"Why'd you let me die?"
"How could you?!"
"I loved you!"
The words echoed in the void, sharp and accusing, each syllable a dagger twisting in his chest. Annabeth's face, pale and streaked with inky black tendrils, loomed before him, her gray eyes wide with betrayal. She spoke with a broken whisper, yet it carried the weight of a storm, crashing against the walls of his mind. Behind her, Jason, smiling sadistically, floated in the darkness, his skin matted with the same oily shadows that consumed Annabeth. Percy reached out, desperate to pull her back, to save her, but his hands passed through her like smoke. She dissolved into the void, her final words ringing in his ears: "I loved you!"
He jolted awake with a gasp, his heart pounding like a war drum. His shirt clung to his skin, damp with cold sweat, and his breath came in ragged bursts. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't think—the image of her face, twisted with pain and accusation, burned into his mind. He blinked, trying to shake the remnants of the dream, but the inky tendrils seemed to linger at the edges of his vision, taunting him.
He glanced around, disoriented, his hand instinctively reaching for Riptide in his pocket. The familiar weight of the pen brought a sliver of comfort, but it wasn't enough to calm the turmoil inside him. The back of the van was dimly lit, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon through the fogged-up windows. Katie was slumped against his left shoulder, her auburn hair spilling across his arm, while Reyna leaned heavily on his right, her breathing slow and steady. Both were asleep, their faces peaceful, unaware of the turmoil raging within him.
Percy carefully shifted, trying not to wake them, and peered out the window. The glass was clouded with condensation, the warmth inside the van clashing with the cold night air. He wiped a hand across the fog, revealing the world outside. The moon hung low in the sky, its silver light casting long shadows over the campsite where they had stayed the night. The landscape was eerily still, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment, but the image of Annabeth's face flashed behind his lids, forcing them open again. Guilt gnawed at him, a relentless pain tearing at his insides. Why'd you let me die? The question echoed in his mind, each word a fresh wound. He had failed her. Failed Jason.
Feeling as if he was suffocating, he eased himself out, moving with deliberate caution to avoid rousing the others still asleep inside. To his relief, they remained undisturbed, their quiet breaths filling the silence. He gently shut the door behind him, the soft click barely audible, and stepped into the cool air. His footsteps crunched against the dry earth as he navigated the convoy of parked vans, their hulking frames casting long shadows in the pale light. Finally, he reached a clearing that opened up to a sweeping view of the landscape, where the horizon stretched endlessly, offering a momentary escape from the weight pressing on his chest.
Exhausted, despite having just slept, he sank onto a small bench, his body nearly giving out beneath him. Rubbing his weary eyes, he tried to steady his breathing and quiet his racing thoughts. For the past week, sleep had been elusive, and dreams even more so. But this one—this nightmare—had shattered whatever fragile peace he had left. It wasn't just a nightmare though; it felt like a warning, a glimpse into something far darker. His chest tightened with dread, but he forced the feeling down. That couldn't be the case. Annabeth was in Elysium, resting in the afterlife. She had to be okay. There was no way she could have met the same fate as Jason… right? The thought lingered, gnawing at him painfully, but he refused to let it take hold.
Still, however, he couldn't stop his hands from shaking as the words what if kept repeating in his mind.
"Can't sleep?" Nico's voice called out from the shadows, causing Percy to sharply look up, his hand frozen halfway in his pocket for Riptide. He craned his head to the side, finding his cousin emerging from the shadows like a wraith, his pale face illuminated faintly by the moonlight.
"Could ask you the same question," The son of Poseidon replied, leaning back on the bench as he looked out at the sprawling plains of Indiana.
"Someone has to make sure we're not killed in our sleep," He replied, taking a seat next to his cousin. "Bad dream?"
Percy huffed in morbid amusement, leaning his head back at the stars as the nightmare replayed itself once more. His hands clenched as he shut his eyes, desperately trying to push it away. "You could say that."
Nico didn't respond immediately, his dark eyes scanning the horizon as if he could see the same shadows that haunted his cousin. The silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable. The younger man had always been good at that—knowing when to speak and when to let the quiet do the talking. After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his head hung low. "Was it her?" he whispered, his tone careful, almost hesitant.
Percy's jaw tightened, swallowing heavily. "Yeah," was all he said, wanting to leave it at that. He didn't particularly want to talk about it. It hurt too much to even think about.
