𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐀, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

10 - chicken trauma bonding goes insane

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IT WAS SAFE TO SAY THAT ALL OF THEM HATED PHINEAS. Hazel was trembling, Frank was shouting at food trucks, and Percy had a firm grip on Mabel's wrist, maybe to restrain her and maybe to restrain himself.

Hazel kicked a bus-stop bench, water droplets flying from her damp curls like diamonds through the air. "That man... he needs to die. Again." Her shoulders shook beneath her windbreaker, her frame seeming as fragile as a sheet of glass.

She's supposed to be dead. Mabel's lips pulled down and she looked at the younger girl. She tried to imagine the image that Phineas had painted, tried to envision the weight of corpses on the girl's frail shoulders and the brand of a traitor on her smooth, warm skin. Hazel Levesque; the dead girl walking, with thousands of secrets hiding like gemstones beneath her flesh. Mabel didn't see it. This was Hazel, who held the warmth of wildflowers in winter, who was kind to Mabel when no one else wanted to be.

But maybe aspects of her now made some sense. The daughter of Pluto seemed wise beyond her years, her gleaming eyes having seen things that others hadn't. But she also seemed so alive, so flesh and blood, like a young girl with bad cards who deserved to live and laugh and breathe.

Percy's fingers tightened slightly on Mabel's wrist, the pad of his thumb pressing against her pulse. "He will," he assured the younger girl, jaw tight. "He's nothing like you, Hazel. I don't care what he says."

She shook her head, curls plastered to the sides of her face by the ever-falling rain. "You don't know the whole story. I should've been sent to Punishment. I'm just as bad—"

"No." Mabel's voice was sharp and low, her mouth moving like a weapon as she cut through Hazel's words. Her tone left no room for argument; she was the kind of person who you just had to believe. Mottled eyes seemed to glow in the grey light through the clouds, holding that otherworldly anger that tended to lurk inside her. "Many people deserve the Fields of Punishment, but you are not one of them. You never will be." The statement sounded slightly like a dig at herself, a jab at the broken glass in the pit of her stomach from ugly secrets.

Frank's fists balled, fingers digging tight into his palms. "She's a good person!" he shouted, swiveling his head as if looking for someone nearby who might disagree; someone he could hit in defense of Hazel's honor. A couple of harpies squawked— either in agreement or argument, but who could tell?

Hazel swallowed, her fingers reaching out timidly as if to touch his hand, trembling like she was afraid he might not be real. She hesitated, tentative in a way that was endearing and frustrating to outside eyes. "Frank... I don't—"

The boy slung his spear off his back, twirling it in a way that was very un-Frank-like and much more Mars-like. Anger bubbled in his eyes, evident in the tense set of his shoulders. "I could intimidate the old man," he offered, gaze swinging to Mabel at Percy's side; Mabel, who knew violence well, "maybe scare him—"

"I would love to be on board with that idea," Mabel reasoned quietly, her tone uncharacteristically gentle as she looked at Frank, then Hazel, then back again. They were just kids. No kids should have such burdens that an old man would be able to shake them up with a few words. "But that needs to be our backup plan. Phineas, for all his frailty, doesn't seem like one to be scared into cooperation. We need to try and coax the information from him willingly before we gut it out of him." Her words were soft and calculated, all spoken so calmly that you would think she was talking about what they would have for lunch.

Frank seemed to calm slightly at Mabel's smooth voice, his stance relaxing at the edges. "Yeah, alright," he nodded slowly, lowering his spear to his side as his fingers drummed the handle with nervous energy.