Hello guys
Again, sorry for any grammatical errors
Enjoy!
...
Percy woke up early in the morning.
The night was not good.
He rolled over on the green sheets, realizing by 04:33 am that he should change them soon (was not like he was looking at the digital clock next to the bed with absurd anxiety that seemed to make time go more slowly, of course not). And, well, how long had those sheets been there? Almost a month? Yeah, he needed to change them. Really. So, Percy, take this mental note and change the damn sheets later.
At some point, while almost cursing Hypnos, he fell asleep.
He had no dreams, which was great, but it didn't mean he slept well either. He woke up three times, all for no reason, but then he slept again.
The fourth time, he decided to get out of bed. His back hurt because of the strange position in which he had spent the night. He hadn't slept for even four full hours. Gods, he needed more coffee.
Dragging his feet, he went into the living room. The light that came in through the cracks in the room curtain made his head hurt.
Cautiously, he looked at the sofa.
The three-person seat was not exactly what Percy called comfortable. It was a pretty okay place to sit, yes, but he wouldn't recommend it that much for a good night's sleep. He had been through this experience at least half a dozen times when fell asleep watching a bad movie or documentary because he couldn't close his eyes like a normal human being. He moved a lot, and on one occasion even fell flat on his face on the cold floor. He always woke up in pain because of the wooden structure with the thin layer of foam, which honestly did not help that much in terms of fluffing.
But Nico? Nico slept there with an admirable peace.
Percy thought that by the time he woke up the next day, that kid would be long gone. In fact, he even thought that Di Angelo might just be a small hallucination of his tired mind.
But he was there, right there, in front of him. He snored softly, the baby blue blanket covering his skinny legs and going up to the middle of his chest. His mouth was slightly open, but he didn't drool like Jackson. Their upper teeth could be seen, and Poseidon's son noticed that they had a small separation that he had never noticed before. The pillow was pulled to one side. He wore sweatpants and a red T-shirt from Percy, which he lent him after the hot shower. There were at least 3 numbers larger than recommended.
Percy was surprised to think that, were it not for the state of Hades' son, he could have been a very handsome boy, with his Italian features and shiny black hair. The sleeping countenance gave the calm that an ordinary teenager should have.
The young man had always been a relatively important part of his life, but a little left out due to his duties as a demigod. He felt guilty at the thought, even though he knew it was the truth.
Percy shook his head, trying to ward off those thoughts that were beginning to pop up in the back of his mind, drawing diffuse connections until he reached that point where he tried so hard to avoid.
He was over it. Gods, that was almost two years ago. Everything was fine, everything was okay.
He walked to the kitchen, still focused on not thinking too much. He switched on the coffee maker and then retrieved the keys and wallet. He would go to the bakery. Bread, maybe some cheese? What scary kids of sixteen or seventeen years old ate? Jackson was out of date.
A deep sigh.
The day would be lengthy.
…
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
He would never curse a god, least of all his own father. He liked old Poseidon very much, but shit, Percy sometimes wanted even more to be the son of some lesser-known god. Morpheus? Iris? Perhaps the god of breakfast?
Anything less than Big Three would be better. The thing was "you entered adulthood, the monsters will give you a respite", right? Seriously, man, a small truce was good enough. He just wanted to go to the fucking bakery in peace. But no, of course not. Monsters cannot afford a day of rest for the mighty Percy Jackson, son of none other than Poseidon, the stupendous god of the seas, Lord of the horses, and so on.
Fuck it. Really.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck .
He was walking when, out of the most damn thing, an empousa appeared, cornering him against an alley. Jackson almost whined; Not today! Come back next week, I beg you!
He only knew it was an empousa because she, in a completely mysterious and nothing expository dialogue, said:
"Percy Jackson, I'm an empousa!"
"AAAHHHH!", He replied. (Percy swore it had been a very male cry, by the way).
She smiled.
"My name is blah blah! I will revenge blah blah, cut off your head, and blah blah blah blah!"
Of course, the blah blah had not said blah blah, but Jackson could only hear the most important parts. No one pays much attention to detail when a woman says revenge and cut off your head in the same sentence.