"Dreams aren't always what they seem, Percy," Nico spoke up after a minute of silence, craning his head upward at him. "They can twist things, make you think what isn't real, is. Remember that."
"..." The green-eyed demigod remained silent, his gaze still transfixed on the night sky that twinkled beautifully overhead. He let Nico's words sink in, wanting to believe that what he said was true. But the image of Annabeth's face, her voice, felt too real, too visceral to dismiss.
Sensing that he didn't really want to talk, the son of Hades began to stand up from the bench, the shadows beckoning him back. Percy's next words, however, stopped him in his tracks.
"What if it was real?" He asked, his eyes boring into Nico's, searching for an answer. "What if it was a message? A warning of what was to come?
He hesitated, his dark eyes narrowing in thought. The weight of the question hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint rustle of the wind through the grass. Percy could see Nico's unreadable expression through the darkness, but he did notice a flicker of something in his gaze–uncertainty, perhaps, or maybe even apprehension. He wondered why that was.
"Dreams can be messages or warnings," the younger man admitted slowly, his words measured. "But the dead…they don't always speak clearly. Sometimes they're angry, confused, or just lost. And sometimes, it's not even them. It's something else, something darker, trying to get inside your head."
The son of Poseidon clenched his fists, his knuckles bleaching white under the strain. Doubt clawed at his mind. What if it was the Father? What if this was one of his cruel games, twisting his thoughts, pushing him to the edge of madness? And Annabeth—what if she had fallen into the same fate as Jason? Enslaved to the Father's will, stripped of her freedom, forced to obey. The mere thought churned his stomach, a bitter taste rising in his throat.
"You're sure she's okay down in Elysium?" Percy's voice was barely a whisper, raw and unguarded, betraying the fear he couldn't shake.
Nico hesitated, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face before he masked it, grateful for the shadows that concealed his expression. "She's okay, Percy," he said firmly, though the weight of his words lingered in the air. "I promise."
The reassurance from Nico had settled him, if only for a moment. The son of Hades had always been a figure of grim reliability, his words carrying a weight that Percy couldn't ignore. If Nico said she was okay, then she had to be okay. Right? He nodded, a silent gesture of gratitude, as Nico melted back into the shadows, becoming one with the darkness that clung to the edges of their campsite. He was there, yet not there—a spectral guardian, watching over them with an eerie stillness that should have been comforting. But comfort was a fleeting thing these days.
Percy exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest loosening just enough to let him breathe. He turned back toward the open fields, the light of the moon casting long, jagged shadows across the ground. And then he saw her.
"Annabeth." He breathlessly whispered.
She was standing behind a tree in the distance, her figure half-obscured by the gnarled bark, but her face—her face was unmistakable. Pale, too pale, like the moon had drained all its light and poured it into her skin. Her lips were curled into a smile, but it wasn't the smile he knew. It was sharp, cruel, and sadistic, stretching too wide across her face. It was the same smile Jason had worn, a smile that didn't belong to the living.
Her eyes—gods, her eyes—were the worst of it. They were hollow, lifeless, yet they burned into him with an intensity that made his blood run cold. They were windows into something empty, something wrong, and they held him captive, pinning him to the bench like an insect under glass. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even blink. His body betrayed him, frozen in place as the wind began to howl around them, whipping through the trees like a chorus of whispers.
Her presence was wrong. Everything about her was wrong. The way she stood, too still, too perfect, as if she were a statue carved by a hand that had never known warmth. The way the shadows seemed to cling to her, as though the darkness itself were alive and feeding off her. The way her smile never wavered, even as the wind grew louder, more frantic, tearing at her hair and clothes but leaving her untouched.
And then, in the space of a single blink, she was gone.
The wind died instantly, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. Percy's breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. He scanned the trees, desperate for some sign that she had been there, that it hadn't just been his mind playing tricks on him. But there was nothing. No footprints, no trace of her presence—just the lingering sense of dread that coiled around him like a serpent, tightening with every passing second.
Rubbing his eyes with a heavy, trembling hand, he let out a quiet sigh. The night air was cool against his skin, but it did little to soothe the unease that clung to him. He glanced once more over his shoulder as he turned back toward the vans, half-expecting—half-dreading—to see her again, standing there in the shadows with those hollow eyes and that cruel, mocking smile. But the darkness was empty, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. Shaking his head, he made his way back to the van, each step feeling heavier than the last. Maybe more sleep was what he needed. Maybe then his mind would stop playing these cruel tricks on him.
