Spiders come in different Shapes

Sea storm

Annabeth yelled and struck her arm across the display of glasses in Sally's house. She watched as each and every one of them shattered in a breathtaking collapse on the wooden panel floor.

But the downpour of glass, and the breaking of the unbreakable did not stop her rage.

"Who is he?" She screamed into the night sky, the window open just halfway so the air would fuel her flame. Oxygen to the fire. Then she to Percy, as if his water blood would cool her down. "Who is Peter?" She said into his chest, warm and right, Percy. Sometimes he just didn't get it, sometime's he didn't understand her. Sometimes he only saw her blonde curly hair and gray eyes and smartness and didn't dig deeper, because he didn't want to .

"What are you talking about?" Percy finally broke down and grabbed her wrists, his eyes so green that she startled back. They were everything the sea was, waving and roaring and calm and soft and beautiful and just a little washed up. 

"I don't know," she finally admitted after a moment of piercing silence and eyes that battled endlessly. 

If Annabeth was one, would she be the sea or the sky?
The sky's gray clouds. 

She hated the feeling Peter gave her yet at the same time the boy endlessly intrigued her, and as a daughter of Athena once she was hooked on the idea of knowledge and her pride was held in her arms. That was when she could not possibly go back without risking everything she had built for herself. 

Percy sighed, and slowly picked up each and every shattered shard of glass, not once cutting his hand but not careful, knowing full well he could just heal himself in the shower. 

"I don't know either, Wisegirl, but I do hope you find out and stop breaking things. Who knows?" He whispered so she didn't hear. "The next thing you break might be my heart." Annabeth didn't hear him, but Percy loved her, so much. He was just worried one day he might caught in the eye of the hurricane, and at that point. He wouldn't stand a chance. 

While Percy and Annabeth snuggled in the confines of the cracked blue couch, and she was rethinking everything, possibly her whole world. And maybe it was the fact that the foundation was  crumbling, and that foundation was the idea that she could do anything.

Heads up. She couldn't. She still can't. And another disclaimer? She never will, and neither will anyone. Maybe some people, but the only way you can do everything, is if you do nothing, if you eat and drink and piss, and that's all, then you can do it. You're perfect...but you're not.

But while Percy was sleeping, and drifting in and out of peaceful rem cycle, Annabeth's eyes were cracked open, a flash of storm before the savior, and not because of Peter but what Peter had to mean.

 That was happening. And Peter all the way in Queens, was having his fifth panic attack that week. 

Authors note: Sorry it was short, please give feedback, I know it probably isn't that good, but I update oftenish. And I like the story, and I hope someone else does. 

Peter is smol and poor bean.