So today I'm sick... and had a weird dream... and had a friend give me a writing challenge of doing Percy/Nico as a Western. Somehow, the three formed together into this bit. I actually quite like AU fics, as long as they're done well, and this is my first attempt at one. This won't be some long grand story unless I come up with a REALLY good idea soon. Ish. Feedback on it would be grand so I can know if I'm pulling it off right or not, as well as what you'd like to see. Erm. Yeah.
I also need a better title. Please suggest one.
Yes, it is Percy/Nico. If that bothers you, there's a 'back' button up there.
I don't own Percy Jackson or any related characters. Suing me will earn you nothing except my backpack and schoolbooks, which I will gladly give up because I have trouble reading them.
EDIT: why I shouldn't write things while sick, it SUCKS. I reread what I wrote and almost died of embarrassment. This isn't a much better draft, but I like it more. So. Please re-read... or read this draft for the first time. . Same things covered, but better written.
The Long Red Road
The dust on his boots barely hid the blood, another insult to a long list of injuries in a rather long day. Percy scowled as he tried to scuff the spot off, but he knew he wouldn't get it off with a hard scrub. He could feel his face stiffening with blood as well, as if the weird sideways glances from the folks he passed wasn't clue enough his appearance was questionable.
Percy rubbed his fist across his face, the same fist that clutched the letter from his schoolteacher. The twisted cursive was hard enough to read the first time - something about doing poorly on his last writing assignment. Between his horrible handwriting and the fact he just didn't care about mythology, it had been his lowest grade yet. His hand came away smeared with half-dried blood, so he crammed the letter into his front pocket, completely ignoring the 'see me after class' scribbled at the bottom.
Another person gave him a sideways glance, and Percy prided himself on not glaring back. He was used to the sideways looks by now.
The townsfolk had gotten used to his presence, and for the most part ignored him. Another half-blood roaming the wooden walks of their small dirt-grown town. The only reason he stood out at all was because he was the illegit son of the riverman. His father owned the only body of water around. Between him and the owners of the loggers in the hills and the miners in the dirt, the little town was run off of their trades and some mutual cooperation. Albeit, a grudging cooperation that seemed to depend more on their ignorance of each other.
"Strictly business," his father had claimed. "Everything's strictly business."
Even me?, Percy wanted to bitterly ask. He used to be just another ruddy-nosed half-blood in town: unclaimed by his father and living happily with his mother. Now, he felt like he was just another asset to his father's business. Percy almost wished he could go back to before when people didn't eye him suspiciously, as if wondering what nefarious schemes he was planning to help his father gain complete control of all the businesses in the town. In reality, he didn't really care. He just wanted to be normal.
As normal as a half-blood could be, he supposed. At least he looked more white than most of the other half bloods living in the camp outside of town. His skin was paler and his eyes were green, and his hair wasn't as fine or as dark. But people still knew he was different. Even the other kids at school, the proof on his face and started to drip down his collar.
Percy decided his mother would freak out if she saw him like this. So he turned for the river to clean up before heading home, he scowled. The other kids used to like him - back when he was just another half-blood. Now he was one of the 'Big Three's son. Now he was even more different than the other half-blood children trying to pass as normal settlers. Everything about him came under scrutiny, even his friendships. He was good friends with the schoomaster's pretty blonde daughter, but everyone knew she still had a crush on the half-blood boy whom taught Percy how to fight.
As Percy crouched beside the water and started to scrub, he ironically ammended that thought: Luke didn't teach him how to fight quite as well as him. Of course, four against one was bad odds all the way around. They had called him out on being sly. Though he quickly denied it, he had no way to prove it wrong. And the fight ensued, ending only when Annabeth came to his rescue. A girl having to defend him made him quickly forget any meeting with Mr. Brunner and he ran off, pride wounded.
He splashed water on his face and felt better as the blood washed away. His face heated as he thought that he really didn't like Annabeth - she was a good friend, but...
He stood up and stretched. His mother was waiting for him at home, but he didn't want to face her just yet. He didn't want to show her his poor grade or admit that he got in fight - again. She would smile and hug him all the same, but he always felt like he let her down. In more ways than one. And she would probably remind him he had to go to that business meeting with his father later this week. Which he really, really didn't want to go to. He didn't like feeling like some kind of pawn in his father's game.
The lake water gleamed in the mid morning light as Percy dragged a stick through the edge of the water, watching the ripples form and break against the bank. He liked solitude – the quiet made it easier to think. He could ask Mr. Brunner for assistance on his homework – the old man was always more than willing to help Percy and the other half-blood children. But he didn't know how to stop the teasing or the fights over his... interest. Maybe the red-headed girl in town… she liked him well enough as friend, she might be willing to help him out on this. Pretend for a bit just to get all the boys off his back...
A whinny drew his attention further down the bank, right where the river turned into the hills to feed the trees.
The first thing Percy saw was the horse – a tall mutant of a hot-blooded filly at least sixteen if not seventeen hands high with a black coat peppered with coppery red*. The lean body supported on long legs indicated the horse was a runner, used to long distances at top speeds. But the magnificent horse paled in comparison to the boy who just stepped around her, rubbing her down. Percy's breath caught and held as he stared.
The boy looked like he had been formed from the desert at night with soft brown skin and sleek and shiny black hair. He was small and slight, barely coming to the horse's withers. Percy could see the slight bulge under his shirt between his shoulder blades of a throwing knife, but no sling for a gun. He looked too young for the trousers he wore, dressed completely in settler clothes except for the soft moccasin boots he wore instead of riding boots.
The filly noticed Percy first, her ears twitching in his direction followed by her head. Percy could see the boy's mouth moving as he scratched under the horse's neck, softly nickering before turning to see what the horse was looking at. Even at this distance, the boy's dark eyes under the long bangs were captivating. But they narrowed and the soft smile that had been playing on his lips disappeared as he looked back at Percy.
The two stood still for a moment, locked in each other's gaze.
Then in one swift move the boy hitched himself up into the small saddle, mounting from the right side. Before Percy could call out for him to wait, the horse had turned and he was riding off.
To Be Continued
*hot-blooded: a horse meant for speed, Filly: a young female under 4 years old, sixteen-seventeen hands: measurement of height to the horse's shoulders where 1 hand=4 inches. That is tall for a horse.
any other questions, ask.