The van door creaked softly as he opened it, the sound barely audible but still enough to make him wince. He paused, holding his breath, and peered inside. Relief washed over him as he saw the girls still asleep, their faces peaceful, their chests rising and falling in steady rhythm. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch them, their presence a fragile reminder of the life he was still fighting to protect. Carefully, he stepped inside, moving with deliberate slowness to avoid disturbing them. The van was cramped, but he navigated the small space with practiced ease, his movements almost reverent as he brushed past their sleeping forms. Finally, he reached the back seat and sank into it, the worn fabric offering little comfort but still a welcome reprieve from the chilliness outside.
As he settled in, the exhaustion hit him like a tidal wave, pulling him under with an almost physical force. He leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, the chill seeping into his skin and grounding him, if only slightly. The soft, rhythmic breathing of the girls filled the silence, a gentle lullaby that should have brought him comfort. But instead, it only deepened the ache in his chest. He felt alone, adrift in a sea of his own thoughts, the weight of his grief and guilt pressing down on him until it felt like he could barely breathe. He closed his eyes, hoping to find some semblance of peace, but the moment he did, she was there again—Annabeth. Her lifeless eyes stared back at him, unblinking, her lips curled into that same cruel smile that haunted him. It was as if she were mocking him, reminding him of everything he had lost, everything he had failed to protect.
His fists clenched involuntarily, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to push the image away. "It's not real," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. But the line between nightmare and reality felt dangerously thin, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep them separate.
"You're warm," Reyna muttered half-asleep as she crawled into his lap, laying her head in the crook of his neck with a sigh. Percy barely realized she was there, still lost in thought as he looked out the window. Her warmth was comforting though, grounding him back to reality. Wrapping an arm around her, she murmured something incoherently, her breath tickling against his skin.
As the minutes melted into hours, the son of Poseidon remained transfixed by the view of the stars drifting past, eventually giving way to the first light of dawn. Reyna hadn't shifted from her spot, finding Percy far more comfortable than the van's rigid seats. The sun's early rays stretched across the horizon, bathing the sky in a breathtaking palette of pink and gold. He watched as the world stirred back to life, sleepy demigods stumbling out of the vans, stretching stiff limbs and greeting the morning with a mix of groans and yawns.
The girls in the van began to stir one by one, their movements slow and languid as the golden light of dawn spilled through the windows, warming their faces and coaxing them from sleep. Limbs stretched, joints popped, and soft groans filled the cramped space as they shook off the stiffness of a night spent in awkward positions. Reyna, nestled against the larger man, shifted her body with a languid, almost feline grace. A low, feminine moan escaped her lips as she stretched, her movements unintentionally pressing her curves against him. The man tensed, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he became acutely aware of her proximity—and the way her body seemed to mold against his. He cursed himself inwardly, chastising his mind for wandering into territory it had no business exploring. He quickly pushed those thoughts away, however, before she could sense them.
"Morning, sleeping beauty," he murmured, low and rough, as Reyna's dark lashes fluttered open. Her eyes, still heavy with drowsiness, scanned the van before landing on him. A faint blush dusted her cheeks as she realized where her restless movements during the night had left her—practically draped over him. Yet, despite the embarrassment that flickered in her gaze, she made no move to pull away. Instead, she seemed to settle more firmly against him, as if daring him to comment.
"You keep calling me that," she muttered, her voice a soft, sleep-tinged whisper that sent a shiver down his spine. Her breath was warm against his ear, and he felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, a trail of goosebumps following in its wake.
She shifted once more, her movements slow and deliberate as she stretched her arms and legs, her bare skin brushing against his in a way that sent a jolt of electricity through him. Percy clenched his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek to steady himself. She knew exactly what she was doing—every touch, every glance, every subtle shift of her body was calculated, a quiet assertion of her feminine power. And she was good at it. Too good. He could feel the heat of their proximity, the unspoken challenge in the way she pressed against him, as if daring him to react. But he held his ground, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response.
Instead, he focused on the sounds outside, the mundane yet comforting noises of camp life that grounded him. The clatter of dishes, the laughter of his friends, the sizzle of food hitting a hot skillet—it was all a reminder of the world beyond this van, a world that demanded his attention and his strength. He couldn't afford to lose himself in the moment, no matter how tempting it might be.
