Survivor (Percy Jackson Crossover) [#Wattys2014]

Chapter Twelve

Max Winston- Mortal

I hate everyone.

True enough. Teenagers often go through that phase. But not like this. Not with this responsibility. Not with this temptation.

I hate my mom. For making me do this. I hate my Dad. For not being fast enough.

If He could go back and move that one bullet a centimeter. He could save himself. He could change the world as we know it, save lives, rebuild, protect.

I hate myself.

Everyday it gets worse. It gets closer. It tempts him. Sometimes he'll walk over and look at it, thinking. Fantasizing. His breath would catch, his heart would beat a little harder. Images of home full his head, a longing to go back to his world where everything was simple. And the complex stuff was discarded, forgotten, hidden.

I hate Alex.

Max's eyes lifted from the worn notebook page. His gaze landed on the small lump laying in the uneven dirt. The pencil in his hand wavered above the page. His eyes glistened in the fire light with an uncharacteristic anger. The ember coals provided little light to see by, but the full starry sky dotted overhead.

The lump shuddered as a cool wind blew through leaves of the forest around them. Max tugged the blanket tight around him, running a hand through his auburn hair. He closed the book with a snap, taking a deep breath.

As fast as it had come, the anger was replaced by guilt. Eminence guilt.

He's just a kid.

He's only eleven.

Quietly he caught the sound of a whimper. His throat closed up, his breathing uneven. Nightmares. Always nightmares.

Max crept around the glowing embers, listening to the small moans and whimpers. The shaking had increased as he got closer, whimpers turning into choking sobs. He knelt next to the boy pulling him into a tight hug.

He didn't say anything, but rocked him back and forth. The boy curled up in his arms sobbing into his shirt. He repeated the same words over and over.

"I'm sorry Max." He whimpered into his shirt. "I'm sorry."

Max looked down into the little boy's gray-blue eyes that shone with tears. Stained trails ran down his cheeks, dripping off his chin. His sweat matted untidy auburn hair stuck out in the faint light.

"It's okay." He whispered in the little boy's ear. "You're okay, Alex. You're okay. Everything is okay."

He cringed at his own lies. Alex was not okay. They were not okay. And he highly doubted they ever would be.

"Max," Alec whimpered. "It happened again. It's all my fault!"

"No it's not." Max whispered soothingly. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is! I see the way you look at the knife! I see the looks you send me when you think I'm asleep! You hate me! You'd rather I'd be dead!"

Max stared down at Alex, his mouth moving but no words were coming out. "Alex..." He choked.

"I'm a freak! I'm a freak." Alex continued to sob into Max's shoulder. The older boy was speechless. His brain unable to connect thoughts, like frayed wires. He wanted to say it wasn't true. He wanted to explain himself. But there was nothing. Nothing to cover up what he thought.

He'd rather Alex be dead.

Maybe then he'd wouldn't have been stuck in the middle of no where, scared, parent-less, and homesick.