When In Camp Half-Blood [Percy Jackson x Supernatural]

Realization

Annabeth steps outside of the car and glares up into the scar, eyes following the Caucasian Eagle in the sky. She chews her lip gauging distance and speed of the eagle, determining whether or not this warranted a knife throw, leaving her defenseless.

A car door slams shut behind her followed by another one. "Do you really expect us to let you fight this thing by yourself?"

"Yes Dean. Exactly because you have no skills or experience fighting what I fight." The eagle swoops lower, circling around them. "Do you understand?"

Sam looks at her thoughtfully. "I think you underestimate us."

"I think you underestimate me."

"Damn right we underestimate you. We don't know you." Dean snaps stepping outside of the car. "So let's all clear up just how right the other is." He leans back into the car and the trunk pops open. "C'mon Sammy."

Annabeth gets a glance of the contents in the trunk, and sees the glint of countless blades and the barrels of numerous guns. Did I just spend the night with a pair of serial killers?! She jumps when she feels a heavy weight settle on her shoulder. It's Sam with a soft dimpled smile, looking absolutely nothing like any serial killer she'd ever seen.

"We aren't mass murderers, just in case you were wondering" he says, chuckling. "But we're not your average Joes either. So you don't have to worry about us and this eagle thing."

Sam starts to load a shotgun, and Annabeth finds herself distracted by his bulging biceps beneath his flannel. He moves with an easy confidence, him and Dean perfectly synchronized. This obviously wasn't their first rodeo. Annabeth can't help but be impressed, but she's also curious. What kind of life had these two brothers had that they don't even question the fact they are about to fight a giant eagle?

Dean's low tones interrupt her thoughts.

"Sam, should we go silver bullets or rock salt?" Salt? Annabeth questions in disbelief, Okay, they might actually be crazy.

She doesn't have long to question why the brothers think they need a seasoning to fight an eagle when she hears a great screech behind the trees.

"Sam go!" Dean shouts and the brothers position themselves on either side of the Impala and point their guns to the sky. The eagle rises out of the trees with another ear-piercing screech. Its wingspan is at least 8 feet and its talons are unnaturally long and glint razor sharp in the sunlight. Beady yellow eyes bore into Annabeth with a terrifying amount of intelligence. This eagle knows what it wants. Annabeth thinks, and it wants ME. DEAD.

With the crack of gunshots, the eagle breaks her gaze. Sam and Dean are firing shot after shot at the eagle, but the bullets just seem to bounce off the tawny feathers.

"What the he-" Sam is abruptly cut off as the eagle swoops down and smashes into his broad chest with a flurry of feathers.

"Sam!" Dean yells, and flings himself into the melee, desperately slashing at the bird. With a grunt of determination, Annabeth readjusts her grip on her blade and enters the battle.

Fighting the eagle is like being trapped in a tornado of knives and feathers. Its talons are everywhere, splitting any available exposed flesh. Annabeth makes a stab for the eyes, but feels the talons rake across her face, and recoils in pain. Through the warm blood running down her face Annabeth sees Sam trying to stab the eagle. His blade just glances off the feathers, and she can see the eagle's massive beak about to crunch down on Sam's arm. Her and Sam's eyes meet in the frenzy.

He's exhausted, there's blood matted in his hair and the eagle has clawed a huge chunk out of his left bicep. Somehow during the battle his shirt was ripped to shreds, and now Annabeth has full view of his perfectly sculpted torso. Through the streaks of blood and scrapes, she glimpses suntanned skin and defined muscles, and his back muscles ripple with exertion as he tries to thrust his blade into the eagle's eye. He's sweaty, the perspiration glistening in the mid-morning sun, and somehow, through the thick coppery scent of blood, she thinks she can smell his musky odor; one of aftershave and gun oil.

Annabeth feels something settle deep in her gut, warm and solid. An image of Percy briefly flashes in her mind, but it's quickly replaced with one of Sam; he's sweaty and bloody, but somehow still enticing. Annabeth doesn't know if she's ever felt this way with Percy.

What's happening to me?