Thunder and Blood

12

Percy

Scott lets me crash at his place, thankfully. Or else I would have been on the streets again. Stiles woke up, but according to everyone that knows him, he's back to his normal self. He also asked for my autograph... so that was kinda nice. He seems like a good kid, I feel bad for him. No one should have to go through this.

After Stiles woke up, him and his Dad left for Eichen House, about an hour ago, it's some sort of place for the mentally unstable, or in Stiles' case, for those who need a safe place to hide from the Oni. He'll be there for 72 hours.

That means I have 72 hours to figure out how to get this kid back to Camp Halfblood.

And I really don't want to.

No one knows about Blackjack either, he is now on the roof, being as quiet as possible. I don't want him to get himself into any trouble, the Gods know he can't talk himself out of it. He's a lookout, making sure the Oni don't come by. Or any other monsters.

I'm laying on the couch in Scott's living room, trying to fall asleep. I try counting sheep, but I end up losing track quickly. That dam ADHD. Eventually, I just close my eyes, and though it takes a while, I drift to sleep.

I dream of Annabeth and grover.

But it isn't a good dream.

I'm standing on Half Blood hill, just under the pillars leading into camp. There's fire, destruction, chaos, and blood. So much blood. The air smells of it, thick and metallic. I'm looking at Annabeth, she's on the ground, scrambling backwards over the muddy dirt. Grover is laying beside her, unconscious, blood staining his orange t-shirt. I can't tell if it's his or not. Annabeth's face is beaten, bruised, a few deep cuts along her cheekbones. He hair is dirty, messy with blood and soil.

I want to reach out and touch her, to hug her and tell her it's okay. I want to heal her, to kiss her wounds better.

But despite what my brain is telling me to do, I can't stop myself from walking towards her, my fist balled. She looks up at me with scared, wide eyes. Fear. Pain. Her chest rises and falls with each quick breath she takes. And I hit her. My fist makes contact with her cheek, sending her sprawling to the side.

She looks back up, slowly. And then I see her lip quiver, a tear falls down her bloodied cheek. She winces slightly as the saltwater gets into her cuts. The cuts I had given her.

She closes her eyes, squeezing them shut almost as though she believes that when she opens them, this will all go away. I look down at my knuckles, my own is skin torn and bleeding. The wounds burn, sting even, yet the pain doesn't physically hurt.

I feel strong, more powerful than I had before.

And without a second thought, I hit her again.

But this time, she doesn't get back up. She doesn't get a chance to open her eyes.

And I wake up not knowing if I had killed her or not.