Chapter 27

A/N: The average word count for this story is about 1402 words per chapter, so the minimum for this chapter was 2804 words, so here is your 27th chapter. I'm considering raising my word minimum for all of my chapters, as I really like this chapter. I'm curious what do you guys think. It might take me a day longer to write, but I think it'll be better in the long run. Happy Reading!

Annabeth

Alcohol, that's the first thing I think. My gag reflex is almost instantly triggered by the bozo who thinks it's appropriate to manhandle me. After my original reaction of shock, I scramble to get the hell away from him, but I can't, he's too big and his grip on me is way too tight. Grotesque, bulging muscles pin my arms down and lift me up so my feet can't touch the floor. The irony is almost painfully thick as the memory of sitting in a metal interrogation room chair, flailing because my legs aren't long enough for my feet to touch the ground. I'm not that height anymore but somehow I still feel just as helpless. The music is still thudding and squeaking through clunky speakers and no one seems to notice as this creep yanks me into him. I would scream, but I can't breathe well enough to even attempt it. My over-analytical mind is cataloguing each and every sensation in the short gap of time.

I knew this bar was a bad idea, and I can't believe I was dumb enough not to get the hell out of here sooner. The air was stuffy with rancid smells and heavy smoke, but while we were eating, it was way easier to forget where we were because of the way we were separated from the main bar. I don't know how, but Percy had relaxed me greatly, and I felt ten times better by the time we got our food. It was crazy strange, but something about holding his hand-made it ten times easier to breathe.

Slowly, I started to feel a little silly, I mean, I'm not a vulnerable little girl. Even if Percy had been a good guy about the whole situation after I told him about my dad and everything else: I didn't want him to think that I was some frivolous idiotic girl who couldn't do anything for herself. I'm stronger than that, I don't need any one to hold my hand and protect me. Okay, so maybe it had nothing to do with Percy, maybe I just hated feeling vulnerable, or maybe I was worrying about Thalia, and wanted to prove that I could do something. Either way, I was so goddamn stubborn that I just had to prove I wasn't afraid, and I got up and sauntered across the bar's main room, heading towards the girls' room. Percy, at least was smart enough to realize me going alone wasn't a good idea. Despite that, his company didn't do a whole hell of a lot. As I turn around to remind him that I'm a big girl and can cross a room without hurting myself, The Rock in training decides I'm intriguing and just has to get a closer look.

My eyes go wide when I see Percy's dumbstruck expression, this must look even worse than it is, I start fighting more viscously, kicking and clawing at anything in reach, and then, it's as if Wile E. Coyote lit a fuse, and the chaos really sets in. The Hulk throwing me around like a rag doll drags his fingers over my cheek bone and along my neck, murmuring: "Come on girly, play nice." I feel my eyes widen, and I squirm even more, drunk, idiotic, male, lacking any impulse control are never good traits to come into contact with late at night. Yup, I'm screwed.

Percy, suddenly feeling braver, sets his jaw and shoves at the guys shoulder, creating a little room for me to wiggle in, but not enough to make a difference in the long run. This guy's bicep pressing into my ribs is not only keeping me in place but also making it harder and harder to breathe in the this stuffy room.

"Let her go." Percy practically growls, the look in his eye a little bit scary as he stares down my disturbed "little" friend. The Behemoth doesn't seem fazed and just tightens his grip on me. I know I'm slim, but he should really not be able to come that close to properly crossing his arms while holding a sixteen year old girl.

"I don't hear her complaining," He bellows, his voice loud, but apparently not loud enough to draw attention to us over the thundering music blasting through this dark room. I'm about to rectify that situation when his hand claps over my mouth, sticking his shirt sleeve into my mouth as well. Even though I'm busy gagging over the taste over where that's been ( I can only equate it to what I imagine the floor of a men's bathroom would taste like): I still here his buddies guffawing as he continues with his idiot comments. "You've got to keep a tighter lease on these kind of girls." His buddies around us make even more noise, finding my circumstance totally hilarious. I mean, can you blame them, what isn't funny about this situation? Oh that's right, nothing is funny about this.

I squeal in protest, and he drops me to the ground, grabbing my hair and yanking on it before I can scramble away. As the tears start prickle in my eyes it hits me, that sickening feeling of being entirely helpless. I can't do anything, no matter how hard I try to be stronger, I'm still being toyed with like a rag doll.

My hair gets yanked backwards as Percy shoves the goon. After letting out a little yelp, I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the pain. I spot Percy, who looks appalled when he sees my pained expression; clearly he didn't intend to cause me any pain. I shake my head, telling him I'm fine, besides, who needs that particular section of scalp.

