THADDEUS POV
The truck roared down the highway, a blur against the stretch of asphalt. It had been hours since the absolute insanity back at Medusa's not-so-lovely "Garden Emporium." The air inside the cab was heavy, the kind of tired silence that settles after surviving something no sane person should have to endure.
From what I'd gathered—and honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to gather anything more—we'd wandered into Medusa's lair disguised as a sketchy garden shop. Percy took the initiative to decapitate her, and now her head sat in the back of the truck like a cursed party favor, wrapped in Grover's jacket. Annabeth had decided it was worth bringing along for emergencies. Me? I was just glad we weren't statues right now.
Speaking of survival, my arm was healing surprisingly well, thanks to whatever magic my body has a really good attunement for. A day or two more, and I'd be back to 100%. Not that I planned on testing that theory any time soon.
"Percy, did you get the drachmas?" Annabeth's voice cut through the low hum generated by the engine."
Percy glanced up from the map he was studying. "Uh... Yeah, why?"
I swiveled my head from where I was leaning on the seat. "Percy took what now?"
"Never mind that," Annabeth said, plainly disinterested in explaining. "What does the map say about where we should go next?"
Percy unfolded the map again, stroking his finger across its surface, while Grover held the green pearl up to the fading sunshine as if it were a diamond.
"Nashville," Percy eventually replied.
Annabeth nodded and pressed the gas pedal, causing the truck to thrust forward. Like it came on cue, Highway to Hell roared from the radio. How... appropriate.
"Do you suppose that Luke could've warned us that Medusa was protecting this thing?" Annabeth's tone was harsh, her skepticism unmistakable.
Percy, being Percy, rushed to defend him. "Maybe he didn't know."
I gave a sleepy laugh from the backseat. "Look, I don't want to be angry anymore... or totally, but we just got through what seemed like an outtake from Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, and my tolerance for potential betrayal has reached an all-time low."
They all turned and stared at me as if I had grown a second head.
Annabeth rolled her eyes and muttered something about "stupid wizard," while Grover chuckled softly before continuing to his prize assessment. Percy simply shook his head and returned to the map, leaving me to rest against the glass and watch the road pass by.
If Nashville was anything like Medusa's hideout, I doubt we were prepared. I just hope no gigantic reptilian creature is waiting for us over there.
---
The sun was now a fading ember, with rich orange and purple streaks painted over the horizon. More time had passed, and the cab of the truck had become silent except for the hum of the motor and the occasional yawn. Percy was slouched against the window, snoring as if he'd just run a marathon—which, given everything we'd gone through, wasn't far off the mark. Grover had turned Percy's shoulder into a personal pillow. I looked in the rearview mirror and smiled at the image.
Annabeth must have noticed me watching because she spoke out, her voice strangely gentle.
"So... "I never really got to know you that well."
"Probably," she answered, her gaze fixed on the road, her tone seeking answers. "Though, compared to me, Percy, and Grover—him being a satyr and all—you're quite different. Particularly, on a larger scale. "And aside from the magic."
"I'll take that as a compliment," I smirked, reclining back into my seat.
She looked at me, her lips curled into a slight smile. "It was not intended as an insult. I am honest. How does your... thing even work?"
I massaged the back of my neck. "Ah, the thing. You're referring to my unusual magic, which sometimes appears to have its mind?"
"Exactly," she replied.
I exhaled and watched the woods blur by as I reflected. "I've tried not to get too deep into how it works. Trying to comprehend it too deeply is like poking a sleeping bear. It has rules, the majority of which I am unfamiliar with, and breaking them can result in terrible, uncontrollable disasters. I learned that the hard way."
Annabeth lifted an eyebrow, surprised. "Such as what?"
I leaned back and stared up at the truck's ceiling. "Then, when I was eleven, ice appeared. That one was tougher to cover up. Back while we were still living in the old house, there was a backyard pool, and I was disappointed one summer day because it was too cold to swim. The next thing I knew, everything was frozen solid. Top to bottom, like something out of a Christmas movie. Needless to say, I got banned for a week, and Darren stopped me from going near the pool until winter arrived."