With a quiet sigh, Percy gently disentangled himself from the daughter of Bellona, careful not to disturb her too much, though the look she gave him was one of mild displeasure, her dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she registered the loss of contact. "I'm gonna go get breakfast started," he said, his tone carrying a note of finality. He offered her a small, apologetic smile, but his resolve was firm. There were responsibilities to attend to, duties that couldn't be ignored, no matter how alluring the distraction.
As he stepped out of the van and into the crisp morning air, he couldn't shake the feeling that Reyna's gaze followed him, sharp and calculating, like a predator watching its prey. But he pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the warmth of the rising sun and the comforting chaos of the demigods. Breakfast needed to be made, and there was work to be done. He had no time for games, no matter how enticing they might be.
As he approached the back of the supply van, a small figure darted toward him, her laughter cutting through the quiet like a ray of sunlight.
"Morning, Percy!" Gabriela's voice was bright and full of energy, her tiny shoes pounding against the dirt as she ran. She was a whirlwind of motion, her blonde curls bouncing with every step. Before he could even respond, she collided with his legs, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Her smile was wide, almost too big for her face, and it was impossible not to smile back.
"Morning, kiddo," he replied with a smile, scooping her up effortlessly and settling her onto his shoulder. She was light, almost fragile, her small frame a stark reminder of how young she was—no older than five. Yet, despite her size, she carried a weight far beyond her years. She had been one of the children at Camp Half-Blood during the attack. Chiron had done his best to protect them, but even he fell to Gaea's minions. She, along with other survivors, fled to New York City where the main force of both Greeks and Romans were preparing the last defensive line of Olympus. Once she saw him, his leadership and steady presence, he had become her anchor in a world ripped apart.
"Want some eggs and bacon?" he asked, his tone playful as he shifted her weight on his shoulder and began rummaging through the supplies in the van. The question was simple, almost mundane, but it carried a deeper meaning. It was a promise of normalcy, a small attempt to bring a sense of routine and comfort to a life that had been anything but.
Gabriela's eyes widened, her curiosity piqued. "Can you make that?" she asked, her voice a mix of wonder and skepticism. She tilted her head, studying him as if trying to figure out if he was joking.
Percy chuckled, the sound low and reassuring. "Anything for you, sweet-pea," he said, pulling out a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon.
While he was busy arranging the food on the plate Katie suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and plopped down beside him. Her eyes lit up as she leaned forward, her gaze locked on the spread before them. "Smells good," she said, tilting her head with a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "You make enough for me?"
Percy paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he glanced at her. "Who said I made any for you?" he quipped, his tone teasing as he deliberately filled Gabriela's plate first. The young girl, already perched on the edge of her seat, accepted the plate with eager hands. She immediately dug into the bacon, her small fingers clutching the crispy strips as she nibbled away like a delighted squirrel storing away its treasures.
The daughter of Demeter, meanwhile, feigned a look of utter despair, clutching her chest dramatically as if his words had struck her to the core. "Wow, cold," she said, her voice dripping with mock offense. But her theatrics didn't last long. Percy, unable to hide his amusement, handed her a plate piled high with food. Her exaggerated pout vanished in an instant, replaced by a satisfied grin as she began to eat.
Once again, however, his cooking was interrupted by Piper and Reyna who were beginning to approach their little gather-around. Without a word, they each took a plate from him, their expressions calm but appreciative. Piper gave him a small nod of thanks, while Reyna offered a faint smile before turning her attention to the food. By the time everyone had settled into their meals, the food was almost gone. The green-eyed demigod glanced at the remnants of the food, realizing there was barely enough left for him to scrape together a decent portion. He let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head in mild exasperation. But there was no real frustration in his expression—only a quiet resignation and a hint of fondness. "They're worth it," he thought to himself as he picked at what little food remained. By the time he was finished eating, everyone had already packed up, ready to hit the road once again.
"No stops unless it's for gas!" Clarisse yelled out over the roar of vehicles starting up. "I ain't stopping for anything else until we're in Iowa!"
Groans of exasperation rang throughout the crowd as they lumbered back into the vans, no one ready to experience another seven hours of being cooped up in the stuffy vans. Percy shook his head at the daughter of Ares, amazed that she could be that fired up this early in the morning. Nevertheless, he stood up, packed up whatever supplies were still left out, and made his way over to the van, ready to get the journey started once more. Something, however, stopped him in his tracks. Perhaps it was a whisper in the wind, he didn't know. Turning around, his eyes were drawn to a tree in the distance. The same one he had seen Annabeth standing behind last night. The large oak stood there, silent and unmoving even against the wind.
