IM-message Annabeth or something, but certainly not every day. I still searched my jeans's pockets, coming up with small cash and a bottle cap.

"I have some money," I told him honestly, gesturing to my pockets. "Say, if I did give it to you, would you file me a boat-trip back?"

"Bribery, Jackson?" asked Charon with dull, blank, unimpressed eyes.

Again, I was desperate. Again, I probably said the stupidest thing in the universe. If anyone could bribe Charon with cash, immortality rates would run rampant. Rich people could lay back in their metaphorical fountain of youth.

Charon not accepting my bribes just meant that death didn't discriminate.

It killed, fairly and unfairly, maturely and prematurely, quickly and slowly.

I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have all been avoided...

"Good luck," Charon told me and waved me off in the direction of a podium where a few judges in the Underworld stood. He allowed himself a small smile. "Try not to get stuck in any bathtubs while you're in Elysium." And with that, he slowly rowed away, disappearing in a white fog.

I shoved the cash down my pocket.

I stood there, unmoving. It felt like if I took a solid step here in the Underworld, I would never be able to turn back.

To go back home. To live again.

The judges stared at me. Their features were blurry and out of reach. I briefly remembered King Minos, Thomas Jefferson, and William Shakespeare (curse that guy. His plays were the reason I slept in high-school) were judges, but for the most part, they were too far away for me to see. I wondered how it'd feel to be a judge of the Underworld...with so much power to decide a mortal's fate, but forever doomed in the Underworld, away from sunshine and life and happiness. It must be a depressing life: to judge dead people's lives. To bless billions, and to condemn billions.

"Percy Jackson, nice to meet you," said a happy-sounding male voice. The man clicked his tongue a bit, and without a hint of doubt, he said, "You're going to Elysium, no questions asked."

"I have a question," I blurted, and just from the curious gazes I received, I felt heat rise in my cheeks.

"Yes, Percy Jackson?" someone finally asked.

"I..." I knew what to say, I had the confidence to say it, but they wouldn't come out. I was feeling severely cowed, even though the judge'd just told me I was going to beach-filled, sunny Elysium for the rest of my days. The words were at the tip of my tongue. Come on, come on. "I...um... Is there a way I can just go back to, er, living?"

"What?" a judge asked, his tone bizarrely confused.

"See, I was going to marry my girlfriend," I said, scratching the back of my neck. "Um, I was going to pick out a ring and everything... And my mom..."

"You were going to pick out your mother?"

What? "No, no, no!" I laughed, but it sounded like anxiety personified. "Thing is I just wanted to...to live." I was subject to a few confused, tense expressions. "Not like that! I don't want to escape death! I like death!" Why was everything coming out of my mouth so stupid? "I mean, I'm okay with dying." Percy, my guy, what the fuck? "Just a little bit more time! Hit me back up at sixty! Fifty-five! At least thirty. I just want to live a bit longer."

Finally, I closed my mouth, sure I'd make things worse if I kept talking.

A softer, kinder voice echoed from the stands. "Worry not, Percy Jackson," it said. I felt myself relax, just the smallest bit. "You are not the first person who has refused death. Denial is the first step in grief."

"What?" I was sputtering. This wasn't denial: I knew I was dead. This was get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here.

Get me back to my mom, who would be horrified when she found my blood-splattered body.

Get me back to my friends, who took on the world with me.

Get me back to Camp Half-Blood, the place where I'd scratched my knees and learned to deal with the pain.

Get me back to my girlfriend, who touched the scars on my hands with her own.

Get me back.

Please.

"I'm not refusing or denying death," I said, mildly indignant. "I just want to live a little while longer."

"There's not much we can do," said a judge plainly, monotonously, with the voice of an exasperated professor. I grimaced, and somehow, I knew it to be true. How would Thomas Jefferson revive me? How could I expect Shakespeare to "thy-thou-thee" me back into the human world? "Our final decision is Elysium."

I swallowed, my skin bristling in apprehension. "I..."

"No," one said. "Go on. Go ahead." Then there was a straight hand that pointed in the direction of a Bahamas-esque center of the Underworld. The Fields of Elysium, the literal equivalent Greek heaven.

"But—" I began.

"Fie! Wend on ahead, and ent'r heaven. Thou art being foolish!"

