The Reluctant Hero

Of Teams and Vultures.

"Percy! Percy where are you?!" The heroes ran through Stark tower trying to find the tortured God. "Percy?!"

Voices. Quiet. Voices. SCREAMS!

Percy clawed at his head. Locking his scarred fingers into his hair and pulling. Desperately trying to dispel the images. Destroy them. Get rid of them.

Gone.

Gone.

Gone!

Hands touching him. Burning. Snapping. Breaking. Scarring. The shadows were closing in on him. Trapping him.

He flinched violently.

"No. Nonononononononono!"

The hands left.

Emptiness.

Alone.

Confined.

Chained.

No-one.

Dead.

"Stop." His voice was rough, pleading, breaking. Echoing and shimmering. Freezing and shattering. "L-Leave her alone! Don't!" His words were disjointed. He had to stop them. "Please I-just don't kill her. Please. Stop!"

He felt the hands claws again. Pulling at him. Tearing. He lashed out. Catching something soft fleshy. Pulling it around. Trapping the person monster.

"Percy." The shadows surrounding him backed up. The tearing, snatching, cracking voices softening. "Percy, we wont hurt you. There's no-one else here. Just us and you. We're a team. We trust you, you trust us. Let Steve go. Percy. Just relax. We're here. No-one's trying to hurt you. Steve didn't mean to touch you. Just relax Percy."

It was a woman's voice, shinning through the shadows and burning and pain.

Annabeth's voice.

Wait.

No.

Not her voice.

Someone's voice. Red hair. Rachel?

No. Natasha.

Assassin.

Killer.

Friend. Trust. Natasha was here. Helping. Soothing. Water washed away the burning. Natasha was here.

Here.

Where was here?

Percy looked up. Figures. Shadows. No. Friends. Red. Brown. Black. Black. Blond.

He could've sworn someone was screaming. Pleading. Begging.

"Percy." The voice again.

Soothing. Getting rid of the chains.

Restraints.

Restrained?
Something ruff was rubbing against his arms.

In his arms.

What?

He was holding something.

Someone?

He threw them. Releasing them.

Jerking back.

"I-I-I'm sorry. I-" He could still feel the rough uniform on his arms. The burning was back.