"I bet you feel big and bad, attacking a vulnerable girl," Percy taunts, taking a step back so he's out of the Gorillas reach. I have no idea what he's trying to do by goading the maniac, but I sure hope it pans out. Normally, I could think my way out of this, but I'm gagging on the smell of the room, and dizzy from the pain. I just need him to relax his grip; I really should have listened to Luke and gone to that self-defense seminar. That's when it clicks into place, a little trick I remember Thalia telling me about. All I need is just to get to my feet, I lock eyes with Percy, flicking my eyes upwards and praying he'll understand what I mean. I don't know if he really gets it, but he nods and keeps up with his comments.

"Really, it takes a big man to take on a girl a third of his size," He continues, crossing his arms. "But, of course, why mess with someone who might actually stand a chance?" The sarcastic question hangs in the air, and Hillbilly John Cena's cohorts seem to slowly process the snide remarks and find the situation a little less macho-man worthy.

"What are you trying to say pipsqueak?" That must have taken a serious work out to get that sentence out, I mean it must be difficult living with only one brain cell. Humor seems to make this situation a little easier to cope with.

"I'm saying that all you've proven by grabbing at this child is that you can overpower a tiny girl… which isn't all that impressive." Percy isn't looking too intently at me, clearly trying to sound nonchalant, even thought that ship sailed after he flipped when the Abominable Snowman decided to play one of those toy crane games in real life, with teenage girls instead of dingy stuffed animals.

Hagrid's ugly half-brother starts to move forward, as if he's going to get in Percy's face to intimidate him or something, but he finds it much harder to drag me around when I have the advantage of being prepared and having gravity on my side. He only gets me to slide about an inch, but that moment of a relaxed grip is all it takes; I smack my hand down on top of his and force my way to my feet, and send an elbow flying into his gut. As expected, he immediately lets go of my hair, and I fly away from him, immediately fleeing to Percy's side.

"Is there a problem here folks?"

I'm suddenly reminded of that time Malcolm removed one toothpick from my diorama of the Capitol Building in Washington D.C. and the entire, almost completed, structure crumbled to pieces right before my eyes. I have the feeling this might end up like that situation. Who am I to talk though… it'll probably end worse.

Percy

The management at this place needs to get a better grasp on the concept of stopping problems instead of cleaning up after them. Especially since the GM, a woman in a cheesy t-shirt that reads, "We flip more than cows in Westminster."Or at least I think that's what it says, the lettering's pretty clear, even with dyslexia, but in all honesty, I'm almost hoping I misinterpreted that one.

"What's going on here Paul, are these kids bothering you?" She asks, looking towards the class act with a concerned expression on his face, acting as if he's the victim here. Paul smirks, eyeing me with derision, and I've never felt so quite so patronized as when he turns towards the woman and lies through his teeth.

"These two came over here, wanting us to get them booze, and when we told them no, Rambo" He gestures towards me with sarcasm dripping from every syllable, "decided to go after me." My jaw drops at the complete and total inaccuracy of that statement. I didn't even touch the guy, Annabeth's the one who was attacked, and she's the one who got herself out of it.

"What the hell? He's obviously lying." I protest, looking towards Annabeth for help but she just shrugs as if in defeat. I have no idea what's going on, Annabeth is not the type of person to just give up, what just happened?

"Oh really, then what were you two kids doing in a bar at this hour?" The manager, who apparently has worse vision than NFL replacement refs, asks us. I'm about to defend myself, when I realize anything I say will just end up being twisted around until it sounds even worse than it already is. Two underage kids slipping into a bar, eating in the dining room, and then slipping off, without paying, into the main bar area, right towards a group of clearly intoxicated men. Really, what can I say here?

"We were just…" I look to Annabeth for help, but she's staying silent, once again. "He attacked her, we were just heading towards the bathroom and he grabbed her and started yanking her around."

"Now, listen here, I've known Paul for a long time, and he'd never do anything like that, so don't try making up stories to stay out of trouble. " She scolds us, and starts ushering us out towards the door, ignoring my indignant protests. Right before she closes the door on us, she continues with her little speech. "It would serve you right if someone had toyed with you in there. Now, I hope you've learned your lesson and will leave the bar crawling to adults." The door slamming cuts off my angry rebuttal.

I turn towards, Annabeth, whose already halfway back to the car, and hurry after her, still broiling mad. She opens the driver's side door and slides in without a word, leaving me to take shot-gun. I watch as calming starts the car, and turns out of the lot with out a word. I study her face, surprised by the lack of anger, or fear, or panic, or anything really in her expression. She just looks blank, like a wooden mask, and more than anything else, that worries me.

