Chapter Text
Percy reacts on instinct without thinking.
They’re in the middle of a routine training session, with Clarisse coaching a subset of the campers through practice sparring matches. Campers have broken off into pairs, and Percy’s in the middle of engaging with Mark from the Ares cabin, while Annabeth and Bronte are sparring with each other next to him.
He’s parrying Mark’s sword with his shield when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Annabeth start to trip backwards while dodging an attack from Bronte. It only takes him a second to throw himself behind her and grab onto her waist, but it’s too late for him to regain balance, and they slam onto the ground, narrowly missing a crop of rocks nearby.
He’s done this exact maneuver before. Recently, in fact. He distinctly remembers pulling Annabeth away from an oncoming attack from that crazy Alison Simms just a month ago. But Annabeth does something a little different this time. Instead of getting up, she twists her body around to face him and places her hands on his chest, “Percy! Are you okay?”
Her eyes are big and wide, and he swears her face has never been this close to his before. Without meaning to, his eyes sweep over her face, from her eyes down to her lips and to the small beauty mark next to the corner of her mouth. Oh my god, he thinks involuntarily, and he shuts his eyes, but it’s a little too late. He can still see the image of her worried face and the color of her lips is vivid in his mind, even with his eyes closed. Even worse, her body is pressed up against him, and it’s like all of the nerves on his body have suddenly become hyperaware of her soft curves and her small frame on top of him.
“Percy!” Annabeth repeats, shaking him gently, “Did you hit your head? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he groans, “I’m okay. I’m fine.” He opens his eyes slowly, and he feels his stomach lurch as he sees Annabeth above him, still looking at him with a concerned expression on her face.
Nope, he thinks privately to himself. I think there’s something wrong with me.
…
Annabeth insists on taking him to the infirmary in the Big House, pointing to the fact that he had taken more than 5 seconds to respond to her and that he still seemed a bit dazed and flushed when they had finally gotten off the ground. Potential signs of a concussion, according to her.
He does kind of want to see a medic, but he’s not quite sure how to say what’s wrong with him in front of her.
“I’m suddenly very aware of Annabeth,” he imagines saying. “I’m suddenly very aware of her every move, and I can still feel where her body was on top of mine when we fell on the ground.” He feels his face grow hot just thinking about it. Yeah, he’s pretty sure Annabeth would skewer him alive if she heard him say any of that.
Nope, he decides, he’s better off hiding in his cabin rather than going to the infirmary with Annabeth in tow and potentially embarrassing himself in front of her.
“Annabeth,” he starts, and she turns to him with a concerned look on her face. “Yeah?” She asks sharply, grabbing onto his arm and moving a little closer to him, “Do you feel something?”
He immediately feels his face flush again and stumbles a bit as he tries to step back from her. Oh my god, he thinks, there is seriously something wrong with him. She’s touched him countless times before, usually to prevent him from doing or saying something stupid, and it’s never fazed him before. What is going on with him?
He clears his throat, which feels strangely tight, and tries to use the most casual tone he can muster, “You know, I think I’m actually feeling fine. I didn’t even hit the ground that hard and my head doesn’t hurt at all. I think I might just go back to my cabin and take the rest of the day off.”
He sees Annabeth furrow her eyebrows as she considers this. “Seaweed brain, are you sure? You really seem kind of out of it, and I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Yeah!” Gods, why in the world did his voice always break at the worst times, “I’m honestly fine, I think I just need to rest a bit. Why don’t you go back to the others?” He attempts to flash a smile at Annabeth, who responds by giving him her best look of incredulity.
“Percy.”
“Annabeth.”
“Fine,” Annabeth sighs. “I can hear the sass coming back in your voice, so you’re probably okay. Are you sure you don’t want me to walk back with you?”
“Yeah,” he responds, “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later, yeah?”
Annabeth nods, “Yeah, I’ll come by later if you’re not feeling up for dinner. But let someone know if you start to get a headache or feel nauseous or anything.”
Percy replies “Yes, ma’am,” and watches Annabeth shake her head at him before turning around for the training field. He exhales, and moves to make his way back to Cabin 3. Now that he’s told Annabeth as much, taking a nap seems like exactly what he needs to get back to feeling normal again. His brain is probably just hyperfocusing on details and sensations. It’d happened when he’d gone to rescue Annabeth from the Andromeda, and seeing her alive and well after the horrible nightmare that had been Polyphemus’s island had honestly overwhelmed him. In that moment, it was like every feature on her face had been rendered in sharp detail, and he’d felt intense relief, and then incredibly nervous all of a sudden. And then he’d gone and said the first thing he could think of - that her hat was… really itchy.
“Ugh,” he says aloud to no one. It’s fine, he thinks. He’s fine. He just needs to reset his brain, and everything will be just fine.