Percy Jackson Fanfics

don't you let it go

Title: don't you let it go
Author: seaweedbraens
Site: Archive of our own
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19306315

So i didn't post anything for a looooong time so here's a looooooong oneshot for you guys

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"Okay, and then what happened, Annabeth, sweetie?"

The room is brightly lit, with clouds and airplanes and a smiley sun on the walls. Annabeth sits on a bright red sofa with a green cushion that she places on her lap. She hugs it tightly as she talks. Opposite her, the therapist sits stiffly with her notepad on her lap and her ankles crossed, all prim and ladylike. At the beginning of the session, her smile had seemed pleasant enough, but it's become more and more strained.

Annabeth, even at seven years old, considers the question in a manner that makes her seem far more mature than one would of expect of someone of her age. She swings her legs back and forth, chews on her bottom lip thoughtfully.

"I don't remember much," she admits. "The ceilings was falling, and Luke was on the floor. He was screaming, and one of his eyes was blue and the other was gold. And then he started glowing, and that's all I remember." She brightens up a little, then. "But now I have Mommy and Daddy, so it's okay!"

She looks up into the lady's face. The therapist looks stricken, almost fearful. Annabeth's smile slowly slips off her face. She wonders what she did wrong. She'd only answered the questions honestly, like her parents had told her to do.

Finally, the lady shuts her notepad with a sharp snap. She stands, and holds her hand out to Annabeth. "Okay, sweetie, that was great. Now could you go get your parents for me? I need to talk to them for a while, and you could go into the waiting room and read some books, hmm?"

"Okay," Annabeth says easily, hopping off the sofa and excusing herself politely before leaving the room. Her parents stand when she walks out, and smile at her as she relays the message from the therapist. They move past her, promising to be back soon.

Annabeth presses her ear against the door even as it shuts, her heart racing. Though she is young, she knows that it's not normal for most seven year olds to go to therapy, and she knows for certain that her dreams aren't normal at all. They're too vivid, too real. She doesn't know what they mean, but she knows that they're important. Annabeth's been having them since before she could remember, these dreams of a world of gods and goddesses and their half—mortal children, dreams of bright strawberry fields under a summer sky, a ring of cabins in a valley, and then a war. Blood and smoke and pain and then...nothing.

She remembers people. Luke, with his blonde hair and blue eyes that turned gold. Thalia, with midnight hair and lightning at her fingertips. Grover, with curly hair and music at his lips. Percy – and he must be important, because most of her memories involve him – Percy with the dark hair and the green eyes and the easy smile.

Yes, her dreams are too clear to be just her imagination.

Inside the room, the therapist tells her parents what they all already know – that Annabeth's recurring dreams seem detailed to the point that it's become worrisome. Children below ten don't usually dream of bloody battles, much less about death. The therapist wonders aloud if the dreams are a result of an overactive imagination caused by watching too much television – at this point, Annabeth's parents jump to correct her: Annabeth doesn't watch much television, they say, but she's an avid reader despite her dyslexia.

"She's been devouring those books on Greek myths, Frederick," her mother says doubtfully.

Her father lets out a noisy sigh. "Must be. What else could it be?"