FADING SCARS (Avenger/Pjo crossover)COMPLETED

Nothing

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The boy stumbled from the shadows. The bitter cold wind erupting around him as his feet found solid ground. His dark eyes darted as he pulled his aviators jacket around him, tighter, tighter, until he could barely breath. He glanced up at the barely visible sliver of sparkling night sky above. The two buildings beside him towered tall, almost to a point where he couldn't see the sky at all. He knew it was better that way. If his eyes caught the light of the new five constellations above, he knew he could never be drawn away.

So he released his grip on his jacket.

Slightly.

His footsteps echoed against the cement, almost like a heartbeat. The busy city of New York glittered before him like a million fireflies. But he had only one mission, the only reason he would ever set foot in this city again. And it towered right above him.

But he never got the chance too enter.

"Why did you come here?" Her voice was strained, her eyes like emeralds. She stepped in front of him as if appearing from nowhere. Her usual shiny curls lay limp and frizzy on her shoulders. The boy shifted his stance, his worn black sneakers scraping against the gravely sidewalk.

"I-I know where he is."

She stood for a moment, her figure outlined by the artificial light of the street lamps behind her. The hardness in her eyes faded to worry and suspicion.

"Nico Di Angelo, I swear. If this is a joke-I-I." Her voice broke off and crumbled to the pavement before her. She studied his face as he slowly started to pull his jacket tighter again.

"You-you haven't told anyone else have you?" She glanced behind her the security cameras mounted on the entrance to her home. "So why are you telling me?"

Nico could feel the air being taken from his lungs as his fingers pulled the jacket around him.
"I-I need your help."

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ
Pain registered in his mind, but he felt nothing. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a dark streak of black cloak as a hand connected to his cheek.

But he felt nothing.

He said nothing.

"If you don't open your mouth, Jackson, and speak. I swear you won't live another day free of a cell." Fury stared him down with his one good eye.

But Percy said nothing.

He stared at the ceiling. His eyes empty and hollow. His face blank and expressionless. Almost as if his body was lifeless, nothing more then a shattered shell, he sat. Gazing blankly at the ceiling like he could memorize every crack and swirl in the paint.

Fury couldn't take it.

"SPEAK." In a swift movement he pulled out a loaded hand gun. Sleek, black, and deadly. He placed it on Percy's temple.

But the boy didn't even have the dignity to flinch.

Instead he stared almost lifelessly at the same spot on the ceiling. The distant look on his face, piercing his questioner with a strange sense of determination.

"I'll ask you one more time, and I will not relent to shoot this bullet if you do not reply." Fury stared him dead in the eye. "Where have you been disappearing to each summer? A training base? Who has been directing your terrorist behavior?"

Percy's empty gaze never even wavered from the ceiling.

And that's when Fury lost it.

He pulled the gun from Percy's temple and lowered it to his abdomen. With a single plume of smoke and a ear throbbing bang, the bullet sunk into his skin. But his eyes never lost their focus on the ceiling. His body barely recognized the pain.

The bolted door rattled loudly, shouts echoed from the room beyond. Steve and Tony's voices combined leaked through the sound barrier as if it wasn't there. Their loud and very colorful shouts penetrated every means of concealing them.

Fury ignored them, his hand gripping the edge of the table. "And your companions, I bet they go to the same training base? Where are they now?" His eyes trailed to the file, spread out on the table.
"Frank Zhang maybe? Annabeth Chase."

Percy's eyes flickered, the dark stain of blood flowing outward from his lower torso grew. He seemed to be fighting with himself, his knuckles turning white against the seat handles.

And he cracked.

He grabbed fury by the cloak, his breathing shaky and torn. He pulled the director closer until the man could see every shattered piece of pain that littered his eyes.

And he spoke, the words choking him from the deepest points of his heart.

"They're dead."

And slowly his fingers unfolded from the directors cloak as the door banged open behind them. And he closed his eyes, his mind sinking into darkness from loss of blood.

HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYS!

Plus I was super lazy and I didn't want to check the books....so Aviators jacket is correct, right?

815 words.