The early morning light did little to soften its ominous presence; if anything, it cast long, jagged shadows that seemed to stretch toward him, as if beckoning him closer. Percy's breath hitched, his chest tightening as his gaze lingered on the spot where he had seen her—where she had stood, her eyes burning into his soul with deranged anger. The memory of her smile, too wide, too cruel, flashed in his mind, and he felt a chill crawl up his spine. For a moment, he thought he saw movement—a flicker of white among the shadows, a whisper of fabric caught in the wind. His heart slammed against his ribs, his hand instinctively reaching for Riptide in his pocket. But when he blinked, there was nothing. Just the tree and the expansive fields of the countryside around it.
"Percy!" Piper broke him out of his trance. He turned, forcing himself to look away, and found her sticking her head out the window of the van. It seemed it was time to leave.
He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, and forced his legs to move. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself were trying to pull him back, to keep him rooted in that cursed spot. He climbed into the van, his movements mechanical, his mind still tethered to the tree and the haunting image of Annabeth.
As the engine roared to life and the convoy began to move, Percy couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. He glanced out the window, his eyes scanning the landscape as it blurred past. The tree grew smaller in the distance, but its presence lingered, a dark stain on the horizon that seemed to follow them no matter how far they drove.
And then, just as the tree disappeared from view, he saw her again.
She was standing at the edge of the road, her figure faint and translucent, like a ghostly afterimage burned into his vision. Her face was turned toward him, her gray eyes empty yet piercing, her lips curled into that same unnatural smile. Her hand lifted, slow and deliberate, as if reaching out to him, and her voice echoed in his mind, sharp and accusing, cutting through the noise of the engine and the chatter of his companions.
"Why'd you let me die?"
The words were a whisper, yet they carried the weight of a scream, reverberating in his skull like a tolling bell. He jerked back, his breath catching in his throat, and blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the image. But when he looked again, she was gone. The road stretched out before them, empty and desolate.
His heart refused to settle, pounding relentlessly against his ribs even as the car sped further away. Over an hour had passed, yet the adrenaline still coursed through him, sharp and unrelenting. He sat stiffly in the backseat, his hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his breathing steady. He couldn't let the others see how shaken he was, how the fear had coiled itself around his chest like a vice. They were already on edge, and the last thing they needed was to worry about him. So, he stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the blur of trees and asphalt outside the window, hoping his mask of calm would hold. He had seen her. He knew he had. And yet, how could he explain that to anyone? How could he even begin to articulate the terror of seeing someone who was supposed to be gone, someone who was supposed to be at peace?
"They'd probably put me in an insane asylum," he mused.
But then again, was it so far-fetched if Jason–who had died right in his arms–was back from the dead? What if she was too? What if she was suffering? Her soul stripped away and bound to someone else's will? The thought sickened him.
"Nico said she's okay," he whispered under his breath, the words barely audible over the hum of the engine. It was a mantra, a lifeline, something to cling to when the fear threatened to pull him under. Nico had told him that. The son of Hades, who was practically the king of the Underworld now, had promised him Annabeth was in Elysium. She was safe. She was at peace. He repeated it to himself, over and over, as if saying it enough times would make it true. But deep down, a part of him couldn't shake the doubt, the gnawing fear that maybe, just maybe, he was wrong. And if he was…
"Percy!" A voice called out, breaking his horrific thoughts. His eyes refocused, landing on Piper who was peering at him with a flicker of annoyance and concern in her kaleidoscope eyes. "I've said your name three times now. You okay?"
"Yeah, sorry." He replied, rubbing his eyelids. "Just thinking about some things."
The daughter of Aphrodite, along with the others who were listening in on the conversation, weren't very convinced but decided not to comment on the obvious excuse.
"We're stopping for gas now," she continued after a moment, eyes focusing back on the road. "We need you to do the thing."
Percy let out a heavy sigh, his stomach churning with unease. He hated what he was about to do—it felt wrong, no matter how he justified it. Sure, he'd been a troublemaker in his younger days, but he still had a moral compass. His mother had raised him better than this. She'd instilled in him a sense of right and wrong, and stealing from others had never been part of the equation. But desperate times called for desperate measures. If he didn't do this, the group would be stranded, and that wasn't an option. As the convoy pulled into the nearest gas station, he reluctantly stepped out of the vehicle, his feet dragging as if the weight of his conscience was physically holding him back.
