strong enough [crossover]

ii. my world's on fire, how 'bout yours?

trigger warnings: none

*

Being a demigod is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in nasty, painful ways. Today, it saves MJ's life. She would've never survived the journey otherwise.

She's not sure how long she lies there in the fetal position, gathering enough energy to sit up. Even though she doesn't have ADHD like most demigods, she still isn't great at keeping track of time, especially when she's in unbearable pain. Her best guess is that it's been an hour or two, twenty-ish minutes of which she spent not even realizing she'd stopped tumbling through that stupid portal. Who even puts a portal in a puddle? An asshole, that's who. Probably the same dickhead who kicked her into it.

It's the fury at someone having the audacity to kick her into a portal that gives her the strength to shift onto her butt. It really fucking hurts to move, but she powers through. Once upright, her back pressed against a wall, she finally opens her eyes to see a room with wooden paneled walls, marbled columns, and a rectangular window that runs the length of an entire wall. The view is of a planet haloed in fire. Half the room is elevated, with stairs leading down into the sunken portion, where MJ sits.

Huh. Not exactly what she was expecting.

The tile floor beneath her is strangely soothing in its coolness as she shrugs her backpack off her shoulders. A sixteenth birthday gift from Silena, the dusty pink backpack is in considerably better condition than the rest of MJ. The rest of MJ is currently smoking, and not in the fun, sexy way — steam billows from her flesh, covered in second and third-degree burns. Her clothes are badly singed, but thankfully still wearable, at least for the time being, and her hair feels incredibly brittle. Luckily, she has her emergency supply of nectar on her. That should go a long way in healing her physical injuries.

The canteen is in the front pocket of her backpack. Pain shoots through her fingertips when she grabs the zipper, but she ignores it. Just a little longer, and then she'll feel much better. She digs the metal canteen out, unscrews the cap, and tips the opening to her cracked and bleeding lips. While she wants nothing more than to down the entire thing, she forces herself to take small sips. How embarrassing would it be if she survived falling through some mysterious portal only to turn to ash because she drank too much nectar? Humiliating, probably. All the spirits in the Underworld would laugh at her.

MJ drinks until her skin has gone from badly blistering to slightly raw. Her hair feels stronger too. Unfortunately, the nectar can't fix her clothes, so she's still stuck looking like she caught on fire and was put out with minutes to spare. Her eyes light up as a thought occurs to her. She quickly unzips the biggest pocket of her backpack and digs around. Yes! She has a change of clothes with her. Gods, she's a genius.

Now she just has to find somewhere to change.

She kicks off her ruined shoes, thankful her socks somehow escaped any damage and is about to force herself to her feet when a door to her right slides open.

A white girl who looks around MJ's age rushes in. She's carrying a plant, and she's so upset that it takes her at least a minute to notice MJ's presence.

"Oh!" the girl exclaims. She has a British accent — not one of the posh ones. "Sorry. I didn't know anyone was in here."

"It's okay," MJ says. To her surprise, her voice is only a little rough. "You're welcome to stay."

The girl sits down on the ledge by the stairs and sets the plant down beside her. A silver ball rolls out of her hoodie pocket. Then her head snaps toward MJ, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Wait a minute. You're human." She squints, leaning in. "And you're hurt!"