Percy Jackson Preferences and One Shots

Scars - Percy

"What's that one from?"

"I got that one fighting Grover for the last blue chocolate chip cookie that Mom made before we left for Camp last year. When that goat wants something, he sure isn't afraid to fight for it."

You and Percy were sitting on the edge of the riverbank at night, far away from the constantly patrolling harpies that scoured the campus after hours for disorderly campers.

"Your turn," Percy said, taking your arm and examining it. "This little scar, right here on edge of your thumb. How'd you get that?"

You looked down at your hand, "Got that one when I was playing with our new dog when I was ten. She was puppy, still learning you're not supposed to chew on people."

You snuggled into Percy's side, his arm wrapping around you. You instantly became warm, him being your own personal heater. You looked up at him in the moonlight, catching a glimpse of a small white streak running along the underside of Percy's jaw line. "Where did that one come from?" You traced the scar on his face, making him shiver, before he answered.

"I got that during the battle in Manhattan." He looked down at your face, running his hand through the couple of stray locks that had escaped your loose ponytail. "I remember fighting a seadog on Hosier Lane whenever I heard this scream. I defeated the seadog I was fighting and ran all over the battlefield trying to find the source of the scream. I traced it all the way back to this first year camper who had snuck her way up onto the front lines. She didn't want to stand at the back and do nothing while her brothers and sisters died risking their lives."

You could feel the water in your eye, a tear already escaping. You knew exactly where this story was going. "I rushed over to her, afraid that she was hurt, that she's was already dying. But when I found her, I saw her next to a body on the ground. The body of her older half-brother dead on the ground. He was the first one to welcome her to camp, the first one to welcome her home, but one of the first ones to  join the opposing army." Tears began spilling down his cheeks as he remembered the war that day.

"She sat next to her brother, crying, even though he was the enemy. She was oblivious of the world around her: the sounds of the hurt crying and metal clashing. All she heard was his voice inside her head that she would never hear again.

"All I could hear was her grieving, her broken battle cry. All I could see was the open wound fresh on her heart. I barely noticed the giant coming up behind her, spiked bludgeon in hand, before it was too late. I didn't even feel myself move to insert myself between that girl in his path. I blocked him, knocking his weapon out of his hand. But I wasn't fast enough to stop one of the spikes from getting under my chin." He pulled you tighter, his face soaked with salt stained streaks.

"But that's no matter, it's healed now," he looked down at you, then at your heart. "And that girl's heart has a scar on it, too. I healed it for her. It will never be as good as new. It's rough, and worn, but it shows that she's strong. We're strong. And we will be as long as we have each other."