Who the hell thought making me a Half-blood was a good idea? {ON HOLD}

Act Two- Mr D can keep his AA chip.

Disclaimer: The world of Percy Jackson, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of Rick Riordan and his publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life.This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

I had some pretty strange dreams while I was passed out in the infirmary, one of barnyard animals and oceans, of deep caverns and flaming rivers, even of pretty blondes fighting for their lives. The strangest was probably of rain falling (rising?) backwards and strings unravelling. Mixing demi-god dreams with a concussion is not the best idea. It's practically guaranteed to give people migraines, and I definitely don't need any more of those.

I woke up a few times, one of them to a very blurry blonde figure spoon-feeding me something gold that tastes like pizza rolls. They hovered over me while scraping drips off my chin with what felt like the spoon.

When they saw my eyes open, they blurted out, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

Ok, what?

They looked around wildly before lowering their voice to whisper. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

My eloquent response, to who I think was a girl, was to pass the fuck back out again. I think I'll talk to you after my brain doesn't feel like overcooked noodles, thanks.

The next time I woke, I had a pounding headache but my vision seemed to have recovered. There was a dude in the room with more eyes than I imagine Abrahamic angels have, watching. He seemed chill, although he was taking his job way too seriously. All the eyes I could spot were trained on me. If I were capable of thinking straight, I might've been flattered. Or offended. Why the hell...? Urgh, my head.
He must be good ol' Archie. Argie? Argum? Whatever. The dude Hera cursed to be a cow guard or something. I passed out from the pain this time.

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were way nicer than I was used to. Am I on vacation?

I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries, and there wasn't any pollution a New Yorker like me was used to. No sea breeze either, so I wasn't too close to the sea. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All of that was great, but my mouth felt like a fucking scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry, my throat was nasty and every single one of my teeth hurt. Gross.

On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry. I love apple juice, but I hate cherries.

My hands were so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it. "Careful," a familiar voice said.

"Grover," I croaked, "mind helping me?"

Grover appeared in my vision and I nearly cried out. His forehead had a cut with stitches and he looked exhausted - like he hadn't slept in a week. He's just a kid, barely 14 in human terms, he shouldn't be looking like this!

He knelt in front of me, the cup of what I'm pretty sure is filled with Nectar outstretched so I can take a sip. Holy shit this is delicious! Mmhm. Tastes like Mãe's blue chocolate chip cookies. Can I get more of this? Bet even Gordan Ramsey would love this!

Grover shook me out of my thoughts by speaking. "You saved my life."

I stared at him. "You dragged me to safety," I countered.