Aside from the different legs that he had noticed too late - one bronze and the other animal - she was a wonderful young woman: green eyes, curly hair, brown skin, stunning smile, the beautiful curvy body in an impeccable cheerleader uniform.
Suddenly, to Poseidon's son's complete displeasure, the supermodel's face began to deform. Bram Stoker would be impressed by the fangs, the pale skin, and the red eyes; a worthy horror movie vampire was standing there, ready to finish him off.
Jackson, for his part, would be much more impressed if a miserable day of his life started with a simple, boring normal morning.
- How about a kiss, Perseus Jackson? - She snarled.
He frowned.
- Eat shit.
The Riptide had already been pulled out of his pocket. The vampire smiled.
- How rude. Didn't your mother teach you to be polite to ladies?
As soon as she finished her short sentence, she attacked Percy. He barely had time to give the superintelligent answer he was working on, which was something like "of course she taught, duh!"
He struck, but she was quicker, dodging. Blahblah tried to attack the boy with the giant fangs, luckily causing only a not-so-nice tear on his shirt sleeve.
But the empousa, of course, had more tricks than simple huge fangs, weird legs, and orange pompons. As if by magic, her face was transfigured. It was like a punch to Percy's stomach; how had he forgotten that she was so beautiful?
Jackson thought he would be prepared, but he was not. He had never seen hair so shiny falling like waterfalls over a girl's shoulders before. He almost sighed. Was that right? Was it okay to kill such a perfect girl? Of course, she was a murderous mythological monster, thirsty for blood and destruction, and he was a human dumb enough to not focus on what mattered. But what did it really matter? Percy couldn't think very well.
Suddenly, the idea of that kiss didn't seem too bad.
He barely noticed when she grabbed and too easily lifted a trash can that was just to her left. It must have weighed 154 pounds. And he, acting like an idiot again, was not as fast as he should have been.
The can didn't hit him, of course, or else the legendary Percy Jackson would have turned into a stinky pancake of demigod just because of the speed at which the object had flown in his direction.
"Your son of a ..." He shouted.
"You bastard demigod! Be quiet when I try to crush you!", She interrupted, yelling. The dreadful face was back.
But even if he hadn't actually been hit, all the trash had flown over him - a banana peel hung over his head. Liquids he didn't want to know where they came from stained his pajamas. A pamphlet from a gold buying and selling store was clinging to his shirt as if it were a botton.
Besides, to his utter bad luck, in some bizarre way, the Riptide had ended up on the other side of the alley.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Really. Fuck it.
The empousa, which was nothing stupid, launched itself at Jackson again when he realized his momentary fragility. He dodged and then tried to kick it, but all he got was a bad cut on his leg, inflicted by sharp nails. It hurt like red-hot iron, but he couldn't afford to remain still.
Due to the pain and the imbalance, Percy fell, cornered on top of the trash that was on the floor.
But Poseidon's son hadn't given up yet, of course. It would be a very stupid way to die, and he couldn't take one more stupid thing for the huge list of Stupid Things he had already done. He looked around with his ADHD getting him ready, looking for anything that could turn his situation around.
Then he saw his lifeguard: the lid of the damn trash.
When the empousa came to deliver the final blow, he lifted the metal disk as if it were a shield.
His arms shook with the effort, but he still managed to push the monster away and ran to the sword in that very short time. He certainly must have looked like a lame idiot, but this was not the time to try to look like a hero. Anaklusmos would eventually return to his pocket, which would take some time - perhaps the time he would not have.
Percy grabbed the sword, already rotating the body in a semi-circle like a samurai, cutting the empousa right in the middle. The perfect timing.
It turned to dust, leaving only an orange pompom behind.
Jackson had a bleeding leg, a lot of anger, and tiredness (ah, and apparently an orange pompom as spoil). Also, he was still covered in monster dust and New Yorker garbage.
He walked out of the alley. Mortals looked at him strangely, but he could understand - it is not always that you see a boy with the aroma of rotten eggs and a mixture of dubious papers with fruit peels stuck in his messy hair.
With a sigh of pure hatred, Percy Jackson somehow arrived at the bakery.
...
