IMPORTANT NOTES:

There have been some alterations to timelines so that the crossover may work.

I do not own Percy Jackson or Supernatural. All rights go to the original authors.

Also, I haven't actually finished reading Percy Jackson, I just really like the fanfiction and was excited to write one (oops?). Feel free to make any corrections to issues with this fanfic if you have read the series.

DECEMBER, 1994

Dylan was frightened, cold, and hungry. His stomach grumbled angrily, barely audible over a fresh gust of howling wind. He tugged at his mother's sleeve, sniffling softly.

"Mommy, where are we going?" he asked quietly. He wondered to himself briefly what they were even doing away from the hospital. Last he'd heard, the doctor had put his mom on bed rest.

"Shh, Dylan," she hissed tiredly, "There's someone we need to find. Quickly." What little was left of her chestnut hair swayed slowly in the harsh breeze, and her teeth chattered loudly. Dylan loved his mom's hair. It was pale in color and pretty, and he was glad that his hair was like it, too. He was mournful over the fact that she'd lost so much of it, though. The doctor had explained to him that his mom was really sick now, so her hair had gotten tired and needed to rest while she got better. He'd said it was kind of like when the trees lost their leaves in the winter, and then they grew back all pretty and green in the spring. Dylan supposed it made sense.

Suddenly, the two of them were on a crumbling cement sidewalk, just outside of a dilapidated building. There was a lot of noise coming from inside of it, and it smelled sourly of the weird smoke-sticks Dylan's old step dad David liked so much. His nose crinkled. Dylan had hated David and his smoke-sticks, and was especially bothered by the weird words he used to call his mom that had seemed to bother her so much.

He watched as she pressed her nose against the dingy, front window, her shallow breaths leaving small ghosts of condensation on the translucent glass. With a small gasp, she hastily turned the knob and urged Dylan to follow her inside. "C'mon, baby, let's get you inside. You're shakin' like a dog," she insisted. Dylan bounced excitedly as he hugged his own frigid form.

"Did you find them, mommy?" he gushed. She nervously chewed her lip, and then pressed her right palm gently on the small of his back as they ventured through the doorway.

"I think so, baby," she whispered to him quietly, her voice hardly intelligible over the sounds of sweaty, middle-aged men hooting and hollering at each other. Dylan's stomach dropped dangerously. He didn't like these men at all. They reminded him too much of David and his friends. The men gave him scary, twisted smirks, and stared strangely at his mother.

"Whatcha doin' here, lil' man?" one to the left of him slurred, engulfing Dylan's shoulder in his clammy, meaty paw, "Gettin' an early start, eh?" There were a few lame barks of laughter, and Dylan's legs began to grow queasy.

"Let him go!" his mother demanded lamely, her voice too hoarse and meek to stir any sort of fear in its victims. The laughter grew to a dull roar, and the big man gave her a crooked, ugly grin.

"And what can you do to make me, lil' miss, hm?" he began to shake Dylan roughly, prying him from his mother's weak grip and drawing small trails of tears from his eyes. "I think I might jus' keep 'im around for a while. How does that sound, lil' man?" His gaze burned holes into Dylan's teary eyes.

"I-I..-" Dylan stuttered, his body in tremors, but was rescued by a new, stronger, masculine voice.

"Well, sir, 'little miss' is with me, so I suggest you listen and let the kid go." The big man's face paled, and he released Dylan with a snarl. Stumbling into his mother's frail side, he struggled to catch a glimpse of his savior.

He was a bulky man of average height, with an assertive brown gaze and a dark layer of prickly stubble. Behind him stood two boys, one no older than 12, and the other about 16-17 years in age. The younger one was awkward and lanky, with long brown hair and kind, light eyes. He seemed nervous and uncomfortable, and kept shooting the man that he was stood behind questioning looks. The older one wore a beaten, brown leather jacket and an alert expression, his eyes absent of question. Dylan felt oddly safe in their presence. Suddenly, his savior's gaze was fixed on his mom.

"Beth," the man acknowledged, nodding solemnly at her, "it's been too long. Could I buy you a drink?" Dylan's mother smiled bitterly, her eyes teary for reasons he couldn't understand.

"You see your sister for the first time in seven years, and the first thing you do is offer her a drink?" she asked quietly, then snorted, "You haven't changed a bit, Johnny."Dylan found himself creasing his eyebrows in confusion. Sister? Was this his uncle? He tugged urgently at his mom's coat sleeve for the second time that night.