From a different perspective, I supposed it was foolish... I could go to Elysium, the place I'd wanted to come to after death; it was like denying a lottery win because I was scared of going back to the retailer.

"Is there a higher-up I can talk to? There has to be a mistake. There has to be a way."

"Yes, there is a way to live longer," a judge said, and my hopes rose a bit, a growing smile forming. "Immortality, which you don't have. Now, shoo." It was like being tossed from a fifty-foot building after enjoying the view.

"Goodbye, h'ro. Enjoyeth the splend'rs," Shakespeare said, his dramatic voice tinged in Old English. I felt myself go red all over in unjustified anger. Then I calmed when I heard a tinge of Zoë's accent in his voice.

Shakespeare's plays annoyed me to hell and back, but the guy and I didn't have any sort of personal feud.

I breathed a bit, the pressure of so many judges' gazes on me thick and unwanted. I'd never really succumbed to any serious peer pressure, but I imagined this was how it felt: small. With only one option and one way to go, I took my first steps like some kind of baby out of the cradle.

"Excellent," said a judge, and some other poor guy was brought from Charon's boat, quickly dropped off, and left to die. They began to assess him with paragraphs and eye-witness responses that resembled ghosts. The guy was an old grandfatherly guy with greying hair, spectacles from the 70s, and a serious hip problem. I tried to walk forward, but I heard the echo of "The Fields of Punishment" being decided. I nervously continued on, something like bile in my throat.

One step, two steps, three steps. It was a pattern now, a motion my body (soul?) had memorized. Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine— The beauty of Elysium with its tropical weather and beaches was not lost on me, and I felt a bit faint-headed. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen— Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and not the good type. They were the type that screamed a high-pitched, "Run away!"

Heaven could be seen as hell in the wrong lighting. Perspective was the only reason why I felt myself outright tremble at stepping to Elysium. A tiny voice in my head told me I could catch up with my dead friends, and I'd wait for Annabeth to join me...but that was a grim thought. Why the hell would I eagerly, hopefully wait for Annabeth to die? It'll take years, decades, my brain told me, and pain was a leech in my stomach.

But I kept walking because I was a coward, and I knew this was my fate.

The faux-sun started growing brighter and brighter. A golden-gleaming gate opened, and a pretty choir of birdsong followed in suit.

Without my say-so, my feet walked forward, and I stared, turning my head this way and that.

Inside was possibly the oddest mixture between Las Vegas's casinos (I suppressed a slight shiver for my twelve-year-old self), the Bahamas, Hawaii's tropical blue shores, and a ski-resort. It was huge, spanning the size of thousands of miles. For a place seen as the V.I.P. spot of the Underworld, there was a lot of land for very few people. My mind flipped back to the grey field of Asphodel where humans walked like cattle, skin upon skin, pressed up on themselves, as if to reserve space.

"CANNON-BALL!" yelled a voice, as they jumped once, twice, off a thirty-foot long diving board. Clear, sparkling blue water joined him in impact, and a splash sounded, waves parting. Squinting, I examined the diver and the ebbing flow of the ocean-like water.

I instinctually tried to control the waves, but before concentration could be made, a jingle-like voice chirped from beneath me.

"Hello, Mr. Perseus Jackson sir!" it said politely, dipping its head. It looked a lot like a spirit, dressed up in a professional tux with a tight collar. I unconsciously itched my neck, sympathetic. It cleared its throat. "Welcome! I am here to serve you and introduce you to Elysium!"

I adjusted my gob-smacked face into one of politer neutrality. I was still tempted to flip my head and run the other way. I was still tempted to find Hades and Persephone, and tap-dance my way out of the Underworld. According to the myth of Orpheus, it was possible to escape here if I sated them enough, as Orpheus did to break his lover away from the metaphorical chains of hell. Could it work? It had to, didn't it...?

Then just as I turned around abruptly, the gates closed with a sharp clang. The way it did, it felt a lot like a prison-cell that'd gotten a new inmate.

The spirit gestured to its hand, where a large platter sat. My eyes widened when he unsheathed the silver lid, exposing a beautifully roasted chicken, freshly picked berries, and shiny white truffles elegantly perched on fine china. I did want to go back home, but I couldn't help the physical reaction, almost like a pleasant shudder, that raced up my body at the sight. The spirit tinkled in laughter, summoning a platter on his right hand too. More luxury food items covered silver and gold-encrusted plates.

