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That was my brain once started reading all the wonderful reviews. Honestly, 57 reviews?! And there were only 3 chapters then! *melts*
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Look at you all, already pairing characters up and whatnot :D I'm not sure about PercyxLoki 'cause I might already *cough cough* have an idea of Percy's romantic life… possibly.
Also, I apologize for any typos I might have stumbled through in the past and near future. I'm a busy man, and I don't have Beta Reader xD
Also, an apology about the last chapter for all the grammar issues.
A DISCLAIMER FOR YOU ALL. I don't own one single thing I am writing at this moment.
Oh
And one more thing…
…
Jackson was smarter then Clint Barton could have guessed. But one with a criminal track record like Jackson's, it shouldn't be a surprise.
Clint was not surprised.
He was angry.
The SHIELD agent kicked aside a mass of burnt, smoking wood. It was nearly daybreak, and all what he had left to see was a shack burned to the ground. Clint was, indeed, working alone. He liked it that way. No other footsteps, no other breathing. Just him, his bow, and his prey. It was a hunt, and he was the hunter.
His prey, however, was no gazelle. Jackson could cover his tracks. Clint probably won't be able to pick up the tr-
Footprints.
In the sand.
The SHIELD agent lifted his finger to the commlink in his ear. "Jackson burned down his shack, but I found footprints heading east, up shore."
The high frequency radio waves traveled through the air in a split second as they reached every field agent involved in the operation. Steve Rogers was the first to answer.
"Take pursuit but do not engage unless completely necessary. We're shifting the perimeter."
Clint's flashlight lit the way down the way Jackson's footprints led. "Who put you in charge anyway?"
Silence on the other end. He guessed a few agents were snickering.
"Just shut up and do what you're told." Came Steve's muttered reply.
Geez. The captain sure was in a cranky mood tonight.
As Clint Barton followed the trail of footprints, he mulled over how he had over-estimated the target. Jackson really was an idiot. Then again, these footprints could be a hoax. A decoy. Hawk Eye noted how quiet it was. The swishing of the tide was growing distant. Not one nocturnal animal made the slightest sound. These were now hunting grounds, and the animals knew better then to interfere.
…
Percy had kicked in the door to a church. Strange, not many churches were locked around here. Something about trusting your neighbor. Evidently, that didn't seem to pay off so much. Though Percy did feel a bit guilty. Kicking in the doors of a place of worship wouldn't look so good on his resume.
The church was dark, nobody occupied the building at this time of night. Not even a night guard. But this wasn't any official church. It was community-built. Percy slumped into a booth at the back of the rows. What would it be like? To believe in only one God? What if this one God was the only true God in existence? And the Olympians are just some prank…
That would be a nice life. Being a Christian, it looked so simple. And peaceful.
Percy stood from where he sat and ambled up the aisle. He ran his hand along the wood of the booths he passed. Memories bathed his mind and weighted his heart.
A veil, behind it a beautiful face. A beautiful smile, and beautiful eyes. A ring fitting perfectly on his finger. A ring sliding up the finger of his betrothed. The ring fits snuggly, and it looks so perfect. So perfect.
A kiss, a true, passionate kiss in which he loses himself in.
And… and.
And it was no longer his.
Percy Jackson let out an enraged roar punched through a mosaic of Jesus in the manger. The glass shattered outward and down, some shards bouncing off his shoulders. He planted his hands against the wall and hung his head, chest heaving. He needed to see a physiatrist. The spurts of uncontrollable rage was getting worse. It would be a lie if he were to say that he was 'okay'.
Percy Jackson was angry. Not just at the gods or the fates. Not just God, or the mosaic he just punched through.
The Exiled Prince was angry at the universe.
He had to get out of here before he kicked down the wall.
Percy turned to face the door, only to freeze. A man was stepping through the threshold. He was medium in height, with short dark hair, blue eyes, and a solid build. He wore a black, sleeveless shirt, clasped in his hand was a modern bow. Arrows filled the quiver strapped to his back.
The man stopped once reaching mi-length of the aisle. He squared his feet before crossing his arms.
"You're a hard man to find, Jackson."
Percy shot up both eyebrows. "Uh… excuse me?" How did this man know his last name? And why had he been trying to find him?