"Mommy, what's going on?" he whined, and suddenly the man's gaze was on him instead. Beth stooped down to her small son's level, staring straight into the sweet blue eyes that she adored most about him.

"This is your Uncle John, baby. I need to have a...a grownup conversation with him," she explained quietly, glancing nervously at her brother every now and then to gage his reaction. She'd never told him about her son before. Gulping bravely, she gestured to the two boys standing behind her brother. "Why don't you go meet your cousins, Sam and Dean? They're real nice, or at least they were the last time I saw them, itty bitty things that they were." Dylan hesitated, then nodded slowly, bounding over to the two teens obediently. John nodded his understanding.

"Take your cousin back to our table, I'm gonna stay at the bar with your aunt for a while," John ordered, turning to face his two sons.

"Yes sir," the older one said, and awkwardly took the small boy's outstretched hand in his own.

"I'm Dylan, and I'm five. How old are you guys?" Beth could hear her son say as the tree cousins walked away. Her lips twitched up into a smile before she remembered why she was there in the first place. She felt John's gaze on her as she sat at the nearest stool, clutching her heavy trench coat closer to her small frame.

"I'm real sick, John," she whispered sadly, looking solemnly into his eyes, "I don't have too long." John fixed his sister with a calculating gaze. He'd noticed how much smaller and weaker she'd gotten from the last time he'd seen her the moment that drunken bastard had managed to get that kid out of her grip. Twenty-six year old Beth would've kicked his ass to the curb.

"Seven years, Beth," he began quietly, "Seven years ago I tried to get you to join us out on the road, and you refused," he chewed the inside of his cheek as an awful, bitter taste filled his mouth, "Since then you've had a kid, and gotten sick who the hell knows how with who the hell knows what, but never thought to call me about either of the above. And now, now you track me down to a run-down bar in the middle of nowhere- which, by the way, I'm still curious as to how you did- and why? Why now, Beth?" She crumbled under her brother's gaze, her face growing red with embarrassment. With a deep breath and a sudden stroke of bravery, she looked him straight into his soul.

"Like I said, John," she replied evasively, "I haven't got much time. The cancer- that's what the hell it is- has spread too much too fast. But him-" she gestured to Dylan, who was elbow deep in a burger and steak fries between his two older cousins "-he's got all the time in the world." John suddenly understood.

"The kid. You want me to take care of him," he confirmed, and Beth nodded firmly. John snorted and took a big swig of the whiskey he'd ordered when they'd sat down. "That's real good, Beth. I have trouble enough keeping my own boys fed and dressed-"

"Through fraud?" she snapped, "Through scams? I'm sure your merry little band of con artists and thieves could accept a new member, John." She was red-faced and breathing unevenly, clutching her head as though sustaining an awful headache. John glared at her through another swig of whiskey, his cheeks burning with anger. "I'm sorry, John. I really am. It's not like that, it's just.. Dylan's not like all the other boys. He's special. He wouldn't take to orphanages and foster care like any normal kid his age," John chuckled drily.

"No kid takes to that kind of livin', Beth. They endure," he said in monotone, "I feel awful for ya, I really do, but I can't just-"

"Please, John," Beth begged, and he suddenly noticed the underlying desperation in her voice, "He won't survive out there, with those things you hunt! They-they-" she stopped suddenly, face flushed with shame, but John's interest had peaked at the mention of his career.

"They what, Beth?" he demanded. Her eyes flashed with fear, and she seized him suddenly by the collar. Though her grip was weak, and her fingers so bony they'd snap like twigs at the smallest of impacts, John was shocked nonetheless.

"They chase him, John," she said quietly through her guarded lips, "They hunt him down like an animal. It's because of who his daddy is." Realizing what she was doing, she released her brother and sat properly in her seat. John's curiosity, however, was not yet sated.

"And who is his father?" he questioned adamantly. Beth's eyes darted about the wooden bar-top wildly, her clammy hands wringing the belt of her coat as though she were about to blast like a jet from her seat simply from nerves.