Holy Poseidon...

"Would you like a taste?" asked the spirit in that signature well-mannered tone. "I can have anything you like prepared for you."

Just before I was going to ask for two cheeseburgers and a tall glass of fizzing blue coke, something struck my mind.

Do not accept any food from the Underworld, Percy Jackson, unless you wish to roam there forever.

Persephone had messed up by eating a fraction of a pomegranate. I couldn't make the same mistake—if I dug into a burger, I'd probably never go home again. It was a sobering, horrible thought, so I ignored the hunger that formed saliva in my mouth, the hunger that made my stomach rumble.

"No, thank you," I said, and my tone was off. I distracted myself with happy feelings other than food, such as my friends and family waiting for me. I breathed out reverently. "What's your name...?"

"Unimportant," the spirit said minutely. It slammed the lids back on the platters and made both disappear. I was very enraged for a second, watching all that appetizing food disappear into the aether, before I realized it was a good thing. Less distractions. "Would you like anything?"

I tried to scramble for knowledge of Elysium, but all I knew was that it was heaven, it was warm, and heroes went there forever.

"A shot of alcohol, perhaps?" Bottles of champagne, beer, whiskey, liquor, wine, and all sorts of glittering drinks appeared on a new, smaller silver platter.

"Er, no," I said. "I'm only eighteen."

It laughed, scooting closer and tilting its head expectedly at the bottles. "You can be anything you want to be here. You can be small," it said in a tiny-pitched voice, and it shrunk to the size of an ant. "You can be medium," it said, and it reverted back into its original size. "Or you can be large," it said, and its voice grew so deep that it pained my ears.

"But your age doesn't change?" was what I settled with instead.

It finally shifted into its medium, normal form. Another short, hurried laugh followed my question. "Your age will never change here."

A shiver chilled my bones and blood.

"So, take a sip!" it said. "And enjoy! You can't get alcohol-poisoning here, so knock yourself out, kid!"

What sort of hell was this place?

"I want to go back to the real world," I said after a lapse of silence. The alcohol and its trays faded away into glitter and ash. The spirit's eyes were as wide as quarters. "As in, above from here." I pointed upwards for emphasis. "Back in the mortal world."

"Okay, sure, I can do that," said the spirit. "You're a cocky one, Mr. Percy Jackson."

"What?"

"I haven't met a soul so eager for the Isles of the Blest," it continued. "Some find the risk a bit scary, you know?"

The Isles of the Blest. I'd heard very little about the place, but I knew it was some sort of grand utopia, far better than anywhere else in Elysium. It was said it was so much grander, so much greater, than its outskirts in every way. Staring at the edges of Elysium, it was hard to wager how much better it could get. How could a place be better than an unlimited-buffet, multiple vacation spots, and excellent customer service?

If you were reincarnated thrice and went to Elysium all three times, you could go to the Isles of the Blest. Before, it hadn't sounded like something I'd do: having to live again, after a very fulfilling life with my girlfriend, friends, and family. According to teen Percy, Annabeth and I would live forevermore in the fields of Elysium, not bothering with the Isles of the Blest.

The Isles of the Blest also seemed like a very lonely place. Getting into Elysium was rare enough: getting there three times? I imagined there must be two guys in the Isles of the Blest, sadly playing poker or something.

"No, no, you don't get me." I spoke these words very carefully, trying to avoid the stutter building the more I talked. "I...want...to...go...home. In my human body. Not reincarnation, not for the Isles of the Blest. Home."

For Annabeth, for my mom, for Grover and Clarisse and Jason and Piper and Leo and Nico and Reyna and Frank and Hazel—

For myself.

"Your current body's kind of a mess, Mr. Percy Jackson."

A hologram from the spirit's hands showed a very vibrant, very brutal image of myself laying over a crosswalk. I was leaking blood from my legs and chest area, my eyes glassy with death and a light trickle of red. My mouth was locked in a horrifying scream.

I closed my eyes, and breathed out, "Fuck." The spirit was insane. He'd just guaranteed me another month's worth of traumatic dreams.

"Get...get that out of here," I said, shaking the little guy's shoulder. The image faded, but I still felt traces of blood and pain in my legs, chest, and groin area. I hissed in fear and pain. "I can handle it," I told the spirit. "I'll get some...healers or something. Yeah. Some ambrosia, nectar, and proper band-aids...I'll be fine in a doozy."