"Can you grab me some water while you're in there?" Reyna called, rolling down the window.
"And lottery tickets!" Travis shouted from another pump, his voice far too cheerful for the situation.
"Ooh, and candy!" Gabriela added, leaning out of the car with a grin.
He stopped in his tracks, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he turned to face them.
"You want me to just rob the place while I'm at it?!" he snapped, though he immediately regretted the question. He should've known better than to ask that to a group of demigods who were low on money, food, and pretty much everything else.
"Yes!" came the resounding chorus from a hundred voices, all grinning like they'd just won the lottery. Percy shook his head, muttering under his breath as he trudged toward the gas station entrance.
"Animals. The lot of you."
Stepping inside, he was greeted by the familiar ding of the bell above the door, a sound that felt almost mocking in its cheerfulness. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow over the small, cluttered store. Percy's eyes darted around, taking in the rows of snacks, the coolers filled with drinks, and the bored-looking cashier behind the counter who was scrolling through their phone, oblivious to the moral dilemma unfolding just feet away.
"How's it goin', boss?" Percy announced himself, laying on a thick New York accent. If he was going to pull this off, he had to commit—every detail mattered to keep his identity under wraps.
The clerk, a pudgy, balding man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Smelly Gabe, glanced up from his phone with bored, glazed eyes.
"Eh?" the man grunted, his tone dismissive, as if the younger man in front of him was barely worth his time. But the moment his eyes landed on Percy, his demeanor shifted dramatically. His bored expression melted into one of startled recognition. "Woah, it's—I mean, yes! It's—uh—goin' great today, boss!" he stammered, his voice suddenly eager and nervous.
Percy's eyebrow shot up, thrown off by the clerk's abrupt change in attitude. He didn't comment, though. Instead, he grabbed a couple of waters and some snacks from the shelves and headed back to the counter.
"That'll be all?" the clerk asked.
"You wouldn't happen to have any scratchers, would ya?" the son of Poseidon asked, flashing a casual grin. "I know it's a bad habit, but, well… you know how it is."
"Oh, I know exactly how it is," the clerk nodded vigorously, pulling out a stack of lottery tickets. "We got one-dollar, five-dollar, and twenty-dollar scratchers. Take your pick."
Percy pretended to study the tickets carefully, his hand subtly waving toward the gas pumps behind him. His expression was innocent, but his mind was already three steps ahead.
"Man, I don't know. I've been picking out the twenty's but my luck's been shit lately,"
"Mine too, boss. But I think it's about to get better here real soon." The clerk replied.
Something about the way he said that piqued Percy's radar. He'd been in the game long enough to know when something–or rather someone–was suspicious. Testing the waters, he continued the conversation while making sure the clerk didn't look at the computer which had the gas pump monitor on screen.
"Well, that's good to hear, brother. Hopefully, mine does the same. Been on a road trip lately but it hasn't been smooth sailing. Seems like they're monsters at every damn corner, y'know what I mean?"
The clerk's chubby face twitched slightly, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. "Uh, yeah, that is bad luck, boss. Monsters, you say? That's uh, that's crazy talk, boss. Crazy talk." He laughed nervously, but it came out more like a wheeze.
Percy slowly looked up from the counter, his eyes narrowing like a wolf's. "You calling me crazy?"
The older man's face went pale, his jowls quivering as he stammered, "N-no, boss. Not at all! I just meant–uh, monsters? That's, uh, some wild stuff, y'know?! Like, uh, not something you hear every day." He wheezed once more, his eyes nervously avoiding Percy's menacing gaze.
The green-eyed demigod kept the pressure up for a moment longer, slyly looking out at the vans where Travis gave him a thumbs up, signaling that they were refilled and ready to hit the road again.
"Ah!" He exclaimed, putting back on a disarming smile. "Sorry man, I must've heard you wrong. That's all."
The clerk swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing like a buoy in rough waters. "Y-yes. That's all. A simple misunderstanding. Tell you what! This is on the house!" He said, nervously pushing the items Percy had picked out forward. Even giving him a twenty-dollar lottery ticket.
The demigod raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. "Well, isn't that generous of you," he said, scooping up the items without a second thought. "You sure you don't want me to pay? I mean, I wouldn't want to put out out of business or nothin'."
