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After the Battle

Dream On

Rachel’s head pounded unceasingly, her eyes occasionally beginning to water, her tongue too heavy in her mouth. And her lips tingled nonstop, as if they were still tasting Percy’s kiss, from all that time ago.
Her dreams, each night, were getting increasingly more vivid; she woke, with the moon still streaming silver through the purple-grey curtains in her room, nestled in the not-so-cozy attic of the Big House, in a cold sweat, tears mingling on her cheeks and a scream catching in her throat.
Every night, the images changed, just a little. They were the same, majorly—but each time something shifted. There was a hair out of place, a fog that hadn’t been there before. And when her eyes flickered open, she almost immediately forgot what they’d been.
But she remembered they were terrifying.
She knew they were real. And she knew they were important.
In the mornings, she rose and half-heartedly peppered on some make-up to get rid of the double-ton bags under her blood-shot eyes. She stopped doing this eventually though, because what was the point?
She didn’t even consider leaving Camp, not with everything that was going on. Not with Percy lingering in every gust of wind, in every branch on every tree. She wasn’t ready to give that up yet.
Plus, Tyson and Grover were falling to bits. They needed a friend—and everyone else was so enveloped in their own sorrow, they couldn’t offer comfort. So Rachel Dare walked out and ate breakfast with them, held Tyson’s giant hand while he sobbed (which was an hourly occurrence), and walked with Grover, not saying a word, not having to.
Of course, both of them had girlfriends. And the girls were always comforting them, always there; it occurred to Rachel, more often than once, that maybe they didn’t need her after all.
She would never admit this out loud, not to anyone, but part of her suspected the truth: she needed them. She needed to help someone, to take care of someone, to guide them. She needed to feel needed. Because it was the only thing keeping her from crumbling into the wind.
Rachel awoke to the sound of rain. Her eyes felt stuck together with sea-salt and her limbs weighed a million pounds, each. Her mouth tasted like it was stuffed with old cheese and she groaned, slowly climbing up from her uncomfortable mattress. She opened the blinds and was floored to notice that it was, in fact, day time.
She hurried and dressed, wondering if she’d missed breakfast, then—upon realizing that she had, of course—her stomach gave a hearty growl and she found herself hoping she just hadn’t missed lunch.
Although it was practically storming outside, the thunder raging madly across the sky and the wind whipping holes in the trees, Rachel slipped on a white-and-pink sundress, and tied her wild curls back into a loose pony-tail so she could avoid having to comb through them. She brushed her teeth hastily, applied some deodorant and a dab of perfume, and was out the door.
Just as she was reaching the exit to the Big House, her dainty hand closing around the cold knob, she heard from behind her, “Rachel.”
She turned on her heel, and was not surprised to see Chiron at the long, wooden table. She was, however, surprised to see his was back in his wheel-char, his horse bits hidden by enchantment.
“Yes, Chiron?” she said slowly, and realized she hadn’t fully scrubbed the cheese-flavor from her cheeks. She’d have to run back up and scrub her toothbrush across them, one more time.
“Please, sit.” He gestured across the length of the long table, though there was only one chair there, made of the sort of thin wood you find on picnic baskets. She walked over, sitting in it as quietly as she could. For some weird reason, she noticed her hands were shaking, so she shoved them into her lap.
“I don’t mean to make you nervous, dear girl,” he assured with a twitch of lips, something Rachel was sure was meant to be a smile. “I’d just like to confer with you—well, more accurately, I’d like to confer with our Oracle.”
“Well,” she responded, “we’re sort of the same person.”
This would have made Chiron laugh, once upon a time. Now, the only sign that he’d recognized the joke was a small light dancing on somewhere behind his eyes. “I just wanted to ask if you’ve Seen anything of late—any predictions, images—dreams, perhaps?”
Rachel swallowed and, for a minute, really thought about telling Chiron what she was seeing every night. But the trouble was, she didn’t even know what she was seeing. How was she going to explain that?
So she just said “No, I haven’t” and Chiron just nodded as if that’s what he was expecting to hear, but the light had wavered off once again.