"Aren't you upset about what just happened, any of it?" I ask her, I might not be all that good with the female spectrum of emotions, but even I realize something's wrong here. Her hands tense on the wheel, and she reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but her face stay expressionless, she must practice that in front of the mirror or something.

"Look Percy, adults don't care, they're not going to listen to a couple of kids. They'll think we were being reckless and were looking for trouble." She sounds so bitter then, and her grip on the steering wheel gets even tighter.

"Should we call the police or" I start to ask, but she cuts me of, veering to pull over to the side of the road and turning towards me. Her eyes are positively alight with anger, if it were possible, I think my there would be two holes running through my head just from her glare.

"Did you not here what I just said? The cops won't be any different from that delusional woman. They'll only see a couple of dumb teenagers who are making up stories to cover up their own mistakes. We'll get caught and we'll all be prosecuted for running away, Grover will go to jail, I'll get sent to military school by the Wicked Witch of the West who calls herself my step-mom, and you will never, ever find your father." I'm seriously wondering how she said that all in one breath, until I start really processing what she's saying.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience." My tone is questioning, but I'm trying not to do anything that would set her off even more after everything that's happened tonight. Her head droops into her hands, resting on the steering wheel as she sighs. Then she straightens, her eyes turning back to their normal intensity and not the death ray effect that was occurring a minute ago.

"You've seen Luke's scar," She traces a line from the corner of her eye down her jaw. There's a deep sadness in her tone as she continues. "One day, when we were on the road, this guy came out of nowhere in an alley and flat-out jumped Luke." She takes a deep breath, as if it's hard for her to relive. "I was about nine then, I was so freaked out, the guy had a knife, and he sliced at Luke's face, there was so much blood…" She trails off for a minute, collecting herself before she continues. "Thalia was the only one who could react, and she beamed the guy with a beer bottle she found on the ground. He was unconscious immediately, and Grover started panicking, muttering to himself: while Thalia ran to get help and had me use her sweatshirt to try to stop the bleeding." In a moment of insane bravery, I grab Annabeth's hand, silently urging her to continue. "When the cops showed up, they took us to the hospital first, had us all looked at, and you know what they did?" She asks, and I just shake my head, not sure whether I should answer.

"They arrested us for running away, and the guy got off with some self-defense story… Grover had some scheme planned and said something to the cops so he got all the blame and Thalia left with a 30 day probation, Luke got community service, and Grover…" She glances over her shoulder and then back at me. "Moved to a new home, with harsher rules and more kids."

"What happened to you?" I ask, realizing she left that bit out. She shakes her head and laughs, though nothing's funny.

"Absolutely nothing, other than a social services visit to see if I was abused, and that's the reason I ran away." She shakes her head again, and looks out of her window without seeing anything.

"Annabeth…. Did your parents ever…." I can't finish the sentence, but I don't have to, Annabeth's not an idiot.

"No" She shakes her head, and quickly wipes away the tear as if that would keep me from noticing it. "They'd have to pay attention to me to be able to do that. My dad's oblivious to my existence, and I'm an unfortunate blemish that my step mother's just itching to get rid of."

"Annabeth…" I shake my head and squeeze her hand again. Another tear slips out and she furiously yanks her hand out of mine to rub it off.

"I hate crying…. I just hate it." She groans, laying her crossed arms on the steering wheel and letting her head drop down on top of it. She seems so defeated right then, and immediately, the image of a flower, not something as fragile or obnoxious like a daisy or a calla lily, more like a rose: with thorns for protection, however effective.

Suddenly, her head picks up, and her eyes lock onto to mine with something like determination in her gaze. There's something blazing in the look she's giving me, something so much stronger than the girl who was crying earlier, but so much more open than the girl from Remington. Who knew driving half way across the country together could make people closer?

"Why do you do this to me?" I have no idea what's she talking about, so I just look at her for a moment before she elaborates. "Why do you insist on opening every goddamn jar of worms and dumping out the contents for everyone to see?" I'm about to reply how that's not my intention at all but she doesn't seem ready to let me speak. "How do you do that, how do you get me to talk to you about so much, and trust you so easily? I barely know you!" She growls in frustration, pressing her fingers into her temples. It's a little ironic to me how when we got into the car, she was the calm one, and I was the one fuming. She glares at me again. "Are you going to answer me at some point or just sit there smirking at me like some cheesy villain in a movie?"

I'm saved from answering that as Grover's head pops up from in-between the seats and looks at us. He pauses for a moment, clearly taking in both of our frazzled states before he flops back down with an audible thud and asks the truly pressing question on all of our minds.

"Did you guys get me my veggie burger?"