When he returned to the apartment, he was greeted by the smell of coffee, which had permeated the entire place (which attenuated by about 10% his smell from the dumpster in the summer sun). It had been over an hour since he left, giving the second-hand coffee maker plenty of time to do its job.
He carried a paper package with two baguettes, milk, half a dozen eggs, bacon in strips, and cheese. Percy hoped it would be enough - Nico seemed to need a very hearty breakfast.
He dropped shopping on the kitchen counter. Jackson tried not to make too much noise, although he had the slight impression that even if the Party Ponies entered that room doing everything they knew how to do, Nico would remain in his peaceful sleep. Perhaps, at most, he would frown.
Percy went to take a shower and bandage that leg. The guy had to wash his hair three times so that the smell of rotten fruit with skunk would come out. As soon as he finished, he sat on the top of the toilet with a first aid kit handy (specially prepared for a demigod, of course, with pieces of ambrosia, ethyl alcohol, and lots of Hello Kitty's band-aids).
The water had helped a lot in the healing of the wound, but it was a deep cut, so it would need extra help. He made a bandage on the spot and, hesitantly, bit a piece of ambrosia. It went down his throat with the same flavor as the terrible Italian pizza he had eaten when ...
Ah, gods. That was torture.
Finally, he put on an outfit, trying not to think of anything but that task, and preferred to throw the pajamas he wore straight into the trash can. It was torn, smelly, and honestly, brown with white was not his color.
He put on a blue shirt with the words Save the Corals from the Amazon! and gray sweatpants. He remembered that he had not brushed his teeth (and almost felt sorry for the poor cashier girl, who, in addition to being frightened by Percy's probably murderous look and a rather screwed-up appearance, still had to deal with the smell of garbage and his bad breath).
He spat out the paste foam in the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He hadn't changed that much since the war, found himself brooding. But there were the notable things, of course, like the beard that, although thin, gave some signs of existence or the dark circles that did not match his own age.
He sighed.
What had happened to him?
…
Coffee, milk, sugar. It was tasty, or at least better than last night's. He fried the bacon, the eggs and added the melted cheese on top, stuffing everything into a generous piece of baguette. Mahi, a mortal friend from college, always said that she would like to know his secret. "You eat for three or four grown men and still have that six-pack! It is so unfair..."
Percy didn't think she would believe it if he answered casually "my secret? Haha, just run from an enraged dracaena and fight with four empousai, at least six times a week after lunch, if possible always fear for your life and, of course, I was already forgetting, sword training!"
So he just replied with something vague enough that there were no more questions and enough objective to seem true. The answer, in general, was associated with genetics, followed by a forced smile.
Around the third cup of coffee, Percy realized that Di Angelo would not wake up anytime soon. So he decided to go to his room. He had to study, and maybe sleep a little more, if the gods, by some miracle, decided that he was worthy.
…
Seven hours later (of which four spent trying to sleep, one trying to read a book, one doing absolutely nothing, and only one actually studying), Percy left his room.
After sweeping the rooms, which lasted about fifteen minutes, he heard a rustle coming from the sofa.
Slowly, Hades' son sat down. His strands of hair stood out everywhere. A part of them was crumpled at an odd angle, forming a very funny fringe. Swollen eyes, a little red face on the left side, with the angular marks of the sheet fabric pressing on his face for all those hours. The look was lost as if he didn't even know where he was. He certainly looked like a person who had slept well.
At least someone had had a good sleep in that house.
"Good morning", Percy said. He couldn't help smiling, even if only slightly.
Nico's black eyes finally found the figure of Jackson, standing on the kitchen portal with the broom in hand.
Di Angelo blushed.
It seemed that even his ears hidden by the curl of wavy hair were reddish. Slowly, he ran his hand over his face, bringing the messy strands back, giving him an almost untidy arrangement, but that at least allowed the complete view of the yes-I-just-woke-up facial expression.
Then Percy said:
"Slept well?"
Obviously, Percy, you idiot.
"Ah yes. I slept. Thanks", murmured the youngest.
"Seriously? You know, I think it sucks to sleep on that sofa. My back hurts, always. ", Yes, he was trying to make small talk. The problem is that Jackson was a failure in that regard. Fighting Medusa herself was acceptable, but a common conversation? Oh, no, that was not his style.