Dining was always a solemn affair.
Today, Rachel sat with Grover alone, at the base of the forest surrounding the camp. Tyson was off taking care of Mrs. O’Leary, who’d been inconsolable ever since the battle. Rachel always noticed she was calmer, happier, when Tyson was around; he had taken care of her, when Percy couldn’t.
Grover’s girlfriend, the wood nymph (Rachel always had trouble remembering her name) was facing difficulties at the hands of termites, a problem that required her full attention.
Grover hadn’t said so, and probably would never say so, but Rachel suspected he hated sitting with the campers. No one spoke or laughed or threw food in the way that they used to and, if they did, it seemed wrong, out of place, as if a chunk of time had been cut from the past and placed carelessly in the present, hacked so mercilessly with rusty scissors that it frayed around the edges. Plus, Grover liked thinking about and being reminded of Percy almost as much as he liked talking about him; that is to say, not at all. It simply hurt him too much. Rachel could understand that.
So the two of them sat on the wet grass, speaking sparingly, picking around their food more than eating it.
“Annabeth’s coming back today,” Grover told her, taking a large bite out of a too-red apple, catching some bits in-between his teeth and not seeming to care.
“Is she?” responded Rachel distractedly. The news of Annabeth’s return seemed to make Grover happier (she thought she might have even seen a smile on his face), but for Rachel it was . . . complicated.
Seeing Annabeth filled her with emotions that she wanted to squash down, to pummel until they were unrecognizable. It wasn’t anything Annabeth had done, or even Annabeth herself; it was just Rachel, and that made it so much worse.
Because the real, horrible truth of the matter was this: Rachel had never gotten over Percy Jackson.
She’d known, always, that there was no room for anyone but Annabeth in his heart, even if it was the biggest heart she’d ever seen a person stuff inside their chest. Even when they kissed, when they were kinda-sorta-dating, Rachel had known. But she didn’t care, not much, not really. Back then there had been a chance, a small sliver of happenstance, that Percy could one day feel for Rachel as she felt for him; if Annabeth didn’t care for Percy the way he obviously cared for her. But, of course, Annabeth had, how could she not? He was perfect, in every way.
Well, actually, thought Rachel, rewinding her own thoughts with the ziiiiip resembling that of an old cassette tape, he was a dope. He tripped over his own feet, drooled when he slept, and his jet-black hair was always a little mussed, as if he’d just taken a cross-country motorcycle-tour. But he was also kind (the kindest person she’d ever known), brave (terrifyingly brave), awesomely skilled and alarmingly powerful. And he was beautiful. Gods damn, if Rachel hadn’t known he was half-god, she would’ve suspected so, anyway. His smile was like a beam of starlight, and made her heart do all kinds of stupid things in her ribcage; sometimes, she thought, it was so bright, that she had to look away.
Seeing Annabeth now, after Percy was gone, after neither of them would ever see him again, was like shoving a knife into a gaping wound. Annabeth was her friend, would always be, but Rachel couldn’t face her. Not yet.
So that night, when Annabeth came back, and half the camp rushed to greet her, Rachel went to her room and tried not to dream.
And in the morning, the only sign it hadn’t worked was the sob threatening to split her body in two separate pieces.

Notes

I'm most likely going to be updating daily, starting now (minus weekends)! So keep checking back, and thanks so much for you lovely votes and comments!

Comments

@Akuma Diavola

I know this was like a thousand years ago and nobody probably cares anymore, but yes the next chapter will be from Nico's POV

@Akuma Diavola

longliv longliv
6/24/15

I love this. Are you ever going to do one about Nico's POV?

Akuma Diavola Akuma Diavola
2/9/15

Wow..........keep on going, I have not cried that much yet. Just don't. Forget about the physician's cure.

SadieKane SadieKane
12/6/14

Please please update. I physically cried, 3 in the morning, while reading this

please update