"Let's call him Pete, ok?" she whispered, and besides his confusion, John nodded quickly, "Well, Pete..Pete is relatively well-known in the monster community. They've got his scent down par. But the monsters know Pete so well, that they realize huntin' him down and rippin' him up would be impossible. H-he's.. a bit of a.. powerful hunter. Well respected," John resisted the urge to interrupt, his mind racing with questions. "Well, Dylan's got at least half of his daddy in him, at least that's how it works last I checked," she laughed coldly, "and the monsters can smell it in him. They know they can't get his daddy, but they can get him. It's the next best thing." She exhaled in relief, feeling as though her explanation sufficed her brother's question well enough.

"Just who exactly is Pete? Would I know him by name?" John asked, keeping the rest of his questions bottled up.

"You probably would, if you pay enough attention to the world around you," Beth said with a knowing smile, "But I can't tell you. What me and Pete had lasted two, three weeks tops. I haven't seen him since. I reckon he doesn't even know Dylan exists at all." The last of what she'd said was lie, but no conversation about "Pete" would be squeaky clean, no matter the situation.

"But the monsters go after him, even though Pete couldn't care less? Why? It doesn't fit, Beth," John stated simply.

"True enough, but just the scent of Pete drives them crazy. They hate it. Any trace of him they can get, they want gone," Beth replied easily.

Finally, they'd reached the point of the conversation where John needed to make a decision, one that may or may not be heavily influenced by the pleading gaze of his dying little sister.

"Please, John," she whispered, "you're our only hope. He needs you, that little boy is your nephew. You can't just turn your back on your own flesh and blood, Johnny." She was so tired, and so weak. John just wanted to hug her, tell her how much he's missed her, but he valued the tough exterior he'd made for himself too stubbornly to do so. Not so stubbornly, however, to say what he did next.

"Alright," John agreed with a sigh, "I'll do it." Beth's face split into the biggest, teary smile he'd ever seen.

"Oh, thank you Johnny," she gasped, throwing her arms around her big brother's neck, "Thank you so, so much." Slowly, John wrapped his arms around her small torso, patting her back robotically, though the sweet and caring notion of it was still received.

"You're welcome, Beth," he said so softly, she hardly caught it. She pulled away, her smile switched suddenly to bitter, and then began to unclasp something from around her neck. It was a thickly chained, silver necklace, from which hung a chunky, black stone that glinted with sapphire speckles.

"This here necklace is the only thing, other than Dylan himself, that I got out of my relationship with his father," she explained, handing it to John, "I want you to give it to him."

"Why me?" John asked, "Why not do it yourself, when you say goodbye?" Beth frowned, the red stains on her face gleaming with fresh tears.

"Because I won't be saying goodbye," she replied, and before John could protest, she explained, "If I try and say goodbye, I'll never leave, and.. and this is the best thing I have left to do for him."

"He'll be devastated," John said, "He won't listen to reason, won't listen to me. He'll need a goodbye, Beth." She managed a weak smile.

"Dylan is my baby boy, and I'll always love him. Always. He knows that," she said, and her lower lip began to wobble. "He's a strong kid, he'll do ok," She patted John's hand warmly, then gave him a final, gentle kiss on the cheek. "Goodbye, John."

And with that, Beth stood up and left, the only trace left to the Winchesters of her existence being a silver chain clutched loosely in John's calloused hands, and a heartbroken little boy.

UGH SOOO MUCH DIALOGUE

To answer some questions you might have:

1. Who is Pete?

A: You shall see, if you haven't already guessed it. (Hint: what does the name Dylan mean?)

2. OMG Dylan's mom just left like that? Why wouldn't she just say goodbye?

A: Three reasons- One: She was pretty broken up about having to leave him already. Despite him being unexpected, she loves her son. Two: "Tough love" is a good way to build character. She knew that saying goodbye would only weaken him as a person, something like the sudden disappearance of your mother is like: "BAM! Welcome to the big kid world, time to pull up your pants and whip out the shotgun." (sounds messed up and even more confusing, but yeah) Three: I am lazy, and this chapter was getting too long. (I'm sorry!)

3. How DID she find him?

A: Hunters talk, and she knows about the grapevine too. She just poked around a bit and found answers.

4. Um, how come she was just able to get up and LEAVE the hospital… without ANYONE NOTICING?

A: Beth is a determined woman. Despite everything she's been through, she can get around. She's been in the hospital for a while and is pretty close with a lot of the staff, so they eventually agreed to let her out an hour or two after she wore them down with an explanation.

That's a wrap, I guess. See you crazy kids in Chapter 1.

~ Steph