"You are dead, Mr. Percy Jackson."

I closed my eyes tightly, trying to banish the vision of my corpse away. I didn't want to imagine my loved ones finding that disgusting corpse. I needed to get back, preferably before they found it. I couldn't exactly tell them it was a prank when they would feel my pulse.

I couldn't exactly laugh away my own death.

"Then what do you suggest I do? If I want to go back?" I hoped it didn't require some kind of voodoo shit where I had to possess someone else's body.

I tried to think of what Nico did when he was attempting to resurrect Bianca, but I was blanking.

I felt really fucking foolish now. I'd told the kid to let Bianca rest peacefully in death, but here I was, doing the opposite. Someone give me a "Hypocrite of the Year" award. It's obvious I need one.

"Reincarnation is a simple, painless process," the spirit told me. "As long as you end up in Elysium every time, you can do so as many times as you wish."

But being reincarnated in some random person's body sounded...horrible. No one I knew would be there, and according to every sci-fi flick I'd ever seen, you didn't keep your original memories. Who was I without my memories, without my friends and family?

Jesus Christ, I thought. This morning, I expected to be whipping up checks and baking chocolate-chip cookies. Instead, here I am dead and having several existential crises.

"The people I love will not be there."

The spirit shrugged. "Maybe so."

"Maybe?" I asked.

"It's up to the fates, but you'll be surprised by how many get reincarnated."

I listed names off: "Bianca di Angelo, Luke Castellan, Zoë Nightshade, Ethan Nakamura, Charles Beckendorf, and Silena Beauregard. Did they opt for reincarnation?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, no, no," it said.

I blinked in surprise, though it did make sense. Charles and Silena had been happily in love, even though the world liked ripping them apart; if they both chose to reincarnate, they might not find each other again.

The others I could understand, and it filled my heart heady with pain as I realized, They were in my place once. They too hadn't wanted to die, were too young, had loved ones. It wasn't there doing, they hadn't agreed to death, but it just happened.

I had to suck it up.

"I'll choose reincarnation." I received a wide, amused smile from the spirit, but before it could do anything rash, I said, "Is there any way, though, to see my friends and family again? Just one more time to tell them I'm okay."

Yeah, just died a bit, but other than that, I'm good. How have you guys been?

"You can take the Fates up with that one," the spirit told me. "Though I do suppose we could... Well, we haven't done it in a while."

Its tone told me that it wanted me to ask. So I did because my options were lacking. "What?"

Its flickering grey eyes seemed to twinkle in laughter. "I could reincarnate you to places your friends already roam." My eyebrows furrowed, and my sea-green eyes flickered in warning. It sounded a lot like, I'm going to kill all your friends and reincarnate them, to me. "A different universe."

"A different what?" I sputtered. "As in, as in, Spider-Man?"

It ignored me. "In Elysium, as a sort of token for their feats of bravery, it is said that we are allowed to give a hero whatever they so choose and desire..."

I was saying something intelligent like, "W-what?" before the cheeky little spirit interrupted with a giggle and:

"...Enjoy, Mr. Percy Jackson. I'll see you when you're back."

I was millimeters away from grabbing the spirit and shaking it for answers, but before that, I felt myself fumble and trip, landing on the smooth sands of Elysium. My head felt foggy, and things were starting to blur and both widen in size and intensity. The edges of the beautiful seaside Elysium were graying and frayed, like a kid had taken a match and charred the corners of a photograph, except the photograph was my field of view. It hurt to think, to breathe, to do anything.

I saw a brief, hazy vision of three old women knitting, but it was far away from me. I tried saying something, but my throat was gone. I lifted my hands into my line of vision, and they were gone too.

Everything exploded into white.

A/N: And that's a wrap! One chapter done, only thirty more to go :P I've wanted to write a Percabeth fic in a while, and a reincarnation AU has appealed to me. This is also going to have a tight plotline, adventure, dark-ish themes (like death), and moral dilemmas. Each chapter will be based off an AU idea and a song title, as an amnesiac Percy pieces things together...thirty times. Expect slow updates, as I tackle PTWD. This is sort of my outlet for now. My favorite part about this site is that it's so perfectly mutualistic. If you even slightly enjoyed (or even hated) this chapter, hit me with a review. Thanks for the read!