of half-bloods and happenings
dreams
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In the couple of months or so before the Argo II sailed from Camp Half-Blood, Annabeth dreamed more vividly than she had in her life.
More often than not, the dreams were terrifying: full of horror and blood and those two-seconds-until-your-imminent-doom sort of feelings. They left her gasping for breath as she woke, clawing at the bed sheets, staring around in wide-eyed confusion as her brothers and sisters stared back, in various states of sleep, concerned.
The first few dreams she'd had, she awoke screaming. But as time went by, she adjusted, as did her siblings, and soon all that would happen would be a whimper or two in the darkness, a spasm of limbs, a trickle of a tear as it leaked out mid-nightmare. The rest of the cabin would stay slumbering, oblivious to her distress. And Annabeth liked it that way. She hated feeling vulnerable.
A week or so before the ship departed camp (perhaps less, perhaps more, she lost track in her worry over Percy), Annabeth feel asleep almost instantly. Her head hit the pillow - followed by the crackling sound of the photos she'd stuffed inside the case, photos of her and him and him and her - and she was out like a light.
She had her worst dream yet.
When the vision began, it was fragmented, jumbled like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. She saw great white cliffs of ice, felt brushes of burning cold snow against her skin, heard broken yells and distorted screams as if made from a great distance. And then the whole thing snapped into focus, blistering her eyes with the stark whiteness of the landscape before her.
And she saw him. Percy. He stood on the edge of the cliffs, something like a golden trident in his hand but obviously topped with an animal of some kind - Annabeth wasn't sure. She didn't even glance up to check; her attention was focused on Percy.
Sure, she'd seen him various times in her dreams. She'd even contacted him (at least she hoped so) and he'd asked that single question which broke her heart in two: Are you real? But this was different. This vision was clearer, sharper, and felt as if she were a part of the obvious battle that was raging.
She studied Percy.
His hair was dark and matted, longer than it had been when she'd last seen him in the flesh. His eyes were just as bright, just as fierce as she remembered, and the smile crinkles at their corners were deeper, as if he'd laughed a good deal of late. And his face…his expression was vicious, full of dangerous fire and wicked sarcasm, and it showed determination and not a single trace of fear, even as he plunged the trident - what was that thing, really? - into the ice before him. Annabeth felt more than saw the trembling of the ground: she could almost hear the cracks spreading, the supports weakening, and suddenly…suddenly Percy wasn't there any more.
He'd fallen, just as he'd fallen all those years ago from the St. Louis Arch. Except that this time Annabeth wasn't there to find him.
And she screamed. Oh, gods, how she screamed.
When she woke, her siblings were staring at her again, worry and even terror painted across their sleepy faces. Annabeth swallowed, but it felt like she was consuming a burning coal. She whimpered, burnt with her fear for Percy, traces of distraught tears glittering on her cheeks.
And oh, how that dream haunted her.
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Author's Note: SORRY FOR THE WEEK-LONG HIATUS. Teehee. I was…occupied…yeah, that was it…anyway, hopefully this was all right. I have PLENTY of ideas now, so stay tuned! R & R, please!?