The clerk waved his hands frantically, his face still pale and slick with sweat. "No, no, Perseus! It's on me! Really! Just, uh, take it and have a great day, okay? Drive safe out there!"
Percy chuckled, shaking his head as he turned to leave. "Alright, man. Thanks. You're a real one." He gave the clerk a mock salute before heading back to the vans. But he stopped, however, just as his hand reached for the doors.
"Wait a minute!" The green-eyed demigod said way too cheerfully, turning back around. "Did you just call me Perseus?"
The clerk's face froze, his eyes widening in panic as he realized his slip-up. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but no sound came out. The color drained from his face completely, leaving him as pale as a sheet. Percy's cheerful demeanor vanished in an instant, replaced by a sharp, calculating intensity. He took a step closer to the counter, his hand reaching for the gun hidden beneath his shirt. The air in the gas station seemed to grow heavier, the fluorescent lights flickering faintly as if sensing the tension.
"I-I didn't—" the pudgy man stammered, his voice trembling. "I mean, I just—uh, thought I heard someone call you that earlier, boss. Yeah, that's it! Must've been one of your friends outside!" He forced a nervous laugh, but it came out as a strangled croak.
Back outside, the group of demigods were lounging around in the vans, idly waiting for Percy to come back out so they could get to driving again. Reyna, who was looking down at her map, let out a bored sigh, wondering why it was taking him so long.
"Oh my fucking Gods!" Piper suddenly screamed from the driver's seat, causing the daughter of Bellona to hastily look up, her heart quickly racing.
"What?!" Reyna called out, pushing herself forward. "What is it, Piper?!"
"Percy!" She exclaimed, pointing toward the store. "He's–he's actually robbing the store!"
Through the smudged glass, Reyna could see Percy standing at the counter, his posture tense and his hand subtly reaching for something beneath his shirt. The clerk, a sweaty, balding man, looked like he was on the verge of collapse, his face ashen and his hands trembling as he stammered something inaudible. The scene was surreal, almost comical in its absurdity, but the tension was undeniable.
Before she could react, the sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the stillness. Her breath caught in her throat as he fired the gun, the sound echoing like a thunderclap. The clerk crumpled to the ground, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Percy moved with practiced efficiency, vaulting over the counter and rifling through the cash register, his movements quick and precise. Bills spilled into his hands as he stuffed them into his pockets, his expression calm, almost detached, as if this were just another mundane task.
Percy emerged from the gas station, his arms laden with snacks and lottery tickets, strolling toward the van as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He tossed the loot into the backseat and slid into the passenger side with a bored sigh. Piper, Reyna, and Katie sat in stunned silence, their mouths still hanging open, their eyes fixed on him as if he'd grown a second head.
"What?" Percy asked, glancing at them with a puzzled frown. Their wide-eyed stares seemed to finally register. "Oh!" He snapped his fingers, as if suddenly remembering something, and handed Reyna a bottle of water. "Got you your water."
Reyna stared at the bottle in her hand, her mind struggling to reconcile the mundane object with the surreal horror of what had just transpired. The cool plastic felt alien, almost dreamlike, as if it were part of some grotesque performance. She blinked, her gaze shifting from the bottle to Percy, who was now casually scratching off a lottery ticket.
"Oh, won me a dollar," he muttered to himself, completely oblivious to the weight of their stares.
"Percy," Reyna began, her voice low and steady, though it carried an undercurrent of disbelief. "Did you just… shoot that guy?"
He looked up from the lottery ticket, his brow furrowing as though she'd asked him if the sky was blue. "What? No. I mean, yeah, I shot him, but—" He paused, finally noticing the horrified expressions on their faces. "Oh, come on, you guys. He was a monster."
"A monster?" Piper echoed, her voice rising in pitch. "Percy, he was a gas station clerk! A sweaty, balding, probably-underpaid gas station clerk!"
"Exactly!" Percy replied, as if that somehow clarified everything. "Did you see how sweaty he was? That's not normal!"
"So you shot a man because he was fucking sweaty?!" Her voice was sharp, disbelief morphing into outrage.
The son of Poseidon rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated that they weren't following his logic. "Guys, he was a monster. An actual monster! You know, the kind that eats demigods?"
The van fell into a heavy silence, the weight of his words sinking in. No one spoke, the air thick with tension as they tried to process what had just happened. Before anyone could muster a response, a sharp knock on the window startled them all. It was Travis, his face lit up with an unnervingly cheerful grin.
"Did you get the lottery tickets?"