Annabeth chuckled at this. "I understand why. How about healing? "You mentioned that earlier."
"Yeah, that came later," I replied, my voice dropping significantly. "I was thirteen when I realized I was capable of healing people. Darren sliced his hand while repairing a lawnmower. It wasn't too bad, but the sight of blood made me panic. I took his hand, and the wound was gone. He believed he had been dreaming everything. But... Healing is a tough process. It works, yes, but it drains me. Sometimes I feel as if the energy has been taken straight out of me. Too much of it, and I'm out for the count. I once ended up in the hospital after overdoing it.
Annabeth grimaced and cast a fleeting glance at me. "That's... intense. How do you handle something like that?"
"Trial and error," I answered with a sly smirk. "Mostly errors. I have rules now: do not ever use until it is absolutely necessary. And, for the love of all things good, don't combine magic unless you have no other option. Trust me, that's asking for trouble."
She nodded, her gaze returning to the road. "You have gone through a lot, haven't you?"
"Yeah, you could say that," I replied, my voice calm but firm. "I'm still here, though. So that must be worth something."
---
During an unforeseen detour into the topic of Darren—my adopted father—and almost being roadkill due to Grover dozing out at the wheel after a short driver switch, we all agreed that surviving a violent automobile wreck was not on the agenda. A night stop was required.
We came across a motel somewhere around Interstate 70 West. It wasn't the Ritz, but beggars cannot be choosers. The neon vacancy sign flickered and buzzed as if it were on its final leg. The parking lot was weirdly empty, which should be our first clue that this was not going to be a five-star thing.
"We need a room," Percy stated, trying to sound authoritative.
The manager squinted at him as if he were evaluating a suspect. "Do you have an ID?"
There was an awkward pause. Percy froze, his confidence crumbling faster than a sandcastle in high tide. Before he could embarrass himself further, I casually stepped forward, pulling out one of my handy-dandy fake IDs. Don't ask where I got it.
I slid the ID across the counter, along with a generous stack of cash—$500, to be exact. And before you judge, yes, it was fairly acquired... if you consider looting abandoned vehicles fair.
The manager picked up the ID, holding it up to the dim light like he was Sherlock Holmes on the verge of solving a case. He glanced at me, then back at the ID, then at the cash. His bony fingers counted the bills slowly, probably savoring the rare sight of actual money in his establishment.
"You kids better not make a mess," he muttered, sliding a rusted key across the counter.
"We won't," we all said together, a mixture of forced politeness and genuine relief. Grover nodded uneasily, while Percy and Annabeth shared confused looks, likely wondering how I pulled it off so smoothly.
As we approached the room, Percy leaned in and whispered, "Where the hell did you get that ID?"
"Let's just say I'm resourceful," I said with a wicked smile.
"And what about the cash?" Annabeth asked, lifting a suspicious eyebrow.
"Fairly found," I commented, winking.
They didn't look convinced, but they didn't press further. Smart move. Sometimes it's better not to know.
When we finally got to the room, Percy opened the door with the key, and we stepped into what I can only describe as a time capsule of questionable taste and musty despair. The smell hit first—old carpet, faint mildew, and just a hint of sadness. The room itself was tiny, with wallpaper peeling at the edges and a single queen bed in the middle. Not exactly the lap of luxury, but hey, we weren't here to critique the interior design.
Annabeth crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Only one bed."
Grover, already halfway through the door, shrugged. "I'll take the chair." Without hesitation, he plopped himself down in the lumpy armchair by the window, looking like he'd just claimed the Iron Throne.
I chuckled, tossing my bag into a corner. "Anywhere is fine with me, as long as it's horizontal and I don't wake up with a stiff neck."
Grover, in true Grover fashion, reached into his overstuffed pockets and dumped an avalanche of vending machine snacks onto the bed. Chips, candy bars, a suspiciously dented soda can—it was like he'd looted a 7-Eleven. "Stocking up," he said, grinning as he unwrapped a Snickers.