His stalker. Hades, how had he forgotten? Surely the stalker from yesterday couldn't have been working alone. This was probably his contact.
Schist.
The Exiled Prince immediately felt danger. He hadn't felt like this since war. The raw, overpowering sense of a cornered animal. Percy took a step back before his hand instinctively drifted for the pocket bearing Anaklusmos.
"Who the hades are you?" The young man narrowed his eyes.
The stranger rolled his shoulders before sliding his bow into its holster across his back.
"Doesn't matter who I am. What matters is who you are." He smirked. "My first real fight in ages."
Percy spared a glance toward the window. He could make a run for it, but turning his back on this stranger would be bad. Bad.
"Don't think of running Jackson, we have the perimeter secure." The stranger said. "Packed tight with agents. The thing is that they don't know I've found you yet."
Percy let his hand drop from his pocket. Wouldn't work much anyway, this guy was a mortal.
"Why not call your buddies?"
"Because this," Clint smirked, "this will be interesting."
And with that, Hawk Eye charged, sprung, braced his booted foot against a booth, and pushed off, momentarily airborne. Percy's senses screamed. It has been so long. So long. All in an instant his instincts pulled the strings. He didn't even think. Not one thought. Just him, this man, and the raw fight.
Percy Jackson palmed Clint's fist with one hand and grabbed the agent's wrist with the other, twisting and slamming him into the ground. Clint grunted and locked his arms around Percy's leg, lifted him up and brought him down hard onto an offerings table, which splinter under Jackson's weight. Clint snatched up a metal candle stand and brought the makeshift cudgel down hard. Percy flipped up a Bible and blocked the blow before kicking his aggressor back.
He rolled to his feet and drove the Bible into Clint's toes, inciting a crow of agony from the man. Percy drove the Bible into the throat of the agent and pushed him back violently against an encased, the glass that protected its relics shattering. He smashed Clint across the face with the thick Book, then gave the agent a good solid punch in the jaw.
Clint grunted and connected his fist with Percy's stomach, followed by knee. The Exiled Prince heaved and stumbled back and away from the agent. Clint strung his bow, he himself panting.
'"It's been a pleasure."
Clint had drawn a tranquil arrow, the tip was so thin that it was a needle. A projectile meant for injection. The agent let the arrow fly.
Two heartbeats. One blink.
A blink of shock.
Clint's blink.
Percy had caught the arrow. Within the split second it took for the projectile to reach the exiled Prince, he had tossed aside the Bible. And caught the arrow.
Perseus Jackson scowled as he snapped the arrow and dropped each half to the floor.
Percy flexed his fingers, it felt so good to feel this way again. The thrill of a battle. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, drums beat in his ears, his soul screamed.
And a star spangled shield slammed into his back.
The Exiled Prince grunted, sprawling flat out on the floor. Pain flared up his spine.
A trick.
Percy was back on his feet in an instant and he pivoted aside just in time to avoid a kick from a red-haired woman. He leaped to dodge a whip sparkling with electricity which cracked at his legs, wielded by a tall African American. More agents were spilling into the church, but these kept their distance, weapons loaded.
"Stand down, Jackson." The speaker was a tall, muscular blond man in some sort of dark, battle suit. On his arm, the round, red white and blue shield. "We don't want any trouble."
The red-head rolled her eyes.
"Yeah?" Percy wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth. "You should've thought of that before you threw your Frisbee in my back."
"We just want to take you in."
"Adoption?"
"Interrogation."
"Ever heard of knocking?" Percy smirked. "I hear it's common these days."
Captain America didn't have a chance to answer.
Two shots. Ripping through flesh. Tearing through the body with merciless ruthlessness.
Percy Jackson gasped and stumbled forth. Steve caught him by the shoulders. Agents began shouting with confusion. Clint drew his bow. All of it didn't matter. All of it was a distant haze. A blur, an echo.
What mattered were the two bullet holes in his back, given to him by two soviet slugs.
Then all Percy knew was white.
…
Ooooooooooh, if any of you have seen 'The Winter Soldier" I bet you could guess who fired those slugs.
I just love leaving you people dangling over the edge of cliffhangers. Makes me grin evilly.
HAVE A WONDERFUL CHRISTMAS! :D
Charles