𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [Jason Grace]

43

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧. He'd gotten electrocuted so bad, he still had the scars on his right shoulder, snaking down his arm. He'd almost drowned trying to kill the Trojan sea monster, almost getting squished to death, not to mention the time a leopard bit him while they were trying to get the stupid animal to Bacchus.

But that was nothing compared to another human landing hard on top of him.

Dante had done the mistake of flailing and trying to catch himself with his hands splayed in front of him.

That hadn't hurt much. He'd had about half a second of breathing time before Annabeth landed on top of him.

He immediately knew he'd broken or fractured something in his chest. Pain like a hot steel wire jabbed its way up inside and outside his body. He couldn't tell up from down, right from left. There was only pain in his body. The world narrowed to just him, his ribs, and the agony.

He almost blacked out. His head spun. The last time he'd had an injury in his chest, he'd died. Now he felt the familiar fear spike up. He remembered how he could barely sleep the whole week after dying. He had thought he'd gotten over it. Only now it was back, and a hundred times worse.

He gasped, trying to breathe, but all he could feel was fire in his lungs, pure torture and nothing else.

Annabeth scrambled off him, and he wanted to snap at her. It was an irrational thought because neither of them knew what they would be jumping into. It was unfair to blame her.

And still, she was apologizing. Dante couldn't even register her words. Every single breath felt like a pilum through his lungs. He wheezed and coughed, which only made the pain worse.

"Shallow breaths," Annabeth said. She sounded far too calm for what they'd just escaped. "Shallow, slow breaths, Dante."

He tried to breathe more slowly. He lay as still as possible until the pain subsided from absolute torture to just horrible throbbing.

Part of him wanted to scream at the world for being so unfair. All this way, just to be stopped by something as horrendous as a fractured rib?

Annabeth helped him to his feet slowly, supporting his weight and making sure not to touch anywhere near his ribs.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," She kept mumbling, "I should've known."

How. Dante untangled his hands from her, even the thought of speaking aloud made pain flair all over his chest and in his side. He didn't know the signs of the next few words so he finger spelled them. Annabeth didn't complain even though it took far too long. She still had guilt plastered over her features. How could you know? It's ok.

"So you do know ASL?" Annabeth shifted her arm to better support Dante.

Little. Dante signed. My dad, languages he shrugged. He knew a few basic signs and in no means was his signing perfect, but at least it was understandable.

Dante looked around them. Annabeth's dagger had skittered a few feet away. In its dim light he could make out the features of the room. The cold floor was sandstone blocks. The ceiling was two stories tall. The doorway through which they'd fallen was ten feet off the ground, now completely blocked with debris that had cascaded into the room, making a rockslide. Scattered around them were old pieces of lumber—some cracked and desiccated, others broken into kindling.

"It was stupid," Annabeth followed his gaze. Dante winced when he breathed in and when he breathed out and when he held his breath. Every second was pure hell. "I assumed there would be a level corridor."