"Wrapper and all, huh?" I commented, watching him take a bite, foil, and everything. "Bold choice."
Percy sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples like he was already regretting this entire trip. Meanwhile, Grover grabbed the remote, turned on the ancient TV, and started flipping through channels. After a few seconds of static and bad reception, he landed on something... less than appropriate.
"Seriously?" Annabeth snatched the remote out of his hand, her expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief. She clicked the TV off with a decisive jab of her thumb.
Grover glared at her, his mouth full of candy. "What?! I can't watch a movie?!"
"Not that kind of movie," Annabeth shot back, her tone sharp enough to cut steel.
I couldn't resist chiming in, leaning back against the wall with a smirk. "We're on a literal life-or-death quest, and you're over here trying to watch actors 'get creative'? Priorities, man." I took a bite of the Snickers Percy had handed me earlier, savoring the chocolatey goodness as Grover muttered something under his breath about being misunderstood.
Annabeth shook her head, clearly unimpressed, and turned her attention to Percy. "So, what's the plan? Because at this rate, we'll be lucky if we don't kill each other before Medusa's head even comes in handy."
Percy sighed, flopping back onto the bed. "The plan is to sleep and not think about any of this until tomorrow."
"Now that's a plan I can get behind," I said, sliding down the wall and settling onto the floor. "Wake me up when the world's not on fire."
And so, I took a nap. Not just any nap—one of those golden opportunities to shut the world out for a blissful few hours. Or so I thought. Turns out, fate had other plans because Grover decided to shake me awake as I owed him money.
"AHHH!" I yelped, jolting upright, and in pure survival mode, I instinctively summoned a small flame in my palm. It wasn't exactly a fireball of doom, but it was enough to make Grover flinch.
"Whoa, chill out, dude!" Grover said, hands raised defensively. He looked more surprised than scared, probably because he's seen me do worse.
"What the hell, Grover?" I muttered, extinguishing the flame. My heart was racing like I'd just been ambushed by one of those stone zombies again.
"Look at the news," Annabeth said from across the room, holding the remote and pointing at the TV. Her tone was sharp, but there was a layer of concern beneath it.
Still groggy, I dragged myself off the floor and shuffled over to the couch. Grover, who was now sitting amidst a junk food apocalypse—crumbs everywhere, half-eaten snacks scattered around—was chugging the last of a Coke. And then, because he's Grover, he started chewing on the damn can.
"The can? Really?" I asked, staring at him. "You know what? Never mind. I don't have the energy for this right now."
Grover ignored me, his attention locked on Percy. "Dude, you're on TV."
That got Percy's attention. He leaned forward, and so did I. On the screen, a polished news anchor sat at her desk, and behind her was a yearbook photo of Percy. The caption read: "Missing Teen Linked to Mother's Disappearance."
"...and still no word on the disappearance of seventeen-year-old Percy Jackson and his mother, Sally Jackson," the anchor reported. "Gabe Ugliano, Sally's husband, maintains that Percy is behind the disappearance."
The screen cut to Gabe, who looked like the human embodiment of greasy leftovers. "Kid's been in trouble his whole life. A real loser," Gabe said, his smug face practically begging to be punched.
Percy stared at the screen, his expression unreadable. Annabeth glanced at him, her eyes soft with sympathy, but she didn't say anything.
"And what kind of deranged person kidnaps his mother?" Gabe added, like he was auditioning for "World's Biggest Jerk."
The anchor turned back to the camera. "Mr. Ugliano is offering a cash reward for any information on the whereabouts of his wife and son—"
"Stepson," Gabe interrupted as if that somehow made him less of a jerk.
My fists clenched. "I knew it. Should've taught that bastard a lesson when I had the chance." The room was quiet, but the anger in my voice hung in the air.
The reporter corrected herself, "Stepson. Mr. Ugliano has made it clear that Percy Jackson is no blood relation to him."
"Kid's no blood relation to me," Gabe added smugly, like the slimeball he is. Seriously, this guy makes anime villains look redeemable.