"Mine doesn't hurt. Maybe ... because I'm lighter?"
"Perhaps."
Silence.
"Hm, and you? Slept well?"
"No. I closed and opened my eyes every thirty minutes, but I didn't really sleep. And, like, I'm talking about the whole day."
"What do you mean the whole day?", The black eyes focused on the living room window for the first time, noticing how dark it was. "What time is it, Percy?"
"Uh, at that moment…", Percy stepped back a little and looked at the kitchen clock. "It's seven twenty-three at night. Congratulations! You slept for about 16 hours straight."
"Oh, gods…", murmured the boy. "Sorry. Damn it, we had a mission to do and I was here, sleeping."
"Hey, it's okay". Embarrassing silence. "Look ... There is bread, eggs, I bought them in the morning. Eat something while I change clothes. Ah, there's a new toothbrush in the third drawer in the bathroom. I think that's it. Yeah."
So Perseus Jackson, the incredible young man who had survived countless near-deaths, escaped conversation.
...
It was interesting.
Percy always had the impression that if he blinked, Nico Di Angelo would be gone. Blending in with the first shadow, running through your fingers, jumping into what Poseidon's son did not know.
After twenty-one minutes (not that he was looking at the room's digital clock with absurd anxiety, of course not), he thought Nico would disappear. That simple. When his feet touched the parquet floor of the room, Nico di Angelo would be nothing more than a mere distant blur, as if he had never been there.
It wasn't like Percy really cared about it. Even without his old social cycle, he was doing great, thanks.
Still, having Nico at home after spending almost a year and a half away from camp was, in a way, good. And Percy didn't want it to be good. He wanted it to be terrible, to be left alone. He wanted to remain reclusive and grumpy like an 80-year-old dude.
But, as is well known, the peace of a demigod does not last long. The proof of this was Di Angelo, who was standing beside his sofa.
Jackson, in fact, did not know why he felt so stunned. It was just that skinny kid who had once been a cheerful, irritating, and chatty child, so relax, man. Nothing new there.
He didn't want to admit it, but he was a little happy. A little happy because, in the end, he wasn't that forgetful, right? Someone remembered him. He was still the guy who had defeated Cronos, the bargaining chip, the guy ...
The guy who had gone through the fucking Tartarus.
He closed his eyes tightly and ran a hand over his face.
"Are you okay?"
Had his voice always been so ripped and low? Jackson couldn't think about it much.
Nico was already dressed in his clothes from the night before. The only clashing element was a small piece of bread in his right hand and his chin dotted with crumbs.
"Yes, I'm fine. Seriously."
Silence.
''Well, if you say."
"Um, yes, sorry. Sleepiness. We can go."
Nico did not seem convinced, of course. Still, he raised his eyebrows.
"What do you have there?", He pointed to the backpack that Percy was carrying. He had even changed clothes, and now he wore something more suited to his suicide mission: jeans, T-shirt, comfortable sneakers, thermal jacket.
"Ah, you know, the basics. Ambrosia, extra shirt, mortal money, and a few drachmas..."
Hades' son nodded.
"So let's go?", He questioned bluntly.
No. I would rather stay here and read three whole books of cellular respiration than do anything for your asshole father, he wanted to answer. Instead, he just sighed, then muttered:
"Sure."
...
"Excited?", Nico mumbled as soon as they arrived outside the old building.
Percy took a deep breath. The night air was freezing, and he made his breath condense in the darkness. The Riptide, as always, was very safe in the pocket. He had a backpack with useful things - even mint candies were shaking in a small green tin! Could a demigod ask for more than that?
"No. Under no circumstances. Never", He answered.
"That's great", Nico replied. Percy swore that the boy was struggling to suppress a laugh. He started walking forward, the styrene sword swinging in its holder.
On that cold and probably deadly night, Percy Jackson had only one thought in mind:
I forgot to change the damn sheets. Fuck.
"London calling to the faraway towns
Now war is declared and battle come down
London calling to the underworld
Come out of the cupboard, you boys and girls"
London Calling – The Clash