𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐚; percy jackson

𝟏𝟔 | shadows of the night

The train rattled through the night, speeding toward Los Angeles. Percy was laid half-asleep, caught between the harsh reality of the journey nightmares that refused to let him rest.

He was barely dozing when he jolted awake, breath quick and heartbeat thundering. A cold sweat clung to his skin. Blinking, he found himself back in the shadowed train compartment. He looked around.

Annabeth was sound asleep on the middle berth, Grover snoring softly above. Then, Percy's gaze fell on Meara, curled up on the berth across from him.

She looked surprisingly calm—no trace of her usual biting demeanor, just a regular kid asleep, with an expression so uncharacteristically peaceful that it felt almost wrong.

Suddenly, Meara stirred, her expression twisting in her sleep. She gasped, jolting awake, her face flashing with panic before hardening as her eyes landed on Percy watching her.

"Don't you have anything better to do than stare? Like sleeping maybe?" She snapped, sitting up and brushing tangled hair from her face. Her sharp words cut through the quiet like a knife.

Percy raised an eyebrow. "You okay?" he asked, tone casual, refusing to show the worry her jolt of panic had stirred.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "As if you care," she muttered. Her voice was tight, though, thinking about her guarded mask slipping in her sleep.

Percy smirked, feigning indifference. "Hey, I was just being polite. You don't have to get all prickly."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Meara shot back, casting him a withering look. But after a beat, her gaze drifted to the window, her reflection merging with the shadows outside. After a while, she muttered, almost to herself, "just a Nightmare."

Percy hesitated. Meara wasn't one to admit weakness—not ever. But she'd just let it slip, and there was a vulnerability there he hadn't expected. "What was it about?" he asked, his voice softened, though he was pretty sure she'd brush him off.

She paused, visibly debating whether to share. "Weird stuff," she finally said, her voice losing some of its usual bite. "There was... a storm. Lightning everywhere. But there was also this woman—she had been in my dreams for the past few days. She was shielding me, holding back the rain like she was some kind of... I don't know." She stopped, clenching her jaw.

"Intense," Percy said, his voice neutral, though he could see a sliver of fear lingering in her eyes. "But hey, I get it. It's not like my dreams are a walk in the park either." He leaned back, feigning a yawn. "Mostly dreaming about you kicking my butt in the arena or something." He said, trying to enlighten her mood.

Meara's lips twisted into a half-smile, her usual fire flickering back. "As if you need a dream for that. It happened in reality, remember?"

Percy snorted. "I was going easy on you. You know, for morale."

"Please." She scoffed, but there was a spark in her eyes. "You can't fool me, bimbo. You don't have what it takes."

There she was—the sharp-edged Meara he knew. But something in the exchange felt different this time, like they'd dropped their usual game for a heartbeat, both of them a little unsteady.

Percy folded his arms, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh, I have what it takes, alright. I just don't need to waste it proving it to you."

Her eyes glinted. "Right. Because you'd rather save it for hiding behind everyone else." Her tone was laced with challenge, daring him to rise to it.

Percy's jaw tensed, but he gave her a smug smile. "Hey, at least I don't hide behind snark every time someone tries to get to know me. That must be exhausting."

For a split second, Meara's gaze faltered, but she quickly recovered, throwing him an icy glare. "Well, don't worry about it. I don't need you to 'know' me." She spat out the word as if it were poison. "Just try not to embarrass yourself out there. Wouldn't want the 'hero' reputation getting dented."

"Duly noted," he replied, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. But as he looked at her, something softened in him. Underneath the barbed words and cold stares, there was an odd sense of familiarity between them—like they understood something about each other neither would ever admit out loud.

They lapsed into silence, the train's hum filling the quiet. For a moment, Percy found himself wondering what she really saw in her dreams, why she hid so fiercely. But he shoved the thought away. This was Meara—tough, unreadable, and anything but his friend. Whatever her nightmares were, it was none of his business.

After a while, Percy spoke, his voice lower. "Do you ever get used to it? The nightmares, I mean."

Meara shrugged, her usual defiance dulling. "You kind of have to. It's not like they're going anywhere." She let out a humorless laugh. "Guess that's what happens when you're a 'forbidden child.'"

Percy huffed a bitter chuckle. "Yeah, isn't it great? We get the nightmares, and the gods get to sit back and watch."

A strange look crossed Meara's face, something between sadness and anger. "They don't care. They just see us as pawns—tools for whatever war they're planning next."

Percy didn't respond. There was too much truth in her words, and the weight of it settled between them, a rare, unspoken understanding. Yet, as he watched her gaze harden, he felt a flicker of something unexpected—something almost close to sympathy.

"Just don't get in my way," Meara said finally, her tone sharp again, breaking the fragile truce. "I don't need you watching out for me."

"Don't worry," Percy replied, his voice cool. "I won't. Just don't expect me to bail you out if you mess up."

She smirked, but her eyes were cold. "I don't make mistakes, bimbo."

"Sure. Keep telling yourself that," he said, echoing her earlier words.

They held each other's gaze for a tense moment, both unwilling to look away first. Finally, Meara turned, settling back onto her berth, her back to him as though to block him out completely.

Percy closed his eyes, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the distance between them was as fragile as a spider's web—one wrong move, and it would snap. He didn't trust her, and he knew she didn't trust him.

As he drifted off, Percy's last thought was that, for all her sharp edges and hostility, he'd glimpsed something else in Meara tonight, something new.