Percy looked away, his jaw tight. Grover, ever the optimist, tried to lighten the mood. "Cool. You're a fugitive now."
"Not cool," I said, cutting in. "And you know what's worse? My face is probably next—"
And just as I said that the anchor started talking about me. A clip rolled of Darren, my dad, dodging reporters as he walked into our house. The camera caught him mid-stride, looking calm but clearly irritated.
"No comment!" Darren said firmly, swatting away microphones. Then, as he reached the door, he turned back and yelled, "AND STAY OFF THE GRASS, FOR GOODNESS' SAKE!" before slamming the door shut.
Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is going to complicate things."
"You think?" I said, throwing my hands up. "My dad's probably at home thinking I've joined some kind of cult with Percy. 'Oh, look at my son, hanging out with a fugitive and a goat-man, probably summoning demons in his free time.' This is going to be one hell of a conversation when I get back."
"Thad..." Percy started, but I wasn't done.
"No, no, you listen here and listen well," I said, pacing the room. "First, I nearly get pounded by a Minotaur and almost eaten to a burnt crust by hellhounds. Then, I have to fight a statue army while you're off playing 'Snake Eyes' with Medusa. And now? Now I'm a wanted man, my dad's lawn is probably ruined, and this—" I gestured wildly at the TV "—is what I get in return. Just fantastic."
Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Are you done?"
I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Yeah... For now."
Percy gave me a look that was equal parts gratitude and apology. Grover, still munching on a candy bar, just shrugged.
"Alright," I said, finally sitting down. "What's the plan? Because I'm not getting arrested over this nonsense."
Percy doesn't respond. He stands, and exits, shutting the door behind him. Annabeth and Grover exchange a concerned look.
"Give him time," I said, leaning back into the couch, my eyes fixed on the TV screen but my thoughts elsewhere. "That's all he needs right now, despite..." My words trailed off as the news anchor's voice droned on in the background. My gaze lingered for a moment longer before I finished, "Percy's getting too overwhelmed."
"A good swim will do him justice," Grover added, nodding sagely, though his mouth was half-full of chips.
After about an hour and a half of restless waiting, I decided it was time to check on Percy. He had been out by the pool for a while, and I figured a little company might help. Just as I reached for the door handle, Annabeth stepped up beside me.
"I'm coming with you," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
I sighed, already bracing myself for whatever sharp, Athena-inspired wisdom she might unleash on the poor guy. "Fine. But you better be wise about your words," I warned, motioning for her to follow with a tilt of my head.
---
When we reached the pool, the scene was serene. Percy was swimming laps underwater, his strokes smooth and purposeful, as if he were trying to purge his emotions with every kick and glide. He surfaced eventually, his face a mixture of exhaustion and calm. Annabeth and I stood near the edge, her holding a towel that looked suspiciously fresh, like she had planned this little intervention.
"If these two aren't the endgame, then I don't know what is," I thought to myself, biting back a smirk.
Annabeth stepped closer, extending the towel toward Percy. "Nice work today," she began, her tone softer than usual. "Saving us from Medusa... Thanks." She paused, holding out her hand. "Friends?"
Percy hesitated for a split second before reaching up to shake her hand. And for a fleeting moment, it felt like the kind of perfect, storybook ending where everyone learns a valuable lesson and lives happily ever after.
Until Percy yanked Annabeth into the pool.
"Mess with the son of Poseidon," he said with a grin, "you're gonna get wet."
I raised an eyebrow, my internal monologue kicking in. Okay, normal enough... but why does that sound weird? (Note to self: spend less time on the "dark side" of the internet.)
Annabeth, however, was not one to be outdone. She splashed frantically, putting on an Oscar-worthy performance. "Can't... swim..." she gasped, flailing like a beginner in a kiddie pool.
"Wait, for real?" Percy panicked, reaching out to help her. "Annabeth, I got you—"
Before he could finish, Annabeth sprang up like a jack-in-the-box and shoved Percy's head underwater. When he surfaced, sputtering and drenched, she was laughing like she'd just won the lottery.
"Mess with the daughter of Athena," she said smugly, "and you're gonna get outsmarted every time."
