You Always Have What Other's Don't ~a Percy Jackson AU~

IV Hazel

If anyone sits in the hospital long enough, they can speak the language. Not the medical terms, they all originate from Latin, but the hidden speech the doctors use to sign death warrants. Hell, it was easier to decode hieroglyphics. Good thing Hazel had a masters degree in death. Three knocks on the door meant bad news, two knocks on the door was good. They send the blonde doctors in if they think people are slipping into depression, and the redheads when it's time to eat. It's an uncomplicated system once you know the key.

Today, Hazel was feeling well enough to draw. Which was remarkably, really, after the high doses of chemo that left her speechlessly exhausted. For weeks her notepad had sat in the corner, staring her down, mocking her restlessly.
Too weak to lift a pencil? How do you think you're going to beat this if you can't lift a pencil?
Her prismacolors seemed scream for them to be used, as they sat lifelessly on her nightstand. They rang out in high shrieks: Just use us one last time! One last time!
Today they seem ecstatic to be drawn with, dancing across her paper like magic wands. It didn't occur to Hazel to tell her nurse of her hallucinations, they would take away her drawing pad. Hazel would rather die than have the one thing that was keeping her going ripped from her grasp.

Well, death was coming for her anyway, so what was really the point?

There was one thing that was driving Hazel to the point of snapping her favorite charcoal pencil was her hand. Still crippled from the day before, it shook ever so slightly. Not enough to be noticeable to the naked eye, but apparent enough to throw off her shading. The tremble sketched little lines where the weren't suppose to be. Not only was she extremely out of practice, but the quiver in her fingers made all of her drawings look like shit. Even her eyes, the only thing she had been drawing since she could write her own name, looks off centered and odd. Hazel growled, crumpling up attempt #18 and threw across the room with the little reserved strength she had left. The paper barely made it 3 feet.

Just as she had ripped a new sheet of paper, there was grave knock at the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

She froze.
This is it, thought Hazel. I'm done.
For a brief moment, she was relived. No more specialists, no more chemo, no more emergency intubation. There would be a funeral, people might cry for a couple days, but Hazel would drift into a lifeless oblivion, which was much better than a lifeless life. She couldn't believe it, she was almost happy? I mean, she knew she had been sloping for awhile, but she didn't think she'd give up after hearing a knock for a language she probably made up in her head. God, sometimes she prayed it really was in her head.
"Come in," she croaked, for she had not spoken in days.
In entered a solemn looking intern, and Hazel's doctor, bright haired young man whose grin could probably cure cancer.

Too bad it didn't.

At first, Hazel was wary of him. He look like he should be in her grade, struggling to understand Physics and worrying about prom. But instead he already had his medical degree, and was one of the best doctors in the hospital. She recognized the plastered on grin doctors wore when they were giving bad news. On her doctor, it looked sort of normal, but distinguishable. She fixed better smiles with duct tape.
"Hazel! How's my favorite patient doing?" He asked.
Hazel suppressed an eye roll, because he barely knew her, and kept on smiling. "Much better, actually."
"Is your mom here?"
She felt like screaming. They all knew very well that her mother was working back-to-back shifts to pay for her medical bills. They just wanted to rub salt into the wound.
Stop being paranoid. She told herself. "Nope, just me today, what's up?"
The doctor's expression softened from intense happiness into a woeful smile.
"Hazel, are you sure you want to hear this?"
She nodded, even though she didn't want to admit the one thing they all knew.

She was dying, but even faster.

"Hazel, think of it his way," he explained. "Here's where your cancer was-" tapped her chest lightly. "and here's where it is now." The young doctor waved his hand all over her stomach, as if he were casting a magic spell.
"So.. it moved?"
The intern looked like he was about to implode from her stupidity.
"Miss Levesque, it seems that your cancer has spread, you're dying."
"Dr. Asclepius!" The doctor chastised, shooting daggers at him. "You'll have to excuse my intern, who was just leaving, but I'm afraid it he is right." Her doctor, he happiest man she had ever seen, looked dismal. "I'm so sorry."
Soaked with grief, all she could do was mange out a nod. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, yet it did. She had felt herself tumbling for awhile, but Hazel thought that she just needed to pick up her feet, fight harder. But now there was no use for fighting. His pager pierced the thick, sullen air, flashing the words "Dr. Apollo, room 245." Hazel wondered if he was off to give another death sentence.
"I'll check on you later, okay?"
Another lifeless nod emerged from Hazel, and Dr. Apollo slapped the back his intern's head before exiting the room.

Hazel stared at her notepad, flipping through her entries dating back before her diagnosis. She used to be so.. good. Her sketches were clean, her shading was well thought out, and her landscapes look real. Angry tears formed in her eyes. She'll never draw like that again. Just when she thought she was getting better..

Frustrated, she chucked the notepad at the door. With her horrible aim, her collection of drawings hit her window with a thunk, startling a boy who happened to walk by. He tumbled to the ground, and Hazel let a small gasp.
"IM SORRY!" She called from her bed, cringing.
The boy brushed himself off, and peaked his head inside her room. "I'm fine, don't worry."
Hazel sighed in relief, she's had enough problems for one day. The boy picked up her notepad, which was sprawled on the floor, loose pages tumbling out of it.
"Wait! No-!" She started, but it was too late. He had seen her drawings, and was looking at them with some sort of amused expression Hazel couldn't place. He filed through them, smiling. Hazel, of course, thought he was laugh at them, because there is some pretty weird shit in there from when she was doodling in class. The panic in her chest was intense.
"These are..." he started.
"Shitty, horribly done, so if you would please give them back." She held out her hand impatiently. She felt a little silly, considering she was demanding her book back from a guy that was about 6'3, ripped, and had all the power in the situation. Meanwhile Hazel was trapped in a hospital bed.
"I was going to say amazing, but whatever you say," he gave her a shy smile. Hazel noticed the object in his hand, bright orange poppies.
"Are you visiting someone?" She asked, forgetting the manners she was vigorously taught.
"Yeah, my mom," he said sadly. "But she's going to get better, she will."
Hazel gave him a pity look. She could tell him the harsh truth, that rarely anyone gets better in a hospital. But she was starting to like this strange boy. He seemed sweet, good posture, but anyone could tell he was pulling back.
"Here," he said, handing her a flower. "You look like you need one, I'm my mom could spare a poppy or two."
Hazel smiled, genuinely smiled at the gesture, and thanked him.

She might have just made a new friend.

Watch me write like two chapters this week then just stop for another 6 months 😂.

But hi guys!!! I'm alive!!

Reminder that I'm seriously out of practice, so some chapters might be better than others :/.

But yay! I updated!

Next chapter is probably gonna be Piper is you all are interested.