A PJO/MR Crossover (Sidenote: I wrote this story when I was 16. It is kind of cringey and cliche, so read at your own risk)
During a date with Annabeth after the Giant War, mysterious men kidnap Percy Jackson. Injured and near death, the two are ca...
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Percy POV The hairs on my back stood up as I did, a synchronized movement that startled Annabeth. I hadn't expected the god to speak, studying the shadowy figure with squinted eyes. Before I could determine if he was real or not, the being disappeared into thin air.
If he was real, why would Tartarus come back? Had I conjured his image up from paranoia?
I thought about these things, before realizing I had left Annabeth's side. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, blaming it on my fatigue.
"Percy, are you alright?" Annabeth wondered, finding my behavior odd. She was sitting up, tiredly tugging on my shirt to sit back down.
I didn't understand her behavior. Tartarus had been in our vicinity, and had even spoke out. How come she didn't hear it?
"It's nothing," I said, waving it off.
I could tell she didn't believe me. Her eyebrows knit together in suspicion, grey eyes flickering towards the woods.
To reassure her, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, seating myself where I'd been before. My relief was prevalent when she dropped the subject, leaning into my chest. She was warm to the touch, and I felt comfort just by being near her.
I found myself momentarily forgetful of Tartarus and his threats. My heart wasn't beating quite so fast anymore.
"I have a soft spot for Angel," Annabeth said randomly, breaking the silence. "I just hope we aren't making a mistake, letting two mortals into a warzone."
"They aren't your average mortals," I reminded her. "Both of them are fighters, and Max can just annoy the enemy to death."
Annabeth didn't answer, her eyes closing slightly. We were both exhausted, and still sleep deprived. I found myself brushing her curls, an automatic action I didn't have to think about.
"Did you ever think of the irony of all this?" I said softly, putting my chin on her head. "It's like a sick joke."
"Yeah," Annabeth mumbled, eyes closed. She was falling asleep, head sliding along my shirt.
The bench we were on creaked, the wood old and splintered. I noticed we were sitting at the abandoned Hecate table. Most everyone had left the scene, steering clear of the bonfire. The grass from Raven's explosion was releasing small puffs of smoke. I could still smell the burned greenery, and it made my nose tingle as it reached my sinuses.
Annabeth's exhaustion was contagious, because I begin feeling my eyes droop, getting heavier by the second. The corneas burned, begging for the darkness they had been away from for so long.
"Time to go," I muttered, more to myself then Annabeth. Picking her up bridal style, I headed to the Poseidon cabin. She was lighter then she looked, making the trek bearable.