Percy wiped water from his face, his expression a mix of amusement and defeat. "Then I'm glad you're on my side," he said, his words laced with genuine warmth. Their smiles lingered, the kind of smiles that had "future couple" written all over them.
I watched the exchange with a small grin, leaning casually against the railing. "She got you on that one," I told Percy, my voice laced with playful sarcasm.
Percy glanced at me, his grin widening. "Jump in if you want," he offered, motioning to the water.
I shook my head, holding up my hands. "I'm good. Got some stuff on me," I said, gesturing vaguely to my clothes. "And by 'stuff,' I mean a deep appreciation for staying dry."
They both laughed and for a brief moment, everything felt... normal. It was a rare, quiet reprieve from the chaos of gods, monsters, and the looming apocalypse. And as I watched them splash around like carefree kids.
As the eternal wingman and connoisseur of dramatic timing, I decided to leave Percy and Annabeth to their own devices. Let things simmer. Or, as the great philosophers of the internet say, "Let him cook." Naturally, I found myself a beach chair—one of those creaky, half-broken ones that feel like they're judging your life choices—and settled in. No way was I going to miss this. Technically, I could've just walked away, but would I pass up the chance to witness my boy finally make a move on a proper girl? Absolutely not. A bro always supports a bro... stealthily.
---
"So... why do our parents hate each other?" Percy asked, floating in the pool like a clueless protagonist in a teen rom-com.
Annabeth, leaning on the edge with that trademark mix of intelligence and sass, answered, "They both wanted to be the Patron God of Athens. The people chose Athena. Poseidon was insulted. He cursed the city so they would never have enough water. Our parents have hated each other ever since."
Percy chuckled, "My old man sounds like a bigger jerk than my stepfather."
Annabeth raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that. Besides, that's the historical version. I think there was another reason your father got so angry at my mom."
Oh, ho, ho. Are they really about to dissect divine drama while swimming? This is gold.
"Why's that?" Percy asked, his curiosity now fully engaged.
Annabeth smirked. "He had a huge crush on her. And she blew him off."
Percy tilted his head, intrigued. "How do you know it wasn't the other way around?"
"You haven't met my mom," Annabeth quipped, her tone dripping with dry humor.
Percy leaned in, the guy genuinely invested now. "What's she like?" Good move, Percy. Play the listener card. Don't mess this up.
"Intense," Annabeth began, her voice softening. "Always busy. The rare time we spend together, she criticizes everything I do, points out all my weaknesses... She says it's to make me stronger and wiser. But it only pisses me off."
Huh. So that's what having a mom is like. Can't say I relate, but it must be... complicated.
Annabeth rolled her eyes but then smiled faintly, a mix of fondness and frustration. "She'd be furious if she knew I was helping you."
Percy smirked. "So that's why you came... rebelling against Mommy. You want her to notice you, see how tough you are."
Aw, man. He's treading on thin ice here. But then Annabeth surprised me.
"Maybe. A little," she admitted, her honesty catching me off guard. "But I have other reasons too."
Their gazes locked, the air between them charged with unspoken tension. This was it. The moment. The slow lean-in, lips just a whisper apart. My internal monologue was screaming, JUST KISS ALREADY AND PUT US ALL OUT OF OUR MISERY!
"Like what?" Percy asked, his voice barely audible.
Annabeth's eyes softened. "Like..."
They were so close now. My beach chair creaked under the pressure of me silently willing this moment to happen. If I hadn't mastered the art of looking unbothered, I probably would've been standing and cheering by now.
And then—because the universe loves chaos—a flashlight beam cut through the darkness, landing squarely on the almost-couple.
"You PIECE OF CRAPSICLE!" I screamed internally, my fist clenching in betrayal. Percy was this close! THIS CLOSE!
Annabeth and Percy scrambled apart like two kids caught sneaking snacks before dinner. Meanwhile, I sat back in my chair, arms crossed, trying not to let my visible disappointment ruin my chill exterior.
Fates, you cruel, meddling jerks.